#when she's around geralt i really genuinely like her as a person | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

words-writ-in-starlight · 5 years ago

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🍪 take a cookie because you deserve it :),, also please tell me about geralt and yennifer and also is the witcher easy to watch without knowing much about the source material ???

I watched three episodes of Witcher with zero context whatsoever, understood everything, enjoyed it hugely, read about 200K of fic, watched three more episodes, read the first book in the series, and finished the show. As long as you are prepared for the fact that, A, the timelines of the three main characters converge, they are not concurrent, and, B, it’s not Game of Thrones and it’s not trying to be Game of Thrones, you will be ABSOLUTELY fine.

(Do critics just…not use critical thinking skills? Half of everyone I’ve talked to said that this show was impossible to follow. It is not impossible to follow. Yennefer and Geralt are just really old. Also, everyone and their cousin is like “well it’s not GoT” yeah???? Obviously???? “This isn’t chili” “No, it’s chicken pot pie” “I wanted chili” “Then go have some chili I guess??? This is chicken pot pie. Still a food, just not that food.” It’s not Game of Thrones. If you want Game of Thrones, go watch that instead, or read the books, or maybe watch some Avatar and calm down. Stop crucifying every fantasy product for not being Game of Thrones II.)

TL;DR: Yeah dude you’ll be totally fine, watch this show. And then if you don’t mind spoilers for the rest of the (book and game) series, read Astolat’s Witcher fic.

ANYWAY

Geralt and Yennefer. This got…very long.

Here’s the fairly unique emotion I’m feeling about this relationship: I think it’s absolutely in-character and believable, I’m completely convinced that Geralt and Yennefer would end up together, and I am equally convinced that their relationship has a pretty hard expiration date on it. I’m not sure I’ve ever actually been interested in a relationship dynamic that I took one look at and went “oh, wow, this is going to break down hard the second your need to help people even when they hate you and her need to get revenge on people who hate her are in conflict.” That’s very novel for me, because normally I like endgame relationships. I find breakup drama exhausting. I have dumped two people ever and both times I was very nice for ten minutes and then very short-tempered for the rest of the conversation.

But I’m really invested in the breakdown here. And I’m really invested in how completely inevitable the relationship is, despite what I consider to be the equally inevitable calamitous breakup.

The thing is, Geralt has lived his entire life as a witcher, which means that the world is divided into two groups for him: people who are dependent on him as a witcher, and people who hate and fear him as a witcher. (There are also Other Witchers, but with so few of them left that they fall pretty heavily into the ‘people who depend on him’ category.) There is a not-inconsiderable amount of overlap in that Venn diagram, but that’s pretty much how it is on this bitch of a Continent. The people who Geralt is drawn to, in whatever context, tend to be the rare handful who fall outside that binary metric in some way.

Renfri could use help from him, but she’s more than able to handle herself. In fact, when the chips are down, her final gamble is to just remove him from the field of play, and try to resolve the situation alone.

Triss needs him in a professional capacity, but she brings just as much to the table as he does, both in terms of political knowledge about the striga situation and in terms of dragging his battered ass out of the castle before he can quietly bleed out. She’s not looking for a rescuer, she’s looking for a tank to complement her glass cannon.

Jaskier needs Geralt to save him (in the show)…but only because he was usually the one to get them into trouble in the first place. And he sticks around once he’s been saved, once he isn’t depending on Geralt to get him out alive anymore.

Even Ciri, who is absolutely dependent on him in a very literal and legal sense, is distinctly different from the general populace, who need a witcher to pull them out of trouble. She’s one of probably very few people who’s ever been dependent on Geralt as a person, rather than a hired killer. Sure, it’s helpful that he can kill anyone who looks crooked at her, but she also needs to eat, and to learn to use a sword, and to be trained in things like magic and languages, and all the things that a kid needs from a parent. That’s radically different from Geralt’s experience of being depended on as a witcher.

But Yennefer…Yennefer doesn’t need Geralt. She’s not dependent on Geralt. She’s not afraid of Geralt in any way, let alone just because he’s a witcher–in fact, she barely seems to notice that he’s a witcher, except in the way that it makes them alike. Geralt’s taste in partners is obviously “people who are not afraid of him” with very few other requirements, and Yennefer is a powerful mage, someone who would be able to take down a witcher without difficulty. She’s also well-educated, very clever, and completely fearless about the world in general. That’s everything Geralt finds compelling, all with the added bonus of an extremely pretty face. It makes complete narrative sense that Geralt is in love with her.

Incidentally I do not believe that Geralt wished for Yennefer to be in love with him, because it wouldn’t track with the rest of his character and would be a level of vulnerability he works hard to avoid. I do believe that he might have said something rash like “I wish I wouldn’t lose her” and now they are here. It’s important to think your wishes through when dealing with an angry wish-granting being.

On Yennefer’s end of things, she has only ever wanted two things: to be respected and to be wanted. In any capacity that might be available to her. I think this is really the major driving force of her desire to have children–she’s not overwhelmingly interested in children as a phenomenon, and I think that in another life she wouldn’t want them. But she said it herself, she wants a child because she always wanted to be important to someone. It’s not about the kid. She’s obsessed with the idea that she will always be important to a child. A child would be completely dependent on her, completely devoted to her, no matter what.

(Side note: this is a bad reason to have kids! Geralt is right and she would be a bad mother. She’s also obsessed with having kids because she can’t handle the revelation that she’s not happy with the deal she made, and she’s focused all that discontent into the literal, tangible loss of being able to carry a child. But “Yennefer actually probably does not want a child and is rampantly projecting all her issues onto the most readily available problem she can find” is a separate post. Probably the first pregnancy-centric plotline I’ve ever been able to handle without feeling violently dysphoric, though.)

The thing is, when she meets Geralt during the djinn fiasco, he needs her. He’s dependent on her. She’s important to him because of what she can do for him, which is how she’s set up her life. When he comes back to save her, though, he’s not doing it for payment, or for a favor, or for any of the other clean, linear exchanges that Yennefer is used to. He just…comes back. For her. Because she’s a person.

Yennerfer has never been important just as…a person, before. She’s important as a mage, she’s important as a student, she’s important as a project or a protector. But from the second Geralt comes back for her, she’s important to him as a person. The fact that almost any person would be on the level of “important enough to save from a rampaging djinn and their own stupidity” to Geralt is completely superfluous to how hard that hits Yennefer. Of course she’s in love with him. Of course she keeps looking for him, keeps pouring on the charm whenever she’s with him–she wants him to keep wanting her. Because that’s how she knows to make herself important to someone, is to make them want her.

(This is also where it gets interesting with Ciri, because…well, if Yennefer really just wanted kids, she could do worse than the news of the girl who’s Geralt’s daughter in the eyes of the law. But she’s furious, because her views of family are intensely skewed and limited by her experiences. Also a separate post that I will probably make after reading some more of the books.)

Regarding the inevitably dramatic breakdown of their relationship (beyond the falling out over the djinn thing, which, see above), I think they’re under the impression that if they do it right, they could stand the test of time. They’re both extremely long-lived, so the test of time has the potential to be a while, but I frankly don’t think they’d make it outside of a conflict-heavy environment (like, say, a war). When they have a mutual goal, or at least a mutual enemy, Geralt and Yennefer work together like a right and left hand. When they do not, they fall apart something fierce, because they’re driven by intrinsically different motives. Geralt, for all that he tries to be as cynical as possible, has been trained his entire life to protect people, and considers it a worthwhile goal in and of itself. Yennefer, on the other hand, is as innately self-motivated as Geralt pretends to be, which means that she’s driven heavily by what feels best for her in the moment. Sometimes that means healing a wounded bard and talking quietly with a witcher about their mutual scars! Sometimes that means leaving a woman to die for calling her a worthless bitch! This is a morally neutral statement that I’m making, there’s a generous and an ungenerous way to read Yen’s decisions, but I think we can agree that she’s not exactly following a rulebook here. Yennefer has her goals and she’s going to achieve them, and fuck you for getting in her way.

Including Geralt.

I think that, virtually without question, Yennefer’s self-oriented hedonistic drive and Geralt’s protection-based code will clash, and their relationship will break down in spectacular fireworks. Having to self-determine, during peace time, is practically guaranteed to bring those two motivating factors into conflict eventually. Because during peace time, Geralt will be back to being the hated witcher and Yennefer won’t have a better enemy to focus on than the civilians he risks his life for on the regular. And Geralt demonstrably does not respond well to that.

#the witcher #witcher #netflix witcher #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #geralt x yennefer #...sort of #starlight writes stuff #anyway yes i am fascinated and also absolutely convinced of the fact that their relationship will eventually go supernova #this is actually only a fraction of my thoughts on the subject as evidenced by my plethora of parentheticals #but it got so long that i had to shut up and go to bed #i didn't even get into my weird emotional state on yennefer #i don't like her much! ...MOST of the time!#when she's around geralt i really genuinely like her as a person #and that GLARING difference is really interesting to me #because it doesn't scan as completely manipulative i think she really does care for him #but she's also showing him SUCH an incredibly different side of herself that he would be denounced as a liar if he ever mentioned it #i think she's really latched onto their shared magical mutation with the assumption that he's as angry as she is #and it causes her to show him a whooooole other self #i'm fascinated #i do not believe they would work out and i don't think it would be good for them (esp geralt) if they tried #but i am fascinated #my gf bought me witcher 3 and i've been reading the books so it's safe to say that i have more comments #jothjimbo #asked and answered #a queue we shall keep and our honor someday avenge

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valdomarx · 4 years ago

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“Geralt. My dearest friend. My closest companion. Light of my life, fire of my-”

Geralt narrows his eyes. “What do you want, Jaskier?”

“Seeing as how I’ve made you famous, and I flatter myself that this has eased you path somewhat, why, this very inn not only took us in but even offered us a discounted rate-”

“What do you want, Jaskier?” Testier this time.

“Ahh. Well. Let me put it plainly: I’m in need of a favour.”

Geralt raises one eyebrow, in an expression he knows speaks volumes.

“I need you to come with me to Lettenhove this winter and pose as my fiancé.”

Geralt nearly drops the sword he’s sharpening. A million thoughts whip through his mind, but one is most pressing: “Why, for Melitele’s sake?”

Jaskier waves a hand in a vague and non-descriptive gesture. “It’s a court thing, you know how families are, and my mother has made it abundantly clear that it’s time for me to settle down and this year I’m to return affianced or else she’ll select someone for me. And I can’t get hitched to some local lady, Geralt, I simply can’t, it’ll ruin my bardic appeal, not to mention my employment prospects, and of course I won’t be able to travel with you, and it’s-”

Geralt holds up a hand to ward off the wall of words. The idea of no longer travelling with Jaskier is unconscionable, not that he’d ever admit that out loud. And they spend so much time together they’re practically married anyway. How hard could it be to pretend for a few days?

“Fine,” he says gruffly.

“Oh, Geralt, you are wonderful.” Jaskier beams and throws his arms around Geralt’s neck. Geralt growls, but secretly, it’s actually rather nice.

“Mother, this is Geralt, my fiancé.”

Cold, clear eyes look him up and down, assessing him, and pinch into an expression suggesting he has been found wanting. Geralt decides against opening his mouth and further cementing that opinion.

“A witcher.” Her voice has the familiar twang of Jaskier’s, but with the flat, expressionless cadence he associates with the higher echelons of the aristocracy.

“A witcher!” Jaskier confirms in a cheery tone. “Isn’t that exciting?”

She sniffs in a manner which makes it clear that exciting would not be her first choice of word. “I see. He will be joining us for this year’s Yuletide?”

“He will.”

Her face draws back into the impassive mask of the well-bred. “Very well. You will stay in the east wing.”

“Thank you, mother.” Jaskier executes a stiff bow which Geralt copies and they beat a hasty retreat.

“That went rather well!”

Geralt blinks. “Jaskier, I’m fairly sure your mother means to have me killed in my sleep.”

“Oh, don’t mind her. She’s always like that. She’s actually softened up a lot since dear old dad died, gods rest the grumpy bastard.”

Geralt struggles to imagine how such staid, cold people could possibly have produced a son as bright and warm as Jaskier. They might as well be a different species.

Jaskier pushes open a door to a grand suite, all plush velvets and gold ornamentation, a thick woven rug underfoot. It’s the most opulent room Geralt has ever seen, but Jaskier pays it no mind and throws his bag casually on the bed.

“We’ll have to stay here together,” he says apologetically, not looking Geralt in the eye. “But the bed is plenty big, or I can sleep on the sofa if you’d rather -”

Geralt is still taking it all in: The space, the furnishings, the frankly enormous bed which looks divinely comfortable. And there, through the next room, that looks like-

“Is that a copper bathtub?” he asks, eyes wide. Such luxuries were a rarity indeed.

Jaskier grinned. “It is. Let me get some food sent up and I’ll wash your hair?”

Geralt grumbles, just for the effect, and decides that putting up with tedious aristocracy might have its benefits after all.

Yule festivities in Lettenhove are, mercifully, a mere matter of days. First there is the fitting for formal attire, which Geralt scowls through but Jaskier promises will be made up for with plenty of good food and wine. Then there are several deeply tedious aristocratic parties, which Jaskier sails through and Geralt spends mostly hiding in dark corners, as is his wont.

Occasionally, Jaskier will grab him by the hand and introduce him as, “Geralt, my husband-to-be,” and something funny will flip over in his stomach which will require several drinks to settle. When he returns to his dark corner he’ll find his heart pumping a little faster as his eyes track Jaskier flitting around the room. It’s probably just indigestion from all the rich food.

Then there is the formal family Yuletide dinner, a spectacularly awkward and singly unpleasant evening spent around a long, cold table with Jaskier’s mother and various cousins, who regard Geralt with expressions ranging from bland disinterest to active hostility. The food is heavy beyond measure and the conversation cruel and bland by turns.

They cover the need for raising taxes, the many failings of the servant class, and the petty squabbles over jewels and titles that seems to be the bread and butter of these people. With each hateful line, Geralt feels his blood rising. If it weren’t for Jaskier making pleading eyes at him, he’d take great pleasure in explaining some hard truths to them.

When a cousin begins expounding on useless lazy peasants in the estate, complaining that they can’t work because of plague, but we all know they’re simply idle, Geralt grits his teeth so hard that he swears the sound must be audible.

Beneath the table, Jaskier takes his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. Staring down at their joined hands, Geralt detaches from these awful people and their awful conversation and focuses on the simple warmth of Jaskier’s fingers intertwined with his own.

They make their escape from dinner as soon as can be considered polite, and Geralt takes a second to lean against the door to their room, breathing deeply.

“You did well not to throttle anyone,” Jaskier says with a reassuring smile. “If we’d had to listen to cousin Edrick for a minute longer, I might have launched over the table with a carving knife myself.”

Geralt reaches for him without thinking, and once again Jaskier’s hand slips into his own. It’s grounding, to feel something genuine in this place surrounded by artifice.

“Come on,” Jaskier says. “Let’s get out of here.”

Geralt doesn’t even ask where they’re going before nodding.

They sneak away from the estate out of the servants’ door and follow a winding path toward a cluster of lights in the valley below. The path into Lettenhove town is quiet and calm, and as they walk the snow begins to fall in soft flurries, covering the ground in a peaceful white blanket.

The town looks picture perfect when they arrive, a charming jumble of thatched cottages and a small, cosy inn from which bright light spills out into the snowy night. When they enter the barmaid runs over to hug Jaskier and the proprietor slaps him on the back, and Jaskier has a kind word and a waved greeting for every person in there.

Geralt feels something unwind in his chest, something he hadn’t realised was tight and twisted until now. Seeing Jaskier in his element, among people who love him for who he is, instead of among that cold, hateful family, he feels right in a way he hasn’t for days.

Jaskier is already buying drinks and passing them around, and he excitedly waves Geralt over. “Bree, Geoffrey,” he addresses the couple behind the bar, “This is Geralt.” A shy smile sneaks over his face. “My fiancé.” The couple gasp in delight and congratulate Jaskier, then they’re embracing Geralt like old friends and pushing a drink into his hands.

“Come on, Geralt, join us!” Bree smiles warmly. “It’ll be the ten o’clock bells soon, and we must have Jaskier lead us in a song.”

