A Geraskier oneshot where Geralt is incredibly soft and Jaskier is incredibly tender. Enjoy this 1700 word comfort fic! That’s all it is! Woo!
Tonight was one of those rare nights. Once a year, maybe twice, Geralt was be blessed by some ancient being with nights like tonight.
A night where the hunt went easier so no potions were used. A night where his swords were sharpened and his armor was taken care of. A night where he had a room at an inn with a large bed, bath, and plenty of food.
It was a rare night where Geralt of Rivia, famous Witcher, had absolutely nothing to do and nowhere to be.
After he had dinner and Jaskier was left to attend his audience, Geralt made his way up to their shared room, made his way under the warm water of a lovely bath, and then found his way into that oh-so large and comfy bed in the middle of the room, where he sits now In some loose pants, reading a book that was left on the nightstand.
It was none of Jaskier’s, no. Geralt had already thumbed through most of his collection. And to make it any more obvious, the tale that these adventurers go through were obviously not written anyone that had actually seen the monsters in real life. The way that sword duels were written, the way that wyverns were described, Geralt couldn’t really help but knit pick his way through each chapter. Nonetheless, he was calm and refreshed and…Gods be damned, Geralt found himself maybe relaxing for the first evening in many many months.
Jaskier, sadly, didn’t seem to be having a similar night.