#this is the real geralt and people are too afraid to accept it so they shove hcav down our throats

[hanzajesthanza]

graduated from mother university of cuntington with a masters degree of outmothering and slayology and 5 different types of phds for serving

[zodiyack]

Being Married To Henry’s Characters Would Include...

Requested by @cuisinequeen​: Hi, I love your work. I was just wondering if you could do a headcanon for being married to Clark Kent/Geralt/Sherlock Holmes/Napoleon Solo

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader, Geralt of Rivia x Reader, Sherlock Holmes x Reader, Napoleon Solo x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, some references, trashy writing lol

Note: This doesn’t include all of his characters, so my apologies if I misled you with the title. Not all that confident in the HCs so sorry about that too

Taglist: @matth1w​, @redspaceace-writes​, @simonsbluee​, @darling-i-read-it​, @fandom-puff​, @thewarriorprincessxo​, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow​, @maan24​, @beckster07890​, @missihart23​

Masterlist | Henry Cavill Masterlist

Clark Kent

You know he’s superman, therefore, you gotta expect the unexpected

Kiss: Level 100

helping him keep his identity secret isn’t always easy-

you wanna kiss him even when he’s superman but fuck you need him to remain undetected

but you manage

Little hc of the first few months after getting married:

Clark comes home late after a fight you see on tv

you turned it off before anything else happened, too worried already

he’s beat up

your eyes are red and puffy with tear stained cheeks as you stand and cross your arms.

you bet your ass there were cuddles that night.

Later into the marriage, he still scares you like that, but you’ve grown somewhat used to it and wipe the tears away

He’s protective of you too though

Aight sorry, but the gif is making me addicted to Henry kisses so Imma say it again,

best fucking make out sessions ever

yes, I’m gonna say that for all four.

fuck it, Clark!Kisses HCs

they’re soft half the time, needy the other half

if he comes home from superman duties or you have a run-in with a villain, so on so on, his kisses are rougher, needier, more possessive

bitch, he just needs you to know he’s still alive 🥺😢

Henry in glasses really do be hittin tho.

Stealing his glasses

Calling him a nerd because of the glasses

Probably making it a small joke about superman

Especially with oblivious friends

“I think superman’s a nerd.” “why??” “I just do.”

Having to stifle your laughs every time someone gushes about superman in front of him

Clark has to hold you back so you don’t unleash your wrath of fucking doom upon some oblivious woman who wrote about superman in a news article

She wrote things that would make you jealous, like talking about how she’s curious to his personal life *wink wink* and stuff- you don’t just have a raging fury because someone writes about him

Superman this hoe

You’ve made jokes about how he has to take his ring off when he’s superman, but he’s got a feeling that you’re actually not kidding at all

Exercising with Clark

Cursing him out in breathy pants for being more athletic and cheating with his “alien powers”

he just laughs at you

Ah, the difficulty have having a husband with two identities

When you rant about your husband, it’s so hard not to fuck up and say something about being married to Superman

Forgetting that you’re one of the few who knows his identity

Basking in pride because you’re one of the few who knows his identity

One time, Clark forgot to take his ring off and the person he rescued had known him personally.

He asks where he got the ring-

“What ring?”

“The one on your finger. The wedding ring.”

It felt like his stomach dropped...if that makes sense-

Clark ended up making some random story about finding it on the same plane the guy he rescued was on and that he put it on so he wouldn’t lose it.

The guy still thought he was pretty sus, “why was it on your wedding ring finger then?” but let him off after some time

The guy gave it back to Clark in person, but you had no idea what happened,

so when he gave him the ring, you were watching with the most confused look Clark had ever seen

thankfully, he played it off well and informed you later

He forgot to take off his wedding ring? You “secretly” fist bumped the air- ...he totally saw you though

Geralt Of Rivia

I don’t think Geralt really expected to get married

Jaskier didn’t either-

He’s the only one who stands when the priest asks if anyone doesn’t accept... only to ask how the fuck Geralt got lucky enough to get you

Everyone laughed but Geralt, he just grunted and looked away with a lil’ bit o pink tinting his cheeks

You demand he lets you go on adventures with him

You also wash him after adventures

wink wonk ;)))

Geralt is a stubborn thing

You’re a stubborn thing

Y’all love each other

When I say that Geralt is a confusing husband-

I mean that he confuses the fuck out of you

“don’t do that”

“okay”

few minutes later

“I thought you were doing that-”

“You told me not too...?”

“I don’t recall. Do whatever.”

Minutes later.

“What the fuck!?! Don’t do that!”

He’s hard to read and it bugs you

However, it makes a good game out of it

If he ever introduces you as anything but his spouse, you hold a bitter glare while internally plotting

Before you marry, Jaskier hits on you without realizing that Geralt is interested in you

He gulps nervously as soon as it hits him

You might just use that mistake as a way to get back at Geralt for not saying you’re his spouse

Jaskier pleads you not to

like for real

He’s in tears

CuDdLeS!

Congrats, you have a stubborn manbaby for the rest of however long y’all shall live

Kithes

Geralt is a little distant when it comes to admitting his feelings for you at first

When you’re dating, you’re all over each other

Marriage is that but amplified lmao

Braiding his hair

Teasing him not the wink wonk and getting away with it because you’re his spouse

If Jaskier said anything remotely close to the shit you’ve said, Geralt would probably choke him out

But then resuscitate him cause they’re bros

Seeing the softer side of Geralt

Sure, sex, but getting to know each others bodies? Yes.

Soft!Sleepy!Geralt

His deep n husky morning voice telling you to “get your ass back in bed”

Having the excuse of “because I’m his spouse” anytime you do stuff people are too afraid to do

Jealous bb 1 and jealous bb 2 aka Geralt and Y/n

I think Geralt’s the kind of guy to just pick you up, ignore your flailing limbs, and move you out of the way

He takes shit from no one...well, from you SOMETIMES

Gives in to your requests with a sigh and roll of his eyes most of the time

He was protective of you at first

now he’s PrOtEcTiVe so uh

Basically, number one husband, number two bodyguard

you put yourself first for the bodyguard part, but Geralt doesn’t know that

Sherlock Holmes

He asks your family for their blessing, then asks you-

I can imagine Mycroft just ranting away and Sherlock drops to his knee

“What are you doing?”

He ignores his brother and proposes to you

Mycroft is confused and upset because he wanted to rant about meaningless things and Sherlock decided to change the topic

rude

Being married means constant visits from Enola

Probably being the “second parents” to Enola

Gossip with Enola and Eudoria about Sherlock and him as a kiddo

Kicking Sherlock out of the house for sleepovers with his sister

bet

Helping Sherlock with cases

Dealing with Sherlock telling you it isn’t safe

still being upset when he’s right you know it

Finding Enola and Eudoria with him

Snapping at Mycroft for how he treats the girl and everyone else

Threatening Mycroft by just being a badass bitch and telling him to fuck off every now and then

Long story short, you make Enola laugh and Mycroft scoff as he walks away

He’s a stubborn bean, which now that I think about it- aren’t all Henry’s characters?

While he doesn’t say it much, he loves you

You get paranoid with this character too, as he does work that can be very dangerous as well

When he returns, he doesn’t say much aside from that he’s there now and that he loves you

cuddles with him whispering softly,

“I’m here now.” “I’m safe.” “I’m okay.” “I love you.”

Kisses in public either be quick pecks or minute long for goodbyes, but greetings-

especially after being apart for a while?

HC TIME

He comes home on the train and you’re at the station with his siblings

As soon as he spots you, he sets his stuff down because you’re already running at him

You jump into his arms and kiss him hard, not caring in the slightest about the other people at the station

It makes you smile every time he introduces you as his spouse

You’ve heard it so many times yet it still makes your heart flutter every single time

Napoleon Solo

The amount of times you’ve just dropped everything and walked away because he was being ‘too serious”-

You say something, he takes it seriously, you groan and stomp away

But then you know you can do the same back to him

Napoleon is an all around awesome husband but he’s not going to just pretend to agree with stuff

Will correct you no matter how embarrassed you get 

Makes up with kisses or stuff idk

Let me be honest, I don’t know much about writing for Napoleon but he is an icon...sometimes

He’s protective

by that I mean he’s stubborn but really it’s his way of keeping you safe

Would probably lock you in your room even though you’re a, a grown ass adult, and b, his spouse for fuck’s sake?!??!

Doesn’t tell you when something’s bothering him unless he feels the need to

“I’m not a fucking mind-reader, Solo!”

“Neither am I but I still manage-”

He doesn’t mean to make you feel bad, he just- emotions and him aren’t the best of friends

Emotions aren’t exactly friends with most of his characters

He’d much rather just speak with actions than admit anything

Sometimes you worry that he’s just fucking with you

When he proposed, it scared the shit out of you ‘cause you thought it was a joke

Never admits to anything willingly...?

Yeah sorry...Idk, that’s all I got :\

[eskelstits]

Okay okay so hear me out:

Jaskier has been acting odd lately, though the bard was either too shy or too stubborn to acknowledge it. At the very least, he was stubborn fool for thinking Geralt, of all people, wouldn’t take notice. Jaskier had suddenly become adamant about more generous rations for his Witcher, started to insist on larger dinners at taverns, and was always quick to suggest another round of food and drink— only to insist that Geralt finish it. The witcher pretended not to notice the way Jaskier watched intently while he ate and hid his wry amusement when the bard hurriedly looked away upon being caught. Geralt had so far played along with these antics in feigned ignorance, admittedly feeling a small thrill as his body started to bulk and strain against his armor. And now that he was paying closer attention, he found himself fond of just how delicate his bard looked by comparison. Armed with his suspicions of what Jaskier is up to, Geralt decides to satisfy his curiosity by embracing the bard’s antics and seeing just how much he can him squirm.

I was thinking some stuffing and size kink ~ with increasingly daring taunts thrown from both sides of the table bc let’s be real neither of the boys would give in easily.

THANK YOU i definitely had fun with this prompt

[ masterpost - ao3 ]

"Are you ill?" Geralt asked the question hunched over the plate of eggs and bacon he was enjoying for his breakfast.

More accurately, Jaskier's breakfast. Geralt had already finished his own serving, but then Jaskier had deftly stacked his own half-full plate on top of Geralt's empty one. To be fair, as it turned out, that particular tavern did tend to dish out surprisingly hearty portions, and Geralt had to remind himself that Jaskier was not a witcher, and therefore did not have the appetite of one. It was not the only occasion on which Jaskier had passed off a good fraction of his food to Geralt, however.

In fact, it seemed to be happening more and more frequently lately. He would demand seconds, larger portions, extra bread or more ale, only to immediately claim that he was full and offer it up to Geralt. After a tough life of fighting for survival, Geralt was a rather opportunistic eater, and so he always took advantage of Jaskier's leftovers. It was … strange, but Geralt could not say he exactly minded it. He did like going to bed warm and satiated rather than starving, tossing and turning and kept awake by his growling stomach. The only thing that really puzzled Geralt was the staring. Jaskier would look at him like Geralt was the most fascinating thing on the Continent whenever they sat down together to eat, but as Geralt had recently discovered, Jaskier would always quickly look away the moment Geralt met his eye.

Jaskier gaped and sputtered for a moment, eyes wide and hand settled over his chest as though Geralt had just viciously insulted him.

"Ill? Geralt, you wound me. I will have you know that I'm positively glowing with good health," Jaskier huffed.

Geralt grunted. Eyes narrowed, he examined Jaskier for just a brief moment longer, then bowed his head again to continue eating. Out of the edge of his vision, he could see Jaskier watching him.

Geralt had been willing to ignore the odd behavior up until his trousers started feeling tight. He still was not quite upset. It was not an overly drastic change, just a slight layer of padding over top of his muscles, making him look more like he did after he had been settled for a while over the winters he spent at Kaer Morhen, but there was a definite difference. Jaskier seemed to be noticing, too. Though he had not said anything about it, he still stared, and whenever he and Geralt fell into bed together, the bard's hands smoothed all over him, wordlessly worshiping Geralt's fuller frame.

Geralt enjoyed it, too. He had always been broader than Jaskier, but putting on a bit of weight had only highlighted that contrast. The day before, Geralt had caught a glimpse of his reflection looming behind Jaskier's in the mirror as the bard stood there checking over his own outfit for the evening's performance, and he had looked almost … delicate in comparison to Geralt. The sight had ignited something deep and primal and exciting in his core, and he wanted to chase that thrill.

No, he was far from upset. He was curious, though. While he had pieced together what was happening, there was still one more question: Was Jaskier doing it on purpose? Geralt supposed he could simply ask, but the thought of setting himself up for vulnerability like that was horrific. He had to find some other way to weasel out the truth. He had to beat Jaskier at his own game.

"Do I look different to you?" Geralt dared to ask that evening while they waited for the barmaid to come back with their dinner order. Jaskier looked anxious for just a brief second, but then he relaxed again and hummed inquisitively as he scanned Geralt's face.

"Is that a new doublet? Oh! Have you trimmed your beard?" Jaskier said.

Geralt hummed. By trade, Jaskier was a performer, but Geralt knew him well enough to be able to tell when he was lying -- or 'acting,' as Jaskier often corrected him. Two could play that game. Feigning ignorance, Geralt nodded and falsely agreed that he had gone to a barber, and he watched Jaskier decompress with relief. When the barmaid returned and set a full plate down in front of each of them, Geralt cleared his throat to get her attention.

"I want another," he said, pointing to his own plate.

"Ah … Another leg of chicken?" The barmaid looked a bit confused, like she was hesitant to believe that Geralt had been referring to the entire meal.

"No. Another plate," Geralt insisted. A brief pause, and he tacked on, "Please."

The barmaid blinked, but she chose not to argue. Rather, she nodded and scurried back to the kitchen. When Geralt looked back towards Jaskier, the bard was staring. Again.

"... Hungry, are you?" Jaskier questioned.

"Very."

Geralt held Jaskier's gaze for a moment longer and watched as just a hint of color began creeping over the bard's cheeks. Without another word, Geralt began to eat. He tore into the half chicken and the hearty portion of roast vegetables he had in front of him, and each time he glanced up, he found Jaskier trying and ultimately failing to be subtle about the fact that he was watching Geralt like a hawk. Geralt thought that he would have wanted to shy away before he managed to get his questions answered, but that was not the case. In reality, he actually liked the attention, those enraptured eyes fixed on him making him feel alight with a strange mixture of pleasure and shame. The barmaid came back with the rest of the food Geralt had requested, and she set it down quickly almost as though afraid of getting bitten if she ventured too close. Geralt grunted his thanks around a full mouth. Jaskier had been uncharacteristically silent the entire time, all the way up until Geralt finally broke for air and a drink of ale.

“Are you … sure you’re going to be able to finish all of that?” Jaskier sounded both tentative and almost laughably eager.

“Yes,” Geralt answered.

He met Jaskier’s eye again, his gaze dark and smoldering. The bard’s throat bobbed enticingly when he swallowed, and Geralt only barely held back a smirk. Whether or not Jaskier had been feeding Geralt up on purpose, it was obvious that he enjoyed the show, and it was always fun for Geralt to try and get him flustered.

“Ah, yes, well … I suppose you have had quite a healthy appetite lately,” Jaskier said. He spoke hesitantly, testing his luck. Geralt pushed right back.

“Someone has to eat all your leftovers.”

“Mm, yes. You are rather good for that.”

Geralt made it about halfway through his second plate before Jaskier was getting restless again. The bard still had some food remaining on his own plate, and judging from the way he kept glancing between it and Geralt and tapping his fingers anxiously against the table, he was hoping to see the witcher finish it off for him.

“Going to eat that?” Geralt spoke around a mouthful of chicken.

He had inched past satisfied a few bites ago, but he could keep going comfortably enough, and he so desperately wanted to see how Jaskier was going to react to his more deliberate goading. Geralt watched while Jaskier blushed and tried his best to act as though he had not been hoping to hear that exact question. It had been painfully obvious. Their many years together had given Geralt the ability to be able to read Jaskier like an open book. Sometimes, it was useful, likely saving Jaskier from some fights when Geralt was able to pick up on the body language that meant foolish determination or rising anger, but other times, like in that moment, it was simply amusing.

“Come now, love, you can’t possibly still be hungry,” Jaskier teased. Somewhat unexpectedly, it sent a jolt down Geralt’s spine. The witcher made a noise somewhat like a little growl, and his pupils widened. Jaskier did a much poorer job of veiling his own smirk. Perfect. Geralt was baiting him, and he was falling for it so easily. “I know you’ve been eating a great deal lately, but honestly … you’re getting greedy.”

Geralt’s heart fluttered nearly as quickly as a human’s as Jaskier scraped the rest of his food onto Geralt’s plate. By then, Jaskier seemed to have accepted that it was useless to hide his interest. He sat with his elbows braced against the table and his jaw cradled in his palms, alluring blue eyes fixed unwaveringly on Geralt. Near the end of his meal, Geralt was at last starting to struggle, the fact that his armor clung to him a bit more than he would have preferred only keeping it pinned in the forefront of his mind just how full he was. Jaskier’s reddened cheeks had only grown more vivid, the color even dusting the tips of his ears. Geralt rarely saw the bard so silent, so unwaveringly focused, usually only when he was in the middle of a fit of intense writing inspiration, and while Geralt felt scrutinized, he was actually enjoying it. Feeling bold, he grunted around his last mouthful and then reclined back in his chair, hoping to give Jaskier a glimpse of his distended belly where it strained against his clothes. Judging from the look on the bard’s face, it had worked.

“Are you finally satisfied, then?” Jaskier asked, and something about his tone of voice had something hot and exciting churning in the pit of Geralt’s stomach. He sounded almost condescending, but in the most deliciously arousing way possible.

“Mhm.” It was little more than a grunt.

Jaskier evidently had very little regard for how sluggish Geralt was looking. Lithe fingers curled around Geralt’s wrist and tugged insistently, and although Geralt easily could have kept himself planted in place if he had truly wanted to, he allowed Jaskier to haul him up onto his feet and lead him upstairs. Such a short trip normally would never have affected him, but with a full stomach weighing him down, Geralt found himself panting softly by the time he and Jaskier had reached their room. Distracted by the unfamiliar feeling of his trousers digging into his skin so tightly that it was almost painful, Geralt had little time to react before he was suddenly backed up against the closed door and drawn into a heated kiss.

“Jask --” Geralt breathed, cut off abruptly by yet another kiss.

Clearly, he had guessed right. Jaskier did enjoy that display, even more than Geralt had been anticipating. Soon, Geralt gave up on speaking, and he yielded to the kiss, lips parting for a teasing swipe of Jaskier’s tongue through his mouth. There was a pleasant warmth against Geralt’s middle that he soon recognized as Jaskier’s hands, kneading gently through stiff leather.

