#Jask’s fur is really warm and soft

[thequeeninyellowlace]

Geralt stared at the seal. It was, quite clearly, a real seal. A large seal. A big, wet, dark seal. Sitting by his fire. Warming itself. What the fuck.

Geralt shifted slightly, cracking a twig under his heel, and the seal’s head jerked up. Glossy, unnervingly intelligent black eyes met his. Geralt swallowed hard, strangely discomfited by the animal’s keen interest.

Suddenly, the seal began barking and squeaking. It threw itself forward and began gallumphing toward Geralt faster than it had any right to.

“What the fuck?!” Geralt yelled as he stumbled backward. He was glad Vesemir wasn’t around to see him running backward away from a fucking seal. His boot caught a tree root and he fell back, grunting as he hit the ground. The seal flung itself up and slam! It landed directly on top of Geralt, who struggled to draw his sword but was now lying on top of it.

As he flailed, the seal stretched its whiskery black mouth toward him and licked his face.

“Ahhhh!” Geralt shrieked like a little girl, and the the seal startled so hard that it leapt upward and suddenly appeared to separate from its fur. Geralt felt his medallion shudder hard for an instant before fucking Jaskier landed hard back on top of him, a furry pelt falling down over them. Jaskier stared down at him for a moment.

“Umm…Hi Geralt! You’re back early!”

“What the fuck was THAT?!” Geralt yelled, sitting up, somehow ending up with Jaskier—a completely naked Jaskier, he realized—in his lap.

“Oh. That.” Jaskier smiled nervously but winningly, putting on his best performer’s grin. “So, I guess I never told you I’m a selkie?”

Jaskier, a Selkie, had neglected to share his true nature with Geralt.

One fateful day, after Geralt returned from a hunt, he found their campsite devoid of the bard he expected.

Instead, he was met with the bewildering sight of a nonchalant seal lounging by the fire.

[eggcompany]

How can I Resist?

"Not when there was just miles of perfectly warm and snugly witcher laid out right there." Jaskier likes to play with his Witcher

Jaskier had been bedding the White Wolf for a few years now. A few Summers. But this is the first time he’s seen his witcher so... relaxed. Up in Kaer Morhen. He had met the two other witcher's and the eldest of them all earlier. But now he and Geralt were up in his room. Geralt was spread out in front of the fire in his smallclothes, he was laying on a rather impressive pile of furs. Jaskier was sat at a small table writing in his journal. He didn’t get very much done though. Not when there was just miles of perfectly warm and snugly witcher laid out right there. Geralt was nearly asleep by the time he heard the rustle of clothes being shucked off, then a very friendly bard was flopping down on his left side.

“You just looked far too perfect for me leave you be.” Jaskier said has be turned to face the older man. He started tracing his fingers over a few scars that sat on Geralt’s sternum and chest.

“’was gonna sleep.” Geralt said in a very low and soft tone.

“Oh a nap would be just lovely, dear. Do you want something to drink or anything before you rest, my love?” Jaskier sat up a bit more but a sword callused hand wrapped under him and pulled the bard down onto Geralt’s chest. Jaskier hummed and cuddled into his witcher’s chest and started to doze. Right before the bard was asleep he pressed a single kiss to whatever skin was near his face.

However that skin was apparently a sensitive spot because soon the bard felt a shiver run down Geralt’s body. He felt Geralt’s hand that wasn’t wrapped around him come and cover that spot. That interested Jaskier.

Jaskier lifted that scarred hand away and kissed that spot again with a bit more pressure. Geralt’s breath hitched a bit and he push his chest up a small bit.

“Sensitive? Oh my dear Geralt that’s just adorable.” Jaskier said as he lifted up and placed his hands on either side of his witcher’s shoulders. He lowered himself and started kissing all over Geralt’s chest.

Geralt wiggled and moved his chest away from the kisses but also pushed up toward the bard’s attack. He let out little whimpers and small “Jask” and “oh”s.

Jaskier had his fun for another few seconds and then he pulled back and looked at Geralt’s face. Pupils big and round, bottom lip being bitten, an almost blush. A blush that would be there if it could be.

Jaskier threw one of his legs over the witcher’s waist and oh. Oh that’s a lovely feeling.

“Geralt you’re harder than a rock. You really like it that much? Gods your wonderful.”

