#before it becomes the lone Jaskier once again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dapandapod · 2 years

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You always can

Hello lovelies!

I am back with some more Jaskel! ... Again! And this piece has been finished since April something, and I keep forgetting I didn't post it! So here it is!

Please enjoy some silly (drunk) boys in love!

On Ao3 here

So, here is the thing. Having a roommate is good for so many reasons. You can get away with a bigger space for less money, there is someone else doing the dishes every now and then, and if you are lonely, just go bang on his door, right?

Perfect!

Having a fucking gorgeous roommate, however, is slightly problematic.

The moment Geralt called him and said he knew someone who needed to rent the other room, Eskel knew he was in trouble. Trouble with big B, B as in Bi disaster, trouble as in Geralt dragging Jaskier's drunk ass home after a seemingly wet night out.

"Not my problem anymore," Geralt gruffs, holding up a Jaskier that is still trying to aim for the keyhole while the door is wide open.

" 'Mmmm not a problem," Jaskier slurs, glaring up at Geralt, and then he is being shoved into Eskel's arms.

Kind of. Almost. He stumbles and grips Eskel's elbow, and that is close enough for Eskel's heart to make a double flip, even if he can smell the booze reeking from Jaskier. Hoo boy, it's going to be one of those nights.

"Geralt, lemme, lemme tell you this, Geralt. It is rude to call people probloms. Ploblam. Rude! Geralt!" Jaskier complains, waving his free arm about and stumbling once again.

It doesn't matter much, because Geralt has already closed the door, and Jaskier absolutely did not notice. Or care. He does that sometimes.

Eskel smiles fondly, and Jaskier lets himself be led towards the couch, still waving his hand around and making all the little offended sounds that he is so good at.

"See, Geralt was complaininging aaaaaalll night. All night! And and and, when I say my heart is hurting, he scoff! So rude!"

Jaskier still glares at the door, but Eskel manages to have him sit down at least. Flop down.

"Gonna take your shoes off?" he asks, curious but terrified about Jaskier's remark about his hurting heart. Who did he fall for now? That prick Valdo sure turned both of their lives upside down before they broke up.

"Nu-uh," Jaskier declines, sinking deeper into the cushions.

"Please take your shoes off?" Eskel asks, and that earns him a pout and a whine.

"You know I can't say no when you say please," Jaskier complains, folding his body over to reach for his shoes.

Eskel does know. He is not-so-secretly thrilled about it, and abuses it whenever he can get away with it.

As Jaskier fights his shoelaces, Eskel goes to fetch him a glass of water and a protein bar. The kind with little dried berries and pieces of chocolate that Jaskier favors, and always has at least five pieces scattered around the house.

There is another pitiful whine when Eskel pours the water, and he returns to see Jaskier slumped over his own knees, hands on the floor and hair in his eyes. So fucking cute.

"Heeeeeelp." Jaskier whines again, not in the least stuck. Probably just gave up or got lazy.

Eskel chuckles and puts the glass and the snack on the little living room table.

"You are such a mess," he teases, kneeling down in front of Jaskier and shoving at his shoulder until he is flopped back against the backrest again.

"So mean. The laces were mean too. Nobody loves me," Jaskier sighs dramatically and his body sags as if he is attempting to become one with the couch.

"People love you, Jaskier," Eskel comforts him, holding back the 'I love you' for all that he can.

"Nu-uh," Jaskier says again, shaking his hair, making it fall into his eyes again. Gods, he is adorable when he is drunk.

Eskel focuses on the oh-so-mean shoe laces, quickly undoing the double knots that Jaskier insists on making.

"Nu-uh," Jaskier sighs again, and doesn't help at all when Eskel tries to make him lift his foot and pull it out of the shoe. "I wish he loved me, but I don't think he does," Jaskier tells the ceiling, and oh no.

Eskel grabs Jaskier's ankle, lifting it to rid them of the offending shoe himself, and yes, now his own heart hurts too.

"Why don't you think that?" Eskel says, despite himself. Self sabotage, Triss once told him it is called, but it is so hard not to.

"Because he is gorg... gor... pretty! So fucking pretty! And kind and clever, and he is so kind! And hot!" Jaskier says, his arms waving around in exasperation, and Eskel is not sure if he is the one Jaskier is talking to anymore.

But at least his legs are still, and Eskel can untie the other shoe fairly quickly.

"So hooooot!" Jaskier wheezes, arms falling to his sides with a little thud. Again, Eskel gets no help with the shoe, so he grabs the ankle and lifts the leg up.

"And sweet! Sometimes he pulls my hair behind my ear when he thinks I'm sleeping!"

Hang on.

"And there was this... was this one time when I actually fell asleep in his lap, and when I woke up I was in bed!"

Wait a minute.

"So strong! Strong strong strong, so many muscles."

No. It can't be.

Because sometimes, when they watch a show too late at night, Jaskier sags against Eskel's shoulder, curling up on the couch and gripping at Eskel's arm.

Sometimes his hair falls over his eyes, and sometimes when it does, Eskel dares to trace a finger over his forehead and tuck the wild strands behind his ears.

And there was that one time when Jaskier insisted on having his hair petted, and fell asleep sprawled over the couch, face resting in Eskel's lap, and Eskel had carried him into his room.

His head had rested heavily onto his shoulder, and when Eskel struggled with the door, he shifted and gripped Eskel's t-shirt, nuzzling into Eskel's neck.

It was very, very hard to let go, and very, very hard to calm down that night.

"But he is like that with everyone," Jaskier whines up to the ceiling again. "I'm not special."

'You are', is at the tip of his tongue. It almost slips past his teeth, his last line of defence, and he stands on his knees in front of Jaskier, helpless.

"I just.. ugh.. I love him, Geralt. I'm so fuckhing in love and I can't, and he is..." Jaskier has reached the stage of emotional drunkenness, and Eskel finds himself gently grabbing Jaskier's calves, rubbing them soothingly.

Another sniffle, and Jaskier rubs angrily at his eyes with his fists.

"I just want Eskel to love me...." Jaskier whispers, and oh no, oh no.

This is not a conversation Eskel wants to have when Jaskier is drunk out of his mind. But his treacherous heart is making kickflips in his chest, and again he finds himself reaching out, grabbing Jaskier's hands that are still rubbing at his eyes, and brings them down.

"Have some water," Eskel croaks, rubbing his thumbs over Jaskier's knuckles. "It will feel better."

"Why don't you love me?" Jaskier whispers, now looking directly at Eskel and fuck, shit, bloody hell and fucketifuck.

"I do. Please drink some water, Jaskier," he murmurs back and Jaskier pouts.

"You know I can't say no when you say please," Jaskier pouts and reaches for the glass. It doesn't seem like Jaskier noticed Eskel's confession at first, but three long gulps later he stills, and abruptly puts down the glass again. "You do?!"

Ah, there it is.

"I do. Want a protein bar? It's your favorite." Eskel is still on his knees, one of his hands still holding one of Jaskier's, and he just... fuck, his hands are shaking, the adrenaline of his own confession running through him, even if Jaskier might not even remember it tomorrow, it is thrilling, terrifying, to have said it out loud.

"I do," Jaskier echoes and accepts the snack handed to him. For a moment, he struggles with the wrapping, and when it finally is open he devours it like a starving man.

While he eats, Eskel's knees have finally had enough, and he awkwardly stands up and carries the shoes over to the shoe rack.

Jaskier is suspiciously silent, but maybe that is a good thing considering he is eating something. When Eskel turns around again, Jaskier's eyelids are drooping and he looks like he is about to pass out.

Bedtime for drunk roommates, he thinks. But Jaskier is smiling, and the way he is watching Eskel approach again has his heart aching.

"You love me?" Jaskier asks again, the rest of his snack forgotten on the cushion next to him.

"I do," Eskel confirms for a second time, again with that rush of adrenaline running through him. To say it out loud, it is terrifying but liberating. "Let's get you to bed."

Immediately, Jaskier's soft smile turns into a sly smirk.

"Is that... is that so?" he slurs, and Eskel has to roll his eyes. "Yes please. Take me to bed!"

It is a struggle, but with some effort, and some neck nuzzling from Jaskier's side, they finally make it to Jaskier's room. It is a mess, as always, and they trip and stumble as they cross the boobytrapped floor towards Jaskier's bed.

"Will you stay?" Jaskier asks, again flopping down into the bed and reaching his arms up in an inviting gesture.

"Not tonight," Eskel says regretfully, because no. If Jaskier regrets it all tomorrow, Eskel does not want to be here.

"Pleaaassseee?" Jaskier pleads, and fuck, ok, maybe Jaskier is not the only one who finds it hard to resist a please.

"Fine. I'll sit here until you fall asleep," Eskel agrees, sitting down on the foot end of the bed and leans back against the wall.

Jaskier makes a happy sound, until he remembers that he is still wearing his jeans and his shirt.

"No. No no no no, this will not do," Jaskier mutters, starting the fight of unbuttoning his jeans. Eskel prays to every deity he knows that Jaskier can deal with it himself, because he is not mentally prepared to undress Jaskier under any circumstance.

Yet. Hopefully.

Some struggling later and pale, hairy legs are revealed, together with some blue underwear with little stars on it. Like the gentleman he is, Eskel looks away, for now, only to catch a glimpse in the mirror.

Eventually the shirt is gone too, leaving only a white t-shirt, and Jaskier dives under the covers with a contented sigh.

"You love me," Jaskier mumbles again, and Eskel lights up like a fire inside. "Love love love me. And I love you. Love love love you."

This drunk fucking idiot, morning can't come soon enough.

"I want a good night kiss!" Jaskier exclaims suddenly, and fuck.

"Tomorrow," Eskel says hurriedly, before Jaskier can do more than sit up and look at him excitedly.

"But tomorrow it won't be a good night kiss," Jaskier argues.

"But tomorrow, you will be sober, and can ask me again if you still want it," Eskel tries. Tries so hard.

"I always want to kiss you." He is informed, and that is... not helpful. "But alright." Jaskier flops down again, but forwards, so that his feet are on his pillow and his big eyes are looking up at Eskel.

"You can tuck my hair behind my ear, though," Jaskier says hopefully, and yes, that he can do.

Jaskier falls asleep quickly, and now that he has permission, he does indeed tuck that strand of hair behind his ear. And pet Jaskier's hair, and trace his jaw and the shell of his ear.

Next thing he knows, it is morning.

The sun is trying to shine through the heavy curtains, but the thick fabric wins, leaving the room in a comfortable darkness.

Eskel is laying on his side, his body shaped like an L, his feet sticking out from the side of the bed. Against his stomach he can feel a pressure, and when he looks down he realizes Jaskier has the top of his head pressed up against it.

Right.

Alright.

He is having a small debate with himself, if he should get up and leave before Jaskier wakes up or not, when Jaskier actually wakes up.

He scrunches his nose, groans in a way that sounds a little like a cow giving birth, and almost punches Eskel in the nose when he is about to reach up and scratch his cheek.

Then, all of a sudden, Jaskier opens his eyes wide, realization hitting that he is not alone in bed.

"Oh." Jaskier’s voice is raspy after sleeping and drinking. "Hi."

"Hi," Eskel says back, smiling carefully. "Sorry, it seems like I fell asleep too."

For a few seconds, Jaskier's brain seems to be working very hard, his face making a series of strange expressions until it settles on the same careful smile Eskel is attempting.

"You stayed."

"I did."

"You love me?"

Fuck, wow. Alright.

"I do."

The sounds Jaskier makes is how Eskel imagines a keyboard smash sounds, and then there are fingers carding through Eskel's hair.

"And if I ask for a good morning kiss?"

"After you've brushed your teeth," Eskel says, a little breathless.

Immediately, Jaskier rushes up, grabs his head as he sways a bit and does that weird cow-groan again, clearly hungover, but rushes to the bathroom.

He is a little unsteady on his feet, and bumps into the door frame. Eskel chuckles, and promptly realizes he should probably brush his teeth too. With just a little more grace, he makes his way out of the messy room, without bumping into the door frame, and joins Jaskier in the bathroom.

It is a little funny how frantically Jaskier is brushing his teeth and putting on deodorant, still in his white t-shirt and starry underwear.

The bathroom is a bit narrow, but he sidles in behind Jaskier, a hand on his hip as he reaches for his own tooth brush.

"Calm down." He smirks, marveling in the little shudder that runs through Jaskier at his touch.

Morning did not settle any kind of nerves, and touching Jaskier like this still has him shaking like a leaf.

Jaskier does calm down a little, and romantically enough shoos Eskel out to use the bathroom. Eskel rinses out his mouth by the kitchen sink, and by the time he is done Jaskier is walking up behind him, reaching out to hold his sides.

Eskel turns slowly in Jaskier's arms, so close their noses are almost touching.

"Now?" Jaskier breathes, his fingers flexing as they grip Eskel's shirt tighter.

"Now," Eskel confirms, finally, finally leaning in and pressing their lips together, hands reaching up to rest on Jaskier's shoulders.

It was only meant to be a peck, a chaste press of the lips, but he lingers. And when he tries to pull back, Jaskier chases his lips with his own, clearly not done yet, and Eskel lets himself be kissed.

It is soft, warm and cold both in the way that toothpaste sometimes feels in your mouth.

For a long while they just stand there, trading kisses back and forth. Slow and lingering, every touch of lips a question and an answer.

When they finally surface for air, Jaskier leans into Eskel's chest and wraps his arms around him in a hug.

"I always wanted to do that," Jaskier mumbles, his mouth pressed into Eskel's shirt.

"You always can," Eskel mumbles back, his lips pressed into Jaskier's hair. They stay like that until their heart rates go back to normal, until their breaths evens out and Eskel's lips stop tingling.

They move apart to make coffee, and for Jaskier to put some damn pants on. When he comes back, Eskel presses him up against the kitchen counter, one hand on his hip and the other tilting Jaskier's face up.

"Please?" Eskel breathes, hovering inches over Jaskier's lips.

"You know I can't say no when you say please."

#jaskel #jaskier x eskel #the witcher #modern au #fluff #idiots in love #drunk jaskier #friends to lovers #first kiss #getting together #dapanda writes

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cap-sweet-and-salty-sadness · 2 years

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Masterlist of my spooky/horror fics 👻

*All fandoms included*

Marvel Cinematic Universe

Stucky - Steve/Bucky

From the Pain I Have Been Frozen Into (I Beg to Be Free)

“You’re awake,” the man smiles, approaches to perch himself on the chair beside the bed. “Do you remember me?” "You’re the one who saved me.” “I am. It’s a miracle I’ve found you.” -- On the run from Hydra, James gets in a car accident during a snowstorm. He's saved by a gentle and caring man who lives in a cabin in the middle of the woods. Why does he instantly trusts him, and why does he keep dreaming of a door in the basement that isn't there?

Thou Shall Call Forth Sothoth

“Ma, I know you’re a witch,” Bucky told his mother a few nights later, under the comfort of the wood cracking in the fireplace and the slow, calm lull outside, the half-moon barely shining through the thick clouds over the neighbour’s house. His mother laughed, took his hand. “I’m not a witch, you silly boy. I’m a priestess.” Bucky frowned. He wasn’t a regular church-goer, but he knew there was no such thing as Catholic priestesses. “Priestess of what?” She fetched the same leather-bound book he found before, all those years ago. “Let me show you.”

Sounds Echo the Absurd

17th century. Steve Rogers goes to the New World with a group of Europeens in the hopes of a new, better life. They settle on the edge of a forest, in what would become Massachusetts. He quickly finds his place as a carpenter, and he may or may not have been staring at the Barnes' son a few too many times. But as months pass, spirits and demons from the forest start to emerge. Steve can feel their eyes on him, can hear them skitter in his house at night. What if leaving offerings for them come to not be enough anymore? What if they want more?

Stony - Steve/Tony

the finger down your spine

The man, with his large brown eyes and beautiful features and small smirk, had a dangerous edge to him. No, not a man, a vampire. His long hair was loose, and he wore a perfectly fit three-piece suit. He was stunning, and it was almost irrelevant to mention that Steve was, indeed, stunned. The stranger’s smile only grew as he dragged his gaze down Steve’s body and brought it back to his flustered face. “Well, aren’t you lovely, lonely soldier.”

Winteriron - Tony/Bucky

crawl inside

Tony wakes up three years after being part of the rescue team for the USG Icarus, the most notorious planet-cracker classed spaceship, and from which he’s the only survivor. He doesn’t remember what happened during that time, or understand why he’s kept in a straightjacket on the Sprawl, the station on Saturn’s biggest moon. What Tony knows is that the Church of Hydra, responsible for the first necromorph outbreak, is redoing the same thing, and that he’s once again stuck in the middle of it. (Dead Space AU)

Red Dead Redemption 2

Morston - Arthur/John

I buried you in the snow

He'd seen all sorts of things during his travels: unexplained flying objects in the middle of the night, robots murdering their masters, a human-made monster, a serial killer convinced he was a vampire, ghosts haunting the swamps and Roanoke Ridge, and the list went on. An encounter with a werewolf wasn’t too far fetched in the greater scheme of things. When he woke up the next day, he wondered if he hadn't just dreamed the whole thing, but the pair of jeans discarded on the floor was still damp and there was a messy drawing of the beast in his journal, along with the simple description: "I saved a werewolf from drowning. He owns me a lasso."

The Witcher

Geraskier - Geralt/Jaskier

The Reanimator of Rosemerrow

“This inn has an interesting reputation. Its owners are usually quick to resale it.” “Because of her decaying state? She just needs some remodel, soon she’ll be back up and about.” He stepped sideway to pat the half-destroyed wall and take a deep breath, away from Geralt’s unfair attractiveness. “Partially, but there’s also been paranormal rumours. Apparitions, misplaced objects, footsteps.” “And you believe in them? I always assumed you were the skeptical cartesian type.” Geralt wasn’t facing him, but he heard him chuckle darkly. “There are things you can’t escape from.” “Indeed,” Jaskier breathed out, thinking of what’d he seen when he was alone in the inn, the heavy presences and the few cases of being touched by a being that he had the unfortunate ability to see. “I’m, uh, familiar with unusual events.” – In 1819, Jaskier accidentally buys an old abandoned inn in the middle of nowhere, England. Haunted, as if this mountain of dust and debris wasn’t already enough of a problem. At least he has a handsome carpenter to help him renovate it.

Sleepy Hollow

Geralt hummed and nuzzled the crook of Jaskier’s neck without thinking. It was foreign to him, being held this gently. Only Ciri gave him hugs nowadays, but this one felt different. Geralt felt understood, precious. “What happened, with the Horseman? How did he hurt you?” “Freed himself and stabbed me when I was about to throw him back through the portal.” He frowned. A wound like this wouldn’t have killed him, but Doctor Lancaster had been right when he said even his metabolism wasn’t this fast. “You used your chaos to save me.” “I did.” “Why?” Jaskier gently cupped the back of his head, his thumb stroking the shell of his ear. “Though I cannot cure the world, I would make you live healthy and happy in it.”

Dragon Age

Cullrian - Cullen/Dorian

You run my life right outta my soul

That was the danger of infiltrating enemies’ sects, and why Cullen preferred to suck information out of lower ranks; easier to make them talk, easier to get rid of. AKA the Vampire The Masquerade AU nobody asked for.

splinters of my soul

“I only see glimpses and pieces. I know the color of your underwear too.” “It’s not necessary.” “Green with a red design, it was a gift from… Mia.” He hid his smirk in his mug, having an image of Cullen in the mirror this morning wearing nothing but that underwear. A wonderful sight. “Cassandra forgot to mention your-“ “Charms? Good looks?” “I was about to say elocution, but that too.” --- Dorian is a medium and psychic owning a small shop in Montreal, Canada. He's content with his life until the Police requests his help for a missing boy and he meets Commander Rutherford.

Ghost in the Cell

Dorian is invited to investigate an haunted prison with a paranormal investigator crew, and he brings Cullen along for some ghost adventures.

Blood Red Setting Sun

This wasn’t Dorian anymore, not the Dorian who would make fun of Felix when he’d become flustered and tongue-tied when trying to talk to a girl, who introduced him to the delicacies of wine and with whom he discussed for hours about books no one else took interest into. He couldn’t believe it, to use such radical mean for such a pitiful reason. Halward Pavus didn't use blood magic on his son, he turned him Tranquil.

#stony #stucky #winteriron #morston #cullrian #geraskier #marvel #mcu #rdr2 #red dead redemption #dragon age #the witcher #twn #my writing #fic rec #halloween

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buffskierights · 3 years

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International Women’s Day was yesterday and I forgot I had a tumblr until today but please enjoy the Wild West edit of Tennefer I made specifically for my discord server’s icon

#she’ll remain our icon for the week #before it becomes the lone Jaskier once again

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seidenbros · 2 years

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"i must be hurt pretty bad if you’re being this nice to me." for geraskier please? <3

Let me love you, okay? Because I loved writing this, so thank you for requesting this. I even made a liddle gif and played around, so I couldn't post it before I was finished with this <3

(I’m always happy to receive requests, so if you want to, send some in. If you need inspiration, here are some prompt lists )

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier | Geraskier Warnings: angst, a little fluff, blood Word count: 2172

Time was of the essence, Geralt knew that better than anyone, as he was urging Roach on to go faster, Jaskier in front of him. In one hand, he held the reigns, the other was pressing Jaskier against him, who was sitting in front of him. This served two purposes: one, to keep him upright and on top of Roach; two, to still the bleeding from his shoulder. He'd already lost a lot of blood, but he was still conscious, though Geralt didn't know how long he would still hold on. He'd stopped complaining about the pain just a little while ago, which wasn't a good sign. Jaskier, who usually wasn't able to stop talking, had gotten quiet, and that wasn't a good sign.

“Jaskier, you need to stay with me!” Geralt urged him, trying to look at his face. His eyes were still open, but a little unfocused.

“I must be hurt pretty bad if you're being this nice to me,” he heard the bard say. Was that a smile on his lips?

“What are you talking about?” He didn't want to worry him more than was necessary, but the truth was that it wasn't nice. Geralt was pretty sure that his shoulder was dislocated – which Geralt could have fixed were it not for the other injuries – and his arm was broken. The bleeding hadn't stopped, but it had become less.

“You never let me ride on Roach. Must be something special.” That idiot really tried to laugh, but it ended up in coughing, which made Geralt look ahead to check how far they still had to go. They'd said right before that they would meet Yennefer afterwards, that they would head straight for where she was staying at the moment, but he hadn't expected it to be like that. Get the job done, get to Yennefer, enjoy a nice evening catching up. Now, it looked quite different.

“Yeah well...” What was he supposed to say to this? It was true, he'd never let Jaskier ride on Roach before. He really wished that there was a different reason for doing so right now, but he needed Yennefer's help with Jaskier's injuries – the sooner the better. “A first time for everything, right?” Now, he was trying to lighten the mood, which resulted in Jaskier chuckling again, but his hand tightened around the Witcher's forearm. Laughing wasn't ideal right now, because it was too painful for him.

“Gotta enjoy this ride,” Jaskier said, voice a tad quieter than before, making Geralt nearly panic, but as long as the bard had his eyes open, they were okay. Not good, but okay, but as soon as he lost consciousness, things would turn to bad really quickly.

“Yeah, you better do, because next time, you'll be walking again!” Geralt managed a warm smile. Years ago he'd wanted to get rid of the bard – no, he didn't want him dead, just somewhere else than by his side – but now, he felt lonely as soon as Jaskier wasn't with him. It was quiet, lonely, while before meeting him Geralt had been used to this silence, had even enjoyed it. Sure, he'd talked to Roach, he still did, but that was more a way of getting his thoughts out into the open. Freeing his mind so to say. He'd also talked to Roach about Jaskier, about what was going on with him. Geralt had realized weeks, even months ago, that he felt more for the bard than just friendship, but he was still trying to figure out what to do about it. He'd only felt like this once in his life – among the woman they were going to right now. They'd long decided that they were better off as friends, and it was the truth. Sure, there was banter now and then, and Yennefer would always hold a special place in his heart, someone he loved – like family. Jaskier on the other hand... He really made Geralt's heart beat faster, and even though, he could be aggravating sometimes, Geralt always found himself smiling in the end.

“Jaskier, stay awake. You can sleep later,” he quickly said when he saw Jaskier's eyes drift close. The bard opened them again, tried to keep it that way, because he knew as well as Geralt that losing consciousness wouldn't be helpful right now. And he wanted to help.

“You feel so warm, Geralt,” he mumbled, raising his head a little, turned it to the side to look at the Witcher. “And you smell so good.” Jaskier leaned his forehead against the side of Geralt's face, breathing in deeply. “Makes me wanna kiss you.”

“You're talking nonsense,” the Witcher answered, not moving an inch to keep Jaskier right where he was. His words made Geralt feel even warmer than he already was, his heart pick up its pace, because this was giving him hope. False hope probably, and he didn't want to take Jaskier seriously on what he was saying. Once he was better, he'll have forgotten all about this. “We're nearly there.”