“Look at you,” Jaskier murmured. Geralt bit back a dry remark about how it was difficult to do that with the bard plastered up against him. “You’re getting so big.”

A thrill ran through Geralt at that. He curled his hands around Jaskier’s slender hips and squeezed, drawing him in closer, and Jaskier gasped against his lips. In truth, Geralt did not look too terribly different than he usually did, but there had been a little tone of hopefulness in Jaskier’s voice, a subtle but unmistakable hint that he wanted more. The next few seconds seemed to blur together, but somehow, Geralt had ended up spread out on the bed, staring up into Jaskier’s darkened eyes where he had perched himself on Geralt’s hips. Jaskier’s usually agile fingers trembled with anticipation as he worked Geralt out of his armor, putting him on blatant display. Where he had once been all sharp angles and overly defined muscles, he had accumulated a small layer of padding, and most noticeable of all at the moment was the rounded curve of his belly, warm and full and demanding Jaskier’s complete attention. His hands smoothed over it, rubbing and exploring, interspersed with little appreciative pats and scratches.

“Knew you were doing it on purpose,” Geralt said. Much to his amusement, Jaskier actually looked shocked. “Weren’t very subtle about it.”

“Yes, well --” Jaskier paused, seeming to be struggling to decide on what to say. Eventually, he just huffed, then decided to deflect and taunted, “Are you sure you aren’t just a glutton?”

Geralt smirked. Without any warning, he rolled over, pinning Jaskier beneath him. He heard Jaskier’s pulse flutter. A heated fantasy sped through Geralt’s mind, thoughts of how easily he could subdue Jaskier, how much stronger and bigger Geralt was, how much deep trust it took for Jaskier to lay himself out so vulnerable for a witcher, a predator. Jaskier’s arms snaked around him, and his hands splayed out over Geralt’s shoulder blades. Geralt laid heavier against him and growled in his ear just to feel Jaskier squirm. Jaskier would be unable to get away even if he wanted to with Geralt’s full weight holding him down. Oddly, that was a deeply pleasurable thought, and Geralt had very quickly decided that he would take no issue with it if Jaskier wanted to keep feeding him, making him broader and heavier still, only further exaggerating that contrast between the two of them. If the way Geralt could feel Jaskier’s hardening cock digging into his thigh was any indication, they were in agreement on that.

“Going to get me something good for breakfast tomorrow?” Geralt purred into Jaskier’s ear.

Jaskier groaned, hooked his legs around Geralt’s waist to grind their hips together, and moved one hand to tangle into the witcher’s hair. His opposite hand snuck downwards, and he pinched at the slight, growing plushness at Geralt’s hip.

“Certainly. You’re just wasting away.”

Geralt’s mouth was far too busy then for any proper response.

[dapandapod]

Jaskier needs a hug

Honestly, @the-glorious-half-pints-twin, this started out as your prompt and morphed into something else. Im intending to write your prompt more properly because it’s super cute ang got Soft Potential that I crave.

But this is not what brain did today, so this is looooooosely based on your prompt, with another on it’s way. 

In the mean time, please have goofy random cuddles with a Dramatic Jaskier and Geralt with.. kind of a sense of humor?

Anyway, please enjoy!   On Aoe here!

                                                      ~~*~~ 

It’s been weeks. Months. Years.

Yes, Jaskier is dramatic, what do you want?! Point is, Jaskier needs a hug. Just a hug. Arms around him, or his arms around somewhere else. He isn’t fuzzy, but frankly, there isn’t too much to hug around these parts. 

All the good ladies are taken (it’s not much of a problem but Geralt uses that unhappy frown on him for days if he goes for it), most of the men lack most of their teeth (not really required for hugging, but that is usually not their only problem) and in general, most people he met wanted hugs to go somewhere behind closed doors.

Not that Jaskier minds, but he really, really just wants a hug.

What’s left in options is various monsters, trees, Roach and that one Witcher that accompanies her. Yes, he is talking about Geralt, keep up. 

Monsters, depending on the kind, would probably give him a great hug. Only once though, because he would likely die from it. To be honest, the trees weren't so bad. The trick is to choose correctly, and when Geralt comes looking for him he claims he is lost. It worked twice, after that Geralt tied a rope around his middle to keep him from straying. If he tries to hug Roach he will meet one out of two outcomes. If not both.

Roach will bite him. Or Geralt will bite him. 

And that likely applies if Jaskier actually would work up the nerve to actually try to hug that giant frown of a man.

So yes, Jaskier is grumpy, Jaskier is dramatic, and Jaskier wallows in these two moods and expresses it like an artform. Drapes it around his being like a fashionable cape. Swirls it around himself as he turns, dazzling all around him with grump and drama.

He really doesn’t expect Geralt to pick up the root of the problem. That might not even be what is going in, but three days into moping (because let’s be honest, that’s what this is) Geralt tires of the entire thing.

They are watering Roach just a little way off the main road. Jaskier is sighing loudly, kicking at the leaves and high grass and anything that happens to stick up.

He still has the rope around the middle, courtesy of his latest try to hug a tree, and suddenly there is a tug.

“Stop.”

Tug.

“Quit it.”

Tug tug.

“Fucking… What?? Geralt??” Jaskier turns around, all flare, to give Geralt a taste of that glare he may or may not try to be copying from said witcher.

There is this really tacky dance move Jaskier has seen at very very late night festivals. When one person refuse to dance, and the other pretends to pull at a rope to bring them to the dancefloor.

Picture this, but nobody is dancing and there is actually a rope.

Geralt is pulling Jaskier closer, looking all serious and stone faced and how else you wish to describe that dumb dumb face of his.

“What are you- Why?! What are you doing?” Jaskier doesn’t struggle, but he doesn’t really cooperate either. Just like that dance move he ends up being dragged over to Geralt.

They stand only an arms width away from each other, Roach moved from the creek to graze at the grass, ignoring them completely.

Jaskiers pulse speeds up. Last time Geralt asked him to come closer and Jaskier blindly complied, he earned himself a punch in the gut. On the other hand, this time Geralt physically pulled him closer.

Should he...possibly.. maybe try to hug Geralt?

Before he gets the chance to try, Geralt grabs his shoulders with both hands and looks at him gravely.

“Jaskier.”

“Yes?”

“You stink.”

And toss him straight into the creek.

It’s not very deep, but it’s enough to completely soak him as he falls face first. He swallows one big mouthful of muddy water, he spits and coughs with loud protests and moaning.

“THIS IS SUPPOSED TO MAKE ME SMELL BETTER?! ARE YOU DAFT?!” 

He rises from the creek like a water hag, water dripping from all of his expensive clothes. He marches straight up to Geralt, heart set on revenge.

Yeah, Geralt weighs a ton. Have you seen the guy? He is huge, and even if he isn’t traveling in his armor it is impossible to get a good grip. Geralt is entirely too good at steering off attacks.

Fine.

Jaskier doesn’t fear death.

So he marches straight back into that creek.

Falls into it, hugs it if you will, and turns around again all soaking wet.

Take aim.

Launch.

And throws himself at Geralt. Not in the intent of trying to push Geralt in the water, but with the intent to bring as much water on Geralt as he can. Like a sponge.

Either Geralt did not anticipate this course of action, or he accepted it. Kind of.

There is some slapping and flailing but then Jaskier presses himself against Geralt's side, wrapping his arms around his chest and clenching that stupid (and STINKY, Geralt! Take a bath!!) tunic and soaking it as best he can.

“Hah!” Jaskier is so pleased with himself, he throws a leg around Geralt and dries himself off like a dog on grass, rubbing his hair and face against Geralt's shoulder.

So it takes him a moment to realize that Geralt is laughing.

He stops, looks up in wonder. No, not looking, staring. Geralt is laughing, throwing his head back that gives him that adorable little double chin. 

Jaskier doesn’t let go.

Of course not. This is way better than hugging a tree. 

“Done moping now? Idiot.” Geralt puts a hand on his forehead and shoves him off. Jaskier is too busy staring at that smile to struggle. There are wet patches on his tunic so Geralt takes it off in a smooth motion.

“What do you say, we make camp here for today? Wash our clothes and clean up? I'm sure they will put away the pitchforks in the village if we don’t announce ourselves by smelling. ...Uh. Earth to Jaskier? Hellooo?” 

Jaskier is not done staring. Smiles and bare chest will do that to a man. But he closes his mouth at least, so that is an improvement.

It takes a few minutes to get his brain functions back.

During that time Geralt takes off Roaches gear and she goes a bit further away to find more tasty things to eat.

They actually get around to bathe and clean their clothes. They bask in the warm sun, laying in the grass and just enjoy the nature around them and each other's company.

Jaskier seeking revenge probably doesn’t count as a hug, but he will take it. It feels a bit better and he is ready to hang the Cloak of Dramatics on the rack for a while and just enjoy the moment.

But again, Geralt surprises him.

As they prepare for settle in for the night, rolling out their bedrolls (with a respectable distance, thank you very much) Geralt sits against a tree and leans back.

Again, Geralt tugs him closer. This time by the tunic that he got to borrow, pulling him straight down between Geralt's knees and capturing him in a bear hug. 

Two hugs. In one day.

“Uh… Geralt?”

Jaskier doesn’t dare to move, not daring to wrap his arms around the witcher. They are chest to chest, Geralt holding him in an iron grip.

“Yes?” Geralt mutters, holding him just a little closer.

“Are you.. Why are you hugging me?”

It feels like his chest is swelling three sizes, a tingling sensation spreading through his limbs, closely followed by a warmth. 

“I'm not.”

It’s Jaskiers time to chuckle.

“Oh really?”

“Mmhm.”

Geralts offers up absolutely nothing, but Jaskier now dares to let his arms circle around Geralt's shoulder with a soft sigh. Not the restless, dramatic and grumpy kind that he did before, but a content exhale. 

“I really needed this.” Jaskier admits to Geralt's shoulder There is no way he is telling Geralt, he has been behaving really badly today.

“No shit. I absolutely didn’t notice you hugging everything in your immediate vicinity.” Geralt drawls sarcastically. 

Geralt's warm, callused hand finds its way under Jaskiers tunic. Little electric sparks climbing up his spine and he buries his head in Geralt's neck.

Up until this very point, this could very much be something one friend does for another.

Still could be.

But also not.

And if there is one thing Jaskier wouldn’t mind, it’s that. 

Only, he is afraid it will go away if he points it out. 

Jaskier has seen it one too many times before.

And Geralt is the one person he does not wish to lose. His heart is beating hard, with every breath he takes in the (now much better) smell of his friend, breathing him in deep.

“Are you sniffing me?” Shit.

“No.” Jaskier says and yelps when Geralt pinches his side.

“Fine, fucking… yes. So what. You smell good.”

Geralt falls weirdly quiet and Jaskier has time to have a small internat panic attack and prepare to be shoved away.

“You can sniff me if you want.” Geralt says quietly.

They are stock still in each other's arms. It’s an odd thing to do, an odd thing to say. Jaskier finally caves and pushes his face a little deeper in the crook of Geralt's neck.

Geralt's hands climb higher over Jaskiers' back, and he leans his head against Jaskiers.

“You smell good too.” Jaskier almost dies. “Well. Now you do. Before the bath, not so much.”

“Fuck you.” Jaskier chuckles.

“Nah. Would be real awkward in the morning.” Geralt says, and again they both freeze. Yeah, this is one weird night.

They don’t say anything more after this. Just sits there under the tree, listening to the evening birds and Roachs munching in the distance. 

And if they pulled their bedrolls closer together, and slept with their legs tangled, and woke up too warm curled together, that is just what friends do for each other when you feel lonely.

Probably not.

But that is not a conversation they are ready to have.

For now, there are only hugs.

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

and down they fell

(another lovely prompt fill for the magnificent @ciaimpala) 

“Keep your filthy hands off of him!” Jaskier screamed, flailing wildly in the arms of a Cintran soldier. “Let him go, damn it! I’m the one that started the damn fight! Take me instead!”

“We can’t just let him go you loudmouthed brat,” another soldier spat. “He’s a wanted criminal. We’d arrest you, too, but your father seems to be on good terms with the Duke.”

“Then do me and my father a favor and release Geralt immediately!” Jaskier argued. The man shook his head, the feather atop his helmet bobbing slightly with the motion. 

“Listen kid, you and the rest of the Kaer Morhen’s crew are allowed to leave whenever you like, so I’d probably fuck off out of port and start voting on who takes over as captain. The White Wolf is going to hang for his crimes against the Cintran and Skelligan Navies. End of discussion.”

The tall man holding Jaskier tossed him towards the otherwise silent crew. Eskel caught and steadied the pirate/bard. He could feel the young man’s shoulders trembling; probably a combination of terror and rage. The first mate opened his mouth before Jaskier could yell at the guardsmen again and get them all into trouble, “We’ll be leaving, then.”

“Wha-”

“He’s the first mate, Jas,” Geralt agreed calmly. “Listen to him.”

Jaskier’s head whipped back towards the Captain, whose hands were being manacled together behind his back. The white-haired pirate kept his shoulders back and his spine straight even as he was fettered. He didn’t want to let his little siren know just how scared he really was. If they didn’t come up with a plan in time, or if they decided not to make a rescue attempt at all, he would hang in the morning. He knew that much.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, tone firm. It was a promise. A declaration. Two much-adored syllables that encompassed the entirety of Jaskier’s world within them. 

“Jaskier.”

The soldiers turned away, his darling White Wolf secured between them, and made their way towards the prison. 

---

The Captain’s three closest friends could hear Jaskier’s wailing from their place in the galley, where they were planning his rescue. “Do you think we could get the lad to stop crying long enough to charm someone with that Voice of his?” Lambert asked.

“Maybe?” Eskel shrugged. “But I’d rather not test it out with the Captain in such immediate danger.”

“He’s going to upset the crew if he keeps caterwauling like this.”

“The crew is already upset!” Starkey huffed. “We should ask him to help us, though. Jaskier has gotten us out of more scrapes than I can count. Literally. I can’t count that high, my education was very limited.”

“You’re right,” Lambert sighed. Somehow he had become the little minx’s best friend aboard the Kaer Morhen. Maybe it was their equally sharp wit. Maybe it was their mutual love of teasing Geralt. Who knew? Not them. 

“Jask?” Lambert called, knocking on the cabin door. “We’re going to save him but we’d really like your help. You’re the one who’s good with people.”

Jaskier opened the door and Lambert was surprised to see that his face was dry and his eyes were clear. The sounds coming from the cabin couldn’t have been crying, then, so what had he been doing? The blue of Jaskier’s irises shone dangerously beneath the light of a dim lantern and a sense of icy, foreboding fear crawled down Lambert’s spine. Why do I feel so afraid of being alone with him all of a sudden? It’s just Jaskier. What’s making me act like a child frightened of shadows beneath the bed? 

As if sensing his discomfort, Jaskier flicked his hair out of his face and smiled confidently, “Firstly, I’m going to need a distraction.”

“Oh, you already have a plan. Why am I not surprised?”

“Because you know me.” The ex-noble strode past Lambert and towards the stairs to the galley, waving him along behind like a forgetful puppy. “Those sounds I was making weren’t cries of sadness, my dear. They were battle cries. Come along, Lamby, we don’t have all fucking week.”

The second mate followed him down, eyes wide with a mixture of shock and acceptance. Cintra had better be prepared. No army in the world could be as dangerous as Jaskier when the Captain is in trouble. 

---

Jaskier yanked the hangman’s black hood from his head and screamed. How the young man had managed to break in, incapacitate the real hangman, and sneak onto the gallows platform was a mystery to everyone except the ex-noble himself (and he never did tell them the whole story). 

Regardless of how he’d managed to get there, he was rescuing Geralt as promised.

The White Wolf’s mouth hung open in shock, his recently freed hands held firmly over his ears, as Jaskier released his pent up rage onto the crowd below. The sound was loud and full of fury. The siren’s shriek seemed never-ending, ringing out over the heads of the people that had gathered to watch his darling Geralt hang. Every passing second provided a fresh supply of wrath to fuel Jaskier’s Voice. These fools, these absolute bastards had come all this way to watch his darling Captain be murdered for injuring some noble pride (and perhaps maybe also stealing). 

There was a wagon full of hay waiting beneath the door where Geralt stood. Eskel’s hands were tight on the reins of two strong horses, who would shortly be pulling them all towards the docks in a mad-dash for freedom. Jaskier knew the plan would go off without a hitch. As soon as he stopped his singing he would release the trapdoor and send them down into the wagon. Eskel would steer them to the lifeboat hidden in the cove. He and Lambert would row the smaller vessel back to the Kaer Morhen, which would take them out to sea just as low tide hit the main shore and stranded the quicker navy vessels. 

He’d planned this excellently.

His Voice was growing tired from subduing so many people at once. 

As soon as he ran out of air, Jaskier wrapped one arm around Geralt’s waist and reached for the trapdoor’s release lever with the other. He looked the pirate straight in the eyes and said with great certainty: “I’m yours, you know, and I’ll love you still in hell.”

And down they fell.

