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jaskierswolf · 3 years

Note

I really love your canine cutagens fic and would like to propose: geralt having an excited sneezing fit everytime he sees jaskier for the first time after winter

Set in this AU where Geralt has canine cutagens rather than feline ones.

I'm glad you liked the fic! Hopefully this one lives up to the hype!

Geraskier with a side of valskier.

Winter - it was quite possibly Jaskier’s least favourite time of the year. It wasn’t all bad, a cushy few months tucked away in Oxenfurt that gave him time to finalise the works he’d been composing during the warmer months with Geralt. Long dark evenings were spent in taverns or stumbling around unfamiliar bedrooms in very little clothing, usually a mix of the two, but now those days were almost over. Slowly but surely, the sun stayed up a little later in the evening, and it wasn’t quite as cold and dark when Jaskier awoke in the morning. Soon enough he would be saying goodbye to his winter lovers and returning to the path.

To Geralt.

The last summer with Geralt had been a strange one, but Jaskier thought back on it fondly. The witcher had finally let down his guards, and the stoic, brooding man had given way to an adorable, excitable puppy-like friend that Jaskier just cooed over. The cuddles were Jaskier’s favourite part, and for the first time in so many years, he hadn’t returned to Oxenfurt feeling touch-starved and needy - a fact that Valdo had been thrilled about. Whilst they had still slept together, Jaskier hadn’t been pathetic and cuddly after the main event.

Valdo Marx was just not a cuddly man, and it was a miracle that he’d put up with Jaskier for so long. They were on and off lovers and full-time rivals, and that was enough for Valdo. It was a shame really, the man was really quite marvellous in bed but they simply weren’t suited to each other for a more long-term affair.

But now Jaskier had Geralt… sort of. They were closer than they had ever been before, which was really not doing Jaskier’s crush any favours, but there was also hope for something more, no, not more… just… more what Jaskier wanted from their relationship. Soft evenings had been spent with Geralt’s head in his lap, gently scratching behind the witcher’s ears and delighting in the way Geralt’s leg kicked out behind him. Jaskier sang lullabies as he weaved braids into Geralt’s long hair, not afraid to bop Geralt on the nose whenever the witcher got restless and started to mouth at his hands and fingers.

On days like that, it was easy to imagine a tail wagging behind Geralt, or a flick of wolfy ears on the top of his head, but no… for all intents and purposes, the witcher looked human apart from his slitted eyes that glowed brightly in the dark. He would whine if Jaskier had to get up, or growl whenever someone got too close that he didn’t trust, and when they were alone, Geralt was excitable and carefree in a way that he had never allowed himself to be before. It was nice… and Jaskier had really missed his companion over the winter.

“Come on, Geralt,” he sighed to himself, as he stared wistfully out of his window at Oxenfurt.

Often they met on the path, but Geralt had sent a letter ahead saying that he had business in Oxenfurt and Jaskier should wait where he was. Apparently, there was a contract or something for a ghoul, or alghoul… Jaskier couldn’t quite remember. All he knew is that Geralt was due any day now and he was pining. Poor, stupid, pathetic Jaskier, couldn’t even manage a few months away from his best friend without acting like a wilting rose by the time spring rolled around.

His bags had been packed for a week already, and he had an order with the University’s kitchen staff ready and waiting whenever Geralt turned up. Food had always been the way to Geralt’s heart, so this year Jaskier had made sure that he would have plenty of treats to keep them sated for at least the first part of their journey, and whilst Geralt was in town, Jaskier couldn’t wait to give him a tour of the best restaurants and taverns. There was a place down by the docks that made a fish stew that was simply to die for, and he knew Geralt would love it.

“Come on, come on, come on!” he whined, resting his head on his chin and pouting as he gazed out the glass.

The streets down below were busy as ever, still decorated with evergreen branches and holly from the yuletide celebrations, and there was a band performing in the square. Jaskier rolled his eyes when he noticed the familiar peacock feather sprouting from the lutenist’s hat.

Valdo Marx.

He smirked fondly, before pushing open the window and inhaling deeply. “Get off the streets, you talentless hack!” he heckled, waving down at his dearest rival.

Green eyes met his from across the square, and Valdo flipped him off with a wink. Ah, yes…it was always good to be back in Oxenfurt, even if he did miss Geralt terribly. Cackling, Jaskier slammed his window shut and went to flop down on his bed like a damsel in distress. He sighed dramatically and closed his eyes.

“When will my witcher come back from the war?” he sang softly, his fingers dancing on his chest as he played on imaginary strings. “It’s been a long and lonely winter, trapped here within these walls.”

His nose scrunched as he grimaced. “Nope… not your best, Jask.”

“Not your worst, either,” Geralt’s voice called from the doorway.

And then it was pandemonium. The minute their eyes met, the cool facade dropped and Geralt launched at Jaskier, bouncing them both on the bed as he landed. Geralt whined as he bit and licked Jaskier’s neck and face, nuzzling against Jaskier’s chest and pinning him down.

“Geralt!” he cried with a laugh, his hands finding their way into Geralt’s long silver hair. The excitement radiating off of Geralt was infectious and Jaskier couldn’t help but laugh as he was attacked with untold affection.

Until Geralt sneezed.

The witcher sat up, looking incredibly confused by the sudden sniffle. His nose wrinkled adorably, and golden eyes went wide and dark… and then he sneezed again. That time, snot sprayed Jaskier’s cheek as Geralt wasn’t able to cover his face in time, his fingers still pinning Jaskier’s wrists to the bed. Grimacing, Jaskier started to wriggle, his laughter turning to protests.

“Geralt, no! Geralt… Get off of me!” he scolded, finally able to break free of Geralt’s grasp just in time to shield his face as:

“Achoo!” Came the third sneeze followed by a growl as Geralt shook his head. “Sorry,” he grumbled.

The poor bastard looked so sad that Jaskier just couldn’t stay mad at him. He rolled his eyes with a sigh, and then wiped his face with his sleeve. Still sitting up, Geralt wrinkled his nose and then shook out his hair, before smiling sheepishly down at Jaskier.

“Didn’t mean to,” he muttered. “Happens when I get too excited.”

And oh.

Now Jaskier really couldn’t stay mad at him. He cooed, and opened his arms wide. Geralt huffed, and flopped down on Jaskier’s chest with another grumbled apology, his nose pressed into the crook of Jaskier’s neck. It was nice, not the most eloquent of descriptions but luckily Marx wasn’t inside his head to be all smug about it… and sometimes nice really did just fit the scene.

Calm, peaceful, happy and a little snot covered, but nice all the same.

Taglist: @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde, @comfyswitcherblanketfort, @fontegagrilledcheese, @dani-dandelino, @dapandapod @damnbert @officerjennie @feraljaskier @geralt-of-riviass @kueble @gilberik @llamasdumpsterfire @trickstermoose67 @alllthequeenshorses @skai6 @karolincki @eya-trying-to-function @stonedstargazer666 @aurelia-which-means-sunrise

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #geralt #jaskier pankratz #jaskier #valdo marx #valskier #valdskier #cutagens #wolfie's witcher writing

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youwinglessthing · 3 years

Note

hi i’m new here (witcher/jaskier and whatnot) so i was wondering if you had any fic recs 👀 (bonus for whump/hc) !! thanks!!!!

Hi, anon. And welcome to the fandom.

So... fic recs, eh? Considering that I have more than 400 bookmarks saved since the beginning of 2020 this would be easy-peasy... I am normal I promise But I tried to list my fav-fav here. The list turned out to be quite long, so I hid it partially under the cut (hope I haven't messed up with the links).

First, I will recommend some talented authors whose works I really enjoy. Just check their AO3 and I promise you will find some amazing and well-written Jaskier fanfiction.

whisperedstory– author has a lot of amazing angst/whump stories. But my personal fav is This Life That We've Createdseries, if you like found family feels you will enjoy this immensely.

kinneyb – this author has a lot of stories for every flavor – AUs, angst, fluff, humor, whump. Very interesting plots/ideas and solid writing.

didoandis– very beautiful writing. This author’s works have everything that Jaskier whump soul craves.

sospes – one of my favorite authors in the fandom. The Path Not Taken series is my all-time fav Jaskier fics. Also, there are some delicious steamy stories If you are into that.

PenAndInkPrincess– the author writes absolutely spectacular Jaskier and Geralt. Stories contain whump, angst, and a healthy dose of humor. I especially recommend fixing things, one jar at a time series (based on s2). But really check other works you won’t regret it.

And here’s the rest of my fic rec list (mainly geraskier)

Long read:

What Is Meant To Be (Always Finds A Way) by Constant_Crisis, MisterTiberius | Words:134,512 |mature| Oh, this beast of a fic has Jaskier whump, feral and protective Geralt, pining, chapter-based plot.

Kingdoms Come and Kingdoms Go, Rivers Run and Rivers Flow | Words:62,633 |teen| one of the best AUs in my opinion. Very interesting world-building, great side characters.

Cause with You, I'm More than Good Enough by DianaMoon | Words:67,654 |explicit| Jaskier whump of the delicious kind.

Valdo Marx Must Die by Maimat | Words:58,958 |mature| Interesting plot, well-written characters, whump. Love how the author portrays Jaskier in this one.

Shiningby Nemainofthewater | Words:57422 |gen| dragon!Jaskier AU which has angst, humor, found family and adorableness all around.

hear the cannons calling by ghostinthelibrary | Words:56,048 |explicit| Great AU with good characterization and interesting plot (covers Nilfgaard’s invasion and Ciri-finding drama)

One Blessing by Jana_C | Words:36,037 |explicit| non-human Jaskier, found family feels.

The Paths You Take by CosmicOcelot | Words:35,151 |mature| Wonderful found family fic.

Can’t you hear that scratching by SpaceBat (kuraikon) | Words:31,623 |mature| Jaskier acquired a creepy stalker. It goes as well as you can imagine.

Series:

Cats and Witchers, Oh Myseries by james | Words:31,952 |gen/teen| A quirky series of catshifter!Jaskier. If you need a dose of cuteness – this is the thing.

The Greensleeves Saga series by RebrandedBard | Words:36,618 |teen/explicit| this is very yummy geraskier fics

the roads we walk seriesby shellybelle | Words:78,043 |explicit| Wonderful AU of warlord!Geralt type. It has everything – Jaskier whump, great plot, angst, found family… yummy.

of bards and witches and witchers series by WriteThroughTheNight | Words:18,685 |teen| this is an AU where Jaskier is Yennefer’s brother. If you like Jaskier and Yen, this one would be the thing for you.

speak of destiny as if it was fixed series by Hirikka | Words:24,879 |gen| His Dark Materials AU/Fusion. This is an amazing take on that idea and well-written into TWN canon.

Other:

You are too well tangled in my soul by Samtree | Words:26,320 |teen| Another great time-travel fic

Suturesby mrhd | Words:20728 | teen | classical whump story with very graphic medical procedure

The Sevenfold Path by Star_flaming | Words:17,412 |gen| friendship, character study (in regards of Jaskier’s education)

in restless dreams i walked alone (the sound of silence) by august_embers | Words:16136 |teen| this story deals with some heavy mental illness themes

The Time Traveler's Bard by SweetestHoney| Words:15,445 |mature| beautifully written time-travel fic

A Long Walkby Goody | Words:15,546|teen| Jaskier whump and some good Jaskier&Geralt Dynamics

Hollow Chests by TheMadHatterOfficial | Words:14,349 |gen| Absolutely wonderful kid!Jaskier fic

Companionshipby ArliaDevi | Words:14,080 |teen| Another fandom classic. Jaskier and Geralt relationship from Ciri’s perspective.

Forget Me Not by im_fairly_witty | Words:11,731 |teen| well-written soulmate AU that will make you feel all the feels

blue by thanksroach (irnhero) | Words:11,810 |teen| AU with mer!Jaskier. Very cute and adorable.

until the blue ocean turns green by gravitational | Words:12,322 |teen| another great mer!Jaskier AU

starlight; star-crossedby julek | Words:10,396 |teen| Geralt gets jealous of a dog :D

i was burning up a fever (i didn't care much how long i lived) by petersnotkingyet | Words:4,141 |gen| silly and cute fic about Jaskier getting sick and withers’ overreaction

Calm Down? Geralt, You Are Kidnapping Me! by HappyJuicyfruit | Words:4,669| medieval social distancing Geralt style >:)

And Roses Suit You So | Words:8,056 |teen| book!Geralt has some words with twn!Geralt about Jaskier’s treatment

To Your Witchers by katie_elizabeth | Words:8,227 |teen| It was one of the first fics that I’ve read in the fandom. I didn’t even know who Eskel was back then, but I fell in love with him instantly :)

Two WIPs that I follow and hope that authors won’t abandon them

Jaskier, the Boy Witcher by Pineapplemoon | Words:55,290 |teen| I love familial bonding and this fic has it ten folds (Geralt adopts kid!Jaskier, plot woven into twn canon)

Without you, I'm Stronger, I'm no Longer filled with Wonder by Jassy | Words:81,739 |explicit| Eskel/Jaskier amazingness. Also, Jaskier as a proper count and guardian of 4 kids.

#jaskier #geraskier #fanfiction

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d-andilion · 2 years

Text

imagine it

@thepassifloradiscord’s bards week - day 6: cheating

(valskier, modern au, angst, jaskier whump, infidelity (not w/ main pairing), significantly hornier than my usual but still non-explicit, pining, unrequited love (or is it??), 1.5k)

read on ao3

Valdo doesn’t usually fall asleep after they fuck. Usually, he lays flat on his back, staring intently at the ceiling until his breathing slows to normal and his sweat has nearly dried. Usually, he gets up without a word and wipes himself down before pulling on his clothes in slow, leisurely movements. Usually, he leaves Jaskier’s bedroom without a word or even a second glance.

Tonight, however, he did fall asleep. Jaskier rolled away as usual and waited until his own jackrabbiting heart stopped trying to beat its way out of his chest. But when he looked back at Valdo, he didn’t see the usual pensive staring contest with the swirls of plaster above. Valdo was on his back but his head was lolled to the side, facing Jaskier, and his eyes were closed.

He must be exhausted. Jaskier is a bit too. Rehearsals have been running late at the theatre all week and as the two leads of the production, a great deal is expected of them. But that’s just part of the gig on the West End, an occupational hazard. Still, it’s probably hard to keep up with a relationship and a mistress on top of it all. Jaskier wouldn’t know, of course. He’s not in a relationship. He’s the mistress.

In fairness, as Jaskier often tells himself, he had Valdo first.

It started a few weeks into rehearsals. Jaskier had stayed late one night at the theatre to practice. There was this leaping-turn sequence in the choreography that he’d been missing all week and no one said anything, but he could tell it was getting to be an issue. They’d hired him for his voice despite his middling dance skills, but he’d promised to work hard. This was his first lead role and he wasn’t about to fuck it up.

The crew manager had left him with the key to the back door and an oath to switch off the lights before he left so he could keep working. Everyone was supposed to be gone for the day. He must have been there for hours, sweating and frustrated when Valdo elected to show himself.

“You’re half a beat early.”

Valdo scared the bleeding shit out of him when he spoke up, a snide, disembodied voice echoing from the pitch black of the wings. Jaskier gave an undignified squeal and scowled over at Valdo as he strutted out onto the stage, arms crossed over his chest and a smirk on his lips.

“I’ve never seen such a talented singer with such poor internal rhythm,” Valdo teased. “Where on Earth did they find you, Pankratz?”

Jaskier was too tired for their usual banter and rolled his eyes in place of a witty reply. “I assume you’ve got it down perfect, then?”

“I do, as a matter of fact.” Valdo shed his thin jacket and kicked off his shoes. “Like this, dear one.”

Jaskier stood back and watched Valdo execute the sequence as perfectly as one could in skin-tight jeans and bare feet. Better than Jaskier had been doing for the past week, at any rate. Jaskier had Valdo beat as a vocalist, if only by a slim margin, but Valdo was a much better dancer. Small wonder that, despite their nearness in age, Valdo had two lead roles to his name already, while Jaskier was only just debuting as a star.

Valdo grinned smugly, but he stepped aside and waved Jaskier forward. “Come on, Julian. Give it a go.”

Jaskier did, eventually, stick the move. Spite was a rather good motivator. After a few more successful run-throughs, he was feeling quite good about himself. That’s what he blames it on. High spirits, high blood pressure, and the look of Valdo’s ass in those obscenely tight jeans. Jaskier never would have been stupid enough to bend his infuriating co-star over a half-constructed set of prop stairs otherwise.

It was supposed to be a one-time thing. That’s what they said as they shut off the lights and went their separate ways at the back door. Jaskier was pretty good at one-time things. He probably would have been able to stick to it were it not for the fact that he spent every single day watching Valdo flit gracefully about the stage in leggings that left nothing to the imagination.

So they kept having one-time things. On the overstuffed chair in Valdo’s dressing room, on the couch in the cast lounge, in the backseat of Jaskier’s car. They kept it to themselves, obviously. The producer would have had a cow if she found out her stars were having extremely inadvisable sex all over her theatre. She actually put it in their contract—no amorous relationships between cast members. They only ever led to disaster.

Things really were fine. Mostly. Or, they were. Until Valdo got a boyfriend

Jaskier didn’t really have a right to be miffed about it. It’s not like he and Valdo were dating. They barely spoke to each other outside of work and sex. And the boyfriend, Archie, was a nice guy. He worked in the sound booth and everybody liked him. Jaskier liked him.

As expected, the sex stopped. Valdo and Archie were an adorable couple. Archie brought him flowers at least once a week and he played a little pre-recorded applause sound from the booth after Valdo finished rehearsing a solo. Everyone on set made jokes about them being ‘relationship goals’, or whatever.

Jaskier figured he was imagining all the times he caught Valdo staring at him, or how fake Valdo’s smile looked when he accepted Archie’s flowers. Jaskier was just being pathetic and horny. Valdo had an amazing, perfect boyfriend. He wasn’t sparing a thought for an ex-booty call, no matter how much Jaskier wanted him to be.

Then, around Valentine’s Day, it happened again.

In the dingy ally on the east side of the theatre, Jaskier found Valdo on his way out, leaning against the wall with a cigarette in his hand. He didn’t know Valdo smoked. Professional singing sort of precluded the habit, so he couldn’t have done it often. Maybe just when he was stressed out.

Valdo looked stressed out. His pretty black curls were sticking out everywhere like he’d been running his fingers through them, and there were dark circles under his eyes that Jaskier hadn’t noticed during rehearsal.

Jaskier doesn’t really remember what was said. Valdo probably made a snide comment and Jaskier probably gave one back to him. What he does remember is the way Valdo kissed him. Hard and desperate, teeth and tongue and spit. There was nothing graceful about it, but it felt like the eye of a storm.

