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lepagera-blog · 4 years ago

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Hey bro that untitled one shot you did where reader thinks cyar’ika is a curse word? Friggin golden! I loved it so much and was wondering if you’d be open to writing a continuation where reader confronts Din?

Hey bro did you know that I love you? 🥺🥺Thank you so much for this ask, my love. I actually had a 3.7k word fic and I took the one shot out of that and...originally I was only going to post this on ao3 but this is the perfect time to post this here now too. Was so happy to wake up to this ask bb! 🥰💜💜💜

Pairing: Mandalorian x Reader

Summary: The simplest of misunderstandings can sometimes turn into the loveliest of reveals.

A/N: Full work of this excerpt. No warnings, pure fluff.

This wasn’t exactly your first rodeo with the Mandalorian. You’d been with him on hunts for quarry before. Not that the Mandalorian had much love for you. Usually you only came along when Greef insisted he needed a second player, which wasn’t often. This time you weren’t sure of the circumstances, but you had a sneaky suspicion the Mandalorian had specifically asked Greef for you to tag along. You couldn’t see why. He was always aloof. Quiet. Not quite standoffish but close.

This was one of the rare times he did need someone though. And while you were quite sure you annoyed him half the time, you also knew you were good at your job. You weren’t a bounty hunter in the traditional sense. Your speciality was tech specifically meant to trick and outmaneuver particularly hard to catch quarries. This time, the Mandalorian was dealing with a changeling. Which could be the trickiest of quarries.

You’d developed a device that could unveil the disguise of a changeling but it wasn’t quite up to specification yet and required two people to man it. One wearing the eye piece - that would be the Mandalorian. And one to actually man the controls - that would be you. And you needed to be close.

The Mandalorian had tracked the quarry down to a cantina on Coruscant. Almost the entire way he’d sat quietly in the belly of the Razor Crest watching you tinkle with your devices, constantly changing and perfecting them. He’d ask questions here and there and you’d been short with him, sure his questions were more out of boredom than anything else.

Now, you found yourselves in a posh cantina meant for the wealthy and elite. The Mandalorian, tall and striking in his polished armor, seemed to fit in perfectly with the surrounding luxury. You, on the other hand, felt insufficient in a way you didn’t think actually mattered because you were sure the Mandalorian would never look at you that way anyway.

You hadn’t always thought this way about the Mandalorian. Your first few missions with him had been short, quick, efficient. He’d always intimidated you, but as time had passed, your feelings towards him had morphed into something softer. You’d begun to see him in a new light. His soft grazes and touches, the few that you got. His gentle voice. Your belly had begun to float when he spoke to you or looked at you. But you were sure that he didn’t see you the same way.

You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts. This was the last time and place you should have been thinking about any of this.

Instead you readied yourself to activate the eyepiece worn now by the Mandalorian; you sidled closer to where you knew he was waiting for your instructions, not three feet from the changeling. A crackling over the commlink in your ear, a question.

You spoke softly into your wrist. “Across and two chairs over.” Your device also accounted for tracking of the changeling so you couldn’t lose them even if they changed form again.

A gruff noise in your ear indicated he’d heard you. With a release of your breath, you activated the eye piece.

From there, things happened quickly. You watched in awe as the Mandalorian, seemingly with little effort, dived across the table. A short scuffle later and the changeling who’d been in human form but was now back to their natural form, sat dazed on the floor wearing binders. The Mandalorian hefted the being to their feet and headed your way. Just as the Mandalorian reached you, you both realized the changeling had not been alone.

The blaster fire took you in the shoulder and you went down. Sprawled on the ground, all you could think about was the fact that you were still alive.

“Cyar’ika!” You heard the Mandalorian’s harsh voice curse at you. You winced. Not at the pain in your shoulder but rather at the fact that you’d been too slow-moving to avoid being hit and now the Mandalorian was calling you curse words in the tongue of his people. Not that you knew what it meant but you could guess well enough from the context of the outburst.

You didn’t have long to dwell on it before rough gloved hands were pulling your trembling form to your feet again. A split second later, he was shoving you aside; several blaster shots passed through where you’d just been. Then- three blaster shots from the Mandalorian and each of your assailants were down.

