#I’m also reminded up like when I saw people complaining about Jaskier going off on that guy

[aro-tarot]

Can’t just have this be in the tags because YES to all of this.

Before all of the RSD parts, there are also little things too. Like, I’ve seen people point out how Jaskier keeps just trying to eat things. Desk of stuff for potions? Well, these are berries. I’ll eat those. Soup? I’m hungry! I’ll eat that. Wait. I don’t like carrots. Spits it out after since I didn’t look at the soup to see if I’d even like it. Then the salt this season… Jaskier’s impulsivity sometimes goes beyond just words. It just reminds me of when I realize that I’m hungry and nothing else matters because that’s now the only thing in my brain. If I wasn’t so indecisive than I’d probably also just grab the first thing in sight in the kitchen to eat. (Though I have, honestly, grabbed a bag of chips and ate the entire bag as a meal since it was the first thing I saw way too many times.)

Jaskier almost running right into a sign this season was also relatable. When you’re busy talking about something, it’s hard to notice what’s going on around you. It’s happened to me plenty of times.

And with wanting Jaskier there since he’d be the one to rely on in an intense situation made me think of how he’s literally turned into the one that grabs the injured out of the situation, and that also just shows his character as well. He might not be able to fight, but he goes right into a protector mode which we saw even in s1 where he was even willing to use his lute as a weapon to protect the lady he had been flirting with.

With RSD and s2, it was also painful for me to watch as well. I’d never had that happen in a show before. I mean, the other show I hyperfixate on is a tragedy. It might have made me cry at times, but that’s the kind of show it is. It’s ends up as a sort of whump fest for the protagonist especially when he loses his friend (which is also easily able to be seen as a queerplatonic partner, which is why I finally checked out the show to begin with.)

But unlike that show even, I’ve never felt so and that kind of uncomfortable watching a show like I did with s2. Like, I have no issue with whump. I actually really like hurt/comfort fics. The torture scene with Jaskier was no problem, and if anything, I really liked it. Yennefer came right in and saved him. It was my cup of tea.

But with how Jaskier was treated by everyone else this season?

That was painful. Even if we had seen even more torture and what Jaskier had been going through, it wouldn’t have been able to compare.

Like:

I didn’t like Jaskier and Geralt’s reunion. Jaskier is clearly upset, and he’s hiding some of that at first with humor since humor is clearly part of how he deals with being hurt, but even when he gets serious and tells Geralt to shut up because he needs to get it out, he needs to finally get how hurt he was even if he’s downplaying it, he can’t because Geralt needs them to go and save Ciri.

It was a no wonder Jaskier, even after having come that close to getting it all out, downplays it during the actual apology. He had to shut up because there are more important things going on, and he’s just Jaskier. When is he ever important? He’s just the bard that follows Geralt around and writes songs about him. (Probably the voice in Jaskier’s head.)

And then even before that, for me, what was even more painful was when Jaskier was calling himself stupid. He failed, and immediately he thinks he’s the biggest idiot. Especially since besides rejection sensitivity, I also have depression and anxiety disorder and a fear of failure, it was like looking at myself in a mirror.

S2, in general, was like looking in a mirror.

It had been easy to headcanon Jaskier as an ADHDer in s1, but s2? It went from a character that I kind of relate to into feeling like I was watching myself on the scene. The way that Geralt had treated him and how others dismissed him was something that I’ve experienced myself. Even pushing my hurt aside as if friends are just like that. As Jaskier was saying to brush it off and kind of bring it up to Geralt to see if they were at least still friends, friends come back. That’s just how it’s supposed to be, right?

And him being ignored was also painful since I’ve also been there. You try to just make a joke to make it not that bad, but it goes deeper anyway. Looking at s2, also had me wondering how much of this Jaskier had even dealt with off camera? Ya know?

That and seeing some of the people I used to follow dismissing Jaskier’s feelings of heartbreak over Geralt as “clearly” having only been because Jaskier is “clearly” in love with him romantically, had me unfollowing people and trying to avoid mention of the scene. It managed to feel invalidating as someone that’s aromantic and also an ADHDer, ya know? Like, apparently I can’t feel that way towards people or strongly towards people. Luckily, my brother also found it very relatable as someone that had experienced something similar as an alloromantic non-ADHDer.

Okay, someone wrote that they thought Jaskier had ADHD in some of my tags, and I've just GOT to address this, because asfjasfljadsflasjd;dlasja;slfjd;as...

@aro-tarot , OMFG YES!!!

As someone with ADHD, I've got such strong ADHD vibes from Jaskier like you wouldn't believe!

(That, plus I tend to headcanon that Jaskier suffers from Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD), a condition strongly associated with ADHD, but more on that further down...)

I mean he's usually got no freaking impulse control whatsoever, and no filter on his mouth!

And even when he HAS that filter on, and some vague awareness that opening his mouth further and speaking his mind might get him into yet more trouble…

Well, the frustration he feels in the now is apparently so strong that the possibility of having to pay a price later is but a too distant and abstract concept to be enough to put a stop to that mouth!

I mean, that moment right here?

Someone without ADHD would have stopped themselves at "Am I going to say it?" because of the "Yeah, if I antagonize him, he might decide to keep me away from getting on that boat and I'll jeopardize my safety as well as the safety of the people that are currently counting on me," that should normally logically follow...

Someone with a very strong case of ADHD however... Well, they might just have to say it!

Same thing in Season 1 with the elves. Jaskier's bound and tied ,and he just keeps antagonizing them because he's angry, and the need to express his anger somehow screams louder than the punch or the kick he'll be receiving 2 freaking seconds later if he keeps verbally lashing out at them!

Self-soothing and impulse managing are two skills that Jaskier doesn't quite have a good mastery of.

Like, don't let him get his hands on a djinn while heartbroken, drunk, and deeply wounded (because his best and very possibly queerplatonic friend just insulted his singing, while implying that it was likely why his other friend/lover had just left him, no less)... He might just start wishing Valdo Marx dead!

Generally, I'd strongly advise keeping him away from anything that could potentially become a weapon if he's highly emotional.

That's never a good combination.

Jaskier might do something he'll regret, and realize it was awfully dumb and stupid only once he's deeply in trouble, or has finally calmed down.

ADHD isn't a mood disorder, but it's been described as a "failure to self-regulate moods disorder".

Meaning that people with ADHD feel the same emotions as anyone else most of the time (RSD is a bit of an exception; again, more on that later), but they'll just have a harder time avoiding openly expressing them, and stopping themselves from acting upon them.

They can succeed most of the time (thankfully); and I highly suspect that Jaskier might be at his most focused and emotionally measured around Ciri, because he feels responsible for her.

Adults often have this instinct to sacrifice their own needs and wants to give priority to those of children (including sometimes teenagers, and/or grown children they've adopted as part of their family system and are still mentoring through life).

People with ADHD also tend to have a blast playing aunt/uncle, because we can super easily connect with the sense of wonder, excitement, and defiance of authority of children and younger people - be very impulsive and silly with them and act like children and teens ourselves, at times - while still remaining responsible and protective of them when we need to be.

It's like suddenly flipping our "adult switch" on, because we're aware they need us to be the adult.

But fellow adults don't need us to "adult" for their sake.

They typically have their own shit together way better than we do! So, we're just that almost full time impulsive dumb kid that they need to constantly watch out for while around our adult friends.

UNLESS they make it extremely clear to us that they need our help and/or for us to focus. We can "adult" if the stakes are high, and/or they need our support, too.

But that's not our default mode!

We'd rather be chasing butterflies and playing videogames / writing songs (or meta... Meta's good... My brain loves meta because it's always over-analyzing things!), doing whatever keeps us interested and stimulated in the now, than carefully planning things and being responsible.

And there's also that scene where Jaskier is in the Witcher lab with Yennefer, while Ciri's possessed by Voleth Meir (you know... going around killing people, lives are at stake and all that...).

But, since all of this is happening in another room, Jaskier can't quite emotionally connect with the gravity of the situation, so he's eating whatever he finds his hands on while randomly talking about nipples because Yennefer said "oriole", and his brain thought it sounded like "areola" (yeah, our brains are always making a bunch of connections that aren't relevant to the situation)!

Yet, as soon as Yennefer makes it clear that she needs him to focus, he's 100% in the moment with her, and has flipped that "adult switch" on.

We can go there, but it typically requires a strong enough emotional incentive for us to ground ourselves, and it's a state that gets draining when sustained for a too long period of time.

And given how we're at our best when highly stressed, Jaskier's probably the person you want there with you when things start really going to shit!

He's at his best when he's got no idea what he's going to do, and he has to think fast and improvise to respond to whatever is happening in real time.

Oh, and I'm about 99.9% sure that he suffers from rejection sensitive dysphoria (RSD), too (yeah, we're finally going there).

I discovered what RSD was about 5 years ago, how it tied into my ADHD, and that it had been something that I'd been struggling with (and often doing everything I could to hide) my whole life without really understanding it.

One thing that people with RSD tend to do, sadly, is constantly downplay our own hurt and pretend everything is fine - do our best to keep others constantly entertained and happy with us, even at our own expanse at times - so that they won't perceive us as a burden, and will continue to want to have us around.

Since a part of us is deeply aware that our emotional response to real (and/or even perceived) rejection, and the pain it causes, feels way more intense than it normally should be, we tend to be ashamed of it, and unable to fully discuss those feelings with those we love.

So, even when we do speak up for ourselves, we are afraid that we might be exaggerating, and/or making the issue much bigger than it is.

Thus, we almost regret it right away, and/or feel guilty for it afterwards, and we'll be almost desperate to let our friend "off the hook" as quickly as possible so they'll love us again.

Therefore watching Jaskier's behavior in Season 2, and the way certain characters (except Yennefer, that genuinely surprised me) responded to him, was actually physically painful for me to watch at times.

Some of the most triggering moments for someone with RSD include:

Jaskier brushing off Geralt's sincere apology - attempting to hide the depth of the emotional devastation he'd caused him - to avoid being perceived as being too much trouble and risking abandonment again.

Jaskier humorously pretending that Ciri going past him, as if he didn't exist, didn't hurt, while joking "Like father, like daughter".

Him going "Right, yeah," when Yarpen Zigrin dismisses him - having chosen to turn that constant rejection into some kind of game between them - because it's much easier to be under the illusion that they're just good-naturally teasing each other, than facing the possibly that Yarpen might genuinely consider him an unwanted nuisance he'd gladly do without, and that having excluded him from the word "friend" was 100% done on purpose!

That same little heartbreaking "Right. Yeah" after he tells Lambert "Look at us. Just one big happy family, eh?" and Lambert goes "No." While pushing him out of the way.

Jaskier is a sweet, loving, empathetic, highly sensitive bard that's on the freaking aromantic spectrum!

And aromantics can most definitely love their best friend in the whole wide world with an intensity, a depth, a sincerity, and a level of devotion that can easily match - and perhaps even surpass - any romantic couple.

Heck, I don't consider myself to be quite on the aromantic spectrum (given that I do experience primary romantic attraction towards people), but I also have a tendency to form friendships that are more emotionally (and sometimes physically, and even sexually) intimate than many of the romantic relationships I've had (except, perhaps, my current one, that is definitely on par).

I think the only reason why I've managed to remain with the same romantic partner (that I do consider the romantic love of my life) for 17 years now - and would gladly spend the rest of my life with him - is because of how deeply supportive and respectful he's been of those friendships I have.

I've built my own found family over the years that I wouldn't want to live without. And I've broken up with prior romantic partners that couldn't agree to "share me" with those other people I love (in a non-romantic way, but that doesn't make it any less tangible or real!) without regretting a single thing.

So, I wholeheartedly believe that Jaskier does love Geralt and always has loved him.

And I know that, if I'm right about this, and if Jaskier is indeed prone to RSD, then the level of emotional and physical pain that Geralt's rejection put him through would have been absolutely soul wrenching.

"I've also survived, no thanks to you," sounds just about right.

Jaskier is human, while witches and witchers are frozen in time. He's been loving Geralt and travelling alongside him and singing songs about him for about 20 years.

20 years, in a human life, is a lot of one's life to devote to someone...

Then, the moment that Geralt's romantic love interest (Yennefer) leaves him, he turns on Jaskier and basically tells him that he's brought him nothing but bad luck and misery for two decades, and that what would please him ,above everything else, would be for life to rid him of him!

Why don't you just take a sword and run Jaskier through, Geralt? I think that would have been less painful to watch!

So, I think this is one of the reasons why Season 3 has been so freaking cathartic to watch for me!

I've been literally crying my eyes out each time people made Jaskier feel loved, wanted, said thank you (even Yarpen!!! Freaking Yarpen stopped to thank him, and called him by his preferred name, Jaskier)...

And of course, there's Radovid...

I could go on and on about how good it felt to have a character that finally treats Jaskier with the same care, attention, and empathy that Jaskier offers others...

But, I think one of the things I loved the most, with Radovid, is how Jaskier himself responded to him.

He's not trying to please him, quite the contrary.

When Radovid asks "Have you come to sing us pretty songs?", Jaskier answers "No. I don't do pretty".

And then, when Radovid says that, while he appreciates the information that Jaskier has brought him, all he really wants is a song, Jaskier responds by saying that "he's not really in a singing mood."

Because yes, he's a bard. Yes, he sings about people he's encountered on his travels, and yes, he sings about people he loves...

But he doesn't want to sing "pretty songs" about Witchers, fairytales, heroics and heartbreak for the entertainment of a Prince and his court!

He's not there so that "Prince Radovid" can sing the praises of "Jaskier the Bard" 's triumphant private performance at the palace!

That's not what pleases Jaskier anymore.

I don't think Jaskier feels like he's got anything to prove performance-wise anymore and, sadly, I believe that, instead of giving him a sense of finally being seen and loved - of belonging...

At times, all this singing and performing - often for the benefit of others - has made him feel even more invisible and isolated.

And that's the beauty of him singing "Extraordinary Things", because that song is all about Jaskier.

It's vocally raw, vulnerable, filled with a fragile hope for love and for someone that makes him feel like he is seen for who he is... For someone that can help Jaskier finally believe that who he is is enough.

For someone that makes him feel like he doesn't have to try so hard to pretend to be happy, and fine, and give others what he thinks they want, so that maybe they'll love him (or keep on loving him) back.

Because it's not just Geralt...

Geralt is the one whose rejection hurt Jaskier the most, because he's the one Jaskier has loved and trusted the most...

Geralt is the one that broke something in Jaskier - his ability to feel safe in the belief that his closest friends would never abandon him.

