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#i like the funny little bard man the one that sang the Witcher song

asweetprologue · 3 years

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Nili’s Benchmark Geraskier Fic Rec List

hey yall! I officially hit 750 followers (a few days ago, I blew past the benchmark without even realizing!), which is... insane. I truly can’t believe that so many people over the last year have enjoyed my presence in this fandom enough to continue to follow my work. you guys are so great and I love you all so much, so I decided to put together a gift for you!

this is a list of my favorite geraskier fics from the fandom, which I have been putting together over the last year or so. a few of these are big in the fandom, but a lot of them are smaller pieces that I feel deserve more attention! I have provided ao3 and tumblr links where I could find them, as well as ratings and summaries. Most of these are canon!verse because I’m not personally a big fan of modern au’s, but there will be a few of those scattered throughout as well. I’ve divided the fics into two sections: oneshots and multichapter. See the list below the cut!

Being in this fandom truly has gotten me through the pandemic in a big way and I have made so many good friends while here. thank you all for validating my weird obsession with these characters and enabling me in these trying times <3

Oneshots

all that was good, all that was fair (all that was me is gone) | M | 7517 | WARNING: Graphic Depictions Of Violence | @xdandelionxbloomx

Somewhere, deep in a forest, a man drags himself from his grave by sheer power of will. He lies gasping on the forest floor and does not know who or what he is. The world is wide and wonderful, though, and there is so much to see.

Or, Jaskier is so stubborn that he literally comes back from the dead.

Another fascinating addition to the mythology of the Witcher. Jaskier’s slow rediscovery of himself is so well done here. One I’ve come back to again and again.

As Fast As Love Can Go | T | 9628 | @bygodstillam

There are Faeries in the Wood.

That's what everyone said, at least, not that there was any solid proof. Jaskier had tried, more than once, to find some. Just a hint somewhere, of a real story, of real magic. But all anyone seemed to have was stories.

Jaskier was determined to find proof. He wasn't expecting to find a witcher in the process.

Fascinating fic with some really interesting worldbuilding, and a fresh new take on True Love’s Kiss. Also with some great art by @hehearse!

beautiful, he stirs up still things | T | 2575 | @alittlebitmaybe

“You’re not asking me to dance,” says Geralt.

Jaskier turns his palm up on his knee, offering it. “I think you’ll find I am.”

Just them dancing. This is a lovely sort of pre-relationship dynamic. So soft.

Dialogue Prompt | NR | 2932 | @reinvent-and-believe

Dialogue Prompt 48: “You make me want things I can’t have.” Wordless I-love-you 50: buying them a special treat when you go out shopping

Geralt gets Jaskier a gift, which prompts some confessions.

Even a small love | E | 22,272 | WARNING: Rape/Non-Con

“Well,” Jaskier replies distractedly. “Lots of things want to strangle you.”

“You don’t.”

It isn’t a particularly troublesome accusation, or even necessarily an accusation at all.

This is one I read early on in the fandom, and it really stuck with me. The dynamic between Jaskier and Geralt is perfect, and the misunderstandings between them feel so realistic. The non-con is not extreme, but do mind the warnings.

For the Space of a Heartbeat | T | 2021 | @drowningbydegrees

As it turns out, falling into bed with your very best friend who you are privately very much in love with isn't nearly so nerve wracking as waking up with them the morning after.

Just sweet, morning after discussions. I love to see them talking for once.

Greensleeves | T | 10,414 | @rebrandedbard

When Geralt crosses paths with Jaskier in the spring, the world is dressed in green. Quite literally. Everyone everywhere is wearing green, and it all comes down to a song Jaskier has written that, to his mortification, has become popular throughout the Continent. It's torment, being forced to preform the song over and over again and have his heart broken anew. But who is this Lady Greensleeves the people say Jaskier is so maddeningly, heartbrokenly in love with? At the baron's wedding party, Geralt is determined to find out.

This is one of my personal faves - there’s just something about Jaskier’s feelings being put on blast while Geralt remains totally oblivious that I think is so very them. And the resolution at the end is delightful.

I Don’t Wanna Fall (If It’s Not In Love) | E | 13,902 | @writinglizards

The first time it's out of desperation. Things get rapidly out of hand from there.

OR the building of a relationship through mutual wank sessions.

I love everything Ashley writes, but this one was the first fic I read by her and it still has a warm place in my heart. I also highly recommend It’s Been A While (makes me cry every time) and Tell Me Honestly

Like a Storm, Like a Flood | T | 1065 | @valdomarx

Jaskier is leaving for the winter, and Geralt can't bear the thought of not seeing him for months.

It was soooo hard to pick only one fic by George, but this one is so soft and sweet and yearning I just had to go with it. This is really just about Geralt finally hitting a breaking point and saying enough is enough.

one flesh | E | 10,763 | WARNING: MCD

“Well, then. I’m a ghost.” Jaskier spread his arms grandly. Geralt held his gaze for a moment, then dropped his head and laughed. Jaskier put his hands on his hips. “Do fill me in on what’s so funny.” It wasn’t funny. It was just so - ridiculous, the things Geralt’s fucked up brain would invent. This had to be the last nail in the sanity coffin, it just had to be.

Or: Jaskier is a ghost, and Geralt is a mess.

Jaskier dies and comes back as a ghost to haunt Geralt into taking care of himself. Geralt does not handle this gracefully. This fic is so sad and heartbreaking, but the ending is so sweet.

to render it transparent | E | 23,901

Geralt wakes up warm, peaceful, and utterly content, which is how he knows that something is severely wrong.

Sigh. This fic. This is a time travel fic - Geralt ends up in the future living with Jaskier on the coast, just after the mountain. It’s slow and beautiful and extremely bittersweet, all about how we choose to love people despite how much it can hurt us.

With All the Continent A Stage | M | 4745 | @greyduckgreygoose

Later, Geralt learned that the play was four hours long. Four hours long. It didn’t feel like it. Most of it passed by in a fever dream of ominous music, dance-fighting and dryads in gossamer leaves, swinging from hoops attached to the ceiling. Yennefer made an appearance, played by Priscilla in a glittering negligee. She sang a song to Geralt about putting him “Under Her Spell”, and they had a sensual dance number which was made a little strange by a sickened Jaskier (played by Jaskier) coughing loudly in the background.

(Jaskier invites Geralt to a musical production inspired by his own life.)

Jaskier basically writes Geralt a love letter in the form of a four hour long play. Geralt is an idiot about it.

Multi-Chapter Fics

A Lover’s Lament | M | 25,364 | @somedrunkpirate

So,” Jaskier begins, as casually as he can, “you are telling me, that in theory, if I were to be in love with someone — anyone — that person could well be in terrible danger?”

Of all terrible and ridiculous things that have threatened Geralt’s safety, Jaskier’d never thought that loving him might be what will get him killed.

I honestly can’t count the number of times I’ve read this fic. The monster is so interesting, and the mythos of it fits seamlessly into the world of the Witcher in my mind. Jaskier being so afraid that his feelings are going to put Geralt at risk, clearly unable to see that Geralt is going through the exact same thing. I think about the scene with them looking at each other almost daily.

A Pair of Gloves, the Scent of Roses | M | 24,134 | WARNING: Graphic Depictions of Violence

In the bustling days before the Midsummer festival, Geralt is sent into the countryside to deal with a monster - with Jaskier once again by his side. But the bard has not forgiven him, and while he's not hiding his contempt for the Witcher, he is recalcitrant about revealing his true motives for joining him. As the hunt turns into a desperate mission to save an innocent man and the monster is not what is seems to be, Geralt learns a few new things about his old friend and decides to finally attempt to mend the rift between them...

This is one of my favorite’s in the fandom - it feels so believable, the world is so rich and the oc’s are convincing and charming. Geralt and Jaskier feel so honest here, stumbling around each other but still drawn together. Beautiful beautiful beautiful

Bearing the will of the flower | NR | 11,449

The way Jaskier sees it, his hobby of following a witcher around was always pretty likely to get him killed.

The fact that it's happening now because the witcher in question doesn't love him, he thinks as he coughs up crumpled flowers, hardly makes a difference.

My favorite hanahaki fic in the fandom. I’m such a sucker for these, and these two idiots being so incapable of talking about their feelings really makes them prime candidates.

Food of Love | T | 22,488 | @wallatile-qvibbler

I brought a dead princess back to life through the power of song is the kind of thing that would have got an eyebrow raise even from the stone-faced Geralt of Rivia, so it's a good thing he and Geralt will probably never see each other again.

(or: the one where Jaskier channels magic through his songs, and it almost never goes as expected.)

This is a Jaskier and Renfri centric fic, which wasn’t something I knew I wanted until I read this. Jaskier is a bard which in this AU comes with magical powers, but it feels so well integrated into the universe that I wish it was just... how the Witcher is. Renfri is so good here, and even though Jaskier and Geralt barely even interact you can feel the tension and love between them. Cannot recommend highly enough.

friends and allies of the witcher | T | 10,312 | @theamazingbard

Yennefer crawls over to her newest cellmate. They’re curled up on their side. Breathing, but only just. She’s not sure what she’s hoping for when she turns them over. Still isn’t when she sees that it is indeed Jaskier.

“Shit."

Yennefer and Jaskier each suffer in more ways than one at the hands of Nilfgaard.

Yennefer and Jaskier get capture by Nilfgaard and tossed into a cell together. Exactly what I want out of season 2 honestly. Their interactions are gold.

I’d Be the Choiceless Hope | E | 45,188 | WARNING: Rape/Non-Con | @lesdemonium

As a baby, Jaskier was visited by a fae, who gifted Jaskier's mother with Jaskier's obedience. As Jaskier grew older, the "gift" became more of a curse.

You know I’m not gonna make a rec list without listing Zoe’s Ella Enchanted au. Need I say more?

Silver and Copper | M | 56,139 | WARNING: Graphic Depictions of Violence | @kaer-cuan

Geralt is just supposed to pass through the quiet Lettenhove area. He's not anticipating being begged by its people to help save their viscount from a curse that keeps him from daylight. Lord Jaskier, they call him, and he's likely dying.

As Geralt struggles to untangle the ugly web of history that has lead to the increasingly complicated curse, he finds himself spending more and more time with the strange young viscount and wondering just what he might have been before the curse, and who he might be after. But things are not always as they seem, and as the curse tightens its grip on Jaskier, Geralt is forced to face the fear of failing yet another person whose choices were stolen from them.

Or-

Jaskier is kept from becoming a bard. Geralt finds him anyway.

This is a fic that haunts me. It’s very scary in parts, and mind the tags - there are some very heavy themes here. But it’s beautiful and touching, and Jaskier feels very true to himself even though his origin is so different.

we could be married (and then we'd be happy) | E | 50,222 | @a-kind-of-merry-war

Jaskier reached into his pocket, fingers grasping around the little box. He pulled it out with what he hoped was a romantic flourish, flipping it open to reveal the simple gold band inside. “Geralt,” he said, confidently, cooly, like this wasn’t terrifying, “Will you marry me?”

Geralt and Jaskier fake marriage proposals to get free deserts and shit but it goes tits up when Vesemir catches them in the act. Not knowing how to fess up, they go along with it for a while, which is hell because they’re both pining like mad. As I said, I don’t love modern au’s, but it’s merry so of course this one had to end up on my list.

And that’s it! 20 fics for you, and hopefully you can all find one or two you haven’t read before. There are a lot of people and fics that I didn’t include in this list only because I was trying to not put a million down (which I could). I highly recommend anything by @wherethewordsare, @julek, @contemplativepancakes, @witcher-and-his-bard, and @inber, as well as those linked to fics above, and I’m sure there are others I forgot to mention. Yall have truly made being in this fandom worthwhile <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic recs #geralt of rivia #geralt #jaskier #witcher #fic recs #fic rec #I'm certain i missed a lot of good ones I've read over the years but I didn't want to risk making this super fucking long anyways #if you didn't see your name listed it isn't bc I don't adore you and your fics it's because i'm stupid <333

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pillage-and-lute · 3 years

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How about-Hanahaki disease? Gerald/Jaskier? Happy ending please!

Nonny! Darling you read my mind, I’m an ‘angst with a happy ending’ kinda gal. Just so we’re clear, I know nothing of flower meanings and I didn’t research.

TW: Gore

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Jaskier first coughed up a flower at age three.

Poets loved Hanahaki, it was considered romantic, and those prone to it were tragic beauties, destined to languish, delicately spitting blood and rose petals into a silk handkerchief. No one really wrote about how it could be brought on by deeply unrequited platonic love.

Jaskier coughed a violet into his little fist and brought it to his mother, who turned him away.

Fifteen years down the line and having graduated Oxenfurt with honors, Jaskier was old hat at taking care of Hanahaki. His feelings, although often unrequited, were also often fleeting. A night spent coughing tulips into a bowl and a sore throat the next mroning, but rarely more than that.

If it persisted for a week or more there was tea. Any apothecary in even a mid sized city carried it. It was putrid and thick and slid down the throat like a cup of slugs, but in the morning there were no petals, and after two or three days of the stuff, the disease was gone.

He was almost thankful for being so prone to Hanahaki, it was romantic and lended much to his chosen profession. People gave him sympathetic looks and free drinks if he sang a sad song and discreetly spat a rose petal into a handkerchief. Most of the time he simply didn’t mind it, and considered himself twice blessed with his mobile heart.

Sometimes he had nightmares of what would happen if he found true love.

The notions of true love itself was romantic, but everyone knew that your true love, the one you were fated to, if they didn’t love you in return no tea would save you.

He’d watched a friend, a grad student at Oxenfurt, die of it. It was no delicate coughing into handkerchiefs, no poetic languishing. He’d held her hair back as she threw up petals and blood, crying as she clutched the bucket with skeletal hands because she could no longer force food down a torn throat.

It had been so slow, she’d said between pulling thorned stems from her mouth. More than a decade of loving the boy she’d had a crush on in her small town village. She’d lived through it all, only occassionally throwing up flowers. Always snow white roses, for him, apparently. It would have been wonderfully artistic if Jaskier didn’t know how they looked covered in blood.

Then she’d gone to his wedding to the baker’s daughter and two weeks later he watched her cough out roots wrapped around a chunk of lung and screamed for a doctor knowing it was too late. The blood stain never washed fully out of the floor.

And she’d said it was worth it. That she wouldn’t have stopped loving him for the world, even as she said it through a throat full of thorns.

Jaskier never understood it, leaping from town to town, avoiding long term connections while knowing all the while that if fate wanted him to fall in love he would. Denying Destiny only made things nastier, he knew. And then, in a tevern in Posada, with bread in his pants and a hole in his boot, his eyes met pure gold.

It took a split second, less probably, for him to realize that, although he didn’t love the man yet, for love at first sight truly is a poet’s myth, he could love this man. And if he died for this man, maybe the love would be worth it after all.

The man was a witcher, who punched him in the gut and stank of onion and talked to his horse. Jaskier followed him anyway.

He followed him and coughed up flowers, different blossoms for different people, and he began to fall deeper in love. He wondered sometimes what flowers he would cough, as the bouquets turned into only one kind.

What flower would represent Geralt? Not buttercups or dandelions, certainly. Perhaps if someone else were to catch Hanahaki for Jaskier those would be for him. Geralt wasn’t a dandelion. He was grumpy and spiky and after ten years wouldn’t even call Jaskier a friend.

In the dead of night Jaskier feared it would be white roses, like he’d seen once before.

And then Geralt died in a collapsing building only to be alive and fucking a purple-eyed sorceress after nearly killing Jaskier with a djinn. Jaskier vomited flowers not twelve hours after vomiting blood.

Snow drops, tiny and delicate. And from that point forth he never coughed up any other kind.

It didn’t progress so quickly though. Jaskier had expected to die within a month of Geralt meeting Yennefer. He didn’t. Love and sex weren’t the same thing, and his love didn’t go totally unrequited either. It wasn’t the same sort of love, but in the quiet moments just after dawn it was enough.

Then Geralt made a choice.

He wouldn’t kill dragons, he didn’t hunt sapient creatures, he wanted nothing to do with the dragon hunt, until he caught sight of Yennefer.

And that left Geralt and Jaskier, on top of a mountain, as Geralt screamed into the wind that Jaskier meant nothing to him. Jaskier felt the roots set in.

He wasn’t going to get the story from the others. He could barely breathe, the pain was so sharp and intense and he could feel it growing, feel the flowers growing. Little snowdrops had no right to be so painful.

He wasn’t going to make it off the mountain.

Jaskier took a different trail down, and then wandered into the forest a little way, coughing blood and stems the whole way. He collapsed under a tree, blood staining his doublet. He wished he had a friend to clutch his hand, hold his hair back and rub his back like he’d done more than twenty years ago.

There wouldn’t be a funeral though. No one would know what had happened to Jaskier the bard. Worse, no one would know what happened to Julian, the person, the man. As he threw up a clump of flowers and blood he felt very much like the scared little boy who threw up a flower for the first time.

It hurt. It burned and shredded his throat and he wanted a friend and he didn’t have any. He’d thrown all his eggs in one basket twenty years ago and Geralt had kicked that basket off the mountain.

Jaskier leaned his lute up against the tree. It’d be such a shame to get blood on the lovely girl. He curled up next to it, in a fetal position on his side as the coughs wracked his whole body.

His friend had lasted two weeks, he thought. But her rejection was a wedding. Not her best friend and the love of her life telling her never to see him again. That he was a burden. That if life or Destiny could give him one blessing it would be to take Jaskier off his hands. And Destiny was going to deliver. She had made Jaskier love Geralt, and she would kill him by it.

Still, Jaskier would have given anything for the comfort of his friend right now. He began to cry, snot and tears and blood and petals all mixing. He couldn’t even breathe, his lungs burned so bad.

His vision was blurry.

