#It's just that Jaskier needs to first make sure his family is safe...

[thelostgirl21]

Am I the only one that really struggles with the idea of Radskier's current relationship status being listed as "Ex-Lovers" in the shipping wiki, or...?

[starfirewildheart]

Chapter 3

The Wolf and the Flame

Summary: Geralt had just found Ciri and was headed to Kaer Morhen when something drew him into the woods. He found a woman near death and things changed for them all. (I suck at summaries just read please!) Yennefer is bad in the start of this but she and Geralt work on their friendship. Eskel is a dick at first but there is a reason and it works out. Will have a happy ending. Ciri is younger here than in the netflix show. She is about 12.

Warnings: abuse history, injuries, hurt comfort, no one under 18 to be safe, will add when I need to 

Words: 1717

They had been traveling for nearly a week. Naurel was getting stronger but Geralt was still worried. He knew something was not as it should be with her but he couldn't seem to get her to open up about the things that had happened. They came to the last city between them and the final part of the journey to Kaer Morhen. He knew they had to stop and restock supplies. Also, the humans needed a soft bed and warmth for a bit. They left the horses at the stable and walked over to the Inn. Naurel was leaning against him, holding his arm to help support herself or for his warmth, he wasn’t sure which. All he knew was that he didn’t mind it. In fact, he felt at peace when they were touching. 

Ciri heard someone singing inside the bar at the inn and bound up the steps. “It’s Jaskier,” she said excitedly. 

“Ciri,” Gerault sighed as she ran inside ahead of him. “Damn it that girl never listens.” He and  Naurel moved faster to catch up with her. Once inside Geralt grabbed Ciri’s arm and leaned close, whispering something to her that made her shiver and look repentant before he led her and Naurel to a table to sit. “Stay here where I can see you both while I get us a couple of rooms.” 

Naurel waited until he walked away to put her hand on Ciri’s arm that was resting on the table. “You are going to get hurt or end up making him so angry that he’s going to punish you.”

Ciri rolled her eyes. “Please, he’s not my father. I have no family which makes me an adult. I’m in charge of me.”

“You are far from an adult little miss and you are showing that childishness more and more by the day,” Naurel warned. “He cares about you. He worries about you. Stop making it harder for him.” She knew that Geralt was struggling to figure out how to deal with a child. He knew how to deal with a misbehaved witcher but not a young human girl so he just took what she dished out. The yelling, arguing, not listening, stubbornness that she likely got away with as a spoiled little princess and Naurel was losing patients with her. Ciri was a loving girl but she was being a huge brat. She looked up at Geralt as he sat heavily in a chair beside her, noting that he put himself where his back would be up against the wall. “Everything alright?”

He nodded. “Got two rooms with an adjoining door,” he eyed Ciri, “and a large tub.” He grinned when Naurel sighed happily. 

“Mmm, a bath sounds heavenly. Maybe if I boil myself I will actually heat my blood and stop having to steal your warmth,” she smiled at him. 

He reflexively pulled her close. “I don’t mind sharing warmth.”

Ciri made a slight gagging sound drawing their attention. “You two need to get a room.”

“We have a room. Two in fact,” Geralt smirked at her. He loved their teasing banter when she wasn’t driving him mad with worry. Naurel was listening to the two of them and jumped when someone plopped down in a chair near her at the end of the table.

“Geralt you gorgeous beast, who are you lovely friends?”

Geralt shook his head and sighed. “Jaskier,” he nodded in greeting. He let Naurel and Ciri introduce themselves though kept his arm possessively around Naurel. Jaskier was a friend but he was also amorous and for some reason that bothered him where his newest companion was concerned.

“How did two such lovely creatures end up with such a grumpy, silent companion?” Jaskier wondered. 

“He’s not silent nor grumpy,” you smiled at the bard. 

“He’s grumpy and bossy,” Ciri teased. 

The waitress approached and Geralt ordered food for the three of them before joining the conversation. “I’m surprised to find you this far north this close to the snowy season.  I know you hate cold weather.”

“You are right,” Jaskier chuckled. “Oddly enough I’ve been looking for you. You are a very hard witcher to find. You would think with the white hair, yellow eyes, and rippling muscles that you would stand out more.” Naurel chuckled.

“Jaskier,” Geralt grumbled, stopping the bard from babbling. “Why were you looking for me? Is everything alright?” 

“A friend, no, no she’s not a friend she’s a,” he stopped himself before he finished his thought. “Someone we have in common needs to speak with you. She’s rather insistent and very annoying and she keeps following me. I implore you, please speak to her before I throw myself off a cliff.”

Geralt paused as if he was considering the option of speaking to someone or letting him jump, only answering when Jaskier whined indignantly. He had an idea of who the bard was talking about but he wondered why she just didn’t come to him herself. He’d heard that she survived the battle of Sodden from Triss and he was happy to hear his friend was still alive. “Is she here?”

“I’m here,” Yennefer said from behind him. “We need to speak, alone,” she looked at the others pointedly. 

He nodded and stood. “Jaskier, stay with them until I return?”

“Of course,” he smiled as he started asking both of them questions.

Yennefer led Geralt to an out-of-the-way corner near the stairs. She noticed that he positioned himself so that he could still see the table. “I need your help. Something has happened. I’ve searched everywhere, through all the lore about magic and chaos except the books at Kaer Morhen.”

“What are you searching for?”

“A spell,” she lied. “I am searching for a spell to try and help Istredd study the monoliths.” She wasn’t going to expose her weakness to anyone. It was bad enough that the old woman was in her head calling to her, telling her to bring both the woman and the girl to her; she wasn’t about to tell him she had lost her ability to do magic as well.

“Why doesn’t that ring true to me?” Geralt gave her a look.

“Fine, don’t help me,” she hissed and started to walk away.

“Yennefer,” he stopped her. “Portal to Kaer Morhen. Vesemir is willing to work with sorceresses and mages. He will show you the books you are looking for.”

“Why don’t we just travel together?” she asked. “Seems like you seem to be gathering a rather large party on your journey,” she eyed his new friends. “I could help you look after them. They both seem sort of defenseless.”

He could use some help protecting them since Ciri seemed to be so dead set on getting herself hurt. Maybe with Yennefer’s magic, he could actually rest a bit. “You want to travel, on foot, in the cold. You know it will be snowing soon?”

“Please witcher, the weather does not bother me,” she scoffed and walked back to the group at the table. She made sure to place herself next to Naurel where Geralt had been. Jealousy made her blood boil when she noticed how Geralt looked at the woman. The witcher and his new child suprise were supposed to be her family, not this woman's. She was tired of life screwing her over and giving everyone else what was rightfully hers.

Geralt frowned but sat next to Ciri. “Yennefer has decided to join us for the rest of our journey home.” Naurel looked into his eyes in question but didn’t speak, Jaskier however did.

“I’m going to then,” he insisted.

“I thought you wanted to be rid of her?” Geralt asked.

“Rid of me?” Yennefer scoffed. “I saved your life.”

“No, you distracted him so I could run. That’s not saving me, that's being a tease,” Jaskier argued. Ciri laughed at the two of them.

Their food was served and Naurel picked a small piece off of her bread and ate it as she listened to Jaskier tell stories of his time with Geralt. The bard was funny and he had kind eyes. She liked him. She could see how he would get on Geralt’s nerves though with his knack for babbling and Geralt being stoic and quiet.

‘The redhead! Bring the red head’ the deathless mother screamed in her head over and over. It was becoming hard to ignore but she pushed it to the back of her mind and continued on with the conversation. “Awe you left out the story of how the three of us met,” Yennefer interjected. “All bloody and dying because of the Djinn. Geralt, ever the protector, riding in to find me to save you.” She saw the muscles in Geralt’s jaw flex as he clenched his teeth.

“Well, he ended up saving you too,” Jaskier snapped. “More than saving you if I remember correctly.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt sighed.

The bard looked up and quickly realized he’d said too much. “But he came to his senses!”

She closed the door behind her before laying on the bed next to her friend. “He thought she was dead,” she explained softly. She wanted to be sure she knew Geralt had not intentionally tried to hurt her though Ciri never realized that Yennefer and Geralt were mates.

“I know,” her voice choked as she lost her battle with her tears. “It’s my fault,” she repeated to herself more than Ciri. She took the comfort Ciri offered and allowed the young girl to play with her hair before she ran over to the chamber pot and vomited.

Wolf and flame tag list

@kneelforloki

@shellyshellshell

[the-doctor-3000]

Imagine. . . Being like a little sister to Geralt of Rivia.

You two first met at your sister's, Pavetta, birthday.

You began travelling with him after that day.

At first it was only to make sure he was safe.

Not that he needed a princess' protection to be safe.

By the passing of time, you both grew close.

Whenever someone would just give you a nasty look just for travelling with him, he would put his hand on the sword as he would look at that person.

Of course, he wouldn't take out his sword but the stare of a witcher while his hand was at the hilt of his sword could be just as helpful.

Geralt would allow you to RIDE Roach.

The fact that he lets you be on his horse's back shows that he trusts you and cares for you.

He'd also help you with horseback riding but also how to handle a sword.

Jaskier would feel a bit jealous that he had warmed up to you quicker than he did to him.

You don't know what to think of Yennefer.

Honestly, your first impression of her was that she is a snake and a seductress - considering the place you met her.

When you met her again - for the dragon - you couldn't help but feel sorry for her and be on her side when Geralt patronized her.

It surprised them both.

Since you were always at Geralt's side.

A few years later, when you reunited with your niece and Geralt met the said girl, you were a wreck.

Your parents had been dead for years and your aunt was the only family you got left.

Well. . . Except for Ciri.

Geralt helped you through by telling you that it wasn't your fault.

Any time he would see you in tears, he'd instantly be by your side and try to cheer you up in his own way.

At Kaer Morhen. . .

Now, things are a bit bumpy.

Not between you and Geralt.

But with you and the other witchers.

Especially the one named Eskel.

You didn't like the way he spoke to you and your niece.

He was also constantly trying to flirt with you but luckily Geralt handled it.

From now on, none of the witchers were allowed to come near you with the intention of something more than friends.

He didn't need to say anything.

He would only stare at them with a threatening look in his eyes and they'd get away from you in a blink of an eye.

Maybe he'd let Jaskier be near you but even that is debatable.

Though he looks more like the type that wouldn't care, he would have a soft spot for you.

Overall, he is very protective and caring *in his own special way*

[eggcompany]

Jaskier and his Snuggly Wuggly Killing Machines Part 1

The story of Jaskier, rich and famous, and his not quite so small adventure into adopting three trauma riddled witchers. Fluff for days, cuddling, kissing, and lots of tail wagging.

Jaskier ends up coming across some witchers in a certain pound during his hunt for some pets. Jaskier has never been one to turn down a challenge... or turn away three beefy beautiful witchers. This is the story of them meeting, adoption, and their first days with the sparkly music man.

“Hello love, I have an appointment for an adoption? Should be Julian Alfred Pankratz.” Jaskier says to the older brunette behind the counter. She types for a moment and says-

“Oh yes! Mr.Pankratz! You’re here for an adoption, you’ve already spoken to our people and had the house inspection, yes?” She asks as she presses a button on the desk. 

“Yes ma’am. I spoke with Damien Lentin I believe was his name. I got my inspection and everything! I brought my letter from the inspection company too, just in case.” Jaskier said to the secretary. He was so excited! This morning he had had picked out his softest jeans and a comfy tie dyed sweatshirt along with his black boots and his color block backpack. He wanted to make sure he had everything he needed and that his (hopefully) new pets would like him. 

Jaskier had been wanting to get a pet for a while now. Since he just finished his latest and greatest international tour, he decided he would get one...or two...or three.... He had been planning since he got back to his home. He put locks on some doors, reorganized his kitchen, fixed the upstairs into three bedrooms, and he even finished the basement so they could have a play space other than the expansive backyard. Jaskier was tired of the big house always being empty. Sure he had friends and executives and people from the record label over all the time but he wanted… something else. Something more home-y. More family-like. 

That’s what brought him here to the city “Rehabilitation of Pets and Adoption Center”. A few weeks ago he had an inspector come to the house and make sure it was pet safe, which Jaskier passed with flying colors. He had already told one of the employees that would be handling his case that he was looking for a larger more independent pet. Maybe a cub or puppy. He wanted one that was intelligent and maybe one who had been in the center for a long time. He just wanted a pet that would take effort, one that he would have to earn their trust. He wanted to properly bond and have a stable relationship with them. Plus it would give him something to do. 

Soon a young man dressed in blue scrubs walked out and shook Jaskier’s hand. 

“I’m Damien, we spoke on the phone. We received your inspection and all your paperwork. I have a few pets lined up that I think you’ll like but you can see anyone here! We’re so happy to have you adopting from us Mr. Pankratz!” The young man said as he led Jaskier to the double doors that opened up to the kennels and rooms. 

Jaskier was met with about a dozen kennels and then four padded rooms through an arched doorway. Pretty little thin pets resided in most of the kennels. Mostly young kittens and pups. Jaskier spotted a few bunnies and fewer cubs. Most looked like they were not even 18 and not even 160lbs max. Damien walked him up to one pup who was sitting on the floor chewing on a chew ring. 

“Here’s Conner! He’s one of our-” Damien started but Jaskier cut him off. 

“No offense Damien but he’s not quite what I’m looking for… Do you have anyone...older?” Jaskier asked and waved bye bye to the pup. Damien looked around for a moment. 

“Are you sure you want an old pet? You could really have any of these ones. They all play together and get along when we have them out for playtime. Are you really wanting… a charity case pet?” The scrub clad boy asked. Jaskier got a bit upset but calmed immediately. 

“Yes I would. That is what I told you I wanted. Now do you have anyone here that would satisfy that or do I need to find another place?” Jaskier asked calmly. He found three other centers that had adoption options. He just chose this one because it had the best reviews. 

“No sir! We have um… we have three that might be what you’re looking for. Granted they have been aggressive and have been known to harm their previous adopters.” Damien said as we walked to the farthest room from the rest of the population. There was a big window looking in on…

“These are our Witcher rescues. We dug them out of the Kaer Morhen rubble. Eskel is the one reading, Lambert’s doing push ups and...Geralt is there. He’s the most jumpy. They’re a mix of cat,wolf, and bear.   They usually won’t talk but I guess you can try. The door won’t open without a key card so I’ll leave you to...get… acquainted.” Damien  explained as Jaskier smiled and looked onto the three perfectly perfect boys. 

All three of them were mountains of muscle and oh they have those gleaming yellow eyes! Jaskier loves witchers! He had seen them before at parks and sometimes at events. Most of the time they weren’t really pets and more used as bodyguards which rather upset Jaskier but he wouldn’t get into that. He wondered if they had those big sharp fangs… He was in his own mind when Damien walked away so he happily knelt down in front of the glass where there were slots so the babes could hear. 

“Hello wonderful little witchers!”Jaskier said happily as he watched the one doing push ups fall onto his tummy and look up surprised. Lambert. That one was Lambert. The one reading the book just looked up and stared at Jaskier, Eskel. That was Eskel. And the one who curled further into himself under the thin looking white blanket must be Geralt. 

The two who were staring at him stayed still until Jaskier spoke again and then they pulled themselves up and together so they were sitting  up looking at the musician. 

“Hello, I’m Jaskier! What’re your lovely names?” Jaskier asked even though he already knew. 

“Lambert.” The one with the greasy hair answered first. He didn’t really say he more or less growled it out. Jaskier nodded and pointed his focus onto the other. The poor thing had such a garish scar on his face. It probably pulled and got chapped. Jaskier needed to get him some lotion to help as soon as they were home…

“Eskel. That’s Geralt. Why are you here?” He finally answered in much less growly way than the other. He seemed to be the most social of the three. At least the most civil. Jaskier smiled softly. 

“I’m here to talk to you three. I’m looking for a couple of pets. You three are what? Brothers? Oh wait witchers so… brothers but not by blood, yes?” Jaskier asked. Witchers were usually brothers in arms, well back before the “Witcher Creation and Mutations”Act went in place and banned all Wicther facilities. Some are still around but those act mostly as museums, others collapsed because of attempts made to “save” the witchers inside and ended up crumbling the keeps on top of them. Like these three. 

“Yessir. We would prefer to keep it that way, thank you.” Eskel replied again. While the two of them exchanged those few words Lambert had started to move toward Geralt. He was whispering into the other’s ear. Jaskier watched but also kept talking to Eskel. 

“Well of course, darling! I would never take you away from each other. That would just be cruel. Thankfully I already planned on getting at least two pets and another deliciously handsome witcher would never hurt my feelings. Hm… You three are quite big though....” Jaskier thought out loud. He would need to buy bigger frying pans. Probably a bigger pot too… he wondered if these three like chicken and dumplings. He loved making chicken and dumplings. 

