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notebooks-and-laptops · 4 years

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Based on that post about how keeping track of your possessions so they don’t end up in museums would be the real hardship of being immortal and I just thought that fit Jaskier so well and then...this drabble happened. You can also find this on AO3 here!

-///-

Certain hardships come along with being immortal which simply aren’t advertised.

And no, this isn’t at all about the horrors of watching everyone you love wither and age around you (the people Jaskier loves generally don’t wither and age), nor the torturous boredom created by unending centuries (Jaskier hasn’t run out of things to keep him entertained yet). It’s not even about that whole silly ‘falling in love with a seventeen-year-old human mortal angst’ that seems so popular in literature nowadays but which, quite frankly, strikes Jaskier as incredibly unrealistic (You wouldn’t catch him dead at a school. Kids are mean. They’d probably mock his singing. They’d probably mock it accurately).

No. The true secret hardship that came with being immortal was the historians.

Historians were the worst.

In Jaskier’s most humble opinion, historians were nothing but terrible gossips, good only for getting their facts muddled, making unfair judgements on events they weren’t even privy to and – worst of all - stealing his shit.

It wasn’t mere trinkets they were taking either. The British History museum had his second favourite lute. The American Smithsonian had somehow gotten hold of a couple of his early songbooks. The Museum under the main square in Krakow had gotten hold of a few of the jewels he’d once been gifted by his dearly departed Countess de Stael.

Assholes. The lot of them; gossiping and playing ‘finders’ keepers’, like children on a playground.

Jaskier hadn’t yet worked out a way of getting his stuff back. What was he supposed to do, stroll up to the help desk and tell them the truth? If they believed him he’d be shipped off to a lab for scientific testing or if they didn’t, he’d be put down as mental and shipped off to the nearest hospital. For all this age was so completely, mundanely magical (you could talk to people on the other side of the globe with the ease of a few dialled numbers on a thin black box) they quite resolutely refused to believe in things ‘out of the ordinary’.

“We could organise a heist,” Yennefer had suggested one dull Monday morning, emerging from Geralt’s room to peer at Jaskier’s laptop screen, the monitor displaying the British Museums catalogue. Jaskier wasn’t surprised to see her, though it was the first time he had for…how long was it this time? Six months? A year? She came in and out of their lives over the centuries like the turn of the seasons. Jaskier missed her when she was gone, but he was always sure of his return. Her and Geralt couldn’t stay away from each other for long.

Geralt and Yennefer: world record holders for the longest on-again-off-again Romance ever had.

He snapped his screen shut a little too firmly, shaking his head, “useless. By the time we finish, they’ll just have unearthed more of my most private possessions to flag to the world.”

He watched as she stretched her lithe body upwards to grab herself a mug from above the cabinet, the dark grey fabric of shirt riding upwards slightly to reveal the smooth skin underneath. Luckily, Jaskier was apt at pretending he wasn’t staring. He’d grown quite good at that, over the years spent with Geralt and Yennefer at his side.

“Could be fun though,” she pointed out.

“I’ll think about it.” She was right; it could be fun.

“No. You won’t,” Geralt’s gruff voice alerted them to his presence at the doorway (or altered Jaskier at least. Yennefer was rarely caught off guard by anything).

“You’re no fun anymore,” Jaskier pouted, “we barely even go on contracts nowadays. And you’re all against me getting famous. Old age has truly mellowed you.”

Yennefer handed Jaskier a mug of tea, then Geralt his morning coffee: made to perfection, despite her years of absence, “there aren’t as many monsters left,” she reminded him.

“Ah, but how I miss the days when there were,” Jaskier leaned back in the chair. Of course, central heating and vaccines were good too. Fair trade-off, he supposed.

“You complained back then too,” Geralt grunted, offering a kiss to Yennefer as a silent thank you for his coffee.

Jaskier didn’t steal a glance. He didn’t.

(Which he could say without lying because it was a bit more of a stare than a glance. But. Semantics. What could he say? His best friends were hot.)

They were getting off-topic, Jaskier thought. He wanted attention for his woes, not a morning of reminiscing and pining. “It’s just not right, that’s all. All those people looking at my private things.”

“The Great Bard Jaskier not basking in the attention? Why, are you feeling quite well? Been replaced by a doppler?” Yennefer quirked an eyebrow, removing herself from Geralt’s grasp to take a seat beside Jaskier.

“It’s not attention, though,” Jaskier whined. “It’s a bunch of tourists taking pictures they’ll never even look at when they get home, thinking how quaint life must have been way back when lutes were an easy commodity. Fucking hell, do you know how hard it is to find a lute nowadays? I can’t believe they’ve gone out of fashion.”

“We can thank the world for small blessings,” Geralt muttered.

Jaskier smacked him lightly on the shoulder.

Over a millennium, and still, Geralt was an emotionally stunted, dry-witted arse. Over a millennium, and Yennefer was still a beautiful, powerful bitch of a woman.

Jaskier loved them for it. He wouldn’t have them any other way.

Well— alright, not true. There was one other way he could imagine having them, and it involved him being a little bit more than simply a roommate to Geralt and a little bit more than simply an annoyance to Yennefer.

Still, things could be considerably worse. He wasn’t complaining. At least, he wasn’t complaining often. Not about that.

He’d complain about historians all he bloody well-liked though.

Arseholes the lot of them.

-///-

“You’re a traitor, a filthy, filthy traitor,” Jaskier hissed as he strolled up to the front desk of the British Museum.

Triss rolled her eyes, exasperation and fondness playing on her features in equal measures. He’d long since gotten used to people looking at him that way; it was the most common expression he inspired. “You asked me to tell you if anything showed up. I’m only here while they’re sorting through the collection of ancient plant samples. You’re lucky it all lined up.”

“And which one of my misplaced possessions has found its way into this house of stolen goods?” Jaskier’s voice was perhaps a tad too loud for dramaticism but sometimes you had to take one for the team and become the excentric mad man in the room when nobody else was willing to do it. Those teenagers in the corner could giggle and shoot him glances all they wanted.

“You’re a drama queen, you know that, don’t you?” Triss murmured, already turning to head back to the office she was working in, “they have a display on love through the ages. Third floor. Try not to get too flustered when you see it.”

“Flustered? By a bit of love poetry? Triss, what do you take me for?” Jaskier was a true romantic and had been falling in and out of love to varying degrees since he was but a mere mortal man. He wasn’t going to get flustered. Nothing could get him flustered anymore.

Ten minutes later, he had a rather pronounced blush on his face to match the speeded heart rate and the quietly muttered ‘no, no, no’ leaving his mouth like a mantra.

Certain hardships come along with being immortal which simply aren’t advertised.

The love letter you wrote to your best friend and his on-again-off-again-girlfriend showing up in a display case of a national museum? No one told him about that particular brand of down-side when he signed up for this gig.

This is so much worse than the lute, and the song-book and the jewels.

Oh, he is so screwed.

-///-

So far he’s managed to concoct and execute three cunning plans to get the love letter safely out of the display case and away from the public (the public that he’s very aware includes Yennefer and Geralt) eye.

Considering he’s in a holding cell at Scottland Yard waiting for Geralt to come and bail him out? Yeah. He can probably write all three off as a failure.

The first plan was to ask the attendant if the display would be up for much longer. Keeping Yennefer and Geralt from a museum they rarely frequented for three weeks wouldn’t be too much of a challenge, particularly if he had Triss on his side.

Today, the Gods were clearly not on his side. The attendant informed him that the display had proved a huge attraction and they had no plans of taking it down for the foreseeable future.

The second plan was to march into any office he could find and demand the letter be removed. It was his letter. This was a violation of his privacy. He had every write to want it removed from a display case.

Which was all well and good until the poor museum curator asked him why he was so instant that a five-hundred-year-old letter be taken down and – when Jaskier could give him no good answer – proceeded to believe he was being pranked.

“You’re one of those homophobes, aren’t you, young man? We simply won’t have that. The letter is a lovely display of impassioned bisexual polyamorous feelings and it’s not going to be censored by the likes of you.”

Jaskier would have respected him for that if it didn’t get in the way of his plan.

The third plan was to simply smash the case and run away with the letter, head across the seas (he hadn’t been to Asia in quite some time it might be nice to go back) and come back in a few decades when everyone had forgotten about a petty museum thief.

Except hitting frantically at a glass case in the middle of a crowded exhibit? Maybe not his smartest idea.

“What the fuck did you do this time?” Geralt growled. It was the same question he’d growled down the phone when Jaskier had first rung him and asked him (very nicely, he might add) to come and pick him up. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have the option of simply hanging up this time around.

Jaskier decided to bow out of answering the question with a good old diversion, “That’s just rude. This time. Like you expect me to get into these situations.”

Geralt fixed him with a glare which, alright, maybe he deserved. He did tend to get into these situations rather frequently, but one had to spice life up now and then.

Luckily, it’s pretty simple to get Jaskier out and they were let off with a warning and – for Jaskier – a lifelong ban from the British Museum. Jaskier has come to find life-long only really means about half a century anyway, so he can live it. Why would he want to walk into that den of thieves anyway?

“Were you trying to steal back your lute?” Geralt asks on the walk back.

“Um. Something like that, yeah.” Hopefully, he can play it off as just trying to steal the lute back.

“I said no heists.”

“You’re not the boss of me.”

“Someone should be.” Geralt fits his key into their apartment door.

Unsurprisingly Yennefer is home, lounging as if she contributes to the rent on their sofa, doing her nails some stunning shade of purple.

