#“When he feels safe and happy enough he WILL take off geralt”

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 136

Contrary to popular belief, Jaskier was the one who said no to riding a horse. Jaskier willingly walks alongside Geralt and Roach. Because Jaskier is afraid of riding horses. Don't get him wrong! He loves horses! Just not being on them as they run 48 kilometers per hour. When Jaskier sprains his ankle walking, however, Geralt decides enough is enough and it's time to teach him how to ride and help him face his fear. Jaskier sits in front of Geralt on top of Roach as Geralt teaches him how to ride, and every time Jaskier gets too nervous, Geralt will hear his heartbeat tick up, and he'll hug him, or praise him, and Jaskier will calm again. Jaskier's been getting better. To the point that Geralt can now just walk alongside Roach and Jaskier, hand resting on Jaskier's leg or back. Geralt decides to surprise Jaskier with his own horse! Geralt finds something sturdy and gentle, but also pretty, knowing his bard will love to comb and braid the horse, and will want to show it off. It's a white horse, which certainly won't stay white on the road, but then again, Jaskier will most likely delight in cleaning the horse and admiring it's sheen when it's washed. Geralt presents Jaskier with his horse, and Jaskier is overjoyed. Sobbing with happiness, hugging and kissing the horse, and Geralt has never been more in love with his bard. The first time Jaskier rides his own horse, they go at a very gentle slow pace, as the horse seems unsure about being ridden. Jaskier cajoles and consoles it through it all, and soon enough they're riding at steady paces, both Jaskier and his horse now feeling safe and brave enough to go at a normal pace, sometimes even a bit faster. Geralt is happy. Until one day, big white wings materialize on the sides of Jaskier's horse, and the damn thing takes off with Jaskier still on it. Shit.

[poledancingdinos]

Hostile Territory - Chapter 25

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC (Leah Coleman)

Word count: 2.4K

Warnings: none for this chapter

Catch up: Series Masterlist

Taglist: @amberangel112 @utterlyhopeful-fics @marantha @kebabgirl67 @littleone65 @omgkatinka @luclittlepond @athenepromachos @enchantedbytomandhenry @narnianaos @geralts-yenn @peaches1958 @avengersfan25 @sillyrabbit81 @summersong69 @identity2212 @liecastillo @lena-banena @mrsevans90 @confessionbrain-writings @eclecticfashionbookszipper @happydistraction @hannah9921 @valacircareads @toooldforobsessions @kingliam2019 @rosecentury

Masterlist

Day 221

The entire duration of his flight to Iraq, Sy attempted to entertain himself with a book. Of course, immersing yourself in a fictional fantasy universe was a little harder when you were sitting in a C-130 surrounded by a bunch of fellow soldiers who carry guns rather than riding through a forest on horseback and wielding a sword. And no fantasy world was exciting enough to distract from the pain of being torn away from the person you love.

Okay, maybe ‘torn away’ was a bit dramatic but that was how it felt. Sy had a newfound understanding of why his sisters had been so insufferable after their first heartbreaks back in high school. He did not have the emotional intelligence to deal with his current predicament.

And it had only been five days.

Closing the book, Sy dug the newly purchased hardcover journal from his pack instead. It wasn’t always possible to have their phones when they were out on ops, for obvious reasons, so he’d decided he would use the journal to write down the things he would want to say to Leah. On the inside of the front cover, he had taped a copy of the drawing Leah had given him. The original he’d left safely back in the States where it wouldn’t risk getting blown up.

Turning the page, he read over the first entry in the journal. 

Dear L,

I know I already sent you a message thanking you for the drawing but a text doesn’t feel good enough for the amount of work you no doubt put into making it. It feels even more inadequate with how we parted ways. Letting you walk away, knowing I was the one who put that look on your face, was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I can only hope you’ll allow me to spend my life making up for it.

It felt like yet another betrayal not to call her by her full name but it was too risky. If something happened and someone tried to return his belongings they might start asking questions. It was also the reason he hadn’t already made Leah his phone background.

She’d grumbled every time he tried to take pictures of her but he’d managed to sneak in a few shots while she wasn’t looking. He did notice that she was much less likely to protest if he was in the shot with her so he’d taken more pictures of himself in ten days than he had in ten years.

Soon, they were landing in Iraq and Sy was in the front seat of a humvee on his way back to Warhorse. This time however, it was only a short stay. He was meeting with the captain who had taken over during his leave to do a more formal handoff of the tasks and responsibilities now that he knew it was a permanent change of command.

“Welcome back, Major Syverson.”

“Thank you.” The handshake the other man offered was pointlessly strong, even just shy of painful. Sy didn’t have the patience for intimidation games, he just wanted to do what he needed to do and get the hell out. “Is there any particular reason the locals are out there yellin’ at us?” 

“You know them hajis, they’re never happy.”

Sy bristled at the choice of words. “They may not be particularly happy to have Americans in their country but when I left the locals were not demandin’ our heads on a stake.”

The man shrugged him off, turning to walk back inside.

“They’re just mad at us for dealing with a couple of troublemakers. God forbid they show a hint of gratitude to us for cleaning up this shit stain on a map. That would be a betrayal of their beliefs.”

The bullshit coming out of Captain Dickhead’s mouth didn’t wane once the entire time they spoke in Sy’s office. Well, Captain Dickhead’s office. He made it very clear that he thought Sy had been too soft on the locals and too hard on his soldiers. How dare he write them up for innocent teasing.

Sy was relieved when they finally called it a day and went out to chow. Looking around the mess hall, Sy noticed something missing.

“Where’s Aika?”

Captain Dickhead fell heavily into his chair. “Who?”

“Aika. You know, the green german shepherd that roams around the base.”

“That mutt had a name? All I know is that I checked and there were no K9 units out here so I told one of the boys to put it outside the gates where it belonged. Told him that if he put it out of its misery while he was at it, there would be no skin off my nose.”

Sy felt the blood drain from his face. As furious as he was, he couldn’t say a thing. He technically didn’t do anything wrong.

Aside from being a supreme asshole.

Aika was a stray and keeping her on base gave the extra burden of another mouth to feed—although she usually survived by taking a single bite of food from each soldier on base—but her presence was like a small flame in a dark, windowless room.

It might have been best that Sy hadn’t been the one to put her out or leave her behind but… He wished he had at least been able to give her a final goodbye.

The sound of the chopper was loud even through the earplugs Leah wore. She kept her eyes on Benjie as she waited for his signal while running through her mental safety checklist. On Benjie’s go ahead, she lept backwards and fell.

Once her feet hit the roof below, she unclipped herself and followed the others towards the door leading into the building. They fired at the stand-ins holding guns and ‘rescued’ the ones playing friendlies. By the time they had cleared the building, Leah was panting hard.

The adrenaline was still pumping through her veins as the team clapped each other on the back and waited for their score. The exercise had been made to test speed over strategy so Leah was ninety-nine point nine percent sure they had passed but it was impossible to judge time when you were in the thick of it.

In their first runs of the course, Ethan had taken to humming the S.W.A.T. theme song under his breath which gave a vague sense of how much time had passed but he’d stopped when someone pointed out that they were supposed to be in stealth mode. To Leah’s great dismay, it had actually caught on during exercises where they weren’t required to be silent and now people kept pointing out all the ways she and Michelle Rodriguez’s character from the 2003 movie were alike. Which led to them pointing out the similarities between Leah and all the other characters Michelle Rodriguez had played. It was possible they meant it as a compliment but considering half her characters died horrible, violent deaths, she wasn’t inclined to take it that way. 

The past few days in Arizona had been dedicated to what Jer affectionately referred to as ‘voluntarily falling out of flying objects’. Though he’d agreed to participate in the MFF course, this was far from his favorite part of the job. For now at least. He did a good job of keeping his nerves invisible to the outside eye so perhaps it would eventually grow on him.

Leah, on the other hand, one would think she had a death wish by the way excitement built in her body every single time she prepared for a jump.

Whenever they were doing a drill, Leah had total focus but, when they had gone through the refresher course, her mind had wandered to a certain set of piercing blue eyes. She could prepare the ropes and harness in her sleep so it hadn’t caused any catastrophic accidents but she would need to get her head on straight before they moved on to actually parachuting out of a plane.

Now that she and the guys were taking their gear off for the day, Leah got lost in thought again, only giving a hum of acknowledgement here or there as the others chatted.

After spending the morning in the wind tunnels and the afternoon doing drills, she was exhausted and ready for some food, sleep and a much needed shower. Not necessarily in that order. 

“I can’t remember the last time my muscles ached this much,” Ethan said as she joined them in the mess hall after cleaning up in her room.

“I know, I never skip leg day but no one prepared me for the amount of effort it would take to keep that arch.” Jer stretched his back with a wince.

“Maybe next time you make a girl stick her ass out while you’re backshotting her, you’ll have the decency to make her cum as a thank you,” Leah deadpanned, taking a giant bite out of her burger.

The boys guffawed while Jer tossed a fry which hit Leah square in the chest. “You spend a lot of time getting backshotted, Coleman? Is that why you’re the only one not complaining?”

“Nope”. She swallowed, washing down her bite with some water. “I’m just used to having to hold all sorts of bendy positions. Usually while dangling upside down and spinning in circles.”

While it was true that her experience with aerial arts helped her hold the position in the tunnels, it didn’t mean she wasn’t sore all over like the rest of them. She simply didn’t dare give the slightest hint that she found their training challenging. Even if the guys wouldn’t hold it against her, it didn’t mean any of the others never would.

More than once she’d been called on to answer questions or be the first to try one of the training exercises. Luckily, she’d managed not to make a complete fool of herself in the short time they’d been there. She just hoped it would stay that way as things continued to get more difficult because she really wanted to succeed.

Day 206

Leah couldn’t spend two weeks doing cutesy couple’s stuff. Cooking together and making a giant mess, ordering takeout instead, hand-feeding one another said takeout food. Okay, maybe those things only happened in movies but the idea of spending their time cooped up in honeymoon phase isolation made her skin itch.

It wasn’t that Sy minded going out, he just didn’t want Leah to feel obligated to come up with activities to fill their days. He wanted to get to know the real Leah, not the version of her where she attempted to act like the perfect host.

When she offered to take Sy out on her favorite hiking trails, there was no way he was going to say no. Leah had spent her childhood on the trails, what better way to get to know the real her?

She’d also managed to convince him to do some rock-climbing while they were there. Actually, she convinced him to hike up a section of the mountain, rappel down the side using a fixed anchor in the rock, then climb back up again. Sy had only trained in how to rappel off the sides of buildings, not climb rock faces, but he managed not to embarrass himself. Much.

He’d panicked the first time he’d slipped and caused Leah to lift off the ground but she’d just laughed it off as if being yanked six feet in the air was part of the fun. To be fair, to her, it probably was. Luckily, some other climbers had come along and were able to belay her so she could take a turn. He remembered the basics but he hadn’t done it in years and he was not going to take chances with Leah’s safety.

As he watched her gracefully scale the wall—yes, he’d just called her climbing graceful—he determined that it was the right thing to do. Leah wore leggings that fit like a second skin and the harness framed her ass in a way that made Sy want to blindfold the two other witnesses. He would definitely not have trusted himself with Leah’s safety with that much of a distraction right in front of him.

“Okay, this is obviously way too easy for you,” one of the climbers said as Leah came down. She’d finished the climb in one go, barely breaking a sweat. “Why don’t you guys come out and do some of the harder pitches?”

“That’s okay.” Leah unclipped herself from the harness and proceeded to pull her rope down. “I haven’t been out here in forever, I’m not shooting for a personal record. I was just showing my boyfriend what I love about Colorado.”

“Why not?” Sy asked, drawing the others’ attention. “We’re here now and we won’t be back in the country for a while. Might as well have fun while we can.”

Leah gave him a bright smile, skipping over to plant a kiss on his cheek. They spent another few hours in the park after hiking over to the other rock face which had harder pitches. Sy managed to muscle his way up one that had larger holds while Leah swapped her running shoes for talon-shaped ‘torture devices’—her words—to climb some of the sections where she had to clip the rope as she went. Once they were both tired, they said goodbye to the other pair and found a quiet spot to settle down and have a late lunch. 

While Leah was looking out at the horizon, a contented look on her face, Sy pulled out his phone and took a picture of her from over her shoulder. The sun was hitting her just right and the scenery behind her was incredible but as soon as she saw him taking pictures, she angled her face down and away.

“No you don’t, come here.”

Sliding a hand under her legs, he pulled her onto his lap and wrapped an arm around her front. Sy lifted his phone once again, this time taking a series of selfies of the both of them. Leah rolled her eyes but stopped protesting, instead leaning back into Sy’s embrace.

She submitted to a few more pictures before turning around and diverting his attention with a kiss. After one final picture, Sy abandoned the phone in favor of wrapping Leah’s ponytail around his fist and deepening the kiss.

As much as he wanted something to remember that moment by, the taste of Leah’s lips would win out every time.

Chapter 26

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Modern au Lambden ficlet.

C/W for very brief implied suicide.

Lambert smiled to himself as his phone alerted him to the now expected notification.

'Home safe X O '

Was it unnecessary? Probably - considering they exchanged enough messages throughout the day to know exactly where the other was and what they were doing; whether it was Aiden sending him a picture of something he'd seen out on his morning run or Lambert sneakily texting him during a work meeting to bitch about how pointless it was. It had become a habit at this point, Aiden expected the same thing and would panic if he didn't receive a text, even if it was just after the 20 minute drive between their apartments.

It probably wasn't so unreasonable in the grand scheme of things though. Afterall, they both knew first hand how quickly someone or something could disappear from your life - all it took was being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Lambert checked his phone again, his leg bouncing as he tried to focus on whatever his brother was talking about and not the unpleasant feeling which was growing steadily stronger whenever another quarter hour passed. There'd be a logical explanation for why Aiden hadn't messaged him yet: his phone had died, the meeting ran late, he ran into someone he knew, he'd got stuck in traffic - it had happened to Lambert enough times.

"If you're that worried, just call him."

Lambert shrugged, trying to look as relaxed as he forced his attention back to the conversation happening around him, "I'll give him another 15 minutes." He lied. Geralt didn't need to know he'd already tried calling Aiden five times under the pretense of going to the bathroom or grabbing another drink - all going straight to voicemail.

Lambert slouched into his apartment after a too long day of trying to ignore the date and poured himself three fingers of whiskey as an act of acknowledgement. Three years. Three, far too long years of searching and hoping. The police had done all they could but with no body and no new leads, they'd called off the investigation after not even a year.

No body, no evidence, no signs....no reason he was aware of for Aiden to just up and disappear. Something he'd told the various officers and detectives numerous fucking times, to the point of questioning it himself which then made him feel even worse. How many people did he have to convince that they'd been happy!!!? At least his and Aiden's collective siblings and parental figures had had his back on that one (Cedric back near the beginning of all this had told him half joking between helping Lambert through another drunken night hugging the toilet that he'd never seen Aiden act so much like a lovestruck teenager even when he was a teenager), otherwise he just might have ended up taking himself off for a wander he didn't come back from on the particularly dark days.

Days which were becoming more frequent as more and more people started dropping gentle and not so gentle hints that maybe it was time to start moving forwards - something he'd had more than one argument over. Just because everyone else had given up didn't change the fact that something about this wasn't right and Lambert was going to figure out what and why even if he had to do it alone.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he was almost tempted to ignore it. Word would've got out about his shouting match with Eskel so it would be either Vesemir or Geralt bugging him and if he ignored their text, they'd just end up calling him and he seriously didn't want to speak to anybody right now.

He fished out his phone and almost dropped his glass.

'Home safe X O '

He felt his hand start to shake. He didn't recognise the number, it could easily be a hoax, or a wrong number. There were a thousand other possible explanations...

He pressed the call button and listened, struggling to get enough air in his lungs to even breathe, let alone speak when the ringing at the other end of the line stopped.

"....Aiden?"