“Let’s go.” His words were gruff and you winced again, collecting your gear off the floor of the cantina and rushing after him, noting the way he kept your hand tightly gripped in his, essentially dragging you after him, as he lugged his quarry along just to his left.

He didn’t slow his pace and you struggled not to trip, but you made it more or less in one piece back to the ship. Out of breath, you closed the telescopic gate to the ship behind the two of you as the Mandalorian began freezing his quarry in carbon.

“Can you handle that?” He gestured towards the freezing system but he was brushing past you and back up the ladder before you could respond. He knew you could. You felt the ship taking off as you finished the freezing process and stored the frozen quarry in an empty slot of the system.

Then you were sitting on the edge of his sleep cot and releasing a long drawn out breath. The next thing you knew your hand was at your injured shoulder and your eyes were tearing up. You could be such a baby, but you weren’t used to the same high stakes the Mandalorian usually went through on his hunts. To top it off, he’d been tough and aggressive with you despite your injury. You were tired and just wanted to go home.

When the Mandalorian joined you back below, you were making a poor attempt at patching your wound up with the meager supplies you had in your own pack. The Mandalorian did not check the carbonite freezing system; that was something at least...he trusted your work. Instead he seemed to hesitate when he saw your face, still puffy after crying. But then his eyes must have landed on the terrible job you’d done cleaning and bandaging your wound.

“Wait,” he said, his voice as gruff as usual. He turned and rummaged through a storage drawer before pulling a crate towards you that he could sit on.

He pushed your hands away, though not roughly, and inspected your work. A sharp intake of his breath made you close your eyes. His helmet tilted your way at your grimace. “Are you alright?” You opened your eyes in surprise and stared at his visor. You weren’t sure he actually cared, but you nodded anyway. He hesitated as if he wanted to say more but then instead got started on fixing the mess you’d made of your wound.

You braced yourself for more pain, the wound was deeper than you’d thought after all, but the pain never came. The Mandalorian was quick and efficient, spraying something cool that numbed your arm. You couldn’t look as he cleaned the area and applied bacta. You’d always been better with machines, never with the body.

“You’re alright,” he said once he was done in the softest tone you’d ever heard him use. And it made you look at him with eyes you knew were telling of what you were thinking. But he never looked away from the wound and you felt embarrassed for feeling anything beyond grateful. Soon you felt him applying a clean bandage over your shoulder.

“Sleep,” he said as he stood, packing away the rest of the ship’s medical supplies.

He didn’t look your way again, and you felt dismissed, so you lay back and curled in on yourself, resting on your uninjured shoulder. A slight pressure on your waist made you look up to see a folded blanket draped over your knees and the Mandalorian disappearing back up the ladder. He didn’t seem to want to be in the same room as you for longer than he could help it. You sighed sadly as you spread the blanket over yourself, wincing when you jostled your shoulder. You were sure the Mandalorian would be glad to be rid of you considering you’d ended up more a burden than a help this time around, and you would be surprised if he ever requested your help again.

When you awoke, you were shocked to find you were not on Nevarro. Not wanting to question the Mandalorian, you followed him to the hut seemingly located in the middle of nowhere in this vast desert. But your question was answered in due time when the Mandalorian, after a warm greeting, explained in a clipped tone that you couldn’t decipher to the ugnaught waiting inside the hut that you’d been injured and he wasn’t sure he’d done a good job considering there could have been muscle damage. You were at a loss for words and watched mutely as the Mandalorian seemingly fled back to the ship to wait.

The ugnaught seemed accustomed to these kinds of last minute appearances and odd requests; he asked no questions. Instead he settled you comfortably down in a large, soft chair and introduced himself as Kuiil. You made friendly, easy conversation with the ugnaught as he revealed the wound on your shoulder and began prodding and poking. You didn’t look, but you knew he was using some chemical to regrow the flesh you’d lost. He’d numbed you again to ensure you’d feel no pain. Still, you knew pain that came not from your injury but from something else showed on your face.

Kuiil finished patching your shoulder up. “What is wrong, my dear?” He asked finally sitting back and watching your face.

You considered his kind eyes and peered towards the entry to the hut. From the sounds in the distance, the Mandalorian was scraping at carbon scoring on the Razor Crest so would be too far to hear your words.

“It’s just-” You paused, frowning down at your hands where they were gathered in your lap. “I think he hates me.” You decided on.

