#and then geralt gets whumped and it's like. wait NOW you want us to care abt him? after sidelining him all season? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-spinning-jenny · 3 years

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hiraeth

For @a-kind-of-merry-war who wished for whump and hurt/comfort, angsty with a happy ending, and creature!Jaskier. Hope you like it! @thewitchersecretsanta

---

Jaskier is not knowledgeable about many mythical creatures, but he knows the following to be true.

Sirens search for humans to eat them. Mermaids search for humans to drown them. Selkies, though, selkies search for humans to find someone they can call home. They search for someone to give their coat to hold and cherish them.

Jaskier knows these things for certain. After all, he is a selkie too.

---

Jaskier knows Geralt of Rivia is a great and good man. He saves lives when no one appreciates it. He kills monsters even when people cannot afford to pay for it.

The two of them are sitting around a campfire some weeks still traveling together after the edge of the world events.

“Despite what you may say, my witcher friend, you are a good man,” Jaskier says as he looks into the fire and plays some chords on his new lute.

He hears Geralt scoff.

“Bard,” Geralt says. “We are not friends and you do not know me.”

“I know enough. I could know more,” Jaskier smiles.

Geralt grunts. He throws more wood into the fire and the campsite is silent for some while except for Jaskier’s lute. “What happened with Filavandrel is me at my best, bard. Everything else will be worse. I don’t want you to know me better and neither will you want to,” Geralt says at last.

Ah, but Jaskier knows in sea bones that he does want to. Jaskier sees the man across the campfire from him, he sees the good man for who he is, and he knows that he wants to make Geralt his home.

He’s followed Geralt to the edge of the world and he will follow him anywhere, land or sea.

---

Life onshore can be difficult, Jaskier had been warned by other selkies, but none of them know how hard life onshore with a witcher can be.

Witchers are feared and hated everywhere from what Jaskier can tell. They get underpaid, they get turned away at inns, and in general, people just aren’t very nice to them. It’s annoying, Jaskier decides. It’s definitely inconvenient for Geralt, and being the stubborn selkie Jaskier is, he decides that if he wants a happy home, then he must get others to treat his home better. And although he’s not sure if Geralt is ever really happy, it can’t hurt if Geralt can at least get a decent night’s rest in an inn room instead of on the dirt all the time.

Jaskier unleashes as many songs about the White Wolf and witchers’ heroics as he can think of. They’re catchy and it takes years, but he knows they’re working. He’s accidentally even made himself a bit of a famous bard too while he’s at it.

He gets better at helping secure inn rooms for Geralt. He even helps barter with aldermen and nobles who hire Geralt in order to make sure Geralt gets paid fairly.

He’d think after all those years of devotion that Geralt would at least call him a friend. He thinks Geralt has to know that Jaskier cares. Maybe he doesn’t know the depth of how much Jaskier cares, but Geralt should know at least that Jaskier cares by now. Jaskier does not even ask for much; he knows he can’t compete with beautiful, powerful Yennefer and Jaskier just wants Geralt to be his home even if it’s as friends. He’d been ready to give his coat to Geralt after the whole djinn incident if he didn’t find Geralt with Yennefer afterwards.

Jaskier has said time and time again that Geralt is his very best friend in the whole wide world. This time, they’re in the dragon hunt on the mountain and Jaskier sees that Geralt and Yennefer aren’t agreeing with each other again. He thinks, maybe, and he asks too if Geralt wants to go to the coast with him. Because Jaskier isn’t Yennefer, but he hopes that the coast could bring Geralt some peace and joy as much as it brings Jaskier.

He hopes so much.

---

"If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands," yells Geralt, rage seething from his face, voice raised and so very angry, mouth curled into a snarl and, well, Jaskier does go to the coast in the end.

He just happens to go alone.

---

It’s been a few quiet months. Jaskier mostly goes from one little coastal town to another and finds taverns to perform in just fine. He makes good money, but it has been a while since he’s sung about the White Wolf. Jaskier is doing fine, he supposes. He’s sitting at the bar in a tavern one bleary, rainy afternoon when the front door slams open and a local fisherman runs in to sit beside him. He looks over to the tavern keeper across the bar.

“Melitele, you would not believe what I saw on the beaches just now!” the fisherman exclaims to the tavern keeper. “I think there’s a stand off between some Nilfgaardians, a white haired fella, and a child. Passed by them while docking at the pier. You’d best warn everyone to keep clear of the beaches right now. It could get messy.”

The tavern keeper grimaces. “Nilfgaard is always looking for trouble, those no gooders,” he remarks.

Jaskier’s blood runs cold and he shakily asks, “Where was this?”

The fisherman scoffs, “Bard, this is no battle you want to witness for a song. Best look the other way for these sorts of things.”

Jaskier insists again, pries out directions, gets called a stupid fool, and runs towards the beach.

---

When Jaskier gets to the stormy beach, he sees a distressed blonde girl, Geralt fighting with another soldier in the water, and what he presumes are a couple dead Nilfgaardian soldiers lying around on the sand between the girl and Geralt.

The girl, which Jaskier assumes is Geralt’s child surprise, turns around at Jaskier’s fast approaching footsteps and he hopes that he looks every bit of the completely approachable bard lugging a lute and an inconspicuous bag with his selkie coat. She frantically says, “Please! Sir, I-I screamed a-and the soldiers chasing us are dead but my guardian and one of the soldiers got blown into the waters and please, you’ve got to get help!”

The girl clutches at one of Jaskier’s arms pleadingly. Jaskier looks over to see Geralt, losing to the last soldier trying to drown him. He sees the soldier shove Geralt under the water and the girl gasps in horror.

“We don’t have time to get help. Geralt needs help now,” Jaskier says and the girl’s eyes widened.

“Wait, how do you know Geralt-”

Jaskier shakes the child surprise’s arm off him, drops his lute, and takes out his coat. He runs into the ocean, puts on his coat, and swims as fast as he can to Geralt.

In the waters, Jaskier sees Geralt and the soldier battling it out, but Geralt is quickly losing. They turn to see Jaskier in selkie form approaching and the soldier desperately tries to swim away, but it’s too late.

The soldier's neck doesn’t stand a chance against a selkie’s teeth.

It’s relatively easy and fast for Jaskier to take a barely conscious Geralt to shore. Jaskier prays to the gods he had arrived in time. He doesn’t know how long Geralt has been in the water. Once he brings Geralt onto the sand, he sees Geralt coughing out water and making a move to sit up.

“What the fuck?” Geralt sputters out between coughs.

“Geralt!” the child surprise exclaims in tears as she runs towards Geralt with Jaskier’s lute hanging on her back using the lute straps. She’s dragging one of Geralt’s swords with her behind her.

She drops the sword besides him. “You’re okay,” she sobs into his arms.

“Ciri, I’m alright. Why do you have Jaskier’s lute?” Geralt asks.

The child surprise, Ciri, looks up and says, “Who’s Jaskier? I asked a man on the shore for help and he dropped this and he dove into the waters to help after he turned- he turned into…”

Ciri trails off and looks at the selkie. Geralt does the same.

“Jaskier?” Geralt asks, looking at him.

Jaskier takes off his coat and throws it to the side. He’s back in human form and holds his hands up. “Geralt, it’s me,” Jaskier says.

Geralt’s eyes grow big. He shoves Ciri behind him protectively and reaches for his sword. “What the fuck are you?” Geralt says as he raises his sword at Jaskier.

There are a thousand ways Jaskier has imagined Geralt finally finding out that Jaskier is a selkie.There are a thousand ways Jaskier has imagined his reunion with Geralt since that cold, cold day on the mountain. A stormy day on the beach with dead soldiers lying around everywhere, one lone soldier’s body floating in the waters that Jaskier freshly murdered, and with Geralt’s silver sword pointed at him - this is not a scenario Jaskier had imagined for things to go down at all.

“I’m a selkie. I’ve always been a selkie,” Jaskier miserably replies.

“Are you playing some sort of sick selkie game with us now? Are you the real Jaskier?” Geralt accuses. The sword pointed at him does not lower.

“Geralt, what?! No, it’s me!” Jaskier exclaims, but he sees the view around him. Dead men surrounding them, the rain pouring hard still on everyone, Geralt’s immense glower and Ciri’s confused face.

Jaskier’s heart breaks even more and a sinking, terrible feeling forms in the pit of stomach. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to say.

So, Jaskier runs. He thinks he hears his name being shouted, but he knows Geralt’s too tired to chase him.

Jaskier closes his watery eyes and runs faster.

---

Jaskier lies on his bed in his room at the inn.

His clothes are drenched in sea water and rain, but he doesn’t care. He curls into a ball on his side and shivers. He doesn’t know how long he’s been lying down but Jaskier thinks if he stays in bed, he finds breathing a little bit easier even if things are a mess right now.

He knows it’s only a matter of time before Geralt finds him. There is no point in changing into new clothes. Jaskier curses himself and realizes he ran off without his coat and lute. His most prized possessions are left back at the beach. If there is an award for being the worst selkie ever, Jaskier is winning it.

Someone knocks at his door.

Jaskier breathes in shakily. “Door’s unlocked,” Jaskier says. “If you’re going to kill me, perhaps re-consider waiting until the rain’s let up and we could do this outside. Beheading stains very badly on bed sheets.”

Jaskier hears the door open wide and there’s light feet moving fast towards him. He opens his eyes and looks up to see Ciri standing beside the bed. She sticks out her arms holding his coat, which has carefully folded, and places the coat in front Jaskier.

“Thank you for saving Geralt,” she says. Her face has stubborn determination.

“You’re not scary to me. I won’t let Geralt kill you,” she continues.

Jaskier weakly smiles. “Good to know,” he says. He looks behind her.

“Where is your guardian, anyways?” Jaskier begins to ask, but he sees Geralt run in the hallway outside his room and then notices the two of them.

Geralt steps into the room with Jaskier’s lute in one of his hands. “Ciri, go to our room. I’ve...things to discuss with Jaskier,” he says hesitantly.

Ciri nods and whispers to Jaskier, “It’s okay. I think I knocked some sense into him and you’re okay, I promise,” she says before leaving the room.

Once the door shuts behind her, Jaskier sighs. He sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He shakily says, “I can leave once the rain lets up, Geralt. We- you- we don’t have to talk about this.”

Jaskier looks down at his coat. “This monster’s going to take himself off your hands as soon as he can, alright?” Jaskier says quietly.

He hears Geralt walk over to him and sees the lute being set down on the floor beside him.

He looks up to see Geralt kneel in front of him. One of Geralt’s hands slowly reaches for Jaskier’s hand. Jaskier tries not to flinch away, but something on Jaskier’s face still gives it away because Geralt grimaces.

“You’re really a selkie, then,” Geralt says at last.

“Surprise?” Jaskier says weakly.

There’s a moment of silence. Then, Geralt starts again, “Witchers don’t normally deal with selkies. To my knowledge, they’re usually harmless and their only interaction with humans is if they have lovers to-”

“Give their coats to,” Jaskier finishes.

Geralt nods. “Have you? In all our travels, I never saw you do that,” he says.

Jaskier’s eyes start to sting and he gives a strained smile. “Ah, I’ve awful timing, it would seem. And there was never a good time to give it to you,” Jaskier replies.

Geralt looks shocked. The moment the words leave Jaskier, he feels freer. What a terrifying and freeing thing to lay it all out, he thinks.

“It’s alright,” Jaskier continues. “I tried, you know? But it would appear all I’ve ever done is make things worse and I wasn’t going to fight against Yennefer. I know, alright, there is no competition there-”

“Jaskier,” Geralt tries to interrupt, but Jaskier keeps on talking.

“No, it’s okay, Geralt,” Jaskier says even though he’s trying to keep back tears unsuccessfully. “You don’t like all the songs I’ve sung. I talk too much, I’m in the way, and all I’ve done is make things worse for you. You’re right, I’m just shoveling shit and I’m sorry, Geralt. I’m so, so sorry. I’m not a very good selkie-”

Geralt pulls Jaskier into a hug and Jaskier freezes.

“Forgive me, bard,” Geralt says.

Geralt pulls back from the hug to look at Jaskier. His hands still hold Jaskier’s sides.

“You’re- you’re a good selkie,” Geralt tries to say and Jaskier sobs. It’s all he’s ever wanted to hear and Jaskier can hardly believe it.

“Jaskier!” Geralt says with alarm, but Jaskier shakes his head.

“I just never thought I’d hear you say that,” Jaskier says and Geralt has never looked more sorrowful.

“I should not have yelled at you on that day on top of the mountain. My anger with Yennefer, it should not have been aimed at you,” Geralt says and then continues, “Forgive me, bard. You were my only friend who was good to me for all these years, and I should have said that I want you in my life, not out of it.”

Geralt looks over to the folded coat, lets go of Jaskier, and picks up the coat. “Here,” he says. “Ciri and I - we wanted to give this back to you. I know selkie coats are important. Take your coat. Forgive me, and if you wish, come with me and Ciri to Kaer Morhen. I won’t take you for granted again.”

“You mean that?” he asks.

Geralt nods. “You’ve always been good to me, bard, and I’d like to do the same.”

Jaskier weighs his options. “And if I want more?” he says. “If I wanted to give you my coat, would you hold onto it?”

Geralt’s expression softens, but Jaskier panics.

“Nevermind,” Jaskier frets and looks down. “It- I shouldn’t have asked. It’s a lot and I don’t know where you stand on this, but Geralt, you have to know what it means when I said before I wanted to give you my coat, I -”

“Jaskier, look at me.”

Jaskier does so and Geralt’s soft look is still there.

“There has not been a day that has gone by since that day on the mountain where I have not missed you,” Geralt says. He holds Jaskier’s coat carefully and nods.

“I accept your coat. If you wish for more than friendship, I will gladly give you more,” Geralt says.

Jaskier smiles so wide. He’s so happy he doesn’t think twice before he surges forward to kiss Geralt. It’s brief bliss and then Jaskier jerks back when he realizes what he’s done.

“I, um,perhaps a bit premature of me,” Jaskier stutters.

Geralt hums with amusement. Then, he leans in and asks again, “Jaskier, come home with me to Kaer Morhen?”

---

Jaskier nods and whispers a yes. When Geralt closes the gap between them and kisses him, Jaskier has never felt more at home than he does right now and he is of the firm belief that it could only get better at Kaer Morhen.

#thewitchersecretsanta #a-kind-of-merry-war #geraskier

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j-pankratz · 3 years

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The Slumber that Creeps to Me

Geraskefer. 7208 Words. Rated T. Jaskier pulls an extreme all-nighter (read: 60+ hours) to finish a paper he procrastinated on, and finds at the end of it that sleep does not come as easily as he’d hoped. Tags for: Sleep Deprivation, Self Destruction/Lack of Self Care, Hallucinations, Nightmares, Overstimulation, Hurt/Comfort, Whumping the Bard, very loving partners, and a happy ending. <3 AO3 link in the reblog!

As with most disasters spurned by his own cockiness, Jaskier felt as thought that all in all, the situation could have been worse.

The idea to have Geralt and Yennefer spend the spring holiday break at Oxenfurt was, in his defense, ingenious. His students weren’t around, the weather was gorgeous, they all had varying degrees of business in the city, and they could fuck each other senseless at any hour of the day. In a bed. A nice one, provided he was a legitimate professor, now. Well, visiting. Well, it was complicated. But they were his rooms, and that’s what mattered.

When Jaskier gotten the prestigious offer to write the season’s main article for the Continent’s most respected Bardic Journal, he’d just sort of figured he’d… fit it in, somewhere. He had seventeen months, which was plenty enough for him. Then he’d just work with the editors, and have a centerfold piece. It was an honor. He was excited about it! He’d meant to get to it sooner, but decided the summer before that he’d devote the winter to it. But… he’d… he’d been distracted. It wasn’t often the entire family gathered at Kaer Morhen. So, he thought, he’d do it later.

But the first few weeks after winter were, of course, spent with Geralt. And the week after that, a trip to the coast, where he’d played a festival and met up with Ciri, who was becoming an amateur critic herself. And then by pure, absolute happenstance, after 3 more weeks of travel he happened to end up at an inn that he definitely hadn’t heard Yennefer was staying at. So that more time gone. And then he’d arrived in Oxenfurt, and he’d really meant to get to work on it, but there was so much to prepare for! He wanted things to be right for them.

And then Yennefer and Geralt had actually arrived, and the idea of anything possibly being more important than their presence flew his mind.

And now, here he was. If he wanted to get it in on time (unfortunately, that wasn’t a suggestion in this case, more of an actual, terrifying requirement,) he’d need to submit it in… gods above, less than three days. 60 hours, if he was doing the math.

There was no word limit, nor a minimum. But, ever the maximalist, he knew it was going to be… long, if he was going to do it right. They’d edit it down, but it was the focal point of the journal, they’d been leading up to it for ages now. Ahh. Well. There was only one thing for it, he supposed.

“I’m working through the night on my paper!” He’d announced that morning, sitting straight up in bed, jostling his sleepy lovers. “No one bother me! I will be at the dining table until further notice!” He swung himself out of bed and made for the door.

“Pants,” his lovers chorused together.

“Right!” he'd said, and marched back into the room.

He’d pulled all-nighters in his youth. In fact, he couldn’t count the times he’d worked through the night, deposited a composition or essay on his professor’s desk with some polite conversation and maybe a wink, and then promptly fallen asleep during the lecture itself. Just a 15-minute power nap, really! Then he’d be back up and at it again, working through another night just to sleep through the weekend. He’d done it before, he could do it again.

Well, it’d been 25 years ago, but that didn’t change much, did it? He still felt spry, agile, hearty— hell, he’d spent the better part of the last twenty odd years chasing after a Witcher, and later an additional princess and mage— surely he should be in better health now!

This was completely accomplishable. Admittedly, he could have written this sooner… but he hadn’t, and here he was.

Geralt and Yennefer both set out early on different errands, leaving the bard to some peace and quiet. Relatively.

He spread his work and references out before him. 7 books, 4 pamphlets, his favorite quills, a hundred fresh pieces of parchments, his lute at his knee. “Alright,” he said aloud to his empty Oxenfurt apartment, “Just sit down and write the damn thing. Sitting part, definitely done. Writing next. Just… write.”

He stared at the page.

“No! No, no, do not be impossible about this. Just start the thing.”

The page stared back.

“Ah, blast,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. This was fine. Just… do the awful, disgusting part of beginning, and then he’d be off. The sooner he started, the sooner he’d finish, after all! He took a breath, and put his pen to paper.

Yennefer returned a few hours later, a book and small parcel in hand. Jaskier looked up to see her sweep through the room, a commanding presence, though she didn’t acknowledge him yet. A few waves of her hands and a pot of tea was put on to boil, her hair was put in a bun, and three mugs were floating down from a shelf.

“Lovely to see you too,” he smiled as Yennefer poked through the tea collection. He could practically hear her fond eye roll. She neatly plucked two from one box and looked back at him in question. “Ah… peppermint, if we’ve got it?” and she turned back to the cupboard grab it.

“Any progress?” She finally asked.

“A bit, actually!” Jaskier said cheerfully. It didn’t look like much, but he’d done half a page with almost no errors, and he’d made plenty of notes in the margins of the books he’d need later. It was better than he’d hoped it’d be going by this point, at least. He was kicking academia’s ass. Or, he would be.

The kettle whistled and Yennefer poured the tea, bobbing all three of the tea bags up and down as they steeped. He watched her lean against the counter, casual, relaxed, gorgeous, before realizing she was staring back at him. “Um! Yes, no, definitely good. Got a lot of… those words, you know, they are definitely here. Looking very sexy. The words! The writing is looking… very sexy, very curvy… letters. Sensuous words, you know.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Sensuous words.”

“Yeah, yes. Like… contemporaneous… and… iguana.”

“Iguana.” She let out a little huff of a laugh and something in Jaskier’s chest tightened and loosened in quick succession. And in a moment she was there, sliding him a large mug with the carving of a rather playful looking bear on one side, batting at a butterfly.

“Oh! My favorite. Thank you, thank you.”

“Mmm,” she said before waving a hand to cool down their tea a bit. She took a seat opposite him, scanning an eye over the table. “Think you’ll be done by tonight?”

Jaskier laughed. “Darling, I’ll be lucky to be done by tomorrow morning.”

“You’re planning to stay up all night, bard?”

“Unfortunately.” He took a sip. “Should be done by tomorrow afternoon, if I keep steady at it.”

“After tea, of course.”

“Of course.”

Yennefer stretched out a bit, kicking her feet onto Jaskier’s lap and rolling her neck. They sat there a moment, sipping, pausing, drinking in each other. There was something nice about taking a moment of stillness with someone just as frenetic as he was, someone who was usually just as itching for something to do, even if she went about it differently. The grace of choosing stillness, he thought, was not something to ignore.

Yennefer reached the end of her mug and tapped its ceramic walls lightly.

“What’s next for you?”

“I have to refresh my potion stock, so I’ll be at the market for supplies. You sure you don’t want to take a break and join?”

Rat’s ass. He fucking loved the Oxenfurt markets. “I’m afraid I can’t. Academia calls.”

“Who does it call for, exactly? What’s that I hear…” She cocked her head and listened intently. “Who is it calling for… is that… V… Val… Valdo?” Jaskier hefted her feet off of his lap in protest, and she laughed. He plucked his quill from its stopper, and went back to hovering over his paper. Introduction mostly accomplished, now he had to really lead in to his point, give some proper context. He flipped through a book beside him.

Yennefer rose smoothly from the table and went to move her mug to the sink. “When Geralt gets in, tell him I need toadflax and bluebells from him? Might as well put him to use.”

Jaskier flipped through the pages, thumbing through for a note he’d sworn he’d made ages ago, when he belatedly tried to register his mage’s words. He could have his fun, too.

“Blue…Yennefer, you want me to tell Geralt that you need blue balls from him?”

“Bells! Bells, you absolute child!” she said. “Honestly. Blue balls? Really, Jaskier?” He was giggling. “I don’t need to ask to give either of you blue balls.”

“Exactly, Yennefer, you provide that service for us anyway, free of charge!” A balled-up napkin hit him in the head and he laughed joyfully.

“I can’t stand you. I’m leaving, you’ll never see me again.”

Jaskier looked up through his grin and met her twinkling, happy eyes. “Tonight then?”

“Tonight,” she agreed, and left with a quick ruffle of his hair.

“Still working?” Geralt said as greeting later in the afternoon. The desk was neater than Jaskier expected it to be this far in, only a few books open, dog eared and marked in colored ink. He’d written a page and a half since Yennefer left, and it was good, it was, but he’d need to go back and make edits later. His long empty mug of tea sat far across him.

“Mm,” he agreed, continuing to write. “Ah, Yennefer came through earlier,” giving a gesture to the waiting mug of tea on the counter. Geralt made his way over to the mug, and gave it a small igni to warm it. He smiled fondly down at the drink—what a terribly lovely sight he was. Warm here, and safe. Couldn’t it be like this always? The three of them here, comfortable and happy? No, he supposed, but gods how he wanted it.

“She’s at the market now,” Jaskier continued, “wanted me to ask you about...” He lifted his pen and squinted. “Ah, toadflax and bluebells.” He looked up at Geralt, smiling. “Blue balls,” they said together, sporting matching shit-eating grins, Geralt’s albeit much smaller. “I made the same joke myself,” Jaskier added.