Jaskier rocked a bit back onto the hardon that was right under his ass. He could feel the heat through his pants and Geralt’s smallclothes.

Geralt turned his head and looked away. His hands flexed in the furs, as if he was nervous.

“Well, sweet Geralt, let me continue” Jaskier said so sweetly before he started sucking hickies onto Geralt’s chest and nipping and licking at his nipples. Geralt was almost thrashing under him. Moaning loudly and holding onto the bard’s hair. Jaskier simply pressed his hips down once before Geralt pulled at his hair and pulled him into a kiss.

When they pulled apart Geralt was panting a bit and looked very far away.

Jaskier bent down and kissed his nose.

“Very cute. Now let’s get you washed up and into bed, dearest.”

[witchersgoldenbard]

Fairy Lights

in relation to this post

~1.5k words (unbeta-ed). fluff, mild hurt, coming out (enby jask), high school au

Jaskier is studying the shadows on his ceiling very intensely, barely moving where he’s lying on the hardwood floor. Roach is on his chest, has deigned him worthy for tonight of giving her all his love and attention. Well, his attention seems to be somewhere else, but Geralt knows that as long as gentle fingers are stroking her just like that, the cat is very content. Her purrs tell a story of their own that makes Geralt feel very warm and happy. She is looking at him through half-closed eyes and they play the blinking game for a while where Geralt will close his eyes and she will mirror him, tit for tat until Roach looks away or his essay demands his attention once more.

“You need fairy lights,” Jask says, his fingers not stilling, his eyes still fixed on some point on the ceiling.

“Hmm? Why?”

Jask smiles but his eyes never move. “Well, what’s the point of having a bad day and lying on the floor if you can’t look at fairy lights?” He shrugs. “They’re really calming.”

Geralt snorts. “Maybe they should hang up fairy lights all over the school then, think that would make you less…” he searches for the right word.

“Feral?” Jaskier suggests, then laughs. “Worth a try, I think.”

Now it’s Geralt who laughs, images of Roach during Christmastime coming to his mind – the way she would just sit in front of the tree and stare at the lights, unmoved even by all the dangling bits and pieces of decoration. Yeah, Jaskier would probably sit right there with her. It’s endearing to think about. “I swear, you’re like a cat sometimes.”

“Well, I have a cat,” he says triumphantly, lifting Roach from his chest and straight up, letting her hang above him with a long-suffering meow. He sets her back onto his chest immediately and gets a paw to the face which he eloquently counters with one of the most adorable pouts Geralt has ever seen.

“You do,” Geralt smiles. “Either way, I win.”

That, finally, gets Jaskier to look up and meet his eyes, soft and gentle and touched and beautiful. I win, Geralt thinks again, the smile on his lips not going anywhere with Jaskier looking at him like that.

He shuts his laptop and puts his sheets of notes back into the books where he will pick them up again later. Then he climbs off the bed, adoration making way to confusion in Jaskier’s eyes when Geralt lies down on the floor beside him.

“You done with your essay?”

“Nope,” he says, smiling and reaching for Roach, stroking his fingers through her soft fur. And if he searches out Jaskier’s hands, well, then the cat doesn’t need to know about his betrayal. “But I deserve this now.”

Jaskier chuckles and shuffles over to Geralt, careful not to dislodge the dozing cat on his chest. Geralt moves closer, too, seeing out Jaskier’s warmth to contrast the cold wood they’re resting on.

“You’re cute,” he whispers, escaping Geralt’s eyes again to look at Roach instead. “Sorry I’m having a bad day today.”

“Hey, it’s fine,” Geralt promises quietly, hoping that Jask will hear how genuine he is. “You’ve seen me having a whole meltdown in school, that’s how things go sometimes, so don’t worry on my account. But I’m sorry you’re having a bad day, too.”

Jaskier hums, his hands stopping their tracks through Roach’s fur in favour of taking Geralt’s hand. That’s when the cat decides she’s had enough and stretches languidly before hopping off his chest and onto Geralt’s bed where the laptop is still warm.

Jaskier squeezes his hand and looks back up at the ceiling. “You really need fairy lights.”

Geralt smiles and squeezes back, wants to lift their hands to his lips and press a kiss to Jaskier’s, but he’s still not sure about those displays of affection. Is not sure if they’re allowed, especially right now when Jask is pondering.

