#and jaskier just picks it up and moves it where he wants

[flowercrown-bard]

A willingness to trample him

“How about this one?” Jaskier asked, pointing at the brown mare with the white stripe down her face. “She looks just like the last.” Geralt frowned at the horse, crossing his arms.

“No.” 

Jaskier reached over the fence, attempting to pet the horse. She regarded his hand suspiciously. 

“Seriously Geralt, what’s wrong with her? She’s strong, she’s fast, she even is -” The horse snapped at his hand and he pulled it back with a yelp. “See? She’s even as grumpy as the old Roach. Just the perfect fit for you.”

Geralt grunted in disagreement, scowling at the horse, as if she had personally offended him. 

“Not her.” He grabbed Jaskier’s sleeve, pulling him away from the horse and towards another one. Jaskier threw the farmer, who was watching them with in annoyance, an apologetic look. They had been at this for what felt like hours. He couldn’t fault the farmer for getting impatient with them. 

“Listen,” Jaskier said, touching Geralt’s arm lightly. “I know this is hard for you. Roach was…Don’t tell her I said something nice about her, but she was a good horse. A good friend to you.” 

Something twitched in Geralt’s expression. 

“But giving her away was the right choice. She’ll be happy in her old age, munching on all the flowers her heart desires and getting all the pets from Henryk’s children.” 

“I know it was right,” Geralt said. “Better than if she stayed with me and got hurt.”

Strangely, Jaskier got the feeling that Geralt was avoiding his eyes. Jaskier narrowed his eyes at him, scrutinising his carefully blank expression. His heart stuttered, when he realised what Geralt wasn’t saying. 

“Oh.” He swallowed and skipped ahead, so he was standing in front of Geralt, forcing him to look at him. “I want you to know,” he said in a mock-haughty tone, “That I’m neither old nor do I lack the sense to run away when there’s danger. I’m not going to get hurt by being with you. If anything, I’d be a danger to myself and society, when I’m on my own.” He dropped the falsely arrogant tone, becoming more sincere. “I’m not going to leave you, alright?”

Geralt’s lips twitched. “You’ve got crow’s feet.”

“Those - “Jaskier squawked, his voice moving up in pitch, “- are laughter lines! Because I just so happen to smile a lot when I’m around you and there’s nothing you can do to make me want to stop being with you. So.” He put his hands on his hips. “Don’t you worry about where to retire me to. I’m not leaving. In fact,” He turned around again, hopping onto the fence, “I would really appreciate it if you could finally find a new horse that you’re happy with so we can continue travelling together.”

During his tirade, Geralt’s face softened. He rolled his eyes fondly. 

“You’re being an idiot,” Geralt said. He opened the door of the enclosure and walked past Jaskier. “Naturally.” With a grin, Jaskier hopped down, following Geralt dutifully, as he looked over the horses. He tilted his head. “You weren’t that picky last time. It took you less than an hour to choose your new Roach.”

Jaskier still remembered that day well. He hadn’t known Geralt for long then and he was sure Geralt wouldn’t have taken him with him to pick a new Roach, if Jaskier hadn’t insisted.

“It was easier then,” Geralt said, mirth in his eyes, “I just picked the one that looked like she wanted to bite you.”

“You!” Jaskier gasped dramatically. “I knew it! You wanted to use your horse to get rid of me! So what? A biting horse didn’t work, so now you’re looking for one that wants to trample me?”

Geralt snorted and shook his head in fond exasperation. “Something like that.”

“Something like that,” Jaskier echoed. “Go on then. Tell me what it is you’re looking for in your most precious companion. I can take it.”

Geralt shot him a look out of the corner of his eyes. “I like a companion who’s quiet.”

“Liar,” Jaskier sing-songed easily. 

“Fine.” Geralt let his eyes wander to  a light grey horse, with a mane that might have been white once, if it hadn’t rolled around in the dirt before. “I like… loyalty. A horse that doesn’t just stay with me because she has to but because she learns to like me.”

“Well, that’s not hard to find,” Jaskier said. “You’re very likeable. Animals love you. Unless they’re cats, of course. But I’ve never met a horse who wasn’t wrapped around your little finger. What else?” “I like a  horse that…doesn’t mind if I lean against her? Or touch her even when it’s not necessary. She should be affectionate.” Jaskier nodded along sagely. 

“Pretty,” Geralt said so quietly and quickly that Jaskier wasn’t sure he had heard it right. 

“What?” “I like a…a pretty companion.” A bright red tinted the tips of Geralt’s ears and he turned his head away from Jaskier. 

“Oh.” Jaskier fiddled with the hem of his sleeve. “Well, of course. Your companion must be pretty to fit you.” He coughed awkwardly. “So. We’re looking for loyalty, open affection and beauty.” 

They had reached the muddy horse by now. At the sound of Jaskier’s voice, she lifted her head, ears curiously turned towards him. As soon as Jaskier lifted his hands, her ears turned back and she snapped at him. 

Immediately, Geralt guided him away, scowling at the horse in disappointment. 

“Why not her?” Jaskier asked, nudging Geralt playfully, “She certainly has that willingness to trample me.”

“Not her,” Geralt said simply. He nudged Jaskier right back, with far more strength than Jaskier had used. It almost sent Jaskier tumbling into a pile of horse droppings. If it wasn’t for Geralt’s hand shooting out and catching him, Jaskier surely would have ruined his new doublet. It would have been a shame. He had bought it specifically to make a good impression on the new Roach. 

That is, Jaskier was saved by Geralt’s hand and by something nudging his back until he was standing upright again. He turned around to see a light brown horse look at him curiously. 

“Oh.” Jaskier lifted his hand to let her snuffle it. “Hello there.” He could feel Geralt’s eyes on him, as he scratched the mare between her ears. She snorted a gust of warm breath into his face happily.

“You’re a pretty one,” Jaskier said, laughing in delight, as the horse’s soft nose snuffled at his hair. “And affectionate! Helpful too. Helpfulness is almost the same as loyalty, wouldn’t you say, Geralt?”

He turned his head to find Geralt looking at him with softness in his eyes.

“Too bad she’s keen on helping me instead of trampling me. She wouldn’t be of much use in helping you get rid of me. She likes me too much.”

As if to prove him right, the horse shoved him again, making him stumble straight into Geralt’s arms. Geralt caught him instantly. When Jaskier looked up, Geralt’s face was but a hand’s breadth away from his. Jaskier’s heart skipped a beat, when he noticed a light red dusting Geralt’s cheeks. 

“She’s perfect,” Geralt said, one hand rubbing a small circle into Jaskier’s arm, while he reached out his other hand to pet the horse. “This is our new Roach.”

#geraskier #geralt #jaskier #roach #ficlet #fic #witcher #the witcher #my writing #fanfic

[redskull199987]

Heyy hii I'm not sure if you're still taking requests, but I'll try my luck. Can you write something about Cahir and the female Witcher reader? Thanks in advance if you write.

If I am being brutally honest, I had a lot of fun writing this. Season three renewed my love for Cahir, so I hope you like this:)))

A Bond

Cahir x female!witcher!reader Request

Word count:0.9k

Warnings:it's all fluffy. I probably got carried away and let my inner Jaskier come out

Summary:You and Cahir had been friends for a long time and as he needs your help, you don 't hesitate to be there for him…

Masterlist

You and Cahir had known each other for a long time. You had met him on your travels through the country, as he was attacked by the beast, you were hunting. He was rude at first, but still thanked you. 

The rest was history.

You started running into him over and over again. To a point where it was inevitable that a friendship would form. With you, Cahir could be himself. He was just a normal Person. No Nilfgaard, no white flame, no war. Nothing of that mattered to you. You were neutral. All you were interested in was his person. And he knew that your interest was genuine. And he let it happen. He let the friendship form and prosper. An unfeigned friendship that connected you. 

And when he was cast out, thrown away by his master, like an old doll he didn't want to play with anymore, Cahir came to you. He found comfort in you. He had been through so much, but for once in his life, he felt safe. At peace. He might even say “Home”.

Of course, he would never tell you that, but it surely was on his mind, everytime, he looked at you. Everytime you returned to his small hut, after finishing a Witcher contract. Bruised and battered, but back with him. And only him. Only Cahir got to see you like this. He took pride in knowing that he was the only person in this world, you would trust this far, besides your brothers maybe.

But you told him that you only saw them once a year, in the winter. You told him stories of Kaer Morhen and how you had grown up there, under Vesemir´s care.

You told him that it was hard for you at first, being the only female Witcher. But it had gotten better, the older you got. The more you learned and saw in this world. You realized that no one really cared, as long as they could use you for their dirty work. 

“How was it?”, Cahir asked, forcing himself to return to the present moment. He had let his thoughts wander, after a pleasant silence rose between you, as he carefully cleaned your wounds.

“It was alright.”, you finally said,”It was a small kikimora. Still young and inexperienced.”

“In fighting?”,Cahir asked, not really knowing a lot about the beasts that your job involved. You had told him some things, but a kikimora was new to him.

 You only smiled at him, before finally answering his question:”No, not in fighting. In killing."

He was quiet for a second, not knowing what to say, upon that statement. But luckily, you just continued recounting what had happened.

“The Monster´s head was worth a lot of coin though. I won't have to leave for at least a month. The money will be enough.”

Cahir smiled at you, glad that he got to spend more time with you.He slowly got up from his place in front of you and sat down beside you on the bed:”Thank you. You don't have to do this. Supporting me in my exile, I mean. But you still do it anyway. And for that I am thanking you.”

“Oh Cahir.”, you smiled, your hand rising to softly caress his face. He closed his eyes, letting himself fall into your gentle touch.

“I would proudly ride into death for you, without hesitation.”, you mumbled, as he opened his eyes. You heard how his heart picked up a beat. How his breath stocked for a second, his eyes lingering on your lips, instead of your yellow orbs, which were intently watching him, awaiting his next move. 

You had often thought about your relationship with him. Often let your mind wander to what ifs.

 What if you were more than just close friends? What if you knew that you wanted to spend the rest of your lives together. Never leaving each other. What if…

“I love you.”

At first you barely heard him. His words were so quiet. His voice shaking and his eyes darting everywhere else, but your face.  He wasn't usually this hesitant. He was an outgoing and stern person. Always sure of himself and his capabilities. He used to be a Nilfgaardian officer after all.

“Cahir.”, you mumbled, after a few seconds of burning silence. He finally looked at you. His expression now a bit more confident. His heartbeat had slowed and he finally dared to look you in the eye.

“I love you, Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach. With all my heart.”, you smiled, your eyes almost glowing with excitement.

Cahir didn't need to hear anything more, before he finally leaned in. Your eyes closed and his lips collided with yours. He was gentle and sweet. Passion laid in his actions. And you knew that he meant every little bit, he had told you.

“I love you.”, he said once again, before slowly pushing you back against the bed. You followed along with his movements, until he was hovering above you.

“I love you.”, you also repeated. You were bare in front of him. Not in a physical way, but emotionally. No one had ever known you as Cahir did. Not even your brothers. He knew your heart and soul. Something that you had shown no one before.

And as he slowly lathered kisses over your body, your moans and whines mixing with his groans. As you fully let him in, you knew that he was the only one  you would ever love this way. He became part of you and you part of him. 

 An unfeigned bond, that was never to be broken again.

#the witcher #witcher #the witcher edit #the witcher edits #the witcher oneshot #the witcher fanfic #the witcher cahir #cahir #cahir edit #cahir edits #Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach #cahir os #cahir oneshot #Cahir x reader #cahir fanfic #cahir request #Eamon Farren #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #cirilla of cintra #jaskier dandelion #os #fanfic #request

[wren-of-the-woods]

True Slug's Kiss

When Geralt finds himself entangled in a magical mishap, Jaskier is prepared to save him as usual. What he is not prepared for is the sheer strangeness (and sliminess) of the situation— nor the feelings that it will force him to reveal. This is 2.3k of Geraskier shenanigans, rated T! Also on AO3.

If there was one thing Jaskier really should have learned over his years of traveling with Geralt, it was that he should never trust Geralt when he said everything would be fine. 

Here Jaskier was, picking his way through overgrown and vine-entangled elven ruins, all because he trusted Geralt to know what he was talking about. 

“Oh, it’ll be fine, he says,” Jaskier muttered to himself, doing his best Geralt impression as he clambered over what was probably once a stone pillar. “‘I’ll just do a quick sweep of the ruins for monsters. I’ll be back in a jiffy.’ Then, flash! Bang! Something loud and fucked up and probably magical has happened! And now I, a humble bard, and once again stuck cleaning up the messes of Geralt of Rivia.”

He climbed under the remnants of a door in a great stone wall that was now more of a great stone heap, wincing as water dripped into his hair. He was headed in what he hoped was the direction of the flash he had seen. He had stared at the ruins for long enough as he waited fruitlessly for Geralt to return that he was reasonably sure he knew the way. It shouldn’t be much further; or at least, he certainly hoped not, because he’d left Roach and most of their things on the top of the hill overlooking the ruins and he did not want to leave them there longer than necessary. 

Jaskier passed the tall beech he had noticed just behind where the flash had been. He picked his way through large, scattered blocks of stone strewn across a cobbled street.

“Geralt!” he called. There was no response. Taking a deep breath, he rounded a corner and looked into the courtyard where he thought the probably-magic had taken place.

The sight that greeted him was… not what he expected. 

For one thing, there was no particularly unusual wreckage or carnage. There was no sign of a fight. The courtyard, in fact, was completely unoccupied— except for a large, yellow something beside a heap of stones right in the center. 

Jaskier stood there cautiously for a moment, watching. The thing did not move. It was long and low and rather squishy-looking. It did not seem particularly threatening. 

Slowly, Jaskier approached. 

As he drew nearer, he began to make out more of the thing’s appearance. It was as long as Jaskier was tall, and perhaps three or four hands’ width at its widest point. It was yellow and gave off the overall effect of a rather slimy banana. It had antennae protruding from one end. It was, Jaskier realized as he began to draw near, some sort of exceptionally large slug. 

He kept a healthy distance between himself and the giant slug, mindful of the fact that this thing was probably involved in whatever had happened to Geralt. As he watched, he realized that it was moving. It was, very slowly, turning to head towards him. 

He took a step back. The slug continued to turn. 

“Nice slug,” he said placatingly, slowly starting to back away in earnest. “You are a very nice slug with no malicious or magical intentions toward any humble bards, I’m sure.”

The slug was still turning. Jaskier noticed that it had something around what passed for its neck. 

He paused, frowning. He watched as the slug turned to face him. When it finally came around, his jaw dropped.

Around the slug’s neck was a chain, and from the chain hung a very, very familiar medallion. 

“You’re Geralt,” said Jaskier, master of the seven liberal arts. “Fucking fuckity fuck.”

~

The less said about the next few hours, the better. Suffice to say that, with great effort, determination, ingenuity, and some slime, Jaskier managed to get the slug up to where Roach was waiting before nightfall. The slug was just as surly and stubborn as any white-haired witcher could be, and any lingering doubts Jaskier might have had about its identity were laid to rest when, the moment they were close enough, Roach trotted up to the slug, sniffed it, and whickered happily. 

“What am I going to do with you?” Jaskier asked slug-Geralt once he’d had a moment to breathe. The ex-witcher looked rather incongruous surrounded by their packs and Jaskier’s lute. 

Geralt-slug, predictably, said nothing.

“Is this a curse? It’s probably a curse. That pile of stones I found you by could have been an altar or some other object of magical fuckery, retrospectively. Shit. I’m going to have to find a mage, aren’t I?”

Geralt-slug said nothing. He looked, to Jaskier’s frazzled imagination, rather judgemental. 

