Imagine Geralt rescuing Jaskier from an oubliette. Carrying Jaskier in his arms bridal style, his bard weak and exhausted.
Yeah, okay. It’s early in the day. I can write some mildly whumpy hurt/comfort wrapped in fluff.
tw: blood mention, whump
---
“It’s called an oubliette and it’s where you put people to forget about them.”
Jaskier sighed and wrapped his arms around his knees, pulling his legs against his chest tightly to conserve warmth. He’d been down in the dark, empty pit for nearly two full days. He was lightheaded from a combination of panic and hunger (blood loss may have also been a contributing factor but he didn’t want to think about it) and had to lean heavily against the cold stone wall to stay upright.
If Jaskier was lucky, he’d die from his injuries before he succumbed to the gnawing in his stomach, his burning thirst, or the breezy cold of his prison cell.
If he was lucky.
Jaskier was, from experience, anything but lucky.
---
Somewhere in the middle of Jaskier’s third (and most likely his final) day in the oubliette, a strange knocking sound woke the bard from a light doze. He turned to face the wall where the noises had originated from and knocked back weakly.
“Anyone out there?” he rasped.
“Jaskier!? Is that you?”
“G’ralt?”
“I’m coming, lark. Back away from the wall.”
Jaskier crawled away from that section of stone on shaking arms and legs. There were several loud shouts, an ominous rumbling sensation through the packed dirt beneath him, and the wall blew to pieces. Geralt stooped through the low opening and gasped in horror when his eyes landed on the terrified, squinting bard.
The light hurt Jaskier’s eyes and the noise of the explosion had nearly deafened him entirely. His doublet was missing, his chemise was ripped and caked with odd patches of blood, and he stank of fear. Geralt knelt beside him. “Lark?”
Jaskier made a high, frightened sound at the back of his throat and reached out with one trembling hand towards his rescuer. He couldn’t speak; his throat was too dry and sore from crying to summon any more sound. Geralt leaned forward, slowly and carefully scooping the bloodied, bruised, and exhausted bard into his arms.
“Stay still, Jask. We’ll be out of here shortly.”
Yen was waiting outside the hole in the wall.
Jaskier blinked in confusion as his darling Witcher, whose distaste for portals was known far and wide across the Continent, easily stepped through the circle of glowing magic and into a peaceful forest setting.
The portal disappeared behind them. Yen did not follow.
“Yeh?” Jaskier managed to half-ask.
“She had other things to do,” the Witcher explained. “I also thought it might be overwhelming to deal with more than one person at a time after your...ordeal.”
After being captured, slapped around, and left for dead by one of your many enemies, you mean? Jaskier thought, but did not say. Could not say, anyway. He settled himself more firmly in Geralt’s arms and laid his head against the Witcher’s broad shoulder.
“Let’s get you some water, some food, and a bath, alright? Then I can tend to your wounds and bandage you up.”
Geralt tilted their familiar leather waterskin up to his cracked lips and Jaskier took a long, grateful pull. Once he felt his vocal cords relax enough to speak again, he gazed up at the Witcher with tired blue eyes. “I can’t move. I want to help, I know I’m rather useless anyway, but at least I cou-”
Geralt silenced the blushing, fumbling apology by pressing their lips together. The bard relaxed underneath him at once, going limp in his arms again. “Hush, Jaskier, and let me take care of you.”
Have you ever seen the movie, "Return to Oz"? In it there is a villain who turns people into curios/knickknacks. The hero had to look at the objects and find their friends but they only had 3 wrong chances before they were turned into a knickknack too. Imagine Geralt having to guess and find jaskier (and/or his brothers?)
I haven’t seen this movie but I really like this idea so...I’m borrowing the concept
---
Geralt picked up an elaborately carved lute and turned it over in his hands. Then he set it back down. The mage had said his friend was in this room, disguised as an inanimate object. If Geralt guessed wrong and chose the wrong thing, Jaskier’s life would be forfeit.
That was intolerable to think about.
His highly trained eyes scanned the room and noted a few other things that Jaskier could have been transformed into. There was a hideously overstated hat with several peacock feathers pinned to the brim. There was a silk handkerchief embroidered with Jaskier’s name: Julian Alfred Pankratz. There was an ornate silver dagger with a series of red rubies inlaid against the handle. There was a soft, velvet blanket draped across a chair in the corner made of the brightest cornflower blue the Witcher had ever seen.
Too blue.
Geralt let his fingers rest upon the hat. The lute. The handkerchief. None of them felt right.
Not until he got to the back of the room and saw it. There, laying atop a pile of other random objects, was an awl. When the Witcher picked it up and ran it between his fingers he smiled; it had been carved from deer bone. The tip had been strengthened and smoothed over many years of use. It was familiar. It was practical.
