#geralt has a wife and a husband lucky him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

contemplativepancakes · 4 years

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enough to drive a man mad

~7k geraskier fake dating, because that is what this fandom needs. read on ao3 here!

Jaskier smells anxious. He reeked of apprehension all of yesterday, not to mention the fact that he hasn’t been able to sit still or stop tapping his foot on the wooden floorboards this morning.

It’s grating on Geralt’s last nerve.

“What, Jaskier?” he finally growls.

Jaskier jumps, almost falling out of his chair from where he sits tapping his quill idly in his notebook.

“What?”

“What has you so worked up?”

Jaskier looks Geralt in the eyes before glancing away again. He clears his throat. “Nothing.”

Geralt grunts.

“Oh, don’t sound so unconvinced,” Jaskier complains.

Geralt rolls his eyes, turning his back to Jaskier to finish settling all of his things into his pack. He wraps the glass jars carefully and tucks them between Jaskier’s shirts, so they don’t break. “If nothing is wrong, you’re ready to go then, right?”

Jaskier grumbles, but he tucks his notebook away and gets to his feet.

They make it about three hours before Jaskier finally broaches the subject.

“So, Geralt,” he starts. “Dear friend of mine.”

Geralt doesn’t even bother to look back at him. Nothing good can come with this as a conversation starter.

“Have I ever told you about my parents?”

“No.”

Jaskier sighs. “I suppose not. Well, they’ve written to me. They want me to visit.”

Geralt thinks back to the letter an innkeeper had handed to Jaskier a few weeks ago, the one that made him eerily quiet the rest of the night and that he had clammed up about when Geralt questioned him. Jaskier was perky and practically completely back to normal the next morning, so Geralt had almost forgotten about it. Apparently, Jaskier had not done the same.

“Hmm.”

“Yes, yes, I know. Dreadfully inconvenient for you. What will you do without your loyal companion?”

Geralt frowns. He hadn’t even thought about that, just registered the smell of unhappiness coming off of Jaskier at the thought of his parents. Jaskier is rather helpful, though. He’s never afraid to step in the middle of pay negotiations, inevitably getting Geralt more coin, and he’s certain Jaskier has stopped them from getting kicked out of at least three towns after Geralt had stumbled back to the inn covered in viscera.

“Do you want to visit them?”

Jaskier trips over his feet, and Geralt dutifully looks away, pretending not to have noticed. “Not particularly. But I have to.”

Geralt won’t pretend to understand how a typical human family works, so he just accepts Jaskier’s words at face value. He’s never felt obliged to return to Kaer Morhen every winter; it’s something he looks forward to—to seeing his patchwork family. But Jaskier deliberately never speaks of his family, and gets twitchy every time anyone brings them up, so Geralt had accepted it as one of Jaskier’s many quirks and moved on.

“Hmm. Well, I can travel with you there, at least. I’m sure there will be contracts in the area somewhere.”

Jaskier flushes red. “I was...I was actually hoping you would come with me.”

“What? I’m sure that’s not what your parents had in mind when they wanted you to visit. They wouldn’t want to meet me .”

“Well, they said it’s unbecoming for someone of my age to be a bachelor. And, so I. I, um.” Jaskier scratches the back of his neck. “I told them I wasn’t. And I maybe sort of perhaps insinuated we were together.”

Geralt can feel a stress headache brewing.

Marilla looks down at the letter in shock.

Dear Mother,

I fear I am not quite as much of a bachelor as you suppose. Have you heard any of my songs? I have gone and fallen head first into my muse. Typical, foolish me, but I’ve never been happier. We’ll visit soon.

Julian

She doesn’t like to think about Julian’s songs, about how he couldn’t even keep the name she had given him. She thrusts the letter to her husband. “He’s coming to visit,” she says in disbelief. “When’s the last time we saw him?”

Ethbert considers this as he reads the letter. “At least five years.”

“And I can’t believe he hasn’t spoken of this ‘muse’ any sooner. I’m not sure I believe him.”

Ethbert gave Marilla a placating smile. “He’s probably just ashamed he hasn’t found himself a wife yet. We’ll find out when he comes, doubtless with an excuse about where his beloved is.”

Marilla sniffs. “You’re right.”

Nell looks down at the scene in the kitchen with wide eyes from her spot crouched down between the banisters at the top of the stairs. Her brother? With a wife? She could scarcely imagine it. She thinks back to the last time Julian was here, the way he had boasted to her about his conquests for hours, away from the prying ears of their parents.

Well, surely if he had someone, he’d have talked about her in his songs. She resolves to get her hands on some of his music. She’ll solve this mystery before Julian even gets here.

“The first thing to know is that they’re awful,” Jaskier says, ticking down one of his fingers as he walks along beside Roach, seemingly uncaring of the dust that’s drifting up from her hooves and onto his doublet. “Well, except for my sister. Be nice to my sister, please, Geralt.”

“I’m nice to everyone.”

Jaskier stifles a laugh. “Mm. Be extra nice to her, then.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“You need to loosen up, too. They’re never going to think we’re together when you look all...constipated like that.”

Geralt huffs.

“You’re lucky opposites attract,” Jaskier says, before dragging a hand down his face. “This is never going to work, is it?”

Nell squints at the lyrics spread out before her. This doesn’t sound very romantic to her at all. Maybe a breakup song? She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss , Nell hums. She can’t help but notice there’s three different people the song is talking about, though. Odd. She shakes her head and moves onto the next song.

This one is just a ditty, so Nell turns the page to see a song about the witcher Jaskier travels with. And then another, and another. Is he all Julian writes about? She expected to see love songs, not this nonsense. She goes through more of his catalogue, briefly regretting spending her allowance on the songbook, but she supposes it supports her brother, after all.

She’ll just have to see what she can wheedle out of him while he’s here.

Finally, after flipping through no less than four more songs about the witcher, she lands on one titled “The Eternal Flame.”

Interesting.

Around your house, now white from frost

Sparkles ice on pond and marsh

Your longing eyes grieve what is lost

But naught can change this parting harsh

Spring will return, on the road the rain will fall

Hearts will be warmed by the heat of the sun

It must be thus, for fire still smolders in us all

An eternal fire, hope for each one

There, Nell can read some romance in. She rubs the ends of her hair together in thought. This one song certainly isn’t enough proof that Julian has actually found a wife. More like he’s still pining over some old flame. It doesn’t seem like he’s written very many good love songs at all.

Nell rolls her eyes, thinking back to all the raunchy songs in his catalogue. Typical.

There’s the squeak of the door opening downstairs, and Nell hastily slams the book shut and hides it under her mattress. She doesn’t want Julian seeing and getting a bigger head, after all.

She straightens her dress and runs down the steps, eager to see if Julian’s by himself, which is her guess. She comes to a skidding halt when she sees who is with him.

Oh.

She supposes he does write love songs, after all.

Geralt shifts uncomfortably from the scrutiny Jaskier’s family is giving him. He wraps an arm around Jaskier’s shoulder, hoping he doesn’t look as awkward as he feels. He looks over to Jaskier for help, and Jaskier shrugs off his arm and takes Geralt by the hand, leading him forward to meet them.

“Mother, Father, this is Geralt. Nell, this is a very large, scary witcher who will eat you up if you don’t behave.”

Geralt frowns. He thought Jaskier told him to be extra nice to his sister?

Nell laughs, a delightful, tinkling thing that reminds him of Jaskier’s. “He’s going to like me better than you by the time he leaves.”

Geralt looks back to Jaskier, only to see him sticking his tongue out at her. Right. Their relationship is definitely more antagonistic than Jaskier had prepared him for, so Geralt is glad he had Lambert to prepare him for these things.

He’s not sure his interactions with Lambert would be appropriate to apply to Jaskier’s sister, though, so Geralt will let Jaskier handle the ribbing.

“Nice to meet you,” Geralt finally says. “Jaskier’s told me a lot about you.”

Which, of course, is a lie, but Geralt knows that’s the polite thing to say.

“He’s never even mentioned me, has he?”

When Geralt waffles, Nell sniffs dramatically and casts Jaskier a betrayed look.

Jaskier shoots that look right back to Geralt, and Geralt is so impossibly out of his depth right now. “Hmm.”

“Now look what you’ve done, you’ve made him regret agreeing to meet you in the first place!” Jaskier cries.

“That’s quite enough, Julian,” Jaskier’s mother cuts in, and—Julian?

He shoots Jaskier a puzzled look. Obviously, there was a little more he should have told Geralt before they came here.

“Well, I’m afraid we are absolutely knackered; we’ve been riding all day. I’m going to head upstairs…”

Geralt shoots him a look.

“I mean, we are going to head out to the stables and make sure that Geralt’s very polite mare is taken care of.”

“We have someone—”

“No, no, Geralt is very picky about who cares for his horse.”

With that, Jaskier drags Geralt out of the house and to the barn. “I thought the goal was for them to like me?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier snorts. “Gods, no. The goal is to have them believe that we’re in a relationship, and they would never believe I would choose anyone they actually liked .”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Honestly, Geralt. It’ll be fine. Just stop acting like you’re terrified of me every time I touch you. Maybe we should practice.”

Jaskier gets a gleam in his eye as he darts a glance back to the house, and then his very warm mouth is on Geralt’s. Geralt’s surprised for a second before he relaxes and kisses Jaskier back. He’ll show Jaskier he’s not terrified of him. Geralt would scoff if his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied.

Geralt brings one hand up to rest on Jaskier’s jaw and one to wind through his soft hair. Geralt strokes his thumb over Jaskier’s cheekbone, and Jaskier melts against him, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s waist and tugging him closer.

“What was that for?” Geralt says, trying to keep his breathing even after they pull away.

Jaskier peers around him and looks back up at the house. “Well, they were watching through the window. Figured we’d give them a show. Alas.”

Jaskier turns and heads to the stables. Geralt trails behind him, surreptitiously bringing a hand up to his medallion to make sure it’s not vibrating.

He is in way over his head.

Nell stares at them with wide eyes from her bedroom window. She had...not exactly doubted them when Julian showed up with his witcher in tow, but she hadn’t exactly believed them, either. Who could let Julian trail around after them for years and not get sick of him?

If she hadn’t witnessed them kissing with her own two eyes, she never would have believed it. She pulls the book out from under the mattress and looks at the songs again, this time with a more critical eye. She can’t believe she didn’t see it before. Especially “Her Sweet Kiss.” She’d never admit it to Julian, but she’s glad he won over whoever this her is. He looks happy, in a way that he never did while he was here.

Her mother calls for her, so Nell sighs and puts away the book. She runs down the stairs. “Yes?”

“I need help with supper.”

Nell sets the table, noting they’re using the fancy silverware, which is a surprise, because her mother has never taken a particular interest of what Julian thinks of her before this, so this is an interesting time to start. She’s sure their meal is going to be a very uncomfortable affair. Well, not for her, unless it starts to become painful to hold her laughter in.

She can’t wait.

She’s just finishing arranging the cutlery when her mother turns back to her. “Can you believe Julian? I knew witchers were for hire, but I didn’t think their services extended to...this.”

Nell barely holds back a snort.

Jaskier looks over to Geralt and suppresses a sigh. He had just planted a hand on Geralt’s thigh, and he’s sure his parents think that he just stabbed Geralt, from his reaction. He scoots his chair closer over to Geralt and drapes an arm over his shoulders. “Relax,” he whispers into Geralt’s ear.

Geralt does, marginally, but Jaskier can still see the doubt on his parent’s faces.

Jaskier’s father clears his throat. “So, Geralt, um. I suppose we know what you do, but, um. Um.”

“Honestly, haven’t you heard any of my songs? They are all the very true accounts of what Geralt gets up to,” Jaskier butts in.

Geralt takes a gulp of wine from his goblet to avoid commenting.

Jaskier notices, and elbows him in the ribs. “Geralt loves my songs, right?”

Jaskier’s parents are staring right at him, and it’s more than a little unnerving. “Right. They’re...very romantic.”

Jaskier’s grip around Geralt’s shoulders tightens. “Thank you, darling.”

Geralt is sure Vesemir once told him witchers can’t blush, but his face feels hot all of a sudden, and everyone is looking at him expectantly.

Geralt takes another drink.

Jaskier shakes his head. “Geralt’s been so nervous about meeting all of you. The poor dear is overwhelmed.”

Geralt shoots him a glare, before softening the look into something more akin to convincing Jaskier’s parents that they’re very happily together. Jaskier hastily bolts down the rest of his dinner before he drags Geralt up the stairs and to his room.

He shuts the door behind them, leaning against and tugging at his hair. “There’s no way they’re buying this,” he moans.

“I thought I was being rather convincing.”

The corner of Geralt’s lips twitch, so Jaskier hits him with a pillow. “You did not, you brute! Geralt if you’re doing this on purpose—”

“Hey, hey,” Geralt soothes. “I’m not. It’s just. Acting is not exactly on my list of talents.”

Jaskier crosses his arms and huffs. Geralt tugs him over to the bed and makes him sit down, plopping beside him. “What can I do?”

Jaskier throws his arm over his eyes and lays back, rather over dramatically, if you ask Geralt. “Nothi—Well, actually.”

Geralt does not like the sound of that. He was offering more to be nice than anything.

“We have to have sex.”

Geralt’s mouth goes dry. “What?”

Jaskier scoffs. “This is no time to act the blushing virgin, Geralt,” he says, before his hands are on Geralt’s clothes, tugging them and unbuttoning.

Geralt jerks back, but Jaskier is already done. “There. Nice and dishevelled.”

Geralt gapes at him for a moment, giving Jaskier the opportunity to muss his hair. Geralt growls.

“I know, I know. That took you hours to accomplish.”

Geralt catches his wrist. “Just, hold on a second. What are we doing?”

“We have to consummate my childhood bed, Geralt,” Jaskier says, completely seriously. “Or at least make my parents think we did.”

Jaskier starts moving his hips on the bed, making the headboard brush up against the wall with every gyration. “Mmm, fuck, Geralt, right there!” he cries.

“ Jaskier!” Geralt hisses, but Jaskier pays him no mind.

“You feel so good, darling!” He throws Geralt a wink, and Geralt tries not to combust.

Jaskier undoes three of the buttons of his doublet, revealing a thicket of chest hair. Geralt casts his eyes to the ceiling. Gods help him. “You know, you don’t have to be so stoic all the time, dear heart. You can let me hear you,” Jaskier says, pointedly prodding at Geralt.

Geralt shakes his head furiously. This is not what he agreed to.

Jaskier gives Geralt a put on sigh before clearing his throat quietly. “Oh, Jaskier,” he says in a deep voice.

“That doesn’t even sound like me,” Geralt whispers furiously.

Jaskier just arches an eyebrow, and Geralt knows that’s a challenge. He swings his leg over Jaskier, straddling him and trying to ignore both of their pounding hearts. It’s the heat of carrying out their plan, Geralt is sure, and not at all Jaskier’s proximity.

Geralt rocks the bed back and forth, making the headboard slam against the wall now.

Gearlt gives a half hearted moan, and Jaskier gives him a glare. “You’re making me sound like a terrible lover who’s left you horribly unfulfilled!” he hisses.

Geralt rolls his eyes and gives a more enthusiastic moan this time. Geralt begrudgingly keeps this up for a few more minutes before he grunts and clambers off of Jaskier. “A little quick to the finish line?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt shoots him a rude hand gesture.

Jaskier gasps in mock offense. “Why don’t you go get me a wash rag?” he suggests.

Geralt glares at him; this is taking the charade much too far, if you ask Geralt, but he follows Jaskier’s direction to the bathroom—where Jaskier’s mother is standing. Geralt suddenly becomes conscious of what a mess he must look like right now, thanks to Jaskier. “Hello again,” Marilla says.

Geralt grunts and nods to her, before remembering he should probably say something, anything. “Hi.”

Geralt grabs a washcloth and flees.

When he gets back to Jaskier, Jaskier is sitting on the bed with his knees drawn up to his chest, scribbling away in his notebook, the inkwell balancing precariously on the mattress. He still has his buttons undone, and Geralt curses himself for even noticing.

“Did you run into anyone?” Jaskier asks.

Geralt’s disgruntled expression must be answer enough, because Jaskier rubs his hands together in delight. “Excellent.”

Marilla scurries back to her room, completely scandalized. She can’t believe they would...defile her home like this. It’s bad enough that Julian couldn’t choose anyone they suggested for himself, and now he brings home a witcher ? He’s trying to make her gray even faster.

She shuts the bedroom door behind her and looks to Ethbert. Her expression must linger on her face, because he asks her, “What?”

“They—” She makes a floppy hand gesture.

“Are you sure? What would a witcher want with Julian? There’s something not right about this.”

Marilla fans herself. “I know. They’re not even wed. It’s impropriety, is what it is.”

Ethbert squints doubtfully.

Geralt is not a morning person. When Jaskier first discovered this, he was puzzled. Geralt is the only person who dictates his schedule, so no one would yell at him if he chose to sleep until midday.

The more Jaskier thinks about it, though, the more it makes sense. Of course Geralt would wake up at the asscrack of dawn; he probably thinks of it as a punishment or some other such self loathing nonsense.

It’s certainly more of a punishment for Jaskier, because he’s the one that has to put up with Geralt’s bearish attitude every morning.

Geralt blinks awake and squints at the rising sun like it’s personally offended him, and Jaskier closes his eyes, not wanting to be caught staring.

“Morning,” Geralt grates out.

Jaskier’s lips twist into a wry smile. “Good morning.”

“I know you weren’t asleep,” Geralt says, sounding annoyed. “You could have woken me up.”

“Mm. And deal with a grumpy witcher first thing in the morning? I don’t think so.”

Geralt scoffs. “I’m not grumpy.”

“Right.”

Geralt swings his legs out of the bed and begins getting dressed. Jaskier stretches into the warmth Geralt left behind, tugging the blankets up over him.

What? He never said he was a morning person, either. “Where are you going?”

“Into town.”

“For what? Do you need things for potions? I’ll go with you.”

“No, no, I’m just going to see if there’s any contracts; you stay here.”

Jaskier gives a sly grin. “Does my family make you nervous?”

“ No .”

“Hmm,” Jaskier says.

“Shut up.”

“Well, don’t go gallivanting off without telling me where. You know I worry.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “No need.”

Jaskier adopts a high pitched voice. “Why, thank you, Jaskier, my dearest friend. I’m so touched to know someone is looking out for me.”

“It’s pretty sad if you have to imagine someone to be your friend.”

Jaskier splutters as Geralt walks out of the room, a smile tugging at his lips.

Jaskier sighs as the door shuts behind him, wanting to bundle himself back in the blankets and Geralt’s scent, but he resists the urge and stumbles out of bed to pull on his clothes.

He makes it down the stairs and to the kitchen, picking up a bowl of eggs and whisking them, the need to be helpful overriding his desire to collapse in a chair and go back to sleep.

“Good morning, Julian,” his mother says stiffly. “Where’s your beau?”

Jaskier lets himself smile at the image of Geralt’s reaction to being heard of himself referred to as Jaskier’s beau .

“He’s out looking for a contract. He’ll be back for lunch, I’m sure.”

He gives his mother a bright grin. He thinks he should have made Geralt suck a hickey on his neck, but, to be honest, he’s not sure if he could have beared that. Geralt had already been so unbearably close to Jaskier when he straddled him. Jaskier’s not sure what had possessed Geralt to do that, all the while expecting Jaskier to keep his hands to himself.

He’s not sure Geralt’s looked in a mirror anytime in the past fifty years because of the whole monster-staring-back-at-him thing (complete horse shit, in Jaskier’s humble opinion, not that Geralt cares to listen to it), but Jaskier is forced to look at him every day, and he suffers.

He suffers every time he trails behind Geralt atop Roach, watching the subtle shift of his back muscles as he rides, and he’s devastated when Geralt deems Roach too tired to carry him and leads her in his tight leather pants. If Geralt hadn’t been wearing just such a thing when Jaskier met him, Jaskier would be convinced Geralt does it just to personally spite Jaskier.

To doom him to look but not touch for the rest of his life. As such, he had never expected Geralt to actually agree to this whole charade. But, he did, and now here they are. Here they are, with Jaskier knowing exactly what Geralt tastes like (less onion than one would expect), but still having to not just kiss the blank looks Geralt likes to give him right off his face.

It’s enough to drive a man mad.

Geralt looks at the pitiful notice board and sighs. He tugs down the one prospect to examine it more closely. Something is stealing a farmer’s sheep. There’s a few possibilities for what it could be, ranging from minor nuisances to things that he shouldn’t even mention to Jaskier because he’ll nag at Geralt until he lets him tag along, and those are always the kind of jobs that Jaskier should be nowhere near.

Geralt’s not sure how someone with the survival instinct of a fly larva is still alive, especially when he insists on following Geralt around, but Geralt’s not going to let Jaskier get hurt on his watch.

Geralt pockets the notice and goes to talk to the farmer who set the contract, but he has very little useful information to tell Geralt. All he offers is that the sheep have been disappearing without a trace. Geralt walks the edges of the property and a bit into the woods, doing a cursory inspection for the carcasses, but he doesn’t find them, either.

Hmm.

Geralt turns and heads back to Jaskier.

Geralt’s acting out of sorts when he returns from town, so Jaskier tugs him aside. “What’s wrong?”

Geralt just grunts and shakes his head.

Jaskier sighs. Typical. “Weren’t there any contracts?”

“There were, just—I don’t know what it is. But I’m sure it will be fine.”

Geralt even tries to give him a bracing smile, and even though it looks more like a grimace, Jaskier knows it’s not good if Geralt has stooped to trying to comfort him.

Jaskier hums at him and leads him to the table where his family are waiting on them for lunch. Jaskier keeps a hand on Geralt’s knee, because he’s allowed to, at the moment.

He delights in watching Geralt make awkward conversation with Nell, but it seems like they’re quickly warming up to each other. Jaskier’s mouth goes dry at the thought of them teaming up on him. They would truly be a menace.

Jaskier’s mood is quickly soured when they finish eating and Geralt insists on heading back out.

“Shouldn’t you wait until the morning? You know, be well rested?”

Geralt shrugs. “It’s been taking the animals at night. Better chance of finding it if I go now.”

“Geralt, we’re not exactly short on coin right now. Why even go?”

“If I don’t take care of this, who will?” Geralt huffs. “This farmer’s livelihood is at risk.”

Jaskier grins. “Geralt, you unbearable softie. You make me look callous.”

Jaskier darts a glance over to his family, who are pretending not to watch them. He takes that as license to tug Geralt in for a chaste kiss. Geralt stiffens against him, and Jaskier is just about ready to pull away, before Geralt starts kissing him back. He makes it decidedly less chaste, and Jaskier puts a hand on his chest. He lets himself savor it for one, two, three seconds before he takes a step back.

“Geralt, there are children present!” he says in a scandalized tone, grinning at Nell.

She glares, and he shoots her a wink.

Geralt clears his throat, and Jaskier jerks his attention back to him. “Right. Well, if I’m not going to talk you out of it, be safe.”

“I always am.”

Ethbert watches as Julian paces back and forth as he waits for the witcher to return. “Sit down,” he says gruffly.

Julian looks at the clock, then out the window, completely ignoring him. Ethbert snorts. Good to know nothing’s changed, then.

“Surely it can’t take this long to murder one measly little thing,” Julian mutters.

“He’s fine,” Ethbert says. “It’d take a lot to overpower a witcher, right?”

Jaskier sits down in a huff, and Ethbert starts to wonder if maybe their relationship is less of a farce than he thought. It’s certainly an odd one, and he’s still clueless as to what they could possibly have in common, but Julian is painting a convincing picture right now, especially as he tugs his cloak off the hook and settles it around his shoulders.

“Where are you going?”

“To find him!”

Ethbert jerks out of his seat with a splutter. “You can’t be serious. You think you’re going to be able to handle whatever a witcher couldn’t?”

Julian pauses. “Well, no. He’s probably lying in a ditch somewhere, slowly bleeding to death. Oh gods, what if he’s out there bleeding to death?”

Julian becomes even more frantic and rushes out the door and to the stables.

Ethbert resigns himself to a long night.

Jaskier clambers onto one of the smaller mares. He doesn’t have the patience to go through the whole process of putting all the tack on, so he clings to the horse’s neck and prays he doesn’t fall off. He digs into her with his knees, and away they go.

Jaskier has no idea which way Geralt went, but there’s some fairly fresh hoof tracks in the wet dirt of the road, so he follows them and hopes they’re Roach’s. Eventually, they go off the road, and Jaskier is left to squint at trampled grass. He wonders if Geralt would be proud of his tracking abilities, and he smiles thinking about the inevitable jab. Jaskier would respond with something about how Geralt was no better than a dog sniffing the air, and all would be well.