The evening is a whirl of music and dance and loud, terrible singing, which the entire town seems to join in. For once there is no corner for Geralt to hide in, so he stays by Jaskier’s side, basking in the reflected glow of these people’s clear adoration of his bard.

When the midnight bell chimes and Geoffrey turns them all out for the night, the revelers wend their way home still singing and drinking. As the place empties out, Jaskier slides over to Bree to press a kiss to her cheek and a bulging purse into her hand. She tries to wave him off but Jaskier tucks the money behind the counter all the same, and Geralt watches, a deep wave of fondness sweeping through him.

The snow is still falling when they step out into the now-quiet street, soft, fat flakes drifting lazily from the sky and sticking in Jaskier’s hair. His cheeks are flushed pink and his hair falls in an messy sweep over his eyes; without thinking Geralt reaches out to brush it away behind his ear. Jaskier’s blush deepens as he does so, but he shivers in the cold.

“Here.” Geralt unclasps the thick cloak from around his neck and sweeps it over Jaskier’s shoulders. Jaskier’s mouth forms a little o of surprise and he looks up at Geralt, something tender in his eyes.

Geralt’s gaze is caught by the snow flakes settling on Jaskier’s lashes; he’s so focused that he almost jumps when Jaskier reaches out to take his hand. The sky seems to glow with a soft orange light as the clouds reflect the last few fires in the town below; everything is warm with Jaskier’s hand in his despite the chill in the air.

“Thank you,” Jaskier says softly. “For being here with me.” And leaning in, his breath caressing over Geralt’s face, he touches his lips to Geralt’s cheek in a ghost of a kiss.

Suddenly it occurs to Geralt that this will be it, tomorrow they’ll head back on the path like none of this ever happened, no more holding hands or being close, no more being introduced as Jaskier’s betrothed. And despite the hellish parts of this experience he really doesn’t want it to end. He likes being Jaskier’s person, and he likes Jaskier being his.

They are still standing close together, mere inches between them, and it’s no effort at all to lean in, slowly, cautiously, to find Jaskier’s lips with his own, to place a tentative kiss there. And then Jaskier’s hands are fisting in his shirt and tugging him closer still, and his arms go around his waist and Jaskier is kissing him back like he’s been waiting for it, their mouths slotting together like they were made to fit each other, and everything is blazingly bright like the white of the snow.

When they pull apart they stay with foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air, and Geralt can see a smile cracking wide over Jaskier’s face.

“I like being engaged to you,” Geralt says quietly, unable to keep it in.

Jaskier’s smile widens even further. “I like being engaged to you too,” he says. He kisses him again. “Fiancé.” Another kiss. “Husband to be.” And another. “Partner.” One more. “Beloved.”

“I like the sound of those.” He suspects he may be wearing the same dopey grin as Jaskier is.

“Then let’s make it official.” Jaskier bites his lip. “Marry me?”

Jaskier is a picture of perfection, eyes gleaming and cheeks ruddy, snowflakes in his hair. Geralt’s heart has always been right here.

“I’d be honoured.” He considers for a second. “But not in Lettenhove.”

Jaskier’s laugh sparkles with joy. “Anywhere but here.”

#PLEASE ENJOY THIS HOLIDAY ROMCOM NONSENSE #i am feeling festive and also sappy #geraskier #the witcher #my writing

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marvellouslymadmim · 3 years ago

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Calanthe Knew.

Alright, this is gonna get wordy. So hang with me. I'll go into full detail below the cut, but for the half-interested scroller:

Calanthe already knew most (if not everything) about Duny and certainly knew about the pregnancy before the banquet. Let's expand on that. (Spoilers for season one of Netflix Witcher, and spoilers for season two, I guess?)

Ok, first, the basics that are in canon:

Roegner promised young Duny to be repaid via the Law of Surprise. Now he did not reveal this until just before his death, so Calanthe was oblivious for a few years. Common sense dictates that he told Calanthe the man's name, so that Calanthe didn't just give up their daughter and their country to any rando claiming to have aided the king.

Calanthe is known and touted as being well-informed and well-connected. She is a tactician who plans for every eventuality.

When Pavetta throws up at the wedding, Calanthe's first question, in both book and show canon is "Are you [pregnant]?"

Second, let's expand upon that.

You really think her hubby dropped a bomb like that and Calanthe didn't IMMEDIATELY seek out as much information on this Duny dude as possible? You think she didn't have spies who went out, realized this dude just popped up OUT OF NOWHERE right around the time of the Usurper's overthrow of Nilfgaard (maybe she didn't put those two together, I'll grant you that)? You think she didn't know about him being a DAMN HEDGEHOG? You think she didn't go "hmm, ok, monster. Lemme find a good witcher to handle this shit"? I think we can all agree that Geralt did not arrive in Cintra by any measure of accident. And Calanthe was not surprised by his arrival in the least. She arranged for the most celebrated witcher to be in attendance, knowing Hedgie Boi would most likely show his monstrous face that night. I think the books say so outright, but it's been a hot minute since I've read them and I'm lazy.

Let us remember a very vital part of being a royal, particularly a princess: You. Do. Not. Do. Your. Own. Laundry. This means a pretty sizeable amount of people know about your "proper functioning" as the film Elizabeth put it. (y'all. someone was collecting her period underwear and sheets, multiple other people were washing them, etc, is what I'm trying to say). And someone noticed that...it had been awhile. You really think anyone wanting to keep their head didn't fucking relay that information to the fucking queen?? You think there weren't people immediately tasked with keeping track of that, from jump?

Which brings us to Cal asking Pavetta if she's pregnant. Bc very rarely does someone see a person throw up once (and at like...midnight-ish? definitely not during the traditional "morning" time attributed to morning sickness) and immediately assume it's pregnancy related UNLESS THEY HAVE SUSPICIONS ALREADY. Do you think Calanthe being like "yep, let's throw a feast for her birthday and IMMEDIATELY marry her off ASAP" was like...on a sheer whim? Homegirl was trying to get her baby onto a "respectable" timeline (aka a miraculously healthy baby born "a few months early", and only 6-7 months after the wedding itself, a tale as old as time). Pavetta's birthday must have been the closest event that seemed plausible without being *too obvious* as a rush job. Calanthe is also aware that Pavetta has someone else in her affections--she all but outright tells her daughter that she can continue seeing her secret lover, as soon as she's got a respectable beard (Crach) to step up as the unborn child's father and keep everything "legitimate". She's genuinely trying to clean up this teenage hormonal mess. And perhaps, up until Pavetta confirms it, Calanthe convinces herself that it isn't really happening. After all, Pavetta literally just turned fifteen. Young girls can have hella unpredictable cycles. Calanthe is an avoidant attachment style to a muthafucking Tee, so I doubt she ever directly confronted Pavetta about it, though she probably hinted that she knew. But once Geralt claims the Law of Surprise, Calanthe's fear runs rampant and she can't help but know the truth.

The one thing Calanthe didn't know (and the one thing that counts the most) is that DUNY is Pavetta's secret lover and the father of her unborn child.

So when all of this is revealed, why doesn't she just accept it and rejoice that everything worked out so perfectly?

Well. Calanthe would also know by now that Duny is SEVENTEEN* FUCKING YEARS OLDER THAN HER DAUGHTER and the power imbalance would be astronomical, giving Pavetta very little real chance to cultivate, much less hold, her own power as a queen. This is a worry Calanthe obviously has, and one she has outright stated earlier in the evening. Calanthe knows what it's like to be a young impressionable teenager thrown into the role of supreme monarch, and she's trying to help Pavetta from repeating her own mistakes.

Crach is still also older, but only by a few years (in fact, if I remember correctly, it's the same age difference that existed between Calanthe and Roegner, which would certainly feel more comfortable to Cal than say...the fact that Duny is literally only 2 years younger than her, Pavetta's own mother).

So even when Pavetta announces her love for Duny and admits to seeing him in secret FOR (at least) A YEAR (y'all....this means a thirty year old man was "reading poetry" to a thirteen year old girl. just...let that sink in, mkay?), Calanthe just sees it for what it is: this dude groomed her daughter and is using her as a fast-track to power. Law of Surprise be fucking damned, bro. She'll kill him just for being a hebephile and seducing her still-very-much-a-child daughter.

In the end, Cal doesn't accept the marriage (or Duny) because of the Law of Surprise, or because she "sees reason" (real shitty patriarchal reason, to be exact). She sees that Pavetta, with her newly found power, can hold her own against anything and anyone. Her greatest fear (Pavetta being reduced to a figurehead, a captive in her own life) is put to rest by the fact that her baby girl can vocally hurl people fifty feet into the air like fucking ragdolls.

She still keeps an eye on Duny, though. She may not know everything about him, but she knows enough.

And if she does know everything...it explains every ounce of why she behaves the way she does, prior to the fall of Cintra. She's playing chess against a man who took her only child from her, first emotionally and then physically, and who has no compunction about doing literally whatever it takes to have power. She loses, but she still denies him as much victory as she can.

Because she knows. She's known who he truly is, at least on a moral standing, even if not in actual identity, from the first night they met.

{*So the show itself ages up Eist, Calanthe, and Ciri by 3 years, versus the events of the book. However, certain key events, such as Calanthe's age at Pavetta's birth (19) and Pavetta's age at Ciri's birth (15) are kept the same. Duny's birth, according to the books, is c.1220. This puts him either two years young than Cal (book timeline) or five years younger (show timeline). Either way, he is at least 14 years older than Pavetta, and does meet her either just before or just after she turns fourteen. Give or take a few years...still gross, even by medieval standards, even if it was a common practice for nobility.}

#rant #something I've thought about for ages tbh #calanthe of cintra #duny urcheon #pavetta #the witcher #the witcher spoilers

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samstree · 3 years ago

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and the wolf was nowhere to be found (1/3)

In which Jaskier chooses to lie, until he can no longer tell the truth.

(lying spell/potion, cursed jaskier, geralt apologizes, post mountain, miscommunication, rated teen, read on AO3)

A big thanks to @wanderlust-t and @a-kind-of-merry-war for the prompt! <3

The reverse trope series: [1] [2] [3] [4]

“You are gonna run after him again, just like that? Don’t you remember what he did to you? What you went through?”

Essi leans against the doorframe, her arms crossed in front of her chest, watching as Jaskier packs a second bag.

“Come one, poppet. Geralt was having a hard time back then, and now he’s come all the way to Oxenfurt to apologize.

“So what?”

“So I’m forgiving him.”

She grumbles a few rude words regarding the witcher’s lineage.

“Hey! That’s not nice.”

“And this is way too easy! Why can’t you see a disaster waiting to happen until it hits you in the face?” Essi exclaims. “Do you know what I would have done? I would make him grovel! Give him the cold shoulder. Or…or at least play it cool for a while longer so he knows not to take you for granted again! Sorry, but I’m…not like you.”

“Um…excuse you. I am plenty cool!”

“There’s nothing cool about being utterly in love and then getting cast aside over and over again, Jaskier. You know that.”

Jaskier sighs, walks to Essi and pulls her into a tight hug, all his scattered doublets ignored.

“I’m going to be okay,” he tries to tuck her curls away from her eyes but fails.

“Are you?” When she pulls back, there’s something inscrutable in those blue eyes, the curtain of blonde hair obscuring her emotions. “When you came down from the mountain, the way you couldn’t even … I don’t know. I just need to make sure it won’t happen again.”

“It—” Jaskier opens his mouth to make an easy promise, but finds the words choking in his throat. “I, um—”

Essi squeezes him on the shoulder. “He’s apologized, profusely from what you told me, and he’s being nice now. He will certainly be nice for a while, but what happens after he wins you back? What’s preventing him from hurting you again?”

Jaskier has no answers for her, so he resorts to giving her another hug.

“At least, think about my cold shoulder tactic. Sometimes people need the reminder, just so they know what they can easily lose.”

“Essi—”

“Think about it.”

She presses a small kiss on Jaskier’s cheek and leaves him to his packing. Outside the window comes the familiar sound of Roache’s hooves, clicking against the cobblestone.

Jaskier straightens his tunic and lets out a heave. He can see Geralt is being good now, friendly even, after all these years of denying their friendship. Now, the witcher is even waiting downstairs to begin their next journey.

Essi is just being overly protective, Jaskier decides.

He winds down the stairs and finds Geralt cooing at Roach. The urge to melt in those golden amber eyes is overwhelming.

“We good?” Geralt takes Jaskier’s bags and secures them on Roach, side by side with his saddlebags.

“Good,” Jaskier lies.

---

The truth is, Jaskier has heard of this so-called “cold shoulder” tactic. He’s even contemplated it for longer than he’s willing to admit. Every time Geralt dismissed him as a friend, brushed him off, Jaskier couldn’t help but want to retaliate with equal measure.

What if he’s the one to give Geralt a time-out? What if when Geralt tells him to fuck off, he just…leaves? The same idea churned in Jaskier’s stomach for two decades, but in the end, he knows the answer—he can never bring himself to go through it. His feet would carry him back to Geralt before even taking a step away.

He was left anyway.

But now…

Jaskier can’t afford to be left again. Essi was right. He isn’t sure if he can pick himself up again. He barely managed it the first time.

Jaskier lets out an audible scoff as he comes to the realization. He’s going to do it. The cold shoulder tactic. It’s so cheesy that it feels like something only school girls would use to get attention from a crush. Keep your distance, string him along a little. That’s how you get him to notice you exist—

“Something funny?” Geralt turns on horseback, sunlight peaking through his silver hair, a curious frown between his brows. He’s towering, beautiful. He has always been the most beautiful person Jaskier knows, even if he doesn’t know it.

Jaskier strums an absent chord on his lute. “Just something Essi said.”

“Hmm.” Geralt nudges Roach forward. “I was thinking… You’ve never seen a basilisk, have you?”

“No?”

“There are rumors about a nest in the next town. Want to see it?”

A hint of smile hints at Geralt’s lips, and Jaskier’s heart almost leaps out of his throat. A basilisk hunt is one he’s been dying to watch for years, if not decades. He’s drooling with excitement just thinking about the ballad that will certainly sweep the continent off its feet.

“Of course I want—" The sentence stops in its tracks. Jaskier bites his tongue to hide the slip. “You know what, I think I’ll stay in town. This new song needs some polishing before its debut. I’m sure a big witcher such as yourself doesn’t need a bard’s moral support for a meager basilisk, right?”

Jaskier adds a wink for good measure, but Geralt is not amused. He’s staring from his vantage point, his expression inexplicable. Is it really so shocking that Jaskier will turn Geralt down this once, after all this time?

“I understand.” Geralt pauses before continuing, almost too carefully. “Perhaps I can help? Sing it for me tonight?”

“Sing it…for you?” Jaskier asks, dumbfounded. The lute in his hands suddenly feels a lot weightier than it is.

“You wanted my review for so long, Jaskier. I’m giving it to you now. I’m sure your playing will be…nice.”

Geralt looks at him with hope in his eyes, and Jaskier can’t help but let his ego grow a little. It’s unbelievable that a simple refusal is what got Geralt to finally say anything positive about his music. The tiny triumph fills his chest with unexpected giddiness.

“Maybe I will. We shall see,” he replies. His fingers strike another chord.

Jaskier feels a spring in his steps, urging him forward to the mare’s steady gait. Golden amber eyes are burning a hole into his back, but he doesn’t dare to look back lest the tiny bubble of this perfect moment break.

---

Night falls, and Jaskier scribbles down another line. The door opens and Geralt drags his feet into their shared room.

Jaskier makes no effort to get up.

Once upon a time, he would have raced across the room to greet Geralt, checked for injuries and fussed over any scrapes and cuts, all the while getting dismissed with the witcher’s grumbled words. He’d help remove those heavy armors when Geralt’s muscles ache from exhaustion and get ichor all over himself.

He will not do that tonight.

Play it cool, Essi’s words echo in his memory. Right, he’s doing things differently now.

Jaskier fixes his gaze on the notebook in his lap and listens as Geralt shuffles around the room, putting everything back in place. One by one, his armor pieces drop in the corner of the room.

“How was it?” he asks with the most nonchalant tone as if he’s just noticed the other man’s existence.

