#and this time jaskier doesn't have hope when he wakes up back in that fucking tower bc geralt didn't want to come for him this entire time

[hopefultingle]

Geralt’s Other Half (pt. 2)

A woman who goes by the name of Hope, one day gets taken into a world she has thought was only on television. The longer she stays, the more she realizes that maybe this place wasn’t unfamiliar to her after all. In which two complete opposite’s are connected through Destiny without even knowing.

In this story it doesn’t go by the show or games at all, I kind of made a twist on it. I’m not 100% knowledgeable on the witcher because I’ve only ever watched the show, so I’m sorry if it’s a little rough. Also, you can change her name and read it as an x reader if that is better for you

Angst, slow burn, asshole geralt, soft Geralt, protective Geralt, jealous Geralt, jealous reader/OC, 18+, violence of course, happy ending

Previous

Hope had never been too keen on having peoples watchful and judgmental eyes boring into her. All her life she has stuck to the shadows, she preferred to be the one observing and watching, not the other way around. So, the moment a group of mens eyes found her nervous figure, her palms began to sweat and her heart rate to pick up its pace. She can almost feel her heart jumping in her throat as the stares continued on, and not once letting up.

This caught the witchers attention and has him tilting his head to the side to get a better look at her. Too focused on the odd looks coming her way, she doesn't notice when Geralt follows her line of sight. A grumble vibrates through his chest at the disgusting looks on the mens faces. He may not be a mind reader, but he sure as fuck is a man and knows exactly what disgusting thoughts are running through their minds while looking at her. His eyes go into slits as his nostrils flare, the protectiveness consuming him whole.

He wouldn't mind ending a few pigs lives at the moment, the annoyance from before hadn't fully left him which fuelled him even more. He feels her petite body slightly caress into the side of his arm as she try's to shrink away from their stares. That's when one of the men finally takes notice of him and quickly swats his buddy's arm to get his attention. The rest of them look over in fear at the rage on the witchers face and take that as their cue to go back to what they were doing before.

Hopes eyes linger on Geralts hardened face and can't help it when her heart skips a beat. She couldn't understand why he all of a sudden got so angry, but she was also thankful for it because those grimy mens eyes were finally off of her and could breathe once again. Her eyes gloss over while she's off in her own head and so, she doesn't notice when his eyes look back down at her. A rough clear of the throat awakes her causing a blush to adorn her soft cheeks.

"Sorry." She mumbles while awkwardly stepping away from him.

He stares at her for a long second, making her feel even more nervous and hot, before he finally curtly nods at her.

Meanwhile, a few feet away, Jaskier is arguing with a poor dwarf over needing more than one room for the now trio.

"I am sorry, but we only have one room tonight. Take it or leave it boy," the dwarf says frustratedly.

Jaskier groans while tilting his head back, "Geralt is going to feed me to a ghoul if I can't get him his own room! What are you not understanding dwarf?!"

The dwarf just continues to stare at the bard in annoyance while Jaskier stares back at him with pleading and angry eyes. The staring contest lasts for a long minute before it's cut off by the sound of Geralt’s heavy footsteps coming up to stand behind him.

Jaskier huffs while rolling his eyes for the millionth time in the past five minutes. He then jabs his arm out with an open palm in between the two and demands, "fine! Give me the bloody key, you despicable little man."

The dwarf glares at him one more time before waddling off to grab the key, and leaving a few curse words in his wake.

Hope makes her way past Geralt, arm slightly brushing against his once again, to lean up against the table beside Jaskier, thankful to have the last few odd unwelcoming stares blocked by the two of them. She stands out like a fire hydrant with her clothing she is still wearing from the 21st century.

"Why you so annoyed, froggy?" She teases half heartedly, but also in slight worry for her new friend. He gives her a soft glare, "again with calling me a frog?"

She just smiles innocently at him as he snatches the key from the dwarf who had finally brought it to him.

"Good luck is most definitely not on our side, dear. We have to share a room with the brooding witcher," Jaskier jabs his finger towards Geralt while slightly leaning towards her small form in a defensive kind of way before speaking to him, "and before you make a scene. Yes I tried to get another room, but the rude dwarf wouldn't listen!"

Hope bites her lip at the thought of sharing a room with the very, very, attractive man. At least Jaskier will be there which will most definitely help calm her nerves just a bit. She catches the sound of a heavy sigh before seeing Geralt snatch the key from Jaskiers hand. A yelp leaves the slightly smaller mans mouth before he chuckles nervously while brushing non existent dirt off his jacket. Hope can't help, but to let out a small snort to which Jaskier glares back at her for.

"Let's go." Geralt sharply commands, and then he's off toward the staircase leading to the floor with the rooms. Hope lightly laughs while rubbing her companions back, "you're such a timid little frog, Jaskier."

He sticks his tongue out at her.

"Ha ha ha very funny. You heard the man, now get going you little wretched thing."

Geralt swings the door open for the three of them to a decent sized room with a single bed and thankfully a couch. Once they're all fully in with the door shut and locked, does Hope decide to speak up while making her way over to stand in front of the warm fire.

"I'll take the floor and you guys can take the bed and couch," she rubs her cold fingers together near the open fire and lets out a content sigh.

"No." Geralt grunts out.

Hope whips her head to look at him in surprise. "Huh? what do you mean no?"

He marches over to the bed before grabbing a pillow and then also yanking off one of the thin linen sheets. "I mean, no. I'll take the floor and you take the bed. Jaskier gets the couch. "

Hope goes to protest, but is cut off with a raise of a brow from him. So instead she lets out a sigh before making her way over to him near the bed.

"Oh thank the gods. I didn't know if my back would be able to handle one more night on the dreadful hard ground!" Jaskier exclaims happily while jumping onto the couch and sighing in ecstasy with a smile adorning his face. He quickly pulls his lute up to his chest and begins to lightly strum a few soft cords while humming out the lyrics.

Hope stands in front of Geralt with nervousness running through her veins. Should I say it? She asks herself.

"What is it, girl?" Geralt asks more softly than he intends to which surprises him.

After a huge inhale, the words tumble out of her mouth quicker than she anticipated, "youcansleeponthebedwithme?"

A few seconds of silence go by before deciding to peak up at him to see a small smirk on his lovely handsome face while his left eyebrow is raised in amusement.

"If you don't mind, I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable."

Her head quickly bounces back and forth in protest, "no, no, you wouldn't. Don't worry, I don't mind and plus there's more than enough room..."

His veins are set on fire at the sight of her cute little blush, he can't help the small smile that slips onto his face at the sight. He quickly clears his throat before stepping around her to throw the pillow and blanket at Jaskiers face. A shout leaves the mans mouth, "Hey! You could've made me drop my lute, you animal."

"If only, then we wouldn't have to listen to your god awful songs." Geralt reals back.

Jaskier shoots up in his seat and points his finger at him. "You are very mean, Geralt!"

Hope lets out an airy laugh while laying down onto the bed and sliding herself under the soft sheet. She rests her head on her palm as she continues watching the two bicker like a married couple, "you guys are too much. Geralt, leave the poor man alone."

He just does his signature hum before finally making his way over to the other side of the bed while Jaskier pouts in his makeshift bed.

At that moment a thought runs through her head causing a smile to make its way onto her face, "hey Jaskier?"

His eyes slide over to meet her light ones.

"Yes little maidan?"

An annoyed groan leaves Geralts chest as his massive build slides under the covers. He doesn't know if it's from the sound of Jaskier calling her 'little maidan' or the fact that he has to sleep in clothing, it's most likely a bit of both. Normally he'd sleep half naked, but he didn't want to scare her away after he had finally just found her.

"Would you mind playing Toss a Coin To Your Witcher?"

"Fucking hell." Geralt whispers out beside her.

Hope holds back the giggle wanting to ripple through her chest, of course she remembers how much Geralt hates that song, but she absolutely adores it. It would also help her sleep, so asking him to play it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

"Why of course I can!"

She hears the strumming of the first few cords and smiles in content when the words begin to flow out from his lips. Her eyes find their way to Geralts one last time before mumbling out a goodnight and then turning her back towards him to try and sleep. About half way through the song, she starts to feel her eyes beginning to droop and before she knows it she's finally out like a light.

Geralt is able to miraculously block out the obnoxious song and focuses in on her slow heart beats. The sound brings him comfort and he doesn't even realize it because before he knows it, he's fallen asleep facing her small defined back. A dreamless sleep welcoming him for the first time since... ever.

Jaskiers fingers begin to falter on the strings of his lute, sleep wanting to consume him ever so badly. He tries to fight it in order to finish the song, but before he knows it his eyes begin to close and his mouth stops moving while hanging slack. A little drool beginning to leak down from the corner of his mouth.

Then his snoring is the only sound to be heard throughout the room for the rest of the peaceful night.

——————————

Hopes eyes groggily open to be temporarily blinded by the morning sun shining in through the windows and right in her face. Her hand quickly flys up to her eyes to block it out and rub the gross feeling of sleep from out of them. As she slowly fully awakens then does she notice how it's still quiet throughout the room aside from the light snoring coming from farther off from where she resides. Her hand then flips down from her eyes just for them to lay upon a sleeping Geralt. A small smile graces her lips at the sight of his softened features, and she can't help, but think about how lovely and at peace he looks. Definitely different from his normal scowl he seems to always hold throughout the day. She continues to stare at him selfishly for a few minutes longer, before noticing the corner of his lips turn up in a slight curve.

"You done?"

The sound of his deep gravely voice makes her eyes bulge out her sockets while her heart tries to escape from her rib cage.

"Oh my god!" She shouts in a whisper.

His golden eyes finally open to meet hers in slight amusement, but when he sees the flustered look on her face he can't help the feeling that is sent straight to his groin. Oh how much he'd love to see her looking all flustered like that while having her small little body pinned beneath his.

"Fuck." He whispers out before turning around to throw his legs over the side of the bed. The images of her and him doing things that he shouldn't be thinking of right now, invade his mind. He then hears the rustling of bedsheets behind him, alerting him that she's now sat up in bed.

"Wait Geralt I uh-"

He lightly grunts.

"Calm down, sweetheart. I was messing with you."

He hears a breath of air leave her lips in relief.

"I'll be back, wake up the moron on the couch. We leave in 10."

Hope watches as he stands up to make his way over to the door that leads out into the hall. A thought crosses her mind as she watches his form get farther away, which makes her body shoot up off the bed to barrel her bare feet across the room and over to him.

"Geralt, wait, wait, wait!"

He hums when she softly latches her hand onto his large bicep. She gulps nervously while looking up into the one eye looking down at her over his shoulder.

God why is everything he does so attractive, she thinks to herself before coming out with what she wanted to say. "As in we, you mean me included, right?"

He looks back to the door while yanking it open which causes her hand to slide off him dejectedly, thinking that must mean a no. Where the hell would she go to then? How would she get food? She doesn't know jack shit when it comes to money in this world, what if-

"Yes." Is the only he says and then he's out the door without another word.

"Oh, thank fucking god." She whispers out to herself before excitedly walking over to Jaskier to wake him up like she was asked. Her hand gently shakes his shoulder which causes a loud snort to leave his throat before his body then shoots upwards, almost knocking heads with the poor girl in the process.

"Wow easy there, froggy. Good morning sunshine!" She giggles at the lost look on his face. She watches as his half lidded eyes look around the room in confusion and so, she flicks him in the forehead affectionately, "come back to me, froggy."

"Oi! Fuck off!" Jaskier shouts while rubbing the spot on his forehead that was attacked by the vicious little woman in front of him. A chuckle leaves her throat before she's then standing up to stretch out her stiff limbs.

Jaskiers eyes follow her movements as a thought comes across his mind, and his eyebrows furrow. "Where is Geralt?"

The girl hums, "not sure, he scurried off after telling me to wake you up. He said we leave in 10 minutes thought."

He flings the blanket off him to stand up beside her, grabbing his lute in the process.

A few silent minutes pass between the two before the sound of the door opening grabs their attention.

"Oh, finally! I was beginning to think you had abandoned me with the scary woman." Jaskier sings causing Hope to shake her head at his ridiculousness.

Hope notices Geralt roll his eyes as he strides up to her, making her gulp. He thrusts his hand out towards her and that's when she finally notices the fabric in his palm.

"Oh?" She whispers.

He grunts while looking between her and the clothing.

"Put these on, you stand out like a sore thumb with those things on."

She nods her head before reaching out to gently grab them, her fingers softly brushing against his causing electricity to run through the both of them at the contact. It stuns the both of them as they awkwardly stare at each other almost not believing what they had just felt.

"Wow, Geralt. Not once have you bought me garments and I’ve even bathed you for gods sake." They hear Jaskier below in a teasing tone, but with a slight hint of hurt.

