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writersblockedx · 10 months

Text

The End of What Could Have Been

Pairing - Jaskier x Fem!Reader Summary - Jaskier finally gives in at trying to flirt with his favourite barmaid - something that only makes her fall harder for him. Warnings - alcohol, mention of a brothel? Words - 2.1K

A/n - Hi, I’m back! I know I’ve been gone for a little while; writers block has been killing me. But I’m back at it again, hopefully back at posting regularly again.

Masterlist

It had become the cycle of the night. As the stragglers of the Inn began to make their way back to their own beds - or hay stacks for some of them - he would appear. Far too wide-eyed for this time in the night, lute strapped over his shoulder and a glistening smile most female bar keeps had never been able to resist. Well, most expect for yourself.

Jaskier was sweet, that was true, but he was equally greedy. And the whole town knew of it. The stories of his lewd behaviour with his several different partners were laced throughout his lyrics, right alongside the fantastical story of the Witcher and the many creatures the two fought off together. Though, with that very bard in front of you now, you struggled to believe he had the same strength of a Witcher.

"Same as always, Y/n." His elbows leaned against the wooden bar as he slid a couple of coins across for you. Always a couple extra for your own pocket.

You simply nodded your head in an act to show your acknowledgement of him before turning to gather a pint of beer for the bard. "Not in the mood for conversation tonight?" He questioned while you had your back turned.

You only said anything when the cup that was brimming with frothy ale was in your hand. "Not with you. Not tonight." Ever so bluntly, that snap in your tone slipped from your tongue as you placed the drink down in front of him with a thud.

He flashed his puppy eyes; he had gotten good at doing that. "And whys that?"

Your expression never faulted. You didn't dare. You had told yourself for almost a month while Jaskier had been playing at this pub that you wouldn't be one of the many to fall prey to his sweet smile and his even sweeter words. "Because the only conversation you want to have is one where it ends with you getting into my pants." You said it so sternly. So casual. Without a lick of embarrassment as if it were a passing comment, lacking any source of meaning.

But Jaskier's response had proved different. He stiffened and struggled to swallow the ale that lingered on his tongue. "Can't blame a man for trying." His response came a second too late - attempting to get over the initial shock that had stunned him too much to speak straight away.

"I can when, despite getting your answer, you're still trying." You didn't break. With every word, you lean slightly closer, till there were only inches between you.

"Well," He sighed lightly and leaned back, "I still haven't heard you tell me to stop."

You couldn't help but laugh, "I know you're a bard, but you're not stupid, surely."

"You didn't have to go there." He quipped. "I personally don't think you want...this to stop." His words were as cautious as one in a sword fight. One wrong move and he was frightened you were about to stab him in the back.

For the first time, you became hesitant. You were uncertain. Of course, you could admit Jaskier did have that sweet smile and the charm to accompany such. He also was easy on the eyes, had a slick manner and was, as much as you hated to admit it, the type of bachelor you could see yourself spending the night with - or several. But he was infamous for such behaviour. He travelled from town to town, bed to bed, and you were not about to the 90th woman on his list. That of such, was what you refused.

So you shifted, and slipped back into your stern facade as if nothing had ever happened, like there had never been a blink of uncertainty. "This," You pointed between the two of you, "Never even started." Words so sharp they cut through Jaskier's heart like a knife to butter. While the man was fine to break others' hearts, his was too just as fragile and sensitive. And to hear such from a woman he had grown to admire over the weeks shook his core. With the words written out in front of him, he knew he could no longer ignore them.

And so you straightened your back and stared at the boy you were forced to resist. "You finish your ale, I'll close up." You announced, without any input from him. Normally, he would last at least another three drinks. But tonight, neither of you wanted the company of the other. The air between you had become tense and rigid. Air of which you were not in the mood to breathe.

So you took it upon yourself to make that decision. You started stacking the chairs around the pub, cleaning the sticky tables and making sure everything was as it should be. The only thing left was Jaskier. He took his final sip. He placed the cup back on the bar and let out a deep breath; he knew this was the end. This was the point in which you had drawn the line, you had told him no once and for all. And you had given him no choice but to listen.

There as he stood, he turned to you. At first, he looked you up and down, taking in the last of what remained—this night marked the end of what could have been. He locked eyes with you. Neither of you moved. Neither of you said a word. After that moment of acceptance passed, he provided a nod. With that, he left the Inn without a trace. That night, in your lonely bed, you struggled to sleep, plagued by the ever-yawning question of if you just made a mistake.

By the next morning, you came to face the consequences of your own actions. You strolled in for your shift as you always did to find the Inn relatively empty. In fact, more empty than it ever had been in the past month. The only ones to occupy the Inn were the same stragglers which never seemed to leave. It didn't take you long to figure out why; the lack of strumming music in the Inn was likely the culprit. And, after that conclusion, you came to assume that it was partly the fault of yourself and a certain encounter from the night before.

"No bard today?" You queried your boss, the Innkeeper, as he stood cleaning the wooden bar.

"No bard anymore." He answered. A part of your brain was tugged with curiosity, the other knew that you shouldn't want to know. You cut the ties. You were at fault. You should leave things as they were. "Get used to how things used to be. Just the regulars again." That was one, if the only, good thing about Jaskier: the customers he brought. You could never deny his lyrical beauty and the lull of his lute. So brilliant, in fact, it almost brought you a pay rise.

Your head dropped in thought. No matter how much you wanted to accept this, a part of you wondered if this decision came from a reaction of the night prior. "Where is he staying?" You spat the words out before you could stop yourself. "The bard?" You added, suddenly aware of how strange that question may sound to your boss.

To be expected, the man raised a brow, "I'm not sure," He shrugged his shoulders lightly. "That cheap Inn up the road probably. Or a bench." With that, the grumpy old Inn keeper turned his back to you, going back to sort out the several types of ales.

For a moment, you stared. But the thought nagged you too much; Why not? He was leaving, what else was there to lose? He was sweet, admirable and you couldn't help yourself. You had only wished you had realised such fact the night before. Without thinking twice, you left. You took off without another word and headed to that cheap Inn your boss had pointed to.

By the time you arrived, you came to realise it was perfect timing. Jaskier was getting ready to depart. He had a couple of bags hung over his shoulder as he slung them over a horse. His expression was, until you came into his sights, set into a stern hold. And then, a glint of wonder reached his face, and the very corners of his lips twisted upright just slightly. He wouldn't admit it yet, but he was happy to see you had come back to him.

"And the barmaid returns." He gleamed, trying to not let that smile on his face grow any more than it already had done.

You tilted his head at him, "You didn't tell me you were leaving last night." You stated, choosing it best to ignore his greeting.

"You think that would have changed how things went?" There. You caught it right as it happened; that flirtatious speck in his pupils that never seemed to leave him - sometimes, no matter who he was talking to. When he received only a stern expression in return, he sighed and changed his tone as if he had never made that comment. "I didn't know I would be leaving until after I left." He answered, honestly.

A moment of silence passed as you settled in the realisation. You only needed confirmation: "Was it what I said?"

Another grin graced his face. But not flirtatious or cheeky, rather bittersweet. "I know you're just a bard maid, but you're not stupid." He reiterated your own words from last night.

For that, you swallowed the lump which had suddenly grown in your throat. Then, with a breath, you replied, "You don't have to leave, the money's good here, no?" You knew your boss must have been paying him a decent paycheck.

He shifted on his feet, "I don't like staying in the same place for too long." The boy admitted.

"Then why did last night change your mind?"

He took a moment and fought himself so as not to repeat what he had said prior. "Most of the time, I can find anyone to entertain myself with, no matter where I am. But," He paused, thought on his words as if they were of utter importance, "But just the way when I walked into your Inn-"

You cut him off, "You mean when I told you to piss off because we didn't like silly lute music being played?" Saying that now was laughable.

And Jaskier had let out a chuckle, "Yes, then. I thought you were a shell I wanted to break and I found myself not bothered with anyone else. Not even with the mistresses at the Brothal. I wanted to get to know you and, I don't know, I looked forward to every night when I'd finish my set and it would be just the two of us in the bar." He explained, him too going off the idea of what else was there to lose now? "You didn't want me and it made it all the more enticing. To fight with the idea of hatred boarding on love was something intoxicating and it only made me want you more."

And, honestly, you were at a loss for words. It wasn't often many people spoke to you in such a poetic way, with such romance trickled into their words as it rolled right off the tongue like smooth butter. Most of the time, you were only met with drunk stragglers, boarding their words on sexual harassment. So this was only a breast of fresh air and you were indulging in it like it was some sort of drug.

When you looked back to Jaskier, you were at a loss for words. You weren't quite the lyricist he was. "I think-" You took a breath as if it were giving you the courage needed in that very moment. "I think I did want you. Oh, I know I did. But a bard who, as you said is always on the move, wasn't something I could get involved in." Like that, a weight slipped from your shoulders like melting ice.

Jaskier took a step forward, cautious in his action. When you showed no sign of disregard, he settled. "You've no idea what I would change just so you would get involved with me." There, his flirtatious smile return. And, this time, you couldn't resist it.

He started leaning in and rather than stopping it, so did you until your lips met in a soft embrace. It was long overdue and you could see how addicted you could get to that feeling if you weren't too careful. But a part of you had started to put trust into Jaskier - you just preyed the bard would never break it. As now, this was the start of something. Something neither of you wanted to ever end.

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cherryjuicegf · 1 year

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the kindest thing

It's only like this. Geralt, despite all, will never be alone and Jaskier, despite all, will stay.

for my dear @moonysrz i wish you the happiest of birthdays and all good things in life ♡ || 1.1k, G, emotional hurt/comfort [ao3]

Jaskier is lingering in front of the room's door before he knows it.

Habit, it's a cunning thing. For habit it is. What else, he thinks, lying to himself, what else could lead him up the stairs now, when Geralt barely spared him a look as he entered the inn and walked past him to the room. What else, for he doesn't know if he can bear it anymore, admitting the love.

It is always lacking anyway.

Only, the habit. The way Geralt's eyes, in their momentary glance, were full blown black and his face pale and his hands, no matter how he tried to hide them, were trembling. Jaskier knew better. He knew it was too loud, staying around people, and he knew the shoulders Geralt brushed with a patron almost had him breaking down.

He knew all that because once he used to hold him while the potions faded out, and sometimes he can still feel Geralt's body flinching in his arms, and what a painful comfort, what a loving pain that was.

Now he is touching the door knob and thinks it is the closest he has gotten to touching Geralt the past weeks, after everything.

He closes his eyes, breathes shakily. He can almost hear Geralt's strained breathing on the other side of the door. And his heart clenches, wails, what about it, it won't be like then again, not in the way you want, but oh well, he was never one to walk away, damn his loyalty. He was never one to hide the love.

Slowly, silently, he opens the door.

He knows the sight. Has seen it a thousand times before. Geralt hunched at the side of the bed, shoulders tense so as not to betray their shaking, back turned so as not to betray the pain. Only he never managed to hide from Jaskier.

And now Jaskier doesn't know if he wants to remind him that. Still. He enters the room, and closes the door behind him.

One. Two steps. Ever silent, ever careful.

A whisper. "Geralt?" And oh, what an ache it leaves on his tongue, calling his name in silence, what a sweet compromise. Still, no answer. He stands beside him, raises his hand just right over his shoulder, and lets it hover. Burning almost. "Can I get you anything?" Slowly. A brush of fingers, just to reassure.

"No," Geralt flinches at once and he steps back like a scared animal. Hand still raised with no place to rest.

He knows. The gruff tone, the strained voice. The abrupt tone. It's the potions. Only now Geralt's voice is just a little more sharp, as though he is afraid of letting out too much of himself. Only now it hurts just a little more deeply, and just a little too personal.

He watches as Geralt's fists curl on his lap and, defeated, he nods with a small smile. "If you want anything, you can..."

Call me, he would say. Ask me anything. Ask me to stay by your side forever, and I will. I will do it even if you don't ask. He would say. But he stays silent. For better or for worse, even now, Geralt already knows, and it's still not enough.

Thus he turns around.

"Jaskier."

Nothing. A breath of a voice, as though it doesn't want to be heard. Or just wants to be heard by Jaskier alone, because Jaskier always hears. Heart digging its way out, he looks at Geralt again and, oh, Geralt looks back. And it's nothing like he thought.

It's exactly as he knows, and selfishly pretends to have forgotten. Geralt looks at him still slumped, eyes still half black and sunken in their sockets and drowning in what feels like regret. Like a plea.

Sometimes Jaskier thinks maybe it's also his fault, just a little. Maybe he doesn't reach out enough, or has to reach out too much, because the deeper the wound, the stronger the cure must be.

