#Ciri is his hope and he will do everything possible so that she never feels lonely

[ladymarinamart]

Geralt: "Roche, fuck!"

Geralt: "The evil seducer of my beautiful daughter!"

Vernon: "So... We're leaving, Ciri."

Ciri: "Vernon...?"

Vernon: "Let's get married, make love and have children... I don't care about the opinions of others, I love you and that's all that matters."

"Father, this is Vernon Roche. He's my future husband."

[bumblesimagines]

“ i'm extremely okay with this. “

- Ciri

“ i'm extremely okay with this. “

pronouns for y/n: he/him/his, male reader

Smoothing out the wrinkles on her dress, Ciri swept her gaze over those present. The Belleteyn festival. A chance for Ciri to feel normal again, to forget her worries for a night. All she felt was giddiness as she took in the lively attendees and listening to the music playing. She kept her mask close to her face and hoped nobody would recognize her.

Geralt and Yennefer's eyes bore into her back as she strode through the festivities, gaze bouncing around in order to soak everything in before they'd eventually be forced to go back out on the road in search of a new place to call home. She smiled and laughed at the performances, finally being able to enjoy herself. She turned to glance back at Geralt and Yennefer, shoulder bumping against someone and she saw it, a new vision.

She heard laughter, a mix of her voice and a stranger's. She saw someone's bare back turned toward her in a cozy bed and watched herself reach out to touch them. The wail of a baby pierced through next and she found herself holding a bundle that had her ashen-gray hair.

When she blinked, she saw the festival again and a voice rumbled near her ear. "Apologies." It sent a shiver down her spine and she whirled around, the mask nearly slipping from her fingers. The man tilted his head at her, (E/C) eyes peeking through the maroon mask on his face.

"You-" She caught herself and cleared her throat, finding that her hands had begun trembling. Had she just witnessed her future? Was she to become... a mother? A wife?

"Are you alright?" He asked, lips curling into a teasing smile. "Did I knock into you that hard?"

"No, I... Sorry, I..." At a loss for words for the first time in a while, Ciri certainly didn't miss the feeling. A hand gently touched her back and she glanced over her shoulder, finding Geralt and Yennefer at her side.

"Is something wrong, Ciri?" Geralt questioned, his eyes fixated on the man. Most would typically turn into blabbering messes when Geralt glared at them, but the stranger simply stared back at him until his attention turned to Yennefer and he grinned.

"It's been a while, Yen." He purred and scooped her hand into his, lips brushing against her knuckles. Ciri felt a flash of jealousy and blinked, startled by her own reaction.

"(Y/N)…" Yennefer breathed. "Vilgefortz said you were dead. He said you had been-"

"Killed in battle? And you believed that, Yen? You wound me." (Y/N) released her hand and shook his head, clicking his tongue in feigned disappointment.

"You know each other?" Geralt cocked a brow, a frown settling on his features.

"(Y/N) is a mage who worked alongside Vilgefortz sometimes." Yennefer explained to the bulky witcher, violet eyes never leaving (Y/N), almost as if afraid if she blinked he'd disappear. "The Brotherhood had attempted many times to recruit him for his abilities. Why would he lead us to believe you were dead?"

"He owed me a favor." (Y/N) replied coolly and shrugged his shoulders, the disinterest on his face clear as day. Yennefer and Geralt exchanged a glance.

"You're a mage?"

"Indeed I am, Princess." Ciri's heart skipped a beat and she nearly huffed. He was a stranger. A potential threat... and possibly her future husband.

"What are you doing here then, mage?" (Y/N) looked back at Geralt, locking eyes with him as Geralt placed a protective hand over Ciri's shoulder.

"I was passing through and heard about the festival so I decided to attend."

"Where are you headed?"

"Anywhere, everywhere, and nowhere. I have no real destination in mind since it seems I'll bump into an old friend in most places. Being found by the Brotherhood is the last thing I desire." (Y/N) tore his eyes away from the witcher to gaze around him. Ciri swallowed.

"You should come with us."

"Ciri-"

"We have the same dilemma. We can help each other. You stay with us somewhere where you won't be found and in return, you can teach me magic." Ciri proposed with a sudden boost of confidence. (Y/N)'s lips formed a grin and he peered back at her, eyes lighting up with interest.

"I'm sure our little mage wouldn't enjoy-"

"Oh, I'm extremely okay with this."

[winters-mistress]

Cirilla's broken heart.

It's Geralt of all people who breaks the silence between them. Ironic, really, that the man of so few words finds them when nobody else can. After all this time, after everything that happened, it falls to him to speak, to comfort, do to something, when nobody else knows how.

Everard! Gwain! Wake up!

His daughter and his brothers had told him she had yelled, throwing the witch's blade as the two witchers shoot up in their beds. His girl, his strong, beautiful, brave girl, had had a few precious moments of lucidity in the midst of her docility, and with it, she had saved them, imprisoning the demon in her mind.

The time between Yennefer's betrayal and the hard, frantic ride to Kaer Morhen do not make sense to the witcher. From the moment he holds his sword to her throat to that where he pushes her off him as he seeks out his girl, time doesn't add up. That's why he's tried so hard to fill in the blanks, why he asked the two of them, and his father, what had occurred in their perspective. They could handle it, they were strong, and his daughter had made sure they had survived the battle, but coming to his daughter to ask what had happened to her was something he wanted to avoid for as long as possible. The last thing Geralt ever wants to do is hurt Ciri.

"Asking how you are is a stupid question," Geralt begins. He hears his daughter inhale, but he cannot see her, she's facing away from him. "so, what are you feeling?" He thinks that's the best way to go, honesty and bluntness.

Everard had told him the ivory-hilted blade had sat in the wall with a satisfying clunk as Ciri had yelled at them to get back, get to Vesemir, get help, before the demon had taken her again, her face falling slack before falling sly, emerald eyes glowing a horrific shade of neon.

His girl, his brave girl, had fought the demon, and she had won, but it had came at a cost. She's only just recovered enough strength from her fainting and vomiting spells she'd had once they returned from the mysterious sphere. She's not strong enough to walk the keep, so she doesn't know about the destruction and the bodies of the basilisks. Geralt hopes they can rid the bodies and scrub the blood and fix the tree and the walls and the tables before his girl is well enough to start her training again. The last thing she needs is more pain.

"I-" Ciri's voice is tired and soft, it doesn't speak of thirst or gritty like she'd swallowed sandpaper. Geralt had heard her speak in many ways, loud and relieved when they'd met in the forest, monotone and untrustworthy before Nivillen, tearful and shaky once they'd left, strong and stubborn when they would train and spar, angry and bitter when Geralt had denied her the mutations. But never like this, defeated and exhausted, it chills him. "I don't know," she pauses, pushing a lock of hair from her face. It's undone and falls in curls and waves, she hardly ever wears it down, it makes her look younger and more like the Princess she is, especially with the clean white linen tunic she wears. "I don't know what to feel, what to say." Now, Cirilla turns towards him, her legs folding up behind her.

"I understand." But he really doesn't, he doesn't understand it all. He so wants to, he wants to take that pain he sees in his daughter's eyes, he wants to hold her against his chest the same way he felt when they reunited in Cintra. Will she smile if he gives her a few of her favourite strawberry jam cookies? Or will a blade do it? Will she allow him to come closer, hold her and protect her from a world that hunts her for reasons neither of them understand?

By the time Vesemir had came to Everard's room, Ciri -was she still? Or would it be more accurate to call her Voleth?- had gone. She was on her way to the medallion tree by then. Was he there then? Going up the mountain, coming into the courtyard?

Trapped within her own mind, Geralt doesn't know what she was forced to see, and it startles him. No, it scares him. His daughter is so strong, so brave, whatever that demon had forced into her mind had hit below the belt. Ciri had survived the Cintran slaughter and weeks on the run, her night with the beast and the vampire, months with unruly witchers and the betrayal of Yennefer, she had survived it, and had never reacted as such.

"How many?" She looks up at him, eyes tired, but set, as if she's resigned herself to a horrible fate.

"What?" He frowns.

"How many did I kill?"

Ah. He supposes she wouldn't know what she did after the last monster was taken down by Coën.

He knows what it is to be resigned here. Just days ago, Geralt had walked cautiously around the keep, thinking that this next turn would be the one where he would find his girl on the ground, used and eliminated due to the demon's influence. Maybe Yennefer would have gotten to her again, lead her by the hand to her death in exchange for chaos.

Geralt's fist clenches. He's so furious with Yennefer. How dare she. How dare she do that to him? To them?

The battle had begun after Voleth had refused his offer of himself as a sacrifice to save his child. Witchers crowded around her, swords at the ready, after Jaskier had ran inside the room and told them about what Yennefer had done, about how her deal with the demon had lead to Ciri being possessed, and of how the girl clearly didn't want to do them any harm, with how she had broken out of her trance and yelled to alert the witchers of the danger.

Thankfully, all the swords were pointed at Voleth, and not Cirilla. He didn't know what he would have done if Ciri hadn't saved his brothers, and the vengeance had been turned upon her instead.

Ciri had had moments of lucidity, where she had managed to push the demon to the back of her mind, enough to ask him to help her, to warn a brother of an incoming attack, or a weakness in the basilisk, but he didn't know what the girl had been through in the moments where her body was not her own. When she herself had been locked inside her own mind like a bluebird in a golden cage, he had been too busy trying to figure out a way to free his girl.

He cringes as he steps forward, watching her neck as she moves her hair. He remembered the sick crunch when she had been forced into submission, when it looked like a black, shadowy hand had grabbed her hair and forced her back. Vesemir and Gwain had heard too, for they took a moment to stop fighting their shared monster to see the source of the noise, before coming back to reality.

"None." Geralt comes back to earth, realising that she was still waiting for an answer, loathe to leave her waiting for words like he had in those first couple weeks on the winter road. "Do you not remember what happened, after Yennefer?"

"No." she whispers, fiddling with her fingers, looking down in shame. "I don't remember much from being on the road until I fell into you." Ciri pauses, licking her lips, looking up. She meets his eyes, and she looks tired. "I only remember parts of the fighting."

"Would you like to know?"

"Yes, of course."

"Well, after Yennefer came into the room, she tried to give you a potion, clear the demon from you that way. All the monsters were dead by then, my brothers all coming over to see what she was doing."

"And?"

"It didn't work, clearly." Geralt walks towards her, and takes her weight as he sits beside her, his girl leaning upon his shoulder. He holds her steady, holds her strong, he will be strong so she can be weak, so she can be vulnerable and upset and frightened. Lord knows she must not have had the chance much since the slaughter. "Then she had an idea, cut her wrist and let the demon come to her instead, leave you alone."

"And that didn't work as well."

"No. It was a foolish plan. All that happened was that she fainted from blood loss quite quickly after."

Ciri chuckled humourlessly. "Sorceresses are always self centered like that."

"Indeed. I don't know what you said, what you did, but you whispered something, and then there was a loud noise. Horrid, really, even for a witcher." He nods. "A large, black figure appeared in front of you, it was shadowy, as if it was a ghost. You looked over at the room, yiur eyes were black, like all the other witchers, and suddenly you woke them all up. Even Marek, with his lack of face-" he notes that Ciri winces as if she was struck. "And Timron, with his no legs, Roose and Lukas, you brought them all back. Even Eskel and Remus, several others, too. They just appeared out of thin air, from boots to head. You brought them back."

"What? How? They weren't there." Ciri is surprised.

"You don't tend to obey the laws of the world, sweet girl. The word impossible doesn't seem to hold weight with you."

Ciri chuckles, her eyes filling with tears. She sniffles, burying her face into his shoulder.

He holds her, calms her, runs his fingers through her knotted blonde hair.

"Thank you, little wolf," Geralt says, once she's pulled back. He's lay a hand upon her cheek, comforting her as much as he is cleaning her cheek of tears.

"For what?"

"Bringing my brothers back. Thank you."

"It seems rather undeserved, when you consider I had no idea or no control over it."

"Even still. Thank you."

Ciri closes her eyes, hiding back in his hair.

"Then what happened?"

"You looked back at the shape, and it disappeared. You fainted into my arms. We thought everything was okay when you woke up, because Yennefer was healed, too, and you were free, before all the doors and windows slammed closed. Fires burned out, the lot."

"Yeah, I remember." She settles into his shoulder. "She came back for me, and I portaled us to-" she sighs. "somewhere."

"Yeah," he shuffles. He wishes he could say something to comfort her about the wraiths, what they said to her, but he finds none. "Yennefer's fine, by the way, you healed her when you healed us."

"And her magic, is that back?"

"No." He whispers, "she still knows all her spells, but she tried to light the fires and couldn't. She was upset, but she's not the priority anymore."

"What'll happen to her?"

"I don't think I can let her go with the knowledge she has, about you and about here."

"What?" Ciri pulls back quickly. Geralt's shoulder is cold, he wishes she was still where she was. Her eyes are wide, disbelieving, bright emeralds in a sea of coal. "Are you kidding? You're letting her stay?"

"She told me she helped you make a portal in Nenneke's."

Ciri hung her head. "About what happened there-"

"Shh, it doesn't matter." Geralt soothes, bringing a hand back to her face. "She took you from me, but we are together now."

She sniffles.

"When did you speak?"

"When you were asleep, two days ago."

"And that's that, then? She's staying here?" Ciri sounds nervous.

"To be no more than a tutor to you. I don't trust her, you don't trust her, my brothers don't trust her, but she told me that she helped you with a portal, and that's more than what Triss ever did. I'm told a portal I'd complex magic, too."

"But-" she starts. "You can't-"

He frowns. "What's wrong?"

"You don't understand what happened. When she took me away, we ended up at Goldencheek's house, you remember, the wife that saved me? The husband that saved you?"

He nods.

"Geralt, the fire man-" she swallows thickly. "the fire man got them. Got them all, her, her husband, and the two boys." Cirilla reveals.

Geralt allows himself a moment of grief for four lives so needlessly wasted. For the two boys who were all in all innocent, yes, he knows one of them caused his girl a bit of bother, but children should never die in their parents' war. He grieves for a woman so kind to open her heart to Ciri for no other reason than that she wanted to. And he will grieve for a long while a man who was so generous and honourable that he qiuld save a lowly witcher and put up with his sharpness and hostility just because he felt it was the right thing to do.

"After I found them, Yennefer-" Ciri takes a calming breath, sniffling as more tears come to her eyes. "Yennefer told me they were keeping you hostage in Cintra. Hurting you. Torturing you, because of me." she reveals.

Geralt says nothing, just stares at this child. This sweet, beautiful, vulnerable child who had been betrayed by everybody in her world apart from a sweet farmyard mother and a handful of mutated witchers holed up in a crumbling castle.

By the gods, how could he be so blind? How could he have fallen for Yennefer's charms so easily that she could disarm him and illusion him into thinking she had his child's best interest at heart? Surely it was because Yennefer's one mission since he had known her was motherhood, and now she had an opportunity, she does this?

As he looks at her now, all he feels is rage for the woman. Her deception aches in his bones, the depths of it startling him. He knew she had trapped Ciri and was going to lead her by the hand to the demon, but somehow this -as small of a sin as it was in comparison to that- was worse. Yennefer had messed with Ciri's mind, told her that he was in danger because of her, manipulated her and deceived her. All for what? Nothing, in the end.

"Ciri," he starts. But he finds that he doesn't know how to finish the sentence.

It seems like he doesn't have to.

The girl sniffles and wipes her tears, a fruitless task as more simply streak her cheeks, before crawling over to him and placing herself into his lap, curling into his chest and neck. His arms bound around her, warming her and keeping her safe.

"I don't want her to be with us." she sniffles. "She betrayed us, everybody always does."

"You have me, Ciri. And my brothers and Vesemir and Jaskier, you should know that I'm not going to forget this. What she's done, to us and you. I promise, I won't forget this. And I will keep you safe from her if she tries anything."

"Where is she now?"

"Infirmary. Jaskier took her there after you healed her. Stitches."

"So, you promise not to fall to your knees to her if she flutters her lashes again?"

He chuckles. Ciri bites a grin, looking so conflicted with her red eyes and her wet cheeks.

"Promise. Me and you against the world, pup. I'll keep you safe. From monsters and men and mages alike."

Ciri smiles.

"I don't want her to be with us, but if you think it's best, then you need to play bodyguard. I won't trust her again, you do understand that?"

"Of course." He wipes her cheeks again. And thankfully, they stay dry.

Ciri cuddles into him. "Rest some more, sweet girl. When you feel up to it, you can come downstairs and meet the brothers you helped."

"As long as they're not all like Lambert." Ciri yawned. "Can't handle another arse in this place."

Geralt laughs. "You can see Remus throwing him off a snowplough if you like."

Ciri smiles. And closes her eyes.

"You'll be here when I wake up?"

"I will, little one. Rest now."

[nataliescatorccio]

Unpopular opinion here: I have not read the books nor played the games but I wanted a sex scene between Geralt and Triss in the show, it would be fun. And maybe in s4 we'll get Geralt /Milva. I've read she's important character. I love Geralt/Yen, don't get me wrong and I want them as endgame but why not explore other relationships too? It's an adaptation, whoever wants the books can read them. I didn't like the writing in Voleth Meir bc they never show us why Yen didn't try to resist her, I mean did she mind controlled her, they had an unbreakable oath or Yen just wanted her power back hence she didn't say anything to Geralt earlier? but the betrayal was excited. I know in the books Yen and Ciri are supposed to be mother and daughter but in the show it might change and become frenemies to reluctant allies later. Anything is possible. As I said I haven't read the books, only the descriptions on wiki so I don't have expectations or connections with the characters. Thanks.

i wouldn't have been up for triss/geralt sleeping together when they were originally supposed to in season 2. i just don't like the portrayal of a woman being at her weakest point and needing to sleep with a man who doesn't even prioritise her, which is what it would have been if it were done on the show. it would have been triss at her lowest point with no self confidence reaching out to geralt, and him sleeping with her to bury his grief over yennefer. it just wouldn't have felt right for me as a scene, triss deserves better and i hope she instead gets a love interest that prioritises her. i'd truly love to see development with her and lambert, i thought they had a fun dynamic in season 2.

with milva, her and geralt never hook up in the books and again, i wouldn't feel comfortable if they went down that route because of milva's storyline. i know you don't know the books and i don't want to post spoilers for you, but for me it really wouldn't fit with her overarching plot (which i'd be surprised if they change just because it fuels so many of her decisions). i'm not opposed to geralt hooking up with other women, as much as i ship yenralt i know they will always go back to each other in the end. there are just other pairings i'd prefer to see! i'd really love them to bring shani into the show at some point, for example. i don't mind deviations from this but only if they are done properly and give the female characters agency within it. with the books and games it feels a lot like geralt sleeps with every woman he comes across, so it's actually really refreshing to have an adaptation where women aren't throwing their pants at him.

i found that yennefer's storyline was more about not being able to resist voleth meir than didn't resist her. she was at her lowest point, broken down to where she felt like she had absolutely nothing, and she felt helpless. if you lost everything and someone said to you, 'you can have everything back, just bring me this person?' would you not consider it? i think people are too harsh on yennefer for this decision, especially as she started to go back on it towards the end. i didn't like it as a storyline, but i can understand yennefer's pain. but to follow on to your point about yennefer and ciri, they actually do not get along initially in the books! they hate each other upon first meeting, and it is only through spending time together that they learn to respect and love one another. while what has happened in the show is extreme, i do think they can still get to having that wonderful mother/daughter relationship, it will just take more time for them to build up that trust. i just hope the writers are putting in that effort to make their developing relationship feel authentic as it is absolutely one of my favourites.

[coffeeorsomething-irl]

Ch 5 of my Luke Skywalker x OC fic. First chapter and a brief explanation of wtf is this, here

Next chapter, here

@dailydragon08, @a-midwinter-night-dream-86

_

Dance

The next day, she did sleep late, and was out at the gazebo when he found her. The air was cool, and the colors dulled by shade. She was a mess at first, having difficulty putting their physical contact the day prior out of her mind, but thinking it could probably be weird of her to hug him again so soon.

Her nerves gradually loosened as they talked, and he gently played with her fingertips.

But by the end of the night she hadn't quite amassed enough courage.

And by a few nights later, she still hadn't. She was curled up on the railing at the gazebo, her arms around her knees, thinking about him. Trying to be confident in the nature of his interest in her– trying to trust that he could, like her, like her, though no one ever had.

..The way he looked at her was so overwhelmingly warm. And some of the things he said, seemed to permit of really very little other interpretation.

…But it didn't fit. She had been alive for over two decades, she knew well how her world worked and who she was within it.. how others saw her, or didn't. And the possibility of this man's attraction, just… didn't, have a place, to fit.

So that a sizable part of her mind found it more likely that his words had no knowable interpretation, at all.

It had been a surfeit of emotion and impulse, that had driven her to hug him, before. She would never have suspected herself to be so bold. She hadn't expected him to be… so very responsive, either. …She had never been touched like that. Her father and a couple of governesses and even a kindly older noblewoman had hugged her, before, but… not like that. Not just.. almost indefinitely, like that. And not… intimate, like that. –It felt almost presumptive to use that word, but she didn't know how else to describe it to herself. He'd been… gentle.. slow… more expressive, than other people had been, before.

Somehow, this is what filled her mind. Not space, stars, and the laid-out planet. Not the mental experiences of the forest animals. Just this.

She swallowed. She wanted it, again. But she was too nervous and in her head to touch him, impulsively, like she had..

"…Hey, Ciri."

She stirred, starting, and looking around to find him, as he came up beside her. ..No matter what had just been in her mind, seeing him was always so lovely..

"..H-Hi, Luke," she smiled, slightly nervous, in his presence, even as the ache of waiting for him finally ebbed.

He put his hands on the railing, and leaned on them. "..You thinking about something?"

She flushed, much more brilliantly than she'd like, though luckily it was turning towards dusk, and glanced down. Obviously she couldn't possibly discuss it with him.. right? "Um, y-yeah…kinda… um, n-nothing much," she said, internally wincing as the deflection sounded lame even to her own ears.

He gave her a soft look, and a small, kind smile. "…Well I only ask, because you feel agitated to me.. a bit differently, from usual." Then he blushed. "I hope everything is alright. …Maybe I can help take your mind off of it?"

She hesitated, then smiled.. Sort of relieved he was respectful of her reluctance to talk about it. "M-maybe you can," she allowed, bashfully.

"Wish me luck."

A chuckle escaped her.

"...No, seriously," he said, his tone sounding not very.

Her chuckle came louder, and she indulged him, "O-ok, good luck, Luke."

He grinned. "Thanks! …So, I kind of outed myself today."

"Outed? Yourself?" she asked with curiosity.

"Yeah. Do you know Puske?"

She nodded that she did. "Yes, some."

"…Well, he was coming into the conference hall this afternoon with all these documents, big scrolls and things, in his arms… I think he could hardly see around it all… and I had my chair a bit further back than everyone else, and he tripped, on the chair leg. ..Um. And I caught him, with the Force. All his scrolls and everything, that were flying. …He, uh… he eeped? …He was all thrown forward, off his balance, foot up in the air, scrolls half out of his arms already, just frozen there, and he made this frightened little noise… I felt bad, for scaring him, but.. I would have felt bad for letting him fall, too. Especially since it was my chair. …And I kinda had to right him, too, as I put him down, so he wouldn't just collapse.. Which was awkward.

..So I apologized, for tripping him, and for scaring him, but.. He didn't know what to say I guess, he… um, well, he didn't say much of anything, really, mostly he just bowed, which was a struggle with all his stuff, and got off to his seat as fast as possible. Like he'd inconvenienced me, almost; I felt so bad… And then I looked around and obviously everyone is just staring at me. So I apologized to the table." He laughed, in embarrassment. "Your father said it was fine, but… …Somehow I don't think they'd actually understood, before?"

She was laughing, worries for the moment quite forgotten. "Oh…Of course not! How could they?"

"..I think Puske might be a little scared of me, now," he said dejectedly.

"Aww, Luke.. well, maybe so, but I know that man. He's an idiot."

He chuckled, quietly. "Ciri..!"

"He is! He relentlessly fails to understand how the princess would be able to dress this way, practically, and even after years I still sometimes hear him yabbering about it in my father's ear. Give up! ..I-I'd like to say.."

"–Really? I should have let him fall," he said, indignant.

She smiled broadly, pleased by his support. "…No, it's better this way," she assured him, "He'll never forget this. Thank you, Luke!"

He laughed. "You're welcome, Ciri. ..Any other persistently rude people I can scar, for you?"

"Well…" she pretended to consider.

"-I mean, besides the one," he clarified, with faint distaste.

She chuckled. "Actually just her would be enough. …Kidding," she added, just in case.

"Right," he agreed, "I wouldn't…not on purpose, anyway. Wouldn't want to ruin my welcome, in your court. ..It'd make it harder to see you, I can't have that."

She sniffed, with bashful amusement, both flattered and taken aback. He'd come here for her father and his ministers, not for her. Yet that wasn't how he made her feel.

"…You're feeling better," he observed.

"-Y-yes, I am, Luke. Thank you. You're very effective."

"Just doing my best."

She grinned, feeling so very pleased to know him.

"You're a star," she said, half by accident, and wished she hadn't.

He chuckled. "You're flattering me.."

She blushed. "M-maybe.. Um, well no, I… r-really.." she struggled to finish admitting the remark had been genuine, for honesty's sake, "m-meant it, I guess.."

"–Aww.. Ciri, thank you," he rescued her, warmly, "you're very sweet to me." And he put his hand over hers, beside her on the railing.

She flushed stronger, somehow.

He was watching her kindly, head a little cocked. "…um… So, there's something I was going to ask you, tonight."

She struggled to keep her voice level.

"..Y-yeah, Luke?"

He looked down and blushed, opened his mouth, then smiled ruefully at himself and his bashfulness. When he blinked and spoke, his voice had suddenly become almost cautiously soft. "…Would you like to dance with me, Ciri?"

She gulped, loudly she was sure, and stared.

His face was marked red, brightly, from his cheeks to his ears. Somehow, it made her feel a little more confident.

"Right.. right now?" she confirmed, faintly.

"Yeah…now." He laughed, sheepish, and briefly ducked his head, then looked up at her with a small, inviting smile. "…Promise that it's not that bad…I'll make it painless…"

She flushed with blood, hearing that promise.

"um… Y-yeah, s-sure," she managed, in a low voice.

"Yeah?"

She nodded.

He grinned so widely, splitting his face into smile lines. Almost like a happy puppy. She couldn't help but laugh, a little.

"Thank you, Ciri! I know it probably seems strange. But I promise not to make you regret it."

She snuffed, at the cuteness of his eagerness.

"..Don't worry, I trust you completely."

For some reason, that just seemed to make him more embarrassed, stopping up his words temporarily and sending his face into a mask of unreadable, yet unmistakably tender, emotion.

He cleared his throat, as he recovered, and laughed at himself. He was truly reddened, now - all the way up to his forehead. "Ciri, you send me into fits," he explained, then asserted, "..It really isn't fair. …Now, please come here."

Composing himself, he stepped back, into the gazebo's center, clearing the way for her to disrail… then holding out his ungloved hand, as she quietly approached.

She took it. He was warm, as always, and it made him smile.

"OK… Stand about this close, for now," he said hushedly, as she drew in nearer him. "So our toes don't quite touch… And put your free hand on my shoulder." Meanwhile, his fingers clad with hers, and his gloved hand slid onto her waist. "Great. ..Now we're ready. Simple, huh? Not hard at all.."

..It was actually kind of a torment, to be so close to him, her hand upon his form, and not be closer still.

She snorted. "T-this isn't even the dancing part, Luke," she said instead.

He blushed, and grinned, a little lopsided. "No…I guess it's not. ..You're right, the hard part is yet to come. But I'll teach you something simple.. Follow my lead, princess. …When I step forward, you step backward, to match me, Ok?" His voice was soft, and sweet.

"Y-yeah, Ok.." she managed.

"Great. Look down, to our feet. And here we go… First we'll do your left," he breathed, then moved his booted foot slowly forward, and she stepped back to shadow him. "…Then your right…"

"And again… and again…"

And she matched him, again.

She glanced up, at his face. He caught the peripheral motion, lifted his eyes to meet hers…and gave her a cute little smile, with just the corners of his lips. "…Now to the side, beautiful," he said gently, and she blushed, and looked back down, to mirror him. "We'll go left… once… twice…"

His instructions softly continued, "And now back… with the right… and the left… And sideways, to the right…," and their feet stepped in sync, around the gazebo floor, according to his direction. As the simple pattern to their path emerged, the steady rhythm of the dance slowly settled in.

"…Do you remember it?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah, I think so…"

"Show me… look up..?"

She did, into his limpid, soft blue eyes, and gulped. His lips gave her just the suggestion of a smile, on one side… Then he breathed, "Back on your left…," and she realized that down below their locked eyes he was stepping forward, and quickly stepped back, catching up. He grinned. "On your right…"

She kept up more diligently, and he gradually spoke softer, let her rely more and more on memory, as they went around… until his whispered instructions were so quiet she could barely hear them.. and then they had dropped beneath his breath, and only the periodic motion of his lips told her, that he was speaking them to himself, still.

His eyes made her almost breathless. Normally she'd never let hers… linger, so long, on him… But there seemed little else to do, but to look. He was looking at her… something open and soft, was waiting for her, in his pretty eyes. The skin of his face had settled, to an appealing pink flush, highlighting his cheeks, nose, and ears. With those eyes and lightly lined cheeks and that blush and the little cleft in the center of his rounded chin… he was positively adorable.

…She realized he'd stopped counting out their steps. His lips had stilled, slightly parted, as he gazed…

And soon after, she choked up. Her breath catching in her throat, she had to stop moving, dropped his gaze, and started sighing at herself.. a little ruefully.

"..It's Ok, Ciri," his voice nudged in warm reassurance, his fingers gently pressing her hand, "That was great. ..See? Not so hard… I told you you'd get it…"

She smiled, gratefully, and looked back up into his pretty, gentle face. "Y-You think I did Ok? …Y-eah, not so b-bad…," she agreed.

"You were wonderful," he confirmed, smiling with soft sweetness, "..At least, if you made a mistake, I was much too caught up looking at your pretty face to notice. …Do you like it?"

"Th.. The dance?"

"-Dancing.. with me," he corrected, with a downward glance and a blush.

"I… um y-yeah, I l-like it.." she admitted, with an embarrassed laugh, "It's… it's kinda great. Weirdly. Um…f-fun.."

She saw pleasure pass over his face, and settle into a happy smile. "..I like it, too," he said gently, "…I haven't really appreciated it much, before… But it seems you make things different. I guess your partner really does matter."

She blushed, strongly. "You can't even… do something more complicated than a square, with me," she protested.

"Please. I'm sure you can manage other shapes, that was just the simplest one to start with." He hesitated, then suggested with a shyly sly smile, "..Would you like to try something pretty complex?"

