#he's the one most dear to jaskier's heart!

[samstree]

Jaskier calls everyone "dear" so Geralt is very much desensitized to it, until the day Jaskier calls him "dearest" in the softest and most intimate tone. his witcher brain bluescreens for quite a while.

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 82

You may be asking yourself after a night with no prompts, @geraskierfanficprompts, did you die? And the answer is, no, I only half-died (as in slept. For like 16 hours. I do not think I am well.) BUT ANYWHO LETS GOOOO Geralt is captured by Nilfgard, or whatever VOTW you want, it's up to whoever writes it, as always my dears, but without changes to the prompt, it would make most sense post-mountain Nilfgaard <3 Geralt knows Yennefer is expecting him back sooner, and because he didn't make it back in time, he knows damn well that Yennefer is currently tracking him down and will get him out. He just has to endure. He just has to wait it out. No matter what they say or do to Geralt however, he's not budging on any information. They remark that they have a way to get him to talk. Doesn't matter what they do. He just has to endure. He just has to wait it out. But then they shove in another person in chains, and when the person looks up, Geralt feels his heart drop to his stomach. "Jaskier.." "..Geralt." His hair is longer, and he's grown some stubble. He holds himself with much less confidence, and his eyes look weary and tired. They force Jaskier into a chair in front of Geralt, and Geralt can't even think of the implications he's so happy to see his bard, alive and well. ... Well-ish, he supposes. "Feel like sharing anything now, Witcher?" One asks, and Geralt suddenly comes back to reality, realizing their plan. Before he can even say anything, Jaskier laughs. A full-bellied, proper cackle, even throwing his head back for a moment. "As if! You truly made asses of yourselves! Geralt couldn't care less about me!" They grip Jaskier's hair and tug his head back. "Shut up, before we do it for you." "If you kill me, You'll only be doing both Geralt and me a favor." Jaskier says with a smile, and the man growls and sinks a knife into Jaskier's shoulder. "He's bluffing!" the man yells. Jaskier lets out a horrible little pained gasp at the knife, and his head falls forward as he starts to tear up. "I don't care if there's nothing of the bard left when you finish, as long as you get the butcher fucking talking!" Geralt is panicking. Not that anyone could tell. The rules were to endure. To wait. Yennefer can get him out. But sweet, poor, innocent Jaskier is about to be brutalized the more Geralt doesn't say. Even if he could endure, if he could wait, knowing deep down if he does nothing that it's safer for them, that they'll be saved, he knows he won't be able to. Because it's his Jaskier. He finally found him again, and his bard truly, genuinely believes Geralt would feel nothing but joy upon the minstrel's death. Geralt needs to get his bard out NOW, and he needs to make it all okay again. He needs to tell his Bard everything, he needs to apologize, he needs to kiss him, he needs to smell him happy and content again, he needs- The man stabs a knife into Jaskier's arm, making Jaskier shriek in agony. He needs to kill some people.

[labyrinth-runner]

The Tavern Maid

I'm tempted to turn this into a (short) series if people are interested?

This is based off a cliched prompt from this list:

Help me I'm being hit on a bar, please pretend to be my fake boyfriend for a second.

Summary: Jaskier comes to your aid when some elves in your brother's tavern get a little too handsy for your liking.

Word Count: 1300~

Warnings: I mean, the elf is handsy and tries to proposition reader.

It was a usual shift at the tavern. Which, for you, meant that some patrons were getting a bit too handsy for your liking. You would never understand why people assumed that because you worked there that you'd like their advances. Quite frankly, you didn't give a fuck about tips, and you were only working here to help out your brother because his usual server (his wife) had just had a baby and he was short staffed. Still, this crowd was raucous. There was a group of dwarves in the corner, louder than most, but the real problem were the elves, with their wandering hands, blaming it on the fact that they were so much quicker than you and therefore unused to having to dance around a slow human.

You could feel the vein in your forehead throbbing as you scrubbed the sticky remnants of mead from the bar. You couldn't wait to go back to your house, take a scalding hot bath to burn off the unwanted ick that their gazes left on your skin.

A bard was strumming a tune in the corner, pulling most of the patrons into his performance. It was a nice, jaunty tune. Something about tossing a coin to a witcher. Now, there was a right beast, that. Witchers with their golden eyes and wild temperaments. You'd only ever met one, with his snow white hair. He'd been tracking some manner of a beast straight through your father's farm, and he actually seemed to care about the damage the beast had done to your father's crops. Some Geralt of Rivia or something like that. Hadn't seen him in years, but the bard's tune brought him right back to you as if he were standing in front of you.

You wished he were. Maybe he'd do something to deter the elves. One of them, the one with the sneer and tight braid was elbowing the man next to him, gesturing with his head towards you. Great. You were about to be propositioned. He smirked at his friend, nodding vigorously before downing the rest of his ale and making his way towards the bar. You clocked it, and were hoping to avoid it, already rounding the bar to see to another patron.

Like the elves said, you were so much slower than them. His hand was on your hip, turning you into his chest. "Now, lass, where are you going?"

Clearing your throat, you attempted to push away, "I have a job to do."

He grinned down at you, drinking in your discomfort as his hand trailed lower, dangerously close to your ass. "I'm sure they can wait a bit."

"I suppose they can, but I'm sure my husband wouldn't approve of whatever you have in mind."

He laughed. "What husband?"

Damn that elf, seeing through your bluff. You spotted the bard taking a seat at the bar and nodded towards him. "That husband. Right, dear?" you asked, directing the question to the bard to get his attention. You'd said it rather loudly. You mouthed 'help' to him as the elf turned to address the bard.

"Is this one yours?" the elf asked, pulling you against his chest, his hand high up on your waist and his thumb dangerously close to the underside of your breast. You grimaced.

"Yes, that lady happens to be my wife, and I would appreciate if you'd take your grubby hands off her," he said with a dramatic flourish of his hand towards you.

You gripped his hand, your palms sweaty and allowed him to pull you into him. "Thank you," you murmured. He smelled of smoke and sage.

His hand cupped your cheek. "Are you alright, dear heart?"

He was good. Then again, as a performer, you weren't that surprised.

"I do apologize," the elf said, backing away. "I didn't realize she was spoken for."

The bard wrapped a protective arm around you. "Even if she wasn't, Sir, no means no. She shouldn't have to say it in elvish for you to understand." His tone was ice and he stared the elf down until he slunk back to his table, tail between his legs. He passed his mug to you. "Here, take a sip."

You raised a brow, but accepted it. It wasn't what you were expecting, the first sip coating your tongue with a warm mix of cinnamon and clove.

"It's a tea I got from a druid. It's supposed to help your voice and calm nerves," he explained, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

"You can stop acting," you told him, handing him back his mug. You dug around in your pocket for a coin, trying to discreetly hand it to him for his trouble. "For your witcher," you teased.

He folded your hand back around the coin. "You don't have to pay me for doing the right thing," he said with a soft smile. "Somehow, I feel like I'd do so much more than merely this for you if you'd asked, dear heart."

His hand stroked the back of yours and you took the moment to look at him, really look at him. He was handsome, with short chestnut brown hair that swept across his forehead. But, it was his eyes that had you trapped in your place. They were the most beautiful blue you'd ever seen. You'd never been to the ocean, but you were sure in your soul that it would pale in comparison to the color of his eyes. You rested a tentative hand on his puffy shirt shoulder, feeling the way it deflated under the weight of your hand. He wasn't built with bulky strength like the witcher. He was lean, but you could still feel the taut strength of muscle under the fabric.

"My name is Jaskier," he told you.

You told him your name and he frowned slightly. "What's the matter?" you asked.

"'Dear Heart' suits you so much more," he said, the corner of his lips pulling up ever so slightly.

"No one else has ever called me that," you said, feeling your cheeks burn.

"Good," he grinned. "I want to be the only one."

"And will you write songs about me?" you teased.

"No," he admitted. Your smile started to slide from your face, so he quickly added, nodding back towards the elf. "I don't want to share you."

You swallowed, realizing that you'd been neglecting your patrons for a while. You started to pull away from him. "I should get back to work."

He grabbed your hand, holding it to his chest. "When are you done?"

"In about an hour," you replied.

"Would you mind if I walk you home?" he asked, stroking your hand.

"Why would a wife mind her husband walking her home?" you said with a smirk. "And, I suppose..." you said, tapping your chin in thought. You couldn't help yourself, he was so handsome and you were hoping he was feeling whatever was sparking between the two of you here and wanted to explore it, too. "There are some other things that husbands and wives do once they're home that I wouldn't mind, either."

His eyebrows raised into his hairline at that.

"U-unless that was too forward," you stammered.

He kissed the palm of your hand. "No, Dear Heart, you're right. We must do our duties." He winked. He held your hand until you pulled out far from his reach, and then he watched you the rest of the night, stepping in to give you a hand with carrying things if a customer started to get to handsy, reminding them that you were 'married' and therefore off limits.

At the end of the night you waited for him to pack up his things and fetch his lute from the table he'd turned into his makeshift stage. He came over, lute slung across his back, and dramatically offered you his arm. "Milady."

"M'lord," you said with a laugh, sliding your arm though his. You pulled him through town towards your house, marveling at how normal it felt to be like this with Jaskier.

[kueble]

Blossoms

This was written for the @witcher-bows-and-arrows prompt: Romantic.  It’s very silly and lighthearted, so I hope you enjoy it.

Explicit. Warnings: None. 3,100 words.

Geralt/Jaskier

---

Jaskier is at his wit’s end.

How can one man - one who has been alive over a hundred years - be so gods-damned stupid?  Jaskier has tried everything he can think of to woo him: providing romantic candlelit dinners, serenading him beneath the full moon, gifting armfuls of trinkets.  Hell, he even rubbed chamomile oil onto his bare ass!  Either Geralt is the most idiotic witcher to ever live, or he is being purposefully dense.

Jaskier decides to go back to the basics, to keep things simple.  Geralt is off hunting for their dinner, so he is left alone with Roach to set up the campsite.   He makes quick work of it, cutting corners here and there, and then backtracks to the field of wildflowers they walked past earlier.  The sun hasn’t set yet, and the field looks gorgeous all lit up in the late afternoon sun.

He’s pretty sure artists refer to this as the golden hour, which is fitting since he’s here to gather a bouquet for his golden-eyed love.  He twists the phrase around in his mind, trying to piece together a song, but nothing sounds quite right.  There’s a melody behind it, though, so he ends up humming to himself while he gathers the prettiest blossoms he can find.

There was going to be a theme - reds and pinks for love - but all the different flowers look so stunning swaying with the gentle breeze that he ends up with an armful of a little bit of everything.  Rather than put the bouquet together here, he makes his way back to camp.  It’s a pleasant walk, especially with the fragrant blooms held against his chest.

Only a complete fool would ignore such a lovely gesture.

Geralt isn’t back yet, so he gently sets down his plunder next to his bedroll.  He drags his pack over, digging through it for the rest of what he needs.  It takes him a moment to find the scrap of twine he saved for this purpose, but he emerges with a triumphant shout.  Roach snorts at him, so he just blows her a kiss and gets to work.

The sun starts setting as Jaskier slowly pieces together the bouquet, making sure the best flowers are showcased in the front.  He ends up starting over a few times when one color clumps together, but it just makes him more determined to get this perfect.  His tongue sticks out between his lips as he bends over his lap and painstakingly creates a masterpiece.

Once the twine is wrapped around the bunch of flowers, he holds it in one hand and twirls it slowly to see if it is as beautiful as he hoped.   Turns out it’s even more gorgeous than planned, so he dips his head down with a grin to inhale the sweet scent of the colorful blossoms.  He hears Geralt stomping back towards the campsite, so he jumps to his feet and holds the gift in front of him.

“Welcome back!” he chirps as Geralt tosses a couple of pheasants down at his feet.  He grimaces and steps over them so he can stand in front of Geralt.

“What’s this?” Geralt asks, tilting his head in that adorable way he always does when humanity confuses him.  Jaskier ignores the way his chest tightens at the look and presents the flowers with a dramatic little bow.

“I picked these for you, my dear.  I thought a man such as yourself might appreciate the simple beauty in everyday things, since you are in fact beautiful each and every day,” Jaskier says, holding out the bouquet for Geralt to take.  There’s a beat of silence and then Geralt grunts and accepts the gift.

This is it!  He’s going to realize that Jaskier’s heart beats for him and him alone.  Surely he’ll swoon and admit his own feelings.  Jaskier looks up at him with the most earnest look he can manage only to see Geralt frowning at the gift.

“This is very helpful, but it would have been easier to sort them for potions if you had grouped them by flower,” Geralt mumbles before reaching out to pat Jaskier on the head.  He straightens up, ready to shout at how absurd this all is, but Geralt is already halfway across the campsite, the lovely bundle of flowers tucked under his armpit.

Jaskier has no idea how he fell in love with such an uncaring brute of a man.

His heart hardens as he watches Geralt pluck a fat blossom from the bouquet and feed it to Roach.  Clearly the feeling in his gut isn’t love but simply indigestion.  With a huff, he bends down to start dressing the birds for dinner.  There’s a handful of herbs in his pack that will liven things up, even if his romantic prospects are slowly dying.  How is he supposed to win Geralt over if he can’t get the message through that thick skull of his?

But the night ends up as brilliant as any other.  They chat while their dinner roasts, and Geralt even tells him he enjoys the new melody he’s been humming all night.  They sit side by side in front of the fire, sharing stories and pheasant alike, and Jaskier knows that if this is all he manages to get from Geralt, he’ll still be a happy man right down to the end of his days.

There is a chill in the air, a promise of Summer’s end, and they lay their beds together and seek out each other’s warmth.  Jaskier falls asleep with Geralt’s slow breaths tickling the nape of his neck, his head full of new plans to confess his feelings.

—

“Going to ask a few questions about my contract, since everyone should be loose-lipped at this time of night, especially after your raunchy performance.  I’ll be quick about it,” Geralt says, pulling Jaskier out of his bedtime routine.

“Now?” he asks a bit stupidly, because he has plans that very much involve Geralt.

“Yes, as I just explained,” Geralt says, rolling his eyes as he leaves.

Jaskier watches the door shut behind him and then throws himself back on the bed, sighing with all the dramatics of one of the maidens in his ballads.  How is he supposed to casually seduce Geralt if he leaves the room.  Since outright declarations of love don’t seem to be working, he figures maybe if they fuck first, he can sort it all out later.   Besides, he’s been lonely ever since he realized how gone he is over the man.  Brothels and adoring fans quickly lost their shine in comparison to his heart’s desire.

He realizes he’s flopping around the bed like a fish on dry land, and he sits up to glare at the empty room.   Instead, he catches sight of the bouquet Geralt had so rudely shoved into his saddlebag earlier.  Suddenly, he’s struck with the most brilliant idea he’s ever had, and that’s saying a lot.

Why bother being subtle when his love is ridiculously thick both in body and mind?

Jaskier strides across the room and snatches up the flowers, quickly untying the twine and tossing them in a pile at the foot of the bed.  There don’t seem to be quite as many as he hoped, but he can still pull this off.  Maybe he just needs to shorten his message a little?  Oh! And he can use the stems as well, not just the petals.

There’s a flurry of activity as he yanks the blossoms from their stems and starts spelling out his message.  He has to start over twice, not sure it’s concise enough.  There can’t be any doubt to what he’s after, especially since Geralt has ignored even his most romantic of gestures.  Once he’s done, he stands back and looks at the message spelled out in stems and petals.

“Jaskier, you genius,” he mutters to himself before looking down at his attire.  He was halfway undressed before Geralt left, and his original thought was to put on the chemise he sleeps, but this looks much better.  These trousers highlight his strong thighs, and the bow above his ass makes him look like a present ready to be unwrapped.

He’s debating the best place to seductively drape himself when the door opens again.  With a squeak, he ends up perched on the edge of the bed.  He braces himself with one leg out and an arm behind him and tries to appear as casually sexy as possible.  Geralt shoots him a confused look before slowly stepping close enough to look at the message on the bed.

“Please fuck me?” Geralt reads aloud, flushing as he turns to face Jaskier.  “Expecting someone else?”

“Oh for Melitele’s sake!” Jaskier cries out, throwing up his hands.  “No!   It’s for you, you idiot!  You’ve ignored every single grand gesture I’ve so lovingly set at your feet, so I figured being direct might work better.”

“I…what?”

“The romantic dinners!  Singing you love songs written about you!  I swear I’ve read you all of the classic love poems, even the most sordid ones!  And you…you sit here telling me you have no idea I’m trying to confess my undying love to you?” Jaskier rushes out, sagging back against the bed with a pout.

“You…you did all that?  For me?” Geralt asks, stepping closer with his palms held up as if Jaskier is some kind of startled mare.

“I, yeah, I did,” Jaskier snorts out. He runs a hand through his hair, surely looking deranged at this point.  “How did you not catch on?”

“Don’t be upset, but I tend to just…zone out when you start talking in prose?” Geralt admits, moving even closer.  He kneels in front of Jaskier and smiles up at him.  “Not in an offensive way, but…I don’t have a head for anything poetic.  So whenever you start rambling about anything soft and sweet, I just tune out the words and focus on the sound of your voice instead?  It’s very melodic.  Calming.  I like it.”

“Oh,” Jaskier says, not quite sure what to say.  He thought Geralt had been ignoring him, and he was, but it was kind of sweet.

“I will, of course, break the habit now that I am aware of the stress I’ve caused you,” Geralt tells him before nodding at the floral message on the bedspread.  “So…it seems that you care for me?”

“Geralt, you fucking idiot,” Jaskier murmurs before reaching down and yanking him into the bed.  “I am so unbelievably in love with you.  Apparently you’ve ignored several much prettier confessions, but hopefully that’s enough for you?”

“More than enough.  If you’ll still have me?” Geralt asks softly, as if Jaskier didn’t just promise to love him to the end of his days.

“Never letting you go,” Jaskier whispers against his mouth before claiming it in a kiss.

He means to be gentle, but years of sexual tension explode around them, and he nips at Geralt’s bottom lip before licking across the seam of his lips, begging for entrance.  Geralt groans into the kiss, chapped lips parting so beautifully for him, and Jaskier growls in response.  He cups Geralt’s face in both hands and presses his tongue on one of his fangs, moaning at the sharp sting of it.