A plea indeed. Geralt suddenly looks like the shell of who he is, shaking and wanting, exhausted, and in the shadow of his gaze Jaskier discerns the same need, no, want, that tortures his empty hands, his gaping embrace. And what a fool he is, he who was never hesitant in love, holding back from the one who needs it the most.

He holds his breath, smile ever present, and gentle. "Perhaps if..." Clears his throat. "Do you want me to--"

Hold you. Do you want me to hold you. He doesn't need to say, because Geralt almost sobs with longing, and something breaks in his face, and leaves him crumpled and bare. "Please." Then, as though remembering, he lowers his look. Shakes his head. "If you want." Begging, desperate. "Just for a bit."

Gods. Gods, and poets and lovers and damned verses, they matter not as his heart weeps inside his chest and Jaskier lets out the breath he was holding, a huff, relieved and almost incredulous. Of course he wants. Lacking, he only ever wants.

Slowly, silently, almost shaking, he sits on the bed and leans back on the pillows, and bares the screaming hole of his arms with hope at last to complete it.

And oh, how gently Geralt fits in his hug, how perfectly. Just like he always did. Hesitant, at first, until he buries his face in his chest and Jaskier feels trembling hands crawling behind his back, limbs tangled in a desperate attempt to be hidden, tucked away in familiar warmth, and safe.

And suddenly all that remains unspoken doesn't matter anymore. Suddenly nothing matters, only this, here, Jaskier wrapping his arms tight around Geralt's body, tighter still so that he never loses him again, only this, the beat of their hearts filling the silence between them as one slows at last, and the other beats faster, and Jaskier hides his face in white hair, and lets the burning flood in his eyes flow down.

"I miss you." A whisper. Only that, and Geralt hides deeper, as though to disappear in the most welcoming absence.

Jaskier feels his shirt suddenly damp, and closes his eyes, breath shaky. "Oh, Geralt." And unspoken everything will remain, for no words can fill the void better than this, holding him at last. He presses a kiss on his hair, ever so soft, and rests his cheek there, voice quivering. "Oh, darling. I'm so sorry."

Geralt doesn't speak. Only, he clings on him tighter, and cries silently.

Maybe it's nobody's fault, after all. It's only like this. Geralt, despite all, will never be alone, and Jaskier, despite all, will stay. As he does now.

He stays until Geralt's heartbeat is slow and faint, and his eyes have closed.

#i hope you enjoy <333 #the witcher #geraskier #jaskier #geralt of rivia #chrysa writes #fic recs #moonysrz #emotional hurt/comfort #i just think. it's okay to be hard to reach sometimes cause. you still deserve the love. jaskier always loved hard enough to reach geralt #and he's not gonna stop now #if you saw a book foreshadowing no you didn't <3

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irrlicht-writes · 1 year

Text

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

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samstree · 2 years

Text

Being loved by Geralt is easy.

After the mountains, after wounds are healed and lost brothers mourned, Geralt shows his love, and it’s easy as breathing.

He approaches Jaskier with a cup of mulled wine and takes him to the highest tower of Kaer Morhen. The stars blink amongst the green northern lights, and Jaskier is warm between the wine and the arms around his back.

Under the night sky, Geralt tells Jaskier of his love for the very first time.

Both of them return to Geralt’s hearth-lit chamber with red cheeks and glistening eyes, and they laugh and kiss and fall into bed together. Jaskier drifts off with a smile and dreams of a future with Geralt’s hand in his.

When morning comes, Geralt promises to do better. Guilt should be left in the past, Jaskier wants to argue, but the promise seems equally important to Geralt himself, so Jaskier listens carefully with his palm pressed against the slow-beating heart of his witcher. He’s always trusted Geralt with his life, and now his heart too. Despite all the broken parts of it, he trusts Geralt with his heart.

And Geralt keeps his promise.

He is not perfect—neither of them is, really—but he tries so hard with his imperfect, clumsy love. There are quiet nights when Geralt’s kisses span across Jaskier’s back, counting the specks of birthmarks with his lips. It’s a constellation, he says. They guide me home, like you.

There is also his infuriating protectiveness, his heartbreaking self-hatred. It drives Jaskier away, but never far and never for long. Soft apologies always follow, soothing away all that is angry and difficult between them. There are separations and reunions, messy tears and joyful laughter.

Geralt’s love is easy. So, Jaskier wonders.

Nothing is easy by nature. A witcher’s skills are honed through decades of training, through every swing of his blade, every parry, every kill. It’s why the ease of Geralt’s movement is a terrifying sight for his foes. If handling Jaskier’s heart looks easy, he must have gotten the practice somewhere.

The answer comes one day when Jaskier is alone. His hand slips on the strap of Geralt’s pack and all the notebooks within spill out on the floor.

There is a red book, sprawled open with its pages full of Geralt’s lean, neat writing. Jaskier’s eyes are caught by his own name between those lines.

It’s a notebook he’s watched Geralt use countless times while lazily resting his head on Geralt’s thigh and trying to draw his attention.

“What are you writing?” Jaskier asked once. “Another one of your boring bestiaries?”

“Boring bestiaries save lives.” Geralt looked down, putting down the quill. “And no, it’s not a bestiary.”

“What is it then?”

Jaskier remembered all Geralt’s notebooks: the green ones titled Herbs, the brown ones with Monsters and Locations written across the first page. He didn’t recognize the red one. A secret book, then. It only made him more curious.

“Nothing,” Geralt answers, putting the book down to join Jaskier in the nest of tangled sheets. “Just…thoughts.”

“Thoughts about me?” Jaskier asked cheekily. “Love thoughts?”

“Hmm.”

At the time, Jaskier teased but did not pry. Geralt rarely gets to keep things for himself, and Jaskier delighted in the fact that Geralt could find comfort in keeping a journal.

Now, as the notebook lays open on the ground, Jaskier finds his name all over it. He picks it up and flips to the first page, and finds the title. It’s just one word, one name.

Jaskier.

A book written in his name. A book he never gets to read.

When he flips another page, the entries begin with lists of food. Fruits, pastries and wines, followed by stores to buy the best of them in Ard Carraigh. The combination rings a bell, reminding him of a surprise picnic a while ago. He marveled at how Geralt could gather such a feast without him knowing, and only got an absent hum as reply.

The next page records another date of theirs, detailing Geralt’s careful preparations even though the words are scribbled and crossed out at times.

There are other things. Thoughts.

Thoughts of love, of regret and hope, pride and fear. These are thoughts of Jaskier and their future.

He read slowly as if holding Geralt’s heart between his hands, skipping some passages when the emotions grow too tender, making him ache at the self-doubt that bleeds through these pages.

He has no reason to stay. Jaskier reads on, his heart breaking. And yet he does. I don’t know how to deserve him. I don’t know if I ever will.

The notebook isn’t completed yet, and the last entry consists of the names of many towns and cities. It’s the planning of their next journey, Jaskier realizes, following the route they will travel and diverting for all the local festivals. A coastal village in Cidaris is underscored twice. Jaskier vaguely remembers mentioning its name years ago on a hot sunny afternoon. He went on about how nice the water was there, and how he dreamed of going back. It’s the same place he thought about when asking Geralt to run away with him during that dragon hunt.

Geralt wants to take him there now, after all these years.

Jaskier closes the book with a shuddering breath and puts it back into the pack. Guilt churns in his stomach for having gotten a glimpse of something he shouldn’t have.

When Geralt returns, Jaskier has tidied up the mess. He puts on a smile and hugs his witcher close. Tears prickle his eyes still, and the attempt to hide them fails spectacularly.

“Hey,” Geralt says, confused. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” Jaskier’s voice breaks, and leans into the strong hands running up and down his back. “I just…love you.”

Geralt lets out a quiet oh and brings Jaskier flush against him. Even without looking, Jaskier can picture perfectly the slightly panicked frown on Geralt’s face.

“You’re upset.” Geralt murmurs gently. “Shh, it’s alright.”

“It is.” Jaskier sniffs. “You are here.”

That earns him an amused huff. Geralt continues, “you know, I just had this idea. How about we go to the coast? I heard Cidaris is nice in the summer. It’s on our way north, and it could…cheer you up?”

Geralt is so tentative, the nervousness thrumming under a thin layer of nonchalance, and Jaskier nods.

“It’s a nice thought.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Jaskier pulls away to meet Geralt’s gaze, and this time, his smile is genuine. “I’ve wanted to see the coast for a long time.”

The subtle pride at the corners of Geralt’s lips is more beautiful than the sunrise at sea.

Jaskier doesn’t mention the notebook of unsaid things. It’s a book that holds all the soft parts of Geralt’s clumsy heart, and of course it’s something Jaskier will protect.

He’ll protect the quiet love Geralt bestows on him by tucking the book away in the corner of his heart. He’ll let Geralt try, and try, and try.

And Jaskier will meet him halfway.

#geraskier #geraskier fic #established relationship #soft geralt #soft jaskier

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thedemonofcat · 1 year

Text

(Essentially, that scene from Avatar the Last Airbender when Azula taunts Sokka by revealing that Suki was captured. My intention is to write a Geraskier version of that, but I had yet to figure out what a full story would entail)

"He called your name," Rience spoke calmly in a manner which seemed creepy and yet unnerving.

Geralt stood still, his body tense and ready to move. He knew this was his opportunity to escape, and he had to act quickly. His mind raced as he considered the danger of staying any longer. Ciri and Yennefer were with him, and he had to ensure they were safe.

Despite the urgency of the situation, something within him held him back. It was a voice that spoke to him, telling him to stay and listen to the firefucker's words. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something important that he needed to hear.

Geralt's heart raced as he tried to identify the Niflgaardian prisoner to whom Rience was referring. "My favourite prisoner used to mention you all the time," Rience had said, his words seeping into Geralt's mind like poison. Who could it be? The thought of someone being locked up and talking about him made him uneasy.

Rience's words hit Geralt like a sudden blow. He felt as though the air was being sucked out of his lungs. "The Bard was conceived. You were going to come to rescue him," Rience revealed, his voice laced with a hint of malice. Geralt's heart sank as he tried to understand what he had just heard. "Of course, you never came, and he gave up on you."

Jaskier was in the hands of Nifflgaard.

They had his Bard.

There was something wrong with this. Jaskier was supposed to be in a safe place. This war is supposed to be far away, so he must hide somewhere far away. Geralt shouldn't have to worry about any kind of danger from Jaskier as he shouldn't be a danger at all.

Who said witchers don't have feelings. They would have to rethink their thought process if they saw the rage in Gearlt as he charged toward Riences, with Yennefer able to use his magic to hold the other mage in place.

"Where is Jaskier" Geralt demand to know, only to be meant with silence. "Where's Jaskier? Answer me"

Geralt's fury was so intense that he was confident he could crush Rience's head with only his bare hands if he wanted to. If he didn't get told where Jaskier was right in that second. It wasn't until he felt a hand on his shoulder that he could figure out what was happening.

"Geralt, he won't talk," Yennefer tried to reason with Geralt. Getting Ciri out of here now was the most important thing they had to do, and they could always begin their search for the Bard once they all got to a safe place.

But Geralt needed help with thinking straight. "Where are you keeping him" The witcher yelled.

"We need to go now," Yennefer said, "We'll find Jaskier later." As she spoke those words, Geralt could hear the rumbling of horses as more Nifflgaardian soldiers got closers.

"Geralt" This time, Ciri was the one to speak up. She had remembered hearing stories about the white wolf and his Bards and had even heard off a few of Jaskier's songs.

Hearing his daughter's voice, Geralt knew it was best to leave and get to safety. But, unfortunately, it was highly unlikely that Geralt could rescue Jaskier if he were in jail or dead.

So Yennefer got on her horse while Geralt and Ciri got on to Roach. The three roads off with Geralt already trying to devise plans to rescue his Bard.

#the witcher netflix #joey batey #geralt of rivia #jaskier the witcher #the witcher #henry cavill #the witcher jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier #fic ideas #yennefer of vengerberg #cirilla fiona elen riannon #anya cholatra #freya allan

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flowercrown-bard · 11 months

Note

if you're still taking witcher prompts how about a theme of sentimentality and/or nostalgia? <3

ohhh i love that prompt! It brought back my love for old!Jaskier

word count: 1344

"I know I have it somewhere," Geralt said, as he got up from the bench behind their cottage, where soon they would plant a garden.He pressed a gentle kiss on the silver crown of Jaskier's head. "Might take me a while to find it, though. I think it should be with the other books. Maybe with my old bestiaries."

"I would say I'd wait for you until I'm old and grey, but… you know." Jaskier grinned up at him and a wamrth that had long since grown familiar, spread through Geralt's chest. Jaskier's smile was still the same, though the lines around his mouth had gotten deeper with the years.

