It was an unspoken rule that a Witcher never willingly removed their medallion unless the reason was life or death. As with most rules, there was an exception.
They were always the last thing to be removed whenever Lambert and Aiden fell into bed together. They could practically hear their elders lecturing them both but chose to ignore them, considering neither of them wanted the reminder of why this was a bad idea judging them from around each others throats.
For a few hours, they allowed themselves to pretend. They weren’t Cat and Wolf – hereditary enemies ever since a betrayal neither of them had played a part in. Hell, they weren't even Witchers. They were just Lambert and Aiden: Two occasional lovers who ran into one another in an inn. Nothing unusual in that.
Their medallions would be the first thing to be replaced when they came back to themselves but for now, they sat on the small wooden table. Their chains tangled together in a mimicry of their owners in a too small bed with not enough time.
Triss smooths her thumbs over the flawless skin under Lydia’s eyes, the rest of her fingers fanning over the ruins of the woman’s lower face, her jaw and chunks of her neck missing completely, skillfully reconstructed with illusion but not real enough to touch. Just gnarls of twisted flesh catching unpredictably on Triss’s fingertips.
She wonders what Lydia can feel.
Triss feels only the vaguest hints of pressure where Lydia’s fingers trace the scar tissue that covers her breasts.
Triss feels nothing as Lydia observes her disfigurement.
Triss presses their foreheads together and slides her fingers over Lydia’s hips nonetheless.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1 Words: 100
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Characters: Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach, Emhyr var Emreis, Gallatin (mentioned)
Additional Tags: Spoilers for The Witcher (TV) Season 3, Drabble
Summary: Cahir so dearly wants to come home. Whatever the price. (Missing mini scene from S3)
but nothing cracks my whole chest wide open like geralt seeking jaskier out after the mountain incident (tm) expecting to get his arse verbally handed to him in a burlap sack and he just... doesn't.
jaskier doesn't scream or rant or rage. that would've been easier, geralt thinks, it would've been deserved. but he smiles instead. greets geralt with familiarity and a smile that's a little too easy, a little too shallow to be true. as much as geralt had dreaded the anger, this is worse.
jaskier seems resigned.
he knows it's a bad way of going about it - should've done it sooner, shouldn't have had to do it at all - and now he needs to ask for help and that makes the hole he's in seem even deeper, it'll seem like he's only coming back because he needs something. and he does, but that's not... it's a mess, is what it is.
jaskier accepts his apology with the same hollow sense of calm. his explanation gets brushed aside, and it's surprising but it's also not really, jaskier is an emotionally intelligent man and travelled with the witcher for the better half of his life, for crying out loud, geralt, i know you.
he doesn't even get to grovel for help. doesn't get around to it, jaskier has already sussed out his situation and is offering a hand without being asked - just as he's done all those times before.
"jaskier, i-"
"i know," the bard - professor, now - cuts him off with a brittle laugh. "you need no one. i know, i've heard it. just let me help you out, for my own sake, and then you can be on your way."
he'd expected shouting, to promise to make it up, to maybe - hopefully - to prove himself. heck, he'd been prepared to beg the man for another chance.
From the way the bard looked one could assume he had fought the bruxa Geralt had a contract on. But as usual it had been a cuckolded spouse. And the black eye and cut on his cheek were not even the result of a fist thrown at Jaskier’s face. The bard had jumped out of a window to flee the angry spouse, stumbling over his own feet and carried by the momentum ran into a brick wall.
Jaskier looked more concerned than in pain. “Will it leave a scar?”
“What?” Geralt asked, “afraid of looking like me?”
The bard smiled at that - followed by a whimper as pain was triggered by the facial movement.
“That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?” he said in a dreamy voice, “I am sure I would look daring…”
“Don’t worry,” Geralt said, “in a few days you will be as handsome as before.”
This time the wide smile that broke out on Jaskier’s face stayed on through the pain.
“You think I look handsome.” It was more of a statement than a question.
“Don’t flatter yourself”, the witcher grumbled.
“Oh no, you don’t get out of this one. Geralt of Rivia, famous witcher, thinks I look heartbreakingly handsome.” Jaskier looked away in the distance, a wide grin still lighting up his face.
“That’s not what I said,” the witcher replied, “and not what I meant.”
“What?” Jaskier asked, “so you don’t think I am handsome? Was it just a lie to lighten my mood? Just to ruin it in the next moment? I don’t understand you, Geralt…”
“You look...objectively handsome...I mean, other people find you attractive,” Geralt mumbled.