Geralt whines deep in his chest, and it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.  It set fire to him, his body buzzing and skin burning everywhere they touch.   Jaskier grabs a handful of Geralt’s ass and grinds up against him, and it’s almost overwhelming, even through layers of fabric.  But he needs more, needs to feel Geralt’s pale skin, and he shoves his hands down the back of his trousers, searching for more.

“Fuck,” Geralt grunts out as he breaks the kiss to sit back on his heels and frantically tug at the bow at the small of Jaskier’s back.  He lifts his hips to help, whimpering as the cold air hits his hard cock.  Geralt doesn’t bother taking them all the way off, just shoves them down to Jaskier’s knees before undoing his own laces to free his prick.

Jaskier can’t help touching, using one hand to drag him into another kiss while the other wraps around Geralt’s hard length.  It’s hot and heavy in his hand, and Jaskier pumps it a few times before rubbing his thumb over his slit.   Pre-come leaks out, and he uses it to ease the slide as he strokes him rougher.

“Jask, wait,” Geralt chokes out, and he immediately stops and pulls his hand back.

“Second thoughts, love?” he asks, heart racing in his chest.  Please don’t take this from him before it even starts.

“No, just, uh,” Geralt flushes and looks over his shoulder at the petals and stems now scattered around the bed.  “Your message.  Do you want me to find some oil?”

“Next time,” Jaskier says with a grin.  “Right now I just need to touch you.  This is perfect.”  He emphasizes his words by cupping Geralt’s balls in his hand, which seems to set something loose in him.

One second he’s in control and the next he’s being pushed into the mattress as Geralt braces his hands on either side of his head and starts to roll his hips.  Jaskier runs his hands down Geralt’s sides, his nails leaving satisfying red streaks as he bucks up into Geralt.  They’re both leaking now, the wet mess helping as their cocks slide together.

It’s intense and sticky and absolutely fucking phenomenal.

Geralt dips down to kiss him harshly, more fangs and tongue than anything.   Jaskier leans into it, chasing his tongue past his lips and trying to maintain finesse even as his world is exploding in sensations.  He fails spectacularly and ends up nipping at Geralt as they pant into each other's mouths.  The steady grind is quickly pushing him towards release, and it’s all he can do to grip Geralt’s narrow waist and ride it out.

Jaskier turns his head to offer up his neck, and Geralt takes the hint.  He nips at the base of Jaskier’s neck before sucking gently, sure to leave a mark.  The hint of fang pressing against his sensitive skin is enough to have Jaskier teetering on the edge.  Then Geralt grazes his teeth over that perfect spot just below his ear, and Jaskier feels his balls pull tight.

He comes with a shout of Geralt’s name, clinging to him as he spills between their stomachs.  Geralt keeps thrusting, grinding down into him even as Jaskier is coating them both with hot splashes of his seed.  His whole body feels electric, his limbs shaking as he rides the high.   Geralt doesn’t stop, just keeps rocking against him until he whines at how overwhelming it feels.

“Can I?” Geralt asks, kneeling up and wrapping a hand around himself.  Jaskier nods, suddenly wanting nothing more than to watch Geralt come all over him.  He reaches out and takes hold of Geralt's thigh, stroking his soft skin while he watches him.

He starts fucking his own fist, hips wild as he stares down at Jaskier with wild eyes.  They’re almost completely black - like he’s full of potions - and Jaskier shivers as another wave of lust washes over him.   His cock gives a half-hearted twitch, but he’s spent for the night.   This is the best orgasm he’s had in ages, and he feels completely wrecked.

“Come on, Geralt.  Want to see you come for me,” he moans, running a hand down his stomach to play with the mess pooling there.  He trails his fingers through his own come and brings two up to his mouth, wetting his lips before sucking them clean.

“Fuck, Jask,” Geralt hisses out before tensing up.  He spills over his own hand, hot bursts of come coating Jaskier’s already filthy stomach.  He revels in it, arching his hips as Geralt continues to come.  He looks gorgeous, eyes wide and lips parted as he thrusts into his own fist.  It seems like he comes for ages before finally collapsing on top of Jaskier.

They’re fucking covered in come, and Jaskier couldn’t be happier.

Geralt not so gracefully slides off of him, and Jaskier rolls with him, not willing to let go just yet.  They lay on their sides, just grinning at each other, and Jaskier can hardly believe this is real.  It seems like he’d fallen in love years ago, and it’s so surreal to see Geralt looking back at him with affection in his eyes.

But then Geralt starts to move, and Jaskier whimpers, tangling his legs around him.  Geralt snorts and gestures at the growing mess between them, but Jaskier won’t have it.  It’s all too fresh, and he doesn’t want Geralt out of his arms right now.

“Leave it, just cuddle me,” Jaskier whines, pouting at him.  Geralt rolls his eyes and breaks free of his hold, ignoring his poor lonely heart.  He chuckles as he hops out of the bed and walks over to the basin of water on the table.

“Oh don’t give me those big doe eyes of yours.  You’re completely out of your mind if you think I’m going to deal with you bitching about being sticky come morning.   Besides, this just gives us a reason to dirty ourselves up again, right?” Geralt suggests as he wets down a cloth and comes back to the bed.  Jaskier expects him to hand it over, but instead he gently wipes Jaskier clean before taking care of himself.  He could get used to this sweeter side of his witcher.

“I should be offended by that, but I’ll forgive you since you’ve finally fallen for my many charms,” Jaskier tells him with a giggle.  That earns him another eye roll, but Geralt is grinning as he slides back into bed.

“Fallen despite them,” Geralt teases, easily dodging the elbow Jaskier throws his way.   He grows somber, though, looking serious before adding a soft, “I do, you know. Love you.”

“I know dear. I can feel it in the way you touch me,” Jaskier murmurs before taking his hand and lacing their fingers together.  He brings their clasped hands to his lips and presses a lingering kiss to the back of Geralt’s hand.  “Just don’t forget to say it out loud every so often, because the words sound amazing in your voice.”

“I’ll tell you as often as I can,” Geralt tells him, and it sounds like an oath.  Jaskier lets go of his hand but tucks himself close before pulling the blanket over them.  He falls asleep with the slow beat of Geralt’s heart beneath his cheek.

---

NSFW tags:  @tothedesert @mayastormborn  @allinthebones @selectivegeekwithstandards @trickstermoose67 @dapandapod @theweirdlynx @tedrakitty @sharinalein @iamaqt314 @silvermintnightprincess @rockysstupidity @live-long-and-trek-on @larawrmonster @thesynysterunknown @rebard-main @gryffinqueen-blog @fangirleaconmigo @mothmanismyuncle @fontegagrilledcheese @thestarkwinter @lokibus @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @221birl1823 @strippiluolamies @concussed-dragon @aurelia-which-means-sunrise @feral-jaskier @hayleynzlive @answrs @jaskierswolf @holymotherwolf @thisislisa @firefly-party @officerjennie @theshapeofcool @singerin @flawney @viking1919 @peanitbear @blues-tunes @panerato @nephilimeq

If you’d like yo be added/removed, please let me know. Thank you!

[random-apollo-child]

Sorry (it's everything-but-the-not-natural) I don't usually send asks since they don't come from my most active blog.

But what about Geralt telling Jaskier that he hates his most famous song, thinking it's Toss a Coin, when really it's a fairly new one called "The Witcher Rises at Dawn". (If you catch my drift)

Geralt had been glaring at him all day, so like any good bard he decided to ask his witcher what was wrong

"Geralt why do you keep staring at me like that?" He complained in his lovely sing sing voice

"I hate that stupid song." Geralt glanced over at the wall

"Which one I have oh so many." Jaskier smiled this was normal

"That really famous one." He seemed annoyed

"Well you having a distaste for toss a coin is nothing new." Jaskier smiled a bit more

"No that fucking new one!" Geralt stood up

Jaskier realized and started to laugh "I'm sorry dear heart but it's all true!"

"Go fuck yourself." Geralt snapped back

"Fuck me yourself coward." Jaskier smiled

"Ok," Geralt picked up Jaskier with his hands on his ass and threw him over his shoulder "this should be fun.

[iridescent-petrichor]

inkpot gods

Pairing: Jaskier x Reader

Warnings: reader kills four people, a little graphic, reader and jaskier both get injured

Words: 5.3K

A/N: hi!! i rlly hope this fic like . makes sense?? it's four in the morning and i couldn't get this idea out of my mind but i hope the jumping around isn't too disorienting

Oh what, these? These aren't tears

It's just the rain that wasn't brave enough to fall

You tried to calm the tears streaming down your face when you heard Jaskier approaching, quickly wiping your eyes with the back of your hand when his footsteps stopped just beside you. Shifting your weight so you sat facing away from him, you blinked back the tears that continued to threaten to spill.

“There you are,” His voice was gentle, already noticing something was wrong. Despite his boisterous personality, he was always able to tell when to take a more tender spirit. “Everything alright?”

You nodded, still refusing to look at him knowing full well your eyes would give you away.

“Love,” Jaskier took a careful seat beside you, gingerly placing a hand on your knee. You couldn’t help the slight smile pulling at your lips from the pet name he used. Jaskier rarely called you by your own name, opting towards more poetic and affectionate names. While neither of you had taken the step towards anything official, it wasn’t hard to see how close the two of you had gotten.

“I’m fine.” You insisted, though the crack in your voice betrayed you.

“You don’t have to be, you know.” He said, staring at the view ahead of the both of you. Before you stood a wondrous mountain view, something worthy of one of Jaskier’s songs, especially with the sunset painting the sky with deep oranges and reds.

There was a beat of silence before Jaskier spoke again.

“Think of your tears as the rain.” Your brows furrowed, giving him a confused look. “Your tears are just the rain that wasn’t brave enough to fall.”

“Is this some piece from a song you’re writing?” You ask, wiping away the fresh tears that were now streaming down your face.

He laughed, moving his hand from your knee to rest over your shoulders. “I’m trying to say that there’s strength in crying.” Now risking a glance towards you, his eyes softened at the tears glistening in your eyes.

“I don’t feel very strong.” You responded, voice hoarse.

“But you are.” When you didn’t say anything, Jaskier pulled you closer, the comfort of his embrace making you sigh in relief. “You’re stronger than you know.

And what they hear isn't laughter after all

It's just your voice learning for once to stand up tall

Your laughter rang through the crowded tavern, music to Jaskier’s ears. He’d made some offhand comment about Geralt’s hair that you could no longer unsee, looking back at the witcher who had been grabbing a fresh ale before you turned back to the bard before you.

“Your laugh is the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard,” Jaskier said, his voice so soft you felt your heart swell in your chest. He looked at you as if you held the stars in your eyes, the smile on his face was contagious.

“After all these exhausting days, it’s nice to laugh again.” You said, leaning back in your seat, visibly relaxing.

“It’s like a breath of fresh air. Like,” Jaskier sat forward, reaching to you to put his hands over yours. “There’s this cruel world that wants nothing more than to break us down, and in spite of it, we continue to laugh, we’re still grateful for the fortune we have!”

“In spite of everything we’ve gone through, we can still hole up in a tavern and I can listen to you play music until the sun sets.” You continued, his eyes lighting up at your words.

“Well, I have people to entertain, dear heart,” Jaskier said, grinning from ear to ear. “That does include you.” His thumb rubbed over your hand, a movement you weren’t entirely sure he was even aware of.

By the time Geralt had rejoined the table, your face hurt from how much you were smiling. Jaskier had a keen ability to keep your mood up even in the worst conditions. With his infectious laughter and poetic pep talks, you knew you always had a light in your life to keep you going.

And when the rain came down

When Jaskier found you laying in the mud, rain pouring down over the both of you, he screamed for Geralt louder than he’d ever screamed in his life. You were unconscious, the blood from a cut on your head running down your face, mixing with the rainwater.

Geralt was too far off from the group to defend them when a monster stumbled across the two of you. In your attempt to get it away from Jaskier, you ran off the beaten path deeper into the forest.

He lost you in the downpour, barely being able to see two feet in front of him. Despite the ever-present danger of the monster that had been there only moments ago, Jaskier stumbled blindly through the woods until he found you.

“Geralt!” His voice was hoarse from yelling, desperate for his friend to hear him.

Jaskier knew the importance of timing, and he used all his strength to pull you back to the path, barely registering Geralt’s thundering footsteps that grew louder by the second.

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s voice went in one ear and out the other, with Jaskier continuing to bring your limp body through the woods, muttering pleas under his breath.

He only stopped when Geralt placed a hand on his shoulder, looking at the witcher with glassy eyes.

“You have to help her.” He begged, barely holding it together.

Without another word, Geralt bent down to pick you up, lifting you with ease. Jaskier trailed behind him, squinting to see ahead of him through the dense rain while Geralt brought you to a safe and dry location to fix you up.

Despite his outwardly calm demeanor, Geralt was moving quickly, trying to get through the forest to the inn you were all staying at for the night, glancing down at the blood running down your face every few seconds.

I made a vow out to the dark

Please let her live just one more day

For the first time in Jaskier’s life, he prayed.

He sat by your bedside, praying to any god that could hear him, anyone that was listening, to do something to help you.

You lay before him, a blanket covering you. Geralt was off on the other side of the room, concocting a potion that would help you. It was a delicate balance, and he was focused more than ever to create something that wouldn’t do more harm than good. The cut on your head was hastily cleaned and bandaged, but neither of them could tell what the extent of your injuries was.

“Please,” Jaskier whispered, eyes screwed shut with his hands clasped tightly in front of him. “Please just let her live. Just one more day, please, I’m begging you.”

On the other side of the room, Geralt raised the potion, holding it up to the light and swirling it around. The movement caused a faint glow in the bottle, and Geralt brought the potion back down in front of him, grabbing one final ingredient.

'Cause she is so much more than all her scars

And if she doesn't have the will

“She can’t die,” Jaskier muttered, voice breaking. “She can’t.”

“She won’t.” Geralt’s voice didn’t sound very certain. There was something in his tone that made Jaskier’s heart drop. After knowing the witcher for so many years he was able to deduce even the slightest changes in his attitude, and Jaskier could tell how worried Geralt was under his hardened exterior.

He finished mixing an herb into the potion, setting it to the side while Jaskier spoke.

“She’s endured so much, Geralt.” There was a faraway look in the bard’s eyes. “Everything she’s gone through; all her scars, all her pain… It can’t end here. It can’t be for nothing.”

“It’ll be okay.” Geralt crossed the room, standing in front of you. He knelt down, gently pulling your mouth open and pouring the potion down your throat.

“Is it working?” Jaskier asked when he set the empty bottle down. Nothing had happened yet, but Geralt let it slide seeing how nervous he was.

Still, the witcher said nothing, staring intently while the potion worked its magic. Your veins glowed a faint blue color for a moment before it died down, the silence between the two men was deafening.

But it seems the whole world does I'll stay because

I will be the man my father never was

As he stared down at you, the first person to make him feel comfortable with his emotions, he couldn’t help but think back to a moment between him and his father when he was a child. The tears on his face were long forgotten with the memory playing in the back of his mind.

“Julian!” His father’s booming voice echoed around the room as he looked down at his crying son. “Stop your whining, you need to man up! No child of mine will be caught sniveling like a little girl!”

Jaskier sniffled, wiping the tears from his eyes to no avail. He took a shuddering breath, hiding his face behind his hands. A broken lute sat before him, smashed by his father during an argument about where the boy’s future was going.

“Julian, now!” His father’s voice rang through his ears, and after a couple more moments, he was able to catch his breath, angrily swiping the tears out of his eyes.

He had barely managed to compose himself, long enough that his father lost interest, going off to find something else to be angry about.

Before he left the room, slamming the door on his way out, Jaskier could hear his father muttering about his worthless son. Still, he forced the tears back, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood to keep his sobs at bay.

When Jaskier looked at you, he remembered the first time he performed in front of you. The way you looked at him while he danced around the tavern was forever imprinted on his mind. There was so much adoration in your eyes, and you were smiling wider than he’d ever seen. Afterward, you’d told him how much you loved his singing, and he felt such a resurgence in confidence in his music that he hadn’t felt since he was very young.

And what you hear is not silence

It's just the trees waiting to hear what next you'll hum

On a quiet evening on the road, Jaskier had stopped strumming his lute. You noticed his shift in emotion, slowing to walk by his side. The three of you were traveling deep in the woods on your way to the next town with Geralt perched on Roach as per usual while you and Jaskier walked down the dirt path behind him.

“Why’d you stop?” You asked quietly, nudging the bard lightly to get his attention. He seemed lost in his thoughts, staring up at the night sky with a heavy sigh.

“It’s quiet.” He said, dropping his gaze to look around at the expanse of trees. The only other sound around you was Roach’s hooves hitting the ground. “I don’t want to disrupt that.”

“Oh Jask,” You could see a hint of a smile at the use of the nickname, something you picked up after his constant use of pet names towards you. “That’s not just silence.

He turned to you, slowing his walk with a look of confusion on his face.

“It’s the trees waiting to hear your next song.” You grinned, gesturing towards the open woods. “The world just wants to listen to your music.”

Jaskier laughed, his gaze falling to the ground.

“Please,” You persisted when he didn’t move to grab his lute. “I want to hear it.”

With a slight reluctance, Jaskier grabbed the lute he’d maneuvered over his shoulder, adjusting it in his hands. He began strumming the instrument, a soft tune echoing through the trees as he hummed the beginnings of his next ballad.

You couldn’t help the smile gracing your face, hanging on to every note he sang.

And what you see is not the dark

It's just the gods upturning inkpots

'Cause they know what you'll become

Not long after that evening, the three of you had set up camp not long after the sun had set, walking a few minutes off the dirt path to steer clear of other travelers.

Geralt was fast asleep not far from Roach, while you tried to relax in your own bedroll close to Jaskier’s.

It didn’t take long, however, to notice Jaskier sitting upright and staring out at the darkness around him, eyes darting around the woods as if he would miss something that would leap out and attack him. You frowned, scooting closer to him, apologizing quietly when he jumped at your movement. Stopping when your bedroll was touching his, you placed a careful hand on his shoulder, giving him a worried look you were sure he couldn’t see in the dark.

“You alright?”

He didn’t respond, still looking out into the empty night. “Do you hear that?”

You stopped for a moment, listening.

“No?”

He turned to you with a start, eyes wide with fear. “What if there’s something out there?”

“Then Geralt will handle it.” You nodded to the witcher a few feet from you, hand resting on his sword in his sleep.

Jaskier didn’t respond, but you could tell he was still on edge. An idea popped into your head, and you shifted in your seat, preparing to give the storyteller the gift he’d given you so often.