Thanks to Geralt outburst, Jaskier is likely now being cursed with a little voice, in the back of his mind, that will continue to pop up from time to time whenever he feels safe and happy in his relationships, to make him wonder if his friends and family don't secretly wish that they could get rid of him.

Rationally, I'm sure that Jaskier understands that what happened with Geralt was caused by Geralt's own issues, and that his own behavior wasn't the cause of the rejection.

Rationally, I'm sure that he can trust in their relationship, and feel confident in the love they share.

But emotionally? Although trauma can be managed and kept at bay the vast majority of the time, there are always moments where you're bound to be more tired, stressed out, and where you don't always have the energy to push back against all of those nasty voices that wait for you to let your guards down to be heard and make you doubt.

However, besides what specifically happened with Geralt, Jaskier sadly has a very long history of having had to deal with rejections of all kinds, and been made to feel like he was never enough.

Even Valdo's obstinated refusal to learn Jaskier's name is like he's constantly trying to symbolically murder Jaskier by denying him the very right to exist, for fuck's sake!

After watching those scenes, I thought "Yup! It's really no wonder this happened:

So, while having gotten Geralt back - and obviously having built strong emotional ties with Yennefer and Ciri since the end of Season 2 - has likely tremendously helped easing some of the pain rejection has caused Jaskier throughout his life, he still has those moments where it deeply hurts him.

And I think that Geralt knows...

Jaskier might have been trying to hide it - and Geralt might not fully understand why Jaskier was hurt as deeply as he was (I doubt RSD is something that people often talk about in their world) - but he knows that a part of Jaskier still fears being rejected or abandoned again.

He's just being so soft and patient with Jaskier this season; making it immediately clear that he's not angry with Jaskier, and that their relationship is not threatened the moment that he senses his discomfort.

Or, you know, just reassuring him that the separation between them is only temporary, and that he's going to be the first person he comes looking back for as soon as he's done dealing with Rience.

If Jaskier truly is someone that tends to see people as they really are - not as they pretend to be - then it's easy to see why Jaskier did fall in love with Geralt.

That level of perceptiveness is both a gift and a curse for Jaskier, though.

Because when the person you love is set on self-destructing and unable to embrace who they really are, you might find yourself caught in the blast.

Still, when Geralt is allowing himself to be loved, and to openly love people back, he's an absolutely wonderful (platonic, alterous, romantic...) partner to have.

He's shown as someone who is able to not only apologize, but also recognize the impact that his mistakes have had on others, and take full responsibility for them.

Jaskier may have been quick to brush his apology off and pretend that all was good, but Geralt apparently knows better and, more importantly, is showing that the apology was sincere.

He's making efforts to better communicate with Jaskier and he's doing everything he can to not only alleviate some of the pain he's caused him, but to avoid triggering his insecurities.

Sadly, RSD is not something that Geralt alone can fix, especially not when Jaskier has been exposed to a number of different patterns of interpersonal rejections throughout his life.

And, while Jaskier has a tendency to pretend being fine even when he's not, his eyes almost always tell the truth.

Makes you wonder just how emotionally smart and insightful Radovid is...

Because when someone sings to you those lines...

The greatest songs are made up of unspoken words of love Of them I have had enough With you, I have enough With you, I am enough I am, I am enough

Then looks at you with those eyes...

Well, it's rather easy to understand that Jaskier has been made to feel like he wasn't good enough for those he loved, and/or still loves in the past.

And, given the success of "Burn Butcher Burn", I wouldn't put it past Radovid to have guessed that - athough they were back to being close friends - Geralt might have had something to do with the enduring vulnerability and the hurt he saw reflected there...

Thus, leading him to taking an educated guess as to what might have happened, and ask Jaskier "Does the Witcher know how lucky he is to have you?"

Somehow, with that simple question, Radovid has achieved two very important things...

He's just told Jaskier that not only does he, indeed, believe him to be enough, but he would consider himself lucky to have him...

He's just told Jaskier that whatever Geralt might have said or done to make him feel unwanted in the past, it had been wrong.

And, judging by Jaskier's answering smile, our beloved bard just got himself a fresh new (and quite princely) voice in his head to help him drown out the sound of all the other voices that are occasionally trying to convince him that he's a barely tolerable burden to those he loves.

Radovid has thrown just enough shade Geralt's way to avoid insulting their relationship; while at the same time sort of giving Jaskier the permission to mentally go "Ha! See?! There are people that want and love me, and would consider themselves lucky to have me in their lives! God, you used to be such an asshole, Geralt!" should he still need to go there to help himself manage his pain.

As a victim of Geralt's harsh and cruel words, Jaskier is entirely entitled to have moments where he needs to be a bit petty about the way Geralt used to treat him, and to call him the "family goat".

It's a very healthy way of coping with the residual hurt and anger because it puts the blame in the right place (Jaskier didn't do anything to deserve the way he was treated by Geralt nor to provoke that rejection) with just enough humor to keep that pain and resentment from growing into something that could actually be damaging to their relationship.

Radovid is an impressively good and attentive listener - at least as far as Jaskier himself is concerned.

And maybe that's one of the (many) reasons why Radovid asking to borrow Jaskier's lute, and singing the song back to him, touched me as much as it did.

It stood in sharp contrast to people singing Jaskier's songs back to him while thinking it makes THEM special for knowing a few lines! That Jaskier should be grateful to THEM for being fans, supporting his art, etc.

The entitled patrons that believe Jaskier's singing should be about what they love to hear without being really interested in what Jaskier wishes to say.

Like that obnoxious guy at the docks who started singing "The Golden One" with Jaskier, basically going "See! I'm a big fan! That totally makes us buddies now! And, as such, here are my artistic input, so that maybe you can do better next time! You know, it's good, but it's not good enough for me. Here's how you can improve!"

Basically sending Jaskier the message: "You, the artist, the message and the feelings you are trying to convey through your art don't matter. You are but invisible. Sure, you have a name, and now I'm excited at the opportunity of making my friends jealous by saying I've met you! But you're just a tool that I can now use to make myself more important and interesting to others! Your job is to stay in the shadow of your songs! Your job is to make me happy, to entertain me, to please me, to sing what I want to hear the way I wish I could hear it and to make your art all about me."

Instead, Radovid simply borrows Jaskier's lute, and humbly starts playing the song with a sense of reverence, gratitude, respect, and desire to offer Jaskier something in return for the gift he's offered him by sharing a part of himself with him through his song.

Radovid said that he had long wanted to meet Jaskier in person and presented himself as someone that is a fan of his songs, but that's because they fascinate him.

He genuinely cares about what Jaskier has to say and communicate to others (and/or about others) through them, not about what he wants to hear.

In a world where Jaskier has had to constantly fight to fit in, where he's often made to feel like he's "barely tolerated" (and it usually takes a long time for people to get to genuinely appreciate him, and openly love him back the way he loves them)...

Radovid is someone that comes along showing him that love is not supposed to be earned.

Love is a gift. You love people for who they are, not for what they can do for you.

And what Radovid heard, through those songs, was something so special, intriguing, and irresistible to him that his own response was a genuine desire to get to know the man behind the art.

He tells Jaskier that the unique way he sees the world, and his need to express it, does not make him hypersensitive or annoying - it makes him special.

I don't think the hurt in Jaskier's eyes will ever 100% go away, and that his RSD can ever be completely resolved, either...

But it doesn't need to, because it can be managed and shouldn't get in the way of one's ability to experience joy and happiness, too.

Pain is a natural and healthy part of one's life, as long as it doesn't stand in the way of everything else - as long as there's balance, and room for healing whenever it comes along.

As as long as Jaskier's found family continues to love and accept him the way he is - to let him know that he's an important part of their lives - I believe Jaskier's going to be fine. REALLY fine...

Even the moments when he's hurting are going to be fine, because that's not all there is, and he's got people loving him and offering comfort.

And maybe I'm too hopeful about this, but I think there's most definitely hope for Radovid and Jaskier to make a relationship work between them, too.

Even if it turns out to be a somewhat unconventional one, and completely different from what people might have in mind when they think of a classic "romantic couple", they can find a way to make it work for them.

My advice to them would be to leave all expectations and social conventions at the door, allow themselves to be creative in "loving outside the box", and to build something together that addresses most of their respective needs, while acknowledging and respecting the other responsibilities and emotional attachments each other have.

Oddly enough, Jaskier is one of the few people that I could imagine clearly understanding that Radovid's existence is a bit of a tragedy where he'll never be free to fully belong to himself.

In the event of his brother's untimely death (for example), should Radovid decide to give up his claim to the throne to live a less complicated life, any Redanian ruler could still try to have him assassinated "just in case" he was to change his mind, and later come challenge them.

The palace is a golden cage, and I think Jaskier would not hold it against Radovid, or grow resentful towards him, that he would only be able to offer Jaskier what he is actually free to give without risking both their lives in the process.

He might grow frustrated with all the circumstances that are creating some significant challenges to their relationship, but I could imagine Jaskier wishing to face those as partners, and avoiding to be angry at Radovid for what he can't magically change.

This is where Jaskier's ADHD brain might become an asset by helping him make unique connections, and find creative solutions to allow Jaskier to - as Batey suggested - still find the light in the darkest of places for them two.

So yeah, I definitely tend to headcanon Jaskier as having ADHD (with some significant amount of RSD), too.

[mrobrotzly]

It would be a terrible night, Geralt was sure.

He and Lambert had been talking about it for a week, but every time Geralt managed to escape.

It turns out that Lambert, his roommate and practically brother, had finally summoned some courage to ask Aiden out - finally! These two had been dancing around each other since their first year at university and Geralt loved to tease Lambert with that fact.

Well, loved it until he's reminded that he, Geralt Rivia, wasn't that different. Even worse: he had a crush in a guy since high school.

And that's exactly why he avoided "the conversation" with Lambert every time. Until finally give in - not willingly obviously, he lost a bet while drunk.

Now Geralt found himself packing some of his personal belongings in his bag, he'll change rooms with Aiden, to allow him and Lambert a night alone.

Look, he would have done this much earlier, his brother deserved time with his new boyfriend, if Aiden wasn't Jaskier's roommate.

Jaskier, the person for whom he hid, ugh... feelings.

Lambert called him stupid, told him to get his head out of his ass and just talk to the man, but Geralt wasn't the best person when it came to relationships (and Yennefer would readily agree) and he really liked Jaskier, even though they didn’t talk much, every time the two were in the same room Geralt couldn't pay attention to anything in the world other than Jaskier and the way he seemed to be made of joy. He didn’t want to spoil it.

That is, if Jaskier was also attracted to men.

He thought more than once of asking Aiden about it, but sure he would tell that to his roommate and that would draw attention to Geralt, so no, better not.

"Go on, Romeo" Lambert accompanied him to the door "Get your man, you've a great opportunity tonight."

"Shut up" he growled.

Lambert laughed.

"And don't get even near my bed" Geralt said, receiving a wolfish smile in response.

Aiden was waiting for him outside, to point which one was his room - Geralt knew, but chose not to comment it.

"If you knock more than once and still no response, get in, Jaskier likes to hear music really loud sometimes, maybe he won't hear you."

Okay, easy, Geralt thought, it's just one night.

Aiden got it right, no one opened the door when he knocked, so he just walked in.

Their room was... colorful. More messy than his, but that was expected, Geralt liked organization (Lambert didn't, but he tried to not have to hear his friend complain).

And, fuck, Jaskier was lying on the floor, listening to music and writing something in a notebook, completely oblivious to the world, his ass pratically up in the air, wearing shorts so small it was almost indecent, it shows the lower part of one cheek and Geralt just wanted to squeeze.

He cleared his throat, both to get attention and to repress the sound that wanted to escape at the sight. This time Jaskier heard, turning his head back and looking at him with beautiful wide blue eyes.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, taking off his headphones and getting up, his shorts no longer exposing the skin and Geralt was disappointed by it "Geralt!"

Something he never got used to: Jaskier always greeted him with a hug "I thought you would show up later."

"They want more time alone" he replied and his voice sounded more hoarse than usual.

Jaskier smirked.

"Well, it's already time" he took Geralt's bag, placing it on a small wooden table that already had a stack of papers on top "If you knew how many times I'd to hear Aiden complain that Lambert didn't ask him out" he sighed, laughing.

"Hmm" was the answer, Geralt watched Jaskier approach a mini fridge, he crouched and Geralt did his best to not look at his ass.

"Beer?" he asked, holding out the bottle.

"On a wednesday?" he raised an eyebrow, but accepted, taking the bottle.

"Our roommates are fucking on a wednesday. There's no reason why we shouldn't have a little fun too" Jaskier smiled.

Something about those words made Geralt's body hot, oh, he really wanted to have fun with Jaskier in that way ...

He took a sip. 

It would be a long night...

It was no surprise that Jaskier talked a lot, talked enough for both of them, but Geralt didn't care, he liked to listen and many of the stories were hilarious, like the one when Jaskier had to jump out of a window because he didn't know the girl he was with had a boyfriend, or his first musical performance, at a street market, the amount of vegetables and fruits that flew towards him wasn't small.

"And there was this time when I dating this guy, Valdo Marx" he started, opening the fourth beer "Geralt, he was unbearable, I know that I'm not the immaculate image of modesty, but by God the ego of that man..."

Geralt nodded.

But wait.

"You dated a guy?" he said before thinking about the words.

Jaskier pressed his lips together, suddenly looking a little  nervous.

"Uh... yes... I like both" he explained "I hope this isn't a problem for you, you know, there a lot of people in the world who are pan or bi..."

"I know" he replied "I am. Bi."

Jaskier looked at him, surprised.

"You are?"

"Hmm" he nodded. Jaskier bit his lip.

"Cool" and took another sip of beer. "Have you... dated a guy?"

Geralt denied.

"I only dated seriously twice and now they date each other" the corner of his mouth lift in a small smile as Jaskier laughed.

"Ah, yes, Triss and Yen. They seem to be nice. Intimidating, but nice."

“They are" he watched Jaskier going to the mini fridge again, taking another bottle for both, and fuck, that ass...

"But have you..." he sat next to Geralt, their thighs touching "You know. Did it... with a guy?"

He felt his throat get a little dry.

"Once" replied "But not the full... thing."

Jaskier hummed and, for a few minutes, was silent, seeming to decide whether or not to say something.

"Do you want to try?" he said finally.

Geralt almost choked.

"What?" he opened his eyes wide.

"I've some experience" he said, biting his lips "And I really like being the bottom, so you don't have to worry, and..."

WHAT?

"Wait... do you want to have sex with me?"

Jaskier looked at him, flushed, his blue eyes seemed to shine and Geralt felt out of breath. He nodded.

"Why?"

"Geralt," he rolled his eyes "have you ever looked in the mirror? You're like a greek god."