But first, he has to find him. Jaskier slows the horse to a walk as the trail becomes fainter, squinting as he looks at the ground. He comes to an outcrop of rocks with an opening just big enough to go inside, and he dismounts his horse cautiously. He certainly doesn’t want to deal with whatever calls this place its home.

Jaskier notices blood, and his heart kicks up a notch. It’s a rust red color, so it’s not very recent. Jaskier follows the splatters, and as he goes, they get brighter and brighter, until Jaskier’s heart threatens to burst out of his chest with the panicked tap dance it’s doing.

It certainly doesn’t help matters when he finds Roach wandering through the woods by herself. “Where’s Geralt?” he asks, and she snorts at him helpfully.

Jaskier casts a look at the blood glistening under the leaves underfoot and knows Geralt has to be close. Roach gives an agitated whinny before she turns and trots off, and Jaskier rushes after her.

In the end, Geralt’s not all that far away. Jaskier sees his hair before he sees anything else, and then he’s sprinting over to him with little thought for anything else. Jaskier drops to his knees beside Geralt. He looks paler than normal, even though Jaskier hadn’t known that was possible

There’s so much blood, and he’s not moving. Jaskier sucks in a breath. “Geralt? Geralt?” he asks, his voice getting louder and more panicked. “Geralt?”

Jaskier resists the urge to shake him and jostle whatever injuries he has, but there’s bile rising in his throat, and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do—

His eyes latch on to the infinitesimal rise of Geralt’s chest, and the pressure on his own suddenly lifts. He shuts his eyes for a moment. Geralt isn’t dead, and he can work with that.

Jaskier takes a closer look at Geralt and finds there’s a chunk missing from his side. It’s still bleeding freely, and Jaskier tries to resist the urge to be sick. He works Geralt free of his armor with shaky hands, so he can take a closer look.

Geralt moans and starts to stir, and Jaskier plants his hands on Geralt’s chest. “Just stay still; you’re going to be fine.”

“Jask?” Geralt slurs.

“Yes, yes, it’s me, and you know I’m far too stubborn to let you die.”

“My pack—”

Jaskier could slap himself for not thinking of that. “Right. Um, your potions.”

He whistles for Roach, and she approaches skittishly. Jaskier glances back down at Geralt, and his eyes are slipping shut. Jaskier tightens his grip on Geralt’s shoulder. “Geralt! You have to stay awake. Do you hear me?”

Geralt murmurs something Jaskier doesn’t quite catch, but his eyes open wider. Geralt’s pupils are so dilated, there’s barely a ring of yellow left around the outsides. Jaskier clambers up to look through Roach’s saddlebags, and his heart clenches when Geralt’s hand comes up to clutch at him as he moves away. “I’m not going anywhere,” he soothes.

He rustles through the saddlebag. “Fuck, Geralt, do you really need so many tiny bottles?”

Geralt gives him a weak chuckle before he hisses in pain.

“Which one do you need?” Jaskier asks, hoping Geralt is coherent enough that he’s not about to poison himself.

Jaskier pulls the pouch out of the saddle bag to show him the options. Geralt points to a few, and Jaskier eyes them doubtfully. He uncorks them anyway, sitting back down and settling Geralt’s head into his lap, helping him get the elixirs down, even when Geralt tries to bat his hands away.

“Save your energy for something useful, would you?” Jaskier tuts.

Jaskier prods at the wound in Geralt’s side, jerking his hand back when Geralt winces. “I forgot just how delicate you were, my apologies.”

Geralt barely manages a huff at that, and Jaskier furrows his brows in worry. He pulls Geralt’s shirt away from the wound, biting his lip as it pulls skin away. The wound looks a sickly green underneath all the blood, and Jaskier gasps a little. This is much worse than he thought.

“Geralt, it’s—Geralt?”

Geralt’s eyes have slipped shut, and Jaskier scrabbles at him, trying to make him wake up again, but he stays stubbornly still. The only thing giving Jaskier even a tiny glimmer of peace is that his chest is still rising and falling.

Tears are threatening to burst to Jaskier’s eyes, but he pushes them down and takes a deep breath. Somehow, he manages to heave Geralt across Roach. Roach snorts, disgruntled, and Jaskier runs a hand over her flank, trying to soothe her.

He looks around, but he has no idea where the mare he rode out here went. Oops. Hopefully it will wander back to his parent’s estate, but if not, well, will they even miss it?

Jaskier gathers Roach’s reins in his hand and leads her back towards town at a steady trot.

When Geralt comes to, he’s sweltering. He seems to be in a tomb of blankets, and the fire is roaring in the corner of the room. The room? He’s not quite sure how he got here; he would have expected to be lying on the cold ground instead of a soft and yielding bed. There’s even less lumps than he’s accustomed to.

He groans when he tries to move, and there’s a rustling from beside him. Geralt looks over to see Jaskier jerking from his chair to fuss over him. Jaskier’s eyes are red when he finally looks up.

“You promised me you were going to be safe, you terror,” Jaskier sniffs.

Geralt doesn’t have his wits about him enough yet to be dealing with crying bards. “Hmm.”

“Geralt, you—What was it?”

“A cockatrice. It got me with its tail; spit a little poison at me just for fun.”

Jaskier shakes his head. “You wouldn’t know fun if it bit you in the ass.”

This makes Geralt look even grumpier, if possible. Jaskier’s glad; he much prefers that to the slack expression Geralt had had while he was sleeping, and Jaskier was terrified he wouldn’t wake up.

Jaskier looks back at him, and Geralt can’t help himself when he reaches out to swipe away Jaskier’s tears with his thumb. “I’m fine,” he murmurs.

Geralt tosses the covers off himself so he can see his wound. It’s wrapped rather nicely, and when Geralt pokes at it, it feels like there’s some kind of poultice under the bandages. He raises his eyebrows at Jaskier, waiting for an explanation.

“A healer.”

Geralt’s surprised Jaskier found someone who would treat him; most people aren’t too keen on helping witchers.

“I yelled at him until he helped you,” Jaskier admits.

Geralt huffs a laugh. “I’m sure he was terrified.”

Jaskier finally cracks a grin. “Hey, you’re not the only scary one around here.”

Jaskier’s eyes drop to his hand, the one that was just on his face, and fuck, what was Geralt even thinking, but Jaskier reaches out and puts his hand over Geralt’s.

“I was worried,” he says softly. And then, sharper, “Don’t you dare say hmm .”

“Hmm.”

Geralt laughs, and there’s a warmth that settles in his chest when Jaskier does the same.

“You’re incorrigible,” Jaskier finally says.

There’s a lengthy silence, and when Geralt looks up, Jaskier is staring back at him.

“You got the trophy, right?”

“Geralt, my ears must be deceiving me. You cannot possibly be worried about that right now.”

“How else am I going to get paid? Last time I checked, you liked to eat. It needs done before something else drags the carcass away.”

Jaskier sighs and huffs and does everything short of stomping his feet before he gathers his cloak from the back of his chair. He glares at Geralt before he slams the door shut behind him.

Geralt rubs a shaky hand down his face.

He’s an idiot.

Jaskier grumbles to himself as he makes his way back out into the chilly night. His advances are obviously unwelcome, if this is the kind of punishment Geralt is doling out to him. Well, that’s fine. Jaskier will just let him bleed out next time.

Okay, he won’t, but that doesn’t mean he won’t consider it for a few seconds.

Stupid emotionally repressed witchers. He can’t say he wasn’t hoping something would happen with Geralt while they were here, but he should have known better.

Jaskier trudges all the way back to near where he found Geralt, pointedly not looking at the blood stain on the grass. He’s fine , he reminds himself. Jaskier pokes around for a little bit until he remembers the cave he had seen earlier and some vague knowledge that cockatrices prefer them.

He’s half expecting another to show up as he plucks some feathers and cuts off the head, for good measure. He almost gags as his knife goes roughly through the bone and sinew, but he manages to keep his supper. He looks around for any last creatures that are just waiting to murder him, but none appear.

He sighs and makes the trek back.

When he arrives, Geralt is sitting at the table, talking to his family, and Jaskier wonders for a moment if he should be concerned about a doppler. Nell is eating up every word Geralt says, and Jaskier hopes she has pried some good stories out of him that Jaskier can repurpose as songs later.

For now, he swings the cockatrice head up onto the table, and silence falls. “There you go, love,” he says cheerfully.

Geralt is looking back at him with a peculiar expression, and he rises from his chair stiffly. Jaskier rushes over to him to help, and Geralt reluctantly drapes an arm over his shoulder. Geralt leads him to the bathroom, and Jaskier makes sure to say loudly enough for the rest of his family to hear, “Well, if you needed help holding it you only had to ask.”

Geralt huffs in exasperation and shuts the door behind him. Jaskier raises his eyebrows in question. “Did you actually need help, or…” Jaskier trails off, and then Geralt’s lips are on his, warm and hungry, and anymore of Jaskier’s thoughts fly out of his brain.

His arms automatically come up to wrap around Geralt’s waist, until he registers that this is Geralt , and he puts a hand on his chest. “Um. Do you need your head checked out, as well? I thought it was your side, but I can go get the healer again.”

“I’m fine,” Geralt growls.

Jaskier’s not convinced Geralt hasn’t sustained a lasting brain injury, but then Geralt is saying, “I should have done this a long time ago,” and kissing him again.

What is Jaskier to do but kiss him back? It’d be terribly impolite not to, after all. When Geralt finally pulls away, Jaskier asks breathlessly, “What was that for?”

Geralt shrugs, considering. “You looked kind of hot carrying that cockatrice head. The trachea hanging down really got me going.”

Jaskier stares at him in disbelief for a beat before they both dissolve into laughter.

“You’re an idiot,” Jaskier says. “You’re my idiot.”

Ethbert looks across the table, where what his son is doing can only be called terrorizing his witcher, and harrumphs to himself. This is not exactly who he pictured Julian ending up with, to say the least.

He wonders the etiquette for having a son in law older than he is. He supposes he’s going to have to find out.

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #fanfiction #contemplative writing

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 3 years

Text

sweet dreams

Jaskier opens his mouth in a wide yawn, jingling softly and fluttering his wings as he does. He tugs gently at a lock of his husband’s hair and looks up at the Witcher expectantly, blue eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. Geralt smiles warmly down at Jaskier, his own eyes shining with love and mild amusement. “Bedtime, little wife?”

The fairy nods and leans heavily against his Geralt’s neck. He’s had two drops of wine from the bottle his Geralt purchased and he’s absolutely dead on his feet, already sinking into sleep as he sits atop his husband’s sturdy leather pauldron. The Witcher scoops his tiny spouse into his hand with the utmost care, making sure that he doesn’t jostle the fairy’s thin gossamer wings.

“Do you mind tucking into my cloak for a bit so that I can finish this potion before bed?”

Jaskier chimes his assent and allows his husband to wrap him in the hood of his black woolen cloak. It’s warm and soft - scratchier then flower petals, but what isn’t? - and smells like his beloved Geralt: woodsmoke, sweat, horse, musk... and something akin to fresh sap that’s a just a note too sweet.

He preens the dust of the road from his wings before tucking himself the rest of the way in and falling asleep almost instantly. His snores, a series of adorable chimes and jingles - almost like music - split the Witcher’s face into a wide and undeniably sappy grin.

Geralt watches the tiny creature breathe evenly for a long minute, contemplating how truly lucky he is to have such a sweet and loving wife to call his own. The Path has been far easier to travel with Jaskier’s bright and happy light to guide his way.

“Oh, my sweet little wife,” he whispers, running the pad of his pointer finger down the fairy’s slender spine and watching him shiver happily in his sleep. “I hope you’re having sweet dreams. You deserve nothing less.”

Jaskier’s tiny hand reached out to grab at Geralt’s finger, snuggling up to the digit as if it were a teddy bear. Abandoning his potion-making for the time being, the Witcher lies down beside his wife and lets himself relax. He smiles and presses a soft kiss to the top of the fairy’s head, breathing in his lightly floral scent. Sweet dreams, indeed.

#geraskier #fairy!Jaskier #fairy jaskier au #geraskier fairy au #fluff #geraskier fluff #established relationship #wife jaskier #the wife discourse #little wife jaskier #nothing but fluff #geraskier ficlet #geraskier fic

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thebadboyfanclub · 4 years

Text

Let Me Have This (Henry Cavill x Reader)

This wasn’t requested by anyone but it is written to announce that HENRY CAVILL, NAPOLEON SOLO AND GERALT ARE ON OUR LIST. Enjoy!

T.W.

I will be talking about the subject of miscarriage, so please if you are sensitive to it scroll away.

(Y/n) and Henry met at an award show, she was presenting an award and performing her new single.

Henry had seen her on a few interviews and had heard her songs, he was a fan of your music and believed you were talented. When (Y/n) approached him at the after party to introduce herself and make small talk, he was very impressed. She was much younger than him but she showed so much kindness, joy and tranquility he felt like he knew her

Of course from her point of view she admired his work and his good looks, that’s why when she got the chance to talk to him she grabbed it and held on to it, which only benefited her.

The relationship came pretty quickly, there wasn’t really a “talking stage” since on the very first date Henry took the liberty of informing (y/n) that he is looking for something serious and stable and he would totally understand if she wasn’t interested in that. (Y/n) just smiled at him, came a bit closer to him and simply said

“I like big diamond rings, how much is your budget?”

Their wedding was a sight for sore eyes, she was always talking about how she wanted it to be perfect and on the extravagant side so Henry did not object to anything (y/n) wanted, as long as it made her happy he was as well.

The problem was that you wanted kids, he wanted kids of his own as well. The universe or whatever anyone believes in did not want to give it to them, at first you brushed it off thinking that you just need some time and eventually (y/n) got pregnant, three different times and she also had a miscarriage three different times.

It killed her every single time, the pain was unbearable emotionally and physically. She went to the hospital the first two times but at the third time she was so tired of it she had a bath and laid on her bed, crying her eyes out until Henry came and found her. As soon as he heard her crying he knew what happened, he didn’t go to her right away, he didn’t even announce he was home. He stayed at the garden for an hour, gathered himself and his emotions and walked back in to comfort his wife.

“Please Welcome, Henry Cavill”

Henry had just had his premiere for his role on The Witcher, which was already highly anticipated and his fans had fully supported it from the beginning. As he greeted the talk show host and sat down on the couch next to him smiling.

“So Henry thank you for being here, I know it’s been a chaotic few years for you”

“I wouldn’t say chaotic, just very busy”

“You are now married as well with the famous (y/n), congratulations”

“Thank you very much, Yes I am a very lucky fella, she is pretty much wonder woman”

Henry was not shy to talk about (y/n) on interviews or wherever, he was proud of her and he felt lucky he had her on his side. (Y/n) watched the interview from backstage already smiling as she rubbed her slowly growing belly.

“So I know that on your new series The Witcher which is available on Netflix, you have a few more spicy let’s say scenes, how did she react to that?”

“She understands that it’s strictly business but she is also unapologetically a jealous, she is also a performer and has a some sensual choreographies and lyrics she performs but I have to act out that I’m having an intimate moment with another woman and pretend that it’s real and kiss the actress so I understand her side”

“Was she there during the filming?”

“She was and what’s weird is that she told me it’s not the sex scenes that bothered her is how I showed I cared about Yennefer and how I was protective of her and stuff like that”

“Really? that bothered her?”

“My director told me she went up to him and told him “be honest with me, do they end up together at the end?” I was like honey, I am pretending to make love to a woman and that is what you care about?”

The talk show host burst into laughter and the crowd laughed and clapped as well. (Y/n) had this weird protective instinct over him, pretending to have sex in her mind was different than showing actual emotions and showing love to someone. The talk show host asked a few other things to Henry and then went back to her

“So your wife also recently published her memoir, which is very popular and has had some amazing critiques, she also mentions you and your marriage journey”

“She did, she worked really hard on it and I’m very proud of her for brunching to other paths and expanding her talent”

“There is also a part in there were she talks about you two trying to conceive and mentions she had quite a few miscarriages. May I ask how was that period of time for you”

“It was really hard to see your significant other go through such a difficult thing and you can’t really do anything about it, yeah I was also devastated by the loss but I cannot imagine how much she went through emotionally and physically, it also took a toll on our marriage we were heading to divorce if we kept going in that direction, yet she never gave up so we went through therapy and she just really showed me how strong and how truly amazing she is, I could never have that and then go out and perform and sing like nothing has happened so she deserves all the credit for saving our marriage”

(Y/n) started tearing up while the crowd clapped and the talk show host was pretty much speechless. She remembered so vividly that period of time where she was slowly drifting apart from him due to your wounds and grief of the children, she felt like she wasn’t doing her part in her marriage and took 100% responsibility for the loss even when the doctors told her there was nothing she could have done to prevent it.

“She is also very brave for writing about it and I’m sure she helped a lot of women out there”

“I think that was partially the reason she wrote about it, we are very private so a lot of people think everything is perfect, we are still regular people, we fight, we have problems, so she wanted to show that part of hers and seem human even when she is not cause I don’t see her as a woman anymore, to me she is a goddess”

“I wish you guys the best and ladies and gentleman give it up once again for Henry Cavill”

(Y/n) waited on her feet until she saw the doorknob twist. As soon as she could see him, she ran and jumped on him giving kisses all over his face.

“Baby, wait until I close the door and give us some privacy”

“I love you so much, you are the best husband”

“I love you too angelface, you are more that I could ask for”

Therapy really did help both of them to express their emotions to one another and they got stronger and more connected than ever. She hugged him tightly with her legs around his waist as she nuzzled on his neck and since he was a man of steel (…. y’all got that reference) he just walked with her clinging on to him and sat down on the couch. He soothingly rubbed your back and gave you kiss on the lips slowly and lovingly

“You should know that I’m proud of you, I always was proud of you darling”

“I know but... it’s different now that we are pregnant again”

“I’m not pregnant, you are darling. You are the one that will bless me with a child, I just did the fucking”

“YOU did the fucking?”

“Shhhhh just let me have this”

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tillthelandslide · 4 years

Text

I Do : Henry Cavill Fake Instagram Post

Tagged: @harrysthiccthighss @thereisa8ella @magdelen69 @henrythickcavill @hc-geralt-23 @kissthatlifeaway @darkbooksarwin @august-w-princess @speakerforthedead0 (if you want to be added to my tag list, please message me)

henrycavill:

henrycavill today’s the day my life changes for good, I’m going to be someone’s husband, and not just anyone, the love of my life @your_username, see you at the alter baby. You make me happier than I ever thought I could be, and if you let me, I will spend the rest of my life trying to make you feel the same way.

This was taken this morning when I was a lot calmer then I am now, just want to marry you already

Liked by your_username, joeybateyoffical and 1,837,739 others

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your_username I’ll be the one in white...

freyaallan so excited, I’ve seen her Henry and damn she looks beautiful and hot

↳ your_username you look beautiful too i must add

↳ fan7 aw is she your bridesmaid?

↳ your_username its a big wedding so i have a lot of bridesmaids, all of which look beautiful @freyallan @anyachalotra @yourbestfriendsinsta @yoursistersinsta

joeybateyoffical fit

↳ your_username as always

fan8 wow i dont think im ready for him to be a husband

hoeforhenry im so happy for them

your_username:

your_username love recognises no barriers, it jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to arrive at its destination, full of hope

To my darling HUSBAND Henry (still feels so surreal to call you that) the moment you walked into my life I knew I was done for. Everything about you made me fall but as cringy as it sounds you caught me ❤️ when you asked me to be your wife I was the happiest woman alive, today i actually became your wife and god i am so happy. Thank you for being my rock, my best friend and my soulmate. Here’s to a lifetime of happiness baby...

Liked by henrycavill, joeybateyoffical, milliebobbybrown and 873,738 others

View all 8,928 comments

fan3 Maya Angelou ❤️

armiehammer a truly beautiful ceremony

joeybateyofficial let's get drunk bitches! Congrats, truly the best couple

anyachalotra I'm still crying ngl

↳ fan7 mood

fan8 don't think I've been happier for them

henrycavill I am the happiest man alive. Mrs Cavill : here's to the rest of our lives baby🥂 thank you for being such an amazing woman and teaching me what real love is.

↳ your_username I love you so much

mrsamclafflin so happy for you both

↳ your_username thank you Sam!

hoeforhenry so many celebs are commenting, how many people were there?

↳ your_username we had quite a big ceremony, with all our family, friends and people we have both worked with through the years. They are all apart of our journey so we wanted them all there

milliebobbybrown this dress is beautiful

↳ your_username thank you love ❤️

henrycavill:

henrycavill Mr and Mrs Cavill... Well our bums

Liked by your_username, freyaallan and 546,739 others

View all 5,940 comments

your_username my husband sure does have a nice bum

↳ henrycavill’shoe HUSBAND 🤯 Henry is someone's husband now, my heart is broken

↳ your_username sorry my love

hoeforhenry so happy for the both of you though, there is no one more deserving than you

↳ your_username you're too kind

freyaallan beautiful 😂

anyachalotra:

anyachalotra today was a truly beautiful day and I am filled with so much happiness and greatfullness that you shared it with me. I may have cried more than once today but this moment made me and Freya sob, the moment Henry saw you walking down the isle and he just smiled. You could see all the nerves just slip away... beautiful.

Liked by freyallan, your_username and 230,849 others

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your_username omg im so glad you filmed this moment, going to cherish this forever

↳ anyachalotra love you ❤️

↳ your_username love you too ❤️

freyallan im still crying ngl

↳ your_username we love you ❤️

henrycavill thank you for capturing this, everything stopped the moment is saw her, as cringy as that sounds

↳ anyachalotra STOP MAKING ME CRY

your_username

your_username thank you to everyone who came to our wedding reception yesterday, you all made it so beautiful, i have so much love for you all and my heart is still so full. Most of all thank you to Henry, you made my dreams come true and i will spend the rest of my life showing you nothing but love and admiration.

p.s how dishy is my husband?

Liked by henrycavill, joeybateyofficial and 739,083 others

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henrycavill i love you my beautiful wife

↳ your_username i love you more husband

fan7 fit

user829 so dishy

henrycavillfans damn he’s hot, you are so lucky

↳ your_username i am indeed

henrycavill

henrycavill when I met yn I was genuinely confused, I thought I had experienced love before, thought I knew what to expect in a relationship. Yn you blew me away, everything you did was phenomenal, your talent impressed not only me but all those around you. Your passion for what you do made me realise that you were the most dedicated person I had ever met. When I met you I learnt that everyone can learn to be just that little bit kinder, more caring and more forgiving . You taught me what love really looks and feels like. The kind of love I have with you is beyond my expectations, better than I could have ever imagined. You taught me what it was like to truly love myself and how that means you can truly love another person too. I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my days with you, and I promise I will spend every day of our lives showing you just how much you mean to me. You have changed my life for the better baby and I can't believe I get to call you my wife ❤️ I promise to worship the ground you walk on until our last days, heres to forever 🥂

Liked by your_username, mrsamclafflin and 1,238,033 others

View al 28,028 comments

your_username baby you made me cry again 🙃. Your words have just been amazing, your vows made me cry and so has this. THIS perfectly describes why I love you so much. You are the best man, heck the best person, I have ever met and you know I could go on about it for hours (and often do). Mr Cavill I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you ❤️

henrycavill Mrs Cavill, I love you ❤️

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jaskierswolf · 4 years

Text

The Grass is Greener Pt.1/3

Summary: Jaskier's mother is coming to stay and his garden is an absolute mess and his lawn mower has seen better days... luckily for him his ridiculously hot neighbour is there to lend a hand.

Geraskier

CW: Shitty parents being shitty.

(Prompted by @alwenarin and based on this post by @infinite-mirrors)

________

Jaskier stared forlornly out at his garden. His mother was due to come over on her yearly visit and the next few days of his life were going to be hell. His mother was the sort to blast into his life like a fucking tornado, pull apart everything that he had built for himself and leave him broken, shattered into a thousand shards of glass. He wasn’t even sure why he still let her in, probably some childhood trauma that meant he was desperate to please her, to make her proud, but what did he know? He wasn’t a therapist, much to her displeasure. Anything would have been better in her eyes than a musician and occasional bartender.

He didn’t make much money. His band hadn’t taken off yet and only really had a small but dedicated following online that donated pocket money in exchange for small previews of new tracks or little poems that could be given to lovers or in greetings cards. Most of his rent was paid for in the tips he made at the bar. He was lucky to have the house at all really. He shared it with his housemates: Priscilla, his bandmate and ex, Essi, her younger sister, Valdo Marx, his former schoolmate, professional rival and absolutely twat face who lurked in his attic room and never really came out to talk to them, and last but not least, Regis, a kind scholarly type who had been living in the house before the other rooms had become available and most importantly made excellent homemade gin.

Said housemates had agreed to fuck off for the weekend so he could pretend that the house was his in a last ditched attempt win over his mother.