That was the first time Valdo came to Jaskier’s flat. They fucked like the world would end if they took their hands off of each other, like the ground would crack open and swallow them whole. Jaskier fell asleep with Valdo’s head on his chest. He woke up alone. The next day, Archie brought Valdo flowers, and Valdo smiled.

They fell into a routine after that. Valdo came over once or twice a week. He never fell asleep. He always left before midnight. Archie brought him flowers. He smiled. Repeat. If nothing else, it was efficient.

But this time, Valdo fell asleep in Jaskier’s bed. Jaskier runs his forefinger feather-light over a sharp cheekbone, carefully not to wake him. The streetlights pouring through the window smear a neon rainbow over Valdo’s pale skin. He looks calm the way he never does when he’s awake anymore, but he’s beautiful the way he always is.

Jaskier has slept with people in relationships before. He’s slept with married people before. It’s fun, hot, scratches that itch to do something bad. It was never his relationship on the line, so the moral weight of it hadn’t bothered him all that much. He’s never felt wrong for it. Never felt dirty.

With Valdo, it’s different. He makes everything different, damn him to hell. Archie is a sweetheart, he doesn’t deserve to be betrayed like this. And every day, Jaskier has to look the poor bastard in the eye and try not to think about much he enjoyed fucking his boyfriend the other night. It makes Jaskier’s stomach turn, how scummy he feels, but it’s not enough to change anything.

Because Jaskier is great at casual when it’s a one-time thing. He’s practically a professional. But this; seeing someone every day, thinking about them every night, mapping the curves of their body until he knows them by heart, memorizing the cadence of the breath and the exact tone of their cries when they come for him—

It’s more than his weak heart can bear.

Jaskier brushes a curl from Valdo’s face and tucks it behind his ear before letting his hand rest on the pillow between them. He closes his eyes.

He’s in love with Valdo. Completely, stupidly, hopelessly in love with him. And he’s going to do this—be Valdo’s mistress, his sideshow, his dirty little secret—for as long as Valdo will let him.

Valdo does leave that night, just before sunrise. Jaskier pretends to be asleep, listening to the familiar sounds of Valdo cleaning off and getting dressed. Jaskier thinks for the faintest moment that he feels the brush of cool fingertips against his jaw, but he keeps his eyes closed. He probably just imagined it.

bards week masterlist

#this is one of my favorite ficlets ive ever written!!#my fic #mine #valskier #valdskier #jaskier x valdo #valdo x jaskier

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writinglizards · 4 years

Text

There isn’t, Actually

Summary: Yennefer and Geralt start dating. Jaskier...doesn't deal well.

Warnings: No real warnings, but there is no happy ending! Don’t @ me about it, you’ve been warned.

Read on Ao3

"Really wish you didn't do this to yourself, love," Priscilla says. She's seated at the breakfast bar in his kitchen, a mug of warm tea in her hands. She gazes down at where Jaskier's curled up on the floor, his back to a cabinet, head in his hands.

"Yeah," his reply is muffled by his knees, "I know."

"It's not healthy," she points out needlessly.

"I know." And he does. That's part of why it's so fucking frustrating. He should just...get over it. They're friends. They're just friends and he's...glad they're friends. He is. The rest of it shouldn't matter. Geralt dating anyone, even Yennefer, shouldn't matter.

"Darling, you'll be over it in a week," she says, gulping down the last of her tea and rising. She combs her fingers lightly back through his hair as she passes him on her way to the sink to rinse out the mug.

"I hope you're right, Pri."

* * * *

He's not over it in a week.

He tries not to let it bother him, tries to leave the thoughts alone so they'll heal. It feels like an open sore, aches like a bad tooth, a knife through the ribs. He's okay at ignoring it when he's distracted but at night, alone, with nothing else to focus on--

"Jask, are you coming tonight or not?" He bares his teeth at the phone and imagines he looks fierce and angry instead of like he's in pain.

"I think...probably not. I've got a lot of work to do over here, you know. Teaching...things..." It's a weak excuse.

"You can just say you don't want to go out. It's fine," Geralt says, voice tight and a little angry, "I'm sure this has nothing to do with Yen being there, hm?" The knife in the ribs twists, breathtakingly painful.

"No," he says, voice weak, "No, Geralt, I'm just. Busy."

"Sure. Well, let me know when you're not...busy." He doesn't even say goodbye when he hangs up. Jaskier tosses his phone on the couch and crouches down in the middle of the living room, presses his palms to his eyes, and wills himself not to cry.

* * * *

He goes the next time Geralt invites him out, against his better judgment. He's trying to prove to Geralt he's fine, that he doesn't have a problem with Yen, that he can be an adult about this. He only hopes that's true.

They meet at the little brunch place he and Geralt have been frequenting since just after they'd met, and Jaskier's cautiously hopeful. It's just brunch. He can survive a single brunch with them, with her. It's. It can't be that bad.

He is, of course, wrong.

They're both late, a little rumpled, and Jaskier can see the edge of a fresh hickey peaking from the collar of Geralt's shirt. His hair looks like it's had fingers run through it. Yen's outfit is prim, but her makeup's a little smudged. Jaskier tries not to dwell on any of it.

"Sorry," Geralt says as he takes his seat across from Jaskier. Yen slides into the booth beside him and he tugs her closer, and arm over her shoulder, "got a little, uh, carried away." His grin is apologetic, a little conspiratorial. What can you do? it asks Jaskier.

"Mm." It's all he can manage with the sick, unpleasant feeling churning in his gut, green-eyed and vicious. He pretends to be engrossed in the menu, despite knowing it like the back of his hand. He's. Not sure what he might do otherwise. Something embarrassing, probably.

They order in a stilted kind of way. Geralt makes small talk, as they wait for their food, catching Jaskier up on the goings-on of the ranch he works at, which is more than three quarters a report about the horses and only about one quarter actually things his coworkers have done. He asks about Jaskier's classes, the grading, how he's doing.

He almost expects Yen to butt in, insert herself, but she just sits placidly at his side, smile fond. He wishes she'd give him a reason to hate her, a real reason and not the painfully twisting one in his chest. That's not fair to her. Of course she loves Geralt. Who wouldn't?

He miraculously makes his way through the meal contributing very little to the conversation except when pointedly asked. If he were thinking straight, he'd know how suspicious that was, but as it is he just wants to escape, wants to curl up in his bed at home and pretend very not to cry. He wants to feel numb again, like he did when Geralt told him he'd started sleeping with her, the way he had when they'd decided to try and make this thing work.

They say a weak goodbye afterward and it's...lacking. Jaskier can feel it, like static in the air, like a looming thunderstorm. Geralt doesn't look like he's noticed at all.

"I'll see you later?" he asks, and he's not even looking at him, eyes glued on Yen where she's leaning against the hood of his beat-up truck.

"Yeah," he says, "of course." Geralt nods, as if that settles it. Only then do his eyes slide back over to Jaskier.

"Thank you. For today. I know you don't care for Yen, but it means a lot to me, you two getting along." Jaskier doesn't trust his voice, so he just nods. The knife twists, sinks a little deeper.

Geralt claps him on the shoulder before he turns back to the truck and Yennefer. Jaskier doesn't stay to watch him open her door for her, doesn't stay to watch them drive away, just starts walking. Once, Geralt would have driven him home. Now, he takes the bus.

* * * *

Anyone with eyes can see your pining. You're lucky Geralt's an idiot.

Figure it out.

The texts are from an unknown number, but Jaskier's not an idiot.

Mind your own business, witch.

He rolls over in bed and tugs the covers up above his head and doesn't check his phone when it pings again.

* * * *

"You can't just shut everyone out," Essi says where she's reclined back beside him on the bed. He's tucked under the covers, hiding his head beneath the sheets.

"Ah, but I can, Essi darling," he says, not moving an inch. She shifts to drape her upper body dramatically over the lump of him.

"It's pathetic, Jaskier."

"I'm pathetic," he snaps back, "if you hadn't noticed."

She shifts off him, taking the extra sheets covering his head with her. He scowls at her as she settles down beside him again, now face to face, her head on the second pillow. "I don't understand why you didn't say something sooner. I understand why you can't now, but--"

"He's my friend, Essi," he says, and that's true even now, even when he's missed the last four calls and ignored every text since the brunch. He can't face him right now, not when the hurt pulses hot in his chest, makes his eyes burn to think about it, "and he loves her."

"So?"

"So?" he echos, "so he loves her, Essi. And she cares about him it's--Geralt doesn't let himself have what he wants. He deserves this."

"And what do you deserve, Jaskier?"

His eyes burn. "I don't know."

* * * *

Essi doesn't leave him until he gets out of bed, but it just means he moves the pile of blankets to the couch. A slightly improved environment, he begrudgingly admits. At least now he can nurse his heartache with the tv on in the background.

He doses off at some point, exhausted in the overwhelming way that's exclusive to emotional turmoil and wakes slowly to the sound of someone in his kitchen. He's been out of it enough lately he just assumes it's Pri over to make sure he doesn't starve himself to death. She’s. A good friend. His best friend, really, not counting Geralt. If only he could be in love with her. He rolls to face the back of the couch and yanks the blankets a little higher when he hears the footsteps exit the kitchen, as if he can hide from her scrutiny that way. Except it's not Pri.

"So who broke your heart this time?"

"What are you doing here?" Jaskier hisses but very carefully doesn't move. He doesn't want to be having this conversation at all, but especially not face to face.

"You quit answering your phone and Pricilla told me you were sulking when I called her." He shoves Jaskier's feet to the floor and sits at the end of the couch. He sets a mug of something on the coffee table in front of Jaskier and curls the other mug close to his chest. Jaskier can just see him over the edge of the blanket. "So. Who broke your heart this time?"

"Who says anyone broke my heart?"

Geralt just sighs. "You haven't done this since Valdo left," he says, and that's not a reminder he wants right now or ever, thank you.

"Yes, well--" he clears his throat, sits upright (there's something terrifyingly vulnerable about laying there with Geralt at his feet). He snatches the mug off the table and curls it close to himself, burrows as deeply as he can between the arm and the back of the couch, knees tucked to his chest. "--it's--" nothing, he wants to say, but this is Geralt. "I'm getting over it."

"What happened?"

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it does," he says, eyes too solemn, too concerned, "it always does, Jaskier." His chest aches. The knife twists, always a little deeper. He's bleeding out so, so slowly.

"He, uh," he clears his throat, "he's started seeing someone else. We're. Um. Kind of done." It's a partial truth. They'd never been seeing each other in the first place.

Geralt's quiet for a beat. "You really liked him," he says, and Jaskier's eyes are burning.

"Yeah," he admits quietly. It's so close to the conversation he wants to be having, the one he won't let himself. Geralt deserves to be happy. He's not going to ruin that. "It's okay though. We, uh. We didn't work very well together, really. I don't think--" he cuts himself off, tears in the back of his throat. "I don't think it would have ever meant to him what it meant to me anyway."

"Jask," Geralt sighs, sets his mug down, and before he can parse what's happening, Geralt's pried the mug of tea out of his hands and tugged him into his arms. He freezes, panic swelling in his chest, but Geralt hums softly, runs a hand down his back, and that's all it takes for him to burst into tears. "Ssh, Jask, it's okay." It's not okay, nothing's okay, but he just clings and cries and tries not to get snot on Geralt's shirt.

Geralt lets him cry himself out, tucked against his chest. Afterward, he hands him back his tea and a box of tissues, miraculously produced from god knows where, and sits silently by as Jaskier sniffles and finishes his drink. He can't help but compare this to last time, when Valdo had broken his heart, when Geralt had sat up with him for hours before tucking him into bed. He'd known even then he was a little in love with him. He'd mourned the time he'd lost when he'd lost Valdo, the things that had, at one point, made him so fond of him. This is...different. Mourning the time that could have been and never was. The little things he still loves and will never be able to have. Like losing a limb. Like losing something vital.

"What do you need, Jask?"

You.

"To sleep for a week," he says instead, voice rough, eyes stinging again. Geralt makes a soft, sympathetic noise.

"Will you be okay? Want me to tuck you in?" It's a little teasing, but there's an underlying tension there, suddenly.

"You have to go." It’s not a question.

"I've got to pick Yen up from work in about fifteen minutes, yeah," he admits, and something in his chest gives. The knife slips that last little bit forward to puncture his lungs.

"Okay."

"You sure?" Geralt doesn't look totally convinced, but he's also fishing for his keys already.

"Yeah." If he says more than a single word, he'll cry again. Can't have Geralt being late over him.

He rises from his spot on the couch and dips down as if to hug him. Instead, he presses his lips to his forehead, brief and light. "There's someone out there who will love you, Jaskier. You'll be fine."

Geralt leaves after that, key turning in the lock as he sets the deadbolt behind him.

No, he thinks, sitting in the middle of a murder scene, the metaphorical knife yanked from the wound with the brush of a kiss. Blood seeps from that wound, a wound he can't see or touch but can certainly fucking feel, sharp and painful, there isn't, actually.

#witcher #witcher fic #lizard writes #rating: teen #dont ask where this came from!#were not talking about it!

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jaskicr · 4 years

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so i wrote a piece for the geraskier reverse bang for art made by @brothebro, and here it is! featuring some witcher jaskier and fae geralt, identity reveals, and some hurt and pining<3

summary:

Geralt of Rivia is not a witcher.

He’d chosen to disguise himself as a witcher in an attempt to bring something more to his life, to find the contentment he so desperately desires. But as much as life on the Path thrills him, there’s still something missing - until Jaskier.

Jaskier brings so much light into his life with his songs and laughter, treating Geralt without fear, with kindness and gentleness - he’s like no one else Geralt has ever met, and Geralt can’t help but be drawn into his irresistible orbit.

What he doesn’t know is that Jaskier is hiding secrets of his own.

Or: Neither Geralt nor Jaskier are who they seem, and secrets are brought to light when Geralt’s family is threatened and Jaskier is the only one who can help.

----

Geralt returns to the Path, desperate to put the incident out of his mind, but word spreads, and towns and villages start whispering of the Butcher of Blaviken, the witcher with white hair and golden eyes. The hate from humans, while bearable before, intensifies, and he’s thrown out of inns and taverns with jeers and insults, left to spend nights on the side of the road with only a feeble fire for warmth.

Though the rush he gets from slaying monsters remains the same, the enjoyment seeps from the Path, his journeys becoming harder and more wearisome, and Geralt starts wondering whether he should give up this whole ordeal of being a witcher and return to court, fulfilling his duties alongside Vesemir. The Path doesn’t give him the same joy it used to, not with how harshly he’s treated wherever he goes - the residents of Posada glare at him, sneers on their faces as they edge away from him, and Geralt grits his teeth.

Perhaps he truly should return. It would be better for his brothers’ journeys too, if the Butcher of Blaviken were to miraculously disappear.

He turns the idea over in his head, contemplating the idea of returning home, until a voice cuts through his thoughts.

“I love the way you just… sit in the corner and brood.”

Geralt glares up at the bard who’d dared to interrupt his thoughts, silently willing him to go away, to leave. There’s something strange about the bard, something almost magical that tickles at Geralt’s senses, but it disappears quickly, and Geralt dismisses it as nothing.

The bard babbles on and on and on and before Geralt can fully process what’s happening, they somehow manage to get captured by elves, with the bard still by Geralt’s side even when they escape the elves’ grasp, Filavandrel’s lute held in the bard’s hand.

Geralt tries to shake him off. He should return to his realm, and the last thing he needs is a loud, irritating bard following him around, singing his praises. But no matter what Geralt does, Jaskier somehow always returns to his side, and Geralt finds himself getting less and less irritated with Jaskier’s presence by his side.

Jaskier - he reminds Geralt of why he’d chosen to stay in the human world as a witcher rather than return home. Not only has human hatred towards him lessened with the popularity of Toss a Coin, but Jaskier brings back all the beauty of the human world that Blaviken had dulled for him.

Jaskier sings of the beauty of the world around them, gasping delightedly at sparkling waterfalls and smiling softly at small animals darting through dense bushes, taking joy in every little thing, and for the first time since Blaviken, Geralt regains appreciation of the world surrounding the Path, starting to see it all the way Jaskier sees it - through the eyes of a human whose life is just as temporary as the surrounding world.

And Jaskier himself - he’s fickle, changeable, wearing his emotions plain and clear, and Geralt is drawn in by the complexity of him. Geralt witnesses the way Jaskier can be petty, turning his nose up at Valdo Marx, the way he radiates fury when villagers spit Butcher at Geralt, the way he brightens with joy when Geralt talks to him, the way he smiles gently at a young child clinging to his legs. He’s everything that Geralt had originally found fascinating in the human world - he’s complex, he’s human, and Geralt can’t help but be drawn into the irresistible pull of his orbit.

Jaskier makes the Path so much more vibrant, bringing meaning back into it, and Geralt wakes up one day to realise that he has no desire to return home permanently. He wants to stay on the Path, with Jaskier by his side reminding him of the beauty of the human realm, with Jaskier’s songs and smiles and laughter.

He’s unlike any other human Geralt has ever met. He seems so much brighter. All humans know that they might die someday, of course, but Jaskier seems to live every day like it’s his last, making the most of every moment and crafting each day into something he can take joy in, not wasting a single second.

He never displays any fear or hostility towards Geralt - which is strange, considering all the humans he’s met have feared or hated him in some manner, and Jaskier shouldn’t be an exception. But no matter what Geralt does, Jaskier never turns away from him, not when he watches Geralt slay monsters with savage ruthlessness, not when he catches a glimpse of Geralt’s face after he’s taken his potions, not when Geralt snaps at him in a moment of lost temper.

And it’s - nice. It’s nice to have someone who doesn’t fear or hate him in the human world. It’s nice to have someone who - who cares for him, who cares for him enough to look out for him on his hunts, to patch up his wounds after a contract. Geralt doesn’t actually need Jaskier to patch him up - he can heal himself with his own magic - but there’s something so damn nice about having Jaskier’s gentle hands tending to his wounds as he hums soothingly under his breath, to have Jaskier fuss over him like a mother hen and reprimand him for being careless.

Before Jaskier, no one in the human world had cared for Geralt in such a way. But with Jaskier here, Geralt basks in Jaskier’s tender care and gentle affection, so different from the way his brothers and Vesemir care for him, so different from anything he’s experienced, and he finds himself craving the gentleness of Jaskier’s touch, the affection in his eyes and smile.

link to read more on ao3 and the art in reblog!

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #geralt #jaskier #witcher!jaskier #witcher jaskier

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officerjennie · 3 years

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A Hopeful Hesitance

CW: None

Rating: T

Summary: Jaskier isn't sure a picnic date with Valdo is the best idea, nor is he sure if he should trust the hope blossoming in his chest - but he wants to believe that, just maybe, this could work.