[gayregis]

Honestly if you just wanted to revisit your thoughts on Eternal Flame and its homiesexual text/subtext, I would be delighted. I love that short story and I love hearing your thoughts on the stories aodnsjsjabsjx

fghjkl i just think it was a story very centered on geralt and dandelion’s friendship and it did so in a manner which exceeded the sort of generally accepted norms of “friendship” and went into “being gay for your best friend”

i mean the story literally begins by them both being dumped by their girlfriends, but not too upset about their relationship drama because they have each other for company now. they plan to spend the day and night together, and throughout the story they have the general geralt and dandelion friendship interactions - trying to get some food and drink, joking around, dandelion being overly dramatic or preoccupied with sex and geralt being mopey and unamused. when things go wrong and there is conflict in the story, they of course still are spending the day together and thinking of a way to deal with the problem. overall, the story is a look into day-to-day life of when geralt and dandelion run into each other and hang out.

another thing of note is how dandelion hypes geralt up during when they meet tellico-in-biberveldt’s-form, calling him the terror of strigas and werewolves and all, which is a nice and awarding description for a man whose job it was to kill some shit in a sewer last chapter. of course, it’s dandelion (overdramatic and flowery with language), and they’re close friends, so of course he is going to describe geralt as thus, but it’s a reminder of how positively dandelion views geralt and how he both doesn’t see him as repugnant for being a witcher (as is the case with many geralt encounters) and isn’t ashamed to have a witcher as his best friend (as would be the case with many others, who treat witchers like bad omens), and also since it’s dandelion, it’s telling that he doesn’t let his own arrogance get in the way of lauding his friend with his proud titles and descriptions. although dandelion is self-loving, he is not so overwhelmingly so that he would ever refuse to acknowledge or downplay geralt’s presence.

another thing is how, when geralt, dandelion, and biberveldt are visited by chapelle and the men of the eternal fire, dandelion begs geralt to not start a fight with them because it will end in disaster, and geralt refuses to promise him that, and when chapelle speaks to him, he is internally very aggressive and alert, very displeased. of course, he is geralt, he doesn’t love authority and he dislikes the eternal flame for their persecution of nonhumans... but the aggression he feels towards chapelle reminds me of the aggression he felt towards toruviel in edge of the world when she broke dandelion’s lute, or in season of storms when dandelion has a knife to his throat, it’s only when dandelion is afraid or hurt that geralt really gets aggressive.

but the climax of the story is geralt literally being inable to enact violence towards tellico for the compounded reasons of “i value innocent life too much” and “the embodiment of this value of life is my best friend” ... 

the fact that geralt is pretty aggressive still towards tellico when he turns into him, but once tellico turns into dandelion geralt just... stops fighting and completely rules out any physical harm from the equation. he practically “gives up” the fight, it’s like tellico changing into dandelion was all geralt needed in order to be persuaded, because it’s the only form that he would listen to. after tellico switches forms to that of dandelion, geralt listens to him, and he also is not described as making any sudden movements, he doesn’t think as if he’s in a fight anymore, the narration is not that of a “fight scene” - something i recognize from when geralt is in a fight is that the prose switches to a certain point of view of his where his actions and options are narrated (e.g., in a grain of truth when he fights vereena, the sword of destiny where he fights the dryad scalpers). he instead hears tellico’s every word out, and “reluctantly nods,” and “says nothing.” he’s practically frozen compared to what he was prepared for just a moment ago when tellico took his form, when he threatened to carry him out of the city in a handcart.

and what makes it even more suggestive is that this wasn’t a random guess from tellico that “maybe if i take dandelion’s form he’ll lay off because they’re friends!” ... no, this was strategy that he came up with from literally taking geralt’s form and reading his mind - “i took over your thoughts, only briefly, but it was sufficient, do you know what i’m going to do now?” - tellico, after being in geralt’s form, immediately makes the decision to change forms into that of dandelion, because he knew geralt’s mind while he was in his form. that means that tellico read geralt’s thoughts only briefly but from this inside view of geralt’s mind, knowing what his greatest fears, loves, dreams, hopes, passions, regrets, etc. are... he thought it would save his life to change into dandelion, because he knew from geralt’s mind that geralt would listen to him in that form.

additionally, after this occurs, geralt... doesn’t tell dandelion in the falling action of the story. he had the chance to, when dandelion drew near, he might have smirked and said something like “don’t look too closely at his boots” (tellico-in-dandelion’s-form’s cordovan boots were sticking out of the carpet that geralt rolled him up in, so dandelion could have recognized them if he paid attention, since he seems to be so caring about his footwear as in the beginning chapter)... this raises the question why geralt wouldn’t tell him about what happened, why he wouldn’t communicate to dandelion about this, maybe warning him that tellico could change into him in an effort to evoke sympathy, or to break it to dandelion that his famous persona had been stolen for a little while. dandelion literally jokes and asks geralt why vespula was so surprised to see him, asking what was wrong with her (vespula was frightened because she smacked tellico-in-dandelion’s-form with the copper pan, but then saw dandelion coming down the road... double vision). geralt could have easily explained to him then, he had the perfect opportunity to say, “oh, dudu changed into your form and so vespula was scared for she saw two of you, [insert biting sarcastic comment here about how one dandelion is certainly enough, and how he would be scared seeing two of dandelion as well].” ... but geralt doesn’t tell him, and that makes me think that tellico taking dandelion’s form was a moment of emotional vulnerability for him, something that geralt doesn’t want to share or joke about, something that was uncomfortable for him. that makes me ask the question how geralt emotionally took that confrontation in the alleyway, what he felt about his own actions (or rather, inaction), and why he might be reluctant to share about that.

i think there is also this tension of the myth of the doppler being about the physical world, changes to a physical form, a form which is tangible and real. it’s not only that tellico evoked the image of dandelion, but that he was him - and the narration from geralt’s point of view seems to... lurk on a lot of not only physical characteristics that he noticed, but mannerisms and behavior that he knew instinctively as being those of dandelion. he describes his curly hair, his smile, his laugh ... the focus on physicality, body, face, and how one exists in the physical world, intimate details like those described just seem very out of place for someone who you’d only consider a best friend, a platonic relationship. one could argue that this is just standard narration for describing the changing of a form for a doppler, but the same style of narration was not given when dudu changed into biberveldt, or when he changed into geralt. additionally, things like smile, laugh, song, and style of flirting are very close and positive details, and other more “neutral” aspects like height and weight and clothes could have been described instead. this suggests that the most striking elements about dandelion to geralt are his curly hair, his insolent smile, his rippling laugh, his blue eyes, his song, and his flirting ... which are ... intimate to say the least

and of course the story ends with them going to a brothel! which continues these themes (two themes which dandelion always invites) of the comedic and the physical. what’s also striking to me is that at the very end of the story, dandelion asks geralt if he’s coming along or what, and geralt smiles to him and says he will join him with pleasure. geralt smiling is honestly a rare event (though it does happen, in dandelion’s character debut in the voice of reason he smiles at him), so i think it’s something to pay attention to. additionally, the line translated in the UK edition is “right, very satisfactory. geralt, are you coming?” and “i’ll come with pleasure,” which focuses on the words ‘satisfactory’ and ‘pleasure’ which are also words i wouldn’t relegate to being solely platonic.

additionally, this might be a bad take but i’m going to say it anyways because i’m gay so i can say what i want regarding lgbt themes ig: the ending of the story is that chapelle is actually a doppler who has taken chapelle’s form, since the real chapelle has died. tellico beseeches geralt, in dandelion’s form, to let him live and live amongst the people of novigrad, because he’s tired of being dehumanized and persecuted, and just wants to live in peace. there is a theme surrounding the dopplers as they are shapeshifters and chameleons, having to change who they are in order to blend in with the rest of society. again, this might be a bad take, but this kind of strikes me as an analogy for being lgbt, because when you are lgbt in a homo/transphobic society, you have to hide who you are and adapt your outward appearance into something that others will accept, and you are persecuted even though you are harmless and don’t mean to cause anyone trouble. of course, this could be a wider analogy about persecution and being marginalized in general (cultural assimilation, anyone?) and compring any marginalized people to nonhumans sucks (wouldn’t be the first or only time sapkowski went there, though), but ig as a gay person i found myself relating to the plight of the dopplers. the ending message of the story is also positive, something like there is hope and life in the world despite hatred (re: tellico’s ending to dandelion’s ballad) and the dopplers, the persecuted ones, are actually everywhere in society despite appearances that they’re not (not the best execution because you know figures of authority suck but whatever)

TLDR eternal flame is a little fruity to me because

geralt and dandelion want to be in each other’s company (as always)

geralt and dandelion’s relationship is again characterized by ability to be casual and comfortable in each other’s presence, working together through difficulty and conflict, and standing up for one another/being proud on the other’s behalf

tellico strategically takes dandelion’s form to evoke kindness and respect in geralt, and it works completely

geralt’s pov focuses on dandelion’s intimate physical and behavioral traits

geralt smiles and tells dandelion “i’ll come with pleasure”

vague lgbt themes about the dopplers

[closedcoffins]

❛ Why did you help me? ❜ [ ciri to cahir 🙃 ]

It had been easier to think about having this conversation than to be confronted with it so suddenly. Cahir has never felt dread, exactly, at the thought of properly speaking to Ciri, but there has always been a certain desire to stall longer than necessary when the time eventually did come---and he'd known for some time it would. Destiny does not let people go easily, and as little as Cahir had known Ciri, he had dreamed about her enough to know that it was enough.

"I don't know. There were many reasons." Cahir isn't exactly willing to admit to his dreams. It feels almost like an invasion of privacy to have seen moments in her life, though he too had been unwilling. Has tried never to think about them, though the only dreams she features in now are the nightmares about the first real siege Cahir had ever been present for. "I was not the loyal Nilfgaardian solider everyone thought me to be. I was not even Nilfgaardian."

Cahir pauses, looks away; it feels somehow shameful to look at her at all, knowing what he does about the fear he had caused her unwittingly. He weighs his next words carefully, and contradicts his own decision not to speak of the dreams. It is important to know; if Cahir's life has taught him anything, it's that it benefits to be transparent with those who deserve transparency.

"I started dreaming of you. I don't know why. When you ran away from me the first time, at Cintra, I was---frightened. I knew the Emperor would have my head for it. When I was spared, I was locked away, and the dreaming began. I told myself it meant I had to find you, to fulfill my duty, but really... I wanted it to stop. I was afraid. And at Stygga, I just believed I owed you that much, for the trouble I had caused. And Geralt; I owed him many times over what I had promised him, which was all the help I could have given."

It's uncharacteristic of him to speak so much, but it had become difficult to stop talking the moment he had started, and the words pour out with so little control that even Cahir wishes he'd kept silent altogether. "I'm surprised you asked at all."

random dialogues. / accepting.

[mordoriscalling]

The Shrike and the Lark (pt. 5)

Jaskier and Renfri are disaster twins ruling Creyden. When the Warlord of the North knocks at their door, Queen Renfri and King Julian are at an advantage - they know him. As in, they know him. (Inspired by the Warlord AU and “the heart is a winged beast”).

(Pt. 1) (Pt. 2) (Pt. 3) (Pt. 4)

Creyden, 1237

On the tenth day of the Warlord’s stay in Creyden, a famous travelling troupe of musicians performs after dinner, for the enjoyment of the King, the Queen, their court, as well as the White Wolf and his entourage. The group came on King Julian’s invitation, for he is a great patron of arts. Ever since he ascended the throne, he’s actively encouraged artists to visit and create under his sponsorship. As a result, the royal court of Creyden has become one of the cultural centres of the North, which silenced at least those who condemned the Black Sun monarchs as barbarians with no care for the finer elements of life.

The evening’s music is splendid and people take to the dancefloor eagerly. King Julian and Queen Renfri dance first four dances together – with the Queen as the lead and the King as the led, for the twin monarchs have been criticised for their non-traditionality so many times that, out of spite, they have made it their mission to shove it in everyone’s faces – but then King Julian leaves his sister’s side to ask Eskel to join him.

As King Julian and Eskel dance, their gazes do not stray from each other for a second, and smiles do not leave their faces. Too taken with each other, they do not take not of the scrutiny of the whole room falls upon them. After all, the Lark has never taken a lover so peculiar. The bulky, scarred monster hunter is a far cry from the noblewomen and occasional noblemen not rejecting the King’s advances in fear of consequences. Eskel is at ease, appearing somehow dismissive of their difference in station, which does not endear him to many in the royal court.

Their affair has not been received with the same disapproval by other witchers, with the glaring exception of the Warlord himself. It has been noticed, of course, that the White Wolf seems to bear a grudge towards the King. The witcher’s attitude towards the Lark has been frosty, especially during the negotiation talks. Yet, even then, the Warlord does not show his dislike as openly as he does now – his glower directed at King Julian could bring death to a lesser man.

The King, however, is no ordinary man in this regard. He is known to love proudly, no matter who holds his affections at a given time. And so, he answers the White Wolf’s glares with challenging stares of his own as he dances with his witcher lover.

The situation eventually reaches its climax. After their third dance together, Eskel and King Julian leave the dance floor and make their way towards the high table, chattering happily. The White Wolf raises from his seat and strides towards them, meeting them halfway.

The King’s good humour vanishes as the Warlord, who scowls formidably, stands before him. The room seems to hold a breath.

“May I request a moment in private, Your Majesty?” the White Wolf grinds out.

“You may,” the King permits coldly.

Julian leaves Eskel with a kiss on the cheek and a murmured promise of swift return, then heads out of the hall with the Warlord silently following in his footsteps. The two renew their conversation only when the door of the nearby war room closes behind them. As soon as no ears can hear them, the White Wolf lays the problem on the line.

“Put a stop to your dalliance with Eskel,” he demands. King Julian sputters but the White Wolf does not give him the chance to answer. “Either this,” he goes on, “Or court him properly and marry him. Do right by him. He doesn’t deserve any less.”

“That is true,” King Julian agrees, then falls silent. Eventually, he speaks again, his response measured, “You charged me with not being the same irresponsible man I once had been, but you weren’t entirely right. There remains one responsibility that I will dodge until my dying breath or else it will take away the rest of the air I breathe. My duties stifle me enough already.”

“Jaskier,” the Warlord sighs, exasperated. “Put it bluntly.”    

“I will not marry, Geralt.”

Anger sparks in Geralt’s gaze at the statement. “So what are you even doing with Eskel?” he growls, “Toying with him to your amusement? Does the prospect of the ruin you’ll bring to his heart entertain you?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jaskier asks, his eyes narrowed.  

“You are the same with all your lovers, aren’t you?” Geralt asks. “You look into their core so that not a single vulnerability remains hidden from you. Then, you embrace them as completely as only you can – ” Soul-deep hurt unfurls in Geralt’s tone as he says this, seeping from in between the syllables until his voice is hoarse. “ – and then, you love them like they’ve never been loved before, just to walk away, leaving them forever aching for the fullness of your love.”

The accusations – so lashed out and yet so carefully structured – leave ringing silence in their wake. The White Wolf, vulnerable after having bared his heart, shifts away. Jaskier may now only look upon the witcher’s back. He attempts to form a reply but fails to make a sound. When he finally succeeds, he manages just one word.  

“Geralt,” he rasps, shocked, pained and pleading all at once.

Geralt does not answer the call; he clenches his fists but stands still.

Jaskier swallows thickly. “There hasn’t been a day since that I don’t regret leaving you,” he confesses, sorrow making his own voice waver, “I’m so sorry, but I had to. I had to find – ”

Geralt turns to Jaskier with a huff, baring his teeth in a derisive smile. “Don’t bother,” he says, then moves to leave the room.

“But I promised,” Jaskier insists, standing in his way.

“Fuck your promise,” the witcher snaps. “Fuck that, and the rest of your lies.”

“I did not lie,” Jaskier counters, now furious too, “The Jaskier you got to know is all real. Julian was concealed underneath, yes, I did not lie when I befriended you because you’re a good man, nor when loved you with every breath I drew – ”

“Shut up,” the White Wolf snarls, “Don’t you fucking dare say such things to me, not after you avoided all my questions –”

“I was too afraid! I was never sure if Stregobor was still after me or not, I was too afraid to be discovered. I never revealed my lineage to anyone!”

“You didn’t trust me, then.”

“I trust you with my life!” Jaskier cries.

The statement and the emotion behind it dance on the verge of saying too much. Geralt’s answer dies on his tongue and he stares at his former lover, stunned.

Jaskier goes to sit down at the table, covering his face with his hands. When he stops hiding his face, he does not look at Geralt. “The way you can’t speak of the Trails,” he says quietly, “just the same, I couldn’t utter a word of what Stregobor has done to my sister – my twin, the very half of my soul – or of how he made me submit to his tortures. Or of how I lived on the run, whoring myself, lying and stealing, until I finally turned the corner. I couldn’t face how that fucking mage shaped me into a wreck that I am.”

Geralt sighs, his anger faltering. “You saw me for the wreck that I was, that I am,” he replies. “All of it, and you didn’t flinch away. Why didn’t you allow me a single glimpse in return? You must’ve known that you had no rejection to fear from me.”

“And yet, I was a coward,” Jaskier admits. “I’m so sorry –”

“I don’t wish to speak of it anymore,” the witcher dismisses, measuring Jaskier with a hard stare. “Just be warned, Your Majesty: if you break my brother’s heart, there will be consequences.”

“Understood,” King Julian grinds out and raises from his seat. Then, he looks deep into the White Wolf’s eyes, bows his head and murmurs, “My lord.”

The Warlord clenches his jaw and storms out of the room.

The King returns to the feast alone, which is a fact not overlooked by anyone in the hall, including those seated at the high table.

“I wonder,” Lady Yennefer says to the Queen, “What’s happened between them?”

The chair separating the sorceress and Queen Renfri has been vacated. Without the Warlord in the way, the two women are now able to converse freely.

Queen Renfri looks at Lady Yennefer sharply. “Why is that of interest to you?” she demands.

“Your Majesty doesn’t have to distrust me so,” the sorceress reassures, “I have no ill-willed intentions. It’s just curiosity.”

Renfri accepts the answer, inclining her head just a touch. Her watchful gaze does not stray from White Wolf’s left hand for a moment. “You must excuse my distrust of mages, Lady Yennefer” she says, “It’s a result of what one of your kind put me through.”

“I understand,” Lady Yennefer replies smoothly, “Stregobor did take it way too far, but he was very fond of the influence which instigating fear of the Curse granted him.” She snorts. “I can’t say I miss his bullshit.”

“Damn right,” Renfri agrees, “The world’s better without him. His life is the only one I pride myself in taking.”

“It is an achievement of a sort,” the sorceress affirms. “Though, I must admit that I’m... cautious, facing a person who managed to kill one of my own kind.”

Queen Renfri smirks smugly but then schools her face into a neutral expression. “Mutual wariness suits fine with me,” she answers, reaching for her goblet of wine.

Lady Yennefer takes a sip from her drink as well. The two ladies are silent for some time, listening to the music and surveying the surroundings. They both chuckle upon witnessing King Julian quite literally dragging Eskel out of the hall.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t settle for mutual wariness,” Lady Yennefer suggests then. At the Queen’s questioning gaze, she explains, “One grows the most powerful by conquering their own fears.”

Queen Renfri regards the sorceress intently but the purple-eyed mage does not seem bothered by the intense scrutiny - she stares right back with a similar interest.

“I shall consider this thought,” the Queen says at last.  

Lady Yennefer’s smile is sharp and satisfied as she replies, “Then I am awaiting your answer.”

Renfri lifts her goblet up and drinks to that.

Read the rest on AO3

[regrettablewritings]

If it’s okay. Can I please request some LOVE headcanons with Jaskier, if it hasn’t already been requested?

