#(and Jaskier turns very sweet when he's near)

[spielzeugkaiser]

[MASTERPOST] Roach steals Jaskier the show, Jaskier has a nice community and the chat is thirsting for Geralts arms. 👀

#jaskier #geraskier #geralt of rivia #the witcher #onlyfans!jaskier #modern au #that is the day on which geralt gets his own emoji in the chat and everytime he is even partially spotted the chat goes bonkers #he's like their loch ness monster - their bigfoot! #(also people are horny) #(and Jaskier turns very sweet when he's near)

[samstree]

(the 'jaskier likes a dilf fic' fic has a sequel, because i'm very nice ;)

following this

The blood is getting into Geralt’s eyes.

“Fuck,” he mutters, blinking it away, the wound on his forehead throbbing with every step he takes.

It must be a bad one if his healing still hasn’t kicked in. The gash runs deep and long near his hairline, bleeding sluggishly along his face. Geralt feels dizzy with the blood loss, the world spinning before his eyes. His senses are dulled—dark spots swimming in his vision, the ringing in his ears, slowed reflexes.

Head wounds are tricky bastards, he curses silently.

Geralt lets his feet drag himself forward, with much resistance from the uneven terrain and the injury, but carrying a fully grown man certainly doesn’t make it easier.

“Oh, thank you, master witcher!” Andrej says, draped over Geralt’s shoulder, head lolling upside down. Between every other word, he hisses from the pain in his broken foot. “If it weren’t for you, that beast would have eaten me whole!”

“Hmm.”

Geralt grunts, head pounding.

“I know you are a humble man, master. Jaskier told me all about it! He said you’d never admit to being a hero, but you are! Whatever shall I do to repay this debt?”

He says Jaskier’s name so casually, so intimately, without titles or honorifics.

The headache suddenly gets worse. Geralt has to suppress a groan. The barkeep’s weight is slipping from his shoulders, so he hikes him up with a jolt.

“Not humble,” he squeezes out the words in the end. “Just doing my job.”

“Still, you have no idea how much this means to me. To think I nearly died today, and my Lucja would have been left without a family. I fear no one would have taken her in this time. When that beast dragged me away, all I could think about was my daughter, master Geralt! My life is of no importance, but my sweet Lucja…”

Geralt grits his teeth as Andrej goes on and on about how he puts his daughter’s life before his, how he values nothing more in this life.

Stupid, kind-hearted Andrej, the best father in the world.

“How noble of you,” Geralt says pettily, out of nowhere. The blood loss lowers his inhibitions, making him more candid than he would like.

More reasons for Geralt to hate head wounds.

Distantly, he remembers he should not make such jabs at an innocent man who deserves no ire from him, but Andrej doesn’t seem to notice.

“I do not see raising my daughter as a noble deed, sir,” he simply goes on. “They say I saved Lucja’s life, but in truth, it was she who saved me! For you see, it is a privilege to love such a perfect daughter, who chose me as her family. I am only grateful for her arrival every single day…”

A growl falls out of Geralt’s throat on its own, the pettiness in his chest boiling hot. He barely notices the tavern appearing before his eyes as the good man rambles on.

Jaskier waits by the door, sitting on the step next to a small Lucja, who’s eyes are red and puffy. His arm is around her and patting gently, eyes brightening as he finds Geralt carrying Andrej back safely.

Geralt sets the barkeep on the ground, relieved both physically and mentally. When the beast came and carried Andrej away right in the middle of town, the heartbreak in Jaskier’s eyes…

He shakes away the memory of Jaskier panicked and pleading when the man of his dreams was in danger.

“Papa!” Lucja runs towards Andrej and jumps into his open arms. The broken foot is not the worst thing for a human, but it must still hurt when he lets her slam into him and picks her up.

Of course, the perfect father would do that.

“I am safe and sound, my sweet girl,” Andrej says between kissing Lucja. “You must thank master witcher. He saved me!”

Jaskier is hovering around the both of them, touching and checking Andrej all over. His face finally relaxes into a smile when he turns to Lucja. “As I said, Geralt is a hero! You see, your papa is back! Everything will be alright now!”

Geralt’s chest twists at the sight of the three of them, something heavy lodged in his throat. They make a lovely picture together, almost too precious for him to intrude.

With that, he turns to leave, but a dizzy spell suddenly takes over.

He stumbles, vision darkening. The ringing in his ears drowns out all the noises in the world, and there’s something warm and sticky on his chin. He touches it, and his hand comes away with fresh blood.

It’s nothing a few hours of meditation can’t fix, but he does need the rest. Now that Jaskier has the perfect man back, he’ll be busy cooing over his brave heart and broken foot, and on top of it, his undying paternal love even in the face of death.

Geralt needs to take care of himself, alone.

It’s fine, nothing he hasn’t done since before Jaskier came along.

Really, It’s fine, he tells himself again.

Geralt winces, and takes another step. His head must be more messed up than he realizes, because he only hears his name called out after a few times.

“…Geralt?” Jaskier appears out of nowhere. “Hey, darling. You are alright. I’m right here.”

Careful hands support Geralt by the arms, taking most of his weight. By instinct, he leans into Jaskier’s embrace. It’s familiar, and it’s a surprise.

Oh, Jaskier is right here.

“Why—” Geralt says, shaking away the fuzzy feeling in his head but only making it worse. The confusion of Jaskier’s presence by his side grows. “Andrej—”

“Hush, now. Here, let me.” Jaskier puts Geralt’s arm over his shoulder, guiding him up the stairs. “You saved Andrej, alright? His foot will be fine, because you carried him all the way here. Stupid witcher with your stupid heart…”

Jaskier complains more about Geralt’s heroics, but he didn’t do it to be a hero. He only didn’t want Jaskier to be sad.

“Oh. I’m not sad, dear. Don’t you worry about me.”

Hmm. Somehow, Geralt has said the last part out loud.

“Yeah, you did. Now—oof, let’s get you into bed.” Jaskier answers another one of Geralt’s train of thoughts, pushing open the door to their bedroom. “You are saying everything you think. It must be the head wound. Those are tricky bastards, I know.”

Geralt feels himself being lowered into the soft bed, the pillows against his back. Jaskier is all over him soon enough.

“Jaskier?”

“Yes?”

Those blue eyes are too close for Geralt to be thinking, he only leans into Jaskier’s touch. A soft, damp rug is pressed on his forehead, cleaning the blood away.

Geralt winces. “Why are you here?”

Jaskier’s hand stops, holding the rag and hovering. He shifts closer on the bed, his thigh pressed against Geralt’s. “Where else should I be?”

“Andrej…” Geralt closes his eyes, waiting for Jaskier to have the same realization. “You should go to him.”

Jaskier only looks more confused. His brows knit together in sympathy.

“Oh, my sweet witcher. It must be the injury messing with your head. Ugh, now I know why you hate head injuries so much. It’s making you ask these nonsensical questions.”

“Not nonsensical. You…” Geralt hesitates, not wanting to admit it to his treacherous heart. “You love him.”

The room is silent for a moment. Geralt focuses his senses on Jaskier’s breathing, the steady rise and fall of his chest, grounding as always. The headache feels less intense when he can listen to Jaskier’s breathing like this.

The gash is still an open wound, and Jaskier resumes his gentle care, cleaning away the blood clots and finding the bandages from the drawer.

“He’s a nice guy. I did, perhaps.” Jaskier says. “And?”

The bandage covers the wound, wrapping behind Geralt’s head. Jaskier gently tilts him forward so he can reach all the way around.

“And…” Geralt finds himself at a loss for words. “And, you love that he’s a good father to Lucja.”

Jaskier only shrugs, tucking in the corner of the bandage near Geralt’s nape. Both of his hands cup Geralt’s chin, helping him tilt forward, nearly tucking his face in Jaskier’s shoulder. A shudder runs down Geralt’s body at the closeness.

“Lucja is a very lucky child.” Jaskier finishes his work and pulls away. “Still, you are hurt. Why should I be anywhere else?”

It comes out as naturally as breathing, like it’s a choice Jaskier has never needed to make. To stay with Geralt.

“Huh.”

“I may have a thing or two for these gentlemen who happen to be lovely parents.” Jaskier meets Geralt’s eyes, blinking. “But as kind-hearted as Andrej is, he’s not the best father I know.”

Geralt blinks. “There are better ones?”

An unnamed annoyance rises again in his chest. There are more men Jaskier is noticing, more of them for the bard to get all hot and bothered over.

Geralt is trying really hard to not pout, but he can’t help the way his mouth tugs into the shape of displeasure. The blood loss must be getting to him.

A tiny smile appears at Jaskier’s lips, proud and wicked. “Why, yes. Of course,” he says. “There’s this one man. He’s better than the rest of them combined.”

A low growl rumbles in Geralt’s chest on its own volition. Before he can hide it, Jaskier lets out a chuckle.

“Should I describe him to you, dear witcher, so you may learn about my most prestigious, and frankly, almost impossible standards?”

“No, Jask—”

Geralt really doesn’t want to hear, yet again, how Jaskier’s attention has passed right over him and landed on another man, but Jaskier simply interrupts him.

“Where shall I begin? You see, he’s the best one in my eyes, not because he’s perfect. It’s the opposite, rather. He’s just as flawed as everyone else when they become a parent for the first time, but he always tries to do better. He knows of his shortcomings, perhaps too much, too intimately.” Jaskier’s eyes soften. “He feels guilty, for falling short in the early days, even after all this time. That’s why I’m here to remind him, of how far he’s come, how much he’s done for his daughter. It’s hard to raise an orphan-princess in the middle of war, you know?”

Jaskier smiles knowingly, and Geralt lets out a surprised oh.

“I—” he splutters. “Jaskier, it’s—I don’t—”

Geralt’s stomach flutters, his cheeks heating up.

“And he’s the reason…” Jaskier pauses, caressing Geralt’s cheek gently, careful with his injuries. “Well, he’s the reason I started to notice the rest of them.”

“The rest of them?” Geralt asks, brain still trying to catch up.

“Mm-hmm.” Jaskier nods. “All the other fathers started to catch my attention. Suddenly, I was swooning left and right at the sight of an older man taking care of his children. Once I added being a good dad to my list of standards, do you know what I realized?”

Geralt is now feeling woozy again, this time not for the blood loss. “What did you realize?”

Jaskier’s hand trails from Geralt’s face, making him chase for a brief moment, longing for the gentle touch. He catches Geralt’s hands, lifting them to his lips for a chaste kiss, and then another.

“None of them can compare,” Jaskier answers, solemnly. “Not Andrej. Not any of them. I have a man in my heart already, taking up all of the space, showing up in all my dreams. When he’s here, he’s the only one I see. Flaws and all.”

Geralt is warm all over when Jaskier’s eyes are on him like this, like he’s the most important thing under the sky.

“He sounds…” It’s hard to say it, but Geralt has always been more candid when his head is all over the place. “He sounds amazing. You should tell him more.”

“Yes.” Jaskier’s smile stretches. “I forget, sometimes, how deeply those doubts lie. Hopefully, he’ll forgive me for being neglectful.”

“I’m sure he will.”

“Or I should just profess my undying love, and never let his insecurities prevail again.”

Geralt’s eyes widen, his heart nearly giddy with hope. “You should.”

Jaskier’s features soften impossibly when he holds Geralt’s chin in his palm, leans in, and presses a gentle kiss on his eyebrow.

“Well, for one, he is you,” he whispers it like a secret, resting their foreheads together. “I love you, at your best and at your worst. I love all your faults and mistakes, and my love only grows when you try to do better. You are my favorite person, Geralt of Rivia. You are my heart, and my songs, and you are everything hopeful about this world. Now—” Jaskier kisses him again on the cheek, a big wet kiss that he wipes away with a thumb, pulling away. “Will you stop being an idiot?”

Warmth spreads from Geralt’s stomach, making him hum with happiness. The way he melts into Jaskier’s embrace, losing all the words, may indicate that he’s still failing at the not-being-an-idiot part.

“You love me,” Geralt mutters the most important thing, not sure how to react, so he traps Jaskier in his arms and buries his face in his chest, refusing to let go.

When Jaskier laughs, it’s carefree and indulgent, the vibration rumbling against Geralt’s cheek. His fingers have returned to Geralt’s hair, playing with it patiently.

“I love you, and I’m in love with you, my brave, concussed, impossible witcher. I might even say I have a crush on you when you are being particularly sweet like this,” Jaskier says. “And you do need some rest if we want that head wound to heal, dear.”

But Geralt is very comfortable, snuggling into Jaskier like this, and he also has a crush in return.

“I need to tell you too.” Geralt’s voice comes out muffled and sleepy, his eyes closing in contentment. “So you won’t have doubts… so you’ll know…”

The fingers in his hair are soothing, petting in a gentle rhythm that is getting slower and slower, lulling Geralt into a meditative state.

“When your head is clear, perhaps,” Jaskier answers. “I’ll still be here when you feel better. I shall confess my love again, lest you forget, and you can tell me all that you feel, all the sweet things you want to say to me. Well—on the other hand, when you feel better, I’ll also have the chance to tease you.”

“Will you?”

Jaskier’s smile sounds wicked, but Geralt cannot find it in himself to care.

“Oh, of course. Relentlessly. This is too good of an opportunity to pass, you getting the idea that I might care for Andrej more than you, simply because he is a good father. Hmm, let’s see, who should hear it first? Ah, yes. Ciri, of course…”

Jaskier’s voice blends into the background noise, chirping in excitement about the prospect of telling Ciri everything, his arms around Geralt, never for a second trying to let go.

Geralt closes his eyes, letting out a long sigh and finally letting himself rest in satisfaction.

A head wound may not be the worst thing in the world, he thinks.

He just needs to get better soon enough. There’s a love confession waiting for him, after all.

#geraskier #geraskier fic #love confessions #geralt being an idiot while concussed and in love #so you know #the usual

[eggcompany]

How can I Resist?

"Not when there was just miles of perfectly warm and snugly witcher laid out right there." Jaskier likes to play with his Witcher

Jaskier had been bedding the White Wolf for a few years now. A few Summers. But this is the first time he’s seen his witcher so... relaxed. Up in Kaer Morhen. He had met the two other witcher's and the eldest of them all earlier. But now he and Geralt were up in his room. Geralt was spread out in front of the fire in his smallclothes, he was laying on a rather impressive pile of furs. Jaskier was sat at a small table writing in his journal. He didn’t get very much done though. Not when there was just miles of perfectly warm and snugly witcher laid out right there. Geralt was nearly asleep by the time he heard the rustle of clothes being shucked off, then a very friendly bard was flopping down on his left side.

“You just looked far too perfect for me leave you be.” Jaskier said has be turned to face the older man. He started tracing his fingers over a few scars that sat on Geralt’s sternum and chest.

“’was gonna sleep.” Geralt said in a very low and soft tone.

“Oh a nap would be just lovely, dear. Do you want something to drink or anything before you rest, my love?” Jaskier sat up a bit more but a sword callused hand wrapped under him and pulled the bard down onto Geralt’s chest. Jaskier hummed and cuddled into his witcher’s chest and started to doze. Right before the bard was asleep he pressed a single kiss to whatever skin was near his face.

However that skin was apparently a sensitive spot because soon the bard felt a shiver run down Geralt’s body. He felt Geralt’s hand that wasn’t wrapped around him come and cover that spot. That interested Jaskier.

Jaskier lifted that scarred hand away and kissed that spot again with a bit more pressure. Geralt’s breath hitched a bit and he push his chest up a small bit.

“Sensitive? Oh my dear Geralt that’s just adorable.” Jaskier said as he lifted up and placed his hands on either side of his witcher’s shoulders. He lowered himself and started kissing all over Geralt’s chest.

Geralt wiggled and moved his chest away from the kisses but also pushed up toward the bard’s attack. He let out little whimpers and small “Jask” and “oh”s.

Jaskier had his fun for another few seconds and then he pulled back and looked at Geralt’s face. Pupils big and round, bottom lip being bitten, an almost blush. A blush that would be there if it could be.

Jaskier threw one of his legs over the witcher’s waist and oh. Oh that’s a lovely feeling.

“Geralt you’re harder than a rock. You really like it that much? Gods your wonderful.”

Jaskier rocked a bit back onto the hardon that was right under his ass. He could feel the heat through his pants and Geralt’s smallclothes.

Geralt turned his head and looked away. His hands flexed in the furs, as if he was nervous.

“Well, sweet Geralt, let me continue” Jaskier said so sweetly before he started sucking hickies onto Geralt’s chest and nipping and licking at his nipples. Geralt was almost thrashing under him. Moaning loudly and holding onto the bard’s hair. Jaskier simply pressed his hips down once before Geralt pulled at his hair and pulled him into a kiss.

When they pulled apart Geralt was panting a bit and looked very far away.

Jaskier bent down and kissed his nose.

“Very cute. Now let’s get you washed up and into bed, dearest.”

#fanfic #egg_company #smut tag #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #geralt z rivii #the witcher #witcher fanfiction #the witcher fanfic #geraskier fanfic #geraskier smut

[ghostytoasty17]

A/N

This is the first long (ish) fic I have ever posted. Its a tad ooc, and not at all dialoge heavy. Nonetheless i hope you enjoy reading it!

taglist: @archfeykoi @97buttons

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Now, perhaps it is fate that brings me here. Maybe it is some strange act of the gods, watching two insignificant pawns play among their stars. Whatever it was or is for that matter I cannot say. 

Whatever is at play in this tavern I find myself in, far from home and any family that I may or may not have. I found him the bard I later came to know as Jaskier that night, and Julian many many nights after that. Fate or pure dumb luck, I found him when I needed him the very most and expected it the very least. Sat at the bar, watching him glide through the crowd, every step he took was mesmerizing, every word he sang I clung to like a scared child to his mother. I wanted to approach him so desperately, so badly did I want to walk up to him and strike up a conversation with this wandering spitfire of a man. Just as though the gods (who by now I was certain were involved in this) sent him over to my side. I was stunned by his approach, fumbling over my words near forgetting my own name. I was kept spellbound listening to him speak, so elegantly with enough charm to woo the coldest of hearts. I speak to him with ease after I am two glasses deep in sweet red wine, the dull fuzz of my mind easing my anxieties. We speak as old friends who had seen each other just yesterday the flow of our conversation turns flirtatious. Touches of a hand, shoulder, his hand creeps to my thigh. Any other man would have received a sharp slap to the cheek or a shove away from my person, not him never Jaskier. It was not a harsh grasp; it was possessive but oh so gentle. I found myself fond of his touch far sooner than was appropriate, but he did not seem to mind it when I took his hand and held it tight as we spoke. 

It is strange how quickly we devolve to lust, human beings ever seeking out pleasure in one another. Yet still though I feel lust there is something else that blooms there where it once was. A strange longing for something more than never seeing him again. My heart decided right then that I would follow him to the ends of the earth. My mind on the other hand? Still swirling and fuzzy. We stay late into the night, the bartender long done with our flirting bids us a good night forcing us outside. We walk aimlessly though the night, talking and wandering through the streets of the city. It seems he knows the streets better than I, so I follow him, never letting go of his hand, not even once. We found ourselves outside of the inn he happened to be staying at, and I knew he intended to leave me wanting at the door. I panicked, clung to his arm a wordless plea ‘do not leave without finishing what you started.’ What I did not know is that Jaskier leaves nothing in his life unfinished, not ballads, poems or art. Certainly not any seemingly meaningless flirtation. So, when he pulls me in and kisses me, I take but a few heartbeats to respond with all my pent-up enthusiasm. I giggle like a child when we pull away, and seeing his flushed face makes me all the giddier. He is smiling at me; his bright blue eyes are shining in the dim light, and I notice them more than I ever have before. We are cupping each others faces, staring deep into one another's souls. I feel naked under his gaze, completely raw and exposed. anxiety bubbles up in me, it makes me gasp for air in a panic. It's like he senses my unease, and i am pulled into his chest so quick I cannot process it, but the wave of relief that washes over me is like nothing I have ever felt. The anxiety is still there, it lingers like a nasty gash in my chest but he keeps me close still. We are moving through the dimly lit inn and into his room, and I cant help but wonder what he intends to do once we arrive. I so desperately want to stay with him, to follow him into the depths of the world beyond this one. So as I stumble into his room, and we are once again connected at the lips I feel that my mind is fully made up. My whole being will follow him to the very ends of the earth, but for now I shall settle for following him into bed.  

#jaskier #the witcher #joey batey #writers on tumblr #geralt of rivera #the witcher fanfiction #ooc jaskier #i dont know how to format yet im sorry #This is so self indulgent and im sorry #reader is ambiguous for the most part i think #Ghostytoastyswrites

[inexplicifics]

Thank you for all the beautiful fic you are sharing!! Makes my day when i see you on my dash. Just wondering if, in stop one heart from breaking, there’s a particular moment or chunk in time when the witchers realise they care about/like *jaskier*, not just the omega they adopted into their pack?

They talk about it later, among themselves, while Jaskier is in the library and they’re all out helping rebuild a tumbled wall.

*

Lambert falls first. It’s that afternoon in a poxy little town, when Jaskier is still scared of everything and they have to leave him at the inn while they go out to hunt a nest of bruxae. Lambert leans against Jaskier and the omega lifts a hand to stroke his hair, and Lambert’s witcher-slow, jaded heart turns over, because -

Because Jaskier is scared, still, and still utterly unsure of his place within the pack, and is so clearly scarred inside and out by his years of hell, passed around from alpha to alpha like he was worth less than the clothes on his back, and yet somehow, unlike Lambert, he hasn’t let his pain make him cruel.

He still has it in him to be kind to a near-stranger of an alpha, an inhuman mutant with a too-sharp tongue and a filthy sense of humor.

*

Geralt falls second. They’re most of the way back to Kaer Morhen, and Jaskier spots another bard, a beta woman, across a small tavern common room and very clearly screws up his courage and goes over, and Geralt, listening, hears the omega ask quietly if the other bard happens to know The Eight Fair Maidens. It’s an old Kaedweni song of which Geralt is fond, and Geralt asked for it other other day and Jaskier didn’t know it, and now -

Now he’s doing something that scares him witless, just to give Geralt a song he happens to like.

Geralt props his chin on his hand and watches as Jaskier and the other bard speak to each other quietly, and the other bard plays through the song on her lute softly enough that it doesn’t attract any attention, and then Jaskier comes back to their table looking relieved and happy.

Geralt catches his eye as he sits down and says, softly and fervently, “Thank you,” and counts the shyly brilliant smile Jaskier gives him as a reward well won.

*

Eskel is the most soft-spoken and courteous of his pack, the gentlest in many ways, but he guards his heart well.

He cherishes Jaskier well before they reach Kaer Morhen’s crumbling walls; the omega is sweet and brave and clever, and he suits their pack like a hand in a well-made glove. He knows his pack-brothers have fallen in love; it’s all through their scents and their expressions, which others might find hard to decipher but he can read as easily as a child’s primer.

Eskel loses his heart in the courtyard of Kaer Morhen, when Jaskier swears in utter sincerity that he would rather die than harm their pack.

There are so few people who can or would make such a promise. And the thought of scared, scarred, brave young Jaskier being one of them - of him having given them such loyalty even after everything he’s been through -

Eskel breathes in the scent of cinnamon and citrus and knows his pack will never be complete without it again.

#questions answered #i shall not live in vain 'verse #snippet #fic specific asks

[thewritersaddictions]

Geralt of Rivia: The Knives Hurt

Pairing: Geralt x F!Reader

POV: Reader

Warnings: Blood, Fluff, patching up a wound, light fighting scene, angst, survival.

Summary: Geralt may be a witcher, but we all must bleed. But with you beside him no wound is to hard to heal.

WC- 1.7k

A/n: @firefly-graphics for dividers;

Tag List Form

The Witcher Master List

The Hero’s Master List

“Geralt why do you insist on doing things by yourself?” I asked as he rushed out of the door of the room and down the creaking stairs. He always had the ability to be a complete dick when he was the search of the monster he was quested out to kill. 

“Geralt!” I said again at the bottom of the stairs of inside the bar. He turned and looked at me. Geralts eye were on me like there was nobody else was in bar. Stoic, and unbroken by the quite talking. “Y/n you must know that this is what I do. This is my work. My life!” He said sharply and under his breathe. Those two yellow eyes not giving any leeway for my words. 

