#[hmm i was just thinking back- is Alba okay eating/drinking with others?

[julek]

day 17 ❄ freshly baked bread

winter prompt challenge

The leaves have turned brown by the time they start trailing north. Geralt had had a significant number of contracts south of the Alba, after meeting Jaskier in Lyria, and they’d been slowly making their way into Kaedwen so they can arrive at the keep before the first snow. Jaskier’s joined him for many winters at Kaer Morhen now, and he knows better than to wait too long, careful to expose the bard to frozen temperatures when he doesn’t need to. 

They’re making camp under a white fir after a long day of walking, but Jaskier doesn’t seem too tired. 

“Where are we, exactly?” he asks Geralt, absentmindedly strumming his lute. 

Geralt stokes the fire. “Not too far from Hagge.”

Jaskier frowns and licks his lips, and Geralt knows he’s looking at his mental map of the Continent, which, in Geralt’s humble opinion, isn’t all that accurate. 

“Hagge... You know I always confuse that one with Brugge? Must be the spelling. Anyway! If we’re near Hagge, we’re near Lettenhove!” 

Geralt sits down on a log next to the bard, whose eyes are glinting with excitement. His voice always takes on a soft note when he talks about his family, his expression warm and fond — Geralt knows he misses them, and sadly doesn’t seem to get time to spend around them. Whenever they’re in a city that’s big enough to have a good correspondence system, Jaskier writes to his sisters and his parents, telling them all about their lives as they trudge around the Continent.

Jaskier heaves a small sigh. “Would it be too late for a quick detour? I know you want to get to Kaer Morhen as soon as possible, but I haven’t seen my family for a while and I’d love to hug my mother goodbye for the winter— you don’t have to, though, they can be a lot.” He huffs a laugh. “And maybe— it’s okay if we can’t, actually.”

Geralt shakes his head, a fond smile on his face. He thinks of all the times they strayed from their path just because Geralt had caught word that another Witcher was passing through, the times Jaskier’s missed a banquet just so he could have another round of ale with Geralt’s brothers. “It’s fine, Jask. We can ride out tomorrow.”

“Really?” Jaskier beams, his smile entirely too big for his face and too bright for Geralt to handle, and leans forward to wrap his arms around Geralt’s shoulders. “Oh, that’s so kind of you! I hope you’re prepared, though, they’ll have a million questions about you and they’ll want stories, Geralt—”

“Like you did?” 

“Yeah.” Jaskier pauses, a small smile on his lips. “Like I did.”

 -

 Getting to Lettenhove isn’t hard by itself — the road’s well-traveled and the closer they get to the village, the more Jaskier remembers. They’ve walked through the marketplace and the smell of freshly baked pies lingers, Geralt’s mouth watering at the thought. There’s a narrow path just on the side of the road, and that’s the one leading to Jaskier’s family’s house. It makes a beautiful picture, the golden treetops curling into one another in each side of the path forming an archway, the stone house in the distance. Jaskier’s scent is tinted with excitement and happiness, and it feels warmer than usual, a bit more muted — home, Geralt thinks. 

Jaskier’s family is almost as warm and bright as he is; Geralt’s barely set foot in their house and he’s already pulled into a strong hug, Jaskier’s father clapping on his back with a smile. 

“You’re the Witcher!” Jaskier’s mother exclaims, and there’s nothing but pure joy in her scent. “It’s so exciting to meet you, after hearing all of Julian’s songs!”

Geralt can’t help but smile, already overwhelmed by their hospitality. After Jaskier’s sisters have hugged him welcome and introduced themselves —Kitty, Lizzie, and Jane— Geralt’s lead to a room on the second floor, which he belatedly realizes, belongs to Jaskier.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Jaskier’s mother starts as he sets his pack down by the door. “Had we known we’d have guests, we would have gotten the guest room ready— you’ll have to share with Julian, if that’s alright? Or I could ask the girls to find some clean linens and—”

“Thank you,” Geralt says, kindly interrupting her rambling, which sounds familiar. He bites back a smile. “This is perfect.”

She blushes bright red and goes downstairs, and her voice carries as she orders her family around to start preparing dinner. Geralt moves around the room, taking every detail in. Jaskier’s room looks like he’d imagine, and, at the same time, nothing like it — he immediately feels drawn to it, the dark wooden floors and soft blankets on the bed, the bookcase filled with all kinds of books and the seemingly endless stack of papers by his desk. It’s so him, so Jaskier, Geralt can’t think of another word to describe it.

“It’s weird, seeing you here.” Jaskier’s leaning against the doorframe, a soft smile on his lips. 

“Good weird?” 

“Definitely good weird,” Jaskier says, and presses a chaste kiss to Geralt’s lips, then wraps his arms around him and lays his head against his shoulder. “I’m glad we’re here. Thank you.”

Geralt gently squeezes his waist, pressing his nose against the crook of Jaskier’s neck, breathing in. He hums against his neck.

“Are you hungry?” Jaskier says when they part. “I’m sure Mother would love to stuff you full of pie and wine.”

“Hmm.”