Kuiil gave a chuckle of surprise that was deep and throaty. His hand came out to lift your chin so you were once again looking at him. “What makes you think that?” His tone was incredulous, his eyes light. He didn’t seem to be taking you seriously.

Your frown deepened. “It’s just- When we were on Coruscant...when I got hurt...he yelled at me - well, he called me a name. I think it was some sort of curse word in Mando’a.”

Kuiil’s brow furrowed, but his lips quivered as if he was trying not to smile. “What was the term?”

You pursed your lips trying to remember. “Cyar’ika.” You finally sounded out.

Kuiil made a noise of surprise and you glanced at him carefully, fearing the worst. “Are you sure that’s what he said?”

You racked your brain, but yes that was it. You were even sure you’d pronounced it right. It would actually be hard to forget because the word had cut you so deep at the time. You knew the Mandalorian didn’t like you but you’d expected a little bit of sympathy at least at your plight and injury. Instead-

You lost your train of thought when Kuill began lightly chuckling once more, joined this time by the shaking of his head.

“What?” You sat up, glaring somewhat at him now. It was one thing for the Mandalorian to curse at you in the heat of the moment; it was quite another for Kuiil, who you’d thought kind, to laugh at something you were obviously sensitive about.

“My dear,” Kuiil said, struggling to stop chuckling, “that’s not a curse word.”

Oh. But then you frowned again. “What does it mean then?”

Still guffawing, Kuiil managed to finally speak. One word. A word that shot through you to your core. “Beloved.”

Suddenly you found yourself holding your breath, hands at your cheeks. “That’s impossible.” You croaked, your voice cracking.

A sound at the hut’s entry startled you, and you looked just in time to see the Mandalorian slipping into the small room. Your eyes immediately found the floor; you couldn’t look at him. Had he heard? You hoped beyond hope he hadn’t heard. So many thoughts were running through your brain. Kuiil must have been wrong. The Mandalorian had sounded so tense when he’d said the word to you. But- He almost always sounded that way, and if the word meant what Kuiil said it did, and if the Mandalorian had meant it that way, wouldn’t that be a natural reaction to seeing you injured? You blanched inwardly, sure you were being stupid.

All of these thoughts flew through your head as the Mandalorian thanked Kuiil, promised to return soon and gave his goodbye. You thanked Kuiil, who still looked amused, embraced him briefly and then followed the Mandalorian silently back to the ship. He said nothing to you as the gate shut behind you. As usual he rushed up the ladder but you heard his footsteps above stop. Then-

“Would…” A pause, then- “would you like to sit in the cockpit with me?” He sounded hesitant, unsure.

You took the two steps forward so you were looking up at him through the hatch. “I...” But your hand had already found the rungs of the ladder. So you said nothing and instead ascended. Then you were joining him in the cockpit. You’d been in it before on previous missions when things hadn’t felt so tense, when the Mandalorian had been much less aloof and distant. You sat and buckled yourself in as the Mandalorian blasted the ship off into space and then hyperspace.

Gathering your courage, you asked a question that had been a pinprick in your brain since you’d awoken. “Why did we stop here...” You trailed off, so uncertain, sure you shouldn’t be questioning him. “Inst- instead of going straight to Nevarro, I mean.” You rushed to clarify, wincing at the thought he might find your question annoying.

He didn’t turn to look at you, but he responded after a short period of silence. “I- Your injury was my fault. I didn’t want permanent injury caused to you because of- because I wasn’t cautious enough...” He trailed off, sounding more unsure than you’d ever heard him.

You wondered if it was just a guild thing; maybe he didn’t want Greef angry that he’d caused any damage to an admittedly valuable asset. But the word “beloved” kept echoing at you in Kuiil’s voice in your head; you couldn’t shake it.

Not a moment later, the Mandalorian was turning in his seat to face you. He seemed to have reached a decision.

“I...” He stopped then rested his hands on his knees as if grounding himself in preparation for what he was about to say. You held your breath again, heart in your throat, now sure he’d overheard you and Kuiil, sure he was about to correct the ugnaught’s bad translation skills. “What Kuiil said...”

He stopped again and you felt your face growing warm. You couldn’t look at him. Could not...stare your own embarrassment in the face - well- visor.

But you figured you could save him from his. What he must be feeling...thinking you thought he’d called you something he never would’ve...and the awkwardness of correcting that...