Geralt snorted. “How’d she take that?”

“Oh, as well as you’d hope. We’ll never see her again, of course.” He turned back to his work, reading over the last paragraph. He could feel Geralt approach to stand behind him, and while he’d normally shoo his witcher off, he was too deep in concentration to bother.

How long was too long to linger on the progression of oral storytelling to bardship? It’s not like he could ignore it, (Geralt’s hand came to grip his shoulder, a thumb rubbing against it tenderly) as it was a crucial tenant of the argument— but there was plenty to be said for assuming the literacy and foreknowledge of the reader. (He leaned in to get a closer look at Jaskier’s page, the soft warmth of the tea in his other hand bouncing off his chest) But this was to be in a journal often referenced by first years, and he knew how much he would have loved a paper that had everything all in one—

“How’s it going?” Geralt asked softly in his ear.

Jaskier waved a hand over the mess before him. “You know. It’s fine, I’m just not sure at what point I’m lingering on points to excess.”

“Mm,” Geralt hummed understandingly. “Tell the story. Trust your gut.” He gave Jaskier a nuzzle and light kiss against his cheek before taking up the empty mug off the table and walking off further into the apartment.

“I always do!” Jaskier called back. Mm, if only this were as simple as telling a story. Well…Oh—if he spent this paragraph referencing the progression it would end up taking up more room, be a run of the mill lead-in, but if he wrote the actual history as a short story itself, now there was an idea, he could make his point and give the context. Oh, fuck, brilliant—

“Back soon,” Geralt was saying as the front door slipped shut, but the bard was too lost in his work to do more than give a small nod of his head.

The sun was falling, making a graceful bow into the horizon. Warm light spread out over the streets of Oxenfurt like the last pushes of tide, ebbing, and flowing, and sinking back into night.

“Ah, fuck,” Jaskier muttered, crossing out a spelling error with a snarl.

His shoulders ached, and his lower back was going to be the death of him. He was on page 7. All he could see was the work ahead of him, winding off ad infinitum. If he didn’t pick up the pace, he might have to go 60 hours straight—he shivered. Not ideal. He took a breath, stood up and stretched a bit, his muscles groaning in thanks. A quick bathroom break later and he was sliding back into his chair, still warm, his papers grinning up at him, sardonic.

He’d take a meal break at 10 pages, he told himself.

He stood to stretch and his head swam. Well. Plenty of reason to stay seated, he supposed.

Geralt and Yennefer returned at 12 and a half pages. He turned his head in greeting, and when he looked back he got the first real look at the table in hours—it was a disaster, crumbled pieces of parchment, empty quills, and little notes strewn everywhere. Some books propped open, the pile of parchment looking more like a mountain slope, an empty glass from when he’d chugged water hours ago.

His loves were clearly a few drinks deep as they came through the door, and completely unmarred by the woes of academia. Bastards, honestly.

“Hi, hello, hope you had a good evening, I—”

“Come to bed,” Yennefer said, suddenly right behind him. Two small but firm hands came to his shoulders, rubbing deeply.

“Ah! Oh, fuck—oh, yes, darling, right there—”

Geralt came to his other side, tipping his head up for a kiss, which he moaned into. His witcher’s tongue was soft, pleading, tempting him—his mage’s hands pushing almost painfully against his aching muscles. He wanted to cry, it was so good. It was so different than the last… however many hours it had been that he had been sitting here. Geralt pulled away, and Yennefer’s hands came to rest as well.

“So?” Geralt asked, his voice deep and velvety. “Bed?”

“I…” gods, who had he become? “I can’t. I want to, I just—”

Yennefer placed a kiss to the top of his head. “It’s fine,” she said, and he knew it was, but he hated denying them something they all wanted. “Have you eaten?”

Jaskier frowned. “Fuck. Not really.”

Geralt sighed and went to the pantry. “You’re getting a sandwich,” he grumbled.

“Ooo, Geralt, dear heart, would you heat it up? Use some of your,” he wiggled his fingers “your witchery magic?”

Geralt turned and glared. “You’re getting a sandwich.”

“He’s so mean to me,” Jaskier muttered to Yennefer, “I can’t believe he’s so mean to me.”

His mage snorted a laugh into his hair. “You’re really staying up all night, then?” She waved a hand and the curtains around the room swept shut, and his lantern began to burn steadily.

“Looks like it,” he sighed. Geralt retuned a moment later, plated warm sandwich and glass of water in hand.

“Fuck. Thank you.” He took it and took a bite, suddenly ravenous. He looked up at both of them, staring down in fond amusement. “Fank—” he swallowed his mouthful of sandwich. “Thank you both, truly. I’ll be up a bit. If you need something, call, yes?”

They rolled their eyes. “He tells us to call if we need anything,” Yennefer muttered. “Don’t get into any trouble,” she said, and with a peck on the cheek from both of them, they disappeared into the bedroom.

He looked back at his work.

Okay. 12 ½ pages in. He could do this.

At 15 pages, he felt ravenous again, and made a second sandwich. Not as good as Geralt’s. Geralt’s sandwiches weren’t even that good, but they were made by Geralt, which added a certain kick, a novelty he adored.

He drank another glass of water and shook his head. Back to work.

At 17 pages, sometimes the world swam before him. He gripped the edge of the table. Fuck.

He was so tired. 23 pages. He kept writing.

It was terrible. The whole paper was a mess. Nothing made sense and people were going to laugh at him. 25 pages.

He heard a sound. Was that Geralt rising for the bathroom? Was it an intruder? Light crept in through the window. 27 pages.

There was a ringing in his ear. His writing was getting increasingly larger. 27 ½ pages.

Geralt gave him a soft nuzzle to the top of his head before padding through to the kitchen. Jaskier’s heart ached. His bones ached. Writing was hard but right then it felt impossible. 27 ¾ pages.

Geralt lingered, and Jaskier felt his nose twitch. He tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for him to leave. He couldn’t have any distractions right now. He shut his eyes tight until he heard the bedroom door close once more.

Yennefer entered hours later, sweeping the curtains over with a flick of her hand. Bright light flooded the room, painting the desk in all its full, disgustingly messy glory. “Well—”

“Could you ask next time?!” Jaskier snapped. “Some of us need consistency to concentrate!”

Yennefer raised an eyebrow, and they stared at each other. Some part of him wanted to slap himself but the rest was just so irritated. Who’d she think she was, anyway?

After a moment, the mage turned and left with a flick of her hand to sweep the curtains shut again.

“Headed out,” Geralt said at 30 pages. “Contract.”

“Good,” Jaskier muttered. “I mean. Good that you’re—fuck. Whatever.”

Geralt stared. “You need rest. It’s been more than 24 hours.”

“I need to fucking finish.”

“Yen said—”

“I’m sure she did,” Jaskier muttered, driving his heels into his eyes. Gods, his eyes burned. Silence hung.

“She portaled out this morning.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Great. Love that. I’m a fucking disaster, thank you for the reminder, Geralt.” He waved toward the door. “Don’t you have a contract?”

He turned back to his papers, shifting around to look for page 11, and didn’t think about how long it took before Geralt left the apartment.

His hand was shaking but he was at 34 pages. He still had so much to say. Fuck. But he was in it now.

He scarfed down some soup that was mostly broth at some point, and he’d under-salted it, but it was something. His eyes kept going blurry; traitorous things.

The bear on his mug was plotting his downfall.

38 pages and Jaskier felt like the gods themselves had gifted him with the knowledge he now bestowed onto meager commoners. He was a genius.

At 43 pages, he had stopped to lay out the entire essay on the ground, so he could see it all. The words sometimes swam before him, and he had trouble remembering what he was meant to say next. Once, he looked up, confused as to where he was. And then, at 44 pages, the guilt of snapping at his dearest loves, the weight of this behemoth paper he wasn’t even sure he could finish, and his own self-doubt crept in and seized him up, leaving him breathless and in tears for… awhile. Everything hurt. He had to keep going.

At 48 pages, he saw a griffon fly through his window, and he named it Kalvin. He turned whatever color Jaskier wanted him to turn, which was very considerate of him. Kalvin was his only friend now, and with a little convincing, might become his editor, too.

At 55 pages his chest seized, and it was hard to breathe for a moment. He closed his eyes but—no, no, couldn’t do that. If he fell asleep now, he’d never finish in time. He tried to relax, got some water, leaned against the counter. Everything was a mess.

He sat back on the floor, his work around him. Keep going.

“I don’t think there’s anything about anything that I have to be doing right now. Kalvin, you’ve… you’ve got to understand, this could be my finest work! It’s good. It’s pretty good here in… in this part, here. In that other part it’s just okay, but that’s why you come in with your big claws and you’re gonna. Rip up the bad parts. Don’t rip up the good parts. Right? Yeah. Do you think they’ve forgotten about me by now?”

He looked down. 57 pages. Took a long blink.

“Yeah,” he said softly, “That’s fair.

He had to write two extra pages so that he could skirt around referencing Valdo Marx’s work as anything other than a contradictory point. Maybe it would have been fun to use his own writing against him but he didn’t want to give the satisfaction of being referenced positively in a centerfold piece.

He lost the essay.

“Fuck—oh, gods, where did—”

He turned around, looked down. Oh, there it was.

“Thank fuck.”

The curtains were still closed and the charmed lantern was still burning, but Jaskier knew it was night by the time he reached 63 pages and Geralt came in.

Jaskier looked up from his spot kneeling on the floor. Geralt looked fine. He was a little dirty. There were some gushy bits. Probably blood. He was tired. Or just mad. Maybe he hated Jaskier.

“You’re still—?!” Geralt asked, looking at Jaskier like he’d just said a griffon named Kalvin had flown in the window earlier and now they were friends.

“I met a griffon,” Jaskier heard himself say. Geralt stared. “We’re friends now.”

“…You need to fucking sleep.”

“No.” Jaskier went back to the margin he’d devoted to drawing circles in. “Sorry ‘bout earlier.”

Geralt sighed. He might have talked but Jaskier didn’t hear, just kept writing.

“How often has that been happening?” he heard Geralt ask.

“What happening?”

“Where you fall asleep for a moment.”

“I haven’t! Fallen asleep.”

“Fuck,” Geralt said. He looked very nice, except for the goop all over him. Well. Even that wasn’t so bad, when the underneath bits were Geralt. His Geralt. Looked so warm, so strong, so able to carry him.

“Later,” Jaskier replied, and went back to his words. The familiar pop of a portal sounded in the bedroom. Their eyes lingered on the direction it came from, but Yennefer didn’t open the door. They looked at each other, and then back at the door which remained very much shut. “She’s mad.”

“Yep.”

“At me.”

“Yep.”

There was a pause. “Are you covered in blood?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Oh.”

“Not mine.”

“That,” he said pointing to the Witcher, “is good.”

“Mmm.”

“Sticky though.”

“Definitely sticky.”

Yennefer came out of the doorway, and Jaskier blinked. When he opened his eyes again she was much closer than she’d been and was in the middle of talking. Magic, he assumed.

“—yourself very lucky, bard.”

“Yeahh,” he said. “Sorry. ‘Bout… Sorry.”

She huffed and crossed her arms. There was a look in her face. Eyes? And her mouth. It was hard to name. Words were hard, when they weren’t the words he desperately needed to write.

“—for a while,” Geralt was saying. “Jaskier. How close are you to finishing.”

“Soon!” Jaskier said. “Soon! Soon. Due… 1pm tomorrow. What time is it?”

“10pm.”

“Fuck. Psshhh. I can… I can do it.” He looked up at Yennefer. “Sorry. Really. I… I’m just tired,” he admitted. “Shouldn’t have snapped. Not fair to you.”

Yennefer stood there, arms folded, emanating some emotion Jaskier had lost the concept of around page 41. Geralt walked further into the apartment, into the bedroom. Oh right. Blood armor. Ick.

He went back to writing and tried to ignore the desire to cry again, and then suddenly Yennefer’s shoes were in his line of vision.

“Let me read it,” she said.

“Oh.”

They stared at one another. She had such a pretty face. He might have been smiling. She rolled her eyes and then came to sit next to him. She quickly found the first page and began.

Halfway through it, he spilled ink on the bottom half of page 64, and wept. Yennefer gave him an attempt at a comforting pat on the back.

Yennefer had read the pages and risen; “It’s good. You need edits, but it’s somehow decent. Good. Whatever. A little… loose, toward the end, though,” made herself a cup of tea, and entered the bedroom.

Either a few moments, or 20 minutes later, Geralt emerged.

“What are you at now?”

“69 pages.”

“Nice,” Geralt said.

“Ha. Yeahhh,” Jaskier agreed.

“That’s not what I—” Geralt sighed the sigh that meant his face was going all pinch-y. “Close to the end?”

“Mmm. What is the end, really?” Geralt made a different pinch-y face. “Soon.”

“Come to bed tonight, Jaskier.”

“I’ll try,” he said. He blinked, and Geralt was gone.

There are a lot of words in an essay that are very hard to spell.

Jaskier ate the rest of a loaf of bread.

For a while, he swore he walked the streets of Oxenfurt while still warm in his professorial housing.

Kalvin’s accent changed three times and at one point he was on fire.

85 pages.

Geralt woke first, as always; There he was! That was his love. So much of his heart.

With shaking hands, Jaskier had brought himself up to sit in his chair, and sat staring down at his work. He looked up at Geralt with a lopsided grin. “I did it,” he said weakly.

“Need help putting it together?”

The tears fell so quickly he didn’t realize it was happening. “Really?”

Geralt sighed softly and knelt down, organizing the papers.

Yennefer emerged a bit later—There she was! His love, a chunk of him was hers entirely. He smiled. “Look!”

“Mmm. And now you can sleep.”

“NO!” Jaskier cried and leapt to his feet, “No, no, now… now is presenting time. To… the editors. Not Kalvin. But I turn it in… and then sleep,”

He had a sudden burst of energy, and tried to step over Geralt and the papers, but fell into the table instead, before the Witcher steadied him from below.

“Ohhhh, thank you dear. It’s time for… presentation! Mm.” He leaned into Yennefer’s warmth at his side, though she did not wrap her arms around him as he’d hoped. “Help me pick out an outfit.”

He blinked. Yennefer was in front of him now, looking at him with a frown, her hands around his waist. Geralt’s hand was against his forehead. “No! Stop that! I’m fine. I’m fine! See me! Fine. It’s action time. Let’s go!” and he marched off to the bedroom.

The floor was suddenly very close to his face.

“Did I—”

“You fell on your face.”

“Have I—”

“You’ve asked three times now, yes.”

There should have been fanfare when he turned it in, but there was only the grateful smile of Edmond, the young new assistant, a firm handshake, and a promise he’d hear back from them very soon, for a quick summarization of their initial thoughts. Or, he’d used all those words, Jaskier forgot which order they’d come in.

The three returned to the apartment, and everything happened very slowly and so quickly he found it hard to keep track. There was definitely a bath drawn for him—gods, it had been days, hadn’t it— oh, fuck, he was gross, wasn’t he—a full meal, and a celebratory drink. He’d made a few good jokes, and all he could see were Geralt and Yennefer, smiling at him. An empty glass. A bar of soap. A long quill. A messy table. A pile of books and an empty mug. They deposited him on the bed for sleep, and left together.

Jaskier lay there, waiting for sleep to take him.

It did not.

He was so tired he could cry. He did, a few times. He couldn’t think straight. All of it, everything, hurt. His body ached. He tried to soothe himself down alone, rocking himself in the hopes it would work. But nothing.

What if he could never sleep again? What if he would always be awake, forever? What if this was how he died?! Oh gods, he didn’t want to die! He still had edits to approve!

Eventually, he could feel himself getting closer. He adjusted himself, lay on his back and took deep, measured breaths, kept his eyes closed but relaxed. Okay. Okay. Sleep.

He was falling, so violently and so fast that when he jolted awake, he forgot he’d been lying on a bed in the first place.

Fuck.

He tried again. It happened sometimes, it was fine. He’d be fine.

He tried breathing deeply once more, trying to let the distant scents of Yennefer and Geralt now embedded in his pillows overtake him.

A fear so powerful it gripped his heart and twisted, whispered to him, ‘this is what dying is, you’re going to die’ and he once again jolted awake. He threw his head back against the pillow and winced; even that hurt.

Fuck. Fuck.

He kept trying. Over, and over, he’d get so close to sleep and then right at the precipice, something would yank him out of it.

Once, he saw Yennefer falling off a cliff. Another time, he saw Geralt stabbed through the chest. At some point, he saw Ciri screaming, and his hands flew out to pull her close, only to find nothing there. Sometimes it was himself falling, and sometimes it was the world below him falling instead.

He’d really done it this time. Stayed awake so long, sleep had abandoned him entirely.

It felt like twelve years before Yennefer and Geralt returned, slipping into the room quietly. He sat up in bed, startling them both.

“Please,” he said quietly, “I can’t. I don’t know why I can’t I just—I can’t. My body won’t let me, I want to but I can’t—”

“How the hell—” Yennefer started, walking over to him with a palm out to check for a curse, maybe? It didn’t matter. He wrapped her hand in his and clutched it to himself, desperate for her. She was so warm. So alive.

“Fuck,” Geralt sighed, “It’s been nearly 70 hours already, Jaskier.”

“Let me just put him down with magic,” Yennefer started, but Geralt put a hand up.

“We can’t. It’s a temporary fix. if he can’t fall asleep on his own without magic, it’ll get harder and harder for him. We need to get him to fall asleep without it.” They looked down at him. What a disgrace he must look like, how pathetic he was. He turned his face away in abject shame. He couldn’t even fall asleep right.

While he looked away, Yennefer tore her hand from his as she and Geralt discarded their clothes into heaps beside the bed, crawled beneath the covers on either side of Jaskier. They hated him. They must. How could they not?

“It’s fine, you don’t—fuck, sorry—”

Geralt shrugged. “Don’t be. I know how bad it gets. It’s different for a Witcher, but no sleep is the whole reason we met Yennefer.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jaskier said softly.

“As I recall, the solution then was to have vigorous sex on the floor.” Yennefer ran a finger along Jaskier’s chest. “Sound appealing?”

“I—yes, Yennefer, it sounds appealing.” He fidgeted, tried to focus on the feeling of Yennefer’s delicate touch. He was oversensitive enough that it felt like fire, but nothing… stirred, and each word he spoke felt like he was pulling honey from his tongue. “I don’t… much as I’d like, I’m not sure I’d be... up for it right now.” Yennefer’s head fell against the pillow and she flattened her hand, ran the palm up his chest to rest above his heart. Pressed a kiss there.

He closed his eyes and tried to breathe deeply, but they were looking at him, he could feel every inch of their gazes and it was all too much. He whined in agony. “I can’t do this. Fuck. I can’t, just put me out. We try it again tomorrow, I—”

“Jaskier. You can. Tell us what you need and we can help you,” Yennefer said, sweet but firm. And that was her, wasn’t it?

He couldn’t think. Wanted to. Wanted so much. Wanted to be asleep.

Jaskier curled up on his side, exhausted of being exhausted, when he felt Geralt slide up closer behind him. “Can I hold you?” he murmured into the bard’s shoulder. Jaskier nodded, and felt Geralt’s arm come around him and under his own arm, felt it slide up his chest and cross it protectively.

“Feel good?” Jaskier nodded, and then cracked his eyes open, met Yennefer’s, concern palpable.

He lifted one arm just slightly. “C’mere?” And she did, curled into his arms and around him, tucked her head under his, kissed the top of Geralt’s fingers. He held her close, and was held by the two in turn. Breathing, somehow, felt easier between them.

“Breathe, bard,” Yennefer urged him softly. Geralt buried his nose in Jaskier’s hair, took in a deep breath, and Jaskier tried to follow.

They breathed softly, all together, slow and safe. Soon, he was drifting into sweet oblivion.

‘You,’ Fear said, wrapped around his sternum, ‘will crumble, the moment you let go of wakefulness.’ It gripped him, and tugged him back to reality.

He jolted again. “Fuck, dammit, cock wringing—”

Yennefer pulled back to look at him worriedly. “Is that what’s been keeping you up?” she asked.

“It’s, I don’t know, something just pulls me back, I try to fight it but…”

“Mmm,” Geralt agreed. “Sleep starts. Happens sometimes.”

“The hell are sleep starts?”

“They’re… when you’re too on edge to sleep, or just haven’t in too long, brains… fizzle. Keep you awake. It’s a survival instinct—it makes you think you’ve got to stay awake to stay alive. Feels like falling? Or… a shock. Sometimes other things. Hallucinations.” Geralt pressed a kiss to the back of his head. “It’s scary. It’s meant to be. Your body thinks it’s fighting for its life.”

“I am never letting you doom yourself like this ever again,” Yennefer said, and while it was probably meant to come out angry, she just sounded worried.

Geralt hummed and agreement. “Try again, we’ve got you. We’re not letting go.” Jaskier took a breath. They had him. They had him.

Yennefer lifted a hand to Jaskier’s temple. “May I?” And he let her in, easier than breathing. She gave him Ciri laughing, wind chimes on the breeze, the soft roar of the coast. Geralt hugged him tight, ran his other hand through Jaskier’s hair, tried to keep the bard’s breathing aligned. Now, what had he ever done to earn these two?

Soon, sleep came to him again, and he could feel Yennefer ready to soothe anything that came for him in his mind, Geralt ready to defend against anything that dared hurt his resting body. The darkness crept in, and he felt peace.

Geralt was reaching for him, falling, bleeding, screaming.

“FUCK!”

“Shh,” the real Geralt hushed him. “We’ve got you.”

“Fuck, there’s got to be something else,” Yennefer groaned. “What’ve you tried so far?”

“I have tried… to fall asleep.”

Yennefer and Geralt both huffed small laughs. “No. Positions—”

“Only the good ones.”

“Meditating?” Geralt asked.

“Darling, I haven’t had a thought in my head in hours. This is meditation.”

“Drugs?” Yennefer asked.

“I will try the drugs!” Jaskier said with a drowsy cheerfulness, as Geralt replied “No drugs. No.”

“Ugh,” Jaskier groaned, and shifted to lie on his stomach. Oh. This was… better. He nestled into the pillows, and a soft contented sigh drifted from him.

“That feel better?” Geralt asked as he ran a hand up and down Jaskier’s back. “Mmm,” Jaskier replied. Yennefer’s hand joined Geralt over his chest. Oh, they were going to make him cry.

And then it was too much, too much feeling, like his brain couldn’t handle all the sensation, and he felt Yennefer come to pause, and a moment later, Geralt’s hand as well. ‘That better?’ Yennefer asked in his mind. Jaskier gave her the memory of his favorite hug with her, warm and happy as her legs wrapped around his waist, and his favorite with Geralt, crushing and firm and full of too many emotions to speak aloud.

“Could…” he said softly, “Just. Talk? Not to me. Just… to each other. Just wanna hear you.” He could almost hear their smiles, and felt as they settled in on the pillows beside him, arms and hands intertwining on his back. Yennefer’s head on his shoulder, the gentle planes of Geralt’s chest on his other side. “If you need us, Yennefer and I are here. We’ve got you. You’re safe.”

He nodded into the mattress, cool and soft below him.

