#same with yennefer and the whole thing about how shes still unhappy with her life because she was trying so hard to be powerful | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jaskiersvalley · 4 years

Note

I just wanted to say a) oh my gods the cute laiden fluff I die. b) holy crap you wrote that cute Little!Lambert fic I found a bit ago! Nice!! And c) rawrkin explicitly told me you were nice and worth messaging and who am I to pass up such an endorsement? I love your stuff it's very good. 💜💜💜

Considering I’ve already come and made a twit of myself in your inbox in response to this, I’ll keep it brief (and in reverse order). C) @rawrkinjd is out there being lovely and spreading rumours that I’m nice XD We all know they are the real sweetheart here! B) I’ve had a few more asks about Little Lambert come in (with Aiden getting involved too...) so there may be more of that to come. C) Fluff is where my heart will always lie. There are so many unhappy endings in real life, let fandom be where everyone gets to be happy and cute. With that in mind, I may work a hint of Laiden into your thank you ficlet which is a vague companion/follow-up to this one. :D

It seemed that Yennefer wasn’t best pleased with how winter was shaping up. The path up to the keep was still open and Lambert had been glancing out towards the approach regularly, as if expecting someone. Eskel seemed to be in on it, sometimes standing with him, a hand on the small of Lambert’s back, murmuring a soft “he’ll be here” at times. That already had Yennefer rolling her eyes. She still seemed quite bitter that her spell to turn the witchers into children hadn’t taught whatever lesson she wanted to instill in them.

As it tended to be, things came to a head with Jaskier. He had tugged playfully at one of the decorative ribbons on Yennefer’s dress as they moved around the dining hall, settling down for dinner. As Jaskier sat down, Lambert glanced longingly towards the door with a sigh.

“Have your happy families,” Yennefer growled and Jaskier was enveloped in a puff of purple smoke. As it cleared, a large eyed child sat in his place.

Nobody dared move for a moment, taking in the sight of a de-aged Jaskier until Lambert cleared his throat. “Oh no. He’s adorable.”

Not just adorable, also impeccably well mannered. Jaskier ate his dinner, already behaving like a dainty little lordling. It was all endearing and none of the witchers could look away from a toddler who had more table manners than the lot of them combined.

“Thank you very much for dinner,” Jaskier lisped. and Vesemir could see every stone cold witcher heart thaw in the room - including his own.

Settling Jaskier down for the night was an easy affair, he was sleepy, seemed quite determined that as it was evening, he would go to bed. That night, the wolves gathered in front of the fire and sighed.

“I didn’t think children could ever be this polite.” As he spoke, Vesemir stared into the fire. “None of you lot were ever this good.”

Famous last words. In the morning, Jaskier was gone. Not disappeared but definitely nowhere to be found. His altered scent led the witchers on a merry trail across the whole keep. Even worse, there was the occasional childish giggle and the patter of feet but Jaskier was nowhere to be found. They spent a whole morning looking, splitting up and taking different floors and wings of the keep, even going into areas that had been considered closed off for decades because nobody wanted to remember what happened behind certain doors.

It was futile, Jaskier was nowhere to be found. Even worse, the trail grew cold, there were no pattering feet or more giggles. The witchers reconvened in the dining room, looking haggard already, only to find Vesemir stood in the middle, staring up into the rafters, one hand raised to silence his wolves. Without a word, he pointed up into the vaulted ceilings. Only thanks to enhanced vision did the witchers see the small figure draped over a girder, arm dangling limply as Jaskier slept.

“How to we get him down from there?” Eskel asked, looking around.

“My question is, how did he get up there?” The counter from Lambert was also a fair one.

Before any answers could be give, Geralt broke into a run with “he’s rolling!” grunted between puffs of exertion. Sure enough, Jaskier had turned from his back to his side and gravity was doing its thing. Almost in slow motion, Jaskier toppled from the rafter.

“Eskel! Aard!” Geralt yelled. Only years of training together had Eskel sending a moderate blast towards Jaskier’s falling body. It won them enough time that Geralt could leap the final few meters and he caught Jaskier in his arms, his own shoulder slamming into the ground rather than their bard’s.

“Again! Again! Again!” Jaskier trilled, seemingly waking up without any kind of transition from sleep to sleepy to awake. Before anyone could react, he was up and off, rushing into the kitchen and, a moment later, running across a beam up high. “Catch me Geralt!”

The next minute Jaskier was falling again with a childish “whee!” and Eskel had to use aard to direct him towards Geralt once again. Thus the newest game was born. Jaskier had boundless energy to run, climb and jump, only to repeat again. And again. And again. Even Eskel was feeling the strain, his signs coming out weaker while Geralt huffed and puffed at having to run around to catch Jaskier who jumped off random beams, never the same one.