“It’s alright,” you tried for a light tone that only came out choked. “I told him he was wrong. I know that’s not what- I mean- I knew it was- you were...just...it was clumsy of me and I’m sure- I mean, it was the heat of the moment...we all curse when we’re mad, so, you know, no hard feelings. I’ll try- to be...more careful...” You broke off again, your mortification only growing. You hadn’t meant to imply he’d ever ask you on another mission. You rushed to correct it, wincing, knowing you were only making it worse. “Not that you ever have to partner with me again...I mean...”

You were floundering and you were sure you both knew it because suddenly he was standing and while you saw his silhouette in your peripheral vision, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him through the tears now blooming at the corners of your eyes.

Your heart began pounding as he approached you, when he crouched down in front of you so you were forced to look at him, and you almost gasped when his hands rested now on your knees.

“Cyar’ika.” A whisper beneath the helmet not captured by the vocoder so you heard it instead in his natural voice dimly from beneath his mask.

You couldn’t find it in you to breathe for several seconds. Less so when one gloved finger came up to your chin, tilting your face further up so you were staring him full in the visor.

“What Kuiil said,” he continued as if you hadn’t interrupted him. “The translation is right.”

He held your face there with one finger, both of you staring, only one actually able to see the other, as if he was waiting for a reaction, a response. But you were too shocked to speak, could not believe this was happening to you.

Finally a stuttered, “But- but you hate me.”

His hand dropped in surprise from your chin to your thigh and suddenly you were feeling warm all over.

“Hate you?” Now he sounded bewildered, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

You spoke but tried not to move the rest of your body, afraid if you did, he would move away, that he would stop touching you. The hand on your knee and the one on your thigh were blazing, awakening a fire in you you hadn’t known you had.

“You’re- you’re always so quiet. I annoy you. It’s a pain to take me with you.” You voiced suddenly out loud the sum of all the insecurities you had collected over time, over missions with him, things you’d convinced yourself of based on nothing but body language and tone.

The hand on your knee tightened and you released a whoosh of breath, completely in awe of the effect that one contact was having on your body. You’d never felt more alive.

“Cyar’ika,” he repeated, and his other hand left your thigh to take your chin fully in his palm, tilting your face again so you had no choice but to stare into his visor. You closed your eyes at the tenderness with which he said the word in a tone he’d never before used in your presence.

“I didn’t mean to be so rough with you on Coruscant,” his voice willed you to believe him. “When I saw you’d been shot...” His voice trailed off, sounding strangled. “I wasn’t mad at you.” One finger drifted across your cheek, leaving a fiery line in its wake. He brought your very skin to life. “I was scared. I didn’t want-” He stopped here and you felt him move his body closer to yours, his other hand trailing from your knee to your waist. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

Your breathing was ragged. This couldn’t be happening. Not to you. These kind of lovely, warm moments did not happen to you. You were made for a dreary life of toil with the Bounty’s Guild, not for soft leathered touches in a cockpit now too warm to handle. Not for feather soft words that tickled your very soul.

But he wasn’t done. “I don’t hate you. I...couldn’t.” Now he almost sounded amused and you opened your eyes to gaze his way. A finger ran over your lips and your breath hitched. “I’m...” He trailed off again, suddenly sounding unsure once more. “You frighten me.”

You started, staring at him like he’d grown another head. “Me?” You said in a voice so squeaky it was almost comical.

He chuckled and it warmed you to your core. You found your lips ticking up in your own involuntary smile. His happiness, little of it that you’d witnessed, was infectious. “Yes, you.” He paused again, then- “I never know what to say. I’m afraid of- of saying the wrong thing.” He hesitated again, looking down at the floor before back up at you. When he spoke again, his voice once again sounded heavy, almost congested. “You can’t know how long- how long I’ve been wanting- this.” His hand flexed around your face.

You were struck dumb. With so many things. Disbelief above all. Wonder as well. And pure joy. You must have hesitated just one moment too long. Or the look on your face must not have reflected what you were feeling. Because in what seemed to be a moment of realization, his hand dropped from your face and he was standing up and backwards, away. The sudden absence of his presence just before you was so pronounced. In the worst way.

“I didn’t mean- I thought maybe-” He couldn’t seem to finish his thought, but clearly he took your awe as rejection. He took another step back.