[yanandreckless]

Spicy Alphabet: August Walker

Author's note: I am currently watching (almost) everything Henry Cavill has been in during his career and so since I love doing these alphabets and consider them almost character studies, I'll do these for several of his boys :3 (it'll be a while before I have time for Geralt and Charlie, though) but August ended up being the first :3 Feel free to comment and tell me who you wanna see next! A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) While he will not outright ask for it, August wants validation. Does he want to know he did a good job? Sure, but he would prefer to know he did the best job. And while utilitarian parts of aftercare like cleaning up, changing the sheets, rehydrating, or taking care of marks are things he would do without much fuss or prompting, in an efficient and almost detached way, don’t be fooled by his calculated movements and his stone face. He needs aftercare too. He needs to be acknowledged and appreciated. He wishes he got cuddled, too. He will refuse it all, and very bitterly too, if he perceives it as mocking, so be careful. Basically, stroke his ego without patronizing him. Over time, he will lower his walls a bit. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) While he was wet behind the ears at the Agency, August was self-assured and cocky that he was All That: tall, muscular, and with that handsome face! He soon realized it was actually a drawback for intelligence work. He is so handsome that he is extremely memorable, which is horrible for a spy, obviously. His career path had to change and adjust due to this and he perceives it as something that is holding him back. It also especially fuels his disdain and hatred for IMF and their super masks. He views it as cheating almost. Since he values his own hard work so much, he’s most proud of his muscles, especially his abdomen and thighs. On a partner, while he can’t help but respect strength and power, he’s mostly drawn to fragility. Wrists so thin he can capture them both in one hand, a swing so weak it can’t even turn his head, a stature so small that they simply have to rely on him for protection. Also small tits. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) A disgusting territorial animal, this one. He loves it when he can smear it all over a chest or even a face, and he also loves it when he can cum deep, deep inside, getting off on the fact that he just can do that, especially if he’s the first/only one to do it to the person. It goes both ways, he loves the messy juices of his partner all over him. He’ll happily feed you his cum from his fingers, he’ll happily let you sit on his face and drink all you have, he’ll be happy as a clam if you squirt, and he’ll happily indulge in messy snowballing. He might even tolerate laughter over how messy his mustache looks afterward, or he might spank you for it. Either way, good times will be had. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) He really, really, really craves all that validation and praise in an environment where he’s free to bask in it and not defensive over loving it. He wants to be vulnerable but safe. It’s not even related to specific activities when he imagines himself being pampered, it’s mostly just a person of much smaller stature, weaker than him in every way, having as much power over him as he can handle, and then a bit more. Good luck getting him to admit it, though, even if he behaves in ways that make it painfully obvious at times. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?) Experienced. Knows what he’s doing well enough, but may fall victim to believing he knows better than his partner. Very likely to utter the phrase “trust me, you’re gonna love this” with varying degrees of success. He’s fairly cocky but since he loves doing a great job so much, he’ll pick up on what works and focus on that. If, however, a suggestion of his was met with reluctance only for his partner to actually do love it once they try, it will result in merciless, endless teasing over it for a while. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) Any position where he feels like he’s powerfully steamrolling or bulldozing his way through it. Holding his partner in the air (without a wall to help, thank you very much!), bending his partner in half so mating press or full nelson isn’t off the table at all, having a flexible partner he can contort in all sorts of positions for his pleasure, any face down/ass up exaggerated variant of doggy… although he will be surprisingly pliant if his partner really insists on flipping them over and riding him. If they’re good at it, expect a wide-eyed and slightly stunned August. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.) Usually more serious, sometimes bordering on grim/violent. But he can be more lighthearted, especially if there’s an opportunity to tease. This man loves getting on people’s nerves, so if his partner moans “Oh God”, you can expect a “Name’s Walker, by the way.” thrown back. (or whatever name his current mission had him assume, you get the jist)

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) The carpet matches the drapes, he’s a dark brunette for real, and he’s not overly meticulously groomed, as can almost be concluded just by seeing that permanent messy stubble next to an obviously longer stache. He trims parts, shaves other parts, and then the shaved parts may grow into annoying stubble before he shaves them again. Get on his case about this, get spanked. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? The romantic aspect) He conceals his desire for genuine intimacy as kink. He’ll grab the back of his partner’s neck and insist on constant eye contact and hope it just appears dominant and not needy. He’ll kiss a lot, he’ll insist on as many body parts touching as possible, he’ll hold tight and grab, bite and suck and pinch, all in clumsy craving for closeness. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) Methodical about it most of the time, he’ll do it to take the edge off when needed and he won’t drag it out. Unless he’s got a specific flame to think about. He’ll delight in planning devious scenarios for them then. But even so, he’s not exactly the most patient so he’ll still not drag it out too too much. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) Size and strength difference in his favor for sure. Marks. Being rough. Being absolutely filthy and messy. But also, perhaps surprisingly, feisty partners. He loves being defied and challenged, he loves brats because fucking them dumb feels sweeter. And if he loves something above everything, it’s hearing them apologize and beg when they realize the mess they’d gotten themselves into.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) He doesn’t care, it could be anyone’s bed, a bathroom, a hallway, a park, a dressing room, an elevator… As long as it doesn’t endanger a mission, he couldn’t care less. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) While he really loves obedience and being looked at like he hung the moon, he loves it even more if it’s hidden behind feisty brattiness. Challenging his authority gets him going but it makes him rough, so play wisely. He loves proving that he’s needed to someone who tries to tell them they’re independent and capable and strong. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs) Share. He hates sharing anything with anyone he deems competition, be it credit, work, space, resources, or people. So don’t even joke about it because unlike riling him up in a fun way, this will rile him up genuinely because it hits him right in his biggest insecurity of not being good enough. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) He prefers giving, especially right after or right before he receives because he can then prove how scrambled he made the other person. It’s almost like he competes even with his partner from time to time. Means he’s low on praise reserves. Help him. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) Almost always fast and rough. If you’ve been a good baby, he’ll heed your warnings of something hurting and slow down but if you’ve been riling him up like a fucking brat, he’ll tell you to shut up and take it and he won’t stop even if you cry. He’ll gag or spank/slap you if you keep whining. And if you’ve been especially horribly bad, he’ll try to get you to zone out or even pass out from overstimulation. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) Loves them. A lot. He’ll initiate them when they appear the most dangerous, when the mood strikes, or when you guys don’t have time, or when you think he won’t do it this time… the list goes on, but he loves them almost as much as he loves having all night or day to do as he pleases.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.) Very game to experiment. He’ll initiate quickies in public places and delight in your terror at being heard or seen, and in your embarrassment if you’d been right. Personally, he’d be down for having an outright audience, he’d love it if everyone was able to see how well he’s scrambling your brain with his cock. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?) He prefers going multiple rounds to lasting super long on one round. Again, he’s not the most patient of men but also he does love making a huge mess. Fucking his cum back into you just to add another load is among his favorite things. 

T = Toys (do they own toys or use them on a partner or themselves?) He can turn almost anything into bondage equipment on the fly so he doesn’t really own a wide array of, say, ropes or cuffs or chains. Likewise, plenty of things can become impact play toys. He loves being creative. He does have some equipment, among which is a knife he uses only for playtime, and if you’re especially scared of it and adamant about never having anything to do with it, he will still talk about it and tease you with the idea of it and with how much of a scaredycat little baby you are. For more conventional toys, he’d be open to using vibrators on you but he’d always make sure you know nothing can compete with the feeling of him.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) He’s somewhere in the middle. He’s not patient enough for huge rounds of teasing but he does love to get on your nerves and drive you mad and not even being good and obedient will save you from this if he’s in the mood for it. He’s not the fairest of Doms by any means. The best way to put yourself out of this misery is to cry and beg, but if he sees through you on it not being fully genuine desperation… gods help you. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) A growler and grunter. Can be completely silent if he puts his mind to it, but prefers not to be. He loves having his mouth close to his ear so you can hear all his pants and grunts and growls and filthy things spewed through clenched teeth.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) He actually loves a bit of teeth during blowjobs. Scrape them along his length, nip him a bit. He’ll delight in the simple thrill of it and he’ll enjoy threatening you into being good. He’s also a disgusting, territorial animal, so he may use this as a segway into some watersports. Or just get into watersports anyway. As long as you don’t safeword and as long as you didn’t explicitly state a hard limit, he doesn’t see the reason to hold back. 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) No Henry Cavill character will be small because that’s just the law. Unquestionable. I am not taking questions. Big, thick, cut, veiny. Adores it if his partner can’t close their fingers around him. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) Very high but in his mind, a lot of the time, it starts as a desire for a lot of bickering, tumbling, butting heads, wrestling… just sexy conflict. And then that riles him up and bets are off from that point. 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward) Depends. Is he working? Does he trust you’re harmless? Is he hurt/too exhausted? Did he get all the nervous energy out of his system? Is he… gods forbid… in love with you? So it varies from immediately to never. 

[merlot-and-chardonnay]

A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons: Chapter 22.5

Chapter 22

You lead Geralt and Jaskier down the secret passageway towards the outside. You take a look out, making sure the coast was clear. Confirmation on Geralt's part was more than enough to signal that it was safe to venture out of the keep.

Meanwhile Daemon walked out of the Red Keep with plans to celebrate him becoming a father once again. The prince had also been over how he was going to break the news to Viserys, both that you were carrying his child again and that you have been his second wife for the last three years. Daemon would need to be strategic about it, no doubt; he would need to fetch the Septon who performed the marriage. Even so, the prince did have some doubts, reluctant as he was to admit; historically, the concept of plural marriage was time and time again condemned by the dominant Westerosi faith, the Faith of the Seven. 

Aegon the Conqueror had been condemned doubly so when his wives had also been his sisters; Maegor the Cruel had taken two more wives when his first could not give him children. When two of his wives passed and still had not given him the heirs he desired, he married three more with hopes of increasing his chances. Obviously that never came to pass.

Both times, the High Septon of the Faith always condemned such unions, regardless if incest was involved, loudly declaring them abominations in the sight of gods and men, and the children born of these unions as bastards. 

In the end, Daemon merely shrugged off these doubts; ultimately the opinions of old stuffy cunts in heavy robes meant nothing to dragons who did as they pleased and followed their own customs. He may have made vows before the Seven to honor his marriage, both of them, but the Seven were never his gods, they had no hold over him. 

Maybe if he was lucky, Daemon could petition the king to annual his marriage to his Bronze Bitch both on the grounds that it was never consummated, and that his new wife had given him what his first wife could not even bother to give.

His contemplation was interrupted when he ran into Ser Harwin. The knight begged pardon from the prince in a hasty apology. Daemon had taken noticed of the man's agitated state, like something was wrong.

Upon closer interrogation, Daemon had discovered your habit of sneaking out of the keep; the last time sneaking back involved a man. The hair on said man's head could not be described, but the moment Ser Harwin spoke of the unnatural gold eyes that resembled those of a cat, Daemon knew.

He knew you were planning to escape yet again, and with the help of that fucking mutant.

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

The three of you weren't even halfway to Flea Bottom when you were stopped by men of the City Watch.

Geralt was quick to draw his sword, "get out of here!" he tells you and Jaskier, and the two of leave with Aemma still in Jaskier's arms.

Some of the guards try and stop you, but Geralt either slices of their arms or flat out cuts off their heads. The witcher pointed his sword at the rest of the guards, "if you know what is good for you, leave us be," he warns.

Of course the guards did not listen and charge at the witcher, and of course, he cut them down, in spite of his pain coming and going throughout the battle.

You and Jaskier keep running, pushing past local folk who cursed at the both of you as you ran.

More City Watch guards stop the two of you. You feel yourself start to hyperventilate when you see Daemon approach, hood over his head, Dark Sister unsheathed and held in his hand, and currently pointed at you.

Daemon turned his head towards Jaskier, looking to see his daughter was still snoozing away, "if you know what is good for you and your sister, you will take my daughter back to the keep," he says in a dark, warning tone.

At this point, Geralt had now engaged in one-on-one combat against Ser Harwin, who understandably wasn't too happy that the witcher had manipulated him with Axii. Also at this moment as Geralt started fighting against Harwin, the pain from his injuries was becoming too much to bear, and the witcher was starting to know Harwin Strong's title 'Breakbones'.

Geralt and Harwin locked swords. Geralt could feel himself start to falter, and he casts the Aard sign to push Harwin away. Since Harwin was a rather large man, he didn't get too far. 

"Witcher!"

Geralt turns around, sword in hand, ready to face whoever was daring to challenge him. His eyes widen when he sees Daemon's own sword in one hand, and you wrapped around the other. Daemon had his sword pointed at you, ready to slice you in half should either of you try anything.

You try to keep your breaths even, but you did not bother to hide the fear in your eyes. "I should've known you would return," Daemon sneers, "I should have killed you at those ruins when I had the chance."

"Let her go," Geralt warns in a low tone, hatred for this man starting to grow.

Drop your sword," Daemon warns back, holding his sword closer to you, "if you care for (y/n), you'll do as I say."

Geralt initially refused to back down, but as Daemon pressed Dark Sister closer against you, the witcher's resolve started to falter, "is this truly how you treat the mother of your child?" he asks, "this is how you treat the woman you claim to love?" "I will do whatever it takes to protect my family," Daemon insists.

"Geralt, don't listen to him" you say, "take Aemma and get out of here, go without me." "Shut up!" Daemon hisses, before addressing the witcher again, "you should have stayed on the Continent. You have allies to help you out of this mess." "And you don't have your dragon," Geralt sneers back, "I would've stayed, if only you had no taken the two people in my life who mean the most to me." 

"Geralt!"

Jaskier's voice forces everyone involved to face the Bard who was apprehended by the Kingsguard.

Leading the charge was Ser Harrold Westerling, "We are going to speak to His Grace about this," the man speaks after taking the scene before him.

-------the Throne Room-------------

Viserys, who had just retired for the evening and had been contemplating paying a visit to Alicent's chambers to perform his marital duties when a guard had entered his chambers and explained there had been a commotion near Flea Bottom this evening, that involved Daemon with allegations that you and Jaskier had tried to steal Aemma away from the Red Keep...with the help of a strange looking man that was known as a witcher.

Upon hearing those words, Viserys had the Ser Harold and the Kingsguard sent to break up the fight; the king got dressed into something a little more decent and donned the crown with the intent of having this matter resolved in the Throne Room.

In said room, Viserys sat the Iron Throne in a similar manner to when Daemon first returned from the Stepstones.

Otto Hightower, who had also just retired for the evening before he was summoned to the throne room, stood on the king's right side while the Kingsguard surrounded the king to protect him if need be.

Daemon stood further from throne, anger in his eyes as two of the guards held Geralt at the center of the room. You stood at the other side with Jaskier, both of you surrounded by two guards.

Viserys said nothing as he examined Geralt, eyeing the witcher up and down. Otto had a look of contempt on his own face, disgust even, as he observed Geralt with his own eyes. The Hand had not forgotten what he had learned of Geralt all those years ago when you first mentioned the White Wolf in your songs; the most memorable thing being the events that led to Geralt being known as the Butcher of Blaviken.

Geralt formed his own opinions as he stared at Viserys. This was the king of Westeros, brother to the man who had stolen you and Ciri from Kaer Morhen. In Geralt's opinion, Viserys seemed to be Daemon's polar opposite; where the prince was a burning raging fire, the king in his stoic demeanor resembled more like smoldering embers, not quite as dangerous, but could still burn your hands if you keep them over said embers for too long. 

However more even tempered he is compared to his brother, Viserys is a dragon like Daemon, and like a dragon, the king could strike if provoked enough times (and this in spite of the fact that Viserys is currently not in the best health, something that has not gone unnoticed by the witcher). 

"This is him?" Viserys inquires, "this is one of those mutants from the Continent? A witcher?" "It would appear to be so, your Grace," Otto answers, "it can be the only explanation for those unnatural eyes of his. Even in his own lands, the people know him as an abomination."

"I have been called much worse by lesser men," Geralt snorts in a humorless chuckle.

"I will have the truth of what has happened," the king speaks, eyes trained on Geralt, "you have caused a commotion in King's Landing this night, Master witcher. You slaughtered my knights, butchered men of the City Watch, and you were seen sneaking into the Red Keep with the Lady (y/n), only to leave with both her and the princess Aemma. You will explain yourself of these charges."

"What is there to explain, your Grace?" Daemon sneers, eyes also focused on the witcher, "this man is a mutant, it is in his nature. He is one of the many who had abducted Lady (y/n) when she was still with child, he had clearly come back to do so again-"

"Oh, shut up you fucking piece of shit!" Geralt growls at Daemon, causing the Kingsguard to draw their swords in case they need to protect the prince.

Geralt had a dangerous smile on his face as he turned back to address the king, "if you must know, your Grace, the charges are mostly true. I killed the guards, but only because they came after me. Had I not defended myself, they would have killed me." "And the charges my brother had made?" Viserys further inquires, "the ones that you and your...brethren had abducted the Lady (y/n). Do you deny them?"

"I do," Geralt simply states, "only because before this, I had never once in my many years of living my unnatural life set foot on this side of the world. As you can see, your Grace, I stand out quite well in a crowd, both in part because of my hair...and my eyes, and of course this," he gestures to his silver wolf medallion, "this may not mean anything to you or your subjects, but this is what sets my kind apart from the rest of the human population. Surely if I had ever been here before, someone who have noticed and said something about it. How could I have possibly done what this sack of horse manure," he glares at Daemon, "claims I have done if it was not true?"

"The witcher speaks the truth, your Grace," you speak up, pushing one of the guards aside so you could step forth, "he never abducted me...I came to him."

The knights, and anyone else who was present in the room exchanged looks, clearly shocked by this revelation.

There was no going back now, but you could not let this lie continue anymore.

"When I found out I was carrying prince Daemon's daughter, I left Westeros on a ship that took me to Oxenfurt," you explain, ignoring the dangerous look Daemon was giving you, "I met my brother there and he directed me towards Kaer Morhen, where the witchers stay during the winter. I've known Geralt of Rivia prior to my time in King's Landing we had...a special relationship in the past," you notice in the corner of your eye the look of disgust Otto was given you in particular,  "That's right, I've laid with a deviant mutant, I'm not ashamed of it. I had hoped Geralt would be at the witcher's keep...and I was right. He and his brothers took me in after I explained my predicament. They allowed me to stay even after I had given birth to Aemma. Geralt helped where he could, and had sworn to protect the both of us...even from her own father."

"...if that is the truth, why did you not dispute my brother's claims before?" Viserys asks. "...because if I didn't, Daemon would've had his dragon burn Kaer Morhen to the ground," you honestly answer, "along with Geralt and the rest of his brothers. They never abducted me or hurt me in anyway. They were good, innocent men that your brother had threatened to slaughter if I did not come back to King's Landing with him." 

