#tldr: jaskier is a succubus and geralt didn't realise

[jaskiersvalley]

Just Jaskier

Home. That was what Kaer Morhen was, despite all the agony and anguish it had wrought him and Geralt was oddly keen to show Jaskier. Introduce him to the other witchers and maybe give back a little bit of the kindness and hospitality that Jaskier had always shown him. There was no anxiety from Jaskier’s part, no asking whether they others would like him, whether they would accept him and Geralt felt no need to tell him it was going to be okay. Because even if they others didn’t immediately take to Jaskier (not like Geralt could ever claim to have done so either), Kaer Morhen was big enough that they could minimise contact with the jealous idiots. After all, everybody ended up liking Jaskier, that was just the way things were.

Walking through the keep, Geralt took a deep breath, it smelled like it always had. He was home. They stabled Roach together and Geralt led them towards the kitchen where everyone had a tendency to gather.

“Geralt!” Someone called in joy and there were bodies rising as to greet him as Jaskier stepped into the kitchen one step behind. Immediately, the jovial greetings were silenced and there was a mad scramble for knives, swords and one enlightened buffoon grabbed some garlic.

“What is the meaning of this, Geralt?” The oldest witcher said, a sharp looking carving knife in his hand.

In front of Jaskier, Geralt was frozen, obviously confused by the sudden frosty reception. And the fact that Jaskier was hiding behind his back with a small “meep” didn’t help either. As the silence stretched, Jaskier risked a peek out from over Geralt’s shoulder and took in the knives still pointing at them. Well, him really but Geralt was kind of in the way.

“So this is a bit of a rude greeting,” he risked and the witcher holding the garlic growled.

“Did you bring us live bait for training? An incubus?”

Confused, Geralt peered around, trying to see where an incubus could be hiding. Eventually, his eyes settled on his travel companion. “No, just Jaskier.”

Unfortunately, Jaskier had already taken offence at being labelled an incubus and he sniffed in disdain as he stepped out from behind Geralt. “I prefer succubus, thank you very much. No need to be so sexist, a man can be a succubus too.”

That had Geralt twirling to look at him, wide eyed, gaze flicking over him repeatedly, trying to find the monster in him with a disbelieving “what?” of betrayal. Which was just downright hurtful and awkward.

“What?” Jaskier replied. At least there wasn’t another sword being raised to his throat. Yet. Because that would have hurt more than anything.

It was the old witcher who spoke up. “Yes, well. Lambert, put the garlic down. We’ll be focusing on effective repellents for creatures over this winter for you I think.” The garlic ended up crushed in an angry fist and slammed down onto the table. “And Geralt, why did you bring a, ah, succubus home with you?”

When there wasn’t some intelligent reply Geralt could come up with, Jaskier decided to take matters into his own hand.

“I don’t think he realised? At first I thought he didn’t care but, judging by his reaction, he just had no clue.” Which hurt, just a little bit. It wasn’t like Jaskier made a secret of who he was. “To be fair, I was young when we met, barely coming into my powers.”

“I thought you were just young and horny,” Geralt finally said. Really, he wasn’t wrong and Jaskier hummed in agreement, head nodding along in a “so-so” manner. Because he was young and horny but also really bloody hungry. But, with the kinds of people Geralt encountered, it wasn’t so difficult to seduce and feed off the scum of the earth. While Geralt cleansed the world of monsters, Jaskier went after those Geralt couldn’t, the human monsters.

Sadly, his words weren’t endearing him to the witchers. If anything, they looked a little more murderous. Especially Lambert who was eyeing up the things on the table for what to lob at Jaskier.

All in all, it wasn’t the warm welcome Jaskier had been hoping for. It wasn’t even a cold annoyance of having a non-witcher amongst their midst. If anything, it was a rather hostile and frosty reception. Disappointing all round.

“And how did a succubus think he would spend a winter in an isolated keep?” The old witcher seemed to be the leader of the little group and Jaskier had to hope that if he could win him over, the others would fall in line too.