“Goodnight, Jaskier.”

“G’night Yennefer.”

“Goodnight, Jaskier.”

"G’night, Geralt.”

He started to fade into oblivion, but stopped himself before he got too far. Not fear, not anxiety, a conscious stopping. Somewhere above him, Geralt was telling Yennefer about the contract from… sometime in the past few days, and Yennefer was telling her own story about some town gossip with a woman and her hens, which, it might have been a metaphor, but he’d basically forgotten what those were by now. He breathed deeply, felt their words flow through him, and when he felt brave enough, he let go, trusting they would catch him.

He could have sworn he heard wind chimes, somewhere.

The small amount of light filtering in through the curtains was golden when he awoke. His head both ached and felt light as a feather, his muscles screamed and cried but half of it was in relief. He gave a small stretch and yawned. “G’morning,” an amused Geralt said to him, lounging in a chair he’d brought beside the bed, reading a book. His legs were propped up on the bed beside the bard’s and Jaskier stretched to bump their toes together.

“What time…?”

“You slept 13 hours.”

“Fuck.”

“You probably need more.”

“Yeahhhh.”

“Feel alright?”

“Like a real human being,” he said. “Hungry, though.”

“Mmm.”

Yennefer slipped in the door, but, noticing Jaskier was awake, rose a hand. “May I?” she asked, voice dripping in sarcasm, gesturing to the curtains.

“You may,” Jaskier offered, covering his face with his hands. “Ohhhh, gods, how bad was I?”

“Genuinely awful,” Yennefer said, as Geralt was saying, “There’s been worse.”

“Normally I’d withhold this,” the mage said, withdrawing a small envelope from her pocket. “But, under the circumstances…” she cleared her throat.

“To one Julian Alfred Pankratz. We were extremely pleased to receive your manuscript yesterday afternoon. Our editors are will have their notes to you by the weekend, but we wanted to reach out and extend our most sincere compliments on your work. It is—oh, a flood of adjectives, I’m skipping these. Etcetera, etcetera, sucking your dick, etcetera alright, here—and meticulous in construction. We can tell,” Yennefer said, dragging out the final sentence, “you made good use of your year of writing time to complete the work.” Jaskier and Geralt by this point were holding back true howls of laughter.

“And won’t you believe it, there’s more. Ahem; we have a number of suggestions and questions already, but encourage you to get your well-deserved rest as we prepare our feedback. We are grateful to work with you, and thank you again for your stunning entry. There’s a postscript,” Yennefer added. “As a quick and personal note, we cannot have helped but notice the nature of your penmanship; we mean no offence, but would encourage you to see a doctor of the eye to fit you with some spectacles.”

“My—my penman…? What’d—” and Yennefer, who had clearly been waiting for this moment, brought out a rather crumpled piece of parchment with an ink stain at the bottom—ah, yes, the original page 64— and showed it to him. His eyes were… gods, they were aching, but he was clear minded enough now to see that each line had become at least twice it’s normal size. The lines were far from straight, dipping and bending toward the edge of the paper, the letters changed directions at random points, and a fair amount of the words were smudged so completely they were hard to make out.”

Jaskier stared in horror.

“They. Is that. Is that what it looked like? Really?”

“It’s worse than most of the ones that made it in,” Geralt said, carefully.

“Most?!”

“You drew pictures on one of them,” Yennefer said.

“Oh my god. They…they must…”

“Adore it, clearly,” Yennefer said, setting aside the paper. “It wasn’t worth the strain, and you’ve definitely firmly embarrassed yourself, but they’re either embarrassing themselves by fawning praise on you,” she said, sliding onto the bed, “Or you’re actually just… very knowledgeable and talented, even when addled by sleep deprivation.”

There was a pause, Jaskier soaking this in; it hadn’t been worth it, exactly, but it wasn’t all bad. In fact, it was quite good, and Yennefer was complimenting him outright, so, very good.

“Or both,” Geralt added.

“Definitely both,” Yennefer agreed.

Jaskier groaned. “You can’t be mean to me. You’re in my house and I am extremely tired, which means that you, by law, must kiss me and tell me nice things about myself.”

Geralt laughed, light and free, and Yennefer slunk slower down into the bed. “You get no kisses,” she said, “You get sleep and rest.” She grabbed a pillow from under her head and plopped it delicately onto Jaskier’s face.

“Boo,” Jaskier said, muffled beneath the thing. He closed his eyes. Geralt muttered something, and Yennefer gave a snort of laughter, and then there was silence.

“Are you two kissing up there?!”

More silence.

“UGH,” he groaned, and sunk into his soft, sweet mattress. Oh, beautiful mattress. How he adored it, how he adored his two loves on top of it. He listened to their kissing, soft, and sweet, and knew he’d join them soon. But it was so warm down here. Even as one of them removed the pillow, he could only bring himself to open his eyes for a moment, to see them both leaning to kiss his face gently, before returning to each other. He took a long, deep breath, and listened to them swirl around him, until all he could feel was their love and the sweet caress of his pillow.

#Geraskefer #Jaskier Whump #Soft Geralt #Soft Yennefer #The Witcher #Witcher Fic #jaskier #geralt #yennfer of vengerberg #sleep deprivation #insomnia #hurt/comfort #Witcher Whump #Butterbard's Fics

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some-stars · 3 years

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Fic writer questionnaire! Tagged by @deputychairman, thank you!

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

65....just waiting for 69 so i can celebrate

2) What's your total AO3 word count?

288,609

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

okay, so, there's a lot so we're gonna collapse some. So, 16: The Witcher (games and show), Supernatural, Dark Angel, Glee, Stargate (both SG1 and SGA), MCU, Vampire Diaries, Teen Wolf, due South, DC (comics and movies), House of Leaves, Sense8, Harry Potter, Les Miserables (book), Doctor Who, and X-Men movies. Oh, and I wrote a lot of NSYNC RPF back in the day but you will never see it. (Unless you literally read it back then and remember one and want to reread it, I’m not ashamed of them if you were also in the pit with me. If that is the case feel free to ask.)

4) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

all some children do is work: this one surprised me, i did NOT think there was this kind of appetite for almost-gen turned-into-a-kid fic, but i do really like the fic itself so i'm contented with its acclaim

method: i mean, it's fake dating, written back when there wasn't much non-modern-AU fake dating in witcher fandom (possibly there still isn't?) so, not surprised

Emergency Pants: this is the one that the Claw chose back in 2012 bc i had written very pornographic tony/bruce about a month after Avengers came out so there was a big appetite for it. i don't much care for it these days except i do still think the tony voice is good

warm you like the sunshine: deeply unsurprised this one is popular (and it's one of my own fics that i reread a lot), it's extremely tender BDSM with a juggernaut pairing, that gets the readers

As often as from thee I go: honestly kinda surprised about this one, which is just a 2500 word confection i wrote for my own satisfaction, but it does have explicit sex and jaskier crying about his feelings so maybe it makes sense

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I almost always do, but usually just with "Thanks!" unless it's a detailed or lengthy comment.

6) What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

"Long black night, morning frost" (Les Miserables) for absolute certain. One of the very few fics I've written with an outright unhappy and pessimistic ending (although I found it very cathartic to write). For Witcher fics, "Kind" and "go ask alice" are about as sad as I get.

7) What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

Almost all of them, honestly. There's a point in happiness of endings where you really can't distinguish degrees. Probably the most--not saccharine, but distinctly Happy Ending-ish is either "Water like a stone" or "Darling, if you only knew," which to my eternal shame are both Glee fics. In terms of Witcher fics...it's still hard to pick! I think the kidfic trilogy ended very, very happily; I think "If you live through this with me" ended TOO happily.

8) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you've written?

I do not, and I don't read them, at least not since the days of the late 90s/early 2000s when I once read a really good Highlander/X-Files crossover (oh, and Martha's cosmic horror fic where Stargate and Angel and I think something else all cross over but it feels quite natural and right). I don't like fusions, either, most of the time.

9) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Never! In 20 years! I've been extremely lucky.

10) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

ahahahahahahahhaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

yes...yes you could say i write smut. on occasion. you know, when the urge comes on me. i write mostly kink or at least kink-adjacent fic, but i've done some vanilla scenes too, and i write m/m and m/f and (occasionally) f/f. fun fact, my only rimming scene to date was in a f/f/f threesome!

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?

I think so? I can't remember, honestly, which sounds dreadful but like...I don't READ the translation, because I am sadly monolingual, but I get a burst of delight when someone asks to do it (or to make a podfic).

13) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have tried--me and a friend once got like 12k deep into a co-written Tiger and Bunny fic--but it doesn't really work out for me. I am a massive control freak when it comes to writing and absolutely miserable to work with. (Although I wasn't so bad back when we wrote the T&B fic, we just sort of never got around to finishing it. Which is sad, because it was GREAT.)

14) What's your all time favorite ship?

Max/Alec from Dark Angel. I shipped it when I only started watching DA for Jensen's episodes, I shipped it when I fell in love with Max, I shipped it when I frantically hand-wrote notes about the fic I wanted to write, I ship it right now as I'm typing, I will ship it in my grave. Also it's not a het ship bc neither of them are heterosexual, thank you very much.

15) What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

I only post finished fics, but in terms of things I haven't posted, I still think my "For A Good Time Call" fem!jaskier/yennefer(/geralt) AU would have been truly incredible. If you haven't watched that movie go watch it immediately so you can share this beautiful idea with me.

16) What are your writing strengths?

Ohhh, this and the next one are hard, because I truly don't know. Well, besides "porn." I am genuinely good at porn, which is HILARIOUS considering how many more sex scenes I've written than participated in. But overall, I have so much angst and neurosis and tenuous self-worth tied up in writing, I'm a very bad judge of my own skills. Also, it depends on the fandom! In some fandoms I'm good at dialogue, in others not so much. In some fandoms I'm good at pastiching the tone of the source and in others...Not So Much.

17) What are your writing weaknesses?

If I had to pick a weakness, though, I'd say concrete imagery/detail. Like, the things that characters are physically doing either out of emotional reaction or just, they're doing something in that scene. Dialogue is usually easier (not sure if it comes out better, but it's easier).

18) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I used to be mildly annoyed at it but! Now! On AO3! You can put a footnote by the French or whatever, so the reader can jump down to read a translation and then jump right back up. I now feel that if you choose to include dialogue (or any words) in another language from the rest of the story, this is the only acceptable method.

19) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

I remember vaguely in 1996 or so writing a couple pages of Kit whump for the Young Wizards books. I wrote some execrable nonsense in X-Files, but in my defense I had just turned 13. I don't THINK I wrote anything for Star Trek, which was my first fandom. Oh, and I attempted to write fic for Homicide, which I watched in 7th and 8th grade and lied about my age to get onto the good mailing lists (they were actually the bad, racist mailing lists, I would later realize, but again I was 13).

20) What's your favorite fic you've written?

Sorry to disappoint anyone who follows me for Witcher content, but it's either "The absolute absurdity of end-series items" (House of Leaves) or "A quite unlosable game" (Dark Angel). They are both Big Idea fics, and I feel like in both of them I got the Idea across brilliantly, and I'm truly proud of them and think they're the best things I've ever made. (In terms of Witcher fic, it's the kidfic trilogy for sure.)

I am not going to tag anyone because that always makes me mildly anxious, but if you read this and you want to do it you can say you were tagged by me! :D? :D?

#meme

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roughentumble · 3 years

Note

Jaskier finds a cat while he and Geralt aren't currently traveling together and immediately adopts it so now he's a wandering bard with a loyal kitty who follows him all over the Continent

then when he runs into Geralt and they start traveling together, it immediately becomes apparent that cats don't particularly like witchers and the cat is rather possessive of its bard

like they'll be hanging out by the fire and Jaskier will shiver and Geralt's ready to curl an arm around his shoulders to keep him warm when the cat runs over to curl up in Jaskier's lap of the cat will cuddle up to Jaskier when he goes to bed so Geralt can't

oh noooooo oh god i know you probably meant for fluffy hijinks but gods help me all i can think of is angst/whump ;A;

at first jaskier thinks its funny, but the cat(with some adorably glib name like Mittens, of course) shows no signs of warming up to geralt, and the gulf between them grows wider now that jaskier's personal bubble has been extended to about a foot and is rigidly enforced by teeth and claw. jaskier feels a pit open up in his stomach everytime geralt sets up his bedroll on the other side of the fire, where before they'd taken to sleeping side-by-side.

all his hard-won battles to get geralt used to physical affection go up in smoke, because it doesn't matter who initiates. mittens attacks either way.

"we should stop traveling together." is said in a random room at a random inn after months of build-up. they only had money for one bed, and geralt's bedroll is spread out on the floor, because they cant share anymore. he doesnt look angry, or even sad, his face arranged into the carefully blank voice of reason.

jaskier is devastated, tries to deny it, but geralt just places a hand on his shoulder(only allowed because the cat is currently, by some miracle, sleeping). "there's no way to get a cat used to me. it's instinctual. and it isnt good for your cat to spend its life terrified. i know oxenfurt wants you as a professor. it'd be a good life."

jaskier recoils at the suggestion. "what? so-- so now you're asking me to choose between you and my cat, is that it?"

"no. im telling you to pick the cat." jaskier's face crumples, and for a moment it looks like geralt might hug him, but jaskier steps forward to meet him in the middle, and the floorboard creaks. his cat wakes up, and is instantly racked with terror, throwing itself bodily between jaskier and geralt.

geralt lets out a heavy, longsuffering sigh, and crouches down with hand outstretched. "no, geralt, wait," jaskier says, but there's no time because the cat attacks instantly and without remorse, fangs sinking heavily into the meat of his palm, feet kicking out to attack his wrist. it's little chest heaves with effort and fear.

he lifts it into the air with gently hands, and carefully places it in jaskier's palms, showing him where to hold it so he wont get scratched. geralt has to pry its jaws open to get it to release him, and when it does he dutifully walks away to lean against the wall, give it as much space as possible. jaskier hugs it to his chest-- its the only hug he's getting now.

"how are you talking about this so calmly, don't you even care?" he asks bitterly.

"because i always knew you were going to leave someday." geralt responds simply, and it feels like a bolt to jaskier's chest.

"no, i wasnt-- i wasnt-- i never intended--!"

geralt looks-- resigned. pitying. "yeah. i know you didnt."

there's silence for a moment, tears rolling down jaskier's cheeks as he searches his mind for a solution that would let him stay.

"i'll sleep in the hall, so mittens can calm down." geralt says gently, ignoring jaskier's protests. "we'll set out for oxenfurt first thing in the morning."

"no, i wont go! you couldnt get rid of me first time, witcher, what makes you think you can do it now?"

geniune sadness finally manages to break through geralt's mask, brows drawn together and lips pressed into a thin line. "you'll find," he says quietly, "that i was never actually trying to lose you. if i truly wanted to be gone, you wouldnt be able to keep up."

jaskier sucks in a breath-- the knowledge that geralt never actually wanted him gone, now of all times, almost too much to bear.

"im sorry." he says quietly, and shuffles past jaskier to gather up his bed roll.

"but i just wanted... i wasnt trying to-- i just wanted--!" jaskier cant seem to get his thoughts straight, speaking through sobs.

"i know." geralt says, though he doesnt reach out to provide comfort. they dont do that anymore.

#if you can think of a comfort ending for this i'll eat my hat and then crown you queen #MY MIND WOULDNT GO ANYWHERE ELSE IM SORRY #witcher tag #ogc tag #what do you do when your pet hates someone you love? when you cant get the pet to change its opinion?

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years

Text

your love is my turning page

(based on “Turning Page” by Sleeping at Last because I listened to it the other day and cried like...twice)

tw: whump, major character ‘death’, blood mention, canon typical violence but only briefly, snuggling, fluff

---

Geralt cradled the bard’s body gently against his chest as he exited the keep, which was burning to a massive stony heap behind him. His amber gaze was blank and his mouth formed a thin, grim line as he moved steadily towards the side of the path ahead, where Roach and the sorceress were waiting for his triumphant return. How disappointed they would be.

Yennefer gasped and covered her mouth with her hand when she finally saw what Geralt was carrying, her tone utterly disbelieving. “No, Geralt. Tell me it isn’t true. Please tell me that he isn’t-”

“We didn’t make it in time, Yen.”

“Geralt, I’m-”

“It doesn’t matter,” the Witcher interrupted again. His voice was toneless and his eyes were glazed and empty when he spoke. Yennefer worried her lip between her teeth, mouth still hidden by her hand. She reached out for Geralt with the other but he growled and flinched away from the contact, “Don’t.”

“Just let me-”

“Don’t touch him, Yen!” the Witcher bellowed, curling his arms up and holding the bard’s limp form against his chest. Tears leaked from his eyes, slow and impossible in their appearance (Witchers physically cannot cry, or so he’d thought). They made their way down his stubbled cheeks and fell noiselessly to the ground. Some of them hung from the end of his nose for a moment before plummeting. Some dropped down to form damp, grey marks on the material of the bard’s half-open chemise. A chemise covered in dark, drying smears of blood.

Jaskier’s blood.

Too much of Jaskier’s blood.

The Witcher fell to his knees in a patch of flowers and pulled the broken form of his best friend even tighter to him. “I...I’m sorry I was too late this time,” he murmured against the crown of Jaskier’s clammy forehead. His slender, long-limbed body still hadn’t gone entirely cold yet despite the blood-loss. “Gods, I’m so sorry.”

There were marks carved all over the bard’s torso, oozing blood through the thin material of his shirt; Geralt had seen the bloody sigils glowing faintly before he’d killed the crazed mage who’d put them there. The Witcher had pulled Jaskier’s shirt back down to cover his wounds and absconded with him, casting a careless Igni on his way out the door.

The mage had needed a human sacrifice. The mage had chosen Jaskier.

Yen placed a gentle hand atop Jaskier’s unmoving shoulder and Geralt heard her empathetic sigh. “I’m sorry, Geralt.”

“I waited nearly a hundred years for someone to come along and show me what love was supposed to feel like and I’d wait a million more; but only for him,” the Witcher admitted. There was no reason not to admit things, now, when he couldn’t ruin anything between them. He laid the bard’s body down beside a small patch of daisies and buttercups and let the aching, burning tears continue their cascade down his face. He didn’t say anything more for a moment; words had never been his strong suit.

“Tell him now,” Yen suggested, her own voice watery with emotion, “Tell him everything. I’ll give you a moment alone.”

Yen wandered a few steps into the treeline to give them privacy, to give Geralt a moment alone with his paralyzed but absolutely not dead bard. She smirked to herself and wiped the forced tears from her eyes. Like taking candy from an enormous, stupid baby. Can he not hear the faint beating of his little bard’s resilient human heart?

“I’d give anything to see you smile at me again, Jaskier. I’m so, so sorry that we didn’t make it to you in time. I’m sorry that you died like this, for the sake of a greedy, power-hungry asshole. You were so bright. You brought so much happiness to the Continent. You brought so much happiness to me.”

Geralt, still kneeling next to Jaskier’s limp form, brushed a stray lock of brown hair behind the bard’s ear and felt a primal sense of loss wrap around every individual piece of his shattered and slow-beating heart. “If only I could have caressed your skin as softly as I often dream of doing. If only I could have felt your warmth in such a simple, human way. You made me stronger every time you coveted my weaknesses, you know. Even when I failed, you stayed at my side and told me how strong and kind I was. How brave I was. Your heart was so delicate and human and fragile. You forced me to work every day to improve myself. I would have done anything to keep you from breaking under the weight of this awful world and yet-” the Witcher’s voice broke completely and he only barely managed to gasp out “-and yet here we are.”

---

Jaskier could hear everything. The too-sweet paralyzation agent force-fed to him by the evil mage was close to wearing off but until then the bard could only listen as the man of his dreams mourned his apparent death. He could only lay in stunned silence as Yennefer noticed the presence of the mixed herbs and refused to mention them to Geralt. Perhaps this was her gift to Jaskier; perhaps this was an apology. Whatever twisted form of affection she was showing her new friend for now, though, had the bard feeling more than a little upset.

He hated seeing Geralt so worked up. So sad. So hurt.

“I’m going to miss your presence in the world, Jaskier. I’m going to miss the way you smiled when you blushed; gods, I wanted to make you smile at me like that so many times...it was blinding. The way your lip would curl up and your tongue would poke out when you scribbled your poems into that damned expensive notebook at inns or near the fire. Gods, I-”

“I could fix him for you,” Yen offered, returning from the trees. It was almost nonchalant in its casualness. Almost.

“What’s the price for such an impressive feat?” Geralt asked. He smoothed the bard’s hair back again. He’d need to bury the corpse soon; he could barely stand to look at it any longer. It’s not Jaskier anymore, not without those sparkling eyes and that trembling, velvet voice.

He’d do anything to hear that voice again, even Jaskier was only cussing him out or calling him every name in the book. He’d listen to a thousand repetitions of every insult hurled his way by every villager across the Continent if it meant Jaskier was saying them with the voice Geralt knew he’d never hear again.

His voice was low and quiet when he asked the sorceress: “What kind of ingredients would you need for such a task?”

“I would need a sacrifice of equal value. Those runes can only be transferred from one person to another.”

Geralt’s head whipped around and his eyes widened hopefully. “Use me. If that will bring him back then take me.”

“And get horrifically murdered when he wakes to find his darling Witcher dead and buried? No, thank you. I don’t have a death wish.”

Smart woman, Jaskier thought. Just give me the antidote or whatever magical cure I know you’re hiding, Yennefer! Let me up! Let me comfort him, I’ve heard enough!

She’d clearly been listening to his thoughts because just as he summoned the worst of his insults to silently throw her way, Yen relented. She knelt beside Geralt and leaned forward, pressing her palm to the center of Jaskier’s forehead. There was a soft purple glow and Geralt panicked, “What are you doing!? You just said-”

“I lied,” she shrugged. “He was just paralyzed. You should have been able to hear his heart, faint as it was.”

“You...you mean…” Jaskier’s eyes slowly fluttered open and he groaned softly. The Witcher’s eyes were wide and shimmered with new tears as he leaned over the bard’s prostrate figure. “Jaskier?”

“Did-” he coughed and groaned again but pushed on “-did you mean it?”

“Every word,” Geralt smiled shyly. He hadn’t thought Witchers could blush, either, but here they sat; Geralt’s cheeks were pale pink and Jaskier was still heaving out labored breaths.

“Here are some basic healing supplies for the bard’s chest,” Yen interrupted, tossing a linen bag towards Geralt, who caught it easily. “I’m going to be on my way. You two need a moment, seems like.”

“Thank you, Yen,” Jaskier smiled. Geralt glanced between the two but before he could ascertain the bard’s meaning, the sorceress had fled through one of her portals and disappeared. As soon as she was gone, Jaskier let out the loud, anguished cry he’d been holding back in her presence. “Fuck me, this hurts! Fuck!”

“Fucking hells,” Geralt scrambled through the bag for some kind of pain relief. He placed a few drops of poppy tincture at the end of Jaskier’s tongue and lifted him slowly from the ground. “Let’s get you to an inn. I need to treat those cuts and I can’t do it very well in the grass.”

“My big, scary Witcher,” Jaskier smiled, hooking his arms around Geralt’s neck as he was lifted into the White Wolf’s embrace. “Taking care of me so well.”