Jaskier was silent for a while. “Mh...so other people find me handsome…” he said slowly, “but you don’t?”
“Don’t stretch your luck, bard!”
Geralt finished wiping away the blood and applied a healing ointment.
“Just for the record, Geralt”, the bard said, “I am not ashamed to tell you that I think you are very attractive. Objectively and subjectively.”
Geralt sighed and rolled his eyes but Jaskier was sure it was more a display of fondness than annoyance and he was sure that the tips of Geralt’s ears slightly blushed.
For the Two-part Drabble Game: Geraskier, Situation 25, Sentence 24. Have fun and thank you ☺️
25 - Being somewhere you’re not supposed to be
24 - “I never want you to feel like you’re not good enough.”
All right, here you go @elliestormfound! Thanks for the ask! This was a fun little piece to write, I hope you enjoyed it :) Here is the link to the story on ao3
Geralt flexed his fingers, sore from hanging on the ladder after so long. Below him, a river of detritus and sewage boils around the foot of the ladder. Above him is the closed lid of one of the access points, which he’d been forced to duck into at the last minute as he was running to escape an angry crowd. It had hardly been his fault that they hadn’t wanted to pay. Once the man he’d presented his bounty to had started shouting, it hadn’t taken long for a crowd to gather. And once the first rock had been thrown, he knew it was time to make a swift exit.
He hangs there, listening carefully to the sounds of the street above. Below him, the water rushes and gurgles, stinking its way out to the sea. Above, he can still hear the occasional angry voice raised in protest.
From below him on the ladder, feet inches above the sewage, floats a voice. “Are they gone yet, Geralt?”
“Not yet,” Geralt growls quietly down at his companion. “Be quiet.”
“All right, it’s just, we’ve been here for hours and my limbs feel like they’re going to fall off, and it stinks something horrible in here.” Jaskier complained, shifting the lute case on his back. “Did we really have to flee into the sewer?”
Geralt peers down at him in the darkness.
“Fine. Next time I’ll let you lead us away from the angry mob,” he replies drily.
Jaskier grumbles, shifting again. “Are they gone yet, Geralt? My arms are killing me.”
“No,” Geralt grumbles. “They’re still searching the market.”
“Should we try finding another exit?”
“Do you want to wade in monster infested sewage?”
“Oh Melitele, there’s monsters in there?” Jaskier gasped, climbing up a couple of rungs suddenly. It put his head near Geralt’s calves. His dirty pants frankly didn’t smell any better than the rest of the sewer, but at least the supposed monster infesting them was a known quantity.
“Don’t stick your ankles in the water and you’ll be fine,” Geralt points out, unimpressed. He shifts his feet so that he doesn’t accidentally step on Jaskier’s fingers. They fall into an unhappy silence, suspended between the sewage and the angry people in the market above.
Jaskier is silent for a long moment, then he asks in a muffled voice, “Geralt? Why are people so awful?”
Geralt goes still, cocking his head to the side as he takes that in. He falls into a long silence, which grows heavier and heavier with each passing moment. When he answers, his voice is quiet.
“They’re just scared. I’m different. It’s not their fault.”
Below him, Jaskier gapes, then puffs angrily. “That’s crap and you know it!” he hisses quietly. “You’re the best man I’ve ever met, and if they can’t see that they’re bloody blind.” His fingers tremble on the ladder, his muscles screaming as he demands they continue to hold him in this unaccustomed position.
“Lot of blind people, then.” Geralt notes mildly, then ducks down away from the lid at the top of the ladder, gesturing for Jaskier to be quiet. Overhead there is a boiling murmur of voices, shuffling footsteps. After a while, they move off.
“Well, that bloody jeweler better get ready for fame. Yorik the Pig-Fucker has a nice ring to it,” Jaskier seethes quietly into the yawning silence left in the wake of the people moving away. “And I’m going to write a hell of a ballad about how you took care of his troll problem, too. Geralt’s jaw tightens, and his hot golden eyes rake over Jaskier below him in the darkness.
“I talked the troll into finding new territory, Jaskier. There’s nothing epic about that.”
“Tell that to my new ballad,” Jaskier mutters grumpily, shifting his legs to try to ease their stiffness. Geralt glares down at him, but the glare slowly softens.
“Why?” he asks, examining the bard as best he can from where he’s standing.
“Why what?”
“The songs? The...” he grimaces in distaste. “Following me?”
