#protective geralt

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 153

Geralt isn't used to being in a place so sumptuous as the Pankratz manor. He's gotten word about an urgent contract demanding a witcher, coming from Count Julian Pankratz, himself. Granted, he'd only recently earned the title after his parents died at sea, so he hadn't been a count for very long at all, but he had been one for long enough, it seems, if he's already getting into trouble.

Geralt steps into the main chamber, and finds a short, graceful man biting at his nails.

"Oh! The witcher!"

He gasps, racing over and shaking Geralt's hand, despite the fact Geralt wasn't shaking his back.

"So so so so happy you've come! I'm Visco- I'm Count Julian Pankratz! Um, Of Lettenhove- Which you know- Um-" "Geralt. Witcher. The contract?" "Right! Um, so, there's- The thing is- I know I'm new to my- my.. my rank, but I've lived in this place my whole life, so-" "Get to the damned point." "I think someone is stalking me."

Geralt sighs, and rubs a hand on his face. As terrible as the situation is, this isn't his job. And it's one human's word. It could be branches smacking against his window for all he knows about beasts.

"Witchers don't hunt humans. I don't hunt humans. Good luck."

And Geralt turns and begins walking out to the sounds of the human stuttering and flailing.

"IT'S NOT A HUMAN!"

He squeals, finally. Geralt turns over his shoulder to look at the human with a raised eyebrow. The human looks horrified to have blurted that out. He glances away, as if ashamed of doing so.

"I- I don't think it's human."

Geralt turns fully to face the human and steps back over to him.

"People have been acting weird.. Like they're not themselves. I don't know if it can shapeshift or hypnotize- And- And things have been moved or gone missing and things that don't make sense keep happening- Please. Please, help me. I'm too scared to sleep."

Fuck. Geralt can't say no to those watery Cornflower blue eyes. Actually inhuman foe or not, he's going to become a damned bodyguard of all things.

[magdelanesingerin]

Lucky

Jaskier is lucky. He knows he is.

He’s alive. It could have been worse. Geralt got him out after only a couple of days, cutting a bloody swath through Nilfgaardian prison guards and leaving his interrogator in twitching pieces on the floor before he swooped Jaskier up in his arms and carried him to safety, cradled gingerly to his chest. He can remember feeling a detached sort of shame at the uncontrollable, shaking whine that forced its way out on every exhale until he finally passed out.  

He’s lucky. He’s alive. It could have been so much worse. 

The thought drifts across his fuzzy mind along with voices in the room, the sound of them floating through the murky, dim air as he slips in and out of a dazed, pained confusion. 

“Just heal him, Yen!” 

Ahh, that rough, low voice, so familiar, but muted now as Geralt hisses quietly and fervently in anger that sounds more like desperation.

“I told you. I. Can’t,” the equally hushed and furious reply. The cadence of their arguments is one Jaskier knows well, the building frustration and exasperation bouncing and building between them until it explodes, and they’re finally driven away from each other again. “I used too much power portalling us in and out of the prison, and that fucking mage took more effort than I planned for. I have either enough power to try to heal him —probably badly, since this is nowhere near my specialty– or to take you both safely to Oxenfurt so a qualified healer can stabilize him. Not both.”

“These are complex injuries, Wolf.” A serious, gruff voice that Jaskier doesn’t know. “These aren’t clean, simple breaks. That bone is shattered. I haven’t treated injuries like this in decades, not since there were trainees here.” 

Oh, this must be the mysterious and venerable Vesemir. Not exactly the way he planned on meeting Geralt’s father figure. In every one of Jaskier’s imaginings of this moment, he had definitely been conscious, and not covered in a crust of blood and shameful human filth. Wonderful. 

“He’s not like us,” Vesemir continued, “if she encourages the bones to heal without setting them correctly, he might never use his fingers again. It will take weeks for the pieces to fuse, months to heal completely. He needs a human physician.”

“Months!?” Geralt sounds incredulous, and Jaskier would laugh, or try to, if he could open his mouth without screaming. Bless his wonderful witcher, he has no idea of how human bodies work. 

Vesemir heaves a deep, weary sigh and Yen cuts in again, her voice tight with impatience and something unfamiliar that Jaskier can’t quite place. Fear? Guilt? Neither of those are things he’s used to hearing from Yennefer. “Yes. He’s human . And not a young man anymore,” she says flatly. 

His half-lidded eyes struggle to take in the details of the room around him; he can see the shapes of the people standing over him but can’t quite understand any of it. The breath hisses through his tightly clenched teeth as he clings to control, sounding impossibly loud. 

“An injury like this would take you a week, maybe two to heal with a couple doses of Swallow, and your body would rebuild ligaments and nerves rapidly. His won’t ,” she says, and the whole room can hear the words “you moron” tacked on to the end of her sentence. “He’ll need special care, and not just for a day–for weeks. someone who knows enough about the human hand to be able to piece this mess back together,” she finishes with a tone of frustrated disgust. But Jaskier barely notices, is too distracted by sudden focused awareness on his body brought on by her words… 

He twitches and clenches his eyes shut, trying not to imagine the sharp, twisted grin of the interrogator, the flare of pain when the man moved his attentions from one ruined finger to the next. The acrid smell of burning somewhere in the room. The breathless ache in his chest as whimpers crawled out of his body unbidden and unstoppable on every pained exhale. His head swims and he can feel his heart pounding at the memory that rises up to swallow him. 