---

That night, Geralt laid with Jaskier’s head atop his chest. The oddly patterned cuts across the bard’s torso were now covered in salve and bandaged tightly.

“None of my training prepared me for this,” the Witcher admitted, kissing Jaskier’s petal-soft cheek with the utmost reverence.

“What is this?” the bard asked.

“I am yours,” Geralt stated. It was a simple fact. A fact he’d accepted the moment he realized he hadn’t lost Jaskier forever. The younger man’s face went bright red and he nuzzled closer to his rescuer’s side. Geralt’s strong arm was looped around his back, holding him close. “If you’ll have me, of course.”

“Gladly.”

The bard leaned up and pressed his lips to Geralt’s. It was soft, tender, and endlessly healing. Warmth spread through the Witcher’s body, spreading from his heart to each and every one of his limbs. He pulled the bard completely on top of him and wrapped his arms around the man’s lower back to anchor him. Jaskier crossed his arms over Geralt’s chest and rested his chin there.

“Though we’re tethered to the story we must tell, When I saw you, well I knew we’d tell it well.”

“Is that your newest composition?” the Witcher asked, running his hand through Jaskier’s soft brown hair as he sang. The bard nodded.

“It’s a love song. About a Witcher...and a bard.”

“Hmm. I can’t wait to hear it.”

#geraskier fic #geraskier story #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #yen is there also being a bro #geralt whump #jaskier whump #emotional hurt/comfort #witcher hurt/comfort #geraskier hurt/comfort #geralt admits his feelings #geraskier first kiss #love confession #blood mention #injury tw

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buttercup-of-kaer-morhen · 4 years

Text

(@sophiakuso1 gave me the prompt for a modern College AU drabble with Jaskier being at least part dragon and it got completely out of hand so here it is.)

Warning: Minor Injury

Primary tags: Magical College AU, Dragon!Jaskier, Injured!Geralt, Hurt/Comfort with a happy ending, Slight Jaskier Whump?, super fluff, Eskel is here and Lambert is an ass

————————-

Jaskier swept through the doors of the campus medical center, making a beeline towards the emergency wing. He was determined to get to his destination and no one would get in his way if they had even a shred of self preservation. He had completely forgotten to put his guitar down when he ran out of his dorm room so a few nurses gave him the side eye as he passed but thankfully the place was rather quiet this late at night and no one tried to stop him. This also meant there were not that many people around to witness him stalking down the halls looking rather disheveled. He had been lounging on his bed with only his tight jeans which were more hole then pant in the front, his knees and almost all his thighs on display, when the text came in. He then proceeded to grab the first shirt available, a large button up of his boyfriend’s, which he barely buttoned up before, was out the door while wielding his guitar by the neck. He supposed he was just so used to taking it everywhere that he absentmindedly brought it. He had also forgotten his shoes in his haste and was too worried to waste time going back. At least his dorm was close and it wasn’t winter, so being barefoot wasn’t that bad.

Now, normally, he would try to keep up his friendly harmless appearance but his worry and urgency had him on edge and he didn’t really feel like sending a polite little comment to everyone he passed this time. In the back of his mind, a small voice told him that Yenyen would be proud.When he finally reached the waiting room, Lambert and Eskel were sitting in plastic chairs looking uncomfortable. Both of their gazes flickered to him as he marched over and, from the way Eskel winced, he must have been making a rather severe face. “Well?! What happened!” He demanded, fuming mad that Geralt was now in the emergency room after his two brothers had insisted he come along to a low key event. They had assured him it was going to be nothing more than a small get together at the frat house since Geralt wasn’t one for larger parties.

“Whoa, ok Jask, just calm down a bit… Are you growling? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you growl before…” Eskel immediately tried to sooth him.

Yes, it seemed he was growling, but his boyfriend Geralt, his dorm mate and love of his life whom he just started dating only a few months ago, was in the hospital! So Yes, he was allowed to growl!

“It’s not that bad, I swear!” Eskel tried again, glancing nervously over to the woman behind the help desk to didn’t bat an eyelash at them. She either hadn’t noticed the commotion or she just didn’t care.

“Not that bad-- Not that bad?!” Jaskier shrieked incredulously before digging in his pocket for his phone with his free hand before tapping furiously away on the screen. “A-hem, Lambert at 12:31 in the morning: Geralt rushed to the emergency room. Come now with, like, a gazillion exclamation points!” He promptly pushed the phone into Eskel’s hands so he could look at the evidence before continuing on his tirade. “I sent back like thirty messages which no one replied to! So I think I have a right to be a little upset and worried!” He did however try to breathe deeply to calm himself once he was finished venting, the feeling of tears pricked at his eye and tickled the back of his throat.

Eskel, to his credit, gave Lambert a questioning look which screamed ‘really?’ and sighed in sympathy. “Lambert…” He paused to inhale deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What- What the fuck?”

“You told me to text him. I texted him!” Lambert shrugged defensively, his tone flippant but confused.

“I told you to let him know what was going on! Not send him into a fucking fit! I, Fucking… Why did I expect anything different...” With a shake of the head, Eskel turned to Jaskier once more. “It’s really just a minor injury and he’s fine. Something just fell and popped his shoulder out of his socket slightly is all and I didn’t want to fuck with it so we decided to get it checked.” He tried to reassure the shorter man.

“Pfffft, I don’t see what the big deal is, at least he’s here now and we can leave Geralt to him.” Lambert huffed under his breath. His gaze finally fully took in the musician’s state of dress however and a grin slowly plastered itself across his face. “But I gotta say, if he’s going to look this fucking rediculous every time I text him that Geralt’s in trouble, I might do it more often. And look, he’s ready to entertain at a party.” He joked lightly, the shit eating grin never leaving his face. Oh, and the anger was back.

Normally, Jaskier would snap something back in playful banter but he really was not in the mood at this hour of the night. He grabbed the larger man by the shirt and lifted him off his feet by the collar. “I swear, Lambert, I will burn you to a crisp if you worry me like that again for no reason.” He growled in warning, letting a small puff of fire out to emphasise his threat.

“... Well shit. Sometimes I forget you’re part dragon…” Lambert laughed warily, his eyes wide with surprise.

Eskel put a tentative hand on the smaller student’s shoulder and Jaskier slowly lowered Lambert back down after taking a deep breath. “Hey, why don’t you go stay with Geralt until they release him while we go deal with the aftermath of the party. They only want to keep him until some of the side effects wear off ‘cause he reacted oddly to what they used to knock him out. It left him a little, uh, weird. He’s completely fine, really.” Eskel insisted softly, understanding how upsetting the situation must have been. He was glad his brother had someone who cared so deeply about his well being. With a pat to Jaskier’s shoulder, the scarred brunette steered Lambert out of the place, cuffing him upside the head lightly for being an asshole. “Oh, and his room is 109.” He called just before they exited.

The musician sighed before sweeping a hand through his hair, trying to tamp the last of his nerves down before heading off to find his dear wolf. A soft beeping is what greeted him once he reached the small dimly lit room and stepped in. And then a low whistle followed after his entrance which had him smirking and huffing a laugh. “Wow… You don’t look like a nurse.” Geralt’s confused but curious voice filled the space as he openly eyed Jaskier up and down.

Jaskier raised an eyebrow, wondering what his boyfriend was getting at. “You would be correct, I’m not a nurse nor do I think I would be any good at the profession.” He couldn’t keep the amusement from his voice or the soft smile from spreading across his lips as relief flooded him. Geralt seemed fine for the most part, other than the sling cradling his arm.

A hum followed before he opened his mouth to speak again. “So, do you go into random hospital rooms to magically serenade them better?” He asked, smirking and nodding toward the guitar that Jaskier kept forgetting was still in hand.

Alright, he did seem oddly talkative, which wasn’t bad in any way just odd, but Jaskier was just happy he was in one piece so he indulged him. “No, but I do perform at a bar quite a lot.” He announced proudly as he walked over to take a seat at the side of the bed and set his instrument down.

“Hmm… So, talented and beautiful.” Geralt nodded to himself, his voice sounding so confident that it had Jaskier blushing and tongue tied. “Are you seeing anyone right now?”

Ah! So that was what Eskel meant by weird.The question made Jaskier snort but he reached a hand out and put it atop one of Geralt’s, patting it. “Sadly yes. I am currently dating someone.” He nodded solemnly, deciding that this was too cute not to prolong.

Geralt’s hand turned over and gently but firmly held Jaskier’s hand. He met the musician’s gaze with a very serious expression that left no room for joking. “Have they proposed yet?”

Jaskier stamped down a fit of giggles and gave a solemn sigh. “Not as of yet.” He fluttered his eyelashes as he looked down at their hands in overly dramatic dejection.

“Tsk! Fucking idiot.” Geralt grumbled before tugging Jaskier’s hand to get him to look up at him. “If I proposed right now, would you leave that idiot for me?” He asked in complete earnestness.

Jaskier had to raise a hand and placed it on his lips to hide the amused smile as he desperately held back giggles. He didn’t trust himself to speak so he shook his head lightly in response.

“Yah. I thought so. You look too nice to do such a thing. Your boyfriend may be an idiot but he’s lucky to have you.” The disappointment that openly showed on Geralt’s face had him finally take pity on his lover.

“Darling, I can’t leave my lovely boyfriend because he’s laying right here and I am oh so terribly fond of him. I can think of no one I would rather be with.” He spoke honestly, flashing his wolf a shy smile which drew a happy gasp from the other.

The next minute, he found himself pulled into Geralt’s lap as the man looked at him as if he hung the moon. “I must be the luckiest fucking idiot in the world.” He sighed happily as he hugged Jaskier and buried his face in his neck so Geralt could kiss anywhere he could reach. “I have the hottest, sweetest wife in the world-- or wait, do you prefer husband? Shit! I haven’t gotten you a ring or asked yet…” The man looked up at him in slight panic.

Jaskier laughed openly now, unable to wipe the smile off his face as he gently took Geralt’s face in his hands and kissed the ridiculous man. “Oh dear heart… I’m never letting you forget this…” He giggled as he was pulled down more so they could cuddle. He thanked Melitele for keeping his love safe as the two showered one another with soft kisses and whispered ‘I love yous’.

#geraskier #Witcher #witcher netflix #the witcher #fanfic #geralt x jaskier #gerlion #college au #immortal jaskier #dragon jaskier #monster jaskier #Buttercup's Writings

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squidpro-quo · 4 years

Note

For the prompt : Jaskier is kidnapped and used as leverage against Geralt (I'd be forever grateful if you did this op)

Thank you so much for this prompt! A perfect opportunity for angst and whump and hurt and comfort, i can only hope i fit it all in here. This was a load of fun!

Jaskier strained against the rope tying his hands together, reminded of another time when the same circumstances had led to his life changing—he’d argue for the better most of the time—and now it might just happen again, except the change to his life will be that it ends. His fingers are turning numb, with how long he’d been held in the stone room it’s no wonder, only a question of how much longer until they figure out that it was all for naught. Bribing the innkeep, getting the herbs necessary to drug him, the fortified hold they’d decided to hole up in? It was all too much effort for a lost cause, but he’d kept his mouth shut for once knowing that if he spoke a word of the futility of their plan, then they’d have no reason to keep him alive anymore.

The door creaked; the sound of the key scraping in the old lock had him struggling to scramble as far away from the door as possible, his body protesting every movement even as he knew it wouldn’t help. They’d made up their mind.

“How’s the little songbird now? Ready to sing a sweeter song?” The man that entered had a grin with the curve of a sickle, sharp and cutting, to offset the fact that his lisp would have undercut any threats made in anyone else’s mouth. The sharp whistle of his breath through the cracked crags of his teeth accompanied his heavy steps and Jaskier bit back a retort about his singing’s quality in favor of staving off the inevitable by just a few seconds.

“No refrain? I’d heard it was hard to shut you up, not the other way around. Guess some things just end up embellished into lies, don’t they?” The look in his grey eyes grew hard.

Jaskier knew what was coming, he might have found himself in trouble more times than he could count but he’d learned when to expect a punch by the set of a man’s shoulders. This time was no different. The blow caught him across the temple, leaving his ears ringing and the ache in his head redoubled after he’d just started to regain some peace from the pain. He slipped sideways down the wall, unable to catch himself when he couldn’t feel the stone beneath his fingers, to the hoarse laugh of the man he’d realized was the orchestrator of it all. Jaskier rested his forehead against the cool stone floor, hoping it would take away some of the pounding that he felt reverberating through his skull. Like metal clashing against metal, the clanging sounded deceptively close despite the fact that he knew it was only his tired mind playing tricks on him.

“Talk,” the man ordered, in a deceptively soft tone, forcing Jaskier to look up at him to read his lips and discern his meaning. “You can talk to that monster, but not to a human?”

“What do you want me to say?” Jaskier couldn’t hold his tongue any longer, though his own voice sounded muted and echoing inside his head. His fear had been a thin veneer before, but now it was being poked through with the usual thorns of irritation and the aching need to be glib. “That I haven’t seen him in months? That I don’t know where he is? That I doubt he knows, or really cares, where I am either? You didn’t understand it the last time I said it, but I guess the constant whistling can get in the way of listening comprehension.”

“The entire continent knows you’re companions, traveling together, dining together… sleeping together,” the man raised his eyebrows, before continuing, “You know him better than anyone.”

“Do I?” Jaskier swallowed, to get the dry taste of irony out of his mouth and to keep from retching at the way the world turned blurry before him. “If sleeping together was all it took, I’d have several dozen of those I’ve courted lining up at your doors. So I’d say you’re out of luck on that shaky limb of logic.”

It was a good joke, considering he’d likely die just from the surprise of Countess de Stael riding up so many months after leaving his poems as ash in her fireplace. Or Geralt, who last he’d seen was firmly in the arms of someone Geralt had risked his life for against all odds and against all wishes, her own included. Not that she’d seemed to mind at the end.

“Is that a note of pity I hear?”

“I can’t do many things, fight a murderous band of men for example, but I know when I’m not wanted. I don’t begrudge anyone that.” He didn’t, he loved freely and indiscriminately, pouring his affection into the world along with his quips and commentary as an inexhaustible resource. Because what better way to try and stay a memory in someone’s heart long after the flare of passion has gone cold. He couldn’t help it if Geralt had been a never-ending well for him to attempt to fill, not realizing how he’d fallen down into it in the process and the answer he’d been chasing had been merely his own deluded echo in return.

“He might not come for you now then—” Jaskier had a brief moment of hope at the contemplative look on the man’s face, the sliver of mercy amidst the cold calculation. “But he’ll surely come for your headless corpse. If your songs have even a fraction of truth, he’s the sort to be mad about that kind of thing.”

Cold ice slid down Jaskier’s spine, because the man was right. Geralt was nothing if not a righteous man, perhaps surly and grumpy to a fault, but he’d fight anyone that threatened the helpless, never mind that it happened to be Jaskier. He’d written songs about it after all, he’d know. Blood pounded in his ears, the sound seeming too loud in the confines of his terror and he could almost imagine the keep itself was resounding with it, the thump of his heartbeat bouncing through the walls in an irregular series of bangs.

The man snatched his attention back when he slid his axe free of the belt at his waist, hefting it for a better grip and leaning down to yank Jaskier upright.

“Wait! Wait, what if you just let me go? There’s a new idea, worth considering—”

“Don’t worry, if it really doesn’t matter who ends up dead as long as it’s someone he could’ve saved then we have an endless supply of who to use. As you’ve said, it doesn’t take anyone special,” the man said, rank breath wafting into Jaskier’s face, and he wished that wasn’t the last thing he’d ever hear.

Axe shining in the flickering light of the torch, the man shoved Jaskier into the right angle despite his best efforts to scrounge together enough strength to resist. The man lifted his arm, already evident that he wouldn’t be able to make it one clean cut and didn’t particularly care, and swung.

Jaskier had closed his eyes, content with the darkness if that’s all that was left of life anyway, and so the sound of wood breaking from close by and the short gurgle of a last breath was all he knew before there were hands on his face.

Calloused, rough, and warm, familiar from the many years and he leaned into them so quickly they were all that held him up. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know, but he did anyway because he needed to see, to remember the sight of Geralt leaning over him, engulfing him in his shadow and tracing the bruises on his face with a touch so gentle he could’ve sworn it was a dream.

“Jaskier,” just the rumbling timbre of Geralt’s voice was enough to make Jaskier realize that he’d been worried, chest heaving and sword bloodied from his rush through the keep. To him.

“Cutting it pretty close, no?” Jaskier snorted, relief making him lightheaded. Relief that he wasn’t dead, that Geralt was there. “Did you get it? He was about to cut my head off, that kind of death offers so many opportunities for pithy jokes. Would be a shame to waste it…”

“I came as fast as I could,” Geralt said, tone not plaintive in the slightest but desperate, as if he thought Jaskier was really doubting him. As if he hadn’t been doing just that not a few minutes ago.

Jaskier swallowed, this time to keep the words, all the damning and too honest words he wanted to bare before Geralt, down and keep what he’d been willing to carry to the grave with him just a while longer.

Before he could find anything to say, Geralt pulled him close, palms brushing over his ruined doublet and down to Jaskier’s deadened hands, enveloping his fingers in a grip he could’ve sworn was trembling just slightly. His other hand slipped into Jaskier’s hair, until he felt the spot last touched by the man lying dead at their feet.

Jaskier hadn’t meant to flinch but he saw the way Geralt’s eyes narrowed at the movement and tried to stand on his own to make up for the moment of weakness.

“In the area, were you? I don’t think you’ll get much coin for this job.” He wanted to ask, wanted to see if he was more trouble than he was worth but he didn’t want to hear the ugly answer.

“I was already searching for you, when I heard.” Geralt’s hand stayed on his back, just like when he’d carried him around in the djinn’s aftermath. “Last time I saw you, you were covered in your own blood, like now. You left… and I didn’t know where you’d gone.”

Jaskier stumbled, both from the way the room seemed to spin beneath his feet at the change in altitude as he got up and the fact that Geralt had followed him this time, sought him out and found him.

“I got into yet more trouble, as you can see. Nothing new there.” He rubbed his newly freed hands and grimaced at the red welts the ropes had left behind. He’d have to wear his longer-sleeved wardrobe to cover those up. He looked up to find Geralt’s gaze still raking over him, the furrow in his brow the one that always formed when he was considering something. “Did you need something?”

“You shouldn’t be alone.”

“W-what?” Jaskier stuttered. “What does that mean?”

“I’m trouble,” Geralt continued, looking like he was choosing his words carefully. “And you are too.”

“Thank you for the astute observations… Where are you going with this?”

“I already said it. That you shouldn’t be alone.”

Jaskier waited, but Geralt stared at him with the same set look on his face as when Roach gave him a neigh instead of a bump in the chest, unsure what to say. But words had always been Jaskier’s forte, even if he swallowed them down sometimes.

“Are you saying you think trouble loves company?”

Geralt nodded, and that was enough for Jaskier. He’d never be empty of what he poured into the world, and so when something spilled into him instead, he overflowed. Geralt’s empty well might just have a bucket of water inside it, and he’d managed to fish it out after all.

prompts open

#the witcher #jaskier #geralt #geraskier #dandelion #my writing #prompt response #i made up my own continuity after the djinn incident #because ep 6 can't have been the real start of his self doubt about traveling with geralt #ask tag

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elliestormfound · 4 years

Text

Black eyes and a bleeding heart

CW: canon-typical violence so +18 I guess, whump, hurt with a bit of comfort, this is sad!

Read on ao3

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It was suddenly quiet in the forest clearing, where just a moment ago shouts and the clash of swords had echoed. In the middle of the clearing stood Geralt of Rivia, drenched in blood, steel sword in hand and eyes completely black.

He was still in his witcher fighting mode after killing an Ozzrel that had plagued the nearby town. But instead of thanking him and paying the beforehand agreed coin, the men of the town had decided to kill the witcher, when they had thought him most vulnerable - directly after the fight. Which of course they had not accomplished. Now the witcher stood in a pile of bodies, some still breathing, some don’t.

Jaskier knew that Geralt never killed humans when he could in any way avoid it. Often he would quietly endure insults and stones thrown at him. But tonight there had been too many. He had tried to knock as many of them unconscious as possible, but a few of the more skilled and persistent opponents could not be stopped but with a blade through their hearts.

Slowly the eerie quiet got interrupted by birdsong and the rustle of the trees. Jaskier came out of his hiding place walking slowly to his witcher, who was still standing there, breathing, blood dripping from his blade. “Geralt”, Jaskier said. Geralt’s black eyes focused on the bard, the grip around the sword hilt tightening, not recognising his travelling companion. “It’s okay, Geralt”, Jaskier said softly, “it’s me, Jaskier.”

It was not always easy for Geralt to snap back, when he was still under the influence of the potions, his adrenaline still pounding through his veins and his instincts taken over control of his body.

Because Geralt was still not moving, Jaskier made the last steps to him, careful not to step on the bodies. “Geralt”, Jaskier said again softly. The witcher was still looking at his bard but was not clutching his sword as tightly as before. Jaskier counted that as a good sign and asked softly, “give me your hand, Geralt.”

Jaskier had discovered over the months they had travelled together that it helped the witcher to switch back to his normal self when he was addressed by his name. Maybe it reminded the witcher that he was not just a brutal killing machine but also a person.

The bard held out his hand and waited. Geralt had warned not to touch him uninvited when he was under the influence of the potions, because in this instinctual phase the witcher could interpret it as an attack. After a minute Geralt breathed in deep and slowly, very slowly and deliberately lifted the hand that was not holding his sword and grabbed onto Jaskier’s. Jaskier turned, holding on to the witcher’s hand and said “come on, let’s find Roach and get out of here.”

Geralt’s horse, used to the routine of the fights, had learned over the years when it was safe to come back out again and was trotting towards them. Jaskier mounted Roach and helped the witcher up behind him. Geralt seemed to have come back a bit, having sheathed his sword on his own, but was still not talking. Not that that was an indication of his normal self. “Geralt, hold on to me”, said the bard and when he felt Geralt’s strong arms slowly wrapping around his middle, he gently pushed his feet into Roach’s sides to start their journey away from this place.

After they had ridden for a time through the forest, Jaskier estimated that they were far enough away. The remaining townspeople would be busy patching up the injured and burying the dead than to follow them. Geralt was still not talking but dismounted Roach without Jaskier having to suggest it.

He sat on the forest floor, not bothering to check if it was wet or laying down a blanket first. Normally by now he would at least had grunted something to Jaskier and cleaning his sword. But not tonight. Jaskier started to get just a tiny bit nervous.

“Geralt, do you want to eat something? We still have a loaf of bread from breakfast and some cheese. And let me get you something to drink,” Jaskier chattered, intend to fill the silence. The witcher looked down to the ground and Jaskier could have sworn that he looked sad. Not a normal expression on the witcher’s face. He got out his waterskin and pressed it into Geralt’s hand, who grabbed it but did not move it to his lips.

Jaskier took another thorough look at his witcher, noticing the bloodstains on his face and hands. Witch a soft cloth he had grabbed from the saddlebags he knelt down in front of Geralt. “Let me clean you up a bit”, he said softly, taking the waterskin back from the quiet witcher and damped the cloth.