"You're ridiculous," Geralt said fondly.

"And you love me."

"Yeah. I really do."

"Oh stop it." Jaskier swatted at him playfully and his eyes were soft and warm. "I can see right through you. You just want to flatter me so I'll agree to let you fill more than your half of the garden with herbs."

Geralt raised his hands in surrender.

"You caught me," he lied.

"What do I get as a reward?" Jaskier made to tilt his head back a little more, but halted the movement with a grimace, when it strained his neck too much. Worry shot through Geralt, but he remained quiet. he had learned through trial and error that Jaskier didn't appreciate it when Geralt fussed over "every minor inconvenience" he experienced. More than once, they had laughed over the irony of how their roles had gotten reversed over the decades.

Instead of answering, Geralt leaned down and gave Jaskier a kiss.

"I'll be right back," he said again. He hurried to get inside their home, lest he let Jaskier distract him even more.

The cottage wasn't big, just a kitchen, a cozy living space, a small bathroom and their bedroom. It was more than Geralt had ever thought, he'd get to have and it was all they needed. One would think that it couldn't be too hard finding an old book about herbs in this modest space, but that didn't account for all the knickknacks they had collected over the years. The bookshelves were stuffed with old notebooks and Jaskier's publications. Little trinkets stood on the mantlepiece. Sea shells, woodcarvings, and all sorts of small reminders of their years of travelling together.

Geralt let his eyes roam over all of it, until finally, they landed on one of the wooden boxes Eskel had brought him a couple of months ago and that he still hadn't gotten around to sort through. Life at the coast, though nothing compared to the stressful life they had lead before, wasn't quite as calm as Geralt had feared. There was always something to do and so the box had started to collect dust.

Geralt knelt down beside it and brushed the dust away, before opening the lid. Yellowed letters, empty bottles and rusty knives greeted him. He carefully took them out of the box and set them aside. Useless trinkets they may be, but they had decorated his room at Kaer Morgen for decades. Though he would never admit to it openly, he was a sentimental man and the thought of throwing away his first knife or the letters his brothers had sent him on the path didn't sit right with him. Geralt put the last of the letters aside and paused.

There, grinning up at him, was Jaskier.

Or rather, a painting of him. Geralt's heart jumped and as careful as if he were handling glass, Geralt lifted the framed painting out of the box. With his fingers, he traced Jaskier's smile, the crinkle of his eyes. In the painting, he was younger, much younger than now and he had his arm flung across Geralt's shoulder.

"Geralt?“ The door creaked, as Jaskier entered, his steps accompanied by the rhythmic clonk clonk of his cane. "I know I said I'd wait, but you've been gone for a while and I - oh." Jaskier broke off, coming to stand right beside Geralt. He placed one hand on Geralt's shoulder tonsteady himself and gave it a light squeeze. "I didn't know you still had that."

"Me neither." Geralt glanced up from the painting. "I think we put it away so the sun wouldn't damage it."

"It still aged."

"Yeah. It did." Geralt let go of the painting with one hand to put it over Jaskier's hand on his shoulder, intertwining their fingers. "Do you remember when we commissioned it?"

"Ah…not exactly." Jaskier fiddled with his cane and let out a little laugh. "I remember being really drunk though."

"You were." Geralt grinned. "The artist kept complaining that you couldn't sit still for a minute."

"Oh?" Jaskier gave him a unimpressed look, but his eyes were dancing with mirth. "Actually, come to think of it, I do remember one thing. The artist was also annoyed with you because first you insist on looking all stoic, but then you keep looking at me like-" he gestured to the painting, and the unmistakably fond look in that younger Geralt's eyes, "- like that."

"Hmm. Couldn't help it, even back then."

For a while they both kept looking at the painting, each one getting lost in their own memories. Then, eventually, it burst out of Jaskier: "It looks garish."

Geralt choked on a laugh. "What?"

"That brooch!" Jaskier pointed an accusatory finger at a huge floral brooch hos younger self was wearing. "And that shade of green! Really, why didn't you tell me it looked bad?"

"I'm pretty sure I did," Geralt snorted. "You said i just didn't understand high fashion."

"Oh. Well yes. Sounds about right."

"It didn't look that bad," Geralt offered and it was only half of a lie. If you ignored the terrible outfit Jaskier wore, he did look as handsome as ever, even though he had dark bags under his eyes. He had waited through half the night for Geralt to return from his contract and when he finally had come back, Jaskier had insisted on keeping him company while he came down from his potions.

Geralt himself didn't look much better. The scratched and bruises on his face (-not all of them courtesy of the contract. At lest two of the bruises camr from Geralt walking into a doorframe because he had been unable to take his eyes off Jaskier -) weren't the worst of it. No, that questionable honour fell on the beard covering the lower half of Geralt's face. He had lost a bet with Lambert, so he had to shave it into a terrible style. The only good thing about it had been that Jaskier had liked to scratch it like a cat's chin. Hmm, maybe Geralt should grow out hos beard again.

Jaskier's overly dramatic gasp shook Geralt out of his reminiscing.

"'Not that bad' isn't great considering it's memorialised for all eternity in that painting." Towards the end of the sentence, Jaskier stopped being able controlling his composure and burst into giggles.

"We both look terrible," Geralt agreed. He turned his head to place a kiss on Jaskier's hand.

"We do. And I love it." Jaskier looked down at him softly. "Should we maybe commission another painting? So we have something to laugh at in another thirty year's time?"

A pang went through Geralt's chest and his breath caught in his throat. Thirty years.

He ran his thumb over the leathery skin on the back of Jaskier's hand, crinkled and speckled with age spots.

"Yeah," he said, his voice thicker than before. "I'd love to have another painting."

He doubted, he would look at it and laugh, but he could hope, that he would be able to look back at the reminder of his time with Jaskier and remember the way his beloved's laugh sounded. And maybe that memory was more precious than anything else Geralt could ask for.

One by one, he put his trinkets back into the box and closed the lid again. Only the painting was kept outside of it, aged and ugly and so so beautiful.

#sorry i wrote this on my phone and didn't edit it #old jaskier #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #fic #witcher #my writing #thank you for the prompt!#<3

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lankygeralt · 2 years

Text

Geraskier headcanon (that turned out longer than anticipated) because it's pride month (modern au):

Geralt has always seen himself as someone very comfortable in his sexuality. He never saw any reason to label himself as anything and therefore also doesn't see himself as part of the lgbtq+ community. Not that he would be against it. He has just never really met anyone who is queer (that he knows of) so he doesn't really think about these things.

He doesn't think about it until he's in his early twenties and gets hired as a private bodyguard by a wealthy family. He's supposed to accompany their only son when he goes out with his friends or on last-minute travels. Much to his surprise, Jaskier is actually down to earth. A whole 180 compared to the last family he worked for (their kid was a spoiled brat who treated Geralt like his personal butler).

He soon learns that Jaskier is going into politics and is busy getting his degree in social and political sciences, and he's quite passionate about it. Jaskier explains to him that he wants the world to know how fucked up some of their laws are and gives Geralt the example that gay men are not allowed to donate blood.

Geralt raises a brow at that. He doesn't know anything about these things and decides to listen to what Jaskier has to say. He feels anger bubbling up in his throat when Jaskier explains some of the laws. Why is that getting to him?

It's only when he's accompanying Jaskier on a night out with his friends that Geralt realizes Jaskier looks beautiful when he's passionately speaking about activism. It's also then that Geralt has to swoop in for the first time and protect Jaskier from someone who doesn't agree with Jaskier's point of view.

The video of Jaskier yelling in the homophobe's face while Geralt stands in between them goes viral. While Geralt feels bad about the situation, Jaskier sees it as the perfect opportunity to organize a protest in regards to some of these outrageous laws and practices in their country.

Geralt thinks it is a bad idea, from a professional standpoint, but he knows that he cannot talk Jaskier out of it. He's too stubborn.

He still thinks it is a bad idea when Jaskier is leading hundreds of people through the streets with signs and flags in their hands. But Jaskier would be safer with him by his side, right? So he stays. He stays when it's dark outside and he's technically not on the clock anymore. He stays when Jaskier asks him to wait outside when the protest is over and Jaskier goes inside his parents' house. He stays when Jaskier comes back and puts a pride sticker on his cheek. He stays when Jaskier takes his hand when they walk to the after-party. He stays even though his heart beats in his throat when Jaskier wraps his arm around his shoulder while singing to his heart's content. He stays when it's almost early morning and it's just the two of them walking back home.

It's then, when they are walking alongside the river, that Jaskier retakes his hand and asks him why he's not pulling away. Geralt cannot give him an answer. Realizing how unprofessional he was being, he pulls away and clears his throat before apologizing. He blames the alcohol. Jaskier says that he will give him time to figure it out with a soft smile. Geralt isn't sure what he is talking about but simply nods, ears tinting pink when Jaskier kisses his cheek before heading inside.

He still isn't sure what Jaskier meant when he accompanies him to a press meeting. He still doesn't know what he was talking about when Jaskier calls out different politicians and corporations and all he can do is stare in awe from the sidelines.

It's only when Jaskier locks eyes with him during the interview, that Geralt realizes. His stomach turns, tying itself into a painful knot. He cannot look Jaskier in the eye, not even when he tells him that he can no longer be his bodyguard. Jaskier splutters out excuses, trying desperately to get Geralt to stay. He doesn't.

It isn't until a couple months later that Geralt bumps into Jaskier at another protest. This time, it was Jaskier's friend who organized it but Geralt would be lying if he said he hadn't hoped Jaskier would be there. He admits that to Jaskier, who throws daggers at him until Geralt apologizes.

Jaskier shakes his head and without a word takes Geralt's hand and leads him through the crowd until they're alongside the river again. Geralt can still hear the faint noise of the protest a couple blocks from where they are standing, but his focus is only on Jaskier. He tries his hardest to listen to what Jaskier is telling him. He seems angry, upset. Even though he wants to listen, he realizes he will not get another chance like this. If he doesn't take it, Jaskier won't stay. And so, without a word and his heart thrumming in his ears, Geralt closes the distance between them and hastily pecks Jaskier on the lips. Jaskier looks at him bewildered, eyes wide and mouth agape. Geralt isn't sure what he is thinking, wondering if he made the wrong move, but lets out a sigh of relief when Jaskier wraps his arms around his neck and kisses him.

Jaskier curses him while they kiss, calls him an asshole, and slaps him on his chest. Geralt doesn't care, pulling Jaskier closer until they almost tumble over. He doesn't care when Jaskier paints a rainbow flag on his cheek before they return to the march. He doesn't care when a handful of bystanders boo Jaskier when he gives his speech at the end of the march.

He only focuses on Jaskier's passionate voice when he speaks, the glint in his eyes as he makes a point, and the way the edges of his mouth twitch upwards as he walks off the stage.

"How did I do?" Jaskier asks, awkwardly standing next to Geralt as the next speaker walks up the platform.

All Geralt can do is smile softly as he takes Jaskier's hand. "You did great."

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier fanfic #fic #mywriting #modern au #(reblogs are really appreciated <3)

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quickficss · 2 years

Text

You Don’t Scare Me

I WANT LAMBERT TO BE COMFORTED AND CARED FOR GOD DAMN IT. THATS IT. THATS THE FIC.

Implied Lambert/Jaskier|Dandelion (and implied geraskier) as well as some family dynamic with the other wolves. Hurt/Comfort. 1,414 words. AO3

It was a shit day. A shit day at the end of a shit week, which was at the end of a shit month, which was at the end of a shit year, which was arguably at the end of a shit fucking life. It was all shit, and he was angry about it. anyone would be if they were in his shoes.

His brothers got everything. The fame, the respect, the women and men, everything. He had something once, someone. But he lost him as soon as he let him in.

It was the anniversary of Aidens death, and Lambert wasn’t handling it well. The first half of the day was spent in his room, destroying anything and everything he could get his hands on, and the second half of the day was spent throwing bombs into the lake while screaming. Or maybe crying. It was probably both if he was being honest with himself, which he was never going to be.

Now he felt like a shell. The only thing he felt all day was anger and grief, but now he felt nothing. It was late, around dinner or a little after that. His brothers and Jaskier were in the main hall probably drinking and laughing, unaware of his pain. They didn’t care. No one did.

At least, so he thought.

“There you are” a voice called to him from behind. a melodramatic voice that was unnaturally quiet, compared to the ballads he constantly belted out. Turning his head, Lambert saw the bard standing there, his hands clasped behind his straight back, his loud outfit especially offensive to his eyes in this dim lighting. He growled deep in his throat like a wild animal prepared to back up his bark with a bite. This only earned a roll of the bard's blue eyes.

