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dhwty-writes · 3 years

Note

hi! I have a prompt, if you like: what if Geralt hangs up mistletoe to get Jaskier to kiss him? :)

ELLIE, what a galaxy brained concept! It’s so silly and the gay panic is rampant in this one, my friends. The Kaer Morons being a bumbling pack of idiots and Geralt ridiculously pining after Jaskier? Coming right up!

Summary: Geralt is in love with Jaskier. In order to finally get him to admit his feelings, he devises a ten step plan with Lambert, Eskel and Vesemir.

Warnings: NONE, this is tooth-rotting fluff

Read on AO3

There was a conspiracy of the highest order brewing in the Continent involving no less than four witchers, their horses, a goat, and an unsuspecting bard. It is known under many names, including, but not limited to, Operation Home Sweet Home, Gods Save us from your Fucking Pining, and Get Vesemir's Blessing (and Mission Let's Get Geralt Laid, but that was from Lambert and therefore stupid).

They had laid out the Conspiracy in a set of carefully calculated steps last winter with the help of Vesemir's Wise Words and truly copious amounts of alcohol. Once he saw the whole list sober, Geralt had nearly chucked it into the fireplace out of mortification. Good thing Eskel and Lambert had been nearby to wrestle the slip of paper out of his hands.

Only after the creation of at least half a dozen copies was he trusted with it again. He frowned down at the sheet. It was simple, really. A simple ten-step-plan. He could do that.

Step One: Stop fucking staring out of windows and sighing longingly. (Shut up, Lambert.) Get back on the Path and find Jaskier.

Now, at least that was easy enough. Not for the first time since their acquaintance they had agreed upon a meeting place to come find each other as soon as the snows would allow it. Most of the years Geralt would arrive a little late; because even if they chose a spot closer to Kaer Morhen than Oxenfurt, the Killer was usually impassable for a long time.

A few years they had been lucky and could set out relatively early in spring. Geralt hadn't felt lucky at all, sitting in a lonely tavern corner day in, day out, waiting for a familiar bright-coloured bard to fill his life with light again. He had felt terrified, most of all.

So, this year when he set out to the Path, an already crumpled list clutched tightly in his hand, he was even more on edge than normally. He didn't think he could take Step One failing already, and the mortifying possibility of Jaskier lying dead in a ditch. He might just climb up that mountain again and never come back down.

Luckily, Geralt — and Vesemir — were saved from that miserable fate. When Geralt threw open the tavern door in some backwater Kaedwen town, Jaskier was there already. He was peacocking around in his usual manner, enticing his sparse audience with his captivating presence. When his eyes fell on Geralt, though, his three half-drunk spectators were soon forgotten.

The bard gasped and slung his lute onto his back, vaulting off the stage to come rushing over to him. "You're here!" Geralt stood ready, his arms spread wide to catch Jaskier when he flung himself at him in an overenthusiastic hug. "I missed you." Jaskier slung his legs around Geralt's hips and buried his face against his shoulder, clinging to him as if for dear life.

Geralt held him tight, deeply inhaling the familiar scent, a mix of honey, grapes, and cinnamon. He was used to this by now. He didn't mind. Truth be told, he craved it.

"Hmm," he answered, acutely aware of the stares they were attracting. Geralt decided he didn't care. "I... missed you, too."

"You did?" Jaskier pulled back and beamed at him. Just a week ago he had thought he would kill to see that smile again as soon as possible.

"Hmm," he agreed. Now he knew he knew he would die for it.

Jaskier wriggled in his grasp as a sign he wanted to be put down again. "You certainly know how to sweep a man off his feet, darling," he announced with a cheerful wink. "I don't think you've ever told me you so much as enjoyed my company before, let alone miss it."

"Hmm." Hadn't he? He could've sworn he had.

"None of that, now, let me just grab my bag and we can be on our merry way." Without another word, Jaskier rushed up the stairs in the back of the tavern.

Geralt stood uncomfortably in the door, waiting for him to return and doing his best not to attract too much attention. 'Hurry up, Jaskier,' he thought impatiently.

"Oi!" the bartender shouted. "Yer the witcher? The one of the songs?"

"I am."

The man nodded and threw something at him, humming a very distinct tune. It was a ducat. Geralt pocketed it with a sigh. He hadn't missed that.

He didn't have to wait long before Jaskier came barrelling back down the stairs, a much too large bag Roach would have to carry again in tow. "Well," the bard straightened his crumpled doublet, which, for some reason, now gaped open and showed off the pristine shirt underneath. Geralt tried not to stare, "where are we off to?"

"Toussaint," he answered, holding the tavern door open for him.

"Toussaint!" Jaskier exclaimed excitedly. "I love Toussaint."

"Hmm," Geralt said. 'I know,' Geralt thought, 'that's why we're going.'

With their reunion out of the way, it was time to proceed with the plan:

Step Two: Travel with Jaskier. Be nice to him (no fillingless pies!)! Compliment him! Laugh at his jokes!

That part was significantly more difficult than the first. Not that he lacked compliments for Jaskier, quite on the contrary. They, however, posed not one, but two difficulties.

The first was one of his own making: voicing his thoughts with actual words. In the privacy of his mind he had a myriad of compliments. 'You're beautiful,' passed through his head when he saw Jaskier bathed in the golden light of sunset. 'You smell nice,' after a day at the coast, salt encrusting Jaskier's hair. 'You make me smile', 'You make the loneliness go away', 'You're the best bard I could wish for.' None of them were quite eager to leave his mouth.

When they finally did, it was awkward. They didn't sound at all how he imagined them. "What are you looking at?" Jaskier asked.

"Something on your face," he answered. 'Yeah,' he thought dumbly, 'sunlight.'

Or: "Geralt, are you sniffing me?"

"You smell." He still cursed himself months later for omitting the simple word 'nice'.

After a while he got better at it. He could manage an "I like your voice" without stumbling over it, or a "Your outfit looks nice and smooth." It wasn't an "I love listening to you sing and say my name; you make it sound like something that is worthy of affection" or an "I love that you wear silk as soft as your skin and could spend days caressing it without growing tired of it" yet, but he was getting there.

What came then, once he was able to say a simple nice sentence to his bard, was somehow even worse. Jaskier was clumsy, that was nothing new, but this season it was on a whole different level. Whenever Geralt so much asked him about the song he was working on, the bard stumbled over his own feet; with every smile or laugh he nearly dropped his precious lute.

But nothing beat that time they happened upon a particularly clear and blue lake and Geralt had leaned over to tell Jaskier: "I like it. It reminds me of your eyes. Just as pretty." The poet had nearly plummeted right into it, which would have been very unfortunate indeed, since he hadn't convinced the nymph living in it to migrate yet.

In the end, Jaskier's utter lack of equilibrium sense led to Geralt offering him to ride on Roach. That was much better. Sometimes they rode double, too. He liked those days especially, when he had an excuse to hold his bard close. The days when Jaskier would sigh and lean back into his touch he liked most of them all.

Slowly, they settled into a familiar rhythm. It was awkward at first, but soon they became used to the change of their relationship. And it wasn't as if everything changed. They still bickered and insulted each other, and laughed and told stories. It was just right; Geralt almost didn't notice how summer came to an end.

