#also I do think Jaskier can play the lute but it's no fun for his fingers and he switched to other stuff over the years | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

seidenbros · 2 years

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Can I request ❛ is that my shirt. ❜ with Jaskier x reader? ❤️

My dear, you can request anything ❤️ Because I love doing these. This one was a lot of fun again, and it pretty much wrote itself, but it's not proofread, just so you know.

(Please feel free to request anything, and if you need inspiration, here are some prompt lists)

Prompt: Is that my shirt? Warnings: Angst and fluff Word Count: 2012

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This has been going on for months, nearly a year now, though you've known Jaskier for even longer than that. He'd come by your cottage to visit you whenever he was around, whenever Geralt and him were in the area, and you'd been able to offer them a place to stay – and even Roach had her place in your stables. It had been one cold night when it had just been Jaskier and you – and a bottle of wine. You'd both felt lonely, one thing had led to another and in the morning, you'd woken in Jaskier's arms, his head pressed between your shoulderblades, his soft breathing sending shivers down your spine. You hadn't wanted to wake him, but at the same time, you hadn't been sure whether he would regret what had happened. When he'd woken, though, he'd kept you in his arms and stayed with you for some more time like this, until he'd had to get ready for the day.

You hadn't really talked about this, only enjoyed each other's presence every time he'd come by, had spend some time with you. You'd fallen into a comfortable rhythm with each other, and you could actually tell, when he was coming around the next time. What this was between you? You didn't ask, didn't even want to, because you didn't want to destroy what you were having by asking questions, by trying to put a label on it. Of course you knew that there were other women along the road, and he probably had some that he visited whenever he was in their area, just like he did with you. Thinking about it burnt a hole in your chest, so you pushed that thought away every time it arose. Because you didn't want to imagine him lying in someone else's bed, telling them all the things he told you. Talking about his childhood, growing up and learning how to play the lute, where he went, when he was really feeling down, when he needed a break. You knew all these little things remembered them, and you didn't want to think about other women knowing these intimate details about him as well, because it scarred your heart.

Of course, you knew that you'd already fallen way too hard for the bard, but there was nothing you could do against that, now, because you didn't want to cut him out of your life, didn't want to miss out in the days you had with each other, because these were the days that you cherished the most. You could find yourself a suitable husband, if you wanted, settle down, but... it wouldn't be the same. Did you even really want that? You weren't sure. There was just so much out there to explore...

Jaskier was supposed to come back here in about a week. He couldn't give you a day, but an approximate time. The earliest date would be a week from now, but you were already humming to yourself while you were cleaning the house. Not exactly a chore that you liked doing, but it was necessary. You really found yourself looking forward to the day when he arrived, telling you all about the new adventures he'd lived through, the songs he'd written... As long as he left out the women he'd met along the way, it would be a pleasant day.

While cleaning, you also made the bed. Granted, you weren't the best housewife-material, so it wasn't always super tidy, which was why you did your best, when you knew that someone was coming to visit. That someone being Jaskier most of the time. So, when you made the bed, you found something beneath it. You'd barely touched the side that Jaskier usually slept on, though you couldn't really say why. Maybe because it helped you imagine that Jaskier was still there with you. Silly, you knew, but still... it held some truth. But that also meant, that you only now discovered the piece of clothing that was lying beneath the bed. Curiously, you picked it up and unfolded it, which made you smile immediately. It was one of Jaskier's shirts. He'd probably forgotten it the last time he'd been here, or hadn't found it when he'd gathered his belongings. You brought the shirt up to your nose, and it still smelled like him, making your heart beat faster. God, you really missed him. Maybe you should tell him....

Once you'd taken your bath this evening, you'd put on Jaskier's shirt. You simply couldn't resist, because it almost felt like he was right by your side. The fabric was so soft, his scent still there, that it made you calm. You cuddled up in bed, pulling the shirt up to your nose so you could smell him. It was the perfect way to fall asleep tonight, though you shouldn't get much sleep.

There were noises at the front door, you could hear that, and it immediately made your heard race in fear. In the dark, you reached for the dagger that you were hiding beneath the other pillow whenever Jaskier wasn't occupying this side of the bed. Whoever that was, you were prepared to fight them. As quietly as possible, you got out of your bed, naked feet hitting the floorboards. You knew which ones of them squeaked, so you did your best to avoid them in the dark. The door to your bedroom was already ajar, so you could see through it, once you reached it, hand wrapped tightly around the dagger.

There was a man walking through your dark home. He put something down, though you didn't know, couldn't see what, but it didn't look like he was armed. This was your only chance, so you pulled the door open and sprang forward, dagger pointing at him.

“Leave now, or you'll regret it!” Your hand was only shaking slightly, barely visible, but your voice was strong, unwavering, surprising even yourself, because you were scared. The man in front of you held his hands up, but didn't turn around straight away. He seemed to take a breath, before he slowly started to turn, showing you that he indeed did not have any weapons.

“Dear heart, is that really, how you greet your lover?” The smile was evident in his voice, and when you looked into Jaskier's face, you dropped the dagger. Shocked, relieved, but also pissed.

“Jaskier?” you asked just to make sure. When he took a step forward, you could make out his face in the moonlight that fell through the window.

“Yes, dear, did you expect anyone else?” That cocky smile on his lips nearly made you pick up the dagger again and throw it at him.

“I didn't expect anyone. I thought you were trying to ROB ME!” Good, expressing your anger was good, but it was gone in the next moment, when you took a deep breath, too happy to see him in front of you. “It's the middle of the night and you just came in here instead of making yourself noticeable!”

A few heartbeats passed, until he licked his lips and answered: “I didn't think of that, I'm sorry. But remember, you gave me that key, and I...” He shrugged his shoulders, holding up said key to present to you. Of course you remembered, you just hadn't thought of him getting here in the middle of the night, scaring the everloving shit out of you like this.

“Of course. But you could have still called out or...” waited till the morning.You wanted to say the words, but couldn't get them out. Because he was always welcome here, and you would have probably reprimanded him the next morning had he spent the night at an inn instead of coming to you.

“I know, and I thought of staying at an inn and not bother you in the middle of the night, but... I missed you.” There. The words that you weren't sure whether you were going to say them to him or not, and now it was him, saying them so nonchalantly, that they made your heart melt.

“Great, now I can't even be angry at you anymore.” You played it down, tried not to think too much about his words as you finally started to light the candles around the room. You weren't able to fall asleep now anyway, so you could use some time to catch up, talk or... do whatever.

“Good, because I don't want you to be angry at me,” he said with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood. He knew that he'd scared you, the last thing he'd wanted to do, but now the damage was done, and he wanted to make it up to you. He'd really missed you. More and more every day, so he'd gotten a head-start on Geralt and had made his way to you.

“I could never be angry at you long enough.” A confession you didn't plan on making. You wanted to be mad at him, but couldn't. When you turned to face him again, you could feel his eyes scanning over your body, practically burning your skin. You were very aware that you were wearing noting but his shirt that hit you about mid-thigh, revealing long legs and bare feet. He'd seen you naked many times now, in all kinds of positions, but right now, you felt more exposed to him than ever before.

“Is that my shirt?” he asked, though you couldn't determine from the sound of his voice what he was thinking.

“Yeah...” you answered after a pause, looking down the front of your own body, before returning your gaze to him. Your own fingers tugged at the hem of his shirt, trying to pull it down a little bit, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I just... found it under the bed and...” Now it was your turn to shrug your shoulders, making the hem of his shirt rise up on your thighs for a moment. “And I missed you, too.” There, you'd said it, the words were finally out, and it wasn't so hard anymore, knowing that Jaskier had missed you, too. “And it still smelled like you, so I could pretend that you were here.”

Before you knew it, Jaskier had closed the distance between you to gather you in his arms and finally, finally kiss you. He'd wanted to do that the minute he'd stepped in here, but the tension had had to ease first. Seeing you dressed in his shirt though, made his mind run in a completely different direction. He'd actually just wanted to cuddle up to you tonight, wake up next to you in the morning, but now, he had other plans.

“So... that was okay?” you murmured between kisses, feeling his hands all over your body, exploring the bare skin of your arms, until he let his hands drop to your thighs.

“You joking?” he rasped against your yaw, pressing kisses there, slowly working his way down. “You look absolutely perfect in this.” More kisses to the side of your neck, until he reached your shoulder, pushing his own shirt a little to the side to expose more skin. “Mine,” he said, before he sucked on the soft skin on your shoulder, making sure that he would leave a mark there. Seeing you like this, in his clothes, it made him want to see you like this everyday. See that you were his, because he'd realized along the way, that you belonged together. He just hadn't had the courage to say it like this, to make commitments, because he didn't know where this would lead. But right now? Being close to you, kissing you, that was what he wanted and needed. So he picked you up, wrapped your legs around his hips to carry you to your bedroom, where he would claim his place on the other side of the bed – once he was finished with you.

#cause I was born to press my head between your shoulderblades #i had to use that line #staffi writes #the witcher imagine #the witcher fanfic #the witcher #jaskier #jaskier imagine #jaskier fanfiction #jaskier x fem!reader #jaskier x reader #jaskier x you #jaskier x y/n #I'm having so much fun doing these #so much inspiration

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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 3 years

Text

Someone Else (I'm Still Right Here)

also on ao3

minor warning for Geralt coming on to Jask when he doesn't know who he is, but nothing comes from it.

They've hardly been in town long enough for anything to go wrong and yet, Jaskier finds his thoughts interrupted by banging on the door of their room. If it was Geralt, he would simply let himself in even if he didn't have his hands free to open the door properly, so it must be important. Jaskier rises from the bed, setting his lute aside with a sigh. He detests being interrupted while he's working for anything less than an emergency - and judging by the fact that the knock hasn't come again, this is hardly an emergency.

He saunters to the door, pulling it open to find the face of the innkeeper's wife staring back at him anxiously.

"Sorry to interrupt," she says, "it's your Witcher, sir. Something's happened and no one is... well, they're all afraid to get too close to him. They called in the healer from the next town, but-"

Jaskier frowns. The contract was for a pair of drowners, not even a nest of the damn things. Geralt could have taken them out in his sleep - so what went so terribly wrong?

Jaskier lets himself be led downstairs, doing his best to mask worry with intrigue, but it isn't working. The innkeeper's wife leads him to the edge of the forest where her husband is waiting, a look of pained concern on his face. Jaskier's stomach drops as the man just points into the trees, and he hurries forward without delay. If the people in town won't help Geralt, he will certainly do his best.

When he finds him, Geralt is in a bad state. His eyes are still dark from the potions - probably why the locals wouldn't come near - and there's blood streaked down the side of his face.

Jaskier stays quiet. It's bad enough that Geralt can hear his pulse racing, he doesn't need to make his fear any more obvious to him. He kneels down on the soft ground, assessing the damage before moving him. He's learned from experience that one wrong move can make a wound worse rather than better.

"Okay," he says once he's satisfied. "I'm just gonna pull this off," he taps on Geralt's left pauldron, "make sure your head is the only thing you banged up." Jaskier frowns as he says it, but Geralt seems, as usual, unconcerned. He's much better behaved than usual though, which strikes Jaskier as being particularly odd.

He ignores it and pushes through, tearing an already ripped piece of Geralt's shirt to wipe away some of the blood. Geralt will be grouchy about it later, but if Jaskier replaces it, he can't be too angry. He does his best to clean Geralt's skin and he finds just the one injury - a hefty blow to the head. Not that it seems to be bothering Geralt any.

But when Jaskier cups his jaw, tipping his head to one side, Geralt hums. It catches him off guard and Jaskier jerks back to look at him.

"Your hands feel nice," Geralt breathes and leans into the touch. Okay. So maybe the head injury is more serious than it appears. The innkeeper's wife said a healer was coming, Jaskier will mention it to them when they arrive. Or maybe it's just the blood loss. Either way, the healer will be better prepared to deal with it than he is.

"What are you doing here?" Geralt asks.

"The innkeeper's wife came to collect me. Figured someone ought to come and collect you."

"No one else would even get near me."

"Yes, well, I'm not everyone else, am I?"

"Hmm. Guess not."

Jaskier comes around to look at him, straddling his thighs and Geralt leans forward, resting his head on his shoulder and nuzzling into his neck.

"Yes yes," Jaskier hums, "I know you're tired, darling, but we have to get you up and back to town."

Geralt is reluctant, but he lets himself be hauled to his feet and doesn't even complain about Jaskier propping him up as they make their way back toward town. He's quiet, which is to be expected, but Jaskier is worried that he's keeping something from him, that he's worse off than he seems because Geralt seems quite happy to let himself be assisted - something he would regularly fight against.

As they make it back to the inn, Jaskier knows everyone is watching them and he scolds a couple of them for not offering to help when a man was injured. He takes Geralt up to their room and ducks out from under his arm, leaving him alone for a moment so he can get the fire lit and ready the bed for him. But before he can do either, he finds himself pressed up against the room door with Geralt's face mere inches from his own.

The dark veins and darker eyes are… sexier than they have any right to be and Jaskier swallows back a groan, pressing a gentle hand to Geralt's chest. The Witcher is still woozy and unsteady on his feet, but he resists being pressed back and Jaskier frowns at him.

"Mm, as much fun as this is, I doubt you'll think so highly of me in the morning, darling." Geralt smiles slyly and, for a split second, Jaskier worries that he's become Geralt's quarry, that the toxins running through Geralt's body are really as bad as he always claims they are and that he is, in fact, in real danger around him. But then Geralt leans in, bumping his nose against Jaskier's and any thoughts of fear dissipate immediately.

Instead, Jaskier ducks down and away, holding both arms out as Geralt follows him.

"Geralt," he asks, "what's gotten into you? Not that I mind, but-" he eyes him carefully and Geralt just grins at him again.

"Don't be coy with me, bard, this is what you brought me here for."

"Um. No? I brought you here to rest, to put you to bed not take you to bed, and find you something to eat. This is our room, Geralt, not my room. They only had one left and I didn't think you'd mind-"

"Our room?" Geralt interrupts and Jaskier nods. Worry creeps in and he looks closely at Geralt. His eyes are black still, though the veins are retreating and he seems brighter than usual, not so gloomy.

"Yes?"

"Why would we be sharing a room," Geralt huffs, "I've only just met you."

Jaskier gawks at him. It's not like Geralt to play games, that's Lambert's area of expertise - and this is stupid and obvious even for Lambert's tastes. But something is off about Geralt tonight. The worry turns to fear and Jaskier suddenly wonders if the man he's brought back is his Witcher at all.

He's never met a doppler, but he's heard Geralt tell stories about them. For the most part, they're harmless, but Jaskier suspects they can be paid or bribed like anyone else and the thought of a stranger here in the room with his things, with Geralt's things-

"I thought you wanted sex," maybe-Gealt says again, slightly confused but not at all dissuaded. Normally Jaskier would take it as a compliment that he was still so enthusiastic about fucking him, but this feels very, very wrong. And yet a part of him still considers it.

If it is a doppler, there's no harm really. He's consenting and Jaskier is more than happy to fuck a man with Geralt's face (he doesn't think too much about how that will affect him after it's fine). Right? But there's still a nagging feeling that this isn't a doppler. He'd know, he thinks, if he brought someone else home with him.

"Can you just-" he says, backing up toward the bed where his bag is sitting on the floor. Maybe-Geralt just watches him with confusion as he crouches down and pulls his dagger from his pack.

It's just a little thing, but it's pure silver, gifted to him by Geralt in case of emergency.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Jaskier says, holding it out, "I just need you to touch this."

Maybe-Geralt gives him a questioning look but reaches out and takes the dagger from him, turning it over in his hand. Nothing happens.

"Hmm," he says, "nice weight, well made. A little decorative maybe-"

"Doesn't hurt?" Jaskier asks and maybe-Geralt, who is seeming more and more like just Geralt laughs.

"Not unless you stab someone with it."

Jaskier valiantly ignores the little smirk and shuts his eyes.

"Okay," he says, "start at the beginning, what do you remember?"

"I… woke up in the forest and then you showed up," he smiles at him and Jaskier is already preparing a refusal.

"Listen, Geralt, I am your friend and you would probably even argue that-"

"How come? You're very handsome and you've been helpful and kind-"

"But it's not like that, Geralt. It never has been. I offered once and you were… less than impressed with me." Geralt says nothing and Jaskier takes the opportunity to reign the conversation in. "Can I clean you up now? Something is obviously wrong and we have to get you to a doctor."

"They said a healer was coming."

"I was thinking of someone a little more professional," Jaskier says and Geralt gives him a look. "We have a mutual friend who may be able to help. But for now, you've got me and I'd like to take a look at that wound."

Geralt relents and Jaskier finally succeeds in getting him sat on the bed without Geralt trying to come on to him again. He pulls Geralt's hair back and ties it out of his face, it'll need to be washed later, but he's not going to try and explain how it's fine for him to wash his hair but not fuck him right now.

The wound itself it's so bad, a bit swollen, a bit bruised, but the actual gash is small and very manageable. He cleans it first with water and then with vodka and applies a good amount of salve. He doesn't know which herbs Geralt combines for a poultice, so he bypasses that for the time being; when he gets him to Shani if the wound isn't healed on its own, she'll be able to tend to it.

He finds linen wrap at the bottom of his bag and presses it to Geralt's forehead, gently wrapping it around and tying it at his temple.

"Should be good for now. I'll go down and have supper brought up. Do you want a bath?"

"No. Thank you."

"Alright. Just… stay here, I'll be back."

As soon as the bedroom door is shut, Jaskier closes his eyes, but he waits until he reaches the main floor to lean against the wall and sigh. He has no idea what he's going to do. He never thought he'd be sad to see the day Geralt tried to get him into bed, but it feels so wrong. He'd rather spend the rest of his life failing to impress Geralt than spend another five minutes with him like this.

He takes his time ordering food, half-hoping that Geralt will be asleep by the time he gets back to the room, but their supper is ready quickly and Jaskier reluctantly takes it back up to their room, setting the tray on the table beside the bed.

Geralt at least spares him conversation while they eat and then Jaskier sets the dishes aside and strips out of his clothes for bed, already dreading having to share a bed. He keeps his shorts on and waits until Geralt is already in bed before climbing in after him.

The fire is burning low already, so he's not worried about it, but he blows out the candle beside the bed and pulls the blankets up over himself. He faces out into the room, preferring not to see Geralt right now. It feels weird to want to avoid him and it makes his chest ache because this is Geralt, but it's not. He just wants his Geralt back.

He shuts his eyes and tries to sleep but Geralt is cuddly like this, shifting closer and pressing up against him. He gets an arm around Jaskier's waist and Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut. It's everything he thinks about during the long nights sleeping around a campfire, but he can't let himself give into it. But it feels good because it's Geralt's arm around him, Geralt's chest pressed to his back, Geralt's breath against his neck. He very nearly whines because it's so damn unfair.

But then Geralt's lips press against the back of his neck and a little gasp escapes his lips, unintentionally. He ignores it the first time, but then he does it again and when he shifts closer, Jaskier can feel the length of his cock pressing against his ass. And fuck, that's hard to turn down, but Jaskier wrenches himself out of Geralt's arms.

"I can't," he whispers, unconvincing even to himself.

"You want it, though," Geralt hums, "I can smell it on you."

"Maybe," Jaskier confesses, "but not like this. Not when you don't know who I am. Not when fucking any other person in this place would be the same for you. I can't, Geralt. Go to sleep."

Jaskier hates how disappointed Geralt sounds when he pulls away, but he doesn't try again and Jaskier almost finds himself wishing he would. He tugs the blanket a little tighter around himself and pulls his knees to his chest, trying to force back the fear that he might not get his Geralt back.