He took Geralt's right hand into his and started with the back of the hand, than cleaning each finger one after another before he turned the hand and softly rubbed the dried blood from the palm. After he was finished with the right hand he took Geralt’s left into his and began the process of cleaning anew. Slowly and deliberately he cleaned away the blood and dirt that were the very reminder of the fight.

When the witcher’s hands were clean, Jaskier washed out the cloth and quietly addressed Geralt, “if you look up, I could clean away the blood on your face.” Geralt lifted his head slowly and Jaskier could see that a bit of white started to show in the corners of Geralt's eyes again. That was a good sign and the anxiety that had squeezed his stomach into a tight knot started to loosen a bit.

“May I?,” Jaskier asked. Geralt only stared at him. Jaskier lifted the washcloth deliberately slow, giving the witcher time to protest or move away. Cleaning someone’s hands was one thing but cleaning their face another and he did not want to overstep Geralt’s boundaries. But the witcher did not move and did not take his eyes off of Jaskiers face. The bard gently rubbed at the specs of dried blood on the witchers left cheek, placing his other hand lightly on Geralt's right cheek to hold his head in place.

It had been a hell of a fight. Short, but bloody. Jaskier found specs of blood not only on Geralt’s cheeks, forehead and chin. “Close your eyes”, he said, his face so near the witcher’s that Geralt must have felt Jaskiers breath on it, “ so I can clean away the blood on your eyelids.” Geralt did as he was asked.

The bard knew that Geralt did not easily show physical affection and was in most instances not comfortable receiving them. He was not a hugger and sharing blankets in a cold night was just a practicality to keep the human bard, who froze far easier than a witcher, warm and safe.

But Jaskier wondered if it could help Geralt to sometimes feel a friendly touch. Not the professional touch of sexworkers they frequented when they happened to travel through a town with a brothel. Or the thankful pat on the arm from someone Geralt had saved. But a hug from a friend - freely given without any expectations.

Despite his massive form and height, Geralt looked small and lost to Jaskier and he ached to wrap his arms around his friend to hold him till Geralt would find his way back to himself.

Jaskier stood up and went to remove the saddlebags from Roach and started to set up camp for the night. Normally they shared the familiar chores of gathering wood and starting a fire, collecting fresh water from a nearby stream, laying down their bedrolls and preparing a meal. When the fire was burning, Geralt’s eyes seemed back to normal again and he sat down on his bedroll without Jaskier having to ask him. But he still had not said a single word.

The bard was not sure what had been different today. The fight with the Ozzrel had been over fast and having to fight close-minded humans was admittedly a rare incident but nothing completely new. The soup Jaskier was preparing over the fire with the last potatoes and onions he had found in their saddlebags started to cook and he handed geralt bread and cheese, which the witcher accepted.

To Jaskier’s surprise Geralt took a bite from the bread. Jaskier stirred the soup when he heard Geralt sigh and finally speak, quietly and warily “I am so tired, Jaskier.”

With concern the bard looked up at the witcher, who was staring unseeingly into the fire. Geralt had never before told him he was tired and worry grew again in his heart. Geralt continued, “why do they make me kill them?”

Jaskier let go of the wooden spoon with which he had stirred the soup, walked over till he stood in front of his friend. Geralt’s head was hanging down, shoulders hunched. Carefully the bard placed a hand on the white hair, thumb stroking a circle. And to his surprise the witcher wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s middle, pressing his head into his belly.

Jaskier could more feel than hear Geralt say, “I am supposed to keep them safe.”

Jaskier’s heart hurt. He had let all his talent and inspiration flow into creating the epic songs about Geralt of Rivia, the white wolf, to let everyone know about his nobel deeds, about how the witchers used their brute force and training to serve humanity by keeping them safe from monsters.

And it had worked, at least a bit. In the towns and villages that had heard Jaskier’s songs the people paid Geralt more, where less hostile and afraid of him. But it seemed that they had not reached every corner of the world or that greed and prejudices were often stronger than even the most skillfully composed song.

“And that is what you do”, Jaskier replied, stroking the white hair, “but not everyone is willing to see that.” Geralt’s answering “hm” sounded like the growl of a wounded animal, reverberating in the bard’s stomach. “You save them and what they do after that with their miserable lives is not your responsibility.”

#the witcher #witcher fanfic #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher fanfiction #Graphic Depictions Of Violence #elliestormfound #roach

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fancifulwhump · 4 years

Note

Pssst jaskier prompt if you're interested: I'm a sucker for geralt being soft and caring while refusing to acknowledge it - so a fic where there's something wrong with jaskier - maybe he fell into an icy lake, or is getting sick or something, and geralt takes care of him like a total tsundere? *angrily shoves blankets at him* *stoically checks his temperature* *gruffly makes him soup* *WE'RE NOT FRIENDS BUT ALSO I WILL SIT AT YOUR BEDSIDE NURSE YOU BACK TO HEALTH UNTIL YOUR SINGING AGAIN*

@hurt-comfort asked: Hey hey! Loving your writing. I'm @hurt-comfort. I would love ANY Jaskier whump (use any prompt on my blog). I'd love to see like, Geralt just needing to comfort Jas (because he WANTS to even though he has the social IQ of a potato.) "When the whumpee is in like a daze, just sitting and staring at nothing because of something traumatic. Then someone forces them to either eat, get changed, or just move. Like shellshock" and Geralt has to be like "Jaskier, listen, it's okay"

AN: okay, okay, there was a lot to work with here, but hopefully I hammered it into a scenario that makes sense? “Falls through thin ice” is such a great whump trope and also a real nightmarescape of mine, so… let’s all enjoy the trauma together, guys!!

It’s not as though Geralt doesn’t care. That isn’t it at all. If he cared less, Jaskier probably wouldn’t get into scrapes like this --- he’d find his own trouble, of the ‘incensed husbands and fathers’ variety, but would cross paths with far fewer monsters. If Geralt didn’t care at all, he’d have abandoned the fool in some insignificant village long ago and never thought twice on the subject.

If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have fished Jaskier out of the damn lake.

Fine. That’s... not true. He would have done it anyway. The terror he felt when he heard the ice crack --- that heart-plunging, vein-chilling terror --- he could have gladly gone without. Instead, he was almost frozen by it. From the ominous creak of the ice beneath their feet, to the sudden sharp scent of unfrozen water, to Jaskier’s half-hesitant “Geralt ---”

Before the ice gave way.

It took him too long to move. Too long to spring into action, too long to force his body to cooperate with his racing nerves. Witchers are trained to never be caught unaware, to react on instinct --- a slow witcher is a dead witcher --- but he wasn’t fast enough to catch Jaskier before he plunged through the ice.

Where he vanished, only a hole remained --- and the water underneath, black and churning, small chunks of ice bobbing like forgotten fragments amidst the inky depths. Nothing thrashed; nothing moved. Geralt plunged both arms in, ignorant of the cold. His lone thought was catching something --- an arm, a foot, the collar of a jacket, anything to prove that Jaskier was down there. Yet as he groped through the murk, he found nothing.

“Jaskier!” he bellowed, the sound echoing across the frozen lake. If the bard could hear him underwater, he gave no indication. Beneath Geralt’s knees, the ice creaked alarmingly, but Geralt fought through the natural instinct to retreat. Not without the damned bard. Dead or alive, he wouldn’t leave Jaskier beneath the surface.

He began to scramble, clearing snow from the frozen laketop to reveal the hardened ice beneath. It was like looking through a mirror into another world. Above was all he knew, all he’d ever known; below lay a foreign realm of darkness and desolation. Some battles even witchers could not fight, and a frozen lake was one of them.

Jaskier was nowhere, nowhere. Nowhere at all. Beneath the ice was a vortex of blackness, no thrashing body in sight. He must have sunk, Geralt’s furious mind realized, sunk right to the bottom, dragged down by that damned lute, and that’s the end of him ----

With a roar of fury, Geralt’s fists slammed down on the ice. “Jaskier!”

For a beat, nothing happened. And then the ice broke.

This time, Geralt’s reflexes served him well. He scrambled back, finding his feet half a second before the frozen ground he’d been kneeling on shattered. Back, and back, the ice splintered and broke, widening the crevasse of churning water. No longer was it safe to stand on; the ice would not tolerate any more weight. Geralt took a step back, gaze fixed on ice’s open mouth, gaping and hungry…

There, a movement.

There, something white and fluttering, like a bird in its death throes.

There, a fucking hand.

He moved too quickly for even the ice to catch him --- but Geralt caught Jaskier, and that was the important thing. In one swift movement, he hauled the thrashing man up, out of the water and onto solid ground. Not solid for long, though. Even at the weight of Jaskier’s body flopping onto its surface, the ice groaned and gave way some more. A hand still locked around Jaskier’s forearm, Geralt seized hold of his companion’s other. There wasn’t a second to waste, even to make sure he was alright. Heaving Jaskier’s pliant body up and over his shoulder, Geralt ran.

Ice breaks fast. Witchers run faster.

He would have tried to save Jaskier anyways, Geralt thinks as he sets the bard’s limp body down on solid ground, but it would be so much easier not to care. At the moment, he cannot stop caring. The crack of ice still rings in his head, dogging him like one of Jaskier’s songs; though he takes little notice of the water’s lingering chill, it’s obvious in the stark whiteness of Jaskier’s face. Somewhere in their mad flight, Jaskier vomited up any water he swallowed. Now, he simply shivers in his damp clothes, still gasping like a fish on land. Something in the icy air doesn’t agree with him, because he keeps coughing, and he’s trembling —

Geralt does care. That’s the difficult thing. Because caring for humans is a fragile process, a risk with limited possibility for reward. Humans are so breakable, and there are so many things that can go wrong.

Caught in a moment like this, he isn’t sure how to care for Jaskier.

“You’re fine,” is what he settles on, drawing back to survey Jaskier’s shaking form. “Damned ice.”

It wasn’t Jaskier’s fault, of course. For once, he wasn’t blindly catapulting himself into mortal peril. Even Geralt hadn’t realized the ice was so thin… which is the real bitch of it, because Geralt should have known. He’s the one with heightened senses, with the ability to smell damned ice in the air — Jaskier couldn’t have known, but he should have. He should.

“You’re alright,” he says again, awkwardly patting Jaskier’s shoulder. Even under his touch, the bard quivers… but he’s still in wet clothes, and the afternoon is frigid. Right now, they need to get him warm.

Surely that will bring the blood back to his cheeks, and chase away that expression — a wide-eyed, blank look, so utterly unlike Jaskier that it’s unnerving. His open mouth still gulps in greedy lungfuls of air, which he proceeds to choke on. Any chance of regaining his composure is clearly beyond Jaskier right now, so it’s up to Geralt to drag him back.

Literally, as it turns out. When, after a few minutes, Jaskier tries to find his feet, his knees immediately give out on him. He winds up crouched on the frozen ground, hands digging into the dirt, practically curled in on himself. His head ticks against his chest as he trembles, eyes squeezing shut. Geralt waits a moment, weighs the cost of Jaskier’s dignity against his own, and finally offers a hand.

Jaskier doesn’t take it. He doesn’t even look up.

“Damn it all,” Geralt grunts. This was exactly what he didn’t want to do — yet it seems there’s no choice. Either he leaves Jaskier to freeze in the middle of a frozen wood, or lead him along like a child. Since Jaskier isn’t in any condition to give his preference —

Tucking one strong arm around Jaskier’s shoulders, Geralt hauls the bard to his feet. For one frightful second, his legs seem ready to give out beneath him again; but Jaskier slumps into Geralt, trusting his weight, and manages to stay upright. Geralt takes one step forward. Jaskier manages to follow. Another step, and another, and soon they are walking. It’s not much — Geralt is basically Jaskier’s walking stick, used to ground him despite his violent shivering — and Jaskier still hasn’t found his voice, but it’s enough. It gets them where they need to go.

When Great grunts and nods to the horse, it’s enough of a shock to resurrect Jaskier’s voice. “You —“ he croaks, then clears his throat with a wince. “You w-want me — t-to ride —“

“Get on the horse,” is all Geralt says, turning away. Chances are, he’ll regret it. Chances are, Roach will resent him for it. But with Jaskier riding, they’ll make it to town within the hour. Given the choice between an inn’s roaring hearth or defrosting over a sickly campfire, he can guess which one Jaskier would prefer.

By some small shred of common sense, the bard doesn’t hesitate. After a few pained grunts — which Geralt does not turn around to investigate, because it’s not his damn job — Roach lets out a huff of her own, and Geralt starts walking. The steady rhythm of hooves behind him reassures that Jaskier manages to make it up.

His estimate isn’t far off, either. They make it to town within the hour, riding past rows of dreary brick-and-mortar buildings towards the heart of town. Usually, Geralt is welcomed with stony silence by suspicious village folk; today is no different. Having Jaskier as a companion does come with rare advantages; he burns so brightly and appears so guileless that people can’t glare at him the way they do at Geralt. When Jaskier rides into town at his side, they are often given far warmer reception. Jaskier charms cart-vendors, smiles at children, winks at passing ladies (and gentlemen)... he makes himself welcome wherever he goes. Geralt May be a far more imposing presence, but he finds himself swept up in Jaskier’s tide, carried with him where he goes.

At the moment, however, Jaskier is in no state to charm and cajole his way into a dreary town’s good graces. He simply hangs low on Roach’s back, head bowed, as they ride through the streets. His shoulders still quake with the occasional shiver; his breaths are a bit too heavy for Geralt’s liking, and he’s too quiet. Somehow, Geralt finds himself more preoccupied with Jaskier’s state than the hostility radiating from the wary villagers.

The local inn has a spare room for the night, a warm bed, and a bath. It’s good enough for Geralt. He slides their coin across the table, steps back outside to collect Jaskier off of Roach — he’d trembled too hard at the notion of coming inside — and makes short work of hustling him up the stairs. As soon as the door closes behind them, Geralt guides Jaskier to the bed, form hands pushing both shoulders down. Jaskier doesn’t even bother with a token protest.

“Your clothes,” Geralt says. When Jaskier stares at him blankly, he curses. “They’re still wet.” Frozen, in fact, hardened with a thin sheen of frost against the night air. Leaving them like that is guaranteed to lead to problems later on; Geralt has no desire to leave town tomorrow with a pneumatic bard trailing behind. He reaches out, giving the sleeve of Jaskier’s jacket a tug. The leather is stiff, sending a hail of ice crystals raining down onto the mattress, Jaskier doesn’t react at all.

So, that’s how it’s going to be?

If Jaskier won’t do his own damn job, Geralt will do it for him. Scowling, he manhandles Jaskier’s jacket and jerkin off. In moments, he is left in nothing but his undershirt. That’s soaked through too, but the fabric isn’t as frozen; Jaskier could easily shrug out of it on his own. Still, he makes no movement to.

“What’s the matter with you?” Geralt demands.

Jaskier says nothing at all. His gaze shifts away from Geralt, across the room towards the closed window. Something about him — be it his hunched posture, eerie silence, or the far-off look on his face — feels as though he isn’t here at all. Jaskier has wandered off without Geralt noticing, going somewhere far away. Wherever he’s gone, Geralt doesn’t know how to get him back.

After a long moment, he sighs, casting the half-frozen clothes aside. When he strides across the room, his footsteps resound against the wooden floorboards. It’s easier to fill the silence with something instead of nothing at all. Somehow, it leaves him feeling less alone. The inn’s portress has filled a metal tub with steaming water, leaving it right outside their door; Geralt makes quick work of dragging it in, grunting as he goes. By the time it’s set up, the floor is littered with puddles, and his pants are uncomfortably soaked — but the memory of Jaskier emerging, white as death, from the black depths stifles any complaint instantly.

Looking back up at the bard, he’s shocked to see Jaskier showing signs of life. He’s found his feet again, and even removed his undershirt. Now, his hands fumble at the laces of his breeches, but they’re shaking too hard to manage.

Geralt allows himself exactly half a minute to settle on absolutely not, before caving in. It’s either this or watch the bard bathe half-dressed, which would be even more pathetic. That’s what he tells himself, at least, as he roughly shoved Jaskier’s hands aside and undoes the laces himself.

“You — you don’t h-have—“ Jaskier’s murmured protest cuts off. The job’s already done. Geralt looks back up at him, unconsciously seizing one of his wrists; automatically, a hiss escapes past his clenched teeth.

“You’re still freezing!” Geralt has met ice wights with more heat in their bones. No wonder he’s trembling so badly — shock mixed with potential hypothermia is a dangerous combination. Either one on its own can be debilitating, but both of them bad enough could be lethal.

“Bath. Now,” he orders brusquely, giving the bard a shove towards the steaming tub. Still dazed, as though caught in a waking dream, Jaskier stumbles into it. He doesn’t even whimper as the hot water envelops his freezing limbs, though it has to hurt. His thousand-mile stare shifts away from Geralt and down to the water. After a moment, Jaskier goes utterly still.

“You need to soak. That won’t stay warm all night.” When Jaskier gives no indication that he’s even heard, Geralt grunts in frustration and kneels at the side of the tub. “Hey!” He gives Jaskier’s shoulder a jolt, and he jerks to attention abruptly. The blatant fear in his eyes takes Geralt aback. He expected exhaustion, even irritation, but not — whatever this is.

“The water closed over my head,” Jaskier exhales, and evening his voice sounds a thousand leagues away. “It happened so fast… like I was swallowed. And I couldn’t — I couldn’t breathe, Geralt, I couldn’t — couldn’t swim. It was so cold —“

“Jaskier.” His hand is still gripping a bony shoulder; now, Geralt’s hold tightens, pulling his companion towards him. When Jaskier tries to pull back, he won’t let him. “Look at me. Hey.” Jaskier is still trembling, but Geralt grounds him with the contact, forcing him to meet his eyes. “You,” he says slowly, “are safe. This water is warm. It’s not going to hurt you. Nothing’s going to hurt you as long as I’m here.”

“It almost—“ Jaskier starts, then cuts off. Geralt understands anyway. It feels like a blade to the gut.

“I know,” he says after a long moment. “I’m… sorry.”

“Sorry?” Jaskier blinks at him, as though slowly awakening from a deep sleep. “Geralt… you saved me.”

But he wasn’t fast enough. “Still.”

Slowly, Jaskier shakes his head. His legs relax in the water, fully submerging, and he sinks up to his chest. Finally, finally, he’s no longer trembling. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

It’s not what Geralt deserves, but this day has given Jaskier nothing he deserves either — not a near-death in a frozen lake, not the clumsy care of a brute who has no idea what he’s doing. This bath is the first nice thing to happen to him all day… and suddenly, Geralt is determined that Jaskier shall enjoy it.

Reaching in, he cups a palm full of water, and releases it over one pale, bare shoulder. Unwillingly, Jaskier lets out a gasp. Steam rises and quickly evaporated off of the chilled skin, but the mere touch of water is enough to make Jaskier want more. He quickly sinks down, submerging himself up to his chin. Geralt watches carefully, intently, just in case.

He will not be too slow to save Jaskier this time.

After a long moment, the bard shifts in the water and says, in a small voice, “Thank you.”

Geralt has no idea what he’s being thanked for; he simply huffs and turns his head, looking away.

#the witcher #jaskier #whump #Anonymous

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rhabakoli · 4 years

Text

Don’t Go

It’s my obligation, as ‘the smutty friend’ to take care of any smut scenes coming up in any of @dreamwritesimagines stories. so, here we go.

Tagged: @cloudberrysims @habitchi @this-is-whump-dammit

She was scratching Roach’s neck, trying to keep her face neutral. In truth, her heart was in pain. Geralt was going back into the forest. He barely came out alive last time, after some gruesome monster surprised him and almost impaled him. Not that Geralt would ever have told her about it, no. She had to hear from Ciri, who heard it from the Bard. Jaskier was – ironically – the only one not lying about his missions.