The staring only lasted a few moments before Geralt turned his back, and walked out the bars door. The bartendar looked over, with a sweet smile she filled up a mug of the best brew they had and slid it across the bars top. I grabbed it took a sip, and walked back up the stairs. 

Geral always thought he was right no matter waht/. Geralt was my friend, a really good friend. Hell honestly I don’t know what Geralt and I are. I loved Geralt yes, but as a great friend because he was my savior at one point. My knight in black armor. 

Geralt is someone that you just won’t every change, he honestly think that he needs to save and never take credit, but sometime the true monster the one that he hunts is just as dangerous if not even more than he is.

I walked back into the room we were staying in, the room was cold and the sheets on the bed were bunched into a ball. I fixed everything and then fixed a bath for myself, but couldn’t get the thought of Geralt all by himself because regardless of what he knew he was always going into a dangerous situation. 

And acrodding to him he never needs any sort of back up. Jaskier, had left us a few towns over tried having to come to Geralts rescue when he got into trouble and Geralt never said anything, no thank you, no nothing. So Jaskier left us and with good reason. 

Geralt always has his reasons for why he wanted to go by himself. Never wanted more people to get hurt, and he always said that he was a witcher and that he could handle himself. Still the thought of him being there out without anyone. 

Fighting 

The bath didn’t help as the thought of Geralt continued to roll around in my head. The bath water grew cold and i got out redressing, before I left the room. Something said that I needed to come out and find Geralt. That gut feeling was so strong. I got my boots, and went out to go find Geralt. 

It was dark raining, and a musty smell could be smelt as your continued to walk further to the towns edge. I let my intuition take me towards the edge of the town, and even further closer to the woods. Closer to where the towns people had said that the towns monster had dragged people, and they’d never seen those precious people again. 

The closer I got the more I took in my surrounding. The woods screamed with a dark and scary force that was held just behind the line of dark trees. As I stepped over into the marsh like swamp ground. It soaked my boots. The sound causing me to take a look down at the ground. A dark crimson liquid seeped up from the ground. 

I looked up in disgust. It was gong to take more then a few rainstorms to get that stain out of my boots but I digress. I countiend on, the venture becoming darker and darker by the second. The sound of fighting could be heard the further you got into the forest or whatever the hell this forest was. 

Roach was tied to a tree not far off from the path that led into the forest. If Roach was near then that meant Geralt wasn’t very far. The grunting, and hearing sounds  came from just a few feet away from my current standing.

“Geralt!” I yelled at the forest lines of trees only causing it to echo. Nothing was returned. Geralt was the fastest and smoothest fighter that I had ever seen in my life. He was calculated until the very last breath was drawn.

But even sometimes the great Geralt of Rivia  wasn’t in the best of space to be fighting. Thinking caused him even the slighest of a fuck up in his battle. The woods fell silent, and all while I continued to walk towards what I thought was going to be a victorious battle. A battle that Geralt had won, but when I arrived it was the very opposite. Geralt was laying on the ground, he looked scared, and the monster wasn’t dead yet. 

Wounded but not dead. Geralt never dropped his weapons on purpose, but with him being hurt like he was he had no reason to have his sword. It sat in front of my feet, the monster hadn’t yet noticed me, and I took the only chance I had to save Geralt.

I grabbed the sword and lunged for the monster, catching Geralt's eye.I saw the extreme shock in his eye before I turned back, striking the monster in the best place I thought I could. It’s either the heart, or the head according to Geralt at least. So the head I went for. I did my best and closed my eyes. I felt the splash of wetness on my face, and I heard the plop of the monster's head hit the damp ground. 

Geralt was looking at me. His hand was still justly pressed against his wound. “Shit!” I said as I ran over dropping Geralt’s sword. I ran over to Geralt, “You had me worried sick, I couldn’t think while you were out here.” I said He stared at me. Yellow eyes staring deeply into me like he’d never seen before in this sort of way. 

“Did you just kill that monster in your dress gown?” Geralt said to me. I look down at my ruined dress down to my reddish stained cloth, and my boots they were ruined just as much. “Yeah I guess I did. Are you hurt? You looked hurt.” I said. 

Geralt shifted and took of his arm away from his wound.” Gealt be serious now I’ve seen your hand on your wound. You can’t manage to hide that from me even if you tired.” I said as I reached a hand out for Geralt to use for support.

He took my support, and he held on to me as we walked back through the forest. We’d forgotten about the monster die in the forest, and just contiuned our way back to the tavern. Back the cramped bed, and dirty tub. Back tothe silence of the hunt being over finally. 

Finally we had made it to the tavern. He tried to stay tough as we waled through the town, and through the tavern. It was a quiet night now in the tarven nobody to look at us we walked up the stair. When I finally managed to get his large frame through the tiny stairscase.

We didn’t talk much from the forest until we were in the confides of our room. “Now I know what ever you are going to say is just going to be plain dumb, so don’t talk and let me fix up your wounds.” I said to Geralt.

He huffed but didn’t protest me as I started to undress Geralt from his shirt. The blood had dried just barely and the shirt was ruined. The wound wasn’t deep so no need for stiching it up, but it was a long cut. I gathered some water in a bowl and a few small clothes from the bar keep. 

I kept the water clean as i could as I cleaned Geralts wounds, before tying a tight knot out of the bandages that were securing his wound.Neither of us talked as I worked on his cut, the bleeding wasn’t bad. But normally Geralt had something to me about the way that I was cleaning it, or the way I was patching it up. 

Nothing this time around though.

“I know I said that you didn’t need to talk, but it’s kinda freaking me out a little Geralt.” I said. I rumaged around looking for another shirt, before finding one and handing it to Geralt. “Why did you come after me?” Geralt asked. Not yet taking the shirt from me. He watched me with great seriouness behind his eyes. 

“Why shouldn’t I?” I reponsed back with a hint of attitude. I didn’t like feeling like I was being asked a series of questions that need no answer. Not when Geralt already has all the answers anyways. “I’m allowed to go chase after you espically when I find you losing that fight and hurt. Where do you find the audacity to tell me that i can’t come chase after you and help.” I said so frastruated that i threw the clean shirt agasint the rooms door. 

“Whomever said that I didn’t want you to come chase after me was a bloody idiot.” Geralt said. Getting up from the bed he walked towards me, he was always taller than me, but I rarely ever noticed the change in height between the two of us until right now. 

Geralts chest in my eyeline, and those yellow eyes staring back at me. “Nobody, and I mean when I say this I would never let anybody rescue me like I would let you. I know I’m a dick, hell a bastard whatever you what to call me. But you can save me anyday” He said his hands coming up and resting on my cheeks. He was so close, my mouth hung open.

And we stood in silence but only for a moment. “We should get you out of this dressing gown seeing as it’s ruined now, and those boots of yours.” Geralt said. Winking as he releases my checks from his warm hands. I couldn’t help but smile internally and externally. Even the Great Geralt of Rivia had a soft spot for someone. 

Completed on: 07/21/22

Posted on: 07/23/22

The Heros-

#geralt of river x reader #fem reader #female reader #the witcher netflix #the witcher x reader #the witcher x y/n #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivera #geralt x reader #geralt x you #geralt x y/n #geralt x female reader #jaskier #geraltfluff #thewitcherTheheros

[wren-of-the-woods]

Spectre’s Soul

Geraskier, Rated T

Summary: When Jaskier tried to go on a date with a man named Rience, he did not expect to nearly be killed. He certainly did not expect to discover a beautiful valley while running away from him. He very definitely did not expect to find out that the valley was haunted — by an absurdly beautiful man.

Or: In which Geralt is cursed to be a ghost and Jaskier is the first person in decades to talk to him.

This is my entry for the @jaskierminibang!! I collaborated with the lovely @nadik1. You can find the first part of her art in her Tumblr post or in the chapter on AO3!

Excerpt below:

~

When Jaskier first found the place, he was running for his life.

He had known his date would turn out badly within half an hour of meeting Rience. Not in his wildest dreams, though, did he suspect that the man he was going out with was a half-crazy murderer with a side of pyromania. In his naivety, he thought a nighttime hike to see the full moon was a perfectly romantic idea. By the time he realized that he was in danger — around when Rience started to pull out knives and talk gleefully about bloodshed, fire, and sacrifices — they had hiked far enough that there were no city lights or cell reception, leaving him with no choice but to make a run for it.

He should have suspected something was wrong when Rience seemed utterly unconcerned about the fog rolling in, which concealed moon and star alike. Then again, he had never expected to fall prey to a serial killer. This whole situation was absurdly unlikely. He could excuse himself for being reluctant to assume the worst, perahps, but he would have very much preferred not to be running full tilt through a dark, fog-filled, and nearly impenetrable forest near the coast.

He was never going to use a dating app again.

“Jaskier,” called Rience from somewhere behind him, sing-song and sweet. “Come back, or you’ll miss all the fun!”

Jaskier ran faster, muttering increasingly panicked curses as he stumbled and smashed his way through the forest. He had no idea where Rience was; he had no chance of hearing anyone else’s footsteps over the racket he was making. He had only just moved to the area, so he had no clue where he had come from or where he was going.

He was not ready to die.

He tripped on a root and cried out. His hands were slippery with what he suspected was his own blood. His pants were torn — he liked these jeans, damn it — but he had no time to dwell on his misfortune. He scrambled back to his feet and kept going, making an effort to be quieter this time in case Rience was still pursuing him.

Fog surrounded him, flying in the biting wind that whistled in the trees. It obscured any starlight that might have made it through the boughs overhead. The only light was that of the full moon, and even that was weak and wavering.

Jaskier bit back a hysterical laugh. When he moved away from Lettenhove to find adventure, this was not what he had in mind. This situation felt like something out of a horror film, not a scene from the life of a mildly promising musician who spent most of his days working in a coffee shop.

As though in response to his thoughts, a large branch crashed down directly in front of him. He jumped back, barely managing to avoid being hit by the smaller sticks that fell with it. The wind seemed, somehow, to grow even more strong. It tore past the trees and Jaskier’s clothes alike. It sounded far too much like the screaming of a tormented voice for Jaskier’s comfort.

The fog thickened around him. He turned around in a circle. He had no idea where he had come from or where Rience was. All he could see were the twisted trees around him. Their branches reached towards him out of the darkness like skeletal hands. Behind him, something creaked. There was a rustling in the undergrowth. Jaskier whipped around just in time to see what looked like a vaguely humanoid shape moving through the fog. The wind howled like the screaming of a thousand wolves.

“Shit,” croaked Jaskier. “No. Fuck this.”

He refused to deal with a horrifying forest and a serial killer at the same time. One of the two was more than enough trouble.

He started to run again, this time in the opposite direction. The wind and the terrifying shapes were at his back, but he was still horribly aware of their presence. He ran faster. He was trembling hard enough to make coordination difficult. His heart was beating so loudly that it nearly drowned out the sound of his footsteps. He kept going. At one point, another gust of wind seemed to create a figure in the fog beside him. He turned his back to it and ran faster.

He didn’t know how long he was there, running through the dark, but it felt like hours before he finally found the trail again. There was no sign of Rience. Jaskier prayed that he had also become lost in the woods, but he did not wait to find out. He hiked as quickly as he could in what he hoped was the direction of the parking lot.

After a time, he started to recognize his surroundings. He continued and reached the parking lot. He found his car. He climbed in, shut and locked the doors, turned on all the internal lights, and stared blankly into the darkness around him. Then he cried on the steering wheel for several minutes.

When he pulled himself together enough to think of it, he called the police. Rience was still out there, after all, and Jaskier would never forgive himself if the madman attacked some other hapless hiker or started a wildfire. When he finished the call, he cried a little more. Then he took a deep breath, turned on his headlights, and drove back to his apartment.

He went inside. He locked the door securely and made sure all the windows were closed. He went into his bedroom and closed the door. He sat on the floor with his back to it for a few long minutes.

He eventually climbed into bed, still fully clothed. He tossed and turned for a few minutes but eventually his exhaustion was too great to be overcome. He fell asleep with the lights still on.

He woke the next day with a pounding headache and several concerned texts from his friends and coworkers. Essi had sent him a news article detailing Rience’s arrest the previous night. She knew Jaskier had been out with him and was understandably frightened when Jaskier had not responded to her calls. He called her to reassure her, then called in sick to work. He fed his mouse, Gordon, then collapsed onto the couch in a daze.

He survived an attack from a serial killer. He deserved a day of Netflix and ice cream.

~

Jaskier went back.

It might have been a bad idea to return so soon to the place where he almost died, but he had to see it again. He had to return without being attacked by either murderous humans or supernatural beings. He had to convince himself that going into a forest would not result in his death. He needed closure.

Continue reading on AO3!

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier minibang #wren writes #the witcher fanfiction #nadik #a song to soothe the spectre's soul #spectre's soul #tw attempted murder #i guess? #emphasis on attempted #don't worry there is fluff

[seidenbros]

Yay!!! 😄 Congratulations on 1K followers! 🥳 You deserve them ALL!! 💕 Can I please request Jaskier x female reader with the prompts “"do you know.. h-how beautiful you are?" followed by a forehead kiss that lingers longer”” + “”when you're working and they sit by your side, just--admiring and memorizing your every freckle, scar and they mindlessly tug a strand of your hair behind your ear”” please? Thank you so much!! 🥰

THANK YOU! That's so sweet of you! 💚💚 These are such cute prompts, oh lord! It's really challenging for me to cut it short, but I managed to do just that, so here it is.

---

Jaskier loved watching you work, it was kind of soothing for him. Whenever you set to sewing clothes, he liked to stay by your side and just watch you. He sometimes wrote stuff down while he was spending time with you, and sometimes played you a little song, which made the time pass quicker. At first, you’d been a little confused whenever he said he’d just like to stay, but by now, you really cherished his presence. You didn’t even need to talk, his presence was enough to make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Especially when he was sitting right next to you like he was doing today. He’d told you that he’d like to learn a thing or two to be able to mend his own clothes, though you doubted that he’d ever do it himself, when he could come to you instead, get your help. And you liked it, liked having him around, more than you’d probably admit out loud.

He was sitting next to you, because he’d asked you to show him something, and while you were explaining, he wasn’t really listening. Because he couldn’t concentrate on your words, his eyes lingering on your profile. He studied the curve of your nose, the way your lashes cast little shadows over your cheeks, the way the corners of your lips turned up whenever you said something that delighted you. His eyes lingered on the freckles on your nose, the few that were on your forehead as well, like little stars that fanned out over your skin. He could write songs about your beauty, and he already had, but he’d never played them to anyone before. Absentmindedly, he reached out his hand to tug a strand of loose hair behind your ear. That was the moment, you slowly turned towards him again.

“Jaskier, you’re not listening.” You weren’t really angry at him, just a little confused as well as a little breathless due to the unexpected touch. Yes, you’d touched before, fingers grazing each other when he handed you something, and he’d even hugged you before, but this… had just been so gentle, that it was somehow different.

“Do you know… h-how beautiful you are?” Jaskier's voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, but you heard every word. When he leaned forward to press his lips to your forehead, when you felt them linger there a little longer than was probably appropriate, you could feel your heart beginning to beat faster. You’d had a little crush on him for some time now, but you’d never done anything about this, simply enjoying his presence. But this? This was different.

“Jask… that’s…” You felt your cheeks beginning to burn, not knowing what to say.

“I mean it.” Confidence was slowly coming back to himl you could see that in the smile he was showing you now. “I can’t take my eyes off you when you try to explain something to me, when you speak with so much passion about something you love.” You looked up at him, a smile on your lips, while your heart damn near jumped out of your chest. “I know that’s not very beneficial to learning from you, but I can’t help myself.”

“Do I have to put a bag over my head so that you don’t get distracted then?” you asked with a chuckle, your hand landing on top of his. This was not how you’d expected this afternoon to go, but you weren’t complaining.

“NO! Absolutely not. You’ll just have to be a little more patient with me, because I keep getting distracted by your beauty.” Jaskier turned your hand in his and raised it to his lipps, to brush a kiss across your knuckles.

“I think I’ll be alright with that.” You cocked your head to the side, a mischievous grin appearing on your lips. “As long as I get some distraction as well.” The right time to shoot your shot was either now or never, so you tried it. Jaskier needed a moment to realise what you were talking about, but when your eyes locked on his lips, he understood.

“Oh, that’s the kind of distraction we both need now and then, I guess.”

Jaskier pulled you closer by your hand, but then raised the other one to cup your face. His thumb brushed across your cheek before he leaned in and kissed your lips. Warmth spread through your whole body upon the touch, your hand landing on his chest. This was a huge surprise for the two of you, but not for everyone else who’d seen you together. They’d probably made bets about how long it would take you to finally kiss, but you couldn’t care less. Not when you were kissing the lips of the man who’d been in your mind ever since he’d first set foot in your shop.

#dancingwith-sunflowers #jaskier #jaskier x reader #jaskier x you #jaskier imagine #jaskier drabble #the witcher imagine #the witcher drabble #staffi writes #seidenbros follower celebration

[kuwdora]

💞💌✨

💞what's the most important part of a story for you? the plot, the characters, the worldbuilding, the technical stuff (grammar etc), the figurative language

Ohhh I got this ask several times, so I can answer it in multiple parts! Err, I might ramble a little...

As a writer I come at everything from character. Plot stems from the character, and the world building also (mostly) spins out from the character.

This is why I can write 15k or 25k and not actually have a beginning, middle, or end. I get so caught up in the process of understanding how the character is inhabiting the world and figuring out what they want. What they need. It takes me so long to narrow things down and cut things out because I’m so far inside a character’s head.

Sometimes approach a story from a “what if x happens to Character A?” (I have a like two trope-y yennskier things I want to tackle this year that start with this question). But 7 or 8 times out of 10 I’m starting with what a character is feeling and doing and rolling around in the why. All my feelings start and end there. ❤️

✨What's a fic you've posted you wish you could breathe life into again and have people talking about it? (or simply a fic you wish got more credit)

Oh, I could probably just randomly pick any of my witcher stories at this point but maybe I’ll single out Learning Curve which on the surface is just porny cuddles and softness, but I spent a lot of time working through some TWN Yen thoughts about how she is coping from season 1 and 2 events. Her upbringing and relationship with Aretuza and Tissaia and how that impacts the way she fucks up with Ciri and what she wants to try to do and be better.

This Yen also has a magical disability which throws an emotional/psychological/logistical wrench into her plans about how to teach Ciri, too. Sure, Yen got her powers back from Voleth Meir, but what if there was still a physical/magical consequence for using up so much of her chaos in the first place? The wear and tear on her body can’t just go away, even if she can get her magic back.

I want to write more about Yen and magical disability and explore teacher/student dynamic with Ciri and when/if it can cross into a mother/daughter dynamic that I felt more acutely in the books and games.

💌share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

Ah!! Yes, okay. My puppetskier story Coin Operated Boy will feature Shani for a few scenes. It’s going to be sweet and endearing and funny. But!! Let me share with you the first meeting between Shani and Jaskier. This is not in the puppetskier story because I’m writing and publishing this in a very non-linear order but I want to share anyway cause I am EXCITED.

Some context: I’m casting a young Jessica Sula as Shani, and this Shani is going to be maybe a little genderqueer. And when Jaskier first meets Shani, he’s a little hungover and has been going through some things so he’s not at his best.

I’m enjoying writing Shani and Jaskier’s dynamic, mostly from a point of view where Shani actually doesn’t know who Jaskier is as a performer or professor because she’s been too busy doing her own thing. Jaskier hasn’t always been around for her to meet first or second-hand. The intergenerational friendship is a big deal to me to explore and tease, which is largely a contrast and parallel for when Jaskier was first setting out on his adventures with a monster slayer.

Bedside Manner Shani & Jaskier warning for implied alcohol abuse ~1800w

A gentle boot kicked Jaskier awake. Gulls. Clop of hooves. Distant yelling and chatter. He didn’t remember falling asleep down near the harbor.

Stabbing pain gouged Jaskier behind his eyes. He refused to open them to see what kicked him. He tried rolling over, his chin knocking into the corner of something, and instead he folded his arm and turned the other way. Horseshit wafted in the air, mingling with the scents of fish and piss. Maybe he should get up after all.

The boot kicked him again, but not with the heavy intent of harm.

“Hey.”

Jaskier was cold and stiff and he pulled his sleeves down. Pulled himself away from the repeated kick. Gentle, but still annoying.

“What,” he muttered.

“Wake up.”

The voice was bossy, but warm. Jaskier’s stomach clenched in pain and he scrunched his face. Last night hadn’t gone as planned, judging from the aches in his body. He remembered making it to a cot at some point to sleep off the drinking game, but he was outside now. His mouth was sandpaper dry. Coppery-taste on the inside of his lip and cheek and the faint taste of semen in his mouth.

Why did morning exist and why was someone bothering him?

“No,” Jaskier said and pulled the collar of his coat up to protect him from the sea breeze. He kept his eyes shut and feet shuffled beside him. The creak of wood beside his ear was like an anvil being dropped on his head. “Fuck.”

Jaskier rubbed his face which did little good to improve his situation. He opened his eyes, had a fuck-all time clearing the gunk from his vision, and regretted the daylight immediately. He blocked out the sun with his hand and hazarded a glance upwards.

A child peered at him from the cart that Jaskier was leaning against. He squinted at the street urchin, bronze skin with large brown eyes and curly, cropped hair that seemed to be an unnatural shade of red. Cherubic. Precocious. Someone looking for opportunity.

“I don’t have anything worth stealing,” Jaskier said and thought about getting up and decided against it when the needles inside his head told him not to move.

“Got that right. Saw three fellas feeling you up before I came over. Lucky you still have your boots,” the boy said.

“My boots are shit,” Jaskier said.

“Which is why you still have ‘em, I guess,” the boy agreed.

Jaskier sighed and his head lolled back, closing his eyes, and trying to find the will get to his feet.

He felt an odd pressure on the top of his head and tried to look up but something rolled down the side of his face and into his lap. It was a piece of fruit.

“Bwuh?”

“Hungry?” the boy asked.

“Eh,” Jaskier said and wiped off the fruit with his sleeve. He looked up at the child. “Not so keen on taking a…pear? from a strange child on the street first thing in the morning.”

“It’s afternoon,” the boy said.

Jaskier looked around again and supposed that was true enough.

“You pass out here often?” the boy asked and Jaskier picked at the stem of the pear and shrugged.

“Here, there. I am a man of the city,” he said and turned the bruised pear around in his hand.

“Did you vomit before or after you passed out? Think that’s your piss or someone else’s?” the boy asked and looked over his shoulder at the cobblestones Jaskier had slept upon.

“What?” Jaskier asked and frowned, looking down at his trousers and the ground and his head jerked back up. He hadn’t been sick—or remembered being sick, but that was beside the point. The scratch of a pencil was loud in his ears, inciting a new round of pain. He knew the tell-tale scribbling when he heard it.

Jaskier kneaded his eye and leaned forward, bracing a hand on the wheel of the cart and dragged himself to his feet. He got himself a proper look at the boy who was less of a boy and more of a gangly adolescent wearing a well-fitted green tunic. Clean, well-fed. Maybe not a street urchin, but still looked like a child.

A wave of vertigo passed over Jaskier and he braced himself against the cart, watching the boy write something in his notebook. “What’re you writing?”

“Patient notes,” the boy said.

“What? Huh,” Jaskier said, his hands moving before his brain caught up, and he swiped the notebook from the kid’s lap. Name, age, weight, symptoms were left blank but the child had written down a brief physical description along with a few notes under medical history. He read: Patient has a likely history of alcohol abuse. Damage to his liver suspected. Inquire about family history??? The words swam in Jaskier’s vision. He really should go lie down after drinking some water.

“I’m a medical student,” the boy said. Jaskier squinted at him. He looked too young to be at the university.

“You look too young to be at the university,” he said.

The boy grabbed the notebook back and twirled the pencil around in his hand. “I’m almost fifteen. What are you, 10 stone?” he asked, looking Jaskier up and down.