He could hear noises, tromping through the forest and who knew what awful creatures lurked here. Just like Dame Destiny to have him disembowled while dying of Hanahaki.

It was dark, but it had been noon on the mountain. Black clouds swirled and closed in his vision.

A strangled noise.

No monster made that noise. That was a man-made noise. It sounded very much how Jaskier had felt on the mountaintop. He retched up a flower and tasted pollen and iron.

“Jaskier!”

He didn’t remember hallucinations being part of the final stages, but the brain played funny tricks.

“Jaskier!” There it was again, and he was being bundled up tight to a chest that was not at all comfortable and smelled of horse and leather and sweat and onion. A buckle of Geralt’s armor dug into his cheek. Jaskier’s mouth was full of stems and roots.

GLoved fingers dug in, pulling snowdrops from between his lips and then Geralt kissed him. It was entirely awful and unsatisfying.

Dimly Jaskier came to the realization that it was not supposed to a kiss, but Geralt trying to blow air into his flowering lungs. A nice gesture but unhelpful.

He lolled his head to the side to throw up another clump of root, not wanting to throw up directly into Geralt’s mouth.

A shudder ran through the chest he was pressed against, like a tremor before an earthquake. Then a sob.

It was quiet. The worst sobs are.

Geralt lay Jaskier down on the floor, one hand cupped beneath his head, gently cradling. Then the witcher curled next to him, face pressed against a pale neck streaked with blood, and cried.

Jaskier wanted to comfort him, to stroke a hand through soft white hair one last time and thank him for not letting him die alone. He just didn’t have the strength.

Another wretched, tiny sob, then, “I’m sorry, Jaskier. I’m so sorry.” Oh that wasn’t fair. A tear leaked from Jaskier’s eye.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt continued, face pressed into Jaskier’s collarbone. “I didn’t mean it, I was angry and tired and I’ve hurt you but please,” the voice faded to barely a whisper. “Please don’t leave me, I didn’t mean it, I love you don’t leave me here alone.”

Don’t leave him here alone. Jaskier though. Destiny owed him, owed them both for all she’d put them through. Don’t make him lonely, he prayed. I don’t want to leave him alone.

Geralt held Jaskier tighter, pressing even closer like he was trying to meld them into one. “I love you,” he said. “I’m sorry, Jaskier. I love you.”

The world went white.

Jaskier blinked his eyes open with blood in his mouth. It didn’t seem to deter Geralt, who kissed him so thoroughly his head felt light. Then Geralt pulled him upright. There was blood on the ground around them, some even streaked into Geralt’s hair.

There were no stems though.

The forest floor had been carpeted for ten feet all around them with snowdrops, planted firmly in earth instead of lungs. They were so close together it looked like a sudden snowfall, trailing to fewer and farther between at the edges of their little pool of white.

“I...” Jaskier said, letting Geralt pull him to his feet. He wasn’t sure what to say but it turns out he needn’t say anything. Geralt was clutching him like a lifeline and tucking a snowdrop into his hair.

“I smelled blood,” he said, lips brushing into Jaskier’s brown fringe. “I smelled blood and was so afraid. I haven’t been truly afraid in so long and then I found those wretched flowers.” Geralt took a shaky breath.

“I truly thought it was too late.” He pulled back and looked into Jaskier’s eyes. Geralt’s own yellow ones were dry but the emotion was clear. “I thought I had lost you, my love.” A gloved hand, only slightly bloody stroked Jaskier’s cheek. “I thought I had lost you, my life’s greatest gift. And I wanted to lay down beside you and die as well.”

Jaskier chuckled wetly. “You overdramatic sod,” he said between watery sniffles. “What a ridiculous notion. And I can’t believe it takes me dying to turn you into a romantic.”

“Almost dying,” Geralt said firmly. There was panic written plain across his face, as if he was terrified that time would slam into reverse just to take Jaskier from him. Another embrace, just this side of bone crushing. “Almost dying, my love.”

“Not dead, my love,” Jaskier responded.

As they made their way down the mountain snowdrops bloomed in their footsteps, but they were too busy looking at each other to notice.

#geraskier #hanahaki au #hanahaki disease #tw: gore #angst with a happy ending #yo im actually so proud of this what the heck?#askbox answers

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thearvariblues · 4 years

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Valdo Marx Plays Matchmaker

AKA Geralt has to deal with the fact that Valdo Marx isn’t quite as he had imagined him. To begin with, he’s not, in fact, a he.

“She’s a woman,” Geralt announced, his yellow eyes wide with disbelief.

Jaskier snorted, staring into his beer.

“Thank you for the information, I had no idea.”

“No, I mean… A woman.”

“Yes, Geralt, you’ve already said that.”

“You never told me she was a woman!”

“Shut up. I must have.”

“Never,” Geralt said firmly, shaking his head.

“I must have referred to her by a pronoun at some point, you just never listen to me.”

“I do listen to you, Jaskier, and you never did.”

Jaskier took a large gulp of beer and shrugged.

“Well, now you know. So what?”

“So what? I always thought it was some old, wrinkled… ballsack from Oxenfurt! A pompous prick, you always said, an insufferable cockalorum–”

“Yes, and?”

“And now I find out that he’s… she’s… That Valdo fucking Marx is a…”

“Woman, yes, Geralt, we’ve been through this!” Jaskier moaned, desperately trying to ignore the ridiculously boring music and the high, melodic voice that filled the air.

“It’s a shock, that’s all I’m saying,” Geralt grunted.

“Yeah, well, whatever. Finish your fucking beer, I want to get out of here.”

“Writing a new song?” Geralt smirked. “Because that rhymed.”

“Fuck off,” Jaskier groaned.

Geralt took a drink, contemplating.

“You know, I don’t even know why you hate her so much. She’s quite good, actually. Reminds me of you.”

“She is nothing like me!” Jaskier hissed.

“Well, if you listen carefully–”

“Don’t you ever dare comparing me to Valdo Marx!” Jaskier growled. “I have enough of it every fucking time I go home to Lettenhove. Oh, Julian, have you heard Valdo’s new composition? It’s so good, don’t you think? Julian, couldn’t you be more like Valdo instead of following a Witcher around, it’s so unbecoming of a young man like you. Oh, Julian, have you heard that your sister–”

“Wait, your what?” Geralt blinked.

“Sister, Geralt, try to keep up.”

“Trust me, I am. Desperately,” Geralt said. “But you don’t make sense, Jaskier. You talk about Valdo one second, and then you start about your… Hold on. Are you telling me that Valdo Marx, the troubadour of Cidaris, is…”

“Is, in fact, my sister Madeleine, yes.”

“Your sister Madeleine,” Geralt repeated. “Fuck.”

“I’d rather if you didn’t,” Jaskier sneered.

“Are we talking older or younger here?” Geralt asked, eyeing the troubadour on a tiny makeshift stage. She was wearing a plain, dark blue dress made of some kind of a glossy fabric. Her skirt was so long it brushed the boards of the stage with her every movement, but it didn’t look like she cared, she just played her lute and sang and had no idea how entrancing she was. And she did remind Geralt of Jaskier.

The bard muttered something unintelligibly.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“For fuck’s…” Jaskier sighed. “Twin. My twin sister.”

“Oh.”

“Older by three fucking minutes, and she’ll never let me forget it.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Jaskier snorted. “Always better than me, our Madeleine. Born first, learned to walk first, learned to read first… The only thing I started to do first was playing the lute and singing, and what does she do the second I decide to travel and become a bard? She follows in my footsteps, trying to outdo me once again. And she fucking succeeds!”

“That’s not true, Jaskier,” Geralt smiled, placing a hand on Jaskier’s forearm. “She might be the more… artistic one of you two, but she will never be a better a´performer. And I can’t hear people singing her songs like they do yours, can you?”

“Well… If you put it like that… Oh, fuck.”

“What’s wrong?”

The song had ended a few seconds ago, Geralt realized. And Jaskier was now staring, utterly terrified, towards the stage.

“She’s noticed us,” the bard mumbled. “She’s coming here.”

“Oh,” Geralt said. “Fuck.”

Jaskier huffed, watching as Geralt pulled a clean shirt over his head.

“What?” Geralt grunted.

“Nothing,” Jaskier muttered, looking away.

He was sitting on a bed in their shared room in the tavern and trying his very best not to brood. And he knew very well that he was failing spectacularly.

“I had to say yes, Jaskier,” Geralt sighed. “It would have been impolite not to.”

“And you’re all about politeness,” Jaskier mumbled. “Like every time you show up covered in blood and guts and brain occasionally–”

“That was one time.”

“Well it’s not very polite to barge into the room, tell my lovely date to go fuck herself and immediately start taking off your filthy clothes, is it?! The moment she saw your impossible, muscular, god-like torso, I stood no chance!”

“Is there any point to this babbling, Jaskier?” Geralt sighed.

“Well, yes. That you should have said no to my fucking sister when she asked you to have dinner with her!”

Geralt smirked.

“Are you jealous, bard? Did you want to have dinner with her yourself?”

“No, I wanted to have dinner with–” Jaskier started before promptly cutting himself off. “It’s just so… Madeleine, you know?!”

“What is?” Geralt frowned.

“She always has to steal what’s mine!” Jaskier groaned, letting his body fall onto the hard palliase. “My success in music, my parents’ affection, and now my Witcher.”

“She won’t steal me, Jaskier,” the Witcher in question said. “I would first have to allow myself to be stolen.”

“Yeah, wait until you’ve talked to her for five minutes. I bet you’ll like her way more than you like me.”

“Nonsense. There’s no one I like more than I like you.”

Jaskier blinked in confusion, raising his head to look at Geralt, who was, for some reason, blushing.

“What did you just say?” the bard asked.

“Fuck,” Geralt muttered, fleeing the room.

Valdo Marx was nothing like Jaskier had ever described her, that was the first thing Geralt realized.

She wasn’t pompous. She definitely wasn’t insufferable. And she wasn’t a, well, cockalorum.

She was quite nice, actually, and she really did remind Geralt of her brother. She was intelligent, she was funny… And well, she was pretty, he had to give her that.

Not nearly as pretty as Jaskier, though, his traitorous brain put in, and Geralt nearly choked on his beer.

“Are you alright?” the woman smiled. “I’m not boring you, I hope.”

Geralt shook his head.

“No. Please, go on.”

Oh, and she spent the entire evening talking not about herself, like Geralt had expected, but about her brother, about his songs, about his successful students from Oxenfurt… About their childhood. And Geralt, who had never heard a single word about Jaskier’s life before Posada, was beyond fascinated.

“Well, as I was saying, Jaskier’s always so competitive,” she chuckled. “Everything’s a race for him. I don’t know how many times I told him, dear heart, we don’t have to be enemies, but he just doesn’t listen.”

Geralt nodded solemnly.

“I know. He even accused you of trying to steal me from him.”

“Dear, I would never,” she said. “I know how madly in love he is with you, I couldn’t–”

“He’s what?!” Geralt gaped.

Valdo’s eyes went wide and she covered her mouth in shock.

“Oh, my. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud, it just slipped,” she gasped. “Please, don’t tell Jaskier that I revealed his secret so carelessly!”

But Geralt was already rising to his feet, finishing his beer on the way up.

“Excuse me, madam,” he croaked, slamming the tankard on the table. “I need to go and speak with your brother. Right fucking now.”

Valdo Marx was busy wolfing down the boiled eggs and sausages she was having for breakfast when, suddenly, a shadow fell on her table. Before she even managed to lift her eyes up, her brother unceremoniously plopped himself down on the bench opposite of her.

“You traitorous bitch,” he growled.

“And good morning to you too, Julian,” she grinned at him. “Sausage?”

“I hate you,” Jaskier muttered, grabbing one from her plate. “You did it on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Of course not. What do you think of me, little brother?!”

“Only the worst.”

She chuckled.

“It was mother’s idea, if you absolutely need to know,” she muttered with her mouth full of scrambled eggs. “She told me to do anything to make you pull your head out of your arse and finally confess to that Wolf of yours.”

“Lies. Mother would never say arse.”

“Right. She said backside. My bad.”

“Hmpf,” Jaskier hummed. “May I remark that making me confess and telling him about my feelings, making it seem like an accident is not the same thing?”

“You may not.” She shook her head, sighing. “Besides, it’s not my fault you’re both denser than cousin Amelia, is it? Look, I tried. I wrote that romantic ballad about him, claiming it was a new song by the famous Jaskier–”

“Oh, of course. I should have known that complete atrocity was your doing! That sloppy excuse for a ballad that could have ruined my reputation!”

“Jaskier, one of your most popular songs is about a girl wanting to jerk you off.”

“Your point being?”

She laughed, letting him steal another sausage.

“Nothing, my dear. How was your night, anyway?”

“I think you know damn well,” Jaskier said, smiling. “Actually, I think the whole town knows.”

“To be honest, I think our mother in Lettenhove knows that your Witcher loves and desires you back. He wasn’t exactly trying to keep his voice down.”

“Believe it or not, but he was,” Jaskier grinned. “He just wasn’t very successful.”

She nodded, finishing her breakfast and getting to her feet.

“Well, my work here is done, dear brother. Will you pay for my meal? I think I deserve it for what I’ve done for you.”

“Always so humble,” he said. “I still hate you, Madeleine, you know?”

“I love you too, Julian,” she winked. “Oh, and by the way, mother sends her love and demands that you bring the Witcher the next time you come to visit. She said there is a monster in Lettenhove that desperately needs to be slain.”

“Well, if it’s urgent, I could try convincing Geralt to…” Jaskier started before pausing. “Right. She meant grandmother, didn’t she?”

“I’m afraid so,” Valdo chuckled, grabbing her cloak. “Well, I’ll be on my way. See you around, Jaskier.”

“See you,” the bard replied, trying to hide a smile. “Valdo Marx.”

#geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #my fics

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amazingmsme · 4 years

Text

Dandelions Don’t Die

AN: It’s finally here! The much anticipated(on my part at least) vampire!jaskier fic! Buckle the fuck in cause it’s a whopper, I really wanted to make this all one fic, so it stands at 12,714 words! Wowza, I think this is the longest oneshot I’ve ever posted! Too long for me to read through & no beta, I apologize if there’s any mistakes

WARNINGS: Jaskier’s a vampire, so there’s a few mentions of blood if that sort of thing upsets you. He also kills a deer, but that’s over fairly quickly so you can skip over that if you need to.

As much as Jaskier wished it could last, he knew it couldn't. It would have to end eventually, with Geralt and Jaskier going their separate ways. He only wished it had ended on better terms. Instead they split at the mountainside, with harsh words thrown in his face. It hurt more than he ever thought it could. He had traveled back down the trail at a slow pace, matching his somber mind. He felt many things, more than he had in a long time. Anger, hurt, jealousy, guilt and sadness all swirled like a whirlpool in his head, turning his brain into a sloshing liquid that splashed against his skull with each step he took.

He needed to take his anger out on something, anything. He knew he could not feed on humans. Not only would he feel immensely bad about it, but it wouldn't be long until word spread of a vampire lurking about. And where a monster was, a certain witcher was bound to show up eventually. So he journeyed into the woods in search of an unfortunate creature.

Hunting always helped to clear his head. It had been hard to do on his travels with Geralt. He always had to find a way to slink off while the other man was busy and clean himself up before he noticed his companion was missing. At least he wouldn't have to worry about that anymore. His chest ached at the thought.

Well Geralt would finally have what he wanted. To be alone. Truly alone, with only his horse to keep him company. As he thought about it, he began to miss Roach. He hadn't only grown fond of the brooding man, but his horse as well. Fuck, these next few years were going to suck. If he was lucky, he would be over this by the end of the decade. He hadn't been this down since he had first been turned. For 50 years he hasn't felt a steady beat in his chest, only the odd slow thump every five seconds or so. A stagnant muscle sitting in his chest just trying to resemble some semblance of normalcy.

He waited in the bushes, consumed by his misery. A twig snapped and he jerked his head up. He hoped beyond hope that Geralt had come to apologize, to take him up on his offer of escape, to invite him on his journeys. Instead he saw a buck enter the clearing before him. He licked his lips. He could smell the enticing scent of the deer's blood. It had been forever since he had had a real meal. He continued to eat human food to keep up appearances, but it did nothing to satisfy his hunger. It still tasted wonderful and he enjoyed the comfort, but his stomach and veins remained empty, longing for something more.

He pounced, and the poor animal didn't stand a chance. He let out a hum of relief as his teeth pierced through the pelt and flesh, sinking into the jugular. He sucked, not wanting to waste a drop. He felt himself grow stronger with each gulp. The blood was warm and thick, like syrup fresh from a tree. The satisfying tang of iron coated his mouth as he finished his feast. He wiped the remaining blood from his lips and continued on his way. To where, he did not know.

He wandered aimlessly from kingdom to kingdom, town to town. He was in every sense a lost soul. His songs were no longer jaunty tunes to sing along with, but emotional ballads that made the heart weep. People started to forget the bright eyed bard who sang the tales of the white wolf. He would hear others play them in taverns across the land, and it would always bring about a sad smile on his face. Those songs were popular, and good if he did say so himself. But they made him yearn for what once was. He couldn't have that anymore.

He heard whispers asking whatever happened to Jaskier, the bard who nobly followed Geralt of Rivia wherever he went. He sat alone in a booth, overhearing such a conversation. He himself wondered the same thing.

Everyone must die eventually, he thought to himself. He needed a fresh start, one not tied down to the ghosts of his past. It was commonplace for vampires to assume a new identity and create a fake death for their old persona. Now would be the perfect opportunity to plant the seed for his new life. He spoke up without turning to look at them.

"He died." There was a brief silence before they spoke up.

"Oh... that's a shame, he seemed like a good man. Talented too," the man in the booth behind him said. The woman at his arm chided in, "I suppose one of his journeys with the witcher didn't turn out so well."