“Me next!” Jaskier exclaims, already forgetting about the woes of his brief stint as a criminal that afternoon.

Yennefer raises a perfectly manicured eyebrow, “Don’t think so, lark. Only good boys who don’t get arrested get their nails painted.”

“Says you,” Jaskier scoffs, “You’re hardly one to follow the law. We get magic Netflix, Yen, that we don’t pay for because of your-” he wiggles his fingers, “it has movies that haven’t even be realised yet on it.”

She waves her hand dismissively, “I didn’t say you had to follow the law, I said you had to not get caught. I’m never caught, therefore, I get my nails done how I like.”

Jaskier scowled at her as Geralt reached over to switch on the TV. Still, he couldn’t keep up his petulant act for long. He had missed her after all; the times when Geralt and Yennefer weren’t together were almost as bad as the times that they were. Jealousy vs. longing, ah, what a hard existence he led. She’d only been back now a week, but he was so glad to come home to her that they weren’t even bickering very much.

Their couch wasn’t really big enough for three without excessive cuddling, so he took a seat on the floor while Yen and Geralt curled up together, his back pressed up against their legs. At some point someone’s hand – Geralt’s, he thought – ended up carding through his hair. It was nice, familiar, affection that only came with centuries of knowing and caring for one another. Eventually, Geralt started critiquing the monster law on the crappy show they were watching, which prompted Yen to start critiquing the magic.

It was almost enough to make him forget about the museum. If there was one thing age had brought with it, it was a sense of domesticity which had been oh so absent in their first few centuries. Witchering, Barding, maging—all of that still went on, behind the scenes. But they no longer lived on the road, they no longer lived out of a horse’s saddlebags. They had a home. They had movie nights. They had a life.

Once upon a time, barely a decade into their acquaintance, he’d asked Geralt if Witchers ever retired. He’d been told ‘no’ and yet…here they were. It wasn’t quite retirement, but it was something close to it, more than any of them ever thought they’d get.

It was just what they needed Jaskier thought. A good, long life deserved a bit of a retirement package, even if that package came intermittently interspersed with monsters and Jaskier’s absolutely hopeless pining for Geralt and Yennefer both.

After the show ended, they each had a glass of wine. Jaskier pretended he didn’t want to join them when they disappeared behind the door to Geralt’s room, and that he didn’t hear them moaning each other’s names while he tried to settle in for the night.

If there was one thing he was good at, after all these years, it was pretending.

-///-

In the end, it was Ciri who fucked it up for him; an inconvenience as he’d never much been able to manage staying mad at the girl.

Cirilla didn’t spend all her time in London; she still had the wanderlust she’d inherited from all her adoptive-parents (Jaskier was proud to be included on that list), and it took her across the world. Her Instagram account was a mess of photos taken in location after location: the pyramids in Egypt, the mountains of Poland, the ruins of Rome. Recently, her posts had also featured a tall, rather stunning brunette. Jaskier figured that was her main reason for coming back to England; so they could meet her latest girlfriend. (Ciri also had a way with women and men alike, which Jaskier would like to think she’d adopted from him too).

He was thrilled when he heard that she was coming home. He’d taken the day to prepare the spare room in their apartment (one that hadn’t been there a couple of days ago; there were advantages to having a mage staying with them) and was just finishing up making the bed when his phone buzzed.

Is there a reason why a love letter to Yen and Geralt is in the British Museum signed from you?? -C

Fuck. Fuck, not good, not good. Ciri was many, many things, but among her traits, he would definitely put ‘meddlesome’ near the top.

Because Historians are nosey pricks. Do NOT tell your parents. -J

;) – C

The winking face of a semicolon and a bracket stared up at him, composed of unforgiving pixels. She wouldn’t, would she? No. No. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

She wouldn’t.

He was sure of it.

Positive.

She wouldn’t.

-///-

“Where’s Cirilla?” Jaskier asked, his energetic bounce (which was partly built on the nervous energy of that damn winky face emoji what did it mean) slowing slightly when he saw their girl wasn’t entering with Yennefer and Geralt.

“She’s staying with Triss this evening,” Geralt explained, though really, that didn’t explain anything. Ciri and Triss got on excellently, but if she was coming home why wouldn’t she spend her first few nights catching up with them?

“But—we got her a room ready? Why would she do that? Oh, shit, what did you do? Geralt, if you were an ass to her about something then—” his words come to an abrupt halt as he notices that Yennefer’s left hand is curled around a piece of paper.

An old piece of paper. Practically parchment.

Oh no.

No, no, no, no—

“We got your letter,” there was a dangerous glint in those violet eyes that Jaskier didn’t know how to name. But he knew it didn’t bode particularly well for him. “Must have been an issue with the postal service, I think it spent half a millennium lost in the mail.”

“Ah. Well, yes, um—”

“And it’s really some of your worst prose, Jaskier. Completely dreadful. Let’s see…you compare Geralt’s eyes to ‘the burning sun of my desire’ a few times, and my hair to ‘the deepest waters poured from the holy grail itself’. Christian imagery? Really? What would the girls at Meleites temple that you swore belief to think about that?”

“Um,” Jaskier doesn’t know what to say. Here he is, stood in his hallway, staring down what feels like an ambush and there’s nowhere to run. Yennefer and Geralt are blocking the door. So unless he feels like going full childish mode and locking himself in the bathroom…

It is really, really pitiful that he actually considers doing just that.

Instead, he bites at his lower lip, “In my defence, I was…very drunk?” He’d spent quite a lot of that century drunk if he recalls correctly. He was going through a bit of a rough patch. That probably isn’t the only letter out there, though he desperately hopes it’s the only one that any nosey historians have managed to get their grubby fingers on. He doesn’t need any more embarrassment.

Because right now? This is the most embarrassed he’s felt in his entire existence and considering all the time he’d been alive…that was really saying something.

“Why didn’t you send it?” Geralt asks, and his expression is – if possible – even more guarded than usual; more guarded than Jaskier has seen it since their first lifetime together.

“Uh, because, as Yennefer just pointed out it’s literally the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever written?” his cheeks must be on fire, with how red they feel. He wants to look anywhere put them, but they’ve always been like the flame to his moth, he can’t keep his gaze from them for long. “Look, we don’t have to, um, I mean, look, they’re just words and it was a really long time ago now so really we could put this whole thing behind us if you wanted to—”

Geralt, if anything, appears to close off even more.

Yennefer does not. In fact, she looks even more predatory. Jaskier has the unnerving realisation that he is the prey in this scenario.

Yennefer takes a step forward. Her outfit, he notes dimly, is perhaps one of the most stunning he’s ever seen her in. She never gave up her taste in dresses, but today she’s donned black trousers, a white blazer and sheer necked purple top which is doing everything to accentuate her figure. He feels a little like a deer trapped in headlights.

“Oh, so you wouldn’t be interested in joining us tonight? Pity. And Geralt was so excited about finally getting you…”

“Wait, the fuck?” he can’t help it, it slips out, his brain trying to process what Yennefer just said.

You wouldn’t be interested in joining us tonight?

Geralt was so excited about finally getting you…

He feels like he’s slipped out of reality and into some fairytale world. He tries to recall if he and Geralt have been on a contract with any fae recently that might have entrapped him, but it’s been a few decades since they faced anything that could do that.

He shifts, one foot to the other. “Uh…is this some sort of trap?”

Yennefer laughs, and despite her expression, it’s bright and warm and he wants to bask in it for all of eternity. He gladly would, if she let him. “No,” she murmurs softly, she’s at him now, stepped close, and he didn’t really notice her moving but all of a sudden her slim hands are reaching upwards to cup his cheek, “it’s not a trap. Jaskier, songbird, we’ve been flirting with you for centuries now.”

Okay, now he knows he’s dreaming, “What? No. No, see, you haven’t, because I would have noticed that.”

“We touch you,” Geralt finally speaks up, “we ran our fingers through you’re the other night.”

“Yes, platonic touching. You touch me platonically.” Jaskier’s world is tilting on his axis

“Geralt let you slip on his lap in that pub three years back.”

“There weren’t many seats available! We were being economic with space!”

“We’re loud in bed when we know you can hear us,” Yennefer comments, and that one almost knocks the wind out of him.

“So…you knew. This whole time?”

Geralt steps closer now, “I could smell the arousal on you,” and wait, what? He knows Geralt can smell things like fear and pain and blood but arousal? A thousand-million moments flash to his mind, all becoming a hell of a lot more embarrassing, starting with his very first sighting of the man. “But we weren’t sure…”

“If it was more than that,” Yennefer finished for Geralt. They truly are the perfect couple, Jaskier thinks. He’s always thought that. Although sometimes it’s like something is missing from them, something that would make their on-again-off-again become more permanent, more stable.

They’re so close to him now. He can smell her perfume, he can feel the heat radiating from Geralt. It’s intoxicating. Fuck, fuck, if it didn’t feel so real he would be sure he was dreaming. “Okay…you’re going to have to give me a minute. And also, you’re fucking morons, you weren’t sure if it was more than arousal. I’ve—I’ve fucking been in love with you both for—the songs did you even listen to the songs? There’s like…so many songs I’ve written about you guys it’s unreal and—”

Yennefer shuts him up by kissing him.

Usually, he’d protest when Geralt or Yennefer try and shut him up. But this is a method he thinks he can get used to. Her other arm comes up to wrap around him, and he feels the fragile parchment brush the back of his neck.

