#Geratl x jaskier

[eskelsgirl]

Acting Strange part 1

Main pairing: Geralt/Jaskier Characters: Geralt, Jaskier, Eskel, Lambert, Vesemir. Warnings: None so far Geralt was acting strange, not in the normal silent brooding strange that Jaskier had come to be familiar with but a new strange that was, well, very strange. Ever since the two fell into bed together, Geralt has been more… considerate. No, that wasn’t the word. Attentive, maybe? Anyway, the word didn’t matter; what mattered was that Geralt was acting strange, and Jaskier was going to get to the bottom of it. 

It started strangely, with dried and pressed flowers appearing in his bags. Shortly after, the two parted for the winter. The flowers were hidden away in Jaskier’s things, so he’d spend weeks finding them: roses, Lavenders, and Tulips, to name a few. Next was when they joined together during spring, a few weeks after the snow melted. Geralt was well rested after his season away, while Jaskier was jumping with energy after spending his time cooped up teaching. Jaskier would kiss Geralt upon first meeting, and his witcher would kiss him back, but he’d go no further till they were alone. Where Geralt would take his time, taking Jaskier apart. This, while amazing, was strange to Jaskier; they were just friends, now with benefits, right? No real emotion attached. But laying awake a night held tight in Geralt's arms makes Jaskier feel something tight in his heart, a familiar feeling in its own way. Jaskier has fallen in love before and has been loved in return, so why was this so different?

—---

Geralt started with a plan. It is a very straightforward plan to court a human bard. Geralt did all the research on courting customs, preparing for the perfect winter. Geralt had already proven to be a phenomenal hunter, dropping trophies and likes from his kills, and he’s proven himself a valiant protector from jealous husbands and monsters alike. Next was an invitation to spend the season with him in Kaer Morhen, setting the stage for the trials. Now, he just needed to show Jaskier he could provide a safe home to raise their pups - not that they could have any, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that Jaskier would be his, and he would be Jaskiers. Kaer Morhen was a welcomed sight; after the march up The Killer, Jaskier was nearly frozen when they passed the gates. “Geralt, you made it!” Eskel greeted them first, pulling Geralt into a quick hug before sweeping Jaskier off his feet. “And Geralt’s bard.” “I know you know my name, Eskel. You should start using it.” Jaskier laughed, knocking his fist against the bigger witcher’s shoulder. “Of course, bard,” he teased, throwing his arm over Jaskier's shoulder and pulling him close to his warm chest. “Let's get you inside before you freeze.” “But Geralt-” “Go, I’ll settle Roach in,” Geralt tells them; he must unpack secretly.

—--------- Jaskier was two bowls of soup with a blanket draped over his shoulders. Geralt found them there, drinking by the fire in the kitchen. Lambert's smell permeated the place, meaning the younger wolf must have been here first, cooking up a storm. Despite what some people think, Lambert was a surprisingly good cook when he wasn’t experimenting with ingredients like he does with his Alchemy. “What’s on the fire?” Geralt asked, grabbing a bowl and a chunk of bread to eat. “Venison.” Eskel answered, “And some root vegetables,” “Hmm,” Geralt takes a small taste before downing the bowl in a few gulps. “Hungry, I take it,” Lambert teases, walking to the room with a tray of fresh bread. Eskel makes to grab one but is swiftly kicked in the shin. The bread smelled incredible, with hints of brown sugar and cinnamon that had everyone’s mouths watering. “Hands off, you bastard,” Lambert orders, setting the tray on a cooling rack. “They’re not ready yet.” “Sure, little wolf.” Eskel teases, this time prepared for Lambert's retaliation. He uses his sheer size and strength to maneuver Lambert into a headlock, placing a loud kiss against the younger wolf’s head. “Mwah!” “Get off!” Lambert growls, trying to bite and wiggle his way out, but Eskel had a firm hold.

Jaskier chuckled at their antics, a bright smile across his face that had Geralt staring. Suddenly, Geralt’s lap had an angry little wolf in it. Lambert was cussing up a storm as he was dropped in Geralt’s lap. He was about to get up and dive at Eskel if Geralt’s arms hadn’t automatically wrapped around him, giving Eskel time to escape.  “That’s right, you better run!” Lambert yelled back, jumping out of Geralt’s lap and chasing after his brother. Jaskier could tell this was going to be an exciting winter.��

[flowercrown-bard]

Birds Still Sing When They Fall From The Sky

part 1  part 2  part 3  part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 11 part 12 part 13 part 14 part 15 part 16 belongs to this

content warnings: memory loss due to old age

about 7k whoops

Yellow petals brushed Geralt’s cheek as the biting wind ripped them off the flowers. Since the sharp sting of autumn had chased away the suffocatingly thick air of summer more and more flowers had fallen victim to the harsher weather. Not many were left fighting defiantly against the approaching frost.

Amongst the strongest were the leaves of the dandelions that came back no matter what. Geralt had stopped trying to get rid of the stubborn little weed shortly after it had appeared. It seemed it still outbraved the wilting flowers.

Still, Geralt had done his best to save them. He missed his chance last year when Jaskier had beaten the cold to it and scattered the petals himself. Geralt had tried to put up a tarp around the flowers to shield them, but the wind had teared it down not soon after, along with more flowers.

Geralt sighed and threw a glance back at the cottage. He couldn’t see Jaskier through the well-lit window, but he knew he was in there, safe and warm and probably cosy under some blankets. It had gotten too cold for him to regularly come into their garden. Maybe it was better this way. At least he didn’t get to see the sorry state it was in, even if it meant missing out on the last blooms of the year.

Without much thinking, Geralt turned back to the flowers, cutting some of them – not all, always in the hope that there would be some that were strong enough to resist the cold a while longer – and held them gently in his hand, before turning back and seeking shelter inside their home.  

He shut the door behind him, not quite blocking the howling of the wind or the sound of the furious waves. He wasn’t greeted by the customary ‘Geralt, you’re back’ that he now half expected any time he left Jaskier’s sight for more than a few minutes.

Instead, soft snores drifted through the air. A smile danced around Geralt’s lips as he shrugged of his coat and watched the rise and fall of Jaskier’s chest. He had slumped over in his armchair, a blanket pooling around his waist and the book he had been reading hanging limply from his hand.

Trying to be as quiet as possible so as not to wake Jaskier, Geralt put some water on the stove. Surely, Jaskier would appreciate a nice warm cup of tea once he woke up, cranky and aching from the cold weather.

Geralt must not have succeeded, the clanging of the kettle enough to stir the sleeping man. Jaskier gave a little whine and snuggled more into the armchair.

With a fond warmth in his chest, Geralt walked over to him, crouching down in front of the armchair. He took a moment to admire Jaskier’s sleeping form, the way his silver hair fell into his forehead and his nose crinkled adorably. Like this, his wrinkles almost seem to be fewer than they were. Geralt reached out and smoothed the lines on Jaskier’s forehead, brushing his hair away.

Grumbling quietly, Jaskier curled tighter around himself, before letting out a long and content breath, his eyes opening slowly. The moment his eyes landed on Geralt, his breath hitched.

For a heartbeat, Jaskier didn’t move a muscle, then his brows drew together and his eyes flickered over Geralt. There was something frantic about his searching gaze and the sour tang of fear mingled with the smell of the brewing tea.

“You don’t have to worry,” Geralt said in the soft voice he always used, when Jaskier scanned him for injuries. The spike of Jaskier’s anxiety tugged uncomfortably at Geralt’s chest, but it didn’t fail to make his heart flutter, knowing that even after all this time, Jaskier was still concerned for his safety.

Geralt’s words did nothing to soothe Jaskier. If anything, the hard lines between his brows got deeper.

“What are you doing here?” Jaskier asked, a barely concealed tremor in his voice.

Geralt frowned and threw a glance over at the hearth, where a fire was gleefully dancing. Maybe it was still too cold for Jaskier. It was no wonder, with the way the blanket had fallen off his shoulders. Geralt reached out and pulled it back up, noticing how Jaskier’s heartbeat picked up at the tender action.

“Believe it or not, but you’re not the only one who gets cold,” Geralt said with a teasing smirk. “The wind got too strong, ruined all my work.”

A small “Oh” escaped Jaskier’s lips, his eyes softening a bit, though they didn’t stop searching his face, for what Geralt knew not. “Sorry to hear that. Are you… do you need help? I could make you tea or something to warm you up.” There was a bit of a strain in his voice, and Geralt noticed with quiet disappointment that Jaskier didn’t offer to take Geralt into his arms for warmth. Whatever else could be said about Jaskier, he had always known when to make serious suggestions for help, especially when he was worried about Geralt.

Something melted in Geralt’s chest and moved lazily through his body. “I already made some tea. But thank you.”

Jaskier stiffened at his words. “You made…well, that’s a bit presumptuous, don’t you think?” His tone was piqued and his frown came back.

Geralt sighed and couldn’t help the way his smile got wider. He didn’t think he could ever tire of Jaskier wanting to do something nice for him, even if it was quite unnecessary. It was almost adorable how sometimes Jaskier still insisted on doing things himself.

It was important that Geralt didn’t coddle him too much, of course. Taking Jaskier’s autonomy away from him was the last thing he wanted, but there was nothing wrong with letting others take care of you. That, after all, was a lesson Jaskier had spent years upon years drilling into Geralt.

Instead of dignifying Jaskier’s accusation with a response, Geralt stood back up.

“I brought you flowers.” Geralt turned to the cabinet, searching for an appropriate vase.

“Oh…thanks.” The uncomfortable tone was accompanied by shuffling as Jaskier got up as well, his bones popping.

Geralt didn’t need to look to know that Jaskier’s face was contorted into a grimace.

“They were among the last flowers out there,” Geralt said. Maybe if he kept talking it would distract Jaskier from his aches. “I figured they might be of better use in here, looking all pretty than out there where they wouldn’t last much longer anyway.”

Jaskier was quiet for a moment. The only sound coming from him was the sound of him nervously shifting his weight around. Then he spoke up again. “That’s… well, yeah that makes sense. But you really didn’t have to give me the last of your flowers. It’s… quite unnecessary, really.”

“Our flowers,” Geralt corrected him without missing a beat. They’ve had this conversation too many times already. Just because Geralt was doing the physical labour didn’t mean the flowers were any more his than Jaskier’s. Especially when Geralt was struggling to arrange them in a simple vase, while Jaskier knew how to create artful bouquets.

No reply came. When Geralt turned around, unnerved by Jaskier’s unnatural silence, he found Jaskier looking at him with a strange expression, as though he didn’t know what to make of Geralt.

“Jaskier?”

At the sound of his name, Jaskier startled. It was as if he was being shaken awake. But instead of coming closer and smelling the flowers, giving Geralt a radiant smile, he backed away.

“How do you know my name?” Jaskier’s voice was even, but the tightness of it betrayed him.

Geralt frowned. He took a step closer, halting immediately when Jaskier took another step back. “What? Jask, of course I know your name. What are you talking about?”

Jaskier’s tongue darted out, nervously wetting his lips, his unblinking eyes only leaving Geralt for a split second, dashing over to the door behind Geralt. He held the blanket up in front of him like a shield.

“I…I suppose a lot of people know my name. But just because I am a famous bard doesn’t give you the right to come into my house like this.” The look in his eyes bordered on panicked. “Thank you for the flowers, but I think you should leave.”

Geralt froze, his heart dropping like a stone. “Leave? Jaskier, what’s going on? You’re worrying me.”

Jaskier’s eyes grew hard. It had been years since Geralt had seen this look on him. It was the same expression he got when people had cornered him in some dark corner of a tavern or alleyway, thinking him an easy victim. He only ever got the look when he was truly scared, thinking no one would come to his aid and hoping that being stern would make him appear more able to hold his own in a fight than he was.