"Shut up, Jaskier."

Not much longer after that are the the now trio making their way down the path to where Roach resides. Not once does Hopes eyes stop darting around her surroundings in amazement. She knew of the evil that lurked in this world, but if she had Geralt by her side then she knew she had nothing to fear. So, instead of being scared for what lies ahead of her from now on, she feels excitement and anticipation. Something she hadn’t felt back in her old life before coming here.

Poor Jaskier couldn’t understand how the woman could go from being timid to a bouncing ball of joy the next second. He was beginning to think he might have been right about her being crazy. Though, deep down he was secretly happy to have someone come along for the ride who he could have a conversation with that consisted of more than four words, sometimes even fewer.

Whereas Geralt stays quiet and stoic the whole way as his mind jumbles his thoughts around his brain. He didn’t understand what he was doing, Jaskier was enough of a nuisance to drag along and not to forget that he got into more trouble than he liked. Now he had to worry about the girl of his dreams because she wasn’t just a figment of his imagination anymore and was now by his side as an easy target.

He wanted to turn her away knowing he wasn’t good company for an innocent girl like her, but something inside him just wouldn’t allow it. He would just have to keep her as far away from him as possible in order to protect her, and for some reason that caused a sharp pain to resonate throughout his chest.

That’s just how it had to be even if it meant hurting the both of them in the process. That kind of pain is better than the pain and guilt he’d feel if he lost her because he was selfish.

He’s a Witcher, The Butcher of Blaviken, The White Wolf, and he was sure as hell gonna act like it.

@nikkitc0703 @legendarywizarddetective @kmuir1

[seidenbros]

Our Scars Remind Us that the Past Is Real

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier | Geraskier

Summary: Geralt is plagued by nightmares, hasn't been able to sleep properly for weeks, but he doesn't talk about it, but Jaskier makes it his mission to get him to open up about it.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, a bit of fluff at the end, mentions of death (Let me know if I have to add anything)

Word count: 2043

A/N: I'll write something short, 1k words max... and what do I end up with? Double the amount of words, which was definitely not planned, but well, it is what it is.

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For the past couple of days, Geralt had been on edge. Jaskier had realized that the Witcher hadn't gotten much sleep, and once he'd fallen asleep, he'd woken up in the middle of the night covered in sweat, even waking the bard once or twice, but when he'd asked about it, Geralt had waved him off. Of course, Jaskier had tried again, wanting him to trust him, to confide in him, but Geralt's “I'm fine”, which had come out rather snappy had stopped him from asking further questions. That didn't mean, though, that he hadn't been thinking about it all the time. During the day, Geralt seemed to be lost in thought most of the time, and at night, he wasn't able to sleep properly, but there was not much Jaskier could do, when he didn't know what was going on.

Tonight, when Jaskier was about to head out to play at one of the taverns, Geralt stayed behind, because he wanted to get some rest, try to get some sleep. He needed it, Jaskier agreed, but it was still strange to be on stage without Geralt lurking somewhere in the back, because even if he sometimes said that Jaskier's singing was annoying and he needed to shut up now and then, Jaskier could always see the smile on the Witcher's face across the room, when he didn't think Jasker would see him. And he cherished that. Cherished these moments, because he caught Geralt off guard, when he didn't think that he had to keep all his defences up, which was his usual way to go about things. Not let people see what was going on inside him, and he'd done that with Jaskier as well more often than he would have liked. He got it, of course, but he still wished, that Geralt would let his guard down around him more, to let Jaskier take care of him for a change.

Followed by applaud the bard left the stage later on, and while he'd actually wanted to enjoy another drink, his feet led him outside and back to the inn. Why? Because he was worried about Geralt and wanted to make sure that he really got some sleep. He would be there to watch over the Witcher's sleep if he had to, but with that in mind, he wouldn't even have been able to enjoy his drink.

As quietly as possible, Jaskier opened the door to their room and slipped inside, cloding the door as quietly behind him as he'd opened it before. His eyes needed a moment to adjust to the darkness, but he could make out Geralt on his bed, not moving. Maybe he'd really managed to fall asleep? Jaskier was hopeful, but something seemed off. There was no steady breathing, that he usually heard when Geralt was awake, which he'd really gotten used to. His eyes were so fixed on Geralt, that he dropped his lute when he stubbed his toe, trying not to cry out.

“I have to admit, you at least tried to be quiet,” Geralt's deep voice echoed through the room, making the bard jump again.

“Fucking hell, Geralt!” he blurted out, hobbling over to his bed to sit down and take the pressure of his toe. It wasn't broken, that much he could tell, but it still hurt. “I thought you were asleep!”

“Yeah, I guessed that much. Believe me, that was what I wanted to do, but...” Geralt shook his head, sitting up in his bed. He wanted to sleep, he needed to sleep, but right now, the nightmares were too much for him to take. He'd been able to push them away for a long time, but now, they were back in it even made him afraid of closing his eyes, because he knew what was expecting him there. He pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting the oncoming headache that stemmed from sleep deprivation.

“But...?” Jaskier looked at him across the room. It was the moment to ask, to try and understand what was going on with Geralt, what exactly he was dreaming about. There were so many things that could occupy his dreams, Jaskier understood that, because in the time they'd spent together, he'd seen a lot already, but he also knew that there were things before they'd crossed paths, but he didn't know what exactly made the Witcher wake up in the middle of the night, and talking wild guesses wouldn't work out, because there was just so much.

“It's nothing,” Geralt dismissed it with a wave of his hand, running his fingers through his hair afterwards.

“No, it's not nothing,” Jaskier sighed, getting up from his bed, ignoring the pain in his toe, to walk over to Geralt to sit down next to him. “You can't sleep, you wake up from nightmares, you're on edge all day because of that, so don't tell me it's nothing. I get that you don't trust me enough to tell me about it, but-”

“That's not true!” Geralt stopped him right there and then. “It's just... I don't want to worry you with all that.”

“Too late, because I'm already worried about you.” Jaskier reached for the Witcher's hand, and Geralt let it happen, ravelled in the warm feeling of his hand in Jaskier's, callused fingertips rubbing gently over the back of his hand. “I just want to know what's on you mind, I want to help.”

Yes,Geralt thought to himself, You always do. The hint of smile appeared on his lips, before he opened his lips: “I do trust you, Jask.” His eyes dropped to their joined hands, and here in the quiet, in the dark, he felt like it was finally okay to open up to the bard. He'd never wanted to talk to him about it, but in order to understand Geralt better, to know what was going on why he had trouble sleeping, he had to let him know.

“I'm usually really good at pushing things away from me,” Geralt started, staring straight ahead, because he didn't want to look at Jaskier, who gave the Witcher's hand a gentle squeeze before he returned to rubbing circles on the back of his hand, turning it around to do the same to Geralt's palm.

“You don't say...” Geralt picked up on the smile in Jaskier's voice, which made the corners of his own lips twitch up for a moment, but he chose to ignore that comment.

“It's been okay for years, but now...” He trailed off, lost in thought for a moment before he was able to speak up again. “As soon as I close my eyes, I dream about the Trials, about everything that happened back then.” Geralt was still not able to look at Jaskier, so he kept staring holes into the wall on the other side of the room.

Jaskier knew about the Trials, but he didn't know a lot. Only what Geralt had told him in passing, but they'd never really discussed it, because Jaskier knew what a delicate topic it was. Maybe he should have guessed that this was what kept Geralt awake or woke him from sleep. But he listened now to as much or as little as Geralt wanted to tell him.

“It was... painful, something I never could have imagined at that age.” Of course he knew pain now, and he knew what was out there, but back then? “I was just a kid, knew nothing about the world and then this...” Geralt wet his lips, shook his head for a moment, before he finally looked at Jaskier. Geralt was afraid to find pity in Jaskier's eyes, but he didn't. They were filled with sympathy, with the warmth he'd seen in them time and time again. Jaskier didn't judge, neither did he pity him, he was just there for him. “I watched my friends day. I think that's what haunts me the worst. Why they died and I made it...” His voice got quieter towards the end, filled with the realisation that it really was the loss of his friends that pained him the most, that made him wake up in the middle of the night, because he couldn't save them. With monsters involved, there was a possibility to save the people around him, even if it meant putting his own life at danger, but back then... there was nothing he could have done, he knew that, but that didn't make his guilt go away.

“There is nothing you could have done, Geralt. You were still a kid yourself.” Jaskier finally breaks the silence, choosing his words wisely. There was not a lot he could say right now, but he still wanted Geralt to understand that it hadn't been his fault. “It's a miracle you're still alive, that you made it through that, and I'm glad you did. We would never have met otherwise.” A soft smile on his lips, he put his hand on Geralt's cheek, urging him to look his way, and Geralt complied. Not only that, but he even leaned into the touch.

“I know... But it still haunts me,” Geralt eventually said. “I had no way to protect them, but I wish I could have.”

“You have your own scars from that time.” He did, he'd told Jaskier once about some of his scars, how he'd gotten them, and that was when he'd mentioned the trials for the first time. “And these scars are not only on your body, but also on your soul. They remind you that the past is real, and sometimes that happens in your dreams, but they do not dictate your life.” Gently Jaskier stroked Geralt's cheek with his thumb, not pulling his hand away.

“But how can I sleep, when these pictures turn up in my head again and again?” It was a genuine question, a desperate one, because Geralt didn't know what else he could do to get some goddamn sleep without having nightmares.

“Tell you what...” Jaskier started, letting go of Geralt's hand, pulling the other away from his cheek only to get up and settle down completely in Geralt's bed, resting his back against the headboard. His movements were followed by a puzzled Witcher, which only made Jaskier smile. “I'll watch over your sleep. Lie down, put your head in my lap and close your eyes.”

“Jask... you really don't need to do that.” Geralt didn't want to deprive him of sleep, though what he suggested sounded heavenly to him.

“But I want to. I've gotten enough sleep in the last weeks, but you haven't so... lie down and try to sleep.” The demanding tone in the bard's voice made Geralt chuckle to himself, and he already felt a bit more at ease. No, he wouldn't argue with Jaskier, not tonight, not about this, so he lay down and made himself comfortable, using Jaskier's lap as a pillow. A little smile appeared on his lips, when he felt Jaskier's hands brushing though his hair again.

“Thank you,” he whispered, feeling himself relax, beneath Jaskier's touch. Stifling a yawn, Geralt closed his eyes, feeling sleep already pulling him in. Normally, he would fight it, afraid of the nightmares. But Jaskier had said that he would watch over his sleep – and he did, stroking through Geralt's hair again and again, watching the Witcher sleep. For the first time in weeks, Geralt slept through the night without nightmares, without jolting awake, knowing that Jaskier would care for him. Right before Geralt had woken up in the morning, Jaskier had lost his fight against his sleepiness and had closed his eyes. When Geralt looked up and found the bard asleep, he couldn't help but smile. So he closed his eyes again to enjoy this moment a little longer, and to give Jaskier some rest as well. After all, he'd done a great job at keeping Geralt's nightmares away, and he'd have to thank him for that properly later. Now, it was time for some more rest until the bard woke up as well, and Geralt wouldn't budge, he'd stay right where he was.

[blackcat9904]

I have a rather good geraskier fic idea but I'm too lazy-inexperienced to write it down. Any thoughts?

Well okay maybe I'm gonna write something...

"Where is he??" Geralt says as he threatens the man with his sword on his neck.

If only Jaskier had said that he's Dijkstra's benefactor, it would save him a lot of trouble! But unfortunately he can never say anything other than his usual nonsense!

_______________________

He storms into the locked room, kicking the door open, to find Jaskier unconscious, tied to a chair. He steps closer. Grab his face gently, like he might crash his precious face with his hand and he slaps him as slowly as he can. Calling his name repeatedly. He can feel his own heart beating in his chest.

Yennefer comes after him, Geralt thinks, just for one second that the witch is worried. She puts her finger on Jaskier's forehead and closes her eyes, then open them. "They've been trying to extract information from his brain. He has probably passed out. You know, the pain."

Geralt growls. Angrily. He feels blood rushing through his veins. He grittes his teeth before taking a deep breath to calm himself with the thought of ripping Dijkstra's throat apart. Him and his stupid owl-witch who dared to hurt his bard.

He picks Jaskier up. Bride-style. Convinces himself that it was just the most comfortable way to pick a sitting man up, while he clearly knows he just don't want to get his eyes off of his sleeping face, too calm and peaceful for a man who'd been tortured.

_______________________

"When is he going to wake up?" Geralt says. Hoping Yen wouldn't hear the childish worry in his voice.

"He's only sleeping. He seems fine. Just give him some fucking time Geralt."

"Hmph."

Jaskier does wake up. Just when Geralt is about to go ask Yennefer to check on him for the hundredth time.