Jaskier sighed, long and deep. “I suppose it’s Yennefer time.”

~

It was a long, long few days as Jaskier tried to get Geralt to Yennefer. 

He discovered very quickly that there was no way he could travel at Geralt’s pace without getting bored out of his mind, and try as he might, he could not figure out a feasible way to get the giant slug to ride Roach without Roach becoming incredibly unhappy, so he was eventually forced to spend a day constructing a makeshift sled out of logs and Geralt’s cloak and clothes so that Roach could drag him along behind her. Jaskier draped his own cloak over Geralt to keep him from drying out, and also to keep him from bewildering any unfortunate passers-by. 

The nights passed rather uncomfortably, too; Jaskier had to subsist off of their rations and what little he could find himself. He also tried to gather some nice leaves and greenery for Geralt to eat, because his size seemed to impede his ability to find his own without squashing them. 

The only upside to the whole situation, as far as Jaskier could tell, was that Geralt couldn’t complain when Jaskier sang incessantly. He could invent as many ditties about his irritation as he wanted without repercussion. He wasn’t entirely sure that Geralt could even hear him. 

If he had to go through this ordeal without anyone to listen to his complaints, he was damn well going to get a decent song out of it. After a several days of travel, he had something he was reasonably happy with. He sang it incessantly to stave off boredom. 

The witcher called his barker to save his sorry ass To find him after he got lost in ruins of cities past A strange yellow shape oozed forth to request a deft assist But the Witcher was still unseen, the story had a twist

The Golden Slug with the golden slime A wolf’s head medallion on its neck shined Far squishier than a day-old lime It covered me with grimeI’m all covered in grimeThere’s so much slime

The strange yellow slug turned to the bard with pleading in its eyes The bard realized the truth, he saw through the spell’s disguise He knew he had to help it, or else throw away his lute For it was a curséd witcher, not a giant slimy fruit

Oh, the Golden Slug with the golden slime A wolf’s head medallion on its neck shined Far squishier than a day-old limeIt covered me with grime I’m all covered in grime There’s so much slime

Eventually, he did manage to make it to the town where he had last heard of Yennefer being. The little party received several confused looks as they made their way through the streets. Jaskier eventually managed to get a (mildly frightened-looking) child to point him in the direction of the sorceress. 

He stood on Yennefer’s doorstep, feeling distinctly bedraggled and rather absurd. He was fully aware of the fact that he, or at least Geralt, had a decent chance of being lampooned if not laughed out of town altogether. 

He was not disappointed. 

Yennefer did not stop laughing for a solid quarter of an hour after Jaskier explained the situation. She broke down again when Jaskier brought Geralt into the alley behind her house for her to examine him. It was distinctly awkward to stand there as she looked at a against slug and giggled. He really hoped Geralt appreciated/would appreciate his sacrifice. 

Eventually, Yennefer completed her examination and vanished back inside to do some research. Jaskier deposited Geralt in the stables with Roach, hoping that it wouldn’t cause a disaster, and bullied Yennefer into letting him use her baths. It was heavenly to finally be clean of all that sweat and slime. 

~

“I believe he’s been turned into a giant version of something called a banana slug,” Yennefer told him over wine that evening, after having concluded her research. “They live mainly in the wet forests by the coast to the north. Normally, they’re only about six inches long.”

“That’s still unsettlingly large for a slug.”

Yennefer shrugged. “Anyway, it was probably caused by an old magic item he happened across in the ruins, one that had broken over the years to curse anyone who came near it.”

“Do you think you can undo it?”

“I can’t undo it directly. It’s too old. But I do know the cure.”

“What is it?” 

“It’s old, just as the magic is. It’s hardly used nowadays, but it’s effective.”

“Get to the point,” said Jaskier. He thought she looked like she was enjoying this far too much. It was suspicious.

“It’s true love’s kiss.”

Jaskier blinked. He stared at Yennefer, hoping that she would laugh and tell him it was all a joke. She did not, though her eyes were sparkling in what was undeniably amusement.

“Are you telling me that Geralt’s true love has to kiss him for him to become human again?”

“Yes,” said Yennefer. The expression on her face was approaching glee. Jaskier was afraid. 

“Where are we going to find Geralt’s true love? Does he have one?” Jaskier blinked. “Is it you? Do you have to kiss a giant slug?”

“No,” said Yennefer. Her expression clearly added the word ‘idiot’. “You have to kiss a giant slug.”

Jaskier blinked. “Me?”

“Of course.”

“But… doesn’t the love have to be reciprocated for true love’s kiss to work?”

“Yes. But it is. He loves you back.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s obvious.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure you aren’t just trying to get me to make a fool of myself?”

“That’s only a delightful side effect. It’ll work, I promise.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.” Her grin grew. “Though you should know: banana slugs are that color because they’re mildly toxic. It’ll make your mouth go numb. Also, the slime expands in water.”

Jaskier resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. “Oh, joy.”

~

Jaskier looked at Geralt. Geralt (probably) looked at Jaskier. Yennefer watched them both. She was ostensibly there in case of any magical mishaps, but Jaskier thought she just wanted to watch the fun. 

“You’d better love me back,” Jaskier told the slug threateningly, doing his best not to feel like a fool, “Because if I have to kiss you like this, I’m going to be fucking mad if it’s for nothing.”

With that, he leaned down and planted a large kiss directly between the slug’s antennae.

It was wet. It was slimy. Jaskier stayed as long as he could bear before rearing back, spitting and spluttering. The slime stuck to the inside of his mouth, expanding. His mouth was indeed beginning to go numb. It was a deeply unnerving sensation. 

Jaskier was so wrapped up in his disgust that he didn’t notice anything else had changed until, from behind him, a very deep and familiar voice said, “Jaskier?”

Jaskier whirled around. There stood Geralt in all his witchery glory, his armor and swords on, not a drop of slime or a hint of yellow to be seen. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier tried to say. It came out as an indistinct mumble, since his mouth was numb and full of slime. He tried to spit again.

“I told you it’d work!” said Yennefer happily.

“What happened?” asked Geralt.

“True love’s kiss,” said Yennefer. She sounded entirely too pleased with herself, and also not nearly appreciative enough of Jaskier’s plight.

Geralt blinked. He turned to Jaskier. “But that means…”

“Mmmph,” said Jaskier emphatically.

Yennefer conjured a glass of water and handed it to him. Jaskier swished it in his mouth gratefully. 

“I love you,” he managed to say when he spit the water out. “I love you so much I kissed you as a slug.”

Geralt swallowed. He, at least, looked suitably touched. “I love you. I never thought you’d love me back.”

“I do. Idiot.”

Geralt smiled, pulled Jaskier towards him, and tugged him into a kiss. It was rather slimy, as first kisses went. Jaskier’s mouth was still numb. The whole affair was rather awkward. 

And yet, because it was true love — because it was Geralt — it was the best kiss he ever had.

~

“Do you have to keep singing that damn song?” Geralt grumbled. 

“Yes. It’s my payment for having gone through that ordeal.”

“I thought your payment was kisses.”

“That too. I went through a lot.”

“Hmm.”

“Oh, shut up. I know you love the song, deep down.”

Geralt said nothing, but his glare spoke volumes.

“I’ve written a proper ending, actually. Would you like to hear it?”

Without waiting for a response, Jaskier began to sing. 

The bard sought out a helper, a sorceress beauty She told him how to break the curse, unpleasant as it be The brave bard kissed the creature, though it covered him with slime And the slug became a witcher, for their love was for all time

Oh, the Golden Slug with the golden slime A wolf’s head medallion on its neck shined Far squishier than a day-old lime It covered me with grime I’m all covered in grime There’s so much slime So much slime

He let the last note fade and bowed dramatically, trying not to laugh at the exasperated expression on Geralt’s face. 

“Come on, give me a review. Three words or less.”

Geralt smirked. “Once, I would have said ‘shut up, bard.’ I know a much better way to keep you quiet now.”

Jaskier grinned. “Oh yeah?”

Geralt pulled him into a kiss that was long, emphatic, and not remotely, and the song was soon forgotten in the face of Jaskier’s joy. 

#geraskier #the witcher #geralt #jaskier #the witcher fanfiction #geralt of rivia #julian alfred pankratz #geralt x jaskier #yennefer #wren writes #behold!! a very silly fanfic! :D

[irrlicht-writes]

forget-me-not

And you’ll strew some sage and lilies And roses where I rot Of all the flowers you picked I knew you would forget forget-me-nots

~*~

Sometimes, Jaskier stares into nothing.

Over the years, Geralt watches him and he doesn’t understand. He never asks, because Jaskier is simple. But sometimes, Jaskier stares and Geralt wonders what he’s seeing.

“Geralt,” the bard asks one day, mindlessly strumming his lute, “have you ever seen one of the fair folk?”

“No,” Geralt replies, “at least not to my knowledge. They are tricky creatures; you’d best to stay away from them. Why do you ask? Writing a song about them?”

“No,” the bard replies, “I was just wondering. Is there a way to tell if you meet them?”

“Do you think you met one?”

Jaskier blinks up at him, his lute forgotten in his arms. Geralt’s rarely seen Jaskier so unfocused and it worries him a little. Is the bard catching sick? He’s usually incredibly hardy. Jaskier looks to the side, away from Geralt, into the forest around them. He doesn’t answer.

Geralt listens. He can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, just the normal sound of the woods. Somewhere there is a nest of Nekkers, and Geralt hopes it’ll be a contract in the next village.

Jaskier tears himself away from the forest and starts moving again.

“I’m just wondering,” he whispers, almost to himself and Geralt isn’t sure whether or not he was supposed to hear that.

The bard plays a soft melody but he doesn’t sing. He doesn’t look behind him and Geralt worries he might just disappear completely. Slowly, Roach starts moving, following the bard’s lead.

The day had been normal before, but now, now it feels eerie. It feels like someone else is watching. However, when he looks around, Geralt cannot see anyone beyond the trees.

In the tavern, the bard returns to normal, all talk of fair folk forgotten. Geralt breathes a sigh of relief, almost audibly. Jaskier is weird, when he isn’t his usual, chatty self. The bard performs songs for the crowd, securing them a room and a hearty meal for the evening. Tomorrow, Geralt will look for the alderman about the Nekker nest. Today, he will drink the bad ale in the tavern and watch Jaskier perform.

The Witcher isn’t sure why, but he’s hesitant to leave. This time, this feels precious, like he wants to remember this. When Jaskier spots him at the table in the crowd, he smiles. Geralt feels like he has to treasure it.

And it scares him.

Jaskier is humming.

“Sing the song to me?”

“No, I can’t.”

Jaskier is humming.

“Your bard is floating.”

“I told you not to hex him.”

Yennefer scoffs. “Oh, I’d wish. But look.”

Geralt looks.

Jaskier sits at the campfire Geralt made and Yennefer is right; he’s floating. He’s humming the same tune he had been humming a few days ago, with a faraway look in his eyes. By all rights, he should hear them, but he doesn’t react. Quietly, he is humming, staring into nothing.

“I’m worried. He’s been – off, for a while now. When I leave him for winter – I don’t –“

“You want me to watch over him? That’s not going to happen, Geralt, I’m not your dog.”

Geralt sighs. He hadn’t meant that. He is simply worried. Summer is nearing its end, and he cannot take the bard with him to the Keep. Not only because of his brothers and Vesemir, but also because Jaskier would be so terribly bored after a week.

Jaskier stops humming and looks up. He doesn’t look at them, yet he seems to listen to something nonetheless.

“Jaskier?” Geralt calls out to him but the bard doesn’t react. His eyes are transfixed above the flame, staring into the trees again. He moves his lips, but no sound comes out.

“Bardling?”

Jaskier turns his head toward them and still, he can’t fix his eyes on them.

“Geralt,” he whispers, “what does the fair folk look like?”

Geralt gets up immediately. “Where did you see them?”

Jaskier shakes his head.

“I can’t,” he whispers desperately, “I can’t. I’m scared.”

He resumes his humming, louder this time, with utter despair laced into it.

Geralt scans the treeline, but he finds nothing.

“Geralt,” Yennefer says.

Geralt turns and he sees the witch holding the bard’s hand.

“Your bard is floating.”

And Geralt can see him float away, even though Yennefer tries so hard.

*

Jaskier picks flowers in a field.

Geralt and Yennefer are standing a distance away, Roach sticking close to the bard. She seems to be picking flowers for her mane for the man to braid into it.

The wind is soft today, and there’s no cloud in the sky.

Jaskier is slipping through Geralt’s hands and he doesn’t know what to do. Whatever fair folk Jaskier might be seeing, Geralt can never find them.

That evening, Geralt doesn’t complain when Jaskier braids his hair full of flowers. The bard laughs and behind them, the flowers are softly waving.

In Geralt’s hair, there are forget-me-nots.

“Promise me, Geralt,” Jaskier says one day.

“Hm?”

They are lying on the earth, looking up into the starry night sky above them.

“Forget me not, when I’m gone?”

“I’m not letting you go.”

Jaskier laughs, a melody on the wind.

“Darling, I’m already on the path.”

~*~

On this day, it rains.

When Geralt turns, the path behind him is empty.

*

Years, and years later, when Geralt is older than he ever thought he would be, he finds himself at the coast.

He remembers a bard, young and yearning.

We could head to the coast, eh?

They could have.

The horse under him is Roach, but she doesn’t remember a bard. And yet, Geralt catches her watch the woods sometimes, like she’s looking for something.

Geralt is watching too. He’s never found the fair folk, never found the path the bard had taken.

He thinks about leaving. He thinks about dying.

He’d die in battle is what he always thought. But now, fights are his no longer.

The waves in the distance are soothing and Geralt closes his eyes.

If he forgets he’s at the coast, the waves sound much like humming from so long ago.

I can hear the cannons calling As though across a dream And I can smell the smoke of hell In every stitch and seam And like flowers, the bodies tumble Around this muddied lot I cannot hear them scream "Forget me not"

On this day, it doesn’t rain.

When Geralt turns, there is someone behind him on the path.

#the witcher #jaskier #geralt of rivia #dandelion #the witcher netflix #the witcher fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #irrlicht writes #geraskier #listen i know this is weird #experimental

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

Hello! Can I request 24 and 26 for the prompt! Geraskier, please. Hope you feel better soon!

24. Going grocery shopping together

26. Encouraging them to finally buy that thing they definitely deserve to treat themselves to

“Oh good, Frosted Charms are on sale!” Jaskier picks up two boxes of the sugary, brightly colored cereal and tosses them into the cart.

Geralt sighs. “No, they’re not. One box is four crowns. The sign only says they’re two for eight crowns so you think you’re getting a deal.”

“Huh.” Jaskier takes a second look at the sign, sees that his boyfriend is right, and shrugs. “Oh, well, nothing stopping me from getting three boxes, is there?” He grabs a third box, grinning at Geralt. “What’s next on the list?”

“Since when are we following the list?”

Jaskier looks at the cart, which is surprisingly full, given that they only walked into the store to grab a few quick things. “Okay, I’ll follow the list perfectly from here on out.”

Geralt snorts. “Next is bread. You specify in parentheses that you want ‘the good shit.’”

“That’s because I’m making garlic bread to go with dinner. You need decent bread for that.”

“What’s dinner?”

“No idea! Maybe more garlic bread?”

Geralt sighs heavily, but his lips curl up at the corners as he steers the cart around and heads towards the bakery. He doesn’t say a word when Jaskier adds a family-sized pack of peanut butter cups to the cart, because all that witcher training has given him a keen sense for how to spot a losing battle. Jaskier hums to himself as they make their way through the bakery, selecting the most promising-looking loaf of bread before moving on. When he turns around, he finds Geralt eyeing the display of cakes, his gaze lingering on the carrot cake.

