#sure its a curse making jaskier say this stuff but its still kind of one-sided and uncomfortable and hes still being nice. overwhelmingly so

[lilith-of-rivia]

The Bard’s Sister 

Geralt X Reader 

Part 2 

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3

Masterlist 

Summary: Geralt of Rivia and his long time travel companion Jaskier find themselves in Jaskiers home land. A place Geralt had not only never seen nor heard of. Jaskier is ready to reunite its his family after traveling and exploring the world for 20 years. The one person he missed the most was his baby sister (Y/N). Who he hadn't seen since she was 5. The journey is long, but the pay off is grander then they would ever be able to predict. This is still part of our introduction to the main characters and their personalities in this story. Next chapter will be more about (Y/N) and Geralt. I know I am trash at summaries.

I would like to state that I do plan on adding a pregnancy in the future to this story. (I know Geralt is steril. Just bare with me and the story line I’ve created) I just wanted to let eveyone know because I would hate for someone to get attached to the character and story only to have a plot line they do not like for themselves. I know not everyone like pregnancy plot lines but I’m such a sucker for dad!Geralt.

Trigger warnings: Cursing 

Pairings: GeraltxReader JaskierxSister!reader

Word count: 6,369

(Changed from 3rd to 1st person) 

The sun was high in the sky, it was nearly two in the afternoon. The garden below the large windows of the castle was shining brightly. The birds chirping, children playing in the river that ran through the center of the city. Life was good. The sun was shining a little brighter today. It was because Jaskier was finally home. 

I hadn’t realized how much I missed him till he was back. After breakfast, we walked around the castle’s courtyard. He and Geralt introduced me to their horses. To my pleasant surprise, Roach took a particular liking to me, as did her owner. He was nothing like the rumors. There were many times that I traveled out of our borders into the western part of the continent, and every time people had nothing but cruel fowl things to say about the poor witcher. Sure he wasn't perfect, but no one was. 

“Would you like to see my studies?” I asked as we walked down the long corridors that lead to three separate staircases. I glanced between the two men that were on either side of me. 

“Your studies?” Jaskier asked looking down at me. I couldn’t help but smile. 

“I told you in my letter that I’ve been working with a man over the last couple of years. He has trained me well. But I have many books, drawings notes all sorts of stuff that I’ve written about the world outside of our home.” We approached the base of the three staircases. 

“I’ve never seen a castle so big in my life.” Geralt’s sultry voice flooded my ears once again. I couldn’t help but smile up at him. He was so polite. He never turned his nose at us. I knew he didn’t have a very positive history with others like us. Yet he sent no judgment towards myself or my parents. He just listened, followed, and learned. I had never met someone so open to the world yet so closed off that the same time, and we’ve barely even begun to get o know each other.  

“Our mines are some of the richest you’d ever see in your life. From coal to diamonds. Nearly 85% of all ores get mined and sent out to the rest of the continent.” I started walking up the staircase on the far left, the stairs led up a long corridor that was open and bright, the mountains that shielded us from the rest of the world in perfect view. Both were still by my side. I stopped at the first picture that hung on the wall. 

“That’s my great-great-grandfather, he only recently passed but he started all of this.” I looked towards Geralt. He was listing intently, his eyes on me as soon as I looked in his direction. I knew Jaskier knew our history so I wasn't too worried if he was paying attention or not. 

“He came here from Termieria with his 6 younger brothers. The mines here had been closed for many many years. The town was completely deserted. There was a serious necrophage problem that no one wanted to deal with, so they just up and left. Leaving the plentiful mines full for someone else.” 

“Necrophages?” Geralt questioned his eyebrow tiling in curiosity. 

“The people who inhabited the lands before we did, had not known of the creatures. Didn’t properly bury the dead. My grandfather wrote in his journal that when they got here the streets were lined with bodies that had been drug out of their shallow graves, crypts had been broken into. His best guess is that a flue came before the people fled, killing many in a short period.” I started walking ahead of the two men, down the hall towards my room. I pushed the door open walking in placing my books on the night table as they followed in slowly behind me. Their eyes wandered over every inch. Jaskier started wandering through the room looking at every picture on the wall. Most of them were sketches, mostly of him. Or the people he sang about in his ballads. He grabbed one off the wall and laughed softly. 

“Who is this supposed to be?” I walked over to him and laughed softly, my cheeks turning a soft shade of pink. 

“That, that uh was my first sketch of Geralt.” The sound of his name got his attention, he was trying to be polite and not snoop. Although I didn't care if he wanted to look around. He walked away from the door over to Jaskier and me. He lingered behind me, very close behind me. I could feel his body heat on my back and his warm breath on my face as he peered over my shoulder at the parchment Jaskier was holding. 

“How old were you when you did this?” Jaskier asked.

“Eighteen, maybe nineteen. It was after your first balled about your adventures with Geralt that started to spread like wildfire. I went to a tavern one night with a friend and someone was singing it. I was intrigued by the song and asked them who they sang about. I was told they didn't write the song, our very own Prince had. So I listened to them play it over and over.  I asked around the and so see if people knew what the famed witcher looked like. I got conflicting answers from nearly everyone I asked.” Geralt reached his arm over me, his hand gently brushing my arm, sending chills down my spine. His hand grasped the paper as he looked at it closely.           

“They got the hair color right. That was about all. Some people have some very wild depictions that I drew, but none in any seriousness.” The particular one they were examining was nothing like Geralt. They got everything wrong but his hair color. Many people said he was a scrawny young lad with the strength of thousands of men, making him easier to blend in with the crowds. Granted this was very early on in my brother and the Witcher’s adventures together so not many people had paid close attention to the witcher. 

“You drew what people described?” Geralt asked. 

“Yes, some people tried to pay me but I told them to give it to the needy. I traveled with Serena for a couple of weeks right after I turned nineteen, we didn't venture far past the mountains but it was enough.” I couldn't help but frown at the memories of the people in the towns scowling and sticking their noses in the air when I asked about the Witcher and my brother. 

“Can I see the other ones?” Geralt’s question took me by surprise. 

“I don’t know…” 

“Oh come on, you're very talented (Y/N), let him see them,” Jaskier said and shoved my shoulder playfully. I smiled softly at him but shook my head. 

“It is not that I’m self-conscious of my work, it’s the depictions of Geralt outside of our Kingdom, for the most part, were cruel and inaccurate beyond belief. I only drew them because I was wasting their time asking questions. I honestly don't know why I kept them.” I nervously rubbed the back of my neck, the idea of Geralt seeing those ugly, horrendous, depictions of himself made my stomach turn. He didn’t deserve the hate he received. I never understood why people despised Witchers the way they did. I only experienced it outside of our kingdom. For some reason, whether it be our pure lack of monsters or the abundance of sunshine, my people seemed happier. Less judgmental than the outside world. I was grateful to live in such a kind and caring place, but it does get rather dull after a while. 

“I’d still like to see them.” Geralt said softly as he handed the parchment back to me. I sighed slightly uncomfortable with the idea, I took the parchment and hung it back up on the wall. 

“Let’s make a deal,” I said turning to them both. 

“Oh boy.” Jaskier teased. 

“I’ll show you the drawings if you let me paint you now, so I have an accurate model. Not just words.” Geralt’s eyes looked over me, his arms crossing over his chest. A small smirk formed over his lips as he watched me intently. 

“If you want to draw me so bad, just ask dove.” The nickname nearly threw me off my feet. My heartbeat quickened at a rapid pace and I couldn't even look him in the eye. Jaskier snickered and pulled out a chair by my desk. He was enjoying this way too much. I cleared my throat swelling thickly. 

“T-that I uh..” I had never been one to not have words. According to my parents, I talked too much. Just like my brother. Yet here I was gobsmacked and wordless. I grumbled under my breath moving to the desk Jaskier was sat at and made him move. He got up and I sat down. I opened the top hatch of the desk, lifting out folders and files of archives. Some containing spells, some more drawing, history of the continent, and even monster facts that I knew I wouldn’t ever need. I placed the folders on the floor. Jaskier grabbed a few and moved to my bed plopping himself down kicking his feet up. My head snapped over to him as he put his dirty boots all over my fresh linens. 

“Jaskier. If you don't get your boots off my bed, I will castrate you.” I warned turning back around rummaging some more. I heard him kick off his shoes. Geralt chuckled behind me. 

“Fiery are we.” He teased but I ignored him. Finally, at the bottom of all my work, I found the folder. I held it up to him, not wanting to watch his face as he looked at the disgusting depictions of himself. 

“Thank you, dove.” His lip was right next to my ear. I felt frozen. 

I couldn't tell if it was genuinely just a flirt or if this was directed to me. Sure I had heard the rumors of the witcher and his many women of the night, including the sorceress Yennefer. But this seemed different. I snapped back to reality when he let out a low chuckle. I turned around and stood up, peering over his arm to see what one he was looking at. This one was particularly nasty. His eyes were slanted like snake eyes, large fangs protruded out of his mouth, and his hair was a crazy mess. His eyes were blood red, his nose crooked from supposedly being punched so many times. His face was littered with so many scars he had scale-like skin. I remembered the man who gave me that description. 

“I met this man in a tavern in Solveiga, it’s the furthest I've ever been from home.” Jaskier stood up walking over and looking at the drawing Geralt was studying carefully. I didn't know why he was spending so much time on such a cruel piece. 

“He said you came through a few winters prior, he and a bunch of the townsmen had gathered some coins so you'd get rid of a Striga. I knew was lying the moment he opened his mouth.” Geralt looked up from the payment, his eyes meeting mine.

“Why do you think he's lying?” I took the folder from him, and just as I expected the parchment below the picture he was looking at was full of my notes. Every time I traveled and spoke to people about it. My brother or his companions took incredibly detailed notes, I never wanted to forget anything. I took the parchment out before handing him the folder back. I began to read the notes:

“This man takes me for a fool. No more than some silly girl. While he sits here and tells the tale of the Wolf he seems to be forgetting the incredibly important fact about Strigas, they only hunt during a full moon. He keeps saying that the beast was hunting their people every single night, slashing children, men, women, animals, every night for months. He’s using it to fuel the people's hatred of the witcher. He’s attempting to claim that they sent for him as soon as they knew of her presence. Claiming the witcher waited nearly three months before coming to discard the beast.” I flipped the page over scanning the meticulous notes. 

“He said the beast was killed on a new moon, he said he remembers it so vividly because of the lack of moonlight while he escorted the witcher to her crypt. I may not be a witcher, but I am not stupid. The man is trying to make matters worse by lying through his crooked yellow teeth. How dare he tarnish a name for the sake of his prosperity.” Geralt chuckled at the last part making me look up at him, he had an amused smile on his face, his eyes twinkled as he looked at me. 

“Why are you laughing?” I tilted my head to the side slightly and he just shook his head, putting the folder of parchment into the desk. He knelt and began picking up the rest of the folders neatly placing them inside the desk where they came from. 

“Because you got so mad that someone lied about me, yet you at the time were not even sure I was a real thing-“ 

“Person.” I quickly corrected him. His eyes glanced at me, he didn't move his head as he continued placing my papers where they belonged. 

“What?” He asked. 

“You called yourself a thing, you're not a thing Geralt. You're a real living breathing person.” His eyes found my own again. My heart raced as he studied my eyes. I had never seen anything so beautiful. His eyes were like hot pools of gold and honey. The complexity of the colors was mesmerizing.

“And I wasn't only mad that he was lying about you, I was mad that he was lying in general. About something anyone could disprove if they just picked up a book on monsters.” I noticed the parchment with the drawing he was just looking at was on my bed. I grabbed it to put it back on the desk. Geralt's strong hand gently grasped my wrist stopping me. His other hand gently grabbed the parchment from my hand. 

“I’d like to keep this one if you don't mind.” I looked at him shocked.

“Why that one?? Of all the ones I've done you choose one of the most inaccurate and the crudest?” It made no sense to me. Why did he want that? Was it some fun game of his to think he was just some stupid monster? 

“Because it shows your talent in a way the others don't. And besides, you got my nose perfectly. No one can do that.” I sighed heavily not liking the idea of him possessing such a cured drawing that was drawn purely on lies. 

“Fine. Keep it.” He smiled vicariously. I’d let him keep every single one if he smiled like that all the time. The smile quickly vanished when Jaskier came back over with the first file he took. The one he had been studying was full of my notes on herbology and alchemy. 

“You are incredibly smart (Y/N), I felt as though I was reading Yennefer’s notes.” A huge smile spread across my face at his compliment. 

“Thank you, Jax.” Geralt was now walking around my room, hands tucked under his arms as he studied the drawing and notes hanging on the walls. Some drawings were of monsters, some of the random people I’d met on my short travels, some maps I’d drawn up so I’d remember where I wanted to go when I had the chance. 

“Your talent is very wide-ranging, little dove. I have to say I’m very impressed with your knowledge.” That blasted nickname nearly kicked me off my feet again. 

I looked out my window noticing the sun was getting lower in the sky.

“If you'd like to get new clothes I’d suggest we do it now, it’ll be dark soon and the shops close earlier in the week.” Gertrude turned to me, nodding his head. 

“Please. These pants are so tight I’m afraid I may lose my legs.” 

We walked down the street. The sun was close to setting in the sky. The cool air kissed my bare chest as we walked. It was a comfortable silence between the three of us. For the first time in my life, I felt comfortable in silence. I hated the quiet with most people, it left room for negative thoughts, negative energies. Most times when it was unbearably quiet when I was present was because I was shut down from talking by the people around me. I know they meant no harm, I knew I had a lot to handle at times. I was just lonely. Board. I only had a few true friends. Most of the people I grew up with were married and with children now. I spent a lot of time alone, I liked being alone. It gave me space to think about the world. The world outside my small one. 

We approached the seamstress, walking through the wood door. A small bell rang in as we entered. Hildi walked out from the back, a bright smile on her face. She was a sweet older woman, not much older than my mum. She had been running this shop for as long as I could remember. She was the best seamstress in the country in my opinion. 

