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jaskierswolf · 3 years

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written for @thewitchertransweek

Day 5: Found Familly

Ship: Background Geraskier and Lambden

Rating: T

Summary: Ciri learns about the wider variety of gender at Kaer Morhen

Ciri had always expected to live her life in Cintra, after all she was the heir to the throne, the Lioncub of Cintra. At the very least she’d assumed that she might move to Skellige, with Eist’s ties to the Isles, and her grandmother’s dedication to the union between the two kingdoms, Ciri was sure she was bound to end up betrothed to one of the Jarl’s children.

Nilfgaard had changed everything.

Even with the rumours about her Destiny, and murmurs of the White Wolf. Ciri had never expected to find her new family in a ruined keep in the Blue Mountains during the dead of winter, but Destiny was a mysterious force that worked in equally mysterious ways. She still mourned her blood, but the family she had found in the witcher’s keep was invaluable, more than she could have ever asked for. Not only could they give her the skills to defend herself and survive in the cruel war-torn land they now lived in, they were also the most peculiar ragtag group of people Ciri had ever met.

When she’d first seen Geralt bathing on the way up to Kaer Morhen, she hadn’t questioned the uniform scars on his chest. He was a witcher and witchers had scars, that was just a fact, but when Eskel had pulled his shirt up one day to reveal matching scars… she began to get suspicious and the questions had started. She had been shocked to learn that both witchers had been born girls… or something like that. She was still trying to understand the language they used, assigned female, if she remembered correctly.

Jaskier had been absolutely thrilled when he’d learned Ciri was asking questions about gender, perking up from his favourite spot in Geralt’s lap to announce that he didn’t give a shit about gender or pronouns and people could refer to him however they felt most comfortable. Ciri tended to use ‘he’ out of habit, but she’d heard Geralt and the others refer to Jaskier as ‘they’ or ‘she’ at times as well.

And then there was Aiden, Lambert’s partner, who was very much neither a man nor a woman. They often used make-up to change the shape of their face, almost like magic, looking more masculine or feminine depending on their mood. It was incredible…

And Ciri wanted it.

She’d always hated being treated like a girl, being seen as less because she was a girl. She enjoyed wearing boy clothes just as much as her pretty dresses, sometimes even more, but she’d just assumed that all girls felt like that. Most of her friends at the castle had been boys after all.

But… Did that mean she was a they?

Could she be not a girl and still refer to herself as ‘she’?

It was all very confusing and it was giving her a headache.

“Alright, cub?” Aiden asked, leaning against the doorframe to the library. Their long dark hair loose for a change, damp and curly as it rested on the towel slung around their shoulders.

“Just thinking,” Ciri hummed, pressing her fingers to her forehead in the way she had often seen Geralt do when he was exasperated with Jaskier.

“About?”

“What if I’m not a girl?” she whined, falling backward onto the wolfskin rug in front of the hearth, staring up at the ceiling with a heavy sigh. “I didn’t even realise that was possible until coming here.”

“And now you’re not sure?” Aiden pressed, coming to sit next to her, pulling her head into their lap so they could card their fingers through her hair.

“No,” she pouted.

“Well, that’s alright. We’re older than we look, you know. It’s taken us years to work it out, and you’re just a kid,” Aiden reassured her, a low purr started to rumble in their chest, “and if you never figure it out, that’s alright too.”

“What if I change my mind?”

“Little lion cub, nothing in life is constant, change is inevitable,” Aiden laughed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Lambert is still trying to figure out whether he’s a man who likes dresses or something else, and he’s old enough to be your grandfather.”

Ciri giggled and snuggled up closer to the cat witcher. Geralt might be her Destiny, but these people were all her family, and she couldn’t be more content.

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

#the witcher #trans geralt #trans eskel #agender Jaskier #non binary aiden #genderqueer lambert #kaer morons #cirilla fiona elen riannon #ciri #wolfie's witcher writing

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wolf-and-bard · 3 years

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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julek · 4 years

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day 3 ❄ reading by the fire

winter prompt challenge

Vesemir’s library is imposing, to say the least. Its built-in shelves cover every wall, filled to the brim with manuscripts, books, handwritten contracts, long-forgotten letters, and an extensive amount of bestiaries. The first time Jaskier walks in, he takes a moment to drink it in, and when he announces that it’s simply the best room he’s ever been in, his tone is nothing but sincere.

Every morning before supper, Jaskier wanders around in the moonlit room, looking for whichever book will keep him company for the night. He’s already picked quite a few poetry books, probably older than Oxenfurt itself, and has been devouring the Witcher journals Geralt had fetched for him with great enthusiasm.

