#Jasks whole family wants to take Geralt on after first meeting him

[eskel-and-goat]

Hey so what if Jaskiers entire family were hunters? Or just really rough and rowdy, fighters. They grew up fighting and hunting but Jask is the “odd ball” in his family because he’s against violence?

Like, let’s take his family for a moment, now imagine with me: a giant man with nothing but pure muscle, people have to look up at him to speak. Geralt would he shocked at meeting him, Jaskier’s father looks more like a tame bear than human, though jaskier gets his smile, laugh and humour from him.

For his mother? I’d love to say she’s just as scary as Jaskiers father, very intimidating, she looks like she can handle her own shit. She’s gotta round up all of the kids? Give her five minutes. Also I think she’d also be tall (tall intimidating women please end me thanks).

I just like the thought of Jaskiers family being  excellent hunters/fighters who continually look for competition. Maybe it throws Geralt for a loop, finding out that Jaskier came from a family of fighters and knows how to use different weapons, but prefers poetry and art, a lover.

#the witcher #geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #witcher #witcher geralt #high headcanons #jaskier has a tough family #geralt is taken by surprise finding it out #Jasks whole family wants to take Geralt on after first meeting him #they spar with him and hunt with him #it’s fun #but he loves his poet #and if Jask doesn’t want to fight #geralt is more than happy to protect him

[samstree]

Hi Jin, I love both your fluff and your angst a whole lot so I come offering with either 34."Please don't" or 33. "Are you delirious?” from the Responses to “I Love You” Prompt List for Geraskier 💙

Mend What Is Bound to Break

Some hurt is unavoidable.

Responses to “I love you” prompt list: 34. "Please don't,”

(1k, hurt/comfort, angry jaskier, geralt tries his best, cw: blood and injury, read on AO3)

“I love you.”

That is the wrong thing to say, because Jaskier is growing more agitated.

“Please don’t,” he hisses, shifting away from Geralt on the small bed. The fit is too tight, so even when he ends up on the edge there’s still only a hand’s breadth between their bodies. Stubbornly turning his head away, Jaskier lets out an audible huff. “And don’t look at me with your puppy eyes. I know you are! You’ve fucked up real good this time, mister witcher. Batting your pretty eyes is not going to work.”

Geralt reaches out but thinks better of it. Instead, his arm wraps around the bandaged wound at his side.

The worst part is that Geralt knows he fucked up. In fact, he already knew when he set out for the kikimora with half of his potions empty and that barely healed concussion. The deep gash right below his ribcage is as inevitable as it is painful at this moment.

Yeah. He fucked up real good.

Jaskier is right to be angry. It’s just that Geralt wishes he knows how to deal with an angry Jaskier. A sad one? Sure. Geralt is a connoisseur at lifting his bard’s spirit at this point, but the best trick for that has no effect here—he’s just used it, and made it worse.

Jaskier being this mad at him is a first.

Geralt wants to curse but carefully swallows the urge.

“I’m sorry.” An apology seems to land better. Jaskier still has the back of his head in Geralt’s direction, but he’s listening. “I shouldn’t have done it.”

“What shouldn’t you have done?”

Geralt sighs.

“Not take care of myself.”

“And why?” Jaskier deadpans, his shoulders rigid.

“Because—” Geralt shuffles towards the warmth of Jaskier, but the throbbing pain shoots up his spine. A low grunt escapes his throat. The next thing he knows, cornflower blue is all that’s in his vision and full of concern. “Because it worried you. Made you go into the woods and drag me back all by yourself. Again.”

The worry in those cornflower blue eyes freezes over.

“You think—” Jaskier pauses. “Seriously? You think I’m mad because you inconvenienced me?”

“No…?”

The bard makes an indignant squawk and plops down on the bed, fuming, his face bloated red. The only thing missing is smoke coming out of his ears to paint the full picture of his mood.

“There was so much blood, Geralt.”

The accusation comes out a lot softer this time. Something inside Geralt unfurls.

“I would have healed. Even without you.”

“You mean lying in a pool of blood for days, next to some dead creature and waiting for your mutation to knit your skin back together?”

Geralt feels like he shouldn’t answer the rhetorical question, so he purses his lips into a thin line. It turns out that is the wrong answer too.

“Unbelievable,” Jaskier scoffs under his breath.

“There were people nearby. A family living by the woods. A delay would have been too risky.” Geralt adds to the defense that Jaskier surely has learned from that farmer and his wife. The bard is still staring at the ceiling, his jaw clenched tight.

“I don’t care about other people.”

Geralt takes Jaskier’s hand. There’s still bloodstain under his nails.

“That’s not true.” He frowns. Only the gods know how much Jaskier cares under his frivolous appearance, or he never would have followed Geralt so many years ago. “It’s just…the way of the path. You have to understand that these things happen—”

“I have to unders—” Jaskier draws a shuddering breath, and to Geralt’s horror, the salty tang of tears fills the space between them. When their gazes meet again, Jaskier is crying openly. “As if I don’t—”

A whimper interrupts the sentence. The sight of Jaskier choking back tears is too much for Geralt to bear. He manages to get closer this time despite the stitches tugging at his skin.

“Come here. Please?”

It only takes a gentle pull for Jaskier to curl himself around Geralt, who immediately takes the chance to bury his nose into the crook of Jaskier’s neck and nuzzles into the calming scent of chamomile.

“I’m all right.”

“You almost weren’t,” Jaskier sniffles. His damp cheek rubs against Geralt’s forehead. “When I found you, the way you… Geralt, how can you say I don’t know what a witcher’s life is like? How can I not understand that each time you walk into danger you might not come back to me? How can I not when it’s all I can think about on some days? When I can’t even breathe at the idea...”

Geralt laces their fingers together and brings Jaskier’s hand to his lips, another silent apology sealed into the kiss.

“What can I do?”

After a long stretch of silence, Jaskier pulls back, his eyes still glistening. “I don’t know,” he whispers.

Jaskier’s distress won’t dissipate from the air. It’s not logical too, for him to be upset about something he already accepts as the truth, something set in stone. A witcher’s life is volatile. Geralt can’t promise he’ll always come home, and it’s something anyone close to him must come to terms with.

Maybe it’s not something Geralt can make better, but he can still try.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, inching towards Jaskier. “But it is what it is, Jask.”

When Geralt presses another kiss at the corner of his bard’s mouth, something in both of them sags with acceptance. Jaskier leans into the touch, allowing himself to be soothed.

Puppy eyes, right. Geralt gazes upon his bard with all the softness he can muster, and finally, finally, the furrow between Jaskier’s brows smooths over. Calm resignation replaces any trace of his earlier outburst.

Geralt wants to pride himself in the small triumph, in mending Jaskier’s heart. If only he wasn’t the one who broke it in the first place.

A deft hand hovers over the bandages before resting on Geralt’s hipbone, a thumb tracing gentle patterns. It’s all that needs to ease any pain in the world.

“It is what it is,” Jaskier agrees.

And there’s nothing more to it.

---

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

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

#geraskier #geraskier fic #gearlt whump #hurt geralt #soft geralt #angry jaskier #crying jaskier #established relationship #cw: blood #geralt x jaskier #thanks for the prompt! <3 #this one is fun #and weirdly aligned with an idea i've had for a while #also i'd like to think geralt learns from this experience #and every time jaskier is cross with him he just #use touch and kisses and nuzzles #like an overgrown cat

[darkverrmin]

The Road to Kaer Morhen

The first year Geralt and Jaskier become a couple, Geralt wants to bring his lover to Kaer Morhen. Spending a whole winter apart seems unimaginable now, since they've grown so close.

Unfortunately, a day before they're supposed to leave north, they have an ugly fight. Jaskier is pissed and decides to leave for Oxenfurt on his own. Geralt is pissed, too, and doesn't stop him.

The road to Kaer Morhen is longer and colder than what Geralt remembered it last year. And much more lonelier than he expected it to be.

***

Geralt tells his brothers and Vesemir about Jaskier. It happens naturally. He tells them about their relationship and their fight the day before Geralt left and how he misses his bard.

"I shouldn't have yelled at him for getting into that bar fight" Geralt told his brothers one night while they were drinking. "It was a dumb and dangerous thing to do, but he just wanted to protect me. He always wants me to feel more... Loved. Fuck, I shouldn't have let him leave to Oxenfurt".

Eskel nods, humming quietly. "Why won't you write him a letter? Tell him you're sorry and how you feel".

Geralt blinks at him. "I don't know... Doesn't sound like a good idea. I don't have his skills, I'm terrible at writing".

"You don't need skills" Eskel frowns at him, taking a sip from his tankard. "Just be honest with him".

"And how will I deliver him the letter, while we're here?"

"I have a magic bird" Lambert jumps in his seat, grinning. "A mage gave it to me after saving a city from a bunch of Bruxas. It can deliver your letter to Oxenfurt".

Geralt sighs and Eskel smiles, clapping him on the shoulder. "Great, now all you need to do is to write it".

***

Geralt writes the letter.

Half through it he already has no idea what's he writing. It's just a bunch of sappy nonsense.

Oh gods, he misses Jaskier.

He finishes the letter with the words "I'm sorry, Jaskier. I miss you. And I love you. I want to make this work".

It seems a little stupid to say he loves him for the first time like this, writing it in a letter, but Geralt can't deny it anymore.

He loves Jaskier and he wants to make things right between them.

They send the letter to Oxenfurt using Lambert's magic bird.

***

Two weeks pass and Geralt still doesn't get a reply from Jaskier.

He's not sad.

Not at all.

Jaskier just probably needs time to think.

***

Three weeks after sending the letter to Oxenfurt, the brothers notice someone approaching the gates of the keep, while they're training in the yard.

They see a hooded figure riding a beautiful, white stallion.

Who the hell would be coming all the way to Kaer Morhen during the winter?

Vesemir joins them in the yard, staring ahead at the fast approaching rider.

Lambert unsheathes his sword as the rider stops at the gate, dismounting his horse.

"Who the hell are you?" Lambert snarls at him, taking a step forward, sword in hand.

The hooded man raises his hands in the air, taking a step forward also. "Hi. Calm down. I come in peace. I'm here looking for someone".

The man pulls down his hood and Geralt's jaw drops to the ground. Jaskier still doesn't notice him, as he's speaking to Lambert, who's already lowered his sword.

"I'm looking for Geralt" Jaskier says, brushing the snow from his hair. "I assume you're one of his brothers".

"Lambert".

"Jaskier. Pleasure".

They shake hands and Lambert points him to Geralt, who's standing a few feet behind him, still in shock.

"Geralt!" Jaskier beams and runs into his Witcher's arms. Geralt holds him in a tight embrace, swinging him in the air once.

Jaskier giggles and pulls back to kiss Geralt. Geralt kisses him back, unbothered by Eskel's and Vesemir's stares and smiles and Lambert's gagging sounds.

Jaskier breaks the kiss first, to murmur against Geralt's lips. "Got your letter. Gods, Geralt, you can't make a man cry like that".

Geralt chuckles and kisses him again, softer this time. "I missed you".

"I missed you too, dear. I'm sorr-".

"No, don't. I'm the one who should be apologizing".

Jaskier rolls his eyes fondly, smiling. "Can we just agree that we both acted like idiots?".

"I guess I'm okay with that".

Jaskier laughs and kisses him again. "I love you, too, by the way".

Geralt grins brightly and holds Jaskier so tight, he's afraid he might hurt him.

"Come meet my family. By the way, how the hell did you get here?"

"Oh, that reminds me! Here's you bird!" Jaskier rushes to his stallion and unties a small cage from the saddle. "When this magnificent creature came to Oxenfurt, his right wing was severely injured. I couldn't send him back. I took care of him on the way here, he should be fine now".

Lambert accepts the cage from Jaskier with a "thank you" and a small smile.

Jaskier looks at Geralt. "Sorry it took me a while to respond. Your keep is pretty far from civilization".

"Jask, again, how the hell did you get here? The road to Kaer Morhen is hard and dangerous. Did you find a mage and used a portal?"

Jaskier shrugged . "Uh, no... I just came here on my horse".

Four pairs of eyes stare at him in disbelief.

Jaskier blinks at them. "What, like it's hard?"

***

Bonus: Eskel leans in to whisper at Vesemir "I like this one. Can we keep him?"

#geralt/jaskier #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt x dandelion #geralt of rivia #gerald #geralt #witcher netflix #geralt the witcher #witcher #the witcher #geralt x julian #julian alfred pankratz #witcher lambert #lambert witcher #lambert #witcher eskel #eskel #vesemir #jaskier #kaer morons #kaer morhen #dandellion #dandilion #dandelion

[jaskierswolf]

Written for @thewitchertransweek

Day 6: Coming Out

Ship: Geraskier (Trans Jask)

Rating: T

Summary: Jaskier gets ready to see his parents for the first time since transitioning

CW: past transphobia/biphobia, Shitty parenting,

Jaskier pulled at the cuffs of his shirt, the enamel lute links shining against the white fabric. His jeans were tight and oppressive, but the cut and overall shape of his outfit highlighted his newer, more masculine figure. He hadn’t shaved in two months, the effort gifting him with a rather sexy dark beard, and in his humble opinion, he looked fucking hot.

Sure, he would have looked even better in a skirt and crop top, but this was the first time he’d seen his parents since starting his transition, and as far as they were aware, Jaskier was still their little girl. He was determined to make this go as smoothly as possible, if only for his own sanity, and that meant conforming to society’s gender expectations, just this once.

Coming out to his friends had been hard, but up until today day he’d never had the courage to come out to his highly conservative parents, not as trans. After all, they’d practically disowned him when he’d come out as bisexual in his teens, so he’d always known that he wouldn’t be safe.

But then they’d reached out to him; an olive branch, and he so dearly missed his family. They’d left a whole in his heart that he’d never been able to fill. It was an opportunity he hadn’t been able to refuse.

He sighed loudly, looking at his reflection once more in the mirror, praying that he wasn’t about to make a huge mistake. Geralt hadn’t wanted him to accept his parents’ invitation to dinner, but Jaskier had argued. He had to try. The email had said that his father was sick, and the mere thought of him dying without knowing who his son truly was haunted Jaskier. So, if his parents were willing to reach out, then he was willing to give them a chance, and he would at least try to present as masculine to make it easier for them to see, to accept him.

After that, well, they would just have to deal with his big ‘fuck you’ attitude to gender stereotypes. That was if there was a next time. He hoped there would be, but if they didn’t see him as their son like this, then they never would, and he would never see them again.

Fuck them.

He scoffed, that made him sound a lot braver than he actually felt. In reality, his hands were shaking and his fingers flexed, nails digging into his palms. Jaskier closed his eyes, taking deep breaths to try and control his heartbeat as it pounded in his chest. He counted his inhale and exhale in steady beats, until he felt two arms wrap around his waist, Geralt’s chin hooking over his shoulder.

“We don’t have to go,” Geralt reminded him, a low rumble in his ear, before his lips brushed against Jaskier’s cheek. “Although, you do look very handsome.”

Jaskier chuckled, his eyes meeting Geralt’s in the mirror as he leaned back into his boyfriend’s embrace, and he gave Geralt a lopsided grin. “I’m always handsome.”

“Hmm,” Geralt agreed. “We could always go back to bed?”

“And waste this perfectly good outfit?” Jaskier teased, spinning round to cup his boyfriend’s face in his hands, pressing a kiss to Geralt’s forehead. “No, dear heart, we’re going.”

“Fine, but if they’re shitholes-”

“Which they will be,” Jaskier pointed out, “I think they’re cursed to always be as cunt-y as possible.”

“If they are shitholes, then we’re leaving,” Geralt finished, cocking his head in fond exasperation.

“Oh absolutely! Marx is throwing a party tonight, and we’re not invited, so obviously I have to go!” It was false bravado and they both knew it, but thankfully Geralt had the decency not to call Jaskier out on it.

Instead, he took Jaskier’s hand in his, and then pressed a kiss to each one, his golden eyes burning like fire and never looking away from Jaskier as if there were nothing else in the world he would rather be looking at. The intensity never failed to make Jaskier’s heart skip a beat, and to this day he still couldn’t believe he’d gotten quite so lucky. His lips parted as he struggled to breathe, lost in his boyfriend’s eyes.

“Ready?” Geralt asked in a soft voice, small crinkles at the corner of his eyes as he smiled.

Jaskier nodded, gripping Geralt’s hands tighter in his own. “As I’ll ever be, to battle, my love.”

“To battle,” Geralt agreed, and hand in hand, they left to face Jaskier’s demons; together.

_

Taglist: @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde, @comfyswitcherblanketfort, @fontegagrilledcheese, @dani-dandelino, @dapandapod @unyielding-as-the-sea @officerjennie @feraljaskier @geralt-of-riviass @kueble @gilberik @llamasdumpsterfire

#the witcher #geraskier #trans jaskier #coming out #trans week #wolfie’s witcher writing

[geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde]

Periwinkle

Hello! This is a sequel to This Fic! This is part of my Hallmark AU (which also has amazing fics written by @comfyswitcherblanketfort and @jaskierswolf) and this was written for @thewitcherbog’s June weddings event! 

Geraskier, rated T, 1.2k words

-

“I don’t think that shade of blue is a good idea,” Jaskier’s voice rang out through the dining room, “a periwinkle would work better. Be a dear and grab a sample, would you?”

The wedding planner pursed her lips and sent a pointed look to Yennefer and Renfri before turning on her heel and marching back out to her car. Renfri met Yennefer’s eye, a severe look on her face. Jaskier was there, at their wedding planning session, at Yennefer’s invitation. Renfri wasn’t sure exactly what the man had said to get himself invited or why Yennefer seemed to have such a soft spot for him, despite how much they snarked at each other, but if he kept trying to control their wedding, Renfri was going to strangle him.