“Last one, then it’s lunch time,” Vesemir’s voice was clear through the hall and Jaskier took a running jump, almost missing Geralt as Eskel’s aard didn’t give him enough of a boost.

Sitting at the table, Jaskier eyed the plate of food, heated up remains from the previous night. While the witchers tucked in, Jaskier pushed it around on his plate before shoving it away.

“I don’t like it.”

“You ate it yesterday,” Geralt replied around a mouthful.

“But I don’t like it today. I want grouse.”

Even if Kaer Morhen had a stash of grouse, they wouldn’t have cooked any just because Jaskier was being picky. They ignored his indignant kicking of the table leg. The first sniffle and smell of salty tears had all of them looking up. Jaskier’s cheeky were ruddy red and large crocodile tears trickled down his cheeks.

“But I want grouse,” he wailed, voice breaking on a shriek.

Vesemir had honestly thought he had seen everything in his many years. But not once had he watched a child slither down a chair, muscles lax yet tight with rage. On the floor, Jaskier truly let loose, screaming, little fists pounding into the stone of the floor. The witchers all froze and stared at each other, not knowing what to do.

“If you won’t eat it, you’ll go hungry,” Vesemir ventured when Jaskier took a breath. Another howl of rage was his only answer.

Eskel was the first to decide this wasn’t for him. He picked up his plate and carried it into the kitchen, finishing his meal there, Geralt rapidly joining him. A look was exchanged between Vesemir and Lambert, neither wanting to be the last one left with a hysterical child. By virtue of being nearer the door, Vesemir won and made his hasty retreat.

Left alone with Jaskier, Lambert looked at his plate and then towards the door that led to the entrance of the keep. When no help seemed to come, he shrugged and kept eating.

There was a lull in Jaskier’s theatrics and Lambert felt a small wave of relief. “Hey kid, you done?”

“No.” More screaming.

“Okay.”

Eventually, Jaskier ran out of steam. After lying under the table for a little longer, he climbed out and sat back on his chair, arms crossed over his chest and glaring at the plate.

It was less than a day since Jaskier had turned into a child and already the witchers were tired. Not just the regular fatigue but the kind where they would have fallen into a pile in front of a fire and slept for probably a whole day. Eskel was worn ragged from all the signs, Geralt from the stress of catching Jaskier, Lambert’s nerves were fraying from the screaming and Vesemir thought he was too old for this shit. Sadly, his concoction only worked on witchers, otherwise he would have already pinned Jaskier down and forced a dose of the stuff down his throat.

The main door to the keep opened and a newcomer strolled in. A little put off by the lackluster greeting, Aiden followed his nose and found the others in the dining hall, a child opposite Lambert.

“You came,” Lambert sighed a waved. Three heads peered out from the kitchen and Eskel waggled his fingers with a tired smile.

“I did. And who is this? A Child Surprise?”

“Jaskier. The brat. I mean. The bard.”

Looking around, Aiden suppressed a smirk. He had a good idea what had been going on. Rather than make a big thing of it, he pointed at Jaskier’s plate. “You going to eat that?” A stubborn shake of head was his answer. “Sweet. I’m starving so you won’t mind if I-”

He cut off his words as a fork almost stabbed him in the hand. “Guess I’ll get my own plate then.”

The others watched as Jaskier glared at Aiden and hurriedly stuffed his food into his mouth, hunched over the plate. For his part, Aiden hid his triumphant grin and walked into the kitchen, getting a slight shoulder bump in greeting from Eskel.

After lunch seemed to settle down, the wolves were rather hopeful of an afternoon nap. Children did that, right? They piled in front of the fire, grumbling. Aiden joined them, Jaskier sat triumphantly on his shoulders and clutching his hair.

“Now,” Aiden said, “we need to put these big babies to sleep. Can you help me tuck them in?”

Little hands patted the throws down that Aiden draped over the other witchers. He tried not to laugh at how they were all drooping, cuddling up into a tangle of limbs.

A few hours later they woke in various states of decoration. Lambert had a candle stuck up his nose, Eskel’s hair was tied into a lot of small bunchies while Geralt’s face was scribbled on in charcoal and ash, giving him the most incredible eyebrows and scowl. Meanwhile, Vesemir was adorned in anything shiny that could be found in the keep.

“What the-?” Lambert growled and looked up at Aiden who was far too entertained.

“You left me with the kid. We kept ourselves entertained.”

Sitting up, Vesemir had to try and hide his own amusement. “How are you so good at keeping up?”