“No nonsense...” Geralt felt Jaskier's breath against his own chin as he spoke, could feel Jaskier's hand on his chest, fingers fanned out right above his heart. “Can I kiss you?” It must have been all the blood loss, the injuries, the pain he was in, because he probably didn't even realise what he was saying.

“Sure,” was all Geralt managed to say, when he already felt Jaskier's lips against the side of his neck. For a moment, he closed his eyes to revel in the feeling.

“Can't reach you lips...” whispered words that made Geralt nearly lose his mind, because all kind of feelings were flooding his body, while he needed to focus.

“You can do that once you're better, okay?”

Jaskier nodded slightly, seemingly happy with that answer, while Geralt was more than happy, when they arrived at the cottage they were supposed to meet Yennefer at.

“YEN!” he yelled for her even before he'd gotten of Roach, carefully pulling Jaskier down, who was still awake, but not far from passing out anymore.

“Why are you yelling at me without even greeting me?” The sorceress answered as soon as she was out the door, but when she saw Jaskier leaning on Geralt, pale, his clothes covered in blood, she knew why the Witcher hadn't knocked and said hello first. This was urgent. “Come on, follow me.” She lead them inside so that Geralt could place Jaskier on her bed, making the bard hiss in pain.

“I kissed him,” the bard managed to say with a little smile on his lips, before his eyes closed. Yennefer only glanced at Geralt, not asking questions now, because she had to get to work now, and she couldn't deal with Geralt watching her every move. He knew that, because he knew her, but he was still a little reluctant when he closed the door behind him.

“He'll be alright.”

Yennefer's voice pulled him out of his thoughts some time later. Geralt had busied himself with cleaning up and putting on some new clothes as well as taking care of Roach, making sure she had everything she needed, so he was still outside with her. The fresh air at least cleared his mind a little bit.

“He'll be sore for a couple of days and he has to be a little careful and use his arm as little as possible.” She stepped closer to him, hearing him scoff. “Yeah I know that won't be easy, but if I have to, I'll strap him to that bed.” Geralt knew how much she cared for the bard, though she would probably deny it outright if he said anything about it, so Geralt simply kept his mouth shut. “So... he kissed you?!” Of course she had to ask that, Geralt had already expected it, because she was too nosy to just leave it at that. “Wait, are you blushing?”

“I am not!”

She was enjoying this, more than she would let on, but the smile on her lips spoke volumes. “Yes you are. Adorable.” The mocking tone in her voice made him roll his eyes, but he much preferred it to the fear that had been with his for the last couple of hours. “So, tell me!”

“He kissed my neck, okay? He asked if he could kiss me and I said yes, because...” Because he thought Jaskier might die in his arms? Because Jaskier wanted to do this?

“Because you wanted him to kiss you.” Yennefer finished his sentence for him. Sometimes, it was scary how much she really knew him, how much she knew what was going on inside him.

“Yes,” Geralt admitted with a sigh, not looking at her. He didn't even know himself how it had happened, how was he supposed to explain it to her?

“Then go in there and let that man kiss you!” Yennefer crossed her arms, but her words had made Geralt look up at her again, a scowl on his face. “Come on, I've seen the way you look at each other. If you hadn't admitted it to yourself, I would have given the two of you a shove in the right direction. Gods, that it takes one of you being injured like this for you two to make a move.” She shook her head smiling to herself. She'd watched them for some time, had known it maybe even before it had been clear to Geralt. Jaskier on the other hand had already confided in her, tried his best to hide his feelings for the Witcher, but after today, there was no more hiding anymore.

“Do I have to repeat myself?” she asked, gesturing towards the front door of her cottage to get Geralt moving.

“No, I'm already on my way.” Geralt couldn't help but smile, as he walked to Yennefer to give her a hug and whisper 'Thank you', before he made his way inside the cottage.

Jaskier already looked a lot better than he'd done before. He was sitting up in Yennefer's bed, leaning against the headboard of the bed. His face immediately lit up when he saw Geralt. The Witcher had no idea what Yennefer had given the bard, all the things she'd done, but he didn't care. Jaskier was alive and he'd be back to his old self in no time.

“How are you feeling?” Geralt sat down on the bed, his eyes never leaving Jaskier, scanning him up and down to make sure that everything was really still where it was supposed to be. Once he was sure, a smile spread on his lips, relief flooded his body, and he felt himself finally relax.

“I won't play the lute for some time, but apart from that, I'm alright. Thanks to you rushing us here.”

“That was mostly Roach's job to be fair.” His words made Jaskier chuckle, and this time, it didn't end in a fit of coughing and trying to stay able to breathe. The bard reached out his hand to put it on top of Geralt's.

“Thank you, Geralt.” The smile on Jaskier's lips was soft, his eyes lighting up as he looked at Geralt.

“I'm just glad you're okay,” Geralt said, turnign his hands around so that he could take Jaskier's in his. “About what you said... The kiss-”

“Oh forget it, I was just...” Jaskier struggled to find the right words, to say what he wanted to say, because right now... that was the right moment to own up to it, to admit what he was feeling, what he'd kept to himself all these months. He looked down at their joined hands, still trying to find the words to say to the Witcher.

Before he could finish what he'd started to say, though, Geralt moved closer, made Jaskier raise his head again by putting a finger beneath his chin. Geralt's lips were soft against his, softer than he'd expected, but then again, he hadn't expected to kiss the Witcher like this at all. When he wanted to reach up his hand to place it on Geralt's cheek, he winced, breaking the kiss. For a moment there, he'd forgotten that he wasn't supposed to use that hand, and the pain had reminded him instantly.

Geralt chuckled against Jaskier's lips, before he pulled back a little bit. “You need to be careful with that.”

“How am I supposed to be careful when you're stealing the breath from my lungs?” Jaskier said in a husky voice, eyes locked with Geralt's.

“I wouldn't call it stealing. Borrowing maybe...” Geralt whispered before closing the distance to connect his lips with Jaskier's again, trying to borrow some of his air again. Now that he'd started, he didn't know if he could stop so soon.

#staffi writes #the witcher imagine #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fic #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geraskier #geraskier fic #geraskier imagine #geraskier fanfiction #geralt of rivia #jaskier #asks #I love doing these prompts it's so much fun

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wren-of-the-woods · 2 years

Text

On Devils and the Reality Thereof

When Geralt is approached with a contract for a devil, he expects to find something strange. Devils, after all, have not become any more real since that long-ago day in Posada.

What he does not expect is to hear Jaskier's voice singing in the forest for the first time since they parted on the dragon hunt.

Gen or romantic Geraskier, 2k. Most of this was written before season 2, so it’s canon divergent from the mountain onwards! Also on AO3!

Just like the first time, it started with a devil.

Geralt was leagues away from Posada and several decades older than he had been on that fateful day, but the circumstances were remarkably similar. Just like the first time, he was alone in a tavern. There was no bard playing, but the overly-cheerful birds outside were nearly as irritating. Just like the first time, he was sitting alone. Cirilla had left to train with a begrudgingly interested Yennefer a few weeks ago now.

Just like the first time, he was approached with the contract just as he attempted to leave the tavern. Devils, of course, had not become any more real since that long-ago day in Posada, so Geralt accepted the contract with a similar sense of skeptical curiosity to what he’d felt all those years ago. Now, however, there was no irritatingly-cheerful bard to accompany him. He’d had his chance at that, and he’d lost it with his trademark talent for ruining everything he tried to keep.

He tried not to think about it as he set off into the woods where the devil was supposed to be. The silence, once so treasured, grated on his nerves. He shook his head, frustrated. He needed to focus on the job at hand.

The contract was vague. The “devil” lived in the woods. It was a relative newcomer to the area. The townsfolk weren’t sure why it was there or if it was going to stay, but something about it unnerved them enough to pay him to remove it. That was all he knew.

He thought the best course of action was to get the whole thing over with. Just like the first time, he would head out and see what awaited him. Perhaps it would be more elves.

Mind made up, Geralt set off into the forest. At first, he rode Roach. Before long, however, the trail dwindled into what was little more than a deer path. He was forced to dismount and lead her on foot lest he hit his head on the low-hanging branches.

The forest was dark and uninhabited. The only sound was the rustling of leaves in the wind. Years ago, Geralt would have enjoyed the silence. It meant that there were no threats nearby, that he could relax for a few moments. Now, though, the silence was only a conspicuous reminder of his failures. There was no chatter or song to fill the air, no one but Roach to keep him company. He was, once again, alone.

Some days, Jaskier’s absence seemed almost to have a physical presence. Geralt would glance around and be startled not to see the bard trailing after him. Sometimes Geralt could almost hear his voice, rambling or complaining or composing his newest song, only to come back to the lonely reality soon after.

Today was one of those times. The bard’s voice seemed to float through the empty forest. This song was one Geralt had never heard before, the melody a little darker and more haunting than Jaskier’s usual fare. It reflected Geralt’s mood perfectly.

Geralt wondered how long it would take to go away. Usually it would only persist for a few minutes, but sometimes it could seem like hours.

He trudged through the forest, keeping half an ear open for any sign of danger. So far, nothing seemed unusual. Other than the faint trail, there were no signs of human intrusion into the forest. The trees, bushes, and ferns were all healthy, some beginning to turn red with the approach of autumn. What little wildlife Geralt noticed was behaving normally. There were no suspicious tracks or signs of monsters. Geralt began to suspect that the “devil” was nothing more than local superstition.

He listened absently to his memory of Jaskier’s voice, feeling the familiar longing ache in his chest. It was typical that he had only realized how much he would miss the bard once he was gone.

It was interesting that the song Geralt was hearing was one he hadn’t heard before. Usually, the melodies were ones that he remembered hearing on quiet nights around a campfire or belted across taverns, songs the bard had composed through long days on the road or sitting at a tavern window in the flickering light of a candle. Toss a Coin was popular with Geralt’s subconscious; even after everything, he couldn’t escape that damn song.

The instrumental part of the song was interesting, too. It sounded like there were more instruments than the single familiar lute. In fact, it sounded almost like—

Geralt stopped in his tracks. There was another voice singing.

Geralt’s subconscious could do many things, but composing an entirely new song, complete with the voice of a person he’d never heard before, seemed a bit beyond his imaginative capabilities.

Berating himself for not noticing earlier, Geralt stopped and focused all his attention on the music. Now he was truly listening to it, it was obvious that he couldn’t be imagining it. The sound was coming from deeper in the forest, echoing off trees and occasionally being muffled by the wind. The silence of the birds and wildlife took on a new meaning.

Someone, or something, was out there.

Geralt needed to find out what it was. Even if he hadn’t been hired to investigate something strange in the forest, anything that used Jaskier’s voice was immediately Geralt’s business.

Careful not to alert anyone (or any thing ) to his presence, Geralt set off towards the music. As he drew closer, he made out more and more of the music. There were at least two voices, a woman he didn’t recognize and a man indeed sounded uncannily like Jaskier. There were also at least four instruments, by Geralt’s inexpert count. They were singing quickly, elaborately, and aggressively. Geralt couldn’t make out many of the words, but he could tell it was very different from the bard’s usual fare.

The undergrowth thinned out slightly as Geralt continued, ferns thinning out and bushes getting smaller. Visibility increased. Geralt pulled up his hood with hands that would be shaking if not for his years of training.

He could see them now, multiple human-shaped figures with instruments of varying shapes and sizes. There were around six of them. They stood in a loose circle, now playing a song that Geralt didn’t recognize. Despite himself, Geralt admitted that it was rather catchy.

He edged closer. Someone with a drum sat facing away from Geralt, to whose right was a woman with a violin. To her right was another woman with a flute. The rest of the circle was composed of people with an assortment of other stringed instruments that Geralt couldn’t name, except for the two singers. One was a woman, with long blond hair and a haunting voice. Geralt didn’t recognize her, but she had the look of an Oxenfurt bard about her.

The other, with longer hair and a new coat but the same unmistakable face and lute, was Jaskier.

The song ended. The bards — that was what they must be, since Geralt saw no signs of anything remotely magical — were still for a moment, then started laughing and talking amongst themselves. The violinist clapped Jaskier on the back, saying something Geralt couldn’t make out. Jaskier smiled.

The sight was like a punch to the chest. This was real. Jaskier was here. No one, not even the most cunning of dopplers, could imitate a smile like that.

Geralt must have made some sort of noise, because the next thing he knew, Jaskier was looking in his direction. Their eyes locked.

Geralt and Jaskier froze simultaneously. Emotions flickered across Jaskier’s face faster than Geralt could track. For a long moment, all they did was stand there in mutual shock.

Then one of Jaskier’s fellow bards — Geralt thought it was the singer — followed Jaskier’s gaze and noticed Geralt. She cursed.

“Is that him?” she asked Jaskier.

Jaskier nodded.

The woman strode over to Geralt, fearless rage written in every line of her body. The glare she shot up at him was so potent that it nearly rivaled Vesemir’s.

She slapped him hard across the face.

She was stronger than she looked. Geralt’s cheek stung. He stepped back, eyeing her in confusion. Were all bards so unafraid of witchers?

“How dare you say what you did to Jaskier?” she hissed.

Geralt stared at her. His sense of bewilderment was only growing.

“Do you even know how much you hurt him?” she continued furiously. “You treated your closest friend like an emotional fucking punching bag and you dare to show up unannounced as though everything is fine?”

“Pris,” said Jaskier tightly, “Please stop.”

She turned to shoot a glare at Jaskier. “No. I’m not going to let him hurt you again. He’s done enough.”

“This isn’t your affair.”

“It sure as fuck is my affair, Julek! How could someone hurting my best friend so badly possibly not be my affair?”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt interrupts.

The words seemed to come of their own accord. He hadn’t consciously decided to say them. He supposed that, after sitting on the tip of his tongue for so long as he wished to undo his mistakes, they had taken the first opportunity to slip free.

“You’d better be sorry,” hissed the woman, not seeming appeased in the slightest.

“Stop it, Priscilla,” said Jaskier.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you,” said Geralt. “I didn’t know you were here.”

Jaskier nodded. “Then you can leave now, and we’ll stay out of your hair.”

“I—” Geralt swallowed. “I’d rather not. If that's all right.”

Jaskier’s expression was unreadable. “Explain.”

“I missed you.”

There was silence for a moment.

“That’s it?” said the woman (Priscilla, apparently), sounding deeply unimpressed.

“I— no.” Geralt groaned in frustration. “I missed you, Jaskier. I never realized how much good you did until you were gone. You brought light and music and happiness into my Path, and it’s so much darker without you there. I’m sorry for what I said. I never meant it, really. I hope you can forgive me.” He tried his very best to let his earnestness bleed through into his voice, knowing Jaskier deserves at least this honesty after everything that’s happened between them.

The bards looked at him for a long moment, then turned to Jaskier. Jaskier was looking at him with wide eyes, mouth slightly agape. He took a deep breath.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “You really hurt me, Geralt, but I accept your apology.”

Geralt nodded. Jaskier accepted his apology but did not say he was forgiven. Geralt wasn’t surprised. He knew he deserved it.

“Thank you,” said Geralt.

Jaskier smiled softly. Priscilla was still looking at him warily, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Oh!” said Jaskier, brightening. “Yennefer says hi, by the way."

Geralt frowned, startled. "When did you talk to Yennefer?"

“She showed up just in time to save us all from being burned at the stake,” said Priscilla with a laugh. Geralt didn’t think near-death experiences bear laughing about, but he supposed it must be a bard thing. Or, perhaps, a Jaskier’s friends thing. “She convinced the townsfolk that we weren’t actually demons or fae or whatever they thought we were.”

The woman sounded almost fond when she spoke of Yennefer. Geralt decided he didn’t have enough courage to think about that at the moment.

Then Geralt processed the rest of her words. “Why did they think you were fae?”

Jaskier shrugged. “They got confused by our songs, I suppose. It turns out that an over-full pie is worse than an empty one.”

Geralt blinked. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the contract I got for a devil in these woods, would it?”

“What?”

Geralt told the story of how he found them. Jaskier laughed so hard that tears came to his eyes.

“A devil!” he said between guffaws. “Just like in Posada!”

“Yes,” said Geralt, unable to help a small smile. Now he was standing beside Jaskier, everything about the situation seemed a little more funny.

“I told you we shouldn’t have played our new stuff in that town,” said the violinist. “What if they’d sent a mob after us instead of a witcher?”

“Yes, yes, I know,” said Jaskier. “Essi was right, as usual. That doesn’t mean it isn’t funny!”

“I suppose we could use a witcher to keep us from being murdered by suspicious townsfolk,” said Priscilla, the reluctance in her voice somewhat belied by her smirk.

“Is that an invitation?” asked Geralt.

“Maybe,” said Priscilla, and Essi laughed.

“You know,” said Jaskier thoughtfully, “This whole contract thing would make a pretty good story.”

Geralt huffed a small laugh. There was his bard.

Jaskier laughed in return.

“What? The bard is mistaken for the beast— or the bard becomes the beast, that works too. Both ways could make a good story.”

Geralt smiled. He had missed Jaskier’s inspiration-induced rambling more than he could say. “Composing already?”

“Why not? It’s got potential,” said Priscilla.

“I look forward to it,” said Geralt honestly.

Jaskier grinned. “So do I! It’ll be a song of hope, I think. Of making hope where it may seem lost, whether the universe wants you to or not. It’ll be fun! You’ll see. Besides…” He trailed off, a slow grin growing across his face.

“What?” said Geralt, smiling.

“I’ve always thought I’d make quite the amazing devil.”

#geraskier #geralt #jaskier #the witcher #priscilla #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fanfiction #happy birthday to me here's a ficlet or three #also please feel free to picture priscilla as played by madeleine hyland in this fic #because i think that's great #the amazing devil #this has been half-finished since approximately september so i'm very happy to have it done now :D #enjoy!#<3

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jaskiersvalley · 3 years

Text

Witchers didn't have daemons, that was a known fact. They were terrifying in their solitude, unfeeling and unaffected. Monsters made to fight monsters, they didn't need part of their soul for that. What the general public didn't know though was that the daemons weren't imprisoned somewhere, nor were they dead. The mages had figured out a way to separate daemon from child and force it into the most unnatural of shapes, another human. It meant two Witchers from a single child and the best part was, neither child nor daemon felt any connection to their counterpart once the process of the trials was complete.

In an effort to make sure full separation was certain and not even a sentimental link remained, daemons and children were separated and trained in different schools. Lambert had arrived at Kaer Morhen, still tripping over unfamiliar human feet and seething at being separated from his human. Over the years he tried to remember his human but, like all Witchers, they were given new names when they got their medallions and Lambert didn't think Luca still went by that name, nor would he be the scrawny kid Lambert remembered him as.

Whenever Lambert met another Witcher, he couldn't help but wonder whether it was his Luca that he was meeting. Though he wanted to believe that there would be a spark some kind of recognition there. He had been a little relieved when he met Letho and there was nothing there between them.

Of course Geralt had to be the first one to find his daemon. The smug bastard had found a bard who told people his daemon was a flea which was just like him; unnoticeable until he causes a nuisance. Most pitied him but Geralt had seen through the charade. He watched the bard without a daemon, curiosity and caution allowed him to permit Jaskier to tag along. The story tumbled out eventually.

"My great grandparents bought me. I was some kind of freak novelty some merchants were selling."

That was all Geralt had needed to hear and he was all but dragging Jaskier back to Kaer Morhen in the winter. Nobody had expected Vesemir's face to close off completely.

"I remember you!" Jaskier said in way of greeting. "You were a dick."

"Julian." The reply was terse and tight.

Lambert got a front view seat to seeing Geralt's face flit through more emotions in one second than he usually did in a whole year. The embrace was tight, Geralt's nose buried in Jaskier's hair.

Jealousy trickled through Lambert's veins. For all he knew, his human was already a dead Witcher. There was no link between Witcher and daemon, the trials severed it all completely so when one died, the other didn't even notice, let alone die from it.

"Why isn't he a Witcher?" Eskel asked, eyes glued to the happy reunion.

"Kaer Morhen needed money. Your cohort, the daemons didn't become Witchers. We sold them to the highest bigger."

Lambert didn't expect Eskel to punch Vesemir across the jaw but he was sure as shit glad he saw it. It meant he didn't need to do it on behalf of Geralt and Eskel. For the first time though, Lambert had an optimistic thought.

"It might mean he's living a happy life somewhere. I mean, look at Jaskier. He's had it better than us."

That was a topic that came up repeatedly over the next few weeks. They dreamed up all sorts of fancy lives Eskel's daemon could have lived, the wonders he would have seen. Through it all, Lambert bitterly wished his daemon could have been anything but a Witcher. Alas, Vesemir rapidly disillusioned him from that idea.

"He's become a Witcher, probably dead by now. And if you met him, you'd probably wish he was."

"Is that so?" Lambert drawled, emptying his tankard with a disappointed sigh. He couldn't believe it was empty again.

"You suffered the same shit fate I did. Your human was trained by Cats. Guxart turned into an utter dick."

The words were muttered darkly and Lambert tried not to take it to heart how much hatred Vesemir oozed. It made him all that much more determined to not go the same way as the bitter old man. Instead, he turned to Geralt with a leer. "So, is it gay or is it masturbation to want to get off with your own daemon?"

To say the table erupted in uproar was an understatement. Geralt was scowling somewhat fierce, arms crossed over his chest in protest. It only egged Lambert on further.

"I think it's incest," he declared with a shit eating grin. "Technically it's part of your family because you have the same parents."

"It's masturbation at most." Geralt was growling and glowering. "Because the daemon was still part of you."

Through it all, Eskel stayed rather quiet. It was only when the other two looked to him for opinion that he leaned forward, propping himself up on the table with a serious crease to his brows.

"I think-" the words were low and measured, "-that as long as everyone involved consents, it's fucking hot is what it is."

"The only thing it is," Vesemir finally butted in, "is a disaster waiting to happen. You don't want to meet your counterparts. Trust me."

Except that only made Lambert all the more keen. He wanted to both prove Vesemir wrong and also have what Geralt and Jaskier seemed to be hurtling towards. So, come spring, he set out with the intent of fulfilling one contract only. It was one that he would pay himself for in emotional fulfilment. He was going to find every Cat he could until he found Luca.

He met Gaetan along his travels who laughed in his face and said he was much more into snakes than wolves. That was an encounter Lambert was more than eager to cut short because he did not want to think about how Letho and Gaetan were oddly complementary. It was also another jolt of bitter jealousy, another Witcher and daemon had been reunited while he was still out there looking for his own. Assuming Luca had survived.

Meeting Guxart was a bit of an accident and Lambert wished he'd not encountered the old Cat. He growled and hissed about his stupid daemon who would probably have turned into a useless pigeon if left alone. There was obviously no love lost between them and Lambert desperately hoped he wasn't going to have the same fate.

Third time lucky, as the saying went. Lambert had trailed the new Cat for a few days, learning his habits and watching him work. There was no ounce of recognition or familiarity. But then again, the last time Lambert saw Luca, they were being dragged away from each other, foreign hands on his rapidly shifting body so his eyes could barely adjust enough to see the screaming, tear filled face of his human. It was quite possibly the worst last image he could have had of Luca.

Satisfied that the Cat wasn't someone Lambert wouldn't want to associate with, he approached in the evening when the campfire was still bright but slowly settling.

"I was wondering when my shadow would make himself known," the Cat said easily enough, barely glancing up from where he was whittling something.

The last two times Lambert had tried to be careful with exploring the idea of the Cat Witcher being his human. He was tired and cut straight to the point.

"Luca?"

By the fire the man froze. It was only luck that meant Lambert could hear the shuddering exhales of someone trying to keep up the façade of calm and collected. Finally, the man set his carving aside and stood with an easy smile that felt like a thousand lies.

"I go by Aiden." It wasn't a reply and Lambert knew it.

"I don't remember my name," he admitted softly, desperately hoping he wasn't about to make an utter tit of himself. "People call me Lambert. But I'm looking for my Luca."

He didn't expect to suddenly have an armful of Witcher clinging to him like their very lives depended on it.

"It's really you!" Aiden sounded close to tears. "You never did have a single name, usually going by Idiot, Pain In The Butt, Menace and so many other equally flattering names."

"Guess that never changed," Lambert laughed wetly. He held Aiden close, wishing he could feel as he used to when they were connected. "We have a lot of catching up to do."

It was just that start of something Lambert never thought he'd have. Easy companionship, shared disdain for the whole Witcher thing, stories upon stories of contracts gone well, gone wrong, or just plain gone. By the time winter rolled round, Lambert was firmly of the opinion that he and Aiden would travel together, fuck the Path and all the teachings about it being lonely. If Geralt could have his bard then they sure as hell could have each other.

Getting to Kaer Morhen, Lambert gleefully had an arm slung around Aiden's shoulder, introducing him to the rest of his family. He especially delighted in the flaring of Vesemir's nostrils as he took in the situation.

"Cats and Wolves don't mix. You of all people should know that."

"And you should know it's my life's mission to prove you wrong, old man," Lambert shot back.

