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yeraskier · 1 year

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five times everyone questions jaskier's sanity, and the time jaskier realizes he was (sort of) right all along. [inspired by yesterday's events... you know the one]

also on ao3

Geralt looks… different. Very different. Like his entire fucking face has changed different.

He looked just like himself at supper last night, but now it’s morning, and suddenly, he looks nothing like himself. It doesn’t even make any sense. Jaskier briefly considers that maybe he had a bit too much ale the night before, but he’s drunk more than he did last night and this has never been the result.

Geralt definitely looks different. Very different. Like a whole new face different. He looks a bit taller, too, which is completely unfair.

Jaskier eyes him suspiciously, and he’s probably completely losing it, but even the man’s Adam’s apple looks different when he swallows. Gods.

He doesn’t realize he’s reached out until the tip of his index finger makes contact with Geralt’s cheek. The witcher freezes, spoon stopping midway to his mouth before he slowly turns his head.

Jaskier pokes his cheek again, and then his jaw, and then his nose.

“What happened to your face?” He asks, sliding in closer to inspect. He pokes one of Geralt’s cheekbones, twice. Three times, for good measure.

“Do that again,” Geralt growls in a way that tells the bard he most definitely should not do that again.

Jaskier drops his hand.

—

“Has anyone else noticed that something's wrong with Geralt's face?”

Ciri lifts her head from the book she’s been scribbling in as Yennefer eyes him skeptically through the mirror she’s facing.

“What are you on about now, Jaskier?”

“Geralt. His face. It’s different,” he says, stepping further into the room. “And so is his physique.”

Yennefer arches a perfectly done brow at him.

“Not that I’ve been paying, or have ever paid any attention to his physique or anything,” he amends quickly, “because I don’t…”

Ciri’s snicker covers up a muttered, “right,” which Jaskier pretends to not notice.

Yennefer sighs as she turns to face him, “Geralt is fine. He looks the same as he did yesterday, and the day before, and last week, and the week before. He looks the same as he’s looked for decades. It comes with being a witcher.”

“But—”

“Geralt is fine,” she says with a level of finality that lets Jaskier know he is not winning this argument, “and you’re an imbecile.”

—

Jaskier’s not going crazy, okay? No matter what anyone says (fuck you very much, Lambert!) he is not going crazy.

The man still walks like Geralt, and talks like Geralt, and acts like Geralt, and knows things that only Geralt would know (like the fact that Jaskier has also needed chamomile rubbed on his bum… more than once), so it must be Geralt, except for the fact that looks nothing like Geralt.

“Do you really not see a difference?”

Ciri groans from beside him, clearly irritated at her reading being disturbed. Oh well, she’ll have plenty of other chances to read during their little hiatus. “No, Jaskier, I do not see a difference.”

The bard sighs as he watches Geralt, or whoever the fuck that is, from across the library. It’s all he’s been able to do for the last three days, which, well… isn’t new since watching Geralt has become one of his favorite past times over the last decade or so, but that’s how Jaskier knows he isn’t going crazy. Something is different.

Jaskier has spent hours on hours taking in the man’s defined jaw, and his expressive brows, and his pouty lips. He’s spent so much time trying to depict the specific shade of yellow in Geralt’s eyes, and the curl pattern of his hair, and how long it takes his stubble to grow back after it’s been shaved. He’s spent far too long picking up on every little detail to be told that nothing about the man has changed, because so much has changed.

“How could you not see the difference? Everything about him is different! I mean look at the shape of his face!” Jaskier exclaims, waving his hand wildly in Geralt’s general direction. “And look at his nose! Gods, look at that nose!”

Ciri blinks at him once. Then, again. She doesn’t blink for three beats and then, she blinks again.

“Look!”

She does look this time, and she even squints. Jaskier waits, watching her, mentally begging for that realization to dawn over her.

Her lips do a thing where they press together and push upward, almost like a frown. “I think you’re right,” she tells him.

Jaskier’s eyes widen, posture straightening in alert.

“His skin looks much more vibrant, I think that new soap Yen got him is working.”

His eyes narrow into slits, and Ciri turns to him with a cheeky grin.

“Very nice, Ciri,” he drawls, “very nice.”

Jaskier huffs as he slumps back in his seat, turning his attention back to Geralt.

She’s right, though, his skin does look more vibrant.

—

“Triss, you’ve got to believe me,” Jaskier whines.

“I’ll believe it when I see it, Jaskier,” she says, “but I just saw Geralt, and he looked fine, same as he’s looked the last ten times I’ve seen him since I got here.” She continues her journey down the hall, and Jaskier is truly surprised by how fast the woman walks.

“But he isn’t! He isn’t himself, Triss, I swear, and I’m the only one who realizes!”

Triss comes to such an abrupt stop that Jaskier almost crashes into her. When she turns around, her head rolls, along with her eyes. She looks as exasperated as Jaskier feels.

“Suppose Geralt’s face somehow did change, how would that have happened, Jaskier? Explain that to me.”

“Well, I don’t know how exactly, but it must have been the work of a mage. Or maybe one of his potions!”

Triss levels him with a flat look. “A potion? Really? Right, because witchers are running around making potions that can help them shapeshift.”

And when it’s put like that, Jaskier realizes how insane he sounds. “That doesn’t rule out the possibility of a mage!”

“You guys have been in Kaer Morhen for weeks now. Just you, Ciri, Yen, a bunch of witchers, and now, me. And last I checked, Yennefer warded this place so well Melitele herself could strike this area right now and everyone here would remain untouched.” She’s talking with her hands, something she does when she’s at her wit's end, something she does when she’s refraining from turning the person she’s talking to into a toad. “That, alongside the protections that were already set up, means that the possibility that any mage could waltz in here uninvited, or even come close enough to this place, to cast some face-changing curse on Geralt is absolutely zero.”

“Yes, but—”

“You need rest, Jaskier. You’re starting to sound diabolical.”

With that, she turns on her heels and leaves him in the hallway.

—

“So… you and Geralt have known each other for quite some time now, huh?”

Vesemir looks unimpressed.

It’s an expression he’s becoming quite familiar with.

Jaskier flashes his most charming smile, “have you by any chance noticed any changes in his appearance?”

Dead silence. Great.

“Anything at all?” He presses on hopefully.

The witcher’s expression goes from unimpressed to murderous.

Jaskier has never bolted from a room so fast in his entire life.

—

Jaskier knows this isn’t really the smartest plan he’s ever had, it’s probably in the top five of the dumbest, actually.