“Right,” Jaskier said. “Good luck with that,” and turned around and began making his way back to the town. The more he moved, the more wafting smell of fried fish was going to make Jaskier hurl.

“I’m not done yet, hold on,” the boy said and Jaskier gave the urchin a sidelong glance and he held out his notebook again. “Do you have a headache?”

“Splitting,” Jaskier said.

“Nausea?” the boy asked.

“Sloshy,” Jaskier said.

“Sensitivity to light?”

“I am quite hungover, thank you so much for your concern,” Jaskier said and turned a corner and slipped the pear into the palm of a old woman sitting on a stoop.

“Ohhh, I do have something for that,” the boy said. Jaskier almost didn’t bother stopping but the hopeful note in the boy’s voice seeped through the nausea. The promise of relief was too much to ignore. He turned around and the boy had leaned against the side of the building and was digging through his shoulder bag. “9? 10 stone? 9 stone just to be safe,” the boy said.

Jaskier wandered back. “I don’t have any coin for any tinctures you have there.”

“I don’t need coin. I only need to finish my report after you take this,” the boy said. He muttered something to himself and held out a large glass bottle at Jaskier. “Drink that water first. All of it.”

“You’re kind of bossy for a kid,” Jaskier said and uncapped the bottle, giving it a wary sniff.

The boy shrugged and uncapped a light green vial and poured a little on his finger and gave it a lick, nodding at himself and then handed Jaskier the vial. “It’s mostly ginger,” the boy said.

“So why should I trust you? Especially if I’m not paying you for this little remedy here.”

“I get extra credit for helping the stupid and poor,” the boy said. Jaskier frowned. The fucking nerve of the kid. Jaskier has now upgraded him from child to nuisance kid.

“Some bedside manners you have there,” Jaskier said.

“We haven’t covered that unit yet,” the nuisance kid said.

“Ah, well then,” Jaskier said. “To your education,” he said and raised the vial in a toast and tipped it back. It tasted…green.

He frowned and dropped the vial in the boy’s open shoulder bag. He tongued the roof of his mouth. “You make this yourself?” he asked. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Shani, and yes I made it. What good would it be if I had someone else do my homework for me? That’s how you’re supposed to learn, by doing it,” Shani said.

“If only all students were as sensible as you. Good job,” Jaskier said, and plucked the notebook from the bag and went flipped through the pages. Patients A through D were people Shani must be picking up from the streets, judging from the notes.

Jaskier helped himself to the pencil but Shani grabbed it and the notebook.“It’s not very nice to dig through somebody’s stuff.”

“Fair enough. What else do you need from me?” Jaskier said. His stomach rumbled loud enough that Shani’s eyes widened slightly. “Let’s keep moving away from the fried smells, eh?” he suggested and began walking, motion Shani to come along.

“Alright. What’s your name?” Shani said, flipping to a page in his notebook and following after Jaskier.

“Julian Alfred Panktraz,” he said. “P-A-N-K-R-A-T-Z,” he added helpfully.

“Age?”

“Timeless.”

Shani made a noise and Jaskier glanced over, watching him write down refuses to disclose age.

“Any other symptoms I should know about pertaining to your current health?” the nuisance kid asked.

“I’ve got an itch on my left toe that won’t go away—probably because of my boots. I seem to have lost most of my coin in a drinking game and I’m not quite sure whose company I enjoyed last night, but the memory problems are probably because of the drinking. I have trouble sleeping because I can’t seem to work out the third verse of my current ballad, but that’s more symptomatic of inherit heartbreak and loss of a decades-long friendship. Or maybe the heartache is from the terror seeping into Oxenfurt because of the war that’s happened—or the war that’s likely to come. No one seems to care how Oxenfurt has changed. The people aren’t like they were before. I don’t know why everybody else can’t see it. I mean, I know why…pretending something isn’t happening is easier than acknowledging the truth. I don’t know how to tell the story of what’s happening because… Fear isn’t easy to… to deal with when you’re alone,” he said, stymied by the next wave of nausea.

Shani paused his scribbling, clearly not knowing what to make of that.

Jaskier rubbed his face—his lips felt funny—and and shrugged. “You asked.”

“Oookay,” he said.

Shani closed his notebook and nodded at Jaskier. “I think I have everything I need. How do you feel?”

Jaskier patted himself down. Still nauseous, but not actively feeling like he was going to vomit. “Better. Top marks for you,” he said and Shani grinned.

Let's Get Real Fic Writer Asks

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Warrior’s Blues repost event part 7! In which the morning after hits like a truck, certain recollections bubble to the surface, and a job offer is made.

Chapter 7: Fire and Ice

Tags/warnings: PTSD, alcohol, smut

Beta: @stressedspidergirlsfandomblog​

~Ao3 Link~

He snags the towel and rubs himself dry with it, listening to the rustles and scrapes of Jaskier in the main living space. When he is dry, he wraps the towel and around his waist, leaving the bathroom. What he sees causes him to draw up short, depression snapping suddenly into irrationally potent rage. On the floor near the foot of the bed is a box, marked “Clothing.” On top of it are the attic keys.

“Jaskier!” He barks out, his voice cutting across the house like a gunshot. “What the everloving fuck is this?”

Morning creeps into the room. Slow lazy fingers of light brush across the rumpled quilt, the clothing tangled on the floor, the soft blue, yellow, and white braided rug covering the wood floor. Daylight also reveals an antique desk underneath a window, piled high with unruly stacks of handwritten documents. There is a trashcan next to it which contains mainly crumpled paper, a few wads of which sit on the carpet forlornly nearby, having not made it in when they were unceremoniously tossed. Towards the back of the messy, quiet room is a large closet whose doors are currently closed. This is probably for the best, as there are visible lumps of fabric peeking along the very bottoms of the white folding closet doors. 

In the bed two figures sleep, their naked bodies entwined. At some time during the night Jaskier had moved and was now curled loosely in the curve of Geralt’s body, spine pressed comfortably to Geralt’s ribs, waist trapping his arm. Geralt is curled softly around him with his face nestled up near the back of Jaskier’s neck, his breath stirring the fine hairs there with every exhale. The sweet scent of his skin and soft, heavy warmth of his body weigh Geralt down, making it difficult to want to waken. A warm haze enfolds him, protecting him, blunting the harsh edges inside of him. He drifts, avoiding consciousness. 

Jaskier stirs some time later, as the room begins to warm and become bright and sweaty in the summer heat. He turns his head against his pillow and yawns, snuggling into the welcome feeling of bare skin at his back. 

Geralt startles a little at the movement, eyes popping open, noticing that he is not in a familiar environment. As consciousness filters in he feels the heavy warmth of the other man on his arm, along his side, sees the soft brown hairs at the nape of Jaskier’s neck, watches them shiver as he breathes. His heart skips a beat and he frowns. Half frightened and half fascinated, he leans forward to brush his lips along the hairs, feeling the prickle of them. He revels guiltily in the warmth of Jaskier’s skin against his lips, his heart twisting as he takes in the soft oaky, soapy smell. The world is trickling back in faster now, and with it, bleak sensations of sorrow and fear. 

“Ah, fuck,” Geralt sighs, without any real rancor. He drops his head back against the pillow and rolls onto his back, his side still pressed up against Jaskier’s skin as if he can’t quite bear to part from him. 

Jaskier lifts his head sleepily. “Hmm?” he murmurs, voice thick. He lets out a yawn and stretches, then rolls over and puts his chin on Geralt’s chest, looking up at him from under his lashes. Despite the morning stubble he looks younger in the morning light, face smoothed by sleep, his fine hair unruly. He combs his fingers lightly through it as he asks, “Everything all right?”

Geralt looks down at him, terror and profound fondness twisting around inside of him as he gazes into those wide blue eyes. Hesitantly, he runs experimental fingers through the soft short hairs at the back of Jaskier’s head, down along his neck, feeling them tickle on his fingertips. As he does so he gropes for words, golden eyes searching Jaskier’s face as if he will find answers there. 

“I shouldn’t be here,” he grimaces, voice low and rough with sleep. He clears his throat, shaking his head and breaking away from Jaskier’s gaze, glancing to the side to see out the window. There’s not much to be seen through the lacy curtains, just the driveway, Jaskier’s car, and a neighbor's high wooden fence. “This is what got me in trouble in the first place.” He takes his hand off of the back of Jaskier’s neck and scrubs his face with it. The other hand he keeps close to his chest. It aches fiercely, and the bandages on his knuckles need to be changed, but it is far less painful than it was the day before. 

Tilting his head to the side, Jaskier studies his face. “What, being in my bed?” he inquires gently, full well knowing that’s not what Geralt meant. He gets more comfortable on Geralt, unselfconsciously splaying his hand across his lover’s chest, careful not to jostle his injured hand. 

“No.” Geralt grumps, annoyed at Jaskier’s deliberate obtuseness, but obscurely enjoying the gentle touch that accompanies it. The warmth of it is intoxicating and weirdly painful, making his heart ache. He wants to bury himself in it and vanish again, but in the bright light of day it is so much harder to do that. Instead he grimaces, struggling to sit up. “Fucking around like this is what got me fired. I shouldn’t be here.” He pushes the sweet heat of Jaskier away from him even though his skin silently cries out at the loss. Jaskier reluctantly lets him, sliding off to the side and pulling the quilt in around his waist. Concerned eyes watch the big man as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and rubs his hand across his white hair, his two day stubble, his pale face. The silence stretches, and Geralt can feel Jaskier behind him, can almost feel him choosing his next words carefully. 

Normally, Jaskier wouldn’t cut right to the chase like this, but he suspects that the ex soldier is about to make a break for it. Praying his words won’t be received the wrong way, Jaskier asks, “Geralt, I hope you won’t mind me being impertinent, but… Is that really true?" He knew that the Army had a long and storied history of coming down on gay soldiers far more harshly than others; Jaskier had seen it too many times, one way or another. Not that Geralt hadn’t done anything wrong; if he had gotten caught with another man in front of a camera, he’d clearly been out of bounds. However, it wouldn’t surprise Jaskier if he had been excessively penalized for something that might have been otherwise swept under the rug. 

Geralt turns to glare over his shoulder at him. “That’s none of your goddamn fucking business,” he growls, face hardening. 

Jaskier spreads his hands out, putting them up in a gesture of surrender. “My mistake,” he says, but he sounds more exasperated than apologetic. “Just… you would not believe the amount of inappropriate sex stories I’ve heard at the bar. People get caught doing stupid things all the time. I just wondered…” He cuts off abruptly as Geralt growls again, a deep, unfriendly sound that makes the hair on his arms stand up just slightly. 

Geralt glowers at the tousled man sitting on the bed behind him, then down at his fatigue pants on the floor. He wants to get up and walk away from this conversation, but the idea of putting on another pair of fatigues right now actively makes his heart hurt, so he hesitates. Behind him, Jaskier slowly subsides, thankfully silent for another moment. 

It gives Geralt time to think, really think, which he hasn’t given himself much chance to do since being discharged. His eyes trace the folds and contours of his pants on the floor, rage, guilt, and sorrow boiling the inside of his body raw. The untold story sits on his tongue like a lead weight. And at his elbow the steady warmth of Jaskier’s body radiates, warm and reassuring. After a life of service, that warm presence is the only one left. No one else to talk to, no one else to lean on. A sudden surge of loneliness spikes through him, cutting through his anger, and he visibly deflates. 

Darting his tongue across his lips, he hesitantly begins to speak. He’s surprised to find himself telling Jaskier the truth, but some part of him so badly needs to hear the words said aloud that he almost can’t stop himself. “I knew better. I… I should have never let him do. Uh. What he did. It was my own fault.” He presses his knuckles against his thick thigh and cracks them nervously. “I deserved to be fired.” 

Jaskier’s face flickers as he processes this and he bites his lip, trying to feel his way across the minefield of a conversation in front of him. He scrubs his own hand across his face sleepily, wishing deep down that this could have waited until after coffee. On some level, though, he knows he brought it on himself. Closeted older men like Geralt didn’t always do well the morning after, even in the best of circumstances. And this? This definitely was not the best circumstances.

“Mm… that sounds like a very impulsive thing to do,” Jaskier muses delicately. “But was the… uh, sex, really the thing that got you fired?” He leaves this hanging in the air, trying desperately not to push Geralt too hard, not sure if he is succeeding. It is very difficult for him to see him beating himself up like this though. The sheer outrage he feels about the way the Army treats its queer servicemembers is making it very hard for him to hold his tongue or act with discretion. He flinches very slightly as Geralt snarls, but then he steadies, watching Geralt intently. He notices that Geralt begins to flick his fingers rhythmically against his thigh as he thinks, and that the motion seems to calm him. 

Geralt gropes for words, feeling like the air is getting sucked out of the room as he searches. After a long silence, he speaks, his voice thick and low. “You’re trying to ask me if I was fired for...uhm. For being with who I was with. Or if I was fired for being inappropriate. Right?”

“Yes, love. That’s what I’m asking,” Jaskier replies gently, wanting more than anything to reach out and run his hands over Geralt’s shoulders and back, to soothe some of the pain away. The man’s body is humming with tension though, nasty sparks of it crackling in the air between them, so instead Jaskier sits back slightly to give him room to think. He can see Geralt’s jaw working, clearly uncomfortable to be confronted with the question so baldly. Slowly, Geralt shakes his head. He looks defeated, and Jaskier aches to see his sadness. 

“I don’t know,” he admits, and he sounds bone-weary. “I wish I knew, but I don’t.” The words are heavy in his mouth, difficult to get out. In a strange way, as angry as he is, he is also grateful for a chance to talk about it. A lifetime of choking silence feels like it is giving way to something new, though he doesn’t quite understand how yet. 

Jaskier sighs, nodding, then tilts his head to the side and runs his eyes over Geralt’s back again. His heart sinks as he notices for the first time that there is a massive map of thin horizontal scars criss-crossing his back, from his shoulders all the way down what is visible of his buttocks. They are faded, old. Probably from childhood. Tears spring unbidden to his eyes, and he looks up at the ceiling quickly to stop them from spilling over his cheeks. 

When he regains control, he swallows a few times, then says, “You’re not bad for… wanting… who you want. The world very much wants queers to think we’re bad for loving the way we do, but there’s no… no inherent harm in being interested in other men. No more than there is being interested in women, or anyone else.” 

“Tell that to my commission,” Geralt snaps, still staring at his pants.

Jaskier grimaces, clenching and unclenching his hands and trying not to let Geralt’s anger throw him. He knows it’s not personal, but he is so upset about how unjustly Geralt has been treated that it is hard for him to retain his center. Wrestling with his own discomfort, he looks for something kind to say, and settles on, “Okay… yes. I’m sorry. I just… I don’t want… I don’t think anyone should ever think they’re bad for being queer, Geralt. It’s just not… it’s not fair. It’s not fair to you, it’s not fair to anyone else.” He pauses, then adds softly, “I didn’t choose to be the way I am, did you?”

Geralt’s shoulders sink until he is hunched down, cheek held lightly against his splinted hand, all of the remaining anger draining out of him and leaving him feeling icy and frozen inside. Slowly, slowly, he shakes his head ‘no.’ 

The way he unconsciously pulls in after he shakes his head, like he is expecting to be hit, makes Jaskier’s stomach plunge. Unable to help himself, Jaskier reaches out to Geralt, but he twists out from under Jaskier’s hands with the speed of instinct. Jaskier leans back immediately, guessing how deeply upset the other man must be given how badly his own heart is racing. His lips thin in frustration and sadness. He pulls his hands back into his lap, eyes tracing over the scars on Geralt’s back helplessly as he thinks.

“Well… I didn’t either. And neither did Yarpen, or any of the people you worked with or served in my bar. I don’t know who told you what, Geralt, but…” Jaskier sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Look. In my house, you’re safe. No one’s here but me, and I’m not going to terrorize you. Ok? You can work out the rest later when you’re ready.” He slides his legs over the side of the bed, sitting carefully next to Geralt without touching him. Giving the other man an awkward little smile, he adds, “That is, if you don’t run away screaming. Was this all too much for you?” He gestures vaguely at the bedroom, including himself in the gesture, recalling the intimacy of the night before. 

Much to Geralt and Jaskier’s mutual surprise, Geralt begins, quietly, to chuckle, a hollow painful sound. He puts his face into his hand, covering his eyes, and shakes his head. “Oh… I don’t know, Buttercup,” he groans, Jaskier smiling slightly as he hears the nickname. 

“I feel like I’m going fucking crazy,” Geralt confesses. “I feel like I died and just haven’t stopped walking yet, and I’m wondering when I’m going to drop. I don’t know what the fuck is happening to me anymore.” He presses on his eyes until he can see stars, trying to process everything he’s feeling, feeling like he’s drowning in icy water instead. He sits, caught in a whirl of gnawing guilt and profoundly lonely hunger. Everything he’s ever thought he was is falling out from under him, leaving him disoriented and desperately craving safety. 

Feeling powerless, Jaskier sits at his side, wishing that he knew the magic words to make it better. He’d make it all go away in a heartbeat, if only he knew how. 

After a moment, Geralt heaves a deep sigh and continues, “And I know I should regret…” he pauses, groping for words. He settles lamely on, “Last night. I know I should regret you. But I… Hmm.” And he reaches out suddenly and grabs Jaskier’s hand, surprising himself. He feels like he’s tearing in two, but he craves a return to the sunny warmth of Jaskier’s touch so badly that it doesn’t matter. The heat of Jaskier’s hand in his own makes Geralt’s hungry skin sing. Jaskier startles, but not unpleasantly. Then he lightly squeezes his hand back, a crooked smile lighting his face. Geralt grimaces, guilt and shame and desire causing his cheeks to heat and his heart to freeze, but he doesn’t let go.

“Thank you, I think?” Jaskier laughs softly, and Geralt ducks his head, embarrassed. “For what it’s worth, I very much do not regret being with you, either.” He gives Geralt a frank, curious look, running his finger over Geralt’s knuckles. Geralt twitches and pulls away, but when Jaskier stops rubbing, he allows his hand to fall back into Jaskier’s. He lifts his head slightly, watching his kind lover out of the corner of his eye, his expression guarded. 

Jaskier catches Geralt’s eye and smiles at him, warm as the morning sun. “Thank you for your trust, dear heart. For your body, for your… mm, everything.” His eyes flicker fondly over Geralt’s naked, scarred body beside him, and his smile widens ever so slightly. “I so very much want to do it again sometime.” He gives Geralt’s hand a little squeeze, and Geralt feels warmth race up his arm, making his heart skip and flutter despite the gnawing icy ache. 

“Maybe some coffee and a shower first, though, hmm? And we’d promised we’d have a bit of a talk,” Jaskier gently releases Geralt’s hand and stands up. “You’re welcome to use my shower, love, it’s right through that door. I’ll go put towels out for you and get some coffee going.” Stepping carefully around the tangle of clothing on the floor, Jaskier snags some boxer briefs out of a dresser. 

Geralt watches as he hops into them awkwardly, taking in the long muscular lines of his body as he wrestles with his undergarments, oddly charmed by his gawky movements. He twists between shame and longing as his eyes linger on Jaskier’s strong hips and firm ass, finds one part of himself craving the soft heat of his skin once more even as another quietly insists that he is broken for wanting it. 

Jaskier, oblivious, slips through a door near the foot of his bed that Geralt hadn’t noticed in the dark. There’s sounds of rummaging, of running water, and then Jaskier emerges and flashes Geralt another brief smile before vanishing out the bedroom door. 

Geralt watches Jaskier go, at a loss for words. His hand is still warm from Jaskier’s touch, tingling and prickling where their skin was in contact. He flexes it thoughtfully, eyes turning to the door of Jaskier’s bedroom, listening to the distant sounds of bustling coming from the kitchen. The heat of the man’s presence is like sunlight, and without him the room feels colder, empty. 

He turns his head to take in the messy bedroom, finally registering all of the crumpled laundry on the floor, the paper outside the wastebasket, the lumps of fabric peeking out from under the closet door. The mess makes him feel itchy under his skin, and he glowers. He wonders silently how Jaskier lives like this, with socks scattered on the floor like leaves. His own crumpled clothing lies near his feet. 

Giving it a guilty grimace, he picks it up and smooths it out, folding it and placing it on the bed in a neat pile before heading naked over to the half-open master bathroom door. After military school, much less the Army, walking bare in a stranger's room barely phases him. What does bother him, though, is his skin. It pulls where come has dried on it, and he brushes his fingers over his hip musingly as he walks. The touch conjures a little flash of memory, of Jaskier's head thrown back in the moonlight. He flinches and draws his hand back, overwhelmed. 

The first thing he sees in the surprisingly clean bathroom is a white sink under a mirrored medicine cabinet. It is fitted to a blue tiled wall. The cleanliness is a welcome contrast to the chaos of the master bedroom, and Geralt finds himself relaxing slightly. Immediately next to the sink is a tall white cabinet with several small doors, dividing the sink from the tub. The tub itself is huge, both deep and long, more than large enough for even a big man like Geralt to sink into and get a good soak. Draped over the edge of it is a large light blue towel, soft and fluffy, with a hand towel, a washcloth, and a fresh unopened plastic razor sitting on top of it. At the very end of the bathroom, built between the large tub and the wall, is a shower stall enclosed in rippled glass. It is steamed over, the water inside already running. 

Geralt takes all this in numbly, feeling like his insides are slowly becoming one great big block of ice. The gnawing feeling that this isn’t where he should be sets in deeper now that he is alone, feeling out of context in this cozy, welcoming bathroom. Still, he needs a shower, and a shave, and he can’t think of a better way to go about getting them. So he goes over to the towel and picks up the razor. Every step he takes across the bathroom sees him sink deeper into chilly, crushing depression, an uncomfortably familiar part of washing a lover off of his skin. 

He barely sees the inside of the stall, tuning it out as he goes through the motions of cleansing himself, careful to keep his injured hand as dry as possible. He uses the little mirror hanging on the wall to clumsily shave his face. The inability to perform his usual shaving routine makes him feel so tense that his shoulders and stomach physically ache, but the idea of the stubble overtaking his face is far worse, so he fumbles his way through until he is finished. When he is done he is nicked in several places, but finally feels clean. Heaving a heavy sigh of relief, he rinses and exits the shower. 

As he exits, he hears music playing in the other room, far quieter than yesterday, upbeat and cheery. “Roam, if you want to…” he hears a woman sing, “All around the world…” The song is unfamiliar, but pleasant enough. He snags the towel and rubs himself dry with it, listening to the rustles and scrapes of Jaskier in the main living space. When he is dry, he wraps the towel and around his waist, leaving the bathroom. What he sees causes him to draw up short, depression snapping suddenly into irrationally potent rage. On the floor near the foot of the bed is a box, marked “Clothing.” On top of it are the attic keys.

“Jaskier!” He barks out, his voice cutting across the house like a gunshot. “What the everloving fuck is this?” His jaw clenches as he stares at the box on the floor. He hears a muffled swear from the other room, indistinct through the music, and then Jaskier’s feet thumping rapidly across the wood floor to the bedroom door. 

Jaskier opens it and gives Geralt a worried look, unsure why he’s been yelled at. “Geralt! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you, I just thought you wouldn’t want to put your dirty clothes back on…” he trails off, visibly withering under the weight of Geralt’s thousand watt glare. 

“Don’t. Touch. My. Things.” Geralt grates out, standing stiffly over the box. “Did you touch anything? What did you touch?” He rounds on Jaskier, and Jaskier shrinks back, face going from worried to ‘oh shit,’ blue eyes wide and startled. 

“Oh god nothing, I’m really sorry, I promise that’s the only box I touched,” he gabbles, looking a bit panicked. Seeing the tension in Geralt’s body, he brings his hands up in a gesture of unconditional surrender. “I swear, I didn’t even look,” he promises. “I just grabbed the one box and came straight downstairs, I haven’t even looked inside it. I promise I was just trying to help.” 

“Don’t help me,” Geralt snaps, turning away from Jaskier. He considers the box for another moment, weighing his options. Though he is furious, rationally, there is no real harm in what Jaskier has done, providing that none of his other boxes has been touched. He settles on snarling, “Get out of here. I need to get dressed. And…” he turns back, giving Jaskier such a menacing look that Jaskier takes a step back, “If you so much as fucking touch anything else of mine without my permission, we will have a fucking problem. Got it?”