“Fine. The basilisk’s dead.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier chooses the single hum uncharacteristically as Geralt puts his swords against the doorframe and sits down on the single chair.

He’s so still, hovering even.

“What?” Jaskier finally looks at him. Geralt, as he claimed, looks fine, with only a smudge of a black ichor sticking to his hair. A frown appears between his brows.

Adorable.

Jaskier shakes the thought quickly.

“Your new song?” Geralt prompts.

“Oh yeah. Never mind. I don’t feel like singing.”

It’s another lie. A necessary one, Jaskier tells himself.

“You,” Geralt says, raising an eyebrow, “don’t feel like singing?”

Jaskier clutches the notebook to his chest almost defensively, not sure what to do with the accusation. Is it a tragedy that Geralt knows him like the back of his hand? Or is it a shame that Jaskier is indeed buzzing with excitement to test out this song, with the most important person in his life?

“Well, I don’t.”

Jaskier keeps his chin up and scrambles off the bed to put away his books and pens. Geralt’s intent gaze is on his back again.

“Twenty years, and I’ve never known you to turn down an opportunity to sing.”

“I guess you don’t know me that well,” Jaskier bites back with a force that seems to come out of nowhere. “The bard may not want to entertain all the time, darling.”

The endearment sounds false, more like a jab. He lets out a dry chuckle and hopes to ease the tension but to no avail. Geralt’s eyes are wide with surprise. So Jaskier reaches for his bedroll as a distraction, but only serves to make the confusion deepen on Geralt’s face.

“What are you doing?”

Jaskier lays it by the fire, on the soft rug that magically seems clean enough. It should be self-explanatory, but apparently not because Geralt is still staring quizzically.

“Sleeping.”

Geralt looks at the double bed and then back at Jaskier. “On the floor?”

“Thought I’d give you the space. I know how keyed up you are after the potions.”

Jaskier can feel his heart pounding in his chest, the nervous energy buzzing as more words he doesn’t mean comes out of his mouth. He crosses his legs on the bedroll and pulls the blanket onto his lap to hide from Geralt’s scrutiny. But then, something dawns on Geralt’s face.

“Jaskier��” Geralt rubs his forehead, his face pinched. “What I said in Oxenfurt, I meant it.”

“You do?”

“You can count on me now. It won’t be like…before.”

Their gazes meet, and Jaskier bears the intensity of it with everything he has. He feels bare, seen through by the amber gold he’s missed and cursed and loved so much.

“I’m here, and I’m all here, Jaskier. Please believe in me.”

“I do.”

It’s not the truth despite how much he wants to believe it. Jaskier wonders if lying to Geralt ever becomes easier.

He doesn’t know what is not convincing him. Geralt looks so genuine, and Jaskier wants more than anything to trust him again, but the smile on his face feels too stiff.

The plan is going as Jaskier wanted. He’s showing Geralt that his friendship doesn’t come freely anymore, and the witcher needs to make more effort, meet him halfway, somehow. Then how come as the quiet night creeps in, Jaskier only finds a hollow space in his chest?

The roaring fire in the hearth warms his back, but Jaskier clutches his blanket tighter. It can’t stave off the coldness left by the lack of a witcher’s body by his side.

---

Jaskier continues with the same scheme the next day.

Ignoring Geralt is not a difficult task in the beginning. The barmaid is a beautiful thing, doe-eyed and curious, has too many questions for her own good. She keeps asking about Jaskier’s ballads, and wouldn’t quite believe any crazy stories in them.

“Is it true that the White Wolf fought a sea serpent on the Skellige Isles? Surely, those creatures only exist in legends!”

She’s getting familiar, pressed up against Jaskier on the bench, almost pushing him back into Geralt’s side—the real subject of the topic, but it’s obvious her fascination lies only in Jaskier. Her brown eyes stay on the bard alone.

“Why don’t we find somewhere more private and I’ll tell you all about it?”

“Is it a good one? It must be a heroic tale, isn’t it?”

“Heroic, of course. There’s also a twist. I won’t spoil it for you, but—” Jaskier winks, his fingers brushing past her wrist. “—it’s a love story that holds more heartbreak than you can bear.”

Her giggles are like soft wind chimes, and Jaskier guides her away from their table. He takes two steps and turns back, smacking himself on the head as if he’s only just thought of it.

“Oh, shoot! I know I promised to go the market with you, Geralt, but you see…” He gestures to the girl waiting expectantly in the near distance. There’s nothing I can do about it, he says with a shrug. “Have a good time, will you?”

Geralt is holding his tankard, his knuckles white and his face ice-cold. It’s like Jaskier is looking at one of those ice sculptures made by Oxenfurt’s art students every winter.

“You said you’d come.”

Geralt’s voice is so gentle, so full of dejection that Jaskier’s resolve almost breaks. He clears his throat and darts his eyes elsewhere. Those acting coaches back in school would have been disappointed in him for letting his emotions peak through, but Geralt doesn’t seem to notice what’s underneath this front.

“Surely you can find a new bridle for Roach by yourself,” Jaskier waves his hand in dismissal. “You are a big witcher.”

Geralt opens his mouth and closes it, before speaking again. “And the pastry shop you wanted to visit?”

Jaskier thinks of the lemon cakes he’s been itching to try and swallows the yearning in his throat. Gods, being with Geralt all day with not a care in the world, and with the best sweets on the continent. What is he doing turning all this down?

“Well,” he insists, “Better company comes before cake, my dear.”

With that, Geralt lets go of the topic. His amber eyes drop back to the half-finished ale. “Better company. I see…”

“Surely you understand, Geralt.”

“Just—” Geralt purses his lips in an attempt at a smile. “Don’t exaggerate too much.”

Jaskier should feel bad as he walks out the tavern door with a beauty on his arm, he should, but instead, a pang of anger rises in his throat. How many times did Geralt abandon him at the sight of Yennefer in the past few years? How long did he brood on top of that mountain, recounting every bad choice he’d made in his life and decided that it was all Jaskier’s doing?

For once, Jaskier doesn’t want to put Geralt first in everything, waiting for a bone thrown in his direction, and the witcher—this infuriating man—is going to act like a kicked puppy.

Horrified at this burning rage, Jaskier turns only to watch helplessly as Geralt walks down the street in the opposite direction. He’s planted to the spot, unable to chase Geralt down, and clueless as to whether this plan is doing him any favors other than the fleeting satisfaction of getting back at his friend who was at fault.

Was.

Geralt was at fault. Jaskier has forgiven him, or at least, that’s what he said at first sight of his witcher’s travel-weary face back in Oxenfurt.

And yet, he’s punishing him still.

The barmaid is still waiting for Jaskier’s stories, her cheeks still round with a timid blush and her eyes gleaming with expectations.

The colorful adventures taste stale on his tongue and she loses interest too quickly before returning to her post. His mood sours further as the day stretches on.

Jaskier ends up wandering around town without an aim in mind. The only place he’s carefully avoiding is the market, and the stable, and the smith’s shop. Anywhere he might bump into Geralt. When night draws in, a sudden downpour catches him off guard and drenches him from inside out.

Great. Just the perfect ending to the worst—well, the second worst day of Jaskier’s life.

Candles are still lit as Jaskier enters the room. He finds Geralt fast asleep already, and on the table, right next to his writing supplies, is a lemon cake.

It’s drizzled in honey and looks just as enticing as he imagined.

Jaskier picks it up and finds a lump forming in his throat, choking him with guilt. He wants to scream, to let out the frustration at all the mistakes made in the past and haunting him still. He wants to cry. It’s just…

Now, he doesn’t know if he still deserves to.

---

Okay, I know I'm being mean to Geralt here, but don't worry, I’ gonna be mean to Jaskier in the next one ;)

Also, whatever Jaskier is doing here is very unhealthy. Don't try this at home.

Tagging: @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #jaskier being an idiot #geralt apologizes #mutual pining #miscommunication #cursed jaskier #jaskier whump #reverse trope #lying spell

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awesomechocolatesauce · 3 years ago

Text

All right, I have a confession to make. I've been keeping my mouth shut about it online for over a year now, but with news of season two of "The Witcher" going around, it's time I say something.

I don't like Yennefer. At all.

Now, does that mean that I hate her? No, not necessarily. There were times I felt genuinely bad for her, like being bullied and sold to mages by her own parents (I wouldn't wish what she went through on anybody), but her character at times really doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me. It's been a while since I've watched the show, so I may get some details wrong, so bare with me and correct me if I'm wrong.

Yennefer makes the decision to change her appearance. The person she goes to to do that told her something along the lines of "I can make you beautiful, but you won't be able to have children", and she goes through with it anyway. Several times throughout the show, she tries to regain the ability to have children, but fails every time.

Near the end of the season, Yennefer returns to the place where she trained to be a mage. She tells the girls that she was tricked into looking the way she did.

Yennefer WAS NOT TRICKED into being sterilized! She KNEW what the cost was and went through with it anyway. It would be different if she made the decision, regretted it, and said she had to live with it, but nope. This definitely wasn't her choice. Okay, sure.

There's also her whole thing with Geralt that I'm not a fan of. How they got together makes no sense to me and I feel no chemistry between them, but that's a rant for another day. I'm including it here to add on to my point.

Oh, I almost forgot. There was that one scene where Geralt and Yennefer first meet where she has the entire room of people have a magical orgy that I'm pretty certain wasn't consensual on their part (it REALLY wasn't clear, but it did rub me the wrong way) and she's just sitting there watching them. It was a weird scene.

I hope my mind changes about her in season two. The actress plays her very well and I'd like to see where her story goes, so we'll see.

(I really hope no one reblogs this and say "It makes sense if you read the books!" Bro, that's not as good of a comeback as you think it is. It might make sense in the book, but when you're adapting it into a show or movie and a vital part of information isn't on screen, then the people who haven't read it won't understand it. A person needs to understand it whether they've read the books or not to be a good adaptation.)

#the witcher #netflix's the witcher #the witcher series #anti yennefer #yennefer critical #not really anti and being safe #jessica's personal stuff #text post #long post

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years ago

Note

My dearest bouncey! I have a prompt for you if you like: Witchers as a 90s/2000s boyband 😂🤷‍♀️💖💖💖

Ellie, darling, this started as 500 words and turned into like 3.2k words and also a piece of art so... thank you so much. also shout out to my amazing art pal @mawbwehownets for the little comic!!

this contains lots of 90′s/early 2000′s nostalgia so there is also that

tw: hornyish, smooching, perilous music video situations (corny)

---

“Do I have to?” Geralt groans, letting his forehead thud down against the linoleum surface of their tour bus’s shitty dining table.

“Yes,” Vesemir says. His tone leaves no room for argument or whining. “But what if I let you pick the winner personally?”

“There have to be like fifteen thousand letters to go through! How will I manage that in less than two days?”

“There were a few more than fifteen thousand applications, Geralt. There were probably closer to five hundred thousand.”

Lambert wolf whistles and Aiden claps.

Geralt grimaces and keeps his face hidden against the table, releasing a slightly muffled: “Fuck.”

“Language,” Vesemir frowns. He tugs gently at Geralt’s loose ponytail and the singer lifts his head up from the table again, looking at his manager with beseeching eyes. “Anyway, we’ve narrowed it down to about fifty. You can go through those and choose whichever person you’d like to play your love interest. But you have to give me an answer by Friday. The shoot is in three weeks and whoever wins this stupid competition will need time to make arrangements.”

“I thought we were footing the bill for their food and their hotel room,” Geralt raised an eyebrow. “What would they need to arrange?”

“Not everyone can board their pets at the flick of a wrist, dude,” Lambert scoffs from his seat on the couch. Aiden lies draped across his lap, as usual, and the two of them are halfheartedly watching The Lion King. They can only watch movies when the bus is stationary, otherwise the VHS player might move too much while running and damage the film inside the cassette. Even taking advantage of such a rare opportunity, Lambert and Aiden still seem more interested in each other than Jonathan Taylor Thomas’s voice acting.

“Lambert has a point,” Vesemir sighs. He scrubs his hand over his lightly whiskered face like a tired grandparent and sighs again, more heavily. “It’ll be good for you boys to have a normal person around for a few days. Maybe they’ll be able to put some things into perspective.”

Geralt can only roll his eyes a little bit and thank his manager regardless of his own feelings; he and the rest of TW5 owe the seasoned musical expert their entire careers. Without Vesemir’s help and mentorship they would never have made it past their first disastrous record deal. They certainly wouldn’t have reached the heights they’re at now, enjoying international fame and recognition.

The begrudging frontman accepts a heavy plastic bin of file folders from Vesemir and sets them down next to his bunk. “Are these organized in any particular way?”

“Nope.”

“Cool.”

Geralt digs his hand into the pile and pulls out a piece of pale-pink stationary, eager to get started and, by extension, get finished. He can already tell that it’s going to be a long couple of days.

---

“I want this one, please, Ves.”

“Huh?” Vesemir looks up from his palm-pilot. Geralt is standing in front of him and trying to hand him something.

“I want this guy to be in the music video with me.” Geralt holds out the letter again, fingers trapping the accompanying polaroid headshot with great care. A pair of bright blue eyes stares up from the photo, highlighting the subject’s bright smile and unruly mop of messy brown hair. Vesemir tries to hide his amusement; totally Geralt’s type, if the big oaf could admit to having one.

“Alright. I’ll get everything in order. We start shooting in two and a half weeks so get your asses to the gym, please.”

“Yes, Ves,” all five young men chorus.

“Tomorrow,” Coen mutters a moment later than everyone else, not glancing up from his composition notebook. Vesemir nods in understanding. Coen is the best lyricist of the lot and it’s easier to let him work when inspiration strikes than beg him to focus when he can’t get a solitary idea to stick.

“So why’d you pick that one, Ger-bear?” Lambert drawls. Aiden nods and leans against Lambert’s side. Geralt can’t help the mild jealousy that overtakes him every time he sees his bandmates touch each other with such casual affection. He wants that intimacy, that softness behind the veneer of famous indifference. He wants someone to hold.

“Yeah. What drew your attention to that poor unfortunate soul. Was it the floppy hair, the big blue eyes, or the dopey grin?” Aiden smirks.

“Hmm.”

“Fuck you,” Eskel sighs, looking between the two troublemakers with the tired gaze of an eldest sibling, “Fuck you for even asking in the first place and expecting a straight answer.”

“Straight is the furthest thing from his answer,” Lambert chuckles. He is promptly smacked in the head with one of the couch’s hideous throw pillows. The youngest member of the band rubs the side of his face and chuckles, “Alright, I deserved that one.”

---

“Holy shit!” Jaskier practically screams. “Holy motherfucking shit!”

“What!?” Yennefer comes flying around the corner. “What’s wrong!?”

“Nothing is wrong, Yenna! Everything is awesome! Everything absolutely fucking rocks!”

“Did you get hit on the head by a falling branch between here and the mailbox or what? You were whining about your finals work not five min-”

“Look at this!” Jaskier shoves an open envelope into her hands and cuts her off. Yennefer reads the watermarked documents once. Twice. Her eyes almost pop out of her head when the words and their meanings finally sink in.

“Are you fucking with me right now?”

“No, I am absolutely not!” her giddy roommate cheers, bouncing up and down in place. “I did it! I won!”

“Holy shit.”

“I know! I get to kiss Geralt deRiv!” he practically cackles. Then freezes. “Holy fuck I get to kiss Geralt deRiv.”

“You said that already,” Yen teases. She shoves the paperwork back into his hands and grabs a takeout menu from the junk drawer near her hip. “Since you won the makeout lottery, you get to buy lunch. Lucky bastard.”

---

“So this will be your dressing room,” someone’s underpaid PA says, ushering Jaskier into a small, bright room. “Priscilla will be here shortly to get you into hair and makeup.”

“Oh, uh- thanks!”

“Yup.”

And with that, the young man disappears back down the hallway toward the sound stage. Jaskier jogs his leg anxiously as he waits for Priscilla to arrive, nervous and otherwise totally alone in the huge grey building. As the minutes tick by and his heart rate rises, Jaskier’s intrusive thoughts make an unwanted appearance: What if they forget about me being here? What if there’s been a mistake and they accidentally hired two love interests and I just sit in here for hours all alone while-

“Hi!” a bright, peppy blonde woman flies through the door and startles him back to reality. “Nice to meet you, I’m Priscilla! You can call me Priss; I’ll be doing your hair and makeup for the video this week!”