Jaskier was afraid of him.

The thought hit Geralt like waves of ice water pulling a drowning man under. He staggered back.

Geralt knew his own expression had closed off, only revealing how stricken he was to those who knew him inside out. Like Jaskier was supposed to.

But he was staring at Geralt as though he was a stranger.

“What is going on is that you, for some reason, thought it would be alright to break into my house and behave like you owned the place.”

Geralt’s mind was racing, unable to comprehend what was going on, why Jaskier kept looking at him like that. He huffed out a disbelieving laugh. “Like I owned – I didn’t break in.”

“No?” Jaskier’s eyes were blazing, but his shaking grip on the blanket was knuckle-white. “What do you call it then, when you come into another person’s home without knocking?”

Geralt was quiet for a long time, his eyes never leaving Jaskier. Jaskier, who just this morning had smiled when Geralt had kissed him awake. Jaskier, who stood in front of him, trembling in fear of him.

With a voice that was as small as if it belonged to the abandoned child Geralt had once been, he said, “I call it coming home.” A lump formed in Geralt’s throat, making it hard to breathe. His heart screamed at him not to say the next words, begging him, telling him he didn’t want to know the answer. And yet. “Jaskier… do you know who I am?”

“No.” The word cut through the air like a knife, knocking all air out of Geralt’s lungs. “And I don’t want to find out. Leave my home this instance.”

Geralt wished the distant roaring of the sea was loud enough to drown out Jaskier’s words, but instead he heard his heart break with the waves.

Be prepared for the worst. Yennefer’s words had been his constant companion since she had uttered them. Geralt had thought he knew what the worst was. He had shut his eyes to that quiet, venomous fear that had slithered in his mind like a viper. He hadn’t dared give that fear a shape and yet it had broken forth, winding itself around Geralt, suffocating him, as it plunged its teeth into Geralt’s heart in tandem with Jaskier’s cold words.

Without anther word, Geralt turned around. He pushed the door open, letting in a gust of wind that Geralt might see tearing at the flowers he had brought, if he had had enough strength to turn to look at them.

He didn’t linger in the door. Once again, like the coward he was, Geralt fled.

He didn’t go far, didn’t even leave the sight of the house. He couldn’t. A hole gaped inside his chest, growing deeper and darker with every step that took him further away from Jaskier.

He couldn’t lose him. He already has.

Geralt squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his fists against them, as if it could erase the memory of Jaskier trembling before him, but the images kept coming, crashing into him like an avalanche. Jaskier’s fearful look, his trembling hands, his tight voice, Jaskier lying on the ground with Geralt unable to help and Jaskier forgetting, always forgetting.

He was tempted to never go back inside, if it meant never having to see Jaskier like that again.

But this has happened before, hasn’t it? Geralt had stormed away in anger when flower petals had fallen to the ground. Had it really been only a year ago? It felt like so much longer than that. It felt like a lifetime.

Still, the words he had said when he had come back to Jaskier were as clear in his mind as they had been when he had first spoken them, fighting their way to the forefront of Geralt’s mind, growing louder until he could no longer ignore them.

Jaskier had said he wouldn’t leave him. And yet here Geralt was, alone, with the wind pushing against him, as if attempting to drag him further away from Jaskier.

Maybe he should let it do so. Maybe he should just leave as Jaskier had told him to, become a witcher again, as he was always meant to be. He shouldn’t even get back to the cottage to retrieve his swords. He would be able to get new ones. His old weapons could rust away, forgotten and collecting dust for all Geralt cared. Then at least one part of him would stay with Jaskier, now that Geralt had no longer a place in his memory.

I won’t leave you either. I promise.

Geralt’s hand clenched tighter, his nails digging into his skin as his own words came back to him unbidden.

All thoughts of abandoning Jaskier left him, carried off with the wind. Geralt had never held onto them strongly anyway.

Still, he stayed outside unable to go back just yet. Unable to face Jaskier’s fear.

As if it would do him any good, Geralt listened to Jaskier rummaging around the cottage. Did he try to barricade the doors to protect himself from the stranger that had broken in earlier? Or had he already forgotten about that and gone back to mundane tasks? A treacherous glimmer of hope threatened to alight in Geralt, as much as he fought against it. Maybe when he saw him again, Jaskier would recognise him once more.

Geralt wasn’t able to face to inevitable disappointment just yet.

When he finally did push the door open again, his breath held and his heart beating rapidly in his chest, he didn’t find Jaskier cowering at the sight of him, but he wasn’t welcomed by arms being thrown around his neck either.

It took Geralt a moment to spy Jaskier. He sat hunched over in a corner of the room, seemingly not noticing Geralt, focussed as he was on the thing he held in his hands.

It was one of Geralt’s swords.

When Jaskier turned it in his hand, his head tilted to the side in contemplation like a bird, the steel caught the gleam of the fire.

Geralt’s heart skipped a beat when Jaskier lifted a hand to trace the sharp edge of the still deadly weapon.

“Don’t!” The word left Geralt before he could think about it. Jaskier’s head snapped up. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

Jaskier put his hand down again, but otherwise didn’t react. His eyes that just moments before had been glued to the sword as if figuring out a riddle now raked over Geralt’s body. None of the heat from before was in it, but neither was there the warmth of recognition. Jaskier just looked startled, uncertain of how to make sense of who and what he was seeing. Of course he would. Geralt had once again entered Jaskier’s home without announcing himself.

His heart clenched painfully at the thought. Jaskier’s home. Not theirs anymore. Not for Jaskier.

Geralt cleared his throat, lifted his hand and knocked awkwardly against the doorframe he was standing in.

Any moment now, Jaskier would throw him out again, would see in him the man who had broken in earlier and reek once more of fear.

Geralt tried to brace himself against what surely was to come, knowing no amount of preparation would spare him the shattering of his heart.

The sharp words never came. Instead a twinkle of amusement appeared in Jaskier’s eyes.

“I’d say you could come in,” he said dryly, his lips twitching “but it might be a bit too late for that.”

Heat rose in Geralt’s neck as he cracked a sheepish smile, his tongue too heavy to form words. Was this… was this his Jaskier? He didn’t dare ask the question out loud. Geralt didn’t think he could bear seeing the glint leave Jaskier’s eyes again to be replaced by that damned fear when he realised the man in front of him was a stranger to him.

Something of his thoughts must have shown on Geralt’s face –whatever else Jaskier might have forgotten, it seemed he still knew how to read Geralt like a children’s book – for Jaskier’s grin grew a bit bigger and he lifted the sword a bit higher.

“Before you get any stupid ideas, I have a sword and I know how to use it.” There was no malice in his tone, only a mixture of confusion and a hint of the playfulness that Geralt yearned for.

Geralt couldn’t supress a snort. “You couldn’t use a sword if it came with a manual.”

He watched like a hawk as Jaskier’s arm shook from the effort of holding the sword up, the point of it coming dangerously close to Jaskier’s own flesh.

Instinctively, Geralt took a step forward, but before he could reach Jaskier he let the sword sink again. He leaned it back against the wall next to its silver twin.

“No, I suppose I don’t.” He shrugged and rested against the wall himself, seemingly uncaring that he had no way to flee like this. Despite Jaskier’s casual stance, Geralt shifted until he wasn’t blocking the exit for Jaskier anymore, as he had before. Jaskier’s eyes followed him. “To be frank with you, I don’t really know why I have a sword in here at all. It’s not really…I don’t think it’s quite my style.”

“It’s mine.” The words stung on Geralt’s tongue.

Jaskier’s eyes widened, a renewed beginning of wonder taking the place of the confusion. Geralt’s heart clenched painfully. His whole being shook from the hope he couldn’t keep at bay.

Recognise me, he begged silently. Please, know me.

Jaskier tilted his head again, beaming with something akin to joy. Geralt’s breath stilled as Jaskier came ever closer until Geralt would have to just reach out to touch him.

There was something in the way Jaskier looked at him, something so painfully familiar –

“Your eyes…” Jaskier’s own eyes darted between the swords in the corner back to Geralt’s eyes, swept over his wind-tossed hair and his imposing frame. Something shifted in Jaskier’s expression, an eager excitement took hold of him. “I know who you are.”

Geralt’s heart was hammering in his chest, about to burst out.

“Jask…” he breathed out, unable to give his voice more strength.

“You’re the witcher, Geralt of Rivia.” Jaskier spread his arms as if presenting something to behold. “The Butcher of Blaviken.”

Geralt’s world crumbled around him. All air was punched out of his lungs. Jaskier’s words cut him open like venomous claws. Never had Jaskier called him that, never except for that first and last time. Ever since then, he had made it his life’s work to erase the hated moniker from the memory of the world.

Yet here he stood, saying the name as he had back then, with excitement, almost in awe, as if it was something glorious to announce to the world. The name on Jaskier’s lips sounded worse than the cruellest insults people had spat at him.

Was this all, Geralt was to Jaskier now?

Witcher. Butcher. Monster!

Geralt staggered backwards. As though through a thick fog, Geralt felt himself shaking his head frantically and staggering back. He couldn’t breathe. This couldn’t be happening.

Hands reached out to touch him, burn him. Push him away, hit him.

But instead they wrapped around his arm gently, steadying him clumsily.

“Are you alright?” Jaskier sounded so concerned, his tone sweet and poisonous. “Are you hurt?”

Geralt would have laughed if he hadn’t been so close to screaming.

He was once again nothing more than a witcher to Jaskier. Heartbreak and Death. The thought of the words Jaskier had said to him on their first day left a bitter taste in his mouth. If only he had known how close he had been to the truth.

Geralt let himself be ushered into a chair. On the edge of his conscious thought he saw Jaskier flutter about, trying to get him comfortable.

A cup was placed in his hands.

“Here, I made some tea.”

It was the tea Geralt had made. It was cold and had steeped far too long, left abandoned and forgotten until it was barely recognisable as tea anymore.

Geralt must have stared at the cup unmovingly for too long, for Jaskier made a disappointed noise.

“You don’t like it? I can make something else.” He sounded so eager, so desperate to keep Geralt here with him for as long as possible.

Geralt gave him a tight smile and lifted the cup to his lips. His face must have shown some of the disgust on his face at the cold and distasteful tea, for Jaskier’s face fell and his shoulders slumped.

“You hate it.”

Geralt’s heart clenched at the defeated sound. A familiar sting shot through his chest, one that had been his constant companion for the first years of knowing Jaskier.

Don’t make him hate you. Don’t disappoint him. Don’t make him leave!

He huffed and schooled his face into a pleased expression.

“No, no, it’s…it’s good. I just-“ He didn’t think about it, didn’t even realise he was doing it, until Jaskier let out a small gasp when Geralt used the tiniest burst of igni to warm the cup.

Geralt froze, his eyes snapping to Jaskier who was in turn staring at the now steaming cup in Geralt’s hand.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt blurted out, his grip on the cup tightening, as if that would somehow shield it from sight.

He shouldn’t have done it. The action had come so naturally to him and usually, Jaskier wouldn’t have batted an eye, but now…. who knew how Jaskier would react to seeing Geralt use signs. Who knew if he would feel threatened by how unnatural Geralt was.

Before Geralt could stammer out any other excuses or completely clam down, Jaskier moved. He rushed forward, grasping the hand that had made the sign in his, turning it around carefully, all the while studying it intently.

“What was that?” Jaskier asked, tracing one finger along a line on Geralt’s palm. “I didn’t know you could do magic. Show me again!”