“We should take this to the bedroom,” Geralt murmurs, low and he’s dropping a kiss to Jaskier’s neck and—

“Yes, yes, yes, enough time to talk later—”

Yennefer walks them backwards, and they stumble, and it’s messy and it’s wonderful and fuck Jaskier thought he’d felt all the pleasures of the flesh in his time but this…there’s nothing else like having the both of them.

Nothing else in the world.

-///-

“How did you even get it?” Jaskier asks a few hours (and more than a few rounds) later when they’re sweaty and panting and Yennefer has her head pillowed on Jaskier’s chest while Geralt plays with his hair.

“I’m a mage darling. And I did a little better than just trying to smash a case in, in broad daylight.”

“Hey! I was panicking!”

Geralt snorts. “You told me you were after the lute.”

“Which, by the way, if you can get the letter, you can get that back,” Jaskier narrows his eyes at her, “you could get them all back.”

She laughs and it is one of his favourite sounds in the whole world, “what would the fun be in that?” her fingers fiddle with his chest hair absently, “I like watching you squirm and suffer.”

Jaskier turns his head to press a kiss to her forehead. Fuck. He is so gone on her.

“And there is a vain hope that you might learn to take better care of your shit,” Geralt hummed, “teaching you a lesson.”

“The point is not that I take better care of my shit, Geralt, Gods how many times do I have to explain that it's about the principle of it all?”

Geralt rolls his eyes, shifts Jaskier’s head upwards and slots his lips against Jaskier’s again, lazy and content. He’s shutting Jaskier up again, but fuck, Jaskier can’t help but be glad of it.

“So, we’re dating now?” Jaskier murmurs, then frowns, “you can’t play on and off again with me. I am but a simple romantic soul, my heart won’t be able to take it.”

Yennefer and Geralt share a look. He’s not entirely sure what it means, but when Yennefer shifts closer and murmurs, “that won’t be an issue,” he finds himself believing her.

When he falls to sleep that night he is blissfully happy.

-///-

Ciri smirks her way through dinner, no matter how many times Jaskier calls her a traitor.

“It worked out, didn’t it?” She asks, green eyes far, far too innocent for her play in all of this. “Maybe you’ll have to forgive your grudge against historians now.”

“Never, Ciri.” He breathes, mock-aghast at the thought of dropping his grudge.

Still, at the end of the night when Ciri heads out to meet up with her current girlfriend, and Yennefer drags Jaskier by the collar to their bedroom, he will admit (privately) that perhaps she has a point.

This is the best thing that happened to him in all his long existence.

-///-

Yennefer doesn’t move out again, at least, not until Jaskier and Geralt do too. They stay together. There is no more on-and-off-again. It is like a hole was waiting to be filled all their lives, and now Jaskier is there and it’s like glue, keeping all three of them centred and – more importantly – communicating. So that changes.

Jaskier’s things keep turning up in museums. That doesn’t change (no matter how much he insists that he takes care of his stuff. Some things never do.

Jaskier wouldn’t have it any other way.

#geraskier #yenskier #geraskifer #Geralt/Jaskier/yennefer #yennefer #geralt #jaskier #the witcher #immortal jaskier #geraskier fic #yenskier fic #Geraskifer fic #niamh be a writing

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valdomarx · 2 years

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For @themountainarchives prompt: time loop.

The first time Geralt tries to cross the dwarven mountain pass, he watches in mute horror as Jaskier slips on the damp wood of the narrow walkway and falls through the clouds like a stone.

The second time, Geralt catches Jaskier but his movement dislodges Yen, and he gets to watch her fall instead.

The third time, he tries to grab them both and the creaking planks beneath his feet give way and all three of them fall together. He holds them close as the sharp rocks rush to meet them.

The fourth time he refuses to cross the pass. The party alternately yells, cajoles, and mocks him, and then they leave him behind. Even from half a mile away, he hears the moment the walkway strains and snaps and the screams that follow.

He tries leading the group, and then protecting from the rear. He warns people to be careful and tells them which planks to avoid. But no matter what he does the result is always the same: either Jaskier dies, or Yen does.

You cannot save them both, Destiny says. You have to choose.

Geralt has never listened to destiny before, and he does not intend to start now.

By the twenty-seventh time, watching the people he cares about falling to their deaths has become routine.

On the thirty-fifth time, Borch says, "You look tired, witcher. You should rest."

On the forty-third time, as Geralt desperately grasps the strap of Jaskier's lute case in one hand and the collar of Yen's fur coat in the other, knuckles turning white, Borch says, "You still don't understand, do you?"

Make your choice, Destiny orders. Or I will choose for you.

He can't. He won't. His grip tightens, and the three of them fall, again.

"I have to save them," he pleads. Borch merely shakes his head.

Every time Jaskier falls, he looks stunned, as if he can't believe it is possible for his life to end this way. Every time Yen falls, her face is a war between raw fury and the final acceptance of a fate long anticipated. Geralt never wanted to know how they would look as they died. He sees that often enough in his nightmares already.

By the sixty-fifth time, Geralt is fraying around the edges. The past and possible futures blur together in a grey haze of bleak inevitability. He takes a steadying glance at Yen, proud and capable, and Jaskier, warm and sympathetic.

He sits them down at the mouth of the mountain pass. "Yen, Jaskier." He looks from one to the other: Jaskier's cheerful openness, Yen's cool reserve. "I need your help."

Somewhere far over the mountain’s peak, Destiny smiles.

#geraskifer #geraskefer #the witcher #my writing #themountainarchives #i love a time loop fic #this is the super condensed version lmao

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j-pankratz · 2 years

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A Headache That Just Won't Shift

Pre-Relationshp Geraskefer for @febuwhump 2022!! Day one: head wound. Jaskier gets a concussion during the battle of Voleth Meir. While he's unconscious, Yennefer tries not to let her anxiety run away with her, Geralt accidentally eavesdrops, and the two realize their priorities are one in the same.

5368 Words. Can also be read here on ao3! Rated T for; a total of 9 uses of the word 'fuck'. I am being very strict about the rating here for some reason.

Other tags include: Hurt/Comfort, Everyone needs a hug, Yennefer is nervous about hurting people with her returned, chaos, Geralt gives advice he Cannot take, Geralt and Yennefer need to patch things up for a child AND a bard, No One Gets Left Behind, and Geralt is a fucking Tease when he wants to be.

After the cacophony of battle, the silence that drapes itself over Kaer Morhen is paralyzing. Jaskier can feel the cold mountain air lick the back of his legs, hears it whistle against the bloodied stone.

It’s a miracle, he thinks, that he’s alive at all, let alone unharmed. His head feels heavy and his vision swims— must be the nausea, must be the smell of death in the air, must be the alcohol he hasn’t entirely shaken off. He squeezes his eyes shut, sucks in a tight breath and clenches his teeth. Somewhere in the hall, he hears Geralt tending over Ciri, knows others are moving around him. His thoughts swirl, his head throbs. Distantly, Jaskier remembers the crack he’d heard, remembers when his head had hit the ground, the blackness that had engulfed him for a moment, and wonders if that’s bad— but when he tries to shake off the thought, he finds his body won’t cooperate. He stands there, or really it feels like floating, until eventually his eyelids creak open of their own accord.

One of the other witchers— Lambert, Jaskier thinks he remembers, is beside him now and he feels himself speaking, hears it like an echo.

“Just one big happy family, eh?” He thinks it sounds like him. He thinks he feels something tickling the back of his neck.

“No,” the witcher responds bluntly. Jaskier nods.

“Right, yeah.”

And then Jaskier falls away from the world, and he’s not really thinking much of anything at all.

***

The bard sways for a moment, and before Lambert can ask what’s wrong, he’s crumbling. “Whoa!” Lambert says, catching him and setting him down slowly. “Geralt!” he calls, but it’s Yennefer who runs over first still breathless and shaky after emerging from the portal.

“Fuck, Jaskier? Jaskier, come on,” she says as she kneels on the cold floor in front of him. Lambert is handling him a bit gruffly, looking for a wound, a bite, something to have caused Jaskier to collapse. Yennefer instinctually goes for his head, gently replacing Lambert’s hand with her own. She tries to pour what little confidence she has right now into keeping herself steady, cradling his neck. She can see now the deep rims beneath his eyes, his skin a ghostly pale, his cheeks more sunken than she remembers. Without the glint in his eye to distract her, it was clear how worn thin he really was.

“Might just be squeamish, or exhausted,” Lambert is saying, but not to her— she turns and looks up to find Geralt, his eyebrows pinched, his eyes wide, staring down at the unconscious Jaskier. Yennefer shakes her head just as she finds it— a trickle of blood, a small gash on the back of his head.

“Head wound,” she says softly, and locks eyes with Geralt. “I could heal him, but— I’ve just gotten my chaos back. I’m not sure it’s worth the risk; healing is delicate. I can close up the wound without issue, but that’s about all.”

She sees Geralt swallow thickly and nod. “He probably has a concussion. He needs rest. I’ll get him to his room—”

“Oh, shut up,” Lambert mutters. They both turn to look at him, and he just gives a nod of his chin to the hall behind them where Ciri and Vesemir are trying and failing to talk to one another. Coën lingers in the back, looking like he means to start cleaning but can’t move himself to start.

“Go. You have things to do. I’ll lay him in his room, you take care of yours.”

“Stay with him until he wakes up,” Geralt says with a sigh. “I’ll be there soon.” Lambert gives him a thin smile, and carries Jaskier gently away from the destruction of the great hall.