Of course, none of them had helped to tidy up before leaving and he’d spent the last twenty-four hours deep cleaning the house, and bolting the door to Regis’s bathroom shut. The gin in the bathtub wasn’t ready to bottle yet and he wasn’t exactly going to drain the tub of his elixir. He’d moved the furniture in his friend’s rooms around enough to make it look like they weren’t extra bedrooms, more… rooms that just happened to have beds in case he had company. Priscilla’s room now resembled a music room, Essi’s room had been turned into a makeshift study, Valdo’s he’d left a mess and claimed it was just an attic, and Regis’s room was sort of a library if you squinted hard enough.

That just left the garden.

“Bollocks!” He moaned.

None of them really cared much about the garden, apart from the box down the end which housed Regis’s herb garden for cooking. The rest of the garden a mess. The grass was practically a wild meadow filled with weeds. He quite liked it. He enjoyed looking at the dandelions, daisies and buttercups but his mother would have a fit.

Where was he even going to start?

Lawnmower. They must have one. He stumbled through his back door onto the patio and made his way to the shed that honestly barely lived up to its name. It was falling apart and leaked horrendously, but luckily inside was one rusty looking lawnmower.

“Bingo!” He grinned and pulled the mower out of the shed. It was heavier than it looked but luckily Jaskier was also stronger than he looked. Even so he wasn’t entirely how he was going to start the damn thing.

Perhaps Geralt would know…

Fuck.

Geralt.

Geralt had just adopted a newborn baby. Her name was Ciri. Most of the time Geralt just called her ‘Cub’ which Jaskier found to be incredibly endearing, a fact that had nothing to do with his teensy little crush on the mechanic.

He pulled up Geralt’s number in his phone. He’d been delighted when Geralt had given him his number, yes maybe it was because Jaskier kept turning up at Geralt’s doorstep after shifts at work because he’d forgotten his keys and none of his bastard housemates were answering the door and Geralt just happened to have a spare key, but the main thing is he had Geralt’s number.

After that they’d conversed a few times over text. Mostly if one of them was running to the shops and wanted to know if the other needed anything. Occasionally Geralt would text to ask Jaskier if he could watch Ciri for a short while if Geralt needed to leave the house. Once Geralt had even given him a lift to work because Jaskier’s bike had gotten a flat tire and he didn’t have enough time to walk all the way to the bar. So they weren’t exactly strangers but he wouldn’t really call them friends.

In fact Geralt was still listed as Hot Neighbour in his phone. He meant to change it, it was just that you couldn’t argue with the truth. Geralt was his hot neighbour.

J —Hey Geralt! Is it ok if I mow my lawn? I don’t want to wake Ciri if she’s asleep. :)

He stared at his phone intently until about an eternity later, Geralt replied.

G — The child must not be an obstacle.

Jaskier snorted as he read the response. He read it aloud a couple of times trying to mimic Geralt’s rough husky voice and managed to give himself the giggles.

His phone buzzed again.

G — I can hear you laughing at me.

“Oh shit!” He almost dropped his phone and his cheeks felt like they were on fire. “Sorry Geralt!” He called into the air.

G— Hmm.

Jaskier scoffed. Who text back “Hmm”? And why did Jaskier still find that so attractive?

But never mind that! He had the green light. Operation Finally Make His Mother Proud, or FMHMP for short, and yes you could absolutely say that if you tried hard enough, was go! He was going to mow the lawn like a proper adult!

He tried for about six years to turn the mower on but without any success. He kicked the lawnmower in frustration and the whole damned thing fell apart.

“Fuck it!” He yelled as he hopped about on his good foot that hadn’t been battered by lawnmower.

He sulked back into the house and flopped down dramatically on the sofa. It was over. His mother was going to hate him and he would die as a disgrace to the Pankratz name and the Lettenhove estate.

He was half way through his pity party when the doorbell rang. He grabbed his phone to check the time. Strange, his mother wasn’t due for another three hours.

“What the fuck?” He mused and padded over to the door. To his surprise Geralt was standing on his doorstep with Ciri tucked safely into a baby sling on his chest and behind him was a shiny lawnmower. “Ah. Geralt!” He grinned.

Geralt turned to the lawnmower and back to him. “Thought you might need some help.”

Jaskier blushed. “Right. Yes. Of course. Come on in!” He stood back to let Geralt through. “Oh, actually do you want to come round the side gate? The lawnmower probably shouldn’t come through the house. I’ve just cleaned up.”

Geralt grunted but followed Jaskier around the side of the house and into the back garden.

“What the fuck, Jaskier?” He grumbled when he saw the state of the lawn. “I thought you said you were mowing the lawn, not trying to find it!”

“Ah, yes, well. That is an excellent point.” Jaskier stammered, pulling at the hem of his shirt nervously. “You see my mother is visiting.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Your mother, how old are you? Twelve?”

Jaskier gaped at his neighbour. “Geralt!” He whined. “I’m twenty-nine! Mother is just a cow.”

“Hmm. Fine. Let’s do this.” Geralt pulled Ciri gently out of her sling and passed her to Jaskier. “Hold her. I need to grab her stuff. This will take longer than I thought.”

“Oh hang on!” Jaskier called after Geralt but it was too late and Ciri began to cry. “Umm. There there.” He cooed and rocked her gently. “Shall I sing you a lullaby, cub?”

She didn’t answer, babies rarely did, so he decided a lullaby would be fine and began to sing in hushed tones as he rocked her in his arms. Geralt wasn’t long but he seemed surprise to come back to Jaskier rocking his daughter to sleep in his arms.

“Hmm. She likes you.” Geralt noted.

He was carrying Ciri’s car seat and a bag was slung over his shoulder. In his other hand was a large electric contraption with some nasty blades at the end. He dumped the scary looking monster and placed the travel cot on the patio table. Once Ciri was safely asleep they got to work.

Or more accurately, Geralt got to work. Jaskier mostly just watched and made sure Geralt had all the refreshments he needed. He also kept the conversation going by listing all the grievances his mother had with him from her last visit, Geralt hummed and grunted but didn’t offer much in return but it didn’t matter. Jaskier was more than capable of holding an entire conversation by himself.

“And then she starts wittering on about how my sister has a perfect husband and a darling little angel.” Jaskier moaned. “So of course then it’s ‘Julian why don’t you have a wife?’”

“Julian?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier glared at his neighbour. “Don’t ever call me that, I beg of you.”

Geralt shrugged. “I won’t. Just asking.”

“And I tell her, for the hundredth time, to say partner or spouse or lover or you know… not gender specific because she knows! Geralt! She knows. I don’t know how many times I have to tell her.” Jaskier sighed. “Oh, umm I’m bisexual just to give you some context there.”

Geralt nodded. “Right.”

“So of course she starts complaining that I always have to make everything gay, and I’m like… ‘Mother, I am gay!’” Jaskier announced with wide arms.

Geralt looked up at him, pausing halfway down the lawn that was now starting to resemble a lawn. “So why not tell her you’re seeing someone?” He asked. “Solve both problems if you say it’s a guy.”

Jaskier put his hands on his hips and tilted his head. “Yeah.” He scoffed. “Until she asks to meet him.”

Geralt shrugged. “I could do it.”

Jaskier’s heart jumped in his chest. “You what? Geralt!”

“My ex has been bothering me about finding someone.” He grumbled. “Two birds, One stone.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes at his insanely hot neighbour who was now apparently suggesting they… fake date??

“What exactly are you suggesting here?” Jaskier asked slowly. “You pretend to be my boyfriend for my mother’s visit and we what? Send a few photos to your ex to prove you’re moving on?”

Geralt smirked. “As long as you promise not to fall in love with me.”

Jaskier’s jaw dropped.

Well fuck. _______

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt/jaskier #cirilla fiona elen riannon #ciri #dad geralt #surprise fake dating #I could be persuaded to write a second part #let me know if you want part 2 #Update there will now be three parts #ask and you shall receive #the grass is greener

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agoodgoddamnshot · 4 years

Text

(Synonyms For) Tired - Geraskier [E]

[gif isn’t mine]

Warnings: Angst, Drug Use, Drug Abuse

Word Count: 7,188

ORIGINALLY POSTED TO MY AO3

“Wouldn’t you just love to punch him in the face?”

The harsh glare of the sun is almost blinding as Geralt glances over, watching Lambert gather his reins and nudge his gelding forward. He snorts and tosses his head, but Lambert quickly corrects him. It takes a moment, but eventually, Niels gives up on his pestering, and arches his neck into his bit.

The man being drenched in Lambert’s vitriol stands in the centre of the arena, hands perched on his hips as he watches each of his horses trot around him. A trained sharp eye watches every step and footfall, the seat of the horses’ riders, and how much rein each of them are being allowed to take. Armoured in a pristine and tailored suit, and glasses perched on the low of his nose, Alfred Pankratz’s ever-watching and judging eyes are never too far away.

Lambert keeps the rest of his words tightly concealed behind clenched teeth, even as Alfred calls out to him. “Tighten up that rein, Blake,” his Redanian-accented voice booms through the indoor arena, even over the rhythmic thumping and snorting of horses.

Gods, he wants to talk back. Geralt barely manages to stop himself from smiling when Lambert huffs out a sharp breath.

Roach floats underneath him; never causing bother or hassle, striding easily around the circuit as if she were in a test. He never needs to tell her to do anything. A small shift in his hands or in his seat will have her collected or extended. She’s always been his favourite mount. If he could afford it, she’d be his. He was here from the moment she was born, and the only one who could ride her properly without being kicked at or thrown off.

Her retirement, maybe. Perhaps he could try and convince the ever-watching yard owner that she deserves time in the countryside, where she can spend the rest of her days rolling around in grasses and chasing sheep in the neighbouring fields.

For now, though, Alfred’s name is on the papers of every single horse here.

His voice cracks across the barn. “One more circuit,” he calls out, arms folding in front of his chest, “and then head out where you need to be.”

Geralt thanks every god he can remember the name of that Lambert’s gelding has the same training schedule as Roach. The pair of them will be taken out on to the sand arena in front of the main house; where the Pankratz wealth can loom over them as a constant reminder of how lucky they are to be employed here.

The pay is good. The pay is great. Every gold piece he earns from his work goes into a separate bank account, stashed away just for him, to buy his own land after he retires. His shoulder twinges as he turns Roach for her final trotting lap of the arena. A retirement may come sooner than later, with every year that passes. Old injuries that he thought had healed and slunk away reawaken, pulling at him in the morning and reminding him throughout the rest of the day that he’s getting older, that he had been pushed and pushed to his limit and beyond it.

Roach snorts underneath him, shaking her head. He settles a hand on to her neck, soothing.

Alfred’s eyes don’t leave them until they break for their own training areas. Some horses linger behind in the arena, prepared to work on their flatwork for the day. Others take a sharp turn out on to the gallops winding out and around the yard.

The sand arena sits behind the Pankratz’s house; a house few of them have even been near, let alone in. Not even Geralt has been inside of it, to the best of anyone else’s knowledge. He has, but he’s not going to go and parade that bit of information around. The house is as drenched in gold as the rest of the yard; a wood and stone mansion sitting on a slight hill, looking over the yard and lands around it as some looming reminder that it’s Pankratz gold that made this place, that keeps them in their own homes and living comfortably.

The back of the house, with tall walls and long lancet windows, with high vaulted roofs, hosts an ample garden and pool and rockery with Mrs Pankratz’s gardens. Alfred’s wife isn’t nearly as firm with them, offering them drinks on hotter days and more breaks between training sessions. Even her face is kinder, with soft eyes and a persistent smile curled along her painted lips as she regards each of her husband’s horses and their riders in the morning warm-up.

Geralt tries to imagine Alfred Pankratz smiling and it threatens to run a shiver through his spine. The only time the man’s steely facade will break is when Geralt brings him home another trophy.

Roach stretches out her neck, walking easily underneath him. Niels bumps his nose to hers as they head to the sand arena, and she snorts. Lambert gathers Niels back. “It’s not you, buddy,” he sighs, patting the gelding on the neck. “She’s just a stubborn cow.”

Geralt bites his tongue just as Roach’s ears flatten back. The only person allowed on her back is him; decreed by both her and Geralt’s boss. Alfred has watched the mare squabble and throw off too many other riders in the yard that he threatened to sell her on. An un-rideable horse wasn’t going to win him any trophies or money, so what good was it to him? Until Geralt climbed on one day, settling a hand on to her neck, and steered her through a good flatwork session – something no one could do with her before.

The sand arena has already been set up. A few stray workers fix the last of the jumps to the appropriate height, checking the strides in between double and triple jumps, and drift towards the edge of the arena. The sand is neatly combed and the trees surrounding one length of the arena are neatly trimmed. Most of the money Pankratz spends is pumped back into his facility, making sure it’s clean and proper for visiting investors and their families.

The house sits above them on a slight hill, and Geralt has grown used to not even acknowledging it. He looks over the arena, at every jump made up, and plots his course for the session. With Roach warmed, she starts picking up her stride, trying to break into a canter as her ears flick and her attention is caught by the high and brightly coloured jumps dotted around the arena.

Lambert keeps to his side. Before Geralt can shake him away, glowering at him to figure out his own path, the man nods at the house. “The trust fund is back.”

Geralt follows Lambert’s eye, brows knitting together at the sight he can just barely make out through the heat haze settling over the yard. Julian Pankratz, stretched out underneath the sun is in an undone sheer button-up shirt, revealing his chest and the dip of his hips. Just barely concealing him is a pair of denim shorts, practically underwear with how tightly they hug his hips and the top of his thighs.

Oxenfurt stole him away for almost a year. Not terribly far away, but enough of a distance for Geralt to notice the quiet left behind after he was gone. Yes, Jaskier Pankratz is a huge pain in his ass, and Jaskier’s sole mission in life seems to be giving Geralt as many grey hairs as possible, but the quiet that followed was deafening.

Lambert chuckles. “Miss him, did you?” he asks, squinting at Geralt’s face. “A hint of emotion almost showed just there.”

If Geralt could kick out at the other man, he would. Or reach across with his crop and leather Lambert across his shoulder. The man sets his heels to Niels’ side, pressing him forward as Lambert shakes in laughter.

His grip tightens on Roach’s reins. The ever-attentive mare snorts, pulling at her bit. Focus. Jaskier might be home, but with Roach threatens to curl around and nip at his toes, he sets her forward into a canter, and looks for his jumps.

Chatter quietens when he steps back into the barn, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat and skin cooling the second the barn’s AC blasts him with cold air. Geralt arches an eyebrow at the sight of Eskel and Coën huddled against Scorpion’s stable, the stallion more interested in his haynet to the other corner of his stall, rather than the gossiping riders at his door.

Eskel’s lips thin. Whatever he had been saying is kept tightly behind them. Coën, though, regards Geralt for a moment as he passes, ushering Roach into her stable across the aisle. Roach spits out her own bit, shaking out the arena’s dust and grime from her mane as she pads over to her water trough. Just as Geralt sets his hands to the girth of her saddle, he can feel a pair of eyes falling on to him. “So,” Coën lilts, threading his arms through the stall’s grid and offering Geralt a small smile. “I see that the kid is home.”

Geralt’s lip threatens to lift. “He’s not a kid,” he grunts, undoing the last of the buckles keeping Roach’s tack on her. The moment he strips her saddle off, she does a full-bodied shake. He’ll wash her later, when she’s cooled off by herself and gotten something to drink.

He turns to Coën, the man wearing the same curled smirk on his lips as Lambert. “He’s a year younger than you,” Geralt says stiffly, setting Roach’s saddle on the stall door and threading her bridle over it. If he keeps his eyes on the ground, or making sure that Roach’s trough is refilling with water when she drinks, maybe Coën will go away.

But it’s not looking likely. “Are you going up to him?”

Geralt sighs. “Why?”

“Because you two were very close last summer,” Coën says, albeit a bit more subdued. Music is playing softly overhead, with someone having conquered the speakers and plugged in their phone instead. And the neighing of horses further down the aisle and people chattering among themselves won’t let Coën’s words be heard by any curious ears, but he appreciates the man’s attempt to keep it to themselves. Coën lifts a shoulder. “I thought you might want to, I don’t know—”

Eskel bats him away. Even through the murmur of conversation and horses kicking at their stall doors further down the barn, they can always make out the tell-tale footfalls of Alfred Pankratz. “Bellegarde!”

Even despite the mid-summer heat worming into the barn, despite the AC being blasted overhead, a chill threatens to shake through Geralt at the bellowing of his name down the aisle. Coën and Eskel break away, scampering back to their own horses’ stalls to gather their tack and go anywhere else.

Even Roach flashes him an apologetic look as he takes a steadying breath before stepping out of the stall. Geralt gathers Roach’s things, threading them over his arm, just before he is faced with Alfred Pankratz. “There you are, Bellegarde,” he quips. Spotting the tack on his arm, he waves a hand at it. “Leave that for someone else. Here, let Rhodes handle that. Rhodes! Rhodes, where are you—” Alfred spots Eskel in Scorpion’s stall. He snaps his fingers. “Rhodes, see that this is put way. Bellegarde, come with me.”

Geralt shoots Eskel a soft look before he follows Alfred. A walk towards the gallows if ever he saw one. He keeps his hands by his sides, fingers fidgeting as he wonders why Alfred would ever try to root him out during the day. Near competitions, Alfred will be glued to his side. Ever-watching eyes will only be on him, making sure that both he and Roach are ready for the event.

But now, he thinks back on the last few days and weeks, and he can’t imagine what Alfred could want with him—

Oh.

Geralt blinks at the sight of a familiar grey gelding pawing at the ground, bridled and saddled, and reins threaded over Jaskier’s arm as he fixes his gloves. Geralt’s breath threatens to catch in his throat. His tongue starts to thicken in his mouth, with any words he could say fading away.

Alfred sets a firm hand on to his shoulder. “Now, Bellegarde,” he says stiffly, “my son will be home for the summer and needs a steady hand to get him back into training.”

For all the fear in saying the wrong thing to Alfred Pankratz, his son doesn’t hold the same feeling. Jaskier sighs, something loud and exhaustive. “I don’t need help,” he mutters, reaching up to pull his gelding’s stirrups down. “I can work by myself.”

Alfred’s lip tightens. “Nonsense, boy. How are you going to correct your form if no one is watching you?” He nudges Geralt forward. “If we’re to get you competition ready, you can’t be slouching—”

An argument as old as time, ever since Jaskier was a baby and was put on to a horse’s back by his grandfather. A kinder man, for all that Geralt can remember of him. Pity his son turned out to be such an asshole—

Jaskier is already leading his gelding over to the nearby block, ignoring whatever feely pours from his father’s lips. Geralt is getting almost as good as the other man for ignoring it. Jaskier’s gelding, Pegasus, stands attentively while his rider hops up on to him, settling comfortably on to his back. The last gift to him before his grandfather passed away; a tiny black foal that turned whiter and whiter with every year. A foal that didn’t look like it would ever make anything of itself, but Geralt watched the hours Jaskier put in, and Pegasus can jump and event just as well as the best of them.

Jaskier just doesn’t want to compete.

Alfred grunts. “Go with him,” he waves Geralt away, catching the bridge of his nose before storming back to the barn. Geralt stands there for a moment, fingers fidgeting by his side, before he takes a measured breath and trails after Jaskier.

Pegasus brings them to the arena, and the second he’s inside, Jaskier nudges his heels to his side, and breaks him into a steady trot. Geralt stays by the fence, knowing when he’s not welcomed somewhere but if Alfred Pankratz seems him anywhere else, he’ll be murdered. So he stays, arms resting on the fence as he watches Jaskier send Pegasus down the lines of the arena, turning to do his circles.

And Alfred does have a point. Jaskier’s back has gotten soft, and his shoulders stoop inwards ever so slightly. But his leg and hands are good, as are his silent commands to Pegasus to slow back into a collected walk, or break forward into a canter. As Jaskier comes back from his circuit of the arena, he brings Pegasus from a collected and neat canter into a squared halt. The sand and dust plume away from him as he glowers down at Geralt. “I don’t need you here,” he says stiffly. “So go away.”

Geralt holds his glare. “You know your father will have my head if I leave—”

Jaskier’s lips thin. He gathers his reins, bowing Pegasus’ neck and setting his heels to the gelding’s side. He says nothing else, but nudges the horse into a canter away. Geralt watches him go. His fingers curl into the wood of the fence, picking at the paint starting to crack and flake away.

He’ll have a summer of this, whatever this is. And even if this is the first day of Jaskier being back, he already fucking hates it. The tightness in the corner of Jaskier’s lips, the glare threatening to glint in his eye when he rides past Geralt again, how stiff and square his shoulders are.

Geralt’s tongue sours. A whole summer, and it’s just starting.

Roach nudges her head into his armpit, almost knocking him off of his feet as he combs through the last of her mane just behind her ears. He huffs a quiet laugh, reaching under to scratch her chin. She’s quiet this morning, barely awake when he stepped into the barn and switched on the main lights. He’ll always be the first one here. He might hate the man who owns the property, but he’ll give every minute of his time for the horses.

With everyone else feed and watered, all that’s left to do is to groom Roach. And while she turns back to munch on her hay and oats, he takes this last free moment to untangle the worst knots in her mane. What she does in her sleep to make it so unkempt, he really has no idea. “If you can’t look after your hair, girlie, then we’re just going to have to shave it down,” he murmurs, smiling when her ears flatten back. “You’ll be like one of those proper polo ponies—”

She lifts a leg to kick back at him, but he’s known her long enough to know her tricks. Geralt steps out of the way and sets a hand on to her flank. “Cow,” he lightly scolds, running his eyes over her. Brushed and clean, with her hooves picked and shoes inspected. More and more riders and grooms arrived as the morning rolled on. He offered a small smile to Eskel as he passed, leaving a neatly packed bagel and oat bar in a paper bag for him at Roach’s stable door. Alfred tends to keep riders he likes, and Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert have been here for a few years. Coën joined them later, with Alfred having spotted him at a past event and held out an opportunity to change stables. Alfred isn’t only good at collecting horses, it seems.

He isn’t due to tack Roach up and be at the indoor arena for another hour, so he collects his bagged breakfast and roots through it. Eskel is his only reminder to feed himself, with how much time and energy he puts into looking after the horses in his care. Gods forbid if Eskel was ever gone. He would starve within the week.

The barn’s office originally belonged to Alfred. Enough of his trophies and ribbons adorn the walls. But within the last few years, he’s moved his business into the house. If any of his investors have to come into the barn, he’ll use the space; but for now, it’s just a glorified staff lunchroom. Lambert is already inside, shovelling the last of his own Eskel-baked bagel into his face while watching some show on his phone.

Before he can step inside, his ears prick at the sound of a car pulling into the courtyard. He looks out on to the cobbles, to a gleaming black Porsche parking beside Alfred’s. The man who steps out is young, maybe the same age as Geralt, with warm olive skin and perfectly quaffed black hair. A neatly trimmed and kept beard frames his face. Geralt’s brows knit together.

One of the grooms wanders over, presumably asking if the man is looking for anyone in particular. Just behind them, Geralt notices, Jaskier hurries down the cobblestone path leading towards the mansion house. Geralt’s tongue thickens in his mouth at the sight of him. Hair wet and freshly washed, glinting against the harsh sunlight. A pale blue tee cropped short, revealing his lean abdomen and waist, and denim shorts that hitch high on his hips.

Jaskier waves the groom away before threading his arm through the man’s, smiling at him as he leads them towards the house.

Geralt watches them go, lunch long forgotten about until a firm hand lands on his shoulder. “Let it go,” Coën murmurs behind him. He squeezes Geralt’s shoulder before slipping away, trying to draw him into the office. Geralt wordlessly follows, not that interested in his breakfast anymore.

Lambert looks up from his phone, brows knitting together as he sees Geralt pad by him. But a quick shake of Coën’s head silences any question that could be perched on the man’s tongue.

Don’t look. Don’t look.

And he can’t help it. Alfred’s voice fades away as he watches from the middle of the sand arena. He’s dressed down for the day; a crisp white button-up shirt and slacks, instead of his usual suit. Sunglasses shield his eyes, but Geralt knows that they’re as intense and peering as always.

Geralt can’t help it. As Roach canters neatly around the edge of the arena, he glances up at the house. And his stomach twists at the sight he sees. Two bodies lounging by the pool to the back of the Pankratz’s house. One familiar frame belongs to Jaskier; shirtless, but with tight and high shorts ridden up along his thighs. Wading into the pool is the man from earlier, and Geralt tries to force his eyes back on to Roach, happily cantering around the length of the arena while his blood starts to warm.

Lambert is on the other side of the arena, turning on the diagonal to approach a jump. Alfred stays behind, arms crossed in front of him as he watches Lambert’s gelding take sure strides towards the jump, but leaps early. Even though he’s on the other side of the arena, Geralt can hear Lambert grumbling under his breath from here. “Don’t let him run off on you like that, Blake!” Alfred calls.