Dang . . . We almost got an entire set here with Jaskier 👀

Who said “I love you” first?: You know it was Jaskier. Not only because you’d spent the entire time leading up to that point desperately trying to stifle your newly-found affections, but also because everybody knows that the loudest mouth on the continent has to have the first word. However, given that it’s Jaskier, you don’t buy it at first. For one, the man throws the word “love” around as, well, a bard throws around cheesy prose. Who’s to say that his dramatic gesture of spreading his arms wide and crying out gloriously, “Dear (Y/N)! I have determined that you! Are! The! One!!” wasn’t just another show for him? For another, as much as a part of you wanted to believe otherwise, a much larger part just couldn’t believe the possibility that someone like Jaskier could like someone like you romantically -- in whatever way “someone like Jaskier” could be taken. You initial reluctance to accept the bard’s confession left him a husk of a man, pouting and frustrated as he ranted to Geralt in the secrecy of a rented room at a tavern. All the while, the latter could only bluntly state that it’s Jaskier’s fault for having taken everything without much seriousness to it. His actions got him into this mess, he surely couldn’t expect for them to get him out of it. So he had to go the other way about it. You were very concerned when Jaskier got quiet. He’d already been acting strange for the last while or so, fumbling over his words and even struggling to babble on whimsically to jostle up songs. You had half a mind to assume that the poor fool might’ve been falling sick! But when he insisted he wasn’t, and that you still accompany him to the small plot of gardening land beside the tavern, your curiosity led you to oblige. You simply had to see where this was going. Hopefully to an explanation as to why he’d been acting so funny lately. In hindsight, the silly boy had probably scoped the area to find the most romantic spot. Admittedly, there’s not so many romantic associations one might have with raspberries, but there was a rock large enough to sit upon nearby where they were growing, which Jaskier apparently decided would have to do. It wasn’t a bench or a charmingly rustic fountain, but he still took it upon himself to treat it as though it were just as special. You wordlessly (if confusedly) followed suit, perching yourself on it per his request. Though, the temptation to leap right off of it struck the moment he took your hand into his own and locked eyes with you. You’d never heard Jaskier speak so calmly, so seriously, yet without a hint of graveness in it. You waited for him to reveal that it had been a joke, that he was using the moment to harvest some sort of song fodder from your response. But it never came. He just kept kneeling before you, awaiting your response, the hope in his eyes dwindling bit by bit in the moonlight the longer you went without saying anything. “Oh,” he finally spoke. Your heart could’ve shattered with the hint of trembling in that single syllable. “I, um . . . I suppose it is a bit -- it was a poor choice to -- I shouldn’t have -- ” No sentence sounded right to him in his moment of embarrassment. He tried getting back up, unlocking your hand from his, but your reinforced grip gave him pause. You shook your head, your heart beating so hard and fast that it hurt. And yet, the pain of it dulled when in comparison to the relief and bliss you felt.

What are their primary love languages?: Being the attention whore that he is, it would only be suitable that Jaskier reaps love and affection through words of affirmation and quality time. Yeah, he’s also a very sexual being, but he’s an entertainer down to the bone: It’s simply in his nature to desire your attention. When you spent quality time with him and give him praises meant only for him, you simply must be paying attention to him! And even beyond that, it provides the both of you means to communicate and get to know one another. (Well, more than you would already have to, given that you’re on the road all the time.) But for as arrogant as Jaskier is, that bardic nature goes both ways: It’s also in his nature to appraise everything to the highest and most flowery degree, as well as to throw that attentiveness to physical appeal right back at you. He loves being able to be physically close to you in any way that he can, especially sexually. And if he can make sweet and attentive love to you while also (literally) singing your praises? Worshiping your looks and your responses to his ministrations? It’s like he’s died and gone to heaven, a la le petit mort!

How often do they cuddle/engage in PDA?: Frequently, when the opportunity provides it. Of course, cuddling is difficult to do when one is on the road. And even though the ground isn’t necessarily the most ideal bed for it, being spooned can certainly help alleviate the dread of having to sleep on a floor that could become muddy soon enough. But that doesn’t stop the two of you from engaging in physical forms of affection whenever you can. You’ve never really been one especially for public displays of affection, but something about holding Jaskier’s hand as the two of you trail behind Geralt and Ciri just feels right. His hold is soft and warm, with only trace amounts of callousness due to his constant strumming on the lute. And when the group takes a break, you could think of nothing more refreshing than being able to sit at the base of a large tree and tuck yourself into the crook of your significant other’s arm as the both of you rest in silence, just enjoying the ambience. Sometimes, if you’re in an especially bubbly or affectionate mood, kisses wind up exchanged with no care on if Geralt or the child see you. There’s nothing shameless about giving your beloved a kiss on the cheek or even a quick peck on the lips, is there? Besides, the real shame should fall on Jaskier for always taking it too far by trying to kiss a line up your neck. It just gets taken up to an 11 when you actually have a proper bed to sleep on: The spooning increases, the not so sneaky caresses along the sides make an appearance, and the not-even-trying-to-hide-it attempts at lovingly groping your lovely bits are made because at least now there’s some privacy. And if you’re in the right mood and not too tired from your travels, you don’t mind indulging.

What are their favorite things to do together?: It depends on where the two of you are, but the one consistency is chatting and flinging jokes at one another. Jaskier fancies himself a man of wit so when you prove not to be afraid of playing along or hucking jokes right back at him, he takes it as a game. One of the competing sort. No matter how you may try, that game is going to turn into the two of you trying to make the other laugh or blush with some crude or colorful remarks. (And you can pretend you’re above it all you want, you’re clearly enjoying it.) He also likes how much inspiration your talks can give him, from you recounting the places you’ve seen to the people you’ve encountered (though you insist it’s nowhere near as impressive as he tries to make them sound in song form).

Who’s better at comforting the other?: As observant and intuitive as Jaskier can surprisingly be, this doesn’t always mean that he’s the best at using what he’s learned to calm the situation. If anything, his skittish and overly talkative nature can only drive you further into frustration if he’s not too careful. You know he means well, but Jackie can still be a bit overwhelming if one is already not in the best mood. But when it comes to calming him, you’re one of the best there is. At the very least, you’re able to distract him enough or praise him enough to where he’ll become a little less catty. He may be pouting as he rests his head against your breast, but he’s (not so) secretly eating up the proximity, how your fingers gently card through his hair, how warm your chest feels as it vibrates with your words . . . Words that are, of course, telling him what a talented minstrel he really is, especially compared to that hack of a troubadour, Valdo Marx. The moment you feel him smirking is the moment you know he’s let go of all pretenses of being upset — he’d felt good as new long ago. Still, you let him stay there.

Who’s more protective?: I suppose Jaskier, though the more fitting term would be “possessive.” Jaskier isn’t a very competent fighter (read: He cannot fight at all) so when it comes to physical well-being, he isn’t much good for keeping you any more guarded than however fast you both can run away from the problem. He’s more of a guardian when it comes to the heart or a person’s mental well-being. As embarrassingly idiotic as he can sometimes be, he isn’t so completely unaware as to not notice toxicity in other people. Unfortunately, he’s ironically not very good at vocally communicating this. As a result, he can come across as clingy or annoying. Which he is. But also, he doesn’t want you hurt and has your best interests in mind. Meanwhile, you care plenty for his physical well-being but also know you’re not much of a fighter, either. Besides, Jaskier’s gotten by on the road by himself far longer than you’ve known him -- apparently, he knows how to at least keep his head still attached to his body.

Do they prefer verbal or physical affection?: Both. As a stereotypical bawdy bard, he loves giving it, and as a humanoid peacock of a man, he loves receiving it. Let him lay his head in your lap while you stroke his hair and tell him what a wonderful performer he is, and how his voice makes you weak and yet empowered with desire --

What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?: It may seem a bit rough to apply a song to such a musical man, but quite a few do come to mind: “Sweet Talk” by Saint Motel, “Put Your Money on Me” by The Struts, “Fall in Love” by Bad Rabbits, “Hands” by Barns Courtney . . . Now, if you take the time to listen to these or even look up some of the lyrics, you’ll notice a trend: A man pining for a woman who’s always just ever so slightly out of his reach. Or a man singing his delight for a woman who seems altogether unimpressed or at least hesitant to take a chance on him. Or the girl is just elusive. Which makes perfect sense, given that you’re one to guard her heart when in the face of the minstrel while Jaskier is the one putting his own entirely out there for you. But don’t be dismayed: Jaskier loves a good chase. His type is best defined as “someone he shouldn’t have or must at least bust his ass to acquire”, as one can assume from his interactions with concubines, higher-standing nobility, mothers, warriors, Geralt . . . But if you have a taste for something more optimistic or lighthearted, fear not: There’s always “Easy Way” by For the Foxes or “Undone” by The Bird and the Bee. What makes a song like “Undone” unique, however, is that it’s more for your point-of-view. Your feelings for Jaskier are complex yet so simple. He knows you’re not exactly the best at emoting, much less when it comes to your affections. But sometimes, you think that’s a good thing: If you were even half so brave or careless, the poor man might’ve died from your more frequent desire to kiss him to death (not that he would mind dying in such a pretty way). You can put on a calm expression all you want: Inside, you’re a storm of thoughts. You want to impress him, you want him to think you’re witty and bewitching, you want to be his yet one definite thing, you want to be the one who, well, can make him come undone with just a kiss. And it just takes you aback sometimes to realize that the very man, known for his philandering, already sees no wrong in you, and that he wants nothing more than the very same. With you and only you.

What kind of nicknames do they call each other?: It startled you to learn one day that you’d been calling him a nickname the entire time. In hindsight, yeah, it made sense: “Jaskier” was unusual as a given name. But you had grown so used to it and how it fit him like it was bespoke, that learning his real name was Julian just . . . It felt weird. Still, that didn’t erase the fact that, yes, Jaskier was technically still a nickname for him that you’d been using, knowingly or not. Though, every once in a while you would make an attempt to refer to him as something else: “Baby Eyes”, you realized, had some unusual sticking power to it.It’s normally used in an almost pouty tone, usually to accompany the pouting Jaskier’s already doing when you say it. Not in a taunting manner, but as if to extend sympathy. You hadn’t even meant for the name to keep reappearing but it just rolls off the tongue, especially whenever Jaskier looks at you with those blue eyes, fixed in a puppyish pout. He also seems to respond well to names that suggest his talent or genius, but we would be here all night running through the specifics due to how ridiculously and pointlessly long they are. The length of Jaskier’s names had actually become a bit of a problem even when in reference to you: It’s not really a nickname when your lover wants to refer to you as “Stunning Little Starling of the Northern Sky” or “Darling Daffodil of the Valley” and so on. He’s had to shorten quite a few down to “Starling” or “Darling” or “Daffodil” or “My Muse” or “Exquisite One, Conqueror of My Heart, Goddess of My Sleeping Hours, Patron Saint to My Loins --”.

Thank you for your patience!

[ofheroesandvillains]

Dorian II - Geralt

Words: 2.7k Warnings: None for now. Summary: Geralt investigates, a deal is struck, Jaskier sleeps. Nothing new.

Oh. My. Word! The amount of support part one received was beyond any of my expectations. Seriously, folks…you blew my mind and I’m so, so honoured. Thank you so much for all of the kind words and interest shown, I hope this part doesn’t disappoint as it is more of a filler. I wasn’t expecting to write more than two or tree parts for this little story, but your encouragement had me coming up with something longer…unless you’d all prefer something shorter, then I can do that too!

Thanks again, and I hope you enjoy!

(Gif not mine, credit to the creator.)

Jaskier’s pretty barmaid had retreated to the backroom for the rest of the night, much to the bard’s disappointment. Fortunately, the Inn was within stone’s throw of the tavern, because Jaskier could barely walk by the time he was done drowning his sorrows, and Geralt wasn’t feeling generous enough to carry him any further.

Not when he had other plans in mind.

She had a particular scent. There was something fragrant and flowery clinging to her skin - moonflower, the type of scent most women preferred, but alongside that was something Geralt hadn’t expected.  

At first, he thought the scent of various herbs and spices lingered around her because of her time in the kitchen, but wolfsbane? Basilisk venom? He thankfully hadn’t detected either of those in Lyssa’s special soup.

But it raised the question of where they’d come from in the first place.

And so, after all but throwing Jaskier onto his bed - who then proceeded to roll off and onto the floor - Geralt made his way back downstairs and into the cool night air. The streets were dark, and a few stragglers were stumbling their way home in the early hours of the morning, but the Witcher found himself wide awake. 

A crescent moon hung in the sky, barely offering enough light to illuminate his surroundings, but the closer he came to the bustling tavern, the lower he tugged his hood over his face.

He passed the front entrance and rounded the corner. Even now, if he focused, he could smell the odd combination of scents. It made it entirely too easy to find what he was looking for.

Geralt glanced over either shoulder, despite his senses telling him that he was very much alone, before scaling the vine-covered lattice that sprawled across the side of the building and led to the second floor. The wood creaked beneath his weight, and he felt it splinter the moment his arm hooked over a stone balustrade. Each room had a small balcony, and he knew from the overwhelming stench of sweat, and the sound of thundering snores, that this was not hers.

He leapt from balcony to balcony until he reached his target, pausing only when a drunken patron waddled along the road beneath him. Slipping a blade through the gap of her window, he flicked the latch open. The long, cream curtains billowed in the wind as he stepped into the dark room.

It was more spacious than he’d expected, with a four-poster bed pressed against the far wall, a writing desk to his right, and a vanity to his left. There were books scattered across all available surfaces, but the one that caught his attention was a leather-bound tome that sat in the centre of her desk.  

Geralt’s brow furrowed as he traced the symbol etched into the dark leather.

A bestiary.

With a curious hum, he flipped the book open.

DROWNER, it read at the top of the page, an impressive illustration beneath it was framed by lines of information. From sightings to weaknesses, the book seemed to cover all things pertaining to the monsters, and as Geralt leafed through the pages he realised that it was incomplete. The later sections were either half finished or entirely bare, and the colourful inkpots scattered across the desk told him all he needed to know.

His eyes shot over to the entrance.

The staircase down the hall creaked beneath light footsteps and he snapped the bestiary shut.

———

It had been a very long night.

Lyssa had finally managed to chase her out of the kitchens and send her off to bed, but she couldn’t find it in her to even think about sleeping. Not with the way her bodice was digging into her back - there wasn’t a better feeling in the world than stripping it off after a long day.

But more importantly, her mind was restless.  

When she was a child, Mistress had always told her that her curiosity would get her in trouble one day.

‘If you must ask questions, girl, at least stop asking the right ones.’

Curiosity was sweet, endearing even, if you asked silly little questions that held no real weight and revealed no knowledge. Unfortunately, no such question existed to a Witcher, not where monsters were involved.

Geralt of Rivia - The White Wolf, they called him.

He wasn’t the first she’d met, but he was the most impressive according to gossip. Thorough too. That was how she knew that she’d made a mistake mentioning the Wraith in his presence without context. She knew from the way he watched her that she’d unnecessarily triggered his suspicion, even if that wasn’t her aim.

It had been so long since a Witcher had visited Dorian and regaled her with tales of myths and monsters.

She threw the door to her room open with a sigh.

What she wouldn’t give to have his knowledge, his experience. It would certainly make finishing her book that much easier.

She closed the door behind her and smiled. Maybe if she asked Jaskier, he could give her an honest recount of their travels.

A cool breeze ruffled her dress and…a cool breeze?

The smile slipped off her face when she noticed that her window was open. The very same window she made sure was locked each time she left her room. She stumbled back into the door with a thump.

“Don’t be afraid.”

She jumped, eyes darting over to her bed, where a hulking form sat. His words were said in vain, because her heart raced like a hummingbird’s.

Her muscles tensed as he slowly extended a hand, and a small flame flickered in the lantern on her desk.

“Geralt,” she scolded, shoulders sagging and a hand pressed to her heaving chest. “What are you doing here?”

He knew her outrage wasn’t due to his presence, but rather the unnecessary fear it had caused her. His fingers traced the cover of the bestiary in silence. He hadn’t known what to expect next - surprise, perhaps fear, maybe even anger. But she showed none of those.

Instead, she sighed as he so often did whenever he heard Jaskier’s voice. Then, she turned her back on him and loosened the laces of her bodice. Geralt watched as she eased out of the garment and hung it up in the small cupboard by her vanity.

She’d never quite understood what it felt like to truly feel someone’s gaze on her until that moment. His eyes, those striking, cat-like eyes, burned into her back and sent a shiver down her spine that she did well to suppress. He already held the advantage of surprise, she’d give him no more.

“If you’re going to just sit there, at least make yourself useful.”

She approached him and planted herself between his thighs. Geralt cocked his head to the side when she turned around.

An amused hum rumbled deep in his throat and the bed creaked as he stood.

His warm breath caressed the bare skin of her neck and left goosebumps in its wake, scattering across her shoulders and down her arms. She bit her lip as deft fingers plucked at the laces of her dress and felt it loosen around her waist. She should have expected that he’d take it a step further. Witchers, she’d come to understand, were never to be outdone.

His scarred and calloused fingers gently dipped beneath the neck of her dress and slipped it off her shoulders until it came tumbling down to land in a pool at her feet. His hands were slow to leave her skin, but leave her they did.

His face was blank when she turned around, but those eyes were still on her, flickering across her face briefly before meeting her own. She smiled, a hint of bashfulness setting in when she remembered that she only wore her slip.

“Thank you…”

She snatched the dress up from the floor and moved to hang it up beside her bodice.

“You told me to let you know if I needed anything,” Geralt finally said. “How about answers?”

“I have no idea what you’re-“

“You tell me about the Wraith,” he interrupted, holding out her bestiary, “and I’ll help you with this.”

Her eyes widened. “Deal.”  

His lips curled up slightly as she eagerly accepted the book from him.

“What do you know?” asked Geralt, tone lighter.

She strode over to her desk and rooted through one of the draws. Geralt cocked his brow at the stack of parchment she produced. She smiled and gestured to the spot beside her on the bed. The first sheet she held out to him was a call for help, a little rough around the edges and torn in places, but clear enough to read.

“A man came from Vizima weeks ago - Akron, I think his name was - said three people had died in as many days and that a hefty reward was waiting for the one who dealt with the beast.”

“More and more often we have folks come through asking for directions.” She frowned. “Average men who fancy themselves master swordsmen. They hardly have any training, but for some reason they believe they have what it takes to be…well, to be like you.”

The rest of the sheets were much like the first - from Vizima, Novigrad, Maribor - describing a variety of monsters. Each was a contract requesting aid from anyone willing to provide it, and offering an impressive reward for the one who succeeded.

But a single question nagged a Geralt’s mind.

“Why do you have all these?”

She parted her lips to answer, but thought better of it. Would have gotten away with it too, had he not been so attentive.

“Y/N…” Geralt warned. “Keep in mind I know when you’re lying.”

She didn’t meet his eyes as she answered. “I can’t draw them if I’ve never seen them…”

Geralt’s jaw clenched and he tore his gaze away from her.

“It’s only from a safe distance!” She reassured, but it did little to placate him. “I’d never approach one. Never.”

“There’s no safe distance,” he growled, eyes ablaze. “They’re predators and you’re their prey. They won’t wait for you to approach them.”

“I know,” she whispered, shoulders slumping.

Geralt would’ve liked to think that he didn’t care that she was sad, that his concern instead stemmed from the knowledge that Jaskier would have his head (or at least try to) for upsetting the so-called lust of his life. But he wasn’t one to lie to himself.

“Does Jaskier know about this?” He asked, and her wince was answer enough.

“Where is Jaskier?”