“He’s no worse than any other kid.” The shrug from Aiden seemed genuine. “You had them here too, didn’t you?” A look at the wolves and Aiden’s eyes went round. “You were all quiet and serious, weren’t you? Other than Lambert but even his firecracker ways were muted by comparison.”

It seemed that destiny had already matched the children to the schools they would fit in with the best. And it was safe to say, if Jaskier had been destined to be a witcher, he wouldn’t have been a wolf.

#geralt of rivia #jaskier #lambert #eskel #aiden #vesemir #de-aged jaskier #witcher wolf pack #tldr: child jaskier is a brat

117 notes · View notes

the-spinning-jenny · 3 years

Text

we're going to be alright

a @geraskierholidayexchange fic for @ electricrituals

---

Current theories on the all-around assery of circumstances surrounding Jaskier’s predicament vary and change depending on who asks.

If one were to ask Yennefer of Vengerberg, she’d say that Jaskier is an idiot and sticks himself in shit he should not be poking into. That he’s an annoying bard who doesn’t shut up when he’s supposed to and she’s certainly not going to save his ass anytime soon and he may as well learn a lesson or two from this.

She is correct for Jaskier’s general going about in life, but in this certain case, her theory is wrong.

If one were to ask Ciri, she’d say that Jaskier means well, but, in the most Ciri-esque and polite-one-grew-up-amongst-nobletry way, she would also add that Jaskier may just have bad luck.

Ciri’s theory is also wrong. Jaskier has impeccable luck, thank you very much.

If one were to ask Geralt, one might get a grunt out of him and possibly, if one were feeling rather lucky that day, a syllable. Probably one syllable to convey that Jaskier is the worst friend in the whole wide world and he cannot stand being out of the spotlight so of course he would jump into this hot mess of a Nilfgaard kidnapping, and likely all this is encapsulated by a simple fuck as a response and please, Geralt, think of Ciri and watch that tone.

Geralt’s theory is wrong too.

The whole business is poppy-cock and wow, Jaskier is truly the master of concealing his inner workings of his great and brilliant mind. This leads to two explanations:

Firstly, like Melitele, Jaskier moves in mysterious ways and he calculates many scenarios and chooses the best one that would lead to the best results.

Secondly, Jasker’s terribly in love with Geralt and will throw out all logic out the window in any efforts to help Geralt.

Jaskier predicts as much of the following for how this night will turn out: he’s going to avoid unnecessary risks, he’s going to outsmart many bad guys, he will look absolutely dashing saving everyone, and no one will find out about his pesky unrequited love issue ever because if he’s buried it and bottled it up for twenty years, he can do it for another twenty then.

His predictions are correct on every bit except for the unrequited love part.

---

It was not a difficult and perilous night. It likely should have been, but that’s Destiny for you. For every dozen of terror-defying and dangerous missions Geralt throws himself into, there’s one easy-breezy adventure for Jaskier. Just because the night is mild does not mean there are no villainous forces at play and people out to kill Jaskier’s friends. It just means Jaskier’s more clever.

“Well,” Jaskier says, “aren’t you going to get out?” This dungeon is dreadfully drab and Jaskier’s feeling cold and slightly peckish.

“Bard?! How are you here?” hisses Yennefer in her Dimeritum shackles. Ciri blinks blearily next to her in the locked dungeon cell. Geralt looks constipated, but Jaskier isn’t sure if that’s another one of Geralt’s signature looks or because of the shackles he’s in as well.

Jaskier rolls his eyes on the other side of the cell. “Yes, Yennefer, lovely to see you in this Nilfgaardian nobleman’s castle. Would love to catch up since Geralt’s mountain tantrum, it’s been what? A year? Two years? Time flies when you’re all clearly having fun, doesn’t it? Look, you’ve even leveled up and gotten what I can only assume is your child surprise. Lovely to meet you, my dear, lovely weather isn’t it tonight?”

“Are you Jaskier the bard? Geralt’s bard? Are you going to free us?” inquires Ciri with eyes full of hope.

“The cell’s locked and our chains are enchanted,” Geralt frowns.

“Boring,” Jaskier says, and he picks the locks open while chattering away. “You’re very lucky I passed by and heard wind of your imprisonment at the tavern I was in. Even more lucky that there’s a party going on upstairs to sneak from and I’ve drugged the guards’ wine.”

Jaskier takes a bow and the cell doors swing open. He swings the keys to everybody’s shackles around his finger and Geralt looks gobsmacked.

“Now,” Jaskier says, “shall we? I’ve got enchanted glamour rings for everyone and we’ll just walk through the front door.”

---

Everybody’s sitting around a table in an inn far, far away from the Nilfgaardian castle and they’re all looking a bit dazed. Jaskier’s ordered everybody food but he realizes they all may be still processing everything.