The jump is still standing though, and that’s really all that matters in a timed event. But “I know, you fucking prick,” is all Geralt hears from the other man as he travels passed him. Roach’s ears prick, spotting the jump and wanting to join the others in approaching it. Geralt reaches down, scratching the peak of her withers. “Soon, baby girl, in a minute,” he murmurs, still intent on working on their flatwork for now.

He tries not to look. He keeps count of Roach’s sure strides in his head, but he does look. Eyes wander up towards the house, to Jaskier stretched out on a sunbed, lounging in the stifling summer heat, while the other man does his laps of the pool.

Geralt’s jaw flexes.

“Bellegarde!” Alfred calls, clicking his fingers. Geralt’s hold on Roach’s reins tighten. “Take the next diagonal to the jump. You’re next.”

If he’s looking for the jump then he won’t be looking up at the house. Fine. Roach’s ears are pricked and she bows her head, collecting her own canter as they round the corner and stretch down the diagonal. She pulls against him for a moment before settling into a rhythm as the jump comes into view. I’ve never steered you wrong, baby girl, he says to himself, before doing a mental count of their strides.

4—

Roach lifts herself up, popping easily over the jump. All Geralt has to do is lift himself high enough out of the saddle to let her back bend and arch into it. When they land, he gathers her up again and pushes her to the other corner before turning.

Behind him, there’s a sharp clap of hands. “There you go!” Alfred calls. “Now, that’s how you take a turn. Got it?”

There’s a murmur of agreement from the other riders, and Geralt’s face warms. Gods he hates it. He hates being used as an example. Lambert can give him shit about being Alfred Pankratz’s favourite because he’s known the man since they were spotty and gangly teenagers. But it’s the looks from everyone else he hates.

Roach snorts underneath him. Alfred continues to hold court with most of the riders on the far side of the arena, all letting their horses roll back into steady walks before halting. Geralt lets Roach do the same, and the mare throws back her head, wanting to jump again. He reaches up to scratch behind her ears.

Lambert sidles up beside him, avoiding Alfred’s ire. He reaches out to nudge Geralt’s elbow, before nodding up at the house. “So what’s going on there?” he asks lowly, making no attempt to be secret in where he’s looking. Lambert all but stands up in his stirrups, craning his neck to look at the back of the Pankratz’s house.

Geralt rolls his eyes. “How the fuck should I know?”

Lambert is quiet for a moment. “Well, good morning to you too, sunshine,” he whistles lowly. “What happened between you two that you became such a grump all of a sudden?”

Geralt bites at his tongue. “I don’t know,” he grunts.

His house isn’t too far away from the yard; no more than a thirty-minute drive. Alfred likes to keep his employees as close to the facility as he can. Some of the grooms live on-site, while Lambert took up the man’s offer of a small bungalow built near the farm, rented out and lived-in with Eskel.

Geralt’s house is the same; something that almost resembles a cabin as it sits further out than the others, near where the trees start to gather and thicken. It’s quieter out here, although living in the countryside is quiet anyway. With the main hum of traffic gone for the night, it’s dark and calm, and Geralt sighs as he sits down with a tumbler of whiskey caught in his hand.

He tries not to drink on working days, knowing that one will lead to another, and his following morning will be tampered with. He sets the glass on to the table beside him, slouching further into the plush leather couch while scrolling aimlessly through the TV channels.

The rest of the house is dark and quiet, with it being only him. Eskel and Lambert both offered to get a bigger place. If they pooled their gold together, they could have asked for a place for the three of them. Coën wanted in on the deal too, and no one saw any issue with it. But Geralt likes being this far out, he likes the quiet and the calm and the shelter away from prying eyes. The further away from Pankratz’s estate he can be, the better.

Just as he’s settling, warmth starting to ease the last bit of tension from his upper back and shoulders, his phone buzzes. Geralt takes a measured breath. It isn’t odd for him to get a call during the night from one of the overnight grooms to tell him that Roach or any other horses he rides for are causing mischief. He fishes his phone out of his sweatpants pocket, frowning at the number and name scrawled across the screen.

JASKIER

His thumb hovers over the screen for a moment as he regards the time. It’s not terribly late. Jaskier has called him in the middle of the night in the time before—

Geralt scrunches his eyelids, taking a moment to breathe. He swipes ANSWER before anything in his brain can tell him otherwise.

He sets the phone to his ear. “Jaskier?” he breathes.

The voice that floods the other line isn’t Jaskier’s. It doesn’t belong to anyone Geralt knows. And he frowns. “Geralt? Is this Geralt? Sorry, uh, I’m Jaskier’s friend and he has you as his emergency contact—”

His blood chills. Before he can catch up with his own body, he’s up from the couch and heading towards the front door. “What’s wrong?”

The man at the other end of the line sucks in a shaking breath. “We, uh, fuck. We were just hanging out and he, um. You’re not going to tell anyone are you?—”

Fuck this. “Did he take too much?” Geralt bites, gathering his keys and jacket from the rack beside the door. He stuffs his feet into his old worn boots, before doing a quick check on the house to make sure everything is off before he leaves.

The man swallows thickly. “Uh, shit, yeah. My guy is good though, I promise. I didn’t know that anything would be wrong with it, and I don’t know how many Jaskier—”

He fucking hates trust fund kids. Geralt snarls. “Listen,” he barks down the phone, leaving his house and sliding into his car. “Turn him on his side and wait for me. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” He’s absolutely going to break a few speed limits, but fuck it. The man on the other end of the line bumbles a sure before Geralt hands up, tossing his phone on to the passenger seat and setting shaking hands on to the steering wheel. Fuck Jask, he thinks, sticking the keys in the ignition and pulling away from his house. What are you doing?

A flustered looking man meets him at the door, worrying his thumbnail between his teeth. “I didn’t know who else to call,” he babbles, following Geralt as he brushes past and stalks into the cabin. “Definitely not his dad. Gods, could you imagine? I mean, I guess I could have because this is an emergency. By the gods, he isn’t going to die is he?—”

Geralt doesn’t even look over his shoulder. He runs his eyes throughout the cabin; an expansive space made from stone and wood, like the main house, but suitably Jaskier’s. Even though he has his own room in the main house, most of his time is spent out here, away from prying patriarchal eyes. And it’s for this exact reason—

He crosses the main room of the cabin within strides, heading for the stretch of floor Jaskier is pooled on. He’s on his side – thank the fucking gods – with a small pool of spit dribbling out of his mouth. Geralt clicks his tongue. He shrugs off his jacket, tossing it on to the couch and setting his hands on to Jaskier. He feels the man’s forehead. Warm, but not overly so. His other hand settles on Jaskier’s chest, feeling his heart hammer in his chest, but not wanting to burst out of his chest, and his lungs fill with deep breaths.

Not the worst state he’s found the man in, but it still makes Geralt’s hands shake. He turns to Jaskier’s head, watching the man’s face intently. His eyes are open, dazed and looking straight ahead. “Jaskier. Can you hear me?” Geralt murmurs, pushing the man’s hair back from his face.

Jaskier hums. Something barely audible, but he nods afterwards. Good. Geralt wets his lip. “How much did you take?” He taps Jaskier’s face until the man’s eyes open again. It’s a struggle to keep them open. “How much weed did you take, Jaskier?”

The words take a while to reach him. Jaskier’s normally bright blue eyes are almost swallowed entirely by pupils. Jaskier’s lips crack open, words perched on his tongue. But he swallows thickly. Geralt frowns. He looks up, searching for the other man. He isn’t too far away, lingering just behind the couch. The question sits with him instead. “Uh, not much,” he offers, gesturing to the coffee table behind Geralt, “two blunts. We had some edibles too, but I don’t know if he took too many or—”

He doesn’t even have the ability to tell the guy to shut up. He turns back to Jaskier, carding his fingers through the man’s hair and watching him slowly begin to realise who’s in front of him. Jaskier’s brows knit together, a soft frown that barely settles on to his face. “Geralt,” he murmurs, blearily reaching out and curling his fingers on Geralt’s arm. “Wha, why are you—”

The man behind the couch pipes up. “Do we have to call someone else? Like, paramedics or—”

“—No,” Geralt mutters, slipping his arms under Jaskier’s shoulders and knees before hoisting him into his arms. Gods, he’s light. Lighter than he was before—

He winces, shaking the thoughts and memories out of his head. Jaskier slumps against him, arms hanging like dead weights, but Geralt watches his chest lift and fall. Good. “He just needs to sleep,” he murmurs, feet already taking him towards Jaskier’s room.

The man left behind continues to pace and wring his hands, but he’s forgotten about the moment Geralt steps into Jaskier’s bedroom. It’s one of two, but this one is more like the man himself. His guitar is perched near his desk; a mess of notebooks and papers and books. More scattered clothes lie on the floor and on the back of chairs than in his wardrobe.

Geralt’s chest tightens. He pads over to the bed, gently setting Jaskier down and making sure the man stays on his side. He cards his fingers through Jaskier’s hair again, pushing it out of his face. Jaskier’s eyes crack open again. It takes a moment, but Jaskier reaches out again, blearily trying to catch Geralt’s hand in his.

Geralt’s tongue swells in his mouth. He lets Jaskier catch his hand, curling their fingers together in a loose hold. His skin is warm and familiar, and Geralt’s heart aches. When Jaskier speaks, it’s low and murmured and half-lost to the pillow he’s shoving his face into. “Stay,” he mumbles.

Someone should stay with him. Just in case he throws up in the middle of the night, or has some sort of hallucination—

Geralt squeezes Jaskier’s hand. “Sure,” he rumbles, keeping his voice low. A small smile threatens to curl the corner of Jaskier’s lip, but sleep takes him under before it can form. Geralt lingers for a moment, kneeling at Jaskier’s bedside, feeling the man’s grip on his hand loosen and loosen until Geralt can pull away. He does one last quick check on Jaskier before he stalks away. The cabin is bigger than his own house, but it’s nothing like the mansion next door. He would have gotten lost in that mansion if it weren’t for Jaskier.

He stalks back to the living room, eyeing the box of weed and filter papers and plastic bags scattered on the table. The man responsible for it wrings his hands together. “Take that shit and get out,” Geralt snarls, the corner of his lip threatening to lift. The man blinks at him before he scampers forward, gathering everything and heading for the door. Before he can step outside, he’s stopped by a firm hand catching his wrist. Geralt leans close, making sure every word he says is clear and understood. “You don’t mention a word of this to anyone. Not to your friends. Not to Jaskier’s parents. Not to anyone. Understood?”

The man’s mouth gapes as he struggles to find words. He nods instead, swallowing thickly. Geralt’s grip on him loosens before the man scampers away. Geralt huffs, closing and locking the door. The cabin has always been a mess. He doesn’t need to pick up Jaskier’s jacket or shoes or the many, many cartons of take-out food and drink cans littering the table. He leaves his jacket behind as he pads back to the man’s room, shutting off lights as he goes.

Jaskier’s room is still. The man is stretched out in his bed, slumped to the side and almost falling over. One arm hangs heavily over the side of the bed, fingers grazing the wooden floors below him. But the soft breaths and the gentle lift and falls of his chest, Geralt knows that the man is asleep. He’ll stay sleeping, gods be good, for the rest of the night.

Geralt’s lips thin. He goes to the bathroom, collecting a towel to set on the floor beside Jaskier, just in case he does get sick during the night. At least neither of them will have a mess to clean up off of the floor. The room is so quiet, and he hates it. Jaskier always makes noise. Mindless chatter that used to burrow into Geralt’s ears and prod at his brain. He misses it. In the quietness left behind, he misses Jaskier’s voice and all of the useless shit he used to talk to him about.

His chest tightens.

Jaskier shuffles in bed, whining softly and burying his face into his pillow. Geralt’s fingers fidget by his side, not quite knowing where would be a good place for him to keep his watch. He pads over to Jaskier’s desk, moving any clothes that had been draped and tossed over the back of the chair on to the pile already gathered on the floor. He takes a seat, huffing at the press of wood into his back.

It’ll be for a few hours. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, tapping out a quick message to Eskel.

Geralt [00:34] – Could you look after Roach in the morning for me? Going to be late.

Eskel [00:38] – Sure thing. Are you okay?

Geralt [00:39] – I’m fine.

And it’s left at that. Geralt puts his phone away, letting the soft glow of one lamp perched on Jaskier’s desk light the room. Jaskier doesn’t move much in his sleep, but sighs heavily every so often. Geralt shifts his seat, trying his best to get as comfortable as he can and crossing his arms over his chest. His watch is going to be a long one, and one that he doesn’t mind at all.

Jaskier sleeps, barely twitching, but Geralt listens to him breathe. Soft breaths against his pillows, followed by gentle snores. Familiar sounds that have Geralt’s chest tightening and tightening, until he worries that he won’t be able to breathe. Sleep won’t come easily for him, he knows that. But he sits back into the chair, sighing as he closes his eyes, trying to chase it down all the same.

It’s a wordless morning. Geralt rubs at his eyes, wincing at the harsh morning light stretching into the cabin. With the summer months starting to settle in, the nights are short and the days are long. Just as the moon slinks away, it’s reappearing again only a moment later. His stomach rumbles and every muscle in his shoulder and upper back groans and protests him trying to sit up from the chair.

He winces as he works out a bad crick in his neck, trying to roll his head and stretch the lines there, but a shuffling sound from the bed catches his attention. He watches Jaskier slowly claw back at consciousness, climbing up and up until he musters just enough energy to lift his head from his pillow and bury it into the crook of his arm instead. Another deep sigh leaves him before he tries again, looking around his side of the room and frowning.

Jaskier’s voice is nothing more than a harsh rasp. “What happened?” he murmurs.

“You had too many edibles,” Geralt replies lowly, regarding the other man for a moment. Jaskier rubs at his face, wincing at the sun too. Even with the curtains pulled, sunlight streams in from the higher windows, the ones near the tall vaulted ceilings.

Geralt can feel his blood starting to warm. His words are measured and slow, taking their time to crawl out of his mouth. “Who was that guy?” he asks calmly. At Jaskier’s slightly puzzled expression, Geralt continues on. “The guy who was here last night. Who was he?”

Jaskier glowers at him. The haze that had clouded his eyes is long gone, revealing the bright blue that Geralt remembers, but something vile and spiteful sits in them now. “Why do you care?”

Geralt clicks his tongue. “Jaskier.”

There’s a bit of a struggle to detangle himself from his sheets, but Jaskier manages. He sets his bare feet on to the floor, taking a moment to rub at his face and think. “I don’t know, uh, Chireadan,” Jaskier winces, “yeah, Chireadan.”

Geralt levels him with a look. “You don’t even know his name.”

Jaskier’s head snaps, eyes glaring at him. “His name is Chireadan, Geralt,” he bites. “There you go. A perfectly good name.”

Geralt holds his stare. “Where did you meet him?”

“Fucking, gods alive, why do you care?”

“I care when you overdose on some powerful shit with a guy you barely know,” Geralt bites back, the arch of his lip threatening to lift.

Jaskier snorts sharply. “Overdose, I had two blunts and—”

“—And when I got here, you were spaced out and beyond words.” Geralt doesn’t yell. He growls and snaps at people, but he doesn’t yell. And his voice is climbing in volume now, dangerously close to baring his throat raw. “What if something happened, hmm? If you had choked on your own vomit because you were too fucking spaced out to roll on to your side? What if that guy – Chireadan – took advantage of you—?”

“Just fucking stop, Geralt,” Jaskier snarls, standing up and teetering slightly on his feet. Gods alive, he’s like a newborn colt finding his first steps in the world. He has to catch the end post of his bed as he shuffles past Geralt, making a straight line for the cabin’s main room. Without as much as another word or look at Geralt.

Fuck this. “What’s your problem?” Geralt snaps, stalking after Jaskier. “The last time you and I spoke, it was a year ago; and then it was fucking radio silent after that. What happened? No texts while you were in Oxenfurt. Nothing about you coming home for the summer. When I tried talking to you last week you damn near bit my head off. And now this? What the fuck is wrong with you—?”

“—Because you kissed someone else!” Jaskier roars back at him, eyes steely, but reddened with unshed tears. Jaskier’s throat bobs as he swallows thickly. “You fucking prick! I saw you! You and Yennefer, making out in that fucking bar downtown!”

The words cut at his skin and the silence left behind is deafening. Jaskier’s breath shakes as it leaves him, as he winces when he catches up with his words. Geralt’s throat bobs. “Jask,” he rasps.

“Don’t ever call me that again,” Jaskier growls, voice low and trembling. He rubs at his face, skin starting to redden and blotch. “Get out.”

Geralt’s brows knit together. His feet are rooted to the ground below him.

Jaskier winces. “Get out!” he roars, turning and stalking to the kitchen. With the open-plan of the cabin, he doesn’t get out of Geralt’s eye line. And that’s the worst part. Geralt watches him catch the sharp edge of the granite kitchen counter, taking a sharp inhale as he roots around for a glass.

Something tells him to move. A quiet voice that fights through all the others telling him valid reasons to stay, to keep an eye on Jaskier and make sure he’s alright.

Go.

Geralt swallows. His tongue sits heavily in his mouth as he swallows, almost choking as his throat bobs and clenches. He wanders towards the couch, collecting his jacket, before heading to the door. He spares Jaskier one last look. The man’s knuckles are white as he hangs on to the granite, keeping his legs underneath himself as he breathes.

Go.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #henry cavill #joey batey #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x jaskier #geralt of rivia/jaskier #yourqueenforayear #agoodgoddamnshot

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roseunspindle · 5 years

Text

Married!

So, as again, we don’t have near enough married geraskier fics, I was thinking about it. What if it starts early on, like a week or two into Jaskier starting to follow Geralt around, Geralt is getting frustrated with this kid, who isn’t really afraid of him, and even fusses about stuff.

Geralt’s smell (really, my dear Witcher, I’ll get the fire started, you have a nice rinse in that river, here’s some soap and do not put your old clothes on wash them after you wash you and put on clean ones).

Geralt’s food/cooking (geralt, it is possible to add a bit of spice to the meat, and it doesn’t need to be nearly raw either, onions and potatoes travel well, and stew is better anyway)

Geralt’s clothes (how can you not sew a small seam? Your clothes would last longer if you just, oh give them here! No, don’t growl, just hand me that before I cry over the travesty of what you are doing to that shirt.)

At the next village they stop at, when the alderman asks him who the bard is, when Jaskier starts fussing over the measly offering for taking out some drowners, Geralt huffs and says “apparently my wife” and Jaskier retorts without losing a beat “husband, and you should be so lucky, I am quite the catch.”

It becomes a thing over the next month, Geralt will try to make Jaskier respect any sort of space or remind the boy that he is a big scary witcher, and Jaskier snorts and “reminds” him that he’s his husband, and he’s certain geralt having a bath at least once a week with soap was in their vows...

At another village when the innkeeper seems unwilling to let them have a room, Jaskier laughs and promises the man that “his husband” will behave himself and that he isn’t nearly as grumpy as he looks.

They split the single bed that night, as they couldn’t get two with Jaskier declaring them married, and Jaskier points out that he at least gets to lean against Geralt’s back as he won’t be having any other company in town, being married.

Geralt points out that Jaskier has no trouble helping others break their wedding vows and Jaskier responds that he himself was breaking no vows and that should he ever be induced to make those vows he’d actually honor them. Geralt hmms, and stops fighting Jaskier’s attempted cuddle.

A few weeks later, when Geralt states that Jaskier has to let him have part of the apple tart a young lady had gifted the bard, as sharing desserts was in their vows, Jaskier sighs dramatically and forks over half.

As the time for him to head to Kaer Morhen comes nearer, Geralt finds himself inviting Jaskier with him. By this time they share beds and bedroll, and Geralt has gotten quite used to being referred to as Jaskier’s husband, and referring to Jaskier as his husband, it’s pure foolishness, he knows, this can’t last, Jaskier has only recently turned nineteen, he won’t want to trail around a grumpy witcher forever.

But, but Jaskier has sought no one else’s bed, has barely flirted with anyone and has carried no sent with his other than Geralt’s in months.

Jaskier’s eyes are soft, when Geralt invites him to winter in Kaer Morhen. Unsurprisingly they make love for the first time that night.

His brothers tease him, and Vessimir, isn’t hostile to Jaskier, and Jaskier seems quite content with only witcher’s for company.

Come spring when they leave, Jaskier has his own horse (SnowSong of all things), a songbook full of witcher tales, Geralts own and some from all the other Witchers.

And if they stop at a large town as soon as they can, and leave with plain, but matching silver rings, well...they are married after all.

#geraskier #married #i am a sentimental sock #pure flull #geralt of rivia #jaskier

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queenxxxsupreme · 4 years

Text

The Fears of a Father (pt 2)

A/N: You all can thank @thecomfortofoldstorries because I completely forgot to post this when I finished it like a month and a half ago. It’s just been sitting in my docs. I could’ve sworn I posted it but I guess I didn’t. I have the memory span of a fruit fly.

Warnings: none, just fluff

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: Geralt is a great dad. That’s all you need to know. Here is part 1.

“Y/N? Are you listening?”

You turned your head to Yennefer. She stood in the doorway of the kitchen, holding a naked Lana by the hand. The mage has just finished chasing Lana around the house after the little girl decided she didn’t want to get in the bath. That’s when Yennefer found you sitting at the kitchen table looking out of the window to the dirt path leading to your house.

“I’m sorry. I was-I was just thinking.” You shook your head.

“The longer you sit there and stare out that window, the more you’ll feel miserable.” She reminded you before taking Lana back towards the bathing room.

You stood to your feet and rubbed your hands together, looking around for something to do.

Something tugged at your skirt. You looked down to see Bram standing next to you, his hand holding the skirt of your dress.

“Hi, love.” You smiled down at him, bringing you hand up to cup his face.

“Are you sad, mommy?” He tucked his head into your stomach, his arms wrapping around you as best as they could.

“Of course not, love. Why would you think that?” You brushed your fingers through his ash blonde hair.

“‘Cause you’re always sitting here looking out that window. Are you waiting for daddy?”

You smiled a little.

“I am.”

“I miss him.”

“I miss him too, love.” You leaned down to kiss the top of his head. “It’s getting late, Bram. Go on to bed. I’ll be in in a moment to tuck you in and tell you a story.”

You watched your oldest pad off to your room. He started sleeping in the room with you after the second night of Geralt’s absence. Bram insisted on keeping you safe, on protecting you just like Geralt did.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly feeling lonely. You knew you weren’t alone. You had both of your children and even Yennefer to keep you company. You just missed your husband dearly.

Outside, you heard your horse and Yennefer’s begin to snort and whinny, alarming you that someone was nearing the stables out back.

Hopeful that it was your husband, you ventured out of the house and into the dark. The air was cold and bitter but you didn’t worry about it.

With the help of the moonlight, you could see the door to the stable was open. A sigh of relief left your lips as you saw Roach leave one of the stalls and gallop out into the fence.

You hurried into the barn, your heart beating frantically. You ran straight into Jaskier. The bard grabbed your arms to steady you and laughed, pulling you in for a hug.

“My gods, Y/N! It’s so good to see you.”

“Jaskier, you too.” You squeezed him tight and quickly looked him over for any injuries, running your hands hastily along his arms.

“What-What are you doing?” Jaskier furrowed his brows together.

“Were you hurt?”

Before he had a chance to answer you, your hand pressed against his left clavicle, causing him to wince.

“What happened?” You looked up to him.

“Got into it with a barmaid.”

You turned to face your husband, who stood near the stall your horse was in. Geralt had just finished putting away Roach’s saddle.

“She stabbed him with a fork.”

The smile on your lips grew as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. For whatever reason, you were waiting for his okay to approach him.

He held your gaze, a soft smile crossing his lips.

“Come here, dove.” He beckoned you over with his hand.

You closed the space between you two as quickly as possible, throwing your arms around his broad shoulders. He winced under the pressure, his hands coming down to grasp your hips. You pulled away quickly, letting him go and looking up at him. Your brows drew together.

“Are you hurt?”

“Just sore is all.”

“His first hunt in five years!” Jaskier moved to Geralt’s side and patted his shoulder. “It was a glorious one, wasn’t it?”

Geralt looked over to Jaskier, grunting.

“Jaskier, Bram is in my room laying down. He should be waiting for me to read him a story. He’d love it if you surprised him.” You looked to the bard.

“That’s my boy! Always eager for a story.”

Geralt watched Jaskier leave while you studied the witcher’s face. Your hand came up to hold his jaw. Your thumb brushed over a scar on his cheek, one you’d never seen before.

“I missed you, dove.” Geralt tried to pull you in for a kiss but you refused, wanting to ensure he was okay first.

“As I’ve missed you. Are you okay?” Your hand gently clasped his chin, turning his head from one side to the other. There were no other new scars on him, no markings that proved he’d put his life on the line.

“I’m fine. I’d just like to kiss my wife that I haven’t seen in three weeks.”