"Isn't it 'cause you're drunk?"

"If so, I've been drunk since high school."

Wait.

"What?" he asked again and Jaskier grimmaced, he probably didn't mean to let that information out.

He took another sip, taking a deep breath.

"I've eyes for you since the first time I saw you in our math class" he said looking away "But I never saw you with a man and you never showed interest so I thought: better leave it alone. Which is incredibly difficult with you being... you."

Geralt felt his mind spin and the drink had nothing to do with it.

"So..." he started to say, the man staring at the floor "Do you like me?"

He nodded, the tips of his ears turning red.

"Good" Geralt said and put a hand on his thigh, making Jaskier look at his face. "Same. I- Like you too."

Jaskier's eyes widened, but he smiled "Really?"

"Hmm."

"Since when?"

"Since the day you brought the guitar to class and played that song, the one exposing our teacher as a racist."

He laughed and Geralt couldn't take his eyes off him.

"That was in the second year of high school, Geralt!"

"You started to like me in the first."

"True" he put his hand over Geralt's "Why did you never say anything?"

"Same reason as you."

Jaskier nodded, still with a small smile, then he looked at Geralt with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

"So..." he approached, lips dangerously close to Geralt's ear "Do you want to try?"

Geralt groanned, pressing his fingers to Jaskier's thigh.

Forget what he thought earlier.

The night would be great.

♡ if you enjoy my work, you can support me & buy me a coffee ☕️

[demisexualgeralt]

A gift for @jaskierbatey for @thewitchersecretsanta. I tried to fit as much of your wish list in as I could. Happy holidays, and I hope you enjoy!!!

--

Geralt walked into the saloon and let the giant centipede’s mandible thud loudly on the floor. The chatter in the room stopped, except for the soft sounds of banjo strings, which belonged to a young man who either had a death wish or simply couldn’t take a hint. Regardless, the saloon owner rushed over to inspect Geralt’s offering.

“There were three of them,” Geralt grunted. “Your land should be fine now. No more disappearances.”

“And...the missing?”

“Their bodies are there. You can do with them what you wish. Though I wouldn’t send those with a weak stomach. Sorry.”

The man nodded solemnly and pulled a coin purse from his side. Geralt took it from him and counted out the coins carefully, ensuring the amount was all they’d agreed on. When he determined it was satisfactory, he nodded and turned on his heel. The sooner he could find an inn and get centipede guts off of him, the better. 

The next day, he woke early and prepared to get back on the road. A witcher’s life was certainly not a sedentary one, and with so many people traveling West and fucking up the natural wildlife, it had become unusually lucrative. People were desperate and while Geralt didn’t normally like to capitalize on those too down on their luck, he was happy to take the coin of those whose own greed led them to do stupid things like building a town next to the burrowing grounds of a bunch of giant centipedes.

He finished getting Roach ready and was leading her out of the stable when he heard the sound of footsteps behind him. He tensed and turned, wanting to see what unfortunate soul decided to try and rob a witcher.

“Oh! That...is a big sword. I’d ask if you were happy to see me, but, ah, you don’t seem the type to buy into that kind of humor.”

“Hmm.”

“Who am I, I hear you asking! My name is Jaskier and-”

“Don’t care. Fuck off.”

He started to walk away, but heard determined footsteps behind. “You should care. I feel if we put our talents together, we could both come away very rich.”

“Not interested.”

“You seemed very interested in that coin purse earlier.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and turned to face the man. “What I’m interested in is getting paid to do my job. Not whatever hare brained scheme you’ve cooked up. I kill monsters. I get coin. There’s nothing you can do to help with that.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, witcher. See, I have acquired a good deal of stories in my time, and witchers are full of stories. But people don’t like witchers, do they?”

“If this is what being liked gets me, I’ll take my chances.”

Undaunted, the man continued. “I could help you! Spread word of your tales, sing your praises. Increase your coin. You think you got a good deal from that saloon owner? There’s dozens out there like him, just as stupid, who would pay double that for the same job, if only they had a little nudge from yours truly.”

Geralt scoffed. “You’re how old? What would you know about people?”

“Quite a lot, thank you very much! And I’m 19. But I listen. People aren’t that difficult to read when you learn how to listen.”

“And you do?” Geralt asked, leaning against the side of the stall.

“I have to. It’s part of the trade.”

“Hmm.” Geralt eyed him, taking in this strange man in front of him. Eventually, he turned back to Roach. “Fine. Come along. It’s your funeral.”

--

Months passed and somehow, it was not Jaskier’s funeral. Geralt assumed he would get tired of walking, of not having a warm bed at night, of only having Geralt for company, but some stubbornness must have edged out his discomfort. And Geralt knew he was uncomfortable- he complained constantly, but each night, he settled around the campfire, playing softly while rabbit or squirrel cooked over the fire and listened while Geralt told his stories in halting, sporadic thoughts. 

He hated to admit it, but it was nice, having someone to share the road with. Most of the time.

Whenever they traveled into town, however, he was reminded of what an absolute pain Jaskier could be. All he wanted was a drink before heading back to the inn they were staying at and preparing for the next day’s hunt. Instead, he was treated to the sight of Jaskier making himself at home next to a group of women close to the bar. It shouldn’t bother him. It didn’t bother him. It was Jaskier’s job to ingratiate himself to whoever came along, charm them. Jaskier told him time and time again that what he had with those people was never personal, strictly business.

It was easier, then, to understand that what he and Jaskier had was also strictly business. It shouldn’t bother him. And yet, every time he saw Jaskier spend the night with another, only to return triumphant with an expensive trinket or swiped bundle of coins, he felt an ache deep in his bones.

It hurt, to be just another transaction. A means to an end. He might not pay Jaskier, or afford him any trinkets to sell or hoard, but he provided shelter, food, companionship between beds. That was all he would ever be.

He made his way over to the bar, grunting his assent when the barkeep offered him a drink. As she handed it to him, she leaned her elbow on the counter and looked at him.

“Drowning your sorrows over something in particular, witcher?”

“I’m drinking alone.”

She snorted and he glowered. Not many humans were willing to provoke him (except Jaskier), but she had clearly seen enough rough folk to not be cowed by him.  “I can see that.”

“Hmm,” he intoned, hoping she would take the hint and end the conversation there. Unperturbed though, she pressed on.

“Seems you don’t have to. That one keeps glancing at you.” She inclined her head slightly and he could see that she was referring to Jaskier. He rolled his eyes.

“He’s a friend.”

“Just a friend?”

“Mmm.”

She nodded slowly. “See, I’d believe that. But I’ve tried to make enough men jealous myself to know the look.”

“Hmm.”

She clicked her tongue. “Not the chatty type. I get it. But think about what I said.” She turned back to other patrons and left Geralt to ruminate on what she’d said. 

Eventually, the night wore on and he decided it was time to take his leave, before the truly unruly patrons started to act up. He glanced back at Jaskier, who gave him a smile before turning back to his latest conquests. Satisfied that he would be fine until morning, he headed back to the inn to try and get some rest.

--

He did not, in fact, get the sleep he was looking for, but instead sat and restlessly tried to avoid thinking about the barkeep’s words. There was no reason for Jaskier to try and make him jealous. If he wanted Geralt, he had plenty of opportunities when they were alone to make a move. He wasn’t shy about going after what he wanted. Geralt thought himself in circles, but they all led to the same conclusion. 

Sometime before the sun rose, he heard Jaskier fumble in. “Geralt? Are you awake?”

“I am now,” he grumbled, despite not actually being asleep.

“Good, good. Do you want to see what I got?”

“No.”

“Wonderful.” 

He sat heavily at the edge of Geralt’s bed, shoving his feet aside to make room. He smacked Geralt’s leg until he looked at him, practically punching him in his fervor to show Geralt the ring on his finger.

“Are congratulations in order?”

“No, you ass. But it is pretty, isn’t it?” Jaskier looked down to admire it. It was simple, adorned with a modestly sized opal.

Geralt sighed. “Stealing people’s weddings rings seems like a new low, even for you.”

Jaskier scoffed. “I didn’t steal them! I can’t help it that people like to give me nice things. Besides, if you’re mean to me, I won’t give you your present. Close your eyes.”

Geralt did so against his best judgement and felt as Jaskier put something small in his hand.

“Okay. Open.”

He opened his eyes and found a small gold band in the center of his palm.

Jaskier’s eyes shone. “Just think. If we wear them and act like we just got married, they might give us a free room! Or...a room upgrade at least. It’s great, right?”

Geralt swallowed.

“Or…” Jaskier backtracked. “We could melt it down? I’m sure we’d get money for the gold?”

“Fine. Whatever you want to do.”

“Geralt? Did I...offend you?” He bit his lip. “Look, I know you would never actually marry me. This is just...a con. But, if even the thought of it offends you, I’ll...I won’t bring it up again.”

“It’s fine.”

Jaskier tapped nervously on his thighs. “Geralt, please. I don’t want this to get in the way of our friendship. If you want me to go…”

“I don’t.”

“Okay. Well, that’s a relief. Then why won’t you look at me?”

Geralt sighed. He wasn’t like Jaskier, couldn’t say what he wanted to say and make it all fit together somehow. His words were stilted, difficult.

“I don’t want to pretend.”

“I already told you, Geralt, we don’t have to do that if you don’t-”

Geralt moved forward to kiss Jaskier, who just let out a surprised ‘oh’ against his mouth. He didn’t pull away though, relaxing into Geralt’s touch. After a moment, he pulled away, looking for something he couldn’t name in Jaskier’s eyes. Acceptance? Joy?

“That...yeah. We can...you want to? With me?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the wordsmith?”

Jaskier glowered at him. “The man I’ve been hopelessly in love with for months just kissed me. Forgive me for not recovering immediately.”

“You- months?”

“You didn’t know? Geralt, I’ve been making moves for months? You really didn’t notice?”

“...no.”

Jaskier huffed a laugh. “Well. Then let me make myself abundantly clear. I like you. I would like to do this and other things with you in the future. If you would like.”

“I would...like. That.”

“Perfect,” Jaskier said, leaning in to capture Geralt’s lips again. 

After a while, Jaskier lay on Geralt’s chest, and Geralt felt the first threads of sleep calling him. Before he could though, he heard Jaskier speak up again.

“So, does this mean that we can do the marriage con?”

“Go to sleep, Jaskier.”

“Fiiiiiiine.”

[moonlights-inkwell]

And Me Wearing Your Clothes

  Jaskier x Reader  

Word Count: 5,992  

Summary: A creature in the woods is killing village girls in the woods, but to keep you safe Jaskier volunteers himself, and one of your dresses as bait instead.  

A/N: This one probably needs some level of explanation. So, Joey wears a dress on the cover of The Horror and The Wild, and it has lived rent free in my mind since I first saw it so I had to get around to writing Jaskier in a dress eventually. Also, I know I’ve used Little Miss as a pet name for the reader in fics before, but don’t know if I’ve mentioned that it’s because of the song Little Miss Why So, which the title is also taken from- Just in case anyone was wondering where the fuck I pulled that from.  

There’s some mild smutty elements in this too. No explicit smut in this chapter, but this is gonna wind up being a two-parter anyway, so you’ll get the explicit stuff later. It’s worth noting that this is chronologically the first part of my whole series with Jaskier, at least so far- so sorry for any confusion.  

When Geralt had informed you that there was a job in a village not far from where you had set up camp, you had been more grateful of it than you would admit out loud. Villages mean inns, taverns and a chance to sleep on something that isn’t dirt, but the way the white-haired man looks at you lets you know this won’t be as easy a job as you could hope for. 

“Small village, no inns or taverns, less than a hundred and fifty or so people- less by the day.” He sighs and heaves himself off of Roach to sit on a felled tree by the fire.  

“Less by the day?” You raise an eyebrow. Little places such as these tend to have smaller problems, thieving little creatures, the occasional Doppler; but Geralt’s words make it all too obvious to you that the diminishing population isn’t just because people are leaving for somewhere that actually has a place to drink.  

“They say there's something in the woods.” He says, as if that’s all the explanation that you require. It takes a second of looking at him pointedly for him to realise you need more information than just that. “Sounded like an Aswang from what they said. Been snatching up local girls, sucking them dry and leaving the bodies to be found come morning.”  

Talking to The White Wolf is a Sisyphean struggle; so often it's like drawing blood from a stone, but on the days he decides to speak you can barely understand what he's saying. Not for the first time, you consider simply pretending to know what he means, to act sage and wise, but think better of it all too quickly.  

“The bloody hell is an Aswang?” A fair question in your eyes, but the man sighs. You think, on occasion, Geralt forgets that just a few years ago you were just a barmaid with a love of brawling, not some monster hunter with dreams of Glory. Not that there’s much glory in your hunts, just bruises and wounds, limps that last too long and perpetually sore back, even if the occasional song comes from it.  

“A type of vampire.” He clarifies. “Dangerous. Normally have a taste for pregnant women and baby blood, seems this one has a taste for any woman it can get its hands on.” That makes your blood run cold. Travelling with the Witcher and his Bard has been the first time in your life where you’ve been free from the limitations of your sex, but the way those amber eyes are watching you now has you suddenly all too aware of yourself.  

“A taste for women? Why, Geralt, that’s a very tasteful way of describing yourself in a brothel.” A voice pipes up from behind you, causing you to jump. Jaskier. You thought him still asleep, he'd slept poorly the night before, but if the tiredness lacing his voice is any indication, he's only recently been roused.  

“Not now, Bard.” Geralt growls out, but the bard just chuckles and gets to his feet, leaves crunching underfoot as he walks up behind you and settles at your side, a hand pressed to your lower back. Warm, especially through the thin material of your blouse.  

“Oh, Geralt, a smile won’t kill you.” He trills and in spite of how serious you know the situation to be, your lips turn up in a far too easy smile. It does just as quickly though, when you realise that Geralt is still looking at you.  

“...You want me as bait.” It comes out less as a question and more as a statement as your own eyes meet amber. Geralt doesn’t say a word and you look down. It’s not meant as an insult, and you know that, but it stings none the less; hurts to be asked to be less useful on account of having a cunt. He's asking you to make yourself weak, it’s a request that should be seen as an honour, a few minutes of acting like something you aren't to spare the lives of those girls in the village, but instead it leaves a sour taste in your mouth- like talking a gulp of milk only to discover it's curdled on your tongue.  

The hand at the base of your spine rises quickly and rests on the curve of your back as Jaskier seems to realise what you just said.  

“Bait?” He sounds as incredulous as you feel. “For what?”  

“Vampire.” Geralt says crudely, “It's it targeting women.”  