His fingers are warm against the leatherbound spines, some so worn and faded, no name can be discerned on them. He doesn’t choose them by name, though — he knows he’s found the right one as soon as he lays his hand on it. His wandering hands are splaying over a selection of broad tomes when he finds it.

He’d missed it the last times he’d been there. The book is barely bigger than his hand, its red cover —once glossy and pristine— opaque now, bathed in a fine layer of dust. There’s no name on the cover, unsurprisingly, but Jaskier knows this one’s different from the rest. He’s about to open it when he hears Eskel calling him out to dinner. He tucks the book in his pocket and heads downstairs.

After a generous helping of roasted venison and some mugs of ale, the witchers move to the kitchen, where the fire’s rumbling to life in the hearth.

“Won’t be gracing us with your humble ballads tonight, bard?” Lambert says with a smirk, laying out his fur blanket on the floor, encouraging the others to do the same.

“Careful, Lambert, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

Aiden snorts from his spot, his head laying on Lambert’s stomach, his feet dangerously close to the fire. His recklessness was what drew Jaskier to him immediately — he was finally not the only one.

“No,” Jaskier started as he crawled over the rugs and into Geralt’s outstretched arm. “No, I’m reading tonight, actually.”

He beckons Eskel with one hand, patting the space beside him. The Witcher smiles and goes easily, wrapping his cloak over their shoulders. Jaskier’s heart jumps in his chest as he looks around, seeing nothing but content, warm witchers. They don’t like it when Jaskier expresses his gratitude, always reminding him that Kaer Morhen is just an old fortress, nothing too exciting — he’s grateful nonetheless. He’s honored to be welcomed into their home, to be allowed to share winter with them and see them with their walls toppled down, to be invited to stay with them after dinner and sing and drink and laugh until his stomach hurts.

Geralt hums with curiosity and he takes the book out of his pocket, the red now glowing against the firelight.

“I found this little one in the library today,” he says, and when he looks around, the witchers’ faces have morphed into something he can’t quite place. They grow quiet, and for a second, Jaskier’s worried he’s made a mistake.

“What is it?” Aiden asks, lifting his head. Lambert gently runs his fingers through his hair, a small smile on his lips.

Eskel clears his throat. “Before the trials, there were a lot of children running around the keep. Ourselves,” he gestures at Geralt and himself, “included. Training was hard and there was a lot to do around, so we barely got time to rest. Once a week, though, Vesemir would sit us all down in front of the fire—”

“If we’d been good,” Geralt adds with a chuckle.

“—yeah,” Eskel smiles. “If we’d been good, he’d sit us all down, and would have one of us fetch a book from the library. Then he’d read to us.”

Lambert nods. “I was little, you know, not old and decrepit like these two,” he says, teasing, and shifts in his place, wrapping his arms around Aiden’s shoulders. “But I remember, too. Sometimes we’d fall asleep like that, in a pile on the floor, and he’d let us sleep in.”

Jaskier looks at them, a bit teary-eyed, and he can feel the change in the air, the way only good memories get to. He looks up at Geralt and sees a fond smile curling on his lips.

“That one,” Geralt whispers, nodding at the book. “Was my favorite.”

Eskel groans. “He’d pick it every damn time. It was insufferable,” he says, but his voice is heavy with emotion.

Jaskier settles against Geralt’s chest, snuggling up in his blanket, nosing at his throat. He’s known Geralt’s brothers for mere weeks, but the way they speak to him, as if Kaer Morhen belongs to him just as it belongs to them makes him swell with pride. He knows there are some things they just can’t speak about, and no matter how curious he is, he’d never force them to reach into the back of their minds, to pull at the bad moments again — he’s glad to be there, though, to see the way the wolves’ eyes soften and their voices turn to whispers, affection bursting through them.

They’re silent for a while, basking in the warmth the fire and the memories envelop them in, until Lambert speaks up.

“Would you read it for us, bard?”

Jaskier smiles softly, then carefully props the book against his bent knees. The wolves look expectant and so, so vulnerable, his heart aches for them. He licks his lips, letting the silence drag on a while longer, then turns the first page and says,

“I’d love to.”

#mywriting #geraskier ficlet #lambert witcher #the witcher fanfic #the wolves of kaer morhen #geralt of rivia #jaskier #aiden x lambert #aiden witcher #eskel witcher #i love the wolves w my entire heart. also aiden snuck in too <3 #they're reading AND cuddling! istg these prompts are so cute #winter prompts

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