Geralt’s brows furrowed, hesitant to move a single muscle, but Jaskier lifted his head to look at him, his eyes bright and eager. Goosebumps were erupting from where Jaskier was still tracing patterns on his skin.

Geralt chanced a glance away from Jaskier, towards the hearth where the fire was almost burned down. Jaskier followed his gaze and his face lit up in obvious expectation. He almost shook with anticipation.

Geralt took a deep breath, pulled his hand free of Jaskier’s grip though the loss of contact left him cold and empty and stretched his fingers towards the hearth, forming igni.

Immediately, the kindling flames burst back to light. The roar of the fire was only overshadowed by the sound of Jaskier’s delight. He threw his head back with a barking laugh.

“Oh this is brilliant!” His smile was almost too big to fit onto Jaskier’s face.

Seeing Jaskier like this loosened the tightness in Geralt’s chest bit by bit.

He didn’t hate him, wasn’t afraid of him. Meeting him again, like this, as a stranger coming unannounced into his home, he still wasn’t afraid of witchers. How could Geralt have ever doubted him? Brilliant, loving Jaskier whose first instinct was to reach out and befriend.

“Please tell me you will stay for a while.” Jaskier scooted closer with his chair. “I need to know everything about you. You must have so many incredible stories to tell.”

A tiny smile lifted Geralt’s lips. This was Jaskier. His Jaskier. Not the one who lived with him in a cottage, but the same one who had approached him a lifetime ago. He had more wrinkles and his voice was throaty, but he was Jaskier. He still looked at Geralt’s miniscule smile as though it was the most breathtaking sight. The small quirk of his lips was enough to get Jaskier to lean forward as if he didn’t want to miss any of it.

Just to see more of Jaskier’s reaction, Geralt widened his smile a bit and was rewarded by Jaskier’s eyes softening.

“I believe telling incredible stories would be more of your specialty,” Geralt said with the tiniest hint of humour that he allowed himself in spite of everything.

“So you will stay? Indulge me a bit?”

Geralt shifted in his chair, his heart beating uncomfortably strong. “If you’ll have me.”

“If I’ll have you!” Jaskier threw his hands up. “My dear Geralt of Rivia, it is a bard’s highest pleasure to meet someone like you.” He didn’t seem to notice Geralt choking at the endearment. “It would seem all those years of praising Melitele’s bosom and buttocks have finally paid off. Oh! The songs someone like you could inspire!”

The words send Geralt’s heart into his throat. Jaskier wanted to sing and compose again after years of barely doing either.

“You would sing for me?” Geralt’s voice was tight.

A sly smirk spread over Jaskier’s face. “How about a trade? You tell me all about your heroics and valiant deeds and I will sing for you. Oh – or I could become your barker. You could be the – the…”

“The White Wolf?”

“Yes!” Jaskier clapped his hands together, brimming with newfound energy he hadn’t in far too long. “That is marvellous! We are going to get along wonderfully, I tell you.”

Geralt’s eyes softened. “I’m sure we will.”

The storm inside him was still raging, but as they sat together and talked the time away, it calmed with every smile, gasp and laugh he managed to elicit from Jaskier. Greedily, Geralt soaked in each shift in Jaskier’s equally hungry expression.

He could almost pretend it was like it had always been, that they were sitting in some tavern with Jaskier nagging Geralt for details about a hunt, instead of a home at the coast which to Jaskier wasn’t Geralt’s anymore.

It was almost like a second chance he had never wanted. He still didn’t want it. If he could, Geralt would throw away this second chance at a first meeting in a heartbeat, if it meant getting back what they had.

But until Jaskier came back on his own, Geralt could do nothing but offer Jaskier everything that he was and have faith that it would be enough and wouldn’t chase Jaskier away.

Within hours, Jaskier was talking about Geralt as if he was a grand hero, with not an ounce of doubt in his voice. As if the knowledge that witchers weren’t fundamentally monstrous was a truth seared into his heart, unwavering even now.

At some point, Jaskier got up and produced a quill and a notebook from the shelf. He didn’t question why it was already half-full with verses about monsters and golden eyes.

Geralt watched him in silent admiration, as he scrawled down pages and pages of unreadable notes. It didn’t matter that Jaskier’s letters weren’t recognisable as such any longer. The scrawly lines, though in the middle of the book, marked a new beginning of sorts.

In his enthusiasm, Jaskier’s elbow got caught in the vase with the flowers that Geralt had brought in mere hours earlier, when the world had been a different one.

Before the vase could topple over Geralt reached out, catching it without much thought, but when Jaskier looked up from his notes, his face held nothing but easily given affection and admiration.

“Already saving me, are you? My hero, truly.”

Geralt huffed, but his lips curled.

“I’m sorry, my dear witcher,” Jaskier said with a sigh that dripped with false regret. “I’m afraid that if you just wanted a short rest, you have come to the wrong house. You won’t get rid of me for quite a while now, I fear.”

Something unfurled in Geralt’s chest. “Promise me?”

--

Throughout the day, Geralt’s hopeless hope kept flaring up again and again at the smallest hint that Jaskier might remember.

Every smile that Geralt received, every affectionate pat on the shoulder, every teasing comment made Geralt’s breath hitch, though with every passing minute, Geralt’s hope dwindled.

But it was fine. It was alright. As long as Jaskier wasn’t afraid of Geralt, he could deal with this, even if it meant breaking his heart over and over again when Jaskier looked at him with curiosity instead of love.

Against all of Geralt’s fears, it was companionable in a bittersweet way to watch Jaskier doing his best to get to know him, all the while being able to appreciate Jaskier for everything he was, unlike Geralt had done the first time around.

Then nightfall came, the reality of the situation hit Geralt again, with unexpected force.

As every evening, Geralt went through the motions. Jaskier didn’t complain, didn’t even give any sign that it was strange that he was being tucked into bed by someone he had just met.

As he had done for years now, Geralt brushed his hand over Jaskier’s hair – and faltered. His stomach dropped and he pulled his hand back as if he had been burned.

Jaskier didn’t remember him. To him, he was just a stranger; Fascinating, for sure, but a stranger nonetheless. Geralt forced himself to step away from the bed he wouldn’t lie in today. Maybe never again. There would be no more kisses on temples being returned by ones on Geralt’s knuckles. There would be no more listening to the sound of Jaskier’s breathing as he lay next to him, being comforted by his heat and his arms around him as he drifted to sleep.

“I’m going to sleep in the living room,” Geralt announced.

He half-hoped that Jaskier would protest, pull him closer by the hand and tell him that Geralt should continue to sleep next to him and that he loved him.

None of that happened. It had been a foolish wish.

Jaskier only mumbled something in the affirmative, already halfway to drowsing.

With one last lingering look on Jaskier, Geralt turned away, shutting the door behind him.  

For a long moment, Geralt just stood there, letting his eyes sweep over the room with a hollow feeling until eventually, he grabbed the thin blanket Jaskier had dropped earlier and went over to the armchair Jaskier had fallen asleep in just hours before.

A crack split Geralt’s heart and he had to close his eyes trying to shake the memory of the look on Jaskier’s face when he had awoken and found Geralt in the room with him.

He shifted in a vain attempt to get comfortable, a feat he knew he would not succeed in. The armchair was too small. Too hard for sleeping.

It had been too long since he last had to sleep on a cold forest floor. If Vesemir was here, he would say Geralt had gone too soft.

In moments like these, Geralt almost wished that his heart truly was as hardened as people used to say. A soft snore from the bedroom followed by nonsense mumblings made him reconsider. He couldn’t wish his heart to be any other than the one that had fallen in love with Jaskier and somehow earned his love in return.

And therein lay the problem. Geralt could sleep in spaces that were hard, uncomfortable or small. But he knew he wouldn’t find a minute of rest with the space next to him being empty, without Jaskier there with him.

Geralt couldn’t just reach out and hold Jaskier close like this. They might as well be a world apart instead of just in different rooms.

Maybe they truly were in different worlds.

Jaskier’s sleeping sounds were muffled by the door Geralt dared not open without Jaskier’s permission. It wasn’t the only door standing between them. The other, invisible door was finally locked and though it felt like ice seeping into his chest to admit, Geralt knew that there was no key for him to find. Jaskier might as well be locked away for good.

--

It had been hours since the sun had risen when Jaskier finally emerged from the bedroom, probably lured out by the smell of Geralt making breakfast.

Geralt looked at him with held breath, awaiting a reaction, any reaction, whether it would save or doom him. But Jaskier just looked sleepy as though he hadn’t closed his eyes to sleep at all. Geralt knew that to be untrue. He had been up all night, straining to hear anything from the bedroom, hoping to hear Jaskier’s confused voice call out for him, asking why he wasn’t in bed with him.

No such call had come. But neither had there been any screams or panicked breathing caused by nightmares. Though he had tossed and turned in bed, Jaskier had slept through, not once waking and wandering about, not knowing where he was going.

That, at least was a small blessing. And Geralt would be grateful for any bit of peace he and Jaskier would get.

When Jaskier’s eyes finally landed on him, he merely startled slightly, before a smile graced his lips. Was it big enough to be one of recognition? Geralt couldn’t tell. He didn’t dare ask.

They ate breakfast, Geralt in tense silence, waiting for the axe to fall, Jaskier chattering away as if nothing was wrong. But not once did he move to stroke Geralt lovingly or call him by an endearment again.

The anxious anticipation slowly faded into the sinking feeling in Geralt’s chest that almost felt like coming home with how painfully familiar it was becoming.

Over the next hours, days, weeks, the hollow filled again, slowly but steadily. Though it seemed impossible, this warped reality they lived became the new normal.

Some days Geralt could almost convince himself that Jaskier remembered him. Maybe he truly did. It got hard to tell whether the cheerful smiles and the soft way Jaskier spoke Geralt’s name were meant for the shiny new muse or the broken old lover.

At least he still knew his name, recognised it as something not to be feared or to scoff at.

Most days, Geralt was sure he was just someone who just so happened to live in Jaskier’s house and whom Jaskier enjoyed talking to. Hopefully, someone he felt safe with. The days when Jaskier recognised him as someone he loved became few and far between.

People had always said Jaskier’s affections were fleeting: easily given and gone just as quickly. Jaskier had never bothered to correct those rumours. They were true, for the most part, after all. Geralt was the only one Jaskier ever confided in, telling him that though his affections would leave his heart, they would never be forgotten.

Jaskier’s heart was a fickle thing, but it beat strongly and constantly for the things he truly loved. Music. A piece of beautiful poetry able to capture feelings normal words couldn’t describe. The first blossoms of spring when his step would gain a new skip at the promise of more adventures. Closing his eyes and smelling the breeze, insisting it smelled of the heroics to come.

Enough time spent together had passed for Geralt to grow certain that he was one of those things for which Jaskier’s affections would be lasting.

The soft smiles Jaskier still gave him when Geralt told him of the things he had seen in his life made Geralt hope that maybe he could be such a beloved thing once again.

Jaskier loved freely and quickly. Maybe it was foolish to hope that Jaskier could rekindle or remember even a glimmer of what he had felt for Geralt. But Geralt had the suspicion that he had given up on trying to be sensible as soon as he had allowed the bard to attach himself to him back in Posada anyway.

The little noises Jaskier often made when contemplating a new rhyme brought Geralt out of his thoughts.

“Do you think I should try a different rhyme scheme? This one is mostly used for love songs, but I don’t think it would do well for one about adventures, don’t you think?”

“Why can’t it be both?” Geralt asked, unheeding of the ache to come. It had been so long since Jaskier’s creations about him had been anything but love songs, whatever else they might be as well. He knew whatever Jaskier would now come up with would be far from such a thing. Jaskier’s love for the tales of adventure that Geralt could give him weren’t enough.