"Jaskier!" He calls as he tries his best to hide the relief.

"Ahhh...Geralt! Oh, Hi!" Jaskier's face just lightens up, in a way Geralt haven't seen, not after their reunion, not after the mountain.

"My head feels like it's being chewed by a camel..." Jaskier says as he brushes his hair off his face. Then continues. "What happened anyway? I thought we were heading to Caingorn for the dragon thing?"

"Ah yes, forgot to mention." Yennefer says as she comes through the door step. "He might lose his memory for just a day or two. Nothing important. What's the last thing you remember?"

J: "I remember looking forward to crash your fucking weird neck, witch. What the hell are you doing here?"

She lifts her eyebrow up and looks at Geralt.

G: "Just before the mountain, that's the last thing he remembers."

"Terrible timing then." She says, as she gives a meaningful look to Geralt. Who closes his eyes and goes out. No words.

And he doesn't come back. Not untill he's entirely sure Jaskier's asleep for the night. He gently sits beside him. Looking at his closed eyes. He wants to see the sky blue of them but he's too afraid of the moment that that cursed memory comes crossing his mind and breaks him, again. And it's his fault. All his fault.

He whispers to Yennefer. "I don't want him to remember..."

"Of course that makes it so easy for you. I'm sorry, but he will" and then she steps out of the room. Leaving him with the soothing, familiar sound of Jaskier's breaths and heartbeat.

He pets his hair, his face, his arms, and then he holds his hand, softly. Creating pieces of art had surely turn his own hand into one.

____________________

Geralt's still awake when Jaskier wakes up. It happens so much faster than usual. His heartbeat racing and his eyes wide open. Slightly painted with tear. And he keeps panting.

Geralt tenderly holds Jaskier. It's just an old habit for when the bard has nightmares. None of them complains. Jaskier leans onto him.

"Geralt- oh God I just- had one of the- fuck I had THE worst nightmare in my whole life-"

He struggles to tell Geralt about the nightmare. But the sobbing he feels, waiting to come out of his throat, or the tears fighting desperately to come out of his eyes aren't really helping.

"You were, yelling, at me. Telling me that, that I was always a, burden on your hands. And then you- you just left me. On a- mountain...? Or a...hill...?" He manages to bring out a little chuckle out of his mouth "but of course you won't. You know I would just fall or slide the way down at the best case. And that's only if I don't get myself killed by all the mons-" He stops as he starts to remember the rest of his nightmare- his memory. All the pieces of his mind just come together and Geralt's petting hand on his back has stopped. None of them is moving. Not in the slightest. It's like the time isn't passing anymore.

Jaskier leans back. Slowly... His eyes shine with his tears and the perfect blue of the cloudless sky. And he stares at Geralt. Unbelievingly. Like he's staring at some stranger he has never known or heard of.

"You-you really-did say those things to me... Didn't you...?" He whispers, as the first drop falls off his eye.

[darkverrmin]

They stumble upon Jaskier's mother in a small town, on their way to Kaer Morhen. She sees them first, calling Jaskier's name (his real name) and waving at them. Jaskier runs to her, picking her up and spinning her around. Geralt can't help but to smile at that.

"Mum, this is my partner, Geralt of Rivia".

Geralt gives her a small bow. "Pleasure to meet you".

She smiles back at him politely. "I'm happy to meet you, Geralt! Where are you boys headed?"

"Kaer Morhen" Jaskier answers her. "It's the Witchers' keep, I'm meeting Geralt's family".

"Oh, that's wonderful!" She cries, glancing at Geralt. "I wish we had more time to get to know each other, but I should head back soon. You know how impatient your father can get".

Geralt notices Jaskier's body visibly tensing at the mention of his father, but he doesn't say a thing about it. "Our inn is just over there. Want to grab a quick drink?"

She smiles again, cupping Jaskier's cheek. "Sure".

***

Jaskier's mother is so sweet and polite towards Geralt, he almost feels uncomfortable. But it's nice that one of Jaskier's family members actually likes him. Although Geralt knows that Jaskier doesn't give a fuck about it.

After ten minutes or so, she starts talking about Jaskier's father. Jaskier clenches his jaw and Geralt notices how uncomfortable he feels. The Witcher clears his throat and gets up from his seat. "I need to check on Roach in the stables. I'll leave you two to catch up. Again, it was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Panktraz".

She gives Geralt another polite smile and nods. "You too, dear. Hope to see you again soon".

***

Geralt is brushing Roach when he hears Jaskier walking out of the inn and protesting something loudly.

"You don't know him".

Jaskier continues speaking, obviously annoyed. "Stop it, mum. I'll have none of it".

His mother's voice follows. "Darling, just listen to me-"

"You're wrong".

"I'm just trying to protect you. He's not right for you".

Geralt freezes in his place, listening to the conversation carefully. They're far enough so he can't see them, but Witcher senses allow Geralt to hear every word.

"I don't need to. I see that he is not right for you".

"Ha! And what is right for me, ma? A rich, noble duchess? To please father?"

"Julian, you know I disagree with your father on many things. But I think you deserve so much better".

"You don't know him. At all. He is an amazing man. He's kindhearted, brave, smart, charm-"

"Doesn't seem like that from our conversation".

Jaskier gasps. "Oh, so now he's bad because he's not much of a conversationalist? Dear Gods, mother-"

"I want to ask you a question. What can he offer you?"

"...What?"

"What kind of life are you leading with him, Julian? You don't have a house, you can't have a famil-"

"I don't want a house. And he is my family. I love traveling with him".

"You need someone who will make you feel safe. Who can protect you".

"I can protect myself, ma. And I trust Geralt more than I trust anyone".

"Oh, you're still so young".

Jaskier sighs. "I'm 25. Not much of a child anymore".

"Don't you think you're with him just because you like the adventure? The danger?"

Geralt closes his eyes, exhaling sharply. He listens to Jaskier's answer.

"Do you want to know how I really feel about him?"

A moment of silence.

"I love him, ma. With every fiber of my being. He's- He's just so amazing. He loves me too. I feel alive when I'm with him. I love our adventures, I love our life. I don't need to settle down somewhere. This is the life I chose for myself, mother. This is the man I chose to spend the rest of my life with. Because I want him and him only".

Geralt feels something warm spreading itself in his chest. Jaskier continues, his voice calmer.

"For the first time in my life I can say that I'm happy, ma. Every morning I wake up by his side, I'm happy. I... I love him. And don't worry, he treats me well. He really is a big softie, you just need to get to know him a bit. And gods, he's so smart. I'm learning something new from him every day. He's... He makes me happy, mother. I'm happy. Isn't that all that matters?"

His mother sighs. "If that's the way you feel, I guess that's good. Can't say about happiness, didn't have a lot of that with your father. But... I just want you to have a good life".

"I am having a great life, ma. The greatest. Believe me".

"Alright, darling". He hears a kissing sound. "Take care. Maybe write more often, so I'll know you're alright?"

"I promise".

"And maybe come around to visit on holidays?"

"We'll work something out, ma. Promise".

"Great. Goodbye, Julian, take care. Love you".

"Love you, too".

***

Jaskier shows up at the stables a couple of minutes later. He gives Geralt a bright smile. "How's our girl doing?" He asks, nodding at Roach.

"Alright" Geralt answers him. He walks over to Jaskier, pulling him into a tight hug. Jaskier chuckles, before hugging back.

"You alright?"

"Yeah. Just... You know that I really care about you, right? You're everything to me. I... You make me happy, Jas".

Jaskier smiles into his chest, squeezing his lover. "I know, dear. I know".

[oldandkinky]

For your most recent prompt list can I get 25 + 64, for Geraskier?

Thank you! ♥️♥️♥️

DD:DNE. CW: dubious consent, sexual coercion, insults, slut shaming, anal fingering/sex

25: “get on your hands and knees, right now”

64: “i love the way you look with my fingers inside you”

**********

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Jaskier knows he's a hopeless romantic, even if he flits from lover to lover like a bee does between flowers. At heart, he's hoping for true love, for the one person to complete him, to sate this seemingly bottomless need for attention, for appreciation, for care, that drives him from one person to the next. Always hoping that this time he'd have found them.

Geralt was supposed to be the one, despite his crotchety personality, the monster guts in his hair, the way he doesn't seem to appreciate all that Jaskier does for him. Despite all that, Jaskier knows he's a good man, a good friend, and he'd hoped… Well. He'd hoped.

If he had the breath for it, he'd scoff at himself. As it is, he's hindered by Geralt's tongue forcing itself into his mouth. It's not the kind of kiss he'd secretly been dreaming about, a gentle exploration, passion simmering underneath. No, it's harsh and full of teeth, Geralt's hand curled into his hair holding him in place, and all Jaskier can do is go pliant and let himself be manhandled.

Geralt had been denied at the brothel, the third in a row, and when he stomped back into their shared room, his gaze had zeroed in on Jaskier's half open chemise with an intensity that sent a chill down Jaskier's spine. The Witcher was upon him only a moment later, forcing him onto his back on the bed, one thick thigh pressing between Jaskier's legs as he kissed him.

Normally, Jaskier would protest at such treatment but… This is Geralt, his friend, the man he has been not so secretly half in love with for years. Geralt needs him, needs to find some relief, and there's no way Jaskier would ever deny him.

Still. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Geralt pulls off his clothes, leaving love bites in his wake as he moves down Jaskier's body, and then there's a bottle of oil in his hand. "Get on your hands and knees, right now."

Jaskier knows he ought to protest. What gives Geralt the right to order him around like this, to demand this of him? This is the first thing he has said to Jaskier since he returned to the room,and it hurts, somewhere behind his ribs.

But Geralt needs him, and so he obeys. He rolls over and pushes himself up onto all fours, presenting himself to Geralt's hungry gaze.

"Such a whore," Geralt murmurs, and then he pours the oil over Jaskier's hole before unceremoniously pushing a finger into him. "Should've known you'd just bend over for it."

Jaskier bites his lip, his head hanging low between his shoulders. He tries to ignore the humiliation coursing through him, the pain at the realisation that this is what Geralt thinks of him, that he sees him as someone who'd let anybody fuck him. I wouldn't, he thinks as Geralt works a second finger into him, followed quickly by a third. Not just anybody. 

Three fingers seems to be as much as Geralt deems necessary, even though he fucks him on them for a long time, murmuring filth the whole time. When his fingertips graze against Jaskier's prostate, he can't hold back a moan, and Geralt chuckles. "Hungry little hole," he says softly, right before he aims for that spot again, with intent now. It has Jaskier writhing in no time, and Geralt holds him still with his free hand on his hip. "Fuck," he says, and he sounds almost awed, "I Iove the way you look with my fingers inside you. Open up so easily for me."

If things were different, Jaskier would preen under these words, would treasure them for a long time to come. Now though, every single one is like a barb, like a pinprick, leaving him feeling small and cheap. Still, those are Geralt's fingers on him, in him, and the man knows what he's doing. Soon, he has Jaskier whimpering, begging, broken little pleas falling from his lips, and he pulls his fingers away with a content hum.

More oil, and then the distinct pressure of a cock against Jaskier's twitching hole, and then Geralt pushes into him. It hurts, the Witcher's prick so much thicker than he'd anticipated, and Jaskier gasps and claws at the sheets, but Geralt is relentless. He pulls Jaskier back, holds him still as he works himself into him to the root, and all Jaskier can do is open for him, whether he wants to or not.

Gods, does he want to.

Geralt fucks the way he does everything else, with precision and focus, and Jaskier is soon a whining mess beneath the Witcher, his arms giving out after a while to leave him with his arse in the air and his face pressed into a pillow, drooling mindlessly as Geralt fucks him. It would be perfect, if it weren't for the constant stream of thoughtless insults dripping from Geralt's lips like poison.

"Fuck, you take it so well, bard, like a seasoned whore. Should have known you'd be this easy, this open, a slut like you needs it, don't you?"

His orgasm catches him utterly by surprise. Geralt hits his sweet spot just right as he reaches between Jaskier's legs and curls a hand around his prick, and next thing Jaskier knows he's coming, crying out as his hands scrabble at the sheets. 

"That's it," Geralt pants into his ear as he fucks him through it, "come on my cock, little slut."

Jaskier hates it. He hates that the words make his prick spew another jet of come, that goosebumps prickle all over his skin, that Geralt brushes a gentle kiss against his shoulder right before he straightens again and starts deep-fucking Jaskier like he paid money for it. Each punishing thrust sends sparks through Jaskier's brain, makes him go stupid, and he's soon back to begging, and he hates it.

Finally, after what feels like hours, Geralt's grip on him tightens, and then he's coming deep inside Jaskier with a wild groan, and Jaskier hates that, too.