She laughed. "Um, Luke, I don't think you heard me…"

He chuckled, gently, and his smile broadened. "I heard you, princess… but I was kinda thinking, that you could stand on my boots."

"S-Stand…on you…?" she echoed faintly.

He smiled, with confirmation. "Yeah. –You wouldn't hurt me, if you're worried about that."

She snuffed, with embarrassed laughter. "O-ok.. ..And, y-you're going to help me stay balanced? 'Cause…"

"-Of course. You have my word."

That made her smile.

..Then she laughed, at herself, and at the situation. Surely she'd look a buffoon. "…L-Luke, i-isn't this..kind of a lot? I mean, d-don't I..seem like a burden, a bit?"

He blushed fabulously, eyes falling down. "You're never a burden," he said softly, his earnest tone making her laughter still.. then he bashfully admitted, "….Well, um.. I guess what I'd really like to do here is, close up these last few inches, between us..? they're niggling at me. and you getting on top of me sounds like a perfect plan to do that, so.."

She felt a hole poke through her stomach, leaving its contents to begin messily leaking out.

"O-o-oh.. um, oh, I see," she stammered, uselessly.

"So..," he smiled, crookedly cute, in embarrassment, "..if, that's, something you might be up for…"

"..u-um, y-y-yeah, I, it is, ah.."

"…then my boots are available."

Blushing brilliantly, and tightly biting her lip, she nodded.. then lifted her foot and placed it, experimentally, over his. "-Luke, are you sure about this?" she couldn't help but ask, quickly, before she put her weight down.

"I'm sure," he confidently confirmed, then promised, "..If you're heavy, or unbalanced, I'll support you, with the Force."

She huffed an awkward laugh. "Alright, then…" And she stepped up, onto him… his hand smoothed over to the small of her back, holding her in place, and she located her other boot over his.. and then there she was. Propped up on him, and very close, indeed.

Trying to breath evenly, she watched the cartilage of his larynx bob as he swallowed… then she felt his arm around her tighten… Just enough to pull her body the rest of the way in, flush against his. She accidentally gasped, as she made contact. He was stunningly warm.. and.. real seeming, somehow. His shoulders were broad and strong, under her arm, which had wrapped round behind his neck of its own accord. His breath gusted gently across her forehead, as he sighed. "There…," he mouthed almost silently, "…now, how's that?"

"y-yeah, i-i-it's g-great..," she offered, when in truth, she was in ecstasy.

He smiled, pleased with her response, and gently nudged against her forehead. "It is great, I quite agree..," he breathed, with soft humor. Their fingers were tightly clasped, in their other hands. He smelled… intoxicating..

"..Now…That we've got the important part worked out… I'll support you, pretty Ciri, so please don't worry…just stay loose..and flow, with me. We'll start on your left… are you ready, princess?"

She had the presence of mind, to nod for him. "..Mm… Mm-hmm.."

"Alright… Here we go… forward…" And he started moving, his foot softly stepping back… and almost to her surprise, hers followed easily forward.

He kept his pace slow and steady, and softly called out the steps as they went, in his low, kind voice. "Back… back… forward… back… now a turn, left, sweeping, 180 degrees…" She let his legs move her, as he stepped. Her body seemed to melt fluidly along his lines. She felt so stable, up against him…lain out along him.

Even though he was the only one really moving, he was still reporting the steps to her, and did it with reference to her left and right, not his. How considerate, this man who'd captured her interest was, she had cause to be noting yet again.

…She tightened her arm, about his neck, and tucked her head in, against him. The sedate, almost rocking quality to their motion, his soft voice, his warm body, his animal scent, were soothing…in a way, she'd very seldom experienced. It made her sigh, shudder, and relax… and still, he quietly narrated their steps, as he smoothly danced her 'round, and time passed on and on.

"W-what is this?" she eventually asked, in a hushed whisper… after they'd danced it, for some time, so that she'd gradually gotten a feel for its lilting patterns.

"It's Alderaanian," he replied, gently, "A grand, old waltz… From my sister's vanished home. ..Do you like it?"

"…I like it, Luke," she answered, "very much."

"…I told you, dancing would be fun. Not to gloat, but.. Well, maybe to gloat just a little."

"I-I don't mind, i-if you gloat.."

That made him grin. "hmm…you're cute, Ciri. I'm gloating…"

Her face flooded, with heat, and her heart picked up its rhythm. He squeezed her tight… and she realized, he had probably felt her response. That was oddly relieving… perhaps because it meant, that there was less to hide, than she might fear. His breath lightly ruffled her hair.

In a little while she had recovered, and spoke softly, "You said her home… disappeared?"

"Yes.. Alderaan. It was destroyed… by the Empire, during the war. The entire planet, all gone. To hear her speak of it, it was beautiful beyond compare… and a last stronghold of the cultural heritage of the Old Republic. Now all that remains.. are these fragments, bits of culture, passed on by survivors who were offworld."

Her grip on him had tightened, as she tried to conceptualize the scale of the loss. "Luke…," she started, but didn't know what to say.

The waltz moved on, softly, around her trouble.

"…Luke, I'm sorry," she tried at last, "…I-it's too sad, for me to say it's sad. …A world shouldn't..die like that…"

"Everything dies," he whispered in reply, "Though, not usually.. unnaturally, like that. …You're right. It's too sad."

"I'm glad your sister was safe," she said quietly.

He smiled, a little. "..Me too. In fact.. most of the galaxy has cause to be glad of that."

"She sounds amazing, really.."

"She is.. There wouldn't be a New Republic, if not for her."

She paused..then laughed, quietly. "What a family of overachievers."

He started chuckling. "Force, for good or ill, I guess we kind of are…"

A moment passed, quietly.

"…Leia would be pleased… for this step to be practiced, in this place," he murmured softly; and then he smiled, a small, secret thing. "Maybe I'll tell her…"

"I-if, it would make her happy.."

"I think it would."

As silence briefly fell, she wondered what he might say, exactly… if he'd tell his sister anything about her, and if he did.. what would it be?

"…You make me happy," he whispered into the quiet.

"I..I do?" she whispered, startled out of her thoughts.

"Yeah… You make me happier than I've been in years."

There was a pause. "…You make me happy too, Luke. V-very, very happy..," she admitted softly.

He grinned, gently, up where she couldn't see. "It's good..the feeling's not one-sided…That would be very unfortunate..for me.."

She blushed. "…o-or… me..," she eventually managed.

His eyes lowered. "Well.. there's no need to worry about that," he breathed into her hair, "..I'm captured, Ciri.. My interest is fixed."

"f-f-fixed…?" she stumbled, a question frozen in her heart. Time floated on, around her.

She was acutely aware, of each and every point and sheet of contact between them. His body was excruciatingly warm, and… soft-yet-firm…gently breathing…and it was him holding her stomach up against it so securely, arm tight around her lower back, as he guided her around the gazebo.

"Yes…. After all, what percentage of my time, these past few days, have I spent thinking about.. just, maybe twenty minutes or so that you had me in your arms, one day last week..?" he mused, softly rhetorical. Her breath indrew and caught, for him to say a thing like that..

She didn't know what she should say, in reply. Her jaw felt weak. Though he'd told her at the time it'd been.. special, to him, too, she hadn't guessed… that he could possibly be thinking of it, like she had. Almost obsessively.

"I.. I don't know..?" Her voice sounded small and unsure, to her ears.

She felt his breath exhale in a slow snuff, at her response.

"…I don't know either, I wasn't actually keeping track,” he admitted, “But I can tell you that it was a lot."

"…A.. a lot. …R-really?" ..And she wished to have eased the hopefulness in her tone.

"really.. I know I mentioned this before, Ciri, but…" He sighed, and shifted slightly. "..this is just so comfortable, and sweet, to me.. It gives me a sense of peace. ..You touch me very differently, from how I've been used to, princess. And I'm a fan.."

Her heart pounded. "o-ohh?" she stammered.. Him, a fan. To imagine.

He hesitated, then his nose nudged into her as he added quietly into her hair, "..will you have me think up more excuses for it? You know that I will…"

Her breath came out, audibly, and she trembled a little. His arm tightened upon them, in response. She cast about for a reply, but what could she possibly say? She was far out of her depth.

He bit his lip, where she couldn’t see.

"..Forgive me, Ciri, if I've over-stepped. I don't mean to be pushy."

The withdrawal knocked some words loose for her. "-Y-you're not," she began, in protest. Then she paused. …Then went with the truth, "–I haven't.. I-I haven't ever been..," and her voice dropped, “t-touched.. much, Luke.. J-just my governesses, or.. dad, have.. h-hugged m-me…um, ..so…it's kind of w-wonderful, and I-I've been.. th-thinking.. about it, too.."

She felt him swallow, his cheek rub along her head and his arm tighten reassuringly, around her back.

After a moment, he breathed, "..You know princess, you're much too kind, sweet, and intriguing, to be so alone."

She blushed uncontrollably, and helplessly hid her face. Her palm, in their clasped hands, tried rubbing against his, and he reciprocated. His shoulders under her arm felt dependable and solid, as his breath. He smiled faintly. "…and I haven't been touched at all either, in quite a long time.. by the way..," he added gently.

Truly? When he was so, surprisingly cuddly. And always so pleasant. "…w- …why?" she hesitantly enquired.

"...I've been…," he started, then trailed away… and finished more firmly, "…I haven't really known anyone, whose touch interested me, in a long while."

His explanation, made her feel a little sad for him, somehow.

"Oh…I-I don't understand, w-what would make me.. so different," she whispered carefully, after a while.

He smiled warmly. "..I guess it's hard to describe. ..perhaps I'd just say….," he delicately sighed, "..that you touch me, like I'm really here."

She swallowed, with a frown, intuiting a little, of what might lay in his past. Gently, she slipped her fingers from his, and slid her arm around his body, to hold him better.. and squeezed him determinedly, her whole might engaged.

He stopped moving, tucked his freed arm in around her, and held her almost as tightly in return.

"..Well I think I'd rather not be touched at all, than it be l-like.. like that," she told him quietly, "I'm sorry, Luke. ..You deserve much, much better."

Face ducked into her hair, he sighed, "…I'd rather you not be touched like that too. Thank you, Ciri. We both do."

“...are you Ok?” she whispered.

And she felt his snuff vibrate up from his throat, and his cheek rubbing against her, as he nodded with a small smile. “Yeah, princess, I’m Ok. There's no need to worry, really.. I've been feeling fair wonderful, for weeks now, actually. so thank you..”

She blushed, and exhaled a tiny snorted laugh, through her nose. "k. I really do, care, about you, Luke..”

He buried her in his body, so tenderly, that it took her breath away. “..And I care about you.”

Slowly, some of the tension ebbed out of her muscles, and she started stroking him, gently, experimentally, with her palms. ..If his little shivers were any indication, he seemed to enjoy it.

Eventually, he eased up on her. He cast his eyes down, drew back and placed a sweet kiss, in the center of her forehead. “I’m having the most wonderful time, with you, as usual. How about you?”

She laughed, against her will, and tried not to hide her face against him in embarrassment. “I-I am too, Luke,” she shyly confessed.

“..Wanna see something new, my lovely princess?”

She nodded, smiling. “Yeah…I think I would.”

So he showed her another step.

She felt almost glued to him, by the time the night was done… yawning, in his arms, and lightly closing her eyes. "Let me take you home, pretty Ciri," he whispered with soft amusement, when he noticed she'd almost started dropping off, on him. "..mm," she nodded, against his chest.

"sorry, to keep you out so late," he whispered, to her hair.

"mm… naw, I don't mind," she protested.

"you're practically napping on me," he returned, amused.

"..y-yeah, maybe almost, sorry… you're.. You’re comfy."

"no apologies," he sniffed, "I don't mind…. But, I feel bad. It's selfish of me.. keeping you out like this, just to hold onto you longer. ..I’ve gotta get you into bed, princess."

She giggled at that, drowsily. And roused, and nudged herself more awake, in his arms.

Then came the unfortunate process of separating from him… he held her while she stepped down, to the ground. It felt almost unaccustomed, to support her own weight, after all that time spent letting him move her and trusting in his embrace.

He was looking at her gently. It made her blush, and smile, and glance down.

"You Ok?" he prompted her.

"Y-yeah, I'm good."

“K,” and he softly removed his hands from her waist. She swayed a little, not having realized how she’d been relying on him for balance.

He grinned, steadying her. “You can walk, or should I carry you?”

She blushed. “I’m fine, Luke, I can walk,” she laughed lightly.

"K." He waited to see that she was, then reached for her hand… delicately clasping her fingers. "Let's go, Ciri," he breathed. She grinned at him, and walked close by his side, down the steps and across the lawn.

"..I feel like you get less sleep than me, and are also less tired," she remarked, waking up a bit from the walking.

"I'm an oddity."

"It doesn't bother you?"

"…Sometimes I use a Force-trance, to rest more efficiently.”

“Lucky.”

“It comes in handy,” he allowed. "My apologies… for any adverse effects I've been having on your rest, princess."

"It's fine," she smiled, blushing, "W-well worth it."

That made him smile and cast his eyes on her, fondly.

When they arrived before her door, he lifted his fingers delicately to her cheek, and swept a bit of hair carefully behind her ear. He leaned in, and brushed his soft lips gently against her forehead…

"I had so much fun tonight.. I couldn't even describe," he murmured, bellyless.

"N-not as much…as me, I bet," she replied.

He smiled, affectionately. "Wanna compete to see which of us enjoys the other the more?" he offered with amusement.

"N-not really," she admitted.

"Probably for the best," he admitted back. "…are you going to be alright, Ciri?"

"..Y-yeah, um…of course."

"Kay… you're all filled up, on affection?"

She blushed, strongly, and chuckled, and smiled… reached out and grabbed his hand. Loving to be treated this way. "Yes, Luke, I think I am…thank you, for that."

"It's my great pleasure, princess.." And he bent, to her ear, to whisper, "I really hope you'll sleep well, tonight, Ciri. ..And I'm already looking forward to seeing you, tomorrow." He grazed his lips, on her temple.

She put her arms around him, gave him a real tight squeeze, and, emboldened by his manner, rose up onto her toes to press a simple kiss to his cheek. His skin was warm, and soft..

A soft sigh rose from him, as he swiftly turned his head and returned the gesture. "Thank you, Ciri..”

She blushed, both embarrassed and pleased, for him to have noted it so. "Y-you're welcome, L-Luke." And she nuzzled, lightly into his chest, and swallowed, with a frown.

..Would she feel too nervous to touch him again, tomorrow?

He seemed to realize something of what had suddenly troubled her, for he whispered a teasing promise into her hair,

“..If you feel nervous, later, Ciri.. don’t worry about it. I’m sure I’ll think of another excuse to get close to you again, soon..shy girl..”

It made her gasp, and tighten her grip. What did a person say, to that?

..In the end, she knew she had to be brave enough to encourage him, if she could. “…P-please do,” she whispered, a little hoarsely, and he grinned toothily in pure pleasure.

"Of course.. my princess, leave it to me. I will not, disappoint.."

She flushed, with anticipation. Somehow, she had become the luckiest person in the castle.

In a few minutes, she reluctantly relaxed her grip, and softly raised her head to blink up at him. He wore a warm blush. He smoothed his palm against her cheek, and kissed her forehead.

Then she let him go. "G-good… Good night.."

"Good night, Ciri," he said with a gentle smile… his hands softly returning, to his sides as he stepped back. His smile was the sweetest thing… She returned it, her chest brimming with affection for him.

Then she went in to her door, and left him.. pushed back against it as it closed, and sighed, letting her head roll to the side.

Their relationship, was the most peculiar and wondrous thing, she'd ever known. It was almost exhausting.

[wren-of-the-woods]

Geralt pulls over to help a man whose car has broken down and finds that he has accidentally rescued his daughter's favorite musician. A few days later, Ciri gets a wonderful birthday surprise.

Geraskier, 5k. Also on AO3!

Geralt was, as usual, thinking about Ciri.

There was not much else to do as he drove down the highway; the trip to pick his daughter up from her friend's house was long and dull. At the moment, Geralt had an excellent reason to think about Ciri even more than he usually did. Her birthday approaching at a terrifyingly fast pace. It was the first birthday she would have as Geralt's adopted daughter, and he desperately wanted it to be as happy as possible.

Ciri had already lost so much in her short almost-fourteen years of life. Geralt knew she loved him, but he couldn't help but feel that he was not doing enough for her. He did not know if he could ever be an adequate parent for a such bright and lively young girl. He knew, though, that he would do almost anything to make her happy. The realization thrilled him as much as it terrified him.

Ciri often spoke with fond longing of the extravagant birthday celebrations her grandmother had thrown for her, so Geralt wanted her to experience joy like that again. He had to figure out how to give her the best birthday he could.

Geralt thought the best way to achieve this would be to ask what his daughter wanted. Unfortunately, it seemed that his question had been far too open-ended.

“What do you want to do for your birthday?” he had asked.

“Can it be anything?” she said, eyes widening in that way Geralt could never resist.

“Anything.”

“I want to meet Dandelion!” she said with a grin. Geralt suppressed a groan.

Dandelion was her favorite musician. She listened to him constantly, while doing everything from reading to homework to drawing to staring out the window. She asked to play his songs nearly every time she was in the car with Geralt. Hardly a day went by without one of his songs getting stuck in Geralt’s head.

Geralt would go to the ends of the earth for his daughter, but he didn’t think any amount of dedication could get Ciri a private meeting with a quickly-rising pop star.

He tried his very best but had no luck. All of Dandelion’s concert cost so much more than Geralt could afford that it was ridiculous to even contemplate going, in addition to at least being several days’ drive away. Geralt went as far as finding Dandelion’s manager’s Twitter account in the hopes he could somehow ask for the singer to call her briefly, but nothing looked promising. None of Dandleion’s PR team seemed like they would respond to a message from a single father who couldn’t pay them. After a long evening’s research, he was forced to give up the idea.

So now Geralt was here, whiling away the long drive to pick Ciri up from her friend’s house by trying to think of anything he could do for her birthday that might live up to both her hopes and his ideals of parenthood. He was so distracted, in fact, that he nearly didn’t notice the man waving his arms on the side of the road.

The man was standing beside a car that was pulled over. His colorful, once-neat outfit was thoroughly disheveled, and he looked desperate as he shouted something Geralt couldn’t hear.

Geralt slowed, pulled over, and rolled down his window. “What’s wrong?”

“Thank you so much,” the man said the moment Geralt’s window opened. “Nobody else would stop for me. I just fought with my best friend and my phone is dead and my car broke down and I’m running late to an important appointment and I would really, really appreciate it if you could give me a lift? It can just be to the next town, or maybe until my phone is charged if you have something I can use?”

Geralt thought about refusing. It was probably unwise to let a total stranger into his car, and he was already almost late to pick Ciri up. On the other hand, the man looked so desperate and sad and earnest that it seemed cruel to even think about turning him away.

After so many months of raising a thirteen-year-old girl, Geralt should have been immune to the power of enormous, pleading eyes. He was not.

He opened his car door. “Get in.”

The stranger blinked. “Wait, really?”

Geralt huffed. “Do you want me to change my mind?”

“Please don’t!” The man darted back to his own car for a moment to grab a backpack and presumably dead phone from the passengers’ seat.

“Don’t worry,” said Geralt, somewhat amused at the way the colorful man nearly tripped over himself in his haste to get his things. He clambered in next to Geralt and pulled the door shut quickly, as though afraid Geralt might actually change his mind and throw him bodily out of the car.

“Thank you so, so much,” gushed Geralt’s new companion. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t stopped. This means the world.”

Geralt grunted. The praise made him feel strangely uncomfortable. “It’s fine.”

He pulled back onto the highway and continued driving.  

“What’s your name, by the way?” said his passenger. “It’s fine if you’d rather I didn’t know. I understand. I’m just curious about the man who completely saved my day, is all.”

Geralt frowned a little. The man’s voice sounded oddly familiar when he spoke like this. He was sure he’d never seen his face before, though, so Geralt put the thought out of his mind.

“Geralt,” he said after a moment, answering the question.

“Ah, perfect! A wonderfully heroic name for my wonderful hero.” The man was grinning now, looking frankly too happy for someone who was recently stranded on the side of the road. “I’m Jaskier!”

Geralt grunted, unable to figure out how to respond, grunted. He didn’t think he’d ever received so many compliments per minute in his life.

“Where were you going?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

The man — Jaskier — replied with the name of a town. Geralt frowned. Taking Jaskier there would add half an hour to Geralt’s drive, but based on the state Jaskier had managed to end up in earlier, Geralt had a feeling he might somehow get himself killed on the way if Geralt simply left him at a bus station. He sighed. He didn’t particularly want murder on his conscience, nor did he want to worry about this strange man any more than he had to.

"I'll drop you off there," he said before he could change his mind.

Jaskier's grin widened. He looked genuinely delighted. "Oh my god, you really are a superhero in disguise, aren't you?"

"No,” said Geralt, feeling oddly defensive. “Just a decent human being."

"Tell that to all the people who drove right past me without stopping," said Jaskier. "I was there for nearly half an hour."

Geralt didn't know what to say to that. True to form, he therefore said nothing.

“I should call a tow truck for you,” he said after a moment.

“Oh, yes. That would probably be wise.”

Eventually, Geralt arranged everything so that Jaskier’s car would be repaired. He sighed in relief. The two of them sat in silence for a few moments before Jaskier cleared his throat and spoke up.

“So, what is a handsome fellow like you doing out here?”

Geralt held back a sigh. He hated small talk. He couldn’t bring himself to ignore Jaskier after the day he must have had, though, so he forced himself to answer the question.

"I'm going to pick up my daughter. She's at a friend's house."

“Oh god, you have a daughter? I was just thinking you couldn’t get any more perfect. It seems I was wrong. How old is she?”

Geralt was suddenly grateful that he was driving and had an excuse not to meet Jaskier’s eyes. Such enthusiastic praise made him feel wrong-footed.

“Almost fourteen,” he grunted, ignoring the rest of Jaskier’s words.

“Oh, a teenager! What fun. I hope she’s more well-behaved than I was at that age,” Jaskier said with a laugh.

“She’s much better than I was,” said Geralt. He couldn’t help but sound fond; Ciri was the brightest part of his life, after all. “I’m very lucky to have her.”

“I’m sure she thinks the same,” said Jaskier. “You seem like an excellent father.”

“Hmm. Thank you.” Geralt winced internally at his own awkwardness. Why did one person being nice to him throw him so off-balance?

Jaskier seemed to notice something of Geralt’s discomfort, because the car descended into slightly awkward, silence for the next several minutes. Geralt kept his eyes on the road, trying to recenter himself after this whole exchange.

Once again, Jaskier spoke first.

“You’re doing me a huge favor, you know,” he said earnestly. “Let me repay you for this.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“I insist.”

“No.”

“You just took hours out of your day to help some random stranger you found on the side of the road. The least I can do is give you something in return.”

“I don’t want your money. What else could you give me?”

“I’ll think of something.”

Silence fell again.  Jaskier leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes with a small sigh. When Geralt glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, he looked so tired and worn all of a sudden that Geralt felt a little ache in his chest. He spoke before he had time to think it through.

“You fought with a friend?”

Jaskier’s eyes opened.

“Yeah,” he said, and Geralt discovered that he did not like hearing sadness in this man’s voice.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” Geralt held back a grimace at his own awkwardness.

Jaskier sighed again. For a moment, Geralt thought he was going to ignore the question, but Jaskier took a deep breath and started to speak.

“I thought we were good,” he murmured. “I thought we were close. I thought we would be friends forever. Then he stopped returning my calls unless I happened to try the exact right time, and before I knew it I hadn’t seen him in person for months. I know he’s busy with his own projects, but he could have at least tried to find time for me. I did it for him.” He huffed in frustration. “So I went to his place to try to talk to him, but he didn’t like me showing up with no warning even though he used to do that to me all the time. He yelled at me. Said some things I don’t know if I can forget.”

Geralt, once again, had no idea what to say. He hoped his silence did not feel insulting. Jaskier didn’t seem to mind.

“I hate this,” Jaskier continued. “I put so much effort into that relationship, and he blew me off like it was nothing. I was still trying to collaborate with him. I have projects that I need to figure out how to do without him now. I tried so hard and it didn’t work. I don’t know why. I don’t know what I did.”

Geralt was very out of his depth. He hummed, hoping it at least sounded sympathetic. Jaskier closed his eyes again.

“I feel so small, sometimes. Like nothing I do will ever matter. The world is big and cruel and I’m so insignificant. All I want to do is make someone happy. Is that too much to ask?” Jaskier’s voice was hardly more than a whisper by the end. Then he seemed to realize what he’d said and he blushed. “But you don’t want to hear a stranger ramble about all his problems. I’ll be quiet now. Better stay out of sight.” He chuckled humorlessly, turning to look out the window.

Something the way Jaskier said those last words snagged Geralt’s memory. Better stay out of sight. Geralt recognized the phrase.

He had heard Ciri hum it while she helped him wash the dishes. He’d heard her shouting it from her bedroom, singing so loud that Geralt could hear perfectly well from across the house. He’d heard it played in the car when Ciri asked to listen to her favorite band, sung by a strong voice full of feeling.

No wonder Jaskier sounded familiar.

“You’re Dandelion,” he said. “The singer.”

Jaskier drew in a surprised breath. “Yes, I am. That’s my stage name.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” said Geralt without thinking, caught off guard by the sudden swell of hope rising in his chest.

Jaskier blinked. “What?”

“I think I know a way you can repay me.”

“That was an ominously sudden change of opinion.”

“Come visit my daughter.”

Whatever Jaskeir had been about to say vanished abruptly. He looked at Geralt with wide eyes.

“She’s… a fan of yours,” said Geralt. “She asked to see you. For her birthday. But I can’t afford to take her to a show, so I told her it wouldn’t work. Didn’t think I’d end up rescuing you off the side of the road.”

“Oh! Really? That’s adorable! Of course I’ll come to visit your daughter! I’m always glad to meet a fan.” Jaskier sounded genuinely delighted.

A small smile spread unbidden across Geralt’s face. “Thank you. She’ll be thrilled.”

"Of course! When do you want to meet? I'll have to check my schedule and such but I'm sure I can make time for such a sweet request."

Geralt paused. He could, in theory, suggest bringing Jaskier with him to meet Ciri now, but Jaskier said he had somewhere important to be and Geralt didn't want to make him any later than he already was. Besides, waiting would give him time to warn Ciri ahead of time. That way, she would have time to plan what she wanted to say.

"How about next week?” Ciri’s birthday was in two weeks. Scheduling their meeting for a week before would give Geralt room to plan if anything went wrong.

“Next week is good!” said Jaskier, and that was that.

They arrived at Jaskier’s destination not long afterward, and Jaskier left after a quick exchange of contact information and a promise to text Geralt soon with scheduling details.

Geralt passed the remaining forty-five minutes of the drive feeling happier than he had in days.

~~~

“Really?” Ciri squealed. The volume and pitch that she managed to achieve was, quite frankly, a show of impressive vocal talent.

“Yeah,” said Geralt, grinning at her. “You get to meet Dandelion.”

“I can’t believe this. You found Dandelion on the side of the road? That’s insane!”

“It was very lucky.”

“That’s the understatement of the century.”

Ciri was grinning so hard that Geralt wondered if it was making her cheeks hurt. Her joy was the most beautiful thing he’d seen in months.

“I’m glad you’re excited,” he said genuinely. Ciri tackled him in a hug.

After some texting back and forth with Jaskier (it made Ciri incredibly excited to discover that Geralt had Jaskier’s contact information), the time was set for the coming Saturday. All that remained was to wait.

~~~

“Geralt! Hello!” said Jaskier as soon as Geralt opened the door. He looked almost nervous, rubbing his thumb against his fingers as he shifted his weight on Geralt’s doorstep.

“Come in,” said Geralt, stepping aside to let the musician enter the house. “Thank you again for doing this.”

“You’re more than welcome!” said Jaskier, looking around Geralt’s house curiously. Geralt did his best not to feel embarrassed. He and Ciri worked hard this morning to make the place look presentable (“It has to be perfect, Dad!”) but nothing they did could hide the fact that the place was small, the furniture was rather mismatched, and the shelves were cluttered in an attempt to fit all their belongings into what space there was.

“So, where is the lovely person I’ve come to meet?” asked Jaskier, shaking Geralt out of his thoughts.

“In her room,” said Geralt. “I’ll go get her.”

Geralt fetched Ciri, watched fondly as she jumped up and down a little in nervous excitement, and accompanied her back to their living room. Jaskier visibly perked up at the sight of her.

“Hello, darling!” he said, bounding forward and holding a hand out for her to shake. “You must be Cirilla.”

“Ciri,” she said shyly, taking the offered hand and shaking it.

“Ciri,” Jaskier repeated, looking for all the world like he was trying to commit it to memory. “It’s a beautiful name!”

Ciri’s small smile grew wider. “Thank you!”

“I’ll leave you two alone,” said Geralt with a small smile. He and Ciri had planned this out beforehand — Geralt would wait in the kitchen while they spoke, letting her and Jaskier have privacy while still being able to hear most of the conversation and come back if necessary. “Would anyone like tea or coffee?”

Jaskier declined, but Ciri requested tea, so Geralt went to prepare it.

For a moment, the other room was silent. Then Jaskier spoke up.

“So, I’m told you’ve heard my caterwauling?”

“I love your music. I listen to it all the time.”

“Thank you so much! I’m honored,” said Jaskier. Geralt could hear his grin even without being able to see his face.

“I wanted to thank you, actually,” said Ciri nervously. Geralt listened closer from the other room, prepared to intervene if necessary. Ciri had been wanting to say this to Jaskier ever since she learned she would get to meet him, and if something went wrong there was potential for an emotional disaster.

“Oh? What for?” said Jaskier.

Ciri took a deep breath. “So, um, my grandmother died a little over a year ago. She raised me. It’s been a rough year. Geralt adopted me, and he’s great! I love him, and he loves me, and I’m really glad I get to have him in my life but things have still been hard. I found your music about a month after my grandmother died and it’s helped me a lot. There’s so much life and hope to it, you know? Even when I was having a really bad day, I could listen to it and feel like maybe things might get better. There are so many bad things in the world, but there is also some good, and you helped me remember that. So. That’s why I wanted to meet you. To say thank you for everything.” She shifted awkwardly. “Um. Sorry if that was weird. You don’t know me and that might have been a lot to dump on a stranger.”

“Ciri, darling,” said Jaskier in a voice that sounded choked with emotion. “May I hug you?”

Geralt peeked into the room just in time to see Ciri nod and Jaskier envelop her in a crushing embrace. Ciri made a startled sound before hugging him back. She was hesitant at first, but her confidence grew quickly. Geralt smiled. Ciri gave good hugs.

“That was… possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” Jaskiersaid quietly without breaking the embrace. “I’m so glad I could make a difference in your life. I always hope I might, but I’m never sure I manage. It means the world for you to tell me that. Thank you.” He let out a shaky breath. “And I’m truly sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine how you must feel.”