Jaskier made a dismissive sound, not knowing what it did to Geralt’s heart. “Eh, I don’t know. If I use that rhyme scheme, it will always remind me of a love song. And that’s just not right.”

Don’t ever let me forget I love you.

The memory of Jaskier begging him for this one thing, this tiny plea that weighed on Geralt as if he were carrying the world on his shoulders, echoed through his mind, mocking him with how impossible a feat it was.

How many fragile promises had Geralt made thinking he would keep them? How many more would be broken along with his heart?

He had promised Jaskier that he would do his best to help him remember what they had. It was a task that would only end in heartbreak, but Geralt would gladly sacrifice his heart, shatter it into a million pieces over and over again, if it granted him even a chance of getting Jaskier back.

So Geralt did everything he could think of. He spent hours reading Jaskier’s notebooks to him, as far as he could decipher his crooked letters. He told him about his brothers and Kaer Morhen, about Yennefer and Ciri and even Valdo Marx. Not even a muscle twitched at the mention of the troubadour’s name. But something seemed to stir in Jaskier when Geralt talked about their family. Nothing but a hesitant smile, a miniscule shift in his eyes. Sometimes Jaskier would repeat the names, as if he knew they held a meaning that he couldn’t find. Then he would look at Geralt and whisper his name as if it were something precious, something he had lost. Seldom did he find it in Geralt’s face.

Jaskier still called him his dear witcher. The endearment was bittersweet balm. Like rubbing salve on a tumour. It wasn’t enough. And yet, the small acknowledgement made Geralt’s heart soar, made him redouble his efforts.

Geralt started playing the lute, if it could be called so. He never learned any chords, much to Jaskier’s dismay, so he just plucked the empty strings. He played despite them being out of tune. Geralt didn’t know how to get them back the way they were supposed to be and Jaskier didn’t move to help. He just sat there, looking at the lute, stroking over the wood that Geralt kept polished still.

Taking care of Jaskier’s beloved instrument gave him a sense of calm and it clearly made Jaskier happy, though he never said so anymore.

It had taken Geralt a while to notice, but once he saw it, it was hard to miss. Jaskier’s signs of affection had changed. Whereas he used to give his affections a voice, he now showed them with happy hums and an expression as if he had so much to say, if only he could find the words.

Geralt still understood, or so he hoped.

He continued bringing Jaskier flowers until the last ones succumbed to the rapidly approaching cold. When Geralt apologised, saying that there were no more flowers left, Jaskier had hugged him, whether as thanks or to comfort Geralt, he couldn’t tell.

It was only a short embrace, but it felt like coming home. He belonged in Jaskier’s arms. Too long had be gone without feeling them around him.

He hoped Jaskier didn’t feel Geralt’s body wreck with a cut-off sob. If he did, he didn’t show it. It took all of Geralt’s will power to let go again, when all he wanted to do was hold Jaskier impossibly close and be held in turn, feel Jaskier gently rub circles on his back while Geralt pressed his face into the crock of Jaskier’s neck, safe from all the world and the cruelty of Jaskier’s broken memory.

But the world carried on and bits and pieces of Jaskier’s memory continued to crumble - once a palace, now an overgrown ruin.

And yet, glimpses of the old Jaskier continued to shine through. Whenever Geralt’s rough and broken voice attempted to sing one of Jaskier’s old songs, Jaskier would without fail join in, though some lines escaped him, they were still unmistakably his. Jaskier always seemed to light up, when he sang about the beauty of the world, of love and adventure with words that Geralt could have never come up with to describe any of it. No one could speak of those wonders quite like Jaskier’s songs. No one could see the world how he had.

Jaskier never questioned how those songs came into existence. Geralt tried explaining to him sometimes, telling him that Jaskier was the genius behind the lyrics and the melody.

Sometimes Jaskier would get a spark in his eyes, pride and a hint of a buried memory, when Geralt told him so. Other times, he would just nod along to whatever Geralt was saying, just to appease him.

Those vacant expressions, the apathy at being told of his own accomplishments drove a knife into Geralt’s chest.

Those songs, meant to remind the world of Jaskier, were now one of the only things reminding Jaskier that the world around him existed, that it always had existed and that he had lived a wonderful life in it.

His mind had become as fickle as people always accused his heart to be. And yet, he still recognised part of Geralt in his songs, still saw him as someone he could embrace and sing to. He still looked at Geralt as if he was beautiful. As if he was worth looking at. Even if he didn’t remember the times he had looked at him before. Even if sometimes he saw Geralt for the first time again.

Geralt had always thought that out of the two of them, Jaskier was the one so full of love that he could give it with abundance. Now, Geralt was the one who would have to love enough for it to suffice for them both.

He looked at Jaskier, humming to himself while doing his best to draw a kikimora based on a description Geralt had given him earlier. He looked back up at Geralt, so proud of himself, looking for Geralt’s approval as if it meant the world.

Geralt didn’t think it would be hard to have enough love for them both. The hard part was knowing that when he dared to whisper a soft “I love you” all he would receive in reply would be silence.

[dont-tempt-me-frodo]

This is just pure indulgent smut. I don't even have an excuse.

The Witcher was leaning against his pack, creating the perfect angle for Jaskier to slot against him.

Jaskier sat with his back flush against Geralt’s chest, the Witcher’s strong legs bracketed him either side. His head was resting lazily back against Geralt’s shoulder as he watched the flames of their campfire dance in the dusky light of the evening.

His hands were resting in his lap. Geralt’s were tucked around his waist.

He felt safe and warm and, after a long day of traveling, he couldn’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be.

The pressure of Geralt’s touch changed a little as he shifted slightly and Jaskier let a soft sigh tumble from him.

With nothing around them for miles but dense forest, Jaskier knew exactly where Geralt’s hands were slowly traveling and he forced himself to stay still, anticipation and excitement fluttering in his gut.

One hand went up, kneading against his chest, playing with the fabric of his embroidered shirt, and finally resting possessively on his collar bone, Geralt’s thumb rubbing back and forth against his Adam’s apple. The other hand went down, dipping under the hem of his breeches and paused there, pooling warmth under the heavy touch.

Geralt pressed his lips to the sensitive skin of Jaskier’s neck and the Bard’s breath hitched in his chest.

“Jaskier,” Geralt breathed, scraping his teeth gently over soft skin causing a quiver to roll through the Bard’s body.

Jaskier planted both his hands on Geralt’s thighs either side of him, squeezing slightly to encourage the Witcher.

Geralt hummed into Jaskier’s neck and chuckled when Jaskier shuddered against him.

The hand down his breeches travelled further south until it was hovering just above his rapidly hardening cock.

“Jaskier, can I?” Geralt paused his mouthing of Jaskier’s neck.

Jaskier nodded desperately.

When they had first started sleeping together, Geralt had been very firm about receiving explicit consent before even touching the Bard. He had told Jaskier it was so that if anything became uncomfortable or too much then he could set very clear boundaries. But Jaskier knew it was because Geralt had feared being rejected by him so gave him the option to do so before he could. 

Something shattered inside Jaskier that day and he made love with his Witcher so tenderly that Geralt had broken down in tears afterwards. Never before had he been treated with such love and respect and Jaskier had vowed to never let Geralt feel any less than he was ever again.

It had become habit between them now, both asking for permission to touch the other, and it always turned Jaskier on more than it had any right to.

He sucked in a breath when Geralt took him gently in his hand and bucked his hips slightly as the Witcher stroked him slowly.

“So needy,” Geralt mumbled into Jaskier’s shoulder when the Bard let out a high-pitched whine as he removed his hand from his breeches, unlaced them with nimble fingers then glided his hand back down to release Jaskier’s cock.

“Fuck,” Jaskier whimpered, arching into the contact.

Geralt kept his hand at Jaskier’s throat, not putting pressure on the windpipe but just holding him there as he continued his torturously slow rhythm. 

Jaskier squirmed as heat sparked through his body and the muscles in his groin constricted. He bucked again into Geralt’s hand, desperate for more friction.

Geralt obliged and twisted his hand as he ran it up the length of Jaskier’s cock. The keening noise Jaskier made was devastating. 

The Bard’s fingers were digging into the meat of his thighs, borderline painful and he teased Jaskier again with another sharp twist of his wrist.

Geralt pressed his lips hard against Jaskier’s neck, sucking and bruising with his tongue, marking the Bard, claiming him. 

Jaskier trembled against him, tilting his head slightly to allow Geralt better access. The Witcher could hear Jaskier’s pulse, rabbit-quick in his hold. Geralt littered the Bard’s pale skin with purple marks and the sensations shot right through him, making his cock twitch in Geralt’s hand. 

Jaskier could feel Geralt’s erection pressing into his ass and he wriggled slightly, delighting at the noise he pulled from the Witcher.

Geralt pushed Jaskier’s head back onto his shoulder so that he could rest his cheek against the Bard’s jaw line and so that he could watch the rapid rise and fall of Jaskier’s chest as his breathing became uneven.

“Geralt,” Jaskier whimpered, “Please. Please. I need-“

He gasped as Geralt picked up the pace. The Witcher could feel the tension coiling through Jaskier’s muscles and he knew the Bard was close.

Geralt nipped at the base of Jaskier’s ear and twisted his wrist again.

“Fuck!” Jaskier cried out as he came, spilling over Geralt’s hand, arching then collapsing back, shaking as Geralt stroked him through his high. 

The Witcher tucked both arms around him for a moment, just holding him as he regained coherent thought and his breathing evened out. 

“You okay?” he asked softly, carding his fingers through Jaskier’s thick hair.

In response, Jaskier turned himself around in Geralt’s arms and captured the Witcher’s mouth in a wet kiss. 

Geralt groaned when he felt Jaskier breech his lips and swipe the roof of his mouth with his tongue. 

Both Jaskier’s hands came up to caress his face, pulling him closer, and the Bard let out a whine that was needy and wanting. A surge of warmth spread along each nerve and tightened in his gut.

Geralt hoisted him up onto his lap so that Jaskier was now straddling him and he shimmied the Bard’s breeches down so that he could take handfuls of his ass.

Jaskier laughed breathlessly into Geralt’s mouth and rolled his hips down, grinding himself against the bulge in Geralt’s pants. 

Geralt growled at the contact, holding Jaskier by the waist so that he could roll his hips up and rut against the Bard.

Jaskier peppered Geralt’s face and neck with feather light kisses as he trailed his hands down the Witcher’s chest, undoing the clasps of his black, leather jerkin as he went. He made quick work of removing the jerkin and then lifted Geralt’s shirt over his head.

The Witcher growled, tucking his fingers into the hem of Jaskier’s shirt and removing it with just as much enthusiasm, leaving Jaskier breathless with intensity of his amber eyes.

Jaskier placed his hands on Geralt fluttering stomach, watching the way the muscles quivered under his touch, then he slowly trailed his fingers down to Geralt’s crotch. He paused, fingers hovering over the laces of Geralt’s pants and looked into those dark amber eyes.

“Can I?” he blinked, voice husky with lust.

“Can you what?” Geralt smirked at him, rubbing his hands up and down Jaskier’s half covered thighs. 

Jaskier leaned forwards and whispered into his ear.

A deep blush spread across Geralt’s face and he nodded weakly.

“You’ve got some mouth on you Bard,” he trembled.

Jaskier quirked his eyebrows at him, grin twisting his face as he quickly tore down Geralt’s pants, pulling them and his boots off in one swift movement. He discarded his own breeches and boots before climbing back into Geralt lap, straddling him once more.

Both fully naked and vulnerable and trusting.