Geralt pulls him close after, holding him with an arm thrown over his waist, and mumbles a sleepy, "Should've done this sooner," against Jaskier's shoulder.

Jaskier doesn't reply. He's too busy trying to stop himself from crying as Geralt's breath deepens as the Witcher falls asleep, body curled against Jaskier's side.

[julilihatfun]

Prompty prompt: Geralt is really struggling in a battle and Jaskier can't just stand by and watch anymore, so he goes up there and kinda saves Geralt, giving him the chance to finally kill the monster...BUT Jaskier is hurt in the process which he doesn't want to admit, being the hero for the first time. He hides it until he just passes out and Geralt takes care of him, mad at himself for letting the bard get hurt, but also thankful. Sorry it's not very original, but hope you like it!

Prompt request: Jaskier hits his head and is concussed and ends up moody, disoriented, and uncoordinated, maybe a bit nauseous, but Geralt never saw him hit his head and has to find out through a careful insoection when he realizes his travelling companion is acting strangely. 

Hey guys - sorry for disappearing for a while :( Everything is just really overwhelming at the moment and well :((( but I hope you enjoy this and I really hope, that you are safe and well!!! (I combined two prompts for this, because it kind of seemed fitting)

----------------------------------------------------------------

Jaskier watched Geralt fight – at first, in awe (as always, because honestly: how can one fight so ferociously while looking that graceful), but then in concern, because the Witcher seemed to be in trouble. And that was something that Jaskier had never seen before.

The giant creature loomed over Geralts head – all bloodthirsty and monster-like – while Geralt frantically scrambled away from it and towards the heavy iron sword that had been smacked away from him a few moments earlier.

“Geralt!”, Jaskier screamed and he sounded hysterical and panicked, but he did not care at all. This was a literal nightmare come to life. 

“Stay down!”, Geralt roared, not even looking at the bard, because he was too busy dodging attack after attack.

And it did not look like the beast was getting tired. Which, in turn, meant, that staying down was not an option if he wanted Geralt to actually survive this shit.

He did not even have to think about it then – just jumped up and out of his hiding place with a loud, screechy screaming noise, that kind of betrayed his fear, and stumbled towards the fight.

He seemed to be much less interesting than Geralt (highly offensive, if you asked him – he did not wear those ridiculously colourful outfits to be ignored like this), because the huge thing did not even take one eye away from Geralts prone form.

Geralt screamed at him to ‘get the fuck back’, while Jaskier searched the forest ground for something, anything, that he could use as a weapon. He had to be fast, because Geralt seemed to come no closer to gaining back control over the fight.

“Aha!”, he cheered, when he finally found something that could work.

And throwing a stone at the creature really did seem to finally do the trick, because it suddenly turned on Jaskier in an alarming speed.

“Oi!”, Jaskier bellowed, tripping over his own feet in an effort to get away faster. “Stop.”

He was not fast enough, of course, because he felt the thing yank his feet out from under him, making him fall hard. His head was catapulted forward in a sickening motion and bounced off of the moist ground, which definitely hurt a lot.

Jaskier turned around, seeing stars dance around his vision, just in time to see Geralt (who apparently was much faster than Jaskier) bring his sword down on the beast’s neck, effectively separating its ugly head from its massive body.

Jaskier barely had enough time to roll away when the thing started falling towards him and felt the ground shake beneath him, when the monsters mutilated form came down right next to him.

He stared at the beast for a long moment in silent wonder, then his gaze swept to Geralt, who was already staring at him.

“I take partial credit for this one.”, he said then, shakily, moving to pull himself up on a nearby tree.

Geralt huffed, still eying him grimly. He growled out a clipped: “That was incredibly dumb.”, which made the bard gasp in mock-hurt.

“Geralt how dare you? I practically saved your life back there! – quite heroically, if I dare say so myself.”, Jaskier snapped back jokingly. And he knew that he would have handled the situation better had he known even the most basic fighting techniques, but he did not have any skills and stuff somehow still worked out, so he felt pretty proud of himself.

Geralt closed his eyes in frustration and heaved out a heavy sigh, before surprising Jaskier with a grumbled: “I did not say that you did not save my life.” Geralt threw him a stern look. “But that does not make it any less stupid.”

Jaskier practically glowed with glee and pride. “I can already envision the glorious ballad! Brave Jaskier, the humble bard, fearlessly throwing himself into the raging battle of-“

“Jaskier.”

“Yeah?”

“You threw a stone.” Jaskier actually saw the bastards mouth twitching in the effort to hide a grin. “Don’t get cocky.”

“Hey! I threw that stone very bravely!”

Geralt actually huffed out a small laugh then, but when he took in the bards disgruntled clothes, smeared with dirt and grime, his face grew serious again. “You went down pretty hard. You hurt anywhere?”

Jaskier scoffed. “Warriors don’t get hurt.”

“You broke a toe dancing last month.”, Geralt noted dryly. “Well, come to think of it, I guess you did not get hurt as you’d already be whining about it if you did.”

“Hey, that toe-thing hurt.”, Jaskier pouted. “I normally am very pain resistant.”

“Sure are.”

And they left it at that. Although Jaskier knew how immensely grateful Geralt really was, when he offered him a spot on Roach (which Jaskier, obviously, happily accepted).

Riding, for some weird reason, made Jaskier kind of dizzy, so he could barely force down three bites of his stew, before he surrendered and pushed his plate towards Geralt.

“Can you get horse sick?”, he asked dreamily and immediately felt Geralts boring stare on him. He looked up. “What?”

“You’re sick?”, Geralt inquired suspiciously, having been wary ever since Jaskier fell oddly silent as soon as they had mounted Roach.

“I never said that.”, Jaskier exclaimed defensively. “It’s probably the adrenaline wearing off.”

“Hm.”

“Nothing a good pint of ale won’t be able to fix, right? And a good night’s sleep – we should really think about sleeping in real beds more often. You know, to get proper rest and socialize instead of wasting away in the forest.”, Jaskier rambled on, desperate to change the subject in order to not have Geralt on his case all week because of a bit on an upset stomach.

“Hm.”

“Spoilsport.”

They separated for the night shortly after; Geralt immediately retreating to their shared room and Jaskier spending some time wooing the small audience with carefully composed songs and mirror-practiced charms. Though, Jaskier did call it a night unusually early too, having promised himself that healing sleep will free him from all ailments that came with kind-of fighting alongside Geralt.

And well, he was wrong.

He woke up to a splitting headache.

“Yikes.”, he groaned as he sat up, bringing up both hands to massage his temples.

“Had a drop too much?”

And as Jaskier thought about it, he came to the conclusion, that he actually had no idea how much he drank the evening prior – not the normal blank he drew, when the evening blurred together in a mass of pints and shots and girls and… no, this was a complete memory lapse.

To him, it was annoying more than scary, really.

“Screw you, Geralt.”, Jaskier snapped, because Geralt sounded way too smug for his liking. Also, no matter how hard he tried, he could not draw up a single memory.

“Touchy, aren’t you?”, Geralt asked with an obvious smirk.

Jaskier snorted. “Are we leaving?”, he asked then, when his gaze fell on Geralts packed bags; took in the Witcher’s general impatient demeanour.

“Yeah.”, Geralt confirmed his fears. “Took you long enough to wake.”

He looked at Jaskier for a moment, as if searching for something. “Breakfast is on me.”

Geralt’s way of showing gratitude. Jaskier knew, that he should be immensely happy, but he just felt… kind of weird and muddle-headed. Also, still very nauseous.

“I feel so loved.”, he cheered weakly, mostly out of habit. He could probably stomach some food anyways – most times, it even helped him get over a hangover.

When Jaskier had packed up and they stepped out of the inn and into a small tavern, the smell of freshly cooked eggs and beans wafting their way, Jaskier changed his mind.

“Know what:-“, he choked out, dizzily. “I guess I’m not hungry after all. I’ll just… stay with Roach. Outside.”

“Hm.”, Geralt grunted dangerously. “You barely ate yesterday evening.”

“I’m watching my figure.”

“Jaskier…”

Geralt watched the bards face take on a greyish-green hue and he grabbed Jaskiers upper arm roughly, dragging him outside, and nearly pushed him into a bush off the beaten path, away from prying eyes.

“Do what you have to do.”, Geralt said, and it almost sounded compassionate.

“I’m fine.”, Jaskier gulped, despite all logic and appearance. “Jus’ hungover or somethin’.”

“Hmm.”

“Seriously.”, Jaskier mumbled, still breathing heavily in an attempt to fight off the nausea.

“Right.”, Geralt sighed, watching Jaskiers face slowly morph into a more healthy-looking colour. “If you think so.”

“You going back in?”

“No.”, Geralt said, eying Jaskier warily. “Let’s just leave. We can eat later.”

“Alright.”, the bard sighed. His head still hurt and he suddenly felt exhausted. “Let’s, then.”

They walked towards Roach in silence and – unusually enough – it was Geralt who finally broke it, when he strapped his bag onto her back. “You wanna ride with me?”

Just the thought made Jaskier feel terribly ill again. “Hard pass.” He knew that walking would be tough on him too, but there was something distinct to the jostling motion on the horse’s saddle that made it particularly unattractive to him that day.

Geralt eyed him suspiciously. He did not often offer, but when he did, Jaskier never refused.

“You’re acting strange.”, he noted. “Well, more so than usual.”

“Ouch.”, Jaskier said, already a few steps ahead of the Witcher. “I’m great, and you know it.”

So they walked – or well, Jaskier walked. And he kept walking, even when he kept getting dizzier and more disoriented and his head started pounding in earnest.

It was when stars started dancing around his vision, that he knew that he was in real trouble. “Geralt-“, he breathed, hearing his own voice tremble and crack.

And he saw Geralt stop abruptly and turn out of the corner of his eye, before his vision went entirely black.

 When Jaskier woke up, the first thing he noticed was his still-pounding head. Then, something weird, wet on his still-pounding head. “Th’fuck.”, he mumbled in disgust, slowly moving to sit up.

“Stay down.”, a low voice growled.

“G’ralt?”

“Don’t want you doing more damage than you already did.”

“Ow.” Jaskier sat up despite Geralts warning because honestly, that’s just the kind of person he was, and one of Geralts old shirts, all wet and bunched up, fell into his lap with a splat. “Huh.”

He heard Geralt sigh. “Stubborn bastard.” Then, Geralts face was only inches away from his own.

“Uh, Geralt.”

“Look at me.” Geralt stared more intently into his eyes.

“You’re scaring me.”, Jaskier mumbled weakly. Focusing on Geralt was exhausting and the sun’s brightness was only making him feel worse.

Geralt straightened up again. “You hit your head yesterday.”

“Is that supposed to be a question?”

“Not if we both know the answer.”

“Right.” Jaskier continued squinting at Geralt. “I might have hit it.”

Geralt let out a big sigh. “Thank you for telling me right away instead of fainting in the middle of our journey.”

Jaskier furrowed his eyebrows (which made his head pound more fiercely, but well: worth it). “Are you… being sarcastic right now?”

“You were out for hours, Jaskier.”, Geralt snarled, clearly signalling that he was not to be joked with right now. “Wouldn’t wake.”

“I…”, Jaskier began, before letting his head fall into his hands. “Can we do this when my head does not feel like it’s splitting in two?”

He felt a warm hand on his back, lowering him back down, before it vanished for a second and returned with Geralts wet shirt, draping it over his face. Jaskier sighed in pleasure. The ground beside his sleeping mat rustled and he felt Geralt lowering himself down next to him.

There was awkward silence where Jaskier would normally chatter away. But he was to achy and tired to do so then.

“I should have noticed earlier.”, he heard Geralt grumble after a while, mostly to himself, as it seemed. He frowned.

“Stop, your self-pity is making my head hurt.”

“Your concussion is making your head hurt.”

Jaskier sighed, trying to snuggle closer to Geralt in search of comfort. A big hand settled on his shoulder. “Maybe that, yeah.”, he agreed, putting his own hand over Geralts.

The Witcher breathed out a gentle laugh. “Rest, Jaskier.”

[hardkinkbadkink]

Geralt desperate and doesn't want to tell Jaskier. Id love it if you could add humping. I was thinking roaches saddle while walking or Jaskiers leg or hand. Sorry for the babble. Thanks

well why not all three??

this kinda got away from me, so sorry if it doesn't exactly align with the prompt? hope you enjoy it either way, and don't hesitate to shoot me an ask & yell at me, i need to be kept on a tight leash lest i grow too comfortable lmao

***

"Bit of a dry spell, old man?" Jaskier says off-handedly one night, à propos absolutely nothing. "You seem even more brutishly grumpy than usual."

Geralt hums in annoyance and pointedly ignores the question regarding the wetness of his spell.

Because, well. If Jaskier didn't notice that no brothel would serve him, the filthy mutant scum in months, then there is no reason pointing it out.