He sighed at her poor attempt to change the subject and she shot him a stern look.

“The last time he was left alone at the tavern a merchant broke his arm. He’s my friend and I’d like to know he’s-”

“Safe?” Geralt supplied, brows raised.

She gave him a sheepish smile.

Hypocrite.

“Passed out on the floor of the Inn the last time I saw him,” Geralt offered a sarcastic smirk. “Safe and sound. And don’t change the subject.”

“Of course he doesn’t know,” she huffed. “And he doesn’t have to know now that I won’t need to go looking for them again…”

She bit her lip nervously.

“You did mean it, didn’t you? That you’d help me?”

Geralt almost groaned at the question.

Realistically, he knew he should have left and taken whatever remained of the night to rest for the journey ahead. And he would have, were it not for the spark of excitement in her lovely eyes, and the hopeful way she clutched the damned bestiary to her -almost bare- chest. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d shown weakness when faced with a beautiful woman who looked at him like he was more than the monster most believed him to be.

Geralt shook his head at his own foolishness. A deal was a deal.

“Show me what you’ve done so far.”

Her smile was blinding.

He’d sleep when he was dead.

———

Jaskier awoke to the slam of a door. Awoke, perhaps, wasn’t the best word for it. The sound had been so sudden that he’d jolted out of his lumpy straw bed - when had he climbed back up? - and onto the floor in a heap of flailing limbs.

“I’m up!”

Geralt paid him no mind. The room, unfortunately, was the last available. He’d shared with Jaskier before, but those nights always seemed to stretch the longest. Spending a day around his endless chatter was bad enough, hearing him mumble in his sleep was excruciating.

“Uh…” Jaskier frowned, glancing around the room with his hair askew and sleepy eyes squinting against the morning sun.

“Are you only just getting in?” He asked, seemingly appalled by the thought. He took Geralt’s silence as confirmation, and his mind instantly lost all traces of sluggishness when he realised just what could have kept him. He cleared his throat.

“Busy night then? Exploring what delights Dorian has to offer…” He trialed off with a shrug. “Making new friends, perhaps?”

Geralt cocked a brow and shot a glance over his shoulder. Jaskier offered a gawky smile.

“Maybe someone I know?” He suggested off-handedly.

Geralt rolled his eyes with a drawn-out sigh. “Just ask what you want to ask.”

Jaskier wasted no time. He sprung up from the floor, ignoring the ache in his head, and scrambled over to perch himself on Geralt’s bed.

“Did you bed her?” He blurted, barely giving Geralt the chance to answer before he held up a pacifying hand. “It’s alright, I won’t be mad. You’re both consenting adults, and if anyone knows what it’s like to lose oneself in the throes of passion - Oh! - I can imagine it now, the heat of the moment and her sweet, sweet -”

“No.”

Jaskier blinked. “What?”

“No, I didn’t bed her.”

“Oh!” The bard smiled, looking more surprised than Geralt had ever seen him. “Good, because I lied. I would have been absolutely envious.”

Geralt’s lips twitched in amusement.

“I just undressed her,” he shrugged, gathering his change of clothes and heading for the door. He may not have slept, but he wouldn’t turn down a bath.

“She has soft skin,” he called out over his shoulder before disappearing from sight.

Jaskier gaped like a fish. “I…you…excuse me?”

“Wait!” He tripped over his own feet as he hurried to follow. By the time he’d pulled himself up and thrown the door open, Geralt was already gone.

“Geralt, you get back here!” Jaskier cried, and he knew he wouldn’t be seeing the Witcher for a while yet. “At least give me some details, I’ve waited seven bloody years for this!”

In his rush, he hadn’t noticed the small maid leaving the room across the hall, sheets bundled in her arms and eyes wide. Jaskier offered a scoff.

“Witchers, hey?” He shook his head. “Sleep with your girl and then don’t even have the decency to tell you about it.”

The maid scowled in disgust, and Jaskier’s face fell.

“Not that I’d want to know such- such vulgar details of their…” The maid bustled away with her head held high and he sighed. “Yeah, alright then. Who gives a shit anyway?”

He slipped back into his room with a huff, the door slamming shut behind him. If Geralt wouldn’t talk to him, he knew who would.

-------

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[queenxxxsupreme]

Songbird

A/N: I neeeeeeeed Jaskier to just hold me okay? Is that too much to ask? I want him to make me feel better :( as always I’m shitty with titling my shit :(

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: There is mentioning of a past relationship that was messy but there isn’t much talk about it, it’s SUPER fluffy like so fluffy my teeth hurt and I want to throw up

A soft knock on the door to your room made you jump. Your eyes flew over to the door, heart racing frantically in your chest. 

“Y/N? Sweet, are you almost ready?” Jaskier’s voice came from the other side of the door. Hearing him calmed your senses but you couldn’t find your voice. 

Your eyes darted down to the floor in the center of the room, brows drawing together.

How were you going to explain to him that you didn’t want to go to this ball? You weren’t too sure if you physically could take it. You felt nauseous just thinking of having to attend the event.

“Y/N? Is everything alright?”

You could hear his tone shift from curious and normal to concerned and tense. 

You opened your mouth but the only thing able to come out was a hiccup. One of your hands came up to cover your eyes while your other hand fisted the linens to the bed you sat on. 

“Y/N, if you don’t answer me, I-I’m going to have to knock this door down!” He threatened. You heard the door handle twist almost like he was testing to see if you’d locked it. 

Your hand fell from your face to watch the handle twist once more before the door was pushed open. You quickly turned your head to look out of the window, frantically blinking the tears away. 

Jaskier stopped in the doorway upon seeing you half dressed on the edge of the bed. You were only in a cream colored underskirt and a white corset that fit you snuggly. 

“Why aren’t you dressed, sweet?” His melodic voice was gentle. 

He hesitated to approach you, unsure of what exactly was going through your head. You were staring off into space, your eyes focused on the window but your mind was elsewhere. One of your hands was holding the bed linens tight enough to make your knuckles white and the other hand hovered just over your thigh. Were you afraid to put your hand down?

Your eyes finally flickered over to him and that was when he could see all the emotions hiding behind your gaze. 

“I-I can’t, Jaskier.” You whispered, your voice brittle. 

His brows drew together softly as he closed the space between you two then sunk down to his knees at your feet. One of his hands was placed on the outside of your thigh, his arm running parallel to your thigh. His other hand gingerly brushed your hair over your shoulder. 

“What do you mean, my sweet? I’m-I’m afraid I don’t understand. You can’t get dressed?”

“I can’t-I can’t go to this-this ball.” You shook your head. 

“Oh, Y/N. It’s just a little party. No need to be nervous about it.” He gave you a little smile to try to make you smile back, but you didn’t. 

You firmly shook your head again, dropping your gaze to your lap. Your eyes squeezed shut and tears fell down your cheeks. Jaskier immediately tried to comfort you, brushing the tears away with his calloused fingertips as he moved to sit on the bed next to you.

“Tell me what’s the matter, my sweet muse.” He murmured, slipping an arm around your waist to pull you closer to him. He placed his chin on your shoulder, blue eyes watching your side profile. “What’s weighing so heavy on your heart that it’s made you cry?”

Should you tell him the truth? That there was a man here, a past lover of yours, that you didn’t care to see? Your only memories with him were that of his rage. You squeezed your eyes shut and turned your head to rest your forehead against his head. 

“I don’t want to burden you, sweet songbird.” You breathed. “The past is in the past. I can’t change it and neither can you.”

Jaskier was quiet for a few moments but he accepted your words. 

“If that’s what you wish, sweet.” He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. “Would you rather stay here for the night? I-I can stay with you.”

“But you’re expected to play tonight.” You shook your head. You knew if you didn’t go to this damned ball, then neither would the stubborn bard. He’d want to stay here in your room and comfort you. While that sounded like a fantastic idea, you knew he needed the coin. “I’ll be okay to go.”

“Are you sure?” He asked, rubbing his hand up and down your bare arm. He enjoyed how warm you felt, how soft your skin was beneath his touch. 

“Positive.” You nodded, finally meeting his gaze as you forced a smile on to your lips. 

Jaskier didn’t like that the smile wasn’t real. He could read you like a book. He could see that you weren’t happy with going to the ball, uncomfortable even. 

“Okay. Would you like me to help you put your dress on?”

“You can lace me up.” You offered, sniffling as you stood from the edge of the bed. 

***

Jaskier led you through the halls of the palace and to the ballroom. 

You were staying with the bard and Geralt of Rivia in a town run by a duke and duchess. The duke was throwing a ball in honor of Geralt who had just saved the duke’s people from the demise of a manticore that was hunting in the mountains just beyond the town. As well as paying the witcher a fair coin, the duke offered you three a free stay within his palace. 

You were starting to wish that Geralt had never taken the job. 

With your hand wrapped around the inside of Jaskier’s elbow, your eyes carefully scanned everyone you passed. You wanted to see him before he saw you. 

The ballroom was packed with happy and intoxicated guests. Music played rather loudly from somewhere in the room and you found yourself struggling to think straight. 

Your eyes found the White Wolf and a smile came to your lips. There were two empty seats next to him. It comforted you to know that while Jaskier entertained for the night, you’d be right beside the witcher. He’d never let harm come to you.

“You look lovely, Y/N.” Geralt commented as Jaskier pulled the chair closest to Geralt out for you.

“Thank you, Geralt. Are you enjoying…. this?” You gestured to the center of the room where many were drunkenly dancing. 

“Of course.” The witcher muttered, bringing his mug of ale to his lips. 

“It’s almost time for me to go.” Jaskier leaned over the back of your chair but still peered out over the crowd, looking for another bard probably. “You’ll be alright here alone?” His hand found your shoulder. You placed your hand on his and turned your head to look back at him. 

“I’ll be just fine.” You answered him with a smile. He returned the gesture and kissed your forehead, giving your shoulder a soft squeeze. 

You watched him walk over to the other side of Geralt, where he leaned down to whisper something to the White Wolf. You frowned, your brows drawing together. What was he whispering about?

You folded your hands in your lap as you watched your bard trasp through the crowd. When he disappeared among the colorful and expensive outfits, you turned your head to Geralt. 

“What was he whispering about?” 

Geralt looked at you out of the corner of his eyes, grunting. 

“Oh, come on, Geralt!” You whined, turned yourself towards him a little. “Don’t keep secrets from me.”

“It wasn’t a secret.”

“Then why won’t you tell me?”

“Why were you crying earlier?” He countered, turning his head to fully meet your gaze.

Your lips parted and a breath left your lungs. 

“He-He told you?”

“He asked me to keep an eye on you. He’s worried about you.”

You looked straight ahead of you for a few heartbeats before dropping your gaze to the table in front of you. 

“He’s got no reason to be worried.”

“Then what was your reasoning for crying?”

You closed your eyes for a moment as you thought of something to say. You nodded your head and exhaled softly. 

“Sometimes distant memories feel like fresh wounds.”

Geralt nodded once, golden eyes watching you warily before he returned his attention to crowd-watching. 

***

A while had passed you thought that maybe, just maybe you’d get through this night without anything happening. 

But then Geralt was pulled away by a man he knew and you were left alone at the large table. Your heart raced and your fingers curled into fists around your skirt. 

“Look at you.” The voice brought chills to your spine and made your stomach twist. 

Out of the corner of your eyes, you could see him sit down next to you where Geralt had previously been. 

“Never thought I’d see you again, Y/N.”

You did nothing to acknowledge him. You kept your gaze ahead and your jaw locked. 

“I’m talking to you-,” His hand clasped around your arm, his massive hand nearly embracing your entire bicep. But you cut him off, jerking your arm out of his grip and turning your head to him.

“Don’t you dare put your hands on me.” You spoke through clenched teeth. His eyes were just as cold and empty as you remembered. He was emotionless. Maybe that was why you instantly took a liking to Jaskier. His eyes gave away what he was feeling. He had so many emotions that sometimes he didn’t know what to do with them. He was soft and tender, a gentle soul that you loved, the kind of man you wanted to be with for the rest of your life. 

“The little las thinks she’s got some guts talking to me like that.” He kept his voice low, leaning towards you. Youleaned away, not wanting to get any closer to him. “I just want to have a simple conversation with you, Y/N. Why do you have to make it so difficult?”

“I have nothing to say to you.” You stood up and prepared to leave - run, even, if you had to - but he grabbed your wrist in his vice-like grip and jerked you back around to face him. The force at which he pulled you was enough to make you crash into his chest. 

You forgot just how terrifying he was. He stood a few inches taller than Geralt and much larger, mostly stocky muscle. 

You saw a blade be placed on his shoulder and your eyes flickered back to see Geralt and Jaskier standing just behind him. Geralt held his sword on your ex’s shoulder. 

“It isn’t polite to pull a woman around like a dog on a chain.” Geralt spoke lowly. “Release her.”

“Very well.” Your ex muttered, giving you a rough shove to the floor. 

By now, music had softened and many in the room stopped what they were doing to watch the scene unfold. 

Jaskier was by your side in an instant, checking you over for any injuries and then pulling you to your feet. 

“Are you alright, my sweet?” He asked you, his fingertips brushing along the side of your face. 

Your hand clasped his tightly and you kissed the inside of his wrist.

“Thank you.” You stepped closer to him so you could hug him tightly and bury your face in his chest. Your heart was still pounding from its place inside your ribs, but you could breathe. You were safe in the arms of your lover. 

While you were distracted, Geralt lowered his weapon and your ex made his escape. Geralt watched him leave through the crowd and slip out of the large doors towards the back of the room. 

“Were you hurt?” Jaskier asked you, pulling away so he could see your face. Then he decided to move towards the table, wanting you to sit down in a chair. 

You took a seat and he sat in front of you, his hands gliding over your arms with concern. 

“I’m fine, Jaskier.” You smiled at him. Your eyes flickered back to Geralt, who stood behind your bard. “Thank you.”

He answered you with a nod of his head.

“Who was that man, Y/N?” Jaskier asked you, placing his hands on the outsides of your knees. 

“We…. We courted years ago.” You answered quietly, dropping your gaze to the strap of his lute that crossed over his chest. “He’s a…. a very rough man. A knight my parents wanted me to marry. They didn’t care…. They didn’t care how he treated me.” You shook your head, your voice soft and timid. “They just wanted me to have children with him. But I couldn’t bear the thought of having a child with him. He’s just…. an awful man.” You wanted to curse him and call him all sorts of horrible names, but you didn’t want anger to consume you. You didn’t want to turn into your ex. 

“He’s the reason you didn’t want to come to this?” Jaskier drew his brows together. “Sweet, you should have told me! We could’ve stayed in our room-,”

“I didn’t want you to miss your chance tonight, Jask.” You cut him off, shaking your head. “I’m fine, I promise you.”

Still, he looked at you with concern, soft blue eyes watching you. 

“I’m fine, Jaskier.” You placed your hand upon his knee, wanting him to just forget about the whole encounter.

He took your hand from his knee and brought your knuckles up to his lips.

“Just be honest with me next time, sweet.” His words were breathed against the skin of your knuckles. 

You nodded but said nothing. You didn’t really trust your voice at the moment.

You briefly glanced around the room.  A few people were still staring, some even whispered. You took a deep breath and brought your eyes to Jaskier. 

“I could use some fresh air.”

He nodded, standing up and offering you his elbow. 

“Let’s go for a walk, yeah?”

“That sounds lovely.”

***

The two of you slowly moved through the halls of the palace, his hand resting atop your hand that was holding his arm. He was hummed quietly, something he often did when he was thinking. You wondered what it was that the bard had been thinking so hard about but you didn’t ask.

The two of you continued down a hall lit by the light of the moon shining in through tall, thin windows on either side of the hall. 

Jaskier stopped at one of the windows and leaned against the stone wall, gently pulling you around so that you faced him. You stood in the window, your face glowing from the light of the moon. 

“Why have you never mentioned him?” Jaskier asked quietly, his head tilting to the side just slightly. 

You took a soft deep breath through your nose and looked down the hall behind him. There was a group of women making their way down the hall. You patiently waited for them to pass, your eyes flickering to look out of the window. 

Jaskier squeezed your hands, wanting to get your attention. He thought you were ignoring his question. 

“I never…. I didn’t want him to affect us.” You answered, not daring to meet his gaze. “He’s-He’s the reason I don’t like when people yell. I don’t like when people get mad and-and it makes me nauseous. I can’t stand loud noises. Still, I can barely sleep without seeing him.”

Jaskier heard the way your voice cracked like all the emotions you were holding in were threatening to break free. “I didn’t want you to be afraid of touching me.”

He said nothing and you wanted to look up to see his beautiful eyes but you couldn’t bring yourself to do such a thing.

Very softly, he placed two fingers underneath your chin and tilted your head up so you had no choice but to look him in the eyes. 

“My sweet muse, I’d never be afraid to touch you.” He pressed a velvet kiss to your forehead, warm lips making your skin tingle and your heart race. His hands slipped around your hips, pulling you carefully into his hold. “I wish you would’ve told me sooner.”

He tucked your head beneath his chin, cradling you to him. He took a shaky deep breath, arms restricting around you for a moment. 

“I wish I could’ve protected you from him.” His voice shook towards the end of his sentence. He was struggling not to cry. 

You pulled your head from his chest and brought one hand up to cup his cheek.

“If I hadn’t gone through what I did then I would’ve never left my home. I would’ve never met you, my sweet songbird.” A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you looked at him. 

Crinkles by his glossy blue eyes appeared as he smiled back at you. 

“You aren’t supposed to cry.” You brushed the tear from his cheek. 

“I can’t help it.” He laughed softly. “Just to think that another man would lay his hands on you-,”

“It’s over with, Jaskier.” You cut him off. “I’m with you now and you treat me like a queen.”

“My beautiful queen.” He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against yours. His hand on your lower back made small circles in the back of your dress. “I’ll never let harm befall you.”

You smiled, your hands gripping his arms.

Note: I don’t yet have a Jaskier taglist but I’m gonna tag the ones who have said before that they wanted to be tagged in everything of mine :) also let me know if you want to be on my Jaskier taglist or any other taglist of mine

@jennylovelyheart @romancebibliophilia @wayward-dream

[geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde]

Misery and Happiness Ch 5

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Summary: Word of an injured, possibly dead witcher has reached Jaskier in his travels and as much as he would like to walk away, he knows he can't.

Note: part of this chapter was inspired by this post by @kalinara so thank you for the inspiration!

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It’s time, Jaskier decides, for Geralt to answer his questions. The bard knew that he shouldn’t press, should give Geralt more of a chance to rest and recover, but Jaskier deserved answers and he couldn’t quite trust that Geralt wouldn’t up and leave at the earliest opportunity.

Jaskier stares at Geralt, wondering how to begin his questioning. As much anger and bitterness running through the bard as there is, he still wants to be delicate. He doesn’t know what’s happening in the witchers mind, and if his delusional rambling was anything to go on, Jaskier hadn’t known what was going on in Geralt’s mind for a while.