“You can kiss me in a moment.”

When you were satisfied with his face and neck, your hands found the ties to his tunic.

“Smile for me.”

“What?”

“Smile and show me your teeth. I want to make sure you’ve still got them.” As you untied his top, you looked up at him. He flashed you a rare white smile, tilting his head to the side just a little.

“I missed how worried you get.”

You said nothing, continuing your examination of him. When his top was untied, you pushed the material aside, revealing his chest. You slipped your hand into his shirt, feeling over his cool skin for any wounds. You felt the cold metal of his medallion that rested beneath his shirt.

“Dove, you’re not going to find anything. I wasn’t hurt.”

“There’s a new scar on your cheek.” You spoke quietly. Your hand brushed over his collarbone and then up the side of his neck so you could cradle his cheek. “You’ve no idea how fearful I was that you wouldn’t return to me.”

He took your hand, pulling it from his face and placing a kiss on your opened palm.

“I’ll always come back to you.” His golden eyes stayed on yours. He could see the tension slowly melting away and the fear in your eyes dissipating.

He leaned down to gently kiss your lips. You slipped your hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you. His hands gripped your waist before one of his arms slipped around your lower back and pulled you in to him. You were then pushed back against one of the stall doors. When you were close enough, his hand slipped down to your upper thigh. He pulled your leg up, hooking you around his hip.

You pulled away, pressing your hands to his chest.

“We can’t do this here, Geralt.”

“Sure we can.” His lips found your neck.

“You’ve got a daughter and a son inside eagerly awaiting your return.”

He pulled his head away from you, looking down at you with liquid honey eyes.

“How were they?”

“They were good. Bram formed a habit of sleeping with me and Lana.” You pulled the medallion from his shirt to study the pendant. You knew it like the back of your hand but you still admired it. “He wanted to keep his mother and little sister safe. He’d try to stay awake through the whole night. He said he wanted to be just like you.”

“He’s going to be better than me.” Geralt took your hands in his and brought them to his lips.

“That’s what every parent wants, my love. You’re a great man and an even grander father. You’ve nothing to worry about.” You smiled gently at him. “Let’s go see our children.”

He slipped one bulky arm around you, holding you close as you two moved from the barn to your home.

***

Jaskier was sitting on the edge of your bed, telling Bram a story of his first time accompanying Geralt on a hunt. It was a story you’d heard many times, one that Bram always loved to hear.

“Dad!” Bram exclaimed, jumping from the bed and running to Geralt. He released you to hold his son, kneeling down to the six-year-old’s height. He cradled Bram’s head to his shoulder. “I missed you, daddy. Did you miss me?”

“Even more than you could ever imagine, my son.” Geralt’s eyes slipped shut and he inhaled softly.

You placed your hand upon his shoulder, gently squeezing him. You knew how dearly the witcher loved his son and how grounded the boy kept him. He was Geralt’s first born, a true testament that the Butcher of Blaviken was capable of more than just murder and brutality.

“Daddy!” A high pitched squeal came from behind Geralt. He didn’t have time to stand and turn before Lana ran into him, hugging as much of him as she could. Her little arms just barely reached his sides. She nuzzled her face into his back and giggled when his hair tickled her face. “Hi, daddy.”

Geralt reached back to grab her, his arm wrapping around her little torso. He effortlessly pulled her around so she was next to Bram and Geralt could hug them both.

“Hi, little dove.” He kissed the top of her head.

“You’re lucky she had clothes on this time.” Yennefer sighed out. She stood just a few feet behind your husband in the hallway. You gave her a thankful smile to which she nodded her head.

***

Geralt sat in the kitchen with a sleeping Lana in his arms. Jaskier and Bram sat in front of the fireplace. The bard was telling the boy a story of dragons, involving both Yennefer, Geralt, and Jaskier himself.

You had just finished cleaning the kitchen and were ready to get the children to bed. You agreed to let them stay up for a little longer while Geralt and Jaskier ate. Bram insisted on staying awake with his father while Lana just wanted to be held by Geralt.

“I can take her and put her in bed if you’d like.” You offered, wiping your damp hands off on the skirt of your dress.

Geralt softly shook his head, looking down at the ash blonde girl.

“I’d like to hold her for just a while longer.”

You nodded your head and decided to pull a chair up next to him. You crossed your knees and leaned your head against his shoulder, brushing your fingers through Lana’s hair.

“She missed you dearly.” You hummed. “We all did.”

“I’m sorry.” Geralt turned his head to press his lips against your shoulder. “It won’t happen again.”

“But it might.” You tilted your head up just a little so you could look him in the eyes. “You’re one of the last witchers left. The world will need you.”

“I know a handful of others in my guild that I will point the world in the direction of. As far as I’m concerned, I’m no longer a witcher.”

“That isn’t true.” You shook your head, turning so you could comb your fingers through his hair.. “You’ll always be a witcher.”

“But I’m a father first.”

“And a damn good one.” You smiled at him.

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#geralt of rivia #dad!geralt #geralt #the witcher #the witcher netflix #netflix #witcher #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt oneshot #geralt fic #oneshot

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thearvariblues · 4 years

Text

Honestly, I don’t know if this is a prompt or an idea or what it is, but... But.

Let’s imagine that Jaskier dies, maybe soon after the mountain break-up. It’s not Geralt’s fault. Geralt hasn’t seen him since the mountain. Jaskier probably breaks his neck while escaping from his lover’s husband (or wife) or something.

Anyway, Geralt is devastated, obviously. Because no matter what happened between them, Jaskier was a friend. Hell, was something more, but Geralt never gathered the courage to fucking tell him.

So Geralt travels alone. Things happen. He raises Ciri, ends his romance with Yen (for good), saves a few towns from monsters. But his sadness doesn’t go away.

But then, in a village or a castle or somewhere he meets a young man who looks a hell of a lot like Jaskier. And... Well, Jaskier probably did speak of the place, and about a young maiden he met there, honestly, it’s hard to find a town or a village where Jaskier didn’t meet (and fuck) a young maiden. And this young man could be his son. (He is, of course.)

And maybe Geralt fucks this boy and tells him stories abour Jaskier. And then he goes on, alone.

Maybe, as the time goes on, he meets more of Jaskier’s children the bard didn’t know about. And then, years later, his grandchildren. And each and every one of the young men reminds him of Jaskier in some way, but something is always wrong. Missing. The glint in his eyes. His voice. His sharp tongue. Not a single on of them smells right to the Witcher. But still, he tells them stories, he sleeps with those who are interested (almost all of them are).

He calls them all Jaskier, no matter what their name really is.

“But sir, my name is...”

“Shut up, Jaskier.”

Lucky for Geralt, all of them are exactly like their father/grandfather when it comes to adoring a certain Witcher.

At first, Geralt is glad for the distraction. For having at least a part of his beloved bard. But then it starts to get on his nerves. He meets a man who looks almost identical to Jaskier, but his eyes are a shade darker than they should be, and his hair is blonde, and his mind is nowhere near as sharp as the bard’s. Then he meets another, who has Jaskier’s wit, but his singing makes Geralt want to run away screaming. He can’t take this anymore.

So Geralt, unrivalled champion of bad decisions, decides to find a djinn. Because it worked so fucking well last time. And he does find it. (And maybe it’s the same djinn as the last time. It just managed to get itself captured again.) And his wish is pretty simple.

“I want to stop meeting those pitiful copies of Jaskier.”

In the nearest town, he meets another young man. He looks exactly like he did when Geralt first met Jaskier. His eyes, his hair, his fingers - everything is an exact copy of Jaskier. He is playing a lute - not Jaskier’s lute, of course, this one is an old, battered thing - and singing in a tavern. And oh, gods, when Geralt closes his eyes, he could believe it is his bard singing to him. Then the young man’s eyes find Geralt, and he beams.

“Oh, Geralt, thank the gods. I was hoping you’d be around,” are the first words the man says to the Witcher.

Geralt just stares.

“Geralt?” the man says. “Hi. It’s Jaskier, remember?”

“Of course,” Geralt mutters. “All of you are Jaskier.”

“What the...” the man starts, but then Geralt is kissing him, because, well, he’ll be damned, but he can’t resist, can’t help himself, this guy even smells right, he’s perfect, and Geralt wants, he wants to believe it’s the real Jaskier he’s currently dragging to the bed in the room he’s rented for the night. And the man lets Geralt kiss him and undress him and make love to him. In fact, it seems like he’s been waiting for it for decades, even though he seems to be like.... eighteen.

They sleep together, and then Geralt cries (just a little), and he pours his heart out to this young man. He tells him all about the bard, and how he loved him and wasn’t even able to tell him, and how much he misses him.

The young man just listens and asks an occasional question (like “Melitele’s tits, how many of my copies did you fuck, Geralt?!”), and then he states his intention to travel with Geralt, as his new personal bard. And Geralt wants to say no, but he finds himself saying yes, because he feels himself already falling for this bard, just as he fell for his grandfather.

And really, he’s brought this on himself. He wished to stop meeting the pitiful copies of Jaskier - so he’s met the absolutely perfect one.

They travel together for a while. They kiss. They fuck. Geralt is falling, but he still feels like he’s betraying his bard. (It’s obvious, even to Geralt, that Jaskier has already fallen.)

Then, a few weeks later, they meet Yennefer, who takes exactly one look at the young bard and freezes.

“That’s Jaskier.”

“No, Yen,” Geralt grunts. “It’s one of his many grandsons.”

Yennefer looks at the bard, who shrugs.

“I tried to tell him,” he says. “He refuses to listen.”

“You moron,” Yennefer growls at Geralt. “It’s Jaskier.”

“Yen,” Geralt sighs. “Jaskier’s been dead for thirty years.”

“Well, he’s obviously not dead anymore!”

“I can confirm,” Jaskier says. “I’m not.”

Turns out that the djinn didn’t make Geralt meet the perfect copy of Jaskier. It simply brought the bard back for Geralt. (It was the same djinn as years ago, of course. It’s shipped those two morons since it met them.)

Geralt panics, of course, because holy shit, he brought Jaskier back to life with his stupid wish, and then he slept with him, and then he told him he loved him, no no no...

But Jaskier tells Geralt he loves him, too, he’s loved him since he was eighteen, and he’s glad to be alive again, to be with his Witcher, finally, after so many years of wanting...

Yennefer just rolls her eyes and leaves. Those two lovebirds are way too sweet for her, thank you very much.

It takes them all another like... fifty years to realize that the djinn didn’t only bring Jaskier back to life... It made him immortal, too.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #witcher prompt #well maybe not prompt #more like...#witcher fanfiction

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contemplativepancakes · 4 years

Text

five times geralt saw jaskier naked on accident + one time it was entirely on purpose. ~6k. Read on AO3 here!

“Get back here, you mangy knob!” echoes down the hallway, and Geralt pauses on the way to his room.

It’s been a long night, and Geralt would like nothing better than to collapse into bed, but trouble has a habit of following Jaskier like flies to shit. He’s the whole reason Geralt even has a bed for the night, so Geralt sighs and follows the shouting.

He wishes he could say he’s surprised when he rounds a corner and Jaskier runs head first into him, but honestly, it’s nothing short of expected. What does throw Geralt for a loop, though, is the fact that Jaskier is completely naked, expanses of smooth skin exposed as he sprawls back on the ground in a very undignified manner, clutching his nose.

“Fuck, Geralt!” he cries, but it comes out garbled. “You broke my nose!”

The man who was chasing after Jaskier comes to a sudden halt, panting in front of them. “He slept with my wife!”

Geralt frowns. “Are you sure it was him?”

The man gapes and gestures at Jaskier’s nakedness. Geralt curses Jaskier for being so obvious; it makes his job much more complicated.

“Maybe he can give you some tips on how to satisfy her so she doesn’t feel the need to look elsewhere next time,” Geralt suggests, one hand coming up to casually rest on the hilt of his dagger strapped to his belt.

“It’s all about the tongue,” Jaskier pipes up in a nasally tone, and Geralt rolls his eyes.

The man’s eyes dart from Geralt to Jaskier, and back to Geralt before a look of realization crosses his face and it drains of color. “You’re… the butcher of Blaviken?”

“That’s him! So you’d best get back to your chambers if you want to keep all your limbs!” Jaskier crows, but only half of it is intelligible through the hand he’s holding to his nose.

The man looks like there’s something else he wants to say, but he bites his lip and retreats, after one last withering glance at Jaskier.

Geralt turns to Jaskier, suddenly very aware of his lack of clothing. “Will you ever learn?” he asks in exasperation. “I’m not always going to be around to clean up your messes, you know.”

“I’m fairly certain you have a much longer life expectancy than me,” Jaskier lisps, looking up at Geralt with doe eyes.

Geralt sighs and sticks out a hand to help Jaskier up.

Jaskier takes it, his fingertips lingering on the soft flesh of Geralt’s forearm, and heaves himself up. His hand stays on Geralt’s arm, and Geralt drags him back to their room.

“Sit,” he says gruffly, rustling around in his pack for a clean rag.

He steps over to the wash basin and dips it in before walking back to over Jaskier. He wipes the blood away from Jaskier’s nose gently, but an observer wouldn’t think so from the way Jaskier winces and groans.

Geralt sighs. “Serves you right.”

“That’s just cruel, Geralt.” Jaskier squirms on the bed, pulling a corner of the blanket over his lap.

Geralt resolutely focuses on his face. He squints at Jaskier’s nose, which is just the slightest bit crooked. “This is going to hurt,” Geralt warns. “One, two.”

Jaskier yelps as Geralt sets his nose back into its proper place, finishing up dabbing the blood away before he packs Jaskier’s nose full of gauze. “There,” he says. “Good as new.”

There are tears welling in Jaskier’s eyes from the pain. “I don’t know if I’d go that far,” he says weakly.

“Maybe you’ll be able to go more than a week without cuckolding another husband this time.”

Jaskier lets out an indignant snort. “Hey, sometimes I just sleep with the husbands themselves. Then I have to watch what I eat, though,” he blathers on, and Geralt is honestly impressed with the lengths of his chatter even when Geralt imagines it must be painful to speak. “Have sex with one wrong person, and all of a sudden everyone and their mother is trying to poison you.”

Geralt’s not sure how to respond.

Jaskier sighs and turns over in the bed. “Good night, Geralt.”

“Try not to drown in your own blood.”

“Always nice to know you care.”

And then, almost too softly for Jaskier to hear, “Good night, Jask.”

ii.

Geralt jerks awake and sits up in his bed roll. The fire is crackling happily, a far cry from the smoldering logs Geralt would have expected. He looks around, and Jaskier is gone. Normally, this would worry him, but if Jaskier took the time to stoke their fire, that probably means he hasn’t been eaten. Most likely.

The slight chance that something untoward has happened propels Geralt out of the warmth of his blankets. He tugs on his boots and follows the faint scent of Jaskier, a warm mix of wood smoke and contentedness, these days.

His nose leads him to the river bank, and he hovers right on the edge of the tree line, scouting for any possible dangers. He doesn’t see any, but as he does his sweep, his gaze catches on Jaskier’s bare back and lingers there. There’s a smattering of freckles that Geralt can just barely make out, until they disappear when Jaskier dunks his hair under the water.

Geralt knows that he should stop just standing here, should either reveal himself or just slink back to their camp and start packing things up, but he finds himself rooted in place as Jaskier rubs a rag over his shoulder blades.

Geralt is half tempted to offer his help in reaching Jaskier’s back, but he knows how that would probably be received.

Geralt is transfixed as Jaskier begins to sing, and he sinks down to sit with his back to a tree to listen. Jaskier is always wanting his opinion on his songs, so surely he’d be fine with this, right?

It's not fair, oh, it's not fair how much I love you

It's not fair, 'cause you make me ache, you bastard

And he'll say

Oh, how, oh, how unreasonable

How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do

I'll spend my days so close to you

'Cause if I'm stood here, then I'm stood here

And I'll stand—

Geralt’s jerked out of his trance of listening to Jaskier sing in his honeyed tones by a disturbance in the water, and Geralt focuses in on the ripples that are starting to froth before a drowner emerges, its scaly skin glistening in the morning light. Jaskier screams, and Geralt leaps from his hiding spot, unsheathing his sword.

Jaskier turns to look at the new disturbance with wide eyes, minutely relaxing when he sees it’s Geralt. Geralt jumps into the water, landing on the drowner’s back. It jerks and bucks, deceptively strong as it tries to toss Geralt off. Geralt hooks his hands around its neck, his sword gripped precariously.

The drowner gives one last shake, and Geralt goes flying, his sword falling with a splash. There’s a clawed, webbed hand on Geralt’s head, forcing him under the water. He thrashes, trying to get free, but to no avail. Geralt keeps his mouth tightly shut, and his lungs start to burn as he continues to fight.

Bright spots start to dance at the edge of his vision, getting darker and fuzzier now, and Geralt knows he’s right on the verge of losing consciousness. He’s unable to stop his gasp for air, but only water finds his lungs. He’s resigned himself to this being the way it ends when suddenly the grip goes lax and he’s able to propel himself to the water’s surface, gasping for breath.

“Geralt? Geralt?” comes a worried voice, floaty and distant sounding. “Geralt, are you okay?”

There’s a pounding on his back, and water dribbles from his lips. A litany of curses follow and sharp tugs on his arm that lead him back to the bank.

Geralt coughs and splutters, more water escaping him as he finally registers Jaskier pacing around anxiously... completely naked. Geralt chokes, and Jaskier is there in an instant, a warm hand on his back, rubbing in soothing circles.

“You’re okay,” he croons with a gentle pat.

Geralt doesn’t feel okay. He feels like he about died and is seconds away from doing it again via spontaneous combustion at the sight of all Jaskier’s skin on display. Geralt picks a spot on the distance and fixes his gaze on it.

“Good thing you were around,” Jaskier says finally, and Geralt burns in shame at the thought of why exactly he was there.

He’s lucky Jaskier isn’t running away in repulsion, like he would be if he knew the truth.

Jaskier asks him if he’s okay yet again, and Geralt grunts.

“Oh, goody, you’re well enough for monosyllabic conversation. Back to normal, then.”

Geralt grunts again, and Jaskier laughs, a delightful trilling thing.

“Oh, here you go,” Jaskier says, handing Geralt back his sword that’s covered in monster guts and ichor.

Geralt’s eyes do not bug out as the realization hits him. “You… you?”

“Well, it was drowning you! I couldn’t just stand around, now could I?”

“I...suppose not,” Geralt mutters, but in actuality, he can count on one hand the number of times someone’s actually come to his aid while he was fighting a monster. The most he can wish for is someone who won’t recoil as they patch up his wounds later.

“Are you sure you’re alright? You’re acting a bit,” Jaskier pauses, “distracted.”

“I’m fine,” he says gruffly.

“Well, I guess it’s not every day you have a near death experience,” Jaskier muses, “Oh, wait.”

“Maybe if I didn’t have to save your sorry ass so often.” Geralt shoves at him and instantly flushes red as his hand touches Jaskier’s bare skin and he registers again that he’s naked.

“Put on some clothes,” Geralt mumbles, averting his eyes.

There’s a heavy silence as Geralt waits for Jaskier to say something in response, some sort of rib, but nothing comes, just the soft swish of fabric as he gets dressed.

Geralt grits his teeth.

iii.

Geralt trudges down the rocky path, Roach just behind him. The trail from Kaer Morhen is downright treacherous at the best of times and fatal at worst, so Geralt would rather walk than risk Roach making a wrong step and sending them both pitching off a cliff.

Not that that would be entirely unwelcome, after the winter Geralt has just endured. Eskel and Lambert took great pride in elbowing Geralt and making him the butt of their every joke, saying in glee that they could smell the longing drifting off of him.

“Is Geralt in loooove?” Lambert had sang, until Geralt shoved him off his chair to shut him up.

Lambert tumbled to the floor with a clatter of his armor, but he still wore his unbearably smug expression. Eskel had looked at him with soft eyes. “You could have brought them here, you know. I want to know whoever can make you happy.”

“Yeah, we all know how impossible that is for Mr. Melancholy,” Lambert said.

Geralt shakes his head and puts his focus back on putting one foot in front of the other. The other witchers had endlessly pestered him about his plans for the spring, but Geralt hadn’t wanted to tell them. He likes Jaskier being just for him, and he had waited impatiently for the snow to melt in the pass. He was the first to set out, and he valiantly tried to ignore Lambert’s snickers as he left.

Geralt is headed to Oxenfurt. He and Jaskier hadn’t made set plans to meet up, because it normally doesn’t take too long for them to accidentally on purpose run into each other, but this year, Geralt doesn’t want to wait. The winter had stretched out into much longer than normal, with biting cold and piles of snow, so Geralt is more than ready to be warm again.

When the path finally stops twisting and turning, Geralt mounts Roach and picks up their pace a bit. It’s certainly only because he’s eager to sleep in a bed, never mind that he’s been sleeping in one all winter.

Geralt pulls his hood up against the early spring chill and soldiers on.

When Geralt finally arrives, several days and sleepless nights later, it’s just before dawn. Jaskier has always had a proclivity towards nocturnal behavior, with only Geralt’s need to be up and moving at first light tempering it, so Geralt doesn’t think Jaskier will mind the intrusion.

Geralt ties Roach to a hitching post, promising to come back and find her a stable once the sun breaks over the horizon, and then he wanders until streets start to look familiar, and Jaskier’s cozy house comes into view.

Geralt steps up to the door and knocks, and he definitely does not try to tame his hair into some semblance of kempt or get an anxious churning in his stomach at the prospect of seeing Jaskier again. There’s no answer to his knock, so he tries again, but Jaskier still doesn’t materialize. Geralt tries the knob, and to his alarm, it’s unlocked.

His first thought is one of panic—what if something’s wrong? Jaskier wouldn’t just leave his door unlocked; someone could walk right in and steal his lute. Geralt opens the door quietly and creeps through the dark house. There are no immediate signs that there’s anything amiss. There are only three rooms, and Geralt eases the bedroom door open to peek inside. He’s immediately arrested by Jaskier sprawled out naked on his bed.

Geralt takes a hurried step back, but not before his eyes dart all over Jaskier’s body. He’s just taking stock of any new injuries Jaskier might have incurred while Geralt wasn’t around to protect him from the wrath of cuckolded husbands, that’s all. Jaskier looks paler and more gaunt than he was when Geralt left him, but Geralt supposes that’s just a side effect of winter.

Geralt retreats slowly, locking the door behind him and resolving to come back when the sun is high in the sky.

Geralt stumbles onto the street, the early morning light making everything washed out as he scuffs his boots along the ground. He meanders back the way he came, deciding he’ll stable Roach and then see about something for breakfast. He hadn’t felt hungry in his haste to get to Jaskier, but now that his enthusiasm has been tempered, he’s starving. He tries to remember the last time he stopped to eat something more substantial than whatever he could pull out of his pack. Two, three, days ago, maybe?

Roach comes into view, pawing her hoof against the dirt impatiently. Geratlt huffs a laugh as he walks closer, untying her reins from the hitch and clicking his tongue as he leads her in a direction that he’s getting a big whiff of horse from.

Geralt leaves Roach at the stables, with his usual stern frown at the stable boy and a chastisement to Roach to be good as she nips at his shirt.

Roach taken care of, he sets off to look for something to eat, wondering if it’s too soon for Jaskier to be up yet. His eyes flicker shut for a moment as he thinks of the Jaskier’s robe, and how if he goes right now and knocks on his door, he might answer wearing that and nothing else.

Although, if he does that, even Jaskier might be able to smell the lust rolling off of him.

Geralt sighs and continues his trudge, until he stops in his tracks and redirects his path. He looks up at the sun’s position in the sky. It’s been long enough. Surely Jaskier is wearing actual clothes by now?

Geralt walks back to Jaskier’s home, the path turning from dirt to cobblestone as he gets closer. There’s a patch of grass peeking between the stones with three orange wildflowers growing in it. Geralt stoops down and picks them without thinking too much about it.

Geralt carries the flowers loosely in one hand down at his side. When he reaches the steps leading up to Jaskier’s door, he pauses to steel himself, to try to prepare himself for if Jaskier’s whole chest is on display in his robe, but he’s interrupted by an obnoxious throat clearing.

Geralt whirls around to glare at the person, but he’s arrested by the sight of a man scowling right back at him. “Hope you’re not planning to bother some nice girl, Witcher. Like anyone would ever want you.”

Geralt glances down at the flowers in his hand, and then back to the man, mouth flapping uselessly. He has a point.

“She’s probably just too scared to tell you to fuck off,” the man sneers, and Geralt’s fingers itch to pull his dagger from his belt, but he restrains himself.

He surreptitiously looks around for a place to drop the flowers. The man is right; this is a terrible idea. What is he hoping to accomplish with this? Just to make Jaskier smile? He’s an idiot.

A door slams open, and then, “Well, I have no such qualms. Fuck off.”

