#the witcher reader insert

~

You held your sword straight with your elbows up behind your head, crouched in a defensive stance. You followed the giant centipede’s head as it circled you, trying to keep your breathing even to hide your fear. When you took the job, you hadn’t realized this would be the beast. Just your luck.

Being a monster hunter was fun and all, and paid surprisingly well, but on the rare occasion where you found yourself up against something… a little above your skill level, it made you rethink your life choices.

It had been drawing this out for minutes. You knew you would have to strike first, but it was hard attack something that was almost completely covered with armour.

And it was hiding it’s soft belly very, very well.

You lunged anyways, giving a half assed blow with your blade. When it went to parry, you snapped back and swung around, managing to get a slice in its soft skin. It roared and bit at your arm, making you drop your weapon and roll backwards to avoid losing a limb. 

“Shit,” you swore, taking out a jagged dagger in each hand. You continued your dance, the centipede circling you with you turning to keep up with it, your arms up and ready. “Come and get me,” you muttered, unsure if the beast could understand what you said.

You didn’t realize how fucked you were until you heard a strange, wet, hissing sound. You put an arm up instinctively to block your face, and you smelled the burning of your flesh before you actually felt it. You were suddenly very dizzy, and the creature burrowed itself underground.

It felt like an earthquake as it tunnelled underneath you, and you didn’t have time to check why your body hurt so much before you started running. Your feet felt disconnected from you, and you knew you were stumbling around more than doing anything useful. You rubbed your eyes to try and get the fuzziness from your vision, but the searing pain seemed to be quickly catching up with you.

It burst from the ground with a horrible rumble, using your disorientation to get close enough to start wrapping itself around you.

You heard yourself scream in terror as it squeezed the breath out of your lungs, and your bones began to feel like they were being crushed.

Your vision was sprayed with a thick liquid and you slammed your eyes closed. A moment later, you felt the death grip on your body quickly loosen, before you were suddenly released.

You collapsed to your knees, gasping for air through your tears as you cried the liquid out of your eyes. When you finally felt like you weren’t about to die, you glanced up to see what the fuck had just happened.

A Witcher holding a very fancy looking sword was stabbing into the beasts belly. He began running, ripping the thing in half from the middle all the way up to its head. It spewed guts and debris everywhere as you watched, mesmerized by the way he moved. You had met Witchers before, even seen a few fight. But they had nothing on the way this man moved.

You felt strange as he approached you and offered you his hand. You gladly took it, letting him pull you to your shaking legs. You couldn’t seem to find your balance, and he grabbed your arm to steady you.

“You got hit with the acid. Come on, let’s find you a healer.”

~

You felt much better over the course of the next few days. The Witcher, who you had come to know as Geralt, had spent money on a room at an inn with a healer for the two of you. You were genuinely surprised he stayed around to see you feel better, you had expected him to move on quickly. But he remained at your side at every instance.

He never asked you much, and you didn’t offer anything in return. It was a comfortable silence you sat in most of the time, when he wasn’t checking in on you.

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything to eat? It’s noon and you’ve yet to today,” Geralt worried, sitting on the edge of the bed you lay in. “I thought you were feeling better.”

“I am,” you said quickly. “I’m just not hungry.” Your stomach chose that moment to disagree with you, and gave a loud, angry, nearly painful rumble. You looked down at it and then sheepishly back up at the Witcher. “Okay, perhaps I’ll take a biscuit or something.”

He rolled his eyes and walked out, locking the door behind him and leaving you to your own thoughts. 

You weren’t used to someone simply… existing with you. You had been alone for a very long time, as long as you could remember in fact.

You knew you were in trouble when you realized you missed him as the time slipped by. You tried to get comfortable with your novel in bed, but every position seemed to make your sore muscles ache. You groaned as you readjusted again, beginning to tire of being stuck here.

You didn’t know how much time went by before the lock clicked open, and in walked the Witcher with a basket of baked goods in his grip.

“I didn’t know what you like, so I got some of everything,” he laid the basket on the bed, where you lie with your arms outstretched and your legs tangled in the sheets. “What happened here?”

“This stupid bed is so hard, I can’t find a position that doesn’t hurt,” you complained as you sat up and eyes what appeared to be a fruit tart. “Is that entire basket really for me?” “Well I have to eat too,” Geralt said. To your surprise, he kicked off his boots and the outer layers of his armour before he climbed into your bed and gestured. You obeyed, crawling over to his outstretched arm. He grabbed your arm and pulled you in, using his free hand to get the food and place it in his lap. He tucked you on his chest as he selected a muffin and took a bite.

You relaxed into his grip and picked out your tart, making a small moan as you bit into the delicious treat. “Yum,” you said, before ungracefully scarfing it down in a few bites.

“You know,” Geralt seemed reluctant to continue. “You never have said how you ended up fighting monsters for a living. Most people leave that to the… unnatural.”

You rolled your eyes, “you’re not unnatural. I admire what you can do, actually. I wish I could use any kind of magic or signs, but I’ve just got my blade and my wit.”

“That does not answer my question.” He said it with a stern tone, but he had a smile on his lips when you looked up to meet his gaze. You shifted in his grip to drape your legs over his lap, giving you a better angle to talk.

“My father was a Witcher,” you replied carefully. “My mother died giving birth to me, and so he took me with him on pretty much every mission. I had to pick up pretty quick to stay alive.”

“Where is he now?” Geralt began rubbing small circles on your shoulder with his thumb, a small but strangely comforting action.

You shrugged in response.

“You don’t keep in contact?” He questioned, and you could tell he was choosing his words carefully. You had never really spoken before, never shared anything beyond what part of you hurt in any given moment. 

“It’s complicated.”

You appreciated that he left it at that, squeezing you closer with his arm and bringing the other to your cheek. “Your wounds are healing nicely.”

You nodded, “I feel a lot better, actually. Whatever salve your friend gave you worked wonders, I’m probably not even going to have much scarring. A shame, I love a good scar.”

He laughed at that, shaking his head. “Yes, Triss is a very talented witch. She could teach anyone a thing or two about potion mastery.”

The conversation died down after that, and you just enjoyed each others company. You didn’t know what Geralt thought of you, why he was taking care of you, and why he would press a kiss to your forehead every night after he thought you were asleep.

Yes, you had many unanswered questions about the Witcher who has saved you.

He hums in agreement and tries to push the thought of what it would be like to run his fingers through your hair from his head. You glance at his form then, and he notices your cheeks flush, the tent suddenly feeling much smaller and a whole lot warmer.   

Last night, you’d woken in a cold sweat and the smell of burning bodies clouding your senses. Come morning, Geralt had noticed your haunted expression and innocently mentioned sharing your tent, only but to keep you safe. When Jaskier himself had cut in with a quick, “I can share…” you’d been quick to accept Geralt’s offer.  

He did make you feel safe. Even with the flickering flames on the sides of the tent, teasing your memories of what had happened only a few days ago. Plus, with Jaskier, his lute and his ego, you hardly believed there’d be room for you in the tent as well.  

After this moment of silence, your hands return to combing through your tresses and Geralt returns to losing himself in thought and ignoring the warming pull, low in his belly. When you next look his way, his eyes are shut, and you spend a while wondering if he’s truly asleep. You clear your throat – nothing.

“Geralt?”    

One eye cracks open, “hmm?”   

“Oh, I was just checking… I thought you were asleep.”  

There’s a pause where he thinks about telling you that Witcher’s don’t need sleep, and then he simply settles on asking, “do you need something?”   

“A comb at the very least, so nothing realistic.” The glint in your eye is light and Geralt chuckles breathily.   

“Well, I’ve a great many talents, princess, but producing something out of thin air is definitely, not one of them.”   

“Many talents?” you question, tone playful and egging him on. He pushes himself up to a sitting position, you hadn’t noticed the way his undershirt clung to his form before. Your heartbeat thumps in your chest and his golden eyes follow the curve of your body, down the dip at your waist… You clear your throat again, “do I want to know what you’re thinking?” your gaze drops, and you nibble at your lower lip.

Geralt ignores the desire that begins building within him. Your cheeks blush a light cherry red, and he can feel that ache, warming his veins. 

“That I think I could braid your hair better than you.”    Your jaw almost drops – almost.   

He smiles and your hands fall away from your hair.   “Is that some kind of bet, Geralt?”   

The way his name sounds gentle and soft in your voice rouses a slight warmth in his chest.  