“Got it,” Jaskier gulps. “I’m really s-”

“Go!” Geralt barks. Jaskier startles and exits quickly, cursing under his breath. Geralt grumbles and kneels down, picking up the box and setting it on the bed, catching the keys as they slide and setting them back on the neatly folded pile of his fatigues. He feels obscurely guilty for the amount of rage he took out on Jaskier, but also quite justified in telling the spoony little bastard to stay away from his personal things. 

Still muttering, he opens the lid to the box. As he pulls it aside he falls silent. Inside are his clothes from his first few years in the Army, undisturbed as promised. They look like they will still more or less fit him. White, crisp, short-sleeved button down shirts. Plain khaki pants. Belts. Even some rolled up dress socks that he had barely worn but felt bad about discarding. 

A jet engine roared behind him as he strode confidently off of an air strip, dispersing from a column of men and heading for a steel door on the side of a tan building. Over his shoulder was thrown a duffel sack, and on his head was a neat black beret. Gold bars shone on his shoulders, showing his rank of Second Lieutenant. It was his first day on the foreign base, and he was reporting for duty.

As he approached the door, it banged open. From within the building emerged a slight woman with a mass of curly dark hair trapped in a neat braid, an exasperated-looking man at her heels. She was dressed in an impeccable black blazer and slacks with a white blouse underneath, a pass pinned to its lapel that identified her as press. And as she barged around him, snapping, “Move it, boot!” he could see that her eyes were a startling shade of violet. He stumbled back, surprised, making way for her and her companion.

The man following her was broad-shouldered and brown, with a closely shorn head of dark hair. He had an easygoing-looking face with a short beard, pockmarked cheeks, and kind eyes. He was wearing fatigues, and had the same press pass as the woman clipped to his tan shirt. Over his shoulder was slung a black bag, and over his neck hung a worn camera case. As he passed Geralt, he gave him a friendly wink. 

Geralt turned, watching them head across the tarmac, feeling like he’d been hit between the eyes with a hammer. Never in his entire life had he seen a woman like that, one that made his heart race just seeing her. And in the air surrounding him was the smell of lilac and gooseberries.

He feels a lump rising in his throat as he reaches into the box, fingering the empty shoulders of his white shirt where the insignia used to be pinned. The anger is draining away, turning back into something cold and weary as he looks over the old clothing. Then he pulls the shirt out, flaps it once to unfold it, and begins putting it on. It is very slightly tight across the chest and shoulders, but still fits. He reaches next for pants, lost in memory. 

As he stumbled into the darkness of the building, feeling caught off balance, a voice snapped from down the hallway, “Rivii! Is that you? Get your dumb fucking ass in here!” His stomach plunged with a sudden sensation of dread. That was an ominous way to be greeted by a commanding officer he hadn’t even met yet. 

“Yes, sir!” he called down the hallway, speeding up to a neat trot and coming to a halt in front of the older man glaring in an open doorway. Snapping off a crisp salute, he said, “Second Lieutenant Rivii, reporting for duty, Sir.” The older man’s lip curled, and he grunted, stepping back into his office. 

“You’re late,” he said to Geralt, who was not, in fact, late. Geralt suppressed a grimace, keeping his face carefully wooden as he watched the Captain stride across the room and sit behind a desk with an expression like a sour bulldog. “Well?” he barked.

“Sorry, sir, won’t happen again sir.” Geralt replied cautiously, not sure exactly what was expected of him. This was not how he wanted his first day on the job to look. He planted his feet and placed his hands behind his back in parade rest, eyeing the other man stoically, waiting to see what was in store. What was in store for him turned out to be the lecture of a lifetime. The Captain chewed into him like a buzzsaw, taking him pre-emptively to task for every fuck-up he was likely to make as a green officer, plus a few unlikely ones that left him quietly impressed at whoever must have come before him. He made a mental note to find out what an ibex was.

As the Captain wound down, he pulled his attention back in, hands still held behind his back, shoulders thrown stiffly back. “...And the last thing,” the Captain barked. “Is that you will be taking that bitch from the AP off my hands. She is now officially your problem, Rivii. You keep that woman so happy she’s shitting rainbows, or I will have your commission. Got it?” 

The sinking feeling that Geralt had been experiencing this entire conversation turned to cold dread. That woman was… the least happy looking woman he had ever seen. Oh fuck. “Yes sir,” he replied, carefully impassive. 

“Good!” Snapped the Captain, turning to the papers on his desk. “You’re dismissed. Report to the barracks.” He gave Geralt a nasty smile. “Then, you better track that press bitch down before she wreaks havoc around here. Now get the fuck out of my office!”

He pulls on his pants, also a little tight around the hips but not unbearably so. They won’t do for long, but they will be fine until he can buy some civilian clothing. Out in the main room he can hear something sizzling, and the smells of good coffee and breakfast cooking are starting to reach him. He finishes dressing, slipping on the belt and socks, before sitting back down on the bed next to the box. 

“Oh, you’re here to keep me happy?” The woman’s lip curled. “Might have to kiss that shiny new commission of yours goodbye, pretty boy. I guarantee I am about to make your life a living hell.” She turned away and Geralt started to follow her awkwardly, not sure how to handle this situation. “Oh for the love of-” she snapped, turning back to face him. “If you follow me around this whole base, how am I supposed to get anything done?”

“I’m supposed to help you, ma’am.” He looked embarrassed, and the dark haired man standing behind the woman grinned, clearly enjoying his discomfort. “I uh, can’t leave you unsupervised.”

“Fuck.” She muttered. “Fine, then, follow me. I have people to interview.” And before he could protest, she snapped an itinerary out of the bag at her hip and shoved it in his face, where he could see the official Army seal and a scribbled signature. “Don’t start. Where’s the Major?” 

With a sinking feeling, Geralt gestured up the hallway. The woman took to her heel immediately, the man with the big bag falling in behind her. Geralt hesitated for just a moment. “Let’s go, Skippy! We haven’t got all day! ” the woman’s voice cracked out, startling him into motion. He jogged to catch up, swearing under his breath. His upbringing had led him to expect a hard life in the service, but this? This he was not prepared for.

“Fuck my life,” he grumbled.  

Slowly, he rummages through the rest of the box, checking to make sure everything is still in place. His anger has cooled considerably now he is sure that everything is in order. He relaxes slightly, sighs, and rubs his hand across his face again. The lack of stubble is an enormous relief, the sensation of his shaved skin under his palm serving to soothe him further. Placing the lid back on the box, he stands and pockets the attic keys, then grabs his shoes. He quietly slips out of the bedroom and heads for the front door without Jaskier noticing. Fumbling on his boots, he ducks out the door and into the hot summer morning air. 

The wet New England summer hits him like a soggy, steaming blanket as the door closes behind him. Grimacing in disgust, Geralt heads around the side of the house. By the time he reaches the top of the stairs, he feels like his shirt is already sticking to him. He opens the door to the attic loft, feeling his stomach twist nervously, half expecting to see his things scattered all over the attic. Much to his intense relief, however, he can see that everything looks absolutely untouched. The box of letters on the bed is still closed, hasn't moved an inch. Every other item is still where he put it.

He heaves a quiet sigh of relief and drops the box of clothing next to the dresser. Then he snags his bag, fishing out his deodorant and a clean pair of underwear from its depths. As he paws through it, he sees the sheaf of letters that he keeps carefully tucked at the back, and hears the jingle of his dog tags at the bottom of the sack. He’d taken them off when he was discharged, stuffed them in his bag. Not ready to confront either of these things, he leaves them in their places and heads to the bathroom. 

When he is done, he grabs his dress loafers out of their box before he heads back downstairs. He slips them on as he heads out the door. They are stiff and shiny, but they are also significantly easier to don than his boots were. His anger has faded by now to a faint buzz of frustration, barely noticeable over the background of icy depression which has resumed its grip on his body. 

As he slips in the front door music washes back over him, the house filled with the pleasant sound of people singing in chorus, “If you need me, let me know. Gonna be around, if you've got no place to go, when you're feeling down…” He eases the door closed, disliking the “thump” it makes when closed normally, and toes his loafers off next to Jaskier’s unruly collection of shoes. Then he crosses the house, heading towards the kitchen and its coffee smells, towards Jaskier, who is singing and dancing in his underwear and bare feet while he watches something on the stove. 

Jaskier is holding a coffee cup which he sips occasionally between snatches of song. He lifts the lid of the pan on the stove, curses as he burns himself on the steam, drops the lid and sucks his fingers, then tries again. This time he is apparently more successful, because he nods in satisfaction. The steam smells good, eggy and rich. 

Geralt approaches on habitually silent feet, coming to rest at the corner of the kitchen island. He clears his throat, trying not to startle Jaskier too badly. This… utterly fails. Jaskier’s hands fly up, coffee mug dropping to the floor and shattering, hot coffee splashing all over the kitchen floor. 

“Fucking Jesus! Geralt! Where the hell did you come from?!” he gasps, putting his hand over his hammering heart. 

Geralt, nearly as startled as Jaskier, gives him a wide-eyed look, eyes traveling between Jaskier’s face and the shattered coffee mug on the floor. “Um,” he manages awkwardly, at a loss for words. Coffee drips from the hair on Jaskier’s legs, and his bare feet are surrounded by little ceramic shards. Embarrassed, Geralt kneels down and begins picking them up. Jaskier goes to move and Geralt makes a curt hand gesture, indicating that he should stop before he cuts himself. The look Jaskier gives Geralt is a little wild-eyed, but he complies, holding still while Geralt gathers the worst of the shattered cup up off of the floor. 

“Sorry,” he rumbles apologetically. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” He stands with easy grace, moving around the other side of the kitchen island to where he saw Jaskier stow the trash can near the back door last night. “I’m quiet on my feet.”

“You are… not wrong,” Jaskier gasps, gaping at his dripping legs. “Fucking hell! How did you even get that quiet?!” He grabs the dish rag off of the stove and begins to gingerly wipe his legs off, trying not to move his bare feet and step on any of the shards. Then he shakes his head, muttering, “Sorry, stupid question, I just…”

Geralt kneels down in front of him carefully, trying to get in his line of sight before making eye contact. “Sorry,” he apologizes again, lips quirking in a little half-smile. He holds his hand out for the towel and Jaskier hands it over to him, still slightly flustered. Geralt very carefully wipes the last of the broken cup away from Jaskier’s feet.

Jaskier watches him kneeling there, broad shoulders moving beneath the white button down. Darting his tongue across his lower lip and trying to restart his brain, he stutters, “It’s ok. Um. Jesus fuck, I’m going to have to put a bell on you.” He breaks out in a flustered grin, watching as Geralt rises and goes to the bin. He shakes the towel out as best he can and sets it on the counter gingerly, then goes to wash his hand in the sink. Jaskier rakes his hair out of his eyes and looks him over. 

“Are you ok? No cuts?” He turns back to the stove, returning his attention to the pan. 

“I’m fine. Are your feet okay?” Geralt asks, keeping his eyes on his hands. 

“Fine, thanks to you,” Jaskier hums pleasantly, cutting a frittata apart in the cast iron pan and beginning to serve it. “And… look, about your stuff-”

“Stop.” Geralt scowls. “It’s over.”

“I just wanted to ap-”

“Stop! Just don’t touch it again,” Geralt snaps, shaking his wet hand off and looking around for a towel. With a slightly wounded look on his face, Jaskier fishes one out of a drawer and hands it to him. Geralt takes it, his face falling a little when he sees the look on Jaskier’s face. His habits of speech could be anywhere from rough to downright unfriendly, especially when he was upset, but he hadn’t meant to hurt or scare him. He grimaces and dries his hand off, passes the towel silently back to Jaskier, and goes to sit down on the stool he picked the night before. Settling onto it, he fiddles with his bandage, feeling guilty and wrong-footed. 

Jaskier eyes him uncertainly for a moment, looking like he’s about to say something but then biting it back. Instead, he brings him a fresh mug of coffee and a plate with a quarter of ham and green onion frittata. There’s cheddar on top, and Jaskier pushes over salt and pepper grinders so that Geralt can season it. After serving himself and getting a new mug, he settles in on his own stool and eyes Geralt warily.

Geralt avoids his eyes and digs into his breakfast, embarrassed. After the MREs he has been subjected to, the eggs are just this side of heavenly. He tries to eat this meal a little more slowly than the dinner of the night before, forcing himself to slow down and chew. There’s no rush, and although everything feels desperately unfamiliar, he also gets the sense that he is genuinely safe. 

“This is really good. Thank you,” Geralt mumbles, poking a piece of egg around with his fork, still embarrassed. 

Jaskier looks up over his mug and the corners of his bright eyes crinkle. He takes a long sip of his coffee, gaze softly roaming over Geralt. He seems more relaxed now, the dangerous tension mostly gone from his frame, and Jaskier finds himself slowly relaxing too. “You’re very welcome,” he responds, warming back up. “I really enjoy having the excuse to cook, I let myself get lazy being on my own. Too many frozen pizzas after the bar,” he drawls, and chuckles. “They’ll be the death of me but I love them.” 

“Don’t you get home at three or four in the morning?” Geralt asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, don’t judge me!” Jaskier laughs. “Sometimes pizza and wine is the only way to wash down coming home at that ungodly hour.” He pauses and takes a sip of coffee, waving his long hands about. “Don’t get me wrong, I love my bar almost as much as I love breathing, but the schedule can be awful when the books come due.” 

“What, you do them in the middle of the night?” Geralt shakes his head, forking up the last of his frittata. 

“Well of course! Best time, when it’s all quiet and I don’t have any excuses to run off and avoid them,” Jaskier laughs. “There’s too many better things I could be doing during the day.” 

“Hmm,” Geralt chuckles, shaking his head again in disbelief. “Sounds like a terrible plan.”

“Well, when you start running the bar, I’ll take your opinion into account,” Jaskier teases, a grin playing about the corners of his mouth. “Speaking of which… What are your plans, now that you’re back in the States?”

The smile falls off of Geralt’s face and he looks down at his mug. As he flashes on the boxes upstairs again an icy rush of guilt rolls across him like freezing water. Jaskier eyes him, then stands and takes Geralt’s plate back to the stove. He refills it with another portion of frittata and pushes it across the island to Geralt, before settling back in with his coffee to wait for his answer. 

Geralt takes the plate back, grateful for something to focus on other than Jaskier’s inquisitive look, simmering with shame and disquiet. Using his fork to poke at the frittata, slowly pulling it apart, he waits for words to come. “Uh... “ he sighs deeply, shaking his head. “I don’t have any plans yet. I need to find my truck, I need to renew my US driver’s license…” he shrugs uncomfortably. “Need to get a hotel room or something. Find a job. A place. Figure myself out.” His stomach turns sharply as these words leave his mouth, feeling like they burn his lips. The future stretches out in front of him in painful relief, new and alien and empty. 

Jaskier nods, rubbing his coffee mug back and forth absentmindedly on his lower lip. He takes a drink, then sets it down. “Your truck’s been towed by now, I should imagine. I have a phone book you can use. I think I even remember which tow service the city usually uses.” 

Geralt grunts, nods, takes a bite of his frittata. It’s cheesy and warm, deeply comforting flavors that help anchor him to the here and now. He chews in awkward silence, studying his plate. To be perfectly honest, he has no clue how he is going to land a job with a dishonorable discharge on his record. People who would take an older veteran like himself on faith were thin on the ground, as far as he knew. He starts in surprise when Jaskier speaks again. 

“You’re welcome to stay in the attic while you get your legs under you,” he tells Geralt, gesturing to the house with an open hand. “No need to waste money on a hotel. Not forever, mind you, but I should think a few days won’t hurt. My house is a little too quiet with just me in it anyway.”

Geralt lifts his head and looks at Jaskier, surprised and a little wary. “You don’t know me. Why would you do that?”

Jaskier cocks his head to the side, pondering his answer. He runs his fingers over the edge of the coffee mug, back and forth, back and forth, then puts it down and leans his elbows on the counter. “Because I can. Because it’s a nice thing to be able to do for someone.” He smiles again, tossing his hair out of his eyes. “And because I like you.”

Geralt flushes and looks away. He grabs his coffee and takes a long drink, grounding himself by rolling the hot bitter liquid across his tongue. He feels grateful, confused, even a little alarmed by the offer. And there’s nowhere safer to go, not with everything he’s lost. Besides… The idea of being near Jaskier longer feels inexplicably good, despite all of his misgivings. Warming. Groping for words, he settles on grunting into the mug, “It’s your funeral.”

Jaskier laughs at that, unphased. “It’s my pleasure, darling,” he corrects mildly. He falls silent, watching Geralt as he eats. Then he says, “You should consider getting your server’s permits, too.” He nudges Geralt lightly with his toe. “I was really impressed by how you handled the bar during rush. People who’ve been serving for years don’t stay as cool-headed as you did. How did you learn to mix drinks?”

Geralt blinks, not sure he heard Jaskier properly. “Server’s permits?” he asks dumbly. 

“Server’s permits, that’s what I said! Food and drink! I can take you down to the city center to get the process rolling, it’s not far from here.” Jaskier replies. “I still need a server down at the Peg. Maybe you could try it… even just for a few weeks. Until you find something better. It’ll give you something recent on your resume, if nothing else,” he points out, then rises, asking, “More coffee?”

“Please,” replies Geralt, grateful for the opportunity to process what Jaskier just said. He holds out his cup and Jaskier refills it, then his own, with nutty, fragrant coffee. Taking another long swallow to clear his head, he reflects upon Jaskier’s offer. After a few beats of silence, he speaks again. 

“I um… didn’t like most of my co-workers very much, so I spent a lot of time in bars when I wasn’t working,” Geralt reveals, flashing his canines in an unpleasant smile. “Got to know the bartenders. Finally got a mixology manual from one of them because I was asking so many questions, and I got hooked.” He shrugs one muscular shoulder, looking out Jaskier’s kitchen window at the shady, ratty yard out behind his house. “Memorized that one when I was in Israel. Next one when I was in Lebanon.” Taking another long sip of coffee, he continues. “Gave me something to focus on that wasn’t... I don’t know. Wasn’t death, I guess. And,” he pauses and shakes his head with a little shrug, "it gave me something to talk about with the bartenders. They make better conversation than most soldiers do. Better friends, too, as far as that goes."

Jaskier tips his head to the side, listening. “Sounds lonely,” he muses, rubbing his foot against his ankle and playing with his coffee mug. Geralt snorts softly into his own mug and nods. 

“It was,” he agrees, watching the dark liquid swirl in his cup as he turns it. After a long silence he queries, “What makes you think I’d be a good employee? I just got fired from my last job.” 

Jaskier frowns. “Why wouldn’t I? Did you have any other major interruptions in your career?” 

Geralt glances up at him, surprised. “No…” he admits, eyeing him. 

“And how old are you, mid-forties? No, don’t answer that, it’s not important,” Jaskier waves his hand, taking a quick sip of his coffee and then continuing. “Point is, I guarantee you I’ve never had anyone else with a job history as stable as yours working in my bar, darling. Unless I’m missing some terrible secret, I’d hazard a guess that you’d be a wonderful asset to our little crew.” He gives Geralt a friendly look. Geralt looks back at him in bewilderment. He is accustomed to many things, but being trusted so immediately and so deeply is not one of them. It’s disorienting. Much to his horror, he feels a deep blush creeping up the collar of his shirt and making a bid for his cheeks. Turning his attention back to his coffee, he tries to get his bearings. Jaskier watches him kindly, turning his mug in his hands. 

“I don’t understand,” Geralt settles on saying, looking down at his plate. He feels so warm under that gaze that it makes it hard to think, much less answer a question like that clearly. Jaskier smiles gently as he replies. 

“I’m trying to hire you, Geralt. Was I not being clear?” Jaskier teases lightly. To his surprise as well as Geralt’s own, Geralt cracks a smile. The white-haired man shakes his head, still staring into his coffee. 

“Let me think about it?” he says finally.

“Ah, of course, darling!” Jaskier exclaims warmly. “Do you still want me to take you to get the permits? Just in case?” He forks up the last of his frittata, then stands and takes his dishes to the sink. While he waits for Geralt to answer he begins to rinse the dirty dishes and prepare them for the dishwasher. Behind him, Geralt licks coffee off of his lips and watches Jaskier move, eyes playing over the bare skin of his long back and broad, muscular shoulders. 

“Sure,” he says, finally, and downs the last of his coffee. What the hell. His life has gone to fucking hell in a handbasket. While he feels too vulnerable to just say yes, the offer at least holds up some kind of hope. His future is otherwise alarmingly blank. 

He shakes his head and pulls his plate close, cleaning the last of his breakfast off of it hungrily. "I'm going to get fat if you keep feeding me like this," he grumbles, standing with his dishes and rounding the island to take them to the sink. 

Jaskier takes them with a sunny smile, tilting his head to catch Geralt’s golden eyes with his own. “I somehow doubt that,” he says, a little playful purr at the very edge of his voice. Geralt looks quickly up at the ceiling, not sure how to react but enjoying the feel of his warmth nearby. He gently elbows Geralt, smiling to himself as he rinses the dishes. 

“The phone book is right next to the phone, darling.” He gestures to the area between his bedroom door and the kitchen, where there is a low wooden bookshelf with a phone sitting on top. “I think the towing company’s called Meehan’s.” Teetering somewhere between gratitude and embarrassment, Geralt nods his thanks and crosses to the telephone. 

What follows is a frustrating and instructive hour in the vagaries of municipal administration. Jaskier was right about the usual tow company’s name, but it turns out they were not the ones contracted for the industrial neighborhood Geralt had abandoned his truck in. Grumbling, Geralt takes down a few numbers with the pad and pen next to the phone, then begins his hunt. 

By the time Geralt has found his truck, he is boiling with frustration. The rest of the morning and much of the afternoon is consumed with visits to various government buildings to deal with paperwork. The evening is taken over by the ordeal of retrieving Geralt’s ancient truck, which obliges eventually to start at the tow yard. Geralt drives it all the way back to Jaskier’s home with the heater on high and the windows all the way open, a grueling trip in the thick summer evening heat. 

By the time they arrive back at the house, Geralt is miserable and covered in sweat, and Jaskier is running late to get to the bar. While Geralt showers upstairs and changes into fresh clothing, Jaskier quickly reheats some dinner for Geralt. By the time he comes downstairs, Jaskier is dressed in clean clothing and is pulling his shoes on by the door. He pauses before he leaves to squeeze Geralt’s arm fondly, indicating where dinner sits on the kitchen island and letting him know that he is welcome to pour himself some wine and make himself at home. Then he flits away, leaving Geralt standing in the entryway. 

Geralt watches the door close behind him, feeling a little at loose ends. He trails through the darkened house, coming to rest in the pool of light that is the kitchen. The meal is leftover chicken and potatoes from the night before, still delicious the second time around. He hunts around in the kitchen drawers for a corkscrew, helps himself to some wine, and settles in at the island to eat his meal. The house feels smaller somehow, less full of life without Jaskier in it. His depression, which he has been holding at bay for most of the day, now returns to quietly envelop him as he eats. 

The bottle of wine and the food both vanish silently in the cooling emptiness of the kitchen. When he is done, Geralt carefully rinses the dishes and places them in the dishwasher, then seeks out the recycling and dumps the wine bottle into it. This done, he dithers in the kitchen. The upstairs loft and its bed beckons, but he isn’t tired, and the idea of spending time in the company of reminders of loss and failure makes him feel like he can’t breathe. He can’t ever go home, and he doesn’t want to think about that right now. 

Instead he scans the house, searching for something to do that won’t leave him feeling like he is choking on cold water. The books, normally a draw, look like too much effort to read. The CD player looks a little out of his league, and after browsing Jaskier’s music collection (heavy on ABBA, light on the hand drumming Geralt prefers,) he gives up on that, too. Finally, his eyes settle on the television. There was almost always one running somewhere on base. While he’d never particularly gotten into watching it, he knew that sometimes it could be oddly soothing. Opening another bottle of wine and grabbing his glass, he brings them over and sets them on the little end table near the couch, grabs the remote, and flicks it on. 