But it did, and when the first leaves started coasting to the ground it was time for the next step.

Step Three: Ask him where he will spend the next winter.

It was probably the most mortifying thing he had to say to Jaskier yet. They were sat at a campfire one early autumn evening, Geralt trying to look busy cleaning his sword and Jaskier preoccupied with his lute. Once he finally worked up the courage to ask, he stumbled over his words like a school boy; he even blushed, for fuck's sake! It was embarrassing.

Luckily, Jaskier didn't seem to notice, too busy tuning his lute. "Why, in Oxenfurt, of course. Why do you ask, Geralt?" he answered nonchalantly as if Geralt wasn't just leading the most daunting conversation of his entire life.

'Fucking great,' he thought. Now it was time for Step Three.5: Ask Jaskier to come home with you, you fucking idiot.

"Hm," he said.

Jaskier laughed. "Talkative as always I see." He smiled at him brightly and turned back to his lute. "Alright then. Keep your secrets."

"Hmm." This wasn't getting any easier. "Jaskier."

"Yes, dear?"

His heart fluttered with the pet name, so much that Geralt nearly bit his tongue off in the process of trying to voice his question: "Would you like to stay with me?"

The lute gave a dissonant twang that made both of them wince. "Excuse me, what?" Jaskier stammered, his voice much higher than normally.

"Hmm. I just thought..." He frowned. 'Shit.' He couldn't do it. He just couldn't. This had been doomed from the beginning. "Forget it, it's stupid."

"No, no, not at all!" Jaskier scrambled to his feet and hurried over to Geralt's side. "Where would we be staying? I suppose you could come to Oxenfurt with me, but it could get a bit crammed and-"

"Kaer Morhen," Geralt stated simply.

"Kaer Mo- oh!" His eyes lit up. "Why, yes, Geralt, I would love to stay with you."

And that was the end of that. They didn't talk about it anymore the whole evening as Geralt did his damnedest to forget the conversation had ever happened. But when he laid awake in the night, Jaskier huddled close to him — it was getting rather cold, after all — he couldn't stop his mind from whirling, excitement mixing with immobilising terror. Jaskier would come to Kaer Morhen with him. They would stay together the whole winter. And Jaskier would meet his family.

With a sigh he turned over, cautiously throwing an arm over Jaskier's waist and holding him like the precious thing he was. The smile that spread on Geralt's face when his bard snuggled even closer, outshone the morning sun creeping over the horizon.

The following days and weeks, Jaskier was buzzing with the same excited energy that Geralt held within. It cost him every ounce of self-control not to turn Roach around and head for Kaer Morhen right away. But it was still early in the autumn, at least a moon's turn before it was time to go home, so they busied themselves with taking contracts and performing for sub-par audiences.

It was alright. He needed the money, after all, if he wanted to cross off Step Four: Bring Jaskier back to Kaer Morhen in its entirety, including the note: Buy him some nice and warm clothes on the way - Vesemir

It was good advice, Geralt knew, as most of Vesemir's advice was. Jaskier might have travelled with a witcher for the better part of his life, but he was still only human. And winters were very cold in the northern Kaedwen mountains.

So, on Geralt's annual stop in Ard Carraigh, he took Jaskier to get him equipped with soft woollen sweaters and stockings, as well as a pair of sturdy boots, ignoring the bard's protests of how 'ugly' they were.

"You'll thank me when you've still got all your toes after this winter," he grumbled as he strapped Jaskier's bag to Roach's saddle.

After that, nothing much exciting followed. There were still a few villages and hamlets along the way to Kaer Morhen but the least of them had so much as a tavern. The ones with a real audience of Jaskier were fewer still.

Geralt couldn't say he didn't enjoy it. Quite the opposite, he loved listening to Jaskier in the privacy of their camp or — if they were lucky — the barn where they could stay the night. He loved knowing that Jaskier sang only for him. And most of all he loved the vibrant smiles he got along the way, and the tiny ones, too, etched on his face even when he curled up against the witcher at night.

During the days, Jaskier finally had to stop riding on Roach; the path was simply getting too dangerous. The way up to Kaer Morhen had never been easy, not even when there had been two dozen witchers and twice as many students living there, but since the attack they hadn't tended to it anymore. The Witcher's Trail was no easy one for humans — and it wasn't meant to be.

Jaskier, to his credit, didn't comment much on it, most of the time too exhausted or admiring to run his mouth about the difficulty of getting to Geralt's home. He was almost a bit worried, anxious even, if Jaskier's reaction to seeing the ancient ruin would just be the same kind of silent admiration.

Evidently, there had been no need. They rounded the last corner and, finally, Kaer Morhen was looming up above them. As soon as his eyes fell on it, Jaskier gasped and ran ahead. He had, apparently, forgotten about his aching limbs he had complained about just that morning. "Is that it?" he asked excitedly. "Geralt, is this it?"

"No, it's another crumbling fortress in the Kaedwen mountains," he deadpanned.

"You're mean," Jaskier accused him and turned back around to the keep. "For months I've dreamt of this moment and what do you do? You mock me, truly a horrible habit, that- oh, gods, Geralt, it's so beautiful!"

"Hmm," he answered, watching Jaskier intently. The childish glee on his face, the snowflakes dancing around him and melting in his hair. "I guess so."

"Can we go inside?"

Another barbed comment was already on the tip of his tongue, but Geralt guessed that he shouldn't ruin the moment. Not if Jaskier was so happy. "We can. Come on."

They were still a good distance away when the gates creaked open and three bulking figures stepped outside. "You're early," he accused Eskel and Lambert once they caught up to them. They weren't supposed to be there. They were messing up Step Five: Meet the family. (Lambert Eskel Lambert Vesemir first.)

"And you're impolite," Vesemir grumbled. "I taught you better, Geralt."

"Hmm," he answered and the silence that followed might've been awkward if not for Jaskier.

Thanks to him there was no silence at all, to be precise. "You must be Vesemir; Geralt told me so much about you. Dare I say, Master Witcher, I am honoured and humbled by the invitation, and am looking forward to my stay. The name's Jaskier and I am at your service," he concluded and bowed with a flourish.

The three witchers gaped at him in surprise and Geralt couldn't help but grin. No overly detailed stories by him could've possibly prepared them for... well, Jaskier. "What," Lambert muttered quietly, "the fuck?"

"Now, that's just rude," Jaskier said as he straightened himself, "don't you think? Geralt, your brother is being rude to me."

It was all he could do not to laugh freely. Instead he shrugged and said: "Told you he's the rude one."

"Oh, you're Lambert!" The bard grinned widely and stretched out his hand. "Nice to finally meet you."

Lambert huffed in surprise and shook the offered hand. "Tell you what, bard, I'm not sure if I should be flattered or offended."

"Offended," Geralt mumbled just as Eskel said: "Flattered."

Jaskier smiled widely and wickedly. "Both."

Lambert opened his mouth, presumably to return a rude comment, but Jaskier's attention was diverted by Eskel, who gave him a thorough once-over and then nodded. "Welcome to Kaer Morhen, bard."

"Thank you, uh, Eskel?" he hazarded a guess.

A smile tugged on the unscarred corner of his mouth. "That's right."

"Dinner's in an hour," Vesemir cut in. "Maybe you could show our guest to his room, Geralt?"