“Thank you,” said Ciri. “It’s… better, now. Time helps. Geralt helps, too.”

“I get the feeling that he’s a wonderful father,” said Jaskier with a smile.

“He really is,” said Ciri, her voice filled with what sounded like pride. Geralt was suddenly glad that no one could see him, because he was sure that whatever expression he was making was unbearably sappy.

Jaskier and Ciri moved on to talking about less serious matters, making jokes and small talk and discussing Jaskier’s music. Geralt delivered tea to Ciri and settled in the kitchen with a book, only half-listening to them now that the most emotionally difficult moments had passed.

After an hour, Jaskier reluctantly informed them that he had to leave. Ciri was disappointed, of course, but handled it gracefully. Geralt watched her say her goodbyes and walked Jaskier to the door.

“You must be proud to have such a wonderful daughter,” Jaskier said to Geralt as he stepped outside, turning back to smile at him.

Geralt smiled. “I am. Always.”

“Good. It was wonderful to meet her,” said Jaskier. “Would you tell her that? I said so earlier, but I’m not sure if she believed me.”

“I will,” said Geralt. He wondered if Jaskier knew that he was digging further into Geralt’s heart with every kindness he showed Ciri. “Thank you.”

“I’m the one who should be thanking you,” said Jaskier with a smile. “I had an excellent time.”

“I’m glad,” said Geralt. They stood in companionable silence for a moment.

“I should probably get going before someone starts calling me,” said Jaskier with a sigh. “Thank you again for inviting me over.”

“Thank you for coming,” Geralt said. “Ciri and I appreciate it.”

Jaskier grinned. “You’re very welcome, dear heart.”

Then, with a wave and a shouted farewell, he was gone.

~~~

Geralt thought that was the last he would see of Jaskier.

For the next several weeks, the only contact he had with Jaskier was through Ciri playing his music. Geralt found himself oddly disappointed by the idea of not seeing Jaskier again, but told himself to stop being ridiculous. The fact that he was funny and kind and genuinely good with Ciri didn’t necessarily mean they could have been friends, even if the up-and-coming pop star had decided to keep in touch with a single father of limited means and even more limited social skills.

His attempts at putting Jaskier out of his mind were not as successful as he would have liked. He hoped that if he ignored this, it would go away eventually.

Then, over a month later, Geralt woke up to a text from a very familiar number.

Jaskier: hi geralt! so i know this is kind of out of nowhere, but i wrote a thing that may or may not be inspired by you and ciri and i was wondering if the two of you could listen to it and tell me if you’re all right with me showing it to anyone else and maybe putting it out there for the public? Jaskier: it’s totally fine if not, of course. i can absolutely keep it between the three of us indefinitely. Jaskier: believe it or not, i am actually capable of shutting up about some things Jaskier: though i’m not giving you very good evidence of that with all this rambling Jaskier: i’m just gonna send the files now

The next two messages were audio files. Geralt fumbled for his earbuds and started the first track.

Thirty seconds into the song, Geralt already liked it. It was in Jaskier’s normal pop-adjacent style, upbeat and energetic, but the lyrics were more poetic than was usual. It was about unexpected kindness, he thought, and he could easily see the connection to their acquaintance despite the lack of direct reference. The idea of having played a part in inspiring someone to write a song — Ciri’s favorite musician, no less — made something startlingly warm blossom in his chest.

He paused the music, stood, and went to find Ciri. She would certainly want to hear this.

Many delighted exclamations later, Geralt and Ciri sat side by side in front of the speaker Geralt had plugged into his phone. Geralt went back to the beginning of the first song and let it play, this time watching the expression on Ciri’s face as she listened. Her glee was contagious, and Geralt found himself enjoying the song even more than the first time. The song continued in a similar vein to what Geralt had already heard, complete with a cheery chorus that was certainly going to get stuck in Geralt’s head.

“Oh my god,” Ciri squealed when the song was done. “He really wrote a song about you. Dandelion wrote a song about you!”

“It’s not about me,” Geralt protested. “It’s just indirectly inspired by something I did.”

Ciri ignored him. “Can we listen to the next one?”

Geralt wordlessly pulled up the next file and pressed play, smiling at the excited noise Ciri made.

Immediately, Geralt could tell this one was different. It started with strumming on a lone guitar, and Jaskier’s voice was tender and full of emotion when he started to sing. The lyrics, as far as Geralt could make out, told of grief. It was unclear who or what the singer had lost, but the sadness in Jaskier’s voice made whatever it was feel all too real. Ciri’s eyes widened in shock, and Geralt had a feeling that his own expression was similar. This was definitely not what he had expected.

The chorus of the song started, and suddenly Geralt could think of nothing but the music. Other instruments joined the guitar as the tone of the song shifted. Jaskier began to sing of hope.

He sang of starlight shining through clouds on dark nights, of flowers growing through cracks in concrete, of song staving off the silence of hopeless midnight. Jaskier’s voice was filled with emotion, with light and dark and fear and hope.

By the time the song was over, Ciri’s cheeks were stained with tears

“That was beautiful,” she whispered. Geralt couldn’t help but agree.

“He wrote a song for you,” Geralt said in disbelief. “After your conversation when he came over, he wrote a song for you.”

“Fuck,” said Ciri emphatically. Geralt couldn’t find it in himself to chastise her for the language.

Geralt was grateful that this had happened on a Saturday. He and Ciri might need all day to process.

~~~

Geralt did not respond to Jaskier until much later that day, after he and Ciri had time to discuss their thoughts on Jaskier’s question. It wasn’t until after dinner that night that Geralt finally felt ready. He settled in on the sofa with Ciri sitting next to him, gathered his courage, and sent a response before he had time to overthink it.

Geralt: They’re beautiful. Geralt: You made Ciri cry, but she says it was in a good way. Geralt: She also says I shouldn’t have said that, because now you might worry about having made her cry. Geralt: She says not to worry. Geralt: She says thank you. She loved them. Geralt: I liked them too. Thank you. Geralt: You can do what you want with them, as long as there’s no personal information shared about Ciri or me.

Jaskier responded within five minutes of Geralt’s last message.

Jaskier: i’d apologize for having made your daughter cry, but i get the feeling she wouldn’t appreciate that Jaskier: i hope she’s all right, though?

Geralt: She will be. It was just more emotional than we expected.

Jaskier: ah. mission accomplished, maybe?

Geralt: Yes.

Jaskier: thank you for your permission!! I’ll keep you up to date on what’s going on, of course. and yes, definitely no personal information will be shared! Jaskier: by the way, have i thanked you yet? i was having a terrible week plus songwriters’ block and you and ciri were absolute lifesavers. Jaskier: you made me remember why I started doing this in the first place.

Geralt: I’m glad. You made our week better, too. Thank you.

Jaskier: you’re very welcome!

Thinking the conversation over, Ciri grinned up at Geralt.

“That went well!” she said.

“Yes. Do you think you can get ready for bed now?” asked Geralt.

Ciri sighed. “Fine.”

She stood and left the room, and so, fortunately for Geralt, missed the ridiculous expression on his face when he glanced at his phone to see another message waiting for him from Jaskier.

Jaskier: oh, and before i chicken out, i have something i want to ask you

Geralt was undeniably curious.

Geralt: What is it?

Jaskier: do you want to meet for dinner sometime?

Geralt drew in a surprised breath. That was unexpected.

Geralt: To talk about the songs?

Jaskier: yeah

The three dots that indicated whether Jaskier was typing appeared, disappeared, then reappeared again. Geralt was about to stop waiting and come up with his own response when, finally, another message appeared.

Jaskier: and maybe more, if you want?

Geralt’s heart stuttered a little. He sent back a reply before he could second-guess himself, nerves afire.

Geralt: Like what?

Jaskier: whatever you want Jaskier: i’d like to get to know you better if that’s all right Jaskier: i know we haven’t talked for very long but i really like you Jaskier: and ciri. she’s an absolute darling, obviously Jaskier: and so are you Jaskier: obviously Jaskier: feel free to tell me to shut up. i ramble a lot.

Geralt looked at his phone with wide eyes. Was Jaskier — his daughter’s favorite musician, and possibly the kindest and happiest man of his recent acquaintance — really interested in talking to him again? It seemed too good to be true.

Geralt: I don’t mind.

Jaskier: oh, good. Jaskier: the rambling, or the dinner?

Geralt: Both. Geralt: Neither Geralt: I mean, you’re good.

Jaskier: great!! Jaskier: maybe sometime next week?

Geralt: Okay. Geralt: My place?

Geralt knew he would feel more confident on his home turf.

Geralt: You haven’t met my dog yet.

Jaskier: aslkdjfalsdfj YOU HAVE A DOG?? Jaskier: I MUST SEE THIS Jaskier: WHY DIDN’T I KNOW ABOUT THIS

Geralt: My brother was taking her for a walk last time you were over. We didn’t want her to get in the way.

Jaskier: YOU HAVE A BROTHER?!? Jaskier: that does it. i most certainly must visit and meet your dog. Jaskier: the brother is optional but embarrassing stories are more than welcome Jaskier: sound good?

Geralt chuckled quietly at his phone screen, somehow unable to stop smiling.

Geralt: Sounds good.

They settled on a time and date. Geralt felt warm. Their acquaintance was no longer so temporary — they were, perhaps, friends. Perhaps, if they were lucky, they could become even more.

The thought made Geralt frown a little. What did Jaskier want from this? Would it be worth asking for clarification? It would likely be best to clear up any potential misunderstandings now things went very far.

Geralt hummed nervously to himself before gathering his courage and sending his next question.

Geralt: By the way, is this a date?

For a moment, there was no response. The dots indicating that Jaskier was typing appeared and stayed there for a very, very long moment.

Jaskier: It can be whatever you want it to be.

Geralt stared at the message for a moment. Jaskier was using proper punctuation and capitalization, for once. It seemed he was serious.

Geralt: First dates don’t usually involve someone’s daughter

Jaskier: eh, “usually” is boring anyway Jaskier: Unless her presence would make you or her uncomfortable, of course

Geralt thought for a few moments, then made up his mind.

Geralt: I think it’s fine. She’ll be more than happy to see you again.

Jaskier: so… it’s a date?

Geralt: Yes.

Jaskier: excellent!! see you then! <3

Geralt stared at the little heart on the screen for a moment with a silly little smile on his face. He was going to see Jaskier again. Jaskier wanted to see him again.

Geralt found himself humming as he went to find Ciri and tell her the good news. After a few moments, he realized that he was humming one of Jaskier’s new songs. His smile widened.

Perhaps that Ciri would not be the only one getting a gift next week.

[padfootdaredmetoo]

(The Witcher) Could you make one where you find out your pregnant with Geralts baby and he is in disbelief because he cant have kids you know, but you obviously only have seggs with him. Then you get all sad because he is just silent and you start freaking out. ?? i know its long and you dont have to do it but it was a thought.

First ever Witcher request! This is so exciting!!!! hope you all enjoy it!!!!! I'm only 3/4th through the first book so please understand that I don't know too much yet. Other than the TV show - which I could rant about forever.

Rated PG: Family feels, pregnancy, mothering, panic & anxiety, happy ending!

He lay there looking down at her stomach while she slept. Disbelief washed over him as he grew sure that it was indeed a soft heart beat separate from your own. Ciri was asleep a small ways away, but her heart beat was clearly her own. 

A baby. But how? He thought closely over the past month or so. You were by his side the entire time, except for when you stayed at camp as he slaughtered monsters. Never were you left at a Tavern alone, certainly not out of sight long enough to conceive a baby…. Even then if his eyes weren’t on her Ciri was next to her. She never appeared to be assaulted or upset, surely Ciri would have said something. He closed his eyes for a moment chasing those thoughts far from his mind. He would only wake you up if he moved or tensed, you needed your rest more than ever. 

Looking over her peaceful face, it only became more obvious. She looked different, a tinge to her skin that seemed unmistakable now. He’d known she’d seemed different, but this was not on his list of possibilities. 

A sense of panic started to creep up the back of his neck. She can’t be sleeping on the ground like this, out in the open. He didn't want her to tag along initially. But he needed the help with Ciri, and she’d been too attached to you, leaving you behind would have only caused her further suffering. Everything had changed now. The both of you had someone else to think of, growing in her belly. He would do everything he could to get her to Kaer Morhen. If the baby was his or not, looking down at you sleeping, the anxiety to keep you out of trouble overpowered everything else. 

_________________________________________________________________________

Geralt was getty bossy again. Pushing you greater distances, somehow there was a sudden void of monsters to slay leaving him grumpier than ever. He was pensive, deep in thought, and very… bossy. 

It was mostly little things, insisting that you travel on Roach, except for the occasional meadow in which you could stretch your legs. He’d spend forty minutes trying to assess the land and area for an optimal sleeping spot. Instead of giving you some privacy with bathing, he wouldn't let you near water if he wasn't next to you. His gaze on your body was always welcome, but you couldn't understand the look in his eyes. A look that was becoming more and more worrisome. 

Ciri had spoken to him, wanting to test the new rules he was making up as she always did. Unexpectedly she seemed to agree with him, taking more time to help you out. She seemed burdened by something, and you watched as she felt the need to fuss over you. You felt tired enough to allow it, which made you worry. Did you look as unwell as you felt? 

In three days of travel you had covered a distance that normally would have taken a week. Leaving you with two more sleeps till Kaer Morhen. 

You felt nauseous, head woozy at times. There was a nervousness that was creeping up on you stemming from his weird behavior. Perhaps he’d changed his mind? Meeting his father figure and the rest of his brothers, maybe it was too big a step. Very few non-witchers had been there, maybe you weren't meant to be one of them. He had to think about what was best for Ciri, had you done something wrong? 

The day progressed and you were left to swim in your own thoughts, most of them about being rejected and left on the doorstep. Eventually you stumbled on to the way your body felt. Sore breasts, nausea, and no matter how much water you drank an awful metallic taste in your mouth. You knew what this would normally mean, you’d missed two periods but pushed it out of your mind as it was impossible for Geralt to… Oh. But what if it wasn't. 

Or what if it was impossible and you got pregnant without knowing? You’d not been drugged out at any point. No loss of memory. The only time Geralt's eyes weren't on the two of you was when he was killing stuff in the woods, even then Ciri would stay close to your side ready  - what about that sketchy bath water at that one traven - could that be it? 

What if it was his, but he wouldn't believe you - then he threw you out. What if he did believe you but then the rest of the Witchers didn't and then he threw you out leaving you to brave the cold winter road alone. What if he thought you were a bad mother to Ciri? What if everyone thought you were a bad mother? What if everyone was fine but Ciri resented you? 

Gods, you did not have enough money. Not to mention leaving Ciri would cause you tremendous pain, you doubted you’d survive the winter. Then you thought of what was to come, how you would most likely be at it alone, your stomach twisted painfully and your vision swayed.

“Ger-” You whispered before everything went black. Thankfully he has that ridiculous hearing, he caught you holding you tightly. Once he had you settled on a fallen tree, you watched as he scanned the forest. Ciri did the same hand on the hilt of her sword. 

 The thought of losing them caused your eyes to prickle, you closed your eyes tightly and he steadied you. You rested your forehead against his shoulder. You thought about the humiliation of being sent out of the fortress and decided you’d much rather skip doing the mountain path all together, rather than twice. 

“Ciri, give us a moment” She nodded at your words, and you immediately wanted to put on a better face to cure some of the worry weighing on her. She went to take Roach to a stream nearby. Geralt had his eyes on her, so you took a deep breath. 

“I’m pregnant.” The words flew out of your mouth on a breath of courage. You kept your eyes shut tightly. “It might be something else - I don't know how- I feel - but all I know for sure is something’s off.” You rambled quietly, still too afraid to move.

His grip tightened on you slightly and you both sat there listening to the forest sounds, the soft murmur of Ciri’s voice as she talked to Roach. 

He was quiet, very quiet. The nerves were becoming unbearable and tears started to roll down your cheeks. You huffed out a deep breath trying to calm down but it only gave away how broken up you were. 

He cradled your face, causing you to finally meet those amber eyes. 

“Just breathe, what hurts?” His concern wrapped around you like a warm blanket. His hand rested gently on your stomach. 

“I can’t -” You couldn't finish your words, your chest was heaving. 

“You can. Just breathe.” He responded calmly. Eventually you managed to calm down, his hands and gaze never leaving you. 

“I don't know what to do? I don't know how this -? But when I finally had the thought - I just know - that it’s - I know that it's true.” 

“It’s true.” He confirmed with an unreadable facial expression. “I could hear the heartbeat - hence the rush to get back to Kaer Morhen.” 

“You knew and didn't say anything!?” You swatted his shoulder without thinking. 

“I wanted to get you somewhere safe, so you wouldn't worry.” Finally some emotion in his tone. Empathy radiated off of him, and it made you want to cry again. “I think that glowing hot spring may have been a fertility pool. I can’t think of any other possibility.” 

That would explain it well enough. Panic surged through you again and you gripped the leather of his armor the best you could. 

“But it’s yours right?” An edge of panic was back in your voice. 

“Heart beat is slightly off, so I'd assume so.” He said with a faint smile on his face, that quickly disappeared. “If you're well enough I want to keep  moving.” 

“You're still taking me there?” 

“Of course. It’s not the most comfortable, however it is the safest place. Vesemir will know what to do.” He paused for a moment. “ I don’t have anywhere else to take you. I’ll send word for Triss and Yen when we arrive. If it's too unbearable they can help take you elsewhere if you prefer.” 

You thought about his words. He wanted you there. He wanted you. He thought his family would want you too. You burst into tears, shouting when he tried to pull away. 

“It’s not as bad as the legends make it out to be” He tried to comfort you.

“No- It’s - Gods.” You took a deep breath. “I thought you’d be embarrassed or ashamed. Wouldn’t want to take me.” 

“No.” He answered simply. 

“I don't care where I am as long as I’m next to you.” You hugged him as tightly as you could. “Plus the only bad thing I’ve heard about is the rats?” 

He let out a hum. 

______________________________

It was a fertility pool. Something Yen was beyond happy to learn about. Her and Triss came to help you with the pregnancy as it was very unusual. 

Kaer Mohen was worse than the legends, but also far far better at the same time. Lots of rats, two supernatural incidents, and it was very very cold. After the first few weeks, the girls arrived bringing a great deal of goods Geralt had requested.

They made a room for you that was beyond beautiful and warm. The first night you slept in it you realized the extent they went through to make it comfortable was due to the fact that this would be your room for much longer than a winter. 

Nine months flew by as you were surrounded by your new family. You insisted on cooking as you couldn’t train with Ciri and sitting around was unbearable. 

You still couldn’t believe how lucky you were. Everyone here had dropped everything to help you, Ciri was over the moon initially. Assuring you and Geralt that she’ll help and is good with babies. It didn't take a mind reader to know that she was trying to put on a brave face, scared that maybe she’d be replaced. 

She’d rest her head on your lap after supper telling the large bump all sorts of things. You were always amazed at how young she was and yet she knew so much more than you did about things. She’d go on about all the history and lesson’s she’d learnt as a child. You’d let her lay there, running her hands through her hair hoping it would reassure her, she’d never spoken this much in the time that you’d been with her. 

“If I tell her everything now, when she’s out in the world it will come easier to her. That’s what my grandma did for me when I was in my mum” She finally said one night when Eskel asked her why she was telling you all this stuff. 

“Ah, and it's a girl then, eh?” Vesamir asked.

“Of course! It’s going to be exhausting being the only girl witcher.” He let out a hearty laugh and she stuck her tongue out at him. 

You wanted to laugh but the thought of having your baby out there, both your babies out there fighting like he did - you looked to Geralt to find your feelings in his face. 

“She’ll be in great hands.” Eskel said and you were happy to hear her go back to talking about the different types of desert plants and how they impact a significant portion of some forgein economy. 

_____

You were prepping the stew for dinner when your water broke. Eight long hours later you had brought a baby into the world. 

She suckled on to your breast, looking like an old man covered in tomato sauce and yet she was the most beautiful thing you’d laid eyes on. White peach fuzz and golden amber eyes stared up at you confirming that she was indeed her fathers daughter. Geralt looked an interesting mix of exhausted, terrified, and adoration. 

Once the after birth was sorted Triss had a healing bath made for you. You offered the sleeping bundle to Geralt, but he shook his head. Causing your heart to stop.

“She’s too small.” He whispered. You opened his arm and placed the small bundle there showing him how to hold her. “I’ve never had to hold a baby before.” he said softly, tracing his finger across the top of her tiny forehead. 

“You need to get into the bath.” Triss helped you stand up. “And you need to let Cirilla in here before she chews her arm off.” 

“She’s not slept?!” you exclaimed.

“That's his problem.” She nodded to Geralt before helping you to the door. Ciri was there in the hallway ready to pounce on you.

“Are you alright! Where's the baby!” 

“I’m fine, love. Your baby sister’s in with your father. Go help him till I'm back.” You watched her face light up as she moved past you into the room. 

After the world's nicest bath you moved into the bedroom to see Geralt watching the baby in one arm with Ciri tucked under his other arm. Both asleep. 

“I see you all survived.” You said with a smile, you took the babe from him taking her place under his arm. He watched as you fed her again. 

You felt him press a kiss to the top of your head, you thought of how scared he looked during the whole process. Watched as you fought your own battle, unable to help in any way.

“Thank you.” You said softly as your eyes were getting heavy. He chuckled softly.

“Thank you doesn’t begin to cover the amount of gratitude I feel towards you.” He whispered. You tilted your head back and felt his lips move against yours, sometimes words aren't necessary. 

The love he felt for his family was always evident in everything he did.

Tags: @kpopgirlbtssvt

[charlieweasleyxmc]

Letters From Romania

Dear (Y/N),

 There is nothing like watching a dragon flying overhead. I know you remember that Horntail. Now imagine dozens of dragons instead of just the one. Imagine them free and wild and safe. Imagine that you can feel the beat of their wings as the wind reaches you from a hundred feet below.

Ginny mentioned you in her letter the other day, from that time you stayed with my family for Christmas. I don’t know how she can pull up so many happy memories so quickly. She’s going to make someone very happy someday. Ron, on the other hand, I hope he finds some people or someone that’s strong-willed. He needs someone to keep him in check.

 Sincerely, Charlie

…

 Hi, Charlie,

 I remember Ron. He’s the one that where everything comes out of his mouth before he thinks about it. Ginny was sweet. I’m surprised she remembers me. The auror training program is worse that me and Nymph thought. We thought it would be a lot like Defense Against the Dark Arts and it is at the best of times, but sometimes we get a stuffy trainer that we are supposed to deal with.

And then sometimes we get Mad-eye. Nymph loves when he’s our overseer. And I mean overseer. He pushes us like a task-master, but it feels like he’s actually preparing us for what’s out there, you know?

Still, I sometimes wonder if this is what I should be doing or not. I doubt you wonder that. You are right where you’ve always wanted to be. It sounds like a dream come true and I could not be happier for you.

 Sincerely, a tired auror-in-training

…

 (Y/N)!

 A baby dragon was born today! The Hungarian Horntail we rescued had one of her eggs hatch today. It’s all black, but no spikes yet, those won’t start showing until she’s a couple months older.

It was so good to get your letter the other day. I was remembering the Cursed Vault in the forest in the days leading up to the hatching.

You and Nymphadora can handle anything. Even Mad-Eye Moody. I have complete faith in you.

 Charlie Weasley

…

 Oh Charlie,

 I’m not sure we can handle anything, but we’ll certainly try. I know Nymph would. We are really busy right now as we are gearing up for our first auror exams. We won’t officially be full-fledged aurors for a couple of years, but these ones will allow us to go into the field with another fully trained auror by our side. We’ll find out who that is after the exams if we pass.

I can’t imagine watching a baby dragon hatch. That would be crazy to see.

                                   (Y/N)

…

 Hey, (Y/N)

 I got a letter from my brother, Ron. He’s at Hogwarts for his first year this year. Anyway, I guess they’ve gotten close with Hagrid and you’ll never believe this, Hagrid got a dragon egg! A Norwegian ridgeback to be precise. His name is Norbert and Hagrid wants to keep him, but you know it’s illegal in Britain. He’ll get in so much trouble. Nymph sent me a letter a few days ago saying she was planning on visiting me at the sanctuary. Do you think you could possibly come with her and make a stop of your way at Hogwarts to pick up Norbert. It’s just a hatchling so a little carrier between brooms should be able to carry him. I wouldn’t ask only Nymph isn’t very good with magical creatures and you are one of the only people I trust with this job.

Let me know if you can.

                                              Love, Charlie

…

 Charlie,

 The plan is in motion. See you in two days.

 -(Y/N)

 P.S. Nymph is going to be training with Mad-Eye Moody when we get back. She’s ecstatic. And I get to train with Kingsley Shacklebolt.

[maithefluffychicken]

I love my husband

A Geraskier fake marriage, nonsense fluffy fluff fic with a bit of jealousy, a lot of mutual pining and some misunderstandings!

Unbetaed, every help is highly appreciated!

You can read it on Ao3 too!

Hope you like it!

 A whole year has passed since Ciri became part of Geralt's life and, by extension, a part of Jaskier's life too.

 The start of that story is as sad as it could be, but now Geralt can't imagine his life without his little cub. Ciri      is     his daughter and Melitele knows he'll fight to keep her.

 The transition wasn't easy for any of them, that's true. And Geralt is not shy to admit that Jaskier was the one who made this new life of them possible, the younger man being the bridge between Geralt, a 35 years old man, too used to being alone and to have his house just for him and his roomate, a man who proclaims himself a lone wolf, and Ciri, a sweet 8 years old child who just lost her family and in need of friends and distraction.

 Jaskier was Geralt's rock, always has been, and those first weeks Jaskier showed just how strong and focused he can be when there's a real problem to solve.

 Jaskier was adamant, giving freely to Ciri his room, his space in the house both friends rented for themselves, and Geralt will never know how his best friend was able to pack all his things - all the clothing, mementos, guitars and lutes and a great number of notebooks and such, plus books and whatnot - in a few hours. He even settled some plushies and other cute childlike stuff he thought Ciri would like and even bought colourful sheets and duvets for her.

 It wouldn't make Ciri happy, she would need time to process everything, but it was a gentler way to introduce her into her new life.

 "I hope you don't mind me sleeping on the couch for a few days until I can find a new place for myself," Jaskier said softly to Geralt. "I think Priscilla can help me to find something nearby, maybe even in the same building, I know Mrs. Novak is looking to rent his flat…"

 "What are you talking about?"

 Jaskier looked at him confused, as if Geralt was the one talking nonsense.

 "Do you want to leave? Why didn't you tell me? Since when do you want to leave? I thought we were ok…" Geralt never rambled before, but it seemed like a good time to start rambling      and     panicking.

 "Geralt, my dear, I don't want to leave and I never planned to do such thing, I can assure you," Jaskier said slowly.

 "So why are you saying that you…"

 "Because Ciri needs this house, she needs you now, and this flat has just two rooms and thank Melitele it has two bathrooms." Jaskier kept his voice soft and he was looking at Geralt fondly and with something Geralt didn't want to acknowledge as      longing    . He wasn't threatening Geralt - as Yen has done long before when they tried to live together. No, Jaskier was being reasonable. Geralt hated when his bright, carefree best friend was reasonable. It was annoying and somehow      hot    , seeing Jaskier so mature and sensible, and Geralt wasn't ready to face that.

 "I love you both and I love our little rented flat, but I can't sleep on the couch, I need my beauty sleep and… Honestly I have      so many clothes    , I need some place for that too."

 Geralt knew Jaskier was right. But he hated that, he didn't want to lose his best friend.

 "It breaks my heart to leave you two alone, now," Jaskier added. "I know how hard this whole thing has been for you and for Ciri, I hate that we never thought about looking for a bigger place in the first place. I just… I want to stay, but the only options are the couch or…"

 Jaskier was at the edge of tears and yet, he giggled before adding, "or we share your room."

 Jaskier waved his hand dismissing what he had said. But Geralt didn't find it funny. Actually, he thought it was a fucking great idea.

 "Would you?"

 "What?"

 "To share my bedroom, you would do that? Is that ok?"

 "Geralt, I was joking, I know you don't share your bedroom, don't worry…"

 "I can share it with you," Geralt was feeling hot all over, unable to stay still. He was tired and sad and confused and a little girl who was as tired and sad and confused as him was sleeping in his best friend's room. The last thing Geralt needed then was to say goodbye to said best friend. Geralt would share his bedroom happily with him. Anything.

 His wardrobe was almost empty, by the way, and the bed was just big enough.

 "Geralt…"

 "Jaskier, I'm sure, just… Stay, ok? This is your place too, just stay here with us."

 Geralt couldn't look at Jaskier, but he heard the younger man sob before he whispered an "ok".

 The next day they unpacked all Jaskier's things into Geralt's room

 That was a year ago.

 Now.

 "What do you mean you can't adopt Ciri?!" Jaskier practically yells after listening to Geralt's words. "You're her legal tutor! She's been living with us for a fucking year! She's doing great at the school, she even has friends! Do they want to take her just like that?"

 He has been waiting for Geralt at the café near the Courthouse where Yennefer works, and now they’re both having a much needed coffee to swallow the news.

 “Yen has been very clear about this,” Geralt says, his voice trembling in anger and desperation. He’s grateful to see Jaskier just as angry and desperate. “Even if I’m her legal tutor, Social Services' priority is to put kids with actual couples, and I’m a single man.”

 “I know they always will look for the best for the kids, but in this scenario, you’re the best for Ciri, they…”

 “They want Ciri to have a family, Yen said, you know, mom, dad and even a dog,” Geralt says, his guts strangled in an awful way, pushing away the thought of Ciri abandoning them for good. But he feels so lost now, he’s so fucking scared. He doesn’t think he’ll survive that.

 “We’re a family,” Jaskier says, then, slowly. Thinking, Geralt knows. “We don’t have a dog      yet     but that’s not a problem.”

 “Jaskier…”

 “If they want you to get married and to prove Ciri has a family, the solution is clear,” Jaskier is suddenly calm and Geralt looks at him, confused.

 “Jaskier, you’re not being serious.”

 “No, no, I’m being extremely serious, my dear!” Jaskier beams at Geralt and then is like if the world is ok again, somehow. “We can get married and then we adopt Ciri, nothing has to change, it’s just… a paper that we need to sign and if that’s all it takes to keep our little cub, well…”

 Geralt looks at his best friend in awe.

 He has never thought about marriage, he doesn’t have anything against it per se. Yennefer never wanted to get married and then Triss was too eager to prove that they were      more    . Geralt knew back then that he couldn’t marry any of them.

 And the idea to marry a stranger is just ridiculous, and again, he’s used to his life as a single man, sharing a bed with his best friend and raising a kid together. He doesn’t want to lose what they have, something tugs at his heart if he thinks about it.

 But marrying Jaskier?

 Jaskier is his best friend since they met years ago at      Posada’s    , a horrible club where he used to work. Jaskier knows him better than anyone and never judged him.