He stares off into the dwindling fire, waiting for Jaskier's breathing to even out before he finally gets a too-tight fist on his straining cock. He's so pent up all the time, ready to go at any given moment, it only takes a few harsh tugs before he seizes with the least satisfying release of his life.

Sleep doesn't come easily, but when does it ever.

***

Geralt never quite realised how crucial fucking a wet, warm hole is to his well-being.

He can't physically flush with shame, but he feels like he might, when he sends Roach gently from her walk into a trot simply to hear Jaskier huff behind him, trying to keep up--

--and the change of pace shifts him forward in his saddle, his constantly half-hard cock rubbing up against the pommel of it. With each of his horse's steps, he's jostled further, bouncing desperately on the hard, boiled leather. He'd ridden on horseback for decades, nearly a century--and suddenly it is the most sensuous, lewd activity, his cock rapidly swelling until it's aching, throbbing against the ties of his trousers. He spurs Roach on in morbid curiosity. When she speeds up into a canter, and the saddle's firm peak comes to nudge at his tight balls, Geralt spills inside his breeches, shuddering with the pleasure of it, nearly falling to the ground.

He brings Roach to a halt and waits for Jaskier to catch up, panting and sputtering about manners and friendships.

It very quickly becomes his favourite way of getting off.

He perfects the method, so Jaskier doesn't grow suspicious. It takes longer, hours, sometimes--but it's time spent teetering on the edge, suspended is sweet agony of almost coming, almost getting what he so desperately craves--and denying himself the privilege until he can't go any longer.

One time, Jaskier looks over at him to ask a question right as he's tipping the precipice of a release so intense he wants to moan with it, and Geralt holds his innocent gaze as he unloads in his trousers like a green boy.

He daydreams about tight, wet cunts, sometimes, but he's able to focus more, keep his instincts sharp.

Until the one time that Jaskier twists his ankle, and demands to be let up on Roach. The joint swells considerably, leaves Geralt no other choice. Jaskier can't ride by himself--he's unskilled, injured, and Roach doesn't trust him entirely. Geralt can't put him behind himself on the saddle, because he has no doubt that Jaskier would fall flat on his face. He considers going bareback, to fit them somewhat comfortably, but doesn't want Jaskier to get hurt further in his inexperience.

Geralt climbs up behind his bard with a resigned exhale and reaches around him to grasp tightly at the reigns.

He urges Roach to speed up, only barely--and even that quickly threatens to be his funeral.

With Jaskier between his legs, Geralt doesn't rub up on the saddle's pommel. He rubs up on Jaskier. His cock, conditioned over the past weeks to getting off up on horseback twitches, fills, until he can feel the maddening throb of his own pulse in it. He shifts uncomfortably, tries to angle his hips away, but Jaskier chases after him, keeps their bodies close with not an inch to spare.

Jaskier's head rolls with a thud onto Geralt's shoulder, his eyes closed in peaceful bliss.

Geralt inhales a lungful of Jaskier's scent when he comes, grinding subtly against his bard's arse. He doesn't remember the last time it was this intense, his lips parting around a soundless scream. Only a hitch of breath betrays him, in any case, but he doesn't think Jaskier notices.

***

His saddle isn't enough anymore. Geralt curses the gods.

"You've gone back to that sour mood of yours, huh? Shame. You did seem quite happy for a while there."

He was. If not happy, then content. Satisfied, somewhat.

They could afford two rooms, and yet they settled on one out of habit. While Geralt luxuriates in a lukewarm bath, Jaskier goes off to get his dick wet. Because he can. Because he isn't a hideous monster who isn't able to convince whores to let him pay for company.

The wall of their room is shared with the barkeeper's, he quickly comes to find out, when he hears Jaskier screwing the man's wife.

Jaskier talks a lot. Geralt knows this. It never ceases to stun him.

He listens as his bard eats the woman's cunt. Listens as he enters her, whispering encouragement and praise.

It's a short affair. They'd been on the road for a long time.

Geralt brings himself off quickly into the murky bathwater, though it barely feels like relief.

Jaskier comes back to snuggle casually up by his side, smelling of sex and contentment, murmuring something about sleeping in tomorrow.

***

Geralt doesn't think he'd slept much, when he wakes up.

He's not even sure that he's awake, when he wakes up.

He didn't wake up, and his frustrated mind is playing cruel tricks on him. Surely. Obviously.

Which is why he doesn't stop rutting his obscenely hard cock against Jaskier, only the thin cotton of his smallclothes between him and the smooth skin of Jaskier's bare thigh.

Fuck.

He doesn't think about it, when he bunches the restricting fabric beneath his heavy balls and humps Jaskier's leg like an untrained pup, the skin so warm and giving, so unbelievably good he can't help but come with a whimper after just a few moments.

Geralt wipes the evidence off with the corner of a bedsheets, allows himself one longing touch up the inside of Jaskier's thigh, and sleeps better than he had in months.

***

Jaskier has to know. It's impossible that he doesn't. Geralt keeps--

Geralt keeps waking up all wrapped up in his bard when they share lodgings, sometimes grinding his clothed cock against him, sometimes having come already.

It goes on for so long he simply waits for Jaskier to doze off and presses up close to feel him. The roll of his hips comes naturally. He slips his eyes shut as his lips part. It's divine, rutting mindlessly against a sleep-warm body, nothing but him and Jaskier and this raw, throbbing pleasure.

He gets bold. Too bold, perhaps, when he takes Jaskier's wrist gently and guides his hand down to Geralt's crotch. He rubs his cockhead against the ridges of Jaskier's palm before the instinct to hump him like a dog in rut takes over. Geralt rolls onto his stomach, Jaskier's hand trapped underneath him in just the right place to rut himself to a blinding, trembling release, a whine caught at the back of his throat, teeth clenched around a pillow.

Geralt licks his seed from Jaskier's skin and wonders exactly how deep of a sleeper his bard is as he puts a hand beneath each of his knees and spreads them apart.

[crimsonrae]

Across the Road, At the Brothel

Chapter Eight

Summary: Jaskier fell in love any day that the sun rose in the East. It was a trifling, pleasurable experience for him. Even when he was jumping out a window to avoid cuckolded husbands. So what happens when his trifles start to become more significant? Jaskier/OC. Some Yennefer/Geralt

A/N: Jaskier is just too adorable not to write about. This is a relationship development story with an OC. There will be smut in later chapters and plenty of angst.

Rating: Mature

Small Avoidances

"Is there a reason why we're traipsing through the woods?" Jaskier questioned for the thousandth time, "I thought you killed whatever was tracking us."

"I did." Geralt grunted as he retraced his path to the fleder's corpses.

The bard frowned as he barely sidestepped a mess of brambles, "Then why are we out here?"

"You didn't have to come." The witcher rumbled in response as he eyed the ground. His steps were still very much present in the dirt, even after almost a week and it made him wonder just how out of it, he had been from the attack. He knew better than to leave a trail.

"Yeah, I'm sure that would go over well." Jaskier drawled as he narrowly dodged a branch swinging back in his face, "All I need is for you to suddenly be attacked out here and try and crawl your way back. It was a debacle getting you into the cottage the first time and you were merely down the lane then. Can only imagine what carting your heavy ass from the woods would be like."

Geralt glared wearily at him over his shoulder, "And here I thought you were going to pester me about your girlfriend."

The bard went unusually silent as he stared at Geralt's back before uttering a faint, "She's not my girlfriend."

The look of disbelief he received in return was almost galling, "She's not... she's... I don't know what she is."

Geralt snorted as he listened to the bard flounder. He'd have to be blind not to see the way the couple danced around each other, not to mention the air grew heavy with the scents of their attraction whenever they spent more than a few minutes talking to each other. It was getting annoying.

"She's been avoiding me." Jaskier murmured woefully.

That made Geralt pause as he sent the younger man an incredulous stare. Avoiding? They hadn't been more than a handful of steps away from each other since he had returned to consciousness. Hell, he had been surprised when Jaskier had decided to come with him instead of staying back with Lyrra. What the fuck was the bard talking about?

Jaskier sighed under that look, "Lyrra has this smile. It's the one she gives to the tavern's patrons she doesn't particularly know. Polite enough, but doesn't invite for more. She's been giving it to me the past couple days... It feels like she's building a wall - I don't know what I've done wrong."

Geralt rolled his eyes and turned to continue his trek. He didn't have time for this nonsense. The brush grew thicker, but a few paces ahead a small clearing lay. The bodies of the two fleders resided within if they hadn't been dragged off by the wildlife. By the faint smell of rot in the warm summer air, the witcher knew he would still find the corpses.

"Perhaps I've been too clingy." Jaskier continued thoughtfully, "I just... I like being near her. I thought she liked it too."

Geralt refrained from sighing, he knew Jaskier could go on like this for hours if he let him. Instead, he tunneled through the rest of the brush as he commented, "She does."

The bard perked up curiously at this, a hopeful tinge in his voice as he cautiously asked, "Really?"

It was such an insecure question that Geralt nearly scoffed at his companion. It wasn't like Jaskier to be so...well insecure. The bard exuded optimistic confidence no matter the situation he found himself in, uncertainty usually didn't set in until after he barreled into trouble... or in this case, he had broken things off with his lover. The witcher glanced back at Jaskier to see a nervous edge tightening his visage. It was then that Geralt remembered how young Jaskier really was, barely a man of twenty, "You're not the reason she's being distant."

He stepped abruptly into the clearing and the sight of dark mangled flesh met his gaze, behind him Jaskier audibly heaved as the smell and sight finally hit his senses.

"Gods that's disgusting." The bard moaned piteously, "Please tell me, we didn't come out here to bring those back with us."

"No." Geralt growled as he knelt next to one of the corpses, "It's unusual to find a fleder so far away from civilization. They like crypts and sewers, not woods and vineyards."

"Which means what exactly?"

He reached for the clawed hand of one of the fleders, uncertain of what he was looking for, as several bugs flew into the air. Jaskier choked in disgust and backed himself toward the edge of the clearing. Geralt paid him no mind as he looked over the wounds he'd made – his strikes had been clean to the bodies. Their size, Geralt realized now, was smaller than the fleders he had encountered in the past, but not by much. These were the same height as him, most towered another foot above. The claws were long thick tapers, but otherwise ordinary. He scowled as he continued to scan the hairless, warted body. Already muscle and skin had shriveled, the summer heat had done little to preserve the remains. It was then he smelled it.

A sickly-sweet scent. Like rotting roses, coming from the creature's mouth. His golden gaze zeroed in on the creature's fangs as he stuck a finger along the back edge of the sharp canine.

"Oh Geralt, no!" Jaskier groaned as a black seeping liquid sledged down Geralt's arm, "I should've stayed with Lyrra."

Poison.

Geralt eyed the substance curiously as he sniffed deeply at his hand. The sweetness was worse, but he recognized a few of the underlying scents. He now understood why he had been so fatigued; the toxin would act as an anesthetic on a normal human in small doses, but what the fleder secreted would kill its prey. Geralt wasn't normal by any means and he was suddenly thankful his mutated anatomy had allowed him to make it a few miles away before succumbing. However, fleder's typically weren't poisonous either, "Fuck."

Jaskier raised an eyebrow as he dryly stated, "Good news I take it."

Geralt glanced at him with a frown as he wiped his hand in the grass, "They've been altered – purposefully mutated."

The bard's brow furrowed in confusion, "Why? What would be the point?"

"I don't know." Geralt murmured lowly as he gave the corpses a leery glance. He would leave the remains here and check back in a few more days. If he were lucky whoever had made these beasts would be looking for them. It wouldn't do to have someone running around creating new monsters for the world, "We should get back."

»»————-　　————-««

The sharp shink of metal was the only sound that disturbed the quiet air of the cottage yard and how Lyrra was able to find one of her guests as she came back from the markets.

"You know I've had my little panic problem for a while now." Lyrra stated softly as she stopped before Geralt sharpening his swords, "I don't think it's something that will go away from a few training drills."

Geralt barely paused in his actions as he settled a firm glance on her, "I don't intend to make it go away."

It wasn't just the panic she went into when she was touched, but the coil of anticipatory tension that began to wind whenever someone was behind her. She had been trained to expect an attack from behind, trained to feel vulnerable and helpless in the wake of that attack. Her reactions were enough to tell Geralt that her abuse had gone on for longer than he wanted to imagine and the lessons that her abuser had taught her would never be forgotten.

She seemed only mildly surprised at his words as she quirked a brow at him, "And what do you intend to do?"

"I intend to make you use it." He grumbled as he slid a rag over his blade and began to polish, "Acknowledge it, control it, use it, and then put it away."

Lyrra smothered a sigh as she looked almost bemused at him, "I don't understand. Why are you going through all this trouble?"