Renfri had made a grand total of two suggestions, both immediately dismissed by Jaskier as he continued ordering their wedding planner about as if she was on his payroll. Of the three people in the room, the only one of them acting like a stereotypical bridezilla was the only one of them who wasn’t a bride.

“Do you need to be such a diva?”

Jaskier looked toward Renfri, surprise written all over his face, “I…”

Suddenly the happy go lucky man Renfri had grown accustomed to was gone, replaced with one whose face screamed sadness. “I need to go.”

Watching the man rush outside, Renfri heard Yennefer sigh beside her.

“What did I do? I’ve called him much worse things than a diva.”

A frown marring her face, Yennefer met Renfri’s gaze, “He’s… worried that Geralt hasn’t proposed to him because he’s famous.”

Oh, “And calling him a diva probably didn’t help.”

“No, but I don’t think planning our wedding for us was helping much either.”

Renfri looked back to the door, watching the wedding planner come in with the periwinkle tablecloth. It really was a lovely color.

-

He was a diva. The word rang through his mind, sharp and unpleasant. He had never wanted that, never wanted to be a diva, never wanted to be that guy. The famous guy that no one liked because he was too lost in his own fame. Jaskier had left the business for a lot of reasons, and that was a notable one. So, he had left and restarted somewhere quiet when he would never turn into that guy.

When, six months prior, a whole year after he had born himself anew, Priscilla had walked back into his life demanding answers and outing him as Dandelion, Jaskier had felt everything crash around him. Sure, there were people in town who knew who he was, but he had an unspoken agreement with them all that it wasn’t to be mentioned. Geralt didn’t know and that was what was important. Geralt’s quiet existence would never lend well to the world fame that came with Dandelion, and Jaskier wanted to spend his life with Geralt more than he had ever wanted anything.  

Of course, it had been Geralt to answer the door, immediately assaulted by a whirlwind of Priscilla demanding Jaskier come out right that second and explain himself. She had understood why he left the business, had even helped him drop off the grid but he wasn’t supposed to ghost her too.

Up to that point, Geralt had mostly been in the dark about Jaskier’s past. He knew Jaskier was running from something, he knew that there were no scorned spouses or law enforcement looking for him, no children left without a father, and that was enough for Geralt. But suddenly Priscilla was there, rattling on about the tour and the fame and how Dandelion had become a giant mystery. Where had the young star disappeared to?

Geralt had taken everything in stride, accepting Jaskier’s past and Priscillas sudden appearance in their lives with grace and everything had been fine. At first, at least. But then Geralt began to withdraw. Not a lot, not enough that anyone else would be able to notice. But Jaskier noticed, and it was everything he had feared. It made perfect sense that Geralt would begin to worry about Jaskier’s life coming back, the media finding him, putting him back in the news, this time with his new life and family at his side. And of course, it would shed a new light on Jaskier as well, it would expose the man as a spoiled brat, a diva.

Jaskier was so lost in his thoughts, it wasn’t until he had already collided with the man that he realized Geralt was standing in front of him. And that Jaskier had made it home, the walk from the inn to their house only taking a few minutes, a few minutes that passed very quickly when Jaskier was so caught up in his own head.

Geralt’s brows were furrowed, his hands resting on Jaskier’s arms, “Are you okay?” His words were colored with concern and Jaskier felt his heart ache. Despite how less comfortable Geralt had clearly become with their relationship, he was still the most caring man Jaskier had ever met.

“I’m fine,” Jaskier pulled back, freeing himself from Geralt’s gentle grip.

“I thought you were going to be out with Yen all morning?”

Jaskier let out a humorless laugh, “They didn’t want me there.”

Reaching up, Geralt placed a hand on the side of Jaskier’s face, “Hey, what’s really going on?”

As their eyes met, Jaskier felt himself crumble, “It’s just hard, seeing them so happy.”

“Why is that hard?”

Jaskier’s voice was barely a whisper when he responded with a small, “Because we aren’t.”

Despite how quiet the words were, Geralt didn’t seem to have any trouble hearing them. He stared at Jaskier as if he had been slapped, shock written across every line of his face.

“I… don’t want you to be unhappy.”

“I don’t- no, I am happy. Or I was, before I noticed you weren’t.”

Suddenly, Jaskier found himself in Geralt’s arms, wrapped in a tight hug, “Jaskier I’m so happy with you. I never meant for you to think I wasn’t.”

“But… you’ve been so distant.”

“I was… worried I wasn’t enough. That you would want to go back.” All the other worries associated with that thought, that Jaskier would want to leave Geralt, their life they were building, were loud and clear to Jaskier, despite remaining unsaid.

“Geralt what I want is you and our family, more than anything else.”

Geralt pulled back enough to meet Jaskier’s eyes, “Were we being stupid?”

Laughing softly, Jaskier nodded, “Yeah, I think we were.”

-

Jaskier couldn’t help but smile contentedly as he spun in circles, safely wrapped in Geralt’s arms.

Yennefer and Renfri’s wedding had been nothing short of perfect. Small and intimate and fun. There wasn’t a thing that was traditional about it, it was the perfect representation of everything that the two had built together. Humming along with the song playing, Jaskier relished in the buzz under his skin. The whole day had been amazing and the romantic in him couldn’t help but enjoy being surrounded by so much love and happiness.

Also, the tablecloths were Jaskier’s favorite shade of periwinkle.

“Hey, Jask?” Geralt’s voice was barely a whisper, drawing Jaskier’s eyes to him.

“Yes, love?”

“Would you marry me?”

Jaskier cocked his head to the side, eyeing Geralt curiously, “Are you proposing?”

“Yes. Quietly, I don’t want to steal the moment.”

Jaskier couldn’t hold back his laugh before leaning in to kiss Geralt, “I would be honored to marry you. And we can tell everyone about it another day.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

-

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#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fandom #yenfri #yennefer of vengerberg #renfri of creyden #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier

[wolf-and-bard]

The Geraskier dark academia AU of my dreams (because writing these up keeps me sane; TLDR at the bottom because this escalated):

-Jaskier is so ready for college. Like, the readiest he's ever been for anything in his life. He couldn't wait to get out of his stuffy family home, away from his narrow-minded hometown, he is ready. He signs up for a Liberal Arts major, moves into a dorm, drinks his brains away during the first week. He makes an archnemesis, he makes friends, he live-documents the whole affair on Snapchat for his friend Triss who lives across the country, but is always with him in spirit. Life is good.

-Jaskier doesn't think twice when his roommate Zoltan invites him to come along to a party at the Kaer Morhen fraternity house because hello? Orientation week was last month, high time he goes to an actual frat party full of guys like wardrobes that eminate sexual self-assuredness and hopefully some sexual flexibility as well. He puts on his most revealing shirt and too tight jeans and joins Zoltan. The fraternity house is old, red-brick with sandstone pillars and iron-wrought gates which would seem rusty if not for the ivy that curls around them. It's chock-full with people of every kind of major and age, most of them drunk beyond reason by the time Jaskier and Zoltan arrive. Zoltan disappears in a tangle of rugby-players and leaves Jaskier to his own devices. He befriends a group of Archeology majors, their leader being a cute blond called Filavandrel, and they share a bottle of red wine, round and round. He meets his archnemesis, the one he spent all orientation week bickering about music with, Valdo or some nonsense, and they do tequila shots. It’s a nice party and Jaskier has the time of his life until he returns from the bathroom to find a god of a guy standing in the hallway.

-"Oh hello," Jaskier mutters under his breath. Before, his evening was aimless, he let the wave of the vibe take him wherever, let the alcohol blur the world around him. But now, he has an objective. And that objective stands all by his lonesome, scowling down the hallway. Man, does he brood well. Jaskier usually goes for people that are easy to read if some casual fun is what he has in mind -and it's not out of his mind just yet - but this guy intrigues him; there is more to him than simple dudebro-ness. He has shock-grey hair and startling amber eyes and seems to cast the longest shadow. Jaskier wants to ride him. Jaskier also wants to serenade him on a starlit wooden bridge and collect all the guy's deepest secrets and desires to keep under his pillow and draw divine inspiration from. Okay, that may be the Tequila shots talking. He scurries over to the bar, downs another two, then approaches the guy.

-"Hi," Jaskier says as he sidles up to him. The guy half-heartedly raises his beer in greeting.  Taciturn, dark, dramatic. Jaskier decides to go for it. "I absolutely adore the way you just stand here and brood." (Jaskier will only learn much much later that he accidentally used some weird Kaer Morhen frat code and set off a chain of events that changed his life forever). "Lamb," the guy calls out instead of answering, something that makes Jaskier think he's so far gone that he's actively hallucinating. But no, seconds later a guy with equally lush red hair and equally thick arms appears from the crowd. He wears a scowl which has Jaskier's throat tighten. "What is it, Wolf?" Wolf, huh? "Go collect Goat and Kitty-Cat. I found him." And Wolf-Guy grabs Jaskier by the back of the neck and hauls him through a door, down some stairs - is that marble? are those torches? GARGOYLES? - and into pitch blackness. Jaskier squeals. This is what he imagined when he dreamt of college. Well not exactly this, but close enough.

-They bind him with silk scarfs and put a blindfold over his eyes which, okay. Jaskier knows he shouldn't find this as sexy as he does, but he can't help it. He has no sense of self-preservation and this will just be the best of fuel for the first assignment in his screenwriting class. "Oh, this is fun," he murmurs when someone tugs off his boots and someone else smears a fatty paste onto his lips. It smells like... okay it smells lot like his uncle Matthew's pigsty. Weirdly disgusting. "Who are you guys anyway?"

-They don't speak at all that night, don't take off the blind-fold until way later. All night, Jaskier can hear them rustling around him, chanting in some language he doesn't understand. They give him several drinks, most of which honestly taste like asphalt, but make his insides go fuzzy. When the blindfold comes off eventually, Jaskier finds himself on the front-seat of a pick up truck, Wolf guy behind the wheel. They are parked behind the frat house. "Look, I don't think you're a suitable candidate. The guys all said they want to keep you, but my friend recognized you from the freshman introduction party and we usually only inaugurate sophomores." Jaskier blinks. He has absolutely no idea what's going in anymore. His friend Triss is probably worried sick because he hasn't checked in all evening. The faint taste of burned rubber clings to his lips and all Jaskier can think is: Fuck, is this man hot. "Go out with me," he blurts. "Go out with me, I'll show you how suitable I am."

-Over the course of a month's worth of introductions, preparation and inauguration traditions (which, among other things, have him dropped butt-naked in the middle of the forest, requiring him to find his way back to campus; have him spend more time learning long-dead languages than he is comfortbale with; have him getting thoroughly intimate with Eskel's (Goat) helper syndrome, Lambert (Lamb) and Aiden's (Kitty-Cat) ostentatiously loud fucking, Coen's (Hawk) frequent absences and Geralt's (Wolf) quiet, but passionate idealism) Jaskier learns the truth at the core of Kaer Morhen. It is more than a fraternity, it is a brotherhood of students that spend their free time in rituals to protect the college, its city, likely even the whole state from supernatural creatures that threaten to cross over into the world. The existence of these is no surprise to Jaskier who's come out of an adolescence of escapism and coping through fiction and song, but the fact that there are handsome tough guys who work to banish him is too much of a dream to be true. It is true. Unofficially, the call themselves Witchers. They catch wraiths in cricles of runes, they re-direct necrophages into Kaer Morhen's basement and slay them with blades of silver. They brew potions and cast minor spells to get rid of mutated insectoids. And Jaskier is to be one of them. They call him Lark.

-His first ritual goes bat-shit wrong. Jaskier is reasonably sure he did everything right, but the wraith doesn't stay contained after they bound it . "Fuck," Geralt growns after, pressing a cloth to the gaping wound in Jaskier's shoulder while they wait for Eskel to whip out the first aid kit. Jaskier shudders, can taste blood. "There shouldn't be fireflies here, right?" - "Ah, nope," Lambert says. He keeps snapping his fingers before Jaskier's eyes. "Hey, Lark, stay with us, okay?" - "He's fine," Aiden says, inspecting his nails. "If anything, it's Geralt we should be worried about. He's about to have a full blown panic attack." Geralt grunts and holds Jaskier closer.

-"Does this mean I can ask Priscilla to let me copy her homework," Jaskier asks later. He's in bed, bundled up in one of Kaer Morhen's bedrooms. Portraits of alumni line the wall and a hearth crackles away. Geralt sits next to the bed, a pretense-book on his lap. His eyes bore into Jaskier, wide, haunted. "Jask," he breathes out shakily. - "Hello, big guy. How are we doing?" - "Better now that you're awake. We... we had to call in Vesemir. He will want to talk to you." - "Alright, okay," Jaskier says. He knows who Vesemir is of course, but he has no idea what exactly his job entails or what having to talk to him means. "Geralt?" - "Hmm?" - "What did I do wrong?" - "Nothing. You were uncharacteristically precise... but it turns out I was right all along. You're not suited for this kind of work." - "Because I'm not big and buff like all of you?" Jaskier asks, pouting. Geralt has the audacity to laugh. But he also takes Jaskier's hands and kisses his knuckles and huh? What? Jaskier's brain short-circuits. Fuck when did he fall so hard for Geralt? "No, Jask, you're perfect. I mean, uh, ah, perfectly annoying." That bastard. "The wraith went crazy because it turns out you're an amplifier. That means supernatural creatures are pulled to you and can draw from you to manifest easier in our world. You wouldn't have noticed this unless you ever passed by a spot where the spheres overlap significantly. As it is, your participation in the ritual poses a danger." - "TLDR: I'm fired?" - "That's for Vesemir to decide... truth be told, I don't want you to go. But I can't stand the thought of you being in danger. Because of me, this." - "Go out with me, Geralt. Please. One coffee," Jaskier practically begs. Yes, his shoulder is minced meat and he feels exhausted from the blood loss but Geralt has never been this open and honest with him. "...fine."

-Jaskier heals up under the diligent care of his friends. Priscilla is allowed over too, practically drags him though his classes with tutoring and copies of her homework and sugar-coated emails to his various professors. Triss video-calls him three times a day. Eskel's med school expertise leaves Jaskier with the most neat scar he is ever going to get out of this, Lambert and Aiden hang out to play Gwent with him, a strange card game they invented and custom-painted, Coën even pops in to bring Jaskier his guitar and a venti Matcha Tea Latte even though the nearest Starbucks is miles away. Geralt... Geralt is there almost all the way. He sleeps in the chair at first, then - on Jaskier's stern insistence - in the bed with him, though careful to keep his distance. He helps Jaskier into the shower, something so strangely intimate without feeling innately sexual, he takes him out on slow walks. Geralt doesn't talk much, but Jaskier knows he feels responsible. It's fine. Sure. Absolutely fine. Jaskier is so far gone for this man by the time he moves back into his own dorm that he considers getting injured again just to have Geralt by his side. They never do go out for coffee.

-Vesemir doesn't so much invite Jaskier as have him called out of his choir session by a girl about Jaskier's age. She has the same hair color as Geralt and Jaskier thinks he's seen her around Kaer Morhen's bigger parties. "Hello, Jaskier," she says sweetly, but one look at her tells Jaskier she's deadlier than any of the frat boys. If his drunk memory serves correctly she also does a phenomenal keg stand. "Ves sends me to collect you." Which has Jaskier even more impressed with her. None of the boys dare to call him anything but Vesemir or Sir, even when he's not around. - "I've been expecting this," Jaskier says, shouldering his bag. The girl laughs and grabs his arm to guide him out of the building and across campus. - "You are cute," she says. "Geralt said so, but I thought that was just because he's so infatuated with you. I'm Ciri, by the way, his younger sister." Infatuated, huh? Jaskier has just enough brainspace left to save her name. Ciri. They will have to become very good friends. Infatuated.

-It turns out, Vesemir isn't half as scary as the boys made him out to be. He's closer to sixty than fifty, has a stern face, but a kindly voice and the first thing he does after dismissing Ciri with a meaningful glance is offer Jaskier a glass of whiskey. Jaskier sneaks a photograph of the bottle's label when Vesemir stands at the window and glances down at the campus, hands clasped behind his back. Triss will never believe this. It's the sort of alcohol that exists only in myth, at least to college students. "So, Mr. Pankratz. I'm afraid apologies are in order." - "Please, I prefer Jaskier." - "I know," Vesemir says and turns. "I would kindly ask you to delete that picture, my office and its contents fall under the terms of the non-disclosure agreement you signed when entering our brotherhood." Jaskier gulps heavily, the whiskey suddenly sour on his tongue. But he's quick to paste over a smile. He's gotten this far with the mysterious Kaer Morhen fraternity, he can pull all the way through. He deletes the picture. "Good," Vesemir says. "Now down to business." Vesemir gives him two options. Jaskier can consult a local magical artisan and have his memories of Kaer Morhen's true purpose removed. It is an easy procedure, won't cost him anything. Except for his new-found friends and the love he feels for Geralt. Except for the only place he's ever truly felt at home. Jaskier chooses the latter option which is to become the fraternity's chronicler.

-After that, things are supposed to calm down and they do, for a bit. Geralt still dodges any and all attempts Jaskier makes at flirting even though it's evident his resolve is thinning out. Jaskier observes and documents the rituals, begins to collect old notebooks. He's planning to go above and beyond his job and compile a comprehensive history of Kaer Morhen and its members before he's graduated. He may not be able to partake in the rituals or help the guys protect this city from monsters, but he can play his part. Leave behind a legacy.