“Princess (Y/N)!! What a lovely surprise!” She walked around the counter and hugged me softly. Her hands-on the sweater I was in. She made it for me many years back for a birthday gift. She always had the best gifts. Full of love. I did adore the woman. Her attention turned to the men next to me. Her eyes grew bigger, her hand gently coming up to her chest. 

“My gods. The rumors were true. Jaskier!! How wonderful it is to see you again!!” Her hands wrapped around my brother who hugged her back. I couldn't tell if he remembered her or if he was just being nice. As she released him she looked at Geralt who was visibly tense, scared that she may try and hug him. 

“You must be Geralt of Rivia!” He nodded. 

“Rain!! Get out here!! And bring me my Witcher’s guide!!” Geralt's eyebrows furrowed at the mention of the book. He shot me a glance and I just smiled. A few moments later Hildi’s daughter Rain appeared. She was my age. We knew each other in school. She was never nice to me. Picked on me. Would make jokes about Jaskier not being around. I never told anyone, in fear people would think I was nothing but a stuck up princess. Her presence made me uneasy. I slowly took a small step back, inching closer to my brother. Rain’s eyes landed on Geralt. I could practically see the drool pooling in her mouth. 

“Gods save me.” She moaned out. I had to fight off the urge to cringe at her outward burst. 

“The tales are true then?” She looked directly at me. 

“So maybe you weren’t lying all these years.” I scoffed and rolled my eyes. 

Hildi was very blind to her daughter's cruelness. After her husband passed away it was just her and Rain. She’d do anything for her. I understood that. She was a devoted mother and wife. I knew how heartbroken she was. She walked to Rain and took the book from her hand and grabbed a quill that had been dipped in ink. She turned to Geralt, a very soft smile on her face. 

“Would you sign this for me?” His eyes bulged out of his head. 

“Y-you want me to sight your book?” I held back a giggle at his shock. He truly wasn't used to being appreciated. 

“Yes, please. If it is not too much to ask. Your stories were what got me through my husband’s death. Had it not been for the ballads and tales of your great bravery I may have not made it through.” Geralt’s shoulders softened at her words. He nodded his head and walked over to the counter. She opened the book to the first page and he scribbled down his name before giving her a soft smile. She gently placed her hand on his arm and squeezed. 

“You are truly a great hero here Geralt. If our country had a mascot, you'd be it.” Jaskier chucked lowly at her comment making me swat the back of his he’d. He hissed in pain and looked at me. I glared at him. 

“Do not ruin this for him,” I whispered. 

Hildi turned her attention back to me and smiled. 

“What can I do for you today my dear?”

“Well as you can see, Jaskier has a sore taste in fashion and also doesn’t understand sizing. I was hoping you could fit them in some better, more comfortable garments. Maybe a set of nice clothes for my party as well?” She gleamed. She hurried around her counter, grabbing a piece of parchment and measuring tape. She came back around and wasted no time in messing the two men. I sat down at a table by the window and watched as she rummaged through somethings in the back of her store. 

“So you're like a real witcher?” Rain’s voice caught my attention. She was leaning over the counter, her dress pulled down, the cleavage of her breasts on clear display as she dumbly curled her blond hair in her fingers. 

“No. I'm a fake one.” Geralt said back unamused. 

“But like are the rumors true?” She asked leaning even further over the counter. She was trying so desperately hard to get him to look down her dress. But he was simply uninterested. I felt my heartburn with envy. I hated that it did. He wasn't mine, he was nowhere near it. But the thought of him looking at her like that made my blood boil. 

“Rumors about what?” He took a step back from the counter slowly making his way over to where Jaskier and I were. 

“Ya know. About your huge cock.” Jaskier and I both choked on our spit. My hand flew over my mouth to keep my laugh in. It was a good thing her mother��s hearing wasn't all that great. Geralt looked visibly uncomfortable. He sat down in the chair next to me, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. Jaskier and I were both trying to get ourselves under control after her question. She was completely unfazed. She thought she was hot shit. 

“Common witcher. Tear me apart. Show me the real monster you can be.” That sentence made my grip on the chair so tight I thought I could’ve broken the arm in half. I probably could have if I did not have any self-control. I’m much stronger than I look.

“Do not call him that.” I hissed. My teeth were clenched so hard I was sure I was breaking them. Her eyes flicked over to me. She looked me up and down trying to size me up. 

“Call him what? A witcher. Honey are you dumb. That’s what he is.” In a second I was inches from her face. I could feel my blood pumping thru my veins. 

“Do not ever call him a monster again.” I was a bit shocked at how mean I sounded. I had never been this angry with her before. I wanted to punch her stupid smile in more than anything. 

“(Y/N)..” I heard Jaskier’s voice behind me. He was very close to me. My hands were balled in fists at my sides. My knuckles were turning white with how angry I was. 

“I promise you, studying princess, he's been called worse.” She smiled cheekily at me and her hand came up and she attempted to pat my face like I was a dog. My reflexes were much faster than she realizes. I grabbed ahold of her wrist in an intron grip. I began to squeeze and bend her wrist back away from my face. Her face contorted in pain. She wasn't expecting me to be as strong as I was. 

“I said-'' I squeezed harder, and she gasped slightly as she tried to pull her hand away. “Do not call him that.” I threw her hand away from me before turning around and walking by the window. I hadn't realized both Jaskier and Geralt were standing behind me. 

Moments later Hildi came out completely oblivious to the scene that just took place. She had a cloth sack filled with clothes and placed them on the counter. 

“Alright, dearly that’ll be 45 coins.” She said as she wrote down the total in her book. I stood quickly pulling the amount from my coin purse and putting it in her hand. I smiled at her as best I could, Jaskier grabbed the bag of clothes. 

“If something doesn’t go right, bring them back.” 

“Thank you Hildi, very much.” Geralt said a charming smile on his lip. He gently shook her hand kissing the top of it. 

“Thank you, Geralt. It was a pleasure meeting you. Don’t be a stranger.” She patted his cheek as a mum does. I turned on my heels and walked out of the shop. The cold air hit my hot face. My blood pumped slow and hard through my veins as the anger disappeared from my body. Jaskier came out of the shop and threw his arm over my shoulders leaning into me. 

“Thank you.” He whispered lowly, Great not being very far behind us as we walked to the castle. 

“For?” 

“Defending him. Many people don’t realize how much he’s heard throughout his lifetime. I’m glad I’m not the only one who wants to help.” I turned to him and smiled. I leaned into his side hugging him gently before, turning around walking backward as I looked at Geralt. 

“If you would like, I’ll show you both to your rooms, and you can change. We can then have tea in the garden and I can draw you.” A soft smile graced his lips, his eyebrow rising softly. 

“You seriously want to draw me?” I nodded my head and stopped walking, but he didn’t. He kept getting closer and closer till he was a few inches from me. 

“Yes, Geralt I do. You have a special spot in my heart, not just because I believe you are a true knight. And many people are just too scared to admit that, but also for keeping my brother safe all these years. You deserve to feel appreciated.” His features softened as his eyes searched my face before settling on my own eyes. His hand gently came up and he moved a small piece of hair from my face. 

“A deal is a deal, little dove.” I felt as though my soul was being sucked out through his hand. Every fiber in my body wanted to pull him closer to me, to show him love, and tenderness. Something I knew he never actually had. 

“Good, follow me,” I said with a smile.

After I showed them to their rooms; my brother’s old room not far from my own, and Geralt’s which shared a wall with my room, I went down to the garden. My easel, charcoals, and paints were set up on the table as they came down from changing and freshening up. Geralt looked more beautiful in clothes he could breathe in. his attire was so simple yet he made it look like the finest silks and jewels. It was a soft cotton button-down, it was loos on him, his pants were tight, but in a way that allowed him to move and feel free. I could tell by the way he walked he felt much more comfortable and in his element.   

“You look like you feel better,” I said with a smile. Even Jaskier changed. A white shirt. And some black pants. He looked as he always did when I was a kid. The obscene choices in fashion were only adopted after he left home. 

“I do.” I plainly said, a small smile on his lips. He and Jaskier sat down and I poured them tea. They both snacked on a few fruit tarts while I began sketching the background of the garden. allowing them to eat and not have to sit still just yet. 

“So...while I draw maybe you could both share a story?” I glanced behind my paper and looked at the two. Jaskier smiled and leaned back into his chair fixing his hair and popping open a few buttons for the portrait. 

“What story do you want to hear?” Geralt asked. Leaning back, his shoulders relaxing, a small piece of hair fell from the bit that he had tied back. It looked deliciously messy. It made him look disheveled, nearly like he was right out of bed. 

“Wait!” I yelled and grabbed his hand gently, pulling his hand back softly. 

“I like it. Keep it.” his hand went back down to his leg to rest. His eyes watched me for a few minutes. I studied their faces beginning my base sketches. 

“What story shall we tell her Geralt?” Jaskier asked as he closed his eyes and tilted his head back to the sky, the last of the light kissing his skin. 

“We could tell her about the Djinn?” Geralt said back, glancing at Jaskier before looking back at me, a coy smile on his face. 

“A Djinn?? I’ve only ever read myths about them. You encountered one?” My curiosity was blossoming, the urge to get more details about the creatures I had been taught about.

“Geralt here was going onto day gods knows what on no sleep. He was beyond grumpy.” Jaskier tilted his head back up and looked at me with a smirk. 

“The git said my singing was like a pie with no filling!!” I couldn’t hold back my laugh. It was much louder than I wanted, not very ladylike at all. 

“Oh… I may have to steal that one.” I said in between giggles, whipping my eyes. 

“I was hoping to use a wish from the Djinn to help me sleep. But unfortunately, your brother got in the way.” As Geralt spoke I moved into his details on his face, my eyes traveling all over his beautiful face. From the way, his brows arched to the cute little dimple on his chin. His face was beautiful. Some scares were prominent enough that I could see them if I looked hard enough he had one on his cheek, it looked newer than all the others, the skin being a bit lighter than the rest of his skin. 

“What did he do this time?”

“He decided that because I told him I no longer appreciated his singing that he would take the Djinn away from me till I took back what I said.”

“And let me guess, you didn’t take it back?” I glanced at him from behind my easel, he was watching me closely, his eyes slanted like he was studying a pray. 

“No. No, he didn’t. And I almost died!” Jaskier shouted dramatically causing my eyes to drift from Geralt over to him. 

“Don’t be dramatic Jaskier,” I mumbled, putting down the charcoal I had been using. Now turning my attention to the paints I had in front of me. I started mixing the colors Id need for Geralt’s skin tone. 

“No, this time he’s right. He did almost die. Unfortunately for Jaskier, he refused to let go of the vase the Djinn was in. While we tugged on it, the lid came off. Maybe the Djinn knew I was a witcher and its curse wouldn’t work on me, or maybe it was just annoyed at Jaskier. Either way, it attacked him.” My eyes were focused on the painting, brows furrowed as he spoke. I waited a moment for him to continue but he didn’t. 

“I’m listing Geralt, please continue,” I said my eyes moving to his, the colores pooling in my head as I prepared for what pigments id be using to paint them. 

“I don’t want to interrupt.” I shook my head a soft smile on my face. 

“I will,” Jaskier said as he sipped his tea, looking at me. 

“The Djinn attacked my throat. Made it swell, I was coughing up blood.” My painting stopped as I looked at him. My stomach sank a little as he spoke. I knew Jaskier had been put in harm’s way before but hearing the first-hand accounts made my stomach ache. 

“Geralt took me to an elven healer that wasn’t too far from where the river bed was. Unfortunately for me, he couldn’t help me. But he knew of a mage that could help.” My hand started to paint again, filling in the sketch with colors on Jaskier’s face as he spoke. 

“We can skip over those details Jaskier.” Geralt huffed crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Why? Don’t want my baby sister knowing that we had to sit threw an entier orgey just for you to speak to the mage?” Jaskier snickered looking away from me to his friend, 

“Jaskier, shut up.” Geralt grumbled. His eyes avoided my own when I went to look at him. 

“An orgey?” I had heard the word but hadn’t ever fully understood what it was. 

“What’s that?” I questioned looking at my brother. His head fell back as he cackled. 

“Oh dear sister how you’ve been so sheltered from the world.” My cheeks flushed red at his words. 

“Jaskier don’t be rude,” I mumbled grabbing a fine liner brush from my pile. Adding some final detail into Jaskier’s blue eyes. 

“It’s when a very large group of people get together in one room and have sex.” The blood rushed to my head at his words. I could feel my ears turning red. My brother was right. I had been sheltered about sex in my family. I didn’t have friends who I could talk to it about, and never really had anyone in my life I was willing to have sex with. 

Unlike many women my age I never viewed my virginity like a sacred rose that no one could touch, I just wanted it to be lost to someone who deserved it. No someone I was forced to allow to deserve it. 

“Oh look at how red she is.” Jaskier snickered standing up and poking my sides. I smacked his hands away glaring at him. He was now able to see the nearly completed painting. All I had left was my Geralt’s eyes and some details in his hair. 

“Gods (Y/N), this is amazing.” He whispered his hand on my shoulder. I smiled softly, swallowing the spit that had gathered in my throat thickly. 

“Thank you, please sit down and continue your story.” Jaskier did as I asked. 

“The mage was Yennefer. She helped me. Saved my life. The mage and I may not get along, but I do owe her my life.” I smiled softly as he spoke of the mage I had heard so much about. 

“I’ll be sure to thank her myself if I ever come across her,” I said with a smile. My attention turned back to Geralt who didn’t look please at the topic of our conversation. His eyes were on his leg that bounced slightly. He was anxious. 

“Geralt love, I cannot see your eyes. That’s nearly all I have left.” At the sound of my voice, his head tilted up so he could look at me in the eye. 

I smiled sweetly at him. I broke eye contact as I added in the different hues of orange and a bit of red. Some gold flecks showed themselves in his inner iris. The depth of the color was so enchanting. I could paint just his eyes forever. I finished with his hair after a few minutes of silence. Both men just enjoying the warm afternoon air. They both looked relaxed, peaceful, safe even.    