“Oh… hi. I’m Julian, but I prefer Jaskier.”

“Lovely! Well, Jaskier, is your hair naturally this color?”

“Y-Yes?”

“Perfect! I don’t want to mess with such a lovely shade of natural brown, but do you mind if I give it a bit of a trim? I have a few ideas for styles right here in my book- How do you feel about some feathering back here? I think-” she fluffs a few of the hairs around the nape of Jaskier’s neck “-I could really bring out the curls if I adjusted the length a bit and used some product.”

“Just, uhm, go for it, then! Feel free to make me as pretty as possible!” Jaskier declares. He’s committing to this experience wholeheartedly, determined to allow himself every opportunity for positive change. He wants to really let himself enjoy it, and he needs a haircut anyway. Priscilla spends an hour washing, cutting, drying, and styling his hair into a lovely fringed sweep across his forehead. It ends just above his brows, giving his face a slightly softer shape than usual. He grins over his shoulder, “I love it! I’m going to miss you when I’m back at Oxenfurt. Good stylists are so hard to find.”

Priss blushes and nudges against his shoulder, “Oh, you little charmer.”

“I mean it,” he says, examining himself in the mirror. “I look like I could really be worthy of a heroic rescue! This is going to be such a fantastic memory, and I appreciate it. Thank you so much.”

Priss bites back a genuine tear and smiles, “Now that your natural prettiness has been mildly enhanced, let’s get you over to wardrobe, shall we?”

“Wardrobe? Do I have, like, a costume? What’s the music video even about?”

“They didn’t tell you any of this when you got here?”

“Not… not really.”

“Well, my darling, I think you’re really going to like it; they’ve got you in Versace for the first scene.”

“Versace!?”

Then Jaskier is being ushered into a bright, colorful room full to bursting with grim-faced, middle-aged women and he loses track of his only braincell for the rest of the morning.

---

“You must be Julian!” Lambert declares, bounding up to him and grinning. It’s a feral, animalistic grin and Jaskier resists the sudden urge to take a step back.

“I prefer Jaskier, if you don’t mind too much,” Jaskier corrects him quietly. Lambert rolls his eyes in a long-suffering kind of way and throws a meaty arm around the shorter man’s shoulders, completely ignoring the wardrobe technician’s wincing as he wrinkles the expensive silk jacket.

“No need to be quiet and polite around here, my dude. We’re just a bunch of rowdy idiots, aren’t we, guys?”

“Hell yeah!” Aiden calls back. Eskel sighs like the put-upon nanny in a Victorian Redanian comedy.

“Speak for yourself,” Coen barely lifts his frosted tips up from his book long enough to speak. Geralt is-

Holy motherfucking Britney Spears on toast.

Geralt is the hottest thing Jaskier has ever seen in his short, unfulfilled-until-right-now life. Forget Ralph Macchio. Forget Leonardo Dicaprio and Kate Winslet and Winona Ryder. This man is… Geralt deRiv is… he’s the picture of perfection. And he’s right there, standing in front of an elaborate party set with his thick, beautiful arms crossed over his chest and his eyes trained on the floor, as if willing it to swallow him whole. Jaskier realizes that he probably didn’t have any choice in the matter; maybe this was just as awkward and uncomfortable for Geralt as it was for Jaskier.

“Ger-bear!” Lambert whoops, yanking Jaskier closer to the brooding frontman. If only he were brave enough to struggle for escape; alas. “This is your boy-toy for the week. Goes by Jaskier, apparently.”

“Nice to meet you,” Geralt manages to grunt. “How did you like the script?”

“I haven’t uh- I haven’t actually seen it?”

“Shit. Fuck. One second,” Geralt huffs, disappearing into the crowd of technicians and machinery operators and PAs. Jaskier loves him already, for real. Sure, he was pretty in the music videos and promo material, but the way he said fuck like it was the noblest word he could think of… Geralt interrupts his train of thought by coming back with a sheaf of papers clutched in his hand. He shuffle-shoves them into Jaskier’s arms immediately. “There you go.”

“Thank you!” Jaskier smiles. It’s genuine and shy, more tenuous than his usual goofy grin. He flips through the pages, glancing between the script to his expensive suit, “So I’m guessing we’re at a party for this scene? Or something?”

“This is… where we meet. This is where… you and I uh…”

Jaskier’s eyes scan the page as Geralt’s ability to speak slowly leaves him.

Lover ENTERS LEFT, dressed to the nines. Lover adjusts their tie/boa and takes a look around the room. S/He looks sad and a little hopeful. PULL BACK to Geralt, who approaches slowly. Their eyes meet. HOLD SHOT. PULL BACK as they move towards each other. Geralt pulls Lover into his arms and they begin to dance.

“Oh, wow.”

“I hope it’s okay! If you’re not comfortable with that kind of thing we can-”

“I’ll be alright, thank you. I came here to put my acting chops to the test. Well, that and meet my favorite band, of course. Thank you again, by the way. It’s been wonderful so far and I really appreciate you allowing me to be here.”

“Allowing? Psh. Geralt ha-” Lambert is cut off by Aiden, who elbows him sharply in the side. “Ow! What the fuck, babe?”

“I knew it!” Jaskier crows, distracted. “I knew you two were an item!”

“They’re not exactly subtle.”

“They never confirm anything either,” Jaskier retorts. Geralt shrugs his acknowledgement and moves back towards the set. Jaskier follows after the taller man like a lost puppy, eyes flicking from one thing to the next, hungry for detail even in his anxiety ridden state. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience and he doesn’t want to waste a solitary second of it. “This is incredible, really just...wow. You guys do this all the time? You get to make tiny little movies for already great songs that you get to perform for millions of adoring fans? And you get paid!?”

Geralt hadn’t ever really thought about it like that. He’d been raised in the industry. He’d signed to Kaer Morhen Records as an early teen because his mother was a member of the Board of Directors and he’d been making music ever since; an outsider’s perspective to things was… new. A little strange. “Yeah, I guess that is pretty much what we do.”

“Wow.”

“It’s not that exciting, I promise.”

“Have you ever written a fifteen page paper about the history of lute-string design and manufacturing?”

“No.”

“Then kindly shut the fuck up about what I should consider exciting,” Jaskier grins. Geralt is immediately and irrevocably smitten. Fuck. It hasn’t even been fifteen minutes! “So, which door am I entering from?”

“Left,” Geralt points. Jaskier skips over and begins to introduce himself to the sound and lights crew. His smile seems to be as infectious as his cheer and soon the entire set crew is smiling at one another. There’s been a literal shift in the atmosphere; if he didn’t know any better, the TW5 frontman thinks Jaskier might be some kind of magical creature, because he can’t just be human. Geralt is well and truly fucked, and everyone in the band already knows.

---

“What do you think?” Jaskier asks, slipping anxiously from behind the changing screen. The Versace is gone and in its place are a pair of tight, high-waisted blue pleather pants and a billowing white shirt, which has been strategically ripped in several places to reveal slivers of the lightly tanned skin that lies beneath. He looks like he’s in desperate need of rescuing. He looks like every fantasy Geralt has ever had about the perfect guy. He looks like a fucking dream.

“Nice,” he says.

Lambert and Aiden wolf-whistle and cheer as they approach. Aiden claps twice, loudly, and shoots Jaskier a set of finger guns, “Hot damn, baby. You single? You lookin’ to mingle? Because I am bi and spoon like a Pringle.”

“First of all, babe, I love you but that was the most horrific combination of words yet known to man. Second of all, yeah, I’d dump Aiden for you for sure,” Lambert adds. Jaskier is at a total loss for words. His mouth hangs open and his breath comes in uneven little gasps for a moment.

“Uh… I- Thank you?”

“Oh god, Eskel! Eskel, he’s short circuiting, do something.”

“You absolute-” Eskel groans and makes his way over to the gathered group. He tugs Jaskier away and over to the other end of the set, where a comically huge rocket/bomb (Jaskier can’t tell) is standing at the center of a vaguely science-themed room. A laboratory, maybe? Or like, a really weird spacecraft? A hospital run by rocket scientists? It doesn’t matter, it’s the Evil Lair of the Villain and that’s where Jaskier is being held captive. “Here, Cameron and Elise will help you get set up for the next scene. I’m sorry about the boys they’re... gay?”

“I understand,” Jaskier nods sagely and Eskel relaxes. Then for comedy’s sake he adds an equally dramatic, “I too am... gay.”

The set dresser, an electrician, and a few specialists (likely a rope rigger among them) come over and tie Jaskier to the bomb/rocket/villainous mechanism, ending his conversation with Eskel, who is now in a much better mood than he was before.

Jaskier is told to make sure his hands are crossed behind the small of his back and the director instructs him to wiggle back and forth “as convincingly as possible without actually getting loose or moving the ropes too much”. Which is manageable, he supposes.

“Then, when the chorus comes up, we’ll get a few shots of the boys dancing in front of you,” the director continues to explain. That’s… kind weird, but okay. I’ve seen weirder. “Then we’ll do the action shots, with Geralt rescuing you. Are you okay to do the kiss, or would you rather not? We have dynamic shots with or without, so it’s totally up to you.”

“I’m fine with that,” Jaskier smiles shyly. “I consent to be smooched.”

“Adorable,” Lambert calls. Jaskier blushes and the director shoots Lambert a glare.

“He’s already pink enough, don’t make me change my gels you little shithead!”

“Sorry, Pierre!”

“Fucking sorry my ass,” Pierre grumbles beneath his breath. Then he smiles at Jaskier. “Do something nasty to him for me, will you? Not too nasty but… just a little?”

“I’ve got your back,” Jaskier winks.

“No plotting! Not fair!” Aiden whines.

“You have a team,” Pierre retorts. “Now I have a team.”

“Rules are rules,” Eskel sighs. “Now can we please shoot this damn video?”

“Right,” Pierre claps, getting everyone’s attention. “Places!”

---

Geralt races up the stairs, trying to keep the long sleeves of his black mesh shirt from catching on any of the set pieces. The solid black t-shirt he’s wearing underneath makes his arms and back look bulkier than normal; it’s a visual technique to make him look larger than Jaskier, whose billowing white shirt will hide how wide his shoulders actually are. Fuck, those are some nice shoulders. And the smattering of dark chest hair that peeks from the front of the college student’s shirt? Geralt wants to bury his face in it.

Okay, focus.

He reaches the top of the set and rushes towards Jaskier, ripping the ropes from around his torso and pulling him close. He cups the back of Jaskier’s head with his upstage hand, framing the slightly smaller man for the camera and making him seem even shorter, another trick of angles and body posturing. Geralt plays Jaskier like an instrument, bending him back by placing his downstage arm around Jaskier’s waist, pressing their mouths together and holding them still for as long as it takes the director to yell, “Cut!” with a satisfied tone of voice.

Geralt’s suspicions are confirmed when Pierre laughs and claps some more and cries, “Print it, lads! That was a one-take wonder!”

He tries to ignore the way Jaskier’s shoulders slump as if disappointed. “Good job,” he manages to say.

“You, too.” Geralt wishes he could keep a picture of Jaskier smiling in his back pocket forever. No other sight could light up the world so effortlessly. “Thanks for being gentle.”

“I’m trying to sweep you off your feet,” the singer shrugs. Jaskier wiggles his eyebrows and follows Geralt down the narrow set stairs.

“Are you, really?”

“Is it working?” Geralt asks, turning to look up at Jaskier. The student pauses to look at him and his foot catches on an uneven board. He topples forward with a short cry of surprise and seems surprised when Geralt reaches out to catch him. “Jaskier!”

“Oh my god!” Lambert races over, Aiden hot on his heels. “Are you okay, dude?”

“I’m fine,” Jaskier laughs, a little breathless. “Just a little shocked.”

“You should take him to get a snack or something,” Eskel says, nudging his shoulder against Geralt’s. “He’s been busy all day and hasn’t even been to craft services.”

“You haven’t eaten?” Geralt asks, honestly baffled. Jaskier shakes his head, face heating once again. He wishes he could stop blushing, but Geralt’s presence seems to make it impossible. He wraps one arm around the younger man’s temptingly slender waist and leads him towards the food carts. He shoves a couple of sandwiches and a bottle of punch into Jaskier’s hands, not giving him a chance to argue. “Here, I’ll have something, too.”

“Thanks,” Jaskier smiles, understanding that he is, in turn, being understood. They sit comfortable folding chairs off to the side, food spread across their laps. Jaskier laughs and chats around his mouthfuls, pulling things from Geralt like his favorite color and his least favorite nicknames. Songs he liked and dances he disliked.

“You made it fun again, today,” the singer smiles. “Thank you for that. I wish you could be here for every video shoot.”

“Looking for another member of the band?” Jaskier jokes, doing some half-hearted jazz hands. Geralt shakes his head and laughs.

“I wish we were,” he sighs. “But I guess five is the magic number.”

“Makes the dances look cooler,” Jaskier nods. “I agree with whoever made that decision. I wouldn’t dare ruin the aesthetic.”

Geralt laughs again and Vesemir turns to look, honestly shocked at the volume of the sound.

“Plus, you can’t be the frontman if there’s no front.”

“Shut up,” Geralt chuckles, still grinning broadly.

Vesemir makes a phone call.

---

2 Weeks Later, Backstage in Kaedwen

---

“He’s been sulking like this ever since Jaskier went back to Oxenfurt,” Lambert whines. “C’mon Vesemir, do something.”

“What do you want me to do, make Geralt’s boyfriend appear out of thin air?”

“Not my boyfriend,” Geralt growls, stomping past his bandmates and manager. He can’t help but feel grumpy. Jaskier had been like the sun, bringing light and wonder to everything he touched, and without that joy around it doesn’t seem worth the extra effort to smile. So he’s been moping.

“Fucking hell,” Vesemir sighs. “Thank goodness I thought ahead.”

“What do you mean?” Eskel asks, joining the little group in the hallway outside the dressing room. “What did you think of?”

“Three,” Vesemir smiles, glancing at his watch. “Two… One…”

“Boooooys,” echoes a high tenor. “Where’s my welcome wagon, Vesemir?”

“Jaskier!” Aiden practically screams, leaping out of the dressing room and flying down the hall. Lambert follows at a sprint and Vesemir hears the resounding oof oh fuck of both giddy musicians hitting their mark.

Geralt comes back down the hall at a jog, eyes searching frantically. “I thought I heard-”

“Geralt!”

Vesemir’s heart clenches in his chest at the way Geralt’s face lights up. At the end of the hallway, surrounded by spilled luggage and apologetic boyband members, is Jaskier. Geralt floats to him, it seems, like he’s dreaming the whole thing. Jaskier takes his hands and then releases them and wraps his arms low around Geralt’s hips instead.

“I missed you the most,” he whispers, just for Geralt to hear. “Couldn’t sleep without listening to your CD. I know it’s silly but I really like you.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt whispers reverently into his shaggy brown hair. “What are you doing here?”

“I was going to do my thesis on pop culture’s relation to music history,” he says. “And then the manager of TW5 called Oxenfurt and offered me the opportunity to do some… first hand research while I worked on finishing the paper.”

“R-Really? You’re going to be here… every day?”

“Do you… do you not want me he-”

Geralt kisses him before he can even finish the question. It’s a stupid question anyway, of course Geralt wants him here. Wants him right here, kissing him silly. The singer presses his lips desperately, crushingly against Jaskier’s; he never wants to part from this man again. He never wants to be without that glorious laughter and contagious liveliness. Who knew that life could be so full of delight and happiness if he only let it?

He kisses Jaskier for all he’s worth and more, pouring his heart and soul into it. When they pull apart, both gasping for air, Geralt asks, “Stay with me, Jaskier? You don’t have to do anything I just-”

“I’d love to be the big spoon,” Jaskier winks, whispering again. “Thank you, Geralt, for the rescue.”