Waves of trembling wash over him, tightening muscles in shivering surges that seem unstoppable. He must be in shock. Isn’t shock supposed to dull pain, though? If this is the pain dulled, he thinks hysterically as he tries to force his body to calm, how much worse will it be when he comes out of it? It would be easier if he could just fall fully unconscious.

“Shani. I can take him to Shani. She’s a physician and…Jaskier’s friend. She’s in Oxenfurt.”

“Can you trust her?” Vesemir asks sharply.

“Yes.”

The conversation keeps swirling around him and Jaskier loses track for a little while. Yennefer and Geralt seem to be arguing about going to Oxenfurt, and something about Ciri, but he can’t quite focus enough to take it in. He feels a chill of formless, shameful guilt anyway. He’s causing problems again. Putting them in danger again. 

And then there’s a broad hand over his forehead, smoothing his hair back gently, and Geralt’s voice, cracked and miserable, close enough to feel the warm air of this breath.

“It’s my fault. They took him to get to me. To Ciri. I should have been there sooner.” 

Jaskier usually loves when Geralt touches him like this, offering softness and comfort. It’s uncommon enough to be precious. 

Right now, the touch is too much, though, overwhelming in a way that shocks him, and he flinches away from Geralt’s palm before he can stop himself, eyelids fluttering open enough to see the wince and flash of hurt on his friend’s face as he draws his hand away.  

Geralt’s hand forms a shape in the air over his head and Jaskier feels a wave of warmth and relief wash through his body as his clenching muscles relax. “Sleep, and feel no pain, Jask.”

continue on Ao3

[winters-mistress]

Of gentle wolves and healing princesses

It's a slow process, all things considered. It had been impressive enough that Ciri had even woken up from her injury at all, let alone begun to heal from it. Vesemir tells the twice grassed pup that even fully grown witchers have fallen from injuries like that one. But still, the girl awakens.

Because of the fall, her head had been banged up pretty tightly, Eskel and Vesemir taking turns changing the bandages and boil washing them in their best bet to ward off infection. But as the days go by, Geralt watches Cirilla remain awake for stretches longer and longer, even starting to respond to stimuli and respond to questions at the end of the first week of bed boundness.

Coën takes to slowly maneuvering her limbs as she's in bed. Bending her knees and extending her arms and rotating her torso. It's to keep her blood flowing, he tells the wolves, before admonishing them for their lack of knowledge on the clotting of human blood. Not enough movement could still the blood and kill her just as easily as the fall or infection could. Geralt is just greatful the Griffin has the instinct to take such good care of the white wolf's pup, for his instinct is to still protect the girl fiercely.

Lambert is the least helpful when it comes to Cirilla's recovery. He drank himself into a stupor the first night she had fallen, and had his face pummelled in by Geralt on the second. It had taken all four of the other witchers to separate them both, the two growling witchers thrashing as they fought with fists flying instead of the wooden swords of their youth.

By the start of week two, Ciri can swallow broth and thin soups, can move her body after vials of pure poppyseed milk to stop the pain, and Geralt is relieved when the bandages come off that reveal a clean wound, sewn up and sealing over with scabs and iodine. They keep a bandage on there just in case, but nowhere as dramatic as the others she had been wearing all that week.

After the wound is closed, Eskel and Coën and Geralt wash Cirilla's hair clean of the multitude of fluids that maar the girl's pretty blonde hair. Vesemir took the time to brew up a soup with small cooked root vegetables, while Lambert was scheduled to make more healing potions thag wouldn't melt the poor girls insides.

By week three, Cirilla can wash herself with a flannel and eat thick soups of barley and potato. She can sit up by herself now and hold a slow conversation. Her words are slow, slurred and take a while longer to understand their responses. Lambert drinks himself into a bucket again, and Vesemir tans his hide for it.

Geralt is impressed as the girl begins to get restless in her bedrest and sees the spark returning as she tries to get up and explore. He feels like Vesemir when he tells her that she needs to walk before she can run, but will stay by her side as she steadies herself and holds her hands as she climbs to her feet.

The witchers are honestly mighty impressed that it takes them only a day to start walking the length and around Ciri's room, and only another fir her yo walk from one wall to the next without Geralt's hands to support her, even if she falls into them when she's scaled this hurdle.

Day by day, they walk a little further in the keep and Geralt carries her less and lesson their way back. Her words get quicker in speed and understanding and the promises of a visit yo the horses or the hunting dogs or the livestock keep Cirilla motivated when she cannot put one foot in front if the other anymore.

But they get there, one step at a time, a harem of large, mutated witchers and a pretty princess who has just as much strength as them.

[k-laconia-bug1]

Geralt watching a bar fight: "not my circus not my monkeys"

Sees Jaskier head get slammed

Geralt: "My CIRCUS MY MONKEYS"

Also alternatively

Jaskier listening to men gossip "not my circus not my monkeys"

They mention witchers or Geralt

Jaskier pulling up his sleeves "MY CIRCUS MY MONKEYS BITCH"

[hannibard]

"I'm choking from the taste (but I can't help but swallow)"

Pairings: Geraskier, Radskier

Summary: "There's too much at stake Geralt, it's not worth it. Go back to Kaer Morhen and forget about me."