“The dark out there,” You pointed, watching him follow where your hand led. “It’s the gods upturning inkpots just for you.”

His brows furrowed, still looking out where you’d pointed.

“See, they know what an artist you’ll become. They’re giving you the proper materials.” You grinned when you saw him relax slightly, moving closer to you.

“The world, the gods, everyone can see what you’re going to become. I can see it, too.” Your voice was quiet, now, the moment becoming startlingly intimate.

“Can you, now?” Jaskier smirked, trying to ignore his increased heartbeat at the lack of distance between the two of you.

With an overconfident nod, you moved your hand over his shoulders. “Of course I can.”

And to those gods I will speak bluntly

We've an accord

If you ever touch or harm him

Your scream pierced the air when you saw a stray arrow flying through the air, striking Jaskier in the side. When you turned back to the bandit who sat atop his horse, bow still at the ready, your eyes darkened.

It didn’t take long to deal with him, reaching up to slice a dagger into his chest before he could reload his bow, barely paying him any mind as he slid off the horse, rushing to Jaskier’s side.

“Geralt!” Your voice carried through the air, praying it reached the witcher who wasn’t much further down the path.

Cursing under your breath, you ripped the cloth from your sleeve, pressing it onto his wound around the arrow to stop the bleeding.

The sight before you broke your heart into pieces, looking down at the bleeding bard. Someone who was once so vibrant, so loud and eccentric, rendered practically silent.

“Geralt!” You called again, voice cracking. Your hands were covered in blood, seeping through the fabric of your torn sleeve. The thought of it being Jaskier’s blood made you nauseous, but you persisted, shutting your eyes tightly and cursing again.

“I swear to you,” You muttered, opening your eyes just long enough to send a glare to the sky, addressing any god that could hear you. “If you allow him to die you will never know peace for as long as I live. You have to save him. You cannot let him die. You can’t.”

Please rest assured

That you might not fear a man

But to a woman by the end you'll kneel and plea

By the time Geralt reached your side, you were still hovering over Jaskier, the body of the bandit not far from either of you.

“The rest of his group are on their way, I can hear three more bandits.” He said, shifting his focus to Jaskier’s wound. “Deal with them, I’ll handle Jaskier.”

You nodded, standing shakily. “Don’t let him die.”

There was a fire in your eyes that stared deep into Geralt’s, and he knew there would be hell to pay if any more harm came to your bard. He unsheathed one of his swords, handing it off to you.

“Go.”

And with his word, you were off.

The three bandits barely stood a chance against you, your blood boiling with the fear of losing Jaskier and the anger of what had been done to him.

You gripped the sword tighter in your hands, seeing one of them approaching. He grinned when he made eye contact with you, unaware of how little life he had left.

By the time you were finished and making your way back to Geralt, the final man left was bleeding out off to the side of the path, propped against a tree with blood pouring from a deep gash on his leg.

“Please,” He begged, looking up at you as you passed. “I beg of you, save me.”

You looked down upon him, grimacing at the sight. His eyes were filled with hope when you approached him, Geralt’s sword still stuck inside the body of a bandit not far off.

It wasn’t until you picked up the axe just out of his reach that the hope faded from his eyes. He didn’t have enough time to beg once more for his life before you brought the axe down over his head, barely flinching when he went limp. You stepped away, pulling the sword out of the corpse that lay bloody in the grass and walking in the direction Geralt had gone.

When you finally found Geralt, who had laid Jaskier onto a bed, handling the wound as fast as he could, he looked up at you.

You gave him a blank stare, letting the sword fall from your hands with a loud clatter, walking to the other side of the room to work on a potion that might help Jaskier. The witcher knew without having to ask that the blood slashed across your face wasn’t your own. Once he gathered you were uninjured, he turned his focus back to the bard before him.

'Cause I'm more than what my mum told me to be

When you thought back to the man pleading for his life, you were reminded of what your mother had always told you when you were younger.

“Y/N,” Your mother sighed when she saw you enter the house covered in dirt, a wide smile on your face that slowly faded at her reaction. “Wash up immediately. It’s not ladylike.”

To avoid an argument, you quickly washed up, wiping the dirt from your face and putting on a clean pair of clothes.

“I wish you wouldn’t play in the woods so often.” She continued once you reappeared, gathering dinner for you and her.

“But it’s fun?” You were truly confused why she had such a problem with it, it’s not like dirt was permanent - you could wash it off any time.

“It’s not ladylike. It’s uncivilized.” Your brows furrowed.

“But then why are the other boys in town allowed to play in the dirt?” When the question left your mouth, the look on your mother’s face made you regret even asking.

“You will never have a respectable life if you continue down this road. You’ll never find a good man, and you’ll just be a hag living alone for the rest of your life.” She didn’t even have to raise her voice to get her point across, the sentence striking deep into your heart.

You sat in silence for a few seconds before you nodded, trying to push away the insecurity burying itself deep within you.

Looking down at Jaskier taking shallow breaths, you blinked back tears, handing Geralt the potion you’d made. With your anxiety steadily increasing, you watched Geralt pour the potion into the gaping wound.

“And now?” You asked, watching the magic cling to Jaskier. It looked similar to a web, pulling at the edges of the wound, working to close it.

“We wait,” Geralt said, leaving the room to give you privacy. He knew you weren’t going to leave Jaskier’s side anytime soon, so he retired to his own room to rest for the night.

He was right - you planted yourself in the seat beside the bed, eyeing the lute that lay on the floor, unscathed.

And I can hear her sing

Jaskier as he lay in bed, felt so far away from the world he was so used to. It was as if he was in a dreamlike state, but he could distantly make out the sound of his own lute. The first few notes caught his attention, strumming carefully.

It wasn’t until he heard your voice singing quietly that he felt some strength return to him. The sound of your singing was so faint and almost distorted that it felt like he was underwater, sinking further and further away from the land of the living. He could barely make out the words you were saying, but it felt so familiar all the same.

With a massive strain of effort, he pushed himself forward, trying with all his might to get back to you.

And I know she's giving up

With you still laying on the bed, the blue glow from Geralt’s potion long gone from your veins, Jaskier couldn’t help the anxiety building in his chest.

“She’s getting weaker,” Geralt said, and Jaskier swore he felt his heart tear into pieces.

Trying to push back his fear, Jaskier knelt by your bedside, taking your hand in his with the utmost care.

“Please, my love.”

You didn’t move, didn’t even flinch.

“I need you,” Jaskier’s voice cracked painfully, a tear rolling down his face when he blinked. “Please stay with me.”

And I don't know what to do, how to help her

How to bring her home

Jaskier, stuck in a dreamlike state, pushed through the feeling of being underwater with your voice just beyond his reach. He had used up all his strength and was now floating in limbo with nothing but your soft voice filling his senses.

The pain was too much that he’d begun to panic, worried he wouldn’t be able to make it home to you. He wanted nothing more than to wake up, to see you smile, to hear your laugh, to be able to hold you in his arms.

He wanted to tell you he loved you.

He needed to tell you he loved you.

When your voice broke, he realized you were crying.

It brought a newfound strength to his body, fighting harder than before to get out, to wake up.

To get to you.

And I can hear him break

You knew you weren’t awake, that you weren’t conscious. You could practically feel how close you were teetering on the line between life and death, trapped in a void-like limbo. Your whole body was numb, the feeling of floating disorienting you.

It was so quiet you almost missed it, but you perked up at the sound of Jaskier’s voice echoing around you. It was so faint you had to strain to listen, unable to make out the words he was saying.

Still, it brought you an odd source of comfort. Even so close to death, Jaskier was still right there, waiting for you. It was a reminder of what to fight for. Something - someone you knew you had to fight for.

You could hear the way his voice broke, and you forced yourself to push toward the source of the sound, knowing you needed to get back to Jaskier no matter what.

And he doesn't understand

Jaskier, doing everything he could to get back to you, was strengthened by hearing you muttering soothing words. You’d stopped singing at this point, instead telling him how he was going to be alright. How you’d make sure of it. How you weren’t going to let him die. Anyone listening would’ve thought you were confident in your words, but Jaskier could hear the way your voice shook almost imperceptibly, fighting back the fear in your heart.

He would never understand why you were so scared of the idea of losing him - you’d mentioned it before on other days when he’d had brushes with death and danger. You told him about how much you needed him, and he couldn’t understand why someone like him was so important to someone like you. He had always wondered why you cared so deeply for him, but it wasn’t something he wanted to take for granted.

So, pushing on, he forced himself to move forward, your voice echoing around him louder than ever.

And I wish that I could take his hand

But where I'm going is for me and me alone

Still trapped in limbo, you bit back the pain you felt, forcing yourself to move closer to Jaskier’s distant voice. You had barely started to make out what he was saying; he seemed to be talking to Geralt about your condition.

“Is it working? Geralt, is anything even happening?” He sounded angry, angrier than you’d ever heard him.

Geralt had responded, but he was so far away you could barely hear him.

“I cannot lose her!” You heard him yell. The pain in his voice pulled at your heartstrings.

Continuing forward, you wanted nothing more than to take his hand in yours and tell him everything was alright. That you were alright.

Though, you weren’t sure if that was true or not at this point.

Another part of you knew, as well, that this was a journey you had to survive on your own, especially if you wanted to see him again.

And I can hear her sing

Louder than ever now, Jaskier could hear your singing. It was a ballad of his that you always told him you loved. It warmed his heart that you knew it so well. You were strumming along on his lute - he remembered when he taught you how to play when the two of you had spare time, which you often did as Geralt was often alone getting coins for the group.

Every part of his body was in pain, but with every note you played and every word you sang, he knew he had to get back to you.

He continued, fighting his way toward the sound of your voice that echoed around him, trying to ignore the ache in his side with every movement.

If I don't make it back from where I've gone

Just know I loved you all along

Jaskier was still talking - he was always good at that. When your limbs felt like jello and every step took every ounce of your energy, you let yourself focus on his calming voice.

For a brief moment, you wondered what would happen if you didn’t make it back. You were so weak you almost let yourself sink back down, falling closer to the line between life and death when Jaskier caught your attention once more.

“Please, Geralt. Please save her. I need her, I can’t-” His voice broke harshly, and you knew nothing would stop you from getting back to the bard that had found himself in your heart.

If I don't make it back from where I've gone

Just know I loved you all along

Jaskier’s finger twitched, and he was starting to feel his surroundings once more, bit by bit. The void state he was in began to fill with color. Your voice was unwavering, now moving on to humming random tunes while you plucked the strings of his lute, unaware of how close Jaskier was to waking up.

He was still unable to force his eyes open, but he could feel the world around him a little better by the second.

The warmth of the blanket laid over him, the light wind from the open window beside him, it all started to creep back into his senses.

After all, you’d been trying so hard to bring him back, he might as well try to do his part.

If I don't make it back from where I've gone

Just know I loved you all along

You made your way closer to where you could hear Jaskier, the desperation in his tone making you more determined than ever.

Ever so faintly, you swore you could feel someone grab your hand, so gently that you instantly knew it was him.

“My heart,” Jaskier whispered, the sound echoing into your soul. “Please wake up.”

The world around you started to fill your senses, so quickly that it was almost overwhelming.

Just as you began to come to, lightly squeezing Jaskier’s hand as a silent indication that you were there, the only thought in your mind was how there was no way in hell you were leaving Jaskier again.

If I don't make it back from where I've gone

Just know I loved you all along

Jaskier blinked awake, squinting at the sudden amount of light.

He barely had enough time to get his bearings before you wrapped your arms around him. He made a noise of surprise, blinking a couple more times before he realized what was going on. Still weak, he brought his arms up around you to return your embrace, letting himself relax in your arms.

“Y/N,” His voice was quiet, but you heard him clear as day, tightening your hold on him.

You finally pulled away, giving Jaskier a shaky smile, whispering a hello that made him grin. Quickly, you wiped the tears that had spilled from your eyes, his gaze softening.

“You’re alright,” You almost laughed, saying the words mostly for yourself than him.

(Loved you all along)

When you managed to open your eyes, Jaskier’s hand still firmly in yours, his breath hitched. He would later tell you it felt like the world slowed down around him the moment he saw your eyes open.

You tried to sit up in the bed before Jaskier hurriedly ushered you back down, not bothering to swipe at the tears from his eyes, too focused on your presence to even notice.

“Of course you were too stubborn to die.” He muttered with a wet laugh.

You barely nodded, still regaining your strength.

“Never scare me like that again, Y/N.” Jaskier’s voice lowered, suddenly very stern. “I can’t lose you. I really can’t.”

“I know, Jask.” He couldn’t help but smile at the nickname, hearing you say it with so much love that he could practically feel your adoration towards him.

Ever so gently, he pulled you into a warm hug, burying your head in his neck.

“I needed to get back to you.” You explained, voice muffled in Jaskier’s hold. “I wasn’t ready to leave you, not yet.”

Jaskier’s brows furrowed, though you hadn’t seen it.

“Why me?” The words came before he could stop them, and he regretted them for only a second when he felt you pull away only for you to maneuver yourself so your forehead was resting against his.

With Geralt long gone, wanting to give the two of you privacy to talk, you sat with him in the silence, comfortable in his presence in a way you could only be around him.

Breaking through the silence was a whispered confession, only to be heard by the both of you.

“I loved you all along.”

[sachiko1309]

The treasure of my heart

This story of a sweet Haldir taking care of Visha his soon to be wife was written at the request of: @wareagleofthemountain

Sumary: Visha gets overwhelmed and Haldir takes care of her. Hurt/comfort a lot of soft smut and fluff

Word count: 4621

Warnings: taking care of a wound, smut, Minors DNI

This is part of a fanfiction I write on Wattpad. Its called "the prophecy of the elven warrior" A fanfiction dealing with Visha the main character drawn between the Commander of the marchwardens and the prince of Mirkwood. Feel free to check it out, as I am almost finished with updating it. 😉🥰

I was walking through the woods of Lórien, letting my thoughts wander. My leg still hurt from time to time, leaving me with a visible limp. The healers assured me it would fade over time, but that’s not what I worried about the most. My thoughts were occupied with Geralt, Jaskier and Yennifer. Since I have been told I could never go back to my world, I wondered what my chosen family would think happened to me.

Would they think I got killed during my fight with the drowned dead?

Would they search for my body?

I was sure Jaskier would be openly devastated, while Geralt would try to push his feelings away. He would probably overthrow himself with the responsibility of my death, searching for release in alcohol and Yennifer.

Thinking of how destroyed I let them behind I couldn’t help but sink to my knees. A choked up whimper made its way through my throat initiating tears to spring from my eyes. The whole weight of my situation just came crushing down in that moment, pressing the air out of my lungs, leaving me shaking on the ground, having a full-on panic attack.

Due to me dropping to the floor without further care the wound on my leg started to bleed again. I didn’t care. I was curled to the side, arms hugging my legs, tears running down my cheeks, dropping to the damp forest floor. This was how Haldir found me. He tried to speak to me, snap me out of my psychotic state, but I didn’t react to him. So he picked me up, carrying me towards the little house I was sorted to stay in.

The closer we got, the more agitated I became. I didn’t want to be in the house that had me in a tight grip during my nightmares in the night. Although I wasn’t a prisoner, being left in a world I didn’t know, with people I didn’t understand, with nothing left to do, than lay in bed or wander through the realm I certainly felt like one.

I clinged to his tall frame, seeking stability from the only one I trusted enough. He wasn’t around often, due to his duties protecting the realm from the ever-growing packs of orcs. But when he was, he would sit with me in silence. Eat a meal he brought around, sharpen his weapons alongside me or just watch the birds and insects flying over the river in front of my house.

Without any further instructions he turned around walking down a path I didn’t recognize through the veil of my tears. What I could make out, were several elves standing aside, bowing their head in respect of Haldir, once we passed them. They tried their best to not stare, but I could feel their eyes upon me. Ever so often giving a slight shake of the head whispering in their language.

I learned rather quickly that it was seen as inappropriate for elves that didn’t court to touch, so me being carried in Haldirs arms, crying and holding on for dear life, while also ruining his marchwarden uniform, was probably a capital offence. But I didn’t care. My mind was occupied with the pain of loosing family, the pain of my leg, the irritation from being held by the Lórien prince who always made sure to never get to close to me.

Once we reached a Talan, I believed to be his, in one of the tall mellow trees he sat me down on the floor in front of his bed. I curled up to a ball again, still sobbing into the soft carpet. I heard him rummage through the room, then he called for a servant, they talked and the servant ran of doing whatever Haldir told him. Shortly he came back with a bucket in his hands and a handful of other elves following him.

Haldir crouched down next to me. “You need to take a bath, and let me clean your wound.” I didn’t respond, so he pressed on: “Please, I need to inspect your wound.” When I didn’t answer him other than grabbing his hand, still shaking from crying he sat down next to me. Stroking my head, watching the servants to fill the bathtub in the other room. When they were finished, the last woman to leave gave him a slight nod and quietly closed the door behind her.

“Come, Visha.” Haldir got up and pulled me to my feet. With his assistance I made it to the bathroom, sitting down on the edge of the tub. He turned around and gave me a few things: “Here, a towel, some soap and fresh clothes for you to wear when you are finished.” Putting the things down on the shelf next to me, he walked to the door, but I stopped him from leaving: “Please don’t go.”

Hearing my voice laced with desperation and fear he stopped in his track, closing the door. “Okey. I will stay here.” He said, not turning around. His stoic demeanor, trying to keep my dignity by not looking at me had me slip a slight giggle. “You can turn around.” I said. “I have bathed next to man before. You know? Living among mercenaries and riding through the lands to find someone paying for your services leads to a simple nature bound life.”

He cleared his throat. “I understand your points, but where I am from, a lady’s honor and innocence must be protected.”

“But what if said lady told you to not maintain those standards?” I asked, wiping my tears away, once they stopped flowing. A shaky noise rumbled through his chest. “I am not quit certain of your words, my lady. Please repeat it in a different phrasing. I might have not understood the meaning correctly. Forgive me, but your language is not spoken often by me.”

“I think you understood very well, what I am asking of you.” I pressed on, starting to undress myself. Slowly he turned around, eyes trained on the floor.

I was now in underwear, walking up to him. “I think you might look at my wound now.” I said softly, putting my hands on his chest. Clearing his throat, he pointed towards a chair in the corner of the room. “Take a seat, while I collect the things I need.” He still wasn’t looking at me, while he rushed out the room, only to reappear minutes later. Kneeling in front of my and taking my thigh in his hand. Carefully he removed the bandages covering my wound. They were bled through, but when he reached the wound, we could see it was only a small reopening.