#geraskier #bouncey's buddies #prompt fill #geraskier fic #geraskier ficlet #geraskier fluff #getting together #boyband au #geraskier boyband au #the witcher five and their hit song 'please lambert stop farting on the bus'#ellie has the braincell #thirsty jaskier #thirsty geralt #soft geralt #protective geralt #clumsy jaskier #soft boys content #bouncey's endless au collection #bouncey's endless getting together fics

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comfyswitcherblanketfort · 4 years ago

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Gentle

number 3 on the poll was ‘the softest yennskier smut i can muster’ and y’all i don’t know that i’ve ever written softer smut? idk, y’all be the judge of that

shoutout to @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde for betaing this fic for me and being lovely and encouraging 💖

Warnings: well its smut, fwb to lovers, yen is scared of vulnerability and getting burned, penetrative sex, oral sex, m/f but don’t y’all think for a second these two aren’t bi as fuck. i don’t wanna hear any of that ‘but its a straight ship comfy!!!’ from anyone. understand? good.

______________________

“Bard, don’t start with me tonight.”

“Too late,” Jaskier hummed, looking up at her from where he was sprawled on the bed. He was, admittedly, a rather pleasing sight. His chest covered in a thick layer of hair and his legs long and lean. He looked like something one would paint. And he was lying on her bed, nearly naked, looking at her with a coy smile that held... too much.

Yennefer didn’t often think things were too anything- painful, expensive, annoying- but this man was too sincere in everything he did, including wooing her. He called it wooing. She called it ‘following me around like an orphan pup’.

Either way she’d already partially given in. She thought she was firm in her boundaries though, repeatedly claiming they were just fucking. This was just revenge and fun. She would not fall for anyone, especially not after the way all of her past relationships had ended in disaster.

She settled into her nighttime routine, taking out her earrings and wiping away her lipstick at the borrowed -not stolen- vanity across from the bed in the borrowed -not stolen- master suite she’d been staying in, “I am not one for love. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“You’re almost as much of a hopeless romantic as me,” Jaskier laughed, rolling so he was sitting at the end of the bed facing her.

She could see him in the mirror over her shoulder but resolutely ignored him. There was a long stretch of silence where he watched her take away all the different things she adorned herself with. From eyeliner to jewelry to the way she curled her hair, it was a very carefully constructed facade and she feared he may have seen through it.

As she stood, he reached out and caught her hand, tugging her to stand in front of him. She raised an eyebrow, expecting a remark about her body, maybe even something about a strip tease before bed. But the bard continually surprised her.

“What’s wrong with a little vulnerability?”

She sighed and pulled her hand back, crossing her arms over her dressing gown and rocking back on her heels, “Do we need to do this right now?”

Jaskier stood, so close that she could feel the warmth radiating off him, but he kept his hands to himself as much as she could see he wanted to touch her, “You don’t want to know someone? To let them take care of you for once?”

“No.” Her stare was resolute but her voice wavered, even on such a small word.

“Why not?”

She pursed her lips and held back the immediate insult she’d thought. He deserved an answer if she really was going to let him stay, and she knew she would. Whatever the reason, she found she didn’t want to be without him anymore.

“It hurts,” she whispered, hoping he would understand and let her be. Or better yet distract her.

He ran his hand down her arm, fingertips dancing across her skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. He said nothing, just watched and waited, completely open and patient and infuriating in his persistence. She could easily go for the kill, both metaphorically and literally, but she knew she wouldn’t. This was the first person in decades who had bothered with her. She didn’t count Geralt anymore. There was so much magic and Destiny and manipulation tangled up in their relationship that she’d lost track of any sincerity.

No, the bard was genuine. He didn’t have any other motive but to love her. And the thought terrified her.

She shook her head and looked at the ground, “You don’t understand. I haven’t… I’ve never had a love that ended well.”

Jaskier smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear, “Only the shitty ones do.”

A puff of air left her before she could conceal her amusement.

“You don’t have to be scared. I want to be gentle with you. In every way. I want you to know what it’s like to be taken care of,” Jaskier’s whisper spoke directly to the part of her she’d kept locked away for far too long. The part of her that yearned to be held for nothing other than lying close; that wanted sweet nothings and breathless kisses and actual lovemaking, not just goal oriented sex.

Her tongue worked of its own accord, used to acting only in defense, “How many times have you used that line?”

A moment of hurt flashed over Jaskier’s face before those big blue eyes were framed with a kind of sadness only someone who’d known the sting of neglect could understand, “Not once.”

She searched his eyes for something, anything that she could use to push him away, but found nothing. For once her choice was simple; take what is freely and sincerely offered, or continue on miserable and alone.

For once, she took a risk.

Yennefer draped her arms over his shoulders, tilting her chin up to level him with what she hoped was the pleading expression she was going for, “Just don’t lie to me.”

Jaskier pressed their foreheads together and rested his hands on her hips, “I won’t.”

It had been a lifetime since Yennefer had believed someone like she believed Jaskier and it settled achingly into the pit of her stomach. She leaned in and stood on her tiptoes, brushing their lips together as she took a shaky breath in.

When they finally kissed it was… calm. There was no unquenchable fire sparking in her belly, no stirring need to cling to him as if she’d never see him again. They were simply together, and the realization made her giggle.

Jaskier rested a hand at her jaw, brushing his thumb over her cheek as he nervously chuckled along, “What?”

She bit her lip and stared up at him through her lashes, running her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, “It’s nothing…”

“Hmm, doesn’t seem like nothing,” Jaskier’s tone was light as he sat back onto the bed, pulling her to straddle his hips, “What’s so funny?”

“S’not funny,” she sighed, pausing to kiss him again, feeling the same sense of calm, “Just... nice.”

“Just nice?” Jaskier was beaming up at her as he held her close to him, “I think I can do better than nice.”

She raised her eyebrows and grinned, brushing his fringe out of his eyes, “It wasn’t a challenge.”

He tilted his head back and forth and scrunched his nose as if to argue before laying back on the bed and pulling her with him. She braced herself on her elbows, one on each side of his head, as he trailed his hands up and down her sides.

This kiss was different.

This kiss set her whole body on fire, not the desperate kind that made her frantic, but a slow, hot-burning flame that she wanted to sink into and let consume her.

Jaskier clutched her to him as he rolled them over, gently brushing her hair out of her face and placing feather light kisses over her cheeks, eyes, brow, chin, everywhere he could reach. She sighed when he finally kissed her lips, tangling her fingers in his hair and pulling.

Jaksier chuckled, “Mmm, greedy? Impatient?”

“Whichever you like,” Yennefer gasped, not quite slipping the teasing tone in with her words, distracted as he sucked a dark red mark right behind her ear. She tugged at the hem of his smalls and he quickly kicked them off, giving her a pointed look.

“You promised better than nice,” she countered, giving a small shrug as he hovered over her again.

He hummed as he moved down her neck, chest, and finally made it to her silk robe, “Shall we get rid of this? Don’t- Don’t do it yourself,” he grabbed her hands and pinned them by her head, not with much force but she still felt a heat pool in her core, “I want to.”

She nodded and stared at him in awe as he carefully untied the delicate silk belt and softly, oh so fucking softly, brushed the material over her shoulder. The cool slide on her skin sent shivers down her spine and his warm, calloused fingers were a delicious contrast.

He skipped her breasts completely, kissing a trail down over her stomach, leaving a small circle of delicate kisses around her navel as he held her hips almost reverently. Unlike his normally teasing habits, he wasted no time in freeing her from her simple lingerie, holding her thighs where he wanted and leaving more kisses along the inside of her knee. Every now and then his fringe would brush over the delicate skin and Yennefer would gasp, reaching for him, any part of him, as if it would ground her and dull the feeling of lightning traveling beneath her skin to a manageable shock. Even when she got her hand in his hair, it didn’t change how she gasped when his tongue tickled the crease of her hips or how she shivered when he nosed along the soft curls between her legs.

“J-Julian,” She keened, then bit her lip and stared at the ceiling in mute horror. She remembered vividly when he’d shouted at several different people for using that name, for pretending to know him well enough.

He licked up her folds, making sure to look her in the eyes as he spoke, “Say it again.”

Her breath hitched when he spread her apart and flicked his tongue over her clit, it was no trouble at all to let out a needy sigh of his name over and over again.

When she tensed her thighs, he held them open, and when her hands curled into fists in his hair, he only groaned. He worked slowly, and any other time she would be annoyed at his pace, but this time she relaxed and let him take care of her. Let him delicately stretch her until he felt she was ready as his free hand stroked any bit of soft bare skin he could reach.

“Julian, please,” she begged, and for once it wasn’t performative. She needed him. Needed him so acutely she wasn’t entirely sure what she’d do if she couldn’t have him in her immediately.

He rested his forehead on her hip, breathing heavy as he slowly circled her clit with his thumb, “Tell me what you want.”

“You know,” she whined, clenching around his fingers. She’d deny it in the morning, but she whined. It almost startled her when she realised that, like this, she was completely at his disposal and she didn’t mind one bit. Anything he said she would agree to, anything he did, she would follow his lead.

He crawled up her body, leaving kisses in his wake, her skin on fire wherever they touched, “Let me hear it?"

“I need you, all of you. Please?”

Jaskier’s breath came out shaky before he kissed her, “You’ll have everything I am,” he whispered.

For a moment she wondered if she was supposed to hear his words. They sounded almost like a confession, so softly spoken that it was almost impossible to tell he’d said anything at all. But she was quickly distracted by his tongue on her lips as they kissed and his cock sliding through her slick folds. She moaned softly, her hands sweeping up his chest to cup his jaw and hold him close.

Nothing else mattered. Not their troubles, not their heartbreak, not the politics they’d found themselves in the middle of. The other person was all they had the consciousness for and they completely consumed each other.

Jaskier finally broke away gasping and adjusted so the head of his cock was positioned at her entrance. He looked into her eyes and before he could ask, she breathed a soft “yes” and kissed his nose. Their foreheads rested together as he slowly pushed in, blue eyes locked with violet as they both gasped and hissed. Neither of them moaned wantonly like before, neither of them put on a show, and certainly no one grunted in frustration. They moved in a gentle rhythm together, each taking the time to really feel the other and hold them close.

For the first time in such a long time, Yennefer was content.

She didn’t realize she’d squeezed her eyes shut until Jaskier kissed her again, probably several minutes later, and whispered, “Look at me.”

He looked at her like she was his only guide, only anchor keeping him in this world. There was a light sheen of sweat on his forehead and his cheeks were as rosy as his kiss-swollen lips and Yennefer wished she could capture the image forever. She thought of painting him again, if only she could paint worth shit.

He kissed her again and breathed, “close,” as he picked up his pace. She nodded, wrapping one leg around his hips and reaching between them to circle her clit as he thrust.

She came first with a gasp and soft “oh” as she did her best to keep her eyes on him, let alone open. She truly didn’t remember the last time she was so quiet when she orgasmed, or the last time she caressed her lover instead of digging her nails into their back. Her body shivered, but it wasn’t earth shattering. Nothing about it would be memorable aside from the way he looked at her.

The adoration and unbridled passion behind his gaze would haunt her forever. Only time would tell if she’d be glad to see his ghost.

She wrapped her other leg around him as the fog began to lift, leaving her just on the pleasant side of over-sensitive. Jaskier buried his face in her neck as she smoothed her hands over his back, trailing her fingers down his spine and turning to kiss his temple. She cradled his head to her as he came, body shaking as he whispered her name like a prayer.

Her hands roamed his body, reveling in the softness of his skin and the power held in his frame as she gently soothed any tightness in his muscles. After a while she settled to carding her fingers through his hair as he rested his cheek on her collarbone. He’d slipped out as he softened, but they laid still, Yen enjoying the comforting weight while Jaskier recovered.

“Are you alright?” she whispered her question, tucking her chin in to try to get a look at his face.

He just hummed and nodded, turning his head to face her with a dreamy smile.

A bright smile spread across her features and she kissed his forehead, “Do I get to call you Julian now?”

One of his arms snaked up under her back as he snuggled in closer, “Only you.”

Yennefer paused, holding her breath as she debated whether what she thought was worth saying.

“Spit it out, love,” Jaskier spoke through a yawn.

She let out a breathy laugh and wrapped her arms around his shoulders before she whispered, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Wanting to… to take care of me.”

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warmrainonawinterday · 3 years ago

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So. Season 2 of Netflix's The Witcher, huh. I was disappointed.

What I liked:

- Jaskier's singing 💜

- proper screen time and lines of dialogue for the bruxa as well as Nivellen's confession that he raped the priestess being served as a gut punch at the end rather than being either omitted or admitted off the bat

- the dynamic between Geralt and Ciri is genuinely heartwarming

- I like the thought behind getting a more expansive look at Nilfgaard and what kind of person Fringilla is and what exactly the elves are up to. The execution was... meh, but I appreciate the effort.

- Fringilla paralizing and killing those guys in the dining hall

All the things I disliked:

- What I wanted was a plotline involving Yennefer that would deepen her character. What I got was bullshit. What was the fucking point of her losing her magic and running around like a headless chicken for the entire season leading up to her flimsy "betrayal" of Ciri to basically not matter and just be used as an excuse for another cheap action setpiece for the season finale. Was the Yen & Cahir Roadtrip really worth the screen time only for the audience to not even really learn any new information about Yen or Cahir in the process in the end. I also thought it was useless to spend so much time on Tissaia and Geralt believing Yen to be dead when we know the entire time that of course she isn't

- With Yennefer apparently on the run now, is the show going to adapt the coup without Yen and Geralt attending the ball?

- Vilgefortz and Tissaia... why? What does this add?

- it is baffling to me that the show had Jaskier and Cahir meet now, kind of? Is Jaskier just going to do a double take and side-eye him extra hard when he shows up in Baptism of Fire and joins the gang on the Road Trip To Find Ciri? Are they not going to recognize each other? "Hey Geralt, don't worry about the man who haunts Ciri's worst nightmares, I saw him travelling with Yen not too long ago, he's not that bad"?

- the (non-book-canon) 'conflict' of "Do Yen and Geralt only fake love each other because of djinn magic?" remains unresolved/is swept under the rug, not to mention the extremely lazy Geralt and Jaskier friendship reunion (resulting from yet another non-book-canon conflict)

- the sheer amount of (at times really cheap-looking) huge monsters that Geralt fights made them feel like video game quest boss battles and this got stale and tiring and boring real fucking fast. And not once was there a great battle sequence with Ciri and Geralt properly fighting together

- Not enough Philippa Eilhart content considering just how many times her owl form was shown

- With all this focus on the elves, where the FUCK are the Scoia'tael and why have they never even been referred to by name yet?

- What a waste of potential to have Ciri only stay at Melitele's temple for a few hours instead of getting the book plot of her actually getting an education there and slowly forming a bond with Yennefer on her own without Geralt being present. As cute as the instant-family bond of the show was starting from Ciri walking in on Yen and Geralt, it didn't quite feel earned.

- Falka's introduction to the show's lore was badly done. Also, no one wanted or needed extended Stregebor screen time, I am sure of it

- The half-hearted adaptations of the book monologues that Triss directs at Geralt (and the other witchers) fell sadly flat

- Why WAS Ciri constantly training by mindlessly beating the shit out of a. thin air, and b. an unmoving straw dummy. That's not fight training, that's dance choreography. I wanted to like the "parkour training course" more, I imagined it to be more complex and longer than it was

- Justice for Eskel. I also don't know how Netflix could possibly expect me to care about the deaths of some of the witchers when they barely got referred to by name and had no real space to develop personalities or a bond with Ciri.

I am not that much of a book snob that I am just crying about any and all book changes. In fact, I have a personal laundry list of Book Canon that I would love to have never happened or be changed beyond the point of recognition. It's just that with a character dynamic like that of Yennefer and Ciri it is baffling to me how anyone could look at the season two finale and think it was an improvement in comparison to the source material. Seemingly done just because the show needed flashy action scenes for the finale which, yeah, admittedly, isn't really found in Blood of Elves.

#the witcher spoilers #wiedźmin #the witcher #lauren I trusted you to get the books right and then your (co-)written eps are my least favorites :(

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honeypiehotchner · 4 years ago

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Statistically Speaking (a Spencer Reid one shot)

Okay, yes, I know I literally just made a post about being triggered by Criminal Minds, but writing fluff about Spencer has been one of the things that has helped me heal (weirdly enough) and this is one of the one shots that I wrote. It’s all fluff. Enjoy xx.