“This is my Jaskier.”
“Damnit.”
Geralt heard the mage curse in several different languages before grudgingly snapping his fingers. The awl transformed and grew until it was gone from the Witcher’s hand entirely. Wrapped against his side, holding him tightly around the waist, was his bard. “I knew you could do it!”
The Witcher smiled and gently tapped their foreheads together before pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s soft lips. “I’ll always find you.”
I saw you were asking for prompts for when you get home, and i have a very simple three worded prompt for you as per your challenge. "You absolute bitch." i hope you'll be able to de-stress! harness that true zen.
(we’re getting a little pirate-y and a little whump-y here, but it’s only to facilitate fluff)
tw: physical assault, kidnapping, h/c
---
“You absolute bitch,” the strange captain laughs, slapping Jaskier across the face. The impact is loud and snaps the young half-siren’s head to the side. His hair flies into his shocked, wide-open eyes, blinding him. “You thought you could just escape?”
“Yes.”
Another slap, this time in the opposite direction. Jaskier’s ears are ringing and he’s feeling nauseated and dizzy.
“Nobody escapes the Flogging Molly,” the dirty, balding man snarls. “Especially not precious cargo like yourself.”
“Damaged cargo, now,” the captive chuckles dryly. “Do you think anyone will pay a good price for bruised property?”
“Yer face’ll be pretty again by the time we make landfall,” the pirate spits. He glances up to the crewmen holding Jaskier’s arms behind his back. “Toss ‘im in the brig.”
Jaskier doesn’t see another living person again for at least two days.
---
“Little nymph!” Geralt shouts, slamming the cell door of the brig open and rushing to gather Jaskier into his arms. He worriedly brushes the hair back from the younger man’s eyes, which gaze up at him with cloudy confusion. “Little nymph?”
“Who’re you?”
“Jaskier!?” Lambert calls, slamming his way down the stairs behind his Captain. “Did you find him, sir?”
“Aye,” the White Wolf snarls. He stands, clutching Jaskier tightly to his chest, bridal-style. “What they’ve left of him.”
“Let’s kill the dirty bastards.”
“We’re going to kill the bastards and burn their ship,” the Captain decides. Lambert nods.
---
The crew takes care of disengaging from the Flogging Molly, which is burning slowly into the waterline behind them. Geralt takes Jaskier to their shared cabin and asks Starkey to kindly bring them some hot water from the galley. He takes one look at Jaskier’s bruised, bloody, emaciated form and rushes to comply.
Geralt sits on the edge of their shared bed and cradles the half-siren on his lap. He doesn’t know what else to do, so he starts to sing quietly, rocking his darling as he waits for Starkey to return.
“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine;
You make me happy when skies are gray.
You'll never know, dear, how much I love you,
Please don't take my sunshine away.”
Starkey waits until the Captain has finished before entering with the warm bowl of water, and he leaves quickly to give them some time alone. The crew can handle the rest. Geralt hadn’t slept between losing Jaskier in the small port village and finding him again.
---
Jaskier feels the cool press of a tin mug against his lips as cool water is tipped down his throat. Someone is humming in a deep, rumbling baritone and it soothes him all the way down to his bones. Some primal part of him is achingly proud and possessive of the voice; his siren half, probably.
A warm, damp cloth swipes across his left collarbone and Jaskier jerks in surprise. The humming stops and he hears his husband ask, “Are you awake, sweet siren?”
“Barely,” he manages to croak. Geralt runs a hand through his hair and Jaskier closes his eyes, soaking in the contact. “You saved me.”
“Of course.”
“Come lay down. I want to be held.”
“You need to eat something, my love. You’re weak.”
“And I am wanting,” the younger man replies. His voice feels foreign; he hasn’t spoken in forty-eight hours. He reaches out and his arms fall back to his sides instantly. He’s too weak to hold them up.
Geralt’s eyebrows scrunch as he deliberates. Finally, he sighs. “Five minutes.”
What if Jaskier got magicked into the center of a maze and Geralt had to solve the maze to rescue him?
(okay so I’m indulging some of my middle school tastes in whump with this and that’s FINE)
tw: perilous situations, life or death situations (obviously he lives I write fluff), the mage made them do it (smooch), whumpy moments, panic attack/shock
---
“There he is,” the mage gestures. Geralt can see the bard, wrapped in -is that ribbon?- something and dangling helplessly in mid-air. He’s wriggling and crying out; words the Witcher can’t quite understand due to the distance. “If you can reach him in time then he’s yours. If not then...well, I guess he dies.”
Geralt doesn’t wait to hear any more. He takes of at a sprint into the maze, dodging between the hedgerows and flying back from dead-ends in a whirl of movement.