"I did what I had to bring my daughter back to where she belongs," Daemon insists, turning to Viserys, who was conflicted at this point, "you are a father, brother, you have a daughter you love dearly, you would do anything to bring her back to your family, nothing would get in your way. I have only done what any reasonably loving father would do to protect his daughter. I have done what needed to be done to ensure my offspring was not deprived her birthright."

"You didn't need to bring me back," you sneer, "and you did not have to bring Ciri here either." "You honestly believe a crumbling shit hole like that was suitable for a princess?"

"It was far more suitable then this place ever will be!" you shout, "I will take Aemma from this place, I will never stop trying to leave no matter what to do to me, I won't stop escaping this cage. You can't stop me!"

Daemon rushes at you, dangerous look on his face, "We'll see about that," he then turns to face the king, "your Grace, my dear brother, in light of, I have some news I have been meaning to share with the court as of late. Since finding out that the lady Lark is once again carrying my child inside her womb."

Before Daemon could finish his announcement, one that you have been dreading he would make, a portal appeared towards the end of the throne room, gaining everyone's attention. Out of said portal came a woman with long dark hair and violet eyes. She shouted incantations in the Elder Speech, freezing everyone where they stood except for you, Geralt, and Jaskier.

The three of you recognized immediately who the sorceress was, "Yennefer!" you exclaim, rushing up to the woman and pulling her into a hug. "I've never seen this excited to see me before," the mage jokes. "Well I had only heard just recently that you were not dead," you joke back.

"Your timing was perfect, Yen," Geralt compliments. "How did you even know we were here of all places?" Jaskier asks.

"I'll explain that later," Yennefer answers, "but this spell won't last," she places a hand on your shoulder, "collect your daughter. I'll get another portal open."

You run down the hall towards Aemma's room when you run into a man in robes. You recognized him to be the Septon who had married you and Daemon. He must've been summoned by the prince to confirm the marriage as legitimate.

You feel panic start to rise. If this man opened his mouth, you would never be able to hide from Daemon or anyone who would be more then willing to bring you back to the royal family. In a fit of semi-irrationality, you take your dagger out and stab the man in the gut, multiple times. The first stab took the Septon by surprise, and as much as it disgusted you, you plunged the dagger in again and again until you felt certain he would not survive his wounds.

When you looked down and realized what you had done, you felt sick to your stomach and ran to vomit. This was not caused by morning sickness, but by the fact you had just killed a man in order to cover your own tracks and break the chains that kept you with Daemon. You tried to justify to yourself it had to be done to protect both yourself and Aemma, but this man was still innocent, he didn't deserve to die like that.

"(y/n)?" you hear Geralt's voice and he and Jaskier looked down to see the dead Septon, blood spilling out from his guts, and he sees you trembling with blood on your hands and on the dagger you were still holding.

"Oh my gods, (y/n), what did you do?" Jaskier exasperates. 

You shake your head, unable to answer.

Geralt holds on to you, trying to get you back on your feet, "go get Aemma," he tells Jaskier.

"(y/n), look at me," you hear Geralt tell you. You shake your head again, starting to cry and hyperventilate, "(y/n), (y/n), I need you to look at me," Geralt insists, grabbing your face so you could. "Geralt," you sob, "I...I just killed a man. I've never done that before. I...I feel sick."

Geralt sighed, feeling pity at this moment; he knew that feeling, it was something he felt once before when he made his first kill against a human, though it had been different for him as he this was something he had been trained to do. You haven't...you were not a killer like he is. "Hey, it's going to be okay," you feel Geralt hug you. "I had to," you sob some more, "I couldn't let him talk to the king, I couldn't. He was the Septon that married me and Daemon, he was the one who would've confirmed our marriage was real, I had to stop him, I didn't know what else to do!"

"I know...I know," Geralt nods, "(y/n), listen, I know this is upsetting, but we need to go now. You need to keep going just a little longer, if not for yourself, then for Aemma."

You nod, and allow the witcher to lead the way.

The two of you meet up with Yennefer and Jaskier, who had Aemma in his arms. Yennefer was gathering what strength she still had to open up another portal.

"Can't you do this any quicker?" Jaskier exasperates. "I am going as fast as I can!" Yennefer exasperates back, "Magic works a little differently in this part of the world, I can't quite seem to bend chaos to my will like I could on the Continent. Also it took a great deal of Chaos to open a portal here from where I was."

Right then, Yennefer had succeeded in opening the portal, "Shall we?" You take Aemma from Jaskier and place a kiss to her head as Yennefer and your brother go through first.

Geralt follows, stopping briefly for a bit, "I hate portals," he mutters. You laugh a little, fixing to push him in (not really) when you feel someone, grab Aemma, trying to take her from your arms. 

It had all happened so fast, but Daemon had somehow been able to break away from the spell Yennefer had cast over him and everyone else in the Throne Room, and once he did, he had every intention to pull the two of you away from the portal, and you could see the fiery rage in his eyes as he did so. Geralt grabs onto you, trying to bring you and Aemma towards the portal. The witcher had thought to use Aard to push Daemon away but he couldn't risk hurting Aemma.

In the end, Geralt had succeeded in getting you through the portal, but not before Daemon had succeeded in taking Aemma out of your arms and then pushed you away.

"AEMMA!" You cry out as you feel yourself get sucked into the portal.

The portal had taken you and Geralt back to the Continent where Yennefer and Jaskier were waiting for the two of you.

You land on belly and quickly get back on your feet, despite the nausea, "AEMMA!" you cry out, running back to the portal, only to have it close at the last minute.

You fall to your knees, tears in your eyes, "No....NO!" You sob out. You couldn't believe it. You were finally free, but at the cost of losing your daughter and leaving her behind in his hand of her father and his family.

"(y/n)?" Jaskier places a cautious hand on your shoulder. You stand up and approach Yennefer, "Make another portal," you insist, "bring her back!"

"(y/n) I...I'm sorry," Yennefer says with a sad look on her face, "it took so much out of me the first time I've done this, and it may not take you back to King's Landing where Aemma is, it might-" "I don't care!" you sob out at her, "Get another fucking portal open, we need to go back for Aemma!"

At that moment, you feel a pain in your belly. It vanished, but then came again. You fell to your knees, but Geralt catches you. "What's wrong?" he asks with concern in his voice. This pain was familiar as it had been similar to when you were in labor with Aemma.

But it couldn't be...this babe inside you was nowhere near ready to come out,

"Geralt," you say weakly, "I think there's something wrong with this baby."

And before I post some more chapters, I must inform my viewers of the ten year time skip so there won't be any confusion, and this will mostly focus on the reader's daughter.

The rest of the story, or at least what I've already worked on is already posted on Wattpad account if you don't want to wait for more.

Chapter 23

Masterlist

[heytheredeann]

20 questions for fic writers

I was tagged by @cha-melodius, thank you! <3<3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

439! The plan is posting two more tonight so hopefull that will soon be 441 LOL.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

939,623! Almost a million yay!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

At the moment mostly TMFU, I have been getting into writing Banana Fish fic too, and I write for The Witcher, though less frequently than TMFU.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Stretch (Buck/Eddie+Christopher, 911, 3x02 AU)

Everywhere I'm looking now, I'm surrounded by your embrace (Harvey/Mike, Suits, soulmates AU)

I held your hand as you shook in the middle of the night (Geralt/Jaskier, The Witcher, 1x06 fix-it)

Leave it unspoken (Harvey/Mike, Suits, a serial killer on the loose AU looool I had forgotten about this one)

Concession (Geralt/Jaskier, The Witcher, Geralt likes being the little spoon fic)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yesssss, I'm like constantly behind and sometimes I answer months late, but I love answering because 1) comments make me so happy and I want the readers who took the time to let me know they enjoyed the fic to KNOW THAT, 2) talking about fics is SO much fun, I think that discussing things in the comments is the best part of posting.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

LOOOOOOOOOOOL filter for MCD on my Ao3 and take your pick. But I'd go with either Forever is the sweetest con (Napoleon/Illya/Gaby, TMFU) because the story is told backwards, so you start with post-MCD and end pre-MCD, so the ending is happy but. well. the happiness is gone already and you know it LOL, or maybe Meaner than my demons, colder than this home (Napoleon/Illya/Gaby, TMFU), purely because generally speaking when I play with MCD I kill just one of them off and leave the other two to pick up the pieces, but here there's just Napoleon left, so. probably worse than the others LOL.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Sooo, I tend to write one-shots, and I HAVE written fluffy fics, but I think I'll go with Something gets lost from a safe distance (Napoleon/Illya, TMFU) because it's part of a three-part series that's all emotional hurt/comfort, and then it ends with fluffy kissing so.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Eh, it has happened, I think it's inevitable if you have been doing this for long enough LOL.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Nope.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Not usually, I did write a TMFU/Supernatural crossover though LOL.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I’m aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yesss, more than once and it's always extremely flattering that someone would want to go through all that effort <3

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

Nope.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Right now I feel particularly strongly about the TMFU OT3 but like. I love so many.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I HAVE MULTIPLE LONGFICS SITTING IN MY DRAFTS DAMMIT. I just never want to post longfics unless I have either a first draft for every chapter or at the very least an extremely detailed outline for every chapter, which means that I end up always posting one-shots LOL. Two notable mentions among these longfics are a "Napoleon gets amnesia and bullshits his way through it to avoid telling anyone because he has trust issues" fic and an AU with Illya as a ghost that's a whole angsty mess. help me.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Eeeeeeeh the emotions I'd say. Or I HOPE so, since that's pretty much 80% of my writing loooool Also there a lot of lines of dialogue that I come up with that I unironically like.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Plots for one, I just tend to write snapshots with no real plot most of the time, and action. I don't LIKE writing it, which means I can never tell if it's boring or if I'm just projecting, and I tend to avoid it. ...also romance/attraction/getting-together. My aroace ass never knows what is believable romance and what are just tv show tropes that are not actually real LOL.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I generally don't do it and keep to the language of the narration, just clarifying "X says in German" if there's a change of language. I write limited third POV, so I just see it as "filtering" everything through the lens of the person that we are seeing the perspective of. If I'm writing from Gaby's POV, for instance (she's German but fluent in English), I feel like TECHNICALLY the narration should be in German, so by writing in English I have already chosen a filter that is not 100% accurate. But that's the filter I'm going with, so English is the language that Gaby is communicating to the reader in, so everything should be communicated through English lens: if she's talking to someone in English, I will just write the lines with no specifications, if she's talking in German I still write in English and write "in German" in the narration, and if someone speaks a language she doesn't know I don't write the actual dialogue because she doesn't understand it, so the reader doesn't get to see it either.

I hope this makes some sort of sense LOOOOOL, I don't really mind any way I've seen this done, but this is how I prefer to go about it.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

The Fallen book series. LOL.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Evil question, go directly to jail, do not collect 100$. This answer will absolutely change every five minutes, but right now I'm particularly feeling Souvenir from a life left behind (Napoleon/Illya, TMFU), just a tiny dissolution of UNCLE fic with Napoleon angsting.

.

Tagging: @imgoingtofreakoutnow @ikeepwatchinghelicopters @thetamehistorian @huggiebird @deducitetemporacarmen @set-phasers-to-whump @cherryjuicegf @geralt-of-vengerberg and anyone else who hasn't done this yet and wants to play <3

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Destiny

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia X Reader

Word count: 1.6 K

Summary: You had to give up on some things when you decided you wanted a life with Geralt, but life has a way of turning things around.

{The Witcher Masterlist}

The nights are starting to grow colder as fall starts to fade, ready to turn into winter. Your small garden in front of the house is still flourishing, even though only a few flowers are strong enough to give you their beauty. So, kneeling on the ground, you pluck some weeds and clean off the dead leaves. The place will be less colorful for some months, but if you keep taking care of them, they'll come back at full power next spring.

You hear horses coming, and a wain. Not many people come this way but some residents of the nearest town since they know this route. Taking the small basket with the weeds and dead leaves to dispose of, you get up. The two horses come into sight and the wain soon after. The couple on it are familiar to you. You buy their carrots, potatoes, and broccoli.

“Good morning.” The man says, not smiling, but with the same respectful expression he always gives you.

“Don't talk to her.” The woman says. She's too young to be his wife, you see it now. His daughter then, but you don't know which one. “She's the wife of that –”

“Hush.” The man says.

“Good morning.” You reply, waving. “Safe journey back home.” Then, you give them your back and head inside.

You throw the weed and leaves on the fire before heading to the kitchen and starting to cut some vegetables for soup, trying not to let the loneliness bother you too much. You knew this was how things would be, but even so, even though you'll have to deal with the cold nights by yourself, it's all worth it. You'd do it all over again.

Passing the sweet potatoes to the pan, you're about to reach for the carrots when you hear it. A low, faint sound of a step on the wooden floor right next to you. Your body moves almost by itself, the grip on the knife getting tighter, but even before you can turn around and give hell to whoever was bold enough to invade your house, a strong arm surrounds your waist at the same time a hand grabs your wrist.

“I was expecting a much warmer welcome, my love.” His voice is what makes your body relax, but your heart, which was already beating fast, starts pounding.

“Geralt?!” You breathe out, dropping the knife and turning around.

Seeing Geralt after two months makes your body almost melt. Immediately, you throw your arms around his neck, your lips chasing his. Only seven months into the marriage, you only had Geralt with you for three. But you don't mind. You love him, and you knew things would be like this. It's the price of marrying a Witcher. A price you're more than willing to pay.

Geralt kisses you tenderly, and you can feel all of his love in it, the warmth, the thirst from all this time away. So you just hold him tight, even when you're both out of breath and have to break the kiss.

“I thought you'd take longer to find that monster.” You whisper, your foreheads touching.

“Ouch.”

“It doesn't mean I'm not happy. I'm... Delighted. Euphoric.” You give a little jump, kissing him again, then placing kisses all over his face as you stand on your toes. “You just scared the living hell out of me.”

“Just wanted to make a surprise. And I hurried with the hunt because the nights are cold and I made a vow to keep you warm.”

“Hm... So let's start by drawing you a very warm bath.” Smirking, you start to walk away, but Geralt grabs your arm.

“Draw us a bath. And let me get the water.”

“I can do it.”

“I know. But I'm your man. Let me do the hard part.”

You don't really enjoy bringing the water inside, so you don't complain.

Minutes later, the bath is ready, and the tub is set in the bedroom as usual. First, you washed with hair and body, and after, Geralt insisted on changing the water so you could get in. And you didn't say anything after the short explanation about how exactly he killed the monster and how some of its guts got on him. So when the new, hot water is ready, you join him in the tub. The temperature is perfect, and you rest your back against his chest.

“I never thought I'd have a real home to spend the winter.”

“Oh, you're supposed to go to that place for the winter. Kar Mare? Kor More?”

He giggles. “Kaer Morhen.”

“Kaer Morhen, yes. I don't mind if you have to go there, I can take the journey.”

“We could make a short trip while the winter hasn't kicked in yet, just so they know I'm still alive but... I have a home now. A real one. And I rather spend my winter with you than with those ugly men.” His embrace grows tighter around your waist, and your smile. “But tell me about you. Anything exciting happened while I was away?”

“Yes! I delivered a baby all by myself.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Marlën was with another mother in difficult labor. So when Alyn started feeling the contractions, I had to go.”

“And how was it?” Geralt always asks about your things, even though they're nothing compared to the amazing adventures he lives.

“A bit of a mess, I was so nervous.” You chuckle, turning around to look at him. “The husband passed out. He was holding a bowl with water and then he just fell, got the floor all wet.”

“Hm.” He mutters, looking down.

“What is it, my love?”

“You love this. And you love babies and children, and you'd be an amazing mother but I–”

To cut him off, you place a kiss on his lips. “Geralt, I knew of this limitation when I married you. And yet, here I am. And I wouldn't change a thing. I love you.”

He takes a deep breath, a small, sad smile on his lips. “I love you too. But it breaks my heart that I can't give you children.”

“Just give me all your love. That's everything I want.” And with another kiss, you both leave the tub and head into bed.

•••

When you start to stir, you feel Geralt moving. He always wakes up first, and then, he just lies there, holding you, looking at you.

“It's so good to wake up next to you.” It's the first thing you say, moving to climb on top of him. “I missed this. I missed you.”

Geralt smiles, softly grabbing your hips. “I dreamed about you almost every night.”

“Well, I'm right here now.” With a smirk, you lower yourself on him, your lips already chasing his.

Loud, obnoxious knocks make you sit back up. “I'll see who's there. Dress up.” Geralt says as he gets up, searching around for his clothes.

You put on the first gown you find, a white one, that you use to sleep, before following Geralt.

“I'm sorry...” You hear a woman's voice, low and anxious. “...died... Has no one...”

When you get to the door, you see Marlën, with a bundle of fabric in her arms. She passes the bundle to Geralt, who takes it as if it's the most fragile thing. You're about to reach the door when she turns around to leave, walking fast. She didn't even see you.

“Geralt, what's going on?” You ask, walking over to him, staring at Marlën's back. “She seemed so distressed...”

Then, a low, soft whimper gets your attention. Looking up at Geralt, you find his eyes locked on something in his arms. It's unbelievable how long it takes you, you, a midwife in training, to realize the sound came from a baby.

“Geralt, what...”