“We’re witchers. The only way to make us any smaller would be to have us bedridden. And we are known to bust straps and break chains.” Eskel ended that statement in a serious and threatening tone which snapped Jaskier out of his daydream of cooking for them.

“Bedridden?! Gods no! I was thinking more like having to purchase a bigger frying pan and a bigger pot. I would never neglect you like that! That’s horrible! If you choose to be under my care I would rather have you a bit plumper. You do look kinda think hm?” Jaskier said as he gazed at the way Eskel’s skin gripped at his muscles. There needs to be a nice fatty layer between them. 

“Oh… well why did you even want pets?” Eskel asked and glanced back at Lambert who was still talking a balled up Geralt. Eskel wanted to know every possible intention this man had for them. They would not be bodyguards again and were absolutely never becoming sex pets like the bunnies. 

“Well I have a big house and I’ve just finished up a big tour so I’m going to be home for a long time and I don’t go out all that much and well the house gets lonesome… Sure I want some quiet calm time so I can work but I’d love to have a few pets to fill the space. I’ve already got bedrooms and a big play space in the basement and I think I have quite a large backyard. Look you can even read it on the inspection papers! I love that you're so smart....”   Jaskier explained while he pulled the document out of the folder in his backpack. He would answer as many questions as Eskel, or the others, wanted to ask him. Jaskier folded the papers in half and slid them through the slots in the glass. 

Eskel took them and read through them. He read each one. As he read Jaskier looked around the little room. There were three mats on the floor with a blanket on two of them, Geralt had the third. There weren’t toys or pillows around like the other kennels. There were what looked like sigils and signs scratched into the walls. In the farthest corner there was a jug of water and by the door there were  food dishes. Jaskier hated it. It didn’t look cozy or comfortable. If these three agreed to come with him he would have them plenty of toys and chewy things and blankets and mountains of pillows and have them eating out of proper bowls and drinking glasses. Everyone knows witchers can eat from plates with spoons and forks and can drink from cups. 

Jaskier also watched Lambert talk quietly to the other witcher. Lambert was so cute. With his pointed ears and sleek looking black tail. He had a few scars running along the side of his face but that took nothing away from his adorableness. Eskel was cute too. With those big fluffy looking ears and thick strong looking fluffy tail. His large pointed canine teeth really just made him cuter to Jaskier. He hadn’t seen Geralt who he assumed wouldn’t be coming out anytime soon by the way he hid. 

“Okay… this is actually quite detailed. So you’re a singer? A musician? Why don’t you just buy a pet instead of dragging us home?” Eskel asked as he bent and slid the document back through the slot. His hands were so big, so muscular, so scarred. Jaskier just wanted to spend hours kissing them better. 

Jaskier thought for a moment before answering. 

“Because I can’t buy an older pet. I don’t want babies. I want pets who can take care of themselves to an extent. I can’t buy pets who are as beautiful or as magnificent as you three are. I did go and shop for something to fill the gap in my heart and fill the slots in my time but they were dumb. Dumb and small and only ever did what I said and didn’t have a single thought of their own. You however… You’re smart. Strong and beautiful. I bet you can keep a conversation easily and I bet you’d enjoy some alone time every once in a while. Maybe with some books? A trip to the library? Bought pets don’t like those things or do those things. I’m not looking for bed decorations, I’m looking for companions.” Jaskier finished. Eskel could tell he wasn’t lying. Lambert had turned and listened, captured. Jaskier watched Eskel think. He glanced over at Lambert who stared and then leaned over and said something to Geralt. 

Jaskier was surprised to hear a low purr emanating from the corner where the one witcher was curled up. 

“Hm… I’m in. If the flowery man wants us to play around his house and eat his food then I’m all for it. Sounds like a good deal to me. It’s not the circus and it’s not body guarding or being fuck-dolls.That is, if it’s not all lies.” A deep wonderfully perfect snarl came from the blanketed pet. Geralt rose up then and Jaskier gasped at what he saw. Beautiful yellow eyes like the rest, stunning pale skin, big wolf like ears, and, finally when the blanket fully fell away, a big beautiful grey tail. 

“Oh… well… I’m not lying! I could take pictures of my house or or I don’t know… Ah how about a gift of good faith!” Jaskier said as his eyes darted from one witcher to the next. He pulled his backpack into his lap and rummaged around. He had a cup of mini Nutter Butters, some KitKats, and a box of almond Pocky sticks. Food is always a good gift. 

All three of them looked at each other and crept closer to the window. Geralt had his nose up, scenting the air. When all three had gathered around the slots in the glass they all sat down. Jaskier smiled down at them before gracefully lowering himself down onto his knees. The witchers looked shocked for a moment before returning to their sniffing and analyzing the colorful man in front of them. 

“What kind of gift?” Lambert says and sticks face closer to the glass to see what Jaskier has. Geralt squinches his eyes and glares at Jaskier. Eskel looks civil and practiced. His face was plain and unreadable. 

“Well I don’t exactly have the most perfect gifts but I have some candy and some snacks in my pack… DO witchers even like chocolate…” Jaskier said shyly. He could get them much better  gifts later but he hopes this makes them trust him a bit more. All three of them perked up at the word ‘ chocolate ’. 

“You’d give us...chocolate?” Geralt said and looked confused but eager. Jaskier laughed and pulled open the wrappers for the KitKats. He assumed there weren’t trash cans in the rooms. 

“Would you three like some KitKats? They’re some of my favs. They’re crunchy and sweet and delicious.” Jaskier asked as he held up the treat. He could hear them all start wagging and swishing their tails. Their pupils got just a tad larger and Lambert automatically nodded. 

“Yes.”

“Yes, please.”

“Thank you” 

Lambert, Eskel, and Geralt answered and Jaskier quickly slid the now broken up candies through. One for each of them and then one for himself. Jaskier popped half of his into his mouth and watched each witcher sniff and lick theirs before putting the entire thing into their mouths. Jaskier giggled a bit at the way their ears moved as they discovered what the treat was. 

“Like em? I’ve got other stuff too.” Jaskier said once each had swallowed. Eskel was smiling lightly and looked relaxed, Lambert was purring lightly and his tail was swishing lightly behind him. Geralt had wide eyes and was trying to see into Jaskier’s bag. He was swishing his tail quickly and his ears faced forward. 

“Can we have more? They never give us sugar.” Geralt said and looked into Jaskier’s eyes. Geralt thought Jaskier had pretty eyes. They looked dazzling and warm and kind and pretty. All three of them thought that same thing but Geralt was really captured by them. 

“Oh you poor little things! You’re far too thin. They don’t feed you enough anyway do they? They give you regular portions you’re all big boys, you need more.” Jaskier said as he popped open the Pocky snacks and started to pass the Nutter Butters through the slots. He felt so bad for the poor thin things. He himself had a healthy amount of pudge cushioning around his midsection and he believed he needed to have these three in a similar shape. 

The boys scarfed down the snacks and groaned at how sweet and good they tasted. Once there were no more snacks they all looked soft around the edges and happy. Jaskier smiled happily but noticed that quite a chunk of time had passed and Damien would be returning soon. Jaskier stood and wiped his hands on his jeans. He watched Lambert pout and Eskel and Geralt look down. 

“I’m so sorry but I will be back tomorrow. I’ll come see you and hopefully get a real answer. Remember all three of you are coming, I’ve got food and space and there might be a few containers of ice cream in the freezer. So please consider joining me. Goodbye sweet little witchers.” Jaskier said as he zipped up his bag and slung it around his back. 

All of them looked up at him and nodded. 

“Thank you. I’m sure we all already made that decision. It’ll be wonderful if you come by again. Thank you again, Jaskier.” Eskel said and Lambert let out a little whine.

“Hurry up and come get us already. I want steaks.” Lambert said and pouted. His ears almost fell flat against his head. Geralt hit him in the shoulder and Jaskier giggled. 

“I’ll stock up then. Oh and do you all mind if I put my last name on the certificates or do you just want your first names?” Jaskier asked and all three smiled and glowed. They felt like this was it. This was the first person and the right time. 

“You haven’t told us your full name yet, silly man.” Geralt said and laughed a bit. 

“Julain Alfred Pankratz. And I think that means you’ll be the witchers of House Pankratz.” Jaskier said and nodded and waved at Damien. All three nodded. Jaskier turned and stopped for a moment. He didn’t want to leave yet. He never really wanted to leave these babies alone ever again. They were just so perfect. 

Jaskier straightened up and walked through the door and didn't turn back. He didn’t want the witchers to see his teary eyes. He took the sleeves of his colorful sweater and dabbed the tears away and walked to the front desk. There was a man at the front desk now. A rather large man. 

“Hello, I was just um spending some time looking around and I need you to start the papers on those three witchers in the back. I believe the lady who was up here might have already started some general papers. Under the name Julian Alfred Pankratz or Jaskier.” Jaskier said to the man who just answered with a grunt. He rummaged around the desk for a moment before finding a stack of papers. 

“You sure you want them? They’re aggressive. Not good pets, better guard animals.” The man said as he started to type on the computer on the desk. Jaskier smiled even though he was mad. 

“Yes sir. I am happy to take them off your hands. Do you need anything else? I’ll be back tomorrow.” Jaskier said and waited for an answer. 

“No but just so you’re aware, once you sign the adoption papers for them it’ll take two to four business days for them to be approved and you can take them home.” The man said and looked at Jaskier in a judgmental way. 

“That’ll be no problem, I'll visit them each day though. If that’s alright?” The man nodded and Jaskier was off. This was the beginning of what would be the best change in Jaskier’s life.

Next Part ->

[dat-carovieh]

In dire need of change

Ship: Geraskier

Rating: T

Wordcount: 5.8k

Chapters: 5

Tags: Stardew Valley AU, Farmer!Geralt, Elliott!Jaskier, musician Jaskier, Getting together, Fluff, First Kiss

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Chapter 1

The city was loud, like it always was and Geralt should be used to it, he grew up here but the longer he was working in this office, the worse it was getting. Nearly daily he had a headache, it started when he got up and got worse over the day. He did the same thing every day and he couldn’t handle it anymore. He had never known what he had wanted to do with his life. Vesemir had tried everything to help him find his calling but maybe for some people this just wasn’t a thing. He got up from the couch and went to his cupboard, somewhere there his phone charger was buried. He rummaged through the drawer and pulled out the cable. His eyes locked onto an envelope he had nearly forgotten. He remembered, he had gotten it from his grandfather, Vesemir’s father, shortly before he had died. He had told Geralt to open it, when he felt crushed by his life and needed a change.

He took the envelope and went back to his couch. He didn’t believe, it would help him at all. What could a letter do to change his life? Roach jumped on his chest as soon as he had thrown himself back onto the couch and cuddled against him, purring. He ripped it open and started to read the short letter.

“Geralt,

If you're reading this, you must be in dire need of a change. The same thing happened to me, long ago. I'd lost sight of what mattered most in life... real connections with other people and nature. So, I dropped everything and moved to the place I truly belong. I’ve enclosed the deed to that place… my pride and joy: Kaer Morhen Farm. It’s located in Stardew Valley, on the southern coast. It’s the perfect place to start your new life.

This was my most precious gift of all, and now it’s yours. I know you’ll honor the family name, my boy.

Good luck.

Love, Grandpa”

Geralt looked up. A farm? What was he supposed to do with a farm? Probably farming, he thought with a sarcastic laugh. Roach looked at him offended at the movement of his chest. He petted her head apologetic as he reread the letter, before he called Vesemir.

Vesemir seemed to think it was a great idea for Geralt to move to Pelican town and take over the farm, Vesemir grew up on. It had been empty for a while now but he was sure, Geralt could make something great out of it. Vesemir had promised him to take care of his flat and getting his furniture to the Valley soon. Apparently, he knew some people living there and made some calls, to make sure he would be welcomed to the town as soon as he arrived.

He had packed his bag and convinced Roach into the cat carrier. It had nearly cost him a finger, but now she was safely secured on the bus seat next to Geralt, sleeping through the bus ride.

He stepped out of the bus and was greeted by a redhaired woman with a bright smile. Vesemir had mentioned he would be picked up from the bus stop. He wasn’t sure how he felt about interacting with people just after arriving but he would suck it up and it would probably be good to have someone showing him everything.

“Hello! You must be Geralt!” she explained happily.

“Hmm,” Geralt replied and nodded, hoping he didn’t come off too rude.

“I’m Robin, the local carpenter. Mayor Lewis sent me here to fetch you and show you the way to your new home.” Carpenter sounded nice to Geralt, he liked people who did work with their hands.

“The farm’s right over here, if you follow me.” She didn’t seem to have issues with him barely replying, worked for Geralt. True to her words, the farm was just around the corner.

“This is Kaer Morhen farm,” she announced as they arrived at a house. Geralt looked around and his stomach dropped. The house looked fine but the land was fully grown over. This would be a lot of work. Good thing his grandfather had left him some money as well to get him through the first couple of weeks until he hopefully could make some money. That was if he didn’t give up on the farm before he gotten along far enough to actually plant something.

He had quit his job for this so he should probably try to make it work.

“What’s the matter?” Robin asked as if she wasn’t seeing the mess. “Sure, it’s a bit overgrown, but there’s some good soil underneath that mess!” Geralt surely hoped so. He didn’t know jack shit about farming so that whole thing would be a fun experience. “With a little dedication you’ll have it cleaned up in no time.” No time sounded a little too positive for Geralt but he suspected, manual labour would be good for him. “And here we are, your new home.” It looked cosy, maybe a little run down but much better than the crap apartment he had lived in before.

An old man came through the door of the farmhouse, he had an impressive grey moustache and wore a brown hat.

“Ah, the new farmer!” he said cheerfully, as he looked at Geralt. Geralt nodded at him. “Welcome, I’m Lewis, the Mayor of Pelican Town. You know, everyone’s been asking about you,” he explained. Geralt raised an eyebrow.

“They do?” He should have expected in a small town like that people would talk about everything. That was a thing he would miss about the city. He couldn’t vanish between everyone. People usually found him weird and here everyone might be talking about this soon. He immediately felt the anxiety rising.

“Oh yeah. It’s not every day that someone new moves in. It’s quite the big deal! But I assure you, everyone is really nice, I’m sure you will fit in greatly,” Lewis assured him. Geralt hoped so.

“So… you’re moving into your grandfather’s old cottage. It’s a good house… very rustic.” They all turned to the house, that surely could use some work.

“Rustic? That’s one way to put it…” Robin answered. “Crusty might be a little more apt, though.” Geralt couldn’t suppress a small snort.

“Rude!” Lewis exclaimed. Robin also laughed. “Don’t listen to her, Geralt. She’s just trying to make you dissatisfied so that you buy one of her house upgrades,” the mayor explained. A business woman, Geralt could respect that and who knew, maybe he would take her up on that if the farm would run smoothly.

“I might think about this,” Geralt answered. Robin looked happy about this.

“Anyway… You must be tired from the long journey. You should get some rest,” Lewis tried to steer the topic somewhere else. He also was right, Geralt felt tired and a little overwhelmed with everything. “Tomorrow you ought to explore the town a bit and introduce yourself. The townspeople would appreciate that.”

“Alright thanks,” Geralt answered, nodding.

The introducing was something Geralt really dreaded but he would have to get through this. Before they said their goodbyes, Robin explained to him, she had left some tools for him inside so he could start working tomorrow. Finally, they left Geralt alone. He took a full turn looking at everything that now belonged to him. He would not panic right now. He would manage somehow, he would.

The door creaked as he entered. The cabin looked incredibly cosy. There was only one room but he probably wouldn’t need much more. There was a small bed, a TV, a table with benches and even a fireplace. To the left there was a small kitchenette. Just a fridge and a small stove and a counter. One more door was there, probably leading to the toilette. He threw his bags to the ground and let Roach out to explore their new home.

In the fridge he found some food, the mayor must have kindly left for him and after a quick dinner, he went to bed early so he was ready to start working early in the morning. It had been exhausting and he fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Read the other chapters on AO3

[seidenbros]

AU Overview

Since I have a couple started, not everything posted, and stuff that's still just in my head, I needed to write this overview, to have it all together.

Flatmates AU | Veteran Geralt, musician Jaskier

(I'm Lost, I'm Found in You - currently writing)

Geralt reeturns from Afghanistan and moves in with Jaskier, whose home is too quiet all by himself. Roach is Geralt's trusted service dog, because the nightmares haunt him. Jaskier comforts him at night, when he wakes up screaming with soft music. They fall for each other, but don't want to admit it or ruin what they have. Ciri enters their loves as Geralt's godchild, who runs away from her abusive foster family and stays with them - for now.

Crime AU

(You'll Make Me Brave - nearly finished | Chapter 5 of 7)

Jaskier is found with bloody hands and visibly distraught next to his father's dead body. It definitely looks like he killed his own father, but did he? Jaskier doesn't even know that himself. There was someone else, but did he imagine that? He had every reason to kill his father. After years of abuse, mainly towards his mother, and finally killing her (which could not be proven, cause of his father's connections) Jaskier had a motif. Geralt, the Detective ont he case, believes him, though. Maybe because they're connected through their abuse (Geralt was burnt by his last foster family), but there sure is something more.