Right. With the meeting out of the way it was time for Step Six: Show him to his room (Make sure it has some nice fur rugs - Vesemir) (Shag him on the rug - Lambert) (Offer to stay with him if he's cold - Eskel). Both of those additions seemed equally daunting to him.

But before he could even think of an excuse as to why he couldn't do that right now, Roach's reins were ripped from his hands and they were being pushed towards the keep.

"Well, they're certainly eager to get rid of you, considering they haven't seen you for a year," Jaskier quipped once they were inside the keep proper.

"That's not- hmm." 'Fuck.' He had almost betrayed himself. "They'll be different after dinner," he promised. "Besides, you know they can hear you."

"So?" He huffed a laugh. "I know they're just like you; all bark and no bite."

He was about to deny that claim but Lambert's offended howl that reached him from the courtyard quickly changed his mind. That definitely was worth the jab at his own ego. "Come on," he urged, smiling, "no need to continue playing the jester for them any further."

"Why, is there any issue with providing entertainment for a living?" Jaskier teased.

"Only if it's at the expense of me."

He sighed dramatically. "That I know, my dear. That I know."

"Jaskier?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up, I'm trying to give you a tour of the keep."

"You are? Oh, I wouldn't have noticed." Geralt shot him a dirty look. Jaskier snickered maliciously, the bastard. "Oh, yeah, yep. Shutting up. Go ahead, Sir Witcher, show me your magnificent home."

From anyone else it might've been mockery. It might've been mockery from Jaskier, too, if not for the sound of absolute awe in his voice as he took in their surroundings.

Geralt could hardly blame him. It might've been a long time since he had arrived at Kaer Morhen, but he still remembered how dumbstruck he had been at the sheer immensity of the place that should become since home.

It had lost its mysticism since then, but seeing Jaskier's childlike wonder as he led him through the kitchens and great hall made him remember. He showed him the library, too, as well as the stairs down to the hot springs that he must never, ever confuse with those that led to the laboratories.

He closed with the rooms the various witchers claimed as their own: "That's Lambert's room down the hall, don't go there, he's a prick; Vesemir is a few floors below us, claims he's too old for our squabbles; that's mine, and that one's Eskel's, ask him if you need something and I'm not there, not Lambert, he's an arsehole-"

"Geralt," Jaskier said soothingly and put a hand on his arm, "you're rambling."

"Am I?" he asked confused. "Don't think so."

"There's no need to be nervous, dear. I won't abandon you; you're stuck with me for the winter."

"I'm not nervous," Geralt insisted, his fingers twitching nervously.

"Right," Jaskier took his hand away, evidently not very convinced. "I'm sorry for interrupting you, then."

"Don't be," he mumbled, not quite able to tear his gaze from Jaskier's gentle smile.

"Geralt?"

"Hm?"

"Do I-" He started fidgeting with his lute strap. "Do I have a room, too? I mean, not that I mind sharing with you, that's not the issue at all- gods, I sound stupid-"

His eyes still trained on Jaskier, he reached behind him and opened the door. "There."

"That's my room?" he asked without turning around to look inside.

"That's yours," Geralt confirmed. He had prepared it last winter already. Just in case.

As soon as the words had left his mouth, the poet whirled around and rushed into the sparsely furnished room. He looked very much... out of place. The realisation hit him like a slap in the face; but apparently the visual of Jaskier and his bright purple doublet in the grey empty walls of Kaer Morhen was what it took for him to realise how little they were reconcilable.

For the first time in his life he felt self-conscious for his home. "'S not much," Geralt mumbled.

"It's wonderful." Jaskier beamed, carefully inspecting the bed and the rug, peering out the window and into the chest. "Might get a bit cold, though."

He grumbled something he knew to be unintelligible to humans into his beard.

"What was that, love?"

"You could always stay with me," he spoke up. "Y'know. We've shared before."

"That we have! You might find that before long you will be forced to let me take you up on your generous offer."

"Hmm," Geralt answered and left him to it, in order to complete Step Six.5: No, let him arrive first, you idiot! There would be no 'being forced' of any kind, but he wasn't quite ready to admit that to Jaskier, yet.

Despite their apparent incompatibility Jaskier settled into the routine of Kaer Morhen disturbingly quickly. Though 'settle into' wasn't quite the right choice of words. More like 'tear it down and build it anew, but with lyrics, laughter, and luminosity'.

The evening of their arrival was truly mortifying, the worst mix of embarrassing stories of Geralt's childhood and very inappropriate questions directed at Jaskier. Geralt had spent the whole dinner frozen in shock and awe at the masterful display of the bard's craftsmanship.

After an hour of vicious cross-examination, the three witchers had finally backed off. And as Vesemir had retreated to his rooms, Lambert had brought up the alcohol. It hall had spiralled out of Geralt's control after that.

Within the hour Lambert and Jaskier were japing and jabbing at each other as if they were lifelong friends and not acquaintances since a few hours. It took his bard three days to have Vesemir completely wrapped around his finger, intently listening to his droning lectures about basically everything. And not even a fortnight into their stay, he found Jaskier and Eskel in the library, talking with hushed voices. He quickly retreated but not before he heard Jaskier telling his brother how beautiful he was, scars or no scars, and Eskel sniveled quietly.

A month since their arrival saw them trapped into the castle by the heavy snowfalls. Unfortunately, that didn't stop Vesemir from drilling them mercilessly.

They were an hour into their morning routine when they all perked at the sound of soft footsteps passing through the hall. "Jaskier," Geralt said softly.

The bard was bundled up in several quilts, his face barely visible beneath the mess of his hair and the blankets. Still his face lit up with the brightest smile when he saw them. "Mornin', lads," he croaked, "lookin' good, keep it up." He gave them a tired thumbs-up and shuffled off to the kitchen, where Vesemir would provide him with a hot breakfast with a side of 'most-boring-information-on-this-earth'. It was their own morning routine of sorts, and the three of them knew it wouldn't be long before they were discussing the 'merits of the iambic pentameter in 10th century love poetry' or some shit.

"Fuck," Lambert cursed once they knew Jaskier to be out of earshot, "I really can't blame you, Geralt. Too much time with him and I start gawking like a love-sick idiot, too."

"Hmm," Geralt agreed. Jaskier definitely had that effect.

"Jealous, wolf?" Eskel inquired with a knowing smile.

"No," he answered earnestly. If anything, he loved Jaskier more for it. His family wasn't easy to deal with, he knew. But his bard didn't care. He had so much affection to give, even for witchers. 'Especially for witchers.' He closed his eyes with a happy smile.

"Y'know, there's still a couple of steps left on our list," Eskel informed him casually.

Geralt's eyes snapped open as his heart sped up. 'Fuck.' The plan. "Hmm."

"Just fucking get it over with," Lambert yearned. "Your pining isn't any less obnoxious just because he's here."

"If anything, it's gotten worse," Eskel agreed.

"So?" he snapped. He had put it off, that was true. Had waited for the snow, he told himself, but now the snow was here and-

"So, we'll distract him this afternoon," Eskel interrupted his spiralling thoughts.

"And you pull your head outta your arse and fucking follow through," Lambert added.

"Fine," he ground out. "We do that." Not before he kicked both their arses during their training, though, for being such utter dicks.