“I’ll get some tomorrow,” he promises instead and revels in the tiny smile he gets.

Geralt looks at Jaskier for a moment longer before closing his eyes, content to simply lie here in silence and bring Jask the comfort he needs – even though there are no fairy lights. It still amazed him, being able to just lie in silence with his wonderful boyfriend, no need to fill the silence with forced words, no pressure to go outside and make special memories. Just silence, cuddles and comfort. Geralt would have never dreamed that this could be something he can have, let alone with Jaskier who always seemed so loud.

It might be unfair to enjoy this so much while Jaskier is having a bad day and clearly lost in thoughts, pondering or questioning or whatever. It might be unfair but Geralt can’t keep the smile off his lips or the warmth out of his heart.

Jaskier sighs then and shuffles even closer to him, his temple resting against Geralt’s forehead. Geralt doesn’t dare to move, doesn’t want to.

He just asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”, his eyes still closed, ready to give Jask all the space he needs even though they are cuddled very close.

“Eh,” he shrugs. “Just… having an identity crisis, I guess.”

“The usual then?” Geralt teases, but the huff he gets in return almost makes him wince.

“Yeah, but a scary one this time. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Hey, you don’t have to tell me, okay? It’s fine if you’re not ready, or if I’m not the person for this kind of crisis, yeah?”

Jaskier nods this time and sighs again. “I know. Thank you.” A beat. Then, “It’s just… Well, maybe, possibly, there might be the teeny tiny not so small chance that I might not—well. Be a boy. Not every day at least.”

Geralt blinks. Surprised, for a moment, at how big this news is, how humongous of a step that must have been for Jaskier, and—how little he is surprised. Or, well, maybe a little bit surprised, as it always goes with these kinds of coming out, but it makes sense. Of course it does! Jaskier rebels against everything he possibly can, gender roles and identity really shouldn’t come as a surprise on that list.

He allows a moment to take it in, but nothing changes. No confusion, no feeling of apprehension or second-guessing in his chest. They’re still Jask and Geralt, still lying on his bedroom floor and ignoring the essay he has to write in favour of a little crisis.

“Maybe?” he asks then and opens his eyes.

“Maybe,” Jaskier nods. Then falters. “Definitely. Some days. I think. Ugh, I don’t know.”

“Hey,” Geralt whispers and pulls Jaskier on top of himself, knowing that always comforts him – them? Well, they have time to explore that. “I’m sorry that gives you a headache, and I can only imagine that it must be scary, in a way. But that doesn’t change anything for me, okay? This is not about me, I know, but I also know you worry so if you still wanna be my Jask, I don’t care which pronouns I use or what kinds of other trouble I save your ass from, okay?” He smiles at the teary grin Jaskier gives him. “Thank you for telling me, Jask. Really. And I’m proud of you and I know you will figure this out, yeah? But there’s no rush, you don’t have to sort this out by tomorrow morning like the essay I know you’ll be winging tonight. We have time. You have time.”

Jaskier is crying now, or trying hard not to, but he has never been very good at that. Geralt leans up to give him a kiss. Gentle and reassuring.

It still amazes him how easy the words come for Jaskier, how natural it is to reassure him, to adore him, to tease and to rib him. Jaskier is wonderful like that and that alone is reason enough to never let him go and to always support him – even when he’s not a he.

“You’re wonderful, Jask.”

“Thank you.” Jaskier sighs, leans in for another kiss and then buries his face in Geralt’s neck. “I know they’re hard for you and maybe it’s unfair to say this right now but love your words. You’re the best, Geralt, thank you, really.”

He smiles and holds him right where he is. “They’re not hard when it comes to you, actually.”

“Because I’m so loud?” Jask teases and Geralt smiles, remembering their very first conversation all this time ago.

“No,” he whispers. “Because I love you.”

Jaskier gasps into the bare skin of his neck, sending shivers down Geralt’s back. The tiny sound is followed by Jaskier trying to bury himself further into Geralt – and if that were in any way possible, he would let him.

Then, after a moment, Jaskier leans up again and meets his eyes, teary as they are, a wavering smile on his lips that Geralt wants to kiss into full bloom. He doesn’t. Not even when Jaskier’s hands cradle his cheeks and he rasps, “You. Are the most perfect. I love you, too. So much. But I can’t believe you had the audacity to say it first.”

Geralt chuckles until it is kissed right off his lips.