Thanks once again to @jaskierswolf for looking this over for me

Jaskier still hesitated. Every step of the way, he hesitated, from when he slipped into his cute new sandals to the moment he stepped out of his car with the bottle of wine Valdo had requested he bring. His big blue sunglasses tinted the world a cooler shade but they did nothing for the sweltering heat that wasn’t even on the forecast for that afternoon - no surprise there, really; weatherman were the best and worst of liars - and Jaskier already found himself sweating as he made his way out of the parking lot and towards the park.

It had been a while since he’d been here. A quaint little place, with a nice sized pond that currently had a bunch of ducks and geese floating around in it. Jaskier thought the ducks were cute but steered clear of the geese that had waddled up onto the grass, keeping a massive distance as one eyed him like he was the perfect beating bag for its wings.

Some people called him stupid, which he took exception to despite the occasional questionable decision he made. But Jaskier was far from suicidal. He’d leave it to Lambert to fuck with the geese.

As far as he remembered, they were supposed to meet on the far side of the pond. According to Valdo it would be cooler there - Jaskier had his doubts - and since most people would be there with their kids they’d be at either one of the big gazebos filled with picnic tables or they’d be nearer to the playground and the basketball court that was right next to the park.

Jaskier had his doubts about that as well. He made a face at the pavement as he followed the walking path towards the other side of the park, wondering not for the first time if this was really such a good idea.

They’d been at odds with each other for so long. At each other’s throats during the worst of it. Could they really be anything...more?

He was a romantic but there were some dreams even he was afraid to dream.

Sunlight reflected blindingly off the surface of the pond, Jaskier having to shield his eyes with one hand even despite his sunglasses. He was sweating and he hated it. Even the light shawl he wore over his tank top was almost too much though he would be loath to take it off. Without it he’d be so devoid of color and sometimes fashion was worth the pain.

At least he reached the trees soon enough. The path wove into a nice little cove of maples and pines and shielded him much better than his hand could do, the temperature dropping immediately to something Jaskier could at least stand to be in. It had always been more the sun itself than heat that had bothered him, anyway.

He wasn’t the first to arrive, surprisingly. Jaskier caught sight of a familiar derriere and slowed down, taking a moment to smirk and admire it from afar. His rival turned friend turned...whatever they were now, whatever they would be, was bent over, shaking out a blanket as he tried to straighten it on the ground.

A blanket, right. Jaskier blinked, his smirk fading - Valdo had brought a blanket for them. It was a cute one, too, from what he could see. Red swirling patterns, not some plain, boring old shitty thing he’d expected Valdo to bring. If he’d expected him to bring one at all. The hesitation came back but it was mostly born of not wanting to hope, of being afraid to give that spark any kindling, but Jaskier squashed the hesitation for the moment as he’d done so many times already that day.

One chance wouldn’t kill him. A little bit of hope wouldn’t crush him. And some free food would make just about anything worthwhile.

“Careful, I might take that as an invitation,” Jaskier teased out as he got closer, practically smelling the scowl that immediately scrunched up Valdo’s face at the tease. But Valdo ignored him long enough to straighten out his blanket, straightening up and pushing his bangs out of his face, and he most certainly sent Jaskier one pinched scowl.

It wasn’t one of his really heated ones, though. Over the years Jaskier had learned to read his expressions better than he knew any others, able to tell whenever his jabs hit home, when his teasing was taken lightly or to heart. He knew him better than any lover he’d ever taken in the past, and yet…

And yet they had never been that to each other.

Would they really work like that?

“Good, you brought the wine.” Valdo waved his hand towards the basket he’d brought himself-

-and wasn’t that yet another thing that had Jaskier pausing, blinking, because he’d brought a basket. Valdo was not the type to own a picnic basket, he was sure of it, so did he...buy one? Just for this occasion? Just for a small, little date between former rivals?

“I can remember to bring one item, Valdo.” The retort wasn’t as barbed as it should have been, nor was it all that good. Jaskier breezed past him to settle down on the blanket, hoping to act like he wasn’t all that concerned with their banter - but his heart was fluttering away in his chest, a traitorous rhythm.

“We all know how your memory can get, Julian.”

“And we all know how you never know what on earth to wear- are you wearing long pants in this weather?” Jaskier stared incredulously at the other man as he settled down onto the blanket near him. Very near him. He tried to focus on anything but his hands, those long finger and beautiful wrists, as Valdo brought the basket near and started raffling through the items he’d brought with him. It was an assortment of cheese, crackers, preserves, some salami, and other finger foods.

Things Valdo could have gotten in a single prepackaged deli tray, that he’d instead picked out by himself. An assortment, so many different choices, as if Valdo had looked at all the store had and decided he couldn’t decide at all.

Jaskier’s heart fluttered some more. His fingers itched to know how smooth Valdo’s cheek was, to scratch through his beard, to find out if his lips were chapped or not. All things he’d been telling himself to not think of for so long he’d convinced himself he didn’t want to know - but he did.

“Jaskier.”

His eyes snapped to focus at his name - Jaskier, not Julian, and he could count on one hand the number of times Valdo had used the name he preferred - and it almost hurt to see the careful look Valdo had schooled his face into. Those deep green eyes were closed off, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly, his lips becoming a thin line as he prepared for something. But for what?

“You don’t have to be here.” Valdo sighed, something like bitterness flashing across his face, and Jaskier ached at it. “This is- this doesn’t have to…” The poor man floundered, almost twitching with agitation.

Valdo had never been any good with positive emotions, or he’d never seemed to know how to show or process them as well as the others. Jealousy, anger, bitterness, those had always come so naturally, had always shown so clearly on his face - but joy, tenderness, contentment, those were all things Jaskier had rarely if ever seen on him. And for the longest time he’d thought it was because Valdo didn’t know those things but there was a vulnerability to the slump of his shoulders, a resignation to his lower tone that made that damned hope flutter up in Jaskier’s chest.”

It was far too hot to even be outside, let alone be close to someone, but Jaskier braved the heat and the distance. He reached out and took a gentle hold of one of Valdo’s hands, daring not to look up at him, though he at least finally pushed his sunglasses up and away from his eyes as he studied the stock still fingers now resting in his hand.

Valdo had planned this. Had gotten together a basket full of food that they wouldn’t at all be able to finish in one sitting, had gotten a lovely, colorful blanket for the occasion (because there was no convincing Jaskier he had own anything of the sort before this), and had dressed himself up in nice black pants and a nice shirt to meet with him in some small park next to a lake surrounded by trees and dandelions.

He was trying. And if he was trying then maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to give him the smallest, most minuscule benefit of the doubt and believe that Valdo wasn’t going to crush his heart to dust when this was all over. If it was ever over. If it ever actually began, whatever it was.

“Valdo,” Jaskier sighed out, holding his fingers gently and caressing them with the rough pad of his thumb. A breeze rolled past through the trees and ruffled his curls and Jaskier could almost pretend he could smell all of the free food he’d been promised - if only it weren’t still neatly tucked away into all of its packaging. He still thought it would be more romantic if he could smell it. “I drove halfway across the city to come meet you, you know that right?”

“I know where you live, yes.”

Jaskier’s eyes flicked up to catch the pinched, thoughtful look on Valdo’s face, finding it still guarded as if he wasn’t sure where Jaskier was going. And perhaps Jaskier should have been extra nice to him but he couldn’t help himself, no matter how his heart fluttered away, no matter that he slid their hands together until their fingers were intertwined, and no matter that he never wanted to let go even if their palms were sweating against each other.

He wondered if their hearts were beating the same erratic rhythm intandem.

“If you made me drive all of this way,” he said, shooting his once rival and once friend a look he hoped would get his point across quite firmly, “just to tell me this isn’t a date, I am going to personally go through all of your music notes and spill ink onto every other note.”

Valdo stared at him for a breath, and then snorted, an ugly noise that made his whole face scrunch up in a very undignified fashion - and it made Jaskier desperately want to kiss his wrinkled nose. “Every other note? There has to be a more efficient method, Julian.”

Those long fingers squeezed Jaskier’s and he squeezed back, winking at his once friend, now date. “No better way to infuriate you than to waste my time and yours.”

“Better ways to get my attention, Julian, since we both know that’s what you’ve always been after.”

“Wha-” Jaskier started, huffing and sputtering that Valdo’s attention had not been what he’d been after, but it was impossible to form a coherent argument when the wine he’d brought had been expensive, the shawl brand new, and that with each passing banter he drew himself closer to the man who used to infuriate him more than any other.

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

#my summer bingo #valdo marx #valdo/jaskier #jaskier #jaskier/valdo #valdskier #valskier #...#jaskdo #xDDD #jaskier x valdo #valdo x jaskier #the witcher #mywriting

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itsemmyb · 4 years

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22-05-20

round two, showing some appreciation to these awesome writers! i meant to post this sooner but tumblr kept deleting it from my drafts. i will admit that i have had a major case of cavill virus recently so...sorry, not sorry.

please note: * indicates smut

the witcher

geralt

on the eve by @laketaj24 - angst and fluff and angst and fluff and ageless exes visiting old girlfriends and making me cry.

here with you by @scarlettwitcher - the sass and the fluff and the mutual pining!

kindness pt 2 by @vivodinson * - (part 1 is on the last list and linked at the beginning of pt 2) y'all i- was this so fucking cute and filthy and i would read a whole ass series if given the opportunity

the thief and the witcher by @brexrif * - whew chile! i need a cold ass shower after that!

constant by @cas-kingdom - we don't have enough dad!geralt in this fandom, thank you for your service. this was absolutely adorable and i'm lov!

things unbearable by @anniesburg * - geralt getting the soft love he deserves. this is so sweet, and soft, and well written. highly appealing to the inner cottage core.

jaskier

untitled fic by @ficsandcatsandficsandcats - ohhh we thicc and we got choices. valdo is a smooth son of a bitch i'll give him that but the pining is where it's at.

geraskier

untitled drabble by @when-a-humble-bard - hair braiding! confessions of love! the purest fluff!

vegas baby by @witchernonsense - it is so geraskier to drunkenly get married in vegas, i can totally see it!

geraskefer

untitled drabble by @dinahdarling - modern day witcher fam! absolute cuteness overload! we love our weird little fam!

marvel

thor

sex pollen by @magnolia-among-the-stars * - 🎶 i think you know where this about to go 🎶 holy shit *fans self* everyone say "thank you grandmaster!"

sam wilson

not slippery enough by @blacktithe7 - sam, samuel, what is you doin, baby? he done fucked up and he needs to fix it.

misc

henry cavill

little spoon!henry by @henchry - we had a whole ass discourse about this in one of my group chats and this headcanon summarizes it perfectly! everyone loves being the little spoon! it makes you feel safe!

captain syverson

double-edged sword by @witcherwritings * - sis i...this was a fuckin ride and it's only been four chapters so far, holy shit! the character development, the feels, the absolutely obscene smut!

napoleon solo

survival by @hnryycvll * - this basically confirms my headcanon that napoleon solo is a freaky bitch and i love it so much!

pastime activities by @toomanystoriessolittletime * - holy shit, this is just pure unadulterated filth and i love it!

walter marshall

fall and i'll catch you by @fishcustardandclintbarton - did you read my mind? this checks every box of my sub!walter headcanon! it's so soft and sweet and my dom side loves it so much.

#emmy's reading list #fic recs #geralt x reader #jaskier x reader #geraskier #henry cavill x reader #the witcher #marvel #thor x reader #thor x reader smut #geralt #jaskier #thor #henry cavill #napoleon solo x reader #syverson x reader #sam wilson x reader #geraskefer #geralt x yennefer x jaskier

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tumbleweedtech · 3 years

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First Sentences Meme

(List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag your favorite authors!

(tagged by @rawrkinjd and @lohrendrell - xoxoo i love you both) This took a little bit, not gonna lie. I’m lazy. But it’s also long. So under a cut!

Jaskier sat on that boulder, looking out over the valley. - Standing on the Precipice (M, Jambert) It started in deep winter, as it always did. - Mammals (Derogatory) (G, Vipers) The contract was for a katakan. A Light No More (E for Violence, Warrit) The noise crashing through the forest wasn’t entirely new. Down the Dell (G, Erland and Valdo) It’d only been weeks. There’s nothing left to fear (T, Eskel) Erland sat quietly as Vesemir shaved the side of his head. Ground Glass (E, DDNE, Arnaghad/Eskel and Arnaghad/Erland) The little glade was silent as Iorveth strode in carefully, nature growing wild in the old abandoned ruins. Oh these may paint a grief (No words could ever have spoken) (G, Iorveth and Roche) Erland watched as Arnaghad went through his forms. Silver Moon Sparkling (G, Arnaghad/Erland) The lack of smoke from any of the chimneys tipped them off. Ważki (E, mind the tags, Dragonfly) Serrit stretched out, lax and lazy and comfortable in one of Auckes’ cast off shirts. Nothin Wrong With Me (E, Auckes/Serrit.) Letho crouched below a big tree, carefully field dressing a deer. The River Below (G, Gaetan and Letho)

Lambert glared at the empty noticeboard. We Are the Crazy Ones (M, Lambert/ OC) The fire burned bright and high in the deep dark of the winter solstice. Embers (T, Wolfpack Family) The keep was practically vibrating with the tensions of five young witchers, with energy to burn and the snow outside nearly double the height of the shortest. Birds Need to Fly (G, Kaer Morhen in Winter) Eskel leaned back against the big pine tree, the soft rain falling around him. Chasing Waterfalls (E, Eskel/Lambert) Lambert stood on a small rise, looking down at the house below. I bet my life (T, reference to DV, Lambert) The field was quiet and hot, as the sun approached its zenith. Tempus Fugit (T, Vesemir) Geralt tossed the physio’s paperwork on the kitchen counter when he got home, swinging his bag onto the hook on the wall. Should've Listened to Lambert in the First Place (E, Eskel/Geralt and Aiden/Lambert) @octinary did an interesting little thing talking about patterns. my patterns? They’re all settings, and tend toward short. The couple that I was either writing on a prompt or trying to switch my style up hold the longest intros. The range is between 4 and 27 words, and the average is 12. I tend toward short sentences, which surprises no one. They’re generally all scene-setting, and none are dialogue. Hm. My favorite? Probably Ważki. A short sentence, but there’s so much background/time that I had to mash in. I don’t tend to ask for a beta, but I really ought to. The ones where I haven’t been too shy to ask really do read better (to me, anyway) so. I ought to get onto that. (another thing I noticed: Only half of mine have any names in that first sentence! Nifty.) For tagging... most people are already tagged who I think would do this. Gosh. @brothebro @hedwig-dordt @dredshirtroberts @major-trouble @childoffantasy @frenchkey

#writing meme #tag game #i was bored #so many fics #oh gosh #was fun tho!

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readyourimgaines · 4 years

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Fight With Yourself and Your Thoughts in the Night

Request: “My thought was he’d turn into an actual white wolf and is knocked out by the spell. When he wakes up, he’s been locked into a small cage along with Jaskier. The bad guys think that Geralt will end up killing Jaskier, but instead Wolf!Geralt treats him like a pack member, or basically like he always does. Eventually, they escape and either wears off or they go to Yennefer to have her remove it.”

When Jaskier came to, the first thing he noticed was that something soft and warm was pressed against his side. The second thing he noticed was that wherever he was was much too small for him and the soft creature beside him.

The creature whimpered and Jaskier jumped, hitting his head off of what could only be a cage. He pressed slowly raised his hand to see how high this cage was. He wouldn’t be able to sit up from his crouched position on his knees and elbows. Accepting he was trapped in his cage with the creature, he finally looked over and his eyes landed on a snow-white wolf.

The bard’s heart went cold for a few moments. The wolf began to sniff him and started nudging at Jaskier’s arms like it was trying to get a look at his sides.

Scrutinizing the wolf, Jaskier was hit with a wave of realization. “Geralt?” Jaskier asked, holding his hand out to the wolf. The wolf placed his paw in Jaskier’s hand. “Any idea where we are?” The wolf whimpered. A large iron door opened and a man with a greatsword strapped to his back walked in with a vial in his hand. “Good to see you’re awake, bard,” the man said. He held the vial up. “Do you know what this is?”

“No.”

“Don’t test me, boy.” The bandit’s voice was low and gruff.

“I’ve seen Geralt take them but I have no idea what they are or what they do. Honest.” Jaskier shrugged.

“One of my men took a sip and died on the spot. I take you’re going to want this.” The man walked closer to the cage and put the vial close enough to the cage that Jaskier could reach through the cage for it.

“Why would I want this if it killed someone?” Jaskier raised a brow.

“The wolf’s going to get hungry before long. You can’t expect the slimy cur not to turn to you for food when that happens. Witchers are more beastly than the fucking wolves that hunt in the highlands. You can either let the heartless fuck-”

“You nicked us from the highlands, didn’t you?” Jaskier cocked his head. “Shouldn’t you be in a cage too, then?”

“Watch your mouth you little shit!” The bandit bellowed.

“What’re you going to do about it? Honestly? You don’t have the guts to kill me yourself so you’re going to make someone you bewitched do it for you? You’re more cowardly than me,” Jaskier laughed.

The man withdrew the keys from his belt and walked to the cage with a scowl. He unlocked it and the second the door was opened, Jaskier lunged and caught the man around the waist, holding him to the ground. The wolf wasted no time in slashing the man’s throat with his claws.

“Geralt.” Jaskier tried for the wolf’s attention. “Geralt.” He patted the wolf’s head. “Would drinking your potion undo the spell? I don’t know what-” The bard stopped talking when the wolf whimpered and barked. “Alright. Let’s give it a go, hm?”

Jaskier picked up the bottle and though it took them a couple of tries, Geralt did swallow the potion. Suddenly, there was a bright flash of light and Geralt was kneeling before Jaskier with black eyes and blackened veins around his eyes.

“It worked,” Jaskeir grinned.

Geralt hummed and stood. Jaskier, whose legs had been bent for so long, had a harder time standing. The Witcher figured it was just as well. He’d have to slaughter their way out, his potion was ramping him up. He heaved a deep breath and turned to Jaskier.

“I don’t want you seeing what I’m about to do.”

“What are you-”

In one fluid motion, Geralt steadied Jaskier against his chest and cast Somne. The bard’s head lulled back on his shoulder as the man promptly fell asleep. He eased Jaskier down so he was laying on the floor.

The Witcher turned to the door and blasted it down with Aard. The first man to raise alarm was easily killed by his own sword once Geralt got it out of his hands. Some of the men ran while others were foolish enough to attack him.

Geralt never went more than a couple of feet away from the iron door. He needed to keep Jaskier safe. The men that chose to attack were killed in front of the door while a few took a bit of coercion.

Once Jaskier’s heartbeat was the only one Geralt could hear, he went back to the room with the cage and scooped Jaskier into his arms to carry him out of the ramshackle cave.

