This title was sent in by the amazing and wonderful @dapandapod and as always, betad by the love of my life, @kuripon. Thank you both for all your love and support.
Bit of CW: The following chapter will include smut. This one is just straight up angst and pining. (sorry not sorry panda). Long post! If you prefer, you can also read it here on AO3
You Could be my Unintended: Part 1
Nothing was ever simple when it came to traveling with Jaskier, Geralt thought as he ducked another sword, bringing up his own in an attempt to disarm their assailant.
“Couldn’t just leave her be, could you?” he growled and blocked another blow, this one aimed for the bard’s head.
“I did, Geralt! I swear! She wouldn’t leave me alone!” Jaskier gasped as he moved back, his own dagger in hand.
The elves moved forward again, backing the two of them closer and closer to the edge of the ridge. One of their own lay behind them, not dead, but Geralt didn’t envy him the headache he would have. The elves snarled at him again and made to push in again.
“Just give us the bard,” one demanded while the other made another sweeping pass to try to cut at Jaskier. Jaskier danced away from the blade easily enough but lost his footing, nearly crashing into Geralt.
“Not a fucking chance,” Geralt snarled back, baring his teeth. His stomach roiled with something he wasn’t ready to name but he couldn’t help the way his arm stretched out protectively over Jaskier. They were too close to the edge of the ridge. If they stepped back any further, they would be in fae territory and Jaskier would be lost. The feeling in his gut only grew heavier.
Jaskier was saying something behind him but Geralt couldn’t quite make it out before the smaller of the two elves lunged forward, spearing Geralt full bodied back into the bard and back through the barrier. His medallion hummed when they passed through, making his skin tingle. There was an oof and the clattering of Jaskier’s dagger tumbling away from him as he attempted to catch the full weight of an armored witcher.
In the scuffle, the elf was kicked away and Geralt rolled off of Jaskier, pushing him back down when he tried to follow. He stood over Jaskier, blade drawn and blood pounding through his body.
“You want my bard, you fucking come and try to take him,” he barked. Everything on this side of the barrier was too bright, too loud, too lush. He tried to focus on the elves following them through the barrier but he couldn’t help but feel there was something else in the wood with them.
Geralt’s chest felt tight as he panted. He had said his bard. His. What was he thinking? Jaskier had never been anyone’s, certainly not his. Never would be.
“So you claim this bard for yourself?” said a soft crooning voice from behind him.
Geralt whirled around, crouching down as if ready to spring. Behind him stood a fair elven woman, her hair framing her delicate features, a look of absolute tranquility over her features.
“You can’t have him.” The feeling in Geralt’s stomach swelled and suddenly he was overwhelmed with a sense of desperation. I can’t lose him. Not like this. Not to you.
Something in the elf woman’s face shifted and she raised a fine eyebrow at him. “I see,” she said simply. It crossed his mind for all of a moment that she could see straight into his thoughts. He tried to close off his mind but he couldn’t concentrate long enough.
“Witcher, don’t,” Jaskier said softly, careful not to use his name. His hand had come up at some point to rest on Geralt’s calf from where he was still prone on the ground. His face was open and soft even with a weeping cut above his eye and dirt on his clothes.
It was then that Geralt had realized that his medallion hadn’t stopped humming after they had passed through into the fae lands. He was under the effect of some kind of magic. That had to be it. That had to be why every mark on Jaskier’s skin, every drop of blood that ran down into the hollow of his throat made Geralt want to set the whole place ablaze.
“Well?” the woman asked again. Everything around them seemed to go perfectly still. Even the birds stopped their fluttering and the insects had gone quiet.
“I claim the bard as mine,” Geralt said flatly. He didn’t lower his sword or move away from Jaskier.
She smiled at him and his medallion nearly shook his ribcage apart as some kind of raw magic wrapped around them both. Everything was bright and warm for a moment and then everything had gone dark.
~
Geralt woke up with a pounding in his head. There was something warm and heavy laying against his side. Whatever it was, it smelled like home and safety and…
Jaskier.
His eyes flew open and there in his arms, Jaskier was sleeping with most of himself tucked against Geralt while his one arm stuck out along the bedroll. It was completely bare.