With delicate movements, to not hurt me, he coated the wound in the herbal mixtures the healers created for such occasions. He didn’t wrap my wound up again, standing up and taking a few steps back. “I will reapply the mixture and properly bandage you, once you have taken your bath.”

“Thank you.” I said walking over to the tub. Ridding me of my last clothes I stepped in fully naked, flinching at the heat of the water. But when I subsided my body into the heat, I moaned at the relaxing feeling. Holding out a hand to Haldir: “Join me, my prince. I believe you could need a hot bath to. Given the fact you work hard to protect all of us.”

“I cant, my lady. This is not appropriate.” He argued, eyes glued to the floor.

“Please.” I begged him. “I cant stand it anymore. Everyone is so distant to me. Nobody seems to understand my pain, or care for my physical well-being. I need someone to hug me, hold me, touch me. Please be the one to free my mind. I trust you and I need you.”

“Well fuck it.” I don’t know what brought him to throw all of his believes and values over board, but he did what I asked of him. Putting his long hair up in a bun and slowly stepping out his clothes while I watched him. Being the warrior he was, his built was much more muscular than typical for elves. His arms, chest and back were covered in scars ranging in size and healing states. I withheld myself from looking past his hipbones, hurrying to make room behind me in the bathtub. Carefully he stepped behind me, spreading his legs around me and pulling me into a tight hug. I could feel his chest rise and fall in a hectic state and I was unsure what got him so nervous.

But once I snuggled into his embrace, he visibly relaxed. Still unsure what to do with his hands he let them rest on the edge of the tub. I grabbed them both, sending him straight again into shock, when I wrapped them around my torso each hand landing on one of my breasts. “My lady!” He breathed out, instantly pulling back, but I held him in place firmly.

“Touch me!” I begged. Leaning my full weight on his body. His callused hands were tenderly gripping my breasts. Massaging them softly. I let my head fall onto his shoulder when his thumb stroked over my hardening nipple. Teeth biting down on my lips to prevent myself from moaning too loud. Cautiously his hands wandered over my body, mapping out every curve, every scar it possessed. When his hands reached the lower side of my body I spread my legs, inviting him in.

He didn’t give in to my silent begging, carrying on with stroking my thighs, ever so slightly brushing against my core, riling me up with anticipation. But he never gave in. Instead, he took the washing cloth from the floor and soaked it with the soapy water we were sitting in. He began to wash away any possible dirt on my body, always making sure to not put to much pressure on his movements. The lose strands that fell out of my bun, sorted themselves into the delicate touches of his hands. I let myself completely fall into his hands, giving him all the access, he needed, but never took advantage of, driving me mad.

“Haldir, please.” I breathed out, my voice dripping in need of his touches. He chuckled, pressing his hardening member against my lower back. “Such a needy little girl.” He teased. “I will take my time with you. Give you everything you deserve. There is no rush for us now.”

Hearing those words gave me some sort of relaxation, knowing, that my needs will be met. The cloth in his hand was regarded and now his fingers were again wandering over my body, taking the paths that were treated with the piece of fabric not long ago. But this time his touches were more intense, taking a hold of me.

The fingers of his right hand finally found my attention starved core. Tenderly stroking my outer folds, accidently brushing over my throbbing pearl. His other hand playing with my erect nipples, circling them, tugging on them. And when his lips sank down on my neck, the first moan rolled over my lips. His kisses were soft, sucking the skin between his teeth, licking the hot pain away his marks left behind. I was in heaven. My brain turned mushy and I was only reacting to his touches, how they deliberately played my body like a fine-tuned instrument.

Finally, his fingers went were I wanted them the most. Slowly he pushed one finger inside of my curling them against the spongy sweet spot in my core. My breath went irregular and I gasped, when his thumb pressed against my clit. He didn’t move it, just letting it sit there, putting light pressure in his sweetest touch. Soon a second finger followed, massaging me seductively. I couldn’t help myself but arch my back, to get more friction from his touch, but he kept me in place with his left arm, pressing me on his chest. “Uh uh… You are going to let me take care of you. Let yourself fall. I will catch you.”

And I did exactly as told. Letting go of my build up tension, fully trusting him. Once he realized I gave up my barriers, he started to move his fingers again. Still pressing me to him, he worked my pussy with the softest of touches I had ever felt. His thumb circling my clit, while his fingers massaged my inside. Creating a steady rhythm.

I closed my eyes, lips hanging open, not caring what sounds I let slip. A fire was starting in my stomach, burning its way down to my core. The longer he touched me the hotter the fire got, threatening to burn me alive. “You are doing so good for me.” His soft voice praising me, wrapping me up in silken ropes. My legs started to shake, the first indicator I was close to my release. I could feel the blood rush to my face, painting a light pink shade all over it. My walls started to flutter around his digits, trying to keep them inside of me. My head lulled back, his name a sweet prayer on my lips. I was now so close to the edge; I feared the abyss would swallow me whole. Grabbing onto his arm, that was holding me I unwillingly pierced his skin, when my orgasm washed over me.

“So beautiful.” He murmured, kissing my neck, my earlobes, and my chin. Slowly he pulled his fingers out, laying his hand on top of my throbbing core. My breathing was still irregular and I tried my best to steady it. Only then I realized I was still holding onto his arm, letting go immediately. “I am sorry.” I whispered, when I saw the indents in his skin.

“Don’t worry, meleth.” He reassured me, turning my head for our first kiss. His lips were soft and plump. I gasped at his boldness, which he shamelessly took advantage of, by slipping his tongue inside my mouth.

I don’t know how, but he was able to free himself under my bodyweight and stepped out of the bathtub, still leaning down for our kiss. He grabbed me under my arms pulling me out of the tub with the effortlessness I couldn’t comprehend. I shrieked at the sudden movement, clinging onto him. “I am sorry, meleth.” He apologized. “I forgot, that I am so much stronger than you. Comes with being an elf.” He tried to take the tension from me by joking.

“Meleth.” I repeated. “What does that mean?” He thought for a moment. “I would translate it to love. Its mostly used as a pet name.” Unsure how I would react he rowed back: “I can stop using it, if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“Meleth.” I let the word roll over my tongue. “It is beautiful. I like it.” Smiling down on him while I was still hanging in his arms. Only then I became painfully aware of the heat of his erect member only inches away from my core. I wriggled in his arms, causing him to let me slip a bit, now I was touching his cock with my wet entrance, forcing a low grunt from his lips.

Kissing him in anticipation I wrapped my legs tighter around his waist. He certainly got the hint, carrying me to the bedroom. Not without grabbing a towel and throwing it on the sheets first. Then he let our wet bodies sink into the mattress. Holding his bodyweight with his forearms, to prevent me from being crushed. He was radiating heat and lust, his body pressing me down. I spread my legs wider, inviting him in. “Please.” I begged. “I need to feel you. I want you.”

But he didn’t. He did the opposite. “I cant, Visha. You do not behold the consequences of this act.” Sinking back to his knees, face contorted between longing, desire and pain. “You humans might take sex lightly, but we elves don’t. Once we connect physically there is no turning back. I will not be able to withhold myself from you even if you chose to leave me. I will be bound to you for eternity. You need to know for sure you want to do this, because I will not force you to a bond you don’t want or cannot bring upon you.”

I scrunched my nose. “What do you mean ‘bound for eternity’?” He sighted: “Elves take a long time courting their partner, it can range from decades to centuries even. Because when we chose to be intimate with another person, our faes get bound together, leaving us in an unbreakable bond.”

“Faes?” I asked.

“Souls.” He answered. “When we do this, we are soul bound. Do you understand that?”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“No Visha.” His voice became agitated. “Not okay. I need you full consent to do this, to give your soul, your life to me. Because I will. The day we met, my fae called out for you, forcing me to be around you. I love you with all my heart and I promise to protect you with everything I can. Elves don’t love easily, but when they do, they do it with their whole being. We will be partners for life until death do us apart. There will be no turning back, no loophole, nothing. Just me and you.”

“Until death does us apart?” I questioned. That part scarred me. He nodded. “Yes. When one of us dies. The other will fall into a constant state of sorrow until they go to Valinor. Our place of afterlife, where we met again with our loved ones.”

“Do I get to be there, when I die?”

“When you are bound to me, yes.” He answered.

“Okay.” I repeated, spreading my legs wider. “I love you and I trust you. You where there for me, when no one else was. Keeping me sane, caring for my well-being. I want to be your partner, to be your rock, protector, lover, friend. All of it. But…” I stopped.

“What?” He looked scarred.

“Do you see that scar on my body?” I pointed towards the z looking scar and the double-crossed x. He nodded, tracing its outlines.

“The two x above each other is inguz our symbol for fertility, the z is ihwaz the rune for eternity and immortality. As you know I was born a witch, raised by witchers. Those two scars mean, I sacrificed my fertility for immortality. I did it to stay with Geralt, the man who saved me. So, I will not be able to ever give you children. And I understand if you want children, or if you are expected to have them. I wont be disappointed if you would leave me now.” I turned my head to the side, fighting for the tears to stop forming, but I lost.

“Don’t cry, meleth.” He soothed me. “I don’t care about children and I am not expected to have them. I have brothers may this task be laid upon them.” He had a angered grin on his face. “I only care about being with you. If you still want me, I will be your seron, your amath your protector. Im mel cin, meleth nin. Im mel cin.” His voice was hoarse, fingers fluttering over my face, wiping away the tears.

“I don’t understand half of what you are saying, but I don’t care. I want you. I want you forever, so I can learn what you just said.” I answered laughing through my tears. Now he was laughing to. “Seron means lover, amath means shield or protector. Im mel cin, meleth nin means I will forever love you, my love.” He quickly translated.

“Im mel cin.” I repeated what he said, miserably stumbling over the words, disfiguring the beautiful sound they made in his mouth. But Haldir didn’t seem to mind at all. Instead, he pressed his lips on mine, kissing me with such passion, my head was spinning.

His hands were roaming over my body, stroking my sensitive sides, making me squirm under his touch. I felt the heat rise in my core again, when he kissed his way down to my breasts taking a hard nipple in his mouth, while toying with the other. My hands wandered to his hair pulling the rod he used to secure it out of his bun. Once his hair fell around his face I intertwined my fingers with his silvern locks, pulling on the roots. His free hand was between my legs, collecting my arousal. “By Valar, you are so fucking wet.”

It was a rare occurrence for the elven prince to curse, but holy did it sound hot. Impatiently, I hooked my legs around his waist, pulling him in, eliciting a chuckle from his lips. “So needy.” He mused.

“Stop your antics and please fuck me.” My voice was laced with hunger, desire and anticipation.

“At your orders, my lady.” He grabbed his member with one hand while propping himself up on one arm. He looked at me one last time, waiting for my approval, before lining himself with my entrance. Slowly he eased his way into my core. His thick shaft was stretching me painfully, pulling a quiet scream from my lips.

“I am sorry, meleth.” He apologized, retorting back, but I held him in place with my legs. “Its alright. I just… I never… Its my first time.” I spilled, stumbling over my words once he bottomed me out.

“I thought you already had…” He was taking by surprise. “Back in the tub it sounded like you knew what was ahead of us.”

“No. I wanted to save myself for a 1000 year old elf from another world.” I joked, grinning at him. He raised an eyebrow. “Actually, I am 3126 years old. And to be correct you are the one from the other world.” I shrugged my shoulders at his statement. “Still in the range of datable.”

Shaking his head, he slowly began to move, setting a deep, sensual pace. It was driving me insane. Every time he pulled out and pushed back in, he stretched my walls, massaging me heavenly. Eyes rolling back in my head, I held on to his shoulders. A soft moan was slipping through my lips. “Do it again.” He spurred me on, breathing into my neck. “I want to hear, what pleasure I bring to you.”

“Who would have thought the prince of Lòrien was such a filthy tease in bed?” I tried to keep my voice steady, but his vicious pounding made me loose my mind, another moan ringing through the room. My sentence had him smiling devilishly: “You will learn over time, what it means to be the treasure of my love, but now I will be nothing else than the willing servant to your pleasure.”

His words were venom on my patience. My core aching for his member, savoring every inch of his marvelous cock. Taking one leg in his hand he threw it over his shoulder, now being able to push deeper inside me. Still keeping his slow, sensual pace he locked eyes with me. Edging me. “My pretty little meleth.” He whispered. “All mine to have. All mine to please.” I kind of expected him to be a possessive man, coming from the caring actions towards me, the way he protected me from the stares of other elves, but hearing him say those words, struck my core on another level.

“Haldir!” I moaned his name, watching his eyes flew shut. His hands trembling over my body. “Fuck, Visha…” he growled at me moaning his name.

“I need more, Haldir, please.” I whined grabbing everything of him I could get in my hands.

“You need what, meleth? Use your words. Tell me what you want.” He ordered slightly slipping in his commander side, but directly pulling back, once he realized.

“I need you to go harder, please.” I begged. “I want to feel you, I want you to take me.”

Dropping my leg from his shoulder he leaned down on me, pinning my wrists down on the mattress with his big hands. His long silvern hair framed both of our faces, separating us from the outside world. He picked up his pace, going faster and harder than before, slowly raising the speed in which he fucked me. Eyes not leaving mine, in case I was pulling back. But I didn’t. There was no way on earth I would stop him right now. Digging my nails in his back, I clawed onto him, arching my back to take him at a better angle.

His cock was now brushing my sweet spot every time he entered or pulled out. Mewled sounds fell from my lips, the heat in my core rising. I could see he was holding back at his strength and I swore at that moment, that one day I would tease him until he would go all mad about me. But now was not the time. Being way to fixated on the burning feeling washing over my body. My walls fluttered around him, dragging a string of curses from him.

“I am close.” I whimpered close to his ear.

“I know. Me too.” He groaned in my neck, kissing and sucking on the sweet spot behind my ear. “Hold out for me, meleth. Just a little longer.”

My legs were shaking and I could not help myself as the abyss of my orgasm drew me over the edge. I arched my back, closing my legs around his waist and clawing my nails into his back leaving red marks behind. His breathing became rigid, as my pulsating core pulled him over into the free fall of his orgasm. I could feel his cock twitch inside me, as he filled me with his hot seed.

Slowing down his movement he let us ride out our orgasms, before collapsing on me. He caught himself far enough to not crush me, but I could feel the weight of his body press me down. I closed my eyes and snuggled into his embrace. “I love you.” He whispered over and over in my ear, pulling out of me. Then he started to kiss my body everywhere he could, stroking me, holding me, always making sure I felt save.

“You did so good. Took me so well.” His warm breath fanned over my stomach, giving me goosebumps. “I swear I will always cherish you, for giving yourself to me. This means everything to me and I want everyone to know you are mine to behold.” He said kissing the two scars marking my immortality. “I will love you to the end of time. And whatever challenge life will throw at us, I am going to protect and guide you through it. You are now the sole reason for my existence, the treasure of my heart, the light to my eyes, the air in my lungs. Everything you are is mine to adore.”

I listened to his sweet ramblings, this time not fighting my tears. With every word he said I fell for him more, the pull towards him growing visibly stronger within the seconds.

“I love you.” Was all I could muster, before my throat was closed of by my tears. He took me into his warm embrace, head tucked under his chin, leg pulled over his waist and covering us with the warm blanket of his bed. “Nin gilgalad. My starlight.” Was the last thing I heard from him, before I felt into a deep slumber. The first deep sleep I had in weeks.

[pippinoftheshire]

Fanfics

If CandyCradle happens to read this- I don't know if you remember me, but i asked you for permission to write a fic based off your art of the Geraskier Cafe AU. It's nearing the finish, so here's a teaser.

January 7th:

It started on one of those days that a body could not wait to be rid of.

It was raining, unsurprisingly. Sheets of driving slate-grey bullets pattering off any and every exposed surface with the sound of hailstones. Or perhaps gunfire, Jaskier concluded gloomily as he got off the shuttle bus and was drenched within a manner of seconds. Even Cherrystone Lane looked miserable in the storming downpour. Light shining through curtained windows the only spark of life to be seen as Jaskier made a desperate run for the closest door that looked like it might still be unlocked.

He made it inside just as a booming clap of thunder rang through the gale, drowning out the din of the door slamming behind him.

For a few moments, Jaskier stayed with his back plastered to the door, breath fogging like a dragon’s in the suddenly warmer temperature of his new surroundings. And dear god, did it smell good. Like late morning coffee and cake.

What the fuck?

“It’s quite a howler out there, huh?”

Jaskier jumped a little at the voice, stumbling away from the door. He pushed his sopping fringe out of his eyes and squinted in the direction of the quiet, rumbling baritone.

The owner of said voice was leaning on the counter beside the cookie jars, and Jaskier felt his heart stutter in his chest, because if this wasn’t the most beautiful man he had ever seen… then he would die a liar.

His eyes were a strange shade of brown, almost amber, glinting softly in the hanging lamps overhead. His face was clean shaven and chiselled, with the barest hint of stubble shadowing his jaw. And his hair…

Jaskier edged closer, almost thinking this apparition might vanish should he move too fast or spook it.

His hair was white. It can’t have been age because he didn’t look much older than Jaskier. Late twenties or thereabouts… It was a pale white, streaked with the faintest hint of silvery grey. No dark roots betrayed whether it was dye or bleach. Odd.

“Uh…Hi?” said Jaskier, in what was definitely not a squeak. “Um… yeah, it’s a bit… wet.”

[darthstitch]

History Class Cryptids: As The World Falls Down

1.  There's such a fooled heart beating so fast

Isabel calls it "kilig" and once Sarah Williams understood the definition of that particular Filipino word, she had to agree with her.  

It was a universally accepted fact amongst the students in the university that Professor Robert Gadling's boyfriend was ridiculously gorgeous.  And was the cause of many a "kilig" meltdown.  

Campus legends were a bit confused about the "first official sighting" of Murphy as one version had it that he'd first been seen in the background during a Zoom class held by the professor.  Another version said that he'd first appeared during one of Professor Gadling's infamous Shakespeare Rants and called him out on it, claiming that he was "jealous of dear Will."  

(That prompted another discussion about whether or not Professor Gadling was a secret immortal, but that was a story for another day.)  

There was also the class that witnessed the epic Marlowe vs Shakespeare Quote battle that the two had, which had been partially recorded by one enterprising student and it was now busy making the rounds on campus social media, because, "That Voice, OMFG."