*****

Jaskier’s head was pillowed by Geralt’s travelling cloak. He could tell that by the scent: dead leaves, pine needles, woodsmoke, and a slight tint of something he probably didn’t want to know. His head felt weirdly full yet light. Like someone packed his head full of clouds.

Geralt was drying his hair, the river water flowing a little redder as it passed him. Roach, on the other hand, was grazing on grass.

Jaskier sat up and he was now at an angle to see the water flowing past Geralt. The last words Geralt said to him floated through his mind. I don’t want you seeing what I’m about to do.

What exactly had he done? They were outside so Geralt had clearly gotten them out. But how? Was the Witcher himself-

Jaskier yelped when Roach nudged his head.

“Head hurt?” Geralt didn’t look up from drying his hair. The usually silver strands were closer to steel when wet, but clean of blood.

“...No.” Jaskier rubbed his eyes. His head didn’t hurt but that didn’t mean it felt normal, either. “What, uh...what happened, Geralt?”

“We got out.”

“I see that . But how did we get out?” Jaskier stood, bracing himself against Roach’s side when he stumbled. The bard rubbed Roach’s side for a few seconds in thanks.

“I knocked the door out, gathered our things, and carried you out. Whatever they knocked you out with had a worse effect than we thought.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes at Geralt’s back. The Witcher was always skimpy with the details, but the bard could always tell when Geralt was tiptoeing around a specific detail.

Accepting he wouldn’t know the whole truth until Geralt was ready to tell him, Jaskier joined Geralt by the banks of the river, sitting beside the Witcher, humming absentmindedly.

“I’m not scared of you. You can’t scare me. I thought you would have learned that by now.” Jaskier ran his hands through his hair. “You saved my life...again. Which is why you can’t scare me.”

“You saw my eyes, Jaskier.”

“I did. But I also see them no. The guilty fear. You’re a good person, Geralt. You don’t fight unless there’s no other option. There was a literal cage they locked us in. I might not know how to help you fight, but I know- I think- how to lessen your guilt. To lessen your guilt, my friend, you need reassurances to drown out whatever nastiness your silly brain is spoon-feeding you.”

Geralt grunted and finally sat up fully, dropping the towel in his lap. “Why are you doing this?”

“Everyone’s always putting you down and you need someone in your corner. Maybe I should write another ballad about you, hm? What do you say to that, Geralt? About the...the sobbing mother who thought her son was dead.” Jaskier snapped his fingers. “Yes! And how we watched their joyous reunion!”

Geralt was only sort of listening at this point. Now that this idea was in Jaskier’s head, the bard was going to write it whether the Witcher wanted it or not. Which meant he’d be hearing all about it for the next couple of weeks.

“Thank you.” Geralt cut Jaskier off mid-sentence.

“Hm? For what?” Jaskier blinked.

“Not...fuck.”

Jaskier got the message. “Nothing’s changed; there’s nothing to react to. You’ll always be you. The scary-looking man who smiled when a young girl gave him a flower to thank him for saving her brother.

“Yes, you being a Witcher does have some dark and sadder days- such as today. But even my being a bard has its darker and sadder days- like the day I met Valdo Marx. Now if you’ve ever seen a monster in human skin, it’s that flaming compost heap.”

Geralt grunted out a laugh and Jaskier beamed.

“Could you… Do you remember anything from while you were under the spell?” The bard’s hand was fidgeting.

“No. We were swarmed by bandits, one of them was a mage, a bright light, then I’m kneeling next to you with blood on my hand.”

Jaskier nodded slowly. “Sometime after I woke up, a man came in and gave me one of your potions saying I was going to want it before long because one of his men died after taking a single sip. I got the keys from the man and got us out of the cage, you drank the potion, and then I woke up here.”

“I put you to sleep.” Geralt wouldn’t meet Jaskier’s eyes.

“You got us out alive,” Jaskier pointed out. “Besides, I should be thanking you. That was the most soundly I’ve slept in days.”

Geralt shook his head but said nothing else.

“Come on.” Jaskier took Geralt by the hand and tugged him up to his feet. “If you don’t comb your hair you’re not going to be able to.”

*****

Before midnight, Jaskier had curled up in his bedroll a safe distance from the fire but close enough that the flames kept him warm.

Geralt lay on Jaskier’s other side so if anything were to try to get at Jaskier it would have to go through him first. As he lay there, the bard’s words drifted in and out of his mind. The words of his peacefully sleeping bard.

Jaskier never lied to him. He’d dance around an answer if he was embarrassed, but he never lied. Eventually, the bard would go on and tell Geralt the whole answer because he felt bad about not really answering.

When it came to his love life, Jaskier possessed questionable morals- just like any other bard he’d ever crossed paths with. Unlike most freelancers, Jaskier willingly helped anyone and everyone he could without a thought of payment with a smile.

If someone so kind, selfless, and trusting as Jaskier would place his life in Geralt’s hands, maybe he wasn’t as evil as he thought. He could try trusting himself as Jaskier did. Or at least a little more.

The Witcher rolled over, facing Jaskier, and focussed on that bard’s heartbeat. The sound lulled him to sleep by ensuring Jaskier was alive and well.

#read your imagines #combefere's journal #ao3 #the witcher imagine #the witcher #jaskier x geralt #geraskier #geralt #jaskier

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rebrandedbard · 3 years

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@greyduckgreygoose Tumblr ate your ask when I tried posting it two minutes ago. You requested prompts 5 or 6, which I choose to read as 5 and 6. Stay tuned for prompt 6 in the future. If you like this, perhaps I’ll make it more Valdo. Whump or healing—you pull the trigger, goosey. Or perhaps I’ll use prompt 6 for some Filavandrel fun. Let me know.

5. “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

tw: alcohol, depression

WC: 1600 even. Whoo! Even hundredth place! Two goose eggs!

A Good Man

Geralt meets Valdo Marx while taking a contract on a ferry, protecting its passengers from an unknown threat on the water. Valdo himself is an unknown threat, until the two of them get to talking, and Geralt learns a quiet truth.

Geraskier. One-sided Valdo/Jaskier

Valdo Marx, troubadour of Cidaris, was the last person Geralt expected to meet on the ferry from Brugge. Per Jaskier’s rambling, he’d assumed the bard stayed put, living it up in Oxenfurt or Cidaris—Geralt was never quite sure if Cidaris were his home or simply a place he’d chosen for his adopted title. He’d wondered if Jaskier were a ‘Bard of Thereabouts,’ but he was never curious enough to ask where-abouts. They both travelled so much, Jaskier could be from anywhere. Something told him that Jaskier would choose Lyria if asked; the name was lyrical.

But Geralt supposed bards were of a travelling nature after all. Besides, the ferry down the Yda was the fasted way to travel inland from Brugge to Craag An, and just beyond was the Adalatte. A straight shot through Kerack would have Marx home in Cidaris in no time at all, and people with coin to spare liked to hurry to and fro in laid-back comfort. It was a paradox Geralt often found amusing.

He paid no fare for his ride, having been hired on for protection. It would seem that, of late, people were disappearing from the ferry before reaching their final destination, reaching a much more final destination than anticipated. Drowners, probably. Sirens were less likely, but not entirely out of the realm of possibility. The channels were connected to the ocean; something could have come washing downriver. It wasn’t altogether unheard of to find displaced sirens after the summer rainstorms. If asked which he’d be more likely to meet, Geralt would have chosen sirens before Valdo Marx.

Geralt recognized him as a bard from the off: it was impossible to mistaken anything so brightly decorated. True, the man did not carry his lute about his person as Jaskier would, but he wore the uniform of satin, the season’s colors all in coordination and too impractical for the weather. It was a mark of their trade, their plumage like birds of paradise and that theatrical air.

Well, the atmosphere around Marx was less the foppish theatrics Geralt had come to expect. He did not saunter across the deck wooing a crowd, nor reciting poetry. He did not do much of anything to draw attention to himself. In fact, he was quite unlike anything that made up Geralt’s image of bards, drawing back against the bulwark, completely silent. Like a fool, Geralt presumed they would go all the way to Craag An without confrontation, but it would be a snowy day in the desert before bards acted predictably.

It was late afternoon the second day on board when he approached, the sun falling low, bringing on the evening. Geralt was keeping watch at the stern: if anything was about it would be disturbed, knocked back as the ship made headway, clawing its way onto the deck from the rear. Geralt kept to the lower main deck, closest to the water. If anything came crawling up from below, he would be in position to dispatch it. The passengers aboard had likely been warned beforehand, or else they’d heard the rumors, as they stayed on the upper deck and bow. With the lower deck abandoned, he easily read Valdo’s approach from a distance.

“White Wolf?” he asked, leaning casually a few feet away from Geralt. The question was monotone, almost disinterested, but he would not have come if there had been no reason.

There was nothing else to do and, truth be told, Geralt was bored. So he turned to Valdo and nodded. “Geralt,” he replied. He’d never quite grow used to the fanciful title, but it brought him good business. It made him recognizable, and therefore comfortable, in so much as anyone could be comfortable around a witcher. Reputations had influence.

“Valdo Marx. I’m sure you heard of me.”

Geralt hummed. There was something in his manner of speech. It was not an obnoxious flaunt of his fame: there was something resigned in it. Bitter, perhaps. It was the same tone Lambert used to say, “There was a wraith in Gulet. I’m sure you’ve already heard.” It had taken a witcher down from the school of the viper. The tone implied notoriety.

For a while, they did not speak. The only sound came from the water below lapping against the side of the ship. Geralt waited, glancing at the troubadour once more before he turned his attention back to the water. He supposed that had been it, a simple acknowledgement. People were often curious, coming to him only to confirm his identity as Jaskier’s witcher. It was a title he’d grown comfortable with more quickly than the White Wolf. It was truer, and he smiled to himself when he thought of such instances in private.

“You’re a right lucky fuck,” Valdo muttered.

Geralt looked up again from the water. He turned to examine Valdo silently, wondering what, exactly, Valdo thought he had going for him to mark him as lucky.

Valdo stared back at him, looking tired and severe. “Maybe I would have had better luck if I didn’t talk so much,” he continued. “If I didn’t sing … ”

“Bards are supposed to sing,” Geralt replied. He now wished Valdo would go back to the upper deck. Nothing aggravated him quite like people who refused to get to the point. He scented an undercurrent of hostility in the air. That, and an abundance of vodka.

Valdo produced a flask from his jerkin and gave it a swig. “Never was trying to be a bard,” he muttered. He took another sip, let it sit, then concealed the flask once more. It occurred to Geralt that the man’s leaning was not entirely owed to false causality.

Geralt knew not what to say. So he simply said, “Hm.” He heard the knuckles crack in Valdo’s tightening fist.

“Melitele’s tits. Years of poetry and songs, and you come along with your … ‘hm,’” Valdo mocked, “and that’s it. Not even a melodic hm. Just … hm.” He raked his fingers through his hair, hissing through his teeth in frustration. He was muttering something under his breath, but it was incoherent, even to a witcher’s ears. When Valdo looked up again, his eyes were red. Neither that, nor the sour note in the air were owed to the alcohol, Geralt surmised.

“He won’t love you,” Valdo said. “He can’t. He doesn’t hold on to things that way. You’re just—” he flapped a hand, searching for the word “—a fascination. You’re something shiny and new. He’ll forget about you the moment he leaves your bed.”

“Who?”

“Who the fuck do you think, witcher. Don’t mock me,” Valdo snapped, voice cracking. If he didn’t look so pathetic, if his words did not carry such weight, Geralt might have chuckled to hear Jaskier’s infamous rival croak unprofessionally. It was not flattering of bards. But there was nothing funny in what he said, nor in how he said it.

“Wait a minute,” Geralt said. He had said less than ten words to the man, none of them mocking in the slightest, and he meant to say as much.

But Valdo held up a hand to silence him. The broken man slipped down to the deck, curling against his knees, head bowed. When he spoke, he mumbled against his knees, fingers tangling in his hair. “I went to Oxenfurt for him. I chased after him for so long, watching him fall in and out of stranger’s beds for less than a wink. But all he wanted me for … he only met me on the stage. Irked if I played below standard, livid if I won. Try what you will, there’s no pleasing Jaskier.”

Geralt thought he understood him then. “Are you jealous?” he asked.

Valdo lifted his head enough to meet his eye. His cheeks were wet, shining in the fading light. “Are you Jaskier’s witcher?”

“Yes,” Geralt replied.

“Then you have your answer.”

Geralt paused a moment. He approached Valdo slowly and lowered himself to his side. They sat together in silence, hidden in the shadow of the bulwark as the sun set behind. Valdo produced the flask again, offering Geralt a sip without a word exchanged. Geralt took the flask.

“Have you kissed him?” Valdo whispered.

“No.”

“Don’t. If he never kisses you, he might not leave.”

Geralt watched as Valdo finished the last of the vodka. “Did you?” he asked.

Valdo stared across the empty deck. “No,” he replied. “But I don’t count. He sings songs about you. I only exist to him three days a year at the bardic competition.”

“He talks about you,” Geralt offered. It was a poor comfort when one knew how Jaskier talked.

Valdo sighed and tucked away the empty flask. He stood on unsteady legs, turning back toward the stairs to the upper deck. “I know. I have a rough idea what sort of man you must think I am from his gossip.”

“I don’t hold with gossip.”

“No,” Valdo chuckled. “Your kind wouldn’t.” It wasn’t an insult, but empathy. There was an understanding between them on that mark. “I wanted to find out for myself what kind of a man you were to entice him so. I hate to think I see it.”

“What do you think you see?”

“A man. One whose best friend’s first wish would be to strike death upon his rival, and knowing him, would allow that rival to approach him without preconceptions. Who would share a flask with a sobbing drunkard and listen earnestly. A good man, in short. So ... hatefully good.”

Send me drabble prompts!

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jaskierswolf · 3 years

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Melt. I am melt. And greedy. Because 28. the hug you don’t deserve, when don't you ever deserve a hug. What could you possibly have done not to deserve a hug.

Halp.

Also love you ~

I did this with Gerlion!

CW: cheating, angsty end.

Dandelion sighed, not bothering to wipe the tears from his eyes as he stared at his hands - treacherous hands. Blasted, idiotic poet! He’d been pining for Geralt for years. Their friendship had been the highlight of his life. He would give up fame and fortune… everything for another lifetime with his best friend, but he’d always yearned for more. Every time Geralt and that- that witch, had crossed paths, his heart was torn from his chest, and it took every ounce of self-control that he had not to scream from the mountains that it wasn’t fair.

She’d hurt him, time and time again, leaving Dandelion to pick up the pieces of Geralt’s heart, and yet he’d always gone back to her.

Until he didn’t.

Until one night, in the cover of darkness… Geralt had come back to him; silent and heartbroken. Their lips had met in a tentative kiss as Geralt had curled against his side. It was over. The djinn wish had been broken and the ties that bound them were cut free. Dandelion grieved with his friend, hating the tears that pooled in those gorgeous golden eyes, but he’d been… happy? After decades of pining, aching as he was constantly pushed to one side… he had a chance.

He’d sworn to himself that this would be different, that he could change. Geralt deserved that, and he’d assumed it would be easy. After all, he’d always blamed Geralt for his commitment issues in the past, and now Geralt was his… there would be no reason to stray. Dandelion didn’t want to stray.

And yet…

After months of their relationship going splendidly, Dandelion had fallen into bed with Valdo Marx. His rival had taunted and danced around him in a way that had seemed so fucking familiar… and the words wormed their way under Dandelion’s skin; poisonous and green with envy. Dandelion had been too drunk to see sense, and well… he was scared. The relationship was going too well. Everything was practically perfect.

If Geralt broke up with him it would mean that Geralt had seen something inherently wrong with Dandelion. Years of friendship would fail because Dandelion wasn’t good enough. Had he ever been good enough?

At least this way it wasn’t him. It was the mistakes that he’d made.

But Geralt… didn’t care? Or at least he didn’t care enough to leave him. He’d smelled Valdo on Dandelion in an instant, a small crease appearing between his brows, and then he’d sighed and pulled Dandelion into his arms.

“You’re an idiot, Dandelion,” Geralt had murmured in his ear. “But we never said we were exclusive.”

“I wanted to be.”

“I know, me too, but perhaps that’s too much to ask from you, poet,” Geralt had hummed, not letting Dandelion go from the hug.

He really hated that hug. It was too kind. Geralt should have thrown him on his arse. He should have screamed, yelled… anything but- but a hug!

Dandelion sighed again and glanced to the floor next to him. The witcher was still sleeping soundly, seemingly unaware of his torment. They’d curled up on one bedroll together like always, Geralt’s face pressed into the back of his hair, falling asleep quickly as he began to snore. Dandelion didn’t sleep. He’d stayed still in his lover's arms until he’d become too restless and sat up, disentangling from Geralt’s embrace.

The night was cold without Geralt’s arms wrapped around him but he didn’t care. He deserved it; cold and lonely, a retribution for his actions. Geralt had forgiven him far too easily, but that did not mean he had to forgive himself. Swallowing, he leaned down to press a kiss to Geralt’s forehead and then stood up to gather his belongings.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he whispered, and then fled into the night.

_ Taglist: @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde, @comfyswitcherblanketfort, @fontegagrilledcheese, @dani-dandelino, @dapandapod @damnbert @officerjennie @feraljaskier @geralt-of-riviass @kueble @gilberik @llamasdumpsterfire @wherethewordsare @trickstermoose67 @alllthequeenshorses @skai6 @karolincki

#the witcher #geraskier #gerlion #julian alfred pankratz #jaskier #dandelion #geralt of rivia #geralt #wolfie's witcher writing

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fangirlshrewt97 · 4 years

Text

Geralt Whump Week Submission Day 6

TITLE: I Hurt You (You Saved Me)

SHIPS: Geralt of Rivia / Jaskier|Dandelion

PROMPT: Monster

MEDIUM (Netflix, Books, Games, Hexer): Netflix

WARNINGS: NA

SUMMARY: Excerpt:

The only thing he could actually blame Jaskier for was his stupid decision to befriend Geralt, for trusting the Witcher to keep him safe. Because now Jaskier was hurt and the thing truly responsible for it was chopped into several pieces and flung across the clearing. So, the only one Geralt could actually blame was himself.

Basically, Jaskier gets hurt, Geralt blames himself, and along the way to getting Jaskier help remembers some key memories with him.

WORD COUNT: 5424 words

AUTHOR’S NOTES: Additional Tags include Geralt Whump Week, Prompt: Monster, Geralt Whump, Jaskier Whump, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, Protective Geralt of Rivia, Self-Hatred, Non-linear storytelling, Pining, Geralt of Rivia has Feelings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Falling in Love, Canon-typical violence, Soft Jaskier, Soft Geralt of Rivia, Idiots in Love, Friends to Lovers

AUTHOR: Fangirlshrewt97

CHARACTERS: Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier

LINK TO AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25109782

///

He wanted to blame Jaskier. Blame him for being reckless, for not paying attention, for thinking he would be fine tagging along on one of Geralt’s hunts because he wanted more inspiration for one of his diddies.