Before you could second guess yourself, your hand flew out to grab his before he was too far to touch. He froze. But so did you. You willed your lips to work. “Wait.” The word was strangled, but it gave you the strength to speak up.

“If you-” You swallowed the lump in your throat, praying this was real and not some trick on your psyche, some side effect of the numbing agent Kuill had given you. “I’m- Me as well. I-” You finally found the courage to look up at his visor from under your eyelashes. You said the one word you hoped would convey what it was you couldn’t seem to say. “Cyar’ika.” You squeezed his hand, hoping he’d understand.

A beat. Then- He fell back to his knees in front of you, cradling your head against his. You breathed a long sigh of relief, relaxing into him and letting go of all the tension you’d collected since...since you could remember.

Cyar’ika. You couldn’t believe you’d ever thought it a curse word. It sounded so beautiful coming off his lips now, more like a blessing. Or a prayer. You’d never had a favorite word before, but you thought that now, considering everything that one word had just gifted you...you had at least one favorite word.

Forever Tag List: @lesqui @beskars @rosetophighlander @dyn-djarin @keeper0fthestars @mrsparknuts @hiscyarika @watsonwise

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lepagera-blog · 5 years ago

Text

Betrayed | Geralt of Rivia Part One

Requested story! YN was traveling with geralt and the bard a few months. She and Geralt slept together and everything - he was her first - and she loved him but never confessed. When Yennefer arrived, Geralt fell into his charms forgetting yn. One day she found out she was pregnant, when she told Geralt he went crazy and said that she had betrayed him because Witcher’s have no children, and sent her away - and Yennefer just putting wood on the fire.

Unedited.

Pairing: Reader x Geralt

Warnings: Mentions of smut, language, angst, pregnancy.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Bonus Chapter

__________________________________________________________________

Had someone told you months ago that you would be travelling the lands with a Witcher and his bard, you could have sworn they were dreaming. It all happened so quick, Geralt had injured himself, and Jaskier had brought him to your small town for assistance. However, no one would open their doors for the pair, that is until you stepped in.

Your home became a small infirmary for the monster killer, and a home for his musical companion. After awhile, the more you cared for Geralt, the more your love for him grew. Confusion was an understatement, for you had never been with someone before. Love was a foreign feeling, no man or woman had ever made you feel such a way. Geralt had no idea, naturally, but Jaskier had long sensed your hidden feelings for the Witcher.

It was the bards idea to have you tag along with the pair on their endeavours, hoping the close proximity would push Geralt to recognising his own feelings towards you. You didn’t hesitate with agreeing, the idea of working alongside Geralt and getting to travel was more than exciting. It took some persuading, but Jaskier and his silver tongue had Geralt agreeing in no time. Agreeing however, with the promise that you didn’t bring others into the group, or fool around with random people whilst Geralt tried to work.

“The last thing I need is a damsel in distress getting in the way.”

Easily done, considering your situation. Jaskier however seemed to forget the memo.

It had been months, and you grew closer with Geralt with every wound you had to stitch. He was prone to injuries, and he secretly thanked the Gods there was someone else to stitch him up.

‘Jaskier is good with a lute, but there’s not much else.’ Geralt would leave you giggling like a child with every joke. The two of you had been forced to share a room whilst Jaskier warmed some other woman’s bed, and it pained you to hide your feelings even as they continued to soar through the sky.

You weren’t sure what came over you that night, but while Geralt was talking about at some ‘kikimora’, you kissed him. It surprised him, of course, you even more, but he returned the kiss nonetheless. That night Geralt took you to bed, and much to your shock, was more gentle and caring than you had ever seen him.

That night blossomed into a bit of a routine. The two of you would sneak away whilst Jaskier slept to fool around, and you loved it, you loved him.

Did he love you though?

You knew he didn’t, maybe some attraction but love? You had become well acquainted with the emotions of a Witcher, and love wasn’t something that was a priority.

Or that’s what you thought.

One moment Geralt is attempting to find a Djinn, the next both the Witcher and yourself were carrying a dying Jaskier to a sorceress in a large home. A giant orgy was certainly not something you thought you’d stumble into, and you definitely didn’t imagine the sorceress to be a beautiful woman. Geralt clearly didn’t either, and you didn’t try to hide the frown when you noticed his eyes change ever so slightly when he laid his eyes on her.

