(for the love of gods, I’m begging you, leave me some tags and comments on this. I worked really hard and I’d really like feedback/validation)
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“You can’t just leave me tied here!” Jaskier cried out, listening as the group of men in dark, hooded robes disappeared into the woods around him. He tugged frantically at his bonds and gave a dry, heaving sob. “Come back!”
The young man was terrified. He could feel his heart hammering away in his chest and his lungs had begun to burn with the effort of breathing in and out so quickly. Hyperventilating. He was hyperventilating.
The confused young man had been bound face-first to the trunk of a tree, his wrists fastened tightly together on the opposite side in some strange parody of a hug. The strangers had murmured slow, syrupy words in another language as they tied him into place; their pace grew frenzied and their tone grew more insistent when their leader finally slipped a blindfold over Jaskier’s tearful blue eyes and cut him off from the rest of the world. After he’d lost his sight there had been more strange chanting. Sigils were drawn onto his bare forearms with horsehair brushes and sweetly scented blackberry ink.
Then the young man had been seemingly abandoned.
“Hello?” he called to the darkened forest around him. “Is anyone out there?”
A low, softly rumbling purr erupted from somewhere near his left side and Jaskier jumped in surprise. A wall of warmth approached the left half of his body and a rough, calloused hand slid its way down his arm and through the sigils, smearing them to nonsense.
“Hmm,” a low, gravelly voice hummed. Jaskier’s hands were gently unclenched and examined with great care by whatever creature or person was here in the clearing with him. It paid special attention to the tips of his fingers, where his skin was rough from playing the lute and the harp. He tried not to let his hands tremble where they lay against the creature’s palm but they couldn’t be stopped. “So they have decided to give me a little bird. I suppose that you will have to do.”
“Have to do what?” Jaskier asked, tilting his head up to where he suspected the strange interloper to be. Jaskier gasped in shock when the blindfold was removed and he came face-to-face with the most handsome man he’d ever seen and not, as he’d expected, some kind of hideous monster. The slightly older man had long white hair that fell to his shoulders. It was pulled halfway back to reveal his strong jaw and bright, amber eyes. His teeth were sharp and glinted in the moonlight and his pupils were slit like a cat’s, but Jaskier found himself more entranced or bewitched than frightened. He whispered a slightly different question with just as much frightened urgency, “What will I have to do, My Lord?”
“Be my guest, or prisoner if you so desire, at Kaer Morhen.”
Jaskier gasped softly.
“The Beast!”
The young man felt terror coursing through his veins once again; he’d heard endless stories about the Beast ever since he and his father had moved to the quiet village near the northern border. How he was half-man and half-wolf or how he’d eat any man that offended him. How he’d fought off an entire invading army by himself to keep his family’s ancient fortress intact.
Kaer Morhen, the villagers had whispered with fear in their eyes, If you enter the gates then you never come out.
And here was the Beast himself, staring down at Jaskier with a strange glint in his molten-honey eyes, his hands toying with the rope around Jaskier’s wrists. The young man gulped and lowered his gaze. “I don’t have a choice, do I, My Lord?”
“Did they not tell you why they left you here for me?” the stranger asked, quirking a brow. “Are you unaware of your purpose here tonight?”
“I’ve only just moved into town,” Jaskier whispered. “I’ve only heard rumors.”
“Not anything pleasant, I’m sure. What’s the worst you’ve heard?”
“That you eat people.”
The stranger chuckled lowly and the sound sent a zip of terror down Jaskier’s spine. “Stop panicking,” the Beast huffed and began untying the rope from around his captive’s tender wrists. “It smells bitter. It’s annoying.”
“I’m sorry,” Jaskier apologized. “I’m just a wee bit frightened, is all. Not really sure what’s going on or who you are. Now I’m being taken away to some place I’ve only heard tales about in passing…tales where the main character doesn’t usually come back out alive.”
“Do not fear me,” the Beast ordered, removing the heavy black cloak from around his shoulders to wrap around Jaskier. The younger man hadn’t noticed how chilly it had gotten until he was warm again.
Once the Beast was sure that the material was arranged as well as possible, he hoisted Jaskier into his arms and began to trek further into the woods, away from the village. The Beast sounded distressed as he continued, his voice growing increasingly agitated as he explained Jaskier’s circumstances, “I have no intention of hurting you. Quite the opposite. You see, I wrote to the village elders about a month ago and asked if anyone was interested in becoming my consort. I suppose they threw any real effort at matchmaking out the window when they read my signature so...here you are. Fresh-faced and terrified. My unwilling bride.”