“We’ve escaped,” Yennefer finally says. She picks at the inn’s food a bit.

“I mean, we’re rather far from Nilfgaard forces and you’ve portalled us to an inn in gods know where so yes, I assume you’re all freed,” Jaskier replies matter of factly.

“You saved us!” Ciri says with adorable eyes and great gratitude.

“Well, I suppose I did, didn’t I?” Jaskier says happily. “Not so bad for a bard, eh?” Jaskier turns to look at Geralt who still hasn’t done much besides stare at Jaskier.

Jaskier sighs. “Everybody should eat up. You could use it given where you’ve all been. I’ll go see about getting us some rooms for the night. Not to worry, I’ll be gone in the morning.”

“You’re leaving so soon?” Ciri frowns.

“Ah,” Jaskier begins. “I wouldn’t want to intrude anymore than I already have and well, me leaving as soon as possible would be to everyone’s liking.”

Ciri looks sad, Yennefer raises an eyebrow, and Geralt begins to open his mouth, but Jaskier is quicker and leaves the table and heads to find the innkeeper.

There is a trick to avoiding more heartbreak that Jaskier has learned. If he isn’t here long enough, then there isn’t enough time for Geralt to say that was highly dangerous and stupid or don’t follow us, bard.

“How many rooms will you be needing, sir?” the innkeeper asks Jaskier. She does look lovely and if the way she’s giving the rather flirtatious grin is any indicator, Jaskier may have a good time tonight after all this heroic saving he’s done. Perhaps it would dull his heartache. It hasn’t worked before, but if Jaskier knows one thing, it’s that if he tries ignoring the same thing multiple times, it might end up working.

“Thr--”

“Two rooms,” Geralt in all his glamoured up appearance and deathly glare at the innkeeper. The man pops up next to Jaskier rather suddenly and puts an arm around Jaskier. “One for our daughter and her aunt, and another room for me and my husband. We’ll be needing a bath drawn for our room as well.”

The innkeeper looks sheepish and scatters fast to get the rooms in order and Jaskier is bewildered.

He’s so bewildered, it doesn’t dawn on him to have a row with Geralt’s wildly odd behavior until he’s in their room and Ciri pops in while Geralt is settling down his swords and armor.

“Are you alright?” Ciri says Jaskier concerningly and adorably.

Jaskier sighs. “You know how adults love to lie and tell you that everything’s going to be alright even though it’s not?”

Ciri worryingly replies, “Yes?”

“Everything’s going to be alright,” Jaskier says. He turns to Geralt, walks up to him, and points a finger at his chest. “Now, you! Who do you think you are?”

Ciri quietly slinks out of the room and closes the door behind her.

Geralt, a man of many facial expressions, frowns again but Jaskier does not care.

“Husband? Really, now? What have you to say about that? We’ve gone from ‘it would be a blessing to get rid of me’ to fake husbands? You couldn’t bother with being fake lovers first? Where’s my fake wedding, Geralt? Hmmm?” Jaskier pointedly says. To further emphasize his rage, Jaskier still pokes his finger harder at Geralt’s chest even though he knows it won’t do anything.

Geralt catches Jaskier’s hand and holds it with both of his own. Jaskier huffs and looks away.

“Thank you for saving us,” Geralt says at last.

Jaskier stills. “Well, the way I see it, no one has to get tortured and die.” He gives Geralt a grin.

“You could’ve died,” Geralt continues.

Jaskier looks back at Geralt and quips, “Would’ve been the dream for you, eh? Very sorry, friend, but screw dying.”

Geralt shakes his head. “Jaskier,” he says and rubs a thumb in circles on Jaskier’s hand. “You sneaked into a Nilfgaardian castle, drugged the guards asleep, pick-locked the cells, and freed me, Yennefer, and Ciri. That was brave, bard. Thank you.”

Jaskier’s heart beats rather annoyingly loud and his cheeks burn.

“Careful, now. That’s more words that you used to say to me in a month. I couldn’t let Destiny’s favorite power couple and their child bite the dust this soon now, could I? It would make a very unhappy song,” Jaskier sighs and breaks free of Geralt’s grasp on his hand.

“I’ll be gone in the morning. Frankly, I have no idea why you wouldn’t just let me order three rooms back there with the innkeeper. It’s fine, Geralt. I’ll be out of your hair soon enough,” Jaskier rambles.

“Stay,” Geralt says.

Jaskier’s eyes widen. “What?!”

Geralt steps forward into Jaskier’s space and tries again. “Jaskier,” Geralt says, “For the mountain, I am sorry. You didn’t deserve it. You deserve better. Stay with me. I’ll swear on it to treat you better.”