"I repay my debts."

She stared at him for a long moment, "And what debt could you possibly owe me that would incur this sort of payment?"

Geralt barely stifled a sigh as he set his sword and cloth to the side and met her stare head-on. Neither he nor Jaskier had mentioned what they had discovered in the woods to her. He didn't feel comfortable leaving her alone until he had more answers. Yet, even this was only a small reason to stay and he wasn't about to elaborate further. He didn't have to – she could very well make the connections on her own.

"It wouldn't be for playing nursemaid. This is all too much trouble for a simple act of kindness." She smirked bitterly and he saw shades of her sister shine through, "Renfri, then. I find it particularly curious that a woman you met briefly years ago has this much impact. Granted, yes, you did kill her, but you've killed plenty. Monsters and men. What made my sister so special?"

Geralt frowned disapprovingly at her words, but he recognized the provocation for what it was, wounded pride and desperate defense, "Why? Afraid you don't measure up to her?"

"I know I don't." Lyrra answered wearily, "She was strong. She took her pain and let it fuel her – she thrived from it... I'm not her, Sir Witcher. You've been looking for her since you woke."

That was true... to an extent. There was no denying the resemblance, but Lyrra's temperament was much different from her sister. Renfri, he understood. He understood her pain, her rage, and her desire for justice. He even understood her need to demolish all who stood in her path, even if he didn't agree with it. Lyrra was quieter than her sister however, he sensed that her pain went deeper. Her fear and rage simmered below a well-crafted surface, waiting for the opportunity to overwhelm. He had seen glimpses as she sparred with him. Had watched as she expended more of her energy battling herself and her instincts than she had him.

"I know you're not Renfri, Lyrra." Geralt uttered softly, "And she's only a small part of why I'm doing this. Though I do wonder, why you've indulged me so far."

Lyrra seemed to falter at his words, a faint sadness lined her stormy eyes before she grimaced and looked away, "Because... when I look at you, I see her too."

He cocked a brow and waited.

"Most people remember my sister as a monster." Lyrra explained softly, "You remember a person. I can see it in your eyes when I mention her name or I do something similar to her. You reinforce her memory and it's hard to walk away from that."

"I killed her, why aren't you angry with me?"Geralt finally demanded, "The memories I evoked cannot be pleasant. I took her from you."

"Aridea took her from me." Lyrra whispered, her eyes glazed as she fell into distant memories, "As did the mage. My Renfri died long before you ever arrived."

He didn't know how to respond to that, so he didn't. He sighed heavily and he waited for her attention to come back to him, "I will stay only as long as it takes for my wounds to finish healing." He stood and Lyrra watched after him curiously as he moved for the cottage, "You shouldn't underestimate simple acts of kindness. You help heal me, I help heal you. It's that simple, Lyrra."

"How?"

Geralt didn't look back, "Come and find out.”

»»————-　　————-««

Jaskier hated this.

To her credit, Lyrra was doing an admirable job at being brave, aside from the tense set to her jaw, her mien remained expressionless. However, there were still signs that she wasn't handling the current situation well. She had turned that stark white color again and it was only very faint, but he could make out the tremor spilling through her hands. He itched to go to her, but her recent reticence with him weighed heavily on his mind. Geralt had said her reserve had nothing to do with him, but still, he was uncertain.

The witcher stood behind her, hovering just inside her personal space and not touching, merely observing, but she seemed to be anticipating some action from the larger man. What though, Jaskier wasn't sure. He knew that sometimes Geralt would press a hand to her shoulder or hip, but never in the same area. He also knew that he wanted this exercise to be over. This was the third day of them playing some variation of this little game after going through defensive stances and he was tired of it. Despite the impassivity on both Lyrra's and Geralt's face, he could sense her distress and it was making him anxious.

Logically, he knew that Geralt would never hurt her, but logic was hard to hold onto when all he wanted to do was to step in between them. When he knew that when they finally finished for the day, she would disappear for an hour and come back with tear tracks staining her cheeks.

He fidgeted uncomfortably, "Is there a point to this? I didn't think defense had anything to do with standing like statues."

A small smile quirked at Lyrra's lips at his words, but no further reaction or explanation came forth from either of his companions. Instead, Geralt tilted his head in thought as his studious gaze suddenly landed on Jaskier. He always found it rather dangerous when Geralt looked at him like that – it usually meant he was about to be used as bait for some horrific creature.

He gave the witcher a leery look and nearly missed the amused glint that entered Lyrra's grey orbs as she watched him.

"Jaskier, come here."

The bard jerked his attention back to his friend and tried not to frown as Lyrra tensed again. He hated this. Geralt stared at him expectantly and Jaskier sighed as he slipped from his perch on the woodpile. His journal and quill laid forgotten on the ground as he approached, writing was something of a chore currently anyway. Lyrra's eyes followed him curiously as he neared and he couldn't help but send her a flirtatious smile as he stood next to her. He did so love when she blushed from that grin and as expected a faint coral red rose to her cheeks, "How can I be of service?"

Geralt rolled his eyes as he watched the bard's antics, but backed up a few steps as he ordered, "Stand where I am."

Jaskier huffed and stepped into the space that had been vacated, "So, am I just supposed to stand here? What is this accomplishing anyway? Is this some secret witcher technique to make people aware of their surroundings?"

The last bit was more of a taunt than an actual question. He wasn't a complete idiot – he had seen the way Lyrra tensed whenever someone stood behind her and he knew that Geralt was trying to stop that tension from turning into something more... dramatic. He bit back a smirk as he heard Lyrra and Geralt sigh at the same time.

Geralt moved to stand in front of them both, making sure that Lyrra kept her gaze forward as he gave his next set of instructions. There was almost a look of forewarning that the witcher sent to their hostess and by the way, she suddenly stilled, Jaskier was hesitant to do anything he was asked. As if he could hear his thoughts, Geralt levied a heavy glare in his direction, "Jask, place your hand on the small of her back."

He didn't move, a sense of foreboding filling his being as he stared at his friend, "Wh -"

Lyrra sighed again and rolled her shoulders, "It's okay, Jaskier...go on."

Her assurances weren't good enough and Jaskier found himself scowling as he asked, "Can one of you please fill me in on the importance of this exercise?"

"No." Geralt answered soundly and lifted a brow at him, "The small of her back."

Stubbornly, he crossed his arms, not in the least intimidated by the witcher's glare. He was going to get a bloody answer out of one of them for this continued nonsense. Lyrra was the one to break as she kept her gaze forward and her voice unreasonably light as she said, "He's trying to keep me from falling into some bad memories. I was hurt repeatedly as a child and when someone touches my back, I remember that pain. It makes me rather useless when being attacked, apparently."

"You're not useless." While her words were unsurprising, the dark twist through his gut was as he tried to quell the urge to demand further explanation. Despite, what Lyrra may think he had ascertained some form of abuse to her person from their night at the inn. She had spoken during her nightmare, quietly whispered pleas that had fair broken his heart – he couldn't bring himself to ask after those cries when her gaze had alighted on him that night, he was beginning to wish he had. Fuck, he didn't want to cause her pain, "Lyrra, we don't need to do this."

She peeked at him over her shoulder and smiled gently as if he were the one who was being tested, "It's fine."

It really wasn't.

She turned back before he had a chance to protest.

"You've both lost your damn minds." He scoffed quietly and glared almost petulantly at Geralt as the witcher merely crossed his arms and patiently waited. He had a feeling if he didn't do it then his friend would and somehow that seemed much worse.

Nervously, he shook his hand out before hesitantly reaching up and pressing his fingers into the hollow of her back. She went positively rigid, but as he moved to yank his hand back Geralt froze him with a look.

An expectant look.

It was as if he were expecting the bard to suddenly know what to do to make this all better. He wasn't a bloody mind healer for Melitele's sake, "Tell me to stop, Lyrra."

"It's fine." Her voice was tight as if she were gritting her teeth.

Jaskier swore, he fucking hated this – desperately, he fell back into the one tool he knew how to use better than anything, "Close your eyes, Lyrra and listen to my voice."

She must have sent Geralt a look as the witcher nodded at her to follow his directions. She crossed her arms and Jaskier bit back a sigh as Geralt sent him another expectant glance. He kept his touch light as he asked softly "When you blew that dandelion into my face, what did you wish for?"

"What?" Lyrra asked somewhat bewildered.

"I know it's been a few days, but after we decided we were unfit to marry. I handed you a dandelion and you blew it into my face." He ignored the raised eyebrow from Geralt at his words and pushed on, "What did you wish for?"

"Um... nothing. I just wanted to see your reaction." Lyrra murmured.

"Oh?" Instead of pulling away as his instincts were screaming at him to do, he slid his hand around to grab her hip. A touch of humor and curiosity entered his voice as he asked, "And did I give you the reaction you wanted?"

She snorted quietly, "You were surprised... but delighted, like I had just given you a grand gift instead of a face full of seedlings."

Jaskier felt a small grin tug at his lips and he gradually began to press his body closer to her, "You did give me a gift. You trusted me to be your friend." She began to stiffen again as his warmth started to settle against her back, "Trust me now, Lyrra. Trust that it's me behind you. Trust that I will never hurt you... What happens when someone touches your back?"

"I panic." She whispered tightly.

Jaskier grimaced, "No, start smaller. What's the first thing you feel?"

There was a long drawn out pause and for a horrible minute, the bard was sure he had made a mistake, had drawn her further into her fears instead of away. Then a shuddering breath stole through her as she answered, "Ice. It feels like ice has been poured into my veins. I hate the cold."

"What else?"

She swallowed, "My heart beats so hard that I'm sure it will pound through my chest. My throat tightens and I can't seem to scream, no matter how hard I try... and I feel weak as a babe, my arms heavy and my feet slow...and I can feel him. I can feel his hands and his breath."

A nauseous roil climbed Jaskier's stomach as he began to work out just how exactly she had been hurt. Her reserve around him suddenly made more sense... By the Gods, how he hated this. He clamped down on the need to rebuke both his friend and Lyrra for making her relive these horrific memories day after day. His grip on her tightened ever so slightly as if he could drag those memories from her skin, "You're not weak. You're still here. Still breathing, still speaking, and warm, and kind. I have watched you. You take the time to chat with every customer, you take the handsy ones away from the other barmaid."

"I don't-"

"– don't deny it, I've seen you do it." He rubbed faint circles into her hips as his chest met her back, "You always greet the barkeep with a smile. You help that man – Nigel – find safe shelter when he's too deep in his cups. You speak only kindly of Madam Hatchet."

"Madam Tyssa."

He smiled at her exasperated correction, "You gave Geralt your bed and your home. You listen to me ramble. You let us try to help."

Her hands slipped down to meet his. He could feel a faint tremor through her chilled fingers and gently trapped them under his on her hips. It was an odd reverse hug they stood in, but Jaskier didn't dare move now. Instead, he buried his face into her hair and continued to whisper to her, gentle questions and even kinder observations.

The couple had forgotten Geralt as he watched her trembling subside and her pallor lessened, "Lyrra."

Her grey eyes wearily lifted for the first time since Jaskier had begun speaking and the witcher found himself softening under her wary look. He silently asked her if she would be okay to try the next part of their exercise. The part they hadn't been able to get to before. She sighed inaudibly and nodded as she unconsciously tensed in Jaskier's arms.

The bard turned an irate stare on his friend, already sure he didn't want to hear the next set of instructions, "No. Whatever you're about to say, Geralt, just no. We've done enough for today."

There must have been something in his gaze that gave Geralt pause as normally the witcher had no compunctions about overruling him. Hesitantly, he nodded in agreement, "We'll try again tomorrow."

A faint murmur of protest left Lyrra's lips and it was all Jaskier could do not to shake the woman. Was she so intent on torturing herself? His lips brushed the rim of her ear, "Tomorrow Lyrrana. I will touch you until your heart's content tomorrow."

"How do you make everything sound like an innuendo?" Lyrra asked quietly as she tilted her head back to meet his stare. A faint twinkle of amusement shined in her grey orbs and he nearly smiled in relief.

He basked in that look, in her nearness as she leaned willing against him. For what felt like the first time in millennia, though it had only been a couple of days, she wasn't staying just out of his reach, wasn't presenting her mask of polite tolerance at him. He brushed a light kiss to her brow, "Just talented that way."

Her faint blush returned under his scrutiny and he bit back the urge to taste her lips when she didn't pull away. Slowly, he linked his fingers with hers and tugged her around to face him, "You don't have to hide from me, you know? I may talk utter nonsense, but I do make a rather good listener too, my lovely Lyrra."

She stilled in surprise and a sheepish smile quirked at her lips as she realized her attempt at distance hadn't gone unnoticed, "Jaskier..."