Those few days were a blur. Geralt ended up in prison but broke out, Jaskier was being saved by Yennefer, and you had been left in the hands of an elf for safety. When daylight broke, Geralt came barging through the estate at the same time that Jaskier emerged from Yennefer’s ‘home’. You thought you would all be taking your leave, but Geralt entered the abode, ignoring Jaskier as he talked about being short of a marble.

So the three of you stood outside, listening to the dark magic that warped through the air above. The elf to your left gulped, and Jaskier held your hand as the building began to shake. You couldn’t help the cry that escaped your chest as the roof of the building collapsed, seeming to have crushed Geralt (and Yennefer) inside. Jaskier echoed your cry, bringing you into a tight hug as you sobbed into his chest.

The elf began muttering to himself in disbelief, walking around the grounds as he weeped. His wailing soon stopped, and he choked on his own spit as he peered into a window on the first floor. Jaskier noticed this, pulling away from you as he began following after the man. Your chest tightened as he walked away, and he too chocked on his own spit at the site before him, stumbling over his words as he pointed inside.

Jaskier didn’t hear you as you joined his side, and you felt your heart break for a second time as you looked inside. Geralt was alive, that much was obvious, and he was having a rather good time celebrating such with Yennefer. The bard tried grabbing your hand, but you were already walking back to where Roach had been tied.

“(Y/N)! I’m sure this is just one of her spells! Geralt wouldn’t just do that!” Jaskier attempted to reason with you, but you shook your head, climbing onto Roach.

“He would Jaskier, because he did it with me.” A broken heart was something inevitable, but it didn’t make the pain hurt any less.

“You need to talk to him, (Y/N) please just talk to him.” He pleaded, and you ignored him. You rode off, taking Roach back to where your last campsite was.

Deep down you were more than relieved that Geralt was alive, but seeing him like that had your stomach churning. Did you have a right to feel this way? He wasn’t yours to begin with, you were both free people, but you had never loved someone before - and if this was love, you didn’t want it anymore.

It took awhile, but Geralt seemed to have gotten over his small infatuation with the mage, and after some apologising on his behalf and much to your confusion, you forgave him. Time went quickly, and after every scare with Geralt and his job, you eventually opened up to him about your feelings. The Witcher admitted that love was a foreign concept to his kind, but he would try.

He was yours, as you were his.

Fate had a funny way of working.

So when you found out you were pregnant, your world turned upside down once again. This wasn’t possible, Witcher’s were infertile. But yet, you were late with your bleeding, and throwing up became a routine for you every morning and with every meal. Your suspicions were confirmed one night when you snuck away from your companions to seek a healer.

You were pregnant.

You were carrying a Witcher’s child.

Fucked was an understatement. How would you explain this? You weren’t even sure how it happened, but Geralt had a right to know. Surely he of all people would know how such a thing could happen. Yennefer had joined the group, much to your dismay.

You couldn’t stop shaking as you sat beside Jaskier, the two of you waiting for Geralt’s return from hunting. Yennefer lay in her tent asleep, so you relished in the small window of opportunity to talk to your best friend.

“Gods (Y/N), you look horrible.” Jaskier quips, putting an arm around your shoulders for warmth.

You don’t reply, instead choosing to stare blankly into the fire.

“(Y/N)?” Your friend frowns, his eyebrows furrowing as he stared down at you.

Again you stay quiet, shivering as the wind picks upon around you both.

“What’s gotten into you?” Jaskier pulls you closer to him.

“A baby.” You mutter, not taking your eyes away from the flames.

“Sorry come again?” Your friend turns you to look at him. “Did you say a baby?”

You nod, and his eyes widen as his mouth opens wide in shock.

“(Y/N)! A baby! You’re pregnant? But how? When? Where did you find the time to jump on some random?” You attempt to interrupt him, but he continues. “I’m an uncle! Ha Ha! Oh wow what a turn of events this has been, I’m sure Yennefer is going to be hap-.” You clasp your hand over his mouth. “It’s Geralt’s.”

Jaskier tilts his head in confusion, bringing his hand to pull yours away.

“(Y/N) I get you love him and what not but you can’t trap him with that,” Jaskier points to your belly. “Witcher’s have no swimmers in their sacks.”