As he opens his mouth to respond, you cut in. “Fine. Prove it.”  You turn around to face the side of the tent and find your shoulders tense as you hear Geralt eventually shuffling to sit behind you. Not after staring at your back for a while, pondering as to whether he should indulge your wish.   

He begins to feel a little out of depth, staring at your hair in the candlelight and willing himself to remember where to start. From the memory of once watching Yennefer, he separates your hair into sections and begins to fumble the beginning of a braid down your back.   

The rough pads of his fingers drag through your hair, and you fight leaning into it. Clarissa, your handmaiden, always had such a delicate touch, you would hardly notice her artfully styling your hair, until she’d show you in your small handheld mirror.  For a moment you’re lost, the sound of her screams as you’d been dragged from the room filling the silence.  

Geralt notices the way you suddenly stiffen, spine straightening and hands balling into fists in your lap. He hums a tune, likely picked up from his travels with Jaskier, or perhaps it was the one he’d overheard you singing in the garden of your home, where you’d been picking flowers in the late afternoon warmth.

“Have you ever been in love, Geralt?”   

He’s surprised at the question and his fingers pause for a moment.   

“Geralt?”   

“I’m a Witcher, princess.” Before he can continue, you’re glancing over your shoulder, his hands move with your hair to avoid hurting you.   

“And that means you’re incapable of finding love? Or are you just incapable of letting love in?”   

He chuckles at the way your brows knit together and uses his gentle grip in your hair to straighten your head.

“I am not made to fall in love”  

But when he blinks, he can see her. Violet eyes holding his stare captive, and her scent of lilac and gooseberries entangling his senses. The feeling of his hands in her hair and the sound of her in his ear.   

The moment is frozen in time within his mind. 

But the last few days, his thoughts have been flooded with you. The way you interacted with Roach, hand gentle and outstretched for her muzzle to sniff, the way you’d hummed along with Jaskier’s insistent singing, tuneful in his ear from where you sat behind him on Roach. The way your arms had fit around his waist.   The first time he’d heard you giggle, and he swore it had bathed the entire continent in warmth.    

The way Geralt’s stilled behind you in silence, tells you that love does somehow sit inside him. “I was to be wed to someone of my father’s choosing,” you sigh, “do you think that man would’ve loved me? or only loved what I can give him?” 

One of Geralt’s hands leave your hair, to pick up the ribbon at your side and he ties it around the end of the braid, casting an eye over his handiwork. He’s glad he doesn’t have a mirror. It’s much simpler than the crown of braids that had sat upon your hair the first time he’d met you.  

He thinks back to your question. “People will love you in any way that they can,”   

“So not everyone’s love will feel the same,” you do turn to face Geralt then, who still sits on your side of the tent before you admit, “I’ve only ever felt my parent’s love.”   

“You’ll know it when you feel it,” he moves away from you to return to his bedroll, and the warmth of him at your back settles deep within you instead. You swallow down your disappointment with a sigh.  

He watches as you chew on your lower lip and believes you’re about to ask him how?   

“You have good instincts, princess. Trust them.”  

For now, you pushed the longing down, and settle on your side, facing away from him.  

Somewhere safe and comfortable. A home to grow and enjoy life for all that it is and can be. The place you'd help raise Ciri until she was strong enough, until she was ready to force Nilfgaard back into their den. Or become a Witcher like Geralt. Whatever her choice, she would be well prepared for it by then.

However, life refuses to make this easy for anyone. Men hunting you four always. Hiding and sneaking in the dark, a few in broad daylight, a couple on horseback. All have come to take her and kill you, Geralt, and Yennefer. All have failed. Yet these events have made Geralt all the more paranoid, more so then he's ever been.

You go through it a day at a time. Teaching Cirilla how to fight, how to hold a blade, how to survive. Yennefer teaches her magic and control of chaos. Geralt teaches her about herbs, monsters, and Witcher things. Together she's got wonderfully exceptional teachers. The best at what they do, the perfect guides for her.

You understand her urgency to grow and learn, but you also know running from place to place is wearing her out. If not now, later. She's bright and fearsome as a spring flower. She doesn't deserve to be hunted for her existence. You know all to well what that felt like, how it still feels. Hunted for what you are. Tracked ruthlessly for days on end.

This is no life for a young girl. Being on the run.

Your hand touches the rough bark of a tree as you press your body against the trunk. High up into the canopy of an evergreen, watching over the snow covered forest for any sign of a threat. The night is dark and the snow falls gently from all around you. Below is your companions camp. They're sleeping near the horses in their thick blankets and clothing. Ciri is wearing your cloak.

You can't feel the cold so your attire looks slightly out of place here. You look more prepared for the spring then this chilly winter weather. All in all, it bothers you not.

You scan the woods but see nothing of any concern. You're far enough north, you haven't seen another person in days. You stay in the tree, siting down with your back against the trunk this time. Letting your head rest pressed to the bark. The scent is an earthy one with remnants of home in the pines outside your mothers castle. There, you'd do the same as you are now. Sit and watch from a hidden point of view.

Circumstances greatly different.

Your mind wanders to the events that led you thus far in your journey since the banquet. That damned party. The place in Cintra where it all began, where destiny chose to push you on a new path. Oh so long ago. A far away memory.

Their tranquil breathing is a good sign that they're all sleep. Some nights you'd keep watch till the dark blue hour before dawn and Geralt would still be awake. Other times that would be Yennefer. Yes, your dear friend Yennefer. She is doing her best for Ciri. She is an immensely patient help to the girl. She is what Cirilla has needed for a long time.

You have been giving her a hard time anyways. You love her, you really do. She's your friend, you considered her your sister at one point due to your closeness and history. You've known one another a very long time. Longer then Geralt. Yet she had hurt you deeply.

Many moons ago she had taken whom you have grown to love and protect. The Cintran princess. Ciri. She had been tricked and deceived by Yennefer just as she did to you. All in the name of chaos. Granted, Yennefer couldn't give Ciri away when it came time for the act to be done. She did go forth with the plans to obtain the enchanted girl anyhow. And she did succeed. She took Ciri from you.

Though Geralt gives a word or two to the mage. You haven't been able to bring yourself to say anything at all. You still feel all too strange about it. Puts a bad taste in your mouth. Most notably, it's severed the trust you had built with her. You'd wished it never happened, and yet it did.

You wished there was no battle at Sodden, you wished that Yennefer never disappeared and lost her powers all at once, and you wished she never took Ciri from you. Those things cannot be undone and you understand this. Some acts are meant to happen for other things to take place. No matter if they hurt or not.

Things will be better, you know this in your heart.

Your scarlet eyes fall upon Geralt tucked warm in his dark cloak, body sleeping on a thick mat. The fire next to his head flickers with the breeze, embers glowing deep fiery colors. You can smell the burnt wood. You can smell him. An odor you could find in the largest of cities, no matter how far he went wandering. A strong man smell of earth and metal. A Witcher's scent.

Tomorrow you'll sleep in a bed. You're sure of it.

———

The day turned to gray storm clouds faster then you'd have liked, bringing wet icy-cold snow from the heavens. Every time you exhaled a puff of white was sure to follow. You could tell the winter chill was beginning to weigh heavy on the other two ladies by the time you all reached Yarpen's home.

The feisty foul mouthed dwarf you first met on the trip to kill that dragon. He welcomed you four nonetheless, though he made himself clear not to touch a thing. And that payment would be due for this unexpected arrival. He did remember you however, and he made it known to stay away from him. Joking of course. Well......you couldn't completely tell.

Fortunately he had room to spare. You, Geralt, and Ciri to one house. Yennefer to the other. You could tell she would have liked your distance to be within a few feet. And maybe a word or two. But you didn't look at her so she knew better then to join you three in the small house. You're not ready to share a conversation just yet.

A few nights passed after the first. You all finding your new home quiet suitable for the time. It's safe and warm. It's far from people and any towns. Secluded. Just how you'd prefer. Just how Geralt likes it. Just what Ciri needs.

You've talked it over with Geralt a few days back. To live here with Ciri and Yennefer until the girl is ready. Keep here through the seasons and let her grow in body and magic. Stay in this quiet place by the water and the pines. You'd like that, but you know Geralt too well.

—

The axe cuts through cold wood on the stand, two chunks of now smaller wood falls to either side. Geralt reaches down for another while you stand nearby with the letter Yennefer stuck to your door. You hold the parchment in your hand and begin. "Dear friends, we're so far off the map here that we may never leave again. Come to think of it, would that be such a bad thing? We'll continue magic lessons before the ice melts, I promise. But for now, perhaps the girl deserves a break. Perhaps you both and I do too. Your friend, Yennefer."