"We'll never know I guess. At least the music will live on."

And with that, Jaskier was dead.

Word travels fast through a town, and faster by horse. It wouldn't be too long before Geralt would hear the news. Good, he wouldn't have to worry about running into him. What a mess that would be. He couldn't decide if it was bad that he hoped the man felt guilty. Make him feel as lousy as he does. He was always a little petty, and he saw no reason to change that.

He went by Amarant now. What can he say, he liked flowers. He still liked Jaskier much better, but he knew he would have to give up the name eventually. Perhaps in a hundred years or so he could take it up again. Surely Geralt will have forgotten him by then. If only he could be so lucky.

He still needed to change his appearance somehow. He had become slightly well known as the White Wolf's bard, and he didn't want to risk anyone recognizing him. The funny thing about vampires is that their appearance doesn't change... except for hair.

He really did have lovely hair. Thick and shiny and looking good in whatever style he chose. He decided to grow it out. Shoulder length was his limit, and he preferred to keep it slicked back away from his face, giving it a natural wind blown look. He also grew out some facial hair, keeping it well shaped into a handsome mustache and goatee.

He never stayed in one place for too long, always needing to find some way to fill the emptiness he felt inside, but never finding it. He enjoyed many nights with many strangers. And if most of them tended to be blonde and large in stature, well, he never mentioned it.

Amarant was making a name for himself as quite the hopeless romantic. He sang songs for the heartbroken, and lovers serenaded each other with his ballads. Even his peppier jaunts held a sad tale. He was currently between travels, resting in a poppy field as he wrote his newest song. The familiar weight of the lute sat against his chest as he strummed.

Laaa la la laaa lala laaa lala la laaa I once knew a man of such beauty He wandered from place to place. In search of life and fulfillment But nothing could replace his lovers embrace.

Ooo he had a secret. His face was fair. He only travels by night and escapes from his lair.

Laaa la la laaa lala laaa lala la laaa I once knew a man so empty, The life faded out long ago. What a sad and weary soul Who will never grow old.

Ooo he's lost in the night. And he hides from the light, of the day. And if they knew what he was, they'd all turn away.

He liked it so far. The chords sounded right and the lyrics came from the heart. Those were his best ones. His quill dragged along the parchment in his journal, leaving black ink in spiraling letters. He continued.

Laaa la la laaa lala laaa lala la laaa I once knew a man so heartless. 'Twas ripped from his chest With hatred and scorn And now owns a barren breast.

Ooo a lost love can kill you With heartbreak and blade. Because a steak through the heart can kill any maid.

She was as lovely as ever, Skin pale as snow, and red lips of blood, She stole him away. A bleeding heart left to drain.

Laaa la la laaa lala laaa lala la laaa I once knew a man so broken, Who just went through the motions, of a pointless life.

Ooo he was doomed for infinity. Until someone sets him free, He will rest in a coffin bed.

A dead bard sings no songs. Dead men tell no tales, And dead witches can't cast spells.

Laaa la la laaa lala laaa lala la laaa I once knew a man so hollow. So desperate for love, he would follow. Tailing behind until the end of time.

He finished the ballad with a soft series of strums. It was short, but good. The song was just as much about him as it was about Geralt. He just hoped that people wouldn't tire of his melancholy tunes. Of course he would take requests for songs and wouldn't mind singing ones other bards had written. Wherever he went, he still received requests for the songs of the great witcher's travels. And he would sing them as his heart ached, remembering a better time.

~~~~

He wasn't the only one who longed for the comfort of the past. About two and a half years into his travels with Ciri, he heard word of Jaskier's death. They were having a quick meal in a tavern, and Geralt nursed his mug of ale, idly listening to whatever Ciri was rambling about, but not giving it too much thought. He was tired after killing the silkie that had been drowning children in the nearby river and let his mind wander.

His enhanced hearing was able to pick up a conversation from a nearby table. They seemed to be talking about the bard stood in the corner. He was singing Her Sweet Kiss. Geralt couldn't help but note that Jaskier was much more talented. Apparently he wasn't the only one who thought so.

"He's butchering this song," the man said, staring at the musician with distaste. His friend nodded along.

"I know. Poor Jaskier's probably rolling in his grave."

That definitely caught his attention and his head whipped around to look. Ciri's brows furrowed with concern.

"Geralt are you-"

"Shh." He held his hand up to silence her as he listened more intently.

"It should be illegal to sing a deadman's song unless you can actually sing it."

"Cheers," the man agreed and clinked their glasses together. Geralt stood and made his way to their table. Ciri, not knowing where the situation was heading followed, ready to deescalate if need be.

"Sorry for for intruding but I couldn't help overhearing what you said about the bard, Jaskier." The men didn't seem to mind very much about his sudden appearance.

"Yeah, it's a real shame too. One of the most talented bards I've seen in my day." He looked Geralt up and down, as though just now taking him in. "Hold on a minute, you're that Witcher he was always singing about! Thought you'd be the first to know, seeing as well, y'know..." he trailed off, taking a drink from his glass.

"Mm. We parted ways some time ago. I hadn't seen him sense. Now I know why," he said gruffly. The two men shifted awkwardly, remorse clearly written on their faces.

"Well gee, I'm sorry you had to hear it from us."

"Hmm," he grunted, ready to turn away. Ciri stepped forward, asking, "How did he die?" Geralt shot her a warning look. One that she did not heed.

The first man shrugged, "Wish I could say, but no one knows. Not even sure if there's a grave."

"If there's no grave, is there a chance he could still be alive?" she asked.

"Ciri," Geralt's patience was wearing thin. With the news he just received, he was in a sour and rotten mood and just wanted to drink himself unconscious.

The other man tilted his head in thought, "I suppose so. Been hearing rumors of a traveling bard who looks strikingly similar. Apparently he sounds like him too. His songs aren't as upbeat though. More melancholy." Geralt nodded in thanks with another grunt, and grabbed Ciri to lead her back to their table.

He was even more silent than usual. Ciri began awkwardly, "I'm sorry about your friend." He didn't look at her. "Why did you two split up?" she asked, ever so curious.

"We had a fight, and I said things I shouldn't have." He stared into his empty pitcher, mind completely lost. He didn't know what to think or to feel. He needed to be numb. He waved at the bartender for another pint and nodded gratefully once he brought it to him.

"I'm sorry, I know how awful it can be when you're left on bad terms with someone close to you."

"Mmm."

"But I'm sure that despite whatever you said, he knew you still cared for him," she tried to comfort him.

"That's the thing," he said, tracing the grain of the table. "I don't think he did." He threw his head back, taking large gulps of the bitter liquid. He relished in the slight burn down his throat as his stomach began to feel warm. Ciri offered a sad smile and squeezed his hand from across the table. By the end of their meal, Geralt could barely walk straight, and Ciri had to hold him upright on their way to the inn they were currently residing.

~~~~

Amarant couldn't take it anymore. Constantly being on the road was too painful of a reminder of what he lost. Traveling was lonely, and he was not meant to be alone. Clearly that was more suiting for Geralt, seeing as how he made it clear how unwanted his company was. His feet were constantly sore, and he wanted nothing more than to find a place to settle down. Wherever it was needed to be remote. A place where he could still perform for people, but also have a decent meal without stirring suspicion of a vampire in the area. There had been too many close calls, a cow here, two or three sheep there, all drained of blood leaving angry farmers. He tried not to make a habit of feeding on livestock, but there were times when he was desperate and starving. And there were many nights spent with beautiful strangers that were all too tempting. The hot and fresh scent of blood hanging in the air after sex. He knew their veins were full; he could feel their pulse against his skin. The flush on their cheeks made them look as delicious as the ripest apple, just waiting for him to sink his teeth into it. But he always resisted the temptation.

Even after everything, he still felt the call of the sea. Everything about it just seemed so appealing. The seclusion, the serenity, the sirens... it was exactly what he needed. But traveling that far on foot would take ages. He needed a horse. He was a day out from the nearest town, he supposed he could start over and be there by noon tomorrow. He had enough coin saved up from playing to buy himself a descent mare.

He watched the sun's light fade out through the branches in the forest and decided to set up camp for now. He was still full from the badger he had drank from earlier, so he focused on building a fire.

It was funny: there were many things about vampires that he discovered were false, and others that held true. Sunlight: not a problem. Sure he'd grow a little more pink than normal if he stayed out too long, but that's what sleeves and hats were for. He could still see his reflection, thank the gods for that. He doesn't think he could live forever without seeing his own pretty face. Silver didn't burn all too badly, in fact the pain was almost nice. A satisfying sting that dug into his skin and left a small welt.

Then there were the things that were completely true. Garlic was awful. Vampires had an enhanced sense of smell and the potency of the vegetable damaged the sensitive nerves, and if it were to be consumed, it would act as a poison. So basically, he was allergic. Oh well he was never a big fan of it anyway. Vampires and werewolves really did hate each other. Enough said. Gods he hated those snarling fucks. He hasn't aged a day since his turning, and his skin grew paler. He definitely felt more lively at night, and his canines were sharper that the average human's. Despite all of this, no one has suspected him of being a vampire, to the best of his knowledge.

By now the sun had set, and the remaining orange of the sun's fleeting light melted into the purple of dusk. Between the leaves above him he watched as stars danced into view. The warmth of the fire kissed his chilled skin as he let his thoughts wonder. And just as always, his mind immediately went to Geralt.

They had just finished setting up camp for the night. Geralt had gotten a few deep gashes from the minotaur he had finished slaying, and sat silently as Jaskier patched him up. He didn't seem to be paying much attention to Jaskier's chastising words.

"You know bard, I would much prefer your singing than scolding right now."

Jaskier scoffed, "Oh would you now? That's a first." He held the needle in his hand close to the fire to sterilize it some before sewing the wounds shut. "Any requests?" he asked, his tongue poking out between his lips as he focused on threading the needle.

"Hmm. Maybe a new one?" he asked, watching as he brought the tool closer to his skin. Jaskier chuckled at that.

"Ohoho that's rich. Normally when I try to compose a new song you tell me to shut it."

"I'm not right now," Geralt stated. That made Jaskier pause in his movements, looking up to meet his eyes. They were still black from the potions having not wore off quite yet. He swallowed thickly.

"Right. Well then, I can, uh, come up with a new one," he said. He was still looking into his pitch dark eyes, feeling himself get lost. He was pulled back out when Geralt grunted and asked, "What?"

Jaskier cleared his throat. "Nothing. It's just that, ah, your eyes look very nice right now," he admitted with a hint of a smile. Geralt tilted his head, a frown etching it's way onto his face.

"What?"

"Yeah, I can see my reflection perfectly. They've never looked more lovely," he recovered. When Geralt let out a snort of amusement, he let out an internal sigh of relief. He couldn't let himself slip up like that again. As he continued stitching him up, he started singing about his latest battle.

Geralt closed his eyes, listening to his voice raise through the air over the crackling of the fire. The dim glow illuminated his features and cast shadows under his jaw. Jaskier didn't dare let his gaze linger for too long.

"There, all better!" he chirped, standing up to stretch. Geralt examined the fresh scar stretching across his chest before he laid down in the soft grass.

"Look at the stars," he said. Jaskier tilted his head up to do so, letting out a soft gasp. They were absolutely beautiful. He had never seen so many of them, all twinkling and dazzling in the night. The sky itself was a swirling array of colors, full of royal blues and purples with a touch of light blue and green. "Come. Lay down, you deserve to rest." He did as he said, laying next to him. They simply laid there, looking up at the sky, content in saying nothing.

It was Jaskier who broke the silence. "Y'know, one day I bet you'll have a constellation up there." Geralt raised his eyebrows with a hum.

"Oh really?"

"Yes, all the greatest heroes and legends end up there eventually. And with all the monsters you've slain, there's no doubt in my mind you'll join them," he said honestly. Geralt was quiet, not knowing what to say to that. Another bout of silence had fallen over the two. This time, it was Geralt who interrupted the quiet, surprisingly.

"Have you ever considered making a song about the stars?" he asked.

"Uhh, no not really," Jaskier admitted. "But now I think I might."

Geralt turned to look at him, tearing his gaze away from the universe. "I'd like to hear it when you do." Jaskier's lips upturned into a breathless smile.

"Alright."

Amarant wiped away his tears at the memory. He reached for his lute, and began his star song. He let all of his emotions surge forth in a beautiful melody. A rustle from the brush startled him, and his hand stilled. His enhanced vision allowed him to peer into the dark, and he scanned for the source of the noise. He could barely make out the outline of a dark horse and relaxed. He went back to his singing, and the creature wandered closer. He smiled as he played, seeing as it enjoyed his music. He sucked in a sharp breath upon seeing it step into the light.

She was tall and stout, with a shining black coat that glistened in the firelight. Her mane was long and wavy, and her tail draped to the floor, looking as soft as spun silk. But what really drew his eye was the grayish blue horn atop her head that held a pearlescent glow.

His knowledge of unicorns was limited, but he knew they could be dangerous if spooked. They were incredibly loyal creatures once they formed a bond, but the chance of ever seeing one in person was incredibly low. He supposed they acted like a normal horse personality wise, but that was just speculation. He slowly set his lute on the ground. The unicorn tossed her head with a small whiny, pawing the ground with her hoof. He held his hands out in front of him in a cautious gesture.

"Easy girl." His footing was careful, bringing him closer to the beautiful creature while still keeping a respectable distance. "My aren't you gorgeous," he said in awe. She hesitated before closing the distance between them. He let out a breathy laugh of disbelief and brought his hand up to pet her head. "I-I can't believe this... What on earth did I do to possibly deserve being graced with your presence, hm?" he questioned. He got no response. "Perhaps my life is finally getting back on track."

After petting her for another minute or two, she shoved past him not so gently and stood by the log he had been sitting on. His lute was propped against it, and she dipped her head down to inspect it. He nervously made his way over, neither wanting to scare her away or harm his beloved instrument, and carefully picked it up.

"Ah, so you like my tunes. Perhaps you'll stick around," he mused, and got a soft neigh in agreement. He couldn't help the smile that appeared on his face. "Say, what's your name? An animal as lovely as you deserves to have a beautiful name. How about Ember?" he asked. She let out a snort in apparent disgust. "Ok so that's a no... "Galaktyka?" He could tell he was closer that time by her silence, but still not quite there. He tried different names, getting varying degrees of disscontempt. He thought about how he was playing his star song when she appeared, and he lit up. "Gwiazda?"

She threw her head back, whinnying with excitement that rubbed off on him. "Gwiazda it is!" He settled in for the night, feeling much better than he had earlier. He wasn't sure if she would still be around by morning, but regardless it will have been one of the greatest things to ever happen to him.

He awoke in the morning to the feeling of soft nibbling at the back of his neck. He began to stir, a few tired giggles slipping out at the tickly feeling. His eyes fluttered open and met a pair of large blue ones. Before he could let himself be startled, be remembered the previous night.

"Good morning beautiful girl!" he greeted happily. She gave soft snort in reply and tried to press their foreheads together, causing Amarant to duck to avoid her horn. He chuckled and stroked the side of her head before standing up. "I don't suppose you plan on sticking around," he joked as he packed up his camp. There weren't many things to gather, so he was done rather quickly. He gave her one last pat before he went on his way. To his surprise, he wasn't alone.