Perhaps the most curious part of the whole winter was that Geralt was already back with not one, but two guests. Jaskier was a known quantity and Lambert greeted him warmly. The other though was a near silent man who watched them through eyes that looked way too old for his body.

"This is Cahir," Geralt said when the man didn't even introduce himself. "We'd heard rumours of a Nilfgaardian without a daemon and went to investigate."

"Not a Nilfgaardian," Cahir grumbled with a half-hearted glare.

It took Lambert a moment to figure out just why Geralt would bring such a man back before his eyes widened in delighted realisation.

"You think that-"

"Mhm."

That was the extent of their conversation because Lambert was cackling in delight. He looked Cahir over with a newfound interest. Young, like Jaskier but so very different in behaviour. As much as they'd wondered about Eskel's daemon's fate, this wasn't one they'd predicted.

Three days later Eskel was leading Scorpion into Kaer Morhen's courtyard. Lambert and Aiden were all but bouncing with excitement, not wanting to miss the moment Eskel met his daemon. In their opinion Geralt was drawing things out and making it less fun by not having them all meet in the stables. Instead, Eskel was allowed to venture into the kitchen in the company of Lambert and Aiden who were vibrating in anticipation.

"Eskel," Geralt greeted him with a warm hug. Jaskier and Cahir were behind him, even Vesemir had ventured out to see what the outcome would be. "It's good to have you home. Allow me to introduce you to Cahir."

The two looked at each other with guarded gazes and Eskel gave a terse nod. It was as anticlimactic as fuck. No recognition, not interest, nothing. Just a slow once over which, if Lambert had thought about it, was pretty much a mirror image of each other, equally considering and closed off.

Despondent, he dragged Aiden off, helping lay the table for a shared meal. Vesemir was quick to follow, there was no way to tell whether he was disappointed or relieved by the lack of drama. Geralt and Jaskier wandered out, oddly deflated. Not two seconds later there was an almighty crash from the kitchen and they were all racing back. Only to turn right around and flee after a glimpse of Cahir pinning Eskel to a wall and kissing him like Eskel was the last gasp of air for a drowning man.

"So, are they?" Jaskier asked, glancing towards the kitchen. Something else crashed and thumped but it was best not to investigate.

After a moment it was Vesemir who tiredly said, "Does it matter? It doesn't seem like they much care."

All in all, Lambert didn't think he cared either. Cahir and Eskel seemed happy enough in their new acquaintanceship, trying to figure out their past could wait, if they even wanted to explore it. Though Lambert had a hard time imagining Cahir as a goat. Over the years he'd heard Eskel lament enough about how his daemon preferred to take the form of a goat.

Regret came the next morning at breakfast when Eskel and Cahir appeared at the table, seemingly indifferent. If the rest of them hadn't see the two almost violently making out in the kitchen before disappearing to a bedroom, they wouldn't have guessed anything had gone on between them.

"Hey Geralt," Eskel called, face passive. "You know the difference between a goldfish and a mountain goat?"

"A mountain goat could live in Kaer Morhen but a goldfish couldn't?"

Eskel rolled his eyes. "No, a goldfish mucks around a fountain."

"And a mountain goat fucks around a mountain," Cahir finished the joke. He and Eskel high fived without looking at each other. Lambert only smacked his head on the table when Cahir continued, "And I am no goldfish."

#geraskier #lambden #eskhir #geralt/jaskier #lambert/aiden #eskel/cahir #unhappy vesemir/guxart #geralt of rivia #jaskier #lambert #aiden #eskel #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #vesemir #daemon au #tldr: witchers' daemons are humans when the connection between them is severed

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rebrandedbard · 3 years

Note

I’d love to see what you do with 27 and geraskier 😂

I took your prompt and ran in a completely different direction. Still funny moments in there lol

WC: 1434

27. “I’m pregnant.”

Pixie Pranks

Jaskier won’t shut up. He will not shut up. Days into a hunt and he can’t sit still or keep a thought to himself for five minutes. Geralt is very tired.

“For fuck’s sake!” Geralt shouted. He couldn’t stand it another minute. It had been going on and on for days without end by this time, dawn to dusk. Even in sleep, Jaskier was humming and grunting out snatches of melodies, so that Geralt could not get a moment’s reprieve. It was like nothing he’d ever known, this never-ending noise!

“I can’t help it!” Jaskier said, rather a bit too cheerfully for Geralt’s exasperated state. “I’m pregnant. My head is bursting with ideas, my throat swelling with the strain of holding them all in! I must give birth to this song, so tenderly incubated in the bowels of my soul, so thoughtfully enriched by the sweet nourishment of life: the mother’s milk of experience. By the—”

Geralt clapped a hand over his mouth abruptly, aborting the next metaphor before it breached. “Enough! Not one more word,” he growled. “Next it’ll be ‘the virginal innocence’ that granted you inspiration, or ‘the cock seed of curiosity.’ I’d rather things not get to that vulgar point.”

Jaskier snorted through his nose, looking all too delighted at Geralt’s rude metaphors. Geralt could see the note tuck itself away in his head for future reference. He sighed and pushed Jaskier’s head away. He stalked back to his side of camp and flopped upon his bedroll. He was exhausted; it was midmorning and they hadn’t even broken camp.

Cautiously, Jaskier crept up to his side and crouched at his head. “Is something the matter, Geralt?” he asked.

“Yes. You’re even noisier than usual. If you’re not singing or humming or whistling, you’re snapping your fingers and bouncing on your heels, tapping your feet, knocking on your lute.”

“I can’t seem to help it.” And there he was, drumming his hands on his knees. “There’s something itching at the back of my mind. I swore I’d be done with it days ago. I’d been on the verge of finishing the verse when we first set off to deal with these pixies—(or was it faeries? What is the difference between a pixie and a fairy? Is it something to do with the wings, or perhaps the coloring and size?)—but anyway, I nearly had it then, but it’s as if the verse was snatched from me. It’s killing me! I’ll be driven mad until I can figure it out. It was the perfect rhyme, too.”

He’d be driven mad? Geralt was neck-deep in madness already. Jaskier could hardly keep to one point without diving off into another. It was no wonder he could not finish his damn song. He lacked the focus to finish a sentence, let alone a verse. In addition, they’d never found the pixies. They were somewhere in these woods, Geralt knew, for his medallion was constantly buzzing like the hum of an irritating insect that would not subside. It all compounded together into one fine headache, and he couldn’t stand it anymore!

Geralt groaned and dragged his hands over his face. “Shut up,” he begged. “For the love of all that is good in this world, shut up. Shut—up!”

“Oh, I do beg your pardon!” Jaskier huffed. “It’s not as if I can help it. I’m a bard, Geralt, and composing is a large part of what we do. Why, if I did not compose, I’d have nothing to sing, and with nothing to sing I should have no livelihood, and without that, well, how should I live? Would you wish me dead, dear friend? Poor, lonely, destitute Jaskier! Can you imagine, me, become naught but a desperate vagabond, left to my own defenses to st—”

Once more, Geralt sat up. He curled an arm around Jaskier’s head, putting him in a lock as he slapped a hand over his mouth. He yanked Jaskier down onto his chest, caged his arms, and forced him to stop his tapping. For extra measure, he rolled the two of them face down upon the mat and let Jaskier take the full weight of him.

“For five minutes,” Geralt said. “That’s all I’m asking. I will pay you to keep quiet for five minutes, sitting perfectly still. And if you won’t I’ll bundling you up in your bedroll and toss you into the river, let you float back to Moën by yourself.”

And for a moment, that seemed to do the trick. Geralt counted five seconds … ten … then Jaskier began to squirm. The medallion vibrated between them and Geralt bolted to his feet, searching the trees around them. The pixies!

Jaskier started up speaking before even taking a proper breath, words strained in a mad rush. “I will not stand for this abuse of artistry and this brutish handling of my person with so little regard for how I may even breathe with you pressing me into the earth like the trunk of a hundred-year-old redwood tree!” He gasped, breathing deep on empty lungs, and his teeth chattered. He made a strange sound, like a person speaking backward: on the inhale, the most unnatural way. When he spoke again, he seemed several lines ahead of himself, off on a tangent about the difference between redwood and sycamore, evergreens and pine, whether or not pine was an evergreen, and if evergreen was a classification of tree or a species in and of itself.

The medallion’s hum quieted as Jaskier resumed his normal speaking pace. Geralt looked at Jaskier and understood. “You’re enchanted,” he said.

Jaskier stopped and turned to look round at Geralt. “Thank you. First nice thing you’ve said to me all day. Now if I might have an apology for the way you so rudely keep interrupting me, then we might be getting somewhere. As for my question of the evergreen—”

“No, you’re enchanted. Bespelled.”

“Bes—bespelled? Oh fuck, have I been cursed with something? But why? By whom? Why is it these things always happen to me anyhow? If it’s not one thing, it’s another, and more often than not, it’s a curse of the most horrible nature. I’ve half a mind to—”

“Here,” Geralt grunted. “Maybe this will shut you up.”

Geralt lifted the medallion over his head. He walked back to Jaskier and put the medallion around his neck. It still hummed, but more quietly, and Jaskier found, for the first time in days, that his fingers lay still, his foot did not tap, and the words died on his lips.

Jaskier stood in stunned silence as the medallion shook on his chest. He picked it up, eyes wide. “I … ” he trailed. But he did not know what to say.

Geralt sighed, his shoulders going slack. “The spell is still there, but this will relieve you of the effects until we can find those pixies. Their enchantments are weak: annoying party tricks. The silver of the medallion is enough to mute it for now.”

He’d been following the medallion in search of the pixies all this time, but they’d played a clever trick in enchanting Jaskier, turning him in the wrong direction, making him chase after the bard’s magic instead of theirs. He had to admire their originality.

Jaskier stared at the medallion, his face slightly flushed. “Is it really alright to wear this?” he asked very quietly.

Geralt shrugged. “If it means I can get an hour of sleep,” he answered. He lay back down on his bedroll and closed his eyes. “We’ll break camp at lunch and continue our search. When we find those pixies, we’ll get you fixed. For now, try to ignore the vibration as best you can.”

Jaskier let the medallion fall to his chest once more with a smile. Slowly, he sat at the edge of Geralt’s roll, back to him, admiring the bit of silver. “It’s like the purr of a cat,” he said. “Or a tuning fork laid on a hollow box. It’s marvelous.” He tucked it under his shirt, lips quirking slightly. “Kind of tickles,” he chuckled.

Geralt covered his mouth a third time and pulled him down sideways onto his chest. “Please. Just one hour of silence,” he mumbled, giving the top of Jaskier’s head a warning dig with his knuckles. When he removed his hands, Jaskier did not rise, but remained as he was. Geralt gave his shoulder a pat to signal he was free to get up, but Jaskier stayed, relaxing under Geralt’s arm. If Geralt let his arm drape around him, well, he was tired, and Jaskier made an excellent arm rest.

“I’m keeping this,” Jaskier whispered.

Geralt snorted. “Keep dreaming,” he replied.

#my fic #drabbles #witcher #the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #pixie pranks fic #lol let geralt sleep

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valdomarx · 4 years

Text

Anon requested: Could you possibly write something with Jaskier finding out he’s half incubus and having no clue what to do?

His horns don’t start growing in until he's 30.

Jaskier had heard rumours throughout his childhood of his mother's infidelity and her penchant for bedding magical creatures, but he'd thought that was typical malicious court gossip. His father's coldness toward him he'd assumed to be the way of nobility and due to his own failures as a son.

And sure, he's always attracted attention from men and women alike, but he'd believed that was due to the charisma he worked hard to exude. People often wanted to sleep with him, but he was young and handsome and talented, so why wouldn’t they?

He certainly does like sex, though that's hardly unusual. And he does feels better afterwards: sated, fulfilled, more energetic. But wasn’t that the point?

And then one day he’s washing his hair and feels prominent bumps on his head. He thinks he must have hit his head when he was drunk, not an unprecedented occurrence. But within days a hideous mass of bone is pushing out from his skull and he realises something is terribly wrong.

He locks himself in his rooms at Oxenfurt Academy and tells everyone he has a fever. The students leave food outside his door and he spends three weeks in isolation, watching in horror as horns sprout and grow terrifyingly fast until they form neat curls on either side of his head.

He stares into a polished metal plate at his newly monstrous countenance, and knows that the path of his life stands at a precipice.

No, he decides. He has worked too hard to get away from his hateful upbringing and to become his own person to allow his family to drag him down once again.

Taking a knife to his own head to remove the horns is the most painful thing he has ever experienced, but he will not let the life he has built be destroyed by this thing inside him. He stands alone in his room, blood dripping down his face, and stares in horror at the curled mass of horn in his hand, gory and vile.

Even after that, the horns continue to grow back. He assiduously files them down, though it hurts every time.

When spring arrives he heads out to meet Geralt as usual. If Geralt notices anything amiss, he doesn’t mention it. They travel together and it’s blessedly normal - at least until Jaskier gets kidnapped.

He’s snatched by a band of ruffians, thrown in a dank underground cell and left there. Things could be worse, on balance. At least he’s marked as a hostage so he’s fed and not tortured. A few days in he overhears the bandits discussing how he’s the perfect bait for a much greater prize, the White Wolf himself.

Jaskier oscillates between hoping Geralt stays the hell away from this obvious trap and fantasising about being rescued. It’s cold and dark here, but most of all it’s lonely. And he can feel his horns growing back in, inch by terrible inch. He has never been comfortable being alone.

After two interminable weeks, he hears the distant sound of fighting from above, clashing swords and yells of pain. That has to be Geralt, and he knows that afraid or not, he has to help before Geralt ends up locked in here too.

So Jaskier does what he does best. One of the guards has been staring at his horns with obvious interest, and it’s laughably easy to attract his attention and seduce him. When Jaskier backs him up against a damp wall and swallows down his seed he feels a zing of energy and the man drops to the cold stone floor, unconscious.

Jaskier feels strong. He pushes open the door to his cell and faces three armed men between him and the door. He picks up a nearby oak table like it weighs nothing and tosses it at them, smashing it into two of them who go down immediately. The third is knocked to the floor and scrambles for his sword, but Jaskier is on him in moments, foot pressed against his chest.

“Give me the keys,” he says, voice vibrating deep in his chest. The man squirms but doesn’t answer and Jaskier pushes down with his foot, feeling the man’s ribs crack and buckle beneath him. “I won’t ask again.”

“Okay, okay,” the man croaks, coughing up flecks of blood. “In my pocket.”

Jaskier snatches the keys, unlocks the steel door to the dungeon, and magnanimously leaves the man alive. He hasn’t the time to stop and kill him anyway, Geralt must be nearby and he needs Jaskier’s help.

As he hurries up the stairs and away from the rank dungeon, the sounds of battle increase and he hears a familiar voice raised in an unfamiliar shout.

“Where is he?” the voice yells. The clashing of blades rings through the fort. “Where is he?”

Jaskier rounds the corner to a courtyard to find Geralt spattered in blood and surrounded by the corpses of bandits, their leader on his knees with Geralt’s hand around his throat and Geralt’s sword pointed between his eyes.

He should have known that this rough bunch would be no match for a witcher in full swing.

“I’m here,” he says, and his voice comes out scratchy. He’s been dreaming of this moment, but now he finds himself poleaxed by the reality of Geralt seeing him in his true, hideous form.

Geralt looks at him, and his eyes widen in shock for just a second. He slits the throat of the man in front of him and pushes his body to the side without ever tearing his eyes from Jaskier.

He steps toward him, sword still raised, and for a moment Jaskier truly thinks that Geralt will run him through with his blade, just another monster to be slain.

But then Geralt tosses his sword aside and races over to Jaskier to wrap him in a hug so tight it’s stifling.

“Jaskier,” he breathes. “You’re alive.”

Oh. He pats Geralt awkwardly on the back. Even in this most dire of situations, he enjoys having strong arms around him more than he should.

“I'm okay,” he says, and Geralt buries his face into Jaskier’s hair and inhales, as if despite the rank state of his unwashed hair, Geralt has truly missed him.

Geralt pulls back and his eyes flick ever so briefly to Jaskier’s horns.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier blurts out. “I shouldn’t have kept it from you. I can only imagine what you must think of me. I won’t be any trouble. I’ll go. I’ll leave you be. But please don’t turn me in.”

Geralt frowns. Well, frowns more than unusual. “You being half incubus has never bothered me before. Why would it bother me now?”

Jaskier‘s mouth drops open in disbelief. “You knew? All this time?”

Geralt huffs, but there’s an undeniable edge of fondness to it. “Jaskier, I’m a witcher. Of course I knew. I could tell the minute I met you.”

“And you didn’t think to mention it to me?”

Now it’s Geralt turn to look shocked. “You didn’t know? Hells, Jaskier. I thought you were trying to be circumspect.”

“Circumspect?” Jaskier laughs hysterically. “Right, because that’s just my style. Do you think I, a monster, would have rocked up in Posada and imposed myself on you, a monster hunter, if I had known? Does that seem sensible to you?”

“Not sensible, no.” The corner of Geralt’s mouth flicks up. “But it does sound exactly like something you’d do.”

Jaskier intends to pout but instead feels himself smiling for the first time in weeks, because Geralt has him there.

Geralt runs the back of his fingers down Jaskier’s cheek, and the leather of his gloves is warm and smooth against his skin. “You’re not a monster,” he says, like it’s that simple. “People might think you monstrous, but their ignorance is no reflection on you.”

He moves to brush his fingers delicately along the edge of one of Jaskier’s horns. Jaskier can’t feel it, not directly, but the vibrations of his touch send tingles racing across his scalp, making him weak at the knees. “And you don’t have to hide yourself from me.”

Jaskier looks at the floor, because he can’t look at Geralt right now, he just can’t. “Even like this, I can stay? You won’t send me away?” His voice sounds so small and pathetic.

Geralt’s fingers slot under his chin and lift his head until their eyes are locked. “You can stay,” he says, certain and sure; Jaskier‘s rock as always. “We can be monstrous together.”

#me: haha imagine jaskier is a sex demon who files down his horns #also me: ... unless ...#geraskier #the witcher #my writing #tw body horror #incubus!jaskier

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flowercrown-bard · 3 years

Note

For the writing prompts #14. Can’t make move because other person is a rival/enemy (please!)

Thank you so much for the prompt! So...I'm not 100% sure if this still fits the prompt but oh well, I tried

pairing: Eskel/Jaskier

word count: 5k

from this prompt list

summary: Jaskier finds anoynmous poetry that talks about how witchers are unwanted posted on notice boards. Of course he makes it his goal to find the mysterious poet and make them stop. It's too bad that as time goes on and the poet's verses change, it becomes really hard to hate them (new fic with Eskel‘s POV to this)

content warning: self-deprication, angst

Jaskier was known for many a thing. Some people knew him as a talented bard. Others thought of him only as the idiot they had seen jump out of a window to escape a scorned lover’s wrath. The list could go on forever, Jaskier had made sure of that.

But the one thing, everyone without fail would know him for, is that he was fiercely loyal to witchers.

For years he had sung about the White Wolf and his heroics, but lately, ever since that fateful day that he had finally met Geralt’s brother, Jaskier also sang about a different witcher. One who had promised to show him his collection of old poetry that scholars everywhere would kill for. The witcher that was kind and sweet despite what his appearance might suggest. The witcher whom Jaskier couldn’t stop thinking about ever since they had parted.

Briefly, Jaskier had been worried that Geralt might disapprove of Jaskier writing songs about one of his brothers. After all it had just been the two of them for so long. But Geralt didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he smiled a little wider whenever Jaskier crafted verses for Eskel. In fact, he looked at Jaskier as if there was more to it than just professional interest. Which was absolute nonsense, of course. Singing about another witcher was only profitable. It expended Jaskier’s repertoire and what better way to help all witcher-kind than to spread tales about more than just the most famous one of them?

So yes, Jaskier was first and foremost known as a friend to witchers.

Another, lesser known fact about Jaskier was that once he developed a grudge, he would hold onto it for the rest of his life.

Which is why Jaskier was seething with fury when he caught wind of some unnamed poet who apparently made it their life’s work to destroy witchers’ reputations.

What made it even worse that on the day Jaskier found out, he was in high spirits. He had been travelling alone for the past month and had just heard of Eskel – who Jaskier had been looking forward to meeting again since forever – being somewhere in the area. Of course, Jaskier had dropped everything and gone to search every notice board he could find for any clue as to any contracts close by that could have attracted the witcher.

What Jaskier found instead was enough to make his fists tremble with barely suppressed rage. Right there, in the middle of the notice board hung a piece of poetry on some cheap paper.

That in itself wasn’t too bad. Jaskier remembered well the days when he himself had been too shy to openly present his poetry and had resorted to anonymously posting it onto boards, but this – this was the worst thing Jaskier had ever read. The verses spoke of what it meant to be a witcher, of how life one the Path could look like. Some of the words and metaphors used were clear references – or even plagiarism – to Jaskier’s songs about his witchers. But where Jaskier praised and celebrated, this poet snarled and spat at witchers.

At the very least, the handwriting wasn’t too easy to decipher, as if the poet – if one could call them that – hadn’t had much time to write this. It was a poor consolation.

Jaskier read through the poem again and again, his mind catching on the words unwanted and mutant. And those were the most harmless insults.

The entire poem read as a collection of all the horrible things that were spat at witchers. Not only was it a clear rip-off of Jaskier’s work – describing the life of a witcher – but it dared to twist it into something ugly and loathed.

To make the insult worse, underneath the poem, in the place where normally the poet’s signature would be, was a clumsy sketch of a goat – clearly meant as another insult to Jaskier. Dread pooled in Jaskier’s stomach, as his eyes raked over the lines one more time and an even more horrible conclusion dawned on him.

The poet didn’t just made references to Jaskier’s works in general. It used imagery Jaskier specifically used in his songs about Eskel. The kindest soul Jaskier knew. A man so selfless that he had even saved a baby goat and had against all odds managed to take care of her while on the Path.

And now this poet spoke about Eskel’s bad experiences and posted them openly on the board for all the world to see.

Without thinking, Jaskier tore the paper with the offending poem from the board. It nearly crumbled in his fingers, but he forced himself to keep his hand steady. He would need the poem to ask people if they knew who had written it, even though the thought of showing it to more people churned Jaskier’s guts.

His search ended abruptly, when instead of finding out who the poet was, Jaskier heard about Eskel being driven out of the town.

He gritted his teeth and left the town to resume his search of Eskel. But even as he left the town behind, he swore to himself that whatever he did, some day he would find the poet and he would make sure they would never write another harmful word about witchers again.

Not a week later, a couple of towns over, Jaskier found another poem. The same handwriting, the same sentiment of witchers being resented outcasts.

After that, Jaskier doubled his efforts to sing the witchers’ praises.

Apparently, the unknown poet took that as a challenge. Wherever Jaskier went, it was only a matter of time before the next piece of offending poetry appeared.

The poet should have been easy to find. Poets of all kinds had the convenient habit of making themselves known – Jaskier could attest to that. And yet, this one alluded him time and time again. They were impossible to find. For a brief moment, Jaskier considered the possibility of Valdo Marx being the one writing these horrible things just to spite Jaskier, but even he wouldn’t stoop low enough for such a thing. Valdo had his place in Cidaris and he would never become a travelling bard for such a petty thing. Because that was clearly what this mysterious and hated poet was; travelling, just like Jaskier and yet always one step ahead, always out of reach.

There was no hint as to where the poet would go next. The only pattern Jaskier could find was that they always showed up in towns that remembered a witcher with scars running down his face.

For whatever reason, the poet was targeting Eskel specifically.

So Jaskier did the only thing he could do. If he wasn’t able to tell the poet off face to face, he might answer in the best way he knew how: With his own verses.

Every single poem he came across, Jaskier would reply to with poems of his own – pinned to the boards in the place where the stranger’s poem had hung before Jaskier had torn it off. For good measure, Jaskier would also sing his verses in taverns and market squares, just in case the poet would be able to hear him.

When the stranger that had quickly become Jaskier’s worst enemy, spoke of ugly scars in his lines that twisted every smile into a snarl, Jaskier answered with tales of a witcher’s laughter that was more beautiful and joyful than any coy giggles one would hear at court.

When his enemy talked about witchers being alone and scorned wherever they went, Jaskier sang about how wonderful it felt to call a witcher his friend, how loyal and protective witchers were of those they loved – this of course was underlined with a barely hidden message that Jaskier in turn was very protective of his witchers and would bring anyone down who dared insult them.

This warning evidently wasn’t received, for the next poem Jaskier found spoke of lonely nights and averted eyes.

And the thing was…the more Jaskier read those poems, the more he found that they were true. What could he say to disprove those words that he hated so much? He had seen first-hand how people scuttled away in fear as soon as they sat eyes on a witcher. He knew that right now, without his company, Geralt and Eskel would spend their nights alone, possibly hurt and feeling like they didn’t belong.

As much as Jaskier despised the poet for perpetuating the public’s opinion of witchers, Jaskier had to admit that somehow they had a deep understanding of what a witcher’s life was like, even if they used their insight to do harm.