“I’ve finished, boys,” I said whipping my hands on my apron. I stood up and turned the easel around to the two. They both sat up straight, eyes wandering all over the painting. 

“You, my dear sister are beyond talented.” Jaskier mused looking at me, a bright smile on his face. 

“We both are.” I smiled at him. Geralt was still examining the painting, his eyes flicking over every inch of himself. I couldn’t tell if he was pleased or not. It made me nervous.

“I know the hair isn’t perfect. I’m still trying to get the brush technique down-”

“It is perfect.” Geralt interrupted me, a smile on his face as he looked at me. 

I smiled back at him, my heart beating a little quicker. 

“Can I keep it?” Geralt asked. 

“Seriously?” I asked him. 

“Well, actually it’s probably best you keep it. I don’t have a home, so I wouldn’t want to ruin it…” I smiled softly, taking a step closer to him. 

“I’ll keep it safe but if you ever have a place that you want to keep it, ill get it to you,” I said, softly stroking the stray strand of hair behind his ear. His face tilted up as he looked at me. 

“I think I’m going to turn in for the night boys,” I said gathering my items in my hands. 

“What about dinner?” Jaskier asked. 

“I’ll grab something from the kitchen, I’m quite tired. I need a bath. I’ll see you both in the morning.” I said hugging Jaskier goodnight. I turned to Geralt, courage surging through my veins. I bent down and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. 

“Goodnight Geralt.” His cheeks turned a very, very soft shade of pink, but only for a moment. Our eyes locked again. 

“Good night, dove.”  

[roughentumble]

#Jaskier's actually always keeping a ton to himself and so much of it is about Geralt #so now he's saying every dumb fleeting thought he has about Geralt aloud and it's always embarrassing af for him #but it's always flattering as anything for Geralt who melts at the praise

YESSSS its like a cavalcade of compliments. after he helps a child, "you're so kind," after he speaks softly to a clearly overworked barmaid, "that was so sweet or you," after a close call and a brutal swing of his sword, "that was amazing."

you're so brave, so gentle, wow so strong, so good, you look like a knight when you ride roach, you're good, a good man, so /good/.

sends geralt into an absolute tizzy. he'd thought he was overwhelmed by the bard's compliments before, but now its a whole new beast. they slip from his lips easy as breathing, and then he's always blushing and apologizing-- usually says something about how he doesnt want to be "overwhelming" or "too much".

Jaskier gets hit with some spell/curse/whatever that loosens his filter, kinda like a truth spell but not quite

originally, Geralt's like 'so? Jaskier never shuts up anyway, nothing's gonna change'

but then Jaskier's randomly blurting out stuff like, "I think your eyes are beautiful, I know you don't like them as much but they really are gorgeous" and "dear goddess, your arms are incredible" and "I love helping you bathe"

!!!!!!!

oooohhhhh the realization that this loud, talkative oversharer is actually still holding things BACK, and what he's holding back is love!!!!!!!!! ohhhhhh

[jaskiersvalley]

🌼~BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD! Once you are given this award you’re supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people who deserve it. If you break the chain nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you’re beautiful inside and out.~🌼

This has been in my inbox for quite a while so I really hope you're still in the fandom XD As thank you for your kind message here is something really rather silly.

It had all started out with the stupid raccoon that rifled through Jaskier's bins. The mess it left behind was unbelievable, like a small, localised tornado had been by, specifically over Jaskier's bins. No matter what he did, how he weighed down the lids, there was a mess every morning. At first Jaskier tried to be more conscious of what he threw away, less food in the bins, even ate more healthily because the raccoon seemed more interested in sweet things most nights. Except for the time it seemed to go absolutely feral with the tiny styrofoam shapes from a delivery Jaskier had. When nothing else worked, Jaskier got locks on his bins. However, his raccoon must have been working out because the locks were forced off his bins and the jumper he'd put in the bin because of a hole in the elbow had disappeared. That was when Jaskier decided to invest in a wildlife camera, this was a raccoon he needed to see.

Setting it up, Jaskier did feel a little foolish. It wasn’t like the raccoon came by every night and this time he really wanted to see it. The plan was to catch it with the net he’d invested in and relocate the little bastard somewhere that wasn’t his bins. To make sure he got the raccoon on camera, Jaskier set out a couple of honey drenched pastries to lure it in.

Sleep was difficult, Jaskier wanted to watch the camera but he was an adult and knew he needed to sleep. With great difficulty, he managed to get some rest and even succeeded in going in to teach rather than call in sick so he could watch his tape. Instead, he invited Valdo over to watch with him, knowing that his claims of a muscly raccoon would never be believed.

“Right, drinks, wine?” He asked, already grabbing a bottle and two glasses.

“I’ll order the pizza I guess,” Valdo replied, resignedly pulling his phone out. “Your usual?”

“Darling, I’m providing booze and entertainment in my home, you know the least you can do is buy me pizza.”

It was a tradition of sorts, Jaskier hated Valdo’s place, finding it too drab and grey. It didn’t matter that Valdo had magazine to prove that it was the latest fashion. And the bastard had the gall to say Jaskier was the one who pandered to the masses.

Now, they had wine in hand, the TV on and playing. Jaskier had to admit, it was pretty boring.

“Oh look, a moth,” Valdo drawled, sipping at his wine. “Maybe it flaps its wings so hard it messes with your bins.”

“Shut up.” The wine was disappearing at a steady rate and both their cheeks were getting rosy. Perhaps alcohol before food had been a rather unwise idea. “Here, I’ll speed it up until something comes along.” And something had to, the pastries were gone by the morning. They watched as moths, the odd cat and rat scuttled by.

“There!” Valdo yelled and pointed at the screen. As quickly as he could, Jaskier slowed it back down. They leaned forwards as one, seeing something large and dark move in the corner of the screen. Suddenly the darkness became a blur and both of them screamed, clutching at each other. A man stepped up to the pastries, hunching over the plate and stuffing them in his mouth at an impressive rate.

Just as they were over the shock, the man looked up. His eyes, like a cat, reflected the light as he looked at the camera, head tilted. Once again, Jaskier and Valdo screamed, leaping towards each other for protection, wine sloshing everywhere. It seemed the man had no idea what the camera was, giving it a good, long look before turning to have a rummage in the bins.

“That’s a really big fucking raccoon,” Valdo whimpered and Jaskier smacked him on the arm. “You’re going to need a bigger net.”

Laughing nervously, Jaskier shook his head. He didn’t know what to make of it, a large, long haired man with scary eyes had made a habit of rifling through his rubbish.

“Sleepover,” he declared. “You’re staying here. And we’re putting more food out.”

“You don’t want to encourage him! What if he’s, you know-” Valdo broke off, “-a vampire.”

“They’re not seen on films and their eyes don’t do that. Could be a shifter.”

“Sasquatch’s freaky cousin.”

“An eldritch horror!”

“A cryptid!” That actually seemed to fit. Still, cryptids needed feeding, Jaskier was not going to be mean. So far, other than his bins, nothing untoward had happened. “I’ll leave him some pizza.”

Drinking, Jaskier decided, was definitely not his best idea. He groaned as he sat up, Valdo snoring away next to him. He remembered most of their previous night and cursed; they didn’t just leave pizza, they left a note too.

Dear Mr. Cryptid, Please don’t eat us, eat the pizza instead. Love, Valskier

Rushing out, Jaskier saw that the pizza was gone, the note was crumpled on the ground and there was a bite missing from it. At least he now knew the shape of the cryptid’s bite.

“Wake up!” He poked Valdo in the side. “We need to watch this before work.”

It was the right choice. Jaskier spent the rest of the day thinking about the strange man with the even stranger eyes inspecting the pizza, giving it a sniff while the note was on top of it. And taking a large bite out of it all. While the pizza was given a second and third bite, the note had been inspected, given a lick before being cast aside. The camera also gave them a very good view of the man, bulging arm muscles, long, probably white or blonde hair. In short, Jaskier was fucked. He bought a whole cake and left it out that night.

The strange cryptid began to show up more regularly but at least he stopped making a mess of the bins. Jaskier tried leaving a few more notes but, after watching the man squint at the note before trying to take a bite out of each and every single one, he gave up.

“What’s the latest on your cryptid?” Valdo asked in the staff room. Rather than reply, Jaskier pulled his phone from his pocket and hit play on the video.

This time, it wasn’t his usual long haired cryptid man. Instead, it was two others with the same creepy eyes, scurrying past, snagging the hot dogs Jaskier had left out and shoving the bins over for good measure as they ran. His usual cryptid didn’t show up that night.

“I told you!” Valdo screeched, earning a few scathing looks. “You feed one and more come along.”

The following night, Jaskier put out more food, hoping it would be enough for everyone. He was almost scared to watch the footage the next day but was so glad he did. All three of the cryptids lingered near the camera, eyes flashing. However, Jaskier’s blood chilled when he spotted another pair of eyes in the background, watching but not approaching.

Looking back on the videos, he was appalled to find that an extra pair of glowing eyes was often in the background. Maybe it was a mate or a very shy cryptid. Either way, Jaskier wanted to see.

“Oh. It’s an injured one!” Jaskier breathed, appalled. He had upgraded his camera and had managed to turn the contrast up enough to make out a face. In a way, he almost wished he hadn’t because the sight was so terrible. The shy cryptid was scarred beyond belief, lip caught in a permanent snarl. He seemed the most distrustful of the camera, never approaching. But, once, Jaskier watched as a hand reached in front of the camera, snagged the sugar laden jelly pot and the camera was knocked askew. Just about visible after a few minutes was a broad back in a striped and spiked coat as it retreated. From then on, Jaskier made sure to leave soft foods out too.

“Didn’t you say your raccoon had a field day with styrofoam pellets?” Valdo asked. The school had taken a delivery of biology samples which arrived in boxes filled with the stuff. Together, Jaskier and Valdo poured as much of the pellets into a box as they could and they were left out alongside the offering of food.

That night, Valdo stayed over and neither of them slept. Instead, the TV showed the camera’s feed. It was about 3am, both of them were drooping when there was movement.

“Look!” Jaskier nudged Valdo who woke with a snort. On the screen, the original, long haired cryptid had a hand clasped around the wrist of the injured one and was dragging him into view. Behind them were the other two Jaskier had seen before. He gasped, “They’re a family, aren’t they?”

“They’re something alright. Maybe it’s cryptid double date night?”

Fascinated, they watched as the four of them inspected the box. It was the smallest of the lot, one of the two Jaskier had only ever seen together that stepped into the box, hands digging into the pellets. The grin on his face spoke volumes. The other once jumped in too, the two of them beginning to wrestled for who got to sit in the box. All while, the pellets were tumbling out, making the original cryptid and the scarred one hop back. They stared at the styrofoam like it had personally offended them. Without sound there was no way to hear it but Jaskier was convinced they hissed at it. Hesitantly, the scarred one picked up a couple and, without and warning, threw it in the air. They all darted away from it, glaring as it dropped. Once again, the smallest crept closer, darting in to pick up a handful and toss it into the air, sending them scattering again. However, when the styrofoam didn’t attack, he got braver, his mate stepping closer too. All too soon, they were all tossing handfuls of sytrofoam in the air and running around. It was all fun and games until the larger of the pair picked up the box and tossed it. The scarred one caught it but staggered and crashed into the bins.

Jaskier jumped as the clatter of his bins falling over rudely reminded him of just how close the cryptids were. It felt much more distant when they were just on his TV. Tense, he clutched at Valdo’s sweaty hand and they watched as the cryptids ran away from the scene. The next morning, Jaskier had so much styrofoam to clean up, he regetted ever listening to Valdo.

Now that he knew that the cryptids could play, Jaskier decided that they were probably intelligent beings, it was a simple matter of finding a way to communicated.

“I’ve written a will, told my parents I love them and cleared my internet browsing history,” he told Valdo. “If anything happens, you know which box in the bedroom to burn, right?”

“You crazy bastard, don’t go out there!”

Jaskier held aloft the tray of foods, trying to look self assured. “I have new friends to meet. Wish me luck.”

With that, he marched out, ready to settle in for a long wait, confident that Valdo would keep an eye on him via the camera. As he’d said, he had new friends to meet, he just hoped they wanted to meet him too.

[handwrittenhello]

(edit made by the wonderful @ghostinthelibrarywrites!)

Summary:

Yennefer stops, sinking into a crouch so that they’re on eye level. “Jaskier. You have a spell placed on you and I need to break it,” she explains.

“A spell?” Contrary to what any sane person would think when told they’ve been bespelled, Jaskier is wide-eyed and excited, the same look he gets as an adult whenever he senses a good story coming on. “What kind?”

“A dangerous one.” She hates to squash that light in his eyes, but it’s true—she doesn’t know what other side effects it might have. She needs to reverse it sooner rather than later—gods forbid it becomes permanent. “Now will you please come here? I’m a sorceress, and I can help.”

Spell after spell after spell she casts, getting more and more complex as she goes, but none work. “Fuck!” she roars as her latest attempt fails, once again.

“Madame Sorceress?” Jaskier asks, brow creasing, worry creeping in. “Is it—did it work?”

“No,” Yennefer replies, and sighs, because she knows what she has to do. Who better to break a curse, after all, than a witcher?

My entry for quick fic this week! Geraskefer, 3k, featuring deaged jaskier—read it here on ao3 or below!

It happens like this: Geralt so rudely decides he’s better off without the company of his very best friend in the whole wide world, and Jaskier thinks, well, fuck this, and goes to find the nearest tavern.

And then—because the gods love to hate him, it seems—he sets one foot inside, sees raven curls and expensive clothing, and immediately turns around and leaves. He’s had enough rejection for one day, thanks, and he’s not sure his poor, sensitive, bardic heart can handle any more barbed words, be they in unlikely jest or not.

“Where are you going, bard?” Yennefer calls, and every eye in the place turns to him. Shit. Well, he knows how to play a crowd, at least.