-Between that and his normal studies, hanging out with his theater group, meeting Triss on alternate weekends and throwing epic frat parties, all of Jaskier's time is consumed. There are several instances in which Geralt and him almost manage to have their coffee, but then they have Eskel on the phone because Lambert and Aiden managed to give themselves poisoning over a simple Endrega job, or Priscilla needs an emergency stand-in for her weekly performances at a local bar, or Jaskier is simply too tired and falls into bed, sleeping over Zoltan's aggressive snoring. Jaskier doesn't mind so much. They catch glimpses of intimacy, Geralt's hand on the small of his back as he guides him downstairs for another ritual, a good night kiss on the cheeks once it's done, a spot of quiet homework-doing in Kaer Morhen's common room together, their legs pressed close under the table. One of these days, Jaskier will find the courage to close the last bridge between them. He just wants to wait until Geralt seems absolutely comfortable with it.

-All is as well as can be until Vesemir comes up with an idea. Because more and more creatures have been getting through and they are unable to hold off all, he wants to capture one of them, an Archgriffin, to bind in their world and act as guardian against lesser creatures. "You're mad," Aiden says. "That's fucking brilliant." - "It's a good idea," Eskel and Coën agree. Lambert keeps exchanging grim glances with Geralt because they both know what this means. They will have to use Jaskier to lure the beast. Which is why they both protest the idea heavily and Geralt gets into a fight with Vesemir. Jaskier is not there for it, but Aiden and Lambert tell him later, once he's back from theatre rehearsal. He watches them fight over it too and then it's only him and Lambert. Jaskier steals one of Zoltan's bottles of spirits and they get stupidly drunk, wandering around campus all night until Eskel collects them and tucks them into bed at Kaer Morhen. "I will not stand to lose you," Lambert slurs, arm dragged over Jaskier's chest. "You're like, almost my best friend. Plus, Wolf would be devastated." - "Aiden seems to think it'll be fine," Jaskier says, snuggling up to Lambert. - "Yeah, fuck him." They fall asleep like that and the first thing Geralt does when he finds them is kick Lambert all the way down the stairs.

-In the end, Geralt and Lambert are outvoted, not that they can stop Vesemir. Geralt is more silent than usual throughout prep and Jaskier can't seem to cheer him up. He knows his life is likely on the line, but he wants to help so badly. These guys are his family after all. If he can make their lives a little easier by doing this... well, he wants to. He needs to. Being in Kaer Morhen is the first time he seems to have a purpose other than writing angsty teenage songs. Eskel keeps checking up on him. Vesemir writes preliminary excuses for all Jaskier's exams which leave him with only A's, something Priscilla does not appreciate in the slightest. Lambert and Aiden fight and fight and won't stop fighting over this whole affair until Jaskier sits them down and makes them talk. Geralt... remains quiet. Jaskier can tell he doesn't sleep. Can tell he rarely eats. He decides now is as good a time as ever.

-It's the night before and the others have all returned to their dorms, but Jaskier stayed in Kaer Morhen under the pretext of Zoltan having his girlfriend over, and Geralt rarely ever goes home. He has a flat off campus, but Jaskier suspects it's drab and lonely. He gets it. Kaer Morhen has soft fluffly beds and fire places and wards and books. Currently, it has the two of them, bundled up in one of the upstairs rooms. They share an armchair before a low fire, not an unusual sight for them, not anymore. And still, Geralt pretends they're just friends. It's ridiculous. "You know I'll be fine, right?" Jaskier says. He has his head tucked under Geralt's chin and has been humming show tunes under his breath for the last half hour, something that usually puts Geralt right to sleep. Not so now. "I can't know that," Geralt replies. He lifts Jaskier's hand which he's been holding and traces the veins on the back of it with his thumb. "You've no idea how dangerous the ritual is. Even more so with you being an amplifier." - "So protect me." - "I will. I promise, I will." - "Geralt, when are you going to finally give in?" Jaskier sighs and pulls back a little. Geralt stares at him, a little cross-eyed and Jaskier gives a shaky laugh. "I'm going to kiss you now. Pull back if you don't want to, but allow it and I'll never let you go." Geralt allows it, kisses back. It's the first night they indulge in a love that has been growing for almost a year and it's gloriously sweet, blazing, beautiful. It leaves Jaskier with faith that, even if things go sideways, Geralt will get them both out of it alive.

-The ritual goes well thanks to the Witchers' meticulous preparations, the dozen or so warding spells they put on Jaskier and Geralt's reflexes that save him from a swipe of the Griffin's claw. They bind the creature to one of the basement holding cells and celebrate with excessive amoutns of vodka and cake. "All is well that ends well, huh?" Jaskier asks from where he sits on Geralt's lap. Strong arms hold him and his chest is full of nightingales that flutter and sing. He watches Eskel drunkenly dance-offing with Coen in a corner, watches Lambert and Aiden make out in another. Vesemir took off, but Ciri is there, lounging next to them on the couch, nose buried in her phone. "I will never put you through such danger again," Geralt grunts, his nose buried in Jaskier's hair. "Of course, love." Jaskier relaxes into the embrace. All is well, though it is not nearly the end of this story.

-TLDR: Kaer Morhen is an occultist fraternity that keeps supernatural beings away from campus. Jaskier, unable to participate in the actual rituals due to a genetic predisposition, becomes their chronicler. Geralt worries a lot. Jaskier tries for the longest time to get him to go on a coffee date or something. Lambert and Aiden are a disaster couple. Eskel keeps them all together, literally and figuratively. Ciri is the one who got all the brain cells.

#witcher #the witcher #modern AU #dark academia AU #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #gerlion #geralt #jaskier #lambert #vesemir #eskel #aiden #coen #priscilla #zoltan #triss merigold #lambden #lambert x aiden #my writing #I just want someone to write this for me #novel length please #maybe I'll return to it one day #also greatly inspired by Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo #a fantastic novel #filavandrel #kaer morhen #college AU #headcanon #my geraskier dream AUs

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Hi Comfy, I loved your last family fic so much. I wonder if you could do something similar but with Vesemir? So. I'm thinking, Vesemir hasn't had a chance to date because hes been too busy bringing up Eskel, Geralt and Lambert. He finally meets his childhood sweetheart, Guxart, and they pick up from where they left off. Only issue is, the witchers aren't too sure about getting a step dad!!!!!

I didn’t forget this babe 😘 however I gotta get up at 3:15 am so we’re gonna hit this one with a headcanon format bc I can crank it out faster.

I HC the boys to be teens (Eskel is 18 and Geralt is probably17- ish and Lambert is 14)

Warnings: mention of the foster system, weed, general teenage shenanigans? 

Ves wants the boys to meet Guxart before they make anything ‘facebook official’ - the boys groan at this. V not cool. Big boomer energy. 

Geralt does the typical ‘middle child bullshit’ and makes plans that he “just can't flake on dad! they need me there or the whole thing will fall apart!” - he’s gonna go snog Jask at the drive-in but don't tell Ves. 

Eskel just sighs and takes a massive bong rip right before Guxart gets there. He knows this is gonna be a shit show. He’s got the ‘oldest kid responsibility’ tho so he’s at least gonna be there. his sense of duty is a lil twisted but he's trying his best

Lambert prepares for WAR

He paces his room fuming, he doe not like new people, nor does he like the idea that his dad gets down. he can't handle it. Geralt and Eskel were the ones to give him The Talk. Thinking about Ves??? having a boyfriend????? oh my god?????

Guxart is old fashioned. He tries to talk sports, which almost works until he reveals he’s a fan of Lambert’s team’s rival. 

He tries doing the whole ‘here I brought candy’ but these boys were from the foster system before Ves adopted them and that just makes them edgy. 

He tries asking about their girlfriends and Lambert just snaps “You’re gay, you shouldn’t assume.” like a dickhead

Eskel is at least amiable, or so Ves thinks. He politely laughs at jokes, nods along to stories, asks interesting questions, until Lambert makes a rude joke and Eskel fucking loses it.

Cat’s out, Responsible Eldest Child TM is baked out of his mind and Ves is furious. 

Guxart goes home a little earlier than planned to “give them family time” - he’s just mildly terrified of the little one. 

Geralt comes home in the middle of them getting yelled at and tries to sneak Jask upstairs and that is its own lecture

In the end, they settle for a second go on neutral turf and Lambert takes a hit beforehand this time, not Eskel. 

Geralt is now ready for battle because of all the exaggerated shit he’d heard from Lambert, but he’s the quiet watching kind so he doesn’t pull anything before he’s sure. 

Guxart mentions he saw a really good musician at an open mic night at the coffee shop - it just so happens to be Jask and Geralt immediately likes him 

“He likes Buttercup’s singing, what asshole could like the sweet things he sings about?” - Lambert smacks him upside the head for this, but mostly because he’s tired of hearing “Buttercup this- Buttercup that” 

Eskel warms up a little talking nerdy shit. 

Lambert is still annoyed but stays civil at least. 

Ves deadass almost cries in the car on the way home because he’s just so relieved that his three little nightmares (whom he loves dearly) didn’t drive someone he thinks he really might love away. 

Lambert kinda feels bad and gives him a hug later, once the other boys had locked themselves away in their room, “Sorry dad. I didn’t think it meant that much to you.” 

Ves squeezes him tight and sighs, “I know. I wouldn’t bring someone home if I thought they weren’t good people.” 

Lambert has that really small voice again from when Ves first brought him in as a foster when he was 8, “I just forget sometimes.”

Cue the tearful father-son bonding moment a-la 90′s family drama

Things go much more smoothly after that

#vuxart #vessimir #guxart #vessimir x guxart #we got some wolf family drama here #geralt of rivia #eskel #lambert #geralt #the kaer morons #the wolf school witchers #wolf witchers #the witcher #the witcher headcanon #the witcher modern au #idk what this is #it feels like i wrote a sitcom episode? #who do i pitch this to?

[innocentbi-stander]

I absolutely love your witcher headcanons! I was wondering if you go do one with dragon!jaskier, maybe where he is secretly a dragon and Geralt has had no idea until it is revealed? Thank you!

This may or may not have ended up a lot longer than intended, but once I started writing this dragon jaskier au I couldn’t stop. Enjoy this train wreck from my sleep deprived mind!

Jaskier is a red dragon, 100 years old and trying to get as far away from his family as possible when he meets a witcher

Except, this isn’t the witcher he meets in a run down tavern at the edge of the world, this one he meets in a back alley when he shoves a knife into the eye of one of the assholes trying to run the witcher out of their down

Jaskier isn’t afraid of witchers, he’d be stupid to do so, nevermind the fact that he’s a literal dragon, but he’s never met one in person so can anyone blame him for being curious when he hears the sounds of a scuffle and a flash of golden eyes

This witcher is loud, brash, and crude in way that’s utterly delightful to the bard when he cusses Jaskier out claiming that “he fucking had that one” and has an even more amusing look on his face when Jaskier fails to hold back his pleased laughter

To his credit, the witcher doesn’t run him through with his sword and takes the bard up on his offer to buy him a drink at the tavern next door, and introduces himself as Lambert

Jaskier has led a fairly sheltered life before leaving his homestead and he’s never met a witcher but he figures that if they’re anything like this one they must be alright

He thinks to others Lambert’s behavior might not be acceptable but Jaskier craves life and merriment and the witcher in front of him drinks with a hollow leg and has enough dirty jokes stored for a lifetime and Jaskier is having the most fun he’s had since he escaped his overbearing family

Jaskier has so much fun that he hardly notices how he and witcher drink through the night and straight through morning, and when Lambert asks which way he’s heading, the bard doesn’t hesitate to answer “anywhere you’re going is just fine with me”

Jaskier never tells Lambert what he is, but the witcher finds enough out on his own that the truth is revealed. Really, Jaskier hasn’t exactly been subtle when he breathes fire to light their camps, and there’s definitely been a few bar fights where the bard has flashed a fang or two

He answers Lambert’s questions honestly but avoids anything on the subject of family, it's too raw

Jaskier and Lambert travel for a few weeks before splitting, though they still run into each other at the occasional tavern

It’s a few years after meeting Lambert that Jaskier meets an old grizzled witcher while traveling. He seems shocked when Jaskier offers to share a campsite for the night but gets more comfortable when the bard speaks of his time with another witcher on the Path. 

The witcher introduces himself as Vesemir and tells him stories of his sons that he’s raised, not a lick of sense between them but each possess a good heart. They part ways in the morning but every once in a while they share a campfire and Jaskier delights in tales of Vesemir’s stupid pups and in return shares memories of flying in the open sky. He doesn’t need to tell Vesemir what he is either, for the old witcher has seen many of his kind throughout his days.

Jaskier is in the market skimming a stand with books of poetry when he runs into Eskel. Quite literally actually, the bard has a rather nasty habit of not looking where he’s going and he’s reaching for one of the knives on his person before he notices that the person before him is in fact, a witcher.

Eskel seems rather alarmed to be greeted so enthusiastically, but it isn’t long before Jaskier ropes him into discussing a few of his favorite novels. They grab a bite to eat and the bard vows to smuggle Eskel into the library at Oxenfurt one day, for it has “the most magnificent collection of books you’ll ever see Eskel, I swear”

After much discussion they part ways, but Jaskier finds a secret pleasure in gathering books for the witcher to pass on that he knows he’ll enjoy.

And then Jaskier meets Geralt, and everything melts away.

Dragons are hoarders by nature. They collect little treasures with fierce fascinations and would rather be struck down before having their hoard taken away from them. Jaskier has never truly experienced that kind of full minded dedication until he met Geralt.

He had only spoken a handful of words to the man before he knew that he would follow him to the ends of the earth. Jaskier’s music had always been the center of his world but in a tavern in Posada, his center shifted. At the center, was Geralt.

Geralt, his beautiful witcher with a heart of gold. Geralt, his fiercest protector. Geralt, who apparently is a complete idiot. 

The first winter after Jaskier and Geralt get their act together and fall into bed is the first time the bard manages to trick his way into getting an invitation to Kaer Mohren

Jaskier has never mentioned his previous experience with witchers to Geralt, but he also assumed that Geralt knew about the whole dragon thing and just never wanted to talk about it (all the other witchers had discovered this, but geralt was a special case)

When they arrive at the gates of Kaer Morhen the other witchers are waiting to greet them

Geralt braces himself to introduce his bard, prepared to fight to keep him there for the winter, so imagine his complete and utter surprise when they’re greeted with an enthusiastic chorus of “Jaskier!”

He blinks in confusion as Jaskier is swarmed by his family, and his brain barely registers the sound of his bard’s delighted laughter as Lambert swings him around in a circle and proclaims “It’s been far too long, little dragon!” and wait… what.

Jaskier is very busy enjoying his reunion with the other witchers in his life who he’s somehow never connected as being his white wolf’s bloody family and so almost misses the fact that geralt is apparently just now realizing he is a dragon

Jaskier has to calmly explain to Geralt that the reason that he hasn’t aged in the THIRTY YEARS WE’VE KNOWN EACH OTHER GERALT is because he is in fact not human

The explanation is exhausting but the “thank god you’re not gonna die on me” sex is fucking amazing, and afterwards Jaskier gets to watch geralt be teased relentlessly for his stupidity 

It only takes until dinner the following night for jaskier to claim the witchers as his hoard, and he declares that he would move mountains and slay kingdoms before harm befell them

It's a little intimidating but jaskier is clearly apart of the pack so they roll with it

Jaskier and Lambert absolutely refuse to tell the tale of how they first met just to fuck with geralt as they make him stew in suspense

Geralt is more than slightly afraid that jaskier and lambert have fucked and its absolutely agonizing because they will neither confirm or deny this theory

The truth is that neither or them really remember, but messing with geralt is just too fun to unpack that

Also for jaskier, the “you may or may not have fucked my brother at some point but pay attention to me cuz I’m Better” sex is way too good to stop

I’m still taking prompts and asks! Let me know if there’s anything else you’d like to see with any of these beautiful idiots!

#geraskier #the witcher #witcher geralt #geralt of rivia #the witcher jaskier #the witcher yennefer #witcher jaskier #bamf jaskier #geralt #jaskier #witcher headcanon #the witcher netflix #the witcher geralt #headcanons #askbox #powerful jaskier #dragon jaskier #its not a secret geralt is just very stupid #we love him anyway #witcher eskel #eskel #lambert #witcher lambert #vesemir #witcher vesemir #hes proud of his stupid boys #non human jaskier #immortal jaskier

[vampire--dad]

Let The World Come At You, Love - Part 3

Part 2

Part 4 (WIP)

——————

Geralt scowls as he pulls on his boots. His hands feel colder than usual, aching from the lack of what little warmth they usually cling to. He’s tempted to slip his icy fingers under Jaskier’s shirt and laugh as he squirms and curses at him, but teasing him can wait. Winter is coming early this year. They best find somewhere to settle in for a few months, and Geralt knows just the place.

As Jaskier grabs the last of his things from their small camp, Geralt turns Roach in the opposite direction they were going.

“I thought we were heading west,” the bard says curiously.

“Change of plans. We’re going back and heading north. Winter is coming early.”

“Where are we headed?”

Geralt feels a tightness close in around his ribs. The same feeling blooms in his chest every year when winter comes and he finds himself heading north again. He’s homesick. He’s never taken Jaskier with him to the keep— a bard known for sleeping around and incessantly bothering witchers was not what the place needed, and knowing Jaskier, he would find a thousand different ways to break his own heart. But this year is different. Now that he’s finally stopped denying how he feels, he wants to take the man he loves to see the place he grew up, to meet his family.

“Home,” Geralt says softly.

Jaskier cocks his head slightly, but after a moment, he smiles knowingly.