Jaskier tears up. “Geralt, I - well, it’s alright.” He looks down and continues, “You’re forgiven, you know. You’ve been forgiven a long time ago. Don’t have me stay out of guilt.”

Geralt shakes his head. “No, it’s not. Jaskier, I have missed you.”

Jaskier looks up with watery eyes. “Alright,” he whispers.

Geralt smiles a little and says, “Yennefer and I aren’t together.”

Jaskier laughs. “No?” he asks.

Geralt says, “I didn’t pretend to be her husband in front of the innkeeper.” He puts a hand up and holds Jaskier’s face in it. Jaskier leans into it, heart rapidly beating more so.

Geralt continues, “Jaskier, I have truly missed you. Stay and I can show you how much.” He leans in closer, pauses, and asks, “Alright?”

Jaskier gently says, “Alright.”

Geralt closes the gap between them and kisses Jaskier.

Jaskier kisses back and thinks that they can certainly manage with this kind of alright.

---

Notes: Heavily influenced by the Good Omens writing. Fic title is from the Ariana Grande song. I own nothing. This is a gift for electricrituals who likes fake dating au and competent!Jaskier. Albeit, I went mainly heavy on the competent!Jaskier, but I hope you like it! Happy holidays!

#geraskierholidayexchange #electricrituals #geraskier

35 notes · View notes

sternenstaub28 · 4 years

Text

*comes in late with Starbucks to ace awareness week*

My take on ace Geralt and his coming out to Jaskier.

Read the whole thing on ao3.

Life was an exchange. You gave to gain. People gave money and Geralt offered his skills. People offered food and a bed and Geralt gave them money. Geralt craved the touch of a human body and people either expected coin or his body in return. His body, in one capacity or another, was really the only thing of worth Geralt had to offer.

The witcher had learned early in his life that affection didn't come cheap, especially not to him. The first person outside of Kaer Morhen who'd offered him a hug was a whore at a brothel. Then she insisted on doing her work as well. Geralt didn't mind, but really thought the whole deal was overrated. Yennefer had also wanted to pay him in sex for the work he did for her. It wasn't entirely uncommon for his contracts, Geralt knew some people liked the idea of laying with a witcher, of taming the monster. It was an adventure to them. He didn't exactly mind it but never understood why people considered it as something special.

So when he met Jaskier, he expected the same. There was a human who wanted him for services. At first Geralt was confused about what exactly Jaskier promised himself from this adventure. The stories he could understand and for several months he didn't think about what else Jaskier could want from him. Accepted the easy touches and kind company with a grumble he didn't mean. People rarely bumped shoulders or touched his arm just because they could and he thought this kind of affection was a fair trade for all the songs Jaskier got in return.

But when they met up again in the next spring and again and again, Geralt started to question the bard's motives. He had gotten his songs, what else did he want? They had traveled for two weeks without a contract in sight, when Geralt decided he needed to find out what made Jaskier stay. The bard was working on a song for a noble, a commission he hated but it paid well. So why was he still at Geralt's side, bandaging his wounds, touching his shoulder and scooting closer in cold nights? People didn't give a witcher these things for free.

One night when Jaskier had to pay for their room at the inn, Geralt not having a single coin left but in dire need of a weaponsmith, he confronted the bard. The witcher knew Jaskier favored men and women equally and flirted with anything that moved. Surely lying with him would be pleasant enough. Actually, the more he thought about it, the more he wanted Jaskier to feel good under his touch. It being returned would be fine as well, if not exactly what he wanted. So after they'd eaten and bathed, Geralt took his jittering nerves and approached Jaskier, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. Big blue eyes looked up at him, surprise clearly written in the bard's face but Geralt also noticed the quick glance down his chest and the way heat rose to Jaskier's cheeks.

"Geralt? Everything okay?" the bard asked and he knew he wouldn't risk losing this. This closeness and friendship they had. It was no real hardship to sleep with someone after all, just not his favored activity. Geralt took the pen out of Jaskier's hand and pulled the man up, looking at his face for any sign of discomfort but all he could see and smell was curious arousal. He pushed his bard at the wall and kissed him. This was something he enjoyed a lot, to feel skin meet skin, soft lips opening to let him enter, the trust it needed to allow him to nibble at his bard's neck. Jaskier gasped and held on for dear life, kissing back with zeal.

But when Geralt started to unlace his always half open doublet, Jaskier stilled his hands. "As much as I enjoy this Geralt, would you tell me what brought this on?" he asked breathlessly, trying very hard not to look where Geralt was feeling his towel slip away. "Giving you a reason to stay." Geralt mumbled, nibbling at the bard's jaw as he had learned many people enjoyed. Seeing the other man shudder was satisfying. Even if he didn't fully understand the whole deal, to know he could reduce Jaskier to a breathless mess was still rewarding on its own.