“How were you wounded?” Jaskier finally questions softly, figuring the hunt itself to be the safest topic of discussion.

“Wyvern,” Geralt grunts, answer short and clipped. Not an unexpected response but it still managed to put Jaskier’s teeth on edge. Was it really that difficult to be forthcoming with your answers?

Rolling his eyes, Jaskier sends a scathing look Geralt’s way, “Yes, that I could manage to deduce myself, thanks. Were there too many? I’ve seen you fight these particular beasties before and rarely walk away with a scratch, let alone that nasty of a gash.”

“Just wasn’t paying attention.”

That response gave Jaskier pause, “Weren’t paying attention? That’s not like you during a hunt.” Geralt had once told Jaskier that witchers retired only when they slowed and got killed. Geralt made it a point to be careful on hunts, limiting distractions, like Jaskier’s ramblings, to limit injuries.

“Hmm.”

Jaskier frowned, grunting was not going to cut it this time, “Well surely you knew you were injured, why didn’t you go straight back to town? See to your wound?”

Geralt let out a short sigh, not wanting to continue with this line of questioning, “Took swallow, thought I’d be fine after a nap.”

“Geralt you would have died had I not found you!” Jaskier let out indignantly, a bit louder than he had intended.

“Hazard of the job.”

Jaskier stands abruptly, starting to pace the floor. “I’ve never seen you like that,” Jaskier starts, “you were delirious, even after the fever broke. Nothing you said made sense. You’re were asking for people. Names I’ve never heard. Me.”

Geralt freezes, he hadn’t realized he’d said anything to the bard until after he woke. What had he said? “I’m tired, Jaskier.” The witcher finally responds, not wanting to confront the various possibilities of what the bard might have heard.

Jaskier continues talking, ignoring Geralt’s soft decree, “You called for your mother, at least I think that’s what you were saying. Begged someone named Vesemir for help. Said you needed to find me, apologize to me. Asked me to let you die.” Jaskier’s eyes are staring intently at Geralt, the bard’s emotions are fraught.

Geralt continues staring at the wall, refusing to look at the bard, not knowing what to say. He had no reason to doubt the bard, to disbelieve him. But he also had no explanation, not for his words, not for his feelings. Jaskier’s pleading made it clear he was trying to help, wanted to help, but Geralt couldn’t accept his help, he didn’t deserve it.

A sob wrenches out of Jaskier, drawing the witchers eyes to him, finally. When the witcher still remains silent, Jaskier presses a hand to his face briefly before walking around the room, grabbing his bag and lute, and heading for the door.

Geralt knows he should let the bard go, it’s for the best this way, but he finds himself talking instead.

“She left,” Geralt mutters softly, barely loud enough for the bard to hear. Jaskier stops, stiffening his shoulders but not turning around.

“She left, and I don’t know why. We were travelling, I remember talking to her, telling jokes, singing. And then she was gone. That’s all I remember of my mother. Did I say too much, make her leave?” Geralt’s voice is raw with emotion, with pain, and when Jaskier turns around he can see the sadness on the witcher’s face.

Jaskier thinks of all the times he had wondered the same thing, wondered if he was talking too much. No, he knew he was talking too much, but he always wondered if it would be the thing that made the witcher leave him. Despite his fears, Jaskier never stopped talking, couldn’t bring himself to. And Geralt never left him.

Geralt continues talking, “If she hadn’t left me, left me to witchers, I wouldn’t be here. Wouldn’t be here to make a mess of everything, to ruin everything. I wouldn’t be a monster that destroys everything I touch.”

Jaskier wants to jump in, to cut Geralt’s words off, to assure the witcher that he wasn’t any of the awful things that he had built up in his head, but the bard clamps his mouth shut. The urge to argue Geralt’s worth is strong, always had been, but Jaskier knew the witcher needed this, needed to say these things, and Jaskier needed to hear them. He needed to understand what was going on in the witcher’s head.

“Vesemir trained me. At Kaer Morhen. He’s the closest thing to a parent I have but he helped make me into this thing. This monster with one purpose.” Geralt paused, mouth curling into a grimace, “I can’t even do that right, instead of keeping to myself and killing monsters I keep getting involved with humans. And every time I do, I fuck something up.”

Jaskier stood there, watching Geralt, as the witcher broke down. Six months ago, on a mountain, Jaskier thought he had felt his heart shatter to pieces at the cruel words of his best friend. But here, in an inn in some random village of the continent, watching the strongest man he knew crack in front of him, he felt the shatter of his heart vividly. Before it had been fractured, and it had hurt, but seeing the pain that Geralt was going through was what really did in the poor bard’s heart. Jaskier wants nothing more than to help Geralt, but how?

-

As everything collapsed around him, Geralt couldn’t help but wonder why the bard was still there, staring at him with his piercing eyes.

“Geralt,” the bard begins gently, “our pasts set us on our paths, but they don’t define us.”

Why was the bard being so kind to him? He didn’t deserve it. Hell, he still hadn’t apologized for all the awful things he had said and done to the bard over the years, still hadn’t apologized for the mountain.

Looking into Jaskier’s eyes now, the witcher wasn’t sure he could. He didn’t want to say anything else, was too afraid of what would come out if he kept talking. The bard couldn’t know the real reason he pushed him away, the witcher was too afraid of his own emotions to confront them, let alone tell someone else about them. Particularly the person causing the swirling mess of emotions.

As Geralt continued staring into the bard’s eyes, he watched determination settle across the man’s face. Jaskier stood up straight, head held high, and walked toward Geralt. Slowly the bard knelt in front of the witcher, his gaze steady, the blue of his eyes shining.

“Geralt, it is time for me to talk, and you to listen. You used to be good at it, so let’s give it another try now, yes?” Jaskier said after a few moments, voice steady.

Geralt was certain, in that moment, he would do anything Jaskier asked of him.

The witcher nodded slowly.

[hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall]

The girl from the Prophecy - Two

Geralt of Rivia x Mage!Reader

Chapter Summary: Geralt is slowly healing at your house and it is finally to make a decision. Are you ready to make a move to change the life you have?

Warning: None? I think? If I missed any, please let me know <3

Tags: @holyhumorliteraturelight  @alwayshave-faith​ @stretchkingblog97​  @ninjarose23​

Geralt doesn’t remember when was the last time someone took care of him. Humans preferred to stay away and only cared when he showed them coins. All the women that were so ‘interested’ in him were just whores that like to hear stories of the great Witcher. Their touch harsh and with no pinch of emotions. No feelings. Their eyes dead, icy almost distant, always searching for a coin and some worth mediating stories. He got used to people being scared of him. He got used to people attacking him, releasing all their anger on him. He got used to it. He learned to accept it to survive. He wasn’t used to subtlety, to soft touches and beautiful, shy and sincere smile. 

He wasn’t ready for you to be so open and friendly. To give him all of your attention. To laugh at Jaskier’s awful jokes. He did not expect you to wake up early to make you all breakfast, and definitely, he did not expect those gentle hands on his wounds. He watched your every move. The timid touch, afraid of hurting him, or crossing an invisible line. He saw that in your eyes. This fear of your every move, the anxiety building inside you whenever you had to use magic to prepare medication for him. He knew you weren’t really taught by anyone. He observed you for those four days. After being almost forced to lay in bed, he had nothing else to do, but observe, follow your every move. From the early parts of the mornings, when you left home to get milk and eggs from the few animals you kept in the back of your house. He inspected your gentle moves, whenever you thought that he and Jaskier were still asleep. Everything about you was gentle. 

“I can change them by myself now”, he once mentioned, when you were so gently covering his stomach with yet another set of bandages. The herbs you were making every evening were doing real magic to his wounds. He remembered that little soft smile you gave him and the words you then spoke, would always keep him wonder. 

“It’s alright. Please, let me be needed. Even if only for a little bit.” He couldn’t understand villagers’ fear towards you. ‘The Witch’, ‘A monster’, ‘A whore that killed her own parents’. No, you weren’t a monster. Far from it. You were innocent, kind-hearted and alone. Truly alone. Broken he would even say. 

You haven’t talked about the conversation you both had the first day. He never asked you about your relations with the village and the people and you never asked him about…. well anything if he was being honest. He wasn’t used to women not asking him questions about the scars, the adventures or monsters he fought. You were mostly quiet, only answering his questions or making a small conversation with Jaskier, who on the contrary could not shut up. He watched you smile and sometimes even giggle at his stupid ballads or stories of the two of them. Which mostly well just full of bollocks. But you were listening with wide eyes and full attention to the bard. You asked him questions and engaged him to talk, but you never seemed to be so open and talkative with him. 

“Do I scare you?” He once asked you, when you were tenderly cleaning his hair. You seemed to like doing it, and he never really asked you why. He just let you do it. In a complete silence between the two of you. He would never say it out loud but he did enjoy the delicate touch of your fingers, playing with his hair. How many times did he need to stop the growl of satisfaction when you accidentally pulled a bit too harsh. He always chuckled seeing your blush and hearing those apologies leaving your mouth. There you were, helping him, keeping him healthy, alive and clean, while still apologising for the smallest inconvenience. 

“Of course not,” You answered almost in a whisper, putting on some special oil on his wounded shoulder. It smelled nice. Surprisingly not affecting his sensitive smell. “Why would you think that?” 

“You don’t speak as much when you’re with me.” He looked up hearing your soft and quiet chuckle. He raised his brow and smirked. 

“Is the great Witcher jealous?” He snickered at that and shook his head, actually amused at what he was hearing. He knew your little banter was not for real. “You don’t talk too much yourself, so I could only assume you don’t appreciate to be a part of unnecessary conversations.” The corners of his lips lifting a bit. “I can only assume that after a whole day with a lively bard you would appreciate the quiet.” He inhaled and grinned a bit, laying his head at the edge of the wooden bath, just between your legs. He enjoyed the little blush that always occurs whenever he or Jaskier made a forward move towards you. Almost as you weren’t used to men’s attention. Which was hard to believe if he was being honest. You were a beautiful little thing. Not an Aretuza - level beauty, but still  quite breathtaking. 

“You never asked me about those scars. Or the adventures I’ve been a part of. or the monsters I’ve killed.”

“Do you want me to ask?” he sneered at that, but only closed his eyes, enjoying the silkiness of your touch, that travelled back to his hair. He was sure you knew how much he liked it, this was why you always took extra time with it. He was thankful, but of course, never said it out loud. He didn’t have to. It seemed like you understood him with no words needed. 

“I don’t think I would mind telling you.” Your eyes widened, an adorable blush appeared on your cheeks and you only smiled at him. You wanted to ask, and he knew that, but you decided not to. He needed the space and silence and you respected it. 

**

The necklace. You always had it on you. Never left it behind. He noticed you slept it in and bath in it. He has never seen one like that before and he was too proud to ask. 

“I thought you’d be more subtle, Geralt!” He looked at the bard and frowned. “She is a beautiful woman with lots to show,” the witcher rolled his eyes at the bard’s comment. “But you do not seem to worry about modesty. Your eyes seem to always travel down the valley of…”

“I look at the necklace, you fool!” He growled, annoying by the solemn sound of his voice. “There is something about it. Something that puts an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.” 

“Just ask her”, he shrugged, taking a bite of the meal you prepared for them. “She seems smitten with you, she’ll definitely answer.” Geralt grunted with anger and shook his head. Jaskier always saw romance and an idea for a new ballad everywhere they went. The stupid bard always assumed all the women would fall for the mysterious Witcher. 

“I don’t want to cross the barrier.” The bard frowned and sighed, not understanding this unspoken rule between you two. 

“Y/N!” He shouted, making Geralt send him an evil look. “What’s with the necklace?” You turned walked to the other room and looked at the two men, who seemed to be close to killing each other. You looked down at it and smiled sadly. 

“My mother once gave it to me.” You touched it, running your finger through the weird symbols on it. “She told me it was a talisman that would protect me from those who would like to harm me.” You shrugged and chuckled awkwardly. “It is one of the few things she left behind before she died.” It was the first time you told them about your parents. About your past. 

“What about your old man?” Geralt kicked the bard under the table, making you giggle quietly. “What? It’s a normal question!”

“He... “ You bit your lip nervously. “He killed himself when I was thirteen”, they both froze, with Jaskier regretting even asking you about it. “I guess the prospect of living with a Witch was too much…”

“Humans are scared of what they don’t know”, Geralt whispered, not leaving his eyes off you. “Just because they call you a Witch doesn’t mean you are. You are a mage, Y/N. A sorceress with great Power inside you.” You looked up to meet his eyes and smiled. It was always what your mother used to tell you. It was really nice to hear it from someone else’s mouth. 

“Thank you, Geralt.” 

***

It has been a week and Geralt was completely healed. A week of having someone around you. First time after your father died, that you were not alone. It felt nice, almost as if you were needed. 

“I envy you, Jaskier…” You whispered, a night before their departure. You were both sitting outside your house, looking at the sky full of stars. “Those adventures, a possibility of being on the move. Not afraid of what another day would bring you... “ He frowned. It was the first time he saw you so serious.” No matter how much I would like to live this place, this house, the village I still have his words in my head. The curse that seems to become truth…” You exhaled and laid down, staring at the full moon, enjoying the nice breeze coming from the lake and a wine Jaskier bought in the village as a thank you. 

“What curse?” He asked, looking at you with this soft expression. You smiled and shook your head. 

“Doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago. Too long for me to even remember it…” You got up and patting him on the shoulder you started to walk towards the house. 

“Come with us.” you stopped and looked back. “I’m sure Geralt wouldn’t mind. It would handy to have a mage by our side. A healer. Come with us and get free from whatever binds you to this place.” The sincerity in his eyes made you smile. He was a good man. A naive one, but kind-hearted. No surprise the Witcher valued him so much. 

“Good night, Jaskier. Get some sleep.” 

**

“I can’t leave this place…” You whispered, looking around the house. The two men were standing in front of your house. Geralt behind Jaskier who once again gave you the possibility. “I can’t come with you…” 

“Why? What is it you have here, Y/N? A lonely, empty house and villagers who are too dumb to notice how amazing you are!” 

“Jaskier!” Geralt growled. It was the first time he spoke since he has woken up. The breakfast was quiet. Even the bard didn’t seem to want to talk. 

“No, come on Geralt. Wouldn’t it be easier for us to have someone like Y/N by our side?” You would be lying to yourself if you didn't have a bit of hope in hearing what the Witcher had to say about that. You looked at the white-haired man with so much promise in your eyes. 

“You can’t force her!” He hissed and looked at you with a smirk. “However, if she didn’t mind, I wouldn’t say no. A healer by our side would save some time and coin.” Your eyes widened and you feel your heart, beat four times faster.

You sent him the biggest smile and went home to back, taking only the most important things with you. You left the note for the boy who visited you once a month and with no looking back, you followed the two men. A hope forming in your heart. A hope that your father’s curse would not come true. 

[collapse-and-comfort]

Prompts you say? If you want to/it intrigues you - any (and all) Geralt whump would be amazing! As far as a specific prompt - maybe something involving poisoning? Something lethal to humans and not-so-fun for Witchers? But only if you want to! -@sick-bae

Oh, my goodness!!! Thank you, @sick-bae for the amazing prompt! Sorry it took me so long (roughly forever) to write it! I meant to make it a drabble. (Oops!) Here is a bunch of Geralt whump for the sake of Geralt whump! I hope you enjoy!

It also helped me fill another @badthingshappenbingo square! (View my BTHB Card.)

Fandom: The Witcher (Netflix)

Whumpee: Geralt of Rivia

Caretaker: Jaskier

Pairing: None

Squire Filled: Delirium 

Word Count: 3,303

Jaskier sat in their little camp and plucked at his lute’s strings. The tune was flippant, atonal nonsense but Jaskier stopped and started again as though he’d made a mistake.

This is taking too long, he thought as the sun slipped below the horizon.

He nudged away the familiar pang that came with being unable to do anything in these situations. He continued to strum, and imagined the thing Geralt was hunting -a creature that was feline and reptilian in grace and appearance. It was difficult not to find inspiration in that horror, though. His fingers sussed out a new rhythm. He looked into the fire and wondered if the creature's eyes were similar in color, how Similar to Geralt’s.

Jaskier stopped abruptly when the brush to his left rustled. He gripped the neck of the lute tightly and jumped.

“You’re back,” Jaskier said as he huffed out self-deprecating laughter, but gave a smile that insisted he knew it was Geralt all along. “You really-”

Something was wrong. 

The fact Jaskier had heard Geralt approach was testament to that fact. Geralt’s steps were slow. His right hand held his ichor-slicked silver sword, and he kept his left arm across his abdomen. Jaskier couldn’t see the blood very well against the dark fabric of Geralt’s tunic, but he could see that the hand covering the wound was stained crimson.

Jaskier set his lute down, stood and walked closer without bothering to brush the dirt from his clothes. In the pale evening light, Jaskier could see the sheen of sweat covering Geralt’s face. In the back of his mind, Jaskier wondered where Geralt’s armor was.

“Hey,” he said as he reached out to take the sword, or help in some way. He wasn’t really sure.

“Leave it,” Geralt growled as he slumped against a tree. He winced and swallowed hard.

Jaskier would not be so easily rebuffed. He let Geralt take a couple of breaths before walking over and taking a soft hold of Geralt’s forearm with one hand, and the sword’s pommel with the other.

“Is it dead?”

“Hmm,” Geralt said by way of confirmation.

“Then let go,” Jaskier said.

It was not a request. He supposed it might have been an imitation of Geralt. Jaskier squeezed his forearm lightly. Geralt, for his part, looked at Jaskier with annoyed resignation as he uncurled his fingers and let Jaskier relieve him of his weapon.

Without taking his eyes off of Geralt, Jaskier carried the sword and placed it by Geralt’s things. He opened his mouth to lament Roach’s absence when Geralt heaved himself away from the tree trunk and tried to walk. One step, then another that faltered. Jaskier closed the distance between them and caught Geralt under the arms before gravity could claim him. It must have pulled the wound; Geralt gave an abrupt, pained grunt.

“Sorry,” Jaskier said as he helped Geralt right himself.

He nudged his way under Geralt’s left arm and was surprised by the heat Geralt’s body was putting off.

“You’re so warm.”

Geralt leaned more heavily on Jaskier, but said nothing.

“Come on,” Jaskier said as he took as he took a step.

Geralt’s movements shadowed Jaskier’s as they made their way to Geralt’s bedroll. The going was slow and with each step, Geralt leaned more heavily on Jaskier. They paused when they reached the bedroll. Jaskier struggled for something to say. Expressions of concern were jumbled with glib proclamations about how heavy Geralt was. He settled on silence and focused on settling Geralt. Jaskier’s knees threatened to buckle, and he felt the strain in his back, but he didn’t let go until Geralt was on the ground.