 Jaskier, always bright and loud and      too much    , the boy who decided to become Geralt’s best friend even when Geralt tried to get rid of him.

 Jaskier, the only person - besides Ciri - Geralt is afraid to lose.

 The only person that never asked anything in return, the only one who is always there for him, the only one Geralt’s brothers accept in their family reunions.

 And the one that is right now looking at Geralt with his cornflower blue eyes full of hope and determination and something else Geralt is just too scared to put a name on. The one who is giving him an option, a solution, as he always does.

 Marrying Jaskier sounds… not ridiculous at all.

 “Are you ok with this plan, Jaskier? I mean…” Geralt hesitates. He doesn’t know how to ask nor what he should be asking.

 “Oh, Geralt, it's ok!” Jaskier sips his coffee, not looking at him anymore. “Once when you sign Ciri’s paper we can divorce, it’s just a ruse so you can adopt our cub.”

 Oh. Geralt’s heart stops for a moment, even if he doesn’t know why, but it hurts. It’s just a ruse, of course.

 “Also, Lambert always says that we’re already married,” Jaskier says, his smile feels weird but Geralt doesn’t say anything about it.

 “Why does he say that?”      “Because we sleep together but we don’t have sex.”

 Geralt grunts a laugh and Jaskier giggles in his chair.

 “I think it’s a good idea,” Geralt says after a moment.

 “Really?”

 “Yeah, it’s just a paper after all, right?”

 “Just a paper.”

 ***

 Geralt is alone, waiting for Yennefer at her office in the Courthouse, again. They had to call her so she could help them to ready the marriage contract and, well, to get them married as quickly as possible.

 When she enters her own office she looks as beautiful and terrible as always, and Geralt has little time to say hello to her before Yennefer storms over to him.

 “The wedding will be next Saturday, Tissaia will office it in the Room A, I already hired the photographer and the catering, the celebration will be at my home, just be sure to be there with your best suit and your family”

 “I… what?”

 “You two will need more than a fucking paper to show that you’re happily married, or do you think you two are the first to try this ruse?” Yennefer say, her arms crossed and her glance fiery as always. “One thing is to want to have some benefits at work, but this is about a child, this is Social Services you have to convince, they’ll want to know everything about you two, there will be interviews, this is how adoption works.”

 Geralt feels like he’s been struck by a train. His head spins and he wants to puke, but it’s ok, everything is going to be ok, they can do this.

 “I… I don’t have any good suits.” He manages to say, because honestly, he doesn’t know what else to say or do. It’s not like he wants to take a step back, but he’s feeling overwhelmed.

 “I’m sorry, Geralt, I know this is stressful and awful, and I wish things were easier…”

 Geralt looks at her, she wears that sad look that he hates.

 “It’s ok, Yen, you’re doing everything you can, and I’m grateful to count with your help.”

 “For you and for Ciri? Anything.”

 They stay silent for a moment. Geralt is tempted to tell her about Jaskier, about not wanting to wed him properly because it feels too real and still, somehow, not enough, and that he fears this will change their friendship. He always talks about      feelings     with Jaskier, cause he knows Jaskier will never laugh at him, but now he can’t talk to Jaskier, not about this, and is killing him.

 “Don’t worry, you two are the weirdest best friends I’ve ever seen, you two will manage to convince Social Service because, well…”

 “What?”

 “You two are already married, you sleep together but…”

 “But we don’t have sex, yeah, yeah, I know.” Geralt snaps. That fucking joke about them is not funny anymore.

 ***

 “And I have to wear a dress?” Ciri grimaces.

 Jaskier laughs at Ciri’s antics, as always, and Geralt can’t help but smile. He was so scared of Ciri’s reaction about them getting married - too young to understand what marriage is, or maybe questioning about two guys being her adoptive fathers, or simply that her      father     was marrying someone at all… Things he thought could be a problem, but it seems like Ciri’s only issue is about having to wear a dress, of all things.

 He loves her so much it hurts.

 “I think we can figure it out if you don’t want to wear a dress, cub,” Geralt promises.

 “And I’ll be the ring bear?”

 “Ring      bearer    , and yes, if you want to,” Jaskier says. “And if you’re ok with me marrying Geralt and being your adoptive father, Princess.”

 Geralt knows Jaskier, he knows just by his voice when he’s lying or happy or nervous, and right now he knows for sure that Jaskier is anxious, asking Ciri her blessing to marry Geralt. Jaskier is just as worried as him.

 “That means that… That you’ll always be with us?” Ciri asks.

 “As long as you two want me here, yes,” is Jaskier’s bold answer.

 Ciri looks at him for a long moment before nodding and giving Jaskier her sweetest smile.

 “Will you make pancakes for dinner?” She ask, and the tension in the living room disappears and Geralt can breathe again.

 Jaskier, always weak for Ciri’s request, obligues happily and that night they dine pancakes with hot chocolate and blueberries.

 “I swear I thought she was going to say that she didn’t want me as her father,” Jaskier admits later that night. He’s already under the covers, writing something in his new notebook.

 Geralt hums, discarding his trousers and shirt and staying just his boxers on. He can’t remember the last time he felt embarrassed about being half naked around Jaskier. Sleeping together and having to share the ensuite bathroom for a whole year leads to that.

 Jaskier feels just as comfortable around him, enough to steal Geralt’s favourite t-shirt - an old, grey t-shirt with a faded wolf emblem, the Kaer Morhen College emblem. Geralt wanted to get upset with Jaskier the first time he borrowed his t-shirt, but something primal and possessive was born on Geralt’s chest that day, something he doesn’t want to look too close at. It’s easier to just let Jaskier wear his t-shirt at night.

 And if during the night he ends up wrapped around his best friend and feeling the soft t-shirt in his skin, feeling Jaskier’s warm body underneath… Well, that’s between him and the t-shirt. Jaskier doesn’t need to know.

 “Sweet Melitele’s tits, I don’t know what I would have done  if she said she hates me.”

 “Jaskier,” ok, now his best friend was just being absurd. “She adores you, and you’re a great father for her, where do those thoughts come from, now?”

 “I… I don’t know, Geralt, I have never…” Jaskier swallows. “Are we doing the correct thing? If I adopt Ciri with you… When you’ll get tired of me, will you still let me be her father? When you find another terrifying, powerful woman to fall for, will I be welcomed to Ciri’s life as well?”

 “Hey, hey, Jaskier, what are you fucking talking about?”

 What was happening? Why were Jaskier thinking such things? Was he having second thoughts about Ciri? About their wedding? Why was Jaskier this scared so suddenly? It was just a ruse to convince Social Services, right? Jaskier said so, and Geralt was not entirely happy about it but he wanted to marry Jaskier and wanted Jaskier to be Ciri’s father as well.

 What the fuck was happening to his best friend now?

 “Nothing, nothing, it’s… fine. I’m fine, don’t you worry, dearheart.” Jaskier closes his notebook and throws it at the floor before curling in his side of the bed, turning his back to Geralt.

 Geralt sighs. Just two days ago Jaskier was completely fine about the whole wedding thing, that fucking wedding thing that has been      his     idea. Fuck if Geralt knows what was that man thinking now.

 Geralt slips into the bed and he’s so tired that the sleep catches him quickly, falling into a dreamless sleep in just a few minutes.

 The next morning he wakes up with an armful of Jaskier. They always manage to get tangled under the sheets, this time Jaskier’s head is resting over his chest and he can’t help it, Geralt needs to hold him tight against him.

 ***

 Saturday morning comes and the sun is high and bright and Geralt has spent the last two nights without sleeping.

 Thursday night his brothers, Eskel and Lambert, kidnapped him to give him his bachelor party - that was the three of them and his foster father, Vesemir, drinking and talking and playing Gwent and then drinking again.

 He can’t recall everything that happened that night, but he has the awful feeling that he confessed more than he wanted to in that horrible drinking game. He knows he talked about Jaskier. He just can’t remember what he said.

 On Friday, Jaskier told him that Priscilla and Essi, his oldest friends from Oxenfurt, wanted to give him his own party, and Geralt was unable to sleep in the bed that once was his own.

 He wondered if Jaskier was spending his last night as a single man in the arms of a strong, beautiful stranger, or between the milky thighs of a hot, charming woman.

 After Ciri moved in with them, Jaskier stopped talking about his flirting and hook ups, but for sure he was still having his affairs, right? Geralt has been focusing on Ciri and his own work and he missed sex, but hook ups never were his thing, but Jaskier’s.

 Geralt spent his Friday night thinking about Jaskier’s words that night he was so upset after telling Ciri about their wedding.

 Jaskier had seemed so sure that it would be Geralt who would find someone else and that he would kick Jaskier out of their lives, but Geralt couldn’t stop thinking that it would be Jaskier who would find someone to love and that he would abandon Geralt.

 Not Ciri, Jaskier would never stop caring for Ciri, but Geralt? They were friends, that’s for sure, but nothing more, and someday Jaskier will want to have his own life, his own place, with someone he will truly love… in a romantic way.

 Geralt fought with the sheets and pillows, unable to sleep, and then Saturday morning came.

 They agreed to meet at the Courthouse. Geralt doesn’t remember to be this nervous ever, maybe just when he was a boy waiting to be fostered and, with enough luck, adopted. But those old wounds are healed now, and doesn’t help him with his nerves.

 Ciri is by his side, talking with her uncles, who spin her and play with her, mindlessly of their own suits, while Geralt feels like he’s about to rip his own outfit by the seams if he dares to move too fast.

 Vesemir is talking with Tissaia, only the gods above know about what.

 And then he sees the silver car approaching and he doesn’t know if he feels relieved or terrified.

     Jaskier.  

 The door opens and Essi is the first one to get out of the car, wearing a blue dress. Priscilla is the next one, with a matching dress.

 Fuck, this actually looks like a proper wedding and Geralt can’t breathe.

 Jaskier is the last one to get out of the car, and he’s… breathtaking.

 Geralt is unable to focus on how he’s dressed, he doesn’t care, he just sees Jaskier’s eyes, as blue as the sea and just as stormy. He’s smiling shyly and his cheeks are flushed when their glances lock. His skin is as pale and smooth as ever, his lips just as plump and pouty and pink as he remembered.

 Jaskier beams and waves a hand at him before Priscilla shoves a small, simple bouquet in his hands.

 “Ok, clowns! Everyone to Room A! Now!” Yennefer claps her hands twice and leads them all.

 All the guests take a seat, they’re just a few, family and best friends, and Geralt feels Jaskier’s warm body beside him.

 “Hi,” Jaskier greets him with a smile.

 “Hi.”

 “Are you ready?” Jaskier asks him. “I’m a bit nervous.”

 “Don’t be, Jaskier, it’s just us.” Geralt tries to comfort him, but somehow he can see a strange flick on Jaskier’s expression and his smile falters for a second.

 “Yeah, just us,” the younger man sighs, and Geralt doesn’t know what to do.

 And then, not long later, they’re married and eating an indecent amount of food at Yennefer’s place.

 “I can’t believe my little brother is actually married, I’m so proud of you,” Lambert says, already deep in his cups, and kisses him soundly in his cheek. Geralt tries to get rid of him, but Eskel is right there hugging him.

 “I always knew you’d realise your feelings, I always believed in you,” says Eskel.

 “What? Let me go, you two. You know this was not a      real     wedding,” Geralt says. “It’s just to adopt Ciri.”

 “What are you talking about, Geralt?” Lambert asks.

 “We’re not married      married    …”

 “Geralt, we were your witnesses when you two signed those papers, the marriage is legal.”

 “Well, it is legal but…”

 “The reason doesn’t matter, you two are      actually     married now…” Eskel adds.

 “But we’re not…”

 “Geralt, brother, there's no fraud here, you’re legally married.”

 “Yeah, I know that, I’m just saying that…”

 From the other side of the room, Geralt hears Jaskier laugh and he spins around to find him.

   Jaskier is dancing with Ciri’s feet over his, they’re both shoeless and laughing and Geralt wants to join them and he wants to dance with them… He wants to dance with Jaskier.

 He wants to kiss him again, not the shy peck at the Courthouse. He wants to kiss him properly.

 He fucking      wants    .

 “Fuck.”

 “Geralt, what the…”

 “I think I love my husband.”

   “Geralt! Are you joining us, dear husband? Ciri and I…”

 Geralt stops Jaskier rambling by softly caressing his cheek, that immediately turns a bright shade of red that he finds irresistible.

 “Jaskier, I… May I?” Geralt doesn’t know how to ask, so he just looks at those bright eyes in front of him and then at those pink lips, and back to Jaskier’s eyes. If Geralt is lucky enough, Jaskier will understand. And if he’s a fucking lucky bastard, Jaskier will not unoly understand but he’ll want to kiss Geralt too.

 Jaskier’s tongue darts between his lips for a second and he wants to chase it.

 Fuck the wedding, this is when he’s more nervous than ever, his heart hammering in his chest, his right hand caressing Jaskier’s cheek and his left hand has found a place on Jaskier’s waist. He knows that the guest, and Ciri, must be watching them, but right now in the world only exist Jaskier and him.

 And then, Jaskier’s hands are on him, tangling in the hair at his neck, sending shivers down his spine, and they’re closer than ever, their breath mingling.

 “Y-yes, of cour..”

 Geralt leans in and closes the distance between them, kissing Jaskier softly but passionately, not at all like at the Courthouse.

 “Be my husband,” he pleads.

 “We just got married, dearheart,” Jaskier giggles in his embrace.

 “I know, I mean..      Be     my husband, Jaskier, I… I love you, I want this to be real, can it be real?”

 Jaskier’s eyes get wider and he launches himself at Geralt, hugging him tightly, and Geralt holds him just as tight.

 “Yes! Yes, yes, yesyesyesyes!” Jaskier releases back just to kiss him again. “I love you too, husband of mine.”

 Geralt sighs, relieved.

 Later, his brothers will make fun of him, and even Ciri will join them. Yennefer will call them idiots, but she’ll wish them the best. And even offers Ciri to stay at her home so they can have a      girls day     together the next day, and Jaskier is so grateful for that that he dares to hug her.

 Priscilla and Essi will hug them too and dance with them and wish them well too.

 Geralt actually dances with his husband, and promises him in a hushed voice new vows, only for Jaskier to hear.

 The real fight starts now, the fight to keep Ciri at their side.

 ***

 “So, you want to get married… again?” Ciri asks, frowning.

 “Yes, sweetheart, properly this time,” Jaskier answers while serving her a bowl full of stew.

 “Why was the last one not proper?”

 “It’s just that we want to celebrate it better, in the new house,” Geralt says nonchalantly. Ciri is still too young to know how idiots her parents are.

 “And can Roach be the ring bear?” She asks, and recognising her name, Roach stands up and tries to lick Ciri’s face.

 Roach is still a puppy, a happy      not-at-all small     Great Dane puppy, with smooth chestnut fur.

 “If you train her well, I don’t know why not Roach can be our      ring bearer    ,” Jaskier decides, and Geralt smiles at him.

 “Are Eskel and Lambert coming this weekend, then?” Jaskier asks, when Ciri is satisfied with the answer about Roach and the rings thing.

 “Yes, and Lambert is bringing Aiden, too.”

 “Oh, finally! Those two have been in love      for years     now!”

 “They both are idiots, taking them so much time to realise they’re in love,” Geralt snorts, and then Jaskier’s hand is on his.

 “That runs in the family, dearheart.”

 Two years have passed since Ciri became part of Geralt's life and, by extension, a part of Jaskier's life too.

 Geralt takes his husband’s hand and leans in to kiss the gold band dressing his finger.

 The start of this story is as sad as it could be, but now Geralt can't imagine his life without his little cub nor his dear husband.

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Fair

Fair by The Amazing Devil. Okay bear with me here guys. There is absolutely nothing I could add to Joey’s beautiful fucking lyrics so this is my shot in the dark at something worth posting. It got kinda long too so like I hope y’all don't hate it?

Warnings: accidental love confessions, decades of mututal pining condensed into one song, cute ass resolution tho

____________

Geralt jogged across the busy street and ducked into the back entrance to the bar Jaskier was playing at, running significantly later than usual, but at least he’d told Jask he might not make it. It seemed that his friend had drawn quite the crowd, so he took one of the few available seats in a far corner and sat back to watch. 

Jaskier ran through his usual set with a couple new ones or crowd pleasing covers, even though he told Geralt he hated them. When he was winding down for the night someone shouted a song Geralt hadn’t heard before and Jaskier hesitated.

“C’mon! It’s so good!” 

Jaskier chuckled and scanned the audience, his eyes never landing on Geralt even though he waved, “You know what? Fuck it. Fair it is.”

It seemed like the whole front half of the bar whooped and hollered in delight and it had Geralt on the edge of his seat. He thought he knew all of Jask’s songs.

As he started to pluck the intro, Jaskier settled onto the stool and it seemed the audience settled in with him, listening raptly as he began in the soft voice he used to sing Ciri lullabies with. 

It's what my heart just yearns to say

In ways that can't be said

It's what my rotting bones will sing

When the rest of me is dead

It's what's engraved upon my heart

In letters deeply worn

Today, I somehow understand the reason I was born

Geralt was enthralled as soon as he opened his mouth. His attention was often consumed by Jaskier, what with the bubbling feelings he’d been pushing down over the years, but this felt… different. This was vulnerable and delicate in a way that Geralt rarely saw from his friend. He almost felt like he shouldn’t be here. Had Jaskier been searching the crowd for him? Was there a reason he wasn’t familiar with the song?

"It's not fair, it's not fair how much I love you

It's not fair, 'cause you make me laugh

When I'm actually really fucking cross at you for something"

And he'll say

"Oh, how, oh, how unreasonable

How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do

I'll spend my days so close to you

'Cause if I'm standing here, maybe everyone will think I'm alright"

That line nearly stopped Geralt’s heart. “...maybe everyone will think I’m alright.” It echoed in his head as he remembered where he first heard it. He had been eavesdropping on Jaskier and Yen at some barbecue or something. Geralt had a very hazy, possibly not real, memory of kissing Jaskier the night before but said nothing just in case it wasn’t real. Yen asked Jask why he was still there if he was so heartbroken... and Geralt was only putting the pieces together four years later.

And if you asked me to, if you asked me, I would lose it all

Like petals in a storm

'Cause, darling, I was born to press my head

Between your shoulder blades at night when light is fading

When they’d lived together Jaskier would come into Geralt’s room when it was cold and do exactly that; snuggle up close and press his cheek between Geralt’s shoulder blades. 

Christ, you'll be the death of me

Geralt’s head was spinning. He said that line to Jaskier practically every day they’d known each other. It was the closest he’d ever made it to ‘I love you’ even platonically. The song was cherry picking all the lovely little moments and jokes of their relationship and weaving them into… into what? A love story?

I'm still here, love, like I've always been before

Fuck, Geralt knew that too. When he left Yen that was the first thing Jaskier said as he held him close and let him cry for hours.

"How unfair, how unfair, " they'll sing

As they dance across the darling rooftop wreck

He'll trip, and she'll pretend not to have seen

Burying her head into his chest

And clinging to the moment, "Where have you been?"

She'll whisper, "I've waited, oh, so long for you to come"

And as the stars above them hum and hear them

He'll turn to her and say, "That's what she said"

That was their senior year of college, drunk as fuck at a frat party. 

"Oh, how, oh, how unreasonable

How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do

I'll spend my days so close to you

'Cause if I'm stood here, then I'm stood here

And I'll stand here

I'll stand here with you"

Geralt stood up  when Jaskier’s eyes landed on him in the crowd and his voice cracked. The blood seemed to drain from his face, even as the bar clapped and cooed in adoration. Jaskier said a brief thank you, stumbling over his words before racing through the kitchen doors next to the stage. Geralt followed him without a second thought, honestly all coherent thoughts had left his mind.

When he slipped through the double doors, Jaskier was gripping the dish pit for dear life, squeezing his eyes shut like he used to when he woke up from a nightmare.

“Jask are you okay?” Geralt kept his distance even though he wanted nothing more than to gather Jaskier in his arms and never let him go.

The whisper of “no” in response wrapped around Geralt’s heart and nearly squeezed the life out of it.

He inched closer, keeping his voice low and calm, “You were checking I wasn’t there.”

“Did a shit job of that, didn’t I?” Jaskier tried to laugh but it came out as more of a sob and he sucked in a breath, holding it in an effort to keep it together. 

“Hey,” Geralt laid a hand over Jaskier’s knuckles in an effort to calm him down, “why are you scared?”

Jaskier just shot him a glare.

“I’m not mad,” Geralt insisted, “Just confused.”

“You’re confused?” Jaskier was astonished, the humor of Geralt not getting it when it was so obvious was apparently enough to bring back his words.

“Well I’ve got a couple ideas but I’m not notorious for good ideas.” Geralt offered a half smile as he tilted his head down to try to catch Jaskier’s gaze.

“No,” Jaskier sniffed, wiping his nose with his shirt sleeve, “you’re really not.”

Geralt waited, not entirely patiently but he managed to keep up the façade. 

“I ah… I mean it.”

Geralt nodded, “And ‘she’ is…?”

“‘She’ is me… except the frat house one. I think ‘she’ was you? I honestly can't remember.”

Geralt grinned, “‘She’ was you. You laughed so hard you hurled.”

Jaskier shook his head, his lips threatening to smile but holding steady, “It’s all blank.” 

Geralt gently gripped his wrist and turned him so they were face to face, “I had no idea… honestly.”

Jaskier scrunched his nose and frowned, “Geralt, please. We can just forget it. I don’t want to lose you and Ciri. I’m fine pretending, I-”

“No chance in Hell.” Geralt interrupted before he could really get on a roll, cupping his cheek with one hand and glancing down at his lips.

Jaskier’s face went slack with realization for a moment before he gripped Geralt’s collar and smashed their lips together. Even though it was far from their first kiss, it was everything a first kiss should be. Sweet and a little frantic, warm and a little messy. 

When they parted Jaskier kept his eyes closed, pressing their foreheads together as Geralt hummed in satisfaction, “I am unreasonably in love with you too.”

[j-pankratz]

Stuck in the Middle with You

A gift for the lovely @chubbykatsudon for the Novigrad Gift Exchange 2021!

Geraskefer, minor Lamden. 16507 Words. Can also be read here on ao3! Rated M for an abundance of cursing and deeply suggestive flirting! Tags for a small amount of canon typical violence, & a very big dog (Roach, my love)! Other tags include: Oh My God The Were Neighbors, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Idiots to Lovers, We're Really Running The Gamut Here, Going viral on TikTok, The best lease of all fucking time, apple juice, and ever changing groupchat names.

x

“A year! A full year. Two! THREE!”

“Hmm.” Geralt muttered. In one hand above his head, he dangled the dead-though-still-writhing remains of a drowner. He’d stabbed it in the spine— nerve damage, unfortunate stuff. At his feet, the groveling man who’d gotten him into this mess in the first place. About 75% of the people he had to rescue from monsters, he found, were the rich sticking their noses places they oughtn’t, out of pure arrogance. This one, a landlord, apparently, had decided to wander off drunkenly from a party and go poking about the river.

He whimpered. “I— I’ll throw in maintenance! Please, Witcher, I—”

“Do you allow pets,” he asked dryly, “I need a place for Roach.” He gestured with his head to Roach, who was watching the thrashing drowner body with interest.

“Ah, no, we don’t—” Geralt dug his thumb into a wound in the deceased drowner’s neck, causing it to hiss and send out spittle. The kneeling landlord cried in fear.

“Yes! Yes! Fine, we can accept your dog, please, please Witcher I can’t die, I—”

“Deal,” Geralt said, and thrust his sword through the drowner once more, severing its head from its body. The man yelped as blood and assorted monster bits sprayed out. Geralt dropped the remnants of its head and neck to the ground, landing with a sickening splat, and the man wailed again.

“When’s move in?”

——

Move-in, as it turned out, was a week and a half later, the first of the month. It was a good apartment, better than he’d have ever rented for himself— a quiet street, an elevator, laundry in the basement, and a doorman half the time. Geralt had a view of the city from his bedroom and of the tree-lined street below from his brightly and naturally lit living room, while the second bedroom had a view of the apartment’s courtyard. The kitchen was a good size, though he didn’t cook much, and it had a dishwasher, which was worth its weight in gold. There was a corner shop at the end of the block, and a few restaurants, coffee shops, and bars within walking distance. Eskel and Coën would love visiting, at least, and if he got a decent enough couch and tv, Lambert would too. Not that they’d have much opportunity to visit, but he could have his dreams, few and minor as they were.

It was on the 8th floor, which was high enough to feel safe. There were only four apartments to a floor, which helped. Ultimately, he figured, nobody would really suspect a Witcher to live in a regular apartment building. And if anyone came after him, well, he’d deal with that then. With Ciri away at school, he would have less to stress about. He’d be subtle, wouldn’t tell people in the building he was a Witcher, wouldn’t talk much to anyone, would hope they wouldn’t notice his eyes. He’d wear sunglasses. It would be fine! This apartment was probably the second most favorable payment he’d ever had from a contract—the first of course, being Ciri— he wasn’t about to turn it down, or regret taking it.

Even when he was stuck in the elevator with, quite possibly, the most annoying man on earth.

Geralt was taking the last of his suitcases upstairs, which was really Roach’s suitcase, and a box of his cooking supplies— an embarrassingly small number of pots, pans, bowls, plates, and utensils. Just as the door was closing—

“WAIT! Hold that, hold that, if you’d please, fuck!”

A man with brown hair came barreling toward the elevator, just barely sticking his expensive looking brown leather shoe in the doors before they closed. They slid open with a soft ding, and the man, out of breath, tumbled inside.

He was tall, with a mop of brown hair and egregiously bright teal pants, a slightly lighter blue dress shirt tucked in to match. He heaved against the elevator walls, breathing heavily and eventually sinking down to a crouch to catch his breath.

“Good save,” Geralt said.

“Thank you,” the man said between gasps. “You saved my life.”

“I didn’t do anything."

The man waved his hand at the buttons. “Button. Button. You. Press. You pressed the— you know.”

“No I didn’t.”

The man paused, his breathing slowly going back to normal. “You didn’t—” He looked up at Geralt, his eyes a brilliant, piercing blue. He was frowning. “What do you mean you didn’t? You didn’t press the button?”

“Nope.”

The man came to standing, and Geralt found that the man wasn’t just tall, he was nearly Geralt’s height. “You mean to tell me, you see a man running for the elevator, screaming for you to hold the door, and instead you just— just stand there and watch?”

Geralt lifted his box a bit. “Got my hands full.”

“You have elbows! Two of them, might I add!” the man cut in before Geralt could lift the suitcase tucked into the crook of one arm. Instead, he shrugged.

“More fun to watch you run.”

“More fun to— I cannot believe this,” the man said, looking up at the floor numbers. The elevator continued to rise, and he suddenly groaned. “Ah, fuck, we’ve missed my floor,” he said, fumbling over to the buttons. Geralt frowned.

“We’re only on the fifth floor.” He watched the man press the button for the second floor. “You ran to the elevator… to go to the second floor?”

“I don’t like stairs!” he complained; Geralt could tell he’d had to give this explanation many times before.

“You like running more than stairs?”

“I would run toward convenience any day.”

“Mmm,” Geralt hummed softly.

They stood in silence for a moment. “Sorry, who are you? New neighbor, then?”

“Yep.”

“Do you have a name, or must I call you Mildly Rude Elevator Man? You wouldn’t be the first to earn a title from me. I don’t even know the woman’s name who lives in the Penthouse so now she’s just Penthouse Lady. But surely you have a name?”

Geralt smiled. “8b.”

“Oh, hilarious, 8b, alright, then I’m 2d. Lovely to meet you, 8b,” he said as the doors slid open to the 8th floor. “Do you need some help with those?”

“No,” Geralt said, and maneuvered himself out of the elevator carefully.

“Alright, fine then, if you say so, but I’m very helpful, actually, when I need to be. I have two hands, you know.”

“I’m sure,” Geralt grunted and approached his door. Fishing in his pocket for his keys for a moment, he found himself turned to the man in the elevator— 2d— and watched as his eyes grew wide as they fell on Geralt’s medallion, just as the elevator dinged and the doors began to slide closed. Well. Fuck.

“Wait— is that—” 2d’s eyes grew wide, and then a grin split across his face. “You’re a Witcher, aren’t you! Wait!” but the doors had already met, and the elevator began its descent.

Okay, so, subtlety gone, and given how chatty 2d had been, he figured it was only a matter of time before the entire building knew. That was the price for a free 3-year lease in a building far above his price range at the best of times, he supposed.

There was no way this would be worth it.

——

There were three days of peace, before 2d came knocking.

It was mid-afternoon, and in the living room the sunlight streamed through his new windows onto the small amount of furniture he’d arranged so far. Roach’s bed, his orange couch, a small tv, a chair, a barstool, a bookcase. Everything else was either still in boxes or simply not purchased yet— he’d never had need for it. He didn’t even know what to do with an apartment he could enjoy spending time in. The morning had been spent sitting on the couch, letting his coffee go cold as he looked around and tried to figure out what to do with this place he might actually be able to relax in. Until, of course, the knocking began.

He tried to ignore it, but 2d was persistent. After the 5th set of knocks, Geralt groggily rose from his chair, coffee in hand, and opened the door.

“Good morning! Hi, ah, hope you’re alright, settling in well?”

“What do you want.”

“Oh, glad to see you’re in a good mood,” 2d replied easily. His outfit was just as bright today, his pants a vibrant green with a mango pattern on them, his shirt a matching orange, with yellow cuffs, and a… oh, gods above, a guitar case strapped to his back, the leather strap running across his chest, hugging him closely. His clothes fit remarkably well, Geralt noticed, and then tried to promptly un-notice. But it was hard. 2d’s eyes looked especially blue today, which was bullshit. Geralt raised an eyebrow and hoped he wasn’t being obvious about anything, though it wasn’t as if Witchers let their faces be easily readable.

“Listen. You’re a Witcher. Very neat, very cool, I could smell the heroics and heartbreak on you in that elevator, I’m getting whiffs of it even now—”

“That’s sweat. Or coffee.”

“Well, okay, it’s not, but okay. My point here is, you have stories. And I write stories. Well, I write songs. Music. Poetry, art, etcetera. And I’m good, I promise I’m fairly decently good—”

“Was that you on Sunday singing the song about the… rabbit? And the moon?” He didn’t remember it well, but whoever was singing had definitely mentioned worms, as well.

“The… oh! Yes! Ah,” he cleared his throat and began. “But have you heard the story of the rabbit in the moon? Or the cow that hopped the planets while straddling a spoon? Right? Yes, love that one, it’s a fun one to sing at bars. Great warm-up song. Cosmo Sheldrake! Gotta love them, strange bastards. I should record that for TikTok, now that I think of it.”