Geralt watches them go, something twisting in in his chest. He’s mine too, he’d wanted to say, but what right did he have? He’d told Jaskier to go, he’d left him behind. Things between them were alright, but he knew there was some… rebuilding to be done between them. Standing at the bard’s bedside until he woke would be too much too soon, he thought. And while Jaskier was unconscious, Ciri was still very much alert, and all of his priority should turn to her.

Yennefer still knelt on the floor, shoulders rising and falling under exhausted breaths. Geralt reached out a hand to her, and after a moment of staring, she takes it, rising and dusting herself off though Geralt drops it quickly, pressing it to his side— every touch with Yennefer burned sweetly since his wish had bound them, and letting the feeling linger would only distract him. When he reached Ciri, he put his hands on her shoulders, made her look at him, despite the pain that was urging her to look at the floor.

“Let’s get some air.”

The two headed out into the cold, Yennefer following close behind, and Geralt tried not to focus too hard on the steady rhythm of Jaskier’s heart, a distance away, beating despite it all.

***

Yennefer was the first to leave the cold, giving Ciri and Geralt some time alone. And, truthfully, to see Jaskier. Her feet carry her quickly, though she barely felt the steps, too lost in what-ifs. She finally comes to his room in the long and winding corridors; Jaskier lays atop his messy bed, a small torch burning in the corner, casting his face in shadows that made him look even more gaunt than she’d noticed him being. An unoccupied chair sits across from the door, just beside the bed.

“Has he woken yet?”

“No,” Lambert says, pushing off from the wall he leans against, arms still folded loosely against his wide chest. “Am I leaving you here with him?”

“Yes,” Yennefer says curtly and nods, turning her attention to the broken bard before her. She thinks of the alliteration herself and wants to roll her eyes because she can just hearhim in her head making a comment about it, but it just reinforces how distant he is right now even just lying before her. She sweeps an errant strand of hair from his face, and out of the corner of her eye notes that Lambert doesn’t move, just narrows his eyes and quirks his head. “Something I can do for you?” she asks, not looking at him. “Look, I know you don’t trust me,” she continues after a moment of frustrated silence, “but Geralt is busy with Ciri, I clearly have no place tending to your dead unless I’m asked, and he’s my friend too. I’m not going to eat his heart or anything. He needs someone to watch him.”

Lambert snorts a laugh, shakes his head and begins heading for the door. “Suit yourself.” Before he leaves, he turns to her once more, and this time, she looks up to meet his gaze. “You and Geralt. I get it now, at least.”

“Get what?”

“Stubborn, defensive, martyrs. Fit each other like a glove. But what about this one?” he asks, gesturing to Jaskier. “What’s he?”

Yennefer looked back at Jaskier. “…He doesn’t have to be anything,” she finally says, “but… he’s the only one who can stand us, most days.” Yen smiles and feels something tighten and quickly loosen in her chest. Must be the chaos getting reacquainted. “Anyone who can turn Geralt or I into a song has something special.” When she looks up at him again, Lambert is already leaving, giving her a sideways glance with raised eyebrows.

She rolls her eyes and looks back down at Jaskier. His chest rises and falls steadily, and still Yennefer is tempted to put a hand to his heart, to a pulse point, just to check. Just to ensure he was still here. It was unnatural, seeing him so still.

But that wasn’t true, was it? He’d been so still, so solemn since she met him again as the Sandpiper. He was elegant on stage and a klutz when they ran, but in the moments between he didn’t ramble on anymore, wasn’t flitting about just to give energy to silence. He’d been quiet and careful and steady. He’d aged years in months, just being away from Geralt. Being alone.

He’d been so alone, and so had she, and now he was— she felt tears price behind her eyes and rubbed them away. She wasn’t crying over this, not when he would be fine. It had only been… 10, 15 minutes since he had collapsed? And he was exhausted. He was fine. Everything would be fine.

But he would not be alone again. She would not leave him. Geralt would have to take Ciri, and she would have to catch up later, but leave Jaskier? Now, like this? Absolutely not. And if it made Geralt true her less… then fine. She would deal with it. She desperately wanted Ciri to be her first priority, but what sort of example would it set, leaving behind the one man both she and Geralt trusted beyond reason?

She shook the thoughts away, gods when had she started thinking so much, must be a side effect of the chaos returning, must be, just as the racing of her heart must have been as she gently checks the back of his head for the wound once more. It had sealed up nicely with the limited magic she’d performed, though she could feel a slight sweeping behind it. She combed her fingers through his hair, steadily working out the knots the drying blood was forming. God, did he need a bath. When was the last time he had bathed? Had he seen soap in the past few months? His hair certainly hadn’t seen the conditioning oils he used to be so fond of. What had it been— sage and lilies? Why the hell did she remember that? She moved her hand to cup his cheek, and though his eyelids fluttered a moment, they stayed closed. How could she remember anything other than the strange particulars of Jaskier she’d picked up over the years, at a time like this? Where he bought his lute strings, the stitches he preferred to mend his shirts. Things she’d learned in passing, things she didn’t even realized she had known.

Good things for a mortal enemy to know, she supposed. She’d tucked the knowledge away so someday she could use it against him, in a million petty ways, just to see those sharp blue eyes fill with surprise. Just to rile him up.

The minutes ticked on, and with each she wondered, a steady fear rising in her, whether she’d ever get to use that knowledge again, or if he’d just slip away here, another victim of her mistakes. The silence bored down on her, smothering her.

“You’re not talking enough,” she said eventually. “Which means I have to.”

***

“I should go check on Jaskier,” Geralt says to Ciri. They haven’t left the parapet, both taking in the cold fresh air, a stillness they know they might not feel again for some time. It’s not peace, Geralt knows, and has no idea when Ciri will feel that again— but he hopes she understands she’s not alone. Certainly not while he’s here. “You should rest.”

“I should help clean up,” she says softly. Geralt smiles at her insistence.

“Why?”

“Because— because they need help. Because it’s my fault.”

Geralt shakes his head. “It’s not your fault. It’s…” he sighs. “It’s not really anyone’s fault. Or it’s everyone’s fault, take your pick. But if you try and shoulder the responsibility alone, you’ll drown in it.”

“But it used me—”

“Used you, Ciri,” he stresses. “And you still fought back, you still came out of it. So go take a few minutes, go be with the people you did help save.”

As if on cue, Lambert comes and stands in the doorway. “You have a family here, Ciri. Letting people take care of you is a hard lesson, but you might as well start learning now.” He rises and walks to the door, nodding at Lambert who gives him a pat on the shoulder on the way out.

“Your witch is with him now,” Lambert mutters. “Hasn’t woken yet, but his breathing’s steady.” Geralt just nods as a rock twists in his stomach. He keeps heading for the door, listening for Jaskier’s familiar heartbeat to lead him to the room.

“Geralt!” Ciri calls after him before he makes it quite inside. “How did you learn it? Being taken care of.” Geralt turns back to face her for a moment and shrugs.

“I haven’t yet.”

Inside the great hall, Coën and Vesemir sit at a table, shaken and exhausted. Vesemir’s head sits heavy in one hand and his eyes are gently closed, squinting sometimes in pain. “She alright?” Coën asks as Geralt approaches.

“She needs people now. She’ll want to be with you, if you can.”

“Probably best to get a bit of distance before… dealing with all this,” Coën agrees, and rises. “C’mon, old man, let’s get outside.” Vesemir sighs and looks up at him, and Geralt can see the weight of a second massive loss within these halls in his eyes.

“You go. I’ll catch up. And Geralt, go be with that bard. I don’t want another pointless death here if we can avoid it.”

Geralt just nod and goes as Coën departs in the opposite direction. ‘Pointless death’ rings over and over in his head. He hadn’t led Jaskier to his death, had he? It was a concussion. He would be fine. He’d had worse, probably. Well, he certainly had, Geralt had been there for them. How many times had he gotten kicked around for defending Geralt before Geralt could drag him out of the tavern? How often had he nearly broken a bone stumbling through a forest? That infection he had gotten from a sore in his boots years ago after insisting fashion ought to take precedent? The fucking djinn?

Geralt stalled for a minute in the hall as he tried not to remember what he’d said to the bard all those months ago. Every time I’m standing in shit... Ah, fuck. He knew there was a lot to make up to Jaskier, and now there was even more. He hadn’t had to bring Ciri to Kaer Morhen— though Geralt knew and trusted that he would— and he hadn’t had to stay once she’d arrived— but of course, he had. And now he was unconscious, with a head wound, cold and without proper clothes, and all because Geralt had asked. What’s worse, he thought, was Jaskier likely would have ended up here even if Geralt hadn’t asked. Just because… he was Jaskier. Even after months apart, months alone.

He wouldn’t leave Jaskier alone again. So much had changed— not just the stakes of the shit storm they found themselves in, but the political landscape of the continent, and Geralt’s feelings as well. He’d meant what he’d said on the mountain, but that was before he realized what a blessing Ciri was and before he understood that Yennefer and he… well. That needed work too. But she was alive, they all were, and as betrayed as he felt, this was better than the months where he’d thought her gone.

Jaskier’s heartbeat pulled Geralt to the room like a rope to a drowning man. He knew Jaskier was fine, he was following his heartbeat, but for some reason his heart still sped up with fear. How long had it been since he’d fallen— 15 minutes or so, he figured, which was longer than Geralt would have liked but not a death sentence. Just… more complicated.

And more complicated still was the sound he heard as he approached Jaskier’s room.

“…going to want me to describe it so you can write it into a song, but I’m actually quite bad at that. Maybe worse than Geralt. It was… orange? I’ll have to show you the memory, if I can. I don’t want to spoil you though, I’m not doing that for everything.”