The latest one was Murphy doing the Shakespeare reading in Calliope's class.  The common consensus among everyone once the video had made the campus rounds was:  "I AM DECEASED."

Sarah could commiserate.  She'd been there and she still wasn't over That Voice.

It had thrown Sarah for a loop when her flatmate admitted that "Oneiros" was her ex-husband. (Apparently, Thomas Murphy had some very interesting nicknames, but they suited him perfectly.) These days, Calliope and Murphy were now at the level of "very dear friends," which kind of explained the current ridiculousness that was unfolding.  

Today was the Lothlorien Faire, which was basically a LARP festival where, instead of just recreating the medieval or renaissance era, everyone could come as a character from some mystical universe or the other.  Obviously, there were a fair amount of hobbits, Elves and wizards running about, along with a few more characters from the various D&D-inspired RPGs.  She even recognized a Witcher with his Jaskier and whoever that guy was, he was almost a deadringer for Henry Cavill.  Nice.  

Conveniently, this also meant fewer complaints from the History Department.   That also meant that there was more room for creative anachronisms such as the "Shire Potaters" that someone was selling in one of the booths, to say nothing of the "Rivendell Lembas" which was actually the most delicious naan bread, sold in yet another stall.  

Sarah took a deep breath and sighed.  The air was fragrant with spices and cooking food.  She was definitely going to try some of the goodies later.  

She joined Calliope and the rest of her friends in the stands, as a "knightly tournament" was happening.  It was all the more entertaining as a few of the professors were actually very good at the whole sword-and-shield thing.  They all cheered at the bout between Professors Michael Percival and Nicholas Chevalier.  The cheers were even louder when it was Professor Duncan Macleod versus Professor Robert Gadling.  

"YEAAAAAHHHH KICK HIS ASS PROFESSOR G!!!" bellowed Dustin Henderson from the stand just above her.

Sarah wasn't the one to ask about any form of martial arts, but even to her untrained eyes, the two men fought with an odd sense of realism to it, no fancy Hollywood choreography involved.  It was just as if they'd both walked out of the wars of ancient history and straight into the present.  There were even a few dirty tricks included, which sent Professor Macleod swearing and Professor Gadling laughing at him for falling for it.  

"HE'S AN OLD SOLDIER, HIGHLANDER!  DON'T LET YOUR GUARD DOWN FOR AN INSTANT!" yelled Professor Pierson, who was red-faced with laughter.  

"YOU MIGHT WANT TO DEFEND MINE HONOR, OLD MAN!" Professor Macleod yelled back.  He yelped as he narrowly escaped another well-timed strike from his opponent.  

A few moments later, Macleod had lost his sword and Gadling had his sword at his throat.  

"I yield, you bloody Sassenach,"  Macleod grumbled good-naturedly.  He looked over at a still laughing Professor Pierson.  "Oi!  Shouldn't you be avenging your lost love here?"

"Loser gets to buy the drinks, aye, Pierson?" Gadling called gleefully, sweaty and flushed with victory.    

"Well, if it's free beer..."  Professor Pierson said, going down the stands, to the cheers of the rest of the crowd.  

Beside her, Rose giggled.  "It looks like Uncle Dream's the one with the braincell today.  This is not gonna end well."  

"No?" Calliope murmured, all mischief.  "Will you be sending your knight off without a favor, Oneiros?"

Sarah blinked.  She's not sure when Murphy had joined them, but he was there right now, only he had his face buried in his hands, shaking his head.  

"I have never seen you this flushed, Oneiros.  Even your ears are red!" Calliope said in delight.  "It's adorable!"  

That finally got him to look at her, and both Sarah and Rose had to hold on to each other, as they were giggling so hard.  He tried to do his best to look properly affronted, despite the rather appealing blush on his cheeks.  Those unusual dark blue eyes were alight with amusement and some other emotion that Sarah couldn't identify.  "You are a minx, my dear Calliope.  I rue the day that I introduced the two of you."  

"HOLY SHIT, WHO KNEW WE HAD PROFESSORS WHO COULD KICK SERIOUS ASS AMIRITE?!!" That was from Dustin, again.  

Professor Pierson won the bout against Professor Gadling.  But it was just by a hair.  Professor Gadling didn't mind though, as he'd ended up being thoroughly kissed by his boyfriend (again, to more cheering from the peanut gallery) and the two of them ended up disappearing somewhere for quite some time.  

Sarah tried not to think too hard about that.  

========

Someone had put on some sort of suitably fantastical theme music.  It was beginning to get on Sarah's nerves.  

"Hold still," Max told her sternly, eyeliner pencil in hand.  "Not unless you want me to poke your eye out."  

"Sorry!"

"DUSTIN DON'T YOU DARE SPILL THAT FRAPP ON THE GOWN OR SO HELP ME -- "

Isabel was going through some vocal exercises.  Eleven was going through the scales with her.  Eddie was tuning his guitar, frowning as he tried out a few chords.  Jonathan and Robyn were practicing lines together.  Nancy was helping Will with his costume.   Mike and Lucas were bent over their laptops, sorting out the lighting and sound effects.  Iggy Pop was with some of the Drama Club kids, putting up the last bits of scenery. Steve was busy herding everyone and everything, in his capacity as the stage manager.  

Baby Daniel was in costume already and Jed and Erica were watching over him, making sure he wasn't going to end up in a sandpit somehow.  There weren't any in the general vicinity but the kid just had that weird ability to attract sand so nobody wanted to take any chances.  

It was hilarious that Daniel seemed to be the only baby who somehow understood that they were all just playing pretend and behaved beautifully for everyone involved.  Or maybe it was just due to Murphy and his near-magical baby whispering abilities.  Whatever it was, the little guy was happy to play the role of Sarah's stepbrother, who Sarah would need to rescue from the Prince of Stories.

Calliope was flitting here and there as the adviser of the entire production and somehow, all the chaos was slowly coming together into some sort of cohesive whole.  

"Professor Lyra, where's Murphy?  I haven't seen him since the tournament." Steve, of course, was slowly, but surely edging towards near panic.  

"Don't worry, Steven.  Oneiros gave his word and I have never known him to break it.  He will be here."  

Sarah fought down a giggle.  That one needed to be recorded for posterity.  They had needed someone for the role of the fey and magical "Prince of Stories" and it was a role that Rose Walker had clearly written with Murphy in mind.  

"Oh, you have no idea," Rose had said wryly, when she had been asked about it.  "I did promise him that I would be kinder to him in my next story."

It was Calliope who said she would take care of asking him to accept the role and Sarah was there to witness the whole thing.  For good measure, Calliope told Rose that they would need to bring Daniel along, after getting his mother's permission. Lyta Hall was a little weird whenever the subject of Murphy was brought up. Rose would just shake her head sadly and Sarah figured it wasn't her place to pry.

In any case, Calliope had planned this whole thing out like a seasoned general and Murphy's expression when he realized he was well and thoroughly ambushed was just priceless.

"You are a complete and utter menace," Murphy had said, even as his boyfriend was of no help at all, laughing silently in the background.  

"But you are going to say yes, are you not, Oneiros?" Calliope said archly.  "Surely you do not wish to disappoint the children?"

"Please, Uncle Dream?" Rose and Jed pleaded.  

Daniel made his own sounds, which sort of sounded like "Dweam," Sarah wasn't sure.  But he was already making valiant efforts to talk and that first word was probably going to be coming soon.  The baby also reached for Murphy, clearly wanting to be picked up by him.  

"So very diabolical," Murphy muttered, even as he took Daniel from Calliope and gave in to the little boy's demand for cuddles.  He sighed, looking very much put upon and long-suffering, but anyone who knew to look for it could see that he was, of course, rather pleased.  "Yes, I shall participate in this little performance."

"Promise, Uncle Dream?" Jed asked.

"No hiding behind Lucienne, Uncle Dream," Rose reminded. "I got Matthew on speed dial."

"My own subjects conspire against me," Murphy grumbled. "Yes, I give you my word. Does that satisfy you?"

Daniel crowed happily, joining Rose and Jed in their victory dance. Sarah tried not to laugh at Murphy hiding his smile in Daniel's curly hair.

Professor Gadling applauded and swept Calliope a courtly bow.  "Milady, that was magnificently well-played."  

She accepted the tribute with a regal nod and mischief sparkling in her eyes.  

"You were utterly useless; I hope you know that," Murphy told his boyfriend with mock severity.  

"Yes I do, love.  But it's not blasted Shakespeare and it's your niece, who's a better writer than he is, you mark my words."  

"Aww, thanks, Professor G."  

So yeah, that really happened, and hilarity ensued with Murphy at the rehearsals.  No, it wasn't that he'd put on any prima donna airs.  It was that he was surprisingly compliant, being easy to work with and kindly helping Sarah through any awkwardness when it came to the more intense scenes between her character and the Prince.  She regularly had to fight the urge to giggle and end up ruining a scene, when she'd discovered he had a knack for making hilariously deadpan asides.  Most of the time, he went meekly along with the stage directions, whenever he wasn't busy being adorable with Daniel.  

(All of them had a tacit agreement to take as many pictures as possible, for Professor G's sake.)

Now, Sarah was fighting down the butterflies in her stomach as she waited for her cue to come on stage.  Her parents and little brother were in the audience and while she wanted to smile at Toby, who clearly recognized her and called out her name, she had to stay in character.  

And then, it was time for Murphy to make his first appearance.  

There were audible gasps from the crowd as the spotlight fell on the Prince of Stories.  It was as if he stepped right out of Will Byers' artwork of the King of All Night's Dreaming,  a vision in robes of black and gold, with jewels sparkling in his hair.  A long earring with precious stones sparkled in one ear.  He looked completely ethereal and not quite of this world and when he spoke his first lines, everyone fell completely silent.  

Sarah was suddenly dead sure she was going to forget every line she'd learned but he'd slanted her a look and there was that familiar friendly kindness and humor in those eyes, which bolstered her courage.  

Sarah could do this.  And she fell into step with him, working through every scene, letting her character fall in love with the Prince of Stories, getting caught up in the magic and the mystery of the story that Rose had written.  

The audience was on its feet by curtain call.  Murphy had led Sarah by the hand to make their final bows and she'd forgone the usual floral bouquet because Toby was insisting on going to his big sister so she had an armful of toddler instead.

"Pretty!" He declared, making her laugh.  She'd put him down soon enough, because at three, Toby was getting a little bit too heavy to carry for long.  He happily held on to her skirts and at Murphy's gentle prompting, handed over the bouquet.  

Everything had been wonderful today.  

At least until the Faeries crashed the party.  

======

2.  There's such a sad love deep in your eyes

When Sarah had been a little girl, she used to make up stories about her adventures as a brave princess, together with a character she'd called the Goblin King.  

She had a beautiful old-fashioned doll, given to her by Grandma Amelia, with long curly dark hair glittering with sparkly stones and a white ballgown.  Of course, she pretended that she was that doll and she had let her imagination run wild, as "Princess Sarah" went through hardships unnumbered and dangers untold, to be with her beloved Goblin King.  

In her child's imagination, she'd pictured the Goblin King to be tall and fair, fey and mysterious, with beautiful mismatched eyes, one brown and the other blue.  She even used to draw him in her school notebooks, and she could still wryly trace the evolution of her own artistic skills from her childish scribbles to the more mature work she produced today.  

She wasn't that little girl anymore and the Goblin King was just a fond childhood memory.  

So when she first saw the Faeries, Sarah really thought that they were just another bunch of LARP-ers, crashing the perfomance.  

She didn't recognize any of them from the Hellfire Club or the Drama Club.  She had to admire the artistry of their costumes though.  Some of the creatures seemed so very real - whoever built them was some kind of special effects wizard.  

But then, she saw the strangely familiar figure leading them, and she stifled a gasp.  She knew him, as if he'd simply stepped out of her childhood memories.  

"Hello, Sarah," the Goblin King greeted her, inclining his head regally.  "I thought you had forgotten me.  But I see you still remember."  

Toby whimpered softly and somehow, she just knew she didn't want her baby brother to catch this man...no, this being's attention.  She carefully shielded the small boy behind her skirts.  Apparently, Murphy had the same idea because he stepped forward protectively, subtly making sure he was between the two of them.

"You are not welcome here, Goblin King."

That imperious tone was not any kind of acting whatsoever. Neither was the expression on Murphy's face or how it seemed to Sarah's eyes, he was no longer Profesor Gadling's secretly dorky and adorable Goth boyfriend in a beautiful costume, but truly the Prince of Stories.

"Hail, Lord Morpheus," The Goblin King intoned.  "Forgive my little lapse in manners - the mortal girl is dear to me, so I was overhasty in my eagerness to greet her."

"You dare."  

The Goblin King affected shock, a ruffled hand going to his chest.  "Where is your courtesy, O Prince of Stories?  I was invited to your little revelry."  

"You were most certainly not."  This time, it was Calliope gliding regally on stage, eyes blazing. "I am the one hosting this gathering and I most certainly did not invite you."  

"It was your mortal pets who summoned me thus," answered the Goblin King and gestured to a group of Drama Club kids who were watching everything with wide eyes.

"I thought that book of spells was just a joke!" said one of them in a small voice.  

"Oh for fuck's sake," Dustin Henderson was heard to say.  "Rule 10 in the Great List of Terrible Ideas is 'Don't Mess Around With Books of Magic If You Don't Know What You're Doing!'  What were you guys thinking?"

 "You are so very selfish, Lord Morpheus and Lady Calliope, to keep all these mortal pets to yourself.   And it is so unfair, that you've taken on one so dear to my own heart as your new mortal lover.  But I shall be gracious in defeat and simply wish you both every happiness."

"You speak foolishness, Lord Jareth," Murphy... no.... Morpheus said coldly.  The audience was just watching, thinking it was all part of the show, but Sarah could just feel it, the sense of power and otherworldliness that seemed to emanate from both Morpheus and Calliope.  

The Goblin King smiled at Sarah and she felt chilled.  "She seems uncertain.  Perhaps her heart is not yet given to you fully?  Perhaps I have yet a chance?"  

"I thought I just dreamed you up," were the first words Sarah finally managed to say.  "I thought you weren't real."

He laughed.  "You keep company with the Lord of Dreams, sweet Sarah.  He should teach you better about the nature of reality and dreams."  

"I -- " Sarah began.  

Morpheus shook his head at her.  "Do not speak to him, Sarah.  The Fair Folk are not to be trusted.  He will seek to trick you, with your own words."  

"Even an invitation may be taken back if one is unwelcome.  And once more, you are not welcome here, Jareth of the Labyrinth.  Begone!" Calliope commanded.  

"Very well.  If courtesy has deserted you entirely, we of the Labyrinth still offer our own hospitality.  We extend our invitation to your beloved and the child that she so cherishes."  Jareth blew a kiss in Sarah's direction.  "I shall see you soon, my sweet Sarah."  

Toby suddenly disappeared.  

Sarah screamed.  

======

3.  But I'll be there for you as the world falls down

Hob Gadling had seen some fairly strange things in his 600-odd years of living, thank you very much.  And that was before he ended up falling arse over teakettle for one broody, mercurial Lord of Dreams and Nightmares.  

(Fine, he would modify that to before he finally admitted to himself that he was arse over teakettle for one broody, mercurial Dream Lord.  It only took him 200 years to figure that one out and a hundred more to get over the sheer panic of ohshit-why-the-everlasting-fuck-did-I-have-to-go-and-fall-in-love-with-my-best-mate.  It was worth it in the end, though.)  

Ending up as a hostage of the Unseelie Court was a little bit new.  

Although the look of consternation on the bloody Goblin King's face was worth the price of admission.  

"I was expecting the Dream Lord's beloved to be in my presence," said the Goblin King, looking him up and down with an air of disdain.  "You are his mortal friend.  How did you come to be here?"

"Mate," said Hob carefully, eyeing the frightened little boy currently sitting at the Goblin King's feet.  He was already calculating how quickly he could snatch up the kid and get both of them out of there.  "The last time I checked, I'm currently immortal, unless His Darkness' sister decides to change her mind about me.  And also..."

Hob didn't tend to use the old youkai tricks that he'd picked up from his friend Kenshin in Japan, but considering the company, now was the best time to use them.  So he did.  

It took the work of seconds to knock down the Goblin King's formidable guards and he'd blessed whatever instinct that had told him to keep the sword that he'd been using during the tournament and not put it away.  He had the blade at the King's throat in moments, even as Toby toddled over to his side, with a whimper.  He spared a moment to run a gentle hand over the little boy's head, feeling small fists cling to the fabric of his trousers. ��

"As I was saying," Hob Gadling said steadily.  "I'm the Dream Lord's 'beloved.'  Took a while to get to this point, but we did."

"What."

"I know," Hob commiserated with him, bringing the point of the blade just a little bit closer to the King's throat.  He smiled as it made the Goblin King draw just a little bit back, his chin lifting up, mismatched eyes meeting Hob's own with considerable annoyance and just a little touch of fear.  "Very interesting story, unfortunately, I haven't the time to tell you all about it as this little chap and I are going to be leaving."

"No.  You will not."  Faerie dust blew into his eyes and Hob felt himself fall.  

Bollocks. He always tended to forget the magical faerie dust, blast it.

=====

"Hob Gadling."

"Impudence such as yours does not deserve to be rewarded."  The soft press of lips against his own belied those words and Hob was only happy to slide his hands into raven black hair and deepen that kiss for a few more moments.  The two of them swayed for an eternity, lost in a dance just for them.

There was only one person in the entire universe who could call him by his full name and still make it sound like an endearment.  He'd follow that voice to the ends of time and beyond if he had to.

Hob opened his eyes.  "You could've kissed me awake, y'know.  I mean, if I had to do this whole Sleeping Beauty business, kisses are expected."

"Myne owne hertis rote," Hob murmured against those lips just as Dream drew back again, cheeks sweetly flushed.  He couldn't help it.  The endearments just tripped out of his lips sometimes and usually in the tongue he'd been born speaking.  

Dream usually answered him in the same language but the response this time had Hob do a double take.  "Did I just hear you call me husband?"

"We still need to get the children safely back to the waking world."

Nope, Hob was not letting his darling get away with his ridiculousness.  He tugged at Dream's hands, looked right into eyes that had gone dark and starry with emotion.  "Dream."

"Is it truly so objectionable?"

"You know damn well it isn't, love.  I want that - " Hob's breath caught.  "More than anything."  