***

tagging: @alllthequeenshorses @dunroamins @toss-a-coin-to-your-bard because you seemed enthusiastic but i can also stop.

want more?

more high school au (scene)

they're both ace (scene)

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Curious Travels - Geralt of Rivia x (f)reader

- reader is part of my Of Monsters and Men series

Summary: Yet again has your humble bard dragged you and Geralt to another kingdom for whatever reason, though as the snow falls outside, you know just how to keep warm.

Warning: fluff, SMUT, some actual plot

Masterlist

Jumping off of your own horse you’re immediately greeted with the soft crunch of snow under your boots. Your pack of three mighty adventures have traveled all this way to the wintery mountainside kingdom of Turga for, as Jaskier would say, “food, festivities, and fun times to be had”. Not being one to ever walk away from such intriguing tidings, you’ve made it a point to accompany Jaskier on his trek to the kingdom.

Geralt on the other hand could absolutely not be bothered in the slightest to come for such “fun times to be had” but he loves you and begrudgingly decided to follow the two of you anyways.

The whole ordeal of traveling had taken about a week, through forest and fields, streams to pass and bridges to cross, until finally at last your horses had reached snow. And more importantly the wooden post naming the direction of said mountain kingdom, causing your bard to become even more chipper and talkative then usual.

Much to your amusement and Geralt’s silent moody frustration, though he would have liked to smack the bard across his head or quite possibly snap that lute in two. Watching your face light up at Jaskier’s jokes and stories from before he met both you and Geralt, so far has kept the grumbly Witcher to himself, just being able to see your beaming face is enough to make this trip all the better.

Though he’s still doubtful anything fantastic will actually come out of this journey in any way, considering most travels with the two of you end rather poorly.

You’re eyes grew big once they spotted the snowy glowing city of Turga sitting comfortably atop a silver hill in all her beautiful glory. Jaskier wasn’t fooling, this place is absolutely magnificent, it’s like a true winter wonderland.

Great evergreens stand tall at the large wooden gates of the town, two guards dressed in silver armor and a red sash over their breast greet you three with generous smiles of welcome tidings that take you more off center then you’d ever expected. How strange it is not to be looked down upon, or scrutinized by people who always tend to think the worst.

Jaskier simply grins, clearly knowing something you and your grouchy Witcher do not, but what could that possibly be, then again it isn’t exactly abnormal. Following closely behind, you and Geralt lead your horses along the snow covered streets as Jaskier leads the way to the stables.

The whole time your eyes have been wide in awe at the beautiful surroundings of the town, lanterns held up by steel chains hang in a line above your heads. Dashing evergreens keep watch from their various positions in the square. Oddly enough the stables look cozy, decorative pines are hung at the front doors, and from the opened windows you can see on the inside that there are rafters kept along with ornamental little flags of a hundred colors.

Soon enough the face of a dirt smudge stable boy races out of the wooden door, a wreath on the back of it jostles at the quick unexpected movement. Although on further inspection you realize he is a sylvan once you notice the two hooves peaking out from under his oversized cloak, he smiles brightly at the three of you while his big shimmering eyes shine a soft pink as he shuffles through the snow to Jaskier’s steed.

“Vallo Vaskier! Hove yuv bveen!” Exclaims the boy in a peculiar accent with a smile that could light up a room.

“Oh you know..” Shrugs the bard, “A bit of this a bit of that. But here’s something....I have made some loyal companions on my travels, they’re a real time, it’s been great honestly...although a tad bit dangerous at times but eh I’m still breathing.” He laughs, “So anyways, when’s the grand feast at the lady of winters hall?”

The boys face turns into a thrilled grin, “Are you performing?”

Jaskier glances to you before turning back to the kid, “Of course I am. Didn’t just travel all the way up here for nothing. So uh, when’s the feast?”

“Oh, right the veast. You hev to be invited first. But I vouldn’t vorry to vuch, vord alveys spreads vhen you’re here Vaskier.” States the stable boy with a curt nod.

“Boy you got any taverns close?” He snaps his head up to you, curls bouncing in the process as he gives a shy smile before nodding.

“Of course mviss. Vaskier knows ver they are.”

A smirk plays at your lips as you find the bards gaze, “I should have know.” You mutter, turning your head to find Geralt, “Now to find that tavern.” You add suggestively with a quick wink. Causing your man to hand you the smallest of smiles in knowing acknowledgment. 