“She said the mother died... That he has nobody left... That a wet nurse will come twice a day with bottles of milk. I don't...” His voice fades when the baby opens his eyes, moving a tiny little hand up.

“Geralt, I think... I think she meant us to raise this baby.”

He looks at you, and you meet his eyes. Geralt's eyebrows are pinched together and... You've never seen him so emotional. Only when you confessed your love for him. “Raise him? As if–”

“As if he's our own.” Stepping closer, you take the baby's hand. “She knows I always wanted a child... And that I gave up that dream because of my love for you. So...”

“Do you think I can do it, (Y/N)? Do you think someone like me can be a father? A good one?”

Smiling, you take your free hand to caress his cheek. “Remember when you asked the same thing about being a husband? I told you you'd be a good husband.” Your smile grows wider. “And you proved me wrong by being an amazing husband.” The baby moans, and it sounds a little like a giggle. “If you agree to do this, my love... It'll mean a commitment for life.”

“A family.” He says, and then a smile breaks through his lips. “A family of our own.”

“Yeah... A family of our own.” Tiptoeing, you kiss him before caressing the baby's forehead. “Seems like destiny is on our side.”

“How did I get so lucky?” Geralt moves the baby up a little, so he can place a kiss on his forehead. And the scene brings tears to your eyes.

“You deserve it.” Moving to stand next to him, you exchange a look with him before focusing on the baby.

“Guess we'll have to leave Kaer Morhen for next year.”

“And next year, we'll introduce them to a tiny Geralt.” You add, as your heart is filled with bliss. Life has a way of turning things upside down for everyone. But this time, it just was putting things into their places. And you're excited to see where it leads you and this perfect little family you have.

[bethdutten]

Can you do an angst geralt imagine. Where maybe he’s mad at y/n and y/n gets tired of it and finally leaves geralt and jaskier in the middle of the night and in the morning they have to go searching for her ?

Geralt was practically shaking from anger. Fuck witchers not feeling emotions, the emotion he was currently feeling was overwhelmingly pissed off.

He told you to stay at camp. You swore you would. Then you promptly ignored him and ended up being thrown by a wyvern and now your ankle was shattered.

He felt something in his chest do the same, when he heard you scream. Almost cost him his own life, distracted him enough that the wyvern got in a few good hits before he was able to take it out.

You had tears running down your face, reaching out for Geralt as he wiped the blood from his face and knelt down. You met his eyes, still pitch black from the potions.

“I’m s-sorry, I just wanted t-to help,” you sobbed, clearly in pain.

And Geralt couldn’t do anything to stop it. He was so carefully, making sure you always slept between him and Jaskier to be extra protected, that you had enough water while walking the path and your own room at the inns. Anything he could do to keep you safe, keep you happy, because he… he…

No, he’d failed you. He scooped you up in his arms and cradled you close to his chest, walking back to camp. “What the fuck is the matter with you? I told you to stay.”

You whimpered, burying your face in his neck, and it made Geralt want to scream. He wasn’t good enough for you. He can’t protect you. “And now we have to go back to get you to a healer,” he snapped, the anger at himself and how useless he felt bubbling up. “This could have been avoided. What the fuck made you think—“

“I get it!” you sobbed, a hand clutching onto Geralt’s shoulder as camp came into view. “I’m stupid, I-I get it.”

Geralt was so lost in his thoughts, he didn’t even reply. He’s a fucking witcher, he can kill any monster on the Continent and any man who threatened you. He should have been the best thing to protect you, and he failed.

Jaskier looked up from his page of lyrics, looking confused at a still-potioned up Geralt and you crying in his arms striding into camp.

“What happened—“

“Need to go back to town. She needs a healer,” Geralt growled, and even Jaskier flinched at his tone. But he just began to pack up camp unquestioningly, loading everything back into the saddlebags and onto Roach.

Geralt walked beside them, keeping you close against his chest, too afraid to let you out of his arms. He was still thrumming with anger, a permanent glare etched on his face.

You didn’t dare say a word.

Geralt snapped at you a lot. He snapped at Jaskier a lot. He just snapped at people in general a lot. You tried not to take it personal, but sometimes it felt awfully personal. He was always yelling at you if you strayed too far from camp, or offered to help him on a contract. He was always mad at you, glowering over the campfire into the night. It made you wonder if it would just be better if you left. He clearly wanted you to.

He took you immediately to the healer, instructing Jaskier to get rooms at the same inn you stayed at previously. The kind woman set your ankle, wrapping it carefully and giving you some teas to speed healing. You thanked her, glancing over at Geralt and lowering your eyes at his glare.

You needed a crutch to walk; Geralt let out a frustrated grunt at your slow pace, hauling you back into his arms and taking you to the inn.

You hid your face in his shoulder, your eyes filling with tears. Now you couldn’t walk, how would they justify letting you join them in the path? No, you’d made your decision.

Geralt got you settled in your room, making sure you had water and food and were comfortable enough. You wouldn’t meet his eyes, and he understood— he was being a fucking asshole, but you didn’t get how scared he was, hearing you scream. Seeing you hurt.

He grunted a goodnight, then went back to his room. He’d apologize in the morning, after he got himself under control.

Only, he woke up to a frantic knocking at his door, dragging himself out of bed and mumbling about how a monster better literally be tearing people apart in the town square—

“She’s gone. Geralt, she’s gone.”

Geralt’s blood ran ice cold, suddenly very much awake.

Jaskier was speaking, but he wasn’t catching much of it. Shit, shit, shit. He’d pushed you too far, he shouldn’t been treated you so badly. He needed to fix this, he needed to make you understand how much he—

He loves you. How much he loves you.

“—and she wasn’t there so I asked the innkeeper and he didn’t know shit, as expected, I don’t know a single innkeeper who has ever held a useful fact in their brain—“

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled, a warning.

He nodded. “Right. Geralt, we need to find her.”

“Well, she only has one foot, she couldn’t have gone far,” Geralt answered, beginning to dress himself. He had no idea where you would even go— east, maybe? You liked the ocean.

Jaskier let out an exasperated huff. “I’m serious, she’s vulnerable and injured, and gods know— we need to find her, Geralt, I care about her too much and you’re too in love with her to lose her this way.”

Geralt froze halfway through buckling his armour, carefully keeping the surprise off this face. “Jask, I’m not—“

“Shut up, you know it, I know it, she doesn’t know it because she thinks you hate her with how you treat her. So, come on, let’s go find her so you can change that.”

Geralt swallowed, quickly finishing with donning his armour and grabbing his bags, exiting the room with Jaskier at his heels.

You didn’t get far, hobbling about 20 minutes outside the city in the direction of Cidaris. Geralt dismounted Roach and called out your name, though it was clear you trying to ignore him as you stubbornly kept limping away.

Geralt easily kept up you you, tugging at your waist carefully. “Would you just— for fucks sake, you’re so stubborn—“

“I’m stubborn?” you snapped, snatching your arm away from Geralt’s grasp. “You are the most hateful, rude, spiteful, stubborn man I have ever met.”

Geralt flinched, but knew that he deserved that. He was obviously acting in a way contradictory to what he was hoping to convey. He just— he just got so angry at himself and how he wasn’t good enough for you. At all the ways he failed you. He didn’t mean to make it seem like it was you he was angry at. He didn’t do this feelings shit—but he couldn’t lose you.

“I’m sorry.”

That seemed to shock you enough to pause, having never heard Geralt apologize for anything, ever.

“I’m sorry for making you feel like I ever hated you, or that I was mad at you,” he continued, glancing off into the forest. It was clearly painful for him to express himself with words, but you were too stunned to interrupt.

“I was mad, but not at you. I was mad at myself, for… for not keeping you safe. For not protecting you,” he said softly, looking down. This dangerous, strong witcher who could take down a striga with his bare hands, was laying himself out for you, as vulnerable as you’d ever seen him. He was placing his heart in your hand, and he just prayed you didn’t crush it.

You hesitant reached forward, taking his hand when he offered as you met his eyes. Those molten amber eyes that somehow became home. Leaning against him, you murmured, “Geralt, I—“

“I love you,” he whispered, like he didn’t even want the forest to hear, he just wanted you and only you to know that he had a weakness, one that could take him out at his knees and keep him down, and it was you.

You felt your eyes fill with tears, the last few months suddenly taking on a different light. Your stupid, stoic, stubborn witcher. “You have a strange way of showing it.”

He let out a dry laugh, leaning down and resting his forehead against yours. “I know. I just don’t —hmm— I don’t know how to—“

You cut him off with a kiss, sweet and tender. You’d seen the man struggle with words enough for one day. “I love you too, Geralt. You can make it up to me.”

At that, Geralt smiled, a real smile that reached his bright eyes and showed his canines. His shoulders dropped in relief, a weight off his chest he didn’t even know he was carrying. “I will.”

With that, he leaned down and swept you off your feet, your surprised squeals cutting through the silence of the forest as he began to carry you back to town. He grabbed Roach’s reigns as he went, passing them to you. It was extremely attractive, how easily he was able to carry you, effortlessly showing his strength as he held you against his chest. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing a gentle kiss to his exposed sternum.

“Let’s get you back before Jaskier calls in a royal army.”

[shylemon0]

Geralt dating an Autistic!Reader would include (Headcanons)

Hehe

Warning: implied violence, Autism things, hinted (?) autistic Geralt, judgement from ignorant people, meltdown

(Gn)

———

· The few people you knew would probably be worried about you and the Witcher being a thing, and they’d think that maybe he was using you in some way, but you’d shut that down quick since you know the stigma Witchers get for simply just living · Him not caring if people think he’s rude so he’ll just grab you (or notion with his head) and leave any conversation if they are making you uncomfortable in any way

· Even though generally Geralt isn’t a physically affectionate person, he always happily accepts your touch when you feel comfortable enough with doing that · He lets you play with his hair whenever you want, he loves how it feels having you braid and brush his hair(especially if you are gentle), it’s a way for you to let him know you love him without saying ‘i love you’ outright

· I think that either his eyes would be easier or harder to look into, if they are easier then you’ll probably just stare into his eyes without a bother because his eyes are just so pretty, but if they aren’t easy to look into, you’ll probably still try to give quick glances here and there and Geralt would understand the discomfort of having eye contact, he finds it uncomfortable sometimes too (though he is a glarer, sometimes he just generally doesn’t like it) · He loves traveling with you since you both are comfortable with silence, he just enjoys your presence, it’s pretty comforting to him

· If anyone were to threaten you to get to him he’d be pissed off, like really pissed off

· He’d be so concerned when you’re having a meltdown, especially if its a really bad one, he’d do whatever he could to comfort you and make you feel safe, if it was in public he’d glare at anyone who’d give you a weird look before you two got to somewhere quiet and dark, he’d let you grab ahold of him and cry into his shirt if that’s what you needed or let you just sit curled up without him touching you at all if that’s what you needed, whatever you need he’ll do it, all for your well being · He understands finding it difficult to show people how you feel and being perceived as unemotional/apathetic but also feeling too much at the same time 

· Him constantly being worried about scaring you away whenever he has to do his work (you probably don’t even think about it as a ‘bad’ thing since it makes sense to you that he has to do things like that because he’s a witcher)

· As a way that you show him that you love him is, being caring and just generally helping him in any way (pretty much babying him lol), like you’ll wash his dirty clothes when he finally gets to sleep, you’ll take care of his hair, you’ll make him food sometimes, and just help him out when he’s exhausted after a long day · He loves listening to you talk about your interests and will listen intently, he loves to see how happy it makes you, and listening to you rambling is an easy way for him to get in a good mood

:)

(I have a taglist now! It’s on my pinned post if you want to know more about it!)

[sayafics]

Soul-bonds & Heartaches - Chapter II

A.N:// Please enjoy chapter 2 of a fic/concept I hold near to my heart! If you would like to check out the original fic idea (also written by me) that inspired this series, please check out my wattpad @theangelradio, I hope you guys enjoy this!

Part 1

Part 3

Part 4

Masterlist

Andromeda had spent the night crying into her arms, sleep gnawed at her but the scenes which had only just unfolded replayed in her mind until it was all she could think of and sleep became unimportant.

She began to rethink all her actions and all her words, her mind running through 'what ifs' and 'maybes' because despite it all she did not get her happiness and she did not get her Geralt.

Before she knew it the sun had risen to symbolise a new day but she couldn't forget the events of the passed one, her heart raced at the notion of having to face the man she had run from and the woman he had probably run to.

If she could, she would've ran farther away, far away enough so their bond was insignificant to her, far away enough so she could pretend everytime he touched another woman she didn't feel her blood sting and her heart burn.

She wished she could. But Cirilla. Cirilla was what kept her here, and Cirilla felt herself tied to Geralt, seeking the father figure she had lost at such a young age and Andromeda knew she could not take that away from her. Not after Cirilla had found solace after so many years, even if it was in the comfort of the man who hurt her in so many ways and continues to do so.

Andromeda did not move for a long moment, taking in the room she sat in - the room was still neat and untouched since they had only just paid for lodgings the night before, both beds laid neat and the air smelt damp. Her face fell slightly as she realised that she had locked Cirilla out of her own room all night, but then her heart swelled momentarily as she realised that Cirilla must've understood her need for space and left her to her own bearings. Hopefully she would not be too mad, and although she did not want it to her lips began to stretch into an unconcious smile as she began to think of the numerous ways Cirilla would complain about having to sleep alone in a strange inn in the middle of nowhere. Of course, all her statements would be made light-heartedly, after all it was not Cirilla that needed Andromeda but Andromeda that needed Cirilla, because despite all the monsters and beasts she faced at Geralt's side, the darkness held unfathomable beings that she could never face alone.

Only it seemed her embarassment and heartache from her fight with Geralt was enough to overpower her fears of the dark last night, and she felt her stomach flip at the realisation that even when she was hurt by him the thought of him made her feel safe enough to sit alone in a dark room. As the realisation became stronger and harder to ignore she huffed as she pushed herself to her feet, perhaps if she was to pretend yesterday's events did not happen he would do the same?

***

It seemed that was not the case at all. Andromeda stood to the side awkwardly as Geralt saddled Roach. No one else was in sight, the day being too early for them to have gotten up so soon, so Andromeda had no one to distract her from the burning glances Geralt sent her way.

"So-"

"I think I should wake up Ciri, we should get going soon. Don't you think?"

Geralt's expression faltered for a moment, but he managed to paste on a blank expression as she looked towards him for an answer, and instead nodded in agreement. It would be best to head off North now, in search of another monster-hunt and run far from the memories which were now imbedded in the walls of the inn that stood to his back.

Geralt found his body, his soul, begging him to follow her steps as she took hurried steps towards their lodgings to awaken their companions, but her ignorance to the confessions made last night made him hesitate for a moment too long and just like that his only opportunity was stripped off him.

***

They had been walking for a while now, the air between them all charged with awkwardness and tension and it seemed no one could face eachother knowing they all had some grasp of what had unfolded the previous night. It seemed even Cirilla was all too aware of the events as she had not murmured a word after her usual 'good mornings' were passed around, and not one comment was made about the fact she had to find another room so late in the day by herself.

Jaskier had tried to break the ice by strumming his lute and humming out his newest ballad, but his attempts fell short when Geralt had threatened to break it over his head. The threat had managed to get a squawk of indignation from Jaskier, a snort out of Cirilla, an eye-roll out of Yennefer and caused a small smile to twitch across Andromedas's face - a smile that did not go unnoticed by Geralt. And for once, he was glad he was not with his brothers because he was sure they would mock his racing heart and the way his breath caught in his throat.

Although it seemed that his awestruck expression was caught by Yennefer, and from the sour look which spread across her face he knew she was not happy. But, as he glanced back towards Andromeda's now sullen face, he knew he would risk the wrath of a thousand witches if he could smile her even one more time.

Geralt's mind had not changed, of course. He knew what he was, and he knew he did not deserve a woman like Andromeda. But that wouldn't stop the way his skin heated when she was close by, the way his heart trembled in her presence, the way his blood sung at the thought of her and the way his soul yearned for her acknowledgement with every breath he took. He could not burden her with his existence, but he would force himself to watch her from a distance and accept every fraction of attention she was willing to give him.

Unbeknownst to Geralt, Andromeda had felt much the same. When Geralt had unknowingly claimed Andromeda as his second prize on the night of Pavetta's engagement banquet she felt hopeful of an escape from a group of people who she knew would never accept her true self. After all, she was an elf - whether she still had her ears intact or not. To the humans she was a monster, and Geralt had to know what that felt like so she thought she had found an equal in him. But everytime he turned away from her, everytime he touched another woman in a way she hoped he would touch her, everytime he hurt her... she tried to keep her hope. Tried to hope he would see how similar they were, how Fate had worked in their favour. But sometimes she thought Fate had cursed them instead, and Geralt's ignorance to the bond he claimed was only proof of that.

In Andromeda's mind, Geralt could not feel the bond they had, did not suffer the consequences of stepping out on the bond like she did when he bedded other women. To Andromeda, Geralt held no feelings towards her other than that of an acquaintance, she was nothing special and that was enough for her to try and move on, only for him to stop her and confuse her all over again, and sticking her back into a cycle of hope and heartache again. Andromeda did not know how much longer she could do this, and she knew her resolve of staying with the group was breaking, bit by bit. And, glancing over towards Geralt and seeing how Yennefer leaned into his side before whispering sweet promises into his ears, she knew she was now closer to leaving than ever.