“Sure.” The man’s singing voice was… light, airy, with something like a faint rasp in there, but he dipped down low into his register another was a whole new layer of sound there as well. It sounded like him, but it was somehow completely different than what Geralt would have expected the man’s singing voice to be like. “Cows don’t do that, though. And the references to beasts in your other songs were just as unrealistic. You shouldn’t be confusing people, monsters are serious business. Someone could get hurt.”

“Perfect!” 2d cried excitedly. “See! You know these things. I would like to learn these things. Think of it as educating the public, and helping out your great new friend Jaskier. Which, hello, I’m Jaskier. You’re Geralt, right? Of Rivia?”

Geralt shifted on his feet. It shouldn’t have surprised him. There were only so many witchers, let alone ones with long white hair and a wolf medallion. Damn internet. “And if I am?”

Jaskier’s wide grin turned sly. “Then I know for a fact you have stories.”

The witcher sighed. Well. He’d bore this man with his bad storytelling, and he’d get bored, and he’d leave. In the meantime, Geralt would get to look at 2d’s well-fitting clothes and shoulders that looked terrifically broad. It could be worse. There was a long pause.

“Fine. This once. But I’m not your friend.”

“Brilliant! Beautiful, fantastic,” Jaskier was saying, and slipped past Geralt and in to the apartment.

And then Roach barreled in.

“OH, HOLY FUCK!” Jaskier screamed in surprise, as the great Dane barked, getting right up to Jaskier before Geralt quieted her with a quick command. She plopped down at Jaskier’s feet obediently, and stared up at him with big, watery brown eyes. Jaskier’s hands were raised high above his head, and when he spoke, it came out as a raspy whisper.

“I did not know you had a dog. Have you always had this dog? Whose dog is this, this is your dog? How have I missed this. What’s his name?”

“Her name is Roach.”

“Her names Roach,” he repeated in the same horse whisper. “Why have you named your dog after an insect.”

“Can’t get rid of her,” Geralt replied, though he knew that made it sound like he didn’t absolutely adore her. The name had been a joke, and it had stuck, simple as that.

“Oh. Lovely. Okay. Will she eat me? She won’t eat me, right? This is a good dog, a good dog with manners?”

“She won’t eat you. Unless I tell her to.”

“Stop that!! Oh, stop that, oh my gods. Okay. Okay. Hello puppy. Nice, non-murdering puppy. Not a puppy. Good… large dog. Good large girl. You’re nice, aren’t you. You won’t kill me at all, not even a little bit.” He slowly let one hand come down to his side, and Roach surged forward to lick it. Jaskier yanked his hand back up and shut his eyes tightly.

“Okay. Maybe I should come back. At another time when I am more prepared for your non-murdering, not at all monstrous 4-foot tall dog.”

“She’s more like 2 1/2 feet tall.” Geralt cocked his head to the side. “Maybe three.”

“Fuck. Gods. Okay. Okay. Another day then! But definitely. I will want to hear these stories. Okay?”

“Sure,” Geralt agreed. This was more entertainment than he had expected today. He held back laughs, smiling while Jaskier’s eyes were still shut tightly. “Another day, then.”

“Okay. I’m backing out now, he said, and slowly began to do so, not turning away from Roach. She came to standing, and he jumped back at the sound of her nails against the tile floor of the kitchen, eyes still squeezed shut. “OKAY, OH, NO, okay doggie, no following me. No following. Thank you. Okay. I will. See you soon. Okay? Okay.”

And then Jaskier was out the door, and running down the stairwell. Geralt closed the door behind him, and turned to see Roach looking at him, her head cocked. He laughed, and bent down to pet her.

——

It took just over 24 hours for 2d— no, no, Jaskier— to come knocking once more. This time, Geralt answered the door more quickly; best to either get this over with, or get some more laughs out of it while he could. Behind the door stood Jaskier, mildly nervous looking, already glancing over Geralt’s shoulder into the apartment.

It was either a blessing or a curse that Jaskier’s outfit was not nearly as tight-fitting today, though the strap of his guitar case still cut close to his figure against his lavender sweater. In his arms, he held a variety of brand-new-looking dog toys; kongs and bones and pull-ropes and even some balls.

“Hi! Ah, this time, I’ve come prepared! With distractions and assurances your Roach will not eat me. If you’d still be available for relaying some stories?”

“…You bought her toys?”

“Ah…. maybe a bit? Well, yes, I certainly don’t have a dog, I just did some searching for what kind of things abnormally large dogs might enjoy and picked some up on a walk this morning. Nothing big.” Geralt looked again at the pile in Jaskier’s arms. He’d… bought toys. For Roach. Who he’d just met the day previously, and had scared him silly.

The more time he spent around Jaskier, the less he understood about the man.

Geralt took a step back and gave a whistle, and soon Roach was trotting in from his bedroom. He could smell the tension off Jaskier, and put a hand on his shoulder to calm him. “Try to relax. She’ll know if you’re stressed.”

“Right. No stress, just a dog who could swallow me whole. That’s fine, this is fine.”

“Put your hand out low, so she can sniff.”

After a bit of hesitation, Jaskier took a deep breath and did as he was told. “Friendly, Roach,” Geralt said as she sniffed loudly around Jaskier’s hand. And a moment later, she was licking his hand, sobering all over it. Jaskier laughed nervously, a light and airy sound Geralt found himself enjoying a bit too much. His smile was radiant, the relief in his broad shoulders palpable. He carefully moved his hand to give her a scratch on the cheek, and Roach leaned into it, pressing up against him, her tag wagging a mile a minute.

“Feel better?”

“Hmm? Oh! Yes, yes,” Jaskier said, pulling his attention away from Roach. “I’m really not usually scared of dogs. She’s just… very large, and was unexpected. But you’re a good girl, aren’t you? You’re not nearly as scary as you look! Just like your owner, isn’t that right.”

Geralt frowned. He knew he was frightening, there was no sense in denying it. He had frightened nearly every human he came across, at least in some small way. But even since Jaskier had realized he was a witcher, Geralt hadn’t smelled fear on him. Only just now, when he’d met Roach.

Again, he understood Jaskier less than before.

Geralt stepped back wordlessly and allowed Jaskier to step further into the apartment. He pulled out one of the balls tucked into the pile of toys in his arm and threw it further into the living room, and Roach excitedly ran after it, plopping down to chew on it next to her well-loved gray bed.

Jaskier followed, moving through the room like the breeze, before sitting on the couch, kicking his shoes off, and shoving his feet between the cushions.

“So! Where should we begin! Tales of your early days, your first forays with beasts? Your most recent victories? Epic quests?”

Geralt stared at Jaskier, an eye twitching. “Don’t— what are you doing?”

“Well, I figured we’d be here a while, might as well get comfortable!”

“On a stranger’s couch. A witcher’s couch.”

“On my new, good friend Geralt-The-Witcher’s couch! We’re hardly neighbors, we’re strangers! Wait, no, sorry, hardly strangers, we’re— where are you going?”

Geralt had turned and walked to his bedroom. He quietly shut the door behind him, walked to his bed, grabbed a pillow, and screamed into it. He was good at controlling his emotions. He barely had them, after all, that’s what they said about witchers. But this man, this self-proclaimed friend was driving him to madness, and it had only been four days in the building. He briefly considered moving, abandoning the apartment entirely, giving it to someone else. Or perhaps throwing this Jaskier out the window. But none of those were worth the time, or the inevitable paperwork. He could kick Jaskier out, but he’d come back, he knew he would.

It was best to just be boring. Just be boring, refuse to tell the good stories, and tell the boring ones he did have, badly. Jaskier would get tired of it, take what he got, and discover there was nothing interesting or worth telling about witches. Who would want to hear songs about him, anyway? Humans, in large part, still thought witchers were monsters. It had gotten better the past few decades, but… not much.

He took a deep breath and pulled the over-worn pillow away from his face. Time to just get it over with, he supposed. Another deep breath and he returned to the living room, where Jaskier had pulled out a pad of paper, several pens, his guitar, a small bag of what looked to be popcorn, and three notebooks that looked completely filled already. Jaskier whipped around to see him and gave a big, toothy smile.

He was doing this, Geralt thought, just to get the writer out of his hair. No more, no less. It had absolutely nothing to do with anything else.

“Geralt! I am perfectly ready, and if you can’t think of where to start I have dozens of questions for you. Hundreds, really, so don’t worry about it at all! Sit down, sit down.”

“This is my house,” Geralt said, grabbing the only other chair and sitting a ways from Jaskier, “I should be inviting you to take a seat.”

“Well, that might be the case if you were an experienced host, but I get the feeling it’s not really your forte. Alright, ready to begin?”

“Did you notice how I didn’t invite you to take a seat?”

“I did, actually! Again, I can tell you’re not a natural at the hosting thing. Not to worry, I’m plenty comfortable now.” There was a glint in his eye that told Geralt he knew exactly what he was doing.

Geralt sighed, and fought off the thought that Jaskier was very, very lucky he was pretty.

A few hours later, Jaskier had gathered up his things, ready to head out. “Don’t worry, Geralt, you were plenty helpful. And our next session we will absolutely get to some… even more interesting stories, I’m sure we’ve only just barely scratched the surface.”

“What.”

Geralt had been as boring as he could possibly manage, giving only the barest of details. Jaskier had still seemed intrigued, still prodded. His eyes had been full of life and wonder at the smallest details, he’d taken fervent notes, he’d looked like an oil painting when the sun had begun to set and cast him in vibrant golds, showing off the warmth in his cheeks and the well-hidden but sharp lines of his body. This had nearly killed Geralt. And now Jaskier wanted to do it again?!

“Yes, of course, I’ll need to do some writing and then come back to you for more— really, I think I should just accompany you on your next contract, I think I’d get much more out of it— not to say you didn’t do wonderfully, dear, but I can hardly imagine that anything compares to the real thing.”

“No. Too dangerous.”

“I can keep out of the way!” Jaskier said, hefting the guitar case onto his back.

“You can’t, you won’t it wouldn’t matter if you could. No.”

“Oh, I’ll wear you down.” Geralt was deeply afraid that this was correct. “Gods, I should probably eat. What time is it? It’s not Thursday, is it? Is it Tuesday? Oh, I wonder if Posada’s is doing their wings night tonight. You’ve had them, right?” Geralt stared back blankly. “Geralt. Ohhhhh, Geralt, you cannot tell me you haven’t had Posada’s wings yet.” Geralt raised a single eyebrow.

“I’ve been here four days.”

“And what have you eaten!”

“…Food?” The real answer was anything that took less than 15 minutes to prepare, cook, and eat, but he wasn’t about to say that, was he? That’s not a thing you say to people.

“Ohhh, no, Geralt. No no no.” Jaskier shrugged off his Guitar case and whipped out his phone. “No, this is my treat. Oh fuck, it’s Thurs—no, nope, sorry, saw the T and got worried. It is in fact Tuesday, and it’s 7pm so we’re in the clear; we are in fact doing Posada’s wings deal. This is half the reason rent on this place is worth it— not that you have to worry about that. I mean, neither do I but, whatever. Sit down, I’ll order now. Wait, no, you get the plates, I’ll order, okay.”

Geralt stared blankly at Jaskier as he bustled through the apartment, around the unopened boxes and suitcases, the few pieces of furniture, all while on his phone, ordering takeout for the both of them. He seemed to be a natural at almost everything— except talking, somehow, which didn’t give Geralt much hope for his lyricism. But he flowed through the apartment like water, the lilt of his voice carried through the air like honeysuckle on a breeze.

(If you asked Geralt how Jaskier had managed to stay at his apartment from 1 in the afternoon until 10:30 in the evening, Geralt wouldn’t be able to tell you. It involved some toys for Roach, some terrible storytelling, and a wing deal that seemed like it should be financially devastating for Posada’s. And if you asked him at what point Jaskier had started feeling like, well, maybe one of the better things in his life, he would deny it was so early as a mere few days after they met.

He’d be lying, but he likely wouldn’t quite realize that.)

——

Contracts weren’t especially plentiful in the early spring like they had been in years past, but the ones that did crop up were often fairly big. Such was the one Geralt happened to find on a walk with Roach, a week later on a billboard outside the largest park in the city.

A Griffin’s nest. He could probably relocate them, if he had help. He didn’t like killing monsters when he could avoid it— and griffins weren’t horribly dangerous when left well enough alone. It wasn’t their fault society had branched outwards, into their natural habitats. They shouldn’t have to pay for the mistakes of humans.

Besides, he understood monsters more than people, half the time.

So, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, snapped a picture of the flyer. The chat was used so infrequently that he didn’t even bother to scroll for it, he just typed in the names with one hand, the other busy wrapped Roach’s leash. Slowly, the names appeared. ESKEL, LAMBERT, COËN.

He sends the picture with a short message; ‘Anyone in, or am I doing this myself’ before tucking the phone back in his pocket. Geralt had learned years ago to keep his phone on Do Not Disturb when on walks with Roach; it was his quiet time. If he didn’t have his walks with Roach, he would lose his mind. When he arrived back at the building, he checked the phone in the elevator.

24 Messages from GETTING LIT WITH CITY WITCHERS

Coën – Just now

I don’t think that’s how flamethrowers work??

And before he could even open up the messages, another notification popped up as he stepped out of the elevator;

25 Messages from GETTING LIT WITH CITY WITCHERS

Lambert – Just now

Fine ruin my dreams fuck

He smirked and put it away to let himself and Roach into the apartment. A turn of the key and he let go of the leash, Roach pushing the door open and bolting for the couch, rolling all over the orange cushions. Before Geralt stepped in, he heard the sound of music fluttering up from the second floor; this time, Jaskier was writing a new song, getting stuck on different chords and changing his idea on the words every few seconds. The stop and go nature of it should have bothered him, having to hear someone all the way from the second floor should bother him (why did Jaskier insist on having the windows constantly opened??) but instead, he found it… pleasant.

That could not possibly be good.

——

When the four returned back from the contract, they were bruised, had splinters in truly unspeakable places, and were covered in grime. But, four griffin eggs successfully relocated, a mother griffin tolerant of her new home, and a decent paycheck to split amongst the four of them. Roach, dirtiest of all of them, ran into the apartment first and rolled around on the cool tile of the kitchen. At least it wasn’t on the couch, Geralt supposed, as he led in his fellow witchers. His apartment had been the closest when they’d returned to the city, and he’d agreed to let them all crash.

“Geralt holy fuck,” Lambert said, sounding incredulous as he began to shed his armor. “This is ridiculous! I know you saved the landlord, but shirts, did you show him a good time too?! This is unbelievable.”

“Damn, Geralt. You did good,” Eskel agreed with a pat on his younger brother’s back.

“It’s really nice. You could use some… decoration, though,” Coën added. “Just, you know. Anything on the walls. Pictures, posters, something.”

“I just moved in. Do you guys want coffee?”

The three groaned, and Lambert flopped on the couch, sufficiently de-armored. “I want to sleep for a hundred years, Geralt. No I don’t want fucking coffee.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, and put up a pot.

“It’s 11pm,” Coën said blankly. “Do Wolves not sleep? Is this a thing? I thought it was only Cats who didn’t sleep.”

Lambert shifted carefully onto his side. His next words were said almost in rote, as though he’d heard someone else say them a thousand times before. “Cats sleep pretty soundly, they just don’t do it at night. They have better things to do."

Coën shrugged and headed for the bathroom, but Eskel and Geralt sent each other a look. Eskel’s eyes squinted a bit, and they slowly turned to look at Lambert, motionless on the couch. There was a long moment of silence, as they just stared at the youngest wolf.

“Where’d you learn that one, lil Lamb?” Eskel asked carefully. Geralt caught a whiff of anxiety emanating off his younger brother for a moment.

“What? Oh. Uh, yeah, I met a Cat. So what?” He turned to look at his brothers, and he frowned. “Hey! So what?! You have something to say?! I can make friends!”

“You get this defensive about all your friends?”

“Geralt I will throw your couch out the fucking window, I swear to God.”

“What’s your new pal’s name?” Eskel asked. “This buddy of yours. Your chum.”

“I fucking hate you both!” Lambert shouted, and buried his face in a pillow.

With the coffee done, Geralt poured himself a mug and sat down at the kitchen bar, watching Lambert toss around on the couch. Eskel settled into one of Geralt’s only other chairs, and sat back.

“Are you gonna tell us about him?”

“…I need to be fucked up for that,” Lambert muttered. Geralt gave a gesture with his head to Eskel, who rose and opened a cabinet in the closet to reveal two bottles of White Gull. Eskel barked a laugh.

Lambert groaned and let his head fall back against the cushion once more. “Fucking hate you guys. Give me one of those.”

x

This was not the first time the halls were muddy.

Over the past two and a half weeks, the floor of the lobby had often been tracked with mud. She had tried to ignore this. The annoying musician, (her mortal enemy on the second floor), had been particularly stuck on some new song that was both uninspired and going nowhere. She had tried to ignore this, as well. She’d ignored Jane on the fourth floor’s delivery fiasco, and the fact that Eiman from floor 6’s fire alarm had gone off in the middle of some careful brewing she’d been doing. She had even tried to ignore the barks of a large dog from the new tenant in what was supposed to be a strictly no-dog apartment building.

(It wasn’t that she cared about the rules, she couldn’t give a shit about rules. She just hated them being broken when it inconvenienced her.)

What she could not ignore, however, what had pushed her decidedly past her breaking point, was what sounded like a heard of grown men who had trampled through the lobby, made their way up the stairs, undoubtedly coating it with mud, and were now somewhere several floors below her, all the windows thrown open, one of them lamenting about some man who he was infatuated with.

It wasn’t even good gossip. It had stopped being good gossip an hour ago, when he’d become so drunk he’d just started repeating the same things about this man— Adam, or Adrien, or Aiden, or something like that— over and over and over again.

And they were doing all of this past quiet hours. Did she have insulated, noise cancelling windows, yes. Did she herself enjoy a good night in with friends, or even a party, sometimes past quiet hours? Of course. Had she occasionally made a mess in the lobby? Possibly.

But she’d cleaned up, taken responsibility, and not made it everyone else’s problem at 2am on a Wednesday night when she’d very much like to have the windows open for a fucking breeze.

This, Yennefer thought, was not what she paid rent on a Penthouse for.

She groaned, checked her phone, and turned her bedside light on with a wave of her hand. Hadn’t anyone told these poor bastards about the witch who lived in the Penthouse? She stared at the hour again; it was 2:06am. Did she want to deal with this now? Or did she want to save raining down unholy terror for a reasonable hour, and instead capitalize on time differences.

It wasn’t a difficult decision. She pressed a few buttons, and her video chat call began to ring. A few moments later, a smiling but confused looking Anica lit up her phone, adjusting her tortoiseshell glasses.

“Yennefer! It’s lovely to hear from you but… what time is it there?”

She groaned. “2am. Don’t remind me. New neighbors suck. Tell me something fun you’re working on.”

Anica smiled. “Oh, if you want something fun, you’ve come at exactly the right moment. This week Sabrina’s here, and we’re working on a warding charm against fungi in gardens— I figure we could likely scale it up to fields, but I want to have things worked out just right before we move on….”

Yennefer smiled as her friend went on, and tried not to wince every time she heard a faint wail come from several floors beneath her.

x

“And— he sucks. Like, he’s fucking. Sly, and cocky and shit. Where does he get off being all—” 3 hours after he had begun, the deeply drunken Lambert was still talking, gesturing wildly in front of them. “—You know?! It’s no v’y thoughtful.” He drifted into silence once more, while Coën, Eskel, and Geralt just nodded. Most of what that had gathered was that Lambert’s overwhelming crush on this mysterious Cat Witcher, Aiden, had hit him like a truck a year or so back and he still hadn’t made a move. Which meant he was serious about this one.

Coën opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. There wasn’t much to say— Lambert was a goner. He hadn’t quite fallen asleep yet, so far as Geralt could tell from the rise and fall of his chest, but he was getting there. Eskel slowly began to stand up and collect the empty bottle of White Gull they’d finished. Suddenly, Lambert’s eyes flew open, and he careened forward, arms waving wildly. “AND HIS HAIR?! I fucking hate him! He’s awful. He’s so fucking hot and I hate everything. He sucks. How do I get him to sleep with me?!”

Eskel sat down again with a sigh.

x

“Wait. Geralt, you went on a contract without me?! After I specifically asked to go?! Geralt!” Jaskier huffed, his tub of sesame chicken nearly spilling. The nature documentary in front of them hummed along, though neither payed it much mind. They never did, really.

“Griffin nests are too dangerous,” Geralt said around a bite of noodles. Jaskier’s presence in his life could be described with many negative adjectives, but he had to admit, he was better fed when the musician was around. “Besides, that was two weeks ago now. You’re behind.”

“All the more offensive that I’m just hearing about it now!”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “You going to come watch me deal with these Wyverns, or not?” He might as well just let Jaskier tag along for something small. Maybe he wouldn’t be a disaster, and then he’d stop pestering Geralt for stories he didn’t want to tell, much less be broadcast to the entire world. Unfortunately, he was beginning to admit to himself that he rather enjoyed Jaskier’s company, but that was all the more reason to cut him out of his life, wasn’t it? He was too big of a liability.

Jaskier had started helping to brighten up Geralt’s apartment, both figuratively and literally. There were now some framed pictures on the wall, as well bright takeout menus (“At least it’s something, Geralt, you need color in your life!”) and even a plant hanging by the window, which was thankfully fake. When Jaskier was around, everything seemed to fit well enough.

When he wasn’t though, the living room was discordant, this wall decor was now big and bold in places and nothing matched, and very few things were things he’d pick out himself. When he saw it in the mornings, he often sighed and shook his head, and tried not to think about it too much, or who had put it there.

He tried really quite hard not to think about Jaskier very much at all, but he was over nearly every day now. It was hard not to.

If Geralt had also finally bought himself a sturdy bedframe, bedside tables, and good sheets for himself, well, that had nothing to do with Jaskier at all. It’s not like Jaskier would ever see it, after all.

“Fine,” Jaskier replied after some internal debate, “But I want to see griffins, someday.”

“Mmm. Look them up, if you’re so keen on seeing one.”

“It’s not the same! Do you think it’s the same?! Ugh.”

“So, you’re coming?”

“Of course I’m coming! What sort of question is that? When do we leave? What should I bring? Ooo, what do I wear?!”

Geralt sighed deeply. “Don’t wear anything baggy, or bright, or anything that will make much sound. Don’t bring anything. Your phone, but only for if you get lost. Do NOT get lost. We leave here tomorrow at 5am.”

Jaskier choked on a piece of chicken. “Five a— Geralt, we cannot possibly leave here at 5am. Why! God, the things I do for music. How non-vibrant do my clothes have to be? Does a sort of forest-y green work? Do I have to wear camouflage? Please say no. You’re already severely limiting my wardrobe options, please don’t also make me commit fashion crimes.”

“Jaskier, you’re not going anywhere where you have to… impress people. You’re watching me catch, tag, and release a wyvern outside the city. That’s it.”

“I think the Wyverns deserve a good outfit! Besides, this is my first hunt! Our first big outing! I want to mark the occasion, but you and your rules prevent me. Frankly, I’m hurt.”

“Would you rather get eaten?”

“At least I’d leave a handsome corpse!” Geralt chuckled, and took a swig of beer as Jaskier swallowed thickly and continued. “But, ah, no, I’d really prefer to avoid death and injury as much as possible. Really. Truly. Not a masochist. Which surprises some people, weirdly. Do I give off a vibe? Geralt, do I give off vibes? I don’t give off any vibes, right?”

The biggest benefit of having Jaskier around, Geralt found, was that he could tease to his heart’s content, and Jaskier wouldn’t realize until Geralt had gotten a good laugh out of it.

Geralt nodded. “I can see that. There are definitely vibes.”

Jaskier gaped, and then stuttered in response. “I—you—no! That’s—there is no way—how—and what do—what’s—abs—there—I—you—that is not—!”

If Geralt could fight off his smirk a little longer, he’d get to watch Jaskier fumble for at least another minute… and it would take his mind off of trying not to picture Jaskier on his bed, pale skin and dark chest hair fully revealed, arching his back while Geralt indulged him in some fictional, masochistic tendencies. No, couldn’t think about that. Not realistic, anyway.

And then the image flipped, now with Jaskier above him, gazing down lovingly, raking his nails against Geralt’s exposed chest…

“I—the—Geralt! I thought we were friends!!”

Geralt shook it off. Not realistic.

——

The contract was supposed to be for the removal of a particularly pesky wyvern, who’d made a habit of sleeping on the top of a high rise on the other side of town, occasionally swooping down on unsuspecting residents on their balconies. Recently, it’d nabbed a little girl’s doll, which shouldn’t have tugged on his heartstrings, but after Ciri had come into his life, all bets were off. So, a nasty wyvern, somewhere it shouldn’t, who needed to be returned to a suitable habitat and tagged for tracking purposes. It had happened before, there was nothing suspicious about the contract.

Unfortunately, things were rarely so cut and dry in Geralt’s world.

It was 7 o’clock before Geralt and Jaskier finally dragged themselves back to their building; muddy, grimy and tracking it all through the lobby. Geralt’s chest was somehow still sore from being thwacked by a steel baseball bat. The contract had been a sham, and he and Jaskier had been… detained, Geralt would say, kidnapped being too strong a word, by some idiots who wanted to prove they could best a witcher. He’d hoped they’d mostly left violent displays of superiority back a few decades ago, but humans never failed to live up to the worst of themselves, he thought bitterly.

If they woke up from their concussions, hanging upside down from some pipes in the basement they’d chosen for their assault, Geralt was fairly sure they wouldn’t bother with witchers again.

“So, this was a less dangerous one, mm?” Jaskier asked groggily as they piled into the elevator. “Wanna come to mine? I feel like I’m five minutes from sleep.”

Geralt shrugged. He hadn’t actually seen Jaskier’s apartment. Not that he wanted to, of course. Jaskier mashed his finger into the button for the second floor, swaying on his feet. He slumped against one of the walls and let his eyes fall closed, and Geralt found it hard not to stare. His dark green shirt was ripped, exposing some pale skin and shallow cuts and bruises he’d received. His pants were filthy, and his face was still covered in grime, while bits of his hair stuck out at odd angles. Small prices to pay for making it out alive.

In fact, Jaskier had put up much more of a fight than he’d been expecting. He wasn’t a trained fighter by any means but he’d made himself more than useful. Geralt might not have made it out without his quick thinking—a phone flashlight to the eyes of their assailants, a kick to the back of the knee of another, biting the wrist of a third when it shot past his face, as he had lunged for Geralt. Jaskier had been damn near feral. Adrenaline, Geralt supposed. Hell of a drug.

Witchers felt adrenaline too, though it was different. Similar enough, though, that he was sure his overwhelming fear of seeing Jaskier hurt, how he’d screamed at their captors to let Jaskier go, how he’d been a second away from ending them in retaliation before he’d realized how far he’d gone, yes, he was sure that all of that was nothing more than adrenaline. Even if it had only kicked in when he realized Jaskier was in danger, rather than just himself, rather than when they’d spat obscenities at him. It had been when Jaskier had spat at them, called them bastards, and earned a kick in the stomach for it.

The elevator was silent as the doors slid shut.

“Do people always look at you like that?”

“You mean with a dagger in their hands?”

Jaskier frowned, chin still tipped toward the sky, arms folded close to his chest, eye lazily shut.

“No. I figure you wouldn’t have brought me, if that happened very often. But they were so…” he shook his head. “They were fucking hateful. They were monsters.”

Geralt huffed a laugh. “Monsters chasing a monster.”

“No, you’re not. Hey. Geralt. No, you’re not.” Jaskier had opened his eyes and waited Geralt to meet them. The witcher looked away as the doors slid open. “You’re not a fucking monster, I don’t care what they say. I know you by now.”

“Just open the door.”

Jaskier sighed and shuffled over to his door, opening it after a bit of a fumble with the keys.

The layout of his apartment was different, Geralt noticed—the front door let out into the living room, not the kitchen, and his bathroom was on the left, not the right. It seemed like there was only one bedroom, and his main window looked out over the cityscape. But it was, predictably, the décor that stood out the most.

Jaskier had lined his ceiling molding with little lights, and as they entered, they flicked on, drifting smoothly between all colors of the rainbow. The place itself was messy, notebooks strewn about everywhere, cords coming out of various outlets without rhyme or reason, cups and plates scattered about. Geralt spotted what he thought might have been pants in one corner, but he chose not to look so hard. Jaskier flicked on the light switch, and Geralt could see how bright and colorful Jaskier had made his home—it worked somehow, though it seemed as though if a single piece were removed it would look wrong, somehow.

His instruments all looked remarkably well-kept, though. They hung on the wall in specialized mounts; two guitars, a violin, some other string instruments Geralt didn’t recognize. There was a small black case maybe holding a wind instrument sitting next to a rather impressive-looking keyboard, and the table where they sat was the only tidy area in the apartment, so far as he could see. Of course, he hadn’t seen Jaskier’s bedroom. Yet. Not that he would want to, of course. Or ever have cause to.

Jaskier plopped down on a vibrant green velvet chair and waved one hand at the room, the other covering his eyes. “Sorry for the mess. You can sit anywhere. Oh, wait, there’s cider in the fridge, would you mind? Second shelf. And don’t laugh at me for drinking cider.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I know it’s too sweet. I get it. But if you drink beer or wine every night it gets boring. And if I ever grew bored of alcohol, I’d be devastated.”

“Won’t disagree with you,” Geralt muttered as he returned to the living room with a 6-pack. He sat down on the couch and opened the bottles, handing one to Jaskier. They drank in silence, and Geralt tried to get comfortable on the overly plush blue couch.

“Sorry you got dragged in—”

“No, no, stop that. I asked to come. Specifically. You had no way of knowing. Besides, I’d rather be with you to deal with that, instead of you… oh, disappearing to your apartment for days and not answering me.”

Mm. He’d done that, once or twice. Maybe three times. “Sorry.”

“Geralt. It’s fine. It’s their fault. You did nothing wrong, you were just trying to help.”

“Mm.”

They drank in silence for a bit. The cider was, in fact, too sweet, but it suited Jaskier. Geralt find he didn’t mind it much as he should have. He tried not to think of kissing it off his lips.

Jaskier gave a snort in the silence. Geralt looked over and raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry, it’s just—got any other enemies I should know about?”

Geralt smiled and leaned back. “Mm. A few. Lot of humans.”

“Right, just, in general. Alright, so just ‘most humans’, got it. Next?”

“Monsters. Don’t know why, they just don’t like me.”

Jaskier laughed. “How unfair of them! They ought to give you a chance. Anyone else?”

“Mmm… some other witchers. None from my school, though. Definitely some mages.”

“Oh, fuck mages,” Jaskier said.

“Don’t fuck mages,” Geralt teased, “It won’t end well.”

“Ugh. Trust me, I know.”

Geralt raised his eyebrows until Jaskier looked at him and groaned. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ve only done it a few times, and I’ve sworn off them.” He finished his cider and reached for another.

“Do you have any enemies I should know about, Jaskier?”