“I’m going to be your...your…”
Jaskier’s blue eyes were unnaturally wide and his heart was beating jack-rabbit fast within the confines of his ribs. Too fast. Geralt’s brow furrowed in concern but it was too late for him to do or say anything of comfort; Jaskier had already fallen limp and unconscious in his arms.
“Fuck.”
---
Jaskier awoke with a gasp, rocketing up into a sitting position. He was alone in an unfamiliar stone room. There was a fire blazing merrily in the hearth and a heavy velvet blanket wrapped tightly around his midsection but he hadn’t a clue where he was. He knew he was sequestered somewhere within the bowels of Kaer Morhen, that much was obvious, but otherwise he was entirely lost.
“H-Hello?” Jaskier half-whispered. He knew the Beast was around here somewhere; or perhaps he’d been abandoned for a second time that night. “Mr. Beast?”
“Geralt,” came that same low baritone from just outside the door. “My name is Geralt. May I come in?”
“Yes?”
“You sound unsure.”
“I don’t see how I can stop you, really. If I said not to enter, would you listen?”
“Of course.”
Geralt sounded confused...which only served to confuse Jaskier in turn.
“But...but aren’t I your captive? Your consort by arrangement?”
“You have a right to privacy,” Geralt huffed, coming around the door frame and fully entering the room. “Consort or not. Which we can discuss.”
“It can be discussed?”
“I won’t keep you here against your will, little bird.”
“Jaskier.”
“A pretty name for a pretty man,” Geralt grinned. The way he smiled was canine-heavy and Jaskier thrilled at the sight of it. His stomach filled with butterflies when he registered the compliment. Why? What was so appealing about this strange, strong but endlessly shy man? The anxious young numan couldn’t deny his obvious attraction to the Beast but Geralt was...but having Geralt as his husband? Forever? After only having known him for less than an hour?
“Perhaps we could spend some time together first,” Jaskier offered. He slid his hand across the velvet duvet and laced his fingers with Geralt’s so very gently. “Tell me, Geralt, what is your favorite color?”
“Right at this very moment?” the Beast asked, looking into Jaskier’s eyes with obvious relief, “Blue.”
“And tell me, Geralt, will you ever lay a hand on me without my permission?”
“Never.”
“Then court me freely, my Beast,” Jaskier smiled. It was the sweetest, most precious smile Geralt had ever laid eyes on. He knew in an instant that he’d do anything in the world to make the young man smile at him like that again. Over and over. He was already addicted to the warm sensation that filled his chest when he was near his little bird.
“Thank you, Jaskier,” Geralt rumbled, lifting their joined hands and pressing his lips to the back of Jaskier’s knuckles. “I very much look forward to wooing you.”
“You’re welcome, Geralt,” his little bird murmured in return, placing his own kiss to the back of the Beast’s chapped knuckles. “I very much look forward to giving you my heart.”
What about Fairy Jaskier getting lost and absolutely FREAKING OUT
“M-My Geralt?” Jaskier calls out, cupping his hands over his mouth. It’s dark in the woods and he can’t see very well; he doesn’t like it. Fairies have no need for night-vision. They spend the hours between sunrise and sunset tucked between flower petals in closed up buds (or in Jaskier’s case, tucked against his husband’s broad, warm chest).
He’s shifted to his human form so that Geralt will be able to see him better but he doesn’t like how vulnerable it makes him feel. It’s harder to hide like this. Harder to escape if caught. He shivers, rubbing his hands up and down his crossed arms for comfort.
“Husband?”
“Little wife?” he hears the reply. Finally. He sobs with relief and wades through the undergrowth towards the sound of Geralt’s rumbling voice. “Buttercup?”
“My Geralt! I’m over here!”
“Jaskier?!” the voice calls again. Jaskier panics. Can Geralt not hear him?
“MY GERALT!”
He’s practically sprinting through the forest now, closing in on the shuffling sounds of his husband’s armor catching on the branches of low trees. He steps into a small clearing only to find that Geralt is nowhere to be seen. Instead there’s a strange looking flower puffing little spurts of yellow dust into the air.
He sees Geralt again, shimmery and immaterial before him, and realizes exactly what those little puffs are doing.
It takes all of his effort to yell out one last time: “Husband! I’m over here!”
---
Jaskier wakes an indeterminate of time later, tucked safely against his husband’s chest. Geralt has his arm resting carefully around the tops’ of Jaskier’s shoulders, far enough away from his wings to avoid brushing or jostling them accidentally. “You found me.”