What she had failed to notice, however, was the way Geralt had instinctively recoiled from Yennefer's presence, as though his proclaimation in front of Andromeda's potential bed-mate, calling her his, had flipped on a switch he was unaware was inside him this whole time. His prize. That was what she had said, she was his Law of Treasure, she was the woman Fate had tied him to in a way that was incomparable to any other magic he had come across. As he met Yennefer's defeated glare head-on he could feel realisation sinking into his gut, knowing that after pushing Andromeda away for so long he had hurt her in ways worse than those he was trying to avoid, and all it had managed to do is make him ache for her in unimaginable ways. His soul found solace in her presence, joy at the thoughts of her and he had denied himself these feelings for so long that he could feel his self-control slipping.

Geralt took one last glance at her, a long and pained glance as he ran his eyes over her figure - admiring how despite the events of last night, despite the harsh words exchanged and the failed ventures, she walked with her head held high and despite the solemn look printed on her face and the defeated look in her eyes she managed to emanate an aura of strength. She was strong, in ways Geralt had never been able to be, and with that thought he turned away and focused on the path ahead as he tried to ignore his swelling heart and buzzing stomach. This was the princess he had met that night in the banquet, the woman he had felt so enamoured by - the woman he felt guilt at the sight of as he made, not one but two claims onto the Royal Family of Cintra. If he had known the claim would give him Andromeda? He never would have left that day.

***

Their journey was going to be a long one, and with the direction they were headed the lands were barren of villages, people and shelter. It seemed the weather was in their favour today, as the only unpleasant part of the night would be the cold breeze which brushed softly against their cheeks. Geralt had deemed the weather suitable enough for them to spend the night under the stars, and Andromeda found herself happy with the prospect - to be free under the night sky, to have the choice of being able to run, or speak, or move without tens of hundreds of eyes on you had placed her in a sense of ease.

Andromeda shuffled to the spot closest to the fire Geralt had set and claimed it as her own. The heat rolling off the flames bringing comfort to her panicked mind as the sky continued to darken despite sunset only being a short while ago.

Geralt could hear her panic, smell it, feel it. But he knew he had no comfort to give and if he did she would not accept it, instead he hoped the reminder that he was here and he would not let anything happen to her would be a comfort enough to soothe her, "I'll take first watch, get some sleep."

Geralt made his way towards a stray log to one side of the campfire, moving it upright and using it as a makeshift stool. He shook his head before Yennefer or Cirilla could protest, he knew they each had their own reasons and he hoped the stubborn look on his face would be enough to placate them both. And taking in the reluctant looks on both their faces as they turned away from the fire to rest, he hoped that would be the end of it.

He glanced over the rippling flames of the fire towards Andromeda who laid too close to the fire for comfort, her eyes flickering in tune with Jaskier's quiet strumming as she looked up at the sky. The flames glowed against her skin, her cheeks flushing at the heat and her face set in a serene look as she gave into the urge to relax. Her eyes glittered with starlight, full of dreams and desires - a sight Geralt has already seen so many times before during their travels, but even now he finds the breath in his lungs snatched away at the sight - breathless and frozen in a state of admiration. She was beautiful.

Geralt did not know how long he had been staring at her, he did not know when he snapped out of his stupor either but in the span of a few heartbeats he was looking into those eyes, those beautiful eyes - eyes that gleamed with wisdom, eyes that held a world of misery, eyes that made him feel alive - and he found it too hard to look away.

When Andromeda had turned in his direction she had been expecting him to glare into the treelines, always on alert for a threat. Instead, to see those amber eyes staring directly into her own? Her heart stuttered to a stop before slowly beginning to pick up speed. Sure he had looked at her before, she was sure he had even looked at her too but never like this. This look, it made her soul burn in a way she had ached for, for several years. This look made her want to crawl into a hole and hide for the rest of eternity, but it also made her want to leap from her seat and finally, finally, show Geralt that he was hers's as much as Fate had made her his. This look made her feel seen in a way she had craved for far too long, and she didn't think she could let it go now. Instead, she quirked at eyebrow in his direction, and despite her nerves she found herself quietly questioning him, "is something on my face?"

It took Geralt a few moments to process her question, and he found himself slowly shaking his head in response. The action became more vigorous as he pushed himself to speak instead, his voice was deep but hesitant all the same, "no."

"Are you mad at me?"

Now that question had Geralt's eyebrows furrowing, "no." Why would she think that? Had he made her think he was angry with her? He would not be surprised if he was being honest, he had been messing up quite alot lately, especially with her.

"It's just... after yesterday."

They both waited a beat longer, hoping the silence was a prompt enough for Andromeda to continue, "I ran."

"And you had every right to do so. You had every right to be angry too."

"I'm not," Geralt's head twisted at that in curiosity, "don't get me wrong Geralt," - Fate, the way she spoke his name, the way it rolled off her toungue, so familiar and so addictive, it made his heart clench in desire - "I was angry, very angry. But that was in the moment, now I'm just confused. And disappointed."

Geralt sighed at that, his head dropping down as he looked towards the scuffed leather of his shoes, "you have every right to be."

"I know," the tone of voice she used showed Geralt that was not the answer she was looking for so he pushed himself forward.

"I'm a monster."

"I know."

Geralt's head snapped up in surprise, never had someone actually agreed with him and her acknowledgement of the validity of that statement had him feeling undescribable emotions, but before he could voice his bubbling emotions Andromeda had continued, "I am too."

He stopped short at that, her? A monster?

"Come on, you don't think I got these scars for some mundane reason, do you Witcher?" Her tone was teasing as she gestured towards the round and jagged edges of the top of her ears, "I used to be an elf not too long ago," her eyes darkened in hurt as she continued, "I no longer know who I am, but I know that I was sent away to be safe. But the humans would not accept me as their own and my own people would not recognise me as one of their's. To some I am a monster simply for not being human, being mortal. For others, I am a monster for having the one thing that symbolised my people torn off, in an act of cowardice as a trade for safety. How well that worked out, right?" Her laugh was harsh and pained, Geralt could relate to her feelings very well - Geralt was not labelled a monster because he killed them, but because he simply did not look like everyone else, did not think like them, feel like them, move or talk or be like them. He was different, and so he was a monster and so was she.

Geralt found himself looking at her in a whole new light once more, a light that made his desires burn brighter as the campfire flames grew languid in comparison.

"You should get some sleep, Rory."

It was a slip of the tongue. That was what he told himself, and it was this fact that Andromeda forced herself to believe as she nodded in agreement before rolling to face the dying flames and nod off into a fitful sleep. But, as hard as she tried, she could not stop the smile that stretched across her face at the nickname, a smile Geralt had - once again - noticed and taken pride in.

Andromeda found herself slowly drifting off to the faint sounds of Geralts breathing and the slowing strums of Jaskier's lute, her mind racing at the prospect that maybe, after this, maybe Fate was finally going to give her the destiny she was promised.

Taglist: @welliguessiwritethingsnow @kneelforloki @faefairi3 @xicesam @lovesickollie @supersoilderswhxre @henryownsme @makemydaysworthit

(Please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist❤️)

[paintedcrayons]

you make me overwhelmed

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Pairing: Geraskier

Summary: He feels Jaskier’s hands on his face, focusing intently on soothing his pain. He smells the honeyed scent of Jaskier’s contentment, happy to be sitting next to the witcher he’s known for so long. He hears Jaskier’s breaths, his heartbeat, calm; rhythmic as his songs. Geralt’s senses are overwhelmed by Jaskier in every way that matters, and he doesn’t how to handle it.

“You just… Jaskier.” He pushes out. “You overwhelm me, sometimes.” For some reason he feels breathless.

also available on ao3.

CW: none

-

Gently, so gently, Jaskier wraps Geralt’s hand. He uses bandage he’d bought weeks before specifically for this purpose. Kept it in an extra pocket of his bag so it’d be safe to use when he’d need it.

Geralt can’t look at his face. He keeps his eyes steadily on his own hand, rested on Jaskier’s thigh as he finishes wrapping the bandage around his knuckles. On his own, Geralt wouldn’t have bothered caring for the scrapes on his hand he’d gotten, scaling a tree to jump on the bruxa from above. She’d seen him just in time to get a good scratch at his face, but the fight was over quickly. He hadn’t sustained any other injuries - the element of surprise on his side - but when he made the trudge back to camp and Jaskier caught sight of his hands and face, he’d insisted Geralt let him see to them.

And really, it’s not like this sort of thing is out of the ordinary. Jaskier makes a point to help him with every scratch he gets, whether Geralt admits he wants the help or not. So, really, there’s no reason for Geralt to be this flustered about it. He’s a witcher, for Melitele’s sake, he doesn’t need this sort of attention. But the way Jaskier takes such extra care to get a soothing cream over every mark on his hand, to wrap the bandage around it so tenderly… How else is Geralt meant to respond? If witcher’s could blush his face would be in flames. As it is, his heart is beating just faster than normal, still slower than a human’s. His shoulders are tense and he still can’t get himself to look Jaskier in the eye.

So he watches as Jaskier ties off the bandage on his hand, cradling it with both of his like it’s something precious for a moment. Finally, he lets it go to look at the scratch on Geralt’s face. Geralt’s eyes don’t move from Jaskier’s hands.

“Well, it looks like it won’t need stitches,” Jaskier starts, staring intently at Geralt’s cheek and reopening the container of salve, “but it’s deep enough that even with your witchery-ness, it’ll take at least a day or two for it to heal properly.” His voice is low, as though he doesn’t wish to break the peace as he speaks. “Let me fix it up a bit for you.” He gets some salve on his hand and sets the tub aside, reaching for Geralt’s face.

Geralt, for his part, feels like he might actually implode. It’s just, Jaskier is so close, and he smells so nice, and all this time Geralt has been avoiding his feelings for the bard that’s followed him for so long. But recently it’s come up so often he hasn’t been able to ignore it. And when he came into camp this evening and Jaskier immediately started to fuss over him - helping remove his armor and boots, setting his swords safely near their packs and bedrolls - Geralt couldn’t avoid the sudden burst of pure fondness for his bard. He can’t stop thinking about it. So when Jaskier grabs his jaw, gently, to smear the sweet-smelling salve on his face… He has the abrupt thought that he really does love him. That thought makes Geralt nearly gasp, and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment.

But without something to lock his gaze on to, Geralt is left to his other senses. He feels Jaskier’s hands on his face, focusing intently on soothing his pain. He smells the honeyed scent of Jaskier’s contentment, happy to be sitting next to the witcher he’s known for so long. He hears Jaskier’s breaths, his heartbeat, calm; rhythmic as his songs. Geralt’s senses are overwhelmed by Jaskier in every way that matters, and he doesn’t how to handle it. His bard’s voice breaks through his swirling thoughts.

“Geralt? Are you alright? You seem… well, I don’t know.” Geralt opens his eyes a little as Jaskier tries to put his thoughts into words. “You seem off, is all. Is something wrong?” His hand is still on Geralt’s jaw, though he’s finished with the salve.

“I’m- I’m fine.” Geralt mumbles. He moves his eyes a little, but still only looks below Jaskier’s face, over his shoulder.

“Are you sure? I mean- Geralt, please look at me?” Jaskier asks, his voice as gentle as his grasp. And really, how could Geralt say no?

He forces his eyes to move mechanically to meet Jaskier’s for a moment. A small, sharp intake of breath sneaks out of him when he sees Jaskier’s face. He’s just… Well, poetry has never been Geralt’s strong suit. But he thinks, perhaps, he’d be willing to try his hand at poetry if it meant Jaskier could know just how beautiful he is. It’s breathtaking, truly. and Geralt loves him. He closes his eyes, tips his head forward so his forehead rests against Jaskier’s. He can’t help it. He loves him.

Jaskier’s hand is still on his face. His voice comes out as barely a whisper; Geralt can hear his heartbeat pick up just a touch. “Geralt?” Is all he says, like a question.

To his credit, Geralt tries to explain. “You just… Jaskier.” He pushes out. “You overwhelm me, sometimes.” For some reason he feels breathless.

Jaskier pulls his head back as Geralt opens his eyes again to look at him “I… What do you mean? Am I bothering you? I can leave, if you want. There’s plenty of things for a bard to do for a little while on his own. I don’t want you to-“ He stops when Geralt nearly growls, a low noise in his throat.

“No,” he grits out, “don’t leave. Please.” He puts his own hand over Jaskier’s on his own cheek. “It’s not bad. It’s… really, really good, actually. I just don’t know how to explain it.” Well, he does, but Geralt really doesn’t think he could get those words out without a great amount of effort. “You mean… so much to me. Thank you, Jaskier. For staying by my side. For helping me when you haven’t ever needed to. You’re like nothing- no one- I’ve ever known before. I-“ he cuts himself off. The words are right there, three syllables, but he can’t seem to force them out.

Jaskier looks like he might burst into tears. He’s still so close. His hand is warm on Geralt’s face. “You can’t- do you… Geralt, do you mean that? In the way that I think you do?” he says, breath hitching, his contented scent threaded with anxious, hopeful energy.

Geralt can barely stand it. He moves his hands to Jaskier’s neck, feels his heartbeat through his fingertips, and kisses him with as much care as he can muster. He has to let him know. He has to get him to understand.

And it’s- it’s so much , all at once. Jaskier’s scent envelopes him. It takes a moment for Jaskier to respond, but just barely a second; then he’s moving against Geralt’s lips in earnest. He brings his other hand to card through Geralt’s hair and Geralt can’t get enough of him. Jaskier lets out a smooth sound from the back of his throat and the witcher’s senses go haywire.

He pulls back, pushing his nose against Jaskier’s throat, his hand bracketing Jaskier’s neck against him. Breathes deep as he snakes his other hand around the bard’s waist. He wants to think it’s too much, but truly… Geralt couldn’t be happier than he is right now. He never thought he’d get something like this, from someone like Jaskier. Someone who truly shines like the sun. Geralt has been around long enough to hear the poetic ways people describe love, strong and sweet and tender, and he’d thought it must have been as exaggerated as every other story or song. But now it explains how he feels so completely that he feels a little silly thinking about it.

“Geralt, do you mean it? Truly?” Jaskier mutters, his hand clenched in Geralt’s hair. “Because if so, please tell me. My feelings for you aren’t fleeting, dear. If you want this to end in a night, a week, I need to know. I couldn’t handle knowing what this feels like if I’m not to keep it.” He pushes his nose against the shell of Geralt’s ear, his voice wavering.

“Julek,” Geralt speaks in the juncture of Jaskier’s neck and shoulder, feels a shudder at the endearment, “You mean everything to me. I will not leave you. I wouldn’t dream of it.” It’s almost the hardest thing Geralt has had to say. Not because there’s a lie, no, quite the opposite. It’s the most honest he thinks he’s ever been.

“Gods, you’re so…” Jaskier sounds a little choked up, but his scent is only joy and something strong Geralt can’t, won’t name, “Never did I think you could be so affectionate. It’s very endearing. I couldn’t love you more.” He breathes out. He says it deliberately, Geralt can tell, but he notices the hint of anxiety etched into the words. Geralt wraps his arms tight around Jaskier’s shoulders and lets himself look the bard in the eye. He has to say it now, for Jaskier’s sake if nothing else. He needs to get it.

“I… Jask. I love you .” Those three words hold more emotion in them than he’s ever let himself express. He watches Jaskier’s eyes widen, and it feels like the world slows when the bard pushes his lips against his.

It’s like this moment will last forever. There’s nothing else but this. Geralt feels this space in time slot into a place in his mind, to be looked back on as many times as he wants. He loves his bard. He couldn’t be happier.

[witchersgoldenbard]

My sweet darling @mayastormborn asked for some nonverbal Geralt:

Some non-verbal Geralt during winter, and they all allow him to just *be*? No one asks him anything, they just bring him some of his safe-foods and a drink and top it up through the day. Any conversation is through gestures though as little as possible

Well, sweetness, I hope this little thing brings you some comfort and is somewhere near what you had in mind 💕👉👈 (tho it’s not and I will try again)

1.8k words, no warnings except the obvious

No Words Required

When Geralt wakes up with the first light, the weak rays of the winter sun slowly but stubbornly bringing a new day to Kaer Morhen, he knows it is one of those days that will have to remain silent on his part. Usually, he would turn to Jaskier beside him and press a kiss to his brow to wish him a good morning, but the very thought of talking is almost enough to quicken his heartbeat and make his hands shake. No talking, then.

He closes his eyes again and tries to fall back to sleep, maybe he just needs to start this day over. He doesn’t dare to hope, but it might be worth a try.

Despite giving it another chance, his tongue still feels too heavy in his mouth when he opens his eyes again, the world around him still blurry and sharp-edged at the same time. So Geralt has no option but to accept his fate. At least for today. Only for today, he hopes.

“Good morning, my love,” comes Jaskier’s tired voice from beside him, and Geralt thanks the Gods he doesn’t believe in that he can still find happiness in this familiar tone. Grateful that not all his senses are set to overwhelm him today.

He turns to smile at Jaskier, who waits a moment, gives him a chance to say the words he doesn’t have the strength to utter today. Wants to force himself to say, but his heart, his hands, his head, they all deny him. Warn him.

And Jaskier only softens his smile and asks, as quietly as he can, “Silence day?”

Bless him. Bless this man, this wonderful man, for understanding. For knowing him well enough, for seeing, for asking.