Jaskier loathes carrot cake with the burning fire of a thousand hells, especially when it has walnuts and raisins in it, as this one appears to, but Geralt is inexplicably fond of it. But Geralt is looking at the cake with the same wistfulness with which he used to look at Jaskier before they finally got their shit together, so Jaskier will endure the presence of raisins and walnuts in his home if it will make the man he loves happy. He leans around Geralt to snag the carrot cake and place it in the cart.

When he looks up at Geralt, he finds his boyfriend frowning down at him. “You hate carrot cake,” Geralt says.

“I do, as does everyone whose taste buds haven’t been ruined by drinking Lambert’s White Gull. What’s next?”

Geralt doesn’t look at the list, still watching Jaskier in faint bafflement. “Did you mean to get the chocolate mousse cake?”

“No.” Jaskier wonders if it would be overkill to buy two cakes, because that chocolate mousse cake does look good. “You like carrot cake and you were eyeing that cake like it was your long lost love.”

“I don’t need it.” Geralt picks the cake back up.

Jaskier puts a hand on his forearm. “Yes, but do you want it?”

Geralt just blinks at him. The thing about Geralt is that even though he thinks nothing of making sure all the people he loves—Jaskier, Ciri, Yennefer, his brothers, Roach—are happy and comfortable, he rarely extends that same care to himself. When Jaskier met him, the man didn’t even have a boxspring, just a mattress that sat in the middle of his bedroom floor. The most luxurious furnishing in his apartment was Roach’s memory foam cat bed. 

He’s come a long way since then, but sometimes they still run into these moments where Geralt doesn't see the point of treating himself softly. Everything must have a utilitarian purpose. Clothes are for covering his body, not to look or feel good in. Food is to keep him alive, not to enjoy. Sometimes, Jaskier thinks he would have made an excellent medieval monk. He used to think it was a witcher thing, until he met Eskel and Lambert, who have no problem treating themselves to the small luxuries. It seems to be a Geralt thing.

“Darling.” Gently, Jaskier takes the carrot cake out of his hands. “Look in the cart.”

Geralt glances down at the cart. “Okay?”

“How many of those things in there do we need?” When Geralt keeps looking puzzled, Jaskier continues. “I’m fully aware that three boxes of Frosted Charms, peanut butter cups, and garlic bread for dinner aren’t necessities in life, but I’ve had a long week and they make me happy. Just like the nice bottle of wine I’m going to go pick up next will make me happy. Do you begrudge me those little things?”

“No,” Geralt says. “Though Frosted Charms taste like stale piss.”

“Don’t distract me by slandering Frosted Charms.” Jaskier taps him on the nose. “Sometimes, you’re allowed to get things just because you like them, not because they serve a purpose. Look at Roach!”

That earns him an incredulous look. “What about Roach?”

“You got a cat because you wanted a cat to keep you company! She’s not a horse, so you can’t ride her. She’s not a dog, so she can’t guard the house. She’s not a goat that provides milk or a chicken that lays eggs. You got her because you love her and she makes you happy.”

“Are you comparing our cat to a carrot cake?”

Jaskier feels like he’s losing the thread here. “All I’m saying is that carrot cakes aren’t something we need, but you deserve to treat yourself once in a while. Even if your version of treating yourself is disappointment in cake form.”

“You just don’t like it because it has vegetables in it.”

“And I stand by it! Cake should not have vegetables. It’s an insult to Melitele, Lebioda, and also me.”

“Hm.” Geralt’s lips twitched. “If I buy the carrot cake, can we keep shopping? They close in four hours and I’d like to be home by then.”

Jaskier makes a face at him and puts the cake back in the cart. “Come on, what’s next on the list?”

“Meatballs,” Geralt says. “Because I’m not just having garlic bread for dinner, Jask. We’re not twenty anymore.”

“I can live with meatballs,” Jaskier says, looking forward to an evening of meatball-related innuendos that will horrify his boyfriend, but also get him laid, because Geralt secretly likes it when Jaskier is obnoxious.

They start away from the bakery section, Jaskier casting a longing glance over his shoulder at the vastly superior cakes they’re leaving behind.

Geralt stops in his tracks. “You want the chocolate mousse cake, don’t you?”

“Yes, but don’t you think two cakes is a bit ridiculous?”

“Since when does something being ridiculous stop you?”

Geralt knows Jaskier far too well. Dropping a kiss on his boyfriend’s cheek, Jaskier goes back to fetch the chocolate mousse cake. After all, it’s not enough to tell Geralt he should treat himself. It’s only right that Jaskier leads by example.

Also, he just really wants cake.

Domestic/Situation Relationship Prompts

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #ghost's writing #prompt fills

[samstree]

(more on sober!jaskier)

Geralt sneaks into their room nearly on tiptoe. The night is dark and quiet enough that any tiny creak of the floorboards makes his heart flutter. Luckily, the fireplace burns dimly, so he doesn’t need to light the oil lamp and make any more noises.

The scent of the strong white gull clings to his clothes, his hair, his breath. He doesn’t want to wake Jaskier like this, with every part of him reeking of alcohol. The only problem—the world just won’t stand still.

Geralt blinks hard against the swaying of the floor. His hand slips on the handle, and the door shuts loudly.

“Geralt?”

Fuck.

He freezes like a child being caught.

The lump on the bed moves, and then there is the vague shape of Jaskier sitting up, rubbing his eyes.

“Um…” Geralt finds his throat inexplicably dry.

“You are back,” Jaskier says, voice deep from sleep. “Had a good time?”

“Good.”

Geralt doesn’t move. The door frame digs into his back uncomfortably.

“Good, then, that it was good.” Fading embers illuminate Jaskier from one side, his hair messy and smile soft. The blankets pool on his lap, warm and inviting. “Lambert and Eskel? Also good?”

“Also good.” Geralt nods.

“We are saying the word too many times,” Jaskier teases, patting the space next to him. “If all is good, you should come to bed now. Can’t let your brothers hog all your time. Your bard misses you too.”

A distressed sound escapes Geralt’s throat. He breathes through the dizzying rush in his head and closes his eyes for a second.

“I…” Geralt hesitates. “We were drinking. A lot.”

“Oh.”

“Thought you’d be asleep by now. Didn’t mean to be drunk around you.”

“It’s okay,” Jaskier says, though it sounds like a lie.

Even years after Jaskier put down the bottles and never picked them up again, there is still that tension within him. When he’s in a tavern, or a banquet, where wine is poured and refilled freely. He never speaks of it, but it’s difficult. Geralt can tell, the tightness of his shoulders and the reservation in his eyes. Jaskier is lonely in company like this, when he’s the only one who cannot drink.

Geralt never wants him to feel lonely again.

“I got carried away.” Geralt winces, blinking to sober himself up, but the white gull is strong. Even his fast metabolism can’t do much within minutes. “I’ll sleep somewhere else.”

“Wait, no,” Jaskier calls out. He doesn’t need to raise his voice for Geralt to stop in his tracks. “There is no need. Just come here.”

Jaskier shifts on their bed, hugging his knees. There is a certain vulnerability in the way he curls into himself, a particular gentleness. And Jaskier is always the most convincing when he’s gentle.

So Geralt has to oblige.

He moves while the room swims before his eyes. It’s hard to find his balance but he manages. He ends up sitting at the edge of the bed, not touching Jaskier, turned slightly away for the stink in his breath.

“I know you don’t like it when I drink,” Geralt says.

Jaskier blinks, confused. “When have I said that?”

“You don’t need to. I can tell when people are drinking. You look…lonely, even in a crowd.”

Geralt suddenly finds his hands the most interesting thing. He wriggles them in his lap, the sensation of his skin strange.

“Oh, Geralt.” Jaskier’s fingers are cool against Geralt’s cheek and soothing when they tidy the loose strands at his temple. “But you see, you are not people.”

“Hmm?”

When Geralt looks at Jaskier, there is only patience in the way his head tilts, and only amusement at the corners of his eyes.

“Yes, it can be hard when I’m surrounded by those who are less understanding,” Jaskier explains, the movement of his hand not stopping. Geralt leans into his palm, letting Jaskier cup his cheek. “But there’s them, and there’s you. You are not the same.”

“I’m not?”

Perhaps Geralt does get slower when affected by alcohol, because Jaskier’s eyes are crinkling beautifully like he thinks Geralt is being silly again.

“No, you are not. You never fill my cup along with yours and pressure me to drink. You never use drunkenness as an excuse to be rude to me. You never make me feel bad for staying sober, for not being fun enough.”

“I’d never,” Geralt says, nearly feeling offended at the idea.

“No, you’d never,” Jaskier continues. “On the contrary, you are the one to take away the cup forced into my hand and save me from those impossible situations. You defend me, but not with your swords. You protect me, just by being there.”

“It’s all you ask. Of course I’m there.” Geralt catches Jaskier’s hand in his. “So you are not disappointed?”

Jaskier’s smile is laced with a hint of melancholy, his eyes casting low. “How can I? I’ve long since forgotten how it feels like to be disappointed in you,” he answers. “And it’s my fight. I’ve never asked you to charge into battle for me. Just because I don’t drink doesn’t mean I expect you to do the same. I understand it’s different for you—for everyone, really. Besides, you haven’t seen your family for months. You deserved the fun.”

“We did rather have fun.” Geralt squeezes Jaskier’s hand in reassurance, his chest now lighter.

“Was it Lambert’s homebrew again?”

Geralt’s lips stretch into a lopsided grin. “It was.”

“My, my, you must still have quite a buzz.” Jaskier returns with an equally big grin of his. “It’s okay. I like it when you are tipsy, with all the easy smiles and free cuddles, and you let yourself get giddy when I call you sweet names. I know your soft side, dearest, but even I don’t see it often—oh yes, just like this.”

It’s really the dearest that does Geralt in. Of all the sweet names, it’s the one that makes Geralt preen. His bard is easy with his affections, throwing dears and darlings to all who are close to his heart, but then, there is Geralt.

Dearest.

Perhaps he is different, after all.

Suddenly, his cheeks are hot for entirely different reasons. He looks at Jaskier’s knowing expression and can’t help feeling too proud.

“I am, aren’t I?” Geralt finds himself giddy indeed. “Your dearest?”

“Yes, you are,” Jaskier sighs softly before leaning in to press a kiss on Geralt’s cheek. “You are also very much drunk, so take off your clothes and get under these covers. I am not going to undress an uncooperative witcher all by myself, thank you very much.”

With that, Geralt lets out a contented hum and follows Jaskier’s directions. Despite his words, Jaskier still helps him, their limbs bumping awkwardly when Geralt nearly trips over his trousers. He squirms when Jaskier’s touch becomes ticklish on his tingling skin.

“Alright, just lie down,” Jaskier says, throwing his hands up. “Not tickling you when you are giggly already.”

“I’m not giggly,” Geralt insists. He sinks into the comfortable bed and drags Jaskier on top of him, nearly falling asleep just like this.

“Not giggly. Just happy,” Jaskier agrees, his fingers running through Geralt’s hair. “Happy, and dear to my heart.”

With his eyes closed, Geralt quietly corrects him, “the most dear.”

“Yes, the most dear, the most special,” Jaskier whispers as if revealing a secret. “It’s you. Only you, my dearest, my best person.”

“And you…” Geralt slurs his words, drifting off. “You too…”

He needs to tell Jaskier how dear he is tomorrow, how strong he is underneath all the gentleness. Jaskier must know already, that Geralt is in awe of his strength with every day that passes, every small milestone, every anniversary.

He is in awe when Jaskier is simply here, leaving his haunted past behind.

For now, Geralt is content just being tipsy, half-asleep, and dearest to his bard.

#geraskier #geraskier fic #sobriety #alcoholism

[officerjennie]

For a rainy day :)

Lambert hugging someone awkwardly? (3?) Whoever you want that someone to be 😉

No CWs. Lambert is a disaster. Lambskier. Taglist at the bottom!

Lambert didn't do hugs. 

Namely, he didn't do touching. Of any sort. The thought made his skin crawl, his face twist into itself, and just the thought of all the gooey feelings that were usually attached to hugging made it all even worse.

That said, he wasn't sure what else he could do when Jaskier was giving him that look.

Somewhere along the way, the bard had attached himself to Lambert's side. A barnacle of a human, suction cupped to him, traipsing along the path in Lambert's wake despite the amount of times Lambert had thrown his boots at him. For all the years Lambert had made fun of Geralt for being stuck with him, destiny or karma or whatever bullshit must have been getting back at him, because Lambert could not shake the damned bard no matter how hard he tried.

And he mainly tried because he liked Jaskier's company. Didn't do for a witcher to get attached to a human, after all.

But he tried and failed, and hated every time Jaskier gave him that look - though there were a dozen 'that look's that made Lambert snarl or storm off away from the bard. Like the one where Jaskier's eyes lit up at whatever story Lambert was telling, or the one where Jaskier's face turned haunted and dangerous when someone said something snide about witchers.

Or the one where Jaskier's whole face softened, and his voice turned quiet, when Lambert stumbled back into their camp bleeding.

Right at that moment, he hated the tears in Jaskier's eyes, and he couldn't run away from them.

He'd caused them. Worst of all, he hadn't caused them by being mean. All he'd done was replace Jaskier's leather bound notebook, the one the damned idiot had dropped in the river the week before and had spent at least a good hour wading around in the water for. And it hadn't even been out of the graciousness of his heart, nor because he felt bad for him when all Jaskier had to scribble on were spare sheets of paper he picked up off of the streets when they passed through a town.

...okay maybe he had been trying to cheer the bard up. His moping was worse than his cheer, and it grated on Lambert's nerves in a way that was dangerously close to suggesting he was fond of him.

So he'd bought him a notebook. And Jaskier had started to sniff, and tear up, and barely managed to whisper out a hoarse "thank you", and Lambert didn't know what to do.

The first thing that came to mind was hug him. He didn't know why, he hated hugs, but it seemed like the right thing to do. Jaskier was tactile, always running his hands over soft things or worrying his thumbs over rough surfaces to feel their texture. Fuck, he'd hug a stranger if they were kind enough to him, and Lambert could see him squirming in place, hands clutching the leather notebook and his coat swaying behind him.

He wanted a hug. Was holding himself back from flinging his arms around the witcher because as much as Jaskier wasn't the greatest with boundaries he knew which ones to keep and which ones he could push.

And Lambert didn't know what to do except hug him. So he did.

Jaskier let out a small eep as Lambert put his arms around him, holding the bard loosely and glaring off to the side like the wall had personally offended him. He couldn't help but stiffen and grind his teeth, and Jaskier just held his breath, not moving an inch as they stood there in complete silence.

It was awful. Lambert hated every second of it. And then Jaskier slowly wrapped his arms around Lambert's back, and Lambert hated it for an entirely different reason.

"Thank you, truly."

Lambert growled, feeling heat building on his cheeks, and he wanted nothing more than to bolt and never see the bard again.

And also wanted to hold him closer, and wanted to kiss him until Jaskier lost his words and just shut up for once.

"Alright, that's enough, shut up about it." Lambert wriggled right out of the hug and bodily held Jaskier at arms length for a moment, glaring at him though it didn't even make the bard flinch. He then huffed and dropped his arms, turning on his heel and snatching up his swords to go find something to kill.

"Should I wait up for you?" Jaskier called out, his voice still touched with softness, and Lambert needed to run before that made him think too much on whatever feelings were rattling around in his chest.

"Don't make me knock you out," he snapped, and jumped out the window before Jaskier could say anything else.

He hated hugs. He hated touching. And he hated how Jaskier made him want to admit he was lying.