He doesn’t know what he has to gain from watching Geralt sleep, but it’s better than just sitting back and waiting for answers to come to him. And alright, he’ll be the first to admit that it’s kind of (really!) fucking creepy, but Jaskier has to get to the bottom of this. So, watching Geralt sleep has to hold some kind of answer.

Many years of sleeping alongside the witcher have taught him how to maneuver without waking the man up, he’s grateful for that now in a way that he’s never been before.

Despite what many may believe, Geralt’s quite the peaceful sleeper. He barely moves, he breathes softly, his face remains soft and pliant— he sleeps like… well, an angel. Even with this brand-new face, all of these little things still exist.

There’s always a certain level of alertness, though, something Jaskier realized early on, but that seems to be nearly nonexistent tonight. It must be Kaer Morhen. Geralt’s at peace here. It’s probably one of the few places, if not the only place, where he truly feels safe. The thought makes Jaskier’s heart melt.

For the second time this week, he finds himself reaching out almost involuntarily. The back of his fingers run along the side of Geralt’s face, and the witcher releases a hardly audible sigh. Jaskier smiles, allowing his fingers to wander a bit, lightly tracing the lines of Geralt’s face, both sharp and smooth.

Geralt’s nose twitches, and Jaskier taps a finger to it. Definitely number one on the list of the dumbest things he’s ever done.

The witcher startles awake, sitting up so fast he nearly headbutts Jaskier. He probably would’ve had the man not fallen off the bed, and flat onto his ass onto the cold, hard ground.

“Ow,” Jaskier groans.

“Jaskier?” And oh, fuck, that sleep-worn voice always did things to him, and right now is not the best time for any of those things to be happening.

Geralt’s eyes zero in on him, and Jaskier offers a weak smile and a wave.

“What the fuck are you doing, Jaskier?”

“Trying to figure out what happened to your face,” he responds, and it comes off as more of a question than an answer

Even in the dark, Jaskier can feel Geralt glaring at him. Then, the witcher lights up the candles beside his bed, and Jaskier can see Geralt glaring at him.

“This again?”

“Yes, this again.” Jaskier hisses defensively, dusting his buttocks off as he rises to his feet. “There is something incredibly wrong with your face, and no one else sees it, but I do.”

“Jaskier—”

“No! I’m being serious right now, Geralt. Your face has changed, alright? It’s completely changed, and I don’t know why I’m the only one who has realized but—”

“Wait—”

“I’m starting to feel kind of crazy over here, and I—”

“I think I know what’s going on. Yen—”

“...don’t understand how everyone else can just—”

“Jaskier, you’re not listening.” Geralt’s standing, now, and he’s all up in Jaskier’s space the same way Jaskier was in his mere minutes ago. And he’s shirtless, which is very, very distracting.

But not distracting enough, Jaskier is on a mission here, Godsdamnit.

“No, you’re not listening. Your fucking face—”

“My face is fine. Yennefer—”

“Your face is not fine, Geralt. I mean, it’s not like you look like a gremlin or anything, but—”

“Yen, she—”

“You’re still beautiful—”

“Yennefer is fucking with you, Jaskier.”

“I don’t think any curse could ever make you less beautiful—” Wait.

“Wait.” That was Geralt’s voice, as if he’d read Jaskier’s mind.

“Yennefer’s fucking with me?!” Jaskier exclaims at the same time Geralt says, almost breathlessly, “you think I’m beautiful?”

“Huh?” The bard answers dumbly, “what? Yes, of course, I think you’re beautiful. Woo-hoo, this isn’t news to anyone. Now, what do you mean Yennefer’s fucking with me?”

Geralt doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t do anything. He just stares. He stares for so long that Jaskier starts thinking that maybe Geralt’s the one fucking with him.

“Hello?” Jaskier snaps a few times. “Continent to Geralt?”

The witcher seems to blink out of it and huffs a laugh.

“Remember last week when you replaced the soap Yennefer uses for her hair with an ink of sorts?”

Yes, Jaskier does remember. Vividly. It’s one of the best pranks he’s pulled on the sorceress since they started their little game. “And it turned her hair red.”

Geralt hums in confirmation, “well, you know Yennefer. She said she’d do something about it. I didn’t know what, but… seems like it was this. She casted a beholder spell on you.”

“A what?”

“It’s a spell that makes whoever it’s put upon see whatever the caster wants them to see. In this case, it was… my face.”

Jaskier gasps. “That witch.” She’s a genius. Evil, but a fucking genius. “Do you know how long until it wears off?”

“How long did it take Yen to get her hair back to black?”

“Five, maybe six days.”

“That’s probably your answer.”

Jaskier groans. Knowing Yennefer, it’s probably double that. “Gods.”

Geralt hums, thoughtfully. And then, “so…”

Jaskier doesn’t know where this is headed, but he doesn’t like it.

“About you thinking I’m beautiful…”

He gulps. Right. “I said that, did I?”

The witcher takes a step forward, and it was a big step, and there wasn’t that much space in between them, to begin with, so that single step has them toe-to-toe. “You did.”

“Well, everyone thinks you’re beautiful,” Jaskier grins, nudging him as he tries to play it off.

Geralt tips his head to the side with a slight furrow in his brows, “not everyone.”

“Everyone who isn’t an idiot, I mean,” says the bard, “or a jealous prick, or a prejudiced waste of space. You’re beautiful, it’s hard to look at you and not see that. Most people see that, it’s not just me, ask anyone in this keep. I may not have had anyone on my side about your face looking different, but they all agree about your face being beautiful trust m—”

“Jaskier.”

“Yes?”

“You’re doing that thing you do when you get nervous.” Geralt smirks when he says it, the prick.

“What thing?”

“The rambling thing.”

“I’m always rambling,” Jaskier tells him, “and I know this because you’re always telling me to shut up.”

“No, you’re always talking,” Geralt corrects, “and when you talk, it’s controlled. Whereas when you ramble, it’s hardly coherent because you’re going a mile a minute. You only do that when you’re nervous.”

Fuck.

Geralt leans in closer, lips stretching even further, “am I making you nervous, Jaskier?”

Fuck.

“I—”

Gods, they’re so close. They’re so close, and they’re only getting closer because Geralt is still leaning in like he’s going to—

“Stop.”

They’re not close anymore. Geralt is suddenly several feet away from him. He no longer looks smug, he looks confused, and… small.

“I know where that was headed,” Jaskier begins, licking at his lips and realizing how dry they’d gotten from Geralt trying (and succeeding!) to seduce him, “and trust me when I say I am on board, like all the way on board.”

Geralt cocks a brow, as if to say, then why aren’t we already naked?

“But, I want my first kiss with you to be with you.” At the witcher looking confused again, he continues, “I know it’s you, but I want you to look like yourself.”