Hacker AU

(Let's Just Close Our Eyes and Let Go - can be read as standalone, more to come)

Jaskier operates under the name the Sandpiper and steals from the rich to give the money to homeless shelters, since he's spent a lot of time on the streets after his family kicked him out after coming out to them. Geralt sees him play music on the street, has seen him a couple of times and finally finds the courage to ask him out. Jaskier takes him to his home: A small flat on top of a building where he has loads of plants. Plants that don't even bloom at that time of year. Geralt see's Jaskier's magic (which Jaskier is completely unaware of). Vesemir calls Geralt since they had a break in their case. In front of Jaskier's building, he tells him that Jaskier is in fact the Sandpiper)

Hockey AU

(Wherever You Will Go - A first chapter, but there will be more)

Famous contemporary romance author Julian Alfred Pankratz is set to travel with the Kaedwen Wolves (who won the cup last year) to get to know how they interact with each other, learn about hockey, so that he can incorporate that in his next book. He's a little nervous, but still excited, until he sees a familiar face among the players. The face that was the model for one of the main characters in his last book, because they'd nearly fucked in the elevator they'd been stuck in- Only that Geralt had made it clear that he was looking for something serious, while Jaskier is afraid of commitment.

Modern Jaskier in Geralt's time

(A snippet, but nothing more has been written yet)

Jaskier is on his way to a gig when his car breaks down. With no cell reception, he starts looking for the next town, only to find that there is some sort of medieval festiva. At least he thinks that is the case. The costumes are so real, so detailed! And the monster on that guy's horse looks amazing. What great work! OH and the wig! Only that it's all real, and Jaskier still has to find that out. (taking photos with his phone, cause he can charge it with his solar panel, but he doesn't have a lot od ADHD medication anymore, so that's gonna get interesting)

Celebrity AU

(Rambling about it and a snippet)

Jaskier is a famous singer, but he can't deal with the pressure and turns to alcohol. All the fake friends make him appreciate alcohol even more, but he has a problem. That's why Yennefer hires Geralt as Jaskier's live-in-bodyguard/babysitter. He has to make sure that Jaskier is safe and that he goes to his AA meetings. He even get's rid of all the alcohol he can find in Jaskier's home for a start.

Your Name AU

(Rambling about this and a picspam and a tiny snippet and another)

Geralt and Jaskier wake up int he other one's body every now and again. At first they think it's just some kind of weird dream, until their friends ask them what the hell had been wrong with them the previous day. At first they're both like "I do what I want", but that quickly changes, because their behaviour has consequences for the other one, and they start to like each other or rather what they find out. And suddenly, Jaskier had to find out how to wield a sword, while Geralt needs to learn how to play the lute.

Stardust AU

(I only have a snippet so far)

Jaskier is ripped from the sky and lands down on earth with a necklace that he hadn't had before. It hums with magic, so he know he has a purpose down here. For centuries he'd watched the humans down there, has seen them fall in love and he yearned for the same thing. Geralt is hired to bring that fallen star with the necklace back to the family to whom that necklace apparently belongs. He doesn't believe in this whole "fallen star" shit, just like that people eat a star's heart to live longer. But he soon finds out that all that exists and that some people want to capture Jaskier for that purpose. He takes him to Kaer Morhen to find out more about him and the family that hired him. Vesemir might know more.

The Bachelor/Prince Charming AU

(Nothing yet, just thoughts)

After getting his heart broken more than enough and hookups and friends wirh benefits, Jaskier longs for something that lasts, something real (and he has to get married before he's 30 to get that family inheritence). Maybe that's why he rushes it along with partaking in this show, becoming the new Bachelor/PC. Geralt isn't one of the contestants, though, he's Jaskier's best friend. Has been for years, and he's also been in love with Jaskier for... God knows how long. But there's never been the right moment to tell him, because there's always been some other/new guy. Geralt is part of the show as well, as Jaskier's go-to-person, the one he talks about all the guys with to make descisions on who to send home. The audience ships them, because their chemistry is just *chef's kiss*. When they're down to the last 4/5 contestants, they meet Geralt as Jaskier's best friend. But how is he supposed to tell jaskier which one of these guys seems like the right match, when he wants to be that one himself? On the other hand, he always thinks that Jaskier deserves better than him, so... difficult times.

Neighbours AU

Geralt and Jaskier live next to each other but can't really stand the other one. Geralt is always so grumpy, and Jaskier is incredibly noisy! Like, he's always home when Geralt is around. Does that guy even work? Yes. Yes he does. While Geralt works a full-time job, Jaskier works for the radio station and actually has his own show where he gives advice on relationships, where he himself is rather skeptical when it comes to true love. He's willing to try though. Meanwhile the two of them get to know each other a lot better through a "blind date chat" kinda thing. They only know the first letter of their first name. No pictures. And they start falling for each other.

[denim-devil]

Dating Geralt as a Witcher too (Headcannons)…

Can i please request some dating headcanons for Geralt x male reader where the reader is also a Witcher but has been hiding away please? Thank you so much!

Here it is Lovely, Enjoy! @acid-witch-baby

<>__——__:__——__:__——__<>

{How you met}

• You had met through fighting a best believe it or not. You both sensed eachother using your witching abilities which had Geralt be extra careful, yes you were one of him but it was hard to gain his trust

• Being a Witcher came with great responsibilities, you had to be careful and not over use those selected abilities. Long story short Geralt ended up saving you from certain death.

• You both had this feeling…a gut feeling, like your paths were suppose to cross, like you were suppose to meet.

• Quickly much to Geralt’s dismay, fell for you, not in a friend way, more in a romantic way. Everytime he was around you he contained his thoughts and actions…what he wanted to do to you.

• You had told him the reason you were in hiding, which was totally understandable, it was to do with the killing/hunting of your brothers and sisters, the others that were just like you.

• Even though he felt weird about this, his gut was screaming about you, about Geralt making the move he has been so willing to make since he met you in those swamps.

• “Geralt?” You whisper, looking up into the piercing golden eyes he occupied. A low, husky hum sounds out into the room, his lips tugging up into a weak smile.

• This was too close? Right? For “Friends?”

• a warm set of lips connect with your own, it was slow, but hungry, the way his tongue eagerly asked for entrance into your mouth was needy, just like your lips against his own

• Geralt actually had feelings…he felt human for the first time in his life, all his Witcher responsibilities left outside of the door.

{Dating Headcannons}

• Geralt made sure to supply you with the things you need whilst you conjure up the confidence to come out of hiding.

• You felt safe with him, so if anything, you had to come out of hiding, not just for yourself but for Geralt too.

• To Geralt’s surprise, every evening (well most) he comes home to a warm cooked plate of grub, something Geralt can sit back and enjoy.

• (Geralt loves your hair, he likes to run his fingers through it whilst you lay on his chest)

• You first time outside in many years wasn’t much, just the empty fields around your small cabin. Geralt wanted you to enjoy life, and somehow had you on his back whilst you both rode roach, laughing and giggling.

• Geralt likes to give back and gives into your every need (mostly in bed) which mostly everytime has you a blushing mess not that you minded.

• Once you get over the anxiety enough to allow more people into your space, you meet his family.

• you instantly bonded with Jaskier, you became very close and always found yourself singing together in the fields whilst making flower crowns…(Jaskier has never been happier)

• (CIRI TREATS YOU LIKE AN OLDER BROTHER…) it’s kind of exhausting but you know she means well, she’s just as amazing as the rest

(NSFW)

• Over the past several months, Geralt has learned how your body reacted to the things he did, the way he did them

- learns of your GIANT breeding kink, which only turns him on more

- knows you like the pet-names he gives you e.g “love”, “Good boy”, “Precious”

- understands that releasing inside of you helps you reach your end…

- notices that you like his large, strong and heavy hands around your neck. He’d watch you squirm in your seat each time he pressed harder

- loves to watch you both fuck in the mirror next to your bed, watching you come undone beneath him really riles him up

- Geralt has a bit of a size kink…your just so tiny against him, which results in your belly bulging most of the time he fucks you…it’s a HUGE turn on for him

- (you love it when he cums inside of you…marking you as his own)

- His aftercare is next level, he treats you like his world, massages you and cleans you up after such a rough session of him using you.

[flowercrown-bard]

Oh, what’s in a name?

summary: Geralt accidentally calls Jaskier by the wrong name and Jaskier finds out that maybe that's a compliment

pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

word count: 3k

AO3

warnings: none

„Can you hand me the whetstone, Roach?”

Jaskier, already mid-motion to turn and ready to do what Geralt had asked him to, froze. Slowly, and with the biggest grin he could fit on his lips, he turned back to face Geralt again.

“What did you just say?” He could barely contain the laughter in his voice. Raising an eyebrow, he exchanged a look with Roach – well, he tried to exchange a look with Roach, but as usual, she didn’t cooperate – and let out a tiny snort.

Geralt’s brows furrowed in confusion and he gave a small grunt, before saying, “The whetstone.”

Jaskier blinked, his mouth already half-open to tease Geralt about growing old enough to forget the name of his dearest travel companion, but then he stopped himself. He squinted at Geralt, trying to find any hint on his face that he had even realised that he had called Jaskier by the wrong name, but he found none.

For a moment, he contemplated being offended by being mistaken with a horse, but then Roach trotted over to Geralt and nibbled at his hair, making the witcher look up with the softest smile as he petted her neck.

The sight of Geralt so relaxed and free with his smile, made something warm and fuzzy grow in Jaskier’s chest.

He decided not to say anything. At least for now.

--

Jaskier’s plans to tease Geralt about the name-thing later failed spectacularly. Not because Jaskier didn’t dare tease Geralt, of course, but because all of his attempts to subtly tease him didn’t work, and Jaskier was too proud of his finesse with words to take a more direct approach to his teasing.

He tried singing songs in which he exchanged Geralt’s name or moniker with something else, which only earned him an amused hum.

“Is calling me the White Wolf not enough anymore?” Geralt asked when Jaskier had finished his little ditty. “I thought you needed one moniker for me for memorability.”

Jaskier huffed and nearly opened his mouth to tell Geralt plainly why he had gone with the wrong moniker, but then he blinked.

“You listened to me while I told you about that?”

Geralt shrugged and turned to tend to Roach. Jaskier was nearly fully convinced that he only did it to have an excuse to avoid eye-contact.

“It’s nice talking to someone who talks back.”

Jaskier snorted. “My friend, I’d say out of the two of us, I’m the one who’s doing most of the talking.”

Geralt didn’t reply, proving Jaskier’s point.

--

Oh, but Jaskier had been wrong. He didn’t realise just how wrong he had been about Geralt’s penchant for taciturnity, until they had to spend more than a couple of days in town.

Had Jaskier thought Geralt didn’t like talking all that much before, he was now fully taken aback by just how little Geralt actually said. Jaskier would have thought that a town with many people – most of which were even somewhat friendly towards Geralt – would get Geralt to relax, but it only served to make him clam up and become more quiet.

That is, he was quiet, save for when he talked to Jaskier.

In comparison to how he treated everyone else, he was downright chatty with him.

After that discovery, Jaskier made a point of talking more about things that Geralt seemed to like talking about. He let him explain the importance of cleaning his swords so often, lest they rust from his touch. He let him talk for hours on end about how to take care of horses. Once Jaskier got him to open up about his family, Geralt almost didn’t stop talking about his brothers, recounting how he and Eskel had once caught a giant bumblebee or reminiscing about how Lambert had tried to set fire to the instructors’ beds when he had been a trainee.

Watching Geralt talk like that was an experience. Every word that he entrusted with Jaskier made his heart flutter and every small smile Geralt gave him as he talked, took his breath away.

“I think you’d really like them, Roach,” Geralt said to conclude his story about his brothers.

Jaskier’s lips twitched upwards, but just like the first time it had happened, Geralt didn’t seem to realise what he had just said.

Jaskier’s grin turned into a soft smile and he leaned a little against Geralt, letting their shoulders touch gently.

“If they are anything like you, I’m sure I’ll like them.”

--

A couple of weeks later, Jaskier had to admit to himself that he had been wrong once again. He really needed to be careful not to make being wrong into a habit. He had always prided himself in being intelligent – after all, he was a master of the seven liberal arts and years ago, he had made the most intelligent decision of befriending one Geralt of Rivia – and being wrong about things just wasn’t something he liked doing.

But when it came to Geralt, there were always new things to learn, new facets of him to discover. And that wasn’t something Jaskier minded. In fact, every time he learned something new about Geralt – every time Geralt trusted him with new information about himself – Jaskier’s chest felt like it was expanding with that happy little flutter inside.

It was enlightening to learn that Geralt rarely ever cooked with spices, not because they were too expensive, but because his senses were sharp enough to not need much of them.

It was interesting to find out that Geralt liked making up the witcher-code on the spot, whenever someone asked him to do something that he didn’t want to do.

It was endearing finding out that Geralt had named all of his horses Roach.

But it was utterly shocking, when after weeks of having gone their separate ways, Jaskier finally tracked down Geralt to find him talking to Roach.

He froze to his spot and listened enraptured as Geralt spoke to his horse as others did to their friends. As Geralt did to Jaskier.

No. No, that wasn’t it at all. Geralt wasn’t speaking to Roach as he did to Jaskier.

He spoke to Jaskier as he did to Roach.

Jaskier’s eyes went wide at the realisation. How long had Geralt been alone before Jaskier had attached himself to his side, with only Roach as company?

Jaskier thought back to all the times Geralt had looked insecure when speaking with Jaskier when they had first started travelling together, as if he didn’t know how to talk to people. As if he didn’t have much experience doing so outside of negotiating contracts or the winters that he spent with his family.

Thinking of it, Jaskier realised that he probably was the only friend besides Roach that Geralt had.

Jaskier swallowed against the lump forming in his throat and continued walking to Geralt, announcing his presence with a cheerful, “My friend! I missed you!”

Geralt whirled around to him, an unreadable expression on his face, and Jaskier’s chest twisted uncomfortably, unsure if he had maybe been a bit too enthusiastic, but then Geralt’s eyes softened and he gave Jaskier the smallest but most beautiful of smiles.

That evening, as they sat beside the crackling fire and Jaskier plucked a soft melody on his lute as background noise, Geralt talked to him again, telling him with only minimal prompting about the contracts he had completed while Jaskier had been away playing at court.

When the fire died down and Jaskier got too tired to stay awake any longer, Geralt softly nudged him towards his bedroll.

“We can continue this talk tomorrow,” Geralt said, a little hesitantly, as if he still wasn’t entirely sure if his voice was welcome.

“I’d love to.” Jaskier pulled his blanket up to his chin and smiled when Geralt’s shoulders lost the little tension that had taken hold of them with his last words. “Goodnight, Geralt.”

“Goodnight, Roach.”

Jaskier pulled the blanket a little higher to hide his smile. The last thing he thought, before sleep embraced him, was that it really wasn’t that bad being called by Roach’s name.

--

Now, Jaskier and Roach had never gotten along too well. He had tried to braid her mane despite Geralt warning him that she didn’t like people touching her and she had tried to bite his fingers off.

Sometimes, when Jaskier got peckish, he stole the apple slices Geralt would buy for Roach. Other times, Roach would swat at Jaskier with her tail as if he was an irritating fly, while he was in the middle of composing a song.

Safe to say, they barely did much more than tolerate each other’s presence for Geralt’s sake.

Now though, with Jaskier’s newfound knowledge about how important the mare was to Geralt, Jaskier saw her in a different light.

Oh, sure, she was still cantankerous and stubborn, but she was also Geralt’s oldest companion and friend on the Path.

So Jaskier made a point of always putting some coin aside to buy her treats whenever they got into town and composing odes to her beauty. He wasn’t sure if Roach appreciated the latter, but there was no doubt she liked the treats he got her.

It didn’t take long, until she allowed him to pet her soft muzzle and shortly after, she started following Jaskier around or approaching him happily when he came back after having split from Geralt for a while.

At first, Geralt watched this new display of affection between them warily, but all too soon, Jaskier caught him smiling when Roach nibbled at Jaskier’s hair or Jaskier went out of his way to brush her down.

One time, while Geralt had thought Jaskier was too deep in thought composing to hear him, he had whispered to Roach how happy he was that the two of them got along.

--

“Remember when I said you would like my brothers?” Geralt said one morning, completely out of the blue, while watching Jaskier try to catch the falling red leaves from the air.

Distracted, Jaskier missed the leaf just by a hair’s breadth. It landed on his head instead. Seemingly without thinking, Geralt brushed it off Jaskier’s head, lingering just a little too long to be a casual touch.

“Y-yeah,” Jaskier said, his heart jumping to his throat. “Of course I remember you talking about Eskel and Lambert.”