But the only thing he could actually blame Jaskier for was his stupid decision to befriend Geralt, for trusting the Witcher to keep him safe. Because now Jaskier was hurt and the thing truly responsible for it was chopped into several pieces and flung across the clearing. So, the only one Geralt could actually blame was himself.

///

It had been almost two weeks since Geralt’s last contract, his coin was running too low, and the villages he had to cross had not been all that welcoming. Jaskier hissing and rearing to fight everyone who looked twice at Geralt did not help the situation. He was touched by how fiercely Jaskier protected him, but sometimes he wished he would learn to pick his fights.

“I am choosing my fights Geralt. I am choosing to fight for you.”

Geralt shook his head. “You don’t need to do that.”

Jaskier scoffed. He propped himself on his side from where he had been lying on Geralt’s chest. “Geralt, last time we were at court, you almost tore off the arm of the nobleman who insulted me.”

“He called you a whore.” Geralt growled.

Jaskier shrugged. “I’ve been called worse. But you did not need to defend me that day, I didn’t ask you to.”

“I wasn’t going out stand by and let him call you names.”

Jaskier smiled fondly. “Precisely my love, how is it fair you ask me to stand by while all these strangers beg you to help them with a monster and then call you names in the same breath.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Oh? Do you think I don’t care for you as much as you care for me?”

“Jaskier it’s-” Geralt bit off, growling when he was unable to say what he wanted. Jaskier merely ran a hand across the length of his chest, accustomed to giving him time to sort out his thoughts. “I don’t need to be protected.”

Jaskier laughs, the bastard.

“Oh darling, of course you don’t need to be protected.” He leans down and kisses him, slow and heavy, pouring his seemingly endless affection into Geralt until the Witcher wonders if one can drown in it. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel nice when someone does it anyways though. You protect me from all the monsters of silver, and I’ll protect you from the ones of steel.”

I’ll be your shield against humans, I won’t let you get hurt again. Not on my watch.

Fuck, Geralt’s chest is a pandemonium of emotions, so he does the only thing he does understand. He rolls the bard back onto his back and shows him his love.

///

A conversation from long ago echoes through Geralt’s mind as he ties the makeshift bandages he created out of his tunic across Jaskier’s chest. He wills his hands to stop trembling, his heart to not beat so loud, his breath not to be so ragged and painful. He doesn’t particularly believe in any God, but right then he prays to every one he knows to allow Jaskier to be alright.

Because the world needed this miracle of a man to be alive.

Because Geralt needed this miracle of a man to stay alive.

///

They were camping next to a lake, the summer night making the air heavy and humid. The soak in the river had been delightful, the cold water washing away the stickiness on their skins, allowing them to feel clean for the first time in days. They were on their way out of Novigrad, Jaskier having requested Geralt to meet him there after he finished his latest hunt. The bardic festival hosted by Lord Whittenmore had sent a personal invitation to Jaskier who had been honored, and determined to win once he learned Valdo Marx would also be there.

Jaskier had worked tireless on perfecting new compositions for the festival, staying awake late into the night, having to be hauled to sleep by Geralt when the Witcher finally had enough of the racket.

“Geralt?”

“Hmm.”

“Do you know the constellations?”

Geralt slowly peeled his eyes open, sleep had been scarce during the hunt, and though he would not admit it out loud, Geralt found he slept best when the bard was next to him.

The sky above them was a twinkling canvas, the moon half full but still bright enough they hadn’t even needed to keep the fire going for light. The lake was surrounded by a flat ground, allowing them to see the sky unobstructed. And stars crowded each other so much it was difficult to make them apart.

“A few.”

“I had a book about constellations when I was a child. My mother, she would read to me every night from that book. Told me the story behind each one.”

Geralt rolled his head to the side, taking in the view of his lover from the side. Jaskier was staring steadfast at the stars, their light reflected in his own eyes. Geralt’s breath got caught in his throat when Jaskier turned to meet his gaze. Jaskier did not need the reflection of stars in his eyes to imitate their twinkle, not when his out shined them all.

“Tell me one?” The question left Geralt before he could stop it.

Jaskier seemed to light up even more somehow, and launched into the tale.

Geralt fell asleep to the sound of his voice, his eyelids too heavy for him to keep them open.

When he woke the next morning, he swore he could feel the imprint of a kiss laid on top of his eyelids as he had drifted off to sleep.

///

Geralt heaved Jaskier up on his arms, ignoring the searing pain running up the entire left side of his own body. Fucking kikimoras. Trusting the potions he had taken beforehand to heal him, he secured Jaskier in his arms. Clenching his jaw so tight, he was sure he was chipping his teeth, Geralt tightened his hold on the bard and started to run. He needed to get a potion in Jaskier, get him stable, and then take him to a healer. One who could do magic.

Jaskier’s head lolled against his shoulder, the bard having succumbed to the pain a long while ago. Geralt picked up his pace the more he heard Jaskier’s heartbeat slowing down. The drum the dictated the beat of his life more and more.

His own chest started to feel icy, fear gripping his heart with claws that made it bleed.

///

It had been the bard who kissed him first. They were camping just outside of the Cedarian capital, the town had been having a nasty basilisk problem that took Geralt the better part of two days to take care of. Jaskier had conceded to being left behind in town on the condition of being allowed to fuss over Geralt as much as he wanted once he returned. And hadn’t that been a warm thought to mull over on the hunt. There was now someone who was waiting for Geralt on the other side of the hunt. Someone who had no obligation to do so, but chose to. Chose to spend time with him, someone who cared, someone who washed and tended to his wounds and soothed his nightmares. Jaskier chose him.

The basilisk had been a pain but Geralt had killed it and collected the reward soon enough. They rode out of town after Geralt got his coin, the villages reeking of equal measures of fear and disgust. They set up camp in the woods, Jaskier not complaining about the lack of a soft bed or the plain stew.

Geralt did not know much about the bard, for all that he rambled and babbled throughout the day, Geralt noticed that Jaskier rarely spoke about anything regarding his past. But there were some things he could not hide, the easy comfort in the silks and colors of his doublets, his intimate knowledge of nobility, his casual spouting of political relations and hierarchies in every country. Jaskier came from money. He came from a family that educated him. Possibly a family that loved him. So what was a man such as himself doing as a wandering minstrel? One who walked with Geralt even?

Every night, these thoughts occupied Geralt’s thoughts, though he’d never voice them out loud. He fell to a restless sleep, and was up with the dawn. Jaskier did not protest too much when Geralt roused him so early, just getting up and packing. They were barely on the road when the hair on Geralt’s neck stood up, and he called Jaskier to halt. He had barely pulled the bard close when an arrow landed right where the bard had been standing. Snarling, Geralt pulled Jaskier onto Roach, and kicked the horse into a gallop. A couple more arrows whizzed by, but none hit their target. Unfortunately the path they were on narrowed, and they ended up in a bottleneck. Geralt dismounted, pulling out his steel sword and taking a fighting stance as he patted Roach to hide with Jaskier. Soon enough the bandits descended, and they must have thought their numbers would help against a single Witcher, only to find themselves quickly outmatched. Geralt received a few nicks, and one slash to the side of his chest that could had pierced him if not for his armor. By the time Geralt disposed of the last bandit, he was panting and the pain from a cut to the leg had him limping.

“Geralt!” Jaskier cried out when he emerged from the hiding spot. The bard rushed to him, entering his personal space and started to prod him, finding all the wounds. Geralt growled and batted at Jaskier but the bard was not deterred. The bard had him sitting on a nearby rock and pulling out Geralt’s supply of salves and bandages, quickly bandaged the two deep cuts, the nicks already starting to close on their own.

“Well, nothing like a bandit encounter to get the old blood pumping, right Geralt?” Jaskier tried to joke, laugh dimming at the sour look on Geralt’s face. He sighed. “Look, let’s just go alright?”

Geralt grunted and stood up, beckoning Roach to him. He mounted, and to Jaskier’s surprise offered him a hand too. Accepting the offer, Jaskier mounted Roach, slinging his arms loosely around Geralt’s waist. But to his surprise, rather than going out of the bottleneck, Geralt rode the opposite direction, back to where they had come from.

“Um, Geralt, I think we are going in the wrong direction. We need to be going the other way.” Jaskier explained. Geralt just grunted. Jaskier fell silent, but Geralt could scent his confusion.

They arrived at the place where the first arrow had been shot, and seeing it there made Jaskier gulp. It made Geralt’s blood boil. How dare these humans try to take his bard away?

When they got to the arrow, Geralt dismounted, making Jaskier yelp and follow. “What are you doing Geralt? I’m sure the bandits hiding here saw the fate of their friends and fled.”

Geralt was looking for something though, and moved with a purpose, pulling back a bush to see his prize. Crouching to get it, he brushed off the dirt that clung to it, noticing the dents and splinters to the wood.

He brought the lute back to Jaskier, who was standing next to Roach with wide eyes and an open mouth.

“Here. You dropped this.” Geralt said as he passed the lute back to Jaskier.

Jaskier took the lute from Geralt, cradling it for a moment before staring back at Geralt. His scent took on a pleasant smell of pine wood and flowers on top of his default scent of chamomile and vanilla, one Geralt had smelled before but had not yet deciphered the meaning of.

“You… we came back for this?” Jaskier asked, wonder filling his voice. Geralt shifted his weight, uncomfortable with the emotions he was reading off of Jaskier.

He grunted. Jaskier’s lips twitched before morphing into a genuine smile, small but beautiful. It made Geralt’s heart speed up and a bubbling feeling develop in his stomach.

And then. And then, Jaskier switched the lute to one hand, using the other to pull Geralt close to press a kiss to Geralt’s lips. The Witcher stood frozen, the heat of the bard’s body feeling as though it was burning him. Jaskier had closed his eyes, but Geralt couldn’t find himself able to do the same, mesmerized by the shape of Jaskier’s eyelashes lightly brushing against his cheek. His lips tingled when Jaskier broke the kiss. “Thank you Geralt.”

Jaskier turned around and started walking back towards the pass. When he didn’t hear Roach following, he twisted his head to beckon him. “Are you coming Witcher?” His voice was warm.

Geralt unfroze and climbed on Roach, following the bard for once.

What had just happened?

///

When he neared the road, he whistled a short tune, Roach galloping to meet him. Swinging Jaskier onto her saddle, Geralt climbed behind him, shifting to have him sitting side-saddle, secure between the Witcher’s arms. Then, he snapped Roach’s reins, begging her to be swift as they thundered towards the nearest village.

He hated how much this reminded him of the Djinn and the meeting that had happened. How many times was he doomed to hurt this man?

///

The first time Geralt kissed him, Geralt wished he had done it differently. They had been in Murivel, and just by sheer bad luck Jaskier had encountered a nobleman who vividly recalled his face as it had tumbled out of the window of his wife’s chambers. Needless to say, he had been holding a grudge and Jaskier had been sent running through the streets of the town while half a dozen guards with swords chased him. Jaskier had ended up crashing straight onto Geralt, nearly sending them both tumbling to the ground.

“Geralt! My darling Witcher, help me please!” Jaskier had cried.

Geralt heard the sounds of the soldiers, and was able to connect the important dots even if he didn’t have the full story. Unfortunately, he had left his swords in the inn and had only a small dagger. And this was their town. And Jaskier was wearing one of his obnoxiously bright doublets that made sure he always caught everyone’s eye. Good for a performance, bad for hiding from soldiers who want to castrate you.

Already regretting the action he was going to do, he hauled Jaskier against the wall of the nearest alley, pressing close to the bard, touching from shoulder to knees. Jaskier squawked before his breath hitched. It was not helping Geralt concentrate.

“Geralt?” the word was whispered against his ear, and instinctively Geralt squeezed Jaskier’s hip. He heard the soldiers round the corner on their street and turned to Jaskier, pressing his lips onto his, swallowing the moan Jaskier let out. Jaskier was frozen for a moment before he threw his arms over Geralt, one burying itself in his hair and the other encircling his torso. Geralt brought his hands around Jaskier’s waist, pressing them against his lower back, making the bard arch into him.

The heat from the bard was intoxicating, and left Geralt wanting to continue doing this. This miracle of a human who touched him with no fear, who wanted him.

He heard a group of footsteps stop at the mouth of the alley but moved on quickly enough. It was only when he heard them turn another corner that Geralt stepped back. Not too far though, leaving just a couple inches of space between them.

Jaskier was a sight, lips red and plump, eyes slightly glazed and hair mussed. “Geralt…” Fuck, even his voice was hoarse.

The Witcher could feel his arousal racing through his veins and when his hips brushed the bard’s they elicited a moan letting him know the bard’s reaction was more visceral than a simple kiss warranted.

Geralt could still recall the first kiss Jaskier gave him, he had spent nights replaying it in his head. He had also, in the nights when he travelled alone, allowed himself to imagine how he would return the kiss. This had not been it.

He had wanted to earn it, wanted to treat the bard, make him smile, make him laugh, make his scent be filled with happiness.

Still, he couldn’t say he entirely hated what had just happened either.

///

Roach brought him to the healer’s hut quickly, sensing the panic from her rider. Geralt dismounted, carrying Jaskier in his arms. He shifted him enough to knock on the door, anxiety and panic coloring every second before the door finally creaked open to reveal a tiny woman who barely reached his chest.

“Please, respected healer, my friend has been injured and he needs immediate assistance.”

“Hmmm,” the woman contemplated before thankfully opening the door further to let him in. “There is a bed in that room, deposit him there. Divest him of his clothes too.” She ordered.

Geralt quickly followed her instructions, willing away the trembling in his arms as his fingers unbuttoned Jaskier’s doublet.

He couldn’t pull the bard to sit to remove his chemise, so he used the dagger from his boot to cut it, promising in his head to replace it for him. He was just finishing with lowering Jaskier onto the bed when the old lady waddled back into the room. In the light of the fire, the slash of the kikimora had cut a wide line from just below Jaskier’s armpit to his opposite hip in the back, the line curving jagged and dangerous.

“Now Witcher, let me do my job, go sit outside.”

“But-”

“I cannot concentrate if I have you hovering over me. I may not be able to scent your anxiety but I am sure you reek of it. Begone with you!” She ordered, pointing back to the main room.

Biting back an argument, Geralt sighed and bowed his head. “Yes madam.”

He glanced backwards at Jaskier, still laying on the bed, pale and haunting with the moonlight that was shining down on him.

He closed the door, the main room being dark and cold compared to the space he had just occupied. Knowing he couldn’t stay still, not when he was useless to help Jaskier, not when it had been his fault the bard had been hurt in the first place, Geralt fled.

///

“That’s it. You are teaching me how to make your damn potions Geralt!” Jaskier huffed as he tried to staunch the bleeding by wrapping the bandages faster. But Geralt’s torso was slippery and bandages ended up bunching up rather than laying flat on him.

Geralt, helpfully verbose as always, growled at him.

Jaskier growled back and pulled at the bandages viciously.

Geralt tried to swipe at him. Jaskier pulled the bandages again.

“I am the only reason you are not dead you idiot. Stop resisting me!”

Geralt snarled, securing Jaskier’s wrist in a tight enough hold strong enough to hurt but not fracture.

“Get your hands off of me, or I will do it for you.”

Jaskier bared his teeth in a half feral smile. “I’ve travelled by your side for 10 years now you bastard, you think you scare me? I’m not afraid of you Geralt.”

The two men wrestled some more, although it was less wresting and more Geralt using his bulk to keep Jaskier away from him without hurting the bard while the bard clawed and threatened to bite him.

In the end, Roach got annoyed by the racket then were making and headbutted Geralt’s back, making him lose his balance for a second. Unable to balance both of them when Jaskier decided to swing at him again at that instance, both went crashing to the ground, Geralt gasping as lines of pain radiated from his cut shoulder to the ends of his toes, further exacerbated by Jaskier falling half on top of him.

“Shit! Are you alright, I am so sorry!” Jaskier exclaimed as he scrambled to get off the Witcher and stand upright, accidentally kneeing him in his, thankfully, uninjured side.

Gritting his teeth so hard he almost heard them crack, Geralt braced himself on his hands and pushed himself up against the rock he had been sitting in.

Jaskier dropped to his knees beside him, far more careful of his movements.

“Geralt?” the concern was overwhelming in its sincerity and its scent.

For all the flaws the bard had that drove Geralt out of his mind on a daily basis, the one consistent thought in his head was the perplexity he felt as he studied the enigma of Jaskier. The bard was loud, colourful, had a tendency to go feral and pick stupid fights, got into stupider beds he ended up having to run from with his trousers only half done. But he was also kind to Geralt, a kindness that was genuine. He feared for Geralt, not because of him. Geralt did not know what to make of this human. And now he claimed he wanted to know how to make potions to help Geralt out? The idea was absurd.

But as Jaskier took his silence as permission to continue his fussing, he sat back and let the bard do as he wished, thankfully quiet this time. Jaskier’s touch was gentle but firm, and the fear Geralt kept waiting for, even after all this time never came.

Somewhere along the way, Jaskier had learned how to heal him, how to care for him, anticipate his needs. And Geralt felt a curl of shame in his stomach that he could not say the reverse was true.

///

Geralt was back at the swamp. The scents were overpowering, the rot of death and blood, kikimora and Witcher and human, all combining to form the most noxious smell Geralt had ever smelled.

He felled the head off the monster, harvested the useful bits, and then burned the corpse. He burned the whole clearing too, just to be safe.

He rode back in a fugue state, his mind was blank because the only thought was ‘Jaskier will be alright, Jaskier needs to be alive, Jaskier needs to know, Jaskier will be alright, Jaskier needs to be alive, Jaskier needs to know …’

The sun had set long ago, only his Witcher vision allowing him to guide Roach back to the hut of the old healer. Leaving Roach to munch on the nearby patch of grass, Geralt reentered the cottage. The smell of blood in the air had been replaced with incense, and Geralt could hear a faint chanting from the old lady.

Lost without direction, Geralt sagged against the wall next to the door leading to Jaskier. He curled his arms around himself and rested his head against his knees.

All that was left to do was wait. How had this all happened?

///

It had even been a simple hunt, the alderman had put out a commission for a Witcher to take care of the spider monster in his lake, and when Geralt had met him, had even been helpful in giving details. He described how four of the men of his village had been lost when they had left through the path north to do business and then failed to return. But when a couple others returned, they realized the men who disappeared must have done so near the water. So the remaining citizens had armed themselves and gone to the search the riverbanks to find their bodies to bring home, only to lose another citizen to the monster.

The alderman shuddered as he recollected the sight.