Jaskier looks back up at him thoughtfully. He’s asked this before, but every now and then, it comes up again, as if he can’t wrap his head around the idea that Jaskier likes him. Jaskier licks his lips, taking an uncharacteristically long moment before replying.
“People go out of their way to tell you that you’re not enough. That you’re bad, or scary, or stupid. None of that is true. I sing because I never want you to feel like you’re not good enough.”
Above him, Geralt sinks into silence, his throat closing. Jaskier’s words made him feel sore inside, uncomfortable. The human didn’t seem to understand exactly what he was, even after years of traveling with him. Even after sharing his bed. Hard to identify emotions boil inside of him, and he shifts uneasily.
Jaskier watches him from below, his own heart sinking. Geralt was the least easy person to say kind things to that he’d ever met, and it bothered him deeply. Someday, though. Someday, his Witcher would finally hear him without flinching.
At the top of the ladder, Geralt listens as the voices finally begin to disperse. He glances down at Jaskier, who is shivering miserably beneath him. His own muscles are sore from holding the same position for hours, he can only imagine what kind of pain his bard is in. Nevertheless, he waits until the sounds of the market have dispersed entirely and the scent of night wafts down from the access point before he moves again. Beneath him, Jaskier gives an exhausted whimper as Geralt shifts and climbs up a few rungs to peek out from below the cover.
The rush of relatively fresh air is a relief to his desperately sensitive nose. It might still stink of urine and horse dung, but at least it hadn’t spent miles rolling atop a river of sewage. Gulping in the fresh air, he surveys the street. Finally, it’s empty. Quickly as his sore muscles will allow, he scrambles out of the sewer, then reaches back down to help Jaskier. The bard swallows another whimper as he begins to climb, his stiff muscles screaming.
“Geralt! Put me down!” Jaskier complains as Geralt begins to jog up the street, staying close to the shadows where he can.
As soon as Jaskier is in reach, Geralt leans down and fists the back of Jaskier’s doublet, dragging both him and his lute carefully out of the sewer. He deposits them on the cobbles and helps Jaskier stagger upright. The hours of standing suspended have taken a toll on his human companion, who winces as he flexes his legs and looks around the empty street.
“Back to Roach?”
“Hmm.” Geralt agrees. He watches the bard stagger a few steps, sighs, and heaves him over his shoulder in one easy movement.
“Be quiet. We need to get out of here. You can barely move,” Geralt grumbles, picking up his pace. Thankfully, at this time of night the city is far less crowded, and he is able to make his way to the outskirts with relatively little interference, bard slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Jaskier bubbles and puffs with irritation, but much to Geralt’s relief, remains relatively quiet until he sets him down some time later. Jaskier staggers, but by now at least a modicum of feeling has returned to his legs, and he rights himself quickly.
He goes to the Witcher, grabbing his arm gently. Geralt turns to face him, expression unreadable in the darkness of the alleyway near the inn. Jaskier regards him seriously, then reaches up and gently tucks some of Geralt’s hair away from his face.
“You are special to me. You know that?” He asks, fingers lingering softly on Geralt’s dirty cheek. Geralt regards him in the darkness, his golden eyes catching the little moonlight and glowing with it. His face remains stony, but Jaskier can see the little muscles in his face, especially at the corners of his eyes soften into a vulnerable look of confusion. Jaskier can see it because he’s known Geralt for so many years. Stepping closer, Jaskier cups his cheek, pressing his chest lightly against the Witcher’s armored body. He smells awful, they both do, but at least in the fresh air it’s bearable.
“And one day, you might even believe it,” Jaskier says with a soft smile, tilting his head to the side as he regards his handsome Witcher in the moonlight. Then, he leans up and presses his lips to Geralt’s, eyes sliding shut. Geralt stiffens, then hesitantly leans in to deepen the kiss. Jaskier hums a soft note of happiness. Someday would come soon enough. For now, he would just have to show the Witcher exactly how special he was... as soon as they’d both had a bath.
Summary: She gave him up, abandoned him and now she’s back, wanting to be in his life. Is it too much to just kick her out, refuse her the way she refused him?
Warnings: Angst, Fluff
Pairings: Geralt x Female!Reader, Geralt x Ailana (daughter)
AN: So I left it open for interpretation. I don’t really know much about Geralt’s relationship with his mother so it’s open to how you take it if whether or not Visenna gets to meet Ailana.