"I'm just going to warn you now, I don't know what will happen if townspeople see you, but I can't imagine it would be good. And it's not like I can put a hat on you," he wondered aloud. She nipped at his sleeve to get his attention, and he watched in amazement as the horn vanished before his eyes. "Huh, problem solved. Now if you're going to come with me to the coast, which let's face it, you probably are, am I right? I'll need to buy a saddle and some feed. You're not too picky for plain oats, right?" The rest on the journey to the town was filled with more one sided conversations just like this. As was the rest of the journey to the sea.

~~~~

After about two weeks, they made it to the coast. Amarant sat atop Gwiazda as the vast expanse of blue stretched over the horizon. For the first time in forever it seems, things felt right. He leaned forward and patted her neck before pressing onward. Together they moved down the rocky cliff towards the shore until they reached the sand. The fine earth shifted beneath her heavy hooves, kicking up slightly with each step.

He took a deep breath through his nose, enjoying all of the fresh and earthy scents. Salt and dead fish mixed together to create an unpleasantly pleasant smell. The kind where you commented on how bad it is, only to take another whiff. He wondered to himself if he would enjoy fish blood as much as he enjoyed seafood. The tide pools were teeming with life, which would allow him to be able to feed whenever he needed. He would no longer have to worry about townsfolk catching him with their livestock.

Amarant dismounted Gwiazda, standing beside her as he took off his boots. He dug his feet a little into the sand, enjoying the feeling. It was soft and comforting. They walked closer to the water, watching the waves crash along the shore. Amarant purposefully walked so that his feet were in the water. The cool sea washed over his feet, sometimes up to his ankles, before retreating. The frothy foam barely had time to absorb into the sand before another wave brought forth more.

Ahead of him he spotted a cave at the bottom of a cliff, far enough away from the shore that it would remain dry during high tide. "I think we found our new home, girl," he said, patting her side. She tossed her head with a small neigh in agreement. After settling in and unloading his belonging into the cave, they went out to watch the setting sun. Amarant found a tide pool close by and sat on the edge. He kicked his feet gently in the water, dipping a hand in every once in a while and skimmed the top with his fingers. He watched the small ripples trailing after his hand, disturbing the peace.

Gwiazda was laying on the beach next to him, rolling in the sand. She was obviously enjoying herself as well. He watched as the fading light glistened on the water, spotting something in the distance. In a flash, it disappeared, followed by a splash. Who knows what it was, the ocean was full of creatures, and even more monsters. The sun was now resting on the horizon, beginning its journey to the unseen. Darkness would soon be upon them. That was when it was safest to hunt, and he was so very hungry.

A sudden voice startled him.

"You can't stay here." He jumped, turning to look at the owner of those words.

"Why? Is someone else living in that cave?" he asked.

"Well no-" she started, and he cut her off

"Then I see no reason to leave."

"You really shouldn't be here you know. It's not safe for sweet little boys so close to sea," she purred, propping herself up on her elbows at the edge of the tide pool.

Amarant scoffed, "Oh yeah, and what are you? An expert?"

She tilted her head in amused annoyance. "Considering I live here, yes I am." She raised herself up and sat on the edge of the rocks, putting her long shimmering tail on display. He couldn't help but stare.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you? Staring's rude." Amarant quickly tore his gaze away from her scales, only to find he had to tear them away from her bare chest. Not daring to look anywhere else, he locked eyes with her.

"My apologies, it's just- well, it's very beautiful." She gave a genuine smile before turning it into something more sly. More sinister.

"Why thank you," she said, and scooted closer. "We sirens are known for our beauty. Everything about us from our scales to our voices is exquisite. It makes it easier to lure our prey." She leaned in, "Does it scare you?"

"No." He easily held her gaze as she snarled, her spines sticking out of her back quivered.

"Why not? Do you not think that I could pull you under the water and keep you there until you drown?"

Amarant smirked, "I know you can, and I've no doubt that you've done it many times. But I've met many monsters. If anything, it's you who should be scared." She let out a laugh.

"What could you possibly do to me? I didn't see you unpack any weapons, and a human could never overpower a siren." She took a moment to look him over. "Especially not one who looks so... soft." She stroked a hand across his cheek as she spoke. Amarant put his hand atop hers.

"What makes you so sure I'm human?" This caught her attention, a spark of intrigue flashed across her pupils.

"If you're not human, what are you?"

Amarant figured, what the hell, it's been a while since he had a good night of fun. Not to mention he's never slept with a siren, and he very much wanted to change that. He gripped her arms, tugging her towards him a little roughly, but still playful enough to be flirty. She let out a giggly gasp as he growled and bared his sharp teeth.

"Guess." She stared at him with wide eyes before pulling him in, lips crashing together in a heated kiss. He returned it with the same amount of passion, gently guiding her down until they were both laying.

That night they spent it on the sand underneath the stars. The cool breeze brushed against their heated skin. She had transformed after crawling out of the water, and their legs were tangled together as she laid her head on his chest. His hand traced idle patterns on her back as he hummed. She looked down at him, "You're a singer?"

"Yes, and a good one if I say so myself. And I do," he joked. "Though I'm sure it's nothing compared to you."

She smiled, "Yes well, you're only human," she teased.

"I'm Amarant by the way," he said.

"Aquaria."

He looked into her bright blue eyes, "Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Amarant hoped this would be the first of many nights. Thankfully it was. They didn't put a label on what they had. It was a relationship based on sex and the occasional friendly conversation. She had told him what it was like underneath the waves, the beautiful cities and sea life, the terrifying depths and monsters. In return, he told her about his travels and about the people on land. He even told her about Geralt, from their meeting up until their unfortunate departure. Aquaria offered sympathy and comfort. They made quite a few songs together, though there were some notes that he just couldn't hit. She was a good friend, and he enjoyed her company. Sadly, not everything lasts forever.

They were sitting on a rock in the cave, braiding Gwiazda's mane and tail. The seasons were beginning to change now. The leaves were warm vibrant colors instead of the lush green of summer, and they were starting to fall to the ground. Aquaria looked out of the cave's mouth with a heavy sigh.

"What's wrong love? You need me to fetch you a pail of water?" Amarant asked. Sometimes she got too tired or cranky when she was out of the water for too long. She shook her head.

"Thank you, but no I'm fine. It's just, I'm going to have to go soon," she said. Her voice was low, a sad weight clinging to her words.

"Oh." His face fell just the slightest. He knew all along that this would happen, but he wished it wasn't so soon.

"The water's getting cold, and me and my choir are are heading south for the time being. I'm not sure we'll be coming back." She looked over and him, and he quickly dried his eyes from the forming tears.

"Yes well, I hope you have fun, it sounds like it's going to be lovely." She reached out a hand to cup his face, forcing him to look at her. "Don't be sad, it was fun while it lasted. And besides, a vampire and siren could never make it work. Not really." He chuckled and met her eyes.

"Maybe not, but it made a damn good song."

"Indeed it did. One of my favorites."

"It also seems to be one of the town's favorites too." They shared a sweet, chaste kiss. When their lips parted, she asked, "Can we sing it one last time?"

"Of course," he answered.

"When a monster of the night Leaves his cozy cave. After the light of day Slowly fades away.

When a creature from the deep Rises from the sea. Up upon the sand Out of waves she creeps.

Ooooh his teeth graze her scales, She tries to pull him under. Under the waves, With her siren song.

He fights the growing urge To plunge his fangs into her flesh. So he stops short of his quest And pauses in his feast.

Upon the beach they lay Next to a dim cave. A deadly love Destined to kill.

Hurt by people And hurt by scorn. Hurt by witchers, Now they're left to mourn.

People love hard, But monsters love harder. You better hide darling, Before you become a martyr.

Hurt by people And hurt by scorn. Hurt by witchers, Now they're left to mourn.

Because monsters hate hard But people hate harder. You better hide darling, Before you become a martyr.

Hurt by people And hurt by scorn. Hurt by witchers, Now they're left to mourn.

A forbidden enchanted love Of magic and monsters. A beautiful siren And her charming vampire."

It was their song, meant for each other. It was all true: no matter how compassionate a monster or beast could be, the villagers always wanted them dead. But as soon as you put something to music, they all suddenly changed their tune.

"You need to go out more. Meet other people and share your music."

"I do that," Amarant most definitely didn't whine. She placed a comforting hand on his chest.

"I know, but you barely leave the cave. It's not good for you."

"Need I remind you that the sun hurts?" he raised an eyebrow. She rolled her eyes fondly and pinched his cheek.

"I don't see you complaining about it when we go swimming."

"That's because we're together," he said. Her smile turned a bit sad.

"I'm sure we'll meet again. It's a small world after all, and I doubt you'll die anytime soon," she teased.

"True. But I'll miss you all the same."

"And I'll miss you too." They kissed once more. When they broke away, she reached behind her back for her bag. She put it in his hands, and there was a substantial weight to it. When he moved his hands he could hear the soft jingle of clinking metal.

"I want you to take this. Buy yourself that lyre you were talking about." He opened the satchel and gasped. It was full of gold coin, some still covered it moss and wrapped in seaweed.

"H-how..." he trailed off.

"There's quite a few shipwrecks, and you'd be surprised at just how much coin gets lost at sea."

He looked at her, love and adoration clear in his eyes. "Thank you. Thank you so much," he wrapped her in a warm hug. "Every time I play it, I'll think of you."

"You better hurry before the shops close," she said. He hopped up, bag still in hand.

"Yes, of course. Gwiazda!" he called, and she trotted over. She mounted her in one swift easy motion. He held out his hand to help Aquaria up, but she remained where she sat. She gave him a look. "Oh," he said in realization. This was goodbye.

"We both know it'll be easier this way," she admitted. He nodded, knowing it to be true but not liking it anymore than she did.

"'Til we meet again," he said.

"Until then," she sighed heavily. She rose up, walking over to him. He leant down to share one final kiss. He rode out of the cave and into town, knowing exactly where he needed to go to buy the instrument. He was lucky that the small ocean side town had such a place.

He returned to an empty cave.

It was sadistically humorous, he thought, how everyone he had truly cared for left him in some way.

~~~~

Geralt was dealing with a lot of emotions. Emotions a witcher shouldn't have, yet he felt all the same. He truly was heartbroken at hearing of his bard's passing. Yet he didn't want to believe it. He was feeling incredibly guilty and angry at himself for driving Jaskier away. He made sure that he would not make the same mistake with Ciri. He saw much of Jaskier in her, funny enough. The two loved to talk, rambling on about anything that crossed their minds. They were bright and cheery, and their smile could light up a room. It was even able to warm his once cold heart.

Now he was angrier, less willing to engage in conversation with Ciri. She definitely picked up on it. He could smell it on her; the concern, the sadness, the fear for his well being. He kept assuring her he was fine, but the fact that he was doing so just proved he wasn't.

He worked more often now, taking fewer and shorter breaks between jobs. Ciri told him to slow down, to pace himself. He told her he knew what he was doing and didn't need to be mothered. She just scoffed and told him it wouldn't be the worst thing if was. She definitely reminded him of Jaskier, and it hurt.

They were on their way to their next hunt when Ciri spoke up. "When are you going to admit you're not okay?" she questioned. His head whipped around to look at her.

"I'm fine," he insisted through clenched teeth.

"You clearly aren't though! I know witchers aren't good with emotions, but I also know he was your friend. It's not healthy to keep it all in like this," she said.

"Well it's worked for me before. And it will pass. In time," he added.

"You know as well as I do that that's not good."

"Hm." And that was the last he'd say on the subject. Until she would inevitably bring it up again. However their attention was preoccupied as they approached the nest of sirens that had been bothering seemingly everyone in the nearby town. Singing at all hours of the night, letting no one rest, and drawing a few people away from their families and into the water where they drowned.

They both shoved cotton in their ears to be protected from their songs. Geralt could easily spot the signs that they had taken root in the river and readied his sword.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Witcher," came an unexpected noise from above. In the branches of a close tree, a siren laid wrapped in the entangled vines stretched across the limbs. Her large wings were spread out, basking in the sun the top of the canopy provided. "Me and my family have done nothing wrong."

Geralt slid his sword back into its hilt seeing that she was capable of reason. "The villagers seem to think otherwise." She had to laugh.

"Don't they always?"

"You've lured men and women down to the river to drown them," he deadpanned. She gasped in mock offense.

How rude to throw such accusations at me, I've done nothing of the sort!" There was a beat of silence in which Geralt looked extremely unamused. "Okay I can't say the same for the others, but it's what we're meant to do."

"What will it take to make you all leave without having to kill you?" he cut to the chase.

"Well I think just saying that will do the trick," she said, and both Geralt and Ciri could hear the tinge of fear in her voice. She flew back down to the water, propping her elbows on the bank. She rested her head in her hands, studying him. "You're Geralt, aren't you?" she asked. The questioned seemed to grab his attention.

"Yes. How did you know?" his voice was gruff one warning.

"I heard stories from a dear friend. He speaks quite fondly of you." She smirked to herself when she saw his entire frame stiffen as he took a step closer.

"What-" his voice was barely audible, so he cleared his throat and tried again. "What's his name?"

She studied him before deciding it was safe to talk. Amarant. Though it's not his true name, just what he chooses to go by," she explained. Geralt's heart leaped at the prospect of Jaskier still being alive.

"Thank you. You don't know how much it means to me." He bent down and shook her hand. "But you and your choir better find a new home before another witcher shows up and isn't as merciful," he warned. She nodded and swam off downstream.

Geralt and Ciri continued on their trek across the continent with a renewed vigor. Geralt began to talk a little more, and if you squinted hard enough it seemed as though there was the slightest pep in his step. He stopped acting rash and too bold on hunts, making more sensible moves and efficient kills. Just the faintest glimmer of hope had changed the man completely.

~~~~

Geralt wasn't the only one who had heard word of Jaskier's demise. Yennefer felt conflicted; while she was never close with the man and didn't particularly like him, she knew that he meant something to Geralt. And their bickering relationship full of teases and insults was a fun dynamic to play off of, and she was saddened to hear that he died so young. Humans were fragile beings and she would need to get used to hearing of the deaths of people she once knew.

She was gathering ingredients. Her inventory was growing low, and she needed to build up her stock. She had already been to the mountains and forests, gathering what she needed. Her tiresome journey had lead her to the coast. She would probably stay for a few more days to find what she needs and rest up in an inn.

She sat by herself at the tavern, enjoying her meal in peace. Music flowed through the room as people sang along with a bard in the corner, tossing their coin freely. She rolled her eyes, figuring it would be wiser for them to keep their money for their selves. Whoever was singing did sound good, she'd give them that, but people threw away their coin too easily. I mean, all they do is sing and pluck a few chords, it's not that hard. She tore off a piece of bread, popping it in her mouth to chew.

She finally raised her head, tearing her gaze away from her plate and scanned the room. People sat at tables, enjoying their meals while a crowd formed in front of a makeshift stage. She saw a flash of brown hair and blue eyes. She did a double take, squinting her eyes to peer above the crowd. A familiar lute sat in a chair near a corner, while the man swayed back and forth, strumming on a lyre. His song was sad and sweet, bringing a few patrons to tears. There was only one voice she knew that sounded like that.

Yennefer stood and worked her way through the people until she could see the man fully. Hair grown out to his shoulders, facial hair trimmed into a stylish goatee, and eyes as blue as the sky itself. He wore a flowing cream colored blouse with tights that hugged his body in all of the right places, and topped it all off with a purple hat. He looked different, but it was undoubtedly Jaskier.

He was singing a newer song, but one that she had heard all the same. People humming the tune from town to town, and a bard here or there performing it. She took her time to listen to the lyrics, and I mean really listen. Hearing each struck chord, processing the words and their meanings, watching his expression as he sang. She couldn't tell if the song was about himself or Geralt.

She saw him scan the small group, and it was easy for him to spot her. His nose scrunched you the slightest bit in disdain. She offered a small wave, and he nodded at her in acknowledgement, his hands too busy at the moment.

Towards the end of the song, he locked eyes with her, making sure she got the full brunt of his words as he belted, "A dead bard sings no songs. Dead men tell no tales, And dead witches can't cast spells." Okay, yeah, that one stung.

As he finished, everyone cheered, tossing their coin his way. He bowed, giving his thanks and blowing kisses to women and men alike. She called out trying to get his attention.

"Jaskier! Jaskier!"

His head immediately whipped around at the familiar name, knowing exactly who had said it. He feigned innocence.

"Yes, he was quite good. Perhaps one of the best in our time. This next song is dedicated to Jaskier!" The crowd practically roared their approval. He switched to his lute, putting the strap around his body. "How about O Gwiazda, eh? A star song for the man amongst the stars!"

Yennefer practically had to yell for her voice to be heard. "Why not one of his songs?" This seemed to be a popular idea as requests started flooding in.

He looked around nervously, tugging at his collar. "I-I'm sorry, I don't believe I can hit some of those notes," he started, only for her to interject.

"Nonsense! I think you'd sound just like him," she challenged. The smirk she wore could kill. Oh she was good.

Jaskier was quick though. "Now there's really no need to insult the dead," he joked, earning a few laughs. But as soon as she yelled the words "Fishmonger's Daughter," he knew he lost. Everyone joined her chant, asking him to play. Damnit, it was one of his most popular songs that no one could resist, not even himself. And so he performed. And he did so perfectly.

He weaved in and out of bodies as they all sang and clapped along. He sent a few winks, making a few ladies swoon. When he finished, he declared that he was parched and would take a break. He was lounging with a very giggly brunette when Yennefer approached him.

"Do you mind if I steal him for a second?" she asked. The girl raised a brow and looked her up and down.

"Depends. Do you plan on giving him back?"

"Yes," she assured. "I only wish to speak with him for a few minutes." The girl relented and let him go. She scooted off of his lap so he could stand.

"Don't worry love, I'll be back soon. She's just an old friend and we need to catch up."

"Don't leave me waiting too long," she said. He lead Yennefer outside of the door to make sure no one else was listening in on the conversation. As soon as the door closed, she started.

"You seem to have settled in quite nicely Jaskier," she said, putting emphasis on his name. He however, was persistent in his denial.

"That's not my name."

She tilted her head, "Oh? Then what is it?"

He rolled his eyes, "If you must know, I'm Amarant." He extended his hand for her to shake. "And you are?"

She looked down at his offered hand. "You already know." He chuckled, putting his arm down.

"I assure you I do not."

She sighed, figuring it would be easier to just play along. "Yennefer of Vengerberg."

"Ah yes! I've heard of you, and might I say that you are even more beautiful in person," he said with a flourish. He brought her delicate hand up to kiss it.

"Flattery will get you nowhere Jaskier."

"Look," he said, all charm leaving his voice. "I'm really not who you think I am. And I'm getting quite fed up with being mistaken for him. I'm my own person you know," he said pointedly.

"I would think you were too clever to believe I'd actually fall for that, yet here you continue to lie to my face," she stated. His mouth hung open a bit in shock.

"Okay what do you want you snake?" he hissed. She held her hands up in surrender.

"No need for names. I simply came here looking for ingredients, yet I found something better."

He glared at her, "I don't believe you."

"It's the truth," she said simply. There was a moment of silence before she continued. "Everyone thinks you're dead." Call him crazy, but he could swear he heard a touch of sadness in her voice.

"Good." He folded his arms over his chest, turning away. She touched his arm gently, prompting his to look at her.

"Why?" she asked. He scoffed.

"Must everything have a reason?" he pondered aloud. He turned to her fully. "I needed a fresh start," he said simply.

"I know there's more to it than that," she said.

"Oh there's lots more to it, but you have no right to be disclosed to that information!"

"I know it has something to do with Geralt."

He let out a high pitched, slightly manic laugh. "Oh do you now? Congratulations dear, you just scratched the surface!" He leaned in her face, making a show of clapping his hands in mock praise. "Do you want a medallion for your wit?"

She smacked his hands away, a small frown on her face.

"Not everything has to do with that boar headed idiot," he spat. She could tell she struck a nerve. His voice was full of hurt and hate, his eyes hardened, turning to ice, and his lips curled into a sneer.

"I know he hurt you," she said softly. He scoffed, "He did more than that. He broke my fucking heart."

Yennefer wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug that surprised the both of them. She whispered in his ear, "If it makes you feel better, you did the same."

He pulls away, shooting her a quizzical look. "I highly doubt that. He got his wish, he's rid of me. The bastard should be jumping for joy," he stated plainly. She gave him a look that he couldn't quite read.

"He's not."

Jaskier couldn't help the slight smile that tugged at his lips. He knew it was probably wrong for him to be happy about that, but he had to admit it felt good. "Nice to know." He pulled her away, holding her at arms length. "Well this little reunion was quite nice, but I have company to entertain. It was lovely to see you again, really, but please leave and don't bother me again. I made a new life for a reason." He started to leave, pausing in the doorway and looked back at her. "Oh, and don't tell Geralt about all this. The last thing I want is to dig up that mess of a past. It's already hard enough to forget about him as it is," he mumbled the last part to himself as the door shut. She was still able to hear however. And one thing was for certain: she was not planning on keeping this to herself.

She had no idea where he was, or when she'd see him again. But she knew that fate would bring the two of them together once more.