Jaskier huffed out a breath and smiled at how close he’d come to toppling. His smile was short lived, though. Jaskier had expected Geralt to begin rumaging through his pack and begin the process of making himself well. But Geralt sat there, jaw clenched, with his hand still holding his side.

“You’re hurt,” Jaskier said.

His words didn’t spur Geralt into action, but it did earn him a half hearted scowl.

“I'm allowed to indulge in stating the obvious every once in a while,” he said. “What do you need?”

“Thirsty,” Geralt said.

Jaskier was used to Geralt answering with sounds, gestures, or monosyllabic words, but his voice was quieter than it should have been; he sounded so worn. Jaskier located Geralt’s water and handed it to him. Geralt drank from the skin with the urgency of someone who had been stranded in a desert. Geralt’s breathing escalated with the effort, and Jaskier watched with both worry and morbid fascination as some of the water ran down Geralt’s chin and onto his chest. Geralt exhaled harshly when he was done. He let the water skin fall from his hand, then scrubbed a broad palm over his face and winced.

The longer Geralt took to make a move for his pack, the more nervous Jaskier became. He couldn’t see the extent of the wound on Geralt’s side, but that seemed like as good a time as any to mention it.

“We should get that cleaned,” Jaskier said.

Geralt made no move for his things. He just sat there, staring forward with his jaws clenched, sweat on his face beading anew.

“Do you need a potion, or-”

“No.”

Geralt’s voice was flat and impatient, but not angry enough to dissuade Jaskier from pressing the issue.

“What can I do?”

“There’s nothing you can do,” Geralt said as he looked up at Jaskier.

Jaskier guessed he was trying to glare, but Geralt looked too tired to muster any real menace. Jaskier frowned, but quickly marshalled his expression.

“If I were an insecure person, I might think that remark was about my value as a travelling companion.”

“The venom,” Geralt said as he bowed his head and moved it from side to side as though he were hoping to clear his vision. “There’s no potion. Nothing.”

Jaskier thought of the people the creature had already killed; their ends hadn’t been pretty. Icy fear crept into his gut.

“You just intend to curl up and die then? What if...”

Jaskier’s impassioned speech about not giving up fell short. He looked at Geralt. He looked miserable and ill, but not afraid. But then, Geralt couldn't usually be relied upon to display his emotions in a way that would allow Jaskier to gauge the desperation of the situation.

Geralt sighed and looked up at Jaskier with a flash of aggravation.

“It’s fatal to humans,” Geralt said.

Not to witchers, Jaskier thought, unable to miss the subtext of Geralt’s statement.

Geralt licked his lips and swallowed hard before slowly enumerating all the ways he was about to suffer. It hurt Jaskier to hear the frankness with which Geralt discussed the inevitability of his own agony. It was far from the first time Jaskier wondered how much pain Geralt had withstood in his past to make this seem acceptable.

Geralt moved his hand from his side. He put both of his palms on the ground and lowered himself down; he shook as he did so. He rested on his uninjured side and wrapped his arms around himself. Jaskier walked over and knelt down next to Geralt and put a hand on his arm.

“Don’t,” Geralt said as his muscles bunched. “Leave me. I told you I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah,” Jaskier said. “You did.”

He didn’t like how Geralt’s voice seemed to come from miles away, or the way he was trembling. But he removed his hand and stood. The sky had darkened; it called to attention how low the fire was burning. That thought gave Jaskier direction. He got some of the wood he’d gathered earlier and added it to the fire. The kindling popped, hissed and shifted in the flame.

He cast a glance back at Geralt before making his way to the nearby stream for water. He rushed back, but everything was as he’d left it. Geralt’s chest moved with short, quick breaths and the deep furrows in his brow informed Jaskier Geralt’s sleep was not a restful one. There was no comfort he could offer his friend in that moment, but he sang one of his own ballads dto himself as he found a pan, then filled it with water and put it over the fire. He willed the water to boil as inactivity grated on him. He considered picking up his lute, or cleaning the sword. Anything but the impotence of waiting.

Jaskier shifted his weight from foot to foot, then made a noise in the back of his throat before getting a blanket from his own belongings. He brought it over to where Geralt lay, and folded it. He sank down behind Geralt. With gentle hands, Jaskier lifted Geralt’s head and put the blanket beneath it. Jaskier felt how damp Geralt’s hair was, and a concerned tut escaped his mouth. He moved a hand to Geralt’s forehead, then his cheek.

Too warm, Jaskier thought. Far too warm.

Geralt’s eyes slid open when Jaskier moved his hand to his throat, but he did nothing to prevent Jaskier from helping.

“You’ve got a fever,” Jaskier told him as he focused on the way Geralt’s pulse jumped under his touch. Was it too fast for a witcher?

Jaskier was unsure if the heat radiating off of Geralt’s body, or his lack of response was more worrying. Geralt’s eyes seemed to look right through him. Jaskier was disabused of any notion of pressing Geralt for a way to help him when Geralt’s body seized up and began to shake.

“Nonononono,” Jaskier said.

Geralt had told him this would happen, but he wasn’t ready for it. He didn’t want to see the way Geralt shook; he didn’t want to see the way Geralt’s eyes rolled back in his head. He put a hand on Geralt’s arm and another on his hip, if for no other reason than to let Geralt know he was there. He knew the gesture was useless, but maybe, maybe, it would keep Geralt from shaking himself apart.

“Okay, you’re going to be okay,” Jaskier said. His voice was barely above a whisper. “You said so yourself.”

Geralt’s back remained straight as his limbs and head shook and spasmed with malignant force. The stuttering, uneven hiss of Geralt’s breath being dragged in and out of his noise was the only sound Geralt made. Jaskier wanted to tear through Geralt’s pack and search out a potion, but he knew that would have been absolute idiocy. He knew whatever he selected would, in his hands, likely do more harm than good.

Pleasepleasepleaseplease, Jaskier prayed to whichever deity might have been listening. Please let this stop!

It did stop.

Eventually.

The shaking tapered off. Geralt breathed hard, but his body went slack. He let out a strangled noise, likely the remnant of words that had snared in his throat. Jaskier moved his hands away, though he doubted Geralt noticed their presence in the first place.

A hissing sound drew Jaskier’s attention; the forgotten water was boiling. He leapt up and took it away from the flame and set it aside to let it cool, but his attention returned to Geralt, who was reigning in his breathing. Jaskier walked in front of Geralt where he crouched and cleared his throat. It was so discreet a noise that Jaskier barely heard it himself.

“Are you with me, Geralt?”

Geralt breathed out, in, then out again before giving a little nod. His eyes remained closed.

“Okay,” Jaskier whispered; relief had muted the volume of his voice. He rose and found his way to his pack.

He brought it over to where Geralt was and began rooting through it. He kept odds and ends on hand, little just-in-case things that he thought he would have needed before Geralt ever did. He found the poultices easily enough; he supposed he could have found them by scent alone. A priestess of Miletele had given them to him; he remembered the crinkle in her nose when she’d admonished him about their pungence.

Jaskier moved Geralt’s arm and pulled his tunic up. It came away easily enough; the fabric had barely begun to stick in the blood. He breathed a sigh of relief when he revealed the wounds. His mind had conjured images of spilt viscera and gushing blood. The wounds, undoubtedly inflicted by one of the creature’s claws, were ugly but they were nowhere near as bad as Jaskier had feared. The blood seeped lazily. Jaskier thought that staunching it should be relatively simple. But the skin around the wounds piqued his concern; it was raised and red.

Poison, Jaskier thought.

Or perhaps it was venom. He chose not to dwell on the distinction. He drew a pained groan from Geralt when he put pressure on the wound. Jaskier mouthed the word ‘Sorry,’ but he didn’t relent. Geralt did what he always did. He tolerated the pain; aside from the occasional tensing of muscle or grunt, he made no complaint as Jaskier worked in silence. He did his best to mimic the priestess’s ministrations. When he was done, he chewed his lip and hoped his limited experience as a healer was adequate. At least there was no more blood and Geralt’s breathing seemed to be more even. Jaskier pulled Geralt’s tunic back down and wished his friend a restful sleep, all while knowing unconsciousness wouldn't find him until Geralt returned to himself.

The night seemed in no hurry to pass. Jaskier shifted from one position to the other, trying to escape the aches in his legs, back and neck. The period of time the relief for his muscles lasted was shorter each time he moved. The fire’s warmth was no comfort to him, especially considering how comparable it was to Geralt’s body heat. Jaskier had no reason to believe their problems would fade with the sunrise, but that didn’t stop him wishing it.

Darkness remained. Geralt groaned and curled in on himself. Jaskier feared another seizure, but while Geralt’s body tensed and trembled, Jaskier realized another symptom Geralt had mentioned was presenting itself. Geralt shifted as he made strangled, pained cries, and Jaskier sat with a desolate kind of uselessness as cramps wracked Geralt’s body.

Nothing you can do, Jaskier thought as he rubbed circles on Geralt’s back and intermittently wiped the sweat from his brow.

Geralt raised a hand. Jaskier watched as it stayed where Geralt had lifted it; several fingers were tightly curled as he trembled with the force of his muscle spasms. Jaskier reached out his own hands and wrapped them around Geralt’s before he guided it back down to his chest. Jaskier moved his thumbs back and forth over Geralt’s hand.

He sounded inane in his own ears as he hushed Geralt and tried to comfort him through the pain.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said as he dashed the idea of running for help when it resurfaced.

Geralt said he would get through this and Jaskier had to trust in that. He bit his lip as Geralt’s hand threatened to crush his. He quelled the urge to attempt to wriggle free. Even if Geralt ground his knuckles into dust.

Geralt’s cries crackled with agony, but they tapered off into muffled, breathy sounds, but those too faded into silence as his body stopped warring with itself. Geralt’s muscles eased and his hand went slack in Jaskier’s. When Geralt’s body unwound, Jaskier patted his hand and set it down before nursing his own and sitting back with a long exhalation. Beneath the light breeze and the occasional snap of an ember there was the occasional hitch in Geralt’s breath. No matter how things seemed, Jaskier didn’t allow himself to sink into the calm, relative quiet.

He sat and watched the thankfully steady motion of Geralt’s shoulder as it rose and fell. Jaskier counted as Geralt breathed, one on inhalations and two on exhalations as though it might make time go faster. A thought flitted into Jaskier’s mind.  What if the sun didn’t rise? He nearly chuckled at the thought, but it continued to rattle around in his head. Darkness eternal? It was poetic. It could be the subject of a song. There were no words for that song, not yet, but it would begin with a plodding one-two, one-two tune.

But the rhythm became a staccato riot that was accompanied by murmuring. Jaskier had no wish to wake Geralt, even when those murmurs shaped themselves into names. Some Jaskier recognized, some he didn’t.

“I’m here,” Jaskier whispered.

The desperation in Geralt’s voice made him sound so lost and unlike himself. This part would not make it into his song.

Geralt made an ugly, uncertain noise as he rolled onto his back; his mouth hung open as he gasped for air. His eyes, unseeing and ablaze with disquietude, searched the camp.

“No,” Geralt rasped as the corners of his mouth tugged downward and he rolled back over onto his other side, facing Jaskier. He tried to push himself up on shaking arms.

Jaskier knew better than to try to reason with him. He put firm hands on Geralt, who tried to scuttle away. It took hatefully little force to keep Geralt still and his arms, unable to hold his weight, tremored before giving out. It hurt Jaskier to feel the extent that Geralt’s power had fled him. Geralt panted and raved as he struggled weakly against Jaskier, who alternated between apologizing, begging Geralt to be calm and offering him comfort. All told, it did not take long for Geralt’s energy to deplete itself. He stared at nothing as he settled.

“Ma?” Geralt called out again.

“Shh,” Jaskier hushed him as he shook his head.

He brushed silver strands from Geralt’s brow, hoping to show him the gentleness his life so often lacked. Jaskier willed Geralt to close his eyes, to find rest.

Geralt was quiet, save for the occasional, insensible whimper. Those sounds stopped too, though and Geralt lay there with his eyes half-lidded. Jaskier wondered what specters were haunting Geralt and if the venom’s repertoire of tortures had exhausted itself yet. He dabbed the sweat away from Geralt’s brow again. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs. He savored the feeling of the muscles in his back stretching. His own heart rate slowed and, despite his best efforts, he felt his eyes begin to droop.

“Huhuh,” he admonished himself as he drew in a deep breath and shook his head. He began to hum while he put another log on the fire. As the flame grew, Jaskier’s humming bloomed into a melody. It was only when he began to mouth the words that he realized it was some half remembered song from his youth, something he’d sung with glee before having had any concern for skill or method.

Geralt’s eyes slipped shut and Jaskier could see that his body had, at last, had enough; his muscles relaxed and his breath evened out.

Jaskier yawned and started singing another song he hadn’t given voice to since childhood. After a verse of that song he came to the realization that, at that moment, there would have been nothing better than to hear Geralt grumble at him to shut up.

He sipped water when his throat and mouth became too dry and he smiled lopsidedly for no reason at all. His eyes burned and when he rubbed them he found tears, though he could not recall when they’d fallen.

When the sky began to lighten, Jaskier was unconvinced that he wasn't imagining it, but when the brightness became tangibly gray, his sleep-deprived mind became giddy. He knew the light would not guarantee Geralt would be well, but the dissipation of the darkness was something.

[im-fairly-whitty]

The Witcher Wolf: In Plain Sight

Two years have passed since Geralt was cursed with the ability to turn into a wolf whenever his medallion is removed, a curse that's turned into a blessing now that he and Jaskier are partners in everything they do.

It's no exception when they discover a Nilfgaardian army bearing down on Cintra, headed straight toward a certain child surprise. With Jaskier's help and Geralt's enchanted medallion they must find a way to get into the palace, make sure Princess Cirilla is safe, and get out with her in tow if needed, regardless of Queen Calanthe's orders.

[Chapter 1: Into the Fire]  [Chapter 2: Old Friend]

Chapter 3: Bad Luck

Well, that was a bit of bad luck wasn’t it?

Jaskier chewed his lip as he watched Geralt walk away through the market crowd, flanked by none other than Princess Cirilla herself and her own castle guard.

Which perhaps it was fortunate in that Geralt had found his child surprise so easily in this mess of a city, but that also left Jaskier very much alone, and Geralt very much defenseless. This wasn’t the plan at all, meaning they’d both have to figure things out as well as they could on their own.

Jaskier’s hand slipped under his shirt collar, tugging nervously at the chain of Geralt’s Witcher medallion. A habit he’d developed over the last two years whenever he was wearing it for safe keeping. He sighed, then turned to start making his way through the market crown again.

Well, there was nothing for it now. If Geralt had decided to leave Jaskier to his own devices that meant he trusted him to be alright on his own to keep up with the plan. Which meant Jaskier needed to move quickly if he was going to find the banquet lutist and find a way to safely incapacitate him before evening without Geralt’s axii sign.

Jaskier held his lute strap close as he ducked into an ally for a shortcut, knowing it would take him through to the clothing district on the other side, as well as a certain inn where his target would be found.

Everything was perfectly alright. He wouldn't be a bard if he weren’t creative, and he certainly wouldn’t be the most beloved bard on the continent if his ideas weren’t top notch. All he had to do was-

“Excuse me, Sir Bard?”

Jaskier blinked, looking back. A woman had followed him into the ally, the basket of bread on her hip reminding him he’d seen her in the market just now, hawking her wares in the throng behind him as he’d made his way through the press.

It wasn’t at all unusual for Jaskier to be picked out of a crowd, after all his choice of wardrobe was tailored to attract attention to his profession. Literally. But now was certainly not the time for some baker’s wife to try hiring him to play at her daughter’s birthday celebration.

“My apologies Madame, but I’ve places to be at the moment.” Jaskier said graciously, bowing to her without stopping. “I wish you a day as lovely as your countenance.”

“You’re Master Jaskier, ain’t you?” The woman asked, completely unperturbed by social cues as she followed him. “The bard what travels with the Witcher?”

“I, ah, yes, I have been known to keep company with all sorts over the years during my travels. Witchers have indeed been among them.” Jaskier said, keeping up his smile even as a sense of prickling unease settled in his gut.

His traveling with Geralt was hardly a secret--his entire music career was built on the man for Melitele’s sake--but Cintra was the one place where that particular fact was something he’d rather not discuss. With anyone.

“You know, I really thought you’d be shorter for some reason.” The woman said, her thick yokel accent dropping abruptly. Her head tilted to the side as she eyed him with a cool glance that sent shivers down Jaskier’s spine. “Alright, take him.”

“Take wha-?” Jaskier jolted as he suddenly registered heavy breathing behind him, whirling around just as a crack of pain to the back of his head turned everything dark.

***

Coming back to consciousness was slow and not at all pleasant. Sound filtered through to Jaskier as an abstract concept, as though his ears had awoken before his brain.

As he started to sharpen back into awareness the first thing he noticed was the acrid, cottony feeling in his mouth. The second was the low flicker of torchlight. The third was the fact that he was seated on a wooden chair...

...and that his wrists were chained to a table in front of him.

He jerked against the manacles as he finally arrived at full wakefulness with a start, a throbbing pain greeting him from the back of his skull. The marketplace. The ally. The woman with the bread basket.

Geralt.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

A smooth voice intruded on Jaskier’s panic and he looked up to see the familiar looking man sitting across from him. He wore a sleek black doublet that was neither the latest fashion nor untasteful. He couldn’t have been much older than Jaskier, perhaps in his early forties at most despite the salt and pepper streak in his dark hair.

“I was beginning to fear they’d used a bit too much chemical on you.” The man said. “I’m afraid my people aren’t as practiced with catch and release tactics these days.”

“What’s going on?” Jaskier rasped, his voice dry around the cottony feeling still in his throat, probably left over from whatever he’d been drugged with after being knocked out. “Where am I? What-”

“Hold on a moment. It’s been a few years, but I remember well enough what that voice is supposed to sound like.” The man said, not unkindly.

He reached to the end of the table and picked up a cup full of liquid. Jaskier’s instinct was jolt away from the cup as the man held it toward his face.

“Calm yourself, it’s only water.” The man said, looking Jaskier in the eye as he took a small demonstrative sip from the cup. “It should help get the taste out of your mouth.”

Jaskier knew that if Geralt were in his place he would never accept the drink, would probably do something surly like headbutt it out of his captor’s grasp.

But then if the man was really trying to poison him it would have been easy enough to do it while he was unconscious, wouldn’t it?

Jaskier sighed and accepted the drink of water, carefully draining the cup with the man’s help and then clearing his throat when he’d finished.

“I’d thank you for the drink, but I’d say that you owe me a bit more than a cup of water at this point in our relationship.” Jaskier remarked, attempting to settle into as nonchalant a position as his racing heartbeat and manacles allowed now that his voice was back in working order.