“Well, you see, I—I’m due a visit to my, um, my elderly grandmother, she—she needs my help, um, corralling her chickens—”

Or not. Why do his stunning intellect and quick tongue always disappear when she’s around?

Yennefer snorts. “Sure you are, and then I assume there’s a cat on a stove somewhere that you need to go save?”

Were it not for years of barding training every and all sense of embarrassment out of him, he’s sure his face would be aflame by now.

“Come have a drink. You’re better company than anyone else in this shit town,” she grumbles, and it’s then that Jaskier spies the numerous empty wine glasses on the table before her.

Misery loves two things—company and copious amounts of alcohol. And if she’s offering…

“You’re buying. I left my coin pouch with G—well. You’re buying,” he says, but he’s already sliding into the chair across from her and flagging down the barman.

A drink turns into two turns into ten, and shit, he can’t even remember why he ever thought maybe this wasn’t the best idea. Yennefer turns out to be much more tolerable when her inhibitions are lowered by drink, uncharitable though it is to think, but really, she’s so much more open, and her cheeks flush so prettily in the candlelight, and she even laughs—not the mean, bitter laugh she does whenever she’s mocking him (which is frequently), but a small flash of teeth, a breathy thing that turns into full-on cackling as it goes.

“I never knew—is this what Geralt sees in you?” Jaskier muses, running a finger along the rim of his glass. Then he pales, realizing what he's just said, and looks up to see that every trace of amusement in her face is gone.

“Whatever he felt for me, it wasn’t real,” Yennefer says harshly, pushing her chair back so fast that it tips backwards and falls to the floor with an audible THUD. She starts towards the stairs, presumably to her room.

Jaskier winces and follows after her, still a bit unsteady, but sobering up quickly in the wake of his gaffe. “Yennefer, wait—”

She’s too fast, and he only barely manages to stick his foot in the doorway before she can slam the door in his face. “Ouch,” he complains, and knows he’ll be feeling it much worse in the morning.

“Go away,” Yennefer hisses. “Don’t you know when a woman has had enough of your company? Or is that why Geralt had to scream it from a mountaintop, to get rid of you?”

Ouch. He flounders, every possible retort dying on his lips. “That’s not fair,” he almost wants to say, except that hurts even worse, so he says nothing. He does withdraw his foot, though, and she’s quick to slam the door, the lock clicking audibly into place moments later.

He thunks his head against the door. Why does he do this? Every time he thinks that someone might tolerate him, might actually want him around, he sticks his foot in his mouth and fucks it up.

“Fuck me,” he mutters to himself, then gathers the strength to peel himself away from the door. He debates for a moment just sleeping right here in the hallway, curled up in front of her door, rather than facing the mortifying ordeal of begging for a room with no coin to promise. But he's just as likely to get hexed as he is thrown out, and, well, at least if he’s thrown out he can sneak into the stables or something. He shudders to think what sort of nasty spells Yennefer could cast on him if she were to trip over him on her way out in the morning.

He sighs and turns to leave, only to hear the lock click again, followed shortly by the knob turning. The door swings open on its own, and, half fearing for his life, Jaskier peeks inside. Yennefer is sitting at a vanity, taking her makeup off, her back to the door.

Her eyes meet his in the mirror, and he yelps, tripping over himself in his haste to retreat. Yennefer rolls her eyes. “Are you going to come in, or are you going to flail around like an idiot?”

“Are you going to harvest my organs and use them for your magicks?”

“No.” He feels a bit better at that, only for her to immediately follow up with, “Your organs aren’t anywhere near good enough.”

He pouts, but edges inside, the door shutting itself behind him. “My organs are perfectly harvestable,” he argues, and then feels quite ridiculous, and shuts up before she actually does harvest them.

“Gods, this was a mistake,” Yennefer mutters under her breath, finishing with her makeup and pulling back the covers on the bed. “You can have the floor. Don’t touch my stuff.”

He gleefully sets his lute case down to claim a space before she can change her mind. He’s touched, really, that she cares enough to offer him this. “Can I have a pillo—” he starts to ask, sneaking a hand up towards the bed, only to yank it away when she smacks it.

“No. Good night, bard.”

Never mind, he’s not as touched.

He sighs and lies down, curling around his lute case like he does on the road. It’s warm, at least, the heat from the kitchen below rising up to warm the floor beneath him. He falls into a deep sleep, hastened by the alcohol, and stays that way for several hours, before his bladder makes its needs known.

Upon waking to see the moon still high in the sky, he groans, reaching a hand up onto the vanity to pull himself up. His questing fingers brush against a vial—whoops—and in his blind fumbling to catch and right it, he ends up knocking over several more bottles. Fuck.

“Sorry, sorry,” he hisses, when Yennefer stirs in bed. Gods, if he's just spilled something important, she really will hex him.

Something important begins to drip onto his hand. Gods fucking damn it. He tries to scrub it away, only for it to begin tingling and burning, quickly spreading up his arm. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

It’s encompassing his entire body, now, itching and prickling like his skin is too small. “Bard? What are you doing?” Yennefer asks sleepily, sitting bolt upright when she spots the overturned bottle and him scratching frantically as if that will make the sensation go away.

“I didn’t mean to,” he pleads, suddenly very scared, and not just of her. Whatever this enchantment is, it’s spreading fast—will he survive it?

“Is that my fucking anti-aging serum?” Yennefer demands. Jaskier, who has no idea what an anti-aging serum looks like, continues to panic. Even his insides feel weird, guts writhing and bones aching. It’s becoming more and more painful, too, until he can’t stand it anymore, and his vision narrows and darkens and his back hits the floor and then he knows no more.

--

That fucking idiot. That stupid, fumbling imbecile! Yennefer should have known better, really, should have known that the blundering, blithering bard would immediately find the only potentially dangerous thing in the room and spill it all over himself. Really.

She rolled out of bed, a headache already pounding behind her eyes—partially the wine’s influence, yes, but more at the sight in front of her: Jaskier, no longer a long-limbed adult, instead a small, slight child, swimming in silks.

“For the love of fuck,” she sighs, pinching her brow. Her anti-aging serum—which is meant to be used in small doses, one or two drops at the most—she never knew it would have this kind of effect. And now she has to play babysitter to the most annoying person on the Continent, all because he couldn’t keep his hands to his fucking self.

“Wake up,” she orders, refraining from kicking him like she might if he were an adult. She’s mean, but not mean enough to kick a child.

“Hm?” he hums, eyes blinking open, only to freeze when he sees her towering over him. “You’re not Mama,” he says, voice trembling.

Oh, shit. It’s taken his mind as well. For a brief moment, she dares to hope that perhaps he’ll be less trouble like this.

Then he scrambles to his feet and tries to dive out the window.

“Oh no you don’t, you little shit,” she curses, and sends a small spell to trip him up before he can escape. “Stop that.” He stumbles, little palms meeting the wooden floor when he tries to catch himself. She finishes by flicking a finger and latching the window shut, same with the door. The last thing she needs is a de-aged, runaway bard.

Well, if he were to run away, technically he wouldn’t be her problem anymore…

But that’s too heartless, leaving a child on his own like that—and Yennefer can’t deny that her hardened heart has always held a soft spot for children.

That soft spot grows a little softer when Jaskier scoots back against the wall and bursts into loud, messy tears.

She doesn’t know what to do, really, doesn’t know how to comfort him—she can’t remember when she last comforted anyone. “Stop crying,” she orders instead. “Those tears won’t get you anything.”

Incredibly, it works. Whether it’s the shock of being spoken to so harshly, or they were only crocodile tears, she doesn’t know, and doesn’t care. What matters is that he’s finally stopped, and she can actually try and fix this mess now.

“Where’s my mama?” he demands, glaring at her distrustfully. Good, that’s an instinct that will keep him alive someday. “If you want a ransom, then—then Papa says that he won’t pay. Says I’m too much trouble, so you should—you should really just take me home, or else—or else he’ll come here and he’ll kill you.” He lifts his chin defiantly to punctuate his statement.

Well. That’s a lot to unpack, but she’s going to go ahead and shelve that for now. “I haven’t kidnapped you,” she says irritably, then considers the best way to break it to him.

…There is no best way, so she decides not to.

“Then where am I? And who are you?”

“That’s not important. Now come here,” she says, advancing on him and readying a spell that will hopefully reverse the effects of the serum.

He shakes his head, shrinking back further against the wall. His eyes flick between her and the door, and she’s guessing he’s about to make a run for it.

She stops, sinking into a crouch so that they’re on eye level. “Jaskier. It’s very important that I do this. You have a spell placed on you and I need to break it,” she explains.

“A spell?” Contrary to what any sane person would think when told they’ve been bespelled, Jaskier is wide-eyed and excited, the same look he gets as an adult whenever he senses a good story coming on. “What kind?”

“A dangerous one.” She hates to squash that light in his eyes, but it’s true—she doesn’t know what other side effects it might have. She needs to reverse it sooner rather than later—gods forbid it becomes permanent. “Now will you please come here? I’m a sorceress, and I can help.”

He nods, pushing away from the wall and coming to sit in front of her, legs crossed.

“You might feel a tingling, or even a bit of hurt,” she warns, and he nods again, his face creasing in worry and determination.

She’s just about to start when—“Can I hold your hand?” he blurts out. “Mama lets me hold her hand when I—”

She takes his hand before he can launch into some inane explanation. His hand is warm and delicate in hers, no trace of lute callouses to be found. He brightens immediately, gently squeezing their fingers together.

Her eyes, traitors, are getting misty. She angrily clears her throat and begins to cast—the sooner she can reverse this, the better.

Yennefer tries a simple reversal, first. Generic, easy, and evidently not likely to work. No matter. She lets it go and pulls forth another—a spell of speed, to hasten his aging. It fights against her, like drawing a bow, getting more and more difficult as she progresses—she lets that one go, too, lest it snap in her hands like a bowstring rebounding.

Spell after spell after spell, getting more and more complex as she goes, but none work. “Fuck!” she roars as her latest attempt fails, once again.

“Madame Sorceress?” Jaskier asks, brow creasing, worry creeping in. “Is it—did it work?”

“No,” Yennefer replies, and sighs, because she knows what she has to do. Who better to break a curse, after all, than a witcher?

--

“You’re shitting me,” is the first thing Geralt says after Yennefer explains the situation.

“Does it look like I’m kidding?” Yennefer yells, while Jaskier cringes behind her skirts. Despite his excitement at getting to meet a real life witcher, the actual experience has since proven to be a bit much for him. “I wouldn’t be here if I had any other choice, believe me,” she bites out, and Geralt winces, but wisely chooses not to comment.

“De-aged, then?” Geralt asks, sinking down onto his heels. “You can call me Geralt,” he says, and Jaskier peeks out at him.

“Julian,” Jaskier answers, and Yennefer remembers him introducing himself as such to the dwarves. “You’re a witcher?”

“I am,” Geralt nods. “I’m here to help. Did Yennefer explain what’s going on?”

“She said I had a spell on me. But I don’t feel spelled.”

“Mhmm. They can be tricky like that,” Geralt offers.

“Can we get on with it?” Yennefer asks. “This is all very nice, but we still don’t know what the side effects may be.”

“Fine,” Geralt says, standing up and holding out a hand to Jaskier. “Julian, why don’t you come meet my horse.” Jaskier lights up, latching onto Geralt immediately. Yennefer tries not to mourn the loss—why would she? She’s glad to be rid of the annoying little shit, she tells herself.

Geralt gets him situated with Roach, petting gently over her neck and mane, before returning to Yennefer. “I’ve only ever heard of this happening once before,” he begins. “Woman walked into the woods on An Skellig, came out a little girl.”

“And what happened to her?”

“Locals were stumped, until they remembered the old songs. Tír na nÓg.”

Yennefer scoffs. “Skellige fairy tales? That’s all you’ve got?”

“It’s not just a tale. They took her to the bridge during fog season, let her walk across, and she returned three days later all grown up, and no memory of it.”

Yennefer closes her eyes. It’s the only lead they’ve got, and they both know it. “Skellige it is, then. I can’t portal us all and Roach there, though.”

“Good. I hate portals. We’ll head to Novigrad, catch a merchant ship.”

Setting out on the road together is surprisingly easy. Though the fiery passion between them has simmered down, Yennefer still finds she enjoys Geralt’s company, when she forgets to be angry at him. It helps to have Jaskier there as a buffer, oddly enough—Geralt seems to sense her moods keenly, and often makes himself scarce, taking Jaskier with him to identify herbs as they walk, or carrying him on his shoulders as Jaskier tries to reach the lowest branches of the fruit trees they pass.

And sometimes she finds herself alone with Jaskier when Geralt is off hunting, or tending to Roach, or doing whatever the fuck it is he does when he’s alone. He proves to be, if not a scintillating conversational partner, very eager to learn, especially when she explains magical theories to him.

“When I grow up, I want to be a sorceress!” he proclaims one night, and she can’t help but smile.

“What about a witcher? Last I recall, you wanted to be a witcher yesterday,” she teases.

“I can do both!” Jaskier insists. “A witcher-sorceress. They’ll write songs about me!”

He never really has changed, has he?

--

The journey to An Skellig is largely uneventful—there’s one exciting moment, when they spot a blue whale off the bow of the ship, but other than that, it’s a monotony of rolling waves and bouts of seasickness for Jaskier.

They’re all glad to set foot on dry land when they finally do. They’re so close that Yennefer can taste it—though she can’t deny that young Julian has grown on her, and she’ll almost be sad to see him gone.

She swallows her feeling and continues on, trekking through the woods as Geralt leads them to the bridge to Tír na nÓg. The temperature drops as they go, until Jaskier is shivering atop Roach. Yennefer conjures a cloak for him with hardly a thought, and he throws a grateful smile at her.

They keep on, the forest growing darker, and just when she’s about to demand that they stop for the night and continue on tomorrow, the trees before them break, revealing a breathtaking view.

An arched bridge spans a perfectly placid lake ringed by trees, a fine mist overlaying the whole scene. This must be it—the bridge to Tír na nÓg, the land of youth.