~~~~

Ciri had grown into a beautiful and powerful young lady under Geralt's protective wing. She had learned well and came into her full power. The lion cub of Cintra was now a strong lioness. Five years had passed since their brush with the mysterious siren, and that had been the last they had heard any word of Jaskier. Until chance to happened that they came across an old friend in the woods.

"Yen!" Ciri exclaimed upon seeing her, and rushed over to hug her.

"My, look how you've grown!" Yennefer said, looking her up and down. She beamed brightly.

Geralt was slower, more calm in his approach. "It's nice to see you again," he said as he dismounted Roach.

"I can say the same," she said as she walked over to him, greeting him with a warm embrace. They set up camp together, Ciri and Yennefer gathering firewood while Geralt hunted for their dinner. They had a nice meal of rabbit stew, and caught up while they ate. It was getting darker each minute as the sun slipped farther under the horizon. Ciri had gone to bed as Geralt and Yennefer continued to talk over the diminishing fire.

It was far into the night, ensuring the girl was asleep. Roach stood tied to a nearby tree, not giving them much thought as she too drifted off. An owl hooted overhead. She took a deep breath. There was no easy way to put this, but he needed to know.

"I saw Jaskier."

He froze, his cat like eyes bore into her, deciding if she was telling the truth. "What?"

"When I was gathering ingredients from the coast I stopped in Low View. I went to the tavern where I saw Jaskier performing, but he wasn't Jaskier," she explained. She could see the gears beginning to turn in his brain. Finally he spoke.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he asked.

"I didn't know where you were, and it wasn't the right time." She subtly nodded over to Ciri's calm form. He only hummed.

"Thank you for telling me," he said.

"What're you going to do?" she asked, already knowing his answer.