“And you want to send Little Miss in there as bait?” Jaskier snaps back at him, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt as if you'll be plucked away without a second’s notice. This, this concern is all too welcome, and you glance at Jaskier from the corner of your eye. His clothes are still crumpled from sleep, but he's pushing himself up to his full height as if he expects that to intimidate a Witcher. It’s a foolish endeavour, but gods how you appreciate it.  

“She can handle it,” is all the response that is given, which only sends the man beside you into further ramblings.  

“She can handle it? She could fucking die, Geralt!” His voice raises, and you're quite sure he’s forcibly making his voice lower to try and sound less emotional about this. “You want to send her in, I’m betting almost completely unharmed, to act as a lure for a blood sucking creature of the night!”  

You should feel insulted, to be talked about as if you aren’t there, but now you’re far too focused on the hand resting on you to focus on much else. Early spring's chill is still in the air, making the bard seem warmer than be likely is; and which is the cause of the goosepimpling of your skin is a mystery. Since the bard and yourself started your... entanglement, even the lightest most mundane touch has seemed like lightning crackling through your body. Entanglement is one way of describing it. Really, all that has happened has been kissing- the sort that start as barely more than a brush of lips and don't stop until it turns to heavy breathing and you removing yourself from the situation before you can do something you may regret.  

He's always been a mother hen, flapping about to stitch whatever wounds he can and forcing you to seek out healers when he feels it more extreme than a simple slice, but you've no doubt that this concern is coming from a more selfish place than simply wanting you safe. The grip of your shirt is all the confirmation you need.  

“It only attacks women, Jaskier.” Geralt growls out slowly, as if teaching an especially slow child. “And unless you’ve a secret to share, Little Miss is the only woman we have.” The pet name comes out in a patronisingly saccharine tone that makes you turn your eyes to the ground.  

“I would sooner go out there in a dress myself than let you put her in harm's way for no good reason!” Jaskier shouts back at him, sending your eyes up to meet the Witcher's, when you catch sight of something rare. A smile.  

This is a bad idea.  

Awful idea. Terrible. Quite possibly the worst idea that the three of you could have come up with, and the fact that Geralt is allowing it to go forward is a mystery.  

Well. Not a mystery. Geralt, for all his attempts at stoicism and claims of emotionlessness, has a sick sense of humour: and a chance to humiliate the Bard who interrupts his silence with every passing second must have been more tempting to him than you ever could have anticipated. You, on the other hand, were less keen. Especially when informed by Geralt that Jaskier would need to borrow your only dress for this humiliation tactic. It had taken an hour and a half for it to be taken from you, and it was only really able to be taken because Jaskier had pulled you into a kiss unexpectedly, causing you to drop the dress to wind your arms about his neck. A genius manipulation, really. Should have seen it coming.  

It'll never succeed though  

Jaskier is perhaps more attuned to his feminine side than many men; His love of scented bathing oils and ointments for his hands, fine clothes and penchant for the dramatics spring to mind, but there's no way that he could be mistaken for a woman unless this Aswang has incredibly poor eyesight. Sweet smells and minor theatrics do not a woman make, even in a borrowed dress. You sit by the fire pit, poking, poking, poking at the burning logs with a long enough stick that you don’t risk your hands with each jab.  

Geralt won’t even let you help him set up the trap, and all at once you’re reminded of your girlhood; how the boys in your little home town had allowed you to play knights and dragons with them, only to have you act as Princess. You had always hated it, sat stock still and aloft chairs stacked like a tower for hours while the boys would tumble around fighting each other, roaring and crawling, stabbing and calling in their presence until it was finally time to rescue you- always long after you had grown resentful of your place waiting. You wanted to nothing more than to pick up one of those wooden swords and take part properly, but every time you had asked you had been told that there are no female knights, only princesses. You would always run home to your mother to complain only to be tapped lightly on the nose and told what an honour it is to be picked as a Princess, and given a bowl of peas to de-shell for supper. It didn’t feel like an honour then to sit around feeling useless, and it doesn’t feel any better now. The only respite that comes is from the jabbing and stabbing of the logs.  

“I think they’re dead, Little Miss.” Jaskier speaks in your ear, sending you to the ground in shock. The self-pitying had ensured that you hadn’t heard him coming, and he laughs. Chuckles that drip honey have you look up at the bard, ready to curse him for frightening you, but the words wither away on your tongue. Your lip trembles and you drink him in.  

With you on the ground, he looks so much bigger than he already is but that isn’t what has you tongue tied, no, not at all; it’s the dress. It’s white, and you always thought it made you look sickly, but on him it’s almost otherworldly, like something you might see on a god, flowing in a wind you hadn't felt before he reappeared. It’s beautiful. He's beautiful. The fabric clings to his pectorals and tapers in at his waist and you realise something that has never struck you before: Jaskier is muscular. Not to the extent of Geralt, but muscular none the less, the muscles of his arms thickening as he crosses his arms across his chest, which only accentuated the sculpture of his pectorals and the dark thatch of hair visible from the plunging neckline of the gown. Tanned skin all but glows in the light of the flames, given richer colour by the stark and almost holy white gown, giving him the illusion of something more than just your bard; some manifestation of Apollo, youthful and beautiful, still grinning that boyish grin, looking for all the world both like he has spent his whole life lounging about and spent it in fields to develop those muscles. Logically, you know he must be muscular, spends his days walking across the continent, carrying bags and bedrolls and whatever can’t, or won’t, be carried by Roach but it catches you off guard. You've always considered him a dainty flower of a man, always singing, always strumming, but now you're confronted with the reality of the situation, Jaskier is all sinewy muscle and dark hair and truly, you’ve no idea how patterned doublets and a lute have kept this reality a mystery to you. He’s beautiful, always beautiful, but this is something else entirely. Beauty implies something entirely understandable. This is otherworldly, incomprehensible in how it makes both so much and so little sense all at once. Your throat is dry and you take a deep gulp of air and struggle to find the words to say and settle on a soft little,  

“Oh.”  

“Oh?” He smirks, eyebrow raising as he offers out a hand to you. “Does it not look nice? Do I not look like a delicate lady in need of protection?” He teases, skin around his eyes crinkling with his grin.  

“You look better in it than I do.” Your voice comes out weak, and he smiles and tugs you to your feet once you take his hand. “Though you are perhaps the hairiest delicate maiden around here.”  

“Don’t do yourself a disservice, Dear Heart.” He says tenderly and cups your cheek, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. He calls that space Your Kiss, as if a kiss is a part of your body rather than something people give each other. “You look beautiful in everything and anything- and nothing.” You raise an eyebrow at that, smirking slightly at the comment. “Not that I know what you look like naked! Not that I haven’t thought about you like that, unless that makes you uncomfortable-" He rambles, cheeks flushed a pretty sort of pink, so you lean in and peck his lips.  

“It looks much better on you, Dandelion.” You say decidedly, settling on the balls of your feet. “Though I rather think it isn’t complete.”  

“Is that so?” Jaskier asks and watches you as you scramble through your bag and pull free two small pencils before settling yourself on the ground and tapping on the log. It takes a second, but he does sit, eyeing the pencils like they might be weapons. “Are you going to stab those into my feet, so I walk in a womanlier way?”  

“...Is womanlier even a word, Bard?” You tease, trying desperately to avoid the hand attempting to swat at your head for questioning his obviously superior understanding of language. “And no. Not at all, they’re cosmetics.”  

“Cosmetics?” He repeats and watches you as you grab one of the pencils and a dagger, carving at the wood until it is sharp enough for you.  

“You do understand women put products on their faces to look prettier, don’t you?”

“You don’t,” He snaps back at you, indignant that you would even question his understanding of the fairer sex. “You’re all bare and natural, and look all the prettier for it, like a rose.” A hand moves forward and cups your cheek, you can feel every callous and scar that riddles his skin. He’s trying to avoid you putting the makeup on him, but just for now, you allow yourself the indulgence. It’s only dusk. Geralt said that the plan won’t need to be enacted until close to midnight and he has yet to even return from his setting of the trap; a little time to take pleasure from something as simple as the man who kisses you having a hand on your cheek. “Beautiful, fresh like a daisy and lovelier than the month of May...” He continues, hand shifting a little forward so that his fingers bury themselves in your hair, causing you to lean towards him, head shifting into the touch- reminding you all too much of the little cat who used to come begging for scraps when your mother and you would eat outside in the warmer months. It’s a strange thing to catch your attention so, but now that the thought has entered your mind, you cannot help but wonder if your mother has been feeding the tiny little beast in your absence-  

“Little One?” Jaskier says gently, snapping you free of your thoughts, you’ve no idea how long you’ve been thinking, but it was clearly long enough that the man before you has noticed it.  

“...Yes?”  

“I asked if I could kiss you.” Can I kiss you? Although you’ve never been someone with much interest in the romantics, you’ve never so much as kissed a man before you met Jaskier, you’re quite sure that men don’t normally ask if they can kiss you. Most that you’ve seen interacting with women simply crash their mouths on their partner’s, breeching their mouths with their tongues like they’re stabbing a creature that means them harm. But Jaskier asks. He means to ensure that you are always completely comfortable with his touching you, to make sure you know that if you have no interest in this contact that it will stop. He won’t push. It’s enough to make your lips turn up in a tiny little smile and you nod, leaning towards him and resting hands on his knees, lips puckered tight and eyes falling shut, and he chuckles. “Melitele, Dear Heart, relax your lips, you aren’t trying to pierce my lips with yours.” He lets his thumb glide across your lower lip, causing you, quite instinctively to relax your lips. “There we are.” A rush of pleasure overtakes you, making you shiver and heading straight to your core. Simple praise is all it takes from him to make you unsure of yourself, and want to do anything to please him, so when he pulls you up gently and settles you on his knees, you do so without complaint, and as if as a means of rewarding you, kisses you softly.  

In the months since the two of you have begun this not-quite courtship you’ve grown more accustomed to kissing him than you ever would have anticipated. It happens so often that it’s almost strange to you. He kisses you as a means of waking you, kisses the back of your hand to reassure you, kisses the back of your neck when he passes you, hell; you’re more than a little sure he kisses you sometimes just to annoy Geralt. It feels so natural to you now, to have his mouth on yours, moving languidly like the rest of the world does not exist. He kisses like he’s afraid he might hurt you, all gentle touches and reassuring rubs of thumb against flesh. He knows that you’ve never so much as kissed a man before him and seems to take some pleasure in that- not in the kind of way that the boys at home seemed to when talking about deflowering some virginal girl, but in a way that he seems to enjoy teaching you something about intimacy, or at least this version of it. He acts for all the world like some sort of teacher, gently reassuring you when you go wrong and guiding you back on track, and you preen under the attention. He never pushes, never asks you to do anything you don’t want to do, and it’s far more appreciated than you will ever say, even if in the last few weeks you have found yourself wanting... more.  

His lips are wind-chapped but somehow soft, and press into yours so softly, hand curved around your cheek and guiding you to tilt your head slightly, so you follow his lead, reciprocating the kiss as sweetly as you can, winding fingers around his wrist to hold it in place. The kiss is chaste, with no sign of moving beyond just the plush push of lips on lips but still, this position makes it feel more intimate than it has any right to; sat on his legs, your own parted and on either side, and the dress makes it more intimate still. In his doublet and trousers, the only warmth you feel from him while kissing comes from his hands and face, but now with so much skin exposed it’s seemingly coming from all around you, seeping through the fabric beneath you, from the arms extended in front of you, from a heart beating so close but so out of reach. The fire roaring just behind you is hardly helping the situation. Jaskier hums softly against your lips, little more than a vibration, but it makes you smile. Even when kissing he makes noise; he cannot bare to be silent, relish in the sounds of nature, no, he simply must make noise. It’s lovely really, such consistency is hard to find, especially on the road, but Jaskier is consistent. It takes a little more bravery than it should to swipe the tip of your tongue across the seam of his lips and the movement seems to shock the bard, who ceases his kissing for just a second before opening his mouth slightly and dragging his tongue across your own. Normally you would wait for him to deepen a kiss but with him looking the way he does, and the overwhelming need developing between your legs, you cannot continue this lazy sort of kiss as you normally might. No. Now, you need something more than this innocence. So, you shuffle closer to him, legs tightening around his and both hands moving to wind around his neck, fingers curling into the soft hair at the nape of his neck. Your own bravery seems to have inspired some in Jaskier too, so he wraps his arms about your waist and pulls you even closer still, tongue lathering over your own before his teeth drag across it and then bites gently. It makes you shiver, letting out a quiet moan which brings a moan out of him too. Not too long after that he pulls back and heaves a deep breath while you pant, head tilting back.  

“That was new.” He laughs, fingers tracing circles into your back.  

“What can I say? That dress really does look good on you.” You respond with a chuckle before leaning forward again, this time to mouth at his throat. You feel Jaskier gasp before you hear it, the skin of his neck going taut beneath your lips.  

“Dear Heart,” He starts, and the pet name does nothing but make your heart race, “If you don’t stop soon, we’re going to have a... well, an issue.” He stammers out, and you pull back immediately, eyes wide with worry. Had you been too intense in taking your own pleasure from this situation that you had missed some clear hint of his that he was uninterested in going further? He goes to such painstaking lengths to ensure your comfort and you feel like you’ve encroached on his.  

“An issue?” The words come out shaky, and you try to shift yourself back from him, but he holds you still. “I’m sorry! I wasn’t trying to upset you-”  

“You haven’t. Gods, Dear Heart, I think you could stab me, and I would still thank you.” He says, still rubbing those reassuring circles into your back. “You’re just. You’re...” Jaskier stops and seems to deliberate his next few words, “You’re exciting me, that’s all.” That makes you blink. He doesn’t look all that excited to you, if anything he just seems to be riding the same high he always is after kissing turns a little more passionate, pupils blown wide and lips pink and plush from kissing, but he doesn’t look excited. Your confusion must be visible because Jaskier sighs, muttering something under his breath before his hand creeps higher toward your shoulder blades. “You’re making me hard.” He says, the words said carefully as if afraid he might upset you.  

“Har- Oh. Oh!” Realisation hits you all at once and your eyes dart down to his lap, suddenly seeing the tent in the dress that certainly hadn’t been there when you first settled on him. It was mere centimetres away from your core when you were kissing him, and you hadn’t even noticed. It’s the first time you think you’ve ever seen someone be hard, even if it is completely covered up, and the knowledge that it was you who has done this to him fills you with pride. You’ve never really considered yourself the kind of person to have that kind of power over a person, you only ever really feel powerful in a fight, but the feeling overtaking you now feels like power. With nothing more than a mouth and tongue, you’ve affected him in this way.  "I wouldn’t call that an issue.”  