Yennefer’s voice carried to him through the empty halls. Geralt stopped— well. That wasn’t what he’d been expecting to hear.

“You’re going to get such annoying songs out of all this. By the time all this is done, when Ciri’s older— you’ll already have made her a legend on the continent. If it goes to her head, I’m holding you responsible. I don’t think it will, she’s more clever than that. She’s— fuck. She’s so smart, Jaskier.”

He lingered. Yennefer’s voice continued to wander, talking to Jaskier soothingly, like they’d been friends for years, like they were— he knew he’d missed a lot, but this was baffling. Hadn’t they loathed each other? Sure, they’d both known to hold back around him but this was… kind. Had Yennefer suffered a head wound too?

“…but the hat was too much. I’m… sorry you probably can’t go back to that work for a while. You should be proud of yourself… though I hope you’ll start taking care of yourself more. You’ve been more drained than I realized. I’m sorry. For… everything, if I could have done more, Jaskier, I swear I would have. You don’t deserve all this, let alone everything you’ve been through the past few months. Promise I’ll take care of you now, though. Like you did me. Just getting even, that’s all.”

And this, coupled with the silence that followed, sent Geralt into yet another spike of anxiety. Jaskier hadlooked tired, and that was before asking him to make a mad dash across the continent with Ciri in tow. What work had he been doing?

Before he realizes he’s done it, he’s standing in the doorway. Yennefer’s back is to him, sitting on the edge of the bed where Jaskier lays. He watches, stunned, as Yennefer hand drifts from Jaskier’s shoulder, up to his neck, lingering on his pulse point, before coming to rest atop his heart. He wants to say something but— well, he barely knows what he’s seeing here. Suddenly Yennefer’s back is straightening and her hand shoots to Jaskier’s.

“I’m not leaving him behind,” she says, not looking at Geralt. “You and Ciri will have to go alone. I’ll catch up by portal when he’s well, after bringing him somewhere he’ll safe.”

“Hmm,” Geralt says, for lack of a better response. They both just… stand there, watching Jaskier in steady silence. Geralt’s eyes float where Yennefer’s hand clutches the bards, watches as she begins to do some sort of healing magic. He frowns. “Didn’t realize he cut his hands when he fell.”

“He didn’t,” she says coolly. “Fire fucker got to him.”

“When?”

“A month or so ago, I suppose. I didn’t have my magic so I couldn’t help him in time.”

“What did fire fucker want with Jaskier?”

“Information, Geralt,” Yennefer bit out. “Everyone knows who Jaskier is to you. Anyone who wants Ciri, who wants you, wants him.” She pauses, moving to his other hand. Geralt can’t see her face but he imagines the tight set of her jaw, just as she knows he will. “He didn’t give anything up, if you were wondering.”

“I know.”

“How could you possiblyknow.”

“He’s Jaskier. He… I trust him.”

She wants to laugh, to spit something out on Jaskier’s behalf, but there’s no use. She can hardly bring herself to be angry at anyone else after today. Besides; she knows it’s not what he would want.

“Yen. I don’t… I’m not leaving him.”

This is finally what gets her to turn to him. She watches his face take in the fact that she had quite obviously been crying not long ago, and hadn’t bothered to wipe away the evidence.

“I… owe him. And I need him. And if people are after him… the safest place would be with us. I don’t want to split off again. Besides. He needs people now, too. We all do.” Bringing Jaskier along, Geralt realizes, might even be the selfish thing. They would have to ask him. But Jaskier deserved the choice, to know Geralt wanted him. If Jaskier would have him at all.

Yennefer nods, and swallows. “Good. Fine then. We leave when he’s ready.”

“There’s plenty to be done in the hall, I won’t leave Vesemir and the others to deal with it alone. We can work on that while he rests.”

“Right.” Gently, she moves his other hand, any remnants of scars now gone, to rest on his chest.

“…He’ll be alright, Yen,” Geralt says, and she laughs, rueful and exhausted.

“He always is,” she manages. She hears Geralt walk into the room behind her, cross till he’s on the other side of the bed.

“Do you know about the time he had his clothes set on fire by a baker in Rivia?” He asks, settling into the empty chair. “And he put it out by jumping into the lake. Which was full of drowners.”

“Of course it was,” she snorts. “Idiot. It’s always something with his clothes. Did you see the hat he was wearing weeks ago?”

“Mm, no, I didn’t. Did I miss out?”

“Oh, terribly. It was ridiculous. The feathers were longer than his torso.”

Geralt chuckles. “Shame, really.” And after a few beats, “How did you… you two. You’re… close, now?”

Yennefer looks down at Jaskier. “Tell me more about how he got lit on fire?”

“…I should go before he wakes up.”

“He’ll want you here.”

“Will he? There’s some… tension there.”

Yennefer nods. “He will. This, you can trust me on.”

***

Everything, and he means it, everythingaches.

This is the first thing Jaskier is aware of; his world is painful and there’s not much escaping from it. The next thing is the low hum of voices.

It’s hard to decipher who’s talking, and harder still to understand what they’re saying. The voices are at least calm and pleasant, so he wasn’t worried about coming to more harm. Someone’s voice gets a little louder— saying his name? maybe? — and that’s probably good. He tries to turn his head to face the voice but find his head is actually the same weight as a dragon, possibly several, and he winces against the effort.

Then there’s a hand on his head, stroking his hair, and that has to be good. Another effort to turn to this other figure, though he finds it’s just as difficult. Pain shoots through him from the back of his head and outward, and oh, gods, what hell has he fallen into? He knows he shouldn’t panic but he feels his breath pick up all the same, and then there’s a large, weighty hand on his chest, and the hand stroking his hair moves to cup his cheek. His eyes still shut tight, lids too heavy to lift, he feels a warm sweet breath close to his face and suddenly, the pain subsides a bit.

“I don’t know how long that will last, but it should help him a bit,” Yennefer is saying on his left. Oh, Yennefer.

“Jaskier. Are you with us yet?” And that’s Geralt’s voice, which feels like it makes no sense. But of course it makes sense, it’s Geralt. His brain his swimming.

“What— where’m…” he manages to eke out.

“You hit your head during the fight,” Geralt informs him with a gentle rub of his hand to the chest. Jaskier’s… rather exposed chest. This is a lot to awaken to. “You’ve been out for a bit. What do you remember?”

“I… big fuckin… things. Whacking about. Magic shit.” Jaskier’s eyes finally creak open. Blissfully, there’s not much light in here to scald his corneas with. Yennefer, on his left, looks exhausted and relieved and he thinks her eyes might be a little puffy. Her hand moves from his cheek to rest beside his own hand, while Geralt to his right moves his hand to squeeze Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Good summary.”

Jaskier frowns. Why are they here? “Mm— you— you okay? Where’s the… short. The. royal… child.”

“Ciri’s fine, all considered,” Yennefer tells him. He can feel her hand just a heartbeat away from his. Geralt’s thumb rubs his shoulder. It would be overwhelming on a normal day, which he hasn’t admittedly had in many months.

“You?” He looks between them.

“We’re fine, Jaskier.” Geralt finally removes his hand from Jaskier’s shoulder, and he’s both thankful for it and misses the touch instantly.

“And my magic is back.” Jaskier’s head whips to her too fast, and he starts at the pain. “Don’t do that! You need to rest.”

“It’s back? It’s just… back?” She nods, and he feels a smile bloom across his face. “Yennefer, I’m so glad. I told you, you know. I knew it. You’re really alright? You both should… sleep, or something.”

Geralt shakes his head and rises from his chair. Which is the moment Jaskier realizes Yennefer was actually perched on the side of bed with him, she was that close. Oh. Well. Okay, okay. A lot was happening. “You’re the one who needs rest,” Geralt says, and Jaskier understands it, the shoe has dropped. Of course they were being kind to him— Geralt would have to speed off with Ciri, now that this place wasn’t safe. Yennefer would of course accompany, as Ciri needed someone to help her with magic. And Jaskier, needing to recover, would stay here, alone, with the other witchers he had barely greeted before yesterday in their destroyed, grief stricken keep. And he’d be there for weeks, and it would be too difficult, too dangerous for Geralt or Yennefer to contact him or come get him, so he would be off on his own again. And that’s what they needed to tell him, so here they were. Being kind. Softening the blow. What else should he have expected?

Jaskier nods, bites his lip and looks away. “Well. Alright. I’ll get to resting. All of you get… you know, get… leaving. I’ll see you some time, don’t worry about it.”

There’s silence, and Jaskier keeps his gaze steadily pointed out the door, so as to ignore both of them. They hadn’t expected him to pick up on it, he supposed. Well, he had, hadn’t he. His fists clenched and he sucked in a tight breath.

“…You’ll need… maybe a week or so to recover before you can safely get moving,” Yennefer says carefully.

“Great! Thank you for the… the timetable there.”

“And then a few weeks of being very careful, but you’ll be able to walk, or ride.”

“You’ll have to ride with Ciri,” Geralt says off-handedly. Jaskier hardly registers it. “So, we’ll leave… in a week, maybe a week and a half, depending on how you feel.”

“My magic will help, but you will have to heal on your own ultimately. I’d hate to scramble your brain more than it is. Once or twice a day I’ll give you some soothing, hopefully you won’t need more despite being on the road.”