Confused blue eyes looked up at him and he could smell the arousal in Jaskier lessen. "I'm not going anywhere, Geralt. Unless you want me to?" The bard cocked his head, clearly confused by their exchange when it was so simple. Geralt would offer the bard his body and for that he'd get a kind travel companion at his side. It was an exchange. He didn't want to talk about it anymore, Jaskier's confusion puzzled him, wasn't this what the bard wanted? His songs had suggested as much.

Instead of embracing Geralt again, Jaskier took both of his hands and led him to the bed. So it really was what he wanted. Geralt was glad to see he hadn't read the situation entirely wrong after all. But then the bard offered Geralt his shirt and pants and motioned for him to sit down. "Darling, as much as I'd love to absolutely ravage you, I don't feel comfortable doing so without us talking first. Why do you think I'll leave and why do you think you need to kiss me to stop me from going away?" Geralt was glad he couldn't blush when he felt heat rise up to his face. "Everyone leaves. But sometimes they stay longer if we do this." he mumbled, not meeting Jaskier's eyes. The unhappiness and tension radiating from his bard would have been visible even for someone who couldn't smell emotions.

Lute calloused hands took his and Geralt enjoyed their warmth, the kindness they promised. The nights they´d have to huddle together for warmth were always the ones he slept soundest. “Geralt, darling, look at me please?” Jaskier asked and the blue pools of concern he met almost made him crumble. “Is this what you want? If so, I'll gladly share the bed with you in any capacity. But it's not, right? Not really. I know you by now and you look like you do before you go out for a difficult hunt.”

The witcher couldn´t remember the last time somebody had asked him what he wanted, most people just assumed a witcher would be happy for any kind of carnal pleasure and should be grateful they allowed him to get this close. Not even Yennefer, who had literally been in his thoughts, had bothered to check if he wanted this, just assumed. Grasping at Jaskier´s hand, he decided to jump, to tell Jaskier the truth. If the bard refused to sleep with him, he would leave soon anyway, so if Geralt´s truth sped that decision up, it wouldn't really matter, would it?

"I…" he took a deep breath and Jaskier squeezed his hand reassuringly, "I don't hate it?" Geralt managed to say before his throat closed up again. Why was he so nervous about this talk? How could this be harder than what he had originally planned to do?

"Is that a question, my dear?" Jaskier smiled but it didn't feel like he was laughing at him. Geralt shook his head, "It's like, I don't get the whole thing about sex? It's fun in a physical way but I don't miss its absence. I see beauty in some people but never felt the need to invite them to my bed." When was the last time he'd talked this much and been this open about his emotions? Emotions he wasn't supposed to have in the first place. "The trials must have broken me that way." Suddenly a gentle hand cupped his cheeks and Geralt hadn't even noticed he'd averted his eyes from Jaskier's, waiting for the mocking to start. "Darling, you're not broken. You're beautiful and perfect and this is entirely normal. You're not the only person to experience this." Jaskier said, holding his face close. Geralt could smell how serious the bard took this, any hint of arousal had vanished from the air and been replaced by worry.

The witcher didn't know what to say or do, so he decided to wait and absorb the warmth Jaskier offered so freely, leaning into the touch. The bard scrambled closer and sat on his lap. "This okay?" Geralt nodded, surprised at so much offered contact but too confused to question it. "I want you to feel comfortable, darling. And I'm not going to leave you just because you don't want to sleep with me." The witcher was about to object but Jaskier put a finger on his lips, stopping him, "I'm not going to leave you Geralt. Unless you ask me to. And I don't expect any kind of recompensation from you." Well muscled arms from practicing the lute embraced him and pulled Geralt's head to Jaskier's chest. "And I am very grateful you trust me enough to talk to me, love. And that you want to have me around." A small kiss was pressed to the crown of his head.

Geralt wrapped his arms around the warm weight in his lap, enjoying the contact and steady heartbeat next to his ear. His chest felt ready to burst. "Can we still sleep in the same bed?" The witcher asked, glad his voice was muffled by Jaskier's shirt so that the bard could just ignore him if he wanted to. "Yes, of course darling. I wouldn't want to share a bed with anyone else but you." the bard answered and caressed his back. "Tell me anything that makes you uncomfortable and also what you desire and we will figure everything out as we go." Geralt nodded into Jaskier's shirt. "And what about you? What do you get out of this? I'm not good with sharing. I wouldn't want you to lack anything, to be unsatisfied." Oh, talking was absolutely easier with his face hidden into a shirt that smelled like honey and kindness and gentle fingers tracing patterns into his back.