In the morning, Geralt wakes first and Jaskier is relieved to find himself alone in bed, although he worries about where Geralt has gotten to. But when he drags himself out of bed, he finds Geralt packed and ready to go with a hearty breakfast waiting for him.

"What's all this?" Jaskier asks, "trying to get away from me all of a sudden?" It comes out more bitter than he intends and he winces at the tone of his own voice.

"You were so sad, last night," Geralt says quietly. "I don't know how to fix this, how to remember you, but I thought you'd want to get started early. I had breakfast brought up." He offers a soft smile, gesturing to the food and Jaskier's heart flip-flops.

"Oh. Thank you."

"I've eaten. Take your time and we can leave when you're finished."

"Right."

Geralt just sits on the bed while Jaskier eats his breakfast and contemplates the fact that this is still his Geralt, as much as it doesn't seem like it. His own things are still ready to go and he has no idea who to go to to collect the reward for the drowners, but it couldn't have been much anyway, so he's not worried about it. Geralt won't be pleased about it when he remembers himself, but there's only so much Jaskier knows how to handle and he wants to get Geralt to Shani as quickly as possible.

They head out mid-morning, and Geralt insists on letting Jaskier ride, which is… nice, in a concerning way. Roach is equally confused and concerned, but Jaskier does his best to comfort her. Thankfully, they aren't far from Oxenfurt or Jaskier isn't sure how he would cope.

Geralt walks alongside him, happy enough apparently to let Jaskier ride. He hums as they travel, a low wonderful sound that had Jaskier's heart fluttering, but it tears him in two because the song is his which means Geralt does remember something, but he's also so sad to see him this calm and relaxed knowing his goal is to take that away from him.

For now, he won't say anything, will just let Geralt enjoy the journey. When and if they find a way to get his memory back, he'll explain everything and give Geralt the chance to decline if he wishes. The selfish part of him hopes he doesn't.

They carry on in much the same way, but even when Geralt talks, Jaskier struggles to find it in himself to be too enthusiastic about anything. He's already in a difficult spot and he just wants to get through this, whatever the outcome. But it's obvious Geralt notices and that he's trying to distract him from it.

Jaskier tries to cheer up a little, if only for him, but he finds it difficult because he knows Geralt can tell how he's really feeling. But Jaskier appreciates the effort, either way.

"Remind me where we're going?" Geralt asks and Jaskier realizes he hasn't told him, Geralt just trusted him not to be leading him towards certain death.

"To Oxenfurt," he says, trying to sound cheerful, "it's one of my favourite places on the continent. I have a friend who practices medicine, she should be able to help."

"You don't have to pretend for me. I know you're sad, I know you miss him. Me. I wish I could give you your friend back."

Jaskier's heart clenches and he takes a steadying breath. "I'm fine," he says, "and I can't miss him, he's you and you're right here." He feels odd, like he's talking to a child, but Geralt just smiles at him, softly but like he doesn't believe him. Jaskier wouldn't either, he's never been good at lying to Geralt.

There's a heavy silence that falls after that and for some time they continue forward unspeaking. Jaskier twitches to feel the silence, to sing or talk to something just to keep from thinking that Geralt is upset with him. Then, abruptly, Geralt speaks.

"What kind of man am I?" Jaskier doesn't even have to think to answer that.

"You're kind," he says, "more than anyone gives you credit for. You always try to take the less violent route, even though your job is to kill monsters. You're generous and loving and you care so deeply for your friends and family."

He pauses for a moment, swallowing a lump in his throat. Because he's not included in that group. He knows Geralt must care for him, but not in the way he loves Eskel or Lambert, or even in the way his friendship with Shani or Zoltan comes so easily to him. Next to him, Geralt is silent for a moment and then.

"Jaskier are you-" Jaskier shuts his eyes, dreading whatever is coming next. "Do you love me?"

"Of course I do," he says, forcing cheeriness into his voice, "You're my best friend."

"But it's more than that, isn't it?"

"Geralt-"

"I know I don't really know you, but I… think I love you, too."

"Geralt, don't say that," Jaskier shuts his eyes tightly, "you can't know that."

"I feel it."

Jaskier wants to scream. It's so unfair to hear those words from Geralt's mouth and know they’re not true. He pushes Roach a little quicker forward, but Geralt stops him.

Roach comes to a full stop and Jaskier grows frowns at Geralt as he comes to stand next to him. Geralt raised a hand up, cupping his jaw and guiding him downward.

"I feel like you won't hear it from me again, so I love you." He's soft, almost breathless, and when he stretches up to kiss him, Jaskier doesn't stop him.

It's just soft, no urgency, no want for something more than just a kiss and Jaskier can't help but lean into it just a little. Because those are Geralt's hands on him, Geralt's mouth against his own, soft and slow.

But Geralt moans softly against him and Jaskier remembers himself with a start. He pulls back from the Witcher, almost unseating himself, but Geralt steadies him.

"I'm sorry," he breathes, "I can't, it's not fair-"

"To me?" Geralt asks and there's sadness behind the humour in his voice.

"Yes."

After that, they spend the rest of the day in silence and Jaskier feels bad for Geralt - he can't imagine losing his memory and not knowing who he is - but he can't stand the fruitless hope. Because Geralt doesn't love him, he's made it known that they're not friends and how could Jaskier hope for more when he can't even attain friendship?

Then again, the man walking next to him now still is Geralt. He doesn't feel like Geralt and he doesn't act like Geralt, but he is. Jaskier isn't sure how people usually react when they lose their memories, so he doesn't have a basis to judge by, but it is still Geralt.

When they stop for the night, Geralt sleeps close enough to keep him warm but doesn't cuddle up like he did the night before and Jaskier hates himself for it. Maybe Geralt has a chance here at a new life, one where he can be happy and not weighed down by the memory of his childhood. And if he does, if he wants it, who is Jaskier to deny him that?

He's not sure he could be a part of it, though. Even thinking about him now, wishing Geralt would come a little closer, curl an arm around his middle, he feels like he's betraying his friend, betraying the old Geralt as the case may be.

Either way, he'll get Geralt to Oxenfurt so they can speak to Shani and see if there's anything that can be done. If there's not, he doesn't have to worry about making the decision to leave or stay, but if there is- If there is a chance Geralt can regain his memories, Jaskier has to let him make that choice alone and then make his own depending on what Geralt wants.

They reach Oxenfurt a few days later after what feels like a month-long journey and Jaskier is just glad to be somewhere warm where he can have his own room and not have to worry about wanting to be close. He leads them immediately to the inn and rents two separate rooms. It's fairly costly and he's reminded of the reason they needed to take the last contract, but he could be in Oxenfurt for a while depending on how this goes and he'll be able to pick up work easily enough.

Jaskier heads up to his room and makes sure Geralt gets settled, then he heads down and orders food and a bath up to Geralt's room before heading out to find Shani.

The first place he looks is the hospital, but the nurse working informs him that Shani has her own clinic now and she's located near the centre of town. Jaskier thanks her and doubles back, following the directions she'd given. Shani's clinic is tucked between two other buildings and Jaskier knocks before entering. There's no one inside but it's only a moment before Shani emerges from a back room, the neutral look on her face quickly growing into a smile. When Jaskier doesn't return the gesture she frowns.

"I take it this isn't a personal visit," she says and Jaskier can feel something inside him slip. He shakes his head.

"No, I'm sorry. I- we need your help."

"Geralt?" she asks and the last bit of his self-control gives way and he chokes on a sob. "Hey," she says, "come sit down."

Shani guides him to a back room and sits him down on a plush soft, surprisingly nice for a medical clinic. She shuts and locks the door behind them and sits next to him.

"What's wrong?"

"It's Geralt," he chokes, "hes'-" he takes a deep breath, swallowing back another sob. "Shani, he doesn't know who he is. He doesn't know who I am."

"Oh. What happened?"

"I wasn't there. I just- they came to get me because no one else would get near him. It was just supposed to be a drowner contract but he got hit in the head or something. I don't know what to do."

"Where is he now?"

"Back at the inn."

"Here?" she asks. Jaskier nods. "Why don't you take me to him, I'll take a look."

"I- I don't know if he'll want to be fixed? He came with me but Shani, he seems happy."

"Why don't we go and see him first. We'll figure out what's wrong before worrying too much, hm?" Jaskier agrees and Shani packs a bag and they head for the inn.

They find Geralt in his room, having eaten and bathed and he looks good. He's got his hair down around his shoulders and he's shirtless and Jaskier has to avert his eyes. He takes a seat in the corner and lets Shani introduce herself and asks to look him over. Jaskier stays quiet and watches cautiously as Geralt easily lets Shani look him over. Once she's finished with his body, she examines his head.

"Well," she says at last, "you obviously took a pretty hefty blow to your head, but the good news is it should be simple to reverse the memory loss."

"Good," Geralt says quickly. He spares a glance for Jaskier before turning back to Shani. "What do we have to do?"

"It's simple really, just a shock to your system should do it. I have a friend who can help."

As Shani goes into the details, Jaskier tunes out. He hears something about neurons, but he's more concerned about getting Geralt alone for a couple of minutes before he makes a decision. He loves Geralt, wants nothing more than for him to be happy, so he wants him to go into this knowing everything Jaskier can tell him.

"Can we have a moment Shani?" he asks and Geralt looks at him as Shani nods and ducks out of the room.

"You want to do it?" Jaskier asks and Geralt nods.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"You're happier like this," Jaskier whispers, "Geralt, I've never seen you this relaxed. In twenty years, you've always been miserable. I just- I want you to make an informed decision."

"You say you want me to be happy," Geralt says, "but since I told you I didn't know who you were you've been so sad. How is it fair for me to be happy like you say when you're still suffering." He tips Jaskier's chin up with two fingers and looks into his eyes. "What I said before, I wasn't lying. I don't know where all these feelings are coming from but I know you are so important to me."

He pulls up a smile and Jaskier knows how this is going to end. And he'll be happy to have his Geralt back, but know him like this? To know this Geralt wants him, even in some weird, imaginary way? He doesn't know how he'll be able to continue.

"Okay," Jaskier relents. "I just… wanted you to know what you were getting into."

"I'm sure it can't be all bad. I have you."

Jaskier's heart clenches, but he doesn't get another chance to speak because Shani enters the room. Thankfully, Geralt has stopped touching him, but he's still close and she gives Jaskier a look.

"I put out a call to my friend," she says, holding up a box that looks vaguely familiar. "Xenovox," she explains, "Marilla is a mage. She should be here in the morning."

It's late afternoon now, so that means spending another night at the inn and Jaskier is torn. On the one hand, he wants Geralt to be back to normal, but on the other- he's selfish and he wants Geralt like this. He wants so badly to have anything and- no. No, he can't.

Shani leaves them shortly after assuring Jaskier that it will be alright, that Geralt will be fine. He wishes these were better circumstances, that they had come to visit Shani instead of asking for her help, but she waves him off with a smile.

"Come and visit when things are back to normal," she says, "I'll see you in the morning."

Jaskier sees her off and then returns to the room to find Geralt sitting on the edge of the bed, contemplating. He's still shirtless and Jaskier finds it hard to look at him directly. He sits in the bed next to him, hands folded in his lap.

"Well," Geralt says, "we have the night. Things will be different after I get my memory back, right?" He turns, reaching out to cup Jaskier's cheek. "Be with me tonight," he breathes, "just for tonight, let me take care of you while I have the chance."

Jaskier huffs a humourless laugh. "That's the problem, you always have the chance, but you never want to take it."

"Then let me now," he hums and his hand falls to Jaskier's thigh.

And it's so tempting. Because Geralt is right here offering everything he's ever wanted, if only for a night. But this is not the Geralt he fell in love with. This is not truly his Geralt's consent. When Jaskier looks up, it's obvious that Geralt knows his answer before he even speaks.

"I'm an idiot," he says softly, "to not jump at the chance to be with you. If I don't remember tomorrow, I want you to know you're important to me." Jaskier nods weakly, but he can't find the words. "Maybe we should turn in early? We have a long day tomorrow, I think."

Jaskier nods and he lets Geralt pull him down to the bed and tonight, he lets himself be held, curls into Geralt's hold and presses his nose into his neck. He doesn't let himself think, just buries himself in Geralt's scent, so warm and familiar and shuts off his mind.

Jaskier awakes to a knock on the door and realizes he's still in his clothes from yesterday. Geralt answers the door to Shani and Marilla, and Jaskier is only just climbing out of bed when they come into the room. He gets a look from Shani, but if she's feeling any particular kind of way about finding him in Geralt's bed, she doesn't say anything.

The actual process doesn't take any time at all. Marilla comes in and does something to Geralt, what she does is unclear but he falls unconscious and Jaskier panics at first, but Shani holds him back.

"Sorry," she says, "I should have warned you."

Jaskier does his best to make Geralt comfortable in the bed and he leaves with the two women to let him sleep. He thanks Marilla desperately and asks her to stay until he wakes, but she tells him she has other business to attend to and after dipping down to kiss Shani briefly, she disappears down the stairs.

"Friend, huh?" Jaskier asks and Shani smiles at him.

"Don't try to change the subject."

"Actually, can I ask you about something?"

"Of course. Why don't we get a drink, he could be out for a couple of hours."

They head down to the common area and Shani orders them a pair of drinks while Jaskier finds a table out of the way. He's never understood why Geralt likes corner tables, but right now he gets it. He doesn't want anyone to talk to him and he just wants to be able to sit and drink with Shani.

When she returns, she slides his drink across to him and slips into her seat.

"What did you want to ask about?"

"Uh," Jaskier starts, turning his mug in his hands, "when I first took Geralt back to our room, just after he was hurt. He tried to kiss me. He… thought I was bringing him back there to fuck him."

"Oh."

"You don't sound surprised."

"I'm not, really. I'm surprised he acted on it, but-"

"What does that mean?"

"Geralt doesn't have any brain damage," Shani explains, "something just… got knocked loose, so to speak. He was still him, Jaskier. His thoughts, his feelings? That was all him, Jask."

"You're telling me-" abruptly, the memory of Geralt telling him he loved him comes back to him and his mouth goes dry. "You're telling me that was just him?"

"Mmhm. Without all the baggage and self-loathing."

"I don't- he can't- if he wanted me that way, I would know."

"Would you?" Shani asks, "because I think you would be the last person to know. Wait till he wakes up, talk to him."

"Yeah, I know. Thanks, Shani, for this and for everything."

"Happy to help."

They finish their drinks and Shani heads home. Jaskier thanks her again and promises to visit when things are better and waits until she's gone before heading back up to Geralt's room.

The first thing Geralt knows when he wakes up, is a pain in his head. He blinks awake to find himself in a bed in a nondescript inn. A better look around finds Jaskier asleep in a chair next to him, but he stirs as Geralt sits up and then he's scrambling to pass Geralt a mug of water.

He feels woozy, but Jaskier's presence soothes him; he knows from experience that Jaskier would never let anything happen to him and is willing to risk his own health and safety to assure it. There's no one else he'd rather see upon waking. But he doesn't remember falling asleep. The last thing he remembers is taking a hit and stumbling away from the scene.

"Geralt?" Jaskier asks gently. He looks up and the first thing he notices when he looks at Jaskier is how sad he is. The emotion wafts off of him, but Geralt doesn't need his heightened sense of smell to be able to tell.

"What's wrong?" he mumbles, his voice thick.

"Tell me what you remember. From the start."

Geralt thinks back, going through the events of the hunt, none of which are very interesting until he was thrown into a tree. Water hag, he remembers, chucked mud and blinded him. Then he's stumbling away, all three monsters dead and then- fuck.

His gaze snaps up to Jaskier's face, looking for any sign of recognition, but he remains eerily calm, even as Geralt recollects kissing him, pressing him up against a wall and- fuck, what was he thinking? The more he thinks about it, the more comes back to him, but in bits and pieces.

Kissing him, touching him, pressing up against him in bed. The memories are all foggy, scattered, but they feel too real to have been a dream. But Jaskier shows no signs of being assaulted by him.

"I'm-" he starts, but sorry doesn't feel like it's enough. Jaskier is open with his affections, but he wouldn't be okay with that.

Geralt tries to push himself up, to get out of bed and away from Jaskier because he can't stand the thought of doing something like that. He can't remember why he did, but the more he thinks about it, the more real it feels.

"Geralt," Jaskier says firmly, "I'm not mad. But I think we need to talk if you're up for it."

He doesn't want to talk to Jaskier. He would rather find out from someone else, he can't bear to hear the words from Jaskier. And he knows Shani was there. Shani and another woman who he didn't recognize.

"Where's Shani?" he asks.

"She's gone home, darling. Are you hungry? Can I get you anything?"

Geralt looks up at him and he feels hopeless. Jaskier is exhausted, he can see the bags under his eyes, the dark circles. And he doesn't seem any less sad than he did initially. It doesn't take much to realize what happened.

"I'm sorry," Geralt mumbles, "about what I did- when I kissed you, I-"

Jaskier stops, already halfway toward the door and sighs deeply, stopping in his tracks before turning around.

"Okay," he says, "we're talking about this now, then." He comes back and seats himself on the end of the bed, facing him. "Tell me exactly what you remember, Geralt."

"I remember taking the contract, fighting off the drowners - and a water hag - got mud in my eyes, stumbled and something hit me, threw me into a tree. Probably one of the drowners pushed me. I took them out, started back toward town but I must have passed out, the next thing I remember is-"

"Me."

"Yeah. You took me back to our room, I thought you were- I thought you wanted sex."

"I know, you were fairly adamant about that."

"Fuck. Jaskier I'm sorry-"

"You didn't know who I was. If a handsome stranger took me back to his room, I'd think the same. When you didn't know who I was I was… terrified. I didn't know if I'd get you back." They're both silent for a moment and then Jaskier prompts him to continue.

"I remember that. I remember talking to you," he lowers his eyes, "I told you I loved you, I don't know why." Immediately Jaskier's sadness intensifies and he catches it in the twitch of his lip, the way he glances away.

"You asked if I was in love with you," Jaskier explains, "and told me you loved me. What else do you remember?"

"I remember asking you to- suggesting we- I propositioned you. And I remember being in bed- Jaskier, did we-?" He can't imagine anything worse than sleeping with Jaskier while he's not himself, than having the chance to be with him and not truly being present in the moment.

Because he certainly won't have another chance, especially not now that he's gone and muddled things up.

"No," Jaskier confirms and for the first time a small smile tugs at his lips, "not that you didn't try. But It didn't feel right. I knew when you had your memories back, you'd hate me for it and I couldn't-"

"I could never hate you," Geralt interrupts, "if anything I'd hate myself for pushing you into it."

"No," Jaskier says, shaking his head, "Geralt you don't understand. I wanted to. I wanted so badly to just say yes last night when you asked me. I tried to work it around in some way that you wouldn't hate me for taking advantage, but every time I just feel terrible to even think about it. The reason I didn't sleep with you is because I couldn't bear the thought of fucking you when it wasn't really you. Because I didn't want him, even if he was you. I wanted- I want this you."

"You do," Geralt snorts, "someone who throws himself at his friend because he doesn't remember, someone who tells him he loves him unprompted-"

"Do you think," Jaskier suggests, and it's clear by the look on his face that he's considering his words very carefully. "That maybe what you said to me and what you did- what you offered," he corrects quickly, "was because you do have feelings for me?" His voice shakes just faintly and Geralt can smell the anxiousness coming off of him.

It's cloying, overwhelming and it mingles with the scent of sadness and fear and just the faintest hint of something hopeful.