Geralt says nothing. You let the moment pass while he cuts another log in half. "Well?" You ask.

"Hmm?" Another log is cut.

You fold the paper, glancing over to Yennefer and Ciri ice skating together a short distance away. "You have nothing to speak of it?"

"She's trying." He grunts. Two more pieces of wood fall to the piles in the snow.

"I do agree this place is good for us, all of us. But I don't know about waiting too long for these lessons."

"She is still young."

You absentmindedly turn the paper in your hand. "So was I."

He cuts another chunk, then he gives you his full attention. "Her mother wasn't a vampire."

"But she was a queen. Just like my mother. She cannot waste time."

"She has us, do not forget that." His golden eyes shine bright with truth. "She is bound to us."

You watch the young girl smile and laugh with Yennefer, they're a sweet pair losing their footing on the slick ice. They're not very good with skates and yet they're enjoying themselves immensely. You can't help the small smile forming onto your features. "You're right. She has us and she needs laughter if she means to live to her eighteenth birthday."

"You should join them." He suggests with a kind grin.

You set your eyes back to Geralt, "Don't be ridiculous, I'd look a fool." His laughter is sweet as you kick a piece of wood, sending it sailing towards the forest. "Why don't you join them?" He holds up his axe and you flick a hand at him like you mean to swat him like a fly. "Oh shut up."

He smiles again, admiring you dearly.

———

The days pass and the snow stops falling yet it still sticks to the ground. Still keeping your boots wet and some feelings damp.

It may have taken awhile, but one evening Geralt let Yennefer in for dinner. She invited herself, but you could tell Ciri was glad to have her there, so you didn't mind. The time spent was not wasted and the meal was good, though you could not let yourself speak to her. At the end of the night all you gifted the mage was a simple good night and that was it. She smiled when she left. You looked to Geralt and he smiled at you. Giving your hand a squeeze.

A day later you said hello when passing her to hunt for deer in the woods. The next evening you invited her to dinner, well you sent Ciri to invite her. But Ciri told Yennefer you did....you were simply too busy to do it yourself. And now, much to Geralt's surprise, you're about to give Yennefer some extra wine.

You're not forgiving her, but you do miss talking to her. Geralt isn't exactly the best conversationalist of the group and Yarpen is more or less off-put by your presence. Ciri is kind but sometimes you merely want another adult woman to talk to. The horses don't care to listen. So Yennefer it is.

Your boots press into the snow covered earth as you grip the wine bottles handle. You're still uncertain of this decision but Geralt insisted it was the right choice. You are all Cirilla's parents in one way or another, so keeping ties strong should be important. You're still not sure if this is a good idea.

It's too late once you reach the thin wooden door. Just before your knuckles make impact with the wood, it opens. Surprising you, however you don't flinch. Long black hair and two exquisite lavender irises stare back at you. She smiles warmly. "Y/N." A soft, happy voice.

"Yenns." Her old nickname slips out before you can stop it.

Her smile never fades. "You need..."

"Wine." You finish. "I know you needed some more. So I brought you this." You stiffly hold up the large bottle for her to take.

"Oh?" She takes the unexpected gift. "Thank you. I did need some more."

You give a small nod, taking a step back as you mean to leave now. She's unsure of herself or what to say and you don't stick around to listen. You're halfway across the yard when she calls for you. Unlike other times, you stop and turn around.

She's still at the door with the wine bottle in her hand. "Maybe we could share this an evening?" Shaking the bottle to further promote the hopeful question. You can hear it slosh around from here, you can still smell it too. What a lovely scent. Reminds you of the vineyards in Rinde.

"Will there be dancing and music?" You jest.

She tilts her head knowingly, appreciating your light humor again. "It can be arranged."

She watches you flash a quick half grin before turning and continuing on your way. She has waited months for that, not sharing a few words with you has been almost as horrible as losing her magic. Perhaps she'll tell you that when the time is right.

———

Outdoors and crouched by the fire a short distance from the houses, you poke the burning embers with a stick as Yarpen pulls his wagon past you. His horse flicks it's tail as he shouts for it to stop. You stand and go to help unload, Geralt and Yarpen are already taking baskets off the cart by the time you reach them. Though it appears the dwarf is less satisfied with this haul.

"Wish I had more for ya, but the Squirrels hit Henselt's convoy." He says, standing on the porch, picking up a potato from a bag. "Look at these. Potatoes the size of gnome nuts."

The Squirrels, some band of thieves that keep bothering travelers.

Ciri and Yennefer join when you grab a leather bag of something smelling of old bread. "Did they attack your convoy as well?" Asks Geralt, setting a basket onto the porch.

Yarpen scoffs. "I'd like to see them fuckin' try it!" He states, leaning into the wagons side. "The elves' gripe is with the kings, not us. They're just trying to soften the North for the grand cock of Nilfgaard." He makes a little gesture with his thumb and pointer finger. Insinuating Nilfgaards cock is indeed tiny.

"Nilfgaard gave elves refuge, and now they're fighting on their behalf." Adds Yennefer while you walk past with a bag of apples, giving her one in the process. "Amazing what people will do when you give them a second chance." She muses, taking a bite to hide her smile.

Yarpen doesn't miss the subtleties. His brows furrow as he points between you two. "Hold on! You're talking to creepy eyes again?" You glare at him as he laughs. "Bout' time too. I was fearin' we'd never have Spring if you two lassies didn't lighten up. Reminds me, our Belleteyn festival is just down the valley." He turns his attention to Ciri. "You should come."

Ciri grins, excited at the thought. "I'd love to."

"Bad idea."

"It's not safe." Are promptly heard by Geralt and Yennefer just before you add. "Alright." In agreement to this lively spring gathering. A princess should have fun after all, shouldn't they?

The two of them look at you, surprised. Ciri appears rather elated. You shrug at the hesitation from the older ones. "No one's asked about her in months. Everyone will be in costume and we'll be there." They remain unconvinced. "We can handle ourselves."

"And...I was born on Belleteyn." Adds Ciri, looking between the three of you.

Yarpen grins mischievously. "Ah! You'd have had a shot at bein' May Queen. Except my niece's beard is comin' in nice and full this year. May be some competition. Hahaha..." His laughter is rapid and annoying with that accent of his, but you don't mind his enthusiasm. Geralt gives him a warning glance as he walks around him to pick up more stuff from the wagon.

"Just say yes, already!" Shouts Yarpen, irritated with Geralt's usual disapproval. "About time for a fuckin' thaw round here." He walks off to sort his things, no doubt fed up with the lack of adventure radiating off of your group.

Ciri approaches Geralt. "I promise I'll be safe." He sighs, taking his focus off of the wooden box he's about to grab from the wagon.

Taking out a bottle of wine from the box in your left arm, you casually flip it in your hand. "We may not have the grandest luck, but honestly with us so far out here. How bad can a Spring festival be?"

———

"I feel ridiculous in this thing."

Sat diligently in his chair, Geralt turns around to meet you in a rather beautiful dress. You stand there like a fish out of water in a green thing that makes you look like some sort of queen of the water nymphs. It is gorgeous and spring-like, but it is Yennefer's extra gown. Not quite your taste by any means.

Geralt keeps silent, too awe struck to speak a word, no less think to create one. He's never seen you in such color before. His golden eyes scan all over your dress, the way it sits on your body, the way it hugs in just the right places. He finally stands and approaches. His eyes are dazzling as he looks into yours. "You look lovely." He says softly. "So beautiful my dear Y/N."

Your irritations slink back with the sweet words. You can't help but reach up to hold his cheeks in your nimble hands. His strong ones resting on your hips. "Thank you. Though I may have neglected to realize I would need a dress for this thing."

He squeezes your hips. "Would you have me take it off you then?"

Heat immediately blossoms in your nether regions with his sly words, enticing question indeed. You rub your thumb over his lips. "Perhaps." You gift him a tender kiss. "When we return."

"Now let's get going shall we?" Geralt parts from you to open the door, he holds it for you and gives a slight nod of his head. "Your carriage is waiting my princess."

You step past him but not before running your finger across his broad chest. "Why thank you sir. Will you be with me all night?" Gerald chuckles as he follows you out the door.

"If you'll have me." He adds, playing along.

You smile deviously. "Wonderful. We're going to have a brilliant time."

———

It didn't take long until the lot of you had made it to the Belleteyn festival. It didn't take long for you all to get to comfortable and thus before you knew it, shit went south. The night was filled with fires and food and music. Joy and laughter and drunken spirits. Then in the maze, a place that was meant to be an enjoyable time with company. A place to get lost in for a little while and act silly as you tried to find the way out. It was fun.