Jaskier didn’t know how to feel about that revelation. Whoever that poet was, he knew. He understood. Maybe even felt the same way.

But that didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter.

This person was hurting Jaskier’s friends and there was no excuse for that. If he ever met the poet, no word about this irrational fascination would come past his lips. He would make sure that they stopped writing such terrible things and nothing more. They didn’t deserve anything more.

There was just one problem…the poetry was good. Brilliant, even. If it weren’t for the horrible subjects, Jaskier might even admire the craftsmanship of the verses.

He couldn’t for the life of him figure out where the poet had learned to write like this. Certainly not at Oxenfurt. Some of these rhyme schemes were similar to ones only found in old elven poetry that had been nearly erased entirely and there were references to some of the poems to literature that had been almost completely lost for ages.

Jaskier almost wanted to sit down with this poet and talk about their craft. Their verses were more expressive than anything Jaskier had ever read and as loath as he was to admit it, some of them brought tears to Jaskier’s eyes with how beautifully worded they were.

It was such a sharp and painful contrast reading those wonderful metaphors and rhymes describing the Path as something gruesome, ugly and hated.

It made Jaskier long for his friends. He wanted to make sure they weren’t alone anymore, that they didn’t have to see only the ugly parts of the Path.

But it also made him want to know more about the poet. Wanted to find out why they sounded so hurt in the way they wrote. He wanted to console and comfort them.

It was an ugly thought and one that Jaskier was ashamed to admit to even himself. So he pushed it into the far back of his mind. This person, whoever they were, wasn’t the one Jaskier should comfort. They were the very reason why Jaskier’s friends felt lonely.

Jaskier would never betray Geralt’s trust by befriending someone like that. Even more, he wouldn’t betray Eskel like that. Beautiful Eskel who was afraid to smile for fear of people flinching back in disgust. Who had been shy and yet excited about talking to Jaskier about poetry.

Jaskier froze and ice spread through his chest. Eskel.

All this time Jaskier had been so fixated on finding the poet that he had completely forgotten that he couldn’t have been the only one who had found their poems. If Jaskier had seen any of them, he would be crushed. Poetry was one of the few things Eskel found enjoyment in while on the Path and this could ruin that for him forever.

That thought was enough for Jaskier to regain his earlier determination. Not a hint of affection for the poet was left in his heart.

Except that, as the months dragged on and Jaskier kept replying to the poet’s words, the hint of affection or rather fascination flickered back to life. At some point, the poet had started to respond to Jaskier’s responses. Not openly, of course, but it was obvious in the way they wrote that they were referring to some of the things Jaskier spoke of in his newest songs.

What had started out as a passive-aggressive way for Jaskier to tell the other poet that he despised them, slowly turned into something much different. Jaskier wasn’t sure if he liked it.

Ever so slowly, the subjects of the poet’s verses shifted. True enough, overall they were still about the Path in one way or another, but now the poems about hatred and scorn were interspersed with ones about flowers and occasional appreciation and strangely enough, the joy of knitting. The last one elicited a startled laugh out of Jaskier when he read it and he quickly stopped himself. He couldn’t however keep the smile off his face as he read through that poem again.

Hadn’t this been what Jaskier had wanted all along? It would appear that the poet had finally started to see reason and change the way they thought about witchers.

And now that Jaskier found those other, happier poems, he couldn’t help but see the beauty in their verses. He still kept all of their poems, but now he no longer did so to vanish all traces of them off the earth, but so that he could read them when he felt his own loneliness creep up on him.

Time and time again he let his eyes wander over a poem that talked about the happiness that came with unexpectedly meeting family again that had been longed for. It made Jaskier think about his witchers, about Geralt who had been his best friend for years and about Eskel who Jaskier wished more than anything to meet again someday. And strangely enough, he also thought about the poet, about meeting them and talking about the beautiful things they wrote about.

More than once, Jaskier reached for his quill to put a hidden message about a possible future meeting in his next poem, but every time he stopped himself. He couldn’t do this. Not for as long as he wasn’t sure whether this person had destroyed Eskel’s happiness and the last bit of his already fragile self-esteem.

But then, there was another change, one Jaskier hadn’t expected and that made his heart beat painfully fast in his chest. No longer did the poems speak about vague occurrences of joy and beauty, but of the joy Jaskiergave the poet. About how his voice and his words could make the poet feel like maybe life wasn’t as bleak as they had been told. About how Jaskier’s responses gave them hope. About how they made them feel less alone.

The sincerity and almost admiration in these words startled Jaskier. This wasn’t what he had wanted to do when he had started to respond to the poet. And yet…he couldn’t deny that he too felt a strange sense of companionship whenever he found another one of the poems. As strange as it sounded, but the poet had become the closest Jaskier had to someone he could talk to. Jaskier had no idea where his friends were, but no matter where he went, sooner or later, the poet’s words would reach him again. And damn him, it was nice having someone think of him and craft beautiful verses just for him.

Guilt gnawed at Jaskier’s insides and he wished it would be different, but he found himself looking forward to finding the next poem, always praying with all his might that it wouldn’t be about witchers.

It was nearly autumn when Jaskier found the poem that made his chest tighten with a strange emotion he couldn’t place.

The poem was so full of longing that it became hard for Jaskier to breathe. It was about yearning to meet Jaskier, of seeing his smile and feeling the gentleness of his hands. It was about the soul-crushing knowledge that they would only disappoint Jaskier if they ever met.

Jaskier’s hands trembled as he took that poem off the notice board. He caressed the small picture of the goat that had gone from being a hated mockery to something that made Jaskier smile whenever he saw it.

That night he got so close to telling the poet where to meet them.

The song with the directions was already written and he was already gathering his nerves to prepare himself to sing it the next day, when a sudden gust of wind made the stack of the stranger’s poems Jaskier had kept flutter through the air. Pages upon pages about how witchers were despised, about how they were fated to be alone and how no one would ever be able to see past their hideous scars landed all around Jaskier, accusing him of the betrayal he had almost committed.

His heart dropped like a stone and he forced himself to read through all of the poems again. Every verse, every line, every word that reminded him why he had sworn to himself to never forgive this poet.

When he was done, he stuffed the papers into the bottom of his back, telling himself he didn’t care about them crumbling and tearing.

When he left town, there he left no reply to the poet’s last poem. He only continued reading the notice boards to make sure the poet was still writing about things other than witchers, but Jaskier never responded anymore.

After a while, the poet too stopped writing.

His last poem was but a line, asking whether Jaskier was alright. It was so simple, so obviously worried that it took all of Jaskier’s will power not to respond and let the poet know that he was still there.

By the time it had become clear that no more poems would be written, Jaskier had almost convinced himself that he was happy about never having to hear from them again.

Though the thought of the poet didn’t leave Jaskier’s mind, no matter how hard he tried, Jaskier found someone far better.

Not a week after he had severed his connection to the poet for good and was back to performing his old songs about witchers, the door to the tavern Jaskier was playing at opened and a familiar figure entered.

Jaskier’s heart gave a jump and his fingers nearly fumbled when he recognised Eskel. The smile that spread across Jaskier’s face at the sight of the man he had longed to see again faltered, when he took him in more closely. Eskel was guarded most of the time, but now there was something more than that in his expression. He looked almost dejected and he had heavy bags under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept in days.

Jaskier’s chest clenched and he had to fight to keep up his happy performance persona. The Path must have been especially unkind to Eskel. Dread clawed at Jaskier’s heart and his voice trembled.

Was this the poet’s doing? Had their words reached Eskel after all and taken away any peace he might have had?

Jaskier’s eyes followed Eskel as he scanned the crowd before his eyes landed on Jaskier. For a heartbeat, something akin to fear flickered across Eskel’s expression, but then his eyes lit up and his shoulders slumped in relief.

As quickly as he could, Jaskier brought his performance to an end, claiming that he needed a break to give his voice some rest. He hurried over to Eskel and practically fell into his arms.

For a moment, Eskel stiffened at the touch, but then he returned the embrace almost desperately and pressed his face into the crook of Jaskier’s neck.

“You’re alright,” Eskel breathed, barely loud enough for Jaskier to hear.

“Of course I am,” Jaskier said as brightly as he could to ease Eskel’s worry and pulled back so he could properly look at Eskel. “Contrary to popular believe, I can go some time without getting into trouble.” He made no effort to try to be subtle about checking Eskel over for injuries. “Out of the two of us, I’m not the one who risks his life every day. What happened to you?”

Eskel stiffened slightly and his eyes shifted to the side, evading Jaskier’s gaze. “Nothing. I was just worried I had lost … a friend.”

Something in Jaskier’s chest softened and as they sat down at a table, Jaskier made a point of sliding in right next to Eskel instead of sitting down opposite of him.

For some inexplicable reason, Eskel still seemed hesitant to touch Jaskier as if he was worried Jaskier might withdraw if Eskel got to close, but his eyes raked over Jaskier as if he wanted to commit every inch of him to memory.

Jaskier scooted closer to Eskel until their thighs touched. He reached for Eskel’s hand and brushed a strand of hair behind his ears while talking about the thing Jaskier had seen since they had last met.

Ever so slowly, Eskel relaxed and leaned into the touch.

What had started as hesitant replies to Jaskier’s numerous questions about the Path quickly became a comfortable conversation, just like they had had when they had last seen each other.

The easiness with which words flowed almost reminded Jaskier of the easy exchange of words he had had with the poet.

He banished the thought as quickly as it had appeared.

He put his attention back to Eskel where it belonged and listened intently as Eskel told him about the monsters he had fought, about the places he had been and about the fact that for some reason, Eskel had been paid in knitting lessons from the very same old lady that had paid Eskel by giving him Lil Bleater a year ago.

As Jaskier laughed at that story and warmth spread through his chest, Eskel too smiled at him. It was a timid, gentle thing, barely enough to lift the edges of his lips properly, but it was big enough to twist the scars. And for once Eskel didn’t seem to mind.

The sight did something strange to Jaskier and suddenly he was filled with the urge to trace these beautiful lips with his thumb.

Eskel must have seen something shift in Jaskier’s expression, for he suddenly stopped talking and his eyes drifted down to Jaskier’s lips.

“Don’t stop,” Jaskier whispered. “I love the way you talk. It sounds almost like poetry.”

The hint of a blush crept into Eskel’s cheeks. “I…I could never write something as beautiful as your songs, but…” His lips twitched upwards and he lowered his head slightly. “You are very inspiring Jaskier. The way you talked about poetry…it made me pick up a pen too, after we parted last time.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened. “You write poetry?”

“Not very well.”

Jaskier knew that his eyes were full of fondness for this wonderful, beautiful witcher, but he didn’t care if he saw. He was too relieved to hear that the poet hadn’t been able to take Eskel’s love for poetry away from him after all.

So fixated on that last piece of bitterness that Jaskier had carefully kept alive to remind himself not to contact the poet again, he couldn’t help the next words from slipping past his lips.

“Whatever you’re writing, I am sure it is better than those horrible poems I have had to read lately.”

Eskel froze and his eyes darted between Jaskier’s.

“What…what poems did you have to read?” His voice sounded strangely thick.

Jaskier’s brows knitted together and he waved his hand through the air dismissively, even as his chest clenched painfully. “Just someone who thought they should post their poetry on notice boards. It’s a good thing no one will ever have to read a word of theirs again.”

Eskel’s face fell and he drew back just enough that he wasn’t touching Jaskier anymore. “You really hated it that much?”

Jaskier huffed out a bitter laugh. “You would have too, if you had seen the things they wrote.”

Even while he said it, Jaskier knew that something was wrong. Eskel’s expression shuttered completely and he turned away from Jaskier.

Jaskier’s insides grew cold. For an uncomfortable moment that seemed to stretch on forever, he sat silently next to Eskel, wrecking his brain trying to figure out where he had messed up. Whatever it had been, it was clear that his presence made Eskel uncomfortable.

A half-hearted excuse left Jaskier, something about having to continue his performance.

Eskel only replied with a silent nod as Jaskier left the table to resume his playing. And when Jaskier risked a glance at their table during a song, he found that Eskel had already left.

Uncaring of the disappointed shouts of his audience, Jaskier’s voice broke off and he hastened back to their now empty table to gather his things.

Whatever he had done, to chase Eskel away, he needed to fix this.

He grabbed his cloak and dropped a couple of coins on the table to pay for the meal he had had earlier, when his eyes fell on something lying on the table. A slip of paper with some flimsy excuse for why Eskel had to leave on it.

For a heartbeat Jaskier only stared at it, uncomprehending what he was seeing.

But there was no two ways about it. The writing that now stared back at Jaskier was the same handwriting he had been reading for the past months. It was the poet’s handwriting.

Without a second thought, Jaskier bolted out of the tavern and after Eskel.

“Wait!” he called out to him when he caught sight of him disappearing into an alleyway.

His breath came heavy and his lungs burned from the sudden sprint, but Jaskier didn’t stop until he caught up with Eskel who stood with his back to Jaskier, obviously unwilling to face him.

“Eskel,” Jaskier said helplessly. “I-“

“I’m sorry,” Eskel interrupted and his shoulders tensed. “I didn’t know – If I had known how much you hated the poems I would have stopped.”

For the first time since Jaskier could remember, he found no words. His mind was racing, connecting memories to his knew knowledge and making connections where before there had been nothing but false conclusions.

Jaskier’s uncharacteristic silence must have been reply enough for Eskel, for he half-turned to him, just enough for Jaskier to see his scars.

“I didn’t mean to make you hate me,” Eskel said quietly and his voice was tight. “I am sorry I made you miserable with my poems all these months. I’ll stop. I promise, you won’t have to read anything like that again. You won’t even have to see me. I just…after I didn’t hear from you again, I needed to make sure you were still alive.”

“You didn’t,” Jaskier said, voice breaking. “You didn’t make my life miserable. But they sounded….Eskel, why did your poems sound like yourlife was miserable? Why would you say such horrible things about yourself?”

Eskel flinched and his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I didn’t know what else to write about. There wasn’t much else. Until…” Eskel’s voice trailed off.

“Until you wrote about flowers and knitting and family,” Jaskier ended softly for him.

Eskel nodded and Jaskier felt tears pricking at his eyes. “I loved them. And knowing that they came from you, that you are the one who found happiness out there, you have no idea how much that means to me.”

Without meaning to, Jaskier reached out for Eskel’s hand and before he knew it, Eskel had threaded their fingers together and turned to face Jaskier fully. They were so close. Jaskier could see every speck of gold in Eskel’s eyes as they flickered down to his lips.

“Jaskier.” His voice was hoarse and he looked like it took all his strength to say the one word. Slowly, Eskel leaned forward, and Jaskier could feel his heart skip a beat and his breath hitch. Eskel’s eyes widened and he drew back abruptly.

“I am sorry,” Eskel blurted out.

Jaskier’s brows drew together and he tried to follow Eskel’s movement and close the gap between them again.

“Why? Eskel, what could you possibly have to be sorry about?”

An unreadyable expression flashed across Eskel’s face. “About this.” He gestured vaguely between them. “And about my last poems. I didn’t think you’d ever find out they were from me. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

It took Jaskier a second to understand what he meant, but when he did, his heart broke for the poet who had longed to feel Jaskier’s touch; for Eskel who had been scared that he would only disappoint.

Carefully, Jaskier lifted his hand, giving Eskel time to refuse the touch. When his hand settled on Eskel’s skin and gently caressed Eskel’s scars, Jaskier could feel Eskel’s shuddering breath ghost across Jaskier’s skin and Eskel closed his eyes, leaning into the touch.

“You could never disappoint,” Jaskier whispered. “Never you.”

“Does that mean you didn’t mind those poems?” Eskel’s voice was filled with barely restrained hope.

Jaskier let out a huffed laugh. “Oh, I did very much mind them. For so long I had wanted to punch my poet in the face for what they wrote. And those letters…they made me want to kiss them.”

Eskel’s eyes snapped open. “You-“ he broke off, a bittersweet smile on his face. His next words were so quiet that Jaskier couldn’t be sure he was even meant to hear them. “At least I could make you want me as someone else.”

Jaskier tilted his head to the side. His fingers slid down Eskel’s face, before they came to rest at the corner of Eskel’s lips.

“Oh Eskel,” Jaskier breathed, stepping impossibly closer. “The one thing holding me back was the thought that it wasn’t you.”

“Jaskier…” Eskel came no further. Before any more words of fear or self-doubt could leave him, Jaskier pressed his lips against Eskel’s.

Eskel let out a soft gasp, before returning the kiss, only interrupting it for long enough to whisper words to Jaskier that were simpler and yet more beautiful than any poem could be.

For the first time in what felt like too long, Jaskier responded to his poet’s words, with the same simple words that made Eskel’s face light up in a way that made Jaskier doubt that he would ever write about loneliness and feeling unlovable ever again.

#I started writing this during a zoom meeting in which i had my own enemies-to-friends-thing going on #so this prompt was really fitting lmao #jaskel #prompt #jaskier x eskel #eskel x jaskier #eskel #jaskier #my writing #fic #witcher fic #fanfic #this once again got longer than i intended #and it's the middle of the night so I had no time to edit #oops

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dapandapod · 3 years

Note

How about 26 for the hug ask?

26. exhausted hug

YES! You absolutely may!! Thank you bestest @kuripon for betareading this, i literally wrote this at midnight and my tired ass is projecting on my lovely witcher. Please enjoy tired hugs!

Send me a hug prompt!

On Ao3 Hug collection here

The world is not so dark when there are toxins running through you. The shadows are not as deep, the night not as lonely. Everywhere there are little creatures, good and bad. Everywhere, they are watching him.

Geralt tries to step cautiously, tries to make no sound. He is good at it, usually, but the day has already been long. He has been tracking the Fiend for most of the day, and now he thinks he might have found its lair.

His sword lies heavy in his hand, his armor a solid weight over his shoulders. On any other night, he wouldn’t give it much thought. On any other night, he would tighten the straps and trudge on.

But tonight, his muscles are already fighting him. Tonight, the soft light of the moon is almost as bright as the sun, every sound loud to his potion-sensitive hearing.

He knows it will take him just as many hours to get back to the inn, back to his… his friend. Geralt is not used to having someone waiting for him, despite all the years they have spent together. Jaskier still being there baffles him every time, but tonight, oh, tonight he wants nothing more than to be with him back in their room.

He grips his sword tighter, fishes out one of his prepared oils and coats the blade quickly. He needs to be quick about it, he can feel Cat already draining out of his system, and with all the other things he has taken in preparation, he will feel like shit if he drinks more.

Geralt steps quietly, and inside, the Fiend roars.

The walk is fucking long. Geralt barely has the energy to return the sword to its scabbard on his back. He is not sure how to bring the fiend's head to the alderman. As it is, he can barely stand up. The potions are finally burning out, leaving his body a shaking, shivering mess. His muscles ache and there is a pounding behind his eyes and in his temples. His knuckles are white from holding such a tight grip. He is lucky the Fiend didn’t manage to cut through his armour, but he suspects he will have some heavy bruising over his back in the next few days, even with his mutagen-enhanced healing.

He could just sit down for a while and meditate. Just for an hour. He could.

He just doesn’t want to.

Before all this, before the bard, he might have. But now all Geralt can think of is a soft bed, a friendly presence, a hot bath.

He is trying not to think too much about Jaskier, but as he hoists his trophy over his shoulder and starts the long way back, he can’t help but let his thoughts wander.

Towards that brilliant smile when Geralt says something that makes him laugh, towards those strong arms that somehow manage to hold whatever Geralt throws at him. Towards those cornflower blue eyes that see so much more than Geralt even expected, toward that clever tongue that can cut or please with words alone.

He thinks about how on rare occasions, Jaskier would hug him. And once the thought has struck him, Geralt can’t stop thinking about it. He wonders if Jaskier would hold him tonight. That would probably be nice. And most likely filthy, considering today's activities. Maybe Jaskier wouldn’t care.

Those thoughts keep Geralt occupied as he finds his way back. He ignores his body's protests, his knees creaking. The stars are slowly replaced with the first light of day, the sky shifting and changing into the soft colors of morning.

Geralt has seen it so many times, and no matter how tired he is, he always has to take a moment and just take it in. He stops in the middle of a field, putting the Fiend head on the ground as he looks up and just breathes.

This is when he notices how close he is to the village. The forest and the hills are behind him, and only open fields lay between him and Jaskier.

Just a little further.

Jaskier actually meets him, just as the sun peaks up over the edge of the world. There is a light mist in the air as the ground fights off the night cold, and when Geralt spots Jaskier, he just stops.

He is not hurt in any way, he has just run out of energy. Jaskier comes towards him with a spring in his step, and the moment he reaches the witcher, he starts fussing. Geralt lets him, wincing when Jaskier touches the torn armor over his back. That is when he finally steps back. Grabbing Jaskier's hips, he pulls him closer and drops his head to Jaskier’s shoulder. He sighs. Finally, finally he made it.

Jaskier is silent, still for a moment. When it becomes clear that Geralt isn’t going to let go, Jaskier huffs and wraps his arms over Geralt’s lower back, mindful of the shredded armor and the apparent bruises.

They stand there for a long while, Jaskier only protesting when Geralt leans a little too hard on him.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, you big oaf. At least not here. Let’s go back to the inn.”

Jaskier pulls back and leads Geralt by the hand towards the village. They drop by the alderman quickly, meeting him in the door to trade the head for a bag of coins, and off they go.

Geralt fumbles with the straps of his armor, puts his swords and boots away. Jaskier only has to help him to remove the shredded pieces, and Geralt hisses when it puts pressure on the bruises.

There is a soft press of lips to the back of his shoulder and gone again, so soft he could have imagined it. He is too tired to comment now. It might have been his imagination, his wishful thinking.

Then Jaskier takes his hand again, and leads him towards the bed. They have two, but Jaskier follows him down into this one, laying on his back and placing Geralt atop of himself. They shift around until they both are comfortable, and Geralt ends up with his chin back on Jaskier’s shoulder, his arm resting over Jaskier’s chest, and Jaskier’s hand tracing gentle patterns over his sides.

The village wakes up outside, the sun rising higher and higher. But inside, behind a locked door in a soft bed with a bard in his arms, Geralt can finally rest.

#geraskier #the witcher #geralt x jaskier #fiends are so cool #also right now they be dead #hug prompts 2021 #spudmeisterin #exhausted hugs #they might have a pride and predjudice moment #you know the one #i want to kall this getting together #shoulderkisses #dapanda writes #dapanda should be the fuck asleep #shhh im absolutely sleeping

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peaktotheocean · 3 years

Text

post-production

Pairing: Jaskier/Geralt ao3 link here Notes: If you ever watched the Lord of the Rings behind-the-scene discs and thought “I wish there was a 12K Witcher AU where Jaskier is the famous actor who buys a horse for Geralt the horse trainer” then you’re in luck

Jaskier knew that he would miss the stable the most. After weeks of filming on location, surrounded by crew and actors that Valdo had already poisoned against him, the stable had become a respite of sorts.

No matter the smells (the many, many smells), Jaskier would always remember the sun beams shining through the high windows and illuminating the dust and dirt to shine on the horses. Jaskier had tried and failed many times to capture the moment on his phone— to the point where he was convinced that it was impossible. He would just have to burn the sight into his memory.

Jaskier had just one more day in this stable and on set and then he could sort of what he wanted to do with the rest of his life.

Certainly not acting.

Five blockbusters in four years and Jaskier's exhaustion knew no bounds. Not to mention people he thought were his friends just clinging to him for a ride.

He had meant for his career to be music and yet here he was on what he considered the wrong marquees.

Taking a small acting job offered by a friend in order to help pay rent had escalated into a full career and never worrying about rent again.

But then there was Valdo.

Jaskier had only started hearing about the rumors during the second week of the shoot. And by, then it had been too late. Valdo's charisma and charm took hold and Jaskier wasn't to be trusted. Was he a thief? A gossip? A drunk? A backstabber? It depended on which rumor went around that morning.

"Last day, darling."

"What?" The horsemaster's gruff tone was shorter than usual today.

"Sorry. I was--" Jaskier broke off. He didn't want to say it aloud. Which was silly because he had seen Geralt speaking to his own horse, Roach many mornings. Not to mention afternoons and evenings and any other time they were shooting scenes and Geralt was brought on set to stay with the horses. "I was just telling Pegasus that it's our last day with the horses. Or my last day, I suppose."

"Hmm."

Jaskier already missed the grunts. It was unclear if Geralt disliked him because of Valdo's rumors. But truthfully, the horsemaster hadn't seemed to have taken a shine to anyone over the course of shooting.

Well, not any humans, at least.

He doted on all the horses. Roach in particular, and Jaskier couldn't blame him. She was a sweet mare and if Jaskier hadn't been assigned his darling Pegasus, he would have liked a chance to ride Roach as well.

But of course not. She was Geralt's favorite and Valdo's mount.

Not that the actor cared. The animals were more like props than living beings to him. Jaskier didn't like thinking about the amount of times he had seen Valdo curl his lip at Roach.

Just Jaskier's luck.