“Kaer Morhen,” he says. Geralt nods. “You… want me to come with you?”

Usually Jaskier would return to Oxenfurt for winter, teach a few classes, maybe enter a few competitions, then meet the witcher in Rinde in the first few weeks of spring. Geralt has never invited him to the witcher’s keep with him… but, he supposes this year is a bit different. Geralt nods again.

“Of course I do. I want you to come meet my brothers… unless you want to go to Oxenfurt, which is fine, I could—”

“No, I want to,” Jaskier says, holding back a small chuckle. Geralt seems to have developed his habit for rambling when he’s nervous. “I’ll write to Oxenfurt, tell them to cancel my classes for the winter. Let’s go to Kaer Morhen.”

It takes almost a week, but they venture far north and find themselves at the foot of the mountains. The sky above them is grey and dreary, a promise of snow soon to come. Geralt steers Roach down a path barely visible from the main road, shrouded in trees and bushes. Jaskier leans into his chest as he speaks.

“We used to call this path The Killer. Vesemir would set up obstacles and we would chase each other up the hill,” he says.

The closer they get to Kaer Morhen, the more homesick Geralt seems. Despite the memories he has of the halls beneath the castle, he’s always thought of it fondly. This was where he was raised, where he was trained, where he found a true family. He itches to walk through the gates again and see his father and brothers.

Something rustles a way off in the brush, barely audible to Jaskier but notable enough to make Geralt tense. He pulls Roach to a stop and slides off her back, his brow furrowed in concentration as his yellow eyes scan the thick forest that surrounds them.

“Stay here.”

The bard watches him cautiously. A figure throws itself from the bushes onto Geralt, a red streak hurtling through the green underbrush. Jaskier scrambles off the horse’s back, reaching for the dagger at his hip, only to find that Geralt and the man on top of him are laughing.

“It’s good to see you, brother!” the man chuckles as he stands and offers his hand to Geralt, who smiles as he’s lifted from the ground.

“It’s good to see you, too, Eskel.”

Jaskier sighs and curses quietly.

“Geralt, one of these days you’re going to give me a heart attack, I swear,” he says with a shake of his head.

Geralt looks over at Jaskier with a small frown.

“I thought I told you to stay on Roach.”

“If a man I’ve never met throws himself at you from the bushes, do you really think I’m going to sit there and watch?” Jaskier asks with his hands on his hips.

The white haired witcher bites back a chuckle. He knows Jaskier hates that he thinks he’s adorable when he’s angry. Eskel looks over at the bard and approaches him with a warm smile, marred by a series of scars that run from his cheek to his chin. The lines pull his skin inwards and leave a gap in the curve of his lips. The worry in his yellow eyes doesn’t go unnoticed and despite his appearance, Jaskier offers him a friendly smile.

“And you are?” the stranger asks.

“I’m glad you asked! You’ve probably already heard my name about, maybe even heard a song or two, I—”

“This,” Geralt interrupts, much to the bard’s irritation, and pats his brother on the shoulder, “is Jaskier.”

The bard purses his lips and gives the snowy haired witcher a pointed look. Eskel chuckles at the silent exchange between the two and extends his hand to Jaskier.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Eskel.”

Jaskier shakes his hand and smiles, throwing another glance at Geralt.

“At least one of the witchers I know has some manners.”

Geralt gives him an empty look of annoyance.

“What brings you to Kaer Morhen with this old brute? Eskel asks, gesturing towards the other witcher.

“Ah, well, um…”

They hadn’t really discussed how to answer that question. Eskel is Geralt’s brother, but Jaskier is hesitant to say more than he should. Geralt tends to be conservative with who he reveals their relationship to. Even if he trusts them with his life, that doesn’t mean he trusts them with his bard. It was hard for Jaskier at first. He’d usually shower his lover in affection without a care in the world, but Geralt always pushed him away with a quiet, “Not here, not now.” He slowly learned to save it for the time they spend behind closed doors.

“We’re involved, Eskel,” Geralt says bluntly, moving to stand by his lover’s side and take his hand, their fingers intertwined tightly. That clears that up then. Jaskier leans gently against Geralt’s arm. Eskel still looks at them with innocent eyes.

“Involved… in what?”

Geralt rolls his eyes. Sometimes he really doesn’t know how people think Eskel is the smart one. The excitement gets to him and all of a sudden he’s a dolt.

“Do I have to kiss him for you to get it?”

“Oh. Oh! Oh, you mean— right. Right. Well, I’m sure Dad will be happy.”

Eskel walks with them along the path towards the keep. Kaer Morhen is nestled against the mountain. It almost looks natural, like it’s always been there. In its glory days, it was formidable to lay one's eyes on, but over the years and having endured several battles, its towers have crumbled and it seems to shrink into the mountainside. Still, Geralt looks upon it with a smile. He’s home.

Two men wait by the gates for them. One has wild red hair and a wicked look about him, along with a scar that skips across his right eye and continues down his cheek. He looks around the same age as Geralt and Eskel, perhaps a bit younger. The other is much older, with long but thin grey hair and an aged face. If he is as scarred as the other three, it doesn’t show. He might be old but that doesn’t detract from the air of strength that hangs around his figure. His wise eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles at Geralt and embraces him. The redhead doesn’t take his eyes off Jaskier. The bard resists the urge to squirm under his scrutinous gaze.

“Welcome home, Geralt,” the older witcher says into his shoulder before letting him go. “I see you’ve brought a guest, or did a lost nobleman’s son follow you all the way up here?”

The three younger witchers chuckle. Another set of dark yellow eyes are cast towards Jaskier. He almost lets loose a smart retort, but thinks better of it. Testing the bounds of this man’s humour seems… unwise. A good first impression seems more appropriate. He steps forward and bows his head low.

“Call me Jaskier,” he says. The older witcher examines him for a moment before returning the courteous gesture with a smile that the bard would dare to describe as amused.

“Welcome to Kaer Morhen, Jaskier.”

Geralt slides his hand along the bard’s hip.

“Jask, this is Vesemir.”

He recognises the name. Geralt speaks of him often, although more often than not he calls him Dad. Though the witchers raised under his care never call him that to his face, he does think of them as his sons. Vesemir’s eyes flicker to the gloved hand on Jaskier’s hip and he seems to nod in understanding.

“So, Geralt,” the redhead pipes up, eyeing the lute slung over Jaskier’s shoulder. “What are you doing bringing a bard home? Taking lessons now, are you?”

“Be nice, Lambert,” Geralt says gruffly.

“Why? Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft.”

Before the bickering can begin, Vesemir steps between his sons and places a hand on each of their shoulders. They do love each other, but Lambert likes to rile his brother up and Geralt can be… touchy.

“Don’t you two start before you’ve even gotten inside,” he says. “Come, you must be hungry.”

The stony interior of Kaer Morhen is dimly lit by torches, the fire casting strange shadows along the walls as their footsteps echo through the halls, yet its warm light creates a cozy kind of atmosphere. Vesemir tells Jaskier the meaning behind the name of the castle as they walk together. The other three witchers stray behind, exchanging stories of fresh scars and, at least for Eskel and Lambert, fair maidens across the land. Lambert raises a skeptical eyebrow at the back of Jaskier’s head.

“So how long have you known the bard?” he asks.

“A long time,” Geralt replies shortly.

“Very specific. How long have you been together?”

“A year this spring. Why are you asking?”

“Just making conversation,” Lambert says.

Geralt can tell he’s lying through his teeth. Lambert doesn’t trust easily and isn’t particularly fond of bringing guests to the keep. On top of that, though he’d never admit it, he is fiercely protective of his brothers.

“Is he the one who cleared up the whole Blaviken thing?”

Geralt hums in affirmation.

“Don’t grunt at me, you sound like Vesemir,” Lambert sneers. “Why didn’t you bring him here sooner?”

Geralt pauses. He knows Lambert won’t let him off without answering, but he doesn’t want to say the real reason.

“Didn’t have a reason to.”

“So you’ve known him for... a long time, as you said, travelled with him everywhere, and you couldn’t think of a reason to invite him here?”

“Yes.”

Lambert narrows his eyes at Geralt.

“Are you sure? Because the name sounds awfully familiar... and I seem to remember seeing someone who looked a lot like him in Maribor a few years ago, not long before winter. If my memory serves me correctly, he was getting tossed out of an inn for sleeping with the innkeeper’s daughter… and his wife.”

“Leave it alone, Lambert,” Geralt growls. “That was a long time ago.”

Before Lambert can continue, Vesemir stops the group before the common room and turns to Geralt.

“I was hoping you’d be coming this year, so your old room is prepared, although I may have to bring some extra blankets if there are two of you,” he says. “Go unpack and then we’ll get some food into you boys.”

Geralt nods with an amused smile. Vesemir never lets his boys go hungry. He leads Jaskier down the hall on the other side of the common room, up a flight of stairs, and to a door with the letter ‘G’ carved haphazardly into the frame. Inside the fire is already flickering away in the hearth, warming the surprisingly large room. Geralt leaves their bags by the door as Jaskier approaches the bookcase across the room, sweeping dust off the spines with his hand.

“This room isn’t so different from my quarters at Oxenfurt,” he remarks, taking a book from the shelf and letting the pages fall open in his hand.

“Not what you were expecting?” Geralt asks.

“No, but I’m not sure what I was expecting, really.”

The witcher sheds his black jerkin and tosses it onto the bed before pulling Jaskier against his chest and kissing the soft skin behind his ear.

“You’ll find soon enough that this place is full of surprises.”

More stories are shared over supper. Jaskier has to be reminded to eat between scribbling things into his notebook and prodding the witchers with questions. Eskel is more than willing to relinquish the finer details, even helping him to spin the stories in a true but slightly more fantastical way. Such has become his style. Geralt used to hate how he lied through his teeth to make his tales more interesting, so he stopped— in exchange for better descriptions. His witcher has come to know just how much detail to give him while still allowing a little room for poetic license.

Geralt has already retired to their room, and as Jaskier moves to follow, Lambert blocks his path and scowls down at him. Jaskier makes an effort not to react. The witcher folds his arms.

“I’m going to be frank with you, bard,” he starts. “I know who you are. I know of your… reputation. If you weren’t involved with my brother, I wouldn’t blame you. But you are, so let me make something very fucking clear. If you ever even think of breaking my brother’s trust and slipping into any pretty barmaid’s bedroom like you used to, I will track you down and gut you myself.”

Jaskier cocks an eyebrow. Clearly he still hasn’t learned not to test a witcher. After all, the last one he was snarky with ended up sharing a bed with him.

“I don’t doubt your love for your brother, I’m sure that has something to do with your threats. And I assure you, no such thing will happen. But I have a feeling there’s something more to it than that. Tell me, is it the jealousy of the number of women— and men— I’ve slept with for me to gain that reputation? Or is it the fear that I have slept with that many people because… I do it better?”

Lambert stares him down for a moment. Jaskier holds back a smirk. Suddenly, the witcher leans back and laughs heartily, clapping a hand onto the bard’s shoulder roughly.

“You’re alright, bard.”

——————

Tags: @jaskierswolf @electricrituals @jaskiiier @lovelyeskel @in-love-with-writing002 @patchwork-doublet @elliestormfound @feral-jaskier @moonysourenza

#the witcher #the witcher fanfic #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #eskel #lambert #vesemir #kaer morhen #witcher jaskier

[samstree]

hi dear!! what about 37 for the pining prompts?? only if you feel like it 💞💞

37. "Characters cannot touch for plot reasons." Thanks for the prompt Chrysa!! Here's more empath!Jaskier!

Unfinished Story

Empath!Jaskier, 2.4k, soft geraskier, ciri has a nightmare, hurt/comfort, mentions of past violence

Part of the Empath AU 

Read on AO3

Ciri’s scream pulls Geralt out of his doze.

He springs up immediately, knocking Jaskier’s arm out of the way. The bard grumbles something incoherent on the bedroll before fully waking. “G’ralt, what is… Oh, shit.”

The scream continues, Geralt’s medallion thrumming because of the chaos carried by the sound. The ember is dying but the moon provides enough light for him to see Cir in a fetal position, her face buried in the crook of her elbow. Her ashen-colored curls obscure the view.

Geralt half-scrambles to her side, familiar panic seizing his heart. It’s been so long since she had a nightmare this bad, so long that it’s taking him a second to react.

“Ciri.” He shakes her shoulder gently, but she flinches away. The smell of fear rolls off of her in waves. “Ciri, wake up. You are dreaming.”

The sharp wail trails off to a quieter one, but her eyes stay shut, her brows agonizingly knitted tight. Geralt tries to soothe her by stroking her hair, only to have her snatch his hand and holding onto it for dear life. He squeezes, hoping it’s a comforting gesture.

Each of Ciri’s cries sends a pang of regret in Geralt’s chest. If only he could go back in time. If only he had found her earlier, before the horrors of Nilfgaard—

“Hey, let me help.”

A hand falls to Geralt’s shoulder, and Jaskier meets his gaze in the dim light, the bleariness in his eyes completely gone.

Please, he wants to say. The word gets interrupted by the girl’s writhing.

Jaskier takes over Ciri’s hand, despite her reluctance to let go of Geralt. She clings to him during bad dreams, even when she can’t properly wake up, but the witcher knows it’s important not to touch either of them right now. The wolf medallion vibrates more as the empath works, calming her through the touch.

“It’s okay…” Geralt murmurs helplessly to the girl still asleep. “It’s okay, cub. We are here.”

The empty space around Geralt is excruciating. Under the clear night sky, his witcher senses allow him to see the two of them basked in the silver moonlight—Jaskier kneeling at Ciri’s side, one hand clasped around her wrist and the other carding through her curls. The girl’s pained expression eases slowly.

“Oh… Don’t be afraid, sweet girl,” Jaskier shushes her, the flow of chaos buzzing in the air. “Let me take your fear away, all right? Don’t fight me. Let me in, so you won’t be scared anymore…”

The bard continues to murmur sweet nothings to the girl, easing her resistance to his empathetic powers. At this point, Jaskier’s magic is like a second layer of skin to Geralt, gentle and warm and weaving around their hearts. Even when it’s not directly used on him, he feels somehow pulled to their connection.

To Jaskier and Ciri.

His empath bard and his child surprise.

Two halves of his world.

Jaskier’s eyes are closed to concentration, taming the waves of Ciri’s distress. The action exerts him, Geralt can tell from his elevated heartbeat and the slight slump in his shoulders. The witcher catches himself before he reaches out subconsciously. The gnawing urge to help almost makes him scowl in frustration.

Inaction has never been Geralt’s strong suit.

Finally, finally, Ciri’s eyes flutter open. She’s holding back the tears, as always, even when she’s confused from these dreams, even when she’s reliving her past and desperately searching for her family in the present.

“Geralt?”

Her voice is so small and he has to lean in to hear.

A relieved sigh escapes Jaskier’s lips as he lets go of the girl’s hand. With the magic dissipating, so does the stench of fear. The air settles. As soon as the medallion stills, Geralt surges forward to put a hand on her arm, so she knows he’s here.

On Geralt’s periphery, he senses bard stand and walk to the other side of the campfire—the empath usually needs a moment to collect himself after absorbing someone’s emotions—but right now Geralt’s focus is on his child.

“It’s okay. You are safe, Ciri,” Geralt whispers.

“I dreamed—”

“You are not there anymore.”

“It was burning…I—there was fire… and the man.” She sniffles, stubbornly refusing to cry. His child is tough, probably too tough for her own good.

“It wasn’t real.”

“Because you found me?” There’s a sliver of doubt in her voice that Geralt wishes more than anything to remove.

“Because I found you, Ciri,” he reassures. She’ll need reminding tonight. “You are my destiny and more. I’m here so you’ll never have to be lost again.”

A tiny smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. Geralt tucks away a strand of hair on her face and watches her eyelids droop heavily.

“I’m not. Not now that I’m awake.”

He returns the smile, although she can’t see it that well in the shadows. “That’s because of Jaskier.”

“Oh.” She searches for the bard. When Geralt looks back at the empath’s silhouette, he’s leaning against a tree, a few paces away from camp. “Thank you, Jaskier. Again,” she says.

“Of course, princess,” Jaskier says softly, “I know how scary nightmares can be, no matter how long it’s been. Those things may have happened a long time ago, but sometimes…they come back and haunt when you least expect it.” He pauses, looking to the distance for a moment. “I’d chase them away for you any time.”

She murmurs another thanks before her eyes close with exhaustion.

“Go back to sleep,” Geralt tucks Ciri’s blanket in, before taking her hand again, his thumb tracing a little circle on her skin. “Sleep, cub. We’ll be here. Both of us.”

It doesn’t take long for her to fall into a deep slumber, peacefully this time. Geralt sits next to her for a while longer just to be sure. When he finally leaves Ciri’s side to see to his bard, Jaskier is still standing with his back against the tree. He seems to be miles away, his expression hidden in the shadows, distant and inscrutable.

“Jask?” They are far enough from the girl but Geralt keeps his voice low.

With a surprised gasp, the bard notices him approaching and almost flinches. “Don’t—”

“Don’t touch you, I know.”

Jaskier rests his head on the tree bark. “Just for now.”

Geralt’s fists clench and unclench at his sides. Using those powers takes a lot out of Jaskier, and it leaves him unbalanced. The empath is so wary of hurting him by accident when he’s like this, with raw energy still rippling under his skin.

But in truth, Geralt doesn’t care. He wishes Jaskier could let him in, let him share the burden. Right now, with the space between them, he’ll have to rely on words instead of action.

It really isn’t his strong suit.

“Another nightmare… ” he decides to distract the bard while he recovers. “It’s been too long since Ciri had an episode. I thought it was all over.”