 -

 Geralt wakes in an unfamiliar room. He frowns and goes to reach for his sword when he sees a familiar tangle of brown hair peeking out of the blankets, the warmth of Jaskier’s body against his own grounding him. He drinks Jaskier in; the way his legs are tangled in his, the bard’s head resting on the crook of his arm, his slow breathing. Sunlight filters through the thin curtains and falls around them almost gently, painting everything golden in the early morning. 

Geralt traces small circles on Jaskier’s arm, basking in his warmth. They don’t get many moments like this on the road, and Geralt relishes every second of them — no contracts ahead, no obligations, nothing other than laying close to each other. He closes his eyes and gently nuzzles his nose against Jaskier’s hair, hearing the steady thrum of his heartbeat. 

“You’re thinking sappy thoughts, Witcher,” Jaskier murmurs against his chest, his voice thick with sleep. “I can tell.”

Geralt smiles, then presses a kiss to his temple. “Good morning.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier pulls the blankets over his head, making small sounds of protest, something along the lines of how it’s too early to be awake and too cold to get out of bed, then brings Geralt under with him, draping the covers around them. 

“Hi,” he says in the dark under their pile. It’s too warm for Geralt, but for Jaskier, he’ll stay. 

“Hi,” Geralt answers, and presses a kiss to Jaskier’s lips this time. It’s slow and sweet and lazy, their lips finding each other again and again, and it’s perfect. “We should get up,” he says when they pull back for air.

Jaskier pouts. “You’re an ingrate, Geralt of Rivia. I bring you to my home, feed you and bathe you—”

“You haven’t bathed me.”

“—share my bed and blankets with you, only for you to demand we get up at the crack of dawn, when we don’t even have anything pressing to attend to. Rude, that’s what you are.”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt says, kissing the frown between Jaskier’s brows. “Will you find it in your good heart to forgive such an indiscretion?”

Jaskier purses his lips, considering. “Hmm, I think I’ll have to. After all, I can’t risk being uninvited to Kaer Morhen. I’ll miss Eskel too much.”

“It’s him you’re after, then?” 

“Of course,” Jaskier says with a grin. “This was all a ploy to get to your brother, my one and only.”

“I think you are getting uninvited to Kaer Morhen, after all.”

Jaskier gasps in mock outrage. “Geralt! You wouldn’t.”

“Hmm.” Geralt tosses the blankets aside and sits up on the bed. “It’s decided.”

Jaskier, with his hair all mussed and sleep still tugging at his eyes, kneels on the bed, and he’s never quite looked so beautiful. “I could convince you to change your mind?”

Geralt turns to look at him. “How?”

Jaskier lifts his eyebrows and licks his lips. “I’m sure we can come to an arrangement.”

 -

 After a mind-blowing blowjob and another few hours of sleep, Geralt and Jaskier make their way downstairs. The house is silent, and there’s a note on the kitchen table: Went to town to run some errands before the cold settles in. Help yourselves to breakfast! We’ll be back at noon. 

“Well, seems we’ve the house to ourselves,” Jaskier says and grabs a mug. “Tea?” Geralt takes a seat at the table and nods. “Okay, I don’t quite remember where everything is— What would you like to eat? I’m sure there’s fruit, and some nuts, and we could— Oh! I could make some bread for you!”

Geralt lifts an eyebrow. “You can bake?”

“Of course I can!” Jaskier starts pulling ingredients out of different drawers and sets them on the table. “I’m quite a proficient baker, mind you.” 

Geralt hums and sips at his tea when the water’s done boiling. Jaskier chatters away, bright and awake, and he’s wearing one of Geralt’s shirts. His hair is still a tangled mess, but his cheeks are flushed and he’s in such a good mood his scent is intoxicating. Geralt’s seen him in many ways — performing at banquets and taverns, forehead damp with sweat and a smirk on his lips; composing by a riverbank, his brows furrowed in concentration and a pen hanging from his lips; moving around Novigrad like he owns the place, in one of his brightest doublets and a smile plastered on his face after he downs a bottle of Everluce. He’s beautiful in each and one of Geralt’s memory, but right now, with a line of flour across his cheek, wearing Geralt’s shirt and kneading bread for him, sharing his bed and his home and his life with him, this is the most beautiful Geralt’s ever seen him. 

“I love you,” he blurts out.

Jaskier stops mid-rant and brings a hand to his cheek, his eyes wide. “I— you do?”

Geralt breathes out, his chest feeling lighter than it has in years. “I do.” He steps forward, moving closer to him, and presses his hand on top of Jaskier’s. “I do.”

Jaskier smiles, and it feels like sunshine is pouring down on Geralt. He bumps their foreheads together. “I love you too.”

Geralt lets out a quiet laugh and presses a kiss to the corner of Jaskier’s mouth, their breaths intertwined. He thinks of Kaer Morhen, the way the bard takes to it like he’s lived there forever, like there’s no other place he’d rather be. The way he sits by the fire with a book and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, the way he teases Eskel and Lambert like they grew up together, the way he follows Vesemir around the keep with a million questions waiting to be answered. The way he belongs. 

And Geralt belongs too, he realizes. Here, in the middle of Jaskier’s family’s kitchen, with his arms wrapped around his bard as sunlight washes over them, and the scent of fresh bread and love fills his senses. He’s home, too. 

#mywriting #winter prompts #geraskier ficlet #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #this is so sappy i apologize in advance #they're in love. they're home. i don't need anything else