--

@fontegagrilledcheese @damnbert @mothmanismyuncle @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @jaskierswolf @oldandkinky @blooodymoon  @kan0chan @silvermintnightprincess @flowercrown-bard @sharinalein @concussed-dragon @hayleynzlive @feral-jaskier @sweetiepieplum @stonedstargazer666 @deafeningnightcollection-things @luteandsword @kmuir1 @little-boats-on-a-lake @dani-dandelino @rurousha @renewlucifer

#lambskier #lambert #jaskier #the witcher #mywriting #fanfiction #witcher #lambert x jaskier #jaskier x lambert #lambert/jaskier #jaskier/lambert #witcher fic #witcher fanfic #witcher fanfiction #the witcher fic #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon - Purring Bonus Scene - Part 4

Jaskier thought he knew all of Geralt's purrs. He purred when he was happy, when he was anxious, and when he was hurt or sick. And Jaskier had learned that each one had its own unique sound. Now he could read Geralt's moods by his purrs as easily as he could by his 'Hmm's.

It kind of irritated Geralt because he couldn't hide much from him now. Jaskier had always been very talented at reading people, and had very quickly learned to read all Geralt's subtle expressions, grunts, and body language. Geralt sometimes wondered if the bard didn't have some Fae blood in his family line because it sure seemed as if he could read his f***ing mind sometimes.

Geralt was just waiting for the day that Jaskier would predict, probably down to the minute, when Geralt would have to take a sh*t. And he would probably do it in the middle of one of his sets. In a crowded tavern. Or at a banquet.

Yeah, it would be at a banquet. And he would stop right in the middle of his song and yell in full bardic voice, "You might want to go find the privy, Geralt! I can tell by the way your left eyebrow just twitched that you are going to need to take a truly massive sh*t. You better squeeze those cheeks together and get moving. You've got maybe five minutes before that Food Baby gets born!"

And then Yennefer, from where ever she would be lurking in the hall, would add "And don't forget to wipe your a**!"

If that day ever came, Geralt would be the first Witcher in history to die of embarrassment.

Geralt's sardonic thoughts were interrupted by Jaskier's coughing. The bard had picked up a cold in the last town. It didn't sound like it was anything serious, but they were still going to stop in Vengerberg to let him rest before they continued on to Kaer Morhen. Hunting had been bad this year, so Geralt decided there was no reason why he couldn't go home early.

The bard was sitting by the campfire where he had been restringing his lute and was now trying to tune it. Geralt saw him slowly flex the fingers of one hand, and noticed the slight tremor in the digits. He watched him then squeeze the opposite forearm.

Geralt frowned to himself as Jaskier surreptitiously shook his arms and hands out, and forced them back to attending to his lute. He smelled like sickness, and...pain.

Jaskier had broken both his forearms two winters ago at Kaer Morhen, and Geralt knew what this Autumn chill was doing to the old injuries. He rose, rubbing at his own knee for a moment before hobbling over to the fire.

Jaskier blinked in surprise as his lute was lifted away. A hot stone wrapped in rags was placed in his hands, and he was then pulled face first against a warm chest that was vibrating with a rumbly purr.

Jaskier was going to protest, but the heat from the stone was chasing the ache from his forearms, and he suddenly realized that he was a little bit cold. And pretty tired. And his body ached. They had been traveling most of the morning. Oooh, that purring was...niiiice. The vibration felt good in his hands and arms... Wait, was that Geralt's Hurt purr? No, no, this one was different. It was quieter, steadier...

Geralt didn't know how the purr happened. He'd been trying to Hurt purr, because that was what always helped him when he was in pain, but somehow, it came out different. He felt the second when it hit a rhythm and frequency that...felt right. This was how he needed to purr to make Jaskier feel better.

Geralt purred until he heard Jaskier's heartbeat find a steady rhythm that told him the pain was gone, or at least diminished to where it was tolerable.

"Let's get to Vengerberg so you can rest."

They rode the rest of the day until they reached Vengerberg, and they went straight to Yennefer's house. The mage was waiting, looking as usual, as if their presence were an inconvenience. It wavered for a split second as she watched a pale, tired-looking Jaskier slither down from the saddle.

She grumbled as she led them inside and showed them to their rooms.

"Ugh! Now I have to look at you for the next few days!" Yennefer commented as she strode into Jaskier's room a few minutes later with Geralt at her heels.

"Look on the bright side. It's a nice change from looking at the ugly you see in the mirror every day!" Jaskier replied in a half-hearted, nasally grumble from where he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. Yennefer could hear him wheezing slightly with each exhale.

"Ha! Like you look any better right now!" Yennefer quipped as Jaskier started coughing. She made a face as he gagged up a blob of phlegm and leaned over the edge of the bed.

"Don't you dare spit that on my floor, you uncouth savage!"

Jaskier glared at her, then spat the greenish gob into his hand and wiped it on his shirt.

"That's disgust-! You're disgusting!" She snapped. Her tone was sharp, but Geralt saw that her hands were gentle as she pressed them to Jaskier's cheeks, and then the sides of his neck, before slipping her hand down the back of his shirt.

Yennefer ignored Geralt's knowing 'Hm'. She could feel a little bit of fever in the bard's skin and she could tell by the way he kept wincing that his head hurt. At least his breathing wasn't too bad.

"Yeah? Well...your mother." Jaskier mumbled in one last attempt to keep up the Mortal Enemies act as the witch ran a hand tenderly through his hair.

Yennefer saw him cringe.

"Sorry, Yen... I'm not exactly at my best right now."That had definitely not been one of his wittiest comebacks.

Yennefer leaned in and placed a soft kiss to his temple.

"It's alright, dear heart," She said sympathetically as she slipped under his other arm as Geralt helped him up. "Let's get you into the bath and then put you to bed."

Jaskier heaved a wheezy sigh. He was too tired and light-headed to reply, so he let them slowly lead him to the washroom, where a tub of steaming hot water and a roaring fire waited.

Jaskier drank the potion Yennefer handed him after he'd finished with his bath, then curled up in the bed, tucked up against his personal heater, smelling of the herbs Yennefer had dumped into the bath water to help his breathing. He lay there, listening to the rumble of Geralt's purr.

The vibration of it felt nice. It helped take his attention away from the discomfort in his arms. Or was it easing the pain? Is this why Geralt would purr when he was hurt? Is this what it felt like to him? Was it like a painkiller? Was this some kind of, of Healing purr?

Jaskier wanted to ponder that line of thought more, but the rhythmic sound and vibration of Geralt's purring was making it hard to think of much of anything. The thoughts came sluggishly, then flitted away leaving his mind pleasantly empty. There was just the purring and the warmth.

He shifted, summoning the energy to roll over and clumsily resituate himself. He put his arm over Geralt's stomach and rested his head on his chest. That was better...

Geralt continued purring until he felt Jaskier completely relax. His breathing was deep and even, if a little congested. Geralt slowly eased his sleeping friend off him, settling him on his back so he could breathe easier.

He shushed him when he stirred, snuffling and clumsily rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes as he muttered groggily. Geralt pulled the blankets up over him, and laid his hand on his chest so he could feel that he was there. Jaskier settled back down after a few moments, falling back asleep.

Geralt made sure there was enough wood on the fire, then went to help Yennefer.

He spent the following days helping out around the house when he wasn't cuddled up to Jaskier, purring.

Jaskier improved quickly over the next three days. He was recovering from the cold faster than Yennefer expected. His fever had broken the first night, and the congestion was all but gone now. The cough lingered, but Yennefer was not concerned about it. Coughs sometimes didn't clear up for a week or two.

Jaskier had entertained himself while he recovered by discussing his theory about Geralt's purring with Yennefer. The sorceress hadn't dismissed his thoughts as he'd expected her to. Instead, she seemed quite interested in hearing them, and the two of them would discuss and compare theories and observations until Jaskier started drifting off. Geralt was often dragged into their discussions for his personal perspective and experiences.

When Jaskier was finally fit to travel, he left with a thick, warm jacket, a bag full of potions for when his arms ached, and a brand new notebook to start recording his thoughts, ideas, and observations. He promised that when they next saw each other, Yennefer could help him organize his notes.

Geralt had rolled his eyes and braced himself for a long winter.

#the witcher #the witcher headcanon #the witcher netflix #twn #geralt #geralt of rivia #yennefer #yennefer of vengerberg #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geraskier #geraskefer #geraskifer #yenskier #yennskier #yenneskier #yennaskier #soft!geralt #soft!yennefer #jaskier whump #fluff #purring headcanon

[spiderbaby123]

Jaskier X fem!reader

Ok just a little fluff, didnt know where I was going until i got there. Enjoy.

"Geralt?" I groaned out. "We've been walking for ages!" A mere grunt was all that was returned. "You see that?" I turned to Jaskier. "He just ignored me." Jaskier snickered. "I did indeed, y/n." I stopped in my tracks. Pause for the dramatics and what not. "Oh, I think I.." I had waited for Jaskier to be right next to me and then I went limp. Jaskier's eyes widened as he reached out hastily to catch me. "Y/n?!" Geralt turned around to see what my theatrics might be this time, only to see me still limp in the bards arms. "Geralt! Help me! She's completely limp! Is she alright?!" He walked back to us and picked me up out of Jaskier's arms' much to my dismay to be honest, but nonetheless. He carried me for a few feet. "Come on Jaskier. She's fine." He carried me to the next town which wasnt very far actually. I tried my best to stay limp until the witcher had purchased 2 rooms at a local inn. Honestly I felt a little bad for our dear bard, i dont think he quite caught on yet. He rambled on about seeing a healer and the inn keeper looked curiously at the 3 of us. I smirked once the rooms were paid for and jumped awake. "Oh. Oh. Where are we?" I question full well knowing. "Witcher? Oh witcher you saved me!" I dramatically hugged Geralts neck and then jumped down from his grip, well attempted to. "I think you owe Jaskier an apology." He grunted at me. I pouted "I think Jaskier should be thanking me for a warm bed." "I paid. He should be thanking me. Now apologize." I grumble and looked at the bard. "Jaskier, Jaskier my dear." I reached my hand towards him, which he took gingerly. "I'm so sorry i worried you." Jaskier smiled. "Oh darling, it's quite alright." "See now let me go." Geralt set me down but Jaskier never let go so I turned back to him. "Jaskier?" He was smirking now. "Besides you can make it up to me tonight in our room, love." I blushed a deep red. "J-Jaskier!" I snapped my hand away quickly. Geralt stepped between us. "Y/n, has her own room."

~a few hours later~

We had hit the pub for some ale and boy had Jaskier hit it. He was drunkenly playing his lute and telling story, the occasional flirt with attractive bypassers. "Jaskier." I stated low and calm to grab his attention. Id never admit it but I got quite jealous of the various lude comments he had made towards stranger. "Oh, darling there you are!" He slurred. "You are drunk. Lets get back to the inn while you can still walk. Geralt left some time ago." I mumbled quietly. "Hmm?" He started, "but darling I havent made a new friend yet." He said friend in a weird way so id know what he meant. "You dont need to." I snapped back a little too harsh. He looked a little taken aback but grabbed my hand kissing it anyway. "Lead the way,love." He sounded much less intoxicated this time.

~at the inn~

The walk back had been far too quiet. Jaskier had kept hold of my hand the whole way and now we were in front of our rooms. "Thank you." He stated quietly while looking at me. "F-for what..?" He gaze was alluring and making me quite nervous. "Making sure I made it back safely." His voice was husky and not at all Sounding drunk now. I had noticed him grab my other hand yet until he liftex it to his lips. "For pulling your little stunt as well." He moved a little closer. Unconsciously I had done the same. "For coming along with us." He had inched closer until our noses were about to touch. "I want to kiss you." He said just above a whisper. "W-what?" I had blushed more than ever in this moment. "Fuck.. I'm going to." He whispered and then our lips connected Surprising me. He pulled away. "Thank you..." I whispered quietly in a complete daze. Jaskier chuckled. "Oh, youre quite welcome darling." He leaned in again kissing me lightly. When he pulled away I snapped out of my daze and grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back for another kiss. This one deep and passionate as Jaskier snaked his arms around my waist, pulling me closer.

#jaskier x reader #jaskier #the witcher #Geralt #fluff #fanfic #fanfiction

[islenthatur]

"GERALT!" Jaskiers voice ripped across the battlefield, high-pitched and terrified.

Geralt pushed forward, sword cutting down any soldier between him and his Bard. The Squirrels that fought with them moved out of his way after a glance, clearing a path with the Song of the Seven on their lips. He had just got Jaskier back, and he finally felt the sweet feel of life on those lips... Geralt will not let anything take it from him now.

"GERALT!!" His name was like a whip, called from many directions as the song picked up with fervour the closer he got to Jaskier. His medallion rippled violently on his armour, the sheer taste of chaos in the air near suffocating.

A glimpse of red between fighting Nilfgaards had his heart squeezing, close, so very close.

"NO!" The word was violently ripped from his throat, bringing agony and blood as he saw the sword pierce through Jaskier just as a portal ripped open and swallowed him whole. The last thing he saw of Jask, his Lark, was terrified eyes and his name spilling from those lips with blood.

Rage ingulfed him, fury he hadn't felt the likes of in a very long time. His swords swung, cutting a path towards where his Lark once stood and he let go. He let go of the humanity that Jaskier had brought back, fought tooth and nail to keep front and centre. Let Nilfgaard see the Butcher.

Time lost all meaning.

"Geralt!" His name was called, high and panicked, not the voice he wanted but one he knew.

"Yen." The word, guttural and sharp. The battle still raged around him, but none dared grow close to the Butcher and the Witch.

Purple eyes glanced around, over him, behind him. "Did you find him?"

A snarl ripped from his throat, pushing Geralt back into the depths of his mind. "Someone ran him through with a sword, a mortal wound, and a portal ripped him from me!"

Yen let out a sharp inhale, her eyes scanning the field for the bard she has come to call friend. There was nothing, no sign on him, only the thick, cloying air of chaos. A powerful amount of chaos. She turned back to Geralt to see his face twisted in a snarl, hands snapping the neck of a brave soldier, teeth gleaming like rubies.

She had never felt afraid of Geralt, not till now.

In one blink and the next, the ground vibrated heavily, the air buzzing and all around began to slow as something ripped across the field with a resounding crack. Silence on a battlefield was unusual, something to cause hundreds to still was...

"The fuck?" Lamberts voice was heard from the left, drawing her eyes to the figure he was staring at.

It was the bard, Jaskier the likes they've never seen. Tall and broad, clad in black leather, two swords on his back and a hammer in his hand. But his face, his face was marred with a vicious smile, black eyes of the void... witcher eyes...

#witcher jaskier #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geralt of rivia #jaskier/geralt #jaskier dandelion #the witcher fandom #geraskier #fanfiction #non human jaskier #blood origins

[yeraskier]

Geraskier Writing prompts ask! (suggested tones in parentheses, but do whatever you want forever, my dear). I couldnt pick just one, please pick whatever is sparking something. Or mix and match if you’re feeling funky.

110. “is that a drawing of me?” (Soft/fluff/slice of life)

97. “if you interrupt me one more time— so help me god” (righteous argument, possible angst)

50. “In my defense, I really wanted to.” (Freestyle)

Thank you!! 🥰🌼

have 110 and 50 :D

-

"You draw now?"

Jaskier looks up, quill halting against his paper. He shrugs, "a little. Just something new I've picked up, I suppose."

"Being a bard not bringing in enough coin anymore?"

"It's just for fun, Geralt," he says, "I know you're not very into the idea of simply doing things because they bring joy, but I, for one, love to partake in all of life's pleasures."

"Some more than others," Geralt mutters.