Geralt has instructed Jaskier on what to do over the course of their journey, of course—for neither of them can accompany him. He has to face this trial alone. “Are you ready?” Geralt asks, helping Jaskier down from Roach. Jaskier nods, little face screwed in determination.

Anxiety flutters at Yennefer’s throat as she watches him cross the bridge, and she’s about ready to call it off, but Geralt holds her back. “Let him go,” he says quietly.

Jaskier disappears into the mist, and they begin their wait.

--

It turns out to be not very long at all. The sun is just only beginning to rise when Geralt rouses from his meditation, waking Yennefer as well. He looks out across the bridge, witcher senses focused on something Yennefer can’t.

And then Jaskier appears, back to his normal, adult self, grinning brightly. “Geralt! Yennefer!” he shouts, and breaks into a run. Geralt catches him as he leaps, drawing the witcher into a tight hug. It only lasts a few seconds, and then Jaskier is turning to Yennefer and pulling her into a hug as well. She stiffens, but doesn’t pull away.

“Thank you both for taking care of me. I know I couldn’t have been the easiest child,” he says wryly.

“You were fine,” Geralt says, at the same time Yennefer replies, “I don’t know, you might have been preferable as a child.”

“Rude,” Jaskier pouts, but he’s still hugging her.

There’s still so much they need to talk about—that damned mountain, for one—but right now, it doesn’t feel nearly so important. It’s enough to have this moment of peace, the three of them all reunited and as they should be.

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Witcher of the Night (Chapter 13.1)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER. 

UPDATES FOR WITCHER OF THE NIGHT WILL BE PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY NOW IN MY TIME (GMT +8)

CHAPTER 13

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Geralt could feel what you also feel and he was cursing the Djinn for making you both feel this way because it was a feeling that was certainly irresistible for one man to ever control. You were in heat, and it doesn’t seem to be such a good idea for the witcher to try and resist. 

Warnings: This is just a filler chapter for the smut in the next chapter. Ahonhonhon! Kind of Jealous Geralt too? Lowkey? Hehehehe. A cute bard and Cirilla having the period-syndrome (I’m having it too rn and I’m thirsty for Geralt or any of Henry’s character. DAMN IT) I’ve given a name to the Djinn they’ve found because I’ve tried searching but found no name for every Djinn they find in the witcher? I think? Reader being so needy and in heat. (The animal type of heat for reasons..) Also, reader is...a virgin. 

Words: 4.5k

A/N: You probably want to strangle me so hard right now, bb’s. I’m in the phase of a writer where I’m procrastinating stuff but not exactly a writer’s block. Just want to do things besides writing all day or I’m prolly just sleepy with no damn reason since last week. 😅😒 

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue! 

Disclaimer: PNG’s used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi. Characters, places and said monsters aren’t from moi as well. GIF’s INCLUDED ARE CREDITED TO THOSE WHO MADE THEM! I DO NOT OWN THEM!

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

"Well, you're in a greater bad mood right now, rat." Jaskier frankly stated, wiping his lute with a cloth.

The night was serene with your heart strings balled up in a yarn. Your emotions consisting of woe with a face as if you lost a shit ton of money. You sat together with Jaskier in the middle of the vast leigh, knees touching against each other as the bard quietly sat with you in silence.

A bright purple evenfall draws nigh along the sky, stars finally becoming visible as you admired how beautiful their skies were. Less pollution and more aesthetic, though a lot more eccentricity happening around more than earth.

You've exhaled one last sigh, mouth in a tight frown as you took notice of the moon that was in replete. A perfect shape of a circle as it shines bright.

"Is the witcher being an imbecile again?" the bard ceased his cleaning, giving you his sole attention as he watched your face contort in utmost upset. But, you chose to just let the sorrow go for a moment, admiring the stars and skies like it wasn't laughing back at you from how delusional you were for having strong feelings for the witcher, "Don't start, Jaskier."

"Your cantankerous attitude shown in your cherubic face tells me that you are gradually adapting Geralt's crabbiness because you accepted the position in being his lover---," Jaskier has managed to bluntly say, carefully placing his lute on the grass as he narrowed his eyes at you, "---Though, it does seem like a sacrifice, small rat. Your kindness shall be missed. I would like to see you try and let Geralt adapt to your naivity and sweetness. The vision is pretty hilarious, if you ask me!"

Your frown even grew tighter when he mentioned the word 'lover', shoulders falling from how dismayed you were from hearing it.

"I'm not his lover."

The bard couldn't help but raise a skeptical brow back at you, remembering what he saw last night. He knew he wasn't hallucinating nor daydreaming, "Oh, so kissing under the moonlight is considered as a friendly gesture in my era now? If so, then this means you wouldn't mind kissing me too!"

He puckered his lips, making smooching sounds as slowly tried to teasingly close the gap between you both as Jaskier pouted to act as if he was about to give you a kiss on the cheek when you've yelped and immediately had your palms over his mouth, gently pushing his face away from you, "Jaskier! What are you even---?!"

He comfortably sat back down and had his knee over his chest prior to the position he had now, which was in criss-cross as he playfully shrugged. His pretty baby blues looking at the darkening sky, "A shame. I've been told by countable lads and lasses that I do kiss like I take their breath away,"

You tutted at that, shaking your head from his teasing and tried to send a hostile sally, "You suck then. Do you want them dying because of lack of breath?"

Your animosity has been curved by the bard. He seemed like he was acting like he didn't hear you as he let his eyes flicker to you again; going on with his jests, "Thank you by the way. I've been sleeping much soundly since the couple of days and you seemed to be having such wonderful dreams every night,"

Bawdy indications were hinted in between Jaskier's words; making you give him a glare that obviously made him grin like he won the lottery; thinking that your previous rendezvous back in Geralt's room when he wasn't around had some provocative explanations.

He didn't know your symbol was hurting a lot more on those nights where Geralt wasn't around.

You brush off his ribald comment, "I didn't do it for you,"

"I thought you were actually asking for forgiveness by calling me a horse's arse minutes ago? You're knowing the blasphemy of our language but totally naive of every monsters and places we have here. It doesn't seem to be such a thing to be proud of,"

Jaskier continued his blathers without even letting you talk, freely letting you give him death glares because he seemed to be more mouthy as days go by. You turn a deaf ear to exhale an exasperated breath, "I'm taking it back. You're still annoying as heck," before unabashedly laying your head down on his lap.

His yakking has been brought to a halt when he'd felt your head fall on his lap, the bard suddenly uttering quizzical gibbers that you continued to ignore as you felt the bracing wind hit your body; appreciating the eventide in quietude.

"Alright, alright! I'm not complaining...Ughm," Jaskier cleared his throat, anxiously scratching his head as he tried his best not to look at you.

The fullness of the moon has been drawing you in again. In a tranquil night, it was as if the stars began to whisper sweet nothings, lately realizing that their soft whispers has actually been your wishes; albeit, you've broken them down together, your whims willing and having no desire for you to actually come back in earth.

With only one thing in your mind, it was to stay with Geralt and his family.

But, do you really mean it? If you would choose earth or their dimension, were you serious that you wanted to stay?

Though, for him; you weren't that sure if he also wanted the same thing. If Geralt wasn't around, you were probably already dead, have been sold by noblemen or eaten by their monsters.

But, the stars seemed to jump out of the sky when you've heard a loud thundercrack of a door that came from the inside of their house, snapping the bard quiet as the noise tugged you out of your happy place; a place that you hoped Geralt came with.

The night has went slower, time ticking a lot more deliberately when one person is probably upset with another. Especially, when the person you were upset with lived in the same house as you and even was the owner of the bed you sleep on.

You were beginning to feel rickety as seconds pass by while Jaskier tried worming out whatever he had asked to Cirilla whom was feeding Kolby with a basket full of obsolete bread.

"Tell me why the back door is now broken off its hinges?" he asked in incredulity, hands on his hips as he had seen the brown, wooden door hanging with all its life, trying hard not to fall.

Hence, as they continued their talk; you couldn't help but massage that aching part of your chest, the one where the symbol laid upon the valley of your breasts as you heavily breathed.

It was attacking again.

The weight and fiery phantom of fingers grasping your heart more severe rather than the nights you had it felt like a rabid monster wanted to come out of cage. Their cold weather suddenly all swelter; as if you were walking on burnt out coals with one person clouding your mind.

Geralt.

You needed him, wanted him and yearned for his presence.

Cirilla gave a blatant shrug of her shoulders; sounding completely phlegmatic as she answered, "I don't know, bard. I didn't scream if that will make you any less more worried,"

Jaskier had his eyebrows furrowed as he keenly pondered as to why their door was broken all of a sudden, "Has there been a beast?" his slim, calloused fingers moved restlessly; dwelling onto what has raided their own home. The bard looked anywhere, continuing to be in distress while Cirilla patted the Hirikka's head with utmost care as she watched him devour everything in the basket, "You mean, Geralt?" she gave Jaskier a once over before turning back to look at Kolby, thoroughly undisturbed that it was the witcher's doing, "---He went out for a second and then came back, breaking the door off its hinges. But, he promised to fix it,"

Jaskier's head veered to where she was crouched in the middle of the living room, his baby blue eyes full of concern as he opened his mouth to tell all his inquiries but was instantly shut closed when he'd seen you hunched in his peripheral vision, palms on your knees as you were breathing like you were being chased by another Alghoul.

The latter took heed of those sweat drops falling on the side of your face as you were heaving deep breaths. Your head was darkening in assailing images of those familiar amber eyes you've grown to be thoroughly fond of; longing to be consumed by those glowing golden aureate.

You've heard someone walking closer to where you stood, seeing Jaskier crouch to give you a scrutiny of his baby blues. Bright azures. You didn't yearn for that. All you wanted was golden. His golden and you couldn't help but whimper, your chest has giving you agony as if you were being pricked in the heart by small needles, "You're sweating like a rabid---rat, are you alright?"

Another deep inhale of your breath; you breathlessly muttered, "I am Jaskier---It's just---" nevertheless, those train of thoughts couldn't be completed by the excruciating pain that ignited a troubled mewl. You straightened your back, making Jaskier stand up as well to scan your face for any signs as to what was happening to you, but only had seen your face painfully contorted in a way that tells him you were in agony.

"It's hot. Too hot," pause. You swallowed the tight knot of confining sensations wanting to be let out, "---Abnormally hot. Hot in two different ways; like I wanna be impaled or something!"

At your most forthright honesty, your statement has made the bard blink rapidly from how blunt it sounded, being taken aback by how outspoken you suddenly become; a thorough change of your bashful self, "You're actually revealing lewd facts that should be kept to yourself. You are certainly not alright!"

You could feel yourself grow hotter, the heat being scorching and aching at the same time. Your legs began to weaken and you can't help but fold like a paper, squat down and the position was utmost impuissant; totally vulnerable with your palms on your ears as you tried to shut down the restless whispering that went on and on; ceaseless as you had no power over it.

Jaskier began to panic; his face brimful of dread, "----GERALT? WE HAVE A PROBLEM DOWN HERE!"

The soughing of breathless whispers were relentless, no matter how you tried to cover your ears; they just keep coming. It was incessant, never ending despite of how they were giving your chest a pain that seem to be unyielding as they went on and on.

Witcher. You wanted the witcher. You needed him, you longed for him.

"Stop saying the word witcher, Jaskier!" you abruptly scolded, sounding too jarring and ear-piercing; void of kindness as you could feel the aggravation going to your head with the additional non-stop rustle of voices. The bard eyed you skeptically as he added, finding your rebuke rather surprising and odd because he never said anything about it, "I wasn't even uttering a word!"

Warm, slender fingers fell on your shoulders; trying his best to comfort you while the witcher wasn't coming down from his chambers yet. Nevertheless, from the moment he'd touch you, the toubadour has received a harsh slap of his hand being pushed away.

"Jaskier!" you harshly spat, your nose scrunched from how discomforting you were feeling.

He was quick to haul his arms up in surrender, stepping a foot away as he looked at you in horror, "Alright---I'm not touching you then!"

Another strained bleat left your lips as you were now fully sat on the floor, holding your chest as you continued to heave, shaking your head from the perpetual torment that tries its best to scream blandishments that sounded abridged. Some were incomprehensible and other words sounded lucid.

Destiny has it's price. It sounded just like a rustle of the winds as the shushed voices continued its onslaught. Two souls, together as one. Bound for eternal rest or a life forever. Zephyr shall protect. You cannot outrun death.

Your whimpers started to gradually increase, mewling in the process when you've exhaled a sigh as the needles seem to turn bigger, "It hurts, I swear it really hurts!" you screeched, body feeling like you were dropped in hot, molten lava as you were hearing foot steps treading in haste, "Geralt's coming, don't worry, rat."

Kolby prowled to where you sat; eternal mewls never ceasing as sexual, pent-up aggression was starting to travel to your head, but you tried to fight them off. Though, it ignited more pain as you struggled. Cirilla suddenly snapped her head to where you were, a tight lipped frown etching her face as she jogged to where you sat.

"Is she okay?" the pretty child asked in worry, watching you battle with something they couldn't see nor feel. Jaskier raised a brow; looking sardonic as he acknowledged, "No, she certainly isn't, Princess Cirilla."

She gave him a lour as she snarled; her riposte sounding a lot like the witcher because of how harsh it sounded, "I'm not in the mood for your sarcastic nonsense, bard."

Jaskier was unfazed as he took her retort like it was nothing, "Ooooh, is this how period--is it called period---does to a lassie?"

They're retaliations had them unaware of Geralt's presence who came marching down the stairs with an unfathomable expression on his face; the trepidation never seen in his features as it was emotionless, never giving anybody the panic that Jaskier, Cirilla and Kolby has been feeling when you've suddenly began bawling your eyes out from the thumping pain.

The witcher hurriedly crouched before you, his glowing amber eyes thoroughly scanning your features if there was anything weird happening; but to his discontent, Geralt noticed none.

He felt everything. Your frustration, pent-up aggression; venereal desires or not, the twinge of scorching ache that can't be relieved due to constraints given from the latter himself when he'd chose jurisdiction over his carnal wishes that you also wished.