“Hush now, Lamb.” He lightly scolded with a smile, making his way over without hesitance or fear. “There’s no need to act like that. Come and drink with me and your family, huh? You’ve been down all day.”

“What would you know?!” The witcher snapped, moving his shoulder away from the bard's open hand. “I have every right to be upset! You don’t know anything about me or what I’ve been through, so don’t fucking pretend that you do!”

The bard frowned, lowering his hand to his side as he looked up at the wolf. Lambert noticed that he didn’t smell of fear or disdain or even annoyance, but heartache.

“Lambert” Jaskier began, carefully stepping closer to the cornered wolf, not because he was afraid of being bitten but afraid he would scare lambert off. “Geralt... he told me what happened... he told everyone. Not Yen or Ciri obviously, but he told the people you... see the most often. The people who are here.” A blinding rage caused Lambert's vision to see red. How dare Geralt go behind his back to tell everyone of something so personal, something he trusted him with the knowledge of? He clenched his hands into fists, which caught Jaskiers attention.

“Don’t misunderstand!” Jaskier quickly added, putting his hands up in a stop position with an anxious smile. “He didn’t give any details or even names. He just told us that you had lost someone a couple of years ago to the day and that's why every time this date comes around you get... moody.” The bard winced at his own wording, probably aiming for something more gentle or poetic. The youngest witcher growled again before crossing his arms.

“So what? Are you here to mock me? Poke fun at me? Call me weak? Because I’m warning you now, I’m not in the fucking mood.”

“Gods no! Do I really come across as such a heartless bastard?” Jaskier exclaimed as he brought a hand up to his chest. Lambert couldn’t help the crooked smile that rose to his lips, which earned a huff and a muttered “Don’t answer that” from the bard. Rubbing a hand across his face, the younger man continued. “Lamb, I hate to see you like this, we all do. Just join us for a couple of pints, a few rounds of cards, whatever you want. We haven’t seen you all day and... we’re concerned.”

Lambert scoffed as he turned on his heel and began marching down the hall again. “Thank you but no thank you, I’m perfectly fine on my own, now get lost before I- Ack!” The man was stopped in his tracks when two arms suddenly wrapped around his torso, refusing to let go. He heard Jaskier coming up from behind him obviously, he just wasn’t expecting... that. “You don’t scare me, you fucking asshole,” Jaskier said, his words muffled from Lambert's shirt. “You are coming to be with us and that's final. It’s not good to process grief alone. Please let us...” he trailed off for a moment, “... let me help you.”

Something about the way Jaskier sounded so genuine, the way the smell of compassion rolled off of him in waves, caused Lambert to suddenly stop his train of thought. Jaskier tightened his grip around the man's chest, fist curling around the front of his shirt.

“Please” was all Jaskier had to add before Lambert caved. He could feel his eyes sting but quickly brought his hands up to wipe stray tears before the bard was any the wiser. “Fine.”

He followed the bard into the main hall, where his brothers and Vesemir sat waiting with an extra mug of mead spiked with white gull for him. It seemed as though this was planned. Thankfully, no one forced him to say anything, no one even brought it up. It was only when he was good and drunk when Vesemir draped a thin blanket over his shivering form, did he break. He of course didn’t say anything about his and Aiden's relationship explicitly, but the looks he received as he was drunkenly ranting and raving about the Cat witchers food preferences told him that they knew.

He didn’t even realize he was crying until a good three seconds after he started smelling the salt. He cringed at that fact, as it only brought to light how inferior his reflexes were compared to his brothers.

Despite all that, no one condemned him. No one made him out to feel weak or pathetic, they only listened and offered comforting words. He was also pretty sure Geralt let him win at Gwent on purpose, but he was too happy about the fact he finally beat the white wolf to care.

When the hour was late, or rather early in the morning, it was only him, the bard, and the bard’s muse. Geralt and Jaskier exchanged looks that the youngest wolf couldn’t quite read, but after what seemed like a staring match Geralt stood up and patted Lambert on the shoulder before leaving to go to bed.

And then there were two.

“... do you want me to write a ballad about him?” Jaskier voiced gently.

“No... Yes. I mean- fuck, I don’t know.” Lambert slurred, staring at the bottom of his mug.

“You should head to bed. It’s late and you had a long day.” The bard smiled at him from across the table. Lambert's mouth and throat became dry. He had the realization that he didn’t want to be left alone just yet, but he knew the human was probably tired. He wasn’t sure how long humans should stay awake, he never had one to take care of as Geralt did, but he was pretty sure they weren’t supposed to stay awake as long as Jaskier had.

“Could you...” Lambert began, tripping over his tongue, “I mean, can you... I just... I don’t....” He could feel himself getting flustered as he watched Jaskier’s grin grow, his cornflower eyes filling with mirth. “Could you just... spend the night with me? Not to do anything! I just don’t...” He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“Sure” was not the answer he was expecting. They walked to Lambert’s room in silence, and the wolf learned four things that night.

1. Jaskier slept in his briefs

2. Jaskier was surprisingly buff under all that puffy fabric

3. Jaskier’s feet were cold

and 4. He fell asleep much easier when he was accompanied by the gentle smell of chamomile.

Jaskier wasn’t an Aiden. He realized he still needed time to heal. Maybe next winter, however, he could ask Geralt how open the relationship was.

#I wrote this at 12 in the morning btw #I was sad today can you tell?#jaskier/lambert #lambert witcher #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher hurt/comfort #lambskier #jaskier x lambert #lambert x jaskier #the witcher #kaer morons #kaer morhen family #all my bitches love lambert

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kueble · 2 years

Note

hello kate, my favorite mermay writer! may i request mer jaskier who has (nonsexually) sensitive fins and likes to have them pet, by eskel maybe? thank you!! (it's peter btw)

Thanks for the prompt, Peter! I hope this is what you had in mind. Written as part of the @thepassifloradiscord MerMay event.

Gen. Warnings: none. 1,300 words.

Eskel & Jaskier (background Geraskier)

---

Eskel side-eyes the bard, trying to figure out what might be wrong with him. They’ve been traveling together a couple of weeks now, because Geralt had insisted someone accompany him on the way to a bardic festival in Cidaris, but Geralt himself was called away on a favor he owed to Triss. He left explicit instructions on how to handle Jaskier while he was away, but Eskel isn’t sure if this is a too little food, too much silence, or too much walking situation.

Fuck it. He isn’t good at subterfuge, anyway.

“You seem off,” he says, his words causing Jaskier to stumble over his own feet. He reaches out and stops him from falling over, and to his surprise Jaskier sighs and leans into his hold. This is definitely not something Geralt covered.

“Sorry Eskel,” Jaskier says, straightening up and taking a step back. “Got lost in my head. Won’t happen again. Shall we?” he asks, gesturing at the road in front of them. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, though, and Eskel won’t have Geralt thinking he neglected his bard.

“Seriously,” he says softly, doing his best to make his face look gentle. It’s not hard, because he isn’t just doing this for shits and giggles. He cares about Jaskier. They all do at this point. All the wolves have adopted him as one of their one, ever since that first winter Geralt brought him home to stay. “What is bothering you?”

“It’s stupid.”

“Not what I asked,” Eskel presses, and Jaskier lifts his head to meet his gaze.

“You’re all so fucking stubborn,” he says, chuckling lightly. “Fine. It’s been so long since I’ve seen Geralt and I’m…missing the comfort of his touch. Nothing sexual, mind you, just used to being held and touched a lot more than I have been.”

“Is this a bard thing?” Eskel asks, brow wrinkling as he tries to connect the dots. Images of puppy piles of bards float through his mind, but Jaskier just snorts and shakes his head.

“It’s a mer thing. We’re a very cuddly people,” he answers with a small smile. It’s not much, but he looks better than he did a minute ago, and Eskel can work with that.

“There was a lake not far back, maybe half an hour. We can backtrack and take a break there. You can shift and stretch out, and I’ll do whatever you need me to,” he says, and Jaskier lights up at his words.

“I don’t want to be a bother,” he offers, but Eskel waves him off.

“Taking care of my brothers is never a bother,” he admits, grinning wide when Jaskier picks up on his choice of words. Because yes, Jaskier is first and foremost Geralt’s bard, but he’s a part of their little pack now, too. The walk to the lake is uneventful, but as soon as they get there Jaskier tosses down his pack and starts stripping, nearly tripping over himself to get into the lake. Eskel snorts, choking down laughter as he watches him run bare-assed into the chilly water. It reminds him of when he was younger, before life on the path, when they were all just rowdy boys playing games.

He is slower to undress, but it’s mostly because he always gets so distracted by Jaskier when he shifts. It’s nothing like the cruel looking transformation of a werewolf - which is something he’d never like to witness again, thank you very much - but one moment Jaskier has legs and then the next they’re replaced with a swirl of water and a bunch of flashy fins.

Eskel had never met a merman before Jaskier, but he’d fought plenty of sirens. He half expected Jaskier to look feral when he changed, but his upper half hardly differed at all. No wings or claws, not even fangs popped out. Besides the gills on the sides of his neck, he still looked human from the waist up. His fins were extraordinary, though. He had one long tail, but there were smaller fan-type fins coming off of it, and when he swam they billowed around him. His scales were deep blue and burgundy, and he looked positively otherworldly.

Jaskier says he looks most like a beta fish, but Eskel has never seen one in the wild. Apparently they’re a fighting fish and very territorial, which suits Jaskier well. Eskel has witnessed him take on an entire bar in a brawl while defending his lover. Of course, he and Geralt had to finish up the job, but Jaskier was feisty enough to start it. They’d been run out of town that night and spent the evening telling stories and sharing stolen wine while the campfire blazed. It was great for bonding, if not the reputation of witchers.

“Are you coming?” Jaskier asks, swimming closer to the shore and breaking Eskel’s train of thought.

“Excuse me if I feel a bit weird stripping down for my brother’s lover,” Eskel says with a laugh. Jaskier ducks under the water and comes up, spitting a face-full of water at him before giggling gleefully.

“It’s no different than letting me wash your hair in the hot springs!” he points out. “Besides, I’m naked, too! Just because my prick isn’t out, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist,” he adds with another giggle.

“We can have an autonomy lesson later. Let’s just get you settled,” Eskel tells him before wading into the water. Jaskier tackles him as soon as he’s deep enough, pulling him into a tight hug and slamming him down onto the sandy bottom of the lake. It’s not deep enough for him to go under, so he ends up sitting in the sand with a very fidgety merman in his lap.

“Just…pet me if you don’t mind?” Jaskier asks softly, and Eskel doesn’t even think to question it. There’s nothing sexual about this, and Jaskier clearly feels afraid to ask for it, even though he needs it.

“Can’t have Geralt accusing me of taking poor care of you, can I?” Eskel asks with a shrug. Jaskier smiles warmly and curls up into his chest, closing his eyes while Eskel tries to figure out how to pet a fully grown man…merman. Whatever.

He ends up treating Jaskier like he would Scorpion, just slowly running a palm down his tail. Jaskier sighs contentedly and doesn’t complain, so Eskel keeps going. It’s actually pretty calming, just sitting in the lake and petting him. The bright scales feel smooth under his hands, and it’s nice to be offering comfort instead of pain with them. Most of his work is tied up with fighting and hurting others, and this is so much the opposite that he can see why Geralt might love it, too.

He doesn’t know how long they sit there, just curled up together while he strokes Jaskier’s tail, but it’s the most relaxed he’s been in ages. Eventually Jaskier lifts his head and offers him a sleepy smile. He squeezes Eskel in one last hug before sliding out of his lap and beaming at him.

“Thank you. I feel so much better now,” he admits, and Eskel grins back at him.

“Good, because I’ve got sand in my ass crack, so it better have been for something,” Eskel quips, and Jaskier laughs so hard he falls back into the water. With a flick of his fins, he sends a wave of water at Eskel, catching him off guard.

And then it’s on.

Jaskier skirts off into the deeper water, but Eskel isn’t far behind. They chase each other across the lake, splashing and wrestling as they go. Eskel is careful not to use his full strength, but the roughhousing has him in a better mood than he has been in days. They spend the rest of the afternoon playing around, and as they set up camp for the night, Eskel thinks Jaskier might just see them as family, too.