"You're more than worth it Jaskier and I'll do anything in my power to get you out of this hell. Melitele help anyone who stands in my way."

Jaskier is taken by Radovid in the midst of his travels with Geralt and Milva. The Redanian king, changed from his recent ascent to power, is determined to get everything he wants, with Jaskier having the misfortune of being on top of the list. Jaskier spends time serving Radovid in the Redanian court, drowning in despair and losing parts of himself in the process, his only consolation being the knowledge that his friend was safe from the Redanian army due to his sacrifice.

Sometime after Geralt has united the north under his rule, he decides to pay a visit to Redania in the hope of reuniting with his bard. But Jaskier is not as he remembers, his psyche having been fractured in their time apart. Will the witcher be able to help him escape his tragic fate?

Inspired by the song "Poison" from Hazbin Hotel

Click here to read on Ao3

---

Chapter 1: Bitter Encounter

Other chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6

He had been traveling together with Geralt and Milva for a few months when they took him. The three had made good progress on their way to Nilfgaard, occasionally adding other skilled individuals that were willing to aid in their cause to their group, like the high vampire/surgeon Regis, and the possibility of reaching Ciri was becoming more tangible with each passing day. Jaskier was, despite the sharp worry in his gut for the girl he had come to consider something akin to a daughter, relatively content.

Things were in no way easy, but at least he was (finally) at Geralt's side again. Plus, this time around he was actually able to pull his weight. Gone were the days of him being barely more than a burden that slowed the witcher down and made his life harder, as his role had been for the majority of their acquaintance.

(If life could give me one blessing-)

He had been by himself in some backwater village, because they needed to make money somehow and Jaskier was, despite all his faults, an excellent bard. His ability to be useful, even amidst such impressive individuals, filled him with pride. The others had made camp a few miles away in order to not draw attention. It was risky enough for Jaskier to make those semi-frequent appearances in the public eye, even with the new moniker he had adopted in his attempt to pass as different person. He had rarely traveled this far south in the past, so he wasn’t too worried about being recognized.

(it goes without saying that he avoided performing any songs from the vast repertoire he had created centered around his greatest muse, the White Wolf.)

His set was coming to an end, and he was looking forward to drinking an ale after gathering his earnings, before starting his long way back to his companions. He was in the middle of just that when he was approached by a hooded figure. They moved gracefully, weaving skillfully through the crowd before sitting down across the bard.

“Beautiful voice you’ve got there.” Their face was hidden in the shadow created by the hood, which was dark and modest, not carrying any identifiable markings.

Jaskier didn’t let his alarm show. “Thank you friend, I’m always one to appreciate compliments.” He took a long sip from his tankard methodically in a show of nonchalance.

The hooded figure cocked their head to the side and reached their hand out. “With talent such as yours, it’s a wonder you’re not more well-known Master…?”

Jaskier gave a bright grin, subtly wiping the sweat making its way down his forehead, and shook the stranger’s hand. Their grip was firm, and its hold lasted a bit longer than was considered socially appropriate. “The name’s Dandelion. And you are…?”

“A beautiful name to match the beautiful voice.” The figure avoided the question and tilted their head back so that their matching grin could be visible to the bard. Jaskier couldn't see their eyes, he had a nagging impression that he was being checked out from top to bottom. “Of course I can't neglect mentioning the beautiful appearance. Though if you don’t mind my humble opinion, I’d say there’s another name that would suit you more fittingly.”

The bard’s grin twitched ever so slightly. “And what would that be my dear fellow? Do say so.”

The stranger leaned forward. “Jaskier.” they said almost conspiratorially.

The bard’s smile fell all together, and he looked around with the corner of his eye. None of the inn’s patrons seemed to have heard, too busy drinking, eating and chatting loudly with each other. The innkeeper himself was curiously missing from the room.

“What do you want?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“If you want to find out then follow me and don’t make a scene. It wouldn’t benefit either of us.”

Jaskier gulped and slowly stood up. He made sure to grab his lute and not to let his nervousness show. “As you wish.”

They made their way outside, and as soon as they were out of people’s sight the stranger grabbed his arm with a strong grip that left no room for resistance, no matter how much Jaskier tried to pull away. They reached a building that stood tall in the periphery of the village, and the hooded figure surveyed their surroundings before opening the front door and pushing Jaskier inside. The force made the bard fall to his knees and he hissed in pain, his lute thankfully tucked safely against his back. He vaguely heard the door close and lock behind him just as he looked up, his mind too busy short-circuiting at the sight he came across.

“Hello darling.” said Radovid as he stood up from a makeshift throne, making his way to the bard and dropping to one knee in front of him. The newly-crowned king took Jaskier’s chin in one hand and gently stoked his cheek with the other, smiling gently. “Oh how I’ve missed you.” He said wistfully and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

Jaskier was left speechless, his brows furrowing together in confusion. He hadn’t seen Radovid since that fateful day in Aretuza after the Thanedd ball, in the midst of all the chaos. Their parting had been hopeful but it didn’t take long for Jaskier to hear about Radovid’s sudden enthronement, so he had resolved himself to the reality that their story would remain forever unfinished. His regret lessened more and more with the time he spent at his witcher’s side.

“Radov-, Y-your majesty, to what do I owe the honor of this, ah, sudden summons?” he said when he finally managed to make his mouth move.