Geralt turns around to see Jaskier—and thank fuck he’s wearing clothes this time, but he’s wearing that ridiculous lavender robe, with his leg jutting out right below where it’s knotted together. Geralt desperately averts his eyes, turning back around to frown at the man, but he’s disappeared.

He looks at Jaskier, then, drinking him in after a winter apart. Jaskier makes a pleased hum in the back of his throat. “For me?” he asks, holding out his hands for the flowers.

Geralt hands them over without comment, but he can’t hide the smallest of smiles as he follows Jaskier into the house, Jaskier chattering away about everything Geralt missed.

And, gods, did he miss a lot.

iv.

When Geralt bolts awake this time, Jaskier is gone again. Geralt would be concerned that just anyone could sneak up on him while he’s sleeping, but he knows his body has started to become in tune with the sound of Jaskier and it no longer deems it necessary to rip him from his sleep for just Jaskier padding around.

Still, Geralt wipes the sleep from his eyes and slowly gets up to start disassembling their camp. Jaskier will be back soon, and then they can be on their way. Geralt casts his eyes to the horizon, noting the first rays of morning peeking over it.

Geralt ambles over to where he had tethered Roach to a tree and scratches his fingertips over her neck. She headbutts his other hand, impatiently waiting for her breakfast. Geralt huffs a laugh.

Geralt has everything packed up and he’s been leaning against a tree impatiently for three minutes when he starts to get worried. Who knows what could be in these woods? There could be any number of things looking to make a meal out of Jaskier.

Geralt paces in a circle around their doused fire. On one hand, Jaskier could be doing something like taking a shit somewhere, but on the other hand, he might be hurt.

Geralt freezes when he hears a faint strangled cry, and his feet are moving even though his mind has barely registered the sound. Geralt crashes through the underbrush, uncaring about how much noise he makes or the thorns that tear against his skin, until he skids to a stop in front of Jaskier. In front of Jaskier, who locks eyes with him while his cock is in his hand and comes with an aborted gasp.

Heat burns up Geralt’s face. “Sorry, I—” he cuts himself off and flees back the way he came.

He berates himself as he walks back to their camp. They haven’t been in a town in over three weeks, why was that not what he expected? In all honesty, that’s why he hadn’t gone after Jaskier immediately, but after he heard him shout all of the thoughts of restraint flew out of his brain. The only thing he could focus on was Jaskier needing help.

Geralt tries not to dwell on the thought of how Jaskier’s cock had looked, flushed and jutting out proudly. Geralt pulls Roach’s brush out of the saddle bag and works her over carefully, making sure every hair is going the same way and helping her shed her thick winter coat.

By the time Jaskier stumbles back, Geralt had thought he had managed to put the incident out of his mind, but the sight of Jaskier proves him wrong. “Ready to go?” Geralt grunts.

Jaskier opens his mouth and shuts it with a click of his teeth. “What are we waiting for?”

Geralt swings himself up onto Roach, and doesn’t let himself look back to make sure Jaskier follows.

Geralt’s eyes crack open as the door to the inn room squeaks. He grunts in displeasure at being disturbed, and then remembers Jaskier is supposed to be with the barmaid and bolts upright. The door is just out of view from the bed, so Geralt eases himself out of bed and picks up the dagger. He creeps to where the wall juts out and then jumps out on the other side, revealing himself.

“Is that a knife or are you just happy to see me?” Jaskier laughs nervously, and Geralt sheepishly drops the dagger onto the chair as his eyes widen.

“What is with you and always being naked?” Geralt growls in frustration, trying not to look at the creamy expanse of Jaskier’s skin, marred with freckles instead of scars like Geralt’s.

Jaskier’s brows pull together in confusion. “What?”

“Nevermind. Just—what is going on?”

“Ah. Right. That. I got…kicked out.”

“Did she have a husband?”

“Um, yes, yes, that’s exactly right. He did not appreciate the soiling of their marital bed.”

Geralt rolls his eyes fondly even as a pang of longing lodges itself right between his ribs. He doesn’t stop to examine it for too long.

Geralt turns his back and slips back over to the bed. The one bed, because he had thought he would be alone tonight. Geralt sighs.

There’s a quiet swish of fabric as Jaskier pulls on some clothes. “That was one of my favorite shirts, and now it’ll probably end up burnt or some other ridiculous thing.”

The doublet in question was a gaudy scarlet thing with obnoxious gold threading and beading sewn into it. The light always caught on it just wrong to shine into Geralt’s eyes and give him a headache. “What a pity.”

Jaskier shoves at his shoulder as he clambers into the bed without a second thought. Geralt swallows hard at the dip of the lumpy mattress, at the body what so close to his all of a sudden. Jaskier’s heartbeat thuds, and a peculiar smell drifts off of him that Geralt can’t quite place.

Geralt turns over so that he’s facing Jaskier. “What’s wrong?”

Jaskier buries his face into the pillow. The one pillow, that he tugs away from Geralt. “Nothing,” he says, heaving a dramatic sigh.

“Hmm. Well.” Geralt pauses and tries to think of a way to respond that won’t have Jaskier calling him an emotionless boulder later. “If you want to talk about it, I can listen.”

Jaskier lifts his head up from the pillow to meet Geralt’s eyes. “Wow, I didn’t know that I was speaking to anything other than the wall when I talk to you.”

Geralt yanks the pillow out from under Jaskier and hits him with it. “Shut up.”

+ i.

Jaskier sighs as he unfurls his bedroll. He’s been unleashing heavy sighs about once an hour for the past week, and it’s driving Geralt up the wall. He’s asked Jaskier if everything was all right four separate times now, and Jaskier has brushed him off each time.

“Jaskier, just tell me what’s the matter,” he begs after Jaskier sighs as he returns with water from the stream.

Jaskier plops the bucket down right next to the fire, and some splashes out and douses the small smolder Geralt had got started.

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls before Jaskier can even react.

“Fine! You want to know what’s so wrong? It’s you!”

Geralt rears back, blinking rapidly. He wants to make a beeline for Roach and try to get the feeling of Jaskier’s eyes boring into his out of his mind as soon as possible, but he can’t just leave Jaskier high and dry out here all alone. Geralt shakes his head and turns away.

“Wait,” Jaskier’s hand comes around to clamp onto Geralt’s wrist. Geralt nearly shakes him off, but then Jaskier is saying again, “Wait. That’s not what I meant.”

Geralt meets Jaskier’s eyes cautiously and arches an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.

Jaskier rubs the back of his neck. “You know I got kicked out of that room the other night.”

Geralt grunts. “For cuckolding the husband?”

“Well, yes, but not exactly. I lied. There was no husband. Turns out some people aren’t all that impressed when you say the wrong name in the heat of things.”

“Jaskier, what does that have to do with—”

“It’s you, Geralt,” he whispers.

“Oh.”

Geralt is taken aback. He’s never had this happen with a human before. It’s… hard to imagine that a human could see him as anything other than repulsive, something to be tolerated just to part him from his coin.

“And now I see that I’ve made a complete and total mess of things. I’m sorry, I’ll just—”

As Jaskier’s grip on his wrist loosens, Geralt takes Jaskier’s hand instead. “You haven’t made a mess of anything.”

Jaskier’s eyes widen before he reaches the hand Geralt isn’t holding up to cup Geralt’s face. Geralt turns his head to nuzzle into Jaskier’s hand, and Jaskier leans forward to press his lips to Geralt. Their fingers become untangled as they move on, Jaskier’s coming up to twist in Geralt’s hair, and Geralt’s stroking across Jaskier’s cheek bone.

When they pull away, Jaskier lets out a disbelieving chuckle. “Wow. It seems like I could have saved my hand some work while we were on the road.”

Geralt rolls his eyes at Jaskier’s crudeness.

“Come on, you know that was funny,” Jaskier wheedles into his ear.

Geralt pushes him aside and crouches down to rebuild their fire. “You’re rarely funny.”

Jaskier claps a hand over his chest and splutters. “Okay, still incredibly rude. Nice to know some things never change, I suppose.”

Jaskier huffs and walks away, going over to feed Roach while Geralt attempts to find some kindling that isn’t damp.

A smile tugs at Geralt’s lips.

When the fire is roaring once again, Geralt wanders over to where Jaskier is now sitting against a tree.

Geralt sits down beside him. “I do think you’re funny sometimes,” he admits.

“You’ve already wounded my pride, Geralt; it’s too late.”

“And so if I offered you a… hand, you’d turn me down?”

Jaskier jerks his head up and turns to Geralt. “That is not what I said in any way, shape, or form.”

“Hmm.”

In the end, it doesn’t happen that night, or the day after that. It’s when they’re finally at an inn that Jaskier pounces on him. Geralt has barely shut the door to their room when Jaskier is on him. “I’ve been so patient,” he whines.

Geralt raises his eyebrows, unconvinced. “All you had to do was ask.”

“Geralt, you’re impossible,” Jaskier huffs in exasperation. “Well, I’m asking now.”

Geralt kisses him, slow and sweet, and Jaskier groans his eagerness into his mouth.

Jaskier’s fingers fumble with the clasps of his armor, until Geralt laughs and takes it off himself. When he turns back around after carefully setting all the pieces on a chair, Jaskier is already naked, and finally, Geralt allows himself to look. He drinks it in, notices the tiny scar Jaskier has on his thigh, rakes his eyes over Jaskier’s chest. He moves closer so he can comb his fingers down the hair between Jaskier’s pecs, and he preens at the attention.

Jaskier reaches down to undo his trousers, and Geralt steps out of them. He takes off his shirt, and sheds his smallclothes, looking back up to see Jaskier staring at him. His soft expression turns into a self satisfied grin as he hums to himself.

“What?” Geralt asks, already sure he doesn’t want to know the answer.

“Nothing. Okay, fine, just—the carpet matches the drapes, is all.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “It’s a mutation. Do you think I would choose for it to be white? What were you expecting?”

“You’re no fun,” Jaskier pauses. “What color did your hair used to be?”

Geralt stops and thinks. “Brown, probably? I don’t remember.”

Jaskier whistles. “That’s terribly sad. Do you think your childhood would make a good ballad? I bet it would.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt grits out.

“Okay, okay. Insensitive, I apologize.”

Geralt pulls back, but Jaskier winds his arms around his shoulders and keeps him in place. “I’m sorry,” he says again, rubbing his nose against the delicate skin of Geralt’s neck.

Geralt shudders and lets Jaskier distract him. It’s not like his childhood is something he particularly likes to dwell on, especially when there’s something much better for him to focus on in the form of Jaskier’s swelling cock judging against his hip.

Jaskier presses up close against him, bracketing Geralt against the door and putting his palm flat over Geralt’s heart before he kisses him again.

Geralt lets the sensation wash over him, the pleasant feelings and the vibration that sends a thrumming through his bones. He walks Jaskier back to the bed and lays him out, crawling on top and straddling him.

Jaskier sucks in a breath. “Gods, Geralt. You’re beautiful.”

A hot blush rises to Geralt’s face and he turns away, but Jaskier takes his wrist.

“Don’t mock me,” Geralt mumbles.

“Darling,” Jaskier says, sitting up and taking both of Geralt’s hands in his. “I’m not.”

Geralt doesn’t know how to respond. He looks down at his body, littered with scars, some pink and small and some, long healed, white and wicked looking. “Hmm.”

Jaskier sighs and tugs Geralt in for another kiss, before he maneuvers Geralt so he’s the one laying down. Jaskier works his way down Geralt’s body, lingering on each scar until Geralt squirms uncomfortably beneath him.

Jaskier huffs a soft laugh as he makes it to the soft inside of Geralt’s thighs, and Geralt starts squirming for a different reason. A whine comes from the back of Geralt’s throat as Jaskier continues to ignore his cock, throbbing and painful at this point.

Jaskier finally has pity on him and takes him in hand, making Geralt sigh and his eyes flutter shut. Jaskier jacks him quickly, bringing Geralt to the edge faster than he would like to admit before he backs off and moves his hand. He goes back to tracing Geralt’s scars, his fingertips finding the one that cut through the muscle of his leg and healed jagged and rough.

He hovers over a different one, looking up at Geralt with a question in his eyes. Jaskier’s wheedled most of the stories of his scars out of him, but this one—Geralt huffs. “I tripped over a rock and fell right onto a very pointy root,” he admits.

Jaskier’s lips quirk up into a grin, and Geralt is about to chastise him for laughing when Jaskier directs his attention back to Geralt’s cock.

Geralt gasps as warm heat envelops him, and his hand comes down to tangle in Jaskier’s soft hair. Jaskier’s other hand comes up to stroke the part of Geralt’s shaft not in his mouth and scoots further back to trail his fingertips over Geralt’s balls and ghost over his perineum to his hole.

Geralt shudders at the feeling, and Jaskier pops off of him with a wet sound. “Can I—?”

“Yes, yes, please,” Geralt babbles.

Jaskier disappears for a moment to rummage through his pack, and Geralt tries to slow his pulse. His heart is practically trying to thud out of his chest compared to its normal steady pace, so he sucks in a deep breath through his nose.

Jaskier returns and settles himself between Geralt’s legs. Geralt lets Jaskier position him until his knees are bent and his feet are planted on the bed on either side of Jaskier. Geralt swallows past the lump forming in his throat as a wave of vulnerability crashes down on him.

Jaskier must be able to sense his skittishness, because he takes Geralt’s hand in his and rubs soothing circles into it with his thumb. With his other hand, he rests the pad of his pointer finger against Geralt’s hole until he slips it in, a second finger quickly joining it.

Geralt can feel himself tensing up, but he tries to relax, tries to let himself give in and just be boneless.

Jaskier stretches him out until Geralt whines in anticipation. Jaskier chuckles and pats his clean hand on Geralt’s thigh. “I seem to recall you saying I was the impatient one?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls.

Jaskier laughs again. “Fine, fine. I truly don’t understand why people think you’re so frightening.”

Geralt could list a few reasons, but he doesn’t want to kill the mood. He just grunts at Jaskier until he finally shuffles closer to Geralt and presses inside of him.

Geralt’s head thumps back against the mattress as he squeezes his eyes shut, adjusting to the overwhelming fullness and the way the feeling radiates through his stomach.

Are you good?” Jaskier whispers.

Geralt nods, one of his hands finding Jaskier’s and tangling their fingers together, while the other grips the sheets as Jaskier begins to thrust.

He starts out slow, almost too slow for Geralt to bear, each slide dragging inside of him and creating delicious friction while the head of Jaskier’s cock nudges his prostate.

Geralt hums.

“Let me hear you,” Jaskier says into his ear.

Geralt looks off to the side, but Jaskier puts a finger on his chin and tilts his head back. “You’ve never been shy; don’t start now.”

Geralt stays sullenly even quieter than before, deliberately slowing his breathing.

Jaskier laughs at his obstinance. “No performance review for me?”

“Just shut up and fuck me,” Geralt says breathlessly.

“Who am I to say no to that?” Jaskier asks, and then there’s no more talking for a while, just gasps and moans as Jaskier slams into Geralt at a pace that leaves them both panting.

Finally, Jaskier shudders to his climax and wraps a hand around Geralt’s weeping cock to bring him over the edge with him.

Jaskier slips out of him and collapses onto the bed beside him, draping his leg over Geralt’s thigh, his fingers meandering their way again to the forest of scars that live on Geralt’s skin.

“You’re lovely. Do you believe me yet?”

Geralt gives an unimpressed hum.

“Well, lucky for you, I have the whole rest of my life to make you see reason.”

Geralt likes the sound of that.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #ficlet #fanfiction #contemplative writing #5+1 fic

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witched-the-watcher · 4 years

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By the end of season 1 Jaskier is old enough to have children older than he was when he met Geralt. Everything is different now that I realised it. Imagine Geralt finally figuring his feelings for Jaskier out and wants to apologize, but when he finds him Jaskier is already travelling with someone else. And he’s calling them pet names and clearly loves them a lot. They even smell of each other. Poor Geralt clearly lost his chance. And Jaskier’s kid would so play along and make Geralt suffer for hurting their dad. Or suspend your disbelief a bit and imagine Jaskier has a son who looks extremly like him…only a bit older cause he didn’t catch immortality unlike his dad. And Geralt doesn’t know Jaskier doesn’t age and thinks the son is Jaskier only a couple years older and there is so much regret. Jaskier changed so much. He doesn’t even play the lute anymore. It’s all his fault. The son meanwhile is having the time of his life letting the witcher believe he is his dad and secretly leading him to meet Jaskier for real.

There isn’t even a need for Jaskier to be an absent dad for most of his kid’s childhood. He could totally be like a divorced dad who is still around often enough to properly bond with his child and stuff. Let’s say Jaskier was forced into an arranged marriage right out of university and he got terribly lucky. His wife becomes his best friend and they are both disaster bis and each others spirit animal. There is no romance between them but hey sex is fun, they’re married anyway and children happen.

His wife falling in love with a peasant woman also happens and Jaskier leaves Geralt for a bit to be a responsible and supportive husband and help with the baby and the wooing of his wife’s crush.

The poor woman should’ve never asked her Mr. Bread In His Pants husband for dating advice but as a certified disaster herself she thinks they’re doing the wooing thing pretty well all things considered.

For the longest time the other woman thinks Jaskier wants her to be his mistress and she’s really not into that and it’s a mess. They figure it out eventually though, and luckily the other woman is very much into Jaskier’s wife so all ends well. The kid has two loving moms who run Lettenhove and a dad who is often away working as a bard but comes home regulary and always spends the winters with them. No daddy issues required.

#the witcher #jaskier #geralt of rivia #geraskier

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 4 years

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Witcher of the Night (Chapter 12)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

CHAPTER 11

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Protectiveness for his child of surprise may be the only thing that could get a witcher confessing to a midget with all of his pent up aggression and kept up feelings that he has been dealing since day one because he knew he wasn’t just protecting Cirilla. Deep inside, he was also protecting you from the wicked that lurks throughout the continent; trying hard to wipe you out of their dimension by hook or by crook. One kiss is all it takes for all the frustration to stop...or maybe not?

Warnings: Slight angst? MEAN Geralt. Sweet Geralt too. Soft Geralt too. (It’s kind of a tough contrast don’t you think? HAHAHA!) Jaskier feeling...things that shouldn’t be felt. Uh-oh. Reader being frustrated and infuriated. Cirilla being a sweetheart! Modern references included!

Words: 7,1k

A/N: Smut will come in Chapter 14 and 15. Yes, two chapters for the filth! Because...Why not?! (*frustrated potato*) I THINK TUMBLR IS ACTING UP. I SEE FICS WHERE I’M TAGGED BUT I AM NOT INFORMED. ALSO, I CAN’T INCLUDE PICS OR GIFS FROM MY LAPTOP! *angry growls* I’m lucky because i’ve had my banners and other gifs in my drafts last night and Tumblr is acting up today!

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE!

Disclaimer: PNG’s used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi. Characters, places and said monsters aren’t from moi as well. GIF’s INCLUDED ARE CREDITED TO THOSE WHO MADE THEM! I DO NOT OWN THEM!

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

Your days have been quite a torture. A mix of embarrassment and full blown flusters when Geralt was around. It was simply a slip of the moment as you were too enamored by the witcher and his succulent lips that you oh-so-idiotically swerved when you could've went straight for the target instead.

Yet, here you were. Torturing yourself by taunting the witcher the day after the time you've began your self-assuring tease by telling Geralt what you've been feeling since the day you've arrived.

Now, you were being punished? Or probably suffering from a serious case of insomnia and the idea of missing his presence because the witcher wasn't around and it has already been days.

What if he gets hurt? You mindlessly talked to your alter ego, receiving a response that he's a tough one and a pretty skillful swordsman, so worrying about it like a wife does to her husband who was a soldier can be toned down to the slightest.

God, those lips. You were an idiotic potato for even doing the first move and eventually failing as you do so; like a five year old giving her crush a kiss. Well, pretty much five year old were more confident than you in this condition.

Warm palms spread through your shoulder, giving you a fright as you sat back and your tushie fell to the ground with a soft thud; with Kolby giving you those scary smile of his that made you want to pat his head but today, it seems like you weren't in the mood and that there was something bothering you with your thoughts wandering about Geralt. The witcher himself and only him.

You were acting like a clingy girlfriend when you both weren't lovers at all. Maybe, being delusional and creating fan-fics about your celebrity crushes back at your apartment wasn't enough that you even had to think that Geralt would want to be with you forever like how such happy endings in stories must have been.

What if he was just one horny man who wanted to hulk-smash because you were different than his flock of felines?

Well, it wasn't like you weren't acting the same way like a toey teenager when he hauled you closer to his chest; giving him the heart eyes.

Why must he be a white-haired hunk of a man who knew how to fight and knew magic? Even skillful with his sword?

"Oh---Geralt!" you shrieked out of the blue, the body heat of Jaskier's presence radiating beside you as he sat crouched with a crooked smile, "I must say, you're quite obsessed with the witcher since that awfully intimate moment you've had in the bathing room,"

You ignored the teasing tone he omitted and went on to shooting a question you've been bothering him since the day Geralt was out and about, "Where's Geralt?" hence, the bard could already hear the tiny whines for the presence of the witcher and he couldn't help but scoff.

"You're hurting my poor heart for asking Geralt when it's actually a pretty handsome bard in front of you,"

Your lips instantaneously jutted out in a sad pout, exhaling a long sigh as you shifted your legs into a criss-cross position; staring into space, "I need Geralt," pause and another sigh, "---I miss Geralt,"

The sudden strong yearning was becoming worse each day without Geralt around. It felt incomplete, unsatisfying and utterly frustrating that he wasn't with you, nor can you even sleep without feeling those fingers of his raking your hair even though it was only done one time.

Heck, you were worried that maybe Geralt used magic within you when you've taken your slumber because the feelings you have for him was turning insufferable, irksome when you want something but has never been given and utmost round the bend.

All you wanted and ever asked for was Geralt. Geralt. Geralt. Geralt. In which, confused the bard because you've become too attached after the Djinn incident.

"This is certainly a huge relationship development if you're finding him that miserably all the time," Jaskier stated the obvious, his laugh sounding disturbed because of your new personality that he'd noticed; or maybe you were one of those types of women?

Though, what baffles him the most is that there are days where you actually don't try to find him; like you were being just you and not one needy lady whom asks for only the witcher when he'll be coming home. Just the timid, naive small rat he knew.

There were also strange instances whenever you sleep back in Geralt's chambers; as he was writing another new epic he'd ought to create, the bard heard you whimpering and sobbing like you were in pain when it was already two in the morning.

He'd wanted to check up on you. Though, he was quite doubtful because a woman deserves whatever space and respect; thinking that maybe you were spending some wonderful time with yourself and had the pleasant time to take it while Geralt wasn't around. But, your whimpers were something else. It was a mixture of pain and distress.

Therefore, Jaskier tried to ignore your hushed outcries, although he could technically hear it from the other side of the room. The draft of his epic now forgotten as he fidgeted; he went on with dipping the tip of his feather on the ink and write nothing on his piece of parchment.

After hearing those nightly weeps of yours, the bard never left your side. Especially when you were alone in the morning, thinking that you were having a mental breakdown and actually just missing the witcher.

He could do just that. Distract you with his talkative self and so he did.

"A witcher needs to do what he always does," the bard reassured, waving off Kolby who tried sniffing his ear.

You've snapped out of your stupor, giving the bard a stink eye as he was wailing his arms around to wave Kolby away from assaulting his face, "I thought you were his travel companion? Why are you here? Shouldn't you be protecting him as well?"

Jaskier continued his bellyaching, "You naughty Hirikka!" he scolded the doe-eyed Hirikka; the creature abruptly planting his tushie on the ground as he growled at the bard as the toubadour mockingly growled back as well, a sharp bark coming from the Hirikka, "---What? With a lute? Kill beasts with my singing?"

"Then, what are you even here for?" you deadpanned. Voice all nonplussed as you apathetically gave the bard your gaze.

Jaskier made a fuss, shifting on his crouched position and turned to completely give you his full attention, giving you back a stinky lour, "How rude of you! I wonder why the djinn has never sent you home!"

You had your cheeks hollowed looking like a chipmunk as you ignored his whingeing, "What if he dies?"

Jaskier was fighting off the feeling of rolling his eyes for your worry. Geralt has dealt with lots of beasts already and his current hunt wouldn't earn him a sweat as he'd already killed a lot of its kind, "He never does. Cease the worry. He can kill beasts even when he sleeps," the bard gave an abrupt pause, gesturing with his finger as he pointed it to you to add more effect as you tried to understand his point, "---Unless, if its you he's sleeping with then we all die from the beast! Cirilla and I know how his senses are disappointing because you're like the silver to his...his...monster?"

"He isn't a monster, Jaskier." you blankly pressed.