(Also I’m only on like season 2 of the show so that’s when I’m imagining this is set but it can be whenever idc)

Tagging @breadgenie892 because she ruined me with her Jaskier x Geralt fluff earlier. This is 100% payback :)

You and Spender Reid — sorry, Dr. Spencer Reid as he adorably introduced himself to you on your first day at the BAU (and scrambled to say, “S-Sorry, it’s Spencer. Just Spencer Reid,” immediately after).

The two of you have quite the bond.

You’re no genius, not in the way Spencer is. Your memory is nowhere near Eidetic, it more resembles Dory from Finding Nemo, but you don’t make that joke anymore. Hotch gave you quite a worried look and called you into his office an hour later to ask if you were alright that day.

But you digress.

Before you met Spencer, Google was your best friend. You ask a lot of questions, and by a lot-- well, just ask Morgan.

On your first day, Morgan said, and you quote, “Oh, God. There’s two of them.”

Whenever you had a question, you Googled it. You researched, you found literary journals and universities that studied what you wanted to know. You found your answers, and sometimes more questions along the way.

But when you started at the BAU, Google was child’s play. Especially when Spencer could give you the answer faster than you could type in the question and hit enter on Google.

It’s one of the things you love most about him. At first, he only answered you because you have a bad habit of asking questions aloud when meaning to just speak to yourself. Spencer didn’t know you were mainly asking yourself, and he launched into a full explanation. You were too mesmerized to stop him, and started asking further questions. It went on and on until you were dazed and he was smiling, and the rest of the team was staring at the two of you like you’d gone insane.

So now, you ask him anything and everything.

Like…

Recently, you called him at almost ten at night. It was storming, but you really needed to take a shower. It had been two days since your last, and you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Hey Spence,” you said when he picks up. “Statistically speaking, how likely am I to get struck by lightning?”

“What? Y/N, what are you doing?”

“I need to shower and it’s storming. How do I look statistically?”

“Not good! Don’t take a shower!”

“Spencer,” you groaned, flopping down on your bed.

“Y/N, showering increases your likelihood of being electrocuted. Ten to twenty people on average are struck by lighting when bathing.”

“There’s the stats,” you chuckled. “Fine, genius. I’ll wait it out.”

“Good,” he sounded genuinely relieved.

His concern made you smile. “What are you up to?”

“Talking you out of electrocuting yourself.”

“I wouldn’t be electrocuting myself. The lightning is what would do it.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Are you tired of me yet?”

Spencer laughed airily before he replied in a soft voice, “No. Never.”

As strange as it sounds, things changed that night. Spencer stayed on the phone with you until the storm passed -- you were getting scared after a particularly loud boom of thunder, but you’d never admit that to him. Once it passed and once Spencer checked the weather radar to be sure it was gone, he let you shower.

The next morning at the BAU, you fixed a cup of coffee for him as a thank you for the night before. You were expecting him to take it and move on, but he pulled you into a hug instead.

Thankfully, no one saw it. If they had, you’d both be getting hell for it.

But despite not seeing the hug, the team has noticed things.

Hotch first noticed it when you offered to accompany Reid to the local police station to set things up on a new case. You normally go with Emily to talk to the families or even with Morgan to visit crime scenes. It was nothing against Spencer, you just happened to like being out in the field more than holed up in a station with exhausted law enforcement.

But not this time. This time you wanted to be with Reid. You even turned down Morgan’s offer to go to the crime scene.

Yeah. Hotch knew something was up.

Morgan noticed, too. He saw you pouring a massive amount of sugar into a cup of coffee and jokingly asked if it was for Reid. In your flustered state, you said it was yours. But Morgan watched you hand the cup off to Reid once you were back with him.

Emily’s suspicions were confirmed when you were talking with her one night on the plane. Everyone else was asleep, so you, Emily, and JJ began talking about “girly” things. Tonight’s topic happened to be crushes.

“I can’t imagine falling for someone on the team,” Emily whispered, pulling a face, overdoing it just to get your reaction.

And your reaction was priceless. You shrugged and went completely silent. While you were glancing over your shoulder to check that Reid was still sleeping, Emily shared quite the look with JJ.

Garcia was maybe the last to notice things. She had her suspicions as well (it passes the time, and Morgan made a few comments about it, too), but when she saw the two of you laughing, that was it. Spencer was sitting in his desk chair and you were sitting on his desk. You were arguing about something Garcia couldn’t hear, but the smiles on your faces told her the argument was all flirting.

And she’d be right to think that, too. The argument that day was that Spencer overworks himself, so you promptly sat on top of his paperwork so that he couldn’t get to it. He refused to touch it because it was too close to your ass and voiced this issue, and you told him it sounded like a personal problem. And that you wanted him to get up and walk around, maybe eat something, too.

You’re a bit of a hopeless romantic. That part of you was telling you that Spencer’s flirting was genuine. That there were feelings buried behind it, but you were never sure.

Spencer was officially the last to notice.

“How am I looking?” You asked seemingly out of nowhere.

Spencer raised his eyebrows, turning to look at you, your voice having broken him out of his thoughts. “Uh, good?”

You tilt your head. “No, statistically. I asked what are the chances of me making it to dinner on time?”

“Dinner?” Morgan asked, sauntering over with his blinding smile. “Got a hot date tonight?”

“You wish,” you scoffed, shoving his shoulder lightly.

But you didn’t elaborate further, which caused Spencer to go quiet. Realizing you weren’t getting any statistics out of him this time, you gathered your things in your arms and headed out.

Once you made it through the door, Morgan nearly fell to the floor. “Spencer. Pretty boy. What are you doing, man?”

Spencer dumbly looked down at the paperwork on his desk.

Before he could say anything, Morgan said, “No, man, not the paperwork. Y/N. What are you doing?”

“What do you mean what am I doing?”

Morgan laughed loudly. “Oh, pretty boy. You have no idea?”

Spencer scooted back from his desk, eyebrows furrowed in genuine confusion. “No idea about what?”

“Reid,” Morgan emphasizes every word. “She likes you.”

The sentence stunned Spencer so much he nearly fell out of his chair. “What?”

“Come on, man,” Morgan groaned. “An IQ of 187 and it didn’t help you see she’s got feelings for you?”

Spencer stood to his feet, grabbing his jacket. You liked him. You like him, and you’re going to dinner with someone else.

“There you go,” Morgan cheered as Spencer practically bolted from the room. “Go get her, tiger!”

“Shut up!” Spencer called after Morgan.

Pushing through the doors, Spencer halted, seeing you standing by the elevator. You’re staring down at your phone, and you don’t exactly look happy.

Spencer approaches you slowly, hand gripping the strap of his bag. “You okay?”

You look up quickly like he’s startled you, and truthfully, he has. “Oh. Um, no. My date-- Well, they canceled. Said something came up.”

Spencer can see you’re hurt by this, but he doesn’t care. “Have dinner with me,” he says, eyes expectant.

“With you?” You ask.

“Yeah,” he shrugs, a smile coming through when he adds, “please.”

“Okay,” you can’t help but smile, too.

Spencer grins now, stepping over to press the down arrow on the elevator. You wait in silence, stepping on when the doors open, and Spencer presses the button for the ground floor.

All of your hurt is gone from your face now, and it causes Spencer to start thinking. He stares ahead, and then he hears you giggle.

When he looks over at you, he asks. “You didn’t have a dinner date, did you?”

“Nope,” you chuckle. “Got ya.”

“Yeah,” Spencer laughs. “You got me.”

“So…” You pause, heart racing. “Statistically speaking, how likely are you to kiss me right now?”

Spencer doesn’t even care that the elevator is a few seconds from reaching the ground floor. All he cares about right now is you.

And because of that, he says, “Very likely,” before pulling you in. Your fingers tangle in his hair while his cup your jaw, moving you closer, deepening the kiss, trying to make up for all of his stupidity. As he holds you now, feels your lips, he wonders how he never knew.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fanfic #fluff

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roughentumble · 4 years ago

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did it ever really mean anything?

geraskier, 7k, pining, angst with a happy ending. crossposted to ao3 here

Geralt goes along with Jaskier to meet some of his Oxenfurt friends, and comes to realize he isn't the only one Jaskier gets touchy-feely with or calls "dear heart".

The realization that those gestures don't mean what he thought they did-- that he seemingly doesn't mean as much to Jaskier as he thought-- leaves him a pained, pining mess.

~*~*~*~

"Gibby!" Jaskier shouts with delight at the sight of his friend and rushes forward to greet her. His arms envelop her with ease, like it's a practiced motion, like he does this all the time, and she folds into the embrace with enthusiasm. "Oh, it's wonderful to see you again, dear heart." He says, and,

Dear heart.

The phrase ricochets around in Geralt's mind. Jaskier's used that endearment with him before, and it always sounded so weighty, so... meaningful. Dear heart. Doesn't sound like something you throw around for just anybody, but here it is, laid out casually at the feet of someone who he'd never even mentioned before. Someone who wasn't important enough to be the subject of even a passing tale to regale Geralt with on their many nights around a campfire.

He's struck a bit dumb as they continue to greet each other, hands clasped together in a friendly way, patting cheeks and ruffling hair, and he thinks about,

Jaskier, just after a winter apart, standing at a crossroads together, hand pressing only the faintest pressure into his shoulder, lips brushing his cheek so tenderly, words practically whispered right into his ear,

I missed you, dear heart.

The realization comes slow, but hits hard all the same. It twists in his stomach, burrows slowly between his ribs and clenches down tight on his heart.

He doesn't mean as much to Jaskier as he thought.

He's always held value in touch, in words, he's never handed them out easily or casually. And logically, he was aware that Jaskier was his opposite in this regard. Bright and vibrant and eager to bend someone's ear or pull them in close, loose with his affections, Geralt... Geralt knew all that. But somewhere deep down, he'd thought that these were a bridge too far, even for Jaskier. That these tender moments were something of milestones to him as well. They'd felt too weighty, too momentous to be something casual.

So, of course he'd been wrong. He'd known he was wrong, but he'd still held that hope, until... well. Until Jaskier handing out every tender moment he'd had to fight tooth and nail for with Geralt to someone in the middle of a crowded tavern, like it was nothing more than party favors. Like it was almost perfunctory-- that's what you did.

Is this what it looks like? To watch Jaskier with him? Is this what they look like to outsiders? Geralt's never seen him with a friend before.

This is just what he's like with friends.

Geralt's not special.

And he knew that, really he did, but there's knowing something and there's knowing something, and it's so hard to see someone else pulled into the force of gravity that is Jaskier's undivided affections. Given freely, with no expectations of reciprocation, because that's who he is, and,

and it never once mattered they were given to Geralt.

His consternation must show on his face, because Gibby shifts nervously and asks if he's alright. Is he glaring? Must be, although he didn't mean to. Jaskier waves a hand dismissively. "He's fine, just not a big fan of loud places." It's either a smooth lie, or a genuine assumption, but either way the subject is dropped.

"So, Geralt, this is Gibby, and-- well, there'll be time for proper introductions once everyone's here, of course, but suffice to say we had more than a few classes together, and she was my unofficial partner in crime for some time." He ushers the two of them into their seats as he rambles, and Gibby titters goodnaturedly where it's appropriate, but otherwise seems uncomfortable under Geralt's gaze. Her eyes linger a bit too long on a few too many spots on his face that he knows hold things like scars, or unnatural eyes, or the hint of too-sharp canines, and he feels bad for it, truly. It can't be comfortable being on the receiving end of his glare, but he can't quite get his face to arrange itself any other way, so he turns the weight of his gaze to the side instead to inspect the room with unseeing eyes.

Jaskier either doesn't notice the discomfort or decides the best way to deal with it is to ignore it in hopes that time and exposure will ease things.

It doesn't.

More people filter in, join them at the table, and Geralt's introduced to each in turn, and then the group as a whole, but most of it goes in one ear and out the other. He feels bad about it-- Jaskier wanted him to meet his friends, he wanted to meet Jaskier's friends-- but as soon as he gets his eyes to focus, sounds grow vague and muffled, and when he focuses on making out words he loses his ability to connect shapes with any sort of meaning. He spends most of the night with his nose in his ale-- overpriced and watered down, though it is.

He takes in snapshots, catalogs them away. He doesn't want to, but he can't stop himself, mind catching on every instance like a hang-nail, Jaskier's voice,

Dear,

Darling,

You are a wonder,

hand on a knee,

an elbow,

a shoulder,

tucked around a waist,

nose behind someone's ear, whispering conspiratorially,

eyes crinkling at the corners with delight.

There's a man to Geralt's immediate left that, through the haze of the evening and his newest revelation, he recognizes as a bit of a pompous man. Voice a little bit grating, and a little too interested in his own successes, prompting more than one eye roll from Geralt, but Jaskier takes it all in stride, turns everything around into a joke without making it at anyone's expense, pulls the conversation back on track without leaving him behind.

Because Jaskier is easy with affection, talented at making friends,

even with people who aren't necessarily worth it.

~*~*~*~

He feels as stupid, as foolish, as every one-night-stand who thought Jaskier might stay in some no-name village for her. Of course he never meant anything. Of course they were just casual friends. Of course it was him, getting too intense and making assumptions.

Jaskier couldn't have meant anything bad by it, of course. Hadn't even intended to string anyone along, probably hadn't even realized he'd done so. He was just so funny and charming and personable and free with affection that it sucked you right in, he made you feel important, because for a minute, when those blue eyes lock on you, you are important.

Just. No more important than anyone else he spots.

No more special than the next shiny, flashy thing to catch his attention.

No cruelty in it, just a shortness of attention span and a certain openness that most other folks've had beaten out of them by the world once they reach his age.

Jaskier isn't evil, isn't trying to be calculating by any means, but Geralt lays in bed and clutches a pillow to his chest and aches anyway. Aches over how he'd let himself forget, aches over how he'd let himself be tricked, aches for the closeness he'd thought he had.

~*~*~*~

The next morning, Geralt gets up early, dons his armor, gets his bags together. He almost leaves, just like that, but-- well. Jaskier might get anxious if he just up and vanishes overnight, and Jaskier hadn't done anything wrong precisely. Geralt doesn't mean this at a punishment. So he knocks on Jaskier's door, and after far too long, he answers, bleary and smelling faintly of vomit.

Geralt comes up with a lie, says a contract came up suddenly, and Jaskier's face falls. "But-- we were supposed to..." He starts, leaning against the door frame for support, then thinks better of whatever he was going to say and heaves out a sigh. "Well. Alright. I suppose it can't be helped."

"I-- I liked meeting your friends." Geralt says, because Jaskier looks sad, and he doesn't want Jaskier to be sad.

Jaskier perks up at that. "Oh, you did? That's wonderful, and they were so eager to meet you too, they absolutely loved you!" Jaskier says enthusiastically.

Geralt thinks back on the space he'd been given all night. No one had bumped him, even accidentally. Almost none would meet his eye.

"I'm glad," he says.

"I," Jaskier's voice sounds a bit odd, maybe a little over-eager as he reaches out to take Geralt's hand in his own, "I have a performance coming up in about a week. I don't know how long this contract will take you, but... if you can, I'd like to see you there."

He should say he can't make it. He should say it'll be a long contract. There isn't even a contract, it's a lie he's making up so he can skulk away and lick his wounds without anyone around to notice and call him out for being pathetic. Jaskier has friends here, they'll come to his performance, he doesn't need Geralt. Instead, what comes out is "We'll see."

Jaskier lights up even further, grips his hand even tighter. His eyes crinkle at the corner, just like they did the night before. "Well, do try your best to make it, my dear. And be safe, alright?" He leans in, and before Geralt can move, plants a kiss right on his cheek. "For good luck." He explains.

Geralt's cheek tingles from the contact. He wants-- he wants to shuck the swords from his back. He wants to explain the contract wasn't real, he wants to shoulder his way into Jaskier's room and press kisses to his mouth until he's red-lipped and rosy-cheeked, he wants-- he wants--

But he doesn't. Because it isn't like that, because Jaskier isn't his, because he doesn't mean it that way. Because Geralt's another in a long list of pining fools, waylaid by Jaskier's effortless charm. Because they're just acquaintances, and none of it ever meant anything.