Geralt nods seriously and presses a firm, insistent kiss to his little wife’s pink lips. “And I always will.”
Title from “Maybe Sprout Wings” by The Mountain Goats, which is definitely the vibe for this story.
tw: nightmare
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“No!” Jaskier’s shrill cries echoed down the long stone hallway and into Geralt’s room, waking the Witcher instantly from his deep sleep. He jumped into action when he heard the sheer terror in his consort’s ragged, sleep-addled voice. “Stop, please! That will hurt him! Enough!”
The Beast raced through the winding halls of the keep, turning sharply around the few corners that separated his suite from Jaskier’s own set of chambers. He didn’t pause to knock this time, bursting straight into his consort’s bedroom and racing to examine him. “Little bird?!”
Jaskier lay on the bed, his legs and arms tangled tightly in the sheets, restraining his movements to little shuffles and squirms. His night shirt had gotten rucked up around his ribcage and what skin had been exposed was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. His chestnut hair was plastered to his forehead and his face had contorted with an expression of abject horror. “No! Not him, it wasn’t him. My Geralt, stop! Stop, please! No!”
The Beast sat at the edge of his consort’s four-poster and braced his hands against Jaskier’s shoulders, shaking him gently in an effort to rouse him. “Jask, my love. Darling, please wake up.”
The young man’s startlingly blue eyes burst open but remained unseeing; the sheets tightened around him as he tried to sit up and pulled him forcibly back down. The more restrained he felt, the more he struggled. Geralt began to try and unwind his legs, listening as his wriggling consort called out in terror, “Don’t! Enough! Don’t hurt…” his limbs moved slower and his eyelids fluttered. “Don’t hurt Geralt.”
The Beast inhaled sharply and finished unwinding the silk sheets from around Jaskier’s limbs and torso. He pulled his consort’s nightshirt back into place and laid him atop the (still dry) duvet, crossing his hands over his stomach like the princesses he’d seen drawn in books of fairytales. He pressed a tender kiss to the younger man’s forehead and ran the backs of his knuckles across Jaskier’s cheek. “My love. My consort. My heart, wake up. Wake up and see that everything will be alright.”
Jaskier muttered nonsense words and his brow remained furrowed. He sighed and whined and tilted his head back, baring his neck. Geralt truly panicked when he heard the boy whisper urgently, “No, not my Beast. Take me instead.”
He leaned down and pressed a firm kiss to Jaskier’s slightly parted lips. This time when those blue eyes flew open, they did so with panicked determination, scanning the room until they landed on Geralt’s hunched form.
“Thank the gods, my love!”
The younger man launched his torso off the mattress and clung to Geralt with all his weary strength. The Beast gathered his little bird into the comforting cage of his arms and situated the smaller man in his lap. He scooted up the mattress, laying them back against the headboard and pillowing Jaskier’s head against his chest. The peasant’s nimble fingers threaded their way through the ties of Geralt’s night-shirt and held on for dear life. “Don’t leave me tonight, Geralt. I don’t think I could bear losing sight of you.”
“Was it bad?”
“Terrible. The worst nightmare I’ve ever had in my life.”
“Because they were hurting me?”
“Yes. They were hurting you and they were threatening to take you away.”
Geralt marveled at the shudder that ran through his little bird with that admission. He’d never felt so utterly wanted in all his life. The smaller man’s face burrowed into his Beast’s neck and snuffled there for a moment, gathering up the safety of his tangy leather-and-metal scent. The Beast held his fragile consort tightly and began to purr, settling Jaskier’s bones more firmly against his skin as the rumbling went on.
“Thank you, my love,” the boy murmured into his skin. “I never want to lose you, either.”
“May I lay next to you tonight and keep the nightmares away?”
“That would be lovely.”
Jaskier allowed himself to be carried in Geralt’s arms from his rooms to the Beast’s. He gave no resistance as his darling Witcher tucked him against his warm, scarred side beneath the heavy covers. He tangled his legs with Geralt’s and rested his head atop his Beast’s left pectoral.
He fell asleep with Geralt’s soft purring and steady heartbeat reverberating in his ears.
The Beast fell asleep a little later, after he’d finished reassuring himself of Jaskier’s safety and comfort. Only when the peasant lad was truly sleeping sweetly, his chamomile-honey scent drifting up into Geralt’s twitching Witcher nose, did Geralt allow himself to close his eyes and drift away. His consort stayed safe and happy in his arms all night, tucked against his Witcher’s side, the Beast’s warm breath blowing gently and rhythmically against the top of his head.