Then you heard something. So faint, a movement on the earth. A rolling vibration, many legs, a mass of energy larger then anything that should have been at Belleteyn. Geralt didn't hear it. No one around you wandering the maze revealed any inclination of hearing this mysterious being. You knew it was alive and going somewhere.

Then you caught it's foul scent when the wind changed. Putrid and stinking like an insect left with a rotting corpse. Then the sound and the smell intertwined as it neared wherever it was in the maze. Yes, it had entered the maze. And no sooner did the name of the creature leave your lips did the terrified screams begin.

Geralt ran and so did you. Luckily Yennefer came to Ciri's aid faster then either of you could get there. Together, the Jackapace was defeated and no one from your company was wounded. But it hurt knowing what this meant, and so here you are now. A new plan settled and mapped. A different turn in your ongoing traveling protection team. One crafted by Ciri herself.

To lure Reince out of his hole. The fire mage who sent the Jackapace, the one who has been sending all those men after your group. After Cirilla. After you. He stole her Elder blood in Kaer Morhen and used it on the Jackapace, once they have a scent, they never stop hunting. Always a problem, always running and running and running.

You miss those days before all this. Before Ciri and Jaskier and when it was just you and Geralt traveling the Continent. Just you and your Witcher together. Old times. Good times they were.

Now you're being sent to the closest city over to bring back Jaskier, so he can help your merry band lure Reince out. You would greatly enjoy a week without this hiding and moving to just sleep in a tavern with Geralt. Oh how destiny has other plans for you.

———

Redania isn't so bad, well if not for the smell it really wouldn't be such a dull place in your eyes. Though you've never been fond of cities to begin with. Always terrible smells and loud noises, drunken folk and watchful guards. Too many people.

You walk past merchants selling their wares, children running with a dog, and others shopping in the streets. Men laugh loudly from a tavern on your right while a horse screams on your left when a fool smacks it's arse. Women hurry past you to get to where they're going. A boy almost runs into your legs, not looking as to where he's going. If there's one blessed thing about cities, people don't pay you any mind here.

You hunt for the Sandpiper. You know where he stays when he's not at the taverns or wooing ladies at the court. And if you're lucky, he won't be in the middle of entertaining that blonde woman again. What she sees in those bright blue eyes of his, you have not a clue. He's a bit too loquacious for your taste.

You still love him for his quirks anyway.

Past a man with a brown and yellow snake around his hand, you turn the corner and stop, your legs have brought you to a riveting sight to be seen. A woman with dark hair and plush deep red lips is, what it appears to be, threatening Jaskier. She's close to him and she reeks of magic. A mage. A man with reddish blonde hair stands off to her right, he wears royal clothing. Furs and red. They are undoubtedly Redanian figures of importance you're sure of that.

Unfortunately, you don't catch the conversation and just as you came, they leave him. You watch them walk off somewhere else, a few guards following dutifully behind. Not wasting a moment longer, you're behind Jaskier and holding up his lute that was on the ground for some reason. He doesn't hear a thing.

"Will you sing me a song for a few coins? It's all I have." You tease the distraught bard. He instantly recognizes your voice.

"Now this..." Jaskier turns around to see you at long last and by the looks of it, he's genuinely glad to see you. "Is a delightful surprise." He smiles blissfully, not even aware that his lute is in your hands. "Still ever so radiant, and terrifying and uh why...why are you here? Is Geralt here too? Ciri? You guys hunting something or just stopping by finally to hear me sing with my...oh right. My lute."

You give it a little strum. "Just me."

"Yes and though I am thrilled to see one of my very best of friends again. Whenever I see you and those magnificent ruby red eyes of yours. I know it means trouble." He points. "Or you've come to your little vampirey senses and realized I'm way more interesting then Geralt and a joy to hang around."

Plucking some cords, you share a fangy grin. One that is devilish and beautiful. "Oh how I've missed you. But no, not here to listen to your sweet voice nor protect your bum when that mouth of yours gives more then your coins do."

Jaskier laughs. "That's fair I suppose."

"Yes, but I do need you." You insist with a nudge to his shoulder.

Jaskier's face falls. "Oh no, no, no. What is it this time?"

•••

"Bait!" Exclaims Jaskier. "I rode for days with Y/N, mind you, to get here. Battling hunger, battling the elements, only to discover upon my arrival that I'm being used as..."

"Jaskier, me." Interrupts Ciri as she walks with her horse, Jaskier doing the same, you in between them. Notably without a horse to lead.

"...bait."

"I am the bait. Rience is after me." Adds Ciri matter-of-factly.

"Yes, which means he wants you alive, and me very much not alive. You see my anxiety?" He insists, loudly. Dramatic.

"We're not gonna let anything happen to you Jaskier." Says Geralt now as he and Yennefer ride near on their own horses. The three of you stop as they approach closer.

"I saved your arse once. I can do it again, Pankratz." Adds Yennefer as Jaskier casts his eyes on her doubtfully.

"You didn't save me..." He glances between you and Ciri. "She didn't save me. She.." You both begin to smile as his horse snorts at him. "She didn't! But seriously, you are gonna save me, right?"

"Of course, Jask." You pat him on the arm. "Have we not before?"

He scoffs. "Well, there's been moments. Moments where I've feared for my sweet lovely life."

"Seem fine to me." Whispers Ciri, holding back a grin.

"Ah, ah, ah! I may look it, yes. But the memories. The things I've seen because of them." Jaskier waves a hand at you and Geralt and Yennefer. "I should be more traumatized then I appear. I probably am really."

"Oh you little princess." You playfully start as Ciri begins to giggle with amusement. Jaskier just swats you away, poking at you until you move out of reach from him.

"Be gone woman!" Says Jaskier, still whipping his hand around. "Mean." He leans his head close to Ciri, trying real hard to whisper. "She may save your life but she won't save you from her insults." Ciri simply nods, holding back a laugh.

Rolling your eyes, you rest a hand on your hip. "I can hear that."

"Oh I know you can!" He shouts dramatically, enjoying your friendly squabble. "Maybe I wanted you to!"

You stick your tongue out at him. Jaskier does it back. You make your face contort a little to show off the more vampiric side of you. Jaskier hisses, pulling down the bottom eyelid of his left eye. Your skin begins to turn grey, irises glowing blood red and fiery orange near the pupils. Jaskier kicks a foot out like some drunken man attempting to brawl.

"Alright you two." Sternly breaks the voice of Geralt. You and Jaskier return to your composure. "We won't make Hagge by sunset." Geralt looks to his left, the landscape with its small hills, trees, and an old ruin. "We'll make camp here."

"Sleeping in the woods again?!" Complains Jaskier. "Honestly!"

—

Your party, consisting of your friends and Yarpen's, settle among the broken rock of the ruined tower. You all take your time to set up camp, built small fires for their warmth and let the horses feed. When curiosity takes the better of Cirilla, yourself, Geralt, and Yennefer follow her to the center of the ruins. A more quieter place from the others.

Here the ground is open dirt with little grass but in fair patches scattered about and near the rocks. Further is an unambiguous platform made of stone, a large statue of an elven woman in the center. Two sets of stairs lead on either side of her to another platform the same as the first. Around this, and this old courtyard of sorts, the walls are tall with open doorways of high arches leading further into the structure. You can feel the energy of this place, it's violence and pain.

You can almost smell the blood.

"What is this place?" Asks Ciri as she goes on ahead, captivated by its melancholy beauty.

"It's Shaerrawedd." Answers Geralt. He knows the story just as Yennefer and you do. Though you were alive on the Continent when it took place, they had yet to exist.

Your scarlet irises linger over the white roses growing in patches here, below rocks, and at the bottom of the weathered statue. "Tread lightly. This land is full of stories." Warns Yennefer, not wanting Ciri to touch something and risk a vision. The imagery would be a horrible sight, you know this just as they do.

Ciri approaches the stone platform, enchanted blue-green eyes bewitched by the flowers in such an odd place. "Never seen so many wild roses in one place. They're beautiful." She admits, stopping in front of the elven woman of stone.

The three of you stand to either side slightly behind her. You focus onto the moss crawling up the sides of the carved robes. "Their story, sadly, is not." You stop next to Ciri who looks up at you, your eyes never leaving the moss. "Aelirenn. A brave and inspiring elven warrior who thought she could defeat the humans. She was wrong."