"Who even said he was?" he gave you a guileless shrug of his shoulders. Jaskier clicked his tongue, pretty blue eyes fixated on you as it twinkled along the sunny day while you sat in the middle of their living room, "---Besides, he's hunting down a bruxa for the whole week. My dagger won't be useful for the darn beast,"

A Bruxa. You hummed to yourself in understanding; remembering that Geralt has told stories about the monster. It was a type of vampire that takes on the appearance of a dark-haired, young woman whose natural form is that of a large black bat, with sharp fangs and claws. Technically, their form of vampires weren't all glitz and glimmer that they glitter against the sunlight nor are they rich dudes that were bloody pale, attractive and screams like a banshee.

"You have a dagger?" you grilled the bard. He gave you a nod and a laid-back answer, "Well, Geralt has given me one; taught me how to use it too,"

Jaskier hasn't left your side from the moment you woke up. He had been keeping you company like an injured person. It kept you cynical because it even got to the point of following you where ever you may go; which made you skeptical about his whole tailing the midget while Geralt wasn't around.

But, you were thankful. It got you distracted by not noticing that heavy, rattling feeling inside your chest.

"Smile!" you aimed the camera of your cellphone at the appalled trouvère who had his eyeballs popping out of his eye sockets as he was struck dumb, arms crossed in front of him, shielding himself from your digital phone.

Stifling titters wanted to come out of your lips when you've received a scared bard by aiming your camera at him. Jaskier tried peeking to see your guffawing self treating him as a laughing stock. He cocked his head to the side in suspicion as he heard a loud 'click', dropping his arms to the side as he gave a frown because you were giggling back at him.

"What's that?" you've both sat on the dining table; close to each other. He'd scooted closer, trying to see what were you doing as you continued to tap on your phone that still had no time nor date listed. "A phone," you simply said; focused on the phone at hand as Jaskier's curiosity got the best of him, grasping nothing but the idea that your so called phone was out of this world and utterly magnificent when you've showed him the picture you've taken. The kaleidoscope of colors complimenting each picture which fascinated him.

"Is it a weapon?" he asked out of the blue, too absorbed by the phone on your hand as you've felt Jaskier lean in close, his hair touching yours as you were too concentrated with the thing you had in your hand.

Jaskier coincidentally raised his line of vision to look at your face. It was thoroughly unintentional especially when he'd seem to never break his eyes away from you; like he'd seen something worth to be stared at.

He didn't mean to outstare all of a sudden.

"I can throw it at your head, though my phone might be the one breaking rather than your head," you sent a harmless bon mot, being all smiles as you've sent a teasing jest.

Tranquil silence. Totally impossible for the bard to achieve with his chatty mouth. You've given him a look which was entirely a flicker of pure impeccability when you've lately realized that he was staring at you with a twinkle of his pretty ocean blue eyes.

The bard awkwardly cleared his throat, his face suddenly feeling warm when you've taken the time to look into his eyes. "Jaskier," he clicked his tongue and swallowed the ticklish feeling down his throat and avoided those eyes of yours while he'd pulled back from how the proximity was enough to remember Geralt who would tell him to 'fuck off.' for at least a thousand times, "Would you mind if I record your songs?"

He blinked back in curiosity. Record. Jaskier didn't know what it meant, "What? I cannot fathom whatever it is you're saying, rat---"

You've given him a wide grin, beaming before him with a twinkle of your eyes. "Just play your lute for me, will ya'?"

Thus, Jaskier did in a fraction of a second; like a demand from the queen. He did, surprisingly.

A distraction was best at the weird pain that spreads through your chest; along the valley of your breasts because of the realization that Geralt wasn't around. Your nightly weeps needed to have explanations because feeling the scorching pain that radiates off the symbol wasn't normal.

Including the thirst you had for the witcher himself; craving for his touches and existence. Alarming you that what you wanted from him wasn't just profound affection but also his virility as well and even a part of his soul.

The princess of Cintra was bored to tears. She'd pleaded and gave you the puppy eyes; thoroughly begging to wander through the woods and catching fireflies. Hearing something familiar that actually existed just like the same ones in earth amazed you because it was something that you've never get to see ever because of pollution and its habitat being endangered with the year you were in.

Apparently, you've followed her orders. Cirilla didn't want Jaskier to come because it's a bonding that only you and Cirilla should experience. Despite of how pushy he was, worried that Geralt would get mad at him for even letting you wander in the woods all by yourselves. He eventually agreed with a sigh and a bothered expression; telling you both that when the frog croaks in chorus, it was time to go home.

You've wondered, imagining how their frogs actually croak in chorus. Yet, having to experience it was rather much different than imagining as you've seen the whole scene unfold before you. A captivating sigh that had you cooing in the middle of the woods as there were balls of light that blinked within the thone ground like Christmas lights twinkling in the 25th of December.

It was beautiful.

Cirilla seemed to be rather used to it as she explained how it was already the croak of the night, her feet never leaving the ground as she was joyously catching a firefly that glowed with the frogs, swinging her jar till one was captured, "Is everything okay, Y/N? Oh! A firefly!" she excitedly mussed, giving you a glance and noticed that your expressions were twisted in a way that says you weren't comfortable.

You've given your symbol a caress; trying to relieve the utter worry and fury that was spreading through your chest with no reason. Why were you mad? At whom? on what? Also, the uncomfortable feeling came with knowing that Geralt already came home. He was finally home.

Howbeit, you didn't know why your intuitions tell you that he was finally home.

"Yes. It's just that...Geralt's home," you hesitatingly spoke, shaking your head to wash away the sensations as you honestly told the beaming Ashen child, "---and I feel worried even though I should be excited that he's already home,"

Cirilla was unaware of your worried face as she went on with the jests, "Told you he likes you---!" the princess teased, laughing when she'd caught a glimpse of your flustered face; remembering the awful kiss you've done back in the bath room when you were with Geralt, "---Midget."

"Not you too, Cirilla." your face was burning in a trail of blush. You've quietly shrieked as she'd gave a teasing poke on your side; making you jump, "I was just playing with you!"

All was done and everyone was left satisfied. For the princess, that was what she felt. Great elation by having what she wanted all the time. Except for you, who appeared to be in a discordance when you took your trek back home.

The witcher was back earlier than he expected to. Unexpectedly running into some of the royal guards of Kaedwen and creating a skirmish with the knights who disturbed his peace after killing the bruxa he'd been hunting.

They had reasons for their disturbance. Conniving reasons just for him to agree for the favors that he has been asked to do; or wishes from a royal command that Geralt never accedes.

Bargains of giving enough coins that would last him for half a year, the cost of token higher than the previous deal which included women, coins and ale.

He was done with that lifestyle. Well, before you came around; that is.

The witcher was as stubborn as how the townspeople have been saying. They've came to the point of calling him a monster for butchering their fellow men in which Geralt never gave a damn about it because they were destined to die anyway by what evil they've chose to have.

He didn't need people giving him another moniker. He wouldn't let it live down if he'll have one but with just another city he'd tried to save. Some of the children and women they've abducted were homeless, taken in force or had slave contracts; saying they were owned by noblemen paying for their life despite of how they didn't want to agree in the first place.

The Butcher of Kaedwen? Blaviken? What else did he needed to do and have all those infamous monikers created for him?

Until, the men mentioned and threatened to kidnap a small woman who Tybalt had stabbed on the hip that made Geralt jump on his horse because he'd also heard them draw their swords; ought to bring bloodshed when the witcher never complies.

Hence, which is why he was now in the base of their home. All exhausted, droopy, worried and furious because you and Cirilla weren't home when he'd arrived. His temper rising off the roof.

Jaskier has received a sharp cuss from him and an intense rebuke from the witcher who came fully in Bruxa blood and a little bit splashes of human blood which answered the bard's question that a Bruxa hasn't been the only thing he'd encountered on the way home.

You promised Jaskier that you'll be back as soon as possible. However, it took you both an hour after the frogs have croaked in the night and a scary witcher who wore his all black armor and had a peevish expression on his face which explains the heavy feeling dropped on your chest; doubling more when you'd seen the impetuosity radiating off the brawny man.

Geralt heavily marched to meet you midway along the meadow; with Jaskier motioning something behind the witcher with his hands like a cat clawing and slicing his throat with his thumb when you couldn't understand what he wanted to say.

"Geralt---" the princess started, reading his rigid posture and instantly knowing what his current thoughts were. But, she was cut-off by a seething, curt query start of his interrogation.

This wasn't what you expected from him. Your imagination was that you'll try and get a hug out from the witcher himself, thankful that he'd arrived safely and with complete limbs; not this. Not an angered, bloody Geralt who had his nose flaring.

You were rooted on the ground; your mouth closing once he'd started to act volatile after a week of not seeing him.

"Where have you wandered in the forest in this wild hour of the night, Ciri? Y/N?"

Ah. Y/N. Not midget, but Y/N. You were now Y/N to him. Well, that kind of hurt. You didn't know that hearing him say your name in such fiery stung your heart; such sudden frustration riling your patience. The concern and melancholic desire to see him changing into ire.

You've shut your mouth, a forced small tremble of your lips turning into a guileless smile. Tilting your chin and realizing he was pretty much taller and utterly intimidating when mad. Those amber eyes of his that swirl in unfamiliar ferocity for wandering around the woods.

The witcher couldn't help it. After meeting some of the royal guards, his protectiveness took over as he traveled all the way home in haste to check his family if they were safe.

Especially you as he'd heard one of the cavaliers threaten to abduct you soon.

The naive pretense you've wanted to use through his anger wavered when you've heard your voice faintly quiver, "She's--She's with me, she's safe, Geralt. We were just catching fireflies or whatever this is called in your world---"

Albeit, it seemed like the witcher had a closed mind and didn't want to hear your explanations as he cut you off with a seething truth; his amber eyes blazing as his jaw was clenched so tight, "You think you can protect her?"

You swallowed the hurt for the truth that was sent out in the open, catching you off-guard by the harsh statement that was bound to be told because you were saved twice; like a princess who needed rescuing all the darn time.

Thus, it added more stones to the weight dragging your heart to the ground.

"I--I--" a pathetic stutter has been uttered before the angered witcher seemed to have lost his temper and lashed out on you. He was chirlish and brusque as he does so; like how everyone pointed him out to be and this was the first time you've seen the witcher acting the way he is now, "You can't because you also need saving," pause. "---Your rash behavior can get the both of you dying!"

The latter shook his head in thwart, his gaze burning you in a way that made you want to turn into dust.

"It was fucking dangerous out there!"

The more he gnarled felt like he was blaming you on whatever caused his life to turn the way it is; even the desire for Cirilla to wander in the woods to catch fireflies was all on you to be brought on your shoulders. You huffed out a shaky breath, disbelieving the way he was throwing his surly attitude towards you made you puff your cheeks in utter vexation; wanting nothing but to scream back at the witcher.

Jaskier has managed to saunter towards where Cirilla is, her eyes completely panic-stricken by Geralt's rage; watching between the both of you and seeming to want to step in between but it seems like there were also other issues as well that made you both angry at each other. Matters that should be truly said and not be kept on the inside.

"Ciri, come with me." the bard hushed, catching the princess by the arm and dragging her away till he brought her to the door way, around a hundred meters away from the pair as the both of you tried to withstand each other's glares.

She struggled against his hold, "But, Jaskier! It was my fault! It's not Y/N's fault. Why is she being scolded when I should be the one who must be? Geralt shouldn't be mad at her! What if he---"

"He won't hurt her physically, Princess. He never does. When did he ever hurt us no matter how irking we are? You know Geralt more than anyone in this world,"

Kolby was howling inside their home, his instincts knowing that there was something happening which added more noise to the argument you had with the butcher of Blaviken; shaking the night with your kept frustrations against each other.

"---He just knows how to ruin everything with his teetering, strong feelings. He isn't the best at expressing it but you know the lout knows how to care," he went on, trying to dispel her fears for the both of you, thinking that you would eventually hurt each other with heart-breaking words, "---He'll deal with it. Come on now,"

Jaskier ushered the princess to come inside. She was hesitant at first, giving you both glances before he pulled her in; giving you both the space that is needed. The bard knew that Geralt won't start talking in a sensible manner when they're around. He wouldn't try and open his heart with people hearing what he wanted to truly say.

Your eyes started to cloud, the sensitivity of yourself beginning to take over. One fact about you was that you didn't like people yelling like you were an idiot; as well as people who were mad at you for something you've done which adds more regret to the grief, "I know I'm useless. You didn't need to yell it out loud." you deadpanned, biting the insides of your lips; trying hard not to start sobbing because you've already felt the familiar tremble.

"---You know I would spare my life just for hers because she's a princess, Geralt." your voice got the best of you, quaking in a way that got the witcher knowing that you were in the midst of crying; but somehow reluctant to break down because of his doing, "---Is this how badly you want to kick me out of your house?"

You've blinked and try to ignore the warmth pooling around your eyes, never giving him the opportunity to see right through you before you've snapped your eyes back up to the witcher who had a grimace as he stared you down. The twinkle of your eyes that was an epitome of stars in the night was now loosing its gleam and it was because of him. He'd done something wrong again; like how he was used to. Mistakes that seem to go along with his name.

Geralt had his nose scrunched; having another set of his internal battles within himself as he watched you pour out your anger at him like he'd done to you. Sharing each other's frustration since the days prior that you weren't there for each other.

Your weeping at night. He'd knew. The witcher felt what you were feeling every damn night even though he wasn't with you and he didn't know why.

"I've had Ciri close to me! You know I wouldn't let her get hurt by anyone especially from the people of Nilfgaard!" Your raving was ceaseless; impulsively bringing out pasts you heard from Cirilla and Jaskier as they've tried to tell you important things that should be avoided or was evident of danger. They were the only ones who were openly alarming you about them and never the witcher.

"How did you know about that?" Geralt's scowl grew tighter, his question sounding like a vibrating snarl that warned you he was utterly vexed.

"Because your surprise child and Jaskier had the respect to tell me what's happening in this world you're in!"

You've felt yourself choking from the hysteria raging in your veins, angrily snapping at the witcher who also appeared to be in total dismay as his scowl turned into a frown; his gaze solely on you alone, never leaving your sight. Fists were tightened on either side of you, wanting to throw things out of madness for how rude he was when you remembered how he'd wanted to kiss you back at that certain day.

He was confusing you by how he was acting tonight which also left you enraged for his complicated hot and cold demeanor.

"I don't even know where I am! What this dimension is called! Nor do I know people! Who's bad or who's good! I don't know your map or any of your kingdom!"

"You don't need to know any of that!" because the more you knew about the continent, the more it can bring darkness to you. He'd thought that keeping some things within the family was better because he didn't want you to get involved by whatever problems they may bring.

The witcher wanted you to himself. He wants to protect you from any cruelty that the continent may offer because you were his little secret.

You were his midget. His.

You've roughly bit your lips, fighting the urge for the first tear to fall; howbeit, it was a traitor as you rolled your eyes and avoided his amber peepers searching through the emotions that you oh-so wanted to convey. But, all that was evident was disappointment, anger, sadness and grief because of expecting something that wasn't supposed to be expected from a monster-slayer.

Perhaps, hoping to see through what his good heart could offer was too delusional for you.

"---Don't worry, witcher. The princess comes first before I do. I know that and it should be as well. Thanks for making me come to my senses that I'm useless and a burden for you! I'll leave tomorrow morning so your baggage of having someone needed protecting would lessen on your shoulders," you kept a straight face, blankly looking away as inscrutable as possible; not giving him the benefit of seeing you mourning for the stab of your heart.

Mayhaps, wishing for the fondness to be reciprocated by a witcher was too much of a dream for you. Definitely too high to achieve nor hoped for.

Geralt deeply growled, his forehead creased like he was hurting. You've never seen the pain that spread through his face, letting the emotion he's been keeping to himself burst like he was showing vulnerability.

He didn't like it when you've deadpanned and called him a witcher. It sounded too cold and distant, like he was made to only be seen as a witcher to you, a stranger, a mutated human who slaughters beasts and nothing else.

"Don't call me that!" he snarled, invading the space you've had and your forehead was now in line with his massive chest. You peered up at him with the same ire pooling through your peepers, your gaze hostile as you spoke with thick sarcasm.

"Aren't you a witcher? What do you want me to call you, then? Your job description changed now?"

Geralt roughly breathed out of his nose, his broad shoulders going up and down as he was controlling those emotions that he had which always seemed to be stronger and uncontrollable. He narrowed his blazing amber eyes, genuinely staring into you as he kept his hands to himself; on either side of him. Wanting nothing but to grab onto your face and make you believe that he was earnest about not wanting to be called that when it came to you.

"Don't...Don't make it sound like I'm just a trifling matter to you,"

You scoffed out of the blue for his wishes that he suddenly seem to want, "But, aren't I also just a trifling matter to you, witcher? Or do you want to be called in full name? Geralt of Rivia? Is that your full name? Oh! Maybe, the butcher of Blaviken, then?"

The sound of you calling him witcher felt so distant because he knew that, for you; he was Geralt and not a witcher who people see him as a mutant who kills beasts. To you, he was more than human and less than a witcher. In your mind, he was Geralt. Only Geralt and nothing else because he was a man whom you see that had a good heart and hearing you call him with his monikers was shattering his stronghold.

"No!" he suddenly groaned out of the blue. You gave him the death stare, stepping a foot away from the man himself as his presence was too bewitching in the rage of fire that you both cast upon each other tonight, "What do you mean no?!"

"No," the witcher hoarsely repeated, snapping his head to the side as he gravelly spat out profanities out of those mouth that you've been dying to kiss.

"---Fuck! Don't."

You shook your head in utter disappointment. Your face in a baffling twist, "Are you a broken record or something? no? don't, what?"

He had his share of breaths; seeming to be straightening his thoughts before lowly muttering out his next words, his jaw still clenched as he turned his head to see those eyes waving the white flag like he was submitting and wanted all the anger to just vanish.

"Don't spare your life for anyone, midget." it was straight to the point, giving you what he wanted you to hear.

Yet, because of his unstable attitude; you've chose to weigh down the options as to what his words meant. Choosing the platonic sense of a thought before you even smash your heart into pieces by praying that he meant something more.

"But, she's a princess---"

"---Because you are also important,"

You could see the anger dissipating from his glowing eyes; shifting into such ire that also had a hint of dithering and abrupt acquiescence. Your heart skipped a beat when his words echoed inside your heated head.

'Because you are also important,' Howbeit, your assertion for the truth had you turning his words into the chaste part of options.

"Cirilla is more important than me, Geralt. She's your child of surprise. You know I would risk my life for her. No one would really care for my death anyway. I'm probably already dead for my family back in earth," you scorned, huffing out a breath that hitched when he started giving you the doubts again.

The witcher appeared to be more frustrated as time goes by, your denial making it all too difficult for him to explain, "I.....care!" he prolonged the simplicity in his words, his teeth showing as he gritted and deeply snarled, "I do care, midget. I care about you!"

"Ah." you impassively muttered, eyes vacant as there was a void hidden behind those peepers of yours, "---you mean that because I'm your responsibility. Noted." and a simple shrug of your shoulders was enough to draw a stressed-out growl from the man who kept your heart on the line, always.

"Fuck--no! Not that!"

A simple shake of your head and a chance to leave his presence was all it could take for Geralt to grab onto your wrists, surprising you to say the least. His hold on you was tight, never letting go as you tried and uselessly battled with his strength.

You skeptically sent him a sharp look as he appeared to be groaning out deep within those sturdy chest of his that was still clothed in armor, "Let go, Geralt. I swear to God, if you don't let go and use magic or your Harry Potter slash witcher styled---Wingardium Levi-O-sa on me---!"

"You know I will never do that!" he fumed, his expressions telling you that he was offended by even thinking he would hurt you in any way, disregarding your modern references that he simply couldn't understand. Therefore, Geralt carried on with his kept feelings and raved.

"You...You are important to me! I care because you're you..."

You've exhaled a huff of frustration, never believing his words that was always been said whenever he was caught up in a moment.

"You're speaking in riddles that I couldn't comprehend, my lord." a mock of his accent made you done for. The deathless struggle you've tried to escape in his hold; both hands prying him away but he was utterly stronger than you imagined him to be.

You were utmost naive that it was making him want to just kiss you hard for you to understand his feelings.

The witcher breathed fire. Features thoroughly livid for your naivity and denial, "You're too fucking blind and too naive!" he barked, completely infuriated for your nonsense.

You loudly whined as you tried wrenching his hand away. It was better to escape his presence because you could sense that the more you stayed, the more you would forgive this man in a heartbeat with his words that seem to confuse you.

It took one more struggle and a stumble of your own foot for how forcibly you were trying to get away his hold that Geralt swiftly hung that arm he holds; slipping it around his broad shoulders, catching you completely off-guard as he leaned down entirely to your height; your eyes bulging out of your eye sockets for his surprising gesture.

"Witcher---!!!"

However, those flamed words were forgotten as you've felt those pillowy, succulent lips of his fall onto yours in a feathery touch that got your insides growing wild.

Your eyes were all open, soul flying out of its chambers when you've felt his warm lips falling in between yours. A fluttering connection of both bodies that got your body turning rigid before he'd tried to snap you out of your shock and softly kissed tips of your lower lip, his fingers gently grabbing onto the side of your face; thumb falling into the tip of your chin to chide you into kissing him back.

He hoped he wasn't just imagining things; thoroughly thinking that what he felt about you can somehow also be reciprocated and that it wasn't just him.

You've eventually given a satisfied sigh and fluttered your eyes closed, entirely giving into what your heart desires; molding your vermillion to his with a soft pucker of your lips and your other hand falling onto the side of his chiseled face that got a low grumble of his chest out of him from the tender touch of your fingers he'd anticipated to feel.

You were finally kissing Geralt and your heart seemed to be flying out of its cage.

The kiss was how you imagined it to be. Soft and candied like a precised choreography dance that was satisfying for both of your beings; yet aching for more. Your breath hitched when you've felt the tip of his luscious tongue caress your lips in a way that got the warmth pooling in your stomach turn wild.

You've snapped your eyes open and broke the kiss before it escalated further; hardly pulling away with a faint smooch that got you wanting another.

It was definitely difficult to believe. Before the witcher could even flutter his eyes open, you've timidly puckered; your face boiling in such a high temperature as you reach for his lips, planting another chaste kiss that got Geralt in a small beam that you were blinded with; finding your actions adorable as if you were timid of kissing him.

So, it was real. You've kissed him again and he let you. The feelings were actually true.

He was met with those ingenuous flicker inside your eyes as you stared back at him, a sheepish smile and a coy twinkle of your eyes got him sighing; breathing in your delectable scent and never believing you actually felt the same way, "I am...done leaving people," Geralt breathed through his nose, whispering sweet and soft nothings that got your heart twerking inside your chest.

The latter tenderly leaned his forehead against yours; eyelids shut closed as he deeply murmured. The anger simmering out of the way once he'd gotten to kiss those lips that he wanted to have a taste since the day he'd felt something for you, "---Nor am I done being left by people who are important to me,"

You felt his gentle fingers graze your chin, the dimples of his nose tickling yours; urging for just another harmless kiss that tells you it all isn't a dream you've forged to create.

"Forgive me," he gravelly whispered, hearing your thoughts as to how you wanted to be kissed; though, it was just Geralt and his self that couldn't get enough of you.

The witcher planted another uncluttered kiss to the tips of your vermillion, catching your breath away as you blinked repeatedly to get a hold of yourself when he'd pulled away with a mischievous grin, "I...didn't mean to yell,"

You've bit your lips; trying to fight yourself from squealing hard at what just happened, feeling your toes tickling your bashful heart. You took a glimpse of those amber eyes that held a roguish gaze to it, "You're...You're mean!" was all you managed to say, eyes downcast and your nose scrunched from being utterly cringe; feeling his soft lips still lingering.

Oh dear, you weren't going to sleep without squealing for the next couple of hours.

"I know," his dashing face was filled of remorse. You've given him a blink of surprise, astounded by his sheer admission towards being a big meanie for yelling at you.

A soft narrow of your eyes was the only thing he'd receive and he did the same way, his amber eyes bright and free from pique as he cocked his head to the side, a dubious impression from how you were still giving him that hostile but shy gaze of yours.

"You're still mad," the ivory-haired witcher straightened his back as he stated as a matter of fact with that rough baritone timbre of his voice. You ungracefully cleared your throat for the second time; his gaze heavy on you and it was making your heart turn wild.

"And the night is dark, Geralt." was enough for Geralt of Rivia to trail behind you like a guilty puppy as you hurriedly jogged back to their house; your nose scrunched to the extent as you delicately held onto your lips in which the witcher has kissed; your face burning from the blush that wanted you squealing out loud.

"---Utterly mad." he scoffed to himself as he groaned in regret, rolling his eyes from how you were brushing him aside.

Geralt tailed behind with a frown on his face, "Forgive me, midget." he repeated in a stern but clearer tone, utterly bothered by how you were disregarding him after all he confessed.