Before long, however, the inevitable happened. Morning passed over to noon, and, true to their words, Lambert and Eskel whisked Jaskier away after lunch. They left Geralt behind in the hall with a branch in his hands and nothing left to do but complete Step Seven: Hang up a mistletoe.

"Fuck," he muttered. Nearly one year had passed since they had come up with their conspiracy. One year to gather his courage, one year to come up with a plan, one year to at least think about where to fucking put it. "Fuck," he said again, for good measure.

He looked around. Looked to the rafters. Looked at the mistletoe. "Fuck it," he declared and tucked it away to scale up to the rafters.

He was already up there, dangling from one of the beams when he remembered that he had nothing to secure it with besides the silky ribbon that would never fit around it. He scowled darkly. He sure as hell wouldn't climb down and up again. Without further ado he pulled his dagger from his belt and drove it deep into the wood, pinning the mistletoe by the ribbon.

He climbed down again, making sure that it was visible from the ground. 'Perfect,' he decreed. With the mistletoe in place, it was now time for Step Eight: Have Lambert and Eskel inform Jaskier of the mistletoe and a strategically placed Geralt.

He spun around to go and alert his brothers, when he heard a cheerful voice behind him: "Geralt! There you are, you mean witcher, I was wondering where you were hiding. You know, it is not nice to leave your, uh- bedmate all alone and freezing in the morning, and- oh." There was a thoughtful pause. "Now would you look at that."

Geralt heaved a long sigh. He dreaded turning around, for he had a very distinct feeling he knew already what he would see. And fuck, he was not ready for that step. For some stupid reason, he still did turned around.

Jaskier stood in the middle of the hall, squinting up at the ceiling. "Are my eyes deceiving me — and they might be, mind you, my eyes are not as good as a witcher's — or is that a mistletoe I spy up there."

He cursed internally. He knew he should've hung it lower. "Hmm," he answered, his heart beating in his throat. Why was his heart beating in his throat? It wasn't supposed to do that. His voice was surprisingly calm when he said: "Seems like it."

"Oh no!" he moaned woefully. "Quick, Geralt, come here and lift the curse!"

"Curse?" he inquired bemusedly as his feet moved without his volition. "What curse, Jaskier?"

The bard gasped. "Don't you know? When someone passes beneath a mistletoe, they are frozen to the spot until the curse is broken."

"Hmm," he stepped under the mistletoe, too. He should've known Jaskier would make up a story around this. It was just a tradition, for fuck's sake, no curse. Although a curse was certainly more romantic, even he had to admit that. "Must be a rare curse if a witcher's never heard of it."

"The rarest," Jaskier insisted and pointed at his cheek. "It may only be broken with a true love's kiss."

In light of what happened next, let it be known that, in Geralt's defence, he was panicking. Quite thoroughly so. Since the Trials his legs hadn't shaken like that anymore.

He had been promised a pep talk by his brothers before having to confront the situation at hand. And yet they were nowhere to be found and Jaskier was here, evidently expecting him to kiss him.

'Shit. Fuck. Shit fuck.' He was not ready; he was not ready; he was not-

"Geralt?" Jaskier ripped him from his thoughts. "Are you waiting till my nose grows icicles, or what?"

Still, he leaned forward, placing one hand on Jaskier's hip and the other on his shoulder, and pecked him on the cheek.

The cheek. That had not been the plan. That had not been the plan at all. And then, of all things, he heard himself ask: "Can you move again?"

Jaskier blinked, looking just as dumbstruck as Geralt felt. "I- I think so?" he stammered and moved to pull away, blushing furiously.

'Fuck, no,' he remembered thinking. And while he wasn't quite in control of his limbs again, what he did next was probably the single most clever thing he had done in his entire life. Gingerly almost, he tightened his grip on Jaskier. His head tilted to the side, an invitation, an escape.

His bard didn't move. Instead, he said: "Doesn't seem like it."

"Hmm," Geralt answered and leaned in closer. "Difficult curse, seems like. Let me try again."

Before he could even think of changing his mind, Jaskier had his arms looped around Geralt's neck and crushed their lips together. He did his best to reciprocate the kiss, which wasn't easy with fear still gripping his heart tightly, but then Jaskier crowded closer, moulding his body against Geralt's and that was all it took for the tension to seep from his bones and go limb.

It was a weird sensation; being wrapped in Jaskier's arms was so familiar, but he was also kissing Jaskier, which was new- 'Great gods, I am kissing Jaskier, I am kissing Jaskier, I am-'

He pulled back with a triumphant grin, evidently startling his bard. "What?" he asked, very confused.

"I am kissing you," he announced, his grin widening even more.

Jaskier frowned. "That you are, but-"

"I am kissing you," he said again and pecked him on the lips. "And I can keep doing it."

"Oh!" The frown eased away, giving way to the softest of smiles. "That you can, my dear."

So, Geralt did. Again. And again. And again, and again, and again. He didn't know how many times he had kissed Jaskier, how many times Jaskier had kissed him, before he pulled back and blurted: "I love you."

Jaskier stared at him in silent awe, before blushing and cupping his cheeks gently. "That you do, my love," he whispered. "And I love you, too." Softly, he pressed their lips together again.

"You do?" Geralt asked disbelievingly.

Jaskier smirked. "I do. For years and years, I have. I thought you knew."

"Fuck," he muttered. Did that mean... 'I didn't have to do any of this.' He could've just- "I'm an idiot."

"Only sometimes," he allowed, giggling sillily. Geralt was compelled to join in. "Besides, you’re my idiot, and I love you for it." He shifted a little, so he could lean his head comfortably onto Geralt's shoulder despite them being nearly the same height.

"So," Jaskier drawled, curling a strand of Geralt's hair around his finger, "are we just going to keep standing here, or...?"

He scoffed. Of course, they wouldn't. He had a plan, after all. "Fuck." The plan.

Jaskier raised his head. "Is that a curse or an answer?"

"Yes," he answered warily.

It earned him the most beautiful snorting laugh he had ever heard. "What are you cursing at, love?"

"We skipped Step Eight," he admitted, "got right to Step Nine."

"Excuse me, what?"

"Step Nine: Kiss Jaskier." The poet just gawked at him. "I had a list," he explained.

"You had?" Jaskier's eyes lit up and he made grabby hands. "Show me, show me!"

Reluctantly, Geralt handed it over, studying Jaskier's face carefully as he read through it.

"I knew it," Jaskier concluded finally.

"Huh?"

"Oh, come on!" He threw up his hands. "You were acting weird all year round, Geralt! Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but still, weird. It took me about ten minutes to figure out there was some ploy at play." He laughed quietly and waved the paper around. "Though I never would've guessed what was amiss."

"You don't like it."

"On the contrary! It's a wonderful plan," the poet said and pecked him on the lips. "I've got to admit, though, Lambert was right: you should've just fucked me on that rug once we got here."

"Hmmm." Geralt nuzzled against Jaskier's neck, holding him closer when he tried to squirm away from the tickling sensation. "That still an option?"

"Very much so. I believe it has to be one more step before completing your list." He pulled him close and whispered against his lips: "Take me to bed, my love"

And how could Geralt refuse such a request? Especially if it coincided so luckily with Step Ten.