Something lit up in Geralt’s eyes. “You remember their names?”

“Naturally,” Jaskier said softly. “They are important to you.”

Geralt remained quiet for a little while, just staring at Jaskier with an unreadable expression. “They are,” he said finally. Geralt’s throat bobbed when he swallowed. “I was wondering…if maybe you would like to meet them?”

Jaskier’s brows shot up. “Are they near?”

Geralt shook his head and turned away, clearly pretending to check over Roach’s saddle.

“You could meet them if you came with me to Kaer Morhen.”

For once, Jaskier was at a loss of words. He must have stayed silent for so long that Geralt began worrying, for he turned back to him with a frown.

Before he could take his words back, Jaskier surged forward and slung his arms around him.

“I would love to come with you.”

--

On their way up the mountain, Jaskier needled Geralt with questions about the keep, but Geralt refused to give as much as a hint of what Jaskier had to expect from a winter with the wolves.

Jaskier considered pouting, but the twinkle in Geralt’s eyes made it impossible to even pretend to be mad at him. Not when it was clear that Geralt was going back to his taciturn ways to have the keep be a surprise for Jaskier.

And a surprise it was.

When the walls of Kaer Morhen came into view, towering over them, Jaskier lost all ability to speak. His eyes raked over the massive doors, the towers that stretched high into the sky and every part of the courtyard that he just itched to explore.

A soft noise beside him made him turn towards Geralt again. His breath caught in his throat when he met Geralt’s gaze, soft and holding more fondness than Geralt had ever allowed himself to show Jaskier while they were out there on the continent.

--

Geralt hadn’t lied when he had said that Jaskier would get along with his family. It didn’t take more than one night of drinking together, for Jaskier to decide that the other wolf witchers were his friends now too.

Eskel showed him his poetry collection and his eyes lit up when Jaskier promised to discuss every poem in it with Eskel.

Vesemir was happy to have someone who listened to him with enthusiasm when he talked about monsters and fighting techniques for once.

Lambert was a little harder to get to warm up to Jaskier, but after Jaskier had beaten Geralt in a round of gwent – granted, he had cheated shamelessly, but a victory was a victory – Lambert had barked out a laugh and ruffled Jaskier’s hair, proclaiming that he should come to Kaer Morhen more often.

--

It was mid-winter when the inevitable happened again. Jaskier had started to look forward to it, but he hadn’t realised just what it would mean if Geralt slipped up again while at Kaer Morhen.

Lambert, Geralt and Jaskier were just shovelling snow near the stables, when it happened. Well, maybe calling it ‘shovelling snow’ was a bit generous. That certainly was what they were supposed to do, but after Lambert had thrown the snow to the side with enough enthusiasm to –maybe? – accidentally hit Jaskier with it instead, it had turned into a full blown snow fight, in which Jaskier constantly shifted sides from ganging up on Lambert with Geralt and throwing his arms around Geralt in a hug to keep him in place while Lambert put snow down Geralt’s shirt.

“Stop it,” Geralt laughed and wriggled in his grip, enough to be playful, but coming nowhere close to using even half of his full strength. “Let go, or I’ll throw you into a pile of snow, Roach!”

“I’d like to see you try.” Jaskier smirked and tightened his hold. “Lambert, now!”

But Lambert was frozen mid-motion of grabbing more snow. He stared at Geralt with the biggest shit eating grin on his face.

“Roach?” He asked with a snort. “Did you just call him Roach?”

In Jaskier’s arms, Geralt stiffened. “I-“

He broke off, throwing a quick glance at Jaskier over his shoulder, before looking away again. Yet, it had been enough for Jaskier to see the look that he had come to understand as blind panic on Geralt’s face.

Before Jaskier could ask him what was wrong, Geralt shrugged him off, easily freeing himself from the hold he had so happily endured before.

“Geralt-“

But Geralt didn’t even falter in his steps. He all but fled into the stables.

Jaskier exchanged a quick look with Lambert who shrugged as if he didn’t care, but followed Geralt’s flight with his eyes and a hint of worry in his expression.

Jaskier didn’t hesitate any longer and ran after Geralt.

Geralt must have heard him enter the stables and hid, for when Jaskier’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, Geralt was nowhere to be found.

Jaskier’s steps slowed and he rubbed his fingers together nervously.

“Geralt?” He asked uncertainly. The only reply he got was the huffing from the horses.

Jaskier’s heart sank, but he set his brow in determination. In two strides, he walked over to the box with Roach, who blew a breath of hot air into his face in greeting.

“Hello there, Roach,” Jaskier began, loud enough that there was no mistaking that he fully intended Geralt to hear him, even though he knew it was unnecessary to raise his voice since Geralt would have been able to hear him even if he had whispered. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while, my dear lady. Did you know that Geralt sometimes calls me by your name?”

Roach huffed and Jaskier began stroking the white stripe on her face.

“Yes, I know,” he continued, “But I swear he doesn’t mean it as an insult to you. I for one am actually rather flattered. I’ve been called by the wrong name before, and usually it’s something that makes me feel like the other person doesn’t think I’m worth having my name remembered. Or as if they don’t respect me enough to learn it. But it’s different with Geralt.” His voice softened. “If he calls me by the name of someone who means so much to him, then that is the highest honour I can imagine. You have no idea how happy it makes me that he trusts and likes me enough to talk to me like he does to his other most faithful friend. And can I tell you a secret, dear Roach?” He got up on his tiptoes to get closer to her ear as he stage-whispered, “Geralt is really important to me too. And I really want him to know that I mean it when I say that he’s my best friend, whether he calls me by your name or mine.”

Behind him, straw rustled and the tapping of steps announced that Geralt was coming closer. Not only that, but the fact that Jaskier could hear Geralt approach, meant that Geralt put effort into not startling him. Jaskier hid his smile in Roach’s neck. Out of the corner of his eyes, he watched Geralt approach slowly, as if he was unsure about every step he took.

Finally, he reached them, standing on Roach’s other side. Jaskier heard him take in a deep breath and he already readied himself to listen to Geralt talk to Roach as he had just done, but then Geralt rounded Roach and came to stand before Jaskier instead.

In his eyes, fear and fondness fought a battle, that fondness won when Jaskier reached out a hand to softly brush it against Geralt’s. With a sigh that expanded Geralt’s entire chest, Geralt intertwined their fingers.

“I-thank you,” Geralt said, looking down at their joined hands. “For understanding. For not being angry at me. I – you are important to me too. More important than anyone outside of Kaer Morhen ever was.” He lifted his head again, giving Jaskier an intense look that sent shivers up his spine. With more meaning, affection and trust than anyone had ever spoken Jaskier’s name with, Geralt said, “You are the most important person to me, Jaskier.”

Jaskier’s eyes stung and he let out a small choked noise. Without thinking, he tugged Geralt closer and flung his free arm around his shoulders, holding him as tightly as he could and burying his head in Geralt’s chest. Geralt’s hand that wasn’t holding Jaskier’s still, came up to cradle the back of his head and Geralt’s cheek pressed against the top of his head.

“Geralt.” Jaskier’s voice got muffled but the low rumble in Geralt’s chest as he hummed in acknowledgement told Jaskier that he could still understand him. “You’re my most important person too. My Geralt.”

“My Jaskier.”

--

Over the years, Geralt slipped up less and less. Jaskier would have been almost disappointed, if he didn’t like the way Geralt called him “my Jaskier”, or “my Buttercup” so much.

Well. Jaskier had been wrong before when it came to Geralt and as it turned out, he continued to have this terrible habit, try as he might to get rid of it. Because, when Jaskier had assumed that Geralt didn’t slip up on his and Roach’s names anymore, he had been dead wrong.

The thing was, after years of having Jaskier at his side, of being close to him and loving him with his entire being, Geralt had gotten so used to talking to Jaskier, that one day, while Jaskier was plucking away idly at his lute and Geralt was brushing down Roach, he heard the most curious thing, that made him smile wider than he had ever smiled before.

“There you go,” Geralt said as he brushed down Roach’s flank and she kept turning her head, trying to get to the treats in Geralt’s pockets. “You’ll get the treats if you’re a good horse and stay still for once, Jaskier.”

[zodiyack]

Being Married To Henry’s Characters Would Include...

Requested by @cuisinequeen​: Hi, I love your work. I was just wondering if you could do a headcanon for being married to Clark Kent/Geralt/Sherlock Holmes/Napoleon Solo

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader, Geralt of Rivia x Reader, Sherlock Holmes x Reader, Napoleon Solo x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, some references, trashy writing lol

Note: This doesn’t include all of his characters, so my apologies if I misled you with the title. Not all that confident in the HCs so sorry about that too

Taglist: @matth1w​, @redspaceace-writes​, @simonsbluee​, @darling-i-read-it​, @fandom-puff​, @thewarriorprincessxo​, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow​, @maan24​, @beckster07890​, @missihart23​

Masterlist | Henry Cavill Masterlist

Clark Kent

You know he’s superman, therefore, you gotta expect the unexpected

Kiss: Level 100

helping him keep his identity secret isn’t always easy-

you wanna kiss him even when he’s superman but fuck you need him to remain undetected

but you manage

Little hc of the first few months after getting married:

Clark comes home late after a fight you see on tv

you turned it off before anything else happened, too worried already

he’s beat up

your eyes are red and puffy with tear stained cheeks as you stand and cross your arms.

you bet your ass there were cuddles that night.

Later into the marriage, he still scares you like that, but you’ve grown somewhat used to it and wipe the tears away

He’s protective of you too though

Aight sorry, but the gif is making me addicted to Henry kisses so Imma say it again,

best fucking make out sessions ever

yes, I’m gonna say that for all four.

fuck it, Clark!Kisses HCs

they’re soft half the time, needy the other half

if he comes home from superman duties or you have a run-in with a villain, so on so on, his kisses are rougher, needier, more possessive

bitch, he just needs you to know he’s still alive 🥺😢

Henry in glasses really do be hittin tho.

Stealing his glasses

Calling him a nerd because of the glasses

Probably making it a small joke about superman

Especially with oblivious friends

“I think superman’s a nerd.” “why??” “I just do.”

Having to stifle your laughs every time someone gushes about superman in front of him

Clark has to hold you back so you don’t unleash your wrath of fucking doom upon some oblivious woman who wrote about superman in a news article

She wrote things that would make you jealous, like talking about how she’s curious to his personal life *wink wink* and stuff- you don’t just have a raging fury because someone writes about him

Superman this hoe

You’ve made jokes about how he has to take his ring off when he’s superman, but he’s got a feeling that you’re actually not kidding at all

Exercising with Clark

Cursing him out in breathy pants for being more athletic and cheating with his “alien powers”

he just laughs at you

Ah, the difficulty have having a husband with two identities

When you rant about your husband, it’s so hard not to fuck up and say something about being married to Superman

Forgetting that you’re one of the few who knows his identity

Basking in pride because you’re one of the few who knows his identity

One time, Clark forgot to take his ring off and the person he rescued had known him personally.

He asks where he got the ring-

“What ring?”

“The one on your finger. The wedding ring.”

It felt like his stomach dropped...if that makes sense-

Clark ended up making some random story about finding it on the same plane the guy he rescued was on and that he put it on so he wouldn’t lose it.

The guy still thought he was pretty sus, “why was it on your wedding ring finger then?” but let him off after some time

The guy gave it back to Clark in person, but you had no idea what happened,

so when he gave him the ring, you were watching with the most confused look Clark had ever seen

thankfully, he played it off well and informed you later

He forgot to take off his wedding ring? You “secretly” fist bumped the air- ...he totally saw you though

Geralt Of Rivia

I don’t think Geralt really expected to get married

Jaskier didn’t either-

He’s the only one who stands when the priest asks if anyone doesn’t accept... only to ask how the fuck Geralt got lucky enough to get you

Everyone laughed but Geralt, he just grunted and looked away with a lil’ bit o pink tinting his cheeks

You demand he lets you go on adventures with him

You also wash him after adventures

wink wonk ;)))

Geralt is a stubborn thing

You’re a stubborn thing

Y’all love each other

When I say that Geralt is a confusing husband-

I mean that he confuses the fuck out of you

“don’t do that”

“okay”

few minutes later

“I thought you were doing that-”

“You told me not too...?”

“I don’t recall. Do whatever.”

Minutes later.

“What the fuck!?! Don’t do that!”

He’s hard to read and it bugs you

However, it makes a good game out of it

If he ever introduces you as anything but his spouse, you hold a bitter glare while internally plotting

Before you marry, Jaskier hits on you without realizing that Geralt is interested in you

He gulps nervously as soon as it hits him

You might just use that mistake as a way to get back at Geralt for not saying you’re his spouse

Jaskier pleads you not to

like for real

He’s in tears

CuDdLeS!

Congrats, you have a stubborn manbaby for the rest of however long y’all shall live

Kithes

Geralt is a little distant when it comes to admitting his feelings for you at first

When you’re dating, you’re all over each other

Marriage is that but amplified lmao

Braiding his hair

Teasing him not the wink wonk and getting away with it because you’re his spouse

If Jaskier said anything remotely close to the shit you’ve said, Geralt would probably choke him out

But then resuscitate him cause they’re bros

Seeing the softer side of Geralt

Sure, sex, but getting to know each others bodies? Yes.

Soft!Sleepy!Geralt

His deep n husky morning voice telling you to “get your ass back in bed”

Having the excuse of “because I’m his spouse” anytime you do stuff people are too afraid to do

Jealous bb 1 and jealous bb 2 aka Geralt and Y/n

I think Geralt’s the kind of guy to just pick you up, ignore your flailing limbs, and move you out of the way

He takes shit from no one...well, from you SOMETIMES

Gives in to your requests with a sigh and roll of his eyes most of the time

He was protective of you at first

now he’s PrOtEcTiVe so uh

Basically, number one husband, number two bodyguard

you put yourself first for the bodyguard part, but Geralt doesn’t know that

Sherlock Holmes

He asks your family for their blessing, then asks you-

I can imagine Mycroft just ranting away and Sherlock drops to his knee

“What are you doing?”

He ignores his brother and proposes to you

Mycroft is confused and upset because he wanted to rant about meaningless things and Sherlock decided to change the topic

rude

Being married means constant visits from Enola

Probably being the “second parents” to Enola

Gossip with Enola and Eudoria about Sherlock and him as a kiddo

Kicking Sherlock out of the house for sleepovers with his sister

bet

Helping Sherlock with cases

Dealing with Sherlock telling you it isn’t safe

still being upset when he’s right you know it

Finding Enola and Eudoria with him

Snapping at Mycroft for how he treats the girl and everyone else

Threatening Mycroft by just being a badass bitch and telling him to fuck off every now and then

Long story short, you make Enola laugh and Mycroft scoff as he walks away

He’s a stubborn bean, which now that I think about it- aren’t all Henry’s characters?

While he doesn’t say it much, he loves you

You get paranoid with this character too, as he does work that can be very dangerous as well

When he returns, he doesn’t say much aside from that he’s there now and that he loves you

cuddles with him whispering softly,

“I’m here now.” “I’m safe.” “I’m okay.” “I love you.”

Kisses in public either be quick pecks or minute long for goodbyes, but greetings-

especially after being apart for a while?

HC TIME

He comes home on the train and you’re at the station with his siblings

As soon as he spots you, he sets his stuff down because you’re already running at him

You jump into his arms and kiss him hard, not caring in the slightest about the other people at the station

It makes you smile every time he introduces you as his spouse

You’ve heard it so many times yet it still makes your heart flutter every single time

Napoleon Solo

The amount of times you’ve just dropped everything and walked away because he was being ‘too serious”-

You say something, he takes it seriously, you groan and stomp away

But then you know you can do the same back to him

Napoleon is an all around awesome husband but he’s not going to just pretend to agree with stuff

Will correct you no matter how embarrassed you get 

Makes up with kisses or stuff idk

Let me be honest, I don’t know much about writing for Napoleon but he is an icon...sometimes

He’s protective

by that I mean he’s stubborn but really it’s his way of keeping you safe

Would probably lock you in your room even though you’re a, a grown ass adult, and b, his spouse for fuck’s sake?!??!

Doesn’t tell you when something’s bothering him unless he feels the need to

“I’m not a fucking mind-reader, Solo!”

“Neither am I but I still manage-”

He doesn’t mean to make you feel bad, he just- emotions and him aren’t the best of friends

Emotions aren’t exactly friends with most of his characters

He’d much rather just speak with actions than admit anything

Sometimes you worry that he’s just fucking with you

When he proposed, it scared the shit out of you ‘cause you thought it was a joke

Never admits to anything willingly...?

Yeah sorry...Idk, that’s all I got :\

[rebrandedbard]

If you are still writing 14?

Okay so this one accidentally went from a drabble to an actual fic whoops. The cure is totally inspired by the Rapunzel fairy tale, spoiler alert, where the prince falls in the thorn bushes around the tower and Rapunzel’s tears fall into his eyes, curing him.