Yennefer steps closer to the roses. "A rather condensed version of the story." Spoken with a tinge of bitterness. She is of elven blood so you understand.

"And what's yours, then?" Asks Ciri.

Yennefer turns to address the young girl. "After the Conjunction, humans arrived. The elves thought the humans were just a nuisance, like a plague of locusts or a drought. That they would die off in the blink of an elven eye. But the humans kept multiplying. And killing." Yennefer glances up at the statue. "Aelirenn knew the threat wasn't going away. So she rallied all of the young elves to fight, at Shaerrawedd."

"Sounds like she fought for what she believed in." Says Ciri, admiring the statue as well. "To protect her people."

Geralt rests an arm around her shoulders. "She did fight for what she believed in. She led those young and passionate elves to war. They revered this place. This is were they fought. They fought for her. And they died with her name on their lips and their honor and integrity intact. And in doing so, they condemned their species to annihilation. She led them all to their deaths." Geralt explaines, giving a remorseful sigh. "Neutrality. It won't get you a statue. But it'll certainly help in keeping you alive."

He gives her shoulders a comforting squeeze before releasing her and choosing to head back to camp. You can sense his unsettlement with this place the longer he lingers around. Yennefer stays a moment and then turns to leave as well, you doing the same. This is no place to sit and remember it's history.

———

The night arrives and you tuck in close to Geralt. There is not much to say with Ciri and Yennefer sleeping so near, a usual and necessary occurrence these past few months. The four of you can't seem to get away from one another for too long. Then again, the world hasn't quite let you. Ciri is much too important for you all to disperse and go your separate ways. A ridiculous thought really.

You can't complain with a white haired Witcher at your side and a heart beating only for you. He is moody, tranquil, and formidable. Yet he is gentle, soft-hearted, and deeply alluring. You would never trade him for all the gems and gold in the entire world. And at your origins, you are a princess. Daughter to the Vampire Queen, the first vampire in all of the Continent. A pure-blood vampire. One who was never turned, simply born as she is. A true terror. Your mother.

You haven't seen her in centuries.

Geralt pulls you close, his chest pressed to your back with his arm slung lazily over your waist. He's sleeping though his hand holds yours, a soft grip that remains with his unconsciousness. He holds you when he sleeps, you know this is the only time he fully relaxes. He knows you sleep light and would, and have, protected him when he slumbers. He knows he's safe now.

Your lips press to his fingers and you snuggle in closer, if that's even possible. You relax and listen to the careful thudding of his heartbeat. You can feel his chest rise and fall. Hear the expansion of his lungs, the contraction of the heart in his chest. At first when you began traveling with him, these human sounds would bother you. You'd close your eyes and smell the blood through the skin and hate yourself for the thoughts that would arise.

Then, as a new night would arrive, those thoughts of blood and natural hunger would disappear. Disappear until they were no more. Now you relish in the presence of Geralt and all his essence that keeps him alive and well. The vessel containing spirit. The soul of your beloved Witcher. Without him in your immortal life, even knowing this will not last, you wouldn't have ever changed meeting him.

So you sleep and wait for dawn.

—

When the first morning bird fluttered down from its perch on the thin branches above. Before it opened its throat to sing of the rising dawn, you woke. The rustle of feathers and the quick movement of its three pronged feet reached your ears in sleep. Your ears with their slight pointed look, the inherent characteristic of a vampire. No matter if you are half or not. Your mothers blood is far too powerful. By right you are a damphir, yet your blood gives you the strength of a pure-blood.

Not all attributes are a delight. The noise of the small bird is enough to keep you awake, granted more time spent held in the wee hours of the morning with Geralt is bliss. But when you find the pink of the sky readying to turn everything bright again. You cannot make yourself stay and lay docile when you know others hunt for your people. And you.

Silent as the winter snow falling from the heavens. You slip from Geralt's embrace and away from Ciri and Yennefer who continue to catch needed rest. You make not a sound as your legs take you throughout the camp, this is unintentional but you cannot help the gentleness of your footing.

You check on Jaskier who is fine. Then the dwarves still sleeping and the horses keeping watch. When your nose picks up the scent of smoke, are you following it to a small gathering of branches. Yarpen tending to it with a stick in his hand. You stand silently, observing his movements like a fox on a hillside. He remains unaware for a few minutes until your curiosity causes you to speak.

"Cold?" Your voice cuts through the morning chill though gentle it may be. Yarpen jumps like a startled dog, almost managing to throw his stick in the air.

"Well fuckin' gods ye tryin to kill meh?" He yells with a hand over his chest. "When in the great fuck did you get here?"

"Apologies. I did not mean to scare you."

Yarpen laughs merrily, shoulders relaxing as he takes a seat on the rock near him. "Ay, not many bastards can do that." He points the stick at you. "You're not like those silly old cats anyways. Odd bugger you are." He chuckles, resting the stick over his knees.

You glance at the ruins of Shaerrawedd. "Indeed." Voice soft and reflective.

Yarpen cannot tell if he's offended you or you're simply lost in thought, perhaps pondering a matter intuitively. He shrugs. "Eh, you ain't so bad if Imma be honest with ye. Just uh, guess I'm not so fond of those sharp toothed bloodsuckers from the north." He muses.

You let out a humored breath. "I respect you for your truth. But I trust you because Geralt does." You swiftly turn to leave but stop a moment to speak to him from over your shoulder, he's intrigued by this. "Thank you for your help." And with that said, Yarpen blinks, readying to speak though you have already gone. He jumps up looking this way and that but you're nowhere to be seen.

He sits again, contemplating your words.

In the stronghold of the ruins of Shaerrawedd, you stand below the towering statue of the elven warrior. A she-elf who died fighting for her people. You remember her. That name from so long ago, you remember when your mother told you about what the elves were doing. What happened here. You could only see it as unfortunate but brave, not that a whole species was condemned in one battle.

Your kind was here before them and the humans. Surely these beings were meant to rise and fall and change and evolve. That's what creatures do who can die easily. That's how their kind survives and thrives.

You are immortal and cannot die like them, so you can only watch and understand, your mother would explain. Vampires are meant to remain forever and protect their own, keep the world in a sort of balance.

Whatever that meant.

Footsteps sound from a short distance behind you, small and delicate, coming to the place where you stand. They have not entered into this ruin but you need not move from panic, it is Cirilla. You wait for the young princess to join you if she chooses. The wait is not long.

When she gingerly approaches to your right, you give the girl a nod of acknowledgment. "Out for a walk?" You ask. Ciri goes to take a seat on a broken chunk of the ruin.

"I had another dream." She answers softly.

You nod. "Dreams huh? No dream you bring to me is ever filled with sweet marshmallow bunnies. Was it a nightmare?"

"No, it wasn't frightening. Just couldn't sleep thinking about Aelirenn. And my grandmother." She explains as you go to sit next to her. "They lived centuries apart, but burned with the exact same mission. Wipe the other species off the Continent."

Ciri stands up, eyes set to the statue and the white roses crawling up it from below. "When I finally fell asleep, it came to me." She kneels down to touch the beautiful flowers. "If I can offer something different. A way forward that doesn't divide, but unites." She stands once more. "I'm part elf, I'm part human. I understand both because I am both, and that is my strength."

"I understand what you're saying. History, it..." You sigh. "...has a way of repeating itself. Even for the idealistic."

"You say Aelirenn's idealism is what led to the massacre of the young elves, but maybe if her elders had supported her instead of abandoning her, they could've won." Ciri glances at the statue. "Yennefer said they have a saying."

You reiterate that saying in perfect Eldar. "What has been need not always be." You speak in common tongue. "Yennefer told me the elven queen, Francesca, could offer more to her people."

"So could I." Adds Ciri, defiantly. "Geralt taught me how to fight. Just like Calanthe. Yen has been teaching me how to harness my powers. Like Mousesack. And you, Y/N, you've taught me how to weald a blade. Something I always wished to know. What if this is the reason destiny brought us together? Nenneke said I have the power to change the cycle of hatred. And I want to. To bring balance between kings and mages, and to align the Continent, instead of constantly putting parts against each other. Because I am sick and tired of destruction and loss."

Her eyes are close to filling with tears of great frustration and sadness. You quickly stand and go to her, resting your hands on her thin shoulders. Sincerity in your voice. "I don't doubt you, Ciri. I do doubt the world, though." Your sensitive ears prick with the sounds of many footsteps. Clang of metal and hushed voices in the distance. Ciri immediately picks up on your abrupt silence.

Her eyes grow with confusion. "Y/N what is it?" She quickly turns to the sounds of Geralt and Yennefer running into the grove. "What's happening?"