Geralt steps back, and nods curtly, and Jaskier mimics the gesture in a way that's both mocking and completely fond, and that's that.

~*~*~*~

He does, actually, stumble on a contract, so he doesn't make a complete liar of himself. A whole stack of them, in fact. There's a little town less than a day's ride out from Oxenfurt, on the opposite side of the city from where he'd initially entered with Jaskier, and it seems they've got more than a few beasties vying for the land they're sitting on.

Ghouls and rotfiends and drowners, oh my.

It's a straight week of shitty, tedious work. Of running himself ragged taking out minor but insistent infestations. Of maybe staying up later than he should, and waking up earlier as well, because in the back of his stupid mind, all he can think about is how Jaskier had asked him to come. As he decapitates a ghoul, the day of the performance in question, he knows-- knows it's not important that he personally shows up. That Jaskier just wants a friend there, anyone he knows, and-- well. He just happens to know Geralt. It's not important. It doesn't mean anything. He's thinking about how it doesn't mean anything when a different ghoul catches him right in the thigh, an impressive swipe of razor-sharp claws, bright-hot and agonizing. He curses under his breath and returns his mind to more pressing matters.

He should've taken the time to wallow, like he'd intended. He should've taken the time to pine and ache and be a miserable bastard. Instead he lost himself in the flow of his work, because--

because--

because Jaskier asked him to come back.

And it was stupid, anyway, to run away, so he might as well keep right on being stupid by ignoring the issue entirely when he lays in bed at night.

The decision to walk back is split-second, but he's also been operating under the assumption that he was definitely going back, his mind and time itself seemingly on some sort of disconnect. He's back in the moment now, maybe, he thinks, though it feels like his brain's been shut off and his feet have been making their own decisions the past few days.

~*~*~*~

When he stumbles into the tavern-- the same one he'd met Jaskier's friends in, spent the night in-- he's absolutely drenched in rapidly congealing blood. Mostly ghoul, but some his own. Jaskier's on stage, and Geralt's seen him perform often enough that he has a vague idea of what his setlists normally look like, what the usual flow of a performance by Jaskier feels like. He gets the impression he must be more than halfway through already. A few people turn their heads and gasp when he gets closer, shuffle away from him in horror, but no one screams and he isn't kicked out, so he just stumbles over to the nearest wooden beam and leans against it for support.

Jaskier's voice washes over him as he waits, world gone slightly fuzzy at the edges. He should've stopped somewhere to stitch up his side, but-- well. It certainly won't kill him, and...

he didn't want to get there too late. Didn't want to miss this, have Jaskier think he didn't care. Which is a terrible, mindless decision, because they're really not that close, apparently, but, well... Story of his life. He cares too much-- he can't make himself stop caring too much.

It's over too soon, the music giving way to applause and Jaskier's expressions of gratitude, proclaiming the tavern to be a lovely crowd. Without a tune to follow, Geralt suddenly feels bone-deep tired, and his head droops a bit, but somehow-- probably all the blood, honestly-- Jaskier spots him through the throng of people. He pushes through them politely as he can, lute thrown over his shoulder, and makes a beeline for Geralt.

More people turn and gasp as they move out of the way, following Jaskier's line of sight, but he isn't deterred. "Geralt!" He announces brightly, "You made it!" He pauses then, and adds after a moment, "You're absolutely filthy. Didn't think to wash any of that off, darling?"

Darling. The word leaves him feeling hot and cold at the same time. "Didn't want to miss your show." He mumbles, which is a little too honest, but he has a flesh wound, so he thinks he can be forgiven the momentary lapse in judgement.

Jaskier lights up, of course. "Oh, aren't you sweet?" He asks rhetorically, then glances to the side and notices his audience's attention has continued to follow him. "The great White Wolf, back from another successful contract!" He announces as an explanation to attempt to quell their obvious discomfort, sweeping his hand out as if Geralt were something impressive to display, and not a man bleeding all over the floor. Ah, well, he'll clot soon enough anyway. "If you'd be so kind as to draw a bath for my companion, good sir." He calls out, locking eyes with one of the employees and reaching for the purse on his hip.

The man nods and Geralt huffs. "I can pay," he starts, but Jaskier waves him off.

"Nonsense. I just got paid, my treat."

Geralt rolls his eyes. "I also just got paid. I can afford my own bath."

Jaskier grabs his hand and pulls him away from the support beam, following after the person on his way to fill a tub. "You buy us a pitcher, then, or dessert. I'll get the bath." After a moment he screws up his face and glances down at their joined hands. "It's slimy."

"That'd be the blood."

"Ew." His nose scrunches up further, but he doesn't let go.

~*~*~*~

By the time the bath is filled, the blood's dried just enough that separating their hands is a bit of a hassle, and while Jaskier makes some (justified) disgusted squawking at the way their palms peel apart, Geralt's busy going on a bit of a downward spiral about the prolonged contact. It makes his heart do something funny in his chest, which he then has to chastise with a quick reminder that the gesture doesn't mean what his heart seems to think it means, which then leads to a lovely (it is not actually lovely) sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Well, hurry up and shuck the armor." Jaskier says, apparently having paid the man while Geralt was busy staring at his own palm. "You're not going to get any cleaner just standing there." He swirls his hand around in the bath, then uses the rim to scrape off the worst of the gunk.

Geralt sets to work unbuckling what needs unbuckling, trying not to think too hard about Jaskier's little pet names and affectionate gestures. Jaskier watches out of the corner of his eye-- not perversely, so much as critically. "You're quiet." He says. Geralt flicks his eyes up, then back down to the buckle on his left side. His fingers slip off it, and he mutters a quiet curse as he attempts to wipe his hands off on his pants, to no avail.

"Aren't I always?" He responds, and manages to get the buckle on his second try with a liberal usage of fingernails.

Jaskier tilts his head, considering. "Not quite like this, no."

Is he acting different? He doesn't feel like he's acting different. He almost looks up-- gets as far as seeing Jaskier's boots before he's looking back down again-- and wonders if maybe it's that he can't seem to make eye contact. His chest piece hits the floor and he works on peeling off his shirt, steadfastly ignoring Jaskier's scrutiny.

"Did something happen on your last contract?" He asks, voice laced with concern.

Other than the chunk missing from my leg because I was too busy brooding? He thinks, but doesn't say. "No," he says instead, bending over to unlace his boots. Jaskier makes a little, appraising sort of hum, but doesn't press further. When Geralt straightens, Jaskier has his back turned, slipping his doublet off his shoulders and hanging it on a nearby hook. He stays like that as he rolls his shirt sleeves up to elbows, and Geralt takes the opportunity to shuck his pants(makes a mental note to patch the thigh, now in tatters) and slip into the waiting tub.

The hot water feels better than he'd like to admit, though he can't help the small hiss that escapes as it envelopes his thigh. Jaskier looks sharply over his shoulder at the sound, eyes narrowing. "You're hurt, aren't you?" He asks, turned to face Geralt now, hands on hips. "Should've known some of that blood was yours... I thought I told you not to do that. What did you waste the luck I gave you on?"

And really, Geralt has something for this, some quip he could come back with, but the memory of Jaskier's kiss-- just a little peck, nothing more, and yet-- makes his stomach twist uncomfortably and all words flee him. He grunts back, and Jaskier heaves an exasperated sigh. "Of course. How silly of me. I've seen the light." He says in a deadpan drawl, dragging over a stool so he can sit beside the tub. "One of these days I'm going to crack through that grumpy exterior and find the soft, gooey center I know you have." His voice is light, teasing, and he picks up a wash cloth and reaches for Geralt as if to help, and it's suddenly too much.

Geralt doesn't know what it all means, except that it must not mean anything, because it seems to easily handed out to everyone, equally. He's not so selfish that he feels entitled to some sort of special treatment, but he doesn't-- he doesn't know what it means. Just that it suddenly feels very hollow, and far too casual, and he can't stand the idea of those hands touching his skin casually. Like it means nothing. Like he's anybody.

His body jerks out of the way to avoid Jaskier's touch of its own accord. "Geralt?" Jaskier asks, sounding almost alarmed, and Geralt heaves out an answering sigh, dragging a hand down his face. His hair falls down around his bowed head like a clumpy, bloody curtain. He doesn't know how to act, now that the dynamic's shifted-- or now that he understands it better, anyway. He's suddenly very tired.

"Geralt, are you sure you're alright?" Back to concerned again, hand reaching for Geralt's shoulder, but he flinches away before they touch.

"I'm fine." He grits out.

"Dear heart,"

"Don't call me that." He bites back, bowing his head further. Because I can't tell, he thinks to himself miserably, I can't differentiate. I can't make myself remember how you mean it. It feels too real.

"But I--" Jaskier starts, only to get cut off once more.

"I said don't." I can't take it. I can't take it.

After a tense, quiet moment, Jaskier finally says "Alright." and he sounds defeated, but a weight lifts itself from Geralt's chest, knowing he won't have those words burrowing their way under his skin any longer.

Guilt starts to creep in as seconds tick past and the room remains silent but for the water gently lapping at the sides of the tub. Jaskier asked him to come, was excited about this performance, but Geralt had never asked what made this one special, and now here he was elbow deep in Geralt's mess and miserable. He feels his stomach twist itself into knots all over again. He hadn't meant--

He chews on the inside of his cheek, hunches in a little further. Reaches out tentatively, but keeps his head bowed and face obscured. "Could--" And even as quietly as he said it, his voice sounds almost painfully loud in the silence. "Could you pass the..." He trails off, but the soap is placed in his upturned palm anyway. He hums a short 'thank you' sort of sound, but he just holds the bar in his hands, examining it. Jaskier doesn't say anything. "You were good tonight." Barely more than a whisper, but it still feels so loud. Is there an echo, or is it just his imagination? "I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner." The silence stretches on, and he almost thinks there won't be a response at all.

"Are you just saying that to make me feel better?" His voice is carefully even.

It startles Geralt a bit, and he glances up, brow furrowed. "No, I... I wouldn't..." He looks away again, down at the water. It's too pink, saturated with blood. He'll never be able to get fully clean. "I liked it." He says again, unsure of how to say it in a way that proves he means it. "It's-- your voice is... soothing."

Jaskier huffs a sigh through his nose. "Well, in that case, thank you very much, Geralt." Geralt. Seems too impersonal, after everything, but it's what he'd asked for, isn't it? No right to complain about it now. "I'm glad you made it. Always nice to see a familiar face in the crowd at the end of a long set. Here, let me." He adds as an aside, plucking the bar out of Geralt's hands. Geralt ducks away once more, and Jaskier gets quieter, pleading gently. "Please? If... if you truly want me to leave I will, but... please let me help."

Geralt doesn't say anything for the longest time, and eventually Jaskier reaches out, presses a hand to his shoulder. He flinches again, but he doesn't pull away this time. It rubs up against him wrong, but Jaskier huffs a sigh of relief, and he wants-- he wants it to be like how it was. How he thought things were.

He doesn't want Jaskier to be upset.

He allows the washcloth sliding across his back, and tries to pretend it doesn't just leave him cold.

~*~*~*~

"I never asked... what made this performance so special?"

"Hmm?" Jaskier's nails scratch over Geralt's scalp pleasantly, and he shrugs. "Oh, nothing in particular. I just wanted you here."

Something warm and sweet curls up low in Geralt's stomach. He tries to remind himself that it doesn't mean anything.

~*~*~*~

"Before we set out again," Jaskier says the next morning, once Geralt is clean and rested and the world seems more solid under his feet, "I have one more friend I'd like to see, and if you're willing, it would mean a lot to me if you'd come with me and meet her. We've been friends for the longest time, you see, and she's very dear to me, and honestly the group you met the other night were mostly drinking buddies, but she's an actual friend. A companion, you know? So..." There's a sinking feeling in Geralt's stomach as Jaskier continues to ramble, but Jaskier looks so hopeful, hands clutched around his lute strap like that, eyes glittering... Geralt steels his resolve and agrees.

~*~*~*~

He berates himself on the short walk to her house. Honestly, if he can't handle meeting one friend-- one-- just because they're closer to Jaskier than he is, he's even more pathetic than he thought.

He can handle this. It won't be fun, but he can handle it.

~*~*~*~

They're gorgeous together. Her hair is blonde where his is russet, eyes a deep, honey brown where his are bright and blue, but otherwise they look alike in that way that only disgustingly gorgeous couples do. She matches his wit, and they share a passion, and once Jaskier gets over his seeming allergy to commitment, Geralt could envision him back here. With her. Making music together, a perfect little matching set. It works too well for it to go any other way. And even if they don't figure it out, well... they're very close. Best of friends.

He calls her dear heart and misery claws its way up Geralt's throat.

Geralt waits until Jaskier is in the middle of a story he's already heard to very quietly excuse himself for some fresh air. He steps out the front door and leans against the exterior wall of Priscilla's rented home.

How selfish, he thinks, standing alone outside the house of a woman he barely knows, waiting on a friend who's barely a friend, how fucking selfish.

What right does he have to jealousy?

What right do I have? He thinks, almost wildly, an edge of hysteria to his thoughts, what right do I have,

we're not even that close.

~*~*~*~

Apparently he takes too long, because eventually the front door creaks and Jaskier joins him outside, looking confused. "Is everything alright? What are you doing out here?"

"Fine." Geralt keeps his eyes closed and his head tilted back, pressed against the bricks. "Just needed some air."

"Air?" He parrots back incredulously, brow furrowed.

Geralt presses his head back against the bricks more firmly, so they dig into the back of his skull, little dull pinpricks of pain. "Priscilla's nice." He says, to avoid the topic of why he's outside, and because it's true.

Jaskier lights up at that, steps a bit closer. "Isn't she just?"

"You make sense, the two of you." Something aches in his chest to say it.

"We do, don't we? Been two peas in a pod, ever since we first bumped into each other at a bardic competition. Oh, and she was so excited to meet you, as well, what with all the stories and the songs n' such."

Geralt can't help but snort at that. "Mhmm, sure she was over the moon."

Jaskier's brow furrows again. "Well, what do you mean by that?"

He sighs. "Nothing. Don't worry about it."

"No, clearly something's wrong, I want to know what."

Certainly Priscilla had been made of stronger stuff than Jaskier's other bard friends, hadn't so much as flinched, but the rest... "Most people aren't you. They don't really feel much desire to fraternize with witchers."

"Oh, that again." He says dismissively, rolling his eyes. "Well, these aren't most people, they're my friends, whom I've regaled with many a tale of both your bravery and your kindness."

"Lots of people you talk to still don't like witchers by the end."

"Are you doubting my abilities as a storyteller, or just as a judge of character?" he asks hotly, arms crossed over his chest. "I know them, they wouldn't--"

"I'm not a complete fool, I know when people are frightened of me." He bites out, harsher than he meant to.

There's a beat of silence as he stares sullenly at his feet. "Oh, darling..." Jaskier says, tone pivoting to something sad and earnest as his hand reaches out.

"I asked you not to call me that." He says, same harsh tone, because the endearment twists between his ribs, and Jaskier's hand falters, his shoulders slump a bit further.

"I thought-- I mean, you'd only mentioned... I thought you just didn't like dear heart, but I can... I can stop using others too, if you'd like." He sounds soft and confused and a little bit hurt, and Geralt groans, scrubs a hand down his face.

"Fine, it's-- fine. I am a fool, actually. Just... call me what you like."

"No, if it upsets you, I won't say it anymore, just tell me which ones to avoid and I will."

"It doesn't matter, Jaskier, it's fine. I'm being stupid. I know that's just what you call people, so..."

Jaskier's entire face scrunches up this time, instead of just his brow. "What do you mean by that?"

He lifts a shoulder, fingers coming together to pinch the bridge of his nose, eyes shut tight. "I mean what it sounds like. You don't mean anything by it. It doesn't matter. Say whatever you're going to say."

"No, you're-- you're phrasing it oddly. What do you mean by that?" He reaches out to grasp at Geralt's wrist, tugging his hand away from his face to try and meet his eye, but Geralt just glances past him instead, eyeing the door.

"We should go back inside. Rude to keep someone waiting."

"You've never cared a day in your life what is or isn't rude."