He had beaten out Valdo for a role which he hadn’t even known the man had wanted. And in return, Jaskier’s last few months had been lonely and uncomfortable and—

He set his forehead against Pegasus’s neck and took a breath to steady himself.

He could still feel Geralt’s presence. Lifting his head back up, he smiled at the man who showed no emotion in return. At least Jaskier knew that Geralt didn't like anyone else on the set either. In a strange way, it helped. Geralt was a part of his respite in the stables just by being impartial to the rest of the gossip of the set.

"Not the last day overall, of course. But I checked and I know we're moving on to another area for the next month or so. Granted, I guess you'll still be here if they want to do re-shoots, right? Can't go through the trouble of training so many horses over again."

Geralt had apparently decided that Jaskier wasn't even worth of his grunts anymore. As if Jaskier was the one who came out early to the stables to interrupt him and not vice-versa. Still, the actor had to admit that the quiet of the stable comforted him regardless. No one gossiping. No Valdo. Just him and Pegasus.

And Geralt, he supposed.

And Roach.

And the other horses.

Well, Jaskier supposed no moment was truly perfect.

----------------

Jaskier let his fingers run over the intricate chainmail of one of the many costumes from the film. Percival and his artistic team had done such excellent work. It was a shame that most of it would be auctioned off but with any luck, some would go into a production vault or even a perhaps a museum exhibit for film costumes. While Jaskier enjoyed the way his costume felt on him, purchasing it wasn't a priority for him.

“Percival!" He called when he saw the crewman in question. "This is for the auction, right? Do you know when it's actually happening?”

Jaskier hated how nervous he felt. He knew the horses were up on the auction block and he had a plan. Pegasus was the only good part of this filming and Jaskier didn't want to leave him behind. “For the horses,” Jaskier clarified.

“You interested?”

“Very.” Feeling much like the office was his primary school classroom, Jaskier stood up straight and put on his best serious face. “I’ve got the space and a neighbor who already shared the name of the veterinarian he uses for his farm.”

“Better prepared than most actors who make a snap decision at those auctions. Plenty of times I’ve heard of some bigshot selling off a horse after less than a month."

Jaskier couldn't tamp down the pride he felt at getting Percival's approval. Gods, he needed to leave this set. Just spend some time with Priscilla and not think about acting for a while. With any luck, he'd be spending time with Pegasus as well.

“How awful.”

“Can’t be helped. You’ll want Pegasus, of course?” Percival asked knowingly, poking fun at Jaskier's wide smile.

“Please. Send me the info and if I can’t be there and I’ll send someone else in my stead.” Jaskier couldn't help himself. “Truthfully, I’d take Roach too but I suspect the horsemaster has his eye on her.”

“Geralt?" Percival asked. He shook his head. "He can’t afford her.”

“You’re kidding.” What a shame. Jaskier had never met a horse and a rider so in tune with one another. He had just taken it as fact that Geralt would be taking Roach home with him. For the first few weeks, until gruffly corrected by Geralt, Jaskier had assumed that Geralt owned Roach and had brought her to set in the first place.

Though, looking back, it was a foolish thing to think. Roach and Valdo had been paired together for the duration of the filming and Geralt's stony glare anytime the actor mounted the mare...well, Jaskier would assume that if Roach had belonged to Geralt, he would have banned Valdo from riding her.

“Already asked him. I went to give him the info because I thought the same as you. Figured he’d be first in line but he didn’t even consider it. Poor fella. I didn’t want to push, you know?”

“Good man.” Jaskier stroked Pegasus and his eyes drifted over to Roach.

----------------

Zoltan's head poked through the door of office had housed the horse crew for the past few months. It hadn't become home, certainly, but the production team had put together a good group. Geralt would be keeping the contact information of more than a few riders and trainers in hopes of working with them again on future projects.

"You headed out, Rivia?"

"Almost packed. Just wanted to stop by the stables." The production auction had already happened but Geralt hadn't heard of any of the horses being moved out just yet. That kind of transport, especially if they weren't being kept local, took time to arrange. He had double-checked too. There was plenty of time for him to say goodbye to Roach. Give her a few extra treats, a good brushing down. The best sendoff a girl could ask for, really.

And she deserved a proper goodbye. Geralt had second-guessed himself, knowing how much it would hurt to say farewell but he couldn't help himself. Between the actors and the long shoots, all the horses deserved some post-production pampering. Geralt hoped the rest of them would get it once they were with their new owners and families.

"Surely you're doing more than stopping by."

"What?"

Zoltan gave him a perplexed look. "Roach, I mean. You're taking her with you, aren't you?"

"Can't afford her," Geralt said, trying not to grit his teeth. He had only said it aloud once before. When Percival had asked for his future plans. All of the horses were auctioned off at the end of the production, along with various bits and bobs that the studio didn't want to keep or store.

Roach was a prize mare, along with many of the other impressively bred horses in that stable.

Geralt would have loved to take her back to the ranch and shared stables that he ran with his family but it just wasn't in the cards. It was kind of the manager to even come to him and inquire. It spoke volumes about what Geralt had accomplished over the course of the shoot. At least with that gesture, Geralt knew he'd have a reference for future jobs. Perhaps not just for him but for the ranch too.

"But she's in your name. Isn’t she?"

"What are you talking about?"

Zoltan came into the room now, still looking at Geralt as though the man needed his head examined. He spoke slowly. "Geralt, I saw the finalized auction list. She's been paid for already and your name is on the front of her paddock."

Geralt froze. Surely Zoltan misread or even misunderstood. Geralt's name's was occasionally listed on paperwork as a handler if a buyer wanted to know more about a horse's temperament. But not as the owner or buyer.

He slowly backed away from Zolton and calmly headed towards the stables, and Roach's stall. He did not want to sprint eagerly or get his hopes up so instead, Geralt inhaled and exhaled every other measured step.

Roach's ownership papers were slipped in a plastic sleeve with a little metal hook attached so it remained securely on the nails of the stall door. Little dried stains and dirt covered the plastic and Geralt imagined Roach trying to get at her own papers.

Geralt von Rivia.

Undeniably, there in black and white. Geralt blinked, not believing his own eyes.

But still, there it was: Geralt von Rivia.

"Ah, Geralt!" The stablemaster came up to him, clapping him on the shoulder. "I had heard that you weren't able to bid. What a lovely surprise when I saw the name." Roach stretched as far out of her stall as she could manage, just reaching Geralt to nudge him. "And it looks like she agrees as well."

"But I didn't bid," Geralt said, confused. He stared at the paperwork for an extended period of time. He just couldn't believe it. Even encased in plastic that had corners peeling away at the top, it looked as officially legal as the other ones hangin off of the rest of the stalls in the stable.

"What?"

"I didn't bid. I told them that I couldn't. I didn't— I don't..." Geralt tilted his head and looked at the placard attached to the paddock. Geralt von Rivia and Roach.

How?

"I don't think anyone would be so cruel to play on a joke on you like this, mate."

"How can I check?"

The stablemaster pulled out his phone and held up a finger. Geralt didn't argue but watched the man dial a number and take a few steps away.

Roach stretched her neck again so her entire head came through the opening above the stall.

"Hello, girl." Geralt used both hands to rub at her face. He couldn't help it. Even if his name on the paperwork ended up being a cruel joke, he could imagine her at his family's ranch. She wouldn't take shit from the bigger stallion his brother kept and she'd teach their other mares to do the same.

"I talked to the production office. Said she's yours. The bid was placed anonymously."

"What? Anonymously?" Geralt looked at Roach as though she had the answers but the stablemaster continued to talk.

"They also included shipping costs as well as extra for feed, care, special needs, etc. A retainer essentially."

"Anonymous? How could they manage that?” Geralt leaned against the stall door, brain going into overdrive. He wasn't even sure where to start.

The stablemaster clearly could tell, and his voice softened, speaking as he would to any of the horses in the building. Geralt couldn't find it in himself to angry. It was a strange version of kindness that, in his overwhelmed state, he had no option except to accept. "It's all in the paperwork."

"Can I get a copy?"

"She's yours, Geralt, of course. Her and the paperwork."

Geralt looked at the paperwork attached to the stall and began to slide it out of its protective slip. He balanced his phone in one hand and the papers in the other as he slowly began taking photographs of each one. "I want to send the information to my friend before I— before I take her home."

"A lawyer, you mean."

Geralt nodded. "Just to double check."

“Smart man. Let me know if I can be of anymore help.”

Mercifully, the stablemaster left and Geralt let himself slide down the stall door. He knew he'd have to change pants before leaving now but he couldn't bring himself to care. He leaned his head back against the door.

He squinted at the sun through the windows as he struggled to hear the phone ringing amidst the breakdown of the rest of the set.

“Geralt.”

“Yenn.” Geralt couldn’t manage more than that. He took a deep breath to try again but Yennefer stopped him.

“Geralt? Are you all right? I thought you were still on location for that god awful film.”

“I am. I’m still there. I just. Something’s happened. I’m fine,” he added quickly. “It’s just strange.”

“Explain.”

"If someone bought you something anonymously, is there a way to tell who it was?"

"A gift? What kind of gift has you this shaken up? I am going to need so much more context, Geralt. Not to mention lunch and permission to laugh at you for whatever this is once you're back in the area.” Yennefer stopped talking and Geralt heard a few voices, none of them hers. “That is, I assume you're not back in the area yet. I just saw Eskel at the market last week. He would have mentioned it."

"No we— the film just wrapped. Everything was being broken down and there was an auction but." Geralt took a breath and gathered his words. "The horse I talked to you about."

"The smart one, yes." Yennefer's voice grew quiet and sympathetic in a way that would have surprised Geralt when they first met. But she knew what horses meant to him and respected it. They had both come a long way with one another. "I'm sorry. I know you wanted to buy her."

"That’s the thing, Yenn, someone bought her for me. I just received the paperwork. They paid for her, the board, and transportation back to the ranch. Not to mention a little more if needed. What could be needed?"

"Maybe they thought since you couldn't afford the price of the horse, you couldn't afford food, medical care, things like that."

"Oh." Geralt couldn't decide if that was insulting or thoughtful. Most people on set only saw him in his barn clothing so perhaps they couldn't be blamed for the assumption. He certainly didn't attend any social gatherings after the work day. The cost of Roach had held him back, not the care.

"You don't know who it could have been? Not a clue?"

"I'm...not exactly friendly to people on set," Geralt growled. “I certainly didn’t endear myself to that Marx asshole who rode her during filming.” He hated being on set but he was there to do a job and at least if he was there, he knew someone was protecting the animals.

"You do want her, right?"

"Of course I do," Geralt gripped the phone tightly. "I just want to make sure it wasn't some kind of mistake. Or strings attached. That she can't just be taken away at all in the future."

"All right. I'll look into it. Send me everything and give me a few hours."

"Thank you."

----------------

Geralt von Rivia.

Jaskier shifted all of Pegasus’ equipment to one arm so he could reach out and touch the paper. It felt good to see.

He looked around the stable to check he was alone before giving Roach one last pat. He kissed her on the nose and whispered, “Goodbye.”

----------------

Geralt’s entire afternoon had to shift. No longer could he throw his duffel bag in his truck and endure the long drive home. Instead he spent the day asking for another night in one of the spare rooms near the set. He went to ask after borrowing a trailer, only to find that it was one of the included costs with the purchase of Roach and far too nice for his truck.

Most importantly, he spent time with Roach. She was the last horse left at the end of the day. He had avoided people by hopping into her stall at some point, the stables full of agencies and buyers coming to collect.

A few people stopped to read the paperwork outside Roach and Geralt couldn’t stop his pride from rising. She was a star, great stock but even better temperament. And she was all his now.

Thankfully, by the time Yennefer called, no one was in the stables to hear a mobile phone start ringing inside one of the stalls.

“That was fast.”

“I’m very good at my job, Geralt.” Geralt wisely held his tongue. “Right so. Roach was bought and paid for by a Julian Alfred Pankratz."

Geralt blinked. He looked to Roach as though she could answer his questions. “I...I don't know a Julian-- whatever. Whatever name you just said to me."

Yennefer gently, "I think he's more commonly called Jaskier."

"Jaskier?"

"Yes, Jaskier. You know, one of the stars of the film series you've been working on the past few months."

Geralt bit back a growl. Yennefer was doing him a favor. He didn't need to be a twat. "I know who he is. I don't know why he bought Roach though."

He had certainly never been kind to Jaskier. If anything he had been a downright grump. Which wasn't much different from how Geralt treated most of the actors. Even the ones who had been nothing but kind to him.

He just couldn't risk it. The cast were a load of gossips and each week, Geralt heard something different about Jaskier and his coworkers. Geralt hadn't wanted to get involved.

It wasn't worth his time to be a notch in the bedpost for an actor who apparently had paramours throughout the cast and country, if the rumors were to be believed.

Clearly it hadn't mattered to Jaskier anyway.

"Bought and gave to you," Yennefer corrected. "Roach is in your name. I had to jump through some hoops to find this information. It wasn't easy. I don't think he intended on you ever knowing. He never mentioned it at all, correct?"

Most of the conversations Geralt had with the man were one-sided, or just corrections for his horse handling.

"Most of the actors left the day after the film wrapped. I haven't seen any of them save for a few who needed re-shoots with some of the sets we still had." His fist tightened around his phone. “I only told one person that I couldn’t afford Roach. He's not the type to pass around gossip.”

"I don't think Jaskier meant anything bad by it, Geralt."

"I just don't...understand."

"Me neither but unless you'd also like me to follow up, perhaps get in touch with his management?" She left the question hanging in the air and Geralt's face reddened at even the mention of talking to Jaskier again. It wasn't the man who had him worried but the whole process. Going through his team and agent just to ask why? What if he took back the gift?

Yennefer read his mind, as per usual. “He can't take Roach back, Geralt. I made sure of it but honestly, it looks like he is the one who made sure of it. No strings."

"No strings."

"Do you want me to try and find out why? Have you looked at her teeth? Perhaps you might want to look a gift horse in the--"

"Yennefer," Geralt growled.

"Take Roach back to the ranch, Geralt. I'm sure your family will be excited to meet her."

----------------

"Is this my welcome?" Geralt hadn't even gotten out of his truck yet but he was tempted to make a u-turn and leave the ranch the same way he came in. He wasn't sure where he and Roach would go but anywhere would be better than his little brother giving him a suspicious expression the moment he pulled into the driveway. Eskel pushed Lambert to try and snap him out of his daze. "Well, are you just going to look at me like that or are you going to say hello?"

"Did we know you were bringing home a horse?" Eskel asked delicately while Lambert just continued to stare.

"I didn't even know I was bringing home a horse." Geralt slammed the driver's side door shut and caught Eskel in a hug. He snagged Lambert too even though the little shit tried to wriggle away after two seconds.

Lambert went through his fingers on a very short checklist. "Aiden was hoping you'd break your rule of no autographs for this one. But you didn't do that. And you brought home a horse."

"We've got a free stall, right?" Geralt looked towards the stables. They rarely had a full house unless they were hosting some kind of trail camp. Still, he hadn't even thought of calling home to check.

"She's staying?"

"She's mine." Geralt handed Eskel the paperwork and Lambert immediately hung over his shoulder to read through it.

Eskel's eyes widened at the sight of her lineage. "How did you afford--"

"I didn't. It's…a long story."

"You didn't steal a horse, did you? Someone is going to be looking for this girl."

"She's not stolen. Her name is Roach." Geralt ran his finger through his hair, pulling at the tangles from having the window open on the long ride back home. "Melitele, can we not do this now? Let me get her settled and then I'll tell you about it."

Eskel and Lambert exchanged a look and Eskel shoved Lambert off his shoulder. "Lambert, go tell Dad that Geralt's home. When does the trailer have to go back?"

"They bought that too."

"The trailer came with the horse?" Eskel waved his hand after seeing the pained look on Geralt's face. "All right, don't tell me. I know you don't want to explain it more than once."

He left Geralt to blessed silence. Silent as a farm could get, at any rate. He patted Roach's flank and coaxed her out of the trailer, leaving it unlocked and opened behind him. The ranch was isolated enough as it was and he'd be back for it soon enough.

"This is Scorpion. That's Kelpie," Geralt introduced Roach to each horse as he walked her by their stalls, finally coming to an empty one. He eyed up Scorpion, already thinking ahead. Eskel's stallion was of good lineage. It wouldn't be a bad match to think of for the future.

He hung around the stable as long as he thought he was able to. Just because one of his brothers hadn't been sent out to fetch him yet didn't mean that Vesemir hadn't already planned it. Geralt patted Roach one last time and headed out.

The farmhouse smelled just as he left it, like horse and his father's cooking. The first an unfortunate by-product of their lives but the second, a welcome back.

They didn't all still live in the house. Eskel had a cabin on the furthest edge of the land with a herd of goats that they rented out and kept for milk. Lambert and Aiden had just moved to another patch of acreage on the opposite side before Geralt had left for the film shoot. From what Geralt could gather from Eskel's texts, they swapped out more nights than one making sure someone was there to help Vesemir with the morning chores.

"Hey Dad." Geralt leaned in and let his Vesemir clap him on the back.

"Good to have you home." Vesemir's gruff voice washed over Geralt and he felt something in his shoulders settle. He took the offered bowl of stew and purposefully brushed against both Eskel and Lambert on his way to sit at the table.

"Good to be home."

Lambert, mouth full of beef stew, used his dripping spoon to gesture to the TV.

“You worked with him, right?”

"Who?" Geralt looked up from his bowl. There was an entertainment show on the television but it had gone commercial. Lambert rolled his eyes at him.

“Jackass. Jaskier. They had a whole segment on him."

Geralt swallowed and before he could overthink it, told them, "That’s the one who bought Roach. Bought her in my name, I mean."

Eskel near choked on a beef chunk, "What?"

"Him?" Lambert's eyes widened. He shot a look at Vesemir. "Did you, uhh--" but he didn't get a chance to finish because Geralt threw a chunk of bread at his head.

"I didn't sleep with him, you ass. I don't know why he did it. I wasn't even supposed to know, according to Yennefer."

Geralt wished he knew why. It was an itch he couldn't scratch, though having Roach home and in her stall was a significant balm. He accepted another slice of bread from Eskel.

"She checked it out?" Vesemir asked knowingly. "Everything is all right?"

"The paperwork all checks out. No strings," Geralt echoed Yennefer's earlier words.

"Good lineage," Eskel added slowly. "There’s no issues with her health?”

Geralt nodded. "None that I know of. I'm going to call in Coën tomorrow to give her a full check-up and we'll go from there. I don't think there will be a problem though."

Lambert shrugged at Eskel who still looked suspicious. He eyed the door that led out closest to the barn as if he wanted to go interrogate Roach to find out more. “Oh. Well, I guess a person who buys a horse anonymously as a gift can’t be that big of an ass then like the papers say, right? Was he?”

“Was he what?”

“An ass. Was Jaskier an ass?” Lambert asked again.

Geralt pondered the question. He hadn't expected to think this much about anyone from the cast after production had set down. Definitely not Jaskier.

Truthfully, Jaskier had been the furthest thing from an ass. Sure, he had gotten to the stables earlier than the other actors but it was a strange thing for Geralt to complain about considering how late the rest of the cast were for their training sessions. He cared about the horses too. It had been sweet.

"What are you on about?" Vesemir grumbled.

Lambert, mouth full of stew, looked at Eskel imploringly, fighting to swallow. Eskel tilted his head towards the television. "The lad who bought Geralt his horse apparently got on the bad side of some folks. The gossip shows say they've been spreading rumors about him for months."

"Did he say that? Jaskier." Geralt's attention suddenly back on the television. The b-roll footage of a posh gentleman on the red carpet was not the same man covered in a dirt -covered costume after a ride or a long shoot, that was for sure. It still was Jaskier though.

"No one's heard from him. It's all come out now after the production's ended."

Eskel plucked a newspaper off of the counter and passed it over to Geralt who took it but kept it closed. Jaskier's face was on the cover or it would have been if his hand hadn't blocked the photograph from the view. "Wouldn't be surprised if he sued them for libel though. Judging by what they're saying in here, he's certainly got a case."

FALSEHOODS AND PRODUCTION WOES the newspaper headline shouted. Geralt ran through the first few lines of the article and felt the pit in his stomach begin to grow.

“I heard some of these.” He had been on more toxic sets in the past. With more difficult actors trying to make passes at him, sometimes aggressively. Thinking that crew should be lucky to get their attention. Television shows, soap operas had been worse. But this still hadn't been good. And Jaskier had been nothing but kind to him. Annoying, perhaps early in the morning but, certainly nothing like the rumors had suggested. Still Geralt had done his best to ignore him.

“No kidding? Maybe they’ll call you in to testify.”

Geralt leaned against the counter and stared the newspaper, hoping no one else heard the roaring in his ears.

Perhaps there had been another reason Jaskier was hiding in the stables each morning instead of by the breakfast tables in the craft tent.

Certainly Geralt had taken his solace in the company of animals before. Jaskier had clearly just been doing the same.

----------------

“You have more security out in the country. That’s the whole point of the privacy fence,” Priscilla argued. Jaskier had been sneaking peeks through the blinds for the better part of the morning. His face had gotten paler with each glance.

“I know you’re right.”

“I am. London will still be here when this all blows over. Or when a judge makes it blow over.” Jaskier sighed. Priscilla hated seeing him like this, curled up on the couch, phone turned off. Country life would be pleasant in more than one way.

“You can bond some more with that horse you’ve got. I’m sure he missed you.”

“I’ll just have to come back to the premiere,” Jaskier warned. “You won’t have the flat to yourself for too long.”

----------------

"Zoltan."

"You're going."

"Going where?"

"To the premiere."

"We're a little busy here." Geralt gazed around the quiet stables and winced at the phone in his hand. What Zoltan didn't know wouldn't hurt him. The last thing Geralt wanted to do was take the journey into London and be around people that he didn't even socialize with when he was paid to.

"All the crew is invited and the production team is insisting the crew come so they don't look like asshats. Please come keep me company," Zoltan near begged.

"Too late for that isn't it?" Geralt thought back to the television stories and the articles about Jaskier.

Sure, maybe Geralt had given into his curiosity and googled Jaskier's name a few times after his first night home but the man really had vanished. No photographer had been able to capture any images of him and his team weren't responding to any questions.

Geralt wasn't sure if it was Jaskier's team at work or someone in his corner but certainly he had read a few articles about instances of Jaskier's kindness. He had experienced that first hand and judging by the rest of the stories, he felt they had to be true. Most of Jaskier's generosity came anonymously but he hadn't always been as good at covering his tracks as he had been with Roach.

"Well, perhaps. Valdo made sure of that."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, I just meant. All those rumors he spread about Jaskier. Turns out this wasn't the first person who he had done this too. I heard tell that Valdo is going to be blacklisted in the industry and then sued for gossip. Defamation or something. I'm not too sure. It'll be out in the papers soon enough."

"Libel," Geralt murmured, thinking back to the articles he had read. "Even I heard gossip around the set."

"I didn't believe any of it, personally. Jaskier was always a polite fellow and some of it was nasty. Well, I'm sure you didn't either. Otherwise Jaskier wouldn't have done you that solid."

"What solid?"

Zoltan was quiet for a beat too long.

Geralt sighed. One more piece of the puzzle. "You mean Roach. I know he bought Roach for me. But how did you know?"

"Ah well..."

"I had to go through a lawyer to find out," Geralt added.

"I did the paperwork," Zoltan admitted. "He did want it to be anonymous but I thought that was just so production couldn't give him a hard time about buying two horses."

"He bought another horse?"

Zoltan paused again. "He really never mentioned this to you? He was in the stables near every morning."

"For training."

"Not just for training. Though I guess we know now that he was just trying to stay away from Valdo and his cronies." Geralt wasn't sure what to say to that. He had never been anyone's idea of a respite and his guilt at knowing he hadn’t made the time easier for Jaskier still weighed on his mind. Though perhaps Jaskier had just been after the horses. "He bought the one he rode. Pegasus."

"Oh."

Geralt hadn't expected that. He knew Jaskier had gotten along with the horse, of course. That had been easy enough to see, sweet even. But it was still a surprise. A pleasant one.

There was something about Jaskier buying a horse for himself and for Geralt. As if the man understood the responsibility and the importance. He wasn't just buying Roach as a gift for whatever reason, he knew everything the job would entail.

"The premiere is in London. Should be a good time so long as no one leaks the news about any legal cases beforehand."

Geralt rubbed his hand over Roach's nose and made a snap decision. "I'll meet you there."

"Really?"

"You owe me a drink."

"Should be an open bar, mate."

"Well, that makes it easy for you then."

----------------

Geralt wasn't exactly keeping up with Jaskier's story but Aiden and Lambert watched enough entertainment news for the rest of them. Gossip papers would be left out around the barn by visitors without issue. If Geralt just happened to see that Jaskier hadn't been heard from in a few weeks since production shut down then, well, that was just a fact that lived in Geralt's brain.

One that he definitely didn't overthink. Not with the premiere already on his mind.