He had said, “Master Witcher, I know that in most places your kind is not treated kindly, but we are a small village, dependent on each other. Loss of even four men is a heavy loss, and we cannot afford to lose any others lest all of us die. We do not have much coin, but we can provide you lodging and food for free to compensate.”

Geralt had accepted the offer, not least because he had seen the hunger pang faces of the children when he and Jaskier had arrived, death and misery hanging like a cloud over the village. Jaskier had quietly offered to play at the tavern and the alderman had smiled at him weakly. He had travelled wide and seen the rarity of people in power who cared for their people, and the man before him all but bled his grief at the death of his people.

“Music and happiness have long been gone from here Master Bard. If you would kindly welcome them back for even a night to this town, I will be grateful beyond words to you.”

Jaskier had offered a nod and made arrangements for his performance. That night, after singing and dancing and finally seeing those children laugh, both men retired to their room.

“What monster do you think it is?” Jaskier had asked, laying on his side, head pillowed on his arm, looking at him.

Geralt had been on his back, on arm tucked beneath his head as Jaskier took the one on his stomach to play with.

“Based on the description, it is probably a kikimora. They are difficult but if you go in with a plan the job can be done quickly enough.”

“Let me come.”

“No.”

“Geralt.”

“You could get hurt.”

“That’s what you tell me before every hunt!”

“It’s true of every hunt.”

“Geralt…” Jaskier whined. Geralt had relented. In hindsight, he wanted to hit himself over the head for such a stupid decision.

The next morning had dawned early, and the two went in the direction of the swamp. Jaskier had conceeded to staying away from the fight itself, and found that there was a place where the path forked to the swamp, one heading to the river, and another to higher ground. Making sure the bard was safe up high, Geralt ventured to the river, pulling out his silver sword.

He leaned down and picked up a few pebbles, enchanting them with a sign, and once at the river’s edge tossed them in. Barely a couple of seconds passed before the still waters rippled and splashed as the monster emerged from the riverbed. It roared, Geralt barely able to make out a small darkened spot on it’s head before it launched itself at him. Geralt dodged and threw an Aard, which stunned the kikimora enough for Geralt to hack off one of it’s legs.

Enraged, the monsters had screamed again before slashing out rapidly, catching Geralt in the arm. Geralt grunted as the claw pierced the skin below the armor, but used the proximity to chop off another limb. He threw another Aard, throwing the kikimora out of the water and into the cliff by the river’s edge. The soil of the cliff must have been weaker than it looked, because Geralt could only watch as the ground beneath Jaskier’s feet crumbled and the bard let out a scream as he fell, landing on the monster’s back. Jaskier was stunned for a second before he scrambled away from the monster, limping to cover. Geralt unfroze and launched himself at the monster, giving Jaskier enough time to get to safety. Unfortunately, the kikimora was fueled by anger at that point and viciously slashed out it’s leg throwing Geralt into the river. Geralt spluttered when he breached the surface, and could only watch in horror as Jaskier let out a blood curdling scream before falling silent as the monster seemed to cut him in half.

Geralt couldn’t recall what had happened next, only knew his vision had gone red and he had fought against the monster, going so fast and hard the kikimora could not even prepare a defence for itself.

///

Geralt had been engaged in intense self-flagellation for over an hour before the door next to him crack open, spilling bright light into a dim room that had Geralt squinting. The old woman stepped out, closing the door behind her. Geralt rose to his feet, feeling his heart in his throat.

“Madam, my friend-”

“Quit your nervousness, it is unbecoming. Your friend shall be alright. A little bruised but he will be healed by the morrow.”

Geralt felt the immediate urge to sink to his knees in relief.

“Now go on ahead, he is asking for you.”

Geralt’s heart skipped a beat before starting to pound. “Asking- He’s awake?”

“Yes, boy, generally sleeping people cannot make requests. Go on in now.” The lady said as she practically pushed Geralt into the neighboring room.

The sight in there was enough to make his eyes tear up. There on the bed, looking exhausted with a new scar, but otherwise healthy and breathing, and whole, was Jaskier. With his bright blue eyes, and warm smile, and kind hands. There was his miracle of a man he had done nothing to deserve.

Geralt nearly sobbed in relief. Good things did not happen often to him, destiny had a tendency to fuck him over at every turn.

Jaskier called him forth, extending a hand towards him. “Geralt.”

The steps he took felt mechanical, as though it wasn’t him who was walking, not him placing his hand in Jaskier’s, not him being blessed with that radiant smile. But that smile dimmed a little, and Geralt wanted to bring it back.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” Geralt managed to croak out after several prolonged moments.

“Like you can’t believe your eyes?”

“I-” Geralt said, before being overwhelmed, and he surged, enveloping Jaskier in a firm but gentle hug, burying his face in Jaskier’s scent. A tear made its escape and landed on Jaskier’s bare shoulder.

“Geralt wh-”

“I heard your heart stop.”

“Oh Geralt. I am alright, I am here.”

Geralt just clung to Jaskier tighter. The bard brought one hand up to run through Geralt’s hair as the other rubbed soothing circles into the small of his back.

The pair stayed like that until Jaskier’s muscles protested, and Geralt forced the bard to lie down, pampering and fussing over the bard.

His bard. His friend. His Jaskier.

The old lady allowed them to stay the night, saying the stitches would burst open if the bard had to ride by horseback or walk the next day.

“Thank you for taking care of me, my lady.” Jaskier had said.

“Little boy, I just did my job. If the big one hadn’t brought you to me as quickly as he did, no one could have helped you. You should be thanking him.”

“I plan to, my lady, I plan to.” Jaskier had said, voice so fond, Geralt wanted to run, especially when those blue eyes filled with love were aimed at him.

“Very well, you both interrupted my supper, I am going to eat. I trust you to take care of yourselves.” She had bid before walking out, nodding at their bows.

Once she was gone, Jaskier had cupped Geralt’s face ad brought him in for a kiss.

“This is not your fault.”

Geralt’s fist clenched in the sheets.

“Of course it is.”

“Geralt-”

“I should have been more careful.”

“And I should have actually listened to you.” Jaskier said exasperated. He sighed, shifting his hand from Geralt’s cheek to the back of his neck. “Dear heart, you warned me so many times, you gave me so many chances to stay behind and I rejected all of them. Neither of us are to blame, or both of us are. But please, please don’t put this on yourself.”

When Geralt looked like was going to protest, Jaskier shut him up with a kiss.

“Promise me.”

In front of those eyes, Geralt had always been helpless. “I promise.”

Jaskier smiled brightly again. “Good.”

And then because he was a ridiculous fool in love, he pressed a kiss to the Witcher’s nose.

And because the Witcher was an even bigger fool in love, he blushed.

///

In his heart Geralt did not know if he could ever truly forgive himself for letting Jaskier get hurt, but he had promised the bard, so he would try.

He would also make sure to do his best to ensure harm never came to his bard again, directly or indirectly.

Jaskier was far too precious to hurt.

#the witcher #my fic #my wriring #geralt whump week #geralt whump week 2020 #geralt whump week day 6 #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #geraskier fic #soft geralt/jaskier #let me know what you think!

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strawberry-skies-xx · 4 years

Text

forget the bottle

C H A P T E R O N E

summary: Jaskier has always felt things on a deeper level than most, and more often, and he has gone through life this way. He has coping mechanisms, of course - drinking, talking, singing, etc. He can't be overwhelmed by his emotions all the time, after all.

After the mountain, Jaskier's coping mechanism is drinking. Turns out, there's something in it, and Nilfgaard knows exactly how to break the songbird.

words: 17097

tags: geralt / jaskier, yennefer, PTSD, post-s1e6, s1e6 fix-it, a fix-it of sorts, pyschological trauma, psychological torture, magical fuckery, mind manipulation, aftermath of psychological torture, emotional/psychological abuse, torture, nilfgaard, captured by nilfgaard, fringilla, fluff and angst, protective yennefer, yennefer ships it, idiots in love, love confessions, happy ending, solitary confinement

author’s note: alright, so here is the zillionth captured-by-nilfgaard fic in this fandom. and, yes, whenever i mention valdo marx + jaskier hate-fucking, i am passive-aggressively yelling at the fandom for not having more of it. it has massive potential, but i don't write smut. (aka, please link me to any amazing top/dom valdo and bottom/sub jaskier hate-fucking, i love it)

scheduled tuesday and thursday posting.

main masterlist | story on ao3 | next chapter >>

-0-0-0-

Jaskier felt too much.

He’d always felt too much. He spent his younger years raging at his parents, raging at the world, though he didn’t know what he was raging at, only that he wanted to get away, be free.

And when he was old enough, he went to Oxenfurt and learned - learned academics, learned the arts, and he flashed through emotions quicker than he did love. The world was new, the world was bright and big and bold and Jaskier wanted nothing more than to carve himself a place in it.

And he did. He went to an inn in Posada and met a white-haired Witcher, and he learned some more. Learned of the darker emotions - not just anger, but revenge, and not just sadness, but despair, oppression. The world was new, still, the world wasn’t quite bright anymore but it was big and bold and Jaskier still wanted to carve himself a place in it, by way of one grumpy, golden-eyed, white-haired Witcher.

So Jaskier went through the world, and he felt. He felt pain lance through him, sharp as any blade - pain of heartbreak, pain of rejection, pain of actual physical wounds. He felt happiness, like warm honey falling gently over him - contentment when he sat by the fire with Geralt and sang into the shadows, joy when he roused an entire tavern into singing and stamping with him and he danced between them all, singing his heart out to the world.

He also felt love, in a more permanent sense than he’d ever felt it. Love was…. a peculiar sensation for him. He fell into love hard, and fast, and deep - both literally and metaphorically; Jaskier did enjoy the finer things in life, and he wasn’t above flirting and taking everyone he met to bed, sometimes at the same time. He adored people, like soft warmth rising in him. Lust was sharp and primal, carnal in its intensity, and Jaskier sharpened it into something intricate, turned it into pretty words and meaningful looks and determined intent.

And he loved, loved with his whole being, loved with his entire heart. Jaskier gave a piece of his heart to everyone he met, and sometimes he took it back after a fleeting infatuation, sometimes it stayed with them and he yearned. Valdo Marx was one of those people - he had loved him as he did anyone, had ended up hating him, but Valdo was not a fleeting love. Jaskier still loved him, even if it was only for their sharp back-and-forths and the truly mind-blowing hate sex they had occasionally - Valdo knew him better than anyone, except for Geralt.

Geralt was different. For Jaskier, love shot through him like a lightning bolt - or, Cupid’s arrow. Sometimes it went out the other end and left, sometimes it stuck and bled and scarred. With Geralt, it had shot through him like any other person, except it had stuck, it hadn’t bled, and it hadn’t scarred. Jaskier loved Geralt, and he was never so selfless that he never wanted more of him despite having what he already did, but if he was truly forced to choose, Jaskier would have been perfectly content with the life he led with the Witcher, would have suffered through the pain of pining after him if he got to stay.

Jaskier hadn’t chosen, though. Geralt had chosen for him, and he had decided that he didn’t need him, didn’t want him, and Jaskier had granted him his oh so desired blessing, and left.

Heartbreak felt like needles, stabbing him, over and over and over, in multiple places, and when he thought it was done, he’d see something and he’d be pricked again, it would draw blood.

Jaskier had grown very good at coping with his feelings - he couldn’t go through life being overwhelmed by all of his emotions. He did this in all manners of ways - writing songs and singing them, putting on the optimistic act to simultaneously let out emotions while hiding others, and talking, constantly. One of his better - or, well, quite unhealthy but very effective - coping mechanisms was drinking, which was what he was currently using on the heartbreak needling at him.

He stared into the tankard of ale, which tasted more like piss than actual ale, and sighed. Even the damn ale reminded him of Geralt.

Maybe the Cupid’s arrow for Geralt had started bleeding. Jaskier wasn’t sure if it would scar.

He groaned and dumped coins on the table, ignoring the flirtatious looks some women were giving him. He would have accepted it at any other time, would have lost himself in pleasure, but he felt slightly dizzy and he wanted nothing more than to find someplace to sleep, without practically selling his body for it. He didn’t have enough coin for a room, so he’d have to sleep out in the woods. Which, dammit, was just like he used to do with Geralt. Minus the Witchery protection now, of course.

Jaskier’s head was thoroughly spinning by the time he got out of the inn, and he knew something was wrong. He was drugged, he knew what it felt like to be drugged, having been enough times that Geralt actually berated him for having to rescue him. He ran through in his head what drug it could be, landed distantly on the salty taste of the ale, and cursed under his breath. Or, maybe it was a curse. Jaskier’s head was too fuzzy to figure out whether it came out as an actual word or as incoherent noises.

He saw shadows out of the corner of his eye - black, large, vaguely terrifying considering the way he stumbled and couldn’t think straight. He was caught by two strong arms, Geralt flashing quickly through his mind before a voice that was decidedly not Geralt whispered in his ear, smooth and cruel.

“Hey, little songbird,” not-Geralt said. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“Fuck off,” Jaskier replied. Or didn’t. He didn’t know, his head was spinning and he felt a headache pounding and his limbs were growing slow and heavy, and the darkness dragged him down all too easily.

-0-0-0-

Jaskier woke up cold, and shivering, and very, very confused. He was laying on his side on a stone floor, feeling like he had been dunked in ice water - which, maybe he had, because his hair was dripping wet still and plastered to his face. His hands were behind his back, and at an experimental tug, they were tied together too. He wore nothing but his pants, and his bare shoulder pressed against the cold stone.

Jaskier cursed, both from his situation which had rapidly come back to him, and the very annoying strands of wet hair that had decided to plant themselves directly in his eye, and managed to roll himself onto his back with some effort. He lifted his head as much as he could and shook his hair out of his face, trying very hard to ignore the feeling of it plastered to his cheeks, his neck, just all over the place. He took the brief time to berate whoever had kidnapped him on hair care - honestly, did no one know how to dry hair? He liked to keep his hair soft and this was decidedly not the way to do it.

Of course, none of this was what he believed. He was ignoring the fear crawling up in him, feeling like spiders and making his skin itch, feeling like ice trickling down his spine and tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. If he focused on anything other than the fear, then he wouldn’t be overwhelmed. It couldn’t do anything.

Jaskier rolled himself back on his side in order not to crush his hands beneath him, and after a long, heated moment spent mentally berating whoever had kidnapped him, again, on the best positions for singing, he actually started singing. The lecture went on, still - every time his voice cracked very much not artfully, or every time he couldn’t pull in enough breath, he took a second to come up with some particularly creative insult in his head about calling him songbird and then prohibiting his ability to sing.

He ignored the feeling of spiders crawling over him and the feeling of ice trickling down his spine.

It was an undetermined amount of time, measured only by the fact that Jaskier got through eight songs verbally before he started shivering uncontrollably, and six songs mentally before the door opened and a woman in blue robes and two men in black Nilfgaardian armor strode in.

He gave a dry laugh, ignoring the spiders crawling and the ice trickling. “Nice of you to stop by,” he said. “You know, it’s a bit contradictory when you call me songbird and then put me in a position like this, which is very much not conducive to singing, let me tell you.”

The woman in blue robes smiled and walked forward. She reached behind him and tugged harshly on the ropes tying his arms, pulling him into a kneeling position, before yanking him up to stand. Jaskier met her dark eyes, sensed the crackling undercurrent of magic around her, and supposed that this was Nilfgaard’s mage. Or one of them, at least.

She held his gaze for a long moment, searching, before letting go. “Untie him,” she said, turning around and standing several paces back as the Nilfgaardian soldiers descended on him.

Jaskier stood still, finding his heart suddenly pounding and adrenaline racing through him. This was his chance - he could try to escape now.

The ropes dropped from his arms and he lashed out, landing a right hook in one of the soldier’s jaws and aiming for another in the other soldier, when the entire room popped and Jaskier found himself slammed into by a wave of magic. His back hit the stone wall hard, knocking the breath out of him, and he gasped, arching. The sorceress walked forward, cruel emptiness in her eyes, watching him like he was a bug pinned to a board. Which, he supposed he was.

He was always a bug pinned to a board, poked and prodded and seen as amusing by Geralt and Yennefer and now this damned mage. Gods, Jaskier hated being human.

“Don’t struggle,” she said, voice oddly serene. “It’ll only be worse for you.”

Jaskier scoffed, rolled his eyes and studiously ignored the fear threatening to overtake him. Sometimes feeling too much was a blessing, sometimes it was a curse. Right now, it was a curse.

“Why? So I can become your puppet and you can do whatever you’d like to me? I’d be flattered you think of me that way, if this wasn’t a kidnapping,” he retorted sharply. The mage laughed, amused, and Jaskier tugged against his invisible bonds. Something in him wanted to cry at the fact that they didn’t even deem it necessary to tie him up, he was so weak and human.

The mage didn’t respond - not to his question, anyway. Instead, she raised two fingers to trace along his jaw. “It’s better to get this over with now,” she said.

Jaskier paled, felt the fear rising in him. “Get what over with? I’d rather you don’t-“

Her fingers landed on his forehead and his sentence ended with a scream. He arched against the invisible bonds, feeling the searing heat crawl into his mind, flood it with lava, with blood and pain and misery. She dissected his memories, sharply cleaving through every defense he had, and he felt the magic ripping through his body harshly, tearing through his mind.

Jaskier slid into the wooden seat, bread shifting uncomfortably in his waistband - but that wasn’t important. What was important was the lack of a review, the golden eyes staring flatly at him and the two long, sharp, menacing swords sitting beside the man.

“Come on, you must have some review for me. Three words or less.”

“No,” he gasped. “Don’t- please don’t-“

He screamed again as she ripped through another of his memories, feeling tears start in his eyes and the feeling of fear inch up his spine, waiting for the opportunity to get past his defenses and overtake him.

“How’s my singing, Geralt?” Jaskier asked loudly, because oh he wanted to have this conversation. He was quite heartbroken from the Countess de Stael’s rude break off of their relationship, and he thought spending a good long while defending his singing with a loud, unrestrained sarcasm he hadn’t been able to use since he entered the Countess’s court would make him feel better. There was something freeing about being with Geralt, not having to tiptoe around the darker and dirtier things in life.

Jaskier gasped through the pain, shaking against the wall, mouth now opening wordlessly as he arched and the mage tore into memory after memory, pulling everything he ever felt, thought, said, did, into full view, forcing white hair and golden eyes into the forefront of his mind. She learned he felt too much, she learned he loved too much, she learned of the frankly embarrassing number of times he hate-fucked Valdo Marx.

And she learned he loved Geralt with a love more permanent than anything he’d ever felt before.

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

The agony ended with that line echoing in his head and he fell limp against the magic holding him to the wall, gasping for breath and still feeling the echoes of the searing pain ripping through his head.