Jaskier squeezed his frame, "I get to stay with you." he whispered. "Geralt, you're one of the most important people in my life and I've been in love with you for years. And for anything else, I've seen quite a few interesting toys in the last town, we'll make do." The bard waggled his fingers and eyebrows exaggeratedly and Geralt couldn't stop an amused huff bubbling up his chest. Maybe this could really work, maybe Jaskier didn't see him just as a tool, Geralt thought when the bard laid them both down on the bed, hugging his back and burying his face between Geralt's shoulder blades.

#my writing #witcher #the witcher #geralt/jaskier #geraskier #ace positivity #Ace week #Ace geralt #ramblings

63 notes · View notes

lygerastia · 4 years

Text

15. Seeking Solace [Geralt of Rivia]

Once upon a time, Geralt had a lover he could come home too. Now, he remembers them fondly.

Warnings: angst.

Chapters: 1 [complete]

Words: 1,666

READ IT ON AO3.

***

Tired.

Tired of running. Tired of searching. Tired of fighting. The witcher—scourge of society—finally exhausted his feelings. He wasn’t supposed to, trained as he was to be neutral. To don’t take things at heart. To not get attached. To not care—to not feel anything. Mercy. Anger.

Love.

The witcher is not as he is supposed—raised—to be. So what? He can break stereotypes as long as he still kills monsters. He can ignore japes and insults like he usually does while still not blaming them for the prejudice. He can be just and have a heart while slashing his sword back and forth, killing without remorse. As long as he fills the void inside his heart. So long as he feeds the gnawing hole that wants to make his life meaningful...

A long time ago, he would’ve been more than happy to be on the road. To go from place to place, searching for jobs—and searching for a part of him that was missing. He wanted to escape the Wild Hunt, Yennefer’s possessiveness, Triss and her lies, Dandelion’s songs, or reunite with the only person he’d tolerate any time of the day: Ciri. The witcher doesn’t know anymore; he saved the world, in the end. And along the way, on this life-threatening adventure, he found something else worth fighting for. A figure he had to leave at some point because he had to save them from the monsters that were hunting him. He was in a race against time.

But he was done now. He could go back to a ‘normal’ life, relax—put a break on the world and enjoy a moment of respite. The witcher wanted to hide, close his eyes, and simply forget everyone else existed. He hurries, spurring Roach to exhaustion, for once pleading his mare to forgive him. Lots of oats will await her when he’s done, the witcher promises. Desperation in his mind, his features showing nothing, his heart is racing—as quickly as the wind. He doesn’t stop to eat, to drink, to check out the crimes that are probably happening around him.

He has only a name in mind, repeating it like a prayer. The white-haired male wishes they are fine—no harm done. But in this cruel world, he knows that anything is possible. That his life has always turned to the worst when he was the happiest. He can arrive in the city and found them dead. He can find them captured—or they simply don’t love him any longer.

The possibilities make him shudder with fright; he wants to stop the torrent of thoughts, but they plague him like a curse.

He gallops like the wind—

In the end (feels too late), he sees the outskirts of the city. The witcher curses those guards at the gate, feels relief when he’s finally through. He follows familiar roads, cutting corners, passing people—he spots their house, finally. Jumping down, he hastily ties Roach and doesn’t wait to knock on the door. Comes in like a storm, startling them.

He never dreamed of seeing them again.

“Geralt!” His name on their lips is like a soothing balm. “You scared me!”

But there’s a loving smile on their lips. And, as he falls into their warm embrace, he knows he’s in the right place.

The witcher doesn’t hesitate to kiss their hair, inhaling the fruity scent he surely missed. Despite it all, his heart doesn’t calm until he looks into their eyes, absorbing every feeling reflected there. When they whisper his name gently, he can’t help but attack those lips with his, hunger in his actions. He missed them, more than anything. His body also missed them—and it shows. They know so, giving him a hungry lascivious look through thick eyelashes. Geralt accepts to be led by the hand toward the bedroom, still smelling of their combined natural scents. It turned him on even more, remembering the perfect times the two of them had together.

They purr, “Missed me?” as if they didn’t know. As if they weren’t feeling his eagerness pressed against their leg.

When he’s done, after hours and hours of love-making, it’s already late in the evening. His lover is exhausted, curled up to his side, an arm around his own body. Geralt embraces them, holding them tight, inhaling his scent on them, so reassuring. It’s still arousing, their musk—but they’re already fast asleep, chest rising slowly.