"It really was Valdo," Lambert had told him one morning. "Apparently he wanted that role of Jaskier's so badly that he decided that he'd try to make sure the guy would never have any other roles again."

Geralt didn't let on that he had known. Still, he hadn't thought about the creep since Zoltan had brought him up.

Valdo. Like Zoltan had said, it was no wonder Jaskier had always signed up to be the first person at the stables with Geralt. Valdo Marx would never deign to get to the stables early in the morning, even when it was a necessity that he do so.

"Loads of other actors apparently apologized for listening to Valdo. They'd been giving Jaskier the cold shoulder for weeks now. But still, no one has seen him."

"I can't blame him for wanting to take a break from acting. Even now with the rumors out, I think I'd find another industry to work in all together." Aiden shook his head. He looked up at Geralt hopefully, nudging Lambert conspicuously. "You haven't heard from anyone from set talking about it?"

Geralt gave Lambert an exasperated look. "I know you had overheard that conversation. I'm not taking either of you to the premiere. I'm staying for one drink and then getting on the train again."

"Told you so," Lambert muttered. "Fine. Be that way."

“Poor guy,” Eskel murmured. “I’d hide too if I just had to spend months contractually obligated with people all poisoned against me.”

Geralt kept his eyes down, wishing the conversation would change. Wishing he hadn’t been such a fool. At least he knew why Jaskier had always signed up to be the first person at the stables. Not that the information helped Geralt’s newly-acquired nausea.

----------------

It would be fine.

That's what Geralt kept repeating to himself on the tube ride into London.

Geralt would go in, have a drink with Zoltan, find Jaskier, thank him, and then never have to think of the man again. A strange sense of closure for someone he never had a relationship with, platonic or otherwise, but it was the right thing to do.

Everytime he looked at Roach or rode her around the ranch, he thought of Jaskier. It wasn't guilt or anything owed to the man. Geralt believed in the actor's earnestness and no-strings gift.

He managed to find Zoltan right away, the two of them hiding in a corner of the hotel bar through the actual film and more when crowds finally came back.

"I had wondered if Jaskier was even going to come," Zoltan confided in Geralt, leaning closer to the bar and looking over their shoulders as their lobby filled up.

"Because of Marx?"

Zoltan nodded. "I suspect there will be a healthy number of people keeping them away from one another."

"For good reason." Geralt tried not to be too obvious in his glances behind them but Zoltan knew enough of the cause. "Why come at all, I wonder?"

"Contract," Zoltan told him, pressing his lips thin. He shook his head at the thought. "It's written in the contracts that they've got to do press and this counts as press."

"The red carpet beforehand, surely. But I can't imagine a party is." Geralt shifted uncomfortably. The bar was filling up and he and Zoltan were getting squashed to one side already. The gracious and well-tipped bartender had thought ahead and topped the two of them off before the rush began.

"You've been in this business for a few years now. Surely you're not that naive."

Geralt finally caught sight of Jaskier. In a plain blue suit, unlike such patterned clothing he had worn even after Geralt had told him he’d only get the fineries dirty.

Without turning to look at the crowd or see if anyone was watching him, Jaskier hurried up the side stairs to where Geralt knew there was another reserved space, a small but grand library room that hadn’t been alrered since the 30s. He and Zoltan had stumbled upon it earlier in the afternoon while hiding from cameras.

"I'm more naive than I think sometimes." Geralt nodded to Zoltan and held out his hand. Zoltan took it to shake instantly. “It was good to see you. Call if you’re ever by the ranch. We’d be happy to have you.”

Following Jaskier’s path and manners, Geralt also didn’t look behind him as he slipped up the same stairs, closing the paneled door after him.

Geralt allowed himself a moment to look at Jaskier. The man had his coat in hand and was staring out of the rather large window flanked by two bookshelves.

“I just wanted to—“ Jaskier spun around, hand to his chest. Geralt took a step backwards. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier finally said, even though his heavy breaths were still evident. He stood up straight and blinked a few times too quickly. Geralt softened his voice, hoping to ease his nerves.

“Jaskier. I just wanted to catch you to say thank you.”

Jaskier flinched, just slightly. He tilted his head and looked at Geralt as though he was the picture of innocence, furrowing his brow slightly to sell the confused image.

"For what?"

"Jaskier," Geralt chastised. He was in no mood. He had been around far too many people this night. Jaskier thought so too judging by the fact that he had left the main party room for this quieter one. Still, Geralt knew that wasn’t the only reason. "Thank you for Roach."

Jaskier's mouth opened a bit and then closed again. He seemed to be eyeing how Geralt was blocking the only exit out of the room. "How do you know?"

"Was I not supposed to find out?"

"Well, it was— anonymous. I thought." Jaskier's confused expression tightened as though he was trying to remember the legal jargon he had gone through when setting up Roach's purchase and fund.

"I--" Geralt felt his face go a bit red with embarrassment at that. "I wanted to make sure she really was mine. No strings or anything. I had a lawyer friend look into it just to double check."

"Right.” Jaskier shook his head, a few locks of hair coming loose from their coiffed position. “Yes, of course."

Geralt hated that Jaskier was agreeing with him. As if it was perfectly all right for Geralt to be suspicious of a gift and also of Jaskier himself. What a pair they were.

"Look," Jaskier held up his hands in front of him, "I know you don’t like me and I didn’t to it so you’d be— beholden to me or forced to pretend to like me or whatever. You weren’t supposed to find out. But that awful man from production was going to buy her and I couldn’t let that happen and I had heard that you were had turned down the opportunity which just seemed wrong. I mean, she’s clearly your horse and—"

"Thank you." Geralt said firmly. “Just...thank you."

"Oh. You’re welcome." Jaskier swallowed and chanced a look out the window again. Geralt watched him, very aware that he had done what he came to do. Still he couldn’t make himself leave.

"Are you planning on hiding here all right?"

Jaskier shrugged. "I haven’t decided yet.”

Geralt wasn't sure what to do with that one.

"Would you like to come visit Roach?" He tried next.

Jaskier still looked uncomfortable.

“Right now?”

Geralt remembered the early training calls, how quiet Jaskier was when other people began to come around the barn, the rumors he heard even his first week on set. How he had let them affect the way he handled being around Jaskier more than anyone else. Fuck.

"Where do you live?" Geralt asked suddenly, not realizing the strangeness of the question.

"What?" Jaskier seemed taken aback which was more than fair.

"I only meant— Here in London or LA or New Yo--"

"Here. England, I mean. I’ve got a little place a little ways outside of London."

That could be anywhere, Geralt didn’t say. Jaskier still looked uncomfortable. His shoulders were hunched and he was holding himself tightly with his arms straight down at his side so his hands could be shoved into his pockets.

It had been weeks since they had seen each other last and Geralt just. He had so many things to say now but couldn't make the right words come out of his mouth.

He thought about Jaskier every time he rode Roach around the farm. He wished that it was just the two of them at 6am on the training set again. Jaskier on Pegasus and Geralt on Roach, going through the obstacle courses.

He wanted a second chance to ignore rumors and laugh at Jaskier's jokes and flirt back at him. Geralt had that open Jaskier still in his mind, who was so pleased to see both Geralt and the horses even though it was barely past dawn and he had had a late shoot the previous night.

"Did you really buy Pegasus too?" Geralt asked, even though he already knew the answer.

Jaskier blushed. "I did. He's with me. Well, a stable near me. I know I'm not the greatest at care as you saw it but I visit him and ride as often as I can." His smile was soft just thinking about the horse and Geralt again ached, thinking about the morning dew, riding with Jaskier around the ring. The soft voice that he used for the horses regardless of who could hear him.

"You’re welcome to come see Roach anytime. Especially if you want to bring Pegasus. My father’s ranch is remote and private. Sometimes we get writers or other people stay for retreats in some of the smaller cabins."

Jaskier still looked uncomfortable. Upset, even. He had taken his hands out of his pockets and he was leaning backwards, clutching the window frame. Geralt wondered how much acting he did on a daily basis.

He really hadn’t meant for Geralt to find out about Roach.

"He's really fine. I promise," Jaskier said quietly.

Geralt swallowed his nausea at just how still Jaskier was holding himself. At how Jaskier thought Geralt only inquired after Pegasus because he assumed Jaskier couldn’t take proper care of him.

And that was Geralt’s fault. For listening to rumors. For being colder to Jaskier as the shoot weeks had gone on. The man had sometimes beaten Geralt to the stables in the morning and in return, Geralt had barely spoken to him.

"I have no doubt that he is enjoying your care. As well as you sneaking him too many treats," Geralt joked, trying to lighten the mood. He hadn't mean to imply that Jaskier wasn't taking proper care of Pegasus. That hadn't been it at all. He was just. He wanted to be near Jaskier. He didn’t want to leave him just yet.

He took his eyes off of Jaskier's and they fell to his long fingers. Even though he was facing Geralt, Jaskier’s fingers were clutching the window lip.

He hadn’t been looking out the window or catching his breath in an empty room.

Jaskier had been trying to get out onto the fire escape.

Of course.

Geralt sighed, he could feel a dull ache behind one of his eyeballs. Perfect. He had already caused Jaskier enough panic for one night and now a headache. He slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

"Here is a card for my friend. She’s a fantastic lawyer and if you mention my name, she’ll take you on. She might laugh but she’ll do it. The laughing will mostly be at me,” he added. "You might not need her, of course. But she's the one who helped figure out it was you who got Roach for me."

Jaskier took the card from Geralt's outstretched hand and near cradled it in his hands. "Thanks."

"Do you want help opening the window that you were trying to escape out of?"

There was a spark in his eye that Geralt hadn't seen in months and he was willing to bet he wasn't the only one who missed it.

"Please."

Geralt used one hand to gesture for Jaskier to move out of the way and he did, with almost too much glee. There was a bounce in his step that Geralt was relieved to see. None of the tabloids or entertainment shows could see that when they talked about him.

He carefully examined the large window. The expansive sash was sturdy enough but Geralt was more than a match for its age. He reached up and unlocked the top before heaving under the lip.

It opened without issue.

“Thank you so much,” Jaskier gushed. He didn’t even wait for Geralt to move out of the way before climbing into the fire escape. He turned to look back at Geralt. “I really appreciate it.”

Geralt gestured again, this time for Jaskier to step back, further out the window.

"What are you doing?" Jaskier asked as Geralt had one foot out the window.

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “I opened the window. Am I not also allowed to climb out of it?"

"I guess." Jaskier looked bewildered. “There’s still a party downstairs.”

"I think you know me well enough to know that it’s not my kind of party.” Geralt enjoyed seeing the flush on Jaskier’s face at the possibility that the two of them might know one another at all. “I'm not letting you fall down the fire escape."

"Just because my upper body strength is lacking doesn't mean I've never climbed down a fire escape before," Jaskier argued even as he made for the ladder.

God, did Geralt want to know that story. He could do nothing but follow Jaskier.

Out of the window, down the fire escape, and to the ground, where Jaskier landed safely with a soft "Oomph."

"Thank you,” he told Geralt again. Then, before he could lose his courage, he added, “It was good to see you again.” He took off down the street, collar popped up around the lower half of his face.

Geralt wanted to call after him, invite him to get a drink, spirit him away before the cameras out front could find him. He imagined them getting the tube together and riding away all while Jaskier huddled closer to him, whether for warmth or so no one recognized him. Geralt fantasized the worst case scenario, with himself stepping in as the hero for Jaskier, blocking him from the cameras.

In the end, he watched Jaskier, hunched over himself in a foreboding navy coat, make his way around the corner. And then he went home to the ranch and told Roach all about it.

----------------

“Just like that?” Priscilla asked, graciously not mentioning the fact that Jaskier had put on her favorite sweatpants or that he had heart eyes whilst talking about this mysterious horse guy.

Jaskier shrugged, swirling a wine glass with one hand. “Just like that. I’ve gotten a new agent. A new lawyer seems like a good place to start.”

“And you trust him?” Priscilla held up the card. “He couldn’t afford a horse and yet has a friend who works here?”

“She’s how he found out I bought the horse for him.”

“Your funeral.”

----------------

"Geralt von Rivia," Yennefer's voice came through his phone. Geralt winced and so did Eskel even though he was near three meters away. Yennefer only used their full names when they were in trouble. "Did you give some twink my number?"

"Can you help him?"

"Yes, I believe I can. i just wanted to check his story."

"He bought Roach for me."

"Yes, the mystery-horse buyer. I remember." Yennefer's quiet voice used to grate on Geralt. He never knew what it meant. He used to think he was a fool but as their relationship developed, he realized that Yennefer's version of caring contained a lot of frighteningly quiet determination.

"I wasn't supposed to find out, apparently."

Geralt wasn't grumpy about the situation.

He wasn't.

He just wished that everything was different. That was all.

"Well, he didn't anticipate you having me for a lawyer." Yennefer paused and Geralt heard some paper rustling in the background. "Did you know about all this? His situation, I mean.”

“I’ve heard rumors.” Geralt didn't mention that he had been reading Lambert's discarded tabloids and doing some googling of his own.

“Rumors of the situation or the rumors being spread about him on set?”

“The latter,” Geralt mumbled, embarrassed. "Both, I suppose. Lambert reads the tabloids. So does Aiden."

“No wonder he talked himself in circles about you. His friend had to stop him twice from rambling on.”

Geralt wanted to ask about that but he knew Yennefer wouldn't answer. Or couldn't, with a confidentiality clause.

“Can you fix it?”

She scoffed. “Of course I can. It’ll be a bit messy but luckily, this isn’t the only lawsuit against this guy. Tons of evidence and witnesses too. He managed to get a new agent who hasn't been doing half bad of a job. Don't worry, Geralt. I'll protect him.”

"Marx?"

"Yes. It's not the first time he's done this either." Then, softer. "I'll help him, Geralt. I promise."

"Thank you."

----------------

“Jaskier!” One of the farmer’s son sprinted up to him, coming to a stop once he reached the stables. Jaskier had just gotten himself onto Pegasus for the day. “We had a man come round asking about you yesterday. Dad wanted you to know.”

“Here?” Jaskier dismounted quickly and looked around the farm to the tree line, expecting the press to come racing at him after the teen. "Take a breath, Matthew."

Matthew and the rest of his family had been nothing but kind to Jaskier since he had started boarding Pegasus at their farm. He hated to think they were being harassed by some reporters.

“One of those newspaper people. Had a camera and everything.”

Jaskier's heart sank but Matthew shook his head.

“Posh twat!” One of the farmhands yelled from the loft. “We ran him out!”

Jaskier didn’t bothering covering his mouth as he laughed along with Matthew. “He didn’t cause any trouble?” He asked earnestly.

“We said that we’d never heard of you," Matthew said proudly.

“Thank you so much.” Jaskier heaved a sigh of relief and leaned against Pegasus. He gave the horse a kiss and nodded to Matthew again. The boy, realizing just how close he and Jaskier were standing, blushed a bit before racing off.

----------------

It had taken Geralt a long time in his life to learn never to doubt Yennefer but it was a lesson that had stuck.

In keeping up with the news about Jaskier, Geralt had learned a lot about him. To the point where, when Jaskier’s best friend, Priscilla, was interviewed on the red carpet of her latest premiere and asked about the missing man, Geralt knew exactly who she was. It also meant that Geralt could properly appreciate her viciously telling the interviewer to fuck off.

Jaskier still hadn't worked on a film in weeks but Yennefer assured him it was for the best and that Jaskier was doing fine. Laying low was a part of the plan.

The successful plan as it so happened.

Lambert slapped the newspaper down on the breakfast table. Geralt and Eskel both jumped back.

"The guy who saved Roach has been saved!" He crowed triumphantly, dodging a spoon thrown by Geralt.

"Jaskier?” Eskel asked. “The trial went off all right?”

Lambert nodded towards the paper. “It says Marx was found guilty. So Jaskier and the other people he talked about are in the clear with any luck. Have you talked to him?"

"What?" Geralt looked up from the front page. Jaskier looked good in most outfits, of course, but the official black suit for court did nothing but match him to Yennefer, who was barely in the photograph, as the newspaper had tried so hard to cut her out.

"I know it says he won the case but he looks here miserable, mate.”

"Tabloid photos aren't real indicators of a person's well-being," Geralt said stiffly. Even though Lambert was right. Geralt kept picturing the animated Jaskier that he had been privileged to see for a whole thirty seconds at the premiere party.

"You texted him though, right?"

Geralt hummed. "Yennefer's helping him out."

Eskel and Lambert responded at the same time.

"That's not an answer to his question."

"That's not an answer to my question."

Sometimes Geralt really hated his brothers.

"You gave him Yennefer's name?" Eskel urged on.

“Must have,” Lambert commented, tapping on the partial shot of Yennefer buried under headline text.

"Her card." Geralt also remembered Jaskier's uncomfortable body language at the party. Curled in on himself, not meeting anyone's eyes and when he did, he looked right past them. Sometimes when Geralt closed his eyes he saw Jaskier's white knuckles against the windowpane, desperate to make an escape. Geralt provided that. He gave that to him. And Yennefer's information. "He seemed like he just needed someone in his corner."

"And now?"

"He's Yennefer's client right now. They're not friends. Yet,” he added. “Knowing Yennefer, it will depend on if she likes him or not."

Lambert turned back towards his breakfast but Eskel still had a knowing eye on his brother.

“Looks like it’s all wrapped up. He’s not her client anymore.”

"I don't have his number." Geralt admitted, just barely audible. “I never did.”

Eskel reached over and tapped on the screen of Geralt’s phone. "I bet Yennefer does."

----------------

Geralt: Do you have Jaskier's number? Yennefer: Finally. Yennefer: I can't give it to you. Yennefer: But I can give your information to him. Geralt: Thank you. Yennefer: He's sweet but skittish. Be gentle.

----------------

Yennefer: 033 0058 0058 Jaskier: What's that? Yennefer: Geralt's number.

Jaskier sighed and touched his thumb to Yennefer's name.

"You're calling the wrong number," she told him in lieu of a greeting.

"I don't know him," Jaskier argued. "We were never supposed to see each other again."

"I expect a gift basket after the wedding then."

"Shall I expect one for you and Priscilla?" Jaskier asked coolly. Thankfully, Yennefer laughed and he managed to keep going. "He didn't want to talk to me when we had to spend near every day together. I don't think I can manage a phone conversation if it's just me." He wasn't worried about being too honest. Not with Yennefer, not after the trial.

He'd woken up plenty of times in Priscilla's flat after an emotional night to Yennefer at the door with breakfast for all three of them.

Yennefer hummed and in a way, she sounded almost like Geralt. "You're right. Can I make another suggestion?"

----------------

Yennefer: Are you home today? Geralt: Yes Yennefer: All day? Geralt: Yes Yennefer: Good. Stay there. Yennefer: Or outside. By the driveway. Geralt: Why? Yennefer: Trust me, Geralt. It's a lovely day. Yennefer: Just enjoy yourself.

----------------

Geralt stuffed his phone back in his pocket and asked Roach, “What do you think?”

Roach just looked at him which was fair but Geralt’s heart started to race with the anticipation.

He couldn’t be sure of what was coming but he hoped. He left the stables and headed for the house. Sitting on the porch did nothing for Geralt’s nerves so instead he found himself standing in front of it.

Barely twenty minutes had gone by but still Geralt found himself picking the paint off of the porch railing.

An unfamiliar engine caught Geralt’s ear and he turned towards the front drive.

Then, there he was.

Jaskier.

In a shoddy little truck with faded red paint that was nearing pink. It looked as though perhaps Vesemir was only one old enough to have purchased it as new. He was towing a trailer behind him and Geralt would be willing to bet that he knew who was in there.

He also clearly didn’t know where to park. No doubt Yennefer had given him an address only. Geralt didn’t bother to hold back his enthusiasm, waving Jaskier towards the neat line of vehicles by the stables.

Geralt wondered if it would be too much to open the door for him but he remembered Yennefer’s words.

He's sweet but skittish. Be gentle.

Geralt could do gentle. He’d soothed plenty a horse in his time. So he hung back, just giving Jaskier what he hoped was an encouraging smile as he opened the car door himself.

"Um. Hello," Jaskier said shyly, a little nod of his head. With his priorities in place, he was already headed around to the trailer door. Geralt knew he was going to let Pegasus out but he couldn't help but feel as though Jaskier was trying to avoid contact with him at the same time.

He remembered how Jaskier needed to do something with his hands even on a good day, whether that was the infuriating clicking of the pen he used to make notes on his script or the constant twisting of Pegasus' leather reins around his fingers.

Geralt liked to think that this would be a good day but he knew how much courage it took for Jaskier to drive here with his horse.

Jaskier gave Pegasus a happy smile and guided him out of the trailer. It wasn't until the horse was solidly on the grass that Jaskier met Geralt's eyes again. Geralt could see that it wasn't just shyness. It was nerves.

Jaskier was biting at his lip and playing with the leather of the reins just like he had those mornings on set. "I wasn’t sure if the offer to visit was still there. Yennefer said—

"Yennefer was right," Geralt said quickly, beating Jaskier to the trailer door. He latched it shut, staring unblinkingly at Jaskier.

"Did Yennefer tell you to say that?"

“In my experience, it’s usually true,” Geralt joked. He took a step forward. "I'm...glad you're here."

"Oh. Oh, good," Jaskier sounded so relieved that Geralt wanted to convince him to stay forever. To gain confidence as Geralt did around his brothers, to be fed delicious meals by his father, and most importantly, to find peace with Geralt.

"I'm not...I'm not great over the phone anyway,” Geralt offered.

"I thought that might be the case,” Jaskier admitted honestly. “I wasn’t sure if I could stand to carry a whole conversation. Yennefer thought it would be easier for us just to..."

"Be together in person?"

"Well, I was going to say be with the horses. So we both have something to focus on if we need it." Jaskier lovingly stroked Pegasus and the horse nuzzled at him. Geralt had seen the same scene dozens of times over but that had been on set. Seeing it again here, on his family’s ranch was almost too good to be true.

"That works too." Geralt paused a moment and then urged Jaskier to follow him. “Come out to the barn. She’ll be excited to see you.”

Jaskier walked Pegasus through the stables. He let out the sweetest sigh upon seeing Roach again and Geralt never wanted Jaskier to leave the ranch again.

"Oh, hello, darling," Jaskier said quietly. Geralt took Pegasus' reins and Jaskier used his free hands to rub at Roach's nose. She leaned into the petting and Geralt wished he could take a photograph.

“I was a twat,” Geralt told him while Jaskier was distracted by a beautiful horse. “I’m sorry.”

Jaskier looked down and shrugged. “I’m sure you see all sorts on film sets. I can’t even imagine.”

“I bet you can.” Geralt stroked Pegasus. He unlatched Roach’s stall and gestured for Jaskier to lead her out. “You weren’t any trouble, you know.”

“I don’t know if you remember but you…you yelled at Marx one day. He was crowding me in the stable and Roach picked up on my mood and became irritated with him. You told him off.” Jaskier told all this to Roach and Geralt did him the courtesy of not commenting on it.

Geralt didn’t remember though. He had chased away dozens of actors from horses over the years. It didn’t surprise him that Marx had been one of them.

“I’m glad she was there to protect you. And I’m sorry I wasn’t more help.”

“I won’t say that it’s all right,” Jaskier said, with more strength than he looked. He swallowed and finally turned to Geralt. “It’s been…a long few weeks. Months, really. But we’re here now and—“

Roach nudged him again and he let out a little laugh. Some of the tension leaving him.

Roach nuzzled closer and Jaskier could tell she was eager to get out of her stall. “Yes, darling. I brought your old friend to come see you. I thought perhaps--" He looked at Geralt. "I thought perhaps we could go for a ride together? If you'd like."

"I'd love that," Geralt croaked, wondering how Jaskier could still be so brave after all this. That he was here and talking and asking Geralt to spend time with him. "Let me tack him up for you?" He asked, hand on Pegasus' flank.

Jaskier's brow furrowed. "I can do it."

"I know that you can. I want to do to it,” Geralt stressed. "Please," he added.

"Let's swap," Jaskier said, still lovingly petting Roach. "I haven't seen this girl in a while. It'll be nice."

"All right," Geralt agreed. He could see what Jaskier was doing.

It wasn't about a penance. Jaskier wanted them on some kind of equal footing. That was fair, Geralt supposed. Even though as of that specific moment, Geralt wanted to give Jaskier the world.

"Are you all right now?" Geralt asked, hesitating in a way that he hoped made an answer not necessary if Jaskier didn’t want to respond.

"Well, I don't know about 'all right,'" Jaskier huffed. His eyes were looking straight ahead. "Yennefer certainly settled some things. I'm not sure I'll be acting anytime soon. Or um, answering my phone calls. I've actually changed my number again. Remind me to give it to you."

"I'd like that." Geralt didn't mention that he never had Jaskier's number in the first place.

"It's not the press," he assured Geralt. "Just a lot of people trying to apologize or offering to support me. I'm talking to the same few who always believed me before everything, you know? Mostly just Priscilla and Yennefer right now."