The witcher sighs. “I don’t think I’ve ever been irritated by Yennefer more than I am at this moment.”

“I feel your irritation, believe me,” says Jaskier, “and I promise once this wears off I’m all yours, but in the meantime… we can still sleep together in a completely clothes-on kind of way.”

Geralt smiles.

And that’s how the two end up spending the rest of the night cuddling while plotting how Jaskier’s going to get Yennefer back.

—

The spell wears off a day later, and by the time Jaskier emerges from Geralt’s room the following day, he forgets what he was getting Yennefer back for in the first place.

He ends up baking her a chocolate cake as a thank you, with the words THANK YOU, THE SEX WAS GREAT on it.

The look of mortification when she sees it is priceless. Unintended, but priceless.

As it turns out, the best revenge is a bit of kindness.

#naturally.... a fic is the only answer to this #im still in mourning okay #the ending couldve went many ways but this is what my tired brain came up with at 1 in the morning and i still liked it while editing it so #there you have it #yennefer because of course it was yennefer #and because i refuse to make a liam hemsworth geralt EVER #even after s4 has aired it will always be henry #sorry lili #i wish i knew how to make my humor/fluffy fics artful but i unfortunately only know how to do that with angst #im sorry #the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #my writing #geraskier #yennefer of vengerberg #princess cirilla

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green-fifteen · 2 months

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Day 8: Slow Blink

Prompt: Smile Fandom: The Witcher (TV) Pairing: Geralt & Jaskier Summary: Jaskier discovers something interesting about his companion. Word count: 1,404 read on ao3 instead

written for @fluffyfebruary

Jaskier had been traveling with Geralt for four years when he finally learned something absolutely fundamental about his friend. The witcher might disagree, but to Jaskier this was the most important discovery he'd made since he'd found the man himself.

It was a hot day and they were stuck in mud up to their ankles, trudging through some hovel right at the edge of a wide river.

"Why are we here, Geralt?" Jaskier had whined, lifting his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow. His companion had only grunted and walked on. "Geralt. Geralt! You know, I'm sure Roach would have a thing or two to say about you dragging her through this mire. We could catch a disease! What if we all get a parasite! And for what!"

He looked over at the horse in question to see what she thought of the situation, but Geralt moved in front of him to feed her a treat from the saddlebag.

"Roach is fine," he said. She did look fine-- crunching down on the hard, rooty end of a carrot and somehow making it through the mud like it was water instead of awful sludge that was trying to take Jaskier's shoes off his feet every time he took a step. He stopped walking, overheated and annoyed.

"That's it!" he cried. "I'm finding an inn--" he looked around at the sad little huts and gardens. "--or a tree stump, or somewhere I can go and wait for you to come back. This is ridiculous."

Geralt looked at him and said, "Okay," and gave him a look that clearly meant, Why should I care? It would be hurtful if Jaskier hadn't spent so much time with him. Geralt never wanted him to come with him on Witcher business. By now the bard was good at convincing himself it was solely because Geralt cared so much for his health and well-being.

Rolling his eyes, Jaskier made to turn around and stride away, forgetting for a moment that his shoes were firmly stuck in mud. He felt his bag drop first as he flailed his arms to steady his balance, and then he was tipping backwards as if in slow motion, gazing up at the unfairly blue sky as he finally landed on the ground. His lovely linen shirt squelched into the ground as his legs bent at the knee, his shoes still planted.

Roach stepped away, alarmed. Geralt patted her side reassuringly while his gaze was on Jaskier, who blearily noted how fetching his yellow eyes looked against the summer sky. As he watched, the witcher closed his eyes and opened them again, too long to be a blink but too short to be anything else.

Furrowing his brow, Jaskier stuck out an arm to Geralt, who sighed but heaved him out of the mud. His clothes and shoes left the ground with an awful sucking noise.

Subtly, he watched the witcher's face as he dragged himself back into order, wiping mud from his elbows and the backside of his satchel. After a few seconds, Geralt blinked, short and unremarkable. Jaskier was tempted to call it a fluke-- after all, blinking slightly longer than usual could mean anything, or nothing at all. On top of that, the bard was frustrated with Geralt, covered in mud, and wanted nothing more than to strip all his clothes off and plunge into a cold bath.

He simply said, "Right, well. I'll see you when you're finished, I assume." He tried to be subtle as he took Roach's sack of treats from the saddlebag, but it didn't work. The horse nosed at him and the witcher tilted his head and frowned even deeper.

"So you both come back," he quipped, trying to sound like he was joking even though he wasn't. "I'll just be taking this with me on my quest to find suitable lodgings. Don't be out too late, dear." He stuffed the sack into his own bag and carefully marched away.

Two days later, Geralt came back to the little riverside town, smelling truly awful and with the head of some hideous swamp-thing strapped to his saddle. Jaskier had been fortunate enough to find an old, unused stable and made himself a nice little bed out of smelly hay. He hadn't felt inspired to play (he wasn't sure anyone there would be able to pay him for the privilege) so he worked on composing new songs instead as he waited for the witcher to return.

When he did, Jaskier didn't notice at first, too busy staring into the distance and counting off lines of metered verse. He was sitting on a boulder on the riverbank with one foot on the ground and the other propped up on his seat. He had nothing with him but his lute and his leather-bound notebook.

He jumped when he felt something shove his shoulder. Roach was behind him, Geralt looming above on her back. He sprang to his feet.

"Geralt! The Lady Roach!" he said, then stopped. "What is that smell?"

Before Geralt could answer (or, more likely, not answer), Roach pushed him again with her nose. Then she pushed him again and he stumbled to keep his balance.

Geralt made a noise that might have been a sigh. "Where are her carrots, bard?"

Jaskier was trying to pet the horse into submission but she wasn't interested in being mollified and began to nose her way into his jacket.

"Is that what this is about? I have her little bag in the stable just there--," his voice cut off with a warble as Roach took a step forward, shoving Jaskier along with her, and he lost his battle to stay upright. For the second time in three days, Jaskier watched the earth turn to sky in front of his eyes as he fell backward, this time directly into the river.

When he came up spluttering, he saw Roach pawing the ground and the witcher standing next to her and staring at him. When their eyes met, Jaskier glaring in disbelief, Geralt closed his eyes again in that same long blink as before. Then he turned his head to look at Roach and did it again at her.

Jaskier stood up and dripped, looking around at the river. The water was cool and relatively clear. "There isn't an inn here, Geralt," he said. "This is probably the best place to bathe for several miles." He did want to grumble a bit at the hair plastered to his face and the soaked feathers in his hat, but the water felt like heaven in the summer humidity.