You grimace at his words, but shake your head.

“I haven’t been with anyone apart from Geralt,” You sigh. “I don’t know how this has happened… But it has.”

“A baby hm?” A voice interrupts the two of you, and your head turns quickly in its direction. Yennefer stands at her tent, eyebrow raised at the two of you.

“I thought mages knew that eavesdropping was rude, but you seem the type.” Jaskier rolls his eyes at the witch, and she gives a low smile.

“It’s not eavesdropping Jaskier when you talk as loud as a giant,” Yennefer walks towards you, dropping down to your level as she eyes your stomach. “Well, you weren’t lying, there’s certainly a baby in there.”

“Why would I lie?” You cover yourself with your arms as the woman shrugs.

“You seem boring enough to conjure up some lie.”

You bite your lip to refrain from arguing back. As rude as she may be, she was still a powerful witch, and you were, well, you.

“Is that jealousy I detect?” Jaskier, however, was Jaskier.

Yennefer’s gives your friend a cold glare, but he stares her down. She huffs, before planting herself on the log on the other side of the fire.

“You really think Geralt is going to believe that,” She points to your stomach. “Is his? Honestly?”

“But it is his.” You wrap your hands around yourself, attempting to shield your body from the witches gaze.

“He’s a Witcher (Y/N), are you sure you don’t want to pin this on another one of your suitors?” Her violet eyes glisten, a smug grin supporting.

“I’m sure you heard me before Yennefer, you know there isn’t any other man.” Why was she so being so cruel?

“That baby didn’t show up on its own now did it?” She chuckles. “Human’s never stop amazing me.”

“It’s Geralt’s baby you miserable toad,” Jaskier rolls his eyes in her direction. “You may be a fan of lying, but (Y/N) here is not.”

“It’s not Geralt’s.” Yennefer stands her ground, before smiling at something behind you.

“What’s not mine?” Your blood runs cold at the familiar voice, and you feel yourself become significantly paler.

“Y-Yennefer shall we go for a walk? I believe we should go for a lovely stroll and leave our two frien-” “(Y/N) here has something to tell you.” Yennefer interrupts Jaskier as he stumbles over his words.

“Hm?” You can feel his eyes on you, but you refuse to turn around.

“Yennefer I think we can let (Y/N) decide for herself what she wants to do hm?” Jaskier gives your hand a tender squeeze, but it doesn’t nothing to stop your shaking.

“What’s going on?” Geralt walks towards the fire, throwing some rabbit by Jaskier’s feet.

The bard grimaces, and your mouth goes dry.

“Go on (Y/N).” The witch waves her hand around, urging you to continue.

“Yennefer.” Your friend warns, but she ignores him.

The two continue to bicker back and forth, Geralt standing in the middle, but his eyes are on you. Finally you stand, walking away from the trio as you attempt to calm your breathing. Footsteps follow you from behind, and judging by the way you can still hear Jaskier and Yennefer arguing, you know it’s Geralt.

“Are you going to tell me what all of that is about?” His husky voice sends shivers down your spine, but you continue walking until you’re by the waters edge.

“(Y/N)?” He stops by your side, staring down at you in confusion.

“I’m pregnant.” You don’t look at him, instead keeping your gaze on the rushing water.

He’s quiet, until you hear him sigh. “Whose is it?”

“Do you really have to ask me that?”

“Do I know him?” He sounds disappointed, and you frown.

“Very well.”

“Jaskier?” He grunts, and you scrunch your nose in disgust.

“It’s yours Geralt.” You turn to look, and your eyes instantly water at his blank stare.

“Good joke.”

“I’m not joking,” Your hand pats your stomach. “I’m carrying your child.”

“Have you been drinking?” Geralt’s tone turns harsh, and you gasp.

“Are you serious? I wouldn’t lie about something like this! You know me Geralt.”

“And you know me (Y/N)!” His eyes glow a little in anger, and you take a step back. “You know my kind can’t breed, what game are you playing?”

Tears fall from your eyes. “This isn’t a game! I love you Geralt, why would I want to hurt you like this?”

“Love me? When you carry another man’s child!” He yells back. “That’s not love.”

“It is yours! I have never been with anyone else,” You cried, wiping away the tears that fall. “When have I ever lied to you?”