But, he'd been bull-headed for his reasons; Geralt was not bargained for the repercussions held because of having no permanent proof that you were also suffering every night.

Just like him. Hence, the both of you needed relief. Corporeal appetites released for the betterment of both.

"She's in heat," Geralt rasped, trying to hear what you've been begging for and he sensed that you were hearing voices that continues to assault you, paining your chest as you were unaware of his presence that loom before you.

"What? Oh, Geralt! Cease the utter balderdash!" Jaskier exclaimed, eyeing the witcher who squat down in front of you.

Geralt's amber eyes has been searching for yours, but you've never let him see as you continued your hushed begging. He had his chiseled jaw clenched so tight, every breath he takes was also giving his chest a potent congesting pain that he can somehow resist. His medallion was vibrating wildly, alarming him that there was magic surrounding him.

Therefore, he knew the pain wasn't just one to disregard because he knew your pain has explanations that is needed to foresee.

Was the Djinn still in there? Keeping you as a host?

No. Impossible. The witcher thought at the back of his head because there were times that his medallion doesn't vibrate whenever he's around you, it only happened now and back then when you were possessed.

It was impossible that the Djinn was keeping you as its master as well. You could die if that ever happened. The seal was gone and never found back in the swamps, meaning to say it was already gone; broke free from its confinement because you already had three of your wishes.

Jaskier couldn't help but notice how clean and fixed Geralt's hair was. Hence, he'd started to acknowledge the aesthetic difference he claimed, "Also, did you just braid your majestic chalky white hair all by yourself?! Or did you do it, Princess Cirilla?" he bargained, utterly stunned from Geralt and his hair being braided, dubiously eyeing the lion cub of Cintra.

But, she only gave a nonchalant negation, "No."

"Oh, the rat did! She did a great job at making you look so feminine tonight, Geralt!"

Geralt paid no heed to Jaskier's teasing compliments, wanting nothing but to roll his eyes but ceased to do so as your fingers began to shake, his mind now in a perturbed fret as his gaze shifted anywhere to see what was causing your whole situation because he sees nothing. A tight furrow of his eyebrows tightly creased his forehead, "---The Djinn has given her effects for whatever the symbol does to her, bard."

Jaskier crouched beside where Geralt is, receiving a truculent glare that made the bard move away for an inch because his bellicose aura was radiating off him too much, "Symbol? What symbol?"

"I'm not showing you her chest." he bluntly chided as a low growl vibrated through his chest, giving Jaskier a hostile look in his glowing peepers.

The toubadour did a double-take, his mouth turning into an offended 'O' as he held a palm on top of his chest as he gestured to your squatted form, "I wasn't even asking you if I could see her breasts!"

"Then, shut up and stop asking."

Jaskier huffed, sulking beside the witcher because of how he'd suddenly become such a grump.  

You've muttered a soft mewl, tightly closing your ears with your palms as you suddenly talked out loud, "I need Geralt. Where's Geralt?!" it was the only name you could hear, echoing inside your head as the heat traveled through your veins, searing and extremely scorching all of a sudden.

Your heartbeat was loudly drumming out of your chest. Sweat dripping down your face as the pain and heat was starting to make you feel lightheaded, his scent crashing through your senses. Earthy, pinewood and a mix of mannishness.

Geralt.

"Don't touch me!" It felt like you were burning; but also finding some aid to the ache as it soothed your heated skin like ice to the fire. You've felt his thick, rough fingers fall on your shoulder, making you jerk back as you looked at him; completely mortified for a second, "I'm here, midget." before the witcher tightened his hold on you, those fingers clasping around your feeble arm as he gazed upon you in deep concern.

"It's alright. Calm down, it's me." Geralt gently hushed your frantic state, softly grabbing the side of your jaw to make you look at him.

When he did, your eyes were dark and dilated, filled with carnal.

"You're having a hot spell," he roughly forced the words out of him, heavily swallowing whatever you were feeling because he's also having the same problems, but chose to restrain himself; doing a better job than any most men would, "A--A literal spell?" you didn't catch his drift and feel yourself breathing deep, his scent soothing your nerves as it also does the same for him.

Geralt shook his head, his fingers strapped on the side of your neck making his hand feel the pleasuring jolt. You've felt his fingers slightly tremble as your eyes were beseeching, those dilated pupils of yours tormenting him, "No. You're in heat, midget." pause. he lowly growled in displeasure, amber eyes pooling in keen, "---which explains your cravings for touches and the need for coition,"

Your face scrunched in pain and a mixture of pent-up frustration, the voices inside your head slowly dying down as it was now drowning in the witcher's unique, baritone timbre of his that was making you feel giddy before a jolt of pain rose up your chest again, "What am I---an animal?! Geralt, make it stop!"

Jaskier and Cirilla listened in silence. However, the bard fidgeted with the hem of his tunic; his mindless frets seeming to come up with such suggestions that will make everyone's mind boggle.

He raised a hand, not before taking a good look at you who had eyes pure of anguish and need which now focused at Geralt before he'd loudly cleared his throat, turning his head to see the witcher in distress from what other methods he could think of other than the impaling,  "I have a proposal and an utterly brilliant idea to make the pain stop!"

Cirilla hushedly snorted, "His ideas are always nonsense. Don't listen to him, Geralt."

Jaskier placed his hands on his hips, pointing a finger at the princess, mouth opening before he was immediately ceased by Geralt himself.

"The princess is right, bard."

The sonneeter noted his lukewarm response, sounding like he actually opposes what Cirilla has reprimanded because all Geralt ever wanted and what clouds his mind is having his way with you, "---Give the small rat what she wants, Witcher. What if the pain carries on as nights go by? Give her the rumpy pumpy since that is always the answer to why an animal is in heat. It wants coitus, or if you've become one soft, romantic witcher; then I suggest to use the word, 'make love'." he emphasized, quoting the word 'make love' with both hands, his middle finger and index one folding as he said the last word with ardor.

Geralt was quick to scowl at that, exhaling an exasperated breath out of his nose as he hummed in protest; giving the bard his meanest glare, "You're saying she's an animal. You want me to take advantage of it?"

"No?" Jaskier quickly shook his head, groaning out; palms faintly hitting his forehead as he tried to act as if he was slapping it from Geralt's unreasonable assumptions. He continued, languidly blinking back at the frowning witcher, "---I didn't even say you would take advantage of the idea, you nincompoop! Then, do you want me to mate with her?"

It took him a second before he'd seen the latter started giving blazing daggers that had fire in it, his words seething as Geralt gruffly barked, "Absolutely not, bard!"

His glowing, amber eyes were boring holes at Jaskier before he lowly rumbled; more so to himself, trying to convince himself that there was another way.

He was dithering the idea of having you; not because he didn't find you pleasant, fetching, alluring or beautiful. Geralt found you in many types of wonderful adjectives he could tell, though mostly was kept inside his mind. The idea of having you, only to himself; ravishing you in ways that he ought to please kept him faltering because of one thing in his mind.

Vulnerability.

The witcher was thoroughly cautious of vulnerability because whenever it happens; once the walls have been broken down, there was always hindrance coming in his way and with the person he'd promised were important, or a person he loved because he knew that once he has you, Geralt was done for no matter how unstable he was.

You'll be seeing things you've never seen nor felt from him as he does the same way.

Especially, that you never came from their dimension and that the feelings he had for you was too strong to even control. But, the voices at the back of his mind was pulling him away from even pouring those emotions down because firstly, he didn't know how to show and second, there was a huge chance that you would also leave.

What if you leave? a person he'd treasured so much begins to leave him again?

Geralt mindlessly gritted his teeth together as he grumbled and grouched, avoiding the bard's eyes as he watched you shakily grab onto his palms that tenderly rested on the side of your face; leaning onto his touch as you looked at him; utterly lovestruck, "We'll find another way," pause. "---There has to be."

Though, it seems like the bard hasn't heard his beseeching and continued with his witful suggestions, "The only way is to impale her to cease the sufferings that the spell has cast upon her by the Djinn," Jaskier promptly stood up on his feet, his anxiety making him blurt out mindless blabbers he could ever think of, "---There is nothing to lose on this one, Geralt. Especially that you're...no offense---"

Geralt cut him off in haste, surly spitting out his words, "There is, Jaskier. Her purity."

Jaskier pointed back at the witcher, completely looking taken aback as he opened his mouth like he was stunned, "Oh." was the only thing he managed to say for the first few seconds before he quietly muttered, "OooooOh. She's a?"

The Ivory haired man gave a brief nod, "Untouched." he frankly informed as Cirilla quietly listened in the background with Kolby howling loudly in the middle of the night like a wolf in disguise, "---Oh! This is an unorthodox for the series of women that you have had, Geralt! Also, she's a rare one indeed!"

Jaskier couldn't help but feel dumbstruck from his suggestions, shamefully scratching the back of his nape as he has given the whole responsibility to Geralt because he could never help. He always never does because of some sorts that he couldn't explain, probably because he wasn't taught with these magical phenomena that Geralt expertly knows.

When the witcher has given you his attention, you've abruptly attacked him in a bear hug, arms tightly wrapped around his thick neck that you wanted to softly pepper kisses. As you were caging him in your arms, his delicious scent wafted through your nose, welcoming how it was indeed mouthwatering for your blazing appetite or carnal greed.

"I want to have you, Geralt. I--I need to have you! These thoughts inside my head...It needs you, I--I need you," you begged, softly pleading like there wasn't anyone around you; not noticing Cirilla, Kolby nor Jaskier as there was only one person in your mind. Geralt of Rivia. Your Geralt. Your witcher. The only person who gives you fluttering butterflies and wild ants inside your stomach and chest.

You've tucked your face in between your arm and his braided hair, breathing the back of his ear like a wild woman as Geralt stood still and heard your whimpers that went straight to his stronghold, his will in finding another method to help suddenly wavering from how soft and provocative it sounded that clouded his mind.

He turned relaxed in your arms, accepting the bear hug and probably loving how close you both were together after hours of not talking to each other. You've felt his calloused palm caress your clothed back, soothing your pained mewls that came after your sensual whimpers as it was unstable. Geralt gently unlatched your arms that surrounds him, his golden peepers meeting your baffled ones before he had no problem in scooping you up in his arms, like newly wed couples.

"We'll think of other ways, midget. Come. Let's help you with the heat,"

Cliffhanger before the smut? I’M SORRY, BB’S. LOVE MEEEE STILLLLLL! 

Taglist: @alyxkbrl​ @himarisolace​ @barkingbullfrog​ @ayamenimthiriel​ @hellodevilslittlesister​ @vania-marie @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-starfleet @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernatural @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer​​ @marvelousell​​ @kingniazx​​ @angelias134​​ @tapismyforte​​ @chook007​​ @covid-donotenter​​ @winter-moons​ @cheesecakeisapie​ @silverkitten547​​ @angelofthor​r @carrieannewaywardson @plantingmum​, @stuckupstucky​, @shesthelastjedi​

[ric0cheted]

okay folks, i'm stoned & sappy as balls right now and i'm stuck on this dumb geraskefer fairytale thing

--jaskier gets cursed. obviously jaskier gets cursed. it is an established, incontrovertible fact that jaskier's always the one who gets cursed. who's it this time?? cuckolded spouse?? creative rival?? someone trying to hurt geralt?? a powerful rando that jaskier happened to insult?? truly, the possibilities are endless. it adds spice to their lives! jaskier claims.

--it is therefore literally impossible for geralt to come up with a comprehensive list of potential suspects. truly unfortunate, since the culprit didn't show up to cackle and gloat about it.

--(it happens with baffling frequency. jaskier thinks it's fantastic and has taken to incorporating tidbits from the monologues into rude songs he writes afterwards. sometimes jaskier's unconscious during it and complains unless geralt tells him what happened. the whole thing does make curse-breaking much easier, though, since geralt can just. like. kill them. they're right there, after all.)

--geralt, specifically, has to be the one to try to make this list, because jaskier is like. asleep. totally alive, seemingly fine, except for the part where he, yknow. can't be woken.

--through some smart thinking and keen investigative work--nah lmao just fuckin with you. geralt's a moron. he's gotta call in the intellectual cavalry. let's say yenn is off doing mysterious sorceress business and geralt's near triss's turf, so he goes to her.

--triss helps geralt figure out that it's a full sleeping beauty-style true loves kiss situation. this presents a unique opportunity for geralt! given that he is in love with jaskier. tru, he thought it might be reciprocated, but he's also a coward. this way, he gets to save jaskier's life, and doesn't have to lead with mouth-words.

--geralt kisses jaskier, right on the mouth. very soft, full of longing and promise. deep down, he thinks it'll work.

--jaskier doesn't wake up. it doesn't work.

--there is a long, deeply awkward (triss) and emotionally devastated (geralt) pause when they realize that it hasn't worked. big yikes. triss bounces to let geralt lick his wounds in peace.

--this obviously has geralt Fucked, but in no universe would he abandon jaskier because of it. ride or die baby! he's gonna fix this.

--it feels wildly invasive, but as an absolute last resort, geralt goes through jaskier's notebooks. like, the ones where he writes his songs. to try to figure out who else he might be in love with. there's plenty of geralt in there, which makes the situation both more painful (jaskier was probably really in love with him at some point!) and also super confusing (some of it seems pretty recent??)

--geralt finds other names--man, jaskier really fuckin hates valdo marx!--but none of them are Romantic. not until the later on in the book, the more recent pages. and only one name. (other than his.)

--it's yennefer's.

--there's a lot of terrible purple (hah) prose but some of its actually. good. with a lot of obvious primo yearning. geralt hasn't heard any of it played, but it's got the same flavor as a bunch of the stuff about him. he knows they've gotten to know each other more, that their interactions have shifted and evolved, but. like. this??

--listen. geralt is just having a day. several, really. this is more emotional turmoil than he's had in past couple of years combined. is he sad? is he jealous? is he consumed with a bittersweet longing?? who knows! least of all him.