Geralt nods, but reaches out to hold Jaskier’s hand with only a slight tremble in his fingers, afraid to find that touch will be denied, too. But the warmth of Jaskier’s skin feels good, the softness under his fingers bringing its usual comfort, and Geralt smiles at the bard’s hands.

“Touch and noise still fine, darling?” Jaskier asks anyway, despite seeing the smile he is wearing. Always asking, always reassuring. Always loving and caring. Always there.

Geralt nods and taps Jaskier’s hand twice, too.

“Would you like me to tell the others?”

Geralt hesitates, quickly calculating if he has enough strength to grunt and hum his way through the day, make enough noise for them to let it pass. But it feels wrong, and he knows they don’t judge. They all have these days, even Jaskier, and it’s always better if everyone knows.

So he nods and is rewarded with a gentle smile.

“Wonderful. And this is going to be the last complex question of the day, I know they’re hard, but technically it’s still yes-or-no? Really, it will depend on your response, uhm—“

Geralt squeezes Jaskier’s hand and regards him with an amused smile. He loves this man so much, how could he not smile even when the world is heavy around him?

“Right, sorry,” Jaskier mumbles and sits up, scratching the back of his head and looking at Geralt. “Is there anything you need? Except to not talk, and possibly the usual, you know. Anything you need, right now?”

The hand still wrapped around Jaskier’s wrist gives Geralt perfect leverage to just pull and have Jaskier land on top of him with an undignified squawk. The bard chuckles as he lies on top of Geralt, their warm chests pressed together like they were made for just this.

Jaskier hums the moment Geralt’s arms wrap around his middle, keeping the warm and comforting weight on top of him. Let the world be heavy, he thinks. I am safe right here.

“I’ve got you, love,” Jaskier promises. “And you’ve got this.”

***

The first time Geralt goes nonverbal around him, it’s a few weeks after Posada. They are returning from a contract, off to find the alderman to receive their well-deserved coin. Jaskier is prattling on about heroics and monsters and witchers, only interrupting his enthusiastic monologues to hum a tune, trying for a melody and always discarding it immediately.

He has grown used to silence beside him, looming and annoyed and stoic. Hums, at most, though they are always more like grunts, noncommittal and monotonous.

But then, suddenly, the hums stop and the Witcher’s ever-focused eyes have lost some of their shine. Jaskier notices these things — of course he does, he’s an artist after all! And Geralt has pretty eyes. But that’s beside the point.

“Geralt?” he asks, stopping in his tracks and watching the Witcher beside him. The same Witcher who doesn’t even notice that he stopped walking, eyes on the road before him, seemingly lost in thought.

“Geralt!” Jaskier calls again. Still no reply, but the Witcher finally stops. Stands. Looks at him over his shoulder. His eyes still not entirely right, and Jaskier doubts it comes from the various potions he has had last night.

“Something’s wrong,” he says, and Geralt glances around after a second, hand moving to his sword. Good, Jaskier thinks, he’s not completely out of it. “No,” he says and takes a step forward, noticing the sudden tension between Geralt’s shoulders. He stops. “No, I mean… With you. Are you alright?”

Geralt frowns. Well, at least there’s a constant for you.

“Are you okay, Geralt?” he asks again, gentler but really starting to worry.

Another frown, but this time followed by a nod. Which is not very reassuring. Jaskier might not know him well, but he knows right then that he’s lying. He lets it go, though, and they make their way to the town, easily finding the alderman.

A wretched man who only wants to give them half their payment, but Geralt doesn’t seem inclined to argue. Jaskier frowns and gives the alderman a piece of his mind, making a whole scene for everyone around to hear. “And if the Witchers on the whole Continent might hear from the White Wolf’s bard that you betray them, that your hand doesn’t fulfill what your tongue promises, maybe you shall surrender to the monsters then. Leshen and whatever so pleases shall feast on you, maybe that will be the day you wish you had paid the White Wolf what he was promised and more!”

Needless to say, they leave with more coin than expected, and Jaskier can’t wipe the smug grin off his face.

Geralt smiles at him for the first time, then, over their small campfire, and Jaskier smiles back.

“Is speaking hard for you today?” he finally dares to ask.

Geralt stares at him. Nods.

Jaskier nods back. Grins.

“Well, good thing you have me then, isn’t it? A bard to yell at stupid people for you. We’ll make a great team, you’ll see.”

Geralt doesn’t say anything to that, obviously. But even the next day, when the first thing he does is insult Jaskier’s fashion sense, he doesn’t mention it, doesn’t deny it. And Jaskier is sure he didn’t imagine that small smile that could have meant Maybe you are right.

Either way, he was.

***

Jaskier leaves the bed before Geralt, promising to bring him breakfast.

“You still have three other meals you can try to leave bed for, let’s have breakfast here,” Jaskier argues with a grin and a fine that brooks no room for discussion even if Geralt were up for it.

And so, they have breakfast in bed. It’s warm and comfortable and Jaskier chatters away, not expecting a response in any way. Perfect background noise, taking away the sharp edges of his surroundings, making everything a little less overwhelming and oppressive. Jaskier knows his place in the network of Geralt’s nonverbal days as he talks, keeping his voice down and calm and so, so warm. Familiar.

It almost makes him feel normal. It definitely makes him feel safe.

When he finally has enough strength to leave bed, they make their ways downstairs to sit by the hearth. Geralt has found that the warmth helps, brings him physical comfort when there is nothing else to ground him.

“Good to see you, pup,” Vesemir says and claps a broad hand on Geralt’s shoulder after looking at Jaskier for a second. Geralt smiles.

Pup. Vesemir only calls them that on the heavy days, and it’s a constant that always helps them through the worst of it.

Life still happens around him, everyone has their own tasks, and where he’s sitting in the middle of it all, he feels like he still gets to be a part of it.

There are warm foods throughout the day and a jug of something hot and spiced always appears by his side. Geralt is not completely sure how the time passes, but it doesn’t matter.

What matters is that Lambert is sat beside him, silent, offering his company. If Geralt leans into him and Lambert leans back, well, then that’s between them.

What matters is Eskel who lies down on the fur beside the hearth and gently pulls Geralt to lie on top of him, head on his broad chest, careful hand running through his silver hair. He talks, though all Geralt feels is the rumbling of his chest.

It’s all that matters.

***

The first time it happens around Eskel, they’re both still pups. Barely grown into Witchers yet.

“There are worse things than not talking, Geralt,” Eskel tells him, Geralt’s head resting on his shoulders. “I know it’s scary. It feels like there’s nothing worse. But it doesn’t make you any less of a Witcher. Or any less Geralt. You’re still the White Wolf, even if you can’t howl. I’ll howl for you, Wolf,” he promises with a kiss to his cheek. “And when the day comes, you’ll do the same for me. Because it happens. And it fucking sucks, but you’ve got this, okay? And I’ve got you.”

Geralt nods into Eskel’s shoulder and tries not to feel pathetic that the only sounds the world gets to hear from him that day are his sobs.

***

But Eskel was right then and is still right now. They’ve got each other and they take care of each other. Howl and fight and protect each other.

They do the same for Lambert on his heavy days.

And for Jaskier, years and years and years later.

For Ciri and Yennefer and everyone who needs it.

That’s what family does. Nothing has to change on the days you can’t talk, on the days that words fail you. There are always people to yell at the world for you, to wrap you in a hug and tell you everything you need to hear. Even Witchers can have that.

And Geralt has a whole family now to tell him: “You’ve got this. And we’ve got you.”

It’s really all that matters.

[samstree]

Dark Bird (3)

Jaskier gets captured by Nilfgaard. Geralt tries to fix things.

(The Time Traveler’s Wife AU, see tags and warnings on ao3)

The first things Jaskier notices upon waking are the ironclad shackles around his wrists. They are pulled tightly above his head, pinning his arms to the wall.

“What—” Jaskier calls out, pain shooting from his shoulders. “Geralt?”

His head throbs with every pulse of his heart, his temple covered in something sticky and cold. He must be bleeding.

And held prisoner, apparently.

“Anyone?”

The walls of the dark prison cells don’t answer him, and Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for the aches of his body to stop. The shackles dig into his wrists, rubbing his skin raw. He lets out a pained gasp, struggling against the restraints, his breath shuddering.

“How?” Jaskier asks the empty room.

He remembers their honeymoon at the coast, the flowers in his hair, and those short blessed days that followed. They were married, away from the war, and they were happy.

Until the day Geralt was pulled through time and came back shaking, his face pale as a sheet.

Oh, yes. It all changed quickly. Too quickly.

Geralt asked Jaskier to pack in a panic, but there was no time. Nilfgaardian soldiers found them in their home. Jaskier climbed onto Roach’s back before realizing Geralt is not doing the same.

His eyes lingered on Jaskier’s face. “Go,” Geralt whispered like he was saying goodbye. “I won’t let them have you. I won’t.” He kissed Jaskier’s ring finger. “I can’t.”

Before Jaskier could protest, Roach started to run, taking him away from Geralt. Jaskier looked back at his husband, silver hair lined with gold in the sunset. The soldiers surrounded Geralt in no time, drowning out the glint of his sword and the dance of his attacks. It’s always a joy to watch Geralt fight, his movement always precise and elegant. Not that day, not when fear seized Jaskier’s throat, and all he could hear was the sound of Roach’s hooves hitting the ground.

She took Jaskier away from the coast and she ran for the whole night.

Until the dawn brought them right into the next trap.

An arrow pierced the air at the first ray of sun, missing Jaskier’s ear but enough to startle the mare into a halt, throwing Jaskier off her back. He hit the ground hard. There was blood in his eyes as soldiers dressed in dark colors pulled him up.

The last thing he remembers is shouting for Roach to run before someone knocked him out from behind.

And now, Jaskier is here, in a cold prison cell, not knowing what became of his husband.

“Geralt…” Jaskier’s breaths pick up from panic. There were too many of them for Geralt to fight alone, and Jaskier was away.

Geralt sent him away.

The world spins, and Jaskier blinks away the spots in his vision.

“Hello, Jaskier.” A tall figure pulls open the door. His face is obscured in the shadows, but his voice chills Jaskier to his core. “The witcher thought he was clever, but you see, you are here. It won’t be long until we have him too.”

Jaskier’s legs give out beneath him, his shoulders sagging.

Geralt isn’t here. Geralt is safe. Geralt is safe…

He repeats it like a mantra, under his breath, until the words disappear into a laugh.

“You won’t,” Jaskier smiles, grimacing. His wrists can’t take all of his weight. He can’t feel his fingers already. “You will never find him.”

A punch lands in his gut, knocking the wind out of him. Jaskier grunts, biting into his lips. He spits into the man’s face and gets another punch in return.

“Tell us where he is, and I could spare you.”

Jaskier draws a breath, and another, his lungs seizing. He laughs, the half-choked, half-broken sound echoing in the dark cell.

“He is safe. He is safe…”

And Jaskier needs to keep it that way.

“Tell me.” The man’s voice grows dangerously cold. “Where did he hide the princess?”

Jaskier lifts his head defiantly.

“She’s dead.”

Magic hums in the air and the chains suddenly drop from the wall. Jaskier falls like a rag doll, his back hitting the stone floor. The mage kicks Jaskier in the ribs, his anger exploding. He kicks again, much harder this time, not giving Jaskier a chance to suck in a breath.

Something cracks under the man’s boot. Pain lights up deep within Jaskier’s side, blinding like white-hot flames.

“Oh, little bard. We both know she isn’t.” Slender fingers grab Jaskeir’s arm, digging into the wound at his wrist. “Tell me where they are, and it won’t come to this.”

Fire flickers alive in front of Jaskier’s eyes, held in the mage’s palm.

Jaskier whimpers, his mouth full of the metallic scent of blood. He tries to hide, to retreat, but the mage pushes him against the ice-cold wall with a twisted smile.

“She’s…dead,” Jaskier says stubbornly, and the mage’s twisted smile fades.

Fire licks up the tips of Jaskier’s fingers.

He screams.

☆ 

Jaskier is left on the ground, his hands still bound, the burnt fingers held at his chest.

The trembling won’t stop, and neither will the fog in his mind. The fire mage has come in more times than Jaskier can count, and his consciousness fades in and out until there are no coherent words from his broken lips. There is no use for him anymore. They can’t get to Geralt through him, and all Jaskier feels is relief.

The pain doesn’t matter. The tortures don’t matter. He could die here, knowing Geralt is far away from this place, keeping Ciri safe.

So he dreams. Curled into himself on the hard stone floor, he dreams.

Jaskier is eleven again, seeing a witcher’s golden eyes for the first time under Lettenhove’s darkened sky. He is seventeen, kissing Geralt in the warm greenhouse, safe within his witcher’s arms. He is eighteen, meeting Geralt in a dingy tavern in Posada, his heart broken at the lack of recognition in those golden eyes. He is twenty, thirty, and then, he is Geralt’s husband. They find each other through time. They find each other, always.

They went to the coast.

Jaskier opens his eyes. His cheeks are soaked with tears.

“Oh, but you see, Rience. You have it all wrong,” A woman speaks above Jaskier, her hand pressed against Jaskier’s temple, magic flowing between her fingers. “You needn’t ask the bard at all. The witcher shall come to us on his own.”

The fire mage said something—Rience. They are arguing, but Jaskier can’t keep himself awake long enough to catch it. The magic works still, penetrating his mind, pulling at his memories. He is too tired to fight.

“I can break him,” Rience says. “The witcher—”

“The witcher is linked to him by destiny. It’s a temporal bond, far beyond the understanding of the likes of you.”

Voices are raised, and the fire mage is lashing out. Fire flashes in the dark room, and Jaskier flinches.

“We cannot just wait!”

“That’s precisely what we should do. This human is the anchor of the witcher’s existence. He will be pulled here whether he wants to or not. Destiny will send him if the bard is in need. I’ve seen in all in his memory.”

A hum, and footsteps retreat into the hallway. “I’ll prepare the dimeritium.”

“Sleep, bard.” The woman’s spells seep into Jaskier’s mind. “You may be of use to us yet.”

☆  

Dreams turn into nightmares. Jaskier is hot all over for one moment, and freezing cold for another. An infection settles in, the fever burning bright.

Jaskier is Geralt’s anchor, and now he will betray Geralt simply by existing.

Don’t come, Jaskier pleads. Not for me.

Neither of them can control when destiny brings Geralt to Jaskier through time, and for the first time since being captured, Jaskier feels real fear rising in his chest.

He listens as the guards lay traps around his cell, dimeritium cuffs clinking at their hips. He struggles against the chains until blood drips down his arms. He screams at them. He curses the mages. If they are hurting him, they won’t be thinking about getting to Geralt. He yells at them to hurt him.

And Geralt can’t end up here. With the cuffs, he won’t be able to escape, and Ciri…

Ciri.

“Don’t worry, bard.” The woman stands above Jaskier’s head, tall and proud. “The lion cub will join us soon.”

Jaskier’s fists wrap around the chains, the burns on his fingers blistering, keeping him lucid.

“You’ll pay for it,” he says, voice low. “If you hurt them, you’ll pay for it.”

The woman only lets out an amused huff. She leaves. The door is sealed shut, and Jaskier is alone.

He stays on the floor, touching the patch of bruises stretching from his sternum down to his stomach, where Rience likely broke his ribs. He’s fevered and sensitive, like an exposed nerve.

The air is getting thin.

Every breath is more difficult than the last. Still, Jaskier breathes, and waits.

The night settles in, silent and lonely. They’ve taken away all the light sources. Jaskier blinks his eyes open in the pitch-dark room, not wanting to fall asleep, but he doesn’t realize when he’s closed them. It could be minutes, or hours. Jaskier wakes from his fitful rest, shaking like a leaf, his back covered in cold sweat.

In a brief moment of weakness, he wishes Geralt was here.

He wishes Geralt would come to him.

It’s selfish, and it’s wrong, but Jaskier is tired to the bones. He just wishes his husband could hold him again. He just wishes a gentle hand could touch him again.

The familiar swoosh breaks the silence, and the next thing Jaskier knows, Geralt’s weight appears next to him, solid and real.

Just like that, Geralt is here.

No.

“No,” Jaskier says in anguish, realizing what he has done. “No, not here. Not for me…”

“Gods, Jaskier,” Geralt lets out a horrified gasp in the dark. “Where are we? When are we? You are bleeding. There is too much blood.”

Despite how much fear is in Geralt’s voice, despite the mistake of the situation, despite their doomed fate, Jaskier weeps at his husband’s voice.

“Geralt…”

“Hey, Jask. I’m here. Don’t you worry. I’m here.”

A hand cradles Jaskier’s face, and he nuzzles into it.

“You are,” Jaskier croaks, his throat ruined from hours of screaming. He allows himself a moment of respite, just a moment, to feel Geralt’s skin against his. Jaskier catches Geralt’s hand in his broken ones, holding it to his bloody lips. “You are not a dream.”

“I have to get you out. You are hurt. Jaskier, how—”

“There is no time,” Jaskier interrupts. “You shouldn’t be here. You need to run.”

He can’t see Geralt’s features, but he can picture the frown on Geralt’s face as clear as day.

“What are you talking about? Jask, I won’t leave you like this.” Geralt’s hands travel down Jaskier’s arms, finding the chains.

In a panic, Jaskier’s lungs seize. A coughing fit rattles against his chest.