Geralt has his sword in hand. "They're here."

"I know." You reply, taking hold of Ciri's hand. She looks up at you. "Be brave, child. We'll be near." You slip from her fingers and silently walk into the shadowed parts of the ruin.

Yennefer and Geralt talk to Ciri a moment before joining you in your hiding spot. You keep still and listen, they watch your face for the sign that Rience and his men are here. The one you four have conspired to draw out, luring him to his death as you'd planned. Ciri completing her duty well as the bait.

You didn't think they'd arrive so soon, but he is a fire mage who can portal after all. And he's irritatingly clever when it comes to tracking what he so desperately wants. You have no choice but to keep quiet and wait for the right time.

From under the ruin archway to your left, behind the statue of Aelirenn saunters out the fire mage and his equally as appalling men. You can smell the stink of horse and ash on them. The scent of magic, putrid and rotten, coming from Rience's vessel.

Ciri snaps her head around at his decrepit voice. "Cirilla of Cintra. Alone at last. Well, not quite. I've brought some friends this time." Says Rience, moving in with swaggered steps.

They get close, surrounding her in a half circle, preparing to strike. You resist the urge to move and aid her. The men begin their assault yet they are met with great resistance by the princess. She wasn't trained by the best of Kaer Morhen for nothing. She fights them off the best she can until Yennefer leaves the hidden space near you. She knows Ciri cannot do this alone.

You and Geralt join her with swift destruction. Yennefer duels with Rience as yourself and Geralt kill his men easily. That is until a few moments later when Rience is able to get a handle on Ciri. He holds her against his chest, one arm around her neck and a dagger to her throat.

A war cry is heard as Yarpen's men and Jaskier follow suit. They bare their weapons and clash with the fearsome enemy. You knew they'd come just when they were so desperately needed. This rush of noise and new faces takes Rience off guard. But not you nor Ciri.

You're busy with two angry men to help her but no sooner is one of the men bleeding on the ground when Ciri races away. A strangely blackish portal behind them. Rience holding his nose, more pissed off then ever. You watch as he falls back in pain straight into his portal, it begins to close when Yennefer holds out her opened hand. She forces it to remain open.

Before you can run after the fire mage, Geralt races into the unknown after him. Leaving Yennefer to keep the portal open until he returns. You hope he returns.

You drive your blade into the throat of a screaming man, blood spatters everywhere as it slips gracefully out again. You run to Yennefer and Cirilla but halt, deciding not to follow Geralt. You hear something new that keeps you back on the battlefield.

You whip around just as a small army of elves race out to join in the battle. Who they are and why they're here are half a mystery. You can only assume they must be with those rouge elves of the queen. While the why can only be known as Ciri as it's source. Of course they're here for her. Everyone always is. All the time. How would this be any different?

Not putting into question their exact motive. You only know to protect your own.

Yennefer stays her ground. Ciri runs for cover and you swing your sword at an approaching elven man, ready to let it taste blood. He's tall with dark hair braided back, his eyes sting with anger as he runs to you with swift footing. His arm moves a sword in hand, following its masters command. The metal clashes with your block, sparks flying from the force.

He draws forth for another attack, this time his sword arrives with a pointed jut. He tried to simply stab you. The point is easily deflected off to the side. When his body pulls with it, you cut his arm off and finish him with a slash to his back. He falls instantly. Screaming out in pain, blood splattering everywhere.

Two more follow after him, however they attack you simultaneously and without much fear. Their attacks are precise and clean, aiming to go for your head. This tells you they know who protects the Cintran princess. It's not every day you face someone who knows how to properly kill a damphir. If there's no fire and no silver. A decapitation will do just fine.

To die without your head. Not how you plan to go out.

The two elves are skilled, more then Reince's men, and more then some of the elves you've fought before. This excites you. They thrash and throw their blades at you, stepping and moving out of your attacks. Their hearts beat heavily within their chests, you can smell the sweat off their brow. You waste no time in bringing them down, however.

Then it's time to move again. You're off on your feet dodging through the mess of men, elves, and dwarves. Swords and axes singing on the air, voices shouting, limbs moving and falling around you. You smell the spilt blood. You hear the strained breaths.

Your eyes spot Ciri amongst the carnage. She's perused by a blonde elf with short messy hair and another with long brown hair. Less unkept then the first. They chase her but the blonde is struck down by a lone arrow, his partner remains. You follow. No sooner has the elven man grabbed her shoulder, yelling, "I've got her! I've got her!" Have you sent your blade straight through his armored chest from behind.

Ciri gasps. The elven man makes a soft wheeze of pain, your sword retreats from his body and he falls to the side. You hear a heartbroken scream erupt from further away, a woman's voice. The voice of anguish. You pay this no mind and continue to protect the wanted Cintran girl until Geralt arrives from out of Yennefer's portal hold. Wonderfully unharmed.

——

A few days past.

The night is wet and dark above a cloudy sky. You wait outside a tavern in the damp street for Geralt. He's inside getting any information he can on the fire mage from whoever wishes to share. You, appearing rather unruly to some locals, decided to stay outside and give them peace of mind. It is simply natural for people to fear vampires. Same goes for a half-blood.

Footsteps sound his return. No sooner have you glanced up has Geralt reached Roach's side. Golden eyes quick to find you leaned up against the brick wall. He recognizes your thoughtful expression.

"Ciri will be fine." He assures you sweetly. "She is with Yennefer.....I know my love, I know your thoughts are heavy. But you know this must be done. Ciri needs to learn and we.." He walks over to take your hands in his. "..are hunting Rience for her. There is purpose in our departure from her. This is how we save her."

"We cannot know this." You whisper, frustrated on the matter. You hated to leave them.

Geralt's eyes soften. "My dear Y/N."

"I know, I know." You squeeze his hands. "I'm trying."

"I know you are." He grins, parting from you to return to the saddle of Roach. Your mind wanders for answers. You wonder if there was a better way to keep Ciri safe without you, Geralt, and Yennefer splitting up. But it's pointless, it's done with and you must track Rience now. With his death and with the discovery of whomever is puppeteering him. That could unlock the mystery of why Ciri is so desperately hunted by so many people.

For the time being, you stay by Geralt's side.

"Y/N." Speaks Geralt gently. Your attention falls to him and a piece of rolled up parchment he's opened. "Dear friends, I miss you both already. Or should I say, we miss you? Your friend, Yennefer. P.S., if Ciri decides Aretuza is not to her liking, I have my eyes set on our next home. A dollhouse on a squid farm." He reads, smiling at the last part of the letter.

You snort and snatch it from him, looking at the words yourself. They are in Yennefer's hand writing. The paper of her scent, a smidge of Ciri and horse. You shake your head, grinning anyhow.

"A squid farm? Not if I can help it."

—————

Authors note:

SFW🌿

・It had all started at a tavern in Ketterdam. 

・Jaskier had found his way into the bustling yet, so obviously criminal city. 

・He thought he was used to affronted citizens, as he’s played in very dingy places. But Ketterdam was different. And he didn’t realise that everyone was hiding at least one deadly secret

・You had found him pushed up against a wall. His instrument a crumpled, cracked mess on the ground. 

・ “Oi, piss off,” you shouted, unsheathing the dagger from your boot

          “And why would I do that?” the gruff man dropped the bard and turned to face you. A deep scar had nearly cut the man’s face in two. 

   “Because I said so.” You knew too well that men like this wouldn’t leave. Not without good reason. 

・So you had thrown your dagger straight into his thigh, and unleashed another into his arm. 

       “Now, piss. Off.” 

・The man screeched in pain but did as he was told. And in an instant, you bended your hands in a movement that you had practiced well. 

・The daggers flew out of the main and back into your open hands. 

・ “Was that really necessary?” Jaskier had panted, his eyes wide. 

           “That’s a weird way to say thank you,” you replied, turning on your heel to walk off. 

・Ever since that moment, Jaskier had been by your side

・You introduced him to the Crow Club, Kaz disliking him instantly

・ “I don’t need another idiot in my employment,” he grumbled one rainy night. 

        “Aw, don’t be like that Kaz,” you replied, throwing a shit-eating grin towards Jesper

・You and Jesper had grown instantly fond of each other as soon as you met

・You both had this enigma about you. A charm ... a presence. 

・Jesper’s magnetism was hard to fight. And your crush on him had grown with each moment you were together

・But little did you know, your heart was making room for another 

・Jaskier had found the Crow Club interesting, and he liked the Found Family dynamic. He wanted that for himself. Although he never wanted to admit it. 