#my writing #the witcher #geraskier #elliestormfound #look i've got an ask #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geraskier fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier #eskel #Lambert #vesemir #kaer morhen #kaer morons

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geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde · 3 years

Note

Moonrock dildo prompt: Geralt works in a geological museum and Jaskier is a visitor and is fascinated by the phallic moonrock on display and asks Geralt everything about it, but he is so bad at flirting (sorry, 💖💖💖💖)

Ellie, you darling soul, this fic really got out of hand. I hope you like it cuz honestly... I wanna write more.

Please forgive my rock knowledge, it’s spotty at best. I did a ton of research though so be gentle.

Shout out to Ellie for the line “Jaskier was quite gay”

Warnings: phallic moon rocks, discussion of dildos, flirting

The museum was quiet as Jaskier wandered through the large rooms, the only sound his footsteps echoing around him. No matter how many times he had suffered through donor tours because of his parent’s generosity, he didn’t think he would ever feel comfortable in an almost empty museum. The quiet was almost eerie and, although he knew there were security and other employees about, it always left him feeling incredibly lonely.

He was a social person, he liked company and talking and these museum walk throughs were never like that. He wouldn’t even get a docent who could tell him about the exhibits, he was just expected to wander aimlessly until he had to meet with whatever person was in charge of whatever thing his parents donated to this time.

Normally he could at least enjoy the paintings and sculptures as his parent’s favored art museums but this time, they had decided to put their money towards a small mineralogical and geological museum for… whatever reason, and he was bored. Sure, the rocks and minerals and stones and whatever else he was looking at, for he knew nothing of rocks and the like, were pretty but… they were rocks. And he was bored.

Thankfully though, it was a truly small museum and he was almost down to the last room, which was where he was to meet with the curator of the final collection, something to do with space rocks. Or maybe it was moon rocks. Truly, Jaskier didn’t know the difference and he wasn’t sure he really cared.

Humming absentmindedly to himself, Jaskier approached the archway leading into the last room of the museum. The first thing he noticed was how much larger the room was than all the other ones, even the ceiling was higher, and bearing a beautiful painting of the night sky. The second was how many more display cases there were here than in the other rooms.

Jaskier walked inside slowly, looking into the closest display cases eagerly, already more interested in this room than all those previous. He gazed into the first case, reading the card identifying the rock as a “Lunar Meteorite”. The rock was dark in color and filled with holes, rather plain really. Jaskier stood quietly, studying the rock. There was honestly nothing special about it, to him, other than the fact that it was from the moon, but if he hadn’t known that fact it certainly wasn’t something that would have drawn his eye.

Moving on, Jaskier directed his attention to a display case located in the center of the room. Walking up to it curiously, his brows drew together in confusion as he stared at the rock in front of him.

Jaskier tried to think of how to describe it other than phallic, but nothing came to mind. It looked like a dick. Looking at the description, he was surprised to see that it was recovered during a space mission. And there was also no mention of it’s rather surprising shape.

“Mr. Pankratz?” A deep voice inquired from behind him, shocking Jaskier. The voice echoed in the room, though not as loud as the squeak Jaskier let out as he spun around.

Standing in front of Jaskier was possibly the most beautiful man in existence. He was of a height with Jaskier, perhaps and inch or two taller. His brilliant white hair was pulled back into a low bun, showing off the undercut he was sporting. His jawline could cut marble, which looked to be what the rest of him was made of. The neat suit he was wearing accented the broad line of his shoulders and narrow taper of his waist.

Jaskier was quite gay, thank you very much, and being confronted with this absolute Adonis of a man was rather overwhelming.

“Uh… yes. Well, no. I mean, I am who you are looking for but please don’t call me Mr. Pankratz. Jaskier, if you don’t mind.”

The man grunted.

“Right… and should I assume you’re Dr. Rivia?” Jaskier asked as it became apparent.

“Yes.”

For as much as the man was most certainly handsome, he seemed equally unwilling to talk. Jaskier held out a hand, “Nice to meet you.” As the large, warm hand clasped him, Jaskier shivered involuntarily, thinking about better places that hand could be grabbing.

“Okay so you’re the curator, right? This is your exhibit?” Jaskier gestured vaguely at the impressive collection around him.

“I am. Have you gotten to look around, much?” Dr. Rivia’s reply was short and brusque.

Jaskier hummed thoughtfully, glancing back at the case behind him, “Not in here, no. I was just looking at this one actually.”

Dr. Rivia hummed thoughtfully, looking at the case, “And do you like it?”

Did he… like it? Well, he was rather fond of dick. “I… don’t know. I actually have a lot of questions about it.”

“I’d be happy to answer any questions you have.”

Any questions he had… should he go for it? Eh, might as well, Jaskier decided, hoping the conversation wouldn’t get back to his parents. “Well… for starters, is there a reason it’s shaped like a dick?”

“According to the team that returned from the moon with it, that’s the shape it was found in.”

“So it naturally formed in the shape of a dick?” Jaskier couldn’t help but feel skeptical.

“That is what we are led to believe, yes.”

That wasn’t a particularly confident response, “And you believe it?”

The man hesitated before answering, “There is some documentation missing that would normally be filled out upon finding a specimen but we have no reason to believe it is anything other than organically formed.” Jaskier didn’t know Dr. Rivia but he would argue the look on his face screamed doubt.

“So you don’t believe it.”

Dr. Rivia did not respond.

Jaskier turned back to the case, looking at the rock again. His curiosity was peaked. Why would someone make it look like a dick? For the fun of it? As a joke? A dare? To be used?

“So… hypothetically speaking, would a rock like this be safe if used as a dildo?”

Dr. Rivia seemed startled by the question, “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“But is it safe?”

Dr. Rivia’s brows furrowed, “In it’s current state? No.”

Well that probably ruled out it being used, “But it could be safe?”

“If someone wanted to turn a piece of anorthosite into a dildo then there would be ways to do so, yes.”

“That’s what kind of rock this is?”

“Yes. And it’s very rough, I wouldn’t recommend putting it anywhere in your body.”

“So… if there are moon dildos, is there moon lube to?”

“There aren’t moon dildos.” Jaskier laughed at the obvious exasperation present in the man’s voice.

“Well, maybe you can show me around the rest of the exhibit? To be honest, I know nothing about rocks and the rest of the museum has been rather boring. Maybe you could liven things up.” Jaskier stepped forward, giving the attractive man his best bedroom eyes.

Something flashed in the man’s eyes as the roamed over Jaskier’s body, settling on his lips. Jaskier bit his bottom lip, batting his eye lashes.

“Follow me. And call me Geralt.”

The man, Geralt, spun around, striding to a door labeled “Employees Only” and Jaskier hurried to follow, hoping there was a bathroom or a closet somewhere back there they could put to good use.

Check out my masterlist!

Tag list: @stinastar @feraljaskier @bastardofmothman @hailhailsatan @moonysourenza @its-onions @elliestormfound @dapandapod @geraskier-trashh @jaskierswolf @fontegagrilledcheese @negativenuggetz @veritasrose @feral-jaskier @kozkaboi @kueble @llamasdumpsterfire @selectivegeekwithstandards

#elliestormfound #the witcher #the witcher fandom #the witcher fanfiction #fanfiction #geraskier #modern au #geralt of rivia #jaskier #inappropriate use of rocks discussed #please dont shove rocks up your ass #or anywhere else in your body

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a-kind-of-merry-war · 4 years

Note

Can I get C for the alphabet game? 💜

Hallo! Your word is CUPRIFEROUS, which means “containing copper”.