He blinks at you, lips slightly parted and he looks you up and down. For the first time, you wonder if he’s thinking of other trysts, where it was him in shirt and trousers on top of some woman in a dress who is falling apart at next to nothing. It should leave a sour taste in your mouth, but the feeling of power is more overwhelming than any insecurity.  

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, Little Miss.”

“I’m not uncomfortable.”  

“You’ve never seemed interested in... progressing.” He’s being careful not to say anything he thinks might offend you. Jaskier is never one to mince words, but your virginity seems to have him somewhat uncomfortable when it comes to what language to approach sex with. You aren’t a child, and used to work in a tavern, you’ve heard all too many terms for sex; shagging, fucking, making the beast with two backs, a labour for Venus, but Jaskier calls it Progressing. Like it’s travelling, moving from one destination to another, from kissing to something else entirely. It’s quaint coming from a man who you’ve heard sing songs about receiving hand-jobs. “I don’t want to push you into anything you might not be comfortable doing, Little Miss, I don’t want you to feel pressured by me or this or anything-”

“I’m interested in progressing.” You cut him off, a little too eagerly. “Truly, I am. I just. Haven’t done anything like this before. So, I wasn’t sure how to go about it, you know. I couldn’t just... I don’t know. Ask you to take my virginity.” Jaskier chokes a little at the words.

“I wouldn’t be taking anything.”  

“But I do want you to.”  

“I don’t mean in terms of... not wanting to. I do. Melitele’s tits, I’d crawl over shards of glass just to put my mouth on you, Darling. I just mean, I wouldn’t be taking anything from you. There’s nothing to take. You would just be someone who has been intimate instead of someone who hasn’t. You don’t lose anything.”  

Your heart, something in the back of your mind says coyly, you’ll lose your heart to him if you allow yourself to be breeched by him, he’ll take it unknowingly and not be able to give it back to you. Each step, each breath, each blink and each song, he will have your heart entirely and there will be nothing you can do to have it returned. He’s had so many lovers before, it’s unlikely he’ll give his heart to you in return for you giving him your own- and it won’t be because he’s cruel or unfeeling, it will be because Bards give their heart to anyone who hears their song, and there isn’t enough of it left for you. He’s entirely enough for you, but you will never be entirely enough for him.  

“If I lose nothing by it then why are we discussing it instead of... progressing?” You have to bite down on your tongue to keep from saying shagging. Fucking. Anything but this dance around what it is that the two of you clearly want.  

“Because I want you to understand.” He says, and it sounds like a plea. “I want you to know that you don’t lose a thing, and I want you to be doing this because you want to do it, not because you feel like you ought because I’m hard or because you feel you owe it to me. I want you to do this because you want this, and because you want me.”  

Because you want me. It makes you falter for a second. Of course, you want him, you wouldn’t kiss him if you didn’t. Your heart aches at the thought of someone kissing or sleeping with him and not wanting him, using him and discarding him afterwards.  

“Of course, I want you, Jask.” Your voice is little more than a whisper.  

“I mean it, Little Miss. If I do this, I won’t want for another person in my life, I won’t be able to not think of you, and if you’re doing this out of obligation and not because you want me, it will kill me.” He continues, the hand on your back moving up still until it’s buried entirely in your hair, twisting and feeling about your scalp like the answer to every question he will ever ask is written in your hair. “If this is only for once, I cannot do it. It would kill me to know how it feels to be inside you, to feel at one with you, and know you don’t ever intend to do it again. I care far too much for you to do a thing like that.”  

“Jaskier...”

“I admit, I have a... reputation for leaving a string of not-quite-crying lovers behind me, but I cannot add you to that list. I won’t. And I refuse to spend the rest of our days together writing melancholic songs about how I want you, desire you, crave you, only to know you only have eyes for others, I would sooner-”  

You can see by the impassioned look in his eyes that he has so much more to say, but can’t bear to hear anymore, for fear of fooling yourself that the beautiful man in front of you loves you. So instead, you reach down and wind your fingers around his member and relish in how his words choke to a halt and he lets out a sweet sigh.

“I don’t want to sleep with you once either, and your former lovers and I have nothing in common. For one, I’m not married, and two, I want you Jaskier. Not reprieve from some small pricked husband. I want to have sex with you because I want you, I care about you.” I love you; your mind screams the words you don’t dare say. It’s enough though. Enough for Jaskier to smile and move both hands around your waist once more and gently lay you on the floor beside the fire, hair fanning out like a halo among leaves and grass.  

“I. I had intended this to have a more romantic location.” He admits to you as he parts your legs and settles on his knees in the space he has made. “Some inn, where I could strew some petals about, draw you a bath, sing a song.”  

“I don’t need petals or poetry or baths.” You smile at him, but he shakes his head with an affectionate smile,  

“It’s not about need, Darling, it’s about what you deserve. And you deserve to be treated like a princess.”  

“In that dress I rather think you’re more the princess out of the two of us.” Out of the dress too. You’re rougher than any woman should be, and if your mother could see you now, you’d be pulled by your ear off to be told how good and proper ladies dress and behave- you find yourself covered in monster gore more often than you would like to, and have taken to wearing darker colours so that the dirt on them doesn’t show quite as much, but Jaskier with his sweet voice and fineries? He’s a crown away from being a prince, the sort who appear in every story you were told as a child who could fix any maiden’s problems with a kiss that would end in happily ever after.  

A cough draws the both of you from each other and you turn your head to see Geralt and realise the light purple sky of dusk has been replaced with the near pitch of somewhere closer to when your plan needs to take place. He looks as uncomfortable at finding you as you feel at being caught. You feel like a child whose mother has caught you doing something they expressly told you not to do, and the fear of whatever comment he shall make keeps you from laughing at the mental image of Geralt dressed as some mother, in a drab old dress and dirtied up apron, flour dusted about his face, still world weary and with his swords strapped to his back.  

“...Aswang will be here soon.” The Witcher says, and you’re grateful he’s decided not to address what he had walked in on. “We need our... beautiful woman to be wandering in the woods.” He gestures with a movement of his head to Jaskier to come towards you, and the bard does, albeit slowly, remove himself from the spot between your thighs. Geralt’s stoic face might be enough to fool most people who don’t know him, but you can see the mirth in his eyes. He’s glad he called Jaskier’s bluff on the dress, this story will never make its way into a song for the sake of Jaskier’s ego but will be brought out by Geralt at any and every ball that he is dragged to from now on. His fictional tale of the Bard being castrated by an unfortunate kick to the bollocks by an Ox as a child will now be replaced with an honest account of the esteemed bard Jaskier having volunteered himself- seemingly at random- to serve as bait in a dress for a very dangerous beast. You think he’s never looked more beautiful than he does in the dress, but Geralt very clearly sees it as funny. Men are strange. It’s just a dress, and a dress that makes him look far more attractive than any fine suit or set of armour ever could, so what is so funny about it. The Witcher says your name and you look up at him and nod. “Stay here.”  

“But-”

“Hopefully the ‘fair maiden’ is enough to get the Aswang. If it sees an actual woman, it’ll attack it and not try to attack him. I’d prefer not to have to carry your corpse back to your village. It would be a long journey.” He’s being facetious, at least you hope, but you nod anyway. “We shouldn’t be too long.”  

“Stay here, it’ll all be over soon.” Jaskier tells you, smiling that disarming smile he uses to try and charm more coin from locals.  

“But the memory of you in a dress will live on.” Geralt says, unable to keep the smirk from his face, which makes Jaskier’s face morph between anger and confusion quickly before settling on incredulousness.  

“No one is to hear of this Geralt. Geralt! Do you hear me? No. One. Geralt!” His protests increase as the White Wolf begins to trek back into the thicket of trees, Jaskier following behind him and shouting all the while.  

“Jaskier!” You call to him, and the complaints die as he turns to face you. “Please, please be careful.”  

“I promise, Dear Heart. I will be fine.”  

Somehow, you don’t quite believe him as he disappears into the trees to join Geralt at his trap, leaving you alone with only the fire and the moon for company. Eyes turn up towards the full, round beacon of light, the only break in the darkness overhead with no stars to join her. You aren’t religious, and don’t believe in worship or prayer but now, tonight, you close your eyes and breathe deeply. You trust in the moon more than you trust Geralt and Jaskier not to take any unnecessary risks,            

“Please keep him safe for me. Please.”  

[therealcalicali]

Of Bards and Bastards

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Warnings: None

Type: Drabble

Wordcount: 1,638

This is for @rosepetals-flyingbirds​  Writing Challenge.

Prompts: Dogs are better than People/You’re a bastard

Geralt had no desire to reside at your family’s quant Inn with adjacent Tavern. However, he was a man that disliked having his ear talked off. So after many days of being pestered by Jaskier, he gave in. And it was a good thing too. Because not only had the two men been sleeping rough for weeks, but the weather had turned.

So needless to say, they were lucky to happen upon your township.

“Welcome to The Laughing Archer.” Your Aunt quipped with a pleasant smile. “I’m Ausalái and the wee thing behind the counter is my niece, Y/N. How can we be of help this evening?”

As she spoke, her ample cleavage caught Jaskier’s attention. Though to be fair, he did his best to not make it obvious. Because despite her being rather slender, your Aunt was buxom. Not that your Uncle ever complained.

“It is nice to meet you both. I’m Jaskier and this--------”

The larger man elbowed him in the ribs.

After warning the Bard numerous times to desist being sociable, it was obvious that he had learned nothing. Thus, Geralt decided it was best to take over.

“We require two rooms.” He said, his voice more of a low rumble than anything.

“Two?” Jaskier repeated, his eyes twinkling with surprise. “Geralt, either you have been lying for weeks, or we are flushed in coin. I figured it was all spent since we’ve been sleeping upon grass like farm animals.”

Ignoring the jest, the large man opened handed five pieces of silver to your Aunt. Enough for food and drink for four days.

“Are you a Knight, Ser?” You asked as you stepped forward. “I myself have never taken up sword as of yet. However, everyone says I’m a marvel with the bow and arrow. My Uncle trains me every----------.”

“The rooms.” Geralt gruffly interrupted, utterly ignoring every word that had come from your lips.

And you thought him rude for it, he was a patron. Thus, you simply nodded and bid them to follow.

After showing the men their lodgings, you went in search of fresh linens. But as you were descending the stairs, Jaskier asked if he could trouble you for honeyed milk. To which Geralt promptly rolled his eyes. But you had always been hospitable.

So despite it being rather late, you promised to bring a surprise to go with his desired beverage.

“I will have you know that aside from my Archery skills, I’m also known to be handy in the kitchens. But you shall see for yourself.” You added.

“Thank you kindly, Y/N. I can hardly wait.” Jaskier replied, clasping his hand in anticipation.

As soon as you were out of earshot, he went to Geralt’s door, which was located directly across from his own. He then knocked for some time before his burly companion finally appeared.

“What?”

“Is that a nice way to greet someone?”

Geralt promptly shut the door in Jaskier’s face. But he didn’t do so out of hatred. In fact, he had grown capable of tolerating the Bard’s peculiar temperament. However, after his recent skirmish with a Wayth Raider, he was in no mood for childish banter.

Still, Jaskier never could take a hint. So instead of returning to his own chamber, he entered uninvited.

“Why must you be.................you?” Jaskier asked. “First, you’re absolutely rude to that poor girl. And now, you direct your anger towards me.”

“Get out so I can rest.”

“See?”

Without replying, Geralt took a seat upon the bed. He then set his weapon aside and began unlacing his boots. Undeterred by the silence, Jaskier regaled him with his thoughts about the Inn. Declaring your Aunt a fetching woman, and you, a rare beauty.

“She just has that certain something one cannot explain.” The Bard added, his hands making random gestures. “Though pretty, she’s quite unaware of it. Which, in my eyes, makes her even more attractive.”

“Hmm.” Geralt scoffed as he threw a boot aside. He then started on the other, shaking his head in annoyance. “You pestered me for a proper resting place only to ogle women.”

“Do you ever stop grunting long enough to enjoy life?”

After clarifying that he never ogled, Jaskier declared that he only admired the fairer sex. And personally, he saw nothing wrong with it. But as expected, Geralt ignored his words.

“You behave as if you do not want companionship.” The Bard noted. “Even those of sour disposition want another person at their side.”

“Dogs are better than people.”

With a sigh, Jaskier agreed that humans could be treacherous. However, that did not mean one should resign themselves to a life of solitude. He then returned to discussing you once more. Declaring that you had the most cheerful disposition he had encountered in some time.

In fact, he planned to ask for Archery lessons in order to become better acquainted. Though Geralt chuckled inwardly at the notion, he remained silent.

“Lord Jaskier” You sang from the doorway. In your hand you held a platter of sweet cakes, sour loaf, and the requested honeyed milk. “As promised, I have come bearing morsels to fill your belly.”

“Y/N, you are an absolute sweetheart. Is all that for me?”

Your cheeks burned hot as you reminded him that they had paid for room and board. Thus, you were obligated to feed him well. Your eyes then went to the one called Geralt. And despite him being curt since their arrival, you asked if he too would like something from the kitchens.

“No.”

“Ignore my friend. He’s rather tired, so let us leave him to his sleep.” Jaskier said as he followed you out the door. “Besides, I wish to hear about life in this quant township. It seems rather lively from what I have seen thus far.”

The following morning, you woke early to assist with chores.

And as always, your Aunt and Uncle chastised you, insisting that you return to bed. Because despite not being your true parents, they had not taken you in to make you a servant. Nevertheless, you enjoyed helping the family business flourish. So, you kept to assisting the workers.

After helping the women clean the adjacent Tavern, you went to the kitchens. Indeed, you were thrilled about impressing the new lodgers. Thus, you set to work, gathering all manner of fresh ingredients. Even going so far as to enter the chicken coop that you typically avoided. Because despite eggs being a staple in most dishes, the chickens fought like hell to keep them.

“Y/N, you have the women cooking up a feast this morning.” Your Uncle exclaimed before stealing a piece of fried trout. “Just try not to overdo things.”

“I have told you before, I’m quite capable of running the kitchens.” You replied with a great smile. “Just make sure you return with adequate game for Suppertime.”

As he departed with his companions for a hunt, you checked to make sure the workers had things under control. When satisfied, you took the first dishes to the Inn’s dining area.

Since they had been residing longer, you first served the large party of Merchants before going to Jaskier and Geralt.

“I hope you slept well, Y/N. ” The Bard exclaimed, eager to delve into the first meal of the day. He then surveyed all you were setting before them. “Everything smells delightful. Ooh, what is the red delicacy there?”

“Pomegranate rolls filled with custard with strawberry molasses. It is a creation of my own doing.”