Fondness and panic warred inside him as he quickly but carefully unwrapped himself from Jaskier, having to untangle his legs. It wasn’t the first time he had slept next to him, but never had it been so… intimate.
He looked around for the elves that had been chasing them, for their packs, for anything that would explain what had happened to them and why he had woken up with a sleeping bard in his bedroll.
“So you claim this bard for yourself?” The words echoed in his ears. There was a pounding ache behind his eyes as he tried to remember what had happened after that, but the only thing he could remember was the feeling of being happy.
He finally spotted Roach and their packs just beyond the line of trees that cinched in the clearing. He was going to grab their things and wake up Jaskier and they were going to get as far away from there as possible.
Geralt looked back down at Jaskier and froze. When he had gotten out from the bedroll, the furs had fallen back, revealing Jaskier’s other hand. There, in bold dark lines were markings, like tattoos. Thick bands barely a hairsbreadth apart wrapped around his wrist. It reminded Geralt of the way his blade was beveled. The bands weren’t what made him freeze though. Around Jaskier’s ring finger was a wolf, small and sprinting, it’s head just below Jaskier’s knuckle. For something so small and fine, it was impeccably detailed.
“I claim the bard…” Geralt looked down at his own hand, his eyes widening as his heart leapt into his throat “...as mine.”
Oh. Oh no. This couldn’t happen. Not to him and certainly not to Jaskier. Geralt thought he should leave. Run far and fast, try to outrun the thin bands, six of them that he did not have to be told were lute strings, and the buttercup that wrapped his ring finger in fine black lines. The fae had done something, some kind of trick that would tie the bard’s fate to his for the rest of his days.
Fuck. He realized that it wasn’t just a matter of tying their fates together, but their lives. Geralt looked back over again at the marks around Jaskier’s arm, his finger. They were marriage bands. He had claimed Jaskier as his and they twisted his words in a way that neither of them could easily escape.
Geralt knew that it had been his doing. The fae had looked into his head and knew that the magic needed that anchor.
“Mm, Geralt?”
He had still been looking at his own markings, the ones that made him Jaskier’s, when the voice snapped him out of his spiraling.
“What happened? Did we win?” He sat up and groaned, bringing his hand up to cup his head.
Geralt watched in horror as Jaskier froze, his eyes catching on the fresh marks on his arms. Jaskier turned his hand over and back again, his fingers spread as his eyes widened. Something like fear scented the air in a sharp spike. Any small hope Geralt had that Jaskier possibly, maybe would, if given the choice, not completely recoil at the idea fled in that moment.
“You know what those are?” he asked, letting his own hand drop. Jaskier looked up at him with wide eyes and nodded. “We’ll find someone to remove them.” And then you’ll leave me, Geralt thought bitterly.
Suddenly he remembered Jaskier on the ground, clutching at his calf as if to hold him back. He had told Geralt not to do it. He had known what was coming and he tried to stop it.
“I’m sorry,” Jaskier looked away before Geralt could make out whatever emotion was flickering across his face. “I shouldn’t have talked to her. And now…” He lifted his marked arm as if in defeat.
Geralt clenched his hand and turned away, marching back to Roach and their gear. He had to get them moving. He couldn’t just sit and watch Jaskier come to the realization of just what kind of monster he was now bound to. It was one thing to follow him around and sing songs and come and go as he pleased, but Geralt was willing to bet that Jaskier thought it something completely different to wake up and find himself practically married to one.
Behind him, Jaskier slid from the bedroll and packed it before following. When he handed it to Geralt, his eyes locked onto Geralt’s wrist, his eyes going wide. For a moment, he thought it might have been wonder in his gaze but maybe that was just him punishing himself with a hopeless dream.
He pulled away when Jaskier’s hand came up as if to trace the thin lines that now encompassed Geralt’s wrist. It was one thing to look down at his arm and know that even without the marks, even without the flower or the strings, they seemed to suit him perfectly despite their delicacy. But to have Jaskier see them, let alone touch them felt suddenly like too much, too intimate.