He doesn’t respond, but his breathing comes out rough as he attempts to collect himself.

“Geral-”

“Don’t,” He holds his finger up. “We’re done here.”

“What do you mean?” You whisper, walking towards him.

He holds his hand up again, stopping you. “You need to stay away, before I say something I regret.”

Your mouth opens to speak, but no words come out. Geralt walks away without hesitation, leaving you by the waters edge in tears. Sobs leave your throat, and you fall to your knees, cradling your stomach as you do.

What were you supposed to do now? What could you do?

Night began to fall, and Jaskier was by your side almost instantly. His arms surrounding you as you cried into his chest. You grasp at his shirt, and he pulls you close.

“I know, I know,” He whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

You continue to cry, and his own eyes water at the site of his broken friend.

You weren’t sure how long the two of you were sitting there for, but darkness surrounded you and you could hear the faint crackling of the fire back at your sight. Light conversation could be heard, and you rested your head on Jaskier’s chest as he gently caressed your arm.

“I’ll try talking to him,” He whispers. “I-I’ll try my best (Y/N), I’m-”

“Don’t bother Jaskier,” You sniff. “He thinks I have betrayed him.”

“But you haven’t, that witch is in his ear (Y/N) I swear.”

“It doesn’t matter.” You shake your head, and he sighs.

Jaskier helps you stand to your feet, brushing off any leaves that stuck to your clothing.

“Do you want me t-” “I have no choice but to go home, I cannot stay here.”

“No, no, lets not be so rash here, you don’t have to leave.” His eyes are wide as he stares down at you, and you nod at him.

“I’m pregnant Jaskier,” The two of you begin walking back to your camp. “The road is no place for me.”

“I’ve never been one for babies,” He slowly nods in agreement. “But I’m certain you know better than I.”

“You can always come to visit me, that is if we’re still friends after all of this.”

“What kind of uncle would I be if I didn’t?” Jaskier holds a hand over his heart. “An awful one for sure.”

You were going to miss this. Jaskier was your only friend, and now that you were going to be returning home, you were certain you would never see him again. His life was on the road, as was Geralt’s.

By the time you made it back to the camp, both Geralt and Yennefer were nowhere to be seen. Roach was gone, but you knew they were going to return as their belongings were still present.

“Want to sleep in my tent tonight?” Jaskier is already opening the door to his small little home when you nod. Usually you would be by Geralt’s side, but it was easy to avoid the inevitable unease over everyones new sleeping arrangements.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, but you mumble a small no. “You should eat something (Y/N).”

“I’m afraid I’ve lost my appetite, I’d prefer to just go to bed if you’ll allow me.”

“You’re not just looking after yourself now.” Your friend gives you a pained glance but steps aside.

“I know Jaskier,” You step inside, but turn around to look at your friend in the eyes. “I’ll eat plenty of breakfast with you in the morning, how does that sound?”

“Sounds like a deal, goodnight (Y/N).” He smiles, and you return it.

Closing the tent flap, you make yourself comfortable on what you assume is your side of the ‘bed’.

Gods, you’ve really done it now haven’t you?

Sleep didn’t come quick, the anxiety of what was going to be your morning filling ever fibre of your being. But, sure enough, you closed your eyes and let the sound of the night lull you to sleep.

When you woke, the morning sun shined in your eyes. Keeping your eyes shut, your hands grasped at the sheets beneath you as you stretched. Almost instantly however they opened, your body freezing.

Sheets?

Sitting upright in bed, you noticed that you were no longer laying in the tent belonging to your best friend, but the bedroom from your old life. Your mattress felt the same as before, and you could hear your mother downstairs talking to one of your siblings.

You pinched your leg, but your bedroom remained in site. How was this possible? You were thousands of miles from home just yesterday, and now you were here.

Yennefer.

No doubt the witch had played a large part in this. There were no bags, no notes. They had sent you home with just the clothes on your back.

You had no proof whatsoever to the last eleven months of your journey. Well, that’s if you didn’t include a fucking baby.

Like clockwork, tears began to fall from your eyes at the thought. The love of your life discarded you without a second thought, and you never got to say goodbye. Geralt believes he’s the one betrayed here, but now you were alone and pregnant with a Witcher’s child.

Fate? Yeah, it had a real funny way of working.

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