Jaskier nods, just accepting it, until he really hears them and lets their words register in his mind. Something in his chest tightens, his throat feels hot, his mouth is dry. His eyes search the room, as though there’s something he’s missed. Finally, he looks at the both of them, and goes to say something but his jaw just hangs slightly ajar. He tries again, and again, looking between them, with their raised eyebrows and their slight smiles. Eventually, his brilliant, lauded, poetic mind comes up with the following; “…What?”

“We’re not leaving you here, Jaskier,” Geralt says, and something in him burns with righteous vindication, his fists unclenched, he feels like punching the air. Yes, he’d forgiven Geralt— when there’s love and loyalty, it’s unfortunately easy. But oh, that fire still burned in him, would for a long time. And now—

“Unfortunately, you are in fact stuck with us.” Yennefer’s eyes twinkle. “By something more powerful than destiny, or chaos, even.”

“…Oh?”

“Hmm. Choice,” Geralt says.

And, oh, well if Jaskier’s heart had been poised to take flight, now it was gliding on air.

“If,” Geralt continues, “if you’ll have us.”

Those may also be tears stinging the backs of his eyes. He nodded quickly—okay. Choice was nice.

It didn’t exactly fix anything. His lute was gone. His ability to be the Sandpiper was seriously compromised. So was his bardic reputation. And his reputation in general. Well, one in the same. He was still recovering over hurt from his best friend and muse and love, absolutely his love. And Yennefer wasn’t his enemy anymore, but the sheer fact that she was sitting at his bedside was sending his heart into a tizzy in a way he could only parallel to how he’d felt about Geralt, and thatwas going to be complicated no matter how it went. And Ciri was, what, 14? And he was dreadful with children. And his hands were still healing, scarring over in spots from where—

Wait. Jaskier frowned, and wiggles his fingers. He’d just clenched and unclenched those hands without the slightest twinge of pain a moment ago. He brings them up to look.

“Healed those up for you,” Yennefer says. “Just getting even.”

“Of course,” he mutters. She’d left the callouses from his lute. Oh. He tries to clear his throat and then continues coughing.

“I’ll get you water,” Geralt says, and he’s out the door. Geralt of Rivia, the witcher, the white fucking wolf, was going to get him a cup of water while he lay in bed with a head wound. Oh.

“…Thanks,” he says roughly, and watches the witcher walk out the door. “I feel like I missed something. How long has it been? Several weeks? What’s going on,” he asks Yennefer. She smiles, and it’s intoxicating, so he keeps going. “It’s terminal, isn’t it. That’s what’s happening. It’s all over, just say it Yennefer.”

She bites her lip to hide a smile and takes his hand. “I’m so sorry to say it Jaskier. But it’s true. You have a deadly case of idiocy. There’s no cure.”

“You wound me,” he says with fake outrage, “I am already suffering and still you put me through more pain. How cruel, how dare—”

“The water is poisoned too, hope that helps,” Geralt says dryly as he enters, handing Jaskier the glass. On the bed he slowly rises, propping himself against the meager excuse for a headboard. He sips slowly, the cool water cutting through him. He feels another tendril of exhaustion wash away from him.

“Good fuck that’s cold. Mm, the other option is that this is all a dream. Which feels possible. I don’t know how to tell if I’m dreaming. Someone say something to help me know if I’m dreaming.”

“You’re not dreaming,” Yennefer says. “Would your head hurt if you were asleep?”

“How should I know! Maybe I just won’t remember it hurt when I wake up. Geralt, say something you would only say if this were real life.”

“This is real life.”

“Well! That’s no help at all! Say something you’d only say if I were dreaming.”

Geralt seems to consider this for a moment. Yennefer rubs her face. “This will end poorly.”

“No, it won’t. Well, maybe. Geralt, think of something I wouldn’t imagine you saying to me! Some complicated witcher thing, or no, I won��t have a way to know if you’ve just made it up. I don’t know. Say something big!”

“I love you,” Geralt says simply, at which point Jaskier yelps in surprise and his glass goes flying, spilling all over Yennefer and shattering against the stone. Geralt gives a shit eating grin and Yennefer groans, rising as she magically whisks away the water.

“That—that clears up nothing, actually.”

“I could try again.”

“Don’t you dare! Yennefer is saying to Geralt, who has his hands raised in surrender. It wouldn’t last for long, Jaskier knew, this levity and playfulness, and his throbbing head reminded him it truly all was an uphill battle from here. Even still, it would be together, and by choice, and it was going to be more than enough.

#febuwhump 2022 #Butterbard's Fics #febuwhumpday1 #jaskier whump #Geraskefer #yennskier #geraskier #geraskifer

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morgana-greenleaf · 2 years

Text

playing with fire

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Witcher (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion & Rience Characters: Jaskier | Dandelion, Rience (The Witcher), Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Triss Merigold Additional Tags: Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Whump, Kidnapped Jaskier | Dandelion, Post-Season/Series 02, geraskefer can be read as platonic or romantic, Broken Bones, Cutting, Burning, Begging, Kaer Morhen, Creepy Rience, Magic, slighly handwavy, Curses, SCRYING, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Geralt apologises Summary:

When Jaskier first wakes, he thinks he’s dreaming. He’s back in the chair, wrists bound to the arms, feet tied together, coat gone. The room’s dark, just like last time. Except for the lone candle sitting on a shelf at the far end of the room. It’s not a dream.

Post-series 2, Jaskier gets captured by Rience again, and tortured.

word count: 4001

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#the witcher #the witcher netflix #jaskier #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #triss merigold #rience #whump #jaskier whump #post series 2 #angst #fic #geraskefer #geraskifer #yennskier #yenskier #geraskier #s: jaskier whump #late.fic

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kueble · 3 years

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Completely Unnecessary

This is for @detectiveriley for the Witcher Bog discord exchange. I hope you enjoy it! You asked for hurt/comfort with fussing over Geralt. I hope this delivers!

Teen, 1600 words. Warnings: canon-typical violence

---

Geralt knows this fight isn’t going his way, but it’s too late to do anything about it. He focuses on swinging his sword, trying to bring the griffin down or at least injure it enough that it won’t go looking for Jaskier back at their campsite. The beast swipes at him, and he’s barely able to move aside. He has a tight grip on the sword, but his dominant arm is definitely broken and he’s always been weak on this side. Still, he has to at least try, if only for Jaskier’s sake.

Sweat and blood are dripping down his face, and he shakes his head to clear his vision as he rushes forward again. Clutching his injured arm to his chest, he barrels into the griffin, managing to thrust his sword into the soft underside of its belly. It lets out an unholy squawk and starts to sway, and Geralt is barely able to step back and avoid being crushed as he slumps to the ground.

He tries to stay on his feet, but he’s lost too much blood at this point. He’s pretty sure at least a couple of ribs are broken, and if he’s not mistaken, one has pierced his left lung. He wheezes as he collapses to his knees, dropping his weapon as he falls. The griffin is in its death throes, body twitching as it dies. At least Jaskier will be safe.

His last thought before he loses consciousness is that he really should have brought his potions bag with him.

---

Geralt’s whole body is throbbing when he wakes up. He doesn’t even bother trying to move yet, just lays there with his eyes closed as he assesses the damage. His chest is tight, and he remembers the pain that shot through him when the griffin he’d been fighting kicked him in the sternum. His right arm is broken but healing quickly, too quickly, and he imagines that Jaskier found him and managed to get him to a healer in time. Though how, he has no clue, as they were pretty far from the town that gave him the contract, and he is fairly certain he was dying.

His legs seem ok, but it’s hard to tell for sure since he’s caught in a painful daze right now. Still, it should feel worse. The healer obviously knows what they’re doing. He doesn’t feel overly drugged or out of it, so the healer must have some magic as well.

He blinks his eyes open and looks around the room. They’re in what looks like a tent, which is odd, but there’s a warm fire going in the corner and the scent of mint hangs heavy in the air. He starts to sit up, hissing as his ribs tell him it’s a bad idea, and all he hears is a heavy sigh from behind him.

“Are you trying to undo all the work I’ve done?” Yennefer asks, sighing again. He tries to turn, but he can’t, and is thankful when she steps into his line of sight. Apparently there’s a lot more to the tent than what he can see, which makes sense if she’s involved.

“Jaskier used the xenovox?” he guesses, and she nods solemnly. “It’s only for emergencies.”

“You nearly died, you idiot. It most definitely falls under the emergency category,” she reprimands, but there’s no heat in her voice. “He was frantic. Thought you were bleeding out in his arms. And while I’m sure the ballad would have been very heartfelt and flowery, thankfully it can wait for another day.”

“I forgot my bag,” Geralt mumbles. “Didn’t mean to worry anyone.”

“Yes, well you did. So now you get to deal with some mother-henning,” Yennefer says with a shrug.

“Geralt!” Jaskier shouts as he bounds into the tent. His hair is wet, and his shirt unlaced, but he’s grinning wildly as he races over to the bed. “I’ve sat at your bedside, ever the forlorn lover, for two days and you wake up when this one finally talks me into cleaning myself up at the stream? Utter nonsense.”

“She couldn’t magic you up a bath?”

“Her chaos was put to better use,” Jaskier says, giving him a pointed look.

“Turns out bringing someone - a witcher mind you - from the verge of death takes a bit more out of me than I’m used to,” she replies, offering a small smile. She turns and heads to the table, picking up a tea kettle and pouring something into a mug. She blows on it as she returns, cupping it in both hands before nodding at Jaskier to help him up.