Geralt surged up to kiss him, swallowing the noise Jaskier made as he rubbed his hard cock against the cleft of Jaskier’s ass.

“You’re so beautiful Jaskier,” Geralt hummed, brushing the pad of his thumb down Jaskier’s cheek.

The Bard huffed a laugh, twining his fingers into the long silver locks of Geralt’s hair.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he beamed, pressing another hard kiss to Geralt’s lips.

The Witcher accepted his probing tongue eagerly and let his strong hands travel down Jaskier’s back, cup the swells of his ass then brush gently between the cheeks.

Jaskier’s breath hitched in his chest.

“Can you reach it?” Geralt mumbled, nuzzling into Jaskier’s shoulder.

Jaskier leaned over him and delved into the pack Geralt was leaning against. He found the vial he was looking for and sat back, earning a sharp inhale from the Witcher when he brushed against his cock.

Jaskier popped the cap of the vial and grabbed Geralt’s hand, bringing it up so that he could drip the floral scented oil onto Geralt’s fingers.

The Witcher watched him with dark eyes, his breathing shallow.

Jaskier put the vial down beside them and wriggled in Geralt’s lap.

“Well go on then,” he demanded.

Geralt looked up into those fierce blue eyes, felt the pressure of Jaskier’s hands on his shoulders, heard the thrumming of his heart in his chest, smelled the sweat and arousal mixing with the Bard’s usual scent of blossom and sandalwood.

He pulled Jaskier into a soft kiss as his other hand reaching around to press inside the Bard.

He slowly worked his index finger in and out of Jaskier, enjoying the heat and the noises that escaped from him, until he could sink the entire digit in up to the knuckle.

Jaskier was trembling against him, letting his head fall into the crook of Geralt’s neck as the Witcher probed with a second finger.

Geralt massaged soothing circles into the Bard’s hip with his thumb as he pushed deeper into him, keeping his movements slow and steady, drawing long moans from him as he worked him open.

He flexed his fingers in a come-hither motion and Jaskier cried out, sound muffled against Geralt’s skin.

“Ah, ah, there Geralt, fuck,” Jaskier trembled.

The Witcher brushed that sweet spot again and Jaskier crumpled into him, panting, squirming.

Geralt loved taking Jaskier apart piece by piece until he was a trembling mess. He loved how responsive and sensitive Jaskier was, how even the simplest touch could pull the dirtiest noises from him as he succumbed to pleasure, how he took everything Geralt gave him and begged for more.

A third finger was now gliding in and out of Jaskier and the Bard clawed at him desperately as jolts of pleasure spiked through him. It would be very easy to force Jaskier over the edge right now but Geralt wasn’t done with him yet.

He removed his fingers, Jaskier gurning at the sudden loss, and grabbed for the vial of oil, slicking up his own impossibly hard cock and lining himself up against Jaskier’s ass.

“Can I?” he asked, voice thick with need.

“Yes,” Jaskier breathed.

He slowly eased into the Bard, resisting the urge to thrust his entre length into him at once.

Jaskier’s head bumped back onto Geralt’s shoulder as he felt Geralt bottom out and just hold him steady for a moment. His breathing was sharp and shallow, his hands were fisted into Geralt’s hair.

Then Geralt pulled Jaskier up slightly, drawing him off his cock and snapped his hips up to meet him.

The noise that escaped Jaskier’s throat was downright sinful.

Geralt wrapped both arms around the Bard, keeping him flush against his chest as he angled each thrust to brush perfectly against the sensitive bundle of nerves deep inside Jaskier.

“You feel so good Jas,” Geralt hummed, “So good.”

Jaskier sat up slightly, capturing Geralt’s lips in a sloppy kiss as he clung to him desperately.

Geralt placed one hand on Jaskier’s hip, the other coming up to tug at his thick hair, grunting into Jaskier’s mouth as he felt warmth pooling in all the right places.

“Geralt. Geralt, fuck” Jaskier whined against the Witcher’s lips, voice high and tight and completely wrecked.

Geralt tugged at Jaskier’s hair again, holding his head back so he could nibble into Jaskier’s neck again.

The delicious moan that fell from Jaskier spurred a particularly sharp thrust that enticed a scream from the Bard.

Geralt pulled him close again, feeling Jaskier’s hot breath on his shoulder and he lost himself in the heat and the tightness and the motions of them moving together.

The sound of laboured breathing and skin on skin filled the small clearing they had set up camp in.

Geralt took hold of Jaskier’s waist and changed his angle slightly. Jaskier jolted and his whole body tensed.

“Please. Geralt. Please,” he whimpered.

The Witcher reached down to tug at Jaskier’s neglected cock and the overstimulation had the Bard trembling and crying out as he shook apart, painting Geralt’s stomach as he came for the second time that night.

As tempted as Geralt was to push Jaskier to his limits and pull a third orgasm from him, he let go and grunted as he came deep inside his Bard. Pleasure tingling through him, forcing the breath from him.

Jaskier collapsed on top of him, shuddering, breath sobbing in his chest as he the echoes of pleasure rippled through his body.

Geralt ran his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, caressing the Bard gently, listening to his rapid pulse and ragged breathing.

He lifted Jaskier gently, slipping his now soft cock out of him and bundled Jaskier in his arms, rolling him gently onto the bedroll and cocooning him against his chest.

They’d deal with the mess in the morning, Geralt decided, watching Jaskier’s eyes flutter lazily as sleep pulled at him.

He kissed the Bard on the forehead, a soft press of his lips and Jaskier snuggled against him.

“I love you Geralt,” he hummed, voice lax with bliss.

“I love you too,” the Witcher smiled.

Impalaloompa on ao3

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

In the Forever, We Have Nothing (Jaskier x reader, Part 5.)

Description: Geralt of Rivia isn’t always there to watch over Jaskier, his best, yet incapable bard friend. Sometimes, when the Witcher knows that there is bad blood between the bard and someone else, he writes a contract and offers a job - silently watching over Jaskier traveling the roads.

Part Summary: One night can be nothing or everything, depending on a point of view.

Warnings: Superfluffy slow smut, since I love Jaskier being a romantic soul.

A/N: Oh, we will be soon finishing this series and I have fallen in love with it so, so much!

Word count. 5.1 K

Tagging: @nemodoren​ @marioverthere​

Series master list: H E R E

"You don't seem to be yourself today, may I say?" - Jaskier's voice interrupted your spiral of thoughts going straight down. Oh. That idiot was still there. You forgot for a moment. One night until you'll give him back to his dear friend as nothing but a package. You looked at him with a question in your eyes.

"What brings you to think things like that, bard?" - You gulped down the last bits of chicken you had in your mouth and leaned into the wall, staring his face down. Jaskier gave you a slight smile.

"You came in half an hour ago, white as a wall and quiet as a lonely mountain and since the moment your foot came into the inn, you hadn't insulted me." - Jaskier said sweetly, leaning closer to you and looking you right in the eyes.

"Oh, look how fucking smart you are. You should care about your own business and you shouldn't put your nose sniffing somewhere where it shouldn't be sniffing." - You said rather ironically. The bard just chuckled and drank some of his wine again.

"There you are, hello, I've missed you, missy. Where you've been, huh?" - Jaskier was confusing you the hell out. He was... Fond of you acting like an ass around him? It looked like he missed you for you, not for an idea of you. You pressed your lips together and let a small smile out. - "So, it's only the last day remaining. Tomorrow, you will finally get rid of me. How does that feel?"

Oh, yeah. You woken up from a second to second, got into the present moment at once. Before meeting Iola on the way, you were just thinking about the rapid approach of Jaskier leaving; having a night, almost all the time in the world, yet not having enough time at all. That was all before you have your ass kicked. Before she was... Dead.

"It doesn't feel like anything. You're just a job. I'm only completing my duty. That's all." - You informed Jaskier and really tried to look as unamused as you could. Your face was stone cold - but your soul was spinning in raw, confusing emotions. The duties of a soldier, their expression, the calm look they kept on their faces all the time - all of it felt so known.

"Oh, come on. You like me, don't you? It's just like that and it's natural to say it. Don't be shy." - Jaskier tugger your elbow and laughed again. Oh, that man and his self-confidence. But it made you chuckle again.

"You're being too cocky and confident. Don't really trust yourself that much. And even if do like you..." - You leaned in a for the first time ever, playfulness sparkling from your eyes. You desperately needed to relax and to sleep, maybe to have some fun. Iola was on the back of your head and that bitch wasn't leaving.

You were still replaying every smile Iola has ever given you, every kiss, the lightest touches, you wearing her clothes just as she was wearing yours, your travels through Redenia and Temeria. Now she was dead, killed by your dagger in her heart. And you were the person who had stabbed her.

"If I do like you, I wouldn't ever tell you." - You rose your hand and waved at one of the girls, ordering yourself another pint. Jaskier opened his eyes, eyeing you. You always were drinking only one ale during the dinner, then you stood up and went to sleep, Jaskier just behind you. But you were ordering yourself the third pint within twenty minutes.

"Are you alright? You're weird today. You act like a normal human being and I don't like that at all. Something that would my fair lady wanted to share?" - Jaskier leaned into his chair and furrowed at you, watching your face. When the pints were out on your table, you immediately took it and drank more than half of it. You drank so abruptly that a small amount of it dropped from the corner of your mouth and disappeared under your jaw and neck.

"Not at all. I have just... Murdered a woman who I've loved because she almost sliced my throat two hours ago. I'm feeling miserable." - You answered with an ironically amused tone. For a moment, Jaskier wanted to jab into you, since he wanted to make fun out of it, but then he watched your watery gaze looking somewhere to the oblivion. You might've done something like that. It was more than real. So he decided to change the topic a bit.

"Well, are you telling me that you don't like me, then?" - Jaskier stood up and took his lute. You wanted to say something, but then you cockily smiled and leaned your elbow over the chair. So the gentleman was up for some game. Alright.

"Oh, I don't, mister." - Yes. You were getting drunk, but at least, you were having fun. You were finally letting go of being so professional, from concentrating only on your work. You finally acted like if other things were present in your life - like having time for yourself and some fun or that you had an actual sense of humor.

"Well, then miss, I will make sure that you hate me at the end of the night." - Jaskier smiled with a naughty move of his eyebrows, plucking first notes of a song. You put a hand in front of your lips, hiding the smile behind. The man was moving swiftly, standing on the bench beside you, marching there like a diva.

The first songs were quick and made you tap your steel boot. No matter what kind of a person Jaskier was, he loved to sing, play and to make others jolly and enjoying themselves. No matter how dumb or scared he was at times, he was made for re-telling great stories, legends, and tales of various adventures and history. You were kind of bitter about not listening to Jaskier and his friends from the very start.

To be honest, at the start, you only thought about the bards in the worst way possible. Their plucking was not a man's job in your eyes and the only thing they were doing was lazily wasting their lives, living in vain and like a bohemian.

And there you were, being friends with a bard who was doing exactly what you were so disgusted by... And you were laughing. Somewhere from the crowd, a second bard emerged and started to play, while sweaty and heavy breathing Jaskier sat next to you and gulped a whole glass of ale down.

"So, it's working as I see. Your face seems completely furious, milady. I am worried that you might strangle me in the deep night." - Jaskier joked when he looked at your laughing face. It was relaxed and very much pleased as you watched the whole inn. And to be honest, one and a half Jaskiers were sitting there.

"Oy, I sure will. You better watch your back." - You rolled your eyes and stood up, supporting yourself on your friend's shoulder. - "But really, might we catch some air? My lungs are on fucking fire." - The legs were carrying you to the door out, where you left into the colder night to take a few deep breaths. The ground under you felt warm and soft - you abruptly sat into the grass, next to a small pond.