“Valdo fucking Marx,” Jaskier spat immediately, kicking his legs up on the table. “Garbage. Absolute garbage. Stole my work at Oxenfurt. Deeply fucked up man. I want him dead. Not in a, ‘I’d hire someone to kill him’ way, but in a, ‘if he died in an untimely and horrific way tomorrow, I would spend the weekend celebrating’ way. Shouldn’t say untimely. His death will absolutely timely, whenever it comes. Really, maybe untimely because it’ll be late. Hmph.”

Geralt nodded, kicking his feet up as well. “Anyone else?”

“Mmm, no. Oh! Well, Penthouse Lady, or as I like to call her, The Bitch of the 13th Floor. She’s a mage, you know.”

Geralt stared at Jaskier. “Oh, no, no, don’t think like that. That is decidedly not one of the mages I was speaking about. No, Penthouse Lady is just… I mean, gorgeous, but evil. Extremely, wickedly beautiful, which should be a crime. She will take your clothes out of the washing machine, wet, just because you’ve left them there a bit too long. A minute. 35 seconds, minutes, whatever, really. And if you break one of the building rules and catch her in a bad mood, she will eviscerate you. She’s made people move out before, out of pure terror.”

“But not you?”

“No! No, I’m not leaving. She’s can’t make me. We’ve been mortal enemies for years now, that’s a commitment.”

Geralt laughed. “How do you afford to live here, anyway? You haven’t got a job.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, lowering his cider with a smile, “How dare you. You have no idea. I could be employed. I could have several jobs, you don’t know.”

“Jaskier, I met you at 3pm on a Monday. You come over at all hours of the day. You are rarely doing anything one could describe as ‘work’.”

“Alright, alright, I get it. It’s a… parents thing. And grandparents. Whole family, really. Ever been to Lettenhove?” Geralt thought a bit, and then nodded—it had been awhile. “Yep. That’s us. Earls and whatnot. Technically, I’m a viscount, but I prefer the title ‘Family Disappointment’. More accurate.”

Geralt pushed Jaskier’s foot with his own. “Stop that.”

“No, it’s not—it’s not a bad thing, to disappoint those people. You know? If I’m disappointing them, I’m doing something right. Besides, they keep throwing money at me in hopes that it’ll change something. Which, you know. I’ll take it.” They sat quietly for a moment. “I have been published, to be fair. And I do go out to sing at bars on Thursdays and Saturdays. I have some followers on Spotify, TikTok and what have you. I’m not nothing. It’s just not up to their standards. ‘S why I have a pen name in the first place.”

“Jaskier?” Geralt asked, and his friend nodded. “It’s a good name.”

“Why thank you.” There was quiet for a moment. “You know what they named me? Julian Alfred Pankratz. What a name. That’s the thing, with them, and their traditions—I’ve got two other people’s names, and none of my own. ‘S why I picked one for myself.”

“Mm,” Geralt said softly. Jaskier hadn’t ever said much about himself, now that he thought of it. Might as well take the plunge. “Don’t know what my surname was. Just have Geralt. Witchers are left to their schools and made to pick their own names. Picked Rivia out of a hat, essentially.”

Jaskier looked at him oddly, before raising his bottle. “To families that don’t know what they’re missing,” he said softly, and Geralt clinked their bottles together, the sound short and sweet.

——

A few hours and ciders later, Jaskier had slipped asleep, chest rising and falling gently. It hadn’t been a hard call for Geralt to make; he’d slipped Jaskier’s shoes off and carried him to his bedroom, laying him down on the bed, maneuvering him under the sheets. The bedroom was subtler than his living room—a cream color, beautiful loose paintings and sketches on the walls of flowers, hung up with tape, and dozens of pictures; some framed, some loose polaroids hanging on strings, all of friends and places he must have travelled. His oval mirror had sticky notes around the edges—what looked like scraps of songs, chord progressions, passwords, dates to remember, and a small note of encouragement to himself— ‘Keep Going!!’

Geralt smiled, found an unused sticky note, and grabbed a pen. When he was done, he smiled to himself, and put it just below the ‘Keep Going’ note.

After leaving a glass of water on his bedside table, Geralt slipped out of Jaskier’s apartment taking the elevator up. When the doors slid closed, he took out his phone.

4 Messages from CITY WITCHERS GETTING LAMBERT A DATE (ES….)

Lambert – 48 minutes ago

God, this shit should NOT be so hard.

To: CITY WITCHERS GETTING LAMBERT A DATE (ESKEL, LAMBERT, COËN)

Message: yeah, I feel you

He slipped it away, and hoped nobody would question it in the morning.

x

Yennefer stretched, sun hitting her eyes, and sucked in a lungful of the breeze coming through the window. It was… nice. Pleasant.

Boring.

She took out her phone.

To: Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Message: Who wants to go clubbing this weekend. I’m bored. Also Sabrina I know you’re 200 miles away w Anica don’t be snarky

She rose and began to stretch, sparing only a glance when her phone dinged.

Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Sabrina – Just Now

Sure count me in. I’d love that. Woohoo

She rolled her eyes and smiled, ignoring that her friend should absolutely still be asleep, given the time difference.

Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Coral Lytta– Just Now

I’m down for a barhop at least but only if we’re coordinating outfits I’m begging you I don’t want a repeat of last month!!

Yennefer finished her stretches and flicked her hand to start the coffee pot in the kitchen. She needed a change of pace. Things had gotten too predictable. Maybe she’d take someone home, that would be fun. She checked her phone again.

Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Fringilla – 7 minutes ago

Why is anyone awake??? Go back to sleep

To: Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Message: Frin it’s 7am. This is a normal hour.

Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Fringilla – Just Now

Not on my day off it’s not

She sighed. Okay, maybe they wouldn’t end up clubbing, not given everyone’s moods this week. But at least she’d get out of the apartment, and maybe get someone else into bed.

x

9:37am

Thursday, March 12th

2 Messages from Jaskier

Just now

Oh, and the note, I’m just seeing this now. “Reminder: Don’t Fuck Mages.” Thanks, Geralt, what would I do without you? My witcher in… slightly muddy armor, last I checked. ;)

7 Messages from CITY WITCHERS GETTING LAMBERT A DATE

Eskel – 19 minutes ago

“YEAH I FEEL YOU??” GERALT????? (sent with Echo)

NEWS

New Novigrad Times – 2 hours ago

Three men suspected of breaking and entering, larceny, and assault found suspended upside-down in a residential downtown building. This story is will be updated as new information is revealed.

14 more notifications

x

The next afternoon, he heard it while on a walk with Roach, and tried to brush it off. A voice sounding suspiciously like Jaskier’s was emanating from some teenager’s cell phone. “Oh Valley of Plenty, Oh-” the voice sang, before he tuned it out. It was deeply unlikely it was Jaskier. Something in seeing him asleep a few nights before must have poisoned Geralt’s brain.

He heard snatches of it, though, everywhere he went.

Toss a—

They came after me , with masterful—

Brings you to mourn—

That’s my epic tale—

It drove him mad, but he shook it off every time. What was the likelihood of it being Jaskier, anyway?

It’s in the lobby, where he realized. The doorman, Sonny, was swiping through his phone as Geralt checked his mailbox. When he turned back around—

With Geralt of Rivia, along came this song…

Geralt grimaced. “Fuck.”

When he returned to his apartment, he found a sticky note waiting on the door for him.

If you track mud into this building one more

time, I will make you kneel and fix it yourself.

All the best, ~Penthouse.

x

Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Coral Lytta – 17 minutes ago

Yen! Isn’t this your ~enemy~??? That guy from the second floor who takes like 3 hours with laundry?? http://vm.tiktok…

——

Jaskier -- 15 minutes ago

So. I may have gone viral,

——

To: Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Message: How the hell does this have 700 thousand likes already? It was only posted today

——

Jaskier -- 5 minutes ago

This is a good thing though, right??? Is this the wrong time to invite you to see me perform tomorrow night

Ciri -- Just Now

Hey uh??? Dad??? I think someone wrote a song about you???

——

Anica -- Just Now

Yennefer, I am so so sorry, but I already have it stuck in my head. I’ve only watched it twice now I swear

——

8 Messages from CITY WITCHERS GETTING LAMBERT (AND GERALT) DATES

Lambert – 1 minute ago

Literally how the fuck does this happen to you

Jaskier -- Just Now

Hey that rhymed!!

x

Jaskier had told him not to stress about what to wear, that he could just ‘sit in the corner and brood’ and that ‘nobody would recognize him’, but nothing about this felt like a good idea to Geralt. Is this what having friends was? Going to places he didn’t want to be, at times he didn’t want to be there, just to make someone else happy? It was terrible, and frankly, he wanted a refund.

Geralt slipped into the bar a few hours before Jaskier was slated to go on—just to get a booth decently near the stage where nobody would bother him. He didn’t care about seeing Jaskier warm up. He was on stage, tuning his instrument that wasn’t quite a guitar—either a mandolin or a lute, Geralt thought. He was listening for something, adjusting things, getting a feel of the space. His brows were furrowed and he looked to be deep in thought. Not wanting to bother him, Geralt bought whatever was on tap (some earthy beer he would tolerate for the evening) and slipped into a booth near the stage, far enough out of the light so that he wouldn’t be noticed easily by people.

He sat, watching Jaskier, letting his eyes wander down his teal and red ensemble. The pants were a tight fit, but the shirt was airy, unbuttoned a bit more than might be decent, and Geralt found himself mentally unbuttoning more, and more, and more, until his eyes flashed up and made contact with Jaskier’s.

The musician lit up like the sun, a wide beaming smile, and he quickly hopped down from the stage. “Geralt! You made it! And early, too! Oh, I’m so glad. Okay, I’m 3rd up, so you will have to sit through some other people, but not too many. I’ll join you when I’m done! You’ll enjoy it. Well, I don’t think you’ll love it, but you’ll probably tolerate it for your dear dear friend, who is slowly but surely making you famous. Right? Okay!”

“You’ll be fine,” Geralt said. He knew Jaskier’s nervous energy speeches by now.

“What? Oh.” Some tension in Jaskier’s shoulders loosened. “Thank you. I just haven’t been on a stage since suddenly so many people know my face. I did post about this, but I don’t think very many people will come. Maybe I shouldn’t have? I dunno. Still navigating fame! Alright, I should get back. I’ll see you soon!”

x

“I’m making an executive decision,” Fringilla said, turning on her heel. They’d been walking for 45 minutes, trying to decide on a bar. “We’re going here. We are too damn old to be spending half the night walking around.”

“Fine,” Yennefer relented, taking Coral’s arm, “but if it sucks we’re going out again tomorrow and it’s my pick.”

The three entered the bar, a dimly lit place, mostly wooden and already fairly active with people bustling about, a stage in the back looking ready for a musician.

“Oh, I love live music, yes! You get us a table near the stage and I’ll get the drinks,” Coral said; “Dry Martini and a Whiskey Sour?”

“You know us so well,” Fringilla said, and she and Yennefer left to find a table. They ended up at a booth egregiously close to the stage, in Yennefer’s opinion. They got comfortable, settling in for the night, most likely. Until one of them found someone to go home with, at least.

When Yennefer looked up, it was to a tidal wave of people entering.

It wasn’t to say the place wasn’t busy before, but soon she could barely see the bar, as giddy looking patrons took up tables and booths, and eventually, just whatever standing room they could find. Coral managed to cut through the crowd, levitating the three drinks, looking frazzled. “When did all these people get here?!”

“No idea,” Fringilla said, reaching for her Whiskey Sour, “but I’m glad we’ll at least be able to see.”

“Mm,” Yennefer agreed, grabbing her Martini, raking her eyes over the crown. Options, she thought. It was always so good to have options.

“Any idea who’s performing tonight?” Coral asked. “I couldn’t find a poster or anything that said—probably someone good, for all these people to be here”

“No idea,” Yennefer replied absentmindedly. It’s not like it mattered. She couldn’t imagine herself giving much of a shit about who was on stage, anyway.

x

The first performer was fine. Geralt thought they were a little boring, but they weren’t who he was there to see, anyway. Yennefer couldn’t be bothered, staring instead at a handsome young woman in a low-cut satin dress. When she finally made eye contact, though, she gave a friendly, decidedly not flirtatious smile, and Yennefer moved on.

The second performer, a kind of musical comedian, was pretty good. She capitalized off of the energy in the room, which Geralt had to admit was palpable. As soon as people had flooded in, he’d made a point to look intimidating—much as it had prevented people from sitting at his booth, it hadn’t stopped them from buzzing around the bar, and he realized they must be there for Jaskier. It put a pit in his stomach, but also made something in his chest whizz around in joy. Ah, fuck.

And then, up was Jaskier. The announcer welcomed him on stage, and Jaskier bounced on, to the warmest welcome thus far.

“Gooooood evening everyone, lovely to see you all. And I do mean all. How many people are here? There are at least…” he counted for a moment. “At least 12. Possibly more.” He got a laugh, and winked at someone in the middle of the audience as he sat down on a stool in front of the mic.

“I cannot fucking believe this,” Yennefer groaned quietly. Fringilla patted her on the back. “There, there. Maybe he’ll be terrible.”

Jaskier hummed softly, warming up his voice. No, Yennefer though, he wouldn’t be terrible, because unfortunately, he was quite fucking good.

His first song was another one that had also blown up after his sudden viral-ness of the past week, an original he’d told Geralt he’d written in university, and never stopped being proud of. Geralt smiled into his second drink of the night, enjoying watching Jaskier get comfortable on the stage.

His second song finished to applause and cheers, and Jaskier got up to bow, pushing the stool far behind him with his foot. Yennefer put a fist in her hair. Unfortunately, her mortal enemy was fucking magnetic.

“Freak him out, like you said you do,” Coral whispered to her. Yennefer frowned, but nodded soon after. At least she could make this fun for herself.

Jaskier grabbed the mic and moved it off to the side of the stage, throwing some smiles to people who had their phone out, before stopping and speaking into it when the crowd had quieted a bit.

“Hey,” Jaskier said gently, his voice commanding the bar, as he looked out into the crowd. He found Geralt’s face, and beamed at him, before turning back to the sea of people. “Is uh… is anyone here on TikTok?” The crowd cheered and he launched into Toss a Coin, forgoing the stool entirely, choosing to dance around the stage.

To Geralt’s complete mortification, at the top of the first chorus Jaskier suddenly pointed to him. “Toss a coin to your witcher, Oh valley of plenty, oh!”

By the third chorus, Geralt had been sufficiently pummeled with coins, bills, and what looked like a gift card to a café, when Jaskier tipped back his head to the other side of the stage. Yennefer was sitting back, arms folded, a single eyebrow raised, flanked by Fringilla and Coral on either side, looking expectant of the musician, mimicking their friend’s pose. Yennefer thought she was fighting off her smirk, but it was hard to say. Her eyes met his, and for a brief, brief moment his smile faltered, before he let out a cackle, continuing to play. The audience ate out of his hand, and he seemed to grow more and more at ease, preening at the attention.

“It was worth a shot,” Fringilla said with a huff of laughter and a shake of her head, returning to her glass. “He’s really got something, hate to admit.”

When the song finished, he took a deep bow to riotous applause and caught a coin someone threw to him, tucking it in his pocket.

Behind him, a witcher and a mage made eye contact for the first time; gold met violet, and the air between them seemed to electrify.

“I think we’re on our own for tonight, Coral,” Fringilla said with eyebrows raised, watching her friend stare across the room, and Coral giggled in response. Yennefer made a point to use a fraction of her chaos to stir her martini from afar, so this man knew what he might be getting into.

“Thank you, thank you all. I think we have time for one more quick song. And I do hope you’ll give our next artist after the break the same amount of attention, as a personal favor to me,” Jaskier said, getting some laughs, and tuned his instrument for a moment before speaking again. “You’ve been a dream. Really, truly, thank you. I fully expect this kind of turn out every week, though, so cancel all your other Saturday night plans for the next, oh, 7 to 8 years.”

A smattering of laughter again from the audience, and then Jaskier was starting Fishmonger's Daughter, a song Geralt had deemed dirty enough to ignore the lyrics of. He looked away from the woman, clearly a mage, across the stage from him—she was gorgeous, long black hair and bright violet eyes. She was flanked by two other women in similar deep velvet dresses—the first a rosy pink, the third a midnight blue, while the woman’s he’d locked eyes with was pitch black, matching a choker around her neck. She tilted her head to expose more soft tan skin, examining him from afar as she stirred her drink with magic, graceful and languid.

Do not fuck mages. Do not fuck mages. Do not fuck mages.

He sat back in his chair, and suddenly realized that Jaskier’s set had ended; his friend was bowing, and then disappeared off the stage in favor of the announcer. The bar was buzzing, people milling around, and then Jaskier, blue eyes gleaming, cheeks flushed, smile stretched from ear to ear, was sitting in front of him.

“Geralt! Was it good? Give me your thoughts.”

“Not bad,” Geralt said with a smile, and a pat on his friend’s shoulder. Was it too much? He gave it a small squeeze, and something small in Jaskier’s face changed. He looked up and down Geralt’s face, and suddenly the witcher realized how close they were, that Jaskier was licking his lips, that he hadn’t taken his hand off his shoulder, that the world had disappeared around them. His gaze dropped for a moment to Jaskier’s lips. He could smell arousal, and excitement, and happiness, but he was in a bar, there was too much to take in, no way to know for sure it was coming from Jaskier. He held his breath, and met Jaskier’s eyes again.

His phone rang.

They kept staring.

Another ring, and someone tapped on Jaskier’s shoulder.

“I should—you get that, Geralt, I’ll be a moment, just ah, have to say hello to the adoring public, I’ll be back!”

Geralt let his witcher-slow heartbeat a few more times, dazed, before looking down at his phone to see Lambert was calling. He answered, putting a finger in his other ear.

“Geralt!” Lambert hissed. Geralt could barely hear him over the noise of the bar. “Geralt! Have you seen the group chat?!”

“No. Speak louder, I can barely hear you.”

“I can’t! He’s in my apartment, Geralt! What the fuck do I do! He brought booze! He looks fucking fancy!”

Geralt frowned. “Are you on a date?”

“Not that I’m fucking aware of!”

Geralt frowned deeper. “It sounds like you’re on a date.”

“We can’t be on a date! He just asked if I wanted to do dinner! That’s not a date!”

“It can be. Clearly is. Just—take him out somewhere.”

“Fucking WHERE, Geralt!”

“Don’t you have a sushi place around the corner? Do that. Or somewhere else. Doesn’t matter, just wear something decent and go.”

“How the fuck—” Lambert was asking when Geralt hung up. He looked at his phone screen—98 unread messages from the clowns. He shook his head and looked up—Jaskier was peacocking around the bar, flirting with everyone who seemed receptive. He was a natural, winding his way through the crowd, making them all feel special. Someone was buying him a drink, and it looked like he was already part of the way through another. He delighted over everyone, taking selfies, accepting compliments, giving them in return to appreciative and giddy smiles.

That was how Jaskier was, Geralt thought. With everyone. Little moments didn’t necessarily mean anything.

He turned back to look at the sorceress across from him. Her companions had left her, disappearing into the crowd for more drinks, perhaps. She was playing with something on her table, and glanced up to see him staring. She smirked, picked up the small object, and began to levitate it over to him.

Geralt watched as through the crowd, over the stage, the object floated over to him.

When it finally arrived at his table, Geralt watched as a small coin was dropped neatly in front of him, giving a small clink.

He smirked. It was a parlor trick, and barely that, for a mage. But it was intriguing. She was intriguing. And Jaskier was busy being fawned over by fans, so it’s not as though Geralt would be missed. He stood and waded his way through the masses, towering over many of the other patrons, before finally making it to his destination. He held up the coin.

The woman smiled up at him, sly, and spoke before he did. “No need to thank me, just doing as the song requested. Are you so often followed around by… loyal bards?”

He laughed. He hadn’t heard someone use ‘bard’ in decades. “Not until recently. To who do I owe the pleasure?”

“Whom, I think,” she quipped, and offered her hand. “Yennefer.”

“Geralt,” he said, and she laughed as he sat down across from her.

“Yes, I’ve heard as much. The White Wolf. Quite the title.”

“I didn’t pick it myself, I assure you.”

“You don’t seem to mind it all that much.”

“… I suppose not. Better than some of the other titles I haven’t picked.”

“Do you have many of those?”

“Plenty. Couldn’t tell you what most of them were, though. Hard to hear when you’re dodging enemies.”

She titled her head slightly and sat back to let her gaze drag over him. “So, none from lovers, then?”

He smiled again. “Cheeky.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Take it however you’d like.”

“You’re not much for flattering yourself, are you, Geralt.”

“That’s what I’ve got my bard for.”

She laughed, a light thing that he knew would be echoing around his chest for days. She leaned back in, looking around conspiratorially. He leaned in a touch as well, their faces only inches from each other now. “Tell me, Geralt. Are you as noble and chivalrous as that song made you out to be?”

“It flatters me. But I do my best for… those in need.”

“And if I were in need, you would do something for me?”

“I might be able to do that.”

“Well then.” She leaned in to whisper in his ear. “I would be entirely grateful, Geralt… if you get me some apple juice.” He leaned back in confusion, while she pressed the coin he still held further into his hand. “This should cover it.”

When he leaned away, she wore an unmistakably coquettish smile, biting back a laugh. He smiled despite himself, brows furrowed as he looked down at the coin, and back at her, before letting out a small laugh himself.

“Alright. One apple juice, fair mage. I will do my best.”

“Take care on your dangerous voyage!” She called after him, as he slipped into the crowd. She whipped out her phone; the break would be lasting another 15 or so minutes, just enough to play a game on her phone. Whether or not Geralt made it back to his table in time for the next set was none of her concern. Besides, he’d somehow befriended her most recent mortal enemy, so anything that happened tonight would have to be a one-time thing. If anything happened, of course, but Yennefer was not in the habit of letting a good time pass her by.

Things were perfectly right in her world, as she waited for her phone to load, until suddenly someone dressed in frankly garish teal and red was standing before her. She didn’t look up from her phone.

“Ahem?”

She continued looking at her phone. The damn thing wouldn’t load.

“You know, it’s very rude to keep your most reviled enemy waiting.”

It still wouldn’t fucking load. She groaned and put it down. “What do you want, Jaskier?” Her neighbor, grinning widely and holding two glasses of punchy looking drinks, sat down across from her. “No one else hesitated to applaud my wonderful performance except… for you. Come on. You must have some review for me. Three words or less.”

She raised an eyebrow and looked at him for a moment. “I don’t buy it.”

He frowned. “No, that’s four. What don’t you buy?”

“The song. You expect me to believe you willingly put yourself within 10 miles of danger? You already complain that the second floor is too dangerous for you.”

“It is dangerous, and I sleep there, so it’s different. Really, it did happen, you could ask Geralt. Actually, gods, no, don’t ask Geralt. Don’t talk to him, actually. You’d hate each other, definitely, best stay away.”

“Oh dear. Someone’s already jealous.”

“I am not—!” he squeaked, before leaning in. “I am not jealous, I just don’t need you and your…” he waved a hand at her, “your face-ness scaring him off!”

“My face?”

“Yes! It’s full of… secrets. And… plots. Evil plots!”

“Right. Do you know what your face is full of?”

“Charm? Charisma? An air of mystery?”

She swiftly grabbed one of his drinks and splashed it in his face, while he gaped. She swiped a finger across his cheek and tasted it. “Mmm, no… something fruity. Strawberry?”

“Raspberry,” he corrected. His face dripped. “I had that coming, a bit.”

“Oh, absolutely.” She waved a hand, and the drink was gone—his face, shirt, the table all now dry. “Don’t take that as a kindness. I just don’t want to pay for your dry cleaning.”

“Of course,” he replied, touching his now dry face. “And I don’t want any more battles with you in the laundry genre, if I can help it.” Despite herself, she laughed.

“Ah, I see there is a brain behind those blue eyes after all.”

“You just like seeing me covered in liquid and at your mercy.”

“Maybe,” she admitted.

He sat back in the booth. “You know, if you weren’t utterly terrifying, I could write songs about you as well. I’m sure you’ve got stories. We could make some together.”

“I am the story.”

“See, that’s good! Have you considered abandoning magic and the position of ‘very sexy, very scary witch’, and instead working towards of ‘very sexy, very charming poet’? At least then we’d be competitors in the same field. Same playing ground! Same weapons, which is to say, absolutely no weapons.”

“Mm. And have you considered abandoning your current title of ‘unfortunately charming, unfortunately talented, deeply annoying musician’ and opting instead for ‘very quiet, mildly charming eye candy’? It would suit you more.”

“The day I stop talking is the day I run out of breath.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Dear Ms. Penthouse, I’m sure you’ll be the one to bring it about.”

“Wouldn’t you love to be so lucky. Besides, haven’t you got a wolf in shining armor to protect you?” Just then, a sound went over the loudspeakers. 5 minutes until the end of the break, then.

“Well, much as I’d love to continue this lovely and for me, a frankly sexually confusing chat, I must grab my drinks before our next musicians are on.”

“Take care, then. I’d hate to see you die without getting to be a part of it,” she said, giving him a pat on the arm, her hand lingering as he looked at her for a moment, licking his lips and then hurrying off.

It was only moments before Geralt returned.

“One apple juice,” he said, setting a tall glass in front of her with a straw. Yennefer smiled and pulled it closer to her, taking a sip. “Is it to your liking, fair mage?”

It was quite good, actually. “Acceptable. Thank you, dear witcher, for your services.”

“Any others you’d like to request of me?”

“Mmm… give me the evening to think of one.”

“I can’t promise I’ll be here forever.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll think of something. You just go… sit in the corner and brood.”

He laughed. “You’re not the first one to say that to me tonight.”

“Mm, so you’re completing quests for others? Should I be worried?” She snuck a glance toward the crowd, and Geralt followed her eyes to land on Jaskier, fliting between people, drinking something that this time looked icy and blue. “Just a friend, I hope?”

Geralt turned to look back at her. His face had too many things subtly happening for her to read it well, and after only a moment Fringilla and Coral had returned, beginning to slip into the booth.

“Will you be joining us?” Fringilla asked, but Geralt shook his head.

“I’ve been told to go brood,” he replied, and made his way back to his booth.

——

Geralt did, in his defense, make an attempt to listen to the other performers. Jaskier spent the evening continuing to flirt around the room, hands lingering on him, his own hands gently caressing shoulders and arms. Geralt could tell already he’d be going home alone that night. Well, not alone. Yennefer and he had been sharing glances as the night progressed, and he was fairly certain he knew where that was heading.

He just wouldn’t be going home with Jaskier, who would himself undoubtedly be going home with some fan or other patron. He had his pick of the room, for the most part. Which was good. Geralt knew he sought the praise, the fame. Besides, Jaskier and he had only planned to spend the late night catching up on their weekly nature documentary.

Another man paid for Jaskier’s next drink, a fizzy concoction, and Geralt felt himself give the tiniest hint of a growl.

Eventually, Yennefer’s companions slipped out, and he returned to her booth.

“Do you have a quest for me, then?”

“Mmm. How about, protect me here, until it’s time to leave, and then walk me back to my apartment?”

Geralt nodded. “That, I can do.”

The night pushed onward. After a few performers more, Geralt looked around in between sets and realized he’d lost track of Jaskier entirely. It would be unlike him to not give a heads-up before going home with somebody. Geralt frowned and checked his phone. A few dozen messages from Eskel and Coën, and; one missed call from Jaskier. Shit. He took a deep breath—he could smell his friend in the air, but not quite which direction it came from, not with so many people. Yennefer gave him a look.

“What’s wrong?”

“Missed a call. Hold on.” He pressed the redial and held it to his ear. It rang three times before it picked up. “Jaskier?”

“Mmm. Ger. Ger’lt. Do you wanna go home? With me.”

“You want me to take you home?” He shot an apologetic look at Yennefer.

“Come home with me.”

“Okay, Jaskier. Where are you?”

“Outside.”

“Alright. Be there soon.” Geralt hung up and began to slide out of the booth. “Sorry. He’s had a big night.”

“I could tag along,” Yennefer offered. “And then you’ll have doubly earned your rewards tonight.”

“I—sure, sure,” and they were off, navigating around the bar and out the door. “He doesn’t live that far away,” Geralt began to explain.

“Oh, I know.” Geralt shot her a questioning look as they exited the front door.

——

Jaskier was right there, leaning against the wall. His head ached—he’d had possibly more to drink in this night than he had for the past two weeks combined. It had all caught up with him, and he’d found himself outside, taking deep breaths of fresh air, clutching his lute bag to his chest.

He’d flirted around all night, but nothing, nobody had been worth his time. How was he supposed to focus on anyone when Geralt was right there? Not that he was interested, of course. But he’d come out, he’d come early, just to see Jaskier perform. Well, to be fair, his hit song, (he had one of those now!) was about Geralt, so that was probably why he came. But he wanted to pretend it was just for him. That Geralt had wanted to see Jaskier perform. He was miles out of Jaskier’s league, but oh, could he could absolutely dream some very, very sexy dreams.

And then his mortal enemy had been there, and wasn’t that a treat. She’d looked gorgeous. It was unfair. His building was full of beautiful people, all who only tolerated him, were abysmally out of his league, or would eat him for breakfast, if they had the chance. At least fighting with her gave him the excuse to look at her, talk to her. She’d splashed a drink in his face and he’d needed to slip away to the bathroom when they’d finished talking, just to calm himself down. That was unfair. Don’t fuck mages, he reminded himself. Not that she ever would. He’d had at least 6 more drinks after that, just to push the thought away.

He’d thought he’d been doing a bit better, the past few minutes. But clearly, he wasn’t, as he must have been hallucinating.

Before him stood Geralt (gorgeous, fascinating, generous, kind, warm-hearted Geralt), looking a bit dazed himself, as well as The Bitch of the 13th Floor (intriguing, deadly, witty, beautiful). So, his sexual fantasy that he had not until that moment realized existed.

“Oh dear. I’m worse than I thought.”

“Jaskier, what’s wrong?”

“Too much to drink. Now I’m hallucinating.”

Geralt frowned. “What do you see?”

Jaskier pointed to the woman in front of him and then shut his eyes tightly. “Unless… unless it’s a magic thing.”

“No—Jaskier, this is Yennefer. Yennefer, Jaskier.”

Jaskier’s eyes flew open. “You know this woman? Of course you know this woman. So you do have a name!”

“Of course I have a name.”

“I don’t know, maybe mages don’t all have names.”

“You two know each other?”

Jaskier smiled loosely. “That’s my mortal enemy.”

“This is not Valdo Marx.”

“No! Penthouse Lady. Second one.”

“Oh. The Bitch of the 13th Floor.”

“Glad to know I hold a reputation in your circles, Jaskier,” she said lightly. “Though I’m a touch offended I’m only number 2.”

He frowned, and reached out for her arm, and held it lightly, then did the same with Geralt.

“Oh fuck. You are both here.”

“Right. Let’s get you back home.” Carefully, Geralt lifted Jaskier’s arm over his shoulders, and the three began to walk, Yennefer on his other side. They went to walk before he stopped, pulling Jaskier’s arm off him, and bent down.