"Ciri and I leave for Low View first thing tomorrow."

~~~~

It had been three years since Yennefer had been in the tavern. Amarant had first been on edge constantly, always expecting Geralt to walk through the doors. As time passed, that anxiety diminished. Perhaps she would do as Jaskier wished and simply not tell, but he highly doubted that. Or maybe she just hasn't run into Geralt. Or maybe Geralt just straight up did not care. Gods, do not let it be the third option.

Logically, he knew it was only a matter of time before their paths crossed again. It was honestly inevitable, they had done it many times before and it always ended with Jaskier leaving with him, ready to compose some new songs for the White Wolf. Only this time it was different. Geralt didn't want him, and he certainly didn't like him, that much he made clear.

And still, despite his best interests, he hoped he would see him. Wished for it almost every day. To see that familiar face and hear his voice. Longing for what once was. And then he'd immediately turn back around, scolding himself for wanting such a thing. Reminding himself of the hurt he had brought on. Remembering the fact that he was a vampire, and if Geralt knew... He couldn't bring himself to picture such a thing. But he knew what would happen.

The door had been opening and closing all night with patrons coming and going. Amarant had already made a good bit of coin, and he was only really just getting started. He belted out into the small space, singing his heart out and laying his soul on the line.

He didn't know when exactly he felt a change in the air, but he couldn't deny the shift in energy. It didn't take him long until his eyes fell on Geralt. He'd know those broad shoulders and white hair anywhere. His gaze hardened into a glare from across the room. They made eye contact, and Jaskier could see the recognition on the other man's face. After all, facial hair could only do so much to change his appearance. Perfect timing too. He was in the middle of singing I Once Knew A Man, now aiming the song directly at him and adding a fierce bite to his words.

Geralt sighed and watched him, knowing Jaskier was not happy to see him. The song was undoubtedly a jab at him, and he could feel guilt boiling up from years passed. It had been quite a few years since their fight at the mountain top, and he had been kept busy with work and caring for Ciri. They had been on the road for years, and never once heard word of Jaskier. Sometimes he would forget, until they found themselves in yet another tavern with no sign of the joyous bard. He would hear a familiar tune that got his hopes up until he realized it wasn't him. Then the terrible guilt and grief of hearing of his friend's death. His only true friend. And he had ruined it.

And yet there he was, alive and well. He saw another instrument propped against a corner. He recalls Jaskier once mentioning wanting to play the lyre. Good for him. A decent crowd was formed around him, dancing and singing along. His skin seemed to glow under the candle light and he wore a blue shirt with a purple vest paired with a matching hat. His blue pants hugged him in all the right places, flattering his figure quite nicely. He had grown his hair out too, and Geralt had to admit it was a good look on him. His goatee was well kept and accentuated his jawline.

"Are you drooling?" Ciri asked from across the table, her nose scrunching slightly. Geralt immediately jerks his head away wipes at his mouth. When his hand remains dry he shoots the giggling princess a look of annoyance. "Well you might as well have!" she teased and he gently kicked her leg to tell her to stop. She just smiled and watched as Jaskier played. He continued straight into another song, this time a peppy love ballad. Geralt couldn't help the simmering jealousy bubbling in his gut.

Each time he got to the chorus, he glared directly at Geralt. Hurt by witchers... Geralt knew he had been cruel and unfair. He had every right to hate him, but he wished he wouldn't. At least, hate him less once he apologized. His medallion rest warm on his chest as it did every time Jaskier was near. His mouth formed beautiful words, his voice like silk slipping into the air. As he sang, Geralt could see the tips of his fangs peaking out from under his lips.

After some applause and the throwing of money, he rose up with a flourish.

"It seems like we have a special guest in the corner, everyone say hi! I think we should dedicate this next song to him, a little tune we all know and love!" Jaskier's eyes burned with mischief and anger. He knew Geralt hated attention more than just about anything. And Jaskier was nothing, if not petty.

"When a humble bard," he began walking forward as he started the song, and people cleared his path. He was walking straight to Geralt. The witcher kept his features neutral. "With Geralt of Rivia, along came this song."

Fuck.

As the first verse came, he took a sharp turn right before he reached their table and ducked into the crowd, making his way through the room.

"They came after me, with masterful deceit," he stood on a chair, one leg propped up on the back as he sang. "Broke down my lute and they kicked in my teeth!" In a swift graceful movement, he leaned forward and knocked the chair down, easily walking onto the ground. He continued to dance and pull people from their seats. He stopped in front of Ciri, making a show of inviting her to dance, which she eagerly accepted. The look on Geralt's face was priceless.

Of course Jaskier was up on the tables. Hopping from one to the other, taking his time to show off a bit. He had been waiting for this. He's a performer, and he wanted nothing more than to put on a show. The song was nearing its end, and he made his way to Geralt's table. He was there for the last verse. He stood above him while he sang, winking down at him. For a moment, Geralt thought things were good. That he would apologize and everything would go back to normal. But the smell of pent up rage, hurt and resentment told him otherwise.

"Toss a coin to your Witcher O Valley of Plenty, O Valley of Plenty, a-oh Toss a coin to your Witcher A friend of humanity," he finished off by kneeling down in front of Geralt. He made it a point to look in his eyes, to make sure he knew what he did and that he sure didn't need him.

Everyone cheered, and the sound of coin being thrown in the air rang out, clinging on the hard floor. Amarant wore a bitter yet smug smirk on his lips, "Hello Geralt." His chest heaved up and down as he tried to regain the oxygen in his lungs. Beads of sweat were sprinkled across his forehead. And despite the venom in his words, Geralt couldn't help the small quirk of his lips as he looked up at the angry bard.

"Hi Jaskier." His voice was breathier than he meant it to be, but could you blame him? He had thought him to be dead for years and here he was, in the flesh, a mere foot away.

"Sorry, there's no Jaskier here," he said flippantly. Geralt blinked.

"Jaskier I have eyes, you're right here," he softly argued. He didn't come all this way to be dismissed so easily.

"The name's Amarant now. Jaskier died on that mountain top as far as I'm concerned," he looked at him with unamused eyes, lips curling into a sneer ever so slightly. "If that's all you came for, I believe your business is done," he said, gesturing towards the door.

Geralt stared, dumbfounded. "I- Jaskier please, I-I'm sorry," he started. Jaskier cut him off with a cruel laugh.

"It's much too late for apologies now. I have a new life now, one not tied to your name. You have no idea how hard it is to forget someone when people are constantly asking you where they are." Geralt looked down at his lap, avoiding his gaze. Amarant tilted his head. "Then yet again, maybe you do."

He hoped off from the table and started to walk away only for Geralt to grab his hand. The touch was gentle but firm, and Amarant could feel just how much desperation was in that one motion. He turned back around, but withdrew his hand from his grip. Open to hear what he had to say, yet signaling that he owed him nothing and could leave at any time.

"Please Jaskier. Let me apologize," he pleaded.

Jaskier let out a heavy sigh, placing his hands on his hips. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ciri lingering in the diminishing crowd. She hung back, standing awkwardly, unsure if it was okay to approach them. He clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes and gestured for her to come over. When she hesitated still, he gently guided her back to her seat.

"It's okay darling, Geralt and I are just going to have a little chat." He wore a soft and kind expression aimed at the girl. She gave a small timid grin, and Jaskier flashed her his charismatic smile to reassure her that everything was fine. Gods did Geralt miss that smile. It could light up even the dimmest rooms and melt the coldest of hearts... After all it had melted his. It had only taken about a week if that before Geralt grew to miss it. The bright flash of teeth after a performance, a sly quirk of his lips when flirting, his tongue poking out between his teeth when he thinks of something funny. It was all so dynamic, just like him. That smile was always something he could rely on. It was there when he woke up after sharing a night in the woods or at an inn, after a successful hunt, followed by a night of drinking and laughter. It was always waiting for him when their paths would meet once more on the road. And it was gone from Jaskier's face as soon as he turned to look at him.

It had been replaced with a truly unhappy look. A frown etched its way onto his face and his brows drew together. From the angle Geralt sat, he could see the glisten of held back tears.

"Jaskier I know I hurt you. Not just with my words but, physically too. I- I know I wasn't a good friend. I was afraid of growing close to someone, so I did what I could to try to distance myself, and in doing so, put you at risk more than once. I really am sorry for everything I said. Not just on the mountain, but before that too. You really are a fantastic bard and a truly good friend. I admit I took your company for granted, and being apart for so long gave me a lot of time to reflect on that."

Jaskier didn't know what to say or do or feel. For years he hated and missed Geralt, wanted nothing more than to slap him across the face before bringing him in for a kiss. He had never felt more torn as he listened to the man speak. This was probably the most words he'd ever heard him say.

Geralt scooted back in the booth, making room for him to sit. Amarant eyed the seat before sitting across from him with Ciri. He didn't know if he could trust himself to hold strong if he were so close to Geralt. If he was able to hear his slow heartbeat close to his ear and smell the sweat and grime that never seemed to wash completely off his skin and hair. So he kept his distance, folding his hands together as he watched him. Steely blue eyes bore into every inch of him. Geralt shifted under the intense gaze, knowing Jaskier had every right and reason to hate him still.

"I don't want to be without you Jaskier."

"You don't want me, you just don't want to be alone!" he argued. Geralt cut in before he had the chance to say anything else.

"At first I thought the same. I'd gotten used to traveling with a companion, and when I found Ciri I thought things would be the same. But they weren't. I still wanted you." Jaskier couldn't help but to snap his head up at hearing those words. For years he had wanted nothing more than to hear Geralt say that. He only allowed himself to be hopeful for a second before he remembered everything all over again and rage filled him once more.

"That's funny, I remember you wanting something completely different! I was such a burden, such a nuisance to you so I did what you asked me. I got the fuck out of your life Geralt of Rivia, and gave you your life's blessing." The witcher flinched at the use of his full name, feeling much like a scolded child. Ciri awkwardly picked at her plate, avoiding looking at either of them but still obviously listening.

"I looked for you, you know. After our fight, but every time I thought I found you, you were already gone."

"Yes well, that's what a traveling bard does. We travel," he deadpanned. Geralt rolled his eyes at the sarcasm.

"It seemed like you were purposefully avoiding me."

"Glad to know my efforts were acknowledged," he quipped with a sneer. Geralt stared at him with something akin to hurt on his face.

"You didn't have to fake your own death." Amarant looked away, mouth hanging open slightly as he thought of what to say. He tilted his head and glanced back at him.

"I have my own reasons, and believe it or not they don't always revolve around you. Now if you'll excuse me," he made to stand, brushing himself off before turning to the door. Geralt followed, and Ciri trailed after him. Amarant made sure to slam the door in his face, but he easily caught it before it could close. They walked out into the cool night, a gentle breeze blew Geralt's hair in his face. He didn't care enough to brush it away.

"Damnit stop following me! Do you have any idea how hard it is to try and forget you?" Jaskier yelled at him. Geralt took a cautious step forward, as if he were a wild animal that would spook if he moved too quickly.

"Then don't." Another step closer. "I really am sorry for everything Jaskier. Now, you don't have to forgive me. But please, let me try to earn you back."

The tears that he had been fighting back finally won, and spilled over. "How? Where do we even start?" Geralt went out on a limb and reached up to cup his cheek, wiping away a single tear.

"How 'bout we start here?" he asked. Before Jaskier could question him, he leaned forward, pressing their lips together. Jaskier was taken aback, eyes wide before they fluttered closed and he found himself melting. He had wanted this for so long. Then he felt Geralt's tongue slip into his mouth, running over his fangs and he remembered why this could never work. His eyes flew open and he pulled himself back. Reacting on instinct, not even thinking, his hand collided with Geralt's cheek with a loud slap.

Geralt didn't even flinch. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"How dare you," Jaskier interrupted, "Waltz back into my life after eight years and kiss me like I've always dreamed of you doing, thinking it'll fix everything?"

"I know it can't fix everything, but it's a start," Geralt said, holding him by his forearms. His calloused hands felt wonderful against his smooth skin. Damnit why was he making this so hard? Jaskier tilted his head to the side, not wanting to look at him directly. He cast his gaze to the side, seeing the moonlight illuminate his features in a silver glow. "Please, I can't lose you again."

"Geralt, don't get me wrong I wish this could work, but it just can't. You're a witcher and I'm a-" he caught himself. Geralt cocked his head in that oh so familiar way of his. Unmistakable fear was clear on Jaskier's face as he realized the slip up he just made. If he had any blood in him it would've surely drained from his face. He had a sickening feeling in his stomach and he tried to turn to leave.

Geralt pulled him closer, not ready to let go. He lifted a hand and raised his chin so he could meet his eyes. His voice was the softest he had ever heard it. "Jaskier, I know." Terror now replaced by confusion.

"You- what?" Geralt could pinpoint the exact moment when his brain switched from autopilot to manual, trying to piece it all together. "How?"

"Like you said, I'm a witcher. At first I didn't know exactly what you were, scent is normally carried by blood and even though I could smell emotions and a few other small things, I couldn't place your scent. It was a strange, empty kind of smell. Then I noticed little things here and there. And your fangs aren't exactly subtle." Jaskier stood there dumbfounded by all of this new information.

"If you knew, why did you let me stay? Why didn't you kill me?" His eyes glistened, his mouth slightly agape. He subconsciously reached out, fists gripping tightly to the leather armor. Geralt drew his brows together at the question.

"You're my friend, I wouldn't do that. I only kill when it's necessary, you know that, and you posed no threat. When you first approached, I was skeptical, but then I learned better. I know you Jaskier, you're a good and kind man. And in all the time we spent traveling together not once did you try to feed on humans," he said.

"How do you know?" Jaskier asked. He was still afraid. Afraid of losing him again, afraid of himself, the uncertainty of it all.

"Because I just know." Jaskier was silent, not daring to say a word. Geralt's golden eyes shimmered with longing, and he held him closer. He needed to feel their bodies pressed together. "Don't go."

Jaskier bit his lip, looking at him through his lashes. "Okay. I'll stay." Geralt broke into a wide grin, the widest Jaskier had ever seen. "This in no way means you're off the hook," Jaskier made sure to set the record straight. "You have a lot to make up for."

"I know, and I will." He raised a hand and stroked it through Jaskier's hair, a soft smile on his face. "I've missed you."

Jaskier placed his hand atop Geralt's and leaned into the touch. "I've missed you too." Geralt slid his hand down, cupping his chin and tilted his head up slightly. They shared another kiss, this one slower and with more passion. When they pulled away for a breath, Jaskier asked, "So, where are we off to next?"

Geralt smirked, tugging him even closer so he was pressed flush against his body. His arms wrapped around him, hands resting at the small of his back. The moon bathed them in her silver shine. "I was thinking of maybe staying here for a bit. At the coast."

Jaskier was beaming. "That sounds lovely." And so the vampire, the witcher, and the princess settled in a cave on the shore.

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noladyme · 4 years

Text

The Frog Princess. Chapter 5

She had no wish to be bound down to anyone, but Y/N none the less found herself being dragged across the continent; to marry King Foltest of Temeria. In stead of pomp and spectacle; she was accompanied by the witcher, Geralt of Rivia. Their travels would bring both monsters, lust, love; and heartache. All soundtracked by a endearing buffoon of a bard, named Jaskier.

TW: Violence, language, sexual themes. Rated M.

We spent the following days moving through interchanging woodland and fields. There wasn’t much interaction between us, except for the occasional necessary one. Food. Someone needing to tinkle – Jaskier. Resting. A pack of wild dogs; quickly disposed of, by the witcher. Someone needing to tinkle – again…

The silence wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable; but after three days and nights; it was becoming deafening. Jaskier finally broke it, by beginning to strum his lute. “… The curs’ eyes, they shone red; we were surely dead… No…”, he tried. “The frightened princess cried; Witcher! Don’t let me die!...”.

“How about: The sixth time the bard had to piss, the angry witcher hissed?”, I sneered. Geralt snorted, trying to stifle laughter.

Jaskier frowned. “You should probably let a professional handle the songwriting”. “Let us know when we meet one”, the witcher grumbled. The bard scoffed, offended. “Sometimes I wonder why I let you travel with me”, he said, and went to walk a few paces in front of us.

We walked in silence for a little while longer; a spattering of cottages in the distance. “Jaskier said you called me an overrated sell-sword? When?”, Geralt asked. “While you were paying the fisherman for our passage from Skellige”, I admitted. “You were being an ass”. “Well, you were being a brat”, he smirked. “Yes…”, I said. I looked at him. “I didn’t think you cared what I thought of you”. He simply grunted. “You’ve spent three days thinking about that?”, I smirked. “I have my professional pride”, he mumbled.

“Apparently only one of us is allowed to have that”, Jaskier called from in front of us, still sulking. I felt bad for him. “I’m sorry for making fun of your song”, I said. “You’re a talented bard, Jaskier”. He looked back over his shoulder at me, one brow lifted. “Talented enough for a wedding feast?”, he said. I looked down. “If it’s mine, I’d prefer silence”, I mumbled. “Silence, and alcohol”.

Geralt traced my face, and frowned slightly, before looking forward again. “We’ll be in Tigg by tomorrow evening”, he said; and would no longer meet my eyes.

---

Tigg was a colorful, small stronghold; that overlooked a village and some brightly painted military barracks. As the witcher had said, we were at its gates just as the sun was setting over the fields.

Opening the gates, were two clearly intoxicated soldiers; one of which had a giggling woman – in a scandalous level of undress – waiting for him in his shelter behind the wall. Sounds of laughing and clinking glasses came from the main hall in the middle of the courtyard.

“Ah, Tigg!”, Jaskier said. “Hurry, we’re already late for the party”. “What party?”, I asked. “It’s the Baron Coodcoodlaks birthday week!”, he answered with a bright smile.

Leaving Roach in the stables; we went to join the festivities. The doors opened to a brightly lit room decorated in Cintran colors. All around us, men and women were cheering and laughing; and the air smelled of fried meat and ale.

“The entertainment has arrived!”, a thin and whiskered man; standing on top of the main table, yelled. He jumped to the floor, and walked towards us. “You…”, he said – pointing at Jaskier, “… are late!”. Jaskier bowed deeply. “My deepest regrets, baron. I’ve been caught up in monster-hunting, and protecting fair maidens from wild dogs”. He grinned at the colorfully dressed man.

The baron turned to look at the witcher and me. I realized then, that I’d met him before. His eyes returned my recognition. “My lady Y/N!”. “Baron Eylembert”, I smiled, as he grabbed my hand to kiss.

The baron was known for his animal sound impersonations, and his love of women and drink – giving him the nickname of Coodcoodlak.

He pulled me to the middle of the floor. “Laddies and gentlepeople! This is the fair lady Y/N – future queen of Temeria”. All eyes in the room turned towards me; and I felt instantly uncomfortable.

Next to me; Geralt tensed up – examining the room. His gaze lingered on a group of men sitting at a table in a corner. They looked grim; dressed in black, and carrying swords at their hips. The ladies at the table seemed unable to attract their attentions; not for want of trying.

The baron dragged me along to sit at his table, and poured me a goblet of something that smelled familiar. “Skellige mead”, he smiled at me. “A little taste of home”. I twitched at his use of the word home. We saluted each other with our goblets, and drank. “I have not seen you since… was it at the Capital? The princess Pavetta’s 10’th birthday!”, he said. “You, my dear, have not changed a day. Maybe a bit more… inspiring to the… carnal senses”, he winked and leered at me. I heard Geralt make a sound like a growl from next to me. His tense disposition had not relaxed one bit. He seemed in attack mode, and ready to draw his sword at any moment. He must feel a desperate duty to keep me pure for my husband, I thought.

I cleared my throat. “Yes, it was the princess’ 10’th celebration”. My one and only – other – visit to the continent. The baron licked his lips, and smirked at me. “How is your wife?”, I asked, and took another sip of my goblet. He groaned. “Still sickly, I’m afraid. She spends most of her time in the Capital, tending to her fragile nerves”. “And yet, you’re still here at Tigg”, I said. “Yes, well… the queen needs me to keep this stronghold. And I must tend to my duties”, he answered. “Music!”, he called to Jaskier, who instantly began a lively tune.

The men from the table in the corner began capitulating to their lady friends’ advances. The witcher seemed to relax in his seat. He took a piece of meat from the tray in front of him. The baron looked at him.

“You’re Geralt of Rivia. The Butcher of Blaaviken”. The witcher flinched at the nickname. He grunted in response. “I am”. “I don’t remember inviting you to this feast; but you are very welcome none the less. You must have some intriguing stories to tell!”, the baron said, and looked at him with beaming eyes. Geralt chuckled. “That’s what I have him for”, he nodded in Jaskiers direction.

The bard had apparently finished “my” song. “Foul mouthed lady, be kind onto me And I’ll be your thrall, I will never flee. Foul mouthed princess, have mercy, I plea And I shall be ever a servant of thee…”, he sang, goading the crowd on to join him in the chorus. “The foulmouthed princess of the Skellige Isles – everyone! – The foulmouthed princess, the foulmouthed princess, the foulmouthed princess of the Skellige isles!”

My cheeks flushed red. Geralt stifled a smile next to me. “It’s not funny”, I sneered. “Yes, it is”, he said. “Well, fuck you very much”, I grumbled.

“The foulmouthed princess of the Skellige isles!”, Jaskier finished to a roar of applause; turned to look at me, and bowed, with a wink.

The baron applauded along with his guests; and threw a handful of silver coins on the floor in front of Jaskier; who gathered them up with a deep bow at the man. “Well…”, the baron said, “… I am very happy that you showed up to this celebration”. He placed a hand on my thigh; squeezing it. Geralt tensed up again. “And, the night isn’t over yet. There is so much more fun to be had”. He wiggled his brow suggestively.

I swallowed hard. “Baron, I…”. “Come now, my lady”, he interrupted. “I can’t let Foltest have all the fun. Think of the stories we’ll both have to tell! The queen of Temeria; cockadoodled by Coodcoodlak!”. He let out a rooster’s crow; and the room joined him in the sound.

I grabbed his wrist, and pried his hand away from my leg. “Though your offer is very generous; I’ve had a rather trying few days, and desperately need some rest”. The baron sighed. “Yes, yes. I’ll have my man prepare a room for you. Witcher; I’m guessing you’ll be fine sleeping by the stables”. Geralt grunted. “No!”, I said. “The witcher is my bodyguard; and has orders not to leave my side”. I wasn’t certain that the famous Rooster of Tigg wouldn’t try to sneak his way into my bed as I slept. And I’d grown used to have Geralt near me.

The baron looked at me; and then at Geralt – lifting an eyebrow. “I see…”, he smirked. “I’ll have them set up a cot by the door. You can stay for the fireworks later this week!”.