"It's just that Shani said there was nothing wrong with your mind, it was still you in there when you asked, when you said that." Jaskier looks up at him and Geralt feels years of emotion welling up inside him and he doesn't know how to hold it back any longer, not what Jaskier is asking him outright.

"Jaskier, I-" he takes a deep breath, focuses on a mark on the blanket between them. "I don't remember everything. But I did mean what I said. I do… I love you," he whispers, "I didn't want you to think less of me or," he glances up and Jaskier's eyes are shiny like he's trying not to cry. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for you to find out like this."

"I'm not sad," Jaskier says, "Geralt, I have been following you around for half my life, caring for you, singing about you and you didn't think for maybe a moment that I could love you back?"

"You-" Geralt stumbles over his words as Jaskier's confession sinks in. "You sleep with everyone. Everyone but-"

"You don't even call me friend, Geralt. Why would I try and take you to bed with me thinking you don't care enough to call me your friend?"

"Oh."

"Oh? You didn't consider that?"

"You're not my friend," Geralt says, by way of explanation, "but you're not a lover, either. You're not a brother. Not a comrade. I don't know what you are."

"Oh."

"But you could be… a lover?" the word feels strangely heavy in his mouth and he nearly regrets saying it at all until he sees the way Jaskier's eyes light up. A smile tugs at Geralt's lips and he leans forward, reaching out to take Jaskier's hand, tentatively turning it over.

"Jaskier," he whispers, "can I kiss you?" A wide grin spreads across his face and Jaskier tips forward toward him.

"Darling, I thought you'd never ask."

#geraskier #memory loss #200 fic celebration #no.1 #the witcher #rex writes

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august-anon · 2 years

Note

oh and no pressure here (full pressure on the others /j) but maybe “You won’t.” or “What kind of a question is that?” with friends-more-than-frienemies yennskier? s2 has made me very fond of them ~🌵💞

Absolutely of course dear heart!! S2 made me very fond of their new dynamic as well lol. Another person also asked for "You won't." with Yen and Jask, so I went with the other dialogue! Look at you, getting the best of both worlds lol

Also, lee!Jask special for you lol

----

20 Questions

Fandom: The Witcher

Ship(s): Gen

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Jaskier, Ler!Yennefer

Word Count: 825 words

Summary: If the bard was going to ask such silly questions, Yennefer would do it better.

[ao3 link]

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

The bard was incessant. A few non-antagonistic words and suddenly he thought they were best friends. No wonder Geralt hadn’t been able to shake him, all those years. Because it absolutely did not become endearing after a time, and Yennefer absolutely did not share in the bard’s feelings of friendship.

Not at all.

Truthfully, it was nice to have company. She often locked herself away in one of the numerous abandoned rooms in the keep, sifting through the things mages had left behind. She would have her daily lessons with Ciri, but other than that, no one sought her out unless they needed her skillset. Things between her and the witchers, particularly Geralt, were still a little tense, and she could certainly understand their hesitation after what she nearly did.

But Jaskier seemed to have no preservation instinct, as always. She thought he’d be off on his mischievous and merry way once she checked over and healed his burned fingers, but he just kept coming back. Sometimes he’d sit and watch her sort through things in silence (though that was rare), sometimes he’d bring the lute he’d dug up from another abandoned room and write in her company, and quite often he would come in and find ways to goad and annoy her into conversation.

Such as today.

Jaskier had fooled her into joining in on some question game, and though she was loath to admit it, it was almost kind of fun. Not to mention, though they had known each other for years by this point, it was a little surprising to Yennefer how little she actually knew about the bard. Especially considering how much he talked.

Yennefer had lost track of how long they were playing this question game, but it had to have been hours. She’d cataloged almost the entirety of the room’s magical artifacts, and through the filthy window she could see that the sun had sunk rather low in the sky. Dinner would be called for, soon. And good thing, too, considering it seemed they were both running out of questions. And Jaskier was certainly taking his sweet time coming up with his next one, groaning obnoxiously as he thought it through.

“Oh, I know!” He said at last. He pranced toward her with a leering grin. “Yennefer of Vengerberg. Are you… ticklish?”

Yennefer jerked back, furrowing her brows and looking at Jaskier like he was insane. “What kind of a question is that?”

“That’s not an answer,” he sang.

Yennefer crossed her arms over her chest, hoping the move didn’t look too defensive. “No,” she lied.

Jaskier raised an eyebrow. “I believe we had a no lying rule in place?”

“What makes you think I’m lying?”

“Everyone’s ticklish, Yennefer.”

Yennefer raised her own eyebrows. “Then what’s the point of asking if I am? Why not ask where, or how much?”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Fine, where–”

“Ah! Not so fast, bard. You already used your question.”

“Then answer it.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes. “Fine, yes, is that what you wanted?”

Jaskier gave her a smug smile. She returned it.

“Good luck finding where, though.”

Jaskier frowned. “Dammit.” He sighed. “Fine, your turn.”

Yennefer smirked at him. “Where are you ticklish, Jaskier?”

She watched in satisfaction as blood rushed to Jaskier’s face and he started awkwardly stammering out excuses.

“You can’t just–”

“Oh, but you can? Tell me, bard, what were you about to change your question to a moment ago.”

Jaskier pressed his lips together and scowled at her.

“No matter,” she continued. “If you cannot answer honestly, I’ll simply have to find out for myself.”

Jaskier’s face dropped in shock. “Wait, Yennefer–!”

Yennefer did not wait. And frankly, Jaskier was doing a poor job of defense. He just stood there, a grin tugging at his lips, as he held his arms out in front of him like that would stop her. Her fingers easily skirted past to deliver nibbling little pinches on his sides, slipping up to skitter at his ribs before moving back down once more.

Jaskier doubled over on top of her arms, laughing heartily and stumbling backwards until he hit a table. She stepped in front of him and started scritching at his hips through his ridiculously colored clothing and he positively howled.

“This does not bode well for you, bard,” she teased, an undeniably giddy grin tugging at her own lips. “It seems the answer to my question may just be everywhere.”

“Yenna– wait!”

“Wait for what? For the dinner bell to ring so you can make your escape? I think not. No, we’ll be staying right here until it’s time for us to go and eat.”

Jaskier yelped and giggled as she moved her wiggling fingers to his stomach. He finally seemed to gather his senses enough to clutch at her wrists, but he made no further moves to push her away. She smirked again.

“Not that you want to, as it seems.”

#tickle fic #my writing #the witcher tickling #lee!jaskier #ler!yennefer #ticklish!jaskier #the witcher #jaskier | dandelion #yennefer of vengerberg

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darkverrmin · 3 years

Text

confessions by the campfire

Jaskier looks up from his journal at his sulking partner. Geralt is sitting a few feet away from him, leaning on a rock and staring at the campfire.

Jaskier clears his throat quietly. "We don't have to go through the city tomorrow. We can camp outside".

Geralt turns his head to look at him, blinking. "What?".

Jaskier resists the urge to roll his eyes, as he repeats his words. "City. Tomorrow. No go. Camp at the woods".

Geralt stares at him for another moment, looking utterly confused. Just when Jaskier is about to repeat his sentence for the third time, Geralt speaks up. "But you've been complaining all week about sleeping outside".

Jaskier shrugs, giving Geralt a small smile. "So what's a couple more days? Don't worry about me".

"I don't" Geralt muttered back, looking away.

"Of course." Jaskier teased, going back to plucking his lute. There was another moment of silence. Geralt broke it first. "Why don't you want to go through the city?".

Jaskier contemplated for a moment if he should tell Geralt the truth. Ah, fuck it. "I can see that you're nervous, Geralt. I don't know what happened at that place, but I'm assuming they aren't too fond of Witchers. And if even my brilliant songs weren't able to change their minds, then it is truly a lost cause".

Geralt snorts in amusement, and Jaskier smiles to himself. His heart does something funny in his chest, every time he succeeds in making Geralt laugh. They fall into comfortable silence again, and Jaskier thinks that the conversation is over, when Geralt mumbles a "thank you". Jaskier responds with a fond smile.

Geralt turns to look at him again after a couple of minutes. "How did you know I was nervous?".

Jaskier makes eye contact with him, his hands stilling on his lute. "...Because I know you, Witcher?".

Geralt raises an eyebrow. "Do you now?".

Jaskier sits up, setting his lute aside. Oh, this is going to be fun. Jaskier takes a deep breath.

"You like to pretend that you don't care about what people think of you, but you really do. You want them to think of you as a hero. When a child smiles at you, you walk around with a good mood for at least two days.

You say you don't care about anyone, but you have a family. I'm guessing, brothers? Probably Witchers, too. You're always too curious about the Witchers who passed in towns we arrive at, before us. I can't tell how sometimes you insist on leading us down a certain path, probably hoping to run into one of them.

You hate fish, you eat it only because sometimes there are no other options. You also love tea. With five sugar. You don't order it often, cause you're afraid it might make people take you less seriously. Which is nonsense, by the way.

You like music, mostly the slower and softer tunes. I caught you humming to yourself more than once. Your favorite color is green. I always catch your eyes wandering to green cloaks and shirts at the markets. By the way, they would definitely look amazing on you. Oh, and you love cats. You get upset when they hiss at you. I have set a goal to find a cat that would be happy to curl itself in your arms and cuddle you. I can go on".

Geralt was openly laughing now, shaking his head fondly. "Not bad". Jaskier grins at him. Geralt stares at him. "I know a few things about you, too".

Jaskier raises his eyebrows, curious. "Oh, really?".

Geralt smiles. "You often ask people's opinion of your music, cause you sometimes doubt your talent. Which, if I may add, is ridiculous. You're very talented". Jaskier's cheeks heat up at that comment. "You want to write more complex tunes, but you think that it will earn you less coin. You want to become famous enough, so you could write whatever the hell you want. Although court parties pay well, you prefer to play at taverns, because that's where you can play your vulgar songs, which make people laugh. You like making other people happy.

You have a reputation of a womanizer, but you're actually very sensitive and kind to the people you sleep with. You succeed in listening and helping others with their problems, dragging them away from unhappy relationships and broken marriages.

You talk a lot, because you're afraid that if you won't, people will think you're boring. You play dumb sometimes, in order to seem more approachable in other people's eyes. Your favorite color is red. If you could, you'd live the rest of your life off of pumpkin pies. You like festivals, because that's where you can wear make-up, without anyone raising an eyebrow at you. By the way, you should wear whatever the fuck you want, and it looks very good on you".

Jaskier is fully grinning by the time Geralt is finished. He giggles quietly. "Not bad at all".

"Hmm". Geralt smile is smug and warm and Jaskier can't take his eyes off of him.

"You forgot one thing, though".

Geralt blinks at him. "What?"

"That my best friend in the whole wide world is a Witcher, whom I love so much, that I'm willing to follow him to the ends of the earth with only mild complaining".

In less than a second, Jaskier finds himself lying back on his bedroll, with Geralt pinning him down. He stares up at Geralt with shocked and hopeful eyes.

Geralt smiles down at him sweetly. "In that case, you also forgot something. You forgot that I have a travel companion, who can be both great and a pain in the ass. He's annoyingly funny and charming and very good looking. He's a good friend, but I hate to call him that, since I wanted so much more for so fucking long".

Jaskier feels his heart hammering in his chest. He smiles back at Geralt, as he wraps his legs around the older man's waist. "Then by all means, let's upgrade our relationship".

The look of pure joy and relief on Geralt's face is the last thing he sees, before the other man leans down to capture his lips with his own.

#geralt/jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #witcher netflix #geralt the witcher #witcher #the witcher #geralt x julian #julian alfred pankratz #gerald #dandilion #geralt x dandelion #dandelion #dandellion

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years

Text

Wound By a Key

I was given the opportunity to collaborate with the marvelous, amazing, talented, fantastic @spielzeugkaiser for this story/piece and it was SO MUCH FUN! Thank you for drawing something so amazing, thank you for sharing it with me, and thank you for this fun collab!

Based on “The Music Box Song” from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang

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The first thing Geralt noticed, as he led Roach down the main road of the little hamlet, was how oddly quiet everything was. There were a few people meandering in the marketplace speaking in low tones, but otherwise the midday streets were empty. It was unusual. Especially for springtime.

He heard the small pocket of villagers speaking as he passed them, their curious and nervous gazes following his every step.

“Do you think that’s the White Wolf?”

“Look at his hair! Who else could it be?”

“Do you think he’ll be able to break the spell?”

He reached the door of the town’s only inn and tied Roach’s reins to the hitching post outside. He gave her an affectionate nuzzle and a few quick pats before ducking through the low wooden door, the villagers’ pointed conversation pushed to the back of his mind for now.

He needed food and lodging, first.

“Afternoon,” the innkeep nodded. Geralt nodded back and took a seat at the bar. The rotund, middle-aged man turned to face him, not a glimmer of fear or apprehension tainted his welcoming expression. “What can I do for ya, traveler?”

“I’ll have a tankard of ale, please; and stew if you have it. I also need a room for the night and a stable for my horse.”

“Two full pieces of silver will get you all of that and a bath to boot,” the man offered. Geralt gave a small, grateful smile and pulled two silvers and a copper from his purse, setting them on the counter directly in front of the beaming innkeep.

“As a thank you for your unexpected but welcome kindness.”

“Appreciated, sir.”

“Hmm.”

Geralt was just bringing the first spoonful of venison stew towards his mouth when his gaze caught on something behind the bar. His eyes narrowed and he looked down at the food suspiciously. Perhaps the man had been a little too kind to a Witcher. Maybe the kindness in his eyes really was just a well-practiced act, after all.

“Where’d you get that lute?” Geralt asked. He’d almost asked - Where’d you get Jaskier’s lute? - but that would have revealed too much.

“Oh, right. I had nearly forgotten about the lute,” the man frowned and shook his head. The Witcher caught a whiff of relief and sadness drifting off the stranger and grew even more confused. “That’s a tragic tale, really. Not good for a traveler’s appetite.”

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m a Witcher. I’ve seen and heard a few unpleasant things in my life.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” the innkeep chuckled. “But that’s just because I’m not a very observant person. If you’re a Witcher you might just be able to help the lad out. Would you care to hear the bard’s tale and see if it’s something your Witcher magic could fix?”

Geralt nodded and took a bite of stew, convinced that the man wasn’t actually trying to rob or kill him (or both). “Go ahead, then. Who is this bard and what horrible fate befell him?”

“A few weeks ago, just after the second thaw, children from the village started going missing at night. They’d come back at midday, their faces pale and their limbs heavy like lead weights. They would sleep for days before they could get out of bed again, and they were incredibly weak. When that bard wandered through on his way to find his friend, he heard of our blight and followed a child into the woods one evening, determined to solve the mystery and stop the madness.”

“Hmm.”

“Turns out it was the Fae -” Geralt’s head snapped up. “- And they were making the children dance all through the night for their entertainment. The faeries would make them dance until the poor little dears were totally exhausted and only had enough strength to wander back home. The bard offered to dance and play for them for two full days in exchange for the childrens’ freedom… and they agreed.”

“Fuck.”

“You sound invested in the lad’s wellbeing,” the innkeep raised an eyebrow. “I can take you to see him, if you’d like.”

“He’s here?”

“Sort of,” the man rubbed his hand up and down the back of his neck and the scent of anxiety spiked through the air. Geralt shook it off, determined to finish his meal before attending to his foolish friend and companion. “The Fae weren’t exactly happy about his interloping, you see. They accepted his terms and let him play for the full two days, and the children have been safe ever since, but they didn’t return him the way he left. Apparently the faeries decided that it would be more fun to curse him a little bit and watch the aftermath play out.”

“What is a little bit, exactly?”

Geralt had never heard of just a little bit of cursing. There were either dire consequences or death on the other end of curses and neither one were fitting ends for Jaskier’s colorful, too-short life.

“It would be best if you finished your food, Sir Witcher. If you’re as close to the bard as I think you are, it’ll spoil your dinner to see him like this.”

---

The alderman ushered his two impromptu visitors inside and closed the door quietly behind them. He gave Geralt a slow, calculating once over. “So I take it you’re a Witcher, eh?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve come to break the fae’s curse on this bard?”

“Depends on the curse.”

“Apparently he knows the lad,” the innkeeper added helpfully. Geralt glowered and pulled his hood back away from his face.

“I haven’t actually seen him yet, but it’s very likely that this bard and I are acquaintances.”

“Right this way, then. I’ve kept him out of the children’s hands. I didn’t know if the singing and dancing routine would still make him tired or not and I wanted to be safe; for all the help he did to rescue them from those dastardly faeries, the villagers certainly seem to enjoy turning the key and making him perform.”

Geralt grew more and more worried with every word that passed through the alderman’s lips. Singing and dancing routine? Turning the key? Making him perform? What had the faeries done to his stupidly caring friend in return for his bravery? What kind of curse had they placed on the silly, fun-loving human?

The three men crossed through the manor’s sitting room and dining room and into a clean, empty storage room that ran against the very back of the building. Positioned in the center of the floor was an enormous, intricate music box. The figure standing up from the top was facing away from them, so Geralt took a moment to inspect the stand itself.

The square box was carved around the bottom edges with buttercup blossoms and had paintings across all four sides, depicting the childish, storybook version of Jaskier approaching the Fae in the woods, his two nights of dancing and singing, his transformation, and, as they came around to the front panel at last, his imprisonment. The doll on top of the stand was Jaskier; or it had been, once upon a time.

The bard looked only slightly different in his current accursed form, but it was enough to unnerve the usually stoic Witcher. The blue of Jaskier’s eyes was misty and glazed over. Glass, Geralt realized. He suppressed a horrified shudder at the thought. His eyes look like they’re made of glass. His skin was pale and when Geralt reached out to caress his arm (bent stiffly at the elbow much like a jointed doll’s would be) it felt waxy and too-smooth. Inhuman.

Jaskier’s body was bent slightly forward at the waist, both arms resting oddly at his sides with the elbows bent at ninety degrees. Two circles of rouge brightened his cheeks and his eyes had been lightly lined to make them seem wider and more doll-like. A wreath of colorful flowers had been pinned into his hair and the blue silk doublet Geralt had last seen the bard wearing was nowhere to be found.

The Fae had clearly taken their time with dressing and decorating him. His waist was cinched into a colorful corset-style vest that tied up the front with little blue silk bows and his legs were outfitted in tight-fitting, navy blue breeches that buckled just below the knee. His hose was off-white and complimented the shapely curve of his calves and ankles. He was wearing the buckled, heeled shoes of a nobleman and they shone with polish. There was nothing holding Jaskier up, which meant that the curse itself was keeping him upright and in place.

The Witcher turned to glare at the alderman, his emotions finally boiling over at the sight of his bard’s transformation. “Did the Fae tell anyone how to break the curse?”

“We think the answer is in the song.”

“The song?”

“When you wind the lad up he sings a little song. He’s standing on a music box, after all.”

“Hmm.”

The alderman approached the side of the box and wound the large key jutting out, twisting until he was red faced and the bronze-painted peg would turn no more. He released the key and stepped back to join Geralt and the innkeeper where they stood with their backs against the far wall.

A few soft, tinkling metallic notes played through the room before the doll came to life. Jaskier’s back straightened and his arms reached out towards his audience in jerky little movements. Every time one of his joints extended or shifted there was a loud wrenching sound as the inner workings of the music box manipulated his limbs in time to the melody.

Jaskier’s bright, lilting tenor flowed forth as he danced mechanically atop his pedestal. He turned in a slow circle, his arms reaching up and around as if seeking an embrace as he sang:

“What do you see,

You people gazing at me?