Radovid’s eyes hardened almost imperceptibly at the bard’s term of address. He let out a defeated sigh and hung his head low. “I never once stopped thinking about you my dear, every day we spent apart was pure torture, and now that my reign has stabilized I though it was the perfect time to pay you a visit." He looked up and stared unblinkingly into the bards blue eyes. "Aren’t you happy to see me?”

Jaskier swipped his lips with his tongue, a motion that Radovid tracked hungrily. “Oh, I uh, I’m elated to see you, truly, but I’m just a tad confused. You see, your buddy over there that escorted me here, let’s just say they weren’t very gentle in their approach. In few words and with no offense, it left a lot to be desired. I was expecting to encounter some sort of Nilfgaardian general ready to chop my head off and not… you.”

Radovid huffed and offered a hand to Jaskier, helping him up. Now that Jaskier was somewhat over his initial surprise he was able to take in the king’s appearance. There were some subtle changes, like the short beard that had replaced his previously clean-shaven face, his once lean body seemed to have filled with muscle, but the biggest change, the one that made Jaskier’s breath catch in his throat, was in his eyes.

Before, Radovid’s eyes were like a window to his soul that only Jaskier had a key to, full of intelligence and softness, specifically towards his person, but now… Now his gaze was guarded. The only thing Jaskier could detect besides the current show of the king’s emotions, was darkness. It was something he was only able to decipher after his years of experience performing in countless courts and dealing with all sorts of people in his travels. It caused a chill to run down his spine.

“You don’t have to worry about Nilfgaard any more my love, you won’t have to deal with them ever again.” Radovid said as he patted down the outrageously large fur that hung from his shoulders.

Jaskier blinked rapidly a few times and raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean by that Your Majesty?”

Radovid looked at him as though he’d asked a very stupid question. “Redania’s power has grown vastly in recent months as I’m sure you’ve heard. Nilfgaard wouldn’t dare take a single step towards us. Also please cut all the ‘Your Majesty’s, our relationship has evolved beyond such formalities.”

Jaskier nodded tentatively “I’ve certainly heard about your accomplishments, but I don’t understand what that has to do with me.”

Radovid rolled his eyes in fond exasperation. “You’re coming with us silly.”

Jaskier’s heart was beating rapidly in his chest. He had been bombarded by shock after shock in such quick succession that he hadn’t been able to calm his racing mind in a minute.

“I appreciate the offer, truly, Your Majes- Radovid.” the bard quickly corrected his words after seeing Radovid’s face twist in displeasure. “But I’m afraid I have to decline. You see, I’m currently in the middle of a very important quest that I must see through to the end.”

The king’s eyes narrowed, his fists clenching at his sides. “So you’d choose that witcher over me? Even after everything he’s put you through? I could give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of, comfort and luxury beyond your wildest dreams, but you’d seriously rather continue following that monster like a lost puppy?”

The bard wasn’t happy with the name Radovid used to describe his dearest friend, but he let it go, choosing to focus on the matter at hand. “I’m sorry Radovid. It is what it is.”

A glimpse of hurt flashed in the king’s eyes and his shoulder’s slumped as he turned away from the bard. He took a few deep breaths before he straightened up again. When their eyes met once more, Radovid’s hardened gaze was filled with resolve. Jaskier waited with bated breath for his response.

“If you won’t come with me willingly… I’ll just have to bring you by force.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened and his blood ran cold. Before he was able to do anything, two guards surrounded him and grabbed his shoulders from each side. He thrashed wildly but it was for naught, the bard being much weaker than his captors. “No-, Radovid- please don’t do this, I’m begging you!” He asked desperately.

The king looked down at him with his chin up and an air of confidence surrounding him, for the first time appearing as ruthless and regal as his title implied.

“I’m afraid I can’t listen to you darling. One of the perks of being a king is that I can do and have whatever I wish for, and nobody can stand in my way.” He waved his hand towards the bard nonchalantly as he addressed his followers. “Bring him a pen and paper. Have him write a letter to the witcher and deliver it to the innkeeper. He’ll know what to do.”

The guards dragged Jaskier towards a desk and deposited him in a chair, writing tools bring placed on the surface before him a moment later. His hand was shaking as he picked up the pen. A tear slid down his cheek as he tried one last time to change the king’s mind. “Please Radovid... Let me go.”

The king crossed his arms and his mouth formed a tight line. “That’s ‘Your Majesty’ to you.”

Jaskier let out a sob and stared down at the paper, blinking rapidly in an effort to clear his blurry eyesight. His mind was racing trying to find a way to leave some sort of secret message to alert Geralt of his situation. Radovid seemed to read his thoughts however, because he gripped the bard’s nape tightly and leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Don’t even think about pulling any tricks or your dear witcher and the rest of your group will leave their last breaths at the camp they’re currently stationed on. My soldiers have the place surrounded as we speak.”

With those words the bards last hope was extinguished. The last thing he wanted to do was put his friends in danger. Even with their combined extraordinary strength, he didn’t want to chance either of them getting seriously injured. If obedience was the price to pay for their safety, then so be it.

“At least promise me you’ll leave them alone.”

Radovid gave a chaste kiss to the bard’s neck and ran what would be considered under normal circumstances a comforting hand down his back. “You have my word. I didn't care about them in the first place.” He gave the bard one last squeeze and went to sit back in his throne.