“Sorry,” Jaskier stepped back, looking anywhere but at Geralt. That smell like fear trailed behind him, sour and unfamiliar. Jaskier had never been afraid before.
They walked for what felt like ages almost in near silence. Geralt didn’t ride Roach, instead leading her by her reins on one side while Jaskier walked along her other. Every now and then, he would catch sight of Jaskier’s hand swinging by his side, the silhouette of a wolf easily seen even at a glance. There wasn’t any chance Jaskier would want others to see it. They would see a bard with a wolf tattoo and they would know. And they would all think the same thing.
That the bard belonged to Geralt, even if that would never be true.
When they reached town, Geralt dug through his pack before he gave Roach over to be stabled for the evening. He turned to Jaskier and handed him gloves. He had hoped they would be subtle enough that it wouldn’t affect his playing but he wasn’t too hopeful. He was already planning on picking up extra contracts to make up for the loss of coin. It was the least he could do.
He left Jaskier behind to get them rooms at the inn while he searched for a mage. There had to be a mage that would know how to take off the bands. His memory wasn’t what it had once been, too full of a lifetime and a half of monster hunting and loss to remember every little facet of lore. What he could remember, though, was that there was something about a potion that would take away the marks. The how of it was a bit fuzzier. The words “let the heart forget” stood out in his mind and he flinched. Maybe if the mage made him forget Jaskier, the bands would fade. Of course Jaskier would get to remember everything in perfect detail since it wasn’t his heart that had gotten them into this mess.
The local mage had been no use, babbling on about “Why not try to enjoy the honeymoon before throwing in the towel". Geralt left with blood on his knuckles that hadn’t been his. The alderman had been far more helpful, supplying Geralt with a contract and a down payment. Forktails were dangerous on their own, but forktails that were mated and trying to nest just above where the farmers pastured their sheep were nearly impossible.
The tavern door was ajar, a man standing just inside the frame behind several others. There was a bottle-neck of people blocking his way and he could hear why before he even reached the step. Jaskier’s voice rang through the air, a pounding tune thumped by at least a hundred feet within.
Without thinking, Geralt rubbed at the marks around his wrist, smiling to himself. Even with the gloves, Jaskier managed to entice nearly the entire town into one building. He shouldn’t have been surprised, not really.
The tone shifted suddenly and the stomping stopped with it as Jaskier’s voice, clear and high and sweet, crooned something new. It wasn’t something Geralt was familiar with but he could hear others inside picking up along with some of the lyrics before being hushed by fellow patrons.
Geralt’s chest ached with it when he had no business hurting. There was something about a love held dearly, even at arms length. Jaskier wove a tale of loyalty and bravery about someone who would never know the singer existed, and certainly couldn’t love them back. Geralt wondered, his stomach souring, who could have grabbed the bard’s attention so thoroughly; yet Jaskier had never mentioned. Or maybe he had and Geralt hadn’t listened.
He pressed in by the window and managed to catch a glance of Jaskier sitting on the bar, his face soft and wistful, between the shoulders of the tavern's patrons. There wasn’t a dry eye in the entire room. Geralt’s eyes moved down, his heart nearly stopping when he caught sight of his hands. They were bare, and the sleeve of the marked arm was pulled up slightly, as though he were purposely displaying them. He had to remind himself to not hope, not think too much about it. Of course Jaskier wouldn’t wear the gloves. They wouldn’t let him play. Of course his sleeves were rolled up a bit, it had to be stifling in there.
He rubbed again at his own markings and, for a moment, let himself believe that maybe he was the one in the song, the one that watched someone be loyal and brave but who would flit away from bed to bed at any moment.
Geralt turned and made his way back to the stabes. He would just keep Roach company until he thought the coast was clear enough to make it up to his room without notice.
Geralt didn’t remember falling asleep, and he certainly didn’t remember hearing Jaskier coming into the stall at some point. He had woken with a start at the gentle nudge to his shoulder. It was the fact that Jaskier’s voice and scent were familiar that kept him from drawing his sword.
“There you are,” Jaskier said softly, tugging at Geralt’s cloak. “You missed quite a performance.” He reached somewhere beside him and the sound of a heavy coin purse jangled back.