Geralt might have the upper hand on all things scary and forceful, but Jaskier’s forte was with words. He very much hoped that his read on the current situation was correct, that this might be a situation of the latter.

The man chuckled. “I promise I’ll buy you a real drink as soon as we’re done here, shouldn’t take too long. I think I still owe you one from last time you were in Cintra anyway.”

“Hang on. Wilhelm, is that you?” Jaskier said, squinting as he looked the man over again, especially noticing the jagged scar by the corner of his eye. He had a full beard now instead of a clean face, that's what had thrown him off initially. “You bastard, what have you got me chained to a table for? I already apologized for getting you so roaringly drunk three years ago, and besides, the rooster was your idea so don’t you dare go trying to pin that on me again.”

Wilhelm laughed at that, as if the two of them were at another of Princess Cirilla’s birthday parties again, downing too much royal wine as things wound down before wandering off together for a rowdy evening together.

But they decidedly weren’t, making Jaskier’s smile rather cool as he fought to balance his cheery bard persona with the clawing sense of dread that wouldn’t let go of his gut. He racked his wine blurred memories trying to remember what it was Wilhelm actually did for Calanthe’s court, although it was becoming fairly clear.

“Oh no, this is all business, I promise.” Wilhelm said, folding his arms on the tabletop. ”I’d be a pretty poor spymaster were I to bring personal matters to work with me.”

Jaskier’s stomach sank. Spymaster. Of course he’d gotten frisky with Calanthe’s ploughing spymaster. 

Which meant this had to be about Geralt then. Cintrian spies likely had standing orders to kill the Witcher on sight. Had they caught Geralt the moment he’d entered the castle with the princess? Was he being held somewhere? Or worse?

In a sudden fit of panic Jaskier wondered if he was even still wearing Geralt’s medallion, or if it had been taken from him while he was unconscious. He didn’t dare look down now to check and risk drawing attention to it.

“It’s good to see you again Wilhelm, really.” Jaskier said, his smile a little brittle around the edges. “But I’ll tell you right now that I haven’t much of a constitution for interrogation. Would you be so kind as to cut to the heart of things so we can both have this over and done with and get to that drink?”

“Certainly, certainly.” Wilhelm said. He flipped open a thin leather folio that was on the tabletop and ran his finger down a sheet of parchment, humming a little to himself. Jaskier doubted very much that he actually needed to check his notes, he knew a performance when he saw one. “Full name please?” Wilhelm asked pleasantly, looking up.

“Jas-”

“Full name please.”

“Julian Alfred Pankratz de Lettenhove.”

“Excellent. Profession?”

“Why do you-”

“The secret to getting this over with as quickly and cleanly as possible,” Wilhelm said, looking up with a smile. “Is to assume that I already know the answer to every question I ask you. It’s my job to know things Jaskier, it’s your job not to lie to me. Alright?”

“Of course.” Jaskier said, returning the smile. Not an ounce of genuine goodwill left in what was now a well practiced facade of good naturedness.

The unnecessary manacles, the cup of water, the low light of the torches, the good natured friendliness amidst the unmovable hints of forceful suggestions. This was certainly a performance, one designed to put him off balance. Not scared enough to withdraw completely from questioning, but with no illusions as to who was in power here and what might happen to him if he were to decide against cooperating.

“Profession: part time lecturer at Oxenfurt University, full time traveling minstrel.” Jaskier said smoothly.

He had to play along as best he could, find what cards he’d been allowed, build a strategy from them when he did. For now that meant cooperating as far as was safe for both him and Geralt.

If only he knew how much Wilhelm knew.

“Excellent.” Wilhelm repeated cheerily. He absently smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from the corner of his parchment. “Now, when was the last time you saw Geralt of Rivia, the Witcher?”

Jaskier swallowed as Wilhelm looked up at him without so much as a steely glint in his eye, the man as languid as a cat napping in a sunbeam.

Assume I already know the answer to every question I ask you.

Now was not yet the time to lie.

“I suppose that depends on how long I’ve been unconscious.” Jaskier said carefully. “If It’s still the same day as when I was knocked out, then I last saw the man last night outside the city.”

Because afterward Geralt had been a wolf, not a man. Not a lie then.

“Very good.” Wilhelm praised, as warmly as if complementing Jaskier’s latest set of music. “I applaud your telling the truth my friend, lesser men would already have given in to half thought out lies by now. This will make things so much easier on the both of us.”

If Wilhelm wasn’t faking that meant his spies had lost track of Geralt when he became a wolf, meaning they had no idea where he was now, meaning Geralt was presumably still safe with the princess somewhere in the castle.

But that was reliant on a pretty big if.

“Happy to be of assistance.” Jaskier said, a little dryly.

“I’m sure. Now, what is your official reason for being in Cintra?” Wilhelm asked, steepling his fingers against his lips expectantly.

“I really don’t think my visit is deserving of all this attention.” Jaskier said, exasperation slipping through. “I come to Cintra all the time Wilhelm, you know this.”

“What I know,” Wilhelm corrected. “Is that you regularly come to Cintra by invitation for the princess’ birthdays. I know that you have missed the last two years with no explanation. I also know that you have now shown up at an entirely different time of year with a Witcher who has been expressly banished from the country, after traveling with him extensively for said two years.”

Jaskier smiled, despite the ill feeling now creeping from his gut up to his chest.

“I’ve traveled with Geralt for decades, Wilhelm.” Jaskier said, trying to move his hands before being rudely reminded that they were still chained to the table. “If that’s news to that delightful spy network of yours then I’m afraid they’re a bit slower on the uptake than you might think. We needed to pick up some supplies for our travels and I came into the city alone to do it since I know her majesty isn’t too keen on Geralt.”

“If that’s the case, then where has your Witcher disappeared to exactly?” Wilhelm asked, leaning forward a bit.

“How should I know?” Jaskier shrugged. “Probably keeping busy with a contract for some farmer. He’s not my pet, he doesn’t tell me where he’s going.”

If only he could laugh at the current irony of that statement.

“Hmmm.” Wilhelm looked entirely unimpressed as he flipped over a sheet of his parchment. “And here I thought we’d agreed to skip over the part where you lie.”

“I’m not lying, I honestly have no idea where he is.” Jaskier said. Technically true.

“And you expect me to believe you came all the way into the city for simple supplies that could be bought at any of the dozen villages you two ride through every month?” Wilhelm asked.

“Not every village sells quality lute strings.” Jaskier said, thinking fast.

“Which is doubtlessly why you were so intent on tracking down the lutist for tonight’s banquet.” Wilhelm asked with a wry little smile that was not at all friendly. “Planning to ask him for lute merchant recommendations?”

“Who better to ask than a colleague?” Jaskier said, his cheerfulness equally false.

A long moment of stalemate silence stretched between them. Jaskier knew Wilhelm knew he was hedging, but it was up to the spymaster to decide if he was going to let it slide in order to keep up this false amiability they had between them, or whether he would toss it aside for more...traditional methods of information extraction...

“Well, unless you can think of something more interesting to tell me about why you’re here and your witcher’s current whereabouts, I think it’s time I leave you.” Wilhelm said, flipping the folio closed as he stood. “I’m sure I’m being missed at the banquet, and you know how her majesty brings out the good wine for these kinds of things.”

Jaskier’s stomach lurched, the relief at Wilhelm not yet deciding to turn to torture swamped by his panic at the realization that it was already evening. Which meant Jaskier was not at the banquet. Which meant Geralt had no idea where he was.

Which meant that every bit of their plan was officially scrapped, and all while the advancing Nilfgaardian army was still bearing down on them.

“It’s been lovely seeing you again, Wilhelm.” Jaskier said, swallowing. “I trust I’ll be getting my lute back unharmed on my way out of this charming dungeon?”

“I’m sure you will.” Wilhelm said with a smile. “And you’ll be exiting as soon as we locate your dear Witcher. And I do hope for your sake that he’s found outside the city walls, you know how tetchy our dear queen is about her enemies getting too close.”

“I don’t know where Geralt is.” Jaskier insisted, doing his best to keep panic out of his voice. “You can’t keep me here, I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Because without the medallion Geralt would be trapped as a wolf, meaning Wilhelm’s spies would never find him, meaning that in wolf form Geralt might never find Jaskier.

Although as bad as it was now, Jaskier could only be grateful they’d split up before he’d been abducted. Wherever Geralt was now he was safer even as a wolf than he likely would have been if Wilhelm had discovered them together.

“You haven’t done anything wrong that I know of yet.” Wilhelm said smoothly, tucking the folio under his arm. “And I really do like you Jaskier, which is why you’ll be spending the evening in one of the clean cells to think over if anything important has slipped your mind instead of having those lovely fingers broken one by one to jog your memory.”

“Very kind of you.” Jaskier said, voice a bit hoarse as he unconsciously curled his fingers.

“It is.” Wilhelm assured him seriously, looking him in the eye. “The Queen takes the safety of the princess very seriously Jaskier, you know how much the entire court adores the girl. None of us want to see her abducted by a wandering monster slayer who’s never so much as met her because we weren’t able to catch him before he snuck into the castle. I’m very sorry that you’ve found yourself on the wrong end of my profession by getting tangled up with the Witcher, but you do understand that I’m simply doing my job to protect the royal family according to her majesty’s wishes.”

“Hadn’t you better be more concerned with Nilfgaard than a Witcher who means no harm to Cirilla?” Jaskier shot back, caught between anger and pleading. “The army is practically at your gates, I’ve seen them with my own eyes Wilhelm, and you’ve done nothing to prepare for their attack. That’s the real risk, not Geralt.”

“Her majesty is perfectly capable of handling both threats at once.” Wilhelm said, unmoved. “Just because you haven’t been privy to our preparations does not mean they haven’t been made.”

“Please, let me go, I need to find Geralt.” Jaskier said, wrists jerking in the manacles as he stood. “It won’t do any of us any good if I’m locked down here, I promise you.”

“Tell me where he is and you’re free.” Wilhelm said simply.

“Can you promise me that you won’t harm him?”

“That I cannot promise. If he’s in the city he’s already chosen his own fate. The Queen’s orders are far above my own wishes.”

“This is madness and you know it Wilhelm,” Jaskier said, yanking at the manacles again. “She’s a fool for trying to cheat destiny like this and it’s going to bring ruin on us all. Let me go, I’ll be of no use to you here, I can help you if you let me go.”

“I’ll try to visit again after the banquet.” The spymaster said, turning and opening the door, allowing a guard to come in. “I’ll try to bring you some of the honeyed ham if there’s any left, that is your favorite isn’t it?”

“Wilhelm, please.” Jaskier pled as the guard roughly unhooked his manacles from the table, taking him by the shoulder.

“You’ve tangled yourself in a matter of national security Jaskier.” Wilhelm said seriously, pausing halfway out the door to fix him with a warning look. “Believe me when I tell you there is no easy way out of this, being kept as bait to lure Geralt in is the only option we have left if you refuse to cooperate. Please do what you can to keep this from becoming any harder for anyone. I’d like to see you come out of this unharmed but remember that if I can’t get results then you’ll be passed to someone who doesn’t like you.”

“And how are you so sure he’ll even come for me?” Jaskier challenged, now truly grasping at straws. He vaguely noticed he was shaking, in desperation or as an after effect of being unconscious all day he didn’t know. “Don’t you know Witchers are emotionless pragmatists?”

“I know he’ll come for you because in all my days I’ve never once seen a human wearing one of these.” Wilhelm said calmly, pulling a silver witcher wolf school medallion out of his pocket. The exact medallion that was not around Jaskier’s neck. “Which is another story I would love to hear when you’ve decided to be a little more forthcoming.”

Wilhelm turned and left, not seeing all the color drain from Jaskier’s face as his knees gave out.

[Read chapter 4: So Much For Being Smart]

____

*rides through like Paul Revere* “The Nilfgaardians are coming! The Nilfgaardians are coming!!”

[multific]

The Housekeeper (Part 5)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 3.5 Part 4

Geralt x Reader

Modern!AU

Summary: You moved to the big city not too long ago. And you became the housekeeper to the handsome bachelor, Geralt Rivia. At first your relationship is purely professional, but what happens when you start developing feelings for him?

 “What do you mean?” you were as calm as ever, your mind couldn’t process what Geralt just told you.

“I meant what I said. I only ever felt like this once, no, that was different, this, you are everything I ever wanted. You are kind, humble and beautiful. The day you came into my life…you changed me. I never had been jealous because of a woman.”

Your mind started to function again.

“Huh?” was all you could make out. You really didn’t know how to react.

“This must be a lot for you.” Geralt said looking down, he looked like he accepted defeat.

“It is… a lot for me to take in. Can I-” you wanted to ask for time, to think about things to think about him. But who were you kidding. You didn’t really need time to think. “How should I say this?”

When Geralt noticed you didn’t reject him, he started moving closer. He slowly backed you into a wall.

You felt his finger touch your cheek and then he pulled your head up by putting his fingers under your jawline. He made you look into his eyes. And you immediately got melted by his golden hues. You always found them weird and sometimes you thought he was wearing contact lenses, but now, as you saw them so close, it was clear, this was his real eye colour.

Geralt started to lean closer and closer to you, you didn’t move an inch, your mind still trying to find out if this is reality. You failed to notice that Geralt has closed both his eyes and the distance between you two.

He placed his lips onto yours in a sweet kiss. You barely felt it and he already pulled away.

You don’t know what came over you. Suddenly you pulled him close to you and gave him a feverish kiss which he immediately reciprocated. His hands were on your hips quickly, as your were in his hair, pulling on his hairband to let his beautiful locks out. Once you did, his hair dropped and some stands touched your face. It was a nice sensation, and it tickled a little.

Your kissing soon turned into a full make out session. You had to pull away to get some air but Geralt didn’t approve of that. He groaned and leaned in to kiss you again but you pulled away, turning your head to the side so his kiss would land on your cheek. Geralt didn’t like that, he wanted your sweet lips, but he soon found your neck.

“D-Don’t leave a mark.” you told him but you could tell he wasn’t listening. So, when you felt like he was leaving a mark, you pushed him away slightly. It took you quite the effort to do so, since he was such a broad man.

“Please.” you didn’t know that Geralt was actually begging you to not push him away, you thought he wanted to leave a mark on your neck, which you cannot allow him to do.

At that point you didn’t know just how broken inside he really was. At that point you didn’t know you will be the one for him, the one to save him from his loneliness. At that point all you did was hug and kiss him more.

And as you kissed his hands began to wonder all over your body. Once again, you pulled away.

“Take me on a date first, Mister Rivia. Then you might get handsy with me.” you said while he looked into our eyes. Mesmerized by your beauty.

“Date-Yes. Okay, when? Where?...” He looked confused. You couldn’t help but think that you made Geralt confused.

“How about dinner tomorrow? Are you free?” he finally managed to ask once he collected his thoughts.

“Sure, here?” you asked referring to his home.

“Yes. I will go and pick you up from your home.”

“Oh.”

“You looked disappointed, Y/N. Did I say something wrong?”

“No, it’s just my home… is not as nice as yours.”

“Like I care. I fell in love with you because it’s you, I don’t care about your financial status.” he said smiling at you. A real heart-warming smile. You never thought you will be able to see Geralt smile like that let alone be the reason to it.

“Then tomorrow.” you said giving him one more kiss before pulling yourself away. He followed you like a puppy as you picked up your coat and bag along with your shoes.

“I will text you the time tomorrow morning, if that’s okay.”

“Fine by me.”

“Actually, what am I doing?” you started to worry he just realized he confessed to his housekeeper and was about to take it back. “I’ll drive you home.”

And he did. He drove you in one of his very expensive cars, you were afraid to change the radio, the fear of that you might break the car somehow.

“That’s me.” you said pointing at a regular apartment building.

“Let me park somewhere.” When Geralt wanted to get out of the car you stopped him.

“I don’t know if you want to leave such a car unattended. This isn’t a bad part of the city, just…you know. People are not used to these.”

“Don’t worry. I can always buy a new car.” he said getting out of the vehicle.

Geralt walked you to the entrance of the building.

“I will come and pick you up. I assume you don’t work tomorrow.”

“Oh? And how do you know that?” you asked smiling at him.

“I might know your employer.”

You could only smile and offer him one last kiss before you said your goodbyes.

***

The next day, you spent about three hours getting ready for your date.

You picked out your best clothing did your hair and make up. Even if you were just going to spend the night at Geralt’s home, you still wanted to look impressive and further make him fall for you. You chose an elegant yet still comfortable shirt with some tight jeans and elegant shoes.

And so when your doorbell rang, you were ready.

You went down and there he stood in casual clothing.

“Oh, I feel overdressed.”

“No, you look amazing.” He placed a kiss onto your cheek and walked you to his car. But this time, he didn’t drive. He was sitting with you at the back of his Rolls Royce while a chauffeur drove the expensive car back to his house.

“You really look breath-taking, Y/N.”

“Thank you very much. You look quite nice as well.” You could feel the awkwardness in the air. “So, what did you plan?” You asked in hopes of lightening the mood.

“Well, I have to tell you that I just called Marie and you are no longer my housekeeper.”

“What?”

“I can’t have my girlfriend work for me!”

“Girlfriend?”

“Well, only if you want to be.”

“Hmm. You will have to wait until the end of our date to get an answer to that question.”

“Fine by me.”

The car came to a stop and the chauffeur called out.

“We are here, Sir.” Geralt opened the door and got out, you wanted to do the same but your door got opened before you could. The chauffeur was holding the handle as he stood behind the door.

“Ma’am.” he said.

“Thank you.” you offered the kind man a smile and as Geralt got to your side, you walked off with him.

You were used to being in Geralt’s presence, even having dinner with him. But this time was different.

He was more laid back, he let his true self show, and you loved it. You loved seeing him be this comfortable with you.

He told you many stories about him and Jaskier. Some you already heard from Jaskier, but you didn’t tell that to Geralt he was so into the story. Although Geralt was a big and manly man, at those times, he looked adorable.

You talked more openly about yourself than before. Now, you were his date, previously you were only company for him after his day was over.

Then suddenly after what felt like hours, you looked at your watch and noticed how much time has passed.

There was silence.

You waiter for Geralt to say or do something. It was obviously the end of the date, yet he seemed like he didn’t want it to end, so as he took a sip of his wine, you looked at him and said.

“Yes.”

“Hm?”

“Yes, I will be your girlfriend.”

Geralt suddenly remembered at the beginning of the date he asked you, but during the time you spent together, he completely forgot about it. Maybe it was nervousness or happiness, he didn’t know.

A smile creeped onto his face. He looked so genuinely happy it made you smile.

“Thank you.” was all he could say.

And finally, Geralt saw a little bit of light in his lonely life.

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