There isn’t much to watch at this time of night, and he ends up settling on some awful show he can’t follow about a kung-fu cowboy. It’s meaningless, and numbing. It’s something he can at least drink wine to while he watches it. The depression settles slowly into a gnawing background torment, and in it, he eventually finds a kind of quiet. After the show ends, he finds something else. When that ends, he eventually settles on a late night Looney Tunes rerun, which is at least familiar. He empties the wine bottle slowly as he watches, and when he is done, he disposes of it with care and washes his glass before returning to the couch. 

Jaskier finds him there some hours later when he returns from the bar, the television still flickering across his sleeping face. His injured hand is cradled against his chest, and the shadows under his eyes are deep in the pale light from the screen. Tsking softly, Jaskier turns off the television and brushes his fingers carefully over Geralt’s left wrist, waking him without startling him. 

“Hey,” he whispers, hair falling in his eyes as he looks down at the exhausted man on the couch. Geralt wakes as Jaskier touches him, eyes wide and lost. He looks like he is drowning in icy water, frightened and alone. As their eyes meet, Jaskier feels like a great shard of ice leaps between them, burying itself in his heart. He reaches out on instinct, gently drawing Geralt up off of the couch. He's seen dying men before, seen the look in their eyes, and his skin prickles coldly as he sees the way Geralt is looking at him. There’s no way he can leave this man alone tonight. He wasn’t intending to get this close with Geralt this quickly, but that look… it fills him with a quiet, abiding fear. Without another word, Jaskier leads him to his bedroom across the house. 

Geralt follows him quietly, trailing in the wake of Jaskier's warmth like a moth seeking a flame. The wine has worn off in the intervening hours, leaving nothing to blunt the emptiness and pain he is feeling. But there in the darkness is Jaskier, all warm skin and good smell and kindness. He doesn’t really understand why he undresses next to him in the dim of his bedroom, doesn’t know why he can’t just walk away and go upstairs to sleep. But, as they slide into bed together in the thick darkness of 3 am, he knows that the heat of Jaskier’s skin on his skin brings welcome relief to the desolation inside of him. He knows that the heavy weight of Jaskier’s head on his chest is oddly peaceful, that the sound of his breath in the silence is music. Laying in the darkness, he tentatively brings his arms up around the handsome man curled along the length of his body, and is rewarded by a contented sigh. Jaskier sinks heavily against him, and before long, he is asleep. Soothed, Geralt soon follows him. 

Morning comes slowly, in pieces. First, a sensation of pressure, heavy warmth holding him to the bed. Movement, the minute feeling of his rising and falling chest pressed against another breathing person. Scent, the smell of sweat and skin and linens. And as he wakes more fully, the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is Jaskier. The elfin man is lying fully on his chest, stomach resting between his thighs, quietly studying his sleeping face. 

When his eyes open, Jaskier’s thoughtful expression transforms into a sleepy smile. “Good morning,” he hums affectionately, stroking his hand across Geralt’s broad chest. The warm weight of him is alien but also deeply soothing, and Geralt’s arm instinctively tightens where it has come to rest around Jaskier’s waist. Geralt can feel his heart speeding up as a tangle of longing and confusion and deeply-ingrained fear wells up in him. 

Atop him, Jaskier firms his strokes across his chest, starting at the center and kneading outwards, providing deep, calming pressure. Geralt struggles with the fear while those soothing hands work. As consciousness trickles back in he realizes that, unlike most of his life, there’s no one here to discover him in bed with a male lover. No reason to be afraid, or to run. Safe. 

He shivers a little as Jaskier looks up at him from under his eyelashes, feeling a spike of heat run from the crown of his head to the base of his spine, breaking up the icy grip of the fear. And when Jaskier darts his tongue over his lower lip before he leans up to catch Geralt’s mouth in a kiss, Geralt groans helplessly with pleasure. Feeling like he’s falling off of a cliff, he uses his good arm to draw Jaskier in closer. Their legs tangle and he shivers again, heartsick and dizzy with desire.

Jaskier gives a small murmur of pleasure into Geralt’s mouth and Geralt feels his mind melting, the soft little sound washing away his worries in a flood of sudden hunger. He parts his lips, instinctively inviting, and Jaskier slides his body up a little more so that he can softly tongue into Geralt’s mouth. Geralt can feel himself getting hard where his cock is trapped against Jaskier’s stomach, pressed against firm, warm skin. Jaskier purrs and shifts, releasing it so that it’s in a more comfortable position, then delicately lowers his body again. His own cock brushes against Geralt’s thigh, hardening as they kiss. 

Geralt hums a delirious little groan, pulling him closer yet. Jaskier follows willingly, deepening their kiss, pressing his cock into the crease of Geralt’s hip as he shifts. Geralt takes a stuttering breath, the last of his mind vanishing as he feels velvety heat brush over his sensitive skin. He spreads his big hand across Jaskier’s lower back to keep the pleasurable sensation close, craving more of it. 

Jaskier gives a soft chuckle into their kiss, experimentally rocking his cock against his lover’s sensitive skin again. He is rewarded by a soft, deep moan of startled pleasure, a sound happily captured between their hungrily moving mouths. Jaskier rocks more firmly this time, drawing another sweet moan from Geralt. They begin moving together, tentatively at first, mouths and tongues and hips seeking a rhythm. As they discover a good pace, they begin to move more confidently.

The hot sensation of Jaskier’s cock rubbing along the exquisitely sensitive crease of his hip is driving Geralt crazy. It’s all he can focus on, all he can feel, and soon he is trembling with desire. His body, unused to being able to relax into a lover’s embrace, is singing with unfamiliar tension and hunger. He finds a soft cry of disappointment escaping his lips as Jaskier lifts his hips away and draws back. It only takes him a moment to realize why, however. Jaskier breaks their kiss and winks at him, then leans over him and reaches out to fumble open the drawer in the small table right next to the bed. Inside, from what Geralt can see from his vantage point, is a stash of condoms and a blue-and-white bottle of lube. 

Jaskier paws into the drawer and grabs one of the condoms, flourishing it playfully between two fingers before sitting back between Geralt’s thighs and smiling at him. Geralt gapes back at him, bewildered and so aroused he can barely feel his own face. He watches as clever fingers unwrap the condom, discarded wrapper falling to the side, watches as Jaskier reaches out and firmly grasps Geralt’s cock. A shock goes through Geralt’s body as fingers close around the base of it. He’s so sensitive that he jolts, but Jaskier is a quick study. He knows now that he has to hold firmly for it to feel good, and he does so with one hand, using the other to slide the condom skilfully down over Geralt’s aching erection. 

Geralt watches this silently, a flush of pleasure creeping up his pale cheeks. When Jaskier slides back and ducks his head down, his eyes widen, his hand instinctively coming up to hold Jaskier’s shoulder. And when Jaskier’s mouth wraps around him he growls pleasurably, a deep bass sound. Jaskier moans in response, lowering his head and taking Geralt deep. Geralt gasps, his eyes fluttering shut, and he loses himself in the wet heat of Jaskier’s hungry mouth.

Taking his own weeping cock in hand, Jaskier begins to quickly stroke himself even as his mouth works its magic upon Geralt. His eyes roll back in his head as Geralt’s hand slides from his shoulder to wind in his hair, surprisingly gentle. He was expecting the big man to fist his hair firmly, but the way Geralt holds his head is soft, almost reverent. Tender, even. That gentleness sends a spike of hot arousal all the way through Jaskier’s body, and he moans deeply around Geralt’s cock.

Geralt cries out at the feeling of vibration, his hips unintentionally bucking. He gentles his hold slightly on the back of Jaskier’s head, not wanting to choke him, but his lover just moves with him, taking the thrust like he barely even noticed it. Jaskier bobs his head as his tongue works, skillfully pulling another cry from Geralt, another bucking motion of his hips. His hand comes up and wraps firmly around the base of Geralt’s erection and then he leans forward, fist pumping his own cock rapidly as he gulps Geralt deep into his mouth again. 

“Ohhh, fuck,” Geralt gasps, hand spasming on the back of Jaskier’s head, feeling a hot twist deep inside of him. “Oh fuck, oh, oh,” he pants, half leaning up off the bed, his body curling into a knot of humming tension. Encouraged, Jaskier bobs his head faster, tongue swirling. With a sharp, sudden cry, Geralt comes, his whole body shaking with the force of the release. 

Jaskier whines happily around his cock, moving easily with Geralt as his body twists and shakes. Jaskier’s own hand works harder, faster, his breath coming in short little pants as his tongue works Geralt’s cock all the way through his orgasm. It only takes a few more quick strokes to bring himself over the edge, too. As he comes he releases Geralt from his mouth and throws his head back, releasing a ragged cry that sends a wave of hot prickles across Geralt’s skin. His seed spills between his fingers, dripping onto the sheets in the sticky, stunned silence that follows. 

Geralt drops slowly back to the bed, breathing heavily. Between his legs Jaskier lets out a breathless laugh, wiping his hand on the sheet and shaking his hair out of his eyes. Geralt rumbles out a delirious chuckle of his own, bringing his hand up to cover his face as he tries to regain his senses. Jaskier leans over to the bedside table again and pulls open the drawer, fishing out a pack of wet wipes from the depths. He wipes his hand clean, then, delicately, pulls the condom off of Geralt’s cock and knots it. Geralt twitches and shudders, reaching out to grab Jaskier’s shoulder again; Not to stop him, but because the sensation is so strong. 

Jaskier smiles dopily, giving Geralt’s thick thigh a kiss before he rises to dispose of the trash. As he does so he passes a wipe to Geralt, who cleans himself gingerly as he watches Jaskier walk across the room to retrieve the wastebasket from beside his desk. He brings it back and sets it near the bed, then crawls back up, laying himself along Geralt’s side lazily. 

Geralt tosses the wipe into the trash and leans back, making room for Jaskier to lay himself out along the length of his body. The warmth of all that skin pressing against his own is delicious, and he finds himself feeling greedy for more of it. He carefully rolls and tangles himself in Jaskier, pulling his lover up against him until his chin is resting on top of Jaskier’s head and his arms are draped around him, holding him close. Jaskier hums contentedly, wrapping his own arms around Geralt, and together they drift into a sleepy daze. Geralt is quietly stunned, but the heavy satisfaction he feels spreads warmly across his body, wiping away some of his fear and shame, dragging him slowly down back into sleep.

Tag List: @astouract​,​ @smolpoe​​, @yes-im-the-violin-girl​, @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde​, @ladyknight-keladry​, @your-lordsherlockholmes-posts​, @thepassifloradiscord​

#geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fic #witcher fic #witcher fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fanfic #geralt #jaskier #yennefer #geraskier modern au #modern au #witcher modern au #witcher modern gay bar au #witcher gay bar au #the witcher modern au #the witcher gay bar au #warriors blues #warrior's blues

[jaskierswolf]

Lonely Without You

Geraskier floof! With alpha's nesting instead of omegas

CW: A/B/O, Omega!Jask, Alpha!Geralt, referenced sexual content

_

Jaskier’s heats had always been fun, especially at Oxenfurt, surrounded by beautiful people; alpha, beta and omega alike, he wasn’t fussy. A little slutty perhaps but no one can blame a bard in training for that… no. The problem Jaskier had was his pre-heats.

His pre-heats were really fucking miserable. They were lonely, and his nests were always lacking something he couldn’t put his finger on. So he wallowed in a fever, cramping and hungry and alone, until the heat triggered and all of that was trumped by unbearably horny.

When he met Geralt… everything changed

Well… not at first. The first few months were just business as useless, the alpha was a bit standoffish and brutish in the way that alphas were but he seemed to not hate Jaskier trailing along after him. Jaskier on his part was rather smitten but he respected Geralt’s boundaries as best he could, slipping up occasionally but fixing his mistakes as they learned to co-exist.

Until one morning, long before Jaskier felt any effects of his cycle… Geralt started acting incredibly needy.

They were bundled into the nearest town by the witcher. Coin was low but Geralt managed to secure a dry barn to stay in with Roach in exchange for a few quick drowner contracts along the river. Jaskier was told to stay put as Geralt worked, to rest and enjoy the peace. After months on the road, he was hardly one to argue. The straw was scratchy but warm and soft compared to their bedrolls. Overall it wasn’t too bad. He felt rather pampered.

By the first evening the barn had been transformed. Geralt had collected and washed more blankets than Jaskier had seen in his life, there were plates of hot food served to him by a very pouty alpha. Once the witcher was free of monster guts he threw in some old shirts, his cloak, even the medallion that he’d never taken off before. It all went into the stack of straw and blankets.

Jaskier was… confused?

The behaviour had come out of nowhere, his stoic friend turning into a perfectly doting alpha… and oh…

Geralt was nesting.

A trait found in single and unmated omegas.

Or… bonded alphas

Jaskier whined as he buried his face in Geralt’s shirt, the scent of alpha grounding him, making his heart beat more steadily. It was only then that he realised he was running a little hotter that day, his gut aching on and off… the early signs of cramping.

The witcher's keen senses must have picked up on the change in Jaskier’s scent, and their closeness over the last few months had triggered something adorable in Geralt. After years of being alone, Jaskier was being courted. His alpha had supplied food and shelter, and had even made him a brilliant nest filled with all the things they both loved. But Geralt still hadn’t set foot in the nest, he just glowered from a hay bale near where Roach was stabled, wiping down his swords silently, his eyes flickering between Jaskier and the door. Always standing guard, protecting him. The respect had Jaskier’s heart doing all sorts of flips and tricks in his chest. Not many alphas waited for an invitation, always assuming they were needed by the omega.

Ah, and there was the crippling loneliness. Now he was aware of what was happening, his body seemed to be catching up like lightning. Normally, Jaskier would curl around a pillow and wait it out until slick started gushing from him and he found a bed mate for his heat.

He didn’t need to wait anymore.

“Geralt?” He called to his alpha. “Will you hold me?”

Golden eyes snapped up to meet Jaskier’s gaze, a faint blush painting his pale skin. “Hold you?”

Smiling fondly at his best friend, Jaskier patted the blankets next to him. “A nest is rather lonely without company, and you did such a good job of building it.”

The alpha chirped, the noise settling into a contented purr as he stripped down to his smalls and tentatively laid down next to Jaskier. It was very sweet but Jaskier was less hesitant. He immediately pounced on his friend, curling up against his chest and nuzzling his neck. As Jaskier’s lips brushed against Geralt’s scent gland, the witcher started to relax, wrapping his arms around Jaskier and holding him tight.

It wasn’t the most luxurious nest that Jaskier had ever had, but it was the most perfect.

_

Taglist: @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde, @comfyswitcherblanketfort, @fontegagrilledcheese, @dani-dandelino, @dapandapod @damnbert @officerjennie @feraljaskier @geralt-of-riviass @kueble @gilberik @llamasdumpsterfire @trickstermoose67 @alllthequeenshorses @skai6 @karolincki @eya-trying-to-function @stonedstargazer666 @aurelia-which-means-sunrise @geraltslastcoin @hot-multifandom-mess

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #wolfie's witcher writing

[lambden]

1 or/and 22, geraskier? <33

"I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice." T, 1.4K, no warnings Drabble list!

They can’t afford the steep cost of cider and the local brews are so terrible that they’d be better off drinking drowner piss. Jaskier, taking a cue from his days as a careless and carefree young noble, sneaks into the kitchen of the town’s brothel so as to raid their stock of cheap, sour white cooking wine. He tucks a bottle into the flowy fabric of his sleeve and on his way out, bows politely to the madam. Her thin eyebrows rise quickly but she does not follow him into the street.

Jaskier finds his companion in no time and easily falls into step with Geralt, who looks about as pleased to see Jaskier exiting a brothel as could be expected. But then the witcher’s pretty nose flares as he sniffs the air and by extension, Jaskier, and a strange light enters his eyes. “Unproductive day?”

“I’d hardly say so,” Jaskier preens, revealing the bottle with a flourish and presenting it to the witcher. Geralt takes it, immediately rolling the wine in his palm to read the label like the asshole he is. “That’s hardly vintage— it’s likely gone off, actually, but seeing as we’re in the middle of nowhere it might be the best we can get. You looked like you needed to cut loose!”

Geralt, in fact, still looks like he needs to cut loose. He’s stiff as a board as he uncorks the wine, and although the pale and sharp odour sends a twitch through his features, he takes a luxuriantly long sip. Jaskier watches, smiling distractedly, and when Geralt has his fill he wipes his mouth dry on his glove before passing the bottle.

The wine is a poor replacement for what they really want, which in Jaskier’s case is a specific vintage that they served in Cintra. That dry and sweet taste is nowhere to be found in this bottle of near-poison, but it’s free (well, stolen) and free things always taste better. He gulps down the alcohol, eyelids fluttering as he does.

When he finishes, gasping silently and sighing as his throat bobs, Jaskier opens his eyes to find Geralt watching him. The witcher’s pupils are blown wide and his lips are wet; he must just have bitten them. He watches Jaskier for far, far too long a moment; he must not even realize he’s staring.

“Shit wine,” Jaskier comments, amused and thrilled, and Geralt turns to glance away as though nothing ever happened.

-

“If I ever suggest anything this stupid again,” whines Jaskier, stars pricking in the corners of his eyes every time a new wave of soreness passes through him, “then you must shoot me right between the eyes with your crossbow. In fact, do it right now so as to end my misery! I’ll give you every last coin in my purse.”

“Witchers don’t take contracts on humans,” Geralt recites, sounding far too entertained by this for Jaskier’s liking. The witcher is stretched out on his bedroll, looking comfortable as fuck. The rough day of travel hasn’t impacted him at all, thanks to the expensive Nilfgaardian saddle he’s got on his trusty fucking steed. “Besides, didn’t you say you were a good rider?”

“Not bareback,” he grouses. “And yes, I hear the innuendo, very clever, Geralt. Shoot me.”

His companion hums infuriatingly and draws no weapon, leaving Jaskier to his agony. With tremendous effort he wiggles out of his trousers, kicking them and his stockings across the campground without watching where they land. They could land in the fire for all he cares; he’s so horribly chafed that he doesn’t think he’ll be able to wear pants for at least a week without wincing.

Jaskier uncorks the small bottle of peppermint oil that he usually uses after bathing and slathers it over his palms and between his fingers. Then, too sore to feel shame, he reaches right for his poor reddened thighs and massages the oil into the skin there. The resulting groan is entirely involuntary. He doesn’t even care how he sounds, too busy working the oil into the muscles of each leg and letting his body finally, finally relax.

When his knuckle digs into a particularly sore spot high on his thigh Jaskier keens, gasping quietly and bending forward over his lap. In the very next instant Geralt jumps to his feet, and Jaskier frowns. He would fear an oncoming attack if not for how Geralt’s hands are tightly pinned to his sides— a distinctly unwitchery pose. Without pulling his fingers away from his surely bruised thighs, Jaskier asks, “Something the matter?”

“I need to collect potion ingredients,” Geralt utters, sounding the most rehearsed that Jaskier has ever heard him. He looks back over his shoulder and his gaze dips down to the bard’s bare legs, as well as his slick fingers working between his thick, rosy thighs. 

Jaskier has the unique, first-hand experience of watching a witcher choke on their own spit. He doesn’t stop massaging his sore legs, but he does lift his head to properly stare back at Geralt, who has yet to pick up his jaw from where he dropped it. “Pity. You could have helped me with some of the hard-to-reach spots.”

“We need more firewood,” Geralt barks, nearly before Jaskier is done speaking. He storms off, leaving Jaskier to massage his legs on his own and wonder exactly how they’ve gotten themselves into this delightful mess.

-

“Go to sleep, Jaskier.”

“I can’t. I’m composing.”

This is the sort of composition that his old instructors would have raked him over the coals for indulging. The window is too small and the room too dark, so even if he wanted to write something, he’d need to light a candle and locate some paper and ink.

Instead, he and his companion lie side by side on the narrow mattress without touching. The sounds of revelry from downstairs have not yet subsided, but neither witcher nor bard is in a social mood. “Today wasn’t exactly the stuff of legend,” Geralt grunts.

Perhaps his attempt at providing some levity for their awful night, but Jaskier is too riled up to appreciate it. “Untrue,” he seethes. “There is poetry to be found in everything, even the most awful, excruciating days spent dealing with close-minded, small-brained bigots.”

“You can write your poetry tomorrow. Sleep.”

“What’s a good rhyme for stupid bastard prick?”

For nearly half a beat Geralt considers it. Then he remembers himself, grumbling in the usual churlish tone he adopts when he doesn’t want Jaskier to press things, “People get scared for their families, their homes. They’re afraid of what they don’t understand; that’s all.”

Jaskier, unfortunately, has never been very good at not pressing things. “Right, fine, but how does him being an utter dickhead help protect his family? He had no idea what he was talking about anyway! You’re not a monster!”

“Some of—”

“Don’t even start, I cannot go through this again—”

“Some of their hatred is based in fear, or in fact,” mumbles Geralt, as patiently as he might explain it to a child. 

Jaskier bristles despite himself. “Right. Well. I’m not contesting your fertility, but that wasn’t what he meant either. He described you like a creature incapable of desire of feeling.”

The witcher just says, “Not too far off.”

They’ve repaved the same path of this argument so many times that the road is smooth, and where once Jaskier’s heart stung at the idea that Geralt could ever doubt himself in such a way, now he just feels a sort of bitter warmth. He huffs, nearly amused. “Geralt, I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I won’t notice. You’re not incapable.”

There is no motion or movement in the darkness between them, not even when Jaskier turns to strain his eyes and stare. Geralt lies completely still on the far side of the bed— it hadn’t seemed far until the pair of them stopped talking, and now there might as well be an ocean between them. Jaskier suddenly fears that he might have fucked everything up by addressing the unaddressed and pulling their bond into the light for both of them to consider. He fears, too, that if he falls asleep now, the witcher will sneak away in the night and Jaskier won’t see him until next season.

Finally, Geralt moves. He doesn’t climb out of bed, instead shifting closer on the mattress. It takes very little effort at all for him to pull Jaskier into his arms, and it takes even less for Jaskier to curl into him, heart pounding for a different reason than it was a minute ago. Geralt doesn’t say a word but Jaskier somehow knows he’s smiling, and a missing piece of their puzzle slides into place.

#geraskier fic #geraskier #my writing #anonymous #drabble meme #cannot by rights call this a drabble OOPS #i had a lot of fun with this one though!!! i care them!!! #asks

[oh-for-fic-sake]

Nanma?

Masterlist 

this fic is in my oneshots masterlist

summary: Jaskier's family tree is more complicated then either Geralt or Ciri realised, and with the way Geralt is eye fucking this newcomer its about to get a whole lot worse.

Warnings: 18+, No Smut, Suggestive themes, Swearing, Fluff, Humour, Almost a crack fic?

A/N: this has been in my drafts for a long loooonngg time and finally felt like finishing it. this is a oneshot and supposed to be corny/funny a little light hearted fun is all. I hope you all enjoy 🥰🥰

Taglist: in the reblogs.

You moved through the thick woods on the outskirts of town you were on edge. Nilfgardians were spotted in the area and that was bad. It meant it was open season on mages, the war was raging on and even though you were nowhere near the front lines you were in danger. All strong mages were. Your kind were being 'conscripted' for the Nilfgardians forces. Cannon fodder.

But you wasn’t running from them. No, you were hunting them. You'd have visions of death and destruction, Nilfgard was chaseing something. Hunting someone. And that someone had something to do with your family, had a connection to your precious boy!

He was here, passing though and was in danger, call it sixth sense or a maternal intuition. You just felt it, he was in real danger and you will not stand by. Nilfgard will rue the day they fucked with your loved ones.

Your legs moved faster, feet thundering on the ground as you hurried forward. Your skin prickling sensing the crackling in the air, there was strong magic around here. But it was nervous and unsure. Scared. Threatened. You growled following the tingling on your skin, the fizzling on your fingertips as you raced headfirst. You knew, you just knew that Jaskier was in trouble. The dreams were too frequent, both Nilfgard and your boy here at once was too much of a coincidence.  

When you’d encouraged him to be a bard and follow his dreams you never meant for him to become a bloody witchers pet! But after hearing the songs and tales of the powerful white wolf you relaxed. The man seemed like he was capable enough to contain your sweet bard.