You see a doll on a music box

That's wound by a key.

“How can you tell

I'm under a spell?

I'm waiting for love's first kiss!”

Geralt blushed as the doll-Jaskier reached directly out towards the space where the Witcher happened to be standing, almost as if he was reaching out for the true love he sought to break his spell. Geralt’s eyes met briefly with the wax figurine’s and he felt his heart skip a beat. Jaskier is so close and yet he still doesn’t see me. The Witcher gave a heavy sigh and shook his head as the bard continued his automatonlike performance.

“You cannot see...

How much I long to be free,

Turning around on this music box

That's wound by a key!

“Yearning, yearning

While I'm turning around and around…”

The tune faded away into nothing again and Jaskier fell silent. His torso drooped forward. His hair fell into his eyes and Geralt reached out to move it away without thinking, letting his fingers brush the bard’s painted cheek as he pulled back. “So do you know anyone who could possibly free him? He only has a few days left.”

“What?!” Geralt snapped. He spun to face the innkeep with a thunderous look on his face. “What do you mean!?”

“The curse has to be broken before the end of the month or he’ll be stuck like this forever.”

“Fuck. Why didn’t you tell me that first?” the Witcher snarled. He gazed hopelessly at his friend and clenched his fists at his sides.

It was so much easier to kill monsters. It was so much easier to break curses when they were placed on princesses or nobles or foolish peasants who had meddled where they shouldn’t. But Jaskier had been doing a good deed without being prompted and he had done it all alone without Geralt there for backup or protection. The stupid bard had rescued an entire village’s children by offering himself to the fae and now… now…

Geralt sighed and shook his head. He needed to think. He needed to breathe.

“I’m going to contact some friends and see what we can do,” he finally said. “But first I need rest. May I return to my room at the inn?”

“Aye. Good luck, Witcher.”

“Hmm.”

---

Geralt tossed and turned, unable to sleep.

Two glassy blue eyes kept following his every move, searching for him in the dark.

He knew he had to rescue Jaskier, the only problem was finding someone who loved him enough to break the curse. The Witcher rolled onto his back and glared at the ceiling. Dawn was only a few hours away and he’d failed to get any sleep or meditate deeply enough to rest. He kept hearing those words, high and breathy, echoing through his head over and over:

“You cannot see...

How much I long to be free,

Turning around on this music box

That's wound by a key!”

The thought of anyone else kissing Jaskier sent a tight, angry buzzing sensation flickering beneath his skin. He bristled. He frowned. He… He was jealous. The moment Geralt tried to picture Essi Daven or Priscilla or that one foolish Count with ashy-blonde hair and broad shoulders he’d caught the bard with late one night even coming close to kissing Jaskier, the Witcher felt the urge to growl and bare his teeth. He wanted to curl around the music box and snarl at anyone who came too close for his liking. He wanted to wrap Jaskier in his arms and keep him there forever, where he could hear the bard’s heartbeat and feel his warmth.

An unnerving thought.

He’d always been a very possessive lover.

Fuck.

But what if he tried to kiss the bard and the spell didn’t break? Then he might lose Jaskier regardless of whether or not he woke up. If Jaskier’s curse dissipated at the hands of another and he knew that Geralt had kissed him, had acknowledged his love for the bard and faced it head on and failed, then the Witcher might break down forever. Without Jaskier, what reason was there to return to the inn or the campfire at night? Of course there was Roach, but once she died he didn’t have to seek out another…

He could just disappear like many of his Witcher brethren often did.

Geralt groaned and rose to his feet, slipping on his boots and cloak as quietly as possible. He crept through the sleepy town under the blanket of night and snapped the lock off the alderman’s back window. He gripped the lower sill and took a deep, steadying breath before heaving it open.

He had to try, at least.

He had to know.

The Witcher climbed silently into the storage room and walked in a slow circle around the music box. Jaskier was standing perfectly still, the painted smile on his face and the silk flowers in his hair looking as brilliant as ever, even in the darkness. Geralt stood in front of his cursed friend and sighed quietly.

“I wish you didn’t have to find out just how much I care about you like this, Jaskier. I wish I could have told you about my rather prominent and passionate feelings before any of this nonsense had happened. If I fail you now, if you don’t wake up because this love is one-sided, I’m sorry. I want you to know that I’m so incredibly sorry for not being able to love you enough to save your life.”

With his soul bared and his confession carefully whispered into wooden ears, Geralt reached up and placed his palm against the bard’s waxy cheek. He had to stand on tiptoe in order to reach Jaskier’s mouth with his own and the position made him feel strangely vulnerable. He tried not to think about it as he closed his eyes and pressed his lips against the smooth, painted wooden mouth of the music box doll that had once been his most faithful friend.

He pulled away after a lingering moment of contact, shaking his white hair out of his eyes. A few terrifying seconds ticked past and nothing happened. The Witcher was about to cry out in frustration and disappear out the window again when he heard a shallow breath being drawn. His worried amber gaze snapped up and met, for the first time in far too long, a pair of bright blue irises that flashed with recognition and confusion.

Geralt held out his arms and caught the bard just as he went limp, his body exhausted from being held upright for so many days on end. He felt like a pile of crumpled laundry in the Witcher’s arms, all deadweight and no control over his limbs at all. “Are you alright, Jaskier?”

“Hnn.”

He was still waking up from the spell and likely had no memory of what had happened. Geralt bit back the pang of bitter disappointment that threatened to echo through his heart; he had no real claim over Jaskier and it wasn’t fair to make one now. Not if the bard didn’t remember his declaration.

“Let’s… Let’s get you back to the inn and get you taken care of, Jaskier. I can tell the others about the broken curse in the morning.”

“Do you mean it?” Jaskier rasped. His head lolled against Geralt’s shoulder and he glanced up with tired but frightened eyes, “Do you really love me?”

“Hmm. Yes.”

“Good,” the bard managed to shift closer despite his full-body exhaustion. “I love you, too.”

“No more running off and trying to save people by yourself.”

“Well you aren’t always around to help, Geralt, what am I supposed to do?”

“I’ll be around from now on,” the Witcher asserted. He pressed another quick kiss to the bard’s lips and watched as Jaskier blushed and stuttered in his firm bridal carry. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

---

“Geralt please stop humming that song.”

“I can’t help it! It’s so catchy, it just keeps getting stuck in my head. Will you sing it for me? Maybe that will help.”

“Fine,” the bard muttered, settling down next to the fire with his lute. “Just once.”

“Thank you.”

Geralt sank into his meditative kneel and closed his eyes. A smile played at the corner of his lips and Jaskier pretended not to see it.

“What do you see,

You people gazing at me?

You see a doll on a music box

That’s wound by a key.”

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valdomarx · 4 years

Text

Anon requested: Geralt/Jaskier body swap

“It’s not funny, Yen,” Geralt growls. Or, rather, he intends to growl, but it comes out as a petulant whine. He crosses his arms and scowls, but the effect is ruined by the ridiculous puffy baby blue doublet he's wearing and the way his hair flops rakishly over one eye.

Yennefer looks from him to Jaskier, who is trying to hide his now considerable bulk behind a tall plant. He is not succeeding.

“No, you’re right, it isn’t funny,” Yennefer soothes. “It’s hilarious.”

“So glad we could entertain you,” Jaskier snaps, and it’s so strange for Geralt to watch his own body bouncing around the room animated by Jaskier’s irrepressible energy. “But I have a performance tonight and I can’t very well play like this -” he gestures with Geralt’s thick, stubby fingers, which are admittedly poorly suited to playing the lute. “So fix it. Please.”

“You don’t want me to do that,” she says, not looking apologetic. “It’s a powerful binding spell and while I could break it forcibly, it would risk both your lives. You’re better off waiting a few days until it runs its course.”

“So we’re stuck like this?” Geralt can’t control the timbre of his voice and it wobbles and rises dramatically. It's awful.

Yennefer shrugs. “I’m sure you’ll manage. Who knows,” she smirks, “perhaps it’ll be educational for both of you.”

“How many times must we do this, Jaskier? I can’t play the bloody lute!”

“Of course you can. Your muscles remember how, and so do your fingers. Just relax into it. Give it another go.”

Geralt pouts (when did he start pouting?) and picks at the strings. His hands do feel like they’re itching to play, but it’s like they’re moving faster than his mind and every time he tries to exert control over them, he falters.

“Stop thinking so much,” Jaskier growls, and he’s actually a little scary like this. There’s a thunderous expression on his face and Geralt wonders if this is how he comes across to other people. “Let’s start with something easy. I’ll sing a song you know, and you play along as best you can.”

He hums a few scales and turns to Geralt, his usually stoic witcher face twisted into a mischievous grin. “Geralt! You’ve been holding out on me. If I’d know you were hiding a lovely baritone all this time, I’d have insisted you join me for a duet before now.”

Geralt groans and wishes the ground would swallow him whole.

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s a couple of drowners, Geralt. I could probably kill them even in my own body.”

“You really couldn’t.”

“I’ll have you know that I have been paying some attention over the last decade. I’ve learnt things. Drowners move in packs. They’re immune to poison but vulnerable to silver. When you engage a group, move in fast and hard but don’t let any get behind you. See?”

Jaskier draws his sword and drops into a combat stance. Admittedly, he moves with a grace and elegance that suggests someone well-trained. However...

“Jaskier?”

“Hmm?”

“What you were saying about having paid attention, knowing your lore, being a capable monster hunter...”

“What about it?”

“That’s the wrong sword. Silver for monsters.”

“Oh. Right. Is this not silver? Ahh. No, I see that now. Whoops. Let’s try this again.”

“You are definitely going to be eaten by a drowner.”

Three days later, the strain of their situation is starting to show.

“This body, it’s... I feel like...” Geralt chews at his lower lip, frustration and embarrassment racing through him with a force he’s still unused to. “Fuck, Jaskier, how are you so horny all the time?”

Jaskier laughs, the bastard, rich and warm and deep. “Welcome to my life.”

“I’ve already jerked off three times today and it hasn’t helped.”

That makes Jaskier stop laughing. Witchers don’t blush, but Geralt recognises the way his mouth gapes. “You... with my body... you unchivalrous brute!”

Geralt scoffs. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“Why, you...” Jaskier glowers. “And I have been so restrained. I have controlled not only my libidinous urges but also my natural and deep-seated curiosity in defence of your privacy. Well, that’s quite enough of that! I'm off to take a bath and I'm going to enjoy myself thoroughly, thank you very much.”

That makes something race uncomfortably under his skin. He swallows and avoids looking in Jaskier’s direction.

“Put me down!”

“I will do no such thing,” Jaskier cackles, throwing Geralt over his shoulder like a rag doll. It’s extremely undignified. “This is too much fun.”

“Damn it, Jaskier, put me down!” He beats his fists uselessly against Jaskier’s back. “Or I’ll... I’ll wait until you’re asleep and I’ll cut your hair.”

Jaskier drops him to the ground and gasps. “You wouldn’t dare!”

Geralt levels him with his best steely glare. “Try me.”

“You’ve already made such a mess of it.” Jaskier tuts as he cards his fingers through Geralt’s - or rather, his own - hair. A ridiculous pang of jealously twinges inside Geralt. He has, perhaps, idly wondered in the past how it would feel to run his hand through Jaskier’s hair, and it’s not the same when he does it to himself.

“Even like this,” Jaskier says, brushing a finger along Geralt’s cheek, “you still manage to scowl.”

“It’s my natural charm,” he grumbles, and he has a horrible feeling he might be pouting again.

Geralt wakes up the next morning feeling fresh and alert to the sounds of the birds outside the window, the smell of bread baking downstairs, the feel of rain approaching later in the day... And thanks the gods, as he rubs his eyes it’s with his own hand, and he looks down to confirm he’s back in his own scarred body.

Jaskier is sleeping next to him, splayed out across the bed and taking up far more room than someone his size ought to be able to, drooling into the pillow. It’s so unmistakably Jaskier, and somehow Geralt has missed him.

Geralt allows himself an indulgence and gently brushes the hair from Jaskier’s face. It feels soft beneath his fingers, silky and springy. Jaskier snuffles in his sleep, rolling over and scooting closer. Geralt chivalrously puts an am around his shoulders and he cuddles into Geralt’s chest with a comfortable, contented smile.

Much better. Everything back in its right place.

#geraskier #the witcher #my writing #i will never tire of these classic fanfic tropes i love them

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asweetprologue · 3 years

Text

me lámh le do lámh - Part VIII

First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

They left the next day just after the sunrise broke watery through the clouds still lingering overhead, not wanting to overstay their welcome. The walk back to the nearby village was an easy one, the air still cool from the recent rain. The innkeeper hadn’t given their pre-paid room away to other guests despite the fact that they hadn’t used it for anything more than storage, which was a surprise. It was noon by the time they made it back, and they were easily able to secure the room for another evening so early in the day. Jaskier agreed to play at dinner, so they even managed to get a slightly reduced rate.

When they made it up to the room, Jaskier flopped immediately down on the bed, throwing an arm over his face. “Melitele, I could sleep for a week,” he groaned, slightly muffled. “I haven’t been this sore in years.”

“Good for you to finally get some exercise,” Geralt smirked as he checked on their belongings. Everything was where they’d left it, luckily. Geralt let out a breath of relief to see his potions all secure in their bag, the oathstone nestled amongst them.

Jaskier lifted his arm enough to glare at him. “As if walking day in and day out at your side isn’t work enough.”

“You’ve ridden Roach more than I have over the last week,” Geralt pointed out.

Jaskier put his arm down, head tilted to the side to look in Geralt’s direction. His hair spilled messily across the pale sheets. “I suppose I have,” he said, a small furrow appearing in his brow. The easy energy he’d had since they’d woken this morning was gone; now he seemed tense. His eyes lost their focus, his mind clearly going elsewhere.

Geralt didn’t know what to make of it. Clearing his throat, he said, “I’m going to go and see if they have any contracts for me. We won’t be stopping much over the next few weeks.”

At this Jaskier refocused, curious. “Where are we going next? We have all the pieces for the ritual, right?”

Geralt nodded. “The last piece is a location. We’re going back to Posada.”

The journey from the Brokilon to the Blue Mountains was one of weeks, rather than days. At this time of year the River Sodden and her many roads were wide open, and they were able to easily pass south under the Mohakams. This far south, spring was already giving way to summer, the warm vestiges of the Nilfgaardian desert winds finding their way to the pockets and hills of Angren and Rivia.

It should have been a pleasant journey. It was one they’d taken many times before, once Nilfgaard was no longer an issue, and they were both well familiar with the area. They kept the river to their south and traveled during the cooler parts of the day, stopping often. The wide river offered a constant source of beauty and convenience, and they were able to wash and fish regularly. Rivia, though not Geralt’s home by any stretch of the imagination, was friendly and offered plenty of places for them to stop and rest at the halfway point.

It should have been downright delightful, but instead it was… tense. Jaskier was quiet and contemplative much of the time, reserved in a way Geralt had rarely known him to be. He barely touched his lute, to the point where Geralt asked after it, only receiving a vague and unconvincing answer about saving the strings from the humidity. He spent the evening hours scribbling away in his journal, or simply lying and staring up at the stars. Sometimes, disconcertingly, he watched Geralt, especially when he seemed to think Geralt wasn’t paying attention. The furrow between his brow had grown to be near constant, and his shoulders had lost their easy swoop. When they spoke, something about Jaskier’s words felt needling, as if he was testing the waters for something. What, Geralt couldn’t even begin to guess.

He wanted to ask about it, but he found himself unable to find the words to do so. Jaskier didn’t seem mad at him—he knew what that looked like well enough, and this wasn’t it. He wanted to ask, but if he did it seemed possible, probably even likely, that Jaskier would admit that he’d figured out that Geralt was hiding something from him. He might even have realized the extent of Geralt’s feelings, or what the ritual really meant. Maybe Silvandrel had said too much, or Geralt had been too expressive, or too generous. Whatever it was, Jaskier was smart, maybe the smartest man Geralt had ever known; it wouldn’t take much for him to put two and two together. As he found Jaskier’s eyes lingering on him more and more frequently, it seemed also more and more likely that Jaskier was just trying to find a way to let him down easily.

Still, it wasn’t unbearable. Traveling with Jaskier in a mood was still better than traveling alone, and as always Geralt relished the chance to spend such uninterrupted time together. It was the best in the evenings, when their camp was already set up and the heat of the day had dispersed, and they had nothing better to do than sit and talk before both of them grew too tired to stay awake.

“What’s it like?” Jaskier asked one evening, lying on his bedroll with his ankle propped up on one raised knee. His lute was in his hands, a rare thing nowadays, but he wasn’t really playing it, just plucking a tune here or there. Testing the waters, it seemed.

Geralt was sitting with his back propped against a ragged tree stump, charred at the top where lightning had once struck. He looked up from where he was examining Roach’s tack, taking too long to reply as he was caught up in the image of Jaskier in the firelight. “What?”

Jaskier swiveled his head to look over at him, looking uncharacteristically pensive. “Being immortal. Or—not mortal. What do you even call a witcher, anyways. Semi-mortal? How long do you usually live? I’ve never gotten a straight answer about it.”

Geralt shrugged, the bridle dangling between his knees as he set his elbows to rest on them. “No one really knows,” he admitted. “Vesemir is… three hundred? We’re not sure, that’s based on references he makes, but Lambert swears sometimes he says things just to throw us off. Witchers don’t really… die of old age.”

“Surely some of you must retire,” Jaskier insisted. “Maybe not lately, but in years past…”

Geralt shook his head. “If they did, I haven’t heard of them. The Path is our life; we meet our end while on it. I know we can live for several human lifetimes, at least. I was older than you are now when we met.”

Jaskier’s mouth twisted in a smile that ached with bitter nostalgia. “I must have looked like a child to you.”

“You were a child,” Geralt laughed.

Jaskier threw something at him, and it bounced harmlessly off his knee. An acorn; the entire area was thick with oak trees. Clearing the ground beneath their bedrolls had been a pain. “Ass,” Jaskier chidded, but he was chuckling too. “I suppose we must all seem rather young to people like you though. Yennefer is the worst, she shouldn’t be allowed to poke fun at my very dignified salt and pepper and then turn around and call me an infant the next moment.”

Young man, Silvandrel had said, with that odd patronization that came only to those who would outlive most people they met. “It’s… not exactly like that,” Geralt allowed, studying Jaskier’s profile painted in orange and gold and dark dusky blue shadows. “Age isn’t the same as experience. There are eighty year olds who have done less in their lives than you had at twenty-three.” Jaskier looked over at him again, with a distinct expression of surprise and awe that Geralt was beginning to recognize as his reaction to Geralt giving him a compliment. He pushed on, turning his own gaze back to the tack in his hands. “I just mean, you don’t seem young, or inexperienced—at least not anymore,” he added, unable to resist throwing Jaskier a quick smirk.

“So Yennefer just calls me a toddler for her own enjoyment,” Jaskier said, squinting at him.

“Well, yes,” Geralt snorted. “But, it’s—you’ll understand. After. It’s not that you all seem young, necessarily, it’s just that you all seem sort of… I don’t know.” He shrugged. It was difficult to articulate the strange sense of fragility and youth that he associated with all humans, no matter their age.

“Temporary?” Jaskier offered, and Geralt grunted an affirmation. Of course Jaskier would be able to identify the feeling without ever experiencing it himself. Jaskier hummed in acknowledgement, and was quiet for a few moments, as if mulling that over. His fingers played over his lute strings, picking out a melancholy tune. After a while, he said, “It sounds a bit lonely. Knowing that almost everyone you meet will die a hundred years before you do. That they’ll never understand the way you view the world.” His eyebrows were knotted together as he contemplated the night sky.