--geralt calls yenn anyway. ride or die baby!! emphasis on the dying! emotionally, that is. yenn's done with whatever she was doing so geralt fills her in. her face does a number of truly complicated things that geralt very simply does not have the emotional intelligence to assess.

--anyway, yennefer portals over, takes one look at jaskier, and kisses him right on the mouth. geralt feels some kind of way about it, which is to say, he is very much about it. he expects the mortification of that to haunt him for the rest of time.

--it still doesn't work. jaskier doesn't wake up.

--they're both. so confused. geralt has 0.18 braincells, so he's trying to think of who the fuck ELSE jaskier might be in love with. yennefer has 1.82 braincells, so she's trying to figure out if they could've been wrong about the curse. eventually they rub their combined two (2) braincells together and consider the possibility that true loves can be both a possessive and a plural.

--they make a plan. it's so gross & cutesy that yennefer is, frankly, embarrassed. but. they each post up to the right and left of jaskier and, at the same time, kiss him on the cheek(s).

--it works! jaskier wakes up, geralt on one side, yennefer on the other. this is the least explicit version of this dream he's ever had. but hey! he still gets to dream of his two extremely unrequited loves at once. beggars, choosers, bards.

--still sure that he's asleep, jaskier says as much. geralt and yennefer don't cry because they're too busy wondering how they fell in love with this dumb fuck. it's a close call tho. jaskier probably does cry, just a little, after they explain.

--because emotions and endorphins are high, yennefer is like. explicit version, you say. how intriguing.

--they bang. the end. geraskefer rights.

[quirkykayleetam]

Cursed Silence

A 3.6K Witcher Sick Fic with Ill Jaskier, Hurt and Worried Geralt and some fun plot stuff of my own; a mild reinvisioning of Bottled Appetites if Yennifer hadn’t been involved, but Jaskier’s life was endangered another way.  Behold!  The AO3 link is now here!

“Oh gods, this is it!  I am paying the price for my life as a libertine.  Luck and mercy have deserted me and I am now doomed to pain forever!”

Jaskier winced and covered his eyes as Geralt pulled back the curtain from their bedraggled upstairs room.

“See?” he moaned  “Even the light assaults me cruelly!  And sound, the call of my life, is nothing but agony.”

“You would think you’d shut up then,” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier tried to sit up and tut in affront, but only ended up falling back to the blankets instead.

Geralt glance at his fri… traveling companion.  Judging by the amount he drank last night, Geralt figured he had a splitting headache and a roiling stomach.  It would pass.  It wouldn’t pass without dramatics--that was Jakier--but it would pass all the same.

“We only have the room ‘til lunch,” Geralt said, moving to leave.  If he slammed the door a little harder than necessary to hear Jaskier groan, that was his own business.

…

Geralt had to admit that Jaskier played the part of the hungover rake well.  When he stumbled down the stairs of the end, his doublet was artfully unbuttoned to show just the right amount of chest hair.  He blanched at the sausage Geralt offered him, opting instead for a broth so watered down it smelled more like bowl than soup.

Throughout the meal, he kept stealing glances at Geralt.  The Witcher tried to ignore him, but finally the tension became too much.

“What.”

“We don’t exactly have pressing matters in the South, do we?  We’re just moving on because that’s what we do.  More people to see, more evil to fight, more good to do for the delight of the land!”

“What are you getting at?”

“We couldn’t, perhaps, linger one more day to nurse the headache of a dear, famous bard who needs his beauty rest to sing the praises of the White Wolf of Rivia?”

Geralt huffed.

“Fine.  But it’s your coin.”

He turned to leave, wondering if there was a secluded area close enough by for hunting.  With Jaskier sick, they would make slower time when they did leave and would need more provisions for the journey ahead.

He also did not fail to notice the small smile on the lithe bard’s face even as Jaskier sunk further onto the bench.  Geralt hoped Jaskier could get some rest before he face-planted into his soup.

…

“Jaskier!”

The next morning Geralt jerked the curtain so hard it ripped off its rung.  The Witcher threw it at Jaskier, pole and all, who barely groaned as it hit him in the stomach.

Jaskier was doing better, Geralt thought the night before, watching the bard cavort wildly.  Sure, he stayed closer to the fire than normal and seemed to have some trouble remembering the words to his old songs, but when Geralt turned in for the night, Jaskier remained downstairs.  Geralt’s last look saw the bard downing a toxic-smelling red concoction the innkeeper handed him while scanning the crowd with crazy hazel eyes.

“Geralt, I’m dying.”

“Dying in a grave you dug yourself, staying up half the night with a belly full of booze!”

“I happened to mention my ills to the innkeep,” Jaskier moaned.  “Aches and pains, that kind of thing.  He said he had just the cure: something about mulled wine and herbs.  It numbed everything, Geralt, and I didn’t want the pain to come back.”

“Yeah, alcohol does that.  Numbs you now, makes you feel it tomorrow.”  

He stalked to his saddle bags, feeling Jaskier’s pleading eyes on his back.

“No,” he said.

“What?”

“No, we are not staying another day for you to drink yourself to another oblivion.  I’m getting Roach.  Be downstairs in an hour or I will leave you.”

This time when Geralt slammed the door, he could have sworn he heard Jaskier sob.

Geralt was beginning to pace when Jaskier finally stumbled down the stairs.  His clothes were rumpled but decent, his eyes glazed over but open.  The biggest sign of his distress was his hair.  Usually perfectly styled, it was now ruffled in ways that made Geralt think of nights spent in sex and debautery.

When Geralt slept badly, his white hair stuck to the side of his face in greasy strips like Roach had licked them.  Of course that wouldn’t happen to Jaskier.  Half asleep, bow-legged, and weaving from side to side, he simply looked beautifully dispossessed.

As the pair began their travels, Jakier shot a wistful shot at Geralt’s horse.  Sure, the swaying movement of riding wouldn’t help his stomach, but he would give up all his gold and probably his trousers to rest on the animal rather than treading on his unsteady feet.

Geralt noticed.

“Don’t touch Roach,” he said.

Jaskier groaned.

…

Blessed silence.

Geralt never thought he would have too much of it.  Now he had to glance behind him every two moments just to see if Jaskier was still on his feet.

To his credit, the bard was still keeping up.  Geralt slowed his usual pace to give the man a break, noticing when Jaskier’s moans turned into whimpers and then heavy breathing, but he kept going.  If Jaskier was going to make his life harder with drink, Geralt wasn’t going to entirely ease his pain.  Jaskier did not complain.  He shouldered his lute and limped after the Witcher, his face set in determination and hurt.

They were deep in the forest, when Geralt suddenly heard Jaskier slow.

“Ger...Geralt...I can’t…”

Geralt swung off Roach immediately, ready to relent and let the bard ride the rest of the way, but he immediately stopped.

Jaskier was a trembling mess.  It was cold outside, chill enough to leave frost on the tips of branches and leaves, but the bard sweated through his jacket.  He huddled doubled over.  With one hand, he clutched at his throat.

“Can’t breathe, Ger...I don’t know…”

With that, Jaskier’s eyes rolled back into his head.  Geralt barely caught him before he fell to the ground.

It wasn’t just drunkenness; Geralt could tell as soon as he touched Jaskier’s paling skin.  The bard was burning up from the inside.  Even mostly unconscious, he whimpered each time Geralt had to shift Jaskier in his grip.

Cursing, Geralt didn’t know whether to spend more time settling Jaskier on Roach’s back or dashing off to get help.

There wasn’t a mage or a medic in the town they left.  Geralt could get Jaskier there in hours, but the Witcher might not be able to do anything but watch Jaskier pant in agony.  The bard needed medicine, a cooling bath, Geralt didn’t know what else.  He just didn’t want to see Jaskier in any more pain.  Or worse.

Golden eyes set on the horizon, he set off as fast as he dared.  Every pitiful sound Jaskier made echoed through Geralt’s entire body.

Hee had done shit all to help Jaskier.  Hopefully now he could persuade someone else to do more.

…

Dawn crested the hill behind Roach as Geralt finally spotted a town within reach.  The village was a sizable, a good sign, though not a certain one.  He patted the horse tiredly, glad that Roach hadn’t bucked at riding through the night.  In the saddle beside him, Jaskier did not even whimper.  The bard had stopped making even the smallest sounds long ago.  The only thing keeping Geralt going was that he could see Jaskier’s weak, stuttering breath in the cold.

Geralt swung down beside the first open door he saw, that of an inn.  The innkeeper was sweeping out the debris from the night before and took the Witcher’s coin.

“Doctor?  Mage?”  He inquired huskily.

“Mage.  North side of town.  Not sure if you can pay him though.”

Geralt jingled his bag of coin.  The innkeeper shook his head.

“He’s one for strange deals and bargains.  Some folk say he’s fair.  Others say wiley.  Keep your wits about you, Witcher.”

Geralt thanked the man with another coin, but couldn’t give a damn about his wits.  He’d lose them all if he could keep Jaskier alive.

He found the mage easy enough.  While the man didn’t set up in a castle like some magicians, he made his profession clear enough; his three-story workshop was made of shimmery black stone that could only be enchanted.  Either that or the man had spent lifetimes mining and shaping obsidian from the land’s farthest shores.  Geralt figured he couldn’t rule that out.

Tying Roach to a tree outside and cradling Jaskier in his arms, he kicked at the ornate wooden door until someone answered it.  Enough kicking, he supposed, and he could knock the bloody thing down, but it swung inward before Geralt had the chance.

“Witcher.” A spry man of indeterminate age, oaken skin, and jet black hair dressed blacksmith’s garb greeted him.  “Please, come in.”

…

The wizard could clearly see Geralt’s purpose.  He motioned the Witcher to a room on the third story with tightly shut windows, a fire in the hearth, and a bed for Jaskier.  Geralt laid the bard down somewhat reluctantly.  He wanted Jaskier to get better, but he didn’t trust wizards, however benign they seemed.

The wizard cleared his throat and Geralt turned to face him, keeping his body between the mage and Jaskier’s unconscious form.

“So,” the man began, “Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, the Butcher of Blavikin, has traveled all this way to…”

“Do you know what’s wrong with him?”

“Pardon me?” the wizard said.  He took a step back but looked more intrigued than insulted by the interruption.

“Can you heal him?” Geralt said, his voice a low growl.

“Are you sure you can pay my price?  Surely someone must have told you…”

“Yes,” Geralt said.

“Why?”  The wizard’s eyes twinkled.

“I’ll do anything.”

The moment the words left Geralt’s mouth, he knew they were true.  Maybe he hadn’t chosen this life, but it was his and he was well suited for it.  Jaskier was soft.  He enjoyed fine cloth and finer wine.  He deserved to sing in a palace and sleep on silk sheets every night instead of cavorting around with a twice-damned Witcher.

“It’s Vale’s Fever,” the mage said.  “Comes on like the common flu, just quicker, until it steals the victims voice.  Has it gone that far?”

Geralt nodded.

“Jaskier…  He said he couldn’t breathe.”

“That’s it then,” the wizard said, turning from Geralt to examine the potions on his work bench in the corner.  “I’ll give you this, I’ll tend to your friend, Jaskier, and save his life if I can, but only for the work you give me.  I’ve got a workshop downstairs where I smelt metals important to me.  For twelve hours of manual labor, I’ll give you twelve hours of medical care for your friend.”

“And the nights?” Geralt asks.  “What happens if he needs help during the night.”

“Not my problem,” the wizard said.  “Days for days is all I offer.”

“Fine,” Geralt growled.  He wasn’t bednurse, but if he had to see Jaskier through a few feverish nights without throwing things at the bard, he supposed he could do it.  “Show me where to start working.”

“Ah, ah ah,” the wizard said, holding up a finger.  “That is simply the deal to save the man’s life.  His voice on the other hand…?”

It took all of Geralt’s control not to slam the wizard into the glimmering stone behind him.

“What about his voice?”

“Terrible thing about Vale’s Fever.  Most of those who survive never speak again.  That I can restore magically…”

“What’s your price?”

“I’m a fair man,” the wizard said liberally, showing Geralt his palms.  It didn’t soften the Witcher’s temper.  “A voice for a voice is a fair trade, wouldn’t you think?”

“Fine,” Geralt said.  “Do it.”

“Don’t you want to hear more about the process?”

“No,” he said darkly.  “I stop talking and the bard sings again.  Works well enough for me,”

No one but Roach will miss it anyway, he thought.  And Jaskier without a voice?  That would be like a bird without wings or a Witcher with purple hair.  The bard might as well be dead as mute.

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t swat the wizard’s hand away as he moved forward and tapped Geralt’s throat.

Magic flowed through the Witcher, causing Geralt to fall forward and clutch his throat.  It felt like all the air inside of him suddenly expelled itself in a whirlwind of vacuum.  He felt dizzy, but wouldn’t give the wizard the satisfaction of seeing it.  Straightening, he opened his mouth to test the spell, first trying a whisper, then a curse, then a bellow.  No sound came out.

The wizard smiled.  Geralt glared.  Together, they went downstairs to the workshop.

…

For five days, Geralt labored under the mage’s command.  For the most part, he tended the bellows, keeping the wizard’s massive fire stoked to extraordinary temperatures.  Whatever he was smelting, the mage needed it constantly, consistently scorching and he was ready to leverage the Witcher’s enhanced strength and endurance to keep it so.

By the end of each day, Geralt arms ached with exhaustion.  His hands and forearms were black with ash.  When he washed that layer of grime away, it showed only open burns from the flames that made him wince and curse.  Each day he wanted to demand leather gloves or more than the small waterskin he was given from the mage, but each night he forgot to do so in his rush to Jaskier’s side.

“Better,” is all the mage would say.  Geralt had to take his word for it.

From sundown to dawn, the Witcher sat in the hard backed chair by Jaskier’s bed.  He used clean clothes to wipe the sweat off the bard’s forehead and clutched the slender man’s arms when he seized in his sleep.  Each day it became harder and harder for Geralt to stop his head from drooping onto his chest during the quiet moments of the night, but he fought off the urge with every spark inside of him.  He couldn’t do anything else for Jaskier, so he would sure as hell do this.