He didn't particularly want to hear her excuses or apologies just then. He shook his head at her with an amused huff before gesturing for the cottage, "Come on. We'll talk later."

Lyrra said nothing as she let him guide her inside.

Previous Chapter     Next Chapter

[julilihatfun]

prompt time!!! feel free to ignore this if it doesn't speak to you, but: what about something where jaskier keeps asking for a break and geralt thinks he's just whining about being tired, but really, he's been hiding a serious wound, which may or may not be infected, and he's actually UNDERreacting? :D if you don't like this, i can try again!

Thank you so much for this prompt - really loved writing it and I hope that I did it justice!

————————————————————————————

“Geralt.”, Jaskier tries again. His voice is slightly wobbly, but Geralt does not seem to really care.

He just sighs again, really, making Jaskier feel like the biggest burden on the planet. And he tried powering through – he really did. But he started feeling dizzy and disconnected hours ago and every step sends shivers of pain through his body.

“No.”, the Witcher growls eventually, making Jaskier wince.

“Please…” He tries, desperate for a little rest. “I-“

“Damn it Jaskier!”, Geralt roars then, a clear sign of the stress he had been experiencing in the past couple of days. “People are dying – we can’t rest every time your feet hurt.”

Jaskier is positive that he is dying, too, but Geralt probably has a point, so he keeps his mouth shut. His feet don’t hurt, actually. His left side is giving him trouble though – the one where the huge, hideous flower-thingy (he’s pretty sure that Geralt called it an Archespore, but it’s not like Jaskier really cares about that right now) that they encountered a few hours prior, shot some sort of thorn or- or leaf (honestly, what the fuck?) at him while Geralt was already burning it to the ground (Jaskier thinks, that it’s exactly what the thing deserved). And it hurt.

Really, really hurt.

Jaskier had stifled a scream, gasping dramatically and putting on a whole show for Geralt, but his Witcher barely glanced at him and Jaskier kind of abstained from telling Geralt, due to the pain gradually having lessened in intensity after he had pulled the thing out of his flesh. It had been barely bleeding, too, so he had just kind of assumed, that he would be fine. They desperately needed to get to Velen before the sunrise of the next day. And Geralt had been stressed and on edge for a whole week. It probably was a combination of a lack of sleep and the uprise of person-eating monsters in villages all over.

The pain came back with a vengeance a while later, while Jaskier was distractedly strumming his lute. He had hunched over with squeaky huff and the instrument produced a horrible, off-tune sound, that had Roach neighing in indignation. Geralt had thrown him the look. Had not commented though.

And the pain had not subsided since then.

Jaskier can feel beads of sweat trickling down his neck and back and his whole body feels awfully heavy and shaky. He would categorize this as a class A emergency, so he tries to get Geralts attention again.

“I really think that-“, he starts, then stops abruptly to swallow heavily. His throat is parched. Huh. When did that happen?

He tries coughing in order to find his voice again, but that just leaves him winded.

“Swallow a bug?”, Geralt huffs, and he does not quite sound amused, but definitely not concerned either. Jaskier shakes his head and clears his throat, trying to finally share his struggle in this moment of attention from Geralt.

“No.”, he grounds out, sounding shaky. “Feel weird.”

Geralts face seems to soften. “I know that the past days have been hard on you too.” He pauses slightly. “You can have plenty of rest as soon as we reach the inn.”

And Jaskier is so busy basking in the glow of Geralts niceness, that he misses his opportunity. The Witcher is already several steps ahead of him again.

And Jaskier really tries to hold it together then. Imagining himself licking his wounds in the comfort of a real bed. He can feel his legs tremble and every jostling step hurts.

When his vision starts blurring on the edges, he decides to bring this whole mess up again.

“Rest”, he wheezes. “Need- really have to…”

And then he sinks down dramatically, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on Geralt in a silent scream for help. The man swings down from Roach much more graciously than a man his size should be able to and rounds on Jaskier.

It really stings, when the Witcher shakes his head in anger. “Dying, Jaskier. People are dying.”, he growls yet again, and it makes Jaskier feel even worse.

“I know, I’m just-“

“Tired. Yeah. Imagine how I feel.”

And Jaskier really hopes, that Geralt does not feel as bad as he does. He does not think that it should be legal for anyone to feel like he does right in this moment.

“Please, Geralt.”, Jaskier begs and this time, Geralts face hardens.

“Would have thought that you would have more empathy.”

Jaskier desperately shakes his head. He needs Geralt to understand. Because something is wrong. Very wrong, and he is starting to feel scared.

“Rest. Might be able to catch up with me later.” And to Jaskiers horror, Geralt turns around and walks back towards Roach before he can even get another word out. And now – now he feels absolutely terrified at the prospect of having to handle this all by himself.

“NO!”, he hears himself scream and it sounds shrill and hoarse and just as panicked as he feels. “Please don’t leave me.”

Then, he starts to sob desperately, tears blurring his vision.

As soon as he has blinked some of them away, he looks directly into Geralts eyes.

“Sorry.”, he croaks. Geralt shakes his head yet again, but this time, the hardness is missing from his face. He gives Jaskier a once-over and furrows his brows.

“Something is wrong.” He states the obvious. “What.”

“Feel…” Jaskier swallows hard. “Real’ weird.”

“Yeah, I need you to be more specific.”

“’T hurts.”, the bard gasps then and Geralt closes his eyes in frustration for a second.

“How is that more specific?”, he asks.

Jaskier really does not have the energy to roll out the whole story, so he just shrugs, feeling more exhausted by the second, now that he is no longer on his feet.

Suddenly, there is a cold hand on his cheek, and his eyes snap open. He finds Geralts eyes again and then latches on, grasping the Witchers wrist tightly.

“You’re burning.”

Jaskier slumps forwards, resting his heavy head on Geralts clothed chest. It kind of grounds him, and he closes his eyes, wanting to just… rest.

“I need to know what’s wrong. Jaskier.” Jaskier hears the urgency in Geralts voice, but he can’t bring himself to react. “Are you ill? Or is there something else? Jaskier!”

The bard groans, Geralts wrist still held tightly between his fingers, which makes everything more uncomfortable, but he is not letting go anytime soon.

He cracks his eyes open slightly, and the disorientation lessens lightly. “Ugly plant.”, he mumbles. “Shot something at me.”

He gestures awkwardly towards his left side and Geralts eyes move to the medium sized hole in his shirt, that is bloody around the edges.

“Shit.” Geralts springs to his feet so fast, that Jaskier slumps forwards.

And when the Witcher runs towards Roach, the full-blown panic is back. Jaskier hears himself screeching something as he tries to prop himself up, whimpering in pain unconsciously.

But then Geralt is moving back towards him, helping him sit up again, and Jaskier finds his wrist again, clasping the Witchers shirt with his other hand this time. Just to make sure.

“Drink this!”, Geralt urges. “Now!” And then he tips some kind of milky liquid down Jaskiers throat so fast, that it leaves the bard gasping and sputtering.

After that, Geralt kind of just stares at him, as if expecting some sort of reaction.

Jaskier just lets himself fall forward again. They remain in that position for minutes until:

“Are we waiting for something?”

Suddenly, Geralt moves away again; this time to fret over Jaskiers wound.

“Fuck. Not poison then.”, he says, sounding a bit too hysteric for Jaskiers liking. “I can’t fix a fucking infection Jaskier.”

Jaskier tries to huff incredulously. “Your makin’ ‘t sound like ‘tis ‘s on me”

“You should have said something.” Geralt sounds tired and frustrated, so Jaskier feels pretty bad when his whispered: “Tried to”, makes Geralts entire face fall in guilt.

“’M sorry.”, he adds, because he can’t with the fucking puppy dog eyes.

After that, everything is a blur. He feels himself being heaved onto Roach, being carried up to a room. Feels cold cloths on his forehead and his chest. The bandages around his torso. Being urged to drink different sorts of teas and liquids. Nightmares, that leave him sobbing and heaving.

And through all of that, Geralt remains a steady presence. Sometimes, when Jaskier is somewhat coherent, he can see the Witcher watching him from his position on a terribly uncomfortable looking chair. When he wakes from the bad dreams, it’s Geralt who pulls him into his strong arms, muttering reassurances in a way, that is entirely unlike Geralt but also kind of not.

It’s Geralt, who makes him tea and brings him soup.

It’s always Geralt.

And it makes Jaskier feel warm and safe and at peace.

[oldandkinky]

For the Honey verse, it’d be interesting to see Geralt come face to face with just how much he’s traumatizing Jaskier. Like, Jaskier goes comatose because his mind can’t cope with the trauma anymore and Geralt can’t wake him up. He gets a mage to go into his mind, and finds out Jaskier is living in this perpetual dream where he’s back in the village with Essi and he never met Geralt. Then the mage forcibly wakes Jaskier up and Geralt sees the hope in his eyes shatter into pure misery as he realizes that Geralt wasn’t just a nightmare.

It's hurt the bard hours, lads.

DD:DNE. Contains graphic rape, general non-con, physical assault, dissociation, mental trauma.

**********

Jaskier has become almost unbearably quiet since they left Essi behind, and it grates on Geralt. It's not like the omega was chattering day and night when she was there, but he would smile and sing and tell her stories, and all of that… stopped.

He sits in front of Geralt as they plod down the roads, silent as the grave, only answering with yes or no when Geralt asks him things. It's infuriating.

He is, however, not quiet when Geralt fucks him, and the Witcher pulls off the road multiple times a day to do just that. He knows Jaskier is sore, is in pain, but he can't stop. If this is the only way he can get a reaction out of the boy, this is what he'll do.

Every part of Jaskier is rubbed raw in some fashion after a week. He's sore from riding, his cunt from the constant fucking, his wrists from the shackles Geralt puts on him at night, his face from crying. Part of Geralt wants to stop, wants to soothe Jaskier's aches and pains, wants to just hold him and fuck him so sweetly, wants to hear him moan and beg for it. Wants him to want it. Want him, but Jaskier still squeezes his eyes shut when they fuck, or turns his face away or stares at the ceiling or sky determinedly.

Anything to not have to acknowledge the alpha between his thighs, and it fuels the anger in Geralt until he can hardly contain it any more.

His patience runs out after that week. Jaskier is, as so often, curled up on his side, his back to Geralt as he tries to stifle his pained sobs after the tie released, and Geralt is just… so fed up with everything.

"Why won't you let me be good to you," he asks, not even trying to mask his bitterness. Jaskier stiffens, his breath hitching. He doesn't reply, and Geralt growls. "I asked you a question, Jaskier."

The omega starts to shake, and then he rolls onto his back with a pained grimace before he turns his head to look at Geralt. The shackles clink as he moves. His eyes are red from crying, his lips bitten raw. He looks absolutely pitiful. "Is that a serious question?" His voice is surprisingly level.

"I wouldn't have asked if it wasn't."

Jaskier just looks at him for a long moment. It makes Geralt's skin itch, to be scrutinised like that. "How did you become a Witcher," Jaskier asks quietly, apropos of nothing, and Geralt frowns.

"Mutations. There were… trials, potions, when I was a child. They changed me, made me into what I am now."

The boy hums. "Did it hurt?"

"Extremely."

"Did you choose to become a Witcher?"

"No."

"I know most of the schools were destroyed. No new Witchers in decades, so I assume the knowledge was lost." Something in Geralt purrs at this. His mate is so clever. He nods, and Jaskier purses his lips. "If you could face the people who did this to you, who hurt you like that - what would you do? Would you thank them? Or would you want to rip their throats out for what they did to that little boy who didn't have a choice?"

Geralt stares back at the omega. His throat is tight, and his skin crawls.

Is that truly how Jaskier sees him? Is he that monster, just like the mages who sent so many children to their deaths? He knows Jaskier despises him, knows that he doesn't want to be mated to him, but this?

"I'm not… I just want to keep you safe," he says, and Jaskier laughs.

"You want to keep me," he hisses. "You don't care what I feel or want. Your stupid alpha instinct caught a whiff of me and decided that I was yours, and fuck what I think about that." His mouth twists. "You don't see me as a person, Geralt. You see me as a pretty hole that you can do with as you please. And you're not going to change. You think you're owed my loyalty, my devotion. Access to and control over everything that I am." He turns his head away, looks up at the ceiling of their tent. "I look at you and all I can think about is that I should've stabbed you in the eye instead. Maybe then this nightmare would be over."

Geralt stares at the boy's profile. He looks calmer than he has in days, as if speaking his truth has lifted a weight off of him.

"I want you to be happy," he croaks, and Jaskier's mouth quirks into a mirthless smile.

"Throw yourself off a cliff, then. And make sure you don't get up again." With that he rolls onto his side again, wincing, and then he doesn't say anything else.

Geralt keeps staring at his back, his heart thudding painfully against his ribs.