"You, my dear miss, are drunk. You're not even standing straight. You look like a curve." - Jaskier sat next to you with a poetic look on his face. The night was young, the stars were shining and the moon could be seen far, far away.

"Jaskier. You're a man." - Your tongue twisted itself, telling him a thing he already knew. To turn the situation into a joke, he lifted the hem of his pants and looked down. Your head shook and looked away from him.

"As far as I'm concerned, I would say I am a man. I was born like one and everything down there is working just fine, thank you for acknowledging, it was very much appreciated." - Jaskier said seriously. There was a short while of silence before you laughed quietly. - "It's personal, huh? You against the whole world and every man in it. That's a personal fight you have there."

"I'm not against... Men. I mean not in general." - There you were. Alcohol always made the words come out themselves. It always made you talk.

"Well, you're a dangerous woman who likes to do everything on her own, not letting anyone interrupt her or talk into her decisions. You would rather cut yourself with an axe than letting a man do it for you. Letting alone your relationships with women. Are you sure that you're not against men?" - The man's eyes were playful and shining at that point. The hem of your pants seemed to be more than interesting for your fingers since you were fidgeting them around it for a minute. You weren't laughing.

"I'm not, I swear. I even find some men attractive. Some of them can protect me better than I would ever protect myself. Some of them can make me laugh. Some of them help me with stuff... But I have certain trust issues towards men. It doesn't matter what is their past like, how they see me as a person. It's just within me." - The sound of your voice was quiet and almost shaking when your mind traced back to the old days. To your father. To everything that happened. It was grossing you out.

"Do you wish to talk about it? I swear that I can keep a secret, Y/N." - The man next to you asked in a voice that was as slow as your was. He was being careful with you, asking rather slowly than just bluffing that question out of nowhere. You looked at him and furrowed for a while before finding the words that could've been said.

"My father." - You said simply, but you knew that without a clue, Jaskier can never understand. When you were gulping down the whole feeling of guilt and sadness, you thought of your words. - "He was tough on me. And not just mentally. The man was never hesitant to go far for smacking me. My mom run away from him when I was only ten, or so, and never came back. Then, because we didn't have money, he found a way to make some coin on his own daughter. I was... Just a small fucking girl. But there were two or three men every week I was sold to. So, naturally, when the king's men came to our village, searching for boys to recruit, I stole some clothes and cut my hair short. Just to be free from that hell. And I've escaped. Soon, they discovered that I'm a girl because of course, they did. But Foltest liked me and he didn't let me go. He was so merciful that he let me stay in his service and made his assassin. We were almost friends, I could say, so I knew a lot of things about the king and the kingdom. Things no-one even suspected. Throughout time, the king let me go to live my life. I'm sometimes still accepting small contracts for him until this day. Foltest was the only man ever who made me feel powerful. He gave me power over my own destiny, the power to live my own life, to do what I wanted to do. And I haven't met any other man who would respect what I am... Until I met you."

The last words were only a whisper carried by the wind. You both sat there as the darkness fell down you, your surroundings were silent. Jaskier was struggling with his words at the moment - which wasn't a thing that occurred frequently. Rather never, since his mouth ran from the moment he woke up until the very moment when he had to go to sleep.

Imagine selling your own child, no matter the gender, to unknown men just to have some money. Imagine ever hitting them. Or abuse them mentally. There was a huge risk for your health, but an even bigger one for your mentality, since you were as young as you were at the time. No wonder you weren't willing to trust just any man that came by. Each of them was a predator in your eyes, and they were ready to attack just as you were ready to bite them back.

At the same time, he was surprised that you were willing to tell him all of that. And that you were willing to trust Jaskier. That was a huge thing for him. Jaskier truly wished that he could prove his trustworthiness. You were just a woman after all; not an assassinator machine.

"I'm so sorry for that, Y/N. It must've been tough for you to even survive all of... Oh no. Don't cry. I beg you. Don't." - But it was late to beg you not to cry. There were already tears rolling down your face as you tried to silence them. - "It doesn't matter what your past is. Mine is not the lightest to carry either. The most important thing is right here." - He moved a bit closer to touch your shoulders and put one arm around them. He moved you to his arms, so you were leaning into his chest with your back. Unconsciously, his fingers started to play with your hair.

That feeling was something so new to you. Just to be held, you've never experienced anything like that. Your father? He never hugged you, let alone being held. King Foltest, yet he made you his daughter since he lost his daughter Adda to a curse, wasn't in the social status to even touch you, no matter how much parentally responsible he felt for you. But this man was more than willing to hold you in his arms, quietly watching the stars above you.

"Your background, no matter how shitty it is, didn't get you here, into this very moment. I've been struggling to accept it as well since I don't exactly believe that everyone has their destiny already lined up since the day they're born. Bullocks, if you ask me. The only thing that matters is what you're willing to do to overcome all the harsh moments you had to endure." - His voice in your ear was whispering and his lips were so close that you could feel them ghosting over your cheekbone. Your eyes slowly closed as you listened to his words.

Those feelings inside of you were raw since they were felt for the first time. Jaskier, no matter how dumb he could've been at times, made you feel safe. Maybe you were the stronger one who knew how to fight, but Jaskier was good with words, hearts, and emotions. That could be felt from the very begging.

"I hate you." - A quiet breath squeezed through your partially opened lips. Bard's chest shivered with a small laugh before he made you look at him. Those blue, watery eyes were piercing into the depth of everything you were and could ever be.

"That was today's plan. Those words would've been more effective if you didn't already tell them a million times." - Just after that, there was barely a second spent, he leaned in, testing the waters. Jaskier's lips were hovering just a small move away from yours, letting you decide to do whatever you wanted to do.

He wouldn't be mad if you just stood up and left him there, a bit sad and wanting you, but accepting the way you've chosen for. Jaskier wouldn't even move if you chose only to stay in his arms and lay there silently until you would fall asleep or get sober enough to leave him on his own.

The tension in the air could be felt in the form of a little sparkling on your skin. Both of you sat there without moving a bit for a long time before you finally showed Jaskier your approval. When you pressed your lips together, a little smack of wetness could be heard; but for a moment, you just stayed in that position - kissing each other like five-year-olds.

A palm ghosted over your jaw for a while before the bard tugged you a bit to show you, that you should be sitting on his lap. That was a task you gladly accepted. That was why the second kiss was more passionate and deeper.

The kisses were somehow different from a woman's kiss, that was everything you could wonder about. That man's kisses were somehow rougher and mode needing, his lips were somehow hot. Both of you got a bit carried away after a while, you let your lips kiss each other tenderly and tongues playfully dance without sync, so it felt a bit funny. But you wouldn't change anything about that kiss.

Until the moment someone interrupted you. It was a woman who was eyeing the bard through the whole night, basically stripping him down with her look. Both your gazes fell onto her and she stood there in silence and more than a slight shock. Without you realizing, your hand gripped onto Jaskier's jacket. He knew that is was just a slight feeling of fear. Since he was good at reading into another person's emotions, he knew that you're afraid of him leaving. You jolted at a sudden feeling of warmth on your upper thigh when Jaskier's hand gently touched your leg, smoothing it in gentle circles leading up to your ass.

He wasn't planning on leaving at all.

"I'm... Very sorry if I interrupted you." - The woman stuttered out with her cheeks burning up in an instant. Jaskier was the first to speak though.

"Don't be, lady. I wanted to take this gorgeous woman to my bed either way." - He told with a small smile, standing up and helping on you on your feet. Another unknown feeling crept in your spine - holding hands in the public. It was like if Jaskier wanted to yell to the whole entire world that you're his just as he is yours. Even if it was for the night.

The bard led the way. You walked around the lady, making your way up to the small room you had. You giggled at a sudden thought popping in your head. Two beds that were too far from each other. But then you bit your lip, shaking the thought away. Jaskier will surely handle that.

The man didn't jump at you at the moment the door closed behind you, even if you expected him to - that confused you a bit and almost disappoint you. But then you watched as he lightened up the candles with a tenderness you've never seen on anyone, pointing to a bath. The water wasn't hot at that point. It was pleasantly warm.

"I'm sure you want to stick to your every night routine. But we'll spice the things up a bit. Come here, I'll help you with taking your clothes off." - He waved at you with a small smile. Maybe men weren't that bad at all. It was blatantly obvious that Jaskier didn't like you for your body, no, if he did, he would jump on you at the moment you walked in. The bard was trying to get you in mood and to feel safe. You would never expect from a man to do any of that, yet, it felt exciting.

The feeling of just smoothing his skin when you were giving him your hand and permission with that was something that excited you even more. While your hand stopped at his chest still clothed in both jacket and shirt, his fingers delicately continued down on your waist, opening the straps on your waist to let the daggers fall down behind you. Only after that, your eyes widened, when he got on his knees and undid your boots, taking them off.

Before his hands even dared to move on your hips to help you with the belt and the other dagger, there was a long look and silence. This time, it wasn't your annoyed silence or anything, your eyes were just drowning in the sight of that face. He looked so young, yet he was older and more mature than you were. At least emotionally and experienced. And that could be felt in all the touches. The whole time he undid your belt, his eyes were piercing through yours. When that was done, the pants were down in an instant.

To be honest, Jaskier did his best not to abruptly jump into anything, yet he leaned in and left a trail of wet kisses on your upper thigh, leading his lips to your hipbone, trailing the same pattern on your other thigh. He couldn't resist. You were surely bloody crazy, as he told you many times, yet very irresistible. As he stood up, leading his lips on your belly and rib bones which were slightly visible, his hands were rolling the shirt off your body.

"All ready to take a bath." - His lips brushed over your cheekbone as soon as the shirt finally left your body. You steadied yourself with his hand, climbing into the bathtub and you sat in the very bottom with a quiet splash of water falling on the wooden door.

After a short moment, his fingers started to delicately massage your shoulders up to the back of your neck as he leaned to you and pressed you a short peck there. Painting slow circles in your arms, he proceeded deeper, gently palming both your breasts. Your head leaned into his shoulder as you moaned silently, Jaskier's lips working another trail of wet kisses from your ear to your collar bone. He took off his jacket and shirt as well since he had some things on his mind that he wanted to try with you.

While one of his hands was still palming one of your breasts, giving it gentle strokes, and his lips were following another trail back up to your ear, the second hand ghosted from your chest down on your thighs, smoothing way up to the wetness between your legs.

You felt warm, almost boiling hot and wet inside; he would've told some naughty things to you if he knew he could, but since you weren't a naughty girl at that point, he decided to shut up. Jaskier was bloody sure that as time goes by, he could make you a naughty girl. That was the first thought that crossed his mind talking about the future. Yet, it was there.

For a smile moment, his fingers lingered and hovered over your folds, slowly descending down to your core. There was excitement on both sides - for you, it was how pleasurable could man's fingers feel inside of you. They moved inside of you, plumped in and out with heavenly grace, sometimes even curling up a bit. You shouldn't be surprised, but yet, there you were - Jaskier was a musician. He was a musician with swift fingers which were a bit bigger and rougher than a woman's fingers, those fingers could aggressively pluck the chords, but could tenderly touch as well.

For Jaskier, there was something wonderful about your pussy - he met women who were tight even if they have slept with men, even in whorehouses. But your pussy was something spectacular. Sleeping with women surely did a number on you.

By the time his teeth graced over your neck and his thumb found the small bundle of nerves, you were a weeping mess. The cries coming out of your mouth were full of pleasure, your hand found his hair and brought his face even closer to your neck. When his teeth bit the skin of your neck harshly, your lips left out a long, pleasurable sound mixed with an attempt to say his name.