“Time doesn’t heal all wounds, Geralt,” Jaskier breathes. “We should all know better.”

Geralt frowns at the haunted look on his bard’s face. The tips of his fingers reach forward again, but he quickly hides the movement by crossing his arms before his chest.

“You sound like you are speaking from experience, Jask.”

“Do I?”

“Hmm.” Geralt’s stomach turns at the way Jaskier speaks about the girl’s trauma. “You know if you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

Jaskier squirms, chewing on his lower lip. Now he’s truly nervous, tense even. The witcher sees the way his posture stiffens and quickly adds, “Or not. Uh—it’s okay if you don’t—"

“No,” Jaskier interrupts him, shaking his head, “No, I want to tell you. I should tell you everything, at this point.”

Silence hangs between them as the bard adjusts his breathing. In and out, like he would before a performance.

“Years ago, when you first identified my powers” Jaskier chooses his words cautiously, the moon shining in his eyes. “I asked if you would use silver on me.”

Geralt’s heart sinks. “I would never, Jaskier. I—How could you ever think that?”

“Oh, relax, my love. I know.” the bard chuckles tightly. “Even back then, I knew you to be a decent man under all the gruffness. You wouldn’t even harm those confused monsters who drifted to human territory on accident, remember? You claimed that your life was just coin and contracts, but to me, it was clear that you were so much more.”

“You are not a monster,” Geralt argues.

“No, but someone else might think differently.”

The leaves rustle in the breeze, the air cooling as the night stretches on. Without the blanket, Jaskier shivers with only a thin chemise on his back. Geralt’s body gravitates toward him of its own volition. Fuck it, if he can just hold Jaskier right now…

“I was thirteen.” The bard is lost in memory. “This man, a magic user, came to our door. It was just me and my mother. He somehow knew about our identities and asked for her help. You see, she had been keeping it a secret for so long, so she couldn’t trust this man, this mage, who somehow just knew that we were empaths.”

He lets out a shuddering breath before continuing.

“His request was… weird. Something about a king or a royal court. I remember thinking that whatever he said sounded so sinister, it couldn’t have been any good. Mum sent him away on the spot, but afterwards she got so scared, like he’d come back again or something. That night, she barred the door and told me to hide in a storage chest. I refused, so she made me. She kept me obedient the entire time.”

Geralt frowns. “Her powers were the same as yours?”

“Stronger.” Jaskier starts pacing, a few twigs snapping under his feet. “She didn’t need contact to manipulate someone’s emotions like me, and she could influence many at the same time. I’m not as powerful—my father was human.”

“What happened next?” Somehow, Geralt knows the story will not end well. A mage usually means trouble. Or in this case, the shadow hidden behind Jaskier’s bright smiles and chirpy songs.

“She kept me calm the whole night, even when she wasn’t with me, but I could feel her fear. It’s was like an undercurrent beneath my skin. I could feel her emotions change. Then I heard the sound of fighting, but I couldn’t get out. I couldn’t go and help her…”

The salty tang of tears assaults Geralt’s nose, but they don’t fall. Jaskier looks up to the sky to hold back the grief that makes his hands tremble.

“Everything got fuzzy after that, but I still remember the pain and the despair. It was like a part of me was hurting with her. Part of me still does, during some nights.” Jaskier closes his eyes in agony. “When I got out the next morning, no one was there. Our home was wrecked, ruined. There was… There was so much blood, Geralt. I—I couldn’t…”

“Oh, Jaskier.” Geralt watches as Jaskier’s shoulders shake, whimpers choking in his throat. Under the night sky, the bard retreats into himself, making his frame look so much smaller. He sways a little and Geralt extends his hands again, hovering by his elbow. “Can I please touch you now?” he pleads.

With a sniffle, the bard composes himself. He flexes his hands to see if his magic is in check. “I think so, yes—oh.”

Geralt pulls Jaskier in for the tightest hug, his arms wrapping around the bard’s frame protectively. Through the thin fabric of the shirt, he can feel another shiver running down Jaskier’s spine, so he rubs small circles into his back to get some heat back in.

He breathes in Jaskier’s scent, not knowing if the lingering stench of fear is from Ciri or the bard.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Jask…” Geralt keeps murmuring into the soft hair by Jaskier’s temple. Gradually, the bard sags against his shoulder, letting himself be soothed and supported. Geralt then places his lips to the skin under Jaskier’s ear, and then his cheek, his chin, all the while holding him impossibly close. He’s ready to help the empath restore his energy with all the brimming love in his chest. “Do you want me to…”

“No,” the bard shakes his head. “I’m good. For now.”

They stand there for so long, swaying gently while the world sleeps, before the bard speaks up again.

“I looked for her, and him, at so many courts.” Jaskier’s slightly colder fingers rest on the nape of Geralt’s neck, buried into the hair there. “No mage fit his description. No trace of her either. I think that deep down, I already knew that she was gone, even back then. Otherwise, I would have felt her in there somehow. No matter how far away she was, but all I had was just this emptiness. I was alone since then.”

“You are not. Not anymore.”

“No,” Jaskier pulls away, the tears have dried. Geralt brings the pad of his thumb to trace those streaks anyway. Under his touch, Jaskier smiles. “You see, back in Posada, I met this witcher, a dashing and heroic one. He fell for me so hard that he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving without me, so he begged me to become his travel companion.”

“And you agreed?” Geralt chuckles.

“Not at first, but he wore me down eventually.”

The bard is the most ridiculous man Geralt knows, and yet here they are. Shaking his head in amusement, the witcher steers his bard back to their bedrolls. As they settle back into their usual position, Geralt can’t help but pull him closer, making sure they are touching from head to toe.

The cover sets heavily over Jaskier's body, slowly warming up his skin. His heart beats against Geralt’s ribcage steadily, showing with solid proof that the empath has survived those horrors.

“I found you too, Jask,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss between Jaskier’s brows.

“Good.” The bard's reply is muffled by Geralt's skin. Not far from them, Ciri is still breathing evenly, sound asleep. Geralt has everyone he needs to protect right here with him, tucked away from their separate demons.

And yet, his mind drifts to Jaskier's story. It’s a tragedy with no end and no closure. There was never a body to bury, no vengeance to seek either.

Somehow, he doubts that an unfinished story will stay unfinished.

---

Tagging: @rockysstupidity​ @flowercrown-bard​ @alllthequeenshorses​ @mothmanismyuncle​ @theultimatenerdd​ @percy-jackson-is-sexy-​

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

#geraskier #geraskier fic #empath!jaskier #empath au #witcher fic #soft geralt #soft jaskier #hurt/comfort #hurt jaskier #cirilla fiona elen riannon #ciri has a nightmare #cw: past violence

[whitewolfandthefox]

Call of the Wild Part 6

Summary: You meet the man who has been hunting shapeshifters

Words: 4.5k

Series Masterlist

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A/N. Next part, lovelies! Please let me know what you think, reblogs and comments really help me find the motivation to write.

The Sorcerer

You woke slowly, your whole body feeling fuzzy, head hurting. You groaned, sitting up as you lifted a hand to your forehead. The smell of tepid water invaded your senses, forcing you the rest of the way awake. You cracked your eyes open and froze, mind refusing to connect the scene in front of you to where you thought you were supposed to be. Suddenly, your memories of the night before came back to you in a blinding rush.

Kiala coming to warn you, frantic packing, hearing the shouts outside your home, seeing Vissen leading a mob towards you. Friends and family calling for your death, shouting and chasing you. Pain from the blows rained down upon you, shifting, running, hiding, someone help me, please, help, help, help, I don’t want to die-

You pulled yourself from your thoughts, afraid of what would happen if you let yourself sink too deeply. Looking around, you took in your dark surroundings. You were in a small cell, bars forming one side of the room. There was a small bed and a chamber pot, a chair being the only other furniture in the dreary space. The floors were made out of cold stone, the same as the walls. Hearing footsteps echoing around the space, getting closer, you scrambled backwards until you hit the wall, staying as far away from the door as you could. 

A group of men came into view, dressed in dark clothes and armour, except for one. The man in the middle was dressed in intricate robes, a dark maroon embroidered with black detailings along the sleeves and hems. He stared at you in interest. “This is it?” he asked. 

Your upper lip twitched, upset at being called an it, though you didn’t move. A man pushed his way to the front. “Yes, m’Lord, this is the shapeshifter who has been terrorizing our town.”

Your lips pulled back from your teeth in a snarl as you saw who the man was. Vissen.

“Good, good,” the first man said absently, tossing a small bag his way. “Here is the rest of your payment.”

Horror flooded you as you realized that Vissen had thrown you out of your home for money. A growl slipped out of your mouth at that, causing Vissen to blanche and the other man to smile. 

“It does have teeth.” He gestured, and a guard threw your cell door open, the others rushing in. You were quickly apprehended, though you fought, squirming and trying to land blows to free yourself. It quickly ended with you hanging between two men, a third securing you against his chest as the man in maroon robes glided into the room. The man grabbed your face, turning it to examine your features. You growled at him, wrenching your face out of his grip and slamming your head into the nose of the guard restraining you, fighting to get free.

He laughed, a sharp unpleasant sound, ignoring the cursing of the man behind you. You winced as the guards tightened their grip on your arms, keeping you secure between them. Taking a step back, he looks you up and down, examining every inch. You shiver, his gaze is clinical, as if he doesn’t consider you worthy of feelings. At another gesture from him, you are dropped to the floor, pushing yourself away from the men as soon as you hit the ground.

The guards exit your cell, lingering in the hallway as the man seated himself on the chair. You shrunk against the wall, not liking the way his gaze rested on you. After a drawn out silence, he nodded to himself, relaxing back against his seat.

“Welcome to the new world, little creature.” The drawled nickname rankled you. “You have just become part of the research to further the survival of the human race. Not that you are one, of course.” He laughed, a bitter sound.

“You shapeshifters are the key to healing human diseases. With your regenerative powers and your accelerated healing, we could save thousands.” He narrowed his eyes at you. “If I could just figure out how you do it. But that’s why you are here, little creature, to help me discover just what it is that makes you tick.”

“You may call me Master Astarion, little creature, if you address me at all.” He stood as he said this approaching you. “I will teach you what we expect of you during your stay here, so that you will know to behave.”

“I will do no such thing, you bastard,” you hissed, struggling to your feet. The world spun around you as you tried to evade his grasp. His hand brushed you, causing your whole body to stiffen as a wave of burning heat swept through you. You dropped to the floor, writhing in pain at his feet, tears leaking out of your eyes. He crouched next to you, observing your actions with a clinical disinterest. As the fit subsided, your chest heaved with your desperate gasping, struggling to pull breath into your lungs.

 Your screams split the air as he again brushed his hand over you, muttering something under his breath. Lacerations appeared on various parts of your body, skin and muscle splitting to allow the blood within your veins to spill forward, staining your dress and pooling on the cold stone beneath you. Astarion reached into his pocket, staring at you as your back arched off the floor, rigid with pain. It was like nothing you had ever felt, a burning that never ended, setting all of your nerves alight with fire.

“Stop, please, stop, it hurts,” you begged of the man - sorcerer? - who was inflicting this agony upon you. 

“Shhh, I know,” he murmured, almost soothingly. You felt a hand brush down your cheek, but you were in too much pain to care. A pinch to your shoulder caused your eyes to fly open just in time to see the man produce a dagger from his pocket.

In one fluid motion, Astarion buried the dagger into your left shoulder, drawing a choked scream from your throat. Your body slumped, folding in on itself as pain shot out from your shoulder, overwhelming anything else in your body. Sobs wracked your body, breath catching in your throat as you choked on blood, reeling as you tried to deal with the pain surging through your body.

Distantly, you heard the man stand as he brushed his robes off. Stopping in the door, he turned to observe your fallen figure.  “Rest up, little creature, I will be back for you soon.” With that he left, the door to your cell clanging shut behind him.

Curling in on yourself, you dissolved into silent tears, pain overshadowing every thought. Absently, you reached for the warm feeling inside of you associated with Geralt, wrapping yourself in the warmth and trying to forget your situation. As you fell into darkness, you thought you could smell Geralt’s distinctive musky scent, an earthy smell underwritten with the flavour of pine and sweat. 

**~*~*~*~**

Busying himself with stripping and packing Yennefer’s tent, Geralt glanced over his shoulder to see Jaskier chasing Ciri across the clearing as her laughter filled the clearing. “Jaskier, are you and Ciri packed? We need to be ready to leave when Yenn gets back. You know how she is about waiting for you when you’ve been goofing off with Ciri and ignoring your tasks.”

Coming to a stop, Jaskier put his hands on his hips, and offered Geralt an offended look. “I am highly offended that you would even suggest that I wouldn’t finish packing before playing. “ He shushed Ciri as she came alongside him. “I am of course ready to go as soon as you are. Why, it's you and Yenn who are slowing us down!”

Geralt’s lips twitched as a black raven set down behind the bard, ignoring the continuous stream of protests coming from him.

“What about the clothes you have left to dry by the river? You are not bringing those?” Yennefer’s voice caused Jaskier to startle as she appeared behind him. Ciri giggled at her sudden appearance. “Seriously Jaskier, we’ve only been here a few days, how could you possibly have lost them already?

“My- what clothes?” Jaskier spluttered.

“We washed some of your doublets yesterday, Jask, don’t you remember? I was going to remind you, but you were too busy complaining.” At Ciri’s words Jaskier threw his hands up in the air, stalking away to retrieve his forgotten clothing, muttering under his breath about stupid Witchers and sorceresses. 

“Did you find the keep, Yenn?” Geralt demanded, turning to the woman as she fixed her dress from her flight.

She looked up, meeting his gaze as she studied him. “I did. I think they have a new shapeshifter they are experimenting on; they brought someone into the keep late last night.” This revelation drew a growl from Geralt. “You have never been so invested before, Geralt. What changed?”

He said nothing as he continued staring at her before looking away. “I don’t know, I just have this feeling that-”

He cut himself off as he staggered, hand flying to clutch at his left shoulder as pain shot through it, as if stabbed. 

“Geralt!” Ciri was immediately at his side, supporting him as he regained his equilibrium, Yennefer also moving towards him.

“I’m ok, my shoulder just burned for a moment.” he reassured her, patting her shoulder as he stood, pulling back his tunic to look at his shoulder, marked with nothing but old scars. He raised his eyes to meet Yennefer’s gaze. She was looking at him with a perturbed expression on her face. 

“What happened?” She reached out to touch his shoulder before hissing as she snatched her hand back as if burned. Stretching her fingers out, she examined them before looking back at her companions, both staring at her with confused expressions. “I felt someone else’s presence there, just for a moment. It felt almost like a…” she trailed off. 

“A what, Yenn?” Ciri inquired, Geralt staring at her with an almost guilty expression on his face. 

“Never mind, Ciri. I thought I felt something but I was wrong, it wasn’t what I thought. Would you mind going to help Jaskier collect his clothes? We need to leave soon.” She smiled gently at the girl as she sent her off after the bard before spinning and pinning Geralt with a glare.

“Geralt! I can’t believe you! Why would you leave that incomplete? Do you know how dangerous that is?” Geralt stared back at Yennefer with an unreadable gaze as she ranted at him. “You should know better! Of all the things you could have done, leaving that unfinished was the absolute worst choice! You could get seriously hurt if anything happened!”

“I didn’t know I had started one!” Geralt stalked away, tension radiating from his posture. “And I know the dangers, Yenn! I wouldn’t have left it unfinished, I would have…” he trailed off as Yennefer came to stand beside him, posture softening as she placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“I know, Geralt,” she murmured. “We’ll figure it out.”

**~*~*~*~**

You drifted on a haze of pain, never really surfacing, never going under. You could hear voices moving around as you felt yourself being shifted.

“Show me your other form and the pain will stop. Just change, I need to see your demon form, little creature.”

Sobbing, you shook your head. 

The pain increased, back arching, nerves feeling as if they had been set alight. 

You couldn’t give in.

The burning pain came again, screams tearing their way out of your throat, voice breaking. You remember pleading, no, please, don’t hurt me, I can’t give you what you want, I don’t know what you want, stopstopstopstop. Stop, I want to go home, please stop, please stop, let me go home, ithurtsithurtsithurts.

Geralt. Help.

Again you reached for that warmth, that string that you felt extending from you, cloaking yourself in its presence. You floated, trying to distance yourself from the pain, time passing as you sheltered within the presence.

“Just change, you little bitch! I need to see your shape shifter form!”

You could feel the knives, the pain, the warm blood pooling beneath your body as it cooled against the stone. Could feel the hands on your skin, in your skin, poking and prodding at you. Diving deep down, you curled your mind around your heart, hiding deep within yourself to escape the pain.

**~*~*~*~**

Geralt fell to his knees, pain surging through him as Ciri cried out, Yennefer reaching for him, concern in her eyes, Jaskier frozen in place.

**~*~*~*~**

A sharp pain brought you back to awareness, your head spinning with blood loss. “It’s coming around, just give it another moment.”

Astarion’s face swam in your vision before solidifying, a sharp grin on his face. “There it is. Welcome back, little creature.”

You shot up to a sitting position, shuffling backwards until you hit the wall. Astarion was crouched in the middle of the room watching you, now dressed in dark pants and a loose grey tunic. He toyed with a dagger in his hand, the same one that he stabbed you with, you realized. Your hand came up to your shoulder, finding the wound scabbed over and tender to touch. Finding it mostly healed, you scrabbled at your arms, finding the same thing there, that the wounds that have been inflicted on you - hours? days? - before were sealed over, thin pink lines the only evidence they had ever been there.