“It’s a trap—” He draws a painful breath. “They found us, at the coast.”

“We’ll run. I’ll send you away. Roach can take you to the next town within a day.”

Jaskier shakes his head, his chest heaving.

“It’s…too late.”

“I’ll keep you safe, Jaskier. I’ll send you away with Roach. This can’t happen. I won’t let them get to you.”

Oh, but they did. It was all Jaskier.

“It was me. I wished... I’m the reason we are here.”

Geralt is here because of Jaskier. He went back and sent Jaskier away, because of Jaskier. That’s precisely how they will find all of them now. Time is playing the cruelest trick on them.

“Stop it, Jaskier. Just…let me save you.”

Geralt pulls off one of the chains from the wall with a grunt. Jaskier’s head lolls to one side from exhaustion. “You are more important, Geralt. Think about Ciri—”

Light splits the darkness and a portal opens in the middle of the small cell, the brightness forcing Jaskier to look away. He hears shouting, from the mages, from the Nilfgaardian soldiers.

Geralt is gone from his side.

Aard sends half of the guards flying, but the rest keep coming in. The fighting begins, but Geralt can’t beat all of them. He isn’t carrying any weapons.

They were on their honeymoon, after all.

“Geralt…” Jaskier calls out, but he can’t keep himself upright. His other hand is still chained to the wall, held behind his back, keeping him away from Geralt, but he reaches forward.

Geralt screams a deep, rumbling scream as they knock him off his feet, his face pressed to the floor and arms twisted back. A guard brings the cuffs, and Rience clicks them shut.

“Didn’t I promise you, little bard?” Rience smirks in the cold light of the portal.

All Jaskier can see is his husband, whose eyes are equally fixed on him. Geralt looks guilty, like he’s failed Jaskier, somehow.

Why can’t he see? He can never fail Jaskier.

“You can’t keep him,” Jaskier whispers.

“But we have, and there’s nothing you can do,” Rience continues. “Now, witcher, where is our princess?”

“You will never find her,” Geralt growls at the mage, the rumbling in his chest animalistic and furious. “You will pay for this.”

“You two sound too similar. Is that what they say about married couples?” Fire ignites in Rience’s palm, illuminating his crooked smile and Geralt’s face. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes, the princess.”

In the bright light, Geralt catches Jaskier’s gaze. Something flickers in his eyes. It’s subtle, followed by the faint hum of magic in the air. It’s the sound that Jaskier used to hate when he was a child. All he looked forward to were the little pockets of time they got to spend together, until the hum of magic pulled Geralt away each time. Right now, the same hum is music to Jaskier’s ears.

Geralt’s time is up.

“I’m coming back,” Geralt says, the promise solemn. “I’m coming back for you.”

It all happens within a heartbeat.

Geralt throws his head forward, knocking Rience off balance, the fire in his hand turning into sparks. Several guards charge forward to keep Geralt in place.

Only to stumble into nothing. Dimeritium cuffs fall to the ground with a clunk.

Geralt is gone, back to the coast.

Jaskier lets out a whimper, rolling onto his back. He could laugh at Rience’s dumbfounded face, so he does.

Bony hands wrap around Jaskier’s throat in anger, cutting off his air. They loosen after a brief moment, and Jaskier gasps violently, but he pays no mind to the mage anymore. They can’t keep Geralt.

It doesn’t matter what they do to Jaskier now.

☆  

Rience no longer bothers with Jaskier anymore. The chain that was broken by Geralt is left as it is. Jaskier spends his days fighting to breathe but mostly failing.

He touches the tender parts of his side. The broken ribs put a strain on his lungs, shooting pains into his limbs with every rise and fall of his chest. He has heard about this condition. It happens amongst injured soldiers who slowly die from a chest cavity that no longer draws breath. It’s like drowning on dry land.

He drifts in and out of consciousness, not knowing the passage of time. They send him water but he doesn’t remember drinking it. The fever comes and goes, preventing any of his wounds from healing. The burns on his fingers are swollen and sensitive. He wonders if he can still play the lute after this, and then, he wonders if there is an after at all.

He worries for Geralt, his Geralt, always placed out of time. What happens after he dies? Will he still be the anchor? Will Geralt be pulled to his presence, but only find his tombstone?

Jaskier clutches the fabric at his chest. He pictures the child by the road, with brown curls and big eyes, being pulled from his quiet life only to watch a sad, old bard die. The idea makes his stomach roil.

Bile rises up, and Jaskier gags. He spits out the bitter liquid until he tastes blood.

When rescue comes, Jaskier barely registers the noise.

There is an explosion, he thinks, and the ground shakes with raw, unbridled chaos. The guards are drawing their swords, but the sound soon becomes their wailing. The scent of lilac and gooseberries fills the air. When the door to his cell opens, Jaskier meets violet eyes.

“Jaskier?” Yennefer is gentle with him. It’s a rare sight. “Can you hear me?”

Jaskier only stares, searching. In the distance, swords clash, and he catches the shouts of a little girl. Ciri.

“Ciri…” He opens his mouth but no sounds come out. His throat feels like sandpaper.

“Ciri is fighting. So is Geralt,” Yennefer says, her hands weaving a spell. “You better not give up before a little girl, bard.”

Jaskier wants to laugh at her joke, and the coughs wreck his body again, choking all the stubbornness out of him. He wheezes, not being able to get air in. Yennefer’s spell settles in, and suddenly all the pain disappears.

It’s like he’s lying on top of the clouds. He could sleep right there and never wake up.

“Stay awake.” Yennefer sounds desperate. If Jaskier didn’t know any better, he’d even think she’s worried for him. “Geralt!” she shouts. Now, he’s sure the great Yennefer of Vengerburg is worried.

When Jaskier opens his eyes again, he is held in Geralt’s arms, his body hanging limply. There is daylight in the corridors of the prison, and Geralt is beautiful. His hair is a mess with soot and blood, his eyes bruised from exhaustion, but he is, and Jaskier tells him so.

“Beautiful…”

It comes out a hoarse whisper, and Geralt looks down at him.

“Keep breathing, Jaskier,” Geralt kisses his forehead before crossing a portal. It jostles Jaskier, making him grimace. “Just keep breathing.”

Oh, but how difficult that is.

It’s like a mountain sits on top of Jaskier’s chest, squeezing out all the air. Every step Geralt takes sends shooting pains from Jaskier’s ribs, pulling him apart from the inside.

His airway grows tighter and tighter, but he can’t give up. Geralt is here, and they can go back now. They can go back to the coast, to the little cottage they call home.

“He can’t breathe. Yen, he can’t…”

“…Get him to Triss…have to…quickly!”

It’s like his head is bobbing at the surface of the sea. The waves drown out the sound, muffling out the world.

Jaskier drifts, and lets the waves wash over him.

☆  

There is murmuring, and herbal water poured down Jaskier’s throat.

Too many people are handling him. He recognizes Yennefer and Ciri. Their hands are soft, wiping the blood and sweat from his face. Magic seeps into his lungs, easing air into him. He breathes gratefully at the faint outline of Triss’s hair. Her eyes are warm and reassuring.

When sword-callused hands finally wrap around Jaskier’s wrist, darkness sinks in again. It drapes over his eyes like a heavy curtain, forcing him to sleep. When he comes to, the night has receded, and golden light kisses the back of his eyelids.

The bed beneath Jaskier is soft, and the covers light, but he startles awake in fear.

The coldness that surrounds him is gone, but his skin remembers the phantom touch of the stone floor and the ironclad shackles. He struggles against it but gentle hands stop him by the shoulders.

“Where—”

“Yen’s safe house. You are okay,” Geralt says, his face impossibly close. “We got you out of there. They won’t touch you again.”

It’s morning already. Light spills through the window, casting long shadows in the room. Jaskier’s vision blurs when he looks at anything that is not Geralt, so he looks at Geralt again.

Jaskier’s fever dream was right. His husband is the most beautiful man Jaskier has ever seen.

He’s keeping his hair down for once, letting it drape to one side like a waterfall made of silver. There are dark circles under those golden eyes and tight lines around his lips, and all Jaskier wants to do is to soothe them. Geralt looks drained, exhausted.

“Oh,” Jaskier breathes. “Darling, are you alright?”

He’s surprised to find his voice. It’s still rough, with barely any force behind it, but it’s his voice.

Geralt looks incredulous like he’s just heard a terrible joke. “Am I alright?” he huffs. “You gave me quite a fright yesterday. Can’t say I’m too well.”

Jaskier reaches out from under the blankets to touch Geralt’s face, only to notice the thick bandages around his wrist and the spasms in his muscles. Geralt catches his hand to stop him from trembling.

“My hands?”

“They’ll recover. It’ll take time and exercise, but you will play again, I promise.” Geralt kisses the bandage. “Your voice will come back too.”

“You’ll be here when I sing again?”

“Of course.”

Jaskier nods, satisfied. “Your hands are cold,” he says a moment later, frowning, and Geralt softens.

“Well, you nearly died from a collapsed lung. Guess we are even.”

Jaskier is not amused. He hates it when Geralt doesn’t take care of himself. Even with his enhanced biology, there is no need to be uncomfortable like this. He must have sat at Jaskier’s bed through the night to get this cold.

“Here.”

Jaskier pulls Geralt’s hands into the covers where it’s nice and toasty. He wants to rub some warmth into them, but his wrists are too weak. They end up holding hands near Jaskier’s heart, letting his body temperature do the work.

“Easy. You are on a lot of potions. You may not feel all the wounds yet.”

Jaskier takes a deep breath, the expansion of his chest pulling at the aches in his side. He grimaces, winking in mischief. “Oh, I feel them.”

Instead of smiling, Geralt’s face falls. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s a bit funny.”

Geralt’s shoulders tighten. His expression looks like a kicked puppy, and that’s how Jaskier knows he’s crossed a line.

“Jaskier,” Geralt starts. “You were tortured. For days. They broke three of your ribs and left you to die.” Guilt sits between Geralt’s brows. “It was all because of me.”

Jaskier shakes his head. “Not your fault.”

“I disagree.”

“It was me.” Jaskier takes in another labored breath. Talking still takes a lot out of him. “In that cell, I wished to see you, and there you were. Don’t you see, Geralt? This happened because of me. They found out about us from my memories. They knew all they needed to do was wait, and they were right. All of it happened because of me.”

Geralt’s fingers link with Jaskier’s, careful with the bandages around his burns.

“I sent you away with Roach, because of what I saw. I tried to prevent you from getting hurt, but I sent you right into a trap.”

“You almost fell into their trap too, because of me. Rience almost had you.”

Jaskier shudders, a few coughs bubbling up in his throat. Lying down puts too much pressure on his chest, so he struggles against the covers.

Geralt wraps his arms behind Jaskier to help him sit up. He also brings a cup of water, and Jaskier drinks it gladly, his throat soothed from the coolness. He looks down to find his torso also wrapped in heavy bandages, the aches throbbing underneath. A sheen of sweat has broken out on Jaskier skin when the coughs die down.

“He’s dead now,” Geralt says, dabbing Jaskier’s forehead with a soaked cloth, avoiding the healing wound on his hairline.

“And the woman?”

Geralt’s lips press together. “Fringilla. She’s gone. Yen wanted to track her, but it could expose all of us.”

Dread sits between Jaskier’s breastbone, but he stays quiet.

“You look pale. Is it the fever?” Geralt presses their foreheads together to feel Jaskier’s temperature. “It hasn’t gone down yet.”

“Just thinking.”

“You are never this quiet when you’re thinking.”

Jaskier smiles tiredly. “Just want to go home now. Back to the coast.”

Geralt sits back, his expression grave. “Oh,” he says, “we can’t. They found us there.”

“In a few years, then. When the world has forgotten all about us.”

Now, Geralt looks properly pained.

“Jaskier, they burned down our house.”

The morning light blinds Jaskier’s sight for a moment, and he has to look away.

The small cottage on the cliff, the home where they were handfasted by their family, is gone. It’s not rational to mourn a building, perhaps, but Jaskier mourns anyway.

“I see.” Jaskier closes his eyes. “Of course, what was I thinking? Of course they did.”

“Jaskier…”

“If only—” his breathing quickens. “—If only we were still there. Just a few days ago, before everything changed. No destiny, no wars, just us. If only we could go back.”

Geralt guides Jaskier’s lax body to lean against his, letting his head rest comfortably. Jaskier lets out a whimper, his chin wobbling. It’s pathetic to be sad about something as inconsequential as a small cottage. Everyone is alright, after all. It shouldn’t matter, but Jaskier is too hurt to care.

“I’m sorry, Jask.” Geralt says under his breath. “It’s all my fault.”

“Again, not you.” Jaskier will repeat as many times as he needs. “It was just bad people, doing bad things. They used us both.”

“What if we could—”

Geralt cuts himself off before finishing the sentence, and Jaskier hums.

“What if we could…?”

A sigh, followed by a kiss. “Nothing.”

Jaskier looks up, confused. “You were saying?”

Geralt is wearing that determined look on his face, the look that is equally tragic and doomed. He only does it when he’s decided to do something incredibly self-sacrificial, and therefore incredibly heroic and stupid. Jaskier hates that look.

Geralt opens his mouth and closes it.

“We’ll talk later.” Geralt rubs Jaskier’s back to soothe him. Or dismiss him. “You must want to rest.”

“That’s all I’ve done,” Jaskier argues. “And you said half of it already, so you must tell me now. It’d be incredibly rude to toy with a bard’s curiosity like this, you know?”

Jaskier’s attempt to lighten Geralt’s mood fails, and the shadow in his husband’s eyes only darkens. He might as well be walking towards the gallows.

Geralt sits next to Jaskier, cradling his hands gently. He looks like he’s trying to muster all the courage for what he’s about to say. It’s becoming really unnerving.

“Jaskier,” he says. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Jaskier answers, his frown deepening. He waits for Geralt to continue. “And?”

“Yen has been studying Ciri’s power, helping her control it.”

“Yes, I know this.”

“She believes Ciri has the ability to manipulate time. The past, present, future. All of it.” Geralt pauses. “She believes she can harness it.”

“It sounds like a powerful thing,” Jaskier says, not sure why Geralt would look saddened about this fact. They’ve been studying Ciri’s magical abilities for a long time, and there’s finally a breakthrough. “But what does it have to do with me?”

Geralt touches the bandages on Jaskier’s wrists, his thumb running the familiar soothing motion. He’s so nervous that Jaskier wants to let it go for a second.

“Yen thinks, with Ciri’s help, there could be a way of undoing the bond between us, and I want to let her try. The temporal magic is ancient. It’s as old as destiny itself, so it will be tricky and the spell won’t be ready for a while yet, but there is a chance it could work. We’d need to look after Ciri in the process, of course, but she has enough chaos to protect herself…”

The world narrows down to the words I want to let her try, and the rest fades into the background. Jaskier’s heart beats steadily in his chest, and for a few moments, he does not register the meaning behind those words.

“…it’ll be for the best. The Nilfgaardians are still searching for me. We can’t let them get to you again.”

“What are you saying?” Jaskier hears his own voice from a mile away. “Surely, you can’t do that.”

“We can. The bond is strong, weaved into destiny itself, but more powerful things can break it. A Djinn, perhaps,” Geralt says. “Or a Source.”

Jaskier stares, unblinking, and then he’s laughing at the first truly funny thing he’s heard since being captured. It’s nearly hysterical.

“Oh, Geralt. How silly! Don’t you see? It doesn’t matter how Yen can work her wicked spells. The past is in the past!” he explains, as if to a child. “Everything we’ve been through together has happened already. If she breaks the bond, what of the past? Our lives are weaved into the same, tangled since the beginning. The same bond brought you to me when I was a child. What of those days? Will they just disappear into thin air, like they’ve never exis—”

The laugh freezes on Jaskier’s face, his stomach twisting.

“Oh, Jaskier…”

The look on Geralt’s face is now of sympathy.

“They will just disappear, like they never existed,” Jaskier repeats. “Our days together will be erased.”

Geralt’s nod is almost imperceptible, gentle, but it may as well be a punch in Jaskier’s gut. He flinches, recoiling from Geralt’s touch.

Jaskier curls into himself, inhaling sharply, one breath after another. Distantly, he notices the pain in his ribcage. It begins as a spark, only a faint stinging of his broken ribs, but soon it takes life, radiating through his core.

“We never would have met,” Jaskier murmurs. “But I waited for you. I waited for you my whole life.”

“You wouldn’t have known I existed, Jask. You’d just grow up in Lettenhove—”

“Alone. Without you.” Jaskier swallows, his throat constricting. “The past will be lost.”

“It’s the only reason you are in danger. If we had never met,” Geralt explains gently, a faint smile on his face, “they’d never have hurt you like this.”

He looks like he truly believes it to be a good idea.

“Is it because of me?” Jaskier asks, his breath hitching. “Because it was my fault. They used our bond because I was weak.”

“No, Jaskier—”

“But it was only a moment. I know better now. I won’t make the same mistake,” he pleads. “You mustn’t blame me, Geralt, not too much, not for long.”

Jaskier is panicking, and he’s breathing too fast. He realizes that, but he can’t bring himself to care. Geralt wants to leave.

Geralt wants to leave again, after all this time.

It was only a moment of weakness. Jaskier was hurting and he couldn’t stay strong. He only missed Geralt, just a little, and let his mind wander.