Geralt bit his lip. “It… can be. Even amongst ourselves, we never know who’ll make it back after a year on the Path.”

Jaskier’s foot tapped the empty air where it hung over his knee. “Everyone I know, went to school with, taught with in Oxenfurt. They’ll all be gone before I will, if this works.”

Geralt felt dread unfurl within him, but this wasn’t something that he could deny Jaskier. This was the reality of Geralt’s offer, of what he was asking Jaskier to do. “Yes,” he said. But you’ll have me, he didn’t say, even though it burned at the tip of his tongue. You’ll have my brothers, and Ciri, and even Yennefer, and you’ll have me, always. That’s the point.

Jaskier looked over at him, eyes bright. He looked like he could hear Geralt’s thoughts, like maybe he was thinking the same thing. And then he grinned brightly and said, “I’ll outlast Valdo Marx by a century.”

Geralt couldn’t help the startled bark of laughter that left his throat. Jaskier launched into an excited diatribe against Valdo Marx, something about destroying his legacy after death, and Geralt allowed the babble to wash over him as he went back to fixing Roach’s tack.

After a while the conversation turned to other things, and they spent the rest of the evening in relative quiet. Eventually it was time to bed down for the night, and they banked the fire and crawled into their respective bedrolls. Just as Geralt was on the edge of sleep, Jaskier’s voice slipped through the quiet darkness around them.

“I don’t think I’m going to be.”

Geralt shook himself, turning to squint at Jaskier’s grey form, two aching feet away from him. His entire body itched to roll closer, but he focused instead on Jaskier’s words. “Hmm? You won’t be what?”

Jaskier let out a deep breath into the night air, soft like a secret. “Lonely.”

Posada was much the same.

Geralt didn’t know how long it had been since he’d been back. He knew he had been here post-Filavandrel incident, and he suspected Jaskier had as well, but they’d not returned together to the little valley at the edge of the world since the beginning. It had to have been at least ten years since he’d last been here on his own, but the small town was relatively familiar looking still. It had grown a bit since the war, likely as refugees from the south settled in the area, and there were new houses clustered around the outskirts. Still, the bones of it remained unchanged, and the inn was right where they’d left it.

They said nothing as they made their way into the town and headed in that direction. There was, so far as Geralt knew, no other place to find rooms for the night, so they didn’t have much of a choice. Stepping inside the small downstairs tavern should have been just like stepping into any other of the thousands like it that he’d been in, but it wasn’t. Things had been rearranged, of course; the furniture had been shuffled, and now a long table sat on the far side of the room before the fire. The small, cleared out space that Jaskier had stood in to sing was gone, filled with a cluster of tables and chairs. But the lone table in the back corner was, somehow, unmoved.

Geralt turned to Jaskier and found him staring at the spot as if entranced. He brushed his fingers against Jaskier’s forearm, and the bard blinked at him, startled back into the moment. “We should get a room,” Geralt said by way of explanation, and Jaskier nodded.

The man who arranged for their stay was not the one who had done so the first time, or the time after that, but his features were similar, so perhaps this was a son. He was amiable enough, and though Jaskier didn’t make any commitment to playing he offered them a fair rate.

Jaskier did end up playing, after they’d sat and eaten a quiet meal, avoiding the table in the corner in silent agreement. His fingers had worried at the edge of his lute case for a long moment, his eyes unfocused, and then something determined had steeled over his face and he’d stood.

There was a decent crowd this time around, bigger than the last time—the first time—that Jaskier had played here. Geralt remembered the stumbling notes, the ridiculous stories that spilled from the bard’s lips, unrefined. The way that the patrons of the bar had heckled him until he dipped sheepishly off the stage. He could understand why Jaskier might be nervous about playing here; even if no one remembered him, this had obviously been one of Jaskier’s first real performances for an honest audience.

It was like night and day. Jaskier had the entire room eating out of the palm of his hand in moments, as he always did, and his voice was clear and strong. Geralt recognized most of the songs, and almost all of them were about him, though he didn’t think any of the patrons put two and two together. Whereas Jaskier normally poked and prodded at Geralt throughout a performance to let everyone know that his muse was present, tonight he was subdued, letting Geralt watch quietly from a side table without dragging him into the proceedings. He might have thought that Jaskier had forgotten his presence entirely, if not for the occasional glance he caught Jaskier throwing his way, stealing his breath each time.

When he was finally done with his set and bowed his way out to the cheers of the audience, he made his way back to Geralt with his lute tucked under his arm. Jaskier leaned against the table in the space next to him, their knees just barely touching where Geralt’s was thrust out away from the chair. Jaskier looked down at him with almost a sheepish expression, giving him a quirked smile. “So. Three words or less?”

There were so many things he could say to that. So many things he wanted to say. You’re so beautiful, he thought, his eyes catching on the way Jaskier’s fingers wrapped around the neck of the lute, how his eyes shone in the low light of the inn. I loved it. Don’t leave me. I love you.

Instead, he said, a bit hoarsely, “Definitely more accurate.”

Jaskier laughed, some of that tension he’d been carrying for weeks breaking, and Geralt felt sweet relief at the sound. “Well I’d certainly hope so, after nearly thirty years of tailing you. At the very least I know my drowners from my nekkers.”

“At least there’s that,” Geralt chuckled, passing Jaskier a tankard of ale as he sat. “Glad to see you got something out of it.”

Jaskier took a sip of his drink, leaning his cheek on his fist. His eyes were bright when he looked at Geralt, and his expression was one Geralt recognized—he was bothered about something, but trying to keep his demeanor jovial. On anyone else, Geralt expected it would be an immaculate deception, but Geralt knew him. He wasn’t fooled by Jaskier’s court masks.

“Was it worth it?” Jaskier asked, taking another sip of his ale. His eyes left Geralt’s, flitting around the room.

Geralt frowned at him. “Was what worth it?”

Jaskier looked back at him, expression unreadable. “Letting an ambitious and no doubt obnoxious bard leave this tavern with you all those years ago.”

Geralt couldn’t help it; before he could think to stop himself, he had reached out to set his hand over Jaskier’s where it still held the handle of his cup. Jaskier jerked a bit at the touch, a drop of ale sliding down over their layered hands. “Of course it was,” Geralt said vehemently, not bothering to keep the earnestness out of his tone. Jaskier had to know. Even if he already suspected that something was afoot, even if this was some sort of test, Geralt couldn’t risk letting Jaskier think that he regretted a single moment of it. “You’re… Jask, you’re one of the best things that ever happened to me.”

Geralt could hear the sharp intake of breath at that, could see the way Jaskier looked down at their overlapped fingers and blinked rapidly. A small smile stole across his face, though there was a twist to it that seemed almost sad. “I’m glad, Geralt. Truly.”

Geralt wanted to ask, And for you? Was it worth it? But the tavern goers were quickly heading out now that Jaskier’s set was finished, and it was obvious that they would soon be the last ones remaining. And he found himself afraid, as he so often was nowadays, of the possibility that Jaskier would say no, that he should have spent the last thirty years playing in noble houses and courting beautiful women, rather than trekking endlessly after a surly witcher. He knew that it would make sense for Jaskier to have regrets, but he found that he didn’t think he was strong enough to hear them spoken aloud.

So instead he transferred his touch to Jaskier’s wrist, giving it a light tug. “We should head up,” he said, and Jaskier nodded. They pulled apart, and Jaskier finished his drink, and collected his lute. As they both turned to walk up the stairs, Geralt found his eyes catching once again on the little table in the corner. It had sat empty the entire night, as if waiting for something—or someone—to fill its seats once again.

Almost done folks! Just two more parts, and tomorrow’s includes the last piece of art for this story!

tags: @whereismymonsterlover

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier #the witcher #witcher #big bang #fic #fanfic #writing #my work #me lamh #geraskierbigbang #multichapter

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innocentbi-stander · 4 years

Text

I’ve decided that this is a fantastic idea so I’m going to tell you all about it:

Acrobat jaskier

Jaskier ran away from his home at the age of 11

(he says he ran away but deep down he knew it was only a matter of time before his displeased father kicked him out anyways)

Being 11 years old alone on the road is not the best experience, jaskier grows used to not having enough to eat and being kicked around

One day when in a small run down town in the middle of nowhere, a troupe of performers arrive

Jaskier instantly falls in love, and watches every single performance

He is caught by one of the troupe members when he tries to swipe an errant coin that was thrown their way

The performer who catches him is a lute player named Maria, who’s soft eyes remind Jaskier of his long dead mother

Maria doesn’t turn him in for stealing and jaskier is rather shocked when she invites him to come have dinner with the troupe

It's the most fun he’s ever had, loud chatter and sharing dishes he’s never heard before

Jaskier stays for dinner and then never really leaves, Maria asks him one evening if he’d like to stay with them and he doesn’t even need to think before he says yes

The troupe is full of a wide range of performers, from musicians, to contortionists, jugglers, and knife throwers

Jaskier loves life on the road with his pseudo guardians and he learns how you can have family that isn’t blood related

Of course one doesn’t travel with a troupe of performers without picking up a few things, and far be it from the troupe to leave their youngest member without the skills to protect himself

They teach him how to charm with a smile, how to disguise oneself with the right clothes

Jaskier learns to have a silver tongue, sharp eyes, and how to dip fingers into pockets so lightly, an unsuspecting person won’t even notice you’ve lightened their pockets until they’ve gone back home

Maria teaches him to play the lute, gently guiding his hands and showing him how to tune and strum

Oswald, who also came from noble descent, is relentless is schooling jaksier, insisting that life on the road or not, he should know his maths

The knife throwers teach him how to punch, how to hold a dagger, how to throw it with frightening accuracy, and also how to do a whole mess of showy tricks that have no practical use but look pretty cool

He learns how to cook a meal out of scraps of almost nothing, the values of carrying spices and not being picky

But what jaskier loves the most, maybe even more than the lute, is what he learns from the acrobats

They teach him to train his body to be flexible, to stretch in ways no common human villager can manage (jaskier isn’t really all human but neither are most of the performers)

He learns to flip and twist, and to love ill advised heights, and he’s good, better than anyone was expecting

Jaskier wants to be a musician but he knows he will always love acrobatics

Eventually jaskier leaves the troupe to attend oxenfurt, but never stops writing and meeting up with his family at any turn

When geralt and jaskier began to travel together, the witcher is mystified by the manic skill set of the young bard

On the road jaskier strums his lute and sings, stumbling over small rocks and potholes, clumsy like he is still getting used to the length of his limbs

But when they stop to make camp, he pulls himself up into tree branches with immeasurable grace, and geralt watches wide eyed as he swings and flips with little thought to where his hands and feet will land. It’s like breathing

As the years go by, geralt understands that it's just who jaskier is, full of energy and a thousand odd skills

Sometimes as they travel jaskier will perform endless cartwheels, backbends, walking on his hands

There are daggers strapped to his person, and geralt often sees the bard idly flipping them in intricate moves that make geralt fear for his fingers

Jaskier has demonstrated that the daggers are not in fact just for pretty tricks, as he throws them with deadly accuracy and hands movements as practiced as when he plays the lute

Geralt had asked him once about the origin of his skills, and jaskier had simply waved him off with an errant smile and a “oh it’s just a family thing, I just happened to pick it up”

Jaskier may seem like the average bard with his sunshine-y persona and constant smiles, but geralt learns quickly that jaskier has a temper and an awfully short fuse for those insulting the people he cares about

The amount of town’s they’ve had to vacate because the bard got all fancy and stabby over some run of the mill witcher prejudiced towns people is frankly, ridiculous

Geralt’s a little impressed but he won’t tell jaskier that

So they travel, and fight monsters, and argue with each other, and try and disguise how they feel, and everything is pretty much the same except jaskier can lift his foot over his head with minimal effort and geralt tries his best to keep from drooling too obviously

There’s so much more potential for this but I didn’t want to make this post too long, so what do you think folks? Part 2 worthy?

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flowercrown-bard · 3 years

Note

35 for Geraskier? :3

thank you so much for the prompt! And also, I would like to apologise. I had the most cursed thought about how to end this and I wasn't going to actually write that, but you know sometimes you have an idea so bad that you just know you would forever regret it if you didn't do it

prompt: Bets/teasing with increasing physical stakes makes character confront their feelings

word count: 5k

kind of inspired by the song "anything you can do I can do better"

content warning: brief mention of injury (no detailed description)

Anything you can do, I can do better

“You know you could help me, right?” Jaskier’s tongue peeked through his lips in concentration. “All you need is a little magic-“ he wiggled his fingers through the air uselessly, letting the sticks he had been holding before fall to the forest floor. “-and we would have a fire. Easy as that. So why, oh, why do you insist on torturing me thus?”

Geralt had to bite back his grin when Jaskier turned his big pleading eyes on him. “I thought you said you were ‘perfectly fit to travel through the wilderness’.”

Jaskier abandoned his fruitless attempt at making a fire for good and his puppy eyes turned into a glare. “I am! Just because you decided to be a prick about it, doesn’t mean I’m useless.”

“You almost stepped into the snare I had set up to hunt our dinner.”

Jaskier crossed his arms in front of his chest and lifted his chin in defiance. “Your point?”

“My point is that you wouldn’t survive a day without me out here.”

“Well, good thing I don’t want –“ Jaskier broke off and his eyes narrowed. “Wait. Are you…” he came closer to Geralt, who barely could keep his shoulders from shaking. “Are you laughing at me? Geralt, how dare you!”

A snorting laugh slipped past Geralt’s lips and he no longer fought back the grin. “I would never dare do such a thing.”

“Oh, no. That’s it.” Jaskier jabbed a finger at Geralt’s chest in outrage. “I am going to prove to you that I am just as good as you are at surviving out here. No, I am better.”

For a long moment Geralt only stared at him. “I am a witcher. I am enhanced and trained specifically to survive out in the wild. You are a bard.”

“And I am stubborn and pissed off. And I know that I can do anything better than you.”

Geralt threw a pointed look at the sad attempt at making a camp fire. Jaskier cringed and shrugged his shoulders. “Magic doesn’t count.”

“Alright then,” Geralt sighed, but his lips twitched up when Jaskier’s eyes lit up with determination. “How about you prove how good you are by setting up the tent?”

“Psh, that’s easy.” When Geralt sceptically lifted a brow, Jaskier added, “I am a travelling bard. Do have some trust in me.”

Geralt watched in amusement as Jaskier strode off to go about his task. At least for the time being the bard would be distracted. Geralt knew there wasn’t a chance that Jaskier would actually succeed in setting up the tent, but it was strangely endearing to watch him bite back frustrated curses as he got tangled up in the fabric. And maybe, just maybe Geralt was preparing his ‘I told you so’ for when Jaskier finally admitted defeat and asked Geralt for help.

Except, that didn’t happen. Against all expectations, Jaskier managed to build the tent and it didn’t even take him too long.

Geralt stared at him, taken aback. Clearly Jaskier noticed Geralt’s surprise, for the smug grin he wore only got wider and he put one hand on his hips, gesturing towards the tent with the other.

“There you have it. I dare you to tell me again that I’m not as good as you are.”

“You are not,” Geralt said, more to watch Jaskier splutter in indignation than anything else.

He wasn’t disappointed.

“I am able to prepare us dinner,” Geralt said, taking out his knife.

“Oh please, now you’re just being ridiculous.” Jaskier rolled his eyes with a huff. “We both know that before I came along, you only used salt and pepper to spice your food. If even that much.”

Geralt shrugged. “I never said it tasted good. I just said I was able to prepare it.”

Jaskier’s eyes crinkled as his grin became triumphant. “Aha! So you admit it. I am better at cooking than you.”

“If you think so, then I’m sure you’ll have no problem preparing these.” Geralt did his best to keep his expression carefully neutral as he held the rabbit he had caught out to Jaskier.

Jaskier blanched at the sight. A hint of guilt battled with the satisfaction of seeing Jaskier give up on his stubbornness and he was just about to take the rabbit back and skin it himself, when Jaskier took it away from him, though he held it in the same way a lordling might hold a wet frog.

Over the next days, Geralt started having more and more fun with this. No matter what he told Jaskier to do, he jumped at the opportunity to prove himself. At this point, Geralt wasn’t really sure anymore what exactly Jaskier was trying to prove.

It was obvious that Geralt’s increasingly ridiculous bets were nothing that would prove anything to Geralt other than that Jaskier was a stubborn idiot who would rather attempt to chop down a small tree than give up, though he had done that particular task while throwing glares at Geralt every other second. It had been fun to watch Jaskier grit his teeth and try to succeed in this utterly useless task.

It had become slightly less fun when Jaskier had become so exhausted that he had to shrug off his chemise, revealing his skin that glistened with sweat.

Seeing Jaskier like this – seeing the muscles in his shoulders and arms flex as he swung the axe – was strange. It felt wrong. At least that was the only explanation Geralt had for the strange twist in his guts as he watched his friend. And the only reason why his mouth went dry when he later massaged Jaskier’s sore back to get the tension he was responsible for, was because he felt guilty.

He should have stopped then.

He didn’t. Not when they were making camp and not now that Jaskier was walking beside Roach, humming the same melody for the umpteenth time.

Just to see Jaskier’s reaction, Geralt now said, “I bet you can’t stay silent for longer than I can.”

He threw a glance at Jaskier out of the corner of his eye. Jaskier had stopped walking and was opening his mouth to protest. Geralt lifted his brows and cocked his head to the side, the corners of his lips twitching.

Jaskier narrowed his eyes, but no sound left him. Instead, he mouthed something at Geralt that he was sure must be some sort of insult, before hurrying after Geralt.

It became clear quickly that this might just be the hardest task for Jaskier. Chopping wood and skinning rabbits was one thing. Evidently, Jaskier’s stubbornness gave him extra strength and the ability to swallow his disgust. But staying quiet? He looked as if he was ready to through the towel right then and there, and not even a full minute had passed.

Geralt was almost fully convinced that the only reason Jaskier remained silent was that every time his fidgeting got worse and he looked like he was about to open his mouth to say something, he caught Geralt’s eyes. Within a heartbeat that determination was back in his eyes and he snapped his mouth shut.

Geralt was almost impressed. He should have known that Jaskier would play dirty.

He started to poke Geralt’s legs, pull at his boots and open their straps.

Any glare of Geralt’s was only answered with a shit eating grin and a shrug that screamed ‘You said nothing about me getting you to talk first.’

Too bad that Jaskier wasn’t the only stubborn one between the two of them.

Geralt remained stoic, no matter what Jaskier tried to grate on his nerves. He was content to ignore him. After all, Geralt had plenty of practice tuning out Jaskier’s singing, he would have no problem ignoring the way Jaskier –

Eyes wide and mouth opened into a silent cry, Jaskier stumbled. He fell forward, his arms flailing to protect his lute.

Without needing to think about what he was doing, Geralt reached down and grabbed Jaskier by the scruff of the neck, steadying him.

“Careful,” he growled.

And Jaskier…Jaskier turned to him with the most self-satisfied expression Geralt had ever seen on him.

“Told you,” Jaskier said cheerily. “I anything you can do-“

“Jaskier,” Geralt warned, but he failed to keep the amusement out of his voice. There was too much joy in Jaskier’s eyes to dampen his mood with Geralt’s broodiness.

“Which makes me think,” Jaskier tilted his head in contemplation. “Not that we’ve determined that I can keep quiet for longer –“

“Because you cheated.”