"Also, I can smell you from here."

Geralt huffed and looked away, but he tied Roach to a log and undressed. As he waded into the water and felt the grime and sweat wash away from him, he did it again. One moment his face was hard as the steel of his sword and the next his whole expression seemed to soften and his eyes fell closed, then opened again.

Jaskier felt epiphany close over him. Oh. He was reminded of the cats his sister had kept growing up. Their nurse had told them to watch and listen whenever they could because not every creature used words like they could. Pay attention to everything else, she'd said, and you'll get the message anyway.

Jaskier was paying attention. He was paying the most attention. He thought he might have just made the discovery of his lifetime. Namely, that the witcher Geralt, White Wolf and the Butcher of Blaviken, smiled. Not only that, but he did it often.

After that, Jaskier was on the lookout for Geralt's peculiar little smile. Unfortunately, he saw it most often directed toward Roach or whenever Jaskier managed to embarrass himself somehow. It wasn't until they'd been traveling together nearly ten years that he started to see it more regularly even when he hadn't just fallen over a tree stump or ripped his trousers.

When they met that spring, Jaskier spotted him at the stables before Geralt had turned around.

"Geralt!" he shouted, joy making his limbs feel light. He had stopped resisting the urge to hug Geralt somewhere around their seventh year, so he didn't hesitate before throwing his arms around the witcher, who simply looked down at Jaskier and blinked, long and slow.

He couldn't wipe the beam from his face for days.

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wren-of-the-woods · 2 years

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For "Give me a twirl, honey." please 😌

Thank you very much for the prompt!! This was a delight to write. Many thanks to @wians for beta-ing! <3

Geraskier fluff, 2k. Also on AO3!

It all started at that damned ball.

Jaskier’s set was over. The other musicians were playing a slow, romantic song, as was appropriate for a duke and duchess’ anniversary. All the guests were finding their partners of choice and asking them to dance. Words like “darling,” “sweetheart,” “lovely,” and “sugarplum” floated around Jaskier as he slowly made his way through the crowd to Geralt.

A few weeks ago, he and Geralt finally confessed their feelings to each other. They had been trying to work out how to navigate this new phase of their relationship ever since. The evening was romantic. Suddenly, Jaskier wanted nothing more than to share as sappy a moment with Geralt as everyone else seemed to be having with their partners.

He found Geralt in the crowd and smiled brightly to mask his slight nerves. Geralt gave him a tiny, fond smile in return and handed him a glass of wine which Jaskier took with delight. After downing the glass, he gave Geralt a winning smile and gestured to the dance floor.

“Give me a twirl, honey?”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at him, frowning a little. “Honey?”

Jaskier shrugged, a little self-conscious. “I thought it sounded sweet. Your eyes look like honey sometimes.”

“No, they don’t.”

“How would you know that?”

“Honey is brown. My eyes are yellow.”

Jaskier gasped in mock outrage. “Honey isn’t brown!”

Geralt shrugged. “The name feels overused, anyway.”

“Fine.”

Geralt had been called far too many ugly names over the years. He deserved to be called sweet things by his lover. All Jaskier had to do was figure out the perfect endearment.

In other words: Project Pet Names was go.

~~~

“Hello, sweetling,” Jaskier said as he slid onto a log next to Geralt at their camp.

Geralt raised an eyebrow. Jaskier blushed a little. They fell into awkward silence.

~~~

“Pass me my notebook, darling,” Jaskier said in their shared room at the inn.

Geralt passed the notebook. He did not react to the name.

~~~

“There you are, my lovely!” Jaskier shouted from across a marketplace.

Geralt didn’t even notice he was being addressed.

“How on earth did you not realize I was talking to you?” Jaskier groused later.

“You call everyone things like that. It could have been a barmaid you had just met, for all I knew. Of course I didn’t know you were talking to me.”

Jaskier sighed, but he saw Geralt’s point.

This was going nowhere. His attempts so far were an obvious failure. He was starting to feel rather desperate.

He would just have to be more creative.

~~~

"Hey, Ger-bear!"

Geralt stared at him, unimpressed.

~~~

“How are you, sweet cheeks?”

Geralt’s stare was more bewildered this time. Jaskier wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

~~~

"What do you think, honey bunny?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

~~~

“Hello, my sweet witcher-muffin!”

“This is getting ridiculous.”

“I take it I shouldn’t try ‘my little cabbage,’ then?”

“Absolutely not.”

“How about snooky ookums?”

“I will leave you on this roadside and never return.”

“Yeah, yeah. I love you too.”

Geralt flicked his nose hard, and Jaskier lost the train of their conversation while sputtering loudly and subsequently having to catch up to Roach.

~~~

"I've been trying to think of things he likes," Jaskier explained miserably to the vaguely sympathetic barmaid while Geralt was off on a hunt. "Unfortunately, half of it has to do with monster hunting or other useless things and the other half I've already tried."

"What's his favorite monster?" asked the barmaid absently. "You could use that."

"I might try."

~~~

"Well, if it isn't my very favorite-easily lopped head of a drowner for which the alderman is paying extra!"

Geralt stared at him. "What?"

"Um. Never mind."

~~~

Things shifted when they visited Kaer Morhen. Jaskier, obviously, was not as comfortable experimenting in front of Geralt’s family (especially Lambert) as he was in towns they were passing through. Despite the difficulties, though, he refused to pause his project. He listened intently to how Geralt’s family referred to him, just in case it revealed anything useful. For the most part, it was only his name, “Wolf,” and the occasional affectionate insult. Then, one evening, something extremely interesting occurred.

Geralt had been complaining about a noble and his knights that he had encountered that year. Lambert got that mischievous glint in his eyes that almost always meant trouble.

“That’s rich coming from you, Geralt Roger Eric—”

Geralt turned on Lambert with a deadly glare. The dinner knife in his hand suddenly seemed much more threatening. “If you finish that sentence, you will regret it.”

Lambert raised his hands in mock surrender, though he did not look at all repentant. The conversation moved on. Jaskier did not forget.

That night, after he and Geralt had returned to their shared room, he finally had the chance to corner Geralt and ask.

“What was that about?”

Geralt winced, looking rather trapped. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow. “Geralt Roger Eric?”

Geralt grimaced. “It doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago.”

“I should hope you know me well enough to realize that I am not going to let this go until you tell me.”

Geralt was silent for a long moment, then sighed, defeated. “It was the name I first wanted to use on the Path.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened. “Geralt Roger Eric?”

Geralt closed his eyes. His next words were strained. “It was Geralt Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegarde.”