The mage was entirely unconcerned, standing and waiting with a blank look on her face until Jaskier caught his breath and sent her a glare. He growled - which, of course made him think of Geralt. Damn the fucking Witcher who stole his heart. “Are you done? Learned anything useful?” he snarled, truly not giving a fuck about whether he angered her and made it worse.

She traced her fingers along his jaw again, sliding them beneath his chin and raising his head, lowering herself down to look him in the eyes. “Oh, songbird. We learned so much. I'm going to enjoy breaking you.”

Jaskier felt the fear rise up in him, felt his breaths start to come shorter and tears fill his eyes, and forcefully shoved it down. He couldn’t let his emotions overwhelm him.

“Why do you want me?” he asked, uselessly. He knew why they wanted him - and he knew he couldn’t give them the answers they wanted. Geralt had discarded him.

The mage released his chin and stood up, not responding. Jaskier watched as she stepped back, flicked her fingers, and suddenly Jaskier fell hard to the floor. He gasped when the cold shocked through him, and the mage walked to the door with the soldiers. She turned back at him when he raised his head to look at her.

“The Witcher has something we want,” she replied, and turned and left. The door slammed loudly behind her and the soldiers.

Jaskier was left alone in the darkness, and the sudden drain of adrenaline from the mage ripping through his mind left him exhausted. He resisted the urge to cry; he kept up the dying hope that Geralt would save him, or he would escape, because they were the only things keeping back the flood of fear, and he knew if the fear and emotions overtook him then he would break.

For now, he curled up on the cold floor and let his eyes close, succumbing to the deep exhaustion and letting sleep take him.

-0-0-0-

The mage introduced herself as Fringilla, and the next time she came in there were the same two soldiers with her. Jaskier had searched his cell when he woke up feeling marginally better, though still freezing cold, and found nothing - it was pitch dark, so he couldn’t see, but he had felt every inch with his hands and there was absolutely nothing that would help him escape. He could barely find the door in the darkness.

The bright light blinded him and he covered his eyes as Fringilla and the soldiers walked in. He glared at them, backed away when the soldiers came up to him. They reached out and Jaskier laughed harshly, ducking out from under their arms. “Nope, no, I am not letting you touch me.”

Fringilla sighed impatiently as Jaskier kept dodging the soldiers, who did nothing more than walk steadily after him in the small space. He hated this, hated that he was trapped and couldn’t do anything other than run three feet from the soldiers and make himself look weak by prolonging it. They still hadn’t deemed him a threat enough to tie him up, for fuck’s sake.

Jaskier would have enjoyed taking apart that delusion, if he wasn’t freezing cold, half-naked, outnumbered, and with no weapon to speak of. He uselessly avoided the soldiers for several more minutes, until even he was growing bored of the game, and the only thing that Fringilla needed to do was raise her hand before Jaskier was stopping, freezing like a deer in headlights, fear flashing through him. The soldiers took that opportunity and slammed him against the wall, hands pinning his arms and legs in place.

Jaskier wondered if the display of sheer power against him was intentional, deeming him too weak for chains or ropes, but Fringilla smiled in such a way that it was instantly confirmed and Jaskier bit back his noise of annoyance. It was truly insulting, and hit something deeper in Jaskier that was still fighting, that kept up hope. He figured that was the point - if they could restrain him so easily now, what was the point of fighting? It would only be worse.

“Love,” Fringilla said, and Jaskier felt his stomach drop and his body go cold. If Nilfgaard wanted to break him, they certainly knew how to do it.

“It’s a peculiar thing, isn’t it? So volatile. It’s the only thing us mages can’t predict,” Fringilla continued, voice low.

Jaskier glared at her. “Shame. Thought you mages were all-powerful,” he snarked. Fringilla only looked amused.

“However,” she continued, ignoring his comment, “we can use it to our advantage.” And, yeah, that’s definitely not good for Jaskier, who squirmed just at the thought of what they could do to him regarding Geralt - because that was the only person he truly loved, really.

She raised her fingers, intent in her dark eyes, and Jaskier barely had time to protest, fear shooting through him, before cool magic washed over him like ice water, and he sank into darkness.

He saw the light first - saw the mountains in the distance, felt the clothes covering his back. Heard Geralt and Yennefer arguing below, saw Borch sitting on the ledge - and oh, fuck, this was the dragon hunt, he realized with a jolt of panic.

“Like fuck you didn’t,” came Geralt’s irritated voice, and Jaskier’s heart hurt just hearing it. He stood up, or, well, he tried to. There was a magical force pulling him down, forcing him to stay in the body of the Jaskier in his memories, the one who sat on the rock, and walked over, and then walked away. He wanted to cry, again, because he knew how this turned out and he could already feel the heartbreak needling at his skin, the pain of rejection lancing through him. He remembered how his dreams shattered like glass, and he cut himself on the sharp edges of them as he walked away.

He stood up, walked over once Yennefer left. Spoke without wanting to, felt the insistent magic tugging at him. “Whew,” he said. “What a day. I imagine you’re probably-“

“Dammit, Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted sharply, whirling around to face him, and Jaskier felt the needles of heartbreak start pricking him, stabbing and drawing blood. He was stuck in his memory’s body, though, so he was forced to listen, feeling the tug of Fringilla’s magic on his voice, on his body.

Geralt’s eyes were hard, burning with anger as he continued. “Why is it, whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s you shoveling it?”

“Well, that’s not fair,” Jaskier replied, voice soft. It was just as painful the second time as it was the first, and back in the dark, cold cell, Jaskier was resisting the urge to cry. He didn’t want to relive this, it was too much for him to handle.

“The Child Surprise, the djinn, all of it! ” Geralt’s voice was harsh, everything about him was harsher and sharper and Jaskier was cutting himself on it, he was practically bleeding out with the force of the heartbreak ripping through him. He sang so many songs about Geralt, about him not being a monster, and Jaskier fought against the negative things said about Geralt with everything he had, but some dark, selfish part of himself whispered that maybe Geralt really was the monster everyone thought he was. He was certainly acting the part right now, hurting Jaskier in the most efficient, effective way possible. Jaskier was wrong when he said Geralt didn’t know how to use the blade of his words as effectively as steel and silver.

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

Sharp pain lanced through him and Jaskier woke up gasping, laying on the cold floor. The cell was dark; Fringilla and the soldiers were long gone. Jaskier was alone.

Jaskier shoved down the tears, shoved down the fear and heartbreak and emotions threatening to overwhelm him. Crying was not one of his coping mechanisms. Drinking was, talking was, singing was. Not crying, never crying. Jaskier would not show weakness.

Well, he couldn’t drink. He had two options. Singing or talking. There weren’t many songs to sing that weren’t about Geralt - and he had just been painfully reminded of how he felt about him, thank you very much. So he curled up in a weak defense against the cold, and in a quiet, cracking, whisper of a voice, started to talk.

-0-0-0-

Jaskier had fallen asleep in the middle of some sentence about geography, some passage he had memorized from a textbook when he was at Oxenfurt. He didn’t remember it now; didn’t need to. All he remembered now was the surge of fear as the cell door opened and Fringilla and two soldiers walked in. Jaskier looked up, too exhausted to think about physically fighting as they dragged him up from his position on the floor.

He did fight verbally, though, if only because talking to someone to fight off his emotions was better than talking to himself. “In the old stories, the knights swept the princesses off of their feet,” he said. The soldiers started pulling him towards the door - he had a vague hope of escaping, though he felt like shit because he was being starved and really had to piss. “Does that make me the princess?”

Fringilla gave her signature, idly amused smile, the one that reminded Jaskier just how much he was a bug pinned to a board and surrounded by immortals who didn’t care for him. “You’re a bard, and nothing more. The place we’re taking you is not from the old stories.”

Jaskier frowned. “Shame. Oh, speaking of being a bard, why do you even keep me here? You already rifled through my mind, you saw Geralt abandon me. You know I don’t know where he is, or what he has that you want.”

Fringilla didn’t look bothered. “You’re still useful. You know the Witcher better than anyone else, you can tell us where he would go next. His patterns of behavior, the way he thinks. The best way we can ambush him. Or, if not, you’re good for bait.”

Jaskier laughed, and the sound was harsh and mocking. “He won’t come for me,” he said bitterly. “You’re delusional if, after looking at that memory, you think he would come back for me. He doesn’t care whether I live or die.”

Fringilla smiled. “You’re right. He doesn’t care about you, and he won’t come back. Whether you help us find the Witcher or not, bard, you’re still ours.”

It came so easily, so certainly, that Jaskier deflated in the soldier’s arms, staring at Fringilla with a sort of blank horror. She had looked through his memories, had seen everything he’d seen, and she was able to say with such smooth certainty that Geralt wouldn’t come back for him, and he was Nilfgaard’s now. It hit the same part of him that it had when they had so easily restrained him, the deeper part of him that glowed gold with hope even as the rest of him withered and broke.

They stopped in front of a simple wooden door that Fringilla opened to reveal a room with a tub, toilet, and sink. Jaskier turned to the sorceress. “You’re giving me time to clean myself up?” he asked incredulously. “Doesn’t that go against, you know… everything about torture?”

Fringilla smiled again, but there was something darker in it. Jaskier resisted the urge to shiver at the dark promise hidden in her tone and smile. “You’re going to need it, bard. You won’t come back here for a long time.”

Jaskier felt the dread rise in him, like being touched by ice, and the fear. He nodded, staying quiet, and went into the room, flinching when the door slammed and locked behind him.

An hour later, the door was opened and the two soldiers came to get him, just as he finished using the bathroom. Jaskier sighed. “I’m guessing you won’t pamper me as much anymore?”

Fringilla smiled in the same dark way when the soldiers pulled Jaskier through the hallways. “No.”

They got closer, and Jaskier thought he was immune, he thought he was still strong, but he thought of the pure darkness of the cell and the cold air and the sheer loneliness, and started struggling when he saw the metal door at the end of the hallway. The fear was threatening to overtake him, his breaths came shorter and his voice rose an octave.

“Are you really sure you want to put me in there?” he asked, while pulling against the soldiers, who forcefully manhandled him down the hallway. His heart was picking up, and dammit he shouldn’t be this affected after two fucking days, but here he was. Nilfgaard had better torture tactics than they were given credit for - Jaskier had a bitter feeling that the reliving the hardest, most painful ten minutes of his life factored into the reason why he was so scared. “I’m sure there’s another option, something much less… well, dark and cold.”

“Will you answer our questions?” Fringilla asked.

“No,” Jaskier replied automatically. He wouldn’t give up that easily, no matter how terrifying the cell was.

Fringilla opened the door and the soldiers threw him in. He landed hard on the stone, still in only a pair of pants because that was all the clothes he was given in the bathroom, and he barely had time to watch the sliver of light be sliced away by the door slamming before he was left in pitch darkness, the cold air already seeping into him.

Jaskier sat up and leaned against the wall. He sighed, very firmly refusing the urge to cry, and stared into the darkness. He couldn’t even see the edges of the room, for fuck’s sake.

He let out a breath that definitely wasn’t at all shaky, tilted his head back against the wall, and started to sing - about everything and anything, because he couldn’t give a fuck about whether the songs were about Geralt if it meant he was distracted from the pain of knowing this was all he would see for gods knows how long. After all, it was just another emotion to add to the pile, wasn’t it? Nilfgaard wouldn’t care if he broke down - fuck, they wanted him to break down. Some dark part of him wondered if it would be easier to break down, stop fighting; it was only exhausting him anyway.

“When a humble bard, graced a ride along…”

#the witcher netflix #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier

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seanfalco · 4 years

Note

Hey! If it’s okay. Can you write about Valdo x Aevryn’s honeymoon please? Thanks so much! I am in LOVE with your punk!au 😍🥰😘

Fandom: The Witcher Punk!AU Pairing: Valdo Marx x oc (Aevryn Swift) Word Count: 1295 Rating: M Tag List: @ficsandcatsandficsandcats @nevadawolfe @magic-multicolored-miracle a/n: wehhh and ily nonny! thank you for the request >w<

—

“Do you know how beautiful you are? It’s truly distracting,” Valdo murmured, bringing a sleepy smile to Aevryn’s lips as she rolled toward him, burying her face in his long curls.

“It’s too early for you to be this sweet,” she replied and he glanced over at the clock on the table next to the bed.

“It’s nearly noon,” Valdo teased, wrapping his arms around his wife and pulling her against his chest. “Hardly what I would call early, darling.”

“Maybe for you, but then again someone kept me up half the night making love to me,” Aev retorted, her voice muffled.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Valdo said, running his fingers through her mess of hair and down her bare back, sending a shiver racing through her.

“I didn’t say that,” she insisted, shifting against him, slipping her leg over his.

“I mean, I know this is our Honeymoon, but if you need a break from all the sex, I can --”

“Valdo Swift-Marx, don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Aev threatened, covering his mouth with her hand, her sea-green eyes flashing dangerously with an alluring mixture of feistiness and lust which seemed to be exactly the reaction Valdo was hoping for.

“Oh?” he quipped, pulling her hand from his face, his lips curling into a cheeky smirk. “It seems like you might be a bit more awake now.”

“And whose fault is that, I wonder?” Aevryn asked wryly.

“You know, I’ve noticed these walls are pretty thick,” Valdo mused, changing the subject, his emerald eyes dancing with amusement as he watched Aev’s face. “Which means you and I can be as loud as we want.”

Aevryn cocked an eyebrow at him; peering at him through her sleep disheveled hair. “Are you suggesting we put a test to that?”

“I’m not suggesting anything, darling. I know you’re probably much too tired for that, so I’ll let you get back to sleep while I go take a shower.”

Valdo got as far as pulling back the covers before Aev was on top of him, pining his wrists to the bed. “Oh no you don’t,” she nearly growled, eyes dark with want. “I’m not done with you yet. Besides, I wanna see how thick these walls really are.”

Smirking up at her, Valdo’s eyebrows waggled as his emerald gaze hungrily roamed her lovely expanse of exposed flesh. “You know, you truly have no right to be this distractingly beautiful, Aevryn Swift-Marx. I’m unbelievably lucky.”

Aev’s eyes softened as she gazed down at him. Letting go of his wrists, she took his face between her hands. “We’re both lucky,” she insisted, stroking his cheeks as she bent closer, a grin playing at her lips.

Snaking his arms around her waist, Valdo pulled her closer, pressing his lips to hers. “You know at this rate we’re not going to see much of Greece outside of this room,” he murmured, smiling against her.

“I’m okay with that --”

The rest of her words melted to a soft moan as Valdo kissed her again, slipping his tongue in her mouth to deepen the kiss.

—

The sun was well past its zenith by the time Aevryn and Valdo finally left the comfort of their room, but plenty of daylight remained as they strolled hand in hand down to the beach. The airy sundress that fluttered around Aevryn’s legs matched Valdo’s outfit -- the colours masterfully coordinated.

“It’s so beautiful here, don’t you think?” Aev asked as she turned toward the shoreline, looking out over the tiny town; holding the large sunhat perched atop her head as a breeze kicked up.

“Mhmm, beautiful,” Valdo agreed, humming softly. Despite the dark sunglasses perched on his nose Aevryn could feel her husband’s eyes on her as they walked.

“You’re not even looking at the view,” she said with a laugh.

“Oh, but I am. The best view in the world,” Valdo insisted, pulling her closer to his side and slipping his arm around her waist.

Wending their way through the warren of cobbled streets leading ever downward, Aevryn couldn’t help but marvel at the bright white walls and stunning blue trim of the building they passed— each one beautifully unique despite their picturesque similarity.

A few locals called out in greeting as they passed and of course Valdo answered each in perfect Greek, though Aev had no idea when he had learned to speak it. Though by now, however, she was well aware that her husband was full of surprises, one of which being his mysterious mastery of many languages, and each time she discovered something new about him she merely took it in stride.

One might think that it would be upsetting to find out something surprising about the man she thought she knew everything about, but Aev treasured these discoveries, viewing them as one more thing to love about him.

By the time they’d finished their dinner at the small restaurant overlooking the sea and made it down to the strip of sand by the cliff the sun was nearing the horizon, painting the sky a burnished orange and blushing pink.

“Looks like it’ll be more of a night swim,” Aevryn pointed out as she followed Valdo further along the beach to a section near the rocky cliff face, hidden from view of the building above.

“Sounds perfect to me,” he purred, pulling her into his arms. “Less people around to interrupt us.”

Aev laughed as his lips found hers, her sun hat falling from her head as she tilted her face; Valdo’s hands pulling at her skirt, the fabric inching up her legs.

“I wonder what you have on underneath this,” he mused with a smirk, his gaze slipping downward as he bared her thighs.

“Not much,” Aev replied, her grin turning mischievous as she helped Valdo rid herself of the garment, letting it fall to the sand, standing before him completely nude.

“Not ouch indeed,” he chuckled, too distracted by the sight in front of him to be much help in undressing himself; Aev nimbly unbuttoning his shirt, and before long they were slipping unseen into the warm water of the bay, illuminated by naught but the soft moonlight.

“Is this everything you thought it would be?” Aev asked, pulling herself toward Valdo and slipping her arms around his neck as they tread water.

“We still have nearly a week and a half of our honeymoon left, love,” he pointed out with a smirk to which Aevryn responded with a playful splash, soaking his dark curls.

“You know what I meant.”

“Ah, you mean is being your husband everything I thought it would be?” Valdo clarified.

“Yeah, that,” Aevryn responded, her expression sobering. “You don’t… regret anything, do you?”

“How could I regret having everything I ever wanted?” he asked, a touch incredulously.

“I’m everything you ever wanted?” Aev asked, her voice almost a whisper.

“Everything and then some,” Valdo assured her; his emerald eyes searching her face, a tenderness there that made her heart ache.

“I love you, V,” she murmured, throwing her arms around him once more.

“I love you too,” he replied, smiling into her kiss, his hands wandering beneath the water’s surface, bringing a gasp to Aevryn’s lips as she jerked against him.

“You little—“ she gasped again as he grabbed a handful of her ass, pulling her closer til there was no space left between them.

“And what about you, Mrs. Swift-Marx?” he asked cheekily, an eyebrow cocking. “Any regrets?”

Aev regarded him for a moment through her eyelashes.

“None.”

Valdo’s grin widened and he dipped his face to steal another kiss. “Good,” he quipped, drawing a soft moan from his wife as he kissed her deeper, their swim turning into something else entirely.

#valdryn #punk!au #punk!valdo #punk!aevryn #punk!valdo x oc #oc: aevryn swift #my writing #reader request #anonymous

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jaskierswolf · 4 years

Text

An Ocean Away

Geraskier soulmate AU - A gift for my own darling soulmate @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde.

Words: 3.8k

CW: Big mutual pining, long distance friendships, and a lot of swearing, fucking the ocean is not advised...