Jaskier opens his mouth, ready with a retort, but shuts it only a second later. He simply rolls his eyes at the witcher and goes back to his drawing, a drawing of said witcher.

He didn't intend to draw Geralt when he took out his parchment, but he took one glance at the witcher, watching the fire burn before them from where he sat on the opposite side of camp, and Jaskier's hands began moving before he even made the decision.

This isn't new, really. Most of the time he does end up drawing Geralt, that's never the intention. It just... happens.

Geralt has been the muse of his writing for years, and apparently, that follows into his art as well.

Unsurprising, of course. Love tends to be rather inspiring.

"Is that a drawing of me?"

Jaskier yelps, nearly falling off the log from how startled he is. He tilts his head backward to find Geralt standing above him, and when the fuck did he even get there?

Geralt cocks a brow and reaches forward, and Jaskier has absolutely no idea what he's reaching for, but this time he does fall off the log in an attempt to put some distance between himself and the witcher.

Jaskier grunts as his back hits the floor. His eyes flutter open, batting away the stars that cloud his vision.

Geralt's bending over, reaching for him again, and Jaskier lifts a hand, expecting the witcher to help him up.

Instead, the paper on his chest gets plucked off and Geralt stands straight again.

Prick.

Jaskier doesn't have much time to mentally curse his friend's name because he's too busy choking on panic.

The bard bolts upright as he watches Geralt frown at the drawing.

"Okay, I can explain," he says knowing full well that this is something he can't explain his way out of. Never let it be said that Jaskier wasn't a man always willing to try. "It's nothing, it's just a drawing. I was just bored, you know how it is. I was bored and sitting around and I didn't know what to draw, you know? Then I saw you and was like ha, wouldn't it be funny if I drew Geralt?"

Geralt finally looks away from the drawing and turns to Jaskier. It's the first time in a very long time that he's been unable to read the witcher's expression.

"I promise this is the only time it happened." Geralt's brow ticks like he hears the lie. "Okay... maybe it's the second time... or the third." The witcher cocks a brow. "Okay! Maybe it's happened a few more times than that, but I do draw other things, okay? Like loads of other things! I draw Ciri, and my lute, and nature, and women's breasts! And so what if I happen to draw you more than most things, it's simply because I'm always around you. That's completely reasonable and I don't think you should---"

Jaskier isn't sure how it happens, but suddenly, his ass isn't plastered on the ground anymore. Instead, he's standing with the front of his tunic scrunched up in Geralt's fist, with his face very, very close to the witcher's.

Jaskier panics. "I'll have you know that killing a man over a drawing would be extreme even for you, Geralt, and I--- mmph."

And Jaskier's still panicking. But for a completely different reason. That reason being that Geralt's mouth is on his mouth.

Geralt's mouth is on his mouth.

Geralt is kissing him... Geralt is fucking kissing him.

He must admit, of all the ways he dreamed that their first kiss may go, this was not one of those ways.

It could be the fact that Jaskier's in such shock that he doesn't realize he should be kissing back until after Geralt has already pulled away.

He sort of (most definitely) wants to kick his own arse right now for not kissing back (because holy shit, how could you not kiss back?) but there's a smile on Geralt's face now that makes him (almost) feel better about his stupidity.

"Your drawing is shit," Geralt says, tilting his head just a tad, and holy shit, is he flirting?

Say something smooth, say something smooth that'll make him want to ravish you in these woods right now.

"You kissed me."

Really? You kissed me? Fucking moron.

Geralt shrugs. "In my defense, I really wanted to."

"Well... do you really want to again?"

"Depends, are you going to kiss me back this time?"

Jaskier can't help the grin that stretches his lips. Then again, he doesn't try very hard.

"I guess you'll have to kiss me to find out."

#no editing we die like renfri #have some fluff to cap off the night #that... was not my best work im sorry :((( #but i hope it didnt suck too bad #might take a bit to get the juices flowing for them again... idk #the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #my writing

[flowercrown-bard]

ooh number 5 oblivious pining prompts for jaskel? these are all so sweet

Thank you!

5. Rambling about something you both love and all you can do is stare at them lovingly, when suddenly they also turn to look at you and now you're both just staring at each other

Jaskier was dragging his feet. His smile was still cheery and he kept up with Eskel well enough, but still it didn’t take a genius to notice that the bard was getting tired. Out of the corner of his eyes, Eskel glanced at him. There, beneath the smile sat a tiredness and Jaskier’s breath was laboured, as if he had danced all night. If only. No, instead, Jaskier had been following Eskel around for hours. Through moors that had ruined his boots and boring fields. Eskel wished he hadn’t left Scorpion at the inn, but the old boy had dearly needed some rest from the track of the day before. So did Jaskier, evidently, but the bard was too stubborn to let Eskel go on a hunt on his own, and Eskel...well, Eskel was too weak to refuse him.

The sun was already creeping towards the horizon and still they were some miles away from the town. They had to push through, if they wanted to spend the night in a real bed. And gods, did Eskel want to give that much to Jaskier. He deserved a soft pillow and warm blanket.

Jaskier yelped, as he stumbled and shook Eskel out of his thoughts.

“Are you alright?” Eskel asked, as he steadied him by slinging an arm around his waist.

“Yeah,” Jaskier said and smiled up at Eskel, but he couldn’t hide how out of breath he sounded. “I’m fine. We can keep going.”

Eskel hesitated. “Alright,” he said after a second, when Jaskier pushed onwards.

They walked in silence for a bit and Eskel kept listening as Jaskier’s breathing sounded more and more ragged and he kept stumbling. In an odd way, it reminded Eskel of when he had been a child, struggling to keep up with his mother when they went on a hike, and then later, when he had stumbled time and time again during his training. Caught up in the memory, he didn’t even notice as he slipped into an old habit he had thought long lost: Under his breath, he began to sing.

“De ole hen she cackled, she cackled on de fence: cluck cluck, cluck-e-doo, de ole hen she cackled, and she ain't cackled sence.”

Beside him, Jaskier came to a halt. Eskel turned around to see what was wrong, only to be met with Jaskier giving him an unreadable look. It was only then that Eskel’s actions really caught up with him. His mouth snapped shut immediately and he moved away from Jaskier.

“Don’t stop,” Jaskier said softly and reached for Eskel’s hand, stopping his retreat. His skin burned where they touched.

“I’m not - I didn’t really mean to sing.” Eskel chuckled awkwardly. “That’s your job.”

“Please?”

Eskel swallowed thickly and cleared his throat. With a side-glance at Jaskier he made sure that his clumsy singing really was wanted. When he was met with Jaskier’s encouraging smile, he picked up the song again.

  “De ole cock he crowed, he crowed on the shock: cock-a-doodle-doo, de ole cock he crowed, no longer crows the cock.”

As he sang, he changed his steps, until they matched the marching rhythm of the song and whether conscious or not, Jaskier did the same.

“De lil’ chicks they cheeped, they cheeped on de kitchen floor: cheep, cheep, cheep-a-deep, de lil’ chicks they cheeped, and now they cheep no more...”

He trailed off.

“You don’t have to stop,” Jaskier said.

“That’s all I remember.” Eskel shrugged. “It’s just a silly song, but I know my mother used to sing it to me to keep me distracted when we went on a hike and my feet started to ache.”

“It’s not a silly song!” Jaskier said with unexpected insistance. “It’s simple, yes, but it’s supposed to be.” Eskel watched in wonder, as Jaskier’s step seemed to gain more energy as the bard straightened his back. “Hiking songs are brilliant in their simplicity. You only have to hear them once and you’ll remember them for decades.”

As if to prove a point, he sang a couple of bars. Eskel’s lips twitched.

“It sounds strange without the hillfolk dialect.”

“And that’s another thing!” Jaskier gestured wildly with his hands, inadvertedly swinging Eskel’s hand that he was still holding onto as well. “It’s something so special to certain cultures. That’s what music is supposed to be. Hiking songs help people. Everyone can sing them and they - they are a legacy. Not of one person but of a people.”

Warmth spread through Eskel’s chest and he could do nothing but stare at Jaskier, as he - despite being a renowned bard with the highest education and positions at court - talked about how wonderful the only part Eskel remembered of his childhood was. He had sang his mother’s song a couple of times for his brothers and they had always seemed happy enough to listen to him, but this was something entirely different. This was Jaskier.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Jaskier continued, “I love being a bard and writing complicated ballads and all, but hiking songs? Lullabies? Working songs? That’s music coming from the heart. It’s the essence of what makes music so important.”

He sounded so...loving. The way he talked about music was loving. It always had been, of course, but this was different from the enthusiasm in Jaskier’s voice when he explained chord progression or rhyme schemes. This was...this was the same soft, warm feeling in his voice that always welled up in Eskel, when he remembered his mother’s song.

 Watching Jaskier’s whole face light up as he talked, listening to the emotion in his voice; it was light a magnet pulling Eskel in. He wouldn’t have been able to resist if he had wanted to. And gods, he didn’t want to. He wanted to be close to Jaskier, closer, as he shared this love with Eskel. He gravitated closer to him, until their sides brushed together.

“When I was a child, I used to sing to myself all the time to help me get through boring chores or remember the names of important nobles,” Jaskier said, evidently not bothered by Eskel’s closeness. If anything, he squeezed his hand a little tighter. “You can bet those ditties weren’t brilliant, but they’re what made me want to be a bard. People always say ‘Toss a Coin’ is too simplistic, but that’s the whole point. It’s supposed to help witchers and for that it has to be memorable and simple or else it wouldn’t be stuck in people’s ears.”

Jaskier let out a long breath that announced the end of his rant.

“So, yeah. I guess what I want to say is, thank you,” He turned to face Eskel. “For sharing that song... with me...”

Jaskier trailed off and the flush on his face clearly was no longer only from his excitement. Eskel’s throat grew tight. Jaskier was so close. So close. He was probably able to see all the flaws in Eskel’s face; every detail of his scars, every speck of dirt, every piece of longing that he was never able to banish fully from his expression when Jaskier was around. Eskel hadn’t even noticed them coming to a halt. All he could focus on was Jaskier, Jaskier, Jaskier. The name echoed in his mind and heart as if it too followed the rhythm of a folk song. A love song, simple yet true.

“Jaskier,” he said, voice coming out hoarse.

Jaskier’s eyes flickered down to his lips. 

And like a call- and - response type of song, Jaskier answered, “Eskel.”

And the way he said it was almost like a melody, almost like the second verse to a love song.

Maybe, Eskel thought, as he leaned in closer, his hand coming up to cradle Jaskier’s cheek, maybe they could sing together.

Their lips met softly, tentatively, and the beating of their hearts was the rhythm of their song.

#thank you for the prompt! #i gotta leave for work so i don't have time to read over this or edit anything #hope there aren't too many mistakes #i jsut really like folk songs #eskel #jaskier #jaskel #witcher #ficlet #my writing

[kittymaine]

Come Pick Me Up

// Another fill for Geraskier week. The prompt is hurt/comfort.

Summary: Jaskier is hurt in a car accident and then comforts Geralt. //

The call came in just after Geralt had gotten home from work. It was Jaskier, which wasn’t odd, though he wasn’t expecting the call. He had last seen him that morning when he had kissed him goodbye and wished him luck on his trip. Jaskier was supposed to board a plane around noon to kick off a month-long tour with some other musician friends. He had been excited and had booked a cab to come pick him up that morning and take him to the airport. He had done the same tour every year for the past few years and always seemed to enjoy himself. Geralt missed him while he was gone, but couldn’t begrudge his husband for participating. Jaskier’s music always enjoyed a bump in sales for months afterward and Jaskier was effervescent with happiness for weeks after he got back.

“Hello,” Geralt grunted into his phone, tucking it into his shoulder so he could pull off his boots and toss them near the door.

“Geralt,” Jaskier’s voice carried across the phone line to his ear. His voice sounded faint and tired, so completely unlike himself that Geralt froze where he had been working on his second boot.

“Jaskier,” Geralt replied worriedly, straightening and grasping his phone tightly. “Where are you? What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I’m at the hospital. I need you to come pick me up. Have you gotten off of work?” Jaskier replied, still sounding flat.

“I just got home,” Geralt replied shortly, fumbling to tuck his phone back into the curve of his shoulder so he could step back into his boots. “Which hospital are you at? Memorial or UPMC?” he asked, grabbing his wallet off the side table and yanking the door open. He didn’t bother to lock the door on his way out, hurrying down the hallway of their apartment building and back to the parking garage he had just left.

“Memorial,” Jaskier replied. Again, a short flat answer.

“What happened? Are you medicated?” Geralt asked. He had to keep moving. If he just kept going, he could keep the panic down.

“Yeah,” Jaskier slurred slightly, a little of a laugh in his voice. “It’s that obvious?”

“It’s very obvious,” Geralt replied flatly.

A breathy laugh came to him down the line, which took some of the edge off of Geralt’s panic.

“Jaskier, what happened?” Geralt prompted him again.

“There was an accident,” Jaskier sighed, sounding put out. Geralt imagined he had already related this story many times in the hospital and would probably have to tell it many more times in the weeks to come. “My cab driver cut someone off on the highway and spun out into the median.”

“How badly were you hurt?” Geralt asked. He was in his car and pulling out of the garage by then. He reminded himself to control himself, to drive under the speed limit, not to drive aggressively. If the hospital hadn’t called him, if Jaskier was ready to be picked up and was not being admitted, he must be okay. If Geralt got into an accident due to reckless driving, Jaskier would be stranded at the hospital or worse joined by himself.

Jaskier hummed in his ear. “Not bad, I suppose. It could have been much worse.”

“What are your injuries? Why did you have to go to the hospital?” Geralt asked. He just barely stopped himself from running a red light less than a mile from their apartment. It would be about twenty minutes with rush hour traffic to get to the hospital. Luckily, they lived close by.

“I hit my head on the passenger side window and was bleeding when the EMTs got there. I also had trouble walking on my right knee, so they wanted me to go to the hospital to be checked out,” Jaskier explained. He was starting to sound sleepy. “The doctors said I have a concussion.”

“What about your knee?” Geralt asked, signalling and cautioning himself to wait before making a right at a busy intersection.

“They x-rayed it and said it’s just badly bruised. It’s swollen up like there’s an orange in there, though. It’s gross,” Jaskier laughed again, sounding more than a little giddy.

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?” Geralt asked. Jaskier sounded okay, but he was good at masking his fear in Geralt’s experience. He would prefer he not feel he had to tough it out when Geralt could keep him talking until he got there.

“No, that’s okay,” Jaskier sighed. Geralt thought it sounded sincere, but again Jaskier was good at masking his emotions. “I still have paperwork to fill out before they’ll discharge me. Hopefully I’ll be done before you get here.”

“Okay. I’ll be there as soon as possible,” Geralt said gruffly.

“Okay. Please drive safe, dear,” Jaskier said, concerned.

“Don’t worry about me,” Geralt assured him. “See you soon.”

Jaskier returned the sentiment and then hung up.

Geralt tried to focus on the road and was surprised to see that his hands were shaking. Jaskier was fine. He had just talked to him on the phone. He laughed and joked with him. He was well enough to worry about Geralt. Jaskier was okay. He was okay, Geralt continued to reassure himself.

He had been to war, he had been shot and burnt and seen men and women die. Hell, he had killed people himself. Still, the idea of Jaskier sitting alone and hurt in a hospital made a panic pulse in his throat, it tightened his chest and churned his stomach. He was still surprised, even after being married for years, the depths at which Jaskier could affect him.