As you further explained the other dishes, Jaskier bit into a roll. Instantly, his eyes fluttered as if someone had rubbed his back. He then excitedly looked at Geralt.

“I know you dislike sweets. But you simply must try one of these” The Bard urged before taking another bite. “The girl’s hands are pure magic.”

“I’ll pass.” Geralt replied with brow raised.

He then lifted his mug of spiced ale and looked about the Inn. Naturally, you were somewhat hurt by his refusal. But you held your tongue and returned to the kitchens. After retrieving the second course, you served everyone with the same enthusiasm as before.

“Y/N, I hope this is not forward of me…” Jaskier began with some anxiety.

As he wavered, Geralt eyed him. From traveling together, he knew very well that the Bard was no competitor. So why he wished to trouble you, made little sense. Nevertheless, he decided to say nothing.

“Would you be keen to show me the basics of Archery? I mean, if you are not too busy with other things. Or people.”

“Of course, Lord Jaskier. It would be an honor to teach you.”

“Lord?” Geralt repeated.

Indeed, he realized that you truly believed his companion was of noble birth. So despite his usually stoic demeanor, he could not keep from chuckling.

“And what is so funny, Ser?” You asked.

“You.” Geralt replied as his intense gaze meeting yours. “Why assume him a Lord?”

“Because, he carries himself with dignity and kindness.” You replied with some irritation. “Besides, who’s to say that a Lord could not decide to become a Bard?”

“Quite the stupid assumption.”

“As you please, Ser. But I shall perceive your friend as I see fit. Would you like to know how I have come to perceive you?”

“Not particularly.”

There was a long silence, your ire festering as if time had stood still for ages. But eventually, you glared at the handsome boarder, refusing to let him have the last word.

“You’re a bastard!”

You then hastened to the kitchens; leaving Geralt perplexed and Jaskier laughing so hard, the other boarders began to stare.

[onthepageoftears]

Kill Your Darlings Ch. 7 (Jaskier x Assassin!Reader) || Witcher

A/N: Sometimes it’s hard for me to wait to post for this series, I’m just so excited to see what everyone thinks 😅Also I’m lowkey especially proud of this chapter for some reason, so let me know what you think of it! That being said, enjoy (and stay safe out there)!

Your comments and feedback are always encouraged and mean a lot to me!

Summary: Who knew only a couple hours of isolation could make you go this crazy.

Warnings: language, mentions of death/killing, depictions of violence/slight descriptions of gore/graphic violence, mentions of alcohol/drinking, and finally...fluff? in this fic? who knew

Words: 2,630

Please Don’t Plagiarize My Work!

Getting Julian out of the Kingfisher Inn was like ripping a knife from your own thigh: painful and a lot more trouble than it’s worth. After around a good hour of packing his many, many clothes, he was finally ready to change locations; in the end, it didn’t matter, because you all agreed that waiting until night fell would be safest to travel.

Eventually, the three of you managed to sneak out of the inn and to another one. The Nowhere Inn, located to the east of Novigrad, was where you found yourselves camping out. You waited with Julian while Geralt booked a room, your eyes and ears trying to focus on the world around you to make sure no one was lurking in the shadows. The bard blabbered on anyway, distracting you more than you would be comfortable admitting.

“The Nowhere Inn is absolutely perfect. When someone asks where I am, you don’t even have to lie. Just say Nowhere.”

You didn’t bother holding back your eye roll.

And now, all three of you had made it to the room. It wasn’t nearly as nice as the Kingfisher Inn, and Julian made a point of saying so multiple times. It was still a nicer place than you usually stayed in, so you couldn’t complain. Instead, you silently claimed a chair in the far corner of the room, hoping to be left alone for the remainder of however long it was that you would have to stay there.

But of course, that wouldn’t happen.

You were sharpening one of your knives when the bard’s antsiness peaked. He patted a rhythm on his lap and sat up in his own chair, across the room from you.

“When do you think Geralt will be back?”

You lifted the knife to eye level to inspect the sharpness. Without looking at the bard, you answered, “Why do you think I would have a clue?”

“Alright, no need to have an attitude.” His tone might have made you feel guilty if he hadn’t been practically pestering you this whole time. 

It had only been a couple of hours of hiding in the inn with Geralt and Julian, and they were already getting on your nerves. Geralt, not so much. He kept to himself mostly, unless Julian resorted to talking to him (which he usually did). But when Geralt left to go do something or another, the bard was forced to turn to you for his…entertainment.

You felt him watching you as you switched knives, still watching you as you continued to sharpen it. It made you uncomfortable, to say the least. You sighed and put your knives back in their sheaths, making a point of looking at Julian with raised brows. “Do you need something?”

Instead of taking the hint, he leaned forward. “Do you do anything other than that?”

The ghost of a frown crossed your features. “Than what?”

“You know,” Julian waved his hand in the air. “Assassin things.”

You gave his question a good amount of thought before answering, “No.”

“You don’t have any hobbies? Any secret talents? Well, other than killing people.”

You blinked, yet again leaving a long space of time for him to bask in his anticipation.  Then, you uttered a firm, “No.”

After he didn’t answer, you leaned back in your chair and lay your head over the edge. Perhaps if you closed your eyes he would get the hint to stop talking to you. It was a foolish thought, because almost seconds after you closed your eyes, you heard him get up from his seat, drag his chair agonizingly slowly across the room, and plant himself right in front of you.

You only slightly opened your eyes so you could peek at him — but when you saw he was holding his lute, you snapped your eyes open.

“Calm down, I’m not serenading you.” It was the first time you heard him laugh, genuinely, and you would be lying if it didn’t make your breath halt. Still, your eyes widened with what was close to fear at the thought of him performing just for you. If he did that, you might have to jump out the window.

Noticing your inner anguish, he tilted his head with a slight smirk. “Unless—“

“Please don’t.”

The mischievous sparkle in his eye dimmed as he laughed off your panicked expression. “I think you could use a new hobby. Though sharpening blades is…quite the skill, maybe you would benefit in trying something a little more…artistic.”

“Some blacksmiths would be at your throat for that.”

“Well, some blacksmiths aren’t in this room, now are they?” He raised his brows and waited for you to respond; when you didn’t, he held out his lute towards you.

You looked at the lute, then back to him. “You’re joking.”

“Come on.” He waved it in your direction. “It’s not going to bite.”

“I’m not playing your lute.”

“Not yet you aren’t.” He jutted it towards you once more, noting the way you shook your head with a scoff. “Just try it. And then I’ll leave you alone.”

That got you interested. You squinted at him, trying to tell if he was serious. His eyes only mirrored yours, and for a couple seconds you battled through your gaze.

You would never admit that he won.

“Fine.” You took the lute from his hands and held it in your own, mimicking how you’d seen other bards holding it. It felt foreign in your arms — though you had only seen Julian play it a couple times, it felt strange to hold someone else’s possession. It would be like Geralt using one of your knives — it just didn’t feel right.

“Well, don’t hold it so tightly. It’s not going to run away.”

“I don’t want to drop it,” You muttered, but loosened your grip anyway.

“Okay. Your hands need to be a little higher. Like—“ His hands reached out to move your own, but you couldn’t help the way your body immediately stiffened. You kept your eyes focused on his hand, which hovered just over yours. He pulled back, instead directing you with his words. “Just…bring your hand so it’s a little further up the neck. Right. Now place that hand like this.“ He demonstrated with his hand in position; you mirrored it to the best of your ability.

“Now what?”

“Now, you strum.” So you did. And the sound was…not unpleasant. It definitely wasn’t as practiced as any bard you had ever heard, but something was satisfying about manipulating the instrument to do what you wanted. It was like when you learned the proper techniques for your knives — once you knew the right way to hold it, you could make it do practically anything.

“How did it feel?”

You considered him for a moment. “Not bad.”

“Didn’t sound too bad either.” He held his hands out and you placed the lute gently back in its owner’s hands. Julian placed it back in his lap with a smile.

You didn’t like the way your face heated up at the look he gave you; still, you were too stubborn to look away. His eyes sparkled just as brightly as they did the first time he spoke to you — when he didn’t know you were trying to kill him. You felt your shoulders loosen, lips twitching their way from a thin line to a minute smirk, your eyes searching the bard’s face for something, anything that would keep you…feeling.

Don’t let your guard down, or your emotions will come flowing out. Showing weakness is something you never want, Y/N. When that happens, you might as well give up.

You were out of your chair before the memory could fully resurface. Whatever feeling that was in the air had dissolved as soon as you stood up. “I should go scope out downstairs. Maybe find Geralt.”

“Shouldn’t I not be left alone?”

You walked past the bard’s chair and made sure your knives were in their place as you hovered by the door. “I’m not your babysitter.”

“I prefer the word ‘bodyguard’.” He muttered as he began strumming his lute gently.

Instead of answering, you lifted your hood over your head and left the room, letting out a quick breath when you closed the door behind you. You felt the sudden need for fresh air, though you knew not to stay out long. Besides, it would be a good idea to make sure there were no strange lurkers around the inn. At least, none more strange than usual.

You made sure to do a quick sweep of the main tavern before exiting through the back door of the inn; Geralt wasn’t down there, which would have made you angry if you weren’t so desperate to be left alone. You made a mental note to make a comment about it when he did return — whenever that would be.

The fresh air hit your face as soon as you stepped outside — the night air was colder than when you arrived at the tavern, but maybe it was just because of the heat that had risen to your face. You leaned against the building with your arms crossed over your chest, head tilted towards the sky. The stars weren’t nearly as bright here as they were when you were out of the city — it was one of the many reasons you tended to jump from smaller villages despite the decline in work there. It reminded you of the home you once knew, where you could play in the dirt just beside your parents’ small cottage while your mother cooked what she could for dinner. Or where your father would sometimes lay with you in the grass to point at the stars — at least, when he wasn’t drinking.

You shook the thought away and ripped your gaze from the sky — reminiscing on faded memories would only lead to trouble, especially when you were supposed to be scouting out the area.

The streets had the usual amount of people for Novigrad; though it wasn’t as bustling as Hierarch square or the Kingfisher inn, drunks stumbled to and from the bar nonetheless.

It was then that you noticed a particular individual — this one wasn’t walking on drunken feet. No, this one was walking with a confidence you only knew from few people, not even counting yourself in those. They wore a similar cloak to your own, their hood pulled far over their face making it harder for you to see. The darkness didn’t help either.

But in the flickering of a nearby torch, you got a look of their face.

Joneta.

“Fuck,” you barely let the word hit the air before you were slipping in the back door to the inn. The fresh air quickly dissipated as you were engulfed in the warmth of the inn, your face heating once again, but this time from…well, that didn’t matter. Not now.

When you made it to the room, you couldn’t help but burst through the door. Your breaths were controlled but your heart was beating out of your chest. And in the room, Julian was still strumming his lute with his feet up on a nearby table.

He barely turned to look at you. “Did you find—“

“We have to go.”

Seemingly ignoring the urgency in your voice, he turned to you with a scrunched nose. “What, now?”

You huffed, trudged over to him, kicked his feet from the table, and gave him the deadliest stare you could muster. “Now.”

“Alright, alright.”

He was getting up from his chair when you picked up on the sound of footsteps coming towards the room. It was a matter of seconds before the door was ripped open, and simultaneously, you had pulled out your knife and thrown it right at the person who walked in the room.

“Shit.” You breathed once you saw it was Geralt. The knife was lodged into the door just next to his head. He only blinked.

“Holy shit.” Julian repeated with more emphasis. “I guess sharpening those knives was worth it.”

You ignored him. “I thought you were—“

“An assassin. There’s one downstairs.”

“I know.”

“And where have you been?” Jaskier placed his hands on his hips, looking pointedly at Geralt.

You cut him off. “Doesn’t matter. We have to go. Now.”

This time, you didn’t let Julian take his sweet time. You practically shoved him out of the room, with Geralt directing you two out of the Inn. You couldn’t help looking behind you every second, afraid someone might have seen you. Joneta was a good assassin, but you never thought she would be able to find your new location so quickly. Maybe she hadn’t even known that you were there — she might have been stopping at the tavern for a drink or a game of gwent. But even if she didn’t mean to find Julian, you couldn’t risk it.

You were out of Novigrad by the time the sun came up. This time, Julian didn’t argue. He followed quietly between Geralt, who led on his horse, and you. Of course, he wasn’t completely quiet— he strummed his lute and hummed a tune that you hadn’t heard before. It was both calming and upsetting; the unnecessary noise made you nervous, because if someone was following you they wouldn’t need to worry about keeping up.

You were looking over you shoulder, searching the past roads for signs of people, when the bard finally spoke. “Well, that was a close one.”

“Too close.” You looked over your shoulder once more, pulling your hood further over your eyes.

Julian turned around to face you, walking backwards with a smirk planted on his lips. “You don’t have to be so skittish, you know. We’re out of the city, just like you wanted.”

His sarcasm wasn’t lost on you; you glared at him from under your hood. “You’re right. You should be the one who is worrying, being the one with coin on his head.”

“Just another part of a thrilling adventure.”

If this was his idea of an adventure, you wanted no part of it. Always being on the run was one thing when you were the one doing the killing. But now you had to worry about someone else’s life, to protect them even if they were an imbecile. Because right now, this imbecile was innocent. 

But you didn’t have to help them. You could leave right now. You could leave and let the other assassins kill the bard and take the money, even if he didn’t commit the crimes he was accused of. 

And yet…here you were. Walking silently behind two men you didn’t know just a couple days ago, who you would have considered strangers, or possibly future targets. Your morals were fucked up, sure — but you still couldn’t leave this behind. You were invested, determined, to keep this bard safe. At least until you knew for sure that he wasn’t the target you needed. Because if you didn’t do that, you would be just as much of a monster as the ones you killed.

Finally tearing your gaze away from the road behind you, you peered at the men in the darkness. Geralt continued forward on his horse, his head sweeping back and forth as he tried to look for a good place to stop. Julian had his lute on his back now, instead kicking up dirt as he walked. The silence was comfortable for once, but to be honest, that scared you. You didn’t know what these two were to you. That was something you didn’t want to be stuck thinking about. And being stuck in your thoughts almost made you ask Jaskier to play his lute again.

Almost.

———————————————————————————————————

Let me know your thoughts! :)

[diamondcamefromhell]

Hunt

Jaskier x Witcher!Reader

Summary: This was a request from @oldfashionedvillain-x :  I was thinking Where the reader is a female witcher and has been travelling with Geralt for a while and when they meet Jaskier he is determined to get her attention because she isnt like other girls and after a rivalry eventually he gets close to her

Warnings: Swearing

Word count: 1, 649

A/N: tHank you Ash for requesting such a good idea! it was really fun to write, esp perpective being from a witcher, and jaskier just trying to please her and what not ahhh thank you! i truly hope you like it <3 i know its a bit all over the place, so sorry abt thatt

Traveling with Geralt was as fun as traveling with a Witcher gets – not fun. But being a Witcher myself, I tolerated his company just enough. But then he went for some ale because he wanted to drink alone, well. He came back. Not alone.