Jaskier stared at him for a long moment in silence. Geralt refused to meet his eyes.

“What?” Jaskier managed.

“I thought it sounded knightly,” mumbled Geralt.

“Oh! Well, I suppose it does. Why didn’t you use it?”

“Vesemir told me it was too ridiculous.”

“Oh,” Jaskier said again, thoughtful. “Did you agree?”

“I didn’t see it at the time, but I agree now.”

Jaskier frowned. “So at the time, you still wanted to use the name.”

“I was young. I didn’t know better.”

“That’s not the point! The point is that they didn’t let you!”

Geralt frowned at him. “Why are you upset about this?”

“You chose a name and were refused. They took that from you. You deserve the chance to choose something so important as a name, after all the choices you didn’t get to make.”

“It was a stupid name, Jaskier.”

“Maybe, but you deserved to be stupid.”

“Stupidity gets witchers killed.”

Jaskier threw his hands up in the air. “I changed my name to fucking ‘Buttercup’ of all things and I’ve never regretted it. I like it. Why can’t you change your name to sound more knightly? You certainly act knightly enough to merit it!”

“So? Are you going to start calling me by a ridiculous name now to make up for what happened sixty years ago?”

“I very well might!”

~~~

Jaskier stuck to his resolution. He never used the name in public, because he had a feeling Geralt might combust and because he didn’t want to give Lambert more ammunition than he already had, but he took to calling Geralt by some part or variant of Geralt Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegarde on a fairly regular basis. Geralt tended to look flustered when he did so. Jaskier had yet to determine if this was because he liked it or because he was horribly embarrassed.

He stuck to it for three weeks before Geralt finally asked him to stop.

"Why, dear heart?"

“I’m not that person anymore.”

“You deserved the chance to be that person.”

“I don’t need to be him anymore.”

“Do you want to be him?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“Oh.” Jaskier could understand that, however reluctantly. “That’s fine. I’ll stop.”

“You don’t have to stop entirely. Just… not all the time.”

“All right.”

Jaskier would respect Geralt’s wishes. The point of a special pet name would be to make him happy, after all. Unfortunately, Geralt’s chosen name had been Jaskier’s last idea. He’d already tried every nickname, endearment, or interesting epithet that he could think of.

“What should I call you, then?” asked Jaskier. His voice sounded significantly more vulnerable than he would have liked.

“What?”

“I’ve been trying to think of good things to call you for the last month and I haven’t found anything. I’m a bard. I love you with everything I am. I should be able to do better.”

Geralt deserved good things. Jaskier’s project was failing. He should be able to do better for Geralt.

Some of his thoughts must have shown on his face, because Geralt softened immediately. He did not speak, but Jaskier could tell it was the kind of silence that meant he was gathering his thoughts.

“I used to hate my name,” Geralt said eventually. “It didn’t feel like it was really mine for a very long time. Most don’t use it anyway. I have many epithets. Wolf, Butcher, Witcher… none of them are really a name. I was almost glad not to be called ‘Geralt,’ for a while, but then you came along.” He looked Jaskier in the eye, expression startlingly vulnerable. “I like how you say my name. You say it musically, like it’s something important. Significant. Worth remembering. I… like that.” Gently, tenderly, he took Jaskier’s hand. “I’ll always love anything you call me, but my name is enough to make me happy.”

Jaskier’s eyes felt rather wet. He blinked to clear them. Geralt’s expression was startlingly earnest. His hand was very warm where it still held Jaskier’s.

“Oh,” Jaskier managed.

Geralt’s brows furrowed a little. “Is that all right?”

Jaskier blinked. Geralt looked at him attentively, awaiting his judgment. Jaskier used Geralt’s hand to pull him closer and into a tight hug.

“Of course it’s all right, you ridiculous man.”

Geralt barely hesitated before hugging Jaskier back, and Jaskier spared a moment to feel proud of his witcher for how much he’d grown.

“Are you sure?” said Geralt. “I don’t want to spoil your notions of romance.”

“All I want is for you to be happy,” said Jaskier. “If nicknames aren’t the way to do that, I can live with it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to do whatever makes you feel good.” Jaskier pulled back a little to look Geralt in the eyes. He smiled a little. “Though I can’t promise I won’t use silly endearments occasionally.”

Geralt chuckled. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

~~~

For the most part, Jaskier let Project Pet Names lie. It had served its purpose. Every now and then, of course, he couldn’t help but use one of the various ridiculous endearments he came up with. Most of the time, though, the way Geralt smiled when Jaskier said his name with all the love he could muster was more than enough for both of them. Geralt knew he was loved. Jaskier was happy.

Still, when Jaskier first sang his song about a brave knight named Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegarde (it was a nightmare to fit into any sort of meter, but great things were possible in the name of true love), he could have sworn he saw Geralt blush.

They both spent the evening smiling.

~~~

Seven months later, Geralt and Jaskier attended another ball. The patrons were slightly less rich and so the event was rather less fancy, which suited both of them perfectly. Just like the previous time, the couple who owned the mansion were celebrating an anniversary, and nearly the same romantic songs were being played.

This time, though, Jaskier approached Geralt with no trace of nervousness or uncertainty. Jaskier simply gave Geralt a grin and took his hand, smiling impossibly brighter as Geralt pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Though the couples around them were exchanging romantic words of their own, Jaskier paid them no mind. His own romance was more than enough to keep him occupied.

He looked up at his witcher with a soft smile.

“C’mon, Geralt.” He holds out a hand. “Give me a twirl.”

Geralt took his hand easily. “Of course.”

It was the best dance Jaskier could remember.

~~~

(“I do think your knightly name could come in handy sometime, Geralt.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, Geralt Roger Eric Pankratz has a certain ring to it.”

“Oh.”

They kissed for a very, very long time.)

#geraskier #geralt #jaskier #the witcher #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fanfiction #wren writes #samstree #thank you again for the prompt! it was very fun to think about while i was gone #<3 #when does this take place? what is its relationship to canon? *shrug*#it's fluffy and that's all that matters

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maithefluffychicken · 1 year

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True Colors

Rated T, Geraskier, DnD, getting together, coming out, fluffy fluff stuff. Ao3 link. Enjoy!

"Ok, your turn, bard," Geralt asks him, smirking. "What are you gonna do?"

Jaskier smirks back at him, very smugly, looking at Geralt and leaning in just so.

"I'm gonna roll for Vicious Mockery, let the bard save the day again, huh?" He grins, rolling the dice between his fingers… Long and slender fingers that have their nails polished with the rainbow’s colours and that are not distracting Geralt at all.