Geralt went to the front entrance of the hospital initially, but the older man at the information desk redirected him to the emergency department. Geralt rode a stale smelling industrial elevator down one level to the emergency room. As opposed to the glass panels with lush greenery of the expensive looking front entrance, the emergency room had uncomfortable plastic furniture that looked like it hadn’t been updated since the mid 1980s. The ceiling was covered with drop tiles and fluorescent lighting, scuffed tile floors and scratched beige walls. There were two vending machines humming in the corner beside a water fountain and two security guards sitting behind a small cheap particle board desk.

Jaskier was sitting in a wheelchair wearing grey sweats that definitely didn’t belong to him, dozing with his head resting back against the wall.

“Jaskier!” Geralt called, causing heads to swivel in his direction from the few people staggered around the waiting room. Jaskier’s eyes popped open at the sound of his name and he looked around groggily until his eyes settled on Geralt and he smiled wanly. Geralt knelt in front of him, carefully resting his hand on the knee that looked significantly smaller than the other. “Are you alright?” Geralt asked, surprised to find that he felt out of breath despite having fast walked less than three hundred feet.

“Yes, I’m quite alright. Ready to go home, though,” Jaskier said with a warm smile, placing his own hand over Geralt’s on his knee.

“Sir, you need to sign in,” a stern voice said from behind Geralt. Geralt grit his teeth and looked behind him at the young man in a security uniform standing behind him. The man looked bored more than anything else.

“Oh, he’s just here to pick me up,” Jaskier assured the security guard with a charming smile.

The security guard nodded, but didn’t otherwise move away.

At that point, a nurse who had previously been standing behind a round desk a few feet away approached. He put his hand on Jaskier’s shoulder and bent down slightly. “Do you want to take the wheelchair out to your car?”

“No, I think I’m alright to walk,” Jaskier smiled up at the young nurse.

It suddenly struck Geralt that he had parked in the parking garage and not near the emergency room entrance. He looked up at the nurse with a stricken expression. “I left my car near the front entrance. Can I pull it up to the doors here?”

“Sure,” the nurse replied. “We have ten minute parking for picking up and dropping off. Did you need directions to bring it around?” he asked.

“No, I can find it,” Geralt said, getting up.

“I’ll wait for you at the exit,” Jaskier said, struggling to stand up.

“Absolutely not. Stay in that chair,” Geralt snapped.

“Why don’t I roll you to the exit and we can wait together?” the nurse asked kindly, effortlessly mediating the situation.

Jaskier scoffed, but gave up surprisingly easily. This concerned Geralt, but he didn’t let himself dwell on it. Jaskier was obviously tired, sore and medicated. Geralt wanted to get him home as soon as possible.

Geralt was embarrassed by how long it took him to find his car in the parking garage. He had been so frazzled when he parked he took no time to take notice of where it was that he had parked. He was even more embarrassed by how long it took him to find his way from the front entrance to the emergency room entrance. The hospital that Jaskier was at was an old one that had been remodeled many times and had pieces built on so often that all the roads and parking around it were a complicated mess. It seemed to take forever before he could pull his small gray sedan to the front entrance and jump out, but his phone informed him it had only been ten minutes.

The male nurse was good to his word and was standing beside Jaskier’s wheelchair near the automatic glass doors. He took one arm and Geralt took the other and together they eased Jaskier out of the wheelchair. He grimaced as he stood, but otherwise didn’t give any indication of discomfort. Geralt could easily see that he wasn’t putting any weight on his right knee at all.

“These are all of his personal items,” the nurse said, proffering a plastic drawstring bag. “These are his discharge papers as well as his prescriptions,” he added, this time handing over a thin paper folder with some prescriptions paperclipped to the front. “Our number is on there in case you have any questions or run into any issues. We recommend he make an appointment with his regular doctor for follow up.”

“Understood. Thank you,” Geralt said, keeping one hand on Jaskier’s elbow and taking the bag and folder with his other.

“Thank you, Nurse David,” Jaskier said with a smile, as Geralt carefully helped him hobble toward the car.

It seemed to take forever for Jaskier to carefully hop his way on one leg to the car and Geralt found himself dreading taking him back to their apartment from the parking garage. It was a big complex and a long walk to their front door.

Once they were in the car, something in Geralt’s chest settled. Everything wasn’t perfectly fine, but Jaskier and he were together, Jaskier was officially out of the hospital and in less than half an hour they would be home.

“We should stop by the pharmacy on the way home so that we can drop off your prescriptions,” Geralt said, as he shifted into drive and pulled away from the curb.

“How do you feel about Taco Bell?” Jaskier asked in a tired voice.

Geralt looked over to give Jaskier a dirty look, but pulled it back after a few seconds. He had been trying to break Jaskier from eating fast food for years. It was garbage food, a point that Jaskier didn’t fight him on, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t want it. Usually, Geralt would give him a firm no and possibly Jaskier would needle and whine at him, but Jaskier looked so exhausted. There, in the natural light of the setting sun, Geralt could see the red marks along the side of his face that would surely become bruises by the next day. He had bags under his eyes and looked boneless where he was strapped into the passenger seat.

Geralt sighed. “Don’t make a habit of it,” he said, defeated.

Jaskier gave a silent fist pump and leaned over to rest his head on Geralt’s shoulder for a brief moment. “This is why I married you,” he said before sitting back.

“For the shitty barely mexican food?” Geralt snarked.

“And that,” Jaskier smirked.

They spent the rest of the car ride mostly talking about the car accident and Jaskier’s time in the hospital. The details of the accident, how and why it happened, who was involved and how long Jaskier was stuck at the scene slowly filled in. Jaskier confirmed that the staff at the hospital had given him some pretty good painkillers while he was there and warned him that once they wore off he would probably have a splitting headache. For the time being, he was just sleepy.

“What do you want?” Geralt asked as they pulled up to the Taco Bell drive through.

“A cheesy gordita crunch, two chicken chalupa supremes, a mexican pizza- No! Wait, a crunchwrap- wait! No, okay, a bean filled crunchwrap supreme-”

Geralt groaned. This all sounded disgusting to him, but he tried to contain his revulsion for Jaskier’s sake.

“Okay, all right, and a large baja blast. That’s it,” Jaskier finished with an apologetic look.

Geralt returned that look with a stern look of his own. “This is only because you’re feeble,” he admonished.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jaskier said drily.

Geralt repressed a smile at Jaskier’s cheeky reply and relayed his order to the best of his ability to the teenager on the other side of the drive through.

Their stop at the pharmacy was uneventful. Geralt dropped the prescriptions off and the lady at the desk advised him to come back in a few hours to pick up Jaskier’s medications. While he was doing that, Jaskier fell asleep in the car and startled awake when Geralt came back and closed the driver’s side door.

It was just a short drive from the pharmacy to their apartment building. Once they were parked in their normal spot, Geralt rushed to get out and get to Jaskier’s door before he could struggle out of it. Geralt opened the door and kneeled down beside it. Jaskier gave him a quizzical eyebrow.

“It’s a long walk to the apartment. I think you should let me carry you,” Geralt said with a determined expression.

Jaskier laughed, but stopped when he saw that Geralt wasn’t doing the same. “Oh, you’re serious,” Jaskier said, looking surprised.

“Your knee is still badly swollen and it will get worse if you try to walk on it like that,” Geralt tried to reason.

“I’m not protesting!” Jaskier exclaimed, “Quite the opposite.” He held out his arms with an obnoxious grin. “Take me away, my dear!”

Geralt gave Jaskier an unimpressed look, but it didn’t dim the happy grin on Jaskier’s face, so he figured it would be best to just get it over with.

A few minutes of awkward fumbling later, Jaskier was slung against Geralt’s back, his arms wrapped around Geralt’s neck, one of Geralt’s hands under Jaskier’s good knee and the bag with Jaskier’s food, clothes and discharge papers in his others.

“I guess there are some perks to being married to a beefcake,” Jaskier sighed into his ear once they were in the elevator.

“I’m going to drop you,” Geralt threatened.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Jaskier retorted with faux insult in his voice.

Geralt sighed. “No, I wouldn’t,”

Back in their apartment, Geralt settled Jaskier in the bedroom. He helped Jaskier change out of the sweats that the hospital had given him and into his own pajamas. Whatever medication the nurses in the hospital had given Jaskier was starting to wear off to be replaced by the headache he had been warned about. It was already starting to get dark out, but Geralt closed the blinds anyway. Jaskier waved off any additional medication, food or drink beyond the few bites he had taken of his Taco Bell order. He snuggled down in the blankets and seemed to immediately pass out.

Geralt retreated back into the living room of their small apartment. He put the remains of Jaskier’s food in the fridge. He knew from experience that cold take out was almost as good to Jaskier as hot. He read through the discharge papers that the nurse had provided him. They mostly expanded on the instructions that Jaskier had repeated to him. Most of them were in reference to the concussion. They said that Jaskier would likely suffer from headaches, light sensitivity and fatigue. He needed as much sleep as possible to recover. He needed to stay off of and ice his knee as much as he could.

After reading through the discharge papers, Geralt opened the bag with Jaskier’s belongings and stopped.

Inside the bag were all the clothes that Jaskier had been wearing that morning, his shoes, his wallet and his carry on bag. His clothes were by far the most concerning. They were splashed with blood, especially his hoodie and t-shirt, and had been cut off of him with shears, jagged cuts bisecting his clothes down the front. Even his pants and underwear had been cut off of him. The clothing lay on their kitchen table in a pile, Geralt carefully plucking the pieces apart as he tried to make out exactly what had happened to them. Eventually, after minutes of breathing through his nose to try and calm himself down, Geralt took the clothing in one big handful and shoved them to the bottom of the kitchen trash can. He could buy Jaskier new clothes later, if he was upset about it. There was no repairing the damage done.

Geralt suddenly felt restless. Jaskier was asleep and he didn’t want to leave him alone in the apartment, so Geralt ended up pacing back and forth between the kitchen and the living room. After a little while of stomping back and forth, he turned on the TV with the volume down low and turned on the news. The droning voices of the reporters and the pacing helped with the terrible feeling in his stomach that the bloodied clothes had brought back. Eventually, he was able to settle down enough to make himself a simple dinner and get ready for bed.

He was careful getting into bed beside Jaskier, but he didn’t have to bother. Jaskier was snoring loudly, his arm thrown out above his head and his mouth open. In the pale light of the streetlights streaking between their blinds, Geralt could make out the white gauze square taped to Jaskier’s forehead dotted with red that had previously been hidden beneath his hair.

Geralt still felt anxious. Jaskier was home and safe, so why did he still feel so uncertain. He worried he wouldn’t be able to sleep, but it seemed that as soon as Geralt settled down on his back he passed out, the stress of the past few hours quickly catching up to him.

The next day, Geralt got up early to call off work. Jaskier slept in late and Geralt didn’t dare to bother him. It was almost noon by the time Jaskier fumbled out of the living room hopping on one leg, causing Geralt to shoot up from where he was sitting on the couch and rush to his side.

“You should have called for me. I would have helped you up,” Geralt scolded.

Jaskire grumbled, but if any of it was actual language, Geralt couldn’t make it out.

“Are you hungry?” Geralt asked, helping Jaskier to the couch to lay down.

“No, but I am sore. Do we have any painkillers?” Jaskier asked, shielding his eyes from the dim light that managed to come into the living room past their closed curtains.

“I picked up your prescribed painkillers this morning,” Geralt said, going to the kitchen to get the small bundle of pill bottles he had picked up from the pharmacy. “You’re not supposed to take them on an empty stomach,” Geralt cautioned.

Jaskier groaned in distaste, but otherwise didn’t respond.

“Do you want your Taco Bell from yesterday? I put it in the fridge,” Geralt asked.

Jaskier’s head popped out from behind his hand at that. “Oh! I had forgotten about that. Yes, I’ll eat that,” he agreed happily.

Geralt pulled a face as he grabbed the greasy bag of fast food out of their otherwise pristine fridge. He put it on the coffee table in front of Jaskier as he struggled into a sitting position.

“How’s your knee?” Geralt asked, eying his right knee. It looked almost back to its normal size, but it was hard to tell under Jaskier’s pajamas.

Jaskier had a soft shell taco shoved into his mouth, so he didn’t try to answer. Instead, he reached down and rolled up his pajama pants to reveal his knee. The swelling had gone down, but there was still a good sized knot sitting to the right of his kneecap. Unfortunately, the swelling had largely been replaced with a huge mottled purple bruise that took up all of Jaskier’s knee and most of the right side of his leg.

Grunting in surprise, Jaskier pulled the taco out of his mouth to say, “Well, that is both better and worse than I expected.”

Geralt’s face crumpled at the bruising. It looked terrible. He tried to console himself, to remind himself that he knew that there was no lasting damage, that it was just a bad bruise. The visual, especially on someone he loved so dearly, was too upsetting to dismiss.

“Jaskier,” Geralt breathed, as he got down on his knees and pressed both hands gently over Jaskier’s bruised leg.

“Geralt,” Jaskier sighed, pressing one hand on top of both of Geralt’s and leaning toward him. “It’s okay. It looks much worse than it is.”

Geralt knew that was true. Jaskier was absolutely right. The bruise was ugly, but it would fade in the next few weeks and leave no trace behind.

“You could have died,” Geralt said, instead of all of those very reasonable things. “When I thought of not having you with me anymore, I-” Geralt choked on the words, the events of yesterday crushing down on him all at once, all the thoughts he had been pushing down rushing to the back of his throat.

Jaskier pressed his other hand to the side of Geralt’s face. “It was scary, I know,” he said quietly. “I was lucky that things worked out the way they did. I for one am happy that I’ll have many more years to spend with you,” Jaskier murmured, pressing his lips to the side of Geralt’s face.

“I was so worried,” Geralt ground out, not sure what else could capture what he felt or had been feeling since he got Jaskier’s call.

“I’m sorry, love,” Jaskier whispered, peppering kisses down the side of Geralt’s face.

“I should have been there. You should have called me right away,” Geralt grumbled, melting under Jaskier’s kisses, though he wanted to hang onto his fear and anxiety.

“I know. It took hours, but it felt like everything was moving so fast. I will call you right away next time,” Jaskier agreed, pressing lips to Geralt’s neck.

Geralt gently pushed Jaskier back by his shoulders.

“There won’t be a next time,” he said with a serious face.

Jaskier frowned. “Geralt,” he sighed in exasperation.

Geralt shook his head. He knew he was being unreasonable, but he couldn’t help it. He almost wanted to keep Jaskier in their apartment forever, never let him take any risks again, but he knew that was foolish. Jaskier thrived on social interaction, on meeting people and entertaining. He was also more fearless than most people Geralt knew. He wouldn’t let the accident slow him down.

Geralt buried his face in Jaskier’s neck instead of holding his disapproving gaze. “Perhaps I’ll drive you everywhere from now on,” he said.

Jaskier snorted. “Yes, that will surely work. Vesemir will like that.”

Geralt grimaced at the name of his boss. He didn’t want to think about work. Vesemir was understanding that morning, but he wouldn’t stay that way for long.

“Perhaps you can take the bus from now on,” Geralt said instead.

“Yes, because the bus is certainly safer,” Jaskier responded.

Geralt was silent about that. Jaskier again was not wrong. Geralt hated when Jaskier was the reasonable one.

“Perhaps we can just fuck and laugh and live as much as we can for as long as we can,” Jaskier suggested and Geralt grunted in agreement. Jaskier could be wise sometimes. He supposed he was lucky to have blundered his way into marrying the man.

“Did you want to get started on that first part?” Jaskier teased.

Geralt pinched his side, making him jump and smack him on the back. “You have a concussion,” Geralt said in an unimpressed voice.

“I’m feeling much better,” Jaskier said innocently.

“Eat your shitty tacos,” Geralt sighed and Jaskier pouted.