Jaskier took a deep breath and started writing. The single tear that hit the paper, while certain to be identifiable with the witcher’s heightened senses, would probably be assumed to have been a product of Jaskier’s typical sentimentality and nothing more.

Dear Geralt,

You’ll find me dearly saddened to inform you that our long-standing companionship must come to an end. You see, I’ve had time to think while staying in this lovely little settlement away from you lot, and I've come to realize what it is I truly want. That of course being king Radovid of Redania. I’ve talked to you about our ill-fated relationship before as you might recall. Somehow, things for us two don’t seem as bleak as they one were. I can see a light at the end of the tunnel and thus I’ve decided to go to Redania and try to build a future with him. Love conquers all and the like.

For the first time in my life, I’m putting myself before you. I’m choosing my own happiness. I hope you’re able to achieve your goals and manage to locate Ciri safe and sound. When you do, which I've no doubt you'll achieve, give her all my love. Please inform the rest of our group about my decision. I’m sorry for doing this so suddenly but you know how matters of the heart can be. They leave no room for patience.

Ever your affectionate friend,

Julian Alfred Pankratz.

Next chapter

[thecrownprincessbride]

NEW CHAPTER

BEFORE THE FALL A Djinn!Jaskier AU by TheCrownprincessBride

Chapter 24/  I’m your worst nightmare (INTERLUDE VII)

CHAPTER SUMMARY The events in Lettenhove from Geralt’s PoV. Also, Geralt and Jaskier are back on the Path, and the Path is dangerous.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[dinuhsoar]

𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐚 | 𝐠.𝐫.

- geralt x f!reader

warnings: nivellen tbh, mentions of rape, protective geralt, murder (but not really?), season two spoilers (heavy), potential typos, the reader and geralt aren't together, let me know if I missed anything

*please read all warnings before continuing*

synopsis: you and geralt discover nivellen's secret

artifact citation: when I say this is heavy on spoilers, I mean it. It's almost down to the letter. There are some differences in this compared to the episode, but only because I couldn't recall what was said and I wasn't about to go back and watch the episode due to how short the scenes eventually got. on another note, yuanfen, my loki series, will have it's first chapter published on the 31st, as this has been in my drafts for a while and I wanted to dispose of it. on a separate note, I do not own this plot. it's basically one of the episodes but just written.

you let out a shiver as you sat on roach, you and geralt looking into a deserted town.

"there are no barking dogs," you heard geralt mutter, yellow eyes looking in your own. you nodded, shifting in your saddle as geralt decided then to get on his horse.

"I know of a place where we can go." you looked back at the witcher, only to feel him kick roach in the sides, his eyes darting from left and right, up and down.

"stop staring, girl."

so you did.

not long after, you and the witcher saw a house in the distance, and geralt let out a hum of approval. "an old friend lives here," was all he said as he jumped off roach. "stay on roach."

not a second later, the very house before you started fluttering it's shutters, roach tossing her head back, side stepping. you gripped at the reins, hands pulling back on the black leather.

but then everything stopped and you sighed, relaxing against the mare. but geralt knew better than to let his guard down, and when a mutated man whom resembled a warthog leaped out the door and onto geralt, you couldn't help but cry out to him.

geralt looked up at you, afraid something hurt you, but when he realized you were safe, he looked back into the eyes of the man below him.

"it's just me! nivellen!"

geralt lowered the dagger from his friends neck, eyeing him. "you've changed?"

"I can say the same for you."

nivellen looked at you, a small growl leaving from geralt as he got up, pulling the man to his feet, grabbing roach by the reins to lead her and you to the small stable on the property.

"come inside when you're done," said nivellen.

geralt took you and roach to the stable, grabbing you by the hips to set you down before him, his height towering over you. you watched as he tied up the mare, patting her on the neck.

you and geralt walked inside together, a hum leaving his throat as he saw nivellen waiting for them.

"would you like a hot bath?" he asked.

you smiled at him, nodding your head, but geralt spoke for you. "no."

"yes." you stated glancing behind your shoulder, rolling your eyes as the witcher had grumbled. "I would like one, thank you nivellen."

suddenly, at the whisk of his hand, a tub dropped from seemingly nowhere, the water spilling out at the sides, steam erupting into the air. you started forward, and geralt had turned to take his leave. but geralt should have paid attention to the way his friend kept his eyes on you as you removed your straps.

nivellen turned then, blinking. he walked alongside the witcher, making his way to the banquet hall. there, the two sat, waiting for you before they ate.

meanwhile, you looked around the room. it was as if the house were alive. what sounded like mice running in the walls made the house creek. you grew nervous, a voice in your head telling you to call for geralt. he could protect you. he always does. but you didn't want to bother him. he's seeing an old friend and there was probably much to catch up on.

you went under the water again, getting the soap put of your hair, only for your eyes to rest upon a white dress. it looked beautiful yet old at the same time. nonetheless, compared to your other close which were rags, you were thankful.

stepping out of the tub, you reached for the woolen towel nearby, drying off and slipping on the dress. it fit you just right, and you smiled softly to yourself.

leaving the room, you made your way to where the witcher and nivellen sat, joining them. "thank you, nivellen. for the dress. it's lovely." nivellen locked his eyes onto your body, his eyes growing darker.

"why of course!"

you sat down finally, looking over to geralt, a small smile displayed in his direction. he hummed at you, yellow eyes glancing over at his friend. he noticed how nivellen looked at you, and his jaw set tight.