“Careful, small movements,” Jaskier tells him as he sits against the headboard and helps Geralt do the same. He’s mostly leaning on Jaskier, reveling in the solid warmth of him, and his body protests as he shifts, but they collectively manage to get him upright. Yennefer hands him the mug of tea and he takes it with shaky hands, rolling his eyes when Jaskier reaches out to help hold it.

“I can handle this,” he complains, but is immediately given two matching looks, and even he knows when to admit defeat. Yennefer slides onto the bed behind Jaskier and curls up against his other side. She rests her head on his shoulder, and he slings an arm around her.

It’s all rather domestic, and if he wasn’t half dead, he’d be a lot more excited about it.

“Where is Ciri?” he asks before taking a tentative sip of what he finds out is mint tea. Yennefer added a little honey, and he smiles into the warm mug, realizing how lucky he is that these two want to spoil him. He never knew how good things could be before they came barreling into his life.

“Vesemir has her. I made arrangements for her to stay about a month or so. Meaning that sadly, you two will be stuck with me for a bit,” she answers with a soft smile. Jaskier reaches up and ruffles her hair, laughing when she swats weakly at him.

“I should be ok in a couple of days. As much as I love having you here, you don’t need to make me your priority,” he says, frowning into his tea. Ciri needs her more. Sure, they had all holed up at Kaer Morhen for a while, but Ciri’s chaos was more than the old keep could handle. She was better off with Yennefer, as much as he longed to keep them both near.

“Bullshit,” Jaskier says dryly, arching an eyebrow when Geralt opens his mouth to argue. “We deserve to be lazy for a bit. Besides, you get the joy of my company year round, but poor Yen only sees me for small snatches at a time. Have a little compassion.”

“As long as we all agree it’s unnecessary,” Geralt concedes with a pout. His ribs choose that moment to act up, and he nearly spills his tea as pain shoots through him. Without blinking an eye, Jaskier takes the mug and hands it off to Yennefer who sets it on the bedside table. Geralt lets out a weak cough and collapses on him again.

“Completely unnecessary,” Yennefer snorts before leaning across Jaskier’s broad chest and looking him square in the eyes. “If I ever have to hear Jaskier that frantic again, I’ll kill you myself. Now how about we take a little nap and then I can show you the new armor schematics I brought you.”

“New armor?” Geralt perks up, and both his lovers shake their heads at him. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t adore every second they get to spend like this. Perhaps they’re right and they do deserve to be lazy for a bit. The war and the monsters will still be there in a month.

And he has two very good reasons to make sure he will be, too.

“Yes, apparently it’s from the manticore school. Funnily enough, it has a place for your potions, right here,” she trails her fingertips from his shoulder to his breastbone, and Geralt hums thoughtfully.

“Potions? On a hunt? How remarkable!” Jaskier sighs out, and Geralt just buries his face in the crook of his neck, groaning as he hides from their sarcastic judgement.

“Could I have a bit of a break, considering I nearly died? If you’d both be so kind as to fuck off?” Geralt asks with a smirk. Jaskier gapes at him, faux offense written across his face, and Yennefer rolls her eyes again.

“Only if you rest and let us take care of you. No complaints. You’ll do everything we tell you to,” she says, shooting him a pointed look. He nods sharply and she offers him a soft smile. She’s gorgeous when she looks at him like this, like they belong to each other. He’s not sure how he got lucky enough to have these two to nag him for the rest of their lives, but he’ll take it.

“And then once we’re all healed up, perhaps we can let her boss us around for real, if you catch my meaning?” Jaskier giggles, winking at him in a way that should be ridiculous but somehow isn’t. His body is far from ready for what he’s suggesting, but Geralt nods anyway, his eyes closing on their own accord.

This time, as he drifts off, it’s to a warm hand on his back and the scents of home surrounding him.

#my fic #bog exchange #the witcher #hurt/comfort #geraskifer #geraskefer #ot3 #geralt #jaskier #yennefer

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geraskierficrecs · 3 years

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Enemies to Lovers Fic Recs

Enjoy a collection of my favorite trope of all time--enemies to lovers!

Thieves and Riches by Avoiding Average

Geralt is just trying to do a favor for an old friend when he finds himself tied up and shoved into a storage closet by a group of robbers. There he meets Jaskier, an enigmatic cat burglar who is a little too good at teasing a reaction of the normally stoic detective.

The Lesser Evil by impalaloompa

1674 and piracy is rife throughout the Caribbean. Plenty of work for a Pirate Hunter such as Geralt. But when he takes a contract to hunt down a pirate captain who is interfering with important trade, a harsh truth arrises that will question his morals and he will be forced to choose between two evils, and risk the one thing he never thought he would find. Love.

All Those Books That We Both Drowned by Queer_and_trashy

Pankratz was the exact breed of professor that grated Geralt to the bone. All new-age learning styles that throw away any sort of examinations and insisting on his students calling him Jaskier. The bastard had a five-star rating on Rate My Professor, while Geralt was consistently stuck at 3 with students complaining his tests were difficult or lectures were boring. Lecture style teaching was all he knew; he wasn’t about to change that now based on the opinions of some eighteen-year-olds.

Geralt- a grumpy, workaholic, history professor- meets the flamboyant music professor Dr. Pankratz and immediately develops a rivalry. When they are recruited to work on a project together said rivalry and the stewing sexual tension between them make things... complicated.

The Enemy of My Enemy by didoandis

The soldiers half support, half carry her stumbling across the camp to one of the carts, iron wheels sunk in the mud. A rope is tied firmly round the shaft; it snakes down and ends in a knot around some poor sod’s neck, the man curled in around himself, facing away. One of the soldiers takes the rope tied to her shackles and lashes it to the wheel. The other kicks the poor sod in the side, apparently for fun. He moans, turns, uncurls. Yennefer sees brown hair, blue eyes. She sighs.

“Oh come on! Wasn’t the torture torture enough?” Jaskier demands.

When Yennefer’s captured after Sodden she has to take the help that she can get. Even if it does come from Geralt’s ridiculous bard.

A Gentleman’s Guide to Seducing Your Fiancé by AvoidingAverage

It is a truth universally known that Geralt fucking hated Viscount Julien de Lettenhove.

Their rivalry was the stuff of legends, the sort that drew the eye and the idle gossip of members of court. It ensured that each time they came within five feet of the other, the entire room would go still, watchful. Eager. For what could be more delicious, more exciting than a fight between the Crown Prince and his new betrothed?

The Other Half by dapperyklutz

With the rise of the social media app Sole Mate, everyone seems to be getting their happy ending. From his students and fellow faculty members at Redania University and down to his family, it feels like life is mocking Jaskier. He doesn't need a bloody app to meet his soulmate because he already met him. Geralt Rivia.

And he doesn't want anything to do with Jaskier.

Following a nervous confession and rough confrontation, Jaskier does his best to navigate through life knowing his soulmate doesn't want him. He has his lovely students in his Creative Writing class. He has his friends and his cat and his music. He doesn't need Geralt to complete him or to make him happy. Jaskier is perfectly fine on his own, ta very much.

But alas, that's not what destiny has planned for him.

Make Me a Bargain, Dear Heart

The first time Geralt made a deal with the fae, he was young and stupid enough to think it wouldn’t change his life.

To be fair, he’d been dying at the time. ______________________________

Bound by the favors he owes the strange fae who'd come to his rescue, Geralt finds himself an unwilling participant a world of bargaining magic and immortal games. Was Jaskier a friend or was he something worse than the monsters Geralt hunted?

#enemies to lovers #angst #soulmates #modern au #professors au #geraskier #geraskifer #hurt/comfort #slow burn #whump #fic recs #fic list #Regency AU #piracy au #mutual pining #hurt jaskier #hurt geralt

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leverage-ot3 · 3 years

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leverage sense8 au where clusters don’t always have to be eight people, they can vary in size and the ot3 is their own little cluster

eliot (and parker) taking over when hardison is in a bind and needs help but they’re too far away to be physical backup

parker switching with hardison to pick locks that he can’t quite get the hang of just yet

hardison hacking into a system while visiting eliot because eliot needs to focus on the bad guys and his hacking still needs some work

parker being a mastermind and being able to plot having three viewpoints at once

hardison can’t speak spanish? not anymore, thanks to parker and eliot!

hardison and eliot can’t grapple? now they can, with parker giving a little metaphysical helping hand!

eliot needs to rest? parker and hardison will bully the fuck out of him until he goes to sleep!

and guys, it makes grifting so! much! easier!!!

(not that they need it, but all that easily accessible combined knowledge can really come in handy during a con!)

they are an entire team in three different bodies

#I was thinking about a witcher sense8 au and wanted to talk about it but my witcher sideblog has like no followers #so if you are interested in that au PLEASE MESSAGE ME I HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTS #jaskier *gets into trouble with a spouse at 1am*#geralt: *jolts and wakes up out of a dead sleep. sees what’s going on. sighs and proceeds to kick the shit outta a bunch of guards and get #jaskiers ass outta there while jaskier watches in glee because YOU CARE GERALT YOU DOOOO AND I CAN SEEEEEE ITTTTTTT #geralt just grunts while jaskier is like 😼😺😸#also that’s how they always find each other. they’re always aware of where the other is #yes this can end up being geraskifer if you wish I’m not picky #pls come talk to me about witcher x sense8 pls I’m begging #leverage ot3 #eliot spencer #alec hardison #parker #leverage #parker x hardison x eliot #crossovers #leverage x sense8 #sense8 #leverage aus #fic ideas #fic idea #mine #i am the queen of aus and crossovers now #another leverage au? i didn’t see that coming yet here we are (*jaskier voice*)#it’s missing sense8 hours #I’m mentally bopping to the nothing matters remix from the nomanita wedding in the finale #curse them for never releasing it to iTunes because that shit SLAPPED #same with their version of experience by ludovico iforgethuslastname #the witcher #in the tags

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i-write-stories-not-sins-bitch · 2 years

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I want to write a Y/N x Geralt or Jaskier or Yennefer or even a Y/n x Geraskifer fic so bad but like, do people want that? I’ve never posted fics on my tumblr even though that’s why I created an account in the first place.