14. “Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always.”

wc: 4444 which is an awesome number I’m so happy lol

Robbed Blind

Someone botches a spell to steal Jaskier’s artistic vision and he’s cursed with blindness. Thankfully, he falls into the company of Ciri and Lambert. They journey safely to Kaer Morhen, but what could be the cure to his affliction?

-

She had found him, tripping over the strings of destiny, in Drakenborg. He’d been on his way to Oxenfurt when the curse took hold, and he had gone no further. Jaskier was haggard, gaunt, and looked quite worn. His hair lay flat from constant fussing. It was a habit Ciri remembered well from his visits, always combing a nervous hand through his hair before a performance. She had never seen it look so lifeless. He needed a mirror, she thought. She would soon realize that a mirror would serve him no purpose.

He was blind. He startled when she ran to him, throwing her arms around his waist. She’d been so relieved to see a friendly face that she’d run right into his arms, nearly knocking him from the stool in the corner of the tavern. Why should he not catch her as he’d always done? He’d been looking directly at her; she thought he’d merely not recognized her beneath the mud and hood.

“Let me go! Who are you? Stop—stop this now or I’ll give you such a wallop, I’ll—!”

“Jaskier!” Ciri cried, shocked. She flinched away from him as he elbowed her roughly against her temple. She rubbed the spot, standing out of reach.

Jaskier straightened up at once. “Is that—? Little cub, is that you?” he asked. He turned his head as if searching for her and reached out a hand, feeling the air. It was nowhere near.

Ciri took his hand. During their long weeks of travel, she refused to let it go again. She became his eyes, and together they started for Oxenfurt and the safety of its halls.

He’d woken up blind one day, he explained. No warning or explanation. The mage had told him what magic was at play. Someone had tried to steal his artistic vision and the enchantment had gone wrong, stealing from him his very sight.

“Is there not a cure?” Ciri asked.

Jaskier shook his head. “The mage said it was a botched spell. There’s no telling what will fix it, only that it must have something to do with artistic vision. The mage suggested it might be cured by the old methods: kisses and the like; gazing upon true beauty.”

He squinted and took her face between his hands. “I’m looking and looking at you as hard as I can, and I remember you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen when you were first born. So what do mages know? Have you become a pox-faced adolescent or scraggly Medusa? Ah,” he chuckled, “but you’d still be a fairytale princess in my eyes if you had the face of a basilisk.”

She laughed and squirmed out of his hands. “You were always very good at Blind Man’s Bluff. Do you remember when we used to play it? Back then, you were always stumbling; you aren’t stumbling as much anymore.”

“I’ve grown used to it, I suppose. But you are a princess—do you suppose a kiss from you might cure me? How are you with frogs? Ever wake a sleeping prince?”

“No, but we may try it. There’s magic in me of a sort, I know. Here, kneel a moment.”

Jaskier knelt on the dry road and closed his eyes, tapping the lid. “Right here. Give it a go,” he said encouragingly. “If it doesn’t work, we’ll practice on a frog and work our way up.”

Ciri kissed both eyes to be sure. “Alright. Open them. Do you see anything?”

She tried not to get her hopes up, watching Jaskier squeeze his eyes tight. He opened them, blinked several times, and gave her a sad smile.

“Not to worry, we’ll find a pond in no time,” he joked, trying to keep the mood light.

-

“Well! I go to find a cat and find a lioness instead. And a songbird. Must be my lucky day.”

Ciri put herself between the stranger and Jaskier, waving a large branch in warning. “Keep away,” she growled. “If you come any closer, I’ll scream.”

The scruffy man put his hands up and grinned. “I’ve heard what sort of screaming runs in your family. Trust me, I would rather not be around for one of them. Heard it knocked pretty boy flat on his back at your mother’s little Surprise party.”

Jaskier put a hand on Ciri’s shoulder. “Wait a moment,” he said. “I know that moniker. Geralt complained of it before.” He was quiet a moment, stirring up a memory. Then, he lit up, asking excitedly, “Did you say you were looking for a cat? A cat witcher, by chance?”

“Why? Find one up a tree?” the stranger pressed.

Jaskier patted Ciri’s shoulder and strode forward, extending a hand. “You must be Lambert! I’ve heard—” his hand buckled against Lambert’s chest, his stride clearing the distance too quickly “—oh, my apologies. I’ve heard about you before. I was hoping to see you under better circumstances if I ever got the chance. Or to see you at all, really. Damnable timing.”

Lambert looked at him, then took his hand. Ciri watched as the understanding settled in, for Jaskier was staring straight at the man’s forehead, a near lucky guess of his eye line. Lambert wore an expression of pity freely, knowing Jaskier could not see it, though his tone was light and cocky as before. “I always wondered what you saw in that sourpuss, following him as long as you did; now I know you didn’t see anything after all,” he joked.

Jaskier snorted. “It’s new.”

“Ah, so you’ve been blinded by love, have you?”

Jaskier flapped his hand until he felt the brush of Ciri’s sleeve at his side, then he tugged her forward and presented her. He cleared his throat, a tad flushed. “May I introduce Her Royal Highness, Princess Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, the Lion Cub of Cintra. Geralt’s child Surprise.”

Ciri tossed her branch aside. “You know Geralt,” she said.

“They’re brothers.”

Lambert sneered. “He got all the looks, Eskel got the talent, but I got the brains.”

“What little there were to be had,” Jaskier added.

“Oh, ho! You’ll fit right in at the keep, talking like that.”

There was a pregnant pause between the three of them. Jaskier nudged Ciri gently forward. “She’ll be safe there. And her wit is more cutting than mine.”

Ciri turned at once to protest. “But what about Ox—”

“And so would you,” Lambert cut in. “A dull knife and a dull wit can be sharpened, and I’d rather keep two knives in my belt than one, whatever their make. Don’t start that maudlin shit with me; you’re coming along.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to protest and Lambert raised a hand. Then, realizing how ineffective that was against one who could not see it, he recovered and smacked the side of Jaskier’s head to shut him up before he started.

“Come on; it’s a long and dull road we have ahead of us, and you’re my entertainment. I want to hear every embarrassing story you can supply. I’ve long run out of blackmail and I’m in need of fresh material. Besides, what better bait for a cat than a twittering bird? If you sing loud enough, we might pick him up along the way.”

-

They were all together in the great hall when at last he came. The figure stood in the doorway, a black dot against the stark white of winter outside. A pair of bags dropped with a thundering bang upon the floor, the sound echoing throughout the room, and the figure bundled up by the fire started awake in fright.

Jaskier patted the blanket beside him, made frantic by his sudden awakening. “Ciri? Ciri!” he called, for she had been asleep next to him what seemed only moments ago.

She paused only a moment to stare at the imposing figure in the light. Something in her shouted, compelling her to go to him. But Jaskier called for her in that voice wrought with panic once more. She flew from the circle of wolves to his side, abandoning her hand of cards, disregarding the man of destiny at the door.

“I’m here,” she said, taking his hands. “Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always. I’m not going anywhere.” She and the others looked at each other, looked at Geralt, and said not a word.

Jaskier settled and took a deep breath. “I heard something crash. I dreamed—but never mind that.” He sighed, pressing his head to their joined hands. “I’m sorry. I know it’s safe here. I’m just not used to you wandering off just yet.”

“I know.” She stroked his hair gently. It was soft again, though not as silky as before. Lambert and Eskel had drawn him a bath for the first time in a long while, but he had not his customary soaps and oils. He was … less bright, his appearance dulled with his mood.

Vesemir had examined him. Countless hours, the wolves had huddled together in the old library, trying to find a cure for Jaskier’s condition to no avail. As time went by, the reality of his situation weighed on Jaskier. He could no longer read his notebook, nor write his music to be remembered. Ciri read his notes aloud and studied the art so she might transcribe them for him, but it was obvious how he felt.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” he’d said.

And now he gave her that same false smile, the one that failed to meet his eyes. She missed the lines in the corners and wished they might come back. Perhaps they’d flown off with the crows, frightened of the winter snow.

“Go back to your game,” he whispered. “I’ll head up to bed.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” she offered.

He shook his head. “I know the way now. If someone will take me to the stairwell?” he prompted, raising a hand.

Ciri looked at Geralt. There was so little she knew of him—stories and songs … words spared in rumors and stolen from conversations where she lingered unnoticed to listen. What she knew of the wolf and bard she had pieced together with care. For all the tales Jaskier would tell, he would not disparage Geralt before her, and he would not tell the story of the dragon hunt. But dwarves talk. Stories travel and lesser bards would imitate the songs of greater. Witchers collect news of other witchers, and two adults would speak as adults when ale made easy speech. Jaskier had confided in Lambert those tearing words once flung at him upon the mountain. And thus she had put the final piece into place of the great mystery between them.

‘If life could give me one blessing…’

“Who will take him?” she asked. She kept Geralt’s eyes as she rose to her feet. “Who will take him into his hands?”

It was only the barest movement, but she swore she saw the wolf of legend flinch.

Jaskier sat up with a huff. “You make it sound so dramatic. Are we playing at a quest now? Very well, who is my knight errant? The princess has thus decreed a quest is in order: a quest up the perilous tower steps, my-my! Such a task!”

“I should think a white knight is the one suited best for the task,” Vesemir grunted. He shuffled his hand, eyes narrowed at Geralt.

The white knight in question let his cloak fall. He shook the snow from his arms and dusted them slowly, looking at each watching face in turn. His hesitation was clear. When none moved to claim Jaskier, he stepped forward cautiously. Without a word, he took Jaskier’s hand and lifted him to his feet.

Jaskier clapped an arm around his shoulder, hands patting the edge of his long hair. “Ah, thank you, Vesemir,” he said. His hand slipped from Geralt’s armour and he made a face, flicking his wet hand in the air. He prodded the armour curiously. “You’re soaked; I thought you said you’d sent Eskel for the firewood.” He prodded again and bumped against Geralt’s shoulder pad. He pinched it between his fingers, figuring out its shape. He hummed curiously. “What are you wearing? Did you go hunting?”

Geralt stared. Jaskier was not looking at him. Geralt looked at the circle of men by the fireside and there sat Vesemir in silence, watching. He was struck dumb. What … game was this?

“A knight needs a knight’s armour,” Lambert called.

Jaskier laughed. “Oh, of course. Such a soft touch; did you get all dressed up for Ciri? Have I woken in the middle of a game?”

Eskel tossed a card in the middle of the circle. “Yes,” he answered, “but we’ve just started on another, different game.”

“Very cold and calculated,” Ciri agreed.

“Cold and calculated. So a snowball fight has become a snowball war, no doubt born of the most complicated strategies. Shame on the lot of you. You ought to let your elders warm themselves before sending them on tasks. You’re young; you’ve got legs,” Jaskier scolded.

“It was his idea,” Eskel replied.

Vesemir nodded, keeping silent as the game unravelled.

Jaskier looped his arm through Geralt’s and stood straight and tall in an affected manner. “Come, my good knight,” he said, “and let us bid good night to these slacking youths.”

He started to walk in the general direction of the stair, Geralt turning them with truer aim. Geralt looked over his shoulder at the others, frowning. This was not the sort of confrontation he expected when next he saw Jaskier. If he ever saw him. And here was his child Surprise in their midst without a word of greeting or explanation, and the bard, the two of them together and settled within the walls of the keep.

It was too perplexing for him to puzzle out. And Jaskier was acting strangely. Where were his speeches? Geralt had expected him to argue on sight, or else to pretend all was right and greet him, “Geralt! How good to see you,” or, “Fancy meeting you here,” and play off the mountain like it never happened. Or at the very least to ignore him. But to call him Vesemir and take to his arm? What joke was he playing at?

The answer came as Jaskier dodged the first step and nearly fumbled upon the stair. He clung to Geralt’s arm with a cry and his other hand shot out to grope the wall. He flailed for it, feeling his way from the step outward, then sliding his hand up the side of it. He turned his head, looked at Geralt and laughed. “I’m still not used to these uneven steps,” he said. “Give me time and I’ll be able to find my way around unassisted. By next week, I’ll be able to navigate every pool in the hot springs, then you four will never see me fully dressed again!”

Geralt raised a hand to Jaskier’s face. He rested a thumb just beneath his eye. They were as blue as ever, nothing seemed amiss, and yet …

Jaskier’s smile weakened. He closed his eyes and pushed the hand away. “I know the three of you are working hard to find a cure. I know the jokes fall flat. But I must make them. If I don’t … Vesemir, if I can’t make light of it, the darkness I see will be all I have left.”

He turned toward the stair again, hand firm on Geralt’s arm, the other on the wall. “Right then. Up we go. Just one at a time,” he said. He stepped tentatively forwards, prodding his foot before him until he nudged the base of the first step. “Got it. First is always hardest, isn’t it?”

They carried on. Two steps, three, one after the other slowly. They were uneven by design: a final defense against those who would try to invade their stronghold. The spiral stair favored those who walked it every day, gave advantage to the men who would be at the top, swinging their swords to fight back those who would dare trespass unwitting. It was difficult enough for any stranger with sight. With Jaskier, it was a quest in itself.

Midway up, Geralt thought to carry him. They were going so slowly; it would have been easiest that way. He nearly offered, but stopped. If he spoke, Jaskier would know him. He began to reach an arm out to simply lift him, but Jaskier fumbled once more, his knee hitting the step with a mumbled curse. And Geralt heard him muttering through his teeth as he crouched upon the stair.

“I will learn,” he hissed. “This will not stop me. I refuse to be a burden to anyone. Never again.” He touched his forehead to the step and Geralt put a hand to his back. He was trembling.

When Jaskier rose again, he did not take Geralt’s arm. He reached out and took hold of the wall on either side, arms stretched wide to hold himself up. He proceeded to climb the stair alone. When Geralt reached out to help, Jaskier waved him away.

“No,” he whispered. “We’re nearly at the top. Just let me do this much. Please.”

And Geralt let his hand fall away.

Jaskier reached the landing with a powerful stomp, expecting a final step. He breathed a sigh of relief and sagged against the right wall. Geralt followed behind and patted his shoulder. Small congratulations. From there, Jaskier walked down the corridor, tapping when he came upon a wooden door. He passed three, tapped each with his knuckles, counting. When he reached the forth door, he opened it. In this space, he walked with ease away from the wall. He flopped confidently upon the bed and rested a moment as one does after a long journey.

He shucked off his doublet and loosened the laces of his boots. He set these aside at the very foot of the bed where they might easily be found again. He undid the back lace of his trousers, paused, and inclined his head toward the door.

“Are you still there, Vesemir?” he asked.

Geralt did not know how to respond. He stood fixed in the doorway, but dropped his eyes to his feet modestly. After a moment’s wait, Jaskier finished undressing and climbed beneath the heavy furs. A memory stirred—that was not the final task of the evening. What was the last of their routine each night? What was left undone that made this finality seem so abrupt? Geralt realized it in the darkness of the room. He had no candle to blow out.

The truth struck Geralt sharp as a blade to his gut. He stole through the door, walking quietly toward the bed. He sat on the edge, the furs rumpled beneath him, and listened to Jaskier’s breathing. He was not yet asleep—would never be, so soon—but he did not stir.

Geralt took his hand gently.

Jaskier squeezed it back.

“I only wish that had not been the last I’d seen of him,” Jaskier whispered. “I try to remember his smile now. For all my poetry, I can’t remember it clearly. His smiles were so rare, but I don’t suppose you need me to tell you. Or perhaps you do. I don’t know if he smiled here; I know nothing his life in this place. Were you so fortunate that they were commonplace?”

Silent footsteps creeped up the stair. Ciri had waited long enough to follow. Geralt heard no sign of her under the ringing words of Jaskier’s speech. Though he spoke no louder than the breath of the wind, every last syllable echoed like a clap of thunder in his ears.

Jaskier slipped his hand free and turned on his pillow, hugging it close. “I wish I might at least see Ciri now, know how she’s grown. They change so quickly at that age. Does she look like her mother? Does she look like him? Destiny makes strange things of those it touches. She was beginning to look like him, I once thought.”

She saw him well enough, looking through the open door. She crouched behind the wall, listening as she always did in secret, for the things he would not burden her with.

“I always did wonder what you looked like. Geralt spoke once to me of his brothers, his mentor. You’re still stories to me in ways. I know you have long hair, grey with age. I know Lambert is shorn, Eskel is shaggy. I know your voices, your height, and a hundred other things. But do you share his eyes? What color is the armour you wear? How does the sun set over the mountainside? The carpets before the hearth—what pattern is woven there? What thousands of stories do you keep in that library? What do the monsters look like illustrated in the great bestiary?”

He buried his face in his pillow. His voice was muffled, but both Geralt and Ciri could hear the husk in it. “I won’t feel sorry for myself. It doesn’t mean anything—just idle curiosity. It doesn’t matter how the carpet is woven or if you wear brown shirts or red. I’ve seen a lifetime of sunrises and sunsets and stars. I don’t want them!” he barked. He writhed on the bed, his face falling from the pillow, stained with tears. “I don’t! I never needed them, not one! I don’t care—I don’t! None of them are important!”