"so, let's eat!" the warthog shouted, fingers waving in the air, food dropping onto the table, some falling onto the floor. you looked over at geralt, smiling sweetly towards him.

you honestly loved geralt to death. literally. he's saved you countless of times, and each time you were more grateful than the last. he's been a friend to you, and though you loved the witcher, you knew he was incapable of feeling the same. and that's why you were no more than a friend to him as he was to you.

"how'd you get like that?" geralt had asked, looking at nivellen.

"in front of the girl?" he'd asked, eyes looking at you.

"she can handle it, nivellen."

you looked at the witcher, head resting in your hands as you then looked at nivellen. nivellen had struggled to find a starting point, grunting and sighing as he had lost his words for a second.

but you weren't even paying him any attention. you kept looking at geralt as he seemed to, for once, relax. he felt safe here and so should you.

you don't remember hearing much, really. you only heard something about mushrooms and a temple, but you thought nothing of it. you felt bad for the poor man; forced to live alone and no matter how many times he's tried to end his life because of it, he just kept coming back. you wondered how nivellen could be alone for so long. you started to grow insane before meeting geralt, but sometimes even then did you feel lonely.

the witcher had touched your shoulder as he noticed you deep in thought. "we're moving into another room, now." you nodded your head, taking in his deep voice.

you gathered yours and their dishes, geralt looking back at you as you set them in the tub. he thought you were beautiful then. but it pained him how he wasn't able to give you, literally, anything. that dress? it'll cost him an army of monsters to slay, and even then, would that be enough? his love? he couldn't give you that. no, for if a witcher grew weak in the heart and mind, he'd be nothing of value.

you turned on your heel, giving geralt a small smile as you gave his shoulder a soft, weak to geralt, poke. "thanks for waiting on me, witcher." you walked forward, hearing his clossal steps behind you, a short 'hmm' leaving his throat.

you huffed as you noticed only two chairs in the new room, which you've assumed was nivellen's living quarters based on how clean it was compared to the other parts of the house you've seen. he had taken claim of the chair on the left, and you knew geralt needed the comfort of a chair, his back tighter than princesses' corset. you rolled your eyes but sat between both men so to hear them equally.

over the next couple of minutes, you've been feeling nivellen poke his foot into your side. it wasn't hard, it was more than likely an accident due to him laughing hard and meaningful. but when his hand kept toughing your shoulder multiple times, you inched closer to geralt, your hands either messing your dress or your own fingers.

truth be told, you didn't know nivellen. yeah, he can tell a story. but why did you feel like the stories were just as twisted and bent like the songs 'based' off of geralt?

geralt seemed to notice the way you inched closer to him. you've started in the middle between the men, but you were more than halfway on geralt's side of the room, per se. geralt touched your shoulder, your eyes darting to his in a matter of seconds. he shushed nivellen, leaning so that he was close to your ear.

"go to bed, y/n."

you knew he was only telling you so that you'd be away from nivellen, but you weren't tired. and as the house creaked again like it did earlier, you tensed, shaking your head at geralt.

"do you have a cat, nivellen?" you asked, facing him.

"yes, in fact I do. I call her vereena. she's a bit shy though, I must warn." nivellen stated, his hands fiddling with one another. he stood, looking into a corner.

geralt stood also and you followed suit, only for him to shake his head. "I'm going to scout the place. stay indoors, girl."

you nodded your head, watching as he walked off.

"would you like to hear a story, y/n?"

"sure."

elsewhere, geralt walked outside of the house and past the heavy doors at the edge of the property, and he noticed footprints. it put him on edge, because, clearly he wasn't safe here; you weren't safe here. and against his better judgement, he kept pressing forward instead of turning back to the house to you. nivellen had made you uncomfortable multiple times, but he couldn't think of a reason why. his friend was nice and caring and even offered a place to rest their heads.

geralt grumbled, shaking his head to get back on track. he hated how the woman plagued his thoughts. he reached the town beneath the hill and the house that sat on top of it. he grew suspicious as he kicked the mare forward through the doors, hoping off upon seeing a corpse. maybe it was the snow and cold that preserved the body, but it looked almost fresh. he saw how the foot imprints stopped close to the body, his feverish yellow eyes looking into the sky. a bruxa.

back at the house, you thrashed in your bed. nivellen told you a tale of two lovers, and you eventually had fallen asleep in the sheets. but even a tale of love couldn't cure your nightmares.

you awoke when you felt a touch on your hand. you felt like screaming out for geralt, he'd hear you, but you knew he was out scouting the place. you moved upwards in your bed, breath hitching as the girl moved closer to you.

"do not worry. I will not hurt you."

"who are you?"

"vereena, and you?"

"y/n. nivellen said you were a cat?"

you watched as the girl tilted her head to the side, her eyes wide and eyebrows knitted.

"that man you were with earlier, who is he?"

"a friend. he kills monsters. are you a monster?"

vereena sat up straight, head and arm twitching as she looked down at you.

as a few minutes passed, you don't remember much of what was said. it wasn't a long encounter, but you do remember that the girl reached for your hand, kissing it.

meanwhile, geralt tied roach to the stable post, giving the mare a pat on her muscled neck. he walked in through the doors, walking straight to your bedroom. he hated himself for leaving you here.

you jumped awake again, geralt's eyes giving you a onceover. you were safe, good.