“What are you--?”

“Your shoe strap is undone,” Geralt explained, before flashing a grin up at her. “I suppose this isn’t what you meant when you told me to kneel.”

“As I recall, I haven’t asked you to do that yet. I was saving it for the bedroom.”

Geralt finished with her shoe and then rose up, and they began walking. “The sticky note. ‘I will make you kneel and fix it yourself’?”

“…You’re the new tenant?! You’re the muddy bastard?!”

“Wait, you two were going to have sex?!” Jaskier whined.

“Let’s not jump to any conclusions.”

“I thought it was ‘Don’t fuck mages’, not ‘Don’t fuck mages unless they’re really hot, then that’s the exception’!”

“I can’t believe this,” Yennefer said. Her world fell apart and clicked into place all at once as they crossed the street. “Oh my god.”

“Did you not know?”

“Of course I didn’t know! You didn’t say how you knew him!”

“Well, there it is,” Geralt sighed. “And Jaskier, don’t just to conclusions, I wouldn’t presume that of her. All I did was buy her apple juice.”

“Now what kind of metaphor is that!”

“The kind that isn’t a metaphor at all.”

“Jaskier, if you say a single word about my apple juice—”

“I’m not saying anything about apple juice! It’s a noble beverage! But your apple juice leads to some implications!”

“And what if it does!” “Well! Well!” Jaskier flustered. “Well! We were going to watch our nature documentary tonight!”

“No we weren’t,” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier looked at him, hurt. “What?”

“We weren’t going to watch the documentary, Jaskier. You were going to find someone to go home with.”

“I did find someone to go home with!” He said, bumping his hip into Geralt.

“I don’t count,” Geralt muttered, as they finally made it into the building.

“Why don’t you count?”

“Because, Jaskier, you weren’t planning to sleep with me.”

“Says who!”

“Let’s just go to mine,” Yennefer said as they stepped in the elevator. “I don’t want to try and navigate his apartment in the dark. I’m sure it’s a wreck.”

“It’s fine, actually,” Jaskier muttered. “Geralt I know we wouldn’t have slept together, you have standards, but—”

“Well, more like because he was planning on sleeping with me, thank you very much.”

“Watch out, Lady of the Penthouse, or I’ll… write a song about you.”

“Who said I was planning or not planning on sleeping with anyone?”

“You did!”

“I haven’t said anything.”

“That’s the point!”

“So, you two… aren’t sleeping together?”

“What’s your point?!” Geralt demanded, oblivious to Yennefer’s question.

“Well, that’s how you know someone doesn’t want to sleep with you! One of the many ways. They don’t say they do! You’ve made it clear we’re just… you know. Pals.”

“I never said that!”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

“Jaskier, for once in your life, would you say something with some sense?!” “I said, ‘come home with me’! How much more clear do I have to be than ‘I’d rather spend the night with you’?! Actually, frankly, with both of you, this is nice. Loud, but nice. I can’t believe I’m saying this about my sworn nemesis.”

“Now, hold on—”

“Everybody shut up!” Yennefer said, loud enough that the boys shut their mouths. “No more speaking. We will be at my apartment soon. I will be going into my kitchen to get you,” she pointed at Jaskier, “something to ensure you don’t get sick all over the elevator.”

“I’m—I’m feeling a lot better, really,” he said. She made a shushing motion against his lips, and she could feel his hot breath, could sense his heartbeat race faster, watched his cheeks flush. Interesting.

“By the time I’m back, I want you two sorted.” The doors dinged, and they emerged on a landing in front of an intricate white door, which Yennefer opened with a wave of her hand. “I’ll be back in a moment. Just… let me know who Geralt will be kneeling for,” she said, and then walked into the kitchen, heels snapping against the tile.

She looked at her cabinets, opening one and retrieving the bottle she wanted. Well. They’d need more than a few seconds, surely. She placed it carefully on the counter and listened.

“I…” Geralt was saying. “Um.”

“I didn’t… Geralt. I’m sorry. I don’t want to… ruin things.”

“You’re not ruining anything.”

“You’ve hardly shown interest, I know you’re not…”

“I’m bad at these things. Talking. You know that.”

“Okay, then…” Jaskier trailed off, and took a big breath. “Then show me.”

“Show you?”

“What you mean. Or… what you don’t mean. I don’t know. But if there’s… Geralt, if there’s something, anything about me that you want, in that way, I am asking you to show me. It’s fine if not. But… I’m here, I want it, if you do. I mean, I want it either way, really. Have for a bit.”

“…You’re drunk.”

“I won’t be, once Yennefer gets that… thing. And it’ll be the same. I promise.

“I don’t want you regretting anything.”

“How could I regret you? Show me, Geralt. Please.”

“…Show you."

“Yes, yes, please, Geralt. Pl—”

And there was silence. Or, there was the sound of mouths sliding against each other, soft, deep moans reverberating in their chests. She let them have the moment, and then Jaskier gave a soft whine, and she smiled. That was her cue.

She clicked into the foyer, bottle held aloft.

“A gift,” she said, and the two staggered apart, “for my nemesis. Purely because his white wolf brought me apple juice, let it be known. And thank you for the show. Both at the bar and here.” Jaskier stepped toward her and took the bottle.

“I must warn you,” she said, “it tastes like goat piss.” Jaskier popped the cork, and chugged the bottle before making a face.

“How long does it take to— oh, fuck—”

“Pretty instantaneous,” Yennefer said as he grabbed her shoulder to support himself. Geralt came up behind him.

“The room stopped spinning. I didn’t even realize it was spinning,” he frowned. He shook his head for a moment, turned back to Geralt, and grabbed his neck, pulling them to meet in a firm kiss. “See? Meant it.”

“Maybe I need some of that too,” Geralt muttered. “Things are spinning.”

“As much as I enjoy playing cupid,” Yennefer said, taking back the bottle, “it seems as though I’ve been a bit removed from the equation, so you two had best be off, I suppose.”

“Someday, you’ll be won over by my charms,” Jaskier said with a kiss to her knuckles. “But if you two had… plans… I could always wait a night. Unless you’d like both of us in your bed,” he half-joked to her.

“I don’t know how this is happening to me,” Geralt muttered.

“Oh, be careful what you wish for, Jaskier,” she hummed, “you might just get it.”

“Does this mean I’ve won you over?”

“It means I don’t let a good night pass me by.”

“Oh, so you think I’ll be good, you admit that.”

“It means I’m open to you proving me wrong. But I saw you play. You can make good use of those hands. Geralt?”

Geralt was leaning against the wall, staring into the middle distance, looking lost. “I just. A lot has happened. I thought you hated each other?”

“I told you she was gorgeous, I don’t just say things.”

“You do very much just say things.”

“Well, then, someone’s going to have to shut me up.”

Yennefer tilted his head back to face her and pulled him down into a kiss—languid and slow, as one of his arms grabbed her waist and pulled her upwards and to him, just enough that she was standing on tip toe. She ran her hands up his chest, coming to rest around his neck, playing with his hair. He finally pulled away, just to kiss a line down one side of her jaw, sucking a small mark onto her neck.

She looked back at Geralt, still a bit dazed but with a fire behind his eyes. “Well,” she said, detaching herself from Jaskier. “Will you be joining?”

Rather than answer, Geralt took a few steps forward toward her. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her—gentle and almost pleading. They fit together so easily, he thought. He hadn’t ever fit with someone like he had with two people tonight. How had he earned this? How had he made it to this point in his life?

Jaskier was suddenly behind him, kissing his back, running one hand up his chest, the other against Yennefer’s hand, which had reached his shoulder. He couldn’t have all this, could he?

“You think so loudly, Geralt,” Yennefer teased him.

“It’s true,” Jaskier agreed. “Even I hear it, darling.”

“Okay. Then… take me somewhere I don’t have to think.”

Yennefer smiled, took his hand in hers, and Jaskier’s in her other. “I’m glad your place was the bedroom,” Jaskier whispered, “Because honestly, mine would probably be the zoo.”

Yennefer pinched his hand, “Ow! But am I wrong?! You don’t need your brain for the zoo!” and led them on.

x

8:24am

Sunday, April 3rd

16 Messages from Aretuza Takes Novigrad

Coral Lytta — 9 hours ago

okay, thanks for letting us know, yen!!! have fun!!

Fringilla – 9 hours ago

Wait, I’m sorry, were the two people you just went home with the witcher and the musician? The guy you hate?

Sabrina — 9 hours ago

What on earth is happening

Fringilla – 9 hours ago

She didn’t specify which two guys she went home with, but I’m pretty sure I just saw them all leave together.

Sabrina — 8 hours ago

I can’t believe drama is happening without me

Coral Lytta — 7 hours ago

its not drama drama is frin getting the number of someone with a green hair when she specifically said she’d sworn off of green hair for at least a year

Sabrina — 7 hours ago

omfg

Fringilla – 6 hours ago

Coral!! Where are you, I’m not letting you get away with this! They’re cute! You can’t shame me.

Coral Lytta — 5 hours ago

update everyone we got a car home and frin has been texting green hair (jesu) the whole way home if youre reading this its too late for me it was nice knowing u

Sabrina – 3 hours ago

Loving this. Just blew up half a field with Anica. She says hi

Sabrina – 2 hours ago

Hey yen I am seeing this mystery enemy of yours on tiktok people filmed his set

Sabrina – 2 hours ago

He’s hot good job

Sabrina – 2 hours ago

But why is he playing a fucking lute

Coral Lytta – 1 hour ago

morning all yennefer please send pics of ur hot date(s)

Fringilla – 15 minutes ago

Are we not addressing that Sabrina and Anica blew up a field?!

Sabrina — Just Now

Lol

8:24am

Sunday, April 3rd

167 Messages from CITY WITCHERS GETTING LAMBERT (AND GERALT) DATES… Showing 16

Lambert – 10 hours ago

Okay I made him laugh and now I’m in the bathroom what the fuck now??

Eskel – 10 hours ago

Pay for the bill, leave a good tip for that waiter for saving your ass, and then ask him if he wants to go back to yours. You’ve done this before, Lamb.

Coën – 10 hours ago

He’s been flirting with you all night, you’ll be fine.

Lambert – 10 hours ago

Fuck Okay If you never hear from me again it’s because I died of embarrassment

Lambert – 10 hours ago

Bye forever

Eskel – 9 hours ago

Drama queen. Hey Geralt how’s it going?

Coën – 9 hours ago

He’s in it too deep. He probably watched that guy play live and just died.

Lambert – 6 hours ago

Sex is so awesome

Eskel – 6 hours ago

Congrats bro. I’m sleeping now.

Lambert – 6 hours ago

Don’t you wanna hear about how great sex is

Eskel – 6 hours ago

I know it’s great, Lambert. I’ve had sex before

Lambert – 6 hours ago

Are we sure are we super sure you had sex cause like I just had GREAT sex possibly the best

Coën – 6 hours ago

It is two in the morning. I am begging you to shut up

Lambert – 6 hours ago

Put us on silent so I can talk about how great sex is

Lambert – 6 hours ago

Ha beat you to this one Geralt bet you didn’t have sex with someone hot tonight. HA

Lambert – 6 hours ago

Okay gotta go round two bye

8:24am

Sunday, April 3rd

Geralt – 10 hours ago

You coming back to the table?

Geralt – 10 hours ago

If I’m gone when you get back let me know when you get home

Geralt – 10 hours ago

You did really good, Jaskier. I’m proud of you

TikTok – 2 hours ago

You have 25,634 new followers!

TikTok – 1 hour ago

You hit 2.3 million views! Click here to see what people are saying…

Spotify – 15 minutes ago

You have 5,785 new followers and 806,216 new listens on Toss a Coin EP

Maybe: Yennefer – 5 minutes ago

It's Yennefer, send me that selfie of all of us you took, I wanna freak out my group chat

Geralt, Maybe: Yennefer

Maybe: Yennefer – 4 minutes ago

I can’t believe I’m the one doing this, but I guess we need a group chat.

To: Geralt, Maybe: Yennefer

Message: 1 image

Here’s the selfie for you both!! Use it wisely ;)

A Sorceress, A Witcher, and a Handsome Bard Walk into a Bar…

Yennefer – 3 minutes ago

Geralt get me apple juice while you’re up

A Sorceress, A Witcher, and a Handsome Bard Walk into a Bar…

Yennefer – 2 minutes ago

Jaskier, this chat name, you cannot be serious

A Sorceress, A Witcher, and a Handsome Bard Walk into a Bar…

Geralt – Just now

Haha

A Sorceress, A Witcher, and a Handsome Bard Walk into a Bar…

Geralt – Just now

:)

[all-hail-the-witcher]

say yes to the plus one

the sequel to say yes to the drinks. which you should read first. i am so tired. just have it. 

__

ship: geraskier

warnings: none

editing: ish

words: over 3k but under 4k

genre: floof

__

After getting drinks with Geralt, Jaskier could not stop thinking about him. He found himself taking more time with his appearance each morning - something that he hadn't even thought would be possible - hoping that Geralt would come into the store.

But Geralt still hadn’t come into Kleinfelds since the day of his trunk show. Jaskier tried not to be disappointed. He knew that he was very busy and it had been a one off that he had even met him in the first place.

Still, he couldn’t help but think that the two of them had something. There must have been some sort of chemistry between the two of them. Why else had Geralt asked him to get drinks after he had made that awful slip up with the magic fingers? Surely, he must feel something for him.

He had been texting Jaskier though, so Jaskier knew that he was at least still interested. Every message that he got wishing him a good morning or about some funny wedding dress design or of a picture of Geralt’s Pomeranian, Roach, made his heart flutter. There just had to be a future for them, right?

So, Jaskier went through yet another day of busy appointments at Kleinfelds, hoping that he would run into Geralt.

Late May into early June was always a busy time for them. Jaskier didn't personally understand the appeal of getting married in a zillion degree heat, but to each their own. This was by far his least favorite part of the year though. He spent every hour at work on his feet, hardly getting a break as he rushed from appointment to appointment: checking on alterations, making sure that every bride was getting their dream dress, and providing tweaks to designs when necessary to prevent bridal meltdowns.

It was nothing short of exhausting.

“Jaskier!” Camille, one of the consultants, called to him at around mid afternoon.

He had just spent the last hour trying to get a very adamant, very conservative mom and a very eccentric bride on the same page. He needed a daiquiri. Or three. Still, he turned around and put on his brightest smile.

“Yes, darling?”

“You’re needed down in alterations,” she said with a sweet smile.

Jaskier nodded and turned back through the salon to walk down to alterations. He hated going to alterations. If he was needed there, it usually meant that shit had hit the fan in some sense. He braced himself for a long afternoon.

He walked up to the manager, about to ask her where he was needed, when a shout from behind him made him jump.

“Jaskier!”

And a swell of desire rose up in Jaskier’s stomach because he knew that gravelly voice. Quickly, he straightened his tie, thankful he had worn his good pink one today, before taking a deep breath and turning around.

“Geralt!” he said, trying furiously to keep his cheeks from flushing. “What a lovely surprise.”

“Surprise?” Geralt’s brows furrowed together as he walked up to Jaskier, his wolfs head cane clicking across the floor. He was wearing a light blue button down today with the sleeves cuffed to his forearms that made his golden eyes pop and Jaskier had to struggle to keep his eyes on his face. “I texted you this morning.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened as he reached into his blazer pocket for his phone. Sure enough, there were two messages from Geralt. The first was a picture of Roach, lying in a patch of sun in his apartment. The second was a message that read:

Hey, I’m going to be at Kleinfelds today doing a custom fitting. Can you help with the appointment?

And Jaskier had never even seen it. Much less responded.

“Oh Geralt, I am so terribly sorry,” Jaskier said quickly. “This is our busiest time of year and I have hardly had a moment to think today.”

“You don’t have to help,” Geralt said sincerely, concern clouding his eyes. “I don’t want to push you too hard with the rest of your appointments, but I just figured that since I was here, I would ask.”

“No, no darling!” Jaskier said, rushing to reassure him. “Of course I will help! Helping you is much better than dealing with emotional brides and entourages that aren’t on the same page.”

“It’s alright Jaskier,” Geralt said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I know you just want to see my magic hands at work again.”

This time, Jaskier did flush bright red. “ You! ” he said outrageously, gaping at Geralt’s audacity to bring up his slip up from last time. “You need a nap!”

But Geralt just laughed, a glorious sound that sent shivers down Jaskier’s spine. “I think you’re the one who needs the nap, Jaskier.”

Jaskier shot him an incredulous look. How dare he make such assumptions, and how dare he be right?

“Anyway, the fitting is for my brother’s fiancee,” Geralt explained. “I made her a custom dress and she’s coming in for her fitting today. There was a shipping delay, so we only have time for one fitting before their wedding next week. I was hoping you could help.”

Jaskier could see the tension that had creeped its way into Geralt’s broad shoulders and the worry that was clouding his pretty face.

Jaskier placed a reassuring hand on Geralt’s arm. “Of course I’ll help, darling. Helping resolve wedding dress disasters is my specialty. Er- not that your dress is a disaster,” he said quickly, amused by the way that Geralt’s eyebrows had shot up. “Nothing that you design could ever be a disaster, the way that you work lace and beads is just divine, not a disaster. Not in any way a disaster. What I meant was the fact that she only has one fitting, that’s the disaster. Not your dress.”

“My magic fingers are quite incapable of creating a disaster dress, you’re right,” Geralt winked.

Jaskier resisted the urge to smack his shoulder. “You are never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Nope.” Geralt looked far too pleased with himself. “Can you grab the dress for me? It’s on the rack for the day. And can you bring it to room 13?”

“Of course,” Jaskier said. He’d let the magic fingers comment slide for now. Geralt looked far too attractive with his moonlight silver hair in an artful bun, tendrils framing his face, for him to stay mad at him for long. He had never been able to resist a pretty face.

“Thank you.” Geralt moved past Jaskier and began to make his way to the room. Jaskier turned to watch him walk down the hall. His ass looked far too delicious in those gorgeous, fitted navy pinstripe pants. He just had to appreciate it. It would be a crime not to.

Distantly, he wondered if his ass looked just as delicious without the pants on. And was he wearing boxers or briefs? Oh who was he kidding, he had to be wearing at least briefs with pants like those. But what color? Geralt seemed like the type of man to appreciate a fun pair of underwear and-

Jaskier. Get your head out of the gutter.

He made a beeline to the rack and grabbed the dress. He had already left Geralt waiting long enough.

“Here you are,” Jaskier said, hanging the dress in the room.

Geralt fidgeted with his shirt sleeves, eyeing the bag. With a pang, Jaskier realized that he was nervous.

��I’m sure she’s going to love the dress,” Jaskier said, putting as much sincerity as he could into his words. “You are one of the best designers in the industry, Geralt.”

“I know,” Geralt said. “But I’ve never designed for someone that I know before, there’s more risk involved if they don't like it. Cause she’s put all her trust in me and what if she doesn’t like it? This is her only fitting. There isn't time to make anything else."

“Geralt,” Jaskier placed his hand over Geralt’s where he was still fidgeting with his sleeve. “She’s going to love it. Don’t doubt yourself so much, it ruins your pretty face.”

Fuck, did he just really say that out loud?

Geralt’s doubt dissipated as he looked at Jaskier amusedly. “You think my face is pretty?”

“Well who wouldn’t?” Jaskier said, trying and failing to backpedal. “It’s a plenty beautiful face, I mean you’ve got a nose and eyes and everything and…”

“I would hope I have a nose and eyes, yes,” Geralt laughed. Then, he leaned in, as if telling Jaskier a secret. “I’ve also heard that I have lips, too.”

Jaskier was saved the embarrassment of having to respond by a consultant escorting who Jaskier assumed to be Geralt’s brother’s fiancee and her entourage into the alterations area.

“Geralt!” a pretty girl with dark, curly hair said as she stepped up to hug him.

“Hi Triss,” Geralt said, giving her a polite hug and waving to the rest of the entourage. “Are you excited?”

“Of course I’m excited,” she said. “It’s only a week away, Geralt. This better be every bit as perfect as you said it would be.”

“It will be.” Geralt’s smile was easy, as if he hadn’t been freaking out about the appointment moments before.

“And who is this?” Triss asked, turning to Jaskier.

“Oh, everyone, this is Jaskier. He’s a consultant here and my friend,” Geralt said.

“Hello!” Jaskier said, giving everyone a wave.

“Jaskier, this is Triss, the bride to be. She’s marrying my brother.” Geralt gestured to the woman with the dark hair standing in front of them.

“Hello darling,” Jaskier said, shaking her hand. “You look just gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” Triss smiled.

“And this is Triss’s friend Yennefer, Yennefer’s daughter Ciri, my other brother Lambert, and Lambert’s husband Aiden,” Geralt said, pointing at the people sitting on the bench.

Jaskier waved to them all and gave them his best customer service smile.

“Tell me about your fiancee, darling,” Jaskier said to Triss.

“I am getting married to Eskel,” she said, her face lighting up immediately. “We’ve known each other forever and he is perfect.”

“Forever is an understatement,” Geralt said. “They went to kindergarten together.”

“Oh, a childhood love story!” Jaskier clapped his hands together. “How romantic! Let’s hope you have a dress to match.” He turned to Geralt.

“Well darling,” Jaskier said, gesturing to the garment bag that Triss’s dress was in. “Would you like to do the honors?”

Geralt stepped up to the garment bag, his shoulder taught with anxiety.

“Take a breath, Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, just quiet enough for only Geralt to hear. “She’s going to love it.”

Geralt nodded once before unzipping the bag and pulling out the dress. Jaskier couldn't help but gasp.

“Oh my god, it’s gorgeous,” Triss gasped next to him, taking Jaskier’s words right out of his mouth. “Geralt, you’ve outdone yourself.”

“You haven’t even put it on yet,” Geralt said, stepping away so that the entourage could see it as well.

“I don’t have to to know that it’s everything I wanted and probably more,” she said, giving Geralt another hug. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Geralt said and Jaskier thought that he saw a light blush tinting his cheeks. Was Geralt embarrassed? Oh that was just adorable…

The dress itself was gorgeous, just as Jaskier suspected it would be. It was a glorious ivory color that seemed to shift under the lights to be a gorgeous pale blush pink. The skirt appeared to be A line and was sleeveless with a high neck. The bodice had an intricate lace and beading design that blended into the skirt. Jaskier knew that the dress was going to be amazing but Triss was right, Geralt had really outdone himself.

“Would you like to put it on, darling?” Jaskier asked.

Triss nodded, still not tearing her eyes from the dress as Geralt stepped out of the dressing room and Jaskier closed the curtains behind him.

He helped Triss into the dress, zipping up the back effortlessly.

“Oh it fits you like a glove darling,” he remarked. “Almost like it was made for you. Oh wait-” he smiled at her. “It was, wasn’t it?”

Triss laughed at his terrible joke - bless her - as she fingered the lace and beads on the front. “I wasn’t expecting it to look this beautiful,” she whispered.

“Well then let's spin you round, darling,” Jaskier said, taking her hand as she turned to face the mirror. “That’ll really shock you.”

“Oh my god.” She clapped her hands over her mouth as she gaped at herself in the mirror, turning from side to side to look at herself better. “Oh my god .”

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Jaskier smiled at her. “Geralt is far more talented than he gives himself credit for.”

“Tell me about it,” Triss said distractedly as she continued to stare at the dress. “This is absolutely gorgeous. I love it. Eskel’s going to love it. Everyone’s going to love it.”

“Stop feeding pretty boy’s ego and show us then!” someone shouted from the other side of the curtain.

“Fuck off, Lambert!” Triss called back. “I’m having my bridal moment,” she whispered, tears springing up in her eyes as she continued to stare, utterly transfixed by the dress.

“Here, darling,” Jaskier said, pulling his pink pocket square out of his breast pocket. “You don't want to get your mascara on the dress now, do you?”

Triss dabbed at her eyes and took a deep breath before handing the handkerchief back to Jaskier.

“Are you ready to show your entourage?”

“She better be!” Lambert shouted from outside again.

Triss let out a watery laugh. “Yeah, I am.”

Jaskier drew back the curtain as Triss turned around.

“Oh, Triss,” Yennefer said, tears unmistakably clouding her eyes. “You look gorgeous.”

“Holy fuck, Geralt,” Aiden muttered as he stared at the dress, his jaw dropped. “ You designed that ?”

“Hey!” Lambert elbowed him. “I already said that pretty boy doesn’t need his ego inflated any more than it is!”

“Okay but fucking look at the dress, Lambert. It’s fucking gorgeous. And I’m half fucking blind. ”

Lambert shrugged. “Yeah I mean it’s nice. It’s a dress. It’s fabric. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Say she looks beautiful!” Aiden nearly shouted, smacking Lambert’s shoulder. “And that Geralt did a great job because if you don't I swear your ass-”

“Boys.” Triss crossed her arms. “There are children present.”

“I’m nineteen!” Ciri protested, throwing her hands up.

Triss ignored her. “There are children present and this is my fitting. So Lambert, shut up and tell your brother he did a good job.”

“You did a good job not fucking it up, Ger,” Lambert muttered.

“I’ll take it. And Aiden? You can finish that sentence later,” she said with a pointed look.

She turned to Jaskier, who had been watching the entire exchange with raised eyebrows. “Sorry about them, they are always like this.”

Lambert flipped her off. Aiden threw up a peace sign.

“Well,” Jaskier said, trying to contain his laughter. “Clearly they are meant for eachother.” He was just glad that he hadn’t had to diffuse the situation. He was tired of telling entourages to get along.

“It’s a good thing they got married then,” Geralt said, standing slowly and walking over to Triss. “You like the dress then?”

Triss once again read Jaskier’s mind and playfully punched Geralt’s shoulder. “I fucking love it . I was right, it is everything I wanted and more. Thank you.” Her eyes were shining with tears again and this time, it was painfully obvious that Geralt blushed when he looked down at his shoes.

“Of course, it was my pleasure,” Geralt said, squeezing her arm. “I’m glad you and Eskel are finally tying the knot, I couldn't imagine a more perfect match for him than you.”

“Geralt,” Triss sighed, the tears pooling in her eyes spilling over again. “You didn't need to make me cry more! The dress was enough!”

Geralt just laughed. Jaskier silently passed Triss his pocket square again.

“Is there anything big that you want to change or do I just need to adjust the fit?” Geralt asked.

“Just the fit,” Triss said, dabbing at her eyes again.

Geralt nodded and set to work, silently slipping into the zone, pinning and adjusting and occasionally stepping back and squinting at his work. Jaskier knew that Triss and her entourage were talking, but he didn't even pretend to be paying attention. He was much more content to watch Geralt work, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the fabric as he made the already gorgeous gown look somehow even more phenomenal.

“Alright,” Geralt said, stepping back. “I think that that should be good, spin round for me.”

Triss turned to look in the mirror.

“Does it look okay?” Geralt asked and Triss punched his shoulder again. “Ow!”

“Geralt if you don't stop insulting your frankly quite stunning work, I will have to steal your little demon dog,” she said, looking over the dress in the mirror. “But yes, everything looks good.”

“Roach isn’t a demon,” Geralt pouted, and oh fuck wasn’t that adoreable.

“That fucking dog almost bit my hand off!” Lambert shouted from the bench.

Geralt made several rude gestures at him and Jaskier nearly swooned. Fucking hell he was gone for this man. And it was only the second time that he had seen him.

“Jaskier, can you get her out of the dress?” Geralt asked. “Be careful with all the pins.”

Jaskier nodded, very much at a loss for words.

“C’mon darling,” Jaskier said, tugging the curtain closed behind Geralt again.

He undid the zipper on the back of Triss’s dress and helped tug the dress off her shoulders, mindful of the many pins that Geralt had put in it.

“Have you and Geralt known each other long?” Triss asked.

“Oh, no not at all,” Jaskier said, glad that he was standing behind her and couldn't see the flush of his cheeks. “He helped me with an appointment a few months ago and we went out for drinks after and we’ve been texting occasionally, but that’s it.” He didn’t say that he wished it was more.

“You went out for drinks on the day you first met?” Triss asked, letting her voice rise. “That’s interesting, Geralt doesn’t often go out with people that he’s just met.”

There was a shout from the other side of the curtain, but it was muffled almost immediately, the sound of a hand slapping over someone’s mouth unmistakeable.

“Well, it had been a long day and we were both in need of one. Step out for me, darling,” Jaskier said, picking up the dress and hanging it back up.

“I’m sure you were,” Triss said from behind him as he zipped the dress carefully back into the garment bag. Before he had the chance to ask what she meant, she was opening the curtains and walking back outside to her entourage.

Jaskier picked up the garment bag and followed her.

“It was lovely meeting all of you,” he said, waving to the entourage. “Triss, darling, I hope you have a wonderful wedding and Geralt, it was nice seeing you again.” He turned back down the hall to go hang up the dress for Geralt to deal with later. He should get back upstairs, hopefully nothing too dire had happened in the salon during his absence, even if the break had been nice.

He was just turning to go up the stairs when he saw Geralt walking purposefully towards him, his cane clicking quickly against the floor.

“Jaskier!”

“Oh, hi again!” Jaskier said. “I was just going to head back upstairs, we are still very busy.” He gave Geralt an apologetic smile. There was nothing that he would rather do than stand and talk with Geralt.

Geralt winced. “Then I guess you probably shouldn't have helped me with the appointment.”

“No, no!” Jaskier said quickly. “It was my absolute pleasure, Geralt. And honestly? The salon was driving me a bit insane, so it was quite a nice and much needed break.”

“Well thank you for helping,” Geralt smiled. “I think it went well.”

“It definitely did, darling,” Jaskier said. “She loved the dress, just like I told you she would.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and looked down at his feet, placing both hands on top of his cane. “Actually though, I had something to ask you before you get back to work, if that’s okay. I don’t want to keep you.”

“The only thing you’re keeping me from is crying brides and disapproving mothers, and there is only so much of that that my poor soul can take,” Jaskier said. “I’d rather stay here with you and your-” he cut himself off before he made another terrible slip up. He had already learned his lesson from last time.

“With my magic hands? Or my pretty face?” Geralt asked smugly.

Jaskier sighed, ignoring him. “What was it that you wanted to ask me?”

“I have a plus one for Triss’s wedding next week,” Geralt started.

“And you haven’t asked anyone yet?” Jaskier asked. “Geralt, what have you been doing?”

“...Designing dresses?” he said sheepishly.

Jaskier swore his heart melted. He just looked so cute. How on earth was this allowed?

“Well, you better ask someone,” Jaskier said. “You’re running out of time.”

“Yes I know.” Geralt looked at Jaskier and smiled. “Jaskier, what are you doing next Saturday?”

“Saturday?” Well…” Jaskier trailed off, trying to remember what was coming up. “That is technically my day off, but I might still come in because we have just been so busy and we’re getting a new collection in and I’m going to have to….wait….” his eyes widened as he finally processed what Geralt had been asking him. “Are you….are you asking me..?”