You gasped as you heard them, you panicked shouts of Jaskier and a... girl? Before you could dwell on it you burst forth into an open trail skidding to a stop in between your sweet boy and two Nilfgardians. Mages they had already been casting, throwing some paralysis hex's- one had hit their target, you managed a second to glance at the girl. Blonde and frozen in place, terrified eyes flicking about as she seemed to realise, she was in trouble. You felt the pull of magic in front of you as the next spell was released and thrown at Jaskier whose entire face was both panicked and shocked.

"Oh no you fucking don’t!" You growled and managed to thwart the fairly weak hex. They were young and had nothing on you and your experience. The black clad mage panicked, obviously not prepared to be confronted. You didn’t give a second thought and set them ablaze, blue flames turning dark purple the centres becoming black. Chasing fire, forbidden magic but you didn't care. They tried to harm your boy. And now they’d pay. They were dead.

The other mages didn’t know what to do, one froze on the spot terrified and the other tried to run. Neither got away, the bright yet dark flames engulfed them managing to cremate them almost instantly, armour and all. You heaved and spun around seeing the hex ease on the girl but not release her. You approached her not paying any mind to Jaskier who had fell to the floor frightened and shocked. Blinking at you trying to confirm if it was really, you or not. And you don’t blame him. You hadn’t seen him for almost three years. Even before then your visits were short and scarce. His parents didn’t like you being around him- well his father didn’t, he had very radical ideas about mages he hated your kind.

Just as you were beside the blonde girl a fierce growl erupted from the bushes beside you and a huge angry Witcher ran at you, sword drawn and ready to kill if need be. You stopped moving and held your hands up in a surrendering gesture.

"Who are you?! Did you do that to her?! Speak!" He snarled pressing the blade to your throat slicing the skin in a shallow cut warning you he was not playing.

"Did you just try to cast axii on me?" You growled after feeling the pull. The weak spell causing your nose to twitch and skin to prickle. For a second Geralt faltered, had he? That wasn’t like him. Witchers very rarely accidentally cast, they were far too disciplined for that despite what people believed witchers didn’t like to cast on people, and even more so on mages it usually triggered an altercation... and as much as witchers hated it the mages usually whopped their asses.

"Tell me what the fuck you’re doing?! That’s forbidden magic! What did you do to Ciri!" He ignored you managing to brush off his surprize quickly choosing to snarl at you instead, showing the brutality that witchers were known for.

"Geralt, she didn’t cast on Ciri!" Jaskier said quickly coming to try and stand between you and stop the simmering tempers. But it was in vain as you managed to bat him to the side waving a hand at him

"What am I doing?! What are you doing! Leaving them alone to wander when Nilfgard is about! I saved them!" You growled locking onto the Witcher now having an outlet for your worry and rage. He should have been here protecting his group!

"Oh really?" The white wolf asked leaning forward towering over your slight frame, he was still on high alert his pupils eyes dilating and contracting making himself appear more menacing. you only stepped closer growling at him yourself growing more and more irritated.... and hot. Fuck he was hot, tall, and wide, a low raspy voice and stubble that added to his deep masculinity. Like a dusting of sugar on an already delectable looking cake. It was the kind of stubble you’d want to feel reddening your skin, the shadowed jawline that would be perfect for nuzzling... and riding.

"Yes really" you grunted at him with a smirk. His brow twitched and he inched backwards. This man thought you were a wee girl  fresh out of your schooling, he thought he could bully and frighten you. He was wrong, faltering humming blinking at you not quite sure what to do. You'd resisted his axii and hadn't caved to his posturing. It was actually a bit of a turn on for him, but then again, he always had a thing for powerful stubborn women. The ones who didn’t cower and hide but instead came at him head on with their own teeth bared ready to take a bite... His body flushed with need, bite? Fuck he’d definitely give you a mouthful if you asked~ his thoughts suddenly trailed down a different path, one that included only you and him... with much less clothing. It had been too long since he'd had a tumble with a fierce woman such as yourself.

It didn’t help that you were seething, growling back at him, crossing your arms under your bust pressing the mounds together and up without meaning to. You looked dangerous. And he loved it.

"From what? Because the only mage I see around here is you" he grunted out backtracking a little struggling to keep his mind on the situation and less on the way you were managing to make him back off as you craned your long slim neck up pushing against the biting steel without a care in the world. You were daring him, egging him on and calling his bluff.

"That’s because I fucking cremated the Nilfgardians that were attacking them! You know with the forbidden magic you saw?" You snapped stepping forward once more making him take a full step back furrowing his brow. You held your firm stance for a few seconds before retreating a few steps rolling your eyes at him.

"God, I thought you’d be a little smarter Witcher" you muttered and moved around him. Geralt stuttered and slowly dropped his sword. Just what the hell is going on? Had he lost his mojo? He watched you closely, for some reason Jaskier and Ciri didn’t feel threatened by you... Jaskier seemed more relaxed than he had ever been he'd never heard the bard heart rate so calm, it was as if he were asleep. Geralts eyes locked onto you once more trying to stop his mind wandering from the fact you were  beautiful and unfazed by him or his threats. It was strange but soothing, to have another person that isn’t frightened by him... but at the same time it was also incredibly frustrating. You rolled your eyes as you crouched next to the still paralysed girl on the floor raising your hands to put enough pressure on the binding magic.

"Oh fuck, no no no, please Geralt stop!" Jaskier lunged for the Witcher as he snapped out of his daze when you moved to touch Ciri.

"What are you doing to her?" Geralt cursed himself as his voice grew higher in panic. It wasn’t that he truly thought you’d hurt her but... That spell was powerful and you’d done it effortlessly. So, he wasn’t sure what to do, or what to think. He knew he couldn’t undo the spell on Ciri himself, it was hard for him to trust anyone! Least of all a new face- a powerful mage that was a realistic beauty she had imperfections! Actual imperfections which seemed to make her even more beautiful to him, beautiful enough to get her own way... the pretty ones were always more cunning, more trouble than they were worth.

"I’m trying to release the hex you idiot" you hissed trying to keep an eye on the mountain of a man but also concentrate on slowly pulling at the spell, it was like tugging the loose ends on a fraying piece of fabric, a slow plucking until the magic itself dissipated and the spell broke.

"Geralt please don’t pick this fight" Jaskier said coming between you both arms raised and waving as Geralt heaved the sword pointing it at your turned back.

"Fuck! Jaskier what are you doing?! Get back! Mages casting like that are dangerous! GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM CIRI!?" Geralt faltered panic rising as he tried to protect Ciri and pull Jaskier out of harm’s way. He didn’t want to swing and accidentally hit Jaskier.

"Shes not a threat- Geralt stop put your sword down she won’t hurt us" Jaskier shouted still shielding you, now fighting as Geralt grasped his jerkin and began pulling trying to get the bard out of the way so he could strike.

"How can you be so sure?" Geralt snapped worriedly as he watched you move over Ciri.

"Because your bard is my god damned grandson!" You finally hissed over your shoulder growing tired of his bitching. Thankfully the Witcher seemed to be reeling from your admission and blinked slowly going quiet before frowning. You huffed shaking your head and continued lifting the hex slowly so the girl didn’t get any cramps or pulls from being released so quickly.

"What?" Geralt finally breathed out still frozen on the spot growling flicking his eyes between you and Jaskier... Yes, there was definitely some resemblance

Whilst the Witcher managed to rattled his brain standing stiffly soaking up the information and flick his golden gaze from you to your grandson and back again you got to work and concentrated. Unpicking this spell was difficult, not that the spell was particularly strong or complicated,  but this girl had magic. Untamed and powerful. And for the life of her she didn’t know how to undo this spell but was trying, she was fighting it, lashing out at the spell trying to overcome it and force it to yield. You frowned and placed a hand to her crown before speaking to her.

"No no don’t fight it, you’ll cramp and be in all sorts of pain, just relax and let me unweave it..." you said to the girl who was beginning to wriggle as her body loosened and she regained feeling. She paused and whined quietly blinking at you in what you assumed was her small 'please don’t hurt me' this was a child who had been through too much, she has been hurt and betrayed.

"Shh it’s okay, I’m just moving slowly. I promise I’m not going to hurt you, a freind of my grandsons is a friend of mine. Spells like this need coaxing dear, you need to unthread it. Not claw at it. Now just relax I’ll have you back to normal before you know it" you encouraged quietly speaking in soft calm voice like you would a young child. She seemed to understand and finally gave in, it was like a curtain being lifted, her magic no longer trying to fight you. After that you managed to release it completely and with one mighty gasp the girl sat up panting and moved clutching her head clearly shaken from her ordeal.

"See I told you, I just released her from the hex; without letting her get cramps... no need to thank me" you said smugly as you turned to face the Witcher standing before offering the girl a hand helping her stand beside you. She was pale and looked uneasy-shocked but she was unharmed and that was the main thing

He turned looking more closely as Ciri was hissing moving around slowly trying to get feeling back into her limbs she sat up thanking you. You smiled and stood up holding a handout to the girl before turning to face the famed white wolf.

Jaskier inched closer and stood beside you face softening as Geralt finally seemed to calm down. Okay there was a lot of resemblance now that he saw you both standing side by side, you looked like a feminine copy of the bard slightly more refined nose and prominent cheek bones, your skin was dappled with more freckles and your eyes were more intense. The main differences were your gender and your eyes, Jaskier’s were... light kind and held a certain endearing stupidity, like a naive child? You on the other hand  had an old soul lurking in the bright blues, years of wisdom trap inside those only older mages had. Both you and Jaskier could see the witchers questioning gaze, head as the white wolf growled snapping at you both trying to call you liars pointing his sword at you again angrily. it would appear this particular Witcher was confused and he didn’t enjoy being confused you chuckled and shook your head rolling your eyes. Witcher’s, mages bards they were all the same in the end just a bunch of stupid growly prideful  Men.

"Its true Geralt- it’s complicated just? Put the sword down before she gets annoyed! You don’t want her to get angry- you think Yennefer is bad? She has nothing on Nanma!" Jaskier pleaded hand raised trying to placate the Witcher.

Geralts eyes flicked to you then Jaskier his head spinning. Geralt knew when Jaskier was lying to him. And right now, the bard was being honest. But how? How the fuck did a mage have a biological grandson? Or was this a child of surprise deal? Sometimes fate plays twisted tricks and children of surprize can actually look like their soul parents... maybe yours had been one of those rare instances.

"I? Thank you... I’m sorry I’m not used to... this?" Geralt finally uttered feeling like a complete ass looking away as he sheathed his sword. You smirked if you didn’t know any better, you’d say the white wolf looked a little sheepish. The thought made you giggle rolling your eyes.

"What you mean people helping? I’m not surprized with that stab first attitude be sure to sort it out before we get back" you quipped stepping towards him with a scoff.

"Back?" Jaskier muttered slowly dread seeping into his tone. It wasn’t that he didn’t love you because he did... but he wasn’t too thrilled about taking his friends back to grandma’s house for a while... you’d embarrass him no doubt!

You crossed your arms eyeing him coolly letting him know this wasn’t up for discussion. You’d made up your mind and he wouldn’t be changing it

"Of course, I’m not leaving you out here alone tonight this place will be swarming with Nilfgardians now that those two wont report back" you said plainly managing a small scoff and roll of your eyes before pining your grandson with your gaze. A gaze he knew all too well, daring him to argue with you.

"Come along follow me my house isn’t far you can stay with me and lay low" you said finally turning away from Jaskier who remained silent... until you turned away from him that is.

"Nanma we are fine- there’s a tavern in the town-" he whined only finding the nerve to argue when you were no longer staring him down. You paused and pivoted blinking at him incredulous keeping him on his toes before quirking an eyebrow. You could see Geralt tilting his head smirking folding his own arms across the wide leather clad chest. He was amused, watching Jaskier try to behave was always funny, the bard was just that! A bard always running his mouth, rarely silent. Jaskier was always making sarcastic quips, bitching, arguing, complaining, and genuinely talking himself into trouble, very rarely out of it.

"Full of harlots I presume? No. Jaskier your coming home with me and having a decent meal, bath and some actual sleep" you countered with a tilt of your head peaking at him from the top of your eyes giving him a mum look.

"B-but nanma?" He stuttered clearly trying to save face in front of his friends. But you were having none of it, it wasn’t safe out here for any of them and you’d not here another word about it!

"Do not 'but nanma' me child. You've got eye baggies, a little too skinny and smell like horse! Now get!" You scolded pointing in the direction of your home with a stern look. He sighed cheeks flushing as you waited makeing him pass you with an exaggerated huff resulting in you to quickly tap your grandsons ass with your boot prompting him to yelp and cover his hide peaking at you over his shoulder flushing brighter.

With that you were on your way the new group in toe following the path to your home. A quick high whistle rang out making you look to the Witcher who nodded to your right. Turning you were greeted with a large mare. Clearly geralts horse if the griffins head on her flank was anything to go by. You were impressed she was well trained to have found you so deep in the woods from just one whistle.

"Nanma?" The young girl spoke up curiously as she stepped up beside as you all made your way deeper into the woods just off the trail to a hidden one that drew you closer to towards your home. You nodded to her smiling kindly.

"I look like his older sister. grandma can raise eyebrows and then people suspect I’m a mage which leads to uncomfortable conversations... it’s getting more and more dangerous being a mage outside of eritusa.  but I don’t expect you to call me that call me y/n" you briefly explained, she hummed before gasping quickly and introducing herself.

"Y/n... I’m Ciri and that’s Geralt" she introduced politely you nodded and glanced at Geralt quickly. So, you were correct, this is the Witcher your grandson had attached himself to.

"Well, it’s nice to meet you Ciri, are you hurt?" You asked quickly glancing over her. You were worried, Nilfgard were cruel and you wouldn’t put anything past them, they could have tampered with the spell. Modified it to have other effects, you hadn’t felt anything but... Nilfgard was Nilfgard.

"No I... Was shocked I’m not normally caught unaware" the girl said looking down as if she were ashamed. You sighed and patted her shoulder lightly.

"Oh, don’t you worry it happens to the best of us" you reassured not wanting her to beat herself up over it. You could tell she needed more confidence, and hopefully she won’t let this little hiccup eat away at her.

"Holy- nanma that’s..." Jaskier began as he saw your fair-sized home. A three-story grey brick home with single turret. It had been fashioned to look like a gate house. Sturdy and fortified in its own right and cost a pretty penny. There was a secure stone stable attached to the side and a reasonable sized walled garden out the back. It had once been full of ingredients to brew potions and elixirs that you sold to the local traders. But now with Nilfgardians scouring the hills it wasn’t safe, so it was mostly vegetables and fruit. You didn’t like wandering to town in these uncertain times and tried to be self-sufficient.

"Ah yes... you've not been to this cottage before, have you?" You said wandering passed him to the small hidden homestead.

"That’s not a cottage! That’s a bloody? I don’t know what it is! But cottages aren’t that big nor do they have turrets!" Jaskier pointed out which made you roll your eyes. So, you had a turret, you were allowed to indulge every once in a while!

"It’s only four bedrooms Jaskier" you said leading them all into the garden to the home that would be nice and warm. The home had inscribed runes and spells on the walls to help preserve heat even when the fire had died.

"And the rest?" Jaskier asked still peaking up at the structure surprized... this wasn’t the typical 'grandmas cottage in the woods' as your last home had been. A little cute, thatched home with lots of sweet-smelling flowers surrounding it... this was a home built to withstand attacks, it worried him to an extent. Was his grandmother waiting to be attacked?  

"Separate kitchen and living space, small alchemy come library, a basement... and a stone bath washroom"

"A built-in washroom?" Ciri asked beaming at the idea of a proper luxurious bath maybe with some bath oils and salts! Decent ones hopefully. You grinned watching as she got excited, it must be horrible travelling with two men. You doubt bathing properly was a regular thing. Men just didn’t understand.

"Well yes... a floor bath I like being clean, and besides the hot bath helps heat the rest of the house... Geralt the stable is fully stocked help yourself to anything your horse may need you can come straight inside through the door on your left" you added nodding to the Witcher who tipped his head gratefully swerving off to the side leading roach to the warm stall that was already set up for her with feed. Afterall, you had known about this meeting for a while from visions it was obvious there would be a horse staying with you.

Ten minutes later you were all in the large kitchen, cloaks off and sitting down with tea as the stew you made yesterday was reheating over the huge hearth.

"So, if you don’t mind me asking... How are you a grandmother when... you know you’re a mage?" Ciri piped up quickly asking what was on the tip of geralts tongue aswell. You grinned at her sitting down cradling you own warm cup.

"Wow your very direct aren’t you, I like it no time for bullshit" you praised her making her blush and preen. You really did like the kid already; she was a headstrong little thing. She would go far if she held on to that grit.

"I thought it was impossible, you give it up for your... transformation" Geralt added thoughtfully waving a hand over the table motioning vaguely. He seemed far off looking through you, as if thinking of something else. Someone else.

"Yes, it is impossible after your transformation... I was married off young. And gave birth to Jaskier’s mother when I was sixteen... But my conduit moment was when I was twenty-one" you spoke plainly with a shrug. In all honestly it was a ridiculously simple situation. Many who did find out believed you'd achieved the impossible brewed a potion, used a djinn, or found a loophole.

Many mages came to you, sought you out hoping to find a way, a cure. But all were dissapointed in the end. You felt sorry for them, but at the same time envious. It’s all well and good having a child, the joy of birthing and raising one... but now your daughter was old and becoming frail, she would die and you would remain. You will outlive many generations of your own bloodline and have to watch them pass. It was not a fate you wished on anyone. Even Jaskier, your precious boy was ageing, soon it would begin to show.

"So, you had a child before you got to eritusa?" Ciri asked pulling you from the slightly morbid thoughts. You nodded quickly to her, thankful for the distraction.

"Yes. When my conduit moment happened, I left to begin my studies and that’s that" you said trying to bring the conversation to a close. You really wanted to avoid the who’s what’s and where’s if you could. It was annoying recounting the same story over and over. The past was the past, you lived into moment otherwise you’d go mad.

"So, you must be almost as old as me?" Geralt mused thoughtfully. You watched closely as he tried to add the years together and figure out just how old you were. You smirked into your cup; he was quite cute with that little look of concentration on his rugged face.

"Yes, she is ancient" Jaskier announced laughing through a mouthful of stew that he had been inhaling. For all the whining of being dragged here he didn’t seem to mind the food.

"Not ancient enough to be out run Jaskier, you couldn’t outrun me as a boy and you won’t be able to now” you threatened sternly snapping your gaze to him. He paused comically and shrunk into his seat slowly bringing the spoon to his open mouth watching you for any sign you were going to move towards him. He was ready to bolt, the last thing he wanted was to face the wrath of your slipper. The very same pair of slippers he'd encountered as a child were by the fireplace as always.

"You used to chase him?" Ciri asked between mouthfuls drawing your attention away from the bard who visibly relaxed once he was out of the hot seat. You smiled to the girl; it was nice knowing she had your grandsons back even against you.

"God yes all the time, he was a little rug rat. He used to run all over the place naked. I'd be in my room and suddenly see something run past my door, I’d go to check and low behold there he is running down the corridor bottom bared for all the world to see. He hated pants of any kind." You giggled recounting the many struggles of trying to help raise Jaskier, he was a stubborn smart ass even back then.

Geralt chuckled into his meal with a shake of his head. It was clear the Witcher had a few thoughts of his own about Jaskier’s antics. He didn’t seem surprized to hear about Jaskier’s troublesome aversion to pants.

"Nanma!? Don’t tell them that!" The bard sputtered cheeks tinting pink as the others smirked and laughed at the story.

"He isn’t much different now, prefers being in women’s skirts then his own pants" Geralt said with a shit eating grin trying to tattle tale on Jaskier. This may be the only time the white wolf can get a little payback and id up his dumbass crier, and he wasn’t about to waste it.

"Ge-Geralt shut up!" Jaskier’s outburst was ignored bar from a quirk of your brow instantly reminding the boy to mind his manners and stop yelling at the table. Jaskier sighed and dug his spoon into the stew in a huff pulling the now loaded utensil to his mouth and continued eating. You nodded once and turned back to Geralt.

"Trust me, I'm well aware of just what he gets up to" you said with a sharp edge both chiding and teasing Jaskier. For a second Jaskier completely forgot the others were there and pouted before snipping at you still looking at his food.

"I bet you don’t, I mean how long has it been nanma?" The words were grumpy, not meant to upset you but ruffle your feathers. I that moment Jaskier was little more then a pouting child embarrassed at being scolded in front of his friends.

"Jaskier dear. Geralt is older than me" you said deciding to deal with his little strop differently this time. Geralt frowned at you wondering what he had to do with this. But you grinned wickedly at him with a mischievous look that even Jaskier hadn’t managed before.

"Yes and?" Jaskier huffed looking at you unimpressed all but rolling his eyes.

"And I assume that he has sex?" You added Geralt huffed a laugh already seeing where this was going but for some reason Jaskier was still stupid enough to nod at you confused- completely oblivious to the little trap you’d just walked him into. Sometimes Geralt really did wonder about his bard.

"So, what makes you think I don’t?" You grinned and leant forward sipping your tea again, spying him from the top of your eyes. Ciri burst out laughing almost pitting her mouthful and Geralt hmm'd in approval smirking. But Jaskier? He yelled out squealing.

"What?- ew my god, no! That’s disgusting!" Your grandson snapped face glowing and stuttering hissing at you to stop being vulgar and 'act your age' you paused and tilted your head. Disgusting? That’s a bit harsh.

"Excuse me child?" You said quietly. All the noise stopped at your tone. Cool and firm, but calm. Jaskier faltered and both Geralt and Ciri watched closely waiting to see how this was going to go down.

"Oh come- it was a joke nanma you know your beautiful... please don’t look at me like that" Jaskier back tracked laughing nervously leaning his hands on the table ready to bolt once more. Jaskier loved you he really really did; you were always behind him encouraging him more than his actual parents. You'd never tell him it was partly because they feared he was also a mage as a child. This fear drove them to try and confine him, he spent lots of time with you until it was clear he was not a mage, it turns out he was just a clever intuitive little boy.

That had been when your daughter allowed her husband to be rid of you sending you away now your help wase no longer needed. In the early years Jackie had spent more time with you then his siblings and friends.

"Are you sucking up Jaskier?" Ciri asked wiping her mouth with a small giggle. She was enjoying seeing this childish side to him,  not that he was and 'adult' adult normally. But he lacked his smug pettiness and was dare she say behaving himself.

"He does this all the time trust me. But coming back to your question Geralt I’m not quite as old as you... I’m only seventy-one... or two. I’m not entirely sure I think in may have lost a year somewhere" you chuckled to Ciri whose eyes widened in shock. It was clear the girl hadn’t expected you to be that old... you'd be older than her grandmother if she was still alive.

"No that’s... it’s impossible. You not even ageing like a mage" Geralt purred crossing his arms over his chest. Your age shocked even him. Mages do age but don’t change much, minute details in their skin, hands and nails normally give them away. But with you there were no tell-tale signs even to his trained eye. It was enticing him even further you were entirely unique. Not vapid or docile it was clear you hadn’t left your schooling to be a little trinket for a kings court. You were an old school mage, content with having magic, honing your skill but not for glory or vanity like most did. He could respect that, he understood you were both a dieing breed

"Oh, you flatterer~ I had good genes to start with, look at Jaskier! Almost forty and still a baby face" you blushed giggling at the Witcher who was openly staring at you, drinking in your form with slow sweeping golden eyes. His pupils widening further then a humans should, giving away the fact he liked what he saw. Good, that made two of you.

"It’s not our genes you fed me a bloody witches brew" Jaskier scoffed rolling his eyes at you whilst throwing down the half-eaten bread roll.

"I did no such thing!" You snapped at him annoyed he had interrupted you undressing the wotcher with your eyes. You’d just began picturing the huge males firm torso and your grandson had to ruin it.

"I really didn’t. He stole a trial rejuvenation potion to prove to his little friends I was a mage" you continued looking to Geralt and Ciri with an exasperated sigh. You would explain the full story to them so hopefully they don’t think the worst of you.

"They dared him to drink it, the boy was stupid enough to do it!"