Dream huffed, a soft sound of derision.  "I have gone and taken leave of my senses.  These things never end well. Not for me or the one I care for."

"We've been over this, love.  Me:  Immortal.   I suspect that sister of yours knew what she was about, what with your rules and things - "

"These 'rules' - as you well know, Hob Gadling, are not 'things' we may set aside at our convenience - "

"Dream.  Did you or did you not just beat Lucifer Morningstar in the oldest game using hope?"  Hob cradled that beloved face in his hands.  "Will you not keep any hope for yourself?"

The world around them shattered like glass and once more Hob Gadling was falling.  But he wasn't afraid as he'd held on to his love who was kissing him over and over again, stars in his eyes and smiling brightly like the dawn.  

They weren't falling anymore.  

“One half of me is yours, the other half is yours, Mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, And so all yours.” Hob murmured between those kisses.  

"Hob Gadling, did I just hear Shakespeare fall from your lips?"

"Well, the bloody prat ought to be good for something!"

====

4.  I'll paint you mornings of gold

It ends as all good stories do.

It ends well.

Sarah Williams faces down the Goblin King but this time, her mind is clear and her heart is set on one thing.  She's not a giddy, naive girl to be seduced and charmed by mystery and cool aloofness.  This being, this creature who claimed to be in "love" with her, had her baby brother.  And Sarah was not going to forgive that.  

Sarah knows her stories and her tropes and hell, she had the actual Prince of Stories to guide her.

As well as the rest of the Hellfire Club who insisted on coming along.  

"You need people of intelligence to come along on this quest... thing!" Dustin said brightly.

Everyone stared at him.

"What?  If there was ever a time to quote Tolkien and Pete Jackson, it's definitely now!"  

They all had the obligatory argument as to whether or not they should come, but in the end about half of the Club came along, because the others all had to do damage control and convince the audience that everything was still part of an even more elaborate show.  

Morpheus was not thrilled with this, but he had to admit Calliope had a point.  Also, he was not about to waste time on further argument, not when Professor Gadling had also been taken.

Apparently, that was a mistake on the Goblin King's part, as Sarah had been the intended hostage. Yeah, no, Sarah did not find this ridiculousness romantic in the very least.

Sarah would have all the time in the world to have the obligatory freakout about her flatmate being the Muse from Greek mythology, that their club's DM was the actual Lord of Dreams and Nightmares, to say nothing about their ridiculous Shakespeare-hating history professor being a real immortal.  She'd have all the time, much later, for the Hellfire Club to tell her about their favorite cryptids and how they figured it out for themselves.

Right now, she had to save Toby.

 I have fought my way here to the Castle beyond the Goblin City to take back the child you have stolen.  For my will is as strong as yours and my kingdom as great.

You have no power over me.  

You have no power over me!

Sarah shatters Jareth's illusions and his tricks and his pretty, pretty lies. When it's done, she has Toby back and she's faced with the pitiable figure of a boy her age, mismatched eyes filled with tears, crumpled on the floor, weeping heartbrokenly.  

Suddenly, she wants to go to him, because from the tales that Morpheus had told her, Jareth was in fact, just like Toby.  A human child stolen from the Waking World.  Only that the attempt at his rescue had ended in failure.  

And she could never truly forget those wondrous days, when she had been Princess Sarah and daydreamed her adventures with him.

Toby buries his little face in her shoulder.  "Want to go home, Sarah."  

Do not trust the Fair Folk, Sarah Williams.  Morpheus' warning rings through her mind again.  

"Jareth," Sarah suddenly says.  And at his name, the Goblin King looks up at her.  "If you really claim that you love me, then come find me again.  No tricks, no illusions, no lies."  She took a breath.  

"I don't want this to be my last memory of you."

And she walks out of the Castle, Toby in her arms, back to her friends and to the end of this tale.  

-end-

Footnote the First:   Little Daniel was quite put out that he wasn't allowed to come on this particular adventure, but Aunt Calliope told him that he would have plenty of time for such things once he was much older.  No, Daniel, hitting your first birthday and learning to walk would not be a free license to run off on adventures of your own.

Footnote the Second:  The grimoire that the Drama Club kids had inadvertently stumbled on was promptly confiscated by Calliope and handed off to Dream, who, of course, made sure that it was tucked safely away in the Library of the Dreaming.  As a punishment, the Drama Club kids were promptly lectured on the Great List of Terrible Ideas, as delivered by Steve Harrington.  There was a 50 point quiz on it too.  

Footnote the Third:  Daniel Hall's first word, obviously, was "Mama."  That being said, his mother was ruefully unsurprised that his second word was "Dream."  Surprisingly, his third word was "Birdie!" and Matthew was insufferable about that for ages.

Footnote the Fourth:  A new student joined the university the following semester, a tall, fair-haired, thin fellow, with a penchant for music.  He and Sarah ended up being good friends.  If there was to be anything more, well, that was still to be decided.  

[samstree]

“Ow, ow, ow…” Jaskier hisses, holding his injured shoulder still. The arrow pulls at his flesh suddenly. “Ow! Are you trying to kill me, witch?”

He turns around to send a glare, only to find Yennefer rolling her eyes.

“It needs to come out so I can heal you, bard,” she says pointedly, one hand holding him by the arm, the other wrapped around that gods-damned arrow. “Now hold still, and stop being a baby.”

She mumbles something about even Ciri making less of a fuss with injuries, and Jaskier makes his most offended noise, ready to throw back more insults.

“I’ll have you know, I was the bravest bait who ever lived, as appointed by a princess! And this is the proof of my bravery! How many bards have taken an arrow in the back? Nary one, I say! I am not being a baby, you cruel, heartless—”

A sharp pain shoots through his shoulder as Yennefer pulls out the arrow in one swift motion, nearly blinding him. Jaskier’s breath catches, and all sounds die in his throat as the world darkens for a moment. The surprise of it all leaves him shaking, his chest heaving.

“It’ll be over soon…”

Distantly, Jaskier knows Yennefer is saying something as she works her magic, but all he can focus on is the pain and the warm trickle of blood down his back. He touches the tips of his fingers on instinct, a self-soothing motion he’s developed in the past year.

“Hey.”

A gentle hand lands on where the arrow struck him, and Jaskier gasps, realizing Yennefer is now touching smooth, unbroken skin. All the pain is gone.

“Hmm,” Jaskier says, intelligently, blinking as he tries to move his shoulder. Nothing tugs at the muscles underneath. He’s as good as new. “Oh, I—Yennefer, I guess I should—”

“Don’t thank me.” She has sat down beside him, one hand still on his shoulder, a magical tingling under her fingertips. “Promised I’d save you, didn’t I?”

Jaskier chuckles, exhaling with relief. “Did you? Not before tormenting me greatly, though.”

Yennefer blinks, violet eyes boring into him. The next thing he knows, she’s leaning down to press her lips to his shoulder, right where the phantom pain has faded. The kiss ends quickly, but it is soft, bordering on sweet.

“Oh…” he breathes.

His skin is now tingling for an entirely different reason.

“What about now, oh brave bard?” she asks, half-teasing, half-sincere. Their hands find each other’s, linking together. She squeezes in reassurance, careful to avoid the burn scars on his fingers. “Still cruel and heartless?”

Jaskier holds onto her hand in return, heart picking up its pace. He doesn’t know how she does it, driving him up the wall and making his insides melt into a warm puddle of goo at the same time, all the while being her most infuriatingly witty self. There must be a special magic spell for it.

“No,” he answers, a smile stretching across his face. She raises her eyebrows, as a challenge, as a dare, but he settles on something also half-teasing, half-sincere. “Kind and generous, is what you are, my dear, dear witch.”

He takes Yennefer’s hand to his lips and kisses her in return, and watches violet eyes melt with warmth.

If there was a magic spell, Jaskier thinks, he must have been enchanted by her a long time ago.

(this is for @cherryjuicegf <33 I counted the number of crumbs you were getting and took pity...)

[spilledbutter]

shining in your light (a knight, my love, a knight)

Summary: Jaskier's days as a single man are numbered. With family obligations knocking at the door and no escape in sight, he knows he will soon be forced to marry.

Things are further complicated when he meets a beautiful, brown-haired witcher by chance in a tavern one night.

Jaskier/Eskel | Rated: M | WC: 3k+ | CW: coarse language, implied sex

--

A (very) belated Witcher Writers Winter Gift Exchange 2022 (@witcherficwriters) fill for @matrixfairy! I hope you enjoy, friendo, and sorry it's so late!

Also on AO3! I anticipate at least two more chapters, if not three, to finish everything up.

--

When he was younger, Jaskier imagined life to be a fairytale.

Grand adventures, beasts to be slain, and knights in shining armor. 

“Yeeugh,” the man groaned out from the tavern floor where he’d stumbled before him, covered in mud and smelling of horse dung. 

Real life never was quite like he imagined it would be.

“I’m so sorry, are you alright?” Jaskier’s hands fluttered uselessly in front of him, wanting to help but not quite sure if the other man was injured. He hastily put aside his tankard of ale and lute. 

“Sir? Can I help you with anything?” He called when he received no reply. It took a moment, but the man finally raised his head, turning surprisingly keen, golden eyes on Jaskier. He’d thought he was dealing with a drunkard.

He knew he should feel exposed, perhaps intimidated, under such a sharp gaze. Jaskier had never been prone to the reactions of normal people, however, so he felt nothing of the sort.

Surprisingly, he only felt warm, heat pricking his collar. 

Warmer still, as he took notice of the strong jaw, full lips, and long lashes cradling those honeyed irises. His eyes scanned over a set of broad shoulders, topping off a barrel chest, and what he was sure were delectable abs underneath a ruby-colored gambeson. 

Covered in mud he may be, but a pig he was not. 

“You talkin’ to me, pretty thing?” The rumbling, rich baritone shook him out of his stupor. Jaskier planted a charming grin on his face, casually running his hand over his chin in a thoughtful pose to check for drool. Gods above.

“Ah, but the man does speak! Are you sure you’re alright?”

The other man sat up, leaning against the wall. “Just peachy,” he grunted, leaning his elbows on his knees. “No need to worry, pretty thing. My kind are made for a bit of wear and tear.”

Shit. And a smile meant to break a man’s heart, to boot. 

Well. Jaskier had never been one to resist a pretty face.

“Can I help you? Buy you an ale, maybe?”

The grin turned devilish, topaz eyes shimmering with mischief. “Aye, and a bowl of stew if you’re going to bed me,” he winked. “Probably need the energy. You seem like a wild one.” 

Jaskier flushed, shocked and pleased all in one. He returned the wink with a provocative smile of his own. “A gentleman never tells, my dear.”

He held out a hand. A little flirtation did not an acquaintance make. Jaskier was no fool, either.

Two swords on his back. Heavy traveling cloak, worn at the hem and tattered. Scarring on his face and forearms - from some beast or other, no doubt. 

A witcher. Very interesting indeed.

Those discerning eyes stared him down, assessing, before seeming to make a decision. A strong hand clasped Jaskier’s own.

He pulled the other man up with only a little effort and noted the surprise on the witcher’s face. He felt no small amount of pride. He didn’t have a witcher’s bulk, but he wasn’t a small man by any means.

Now that he was standing, Jaskier took full stock of the other man’s form. His new friend had about three inches on him and at least a hundred pounds. Jaskier felt a pleasant tingle run down his spine. It was rare he met a delicious man like this on accident.

“Jaskier,” he announced in his most imperious voice with a courtly, sweeping bow. “At your service.” 

The other man quirked his lips, amused. “Eskel.”

Jaskier felt giddy. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Eskel. I believe I promised you an ale?”

That lovely half-smile doubled in size. “Aye. I believe you did.” 

###

There wasn’t much talking after they went upstairs. Jaskier’s rented room was small, the bed smaller, but it would do the job. 

“Darling,” Jaskier purred once the door was shut, “That armor is quite dashing, but I have to say you’re a tad overdressed.” 

Eskel’s warm body pressed against his with a mouthwatering pressure. With the wall at his back and the absolute boulder of a man at his front, he’d never felt happier about being cornered. A rough hand grasped his jaw, calloused thumb brushing against his bottom lip.

“Pretty words from a pretty mouth,” Eskel rumbled in his deep baritone. Golden eyes bored into Jaskier’s own, pinning him with their intensity. “D’you sing just as sweetly?”

Jaskier smirked wolfishly, wrapping his arms firmly around Eskel’s neck. “I’m sure you’ll find out.”

A husky chuckle, followed by a throaty moan. And then the night was silent.

###

Jaskier’s eyes fluttered open, moonlight filtering through the tiny inn window. 

He quietly took stock of the pleasant soreness in his limbs, aches in places which meant he’d had a very good night indeed. It took a few moments for him to become aware of the hard chest beneath his ear, carpeted with smattering of dark hair.

He came fully into awareness, remembering his night with Eskel and feeling a goofy smile bloom across his face. He was almost too comfortable using the witcher as a pillow. He would be perfectly content to lounge around until Eskel woke up. Maybe convince him to go for another round… But loathe as he was to move, he knew he needed to get back home.

As quietly as possible, he disentangled himself from the body below him. He dressed in silence, distinctly aware of every swish and rustle of fabric making their way to sharp witcher ears. He put on just enough clothing to be decent for the trek back, not wanting to delay any further.

Jaskier looked back at the man on the bed. He truly had the body of a god, looked absolutely delectable with a sheet just barely covering his exquisite cock. Blessedly, he’d had the skills in bed to match, which Jaskier was quite thankful for.

He looked oddly vulnerable, soft brown curls falling into his eyes and face lax with sleep. The moon’s rays danced across his striking features and made his tanned skin glow. He was the picture of inviting.

He was beautiful. It was a shame this was only for a night.

“May our paths cross again, Eskel,” he spoke softly.

Jaskier slipped out the door, unaware of the witcher watching him leave.

###

His nightly outings were becoming more common the closer he got to his impending doom. Since he’d passed his twenty-first birthday, Jaskier knew he was living on borrowed time. He knew his father would make things as unpleasant as possible.

Men of the Pankratz family were honor-bound to marry by the end of their twenty-first year. If they had not made a match by this time, a match would be arranged for them by the head of the household. The legend (or so he was told, although it all sounded like horse shit) went that were this rule not met, a curse would befall their house and lands, blighting all who lived within them. 

Or something. He’d never really paid attention during his governess’s lessons, dreadfully boring woman that she was.

But he was damned sure everyone in his house believed in the legend. Without a doubt, he’d be turned out on his ass for the first respectable gentleperson that came calling for him. He was under no illusions that his father had his best interests at heart–far from it, in fact. The sooner they’d be rid of him, the better.

Nothing like a parent’s love, eh?

He bitterly chuckled to himself as he stepped into the shadowed gardens below his quarters. Right turn at the archway. Left at the lavender bushes. Two steps and a hop across the charming little pond with the frogs he’d played with as a child. Now just a shimmy up the trellis to his open window and he’d be home free. 

He should really look into doing this professionally. He’d make an excellent spy.

Jaskier crested the windowsill, feet on the warmed stone floors. The embers of the fire were still hot in the hearth, no doubt stoked by his diligent valet. let out a yawn, feeling his eyes start to droop. 

“I imagine I’d be tired too, after an acrobatics routine like that.”

He jumped about a foot in the air. He did not shriek, thank you very much.

“Jana, you witch!” He hissed, blue eyes blazing. “Perhaps I should put a bell on you!”

She smirked, green eyes glinting maliciously. “And where would be the fun in that?” 

She was the devil incarnate. Evil in the flesh. He loved her to pieces.

“Sister dear,” he hummed, stepping towards his wardrobe. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Just checking on my dearest Julek. Thought you might be tossing and turning tonight, is all.”

Jaskier squinted at her before turning back to his clothes. He grabbed a nightshirt and stepped behind the changing screen. “And why ever would I be restless?”

He didn’t need to see her face to know she was laughing at him. “Just a… feeling I had.”

He quickly stepped out from behind the screen, more comfortable now in his loose night clothes. He stepped towards the basin to wash his face. Jana was sitting primly on the bench, legs crossed daintily, looking serene as ever. 

Something was definitely wrong.

“Oh?” He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of true curiosity. She was unbearably smug about this little talent of hers.

She got like this, sometimes. Jana was prone to feelings—no one in their family called them premonitions, per se, but it was hard to find a different word to describe them. Sometimes it was small things, like an unexpected change in the weather, but there were other times, too–like when she’d gotten a bad feeling about Aunt Margot’s cold, and she’d passed within a fortnight.

Jana hummed, noncommittal, and tossed her long, chocolate locks over her shoulder. “Something is going to happen tomorrow. Something big. And it concerns you, brother dearest.” 

Jaskier didn’t respond, mind racing. He schooled his features, maintaining the indifferent mask he’d learned as a son of the peerage. The tournament tomorrow was for the benefit of the Pankratz House. It didn’t, however, directly impact Jaskier in any notable way–not more than it would impact them all.

“We shall see, I suppose. Now, if you don’t mind,” he pointedly shuffled towards his bed, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he passed. “I need my beauty rest.” 

He’d turned down the covers and was just about to snuff the light when Jana approached him, ruffling his hair. He huffed. She turned away toward the door with a smile.

“Indeed we shall, little brother. Tomorrow.”

###

The morning dawned bright, trumpets and birdsong intermingling with the fresh dew. The sunlight was dappled through the trees in the clearing and the air smelled of late spring blossoms.

It was far too fine a day for such nonsense.

“Hark! Hear ye, hear ye! On this day commences the Tournament of Koselig, attended only by the most honorable of knights and lords!”

The opening speeches were always dull as watching paint dry. The Pankratz family was seated in the box with the best view of the action at the head of the field. He was expected to smile and nod as the competitors passed their box, acknowledging the brave souls fighting and potentially losing life and limb. All for the sake of their entertainment–and today, the dubious honor of ruling the shittiest parcel in the province.

It made him sick, to be honest. 

“You don’t suppose we could slip out after the announcements, do you? I’m sure Vincent could be convinced to cover for us with the right motivation.” He winked at Jana, earning a giggle in return.

“You know we can’t, Julek. Besides–I really do have a good feeling about today. Something important is going to happen, I just know it.” 

Her feelings were not to be dismissed. It was sure to be an eventful day, for one reason or another. He just hoped it wasn’t at his expense.

“Jana, Julian, do be quiet. Where are your manners?” His mother tutted, one elegant brow arched. She was the spitting image of his sister, with a few more lines around her eyes and streaks of gray through her hair.