He has to find a way to fix this. He has to find a way to tie Jaskier to him so securely, the boy will have no choice but to accept him.

**********

Geralt doesn't touch Jaskier at all the next day, or the one after that. He walks beside Roach while he lets Jaskier ride, and in the evening, all he does is pull Jaskier against him to share heat. He expects the boy to relax, now that he's giving him space, but the opposite happens. Jaskier grows more and more tense with every day that passes like this, and Geralt can feel his suspicious gaze like a physical touch.

Finally, after three days, Jaskier snaps. He lays in Geralt's embrace that evening, stiff as a board, and Geralt can smell nothing but confusion and anger. Then Jaskier hisses, "What are you doing?"

Geralt huffs. "Trying to sleep."

"No, I mean… Why aren't you… You haven't fucked me in days."

"Do you want me to?"

Jaskier barks a hysterical little laugh. "Gods, no. I'm just- I don't know what you're playing at."

"I'm not playing at anything. You… You were in pain. Needed time to heal."

"Why? You're going to hurt me again, and again, and again. Why pretend that you care about my comfort?"

Geralt growls and rolls away, sitting up. His hands are clenched into fists in his lap. "You're my omega," he says, voice trembling with anger, "and it's my duty to take care of you."

Jaskier snorts. "Been doing a shit job of that so far."

The Witcher grits his teeth. "What the fuck do you want from me, Jaskier? I fuck you, you complain, I don't fuck you, you complain. I don't know what you expect from me."

"I expect you to stop fucking lying to yourself," the boy hisses. "I am never going to stop fighting you. I will never be the sweet little mate you want me to be. I hate you with every fiber of my being, and I long for the day you die. Preferably a bloody, painful death, so you can experience just an ounce of what you have put me through."

"What have I put you through? What? I saved you from starving to death in that little shithole village! From alphas who would have-"

"Who would have what?" Jaskier sits up, his eyes blazing. "Who would have raped me? The way you have been raping me every single day for weeks?" He sneers. It's an ugly sight. "You're not the hero in this story, Geralt, you're the villain. The monster under the bed, except you're in my bed and I have no way of getting rid of you."

Geralt wants to hit him. He pictures it, an open-handed slap to the face, then a punch to the gut, and another and another, until Jaskier stops saying these things. 

"I meant what I said," he forces out after a moment. "I just want you to be happy."

Jaskier moves then, reaching for his hands. His are so small, fingers wrapped around Geralt's. "Then please, please let me go. I won't tell anyone what you've done, I promise, I just want to be left in peace, please, Geralt." His voice trembles, as if he's about to start crying again.

The Witcher stares down at their intertwined hands. His throat feels tight.

Jaskier shuffles closer. "Please, alpha, please do the right thing."

Geralt turns to look at him. Jaskier's eyes are wide and pleading, glistening with unshed tears and what Geralt thinks is hope.

He pulls his hands free and reaches up, grabs Jaskier by the back of his neck. He just holds him for a moment, stroking his thumb back and forth over his soft skin, and then he slams him down onto the bedroll. Jaskier cries out, then groans in pain as his head connects with the ground. He blinks, dazed. Geralt holds him down, snarls. "I'm never letting you go, Jaskier. You're mine, do you not understand that?"

Jaskier blinks again, his eyes hazy. "I-"

"No one will take you away from me, ever." He takes hold of Jaskier's breeches with his free hand and yanks them off, making Jaskier cry out again, then unlaces his own trousers. "I want you to be happy, Jaskier, just want to be a good alpha for you, give you everything you need." He pushes Jaskier's legs apart, and the daze the boy has been in seems to lift all at once. He starts to struggle, whimpering as he twists and scrabbles at the blankets with his bound hands, and Geralt pushes his face harder against the ground. "I don't care how long it takes." He shoves his hand between Jaskier's legs - he's as dry as he can possibly be - and rubs roughly at his clit a couple of times. Jaskier tries to squirm away, a high, animalistic whine stuck in his throat, and Geralt spits on his cunt. "I'll make you understand what you mean to me."

Jaskier screams as the alpha forces his cock into him, stinking like panic and pain and revulsion, and Geralt snaps his hips harshly until he's fully inside the resisting body underneath him. Jaskier gasps and sobs, his breath too fast, his hands scrabbling in the dirt. "Don't, no, please don't, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts," he babbles, voice climbing hysterically, and Geralt digs his fingers into the back of his neck. He smells blood, knows Jaskier must have torn, and he doesn't care.

He will show the boy who he belongs to.

**********

It gets worse after that. Jaskier stops speaking entirely, barely reacts to anything Geralt says or does any more. He goes through the motions alright: eating, breaking down or setting up camp, holding onto Geralt's arm around his waist as they ride, but he doesn't fucking talk.

Geralt is restless, and he does feel a sliver of guilt when he gets a look at the omega's cunt the morning after. There's a dark patch of blood on the bedroll, more smeared between the boy's thighs. He did tear, quite substantially, and Geralt has to hold him down to give him stitches. Jaskier flinches and whimpers, but he doesn't say anything then either.

They reach Oxenfurt while Jaskier is like that, letting Geralt direct him like a puppet. His eyes are distant, and when Geralt gets them a room at an inn, he flops down onto the bed and stares at the wall.

Geralt stands by the door, watching the slow rise and fall of his back, and doesn't know what to do.

He fastens Jaskier's shackles to the bed before he leaves to find a healer. He doesn't really have human-safe ointments with him, hasn't needed them until now, but he needs something for Jaskier's injuries. They're not really getting better. He's sure being on a horse all day doesn't help.

When he returns, Jaskier is still exactly how he left him. He doesn't react when Geralt comes in, not when he calls his name, not when he touches him. His eyes are closed, his breathing slow and even. Asleep. Geralt scrubs at his face and decides to let the boy get his rest.

***********

Jaskier doesn't wake up.

He doesn't react when Geralt smears the salve the healer gave him onto his cunt, and he doesn't move at all during the night. He doesn't wake when Geralt shakes him, not when he sits him up, not when he slaps him.

His heartbeat is steady, as is his breathing, and he doesn't smell of distress or pain. He smells… happy.

Geralt wouldn't say he panics, but it's close enough to what he imagines panic must feel like. 

He takes Jaskier to the healer, desperation crawling under his skin, and the woman sniffs the air delicately and frowns at him. "He's injured," she says, her disdain clear, and Geralt grits his teeth.

"Yes."

"Did you do this to him?" She barely reaches Geralt's chest. He could break her like a twig, and yet she doesn't make a secret of how she feels about him. Geralt's jaw works for a moment.

"We had a… misunderstanding."

The woman purses her lips. Then she leans over Jaskier, listens to his heartbeat, takes his pulse, lifts his eyelids. She frowns. "I don't think this is something I can help with." She crosses her arms in front of her chest, her tone accusatory. "Whatever happened between you two, my best guess is that he couldn't deal with it. His mind has shut down. I don't think he will wake up any time soon."

Geralt grits his teeth once more and pays her before he leaves, Jaskier boneless in his arms.

**************

Nothing changes for two days. Jaskier remains unconscious, and Geralt finds himself growing more and more anxious.

He can't stop thinking about what the healer said. Did he cause this? Did he push Jaskier too far? He knows he probably overreacted, knows that he hurt Jaskier badly. But this?

He sits beside the omega, watches the way his eyelids flutter every once in a while. He's dreaming, he realises, breathing in his mate's sweet scent. It must be a good dream, to have Jaskier smelling like that.

After another day of no change to Jaskier's condition, Geralt decides to grasp the nettle and find a mage. If a traditional healer can't help him, maybe magic can.

*********

It doesn't take long to find someone. Money does that, he has found. The man he brings back to their room is a beta, slim and a bit squirrely at the prospect of being in a room with a Witcher, but he doesn't say anything. He sets to examining Jaskier, chaos crackling in the small room and making Geralt's hair stand on end.

The man frowns, tilting his head. His eyes are closed as he roots through Jaskier's subconscious. "Did he go through trauma recently? Lost a family member, perhaps?"

Geralt's mouth thins. "In a sense. His sister. She's at the temple in Ellander."

"Hm."

"What, hm?" He only realised the irony of his question after it has left his lips, but he can't be bothered. "What do you see?"

The mage opens his eyes. Geralt doesn't much like the expression on his face. "I could show you. Easier than trying to explain."

Geralt doesn't even have to consider. "Do it."

The mage has him lie down beside Jaskier, then tells him to close his eyes and relax. "Don't try and fight it, you'll only hurt yourself. And remember, you can't influence anything, you're only there to watch."

Geralt presses his lips together and closes his eyes.

***********

He's in a meadow, surrounded by wildflowers. It's a warm day, early summer, and the sky is clear and endlessly blue above him.

A child, laughing. He follows the sound through the trees. There's a little stream, shallow and no broader than a foot. Essi is standing inside the water, her dress pulled up to her thighs as she marches back and forth, kicking and splashing as she giggles. She looks older than Geralt remembers.

At the bank of the stream is Jaskier. He, too, looks older. His hair is longer, and he's slim and beautiful. His skin is unblemished, no bruises, no mating bite. He sits by the stream, legs stretched out in front of him, his feet bare and breeches rolled up to his knees, and he's smiling at Essi's antics. He looks utterly content.

Geralt walks across the grass soundlessly, kneeling beside the omega. "Jaskier," he murmurs, and he reaches out and cups the boy's cheek. Jaskier doesn't react at all, looking right through Geralt at Essi.

A sound behind them, and when Geralt turns to look, there's a man walking towards them. He's clearly an alpha, but utterly faceless, more of an idea of a person than anyone in particular.

His hair is dark, and short, and Geralt grits his teeth.

Jaskier gets to his feet and lets the man pull him into his arms with a happy sigh. "Took you long enough," he murmurs, tilting his head back to allow the man to breathe him in.

"I had to finish with the horses. Did you miss me, sweetheart?"

The omega chuckles and winds an arm around his neck to tug him down for a kiss. "Always," he breathes before their lips meet, and Geralt is rigid with rage.

The scene shifts. It's night, and they're in a house somewhere. It's bigger than Jaskier's cottage but not by much, and Jaskier is closing the door to a room and saying goodnight to Essi before he turns towards another door. Geralt follows. It's a bedroom, small and cramped but surprisingly cozy.

The faceless alpha is already in the bed, and Jaskier tugs his chemise over his head before he slides under the covers beside him. Now, there is a mating bite, on the opposite side of where Geralt bit him.

"When are you going to tell her," the alpha asks softly, and Geralt watches with bile in his throat as the man places a broad hand on Jaskier's stomach. The boy hums and puts his own hand on top.

"In a while. I want it to be our secret for a bit longer."

The alpha nuzzles Jaskier's cheek softly. "I still can't believe it."

Jaskier turns in the man's arms. He's smiling, looking so, so happy. He runs his hand through the man's dark hair. "Believe it, my darling. Soon we'll hold our baby." He slips his arm around the man's neck and presses even closer. "I love you," he whispers, and Geralt sees red.

"Get me out of here," he hisses, "right now."

He blinks, and when he opens his eyes again he's looking up at the inn room's ceiling. The air stinks of his rage, and he takes a few moments to breathe, to try and calm himself.

Beside him, Jaskier is still, breathing deeply and smelling so sweet and happy. Happy, dreaming about a life where he never met Geralt.

The Witcher sits up, rests his elbows on his knees as he tries to breathe through the hurt. The mage shifts his weight. "Can you wake him?"

The man is silent for a moment, then he hums. "I can. But I wouldn't recommend it. I have no idea what it will do to his mental state."

Geralt turns to face Jaskier again, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, the sweet curve of his mouth. "Do it, and then get the fuck out of here."

"My payment-"

"Pouch on the table. Take it and get out."

The mage is still for a moment, then takes a deep breath. "As you wish."

Chaos crackles through the air, and Jaskier's heart beats faster. He twitches, grimaces, and then his eyes flutter. He sucks in air through his nose as he rolls onto his side, his hand moving across the sheets as though searching for something, or someone, and Geralt takes hold of it, squeezing softly.

The chaos stops, and the mage grabs the pouch and slips out the door without another word, and Geralt stares down at Jaskier. It seems like it takes forever for him to really wake up. His grip on Geralt's hand tightens and he tugs it closer to his face, rubbing his cheek against the alpha's fingers, and Geralt holds still.

Finally, Jaskier hums. "Did I oversleep," he murmurs, eyes still closed, and Geralt's mouth twitches.

"You could say that," he rasps, and Jaskier's eyes fly open. His gaze finds Geralt, and he can watch the devastation, the terror taking hold of the boy. His grip is like a vise around Geralt's fingers.

Geralt smiles down at him, and Jaskier screams.