・Jaskier and Jesper were a flurry of wit whenever they were together 

・Always trying to one-up the other

・You liked to sit back and watch them squabble 

・One night you heard Jaskier singing about a gun-slinging ass whose head was too big 

・Inej caught on to Jesper and Jaskier’s feelings 

・So did Kaz, but he couldn’t care less. Matters of the heart meant nothing to him (👀)

・Jaskier would ask Inej for every little bit of information about you (favourite flowers, food, etc) 

・And she told him, but would also push Jesper to talk to you about his feelings as well. She thought she was evening the playing field 

・At first you thought you knew who you wanted. Jesper and you had history, you relied on each other during jobs. 

・But Jaskier was so lively and creative. He was realiable and thought of you before himself 

・Jesper’s impulsivity was a big issue 

・So you didn’t pursue either of them, and would deny their advances 

・Jesper tried to show you that he could be trusted, especially with money. That he wouldn’t gamble it away

・And you were still trying to get to know Jaskier as a person, as a potential member of the Crow Club

・It was messy and you constantly went to Inej for advice

・But at the end of the day ... it’s your choice... 

・Who do you want? Jesper, with his charm, his humour. His ability to make you smile. 

・Or do you want Jaskier, whose light-hearted and adventurous. He remembers everything about you and he’s reliable... 

・The choice is yours alone

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈:

Istanbul (Not Constantinople) by They Might Be Giants

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔:

  ✧ Chaos ... Chaos ... Dumbassery ... Petty To The Max

  ✧ Squabbling Between Each Other About Who Deserves You More

There was a shuffle of chairs and shocked gasps as he held the man by his collar, mumbling something in his ear before pulling away to see the terrified look in his eyes.

"Ah, Geralt..?" Jaskier chimed hesitantly, you both knew his interference wouldn't do much good, especially with how intently his eyes were locked on the man.

If you had blinked, you would have missed it at the speed at which Geralt's fist had collided with the mans cheek, instantly taking him to the ground as the other patrons around him parted, making way for the brawl that was quickly taking over the entire bar.

If you or Jaskier didn't know any better, you probably would have tried to stop him, try to tear Geralt's large frame off of the man, but you did know better, the both of you just watched in horror and concern as the man under Geralt pled for mercy.

You winced as he planted a particularly brutal blow to the man's right cheek, the crowd echoing your sounds of grimace.

It was when the man's mouth dribbled out a gruesome mixture of spit and blood when you finally determined you had allowed Geralt's battering to go on long enough.

His name fell from your lips like a sigh, it was a wonder he had even heard you at all over all the yelling and jeering of the rowdy group.

He finally lifted his upper body from hovering over the man, slowly turning to face you. His features softened as he looked at you, and you couldn't help the frustrated huff that escaped you when you finally were able to see the state of him.

In all the ruckus, you hadn't noticed that the offending drunkard, in all of his flailing, had apparently landed a few blows on Geralt as well, a small gash now placed just above his eyebrow.

Before you could fully appraise his injuries, he stood abruptly, leaving the man to writhe on the grime-covered floor.

"We should go." He gruffed, shouldering past the both of you as he made his way towards the door.

Jaskier quickly turned to you before facing out to the rest of the bar, offering a weak, awkward smile, "It's been a pleasure."

It was a silent trek back to the camp the three of you had set up the night before, the only sounds exchanged being ones of exasperated sighs and groans of relief when you finally reached your destination.

You anxiously fidgeted with your fingers before you finally broke the silence. "I wanted to-"

"Goodnight." Geralt suddenly interrupted, all but running into his tent before you could even stop him.

"Think it's best just to leave this one alone." Jaskier whispered, leaning into you, "You know how he gets."

"I just want to thank him." You muttered, staring thoughtlessly at the untied entrance to his tent.

"Best to leave that for tomorrow, hmm?"

Maybe in any other situation you would, allowing your sleep-addled mind to get some rest before holding any sort of discussion, but this was different.

You were no stranger to Geralt's more aggressive side, nor were you a foreigner to the occasional bar fight, but this felt so unlike him, like he wasn't just fighting to simply fight.

As if your legs moved on their own accord, you found yourself marching in the direction of Geralt's tent, much to the disappointment of Jaskier.

You were almost shocked to see him already lying down, his body taking up almost the entire space of the tent as he pressed a dirty cloth to his forehead.

Your heart sunk when you heard him groan at the sight of you, dropping his head back down to the thin cot.

"Let me help you" You whispered, kneeling beside him and beginning to reach for the browned cotton.

"I'm fine." He grumbled, flinching at the brush of your fingers against his wrist.

"It's the least I can do" Your brows furrowed, pleading with him as you watched the rusted gears turn in his mind.

He gave in with an annoyed huff, clumsily dropping the fabric to his side and allowing you to take it from him.

You watched his frown deepen as you quickly rung the rag of any remaining liquid, pouring onto it a small amount of water from the canteen laying beside him.

He hissed when you pressed it to his forehead, even as you dabbed it as gently as you could.

"Why did you do that?" You finally asked, you hated how your voice shook under the weight of your question.

"Do what?" He groaned as you pressed more weight on the cut.

You could roll your eyes at his absentminded answer, "Today, at the inn."

You washed some of the excess blood off of the rag with more water before searching through the satchel he had placed beside the cot, finding a small bottle of alcohol, you turned it over onto the cloth, letting a few drops of the liquid saturate it.

He let out a pained moan when you pressed it against is forehead, grumbling something unintelligible before he answered. "Some people just want a fight."

"You didn't have to though." You quickly replied, and you found yourself stumbling back as he shot up, his arms planted on either side of his body to balance himself.

His head tilted as he looked at you, his eyes squinting as if challenging you, daring you to continue your interrogation.

"Thank you, I just- I don't want you to get hurt because of me..."

"I'm fine," A weak half smile turned the corners of his lips, "I promise."

"Promise not to do that again then?" You smirked, thoughtlessly washing off the dried blood from the cloth.

"You know I can't do that." He grumbled, gently pressing two fingers to the now clean laceration.

"Then why'd you do it? I just don't want you putting yourself-"

"Because I love you."

A blanket of complete silence was suddenly laid over the two of you, with only the sound of your thundering heartbeat echoing in your ears.

"I can't promise you that," He sighed, his gaze dropping to the floor as he continued, "Because I love you." He swallowed, his mouth opening slowly, as if he were about to say something else before closing it just as languidly.

"Geralt..." Your voice was barely above a whisper as you spoke, "I-"

"Please, spare your pity, I never meant for this..." He continued, gesturing between the two of you. "I never meant..." He trailed off, "You don't- I don't expect you to-" He let out a discontented exhale as he gathered himself, "But it's because I love you."

You opened your mouth to speak, but at the sight of his furrowed brow, you chose not to.

Even when he wasn't sure of your answer, silence seemed to be all that he wanted from you tonight, and you would happily oblige.

You knew that morning would come, and you could finally give him the words you had longed to say to him since a day you couldn't quite recall.

But if tonight he wanted quiet, if tonight he wanted nothing more from you than your presence, if he only wanted your warmth against his chest until the morning sun finally tore you from your privacy, you'd accommodate him without a thought.

Because you loved him.

Even if the world suddenly ended and the morning never came, maybe if you held him close enough, he would feel your answer.

Though something new in his gentle smile whispered to you, maybe he already knew.

Maybe he always did.

hurt/comfort + geralt is truly one of my all time favorite pairings so thank you so much for this one my anonymous friend!! i honesty might revisit this concept later with loki or bucky at some point because holy cow, my heart!! anyways!! i do hope you enjoyed this one and i'm sending all my warmest geralt hugs your way!! mwauh!!

as always, likes, comments, and reblogs are always, always appreciated!!

-----

You were no stranger to dingy bars and bards with something to prove, but it had been a long day of traveling and you just wanted to drink in peace, not be met with your old nemesis strutting about the place with his damned lute.

“I hear you’re alive; how disappointing,” his voice called as the weathered oak door thudded open before you and your adventuring party, “I’ve also survived, no thanks to you-”

You rolled your eyes, shaking off your party mates’ pointed looks and taking a seat at the bar, easily sweet talking your way into a free ale from the flustered barmaid. Your companions settled into the seats at your sides and you were grateful, hoping, for once, not to be noticed so you wouldn’t have to put on your performance persona yet again.