The whole group gasps when the dice stop rolling and…

"No fucking way!" Lambert yells, hands flying to his head.

"Holy shit YES!" Exclaims Eskel at the same time.

"Fucking bard and his stupid good luck with the dices!" Laughs Aiden.

The dice is showing them a natural 20. Perfect score. When Geralt talks again over the laughs and yelling of their friends, his voice is full of emotion and he talks faster than ever.

"Dandelion the Bard looks at the Elf King dead in the face and he starts singing solemnly, casting Vicious Mockery while strumming his lute. Dandelion?”

Jaskier improvises a rhyme and a silly tune for the delight of his friends.

Geralt can’t hide his own smile, his best friend is gorgeous like this, just having fun while playing DnD with a bunch of misfits; Jaskier could spend his time with someone much better than them, any girl of their class would be delighted to be in a date with Jaskier, and yet…

“He thrust every elf/

Far back on the shelf/

High up on the mountain/

From whence it came/”

Jaskier sings with a deep, rich voice, and Geralt wants to be annoyed by his antics… But the game is still on.

Lambert and Eskel snort and Aiden just shakes his head, smiling and leaning over Lambert.

“The Elf King looks at you and draws his sword, but your Vicious Mockery…”

“And my amazing Nat20.”

“And your impressive Nat20, yes… Are too strong for him and he falls on his knees, dropping his sword… Aiden, roll for acrobatics! While the bard was singing and melting the King’s brain, you’ve been surrounded by elves: three warriors and two archers…”

—

To eat the greasiest pizza after their DnD session is a sacred tradition… A sacred tradition that his brothers are now ignoring in favour of, well, get laid, Geralt supposes.

Eskel left them in a hurry, arguing that he had a date with Triss, his long-live crush, and that he wanted to impress her at the Arcade, and soon after, Lambert and Aiden left together, no explanations given, Aiden had just smiled at them shyly and waved his hand in goodbye.

Leaving Geralt alone with, well, with Jaskier.

That is not a problem itself, Jaskier decided long ago that Geralt was his best friend and somehow, that he was Geralt’s best friend too. At first, Geralt was baffled by the whole thing: a stray kid, adopted along with two other boys by a single father, leaving almost in the middle of nowhere, they all were misfits, outcasts… and the brightest, loudest, happiest kid Geralt ever known just decided that they should be best friends.

That was ten years ago, give or take. Geralt can’t remember the exact moment when he thought about Jaskier as his best friend, after trying once and again to scare the younger boy away.

And now… Well, now Geralt was feeling rather odd around Jaskier. Not angry at him, nor upset. But… suddenly shy, everytime he found Jaskier looking at him, or worse, blushing whenever Jaskier casually touched him in the arm or whatever.

Being alone with Jaskier is both thrilling and terrifying, and Geralt feels tense and hot all over his body watching the boy licking his fingers clean after finishing a portion of pizza. His lips glisten under the dim light of the shitty pizza joint they both love.

“Geralt, dear, you’re staring, do I have something…?” Jaskier says, and licks his lips. Geralt follows hungrily the path of his pink tongue lapping those full, pouty lips.

“N-no, you’re ok, I was just…” Geralt stutters.

I was just wondering how it would be if I kissed you, his not-at-all-helpful mind supplies. Jaskier is still looking at him, smiling fondly, and Geralt feels petrified by those bright, ice blue eyes.

“This pizza is not that good to render you speechless, Geralt,” Jaskier laughs. “Or are you thinking about my Nat20 again?”

Geralt snorts at last, looking away to avoid Jaskier’s natural spells.

“Huh, Jaskier, that was just luck,” Geralt teases.

“Knowing how to play and they call it luck,” Jaskier replies, shrugging and smiling. “It was, as you said yourself, impressive.”

Geralt shrugs too.

“Well, ok, it was, are you happy?”

“Very.” Jaskier’s smile widens and Geralt… Geralt wants to make Jaskier very happy again, he just doesn’t know how to. So he changes the topic.

“Hey, what’s with your fingernails?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier eyes widen in fear and he looks at his hands like he hadn’t realised that they were there the whole time.

“Oh fuck, I just forgot about them after…”

“Hm?”

“I-I need to go! I’m sorry!”

Jaskier stands up and takes his backpack and rushes to leave, almost bumping into a young couple in his run.

“What… Jaskier! Wait!”

Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.

Jaskier had forgotten completely about his stupid rainbow nail polish after the gig; it had been the first year that he was able to perform at the Pride and he was so freaking happy to be able to play and sing for an audience like him.

He was still floating about it two days after, and he arrived to Geralt’s place to play DnD without realising that his nails were still proudly showing the rainbow flag.

And now he was running away from his best friend, scratch that, running away from the love of his short life, and feeling the tears running down his flushed cheeks.

He was still inside the closet for his dearest friend. Of the Morhen boys, Eskel was the first one to know, basically because he found Jaskier crying his heart out when Geralt started dating Yennefer, a girl from his class. So Jaskier confessed his love for Eskel’s brother then, and Eskel held him tight until he stopped crying.

That happened two years ago, when Jaskier was just fifteen and was still discovering his own body and feelings. And boy, he discovered how much a broken heart hurts.

Then, not long ago, was Jaskier who stepped in to find Lambert and his very dear friend Aiden making out in the Morhen’s green-house. Lambert and Aiden were petrified in fear and Jaskier had to confess himself and to promise them that he would never get them out and that he would help the younger boys to hide their romance until they were ready.

That was how Jaskier found in the younger of the Morhen brothers a fierce protector and a dear friend.

But Geralt…

Jaskier couldn’t get out in front of Geralt. He’s his best friend, more than that, Geralt is more important to Jaskier than anything else, Jaskier doesn’t want to lose him, and…

And it’s not like Geralt will reject him because of his sexual orientation, no, Geralt has never showed a hint of hate towards the queer community; no, Jaskier is afraid that if Geralt knows about Jaskier being, well, gay or bi or pan or whatever, Jaskier is still discovering that… Jaskier is afraid that Geralt will know about his feelings for him.

Jaskier is barely able to hide his love for Geralt now, shielded by Geralt’s wrong assumption about Jaskier being straight. The moment Geralt realises Jaskier is attracted to men too… Geralt will know. And Geralt will politely say to him that his love is unrequited. And then Geralt will stop being his friend just as he’s stopped being friends with Yennefer after their break up, and Fringilla before Yennefer, and Keira before Fringilla… Geralt doesn’t believe in being friends with those that want him.

Jaskier can’t have that.

Jaskier would not let that happen.

“Jaskier!”

Geralt is running after him, and fuck, he’s fast.