“Alright, Finn. Take this pretty lady to her home for the night. You’ve got two others who’ll need a stall.” States Jaskier as he nods to his horse, “And uh, the one with the scary face and white hair, be good to his mare. She’s very special to him, more then the half-vampire that rides with us and..Oh! Oww! Y/N don’t hit me woman!” Stammers the bard as you fold your arms across your chest.

A smirk upon your lips at his flustered reaction, “What was that about Roach being more special then me? You didn’t finish what you where going to say.”

“Well I would have if I wasn’t assaulted first.” Assures Jaskier, turning back to the kid, “Anyways, we’re ready to find our stead’s a place for the night. Well perhaps a couple nights, we may be here for a few days give or take.”

“A few days? He never said anything about that?” Grumbles Geralt in that familiar gravelly voice of his, “Y/N did he mention a few days?”

Grasping your horses leather reigns in one hand, you rest the other on Geralt’s broad cloaked shoulder, “Oh where’s your festive spirit? Come on love this is gonna be fun. I can feel it.”

Turning to follow Jaskier and the stable boy into the barn, Geralt tugs for Roach to start walking, rolling his golden eyes as he watches you swagger into the large pine rimmed entrance. Though a small tinge of excitement rushes throughout his body when remembering that subtle wink you shared with him only moments ago.

Your crimson irises light up at the colorful flags and cozy barn atmosphere, perfect for the tired horses that so desperately could use a good rest. You’re never this impressed by such festive decorations most times, but it’s been a long while since you’ve bared witness to such things. It feels rather nice, and anyways, another adventure with your boys is always welcomed.

The stable boy quickly takes Jaskier’s horse to get settled for the night, leaving yourself to find your own stable and Geralt to do the same. You turn, leading your own mare into a hay covered stall and doing what you can to help her feel more comfortable.

Taking off her saddle, you lay it off to the side, going now to brush her brown back, smoothing her fur down as you do. While so lost in your own little world you can’t help but begin rambling about your thoughts to the patient horse.

“Now since it’s come to mind...I think this place isn’t too bad, ya know? I haven’t really met any of the townsfolk so my true impression of the people here have yet to be determined. Although I’m not really getting a hostile feeling coming from this place so that’s good.” The mare snorts in reply, or at least you think she does, causing you to chuckle at the horses timely reaction, “Yes, my friend that’s exactly what I was thinking but you already new that and now I am talking to a horse.....and Geralt is standing right over there isn’t he.” You rush, whispering the last part to your horse.

Geralt leans his large frame against the wooden stalls door, a small amused smirk pulling at his lips as he watches you brush the mare. “Not strange at all. I think they understand, in their own way.”

“Maybe it’s because I travel with you too much, look at me, I’m talking to a horse.” You mutter with a small laugh, “Though I guess their company can be better then an actual persons. I have a feeling you know my meaning.”

He smiles again, looking around the barn until his golden eyes find yours once more, “Better then most.”

You gently tilt your head in a small nod, brushing the last of the mares ruffled hide before setting the brush down. Then reaching for your belongings that are hanging from a metal hook inches from Geralt.

He politely steps to the side as you take your cloak and sheathed silver dagger from off of the hook, bundling them under your arm you take a step forward past him, stopping for a moment to not-so-subtly trail your eyes up to his handsome face.

“See something interesting?” He muses, eyeing you up just the same causing a swarm of butterflies to make themselves know in your stomach. 

Biting your lip you refrain from pushing him against the wooden wall and kissing him like your life depends on it, deciding to instead hug your things tighter and give him a small fangy smile.

“Oh, you have no idea.” Is all you can whisper out as you swiftly turn on your heel to go and find Jaskier before you change your mind and pounce on your Witcher like a cat to her prey.

It doesn’t take long to find him, the bard is casually seated on some blocks of hay as he gently strums on his lute while the stable boy brushes his horse for him. Jaskier is so caught up in his own world of playing that he neglects to notice when you’re standing directly in front of him.

“Jask!” You vocalize loudly, causing the entranced bard to jump and just about drop his prized lute if not for the strap.

“My gods Y/N, warn a man would you.” He sputters, setting himself a bit straighter once again as he gathers his bearings, “I could have dropped my dear lady just now.”