Geralt rushed forward and took Jaskier in his arms. Jaskier struggled, beating at his chest, and refused to be coddled. “No!” he wailed. “Don’t comfort me, I don’t need it! I don’t want it! I will not be pitied!” But for his hard words, he clung to Geralt’s armour, sobbing against his shoulder. “It’s unnecessary. It’s just a bunch of poetry. Useless poetry and songs.”

Jaskier pulled away, Geralt’s hands trailing from his back to his shoulders as he sat up. Geralt held him there before he could retreat more. Before he could think twice of it, Geralt leaned in, his hands cupping Jaskier’s face on either side.

“Vese—”

Something warm and wet fell onto Jaskier’s lashes. He heard a shaky breath, felt the warmth of it upon his face. Another hot tear fell into his other eye and he blinked in surprise, for it was not his own. He sat perfectly still in shock, blinking the falling tears away.

“They were never useless,” Geralt said. “They were always important—all of them.”

Jaskier twitched, raising his head by instinct up to look at the man who held him now. “You were—!”

“I’m sorry. For not speaking before. For … not speaking then. After. And for saying what I did that day.” He wiped the tears beneath Jaskier’s eyes away, an expression of pain twisting his hollowed features. “If I’d not sent you away—I don’t know what’s become of you, but I might have—I could have tried to prevent it. You would still have your sight.”

Jaskier covered Geralt’s hands. “No, Geralt. This is none of your doing. You can’t—”

A loud bump from the hall startled him. Jaskier turned at once to look.

“Ciri,” he breathed.

Ciri had a finger to her mouth and was glaring up at a tall man. They both cowed back, being caught. Jaskier looked between them as Geralt’s hands slipped away. He stood, walking toward them. He looked at Ciri, gaping, their eyes perfectly aligned. Jaskier fell to his knees before her and took her hands without fumbling.

“Ciri,” he said. “You’re so … my good gods, you’ve grown.”

All were still as he reached out, touching her face as though she were made of glass. He smoothed her hair away, taking all of her in. He laughed, new tears falling as he pulled her close and crushed her in his arms. “You’re so beautiful!” he cried. He stroked her hair, cradling her against him as tight as he dared. “And you!” He looked up at the witcher in the hall, reaching out to him and taking his hand. “Which one are you? Say something now, quickly. Let me hear your voice and know you.”

“Eskel,” he answered. And then Jaskier was up on his feet, pulling him into another embrace.

“Eskel!” Jaskier cheered. “Eskel, you look even more heroic than I ever imagined! Oh, let me look at you. Oh, oh! Lambert! Vesemir! Where are you, come forward!”

He dashed into the hall, only to turn on his heel for another look at Eskel, for just one more eyeful of Ciri. Over her shoulder, he saw Geralt sitting there on the bed, his yellow eyes wide, the tears still clinging to his chin.

“Oh,” Jaskier whispered. “Oh, I see. I see.”

He walked forward, gliding a hand beneath Geralt’s jaw. He touched his eyes with his other hand. Carefully, he wiped the last of Geralt’s tears away. It dangled, a little drop at the tip of his finger and he brought it close. He closed his hands around it, cradled them to his chest.

Geralt stood slowly before him. And he smiled.

Ciri tugged at Jaskier’s shirt, her head turned away politely. She cleared her throat and said, “Jaskier? Lambert and Vesemir are on their way up. And you’re … well, you’re not at your most presentable.”

Eskel averted his eyes, his back turned to the scene, however touching. “You might want to get a bit more dressed. And quickly,” he added, for Jaskier was standing in his smallclothes.

Jaskier snorted. “All of you, turn away for decency’s sake! We’re having a moment, here.”

“And what about me?” Geralt asked. “Shall I look away?”

It was nothing but empty jest and Jaskier smiled. “No,” he replied. “No, you’re looking where you’re needed. But I suppose to be fair …”

He clapped a hand over Geralt’s eyes. He leaned forward, whispering against Geralt’s lips. “There. Now no one can see. No one … but me.”

There were no witnesses to that first kiss. It was a secret Jaskier kept for himself.

However, the second, third, and forth had quite a startled audience, as Geralt and Jaskier both fell deaf to the clatter of footsteps in the hall. Ciri took it upon herself to usher the others from the room, explaining on the way. After all, with the curse lifted, she no longer needed to be Jaskier’s eyes. His mouth, however, was currently occupied.

-

Send me a drabble prompt!

[wishicouldpostfromsecondaryblogs]

Honestly geralt's 180 change in character in season two could have been explained so perfectly well if they'd just gone further into the near-death escape he had in the last episode, you know?

He's dying- not for coin, but for a man who was caring for the dead late at night even though no one told him to, just out of respect for them. He's dying, and he's made his peace with it- on his knees in the dark woods, only Roach nearby to know where he is, miserable and alone.

A fitting end.

And in his last moments, he sees flashes of the people he loved- his brothers and Nenneke and friends like Nivellen he made on the Path, who would mourn his passing, Jaskier and Yennefer, who might. He wishes he'd loved them all better, but he's dying now of necrophage poison- a lowly scavenger the death of a tired monster, uncaring of his regrets.

But then there's a fire, medicine and a figure he wishes he could forget in front of him. He wonders how she found him. If she had been watching from afar and seeing him grow up. Wonders why she had never come to him before.

He lashes out and watches the blows land with bared teeth making a vicious smile, demanding, begging, pleading for answers- because some part of him has always remained the scared boy she left behind at the side of the road.

She looks him straight in the eyes and refuses to answer and spells him to sleep.

She'd never give him an answer as to why, he realizes when he can think again. And, delirious from fever and calling out names desperately- Eskel, Lambert, Remus, Gweld, Jaskier, Vesemir, Yennefer- something inside him settles, because he understands finally that he no longer needs one.

She could die alone if she wanted, whether it was with grief of what she'd done to her son or apathy to him entirely. Geralt washed his hands of his mother. He was not going to become her; he had a family out there, people who cared, people he loved, and he was not going to die like she was.

The cart shakes under him, a hand on his shoulder and a voice telling him to stay awake, Master Witcher, we're almost there, and the world snaps back into technicolor.

He takes his portion and breathes in the fresh air slowly as the cart rattles on, tilting his head back and letting the rain pour down on him and wash all of his regrets and misery and anger away.

He thanks the farmer as he clambers out of the cart, who shakes his head and waves him off. He fusses over Geralt worriedly, telling him to rest, that he'll be back to help him to the cottage in a moment.

Geralt exhales and limps into the forest, breathing in the air of the trees, basking in the environment he was born and raised to live in.

He's going to apologize- to everyone, about everything- thank them for everything they ever did. He's going to track down Jaskier and apologize for lashing out unfairly and then walking away, he's going to find Yennefer and apologize for not telling her about the djinn wish, go home to his brothers for the first time in years and hold them close because he can, find every friend he's ever made and make sure they're safe and ready for the upcoming war, and he's going to buy Roach a basket of apples for putting up with- no, for being with him all these years.

And then he turns to the side and Cirilla runs out of the trees, something that stories would call Destiny, that others would claim coincidence- but Geralt knew what it actually was and thanked the whole world for it.

A second chance.

[reveniemus]

Title: Lambskier in Comfort Minor, No 1

Prompt: Sept 21: There was only one bed (with a hint of Sept 15's Discrimination Against Witchers and Sept 19's Loss of Voice)

Pairing: Lambert & Jaskier, could be romantic if you squint

Rating: G

Warnings: None? Other than that it is unbeta'd af. Let me know if there is any I need to tag <3

@whataboutthebard | written for @natskier, who said "And if you want to write something, could I have some quiet cuddles in the dark? Don’t care whomst, don’t care if platonic or family or romantic, don’t care if they cant talk rn or just be comfortable with silent cuddles, but if you want to write and this strikes an idea at some point, I sure would love to read that" | thank you, @endrega23 for giving it a quick onceover <3 | on ao3!

It’s not true that witchers don’t feel. It’s a bald faced lie that was created to make it easy to hate witchers, to throw rotten vegetables at them and make them sleep with the livestock. Some witchers have learned to live with these misconceptions, happy to fake stoicism or politeness in the face of discrimination. He thinks, however, that if any humans met Lambert, they would change their tune quickly.

After having spent years traveling with Geralt, who said two words about anything good or bad, it was a culture shock for him to hear a litany of curses coming from the red headed witcher. Jaskier sits on the bed, watching Lambert pace through the room, anger seeping out of him as he rants about the town official who tried to cheat him out of his coin or the merchant who tried to sell him mediocre wares for luxury prices. Jaskier doesn’t even need to make any kind of noise or nod along to encourage him, he just emotes, his arms flailing and tensing as he punches his fist to his palm to avoid ruining the furniture at the inn.

Hilariously, the witcher doesn’t even flinch or stumble when Jaskier stands, walking over as Lambert continues his barrage of insults towards the town’s blacksmith and the stablemaster, who had given Lambert’s horse a dirty look upon realizing what he was. He barely takes a breath as Jaskier helps strip him of his armor, not even giving Jaskier a second look or following up on where the bard tucks away his swords (somewhere safe, but within easy reach always, Jaskier has picked up on habits universal to every witcher in his travels). It shows an insane amount of trust and it warms Jaskier’s heart more than he cares to admit.

Once Lambert is stripped of his armor, Jaskier takes his hand and tugs lightly. Lambert is still going, insulting the barkeep who tried to give him watered down ale, but his tone is less aggressive, less loud and he follows Jaskier without hesitation. Jaskier pulls back the covers and climbs into bed, tugging Lambert in beside him. The bed is only just barely big enough for two grown men — another slight towards witchers that the town has participated in — but it’s never bothered the bard before.

Lambert’s words trail off mid-sentence as Jaskier curls into him, head resting on his chest, just above his slow beating heart. He looks down at the bard, taking deep breaths to calm his mind. He hums as Jaskier’s fingers curl into the front of his shirt, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Geralt mentioned this happens sometimes. You okay?” he asks, keeping his voice low.

Jaskier nods against his shirt, eyes closed and pressed close to Lambert. Even in the quiet of it, he can hear emotions in Lambert’s voice, softer this time, gentler than the rage he showed just moments before.

“Okay,” he whispers, shifting to snuff out the candle. He shifts again to wrap both arms around the bard, holding him close and Jaskier listens to his slow, even breathing, copying his rhythm.

Jaskier clings to Lambert, breathing in the scent of warmth and rosemary that seems to come naturally from the witcher. He thinks of how wary Lambert had been when Jaskier had first met the wolf, the way he wouldn’t take his eyes off the bard and the purposeful movements that kept his back away from him. It’s not easy out there for witchers, he knows that, and compared to what they have to go through, the things that plague Jaskier’s mind are hardly worth noting, and yet, they care. They let him ask questions and be as loud and obnoxious as he wants, but in the face of moments like this, where all Jaskier wants is to be held and to have no expectations placed on him, they’re right there too, making sure he’s safe, feels loved.

Even if Lambert’s breathing has evened out, Jaskier knows he’s in a state of meditation more than anything, so that if Jaskier needs him, he’s there, awake, alert, and ready to do whatever needs to be done. He slides his hand over the space above Lambert’s heart, a soft sigh escaping him as he snuggles in closer. The gentle squeeze of his shoulder is the last thing he consciously feels before falling asleep.

[jaskierswolf]

The Love We Have

Part 3/5 - AO3 - Previous

Summary: Kaer Morhen has an old tradition in order to keep the witchers safe after the siege. Only witchers and their partners are allowed in the keep but Geralt is tired of parting with Jaskier over the winter so decides to invite him to Kaer Morhen… only he forgets to mention one tiny little detail.

Ship: Geraskier

Rating: T

Warnings: None?? Maybe… I’ll add them later if I remember any.

________

They hadn’t found a solution that night. Geralt hadn’t been willing to talk about it, so Jaskier had reluctantly let it go. They had time to figure everything out. It’s not like they had to have fake sex every evening, and they’d already said they were worn out from the road. It didn’t stop Jaskier’s mind from running faster than Roach in a field full of dandelions. Geralt had eventually pulled Jaskier to his chest and started rubbing soothing circles into Jaskier’s side.

After that Jaskier was out like a light.

Which was totally unfair.

They’d woken up wrapped in each other’s arms, legs tangled and honestly in his sleep hazed mind Jaskier hadn’t been able to figure out which limb belonged to which body. It had all been rather nice, until Jaskier remembered Geralt was now his fake boyfriend not his real one and he pulled away from Geralt in a start.

He’d ended up falling out of the bed and almost giving himself a concussion. He was a fucking nightmare.

“Bard,” Vesemir barked just as he was finishing his breakfast, “meet me in the library. You have work to do. Geralt, there’s some tiles coming loose on the roof above the armoury.”

Geralt nodded.

Jaskier just stared, wide eyed after Vesemir. “Wait what?”

“Chores, Jask.”

“Yes yes, but… why am I? I’m a guest!” he whined rather pathetically.

“We don’t have guests in Kaer Morhen. You’re family, you have to work.”

“Oh cock!” he grumbled, there went his relaxing winter.

__________________

It turned out he really shouldn’t have worried about having to fake his relationship with Geralt. They barely saw each other during the day. Geralt was stuck on the more physical tasks whereas Jaskier spent his days scribbling on potion bottles and ingredient jars, or helping Vesemir organise the vast library, a job he would have finished sooner if he didn’t keep getting distracted by the books. He’d never seen half of them, not even whilst at Oxenfurt.

Two more witchers arrived after Jaskier’s first week at Kaer Morhen, Lambert and Eskel. They travelled up the mountain path together and arrived just in time for dinner that evening. Thankfully, like Geralt and Jaskier, they’d been too tired to really say anything the first night.

The second night, however, was a different story altogether. Lambert, as it turned out, was a little shit. Jaskier, under any other circumstances would have adored him, but his questions about their relationship were driving him up the wall.

“So, you finally tamed the famed White Wolf,” Lambert snorted, taking a long gulp of white gull.

“Ah yes, well. It would seem that way wouldn’t it,” Jaskier said smoothly, not entirely a lie either which he was proud of.

“So when did he confess?” Lambert probed. Jaskier cooed over how he’d been in love with Geralt since Posada, love at first sight being all very poetic and exactly the sort of story Geralt expected from him. Geralt mumbled something about the Djinn and how Jaskier almost dying had opened his eyes. Jaskier wanted to laugh at that, but he kept his cool. The only thing he remembered was how Geralt had fallen into Yennefer’s arms and broken his heart.

“I found Jaskier in Oxenfurt in the spring,” Geralt explained, again not a lie. Jaskier was amazed by their combined ability to spin the truth. Jaskier remembered it fondly. Normally he had to track Geralt down so he’d been surprised to see Geralt on his doorstep come spring. “Missed him all winter, didn’t want to spend anymore time apart.”

“And the fool quite literally swept me off my feet,” Jaskier giggled, leaning against Geralt’s shoulder. He wanted to hold his hand under the table but… well…he had no excuse.

“I couldn’t wait to kiss him,” Geralt admitted, a stupidly fond smile on his face that Jaskier couldn’t help but return. He licked his lips and his eyes flicked down in a silent question. They’d spoken about kissing in front of the other witchers but this would be the first time.

Geralt’s smile widened, a rare occurrence that left Jaskier’s heart somersaulting in his chest. He swallowed and then leaned in to press his lips against Geralt’s. It was only a peck on the lips, appropriate for company, but Jaskier still felt dizzy. Gods, he was so in love. It was just not fair.

Geralt bumped his nose against Jaskier’s as they pulled apart and Jaskier could feel himself blushing furiously. How was Geralt so good at this?

“About time the idiot got his head out of his arse,” Eskel laughed, shooting both Geralt and Jaskier a fond smile, and raising his drink.

Jaskier choked, ale spraying all over the table. Some went down his throat the wrong way and he started to cough and splutter. He was wheezing for breath by the time he’d finished and his throat was sore. Geralt’s hand rested on his back, and Lambert and Eskel were looking at him like he was about to keel over.

“Fine,” he rasped “I’m fine, just… “ he coughed again.

What the fuck had Eskel meant? Geralt finally getting his head out of his arse? Come to think of it, Vesemir hadn’t been entirely surprised by Jaskier’s presence either. None of them were, and he knew Geralt had told his family about him.

So what exactly had his grumpy best friend been telling the witchers of Kaer Morhen.

Jaskier started thinking over the last couple of decades spent at Geralt’s side. The witcher barely admitted they were friends, going so far as to argue with Jaskier that they weren’t. At first that had stung but now Jaskier was starting to wonder if he’d read it wrong. Geralt wasn’t one for words or emotions, Jaskier knew that, but he would have thought that even Geralt would know that Jaskier needed to hear some kind of confession.