---

SFW tags: @halerune @honeysuckletook @mayastormborn @dani-dandelino @feraljaskier @jaskierswolf @littoraly-art @tothedesert @dapandapod @theweirdlynx @tedrakitty @sharinalein @theamazingdevilgivesmehope @iamaqt314 @silvermintnightprincess @rockysstupidity @live-long-and-trek-on @hayleynzlive @holymotherwolf @thesynysterunknown @rebard-main @larawrmonster @gryffinqueen-blog @lovelyscot @fangirleaconmigo @mothmanismyuncle @fontegagrilledcheese @thestarkwinter @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @allthequeenshorses13 @221birl1823 @strippiluolamies @concussed-dragon @aurelia-which-means-sunrise @clarebear66 @feral-jaskier @j-u-s-tmyself @hayleynzlive @thisislisa

If you'd like to be added/removed, please let me know. Thank you!

#my fic #gen #Eskel #Jaskier #the witcher #MerMay #Mer Jaskier #creature Jaskier #platonic cuddles #just bros cuddling bros

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slumberingcorpse · 9 months

Text

Music and Gunpowder

Geralt/Jaskier Fanfic Western AU

Part 1 “Riding Towards Destiny”

It happened so quickly. One minute they were having dinner like every night and the next they were being surrounded by the Pinkertons.

Geralt cursed under his breathe as his grip tightens around Roach’s reins keeping Ciri close to his chest as possible.

They almost got Ciri. If it wasn’t for Eskel—Christ…he didn’t even want to imagine it…

“How the hell did they find us!? Surround us no less!” Cöen asks breaking the tense silence surrounding the gang as their horse’s hooves thunder against the dirt road.

They were so focused in escaping with their lives they must’ve forgotten that we had the ability to do so.

“I don’t know! Do you have any clue on how this could happen? Geralt!?” Lambert accuses with his fiery eyes shooting daggers at the white haired outlaw.

Geralt knew he just wanted to get a raise out of me, like always. There’s nothing more that he wanted to do other than have another shouting match with him, but I knew it was a waste of time, Ciri however, didn’t.

“Yennefer would never do such a thing! You’re just full of shit!” Ciri shouts angry and disgusted by the even suggestion of such a thing.

Lambert scoffs, “I don’t know who’s more stupid! You or your hopeless father! Who else could’ve known!? Who else would’ve want us dead!? Especially after the incident with Marigold!”

“Triss? W-what are you talking about? What incident with Marigold?” Ciri asks with her blue eyes looking up at her father expectingly.

It was Geralt’s turn to glare over at his brother before sighing and looking back over at the young girl sitting in front of him. His mouth went dry.

He hoped to never tell her. The last thing he wanted is to trouble her even more, especially when it has to do with the stupid decision he made.

He can feel my lips tremble as he opens his mouth to explain but either by fortune or misfortune a loud thud catches all our attention.

Geralt whips his head back towards the noise only for his eyes to widen in horror seeing Eskel laying limply on the ground next to his horse.

“Shit! Eskel!” He hears myself say as he leaps off his saddle. Lambert and Cöen were close behind as they rush to Eskel’s side to help him sit down.

Thankfully, Eskel was still breathing, be it, harshly but it was better than nothing. Though with the bullet wound in his stomach bleeding like crazy, he might not be breathing for long.

“Eskel? Eskel? You hear me?” Geralt asks struggling to keep his voice from sounding panicked as the stench of blood fills his nostrils.

“W-wolf…I’m…I’m o-okay…j-just got dizzy…” Eskel slurs out hiding his pain from his younger brothers.

“Like hell you are! Blood loss is different from dizziness, you dumbass! Why didn’t you tell us!?” Lambert shouts not bothering to hide his fear and worry from anyone.

And yet, Eskel forced himself to smile up at his brothers, “I…I’ll be okay…I..I h-had worse…y-you know that.”

“Damn it! Where’s Vesemir and Aiden!?” Cöen curses looking around for their leader and fellow brother.

“I’m sure they’re fine. Cöen, give me some gunpowder! Lambert, start a damn fire!” Geralt orders.

“What are you planning to do?” Lambert asks.

“Damn it, Lambert! Just do what I say for once in your life!” Geralt snaps causing the younger man to finally nod and run to do as told.

While the other two are gone, Geralt quickly tears off a peace of cloth and presses it against Eskel’s stomach.

Eskel hisses in pain as he weakly smiles, “Hey, hey I’m o-okay…don’t cry…I’ll be o-okay…”

Geralt glances at him confused before following Eskel’s glaze and remembering about the young girl in his care.

Frozen in place was Ciri, starring at the blood on Geralt’s hands as tears run down her pale cheeks.

Geralt’s heart sank as he forces himself to turn away from her, “It’ll be alright. Just keep an eye out alright?”

Ciri doesn’t answer but Geralt can hear her turn around and walk away.

“G-Geralt…g-go to her…”

“Not now, you idiot, you’ll bleed out.” Geralt sighs focusing on the wound.

Soon enough, Cöen and Lambert rush back with what they need. Once the fire was started he takes out his knife and holds it over the flame.

“Alright, you two hold him down.” Geralt orders moving Eskel’s bloodied shirt out of the way. Unlike before, there was no back talk, Lambert and Cöen held Eskel down as Geralt pours the gunpowder into the wound before pressing the hot blade against his skin.

Eskel’s howls in pain as he thrashes around. Cöen turns away as Eskel claws against his arm. Lambert’s eyes fill with tears before squeezing his eyes shut to stop them from spilling. All while, Ciri’s soft sobs are heard in the background.

Geralt’s heart ached. Below him was Eskel. His best friend, his brother screaming and begging him to stop. Behind him was Ciri, his daughter sobbing in fear needing him by her side.

Soon enough, the screams stopped leaving nothing but the sound of crickets and crackling firewood to fill the void. Eskel, laid limp but breathing. He was alive.

Numbly, Geralt wraps Eskel’s stomach with the cleanest cloth he hand as the sound of hooves come closer. All of boy’s immediately reach for their revolvers but relax once seeing Vesemir’s and Aiden’s horses ride up.

“Thank god! Are you boys alright?” Vesemir asks getting off his horse.

“Eskel was shot, I…I stop the bleeding but…it’ll take a while for him to get back on his feet.” Geralt reports calmly.

Vesemir’s gaze softens as he walks over and places a hand on Geralt’s shoulder, “You did good, son. Go get yourself cleaned up. We’ll camp here for the night. We’re gonna be alright.”

Geralt nods before walking towards the small river next to the camp. With trembling hands he bends down to wash the blood off his palms and fingers before splashing his face with the ice cold water.

“I-is he…” Ciri asks with a trembling voice.

Geralt hesitates but finally turns over to her, “No, he’s alive. He’ll be alright.” He says trying to comfort her but instead Ciri just nods and looks down with tears running down her pale cheeks.

Geralt frowns and reaches over to hold her hands, “He’ll be alright. I…I promise. Trust me, he’s survived much worse. I mean who else can survive having dynamite blowing up next to him.”

Ciri shakes her head and cries, “I-it’s all my fault!”

Geralt’s heart drops as he cups her tear stained cheeks, “No, no, none of this is your fault. None of it.”

“B-but the Pinkertons, they want me! If it wasn’t my for me, no one would’ve gotten hurt!”

“Ciri. Cirilla, listen to me. None of this is your fault and I will never let them get a hold of you. No matter what I’ll protect you. I promised I would, remember?”

Ciri sniffles and nods as she wraps her her arms around Geralt. Geralt holds her close and tenderly rubs her small back, “Come on, let’s get to bed alright? I’m sure in a few days Eskel will be back up on his feet and you two will be out hunting together in no time.”

“G-Geralt…can I…sleep with you tonight?” Ciri softly asks.

Geralt smiles softly before kissing the top of her head, “Yeah, I can do that. Come on, princess.” He coos before leading her to their bedroll. Making sure they both were comfortable and warm, Geralt holds Ciri close.

It might’ve been the knowledge that Ciri was safe in his arms or the pure exhaustion after the turbulent day, either way, his eyes fail to stay open.

His peaceful sleep doesn’t last long however, as Cöen starts to nudge his shoulder, “Geralt. Wake up.”

Geralt groans and glances down to check that Ciri’s still sleeping before turning up towards Cöen, “What is it?” He whispers as he carefully sits up.

“It’s Eskel,” Cöen sighs causing Geralt’s stomach to drop and turn away, “I-is he?”

“No, not yet…he has a fever. A bad one. I’m pretty sure he has an infection. Vesemir is out trying to look for some herbs to help but…he needs medicine.” Cöen explains glancing over at Eskel in his bedroll.

Geralt sighs and runs his hand down his face, “Alright, I’ll go get some. I’m pretty sure I saw a town nearby.”

Cöen nods before glancing down at sleeping Ciri, “How is she taking it?”

“As well as anyone can…I guess…” Geralt mutters carefully getting up to not wake her.

“You guess?” Cöen questions.

“I…I don’t know…she thinks it’s her fault. She’s scared and…and I don’t know what to do…”

Cöen smiles sympathetically as he pats Geralt’s shoulder, “You’re doing your best. That’s the best you can do. I’m sure no matter what she’ll understand. Besides, you aren’t alone. Remember that alright?”

Geralt smiles softly and nods, “Keep an eye on her? I’ll be back soon enough.”

Cöen nods and sits on the ground next to Ciri, “She’ll be fine.”

Geralt let’s out another sigh as he puts on his hat and boots, “Make sure she eats all of her breakfast. Even the mushrooms.” He says sternly.

Cöen chuckles, “I’ll make sure she eats every one.”

Reassured, Geralt relaxes and heads over to Roach.

“Surprise to see you up so early.” A voice asks from behind causing Geralt to tense up and turn only to be faced with no other than Aiden.

“Aiden. How’s Lambert?”

Aiden lets out a worried sigh, “Freaked out to say the least. He’s worried for Eskel. For Ciri. They almost got her back there.”

“I know but we’ll work on it. I’m gonna get some medicine for Eskel and once healthy enough to move we’ll leave to someplace safe.”

“Safe? This isn’t some gang we are talking about, Geralt. This is the Pinkertons. The government who swarms all over the place. The real question is how long until they kill us all.” Aiden argues.

Geralt turns away as he puts his saddle on Roach’s back, “We’ll figure something out…” is all he manages to say before riding off.

The sun was only beginning to raise in the distance and yet only the crows seem to be singing their song.

Geralt is finally alone and for a moment he can let his emotions roam free, “Fuck! What am I doing!? Aiden is right! Last night they almost got us! They almost got Ciri! What do they even want with her!? She’s just a kid! A terrified lost kid! How am I supposed to…how am I supposed to protect her?”

Roach neighs in response causing Geralt to continue, “Yeah, I know, I know but I wasn’t made for this. How am I supposed to raise her? All my life all I learned to do is shoot, steal, and scam. It’s no way to raise a Ciri. She deserves…deserves more! To live in high society like her mother and grandmother! Worrying about dresses and shoes instead of catching a bullet through the skull. Why did her grandmother entrust her to me?”

Roach neighs and nudges her head back towards her master making Geralt relax as pat her mane, “I don’t regret taking her in. It’s not that. I just want her safe…” He sighs and looks up at the gloomy sky, “Maybe Yennefer was right that’s all. Maybe Ciri should’ve stayed with her…” he mutters only for his ears to pick up a scream near by.

“Help! Help me! Someone please help me!”

Perhaps it was instinct, maybe it was destiny, either way, Geralt immediately turns Roach around and rushes towards the cry for help.

As he got closer, growls, barks, and howls can be heard as a man clings onto a tree branch. He was younger than Geralt, with soft dirty brown hair, filthy and yet expensive looking clothes, and a fancy looking guitar slung over his back. Must’ve been gotten lost.

Geralt glances up at the sobbing man before glancing back down at the pack of wolves clawing at the tree trunk trying to take a bit out of the terrified man who’s starting to lose his grip.

Geralt takes out his revolver and shoots a few rounds at the sky causing the pack to scatter about and for the man to finally fall against the grass.

“You alright there?” Geralt asks walking over only for the man to pounce him into a tight hug.

“You saved me! I t-thought it was all over! But you saved me! My hero!” The man sobs looking up at Geralt with his big watery blue eyes and his snot, tear covered face.

Geralt couldn’t help but tense up. The only person who hugs him is Ciri and last time he checked, this man was not Ciri. Without hesitation, he pulls away and clears his throat, “Glad you’re alright then…see you around then.” He says walking back to Roach.

“What!? You can’t leave me here!” The man cries out rushing behind him.

“And why is that?” Geralt questions looking back at him with an amused look.

“Because what if the wolves come back! I’ll die out here!” The man cries.

Geralt shrugs and saddles up, “Better get out of forest as fast as you can then, city boy.”

The man runs in front of Roach and looks up at Geralt with his big blue eyes, “Don’t leave me here to die…please?”

Geralt has seen those eyes before. Ciri always uses them to get what she wants and just like when she does it, he couldn’t say no. He sighs and grumbles, “Fine.”