"geralt? what's happening?"

you noticed how he was on edge, his hand griping his sword in a vicelike grip. he turned his back to you, raising something to his lips.

"there's a bruxa in the house."

it was then that the witcher downed one of his potions. you jumped out of bed, walking towards geralt.

"a what?"

geralt hummed at you. "go wait by roach. if I tell you to run, you run."

"geralt?"

suddenly, geralt turned towards you, his eyes pitch black. you wondered if he could see past the dark barrier between his and your eyes. nonetheless, you took a step away from witcher. having to never seen him like this before, it honestly scared you. he scared you.

"do you understand, y/n?"

you nodded your head, running past geralt as your shoulders touched. you ran out the door and towards roach, standing by her.

in the house, geralt walked down the corridor, stopping in front of nivellen's room. he knew that the bruxa was in there. but before he could do anything, the doors flew open and he was pinned against the wall by the scream that left the females mouth.

geralt was able to break free, but the bruxa pinned him, her blood hungry jaws wanting his neck. but he stabbed her swifty, throwing the girl out the window.

you turned your head fast, no doubt in your mind that you'll now have whiplash. you watched as geralt swung his sword at vereena, the girl morphing into what looked like an oversized bat.

you made quick work at undoing the reins hitched to the post, grabbing them and tossing the black leather over the mares head. if geralt said to run, then you would.

"geralt," you said lowly, watching as the bruxa turned midair, diving low behind geralt. to say that it was a close call, was an understatement. it was nail-biting close as geralt lowered his upper body to bend, his sword pointed upwards as the bruxa screeched out in pain as she fell to the ground.

you rushed over, tossing your cloak over vereena's bare body. you felt bad for her. it was more than likely not her fault that she was this way. she couldn't help it.

"get away y/n!" geralt growled out.

you jumped away from vereena, only to be pulled back into her as she grabbed at your wrist, nails biting into the skin.

your whine was enough to drive geralt insane. his eyes may be black, but if he could see at all, he was seeing red.

"leave us alone and I won't hurt you!" yelled vereena, her hands adjusting so to have a better grip on you.

geralt stopped moving. what you found funny was that he was as still as the statues surrounding him.

suddenly, just as geralt drew up a blank to save you, vereena screeched out, a yell which pained your ears. you stumbled away from her, your eyes lingering on the wooden stick that was through her middle. you were going to be sick.

you watched the scene unfold as she slid her body down the pole, her neck and arms turning completely around. geralt made quick to slice her head off, and you watched as everything was set ablaze.

you walked over to the witcher, hearing him say something about blood and love, nivellen cutting him off and finishing his statement.

he was now back to normal, something which should have made him feel happy, thankful even. but no.

"what did you do!?" he shouted, geralt cocking his head in confusion.

but you didn't seem to pay any attention to geralt as your heart seemed to stop.

"I lied, geralt. I didn't trash the temple, that's not why I'm like this. I raped the priestess."

you backed away from nivellen, not that you were close to begin with, geralt stepping slightly before you, blocking you from nivellen's view.

"geralt, please! I can't live like this. kill me now." nivellen pleaded as geralt turned away, taking his leave. you ran towards roach, jumping in the saddle and kicking her to wait at the door.

"you're mortal now. do it yourself."

[samstree]

for the cliche tropes, 27. Help me I’m being hit on at a bar please be my fake boyfriend for a second with geraskier, if you please <3

Thank you for the prompt! 🌼 Sorry it’s quite late but please enjoy this tiny piece of pining on this fine Friday.

(1.3k, geraskier, slow dancing, drunk jaskier, protective geralt, no warnings.)

“Oh, Geralt! Fancy seeing you here!” Jaskier exclaims, as if they didn’t come to the banquet together.

The bard reaches Geralt’s table and sweeps away his ale in one swift motion before chugging it all down. When he finally puts down the tankard, Geralt finds himself the recipient of the bard’s most charming and yet most performative smile.

Jaskier is nervous.

“Phew!” His hands flail dramatically. “Fine evening, isn’t it?”

Geralt hums, waiting for the catch.

“Let’s dance!”

Without getting a reply, Jaskier is already dragging Geralt up from his seat. With all the wine and ale in his system, Jaskier’s hold is not strong enough to manhandle a bulky witcher, but they end up at the edge of the dance floor anyway.

Jaskier’s warm palms rest flush against Geralt’s waist, and their faces are only a hand’s breadth away. Geralt can feel the heat on the bard’s flushed cheeks and hear the pounding of his heart in the din of the room. They sway to the gentle music.

It’s…close, too close. Geralt needs a distraction.

“What’s the catch, Jask?”

The bard scoffs, almost offended. “Do I require a reason to dance with you? Or am I not allowed to just enjoy quality time with my favorite witcher?”

Geralt simply lifts an eyebrow.

“All right. You are too smart for your own good.” Jaskier chews on his lips, again, nervously. “There is this one gentleman, who may have been too eager for my…company, despite my explaining of the situation.”

“Which is?”

“That I’m in love and thus unavailable?” Jaskier says as if it’s obvious. Geralt frowns with worry.

“Still?” the witcher asks quizzically. “Valdo left nearly a year ago, Jaskier. It isn’t healthy.”