“Apologies, mother. I seem to have forgotten my patience today,” Jaskier smiled sweetly. “Must these things be so terribly tedious?”

“It would do you well to watch your tongue, Julian. Comes with the territory. A Viscount is expected to behave and attend events such as this.”

“Only a Viscount in name, father. Don’t you worry–you’ll never have to bless me with more responsibility than that with our dear Jana here.”

The tension between father and son was palpable. Jana discretely squeezed his hand in support. 

Jaskier’s relationship with his father had never been the greatest, but they had reached an all-time low recently. He felt like he was on a tightrope, closer and closer to falling to the brink as each day passed. Who–or what–his father had in store for him was a great source of anxiety. And two of them weren’t exactly the types to have heart-to-heart chats, so his fate would inevitably be a surprise. Joy of joys.

In other circumstances, he’d be filling the gaping pit of anxiety with a glass of wine and a warm body, but alas. Duty called, as his father liked to remind him.

“We have the honor of being hosted today by the esteemed Pankratz family: the Earl Alfred Pankratz of Lettenhove, Lady Maria Pankratz of Lettenhove, Lady Jana Pankratz of Lettenhove, and Viscount Julian Alfred Pankratz of Lettenhove,” the herald carried on. “The knights and lords present will compete today for the honor of overseeing one of his Lordship’s properties in Hygge, a parcel of land which…”

Jaskier found his attention drifting beyond the stands, the announcements a tiresome buzzing in the background. From the looks of it, every person in the city of Koselig had turned out for the event, and probably the neighboring cities too. They were practically giving away a prize today, wrapped up in a neat, entertaining package and decorated with a ball. It was no wonder it looked like the entirety of coastal Redania had arrived on their front lawn. 

He wasn’t surprised. His parents were well-liked for their fair ruling of the lands they controlled, but they were equally liked for the lavish parties they liked to throw. It wasn’t all a front, but every event, gift, and act of service was part of a carefully calculated plan to keep the populace happy and maintain appearances.

His mother, for all that she was kind, was incredibly shrewd and good with people. She knew what would keep them happiest (and what would shut them up). His father was a strict man, committed to the principles of duty and obedience. At the same time, he wouldn’t hesitate to manipulate a situation in his favor. Jaskier loved them, but he didn’t always like them.

Hygge was a sizeable estate just shy of a week’s ride north of Jaskier’s home in Koselig. Its accompanying village was full of fishermen and farmers alike, with the coast nearby and plenty of fertile land to till. The former Lord who’d ruled over the property for the last twenty years had died two months prior. Rather unfortunately for everyone, he passed without an heir. Even more unfortunately, he had done a poor job managing things in the last five years. Much work would need to be done by the new proprietor.

His parents needed someone to manage the property and township. Jana, as heir to their family estate, had been assisting with the property in the months since the former Lord’s passing. This obviously wasn’t a long-term solution as she would take over in Koselig one day.

They had decided to select a new proprietor, ideally a knight looking to settle down or a lower member of the peerage without many responsibilities. And because his mother had a flair for dramatics, what better way to find someone willing than a tournament?

It was great marketing, he had to hand it to her. Undoubtedly, they would find someone today.

“Gentlemen! Please present yourself to the venerable Pankratz family!”

Jaskier put on his most polite and courtly smile for the introductions. One by one, the assembled lords and knights stepped up to the box. There was a Lord Valdo from Cidaris who seemed utterly obnoxious–-gods, he hoped he didn’t win. A knight from Roggeveen with a peculiar mustache. Another Lord So-and-So from Denesle who sounded absolutely drunk off his ass—that would make for a good show. 

He almost fell out of his chair when he spotted a familiar red gambeson and mop of brown hair. Flashes of last night sent a rush of blood to a very unfortunate place as he locked gazes with a familiar pair of golden eyes. 

Their bodies meeting in an intimate embrace. Eskel’s calloused hands gripping his hips tightly. Deep, rumbling groans as Jaskier rode him. The insatiable desire for more. And afterward, those same work-worn hands stroking soothingly down his back. Sweaty bangs tenderly brushed off his forehead. A gentle hand cleaning him up with a rough-hewn cloth. A handsome face, enhanced by scars, relaxed and sated in sleep.

Fuck. Fuck fuckity fuck fuck.

Eskel dipped into a formal bow. “Sir Eskel, Witcher of the Wolf School.” 

“Ha!” His father burst out, with great amusement. “A witcher, competing in my tournament! Surely you can’t be serious.” 

“Deadly so, my Lord,” Eskel’s lips were pressed into a thin line, his eyes cool. Despite this, he gave no outward signs of annoyance, his posture remaining relaxed and easy. 

“Oh?” His father raised an imperious brow. “And do you meet the entry requirements? One must be an established member of the peerage or a knight to compete. This isn’t a tournament for just anyone.”

“How fortunate, then,” Eskel drawled, “that I am knighted. His Royal Highness, Windhalm of Attre, knighted me four summers ago. Dealt with a rotfiend problem he was having, nasty business.”

Alfred did not say a word, but one look at his face said enough about his frustration. Eskel paid no mind.

“Convenient as well that he granted me the title Baronet of Attre, as a personal honor for my services. Still a peasant at heart and in title, but the words are pretty, yeah?”

Eskel rubbed a hand over the back of his neck in a seemingly bashful gesture. “Aye, a shame I turned the land down at the time. After all, a witcher? A proprietor? Can’t be serious.” He gave a deep belly laugh at the thought, throwing his head back. “Changed my mind, though. I’ve rather come to like the idea of settling down.” 

The tension could be cut with a knife. Jaskier, his sister, his mother–hell, even the herald–all waited, staring at Alfred in suspense.

“Well then, my Lord? Do I pass the test?” The witcher gave a winning smile, the epitome of mannerly but possessing an air of cold detachment Jaskier knew his father detested. It was the same persona his father used at court.

Color crept up Alfred’s collar. Jaskier could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. He hid a smile behind his hand, biting his lip. Entertainment, indeed.

Alfred cleared his throat. “Well, Sir Eskel of the Wolf School, Baronet de Attre, it certainly seems you do. We look forward to seeing you… compete.” Alfred gave a stiff and reluctant nod, dismissing him. The moment was over.

Or, well, Jaskier thought it was.

Eskel gave his family another formal bow. His eyes met Jaskier’s with intention as he rose back to his full height. Jaskier felt his breath catch in his throat as gold met blue. 

There was something there, in his gaze. A heat–not the burning kind, no, but something pleasant. Like hot cider on a winter’s night. Like a fire to warm cold bones--or an aching heart. Jaskier felt a shiver down his spine.

He felt trapped in that stare, unable to look away. He gave a coquettish smile, unable to resist his natural flirtation even for a moment, particularly with the witcher. Eskel gave a charming, boyish grin back, inclining his head deeply before turning away.

And oh, what a lovely sight he made. Although his trousers really did look better off…

“What the hell was that?” Jana hissed into his ear, breaking the spell Jaskier had fallen under.

“What was what?” Jaskier asked in his best attempt at innocence, rubbing sweaty palms against his knees. 

“You know what. Do you know him?” 

“We may have met before - hard to say, I meet a lot of people.”

Jana scoffed, pushing against his shoulder with her own at his non-answer. Jaskier laughed, fondly, and turned his attention back to the field.

Neither of them noticed Alfred’s piercing stare as he eyed them with suspicion.

(1/3)

[eggcompany]

Oh Dear, Wife Part 2

It was quiet in the castle. They had met with castle advisors, being rushed from here to there and back again for the last three days. Jaskier had barely been able to even see Geralt before she was collapsing into bed, exhausted. Geralt had been more than busy trying to get the knights trained on how to care for a princess, and one as independent as Jaskier no less.

But today Geralt only had chores to do in the stables, a meeting with Eskel, and then he had to write a proposal. He couldn’t help but let his eyes wander to the diving door, knowing Jaskier was in her room. Maybe she was drawing or composing or reading… He couldn’t stop picturing her bent over a notebook, not even dressed for the day but her white nightgown dashed with loose ink or streaks of lead shavings from her pencils. 

There was no point in trying to focus on his work when he couldn’t stop thinking about her. 

He knocked lightly before opening the door. He expected her to be sitting on the windowsill or at her desk, perhaps lounging on her bed. 

But she wasn’t. She was dressed in a chemise that hung down to her thighs, leaving her legs bared down to the ankle where her socks hemmed. She was sweating, short hair pulling in odd ways, cheeks pinked with exertion. Stood atop her desk chair, one foot lifting up as she tried to reach the top shelf of her wardrobe. Geralt looked her over, skin smooth and soft displayed. Even as she reached higher and the shirt rose up to reveal a pair of light blue bloomers, yellow embroidery running up the sides. 

He only realized he was gawking when she turned and screamed, losing her balance. Geralt ran over, feeling as though the world was spinning in slow motion, and caught her before she hit the floor. He ended up with her in his arms, one under her shoulders and the other behind her knees. She looked up at him, eyes glimmering, heart racing. 

“Do you often watch princesses in their underwear?” She asked. Jaskier felt a bit… torn. Her heart was racing, she didn’t expect to see those glowing yellow eyes staring at her. She couldn’t help the way her heart pulled at the strength that was holding her, the wide rough hands, bulging arms, worried look on the prince’s face. She almost wanted to touch where his eyebrows were drawn together. 

“I just wanted to… talk.” Geralt said, realizing her dress had hiked up to the tops of her thighs, revealing most of her undergarments. He moved to gently set her back down on her feet, looking away as she straightened the chemise back out before sitting on her bed, now adorned in her own bedding. 

“What do you wanna talk about? Because I’ve been reading up on Morhen history and culture. Me and Eskel talk over lunch most days. He’s quite chatty when persuaded.” Jaskier explained and smiled. Eskel was a gossip, worse than any handmaid or stable boy she’d ever known. He was especially chatty about Geralt. 

She smiled and crossed her legs on the bed, facing Geralt who sat down on the chair that she had been standing on. She watched him curiously, wondering why he looked uncomfortable, shifting and looking at the walls. It took a minute too long to realize Geralt wasn’t used to displays of skin like this. Morhen was a modest kingdom, everyone stayed covered. She pulled her chemise over her knees so she was covered completely. 

“Sorry, in my culture we often dress like this when in our own homes. We’re quite comfortable wearing very little, mostly in our own homes but some people prefer to show off at balls and celebrations as well. Given the warm weather, that is.” Jaskier explained and remembered fondly of her home. She would often go walking, the estate was tracked in walking trails extensively, in little more than her sandals and sheer chemise, loving the breeze on her skin. It was common but here in the cold kingdom… there wouldn’t be many days it was even possible. 

“We… do not.” Geralt simply, trying to calm his racing heart. She was very pretty and from such a… floozy kingdom. It made him feel warm under his collar. But his heart also warmed at the thought of this being her home. 

“I know, I know, but… Am I not your wife? Aren’t you the only person who’s supposed to see me in… undress?” Jaskier said shyly, she kept her eyes on the prince, looking him over as her bottom lip caught between her teeth. She knew it would have to happen. The king would want an heir promptly, Geralt was a man, he had needs. But the way Geralt’s cheeks tinted the slightest pink as he looked to the side, it made her feel a bit better about it. 

“In my culture… we do not- um… Marriage means bonding. We are bound because of a treaty therefore we are not romantically or… sexually bonded. If you’d like to be more than treaty bonded then we must wait a year. We do not just get married and… copulate. The marriage must be proved sustainable before the kingdom and then we can focus on… other tasks.” Geralt explained, his face burning up as he looked at Jaskier’s shoulder, unable to meet her eyes. She was Lettenhovian. All they did was fuck, eat, and swim nude. Surely she was itching to have sex. He just… it would be more than improper to bed her because they were married. It would make him look bad in front of the king, court, and country. They were treaty wed, not wed for love. 

Jaskier’s eyebrows raised up as she thought about what was just said. Her mind rolling through each statement. 

“We’re not to have an heir this year?” She asked looking at the window only glancing at him, the stress in her head loosening. Geralt shook his head, laying his hands in his lap. 

“We can… date?” She asked, thinking of all the dates her sisters had been on before they had gotten married. Geralt smirked, his eyes light with amusement. 

“If you wish then we can date, but there’s little for us to do. You are my wife so you are involved in my area of royal duties. You can accompany me to all corners of the kingdom and meet the soldiers.” Geralt said and she nodded. A weight was lifted off her chest, like she could finally breathe. She sighed and looked over at him. 

“One year to show I am suitable as a ruler and life partner?” She asked, smile spreading on her lips before she could even try to hide it. It was… she finally felt calm. Geralt stood up and moved to the bed, hand under her chin to tilt her face up to his. 

“One year to prove to the people.” Geralt clarified and leaned down, their noses barely grazing each other’s. Jaskier’s breath caught, leaning up a bit till their lips were a whisper away. 

“Kissing?” She asked blue eyes hopeful as she looked into golden ones. Geralt only hummed as he leaned in, a warm closed mouth kiss being pressed onto her lips. It was gentle, quick, and made her heart melt. Even when Geralt backed up and moved to the door, staying there for a long moment. 

“I’ll call for the maids to bring you a step stool.” He said quietly before moving back into his own room. 

Jaskier sat there for a moment, in a daze, before grabbing a pillow and squealing into it. She never had a boyfriend or a prince to court her. Never having been kissed before, the memory still fresh in her mind she dashed over to where her journal was laid out on the desk, writing in it furiously. She could still feel the warmth of his hand, the press of his lips, the way he smelled of hair wash and horse. 

-0-0-0-0-0-

The next day Jaskier was dressed for the day, dressing warmly for she found frost on her window when she woke. She applied only a small line of blue around her eyes and some sparkling balm to her lips, knowing Morheners preferred a clean face. She looked over her blue slacks and her heavy coat once more, hoping it wasn’t too unappealing before knocking on the dividing door. 

She peaked in seeing Geralt standing over the table, sifting through papers. He looked up at her, face melting from stressed to a more calm expression. 

“Going somewhere, Dandelion?” He asked and stood up, back popping as he did. He looked her over, amused but not teasing. She stood up straighter, trying her best to look confident. 

“I thought we could go walking, you have yet to show me the estate. I sent for the kitchen to make a picnic basket for us. In my culture daily walks, wanders, are much necessary. I would like to know where I can be.” She said with a smile, knowing from everything she’d read and been told by Eskel that Geralt was fond of the outdoors, preferring to read while sitting outside, no matter the weather. He’d obviously been keeping himself inside for her sake. It was only fair that he show her around the estate, he was her protector after all. 

She felt a tingle in her chest when he smiled, quickly grabbing a long heavy coat from a hook on the wall and moving towards his door. 

She followed behind him, hand reaching for his as they stepped into the hallway. He froze with his key in the door, hand slack in her grip before he locked the door and squeezed back. 

He seemed… happy. Jaskier couldn’t help but stare at him, taking in the straight line of his nose, the stubble along his square jaw, the way he nodded at the guards stepped confidently through a backdoor of the castle, a small servants entrance. 

She could help but savor every gruff word he spoke as he led her to the stables, giving his mare a swiped sugar cube and patting down Pegasus’s side. She loved the way he whispered when they came near the sheep that were grazing in the pasture that fenced the entire back of the estate. She loved the way he picked up a hen to show her they were nice, how he led them to the small courtyard with a table and a few chairs, how he kept her hand in his as they walked through the back trails, keeping her balanced as he explained what each tree was. 

She couldn’t help the way she leaned up to kiss him when he was called back to the castle, leaving her in the stable. She savored the surprised hum and hand that found the small of her back before the bell rang again, calling him. 

It was getting easier. She was comfortable with the castle, knowing a few guards, knowing Eskel, knowing she could live happily while absorbing the culture. 

-0-0-0-0-0-

It was the next week that she barged in again, this time through the prince’s door and not the divider. In her thick blue pants and thicker yet doublet. The snow was light but it would soon blanket everything, feet of frozen snow topped in solid ice. 

Geralt was reading documents about the soldiers who marched in the south, needing to be visited as soon as possible after the winter. Jaskier huffed, stomping in front of his desk. He looked up to see her teary eyes and angry expression. 

“Your stupid guards won’t let me leave because they say what I’m wearing is inappropriate. I wish to ride to town and purchase new books to write in. I want a notebook, something new to read, and fresh bread. I finally finished repairing my flute and intend on using it for an audience more than you, Eskel, and the rats. Why do I have to wear a dress or or plump and prick myself into something horrid that I cannot even ride horseback in. This is absolutely un-” She began ranting, upset and angry. 

She was never very good at being cooped up. Sure talking to Eskel was great, he was very well read, but she needed someone who wasn’t either a prince or a man to talk to. The grounds were great, wonderful to walk, the nature was beautiful but she needed some interaction with people. And to be told she looked inappropriate by guards? Unbelievable! She was royalty she should never- 

She was cut off by Geralt who stood up from his desk, tired expression on his face. He was tired. He worried and his mind kept him up all night. 

“I will tell them to ready Pegasus and to send word to the village. Are you wearing your foot wraps?” Geralt asked, knowing the princess hadn’t been paying attention when he showed her how to wrap them. Geralt was calm, knowing there had been a misunderstanding given his guards couldn’t care less about a woman in pants.

Jaskier stood still, staring at him in shock, having thought there would be some form of disagreement. Not… the response she had been expecting. She just answered the question slowly, almost confused.  

“I’m not. I’m still not sure how to put them on.” She was busy watching the birds when Geralt had told her about the wraps. Geralt looked at her, a slight smirk on his lips. 

“In my culture the spouses wrap each other's feet when trekking in the winter. Bring them to me before you go.” Geralt said and sat back down, turning his attention to writing a note to be passed to the guards. Jaskier nodded, calming as she went to get the thick white wraps from her room. 

Simple rectangles of thick fabric. They were supposed to keep warm and supply extra structure to prevent injuries when walking through slick conditions. 

Jaskier hadn’t seen anything like them but it was… a part of Geralt’s culture. They had been saying it all week. 

‘In my culture you do not braid your hair when it is dry’ 

‘In my culture you must eat together, never alone’ 

‘In my culture the husband unlocks the door’ 

‘In my culture wives eat with their hands, like the rest of us.’ 

‘In my culture women tend animals too.’ 

‘In my culture you don’t call the crowned prince a shitball. At least not in front of the royal advisors.’ 

‘In my culture we often go swimming in the nude, it’s very freeing. Surely you’ve skinny dipped?’ 