On the fifth night, Geralt caved.  His limbs felt like leaden turnips.  Jaskier was making sounds again, but shivering under the sheets.  Geralt crawled in bed next to him, wrapping his arms around the bard.

“Be warm, dammit.  Be well!” he thought with force and ire as his eyes closed.

Jaskier relaxed as his fever dwindled, curling closer to Geralt in the dark.

…

As dawn flooded the chamber the next morning, Geralt awoke to a familiar pair of hazel eyes.

“Now, don’t take this the wrong way,” Jaskier said sleepily.  “But normally when I wake up with a headache in a strange room, not remembering how I got there, I’m not in bed with you.”

Geralt glared.

“I’m glad you’re alive, you stupid git,” he thought, but he couldn’t very well say it, so he got up and started packing their bags, taking extra care not to manhandle Jaskier’s lute.

“Ah, so the sleeping beauty awakes!” the wizard said with a flourish, bursting into the room.

He turned to Geralt.

“The Vale’s Fever is cured and your friend is upright and speaking.  I take it that you are satisfied with both of your deals.”

Geralt grunted his assent, trying to subtly motion Jaskier to go.  Sadly, subtle was not exactly in Jaskier’s vocabulary.

“Deals?  What are you talking about.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for the curing and all.  But Geralt, what the hell did you do?  Because if it was something daring, I have a great need to sing about it and if it was something, reckless I have a great need to berate you about it dunk me in a lake.  Or something.  I’m sure you’ll come up with something.  You’re infinitely creative.”

The wizard laughed.  Geralt wanted to strangle him.  Possibly he wanted to strangle Jaskier too, but the wizard was definitely his priority.

“Nothing of the sort, my dear Jaskier.  Our Witcher friend simply engaged in a modest trade.  Your illness often leaves its victims mute.  He swapped his voice for yours, nothing fancy.

“Switch it back.”

“Pardon me?”

The Witcher stared at Jaskier as well, both because the bard was advocating for madness and because it was probably the shortest sentence Geralt had ever heard him say.

“You heard me.  Undo the deal.  I was unconscious and did not agree to it so make it, I don’t know, poof.  Vanish.  Go off into the air.  

“Yes, I tend to use my voice a bit more liberally than our dear Witcher, but it’s for publicity.  If it wasn’t for him saying things that mattered, we would both be dead four times over.  Besides, I’m the normal person tagging along here.  My songs are important, but come on, I’m not.  The last Witcher you’ll see this age?  That is.  Geralt has a purpose or a destiny or whatever you want to call it that won’t get my teeth kicked in and he damn well needs a voice for that.”

“Very well,” the wizard said.  “It’s your voice.”

He strode forward to touch Jaskier’s throat, but Geralt blocked his way.

“No,” the Witcher thought sternly.

“You heard the bard,” the wizard said.  “You’re the important one.”

Geralt shook his head.

“You really want to argue with that?”

The Witcher nodded.

The wizard looked quizzical, but stepped back, raising his hands.  With a gesture, the windows by the bed burst open and wind filled the room.

Geralt felt air rushing into his lungs.  It felt like a punch in the gut, but he was ready for it this time.

He whirled on Jaskier.

“As soon as we get Roach, I’m going to kill you,” the Witcher growled.

“Can you at least let me get a meal first?  And maybe some ale?  I’ve always dreamed of dying with a full stomach and, hey, it’ll make it harder for me to run away.”

Both travelers looked at the mage in shock.

He shrugged and smiled, easing Geralt’s aches with another gesture and soothing the burns on his hands with a wave of his palm.

“You,” he said, “have proven yourself worthy of magic without a price.  Those who would, without question, sacrifice all for another, deserve all in return.”

This time, Geralt didn’t hold back from slamming the man into the wall behind him.

“So this is what you do,” he said.  “You ‘test’ people.  Now tell me, who are you, shitbag, to determine who is and isn’t worthy.”

“Why, I’m a wise, discerning…”

Geralt pressed his forearm into the man’s windpipe.

“No.  You’re a manipulative ass who gets off on playing power games by pretending it’s authority.  You shouldn’t help people because they deserve it.  You should do it because they need it.  How many people have died from diseases you could have cured because they were too scared to pay your price?  How many children have lost their mothers because they didn’t have someone to plead for them?”

“Now be reasonable,” the wizard said, his voice slightly less bold.  “You work for pay.  You’re not just out there slaying monsters because someone needs to do it.”

“Actually, we’ve missed several meals to that ideal,” Jaskier said, moving to his pack.  “Ended up staying outside in wretched weather too.  It’s not like Geralt finds something killing people and decides to ignore it just because folks aren’t putting up a bounty.  Honestly, I think my profession gets us more money in the long run.”

“Fine,” the man said.  “Let’s say I’ve had a change of heart.  I’ll try your way.  For one year, anyone who asks an honest boon of me will get it, free of charge or deals.  What do you say to that?”

Geralt stepped back, letting the man’s boots touch the floor.

“I’ll see you in a year, wizard.”

With that, he snagged his bags and turned to go.

…

Jaskier trailed behind Geralt as he untied Roach and mounted the horse.

“Out with it,” Geralt said.

“Thank you for saving my life.  Again.”

“Contrary to what you might think, you are important Jaskier, which is why from now on you’re going to tell me when you’re sick and not just drunk off your ass!” the Witcher snapped.

“Hey, I tried!” Jaskier said.  “And have you looked in the mirror lately?  You’re not exactly the most sensitive person on the continent.  I was just trying to keep up with you!”

“Even if it kills you!”

“Apparently so!”

The pair glared at each other before Jaskier shouldered his lute and fell in perfect step behind Roach and Geralt, like he was meant to be there.

“Now, I appreciate you willing to take the extra hit for me, but I’m a little insulted that you don’t think I can make my living with just my glorious looks and extraordinary lute skills.  My songs are my strong suit, don’t get my wrong, but I don’t have to sing them.  I could sell them off line by line, the tune first, of course, then the words.  I’d have people humming tunes before they even knew what they were about!  Just think of it…”

Geralt sighed.  Once Jaskier got going he wouldn’t hear a lick of silence for the rest of the day.  The Witcher had to bite back a smile at the thought.

Thanks for all those who made it to the end of my first official fan fic! Tagging @redwingedwhump and @wanderingcas 

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

Ooh hey how bout a little quarantine fic for the stuck at home peeps? Can be shippy or platonic or both, and with whoever you feel like (or the whole squad.) Whatever you feel. Maybe the reader ends up snowed in somewhere and has to wait out the storm. Or a curse or something. But like, bored shenanigans, making up games, shafing stories, and or doing random stuff to pass the time until they can leave?

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Modern!Jaskier x ReaderWord Count: 1,113Rating: GTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock @magic-multicolored-miracle @writingstudent @mlleecrivaine @coffee-and-stories @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @astouract @your-not-invisible-to-me @kemmastan a/n: I think I’ll be doing other ones in the same vein with other Witcher characters because this was fun and kind of therapeutic to write. I hope this helps!

“Good morning beautiful.”

You smiled at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice and rolled over, still half-awake, reaching out for him. The space next to you in bed was cold and empty and your brow furrowed in confusion as the sound came again.

“Good morning beautiful.”

You squinted, blinking away from the sunlight just barely streaming through your blinds, and swatted around in bed blindly until you found the source of the sound. Your phone vibrated and the custom ringtone Jaskier had made for you the last time you’d been together continued the greeting. You reluctantly swiped it away but remembered why you’d set the alarm in the first place.

“Good morning beautiful,” the voice came, this time with the face as well as Jaskier answered the zoom call you’d scheduled. His usually well-coiffed chestnut hair stuck out in odd ways and he wore a loose white t-shirt with a generous v-cut showing a wide swath of dark chest hair. You couldn’t tell for sure but you were almost certain he wore nothing below but some boxer briefs.

“Good morning handsome,” you replied, brushing some stray hairs out of your face, stifling a yawn.

“How did you sleep? I know you were up pretty late,” he said.

“It was worth it,” you insisted with a little smile.

“I’m glad,” he said, “Still, open your door.”

You paused, considering his words and the impish smile on his face.

“Jask, you know I miss you but… that’s not social distancing,” you admonished.

“Love if I were there I’d already be breaking down your door to get to you, not waiting for some big reveal. But I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised all the same,” he said. You rose and reached for a baggy cardigan to throw over you as a pseudo robe, covering your usual sleep attire of tank top and shorts. You peeked through the peep hole and saw nothing.

“Are you sure?” you asked, talking to the phone you’d brought with you.

“Just open the door,” Jaskier insisted.

You did and looked down to find your usual Starbucks order.

“Jaskier! How?” you exclaimed, reaching down to pick up the cup and pastry, shutting the door quickly before your pet could sneak out, just as tired of being cooped up as you were.

“There are apps for everything these days,” he answered proudly, “I felt bad about you waking up so early to chat with me, especially after I kept you up so late, and I wanted to feel a little closer to you.”

“You are the sweetest, most thoughtful person on the planet and I love you,” you sighed, taking a sip of your drink as Jaskier watched in delight at the dreamy little smile that came over your face.

“I hate that I’m not there,” he said with a sigh.

“I know babe,” you replied sadly, resting your fingertips against the screen, echoing his own action on the other side. You were used to being apart since you were in a long-distance relationship but the pandemic had cancelled his trip to come visit you. You knew that this was just more of what you already dealt with, but it stung knowing he could be there in your arms right now. If only.

“So I’ve been thinking,” Jaskier began, picking up a mug of tea he’d brewed for himself. You were pleased to see that he was using the mug you’d bought him at the festival you’d gone to together on one of his trips, a handcrafted clay piece with a lovely painting of buttercups on the sides.

“Oh yeah?” you asked, taking another sip of your drink and starting in on the pastry.

“Being forced apart from you this way has really made some things clear and I know we’ve only been seeing each other for six months but… Well, I’m tired of saying goodbye to you, Y/N. And I think you feel the same. And I’d like us to move in together,” he said, taking a deep breath and waiting for your reaction. You managed not to choke on your pastry but you still stared at him, a little stunned.

“Jaskier, what are you saying? I mean, gods, of course I’d love nothing more than that, but… We live in two different countries,” you said. It took everything you had to be reasonable when every fiber of your body vibrated with excitement as a montage of what your life could be like together flashed before your eyes. Saying goodnight to him and curling up in bed. Going to the store and arguing over which pasta sauce was best. Him walking up behind you as you did the dishes, pulling you in for a hug before you patted a big handful of soap bubbles onto his nose. Brunches and barbeques and just… existing together in a shared space.

“Pick a country,” Jaskier said excitedly, “I don’t care which one it is, I can do my job anywhere. I just want to be with you, Y/N.”

“Even if we do this, we have on idea when all of this is going to be over,” you said, referencing the pandemic that had taken over the world and forced a baseline level of anxiety into your awareness at all times. You didn’t know anyone who’d personally been impacted yet but it felt like a matter of time. Another thing you’d much rather face with Jaskier by your side.

“So we plan. We focus on the future,” he said, “I miss you so goddamn much, but we can make a pinterest board and plan out what our kitchen will look like and whether or not we’ll have a pool table.”

“Not,” you said.

“Well, we can talk about it,” he joked. You rolled your eyes and then bit your lip, raising your gaze back to his across the miles.

“Are you doing this?” you asked.

“I think we are,” he answered. 

You spent the rest of your morning talking about the pros and cons of each country, including a wildcard option of going to an entirely different country, and though you had no clear decisions by the time he had to leave to take some meeting calls, you felt lighter than you had in ages. You may be physically stuck and time may be slowly losing its meaning, but there was still a future out there for you. Something unknown and full of potential that no virus or ocean could hold you back form forever. As long as you stayed focused on that, and did what you could to be safe, you would find your way out. And best of all, you would do it together.

[hale-of-stiles-heart]

#and yeah it is ovefwhelming. it sortve is Too Much #but at the same time it doesnt really sit right with geralt when jaskier apologizes like that. #OH what if geralt starts trying to return them.... #like just little ''you did well''s or ''i like your new song''s #sure its a curse making jaskier say this stuff but its still kind of one-sided and uncomfortable and hes still being nice. overwhelmingly so #so geralt returns the favor a lil.... tests the waters.... gives his own awkward little compliments then screws up his face #worried that he's somehow done it wrong. he doesnt exactly have a lot of practice at it #meanwhile jaskier is just. a puddle of goo. ohhhh geralt LIKES MY SINGING!!! #and theyre like. just. complimenting each other back n forth #untill.... one time geralt says something kind.... and jaskier says ''careful or i'll fall in love with you all over again'' and they both #just. #Stop. and stare at each other with wide eyes

The air around suddenly changes, the way it does before a storm, electric with palpable potential rippling in the breath between them. Jaskier's eyes go huge as he realizes what he's just so casually revealed, hand slowly rising to his mouth

He looks so horrified that for a few moments Geralt wonders if it was the curse, a heartwrenching lie mixed in with all the other sweet words, but then Jaskier's apologizing and panicking in that verbose way of his, nervousness managing to loosen his tongue even further

He's babbling about how sorry he is, about how he should've have said that, biting his lip and offering to go, already reaching for his lute

Geralt scoots a little closer where they're sitting, sets his hand on Jaskier's arm to stop him, and when Jaskier's gaze swings back around to him, all he asks is, "Did you mean it? Truly?"

Jaskier gets hit with some spell/curse/whatever that loosens his filter, kinda like a truth spell but not quite

originally, Geralt's like 'so? Jaskier never shuts up anyway, nothing's gonna change'

but then Jaskier's randomly blurting out stuff like, "I think your eyes are beautiful, I know you don't like them as much but they really are gorgeous" and "dear goddess, your arms are incredible" and "I love helping you bathe"

!!!!!!!

oooohhhhh the realization that this loud, talkative oversharer is actually still holding things BACK, and what he's holding back is love!!!!!!!!! ohhhhhh