The wet walls of the caves shimmered greenly in the flickering light of Geralt’s torch. Jaskier reached out to touch the weird looking rocks, and they were cold beneath his fingertips, slick with run-off water coming from somewhere above.

This had been a mine - it was still a mine, the cupriferous walls still glimmering with tonnes of copper ore - but the workers had abandoned it weeks ago, despite the riches trapped within its caves.

Thick fog gathered around their ankles, and Geralt shot out a warning hand.

“Stay here,” he said. “Don’t go any further. Take this...”

He passed Jaskier the torch, then cast the sign for Igni, bathing his own hand in flames. Jaskier gripped the torch, willing his arm not to shake.

“Foglets,” said Geralt, dropping his voice to a whisper and leaning closer, his mouth brushing Jaskier’s ear. “Hear that?”

Jaskier strained his human hearing, but could only hear the creaking, dripping noises of the cave itself. And then… a skittering, a kind of laughing hiss. He nodded, his lips tightly pressed together.

A strange noise rumbled lowly from Geralt’s chest. “I shouldn’t have let you come,” he muttered. “It’s too dangerous. Have you got the dagger I gave you?”

Jaskier reached down, pulling the shining silver blade from its sheath. “I do,” he whispered, peering into the darkness over Geralt’s shoulder. He fingered the intricately carved handle beneath his thumb - a nervous habit.

“Good. You might need it…” Geralt took a deep breath, and pulled his silver sword from his back. “If you see a light,” he said, “whatever you do: don’t go towards it.”

He blinked. “Isn’t that usually the opposite of the advice? Go towards the light…” he grinned, despite the fear nibbling at his stomach, “Am I dead?” He asked.

“Not if you stay here,” Geralt said with a scowl, “and not if you don’t follow the lights.”

Jaskier swallowed. In the darkness, Geralt had suddenly become the picture of the well-seasoned monster hunter. His cat-like pupils were wide, and oil glistened on the blade of his sword. Fire licked painlessly at his fingers. The dancing shadows made him look almost inhuman. Almost.

“Stay here,” he repeated, “Stay close to the wall. I’ll be back soon.”

And then he hesitated. He glanced towards the shadowy tunnel at the end of the cave, then back to Jaskier.

“I will be back,” he said, finally, and in a quick movement he darted forward, capturing Jaskier’s face and pressing a quick, dry kiss to his jaw. Jaskier flushed - he still did, even now, even after all these months.

“You will.” He replied, and he knew it was true.

#the witcher #geraskier #prompt game #alphabet game #aaahh i need to get back to doing short ones guys!!#elliestormfound

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kalikatze · 3 years

Note

Sending you a random ask ✌️

Hi there! :D Love that gif! bonk the witcher XD good Roachie! She knows she can shove and he won’t budge <3 (Give her treat, Geralt! She’s a good girl! She deserves treats! And a cuddle. Pet her ears!)

#:D #thank you!#<3 #elliestormfound

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

Note

Just wanted to say hi 💖

Ahhh hello, darling!! I hope your are having/had a wonderful day <333

#rex rambles #replies #elliestormfound

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elliestormfound · 3 years

Note

For the kissing prompts - 33: An unexpected kiss that shocks the one receiving it 💖

thank you for this lovely prompt! <3 and sorry that it took so long, my muse was on holiday? :D

cw: none, just 423 words of fluff

read on ao3

“It was horrible, Geralt,” Jaskier said with his back to him. He was wildly gesticulating as he was telling Geralt about the contest and how he had lost to Valdo Marx. Geralt was sure that he had not really lost. For him it sounded more like they both had won, but it was clear that for Jaskier sharing the first place with his rival felt like a defeat.

“Not only had he stolen some of the lyrics from me and thrown them together without any sense of building a dramatic arc, but his lute was also off-tune.”

Geralt had never been good with words - consoling someone, giving advice, calming someone down. But he had learned that there were better ways for him to do these things for Jaskier without saying a single word.

“Can you fucking believe it? His lute sounded like a cat in heat, I swear to Melitele’s other-wordly bosom that…” He stopped mid-sentence when he suddenly felt warm lips press on the top of his shoulder, where his unlaced shirt had come loose from waving his arms around and had slipped down a fraction. He gasped and a moment later felt Geralt’s arms wrap around his waist, pulling him to his broad chest.

Jaskier had not noticed Geralt creeping up on him - too preoccupied with his rant to notice the approach of the light-footed witcher. He exhaled slowly and leaned back into the Geralt, letting himself be anchored in his strong arms.

“Do you want me to shut up?” he asked quietly after a moment.

“No.” Geralt’s reply came quickly. “I just...don’t know what to say that would help,” Geralt murmured against his bare skin. “But I’m here. I’m listening.”

Geralt could feel Jaskier smile, his cheek rounding out where he had pressed it to Geralt’s.

“Thank you,” Jaskier whispered.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there,” Geralt said after a while.

“Oh, you would have hated it.” Jaskier was right in part. He would have hated the crowd and probably most of the contestants.

“I love to hear you sing,” Geralt replied. Over their friendship and their recent romance he had made an effort for Jaskier to communicate his thoughts and feelings.

Jaskier turned in his embrace to face him. Geralt leaned forward and brushed his nose along his cheekbone and whispered, “this Marx guy has nothing on you.”

Jaskier giggled, one of the best sounds in Geralt’s life. “I think you are prejudiced on that,” he replied.

“Or,” Geralt said and kissed him, ”I just have excellent taste.”

#geraskier #kissing prompt #geralt #jaskier #jaskier x geralt #x jaskier #elliestormfound #the witcher #witcher #witcher fanfic #geraskier fluff #jaskier is a drama queen and geralt loves him #ask #prompt fill #a-kind-of-merry-war

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jaskierswolf · 3 years

Note

Hallo Wolfie! I have a prompt for you if you like: Football player Geralt with Jaskier pining after him ⚽️ 🥅💖

Thank you Ellie!! I meant for this to be a wee fic... it ended up 900 words! Whoopsy!

___________

Jaskier really didn’t enjoy football. As far as he could tell it was all a lot of fuss for not a lot of fun. Still, he’d never missed a game. What could he say? He was weak and wanting. Kaer Morhen FC were the rising stars of the league, and Jaskier was perhaps their biggest fan. He’d known Geralt since school and was absolutely thrilled when his friend had been signed to a professional club. Yes, he didn’t enjoy football, but he would damn well support his best friend and love of his life in his career.

Of course it helped that Geralt was absolutely gorgeous. The football shorts did wonders for his arse and Jaskier was not ashamed to admit that was the real draw of the match. As Geralt’s best friend he received first refusal on premium tickets, meaning he had possibly the best view in the house. He cheered when he was supposed to cheer and booed when the other teams scored, but he really came alive when the stadium began to sing. He knew all the words to the songs, especially the rude ones. They were the first ones that he’d learnt. The songs were another reason he preferred to watch the matches live rather than on the box.