They had both learned about each other's customs and became more and more comfortable with each other. Including Eskel who found the princess very amusing, and the king who loved having music in the castle. It was becoming their culture. Geralt felt…. Something. Jaskier found herself happy to be free of her family, finding friends and family amongst the Witchers. 

When she returned, wraps in hand, Geralt was waiting, down on one knee by the foot of the bed. He waved her over, sitting her in front of him

Geralt slipped her boots and socks off, being gentle with her. He settled one wrap over his knee before placing her foot atop it and beginning to wrap it. It felt strangely intimate, in the prince’s room, looking down on him as he carefully dressed her. 

“The men here weren’t referring to your pants, Dandelion, they were referring to your lack of a cap. You have short hair and soft skin, they don’t want your hair to freeze down.” Geralt explained, having stepped out to send his message down to the door guards. He knew what they meant without having to ask them. Jaskier didn’t wear a cap. She hadn’t had her hair freeze to her skin yet. She didn’t know better. 

“Oh… I judged too harshly then” Jaskier said, regret heavy in her voice. Geralt nodded and looked up at her, his golden eyes catching the sunlight that flooded through the window. 

“The people here, Morheners, are different from the Lettenhovian people, Jaskier. We don’t see men in skirts or women in pants much differently as long as you're a good person and you're dressed warmly. Most bakers and workers like that wear skirts as they work, man or woman. The knights want to keep their new princess from freezing to death while on the mountain.” Geralt explained and finished wrapping her foot and redressed her, socks and boots. He stood offering her a hand, noting the sad expression on her face. 

She took it, being pulled up. They were so close, chests inches away from each other. She couldn’t help the way her breath caught in her throat. She could feel the warmth radiating off his body, his warm rough hand in her own, she swore she could hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat. 

“Just wear a cloak or a cap. You cannot leave without a head covering. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Geralt said and stepped away from her, dropping her hand. He quickly moved back to his desk, looking down at the papers, hoping the way his face heated was hidden. His heart was racing, like he’d run miles. Jaskier just stood there, blinking. 

“Thank you, Geralt, I'll bring you back some candy.” Jaskier said teasingly as she left. She stood with her back to the door for a moment, just breathing. Little did she know Geralt was scrubbing a hand over his face, staring at the door feeling… a want. But it wasn’t a want like when a woman threw herself into his lap at a tavern or when he craved sweet ale. It was… heavier. Something in his soul wanted. 

He reached into his desk for the bottle of sour alcohol he kept there, hoping to burn away that feeling.

[bambirex]

Hi Bambi! 🐻 Can I ask for some Yennskier where Yennefer finds an orphaned child and she and Jaskier look after/co-parent them and they finally admit their soft feelings for each other, whilst they found their cosy family unit, please? Thank you so much!! 🥰

Hiii! I love found family tropes so much, I've been meaning to write it for a while now ❤️

Warnings: death mention, mention of illness

**

She was so weak, so thin, with all her bones visible under her skin. She shivered pathetically, like a wet, abandoned kitten; maybe even a cat would have weighed more than the little girl did. It was hard to even figure out her age, being so heartbreakingly tiny as she was.

Yennefer fought against the tears in her eyes when the child looked up at her pleadingly. She couldn't just leave her there, standing next to her parents' corpses, covered in blood and mud. She must have been standing there for days, as utterly exhausted as she looked. Who even knew when was the last time the poor thing had eaten anything.

Yennefer tried not to think about the last time she tried to save a child. That baby ended up dying, and Yennefer had never managed to forgive herself. She desperately hoped she could somehow save this one: the way the little girl held onto her hands told her that as weak as she was, this child didn't want to give up yet. Yennefer needed to save her.

She had no idea what she was even going to do. As a first step, she decided to take the child to the person she trusted the most: Jaskier.

When he opened the door and saw Yennefer holding the hand of a dirty and scared little girl, his eyes widened and his mouth fell open. For probably the first time in his life, he was completely speechless. He looked down at the child, then up at Yennefer, then back down at the child again. Yennefer wished she could give him an explanation.

"Alright," was all Jaskier said. His voice wavered slightly, even as he forced a weak smile onto his face. He crouched down to be eye-level with the little girl.

"Hello, there. What's your name, dear?"

Instead of replying, the girl leapt forward, straight into Jaskier's arms. The bard let out a surprised huff, before he tentatively wrapped his arms around her.

The sight of Jaskier hugging the child made something warm blossom in Yennefer's chest.

"We need to help her," she whispered. Jaskier sighed deeply, but he nodded, gently brushing the child's greasy hair out of her face.

"Yes," he said quietly, still holding her against his chest, "of course."

*

For the first couple weeks, she didn't speak, which was understandable after everything she had gone through. But, she wasn't afraid of them, that much was obvious: she always sought them out, followed them everywhere they went inside the house. She was also surprisingly affectionate, always silently asking for hugs.

With the help of Yennefer's magic and their combined care, she was soon getting better. A rosy, healthy color returned to her cheeks, as well as a brightness to her eyes.

In the midst of it all, Yennefer found herself not only getting attached to the child, but to Jaskier as well.

Jaskier, who wouldn't exactly be anyone's first candidate for a father figure, turned out to be a pretty good one, actually. He always sang the little girl to sleep, and cuddled her after a nightmare. He would make an actual fool of himself, making a big show of tripping over his own feet just to make her giggle.

Every single time Yennefer watched him look after the girl, her heart grew several sizes. Jaskier was so kind, so thoughtful. He cared for that child as if she was his own, and he never once acted like she was a burden- or, that Yennefer was, for that matter. He was softer with her now, too, more affectionate even physically. Yennefer found herself enjoying this new life they've built together more each day.

After about a month, the little girl started speaking. She told them her name was Aleana, she always wanted to be a mage, and she loved singing.

"Isn't it interesting, how she's the perfect combination of us?" Jaskier chuckled one evening, after they put Aleana down to sleep. "Destiny really bites us in the ass every single day."

"This isn't destiny," Yennefer replied. She smiled at Aleana's sleeping form, gently caressing a finger down her cheek. "This was choice. And I'm glad we made the choice of taking her in."

"So am I," Jaskier replied softly. He wrapped an arm around Yennefer's shoulder. Yennefer let him: she even leaned into him, enjoying his warmth.

*

The more time they spent together, the more Jaskier became aware his feelings for Yennefer had changed. She became bigger, shinier in his eyes: as Jaskier watched her with Aleana, he realized Yennefer was a much better, kinder person than most people believed.

And she was a wonderful mother, too. She was so gentle with Aleana, never scolding her even when she knocked over her favorite perfume bottles. She braided her hair and crawled around on all fours with her in the grass if Aleana wanted to catch bugs, not caring about her dresses or her dignity.

Fuck, Jaskier was falling in love. With Yennefer, and with this little family they made together.

He's never wanted to have kids. Sure, they were adorable, but they were also messy and required a lot of care. Jaskier barely managed to look after himself sometimes, what would he do with a child?

Yet, now, he wouldn't have it any other way. Aleana was growing stronger and healthier each day, due to their care. They loved her, and she loved them- they belonged together.

*

"I think I love you," Jaskier told her quietly. It didn't come as a surprise, but it still warmed Yennefer's heart.

"I love you, too," she replied as she reached for Jaskier's hand, giving it a squeeze. "You, me, and Aleana... it's real, isn't it?"

"It is," Jaskier lifted Yennefer's hand to his lips, and kissed the back of it gently. "We're a family."

Yennefer looked at Aleana who was busy playing with her ragdolls in the corner. She looked at her shiny hair, her pink cheeks, her happiness. Nowhere was that sickly, sad orphan anymore, and that was her and Jaskier's merit. They made this impossible family together.

"I'm so happy," she said softly. Jaskier smiled and kissed her gently, his hand cupping her cheek.

Sometimes, Yennefer was scared she would wake up and find out she was only dreaming: but every single day, she woke up in Jaskier's arms and to the sound of Aleana laughing in the other room, and that made her realize that no dream could ever match the perfection of reality.

[kuwdora]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💕💗

(Sending this back your way because I didn't see if you already answered! 💖)

hellooo to this ancient ask from months ago! Which I'm pinging @she-who-drank-vodka-with-cats who also sent me this ask recently. Anyway most of this is Witcher fic but not all!

Ouroboros - Vilgefortz/Geralt but mostly Vilgefortz. 20k. TWN but blended the fuck into everything else. What else can I say that I haven’t nattered about in my tag already. It has art history and porn, dark shit, unnecessary Vilgefortz backstory, lots and metaphor and symbolism. Illusions and inverting moments from book scenes and going on tangents might have actually come together by the end of the fic.

Stories we tell, memories we share and the words we hold dear - TWN. Geralt/Jaskier, post canon, 28k. Aka the story I rewrote 3 times and is soft old men in love and probably the thing I'm most proud of in addition to it being my favorite. Romance and acts of service, disabled characters. With too much worldbuilding. Poetry and storytelling and lots and lots more nostalgia, softness, and puns. Geralt loves Jaskier and Jaskier loves Geralt.

Heart Tap - TWN, Leshen Eskel/Geralt. More a character study but still quite slashy. I really really love this story and need to write more of this series. I’m still obsessed with the idea of a witcher turned into a monster and losing his mind and trying to figure out who he is now and how he fits in at Kaer Morhen and if he can still even be a witcher. And Eskel likely being able to see between different worlds/canons. Just really exploring his memory issues and identity. Also tree sex with Geralt, okay. I started it for the tree nonsense and everything else just happened. Non-witcher fic: Dawn of the Dithyramb, Greek Mythology. Apollo/Dionysus. Humor/crack/porn. ~4k words. It’s been a billion years since I wrote this but I’m still quite fond of this silly horniness with Greek gods, playing with structure and it’s very fun and smutty and silly.

rejocing in virility, Satan/Beezlebub. John Milton’s Paradise Lost. 458 words. Poetry. A handjob in mid-air and me running with Milton's way of using catalog for pornographic effect. This was in fact for a class assignment and my professor read it aloud to my class and no one really listened closely enough to understand their professor was reciting a santanic handjob to them. Truly a pinnacle classroom experience for me.

[karolincki]

Under the trees I'll find you again

I wrote this for @jaskierwhumpweek day 2: mourning

Warning for past animal death. Read on Ao3

Jaskier is bouncing up and down on his feet. Last autumn he and Geralt had agreed to meet two days before the spring festivals in Ard Carraigh. Jaskier had arrived here a week early but he couldn't risk his chances of being too late.

He spent the last few days singing a drink, but now it is finally time for Geralt to arrive.

Jaskier nervously drums with his fingers on the stone wall behind him. Geralt wouldn't have forgotten him? Thankfully, before he can fall down a downward spiral of horror scenarios of why Geralt couldn't come, said witcher appears around the corner.

"Geralt!" he yells and runs towards him. Oh how happy Jaskier is to see him. Geralt dismounts before Jaksier can reach him and he catches the bard in his open arms.

"Oh I’ve missed you so much, dear witcher."

Geralt just hums, but Jaskier can see the pleased smile in his lips. Geralt likes to pretend he doesn't care about Jaskier, but he knows better. Next to them, Roach nickers. Laughing, Jaskier turns around.

"And of course I've missed you my darling Roach!"

Jaskier stretches out his hand, fully knowing that she will try biting him before he can even touch her, but to his surprise she lets him pet her on her neck.

Confused he wriggles out of Geralt's arm, missing the sudden sad expression on Geralt's face.

"Roach, did you finally find it in your beastly heart to love me?"

He continues to pet Roach, amazed by her behaviour. She has never allowed this before and he can't get the grin off his face.

Roach nudges him in the chest and nibbles at his clothes.

"Well you are truly changed!" he laughs. "Since when do you care about my clothes?"

She nudges him again and that's when he notices it. Those few grey hairs on the left side of her muzzle are missing.

Jaskier swallows heavily. He has an awful feeling about what this means.

"Did you get a makeover?" he chuckles nervously.

When he looks at Geralt his stomach drops. Geralt looks miserable as he has never seen him before.

"Geralt…this…this isn't my Roach is it?"

Geralt just looks to the ground and doesn't answer. Jaskier knows deep down what Geralt will tell him anyways, but he needs him to say it.

"Please, Geralt, — "

"No."

No.

One single word is enough to break his heart.

Tears spring to his eyes. This can't be happening.

"But…she isn't that old yet. My Roach is still in her prime!"

Geralt takes a deep breath. His voice is irritatingly calm when he speaks.

"She…there was a Griffin, only a few days after we parted and I…I wasn't fast enough."

Jaskier sobs.

He can't breathe anymore. It feels like there is a lump lodged in his throat and nothing can go through.

"Jaskier…" says Geralt, his voice full of concern. He steps closer and lays a hand on his shoulders, and that's what breaks the spell.

Jaskier's tears fall and a sob tears itself from his chest, so forcefully that it hurts his voice. Crying, he throws himself into Geralt's arms.

He doesn't know how long they are standing there while Jaskier sobs his heart out and Geralt tries to talk to him soothingly.

"I'm so sorry, Jask.

"She didn't suffer long.

"I buried her, so she will rest peacefully."

That makes Jaskier stop sobbing for a second and he pulls slightly away.

"Can we -hic- go visit her?"

Geralt smiles at him.

"Of course we can."

Jaskier leans back into Geralt's shoulder and cries some more until he gets nudged in the back.

"Ah, I'm so sorry, where are my manners?" He turns around in Geralt's arms. "I had you confused for an old friend of mine. Geralt, why don't you introduce me to this young lady?"

Geralt snorts a laugh.

"Roach, Jaskier. Jaskier, Roach," he says in his most deadpan voice. "I bought her in a small town a few days away from Kaer Morhen after winter."

Jaskier grabs Geralt’s arms and with a great flourish forces both of them into a bow. Geralt behind him grumbles, but Jaskier ignores that. Roach seems unimpressed.

"My lady, it's a pleasure meeting you. I'm sure we will have many fun adventures together."

Roach leans forward and nibbles on his hair.

"If she doesn't eat you first."

Jaskier nudges Geralt with his elbow, because he can hear the smirk in Geralt's voice. He pets Roach again, just for the novelty of finally being allowed to, but soon he sombers.

"Can we go now?"

"What about the spring festival? You insisted we go together."

"There will be more festivals, but only one time to properly mourn Roach."

Geralt behind him hums and tightens his arms one more time for a hug.

"Let's go then."

It is only a three days walk to the place where Geralt buried Roach and it hurts Jaskier to know that he has been so close to her the entire time.

On the third day Geralt suddenly leads them off the road through the bushes until they reach a little clearing on a hill.

"She’s got an amazing view from here," Jaskier says.

"Hm, that one always loved the pretty landscapes the most."

Jaskier laughs wetly as he remembers all the times Geralt tried to get her to move away from a beautiful scenery.

There is a huge patch of flowers on the ground with a stone next to it. As Jaskier steps closer he can see that somebody has crudely managed to engrave the name Roach into it.

Jaskier thought he had been done crying, but now his tears fall again. Carefully he kneels down next to the flower patch.

"Hello, my love. I miss you terribly, you know? There is no one left to bite me out of nowhere and kick me in the mornings. Do you know how hard it is for Geralt to get me going now?"

Behind him he can hear Geralt snort, but it sounds suspiciously shaky.

"Still, you were a good horse. You always carried Geralt to safety, didn't you? I know how many times he wouldn't have made it back to me without you, so thank you for that."

Geralt kneels down next to him.

"I'm sorry I couldn't do the same for her."

Jaskier turns to Geralt. His face is emotionless but tear streaks betray his grief. Carefully, Jaskier wipes them away.

"I know she isn't mad at you. And neither am I. These things happen. You tell me often enough."

Geralt huffs, a silent sob wrecking his body. Jaskier pulls Geralt into his arms. They sit like that for a long while, both mourning their lost friend.

Jaskier is the first to speak up.

"You remember the time she pushed me into a river?"

"Hm, you came out looking like a drenched cat."

"Unsurprisingly so."

Behind them Roach steps up and nibbles on Jaskier's hair.

"Well that is a habit that didn't need to change. My Roach at least never ate my things or me," he deadpans. "Except for that one doublet…"

Geralt sniffs and sits up straight.

"I hid her favourite snacks in that one."

Jaskier stares in shock at Geralt.

"You did what??? She destroyed my outfit days before a performance!!"

"It was blindingly orange and made you look like a fat bird."

"I had to buy a new outfit!"

"Roach and I liked the new one better."

"Oooohhhh you horrible witcher, just you wait!"

With that Geralt breaks and he bursts out laughing. His laughter is infectious and despite Jaskier wanting to stay angry he follows suit.

Still giggling Geralt eventually pulls them both up and back to the road.

At the edge of the clearing Jaskier stops again and looks back a final time.

The wind is softly rustling through the trees as the sun paints pictures with shadows on the ground. It's peaceful.

Truly a place worthy of Roach, Jaskier thinks.

Quickly he jumps after Geralt.

Before next winter he will bring back a proper headstone.

[inexplicifics]

Hi! I`ve finally created tumblr because of all friends prepearing to leave twitter, so I can finally ask questions too!

Your AWAU, MBTH and other witcher series have been the most comfort things in this fandom to me. I've spent last two month like I`m about to be turned away from this hyperfixation, but finally felt like coming back after reading your latest fics!

M'laiden in daemon setting were amazing, but I felt a bit confused at the ending. Geralt/Eskel are always my favorite, but aren't Geralt and Jaskier also together? With the way everyone kept telling that Jaskier is *his* bard. Because my first idea was about Geralt coming to Kaer Morhen with friendly noisy bard in tow, who might help Milena to settle in the keep's routine as another human.

So, the question is, mostly, what's the stage of their relationship in this AU? Are they still slowly trying to figure things out? Or they know of other's affections and Geralt is just not sure about asking human to spend winter with him in the crumbled old keep? (but now after seeing Milena endure it just fine, might finally consider asking Jaskier to come with him next year?) Do Jaskier and Eskel at least know about each other and how they are both very dear to Geralt? (mostly Jaskier, as he's the one most unknown to us).

I hope we'll see him in your future fics, after you finish others that are already planned *sends tonns of hearts*

I think in the Composing Hallelujah 'verse, Geralt and Jaskier are...queerplatonic besties might be the best term? They love each other dearly, share beds for warmth and comfort, and don't actually fuck at all. Jaskier probably knows Eskel exists and is glad Geralt has him.

That said, Geralt might be willing to bring Jaskier home now that there'll be another human around to keep him company.