“It’s quite remarkable isn’t it?” The words jolted you from your thoughts, pulling your attention back to the sorcerer. “A few days and you’re almost as good as new.”

“And just to think you disgusting creatures can heal like that. I don’t understand why your kind have been given this ability and my family had to die.” A sneer pulled his upper lip back from his teeth. “But that is no matter. Soon I will discover what your healing stems from and I will be able to share it with the rest of the human race. No one will have to die needlessly.”

As he said this, he approached you, dagger still in his hand. A tear ran down your face but you didn’t move, too tired to muster the energy. Astarion traced your features with the dagger, your eyes closing as another tear slid down your face. “It’s a shame to ruin such a fine specimen; you have healed exceptionally well, little creature. I will let you rest for now, I need to look over my notes. I will visit you again tomorrow morning, not to worry.” 

Suddenly he struck, burying the dagger in your stomach. Your breath left you as if punched, body curling to protect yourselves from any other blows. At your actions, or lack thereof, Astarion frowned.

“Hmm,” his eyes narrowed, “I thought for sure that would make you change.”

With his last remark, he stood and left your cell, leaving you lying on the floor, shivers wracking your body as the blood cooled beneath you. You reached a shaky hand down to press it against your stomach, hissing when the blade sliced your palm. You lay there for what felt like hours as the blood slowed, scabs starting to form around the wound. You grasped the hilt, yanking it out as you muffled a scream into your shoulder, pressing as hard as you could with both hands.

As the heaviness pressed in closer, you could feel the familiar warmth consume you. You went to it willingly, felt the world shift. You opened your eyes to see the world with sharper sight, heaving yourself to a standing position and yelping at the pull in your abdomen. You nosed at your side gently, seeing blood still glistening in your fur; the skin underneath was intact, although irritated and tender.

Lifting your head, you surveyed the room. The coppery scent of blood was strong, tinged with a bitter something underneath, of what you weren’t sure. You wrinkled your nose at it, not liking the smell. You took a hesitant step forward, feeling the slippery stones beneath your paws, coated in your blood. Your wounds pulled, but the pain was bearable. You began exploring the room, limping towards the edge of the room as your left shoulder protested the action.

It was rundown, an old castle that hadn’t seen occupants in decades. You had explored the surrounding area as a child before someone disappeared, after which your town kept well away from it. You knew that some of the outer walls had started falling apart, and hoped that this one was one of them.

Snuffling along the edge of the floor, you caught a whiff of fresh air. Darting towards it, you found a small hole in the wall, enough to allow a breeze into the room. You wouldn’t have noticed it had your senses not been enhanced.

Your heart sunk. There was no way you would fit through that whole, it was far too small for you. Closing your eyes, you nudged at the hole half-heartedly, despairing that you were so close to escaping, but not able to.

As you pushed, you felt some of the wall give way, a rush of air and dust filling the space. You ducked your head, rubbing your eyes on your leg in an attempt to remove the dust from them before observing the space. Although still not big enough, it was closer to your size now. Your heart lifted slightly as you ducked your head to push at the stones again, using your front paws to push the excess material out of the way.

Suddenly, your head pushed through the opening into the forest, your eyes rapidly adjusting to the change in light. It was dark out, a waxing crescent moon hung high in the sky providing little to no illumination.

Pulling yourself back in, you pushed the rest of the material aside, widening the hole enough for your small body to fit through. As you were finishing the opening, you heard footsteps coming down the hall. Shifting back, you slumped against the wall to hide the opening.

Vissen rounded the corner and stopped in front of your cell. You glared at him as you felt hatred bubbling up within you. This man was the reason you were here in the first place, his greed had driven him to do unspeakable things. He leered at you.

“Bet you are regretting rejecting me now, bitch.” Rage swept through you as you realized that he had done this as revenge. You schooled your features, the anger that was boiling within you threatening to spill over. “No words for me? I’m glad I didn’t take you as my wife now, a beast like you could never love anyone. You just maim and murder; I did the town a favour by ridding them of you.”

“You know nothing -” you cut yourself off, stopping your movement as you leaned towards him, hands itching to wrap around his throat.

“What do I not know?” he taunted.

When you didn’t respond, his smirk grew larger. Something sparked in his eyes. “Too tired to move, sweetheart?” Your skin crawled at his words. “Perhaps I will just have to help you.”

Moving slowly, he unlatched your cell, stalking towards where you sat motionless on the floor. Come a little bit closer, you bastard, and you’ll be able to help me so much more.

When he was within reach, you leapt, pulling at his arms, hands forcing him to the ground as you reached for this throat. In your weakened state, he quickly overcame you, rolling so that he was pinning you to the ground, hands on your shoulders, hot breath against your neck. “Even if you didn’t want me, I will still have you, my sweet.”

You squirmed as his hands roamed lower, tears burning in the back of your eyes. You fought desperately, reaching for the power within you, covering yourself with it like a blanket, body shrinking as you shifted. You sank your teeth into his hand, gripping as hard as you could, letting go when he started flailing, small body flying through the air to hit the wall. You yelped at the impact, pain flashing through you before you rolled to your feet, shaking your head to clear the fog.

He wailed, clutching his hand to his chest as he rolled to his knees. “You demon!” He froze as you regained your feet, a low growl rumbling out of your chest. “I’ll show you! Guards! Help! She’s changed, she’s - ack!”

At his words you leapt, aiming for his chest. Your weight knocked him to the ground, landing on his chest as you snarled, lips pulled back from your teeth. As Vissen flailed, you jumped forward and ripped his throat out with your teeth. The man slowly went still, gurgling as his death rattle left his chest.

You rolled off his body, going still as you stared at the man choking on his blood. You had killed someone. I didn’t mean to! Gods, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry! Staggering to the side, your front legs collapsed as you retched, trying to rid yourself of the taste in your mouth.

Horrified at what you did, you backed away, eyes not leaving the body of the man you once knew. You could hear the shouts and footsteps getting closer. You turned, rushing towards the hole you had made, slipping out of it and disappearing into the night, the sounds of men rising behind you as the body was discovered and a search party organized. As you ran, you tried to forget the taste of copper on your tongue, forget the body you were leaving behind.

**~*~*~*~**

After Geralt had collapsed, Yennefer had insisted that they stop for the night. Geralt had protested at first, but gave in as more waves of pain washed over him. Jaskier had motherhenned the larger man for the rest of the evening, Ciri tucked into his side. Every once in a while Geralt would flinch, and Yennefer would stare at him with a knowing look. Geralt wouldn’t say anything, just staring back, a challenge in his face. 

Once Jaskier and Ciri had fallen asleep, Yennefer gestured at Geralt, the two of them standing and moving a little farther from their fire. 

“What’s her name?” Yennefer fixes him with a piercing look that said he better tell her what was going on or he wouldn’t like the consequences. 

Geralt sighed, running a hand over his face. “Y/N.” His voice was pained, expression tight. “She was a healer that found me in the woods. I had been injured, ambushed by a monster, and when she healed me, she had a conduit moment. I stayed a few days to help her learn more about our kind.”

Yennefer stayed silent, marvelling at the softness that had crept into her companion’s eyes as he spoke. “She was kind, didn’t judge me for being a Witcher or for being a shapeshifter, even before she knew she was one. It was easy with her, it felt right to be with her.” He turned to Yennefer. “It wasn’t intentional, I just… It just happened.” 

“You need to go find her.” Geralt started at Yennefer’s words. “This could harm both of you and something has clearly happened, I’ve seen you flinching all day. Don’t argue with me, Geralt.” She held a hand up as he opened his mouth to protest. “I need you at your best and you aren’t while you’re separated.” 

His body slumped, a sigh escaping from between his lips. “Okay.” His response was quiet. “I’ll go tomorrow.”

Yennefer was surprised; she had expected Geralt to have put up more of a fight on this. This girl really was something if she could make Geralt listen, even when not present. “We will go tomorrow. We are not separating, Geralt, not this close to the sorcerer. I will not risk any of us.”

Geralt nodded as she turned back towards their camp. He followed her to the fire, laying down on his bedroll as his thoughts turned to you. Your face and voice filled his dreams that night; he could hear you calling out to him. Sleep did not come easily.

The next morning, Jaskier and Ciri were confused when Yennefer told them they were making a stop before they went to the keep where the sorcerer had been hiding, but quickly fell into step when she mentioned something about another shapeshifter. Geralt was even quieter than normal as they travelled, growing more tense the closer they got to their destination. 

When Jaskier started singing, trying to amuse Ciri and annoy Yennefer, Geralt snapped at him to be quiet. When Ciri asked to ride with Geralt on Roach he pulled her up, but only grunted at her questions rather than answering them as he usually did. Realizing the severity of the matter, both Ciri and Jaskier fell quiet, their conversations subdued as they travelled.

It was dark when they arrived, the small pack finally turning a corner to see a little house set back in the woods. Geralt was flinching at anything that spooked him, Roach nervous beneath him, having picked up on her master’s emotions. Reaching the gate, he quickly dismounted, shoulders relaxing as the house appeared to be untouched. A small smile pulled at the corner of his lips as he approached the door, knocking gently to alert you to his presence. “Y/N? It’s me, I’m back.”

“Y/N?” Jaskier whispered, turning to Yennefer. “Who is that?” Ciri popped her head out from behind him, curious as to the answer to her counterpart’s question.

As Yennefer opened her mouth to answer, they heard the sound of a body against wood, the door breaking beneath Geralt’s shoulder as he forced entry to the house, disappearing through the entrance. His three companions quickly ran after him, freezing in the doorway at the sight of Geralt. He was standing motionless in the middle of the trashed room, looking down at something in his hands. Tables and chairs were upturned, books scattered across the floor, 

He turned slowly to look at them, a dagger that they recognized as the twin to his own held in his hands. His face was emotionless, but his eyes told a different story. His golden eyes were full of anguish, a storm of horror and guilt washing through them.

“Geralt?” Yennefer took a hesitant step forward, hand reaching out to do what, she wasn’t sure.

Geralt slowly sunk to the floor, staring at the dagger cradled gently in his hands. At the sound of Yennefer approaching, he lifted his head, face filled with fear.

“She’s gone.”

**~*~*~*~**

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[jaskierswolf]

The Love We Have

Part 3/5 - AO3 - Previous

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

Ship: Geraskier

Rating: T

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

________

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

After that Jaskier was out like a light.

Which was totally unfair.

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

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

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

Geralt nodded.

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

“Chores, Jask.”

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

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

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

__________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

A fool.

An utter fool.

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

“Oh fuck,” he finally muttered aloud.

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

Four sets of golden eyes were watching him.

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

_____________

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

As more than a friend?

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

Fuck!

Why couldn’t he have just said something?

Why didn’t Geralt?

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

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

“Jaskier?”

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

“I’m sorry, Jask.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Geralt?”

“I’m outside.”

“Oh.”

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

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

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

“Hmm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But…”

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

“Jask,”

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

“What?!”

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

#the witcher #geraskier #kaer morhen #fake dating #wolfie’s witcher writing

[afterhoursfic]

[1/2] [noncon ~21 yr old jask] jasksier walking down the street, he's been disowned by his rich family, makes lives in a shady part of town with the money he makes at a barmaid (what the fuck is that word in modern english i legit dont remember ive read so much fic😂) Geralt works in the mafia under Vesemir, he's his second-hand man, and sees Jaskier walking alone at night, humming something under his breath. Loves his carefree innocence and wants to /ruin it/. omg i love the guns kink so much😂

2/2Pullshim into an alley, cigarette in his mouth, presses gun to small of Jaskier's back "stay still or ill shoot you." Rips his clothes off, fucks him however you'd like (i imagine hard, rough, and not too painless), and then shoves a gun inside him (which is probably equally painful, if not more), just for funsies, doesnt care that his cum's gonna fuck with his gun's upkeep. "Is that loaded?" "Keep talking and youll find out" afterwards, geralt lets him go and jask asks "was it loaded" "yes."

.

Warning: non con, gun kink

Hope you like it, and no worries barman/barmaid or barista I believe is the modern term anyway so you’re good XD

.

It was bordering 2 am and he was very quickly losing interest in whatever deal he was supposed to be making with the fucker now 20 minutes late,. He had only stayed out so long so he could watch as the main street filtered out with people in various drunken stages, from the poor sods acting as chaperones to the ones who couldn't keep their liquor down and threw it all up on the pavement, it was interesting in its own weird way watching as other people went about their lives none the wiser as to the sort of dealings that went on in the dark.

With that thought, he deemed the meeting important enough to wait until he finished his cigarette, after that he would go home, get pleasantly buzzed on whiskey and maybe even hire some company for the evening and let Vesemir deal with the fallout tomorrow. Not that he expected a bollocking, he was punctual as always and if their clients weren't of a similar mind then it wasn't worth the business.

Eyes still watching the dwindling nightlife he caught sight of a boy leaving one of the clubs, a boy being what he was for he could barely be legal, and his eyes caught on the embroidered shirt he wore and the dark denim jeans that looked as if they'd been tailored to accentuate his ass. It was clear the boy came from money and he briefly wondered whether there may be a job in trying to blackmail the boy's parents, he half expected a car to come and pick him up given the late hour but instead, the boy wrapped his arms around himself before he ventured away from the road and down an alley he knew to be a shortcut into dingier part of town, the part where most people didn't bother to hide most of their dealings, and curiosity piqued, he followed.

He kept his distance for a while, his ears barely catching the tune the boy was whistling as he kicked a rock when he walked, the cliche sign of someone down on their luck if he'd ever seen it. It was apparent the boy had been through some sort of hardship, his clothes were tailored, his hair artfully styled and even 10 paces back he could smell the expensive cologne he was wearing, and yet the boy was out long after dark when mummy and daddy would worry after their protege and he was heading towards trouble in this neighborhood. He had been through hardship, yes, but there was an innocence to him from the way he kicked at the rock like a child to how he hummed a familiar tune and he found that he wanted.

Wanted to ruin the kids' boyish innocence and leave him broken and ravaged on the roadside and so, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, he pulled the gun from his waistband and picked up his pace until he was able to reach forward with his free hand and grab his hair to pull him deeper into the alley whilst he lifted the gun to press against his temple as he leaned forward to whisper in the boy's ear "Don't scream, I'd hate to ruin that pretty face of yours"

Shoving the boy into the nearest wall he kicked his legs apart to make space for himself before pushing up behind him so there was nowhere for him to go, he pressed against the boys back and forced him harshly into the wall before he slowly ground his growing erection to press against the boys' ass, taking far too much enjoyment from the small whimper he heard from the boy before he tried to turn his head to face him.

"Just take my money, I don't-"

"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to go out after dark little bird"

"Please, just let-"

"I don't think you're in any place to be making demands" Gun still fixed to the boys' temple he began pawing at the front of his shirt to try and loosen the buttons but after it took far too long to undo just the first one he grabbed at the almost silk like material and using his teeth to help get a grip on the material, managed to rip it off the boy's chest before he leaned forward to kiss and nip his teeth at his throat, feeling his dick twitch as he heard the boy panting in small uneven breaths as he bit his bottom lip as if trying to keep back the noises he wanted to make.

Shirt gone, he let his free hand trail across his chest to tug harshly at a nipple, pulling and pinching it between his fingers until the boy let out a pained cry which only caused him to shove the barrel of his gun under the boy's chin with the whispered command to be quiet, earning another whimper, before he moved to the other nipple to give it the same treatment.

Once the boy's nipples were red and hard under his hand he pulled away just far enough to tug at the waistband of his jeans to pull them along with his underwear down to his ankles, effectively trapping his legs before once again moving to stand between them, forcing the boy to press against the cold, brick wall as his still clothed dick now strained at the denim to press in the crease of the boys bare ass.

When he brought two fingers up to the boy's mouth, at first he resisted, the boy's mouth remaining firmly closed even as he tried to force it open, a feat much harder one handed so instead he moved those fingers to rub against the boy's hole, dry, pressing one of them in just barely but enough that he felt the boy clench tightly against the intrusion, soft pleas to stop falling from his lips.

"I'm fucking you one way or the other, depends how easy you want to make it on yourself" With that, he pulled his fingers away from the boy's hole and back in front of his mouth "Last chance"

He couldn't help but growl into the boy's neck as he felt a wet tongue begin to lick at the tips of his fingers, only he didn't have time to wait for the boy to kitten lick his fingers, hell he didn't want to wait so instead just shoved them straight down the boy's throat, letting out a small moan as he felt the boy gag around them and try to get any control back. He didn't let him, he just fucked his fingers into his mouth three, four, five times before pulling them out before he crouched down behind the boy, and using the gun, moved one of his ass cheeks to the side so that he could get a view of his hole before spitting on it, chuckling as he heard the boy moan and watched his hole clench and unclench at the warm spit before he stood back up and unceremoniously pushed the first finger in, he wasn't a brute after all.

As he began fucking the boy with one finger, quickly making it two, he trailed the barrel of his gun along the boy's stomach, side, across his neck, chuckling as he felt his muscles clench and small shivers pass through him whilst he began to suck a series of dark hickies onto the boy's neck.

Just as soon as he'd started, he was pulling his fingers out and in a quick movement had his dick out and slicked with spit before the tip was pressed against the boy's hole, taking far too much enjoyment at the way he felt it clench against him, already awaiting that tight heat as he began to push in, whatever protest the boy may have tried to make died on his lips and instead became a pained cry which was quickly muffled by shoving his face into the wall, as he pushed even deeper, all but grinding his teeth to try and keep control, to drag it out as long as possible as the boy whimpered around his cock.

When he was fully seated in the boy he pulled back a little just to watch as he pulled about halfway out before quickly thrusting back in, letting out a growl at the pained whimper from the boy as he began to pick up his pace and really fuck into the boy.