Geralt sprinted down the field towards the goal post and Jaskier had to admit he was on the edge of his seat. Ok so maybe the sport was starting to rub off on him a little, but he still didn’t enjoy it. He was a theatre kid after all! The rivalry was one he couldn’t betray.

He chewed on his lip, fingers flexing in his lap. There were barely thirty seconds left on the clock and the teams were drawing. If they didn’t score now then it would be too late.

“Come on, Geralt,” he muttered.

Geralt’s hair was half flying free at this stage in the game, coming loose from the bun on top of his head. His undercut was now barely visible through the sweaty mess of silver. He looked unreasonably sexy. It really wasn’t fair, but Geralt was ignorant Jaskier’s torture as he kicked the ball flying into the back of the net and not a moment too soon. The whistle blew and the Kaer Morons, as Jaskier affectionately called them, had won. Geralt was buried under his teammates as they all lunged to congratulate him.

Jaskier jumped up in his seat, hugging the person next to him. He didn’t know her but he knew if he didn’t do something he would run out onto the pinch and hug his best friend. Geralt finally appeared from underneath the pack of footballers. He waved at Jaskier, pulling the hem of his shirt up to wipe the sweat from his brow. The motion revealed the rippling muscles of Geralt’s abs. Jaskier felt his mouth dry up and he gawked at his best friend ashamedly. What he wouldn’t give to lick….

“Umm, excuse me?” the stranger next to him tutted and struggled in his arms. Only then did he realise he was still hugging her.

“Oh cock, sorry!” he sprang back, a blush creeping down the back of his neck. His crush on Geralt was really going to get him into trouble one of these days. He glanced back at Geralt who tilted his head, a puzzled but fond smile on his face. Jaskier should his head and waved his hand, a dismissing flick of his wrist. They’d have time to talk later. If only he could sneak into the changing rooms, he did have pass after all… it just really wasn’t meant for that.

Worth a shot.

He sprinted back inside, navigating the corridors and tunnels with ease. The security team were distracted with the end of the game, not looking Jaskier’s pass in great detail and he was through. He waited less than patiently for Geralt to arrive. He knew his friend had interviews to get through first, so Jaskier sang to himself whilst he waited. It helped to calm his nerves. What he was nervous about he wasn’t really sure? Perhaps he knew deep down that he was done hiding.

By the time Geralt arrived, Jaskier’s heart was racing in his chest, but he couldn’t back out now. He couldn’t, and he really couldn’t pretend he didn’t love Geralt anymore. He knew Geralt had seen the way Jaskier had stared at him. It wasn’t hard to make the connection, even if Geralt was an emotionally constipated himbo. Luckily, himbo just happened to be Jaskier’s type.

Lambert charged into the changing rooms first, stopping in his tracks when he saw Jaskier. “Oi, Geralt! You have a visitor.”

Geralt turned the corner, a hand running through his quite frankly disgusting hair. He should have looked gross but Jaskier didn’t care. He leapt before could change his mind, arms wrapping around Geralt’s neck as their lips crashed together.

Geralt froze underneath him, and for just second Jaskier thought he’d made a terrible mistake, but then Geralt started kissing him back. The rest of the team whistled and cheered, but they paid them no attention. When they finally pulled apart, both Geralt and Jaskier were a little breathless and smiling dopily at each other.

Jaskier laughed and buried his face in Geralt’s shoulder. He wrinkled his nose at the stench of sweat but it wasn’t enough to break his high. Geralt had kissed him back.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #geralt/jaskier #wolfie's witcher writing #elliestormfound

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dhwty-writes · 3 years

Note

yay for last exam of the term! here is a little prompt, if you like: 'I think you need a hug' for geraskier :)

Thank you my dear, for this lovely prompt! I intended something much fluffier here, but this, uhhhhh, got a little out of hand. (Insert surprised reaction here) I know, I know, who would have thought that a story I’m writing--to one of your amazing prompts, of all things!--could get out of hand?! Crazy, right?

Anyways, this is a little sad (maybe even a big sad), I hope you like it regardless!

Warnings: It’s not explicitly stated, but Jaskier is depressed in this one. Approach with caution, if that’s something you’re sensitive about

Read on AO3

"Jaskier?" a worried voice asked behind him, accompanied by the familiar pattern of footfalls he had grown so accustomed to over the past years.

Jaskier's heartrate sped up immediately. 'Shit,' he cursed silently, furiously wiping at the tears streaking across his cheeks while he desperately tried to regain some kind of composure. "Over here!" he replied, trying—and failing—to steady his voice.

"What are you doing over here?" Geralt asked curiously, approaching rapidly. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," he said much more confidently than he felt. "Sure." He snuffled to keep the snot from dripping from his nose. He was an ugly crier and well aware of it, but that was nothing Geralt needed to know.

The witcher stopped only a few paces behind him. Jaskier could practically feel the glare boring into his back as he was assessing the situation. "No," he proclaimed after a few moments of deliberation, his observation astute as ever. "No, you're not."

"Yes, I am," he protested stubbornly. Stupid him for stupidly crying and stupidly making Geralt worry about him. The witcher had bigger concerns, as he loved to tell him, than the trivial troubles of a troubadour.

"Liar," Geralt accused him.

Well. He wasn't wrong. "Hm," he replied.

"Jaskier," the witcher tried again. Was that alarm he detected in his voice? Surely not. "Can you turn around to me? Please?"

"Please?" he mouthed silently. He wasn't sure if Geralt had ever told him please before. It was a shocking turn of events, so shocking in fact, that he was taken off guard for a moment. When he found his bearings again, his voice was scarcely more than a whisper: "I'd rather not."

"Alright," he huffed. "Alright." A beat of silence followed. "Jaskier," Geralt said again, his voice closer than before.

"Yeah."

"Can I help you?"

He shrugged. "I don't think so."

"Can I try?"

He shrugged again.

Geralt took a deep breath. This time Jaskier could hear when he stepped closer. "Do you want me to leave?"

'Yes,' was his first instinctual answer. No-one should see him like this, floating in numbness; especially not Geralt. To shrug, was his second. He didn't care. He didn't care about anything. Stay, go, help, none of that mattered. But there was something inside him, nagging him; something that made him whisper the truth despite everything: "No. I don't think so."

"Thank you." It was a silly thing to respond. A stupid thing, really. But Geralt said it so— so earnestly, somehow, that it wasn't silly, wasn't stupid. It did manage to make him cry again, though, his shoulders shaking nigh unnoticeably, silent sobs rattling through his body, choking him.

"Want to know what I think?" Geralt said calmly, softly. He knew that tone. It was the same as if he was speaking to Roach when she was frightened.

'I'm not stupid horse,' he wanted to say, 'I'm a stupid human who's holding you up because of nothing at all.' But something kept the words from escaping his mouth. Something forced him to wait for whatever Geralt would say next.

What he said next, though, was an impossibility nothing on earth could have prepared him for. "I think you need a hug," Geralt of Rivia said.

It was such a surprise, in fact, that he couldn't help but snort out a laugh.

"What?" Geralt asked, evidently amused by his reaction.

For Jaskier, this wasn't amusing at all. It was downright cruel, teasing him like that; proposing something he would never follow through with. "You, Geralt of Rivia," he explained hoarsely, "do not do hugs. You are the most unhuggable person on earth, the forbidden, the impermissible, if you will."