Geralt didn't know. He was one of the people who...well, he's not sure that he believed the rumors. He wasn't someone to go around sets making friends regardless. But he had certainly heard the gossip, listened to it even.

He liked to think he made up for some of that but in actuality, Geralt knew it didn't matter. He'll always wish he had behaved differently when he first met Jaskier. He could have maybe had Jaskier in his life for so much longer. Could have supported him better during this shit time instead of just handing over Yennefer's card and begging her to take the case.

Geralt's mind was full of questions that he wasn't sure if he was allowed to ask. He wasn't even sure he wanted the answers either. What was Jaskier going to do now? Geralt knew that one was selfish because he so wanted the answer to include him.

They worked in silence to get the horses ready but it wasn’t a silence that Geralt minded. Especially not when it was broken every moments by Jaskier giggling whenever Roach tried to interrupt his actions. He watched Jaskier get up onto Pegasus before following on Roach.

“You could always keep Pegasus—“

"I was thinking maybe I could board Pegasus here? If you've got the room—"

"Yes!" Geralt said immediately, cutting off what he had started saying as well as Jaskier's nervous rant. He didn't want Jaskier to be unsure of himself ever again. Not where Geralt was concerned. "You could come by whenever you'd like. Hopefully...often," he let himself say, voice growing stronger as the sentence went on.

"Yeah?" Jaskier asked. Geralt couldn't look away from how his teeth trapped his bottom lip between them. He was grateful that they were both on horses, otherwise Geralt wasn't sure he could have stopped himself from taking his thumb and slipping the abused lip to safety. "I don't live too far away. I hadn’t realized.”

Geralt swallowed. He met Jaskier’s big blue eyes and knew his own were rounded in vulnerability. “Please."

Jaskier finally, finally, smiled at him in such a way that Geralt felt his chest loosen. Jaskier nodded and Geralt felt his heart beating in his chest again. He grinned back at Jaskier and felt something swirl around them.

“Stay for dinner? My brothers would love to meet you. My father too.” Geralt was horrified at himself. He hadn’t rambled on like this in years. He couldn’t stop himself. He didn’t want to stop himself, not when Jaskier was giggling and trying to hide it with a hand over his mouth. “My brother Eskel’s horse is the one I’m planning to pair Roach with but I’m making him grovel for it if you’d like to help.”

“That sounds nice,” Jaskier laughed openly at him. Geralt didn’t mind one bit. “I’d love to stay, thank you.”

“Thank you.”

Geralt couldn’t help but sneak peeks at Jaskier as they mounted. It seemed Jaskier didn’t mind, snorting each time he caught his former horse master. And then he did the same, with Geralt trying not to preen too much in response.

Jaskier told him about Priscilla and Yennefer meeting and how he couldn’t go to dinner with the two of them alone again, Geralt, please.

Geralt explained how the farm worked and how much he disliked being on set away from his brothers, even when the money was good. How mercilessly they had teased him about Jaskier when he had returned.

They rode through the ranch, to Eskel’s farm, and Geralt found that both of them were becoming freer with their laughs by each trot.

The two of them had a strange beginning and a tumultuous middle but perhaps, if Geralt and Jaskier worked for it, they could have a lovely end.

----------------

ao3 link here

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #the witcher fic

50 notes · View notes

wherethewordsare · 3 years

Note

#44. Im your new neighbor and git locked out, help. With uhhhhh tiktoker jask who likes to sing in the stairwells 👀 bonus points if they become boyfriends loooool

thanks for the ask Cheese!!! I hope you enjoy!! <3

I also want to thank @buttercupbard for being a really amazing sport about me borrowing their handle for the tik tok bits!!! I’ve sent some weird dms in my life but honestly, that was the oddest CYA i’ve ever done. I’m super glad it worked out though!!! Thank you again so much, Buttercup!

44. I’m your new neighbor and I got locked out, help!

The first time he heard it, Geralt had been taking his laundry down to the bottom floor because the units on his level were full. It was only for a moment, but who ever it was who was singing scurried away before he had a chance to make out the song they were singing.

The second time, he had passed the door to the stairwell on his way to grab his mail. This time though he was careful as he pushed the door open as gently as he could. The lyrics to Blackbird resonated in the concrete and steel and it made Geralt want to call home. It was a song he remembered his father singing at the kitchen sink while doing clean up in the evening or working in the garage on weekends.

Geralt tried not to be a creep about it, but it was quickly becoming a habit that was hard to break, sneaking into the side stairwell and listening to one of his neighbors sing. It felt somewhere between a terrible invasion of privacy and a private concert.

There were songs that made him ache with nostalgia, where he ended up calling his dad after or texting his brothers. There were songs that made him want to go work out and go get something accomplished. And then there were those songs that made him want to climb the stairs and face that voice and take them into his arms because he sounded so lonely. Geralt usually slipped back out when those feelings started to creep in.

Omg, Geralt, you have to see this dude! He’s insane!

Eskel sent him a link to a tik tok. It took a moment but after it loaded, Geralt nearly threw his phone across the room as if it had burned him. The only thing that stopped him were the blue eyes and brilliant smile that looked back at him.

@buttercupbard

I think my fan is back on the lower floor. Hope he enjoys today’s #lavieenrose 🙌🎶🌹🌹

Oh... Oh no! No no no, this could not be happening. Geralt watched, listening to the same rendition of La Vie en Rose he had heard the day before. Geralt knew only just enough about tik tok to know that the 500k under the little heart and the fact that he knew that this Buttercup Bard had only sung that song yesterday, he could deduce the facts in front of him. One, the singer knew Geralt snuck in to listen, and two, so did his probably thousands of fans.

Geralt clicked the little chat button on the side, pulling up the comments.

“You should go say hello!”

@buttercupbard: Oh no, I don’t know if they’d like that, otherwise they would have come up to say hello by now!

“Wouldn’t it be sweet if they found your tik toks?”

@buttercupbard: 👀👀🙈🙈🙈 Think they’d give me a review? Three words or less!

He wanted to scream. He wanted to run. He wanted to walk up those stairs and be able to drink in the full view of this Buttercup Bard as he sang knowingly to an audience of one. He wanted the earth to crack open at his feet and swallow him whole.

He went back to the video and pulled open Buttercup’s account, scrolling through what seemed like a lot of videos for just a few weeks. He found the one labeled Blackbird and gave it a listen. The caption simply said “This might be the last time I can sing here, someone came in again.”

Geralt frowned as he paused the video, looking down at those bright blue eyes that kept flitting away from the camera to make sure no one was coming. Geralt remembered standing at the bottom of the stairwell, leaning against the cold concrete with eyes closed. It had been peaceful but now it felt as though Geralt had just been encroaching. He couldn’t go back, not now. What would he say if Buttercup came down.

He also had to stop calling him Buttercup, but he had no other name for him. Geralt stopped going to the stairwell and he did his best to not pull up tik tok once in a while just to get his fix. He was doing fine, at least for a little while.

It was about three weeks later when Geralt finally broke down and opened the app he had downloaded just to watch Buttercup sing. That’s when he noticed the little pink ring around his icon.

Buttercup was live right now. Geralt’s feet moved under him without his noticing, walking him to the door. His hand was on the handle as he watched, his whole attention on the screen in his hand.

“I don’t know what happened to them. I guess I wasn’t meant for that kind of cheesy romance story after all!” Buttercup laughed and it sounded like a melody all in itself. Comments rocketed passed and Jaskier chuckled, ducking his head. “Well, you never know, I can’t be everyone’s cup of tea. Do you guys want to hear another song? I was thinking some Presley if you guys-” More comments poured in and Buttercup beamed.

That’s when Geralt heard his door shut behind him. Locked. Fuck.

He dropped out of the live stream and texted Eskel who took a few minutes but finally shot back that he was stuck at work and on the other side of the county. Geralt was going to have to find something to do until he could run over with the spare.

Fuck.

He couldn’t well stand in the hall barefooted. He looked down at his phone and sighed. There was only one thing to do.

----

“Like a river flows, surely to the see, Darlin-” Jaskier gave his camera a wink, chuckling through the lines but below the door opened.

“Uh, excuse me, Mr. Bard?” a voice came up, low and uncertain.

Jaskier gasped, looking in the camera as the chat exploded. He put a hand over his mouth and winced.

“Hello?” Jaskier dropped his head into his hand biting the inside of his lip. When he heard footsteps on the stairs he looked back at his phone and mouthed ‘Got to go’ and blew a kiss. Hopefully it didn’t lose him followers.

Suddenly the follower count didn’t matter. When Jaskier looked up he was greeted by a wall of a man, his white hair pulled back and the most startling hazel eyes. His bare feet wriggled on the linoleum.

“I hate to be a bother, and I know you were in the middle of something,” the man suddenly looked like he wanted to bolt.

“You’re the one who was listening down a few flights,” Jaskier couldn’t help the grin that was breaking out on his face. His followers were going to flip.

“Ah shit, sorry about that I feel like… I should go.” The man turned away from Jaskier and started to make his way back down the steps.

“Wait. Wait, no. Don’t go. Stay, please. Why aren’t you wearing shoes?” His damn mouth got ahead of him.

“I’m locked out of my apartment,” he stood there, looking up through the rail, frowning.

“I… Jaskier.”

“What?”

“My name. It’s Jaskier. Mr. Bard was my father,” he smirked, taking a step down. “Would you like to wait at my place until someone comes to your rescue? I have carpeting and coffee?”

The other man laughed, leaning to press his forehead against the rail for a second before looking up. “It would be appreciated. I’m Geralt from 2C.”

Jaskier tilted his head and smiled. “Well while we wait, Geralt of 2C, you can finally give me a review of my singing.”

“Hmm,” Geralt let himself be led up the rest of the stairs, “Am I restricted to three words or less?”

Jaskier flushed and snorted. And to think he nearly made a habit of doing his videos in this bathroom.

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asweetprologue · 4 years

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Geralt decides to retire to Toussaint. He takes Jaskier with him.

Words: 4360, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Witcher

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion

Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Retirement, Getting Together, Domestic, Fluff

I promise I’m still writing stuff!! this is a soft little one shot I wrote a while ago and just cleaned up. read on tumblr below the cut!

In the end, it’s the weariness that does him in.

Once when they were both younger men, Jaskier had asked him about retirement for witchers. If they retreated to Kaer Morhen in their old age to train the new pups, or if they settled down across the Continent, or gave up the hunt to have families of their own. Geralt had snorted. “We don’t retire,” he’d said, mixing potion ingredients by the light of their camp fire. Jaskier had looked at him with wide, curious eyes. “We get old, and slow, and something kills us. We don’t - buy seaside cottages, or whatever.”

Jaskier had hummed at that, a mournful note that seemed to resonate in the air. It was unfair, Geralt had thought, that his friend managed to convey so much in such a sound while the witcher always managed to say so little. “Seems a bit unfair,” Jaskier added.

Geralt had blown out an amused breath, not quite a laugh. “That’s life, bard.”

But now, three decades and countless battles older, he just felt tired. Jaskier no longer traveled with him as frequently, and the Path was a lonely place. He and his brothers no longer met at Kaer Morhen to winter, not once Vesemir had passed. They would stop occasionally to meet up on the road, but never for too long. Even Ciri was going her own way nowadays, though he saw her the most frequently. As the years wore on, Geralt found himself visiting Oxenfurt more and more often. Itching for companionship, for a cease in the ever grinding motion of the Path. The routine that had once been a comfort was now grating.

Maybe it was time to take a break.

It was with this mentality that he turned to Jaskier on the last day of his stay in Oxenfurt and said, “Come to Toussaint with me.”

Jaskier blinked at him owlishly, the expression making him look ten years younger. These days his hair was streaked with gray at the temples, and when he chose to grow out a beard it was as silver as Geralt’s. “What’s so important in Toussaint?” he asked. They were seated at a table in the rooms Jaskier had been provided, for accepting a temporary lecturing position. The term had ended a few weeks ago, hence Geralt’s visit. Jaskier shuffled his gwent deck as he spoke, the cards weaving together like a cascade. Geralt found himself watching the bard’s slim fingers dance through the motions with an old fascination.

“I have an estate there,” he replied, pulling his gaze from the cards. He meant to look Jaskier in the eye, but a brief moment of contact with the bright cerulean had him turning his head, his heartbeat growing ever so slightly faster. It was too hard to ask this if he could see Jaskier’s face. Instead, he looked out the small window, overlooking the red tiled roofs of Oxenfurt. The city was painted a rich gold in the light of the evening sun, reflected warmly off of the river beyond the docks.

Jaskier spluttered across the table. “You have an estate? Since when?”

Geralt felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips. “It was payment for a job,” he said. “There’s a vineyard, gardens. I can send word ahead for them to start renovations on the guest bedroom. Come with me,” he said again, softly. He wasn’t above begging, but he hoped he wouldn’t have to.

Jaskier looked at him with a confused but affectionate look spread across his fine features, and said, “Okay.”

Geralt sent a letter ahead to warn the staff of their plans to summer at the estate, and they began their journey to the Duchy.

It was a long journey, but not an arduous one. For once, Geralt allowed them to stick to the main roads, and at this time of year even Velen was bearable. The sweeping fields spread out around them in swaths of green and gold, punctuated here and there by defiant patches of wildflowers. Jaskier wasn’t as quick as he used to be following Geralt on the Path, but they weren’t on the Path anymore. They purchased a second horse and rode side by side at a leisurely pace. When the day grew hot, they would post up in a convenient spot of shade and let the horses graze, lunching on sun warmed bread and sweetmeats. Jaskier rambled the hours away with stories of his students and old antics at Oxenfurt, and Geralt responded with his own tales of hunts and growing up in the keep with his brothers. It was good to have another voice on the road again after months of traveling alone. It was good that it was Jaskier. Geralt had missed him. Once he wouldn’t have been able to admit it, even to himself, but it seemed silly now to hide it. A wall put up against someone who had been inside for years.

They slept beneath the stars and in cramped inns, sharing small spaces like they had for decades. It was different, Geralt thought. Something had released in his shoulders when Jaskier had agreed to come with him. They weren’t in a rush - there were no contracts to fill, no galas to play at. Jaskier’s purse was heavy from his time spent lecturing, and Geralt was able to pick up a few simple contracts as they went. Easy jobs that would put some extra coin in his pocket and lift the tension from the shoulders of the locals. But for the most part it was just the two of them, drinking sweet summer mead and browsing morning markets, getting accustomed to each other’s presence again.

Sitting across the fire from him one night as they camped, Jaskier said, “You’re different, you know.”

Geralt lifted his head from where he’d been skinning the pheasants for supper. “Hmm?”

Jaskier smiled, his eyes soft. “Well, maybe not that different.” At Geralt’s odd look, he went on. “You told me once that witchers never change. That they’re set in their ways. I think you were talking about something like your potions routine when you said it at the time, but I thought it applied to the whole of the witcher experience.”

Geralt hummed again. “It’s true. We age slowly. Get set in our habits.”

“But you changed,” Jaskier said. “I’ve seen it. After Ciri, and now, since we’ve left Oxenfurt. You’re different.”

Geralt shifted uncomfortably. They’d never been on the road together like this, just the two of them as companions. Before Geralt had been focused on the Path, and Jaskier had been cataloguing his deeds as if he were some kind of hero of legend. He knew Jaskier admired Geralt’s drive, his ability to push on towards the next contract. Maybe the bard would think less of him, knowing that he was content to leave the Path behind for so long. “I’m still me,” he said aloud.

Jaskier gave him another smile, warm and honeyed. “I know it’s you, daft man,” he said. “It’s good. To see you… put down the torch for a bit.”

Geralt wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he just gave an agreeable rumble in his chest. And then, because he’d spent so long learning how to use his words around his daughter, he said, “I’m glad you’re here, Jaskier.”

A brief moment of surprise passed over Jaskier’s features, his eyes widening. Though Geralt had become better at voicing his affections over the years, he knew that the bard was always taken aback by the behavior. After a second Jaskier’s smile became a grin, and Geralt felt something in him relax even further. “I’m glad to be here, my friend. You know I can’t resist an adventure.”

They arrived in Toussaint quickly after that, both eager to end their days on the road. The countryside spread out around them slowly transformed from the muted colors of the north into the vibrant greens, purples and reds of the vineyards and forests. Geralt always forgot how stunning the Duchy was, with its colorful houses and flashy clothes. For once Jaskier fit in with the crowd flawlessly; it would take more than a bright doublet to stand out in Toussaint. Geralt had always liked it here. The peasants tended to be less prejudiced against non-humans, witchers included, and the knights he’d met always treated him as a brother in arms rather than pest control. The winters were mild and the summers sweet, and the wines were rich even if they were impossible for him to pronounce at times.

Of course Jaskier proved to be fluent in the local language - “What do you think the Seven Liberal Arts even entail, Geralt?” - which was helpful when they passed through smaller villages. Those away from the common crossroads or larger settlements tended to have fewer people who spoke the common northern tongue. They made their way to Geralt’s estate through a series of inns, barns and guest bedrooms as Jaskier relentlessly charmed the locals in grandiose displays of hospitality.

As they approached the estate, Geralt pulled Roach to a stop at the top of a hill. “This is it,” he said, nodding to indicate the view.

Jaskier gaped, craning to look out over the small collection of buildings and the dozens and dozens of grapevines that were nestled in the valley below. Geralt could see several workers out tending to the fields; his majordomo must have been overseeing things as agreed upon. They would have to get to know the rest of the staff while they were here. “This is all yours?” Jaskier asked, snapping Geralt’s attention back to the present.

“The house, most of the fields. I’ve not paid all that much attention to it before now, honestly. The house needs work. Never had any reason to sink funds into it before now.” He’d sent a fair sum of gold ahead to Barnabas-Basil to get started on renovations, but it likely would have only been enough to make the main complex habitable. Geralt was confident that he could undertake much of the repairs himself, in time. It would be good to have a project.

“It’s expansive. You produce wine here?” Jaskier asked, turning back towards him.

“Yes, but you’ll have to ask the majordomo which ones.”

Jaskier nodded to himself as they continued down the hill, soon approaching the main gate to the small villa. Members of the staff bustled throughout the property, though many stopped to look as the two of them passed by. As they settled their horses near a storage shed, the majordomo approached them, apparently already made aware of their arrival.

“Ah, Master Geralt, I trust that your travels were smooth? Please, come inside - I will have someone come and tend to the horses.” Barnabas-Basil Foulty was a clean shaven, bald man with sharp, almost bird-like features, and the head of the estate in Geralt’s stead. He stood at perfect attention at all times, shoulders back and head held high. A proud man, if not also an extremely polite one. Geralt liked him immensely, because he was good at his job and could keep up in the cups the one time the two had drank together.

“Ah, this must be the famous Barnabas-Basil. Fantastic to finally meet your acquaintance, my good man,” Jaskier said, jumping in to give the majordomo’s hand a firm shake. “Geralt has praised your skills from here to Redania and back.”

Barnabas-Basil inclined his head towards Geralt, though his spine did not stray an inch. “I thank you, sir, for your kind words. Please, allow me to show you the progress that we have made on the main house so you might get settled.”

The domo walked them through the estate, giving Jaskier a brief tour and pointing out new additions to Geralt. He’d not been to the estate in at least two years, but it was clear that the workers were making good use of the space. The small collection of colorful houses down the road had fresh coats of paint, and children played in the courtyard below the main house. A garden flourished in the space between the manor and the vineyard, dominated by root vegetables and herbs.

“If you would like, we can have it cleared out so that you might use it for your own purposes,” Barnabas-Basil said. His face betrayed no feelings on the issue.

Geralt grunted. “No need. The staff can use it as they wish.” He refused to meet Jaskier’s gaze as the bard beamed at him proudly. After decades of friendship Jaskier still seemed to find it a delight anytime Geralt did something he thought was particularly chivalrous. Geralt was not eager for him to meet the knights, with their virtues and heroic deeds.

The house, as he suspected, was functional but only just. “We’ve done what we could in a short amount of time, sir,” Barnabas-Basil said, his tone politely apologetic. “I assure you renovations are far from complete.”

“It’s fantastic,” Jaskier said, already darting off to explore the other rooms. There was a small kitchen, a bedroom, bathroom and an upstairs loft that could be made into a second bedroom. The additional bed wouldn’t arrive for another week or two.

“We can share,” Geralt said without looking at Jaskier, and did not elaborate further. “Show me what else needs done.”

They fell quickly into a routine. Geralt spent his days working with the locals on renovations, slowly breathing vitality back into the old manor. When he grew tired of working with lumber, he waded into the vineyards, to help pluck the delicate grapes from their twisting vines. A pair of women admonished him for his sloppy work on the first day and taught him how to gently cut the branches away and check the grapes for ripeness. Jaskier fluctuated between helping out with the building work and composing, though he also made the occasional day trip into the city to perform. In the evening they would retire to the house to eat, drink and chat over games of cards. At night they would curl up in Geralt’s bed, as they had when sharing quarters on the road.

It was a strange new intimacy, to learn what Jaskier was like in his bed. They had shared bedrolls many times over the years, but never with any consistency. When the nights were too cold or the inn too full, they would sigh and grumble and agree to share a space for the night, as a matter of convenience. But as soon as they had the coin or the resources to do so, they would always put distance between themselves again. Geralt supposed it had been a kind of self preservation instinct, but he now found little threat in the warmth of Jaskier next to him at night. He learned that some days Jaskier woke before the sunrise, throwing himself out of bed in a tangle of limbs to scramble for a quill. Other days he slept late, sprawled out across the sheets and dozing until the heat of the day forced him up. Often Geralt woke to the bard curled around him, an arm thrown across his broad chest, nose tucked under the witcher’s jaw. Those times always made something tighten in Geralt’s throat. No one should trust a witcher like Jaskier did, but he was grateful for the bard’s foolishness. Jaskier had always believed that Geralt would keep him safe, even when the witcher had refused to even admit that they were friends. Jaskier deserved better, but it didn’t stop Geralt from turning into his warmth each morning, wishing to reach out.

When the second bed came, Jaskier made no effort to relocate to the guest room. Geralt didn’t bring it up.

It only took a month for him to openly think about it, but when he finally did he was surprised it hadn’t come sooner. He looked up from where he was carving a notch in a new post for one of the fences and saw Jaskier sitting on the steps of the manor, the end of his quill hovering near his lips. His mouth moved around abstract syllables as he reached for the next lyric in a new song. The soft, repetitive notes rose and fell in the still summer air, and Geralt could see a small spot of ink on Jaskier’s cheek where he’d tapped himself with the quill by accident. Later that night, Geralt would point it out and they would both laugh, and Jaskier would play at being angry Geralt hadn’t brought it up sooner, and then Geralt would offer to help him clean up. Jaskier looked up from his place on the stairs and met his eye, feeling the attention on him as he always did. When he saw Geralt looking he smiled, as brightly as if he’d not seen the witcher in months, instead of moments. Geralt’s chest swelled with an unspeakable feeling, thick and heady affection and trust and something else even beyond that, and he thought, Oh, I love him.

Geralt suggested a picnic. Jaskier was ecstatic, though he tried to act as if he had to consider the notion.

“Will there be wine?” he asked, eyebrows raised playfully.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, fondly exasperated, “we live on a vineyard.”

So they grabbed some bottles from the storeroom, packed a light cotton blanket and some food leftover from lunch and set off up the nearby hill. It took them about twenty minutes to reach the top, but once they did they were quite near the place they’d first stopped to look over the estate. It was nearing evening, the sun hanging low in the sky and making the shadows of the workers coming in stretch out long across the fields. The two men spread out their things, sitting to watch the landscape move below them as they uncorked one of the bottles.

Geralt let Jaskier chatter away about nothing for a while, letting the sound wash over him as they shared the bread and wine. After a while Jaskier fell quiet, leaving them both to gaze out at the beauty of the land around them. Geralt turned to look at Jaskier. The sweep of his brow, the soft bow of his lips. The smattering of freckles he’d collected from weeks on the road, lying in fields and letting the sun kiss his cheeks. To be jealous of the sun, Geralt thought wryly.

Jaskier turned to meet his gaze, realizing that he was being watched. “What is it?” he asked.

“Why did you come with me?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier chuckled a bit, leaning back on one hand. His shirt was unlaced a ways down the front, leaving his dark chest hair exposed. Geralt wanted to put his nose in the hollow of his throat and just breathe there for a while. “I’m not one to turn down a free holiday, my dear.”

“No,” Geralt said, trying to ignore the way the pet name made his stomach flip. “I mean, why did you always come with me? Everyone… People come and go. But you always came back. Why?”

Jaskier gave him an admonishing look. Geralt didn’t know what to make of it. “You know the answer to that,” he said, and his tone held a warning that the witcher didn’t understand.

“I know you value our friendship,” Geralt replied, “but I could say that of many. It’s not the same.”

“Oh Geralt,” Jaskier sighed, his face full of fondness and exasperation and, strangely, an old sort of grief. “You truly are the most unobservant man in the land. You’ve been far more than a friend to me for many years.”