He had been reduced to somewhat animalistic grunts as he fucked into the boy with fervor, made better by every cry and whimper and pained groan that seemed to come out of the boy every other thrust that made him just want to fuck harder, to get deeper until the boy was nothing more than a simpering mess around his cock.

It was on one thrust that had caused the boy to shout that had him stop, pressing him close to the wall so he could breathe in his ear, gun teasing under his chin "Thought I told you to keep quiet"

"I'm sorry, I pro-" With the boy's mouth open he quickly shoved the tip of his gun past his lips, all but feeling the boys distress as his whole body clenched in fear, his hole now had a death grip on his cock as he carried on fucking into him causing him to groan as he tried to fuck even harder into him as he neared his release "Best be good little bird, wouldn't want to see you get hurt"

He could practically hear the scowl from the boy at that, he knew the irony of course, the promise not to hurt him with a gun in his mouth whilst he fucked his ass with no lube and little prep, he just didn't care and ignored whatever attempts the boy tried to make to get his mouth off the gun and instead forced it just a little bit deeper as his thrusts started to become uneven and desperate as he neared the edge of his release.

It was when he moved his thumb to take the safety off of the gun still in the boy's mouth, causing the boy to panic and try to squirm and thrash to get out of his hold that caused him to clench even tighter on his cock that he finally came with a long groan, letting the boy's movement milk as much come from his cock as he slowly rode out the aftershocks until they were standing there, the boy tense in his arms as he leisurely began to fuck the tip of his gun in his mouth just for something to do.

He ventured his free hand down to the boy's half hard dick and with a smirk on his face and a warning to keep quiet, he both pulled out of the boy's hole and took the gun out of his mouth.

"That thing isn't loaded is it?" He doesn't give an answer as with his free hand he pushed between the boy's shoulder blades to keep him fixed to the wall whilst he began to toy the edge of his gun at the boy's rim, feeling him tense up even more if that were possible "Is it loaded? Please don't, I don't want-"

"Keep talking and you'll find out" He then pushed the barrel past the boy's rim, just a bit thicker than his own dick, and into his hole, already slick with spit from the boy's mouth, but given the pained hiss and the small grunts with every little twist of the wrist, it was a lot to take. He angled the gun just a little as he began to thrust it a little deeper into the boy and it was when his breath hitched he knew he'd found the boys prostate and did his best to abuse it.

A part of him lamented the loss of his gun, already his come was starting to leak out the boy's hole even with the gun in him and he didn't want to think what inside the barrel would look like, but in his business guns were as easy to come by as candy so he didn't mourn too long as he watched the boy slowly get harder as he was fucked by his gun, unable to stop himself from burying his face into the boy's neck to hear every breathless pant and barely held moan.

"You like being fucked by my gun? Such a dirty bitch, you'll get off to anything that's fucking you" With that, he wrapped a hand around the boy's dick and stroked in time with the thrusts of his gun "Beg for me to let you come, tell me how good it is to get fucked by my gun little bird" When there was no answer he tightened his grip around the boys cock until he cried out in pain "I said beg" his voice was deeper, darker, one that brooked no argument and he smiled just a little into the boy's neck when he felt him relax just a little in defeat.

"Please, please let me come" The words were strained but his orders were followed at least so slowly he began to stroke the boys cock again "Your gun feels so good in me, I'm such a slut and your gun fills me so well" again the words are monotonous and only being said because the boy had to but it still does the job and he's sure that even then if he hadn't come already, those words would have done it.

Instead, he doubled down his efforts, stroking the boys cock furiously whilst rubbing the barrel of the gun on his prostate until the boy is shaking against him as he comes. It's only when he's stopped shaking that he pulls the gun out, wiping the edge of it against the boy's side as he leaned to whisper in his ear "To answer your question little bird"

He quickly pointed the gun deep into the alley and fired, laughing when he felt the boy jolt in his arms at the loud bang that left behind a deafening silence. Without wasting much more time he tucked his dick back into his pants and his gun back into his waistband before turning to the boy, still frozen where he was left against the wall, not even daring to breathe,

"You should be more careful out there little bird, next person may not be as nice as me" With that he gave a light smack to the boy's ass, and seemed to finally get him into motion and scramble to put what on what was left of his clothes, not bothering to spare him a glance as he pulled out and lit a cigarette before he turned back into the alley to head back towards the club.

#afterhours cw non con #afterhours cw gun kink

[whumpernickel]

so, i finally actually wrote something. i already posted this on ao3, but i was too nervous to share it here until id also finished this other fic i was writing, cuz i like that one a lot better than this one. and since i finished that second one, i figured id share both!

so heres the first work ive shared probably since i was thirteen: some needlessly angsty and sappy post episode-6 witcher fanfic because i have no shame (thats a lie) and zero self-control

Jaskier and Geralt had gone for much longer than this without seeing each other, but this had somehow felt like their longest time spent apart ever. He'd been anxious to see Jaskier – eager, almost. But... their greeting had been awkward, tense, brief- nothing Jaskier ever said was brief -and Geralt felt no small amount of fear at what any of this meant. It made the hairs at the back of his neck rise like a stalked animal's.

It was wrong.

There was so much unspoken, unaddressed, and hanging in the air over them, Geralt could feel it nearly tangible. For once, Geralt broke the silence first.

"What I said... before," he began, noting the way Jaskier tensed. "I know it was wrong."

Jaskier cleared his throat uncomfortably. "No. No, it uh..." he swallowed, "it wasn't."

"It was-"

"No," he insisted more firmly. "Trust me, I've had a lot of time and space to reflect on this, and you weren't wrong – I was stupidly selfish. With the djinn, with the betrothal celebration, with Yen, with... just everything, every one of those times. I was acting only for myself, and no one else, and bad things happened to good people for it. You wouldn't be in such a horrific fucking mess right now if not for- if I had just thought first, for one fucking second in my life. I never think, and..." He took a measured, steadying breath. "Well, I can't imagine I could ever deserve your forgiveness, but, at the very least, you deserve my apology." He met Geralt's eyes now. "And I am sorry. I truly am, Geralt."

Geralt expected to feel some kind of relief at the eye-contact, at the sound of his name spoken once again in his friend's voice, a blessed familiarity after months without it. And it was still there, that vague feeling of home in each other when neither of them really had much of a home otherwise, but it was tainted. The burdened remorse in Jaskier's words turned any sweetness Geralt might have found in them sour. He frowned.

"You... Jaskier, you don't deserve my forgiveness."

Jaskier winced and turned his attention purposefully to the floorboards.</p>

"I know-"

"No, I don't think you do know." Geralt grabbed Jaskier by the shoulders and ducked his head to intercept the man's averted gaze. "You've done nothing that warrants apology."

Jaskier gave an uncomfortable laugh and fidgeted under the attention. "...Okay, I think we both know that's not true – There are reasons- and some admittedly valid ones -that I'm banned from certain taverns, villages, kingdoms- I mean, no amount of lute-playing-"

"You know what I mean."

"Well, yes, but I don't understand it."

Jaskier met his eyes evenly, now, as if daring Geralt to try to rationalize it to him and certain he was placing a bet he couldn't lose.

Geralt felt his chest ache – guilt, confusion; worst of all, pity. He hated seeing pity thrown his way, and so he hated pitying others, especially anyone that meant something. But he couldn't help the twinge of pain at the realization that some part of Jaskier had believed Geralt up on that mountain all those months ago. Geralt knew better than anyone that the only way you could so comfortably and unquestioningly accept the poison fed to you by others was if you were already drinking the same poison from your own hand and calling it "water." He couldn't bear to imagine his so-spirited, so-confident friend doing this, but the evidence was there.

"I shouldn't have said the things I said," Geralt asserted. "They're not true."

Jaskier's eyes widened, almost imperceptibly, and he started to shake his head.

"Jaskier, I'm sor-"

"Please don't."

It was fragile and small, and Geralt almost questioned if it had actually been spoken aloud at all.

"Jas-"

"No, you- you can't take it back now," Jaskier said more audibly, shoving at Geralt's arms in a weak attempt to force some distance between them, "I was just starting to get over y- to... to get over what happened. And, if you take it back, now, then- then... Just don't take it back."

"I can't do this without..."

"Yes, actually, you can." Jaskier's face lit up hopefully, desperately. "You have."

"I don't want to."

"Then find someone."

Someone.

Geralt hadn't just meant he couldn't do this alone. Though he couldn't, of course – but that didn't matter, because he wasn't alone, anymore. Yet, even as not-alone as he was, he still didn't feel whole.

A huff of frustration forced its way out of his nose. How was he supposed to say any of that?

"Who?" Geralt intended it to be rhetorical, but Jaskier took the question at face-value and barreled on.

"Yennefer!- What about Yennefer?" he offered eagerly, "Of Vengerberg?" as if there were any question as to which Yennefer he meant, "Surely you two have made up by now, I mean even I'll admit you're somewhat of a power couple – but, y'know, extra emphasis on 'power.' Or- Or if not, then Téa? You seemed to like her and her man-killing prowess, yes?- I mean, I sure did, her and Véa, whoo, they are... terrifying. I'm sure they must take some time off from Borch-guarding, no? No, you're right, probably not. Then how about the child surprise- they are your destiny, after all, you're welcome for that – Or, if you're looking for a bard, specifically, there are plenty of others – not as good as me of course, but decent enough- I know a guy who-"

"Jaskier."

"What? No good? I mean, I suppose you could always put out an ad-"

"Jask."

Jaskier's nervous rambling died off in a shaky breath that sounded like it was meant to be a laugh, and he turned his full attention back to Geralt cautiously. His forced smile wavered at the soft sobriety in Geralt's expression.

Geralt dropped his hands from Jaskier's arms and took half a step back, ignoring his fear at giving the man enough space to walk away again.

"If you really mean it," Geralt stressed, "then I will leave you alone." A selfish something inside of him twisted at hearing the words out loud, but he let them hang in the air anyway, committed to respecting whatever answer Jaskier gave next.

"...Alright."

"Do you mean it?"

The silence that followed was more stifling than any yet that Geralt had had to endure in the bard's absence. Heavy and air-stealing.

Despite the uncertain pause, there was a sudden sureness on Jaskier's face that scared Geralt, and he instinctively braced himself as Jaskier opened his mouth to answer.

"No."

Geralt exhaled in silent relief. He hadn't noticed the breath caught in his chest until the moment he released it. He composed himself quickly; a show of weakness could probably help his case dramatically in winning back Jaskier's companionship, but it was tough enough showing as much vulnerability as he already had. Unlearning such a habit as ingrained into him as this one was like tearing a security blanket away from a homesick toddler, and the homesick toddler in Geralt was already veering dangerously into tantrum territory.

Despite the vulnerability of all this, he felt a noticeable lightness in his chest. Jaskier didn't hate him enough to never want to see him again – that was something. He'd take what he could get and he'd take it gladly.

He was trying to figure out what to say next – Geralt felt cursed, sometimes, with only being lightning-quick with his response if it was a wounding insult or a wordless grunt – but Jaskier figured it out before he did.

"Did you mean it?" he turned Geralt's question back on him.

Geralt blinked. "Did...?"

Jaskier looked at him pointedly.

"Oh."

Geralt felt shame and regret draw his shoulders up toward his ears, and he looked away.

"I... I thought I did," he admitted.

"I thought you did, too."

"I'm... sorry, Jaskier, I... You..." The words still wouldn't come to him.

Geralt didn't do words, but even he could see that there weren't many he could use to fix something that clearly went deeper than just some hurtful accusations thrown carelessly about on a godsforsaken mountaintop somewhere.

He shut his mouth, frowned.

Caring was so much more complicated than he always feared it would be. It wasn't just kill the monster, claim the reward, and go on pretending it didn't matter to him what happened after he left, anymore. The stakes were higher, more personal. This kind of care wasn't the kind that was a whole town of faces where none grabbed his attention long enough to be committed to memory, it was individual faces that he knew and recognized, faces that meant something – and this face was Jaskier's, one of the faces that meant the most. He wanted to reach out and erase the worried furrow between his brows, the tired shadows under his eyes, the modest handful of scars he'd amassed over the years traveling with Geralt.

But he'd leave the crow's feet – those held mostly happy memories.

Jaskier was one of those few people he so desperately wanted in his life, but wished didn't have to experience the hurt of it all.

"Jaskier, you..."

The concept Geralt was still trying ever valiantly to skirt around was family. And his was so very small and fragile, he couldn't bear to lose one piece of it, not for anything...

"You should really meet Ciri," he decided.

Jaskier brightened at this, a small smile crinkling his eyes. "You found her," he said.

Geralt nodded, a smile of his own taking shape.

"Alright. Lead the way."

#the witcher #the witcher fic #jaskier #geralt #angst #this is just #more angst than im even comfortable with lol #but here take it #witcher spoilers #wrudy writes #im not sorry for that tag

[jaskierswolf]

38 Geraskier? If it’s not too much trouble, thanks Wolfie!

This got away from me! This is why it takes a while to fill prompts. I cannot write anything under 500 words. I was going for a 5 +1 format but it ended up being 2+1... anyhoo. Enjoy!

#38 Everyone thinks we’re already dating, but we’re just best friends- oh wait

_______

Yennefer

Geralt was sat opposite Yennefer at a fancy restaurant. His shirt collar was almost choking him and the fabric felt far too stiff and starchy for his liking but Yen was important to him. It was their last chance to get this right and he’d done everything he could think of to impress her. He wanted to be right for her. He didn’t want to lose her. They weren’t well suited but the thought of losing her just filled him with dread. He wasn’t sure if she would stick around if they weren’t dating and her company had become invaluable to him.

Yen sipped at her cocktail through the silver straw. Her red lipstick leaving stains on the metal. She gazed at him cooly across the table with her stunning violet eyes. He was rambling on nervously about some shit Jaskier had gotten himself into the day before in attempt to stop the conversation from drying up.

“Geralt.” Yen said calmly in between sips of her drink. Geralt’s mouth snapped shut and he tensed up. He knew this had been coming but he wished… he just wished they could be good. “What the fuck are you trying to do here?”

“I don’t understand.” He grunted, prolonging the inevitable. He picked at his food. Even his pie and chips had ended up being some deconstructed shit. Chips were chips, not some weird potato mush streaked across the plate.

“Was this supposed to be a date, Geralt?” Yen sighed with a roll of her eyes. “I didn’t realise Jaskier was the sharing sort?”

Geralt choked on the carrot ball he’d just popped in his mouth. “Sharing? Jaskier?”

“Well he is your boyfriend.” Yen raised an eyebrow.

“He’s what?!” _________

Priscilla

Jaskier stuck his tongue out as he carefully brushed the vibrant pink nail varnish over his toes. Geralt was out with Yennefer on a date, breaking Jaskier’s heart for the umpteenth time in the process, so he’d invited Pris over for a girl’s night in to sooth the pain. They were half a bottle of vodka in and he was really regretting that now as he struggled not to smear his nail varnish.

Priscilla’s hands covered his and took the bottle and brush from his hands. He pouted as he stared up at her. “Let me.” She insisted.

He scoffed and waved his hand.

Ok so when he said they were half a bottle of vodka in…. that maybe kinda was sort of all him…. maybe. “M’fine!” He protested but let his head fall back on the pillows as she took his foot carefully into her lap and continued his pitiful attempts to paint his nails.

“Mhmm.” She agreed. “Sure. I’ve ordered pizza. I think you’ll need it. You owe me big time, Jask.”

“S’not my fault. It’s Geralt’s fault!” He babbled. “And Yennefer. Damn witch! Bloody seductress. Fuck.” He groaned and pulled his arms to his chest. His heart fucking ached and he felt so empty.

“Did he at least break up with you kindly?” Pris asked with shining cornflower blue eyes that matched his own, a present from their mother. “I have contacts. He will pay sorely for this.”

Jaskier choked on his own breath and propped himself up, ignoring the spinning in his head. “Break up with me?” He asked. “Why would he need to break up with me?!”

Priscilla furrowed her brow. “Because you were dating?” She asked with a tilt of her head.

“Noooo….” Jaskier elongated the word with a shake of his head. The movement made the whole room spin and he had to close his eyes to stop the nausea. “No. We weren’t.” _________

Geralt and Jaskier

Geralt raced home from the restaurant, fleeing the table and promising Yen that he would pay her back. He had to get to Jaskier. Fuck. Had he really been so blind to his friend’s affections? He’d had a crush on his housemate since university but Jaskier flirted so opening and charmingly with every person he met except for Geralt that Geralt had be resigned to the fact he would only ever be Jaskier’s friend.

Jaskier.

The one constant thing in his life. Even Yen flitted in and out as she pleased but Jaskier stayed. He wanted to stay. Geralt had grown used to the close intimacy of friendship with him and moving in together had just made sense. It was cheaper than living alone and for all of Jaskier’s romantic exploits he couldn’t seem to find anyone who wanted him.

Not like Geralt wanted him. “Fuck.” He cursed and pulled his key from his pocket. He fumbled with the lock.

Apparently their entire friendship group thought they were dating, that Jaskier was his boyfriend. The way they would always curl up together on film nights, or share food and drinks when they went out for dinner, even the way Jaskier grasped onto his arm as they walked side by side, it had all been evidence to their relationship. Oh and Geralt was naturally the last to know that Jaskier was hopelessly in love with him and had been for years. Yen admitted that she’d known since the beginning, his brothers had both found out when Jaskier had visited them for Christmas the first time, and that was two years ago.