The door to their house were sprightly shut closed when Jaskier and Cirilla left the hatch ajar. It was Jaskier's idea to eavesdrop over the both of you and much to say, he'd already awaited for this moment to happen because of the tension that seemed palpable by everyone who surrounded you both.

"That's character development right out there, Cirilla." the bard peeked out of the small opening, watching how Geralt has leaned down to give you the kiss that was bound to happen.

Cirilla moved away from the doorway, an incredulous haze of her eyes as she had her hands on her hips, "I thought Geralt didn't know romance, Bard?"

Jaskier didn't back down from her sassy gestures and also did the same as he began to reason out, standing away from the door way when he'd heard Geralt asking you for forgiveness. The princess of Cintra has a smug look on her face, teasing the bard, "Some people improve when it's been a long time since his heartbreak---Stop judging me like that!"

He'd seen you walk back to the house, a fathomless cringe carving your features which looked like you were constipated as the witcher jogged up from behind, calling you out in the middle of the night. Jaskier was quick to shut the door closed for the second time, hauling an arm around Cirilla as he pulled her wrists till she was crouching with the bard and Kolby, acting like they were playing Knucklebones and not snooping over you and Geralt, "---Also, act like you didn't see them kiss!"

Y’ALL ARE PROLLY WAITING FOR CHAPTER 14 AND 15 NOW. 😂😂 (Strikethrough means I couldn’t tag you, bb. Please do check your settings. 🥰 Thank you!)

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noladyme · 4 years

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The Frog Princess. Chapter 1

“You can all bloody kiss my ass!”, I growled at the men standing around me. “There isn’t a chance in Hel I’m getting on that ship!”.

“Breathe, Y/N”, Eist tried calmingly. “This is what’s best for everyone”. “Best for you and your bloody war!”, I snarled.

In the corner of the great hall stood a mess of cases, containing most of my earthly goods. None of it had any importance to me; except for the small chest of knickknacks I’d gathered while on trips around the smaller islands of Skellige, and the one time Eist had brought me to Cintra Capital with him.

“Y/N, you’re not a child. Stop acting like one”. I smacked him across the face. A murmur of stifled laughter rose among the leather clad men surrounding me and Eist.

King Eist Tuirseach. The great leader of our lands; and my pain in the ass older cousin; who was getting ready to ship me of to a place far away – that I had no intention of going to.

“What you’re really trying to say, is that I’ve gotten too old to marry of to someone worth while; so now you’re using me as payoff to a sweaty sister-fucker!”. I picked up a goblet, and threw it at the wall; mead dripping down from where I’d hit. “You don’t know that he’s sweaty”, Eist smiled.

“Eist…”, I said, trying for sweetness. He looked at me pointedly. “When we are in public, you’ll address me as is fit my title”.

“My liege”, I sneered. “Great majestic cousin, and king of these isles. I am merely trying to explain to you, that if you intend to proceed with this plan of shipping me off to Temeria; there is a great chance that I might burn this whole fucking castle to the ground, and piss on the ashes!”.

I heard a gruff chuckle from a dark alcove connected to the hall.

Eist sighed. “Well, we’ll just have to keep you away from fire until you’ve boarded the ship”.

Rage boiling inside me, I stomped my foot into the ground, and screamed.

Eist closed his eyes and raised his eyebrows; shaking his head. “You can scream all you want, my dear. This is happening”, he said calmly. “No!”, I yelled. “Yes”, he answered. “You are going to Temeria. You are marrying Foltest. You’ll bear him whatever children he wishes to produce. And you’ll do it all with a smile”.

A stranger stepped into the light from the alcove. He was tall, and built like a boulder – muscled and strong. His eyes shone a strange shade of amber, and his hair was grey- verging on white.

“Why does he even want me? I have no real title…”, I said. “You’re my cousin. That is title enough”, Eist interrupted. He sat down at the head of the table, pouring himself a new goblet of mead. Apparently the one I had thrown was his. “Foltest needs a queen. You are a highborn woman; with a dowry that goes with it”. He took a sip from the goblet. “You also happen to be a bloody pain in the ass; with the reputation that goes with that as well. You are lucky Foltest has agreed to this union. You weren’t exactly an easy sell”.

I laughed out loud, and sat at the table, a few seats from him; worried that I might stab him with a fork if I got too close. “There it is. A sell. I’m a commodity to be traded with”.

“You will do as you’re told, woman!”, Eist said, patience clearly running thin. I wasn’t having it.

“Would you say that to Calanthe?”.

Eist slammed both his fists into the table. “Enough!”, he roared. I froze in place. He breathed deeply, collecting himself. “Y/N; you are my favorite cousin. A fact that has unfortunately let you to run wild and do as you’ve wished for much too long. I cannot allow that to continue anymore”. His pained but resolute eyes met mine. “I know you won’t believe this, but I am doing this for your sake as well. You can no longer call Skellige your home”.

“You’re right”, I said, swallowing tears. “I don’t believe you”.

He looked down, clenched his fists, and sighed. “We’ll speak later. I have to finish planning your travel arrangements”, he said; and stood up, walking in the direction of the whitehaired stranger; who’d been watching our exchange with a smirk on his face.

“Geralt, I wish to discuss something with you”, Eist said, before turning to his men. “Take her to her room. Make sure there are no ropes for climbing out the window; cut up her sheets if you must”. He and the man walked towards the door leading to his private chancery.

“And hide the matches”.

---

I stood in front of a mirror in my now barren room. Thrude – my nanny turned hand matron, and dear friend – was desperately trying to cheer me up.

“Chin up. You’ll be a queen, m’lady”, she said smilingly. “I’ll be a puppet”, I answered. She raised a sponge to cover my face in powder. “Don’t”, I said. “Let them see that I’ve been crying”. She sighed. “At least brush your hair”. She handed me the hairbrush; and went to get my dress for the feast.

It was a ridiculous thing; nothing near what I would have chosen for myself. Black velvet with puffed sleeves, white laced trim; and a white lily on the front of the skirt. They’re dressing me up as the Temerian fucking flag, I thought.

I brushed my hair; and allowed Thrude’s old hands to run through it, braiding it into and intricate crown on the top of my head. When she was finished, I grabbed her hand, and put it to my cheek. “Tootie”. She smiled at my use of the nickname I’d given her as a child. “I could go with you! I could live with you in your cabin. You could continue to train me as a vöelve!”.

“I never trained you to become any such thing”, Thrude said indignantly. I smirked at her. “Teaching me about herbs, healing and monsters? That’s a proper lady’s education?”. “You’d do best to forget those things where you are going”, she said. She put her hands on either side of my face; and looked at me kindly but sternly.

“Listen to me, girl”. I hadn’t been a girl for quite a few years; but her age and the respect I held for her made me accept her choice of words. “Skellige is not the place for you anymore. You are off to a better future than you could ever have here... or anywhere else”.

I snorted in a quite undignified way. “A future as the wife of someone who is only taking me, for the money my cousin will pay him to do so… as a stepmother of a girl conceived through incest; and whose age I am closer to, than I am her fathers!”. I swallowed bile. “I’m going to be sick”. I put my head between my knees; my nose touching the velvet of the dress. She patted my head comfortingly.

“You must leave this place behind”, she said. “Become what is expected of you”. “Instead of…?”. I looked up at her.

She looked down and shook her head. “That’s for another time”. She shuffled her old body in the direction of my bed – the bare mattress reminding me of my cousins’ heartless elimination of my escape plan.

“But there won’t be another time”. I stood up. “I leave tomorrow”.

“Then cherish tonight”, she said.

From under the bed, she pulled out a small pouch; and handed it to me. “My own mother gave me this on my wedding night”, she said; tears in her eyes. “I was saving it for you; for when you’d finally stop being a little imp, and settle down with a good man”. She shook her head. “At least he’s a king…”. I chuckled through my tears, and took the pouch in my hands, opening it. Inside was a silver chain, adorned with an appendage shaped as a small frog.

“Ma’ told me that sometimes you get a frog; but shower it with enough kisses, and it might turn in to a prince”. She helped me put it on. “In your case; I believe it’s the other way around. You are stubborn, you act before you think, and you jump around too much”. She kissed my forehead. “But you can be something more”.

She took both my hands into hers and squeezed them gently. “You can be a queen. And one to be reckoned with!”.

I sniffled. “All I have to do is let a man I don’t know and don’t want, kiss me… and touch me… and…”. I heaved. “I really think I’m going to throw up!”.

She chortled. “He managed to bed his own sister. He must have some charms”. She winked at me. “Might even have a good enough cock to go with them”.

“Tootie!”, I cried out.

“Oh, calm yourself, girl! You know your way around a mands body. We both know that”. She wasn’t wrong, but I wouldn’t give her the pleasure of an answer. In stead I rolled my eyes at her.

“There we are, dearie. Now I recognize you”, she smiled. “Remember, it is not unheard of, for queens to take lovers other than their husbands. You might not even have to bed him that often”.

I sighed. “What am I going to do without you?”.

She patted my cheek. “You are going to grow up”.

---

The great hall was filled with laughter and dancing.

A bard from the continent was playing his lute; surrounded by red-cheeked girls, all vying for his attention. He seemed to me to be an absolute windbag; but I could understand the effect he had on them; blue eyed and brightly smiling.

As I stepped into the room; the music stopped, and the crowd turned to look at me. A roar of cheers and well wishes from all sides; and my strongest impulse was to turn around, and run back up the stairs. Thrude took a firm hold of my hand, and pushed me forward. “Go on, girl. This is your night”.

The bard began his music again, leading the room into a singalong of a gay tune; about a selkie and her lover. Dancing continued, and drinks were flowing. This was a joyous event – and I wanted nothing more than to crawl under a rock; and die.

We were stopped in our tracks by a tall man, I had not met before. “Lady Y/N”, he said haughtily. “Let me congratulate you on this glorious occasion of your engagement and upcoming marriage. I must admit that my master had hoped a different arrangement could have been made. But, alas, here we are”. “I’m sorry”, I said, caught off guard. “Who is your master?”.

“My apologies, my lady”, the man bowed. “I am a representative of Nilfgaard; Gaunter O’Dimm. Loyal servant of the true emperor of the fore mentioned lands”. “Usurper”, Thrude said, and spat at the floor. She pulled at my hand.

“I am sorry, sir, but I must take my leave. I must see my cousin”, I smiled, voice shaking. “Of course, my lady. I wish you good health”, O’Dimm said, and stepped aside for us to pass.

“Who was he?”, I asked Thrude. “No one good”, she answered quietly.

I sat down at the head table, watching the festivities; completely numb. The small silver frog rested between my breasts, cold against my skin.

“You look beautiful”; Eist said from next to me. “I look like a pig for market”, I answered, pulling at the uncomfortable corset Thrude had squeezed me in to. “Well; a lovely pig none the less”, he said.

I spent most of the night staring into space; not touching any of the food placed in front of me. The mead and schnapps on the other hand; I had my fair share of.

“You must eat”, Eist grumbled. “Not fat enough for slaughter yet?”, I sneered. “You’re not being slaughtered. You’re getting married”, he answered. “What’s the difference?”, I mumbled.

A fight broke out in front of the table. Well; not so much a fight as a beating. A drunk distant cousin of Crach an Craite’s new wife, had apparently taken a disliking to the bard reciting a sonnet to his fiancée; and was now dragging him by the nose to the floor in front of us.

“Witcher!”, the drunkard growled. “Control your pet!”.

The whitehaired stranger was leaning against a pillar; staring into a mug of ale. “He’s not my pet”, he muttered with a gruff voice. It sounded like it came from somewhere deep within his chest.

“Well, I don’t know how you do it on the continent”, the drunkard said, “but here in Skellige, if a mutt is acting wild; we cut of his balls!”.

The bard looked terrified. “Geralt!”, he pleaded. “Do something!”. The angry man pulled out his dagger and started waving it in front of him; swaying from side to side – obviously having trouble focusing through his drunken haze.

“Ger… Geralt!”, the bard shrieked. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the scene.

Eist looked at me. “Rognir! You’ve made the lady smile! Thank you!”, he laughed. “Now let the poor lad go”.

The man burped. “Bugger that”, he said, and stepped forward, dagger raised.

A hand grabbed his wrist, and pulled it behind his back. The stranger was holding the drunkard in an armlock. “That’s enough”, he said. “Leave the bard, drink some water; and go remind your woman why she chose you in the first place”.

The bard ran to safety behind a group of girls; who all began to fuss over him.

The stranger let go of Rognir; who shuffled away into a dark corner; where a plump girl was waiting for him.

“Wolf”, Eist said. “Join us”.

He sat down on the opposite side of the table from us; accepting a new mug of ale from a servant.

“Y/N; this is Geralt of Rivia”, Eist said. My eyes met the strangers; who looked like he’d rather be anywhere but here. “Geralt, let me formally introduce you to my cousin; Y/N. The future queen of Temeria”.

“Princess”, the man nodded at me. “I’m not a princess”, I answered, and drained my fourth serving of mead that evening.

“She’s right”, Eist said, and took away my goblet. “Princesses don’t usually drink like sailors”. The stranger chuckled. “Y/N; Geralt is a witcher”, Eist continued. “I have asked him to accompany you on your journey to your new home”. The witcher looked at me again, his eyes narrowed.

“Him?”, I asked. “What happened to me being a future queen? Don’t I get a dozen soldiers on white horses?”, I snorted, and grabbed my glass of schnapps to replace the mead.

“No, you don’t. Mostly because I know you’d either annoy them until they leave you on the side of the road; or try to seduce some of them into letting you run away”, Eist said. I rolled my eyes. “Don’t give me that, Y/N; I’m not stupid. Poor Eyrick’s heart is still broken after your tryst last spring”.

Eyrick – firm, handsome… dumb as rocks. I’d made it clear I was in it for one thing. He’d taken that as a sign that I was playing hard to get; and sold his only goat to buy an engagement ring.

“Did he ever get his goat back?”, I smirked. “I bought him two new ones”, Eist answered. “The other one had already been made into dinner”.

I laughed heartily. “Poor Eyrick”. “Poor goat”, the witcher said. I caught his gaze. Had the situation been different, I might have flirted with him; handsome as he was… in his own rugged, I-don’t-give-a-fuck-what-I’m-wearing-as-long-as-it’s-clean way. I corrected myself as I saw a black stain on his sleeve. “Nekker”, he said, studying my expression. I held his gaze for as long as I dared, and returned to my glass.

A sudden rush of blood to my head reminded me that Eist had probably been right about me eating. I was well and drunk.

“So”, I said, “Eist has asked you, but you’ve not accepted? Coin not good enough?”. “I don’t make it a habit to meddle in politics”, he rumbled, and took a sip from his mug.

“See, cousin?”, I smirked. “Even the witcher knows a livestock trade when he sees one”. “Not the time, Y/N”, Eist muttered, and put a chunk of bread on my plate. I took a resentful bite of it.

“Geralt”, Eist said. “I am not asking you to take a side in the war. I am asking you, as a friend, to keep my cousin safe until she is in the arms of her new husband. Nilfgaard has been making moves north of their boarders, and I worry she will be in danger from kidnapping on her journey”. The witcher sighed. Eist leaned forward, lowering his voice. “You are many things, wolf, but you are not heartless. You’ve already shown me this once. You know what might happen, if they get to her before she reaches her destination”.

“And what is that?”, I interrupted. Eist sat back. “You won’t have to worry about that, if the witcher agrees to my proposition”. He smiled solemnly; before looking back at the witcher. “I will pay what you ask”.

They were both quiet for a long minute. Something unspoken passed between them, before finally the witcher grunted; and nodded. He took another sip of his ale.

“How is the child?”, he asked. “Last I heard, still growing in its mothers’ belly”, Eist answered. “She’s well, and will – along with the child – have the best care both during and after the birth. You know I would not lie about this”. The witcher nodded again.

“So, you will do it?”, Eist asked. “I will. On my terms”.

“Of course”, Eist answered, seeming relieved. “Anything. I have the ship ready for tomorrow afternoon, and will send any men with you that you might need. The lady’s belongings have already been packed, and horses will be waiting for you in Cintra Capital once you make land. Nilfgaard will be relentless in their search for her. They want nothing more right now, than to stop this wedding”.

“No”, the whitehaired man said. “We leave tonight. She packs light; and we take a fisherman’s ship to Attre; travelling on from there. Just her and myself”. A giggle was heard from behind a pillar; where the bard was charming one of the maidens from his fan-club. “And him. If he stays here longer, I’m afraid he’ll become a gelding in no time”, he said, glancing at a stout and angry looking old man; who was probably the girl’s father. Eist nodded.

My head was beginning to clear, as I was realizing what was happening. “You’re sending me with him? On a fisherman’s boat across the ocean; to then traipse across the continent in nothing but my plain dress and boots?”. “You can bring your sgian-dubh”, the witcher chuckled gruffly. I was surprised he knew the word for my hidden knife.

“I don’t have one”, I said, and looked at him defiantly. “Yes you do; you’ve strapped it to your leg”, he said in a bored voice. Eist bit his lip to stop from laughing at my affronted face. “Calm yourself, girl. I haven’t been looking up your skirts. The velvet in your dress gave away the shape of the knife against your thigh”.

I scoffed at him. “Well, you were looking at something, since you noticed my thigh”, I said. “You’d be better of slipping it into your boot. Makes it easier to reach when needed”, he smirked.

I did not like this man.

“Eist…” I began. “It’s done”, Eist answered. “I’m begging you…”, I pleaded, “in the name of the love I know you have for me – please. Don’t make me do this. I can fight. Make me a shield maiden!”. “That would require that you actually were a maiden, dear heart”, he said. “Y/N, I do love you. That is why I am doing this”.

My heart dropped, and tears began to well up in my eyes, as I desperately tried to control my panicked breath.

“Wolf; I’ll send the ship to Cintra tomorrow afternoon, as planned, packed with men and the lady’s luggage. They will travel to Temeria; pretending to be transporting her – but the carriage will be empty”. “That will give us some extra days before they come looking for us”, the witcher answered. He turned to look at me.

“Princess, finish your meal calmly, then make your way to the courtyard. Pretend to be going to relieve yourself. I will meet you there”. I was breathing heavily. “No…”, I whimpered. “Not yet. Let me have tonight. Let me sleep in my own bed. I want to say goodbye”.

Eist was pretending to smile, his eyes miserable. “This is goodbye, Y/N”, he said, and took my hand to kiss. “I wish I could have made things different for you, child. You have my heart and my brotherly love; always”. He stroked my cheek.

“Now go!”. He turned away from me.

From behind me, Thrude put her hand on my shoulder, gesturing for me to follow. Not breathing, I grabbed it, and we walked briskly towards the door nearest our table.

---

We hurried down some stairs. Going in to the courtyard, I halted; making Thrude turn to look at me. “Come along, dearie. We must haste”. “Tootie… will I ever see you again?”. She looked down. “I hope so, child”. She kissed my cheek.

“Princess!”, someone hissed from the shadows. The whitehaired witcher stepped into the moonlight. “Follow me”. He walked towards the stables. Thrude let go of my hand, and patted my back to follow him. “Go on!”, she whispered.

I walked into the stable, where the witcher and the bard were waiting. “My lady!”, the young man said, and bowed in reverence. “It has been a great honor to perform at this extraordinary event, but unfortunately my friend here insists that we must leave”. He grabbed my hand and kissed it, beaming at me.

“She’s coming with us”, the witcher said; readying his horse – a beautiful red mare.

The bard looked from me to his friend. “She’s… the package?”, he asked in disbelief. “Yes”, the other man answered. “Geralt… are you sure this is a good idea?”; the bard said below his breath. “No”, the witcher grumbled, and looked at me indifferently. “Change”, he said, and threw a satchel on the ground in front of me. I was getting tired of being bossed around. “Why?”, I asked. “Because I said so”. “Go to Hel”, I said. The bard gasped at my words. “Bad-mannered words for a lady!”, he proclaimed. “Go fuck yourself, milksop”, I sneered.

“Geralt!”, the bard cried out. “Shut up, Jaskier. Do you want the whole castle to know what we’re doing?”, the witcher said; and walked towards me, picking up the satchel.

“Put on the clothes in the bag. I’m not asking you again”. I smirked at him defiantly.

He grabbed my arm, and looked at me; dormant rage in his eyes. His hold on me was strong, but not painful. “I will strip you down myself if needed”, he said.

I ripped the satchel from his hands, and went behind a wall to change. Inside the bag was a simple white chemise; and a blue, sleeveless peasant dress, which could lace up in the front, making me able to put it on myself. I reluctantly removed my sgian-dubh from my thigh, and slipped it into my boot.

From behind the wall I hear muffled talking.

“Geralt, this is madness. You can’t drag the future queen of Temeria across the continent on horseback”, the bard – Jaskier – said. “She needs pomp and… spectacle and ceremony; and everything else that goes with the title. Not to mention that she is rude; and will probably get in the way when we are fighting monsters!”. “You don’t fight Jaskier. You moan and whine, and run away at any sign of danger”, the witcher answered. “That’s not the point, Geralt… Geralt… Look at me when I’m talking to you!”. “What are you; my wife?”. “Gods forbid. I’m quite sure I’d be able to make a better match!”. “Well, if you come all the way to Temeria with us, maybe Foltest will choose you in stead of the princess. He does have strange tastes”.

“I’m not a princess!”, I thundered, and stomped out to face them.

The witcher looked at me, clearly about to roar for me to shut up. At the same moment, Thrude stepped in to the stable, carrying a gray cloak.

“Are you all ready to leave then?”, she said, and put the cloak around my shoulders, tying it under my chin. “Yes”, the witcher answered, and climbed onto his horse. “Come”, he said, and reached his hand out to me.

“She gets to ride?”, Jaskier asked woundedly.

I put my hand into the witchers, and he pulled me into the saddle in a swift and strong move; to sit in front of him, my back to his chest. He smelled like fresh dirt; musky herbs and metal.

“Pomp and spectacle, Jaskier”, his voice rumbled behind me. “Hood up, girl”, he demanded, and I did as asked.

I looked at the bard. “The grey stallion”, I said earnestly. “It’s mine. You can bring it as far as the ship”. Thrude smirked, and shook her head at me.

“Witcher; you will take care of her”, she said. A command; not a question. The witcher grunted behind me. “As promised”, he said. Thrude nodded.

With a last look towards my beloved old friend; I kissed the frog still hanging around my neck; and we we’re off.

---

We rode through the night, reaching a small harbor when the moon was at its highest. A fisherman was waiting for us, standing on the dock by an old boat; just large enough to transport all of us, and the witchers horse.

After Jaskier had gotten of the grey stallion, I smacked it’s behind, making it run of into the trees.

“Eist won’t like it when his favorite horse is gone from the stables”, the witcher said. Jaskier looked from him to me with horror on his face. “I’m a dead man!”, he whimpered.

The witcher chuckled silently, and handed me the satchel that had held my “new” dress. “Your name is Zaba. You are an herbalist in training, on your way to Lyria; to learn from your new master there”. I looked at him confused. “Zaba?” “It means frog”, he added, and turned to lead his horse onto the boat.

I frowned, and looked down at my necklace. Frog. Opening the satchel, I found in it some dried herbs, and a small book; filled out with what I recognized to be Thrude’s handwriting. There were recipes for draughts against headaches and simple stomach pains. Most of them I already knew; as Thrude had been diligent in her training of me as a non-vöelve. I had never been able to see the future, or predict next year’s crop; but I did know my way around simple healing of wounds and the occasional childbirth. I’d also managed to avoid pregnancy with the few lovers I’d had.

Along with my herbalist gear, there were fresh undergarments and stockings; and a few copper coins.

The fisherman giving me a hand; I stepped onto the boat; almost forgetting that this might be the last time my feet would be touching Skellige soil. The witchers horse brayed.

“I don’t like it any more than you do, Roach. But we’ll be in Attre before you know it.”, the witcher said to it. I looked on in wonder.

“He talks to his horse. You best get used to it”, Jaskier said, stepping onto the boat after me. He didn’t look like he’d forgiven me for making him a horse-thief just yet.

I walked up to the mare, standing on the other side of it than the witcher. “Her name is Roach?”, I asked. “Yes”, he said, not meeting my eyes.

I put my hands on the horse’s muzzle, and blew gently at it; the horse responding in kind. The witcher looked at me with narrowed eyes. “Hello, Roach”, I said, and scratched a spot behind its ear. “Thanks for the ride”.

I went to sit at the stern. “Wouldn’t the lady be more comfortable below deck?”, the fisherman asked. “She’ll be fine”, the witcher rumbled in response; and sat down to lean against a barrel.

We set off; the wind in our favor. It wasn’t long before my home islands became dots in the distance behind us.

I might not have a home there anymore, I thought. But no one is going to tell me where I will make a new one!

---

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- no lady

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