Geralt felt his heart rate pick up at that, the slow thud speeding up to match Jaskier’s. “You’re saying…” He found himself unable to complete the thought. Even after so many years of trying to do better, it was still impossible to form words past the thundering in his ears. This moment felt delicate, like the wrong phrase might shatter it apart.

“I assumed you knew,” Jaskier said with a shrug. The line of his shoulders was just slightly too tense, his body radiating faux casualness. Anyone else may have been fooled, but Geralt had been watching Jaskier for years. “I would never have let it change anything between us, you must know that. You were always involved with someone else - Yennefer, and then Triss and Shani… I didn’t want to get in the way of that. Something that could make you happy.”

“I thought it would,” Geralt said honestly. His gaze flickered over Jaskier’s impassive face. The bard rarely showed his nerves in his expressions, too much a performer for that. Instead it made its way to his hands, twitching over his thighs and worrying the fabric of the blanket, and his heart, which raced in his chest. “I wanted to be the right person for them. Yen wanted me to be useful. Triss wanted me to be a knight in shining armor. They made me feel like I was better than just a witcher.” Jaskier’s lovely mouth twisted slightly, a note of bitterness in his gaze as he looked out over the vineyards. Geralt hurried on. “But you’re the one who made me feel like being a witcher was already good enough.”

Jaskier turned back to him, blinking in surprise. “Well of course it is,” he said, and naturally the bard had missed the point, honing in on his favorite subject: the reputation of witchers and Geralt’s sense of self worth. “You’re already useful, and noble, and good and kind besides all that. You don’t have to be more than what you are to deserve - fuck, basic human connection and love.” He settled slightly, his gesturing hands falling into his lap once more. “Is that why you left them?”

“The Path always calls,” Geralt said with a shrug. “No one but you ever wanted to follow me.”

“Oh,” Jaskier said, blushing. Geralt watched the color rise up over his cheek bones with something like fascination, or maybe hunger. “Well, now you know why,” he continued, with obviously false cheer. He gave Geralt a rueful smile. “I promise I won’t make things awkward. I’ve had decades to practice. I mean, it’s been thirty years. If you were going to fall in love with me you probably would have done so already, hmm?”

“You’d think so,” Geralt agreed. “Sorry it took me so long.” And then he leaned into Jaskier’s space and kissed him.

It wasn’t a very good kiss. Barely a kiss at all, really, considering that Jaskier had frozen under him. Geralt pulled back, lifting a hand to run it gently over Jaskier’s side. The bard was absolutely still, his eyes closed tight. There was a small crease between his eyebrows that Geralt wanted to kiss away, but he wasn’t sure if he should. “Sorry,” he said softly.

Jaskier’s eyes fluttered open. It was unfair that a man could have beautiful eyelashes, Geralt mused, but here they were. “You mustn’t toy with me, witcher,” Jaskier croaked. His voice was raw, as if he’d been singing for hours.

Geralt moved his hand to the bard’s face, his thumb following along the line of his jaw and up to trace across his cheekbone. Freckles like stars under his fingers. “I’m not,” he rumbled. “I swear it, Jaskier. I just -” He paused, trying to marshal his thoughts. “You were always there. No matter how shitty the Path was, or how miserable people were to you because of me, or how much I pushed you away. You stayed. You made me feel like I was worth something, and you made other people think that way too. Every day without you on the Path was always misery. I should have realized sooner, but I’m not… good at this. I’m sorry.”

Jaskier’s head dropped forward, his brow resting on Geralt’s collarbone. “I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you apologize in the span of a minute,” he said, voice thin. “This is a lot to take in. Are you saying that you… that you love me? You, Geralt of Rivia, are in love with me?”

“Yes,” Geralt said, smiling into Jaskier’s hair. “That’s what I’m trying to say.”

Jaskier pulled away to stare at him. Geralt tried to let his affection through, drinking in Jaskier’s beloved face like he hadn’t allowed himself before. The last rays of the sun played over Jaskier’s hair, turning some of the strands to brilliant amber. His eyes were over bright. Whatever the bard saw in Geralt’s expression must have been enough, because the next moment they were kissing again.

It was, Geralt thought, a miracle that he had ever gone so long without doing so. Now that they’d begun, he never wanted to stop. Jaskier’s lips were warm and soft against his, and when Geralt licked slowly into his mouth he tasted of old wine. They stayed like that for a long time, Geralt holding Jaskier close, decades of tension not so much breaking as releasing like a quiet sigh of relief.

Finally they pulled apart, Geralt nosing at Jaskier’s cheek as he hummed contentment into the bard’s skin. He could feel deft fingers petting through his hair, easily working around the tangles that had formed on the walk up the hill. “I love you,” he said, pressing the words below Jaskier’s ear as if he could speak them into his core that way.

Jaskier shivered once under him. “I love you too,” he said, and Geralt could feel him smiling in the way his jaw moved. He knew Jaskier in his bones. “I’ll follow you wherever you go, you know.”

Geralt pulled back, pushing Jaskier’s fringe back with one hand as he met his eyes. “Maybe I’ll just stop running from you,” he said, smiling. Jaskier grinned back, and neither of them mentioned that his eyes were slightly damp. Geralt pushed himself to his feet and reached down a hand to his bard. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

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jaskiersvalley · 3 years

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I'm OBSESSED with your writing and your stories, I'm so glad I found your blog, now I always have something new to read!! ❤️❤️❤️

I remember watching you blitz through the blog, leaving likes on a lot of the stories. It really made my day! Now, who knows how many months late, I bring you some silly Witchers and their mutagens.

Kaer Morhen’s Open Door Policy

When Jaskier was invited to Kaer Morhen, he’d thought the open door policy that Geralt mentioned meant that anyone was welcome to stay for the winter. It warmed his heart that the Wolves were so welcoming and generous with their winter lodgings. What Jaskier didn’t anticipate was that said open door policy was a literal thing. He arrived in Kaer Morhen with Geralt, they were stomping snow off their boots when someone rounded the corner at some speed. Slowing down, the man made a beeline for them.

“Lambert,” Geralt greeted before he was veritably bowled over in a hug. If Jaskier squinted, he could have sworn Geralt was given a long sniff and maybe even a lick, perhaps over the lips. But surely he must have seen wrong because Jaskier himself wasn’t given such a greeting.

Two more figures appeared and introductions were made to Eskel and Vesemir. It was quite nice really, even if a lonely winter with just the five of them. However, if gave Jaskier a chance to get used to the ways of the keep. Mostly, it was learning to leave doors open a crack and how to keep the hinges well oiled at all times. If he didn’t, it was guaranteed someone would turn up.

At first Jaskier had thought it was because he wasn’t trusted, not an accepted member of the pack. But that thought was quickly thrown out the window, especially when he was dragged into the cuddle piles in front of fires. Those were rather nice, if a little too warm and sweaty for his liking. Yet, every single time he forgot about keeping a door open, whenever it snicked shut behind him or clicked open as he stepped through, within ten seconds one of the other residents appeared. Usually it was Lambert, rounding the corner at quite a pace even as he tried to make it look like he hadn’t dropped everything and run. It was rather offensive in a way, at least that was what Jaskier thought until he was sat quietly in the library, Lambert browsing for something when his head snapped up all of a sudden and he was off at full pelt. That wasn’t the first time Jaskier saw him running. On more than one occasion Lambert almost bowled him over in corridors as he rushed towards whatever he had heard.

“Doors,” Geralt had explained quietly one night. “If we hear a door open or close, there’s this overwhelming urge to go see who it is, what had happened.”

Now that Jaskier knew, he paid more attention. Any door had Lambert running. Much more sedately, Eskel would usually follow, lumbering towards the source of the noise and trying desperately to look like he wasn’t doing exactly like Lambert. However, he had a weakness, as Jaskier discovered. The cupboard doors in the kitchen. If Jaskier, or anyone else for that matter, happened to go and look in one, Eskel was bound to bumble into the kitchen within a short space of time, looking bashfully hopeful. It was cute, Jaskier even started indulging and giving Eskel snacks because the way he softened and smiled at the offering was far too endearing.

“You’re only encouraging him,” Vesemir grumbled as he watched Jaskier hand Eskel half a slice of honey coated bread. Rather than argue, Jaskier gave Vesemir the other half, not commenting on how the old Wolf appeared for seemingly no reason in the kitchen. The treat certainly silenced him.

For a first winter, it was a good one. Jaskier was satisfied when he left that he was getting the hang of the odd open doors policy. It was the next winter that proved to test his patience. As well as the Wolves, there was a Cat there too. Haughty and aloof, Aiden spent most of his time perched up high somewhere. He slowly warmed up to Jaskier though, cautious at first. However, Aiden seemed to be rather fond of the open door policy, only ever opening or closing a door when he wanted attention. And that was rather frequently. More than once a day Lambert would go running because Aiden slammed a door somewhere, wanting to play.

It was all very well until Jaskier had to use the privy. That was one door that the Wolves learned not to run to. Even though Lambert still twitched, head swivelling it its direction before grumbling and returning to what he was doing. Jaskier was trying to just have a peaceful moment to relieve himself, a considerate two stalls down from an occupied booth when he heard someone else come in.

“Lamb?” Aiden’s voice drifted through the air, a little plaintive and lost.

“What?” Not all that unusual for Lambert to sound irritated.

“What are you doing?”

Jaskier’s eyebrows shot up at the question. What could Lambert be doing in the privy other than the obvious one of four things?

“I’m taking a shit.” Well, that answered which of the four it was but Jaskier could heard the sounds of a body leaning heavily against the door.

“Oh.” Aiden sounded almost disappointed. “I thought I heard some rustling like a snack being opened.”

“I promise I’m not fucking eating while taking a shit. Who eats in here anyway?” Grumbling, Lambert scoffed. “Don’t tell me, I bet it’s Geralt.”

Jaskier couldn’t hold his tongue anymore. “Geralt most certainly does not eat in the privy.”

The sound of a body moving and Jaskier knew Aiden was stood outside the door to his cubicle. “Jaskier. You’re in there.”

“No I’m not.”

For a moment there was confused silence before Lambert growled. “I swear Aiden, if you don’t leave us alone-” his threat was lost as Aiden moved back to Lambert’s door and there was an odd scratching sound. “No. Aiden. Don’t you dare. You can’t sit on my lap here! Not again. We almost broke it last time. Get out. Get out!”

The sound of a door being kicked shut and a huff from Aiden gave Jaskier a good idea of what had jut happened and he was scared to go out. However, not a minute later another voice joined the fray.

“What happened?” Eskel asked.

Jaskier buried his face in his hands in despair. So much for a peaceful piss.

The whole door thing was becoming quite ridiculous. Especially with Aiden slamming them to get Lambert’s attention. And then being offended whenever he encountered a closed door. Those were all gently knocked on and a head poked through if there was no answer. It meant nothing was private and Vesemir had to use a broom to get Aiden off the top of his wardrobe one evening when the Cat had gone missing all afternoon. He seemed to have no respect or care for anything, not when it came to prime napping spots.

It got to the stage that the common areas had their doors removed and Vesemir started hanging heavy furs in their place. Which did actually make the rooms warmer and there was no more needless running around. Though Eskel still bumbled into the kitchen in the hopes of a shared snack. Jaskier had rapidly cottoned on to the fact Vesemir fought such an urge in a novel and simple way. He was almost always either in the kitchen or within sight of it. So he could see if there was an opportunity for a snack without having to move. The old Wolf was clever, Jaskier had to give him that.

Some days, Jaskier did crave a bit of silence and solitude. Those were rare and far between days but they did happen. When they came, he took to wandering through the crumbling corridors of Kaer Morhen, trying to imagine what it had been like in its glory days. Quite amazing, he should think. So lost was he in his musings, Jaskier didn’t notice until too late that the floor wasn’t solid below his feet. It gave way and he fell with a yelp, landing awkwardly on his ankle. The pain was quite blinding, rendering him into a whimpering mess, throat tight and unable to call for help. Even when he managed to gather himself up, it didn’t seem to help. His voice just didn’t carry and the Wolves probably couldn’t hear him. It was cold, dark and Jaskier was in pain which made it difficult to think. There was a door not far from him and, in a moment of sheer desperation, he pulled himself towards it on shaking arms. Near enough, he reached for it and, with all his might, slammed it shut. It bounced open from the force and echoed through the room. Mustering up a little more energy, Jaskier shoved it again and the crack of door hitting frame made him wince. That would have to do. Jaskier managed to lie down, pillowing his head on his arms, shivering.

His hopes were answered when he heard the steady stomp of running feet skidding to a halt.

“The fuck?” There was the sound of a deep inhale as the area was scented. “Where you got to bard?”

“Down here,” Jaskier called back and squinted towards the hole he had fallen through. “My ankle.”

“Why would you do that? Wait. Never mind.” Lambert turned away and, a hand cupped against his cheek and lips he let out what could only be called a howl before his attention was back on Jaskier. “What did we tell you about wandering off?”

More feet, more people and Jaskier teared up in relief. He watched as Aiden hopped down the hole and took stock of the damage. A soft cry of pain left Jaskier as he was picked up and his ankle was jostled. In a few, seemingly easy, jumps, Aiden was passing Jaskier over to Geralt who cradled him against his chest. There was a still body-warm jacket draped over Jaskier and he burrowed into it, finding Eskel’s scent mixing with Geralt a comfort.

In the infirmary he was patched up, fussed over and, in the end, bundled into a pile in front of a fire where the others snuggled protectively up against him. By the next morning all the doors were back in place and Vesemir ground his teeth when Aiden slammed the kitchen one for Lambert’s attention.

#geraskier #lambden #geralt of rivia #jaskier #lambert #aiden #eskel #vesemir #wolves of kaer morhen #tldr: witchers have traits of their schools

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teresa-of-ficwill · 3 years

Text

Young Vesemir/Jaskier (The Witcher)

So, I watched the trailer of The Nightmare of the Wolf and Vesemir there is such a hot daddy, I just couldn't resist writing something 🥰

Funny thing about time

Summary:

Jaskier accidentally gets into a time portal and ends up in the past, literally falling into Vesemir’s arms. Will the bard be able to resist Vesemir’s charm (of course, not and that’s for better) and find his way home? Only time will tell.

***

When it happened he just, you know, was peacefully having dinner somewhere in the woods. Vesemir had just started to eat his fresh-cooked meat when he heard a strange noise and his medallion started vibrating.

‘Well, I think I have a guest,’ he muttered, grabbing his silver sword and rising to his feet.

The sound repeated, somewhere in the south, and the medallion vibrated again so Vesemir decided to take a look even though he hasn't made up his mind yet which creature actually could make such noises.

It took him a few minutes to find a strange light that was floating three or four meters above ground and actually didn’t seem very dangerous. At least, it didn’t try to attack.

‘What the fuck is that?’ asked the witcher, coming closer.

A few steps - and he heard some indistinct voices, coming from that light. He couldn’t make up the words but noticed that one voice was talking much more than another. Vesemir even chuckled.

‘Someone can't shut up, can he?’ he muttered almost soundlessly.

Actually, he wanted to have at least someone to talk to who wouldn't be afraid of him. Vesemir has never thought of himself as a sensitive person but when all the people you meet shout in fear and run away or disgustedly give money for the killed monster and ask to leave, it becomes kinda lonely.

Then the light made a strange sound again, and voices disappeared. Now it was just silence.

‘Hm, you are not doing anything, don't look like a sorcerer's portal, and don't threaten my life,’ said Vesemir, talking to light in case it had consciousness. ‘But I can't just leave you here because you are something strange and I don’t understand what the fuck are you doing here. Any ideas?’

Light didn’t have ideas. Vesemir sighed. ‘What have I come to? Talking to some kind of lantern,’ he muttered. ‘Well, I could really use a friend right now.’

Suddenly someone's shout came from the light. Second - and some good-looking guy landed on the Vesemir's hands, the witcher mechanically put forward. For a few seconds, they were just looking at each other.

‘Do you have a habit of falling through portals into men's arms or I am kinda special?’ Vesemir asked, trying to hide his smile.

The guy blushed instantly. He was young, pretty, and for some reason not afraid of Vesemir's yellow cat eyes.

‘Well, I'm- I'm sorry. I have no idea what happened,’ the guy muttered and the witcher lowered him to the ground.

‘Are you hurt?’

‘No, I'm fine. Thanks to you, actually.’

Vesemir smiled, ‘You are welcome.’

The guy giggled. ‘What’s that?’ he asked, pointing to the light.

‘Hell if I know. But if you got here, then it is some kind of a portal. I suppose we can just push you back and-’

The light made another strange sound and disappeared. The guy looked at Vesemir.

‘Well- another plan then,’ the witcher stated. ‘Let’s hope you are not that far away from home, huh? Who are you?’

‘Call me Jaskier,’ he smiled. ‘I'm a bard. Maybe you have heard some of my songs before.’

‘Well, everything is possible. My name is Vesemir.’

‘Nice to meet you!’ Jaskier’s smile widened. ‘Will you help me to find my way back to my camp, lute, horse and- well, everything? I'll pay you as much as you want as soon as I get my money back.’

Vesemir narrowed his eyes, ‘Do you really want my help with that?’

‘Yes! I would really love your help. And you have already saved me from a lot of bruises so half of a job is done.’

‘Aren't you- afraid of me?’ asked Vesemir. All other people would have already tried to escape at least once, but this guy stood and talked to him as if nothing had happened.

‘No. Should I? I mean you seem quite nice.’

‘I'm a witcher,’ said Vesemir in case this cute guy was just a little bit dumb and didn't notice.

‘And?’ Jaskier smiled. ‘I know another witcher. He is not as nice as you tho but still fine. And I don’t think you are scary.’

‘Hm,’ Vesemir said. It was strange. It seemed like Jaskier wasn't local - he was too fine with having a witcher so close. ‘Where are you from exactly?’

‘I'm from everywhere!’ Jaskier exclaimed. ‘Ya know, travel a lot, don't stay too long and all this shit. But if you are asking where I was before I fell into your arms, then- hm, somewhere near Dillingen. In the south. A ten miles away. And where are we now?’

‘Near Dillingen. In the south. A ten miles away,’ Vesemir frowned. He was sure there wasn't another camp within a radius of five miles at least. No one wanted to stay in this forest for the night - too scary and dangerous. And also he checked that he was alone in the woods before settling down. Twice. So- from where did this guy actually come from?

Obviously, Jaskier didn’t understand why the witcher was so thoughtful. ‘Why aren't you happy? It means we can easily find my camp and you will get your money! I'm still paying you for my heroic salvation if you worry about that,’ the bard smiled.

‘I'm not sure-’ Vesemir started.

‘You don't want money?’ Jaskier seemed surprised.

‘Of course, I want money! I just thought- well, doesn't matter anyway. Where is your camp?’ the witcher asked because it seemed like the obvious decision was to accompany Jaskier to his camp first of all. About other questions, he could worry later because this bard didn't seem like a person who would be safe on his own in the woods. And well- Jaskier was just too pretty to be accidentally killed by some monster.

Jaskier smiled. ‘It is in a small clearing near the river. There should also be a large oak tree and a big white-haired frowning man, dressed in armor.’

‘Man?’

‘Geralt. He is sort of my companion. And also a witcher. Have you ever met him?’

‘No,’ Vesemir answered and started to move in the direction that seemed right. He was sure he knew an oak tree Jaskier was talking about.

‘Hm, strange. I thought all the witchers at least heard about each other,’ muttered the bard before following the witcher. ‘Anyway, I will introduce you.’

‘You said he's your companion. Do you fight the monsters too?’ asked Vesemir because he was sure Jaskier couldn't kill even a wolf, let alone some monster. He seemed strong enough to survive a long journey but not enough to beat some alghoul.

‘No! I am a bard - as I said - I don’t kill monsters, I write about it! And annoy Geralt a little. But mostly write poems and ballads about his adventures. Songs about White Wolf - you must have heard at least some of them!’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘It's impossible! Everyone on the Continent knows them. Were you hiding from the people for the last seven years or what?’

‘Jaskier, I think I'm not the problem here,’ said Vesemir, going out into a small clearing.

The bard made an offended face, ‘Are you trying to hint at something?’

‘No, I mean-’ the witcher looked around. No sign of a camp or another person. No one ever has made a camp there. ‘Look around.’

‘What?’

‘Look around,’ Vesemir looked at Jaskier. ‘Isn't it the place you described?’

The bard obeyed. ‘Well, it looks similar,’ he finally answered. ‘But there's no sign of fire, horse or Geralt. He couldn’t run away with all these things so fast.’

‘Only if he has never been here.’

‘Wh-what do you mean?’ Jaskier seemed confused.

Vesemir put his hand on his shoulder and said, ‘Please, don’t freak out but I think it wasn't a portal in space you went through. It was a portal in time.’

***

‘So- the same place, another time, huh?’ muttered Jaskier, when Vesemir handed him a flask.

‘Seems like that,’ the witcher shrugged his shoulders. ‘At least it is the only explanation I can think of.’

‘So am I in the past or the future? Tell me I am in the past, please. Please-please-please .’

‘Why do you want it to be your "past" so bad?’ the witcher laughed. ‘Wanna change something?’

‘Not really. But if it is "past", then you have an excuse why you don't know me and my songs,’ Jaskier smiled.

‘Well, I can't say surely but actually yes, if I don't know you or that witcher you mentioned then it means you are in the past- or too far away in the future.’

‘It doesn’t look like faraway future, actually,’ the bard stirred the fire with a stick. ‘Or the future is kinda disappointing. Anyway, what should I do now?’

‘Hm?’

‘I mean, I need to go back, obviously.’

‘Really? I thought I behaved nice enough for you to stay in this time.’

Jaskier rolled his eyes, looking at the fire. ‘You ARE nice, and I can't deny that. It's just- Geralt is not here.’

‘Not such a nice witcher who you mentioned?’ Vesemir took a sip of ale, trying not to look curious. ‘And I was joking, by the way. I won’t make you stay here without your own will.’

The bard laughed, looking at the witcher. ‘I know. And Geralt can be nice, actually, if he wants to. He just doesn't want it most of the time.’

‘Even with you?’

‘Even with me,’ Jaskier sighed.

They kept silent for a while. Vesemir was drinking his ale and looking at Jaskier, who was thoughtfully staring at the fire. He seemed really nice and maybe just a little bit too noisy but it felt like that man named Geralt didn't actually appreciate him. That was sad actually because Jaskier deserved to be treated well. And fucked well.

Vesemir shook his head, surprised with himself. What inappropriate and incredibly attractive thought has just visited his head?

‘I know a sorcerer,’ the witcher finally said, making Jaskier look at him. ‘She knows a lot about time magic. Maybe she can help.’

‘Time magic? Is it even a thing?’ the bard asked.

‘It was a thing, actually. Nowadays, few people use it - it is too difficult and time-consuming. Other types of magic are easier and faster. No one wants to spend days making one spell.’

‘Wow, sounds interesting!’ Jaskier exclaimed. ‘I can use it in my ballads. Tell me more!’

‘Huh?’ Vesemir chuckled. Somebody wants to listen to his stories? This guy is really exceptional. ‘I don't know much about it, to be honest. It was discovered after the Conjunction of the Spheres. Every sorcerer wanted to learn how to use it. Who doesn't want to play with time? But centuries passed and it became weaker. Too weak to be tempting for young sorcerers. It seems that it is no longer even taught.’

‘That's sad,’ Jaskier said. ‘So sad I don't have my notebook with me to write it there! It's such a basis for a romantic ballad! It's unfair,’ the bard frowned, making Vesemir laugh.

They shared a meal the witcher was eating before Jaskier fell right into his arms and it was time to go to sleep. Vesemir said that they would have to get up at dawn so they would be able to get to the sorceress's house before dark.

Jaskier didn’t have anything to sleep on - actually, he had only clothes that were on him - so the witcher assessed the situation and invited him to sleep on his blanket.

‘I don't drink human blood at night so don't be scared,’ Vesemir assured him when he noticed that the bard felt a little bit insecure. ‘It's just another stupid lie about the witchers and I have no idea where it came from.’

‘What?’ Jaskier laughed. ‘You are not a vampire, of course, you are not drinking blood! Who the hell will believe it?’

Vesemir sighed, ‘You are definitely from the future.’

The night promised to be cold but the witcher’s body near him was hot enough to keep Jaskier warm. And the bard wasn't even sure he was thinking about Vesemir's hotness literally or allegorically.

‘You are not afraid of me,’ suddenly said the witcher, making Jaskier turn and look at his yellow cat eyes.

‘I don't,’ he confirmed.

‘I can kill you with my bare hands,’ said Vesemir and the bard tried not to think about the fact that these words turned him on. ‘You should.’

‘If you wanted, you would have done it already,’ Jaskier smiled and closed his eyes. ‘I feel safe when you are near. It's enough for me to trust you.’

‘Trust killed the cat.’

The bard opened one eye, ‘I think it was curiosity.’

‘Sure?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Okay then. But my version of this phrase sounded better.’

Jaskier laughed.

***

Wanna read the whole story? Follow the link to ao3! 😉

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