"Hmm."

'Finally,' Jaskier thought, 'a Geralt-answer.' This conversation almost began feeling normal.

Almost, for then he said: "Can I touch you?"

"Why?" he asked warily.

"To prove you wrong."

He shrugged. If Geralt wanted to humour him, who was he to tell him no?

The first touch was a shock. Five fingertips brushing over his shoulder, sending lightning bolts from the crown of his hair down to his toes.

The second touch was a conundrum. A solid hand on the juncture of his neck and his shoulders, making him wonder what on earth the witcher was playing at.

The third touch was a pillar. A muscled arm snaking around his waist when his own knees turned to mush and threatened to collapse.

The fourth touch was an anchor. A jaw hooking over his shoulder, gently coming to a rest, his body tensing up while all he could hear were gentle, even breaths.

The final touch was a relief. A familiar body moulding itself to his back as if it belonged there; as if it had always been there.

It was so familiar, so normal, so necessary that Jaskier couldn't keep it together anymore. Beneath silly caresses and stupid "There, there, there"s he felt himself crumble to dust. His carefully erected walls ruined with nothing but a gentle touch, the tears flowed freely down his face, his knees gave out under him, he was only held upright by Geralt's arms.

Gently, the witcher lowered them to the ground; kneeling at first, then lying down. "It's alright," he kept repeating. "It's alright, I'm here, I've got you." As if that would make it true. Silly. Stupid.

"It's not," he protested helplessly, because it wasn't. "It's not, I can't, I can't, Geralt."

"I know," he said as if he wasn't talking nonsense. "I know, I've got you. You're not alone."

"It hurts," he wailed.

"Show me where." Slowly, carefully still, as if any touch too bold could make him flee, he snaked his hand under Jaskier's, intertwining their fingers. "I'm here with you."

"There," he sobbed weakly, stupidly, as he pressed his hand over the left side of his chest. "It hurts. Make it stop. Make it go numb again."

"Oh, Jaskier," Geralt murmured, "you don't mean that. Truly, you don't want that."

He shrugged.

Geralt held on tighter. "It's alright," he said again. "I'm here. I've got you."

~*~

Jaskier wasn't quite sure when he regained his senses. All he knew that it was dark now and that it hadn't been when he had fled the camp. And that Geralt was still curled around him, holding on tight.

"Geralt?" he whispered, unsure if the witcher was sleeping or not. He wouldn't want to wake him, if he was. In fact, he would want him to be asleep, so that he could vanish as quickly as possible, for a few weeks maybe, so that this embarrassing episode could be conscribed to oblivion.

But Destiny was a cruel mistress, who held no mercy for him that day. "Hmm," Geralt replied, slowly stirring behind him. "Back with me?"

"I think so."

"Good. How're you feeling? Good?"

"Yeah!" he answered, trying to mask his insecurity with his usual chipper attitude. "Yeah."

Geralt pressed his nose against his neck and inhaled deeply. It was... oddly comforting. "Liar," he concluded after a moment.

Jaskier sagged forward again. "No," he confessed quietly, "I'm not. And— I'm sorry, Geralt, I don't think I'll be feeling good for quite some time. It's— It's—" Truthfully, he didn't know what it was.

But as usual this evening, Geralt had the answer: "It's alright," he promised, squeezing him a little tighter. Somehow, he believed him. "Just don't go wandering off again. You—" He hesitated, then leaned closer as if confessing a secret. Maybe it was. "You scared me."

"I thought witchers couldn't be scared."

"No, we get scared plenty. I— Hmm."

He waited patiently. After a while he had learned to discern the subtle differences between all of Geralt's 'Hmm's. There were the usuals, 'Yes'-Hmms, 'No'-Hmms, and 'Fuck off'-Hmms, the 'Roach'-Hmm's and the 'Jaskier'-Hmm's, which mostly either were 'I'm silently laughing at you'-Hmm's or 'I appreciate what you're saying, but am too emotionally constipated to tell you so, so I'm rather pretending to be annoyed'-Hmm's. And then there were rarer Hmm's such as this one, which was indisputably an 'I want to tell you something that is important to me, but don't know with which words yet; I need some time'-Hmm.

So, he waited. Eventually, Geralt would speak again. He always did and today was no exception. "I'm not scared of monsters," he said finally, "or men. I can hit those with my sword. I can protect you from them, because you're too stupid to stay put when I tell you to. But this—" He pressed his hand over Jaskier's heart again. "—I don't know how to fight this. I don't know how to save you from this. I might lose you to this." His voice was trembling. Actually trembling, too quiet for anyone to hear, but Jaskier could feel the tremors from behind him. "So, yeah. This scares me."

His voice was shaking much more clearly when he replied: "I don't know either. But," he heaved a breath, "what you did was a good start, I think." After a moment of silence, he added: "I'm sorry."

Geralt growled and flicked his ear. Somehow, it was a comforting sound. "Stop it," he commanded.

"Stop what?"

"You keep apologising."

"I'm sorry."

"There!" He flicked his ear again. "You did it again."

"I'm so— Ouch! Don't you pinch me, Geralt of Rivia, I don't mean to keep doing it!"

"Just shut up, then."

"Alright." He breathed deeply in and out. "Alright."

Jaskier managed all of three breaths before his foot started wiggling. Three more and he couldn't take it anymore: "I—"

"Don't you dare," Geralt interrupted him.

"I wasn't about to say it!" he protested. "Truly, I wasn't! I just— I wanted to thank you. You didn't have to."

He snorted. "What kind of friend would I be if I left you to be miserable on your own? It's nothing, Jaskier." He buried his face in his neck again and held on tighter. "I mean it. I'm here. I've got you."

"Thank you," he said again.

"Bed?" Geralt prompted after a while.

"I— Hmm."

He poked him in the ribs. "That's my line."

Jaskier snorted a laugh and scrunched up his nose. "It's stupid."

"As stupid as when you got pissed, chased by a gaggle of geese, and I had to rescue you from the outhouse you had fled into?"

"Hmm." He deliberated the answer. "Alright, maybe not quite as stupid. But it's a close call."

"Then tell me."

He gnawed on his lower lip. The more he thought about it, the stupider it got. Luckily, he'd never had to think to say something stupid. "I don't want you to let go of me," he blurted before he could change his mind.

"Hmm," Geralt hummed and with his lips pressed against Jaskier's neck, he could feel the smile spreading on his face.

It was a new 'Hmm', though, one he didn't quite know what to do with it. Very close to the 'You're a fool, Jaskier' or the 'I'm thinking of Kaer Morhen'-Hmm, but with something else; something that had previously been reserved for the 'Roach'-Hmm's and 'Yennefer'-Hmm's only.

Before he could come to a conclusion as to what that particular 'Hmm' meant, Geralt spoke up again: "Think you can let me let you go long enough for us to get back to the camp?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I can."

"Alright," he mumbled and pressed his lips to the back of his neck; short enough that it could have been an accident, long enough that it could have been something else entirely. "I've got you," he promised again. "We'll figure this out. We'll make you good again, yeah? Together."

"Together," he echoed. Somehow, sillily, stupidly, Jaskier believed him.

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