The door swung open and he barrelled into the living room. He almost slipped on a pizza box but managed to dance around it just as Jaskier landed in his arms. Instinctively he caught his friend. He was used to Jaskier leaping at him like this. The musician stank of booze and pizza but it was the redness in his eyes that drew Geralt’s attention.

“I’m… I’m just going to leave?” Priscilla gave an awkward wave. “Be good to him Geralt. You owe him that much.”

“I know. Thank you, Pris.” Geralt nodded before carrying Jaskier upstairs to his bedroom.

“At least buy me a drink first.” Jaskier mumbled as Geralt dropped him to the bed.

Geralt laughed but cupped his friend’s cheek. “You’ve been crying.”

“I was sad.” Jaskier admitted. His speech was slurred but Geralt had been looking after drunk Jaskier for years. He was fluent in drunk Jaskier. “Crying helps.”

“Because of me.” Geralt sighed and brushed Jaskier’s fringe out of his eyes. “I didn’t know.”

“Because I didn’t want you know. I didn’t want you to leave like everyone else.” Jaskier half sobbed and yanked away from Geralt’s touch, burying his face in the bed sheets.

“I would never leave you, Jaskier.”

“Everyone does. No one ever lets me stay.” Came the muffled reply. “I’m too loud, I love too freely, it’s all too much. So they leave.”

“Hmm.” Geralt said thoughtfully. “Everyone else seemed to think we were already dating, so what would really change if I were to say I loved you too.”

“Don’t.” Jaskier snapped, not lifting his head from the pillow but swatting Geralt blindly with his hand. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

“We would go out together, which we already do. We would fall asleep together after watching a film, which we already do. I’d say you could meet my family but you know them all already and I’ve met yours.” Geralt listed off and he stroked his hand through Jaskier’s hair. “Or maybe we could move in together, start a life together. I’ll wash up and you can dry. You never like getting your hands wet and it’s easier to dance around the kitchen when you aren’t stuck by the sink.”

Jaskier rolled over with a sigh. “Alright, you bastard. You’ve made your point.”

“So if I love you, which I do. What would change?” Geralt smirked.

“Well you could start by kissing me.” Jaskier pouted.

Geralt laughed and kissed Jaskier’s head. “You’re drunk, love.”

“Noble fool.” Jaskier groaned. “One kiss, I promise I’ll behave.”

Geralt tilted his head. One kiss wouldn’t hurt. “Do you promise you’ll remember it? We only get one first kiss.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes and pulled Geralt down for a kiss. His lip ghosted over Geralt’s. “I promise.” He swore and at last their lips met.

_________

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[jaskierswolf]

The Shape of Love Pt.6/6

Previous

Kaer Morhen was brilliant. The old keep was somehow caught in time itself, both ancient and yet so very present as it loomed in its corner of the mountains. Jaskier could only imagine what it must have looked like in its prime. Even with crumbling walls and barely functioning rooms, the keep was impressive. Vesemir, Geralt’s sort of father figure, greeted them as they reached the great doors of the keep.

Jaskier had travelled up the mountain as a thick furred tiger, one specially suited to cold weather. He’d read about the animal in a book at Oxenfurt and decided it would be his best bet for travelling through the harsh conditions and bitter cold up to Geralt’s home. Before they’d reached the keep he’d shifted back and gotten dressed so he could meet the other witchers as a human. Having been attacked by Lambert when he’d been a wolf he didn’t want to risk any more miscommunications.

“So, Wolf,” Vesemir grunted, and Jaskier was beginning to realise where Geralt had inherited his social skills from. “A human bard.”

Geralt hummed back.

Jaskier rolled his eyes and patted Geralt’s arm. It seemed as if it were down to him to explain their situation. “You have questions?” Jaskier asked with a tilt of his head.

“Geralt’s never brought a friend back before.” Vesemir huffed.

“Well then, I am honoured to be the first” Jaskier smiled brightly. “but I supposed you’re wondering why?”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier glanced at Geralt, his witcher gave a small nod so Jaskier shifted. He always shifted into a smaller animal first if he hadn’t changed first. After tearing through too many clothes as a child he’d learnt that it was easier to crawl out of his clothes than to keep replacing them. He shifted into mouse and squeaked as he was suddenly engulfed by his silvery blue doublet. The pile fell to the ground with a soft thud and he braced inside the fabric as he landed. He heard Geralt’s soft chuckle and the ground vibrated as the witcher stepped closer to his clothes pile.

“He can portal?” Vesemir guessed. “But only without clothes. How strange.”

Geralt hummed and Jaskier felt a hand digging through his clothing, the movement tickled his whiskers. He bit Geralt gently on his finger and crawled onto his palm. His nose twitched as Geralt pulled him out the clothes. He squeaked as his eyesight adjusted to the outside world. He could barely see but he flicked his whiskers and managed to orientate himself on Geralt’s palm. He sniffed and scurried up Geralt’s arm, perching on his shoulder.

“He’s a mouse?” Vesemir’s voice rumbled in the air.

Jaskier squeaked and leapt at the older witcher. As he leapt he shifted into a falcon. He swooped and circled around Vesemir’s head, delighting in the return of his vision. It was sharp and he knew that in this form the woods surrounding Kaer Morhen would be a playground. He flew high into the sky with a loud cry and then bombed back down towards the ground, landing on Vesemir’s outstretched arm.

The older witcher stroked his feathers with a finger and he preened under the affection. “How remarkable. Are there any limits?”

Geralt hummed. “He only has one form per species. He wouldn’t be able to change into me, he’s not a doppler, but as far as I’m aware the only limit is his imagination.”

Jaskier launched into the air and shifted again, landing as a jaguar. He yowled at Geralt and nudged his leg. Geralt scratched between his ears and he shifted into a cheetah so he could purr as he rubbed up against Geralt’s leg, not so subtly marking the witcher with his scent.

“His eyes.” Vesemir breathed and reached out a hand. Jaskier head butted Geralt one last time before prowling over to the older witcher.

Vesemir held Jaskier’s face gently in his hands. “Absolutely remarkable.”

Jaskier let the older witcher study him for a few moments, until he started to feel like he was back in Lettenhove castle being treated like some kind of freak show in a circus. He yowled suddenly and jumped back to circle behind Geralt. He shifted back into a mouse and scurried up Geralt’s leg and found a nice warm crevice in his armour.

“Jask?” Geralt sounded concerned but Jaskier was caught up in the sudden wave on anxiety. He wanted to trust Geralt’s family. That was why he’d displayed his abilities but the way Vesemir had looked at him was so like the healers from his past.

“I’ve upset him.” Vesemir noted cooly. “When he changes back ask him why.”

“I will.” Geralt hummed and Jaskier felt the rumble in the witcher’s chest mixed with the steady vibrations of the medallion.

“Go. I’ll handle Roach. Your room is set up but I wasn’t expecting a guest. He could stay in Eskel or Lambert’s room until they arrive.” Vesemir said and Jaskier felt a shift in the air nearby, Roach snorted and stomped her foot.

“It’s fine. He can stay with me.”

Jaskier squeaked. Of course he would stay with Geralt. They always shared a room. At first it had been because Jaskier had stayed in animal form and couldn’t get a room on his own without shifting to human, after that it had just been habit.

Neither witcher nor bard questioned it.

Jaskier didn’t shift back for almost a week. The anxiety was easier to handle in animal form. He settled as a wolf and Geralt was almost always petting him whenever he wasn’t busy with chores or training. Jaskier helped out by going out to hunt. He managed to take down a small buck and pulled the carcass back through the forest to the keep. Geralt had far too much fun dumping a bucket of water over his head to wash the blood out of his fur. He snarled at the witcher but allowed him to brush the gore from his fur.

Lambert was the next witcher to arrive.

The redhead took one look at the russet wolf curled up by the fire and threw himself across the room.

“Jaskier! You bastard. How’s the head?” Lambert grinned and buried his face in Jaskier’s fur.

Jaskier wagged his tail and barked.

“Leave off.” Geralt grumbled and shoved Lambert back. “Get your own.”

“Oooh, alright grumpy.” Lambert laughed. “I was going to ask whether you wanted a drink but you can get your own.”

Jaskier rolled onto his back and howled, wagging his tail.

“Shut up.” Geralt growled but rubbed Jaskier’s belly with a small smile on his face.

Eventually, Jaskier shifted back. He was curled up on the bed next to Geralt, with his head on the witcher’s chest when he decided enough was enough. He let out a long sigh and let his magic ripple through his fur. Geralt’s hand stopped in his hair.

“There you are.” Geralt murmured into the dark room.

“Hmm.” Jaskier agreed, taking a page out of Geralt’s book.

“What happened?” Geralt asked as his hand began to thread through his hair once more.

Neither of them cared that Jaskier was now lying naked on Geralt’s bare chest.

Jaskier had accepted a long time ago that he was in love with the witcher. He’d never had a friend that he could be himself around before and it was so easy with Geralt. The witcher didn’t bat an eyelid when Jaskier shifted between human and animal forms. He didn’t treat Jaskier differently between forms either. The witcher had struggled at first when Jaskier had shifted to human. He’d been so openly affectionate when Jaskier had been an animal but hadn’t quite known how to express that when Jaskier was human but after months on the road together Geralt had gotten better. He often let Jaskier snuggle up to him in human form, and petted his hair just like he would when Jaskier was an animal.

Geralt wasn’t as talkative when Jaskier was human but he didn’t mind. Jaskier could talk enough for both of them. He was just happy that Geralt had let him stay.

He explained the anxiety that had overwhelmed him when Vesemir had studied him so intently. He kept the part about his past as vague as possible. Geralt already knew some of the details and it wasn’t easy for Jaskier to remember.

Geralt was silent as he listened, letting Jaskier explain without interruption.

When Jaskier finally ran out of words, Geralt hummed.

“Come here.” He murmured.

Jaskier frowned and sat up so he could see Geralt’s face. The witcher was staring at him with warm amber fire in his eyes. Jaskier couldn’t breathe under the intensity of his gaze. He felt his cheeks heat up and his mouth dropped open.

“Geralt?” He asked, his voice wavering.

Geralt sat up, cupping Jaskier’s face in his hands, and kissed him, so gently that Jaskier wasn’t sure that he wasn’t imagining it. His heart was hammering in his chest and he had the overwhelming urge to shift back into an animal, any animal.

He whimpered helplessly against Geralt’s lips.

Geralt chuckled and rested his forehead against Jaskier’s. “Is this ok?” He breathed, warm air tickling against Jaskier’s skin.

Jaskier laughed, almost hysterically. “Ok?!” He cried and flung his arms around Geralt’s neck before pulling him into a hug. “Gods Geralt. I’ve been wanting to do that for months!”

“Hmm.” Geralt nuzzled into his neck. “Why didn’t you?”

Jaskier sighed. “I didn’t think you’d want to.” He admitted. “It’s, it’s a bit strange considering the whole…” He let go out Geralt to wave his arms. “animal thing. I’ve never kissed anyone who’s known about that before.”

“Why would I care?” Geralt scowled. “You’re still you."

Jaskier shook his head. “Only you would think so, my darling.”

He smiled sadly at Geralt before leaning in to kiss him again. The kiss was longer this time, growing deeper with every second that passed. Jaskier threaded his fingers through Geralt’s long silver hair and hummed into the kiss. Geralt tasted faintly of the stew they’d had for dinner but Jaskier didn’t care. He was kissing Geralt of Rivia, and Geralt wasn’t pushing him away, quite the opposite in fact. The witcher’s hands pressed against his back pulling him closer.

Jaskier pulled away to breathe and Geralt growled, pushing Jaskier back against the bed and kissing down Jaskier’s neck.

Jaskier was suddenly very aware that he was naked.

“Geralt.” He tugged at the witcher’s hair and forced the man to look at him.

Geralt’s normally golden eyes were dark with lust. He frowned and tilted his head with a grunt.

“Are you sure about this, dear heart?” Jaskier asked, trying to catch his breath.

“Yes. Are you?” Geralt growled.

Jaskier’s heart fluttered at the sound. “Gods, yes.” He pulled Geralt into a fierce kiss as if to prove his point.

He had never been so sure of anything in his life.

____________

The next morning Geralt and Jaskier had sheepishly slunk into the dining area for breakfast. Witcher hearing didn’t allow for many secrets in Kaer Morhen and Geralt had explained that both Vesemir and Lambert would know what they’d been up to the night before.

Luckily Jaskier was shameless.

He greeted both witchers with a wave and a brilliant smile. Lambert whistled and cheered loudly, whilst Vesemir just smiled into his drink.

“So is this a new thing?” Lambert smirked.

Geralt punched him in the arm. Jaskier put a hand on Geralt’s chest. “Geralt.” He chided softly. “I’m sure he’s only asking because he cares.”

Geralt snorted. “I doubt it. He’s a bastard.”

Jaskier smirked. “Oh believe me, I am very aware of that.”

“I am right here!” Lambert crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Look, I’m happy for you. Just keep it down next time. I really did not need to be serenaded to sleep by a sonnet about Geralt’s dick.”

Jaskier laughed. “How about a ballad?”

“No!”

“An epic retelling of—”

“Absolutely not!” Lambert put his hands over his ears.

Everyone was laughing by the end of breakfast, even Vesemir. Jaskier hadn’t seen the older witcher so care-free before. Jaskier felt pretty smug about it. Jaskier offered to help clear the plates whilst Geralt and Lambert started their chores around the keep. That was when Vesemir cornered him in the kitchen.

“Jaskier.”

Jaskier almost dropped the plate his was holding but he recovered pretty quickly. “Ah, Vesemir. What a surprise!”

“I’m sorry, about before.” The older witcher held out his hand and Jaskier shook it, still bewildered by encounter. Vesemir had taken great care to avoid Jaskier whilst he’d been an animal so he hadn’t expected the witcher to approach him so soon after turning back into a human.

Jaskier waved his hand. “Nothing to worry about. There’s, there’s no problem.”

“Hmm.” Vesemir raised an eyebrow at him.

“Oh well, umm, maybe there was a teensy problem. Just, umm. Just ask Geralt.” Jaskier’s fingers were playing on unseen lute strings. “It was a bad memory, that’s all.”

Vesemir nodded and patted Jaskier on the back. “You’re alright, pup.”

Jaskier tilted his head at the nickname, realising that he’d been accepted into Vesemir’s pack.

“Thank you.” He nodded, barely able to conceal his grin.

The next witcher to arrive into the keep was one that Jaskier had never met before. Geralt introduced them with a quick wave of his hands.

“Eskel. Jaskier.” He grunted.

Jaskier rolled his eyes and bounded up to the new witcher, hugging him tightly. “Hello!” He sang happily.

“Geralt?” Eskel asked but returned the hug tentatively.

“Geralt’s boyfriend.” Lambert explained. “Ow!”

“Geralt!” Jaskier let Eskel go and spun round to poke Geralt in the chest. “Play nice.”

He put his hands on his hips and tilted his head as he glared at his witcher. Geralt gave him a small smile and hummed.

“You got yourself a human?” Eskel asked, still a little stunned by Jaskier.

Jaskier sighed deeply. Normally he preferred that most people saw him as just a human but he wanted to be honest with Geralt’s family and honestly it was getting tiring having to explain the truth every time. The wolf witchers were going to have to get used to his nudity if he had to keep shifting between forms whilst he was at the keep for winter. He didn’t mind staying as an animal but Geralt’s room was at the top of a tower and he really didn’t want to have to fly up every time he wanted to change back.

So he started to pull off his clothes.

“What the fuck?” Eskel covered his eyes.

Lambert cackled and Geralt just sighed. The silver-haired witcher opened his arms and Jaskier dumped his clothes in Geralt’s waiting hands before walking to the centre of the courtyard.

Geralt tilted his head and raised an eyebrow at him.

Jaskier smirked and winked at his witcher before letting his magic loose. His skin rippled into red scales and felt the fire burning in his chest. His front talons hit the ground with a loud thud and he roared, letting loose a burning pillar of fire into the air.

“Holy shit!” Lambert yelled.

“He’s a dragon?” Eskel stared up at him in awe.

Geralt just pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Jaskier, stop being so dramatic for once in your life.”

Jaskier snorted a smoke ring at Geralt and launched into the air. The colours were amazing in this form and he could see for miles. The burning in his chest was uncomfortable so he let out another geyser of flames as he flew above the keep. He could smell the salted jerked meat from the panty and his stomach rumbled loudly even though he’d already had breakfast. He snorted and looked around in the trees below until he spotted a doe grazing on the banks of the river.

He dove down without thinking and scooped the animal up in his talons. He roared as he returned to the keep, landing in the courtyard with a thud. The doe was already dead in his talons so he snapped up his meal in two bites.

“Fuck…” Lambert breathed and Jaskier turned to snarl at him.

Geralt jumped between them and placed a hand on Jaskier’s snout. “Jaskier.” He said slowly and calmly. “Maybe a dragon isn’t a good idea.”

Jaskier looked down at his bloodied talons and shifted immediately into a cat, his tail flicked as Geralt picked him up.

Eskel pointed at him. “He can change!”

Jaskier meowed and rubbed his head under Geralt’s chin. He suddenly felt very full. He would have to change again soon, into a bear or something with a larger stomach until he could digest his dragon meal properly. His magic compensated for the sudden change but it still ached.

“Can you become a goat?” Eskel grinned and crossed his arms.

Jaskier yowled and looked up at Geralt.

“Yes.” Geralt answered for him.

“Amazing.” Eskel nodded. “Welcome to the family, Jaskier.”

Jaskier purred happily and pawed at Geralt’s face.

Family.

After years alone on the road, he had a family.

All because he’d found one very lonely witcher on the path.

He purred and nuzzled into Geralt’s chest. For the first time in his life, he was found.

______

Next story!

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