Taking a couple steps backwards towards Geralt, you chuckle, “In that case, I’ll try harder next time.”

Jaskier sends you a silent dirty look, causing Geralt to slip a couple hushed snickers out from behind you. “Alright bard..” Starts your Witcher, “where’s the nearest tavern? Considering it’s late and we’re all hungry.”

Jumping to his feet, Jaskier nods, “Right. Right. Of course, a tavern would be nice. Well my friend...and Y/N...let’s go find one.”

“Yes let’s.” Mutters Geralt, annoyance lacing his voice as Jaskier practically swaggers past the two of you, lute tightly in hand.

You turn to follow, nudging Geralt’s shoulder as you step past him, “Come on my White Wolf, let’s find that tavern. I could use a good rest, how about you?” The wink you send him is all but enough to fill his mind with wondrous thoughts for how his evening may truly end.

His heart admittedly fills with warmth and excitement as he watches you trail Jaskier out of the barn and into the wintery night air. Soft cool snowflakes kiss your warm skin as you stand in the silver wonderland, waiting for your Witcher to catch up.

A pleased smirk shows itself upon your face as you turn your head up to the dark clouds, enjoying the feeling of the small ice crystals as they float all around you. The night is absolutely divine, as you enjoy the small white puffs of air leaving forth from out of your mouth and nostrils.

You feel no chill from the harsh winter air, though you’re surprised when a certain someone unexpectedly attempts to throw a snowball at your back. Hearing the ball of ice swishing in the crisp air, you step inhumanly quick to the side.

A burst of laughter falls forth from your lips when the snow crashes into the shoulder of Jaskier as he looks from house to house trying to remember where the tavern is. He jumps back, his blue eyes wide as he snaps his jostled attention over to you, and the snowy haired man smirking from behind you.

“That was—was....Y/N!” Grumbles the bard with an angry pout before he begins to smile and eventually shake with laughter as well.

Chuckling still, you turn a raised brow to Geralt as he simply shrugs, “Couldn’t help myself.”

“Yeah okay, Sir. I-Didn’t-Even-Want-To-Come...” Suddenly your eyes narrow causing Geralt to loose his amusement, “You tried to hit me with a snowball, you fucker.”

Geralt takes a cautious step closer to you, a pleading look crossing his features, “And now I know how well your reflexes are.”

“You already know how well my reflexes are.”

“Yes. But...” He pauses for a moment, trying to think of what to say next as you await an answer, finally he takes another step closer, bringing his hand to tilt your head up with the tips of his fingers. His face so close now you can feel his hot breath against your skin, “I’ll deal with your wrath all night long if that’s what you’d wish.”

Gently removing his hand away from your face, you lean in even closer, your lips practically brushing past his own, “I think that is a deliciously appealing proposition, my love.”

Geralt has no time to answer before you swiftly shift away from him, leaving the man with his thoughts and slightly tighter pants as he watches you walk over to Jaskier once again, knowing exactly what you’re doing to him.

It took about a good fifteen minutes to actually track down the tavern of Jaskier’s choice, an admittedly large and homey hall appropriately called The Silver Faun Inn. Quite the name for quite the tavern, as per usual when walking into anywhere on the continent in a place like this.

Your marry band of three was immediately greeted with a multitude of cautious glares and many other intrigued excited glances. Though to your relief, no one dares bother either of you while you make to find a quiet corner for the late hour of the darkening evening.

Soon fresh food and tasteful ale is to be had, filling the three of you up just enough to be satisfied for the night, but not too much, you’ve got plans for later. Plans that are so obviously unnoticed by the titular bard who’s now decided the tavern is in desperate need of entertainment.

Leaning into Geralt’s strong side, a lazy smirk upon your face, you watch in amusement as Jaskier joyously strums his favorite lute. “Don’t think I’ve heard that ballot before.” You whisper.

Your quiet Witcher hums in reply, earning him a light friendly squeeze to his forearm that rests on the table next to yours, “The enthusiasm radiating off of you is just, astounding.” You chuckle, burying your face into his shoulder.

Geralt smiles affectionately at your adorable reaction to his less then impressive one, his heart swells with more silent joy when you pull away once again. Only to stop yourself from speaking, your scarlet irises so caught up in your lovers humored face.