“Because I can keep quiet for longer,” Jaskier repeated, emphatically ignoring Geralt’s protest, “We should see if you can talk for longer than me.”

“No we shouldn’t.”

Jaskier skipped a couple of steps ahead, until he was walking right before Roach, turning around so he was walking still facing Geralt as he walked. “Whyever not?”

“Because this thing we’re doing isn’t about me,” Geralt replied with a huff. “And talking is no valuable life skill.”

The gasp Jaskier let out could put any actor delivering their final monologue to shame in how theatrical it was. Jaskier clutched a hand over his chest and pointed an accusatory finger at Geralt.

“The audacity!” Jaskier gave Roach a long-suffering look, as if she would understand his woe and agree with him. “Geralt. My dearest friend. You can be such a smart man, but what you said just now? That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Ever heard yourself talking?”

“Don’t try to distract me with insults. I have lived at court, trading insults is a battle you won’t win. Speaking of which, talking might not be important in the woods, but it sure is invaluable when you want rich people to pay you, which – oh! Wait. That is exactly what you want.”

Geralt grunted. “Your point?”

Jaskier’s lips stretched into a grin. He lowered his voice into a very bad imitation of Geralt’s growl, when he said, “My point is that you wouldn’t survive at court without me out here.” His voice jumped back to its normal pitch. “In other words, you need me.”

Geralt scoffed, though for some reason he liked the certainty with which Jaskier said those words.

“I really don’t.”

“Prove it then.”

“What?”

Jaskier stopped, forcing Roach to come to a halt as well.

“I said prove it. I don’t see why I’m the only one that needs to prove that I’m a worthy travel companion – “

“It was your idea,” Geralt grumbled.

“-so, how about this: I continue to do everything you think I need to be able to do out here and you prove to me that you could survive at court.”

“I don’t want to survive at court. And I don’t have to prove anything.”

Jaskier’s brows rose and he lifted his chin in a challenge. “Sounds to me like you’re scared.”

Geralt glowered at Jaskier. He could just guide Roach to walk around Jaskier. He could just ignore that stupid challenge.

But Jaskier had that look on his face. It was infuriating. Geralt never stood a chance against that look.

He jumped off Roach and walked over to Jaskier, trying to make himself look as menacing as possible, until they stood almost chest to chest.

He could see Jaskier’s throat bob as he swallowed. Geralt leaned in until their noses were almost touching.

“You’re on,” he growled, before he turned away from Jaskier and made to get onto Roach.

He was stopped by Jaskier clearing his throat.

“Actually,” Jaskier drawled. “At court it’s considered very impolite to ride on a horse while your companion is walking.”

Geralt’s brows drew together. “I’m not letting you ride Roach.”

Jaskier let out a short laugh. “Oh, don’t you worry, I am out of practice anyway.” He stepped to the side to make space for Geralt to walk next to him while leading Roach. “But I bet you can’t walk for hours as you make me do.”

It became clear quite quickly that Geralt had underestimated Jaskier’s ability to be petty. Obviously most of what Jaskier made him do now was revenge for the ridiculous tasks Geralt had given Jaskier.

Well, two could play this game. And oh, how they did. For weeks they went back and forth, Geralt giving Jaskier a task that he performed with gritted teeth and Jaskier enacting his revenge by making Geralt do all sorts of ridiculous things. One would think that sooner or later one of them would run out of ideas, but Geralt had been walking the Path long enough to know that there were never enough skills to have and whatever could be said about Jaskier, no one could deny that he was creative.

And of course neither one of them was willing to back down from a challenge.

Which was the reason why Geralt disguised his obligatory protest at Jaskier’s newest demand as a clever explanation for why he can’t possibly do what Jaskier dared him to.

“How on earth am I supposed to ‘dress appropriately for court’ when I don’t have any fancy clothes with me.”

Jaskier put his hands on his hips. “You would have, if you had listened to me when I had asked you to come to the tailor with me.”

Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose. “That was back in Touissant. Months ago.” He gestured to the trees surrounding them. “I don’t think there’s a tailor anywhere close.”

Jaskier opened his mouth before letting it snap shut again.

“What?” Geralt demanded.

A blush crept across Jaskier’s cheeks and he averted his eyes. “Nothing it’s just…There are courtly clothes here. Myclothes.”

Geralt’s mouth went dry. “You want…” His eyes drifted to the doublet Jaskier was wearing. Without wanting to, he imagined Jaskier opening the buttons one by one and giving Geralt his own doublet.

When Geralt didn’t resume talking, Jaskier’s eyes darted back to him. For a moment he looked confused before his expression morphed into one of panic. “Oh, gods, no, that’s not what I – no. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t make you…” Jaskier cut himself off and went over to his bags, rummaging through them for long enough that Geralt began to wonder if maybe he was just trying to avoid looking at Geralt. Finally, Jaskier came back with a triumphant sound that didn’t bode well for Geralt and a deep purple doublet.

“No,” Geralt said firmly, as he eyed the garment in distaste. “I am not wearing that.”

“So are you saying that you give up?”

Geralt held Jaskier’s gaze for a tense moment, before snatching the doublet out of his hands.

“Fine,” he growled. “Don’t complain if it tears. This was your idea.”

Geralt felt awkward as he shrugged off his own shirt and donned the doublet. The fabric felt nice enough against his skin, but for some reason, the knowledge that Geralt was wearing Jaskier’s clothes set his chest ablaze. The sensation was so distracting that he fumbled with the buttons, unable to close them on his own.

“Here, let me,” Jaskier offered and suddenly he was right in Geralt’s space. His head was lowered so that he could see what he was doing as he buttoned up the doublet with practiced movements.

Without meaning to, Geralt leaned forward, just a bit. Just enough to catch more of the lavender-scent that clung to Jaskier’s hair.

“There, all done,” Jaskier said and looked back up. His eyes widened when he saw just how close he was to Geralt who sucked in a sharp breath. Their faces were only inches apart and Jaskier’s hands that had come to rest on Geralt’s chest were burning his skin through the fabric.

“Jaskier…” He didn’t know why he said it, why suddenly this name was all he could think about.

His skin was burning and the doublet felt too tight, too hot.

Geralt squirmed and as if he had been shook out of a stupor, Jaskier took a step back. Geralt pretended not to notice the way the loss of the touch left him strangely cold.

“Yeah, no, you were right,” Jaskier blurted, his face burning in a furious red. “That’s not your colour. At all. Just-“ he gestured to all of Geralt, his eyes lingering on the buttons threatening to pop over Geralt’s chest and the way the fabric stretched over his arms, “that looks just utterly unacceptable. You need to get that off right now.”

Geralt barely had the chance to nod, before Jaskier was on him again, practically tearing the doublet off of him.

He turned back as soon as Geralt was free of the garment again. Geralt should have been relieved to be rid of the atrocious thing, but as he watched Jaskier stuff it into the bottom of his pack as if he wanted to never see it again - as if the sight of Geralt wearing it had been so terrible that he wanted to ban it from memory forever - he felt a strange pang in his chest.

After that, Geralt wasn’t sure how to proceed. Usually, he wouldn’t have waited a day to give Jaskier the next challenge, but ever since the incidence, as Geralt had come to think of it, Jaskier had been strangely tense.

Geralt wracked his brain, trying to figure out what he had done wrong. Maybe the doublet had ripped after all without Geralt noticing. And who could blame him? It had been distracting having Jaskier so close, touching him.

Then again, nothing had happened. It didn’t even deserve to be called an incident. Still, Geralt couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed that day, that they had come dangerously close to having something happen.

Whatever it had been, it couldn’t happen again.

And so Geralt refrained from challenging Jaskier.

At least he did, until Jaskier looked at him a couple of days later with an unreadable expression on his face.

“I am sorry,” Jaskier said quietly.

Geralt’s brows furrowed as he searched Jaskier’s face. “What are you sorry for?”

Jaskier shrugged and turned his face away. “You are cross with me. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Geralt’s throat grew tight at the way Jaskier’s voice wavered. “You didn’t. And I’m not.”

“No?” Jaskier looked so hopeful, so relieved. “I just thought…you didn’t give me a new challenge and I was worried I had ruined it.”

Geralt’s chest clenched uncomfortably. “So eager to get your ass kicked?” He said as carefree as he could and nudged Jaskier in the ribs with his elbow. “I just needed time to come up with a good challenge.”

“Did you find one?”

“Hmm.” Geralt looked around camp as subtly as possible, frantically trying to find something he could make into a new challenge. As always, his eyes landed back on Jaskier. More specifically on his exposed forearms, where he had rolled up his sleeves.

“Arms,” he blurted out. When Jaskier gave him a confused look, he cleared his throat and gestured between himself and Jaskier. “We should do arm wrestling. As a test of strength.”

Jaskier get out an incredulous laugh. “You want me to test my strength against a witcher?”

Geralt shrugged, a pointless attempt to hide his sheepishness. “You are the one who said you could do anything better than me.”

Jaskier’s arms drifted down to Geralt’s arms, assessing. Eventually he nodded.

“Alright.” Jaskier’s voice was uncharacteristically hoarse. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

And oh, how he did. He stood no chance, of course, even as Geralt held back. Jaskier put all of his strength into it. He used both hands. He stood up and tried to use his body weight.

He let out a noise of frustration and his face scrunched up in an expression that could only be described as adorable.

Geralt didn’t even realise how lost he had gotten looking at Jaskier until he heard a low thud and Jaskier’s face twisted in disappointment.

Geralt forced himself to look away from Jaskier’s face and saw the obvious. He had Jaskier’s hand pinned down.

“I guess you won,” Jaskier said and made a face. “You have found something I can’t do.”

Geralt hesitated. This would have been the perfect moment to gloat, to declare this silly game over. What left his mouth instead was, “We’re even now. I couldn’t wear the clothes and you can’t beat me. I’d say that means we still don’t know which one of us is better.”

Though Geralt knew. When Jaskier’s eyes lit up at Geralt’s words, he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that Jaskier was better – he might even be the best man Geralt knew.

After that, the fight was fully on again. Jaskier didn’t hold back. Not an hour later, when the moon had just begun to creep across the sky, Jaskier stood up and offered Geralt his hand.

“I bet you can’t dance.”

He was right, of course, but not once did he mention how Geralt kept stepping on his feet or how his posture was all wrong.

Geralt wouldn’t have cared if he had. He didn’t think his defeat would have even registered. He was too occupied fighting and failing to keep his heartbeat slow as Jaskier pulled him ever closer and let him through the motions of the dance while humming a soft melody.

In this moment, he couldn’t have cared less if he lost a bet or not.

And it appeared that Jaskier cared just as little about winning the bet, just this once.

Neither of them said a word about it and when they finally let go of each other, Jaskier just looked at him with that same unreadable expression he had shown more and more often lately.

“Your turn to make a move,” was the only thing he said, before disappearing inside the tent.

Geralt was hurt. It wasn’t a deep or particularly painful wound. Not that one would be able to tell from the way Jaskier fussed over him with worry etched into his face.

“I bet,” Geralt pressed through his teeth, “that you don’t know how to clean a wound.”

Jaskier stared at him in disbelieve. “You’re absolutely right I don’t.”

“Don’t you want to try?”

Jaskier’s brows drew together like storm clouds and his voice was thunder. “Really, Geralt? You’re bleeding. Do you really think this is the right time for this? If I mess this up-“

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted him and put his hand soothingly on Jaskier’s wrist. He could feel his pulse pump beneath his fingers and he rubbed a small circle into his soft skin. “You won’t hurt me. This is just a scratch. The drowner barely got me.”

“It wouldn’t have gotten you at all if I hadn’t been in the way,” Jaskier said bitterly.

Geralt’s chest clenched and he squeezes Jaskier’s arm gently, making him look at him. “That doesn’t matter. The important thing is that you didn’t get hurt. And that you know what to do if you ever do get hurt.”

There were implications in Geralt’s words that he didn’t want to think too hard about. He didn’t get the chance to anyway. Jaskier looked at him with wide eyes, before he nodded and set to work.

His hands were gentle and he hummed soothing melodies as he cleaned and stitched Geralt’s wound under his instructions. Geralt wouldn’t have been able to think of anything but Jaskier’s closeness if he had wanted to.

“Why on earth would I need to know how to do that?” Geralt said scowling, to the utter annoyance of Jaskier how groaned in exasperation.

“No, no no, don’t do that! That’s the exact opposite of what I told you to do. You should be smiling.”

“But why? Who cares if I smile?”

“I do. I-I mean, people at court do. You need to look pleasant and approachable if you want to charm anyone.”

“I don’t want to charm anyone.”

“Too late for that,” Jaskier muttered, quietly enough that Geralt was certain the words hadn’t been meant for him.

Still, Geralt scowled even harder, just to spite Jaskier and maybe, just maybe to make his own frown turn into a laugh.

“Geralt! Stop that this instant! Truly, sometimes I think you enjoy riling me up.” He threw his hands up in defeat. “This is it. You are a hopeless student. I’d have better luck teaching Roach how to behave at court. She definitely is more charming.”

Geralt couldn’t help it. His lips twitched up. “You’d have to bribe her.”

Jaskier snorted. “I’m already working on it. One day I’ll get her to eat that dreadful old cloak you insist on keeping.”

Jaskier looked dead serious and a by now familiar warmth spread through Geralt’s chest at Jaskier’s unconvincing scowl.

A snort of laughter left his mouth and in the blink of an eye Jaskier’s face softened.

“There it is,” he said in a tone Geralt couldn’t place. If he dared to let himself imagine, he would have called it fond. “You may never again say that you aren’t charming.”

“What on earth does this prove?” Jaskier panted as he tried to dodge yet another swing of Geralt’s fist aimed at his face.

“It should prove that you’d be able to defend yourself against bandits or at least hold your own in a bar fight.”

“Why would I -“ Jaskier ducked under a ridiculously slow punch that would have been truly embarrassing to get hit by, “need to do that?” He jumped backwards. “I can always talk myself out of trouble or – careful Geralt! – or you’d be there to save me. I don’t know why –“ his rant ended in a sharp cry as he stumbled over his own feet.

He let out an exaggerated grown when he hit the ground. Geralt was on him within a second, pinning his hands to the ground.

Jaskier huffed, his breath ghosting over Geralt’s face. He went still.

Geralt’s brows furrowed. “At least try to get out of my hold,” Geralt growled. “You need to be able to protect yourself. What if I’m not around?”

“Why wouldn’t you be?” Jaskier’s voice was strangely breathless. “Why would I go anywhere without you?”

Geralt froze.

For the first time it hit him just how close they were, with Geralt’s body practically pressing Jaskier’s into the ground. At some point, Geralt’s hair band had loosened and some strands of his hair had come free, framing his face and tickling Jaskier’s cheeks.

“Geralt?”

Geralt’s eyes followed the movement of Jaskier’s lips. The was so close. It would be so easy to just lean down and brush his lips against Jaskier’s. The feel of Jaskier’s body pressing up against him wasn’t enough anymore. Geralt’s heart was pounding in his chest and he wanted, he needed–

He had no time to think. No time to voice what he couldn’t even comprehend.

Because before he had the chance to do any of that, Jaskier leaned forward and breached the gap between them. He let out a soft noise that sounded almost like a sigh when they lips finally met.

Jaskier’s lips were soft and eager and they moved against Geralt’s as if he had been waiting to do this for a long time.

It took Geralt a moment to respond, but once the shock left him, he returned the kiss with just as much fervour. A low growl rose in his chest as he pressed impossibly closer against Jaskier.

His hands let go of Jaskier’s wrists, instead finding his hands and intertwining them.

Gently, Geralt bit into the softness of Jaskier’s lips, eliciting the sweetest sound from him. He felt Jaskier tug his hands free and Geralt let him, eager to feel Jaskier bury his fingers in his hair.

Instead, they pushed against him. Geralt let out a strangled groan when Jaskier broke the kiss and used Geralt’s surprise to throw his leg over Geralt and switch their positions.

Now he was leaning above Geralt, caging him in with his arms and giving him the biggest and smuggest look Geralt could imagine.

“Why…Jaskier, what…” He was unable to finish the sentence, wasn’t even sure what exactly it was that he wanted to ask. All he knew is that he needed to know. He needed this to not have been only a distraction.

“This, my dearest witcher,” Jaskier announced, leaning in close to Geralt; close enough that their breaths mingled and Jaskier’s fringe brushed Geralt’s skin. “Is a technique I am sure wasn’t taught in Kaer Morhen. The one type of battle you won’t be able to win against me.”

Geralt swallowed thickly. “What kind of battle?”

“Why, it’s called battling for dominance. With our tongues.”

“What?”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Kissing, Geralt. I’m obviously talking about kissing.”

“For a bard you have a terrible way of describing that.”

Jaskier huffed and Geralt could almost feel his smile against his lips. “Are you saying you’d be a better poet than me? Want to prove it to me?”

Geralt shook his head, his throat tight. One of his hands wandered up to Jaskier’s face, caressing his cheek. “I am much more interested which one of our tongues has won the battle.”

“Mine, obviously.” Jaskier grinned. “I have you pinned down, don’t I?”

“Hmm.” A smile stretched across Geralt’s face and he tilted his head just enough that his lips brushed against Jaskier’s with his next words. “Any yet I feel like I have won.”

Jaskier’s breath hitched. “I guess we’ll have to do it some more then. To determine which one is the winner.”

“Yeah,” Geralt agreed, his voice but a breath. “We should.”

As Geralt captured Jaskier’s lips with his own once more, he knew with a fierce certainty that neither of them would be proven a loser in this.

#i am so sorry #two things i never wanted to write:#detailed descriptions of kisses #and /that/ phrase #and yet here we are #geraskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt x jaskier #my writing #fic #fanfic #prompt #pining #witcher #witcher fic #i once again am too tired to edit this #writing>sleep>editing #geralt #jaskier

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pillage-and-lute · 3 years

Text

In All that I Have Done

Sad. I recommend listening to Arvo P ärt’s Spiegel im Spiegel while reading. Very, very sad, cannot stress this enough. Non-explicit major character death. (Happens of old age but still)

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More than forty years after the fall of Cintra one Professor Pankratz put down his pen. In the last ten years his hands had lost some of their surety, but his quill didn’t shake when he put it down.

He ran one hand down his face. His beard had started going silver just after he’d adopted the style, but both it and his hair were now fully steel grey, with not even a hint of their former color. He adjusted his spectacles, tweaked the fashionable, but less than flamboyant hem of his doublet, and began to read what he’d written.

The last will and testament of Professor Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove.

I am writing this, sure and sound of mind, if not of body, in the event of my death. For many years I had a living, de facto will, that is, who ever found me dead by the roadside could loot my body for what they wished. As I got older and my body forced my errant heart to settle down I realized that this could no longer be the case. I fear I have put this off much too long, but happily, it seems I was not too late.

To my remaining family, my baby brother Alfons and his wife Iwona, I leave the rights to my songs and other works, and the royalties to them. Have fun. Alfons, Iwona is a beautiful woman and I would have wooed her, but that you were so in love I couldn’t bring myself to steal her away. I write this with a chuckle, Iwona my dear, because if you’ll remember we met first, and I introduced you to my brother only after you’d hit me in the head with a frying pan for flirting.

I have also set up a trust, a portion of the royalties will be funneled into it for your son, Mikolaj, although he is a strapping young man who may never need it because he is a fine craftsman, as these spectacles he made me can attest. With luck he may spend it on marriage, should he ever woo that baker lad who made those charming blackberry tarts.