That is the wrong thing to say because Jaskier flinches at the name. Hurt flashes across those cornflower blue eyes, and Jaskier looks too dejected, too similar to how Geralt found him at his worst, in pain and alone and roaring drunk. He never wants to see Jaskier like that again.

“Well, no matter,” Jaskier chuckles tightly. “It’s not like the guy took the hint and left me alone, so I had to improvise. Now, before you give me another lecture or something, you need to know that I had no choice but to—”

“What did you do?” Geralt lets the music and the crowd lead the two of them around the dance floor, careful not to bump into another couple.

The bard regains his balance, looking contrite.

“I may have implied that, um, the person I’m in love with is here tonight.” He pauses before continuing reluctantly. “Or I may have said plainly that he is…a certain witcher.”

“Jaskier…”

“I know. I know! But he was relentless and I couldn’t get away!” he pleads.

“Hmm.”

Geralt’s hands tighten on Jaskier’s shoulders protectively. The bard is too drunk to even keep up with the dance, let alone fight off some unwanted pursuer. In truth, he’s only relieved that he is here with Jaskier, even though the lie is hitting a bit too close to home.

Holding Jaskier like this, swaying with him gently, is once again reminding Geralt of what he isn’t allowed to dream. He no longer dares these days. Not when he’s the one pushing Jaskier away time and time again, not when he’s the one who let Jaskier slip through his fingers and end up with Valdo, not when he’s the one who inadvertently caused Jaskier’s broken heart.

“Oh fuck.” Jaskier hisses, his body tensing. “He’s coming towards us. Okay, act natural! Wait, what is natural if we were together? Oh…um… Just roll with me, will you?”

Before Geralt can reply, Jaskier’s mouth is on his. The kiss is as chaste as it can be—Jaskier is only pecking at his lips gently, never pushing in. Geralt only remembers to close his eyes after a moment, and forces himself to respond as such. To keep up the front, he tells himself, lest the guy is watching.

And he is. Deliberate footsteps are circling the dance floor, not far from them. Geralt concentrate on identifying the man’s heartbeat and his movement—

Jaskier sucks on his lower lip once, twice, before letting go. He buries his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck, his body still taut like a statue.

“Is he gone?”

Warm breaths ghost over the skin of Geralt’s neck and he struggles to open his eyes. The man is not gone. In fact, he’s observing them intently, just shy of stepping into the dance floor himself. Through the moving crowd, Geralt can make out his golden hair and slim shoulders, almost a spitting image of one Valdo Marx, only a little taller.

Geralt hates this man immediately.

Perhaps it’s those too piercing eyes, or the way his presence is making Jaskier nervous like this, or just the look of him. Geralt narrows his eyes dangerously.

“He is not,” Geralt says into Jaskier’s ear, mimicking a lover’s murmur, all the while not breaking eye contact. He’s heard so many times how his yellow eyes are monstrous, and Geralt is thankful for once. It takes some balls to not cower under a witcher’s glare, one that projects predator from afar. This one crumbles within seconds.

With a triumphant smirk, Geralt moves one hand up to cup the nape of Jaskier’s neck, the other one still pressed between his shoulder blades. He’s laying claim. Hopefully, the light can catch a glint of his fangs, but either way, the man is soon running off, tail between his legs.

“Now he’s gone,” Geralt’s voice comes out deeper and rougher. He clears his throat. “Should be out of the gate by this point.”

They are standing impossibly close. The anxious rise and fall of Jaskier’s chest slow to normal and they separate. Geralt misses the contact. He now has a harder time keeping Jaskier steady on his feet. Yes, that’s the sole reason to miss holding Jaskier.

“I—” Jaskier’s gaze is still fixed somewhere far away behind Geralt’s shoulder, oblivious of how reluctantly the witcher is retracting his hands. “Sorry I did that.”

“Hmm. It worked.”

The bard lets out a dry laugh. “Thank the fuck you are here. I wouldn’t have known what to do.”

“You can take care of yourself.”

Geralt only has one hand at Jaskier’s elbow, holding onto him with a featherlight touch. The music has come to an end and the quiet intimacy dissipates.

“Can I?” Jaskier says half-mockingly. “One look at that guy and I could barely breathe, Geralt, and he doesn’t even look that much like Val—him.”

Jaskier bites his lips in contrite, his eyes dimmed. Geralt dips his head to meet Jaskier’s gaze, the ocean blue so lost.

“Hey. I’ll be here if you need me,” he adds way too quickly, almost spluttering. “—to get rid of unwanted attention, that is.”

Jaskier doesn’t seem to notice the awkwardness. Instead, a soft smile stretches across his face. Wordlessly, the bard leans forward to place a small kiss on Geralt’s cheek.

Geralt has to hide the gasp, his eyes wide. He doesn’t know why he’s more affected this time. Is it because it’s real? A voice at the back of his head asks. The last time—even with Jaskier’s lips all over him—was only a show, but this one is full of Jaskier’s heart.

“You are sweet.” Jaskier wipes at the spot with a thumb. “What would I do without you, my friend?”

“Hmm.”

Friend. It’s one little word that Geralt has rejected time and time again, and just when he begins to want for more, he finds himself trapped in the very same word. The irony would be laughable if Geralt is not missing the warmth of Jaskier against him so much.

How the turntables.

Geralt lets Jaskier retreat into the crowd, and if he turns to smell the lingering scent of Jaskier on his shoulder, nobody needs to know.