But Geralt’s love language was not words, and it never had been.

Geralt showed he cared in different ways. At first it was not riding away and abandoning Jaskier, despite his protests that Jaskier was just trouble, then Geralt would put away coin to save up for treats on the road. Treats that he didn’t indulge in himself, but sweet buns, healing potions that wouldn’t kill Jaskier, a spare bedroll, better shoes, warmer clothes. Piece by piece Geralt had made sure that Jaskier was well equipped for the road.

In turn, Jaskier paid for their rooms at the inn, helped to wash Geralt’s hair, which was honestly a gross job and Jaskier deserved a lot more thanks for it. Monster guts stuck to hair like a burr in a sheep’s wool. He played ballads and told epic stories of Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, all around the Continent until the Butcher of Blaviken was but a distant memory. A cautionary tale told to children before bed but nothing based in truth. No one, outside of Blaviken, even remembered that it had been Geralt at all. That was also Jaskier’s doing, morphing the tales of the Butcher of Blaviken into a monster of its very own, far apart from witchers; a demon that the White Wolf had banished.

But that wasn’t Jaskier’s love language. That was just… helping out a friend. He was a bard, a poet, a romantic. If he truly thought he’d had a chance with his best friend then he would have adorned Geralt in pet names, flowers, sonnets. No one would have any doubt about who Jaskier truly loved, who his heart belonged to, and he’d foolishly expected to be wooed in quite the same way.

Fuck.

A fool.

An utter fool.

All he needed was a hat with bells and a tambourine.

“Oh fuck,” he finally muttered aloud.

“Jask?” Geralt’s voice cut through his turmoil and he blinked until he was back in the now familiar dining room at Kaer Morhen.

Four sets of golden eyes were watching him.

“I need a moment,” he stammered and then, like the coward he was… he fled.

_____________

He paced around the room until the sound of his footsteps started to annoy him, the never-ending echoing thud reverberating around the room. He threw himself on the bed, inhaling Geralt's scent. It usually helped to ground him but today was different. It just confused him. He felt completely off-balanced. Did Geralt actually want him?

As more than a friend?

It completely changed the last two decades of his life. The wasted opportunities he’d had if hadn’t been such a coward.

Fuck!

Why couldn’t he have just said something?

Why didn’t Geralt?

But what if he was reading the whole thing wrong? What if this was just false hope? That thought burned through him, making his heart ache. He felt like he’d been thrown into a fire, flames blazing around him, a slow torturous death as his love seared through his soul.

He sobbed helplessly and held a pillow to his chest. It didn’t help. Nothing helped. He’d flown too close to the fucking sun and now he was falling, wings melted and falling apart, his tears glistening in the very rays that had been his end.

“Jaskier?”

“Go away,” he grumbled. He couldn’t face Geralt, not now. It was too soon and too overwhelming.

“I’m sorry, Jask.”

Jaskier threw his pillow at the door and Geralt ducked out of the way. He heard the door close and he went back to feeling sorry for himself, praying to all the gods he’d feel better after a good cry. He was pathetic. And yet again, Geralt had found him bawling his eyes out.

“Fuck!” He yelled, not even caring anymore who could hear him. Fucking witchers and their fancy mutations and enhanced hearing. It wasn’t fucking fair.

And the whole ‘only significant others’ rule was completely bullshit.

“Fucking shit balls,” Jaskier screamed into his pillow. “Cock,” he mumbled rather lamely.

It would have all been quite fun if he wasn’t quite so in love with Geralt. If they’d been just friends he would have enjoyed the easy flirtations, his personality was practically made for it. He was so fucking angry with himself for not being able to do this, even Geralt was putting on a better show. He sniffed and wiped the snot from his nose.

“Oh get a grip, Jask,” he muttered, grimacing as he looked at his hands. “Gods, I’m a wreck.”

“You’re not a wreck,” he heard Geralt say.

He sat up, slightly dizzy from moving too quickly, and glanced around the room. It was empty. Was he hearing voices now?

“Geralt?”

“I’m outside.”

“Oh.”

Jaskier stared at the door, longing to open it but something held him back. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he saw Geralt right now. Either yell at him or snog him senseless.

He wasn’t really sure if Geralt wanted either of those things.

So he crawled off the end of the bed and knelt in front of the door, pressing his forehead to the wood. “I’m sorry.”

“Hmm.”

“I’m normally better company, or at least I try to be… for you?” he whispered, knowing Geralt could hear him.

Geralt hummed and Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut, tears still running down his cheeks. He hadn’t meant to cause a fuss.

“I didn’t think it would be so hard,” he sighed, his fingers scraping at his scalp.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt grunted. “I know it can’t be easy, pretending to love me, but…”

Jaskier had scrambled to his feet and pulled the door open before Geralt could finish that sentence. The fucking bastard thought it was all so hard because he was unlovable! Jaskier’s misery turned to anger in the blink of an eye. Geralt fell backwards through the door, his head landing at Jaskier’s feet and he blinked up at him in surprise.

“Don’t you fucking dare finish that sentence, Geralt of Rivia,” Jaskier hissed.

“But…”

“You are my best friend in the whole wide world and I love you, so don’t you dare start spouting some nonsense about how no one could love you. You horse’s arse!”

“Jask,”

“Now get in here, you and I are going to pretend to have sex.” Jaskier’s words surprised him, they were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“What?!”

“We’ll tell the others that I was just being dramatic, I’m a bard after all,” Jaskier explained with a wave of his hand. He needed to stop moping and get into his role, plus if there was a chance that Geralt did love him back, which he was really beginning to suspect he did… then… well… what better way to find out?

[maithefluffychicken]

A Chef AU nobody asked for :)

Geraskier ficlet, rated T, live writing on discord (sorry @nadsdraws to have to read all my rambling), not betaed and, well, enjoy my hyperactive brain :D

You can read it on Ao3 too.

__________________________________________________________

Geralt is a chef with horrible mood, always angry and stressed. he started working in this restaurant called Blaviken, and once he started a discussion with a critic and came out the kitchen with a butcher's knife in his hand, and since then, he's called *The Butcher of Blaviken" and it's a meme, he was fired after that and he opened his own restaurant with his family, but people still call him the Butcher of Blaviken and it hurts and it's pathetic but alas, he made that mistake once.

Eskel, Lambert and himself own this new restaurant called Kaer Morhen, in honour of their father hometown, Lambert is the sumillier and he loves to make original cocktails and brew his own craft beer. Eskel made this program to help young people with no studies, so every year they open KM's door to a few boys and girls and teach them how to run a professional kitchen.

The best three of them will be hire during the year until the next pormotion, the rest will receive a recommendation letter and they'll help them to find a job; some of them will leave, of course, others will stay.

Lambert, during the first promotion, decided to hire one of the boys to help him with the bar. Geralt and Eskel are sure that Lambert and the, well, man now, are dating. But anyway, Aiden Katz is part of their family now after all those years.

So, this year they have 10 younglings to teach, it's a reduced group this year, but well, it's enough.

Vesemir is the manager of the restaurant, but he's tired of being a chef so basically he let his sons to do whatever they want, he trust them. Yennefer is like a celebrity in this au, and she's always there with her new - and some old - boyfriends. No need to say that she's the ex of the infamous Butcher of Blaviken, and why they're still friends it's a mistery, but there they are. That KM has the best pierogis maaaaybe has something to say in this matter.

Eskel is usually who teaches the new alumns, being the most patient of the brothers.

Geralt just tries to keep the kitchen safe and working.

Geralt keeps an eye on every one of the younglings but Eskel is the one who actually teaches them, and then there's this boy, around 23 or so, loud and annoying and with cero talent for this job and who always claims that he should be a singer, not a chef. Geralt is tempted more than once to shove him out of his sacred kitchen. There's also another boy, younger than this one, just as loud and talentless, but bright and kind and who tries very very hard to learn. This one recognises Geralt the first day, and gasps: *I know you, you're the Butcher of Blaviken!" and Gearlt doesn't know why the kid is so fucking happy about it.

Eskel tells Geralt about the promotion, and how none of them have any inclination to become a chef, except maybe the boy with blue eyes and brown, soft hair and melifluous voice - ok, is actually Geralt who seeshim that way, Eskel simply referes at him by his preferred name, Jaskier.

"Literacy was beaten into me with a cane, but now I can play several instruments and I can compose my own music and lyrics, I guess it's the same here," Jaskier has laughed once after burning a fucking, simple soup. The other boy, Valdo Something, it's just a brat that has no respect for the culinary art, so Geralt has his decision. He himself will teach Jaskier and help him, since he's the one that actually wants to learn something.

That Jaskier is always kind to him even if he recognised Geralt from the memes, instead of making fun of him, or that he has the most powerful puppy eyes, or that Geralt catches Valdo Something ogling Jaskier and touching him and making the other boy uncomfortable in their workplace... fuck it, Geralt doesn't have to explain his reasons to want and help Jaskier.

And of course, this is the worst decision ever.  

He could just have asked Eskel, or even Lambert, fuck, even Vesemir, who is a softie and always wanted to adopt another kid, but nooooo.

He had to go and and Jaskier if he really wants to be a chef.

He had to go and offer himself to teach him.

He had to go and look at those baby blue eyes that are sparkling under the artificial white light of the kitchen.

"You won't regret it, Chef Geralt, I want to learn and I don't mind if I have to work twice as hard, I promise."

Geralt is already regretting this decision.

He knows it's against the rules.

He knows he shouldn't be teaching this boy in secret.

He knows he's being unfair to the other boys and girls.

He doesn't give a fuck, though.    

They have to maintain it as a secret - even if Eskel, Lambert, Vesemir and even Yennefer know what Geralt is doing, because come on, Geralt has never being subtle about anything in his life.

But Eskel is happy to see Geralt geting involved in his program.

Lambert is waiting to tease him - he doesn't know it'll backfires him, who is of course dating Aiden because he basically did the same.

Vesemir just wants Geralt to be happy, and Yen is having fun.

-

Being alone with Jaskier is... something.

The boy is flirty, for a start, and that startles Geralt, Jaskier has ever been so discreet and professional, but here, alone, Jaskier flirts with him. Geralt should stop him, he knows, he should put an end on this, but he feels his skin tingling everytime Jaskier touches him, resting his hand over Geralt's arm to ask him whatever, and he feels butterflies in his belly everytime Jaskier beams at him, that is, well, every ten minutes or so.

The boy also works hard, so hard, and with such passion, that Geralt feels... even more flustered, and his chest puffs with pride everytime Jaskier learns a new technique thanks to him.

Geralt discovers that Jaskier, actually, sings, and it's good at it. Jaskier doesn't sing too loud, but he seems unable to stop himself at the deserted kitchen when he forgets about Geralt, and is voice echoes and... it's nice, and not too intrusive, Jaskier sings unconsciously and just stops abruptly to ask Geralt a doubt or whatever.    

After whole two months like this, Jaskier has improved a lot, and he brings a basket full of sweets that he himself has baked to thanks Geralt his private lessons, and Geralt decides that a dry rosé wine will suit those sweets, and they spend the night talking and eating and drinking.

"I always wanted to be a singer," Jaskier admits. "I am a singer. But it's not enough? I saw that video about you and then I decided that I wanted to be a chef too, and I was so nervous when I received the mail saying that I was one of the ten for your program, I still can't believe I'm drinking with Chef Geralt"

Geralt winces. "You want to be a chef because of the video about me swinging a butcher's knife?" "No, that one was hilarious," Geralt grimaces again. "But not, I'm referring about the other video, the first I saw about you!"

Geralt is perplexed, blinking at Jaskier.

"Let me show you,"

Jaskier starts looking in Youtube in his Favourites videos section, and then Geralt is watching a much younger version of himself. The video is old, recorded with an actual camera instead of a phone, and he remembers that day. It was an interview for a local TV channel about young promises, Geralt was just named Chef of the Blaviken, the youngest Chef in the story of Novigrad, he was not older than Jaskier is now.

He's smiling in the video and showing his kitchen to the cameraman and the interviewer, and he shows the recipe of a fish stew, it was a good day.

"I saw that interview on the TV that day, I was with my mom, and I told her that I wanted to be like you, I wanted to be a chef," Jaskier is smiling softly at both Geralts, the younger one in the video and the older one who is sitting besides him. "But she just had bought me my first guitar, and she told me: 'first learn to play the guitar and then we'll talk'" Jaskier laughs.

Geralt is overwhelmed, maybe it's the rosé, maybe it's Jaskier who smells like crème anglaise and chocolate, maybe it's his own memories about him wanting to be a chef

"So I learn that, and then I applied for your program, and here we are."

"And here we are," Geralt repeats.    

Jaskier's scent is sweet and tempting and Geralt wants... he wants to kiss that boy so badly. He doesn't know when it happened, but he's in love, and if he had read all of this correctly, then Jaskier...

Jaskier's gaze flicks to Geralt's lips and back to his eyes, and Geralt feels a hot wave all over his body. Jaskier leans in, still looking at Geralt, unsure, and that can't be. Geralt reaches until his hand wraps around Jaskier's nape and closes the distance between them. Jaskier's lips are plush and soft and sweet and spicy because of the wine and it's everything Geralt wants.

-

When the program is over, Jaskier refuses to be one of the three new employers of the KM restaurant:

"I know I've cheated accepting your help, but most important than the job is to have spent time with you, Geralt, to have you now. I enjoyed that even more than being a Chef."

Valdo is expulsed of the program for being a dick, and Geralt shouldn't be proud of being the one who pushes him out of his kitchen, but he is, he can't stand that asshole.

Geralt and Jaskier don't want their relationship to be a secret, either, and then Geralt decides that they can have it all. They both can be chefs and in love and, for some years, Jaskier works with him at the KM restaurant.

Geralt wants Jaskier to have everything he wants, so he decides to invest in another restaurant after talking about it for months, "The Wolf and the Buttercup", a lovely bistró that offers live music, and sometimes the Chef joins the band and sings too.

It's good that The Wolf and the Buttercup opens only for dinner shift, so he can spend the rest of the day with Jaskier - Jaskier even helps during lunch shift at the Kaer Morhen. And it's just a coincidence that during the only day that the KM is closed for the rest of the personal, the one and only Butcher of Blaviken can be seen there at the Wolf and the Buttercup, enjoying the food and the music, and when Chef Jaskier is done, he leaves his guitar in the scenario and he sits with him and share a kiss or two - and the dessert, chocolate soufflé with crême anglaise.

[westmoor]

none go hungry

Jaskier isn’t sure what woke him, or why he’s awake at all.

Daylight is a late visitor this far north, and only days have passed since the turning of the sun, long hours of darkness tend to blend into each other.

The dying smoulder of the hearth suggests the morning is approaching, but still some ways away - Jaskier can not imagine anyone being awake at this time. 

Footfalls past his door prove otherwise.

Abandoning the safe warmth of his bed seems a wholly foolish endeavour. But curiosity wins out in the end - it’ll be the end of /him/ someday - and he unweaves his mind from sleep and limbs from furs and blankets, mindful to pull on the thick woollen socks Geralt had gifted him upon arrival before putting his feet on the floor.

Although he is wearing every layer within reach, by the time he gets to the end of the now-empty hallway with a sneaking suspicion whoever passed by did so in the direction of the courtyard, he regrets their scarcity.

It’s too early.

And far too cold.

He hurries to catch up, as fast as he can without snuffing the light.

It’s not Geralt, which rules out a quarter of the available suspects and makes him all the more curious.

The front hall is also empty. Unsurprising considering the noise-maker’s head start, but unexpected due to the implications and sure enough: There’s a drift of powdered snow across the floor, not given enough time to melt.

Heading out now, in the snow and the cold and the dark, improperly dressed and alone, is beyond reckless. 

All the best things in Jaskier’s life so far have been brought by recklessness.

The courtyard is cold and clear, full moon high in the sky and the snow, fresh that afternoon and now frozen to a crisp and shimmering, lights the grounds from below. There is some sort of poetry, he thinks, in how the darkest days of the year seem to make the brightest nights.

His little candle is useless at a distance, but after the closed-in dark of the keep, the open-air moonlit dark of outside renders it unnecessary. Scanning the layout of the outer buildings he soon spots his mark: The broad line of Eskel’s shoulders stand out starkly in the white.

For the first time since rolling out of bed, he faces a real dilemma.

Witchers are a guarded breed, that’s a lesson well learned. Weeks of shared meals and close quarters have whittled away at their defenses and helped him find a place among them, but next to Lambert, predictable in his unpredictability, and Vesemir, inherently venerable, Eskel has been the greatest challenge by far.

Not because he isn’t friendly. Rather the opposite. Eskel, it seems, has found a way to forge politeness into armour. 

The dilemma is this: Either to respect the distance the other man has placed between them, or seize this opportunity to sate some of his curiosity with both hands and run with it.

It’s not much of a dilemma.