To the grandson of my friend Priscilla, Gaj. You have just been born and are a wonder beyond belief. Your parents are lovely people and you are lucky to have them. They should feel lucky to read this since I fear I shall be long dead before you learn your letters. However; there are times I wish I had fathered children. There are also times I remember what those who do go through and am thankful I did not, but you are a miracle. In the hope that you are given the very best of education, I have put in a word with the university. Should you choose, you will have the best schooling the Continent can offer, free of charge, with the compliments of Oxenfurt. Just, when you are someday a raging young student, sloppy drunk on a night out, think of me, if you can think at all.

As I have of late stayed in quarters provided for me by the university and their gracious staff, I shall relinquish it all in return, as well as whatever items are held within not listed here. There shall be money in the vase by the fireplace for my funeral, as well as a generous tip for the maids, who have been wonderful and kind to an often forgetful and frail old man who is too much in his feelings.

My wardrobe I leave to whoever wants it, apart from my best blue doublet. (The sky blue one, which brings out my eyes) I should hope to be buried in it.

And finally, to my dearest and truest friend, Geralt of Rivia I leave a note, a song, and a gift.

Jaskier once again scrubbed his hand over his face. His study held a chill, despite the fine summer day, or perhaps it was just him. He got cold so easily these days. His breath rattled a little as he took a deep breath and hauled himself out of his comfortable chair. Melitele’s great gorgeous thighs, but his knees ached today. Jaskier paused at the mirror to tease his hair into place, advancing years never having divested him of his style. He flashed a wink into the mirror and shoveled a little coal into the small fireplace.

He settled again at his desk, a different paper in hand, separate from the will, and began to look it over. This letter held none of the fine penmanship of the other, instead the letters were blocky and easy to read, better for the eyes that may have gained much in a mutation but skipped lightly over letters and switched them about.

My dear Geralt, it read. In all that I have done, I have had but one masterpiece. Critics may disagree on my greatest work, but I know it exactly, and have since the day of it’s birth. My opus was not Toss a Coin, or even the rehabilitation of yours- and all witchers- reputations. My masterpiece was my relationship with you, a wonderful and awful secret masterpiece of the heart, mind, and soul.

I know you do not dally about with words, but lest you misunderstand this last, most important of missives, we must discuss them. The word awful is now so said as to mean the same as terrible, but this cannot be true at all. Terrible is that which inspires terror or creates fear. Awful, or aweful, if you will, is to inspire awe. To be full of it. Sometimes that awe is fearful, sometimes reverential, perhaps a condemnation and sometimes a blessing. You, my friend, inspire awe. And in me you inspired something much greater than that. In all my years, which are so few compared to yours, nothing has so inspired love in me, as you. It has been my life’s greatest blessing.

When this letter comes to you, regardless of how it comes, it means I am gone from this world. I fear it shall indeed be soon, but I do not fear death. Weep not for me, my friend, instead let me bury in this parchment what there is left for me to say.

More than forty years ago I asked you to come away with me. All these decades later I still dream that you would, yet, I understand why you did not, and why you pushed me away. I offered you my heart that day, but it was the heart of a being you would watch wither away, as I’ll admit I have done. You could not be my forever, knowing that I cannot also be yours. There is no apology, no tears, no explanation needed there.

Indeed, even for casting me away I need no words, and you have always had few to give, my friend. You didn’t keep me away for long, after all. I am like a magnet, drawn to you. Even now I feel your pull, like the tide to the gentle lady moon, but I cannot follow.

After the mountain we met up again and again, our lives orbiting eachvother like planets, but we never clung so close as those first twenty years. That is the fault of Dame Time, a tricky mistress, as she collected her dues for twenty years of hard travel and ill care on my body.

I wish I could have given you more of my years. I find I am angry, and yet not so. At once, I could have had more time beside you, had somehow things been otherwise, but I know I had more time with you than might have been, perhaps more than I could reasonably expect. Someone, some goddess, or Life, Time, Destiny, or Fate, gave me enough time to finish the masterpiece that is my love for you, and that is enough.

You read here the ramblings of an old man, but I shall burden you with a few more sentences.

You may recognize the case to which this letter is attached. Inside is my lute, as given to me by Filavandrel. I wish you to have it. I know you have never been musically inclined, but to me this instrument means so much more than music. This is the physical being of us, and all that may entail. I hope that you keep it, and treasure it how you will. If ever there comes such a person that you wish to play it, for whatever reason, gift it to them, but I beg you, tell them to whom it belonged, and how it came to belong to you.

And finally, I leave you with a few unsung verses that I feel someone ought to read.

To the edge of the world May this letter be born That it comfort and heals you Although it brings you to mourn

I wrote every song And traveled along For my faith in a witcher and my friend before all

I hope you be blessed and continue your quest To be a friend of humanity As I go to rest

That's our epic tale My champion prevailed Defeated every villain And continues the tale

Toss a coin to my witcher, O valley of plenty...

love, Jaskier.

Professor Pankratz carefully rolled up the parchment and slipped inside a waterproofed tube, tying it with a blue ribbon that would likely only be lost in the parcel’s travels. He did it anyway, then he trailed his fingers over the finest instrument he’d ever played. Hand tremors meant it had sat silent for many months, but he plucked a few, slightly out of tune strings in a familiar tune. Then he put Filavandrel’s lute away, slipping the note in it’s packaging into the outer pocket of the case.

There was a funny feeling, he felt as he sat back in his large desk chair, to completing your greatest work, but he knew at least one being would remember it forever. He took off his spectacles and leaned back in his chair, the fire in the grate convincing him to doze. His eyes slid shut, and Jaskier greeted eternity with open arms.

#hurt no comfort #some closure though #tw major character death #post mountain #geraskier #you can read it as platonic #but he says the word love #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geralt of rivia #angst #sad #really really sad #i cried #why did I write this

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retvenkos · 3 years

Text

“shall i capture your heart with a song?”

A/N: lol, i only know the witcher on netflix, and what i have found out about jaskier via tumblr osmosis, so how accurate is this? i guess we’ll have to see, lol.

requested HERE WE ARE, IMAGINING WHAT IT WOULD BE LIKE TO BE CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TO LOVERS TO EVENTUAL MARRIAGE WITH THE ONLY AND ONLY JASKIER....

well, seeing as jaskier is of noble birth, i’m going to say that you are, too.

your families are old friends, so when you guys first meet, (i want to say you’re like 8 or 9) it’s at some celebration or another and at first you’re a little unsure if you should talk to each other or just,,,, stand there.

one of your parents absent mindedly tells you to talk to the boy, and so you have to do the awkward introductions.

“i’m (y/n) (l/n)”

“i’m julian alfred pankratz.”

“that’s unfortunate.”

“hey!”

“don’t worry. i’ll find something better to call you.”

“yeah, well... i’ll find something better to call you.”

(sorry, guys,,,,, i still can’t get over jaskier’s real name)

the two of you decide to sneak away from your parents to get some food or something, and then you eventually decide to sneak away from the party entirely

it was jaskier’s idea, really. he was trying to avoid some family or something - the family that thinks they are oh so better than you and compare achievements and what not...

the two of you are just wandering (jaskier’s sense of direction is horrible so it’s really up to you to keep everything straight) and you end up in some field or another, talking about whatever comes to mind. jaskier is telling you stories and you scoff.

“you’re like a weed, julian alfred pankratz. like a.... dandelion.”

“i am not!”

“what flower would you want to be, then?”

“something better than a dandelion!”

“like what, a buttercup?”

“yOU are.... are like....”

“like what?”

“...aconite! that’s a poison.”

“aconites are related to buttercups, dandelion. you can’t get rid of me.”

and jaskier thinks it’s wildly funny that you know horticulture, of all things. he finds it so funny, in fact, he fails to miss that you’ve coined a new nickname for him.

it seems that all the time, afterward, you run into jaskier and his family. by virtue of constantly seeing each other, the two of you end up being really good friends.

it’s a running gag that you love horticulture, and since the illustrious julian alfred pankratz uses it against you at every turn, you fluctuate between calling him “jaskier” and “dandelion”. he eventually gets used to it, but he hates it when others start to catch on.

he also comes up with ridiculous nicknames for you, but none of them quite seem to stick. he’s constantly cycling through through new ones, hoping to find the right one.

the two of you hang out a lot, but since you do a lot of reading or gardening and need jaskier to stop chatting with you for five minutes he picks up the lute and learns to play it really well.

you’re the first one who tells him his singing voice is quite beautiful.

“i’m sorry, did you just say my singing voice is ‘quite beautiful’?”

“it’s nice, okay?”

“nice?”

“if you keep this up, i’ll just have to insult you.”

“you’d never.”

“do you not remember the first time we met?”

“like it was yesterday.”

“i laid down some pretty decent insults, if i remember right.”

“i called you poison.”

“yeah, but aconites are pretty. unlike dandelions.”

and jaskier scoffs. “and buttercups?”

“they’re not bad looking.”

so we all know that jaskier supposedly gets into poetry when he’s 19 because he’s inspired by his love for the countess de stael,,, bUT,,,, consider this instead:

he actually gets into poetry for you.

jaskier has had a few loves at this point, and with each one, he’s a nervous wreck. you always help him by curating the most beautiful bouquets (all of which come from your amazing, thriving garden) and you are always there to help him with his flirting (which needs serious help,,,, i’m not even sure you’re cut out for the job)

you guys have probably even kissed before - both of you were regrettably drunk (don’t tell your parents) and jaskier said he desperately needed ‘the practice’. plus, he wanted to know!!!! was he a good kisser or not? no one else would rate him on a scale from 1-10 with brutal but accurate honesty! neither of you fully remember what exactly happened, come morning, but you remember the lead up to the moment and jaskier remembers the thoughts running through his head afterward... both of you agree not to speak of it.

anyway, when jaskier starts to realize that he has these awkward feelings that seem suspiciously illicit, he knows he has to get them out, somehow, but you are the only one who would listen to his complaints, and he very well can’t tell you.

so he decides he has to write them down.

but clearly they can’t be literal, lest someone stumble upon them,,,,, so he has to learn the secret art of poetry.

you, of course, notice how oddly quiet hanging out with jaskier has become, and his odd questions on flower symbolism, and it doesn’t take you long until you realize that, of all things, jaskier has turned to poetry.

“you can’t make fun of me for liking horticulture, anymore, dandelion. you’re a p o e t .”

“at least i’m a good one.”

and you flick his forehead

“what will your stage name be? surely julian alfred pankratz won’t work.”

“which one should it be? jaskier or dandelion?”

and you laugh, the sound like a summer breeze.

“i knew you’d come to appreciate my nicknames, eventually.”

jaskier frequently “serenades” you, under the guise that he’s practicing, of course, but it’s also his not so subtle way of seeing if you like his poetry and his songs - they are for you, after all.

“you’ll certainly capture hearts with that one.”

“did i capture yours?”

and you, feeling very flustered, especially seeing as you’ve had feelings for jaskier for a while now, can only let out a guttural sort of scoff.

“of course,” and you try to say it over the top and jokingly, but you can feel your face heating up.

and jaskier winks. you huff and turn back to your books.

oh, yikes, i didn’t realize this was getting a little long,,,, let’s speed things up.

everyone knows that you and jaskier are end game. your families think it’s vvv sweet, and everyone that either you or jaskier attempt to woo know it’s only going to be a passing fancy because,,,, have you seen the way you look at each other? like you hang the moon and the stars?

but of course, both of you are dramatic as hell, so you frequently have conversations like:

“we’re piss poor in love, aren’t we?”

“i guess the world just doesn’t understand our genius.”

“terrible that i have to share this lonely cleverness with the likes of you.”

“absolutely devastating.”

and you just sit there for a while, staring at the ceiling.

maybe you guys do some traveling together for a while, but you eventually find a place to put down roots (lol, horticulture jokes). maybe you run an apothecary! that would be precious.

either way, jaskier is a bard so when he isn’t traveling around, he’s staying with you.

a frequent request of yours goes something like this:

“dandelion, play me a song.”

“what kind?”

“a love song.”

and he does, and afterward, he sits down across from you and winks.

“did i capture your heart with that one?”

and some nights you’re a little too tired to make a show of it and some of that blissful candor slips out and slaps jaskier across the face when you smile and say, “yes.”

if you haven’t noticed, the two of you hella dance around your feelings. it’s insane, because catchphrase is: “anything for you” meanwhile you are the most soft™ for him and yet you don’t seem to clue in.

100%, you are going to have to be the one that expresses your love first, because jaskier is the definition of suffering in silence

but what’s also really funny is you both probably try to keep it hidden just how long you have loved each other for, and yet you are both nosy as hell and want to know how long this has been going on, so it leads to really funny conversations where you are both trying to dodge giving a proper timeline, but are drying to coax one out of the other.

ohmygod, i forgot to do marriage headcanons

alright, lightning round: firstly, i don’t think it takes you guys long to get married - you have known each other for so long, and you already act like a married couple, might as well make it official

jaskier refuses to let anyone else sing at his wedding, but you eventually coax him into it because how else are you going to dance with him?

let jaskier invite all of his witcher friends. the divide between your wealthy families and the witchers would be funny as hell. like inlaws that don’t get along but wORSE.

some quick marriage thoughts:

jaskier has definitely learned the art of flowers, thanks to you, so (1) he leaves you flowers everywhere, and (2) both of you get to garden with each other all the time.

sleep and jaskier don’t mix - no matter what time of the night, you can wake up and he’s up and about, doing something or another. maybe he’s writing a song, maybe he’s eating, maybe he’s arguing with yennefer (she often visits, just to antagonize jaskier. you guys are great friends) in the livingroom and trying to keep his voice down

similar with nicknames, jaskier is constantly using pet names, trying to decide on which one is best. it doesn’t really work out, but maybe the most common one is he’ll call you his muse.

and it only sounds cheesy 20% of the time

you guys get to go to parties together! that’s fun - you like dressing up and sneaking away half way through because you’re bored. you guys steal food and hide out until they realize the bard is missing and drag him back.

so we all know jaskier is big on compliments, and it only gets worse when the two of you are together. it’s like,,,, yes. now i can shower you with love and affection at all hours of the day, and it’s okay! he still does his poorly timed winks but he insists they’re charming!

you begrudgingly agree

consider for a moment: going to get breakfast with this man. first of all, breakfast is probably his favorite meal, and he’s always adamant you get a good one (since being with geralt means no breakfast at all). jaskier talks like you haven’t seen him in years, despite living together, and he’s very big on holding your hand or bopping you on the nose. plus, he smiles.

oh! and his singing is 100% contagious, so it doesn’t take long before you are singing around the house, and jaskier is just stunned at you,,,, you find him staring and roll your eyes at his ridiculousness, but this man is in love!!!! let him be in love!!!!

and you also talk to your plants, so you know jaskier picks that up, to. you’re a very vocal couple, lol.

AND FLUFF ENSUES.

-- taglist: @lenalxvegood, @cooloaflandhero, @swanimagines, @multifandomfix // message me if you want to be added!

#jaskier #jaskier x reader #jaskier headcanons #jaskier witcher #jaskier x you #jaskier imagine #reader insert #gender neutral reader #tw marriage #fluff #the witcher

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partialresonance · 3 years

Note

Hi! You asked for Geraskier prompts. What about some fluff? Jaskier heard that Witchers can’t blush so he tries to make Geralt blush by complementing him ?

Yay, thank you for the prompt!! This was so much fun to write. :D

CW: mild innuendo, reference to beheading?? Otherwise it’s pretty tame. ~1.6k of fluff coming right up!

Jaskier is eighteen, and Geralt is quite the most interesting man he’s ever met.

Of course, he’s handsome too, which doesn’t hurt. But for the moment Jaskier is mostly concerned with the fact that he’s a witcher. Jaskier has heard countless rumors and tales about witchers but he never imagined he would have the chance to actually meet one. He can’t pass up the chance to confirm the truth of what he’s heard, straight from the source.

“Geralt, is it true that witchers can see through walls?”

Even though Jaskier has to jog to keep up with Roach and is only treated to a view of the man’s broad backside, he can hear the eye-roll in Geralt’s dry response:

“No.”

“Well that’s a shame. I imagine brothels would be quite interesting places if you could.” Jaskier’s lute bangs against the back of his thighs, and he hoists the strap higher on his shoulder. “Speaking of which, is it true that witchers have—ah, how to put this delicately—inhuman stamina?”

“I can outrun you.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Geralt shrugs, and Jaskier puts his hands on his hips, his mouth twitching into a pout.

“You’re no fun at all, Witcher.”

What he won’t ask is if it’s true that witchers don’t have feelings. Jaskier had banished the idea as rubbish from the first, when he’d gone up to Geralt in that tavern in Posada and found him brooding. One cannot brood without feeling.

“Is it true that witchers can smell fear?”

At that, there is a telling pause.

“Yes.”

“Huh. That’s interesting. Can’t imagine how that’s useful though. I’ve always found it quite easy to tell when someone’s afraid, they go all bug-eyed and their hands start to shake and they stutter a lot.”

“You’d be surprised.” Roach flicks her tail, narrowly missing Jaskier’s face. He dodges to the side, stumbling a bit on the dirt path. “Some people are good at hiding it.”

Jaskier shrugs, uninterested.

“Hmm, what else. What else,” he taps his chin, trying to dredge up the other rumors he’s heard.

“If you can’t think of anything else we could walk in silence,” Geralt says hopefully. Jaskier laughs, shaking his head. The very idea.

“Oh! I’ve got one.” He picks up his pace, jogging forward until he’s far enough ahead of Roach that he can turn and walk backwards, keeping ahead long enough to see Geralt’s expression. “Is it true that witchers can’t blush?”

“Where did you hear that one?” Geralt looks unimpressed. He flicks the reins and Roach springs into a trot; Jaskier has to leap to the side to avoid the devilish mare. Thankfully Geralt doesn’t seem intent on leaving him behind; after a few paces Roach slows to a walk again, though Jaskier is huffing by the time he finally catches up.

“Oh, you know,” Jaskier wheezes, clutching a stitch in his side. He waves a hand vaguely. “Around.”

He’d heard it in reference to the only place on a witcher’s body blood could rush to, but, well. Geralt doesn’t need to know that.

“Yes. It’s true.”

“Is it really?” Jaskier squints up at Geralt. He wishes he was a witcher who could sniff out lies. “You know it’s illegal to lie to a bard, don’t you?”

Geralt doesn’t answer, and now that Jaskier has run out of questions his mind seizes on a new game.

Make Geralt blush.

“Hey, Geralt!” Jaskier swings his lute around and plucks a few notes. “You ever heard the one about the fishmonger’s daughter?” And without further ado, he launches into the most downright filthy version he knows. It’s barely even innuendo, containing outright descriptions of exactly what the fishmonger’s daughter likes to do with her catch, even including a few dramatic moans and sighs on Jaskier’s part because he is nothing if not an excellent performer. He keeps a close eye on Geralt’s expression, but to his dismay all he sees is the gradual tightening of his jaw and flattening of his eyebrows. By the end of the song he looks downright murderous.

“I’m guessing you didn’t like that one. Heh.” Jaskier plucks a discordant note, underlining his failure to please the witcher with his song, as well as rouse even the faintest of pink tones to his pale skin. “Well, not everyone has a sense of humor. That’s alright.”

Damn it. What could he do to make a witcher blush?

After another mile or so Jaskier is forced to admit that the sex angle simply doesn’t affect the witcher. He’d tried everything--describing some of his own conquests, real and imagined, and he’d even faked a limp and sighed wistfully about his night with the innkeeper’s son! None of it has any effect on the man. And, with a cruel spike of embarrassment that brings heat to his own cheeks, Jaskier abruptly realizes it’s because the century-old witcher likely has seen and done things he can scarce imagine.