Read on AO3

___________

Jaskier stared at his phone and sighed loudly. Geralt was still asleep and really Jaskier should be working but he missed him. How that was even possible he wasn’t sure, they’d never even met. Geralt was all the way across the other side of the fucking ocean. Jaskier hated it. The soul bond had snapped into place on Jaskier’s birthday. He’d waited up until midnight, shaking with excitement. He’d known there was a chance his soulmate was younger than him but he didn’t care, his soulmate would be worth the wait.

Luckily for him, Geralt was a couple of years older.

Unluckily for him, Geralt also lived in America.

He sighed again and thumped his head against his desk, earning a withered glare from his boss across the room. God, he really needed to get out of his job. He was an artist, a musician! He shouldn’t be stuck in an office inputting data.

‘Geralt….’ He called out mentally, hoping to reach his soulmate in his dreams but it was no use. Geralt was down for the count and probably wouldn’t wake up for several hours.

Instead, Jaskier sighed loudly for the third time and remembered their first conversation with a fond smile.

‘Helloooooo’ he called out, fidgeting with his bedsheets. ‘anybody there?’

‘What the fuck?’ a gruff response came and Jaskier could just about make out the image of some kind of restaurant if he focussed hard enough, but that wasn’t what had caught his attention.

‘You’re American?!’ he wanted to cry. He couldn’t afford to fly out to America, not unless he followed his sisters into the family business and regained access to the Bank of Dad.

‘Fuck.’

Ah so his soulmate was a man of many words. He grinned a flopped back onto his bed. ‘I’m Jaskier, by the way, I’m from England.’

‘I’m at work, can this wait?’ his soulmate growled.

Jaskier’s heart sank. ‘Right, yes, yes… of course. I umm… well I need to go to sleep. I’m bloody exhausted. Wake me up when you’re finished?’

‘Hmm.’

Geralt hadn’t managed to wake him up. Although he still maintained to this day that he’d yelled out as much as he could without actually yelling aloud, and Jaskier had slept through the whole damn thing. Geralt’s mind was pretty quiet. He didn’t often project his thoughts unless they were actively conversing. Jaskier on the other hand kept up a steady stream of thoughts, showing Geralt the pretty flowers that he saw on the way to work, or humming new songs just for his soulmate to hear, anything that he thought Geralt might find interesting.

He pressed the home button on his phone again. Barely five minutes since the last time he’d checked. It wasn’t even time for lunch yet, let alone time for Geralt to wake up. He hoped they’d have time to video chat before Geralt had to go to work that evening but he was pretty sure that his soulmate was on an early shift. He groaned, and reluctantly started angrily jabbing at his keyboard. The endless stream of emails and shitty clients were not helping his mood. Why couldn’t Geralt be on a closing shift? At least then they’d be able to talk properly before Jaskier had to go to sleep.

“Would you stop being so pathetic, Julian?” Valdo sneered from the desk opposite Jaskier’s.

“You’re just angry because your soulmate hasn’t made contact yet,” Jaskier snapped back.

They were both twenty-four and Valdo’s soulmate was either ignoring him or was still underage. Jaskier almost pitied the man; almost.

“Just get on with your work, Julian and stop clock watching.”

Jaskier muttered a few rather inappropriate for work words under his breath and turned back to his computer. He managed to get one whole email dealt with before losing focus again. He shifted in his seat so he could sit cross-legged on the chair, and then tried again. After another few emails his feet started to tingle.

“Oh bollocks,” he whined and jumped off the chair, hopping around the office.

“For god’s sake, Julian!”

“My name… is Jaskier!” He snapped “and I’ve got bloody pins and needles!”

‘Jaskier?’ Geralt’s voice was bleary and slurred in his mind.

He squeaked and promptly fell on his arse, but it wasn’t enough to stop him from grinning madly. “Geralt’s awake!” he announced to the office.

“Take your lunch early,” Tissaia sighed “God only knows you won’t get anything else done until you’ve spoken to Geralt.”

Jaskier beamed at his boss. Fuck he could kiss her. She was so understanding and wonderful and…

And he still hadn’t responded to Geralt!

‘Geralt, darling, hello!’ he trilled happily in his mind, spinning his chair around so he was sitting backwards.

‘Are you ok?’ Geralt hummed ‘Felt angry.’

Jaskier squeaked, unable to contain the swell of love in his chest. God damn it he just wanted to hug Geralt. It wasn’t fair. Priscilla and Essi had only lived two towns away from each other. Triss had grown up with Yennefer, and yet Jaskier was stuck with a soulmate on the other side of the fucking planet.

‘Fuck the ocean,’ he grumbled

He heard Geralt’s laughter, echoed with a phantom feeling of mirth that wasn’t his own. ‘Fuck the ocean’ he agreed.

‘I’m moving to America, I’m going to invent portals and I am never letting you go,’ Jaskier sighed.

Geralt hummed again. He was tired, Jaskier could feel it. ‘Go back to sleep, darling.’

‘When’s your lunch break over?’

‘I have half hour.’

‘I’ll wait.’

Jaskier smiled dopily at his phone. There was a picture of Geralt and his horse, Roach, on the lock screen. He unlocked it quickly to check his clock app. He knew the timezone difference by heart at this point but he still needed to check. It was a habit that he had yet to break. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too.’

Jaskier felt like crying. He just wanted to hold his soulmate. He wanted to know whether that love was platonic or romantic or what? He just… he knew he would love Geralt with every fibre of his being, and would be happy no matter what. That’s how soulmates worked after all. They were your match, and not everyone’s match was romantic.

Oh but how he yearned. He was pathetic.

‘I miss you.’

‘I miss you too’ Geralt hummed and Jaskier felt an ache through the bond that wasn’t his. He smiled sadly. He wasn’t the only one being pathetic.

They fell silent, Jaskier gazing longingly at his lock screen, trying desperately not to fall apart in the middle of his office. Maybe he should go for a walk. Maybe he should just quit his job and move to America. His soulmate was American so he wouldn’t have to worry about visas as long as he could prove Geralt was his. He just….

“Fuck,” he groaned and buried his head in his arms. He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes and there was a lump caught in his throat. “Sorry, Tissaia. I’m, I’m, well, I’m going for a walk.”

He practically launched out of his chair towards the door. Not even bothering to grab his coat. He closed his eyes and reached out to Geralt, feeling a phantom embrace as Geralt reached back. It wasn’t as good as a real hug but no real hug could soothe the ache of having to live so far apart from his soulmate.

‘Jask?’

Jaskier practically ran away from his office, down the road towards the woodland that surrounded the campus. His hands were pulling at his hair and he muttered nonsense under his breath. He counted every step that took him away from the building. He liked to imagine that every step brought him closer to Geralt but really he wasn’t entirely sure.

‘I miss you,’ he hummed again. ‘It’s not fair.’

‘I know.’

‘We’ve never even met… six years Geralt! Fuck it, fuck this shit, fuck this job,’ he kicked at the ground. ‘I don’t even want to work in an office. It was supposed to be temporary.’

‘Then quit?’

Jaskier snorted. ‘I can’t afford it.’

His father’s face flitted in front of him. He could afford it if only he weren’t so bloody stubborn. He could work in his father’s company and he could go to America to see Geralt. Why couldn’t he just accept that? Why was he insisting on making his own way?

‘Jaskier, no. It’s not worth it,’ Geralt’s voice wrapped around him like a blanket. ‘Don’t compromise on your dreams for me.’

‘But I love you!’ he whined pitifully.

‘I know and I love you too, but you’ll only resent me.’

Jaskier huffed and slid to the ground, his back resting against a tree. He rest his forehead on his knees and began to cry. Soulmates weren’t supposed to live apart for this long, it was too taxing on both parties but destiny had been cruel to them. He sobbed helplessly, his body shuddering as he dug his nails into the grass, tearing up chunks and throwing them away.

It was only when he heard his phone ring that he managed sort of pull himself out of it. He wiped his eyes and peered at the phone.

Geralt.

Of course it was, Geralt. His soulmate was video calling him. He swiped the screen to pick up and sniffed loudly. He didn’t need to sniff as loudly as he did, and he didn’t need to pout pathetically at the screen as he picked up… but he was sad and dramatic. He wanted extra sympathy points from Geralt.

“Hi,” he whined, still pouting and widening his eyes slightly for added effect. Geralt’s room was dark, just a small light turned on just out of the camera. It was a shame because he couldn’t ogle the other man quite as much as he would normally like.

Still, Geralt looked adorable. Stubble was starting to grow on his cheeks and his hair was a mess, falling in front of his eyes like rays of moonlight. “Hi.”

“I love you,” Jaskier whined as if he hadn’t already told Geralt that a hundred times today already.

Geralt, the bastard, just laughed at him. “I know, love.”

“I know. I know… but… I love you?”

“I love you too,” Geralt sighed, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

Jaskier still hadn’t managed to work out whether Geralt’s eyes were really that colour or whether it was just some trick of the light. In all the photos and video calls they looked golden, but Jaskier had never met anyone with golden eyes before. He hadn’t even realised it was possible. It was like something out of a fairy tale. Then again, he’d seen Eskel and Lambert, Geralt’s brothers, and they also had the same molten gold eyes.

Between Yennefer and Geralt’s family, Jaskier felt very plain. He was attractive enough but in such a normal way, nothing compared to Geralt’s silvery hair that made him look like he’d been blessed by the spirits of winter, and his swirling amber eyes that blazed like the sun, and then Yennefer with her locks of raven hair and piercing violet eyes.

He chewed anxiously on his bottom lip. God, why was he surrounded by such beautiful people. Brown hair, blue eyes and a dead end job.

“Hey?” Geralt’s gruff voice pulled him from his thoughts. “You’re important to me.”

Jaskier smiled sheepishly and scratched the back of his neck. He wasn’t entirely sure what emotions he’d been channeling through their bond but it was obviously enough for Geralt to be concerned. “I love you.”

Geralt tilted his head at the camera and smiled fondly, it was obscured by the darkness and the terrible quality of Geralt’s phone camera but it still managed to melt Jaskier’s heart. Stupid, dumb, soulmate. Why did he have to live in America?

“I have a plan?” Geralt said quietly, looking around his room and not meeting Jaskier’s eyes.

“A plan?”

“The restaurant I work at has live music nights,” Geralt mumbled.

Jaskier frowned. He already knew that. Geralt had mentioned it before. Normally when he was complaining about the quality of the music. Jaskier adored him for that. He loved to judge other people’s music, and he rather smugly loved the way Geralt had only ever said nice things about his own songs.

“Right?” he asked slowly, not quite understanding where Geralt was going with this.

“I spoke to Dad,” Geralt paused, licking his lips. Jaskier swallowed. It wasn’t fair. How could one man be so unreasonably attractive? He tucked at the sleeves of his jumper whilst he waited for Geralt to finish his thought. The cuffs had holes in and were fraying but it was soft and made the work day more bearable. If he gave a shit about his job he might wear nicer clothes but he’d rather be comfortable.

“Vesemir?” Jaskier prompted gently.

“He could help pay for the flights, a loan and we’ll have to pay him back,” Geralt mumbled, still not making any sense. “My apartment isn’t very big but you’re welcome to share until you find your own place? If you want your own place. I’m not making assumptions. I don’t expect you to share just because we’re soulmates but it would be cheaper and the restaurant wouldn’t be able to pay that much at first. You’d be playing music for a living though, and I know that’s what you really want to do,” Geralt cut himself of with a sharp sniff, letting out a low snarl. “Actually forget it, it’s a stupid idea.”

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s heart was racing. It almost sounded like Geralt was asking him to move to America? More than that, his own family was offering to help pay for the flights that neither of them could afford on their own.

“I said forget it,” the phone snapped off and the screen went blank but Geralt was his soulmate and it wasn’t quite that easy to runaway.

‘I don’t want to forget it,’ Jaskier told him, trying to push all the love he had for Geralt through the bond. ‘Are you asking me to move in with you, Geralt?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Geralt,’ he admonished gently. ‘I can’t quit my job on a maybe.’

‘Yes.’

Jaskier grinned. ‘I’ll resign after lunch.’

Jaskier had been tempted to just grab his bag and leave the office for good, but Tissaia had been good to him. She’d put up with his moping for the last three years and even allowed him flexible lunch breaks so he could talk to Geralt when he was awake. Not all bosses would be so forgiving. So he worked his notice. She hadn’t been surprised in the slightest when he announced his plans, if fact she seemed more surprised that it had taken so long to make the plans. He supposed most soulmates did move to be closer at the first available opportunity and he’d been pining over Geralt for six long years.

Valdo had been his usual grumpy self, sneering that Jaskier hadn’t been able to cope with the job, but there was something in his eyes, a sadness that Jaskier hadn’t expected. They had known each other since university and their rivalry was almost an act these days, but he’d thought that Valdo would be pleased to see the back of him.

His friends organised a wonderful goodbye party for him. Yennefer pulling out all the stops to make sure he had the best send off. If it weren’t for the pull of Geralt and his soulmate, he’d almost be tempted to stay. England had been his home since he was born and his life was there, his friends were there.

But Geralt was not.

And there was the promise of a career in music on the other side of the pond. It was too much to resist. So Jaskier packed up his flat. He pack a rucksack full of his favourite clothes and picked up his guitar.

Then he drove to the airport, leaving England behind for good. The flight had been almost unbearable. It was long and cramped. He spent most of the time wittering to Geralt, not that his soulmate had responded much. The lucky bugger had been asleep whilst Jaskier tried desperately to block out the noise of screaming children. At one point he started singing a popular Disney tune to try and calm the children but it had only made them more excitable and he’d earned several disapproving glares from their parents. He’d been more than relieved when the plane started its final descent towards the airport.

And then the nerves kicked in.

Six years of talking through their bond, text or video call…

What if Geralt realised he didn’t like Jaskier once they met in person?

Surely some soulmates didn’t get along. Not everyone could be that lucky… could they?

He was currently waiting for his guitar case to come round the carousel and he was panicking. He should have packed more clothes. He should have brought more belongings. He should have, he should have, he should have.

‘Jaskier!’ Geralt called and the effect was instantaneous. The tension melted from his shoulders and his fingers relaxed by his side.

‘Sorry,’ he shot back ‘just nervous.’

He’d feel a lot calmer once he had his guitar strapped to his back and Geralt in his arms. He chewed anxiously as he followed the pieces of the luggage belt with his gaze. He’d always enjoyed watching the way they shifted around as they trailed like a conga line around the airport terminal. His eyes kept flickering to the entrance of the carousel where luggage was pushing through the large rubber drapes.

“Come on,” he muttered, hopping from one foot to another.

The anxiety began to rise again with each new suitcase that wasn’t his guitar, but he could feel Geralt’s presence warm and constant in the back of his mind. It was stronger now. He’d not expected that. No one had told him that the bond would be stronger with less distance between them. They could already communicate perfectly well from across the world but now he could almost feel Geralt’s heartbeat in harmony with his own, he could feel each breath that Geralt took if he focussed on it. He could even smell the stale scent of coffee from the shop that Geralt was waiting in.

It was almost too much, overwhelming.

He could have had six more years of this if he hadn’t been a coward.

He was so caught up in the new sensations of their soul bond that he almost missed his guitar case travelling along the belt. He squeaked and had to push passed a family that was blocking his way. “Sorry! I’m so sorry, umm, excuse me!” he yanked the guitar from the belt and ran to the nearest bench. He unzipped the case quickly and inspected his precious instrument.

There wasn’t even a scratch!

He laughed brightly and hugged the instrument to his chest. One thing down, one to go. Next stop… Geralt!

He zipped up the case, flinging it onto his back along with his rucksack and then ran as fast as he could through the airport. It gained him a few strange looks but he was done. He’d had enough of waiting. He stumbled a few times as the case fell down his arm but he was persistent. He bustled through the last security check with nothing to declare and then he was free.

“Geralt!!” He yelled, scanning the sea of people for a shock of silver hair.

He saw himself through Geralt’s eyes and turned on his heels until he spotted his soulmate gazing back at him with open arms. He was here. Geralt was here. He stopped frozen to the spot for a second whilst the world seemed to slow to a halt.

Geralt.

In the flesh.

And he could hug him.

“Oh fuck,” tears were already falling down his face, a waterfall of emotions. “Geralt.”

The only word he had left, echoing through the bond, and then he was running again. His bag and guitar case dropping to the floor just in front of Geralt as Jaskier leapt. His arms flung around Geralt’s neck and his legs wrapped around Geralt’s waist. Geralt’s hands supported his weight with ease as Jaskier buried his face in Geralt’s neck, one of Geralt’s hands threading into his hair. God, he even smelled divine. That just wasn’t fair.

“I love you,” Geralt murmured in his ear.

The first words he heard his soulmate say in person, and fuck. If he hadn’t already been crying then that would have pushed him over the edge. He was a complete mess but he’d never been happier. He was here, with Geralt. He sobbed into Geralt’s shoulder until his soulmate lowered him gently to the floor. His legs felt weak and Geralt had to keep his arm wrapped around Jaskier’s middle to stop him from falling to the floor. Fingers brushed his cheek, wiping away some of the tears.

“Hey?”

Jaskier looked at Geralt through a sea of tears. “Hi,” he laughed weakly. “I love you.”

Geralt pressed his forehead against Jaskier’s “I love you too, fuck… I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I’m here,” Jaskier laughed. “Holy fuck, I’m actually here, and you’re here, and the world hasn’t fallen apart. Oh bloody hell, stop fucking crying, Jask!” he snapped, pulling away from Geralt just enough so he could wipe his face. He smiled sheepishly and gazed at his soulmate through his eyelashes. If it weren’t for the bloody ocean on his face, then he would have tried to be seductive, but that ship had long sailed. “Can… can I kiss you?”

Geralt’s ridiculously gorgeous and actually golden eyes softened. He nodded, hand still cupping Jaskier’s cheek. Jaskier almost fainted on the spot. He hadn’t been expecting Geralt to agree but he was too weak not to ask. He couldn’t even close the gap to finally kiss his soulmate, too stunned that Geralt even wanted it. Luckily Geralt still had his wits about him. A rough calloused finger stroked Jaskier’s cheek and then they were kissing.

It was magical. He felt everything, and more. Geralt’s lips on his, Geralt’s love in his heart and his own love weaving into the fabric of Geralt’s soul. It felt so strange, after all this time to actually be here. If the emotions weren’t quite so intense then he’d almost think he was dreaming.

‘I love you’ one of them sighed happily as their lips moved together, breaths mingling, souls completely entangled.

I love you, I miss you, I want you, I love you…. The thoughts never stopped as they clung to each other in the middle of a shitty airport terminal.

It was the end of Jaskier’s life as he knew it, and the beginning of a new life with Geralt by his side.

#the witcher #geraskier #soulmates au #soulmates #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #wolfie's witcher writing

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