“Geralt, please, I need to go!” Jaskier yells back at him, people avoiding them and watching them in confusion.

“Ok but.. I’ll call you later to check that you’re safe at home…” Geralt says loudly, and when Jaskier looks over his shoulder to look at him, Geralt is not running anymore, just looking at him with the saddest expression ever.

Jaskier stops running too.

He wipes his tears with the back of his hand, his backpack is heavy and tugs at his shoulders, and his lungs - used to sing for hours - hurts with the need to scream and cry.

He’s so tired.

He looks at his coloured nails again, the rainbow flag he’s so proud of seems like it’s making fun at him, now. But no, he’s the one making fun of the flag, he’s the one hurting himself.

June is the month to be proud of who we are. June is the month to be honest.

If Geralt doesn’t want to be his friend because he has feelings for him, well, then maybe Geralt is not his best friend after all.

It’s going to hurt, Jaskier knows it, but this constant lie is hurting him too.

Jaskier turns back to where Geralt is standing, his pained expression doing things to Jaskier’s heart. The extremely blond boy is just looking at him with concern and hope and by the way Geralt is clenching his fists, Jaskier knows Geralt wants to reach him.

“Geralt…” He whispers, his voice breaking. A lump in his throat is threatening him with more crying.

“I’m so sorry, Jaskier,” Geralt says instead. “I don’t know what happened, but I’m so sorry, I never wanted to upset you.”

Geralt takes a step closer to Jaskier, and good lord, why is everything so difficult? How can they be in this situation now? They argue a lot of times, for a lot of things, but Jaskier has never felt this scared before, nor has seen his friend this sad because of him, apparently.

“It’s not… It’s not your fault… It’s… Can we please go back to your house?”

Geralt drives them back home, in silence.

He adores silence, it’s so difficult to find a moment of peace in his house, with Lambert being always a mouthy bastard and arguing about everything, and Eskel’s constant chattering and teasing and… And with Jaskier.

Loud, noisy Jaskier, always talking about fucking everything, always singing or humming for fuck’s sake. Jaskier, who is unable to be silent for more than five minutes, the boy even talks during his sleep, always with so much to say to the world.

Now, Jaskier is not talking, nor humming. He’s just sitting by his side during the short ride to Geralt’s house. And Geralt hates the silence.

His best friend has his eyes red and puffy, silent tears running down his cheeks, and Geralt is doing his best to just don’t reach and wipe them away gently and to promise Jaskier that everything is going to be fine, even if Geralt can’t understand what the fuck is happening.

Once at home again, Geralt leads Jaskier to his room and rushes to prepare tea for both of them. When in distress, prepare tea. Drink it, and then carry on. That’s what Vesemir says.

“Thank you,” says Jaskier with a soft, broken voice. It’s so wrong, Jaskier should be always happy, singing and chirping and…

“It’s a rainbow flag,” he adds, stopping Geralt’s thoughts.

“”What?”

“My fingernails. I painted them like this for… the Pride,” Jaskier explains, but he sounds off, scared even. Scared of what, Geralt doesn’t know.

“Hm,” he answers, with a lack of something better to say.

“I… I played there, with Priss and Essi, for… for the Pride concerts, we applied and they… wanted us there…”

“That’s great!” Geralt exclaims and startles Jaskier, who clings to his cup tightly. “You three have been doing great with your band, of course they wanted you there! Why didn’t you tell us? We could have gone!”

Somehow, to say that, to… to offer Jaskier his support, makes Jaskier sobs harder, and Geralt wishes to know what to do.

"What? Jaskier, what…?"

"Geralt, it was the Pride!" Jaskier whines.

"Yeah, you just said that."

"Do you know what it is… Do you know what the rainbow flag means?" Jaskier asks, looking at him with panic in his eyes.

Geralt looks at him, at his pouty lips now wet, and back again at his glistening, weeping blue eyes.

"Hm," Geralt needs a moment to think about something that is not kissing Jaskier. It's not easy, the need to comfort his friend and to reassure him is too strong. But he manages.

Rainbow flag. Yeah, that rings a bell, he has seen that flag, somewhere. He thinks Aiden, Lambert's best friend, has some stickers and such with it, and other flags with different colours.

Oh.

"Yes, yes of course I know what it means, Jaskier," Geralt answers, feeling delirious. I just didn't want to hope.

"And?" Jaskier asks, expectantly. "Geralt, it was not a simple gig, we weren't there just because, but because Priss and Essi and I, we are… I am…"

Geralt kneels in front of him, and lets his hands rest on Jaskier's lap.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" Geralt asks softly. "Were you afraid of me…? Did you think that I would… that I wouldn't want to be your friend anymore?"

Jaskier nods slowly, more tears spilling from his eyes.

"But not for the reason you think," Jaskier cries. "I know you would accept me as I am, but…"

Geralt's heart is breaking, watching his friend crying, sobbing hopelessly and thinking that Geralt could ever stop being his friend, for any reason at all… That's just absurd, because Geralt… he… He's in love with Jaskier and…

And Jaskier doesn't know it.

"Jaskier… Julek… it's ok, I'm here," Geralt promises, taking Jaskier's tea off his hands and hugging him, as tight as he can. Jaskier clings to him, sobbing.

"You'll hate me!" Jaskier cries, grabbing his shirt, and Geralt just… just can't.

"Never," Geralt reassures him.

"You'll hate me because I love you!" Jaskier yells. "And you push away all of your ex girlfriends, so why would I be different?"

Geralt freezes then, still holding Jaskier.

Jaskier loves him.

Flirty, flighty, social butterfly Jaskier, the boy who decided to be Geralt's best friend.

Bright, loud, noisy, wonderful Jaskier.

"It's… quite different," Geralt says at last and Jaskier snorts.

"It is, Jaskier, because… Because I…" Geralt takes a deep breath. "I love you too."

The last part is just a whisper, reverent, contained. It's a truth that he's been avoiding for years.

Jaskier squirms until he can lock his blue eyes with Geralt's own.

"You mean… as a friend?" He asks.

Geralt smiles at him fondly and shakes his head slowly before leaning in, his eyes flicking from Jaskier's eyes to his lips.

Jaskier's breath is warm against Geralt's lips, his skin is wet and a little clammy after all the crying and sobbing.

"Geralt…" Jaskier whispers, breathless.

"May I?"

Jaskier closes his eyes slowly, leaning in until he can find Geralt in the middle.

Their first kiss is chaste and shy and, well, not how Geralt would have imagined, not with Jaskier crying in fear and rushed confessions, but it's perfect, because it is Jaskier who is kissing him back.