“No need. We leave in the morning”, the witcher said gruffly, and stood up to leave. “But this is just the first night of the celebration!”, the baron proclaimed with a pitched voice. “Foltest is eager to meet his future wife”, Geralt answered; and pulled back my chair for me to stand. “Fine”, the Baron grunted. “Send the sweaty bastard my well wishes. I’ll probably be to hung over in the morning to see you off”. He stood up, and took my hand; kissing it. “I wish you good health and many sons, my lady! Gods know, that feeble minded daughter of his should be kept well away from the throne”.

I nodded politely, and we left the room in haste – Geralts hand ghosting my lower back.

“Three cheers for lady Y/N; the queen of Temeria!”, I heard from behind us. “Hip, hip, hooray!...”.

---

The room was warm and dimly lit. There was a smoldering fireplace, and a pitcher of ale had been left on the table. Behind a lavishly embroidered divider, a tub of hot water was waiting for me to have a bath.

The witcher closed the door, and bolted it. “We need to be more careful”, he grumbled. “We’ve made to much of a display of who you are already”. I didn’t answer. “I won’t let him come in here”, Geralt said. “I know”, I answered. “Wouldn’t want him touching the king’s package”.

The witcher groaned something I couldn’t make out. “… not it”. “What?”, I asked. He sighed. “You can take a bath. I’ll rebuild the fire”. I frowned at him.

Once behind the divider, I removed my dress and my chemise; leaving me naked, save for the bandage on my knee. I untied it gingerly, revealing the wound to have almost healed into a thin red scar. The witchers treatment had worked.

I stepped into the tub; lowering my body into the water; gasping loudly from the heat.

“Are you all right?”, Geralt asked from behind the divider. “Yes”, I answered. “It’s just hot”. He grumbled something again.

“If you’re going to talk to me, at least do it audibly, so I can respond in kind”, I said. “So now you want to talk”, he retorted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I heard him remove the straps holding his sword to his back, and putting it aside. “You’ve spent most of the last three days avoiding conversation”, he said. “You’re not the most talkative person yourself”, I answered with a sneer. “I’m not around people much. Not used to conversation”. “Is that why you talk to your horse? To train for actual human interaction?”, I jeered.

“I’m not a human”, he answered gruffly. I heard two more bumps, from what I guessed was his boots hitting the floor. “You look human”, I said. “I do?”, he asked, with what I could hear was a smirk.

“Mostly”, I answered.

We were quiet for a while. I began to wash myself with the sponge provided; sitting up, so my torso was uncovered by the water. The warmth from the fire didn’t stop a chill from grazing my breasts, after I poured a pitcher of water over myself; and my nipples perked in response.

“So, let’s have a conversation, witcher”, I said; unable to take the quiet anymore. “What do you want to talk about?”. I heard him poke at the fire. “Well”, I said. “You seem to know most there is to know about me. Or at least what you tell yourself I am. Tell me about you”. “There isn’t much to tell”, he answered. I squeezed the sponge over my arm, letting the water run down it. “That’s a crock of shit”, I said; and heard him chuckle. “You’ve lived longer than any man I’ve met before. You must have a past”. He didn’t answer. I sighed.

“Witchers are made in Kaer Morhen; aren’t they?”, I asked. “We were”, he answered. “It was raided. No more witchers can be made”. I washed my other arm. “You sound pleased about that”, I said. I heard him sigh. “It was my home, so no; I’m not pleased. But the trials I had to go through there were… I wouldn’t wish them on anyone”. We were quiet for a little while.

“Are you originally from Rivia?”, I asked, focusing on washing my feet now. I heard him chuckle again. “My master, Vesemir, encouraged me to make myself a new name. And a surname. He said it would make me seem more trustworthy”. “So, no”, I said. “No”, he answered. “I don’t remember much from before my trials. Let alone where I was born”.

I stood up in the bath, my body chilled instantly; and goosebumps began to form on my skin. “You have no roots; no homeland. I suppose we are not so different”. “What do you mean?”, he asked.

I wrapped myself in a towel, and put on a robe that had been left for me on the chair by the tub. “I have no homeland either”, I said. “Not anymore”.

I stepped out from behind the divider; and looked at him. His eyes were lit by the fire, and his features soft and earnest. He looked almost kind.

“But you do”, he said. “You just choose not to accept the one offered”. “It’s not offered”, I grumbled. “It’s forced upon me. By my cousin. By my fiancée”, I sneered. “And by you”.

He shook his head. “I cannot force you to say yes to Foltest. I can only bring you to him”.

I looked at the floor, and sat by the fire to brush my hair.

“The water is still warm”, I said. “If you want a bath”. He grunted and nodded; and went behind the divider to undress.

I heard him step into the water. “Shit”, he said. “What?”. “I forgot a towel”, he grumbled. “Could you?...”.

I turned around, and noticed that the light from the candles by the bath, lit up the fabric of the divider, making me able to see his naked form through it. His back was turned to me; but I could see his bottom – firm like the rest of him. His tall, muscular frame sent jolts of heat through my body.

I suddenly realized, that he had been able to see the shadow of my figure all along, as well.

I shook myself to refocus. “You should probably… sit”, I said. I saw him sit down; and walked around the divider; remembering to take the towel he needed with me. I placed it on the chair.

His hand grabbed my wrist. “What happened that night…”. Our eyes met tentatively. “It shouldn’t have”, I said. “I’m sorry for doing that”. He nodded. “Of course you are”, he said, almost angrily – and let go of my wrist.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”, I asked.

“You’re ashamed. Can’t be the queen of Temeria, and slum it with a witcher”, he growled. “I don’t want to be queen”, I sneered. “And you don’t want me either”, he retorted.

“Yes, I do; you idiot!”, I yelled. “But you didn’t want me!”. I threw the bar of soap into the water; and it hit the surface with a big splash.

He stood up – in all his glory – and stared me square in the face. My breath hitched as I continued. “For all your improved eyesight, witcher…”, I said, “… you are blind!”.

His eyes narrowed. He bared his teeth and growled; before he put his hands around the back of my neck; pulling me into him – and making our lips meet in a heated kiss.

I slid my arms around his neck, and his hands travelled down my back; holding on to me as fervently as he had those few nights ago. At first our kiss was rough – almost violent – but then it evolved into a softer and warmer interaction of our lips and tongues; embracing and melding together. His hands that had held me in place, began to rub my back soothingly.

I was sliding against his slick, wet chest; finding it difficult to keep my footing, due to the edge of the tub meeting my thigs and separating us.

I pulled back from him; and looked deep into his eyes. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life with a man I did not choose”, I said. “Let me at least have one night with one that I did”. His face went from angry to soft and gentle; and he stroked my cheek with his thumb. “As you wish, little frog”, he smiled; and met my lips again.

He slid his hands down my thighs, and lifted me up, for me to straddle his waist. I removed the robe; leaving me in the towel. He sat us down – me on his lap – in the tub; and continued the gentle movement of his lips. There was still a ferocity to his kiss – raw and primal – and my body responded by shivering in pleasure. His length was growing hard against me; and I looked down for the first time, taking in the masterwork it was; through the surface of the water. My breath hitched again; and he smirked at me. “Everything looks bigger in water”, he chuckled; and my cheeks reddened. I bit my lip.

Leaning back in the tub, separating our torsos; his fingers ghosted my cheek, moving down over my neck, before he ran his thumb across my collarbone. He continued his journey further down, lightly touching the silver chain around my neck; and stopping at the top of the towel I was still wearing – now soaking wet.

“May I?”, he asked. “And if I say no?”, I smirked. He chuckled, and opened the towel, revealing my breasts to him; the pendant resting between them. “Little frog”, he said. “Big bad wolf”, I jeered. He raised his eyebrows at me. “That’s a different fairytale”, he smiled; leant in, and kissed the spot of skin on the middle of my collarbone.

His hands ghosted over my breasts for a second, before cupping them in his hands, and running his thumbs over my tender nipples. I gasped and leant back, resting against his bended legs. I felt his cock twitch between my legs; and it instantly sent a jolt through my body. “Mmhmm”, it came as guttural growl from him; and his lips met the tender skin under my ear.

I slid my hands up his firm chest – relishing in the feeling of the soft hair against my palms – and moved them over his shoulder, gently running my nails down his back. He moaned at the sensation, and I smiled at the effect I had on him. It made me feel stronger than I ever had before. He pinched my nipples hard in response – just for a second – and I cried out from the sweet pain.

He chuckled against my neck, and nibbled at my earlobe. “Can I touch you?”, he breathed. I turned to look at his face, and nodded. He blinked at me slowly – just like I had at the cat from days ago – and slid his hand down between my breasts, under the water; and all the way down to my curls. I clenched my jaw in anticipation, and closed my eyes.

At first, it was just his finger, tracing the outlines of my labia. I heard him moan, and opened my eyes to see that his were closed. He was smiling. “I’d say you were all wet, but that would be too obvious”, he laughed, and looked at me again. My own laugh was halted by the sudden feeling of his finger sliding inside me; crooking itself against my front wall.

“Geralt…”, I gasped. “Yes?”, he smirked, and slid his other hand down; letting his fingers find my nub and gently rub it. “I… you…”, I said. “What, hm? What are you trying to say?”, he interrupted. “… teasing…”, I laughingly panted. “Yes, I am”, he said, jest in his voice. I moaned loudly, and threw my arms around his neck; riding his hands. His fully erect member pressed against my stomach; and his fingers continued their assault on my tender core.

I moved my hand in front of me and grabbed it, slowly beginning to pump him – making him moan in response; and press his forehead to my shoulder. We moved together for a while; pleasuring each other; the sound of the water splashing against the sides of the tub rhythmically.

A familiar tingling warmth began to radiate from my vagina. “Geralt, you’re making me… ah!”, I breathed. “Not yet!”, he said; removed his fingers from me, and pried my hand from his penis. “I want to look at you first. Stand up”, he demanded.

My legs shaking; I stood up in front of him, my feet between his spread legs – careful not to step on or kick that most valued thing on his body, that I wanted nothing more than to have inside me. I stood there – shivering from the wetness of my skin, and the still unfulfilled desire burning in me. He looked me up and down with hazy eyes. “A sight”, he smiled. I flushed red.

He leant forward, looking me in the eyes; and grabbed a hold of my butt-cheeks; pulling me towards his face. His eyes were feral; and he put his lips to my sensitive folds; kissing my nub gently. His tongue searched my lips for my entrance; and his hands left my cheeks for a second, to make me spread my legs a little, giving him better access.

Hands back where they’d been; he then licked me from my entrance to my clit, giving it a nibble with his lips. He was careful to avoid using his teeth; making the feeling soft and gentle; in contrast to his harsh hold on my behind – one that was sure to leave marks.

He moaned, and flicked his tongue over the little bundle of nerves between my legs. The warm feeling from inside began spreading again, and my legs began shaking. I grabbed a hold of the back of his head; which seemed to give him the impression that I wanted him to continue – which I did. The problem was that I could hardly stand on my feet anymore, from the loss of control I was feeling over my body.

“G-going to fall”, I stammered; and he finally pulled back. “That much?”, he wondered. I bit my lips, and nodded. “Hhmm”, he groaned, and let go of my cheeks. “Bed”, he concluded, and stood up.

My mouth was agape from the full sight of him again. Muscled toned torso, thighs like logs, and arms strong enough to wrestle a werewolf. The scars on his body didn’t take away from the beauty of his figure – if anything, they enhanced the sight of him; making him look like… well, what he was. A brutal, dangerous man – witcher – who could snap me in half, should he wish to. At the same time, his earnest face, and his lust-blown eyes; and the warmth I knew lived in his heart somewhere; made me trust this man with my life, my body – and, by Gods, my heart!

I looked down, my eyes resting on his length and – fuck! – girth. I knew I could take him. At least I knew I wanted to, with every inch of my being. Catching on to what I was thinking, he chuckled, seeming almost embarrassed. “If you want to sketch a picture of it, let me know later; but right now, I’d like to get you to bed”. I chuckled in response.

Witch a sudden movement, I was in his arms again, straddling his waist. He held on to me with one hand; strong enough to carry me like that. His other hand slid my hair behind my ear, so he could kiss my cheek. His hardness was standing at attention; sliding against my folds as I hung there, almost entering me in the process. I giggled at the feeling. “Amused, are we?”, he chided. I jerked my hips, rubbing myself against his tip; and he growled in response. “Impatient little frog”, he said gruffly.

He stepped out of the tub; and walked us to the bed, depositing me on it. Standing over me as I lay there – arms down my sides, knees slightly spread – he looked at me for what seemed like an eternity. I covered my breasts and privates with my arms and hands. “What was that about making a sketch?”, I teased. He grinned at me. “I’m just making a mental image”, he answered, before crawling over my body; and catching my lips with his.

His weight on me was enough to make me soar with desire again. I moaned when I felt his chest-hair tickle my nipples. “Inside!”, I breathed. He grunted. “Still hungry…”, he smirked; and moved down my body again.

“Fuck!”, I yelped, as his tongue met my clit again. He suckled at it, as if nectar would flow from it, if he just continued long enough. He slid his finger into me again, had another join it; and began crooking them; pressing them upwards rhythmically. It wasn’t a minute before my body began to spasm. My whole core burned with delicious fire; and I grasped at the sheets, and dug my fingers into the fabric.

His fingers continued rubbing against that most pleasurable spot inside me, and he made satisfied sounds; as if he was eating a delicious fruit. His fingers began to move faster, drawing me nearer and nearer to my undoing. I could feel my walls begin to clench around his fingers.

I looked down, and his eyes met mine for a second; before I shattered, and everything went white. I let out a long, mewling gasp; lifted my back from the bed – and then; what felt like a pop from inside; made my muscles give; and I fell back on the mattress.

I felt his fingers leave my warmth – one of them flicking against my nub, sending a small jolt through me from overstimulation. He laid next to me; brushing his fingers up and down my torso.

When I could finally open my eyes; is saw a grin plastered across his face. “You… full now?”, I asked, panting. “Not even close”, he growled playfully; and used his leg to spread mine, placing himself between them. His penis was pressed against my entrance. “Ready?”.

I simultaneously shook and nodded my head; unsure what I meant myself. He smiled at me kindly. “We don’t have to do this now”, he said. “It’s a long way to Vizima. We have all the time in the world”.

I felt a pang of something I couldn’t describe. Vizima. Temeria.

Have to take it!

I put both my hands on his bottom, and pushed with all my strength – taking him by surprise – and he slid into me with a roar.

“Move!”, I hissed, as he looked at me in wonder. He did as he was told. His hips began to grind against me; then he pulled back, and thrusted into me again; making me moan out loud from the sensation. He began to move continuously. “You’re still contracting”, he said between thrusts. “Inside”. “Whose fault is that?”, I moaned; and scratched my nails down his back; feeling every welt from every scar in the process.

We heard what sounded like a roster crowing from downstairs; and Geralt frowned. “When he grabbed your thigh, I wanted to rip his arm off!”, he growled; and slammed into me once; bottoming out. He roared like a wild beast; and I mewled in response.

Continuing his thrusts; I latched on to his lips; placing my hand firmly around the back of his neck, so he wouldn’t move his head. I pushed my tongue into his mouth, wrestling his for dominance. I grabbed a hold of his hair, and he returned in kind, making me hiss.

Another rooster crow; with a roar of laughter accompanying it; and the witcher once again slammed into me with a growl; making my stomach jolt from the depth of his thrust.

I pushed at his shoulder. “On top”, I panted; and kissed him passionately one last time, before he rolled onto his back, pulling me with him. He lay with bended knees, making my ass meet his thighs; and I began riding him, leaning against his legs. He grabbed my breasts; massaging them in his hands. I grinned down at him as I moved, and bit my lip. “I want that lip!”, he said, and sat up; grabbing my face, and suckled at his target. I groaned, and pushed at his chest, making him fall back towards the mattress.

He was stronger than me; could have easily kept a hold of me if he wanted – but he enjoyed the game I was playing. I grinned at him again, grinded against his cock; and grasped his firm thigh behind me – doing my best to leave my mark on his skin.

His fingers found my nub again; and he rubbed his thumb against it – his other hand once again holding on to my right breast. He moved under me; trying to match my grinding against him. I was moving back and forth on him; feeling every delicious inch of him inside me. His thumbs continuous stroking of my clit, sent sparks through me, and before long I once again found my high; this time with him inside me. I frantically grinded against him, putting my hands on his chest to be able to lift myself up and down on him. My insides continued to spasm around him; and he groaned and moaned along with me – chasing his own goal. His face almost looked agonized from lust.

As I cried out from pleasure; he suddenly took a hold of my hips, and lifted me up – thrusting into me from bellow frantically. My hands still on his chest, I pushed myself upwards along with him; mewling every time his hips met my ass, and he thrusted back inside me. Overstimulation threatened to take a hold of me; but he kept going -growling, as he dug into my eyes with his own.

“Geralt!...”, I moaned. “I can’t…”. ”You can! Almost…”, he groaned; before hammering me down onto him one final time, and crying out. I felt him twitching inside me, and collapsed onto his chest.

I felt his fingers trace my spine. “You’re… something else”, he chuckled; the sound rumbling in his chest and into the ear I had pressed against it. I laughed, and turned my head to kiss his chest – nibbling at his nipple in the process. “I’m sure I am many things; but all I know is that right now, I am well and fucked”.

He laughed again, and pulled me up to his face for a kiss.

---

Thanks for reading.

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- no lady

#geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia #the witcher #the witcher netflix #the witcher fic #jaskier

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ohnomybreadsticks · 4 years

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It’s melting pot Sunday! And I am here with yet another obscure-ass Witcher pairing XD Again courtesy of @jaskiersvalley and their amazing ideas! I am simply a set of eager hands willing to type out these hilarious scenarios!!

Rating: G, ~1.5K, pre-Cahir/Geralt, pre-Jaskier/Geralt, pre-Jaskier/Cahir/Geralt

Prompt: “That’s what makes you feel dumb, out of everything you’ve done?”

---

It was strange, Jaskier felt, to go from a dashing duo to a...something trio. Cahir’s addition to their little band had been strange in more ways than just lyrical, what with the fact that he had previously been their sworn enemy. Trying to capture Geralt’s young charge and return her to the Empire was a bit of a big no-no. But what, the bard had often mused to himself, was more poetic than an enemy turned friend? It was the beginning of a truly epic tale, and Jaskier was eager for Cahir to linger on if only for that.

And anyways, it wasn’t like Cahir took up that much space. It seemed like his life’s mission now was to be as small and convenient as possible, and he rarely spoke up above a soft sentence or two. It was hard to tell if this was his natural personality or his attempt at penance, but it wasn’t like Jaskier minded either way. He had been talking enough for two already, he could talk a little bit more easily and cover Cahir’s portion of the conversation.

Jaskier had bigger things on his mind than keeping track of whatever Cahir was up to now that he wasn’t actively trying to kill them. Or inactively, hopefully. He seemed harmless enough. Geralt always said Jaskier didn’t have enough sense or enough of a self-preservation instinct to have survived this long, but he clearly must be wrong because Jaskier was still here after all. Here and hopelessly pining after his strong, handsome, and kind companion.

No, not Cahir, he was fine, Jaskier supposed. But he’d been pining after Geralt since the moment he laid eyes on him all those years ago in Posada. Others might look at Geralt and see a broody, grumpy, antisocial brute, and Jaskier might call those people all sorts of derogatory names. Geralt was absolutely broody and grumpy at times, but he was also incredibly kind and surprisingly funny when you got past his very understandable defenses. He made the sort of understated jokes that Jaskier would catch two minutes later and burst into aching laughter over, quiet quips that Jaskier would argue were worth far more than any overblown stage show.

And Geralt was kind, terribly so, even if he was the one who would argue you to death over not being a good person. He always took care of Jaskier, even when it was inconvenient to him, or potentially harmful to his career and/or person (that had been a particularly bad incident, and Jaskier had sworn never to repeat it). In the evenings, when they sat together around the fire, he would nod along subtly to Jaskier’s songs, and sometimes when he was sure no one was looking, Geralt would smile at him. Just a tiny little twitch at the corners of his mouth, but it was always enough to have Jaskier’s heart beating out of his chest.

Unfortunately, the one things Geralt wasn’t was fucking observant. Jaskier had been flirting with him, hard, for years, and he hadn’t noticed at all! Not in a ‘I’m ignoring you in the hopes that you go away’ type of way, but a genuinely ‘I’m ignoring you because I can’t comprehend the fact that anyone would love me’ sort of way. Which was horribly frustrating! Jaskier had no intention of giving up, but it did get tiresome when he sang his fiftieth ballad about loving a noble warrior who hid his heart away and Geralt simply ‘hmm’-ed in approval but appeared entirely unmoved. Jaskier didn’t know any other love language aside from loud and poetic gestures, so he was worrying that he was going to run out of ideas.

And then, just when Jaskier was starting to feel like he was never going to succeed and he should just start writing ballads with their actual names in them to see if Geralt was really that dense, Cahir joined the fray. And he joined the fray in more ways than one, Jaskier soon realized. He was a far more subtle man, but Jaskier was an expert in matters of love, and he could spot the signs of a courtship from a mile away.

Cahir, it seemed, was also horribly in love with Geralt and attempting to make him see that. There just wasn’t any other explanation for the way he followed him around like a small, helpful puppy, or why he had started to interpret Geralt’s soft ‘hmm’s with the same accuracy as Jaskier. Cahir was always there, always ready to lend a hand, even when you didn’t know you needed one. Little things had started just showing up in Geralt’s pack, and Jaskier knew he hadn’t done it so must have been the work of Cahir.

Now, Jaskier would normally have been consumed with horrible jealousy at this turn of events. He had been courting Geralt for years and now this upstart had the nerve to swoop in and try to steal his man?? Really, the nerve of some people. But...there would only really be a cause for jealousy if Cahir was getting anything out of his attempts. Which he absolutely wasn’t. Geralt treated him with the same unwavering kindness he treated Jaskier, completely missing each and every quiet token of affection Cahir held out towards him.

And Jaskier supposed he couldn’t blame Cahir for trying, he really couldn’t. How could anyone resist someone as lovable as their Witcher? Cahir just had good taste like Jaskier! He didn’t, unfortunately, seem to be as resilient and determined as Jaskier. The bard watched as the weeks dragged on and Cahir seemed to wilt under the lack of response from Geralt. It was just too sad to see how he tried so hard and yet got nothing in return. Truly, Jaskier understood that heartache. So he did the only thing he could think of - he went to give Cahir a pep talk.

They had camped out for the evening and Geralt was out hunting after a brief quiet exchange with Cahir that Jaskier hadn’t really caught. Whatever it was must have really upset him, because the man was now glumly sitting on his own at the edge of the firelight, whittling with his knife at some piece of firewood. Jaskier carefully shuffled his way over, sitting down and shooting Cahir an encouraging smile. They didn’t spend too much time talking together just the two of them, but he had a feeling that was going to change.