He mouths a thanks to the gods for the width of Eskel’s bootprints as it allows him to step in them, but curses them for the distance he has to traverse. He’s not even halfway across the yard when the latch on the stable door is flicked open with a crack and he forces himself not to run despite the frost starting to melt through the knees of his breeches. 

But when he finally reaches the stables, he stops just short of entering.

Eskel has left the door half open and lit a couple of the hanging lamps - for the animals’ benefit, presumably, as a Witcher would hardly need them - and is unwrapping something in his hands.

Jaskier hovers in the doorway, suddenly realising he didn’t have an entrance planned.

He won’t need one.

“You should come inside,” the older wolf interrupts, “Geralt will have my head if I let you freeze to death out there.”

Not needing to be told twice, Jaskier has the door shouldered shut before he can even think of a retort, rubbing his hands together to stave off the oncoming shivers. He feels the need to make a peace offering, even if the words had held no hostility.

Belatedly, the bard realises he must’ve heard him following before they even left the keep.

“I heard you passing by on the upper floor,” he starts, “and as this strikes me as a rather ungodly hour to be tinkering about outdoors, I figured I should come and see if you were- what are you doing?”

While Jaskier has been talking, Eskel has opened what now turns out to be a prepared package, and is breaking a loaf of bread into evenly sized pieces. 

“We used to do this.” He is portioning out carrots now, the horses stretching long necks over the dividers to bump noses against his arms in expectation. “My family. Before I came here. We didn’t have much, but no creature should greet the new sun on an empty stomach.”

This sudden well of insight into a man who up until this point has been as guarded as a Cintran stronghold takes him by surprise, and that’s probably why, when given the chance to mine it, the only word that slips his lips is “Why?”

That makes Eskel pause, a winter apple in hand. He seems to ponder the answer, as though the question, however obvious, is one he himself has never thought to ask. 

In the end, he just shrugs.

“It’s important.”

“Oh.” Jaskier’s lip catches between his teeth and it’s not lost on him, the early hour or the silence of the stables, the fact that Eskel comes out here to do this alone while everyone else is safe and warm in their beds.

“Well. Can I help?”

For the first time since entering the stables, Eskel turns fully to look at him and if the light had been just a little poorer he might’ve misread the shadow cast by his scar as a sneer. But it’s plenty to see the smile that brightens those ever-so-serious features, and lamplight reflects in eyes already touched by gold, and Jaskier grins back.

Later, when the sun finally climbs above the ridge of mountains enclosing their haven, he will help him hoist a sheaf of grain - the last of the autumn harvest - into one of the great pines within the walls and watch yellow tits and sparrows flock to it. 

But for now, Jaskier accepts the fodder from hands much rougher than his own, and turns to fill the bucket in Roach’s stall.

[lesdemonium]

Error Pining

Rating: T Ship: Geraskier Word Count: 2750 Summary:   When his djinn wish goes wrong, Jaskier finds himself unable to speak without excruciating pain. Geralt tries to fill the space himself. AN: a gift exchange fic written for @smuggsy for @thewitchersecretsanta. thanks so much for giving me an excuse to write physical whump for jaskier!

read on ao3  Before their argument, Geralt had been hazy, unfocused, and in dire need of sleep. He was still in dire need of rest, but now every sense was on high alert. The smell of blood and pain was so sharp, so strong, it left a metallic taste in his mouth and he just barely resisted the urge to try to clear his tongue of it. His eyes went wide, wild, as he tried to find the source of the blood. In a distant sort of way, he registered that he had been cut in their scuffle, but it wasn’t his blood he smelled. It was Jaskier’s.

Jaskier was doubled over, clutching at his neck, the djinn bottle long forgotten on the ground. His eyes met Geralt’s and he opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out before he was blinking away tears and dry heaving onto the ground. The hand around his throat was so tight Geralt wondered at how he could breathe, had a wild thought that maybe it was Jaskier’s own hand that was causing his scent to spike in pain and fear.

“Jaskier, what’s happened?” Geralt asked, bending over and hauling Jaskier back up by the collar of his doublet. Jaskier went, and when he tried to speak again, only a weak whimper came out before his face contorted in pain. His hands scrabbled at his throat and his eyes were so wide Geralt felt like all he could see was white, white, white.

“We’ll fix this, whatever it is,” Geralt promised him. Jaskier nodded weakly back.

They made it to the elf, Chireadan, who was less help than Geralt was hoping for. He asked Jaskier questions, and every time Jaskier attempted to answer, the same bitter taste of blood and pain and fear settled heavily within Geralt. The third time it happened, Geralt nearly punched Chireadan. Couldn’t he see this was hurting Jaskier?

“He can’t talk,” Chireadan finally settled on, and the look Geralt gave him must have been murderous, because he took a step back when their eyes met. “I can’t tell you more than that. Its origin is magical, and I have nothing that can reverse it. Something is ripping apart his throat whenever he talks.”

Jaskier let out a muffled hum, a desperate sound, that soon choked out and was replaced with the heavy scent of blood. 

“Sounds like not only when he talks,” Geralt said, and Chireadan’s grimace seemed to agree.

They were sent to a witch, Yennefer, but she wasn’t much help, either. She tried through the night, with Jaskier in a deep sleep, but when he awoke, nothing had changed. 

“I can’t do anything until you open your mouth to speak, bard,” Yennefer told them, and to her credit, she did look at least a bit remorseful. Or perhaps simply annoyed her magic couldn’t solve it. “Since I highly doubt you want to be singing as I fix you, there’s not much I can do for you.”

“Then how do we fix this?” Geralt asked, his voice tight.

Yennefer smiled and patted Jaskier’s hand condescendingly. “Have you considered a vocational change?”

They left, Jaskier silent and mourning beside Geralt. Yennefer’s advice was to track down another djinn, as Jaskier was unable to make the wish himself. Geralt thought this was a fool’s errand, and that Vesemir would be more help.

“I’m sorry, Jaskier,” Geralt said as they laid down to sleep that night.

Jaskier’s response was to turn over and go to sleep.

--

Traveling with a silent Jaskier was difficult for both of them. Every time Geralt looked at Jaskier, he seemed dimmer. At first, he still played his lute, but as they continued to travel and Jaskier’s throat continued to rip itself apart whenever he made even the softest hum, even that seemed to lose appeal to the bard. In taverns, Jaskier stared down at his mug, surviving the evening until he could turn in.

Geralt found he missed the sound. The silence beside him was uncomfortable, and made Geralt feel hollow. This felt as if it was his fault, as if he was the one hurting Jaskier whenever he made a sound. If he hadn’t been looking for the Djinn in the first place, Jaskier’s wish wouldn’t have backfired, and now Geralt wouldn’t have become acquainted with Jaskier’s forlorn face.

It took three days for Geralt to start talking, instead.

“Did I ever tell you about the griffin I fought outside Carrera?” Geralt said, offhand, as they traveled one day. 

He chanced a glance at Jaskier, only to find the bard staring back at him, a curious expression on Jaskier’s face. Jaskier’s lips were pressed tightly together, as if he was trying to remind himself not to speak up, and he squinted at Geralt. He looked almost suspicious. Geralt didn’t blame him. It wasn’t often that Geralt offered up his stories without a request, but Jaskier deserved something, and Geralt couldn't take the silence anymore.

So he told the tale, sparing no detail. At some point, Jaskier took out a notebook, and furiously scribbled the tale down. Often, Geralt had to stop, think about what sort of questions Jaskier would normally ask him, and try to answer them on his own. By the end of his tale, Jaskier was smiling. Despite his discomfort, Geralt smiled back. The remainder of the day was easier to bear.

As they traveled, Geralt told Jaskier of his contracts, as many as he could think of that Jaskier hadn’t already been there for. When he couldn’t think of a new story, he explained to Jaskier the difference between the vampire types, or the exact effects Swallow had on him. He felt silly, like he was play-acting as a professor, but it made the time go by faster. It also made Jaskier lighter, brighter, and eased something inside Geralt.

At night, when they were safely at camp, Jaskier began to play his lute again. Initially, they were the same songs Geralt had heard before. Jaskier’s songs, famous ballads written by other bards, lively drinking songs. As their travel wore on, though, Geralt began to hear songs he had never heard before. Soft, mournful things. Jaskier never met Geralt’s eye when he played these songs, but he did sit close to Geralt, so close that sometimes their arms would brush as Jaskier shifted up and down his lute. Geralt liked these songs best. He hoped, one day, he would get to hear Jaskier sing them.

These nights made Geralt brave.

“I ran into Eskel here, once,” he said. Jaskier didn’t stop playing, but he did look up, his eyes wide, his face open. “I don’t cross paths with the other witchers as much as I would like. You would like Eskel. He plays nice far better than I could. Doesn’t need a bard around to keep him in line around nobles.”

Jaskier bumped Geralt’s shoulder and they shared a grin. Geralt turned his gaze back to the fire and took a deep breath, but a moment later Jaskier nudged him again, this time with his knee.

“Yes, okay,” Geralt said, nodding. “I’ll go on. We were in the trials together. He’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to family.” Until now, his mind helpfully supplied. Geralt cleared his throat, as if to smother the thought. “You really would like him. He’s… thoughtful. Polite. Keeps his temper better. A better witcher, too. He’d make a better subject for your songs.”

Jaskier stopped playing abruptly. He placed his lute gingerly back in its case, then leaned into Geralt’s side. His arm snaked around Geralt’s, intertwining them before he fit their fingers together. Like they belonged there. Like their hands had always been meant to hold each other.

When Geralt looked up, his mouth felt dry. Jaskier’s eyes were so big, so beautiful, and he felt like he could see everything Jaskier couldn’t say in them. Geralt swallowed, heavily, and tried to speak for them himself.

“I’m.” He paused, wet his lips, tried again. “I’m glad you’re here. You make it easier. I feel less… alone.”

Geralt looked away, now. Back at the fire. Jaskier didn’t nudge him back this time, and didn't try to get his attention. Instead, he hesitated only a second--Geralt could feel the way he started, then stopped, then started again--and rested his head on Geralt’s shoulder. They stayed like that until Jaskier’s yawns could no longer be ignored, and they had to turn in for the night.

--

Geralt missed Jaskier’s voice most in the morning.

It was no secret that Jaskier was terrible when he first woke up. Grouchy, whiny, wheedling every which way. He hated mornings and he hated getting up early and would always be dead to the world for the first hour or so that he was awake.

Despite this, he always wished Geralt a good morning, even if it was gruff and his smile was more of a grimace. As he started to wake up, he’d often tell Geralt about his more ridiculous dreams. Often, Geralt was sure he had fabricated them entirely, just to make Geralt roll his eyes.

Now, Jaskier always woke up in pain. He’d groan first thing in the morning, or whine, or make some other sort of noise, and immediately his entire body would seize up in pain. Geralt had gotten softer in his approach to waking Jaskier up, trying to ease him into consciousness, to avoid the pain. It worked sometimes, but Jaskier was still too hazy upon first waking to remember why he couldn’t make noise. Then his eyes would fill with unshed tears as he desperately held out his hand for the waterskin. It didn’t seem to help, but at least it was an action Jaskier could take.

They survived. Hearing Jaskier’s silence never got easier, still left Geralt feeling hollow, but it became easier to fill the silences himself. Jaskier got better at expressing himself through the way he touched Geralt. Geralt had a feeling that had never been a skill Jaskier lacked, per se, but that he had only recently been allowed to touch Geralt. Now, he was taking his fill.

Geralt wondered how much time he had lost without Jaskier’s easy affection.

To get Geralt’s attention, Jaskier would grab his knee as Geralt road Roach, or press a hand between Geralt’s shoulder blades. He fingered Geralt’s sleeve nervously when they were in taverns and he had nothing to do with his hands. He would take Geralt’s hand as they walked through a crowd so they didn’t lose each other.

Geralt’s favorite touches, though, were still in front of their campfire. The trees around them, the stars in the night sky, the light of the fire and the way it crackled, all of it was beautiful, but it was nothing compared to the way Jaskier leaned against Geralt. Jaskier pressed himself into Geralt’s side, often allowing Geralt to wrap his arm around Jaskier’s shoulder or waist. Jaskier would play his lute, would play his soft, lovely songs, that had grown more hopeful as time went on. Geralt would tell Jaskier stories about growing up, about trouble he, Lambert, Eskel, the other wolves, had gotten into. He told Jaskier about the trials and let Jaskier comb his fingers through Geralt’s hair to comfort him, though Geralt insisted he didn’t need comforting. He told Jaskier about Renfri, about Blaviken, about his mother. Geralt told Jaskier everything.

Everything except about the way his heart hammered in his chest as Jaskier looked at him. Everything except how he sometimes dreamed of Jaskier’s voice, and woke up with a longing he couldn’t put to words. Everything except how he wanted, more than anything, to kiss Jaskier, but couldn’t be sure what Jaskier wanted.

“Can I… be honest with you?” Geralt asked one night. 

Jaskier turned to him just enough to roll his eyes at Geralt. As if Jaskier could stop him, the look seemed to say. Jaskier turned back to his lute, but his playing got softer, as if he was trying to give Geralt the space to speak.

“Right,” Geralt said. He paused, took a deep breath, rubbed the hem of Jaskier’s shirt between his fingers. “I don’t. I don’t know if Vesemir can help.”

Jaskier stopped playing and stiffened somewhat. But he didn’t turn around, didn’t put his lute down. Only stopped and waited.

Geralt swallowed thickly. “I hope he can. I think he’s our best bet. But, short of finding another djinn for me to make a wish… I don’t know how fixable this is. Unless we went back to Yennefer and had her heal you while you sing--” Jaskier let out a shiver and the stench of fear overwhelmed Geralt. “I know. It’s not good. But I don’t know how else to fix you if Vesemir has no ideas.”

Jaskier took a deep breath. He remained stiff against Geralt, but now he started playing again. His song was sad, mournful again, and Geralt’s heart ached with it. He wished, more than anything, that he could fix this.

“I’m not giving up,” Geralt whispered, some time later. “We’ll find something else to try. We’ll fix this eventually.”

The sound Jaskier made wasn’t quite a scoff. It was more a sharp exhalation, dismissive and--maybe Geralt was reaching here--a bit wounded. Geralt lifted his hand, hesitated a moment, then ran his fingers through Jaskier’s hair. Jaskier leaned back into the motion, until his head fell back on Geralt’s shoulder.

“I mean it, Jask,” he said. His mouth felt dry again. “I miss your voice. I miss the lyrics that would go with your songs, even the ridiculous ones. I miss your jokes, your incessant complaining, the way you flirt with everyone and sometimes wink at me as you do it.”

Jaskier pulled away, and Geralt froze. Apparently, he had overstepped somewhere. He forced himself to look at Jaskier, but instead of discomfort or disgust, he found shock. Awe. Jaskier put his lute away, his fingers lingering on the clasps of his case, then he returned to Geralt’s side. After another moment of hesitation, Jaskier shifted, climbing over Geralt’s lap. Jaskier cradled Geralt’s face with feather-light touches as he leaned in, pressed their foreheads together.

“Jaskier, I--” Geralt started. 

Geralt trailed off, then wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s waist. He didn’t know how to accept this from Jaskier verbally, he didn’t know what to say, but he could hold him. Jaskier let out a relieved breath, and Geralt felt the gust of air against his lips. Geralt touched his fingers to the corner of Jaskier’s mouth. Jaskier pressed a hand to Geralt’s heart.

“You’re so much better at words than I am. I wish--” He trailed off again, thumbed along Jaskier’s cheekbone, held the back of his head. “You can’t tell me what you want.”

Jaskier’s breath sounded almost like a laugh, just before he leaned in to touch their lips together. The kiss was short, simply a way to test the waters. Jaskier pulled away, only for Geralt to drag him back in for more. Jaskier sighed into Geralt’s mouth and Geralt swallowed the sound, wished desperately he could hear more, wanted to see what all he could pull from Jaskier’s throat.

It was this thought that had Geralt pulling away. Jaskier’s eyes looked hazy, his smile dopey and big, as he stroked the side of Geralt’s face and his hair. He looked the happiest Geralt had seen him in months, since before the djinn had taken away his voice. Geralt kissed him again. And again. And again. Jaskier accepted every time.

“I wish you could talk. I want to hear your voice,” Geralt whispered into Jaskier’s mouth.

Jaskier whined a little, then reared back, just as Geralt flinched away, his arm suddenly burning. Jaskier’s hands flew to his throat and Geralt ripped back his sleeve to see a second mark, just beside the long-forgotten injury he had gotten when they squabbled over the amphora. Geralt’s eyebrows furrowed as he considered the mark, wondered after what in the world caused it, only for his focus to be dragged away by Jaskier.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, and his face broke out into the most brilliant grin. “What--I can talk again. It doesn’t hurt at all!”

Jaskier was still laughing as he dragged Geralt in for another kiss, which Geralt readily accepted. This time, he didn’t hold back any of his sounds. Each one was more beautiful than the last.