“Would you like to be my plus one to Triss’s wedding?” Geralt asked, his golden eyes somehow sparkling in the atrocious fluorescent lighting.

“ Oh ,” Jaskier gasped. “Yes. Yes I would love to.”

“Great,” Geralt said, breathing an audible sigh of relief. “I’ll pick you up at 1pm. It’s formal. Be ready.”

Oh, Jaskier would be ready alright. He walked back to a salon with a huge smile plastered across his face.

__

may be a ch 2. havent decided. 

tag list:

@percy-jackson-is-sexy-

@barlowpng

@eminasan

@llamasdumpsterfire

@nonegenderleftpain

@geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde

@geekymagicalpotato

@jaskierswolf

@toss-a-coin-to-your-stan-account

@toss-a-coin-to-your-lesbian

@littleredhotridinghood

@fontegagrilledcheese

@acemoppet

@lookatgeraltmyboi​

@gods-oopsie-woopsie​

@julek

@funkylittlebard

@dani-dandelino

@officerjennie

@kuripon

@alllthequeenshorses

@mothmanismyuncle

@dapandapod

[dapandapod]

You bring me colours

Hello and welcome to mean and angsty hours. Today I bring to you a soulmate fic, but it is sad and hurtful.

Thank you my lovely enablers for helping me bringing this to life, despite my very weak protests. Be mindful, my loves, if you are having a bad day you might want to skip this one. It ends happily, do not worry, but the way there is ouchie.

Warnings; Implied character death (real and not real), vauge description of drinking and depression, just, sad in general. A little bit soft too, and hopeful, but mostly sad. Im sorry.

On Ao3 here

Everybody has a soulmate. When your One comes into the world, they bring colors with them. And when they go, so do the colors. Many a poet sings of a world gone gray, of a love unknowingly lost. Because you don’t always meet your one. For some, it is enough to know they are out there. For some, the hunt lasts their entire lifetime. Some lucky few find each other, and some never do, settling in peace anyway.

---

For Vesemir, he had color for almost a century. But a witchers life is rough, and he knows not to seek them out. Not to give hope, not to feel greed. Just gift them with colors as long as he is able. He has an inkling who is His. His One. They must know too, but they never say.

Vesemir sits at the teachers table. It is lively in the hall, the children are laughing and making a mess as children do. They are his pride and his burden. Not all will be allowed to grow up, but he will do his best to give them a fighting chance. He raises his spoon towards his mouth, the soup smelling warm and rich.

The spoon falls with a clatter to the table.

Everything is black and white.

He is in front of everybody. In charge of so many lives. He was gifted with color for such a long time, this was to be expected. But if his One is who he thinks it is, then….

The screaming begins outside. The sacking of Kaer Morhen has begun.

---

Jaskier has always seen color. Always seen the color of the sky, the flowers and the nuances of snow.

When Jaskier is six years old, that changes.

He runs to his mothers, tears streaking down his face. Her dress used to be a bright green, her eyes a rich blue.

“Where did the colours go?” He cries. He knows he is too big to cry, but he is scared and sad.

Mother seems to be sad too. Heartbroken in fact, and she picks him up and holds him close.

After that day, the only color Jaskier can see is yellow. The color of the sun, of buttercups, some cat’s eyes. Of puss, of stains and of age.

--

There are many ways to die. The old Geralt dies when his knife plunges into Renfri's neck.

Geralt's colors came some years ago. When it happened he didn’t panic. He followed Vesemir's advice and pushed it as far back as he possibly could. It was only a small disappointment that the world didn’t turn grey when Renfri died. Because that is what Geralt felt like.

The colours stay, and he despises them. They glare at him, blaming him for still being there. How can he think he ever deserves happiness?

-----

In Posada, Jaskier finds someone with yellow eyes. They call to him like no other, so he goes. It is the best decision he has ever made, if the most difficult one. But with Geralt around, it is almost as if his memories of colours are springing to life. Sometimes he remembers that poppies are red, that water can be rich blue, and that autumn leaves can look like a fire. The fire he remembers from his past, but around Geralt they are so vivid they almost look real.

His mother told him not to tell. To hold those memories close. She taught him the colors through names and pictures, so that if someone asked, he would know.

Jaskier knows that his lost colours means that his One is dead. Some kind of dead, at least, if the professors are to be believed. If you get to keep a colour, even if it’s just the one, there is a chance. So Jaskier leaps at every chance he gets. He is one of those who chase, and will continue to chase.

----

Geralt is reluctant to Jaskier. Reluctant, because when he is around he is starting to feel alive again. Jaskier pokes and prods and smiles and sings and talks, and it is all Geralt can do to fight it.

---

A hot summer day Geralt finally gives in and they're just being goofy and like wrestling in a river. All the sudden Jaskier can see the color of the grass and he freaks out and scrambles out of the river and just lays down in front of a tuft of grass like 'holy shit geralt look at that.”

The bard is absolutely mesmerized for a moment, but when Geralt comes to look at what caught his attention, before he catches himself. Shit. Geralt can’t know.

So he plays it off, especially when the tuft of grass slowly fades back to grey. There is a lump in his throat, hope so big in his chest he wants to explode. They are out there, his One. They are still here.

---

There are many changes during their travels. Yennefer, for one. It is with her arrival that Jaskier realizes he is in love with Geralt. Deeply, desperately in love with him.

Another change happens on a cold and lonely mountain top. Geralt finally breaks, breaks everything, and Jaskier feels a spark inside himself diminish.

The further away from the mountain he gets, the more muted the world becomes. Even his memories stay out of his reach, as in fear of the pain he feels.

----

The moment Jaskier leaves the mountain, his world goes gray. Things click into place. He closes his eyes against the pain, letting it tear through him, cut him open.

Jaskier was his One.

And he killed him.

---

Geralt doesn’t know why the sky is still blue. He doesn’t understand how Ciris cloak is not grey, her eyes as startling blue as the love he once lost.

He thought he lost Yennefer on Sodden hill, but when he meets her, she is wearing a dress the color of Jaskiers eyes.

He breaks down at her feet, finally crumbling after all this time. He tells her everything, and she wipes his tears with infinite patience. How he deserves that from her, he doesn’t know.

“Why blue?” she asks him. “What relationship do you have with blue?”

And Geralt thinks about it. It is Ciri who finally puts the pieces together. Blue as Jaskiers eyes, he had said. And if you get to keep a colour, even if it’s just the one, there is a chance, or so a bard had told her in her grandmother's ballroom.

---

There are many ways to die. Jaskier is drowning. Drowning in pain and alcohol, sinking to a bottom, looking up at a golden sun. Not even the bright yellow can cheer him up, not when it reminds him so much of Geralt's eyes.

He doesn’t chase anymore. He accepts. Accepts that he will be alone, that nobody wants to be with someone destined for no one.

---

Geralt finds him in a tavern. Geralt walks in, so Jaskier must out. The one thing Geralt asks of him, after all these years. The least he can do is listen.

But Geralt follows him outside. Grabs his arms. Cups his cheeks. Asks for forgiveness. It takes time for Jaskier to register his words, he is deep down, he is drowning. But the sun seems closer now, becking him upwards.

He doesn’t understand why Geralt is here, but his broken heart is held together with Geralt's arms around him.

---

Geralt is scared to tell the bard. After all the pain he caused, how can he possibly make things right.

Geralt does everything he can to get the colours back, but they won’t come. Now that he has had a taste, now that he knows that it was his words, not his hands, that took them, he fights. He won’t make Jaskier follow him anymore. He tries something new.

They walk beside each other, a careful pace forward is set. It takes time, but his colours return. Jaskiers smiles are brighter, his eyes cornflower blue.

Then Jaskier confesses to him, he sees no colours but gold. How he carried it inside all this time, hoping that his One is out there, and Geralt can’t wait any longer.

“I want to give them to you. The colours that you bring to me, I want to give back to you.”

And he tries. Everyday he tries. And Jaskier holds his hand all the while.

[ethereaiin]

pspsps a2 waltzing would be pretty snazzy of you

features; you and a2

[au]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Ever since you were young your mother has always been strict, especially when it came to how you presented yourself. You were the daughter of the only grand duke in the kingdom and she thought it was imperative that you appear as perfect as your title suggested.

Being the sole heiress to the grand duchy held many benefits but forced just as many responsibilities onto you, which your mother oversaw with a keen eye. While you were given the best education in the country and excelled in various aspects of etiquette, there was only one subject you had trouble mastering.

Dancing.

You weren’t sure what it was about it that caused you so much trouble. You had the best instructors around, the top dancers handpicked by your meticulous mother, yet even they were still not enough to instill the precise movements of a basic waltz into your head. You couldn’t even count the number of hours you spent watching them elegantly sail across the ballroom floor, spinning and stepping in sync with the music before one of them offered their hand out for you to put all you saw into practice. Yet it would only end with you stepping on your instructor’s toes or dancing the wrong part altogether.

Your instructors never once told you what exactly you were doing wrong. They merely smiled lightly, shifting uncomfortably on their bruised toes as they spoke insincere assurances that you definitely improved from the previous session. But you knew it all to be lies. You danced nothing like them. Not as graceful, nor as nimble.

Compared to them, you were akin to a newborn fawn who just learned to use their legs. At this rate, there was no way you were going to be able to dance at your coming-of-age celebration without embarrassing yourself completely. Your mother would never let you see the light of day if you managed to step on the toes of your partner and you can’t even imagine the disappointment from your father.

You were the grand duke’s heir, after all, there was no room for mistakes. Even for something so minor as dancing. Already, you can imagine the face your mother would make when she witnesses your terrible dancing tomorrow during practice.

“She’s gonna kill me when she finds out.” You sighed as you sunk deeper in your seat, a plate of cookies placed before you alone with a steaming cup of tea. Many thoughts clouded you, many of them pertaining to your mother and some of them belonging to your beloved. “There’s no way I’m going to give him that promised dance. . .”

By him, you meant your unofficial fiance, Cirian Lacan. While you two were not yet formally engaged, you’ve been promised to each other since birth. It was an age-old agreement that had yet to be fulfilled due to the fact that both of your respective families had never produced children of opposite genders. Well, until now at least. You and Cirian were on great terms and you considered him to be a very precious childhood friend you wouldn’t mind spending the rest of your life with.

To say he was excited about your coming of age ceremony was an understatement. He had his own the year prior and was determined to be your first dance and you, being ignorant to the true difficulties of a simple waltz, wholeheartedly agreed. You wanted to make him happy but at this rate, you’d only give him several bruised toes and a terrible experience.

“My lady, you must sit up properly.”

Came the stern voice of your appointed personal maid and guard. You glanced up towards the left side of your chair where A2 stood, her face pulled into a small disapproving frown at your slumped form. Your lips formed a small pout, but you chose wisely to do as she said. You were a firsthand witness to her monster strength and you did not want to see what she would do if you refused.

Your maid was an odd person, one whose origins you were never fully informed of and was often shrouded in mystery. Your mother appointed her to you shortly after you were named heir to the duchy for ‘protection’ but the woman currently standing next to you looked as if she couldn’t hurt a fly, let alone wield a sword. She was tall and delicately lean, but under that maid’s dress, you weren’t sure if there was even an ounce of muscle to be seen. Not to mention her name. It was strange and sounded more like a pseudonym than anything else.

The only thing you had learned of her so far apart from her no-nonsense personality, was that she and two others like her were ‘gifts’ from the royal family. Your father would only relent that much to you and the other two that supposedly came along to your residence with her were nowhere to be seen.

“They are doing their work, my dear.” Your father said from his seat at his desk. His eyes never once lifted from the stack of papers in his hand to address you, yet you could still feel the warmth in his tone. This was how he displayed his affection and patience for you. Never once raising his voice in your presence or running you off when you so obviously intruded on his work. And then, under his breath, “Out of sight, out of mind.”

You never did understand what he meant by that and you were pretty sure you were never meant to hear it. Yet whatever the other two did, it was much more secretive than what A2 did for you. All you could do for now was hope that your father would explain more once you’re declared head of the family.

“A2, can’t you see I’m in a crisis right now?” You huffed, twisting yourself in your seat towards her and sitting in an even more improper fashion than you were moments before. Your new positioning seemed to noticeably peeve A2 who furrowed her brow. “If I can’t get this dance down, mother will kill me. . . and Ciri,” Your avert your gaze, your eyes softening as your mouth quivers into a frown. “oh I can’t even imagine what he’d do.”

“Cry, probably.” A2 remarks and you throw a light glare in her direction yet she shrugs it off with an indifferent bow of her head as if she were apologizing, but you knew she wasn’t. “I tell only the truth, my lady.”

As much as you wished to defend your fiance’s honor, you were well aware of his meek nature. A2 was right. He was more likely to cry if you ended up making your first public dance together a complete disaster. You only had one shot at this and if you failed, not only would you break the promise you had with Cirian but those nasty nobles who’d been attempting to gather as much dirt on you as possible would jump on this opportunity. They would use any flaw you had to their advantage, anything to keep you from getting the grand duchess title.

“There must be something I can do. . .” You nibbled at the nail of your thumb, a habit you accidentally picked up and one both A2 and your mother hated. While you were a normally composed person, the thought of your nearing coming-of-age ceremony and your lack of knowing a relatively simple dance seemed to have driven your nerves up the wall. “If I can’t dance, I should just avoid doing it shouldn’t I?”

Your gaze, which had fallen to the ground in thought, rose only to meet A2’s for approval. You wouldn’t say you and her were close, but the fact that she spent the most time with you out of all your servants, made her feel something akin to a friend. But with her, there was always a line in the sand she purposely drew. She never once made the effort to get closer to you and often discreetly blocked your advances from getting to know her. You respected her decision and despite her reluctance to open up, you still very much liked her.

She was pragmatic in nature and voiced her opinion often enough that you thought of her as honest. Her indifference towards you and the rest of the world was somewhat refreshing. Unlike other servants, she didn’t try currying favor with you and if there was a noble that bothered you for a little too long, she always made sure to tell them off in your stead. She didn’t care much for social standing and if she wasn’t the personal maid to the second most powerful family in the Leiden kingdom, you were sure she would have been hanged for how impartial she truly was with people. Her mouth would one day get her into trouble, you were sure of it.

When she gently smacked your hand away from your mouth, you could see the glint of resignation in her silver eyes. “Do you really want to learn that useless dance?”

“Hey,” You started, your hand settling back into your lap as you watched her move to stand right in front of you. “I won’t deny that dancing is useless. . . in fact, I couldn’t agree more.” You nodded to yourself with certainty and a satisfied smile. If only your mother and Cirian thought that way. You could be saved a hell of a lot of trouble.

“But this is what’s expected of me.” Your smile dropped at the thought of your father and all he had to sacrifice to get where he stood. “I really shouldn’t neglect this just because I hate it.”

“For a girl your age, you think too deeply.” You glanced up at her surprisingly soft tone. She presents her pale hand for you to take and you do so without much thought. Throughout the few years she’s been by your side, you definitely trusted her a little more than anyone else. “Being terrible at one thing won’t kill you, nor would it make your father think any less of you. No one expects you to be perfect, [name].”

She pulls you off towards the large open clearing of your room and it’s only when she has her hand on your waist that you realize what she’s doing. “While I can’t help you with much of anything in regards to your studies, this is something I can assist you in.”

Before you’re given the chance to process her earlier words or even the fact that she was helping you with dancing, she spins the two of you around; gliding effortlessly across the floor. With your hand caressed gently within her own. You stare at her with widened eyes. Everything about her in this moment had taken you by surprise, but you didn’t find yourself hating it.

A2 could be a kind person if given the chance and while most people had never minded how hard you exerted yourself to even resemble a bit of your father, she was the first person to ever realize the high expectations you set up for yourself. Your mother called your ambition and strive to be the makings of a true leader, but you sometimes found them to be nothing but burdensome. More than anything, you just wanted someone to tell you it was okay to mess up. Even just a little. Her sentiment warmed your heart in ways you could never truly convey into words.

So, with a cheerful grin, you swayed along with her. Though, your eyes stayed trained on your feet if only to avoid ruining the nice moment.

Dancing in silence may have seemed odd to an onlooker, but you swore you could hear the melodic beat in your head. You hummed along to the non-existent song, momentarily glancing up from your feet to meet A2’s curious stare with a grin. At first, you had trouble keeping up with her graceful steps, and more often than naught, you stepped on her toes. Each time, you apologized with reddened cheeks, yet she shrugged them off with a light smile and a shake of her head.

She was a much more diligent teacher than you initially expected. For every mistake, she told you exactly what you had done wrong and where you needed to improve. Yet, she was also so very patient. She went over countless parts of the dance, repeating the moves you had trouble on and never once expressing anger when you didn’t seem to get it.

This repeated for hours on end and well into the night before you finally called it quits. While you were exhausted with your chest heaving and small beads of sweat rolling down the side of your face, A2 looked as if she were not tired at all. You shambled over towards your bed, plopping down before looking to A2 who seemed to have read your mind and was fetching you a towel.

“Thank you,” You said with a sigh as you took the towel from her before patting the softened cloth against your cheek.

There was a few moments of silence between you that you used to compose yourself. Your heart settled into its normal steady rhythm and your exhaustion mellowed into fatigue. A2 stood in front of you, hands folded neatly at her waist and eyes lowered to give you some privacy.

“You’re very good at dancing.” You finally say as you drop the towel to your side. “When did you learn?”

“When you did,” A2 says as she lifts her eyes to meet your own. Within her silvery gaze, you can see obvious amusement. “I learned from watching you.”

A2 was always such a perfect maid. Doing everything to a tee and perfect in all aspects. You were unsurprised to hear she was a quick learner as well as a talented dancer. It was a shame her talents were held back by her class. If she were of noble lineage, you had no doubts that she would have given even the crown prince a run for his money.

Yet, there was something about her that was strayed from her normal indifference. You noticed it the most when the two of you were dancing. Her face looked so serene. With a ghost of a smile on her lips and eyes fluttered shut as she twirled you along to your hummed song. She was undeniably beautiful then and even someone so oblivious as yourself could see that.

You hummed at her reply, leaning back on your hands as you stared at her with a wide grin. "You like dancing, don't you?"

"It's. . . Okay." She says with a shrug of her shoulders. "Nothing special, really. I don't know why you nobles make such a big deal out of it."

"So then you wouldn't mind helping me out again, would you?" You offer your hand out for her to take and she does before pulling you off your bed. "You're a fine teacher. Better than those 'professionals' mother hired."

When you're up on your feet again, A2 attempts to let you go but you only tighten your grip on her hand. She looks at you, her brows high with a curious expression on her normally stoic features.

"Let's go another round, A2." You grin as you pull her towards the middle of your room once more. "There's a lot more I need to work on if I want to be perfect."

The woman behind you merely smiles, her pale cheeks tinged red as she nods to no one in particular. "As you wish, my lady."

[jaskiersvalley]

i hate what you just cursed us with

You are most welcome, Nonnie XD Long furby Witchers will always be my one true love, along with worm-on-a-string Jaskier. I mean, can you imagine beefy longified Letho furby? But to make up for the travesty, have some Orpheus and Eurydice Geraskier. You know how that story ends - that's your warning, plus the fact it's all under a cut.

Life without the bard was dull. Geralt hated it, cursed the day Jaskier was ripped from him. There were many varied injuries Geralt had suffered but none of them were quite as painful as losing Jaskier. Time didn't make it easier and, as the Continent descended into war, Geralt found himself wishing for Jaskier more and more. He ended up reading old tomes, bribing his way into libraries, vaults and the back rooms of shops where the less conventional books were kept. A few of them mentioned a possibility, nothing more than an offer of hope but Geralt had nothing left to lose.

It took some bartering and arguing before Yennefer agreed to try and help, taking him back to Aretuza. Several sorceresses agreed to take part in the ritual to open up a portal. There was no guarantee Geralt would get back, no certainty that he could get Jaskier. But the risk was worth it, Geralt willingly accepted it all. A black, inky portal swirled and, as much as he hated them, Geralt gritted his teeth and stepped through.

The underworld was devoid of all colour. It was relaxing in a way, Geralt knew he didn't belong but in a much different way than how he didn't belong among the living. It took a little while for him to follow the rough path and find the rulers of the underworld. Hades, Pluto, the entity went by many names, none of which Geralt cared for.

"I came for what my heart knows is rightfully mine," he declared loud and clear. Not that it did any good, the only one who paid him any attention was the three headed dog that seemed insistent on following him. Undeterred, Geralt pushed on. "I wish to take back Jaskier and ask you let him go." Still nothing. As a last ditch attempt Geralt reached for a pouch on his hip and pulled a fistful of pomegranate seeds. They scattered in front of him and finally the queen of the underworld deigned to look his way. Not that anything was said as she turned back to her husband, lips moving but Geralt couldn't hear anything no matter how he strained.

Nothing happened for a few long minutes. To Geralt it felt like an eternity but he was patient, he could wait. Finally the ruler of the underworld reached out a hand and languidly flicked his wrist, opening up a new portion of the underworld. Like peering through a door, Geralt could see Jaskier giving the performance of his life, loving every second of it as he was adored by the masses. He looked good. He looked happy.

The rules were simple, Geralt knew them without a word being said to him. Turning away, he called out, "Jaskier, come along now."

He couldn't turn around, couldn't lay eyes on Jaskier until they were both free of the underworld. There was barely any noise, Geralt had to trust that Jaskier was behind him, following like he'd been asked. Somehow the path back towards the portal seemed longer. Every now and then Geralt had to stop and close his eyes, reaching with his senses to try and find Jaskier. Each time it got easier to feel him and Geralt relaxed.

"So, are you ignoring me on purpose?" Jaskier's voice was lilting with petulance. But Geralt couldn't say anything. If he told Jaskeir he wasn't allowed to look then he would never see Jaskier again. Instead, Geralt pushed on and tried to ignore the pleas that grew ever more desperate.

"I don't know what I've done to deserve your ire."

"Why won't you just look at me?"

"If you truly loved me then you'd look."

That almost had Geralt and he stopped, breathing deeply through his nose to try and keep control of himself. If looking at Jaskier was what proved his love, he was desperate to do it, to stare at him for as long as he could to show that his adoration was without limits. Instead Geralt started moving again. The portal had to be somewhere around them.

Time moved differently in the underworld, Geralt knew that. They hadn't been able to guess how long would elapse between him walking through the portal and coming out. As far as Geralt was concerned it was only hours that he had been away. But as he looked out through the portal, the world of the living had moved at a much faster pace.

He couldn't tell where the portal emerged, it was a field rather than Aretuza's casting chambers. What Geralt could smell though was death and he saw as the occasional spectre stepped through the veil of the portal, blind to his and Jaskier's presence as they headed down to the underworld. Taking a steadying breath, Geralt stepped through the portal.

Colours and sounds assaulted him the moment he was back in the world of the living. It was too bright, too full of life. The clashing and clanging of swords and armour warred with the stench of blood and death. For reasons beyond logic, the portal had opened on a battlefield, Nilfgaard decimating whatever local army it was. Geralt ducked an arrow with a growl. Much like he had been filled with the knowledge of how to bring Jaskier back, Geralt now knew for certain that the Continent was at war. There was no safe haven, no corner or land that hadn't been touched by battle and political warfare.

That wasn't the world Geralt had left behind, wasn't what he'd been expecting on his return. Fifteen years had passed, Ciri was no doubt an adult now, possibly even sitting on the throne of Nilfgaard herself. Everything was wrong, Geralt had been certain things had been on the mend when he left, self-assured in the knowledge that everything would be fine while he was away. Alas, he had been wrong. Death blanketed the Continent. There was no room for merriment, for song, for the arts. This wasn't the world Geralt wanted to give Jaskier. He couldn't even imagine his bard, he songbird, caught up in war. It wasn't what Jaskier deserved.

Heart heavy, Geralt looked around the battlefield. He knew the right thing to do. The only thing really. After all, Jaskier had already told him what he'd do if he truly loved him. Geralt's world was that much poorer for not having Jaskier in it. But the world at large was not a place that would make Jaskier's life easy. So Geralt did the kindest thing. He turned around, taking one last look at his bard. Committing to memory the colourless form that had promised to burst into a riot of colour if only he could take two more steps. But Geralt couldn't allow it. So he watched as Jaskier sent him a small smile, one that Geralt could pretend was one of gratitude. Jaskier, the portal, the underworld, it all faded from Geralt's vision until he was left staring at a patch of bloodied grass in the middle of a battlefield, not knowing whether his friends were alive or if they even still wanted him. Once again he was completely alone.

[professorjaskier]

A Twist of Fate

Hey guys! I wrote a sad fic for @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde because she wanted a fic that would make her cry! I think I delivered. Thank you to @kuripon for betaing this work!

TW: There is a major character death and depictions of blood and a fatal injury. You’ve been warned! I hope you enjoy(?)

A03 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30468945

Over the many years of their companionship, for all the ways that Jaskier had imagined their inevitable separation, Geralt's death had never crossed his mind as a possibility. Jaskier was always supposed to leave first, involuntarily dragged away by the cruel hands of death, but gone nonetheless. 

There had been moments when Jaskier’s thoughts had wandered to the macabre, wondering when the thin string attaching him to the world would be snipped by the cruel hands of fate. The day when he cuckolded the wrong person or didn’t move fast enough to avoid the sharps talons of a griffin. On the worst days, he would speculate that his death would be brought forth by sickness or worse, old age. Something unpoetic and dull, the opposite of what he’d worked to be his entire life. 

Geralt always hated when Jaskier would voice these contemplations of his own humanity; that flame that burned bright, but was inevitably shorter than the veritable bonfire of a witcher’s lifespan. With these conversations, Geralt would grow quieter and hold him tighter, as though his grasp could fight the continuous march of time. 

Neither of them had anticipated this.

Geralt always said slow witchers were dead witchers. He’d never said anything about slow bards causing the death of a perfectly fit witcher. One still considered to be in his prime.

It had all happened so fast, the bandits popping out of the foliage in droves. Jaskier knew it was his fault, no matter the platitudes his friends would offer him later on. He’d been playing his lute as they’d walked down the deceivingly empty road despite the look of consternation he found on Geralt’s face. The witcher had seemed on edge, but he’d ignored his lover’s distress, instead focusing on his newest composition. Things had been good the last few months, with Ciri ascending to her rightful place on the throne and that entire Wild Hunt business put behind them. Hell, they hadn’t been on the road in months, Geralt settling into his newly acquired vineyard and Jaskier running his own business. Inevitably, Geralt grew bored of his sedentary life and Jaskier had followed him back onto the path. Perhaps those months of respite had made them lazy, unused to the perils of traveling. Jaskier would never know.

What he would remember was the way that he’d been caught off-guard by a young man sneaking up from behind. The man was more like a child than a man, barely growing whiskers on his chin. Jaskier would’ve felt bad for the teenager if he hadn’t been trying to murder him. As it was, that child had stabbed his sword straight through Geralt’s breast as the witcher pushed him out of the way. 

Jaskier watched in shocked silence as the polished steel sliced its way through Geralt’s sternum, the blood bubbling out of his love’s body. The child looked nearly as shocked, staring at the sword in his hand in horror as it speared through Geralt’s body. 

After a moment, Jaskier rushed forward and hit the young man over the head with his lute. He heard a horrendous crack, but had no time to investigate the damage done to his precious instrument beyond checking that the boy was truly unconscious. Once that was confirmed, he hurried over to Geralt’s side.

Red. All he could see was red intertwining with the pale ivory of Geralt’s face and the spun silver of his hair. Things looked bleak. He had seen Geralt in terrible situations before, holding himself together though sheer stubbornness and dumb luck, but this was bad. The sword stuck out of his broad chest, while Geralt stayed unnaturally still on the ground. Jaskier let out a sob, certain that his love was dead, until he heard a quiet, choking sound come from Geralt’s mouth. He immediately kneeled to the ground, uncaring of the damage it would do to his fancy clothes. Clothes could be replaced, but his lover couldn’t be.

“Geralt! You’re fine, it’s going to be fine. Just tell me what potion you need and I’ll get it!” He spoke these words, nearly incomprehensible with the speed at which they were said, but upon looking up he saw that Roach was gone. This latest version of Roach was new, not yet hardened from the perils of the Path, and had run at the first sign of danger. Normally that would be fine, but she also carried every potion Geralt would need to heal.

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath, gently petting the silver hair he loved so much, ignoring the tacky feeling of blood under his fingertips. Swiftly tearing off his doublet, he placed it under Geralt’s head, hoping to afford him some comfort while he ran to find the runaway mare. “Okay, I’m going to find Roach, just stay here! It’s going to be alright Geralt, I’ll find us some help.”

As he stood to complete this necessary task, he felt a hand weakly grab at his wrist. “No,” Geralt whispered, forming the words around the blood spilling from his lips. “Stay,” he commanded with a pleading light in his eyes.

Jaskier sat back down immediately, gingerly shifting the witcher’s head into his lap. “Geralt, I need to find—”

“It’s too late,” Geralt choked out, looking paler every second. 

Jaskier sobbed at those three words, finally understanding the severity of the situation. He placed a hand on Geralt’s cheek, caressing it in the hopes that it would bring minimal comfort to the man he loved. 

“Why?” Jakier asked as tears spilled down his pale cheeks. “You would’ve been fine, it wasn’t worth it.” His voice broke on the last word, sobs destroying any semblance of loquacity left within him. “Why would you do that, you stupid witcher?”

“Was worth it,” Geralt slurred, exhausted from the fight and the subsequent blood loss. “Couldn’t live without you. Sorry.”

Jaskier choked back a sob, overwhelmed by the inescapable conclusion of their final adventure. “I’m sorry,” he pleaded, staring into golden pools of light that became dimmer every moment. “I shouldn’t have been playing my lute, I saw you were distracted—”

“Not your fault—” Geralt insisted, taking a weak hold of his hand, stroking the trembling fingers with a calloused thumb. They were silent for a moment, the sound of Geralt’s labored breaths filling the space around them like an unwelcome guest. “Tell Ciri and Yennefer I love them,” Geralt gritted through his teeth, fighting through the unbearable pain to say his last wishes. “Bring my medallion to Kaer Morhen. They need to know.” 

Jaskier nodded frantically, wiping away the blood dripping from the corner of those lips he knew better than his own. He watched as Geralt attempted to say more but no words came out, impeded by the blood pouring out of his mouth. With his last vestiges of energy, he saw Geralt mouth, “I love you,” before falling limp in his arms. 

The world fell silent, everything falling still as Geralt shuddered his last breath. “No,” Jaskier brokenly whispered, knowing deep down that no one would answer. “Geralt, no, please, don’t leave me. You can’t leave me!” he cried out, his voice breaking on the final word. When there was no response but the sound of birds and wind blowing through the trees, he laid his head down on the witcher's still chest and clung as tightly as he dared, imparting one last embrace.

He wasn’t supposed to die first. This was wrong. “It was always meant to be me,” Jaskier murmured to the empty shell lying in his lap. 

It was never meant to end this way.