The man’s eyes light up, “So you’ll give me a ride to Toussaint?”

“What!? No!”

“Why not!?”

“I don’t even know you!”

“Me? Oh, Umm I’m…Jaskier!”

Geralt looks down at the younger man with a glare. He wasn’t sure either to laugh or punch him, “Like hell you are! You made that damn name up!”

Jaskier let’s out a fake gasp, “Me!? Lie!? I would never!”

Geralt sighs and runs his hand down his face, “Just get on the damn horse before I leave you here.”

Jaskier just smiles and hops on behind him.

Geralt was starting to regret this.

#witcher #the witcher fandom #the witcher fanfiction #witcher fanfiction #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #witcher eskel #witcher Cöen #witcher lambert #witcher vesemir #aiden witcher #witcher ciri #ciri #witcher yennefer #western au

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katwriteswitcherthings · 1 year

Text

Title: Vi Moxt Miirik (Chapter One - Also on AO3)

Prompt: Whump: first time being left

Pairing: Geralt & Jaskier, pre-relationship Geralt/Jaskier

Rating: T

Warnings: None

This one didn’t end up quite whumpy enough in my opinion; Jaskier did not want to cooperate with me.

Summary:

Our favorite lovable Bard is a little more than he let's Geralt know. Follow them through the years as he learns to let down his walls and show Geralt how beautiful he really is.

Chapter One

"Geralt?" Jaskier started the conversation. He always started the conversation. In the several months he'd known the Witcher, Geralt had only started conversations maybe a handful of times. And most of those were to tell at him for doing something stupid.

"I said don't follow me!" He'd yelled when he found the bard standing just out of his sight line while he hunted for monsters. "Don't eat that!" Geralt had again yelled when Jaskier was going to try some of Geralt's freshly picked ingredients for potions; followed by an exhausting lecture on which plants are which are used in potions, which are safe for humans, and which are poisonous.

"Hm?" Geralt grunted, allowing that he was in fact paying attention to Jaskier, even as he kept his eyes sweeping the road ahead of them and the thick forests around them. He was always on alert for danger, it seemed.

"Where are we headed next?" Jaskier asked. They were nearing Hagge, maybe another day or two at worst away from the city.

"Hagge. Then you'll be on your own." Geralt answered, but Jaskier scoffed at that.

"You really think you can get rid of me that easily?" Jaskier challenged. He had surprised the Witcher every time the man had tried to evade him at this point. He didn't like having to track the man halfway across the Continent, but he certainly would.

"It's... not that." Geralt's words were halting, almost hesitant. "It's... Monsters hibernate in the winter. Witchers... Witchers go home."

"Oh." Jaskier stopped dead in his tracks as the realization swept over him. Geralt was going to spend the winter with the rest of the Witchers, presumably hidden away at some centralized meeting spot. Jaskier wasn't a Witcher.

He was being left behind, for good this time.

"Bard?" Geralt questioned after a few moments when Jaskier did not catch up to him. He glanced up to the Witcher atop Roach and was surprised to see him looking back with something almost like concern on his usually stoic face.

"Yes?" Jaskier questioned, forcing his voice around the lump in his throat. Geralt narrowed his eyes at him, but didn't force the issue. Instead, Jaskier lightly jogged to make up the difference before slinging his lute from his back and absently strumming along to drown out the uncomfortably pressing silence.

"I'll be in Ard Carraigh for Belleteyn." Geralt offered after several tense minutes.

"...Is that an invitation to keep traveling with you?" Jaskier asked. He was shocked.

"Yes." Geralt's voice was quiet and soft, something Jaskier had never heard before that point.

He really didn't think the Witcher minded traveling with him, but to be invited to continue after a season? Well, that was a most glorious offer. And, if he kept those words in his heart like a fuel to keep warm long after they had separated in Hagge, who was to judge?

#@whataboutthebard #whump the bard #what about the bard #pre-relationship Geralt/Jaskier #Jaskier #Geralt of Rivia #geraskier #my fanfic

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beth--b · 1 year

Text

safe in your arms

He is alone in the dark.

No, he’s not alone. But it is dark.

At least it was dark.

There is a light flickering on and off in the distance, moving closer. He doesn’t know why, but he is afraid.

Then he is burning, and he understands the fear.

He begins to scream.

“Jaskier.”

Someone is calling but he can’t answer. He’s burning. He is being consumed by the flames.

“Jaskier!”

They are becoming more insistent but he still can’t answer their call. There is nothing left of him but the deep, burning pain.

“Jaskier!”

Read it on ao3 here

He comes awake with a start, chest heaving like he’s been running for miles. He doesn’t realise he’s crying until someone’s hands brush the tears away. Geralt’s hands. It was Geralt calling his name.

“Jaskier? You with me?” Geralt asks, voice a low murmur now that Jaskier is awake.

Jaskier still can’t seem to speak so he nods jerkily instead, tears falling unchecked.

He’s awake and aware. He’s not burning, not anymore. He clenches his half healed fingers and quickly ceases the motion as the raw skin tingles painfully.

His heartbeat finally slows back to its normal rhythm. It was just a nightmare. He’s safe in Kaer Morhen with Geralt.

Ciri is asleep down the hall, also safe.

His breathing stutters, then finally begins to even out. They are all safe. At least for now.

When Jaskier finally regains control of himself Geralt is there, pulling him into his arms. Jaskier lets himself be held, taking comfort in his Witcher’s presence.

His hand hurts, the burns no longer red and inflamed but sore nonetheless. Geralt, seems to recognise as much and moves away just for a moment, fetching the healing salve that he has been applying to Jaskier’s injured fingers since he let him know about the hurts he had suffered while with the mage.

Geralt applies the salve methodically and once each finger is coated and the burn on his palm treated, he packs away the salve and lays back on the bed. Jaskier follows readily, curling up on his side, head on Geralt’s chest.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Geralt asks after several minutes of silence, voice a deep rumble under Jaskier’s ear.

“Not really,” he answers eventually, “nothing much to tell that I haven't already said.”

Geralt sighs but Jaskier can feel his nod against the top of his head. A kiss is pressed to his sweaty hair and Jaskier presses his face closer to the Witcher holding him as though he were something precious. Something to be treasured.

Jaskier knows from the last few nights that after that particular nightmare he would be getting no more sleep. He had Geralt though, and for now he was content to let himself be held. Let himself be loved, as he had loved Geralt for so many years. This wasn’t how he wanted to get here, but he was here. He would take the wins when they came. In time the nightmares would fade, his hand would heal, and at the end of it all he would still have Geralt.

#geraskier #tw nightmare #nightmare #geralt x jaskier #jaskier whump #hurt/comfort #ficlet #the witcher fanfiction #my fics #burns #tw burns #geralt #jaskier #jaskier needs a hug #jaskier gets a hug

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dancingwiththefae · 2 years

Note

"I didn't know where else to go" yenskier?

Thank you!

This is post-s2 because god knows they all need some comfort

CW for reference to torture, PTSD (and Jaskier blaming himself)

wc: 830

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

He was wandering the maze-like halls of Kaer Morhen, trying to map out the place in his mind. The dust had mostly settled and everyone was now working out how to live around each other while winter raged outside. Jaskier would have preferred to head straight back to Oxenfurt but he was feeling a little stranded. He had nothing to his name. No money, no spare clothes, no lute. He could always ask Yennefer to portal him somewhere but he was too embarrassed to admit he needed help.

Lambert appeared from the end of the hall and interrupted his musings. He snapped his fingers and the candle on the wall lit up. Jaskier’s steps faltered. He had to remind himself that witcher’s could do that. He’d seen Geralt do it several times. It was no big deal. Except as Lambert got closer he lit more candles. Jaskier froze. He zeroed in on the candles being lit one by one until all he could see in his mind was the flames coming closer. He took a step backwards, then two, and then he was running in the opposite direction, leaving a confused Lambert in his wake. He didn’t care. He just knew he had to get away. He kept going, heedless of the direction he was taking. The map he was making was long forgotten.

He heard voices from one direction and went the opposite way. He followed the stairs down until he came to a familiar place. The lab was down here. And Yennefer had said she would be working in there tonight. Of course! Yennefer would help. She had a logical answer to everything. He burst through the lab door and had just enough rational thought to be surprised by her lack of surprise. She must have heard him coming because as he threw himself into the room and slammed the door shut behind him she didn’t even look up.

“Yennefer! I need your help I-I-“ the words spilled out of him before he could stop them, “I thought I could handle it but I can’t and

Hands cupped his face. He didn’t even realise she had walked up to him.

“Jaskier,” she soothed, “calm down. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he sobbed. Yennefer directed him to sit down and pulled up a chair opposite him. She waited patiently for him to continue. He ran a hand across his face and willed his heart to slow down.

“I thought…” he started slow, trying to gather his thoughts into something cohesive, “I thought that everything would be fine. Everyone has gone through so much worse and I thought- I thought I could get over it. But I can’t.” He looked down at his hand where the burns had not yet healed. He ran his finger over them, skin still sensitive. “Lambert lit some candles with-“ he mimicked the motion of clicking his fingers “-and I panicked. Stupid really.”

Now that the panic had left him and the weariness set in he realised how ridiculous he had been. Lambert must think him a fool. He made to leave but a hand on my arm stopped him.

“Jaskier,” the sorceress sighed, “there is no competition in trauma. You were tortured for information you didn’t have. You could have died. Those kinds of things are going to stay with you.”

She coaxed him to sit back down and crouched down in front of him and took his hands in hers, careful of the burns on his fingers. He looked down at the floor, avoiding her gaze – mostly because he didn’t want to admit she was right.

“You know I think some of the witchers are a little frightened of me,” she mused, “I could always threaten to turn them into toads.”

Jaskier laughed.

“They’re grumpy but harmless mostly. I think we should spare them on this occasion.”

Yennefer hummed.

“Are you sure?” she queried, “I think I would prefer Lambert as a toad anyway. Listen-“ she stood up and straightened her dress “-if the anxiety gets too much then we can talk about it. Maybe I can give you something to help. But you shouldn’t keep this to yourself. Talk to Geralt, at least.”

The bard watched her walk back across the room to where she had abandoned whatever it was she had been doing before his sudden outburst.

“I hate when you’re right,” he said.

“I usually am,” she retorted. She looked back, catching his eye and smiling. He smiled back. She picked up some ingredients and dropped them into a bowl to grind them together. He figured that was the end of the conversation. He got up and made to leave. She called out to him before he walked through the door.

“Oh, and Jaskier! If you ever need to talk about it again you can usually find me in here.”

He nodded.

“Thank you, Yennefer,” he murmured and shut the door behind him.

#yennskier #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #jaskier x yennefer #yennskier fanfic #faye writes

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samstree · 2 years

Text

time and time again

Marriage proposals, through the years.

(5.2k ☆ also on AO3)

The first time Geralt proposes to Jaskier, they are near those mountains again.

Caingorn is just on the horizon, and the bard walks before the witcher, humming an absent tune. The sky rumbles with the coming rain, the wind cutting into their skin, cold and unrelenting.

“Marry me.”

The words come as a surprise even to himself, but the distant ache in his chest urges him forward. Jaskier turns around with his eyes round and mouth agape.

“Come again?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt lets out a breath. They’ve both stopped in the middle of the road, awkward and hesitant, and Roach is nudging him with a gentle bump. “Will you marry me? I thought…we could, if you are willing.”

Geralt fumbles, feeling too wrong-footed to look into Jaskier’s eyes, but Jaskier appears before him nonetheless.

“Why are you asking?” Jaskier says, watching Geralt in earnest. There is understanding in his eyes and a reserved smile on his lips, as if he already knows the answer.

“I…want to?”

The ache in Geralt’s chest morphs into the familiar shape of guilt, and he can’t help but feel like he’s fucked up once again. In these mountains, it seems to be all he does.

“Oh, darling.” Soft hands cup Geralt’s cheeks and guide him to those blue eyes. The wind weaves into Jaskier’s hair, but there is no hurt in his expression. They’ve left that day years ago. The sight of red doublet and heartbreak only exists in memories and bad dreams, but somehow, Geralt feels like it’s still constricting his throat. “It’s because of these mountains, isn’t it?”

It’s not an accusation, and yet, Geralt feels the need to justify it. “I’m not asking because of this place.” He shakes his head, even though doubt creeps up, making his voice unsure. “I wanted to.”

“Wanted me to marry you?” Jaskier pauses. “Or wanted to prove something?”

Geralt opens his mouth and closes it, so Jaskier continues.

“I thought so.” He sighs, looking unreasonably tired. “Geralt, you’ve been acting weird since we set out. I didn’t know how to ask, and I know you still blame yourself for getting angry at me back then, but I promise you. This is not the answer.”