“You didn’t wear the gloves,” Geralt mumbled. Maybe he had needed more of a rest before running back out into a hunt. He felt sluggish and his shoulder ached from where he had been leaning against the wall.
“I… no. I didn’t, I’m sorry.” Jaskier pulled away then and crossed his arms over his chest. There was that smell again, the one that Geralt thought might have been fear but now, as it cut through the bright warmth of a good performance, he could taste before the mood had suddenly soured between them. “I’ll wear them until you find a mage, then.”
Geralt watched with a distant curiosity as Jaskier ran his fingers idly over the bands on his arm. He seemed to have caught himself doing it as well and tugged his sleeves down so Geralt couldn’t see them anymore. His own fist clenched by his side. He knew he wasn’t allowed to reach out, to touch those marks that had made Jaskier his, even if only for a short while.
Jaskier cleared his throat, and took a step back, not looking up to meet Geralt’s eyes. “Ah, right. Anyway, they only had one room and the bed is yours if you want it. You’re the one who had to go trekking through the muck.” Jaskier smiled at him but it wasn’t nearly as bright as it usually was.
Geralt wondered if being bound like this to one another was such a burden to Jaskier that even his smile was weighed down by it. A tightness gripped at his heart so hard he could have gasped with it.
“I’ll be fine here,” he said finally when the silence had drawn on for far too long. “Good night, Jask.” Geralt made a point to settle himself down further into the straw of the stable, also refusing to look up.
“Right then. Good night, Geralt.” Jaskier turned on his heel and stalked away, his arms still wrapped tightly around him. Behind him, that sour smell still trailed now cut with something like salt. It was not a usual smell for Jaskier and it only gripped Geralt’s chest harder.
Already back with another Maylor fanfic... This couple is a sin. And I love it. I wanted to try a story, so here is the first Chapter of ‘My only Sun’! This is a vampire story, don’t worry Brian doesn’t sparkle, and is set in the 60s-70s. I hope ya’ll like it :) There is some kissing, but nothing too sexual! There will also be hints of Deacury later!
Click this link to be directed to the full story
Darkness was all his kind ever knew… It was their curse. A way of punishment for desiring the unnatural. Deep down, he knew this was his fault. He wouldn’t have had this stupid curse if he were smarter… Well… He was smarter now, but what’s done is done. He couldn’t take it back. The burning in his throat. How his teeth ached and body pulsed when that hunger took over. The only nice thing about this curse was his enhanced senses.
Hazel eyes gazed up at the waning moon. He could hear the wind running through the leafs and smelled the burning of gasoline from the nearby town. Closing his eyes and focusing, he could almost see the people talking and running across busy streets. Their fresh blood pumping…
“Brian. There you are! I told you to wait for me by the house.” A slightly annoyed voice pulled Brian from his thoughts.
“Ah, Freddie. Sorry… Just got a bit captivated.” He answers, still staring at the moon. The others footsteps almost move soundlessly.
“It’s quite beautiful tonight. But we must move with a bit more haste if we would like to feed tonight.” Freddie sighs. Noticing how the younger, yet taller man shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, dear. We both hate it, but I’d rather feed than become some mindless zombi. We may be dead but I refuse to look like that.” The older continues, patting Brian’s shoulder.
The younger man knew there was truth to what was said. Though he didn’t enjoy killing others… It was better to have one person die then countless because he didn't want to feed… And he could already feel his teeth ache. The hunger rising quickly.
“Yeah…” He clears his throat. “Lets go…” He says before following his friend.