Anon Requested: Hi! Can I request geralt x reader where they have a baby (I know its not possible but magic exists, so why shouldnt there be some potion or spell?) And geralts mom (visenna) wants to see them. How would he and his S/O react? I know that they didn't have a good relationship in books and the tv show but still. Sorry if it's a mess😅
There was a slight blur to everything as I came to, groaning when I felt Geralt’s spot in the bed was cold. I sat up, pushing the covers off. If Geralt wasn’t in bed, then there was only one other place he would be. Tiptoeing down the hall, I smiled as I leaned against the doorframe. Geralt was sitting in the rocker he had built, Ailana snuggled on his chest, snoring softly. I walked towards them, moving to take Ailana when Geralt’s grip on her tightened, causing my smile to grow even more. He’s always been protective, but when I told him that I was pregnant, he became even more protective. And then when Ailana was born, he was just as protective of her. I leaned down, running my fingers through Geralt’s hair, kissing the corner of his mouth as I whispered.
“It’s just me love.”
Geralt’s hold on Ailana loosened just enough for me to be able to pick her up, holding her to my chest as she stirred. Moving towards her crib, I was just about to put her down when she started to scream, tears streaming down her face. I jumped when Geralt jumped up, looking around the room, a small dagger in his hands.
“Geralt, love, it’s okay. Ailana is okay. She just woke up, that’s all.”
Geralt lowered his dagger, walking towards us. He leaned down, giving me a soft kiss as he picked Ailana up, causing me to laugh.
“You spoil her.”
Geralt smiled as Ailana calmed, snuggling into his chest, a content sigh leaving her.
“I know.”
“But it is cute.”
I yawned, causing Geralt to look over at me, wrapping his free arm around me, pulling me to his side.
“Come on, let’s go to bed.”
I made grabby hands towards him, causing him to laugh as he carefully placed Ailana in my arms, picking me up once she was settled. We both snuggled into Geralt as he carried us down the hall, laying us on the bed before he crawled in beside us, wrapping his arm around my waist, Ailana laying between us.
🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺🐺
I had just put Ailana down for a nap when Geralt came in, his chest heaving as he scowled.
“Geralt?”
I walked towards him, placing my hands on his chest once I was close enough, looking up at him.
“What happened? Is everything okay?”
He huffed, causing me to shake my head.
“Not today mister. Now tell me what’s wrong or you can sleep with Roach tonight.”
Geralt grinned slightly, sparing me a quick glance before he looked back at the wall.
“My mother.”
I made a face, tilting my head to the side as I reached up, placing my hand on his cheek, gently forcing him to look at me.
“What about her? Did something happen?”
I huffed slightly, whispering.
“Is she dead?”
Geralt grinned then, shaking his head as he grabbed me by the waist, picking me up. I wrapped my legs around him as he walked towards the couch (idk what that would be called in the witch universe or if they’d even have that) sitting down, causing me to sit on his lap.
“No, she’s not dead.
I nodded, sighing as I ran my fingers through his hair.
“Then what is it? Clearly something happened, you’re upset.”
“I saw her today. She sought me out. She told me that she’s been looking for me, for us.”
“Us? Why?”
“She heard that we were married, that you were pregnant. She told me she was sorry for what she did, and that she wanted a second chance.”
“A second chance?”
“She wants to meet you. And Ailana.”
“Do you want her to come here? Not a lot of people know we live here in our little corner of the world.”
“I know.”
I smiled softly, placing my hands on his cheeks, leaning down so he would look at me.
“What do you want love?”
He looked up at me, sighing harshly.
“To keep you and Ailana safe.”
“And you’ve done that. But she is your mother. No matter your differences, a part of you, even if it’s miniscule, still cares for her. If you don’t want her to meet Ailana, then she won’t. If you want her to meet us, then okay, we’ll meet her somewhere public. Whatever you want to do, we’ll do it.”
“You’re too good for me.”
I leaned forward, resting my forehead on his.
“You deserve it.”
“I don’t.”
I huffed, shaking my head.
“Okay, we are so not going to start the yes you do no I don’t fight cause we both know in the end I’ll win.”
I grinned, placing a kiss against his lips.
“I always win.”
He leaned up, kissing me harder as he ran his hands over the top of my thighs, squeezing my hips.
“Or maybe I always let you win.”
I scoffed, leaning back.
“You let me win? Sure, let’s go with that.”
Geralt laughed, shaking his head.
“I love you.”
“I smiled, running my fingers through his hair as I leaned down, kissing him.