But, he did eat his shitty tacos. And, they did get to fucking a few hours later. So, everything turned out okay in the end.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt/jaskier #fanfiction #alternate universe - modern setting #hospitals #concussions #car accidents #kittywrites

[whereplotbunniesgotodie]

Here's your blessing Geralt

Geralt said his blessing would be to not have the bard around anymore? So be it. Jaskier would do just that, he would take himself off the witcher's hands... But apparently the mountains and her more monstrous inhabitants have other plans for the bard.

Warnings: mentions of blood and injuries from a monster attack. I mean nothing more than canon, in fact probably less so than canon but still.

Angst with a happy ending

Cross posted here and on ao3

'If life could give me one blessing…' 

Jaskier let out a shaking breath as he picked his way down the slope. So Geralt wanted him gone?  Well fine... Jaskier would just go ahead and take himself off Geralt's hands then. 

His lute jostled on his back with each step and he did his best to steady it, it wouldn't be good to have the instrument damaged.

Blue eyes glanced back up the slope, searching for movement, for a sign of Geralt on his way down. When Jaskier saw nothing and his heart sank further to his stomach, he looked away. Of course he wouldn't come. The witcher had made it perfectly clear how little he thought of the bard, how little Jaskier meant. Jaskier wanted to be angry, to storm back up the mountain and yell at the Witcher, but instead he felt nearly numb. 

Jaskier was trying to be careful as the path narrowed even more than he remembered from the way up and he briefly wondered if he had taken a wrong turn somewhere, he should have hit their campsite by now.  He was heading towards the sunset though and he was sure they had headed away from it on the way up.  Too distracted by his thoughts, and the ever growing hole that seemed to be taking over his entire chest, the bard didn't hear the step behind him until a growl alerted him to how close whatever it was, well, was. 

He turned just in time to catch a sharp claw across his cheek, pulling a pained yelp from his throat. He hit the ground with a crash, his lute splintering beneath him. He reached up a shaking hand and ran it over his cheek, frowning when it came away slick with blood. He looked up as the creature lowered itself towards the ground in a crouch. He realized too late what it was doing, though he tried to back away. His hand shot to his hip, where a dagger lay hidden; gifted to him by Geralt 

The breath was knocked from his lungs when the creature lunged and set all its weight on him, laying him flat on his back, his hand yanking the dagger from its sheath in his pained flailing. It took a moment but he gasped desperately to get the air back into his lungs before he pushed at the creature as hard as he could and swung his other hand, the knife slicing a sizable gash in its chest. It growled in pain as it fell away, it's legs kicking wildly as it attempted to right itself, and Jaskier immediately scrambled to his feet. 

He didn't hesitate a moment longer, turning on his heel and bolting. He could hear whatever it was getting back to its feet and, before he knew it was chasing him, gaining on him. He cried out when it leapt onto his back and both of them collapsed into a heap. He registered the knife slipping from his grip and sliding down the path and he could feel the white hot pain as claws dug into his shoulders and his lower back. He tried to struggle, to shove it off again but the pain as it sunk its teeth into his flesh pulled a scream from his throat. He felt them moving, sliding, but he didn't know where exactly they ended up. 

  He didn't mean to do it. Didn't mean to call out for him but his mind latched onto the vain hope that the Witcher would hear him.

"G...Geralt! Geralt Hel-" The creature putting its weight on the back of his neck cut off any sound he could make and he gasped desperately. Black spots began to swirl in his vision as the pain began to fade, though he could still hear the growling. Oh… he just couldn't feel it anymore. That probably wasn't good. 

He couldn't move his arms and his eyelids were too heavy to keep open. He tried though, and managed one last look at the pink of the setting sun over the horizon. 

He couldn't breathe but the pain of claws dug into his back seemed to have vanished. He wondered briefly if Geralt had come and gotten rid of the monster but he cursed himself for hoping. 

"Geralt…" he said, though he had no way of knowing if he even made a sound. His vision swam and faded to black. 

~~

Geralt stood, fists clenched and shoulders tensed as he took in the empty camp. Jaskier was nowhere to be found, though his bedroll and small pack still lay in the remains of the camp. The sun was setting and darkness was creeping over the pink horizon.

He let out a sharp breath through his nose as he realized that any scent or trace of Jaskier was old. The bard hadn't been in camp since that morning. That wasn't normal and Geralt tried to ignore the concern he could feel rising in his chest. The bard, no matter how upset he had been, surely knew not to run off down the mountain alone. 

Geralt swallowed the concern and converted it into anger. 

"Jaskier!" He yelled. "Jaskier get up here!" He knew he was loud enough for the bard to hear no matter where he had stopped for the night.  "Jaskier!"

He heard no movement, no mumbled curses; not even a distant call of 'fuck off!' Any of which he expected. 

He glanced around before he shook his head. It was far too late to go out tonight and when the bard had left he'd been angry. He was probably just ignoring Geralt and the Witcher would come across him in the morning, cold and complaining. He sat down by the corpse of the fire from the night before to meditate. Closing his eyes he almost swore he heard a sound in the distance but when it didn't come again he ignored the urge to check it out, brushing it off as an animal.

The sun rose and Geralt arose with it. He couldn't help the frown that took to his lips when he saw the bard hadn't come back. The lingering scent from the day before had faded and now it was as if the bard hadn't been to the camp at all.  He quickly packed up the few things that had been left at the camp, including Jaskier's bedroll, which he hefted over his shoulder with his own and started down the path. 

It was at least a few hours of walking before he saw splinters of wood staggered around the path and thought little of them. Whatever it was looked to be destroyed and it was no concern of his that some traveler had been unlucky enough to break some possession of theirs. 

He glanced around as he walked, eyes searching for any sign of the bard, ears straining for the sounds he constantly made. Neither sight or sound alerted him to anything abnormal. In fact it was the sticky, iron scent of blood that pulled his attention down a nearby slope. He peered down and caught sight of a creature laying dead at the bottom of the small but steep incline. 

He almost walked away, almost turned his back to the corpse before he caught a glimpse of something just up the path, the silver blade glinting in the sunlight. That was the knife he had given Jaskier, the knife that was no longer in his possession and was tinted copper at the tip. He looked back down the incline with a start and finally noticed something red just beneath the creature. It was too bright and solid to be blood and too textured to be a trick of the light. 

No. No! 

He started down, trying to keep his expression from morphing into distress. He slid most of the way and stopped just a foot from the body… no. Bodies, it was bodies. He could see now, the lithe form of the bard curled beneath the monster. He didn't hesitate to throw the monster body off of Jaskier's limp form, not caring as it slid away down a steeper incline to the left. 

"Jaskier!?" Geralt felt his legs give out and he hit the ground with a thud. He reached out, hands hovering over Jaskier's cheeks, his shoulders. Finally Geralt steadied himself enough to grasp the bard by his shoulders, pointedly ignoring the ripped and shredded fabric that he felt beneath his palms, and hauled him up to lean against Geralt's chest.  The bard, limp in his grasp, with eyes closed, could too easily be confused with a doll or a corpse.

 One arm slid to wrap around Jaskier's back to hold him and Geralt's other hand cupped Jaskier's cheek to tilt his head towards him. The witcher almost yanked his hand away as his heart fell to his stomach. The bard was so cold, his skin sickly pale. A deep cut marred his cheek, dried blood crusted across his skin. A gash, no, a bite, where his shoulder and neck met stood out in angry blistered red. Geralt laid a hand over it shakily. The wound should have been bleeding! Why wasn't it bleeding? Not that Geralt wanted Jaskier to be bleeding, but bleeding meant his blood still flowed, his heart still beat… He still lived.

"Jaskier!" Geralt hissed as he gave the bard a small jostle. The bard didn't react, didn't respond and Geralt growled. He had to stay under control; had to calm down. The blood rushing in his ears and the growl low in his throat kept him from hearing Jaskier's heartbeat. The shaking of his hands, that had to be why he couldn't find a pulse. 

"Jaskier, wake up!" He couldn't let the bard die, not when he was the cause of it. He had sent him away, sent him waltzing down the mountain on his own… and he had been the one not to go looking after dark. 

"Jaskier!" Geralt tried again, his hand cupping nearly Jaskier's entire neck. He tried to calm down, to relax enough to be useful again. Finally, he managed to quell the blood roaring in his ears and the shaking of his hands. Then, blooming just beneath his fingertips was a pulse. It was nearly as sluggish as his own and did little to give Jaskier the appearance of life, but it was still there. Jaskier's heart still beat in his chest and Geralt still had a chance to make this all right.

He frowned as he eyed the bite on Jaskier's neck. He didn't have anything for it, not at the moment; but he could make something if he got to roach. He looked up the incline, he couldn't climb it with Jaskier in tow, not completely comatose anyway.

"Jaskier, come on. You've got to wake up just a little." He tried, voice quiet and far too soft. He tapped gently at the bard's cheek in an attempt to rouse him. "Jaskier, please." He said, voice nearly a whisper. He couldn't help but lower his head, pulling Jaskier closer until his nose was buried in brunette hair. Beneath the smell of blood and old fear was the overly familiar scent of cinnamon, blueberries and summer flowers, with the softest of vanilla undertones lingering beneath them all. Geralt found the scent terrifyingly comforting.

The scent gave the distinct feeling of…Home… One that so very few places and people gave him. It was warm and familiar, and caused Geralt to realize he might never get that again. Geralt had sent Jaskier away, told him that his absence would be a blessing. Now… Now, Jaskier was barely clinging to life and Geralt could do little to help him. 

His grip on the bard tightened slightly and he felt, for the first time since he was in training, truly overwhelmed. He couldn't carry the bard up the steep incline, couldn't leave him and come back, couldn't wake him. He closed his eyes and let out a deep, stuttering breath. Geralt felt useless and the feeling was so overwhelming he didn't notice the Bard's pulse get slightly stronger as he kept the other close. He didn't feel the heat slowly returning and the color bleeding into pale cheeks.  

He did hear the sharp, sudden and deep intake of breath from his arms and his eyes snapped open. Lowering his gaze, he found himself looking into open but glassy blue eyes. 

"Jaskier!"

"...Ger't?" 

The Witcher couldn't find the words he wanted, not surprising really, but he didn't really try too hard to find them either. He instead pulled Jaskier close, resting the bard's head against his shoulder as one hand curled tighter around Jaskier's back and the other cupped the back of his head, tangled gently in his hair, nose buried in Jaskier's neck. 

"You're alive..." He breathed, so quietly it took him a moment to realize he had said it out loud. 

The bard didn't respond and for a moment Geralt feared he had passed back out, but when he leaned back enough to see Jaskier's face, he saw the still glazed blue eyes wide in shock. 

"Jaskier." He said again, his tone sharper than he meant for it to be, but he couldn't let Jaskier fall back into shock. Especially now he could see the bite had started bleeding sluggishly.

"Geralt…" Jaskier said slowly, reaching up and running his fingers down Geralt's cheek, the touch feather light. "You're… Really here." He cringed as the move caused the bite to pull, bleeding more steadily and a hiss escaped his clenched teeth. 

"Don't move your arm. You'll hurt yourself worse." Geralt murmured, watching Jaskier's expression curl in confusion. 

"So I am dead?" The bard questioned quietly. 

Geralt narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"You're worried about me…Telling me how not to get hurt worse…But Geralt said he didn't care so I must be dead and you must be a figment of my imagination." His voice was strained, as if stringing so many words together was hard.

Geralt didn't answer him, didn't immediately assure the bard that he didn't hate him, because Geralt couldn't put into words what he was slowly realizing  the other meant to him. 

"I need you to stay awake so we can get back to Roach, alright?" 

Jaskier frowned but gave a small curt nod, eyes closing. Geralt maneuvered him to his feet and, though he had to do most of the work in pulling him along, Jaskier was able to follow his lead when the pair headed to the incline. The bard opened his eyes a few times but seemed unable to keep them that way for long.

"Stay awake." Geralt snapped when he felt the bard start to sag against him. "You have to stay awake, Jaskier."

Jaskier mumbled an apology as he tried to straighten up. Geralt looked up the incline and then at the nearly unconscious Jaskier and thought. He had an idea but knew he would have to be quick about it.

"Jaskier." He said, pushing the bard to face him and hold him at arm's length. "Listen. You need to stay awake enough to hold onto me. Can you do that?"

Jaskier swayed in his feet but nodded, eyes still closed. "Think so…" he muttered.  Geralt eyed the bite again, it had started bleeding in earnest now, worryingly so.

Geralt let go and quickly turned his back to the other and just as he'd thought, Jaskier sagged weakly against him. Geralt knelt and used the momentum to get Jaskier onto his back. As if by instinct, Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt's neck and held on.

The witcher brought Jaskier's legs to wrap around his waist before he released him. Trusting the bard to hang on, and keeping in mind the shallow but steady breaths against his neck, he started to climb. 

It was slow going, Geralt mumbling to Jaskier to keep holding onto him and Jaskier trying to do just that. At least once, Geralt was sure the bard had passed back out fully, but his grip didn't slacken. It took three sharp calls of the bard's name to get a mumbled response. 

They reached the top of the incline and, with a small amount of aid from Jaskier, Geralt pushed the bard to lay on solid ground and then followed up himself. As soon as he was no longer clinging to Geralt, Jaskier let his body fall limp. Geralt sat for just a second, just long enough to calculate how far from roach they were before he shuffled to Jaskier's side. 

"One more time Jask, wake up and stay awake." Geralt said sharply, the only tone that seemed to really snap Jaskier to attention.

Jaskier made a small noise, possibly an objection, in the back of his throat but his eyes did blink open blearily. Geralt glanced up towards the path and then back at Jaskier. Decision made, he stood and then leaned down to scoop up the bard quickly. Holding him in a bridal carry, he jostled the bard only enough to secure his grip on him. Jaskier, despite the manhandling, stayed worryingly silent. He glanced down and saw that, while Jaskier did indeed still have his eyes open, he was far too busy staring intently, or as intently as he could seeing as his eyes were still glassy and far away, at Geralt's face. 

Geralt decided he would question that later, they didn't have time now, and started down the mountain at a pace that couldn't be called a run, but only because of how careful the Witcher had to be.

He reached Roach even quicker than he anticipated, and quickly laid Jaskier into the grass beside her before immediately digging through the nearest saddle bag. 

Roach, for her part, seemed to sense Geralt's unease, as she nickered softly at him. As he searched she leaned her head down towards Jaskier and nosed at, and then gently lipped his cheek, pulling a soft, worryingly wet laugh from the bard that had Geralt freezing in place for a second. 

"Roach?" Jaskier murmured. "Hello darling girl. When did you get here?"

Geralt couldn't help but feel his chest lighten slightly. Jaskier was talking, he was laughing, he was staying far more awake than he had for Geralt, and even if it was because of Roach, Geralt found he couldn't be upset. Roach huffed a breath at the bard before looking back at Geralt, almost as if to say 'Hurry up you absolute buffoon! He's hurt!"

Geralt decided the other thing he would question later would be how the hell his horse had given him such a look, shelving that particular question in the back of his mind. 

Once he had gotten what he needed from his bag, he knelt beside Jaskier, on his other side seeing as Roach nipped and refused adamantly to move when he'd tried to ease her aside. With Jaskier still talking to the horse, even if it had at some point careened into less talking and more absently mumbling about Roach's lovely coat, Geralt got to work. 

The first application of salve,enchanted thanks to a very smug Yennefer last time they'd met, had Jaskier hissing through his teeth, eyes clenched shut and all playful mirth about his ode to Roach immediately vanishing from him. 

"I know…" Geralt found himself murmuring. "I know. But it'll help Jaskier. It's going to help." 