He had met Freddie about 90 something years ago and they just… stuck together ever since. He knew the man was many years older, having this same curse probably before Brian was even born. But the man still stayed so lively and taught him that everything was okay… Well… He taught Brian almost everything if he was going to be honest. How to zone into different sense, control his strength, control his hunger... everything. He’d probably be dead if it weren’t for Freddie… Well… not dead… but might as well call it death…
“My. This city is much more lively then the last time I strolled through!” He hears Freddie exclaim, so he looks up and is almost blinded by the light of the city. Cars drove down the streets, people walked alongside, stores along every corner… It was not how he remembered his hometown…
“London… It has changed through the years…” Brian admits softly. He couldn’t help but miss his home… Even with the different scenery, London always had this...this… aura… about it… He loved it. He wished he could stay here forever…
“Well, come darlin’. The sun isn’t going to wait for us.” Freddie sighs, latching himself dramatically on the taller man’s arm before pulling him toward a busy pub. “This should do us well, don’t you think?” He says, looking around at all the different people. The smell of alcohol, sweat, drugs, and sex filled Brian’s senses making him cringe his nose. But the smell of the blood under all their skins made his entire being ache.
“Yes… Should be fine.” He agrees before moving away from Freddie and making his way to the bar while Fred moved directly to a crowd of people. That was one big difference about the two men. Freddie liked to dive right it and pick his poison, while Brian liked to sit back and choose from a far. Though, Freddie also had a gift of seduction and boy did he use it.
He watched the way Freddie moved and flirted with everyone. He also noted that the older man had no shirt on under his leather jacket making him roll his eyes. No one could ever change Fred. He was who he was. Brian admired that about the older man and wondered if he would get so old that other people's opinions wouldn’t matter to him.
But it was hard to grow confident when you couldn’t even see your own reflection. Never knowing how you looked or hardly having memories of your own appearance before the change. The only thing he knew for sure was that his hair was unruly, curly, and went to his shoulders. He thinks he remembered Freddie comment how his eyes were hazel. Other than that, he knew nothing about his own face…
“Oy. You gonna buy a drink or just sit around.” Brian turned to a cranky old bartender and offered a polite smile. He could feel the annoyance off the old man.
“Sorry… I’ll take a guinness, please.” He says softly watching the older gentlemans eyes roll before grabbing a cold guinness and popping it open.
“That’d’ll be 5 pounds.” The man practically spits, but Brian doesn’t change his smile. He reaches in his pocket and pays the man before taking the bottle with a small thank you. Looking back, he spots Freddie making out with some guy in the corner.
“Well, he’s making quick work for this…” He comments to himself before looking around the pub. Scanning the people before his senses were engulfed by a strong presence. Looking over to the entrance he saw stunning young man looking around the pub before walking in and leaning against the bar, not far from Brian.
“Hey, Mister. Grab me a Stella Artois.” He had to practically yell to the bartender thanks to the loud music. The old man just let out a grunt before turning to find the product. The blonde man leaned against the bar and gently knocked the wood in a small rhythm before he glanced at Brian. Their eyes locking. He felt an uneasy feeling settle in the young man… yet he also detected a hint of curiosity.
“...Can I help you?” The young man asked, cocking an eyebrow slightly. Brian hadn’t even noticed he was staring till now. But he couldn’t help it. The man was stunning. His ocean blue eyes were so inviting and his blonde hair fell to his shoulders in a slight wave. The way his lips parted naturally. And the smell that surrounded him. God… That was enough to set Brian off.
He watched the young blonde take the bottle for the old man and set some money down before facing Brian completely, waiting for an answer.
“I-... Sorry. I didn't mean to stare or come off rude. I’ve just never seen anyone with a strong presence like you.” He answered honestly. The young man eyed his a bit suspiciously before letting a small smile dance onto his pretty pink lips. The uneasy feeling slowly fading and was replaced with an intrigued feeling.
“Really?” Was all the younger asked. Brian flashed a small and nodded. “Well… I haven’t heard that before.” The blonde sighs out before taking a swing of his own drink, slowly settling himself beside Brian. Their shoulders touching ever so slightly making Brian’s throat clench
“...What’s your name.” Brian asks softly, looking down at the man. Ignoring the burning inside him.
“...It’s Roger.” Roger says, looking up at the older man with a small smile. “And yours?”
“Brian…” He answers.
“Well, Brian. I haven’t seen you around. You from around here?” Roger asks, tilting his head ever so slightly.