“All those lonely miles that you ride, now you’ll walk with no one at your side-” Jaskier sang, eyes fixed a million miles away from his audience. “What for d’you yearn? It’s the point of no return…”

Even as you tried to avoid him spotting you, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from your rival. The pain in his eyes was real, a far cry from his usual wide smile and the exaggerations and hyperboles that his tunes were normally filled with. His hair, typically clean and well-kept, hung shaggy and lank in his face.

“At the end of my days when I’m through,” Jaskier’s voice came in a rough growl as emotion began to consume him, “No word that I’ve written will ring quite as true as buuurn, burn Butcher, burn.” He fell back to sit on the edge of the stage, voice beginning to trail away as his fingers began to slow on the stings of his lute. “Watch me burn all the memories of you…”

As his voice echoed through the tavern, you realized exactly who this song was for; Geralt of Rivia, a witcher also known as the White Wolf and the Butcher of Blaviken. He was the same man that Jaskier had been traveling with the last time you’d bumped into him. You’d seen the way Jaskier had looked at the blond, the love in his eyes. You knew what that look meant; after all, it was how Jaskier made you feel.

You pushed yourself to your feet as his song ended, leaving your friends to their drinks and conversation as you prepared to make your exit. You paused as you passed the stage, pulling a gold coin from your coin purse and tossing it toward the downtrodden bard without a word.

“Much obliged, kind sir-” he started, catching it and lifting his eyes to look at his newest benefactor. His eyes hardened as they locked with yours, “The hell do you want?”

You bit out a sigh and shook your head, turning on your heel and making your way out of the tavern. You ignored the sound of Jaskier calling after you as he scrambled to his feet, following quickly behind you.

Eventually you came to a stop on the small porch looking out toward the forest path that led into town and took a seat on the step, resting your arms on your knees as you watched the trees.

“You did always have a flair for dramatic exits,” Jaskier said as he pushed through the tavern door and moved to sit beside you.

The corners of your lips twitched up into the barest hint of a smile, “You always had a flair for writing dramatic songs about your ex.”

Jaskier’s brows furrowed as he shot you a confused glance, “My ex? Who, Geralt?” He let out a bitter laugh, “No, no, we never-”

“So you write songs like that about all your friends then?” you prompted, jerking your head back toward the bar pointedly. “Should I be offended that I haven’t heard my ballad yet?”

A shocked laugh escaped your companion and you couldn’t help a slight feeling of accomplishment taking root. “I don’t know how I would even begin to write about you. There’s so much-” he trailed off, but you could understand. All the years of trying to out-perform each other and the insulting stanzas that you would improvise in your more competitive meetings.

“History?” you prompted.

He nodded, “Yeah. There’s just so much to say, I don’t know where I could even start.”

“You could always use that line about my voice sounding like a raven with a sore throat again,” you supplied with a grin. You’d never been particularly offended by his jesting, and that line had always been a favorite of yours.

He snorted, flipping the coin you’d given him between his fingers idly. Jaskier stayed quiet for a long moment, “You know I never actually meant that, right? I hate to admit it, but you do have a rather good voice.”

In all the years the two of you had known each other, you’d never heard Jaskier pay you an honest compliment before. It was… kind of nice, actually. “You’re quite talented yourself, Jaskier. Among other things.”

Jaskier perked up at the compliment, clearly curious about the ‘other’ as well. “And what might those other things be, hm?”

You faltered, suddenly aware of what you’d said and that there was no taking it back now. You knew that your friends would be laughing at you if they could see what you’d gotten yourself into. “Talented and creative, clearly. Funny, sometimes,” you started quietly, eyes fixed firmly on the horizon, even as his gaze remained fixed firmly on you. “Handsome, perpetually.”

Jaskier’s eyebrows raised and a smile spread over his lips, “You think I’m handsome?”

“Obviously,” you said, fingers tightening against the rough material of your trousers.

“Wish I’d known that sooner,” he said, “I’d have been nicer in the verses I wrote about you. Seen if I could’ve won you over in the first place.”

You laughed, pushing to your feet, “You say that as though you didn’t have my heart from the beginning.” You shook it off, preparing yourself to head back inside the tavern and up to the small room you’d rented for the night.

“Your… heart?” Jaskier sounded confused and you figured you might as well throw it all out into the open. If your heart got broken at least you could start healing.

“My heart, Jaskier,” you confirmed, sucking in a shaky breath before pressing on. “I’ve been in love with you for years. I just never said anything because I doubted you’d be interested.” He stayed quiet and you sighed, scrubbing a hand over your face as you made for the door. “Forget I said anything; good night, Jaskier.”

It took him a moment to process what you’d said, but then Jaskier was up on his feet and scrambling after you. He managed to catch your wrist before you could duck inside, tugging you back to face him and hesitating for only a few seconds before lurching forward to kiss you.

He pulled away after a moment with a fond smile, cocking his head to the side as he studied you. “Well then, are you going to invite me up?”

You couldn’t stop an answering grin and you nodded, taking his hands and lacing your fingers with his. “Sure. We’ll see what you’ve got for that ballad come morning, yeah?”

It's not the dim lighting that reveals anything, though. It's that your screams haven't disappeared, despite his certain consciousness: it's like a Kikimora has clawed at his heart, long, sharp claws tearing him to shreds.

He instantly turns to you, catches the beads of sweat glistening on your temple, the crumpled blankets in your fists that he almost feels sympathy for. Every now and then, your whimpers morph into a more desperate cry, a call for help, that Jaskier believes was much louder when he was asleep.

His blanket scrunches into a log by his feet as he scrambles across to you, hands hovering over your shoulders because he's heard that you shouldn't wake up someone having a nightmare. Or is that sleepwalking?

Another cry slices into his heart and he's had enough. He puts a hand to the side of your neck, and one on your shoulder, squeezing lightly and whispering your name. Over and over, like a spell that will pull you back to him and away from whatever hell is flashing behind your eyelids.

His hand on your neck migrates to your cheek, thumb pushing into the flesh and gently massaging: the face is more sensitive, you must be more likely to wake.

Your eyebrows knit together, unhappy wrinkles settling into your forehead as the frightened whimpers return. Jaskier doesn't know what to do, afloat in an ocean subject to a storm, and is about to find Geralt for a potion when--

A strangled gasp interrupts the previous rhythm of sounds, and your wide eyes meets Jaskier's, your hand flying to grip his wrist. Jaskier wants to utter something like a hallelujah, but the thought escapes him when your breaths sound full of pebbles, and fat, hot tears emerge from the corner of your eyes and fall past your temples.

There's hardly a hint of recognition behind your eyes, but with a hand cupping the back of your head and one on your shoulder, he hauls you upright and sits you against something hard. Your shoulders shake and you cover your face with your hands.

Your nightmare rewinds in the heat behind your eyes, seared into your mind's eye. The darkness provides no comfort, your hideout in your hands holding a toffee-like heat, dripping through your fingers and trapping any oxygen from coming through.

Through the sticky heat of your hands comes a voice, a familiar voice that melts away some panic, enough for the light to seep into the gap. You hear your name, and drag your hands from covering your entire face to just your mouth.

You're met with Jaskier's loving eyes, his eyebrows threatening to cross. His hand is on your knee, thumb swiping along your patella, as he looks for an opening.

"Oh, darling," he whispers. "It's gone now, see?" He gestures around the both of you. Sure enough, nothing from your nightmare is anywhere in sight. Just you and Jaskier. And somewhere else, Geralt, probably.

"It's just us here. You and me. Oh, please don't cry," he shuffles next to you, pulling you into his chest. You grip the soft fabric of his shirt tightly, as if he's going to slip away the moment you let him go, and you'll be dragged into the depths of your tortured mind once again.

"I'll fight it. Whatever it was, I'll get rid of it," he says in a low voice. "Better yet, I'll set my guard dog on the monster. Geralt's had a lot of practice." Your soft sobs are interrupted by a hiccup of a giggle, and Jaskier begins to relax.

"There she is," Jaskier's glad when you've let it all out, two hands on your face to really look at you. You offer a small, tired smile, and he leans in to kiss the tip of your nose. When he releases you, you sit as close to him as possible, arms overlapping.

"Bad dreams can be a real ball ache," he says lightly. You hum in agreement, still shaken.

"Thanks for waking me," you say leaning on his shoulder. He grabs your hand and squeezes tightly.

"Always. Will you be okay to sleep soon?" He asks. "Soon," you nod. "Not yet, I think," you inhale deeply. "Can I stay with you? It's fine if not, I just--" "Of course you can," Jaskier interrupts, kissing the back of your hand firmly and lingering. His breath skips across your skin, and you feel grounded.