She didn’t notice Roach’s ears turning, her head raising as she nickered at her rider. “I thought I’d find you here.” His warm voice startled her, sent her tripping over her own feet as she turned around. Geralt caught her around the waist, pulled her flush against his body. “Don’t hurt yourself.” The princess looked up at him, into his golden eyes, and had to remind herself to breathe. Especially when his free hand came up and smoothed along her cheek. At first she tried to back away, but his hold on her didn’t budge – and he was wearing gloves. As always, around her. I don’t want to waste just one second pulling gloves on, when I could be having my hands on you instead. She blushed at the memory, still speechless; and frankly, her priority right now was to burn his face into her mind, so she could draw him over and over again. At the end of this mission, he’d be gone. Or, if he was gone, the mission would end. Either way, odds were high she’d never see him again. Geralt observed her face, tiny smirk on his lips. “I really would like to kiss you right now.” Which – oh god. Good that he was holding her, because her knees were giving out. He came closer, his hand going from her cheek to the back of her head. “I wont. But I really want to.” His voice dropped another octave, she could feel the vibrations in her chest. Her throat was dry, her lungs struggled to get air. “I wish I could touch you the way I wanted. Make you feel good.” His hand smoothed down to the small of her back, barely stopped before he was cupping her bum. “Maybe when I’m back.” Now, that brought her back into reality. She found her strength, placed her hands on his chest, ignored the little voice in her head that told her to never take her hands away, and shoved at him. “You asshole.” He tilted his head in surprise, blinking owlishly. “What?” “You fucking asshole.” It wasn’t appropriate behaviour, not for a princess and not even for a lady, but she didn’t care. She was so furious. “How dare you talk to me like that, make those loose promises, when you know very well you could die!”, she hissed at him. His crossed his arms in front of his chest, eyes turning to slits. He knew, he wouldn’t get a word in, not when she was this angry. “How dare you play with my heart this way! I feel like this whole situation is tearing me apart, and you’re not helping, Geralt!” He used the break in her rant to advance upon her, clap one hand over her mouth, the other pressed to the small of her back to pull her against him once more. He’d never get tired of feeling her body under his fingers. He’d had dreams about this. He kissed the back of his hand. “Let’s not discuss this here, shall we?” And so he pulled her along, out of the stables and to her room, where there was at least the illusion of privacy. There, he let her go, waved a hand through the air in a ‘go on’ motion and waited. She was staring at him, pouty and annoyed. His not-kiss had surprised her and made her wish for this wretched curse to be gone already. She’d almost forgotten what she was so angry about. Oh, right. “You are mean.” Yes, well done, very eloquent, very witty. Seeing him in her room had her eyes fill with tears, and she couldn’t stop them. “I hate that you have to go, and then you come here, and say all those things! And I know this couldn’t ever be real, this couldn’t ever happen, because the moment the curse is lifted, my mother will be throwing suitors at me like I was a field to be sown!” Geralt had to hold back a sneer at her words. No one would have her. No one. As long as it made her happy, he’d be the only one touching her. “Don’t go.” “What?” She was pleading him, to stay, not to fight. “You could hide out here for the day, and then say you killed her but she refused to lift the curse – please don’t leave, I couldn’t bear if something happened to you.” Geralt’s eyes softened at her words. His precious princess. “I can’t. If there is any chance to lift this curse, I have to try it.” He stepped closer, hands reaching out once again. She willingly went to him, stepped into his embrace. Instantly, she felt safe, protected, like nothing ever had to worry her again. She looked up at him, wanted to cup his face and kiss him, but instead she placed her hands on his chest and rested her head against them. Warmth radiated from him, his voice was low, deep as he continued. “I’ll come back. I’m not willing to let anyone else have you.” “How selfish.” “Can you blame me?” He looked down at her, pupils dilating as she bit her lip. “Can you really blame me, when you look like that?” His fingers traced the laces of her dress, teasingly pulling here and there, not actually doing anything, because, well, obvious reasons. The little tugs grated on her nerves though – but in a good way. Tension was building, she could feel the heat pool in her belly at the thought of feeling his hands on her. His big, strong hands, with those long and deft fingers. Surely, he’d know how to use them. She blushed at her own thoughts, and turned her head away. Geralt noticed. Of course. A hand came up, one finger guiding her chin, so she’d look back up at him. “Tell me, princess.” His other hand still played with the laces, made it hard to think. “Can I see how far that blush goes?” His voice, his words sent shivers down her spine; she gave a curt nod. The pressure around her ribcage lessened as the laces gree loose. “Are you sure.” Hungry eyes were drinking her in; never had she felt so safe and wanted under such an intense gaze. “Yes.” A growl left Geralts chest, his fingers now working faster to peel the heavy dress off her. “You are divine, princess.” How he could say her title with such fondness, such reverence, almost like a prayer – she’d never know. But she did know, she wanted to hear it again, and again, and again. “Geralt, please.” The dress was off in less time than they needed in the mornings to get it on; much less time. This left her now in her shift, thin linen which hid nothing. His hands flexed on her hips, a groan and a curse filled the air. And suddenly, she was off the floor. He’d grabbed the back of her thigh, the other supporting her back, and lifted her up, turned and pressed her back to the wall, his hips pressed against hers. She could feel him hot and hard against her pelvic bone. He looked down at where they were joined, and rolled his hips once, twice; it was delicious. She’d helped her needs before, she was not completely innocent, but this. Never had she had a man, never did she think it could be like this! And Geralt was still fully clothed, still wearing gloves. God, there was still a dagger strapped to his thigh. He was ranting, telling her what he wanted to do to her, how he wanted to make her feel good, and that he wouldn’t let her leave bed for days, if he could have his way. it did nothing to calm her racing heart, to stop the heat from pooling in her belly, to keep her heartbeat from wandering down to her clit. Nothing. And he knew it. Her legs were around his waist, his hands wandering, never staying still. One pinched a nipple, the other palmed her ass, then wandered down to her knee and up to wrap around her waist and keep her exactly where he wanted her. “Say, princess.” His hip bumped against hers, the bulge in his breeches meeting her centre right on, making her let out a small moan. “Did you ever think of me? At night? In a dream?” She couldn’t answer, the constant friction, his consuming presence, his words in her ears; it was too much for her. She just nodded, then bit her lip when he rubbed against her with more force. “Did you touch yourself?” Another nod. It made no sense to lie to him, to deny him anything, not when he made her feel this good. He froze. “Princess. Darling.” His hand came up, thumb over her lips. “Don’t move.” And he pressed his lips to his thumb, just for a second, before pulling back and fixing her with those unique eyes of his. “One day, I’ll kiss you. I’ll properly kiss you.” His thumb swiped over her lower lip. “Here.” Then his hand left her face, fingertips traced a path down her neck, her chest, her belly, until he reached where he wished he was buried already. “And here.” His thumb pressed down on her clit, circled it, flicked it. His gloves felt strange, combined with the linen, but oh so good. Her hips bucked, completely out of her control, and Geralt just mirrored her. They fell into a rhythm, spurring each other on, driving them towards the edge faster and faster until they stood right there. Geralt ducked, one hand underneath her, to hold her, one at her clit, still working her; ducked down, his lips ghosting over her clothed shoulder, whispered sweet nothings against her skin and just when he felt her coming, he bit her shoulder, left his mark. No one would see it anyways. She was tense in his arms, her orgasm wracked through her, her breathing stopped for a moment, until she gasped and panted. He was still hard, still going, but he didn’t wanted her to grow oversensitive. His lady, his princess, this wonderful human being, reached down, cupped his dick and applied pressure, gave him something to rut against. “Geralt, please. Please, come.” HIs fingers digged into her skin, most likely leaving bruises, with how hard he was pressing. But she didn’t mind. It was something to remember him by. “Geralt, come on. I’m yours.” “Shit.” His hips stilled, his dick twitched under her hand. Geralt groaned, closed his eyes at that. He shot his load into his pants, like a boy. This woman will be the death of him. Their pants filled the air, mindless giggles filtering in, when she came back to herself. “This is not what I expected.” Geralt turned his head from where his forehead was pressed against her shoulder and glanced up at her. “What can I say? You’re beautifully terrifying when you’re furious.”

#the witcher #Beautfiful and Damned #b&d #a dreamwritesimagines production #geralt x oc #i guess???#no names mentioned #also def not my best work #but here you go #smut #have fun

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when-a-humble-bard · 4 years

Text

the driftwood and the rift (p.1)

title: the driftwood and the rift (part 1)

Warnings: mind-control via magic; canon-typical violence (so it might be a little graphic?); blood; angst/whump/hurt/comfort; past torture is strongly suggested; Jaskier whump mostly; cursing;

A/N: first time writing for Witcher but all y’all that have been writing Geraskier fic have been keeping me sane in the current climate and I feel like I owe y’all so much so here is my humble first attempt at some Geraskier with a healthy helping of Jaskier whump.

Tags: @thuriweaver since you asked haha

Read on AO3 here!

...

“Jaskier.”

There’s a mist settling into the forest around them, obscuring the moonlight that tries to peek through the thick canopy above them. Drops of moisture cling to Geralt’s armor and his forehead like a sheen of sweat. He stares, a part of him doubting his own eyes.

Of all the people—all the creatures—he expected to run into four miles outside of the village he’d stopped at for the night, the human bard hadn’t been one of them. Geralt had heard rumors of a werewolf in the woods, and a generous payment promised to him was all the persuasion Geralt needed to swiftly deal with the situation. He’d finished his mediocre meal and set out that same night.

Geralt had been trying to pick up the trail from the last seen location given to him: at the fork in the path four miles outside the village. But he hadn’t seen evidence of a werewolf. No tracks. No scent. No sound.

Except… two heartbeats. One of them normal in its beat. Eased. Unafraid. The other was unnaturally slow. Not Witcher slow, but slower than was normal for a heartbeat for most living creatures. And as Geralt reached for his sword, he saw two humanoid figures emerging from the mist several feet ahead of him.

One of them just so happened to be the bard he hadn’t seen in months. Not since the mountaintop.

Geralt freezes.

He doesn’t know what he expects from Jaskier. He’d thought about it—of course he’d thought about it, every day for months—but that didn’t mean that he’d known for sure. He’d spent most of his idle hours considering all the vicious and yet completely fair things Jaskier could and should yell at him if he ever saw him again. Geralt expected anger. Rejection.

But not for Jaskier to just… stand there.

A second later, Geralt realizes that the bard smells… different. His usual cedar and rose and honeysuckle has been replaced by something sharp. Metallic. Copper—a realization that makes Geralt’s chest twist—but something else too.

Geralt takes a step towards him, a twig snapping under his boot.

“Ah, ah, ah,” says the figure Jaskier had arrived with. She was taller than Jaskier, long robes with a hood pulled over her head that obscures her features in a dark shadow. She reaches over and places a hand on the back of Jaskier’s neck. The move makes Geralt tighten his jaw.

Jaskier twitches. Then stills.

Geralt takes another step forward. A gust of wind tugs at the witcher’s white hair. “Jaskier,” he repeats. “What are you doing out here?”

The figure beside the bard brushes at Jaskier’s hair, pushing the strings of dark hair—the bard’s hair was longer now—out of his eyes. It’s then that Geralt notices. Jaskier’s normally bright, blue eyes are red. Blood red.

“We were looking for you,” the figure purrs.

Geralt draws his sword. It’s rasp as it pulls out of the sheath seems to echo under the forest canopy. “What did you do?”

The figure doesn’t remove her hood, but Geralt swears he sees a flash of snarling teeth. “I suppose I could be asking you the same thing. You see, when I caught your precious songbird, he was quite intoxicated in Blaviken. Seemed absolutely certain that you would not be coming for him.”

Geralt feels his stomach twist. His grip tightens around the longsword, his gaze flickering between the figure and Jaskier. Still not moving. Still staring at Geralt with those crimson eyes. Geralt doesn’t see any sign of recognition in them.

The figure waits, like she expects Geralt to say something. Then she continues. “Put up quite the fight, though. He lasted nearly three weeks before he screamed for you. You should have been there, Witcher, it was quite the sound.”

Geralt wants to hurl his sword at the figure’s form. The feeling is only heightened when she places her hand on the back of Jaskier’s neck again. Geralt takes another step forward.

The figure either doesn’t notice or takes no stock in the motion. “He’s an unusual creature.”

“Hm.”

“Don’t you agree?” The figure turns their shadowed face back to Geralt. “As much as he seemed absolutely convinced you would not come for him, he was resolute in withholding information about you. Loyal to the end, it seems.”

It’s a subtle motion, but Geralt sees the way the figure squeezes the back of Jaskier’s neck. The way he twitches again.

Geralt’s jaw jumps. “Well, I’m here. Let the bard go.”

“Oh, I’m afraid you misunderstand, Witcher. I am not here to fight you.”

It’s the emphasis that makes Geralt’s brow furrow. He doesn’t reply, ears perked for abnormalities in the forest around him. If he wasn’t going to fight the hooded figure, she must have brought some other monster to take care of the job. But around him, all Geralt can hear is the late-night wind brushing through the leaves, the chirp of crickets, and two heartbeats. Jaskier’s still abnormally slow…

“He is.”

Geralt frowns. “Who?”

And then he feels something in his chest plummet as Jaskier takes a step forward, drawing two daggers from his belt. His red gaze narrows. Geralt’s own golden one widens slightly in response.

“Jaskier—” Geralt cuts himself off as he deflects the blade that slices through the air between them. “Fuck. Jaskier!”

But there’s no acknowledgment. It’s a blank, flat gaze as the next dagger flies towards him and Geralt parries it away with a quick flick of the longsword in his hands. Jaskier keeps advancing, wrenching a sword—a rapier, when the hell did Jaskier get a rapier?—from its sheath at his hip and Geralt takes a small step back, his brows pulled together.

As Jaskier rushes towards him, Geralt realizes in the split second before their swords cross that the metallic scent to Jaskier that he hadn’t been able to place a moment ago is magic. A curse. Geralt’s sharp gaze flickers past Jaskier to the hooded figure, still standing several feet away.

Jaskier’s sword slices against Geralt’s arm, stinging sharply and wrenching Geralt’s focus back to the bard in enough time to parry the second blow.

“Jaskier.”

The bard lunges, and Geralt side-steps the wide arc, his eyes flashing in the dark.

“Release your hold on him,” Geralt demands in a snarl as Jaskier whirls towards him.

“This, Witcher, is restoration of balance. You took my love from me all those years ago in Blavikin. Now you must kill someone you love. Because he will not stop. Not until one of you is dead.”

Geralt can feel the thin, sour taste of desperation clawing up his throat as Jaskier snarls and lunges at him again. Metal flashes in the moonlight, the blades screaming against each other as Jaskier slashes and stabs and Geralt parries, dodges, blocks.

“Damn it, Jaskier,” Geralt says again through gritted teeth. The bard’s name is nearly all Geralt can think to say. He hasn’t said the name aloud in months but he doesn’t know what else he can do to break through to him. He has to try, though. Because killing Jaskier is not an option.

But the bard is relentless like this. The noise he makes in the back of his throat doesn’t sound fully human as he moves to stab forward at Geralt’s chest, barely glancing off the leather armor as the Witcher turns to avoid it. Geralt uses Jaskier’s forward momentum against him, latching onto his wrist and yanking him closer while anchoring the sword-wielding hand between his arm and his chest.

Jaskier stumbles closer to Geralt and even in the dark of night, Geralt swears he sees a swirl of bright blue around Jaskier’s irises. A moment of clarity. Geralt blinks and its gone. But he saw it, he knows he did.

“Jaskier—” Geralt tries, desperate to get it back, but he’s cut off as something sharp sinks into his shoulder. He growls low in his throat and shoves the bard off. The rapier clatters to the forest floor, the sound muffled slightly by the grass and damp earth beneath their feet. Geralt looks to his shoulder to see a blade—slightly smaller than the daggers Jaskier had thrown at him—protruding from his leather. Geralt yanks it out with a grunt.

Jaskier lets out a vicious snarl and charges again, his hands empty of weapons now. He claws at Geralt’s face, but the witcher sees it coming and manages to block the attempt with his arm. He sweeps Jaskier’s feet out from under him, sending them both tumbling to the ground.

Geralt grabs for Jaskier’s hands as he thrashes beneath him. “Jaskier!”

His blood red eyes get that swirl of blue again and Geralt freezes. “Geralt—” Jaskier rasps, a spark of fear igniting in the bard so suddenly and intensely that Geralt can taste it. “Geralt, you—you have—”

And then the red in his eyes bleeds over and the recognition is gone—the scent of fear is gone—and Geralt growls low in his throat. Jaskier throws an elbow that connects sharply with Geralt’s jaw. Geralt’s mouth fills with blood.

His mind is racing. Whatever curse he’s under, Jaskier is fighting it. Trying to. Geralt just needs some way to break the bard out of the damn—

Jaskier scrambles out from under the Witcher, grabbing for one of the daggers nearby. It’s the first one that Geralt had knocked away when Jaskier had hurled it at him. Geralt tries to wrench the bard’s arm back but he’s just a fraction too late or too gentle—Jaskier would never forgive him if Geralt broke his fingers—and the bard’s nimble hand closes around the hilt of the knife. He slashes out viciously and Geralt hisses as he feels the steel slice against his cheek as he just barely manages to duck out of the way.

Jaskier goes to slash at Geralt’s chest but the witcher grabs for his wrist and suddenly Jaskier is pressing the blade towards Geralt’s throat and Geralt is doing what he can to keep it away. He grips the blade, grimacing against the way is slices into his hand.

“Jask—”

“Geralt.” The blue is back—sudden and bright—and with it is the scent of wildflowers and panic. “Please.” And before Geralt can even process what the bard is doing, he feels Jaskier press the hilt of the blade into Geralt’s palm and turns the knife onto his own throat.

“No.”

“You have to. It’s okay.” The red is starting to cloud over but Jaskier grits his teeth and the blue manages to hold on a moment longer. “I can’t…” He can feel the way the bard is trembling beneath him and he doesn’t know if its with exertion or fear. Geralt curses again, seeing the swirl of red and blue in the bard’s eyes.

A defiant flare of blue. Jaskier gasps with a strangled, choked sound. “Geralt.”

The desperate hitch in Jaskier’s voice wrenches something in Geralt’s chest.

And then he hears it again. The second heartbeat. He’d been so preoccupied with fending off Jaskier and making sure to not hurt him in the process that he’d almost forgotten. The Witcher glances over his shoulder and his ears ring with the fury that floods him. He yanks the knife out of Jaskier’s grip and hurls it as hard as he can.

There’s a choked gasp as it lodges somewhere beneath the hood of the figure and he crumples to the ground. Geralt tears off Jaskier and grabs his sword in the process, rushing towards the figure to be absolutely sure. But the figure stays prone, and Geralt hears the second heartbeat get slower and slower. Then it stops.

The world resonates with a sudden stillness. The night breeze brushes through the dark canopy of leaves above them. A small flock of birds beat their wings overhead. Distantly, Geralt can hear bullfrogs calling to each other in the dark. And he can hear another heartbeat, fast and pounding, and shaking, gasping breaths.

“Jaskier.”

Geralt rushes back to him, kneeling beside the bard as he trembles on the forest floor. He’s curled in on himself, his arms obscuring his face. His wheezing, panicked gasps seem to choke in his throat. Geralt reaches a hand out, hesitates, and then gingerly sets it between the bard’s shoulder-blades.

Jaskier flinches. Geralt snaps his hand back like it burned him, ignoring the way his throat constricts. The Witcher focuses instead on taking a deep breath. Cedar. Rose. Honeysuckle. Copper. He’s bleeding, Geralt realizes as his brow furrows, the sent hitting the Witcher in the back of the throat. The other metallic scent of magic is gone, as far as Geralt can tell, but a part of him needs to see Jaskier’s eyes before the tension in his shoulders will release.

“Jaskier,” Geralt tries again, but he’s careful not to touch him. “Look at me.”

There’s a long moment where nothing happens. Geralt watches as something like helplessness claws up his throat as Jaskier shivers and gasps in front of him. And then—with what looks to be herculean effort—Jaskier moves the arm blocking his face and peers up at the Witcher kneeling above him.

Bright blue eyes. Wide and watery and blue.

Geralt releases a breath. Jaskier looks pale, even in the dark of night. For a moment, neither of them says anything.

For perhaps the first time ever, Geralt is the one who breaks it. “You’re bleeding.” It’s not a question. Geralt can smell it, and he hates the way it blends with the wildflower scent of his—the bard.

Jaskier averts his gaze. There’s a beat. Then Jaskier unfolds from around himself and uses one wobbling arm to push himself up a bit. Geralt’s hands shadow the movement without touching, wanting to help. Refusing to hurt.

Jaskier groans low in his throat with pain. His blue eyes—Geralt can’t stop noticing the color now—flicker over the Witcher, before they settle squarely on his shoulder. Geralt follows his gaze, glancing down. He’s still bleeding from where Jaskier had lodged the knife into him. Geralt hadn’t thought it possible given how little color the bard had, but he pales even further. His gaze flickers away in the next moment.

“I’ll heal.”

Geralt sees Jaskier swallow. He doesn’t answer, carefully avoiding the Witcher’s gaze. “Where is the nearest town?”

Geralt frowns. “You don’t know?”

“Things are… fuzzy, for the most part.” The bard’s voice is hoarse and hollow.

“Four miles west.”

Jaskier’s breath is almost back to normal now, although his heartbeat is still rather fast. Panicked, Geralt assumes, and figures he can’t really fault the bard for it. Jaskier sits on the forest floor for a moment, and then presses his hands to the floor and struggles to his feet.

“Jaskier—” Geralt says in alarm, standing with him. He sees the shake in Jaskier’s legs and catches him by his arm. “You’re in no condition to walk.”

“What are you talking about, Geralt?” Jaskier asks, and the smile he throws the Witcher is thin and brittle. “I’m right as rain.”

“You can barely stay standing.”

“You’re hurt.”

The immediate response catches the Witcher off guard. Geralt stares at Jaskier for a moment. Was that why the bard was being so damn stubborn? Geralt would be fine. Sure, the wound was deep and would scar, but he could already feel the blood flow starting to slow. Jaskier¸ on the other hand…

“As are you,” Geralt replies. “We need to get you somewhere else.” Somewhere safe. Warm. Maybe even to a healer. Geralt couldn’t be sure until he got a decent look at Jaskier’s injuries. The hooded figure’s words from earlier echo back through the Witcher’s mind.

He lasted nearly three weeks before he screamed for you.

Something in Geralt’s stomach rolls uncomfortably.

“You should—” Jaskier cuts himself off when he takes a step and his knee gives out from underneath him. Geralt catches him again, giving him a pointed look.

Jaskier doesn’t look back, but he seems to get the message. “Point taken,” he says dully, his gaze trained on the bloodied knife discarded in the grass a few feet away. “Drop me off at the nearest inn, Geralt.”

Like hell I’m just going to drop you off, Geralt thinks. Neither of them says anything on the long, slow trek back to Roach.

...

#the witcher #geraskier #jaskier #geralt of rivia #geraskier fanfic #violence #blood #mind-control #cursing #torture #first time writing for the fandom woops #always nerve-wracking #but hope you all enjoy!#klsjfklsdj

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fangirlshrewt97 · 4 years

Text

Geralt Whump Week Submission Day 3

TITLE: What Am I Worth (If I Cannot Protect You)?

SHIPS: Geralt of Rivia / Jaskier|Dandelion

PROMPT DAY: Cursed

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

WARNINGS: NA

SUMMARY:

When a monster hunt leaves Geralt blind, it is up to Jaskier to make sure he is alright while Yennefer works on finding a cure. Ciri is there to remind them what they are fighting for.

Excerpt:

Geralt stumbled at the sudden weight, hands landing awkwardly on his sides before they adjusted and tightened around his doublet, pulling him closer until Geralt had his nose pressed tightly against Jaskier’s neck.

Jaskier let himself be manhandled, but grew tense, something about Geralt’s behavior was odd.

Ciri’s gasp made him grow even more tensed.

Pulling back, he bit back his own gasp as Yennefer’s light illuminated the Witcher, specifically his eyes, which had gone from that sunset gold to milky white, translucent and unseeing.

WORD COUNT: 8088 words

AUTHOR’S NOTES: Additional Tags include Geralt Whump Week, Prompt: Cursed, Temporary character blindness, Soft, Whump, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Esteem issues, Self-Worth issues, Self-Hatred, Fluff, Bathing, Established Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier|Dandelion, Soft Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier|Dandelion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Jaskier|Dandelion & Yennefer of Vengerberg Friendship, As you can see Geralt really puts himself through the shredder in this fic, but it’s ok though, because Jaskier is right there to remind Geralt of exactly how much he is loved, and how much he deserves it

AUTHOR: Fangirlshrewt97

CHARACTERS: Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Rhiannon, Jaskier, Yennefer of Vengerberg, Triss Merigold

LINK TO AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25051126

/////

Jaskier allows them to wait until the sun has set before he verbalizes the internal freak out he has been having.

“It has been nearly a day Yennefer. Something has happened to him.”

“Jaskier. He will be back soon. He’s on a contract, you know those aren’t always predictable. Now sit down, your pacing is giving me a headache.” Yennefer replied from where she was lounging on her temporary mattress, enjoying even the threadbare soft bed to the harshness of sleeping in the wild. Even if both boys complained that with her magical tent, she couldn’t even be claiming to be camping like they were.

“Maybe we should go check on him anyways?” Ciri said from where she was sitting on the opposite corner of the bed, fiddling with a thread on her coat, tugging at it.

Jaskier came to a stop beside her, standing against the foot board so Ciri could lean back against him. The girl was putting on a brave face, but her body language betrayed her nerves. And Yennefer, for all that she was lounging with cool poise was also worried. She had been the one to push Geralt to come into town, even if the Witcher had been hell bent in just rushing them towards Kaer Morhen.

///

She argued that they couldn’t hide from civilization forever. They needed to know what was happening with the war, and more importantly, they needed to give their two human companions a break. Even if Jaskier had a couple decades of walking alongside a Witcher and Ciri was at the age where energy seemed boundless, they still needed to rest.

Geralt had been reluctant but caved when he saw both humans curled around each other by the fire in their campsite, Jaskier curved protectively over his young charge. Geralt agreed to go but set up a couple of conditions as a safety precaution. Yennefer should refrain from using magic at the town if possible, and that Ciri’s hair be dyed to make it less striking. There wasn’t enough magic to hide Geralt’s appearance totally so he said that the three of them should enter the town as a family, and he would follow them after a bit. Jaskier and Yennefer had tried to fight him but he had stood his ground, and the sorceress and bard finally conceded.