“Uh… I grew up around here… A long time ago though… I moved away because of-...Well… Complications.” He said slowly making the younger laugh softly. What a beautiful sound it was…
“‘Complications’? Well. I sure hope there’s nothing keeping you way now.” Roger smirks up and the older man. A flirtatious tone to his voice. Lust slowly building in the young man. Brian couldn’t help but smile. Humans were so easy to get riled up… Especially the young ones. He could almost remember how it felt…
“I don’t know… There are still complications… but it would be hard to stay away if I had something better to keep me here.” Brian flirted back watching those blue eyes darken and pink lips smirk more.
“I think I know something that could keep you here…” The blonde hints with a small lick of his lips, not showing a single ounce of shyness. Brian can’t help but stare at the now wet lips before clearing his throat.
“Can I buy your next drink?” He asks before tearing his eyes from those lips and to Roger’s eyes.
“Hm… I don’t know, can you~?” Roger teases. And oh, Brian knows he’s already caught up in the young man.
“I can bloody well try if you’ll let me. Stella Artois, right?” Brian smirks, sipping his guinness. The blonde smiles and sways slightly.
“Yeah… Stella Artois.” He confirms.
They stood at the bar for almost 2 hours and about 3 to 4 drinks. Brian could feel the others senses being numbed by the alcohol. He also felt the lust rising through… both of them to be honest… But his hunger also built up and he couldn’t take it anymore. Taking Roger by the arm, he lead him over to a more secluded part of the bar before pushing his against a wall and kissing the younger deeply. Tongue already plunging into the sweet, wet cavern of the blonde man. He felt the others arms fly around his neck to pull him closer. Those hands taking and gently pulling at the olders brown curls.
Brian’s senses overflowed with the sweet taste and smell of the pretty blonde. Gently grabbing those thin hips, he pulled away from the sweet lips before kissing and licking down his chin. Making his way to the others long, pale throat. Kissing down till he hit a perfect spot. The smell of the others blood was the strongest here, and oh Brian almost lost all control. He was able to keep control, but couldn’t help that throaty growl before licking at the special spot. Opening his mouth against Rogers neck, he felt his fangs brush against the soft skin making him groan. Though when it came time to bite… He couldn’t… He couldn’t bring himself to hurt the pretty man. His soft moans filling his ears and fingers playing with his hair.
If he bit him… The man… he could very well never see the light of day again, if his hunger was that bad… He didn’t want to kill him… He didn't deserve it… Not like this…
“Br-Brian..? What’s wrong?” Roger asked softly, confused as to why the older man came to a stop. Brian shook his head before pulling away.
“I-...Roger. You’re such a nice guy… I… You don’t deserve this. To be taken advantage of in a bar…” Brian says softly, looking away.
“Bri… What do you mean…? It’s… You’re not taking advantage of me.” He says quickly.
“... I’m sorry, Roger.” If only you knew how much danger you were in, you’d think differently… Brian thought before turning away. He started to walk, but felt Roger grab his arm.
“Wa-wait!... I-... I enjoyed tonight… Really….” Roger confesses. “I never thought I’d meet a nice guy like you here… And… god you’re too nice… Any other person wouldn’t of cared about taking advantage or not… I… What I’m saying is-... Will I at least see you again?” He asks, those blue eyes shimmering with Hope. Brian felt the worry and want inside the young man.
“I…. I can’t make any promises, Roger…” He said softly, watching the hope shatter and feeling sadness replace the others emotions. “But-... But I’ll try… okay…?” He says quickly.
“...You’ll try..?” Roger asks again, slight hope building back up as the older nods.
“Can’t promise, but yes, I’ll try…” He confirms before turning and leaving the pub. Not even waiting to look for Freddie. No. He needed to soothe this hunger, but he couldn’t be so close to that sweet scent...
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
When Kassandra left Chios, Daphnae thought that she could go back to being the devout Daughter of Artemis she had been before, but Kassandra has left a void in her wake enough to swallow the Huntress whole. Uncovering lies within her ranks and dangers lurking ahead, can Daphnae find her way back towards The Will of the Gods? Would she ever be able to stand beside the Misthios that stole her heart and chastity from Artemis?
**Stand alone/Companion Piece to The Will of the Gods**