Geralt reaches for Jaskier's hands and threads their fingers together.

"You had no idea what the rainbow or the Pride mean, right?" Jaskier asks, smiling wide, with his forehead resting on Geralt's shoulder.

"I thought you simply liked the…, what's it called? The colourful aesthetic." Geralt answers, shrugging, making Jaskier chuckle.

They stay like this for a while, Geralt studying Jaskier's painted nails and caressing his hands softly.

"You could paint mine," Geralt offers.

"Geralt…"

"Maybe for the Pride next year?" Geralt asks, hopeful. "I.. I could go there and see your gig…"

Jaskier kisses him again, less chaste, more hungrily, and Geralt can't suppress the growl that rises from the deep of his chest.

"I'd love that, my dearest."

“Ok, ok, Eskel, your turn…”

Jaskier can’t help but to look at Geralt in awe while he leads the party through the Dungeon; Geralt always seems happy and free during their DnD sessions, but lately he seems… resplandescent.

Geralt glances at him and smiles knowingly while Eskel keeps talking, and Jaskier’s heart does a somersault under his golden gaze. Gods, Geralt is going to be the death of him, and now that Jaskier knows his taste, his hunger, the caresses of his hands…

“Hey, bard, wake up!” Lambert exclaims. Aiden is basically sitting on his lap, laughing softly. “Do your bard wiles!”

“C’mon, give us another Nat20, bard!” Eskel cheers.

Jaskier chuckles.

He takes the dice and rolls it over the table.

By his side, Geralt smiles at him, wide and unguarded, his hands at either side of the Master's screen, and every one of his fingernails are painted with the colours of the rainbow, to match Jaskier’s own hands.

“Ok, dice, gimme a Nat20!”

#geraskier #dnd #geralt of rivia #jaskier #fluffy fluff #happy pride 🌈

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dapandapod · 1 year

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Retired Geraskier at Corvo Bianco, with Trans!Ciri x Cerys comes to visit; a sappy love story 🥰

Early spring always makes Jaskier’s smiles brighten. Geralt watches the sun stay for longer and his husbands energy return. Winter usually makes his bard docile, snuggly, it is almost like he hibernates. Which is funny, because whenever he cracks the joke about how Jaskier really is a bear, he gets bit. Among other things.

Birds are returning with the warmer winds, there are little buds breaking out on the branches on the trees surrounding Corvo Bianco. The mud is still everywhere and there is still frost in the early mornings, but the promise hangs in the air.

Any day, their very own little sparrow will come visit them. As soon as the Skellige seas allows them passage, Ciri and Cerys will join them for a few weeks, before they are to travel onwards. Geralt is… nervous.

They had sent a letter ahead when they arrived at port, promising to bring Jaskier one of the new fancy hats he has been talking about. His hair has streaks of grey now, at long last considering how old he actually is, and he is torn between hiding it or wearing it like a crown.

Time pass differently now when they are retired, but Geralt thinks it suits them. Ciri and Cerys finding each other had been no surprise, and their handfasting had been beautiful. Witchers not crying is absolute bullshit when not one but five Witchers stood by, bawling their eyes out with snotty noses.

Vesemir would have been proud.

Jaskier seems to notice the carriage first, pulling him along by the hand and down out into the courtyard.

It is drawn by a bay mare, tail held high from the ruckus made by the geese and peacocks running out of the way.

When the door to the carriage opens, Jaskier gasps and clasps his chest, leaning into Geralt. Which is good, because Geralt’s head is spinning and he desperately needs an anchor to reality.

Ciri has her hair let down, she jumps out quickly and turns to help Cerys - who has a baby bump.

Cerys climbs down easily enough, despite Ciri’s fussing.

When Ciri finally turns to look at her fathers, she holds a protective arm around Cerys back, chin sticking out stubbornly.

“Hello.” She says a little hesitant, as if assessing their reaction.

“Oh you silly child, come here!”

It’s like a dam broke, and Ciri falls forward into both of their arms, and Geralt finally finds it in himself to move, to wrap around his tiny family.

“It’s mine” Ciri whispers and Geralt laughs. Jaskier disentangles himself to greet Cerys, and coo over their grandchild. Well, as much as he is allowed. Cerys never needed Ciri’s protection, she got teeth and claws of her own.

Geralt holds Ciri tightly, breathing her in.

“I didn’t dare believe we could.” She whispers. “Being who I am, I mean. We tried for so long.”

Oh yeah, here comes the waterworks. Geralt feels himself tearing up, and he laugh sobs into her shoulder.

“I’m so fucking proud of you, cub.”

“Geralt, you old sap, you are going to make me cry too!” Jaskier complains, but he is smiling too.

When finally they let go, and while wiping his tears, Geralt approaches Cerys. She is a woman grown now, wearing her own battle scars and laugh lines. Cerys of Skellige, his daughter in law.

The bump is not very big yet, but clearly there. She allows him too a hug, a short, tight one. She never was a hugger, but she keeps her arm around Geralt’s back.

“We only realized on the boat ride over. I have never been sea sick a day in my life, but I guess I finally know what it’s like.” She says with that crooked smile of hers.

They make small talk as they step inside. There are a thousand questions he wants to ask, but most of all, he wants to be there.

“Will you manage a boat ride back to Skellige before the baby is due?” Jaskier asks finally, after they have withdrawn to the patio to bask in the setting evening sun.

Ciri grimaces, and Cerys frowns.

“Oh dear, I seem to have breached a sensitive topic. Forgive me.” Jaskier amends quickly.

Both women look at each other, taking hold of each others hands.

“We have haven’t decided on anything yet. It depends on how it progresses from here, I suppose.” Ciri says, squeezing Cery’s hand, who smiles back at her.

“Our new Major Domo still lives in the village. We have a house free, if you wish for your own place to stay. You know you are both welcome here for as long as you wish.” Geralt says carefully, and Jaskier beams at him. The laugh lines in the corner of his eyes make Geralt infinitely fond.

“We will…. Talk about it.” Cerys says, surprising them all, resting a hand over her round stomach. Their child. Geralt’s…. grand child. “We will see what the future brings.”

Retirement is not what Geralt expected. A husband something right out of his dreams. A child? A grandchild? Had it been one of Jaskier’s songs, Geralt would call him a romantic fool.

But here he is, at Corvo Bianco with his bard, his daughter with her child in her arms.

#the witcher #geraskier #trans!ciri #ciri x cerys #geralt of rivia #jaskier #retired Geralt #silver fox Jaskier #tooth rotting fluff #fluffy #because I want #badass cerys #mixing medias like no tomorrow because I can #dapanda writes

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