"Jaskier, you didn’t?" Geralt huffed tilting his head defeated knowing that the bard most definitely had.

"Oh yes he did! His father threw a fit" you nodded crossing your own arms, elevating your bust just enough to press the two mounds together teasing the Witcher whose eyes constantly drifted to them. You shuddered as Geralt’s low rumble echoed in your ears. God yes~ he was a mountain of a man, a true refined wild beast. And you couldn’t help but warm for him. Your body was already awakening, your slit dampening your smalls.

Geralt inhaled and snapped his head to you , catching the scent. You didn’t look at him, instead you faced Ciri but clenched once more at the growl the Witcher released making it clear he knew exactly waht was happening below your skirts.

"...So that’s why your all" Ciri trailed off waving as Jaskier trying to bite off a grin.

"Young? Handsome? A gift to women kind?" Jaskier boasted closing his eyes practically dripping with a cheerful pride. You and Ciri shared a look.

"Yes deary, whatever you say" you huffed agreeing with him. It was easier to let him have some of his delusions~ Jaskier just pouted, though this time he kept his mouth shut.

"... did you ever slip him anything else?... That might have lasting side effects?" Geralt asked more interested in having your eyes back on him then actually wanting an answer. You flicked your gaze back to him and gasped. He was man spreading, his chair had been pushed back and the beefy male was all but doing the split in his chair. Thick taught thighs clad in the tight leather front breeches either side of the chair, knees pointing east and west...your gaze travelled north~

Of fuck~ you bit your lip and looked up quickly needing to pull your eyes away from the massive bulge that sat between the meaty thighs. One of his hands scratched absentmindedly on his tummy before dropping to his thigh.

"P-potions? No... the only other thing that happened when he was with me was, he fell off my horse" you stuttered but quickly caught yourself and managed somehow to look at his face pretending to focus but the reality was you were miles away. Mind reeling from studying the witchers... southern peak. Geralt smirked wolfishly, a fanged grin and sparkle to his eyes. He had you already, you wasn’t even trying to fight him. You were drawn to him as he was you. Two unique moths drawn to the same tantalising flame.

"What? No, I didn’t?"

"Yes, you did love, you were about four at the time. There was a  butterfly attack it flew in his face and he freaked out and through himself off the horse. I couldn’t hold him and it happened so quick! He fell landing on his little noggin" you recounted enjoying sharing the stories of you and Jaskier, spending his childhood with him was the most precious time of your life. You hadn’t been able to raise his mother going to eritusa when she was only a few months old and not returning until she was in her early teenage years.

"Ah that explains a lot" Geralt teased sending Jaskier a smug look.

"Indeed. At the time I brushed it of he was fine, landed on grass but as he got older? Well, who can tell?" You uttered deciding to poke some more fun at your grandson.

"You let me fall of a horse?!" Was the screeching reply. He was well and truly offended.

"I didn’t let you do anything! I didn’t know you were terrified of butterflies! You just through yourself out of my arms... besides the horse want that big, more of a pony to be perfectly honest" you mused shrugging. Even if the fall had lasting effects, it was too late to do anything about it now.

"You’re scared of butterflies?" Geralt laughed wheezing slightly as he tried to stop his chuckles. Ciri however roared with laughter at the prospect of someone being frightened by butterflies.

"No-no I am not! I just didn’t like them flapping in my face!" Jaskier quickly defended himself flushing red. He couldn’t help it he was a child!

"He used to run off screaming, I had to cut down all the plants that attracted them to my garden. Apart from that incident the only thing slip him occasionally is a poultice to stop any unexpected great grandchildren popping up" you came clean with a shrug making Ciri lean to the side peeling with laughter. It was good you got the feeling she was so... serious it'd do the girl good to have a good laugh. You’d be lying if you hadn’t also explained to try and get another deep chuckle from the Witcher~ any rumbling sound from him was worth your grandsons ire.

"Y-you what!? How could you- when!?" Jaskier yelled throwing his hands out clapping hands with his bowl sending it across the table tipping over wildly and dumping the last dregs of the stew over Geralt.

The Witcher bolted up and cussed at Jaskier who offered a weak apology.  You huffed fixing your grandson with a look and nodded to the cloth on the kitchen bench behind him.

"Jaskier clean up your mess... and while I’m on the topic of cleaning I want you all to bring me your dirtied clothes after supper I will start some laundry tonight"  you announced only to turn hearing Geralt began shuffling. You gapsed and flustered  watching with bated breath as the witchers deft fingers loosened the buttons of his shirt and began shrugging out of it.

Fuck he has hair~ as if he couldn’t be any more attractive the man had a perfect dusting of chest hair trailing down his godly form. Your mouth ran dry and your smalls almost soaked through! It was a welcome sight, Geralt was a masterpiece it was an absolute travesty he couldn’t pass on his genes, a male this gorgeous would have made perfect sons. A bloodline of stunning males stolen from generations of women it really was a shame. But then again, their loss was your gain~.  Jaskier’s indignant squeal, ordering him to redress made you snap out of your ab induced daze.

"I no-Geralt I didn’t mean now; I okay just err just give it here I will start a pile..." you began to protest but give up as he folded the shirt in his hand and looked to you, asking what to do with it. You held out your hand with a tiny tremble in  your fingers. Geralt passed you his shirt with a wolfish grin, grazing your hand with his fingers leaving a blazing trail of fire just below, skin both heating and prickling at the feather light touch.

You bit your lip releasing a shaky breath locking eyes with the might beast slayer. A wolf indeed, fur and all~ you couldn’t help but peak to see just how far the hair reached on his torso. Seeing the abs almost free but for a few thin spars hairs somehow made him all the sweeter to look at.

You flushed as he cleared his throat drawing your eyes back to his smug angular face. The curve of his lip taught as it pulled back revealing a fang. Dear god, it was sharp enough to pierce skin somehow you knew this wolfs bite was going to just as erotic and sensual as his bark~ You spun on your heel shirt in hand to throw in the laundry tub, might aswell begin soaking the shirt now it was heavy with sweat and blood no doubt thankfully the horse odour masked any other foul smells.

"Geralt stop it!" Jaskier hissed across the table leaning over the wood pointing a threatening dainty finger at the Witcher after his grandmother left the room. Geralt tipped his head and smirked coyly.

"Hm Stop what?" He said innocently with a shrug only wincing slightly at the pull of a new scare on his shoulder.

"Stop making eyes at my fucking grandmother!?" The bards words were panicked and angry. His little larks feathers were ruffled, it was funny, cute watching how worried Jaskier was over you. But Geralt was hooked and on the hunt, he wanted you. So desperately that he was shook, it was similar to Yennefer but this time there was no djinn involved. Geralt smirked to himself wondering just how appalled Jaskier would be when found Geralt naked in bed with you tomorrow morning. Because Geralt was going to have you tonight and every night he stayed here. There was no doubt about it, who knows maybe you could tag along for a while, you had a positive effect on Jaskier.

"I wasn’t making eyes at her" Geralt smiled again slyly feigning a look of confusion then innocence it was glorious  not only was he going to woo you, but he could also frustrate Jaskier in the process.

"Yes, you were! I mean it stop! And put a shirt on!" Jaskier continued to have his rant, trying to intimidate the Witcher but failed miserably all the bard did was goad the man on. Geralt felt even more inclined to annoy the smaller male, rub it in a little bit before truly getting down to business. And by business he meant swaying a certain madge to bed down with him for the night.

"I don’t have another" was the response Jaskier got. A dismissive answer paired with a shit eating grin and half bitten off chuckle. The bard took a few seconds breathing deeper trying to think of another way to convince the stubborn ass across from him to stop his bullshit. But this was Geralt of rivia, there were no work arounds with him. The only thing Jaskier could do is try to wear him down by bitching and whinning until Geralt had enough and finally carved. Jaskier could do it, but normally it took a few days and this time he didn’t have a few days. He had about half and hour maybe? So he really had to get cracking.

"Yes. You. Do. Geralt!" Jaskier huffed puffing his chest out trying to square up to the monster hunter across from him. After all he had the safety of the table between them, Geralt would have to walk around and luckily the exit to the rest of the house was behind him. Meaning he could dart out of the kitchen to hide somewhere if Geralt did decided to give chase.

"No, I don’t it got... lost" geralts purred glancing over his shoulder at the door you’d exited through when he heard you muttering to yourself, a small pep talk to ‘snag yourself a Witcher’

"Lost?! More like stuffed down the bottom of your bag! Go get it!" Jaskier scoffed tipping his head trying to look stern. But he missed, it was hard to look stern when he was as dainty and… welp like. A cute runt trying to face off against a mighty wolf.

"Why?" Geralt asked shrugging, so he may have stuffed the shirt further down in his pack when out in the stables with roach… and it could possibly have something to do with wanting to lure you to his bed tonight, women just cant resist a battled hardened torso and scars~ it was in their DNA, the hunter gatherer type instinct.

"Because your half naked in my nanmas kitchen! And she doesn’t need to see your fucking nipples!" Jaskier growled looking to the door you’d left in hoping to have his freind dressed and presentable by the time you came back. Because the bard really really didn’t want to see you both eye fucking one another again. He had seen it before, geralts eye fucking only lasted a few minutes before he seduced his pray. And Jaskier was determined not to let his friend and grandmother bunk up!

"Do nipples offend her?" Geralt huffed his mischievous streak really kicking in. The Witcher was having the time of his life this was the most fun he'd had in years... and he might get his end off aswell, this was great!

"No, they don’t-" Jaskier began only to stop seeing the small smirk and playfull hmm making the bard pale. And draw in a deep breath.

"Oh god- no! Don’t you dare!" The pure panic in Jaskier’s voice was enough to make Ciri burst out laughing holding er sides in slight pain. The girl couldn’t help it, Geralt was clearly toying with him... wasn’t he? With that doubt her laughter tapered ff and she frowned slightly. Geralt wouldn’t really bed Jaskier’s grandmother... would he?

"Dare what? What are you talking about?" The Witcher smiled giving another little huff.

"I know that look Geralt! Your eyes are doing the thing!" Ciri looked to her soul fathers eyes at Jaskier’s outcry. They were playfull and twinkling  strangely. A dark playfulness she'd not yet seen on his face before, was this his smoulder? Ew.

"What thing?" Geralt huffed leaning his head back against the chairs back stretching his legs crossing his ankles making sure to display himself like hung meet, everything on show through his breeches. He was posing for your return.

"The glowy thing when you’re about to try and lure someone to bed!" Jaskier seethed quietly, Ciri covered her mouth ew, it was his smoulders Geralt really was going to? Sure, she knew that he was attractive but... no. Just not so far traveling with him had been such a frantic affair he had not stopped off at any of those taverns or been near enough to be intimate with anyone. He was completely preoccupied in keeping them all alive. It would appear now they had some safety the Witcher was not against satisfying his... urges. Not that she had a dislike for you but... old people having sex? No thank you.

"Boys is everything okay?" You asked as you re-entered the room. Jaskier looked flustered and pale. While Geralt was all smiles, stretched out completely at ease by the look of it, sprawled out as he was.

"Perfect, Jaskier was just... being Jaskier" the wolf preened nodding to the bard who was glaring at the Witcher who laughed to himself.

"Oh, Jaskier I'd prefer it if you didn’t get excited at the table" you chided softly closeing the door behind you stepping to the table again.

"But nanmaaa?"

"No buts Jaskier..." your voice was firm with the man child who was pouting, growing fussy and would soon start whingeing at you. It was only a raised brow and few seconds before he proved you right and began mewling like a child.

"But he is makeing eyes at you! And he's half naked!" Jaskier’s whine made both you and Geralt coo at him teasingly, like a child being told no for the first time. You shifted a little closer to the enticing Witcher and leant over resting your hands on the table, propping your ass out more then you needed to just to tease the male at your side.

"I am well aware of his state of dress Jaskier, I haven’t complained yet have I? And Your handsome friend can make eyes at me as much as he wants~" you spoke locking eyes with Jaskier watching as his face dropped from a childish pout to  look of morbid horror.

"No! No noo! He can’t!" Jaskier panicked slapping a palm on the table in frustration like a child only to jerk it back up hissing shaking the hand. It was amusing watching your grandson grow more and more irritated glancing at you both sourly.

"Geralt! Geralt stop it! I mean it!" Jaskier directing his attention to the Witcher as he chuckled in his chair, groaning stretching like a cat drawing attention to the hard muscles of his abdomen. Your mouth ran dry as you spied the glorious chest pleasantly dusted with the curls you wanted to graze your nipples, teasing them until raw. You’d find great satisfaction twiddling the downy curls between your fingers after a few bouts of wild sex.

"Oh? You think I’m handsome?" Geralt purred voice dropping into a sinful deep velvet tone that many women had definitely fallen prey to. God this man probably didn’t even need to use whores with that delicious siren song of his, it was much more dangerous then axii! You'd do just about anything to have that deep baritone voice being growled into your skin. And that was saying something.

"You say that like you don’t know~" you said back looking over your shoulder fluttering your lashes at him, partly to toy with your grandson but also to see of the man was serious. Because you'd ride this stunning Witcher off into the sunset if you had a chance.

"Ew no no lalalalalalalaaa I’m not hearing this! This isn’t happening!" Jaskier suddenly became all of twelve years old again covering his ears and singing loud and off key trying to drown out the 'icky' oldies trying to hit it off. Ciri found it strange tore between giggling behind her hand and gagging as you and Geralt made a show of flirting in front of Jaskier.

"I don’t hear it very often, well not from beautiful mages" Geralt added with a lopsided grin showing off a fanglike canine. You shuddered, fuck yes! The more you saw of that threatening fang the more you wanted to be bitten by this wolf, wanted to succumb to him and his wicked ways and be devoured in every way imaginable~ it would be the best fuck you'd ever get!

"Pity, you should come around more often, I’d tell you every morning" you purred upping your game trying to hint that you would welcome him to your bed anyday with open arms, legs, and mouth~

"Morning?" Geralt quipped in a sultry voice making sure to add a growly rasp that the ladies liked so much and wriggle his brow at you making a show of his less than pure intentions.

"Oh Yes even a big burly Witcher should start the day right. Compliments and kisses. And if that doesn’t sate you appetite, I have many alternative wake up calls~" you continued partly because you wanted to torture Jaskier, and partly because you were a horny mage who wants nothing more than to fuck this Witcher senseless and then snuggle and smother him with love and affection... you wondered if he liked back scratches? Maybe belly rubs. You swallowed eyeing his abs again. God, you hoped he liked belly rubs!

"Nanma no! That’s enough. H-he tried to hurt you. Remember? An hour ago, he was going to cut you down where you stood?" Jask tried his hardest to intervene but your kind was made up. You were going to ride the mighty golden eyed beast. Repeatedly. Jaskier frowned growing more frustrated with your blatant ignorance... and the fact you were sending Geralt a half lidded lusty look, biting your lip and grinning like the cat who got the cream! There will be no cream exchange on his watch!

"Y-you can’t honestly think about him like that. Hold a grudge or something don’t just? Flirt with him!" He cried again almost hysterical as it dawned on him you were probably serious. Jaskier didn’t think Geralt would hurt you, or vice versa. But it was weird, he best friend and grandmother? No!

"No no, flirt I like it~" Geralt purred moving faster than any of you could fathom managing to drag you back to sit in his lap. You gasped and then giggled as he wound his thick arms around you. His warmth encompassed you instantly, the hard thighs below you were like thick tree trunks of hard flesh. You squeaked as the Witcher held you tighter dragging your back to his torso, breath panting at the nape of your neck. You turned to him out of instinct to ask what he was doing but paused when  you met the half-lidded legendry amber eyes. Bedroom eyes if you ever saw them, and they held so much promise, the promise of a hidden pleasure that was to die for.

"Geralt! I swear to God! Stop it!" Jaskier screeched making to stand up only to huff and puff unsure what to do. Jaskier couldn’t exactly stop the two of you, you were adults and he really had no qualms... apart from it'd just be a bit weird and annoying... and possibly bring up more embarrassing stories of his childhood.

"Stop what? Your grandmothers flirting with me, remember" Geralt purred, you hummed trembling, hissing under your breath his lip and stubble grazed your sensitive skin.

"Indeed, Jaskier and besides that little spat back there was just a little foreplay~" You shifted once more drawing a sharp breath in, you could feel the bulge below you, the throbbing hardness that was nestled between his large spread thighs. You tensed your bottom giving the Witcher a subtle tease of what was to come later if he continued with this dangerous game, a game you were fully prepared to finish, several times~.

"F-foreplay? Oh my god no! No, it- he wasn’t playing about with you nanma, he meant it!" it was almost sad how hard he was trying to stop what ever was brewing between you and Geralt. Didn’t he realise him making such a fuss was going to spur you both on? He couldn’t be that stupid. Or was he being smart and trying to set you up? You’d probably never know with Jaskier there was a fine line between his genius and his idiocy and at times you doubt even he could tell which side of the line he was.

"I know~ I always did enjoy the rough and ready man" you hummed making a show of wriggling on geralts lap drawing an grunt from the male below you. You giggled girlishly as he leant forward rubbing his light stubble over your neck breathing in through his nose, nostrils flaring at the smell of your arousal.

"Lucky for you I’m definitely ready~" he boasted arching his hips making you gasp feeling the hefty bulge grind along your ass again with promise.

"Oh please don’t tease me Witcher~ It’s a rare treat that I actually catch the eye of an older man!" you purred back twisting slightly on geralts lap as Jaskier continued screeching in the background like a banshee and poor Ciri didn’t know what to do with herself, she’d never seen Geralt like this before.

"Oh, you like older men?" the rumbling voice echoed through your own chest when he tugged you back again. It was thrilling, the more you flirted the more you prayed Geralt wasn’t just playing around to annoy Jaskier. You didn’t think he was, he has needs and it must have been a while since he has seen to them.

"Yes, though they are fewer and fewer. Boys nowadays have no skill; they are selfish and lazy never seem to get there?" you rambled wistfully. And it was true, the men you’d lain with had all been rather dull. Even the newer mages were stingy getting all bent out of shape when you mentioned magic in the bed room or herbs the spice things up! You doubt Geralt will be dull even without tricks and herbs.

"Oh my god! No, we do not need to hear any of that!"

"Then you may want to sleep in the stables tonight Jaskier~" Geralt threatened half heartedly his voice somehow ominous and light. Full of promise, you couldn’t wait there was no doubt this man could play you like an instrument and by god you wont hold back.

"Shut up and go to bed Jaskier, give us adults some time to speak in peace!" you said having enough, it had been fun teasing your grandson but now? Now he needed to go to bed and let you and Geralt have your own fun.

"no! not until Geralt promises not to pounce you!" Jaskier huffed putting his nose in the air with a little victorious hmpf. You eyed him for a moment silently, peering at him making him twitch uncomfortably. But he didn’t move to look at you or Geralt, he was going to try and wait this out. Poor boy he must have forgot where all his sass and sarcasm really came from.

"What makes you certain he is going to jump my bones? I mean I could jump him just as easily. Its how I conceived your mother" you quipped and Jaskier made a strange sound dropping his hands by his side defeated. He looked wide eyed and shell shocked. You merely giggled again.

"Come on let’s just go to bed nephew~" Ciri chimed prodding Jaskier with a giggle. The comment made you and Geralt roar with laughter especially when Jaskier froze having to take a moment to think about it. Then he turned bright red and looked ready to explode.

"Yes, be a good boy and do as your aunt Ciri says" Geralt added rubbing salt in the wound as he laughed a really heard belly laugh

"I hate all of you." Jaskier huffed getting up from the table making his way out of the kitchen, by this point not caring if Geralt fucked you, he just needed to leave the room.

"We love you too Jaskier" you called out sweetly before wishing him a good night. Then turned back to the handsome witchers throne you'd acquired.

"Ciri? Time for bed" Geralt said slowly not looking at her, staring at you with intent. He was done beating around the bush, it was time to dive on in~

"Wait what?" Ciri grunted unsure how Jaskier skulking off had now earned her a bedtime.

"Go on bed, get some proper sleep" Geralt ordered calmly turning his face to her with a nod to the door willing her to go to bed... so he could creep into yours.

"Aren’t you going to get some rest?" Ciri asked with a tremor to her voice, she already knew her soul father was not going to be resting any time soon but she could to help herself as the question rolled off her tongue.

"Later perhaps" Geralt said resting his chin on your shoulder squeezing you tight making you giggle.

"Your serious about bedding- oh god?!" Ciri cried eyes widening in shock her face turning red. He really was going to have sex with you. Oh, good god!

"Oh god- Jaskier wait up their really gonna do it!" Ciri shouted out following Jaskier’s bitching about 'old people' that you could just about hear from the landing upstairs. You and Geralt chuckled and both relaxed into the seat.

"Now my little mage~ how about we have some fun while the kids get to bed?" He offered gliding a hand over the top if your hip dipping down curling his strong fingers around your thigh.

"And here I though witchers couldn’t read minds" you giggled lounging back on him dragging a finger up his wrist to elbow and back again tickling him into a full body shiver.

"We can’t, but I can smell you~ little fucking minx" he rasped at you a bite to his voice, one that was as feral as it was erotic. Your eyes almost rolled back when his hands smoothed over you, lips beginning to place chaste desperate kisses on the skin that was before his face, your neck and shoulder becoming littered with them. Breathy pants and small nips and licks quickly drawing moans from you, his sharp teeth leaving red marks in  its wake.

"I can also smell you... and that horse of yours, let’s take this into the washroom, shall we?" You moaned quickly  wanting to take this somewhere else. You didn’t exactly want to fuck in the kitchen... yet.

"Lead the way" Geralt growled standing up abruptly letting you lade on your feet, but never released you. He remained plastered to your back, grinding against your rump mouth reattached to your skin trying to suck his dark marks into your flesh as you slowly navigated your home to the bath house below.

#henry cavill #geralt of rivia #witcher geralt #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt x you #geralt imagine #witcher fic #witcher fanfiction #witcher imagine #henry cavill fic #henry cavill imagine

[witchersgoldenbard]

My sweet darling @mayastormborn asked for some nonverbal Geralt:

Some non-verbal Geralt during winter, and they all allow him to just *be*? No one asks him anything, they just bring him some of his safe-foods and a drink and top it up through the day. Any conversation is through gestures though as little as possible

Well, sweetness, I hope this little thing brings you some comfort and is somewhere near what you had in mind 💕👉👈 (tho it’s not and I will try again)

1.8k words, no warnings except the obvious

No Words Required

When Geralt wakes up with the first light, the weak rays of the winter sun slowly but stubbornly bringing a new day to Kaer Morhen, he knows it is one of those days that will have to remain silent on his part. Usually, he would turn to Jaskier beside him and press a kiss to his brow to wish him a good morning, but the very thought of talking is almost enough to quicken his heartbeat and make his hands shake. No talking, then.

He closes his eyes again and tries to fall back to sleep, maybe he just needs to start this day over. He doesn’t dare to hope, but it might be worth a try.

Despite giving it another chance, his tongue still feels too heavy in his mouth when he opens his eyes again, the world around him still blurry and sharp-edged at the same time. So Geralt has no option but to accept his fate. At least for today. Only for today, he hopes.

“Good morning, my love,” comes Jaskier’s tired voice from beside him, and Geralt thanks the Gods he doesn’t believe in that he can still find happiness in this familiar tone. Grateful that not all his senses are set to overwhelm him today.

He turns to smile at Jaskier, who waits a moment, gives him a chance to say the words he doesn’t have the strength to utter today. Wants to force himself to say, but his heart, his hands, his head, they all deny him. Warn him.

And Jaskier only softens his smile and asks, as quietly as he can, “Silence day?”

Bless him. Bless this man, this wonderful man, for understanding. For knowing him well enough, for seeing, for asking.

Geralt nods, but reaches out to hold Jaskier’s hand with only a slight tremble in his fingers, afraid to find that touch will be denied, too. But the warmth of Jaskier’s skin feels good, the softness under his fingers bringing its usual comfort, and Geralt smiles at the bard’s hands.

“Touch and noise still fine, darling?” Jaskier asks anyway, despite seeing the smile he is wearing. Always asking, always reassuring. Always loving and caring. Always there.