"I care when the person's nice."

"You've never minded being rude to me, though." He sounds indignant.

"I care when the person's nice." He repeats, trying to pull the conversation back into something approaching companionable ribbing.

Jaskier gasps theatrically, puts a hand to his chest in mock-offense, but blocks the way when Geralt tries to shoulder past. "She's not that nice, and you're not getting out of this conversation. You've been acting oddly for a while, and now the sudden offense over endearments-- what's wrong? I'd like a straight answer, please."

Endearments. As if there's anything endearing about him. He leans back against the wall with a groan, tipping his head back so it thunks gently against the brick.

"It's not..." He tries to say something, but the words get stuck in his throat. He becomes, suddenly, crushingly aware of how embarrassing his current predicament is. "It's... pathetic." He mutters, glancing to the side so he doesn't have to look at Jaskier.

"You don't have to worry, you know I won't judge, not if it's really important." Jaskier's hand comes to rest on Geralt's bicep, and he gives it a reassuring squeeze. "Are you... worried about making friends, perhaps? Because we can get back together with them, give you another chance. Just because you got nervous--"

"It's not that." He replies, exasperated. "It's just... I... I get too attached. I forget who I am... what I am," he says with no small amount of bitterness, "I forget my place."

"Geralt, you don't have a place!" Jaskier visibly cringes at his own words. "Ah, I meant-- of course you have a place, you know, a place amongst friends n' such, I just meant... you're not lesser or anything like that."

"Right..." Geralt lets out a long sigh, scrubs a hand down his face once more. "It's just... rough being reminded that you're more important to me than I am to you." He clicks his tongue, mouth twisting into a frown. "Fuck, that sounds manipulative now I say it out loud. I don't mean it that way, it's-- fine, really. It's my fault anyway."

Jaskier inhales sharply and pulls back almost as if struck, mouth agape. "Wh-- Geralt, what are you talking about? You're very important to me!"

Geralt nods along, but he keeps his eyes trained on the ground. "Yeah, like your drinking buddies are important, and the barkeep you know by name is important, and... and everyone is important to you. I know. It's just... it's different for me. But really, it's my fault, I'll... I'll get the moping out of my system eventually, alright?"

"Geralt, I genuinely have no clue what you're talking about, you're incredibly dear to me."

He can't help the snort that escapes at that, but every endearment just stabs him somewhere deep now, brings with it echos of every other time he's said it, like the words meant nothing. Probably because they didn't. "Yeah, dear. Dear heart. I get it." He all but mumbles.

He can see Jaskier's hackles start to raise, out of the corner of his eye, and he turns his head a bit more to escape having to look-- having to see-- "What's wrong with--"

"Nothing." He says before Jaskier can get started. "Nothing wrong with it at all. I just... I built it up to be something it wasn't, in my head, and-- and I know I'm the one in the wrong for it, for making something out of nothing, for getting a scrap of kindness and assuming it had some deeper hidden meaning, when clearly you're just... a nice person. I'm not being accusatory-- not trying to be, anyway."

"Geralt," he says, and he sounds devastated, but that can't... that can't be right, because... because-- he reaches out and grabs Geralt by the shoulders, tries to meet his eyes, but he keeps his head turned away, "where is this even coming from? I-- wait, is this because I called my friends dear heart as well? At the tavern?" He sounds incredulous, and something about the tone makes heat rise in Geralt's cheeks. He scowls and tries to push the feeling down.

"I just thought... I was a fool. I thought you only... I thought... that maybe that kind of closeness was... different for you too, but I'm-- I'm just realizing it wasn't, and I know it's foolish, but it just kind of... it hurts, alright? So just stop trying to say that it's equal, because I know it's more to me, I know I'm... being more."

Jaskier huffs and grips him tighter, tries once more, unsuccessfully, to catch his eye. "If you'd just listen to me, and stop cutting me off, you'd hear what I'm trying to say, which is--"

"Stop--"

He just gets louder, grips tighter, "Which is that you've got it all wrong, you do matter to me. I consider you one of my dearest friends--"

"Just stop, stop trying to--"

"And I'm sorry I made you feel like you didn't. I never meant--"

The words come tumbling out so fast he doesn't have the time to think about what he's saying, or what he really means by it, he's too desperate to get Jaskier to stop. His mind casts back, reuses the metaphor it did when he was alone in his room that first night, and he says, "Yeah, Jaskier, I know, I know you never meant it, you never mean to, I'm just like every other two-bit fool you've left behind in every single shitty town who thought she was special just because you smiled at her, alright? And I'm just realizing that, even though I should've known it didn't mean anything special, because you're nice to everyone. But I didn't, and I let myself think it mattered, like a fool, let myself think I was more important than I was, so just-- hurry up and get your shit together and go kiss Priscilla," Jaskier echoes her name, sounding somewhere between mystified and scandalized, but Geralt barrels forwards, "and leave me behind like every other broken heart you've left strewn across the continent."

"Geralt," miserable, he sounds miserable,

The words stick in his throat, but he forces them out anyway. "And I'm not, I'm not mad at you for being you, or for saying it, or thinking we were some sort of friends, you're-- you're wonderful. That's the problem, see, you're wonderful, I'm mad at myself for reading into it, thinking it meant something more where clearly it--"

Suddenly, hands, strong and sure, are tangled in his hair, grabbing at him, forcing his head forward to finally face Jaskier, and he's tugged down into a kiss. It's little more than the firm press of Jaskier's mouth to his, but it brings his mind and his speech to a screeching halt anyway.

All too soon Jaskier is pulling away, as Geralt sits there, stock-still and dumbfounded. "Of course it means something," he says, quietly into the air between them but no less emphatically for it, "of course it does. It's always meant something when I say it to you." His hands slide forward, come around to cup at Geralt's jaw. "Who else do I travel with, like I travel with you? Who is it I wait for all winter? The pet names, the endearments, all those sweet words-- of course they mean something when I say them to you, darling."

He lets out a sound distressingly close to a whine, but Jaskier is right there, cupping the back of his neck and pulling him in close for another kiss. Geralt's hands come up this time, clutching at Jaskier's back, feeling the warmth of him through the doublet, and he tugs him in close, so they're pressed chest to chest. He kisses Jaskier until he's dizzy with it, his mind reeling, then pulls away just so he can tuck his face into Jaskier's neck and breathe deep, grounding himself.

Jaskier's runs a hand through his hair, petting him gently and pressing him that much closer. "My dear, foolish witcher..." he mumbles fondly.

"I thought--" Jaskier shushes him, murmurs a soft 'I know' against his temple, then tucks his own face into Geralt's neck. Geralt marvels at the feel of him in his hands, at the fact he knows what Jaskier feels like against his mouth, at the fact that this is something he can have, and he can't resist the urge to press a kiss into Jaskier's skin.

He giggles a bit and shies away, as if tickled, and Geralt tucks in closer, presses another kiss to the same spot, this one open-mouthed and sucking. Jaskier lets out an appreciative hum and tilts his head away to open up more space, fingers tracing nonsense patterns across Geralt's shoulders. "Fuck, that's nice... love you so much, darling."

A wounded noise works its way out of his throat, and his chest feels fit to bursting. "I love you too," he says, kissing a desperate line up Jaskier's neck, "I love you, gods, I love you," he repeats between kisses, over and over, until their lips connect again, as if he could somehow press the love into Jaskier's skin, sink the bone-deep truth of it into him in a way it could never leave or be misunderstood.

He walks Jaskier back and presses him up against the wall, intent on kissing him senseless, when he hears someone behind him clear their throat. Both of their heads snap to the side to find Priscilla lounging against the door frame, eyebrow raised and lips upturned. "Do you boys plan on coming back inside, or are we cutting this lunch date short?"

Geralt feels bad about eating into so much of her afternoon with his own problems, and is instantly chastened by her words, but Jaskier seems to hold none of the same reservations, eyes crinkling at the corner happily. "Oh, we'd love to. Good timing, by the way."

"I waited until the sounds of arguing stopped, but apparently I didn't wait long enough." She looks faintly amused.

"He was the one who pushed the issue..." Geralt mutters, face heating up once more.

"Mm, sounds about right. He's a little hellion when he wants to be."

"A compliment, I'm sure." He says brightly, and she rolls her eyes fondly and disappears back into the house, front door left ajar for them to follow after.

Jaskier turns back to Geralt, smiling from ear to ear, and takes his hand in his own. "We can talk more about this, and what it means for us, later." He presses a kiss to Geralt's cheek. "I do love you, dearest." He says quietly, then starts towards the door, tugging Geralt along after him. "For now, let's go finish visiting our friend, hmm? We can head back to our room after that."

Dearest. Our friend. Our room. Geralt's throat gets tight, and he nods weakly. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that. As long as you're with me."

"Of course I'm with you." Jaskier's smile gets a bit softer, just that much fonder, and Geralt falls into step beside him.

#witcher tag #writing tag #geraskier

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tillthelandslide · 4 years ago

Text

Age Gap

Hi everyone! I really hope everyone reading enjoys this. It’s my first ever Henry Cavill fan fic so I am a little apprehensive about posting it. I throughly enjoyed writing it so please be sure to give me feedback and any and all ideas for future Henry Cavill fan fics would be appreciated.

Thank you to @toomanystoriessolittletime for reading over this for me, you’re amazing.

Hope you enjoy - L

You and Henry had been dating for over a year now. Things were great, he was the kindest, most caring and loving person you had ever met. He was so inspiring and passionate about his work and those around him. He was genuinely interested in everyone's lives and he truly cared for the people in his life, including you. He was the most beautiful person both inside and out and you were so lucky to have him in your life.

Henry had just posted a very cute picture of the both of you on his Instagram.

henrycavill:

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henrycavill horse riding and training for The Witcher 2 @your_username never a dull moment with you by my side

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your_username always my love ❤️ cant wait for everyone to see how amazing you were

↳ henrycavill i love you

↳ your_username i love you too. Kinda mad at you, making me look all unprofessional, kissing my clients 😂

↳ henrycavill hope I’m the only client you kiss

↳ joeybateyofficial I’m the only client you kiss @henrycavill 😂

anyachalotra was a pleasure working with you again @your_username. Does he always ride topless or?? 😂

↳ your_username it was so fun! cant wait for everyone to see you in action 🤷🏼‍♀️not complaining though 😂

fan1 omg this is so cute

fan2 wow Henry really loves her. Dont blame him 😍

fan3 wait she worked on the Witcher?? what did she even do, wtf??

↳ fan4 shock horror! 😳y/n acutally has a job! don’t be silly, she’s so hard working, leave her be 🙄

↳ your_username @fan4 thank you lovely 💜

The majority of his fans went wild, they were happy for him but very curious who you were, they knew you had been friends with Henry for ages and had always said how beautiful you were and had recently learnt that the two of you were dating after Henry had posted a cute video to his story of Kal kissing you before Henry said "I'm getting cheated on with my own dog" . Infact it was often joked that both you and Henry were the hottest nerds ever (you too were a massive gamer and a huge fan of the Witcher amongst many other fantasy games and films).

However, a few nasty people had to comment about the age gap between the two of you. You were 25 and Henry was 37. But the age gap didn't matter to you or to Henry and the horrible comments about it made you both annoyed and upset.

Today Henry had invited you to bring Kal, his beloved American Akita, along to an interview he had. You agreed because you knew it meant you could spend more of the day with Henry and you throughly enjoyed watching him work.

"Today we are joined by Henry Cavill, known for being Superman, August Walker, Geralt of Rivia and many more. How are you today Henry?" The interviewer said, introducing Henry and smiling at him.

Henry offered a nice smile back before saying "I'm very good thank you, how are you?"

"Good thank you, very excited for this interview. So the trailer for season 2 of the Witcher has just been released and we're all very excited" he said making Henry chuckle.

"I'm excited for everyone to see it" he said. Henry and the interviewer then spoke about the filming of season 2 for a long while. You sat petting Kal who had found comfort in between your legs resting his head on your thighs. You were admiring Henry when the interviewer asked a question about you.

"So we are joined by your lovely girlfriend who is a massive fan of the Witcher games and books, yes?"

"We are indeed" Henry said, winking at you before continuing "she's a even bigger nerd about it than me. She's played the Witcher 1 and 2 twice and has played Wild Hunt, 3 times now I think?" he said glancing at you for reassurance, in which you nodded, making him nod to the interviewer.

"Wow that's impressive" the interviewer said, genuinely impressed.

"Now we have to ask, do the constant criticism about your age gap affect the both of you, or do you just ignore it?" he said referring to you being quite a bit younger than Henry.

"Um, yes and no" he said the gravelly tone of Geralt peaking through a tad. "The age gap isn't a problem in our relationship, we're both adults and we're both fairly mature" he said trying to make light of the situation and making the interview laugh.

"No but seriously I am very happy with y/n. She is the most amazing woman in my life, sorry Mum, she is caring and loving and so talented and passionate. The thing that does get annoying about the comments are the ones saying y/n is using me for my money or for the fame. Because that couldn't be any farther from the truth " he said making you smile (and the interviewer). "Anyone who knows the first thing about y/n knows that she is the most career driven person in the world, just because she doesn't share what she does with the world in the same way I do, doesn't mean she doesn't have a job" he said addressing many rumors that said you don't have a job, which quite frankly made you chuckle.

"And its not as if y/n doesn't talk about her job at all, in fact it's something she loves talking about because she's so passionate about it and she's so good at it" he said.

"She owns her own stables, is that correct?" The interviewer asked reading from a card in his lap, making you smile at how he researched you before this interview (Henry was asked if he was comfortable talking about your relationship, in which he said of course because he often loves talking people's ears off about you).

"Yes she does. But she also works on film and TV sets" Henry said making the interviewer hum.

"Her horses have been used many times in films right?" the interviewer said making Henry nod proudly.

"Zeus who plays Roach in the Witcher is actually one of y/ns horses. She works on TV sets and films, training actors on horses. She helped train all of the actors in the Witcher on their horses, including me. Everyone on set, especially Freya, Anya and Joey, absolutely loved her" he said proudly.

"I'm even more impressed now. And hopefully that puts some of the rumors to bed. It is honestly so lovely to hear the way you speak about her" the interviewer said making Henry gush a little.

"She's lovely, I'm very proud of her" Henry said looking off camera at you, making you blush.

"And she's easy on the eyes too which is a bonus. Think my dog Kal loves her more than me though" he said making you and the interviewer chuckle and making Kal perk up, upon hearing his name.

They wrapped up the interview after talking about season 2 a little more, showing some teaser videos and playing a game of who's most likely to. Henry thanked the interviewer for being so kind, signing some stuff for him before walking to you, you filming him as he did so.

He pet Kal on the head before placing a quick kiss to your lips

"You're too sweet Hen" you said, placing your arms around his waist as his rested around your shoulders.

"Only speaking the truth love. The fans are going to go crazy when they see that interview" he said leaning down to place a proper kiss against your lips, making you sigh against him.

"Hmm, come home with me" he says in his Geralt voice making you chuckle against him and shoving his chest jokingly, making Kal buck his head in between you which made Henry grunt.

"Stop getting jealous" he said rubbing behind Kal's ears making him pant up at him.

"Now who's cheating with his dog?" you said making him chuckle and place his hand in yours.

"Let's go home" he says, placing Kals leash in his other hand, saying goodbye to the people along the way as you were leaving.

You both got into Henry’s car, Kal sitting inbetween you legs again then posted a video to your Instagram feed.

your_username:

Liked by henrycavill, freyaallan and 400,800 more

your_username thank you for letting me and Kal join you for your interview today and thank you for all the wonderful things you said. Your love and support means the world to me Hen ❤️@henrycavill

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henrycavill of course my love, love you more than life itself ❤️

↳ yourusername 🥰 love you too

fan4 soo cute I can’t deal

fan6 the way they are so cute and fluffy on each others posts makes my heart burst. soft henry is the best

↳ yourusername makes my heart burst too. can confirm that not soft henry is pretty good too

↳ fan6 omg you replied, what in the world? also get it sis

↳ henrycavill she does

↳ freyaallan gross. na jk love you both

#henry #henry cavill #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill smut #geralt #geralt smut #harry styles #augustwalker #superman #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill imagines

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