Hurts…" he hissed, bleary eyes opening for only a moment before he clenched them shut again. They didn't open the rest of the time that Geralt worked. 

Once the bite and gashes on his cheek and lower back, he had to turn him to his side for that, much to Roach's apparent disapproval, were covered in salve and then bandages, Geralt laid Jaskier gently on his back again. The bard, having passed out again, looked too worryingly close to how Geralt had found him earlier and Geralt couldn't help but reach out and run his fingers through the bard's hair, down his unmarred cheek, coming to a stop over his pulse point. Roach, for her part in this strange happening, slowly knelt and then huffed as she laid down beside the bard and her Witcher, laying her head gently across Jaskier's stomach.

Sitting there, the sun now high in the sky, Geralt couldn't help but fall into a light meditation, his hand never leaving Jaskier's neck, never leaving the steadying heartbeat beneath his fingertips. 

That's how Jaskier awoke, with a gentle press of fingers at his throat, a tightness from the skin where bandages were wrapped tightly, and the feeling of something warm and heavy across his stomach. Opening his eyes, he couldn't help the look of shock that crossed his face as he saw both Roach, and then Geralt, sitting so close to him. 

The uptick in his heartbeat had Geralt snapping his eyes open only seconds after the bard and when honey met cornflower, he all but shoved Roach's head aside and pulled the bard to him in a hug, blatantly ignoring the horse as she let out an angry nicker and climbed slowly to her feet. He buried his nose against Jaskier's throat, taking the place of his fingers, and his hands wrapped around the bard's shoulders and tangled in his hair. 

Jaskier was so taken aback that he didn't even have the state of mind to question what Geralt was doing, instead, raising his arms to wrap them back around the Witcher. 

"Jaskier… You're alright.." he heard Geralt murmur against his neck, the movement of his lips and the warmness of his breath pulling a gasping shiver from Jaskier, despite the uncalled-forness of the timing. 

"Geralt?" 

Geralt tightened his grip slightly, cutting Jaskier off before he could speak again. "I'm sorry. Gods Jaskier I'm so fucking sorry." His tone was tight, angry, and Jaskier tensed at it. Geralt was quick to smell the change in his bard's emotions, the strangely citrus scent of confusion giving way to the sickly sweet scent of fear. 

He leaned back, golden eyes wide as he looked Jaskier over, and then met his eyes. "I'm sorry." He repeated, using as much willpower as he could to keep the self hatred and anger from his voice, leaving it instead soft and broken. "I never should have let you leave like that…What I said was just…" 

Jaskier watched him struggle to find the words, to speak more than three at a time and felt his lips curling into a soft, tentative smile. 

"You've so rarely apologized that I have half a mind to test you with silver." He said, attempting to joke with Geralt, but frowned when the statement pulled a look of hurt across Geralt's face. "Geralt… No, I know it's you…" he amended quickly, reaching out to cup Geralt's cheek. 

Geralt absently leaned into the touch, keeping his eyes on Jaskier as he did. Gods, the surprise on the others face at the movement, the soft smile that slowly returned, made Geralt's heart skip a beat. " I'm sorry." He repeated instead of doing what he wanted to do and pressing a kiss to Jaskier's lips. 

Roach, apparently having had enough of whatever it was her two men were doing and the dancing around each other, huffed and stomped her foot before slowly circling around to stand behind Geralt and pressing at the back of his head with her nose, leaning him closer to the bard. 

"Geralt?" Jaskier asked, tone soft, as if he didn't want to disturb the other. 

"Jaskier… Can you say you forgive me… please?" He found himself whispering. 

Jaskier's eyes widened and he fumbled over his words. "What? Of course I… I mean you apologized and… I knew you didn't mean what you said, but I mean I'm still a little upset at you and…" the bard was stumbling over his words and Geralt had the urge to quiet him. Realizing that Jaskier was continuing to try and fumble out an acceptance, Geralt took a deep breath and leaned forward, capturing the bard's lips with his own and silencing the other man. 

Pulling back a moment later Geralt couldn't help but smile at the soft 'oh' the other let out. He had half a mind to say something else, something more, but didn't have a chance as Jaskier surged back to him and pulled him into another kiss. 

Geralt had the feeling it would still take some time for him to fully apologize to Jaskier, even if Jaskier himself denied the need, and he was already attempting to plan out more apologies for the future. For now though, he simply pulled Jaskier close, deepened the kiss, and for once, didn't ignore the spicy scent of arousal that surged from the bard. He did, subconsciously take note of the sweet, honey scent that lingered below the arousal. 

Love, he realized belatedly, the soft vanilla scent was love. 

#angst #geraskier #geralt of rivia #the witcher #witcher geralt #witcher jaskier #jaskier

[seidenbros]

Congratulations on 1k, my friend!! You deserve it. For the celebration prompts, perhaps Geraskier + a kitten? 💚

Thaaaank you Wren

You can always get me with kittens, and I think this turned out a little sillier than expected, but here we go 💚

-----

“Ohhh, who are you?” Jaskier couldn’t help but smile as he crouched down. They were taking a short break by a stream to fill up on fresh water before they continued to Cintra. Or rather Geralt took care of the water while Jaskier felt something rub along his leg. A tiny black cat had come up to him demanding attention.

“Are you hungry, little one.” He reached out his hands, rubbing the cat’s ears, between her eyes. The purring he received in turn was all the reward he needed.

“Come on,” he cooed, carefully lifted the little thing up to carry her over to where Roach was waiting for them. He reached into a bag and got something out that he held out to the kitten. Oh yes, she really was hungry.

“Aren’t you a little sunshine?” Jaskier’s smile widened, before he dropped down on  the floor and sat cross legged, the kitten between his legs, getting comfortable there. She was soaking up the sun and Jaskier did the same. At least until Geralt came back, a scowl adorning his face.

“What did you pick up?”

“That’s sunshine!” Jaskier looked up at the witcher, a big grin on his face. “She came up to me and was hungry, so I fed her.”

“Jaskier, you can’t keep feeding every lost animal you find. This is ridiculous.” This was so typically Jaskier, that Geralt could only sigh. Wherever they went, he found some hurt or lonely animal and wanted to help. It was… cute in a way, but it could get out of hand, if Geralt didn’t watch out.

“But just look at her!” He held out the little kitten with eyes bigger than her whole head as it seemed, up to Geralt, and she meowed.

“Jaskier…” Geralt gritted his teeth. Damn it, Jaskier knew that this worked, that Geralt couldn’t say no, when he was faced with such big eyes that looked up at him all helpless. “How do you even know that it’s a she?”

“Just look at her!”

“Of course…” Geralt knew better than to argue with Jaskier about this, just accept it as a fact, and keep his mouth shut if they found out in the end, that it was in fact a he. It didn’t matter in the end anyway.

“So, can we keep her? Pleeeaaaase?” Jaskier cuddled the kitten close, looked up at Geralt with the same expression, Sunshine wore on her face.

“Fine.” An exasperated sigh left Geralt’s lips as he got ready to move on. He didn’t look at Jaskier, didn’t want to see that triumphant grin on his lips. If he didn’t love that idiot so much, Geralt would have left here without him, but… he couldn’t live without the bard anymore.

“But you’re carrying her, you’re taking care of her. She's your responsibility, not mine.”

“Okay!” Jaskier got up and leaned in to press a kiss to Geralt’s cheek, before they got on their way again.

“Yeah… he’s a bit of a grump, but he has a huge heart… he just doesn’t want anyone to know.” Jaskier spoke in hushed tones to the kitten, carrying her in his arms, but Geralt still heard him. He simply shook his head and let Jaskier babble on. The longer Jaskier talked to the kitten, told her about the adventures they’d had, the more Geralt had to try and hide his smile, because it was adorable to watch Jaskier.

Once they reached their destination, though, Jaskier had to leave the kitten outside with Roach, because she wasn’t allowed in the inn.

“She’ll be fine. She’s been fine without you so far, okay? She’ll stay with Roach.” And if she didn’t, if she ran away, then that was also okay, because so far, she’d grown up in the wilderness.

When Jaskier was asleep that night, though, Geralt snuck out and walked to the stables where Roach was staying, because he had to make sure that Sunshine was alright. And there she was, sleeping on top of Roach, rolled up into a tiny ball of fur, shivering slightly. Geralt reached for one of the smaller blankets and draped it over the kitten. She opened her eyes only for a second, before she closed them again. The shivering stopped and Geralt smiled. Yeah… he knew that he’d never get rid of this kitten, just like he’d never get rid of Jaskier. Because he didn’t want to get rid of them.

#seidenbros follower celebration #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt x jaskier #staffi writes #the witcher #the witcher imagine #the witcher drabble #geraskier imagine #geraskier drabble

[dapandapod]

Scent of spring

*Obi wan kenobi voice* Hello there! Turns out writers block wasn't as done with me as I thought xDD but I'm fighting it!! So this is a piece written for an a/b/o event we are doing at @thepassifloradiscord, because fun, and there is just something about courting that is just so kdkdfjf. Yes, I'm ok, thank you for asking. So please enjoy this little thing, where Eskel is not enjoyin spring!

Here on Ao3

It’s been pouring down for fucking days. 

Spring is the absolute worst, Eskel thinks to himself as he trudges along muddy roads toward his usual inn. 

Not only because of the shitty weather, but also because of all the monsters approaching their mating season, because of the more than abundant pollen, because stupid Jaskier who doesn’t realize Eskel has been courting him for months.

He probably could have been clearer, but Eskel really thought that Jaskier would have picked up on it by now. 

The flowers, clearly coded in flower language to express his feelings for Jaskier. 

The gift, meant to show his feelings for Jaskier in physical form. The silk shirt, to prove that he could provide for his intended mate. The hand holding, to show that he would always be a bastion of safety, warmth and love for his chosen.

Eskel had felt especially brave about the hand holding, as it is not something witchers do, do they?

 But Jaskier had beamed, laced their fingers together and pressed up against his arms, so what was he to think?

When they had said their goodbyes before the winter, he had angled Jaskier’s chin up and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.

And Jaskier had looked so dumbfounded, so gobsmacked, that Eskel had turned tail and ran.

Not the wisest move, he admits to himself, but given the way Jaskier had smiled at him and held his hand... Eskel is simply a man.

A drenched man right now, as he stomps through the puddles with Scorpion at his side. 

Fucking mud, fucking rain, Scorpion needs to go to the ferrier to replace a shoe that disappeared somewhere two days ago. 

Most likely when they were running away from a nest of agitated nekkers, and there is no going back for it.

There is only an hour left until he reaches the inn. 

The letters he had picked up after he made it down that blasted mountain were mostly from Jaskier, writing about missing him, and where they would meet in the upcoming spring.

Which reminds him. Another bad thing with spring is his Rut. It usually hits during the late winter/early spring, just in time for him to make it down the mountain and find a whorehouse, or an incubus, or a succubus, or whatever. 

There is just no way of telling exactly when it'll come.

It doesn’t feel right to meet Jaskier just as it starts, like bad manners, but his body is intent on betraying him. 

If he didn’t know better, he would suspect that his Rut is purposely holding out until they meet. 

Which would mean either running off or dealing with it together. 

And Eskel doesn’t want Jaskier to feel obligated, or like Eskel is assuming things will happen.

Despite the rain, he can smell the smoke from the chimneys from down the road. Maybe less than an hour, then.

Daylight is slowly fading when Eskel reaches the outskirts of the village. 

The inn sits at the crossroads, the little dirt courtyard in front of the stable lined with a rickety fence. There is already light in the windows, and a teenager runs up to meet him and Scorpion when he approaches.

“Is there a farrier in town?” he asks, tossing the boy a copper when he grabs Scorpion’s reins. “Don’t touch his hindlegs, by the way,” he warns.

Eskel almost feels bad about leaving the boy with his stallion, but there is a restlessness twisting in his bones. 

From inside, he can hear the strumming of a lute, sense Jaskier’s scent in the air. Warm and spicy, familiar and safe and enticing. 

The boy stammers out a “Yes, master witcher,” and Eskel is moving. He walks towards the inn's door and slips inside quietly so as to not disturb the performance.

Jaskier sits upon a chair in the corner, where the floor is slightly elevated. From the look of the crowd, Eskel is not the only traveler seeking cover as there are but a few tables free at the front.

There is no fucking way Eskel is going to sit in front of the stage. So by the wall he stands, until a table further back vacates. He orders a serving of tonight's dinner and two ales.

When Jaskier notices him, a secret smile graces his lips, his content scent spiking.

“I’m afraid this will be my last song for tonight, fair folk,” Jaskier informs the tavern, strumming up a gentle tune, eyes lingering on Eskel.

His dinner arrives and he promptly forgets about it, held captive by Jaskier's every word. By a song about hoping, about searching.

The sweet gesture of a daisy tucked lovingly behind your ear. 

The soul-warming sensation of a hand in yours. 

A kiss given when parting is inevitable.

There is thin applause when he finishes up, and Eskel can do nothing but stare when Jaskier packs up and approaches his table.

“Hi you,” he says quietly, smiling down at him.

“Hi yourself,” Eskel manages. “I uh… bought you a drink.”

“Such a gentleman,” Jaskier says, stealing Eskel’s drink anyway, eyes gleaming over the rim of the mug. “Did you find a room yet?”

“Was told it was fully booked.”

“Then stay in mine,” Jaskier offers. Tension builds between them now, much stronger than in the past. “You are absolutely drenched. Eat up so we can head upstairs and get you dried off.”

They make their way up to Jaskier’s room after Eskel finishes his meal. The cold is starting to get to him, at long last. 

There is no fireplace in the room, but they make do. Eskel’s wet clothes are hung over chairs and laid out on the small table, even hanging on the lute case.

There is only one bed, but luckily, it's big enough for the two of them to sleep comfortably.

Eskel still offers to take the floor.

“Don’t even think about it,” Jaskier threatens, wagging his finger. “Witchers may not get sick, no, but they get fucking sore and you will be as grumpy as Geralt in the morning, and that is just a crime.”

Snorting, Eskel relents. Soon the candle is blown out and they have settled in on each side of the bed. 

They lie quietly next to each other, Eskel staring up at the ceiling.

“Uhm. That last song you sang…” Eskel says. daring to break the silence, and Jaskier turns his head to look at him. “That was about us?”

“You noticed.” Jaskier smiles.

“Unlike you,” Eskel teases.

When Jaskier doesn’t say anything for a long moment, Eskel grows nervous.

“Eskel... Were you courting me?”

The witcher blinks and his heart sinks.

“I was. Am. But if I read it all wrong, if you're not interested, I can stop,” Eskel offers quietly.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Jaskier threatens, turning on his side to face him. He reaches for Eskel’s hand. Their fingers lace together like they haven't spent the entire winter season apart. “But maybe this time, I’ll court you back?”

A kiss is pressed to the back of his hand, and Eskel can't stop the ache in his chest. His entire being screams mate, but he is in no hurry. None at all.

“I would like that.”

They end up curled around each other. 

Eskel presses his lips to the back of Jaskier’s neck, a hand against his chest, nestled under his sleeping tunic.

The trust that Jaskier displays baring himself like this, makes Eskel hold him tighter, press him closer. One day he might put a mark there.

Pressing a kiss to the nape of Jaskier’s neck, he spreads his hand wider. He feels greedy, wanting more when he is allowed so much already.

But there is more to talk about, more topics to discuss.

For now, Eskel is more content than he has been in years. The sweet smell of Jaskier, his heartbeat under Eskel’s palm.

Maybe spring isn’t so bad after all.

#jaskel #a/b/o #fluff #courting #oblivious jaskier #jaskier/eskel #jaskier x eskel #the witcher #alpha!eskel #omega!jaskier #dapanda writes