“I’m not…weird.” It’s an unconvincing defense even to himself.

“Sure you aren’t. There’s no broody silence, no unprompted fussing, no looking at the mountains as if they’ve personally offended you. No, sir, of course not. Seriously, for a while I thought you’d sprain something.”

Geralt winces. Has he really been that dramatic? “But I do love you.”

Warmth flows in Jaskier’s eyes, relaxing the worry between his brows. “I’m well aware, you oaf, but have you not heard of that famous saying? Guilt is not the reason to start a marriage between a witcher who blames himself too much and a bard who has long forgiven him.”

Geralt looks at Jaskier incredulously. “You just said that.”

“Nuh-uh.” Jaskier shakes his head in all seriousness. “It’s the quote of a great poet, the greatest one of them all, one might argue!”

“Hmm. Don’t know who’s arguing that.”

It earns him a gentle slap on the shoulder.

“You are lucky I love you,” Jaskier teases, but it comes out too soft to be berating.

“I am,” Geralt says solemnly. “I know I am, and I just want to—” he cuts himself off, realizing what he’s about to say. “Oh, I just want to prove it.”

“Yes, but have you considered I might not trust your question, if you’re only asking because of a painful past?”

Doubt creeps into Jaskier’s voice, tainting his confidence. Geralt recognizes it like scars upon his heart. In the process of his spiraling, he’s neglected how it must look to Jaskier—him pulling away slowly and letting guilt take charge, him only asking the big question because of the unfortunate route of their travel.

Geralt swore he’d never make Jaskier feel unwanted, but he has achieved the opposite just now.

“Alright, I take it back.” He takes Jaskier’s hand and kisses his palm. “Guilt is not the reason.”

Time is needed to reshape his guilt and untangle all the messy parts left by those mountains, and Geralt has some waiting to do.

☆

The second time, Geralt asks with his face pressed against Jaskier’s stomach, his arms circling the bard’s hips, keeping him impossibly close.

“If you have to leave,” he whispers into the night, “will you marry me tonight?”

Jaskier goes still in his embrace. His fingers, previously tracing the hairline at Geralt’s nape, come to a stop. Geralt keeps his hold so Jaskier cannot see his expression when the rejection inevitably comes.

“Geralt.”

He stays there, not answering.

“Geralt?” With Jaskier standing and Geralt perched on the bed, it’s easy for him to place a hand on Geralt’s shoulder and force distance between them. “Geralt, will you look at me?”

Geralt looks up and tries to remember every detail of Jaskier’s face—the candlelight dancing in his eyes, the day-old stubble lining his chin, the curve of his lips and the sadness that cannot be hidden.

“I am looking at you.”

“No, it’s the wrong way of looking. You look at me as if I’m going to die.”

A shiver runs down Geralt’s spine.

“It’s dangerous,” Geralt argues. “You cannot go back to Dijkstra like this, not after what you did to protect us. He’d never let you walk away.”

“He wouldn’t touch me. My name is too well-known in Redania—”

“Your fame can’t protect you forever.”

“And neither can a marriage license.”

“Gods, Jaskier!”

His scowl is equal parts frustrated and so, so terrified.

The muscles under Geralt’s palms shift when Jaskier takes a deep breath. He looks determined, and a determined Jaskier is a force to be reckoned with. He is never one to back down when Geralt raises his voice. If they descend into a yelling match, the parting will be an ugly one yet, and it’s the last thing Geralt wants before Jaskier’s possible suicide mission.

“I can handle Dijkstra.” Instead of chasing Geralt in his frustration, Jaskier keeps his voice low and patient. He squirms out of Geralt’s arms and sits next to him, their thighs pressed together. “This is my job, knowing what people want and giving it to them, no more and no less. We both know you cannot come with me. It’d be threatening Ciri and Yen now that Nilfgaard is hardly the only one looking for the three of you. Please, Geralt, I just need you to trust me to come back to you.”

“I—” Geralt finds no words. His trust doesn’t waver, but in the candlelight, Jaskier looks more fragile than ever. The night has washed away all his defense, and all that’s left is just a bard and his stubbornness, all flesh and blood, all human.

It’s unfair that Geralt’s heart is made of something so vulnerable.

“Will you still marry me?” he asks. “Just tonight, only the two of us will know, but at least it’s like—I’ll feel like…”

“Like you can still protect me.” Jaskier finishes the sentence, understanding dawning on his face. His fingers find Geralt’s trembling ones and hold on tight in return, mirroring Geralt’s desperation from a moment ago. “Gods, you are so scared. Come here.”

Geralt ends up with his head on Jaskier’s shoulder and inhaling the calming scent of his skin. He tries to remind himself that Jaskier is here, that he’s safe.

For now.

“Witchers don’t feel fear,” Geralt replies on instinct, but sinks his weight into Jaskier’s soothing embrace further.

“Mm-hmm, and the sky is green and I can duel a griffin.”

Geralt finally lets out a defeated sigh. He should know a lost battle when he sees one. He hasn’t won against Jaskier in years; he’s not capable of it anymore. “Will you now tell me fear is also the wrong reason to marry?”

Jaskier hums, his hand running up and down Geralt’s back. He doesn’t reply for a beat, only seems to contemplate in silence.

“I just,” Jaskier finally starts, his breath warm on Geralt’s skin. “I just want to make sure when you ask me,” he pauses, “it’s you asking me.”

Geralt pulls away to meet those gleaming blue eyes. “It is me asking.”

“Is it though? Is it really, when you think there is no tomorrow for us?”

Geralt has no answer for it. When Jaskier comes back then, he will ask again when Jaskier comes back and they are free of all that is painful on this continent.

Jaskier continues to murmur sweet nothings into Geralt’s hair while holding him, until he can feel his lungs take in air again. They settle into the bed before Jaskier speaks again.

“Nothing can hurt me, as long as you are safe.”

The scars on Jaskier’s fingers are tender under Geralt’s touch. He cradles Jaskier’s hands as he drifts off, and wakes up to a cold bed.

Jaskier has left when Geralt is sleeping.

☆

They find each other as summer rolls around, peppering the forest ground with lush green and golden dappled light. When the trees make way, Jaskier is there at the end of the road. They pick up the pace and crash into one another in laughter and clumsy limbs. The hug is so tight that Geralt’s feet are lifted into the air.

“How’s our witchy princess?” Jaskier asks between loud kisses all over Geralt’s face. “Still witchy?”

“Still witchy,” Geralt confirms.

“And our sorceress?”

“Good.”

“Aww, shame.”

Geralt puts a stop to Jaskier’s cheeky lies with another kiss on his mouth but all the giggling makes it difficult. They find a patch of moss by a creek and lie down in the shade. Jaskier’s forehead is pressed against Geralt’s shoulder, and he closes his eyes with a contented hum.

“Told you I’d come back to you.”

“Hmm.” Geralt drinks in the sight of his bard tired but happy, and finds his heart picking up its slow pace. He’s found Jaskier again, which means the question once again weighs on his tongue. “You know what I will ask now, right?”

Jaskier blinks open his eyes and watches Geralt with an inscrutable expression. He’s still caught off guard, somehow, still surprised at Geralt’s intentions to stay by his side.

“Will you ask,” Jaskier says, “now that nothing is forcing you?”

“Will your answer be yes?”

Jaskier only blinks, his lashes fluttering with coming tears. There is fear in his scent, just a smidge to taint the happiness around them. “And if it’s not a yes?”

There is no guilt resting on Geralt’s breastbone, no past mistake chasing him to pick up the pace. There is no one threatening their lives, or at least for the near future. Geralt’s proposal would be from the heart. It would be from him alone.

If Jaskier still rejects him, it would be because he’s simply not ready.

Oh.

Love unfurls in Geralt’s chest at the easy solution, the easiest, really.

“If it’s not,” Geralt chooses each word carefully, “I will wait, and ask again.”

Jaskier lets out a long exhale as a tear slides down his temple. “You will?”

As if there is room for Geralt’s heart to change.

“I will,” he promises. “There will be a time for us, and I understand it may not be now. Jaskier, you made me wait because my heart was not in the right place, and now I will wait for yours too.”

I won’t leave. He doesn’t say, but Jaskier hears anyway. I’ve long since lost the ability to leave you behind.

With a shaky breath, Jaskier flips himself over and sprawls all over Geralt’s chest, hiding his face in the fabric of Geralt’s tunic.

“Thank you,” Jaskier whispers, his hand resting at the dip of Geralt’s waist. “I just need some time.”

“You have it, Jaskier.”

Twenty years. Jaskier gave him twenty years first. If it means Geralt needs to wait twice as long, three times, the rest of his days, even, it’d still be well worth it.

☆

Geralt falls into a new habit of waiting.

It doesn’t change much, showing his heart from time to time. His proposals often fall on the beginning of summer, taking the form of a quiet whisper or a small bouquet. Jaskier’s smile is a beautiful thing when Geralt utters these two words.

Marry me.

Marry me here. Marry me at the coast. Marry me when we get home this year. Marry me so Lambert loses a bet.

The answer Geralt dreams of hasn’t arrived. He thinks it’s become a test, somehow, and wonders if Jaskier is waiting for him to give up.

“You said witchers didn’t marry,” Jaskier says after Geralt’s most recent proposal. They’ve both been drinking the local Cidaris ale all night. The coastal brew is as powerful as their sea shanties, but Jaskier downs another tankard without a beat. “Are you the black sheep of your family, Geralt of Rivia? Proposing marriage to bards left and right, what would Vesemir say?”

Jaskier’s cheeks are flushed warm, and his eyes sparkle with the effect of alcohol, his temples crinkling with mischief. He’s too beautiful like this, and Geralt nearly blurts out another proposal right on the spot.

“Been around humans too much, I suppose.” Geralt sips his drink and lets Jaskier steal the cup from him. “And there are no bards. It’s just the one. He’s more than a handful already.”

“I’m a menace!” Jaskier agrees with delight, his giggles giving way to an air of melancholy after a few moments. He lets out a dramatic sigh, the kind he only reserves for the stage or the privacy of two. “But…why have you not tired of it? If it’s…truly what you want, what if I can never give it to you?”

No one had asked what Geralt wanted before Jaskier came along. No one has made Geralt’s life so full of joy like Jaskier since. If there is one thing Jaskier cannot give Geralt, does it really compare to the constellation of happiness he’s already painted across Geralt’s life?

“What if the sky crumbles and the ground sinks into the sea?” Geralt shakes his head. “If you cannot give me your hand in marriage, we will go on like this, and I don’t see anything wrong with it.”

“Like this?”

“Hmm, life with you. It’s…it’s everything already. You must know, Jaskier. Marry me today or never, I’m happy with you.”

Geralt is on the verge of tipsy, which means Jaskier must be well past drunk. It’s when he has the worst ideas. From the way his eyes light up, that is precisely what is happening.

“Oh!” Jaskier yelps, tugging Geralt’s hand. “I have an idea!”

“It’s a shit one.”

“Nonsense, I have the best ideas drunk!”

Geralt follows Jaskier with a sloppy smile on his face, his arms circling Jaskier’s back so he doesn’t fall over and plant his face in the mud. They leave the tavern and travel along a footpath away from the beach. They walk until the local Melitele’s temple is right in front of them, towering over the roaring sea from the clifftop.

Geralt stops in his tracks. “Jaskier?”

“Did you know Cidaris is one of the few places on the continent where you can marry on the spot? No questions asked, no waiting time, no paperwork. You walk into a temple, find a priestess, she ties your hands together, and bam! Married! Not a wise combination with all that ale if you ask me, but, oh well.”

Jaskier shrugs, and continues to lead Geralt inside the building. Their footsteps echo under the high roof, accompanying the pounding of Geralt’s heart.

“You cannot be serious.” Geralt huffs without humor. “Jaskier.”

“What?” Jaskier turns with force and almost stumbles. Geralt has to catch him by the armpits. “Is it not what you’ve been asking of me?”

“It…is, but.” Geralt shakes his head. “Is this your answer?”

Jaskier looks to the side at the altar, and illuminated by the flickering candlelight are the twin cushions placed neatly on the floor. He hums noncommittally and walks towards it, hesitating for a moment before kneeling on one of them.

Geralt kneels next to him. The temple is quiet with few worshippers, and they must need to call for a priestess if they were to wed.

But something tells Geralt it won’t be needed.

“It scares me, you know,” Jaskier says.

“Marriage?”

It makes sense. Jaskier has never been one to be tied down, flitting between past lovers and never staying for long. Geralt is a rare exception, but maybe it’s never been enough.