Surely, his husband should forgive him.

“Jask, no. Listen to me, it was not your fault.” Geralt’s eyes have gone round, his hands holding Jaskier’s cheeks, making sure their eyes meet. “My brave Jaskier. It’s not what you think. It was never your fault, only mine. I’m the reason you are hurt, over and over again. I’ve been selfish enough to let it happen for decades, but when I found you in the cell…I—I couldn’t live with myself anymore. It was too close this time.” Geralt swallows like he’s going to be sick. “Too close.”

“You got me out of there,” Jaskier insists childishly.

“Barely.” Geralt’s eyes are vacant, haunted by memories. “Had we been a moment late—”

“I’m fine now.”

“You are very much not!”

The words come out too loud, and Geralt winces, ashamed to have raised his voice. The room is quiet, except for Jaskier’s rattling breaths.

Panic morphs into anger, licking up in the midst of pain.

“Don’t I get a say in it?” Jaskier says, voice low, teeth clenching. “I don’t care if it’s the price of being with you.”

If it’s the price of loving Geralt, he’d choose to bleed and burn a thousand times over. He’d choose it any day. It’s the same choice Geralt made once, the old aches in his joints a solid proof.

“Oh.” Geralt’s thumb ghosts over Jaskier’s split lips. “It’s not a price I’m willing to pay.”

And yet…

He’d deny Jaskier the same choice.

The room spins in front of Jaskier’s eyes, dizzying in the bright sunlight. Out of nowhere, Jaskier musters the strength to push away Geralt’s hands, his body toppling to the other side.

“No!” Jaskier shouts, panting violently. “You don’t get to—” He coughs, hoarse and painful. “—you don’t get to give up on us.”

Jaskier clutches at his collar, gasping for air, his lungs rattling pathetically like an old ship in a storm. It’s like Rience’s hand is around his throat again. Waves of nausea crash into his trembling body, but Jaskier holds himself upright out of sheer spite.

Tentative hands rest on his shoulder, trying to help him. “Jaskier, you are hyperventilating.” Geralt sounds scared now. “Shit. Something's wrong.”

“You…” Jaskier rasps. The world blacks out for a second. The ringing in his ears grows louder and louder until it drowns out his own voice. He isn’t sure if the words are spoken, or if they are just an echo of his anguish. “You promised me.”

Geralt promised, under the pine trees of Kaer Morhen, on the grassy cliff by the sea. He promised with their hands wrapped together. He promised not to leave.

Geralt is choosing to leave now.

“…Jaskier…you need to breathe…”

He will leave the child who waited at the lake, in the cold mansion of Lettenhove. He will leave Jaskier to the lonely days of his childhood. He will leave, on top of a mountain, and never return.

“…Please…breathe…”

The ringing pierces Jaskier’s mind, and the world quiets.

“You promised,” he whimpers.

Warmth rises from Jaskier’s throat, metallic and cloying, filling his mouth. He throws his body forward, splattering the sheets with crimson. He coughs and chokes, watching helplessly as blood drips onto the bandage around his fingers.

Jaskier feels strangely calm.

He looks up, and finds people rushing into the room.

Ciri is standing by the door, her eyes wide with fear. Jaskier must be quite a sight. He has been tortured and starved, and now, covered in blood. He never wants to upset Ciri. She has gone through too much already.

Yennefer is yelling at Geralt, that much is sure. Her mouth is opening and closing, and she looks cross with him. She opens a bottle of potion, but Jaskier doesn’t care about the pain anymore. Triss’s hands are around him, her magic vibrating against his skin.

And Geralt…

Geralt looks as scared as Jaskier feels. He’s calling Jaskier’s name, again and again, begging him to answer, but Jaskier can only remain still.

It’s like he’s floating outside of his body, watching himself break apart in silence.

Can’t Geralt see it? Rience’s fire couldn’t do it, nor could Frigilla’s magic and destiny’s cruel jokes, one after another.

But Geralt can.

He breaks Jaskier easily, by holding his heart within his palms and casting it aside. Jaskier shutters into pieces right there.

The pain spreads through his limbs, seeping into every cell of his body, reaching every inch of Jaskier’s soul. It makes sense it’s the worst pain he’s ever felt—he’s grieving a part of himself. It’s the best part, tangled with Geralt from the root. It is now being pulled out alive, leaving an empty, gaping wound.

Tears trail down, salty like the blood on his tongue.

Jaskier collapses in despair.

[marvellousimagines]

Ever since the traveling group of Geralt, Jaskier, and Ciri expanded to include you and Yennefer, the five of you had gotten into the habit of renting two inn rooms whenever possible - you and Jaskier in one, Geralt and Yenn in the other, and Ciri would pick whichever pair she wanted to stay with that night.

This particular night, Ciri had picked Geralt and Yenn. And especially fortunate for your group, this particular inn was able to give your group two rooms that both opened to a shared bath. You immediately claimed the first bath, wanting to get clean before Geralt dirtied the water with who knows what kind of filth he’s managed to pick up this time.

A short while after your bath, you heard noise indicating that whoever claimed the tub after you had left, and you didn’t hear anything after. “I left my sash beside the bath, let me just go grab it before you take your turn,” you told Jaskier, sliding yourself off the bed.

You didn’t knock before pushing the door open. You probably should’ve knocked. You thought for sure the bath room was unoccupied. You were wrong.

Geralt had really quiet footsteps.

You didn’t notice him at first, eyes fixed on the strap of leather you were after. You walked a few steps towards it when you heard the sound of water being disturbed as a person lowered into it. The sound drew your eyes before your brain could question, and you froze. Geralt was sitting naked in the tub, everything from the waist up was in full view, though the wood walls of the tub covered anything private. And his golden eyes stared straight at yours, one eyebrow quirked in a silent question.

“I’m sorry,” you squeaked out, feeling like you’d been staring even though it wasn’t actually that long. You pointedly averted your eyes, looking back at the sash that brought you into this room. You should just turn and leave the room and get the sash later, when Geralt’s bath was finished. Or have Jaskier grab it when he took his. But you were already this far, and not exactly thinking logically. “I just want to grab this and I’ll be out. Didn’t realize you were already in here. Sorry,” you let the words spill out, hoping that filling the silence would make you feel less awkward.

As soon as you had the leather in hand, you spun around, trying to sneak one more look at Geralt’s form as you did so. If he noticed the sneaky look, he didn’t react. You heard a noise halfway between a hum and grunt from the Witcher as he started rubbing dirt from the trail off his arm.

You walked quickly back to the room you were sharing with Jaskier, gaze fixed on the door ahead of you, avoiding the temptation to try to look again at the bathing Witcher. You opened the door just enough to slip through, closing it shut the moment you could.

Jaskier looked up at you as soon as you returned, expression changing quickly from happy to see you to worry to confusion. “What happened? Your face is absolutely crimson,” Jaskier asked, setting his lute aside to stand up. You brought your hands up to your cheeks in a vain attempt to cover your embarrassment. You could feel the heat of the blush on your hands. “So, uh, Geralt’s really quiet,” you replied, trying to make a joke of it to calm yourself back down.

“Well, we all know-wait.” Jaskier’s expression grew slowly into an amused smile. “Did you walk in on the Witcher in the bath?” he accused, now standing in front of you, leaning in close to your face.

“I thought the room was empty,” you defended yourself.

Jaskier laughed. “Geralt probably didn’t even care. Man’s surprisingly shameless about nudity.”

“I didn’t SEE anything. He was already sitting in the tub.” Well, technically he was standing when you opened the door, but you didn’t see him until he was safely in the water.

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Blankets/Shirt Collar Shifting Just Enough To Have Bandages Peeking Out for the H/C prompts?

At first, I had no idea what to do with this, but then when I was brushing my teeth the entire thing just wrote itself <3

Geralt can't stop looking. He's had problems with starting at Jaskier before, but never like this; never with fear in his heart or the taste of bile on his tongue. Never with the knowledge that this will be the last time or very close to it.

But Jaskier's doublet is undone and his shirt ripped, revealing bandages that Geralt wrapped himself; a stark reminder of Jaskier's humanity, of his fragility. He has no place being out here with a witcher or rather, Geralt has no place trying to keep him. All he can offer Jaskier is a broken heart and an early grave.

They don't speak on their way back to town and Jaskier probably thinks Geralt is angry with him. He had acted angry, had been angry with himself for letting anything happen to Jaskier, but he hates that this is the last memory Jaskier will have of him. Geralt grits his teeth because he can never let anything like this happen again.

The inn is big and busy when they enter and all Geralt can think is that it will make it easier for him to slip out unnoticed. He rents a single room - a tiny token he allows himself, to spend one final night with Jaskier - and they make their way silently up to it. Their room is on the third floor and it is still early enough that Jaskier would normally hurry to the window to inspect their view, but he doesn't. He sets his things down and sits on the edge of the bed, carefully pulling off his doublet.

Geralt watches him, aches when he winces and wants so badly to go to him, to help him undress and tuck him into bed. But he doesn't. This is his fault and letting himself have Jaskier now is only going to hurt them both more tomorrow. So he strips mechanically out of his armour and his own clothes, taking extra care to lay them out neatly for the following morning.

When he can delay no longer, he turns to find Jaskier already in bed, turned away to face the wall. Geralt shuts his eyes and sighs softly. This won't be an amicable parting, then. He didn't expect it to be, not really, but he was hoping they might have one final night of normalcy before Geralt returned to the solitude of the path.

He slips into bed next to Jaskier, barely daring to breathe and shuts his eyes.

It's not yet dawn when Geralt wakes. Jaskier has shifted in his sleep, lying on his back with his lips slightly parted. He wrinkles his nose in his sleep and Geralt's stomach drops. He wonders if he'll ever be truly happy again knowing Jaskier is out there somewhere, but not with him.

He slips out of bed quietly, dressing only on his clothes and wrapping his armour for easy transport. He leaves his coin purse on the nightstand. Jaskier has been paying for most of their lodgings lately and it would be cruel for Geralt to leave him alone with nothing.

Geralt makes it to the stables before he breaks down. Emotions too numerous and varied to count boil up within him and he clenches his hands around the reins, forcing back tears. Roach nudges him with her nose, but he can't even bring himself to lift his head.

He doesn't know how long he stands like that before he pulls himself together, but the grey light of morning is creeping across the valley as he rounds the inn. There, sitting on the front steps wrapped in a sheet, is Jaskier. He doesn't stand up, he just looks at Geralt and Geralt feels as though he's been kicked in the stomach.

"You were just going to leave?" Jaskier asks, "After all this time, you were just going to leave without even saying goodbye?"

Geralt opens his mouth to speak, but nothing happens.

"I knew you were mad, but I thought I warranted a goodbye at least. Twenty years, Geralt."

He sounds devastated. Geralt always knew he'd break Jaskier's heart, but he didn't think he'd be around to witness it.

"It's for the best." Geralt says and when he glances up he can see the bandages again, more prominent without clothing in the way.

"For who?" Jaskier snaps, "because it's certainly not for me."

"Maybe you don't see it yet-" Geralt starts, but Jaskier interrupts, rising to his feet and storming over to him - the effect of which is slightly lessened by his rumpled hair and bedsheet.

"Fuck you, Geralt. I tried to save you. I did save you! I almost had to watch you fucking die and this is the thanks I get? I don't fucking think so. I deserve more than being left in the middle of the night. And I know you, I'd never see you again if you didn't want me to."

He reaches out and shoves him and to both their surprise, Geralt stumbles.

"You're right," Geralt says. "You deserve so much more. you deserve a life and you won't have one if I keep dragging you along with me."

"Dragging me-" Jaskier shouts, exasperated, "like there's anywhere else I'd be as happy. Geralt you're a big fucking idiot if you think leaving me is going to make me safe. Because that's what this is about isn't it? I thought you were mad but you're just freaking out because of this-" he grabs Geralt's hand, pressing his palm over the bandages, right above his heart.

Geralt can feel the firm, steady beat of it and he very nearly chokes.

" I'm right here," Jaskier says softly and when Geralt looks up he can see tears welling in his eyes, "right where I've always been." He folds both his hands over Geralt's and the sheet slips around his shoulders.

"Don't go," Jaskier whispers and Geralt breaks.

His knees buckle and he winds up on the ground with Jaskier in his lap, pressing him tightly against his chest. Tears burn the backs of his eyes and he buries his face in Jaskier's hair.

"I almost lost you," he chokes, "what would I do- if you-"

"Shh," Jaskier soothes, petting his hair. "I told you, I'm here. it's going to take a lot more than a fiend to get rid of me."

Geralt makes a small broken sound in the back of his throat and buries his face in Jaskier's neck. It's light before either of them moves and then it's only because Jaskier shivers.

"I'm okay," he insists, but Geralt bundles him back anyway, looking sadly at him. "Please come back to bed," he whispers, "tomorrow I'll book us another day and we can relax, spend the whole day in bed."

Geralt says nothing, but he lets Jaskier pull him to his feet. He follows him to the stable to settle Roach again and then Jaskier takes him back up to bed.

This time, Jaskier curls around him, pulling Geralt's head against his chest. Geralt hates the sight of the bandages, but when he lifts his hand he can feel the strength of Jaskier's heartbeat beneath them. And he focuses on that, that after everything they've been through, Jaskier is still standing strong. That maybe Geralt has more to offer him after all.

[dadralt]

5+1 rec list

as i’m trying to read more fics again i decided to post some recs. this might become a thing? idk idk. ANYWAY.

multiple pairings, enjoy!

you are my sunshine by @orangesandducks | gen | geralt & ciri | 891 words

Five short moments assorted witchers have with baby Ciri at Kaer Morhen, and one Geralt has. (Featuring Lambert using babysitting to drive Geralt mad.)

in that house at the top of the rock by mousyfern | gen | geralt & ciri | 3156 words

5 times fisherman Geralt had to google search something to keep Ciri the mermaid safe and happy + 1 time he knew he didn't need to.

twist into my heart by @orockthro | explicit | geraskefer | 2561 words

“Has anyone told you how lovely your hair is?” He grunts a little in answer and she slaps his back, but without force. “Speak, witcher.” “Yes.” It feels like an admission. Like a secret he wasn’t meant to spill. “Ah,” Yennefer says, and presses a kiss to the back of his neck. “The bard, then.”

(Or, 5 times Geralt got his hair styled by people he cares about, and 2 times they caught him trying (unsuccessfully) to braid his own hair.)

to sleep, perchance by @handwrittenhello | mature | geraskefer | 290 words

Three times Geralt, Jaskier, and Yennefer had trouble sleeping, and one time they didn't.

five times yennefer thought jaskier was nothing but an annoyance (and one time she realised he was so much more) by @notebooks-and-laptops | teen | geraskefer | 5145 words

Emotion was power; she knew that well enough by now. If she had ever been unsure of it, ever been worried that the way of Sabrina was better, those fears had been doused by the fire she had unleashed when battling Nilfguard.

Emotion was dangerous, yes, but it was power. It gave her power.

Her emotions, her pain, her love.

Geralt – in his own way – gave her power due to what feelings he inspired in her. Cirilla – beautiful, wonderful, Cirilla – gave her power due to the care she felt for the child.

But the fourth member of their travelling party brought nothing to her expect the feeling of annoyance at his presence.

one last time, love by @wanderlust-t | teen | yennskier | 1982 words

 "You know that if you want my clothes off, all you have to do is ask.”

 Yennefer hummed. “A'ight, then. Strip.”

Jaskier’s smile faded. “What?” She stared at him for some seconds, appreciating his shocked expression, and burst into laughter. Jaskier let out a breath and laughed with her. She wasn’t drunk enough, not yet. The way he looked at her though said that he wasn’t drunk enough either.

Not yet. Five times Jaskier told Yennefer he would take his clothes off if she asked and one time she did.

where the stars do not take sides by @ladyofrosefire | explicit | yenralt | 7909 words

Yennefer likes control. She likes power. She likes the distance they let her keep and the safety that comes with that distance. Sometimes, you can have too much of a good thing.

lilac and amber by @witcheryen | teen | yenralt | 11,196 words

A strange light wakes Yennefer in the middle of the night, and an uninvited guest changes her life forever.

Or, five times Yennefer and Geralt meet as teenagers and it's cute, and one time it's sad.

veritas by @eskelchopchop | mature | yenralt | 7027 words

Moments from the year that Geralt lived with Yennefer in Vengerberg, leading to the events of “A Shard of Ice.”

Or: five things Yennefer did while she was drunk and one time she was only pretending to be drunk.

this is for the first (and only and last) by @bamf-jaskier | mature | yenralt | 8452 words

Geralt was looking up at the stars. Yennefer stood beside him, patient.

“What do you see?” She asked at last.

“I see stories.” Geralt said, “My mother used to tell me that each star held the soul of a hero. She would tell me the stories of these heroes. I always aspired to be a knight. A true hero.”

“Do you believe you have lived up to those aspirations.”

Geralt gave a wry chuckle, barely there, hardly humorous, “I doubt it.”

...

The 5 Times Geralt Leaves + The 1 Time He Stays

with such sugar’d words by @limerental | mature | merihart | 5334 words

Five times that Philippa and Triss use one another and one time perhaps that does not matter. 

five times geralt wanted to kiss regis - and one time he did by @do-androids-dream-ao3acc | teen | geregis | 16,905 words

what it says on the tin ;)