Jaskier was fascinated that I was a woman and a witcher. It took him mere minutes to compose a song about me, where he clearly tried to impress me, putting as many compliments as one could possibly fit in one ballad. I chose to ignore him, glaring at Geralt, who also seemed to be annoyed at the bard.

I jumped on my horse, Night, as Geralt sat on Roach. I saw Jaskier look from horse to horse, and before he could even mutter anything, I ushered my animal to move. Geralt followed, and the bard was left to tag along of foot. Which he did. Sadly.

His mind must be working overtime, as he was chatting non-stop. I wasn’t really paying attention, but did notice that Geralt and I both were riding slower, so the bard could keep up. His mouth was working at superspeed, as he now picked up his lute and began singing, trailing behind us a little bit.

“Seriously, Geralt?” I hiss at my companion, who gives me a stare. “Don’t give me that look, you brought him along.”

“I think he stayed for you.” Geralt mutters, as I roll my eyes. Jaskier seems oblivious to our conversation, so I continue.

“Do you plan on protecting him? Because I’m not helping you with that.” I grunt, as my horse neighs. I pet the nuzzle, knowing he must be frustrated having to walk so slowly.

“Leaving him now would be the death of him.” Geralt responds, and I see him glance at the bard, who still is enjoying himself.

“I know, but until we reach another town, at this paste, it will take us days.” I respond, stopping my horse. Jaskier nearly walks to it’s arse, as I break a smile. “C’mon. At least this will stop you from playing that damn thing.”

“Y/N, are you offering me a ride?” He asks as I roll my eyes, petting Night, who is anxious to run a little.

“Climb up and shut up.” I grunt as Geralt stops Roach just a little ahead of us. The bard takes his time climbing Night, but eventually he manages, his hands wrapping around my waist. “Watch the hands.”

“If I don’t hold on, I will fall.” I grit my teeth, ushering the horse to a sprint, overtaking smirking Geralt.

“See if I care.” I finally respond, as the wind plays with my hair, calming me down.

We travel for a couple of days, I allow Jaskier to ride with me, mostly because I am anxious to dump him in the next town. He tried to chat me up, but if he does it too much, I make him walk. He now learnt, not about being quiet, no, but about not talking to me. Directly.

That, of course, only matters until we set camp. Then every evening he doesn’t shut up, trying to get anything he can out of me. He shows such pure interest, sometimes I am painfully reminded I was an experiment. And that’s why I am interesting. I know Jaskier doesn’t mean any harm, but I wish he would shut up.

We were at a tavern now, as he was performing. Geralt and I were drinking ale, silently. I wondered if we will ever be able to get rid of the bard, as he seemed so eager to tag along. I chug last bit of the drink, looking at Geralt, who’s yellow eyes land on mine.

“We’re stuck with him.” I point out the obvious, and Geralt offers a hmm to me. “Great, you have good ideas about how to unstuck him from us.”

“He’s interested in you.” I squint at the Witcher, hu shrugs. “He needs to see how not interesting you are, maybe then…”

“Thanks.” I cut him off, as smile enters his face.

“Usually women don’t complain about attention.” I lean back, crossing my arms.

“Usually those women aren’t witchers, Geralt.” I point out as his face grows ever so sour. I know it’s impossible to, but he seems to sometimes forget I am like him. An experiment. Tossed into the world to kill monsters, protecting most men.

Those very same men who hate us. I was surprised when this tavern allowed two witchers in. Of course, some patrons were shooting angry glares our way and there were whispers. But those followed us wherever we went.

Our kind was a rare occurrence, as our numbers were decreasing. Two witchers at the same time was even rarer sight, as for the most part, we preferred to be alone. And on top of all of that, add the fact that I am a woman.

Not many men would ask a woman for help, witcher or not. So tagging along with Geralt was pretty much my only way of making coin. He would get us jobs, I’d assist, we split the payment.

I am startled when Jaskier plops down next to me. He is blabbering about something, but I completely ignore that, sliding away from him, edging my seat.

“Don’t worry Y/N, I don’t bite.” He says, noticing my movement. I glare at him.

“You couldn’t bite me if you tried.” I hiss at him, as he lets out a giggle. The bard doesn’t seem to be phased by my aggression.

“Don’t challenge me.” He winks at me as I turn away, giving Geralt a glare yet again.

To my surprise and the fellow Witchers great amusement, Jaskier pretends to nib at me, biting the air near my shoulder. I lean away from him, stopping his face with my hand.

“Stop.” I say, not being able to withhold a smile. Dammit. Jaskier notices that, grinning.

“Don’t play all though on me.” He says, winking yet again, before springing to his feet. It takes me a moment to realize he went to get more beer.

“He’s an interesting thing.” Geralt points out as we both follow him with our eyes.

“Indeed.” I agree.

Needless to say, Jaskier didn’t stay put. He tagged along with us, until we couldn’t really imagine traveling without him. His constant blabber was still annoying, but soothing. His music also became more pleasant, even if we were test listeners to all his songs. Some of which weren’t that good at all.

Him tagging along became a norm, even if we would leave him, Night and Roach as we fought the monsters, later having to give him all the details, so he could write a ballad and sing it. I began warming up to him, not ever letting him know that, of course.

We were sitting in a warmed up room, Geralt taking a bath. Jaskier for once wasn’t fiddling with his lute, and it was silent, as I was cleaning both of my swords. I notice him staring at me, so I lift my gaze and face him.

“How did you and Geralt meet?” he asks, out of the blue.

“Some locals, they needed help. I guess the news reached me and Geralt, so we ended up arriving at the same time. The monster were a couple kikamoras, as the townsfolks were afraid of leaving their homes.” I shrug. “We took care of it. Then, I don’t know. I kind of tagged along.”

“Like me.” I glare at the bard, who smiles, not phased.

“At least I was useful to him.” I sigh, looking away. “And we got used to each other. Both beings of the same nature, we didn’t need to talk to get how the other may be feeling.”

“But witchers don’t have feelings.” Jaskier says sarcastically and I offer him a sad smile.

“We are also monstrosities, brutal killers.” I close my eyes for a moment. “Horrible, horrible creatures.”

“I never believed that.” I look at him as he crosses his arms. “And I don’t think you don’t have feelings. You just don’t show them.”

“In their eyes it’s the same thing.” I point out, but he giggles.

“But its not, is it?” I nod, agreeing.

“It’s not.” Jaskier gives me a kind smile, going from the other bed to sit next to me, I don’t move away. “You’re an interesting thing.”

“How come?” He asks as I shrug, falling backwards on the bed.

“People avoid Witcher. You stuck with two.” I finally say, after Jaskier continues to stare at me. He laughs, falling on the bed too.

“You both allowed me to stay. You protected me.” I cant disagree, so I remain silent. After a short while, bard continues. “I want the world to see that you aren’t that bad at all. Probably way kinder and better than any man.”

I turn my head to stare at him for a little bit. He is trying to change the way world works, one song at a time. I didnt have a heart to tell him it won’t work, or maybe part of me also hoped it would work. What if the world actually changed?

For weeks to come, slowly but surely, Jaskier and I had more insightful conversations. As Geralt would bathe or do whatever Geralt does, we would sit and chat, and it didn’t take me long to realize I actually enjoy his company. 

When he wasn’t trying to flirt or write a song, or any other way be Jaskier-annoying, he was a great listener and advice giver. 

As someone with not too many life experiences himself, I noticed not only does he learn from everyone else, he does it swiftly. That’s why he is such a good story teller and writer, he can put himself in other shoes so easily.

He kept telling me I am not like other girls, and I began to wonder, does he even know he’s not like other guys? 

[cats-obsessions]

Mark Your Love in Ink Part 2

A Geraskier soulmates au

Part one - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Rating: T

Chapters: 2 of 5? 

Notes: I decided to split this up into 5 parts, but on ao3, I posted parts 2-4 in one chapter. So, if you want to read ahead, read on ao3

It turns out, Geralt can run from ‘fate’ but not Jaskier. Somehow, Jaskier worms his way into his life. Forcefully. And deeply. What he expects to be shared milkshakes and parted ways turns into Jaskier following him to the warehouse, determined to set his eyes on some monsters- lucky for them, the ‘monsters’ weren’t werewolves or noonwraiths like he had expected. Nope, they were elves. Angry elves that captured Geralt and Jaskier, bashed the starving artist’s guitar and kicked them both in the gut. Geralt was able to reason with them, and Jaskier was given a lute for his troubles, but he didn’t get any money for his troubles.

As the sun began to rise over the city, bright lights reflecting off of the buildings, they parted ways. The younger man smiled at Geralt with sunshine in his eyes and said “I’d offer you my number, but I suppose you already have it,” which was true- even if it weren’t on his body, Geralt’s had it memorized for years. He was surprised, though, when the musician added “This was fun. Let’s do it again sometime,” with a genuine warmth that told Geralt he wasn’t lying. He was sure that misadventure would have driven the boy away, but he didn’t seem deterred. If anything, he seemed more interested.

Geralt practically passed out once he got home, eager to sleep rather than focus on the situation. He was more alarmed to find the familiar number texting him once he awoke. How did he even get his number?

It didn’t seem to matter much. The next thing Geralt knows, he’s getting roped into going for coffee or drinks, then just hanging out doing things he’d never bothered spending time on before, like playing video games. Then, Jaskier starts showing up at his apartment whenever he wants. Geralt tried to argue, but Roach, his cat, loves Jaskier almost as much as she loves Geralt, which is odd considering she scratches up most strangers.

Every step of the way, he tries and tries to push back against this odd little human that seems set on getting close to him, and every battle he picks, he finds himself losing. When Jaskier starts following him to jobs, he knows he’s gone too far to turn back.

That he was not fond of, but Jaskier is the most persistent thing he’s ever met- like a weed. At first it was just local jobs, things he knew Jaskier could watch without getting in the way, but then he started following him on longer jobs. And, well it’s kind of nice to have someone to camp with, especially when he can convince the musician to stay at the camp while he hunts. He even proves to be useful once or twice. Six months later, Geralt finds himself with an intrusive friend with blurred lines and a lack of respect for personal space.

But it’s not bad, surprisingly.

Geralt finds himself smiling more. Jaskier is tactile and unafraid to show emotion in a way that’s almost frightening after so many years of being a loner. And Geralt, he puts up with it- at least that’s what he says. In reality, he does his best to keep his emotions from spilling out of ‘friends’ and toward something more.

Because he doesn’t believe in fate or destiny.

A soulmate bond is a social concept made up to explain magical connections that only go skin deep.

That’s all it is.

So, he doesn’t fall for Jaskier as if he could prove how fake Destiny is by refusing to feel.

--

Geralt hums some song that’s been stuck in his head for days- certainly not because the dumb musician had been playing it last time they saw each other. He’s cooking dinner one late evening when he hears his apartment door handle jiggle followed by several knocks. Does he really expect it to be unlocked for him all the time?

As soon as he unlocks the door, it’s being opened by the musician on the other side. He’s a little flushed and his hair is messy as he complains “If you gave me a key, this would be easier.”

“If I gave you a key, you’d never leave me alone.” Geralt rolls his eyes. “Did you bike here in the middle of the night?” he asks, noticing the helmet in one of his hands, a duffle bag in the other, and his lute thrown over his shoulder “and what’s all this?”

“My stuff- for our trip.” Jaskier answers as if it were obvious. He throws his bag down, slips off his shoes, and begins to make himself at home. Geralt watches as Jaskier moves to the living room, stopping to pet Roach on his way. The brown tabby shoves her head into Jaskier’s palm, meowing happily to greet him. Geralt does his best not to smile at the sight.

Their trip. Geralt had tried to convince him to sit this one out to no avail. It will be a week-long trip at the least- granted he can even find the beast. He got reports of a possible griffon terrorizing an isolated town a few days north of them. They’ll have to drive part way, then hike through the forests and camp there for however long it will take to find and defeat it. But Jaskier hasn’t seen a griffon yet, and he’s enamored with them- that’s probably Geralt’s fault, though.

“We don’t leave for two more days, Jaskier.” Geralt reminds him.

“It’s better to be prepared early, isn’t it?”

Geralt lets it go, turning back to his cooking. Jaskier can entertain himself if he’s so set on showing up unannounced. Though, Geralt throws an extra pork cutlet on the pan; the gods know the boy doesn’t eat enough real food.

He can hear the musician talking to Roach in the background. He’s almost surprised Jaskier hasn’t pestered him about his day yet. But, he doesn’t refrain from taking advantage of the momentary silence. With the meat on the pan, crackling and popping while it cooks, there’s nothing to do but wait. So, he pulls out his phone and scrolls mindlessly through the local news. He doesn’t care much for politics, but occasionally things will pop up that point to creatures, monsters, and jobs.

‘Local YouTuber Dies in Attempt to Catch Kikimora’

A dark figure can be seen in the background of what he assumes is a screen shot from the recording. “It’s an Ekimmara, you morons.” Geralt scoffs under his breath. Typical. Mankind has been chasing after monsters since the dawn of time. The widespread use of cameras only made things worse. He scrolls down further, and another headline pops out to him.

‘Local Dive Bar Found to be Drug Front: Shoot Out Between Owners Leaves Renters Evicted’

Also not terribly surprising; humans are always doing these kinds of things. Over his near century of a life, he’s seen more deaths from greed than monsters could ever cause. But, wait… he looks closer, picking up the details of the image provided. Isn’t that-

“Jaskier, what the fuck?” he barks, turning to face the man now sprawled out on his couch.

“What did I do?” he asks innocently, though the cringe he’s trying to hide tells the witcher he knows exactly what he did.

“You didn’t think to start with ‘Penellie’s had a shoot-out.’!?”

“Ah,” Jaskier starts uncomfortably. “Right- well, you know, it didn’t seem like the most important thing.” he looks down to fidget with his nails- a telltale nervous habit.

Geralt bites back his urge to press for more information “Are you okay?” He asks, finding himself out of his comfort zone.

“Of course! I’ve seen a lot worse.” Jaskier shrugs.

“Wait, were you there when it happened?”