As for the question, he shrugged. “I’ve got reserves. There were some bandits along the way. Might age a little while I’m here but nothing drastic.” It was true, he had planned on simply fasting over winter. It might cost him a few wrinkles in appearance but that could be rectified when they left in the spring again.

The looks of disbelief were accompanied by a snort of entertainment. Why Jaskier thought a handful of witchers he’d never met before would believe him was questionable. But call it careless optimism, he had so hoped that they would accept him like Geralt.

“Well, Geralt thought this would be okay.”

“Geralt,” the witcher drawled, “who didn’t realise what you were. Who thought he had found a human bard to warm his bed. We’ll work on his monster identifications this winter. Starting from scratch it seems.”

Wrong thing to say and irritation rippled through Jaskier. It was one thing to be wary of him and behave so insultingly but another to besmirch Geralt’s good name.

“I don’t know why you’re so rude, Mr. Witcher,” he seethed. “But Geralt has done nothing wrong. Except been a friend for all these years.” A slight lie, they weren’t always friends but that was beside the point. Geralt was his friend now and that was that counted. “You will not degrade him or put him down like that.”

The witcher with scars across his face an a sharp sword in hand laughed. He actually had the audacity to chuckle. “Shit, Vesemir, you’ve lost your touch old man, if you let some young succubus smack you down like that.”

The witcher, Vesemir, snarled. He pushed past Geralt and had the tip of his carving knife under Jaskier’s chin, glaring down at him. As much as Geralt tried to protest, Lambert was holding him back. Now Jaskier was on his own, facing down a weathered witcher.

“Show me what you really are.”

The demand was rude and Jaskier refused with a snarl. He was happy exactly as his was in his form, always had been. In all honesty, he couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t been in his human form. Well before Geralt, that was for sure. The press of sword and a growled “show me” didn’t really encourage him to change. So he steadfastly ignored it.

“I bow to no man,” he seethed, eyes burning with a very human rage. Jaskier and Vesemir stared at each other in a challenge before the carving knife dropped away.

“You may stay. But drain any of my boys and I will personally run you through with all the swords in the armoury.”

It was a fair deal and Jaskier nodded. With Vesemir won over, the others looked a little less wary. Eskel actually nodded at him with a grin and turned to start ribbing Geralt about travelling with a succubus without knowing it. That was rather priceless. Lambert was a little more difficult to win over, he growled and reached for sharp things as soon as Jaskier was nearby. But he never attacked and even shared a table with Jaskier when they all sat down to eat together. So it wasn’t all that bad.

As suspected, fasting over winter had its downside. Jaskier didn’t look or feel as vibrant as the weeks passed. He ended up looking a little sallow, shadows under his eyes and crows feet from where he had laughed and his skin crinkled with mirth.

Sometimes, Jaskier walked in on Geralt arguing. Usually with Vesemir but he also caught hissed conversation with Lambert. It was only Eskel who seemed cheery and supportive. Which was weird, especially when Jaskier heard Geralt exclaim “well, I’m going to do it. You all know about my intentions now and know it’s not his influence. So fuck you all.” A strange thing to say, even more weird was that as soon as Geralt had turned on his heels and spotted Jaskier, he bodily hauled him back to the bedroom.

The sex that followed was one through which Geralt all but begged Jaskier to take what he needed. To feed off him. And that desperation tasted better than anything Jaskier had in a long long time. Freely given was always more refreshing than quietly stolen (from those unawares of who they were bedding) or forcefully drained (as he did with bandits and the like).

When they returned down to the kitchen, Jaskier looked like his usual, youthful self, glowing and crows feet free. And Geralt looked happier too, rolling his eyes at the wink Eskel sent him. Some garlic still went sailing through the air and smacked Jaskier in the forehead but he laughed and threw it back at Lambert, appreciating the weird solidarity they were showing at this newest turn of events.