He closes his eyes, finally at ease. His nerves could get a rest and he can forget about the suffering he went through. He’s warm, he’s comfortable—nothing could pry them from his loving arms. He even feels like he can finally sleep. He welcomes the feeling, glad to be able to let his body rest. The witcher doesn’t know when he drifts into slumber, but he soon wakes from their soft kisses on his rough cheeks. His eyes flutter open—and meets their shining bright eyes and sleepy smile.

“Morning already?” he grumbles, stretching his back like a cat. “Let’s go back to sleep.”

They open their mouth, their lips move, and he expects to feel their soft, warm voice to ring in his ears. He hears nothing in return. Maybe they were just playing a joke on him. A trick. But, as he gazes at them, he notices there’s something wrong: their features...

It’s not like he remembers. Not the soft lips or skin, not the eyes, now turning violent. A coldness creeps up his spine—the wind. He doesn’t remember opening the windows. However, he knows better than this: a slithering realization slowly dawns on him. And the witcher’s heart breaks again—for the millionth time.

“No,” he mouths, voice lost in the torrent of the storm that’s happening all around him all of a sudden. He can’t hear their reply, that smile still on their face. But their facial features are distorted, shaping into something else—he doesn’t remember them being this way. However, despite all his confusion and fright, he remembers the person who was now standing in his lover’s bed, long, dark hair spilling over the fluffy pillow.

Another familiar voice...

Yennefer. Was he plaguing his dreams again? Before they’re gone, before he’s going to lose them again, he calls out, desperate.

“Come back.” He’s unsure, though, whether it’s Yennefer’s voice or his.

Their eyes turn a shade of violet—and he doesn’t want to forget. But, no matter how hard he concentrated, he couldn’t find their face again.

“Come, Geralt...”

He felt himself slipping, everything turning dark around him. The witcher was waking up. He doesn’t want to—reality is too disappointing, and he doesn’t want to face the truth. The truth that his lover was long gone, the result of an unhappy accident. It was his fault. And he can’t forget. He doesn’t want to say ‘I love you’ to a shadow, but he mouths them anyway.

Words have a strong power.

For a second, they’re back to their normal self, the huge bright smile he adored reminding him of better times. He read their lips, whispering the same vows. His heart fills with warmth again—he just wants to succumb to the feeling, to get lost in their embrace.

“Geralt!”

With a gasp, he opens his eyes, meeting pretty violet ones. Once upon a time, he would’ve loved to see those eyes every day he woke up. Once upon a time, he loved the sorceress. Maybe he still does now—he promised her that, whether she believed it or not. Sometimes, the witcher thinks she knows. Even if he doesn’t like it and told her so a thousand times, she still reads his mind. And, whether or not he thinks about it, their name will inevitably pop up. Yennefer says nothing about it.

Should he be grateful? Right now—no. He was angry she woke him up. Pulled him out from his sweet dream. He wanted to get lost. Nothing else mattered.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she says defensively, trying to sound angry when she was startled by his reaction. He doesn’t respond, growling as he stands up. Yennefer seated herself away from his reach, frowning as if it was his fault.

He says nothing, avoiding her gaze, bitter about it all. He feeds the fire, aware of the night and swamp sounds around them, the whinnying of restless horses. On the road again, as usual—the only thing he ever wanted was settling down in the house of his dreams.

With his lover. With Yennefer.

Why did it matter what he wanted? Destiny is always fucking with him.

“You were hurting, Geralt.” Yennefer tries to explain herself, filling in his sulky silence. “Tossing in the sleep. Crying out.” She sounded hurt.

“Do you think I'd let you do that for the whole night?”

Geralt doesn’t respond. She goes on, losing hope. “You seek solace in dreams, Geralt. Don’t hope.” Yennefer casts her eyes downwards, sadness lingering in her features—a thing that he misses entirely.

“They’re long gone.”

The witcher knows that better than anyone. His love got lost because of him—and he feels guilty about it every day. Even if his feelings got dulled to numb pain, he swore he’ll never forget the face of the person who once made him happy. The one he’d promise his future and couldn’t fulfill it. He’ll never forgive himself.

Geralt, witcher with feelings, is tired. But he’ll go on—it's what they’d want to.

“Geralt...” he feels Yennefer’s warm palm on his shoulder and, this time, he doesn’t push her away. He needs consolation, even if it’s with another person. He turns around, capturing her soft lips with his, hungry, hoping the sorceress wasn’t reading his thoughts, for once. He’ll hurt her—because, even if he doesn’t say it, he can deceive himself that he’s kissing someone else.

The witcher still dreams—and will continue to do so. It’s inevitable.

–

[masterlist]

#Geralt of Rivia #Geralt x reader #Geralt imagine #The Witcher

32 notes · View notes