The body was trembling on its own, your hands grasping on Jaskier's neck and shoulders, as far as you were able to touch, your lips breathing heavily into his ear. The orgasm was strong, your head spun and your heart was beating as quickly as a cheetah was able to run.

You loved every little feeling about that, his naked chest pressed to your back, the way he still held you in his arms and peppered your jaw with small kisses. He has woken up a beast inside of you, wanting more, you were excited and wanted to explore more of him.

You sat up and turned to him, catching his jaws in your hands, bringing his lips for another kiss. This was one raw from your side, you were moaning, wanting mess when you caught his lower lip with your teeth, pulling Jaskier's naked body on yours, making him wet from water.

"Come on, bard. Take me to bed and show me how to sing." - You laughed between kisses, stood up and let him help you out of the bath. Fuck the sheets getting wet from the water or messy with swear or cum. You just wanted to be claimed by a man - and not for money, but because of the feeling of it, of being held with care in hands stronger than yours were. You were a mess for it. You would beg Jaskier if he wanted you to.

Man's body felt different than a woman's under your fingertips - his skin was almost burning yours, his whole body was rougher, stronger, you couldn't find any hips or breasts to take a hold on, his neck was bigger, just as his pelvis could be felt under the pants. When he pressed himself between your legs, laying you down on your back, you could really feel that he's not a woman.

It wasn't only his erected cock - he was wider in his hips and waist, not curvy like a woman. But the only thing that it did to you, was making you close your eyes and moan. He abruptly tried to take his pants off, but even if you were more than horny, it looked funny to you. You tried not to laugh, but after a while, you just laughed in a lighthearted tone. He couldn't just get off his pants, standing on one ankle and balancing in front of the bed. Jaskier and you both laughed, finally getting that piece of clothing off when your hands went back on his shoulders to hug him.

To say that Jaskier worshipped your body just wasn't enough - his lips slowly brushed over your neck and shoulder, his palms went to explore anything he could, smoothing you, trying to remember each centimeter he was able to reach, his teeth tugging your earlobes playfully. Your hands wanted to explore his entire body as well, but he was playing with you, leaning away, bringing your fingers to his mouth and bit them with a big smile. You never knew that you could laugh so much when you had sex until Jaskier showed you.

And it was a dream, feeling so comfortable and amused with the person you were about to make love to.

"If I would write a tale of your beauty, I don't know where would I started..." - His finger lingered over your breasts as he got up on his elbows. - "Is it the small valley between your breasts, or the gentle hole in your belly? When I travel deeper, there's a rainforest that tastes like heaven." - Every part of you he talked about, he kissed gently.

Just before you felt ready to jump in (Jaskier asked you more than three times) Jaskier gently destroyed you with his fingers again, yet he didn't let you quite finish.

If felt like the first time ever, when you looked at each other to the eyes as Jaskier slowly pushed his pelvis to meet yours. The small moan, bending your head backward and rolling of your eyes was indicating immersive pain. The first time in ten years, there was a man inside of you and it felt like if it stretched you out so much that he created a new vagina inside of you. The first movements were slow and shakily performed since Jaskier truly did his best not to hurt you.

Every small centimeter inside of you slowly stretched as the moves got repetitive. But it didn't get repetitive for too long, as the bard's tongue graced on your neck and one of his palms brought your knee up around his hip and ass, stretching you even deeper. You couldn't say if he's a normal one, a huge one or a tiny one, but for you, he was massive.

Jaskier kept his rhythm though all the way as he leaned in to kiss you gently, moaning into your kiss.

"Play with yourself, come on." - His moan could be heard somewhere from your hair. You were already sweaty and everything felt... Pleasurable enough at that moment. But you nodded nonetheless, pushing fingers down to play with the bundle of nerves. The tension in your tummy slowly rose again as you leaned his forehead to yours held his face in place with your palms and even if Jaskier tried to be the romantic until the last moment, now, his rhythm got sloppier than before and he started to thrust a bit faster and harsher. Both, you and his, moans and each other's names could be heard when somebody walked next to your door, the bedframe was crushing into the wall behind. But he was still making love to you.

Your orgasm certainly could be heard miles ago. Your eyes rolled back as your screaming voice wore thin, disappeared in the darkness. He came on your belly just seconds after that, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. He moaned your name, collapsing with a smile.

"I hate you so fucking much." - You breathed out and hugged his tired body tighter, smoothing his hair. He was done - and that was reasonable since he was making love to you for more than an hour.

"Come on." - Jaskier smiled into the crook of your neck. - "I know you love me."

[iamtaran]

X-Files The Witcher AU fic idea

but like, not what you expect. Geralt and Jaskier aren’t Mulder and Scully because Mulder and Scully are Mulder and Scully.  Geralt of Rivia really is a centuries-old witcher hunting down, de-cursing, and/or relocating dangerous magical beings beneath the nose of modern society. Jaskier is not centuries-old and is in fact is 31, thank you, no matter what his freshman students might think. He’s a fairly popular adjunct professor who teaches musical theory and history and uh... runs around after a centuries-old monster hunter whilst doing his best to keep his identity and activities secret from the authorities whilst also recording it for posterity. And has been doing so. Since he was 18. He does not see these two activities as antithetical at all. Oh, and did I mention it’s the 90s? The home cam recorder Jaskier carries with him on cases weighs about as much as a small child. His jeans are high waisted and nearly painted on and also yes they are appropriate field attire, shut up Geralt. (And of course there’s gotta be a “dressing Geralt up in modern clothes to blend in/escape or w/e” chapter where his ass, finely encased in high-waisted Levis, takes out every person with eyes in a two-block radius. The breezy shirt unbuttoned down the chest and with the sleeves rolled up is just overkill on top of that. Every one of Jaskier’s students thinks his big hunky boyfriend is to die for. Jaskier has to somehow keep up the ruse and get Geratl safely across campus and under the radar again without combusting on the spot. ) (Also. Scrunchies are IN, and Jaskier may or may not have picked up a package for Geralt as a joke that he is now afraid to carry through for fear of retribution being swift and juvenile.) Cue a ton of fun, tense, absolutely delicious half-true rumors being heard, near-misses being had, and shocking discoveries being made as Scully and Mulder chase after someone who cannot exist yet who they quickly begin to realize does; as Jaskier pulls his who, me? obfuscation routine when the Feds show up, multiple times and with an easy undaunted smile; and as Geralt just tries to do his fucking job. It’s not his fault no one thinks he exists. Like. It’s in the history books. It’s right there.   He’s still half-myth by the end of the fic, but Scully and Mulder get one earth-shattering scene where they actually see him in action, in the flesh, fighting or containing a thing that can’t exist. And then, I dunno, let him go or help him get away or something bc the government would just contain and probably dissect him and they’ve learned enough about him not to want that to happen. They team up with Jaskier to get it done. Cue the beginnings of a somewhat strange friendship. They get Jaskier’s number so they can ask him to ask Geralt when they find something that might be his area of expertise. Maybe they have brunch or something idk fin.

[edensbuttercups]

Nulla Verbum Sine Sensum

Pairing: Jaskier x reader Request: “Hii! I have a little fic idea if you want to write it: Jaskier gets cursed by a witch he slept with and ends up losing his voice and ends up searching for a cure with Geratl when they meet the reader and maybe she's a mage or a healer or something and she ends up breaking the curse” Word count: 3.4k  A/N: Thank you anon for your request! I know it took so so long, and I apologize! I’ve got to admit, I’m not too happy with how this came out. I had an idea for the beginning and for the end, but the middle part just wouldn’t come to me. I decided to go for a less traditional “she breaks the curse” and I don’t know if it did work out, so feedback (as always) is appreciated!  Again, I’m not fully satisfied with how this came out, and I might edit it later on, but writing it was a lot of fun and the prompt was really cool! So thank you again anon, hope you like it 💕

Geralt had retreated to his room hours ago, but he had decided to stick around, eyeing a certain mysterious woman that quietly sat at the bar. She had long flowing hair with blue ribbons plaited in it forming a crown around her head and a white gown that elegantly fell all the way to the floor. She had been the only one not to clap at the end of his performance, hell, she hadn’t even looked at him once! So, he did the only thing he could think of and trotted over to her, singing his praises until they both were in bed, a breathless mess next to each other.

When she woke up the next morning, she was alone. She didn’t mind, she hadn’t expected a love story, just some meaningless sex, yet she didn’t expect to descend the stairs finding him flirting once more, this time with the barmaid. She nodded and smiled, ready to teach him a lesson, prancing towards him and placing her hands on his shoulders, spinning him around and dragging him away from the bar. “What-… Oh. Hello.” He smiled, glancing apologetically towards the barmaid. “You know, darling” he raised his eyebrows at the nickname, surprised by her almost metallic tone “Your voice will quickly rot unless you share all you’ve got, expecting nothing in return, your most prized possession you might earn.” “Ooh, rhymes, how fancy! I didn’t know you were a poet like me” he answered cheerfully, repeating the curse under his breath, trying to memorize it for possible future songs. “Good luck bard. You’ll need it.” She winked at him as she turned and walked out, her long white dress blowing behind her as he looked at her for a moment before turning towards the bar yet again, eager to get back to charming the barmaid, hoping that Geralt would enjoy his sleep for only a bit longer. “So… where were we?” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. He laughed and cleared his throat, throwing an apologetic glance at the barmaid. “Pardon my voice. I must’ve caught a cold.” He laughed once more, bowing his head and trying once more, failing again. He apologized again, paying for his breakfast and taking a seat at the closest table, waiting for his travel companion to arrive. He started thinking about the words from the woman he had spent the night with, piecing two and two together and gasping in disbelief, shaking his head and hoping with all his heart that he hadn’t truly been cursed. It wasn’t long until the Witcher descended the stairs, nodding to the bard and making way towards the door, walking out and leading the way towards the stables. “Geralt!” the bard cried out, his voice low and warped, unrecognizable and weak. The Witcher didn’t hear him and carried on walking, smiling as Roach came into view. The bard looked up at the sky, annoyed at his condition, cursing as he walked closer to the Witcher, grabbing his attention by tapping on his arm. “Hmm?” The Witcher turned, raising an eyebrow at the bard. “My voice.” He coughed out, trying to be as loud as he could. “You’ve probably got a cold. I’ll get you some ginger sweets, those should help.” “No. Curse.” His voice was a mere whisper now, weaker and weaker as time went on. “Curse? Jaskier I left you last night and you were fine, you probably didn’t sleep well and now your voice is weird, don’t get all-“ “Curse.” He insisted, looking for a stick to write with in the dirt, explaining his point. He walked towards the nearest tree and jumped up towards the lowest branch, jumping up and breaking it off the tree. He marched back and started writing. “I slept with a woman… Oh that’s a surprise!” Geralt laughed, carrying on reading. “This morning she told me something weird, I think it was a curse. What do I do? Jaskier, is that drawing supposed to be you crying? You really have to work on your anatomy” the Witcher laughed as the bard threw the stick at him, frustrated by his lack of words. “Let’s get moving. Allowing a Witcher in this town for a night was already a lot for them, if we stay any longer, we might end up with rocks thrown at us.” The Witcher looked at the bard, waiting for an answer. Jaskier looked up and nodded, following behind in silence.

 You’d expect Geralt to enjoy the silence that accompanied him on the ride, but he could feel the sadness that surrounded Jaskier and couldn’t help but feel uneasy. He glanced behind often, finally offering a place behind him on Roach that the bard accepted offering a small smile, weakly climbing on and resting his head on Geralt’s back, tired from the thoughts that swirled around his head. What if I never get my voice back? What am I supposed to do? What if no one knows how to break this curse?