Ugh I’m torn between doing it and not.

If I get one or 2 people telling me to, then I will.

#the witcher #witcher jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #geralt of rivia #fic #geralt x y/n #x y/n #y/n x JASKIER #y/n x Yennefer #y/n x geraskifer

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brothebro · 3 years

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I come bearing geraskefer soulmates

Link in reblog 💙

#geraskefer #geraskifer #the witcher #elf!jaskier #soulmates au #soulmarks #scars as soulmarks #geralt #Jaskier #yennefer #geralt x jaskier x yennefer #bro writes fic

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notebooks-and-laptops · 4 years

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Five Times Yennefer and Jaskier failed to seduce Geralt (and one time they succeeded)

If Geralt tried to pinpoint the beginning of Yennefer and Jaskier’s descent into insanity, he’d probably place it sometime in mid-May.

Of course, he could go back further. Yennefer and Jaskier’s decision to enter into a relationship together might - to a strangers eye – appear more than a tad insane. Even just standing next to each other revealed their stark differences; Jaskier always looked like someone had plucked him straight out of a bubble-gum factory, while Yennefer looked more like she’d stepped from the pages of a gothic Victorian novel.

And then there was the bickering. Because they bickered. Constantly. Since Geralt had made the (possibly inadvisable) decision to introduce them, he had lived a life dogged down by a near-constant tirade of jabs and snark, of low blows and teasing, of rolled eyes and frustrated rants. It was safe to say ‘going to the pub’ was no longer the relaxing ‘wind down’ it once was.

All of this was to say, that Geralt wasn’t entirely sure if he should be shocked or completely unsurprised when he walked into his shared apartment with Jaskier and found them making out on the couch, half-naked, unapologetic and, when they pulled themselves off one another to shoot apologises in Geralt’s direction, grinning from ear to ear.

Opposites attract, right? Isn’t that what people always said about Geralt and Jaskier?

“I always thought it’d be you,” Eskel had grunted at him that night, over beers. It was a Friday, which meant that they’d all met up at the pub, and Yennefer and Jaskier had apparently decided to drop being sneaky now Geralt knew about them. Right now, Yennefer was over at the bar, hopped up on a barstool, leaning in too close to Jaskier’s personal space and laughing in a rare, care-free manner.

Geralt didn’t know which one Eskel was talking about. But…he was right either way. Geralt had thought it would be him too. In fact, he’d spent a few nights muttering to Roach as he led her into her stable about how he could never choose between the two. “Yeah,” he muttered, throat dry no matter how much of his drink he gulped down.

Maybe this was for the best. Had he ever made Yennefer laugh like that? Had he ever brought the spark of contented pride Jaskier had been wearing all night to the musician's face?

No. Probably not.

Geralt pretended he wasn’t watching as Jaskier lent his head on Yennefer’s shoulder, his taller frame meant the position should look awkward, and perhaps it did, a little. But Yennefer didn’t shrug him off as she reached for their drinks and Geralt noticed her turn her head to press her lips to his forehead.

Geralt diverted his eyes, staring resolutely at the wall in front of him, jaw clenched.

He was happy for them.

He was. Really.

And maybe it was a special type of insanity that got them together, but honestly? Even Geralt could tell they were good for each other, that they made each other happy, that they balanced each other out.

In mid-May though? In mid-May, they started being weird around him. Not just around him but…in general. Something was definitely wrong with them. Geralt just had no fucking clue what.

-/-/--1--/-/-

“What are you doing tonight?” Jaskier was bouncing on the balls of his feet, as Jaskier was prone to do. Geralt had never seen him manage to stand still for longer than thirty seconds. It wasn’t endearing. It absolutely was not endearing.

Geralt shrugged off his coat. He’d just come back from the stables, and honestly, he was pretty tired. He was looking forward to an early night.

Maybe Lambert was right, and the grey hair was ageing him too fast.

“Probably your washing up,” Geralt muttered, instead. He’d been living with Jaskier since they were twenty-three – almost five years now – and in all that time he’d never seen the other bother to pick up a sponge.

“Hey! I wash up sometimes,” Jaskier lied, a pout on his lips. (One that was, again, absolutely not endearing).

“Hmmm, the same way that you manage to stay quiet sometimes?”

“Fuck off,” Jaskier laughed, “Look, will you just stop the barrage against my frankly sparkling personality and instead let me invite you to watch a movie?”

Geralt almost pointed out that ‘not-doing-the-washing-up’ wasn’t a personality trait but decided against it. “Isn’t it a Thursday?”

Jaskier clapped, eyes sparkling with mischief, “well done! You’ve successfully grasped the concept of the days of the week!”

Geralt gave him an unimpressed look. He was perfectly capable of recalling the days of the week, and apparently, he was better at recalling Jaskier’s schedule than Jaskier was too. Since Jaskier and Yennefer had gotten together, Thursdays were ‘date night’ which usually meant Geralt kept himself scares so he didn’t accidentally see Yennefer and Jaskier ‘watching a movie’ together, or, as it could be more accurately called, having sex on the couch.

“Come on,” Jaskier put on that pout again, “please? It’ll be fun. We can pick something non-trashy. Something about horses. Or Swords.”

Well, maybe Yennefer had cancelled and Jaskier wanted company for tonight. Geralt could do that. Geralt had a…rather annoying problem of being unable to properly refuse Jaskier anything, though he covered it up with copious amounts of grumbling. He had an awful feeling that Jaskier had managed to catch on regardless.

“Lord of the Rings,” Geralt grunted, finally.

“Oh, you don’t have to talk me into hours of watching a hot rugged Aragorn run around all hot and rugged, you’re on,” Jaskier winked, “I’ll order us pizzas.”

It should have been as simple as that, really. Geralt and Jaskier had had movie nights plenty over the duration of their friendship, though perhaps they’d had less, recently. (Geralt didn’t begrudge it. Jaskier was finally settling into an actual serious relationship. Geralt was an adult, he could handle being left on the outside sometimes). Still, Geralt knew this routine. If Geralt wasn’t careful, a movie night was liable to devolve into Jaskier putting on stupid musicals, singing and dancing along with them but…well. Geralt could privately, in the confines of his own head, admit that he found that sort of amusing.

A chill night in might even be nice. Geralt couldn’t deny he’d felt a little odd since Yennefer and Jaskier got together. He was happy for them, he was. It was simply that happiness for them didn’t necessarily mean happiness for him. It was fine, though. Completely fine. He just…sometimes went out of his way to give them some space. Like on a usual Thursday night.

Only, at about five to seven, just as Jaskier was queuing up the movie, announcing “extended editions only, we’re not cowards,” there was a knock on the door. Geralt went to answer it assuming it would be the pizzas.

It was not the pizzas.

“Yen.”

Geralt tried to school his face into something that wasn’t shocked or disappointed. She was his friend, after all, and he was always happy to see her. Yet the plunge of her neckline and her carefully applied makeup would suggest that she wasn’t just here for a quick pop in. Thursday night. Date night.

Geralt was about to be cast out of the comfort of a movie night, in order to give them space.

Which was fine. It was fine.

Luckily, Geralt was rather good at keeping his face blank.

“Good evening,” Yennefer offered, “may I come in?”

Belatedly, Geralt realised he was blocking the door, and quickly made to retreat, trying not to feel skittish in his own home.

“Of course. I think Jaskier thought you weren’t—”

“Yennefer, dearheart,” Jaskier appeared in the doorway, sweeping her into a kiss like the whole thing was as easy as breathing, a warm hello, affection given without a thought. Geralt wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t.

Jaskier pulled back, after a beat too long for kissing in company. “you’re a bit late. We were just about to put on the movie.”

“Without me?” Yennefer raised an eyebrow, “that suggests you were rushing so I wouldn’t have time to veto it.”

“Never,” Jaskier intoned solemnly, “I’m offended you would even suggest such a thing.”

Geralt awkwardly shuffled, about to retreat to his room.

“Geralt picked it anyway. It’s Lord of the Rings.”

“Ugh,” Yennefer rolled her eyes, “the magic system in that is bullshit. What exactly is the point of having a Wizard in a movie if they never fucking do anything?”

“Yes, yes, we know, you can tell us about all the better fantasy novels while we watch,” Jaskier matched Yennefer’s eye roll, patting her shoulder mock consolingly.

“You can watch whatever,” Geralt really didn’t understand what was going on here. Why would Jaskier invite him to date night? Unless he was…worried Geralt was feeling left out or something. Geralt cringed internally. The last thing he wanted was a pity invite.

“Nonsense, it’s better than listening to Jaskier’s rendition of I dreamed a dream for the fiftieth time. At least this movie has plenty of hot men and women to draw the eye,” Yennefer headed towards the living room, ignoring Jaskier’s spluttering about Hugh Jackman's looks. “Come on Geralt.”

continue reading it here on ao3!

#Niamh be a writing #bit too long to post all on tumblr #geraskier #geraskifer #yenskier #ot3 #yennefer #jaskier #geralt #Geraskifer fic #yenskier fic #geraskier fic

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