“No.” Jaskier turns away from Geralt to lower his head. “You, giving up on me. You, finding someone else who will accept your hand. You, deciding I’m not worth it after all. I’ve never been scared of you, but the idea of you leaving scares me shitless.”

Not being able to stand the ache in his chest, Geralt takes Jaskier’s chin and kisses him. Their position is awkward with the cushions placed side by side, so he keeps the kiss sweet and gentle. They look like a newlywed couple, just without the ribbon around their wrists.

“You think,” Geralt says, nuzzling Jaskier’s warm cheek, “I wish to settle down with just anyone?”

“Well, not anyone. It sounds silly if you put it like that.��

Jaskier looks up at Geralt through his lashes, and the redness of his face deepens with a combination of embarrassment and inebriation.

“Silly indeed, as if there’s anyone else out there who’d wed me.”

“Don’t put yourself down.” Jaskier gives him a stern look. “Do you have any idea how many hearts will be breaking when we do tie the knots?”

When.

Geralt can’t help the grin stretching on his face even though Jaskier doesn’t seem to notice his choice of word. It fills Geralt with hope, but it’s a steady, secure kind of hope, settling his doubts and uncertainties.

“Unlike you, whose marriage will be a relief to husbands and wives everywhere.” Without waiting for Jaskier to squawk in offense, Geralt pulls him up by the elbows. “Come on. We should go.”

They leave the temple behind with Jaskier huffing and puffing, recounting all the heartbreaks he left in his wake. Geralt has to admit defeat eventually just so the bard doesn’t wake the whole town.

One day, they’ll be back here. But not today.

☆

Yennefer beats them to it by proposing to Triss the next year.

Their big day summons them all to Toussaint right before Belletyne. The invitation to their handfasting ceremony makes Jaskier very petty, citing sorceresses and their unreasonably fast courtship and the unfairness of it all given their prolonged lifetime.

It is true that Yen has only just figured out her feelings for Triss not long ago, but with how smitten they both seemed even before, Geralt can’t say he didn’t see it coming.

He was also the first one to know when Yen wrote to him about borrowing his vineyard before starting to order him around for flower arrangements and decorations. Some things never change, he reckons.

In front of witchers and humans and a princess who is both, vows are exchanged between the two sorceresses who found family in each other. Yen’s words are particularly sweet—even Geralt has never seen such a soft side to her. When Ciri ties the ribbon around their hands, Jaskier’s hand also finds Geralt’s.

The sun has come down, and May Day is only hours away. The bonfire burns bright, making the daisy on Jaskier’s ear look golden. Geralt can’t help his doting. He adjusts the flower when it slips, and kisses the grey hair at Jaskier’s temple. Somewhere not far away, Lambert whistles and that earns him a nudge in the ribs from Eskel.

“Ah-oh, it’s your proposing face.” Jaskier takes one look at Geralt and says.

“I do not have a proposing face.”

“You look sappy and content and utterly in love. That’s your proposing face.”

“Does it matter? You never say yes.” Geralt feels his lips purse in a way that is definitely not pouting. “Perhaps I shouldn’t dance with you tonight, so I won’t feel utterly in love and want to propose.”

Jaskier glares at him before realizing the severity of that threat—the night is too fine not to dance. He softens immediately to coax Geralt into their first dance, and when it doesn’t work, the coaxing turns into gentle apologies and promises to never tease. It’s a lie that Geralt is more than willing to allow.

The music box spins on magic, singing a slow tune. Yen and Triss have settled into an intimate embrace not far away with Yennefer whispering something into Triss’s ear and making her laugh.

Jaskier rests his chin on Geralt’s shoulder, undoubtedly watching the happy couple.

“I am sorry, you know.”

All teasing is gone from Jaskier’s voice, leaving only quiet sincerity.

Geralt frowns. “What for?”

“For making you wait.” Jaskier’s feet have stopped following the music, and Geralt stops with him but keeps his arms around Jaskier’s waist. “I don’t know what is wrong with me. If only I could just…I don’t know, get over myself and stop being so weird. I’m sorry, for taking so long.” He worries his lips, looking so guilty it breaks Geralt’s heart. “And that I need more time still.”

“Jaskier…”

Geralt breathes the name that contains his universe. How does explain just how wrong that statement is? How can he describe the immense happiness Jaskier brings him every day just by staying by his side?

He’d need to break into songs. Alas, he’s the witcher, not the bard. But Jaskier feeling inadequate is not right. It simply won’t do.

“Don’t apologize. I don’t know how to take it,” Geralt says, realizing the simplicity of it all. There is a solution after all, right on the tip of his tongue. “That’s it then. I won’t ask again.”

The bonfire crackles with the pause in the music, and Jaskier stares.

“You won’t?”

“Mm-hmm. I will not ask you to marry me again.”

“Oh.” A flash of hurt appears in Jaskier’s eyes. “Is this because I… Please, Geralt, I just need a little more time. Does that mean you don’t want—”

“No. Of course not.” Geralt interrupts, seeing more explanation is needed. “It’s not because I don’t want you anymore.”

“Then why—”

“Because you are enough. Just you.” He swallows the lump of guilt in his throat, composing himself before continuing. “Because you don’t need to force yourself into anything for my sake. Jaskier, don’t you see? It’s you. It will always be you. It won’t change, even if you turn me down every day for the rest of our lives.”

Jaskier looks at him skeptically. “I won’t be so cruel to you.”

“It wouldn’t be.” Geralt chuckles. “Look, you can ask me to never speak of marriage again, or…walk away from me right this moment and never look back, it will still be you. Just you.”

“You’d be lonely,” Jaskier says, “if I left.”

There was a time when Geralt would have denied it, but now, he just agrees with a smile. “Incredibly.”

They settle into a comfortable silence after that. The conversation has attracted a few looks from the brides. Yen is watching Geralt from over Jaskier’s shoulder quizzically.

“How about this?” Jaskier asks when the moon is high and the fire dies down. Exhaustion makes him lean against Geralt’s arm with all his weight. Between the yawns, Jaskier blinks at Geralt. “I don’t know when I will be ready, and you have been more than patient. But when I am…”

“You don’t need to rush.” Geralt pats Jaskier’s hand reassuringly.

Jaskier’s smile, even tired, is more beautiful than the stars. “Hush, you. You promised me your heart, now trust me to know mine?” When Geralt doesn’t argue, he continues. “When I am ready, truly ready, you will know. Because I will be the one asking you.”

Geralt pictures that day and all the dramatic flair Jaskier will certainly bring, and finds himself unable to refuse.

“Hmm.”

“Alright?”

“It’s alright.” Geralt closes his eyes and lets the scent of daisy and wood ash calm him. “It’s you. Of course, it’s alright.”

Triss is the one to check on them when the celebration ends. She is, once again, disappointed in the fact that Jaskier has not accepted Geralt’s hand—her bet with Lambert has gone on for too long and she is eager to win.

Jaskier has to call for Yennefer to stop her wife from prying, but the look on his face when looking at the married couple is only of longing and hope.

☆

The day is near, Geralt can sense it.

Seasons have passed since his entire family gathered at the wedding. When Jaskier offhandedly mentions inviting them all for a quick catch-up, there is an underlying nervousness in his tone.

Toussaint is a nice place for their retirement. He hasn’t seen Jaskier on edge for a long time.

So Geralt agrees with the same nonchalance Jaskier tries to put on his face, and they begin writing letters to all corners of the continent. The wait makes Jaskier fidgety, unable to sit still for long and often disappearing from their home for whole afternoons.

Sometimes, he watches Geralt with his scheming grin when he thinks Geralt isn’t looking.

One day, Geralt catches Jaskier on the outskirt of town right outside of a ring shop, and carefully walks away before being seen, but the rabbiting of his heart won’t calm for quite some time.

Eskel is the last one to arrive. When he does, Ciri is exchanging stories with her mothers and bullying Lambert as usual. Geralt hugs his brother who has a knowing glint in his eyes. “Congratulation in advance, wolf.”

Geralt only hums, making sure Jaskier isn’t around to hear.

The evening approaches, and nervousness rolls off from Jaskier in waves when he pats the small box in his pocket. Geralt tries to reassure him without giving the game away, but it’s difficult not to reveal his excitement. They’ve each waited decades for this. There is no doubt Jaskier is fussing over every little detail in his head.

So Geralt takes pity on him and mentions leaving the happy crowd, citing the need to let Roach stretch her legs before declaring the precise time he will return. The weather is fine enough for a late-night stroll to be believable. Jaskier lets out a long exhale when Geralt leaves him with a kiss.

Under the stars, Geralt takes his time with the walk, relishing the last hour before their lives change forever. Roach must sense his good mood too with how affectionate she is. He thanks her and feeds her plenty of treats.

When he returns home, their small garden is decorated with paper lanterns of all different sizes and shapes. Ciri is holding a small one that is painted in a soft rose color. The pink glow flickers in the night breeze, illuminating her white dress and pale hair as well as the carnations Jaskier just planted earlier this year.

Geralt’s brothers are nursing their drinks, and both Yen and Triss are watching Ciri with so much pride on their faces. It must be the same pride Geralt feels when he looks at her too, all grown-up and confident.

Jaskier is nowhere to be seen.

“Geralt!” Ciri puts up the last lantern and runs towards him. He catches her with one arm. “I’m happy for you. You know I am, but Jaskier is driving us crazy.”

“Be sympathetic, Cirilla.”

“Put us all out of our misery and say yes, will you?” She breaks the hug and gestures to their house, where Jaskier’s anxious heart thrums like a hummingbird within. “It’s about time.”

Geralt gives one last look to his family before stepping into his home. He faintly hears Triss asking Lambert to pay up.

The nerves finally catch up to him, but Jaskier is waiting for him. He is brave when Jaskier waits for him.

Their home is the same, apart from the bundles of fresh lilies decorating every surface, all from their garden. The door shuts behind Geralt, and he is greeted with blue eyes already brimming with tears.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey.”

Jaskier breaks into a timid smile. “Surprise.”

Geralt is breathless when Jaskier takes his hands and slowly kneels before him. No matter how many times he’s pictured this moment, his imagination could never match the flowing love in Jaskier’s eyes when he looks up at Geralt.

“Geralt of Rivia,” Jaskier starts, voice breaking. “My muse, my hero, my best friend. Will you—will…”

Tears cut off Jaskier’s speech, his hands trembling in Geralt’s, and Geralt finds himself on the floor too. A poet is overwhelmed by the depth of his emotions, and a witcher can only help by wiping those tears away.

It looks like Jaskier’s worst stage fright yet.

“It’s okay,” Geralt says.

“No, it’s not. Ugh, why is this so hard? You’ve done it a million times.”

Geralt would take offense if Jaskier isn’t looking so endearing despite the redness of his eyes.

“I just wanted you to have the perfect moment, and now I’ve ruined it.” Jaskier chuckles self-deprecatingly before fumbling with his pocket for the ring. “The most perfect. You have no idea how long I’ve been planning for this day.”

Geralt almost feels giddy. Of course he’s noticed all the sleepless nights when Jaskier tossed and turned next to him. He could practically hear the bard’s loud thinking for months. For now, he hides that knowledge.

“It’s perfect already,” Geralt answers the unasked question. “And yes, Jaskier, I will—”

“No. No, I’ve not asked. You deserve the whole package,” Jaskier sniffs, his voice small. “You deserve the world.”

“I have it right here.”

Jaskier looks like he might cry again, so Geralt soothes him with gentle words until he’s composed himself enough to begin again. Every word is full of love and appreciation, and Geralt is with him the entire way, prompting him to go on when his breath shudders and lips tremble.

In the end, both the question and the answer are light as a feature.

After, they stay on the floor for too long, letting reality sink in. There are chatters outside the door, where their family is undoubtedly eavesdropping but pretending otherwise.

They re-join the small party in the garden. Jaskier’s eyes are puffy under the warm glow of the lanterns, and his touch lingers around Geralt’s ring finger, tracing the simple silver band as if he cannot believe it’s really there.

“I don’t know how you can wait for so many years,” Jaskier whispers when no one pays attention to them. “You are too good to me.”

“It’s easy, really,” Geralt answers. “You waited for twenty years first.”

“Those were the best years of my life. At the time, at least.”

“And these were mine.”

The crow’s feet at the corners of Jaskier’s eyes bloom more beautifully than the carnations when he smiles. “I have a feeling,” he says, “that the best is yet to come.”

“Yeah? I think so too,” Geralt agrees when he breaks away. “We have all the time in the world.”

They kiss among the roses they planted with their hands, and they kiss amongst their family.

They let the future begin.

#geraskier #geraskier fic #established relationship #fluff #my sappiest work yet

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