 They reached Zavada on a cold morning, the bard swallowing back thoughts about his voiceless future and the Witcher determined to help his friend with whatever means necessary.

 You had always enjoyed sitting near the door, often with a book in hand, waiting for customers to walk into your shop for either a chat or a fresh loaf of bread. This morning was no different; you sat with your head resting against the column, a hot cup of tea in your hands as you watched the people pass, their breaths drawing clouds in the air as they spoke. Two figures came into view, one tall and strong, his white hair framing his stern look while the other stood next to him, his arms tucked in front of his chest making him look small while a gloomy look haunted his face. You kept your eyes on them, entertained by the lost look on their faces, debating on whether you were willing to help them or not. You took a last sip, standing up and choosing the biggest loaf of bread you could find before walking out the door, closing it behind you. You felt their gaze on you as you moved through the crowd making your way towards them, your dress dragging on the ground behind you. “Hello! You look lost, can I help you in any way?” You offered them the bread, breaking it in half and offering one half each. The white-haired man looked at you for a moment before nodding. “We need a healer or a mage. Someone that knows how to break a curse” he explained, lightly moving his head towards the other man, his mouth shut tight in a small smile, his eyes bouncing from you to your surroundings. “Forgive him, he’s a bit grumpy. He’s a bard, yet he was cursed and lost his voice.” The man explained once more, smiling when the bard lightly punched his shoulder. You walked closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder and smiling. “We’ll get your voice back, I promise.” You turned towards the streets, pointing east. “That way. I know a mage that might be able to help, I’ll come along with you.”

You knocked on the door, exchanging some words with the mage and introducing her to Geralt and Jaskier, moving aside when Geralt started explaining the situation, the mage listened closely. “And what was the curse?” She asked, grabbing some paper and a quill from the shelf. Jaskier started writing, his face serious as Geralt read aloud, used to his new position as voice double for the bard. “The morning after I met her she came towards me and smiled, saying that my voice would rot unless I gave all I had. I had to expect nothing in return to gain my most prized possession back. Something along those lines.” She scoffed, turning to the Witcher with a raised eyebrow. “Standard curse. You’d expect more originality, you know?” She turned to the bard and sat next to him. “You’ll have to do something out of the pureness of your heart. You have to do something just because it’s the right thing to do.” He stared at her, his eyes darting up to the Witcher’s and then up to yours. You could read a hint of confusion in them. You stepped forward. “What does that mean exactly?” she looked up at you, an amused smile painted on her face for a mere second. “Let’s say… he’s a bard. He writes songs. By writing a song, especially when a bard does so, you expect someone to listen to it, to like it, to praise it. But if he wrote a song without even an ounce of his heart craving that validation…” “The curse would be broken?” you guessed. “Maybe.” “Maybe?” “It all depends on who cursed him. Since it was a woman, we can assume she means something more… deep. He probably has to find a selfless act towards somebody, putting their needs before his own, no matter if that hurts him in any way.” She finished explaining and sat up, leaning over to pat his shoulder in a comforting way. She grabbed Geralt’s attention as she slipped away in a nearby room. “Go and wait outside. I’ll be out soon.” he said, following the mage into the back room.  You waited outside together, the warm sun slowly heating up your surroundings after the cold night. You listened happily as the bard gently strummed one of the songs you had heard many times at the local tavern. He looked sad as he quietly moved his lips, forming words that both of you knew by heart but only one could sing.  “I’ll sing for you.” His eyes darted up to meet yours “if you’ll allow me” you added as a smile graced his face. He started strumming louder, trying to decipher from your face if you knew the words. You nodded and started singing, softly at first, afraid of being heard by anyone but him, but slowly you let go of your fears, fluttering to your feet and dragging him up with you, gently swaying to the sound of the song, moving around each other as his smile grew, mesmerised by your voice. You forgot about everything while you danced and sang, his smile growing with each passing minute. The truth was that he liked having you around, even if the two of you had only just met, you seemed to care for him more than he thought possible. You smiled often, a smile that made his heart warm, and had he had his voice he would’ve showered you with praise and love. He promised the sky, the sun, the moon and everything holy that he would as soon as his voice returned.

You spent the rest of the day together, walking around and jokingly trying to make Jaskier do something out of the kindness of his own heart, but nothing worked. You asked him to play his lute, pick you flowers, dance for you, and Geralt kindly played along by asking him to be quiet. You both laughed at the stern expression on Jaskier’s face, but once he heard you laugh he smiled, not looking so offended anymore.  “This is my shop.” you said, once you reached your entrance “I have a small room upstairs, so whenever you need me just knock. Do you have a place for the night?”  “Some rooms are available just down the road” Geralt explained, pointing to the nearby inn. “We’ll come say goodbye tomorrow.” Both you and Jaskier widened your eyes, looking at the Witcher with a confused look. “Goodbye? You’re leaving?” Jaskier raised a hand, suggesting that he was wondering the same thing.  “There’s no point in staying, is there? The mage can’t cure him, and he’ll have to solve this problem on his own. The nearby town is looking for someone to slay a beast, the earlier we leave the earlier we’ll have coins.”  “Oh.” you muttered, trying to smile “sure. Well, I’ll be waiting for you. If you stop by in the morning I’ll be sure to prepare a delicious breakfast!” you tried to sound cheery, but you felt sadness at the thought of having to say goodbye so early. You wish you could’ve talked to Jaskier - truly talked to him - but you knew there wasn’t much you could do. So you offered a small hug to both the Witcher and the bard, hugging both of them tight, lingering just a few moments longer as you took the chance to rest your head on Jaskier’s shoulder. You barely knew them, but you were going to miss them. You were going to miss him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” You said, offering a smile to the bard, trying to cheer him up while the Witcher nodded and turned. You and Jaskier shared a last look, him not daring to move and you to talk, before he smiled back, bowing as mischief tinted his eyes. 

You spent the evening baking bread for your shop, adding a few extra pastries to the baked goods for your two new friends. You looked at the final result: a blackberry pie for Geralt and a lemon one for Jaskier, along with some other berries that you had grown and a jug of freshly squeezed juice. You left the kitchen, reaching the bedroom and slipping in a long blue gown that you had managed to buy with few hard earned coins. You smiled, slipping into bed and thinking of the bard, falling into a deep sleep while wishing that a simple kiss on the lips could solve it all. 

A faint sound coming from downstairs woke you up, making you sit upright in the dark room. You glanced around, grabbing the plant pot that rested on your bedside table as a possible weapon as the moon lit the room enough for you not to trip on the clothes you slipped out of the night before. It wasn’t the first time that someone broke in, and even if the first time you almost had a heart attack, following that night you had always felt ready to tackle even the toughest of enemies, which you did. You held the plant tightly, walking down the narrow steps as your nightgown dragged behind you. You saw a shadow in front of you and swung down the pot, a soft gasp leaving your lips as you held the plant high above your head once more. The figure fell back, looking up to you with a confused expression, and you met the two eyes you had quickly grown to love. “I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” you helped him stand up, feeling relieved as he nodded, a hand held on his head where you hit him. “You could’ve knocked! What are you doing here?” he looked around, sighing as he realised that he had forgot to bring something to write on. He walked closer to you, gently pulling your hand up with his, moving his finger slowly, writing a letter at a time. “You wanted to see me? Why?” you asked, your heart beating faster as you stood close, closer than you had been before. “You missed me.” you smiled “I missed you too. I’m sorry that you’re leaving.” he nodded, looking away for a moment, his eyes falling to the food you had prepared. He moved his fingers once more, forming another phrase against your palm. “It’s for tomorrow morning! Don’t be greedy, Jaskier.” you said as he dragged you to the table, sitting in front of you. You both sat in silence for a moment, before he tentatively grabbed a small pastry, taking a bite and smiling in delight. You spent the night talking, he spent the night writing, and you both laughed and ate, falling into a comfortable company. He slipped away just before the sun rose, making his way back to Geralt and falling into a short sleep, his thoughts swirling in a sea of fears, hopes, dreams and you. 

“Thank you for your help, y/n” Geralt said, after a short breakfast and an even shorter chat. “Thank you for your company. It was fun while it lasted. Have a safe trip Geralt.” you smiled, reaching from your bag and pulling out the finest bread you managed to bake, wrapped in a soft material. “For your journey.” you explained, earning a nod and a smile, before the Witcher moved away, towards the road. You looked at Jaskier, taking the chance to place a soft kiss on his cheek before taking a step back. He stood between the two of you, his eyes darting between you, the woman he felt so drawn to and him, the friend he promised to accompany on his adventures, changing his reputation with his words. And he didn’t know who to choose, because as much as writing songs was what he wanted - it was his job after all - he needed you. If just for now, he needed you. You made him smile, you understood him, no words needed. But what would he do here? Few people lived in this town, and the tavern wasn’t lively enough to grant him an earning. He’d be nothing but a nuisance after all.  “Goodbye Jaskier.” you said softly, looking at him and waving at Geralt.  Jaskier looked up to you and smiled, reaching for your hand and tracing once more.  “Thank you for everything. I’ll come back one day.” you read as he wrote. You nodded, smiling. “I’ll be waiting.” you answered.  And so you watched them walk away, the bard rushing behind Geralt, trying to catch up, and the Witcher riding tall, his white hair blowing in the wind. You turned and sat on a rock, placing a hand on your chest as you tried to swallow down the sadness you felt. 

The bard walked with his head held down low, his hands in his pockets and his eyebrows furrowed. “How are you, Jaskier? I know how you feel about her.” Geralt spoke, breaking the silence. “I feel like I’ve made a mistake leaving her.” the bard started as the Witcher came to a halt, sliding off Roach. “I really liked her. Like, really liked her. But it wouldn’t be fair. A mute bard? It makes no sense! How would I even help her? I couldn’t earn any coins here.” “Jaskier.” “I know, I know, you think I fall in love too easily, but she was just so…” “Jaskier!” the Witcher barked, shutting the bard up. He turned around and searched for you, finding your figure sitting on a rock not too far away. He called for you, smiling when he saw you standing up, waving at him. “Let’s go back, Jaskier.” “What? Why?” he asked, still oblivious. The Witcher closed his eyes and smiled, dragging Roach along with him as he walked towards you. “What happened?” you asked, straightening the creases from your dress. “It worked.” Geralt muttered, looking at the bard with the hint of a smile. “What worked?” you asked, taking a step forward. “I made Jaskier choose between two things that would hurt him. I wasn’t sure if it was going to work, but…” he trailed off, gesturing to the bard triumphantly. “Wait, I can talk?” the bard said, looking blankly ahead. “I can talk!” he said once more, jumping up and enveloping you in a hug, swaying you from side to side as laughter rose from his chest.  “Geralt!” he turned, ready to hug the Witcher, who instead simply moved to the side, making the bard hug the air for a moment before falling to the ground.  “So he had to choose between…?” you started. “Staying with you and being a weight or leaving you, granting you freedom and financial sufficiency.”  “Oh! You wouldn’t have been a weight, Jaskier! But either way, I’m happy it all worked out.” you looked at Jaskier, who was still sitting on the ground, and offered him a hand, pulling him up into a hug.  “So, what’s the plan now? Are you still leaving? Or are you going to stay for a bit?”  “We can spare a couple of days, right Geralt?”  “I guess we can.” 

You all walked back to your shop, you and Jaskier singing like fools and Geralt rolling his eyes every few steps. And as you slipped your hand in the bard’s, pulling him close into a quick kiss, you wondered if giving up your shop for some time in exchange for adventure was a smart decision. “Ah, life is short.” you muttered, knowing in your heart that you’d spend more than two days in their company. “What, love?” “Nothing.” you said smiling, pulling him into yet another kiss, the third of many more to come.