Geralt nods and taps Jaskier’s hand twice, too.

“Would you like me to tell the others?”

Geralt hesitates, quickly calculating if he has enough strength to grunt and hum his way through the day, make enough noise for them to let it pass. But it feels wrong, and he knows they don’t judge. They all have these days, even Jaskier, and it’s always better if everyone knows.

So he nods and is rewarded with a gentle smile.

“Wonderful. And this is going to be the last complex question of the day, I know they’re hard, but technically it’s still yes-or-no? Really, it will depend on your response, uhm—“

Geralt squeezes Jaskier’s hand and regards him with an amused smile. He loves this man so much, how could he not smile even when the world is heavy around him?

“Right, sorry,” Jaskier mumbles and sits up, scratching the back of his head and looking at Geralt. “Is there anything you need? Except to not talk, and possibly the usual, you know. Anything you need, right now?”

The hand still wrapped around Jaskier’s wrist gives Geralt perfect leverage to just pull and have Jaskier land on top of him with an undignified squawk. The bard chuckles as he lies on top of Geralt, their warm chests pressed together like they were made for just this.

Jaskier hums the moment Geralt’s arms wrap around his middle, keeping the warm and comforting weight on top of him. Let the world be heavy, he thinks. I am safe right here.

“I’ve got you, love,” Jaskier promises. “And you’ve got this.”

***

The first time Geralt goes nonverbal around him, it’s a few weeks after Posada. They are returning from a contract, off to find the alderman to receive their well-deserved coin. Jaskier is prattling on about heroics and monsters and witchers, only interrupting his enthusiastic monologues to hum a tune, trying for a melody and always discarding it immediately.

He has grown used to silence beside him, looming and annoyed and stoic. Hums, at most, though they are always more like grunts, noncommittal and monotonous.

But then, suddenly, the hums stop and the Witcher’s ever-focused eyes have lost some of their shine. Jaskier notices these things — of course he does, he’s an artist after all! And Geralt has pretty eyes. But that’s beside the point.

“Geralt?” he asks, stopping in his tracks and watching the Witcher beside him. The same Witcher who doesn’t even notice that he stopped walking, eyes on the road before him, seemingly lost in thought.

“Geralt!” Jaskier calls again. Still no reply, but the Witcher finally stops. Stands. Looks at him over his shoulder. His eyes still not entirely right, and Jaskier doubts it comes from the various potions he has had last night.

“Something’s wrong,” he says, and Geralt glances around after a second, hand moving to his sword. Good, Jaskier thinks, he’s not completely out of it. “No,” he says and takes a step forward, noticing the sudden tension between Geralt’s shoulders. He stops. “No, I mean… With you. Are you alright?”

Geralt frowns. Well, at least there’s a constant for you.

“Are you okay, Geralt?” he asks again, gentler but really starting to worry.

Another frown, but this time followed by a nod. Which is not very reassuring. Jaskier might not know him well, but he knows right then that he’s lying. He lets it go, though, and they make their way to the town, easily finding the alderman.

A wretched man who only wants to give them half their payment, but Geralt doesn’t seem inclined to argue. Jaskier frowns and gives the alderman a piece of his mind, making a whole scene for everyone around to hear. “And if the Witchers on the whole Continent might hear from the White Wolf’s bard that you betray them, that your hand doesn’t fulfill what your tongue promises, maybe you shall surrender to the monsters then. Leshen and whatever so pleases shall feast on you, maybe that will be the day you wish you had paid the White Wolf what he was promised and more!”

Needless to say, they leave with more coin than expected, and Jaskier can’t wipe the smug grin off his face.

Geralt smiles at him for the first time, then, over their small campfire, and Jaskier smiles back.

“Is speaking hard for you today?” he finally dares to ask.

Geralt stares at him. Nods.

Jaskier nods back. Grins.

“Well, good thing you have me then, isn’t it? A bard to yell at stupid people for you. We’ll make a great team, you’ll see.”

Geralt doesn’t say anything to that, obviously. But even the next day, when the first thing he does is insult Jaskier’s fashion sense, he doesn’t mention it, doesn’t deny it. And Jaskier is sure he didn’t imagine that small smile that could have meant Maybe you are right.

Either way, he was.

***

Jaskier leaves the bed before Geralt, promising to bring him breakfast.

“You still have three other meals you can try to leave bed for, let’s have breakfast here,” Jaskier argues with a grin and a fine that brooks no room for discussion even if Geralt were up for it.

And so, they have breakfast in bed. It’s warm and comfortable and Jaskier chatters away, not expecting a response in any way. Perfect background noise, taking away the sharp edges of his surroundings, making everything a little less overwhelming and oppressive. Jaskier knows his place in the network of Geralt’s nonverbal days as he talks, keeping his voice down and calm and so, so warm. Familiar.

It almost makes him feel normal. It definitely makes him feel safe.

When he finally has enough strength to leave bed, they make their ways downstairs to sit by the hearth. Geralt has found that the warmth helps, brings him physical comfort when there is nothing else to ground him.

“Good to see you, pup,” Vesemir says and claps a broad hand on Geralt’s shoulder after looking at Jaskier for a second. Geralt smiles.

Pup. Vesemir only calls them that on the heavy days, and it’s a constant that always helps them through the worst of it.

Life still happens around him, everyone has their own tasks, and where he’s sitting in the middle of it all, he feels like he still gets to be a part of it.

There are warm foods throughout the day and a jug of something hot and spiced always appears by his side. Geralt is not completely sure how the time passes, but it doesn’t matter.

What matters is that Lambert is sat beside him, silent, offering his company. If Geralt leans into him and Lambert leans back, well, then that’s between them.

What matters is Eskel who lies down on the fur beside the hearth and gently pulls Geralt to lie on top of him, head on his broad chest, careful hand running through his silver hair. He talks, though all Geralt feels is the rumbling of his chest.

It’s all that matters.

***

The first time it happens around Eskel, they’re both still pups. Barely grown into Witchers yet.

“There are worse things than not talking, Geralt,” Eskel tells him, Geralt’s head resting on his shoulders. “I know it’s scary. It feels like there’s nothing worse. But it doesn’t make you any less of a Witcher. Or any less Geralt. You’re still the White Wolf, even if you can’t howl. I’ll howl for you, Wolf,” he promises with a kiss to his cheek. “And when the day comes, you’ll do the same for me. Because it happens. And it fucking sucks, but you’ve got this, okay? And I’ve got you.”

Geralt nods into Eskel’s shoulder and tries not to feel pathetic that the only sounds the world gets to hear from him that day are his sobs.

***

But Eskel was right then and is still right now. They’ve got each other and they take care of each other. Howl and fight and protect each other.

They do the same for Lambert on his heavy days.

And for Jaskier, years and years and years later.

For Ciri and Yennefer and everyone who needs it.

That’s what family does. Nothing has to change on the days you can’t talk, on the days that words fail you. There are always people to yell at the world for you, to wrap you in a hug and tell you everything you need to hear. Even Witchers can have that.

And Geralt has a whole family now to tell him: “You’ve got this. And we’ve got you.”

It’s really all that matters.

#Geraskier #geskel #geralt of rivia #the witcher #witcher fanfiction #nonverbal Geralt #boggy woggy friends #Maya I love you a lot and maybe I’ll write you more nonverbal Geralt because we need more nonverbal rep #but also I just love you period. #💕 #Nat writes

[samstree]

Just a Little Pretense

Jaskier and Geralt stage a fake breakup. Someone’s feelings get hurt for real.

The reverse trope series: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

AO3

“… It would be to take you off my hands!”

Geralt’s voice echoes in the ballroom, between the tall walls and the high ceiling. Everyone on the dance floor has fallen into silence. Even the band has stopped playing, their lead singer gaping with round eyes.

Jaskier blinks, impressed.

All the eyes are on the two of them. Jaskier’s back prickles with the gazes. As the fight escalated, more and more guests have stopped dancing just to eavesdrop on the witcher and the bard, the most peculiar couple in the room.

Which is just perfect. The more people witnessing their breakup, the more awkward it will be afterward, and the easier it will be to get out of this tedious party. And here Jaskier is, regretting ever having doubted his dear witcher’s ability to perform.

Who would have thought Geralt is a method actor? Drawing inspiration from a past argument is ingenious.

His old acting professor back in Oxenfurt would approve of this. The show is going swimmingly and he is pumped with adrenaline—maybe he should go back on stage one day, do a play or two.

But alas, he can muse the idea later. The show must go on.

“Really? Just like that?” Jaskier croaks, seemingly on the verge of crying. He’s not so bad himself, classically trained and everything. “Thirty years, Geralt. I followed you for thirty years, and just like that, you will kick me out of your life? Did I ever—” he breaks off with a whimper. “Did I ever mean anything to you? Or were you ready to cast me aside this whole time?”

A tear rolls down. His lips wobble. The crowd erupts in hushed murmurs and sympathetic sighs. The set-up, the build, everything has been perfect. Now the only thing left is for Geralt to break things off, and the two of them can ride into the metaphorical sunset and never see this court again.

Jaskier waits in anticipation, but his witcher opens his mouth.

And closes it.

Geralt looks as upset as he should, angry and torn and equally shocked, his golden eyes wide and his jaw clenched tight. It’s a nice picture to paint for the audience. They are supposedly having the biggest fight in their lives and his body language is very convincing.

More than convincing.

Except, it just might be … too convincing.

Wait—

Jaskier focuses on Geralt, who looks as if he wants to shrink into himself, his shoulders slumped and arms drawn in. He looks as if he’s waiting to be struck. Wait, something’s not right.

“I can’t do this.” A whisper leaves Geralt’s lips, small and achingly sad.

It’s not the line he’s supposed to say.

Geralt’s eyebrows droop ever so slightly, and there’s a flash of distress behind the molten gold. It’s gone in a second, hidden behind a façade of indifference.

The tells are subtle, near imperceivable to the untrained eye, but to Jaskier, they are clear as day—Geralt is hurt. For real.

Oh.

Fuck.

“Geralt,” Jaskier tries, instantly snapped out of his character.

And yet, there’s no reply. Geralt lowers his head, turns around, and flees the scene within one heartbeat and the next. The crowd is too eager to make way for him.

“Shit,” Jaskier curses, ready to chase after Geralt, but the Countess de Stael appears out of nowhere with a flock of maids and positively blocks him in all directions. She’s eager to lament the loss of love and companionship, and to offer Jaskier a place at her court once again. Oh, shit.

Jaskier brushes her off, all the while painfully remembering he and Geralt’s goal from the beginning—to use the breakup as an excuse to get out of this place.

Well, the plan is shit. Is it too late to notice?

Weaving through dozens of nobles is a lot more difficult when they all want to extend sympathy, and Jaskier is only placating them absent-mindedly, faking regret and heartbreak. His mind is full of his witcher, who is either brooding or spiraling over the venom he spewed earlier.

The truth is, Jaskier has long forgotten about the mountain—not because it didn’t hurt. To be shunned by Geralt, blamed for everything, and denied friendship, was the worst thing to have happened to him at the time. It’s just that Jaskier has forgiven it, so long ago and so completely.

Jaskier cannot get to their room fast enough, and when he pushes open the door, the sight of Geralt’s dejected face is a stab through the chest. The witcher is perched on the bed, somehow looking a lot smaller than he is.

Jaskier never should have come up with the stupid fake breakup thing, never should have inadvertently reopened the old wound. They healed, together. They shouldn’t be hurting anymore.

“I explained. We can leave now,” Jaskier tires, but in fairness, he doesn’t remember what he said to the Countess. “Geralt?”

The witcher himself crosses his arms, hugging his midriff and avoiding Jaskier’s gaze. “Good,” he answers curtly, shoulders still tense.

He looks angry, and when Geralt is angry, it’s most likely with himself. Oh, whatever heartbreak Jaskier acted out earlier, it’s not a match to a fraction of what he’s feeling now. It must be the one millionth time Geralt’s self-loathing has broken Jaskier’s heart, and it never gets easier, not when Jaskier caused it himself.

“Hey.” Jaskier desperately wants to wrap his arms around Geralt. So he does. He sits down on the bed and pulls his witcher into the biggest bear hug, which is returned immediately and so very tightly. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m sorry. I fucked up, Geralt. I’m—”

“Don’t be.” Geralt buries his nose into Jaskier’s neck and shakes his head. “I never should have said those things, Jask. I should be the one apologizing. It was wrong and untrue and I would never abandon you. You are my best friend. How can I ever? Please, believe me…”

Geralt trails off, his hands rubbing circles into Jaskier’s back. Although it’s unclear who he’s trying to soothe.

“I know. It’s okay. I know,” Jaskier murmurs, over and over again, sealing each reassurance with a kiss pressed into silver hair.

“I never meant it, Jask.”

“I know. It was fake. We were pretending.”

Geralt pulls away, golden eyes dead serious, pausing between every word. “I never meant it.”

Jaskier meets his gaze unwaveringly, with not an ounce of doubt. “I know.”

They stay there for a while, just holding each other. Geralt keeps sniffing Jaskier’s scent the same way he always does to check for injury or distress. He thinks he’s subtle, the sweet man, so Jaskier never mentions it.

Despite what an outsider might assume, Geralt is the sensitive one between the two. He’s so careful when it comes to their relationship, especially after the mountain and sometimes to his own detriment.

He’s so scared of hurting Jaskier again.

“I was an idiot for suggesting it,” Jaskier breaks the silence, nudging Geralt in the knee.

Geralt hums, lips pursed.

“Fake breakup is a terrible idea. Next time we’ll just grit our teeth and sit through the month-long party.”

Still, no smile.

“Alright, you win. Next time I won’t take you to a month-long party to start with.” Jaskier gently pats Geralt on the cheek. “For your delicate sensibilities, darling.”

Finally, finally, Geralt’s lips turn upwards, just a smidge.

“You are an idiot,” Geralt says, the crease between his brows fading. “Just…don’t make me make you cry again.”

Melting into the warmth welling up between his ribcage, Jaskier leans forward and presses a tiny kiss at his witcher’s forehead, so softly as if he’d break with any more force.

“Yes, dear.”

Being careless with Geralt’s heart is a mistake that Jaskier never wants to repeat. As he put a hand over his witcher’s languid heartbeat, Jaskier feels the soft thrumming against his palm, and realizes just how terribly he needs to guard it with the same care too. Against his frivolous self, and against the past that never seems to stop haunting them.

Because Jaskier needs this thing between them to work. If a faked breakup already seems unbearable, he shudders to imagine a real one.

A witcher’s life is already riddled with pain and sadness and could-have-beens. A poet would hate it if he added himself to the list.

---

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3 @endless-whump @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @llamasdumpsterfire @dapandapod @kuripon

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #reverse trope #fake breakup #geralt x jaskier #post mountain #hurt/comfort #geralt of rivia is a sap #soft jaskier #jaskier is an idiot #don't mind him #established relationship

[havenoffandoms]

72 for Geralt/Jaskier?

I meant to post this a lot earlier... sorry about the wait, nonnie. I hope you like it anyway. I'm not sure how it came out in the end after I agonised over this for the past couple of days, but it was fun going back to my Geraskier roots.

Masterlist

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier

Prompt 72: Character A has a secret. Character B does whatever they can to find out what it is. When they find out, they wish they hadn't.

Warnings: brief angsty episode, mention of Geralt's traumatic childhood

Also, I love that art! Holy Shit!? So of course this had to feature before the fic <3

Travelling with Jaskier had its downfalls.

For one, the bard talks a lot. He never stops, not even in his sleep, and that would drive any man insane if you ask Geralt. He listens to Jaskier waffling about poetry all day, every day, he doesn’t have to endure a lecture on the benefits of iambic pentameters when he’s trying to fall asleep, thank you very much. Jaskier also likes to complain about every little thing that causes him discomfort, which when they’re on the path, ranges from fly bites all the way to sore feet. Travelling with a human also means that they travel considerably slower, unless they’re both riding on top of Roach, but Geralt doesn’t like putting his best girl under that kind of strain very often.

For all of Jaskier’s flaws, Geralt would hate to have to separate from his bard. At least, when Jaskier is close by, Geralt can keep an eye on him and make sure Jaskier doesn’t get himself into any unnecessary trouble. Having Jaskier travel with him gives Geralt peace of mind. He appreciates the singing as well, even if he could stand to tell Jaskier this a bit more often. Geralt deems that his bard’s ego is plenty inflated without Geralt making it worse. Not to mention that life always seems a little bit brighter when Jaskier is around, and the nights are a little less lonely as Geralt gets to pull his bard close and fall asleep to the sound of his beating heart. Knowing that Jaskier is safe is the only thing that lets Geralt sleep peacefully at night.

You’d think that after nearly two decades of knowing his bard, Geralt would have figured out Jaskier’s secret by now. Geralt is, of course, referring to Jaskier’s near supernatural ability to always come up with coin when he and Geralt need it most urgently. Geralt has no idea how the bard does it - his songs are popular, granted, and on a good night Jaskier makes enough to buy a nice room for the night and the better pieces of meat from the kitchen. Still, being a bard doesn’t pay that well, not even if you were as famous as Jaskier. Just last week, Geralt’s horse and most of his belonging were stolen by bandits, leaving Geralt travelling on foot and too poor to afford to buy a new horse. Two days later, Jaskier came trotting up to their camp atop a gorgeous mare, looking mighty pleased with himself but refusing to tell Geralt how he managed to afford to pay for the horse.

“Would you believe me if I told you I stole her, Geralt, my dear?”

“Not in a million years,” Geralt admitted deadpan, pulling an offended squawk from his songbird.

“Just because I’m a bard you don’t think I can steal a horse?”

“I don’t think you could ever steal a horse because you’re as stealthy as the proverbial bull in the porcelain shop.”

It’s not just the horse, though. Geralt’s armour needed replacing and good armour doesn’’t come cheaply. Geralt doesn’t hire the services of just any blacksmith or armourer to craft his weapons and protective gear. He has his regular suppliers, the ones he always goes back to because he knows that their work is reliable and of the highest quality. And even though these people know Geralt by now, even offer him a friends and family discount on occasion, their wares still come at a hefty price. Geralt, as it turns out, didn’t have the coin to replace his armour for a few months. He desperately needed new boots, though. A new pair of breeches wouldn’t hurt either, and his silver sword broke in half whilst fighting a particularly vicious griffin a few weeks back.

Geralt didn’t even mention all of this to Jaskier. That didn’t stop the bard from going ahead and commissioning a brand new suit of armour, new silver and steel swords, as well as a few casual clothes for Geralt to wear on the warmer summer days. All of this must have cost an arm, a leg and a fucking lung, and yet Jaskier acted like he didn’t just break the bank all for Geralt’s benefit. He didn’t even get anything for himself and that realisation had Geralt feeling slightly embarrassed about the gesture.

“You don’t have to buy me all this stuff, Jask.”

“I know that, dearest,” Jaskier assured him, eyes soft and an easy smile playing on his lips, “but I wanted to. Only the best for you, my sweet witcher.”

The mystery of where Jaskier managed to find the coin to pay for all this remains unsolved, despite Geralt’s questioning. Well, if Jaskier won’t outright tell him, then Geralt will just have to investigate the matter by himself.

"Where the fuck did you get your hand on all the coin to pay for all this?" Geralt asks one evening, blunt and straight to the point. There was probably a kinder and gentler way to ask this, but after spending weeks mulling over Jaskier's sudden new-found fortune, Geralt has lost the little patience he possessed in the matter. Jaskier, on the other hand, looks perfectly unperturbed.

"From the bank," he offers simply as he sprinkles expensive herbs over the hare Geralt caught earlier that evening, "you know, where people deposit their valuables? I know you witchers don't believe in bank accounts, savings and interests, but-"

"Where does the coin come from?" Geralt interrupts, hissing those words through clenched teeth.

"Why, my inheritance."

Geralt stares for a long while. It takes his brain several seconds to catch up to what Jaskier is telling him, and another few seconds to make sense of the words. Inheritance?

"What inheritance?"

"Well, when my father passed away he left me and my siblings a share of his wealth. That's how inheritance works. Say, pass me my satchel my dear, I think I have some more spices in there."

Geralt wordlessly hands Jaskier his satchel, still trying to process this new discovery. Come to think of it, Geralt knows precious little about Jaskier's family. Sure, that's probably on him for never asking, but Geralt has grown so used to Jaskier oversharing every aspect of his life that he never needed to ask his bard anything. Jaskier just… never talked about his family. Or his childhood, or his upbringing. His life story seems to always begin when he was a student at Oxenfurt.

Geralt is growing curiouser by the minute.

"When did your father pass?"

"Oh? Uh… good question. Maybe a few years after I went to Oxenfurt? I'm not sure. I received a letter from the bank notifying me that a share of my father's wealth was deposited in my account."

Geralt frowns. "You never went back to find out what happened?"

"No."

Well, that's an oddly abrupt response, and Jaskier doesn't seem like he's got anything to say on the matter. Which only makes Geralt feel more curious about the whole thing.

"Why not?"

"Geralt…" Jaskier heaves a sigh before putting on a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, too tense to be genuine. "My father and I didn't get along. I felt no need to go mourn him with the rest of my noble family in Lettenhove when he passed. That's it. That's all there's to it. I was not a good enough man to refuse my share of the inheritance, either, despite my non-existent relationship with him."

That's a lot to unpack. Geralt always assumed that Jaskier had a good childhood. Then again, he would think that, wouldn't he, considering Geralt spent his own childhood being tortured by magnanimous and sadistic mages. Where most children got to spend time outside helping out in the fields or playing with their friends, Geralt was put through drill after drill, after drill… until he was physically unable to walk so much his muscles hurt.

"Wait… did you say your noble family?"

"Hm?"

"In Lettenhove… there's nothing in Lettenhove. Only the Viscount and his family live there on a large esta-" Geralt's mouth clicks shut as realisation dawns on him. "Your father was the Viscount of Lettenhove?"

"Yes. And since I'm the oldest, after he died that title passed onto me. But I much prefer being a bard, so I graciously devolved my duties to my younger brother, who now manages the estate. Are we done with this conversation?"

"I didn't mean to make you mad…"

Geralt watches Jaskier stop dead in his tracks, his shoulders briefly tensing at those words, before exhaling loudly through his nose. Jaskier anxiously rubs the back of his neck as he straightens up and offers Geralt a sheepish smile, that one warmer and softer than the previous one.

"Sorry, dear heart. I didn't mean to be so short with you. It's just… well, there's a reason I don't bring up my family all that much."

"Hm." Geralt gently taps the spot next to him on his bedroll, and Jaskier doesn't have to be told twice. Soon, Geralt has one arm wound tightly around Jaskier's shoulders. Not quite a hug, but the intention is there all the same, and Jaskier eagerly melts in the embrace. "I shouldn't have insisted. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise. You did nothing wrong." Jaskier nuzzles the crook of Geralt's neck sweetly before depositing a featherlight kiss just over his pulse point. "Do you want to ask me anything?"

Geralt ponders over that question far too long before whispering an answer in the air pocket between them.

"Did he hurt you?"

Jaskier hesitates.

"Not physically, no. He didn't approve of my aspirations and choices. He didn't support me. I suppose it hurt a little when he didn't see me away to Oxenfurt at the age of 15, but he never raised a hand on me."

"Hm." Good, Geralt thinks. No child should ever have to suffer at the hand of an adult. Geralt earned plenty a beating at Kaer Morhen, some justified and others not so much. Just because he went through this doesn't mean he condones it.

"At least I get to spend his money on someone I love," Jaskier offers softly, eyes as blue as the deepest ocean glancing up at Geralt through dark lashes, “That, at least, the old man can’t take away from me.”

A happy little rumble bubbles up Geralt's chest, despite the blush gracing his cheeks.

"I never thanked you for the gifts." Geralt blushes a deeper shade of red at the realisation. "Sorry. It's been a long year."

"Well, good thing we're heading North soon then, hm?" Jaskier straightens up so he can cradle Geralt's face in his lute-calloused hands. Their eyes meet then, amber seeking out blue, and Geralt thinks that he must be the luckiest son of a bitch in all the Continent.

"Yes," he agrees in a whisper, tilting his face to place a kiss on the inside of Jaskier's wrist, "good thing, indeed."

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