It’s all old hat to him, then.

“Have it your way then, you big old brute.” Jaskier consoles himself by playing his favorite songs at the loudest possible volume, his voice echoing off the canyons. He thinks Geralt has mostly tuned him out, until abruptly he wheels Roach around and makes a sharp gesture at Jaskier. His yellow cat-eyes scan the surrounding hills.

“Shut up, bard.”

Jaskier scoffs, and strums a few loud chords.

“Well you could at least ask nicely if you’re--”

An arrow stabs into the ground, an inch from Jaskier’s foot. Jaskier jumps into the air with a yelp.

Bandits seem to pour down from the hills, and Geralt and Roach charge in to deal with them. Jaskier, weaponless and frightened, darts off of the path in the opposite direction, down a small gully to hide behind a bush.

Well, he hasn’t lived this long by sticking around for the danger! Someone has to live to tell the tale, after all.

It’s over faster than Jaskier would have imagined. He catches glimpses of Geralt moving smoothly through the fight, a whirlwind of steel and white hair. The big witcher actually looks graceful, spinning on one heel and swinging his arm in a broad arc to lop off the last bandit’s head. Jaskier swallows, feeling odd and sort of warm all over.

When he’s certain the bandits are dead he doesn’t hesitate to scramble up the hill to where Geralt is standing amidst the carnage, sheathing his sword.

“Do people do that a lot?” Jaskier tells himself his voice isn’t that shaky as he brushes off the knees of his trousers and hoists his lute onto his back. “Just attack you out of nowhere?”

“Hmm.” Geralt stands from where he’d been crouched over one of the corpses. He slips their purse into Roach’s saddlebags, then mounts her in a smooth motion.

Jaskier wrinkles his nose at the corpse. He doesn’t usually see death up close like this--his experience is more of the ‘passing by the suspicious lump in the alleyway without looking too closely’ variety. He’s frightened, but with Geralt at his side starts to feel a little bit brave. The bandit certainly isn’t scary like this, with his stupid head lying across the path. He sticks his tongue out at the corpse and then jogs after Geralt and Roach.

“Well, they should know better, shouldn’t they? I don’t think you even broke a sweat.”

“Hmm.”

“No, I mean it. That was genuinely impressive.”

“Shut up, bard, or you’ll draw more of them.” Geralt turns his head away, but not before Jaskier catches something interesting in his expression. He jogs forward, until he’s striding beside Roach and level with Geralt’s knee. If he looks out of the corner of his eye he can just barely make out Geralt’s face. A sly smile curls his lips.

“Do people ever compliment you? Or are they too busy shitting themselves because you’re a big, scary witcher?”

Geralt stares straight ahead.

“That’s a shame, really. Compliments do wonders for the self-esteem. I can’t go long without one before I simply wither away like an autumn leaf. And there’s so much to compliment you on.”

“Fuck off.”

“Geralt, I’m being serious.” Alright, so maybe he was also teasing a bit, but Jaskier’s voice took on a strident, genuine note as he turned his head to gaze up at the witcher. “What you did back there might seem like nothing to you, but I was terrified. If they wanted to kill me they could have done so easily, except you were there so now they’re all lying in pieces while we make our merry way on. Take that, bandit, you don’t need your legs!” Jaskier laughs and makes a slicing motion as if severing an imaginary bandit’s torso from his lower appendages.

“It’s nice, not to have to be afraid of whatever random asshole comes my way. I think I’ll stick with you after all. It doesn’t hurt that you’re easy on the eyes as well.” Jaskier winks. Geralt keeps darting his eyes between Jaskier and the path ahead. He looks distinctly uncomfortable, but Jaskier doesn’t think it’s in a bad way at all. “Big witcher man with your nice hair and all that muscle beneath your armor. You looked like you were dancing, you know.”

“Jaskier…” It’s a low growl, a warning, and it sends a shiver straight down Jaskier’s spine. He bites his lower lip to keep from smiling too broadly, and that’s when he sees it:

The distinct, pale pink undertone blooming to life beneath Geralt’s glowing (beautiful) yellow eyes.

Oh. Jaskier is in trouble.

He clears his throat, taking a few steps to the side and letting Roach get a little bit ahead of him. He strums his lute, a spring in his step as he follows his witcher, imagining feeling the heat of Geralt’s blush beneath his fingertips.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #dandelion #the witcher #fluff #fanfiction #geraskier prompts #my writing

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geralthastwohands · 4 years

Text

The Play’s The Thing

I just wanted to write something with Jaskier using his brain to get them out of a sticky situation with a healthy side of angst and this spawned out oops!! but also hey!!! i finished a fic!!

***

The mercenaries attack their camp while they sleep.

By the time Jaskier is woken up, Geralt is already being held down on the ground by at least four men. He’s putting up a good fight, but Jaskier can tell the witcher is only so strong. The men were human, but they were well trained.

He has three options. Option one, get on his feet and try to fight back against the mercenaries. There were six men standing around the four holding Geralt down and Jaskier’s always been more of a lover than a fighter, so that was out. Option two, pretend he was still asleep and let Geralt get taken away like a coward. He is many things, but he refuses to be a coward. That leaves option three…

“Oh, thank the gods.” Jaskier breathes out, standing up on shaky legs. All heads snap towards him, including Geralt’s. If he wasn’t committing to this new role, he’d be offended that they seemed to have forgotten about him.

“Who the fuck are you?” One of the mercenaries asks. He’s the only one not wearing a face mask. Most likely the leader.

“I-I’m a bard. Dandelion,” He stutters. Geralt lets out a low growl and Jaskier flinches overdramatically. “The witcher’s had me trapped with him for so long. I knew if I waited long enough someone would rescue me! You, kind sirs, are gifts from destiny.” He knows he’s playing it up, but he needs this to work. He glances towards Geralt and sees the hurt confusion there and hopes they live long enough for him to explain.

“Y’here that, boys? We’re gifts from destiny!” The leader laughs. “Fuck off, bard. We’re taking him for the coin.” The leader shoos him like a fly the little- and gestures for the now bound Geralt to be pulled to his feet.

“He’s seen your face, sir.” One of the men pipes up. “We should kill him.”

“Oh, no, no! You don’t have to do that!” Jaskier quickly interjects. “I could- I could come with you! I’m known for many songs! Drinking songs, love ballads, even the occasional jig, if I’m in the right mood for it. I could be your entertainment, at least until the next town?”

The leader leans his head back and forth, considering it. He turns towards the man who spoke, who shrugs. Jaskier notes how he doesn’t look to anyone else. Most likely the second in command. Good to know for later.

“Alright...Dandelion, did you say your name was?” The leader pauses so Jaskier nods in answer. “We’ll give you a chance to earn your life. Morning is hours off yet. You’ll play while we eat. If we enjoy it, a few of my boys will escort you to the next town.” The leader raises an eyebrow. “Agreed?”

“Anyone here know Fishmonger’s Daughter?” He asks in lieu of a response. The men cheer.

***

Within the hour, the mercenaries have taken over their camp with their own bedrolls and firmly secured Geralt to a tree. The witcher won’t look at him, no matter how many times Jaskiertries to sneakily catch his eye. Even Roach, ever so loyal, turns her head away when he pauses to slip her a carrot.

There’s a stew cooking over the fire and ale being passed around. With Jaskier’s music, it’s a proper celebration of a job well done. The bard wants to snap and swing his lute at the nearest head. Stick to the plan, Jaskier…

“Oi, Dandelion! You know anything about these?” Jaskier looks over to see the second-in-command next to the fire, holding up one of Geralt’s potions. He can't believe his luck. Fuck the plan, this one is better.

“Y-yes, sir!” He fumbles the lute onto his back, playing up the helpless bard once again. “The witcher had me gather the ingredients for some.” He stands awkwardly above them until the second gestures for him to sit. “The one in your hand is a night vision potion called Cat.” He digs through the bag for a second, slipping a small vial inside his sleeve under the cover of the worn leather. He pulls out another harmless one. “This one is for your reflexes, he called it Blizzard.”

“Interesting…” The second mutters, listening intently. “Don’t suppose a human would be able to take them, do you?”

“I wouldn’t know.” He answers, fully knowing Witcher’s potions would kill a full-grown man. Without thinking, he leans a hand on the pot to look closer. The hot metal quickly burns his skin through his sleeve and he lets out a sharp yelp of pain.

“Ryvel! What are you doing to the poor bard over there?!” The leader calls out with a laugh.

“Fuck off, he burned ‘imself!” The second - Ryvel - calls back with a grin. He shakes his head as he tugs Jaskier’s hand closer. “Let me see where it hurts.”

Jaskier freezes at the touch but relaxes when nothing follows beside gentle prodding at the new burn. Ryvel digs through his own pack for a second before coming up with salve and a roll of bandages. They’re both silent as he coats the burn then wraps it with the care of someone who’s done it a thousand times before.

When it’s done, Jaskier flexes his hand. “Thank you.” He whispers. “I didn’t expect…” He trails off, not knowing how to say it without offending the mercenary.

“What happened to us kind sirs being a gift from destiny?” Ryvel teases. Jaskier forces a smile.

“I should go back to playing.” He excuses before standing. “Any requests?”

“Something fun,” is all Ryvel replies.

Jaskier crosses back to where he stood to play earlier. Ryvel’s kindness almost made him feel bad for the deadly amount of White Gull he poured into the stew while burning his arm. Though judging by the fact that every man is without a mask and calling each other by name, they weren’t planning on letting Jaskier go anyway.

He sneaks another glance at Geralt who still refused to look at anything but the ground. Soon, love. You’ll see what’s going on.

***

Dinner is served once the meat is declared cooked through. No one offers him any and Jaskier doesn’t ask. He plays while they eat and doesn’t think he’s ever felt more anxious in his life. He watches every single mercenary as they chew and swallow and take bite after bite. He keeps waiting for someone to say something about the taste or spit it out or call attention to it.

And then the first man drops, suddenly and without warning. Jaskier starts inching towards Geralt. He only has moments before the mercenaries realize their friend has been felled by more than just ale.

The second man drops. Jaskier picks up the pace. Geralt is finally, finally, looking up. He’s got this confused expression and his head is tilted to the side and oh, that would be so cute in a different situation.

The third man drops. All hell breaks loose. Jaskier uses the time they take to sluggishly grab their weapons to throw his lute to the side - Daddy’s sorry, baby, but needs must. - and pull the dagger from his boot. He cuts Geralt free as the fourth and fifth man drop in quick succession.

“Fuck,” Geralt mutters, before throwing himself at the leader. With the drugs in his system, the man goes down easily. It’s actually almost laughable how effortless it is to simply push the next three mercenaries to the ground and wait for them to die.

Ryvel, now the last of his men, falls to his knees before Geralt can even touch him. His eyes are firmly locked onto Jaskier, mouth open in shock. “You manipulative fucking jester…” He hisses out. His last words before he too meets the ground.

After hours of talk and music, it’s eerie to be met with only silence.

Geralt, with no more mercenaries to take care of, settles on Jaskier. He opens his mouth to say something only to be cut off by the bard launching into nervous ramblings.

“Listen, Geralt, I know what I did wasn’t safe or smart or anything else you’re going to say but what else was I supposed to do? Let you get taken by those brutes?”

“Jaskier.”

“And that wasn’t even my original plan, poisoning them. That was just a lucky mix of circumstances that I got into your potion bag - you should really label those, by the way. We’re lucky I just so happened to pay attention to colors and bottles last time you organized this mess. And another thin-”

“I was going to say thank you.”

The bard stops. “I’m sorry?”

Geralt takes a step forward, tense. “You did well. With the stew. And the...acting.”

Jaskier blinks. “Not as good as that, I hope. You do know I’d never actually betray you, right, Geralt?”

The witcher raises an eyebrow. “Brothers have betrayed brothers for less than their lives.”

“For gods sake, Geralt, I didn’t even tell them my name! What part of that made you think I trusted them? Do you really think so low of me that-” Jaskier cuts himself off. He’s smarter than that. He knows it’s not him that the witcher thinks low of.

The bard takes a step forward and Geralt lets him. “I could have stayed at Oxenfurt, you know. As a professor. They all loved my classes. I was the hot, young new teacher.”

“Did you accept favors in exchange for good grades, Professor ?” Geralt asks, voice low. Inwardly, Jaskier groans.

“As sexy as that was, you’re not seducing me out of talking about this, Geralt.”

“It was worth a shot.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“It’s worked before.”

“Geralt.” Jaskier admonishes and slaps him on the chest. “Listen to me, you brute. My point is that I could have had the easiest, boring-est, lavish-est life I wanted. Instead, I chose you. And I will continue to choose you over everything else in this world, including myself. Because you’ll do the same for me.” He says this with such certainty, as if Geralt had never done a single selfish thing in his life.

Geralt swallows, not quite meeting Jaskier’s eyes, and nods. “I would. Do the same, that is.”

The bard smiles, bright and wide, like Geralt just told him that he was personally gifting him the stars. The witcher smiles back, small and quiet, but it means all the same.

“Now that that’s settled,” Jaskier breaks the silence with a dangerous glint in his eyes. ‘Let’s find out who hired these men and kill them, hmm?”

#geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt of rivia fanfiction #witcher fanfiction #by the bard #been so long since i used that tag #happy i get to use it again

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threephasebird · 4 years

Text

Listen I can’t stop thinking about an AU where the plot of The Witcher plays out as a really long session of Dungeons and Dragons. Yennefer and Geralt (who take their adventures seriously, thank you very much) are really annoyed when Triss announces that she has invited someone to join their group for a test run because what if he sucks? What if he screws up this whole plot line they’ve been building up to for months? Triss just shrugs because she’s the DM and -- to be completely honest -- feels like their group could do with an addition. It’s just...hard sometimes to actually progress the plot when Geralt always take five hours to loot every room and “secure the perimeter” and Yen always leaves Geralt’s paladin to do the boring monster fighting while her warlock ends up in side quests Triss has to make up on the spot (it’s incredibly charming, but Triss wouldn’t say that out loud). Granted, Ciri’s barbarian brings some badly needed chaos to their adventures from time to time, but Yen and Geralt usually still manage to stay 100% on track and in character. And that guy who asked her if he could join (or, rather, he practically invited himself) -- well, not only does he buy bouqets in Triss’s flower shop twice a week, but he also serenated her once with his guitar when he spotted her on the underground, so he’s bound to be fun in a D&D session.

Cue Jaskier showing up in Triss’s apartment for their next session and Yen and Geralt simultaneously narrow their eyes because of course he not only plays a bard, no, he plays a bard who can play the lute AND the bagpipes and puts way too much emphasis on his intimidation stats. Ciri, in turn, loves it. Yen and Geralt probably end up five rooms behind while Jaskier and Ciri rush ahead with their strategy being something along the lines of Triss: “You open the door to a dark room” -- Ciri: “I go directly into battle rage” -- Jaskier: “I say ‘Anyway, here’s Wonderwall’, shred the chords on my lute and scream at the top of my lungs to intimidate whatever is inside”. And the thing is, Geralt is so fucking charmed by that. So charmed indeed that he doesn’t pick up on Triss telling him several times to, please, just roll for perception, and ends up walking alone right into a nest full of undead, and then, to top it all off, Jaskier saves the campaign by doing some wild bullshit with his lute, charisma, a bluff, and a nerve-wrecking sequence of alternatingly rolling ones and twenties. Yen is begrudgingly impressed but still votes against letting him join permanently on principle. She’s overruled.

So it becomes a permanent thing, and Ciri is so here for that because seriously, her dad and his friends need to have some fun from time to time and to be quite honest, so does she, and Jaskier constantly entangles the group in the most absurd tangent adventures. (Triss: “You enter the dragon’s lair.” Jaskier: “I tear my shirt open and let out a feral scream.” Triss, sipping ice tea with a straw: “Roll for intimidation.”) Yen’s warlock constantly makes snide remarks against Jaskier’s bard (Jaskier: “18.” Triss: “The dragon retreats further into the cave, seemingly scared of your naked torso.” Yen: "Valid of him.”), but then after one session, they end up on Triss’s balcony sharing a bottle of wine and realising they actually get along really well. (Their characters still hate each other because they both thrive on playing out petty insults -- “The crows feet are new”). Meanwhile, Triss is pining even harder for Yen because she’s so quick when it comes to solving her riddles and always has an unconventional suggestion for how they should progress (and once or twice nearly lets the entire party die in order to get to some treasure). And then Triss gives her bunny slippers for her birthday as a joke because she always shows up at her place in a full on goth look and those shoes can’t be comfortable, and Yen ends up wearing them every time, and Triss needs all of her focus to think about the campaign and not about how cute she is. And then Yen and Jaskier are yelling insults at each other again and normally, she would interrupt, but Triss is too absorbed by the flush and genuine joy on Yen’s face and -- yeah, fuck.

And Geralt... well, for starters, he has to admit that the game sometimes moves too fast for him now with Jaskier and Ciri venturing off constantly and Yen’s character becoming increasingly chaotic (and ruthless), but it’s fun, and he could probably follow along better if he wasn’t constantly distracted by how Jaskier beams when he rolls a twenty and laughs when he’s managed to intimidate or charm or convince yet another NPC to follow along with his latest bluff and constantly flirts with the innkeeps and frowns when they walk into an ambush and almost fucking lets his bard die in order to save Geralt. And then, the next time, when Geralt saves him from an attack in turn, he bats his eyes at him and says, “OooOh Geralt, does that mean you like me?”

...Does it? Hm. But then Geralt cracks a dry joke one day when he and Jaskier encounter a Doppler and Jaskier is the first one to laugh, and when Ciri spills the beans to Jaskier about how the paladin’s official last name is du Haute-Bellegarde Jaskier just smiles and winks and slides over his own sheet that reads Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. And he can spend hours with him talking about their characters’ backstory and Jaskier is so creative and, fuck, one day he brings an actual lute when they’re playing and has written a song, in character. And maybe (really, really badly) Geralt wishes that Jaskier’s bard wouldn’t just flirt with Geralt’s paladin but also...maybe...Jaskier with Geralt.

That’s probably why Geralt can’t help but blush whenever their characters interact, and, goddamnit, probably the entire party has picked up on his crush by now. (Ciri has, definitely. She once took a sneaky photo of Geralt’s lovestruck face when he was watching Jaskier and Geralt had to chase her through their apartment to get her to delete it, which was hard, because she’s picked up doing parkour lately.) In the end, it takes Yen telling Jaskier (over another bottle of wine) that she refuses to play with them again unless Jaskier does something about it because she’ll be damned if she has to watch Geralt pine away silently for another eight hours in a row, thank you very much. She and Triss are watching from the balcony as Geralt, in his yoga pants and flip flops, awkwardly walks Jaskier to his bike down on the street, carrying his guitar case for him. And Jaskier is nervously rubbing his fingers together and scurrying from one foot to the other and finally (finally) says something they can’t hear. (Geralt nods enthusiastically, though.)

“Thank god”, Yen says, leaning over the balcony dramatically in her black dress and shimmery eyeshadow and bunny slippers and her hair is flowing in the wind and, yes, Triss is listening to what she’s saying. “Finally we’ll be free of this excruciating ordeal. I wouldn’t have survived another day have to witness it.” “Yeah?”, says Triss because her mind might be slightly blank. “Yeah”, Yen scoffs. “Dating in your D&D party, what a horrible idea.” Then she turns her head slightly to look at Triss and Triss’s heart skips a beat when she realises she’s grinning at her. “Unless...?”

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #yennefer x triss #trissefer #my writing #my post

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