“No, no, dear witcher. I was in my apartment. Apparently,” He starts with renewed energy, “the whole building has drugs in the walls! Those possums that were always making racket- Probably thugs shoving drug packets into our shared walls. I guess Penellie and James had a disagreement about how to split the funds. It wasn’t so much as a shoot out as shooting each other in the close confines of their office.” Jaskier makes a gun shape with his hand as he says it, pretending to shoot at Geralt. “Guess renting from your boss isn’t that good of an idea, huh?”

“Who woulda thunk.” Geralt murmurs flatly, remember the exact words ‘don’t rent from your boss’ coming out of his mouth when Jaskier moved to that dump six months ago. Of course, Jaskier was working as a bartender, and Geralt expected him to get fired and evicted in one go rather than an unknowing renter of drug lords. “They didn’t make you ID the bodies or anything, did they?” he pushes. He’s not sure why it matters to him.

“Oh, come on now. It’s very nice of you to think you have to protect my innocence, but like I said- I’ve seen worse. Specifically, I’ve seen you do much worse. You know, most people have never seen the intestines of anything much less helped dig a liver out of a cave troll or pull teeth from a foglet while brain matter is splattered around them. You’re quite lucky I’m so well adjusted.” Jaskier rambles, accentuating his words with wild gestures of his hands. Geralt ignores it, though.

“You’ve never seen me kill a human.”

“Well, you haven’t recently, right?” he says nonchalantly like he wouldn’t be bothered if the answer were yes.

Geralt shakes his head “Not supposed to, though I’m tempted often,” he grumbles, shooting Jaskier a glare. The musician sees the fondness behind it though and chuckles a little. Somehow, he seems to know Geralt’s only so exasperated because he cares- against his best efforts not to, of course.

Geralt finishes up in the kitchen and pops the caps off two beers, handing one to Jaskier along with a plate of food.

“Oh, thanks! You don’t have to, though,” Jaskier smiles, a little blush tinging his cheeks. Geralt pretends he doesn’t notice.

“Had extra,” he murmurs, shoving Jaskier’s feet off the couch so he can sit and eat as well. After a few bites of food and a long drink of beer, he finally asks “What now?”

“Well, the place across the street will probably have a drop in price,” Jaskier smirks.

“Seriously? Should live somewhere safer.”

“I would, but you know I can’t afford that… I suppose I could get a roommate” Jaskier says, biting his lip as he stares at Geralt.

The witcher grunts. He knows exactly what Jaskier is asking even without the words leaving his mouth.

“Come on, Geralt! It’d be fun!” He pesters “You live in a dump, too. Roach deserves better than this! Don’t you, Roachy?” he coos, the cat mewls at him as though she’s agreeing. Traitor. “We could afford something a bit nicer together. And I promise I won’t get in your way more than usual. No jam sessions late at night or early in the morning. I’ll even cook sometimes. Please… Unless, you want me to find some stranger from Craigslist to live with me… But hm, isn’t that how the Craigslist killer found his victims?”

Geralt grimaces. “No- he killed a masseuse he hired through craigslist.” Is Jaskier even old enough to remember when that happened?

“Ah, I thought he asked them on dates,” Jaskier muses.

“No, you’re thinking of the Grindr- no, the Tinder killer.”

“Ah, so Grindr is a safe app to find roommates with then?” Jaskier asks, tilting his head as if it were an innocent question; he bites his fork as if he were thinking- fucker even flutters his long eyelashes. Geralt does his very best not to stare at his over obvious flirting. He knows exactly what Jaskier is doing, yet that doesn’t seem to prevent it from working.

Geralt groans, pinching the bridge of his nose “Mac n’ cheese doesn’t count as cooking. No unannounced guests, and do not touch my swords when I’m gone.”

“Really?!”

“Don’t make me regret this, Pancratz.”

“Yes! You won’t- I promise.” Jaskier beams.

A silence falls over them while they eat before Jaskier pipes up again “Wanna watch the Monster from Brokilon? it’s the one with the Leshen!”

“Witchers don’t even know that much about Leshens; I can only assume what kinds of inaccuracies are in this movie.”

Jaskier smirks, “You can lecture me about it afterwards.”

It has become somewhat of a past time for Jaskier to find various old and horrible horror movies to force Geralt to watch. At first, he was simply curious if there was any truth in them, but once he found Geralt ranting about their atrocious and uneducated portrayals of even the simplest beasts, he seemed determined to put the witcher through more.

For some reason Geralt puts up with it. Jaskier usually ends up talking over it half the time anyways, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy having someone to share his monster facts with. There’s something that lights up in the musician’s eyes whenever they talk about creatures and adventures; he doesn’t shy away from it like other humans.

So, he hums contentedly as Jaskier sets up the movie. When it starts, Geralt rests his arm on the back of the couch as he always does. It’s not his fault if somewhere in the night, Jaskier scoots closer and closer until he’s pressed up against the witcher. He’s just like that. And if he falls asleep, his head drooping to rest on Geralt’s shoulder, the witcher only lets him because Jaskier’s had a rough day.

[onthepageoftears]

Kill Your Darlings - Ch. 4 (Jaskier x Assassin!Reader) || Witcher

A/N: Warning, this chapter is a bit shorter! Also I hope everyone stays safe out there with the craziness going on, make sure to wash your hands as much as you can <3

Your comments and feedback are always encouraged and mean a lot to me! 

Summary: Y/N finally faces the people they thought would be their demise.

Warnings: mentions/insinuations of r*pe, torture, mentions of killing, death, violence

Words: 2,088

Please Don’t Plagiarize My Work!

You heard the lute first. The soft melody from the strings reminded you of your mother — her voice would echo around your small house, waking you from your deepest slumbers as she made whatever was lying around for breakfast. She never admitted that she was talented, that her voice was just as beautiful as any bards, not even when you told her so. She would only smile and continue singing, pretending not to hear your compliments. 

But the remnants of your memory were blown away when another chord was struck — the wrong chord, you guessed, since the whispering of a curse followed after. Your vision of her faded slowly, her smile turning into a far off memory, an image that you tried to grasped as you reached a somewhat full awareness of your surroundings.

As you got your bearings, you were reminded of your situation. You decided to move slowly, just in case something was terribly wrong. Keeping your eyes closed, you twitched your fingers, testing that you were, in fact, alive. Your fingertips felt what was beneath you. It was…what felt like a blanket. And now that you came more to your senses, your back wasn’t on the cold floor — it was in a bed.

The fear panged within you with a thousand bolts. Ignoring your initial instinct to stay quiet, you jolted up and shot your eyes open, immediately reaching for the knife you typically kept under your sleeve.

“It’s not there.” 

The voice startled you — you flicked your eyes across the room. The witcher was watching you from a spot where he leaned against the wall. As you tried to push yourself off the bed, you noticed, once again, your wrist was bound. But this time, it was only one wrist attached to the nearest bedpost, with the most intricate knot you had ever seen — even if you tried to undo do it with your one free hand, the witcher would stop you immediately. Unable to move, you stayed upright in the bed like a helpless bunny rabbit about to be targeted by a hunter.

You stared the witcher down from your position, trying to seem more in control of the situation. “You didn’t kill me.”

“No.” The witcher jutted his head to the side. “Because you didn’t kill him.” You snapped your head to your right — there, the bard was sitting in a chair a good distance away from you. He was holding a lute in his lap, but had stopped playing it. Once he saw you look at him, he flinched.

You smirked at your effect on him but turned back to the witcher. “Why am I tied to a bed?”

To your surprise, the bard answered. “Because we put you there.” You turned back to him with your eyebrows raised, then settled on a glare. It took him a second to get understand the underlying presumption of his sarcastic comment. “No no no, we didn’t do anything like that—“

“You fainted.” Again, your head swiveled to the other side of the room. You blinked back at the witcher; he was telling the truth, from what you knew. The last thing you remember was letting the bard go, getting ready to fight, and then darkness.

You reached a hand to the back of your head, where the witcher had knocked you out before. You touched around your hair, expecting to feel some sort of leftover blood. There was none.

“We patched you up. Your shoulder too.” The witcher shifted uncomfortably. “Sorry about that."

You dropped your hand with a sigh. You supposed it was kind of them to tend to your wounds — still, the idea of these two strangers looming over your unconscious body made you shiver. 

You subconsciously reached a hand to your shoulder — it was covered, but you still felt exposed without your cloak on. You rolled your shoulder back, clenching your teeth at the pain ached in your bones.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and dropped your hand. “Why haven’t you handed me to the guards?”

“Bringing an unconscious person to the guards doesn’t do any of us much good.” He stayed silent for a moment, then gave in to your continuous frown.  “And we thought you should be given a chance to explain yourself.”

“We didn’t think anything.” You expected the bard to continue complaining, but the witcher’s glare shut him up.

He turned back to you. “Why are you here?”

You hesitated, but still raised your eyebrows. This witcher was...direct, even more so than you. Though, he was more sympathetic than you might have imagined.

Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to trust these two. Even though you knew something was off with this assignment…well, you were tied to the bedpost, for the gods' sake. Not that these two were in the wrong for not trusting you either— you did try to kill one of them.

Eventually, you gave in. “I’m…apart of a guild.”

The bard leaned forward in his seat. “What’s it called?”

You bit your tongue. “I can’t tell you.”

“Oh, that’s just wonderful—”

“I can tell you—” You glared at the bard, then returned your gaze to the witcher. “It’s a small guild. We move around, city to city, usually scrounging for work. But lately business has been…good.”

The bard scoffed. “Congratulations.”

Again, you and the witcher ignored him. “That’s probably why there’s been a mistake.”

“A mistake.” The larger man stood up straighter from his spot against the wall.

“Like I said, we’re a small group. There must have been a mixup with the names, or the payer’s intentions.”

It was a guess, at most. But Rauf was always on top of his assignments and made sure they were accurate. He must have slipped up working with so many cases. It had to be that.

The witcher considered you for a moment. His eyes watched you carefully, but he eventually leaned back. “You mentioned earlier that you killed monsters.”

You supposed it was sort of a question, though a vague one; realizing these two weren’t going to let you go anytime soon, you sighed. Usually, your assignments didn’t involve this much...talking. And now your head was still feeling lighter than it should, probably aching from the impact on the hardwood floor. You sat up against the headboard of the bed and placed your bound hand in your lap.

“We are technically assassins, yes.” You let a breath out. “But we don’t take just any targets.”

Your former target sat up in his chair. “Glad to know I’m special.”

“Well, not anymore.” You smirked at his slightly offended expression. “We kill the humans that hold monsters in them. The ones deserving of death.”

The bard’s curiosity was almost as annoying as his sarcastic comments. He leaned forward further in his chair, his elbows placed comfortably on his knees. “And who, exactly, is deserving of death?”

“Rapists. Abusers. Killers—“

“Killers? But that’s what you are, isn’t it?”

“I never said I wasn’t.” You snapped, pushing yourself from your semi-relaxed position. If it weren’t for the witcher’s gaze on you, and your current bonds, you might have jumped out of the bed in an attempt to punch the imbecile.

But the witcher broke your angry gaze from the bard. “Okay, okay. You were hired to kill Jaskier…by who?”

“I don’t know.” Another scoff from the bard. You bit your tongue despite the desire to send him a glare. If you answered their questions, maybe they would let you go.

You tried to formulate your words in the vaguest way possible. “The person in charge of my guild…I trust him. He said a victim’s family member was after the bard. That he raped someone and eleven before them.”

“So you didn’t have proof?” The bard’s tone made your blood feel hot.

You grit your teeth. “Like I said, I trust him. I’ve known him for a long time and he’s never let me down.”

“Except now.”

With a sharp inhale, you turned to the witcher. If you looked at the bard’s smug face any longer, you would be tempted to kill a possibly innocent man. Besides, fighting with the idiot wouldn’t get you free from this situation. “I need to go talk to him to see what happened, to clear up this mess. Can’t do that when I’m tied to a bed.”

The witcher looked back at you with an indecipherable expression. He was evaluating you, that much was sure. You tried to keep your face as stoic as possible — this was your chance to convince them of letting you go.

After a few seconds of the witcher’s clear contemplation, the bard nearly jumped to the end of his chair. “Geralt! We can’t just…let an assassin go!”

“You were the one who didn’t want to resort to capturing in the first place.”

“That was before I was almost killed! The second time!”

“But you weren’t.” You interjected, making both men turn to you. “Do you want to risk them sending other assassins after you? I can go to the guild, tell him what happened, and he’ll figure it out.”

The two were quiet for a moment, both searching your face for something — a lie, perhaps. It was the witcher who spoke. “And what about you?”

“I’ll wait until he figures it out, then come back here to tell you what happened.”

The bard chimed in. “And after that?”

“I’ll get a new assignment. Or not. Either way, he’ll tell me what to do.”

The bard let out a dry laugh. “Do you always let people tell you what to do?”

Taking a deep breath, you decided to let that comment slide. You closed your eyes and searched for the right words. “Look, I know it’s a lot to ask you to trust me—“ Another laugh from the bard made you snap your eyes open. You clenched your jaw as if doing so would keep your anger inside. “Wouldn’t you like to know why I almost killed you?”

For once, the bard went quiet. He sunk back in his chair with a defeated expression. Almost as if knowing the bard wouldn’t want to admit it himself, the witcher cleared his throat and nodded. “You’re right. You should go talk to him.”

You watched the witcher walk over to you and untie the knot of your bounds effortlessly. As soon as your arm was free, you clutched your swollen wrist. “Is that it?”

“That’s it. Your weapons are on the table.”

You blinked. Though you hoped it would be this easy, you didn’t actually believe it would. Clearly, your former target didn’t either. He was now opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. “You’re just…not even a fight to…what if they hurt me—“

“If they hurt you, I’ll hurt them.” The witcher flicked his eyes back to you, staring you down like you were prey. It wasn’t something you were used to — typically, you gave others that glare. His gaze made you feel the urge to squirm, but instead, you straightened your back and lifted your chin. 

If you were being honest, you thought you would be dead by now, and every move you made you thought the witcher might pounce. But with just this look, you could tell the witcher was an admirable man, one who kept his promises. You weren’t sure if that was good or bad, in your case.

You ended up giving him a curt nod and slipped past him out of the bed, trying not to show your unsteadiness as you walked over to the table that held your belongings. You felt the two men’s eyes on you as you fit the weapons into their rightful places — your knives that slid into the small sheaths from your wrist and up your arm, the larger knives you kept in a part of your boots, the mini sword that you hid on your back seamlessly under your cloak. After you gathered your things, you felt your shoulders roll back naturally; the weight of your weapons brought immediate comfort to you — it made you feel strong and ready to fight, despite the injuries you sustained.

You turned to the men once again, this time with a confident gaze. They looked back at you, the witcher with the same resigned expression, and the bard with apparent distress. 

“I’ll be back.” You said, and without any further discussion, you left the bard’s room.

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