“I sympathize, you know,” Jaskier said, breaking the silence with his usual blunt delivery. No sense beating around the bush, as it were. “I’ve been trying for years, with no real response. You can’t let it get you down too much.” he continued, looking over at Cahir to watch his expression. What he didn’t expect to see was confusion, the man’s brow wrinkling up as he turned to look at Jaskier in return.

“You’ve...tried to do the same thing too?” Cahir asked, and he seemed genuinely surprised and taken aback. Maybe he was just as dense as Geralt.

“Of course I have!” Jaskier insisted, “My methods might be different, but all courtships are unique! There’s no shame in having different approaches to getting Geralt to acknowledge our love for him”

At the word ‘love’, Cahir let out a noise that was half dying fish, half surprised cat screech. He dropped his knife in the shock of it all, which was good because Jaskier half expected to be stabbed after a response like that.

“Love?? Love for, for Geralt??” Cahir gasped out, staring at Jaskier with eyes so wide he could see the firelight dancing in them.

“Of course love!” Jaskier argued back, not about to back down from what he knew to be true, “Don’t play dumb with me! You’re just as in love with him as I am, why else would you be following him around and trying to do anything even remotely helpful? And don’t get me started on the little gifts! I’m not stupid, blade oil doesn’t just materialize overnight.”

Jaskier’s tirade of evidence seemed to stop Cahir in his tracks and he paled, dropping his head into his hands.

“Oh my god” He groaned, “Oh fuck. I am in love with him, aren’t I?”

Jaskier was about to say something in addition when Cahir suddenly burst out “I’m so fucking stupid! Of course he didn’t need anyone to come with him while he hunts and hold the lantern! He can see in the godsdamn dark!!”

And suddenly all of the tension was gone out of the moment, all the excitement of the discovery of a hidden love, all of the drama of realizing they were both in love with the same man, all replaced with the sound of Jaskier’s laughter.

“Cahir, that’s what makes you feel dumb, out of everything you’ve done??” He gasped out between laughs, and Cahir could do nothing to defend himself except offer a sheepish smile.

Oh he was going to need a lot of help. It was a good thing Jaskier was an expert in courtship.

#Witcher #the witcher #geralt/jaskier #geraskier #cahir/geralt #geralt/cahir #geralt #jaskier #Cahir #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #bready's fic

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id-never-letyoudown · 4 years

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Part 2

@mystic-majestic @youcanteverknowenough @vanillamaa @randomwriter90 @freezing-blue @liawinchester67 @randomwriter90 @bevaause @occulta-lacrimarum13 @capsicle-the-fabulous @juhavs

part two because I! shall not sleep

Finding a mage in town was hard-in fact he had to travel quite a ways to find one. But getting together the coin for it was even more so. Jaskier hadn’t sang at the inn in ages, his coin was low. Had been for a while. He had reason for it.

When he first found out he was with child his thoughts turned immediately towards being rid of it. He couldn’t raise a child on his own. Growing up a bastard child himself he knew the scrutiny the poor thing would be under. And his mother was a countess! Imagine how the bastard child of a male omega would fair. It made him sick. He didn’t want that. And he wasn’t keen on abandoning the poor thing either. He knew he wouldn’t be able to if he ever saw their face.

So he turned to the only solution he could think of at the time. See, he didn’t just have to pay for the supplies and the procedure, he had to pay to keep the mage’s damned mouth shut. He couldn’t let word get out that he was an omega. It was hush money.

He was covered head to toe in the dullest rags he had buried in his closet, face well obscured save for his eyes. He didn’t want to chance it. “There’s your coin. When can we do this?” he held himself tightly, hunched over without his lute at his back. His fingers dug into his arms. He had to sell it. He could always get a new one. Sure, he’d miss it. It had been a great comfort. Hell, he even slept with the damn thing cradled in his arms a few times. Though that was mostly to keep it from being stolen.

Now look. He felt like a damned traitor.

He made the mistake of giving them his coin far too early on.

When he was up on that table all he could think about was a pair of piercing yellow eyes. The same pair that had been plaguing him for weeks now. In his dreams. His nightmares. Even whilst he was still well awake. They never left the back of his mind.

He wondered, would a child of the witcher share his white hair as well? Or would they take more so after Jaskier himself? It was a shame he’d never find out. Never get to hear their laughter. Their first song. Never get to teach them how to play the lute.

It wasn’t until he heard the scraping of metal did he jerk up. “Nope! Sorry-no. I’ve changed-hng-” he struggled to pull his slacks back up on his way off the table, “-my mind!” this might have been the stupidest, most ill-conceived plan he’s ever come up with. But damn it, it was his. And he was willing to try to be the best damned father he could be. That was more than he could say for his own father.

Turned out the mage didn’t do refunds. Jaskier had to hitch a ride all the way back to Posada.

And now here he was, in a dingy squatter’s shack after overstaying his welcome at the local inn. Turned out they didn’t take too kindly to bards who wouldn’t sing. And why would he? His muse was long gone now. And he hadn’t a lute to play neither. He had to sell most of his finer clothes just to make sure he had enough supplies and food. And he wrote to his mother, like hell was he not going to tell her his woes. If she heard it from anyone else she’d have his head.

He’s yet to hear back from her, but she lived so far, it was bound to take a while. He’s had to stop taking his herbs, but he still wore them in a pouch to cover up the scent whenever he went out. And he never strayed too far from the shack. He only went far enough to pick berries. Berries that he only knew weren’t poisonous after Geralt damn snapped at him for almost eating a few that were and then giving him an entire lesson on foraging. He didn’t think it’d actually come in handy.

He was perhaps a month or so along. And he was already ravenous. Not even a ghoul’s appetite could compare to his own. He knew he was going to have to figure something better out in terms of food. Perhaps he could go back to singing again-

Jaskier froze.

Another twig snapped. His gaze followed the sound to the treeline, just a few feet away from where he crouched beside a berry bush, fingers stained red. He cautiously brought another berry to his lips, eyes scanning through the trees until he was met with a shock of white.

He scrambled to his feet, “No-”

“Jaskier.” Geralt began.

“You are the last person I want to see!” the bard stumbled over his own feet, kicking up clumps of grass in his wake. He made a mad dash to the shack, but he aught to know Geralt was far quicker than him. The witcher had him caught by the back of his tunic and spun around with his back against a post in a hot second. “Let me go, witcher. I’m not one of your beasts.” the venom he held did not surprise Geralt, not in the slightest.

It was the lingering scent. Something… something that was just on the tip of his tongue. It reminded him of warm milk. And honeysuckle. And-

His eyes snapped down, wide with the sudden realization. “Jaskier…” funny how this was the first time he felt so hesitant and unsure of himself.

Meanwhile the bard’s face was burning. With rage. Embarrassment. And something else. “Geralt.” he spat out, like the name was foul tasting.

Geralt shuffled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His hands left Jaskier’s shoulders, one bracing himself against the post and the other hesitating mere inches from the man’s stomach. No attempt were made of Jaskier to move. “You’re-”

“With child? Yes, so I’ve noticed.” he could only imagine it was one of those damned witcher things of his. Of course he would have been able to tell.

“And it’s…” ‘Mine’, he wants to say, but it doesn’t feel right. Not just yet.

“Yours.” Jaskier smacks Geralt’s hand away, stepping out from under his looming presence. “Aren’t you clever?"

It’s quiet outside his measley little shack. Save for the wind in the trees, the only thing which was keeping his calm in the moment. There was some sort of serenity to the place. Jaskier hadn��t felt uneasy once. Until Geralt came into the picture.

All is quiet and still, until Geralt asks the question he’d been dreading, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know, Geralt. You know, and even if I had I wouldn’t have told you. You made your stance on me pretty clear last we saw each other.” he scoffed, arms crossing over his chest. "I’m just a lousy shit shoveler, aren’t I?”

He watches something flash across Geralt’s face. And he swears it’s guilt. “I shouldn’t have said that, Jaskier.” Well, that was probably just about as close to an apology as he was going to get out og him, he figured. His shoulders untensed, yet he still refused to look Geralt’s way. “I…”

Jaskier does glance over now, if only to see what the hesitation was for.

“I hope you know this doesn’t make us mates.”

That made him scoff, “Of course it doesn’t, we had a deal.“ Frankly it hurt that that was the first thing to come to mind at the news. As if Jaskier would pull such an act. "Not going to force you to make an ‘honest’ omega out of me. Besides, you have your head too far up that mage’s backside.”

“Don’t bring her into this.”

He threw his hands up, “I will bring her into this. I-I don’t like her!”

“… And?”

“There is no 'and’, I don’t like her. I don’t trust her. And she hasn’t given me reason to.”

It felt like they’ve been over this about a dozen times beforehand, Geralt was tired of it. “She saved your life.” And he expected it to end there, like it always had. But there was a fire burning in Jaskier on this day, and Geralt had a feeling he was more than to blame.

So when Jaskier barked out a sour laugh and turned on him, hands on his hips, he drew up his eyebrows. “Oh, yes! I’m sorry, hard to remember that when she scared the daylights out of me, probably would have killed me! Brought the whole damn house down with you in it. Which she has yet to apologise for, oh-unless you call what you two were doing in the rubble 'apology’. Then everything’s good and well!” he clapped his hands together for good measure, stomping a foot into the earth.

“… You done?”

“Not even. For a man who doesn’t 'feel’ she sure broke your heart, and I just got caught in the crossfire. Two hearts were broken that day, Witcher. And you were only concerned with yours.” He felt the wetness of his cheeks before he even realized he was crying, and possibly had been throughout that entire speech of his. "Oh this is fantastic-don’t look at me.” he turned away, only now spotting Roach just a few paces away. “You either.” He sniffed, but Roach just came closer.

“I’d compose a song about that woman if I had my damned lute.” Jaskier growls, turning to the horse, who now nudged at his arm. “Now you, you I could never be angered with.” He coos, stroking the horse’s nose. “I don’t have any sugar cubes to sneak you today.” it was a whisper, but Geralt caught it.

Eager for a change in topic, Geralt broached the subject. “Where is that lute? And why haven’t you been at the tavern?” That lute had been practically glued to Jaskier from the start. And now he stiffens at the mention of it.

But the tavern. Did Geralt go looking for him? Had he actually been worried for his well being? It all seemed a little far fetched from where he was standing.

“… I sold it.” He turns, one hand still on Roach’s side. “I… was scared when I found out about… you know. So I scrapped together all the coin I could. I wanted to be rid of it. And the rest of the coin was to keep the mage’s lips sealed. And obviously I didn’t go through with it. Damn thing. Got attached. Bastard kept my coin.” he grumbles the last bit bitterly, pressing his face into Roach’s coat.

Jaskier’s stomach suddenly let out the fiercest rumble, loud enough to cause the horse to become alert even.

“We should head inside.” Geralt prompts, “Get you fed-”

“I have food. I don’t need yours.”

“And how long is it going to last, Jaskier? You’re carrying, without a job, and I don’t think berries are going to do either of you any good in the long run.”

He couldn’t argue there. Knowing Geralt he was well stocked. Meats, cheeses-oh gods, cheese. And liver.

Geralt ended up visiting quite often after that, and soon Jaskier warmed up to him once more. Hard not to. Especially when there was food on the menu. And Geralt always brought so much. He stayed in that shack for a month more, until a parcel arrived with the witcher next. Two, technically, but Jaskier was more interested in the one with his old family crest sealed in wax on the parchment.

“It’s from my mother, bless her… she wants to chew your head off.” he looks over the letter to the witcher, who sat before the fireplace keeping the flames lit. When he got a grunt he continued, “She says my old nanny has a farm down in Kagen, the coin should be enough for traveling and expenses…” there was still something else amongst all this paper as well. He dug around for it while Geralt spoke.

“How long has it been since you’ve last seen her? Your mother.”

“Oh, years. The earl kicked me out and shunned me once I presented at sixteen-late bloomer. He would have done so regardless though, considering he was many things but my father was not one of them.” he paused, fingers coming into contact with something soft. When he pulled it out he nearly wept. “Oh, Geralt…” it was a blanket, one of his own from when he was a child. His mother kept it all these years.

The witcher looked up, and there was just something about the bard’s face that made him grow softer by the day. By all accounts it was bad for him, but for now he cared not. “It looks well made.” he commented, “Why don’t you take a look at what I brought for you?”

“Oh? Is it my birthday?” he chuckles, folding the blanket up nice and proper before he stands up-until he sees that Geralt has already beat him to it. “I’m not helpless, you know. You can’t even tell I’m pregnant."

"Just making up for lost time.”

He rolls his eyes, flicking the latch open and popping the lid off the crate. And as soon as he set his sights on that polished wood and long neck he burst into tears. Geralt was almost worried he didn’t like it. But the bard smiled, so big and wide. “Geralt, you didn’t have to.”

“With a voice like yours you can’t sing without being accompanied.” that got him a light slap on the arm.

Now with this beauty of a lute-which had a wolf so delicately carved into the frame, he noticed-he could easily earn himself a good living. Up until he couldn’t hide the pregnancy anymore, which was why he planned on going to Kagen. And he told Geralt as such on his next visit.

“I’ll be nice and safe on the farm, Nana’s a mage. If something happens when the time comes she knows how to deliver and do so safely.” Jaskier had all of his things well and packed, which wasn’t much, thankfully. “I just need help getting there. Bandits and whatnot-I’d pay you.”

“Keep your coin, Jaskier. I already have business that way, as long as you don’t sing the same three songs I’ll get you there.”

“Is this your way of telling me I need new material?”

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier.abo #omegaverse #abo #geralt #jaskier #the witcher #witcher

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ruensroad · 4 years

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toss a coin to my witcher (and a carrot for his horse)

You can all blame @this-solaris-life for enabling me to do this AU. Witcher!Jin Ling and bard!Jingyi, featuring Fairy the Ferghana warhorse.

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Jingyi had almost been disappointed the first time he’d crossed paths with a proper wupo. The silver hair, golden eyes, the gleaming sword his carried… all things considered, Jin Rulan was formidable, looking the part and playing it well. He had an eerie focus, impressive skill, and fought like a wild thing. His knowledge of the world’s monsters was more detailed than the entire collection of the Lan Library and his drive to kill all monsters was admirable. He had scared many, many people as they’d crossed country, superstitious as they were, because Jin Rulan was scary, in looks and trade, but there it actually ended.

Because Jin Rulan was actually oddly funny, and naive about the world. All he knew was fighting and his war craft, his horse, and his weapons. He knew how to survive on his own, but around people? He was about as socialized to the people as the people were to him. Which was to say not at all. Not even a little.

He was handsome too, which no one seemed to notice. Shy in ways that proved people’s fear of him actually hurt. He had a temper at times and got protective of stupid things, such as one of billions of knives he carried, or the odd red mark he bore on his forehead, which he refused to explain.

He hated being touched, was confused by music, couldn’t dance without toppling. He was ridiculous, truly, and Jingyi was maybe a little in love with how hopeless he actually was.

He was practical, but not much else. He had skills, but no socialization. In many ways he was the wolf he was often compared to, wild and dangerous alone, but once thrown into civilization, little more than a stray dog avoided like a plague.

Well, more for Jingyi then. All the better.

“How’s this?” he asked, tapping a new beat onto his yaogu drum, grinning as he did so. “For his hair was stark as starlight…”

“You already made a song about my hair,” Jin Rulan complained immediately from where he was grooming his horse, a formidable black and white painted creature that Jingyi was more afraid of than Jin Rulan himself. He’d yet to hear the horse’s name, but surely for a war stallion of the Ferghana breed, it had to be fearsome indeed! “Three, in fact.”

“Aw, and you said you hated my music,” Jingyi saw his opening and laughed when Jin Rulan glared and started grumbling under his breath. “Fine, then I won’t make another about your hair.” His fingers tapped on the drum, a quick little beat, and immediately he was inspired. Shizui would be so proud. Twenty-seven songs in a month, a new record! “Okay, then maybe one about your eyes?”

He didn’t get a response, which was rather typical, and Jingyi decided to take it as not a no. For about an hour he mused on different ways to describe Jin Rulan’s gorgeous eyes and managed a full melody set during that time. Three verses, four choruses, and a rather amazing hook about sunshine and peonies he was very proud of. Now all he had to do was get Jin Rulan to listen.

During all his musing and tapping out beats, Jin Rulan had kept up his muttering and Jingyi grinned, quickening his pace just to hear it. If he annoyed his wudo, then he stood a better chance of being heard once he had his attention. But what he heard had him pausing, because surely, surely that couldn’t be right.

“Maybe if we left him in a field somewhere, Fairy?” No, it was absolutely right. “Don’t look at me like that. He’s a shining beacon of loud and it’s a miracle all monsters within a mile radius haven’t come running.”

The horse tossed its head, snorting, and Jin Rulan looked immediately pained. Was he actually having an argument with his horse and losing?

“Fine, a tavern,” Jin Rulan bargained, only to be snorted at again. He very much was arguing and losing to a horse. Gods above, and just when Jingyi was sure his heart couldn’t love him any more! “I would give him coin, Fairy, come on.”

The great stallion - Fairy? Fairy?! - pinned him with a look then shook out its head and neck, making the golden bells on its bridle jingle merrily. Jin Rulan looked close to snapping, like that sound was his own war beast putting its foot down and not letting him leave Jingyi as warned. Which, maybe it was.

Ridiculous, ridiculous man!

“You named your horse, Fairy?!” Jingyi demanded, upset that such a creature had such a pathetic name. “Fairy!”

Jin Rulan flinched and immediately glared, golden eyes flashing. He’d gotten that into the song, thankfully. “What’s wrong with it,” he demanded right back, nose in the air. “It’s a dignified name!”

“It is not!” Jingyi laughed and shoved at Jin Rulan’s shoulder. He didn’t even budge, by the gods! “He’s a great, heavenly steed in service to a proper wudo! Give him a name like Painted Death, or Wicked Lightning!”

Fairy’s ears pricked towards him in interest and Jin Rulan looked further offended. “You said you liked my name for you,” he scoffed, this time to the horse, who just blinked. He threw his hands in the air. “Fine then, let him name you. Be his horse! I’ll find another who won’t mind my names.”

Jin Rulan was a beautiful man, cruelly so, even stomping away. Jingyi winked to the warhorse with a bold laugh as they both trotted after him. “Wait, Rulan! You haven’t heard my song yet!”

“I’ll shove it down your throat!” came the warning, more resigned than truly heated. So Jingyi, as always, did not heed him, and sang at the top of his lungs, wondering if it would, indeed, have monsters running for them. He’d just make another song out of that if so.

“Eyes of golden fire, delightful to behold~!”

#ruenwrites #jinyi #witcher au #jin ling #lan jingyi #fairy #this au is way too fun oh my gosh #and don't even get me started on the xicheng angle #huhuhu

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maxineswritingcenter · 4 years

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It's a Little Catchy - Geralt of Rivia x reader

The man is too attractive for his own good. I binged the Witcher and I cannot recommend it enough. We're gonna use they/them pronouns, let's give it a go. Just put in your own pronouns.

Summary: Looking for a way out, reader runs into the the famous Witcher she heard songs about in the local bar. What happens next will not surprise you, Geralt of Rivia owns this ass.

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The Bard was certainly an interesting fellow. He sang tales of a Witcher. The one they called the Butcher of Blaviken. The Bard sang of new adventures. Elves and a silver tongued devil that he saved the Bard from. The White Wolf. (Y/N) had never met the man in the flesh, but fate was funny that way.

It seemed today was the worst day of their life. (Y/N) was avoiding home because if they went back, it wouldn't really be home anymore. Making their way through the local market, they picked up a few things: a nice leather bag, an apple, and a nice hat with what was left of their savings.

Some commotion broke them out of their deep thoughts of dread. Some young boys were poking at a horse tied by the tavern. The creature was squealing and stomping about.

"Hey!" (Y/N) shouted, marching towards them. The boys halted their reign of terror and ran off, giggling. They approached the horse, hands out.

"It's alright, they're gone now." They said. The horse avoided their touch still. Bribery might be the only option. They dug into their bag and produced the shiny red apple. It would have been a nice treat, but the horse seemed to deserve it more.

"Looks like we're both having a bad day, huh?" They held the apple to the horse’s mouth. The horse happily munched away at it. With their other hand, (Y/N) slowly stroked the brown muzzle of the horse.

"There you go. I'm not so bad, am I?" (Y/N) smiled, "Aren't you a pretty girl?" The mare huffed and motioned her head back towards the saddle.

"Are you offering?" (Y/N) mused. The mare stomped a hoof. What was the harm? Using the stirrups, (Y/N) sat on the saddle of the horse. Whoever owned her must be wealthy and take good care of her. This led to combing their fingers through the mare’s soft mane and untangling any knots if they appeared. They didn't know how long they had been there, but the noise she heard startled them to the point of almost falling off the mare.

"Ahem." The stranger grunted, "Why are you on my horse?" He said in a very deep and gruff voice.

(Y/N) eyes found the stranger and was surprised by two things, his long white hair and his odd glowing eyes.

"She invited me on. Some local children were upsetting her, I chased them away, gave her an apple, then here we are." They said.

"Hmm." He replied, coming around the front and giving the horse a pat on her muzzle, "Make a friend, Roach?"

"You're the Witcher, aren't you? Geralt of Rivia." (Y/N) said, like the words were pulled from their throat.

The White Wolf raised an eyebrow at them, "What gave you that idea?"

They smiled at him, "They say the White Wolf is a man of few words."

"They?"

"The Bard mostly." They swung their legs to one side to face the Witcher.

"And you are?." He cracked a small smile.

"I'm (Y/N) of here." They motioned to the town around them.

"Well, (Y/N) of here. We must be on our way." Geralt said.

"Where are you going?" They asked, making their way down from the saddle.

"Wherever the coin calls." He moved around them and made his way up. He started to be on his way. However, there was a force pulling them to follow.

"Wait!" They came up to the mare and the Witcher. Once they caught up pace, they looked up, "May I come with you?"

"No." He simply said, going ahead. (Y/N) raced forward.

"I can cook and clean, watch your horse while you're in battle, anything!" They said. Roach seemed to halt suddenly, making Geralt lurch forward. He gave the mare a pointed look.

"Please." They said, trying to catch their breath, "My father used me to pay off his debts to the mayor. They're coming to take me away and do whatever they seem worthy of someone sold for nothing."

"Do you believe you would be any safer traveling with me?" He asked, eyebrow raised.

"No, but at least I would matter. If not by my family then at least by your horse." They motioned to the beautiful mare.

Geralt closed his eyes and grumbled, "Fine."

(Y/N) grinned and nodded, "Thank you." And they began on their way to the great unknown. Sometime along the way, they started to mutter the Ballad of Geralt that the Bard had created.

"Don't tell me that you know the words." Geralt said.

"It's a little catchy."

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Yay! I don't know what else to do with this so here we are!

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