As planned, Jaskier and Yennefer walked into town with their daughter Fiona, on their way to Yennefer’s hometown to avoid the war if they were asked for a story. Jaskier was to be a music professor at Oxenfurt, which would explain the lute he carrier. They found an inn with enough space to accommodate them all and got settled. They had just finished and come down to the inn when Geralt walked through the door, causing a silence to descend upon the place.

Geralt approached the man behind the bar. “Kind sir, do you have a room vacant?”

The man looked Geralt over twice before giving one sharp nod. “End of the hall.”

“Thank you.” Geralt took the key the man offered and moved to go to his room. He brushed his hand over Jaskier and Ciri briefly on the way up.

The trio made their way quietly towards the booth at the end of the wall closest to the stairs, grateful for the darkness.

Geralt descended a few moments later, and headed for the bar, ordering dinner and an ale. The place was tense again, the townspeople all looking at each other in a way that put Jaskier on edge. Yennefer was also poised to throw a spell if the need arose.

Finally, after the eternity of a minute, one man got up and approached Geralt. If asked to guess, Jaskier would say the man was perhaps a blacksmith or a logger, arms nearly as thick as Geralt’s and a build to match.

“You are a Witcher.” he stated.

Geralt inclined his head. “Yes.”

“I am Roald Tiggen, the town’s blacksmith. I have a job for you.”

Geralt blinked before nodding. “I have arrived in town after a long day’s travel. If it would be acceptable to you, can I eat while we discuss your troubles, friend?”

“Ay, that sounds fine to me. Chrissy, get this man his food and ale quickly!” The man shouted to the barmaid who nodded enthusiastically and scurried into a back room, presumably the kitchen.

Geralt and Roald, settled at the far end of the bar. The Witcher would join them upstairs as soon he was done talking about business. They had not discussed whether Geralt would take more contracts, focusing mainly on getting North as quickly as possible. But it was sensible, and it would provide them with some cover, and funds to keep them going.

Jaskier called the barmaid and ordered their dinner before undoing Ciri’s travel braid, finding a peace in mindlessly running his fingers through her long, newly brown, locks. The young girl melted into his side, tucking her nose into his collarbone as her arms loosely wrapped around his waist. Yennefer watched them with a fond smile, and Jaskier gave her a grin back, making her scowl. He chuckled.

The food had been good, and after eating they made their way upstairs to their bedroom. Or more accurately, Yennefer and Ciri’s. Their Witcher had joined them soon enough, briefly explaining how the contract was for a monster in the nearby lake that had drowned two of the townspeople last week and cut off their primary water source.

“Is it safe?” Jaskier asked. He knew Geralt was the best of the Witchers, no one better for the job, but it still worried him when Geralt was out of his sight for too long, he had a predisposition for finding himself in trouble at all times.

“I don’t imagine it will take longer than half a day, I will leave early in the morning, and should be back by nightfall. Make sure to restock our supplies as needed, I am leaving the coin purse with you.”

“You don’t come back, I’m sending a search party.” Jaskier said, only half joking.

Geralt snorted. “As you wish bard.”

The day had come, and as promised Geralt was out before the rooster crowed, but he had not returned by sunset.

///

“You stay behind with Ciri, I will go out and find him.”

Jaskier’s “No!” and Ciri’s “I don’t want to stay behind!” were simultaneous and immediate.

Yennefer sighed.

“It is not safe for all three of us to go together.”

“How is it safe for you to go alone?”

Yennefer just raised an eyebrow.

Jaskier thought for a moment and conceded. “Okay, fine. Stupid question. But explain how it would be safe for us here without you?”

“What?”

“Let’s say someone comes to hurt Ciri. By your logic, do you trust me to take care of Ciri all by my lonesome?”

Yennefer glared as Jaskier put on his best butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth expression. Ciri was clinging to Jaskier’s shirt, peeking from behind him, face worried, but her eyes glinted with a familiar determination and stubbornness. She was a brave girl harboring unprecedented power, but she was still a child.

Yennefer regarded the two of them again before resigning herself to the inevitable.

“Fine. But you listen to me. And if I tell you to run, you run back here, got it?”

Both of them nodded their heads so hard she thought they might come off. Yennefer swallowed another sigh, straightening herself.

“Get ready then. I want to pack a couple of potions. You make sure anything valuable we leave in Roach’s bags.”

Ciri jumped off the bed and tugged Jaskier along, combing the two rooms as they got ready.

Within five minutes, the three of them were prepared and at the entrance of the inn. Yennefer looked the two of them over, both having switched their usual bright hues for duller colors that would blend easier into the dark night, an added layer of protection.

“Come on, let’s go.” she said when she was satisfied with them. And so, the group of three made their way into the forest, following the path Geralt had been talking about last night. When it got too dark for them, Yennefer conjured a small orb to provide light.

“Shit.” Jaskier said as Ciri caught him from tripping over a tree root for the third time since they started their journey. “Yen, stop. Do we even know where we are going?”

Yennefer growled. “I can track him.”

“I don’t doubt you can. I am asking if you are lost.”

Yennefer, rather than answering just turned and wandered farther into the darkness, making Ciri and Jaskier pick up their pace to keep up with her. Her ability to move so gracefully with such an impractical dress always impressed Jaskier. Not that the bard would share that fact.

They must have been wandering for almost an hour, Jaskier grumbling under his breath for the latter half of it, when they heard a strange noise near them. Yennefer swept in front of Jaskier, who in turn pulled Ciri tightly behind him. “Remember, on my command, run.”

Jaskier gave a tense grunt. Ciri tightened her fist on Jaskier’s cloak.

“Whoever is out there, I suggest you show yourself. Otherwise you will end up dead.” Yennefer called out.

The forest was quiet, save for the rustle of the breeze through the trees. The moon’s rays barely made it to the ground, stopped by the thick foliage above them. In the distance they heard a chorus of owl hoots start up.

And then.

A cracked twig, and Yennefer’s light orb turned into a flaming projectile. Yennefer brought her hand back to throw it when they heard a familiar voice call out. “Yen, it’s me!”

Jaskier couldn’t contain the sob that clawed it’s way out of his throat. “Geralt!”

Yennefer’s projectile turned into a bigger orb, illuminating a wider area. And at the edge of it, Jaskier saw Geralt’s unique silhouette.

Jaskier waited just long enough to push Ciri into Yennefer, not even slowing at Yennefer’s shout of his name, before he sprinted towards his Witcher, throwing his arms around him, squeezing him and nearly crying again as he smelled Roach and the unforgettable scent of recently slain monster guts on him.

Jaskier let himself be manhandled, but grew tense, something about Geralt’s behavior was odd.

Ciri’s gasp made him grow even more tensed.

Pulling back, he bit back his own gasp as Yennefer’s light illuminated the Witcher. Specifically his eyes, which had gone from that sunset gold to milky white, translucent and unseeing.

“Geralt?” Jaskier whispered, unable to keep the fear from his voice. But gods bless Yen, seeing that her companions were too stunned, she yanked at Jaskier until he stumbled away from Geralt, Ciri catching him and huddling close to his side. He wrapped his arms around her and brought her in without thought.

The sorceress had taken Jaskier’s place, placing a gentle hand against the Witcher’s cheek even as the other one gripped his bicep tightly to keep him in place.

“Just stand still, I need to know what kind of curse this is.”

Geralt growled, but he stood his ground.

A shimmering halo circled Geralt’s head before disappearing. Yennefer’s face was shuttered, concern evident if you knew to read her face, which Jaskier had grown to be an expert in.

She turned back to them, shifting her grip on Geralt to lightly encircle one of his wrists. “Come, let us get back to the inn, I need to check a couple more things and don’t want to stay in these woods longer than necessary.”

Jaskier nodded and let her lead the way, trying to stifle the panic growing inside him as Geralt stumbled.

His Witcher was the epitome of grace, he had seen the man navigate their campsite in the early hours of dawn, when sunlight had not yet reached them, moving with a surety in his steps. The man in front of him was unsure of each step, staying close to Yennefer while trying to appear as though he was not clinging to the sorceress.

Soon, but not soon enough for Jaskier, the little family made it’s way back to their rooms. It looked like nothing had been disturbed. In these little towns, one could never be sure of how slippery the fingers of the people were. They all shuffled into Geralt and Jaskier’s room, shifting until Geralt was sitting on the bed, holding himself stiff and proper. Yennefer disappeared downstairs before reappearing with a small bag which she started to root around in for something. Ciri finally separated herself from Jaskier and approached Geralt, hesitantly placing a hand on top of Geralt’s. The Witcher twitched minutely before relaxing at the familiarity of those delicate fingers. “I’ve ordered a bath to be delivered to my room, after we finish I want you to clean up Geralt.”

“Are you alright cub?” Geralt asked. He kept his eyes glued to the floor, where they had been since they had arrived at the inn.

Ciri swallowed, sneaking a look at Jaskier before nodding. “Yes Geralt.”

Jaskier coaxed her to sit by Geralt’s left side while he flanked him on the right. “What about you, dear heart, how are you doing?”

Geralt remained silent.

Jaskier leaned into Geralt, gently pressing into him until Geralt was bearing the entirety of his upper half. Ciri mirrored him on the other side. Some time passed before Yennefer made a small noise and rushed to them from where she had been sitting at the table in the room. She held a book in her hands, and her eyes were illuminated with victory. Jaskier thought she looked radiant.

“I found what has caused Geralt’s affliction. Geralt, I need you to tell me if this is correct alright?”

Geralt nodded.

“You went into the forest. You found the monster. It looked like a ghoul, but not like any you have fought before.”

Geralt nodded.

“When you delivered the killing blow, there was a flash of white light, and when it faded, you couldn’t see anything.”

Geralt nodded. Jaskier felt the slight tremor in the Witcher by virtue of holding his hand.

“What type of monster was it Yen?”

“It wasn’t a monster. Not exactly. It was just a medium, a way for a curse to be placed on someone.”

“Someone…cursed a person?” Ciri asked, confused.

Yen shook her head. “Not exactly Ciri. It is more likely the body belonged to someone who was already dead. The curse was placed on the dead person to affect whoever encountered them.”

“The blacksmith did not mention any of the townspeople going blind, though!”

“He told Geralt that people were going into those woods and were found in the next morning drowned right?” Yen stated.

“That sounds like drowners.” Ciri piped in.

“Normally that would be correct Ciri, but what if the reason they drowned was because the monster which lived near the lake blinded them and then let them drown in the lake? My guess, based on what clues we have, is this is a modified reanimiation spell.”

“Reanimation? I thought that was forbidden.”

“It is. What is dead should not be brought back. In this case the monster was a dead human, and they weren’t brought back to life so much as turned into a conduit.”

“So what exactly is the curse?” Jaskier finally asked.

“And the bad news?” came the response from Geralt simultaneously. Ever the pragmatist, Geralt knew Yen was hiding something.

Jaskier saw the smile on Yennefer’s face dim. “I’m not sure how to break it. Or how long it will last.”

“But it is possible to break it right? This isn’t permanent?” Jaskier asked, infusing a cheerfulness he didn’t feel to try and offer comfort. Ciri nodded her head and she burrowed closer into Geralt.

“It isn’t permanent! Geralt will be well really soon. ” Ciri declared, trying to comfort Geralt as she started rubbing his arm. Geralt caught her hand and pressed it to his chest.

“I’m sure it will cub.”

Jaskier and Yennefer heard the pain behind the words. Yennefer felt like tearing the world apart, but would settle for the sorceress who had cast this spell. Jaskier on the other hand felt like he was free-falling, this thoughts racing from one worst-case scenario to another.

So focused was he on his thoughts, he didn’t feel a large hand land on his neck until it squeezed him. “Little lark come back to the ground.”

Jaskier gasped at the sound of Geralt’s voice. When he turned, he saw those foreign glassy eyes staring straight at him. Making a weak watery smile, Jaskier cleared his throat. “I must be very obvious if you can see me lost in my own head even without you being able to see me.”

Geralt actually managed a sincere smirk. “I don’t need my sight to be able to see you.”

Jaskier scoffed. “Is losing one of your senses what was required to finally develop a sense of romance my White Wolf?”

“Ugh, I can’t believe it only took ten minutes for you too to become all romantic again. I am going to check if the bath is ready, wait a moment.”

Yennefer came back soon telling them the bath had been prepared so Jaskier led Geralt to the bath and washed him as he had a thousand times before. They both ignored the shaking hands and racing heartbeats they shared.

Once done, Jaskier escorted Geralt back to their room, while Yennefer and Ciri bid them goodnight. Yennefer exchanged an understanding nod with a grateful Jaskier.

Once the door closed, Geralt asked “They’re gone right?”

“Yes.”

It seemed as though those were the words Geralt had been waiting for because he collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut, collapsing inward. Jaskier’s hand on his chest was the only thing that kept Geralt from melting to the floor. The bard panicked for a second before hauling Geralt backwards, scooting back until he hit the backboard and he held on tight to his Witcher.

Geralt for his part shifted just enough to settle more comfortably against Jaskier and shook. He felt as though he was falling apart, with only these two hands around him holding him in one piece. He was not sure how long he stayed just so, collapsing one molecule at a time, all he knew was that when next he was able to string a coherent thought together, he felt the warmth of the sun on his skin.

Was it daytime already?

Then he registered fingers in his hair, a thumb rubbing at the spot he liked behind his ear.

He stirred, shifting his weight off of the bard, who had graciously borne him all night long.

“Morning dear heart.”

Geralt blinked his eyes open, sleep still having a grip on him. Of course this disappeared when Geralt opened to utter darkness. Panic seized his chest and he scrambled up, starting to rub and claw at his eyes before familiar calloused hands grabbed his wrists in an iron grip and brought them away from his eyes.

“-lt! Darling, please, I need you to listen to me!”

Jaskier’s voice was suffused with a concern that still made Geralt stagger. Witchers were creatures of convenience, tools that existed to fight off the darkness, they were not deserving of sunlight or soft touches. And yet, Geralt had found a small sun of his own, who sang for him, and washed and praised and loved him. He loved him, and Geralt was terrified.

“Jaskier?”

The bard let out a sob. “I’m right here, darling, right here.”

Geralt sunk back into the bard’s embrace, one hand caressing the doublet before slipping his hand underneath that and the shirt below that. He heard the intake of breath as his hand grazed silky smooth skin absent of the scarring that marred his own. He traced random patterns into the skin, his own version of tuning a body he knew every nook of even without his sight.

“Geralt.”

“What if she doesn’t find a cure Jaskier?”

Jaskier stiffened, but moved his arm from where it lay over Geralt’s back to the nape of his neck, starting a soft massage. “She will.”

Geralt tried to get up, but Jaskier squeezed the hand on his neck and Geralt relaxed again. “Don’t start doubting Yennefer now Geralt, it is really inconvenient.”

“Jaskier I am a liability.”

“What?” Jaskier asked, incredulously, “My dear Witcher, you are many things, stubborn, arrogant, obnoxious, too soft for your grizzly exterior, but the one thing you have never been nor will ever be is a liability.”

“Ciri is the priority! You can’t afford a liability.”

“I know that! But what exactly are you proposing? That we go traipsing across the Continent without you? Leave you to die in this hovel? Yennefer is strong, but it is still a while to Kaer Morhen and it is not a journey we are making without you.”

“I can’t see Jaskier!”

“I am perfectly aware Geralt!”

“Then why are you being so obtuse?”

“Why are you so self-loathing?”

Geralt’s entire body was a coiled spring of angry, and Jaskier had just said the magic words.

“I am a Witcher.”

“Yes. And you are also my Witcher. You are Geralt of Rivia, and you are the most incredible man I have ever met. So what if you can’t see? Yen will find a solution to it.”

“And if it doesn’t exist?”

“Like I said before, if it doesn’t, then we continue on our journey regardless, this time having had a chance to recover in a proper inn for longer than a single night. Together.” Jaskier emphasized the last word to make sure it got through Geralt’s thick skull. Of course he always forgot just how thick it was.

“You need a warrior, not a burden.”

“Fine, then Yen and Ciri can go on ahead, I will stay with you.”

“Jask-”

“You just said they need a protector. What kind of protector am I?”

Jaskier was standing up now, looking at Geralt as he hunched in on himself on the bed. The Witcher looked truly pathetic, so Jaskier took a deep breath to bring his emotions under control, running a hand through his own hair before exhaling. Gently, he dropped to his knees in front of Geralt, heart aching at the sight of Geralt’s flinch. Moving loudly to announce his movements, he shuffled forward and rested his palms on Geralt’s thigh, stretching the other one to turn the Witcher’s face towards him. He forced his heart beat to remain steady as those white eyes he was unaccustomed to met his gaze. Jaskier rose up on his knees and pressed a close-mouthed kiss to Geralt’s lips before gently headbutting him.

“Please darling. Yen will find a cure for you. Have a little faith. If not for her, then for me.”

Geralt placed his arms tentatively on Jaskier, without his sight he could feel the heat of his lover but not his features. Tracing his hands above the biceps he had gripped, he moved one hand to cradle Jaskier’s jaw to pull him into a proper kiss.

“Alright. For you.”

Jaskier smiled against his lips. “That is all I am asking for, dear heart.”

Geralt pulled Jaskier up into his lap, spending some time cuddling while they were alone before Ciri came into the room, hands loaded with food. Yennefer followed her in, settling the jug of mead she had in her hand down before dragging the nearby table and chair.

The small family had their breakfast in comfortable silence, Geralt allowing Jaskier to hand feed him. Ciri had settled back into Geralt’s side while Yennefer was seated on the chair opposite them.

“Did you find anything else Yen?”

“No. Not with the books I have on hand. But I have contacted Triss to ask for her help.”

“She was even more hurt than you. Will she be up for the task?” Jaskier said as he moved from Geralt’s lap to sit by his side instead. The Witcher kept one arm curled around his hip.

“Triss may look fragile, bard, but I assure you that you will be able to move a mountain before you get her to not give her all to a friend.” Saying so, Yennefer got up, brushing a few crumbs from her skirt. “Now, I am going to my room to continue researching. I’m sure you’ll find a way to keep yourselves busy!”

“So…what do we do today?” Ciri asked, looking at Jaskier.

“Ummm.” The bard had not thought that far ahead.

“You go get supplies.” Geralt jumped in.

“Oh ok, fine, well Ciri, you stay with Geralt, I will be back in a couple hours.” Jaskier said as he stood up, only to be yanked back to bed by Geralt.

“Take Ciri with you.”

“No.” Jaskier stated and “I want to stay with you!” Ciri cried out together.

Geralt sighed.

“There is no point in you staying with me here cub.”

“Then you can come shopping with us!” Ciri suggested.

Jaskier paused. “That isn’t a bad idea.”

Geralt shook his head though. “No. Can you imagine the panic a blind Witcher would cause? Especially the one who was sent into the forest to deal with a monster?”

Jaskier bit his lip. “Fine, but I still don’t want to leave you alone.”

Geralt clenched his jaw. “I do not need a caretaker.”

Ciri cut in because the bard could. “You still fought a monster last night Geralt, you need to rest. And what if the villagers come after you trying to see if you came back and find you anyways?”

Jaskier smirked. Clever girl.

“I will be fine.”

“I want you to tell me a story.”

Jaskier started to silently laugh. Oh how he loved his smart princess.

“Well then it is settled. I will be back in a while. Keep your cub entertained Wolf.” Saying so, Jaskier grabbed the coin purse and left the room before Geralt could finish “Wait Jask-”

Laughing at Ciri’s antics but trusting the girl to keep Geralt entertained, Jaskier exited the inn and made his way to the main stores in town. It took him about two hours to get through all his purchases, and he was ready to drop on his feet. He made his way back to the inn, ordering a late lunch because he knew none of his group had enough self awareness or considered themselves mortal enough to require something like food.

After making sure the food would be delivered, Jaskier made his way to their rooms, knocking lightly. When no one answered, he tried the door and grew a little wary when it opened. Taking a hesitant step inside, he found a sight that made him stagger against the door.

There on the bed, Geralt was asleep, Ciri curled on top of him, his arms a tight embrace around her. Both of their hairs were in braids, albeit Ciri’s was a lot messier than Geralt’s. Placing his shopping bags next to the door, he walked over to the pair. Sinking to his knees, he lightly brushed some of the locks on Ciri’s face behind her ear before pressing a kiss to her forehead. Then he pressed a kiss to Geralt’s eyelids, smiling brightly when his eyelids fluttered.

“Afternoon darling Witcher.”

“Jaskier.”

“Hello beloved. I see you found a way to spend the time. Tire her out with your stories did you?”

“’M not as a good a storyteller as you.”

“Oh I think you do a fine job when you try.”

“You got everything?”

“A bigger amount of the list than I expected this town to be able to supply us with. Now, what are the chances you lot had lunch?” Geralt’s silence was answer enough.

Geralt tried to shift, only to freeze when Ciri made a small noise in protest. Honestly, Jaskier felt as though his heart was going to burst with how much he loved these two. He placed a hand on Ciri’s shoulder and shook her gently.

“Ciri, dearest, wake up. It is time for lunch.” Ciri snuffled again before trying to burrow deeper into Geralt.

“Cub, you must be hungry.” Geralt said as he rubbed a hand down her spine.

Ciri whined some more but untangled herself enough to roll off of Geralt. She sat up and rubbed her eyes as her other mouth covered a yawn. The sight was adorable beyond words.

“Get her sorted Geralt, I will fetch our sorceress.” Jaskier instructed before leaving the room.

Soon enough, the small family was having their lunch in companionable silence. After lunch, Jaskier showed everything he had purchased. Ciri chatted about the stories Geralt had said, making the man twitch with either embarrassment or shyness. Yennefer gave an update that Triss may have found a lead for the cure, and would tell them if it panned out.

She disappeared back into her room after lunch, while Jaskier sat with Ciri and taught her about the region. Geralt gave his own input, talking about the local flora and fauna, about monsters that could be found nearby.

Yennefer reappeared during dinner time, eating quickly and whisking Ciri off to bed, leaving just the bard and Witcher alone.

“Want a bath Geralt?”

Geralt grunted.

“Right, I am ordering one. Hold on.” Jaskier said as he went to ask the tavern owner to bring up the water. When the owner asked why a music professor was ordering a bath for a Witcher, he shrugged. “Seemed the decent thing to do for the man who made sure my family and I would not be killed on our journey by a stray monster.

The water was tepid, but an Igni from Geralt guided by Jaskier set the water to a more soothing warmth. Jaskier made quick work of Geralt’s clothing, stripping him of everything and helped him into the bathtub. He went to take his place behind Geralt so he could wash his hair when Geralt’s arm shot out, and if Jaskier squinted, it almost looked as though Geralt was blushing.

“Geralt?”

“Join me?” Geralt asked hesitantly.

Jaskier paused. It was not an uncommon request. Albeit one that they only indulged in rarely.

“Alright”, Jaskier said.

Jaskier took off his clothes and joined him in the tub. Geralt tugged him until he was sitting with his back to Geralt front. Jaskier leaned his head back onto Geralt’s shoulder.

“Want to tell me what you are thinking?”

“You are a protector.”

Jaskier hummed.

“How so?”

“You may not know how to do magic or fight with a sword but you are clever. You are the bravest man I know, not despite being a human, but because of it. You are fearless and always willing to stand up for me.”