There are no monsters to fight, here. There is no game of wits to win. There is only Jaskier, slowly sinking downward through empty air towards...Geralt doesn’t even know what fate awaits the bard once he’s lowered close enough to reach it.
He only knows that his true love is hanging in the balance, literally, and he isn’t getting any closer to saving him. He releases an angry snarl and pushes his body harder. Runs faster. Jumps higher. Avoids obstacles more quickly and more decisively. He has no weapons, no armor, no potions to help him now.
“He’s getting closer,” the mage sing-songs from her comfortable dais. “I wonder what will happen when he gets close enough.”
“Geralt!” the Witcher is close enough to hear his darling bard’s anxious screams. His shrieks of fear. His grunts of protest as he writhes and twists in his bindings. They’re made of thick blue ribbon, the kind one might use to wrap an enormous wedding gift, and Geralt grimaces at the implications.
He hasn’t really had the chance to tell Jaskier about his feelings. He never will, if this mage has her way. The Witcher is growing exhausted, now, but he pushes himself just a little harder. A little further. A little more.
And there’s Jaskier being lowered towards a large metal spike. It’s not very practical, nor will it guarantee his death, but Geralt suspects that the mage was going more for drama than practicality in this instance.
He uses the last of his strength to leap up, wrapping his arms around the bard and getting them both safely out of harm’s way. The Witcher collapses, fingers scrabbling to free Jaskier from the twisting, intertwined lengths of velvet cloth. Jaskier is sobbing, trying to get as close to the Witcher as possible in his current predicament.
“Oh my love,” the bard gasps between hiccups, “I thought-I thought I was-”
“Love?”
The bard blushes even darker red beneath the tears and Geralt’s heart aches for him. His voice goes quiet and raspy as he cries through his next words, “I’m s-so sorry, G-Geralt. I cou-couldn’t help i-it.”
“Help what, my little bird?”
“F-falling in l-l-love with you.”
“I love you, too, Jaskier.”
A slow, bored clap interrupts their hushed confessions and Geralt sits up, ready to defend Jaskier again if necessary. The mage holds her hand up and shakes her head. “No worries, Witcher. You did as I asked. You won him back fair and square. I’ve never seen anyone quite as determined. I was temped to give him back even if you’d lost.”
“I’d never lose,” Geralt snarls.
“I knew you wouldn’t,” she says. “Anyway, I’m bored now. Enjoy the rest of your evening, gentlemen.”
Then they’re back at the campsite. It’s pitch dark except for the fire, which is blazing merrily away between their bedrolls. Geralt collapses to his knees and whines, low and long. The shock of everything that’s just happened is setting in. His body is beyond exhausted and his mind is foggy.
Jaskier takes a seat on his bedroll and pulls the Witcher’s head into his lap. He cards his fingers through the silky strands of moon-white hair and begins to massage the Witcher’s scalp.
He sings one of Geralt’s favorite songs very quietly, so softly that it won’t irritate his delicate senses, and continues to move his hand through the Witcher’s hair.
Eventually the Witcher’s breathing returns to normal and he looks up at Jaskier with damp, frightened eyes. The eyes of a man who has faced rejection a thousand times and isn’t sure he can do it again. Luckily for him, the bard holding him steady is just as lost in love. “Don’t panic, my darling. I will love you as constantly as the moon pulls at the waves.”
“You will?”
“I will be at your side for as long as you’ll have me.”
“Forever, if I asked?” Geralt’s low, rumbling voice is so unsure. So terrified. Jaskier smooths his hand down the back of his Witcher’s head to cup the soft skin at the base of his neck. He leans down and presses a firm, slow kiss against his darling’s pink lips.
The only time Jaskier had ever looked truly frightened had been at the sound of the hound’s cries. There had been a terrible knowledge hiding behind those blue eyes when they’d met Geralt’s. He’d known that this was a force he wouldn’t be able to resist. So he’d only concerned himself with getting Geralt away.
Run, Geralt. Don’t stop until you’re safe.
And what of you? Geralt wanted to ask. Who will keep you safe?
That quickly, Geralt’s mind was made up.
“Show me how to get into the lands of the Sidhe,” he demanded.
Make Me A Bargain, Dear Heart has a new chapter featuring our first look at the infamous Countess.
Here’s a teaser:
Geralt scanned the garden around him warily. He could practically hear Vesemir’s warning to never trust a fae echoing in the silence around him. It didn’t take much to imagine how furious the older Witcher would be if he knew what Geralt was doing. He told himself that all he needed was to find someone to lead him to Jaskier and then he could get back to his own world.
In the end, there was no way to be prepared to shift from the hunter to the hunted.
One moment he was stepping around a deep red bush trimmed into the shape of a unicorn spearing through the heart of the satyr beside it, and the next he was surrounded.