Jaskier tried to turn but Geralt had an arm around his chest that he tightened.

“I am…scared.”

It took all of Jaskier’s formidable breath control to keep his breathing even. Geralt had shown him degrees of vulnerability before. Geralt was a man used to being betrayed, being disposed of, being abandoned. The world had hurt him, time and again, so he had built walls of stone five feet thick around his heart, a line of defense against those trying to hurt him. But Geralt had a soft heart, a kind heart that wanted to help, even those who saw him as a beast. It had frustrated Jaskier at first, the taciturn nature and the recluse nature the man had. And then he had travelled with him, seen first hand the prejudice of the townsfolk who were willing to send him to his potential death to see their monster killed. People who would not waste a thought if he died.

Jaskier considered every moment of trust Geralt showed him to be a gift to be treasured. It was an act of courage to ask a human to help him, to care for him, to love him. But it had never been a burden to Jaskier. Loving Geralt was as easy as breathing, and as in his control as his own heartbeat.

Jaskier was also so proud of Geralt. How much he had grown, and how much he had learned the value in asking for help when he needed it, learned that he didn’t need nor could he carry the world on his shoulders alone.

“Tell me.”

“All I know is violence Jaskier. I know how to kill monsters, that’s what I was made for, that’s what I am. If I am blind, I cannot do that, and if I can’t do that, what use am I?”

Jaskier did not know what broke his heart more, the Witcher’s resignation to a fate that may not yet come to pass, or his certainty that his worth was dependent on his ability to kill.

“Dear heart, may I turn, please?”

Even if Geralt could not see him, Jaskier wanted to see his beloved’s face.

Geralt loosen his hold enough for Jaskier to turn in his arms, settling of Geralt’s thighs, his own bent on either side of Geralt’s hips, straddling him.

Jaskier pulled Geralt in for a deep kiss, one without a purpose beyond just conveying his affection for this idiotic man who he loved so much his heart felt full to bursting.

Both were softly panting when they finally broke for air. Jaskier cradled Geralt’s face in one hand as the other traced his face, the strong line of his nose, the bruised lips, the defined cheeks. He followed his fingers with his mouth, kissing him until Geralt had practically melted against the tub.

“Geralt. I don’t care whether Yennefer finds a cure or not. Or rather, I don’t care if you end up being blind permanently. You are worth so much more than just your ability to kill. You called me a brave man because I was a human, and I am saying you are a good man because you are a Witcher. Humanity is cruel to you, ostracizes and blames you for their miseries, and you? You go on helping them anyways. You don’t accept coin from those who can’t afford to part with it, nor do you fight for the coin that is due to you rightfully when you are underpaid. I have travelled the Continent with and without you by my side, and will testify in any court or town that I have yet to meet another as good as you.”

A single tear made it’s way from Geralt’s eye which Jaskier wiped away. His eyes were closed. They had been for the whole of Jaskier’s declaration.

“Open your eyes?” Jaskier asked. Geralt shook his head. “Please, my love?”

Jaskier saw Geralt’s knuckles turn white where they were holding the edge of the tub. Slowly, Geralt’s eyes fluttered open. Jaskier tilted his face up. This time, when he was met with milky white instead of his familiar golden-cat eyes, he sighed. “You are beautiful even as this. Come what may, I promise, I will stay.”

Those seemed to be the words Geralt needed to hear, because suddenly, the Witcher started to cry in earnest, silent tears tracing tracks through his face as his whole body shook. Jaskier just held him until he calmed down, held him long after the water grew cold, long after the clock in the town chimed midnight.

A routine developed after that. In the mornings, the four would have breakfast together, and then Ciri would stay with Geralt while Jaskier scoured for information regarding Nilfgaard as well as anything else they could use. Yennefer still spent the majority of her day in her room, only coming out to join them for food. In the evenings, Jaskier performed under the name of Dandelion, the name he had used during his early bardic days in Oxenfurt. He was just another troubador, taking requests and playing well known songs that had nothing to do with the White Wolf or the witch with purple eyes. Geralt convinced Ciri to join Jaskier in the tavern on those days stating, he could still hear the music whereas the girl couldn’t. So for a couple hours every evening bard and child entertained the crowd, slowly refilling their nearly empty purses. And then after dinner, when Yennefer took Ciri back with her, Jaskier and Geralt shared a bath, just basking in each other’s presence, believing in a love they had long assumed would never be granted to them.

It was almost a week before Yennefer burst into the nearby tavern when Jaskier was performing, indicating he cut his performance short and accompany her. Once they were all in Geralt and Jaskier’s room, she told that she had managed to find the cure for Geralt’s blindness.

The small blaze of hope Jaskier had been carrying since this whole ordeal began started to grow larger.

“Are you sure Yennefer?” Geralt asked, ever the skeptic, sounded so unsure.

“Yes Geralt. Triss and I have confirmed it multiple times. She will be here tomorrow-”

“Wait, what do you mean she will be here?”

Yennefer stared at them blankly. “The spell, it requires a complicated potion I cannot make with what I have at hand. So Triss will concoct it and bring it here.”

“We cannot do the spell inside the inn, we will need to go into the forest.” Geralt said.

Yennefer nodded. “Agreed.”

Jaskier was nervous, but also hopeful now.

“Come along Ciri, I might need help. Jaskier, make sure Geralt doesn’t hurt himself?” Yennefer told as she left the room, the tease serving to ease the bard.

“I’ll try my best Witch. Not as if I haven’t been doing it for 22 years!”

Once the door closed, Jaskier heard a thump and saw that it was Geralt who had slumped back heavily against the headboard of the bed.

“Geralt?”

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“No. Enough, you have been doubting this all week, I refuse to let you spiral into even more worst case scenarios.”

“But-”

“No more buts Geralt. It will all work out!” Jaskier exclaimed as he sat beside the Witcher, throwing one arm around his waist. “I believe it will.”

And Geralt was weak against the sincerity in his voice. He believed him. “Alright.”

Triss arrived after lunch time the following day, sparing a greeting to the other three before disappearing with Yen, who dragged her out to the forest where she was planning on doing the spell.

Geralt was nervous. A week spent locked in a room, unable to do much by himself had left him thrumming with energy that had no place to go. Ciri requested Jaskier to play some fast jigs, and taught an awkward Geralt how to do a few courtly dances, guiding his limbs by standing behind him. Seeing the normally graceful Witcher stumble and trip hurt Jaskier’s heart, but it was worth it for the lines of tension the disappeared off his shoulders. Jaskier left his lute behind to dance with his Witcher for a couple numbers, providing them a beat with just his songs. And when Geralt pleaded pity, Ciri and Jaskier danced all over the room, their happiness permeating the room and settling Geralt’s nerves further.

Around dusk, Yennefer came to collect them. They dressed Geralt in his armor and cloak, and had Ciri lead him out of the inn while Jaskier provided enough of a distraction that no one would notice the two figures slipping out the back door. Jaskier met them at the rendezvous point, a clearing a few minutes away from the village.

By the time Jaskier reached the place, Ciri was seated on a big rock at the edge of the clearing, and the sorceresses had drawn a large alchemic circle on the ground, and had Geralt in the center of it.

“Can I step inside?” Jaskier asked.

Triss nodded. “It is not active, so it is safe. Be quick though.”

Jaskier slipped to Geralt, embracing him before pressing a kiss to his lips. “I believe in them Geralt. And more importantly, I believe in you. It will be alright.”

Geralt squeezed him once before releasing him.

Jaskier went to stand by Ciri, who slipped down from the rock and burrowed into his side. He put one arm around her, using the other to pet her. “Don’t worry princess, Yen and Triss will make sure Geralt gets better.”

Ciri just hugged him tighter.

Yen stepped into the circle, giving Geralt something, a potion most likely, whispering something to him that Geralt nodded at. She met Triss’s gaze, tilting her head to the side. Triss moved to stand at the edge Yen indicated while the purple-eyed sorceress took her place on her opposite side.

“Geralt, drink the potion now.” Triss called out.

Geralt gulped the potion in one go, before the vial slipped from his grasp and he was collapsing on the ground groaning in pain.

“Geralt!” Jaskier called out in panic, only for Yen to freeze him.

“It will be alright Jaskier, trust us!” Triss said. She and Yen then started to chant a spell, the circle starting to glow a white glow that kept getting stronger. The light seemed to rise from the ground to form a wall all along the lines of the circle, and soon Geralt was hidden from sight. Jaskier turned his back to the now blinding light, covering Ciri with his body.

The air around the clearing seemed to be getting thinner, as Jaskier was having a harder time drawing enough breath, feeling simultaneously like he was being crushed. In his arms, Ciri started to cry in pain. And then, suddenly the pressure disappeared, making Jaskier collapse to the ground as he gulped in large breaths to compensate. He was still panting when he turned around to see the circle had turned to a faded black color, the light having disappeared. The two sorceresses were also on the ground, exhausted from the spell.

In the center, Geralt was on his knees, hands on the ground in front of him. Stumbling, Jaskier extracted himself from Ciri and made for Geralt, collapsing again when he reached his Witcher.

“Geralt?”

Geralt was also breathing heavily, and there were beads of sweat lining his brow. When Jaskier went to touch him, a hand shot out to catch him, making him inhale sharply at the tight grip. The pain faded to the background when he met Geralt’s gaze though. His knowing gaze through Jaskier’s favorite golden cat eyes.

Choking on a happy sob, Jaskier threw himself at Geralt, knowing the Witcher would catch him.

“I told you it would work, I told you, I told you!” he babbled into Geralt’s ear.

Geralt huffed a laugh. “So you did bard, so you did. Thank you.”

Jaskier pulled back, wiping away his tears as a brilliant grin took its place. “I love you. So much.”

Geralt grabbed one of Jaskier’s hands and pressed a kiss to the center of his palm. “I love you too Jaskier.”

And then, the others were there. Ciri joyfully plastering herself against Geralt’s back, shouting in happiness. The sorceresses were a little more dignified but their relief was also palpable.

By the time they made it back to the inn, night had properly fallen. Jaskier ordered for a large dinner to be sent up, as well as their best ale. Tonight was a night of celebration.

When Jaskier entered their room, he was stuck breathless again. Geralt caught his gaze when he entered the room, and the sheer joy and love he saw in those golden eyes made him feel like he was flying. He was struck, stuck, he couldn’t move. Geralt rose from where Ciri had been playing with his hair and came to him, stopping when there was barely an inch between them.

“Hello.”

Jaskier blushed. Geralt was brusque and roughness, practicality and reason. He was not the romantic sort, and Jaskier never denied him that. But when the mood did strike, Melitele help him, Jaskier often wondered how he survived the night alive.

“Hi.”

Geralt’s smile only grew as he heard the bashfulness in his bard’s voice. He moved forward, closing the remaining inch so they were chest to chest, and Geralt slipped an arm around Jaskier’s waist, pulling him closer still. Jaskier yelped, fingers grabbing Geralt’s shirt and fisting them.

Brilliant molten gold met clear sky blue, the gaze stretching a second into an eternity, before Geralt kissed him. A kiss so full of passion and love that Jaskier felt his knees give, Geralt’s arm the only thing keeping him standing.

Distantly he heard a catcall and a whistle, before something hit his head.

“Ow.” Jaskier said as he broke the kiss, rubbing the spot on his forehead as he caught his breath. He couldn’t even imagine what he looked like right now.

“There are children present you perverts.” Yennefer stated, deadpan. Ciri had a high blush in her cheeks but she was also radiating joy.

Before Jaskier could come up with a retort, Geralt spoke “Then you better take yourselves to your room. We will see you in the morning.”

“But Geralt, we promised to celebrate…” Jaskier started only to stop at the heated gaze Geralt sent his way. He gulped. He knew that look. His pants started to feel a little tighter. Was the room always this hot?

“Spoilsport.” Yennefer complained as the three ladies stood up. And just to annoy them, she intercepted the food and drink and directed it to be sent to her room instead. “Those two have a different kind of celebration in mind.”

Jaskier blushed harder, but thoughts of what all Yennefer could be teaching Ciri about sex fled his mind as his Witcher pressed himself to his back, a solid line of heat that was starting to make him feel faint.

Right then.

Celebration.

///

The next morning, Jaskier woke up with a groan. The bed was empty, but the spot next to him was warm. Geralt must have just risen. Jaskier sat up slowly, stretching himself out, groaning as muscles twitched and cracked.

He fell back onto the sheets, exhausted but satisfied. Last night had been…something else.

Just then the door opened to admit his Witcher.

“And where were you so early in the morning.”

Geralt quirked an eyebrow as he smiled, “Just woken up, and already asking questions bard?”

“Always” Jaskier answer, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“I was out. Training with Ciri.”

“That’s good.”

“Hmm.” Geralt said as he sat down next to Jaskier. The bard shivered and leaned into the Witcher’s touch when he carded his fingers through chestnut brown locks. “You need to pack up. We are leaving after breakfast.”

Jaskier whined. “You get better and we can’t even take a full day to enjoy? You drive a cruel bargain Witcher.”

“I recall you enjoying a whole lot last night.”

Jaskier blushed “That’s different.”

“I’m sure it is. Now up, get dressed. The others are waiting for you downstairs.”

Jaskier pouted. “A kiss first?”

Geralt shook his head fondly and leaned down, only to brace himself when Jaskier pulled him down fully. The kiss was just starting to turn more heated, Geralt gripping the edge of the blanket still preserving Jaskier’s modesty when a knock at the door startled them away from each other.

“Oi, we have to leave with some daylight still left, you can have your fun at the next stop!” Yennefer called through the door.

“We-” Geralt started, clearing his throat “We will be down in a few minutes Yen!”

Jaskier whined as he flopped back on the bed, the arousal completely doused. “I hate her.”

“No you don’t. But if we aren’t down in a few minutes, Yen will send up Ciri. Get up.”

Jaskier nodded and rolled over, starting to put on clothes as Geralt helped to pack the last of their things.

Together they went downstairs to meet their family for breakfast.

And as Jaskier curled into Geralt’s side in the booth, he relaxed into the sounds of their group’s laughter, a rare total contentment melting him on the inside as almost all the people he cared about in the world shared a meal, safe for the moment.

#the witcher #my fic #my writing #the witcher fic #geraskier fic #geralt whump week #geralt whump week day 3 #geralt whump week 2020 #geralt of rivia #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #cirilla fiona elen riannon #geraskier #jaskier & cirilla #geralt & cirilla #I know it supposed to be whump #but there is also a lot of softness I promise #let me know what you think!

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janiedean · 4 years

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geralt/jaskier whump meme ficlet

sooo @haljathefangirlcat wanted geralt/jaskier + 33. I am supposed to be YOUR bodyguard, stop jumping in front of bullets for me AU, but that ask also had another prompt for another pairing and this came out long so I figured I’d just post it here separately, the other one is coming asap ;) have... some 2k of modern au I guess *drops and runs*

This job is so not what Geralt had assumed it would be when he took it.

Not that he complains, even if right now he kind of is for an obvious reason, but still, it’s only thrown him not for one loop but for a hundred by now, and this one is only the last, and it’s not that they’ve been bad loops, but fucking hell, this time —

“Jaskier,” he says, voice low, slowly stitching the wound on his supposed charge’s shoulder, “I don’t know if you missed the memo or not, but I am supposed to be the damned bodyguard. What is going to take to make you stop thinking that jumping in front of bullets for me is how this is supposed to go?”

He’s not surprised when for once, Jaskier doesn’t have a witty reply but just smiles sheepishly and tries not to shrug, since the bullet had actually grazed his shoulder so he really shouldn’t move right now.

“Eh,” he finally says after Geralt has stitched half of the wound, “I told you on the first day that I really don’t do well with following instructions now, didn’t I?”

He did, Geralt has to concede.

For that matter, his fucking father told Geralt before Jaskier could, and —

Well.

Geralt, having had a really bad dry spell when it came to finding work after that botched job in Blaviken where of course he ended up being framed for having tried to actually not see anyone dead under his watch, was not in the position to refuse a job from Viscount Lettenhove, who had just raised to fame for having made his way to ministry of war after Redania’s last elections… and needed a cheap bodyguard for his son who was apparently not worth a pricey one but still needed one because you couldn’t leave any family member without supervision until he was in office. So he had taken the job, figuring that he couldn’t refuse it when he barely paid the bills these days, and resigned himself to whatever it might bring — after meeting the father, he had figured that the son couldn’t be much worse but had also really, really hoped he wasn’t cut from the same cloth.

Turns out that said son, who’s named Julian but told him please call me Jaskier, only my parents use the real one and at least I picked my own damned stage name was not at all like his father, wasn’t interested in politics and only wanted to become a professional musician after graduating at Oxenfurt and couldn’t give less of a damn about why his father disapproved.

He also hadn’t looked at him wrong for a second, actually convinced him to spill the truth about Blaviken two weeks after they met, swore him that he would write a song about it at some point even if Geralt told him that there was no fucking need for that, proceeded to actually talk to him like they had been lifelong best friends two days after they met and — listen, maybe it was unprofessional and all, but Geralt did like that, not so deep down. After all, when your only two friends are your foster home roommates with whom you run the bodyguard agency (who also are the only reason he could pay his bills after Blaviken) and who are also off on jobs more time than not and your only other more or less steady relationship is your lawyer ex-girlfriend with whom you end up having a thirst once every three months before remembering exactly why you’re better off as friends… it’s nice to run into someone who’ll just talk to you like you’re a human being and not either a piece of meat paid to make sure you don’t die or some kind of barely-escaped-from-jail-almost-murderer just because you got framed by a piece of shit who wanted his own niece dead because she could have ended his political career.

Also, people don’t… usually like him at first glance, or meeting, or whatever, and Geralt knows he’s a hard person to like and that he doesn’t make the job easier, not when he’s shit at talking shop to people or at pretending he’s good at socialization (which his fucking social worker kept on harassing about for years, not that it ever worked), and instead Jaskier patently doesn’t seem to give a damn and talks for two people if he doesn’t, and listen, it’s been nice to spend all his time around someone who actually treats him like a human being. Yennefer would tell him his bar is extremely low, and she’d probably be right.

Anyway, it’s been six months and — it has been a good job. Until now, no one actually seemed to care much for Jaskier either way except a few paparazzi, and Jaskier kept on saying it was because everyone in Lettenhove knew that he and his father were not on good terms, and the most tedious thing he’s had to do has been tuning out Jaskier’s father whenever he asked for reports and kept on blathering about how much his son could spend his time more fruitfully than partaking in silly music contests (every single time Geralt just wants to tell him he’s happier doing music contests than he’d be studying politics, just let him be, but of course he never does). Other than that, he’s learned more about music theory than he ever imagined he would, he has threatened the few paparazzi that were a nuisance, at most he’s kept his eyes more open than usual if Jaskier ended up getting spectacularly drunk once in a while and he doesn’t even bother asking for free days because the commute between Oxenfurt and Kaer Morhen is too long to consider partaking. Of course Jaskier’s father doesn’t pay him for the hours he spends with Jaskier that are technically not in his contract, but — he hasn’t minded that.

And then it happened that someone actually realized that the Viscount has a son that differently from his daughters does not live with his family and is therefore an easy target, and they did manage a rather decent attempt at what Geralt supposes was kidnapping him, but he had that under control and he was handling it —

Until one of the criminals in questions shot him and Jaskier had the genius idea of throwing himself in between him and the damned bullet and thankfully it only was this superficial wound, and fuck but Geralt had almost fucking gotten a heart attack for a moment before getting his shit under control and disarming them and calling the police.

And Geralt is pretty damn sure that his heartbeat still hasn’t gotten under control even if it’s been an hour and Jaskier refused to tell the medics that he was wounded because now that wouldn’t have looked good on Geralt’s CV, and —

Fucking hell.

“You did,” Geralt sighs, “you did, but you do realize that taking bullets for people is my job?”

“Yeah, well,” Jaskier says after he barely manages to not shrug again, “I didn’t really think about it. You looked in danger, I just — I had to, all right?”

Geralt finishes stitching his shoulder and cuts off the thread.

“You also do know that if your father finds out that you got hurt on my watch I’m fired, right?”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. Very openly. “You do know that I would tell him that you made sure I wasn’t hurt worse and that my father only hired you to save face and not because he gives a fuck about me? He hasn’t called once since this whole thing went down, and it’s been hours.”

That’s… true, Geralt has to concede.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I — I wish I had advice. For that.” Real smooth, he tells himself, but then again he never met his father and his mother just left one day when he was seven and never came back and he doesn’t even know where she is right now, if she’s still alive, not that he even wants to know, so it’s not as if he’s some kind of authority on this matter. On one side, it would be easy to tell Jaskier that at least he has parents, but on the other… he doesn’t know how much better it is to have family who cares about you so much that when paying for your security they get the cheap option.

“It’s all right,” Jaskier smiles, not much but sincere, “I’ve lived with them all my life. I know how they are. And honestly, I’m quite glad that my father thought he’d get me the cheap personal security.” He winks, and Geralt wishes his chest wasn’t feeling like his heart was about to burst out of it just at the damned sight because there is no way he has feeling for the person he’s supposed to fucking guard and who is jumping in front of bullets for him when it’s really not how things work —

“You — you are?” He says, and fuck he hates how stilted that sounded and he wishes he wasn’t like this for the umpteenth time in his life, but —

“Sure,” Jaskier says, still a bit too pale but otherwise looking fine for someone who just, well, went through a shoot-out, blue eyes staring right up into his own, “as much as I can’t follow instructions, I wouldn’t jump in front of bullets for just anyone.” He winks again, fuck, what — “And I think that maybe I haven’t been as forthcoming as I could have been.”

“You haven’t been what,” Geralt replies, and then one of Jaskier’s hands is on his face and he’s leaned forward and his lips have pressed a lone, soft kiss against Geralt’s and he’s moved back before Geralt can even think about kissing him back, and when he moves back he’s half-smiling and half looking like he’s not so sure he should have done that.

“Forthcoming,” Jaskier replies, “though I thought an entire EP of songs written about you would have been enough, but I suppose they weren’t as obvious as I had figured —”

“Wait, the EP was about me?” He blurts. He had no fucking clue —

“Yeah, I realized that maybe you hadn’t grasped that. Then again I guess you’re not much for subtle hints, are you?”

“… Guess not,” Geralt says, and he knows his damned face is most likely flushing and fuck, he can’t even remember the last time he did that. “You know that if — if I kissed you back, it would be the most unprofessional thing I could do in this situation now, right?”

Jaskier shrugs, still not breaking eye contact. “And you do know that I can’t give a damn for sticking to the rules and that it won’t be me informing my father of this one development?”

… Geralt knows that. It’s obvious, by now. And fuck, he wants to —

He wants to —

“Just don’t take bullets for me anymore, how about it?” He asks, inching closer, his own hand grasping the back of Jaskier’s neck —

“Sorry,” Jaskier smiles back, “can’t guarantee that, but I’ll try just because you asked so nicely.”

So maybe it’s not professional that he leans further down and returns that kiss and moans into Jaskier’s mouth the moment he kisses back, his arms moving around Geralt’s neck at once and dragging him closer.

He thinks that for now he really can’t give a single damn about it.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #my fic #whump meme #otp: it's onion #idek what this is but it happened #it'll go on ao3 at some point but meanwhile have fun

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