You remain quiet for a moment, your face stoic though your eyes crinkle with mischief before you finally break out into a large beaming grin. Without a second thought, Geralt leans in to gently press his plush inviting lips against yours for a beautiful moment of love and lust.

He feels so lovely, you can tell just how much he truly wants you, but all to soon does he pull away, “I think we should find that room, what do you say Y/N?”

Biting your lip, you stare longingly into his golden eyes, “Fantastic idea. I got the keys so let’s get outta here.”

In a heartbeat do the two of you slip from the taverns quiet corner to wander past your oblivious bard as he belts out another marvelous tune that sends the crowd into fits of song and laughter. Soon all is forgotten and left to the back of your minds as you lead your Witcher up the steps and down to the end of the hallway where your room just so happens to be.

Quickly going to unlock it, you’re bewildered when the little metal key won’t turn left, huffing in frustration you try and force it as gently as you can muster. Geralt leans an arm against the doorframe doing nothing to help you focus on your new task at hand.

“Y/N just turn it left.”

“I am turning it left.”

“More gently.”

“I am turning it gently.”

“How much did you drink?” He chuckles.

Snapping your head to him you playfully make a face, “Same as you idiot, now if only I could fucking get this bitch open then we could...” Errreck. Crack. “Oh fuck me.” You deadpan.

“I’m trying.” Muses Geralt.

Smacking Geralt against his arm you take a step away from the broken lock, “Dammit. I broke the fucking key....and I think the lock too.”

“Can you open it now?”

Sighing in annoyance you raise a brow at your man, “Well uh, guess we’ll find out.”

Turning towards the thick wooden mahogany door with its freshly broken lock, you nervously reach a hand up to turn the golden door handle, sucking in a breath you twist the knob only to be met with resistance.

Pursing your lips together you lean your head against the door, “Whoever made these shit locks I’ll fucking cut their hands off cause apparently they don’t need them anymore with whatever kinda fuckery this is.” You growl.

All you wanna do is get it on with Geralt, this is not helping.

“You could just force the door.” Suggests Geralt.

“I’m not forcing the door love, I really don’t need a bounty on me for breaking a knob.”

“Well, guess we’ll just have to sleep in Jaskier’s room tonight then.” Replies your Witcher with a shit eating grin, he knows just how much you want him right now. And so help you god if you don’t get what you want when it comes to a night with Geralt of Rivia.

“No! No! I can handle the fucking door!” You sass.

Taking a step back into the hallway, he folds his arms over his chest, “Alright then. Open the door Y/N.” Smirks Geralt, urging you to create some chaos.

Huffing, you take a step back, readying yourself to charge the grand mahogany door. The smirk on your Witcher’s face is admittedly smackable or kissable, you just can’t bring it in you to focus on anything else but opening this door. He watches in anticipation as you charge, hands out and ready to force open the closed entrance as you make hasty steps for the tavern room.

Without warning the giant door swings opens, taking you off guard as you fly through the new opening and into the grand room before falling to the hard floor with a grunt. Your chin smacks the wooden floorboards with a thwack sound, your opened palms doing just the same when you land.

“Ouch.” You mutter, lifting yourself up from the ground, turning when your nose catches the scent of someone new.

Snapping to your right, you’re caught with big brown fearful eyes of a young maid, “Oh, uh....your room is ready miss.”

Not aware of the less then friendly grimace adorning your face, Geralt steps into the room before you decide to shove the girl out yourself, “Sorry. The lock wasn’t working, I think we may have broken it.”

Quickly snapping out of her frightened trance, the girl turns a nervous eye to your Witcher, “Um, that key you have there...it’s not the right one. I’ll just uh....leave then.” She whispers, her eyes never leaving yours as she hastily slips out of the room and down the hallway.

Geralt gently closes the door, shoving a chair under the handle to create a makeshift lock while you take a couple steps forward over to the large mattress, resting a hand on the bed. He turns to you, “Well that was...”

“Entertaining much?” You scoff, rubbing your split chin, “I think I’m bleeding....no yeah, I’m definitely bleeding.”

Geralt hums, nodding before walking over to find a small spare cloth on the nearby table, “Sit on the bed I’ll clean you up.”

Doing just as directed you sit, watching as your silver haired lover walks across the room to seat himself next to you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Rolling your eyes you pout, “Funny is it? The things I do for you, and now my fucking chin hurts.”

Suddenly his eyes go soft, though there still remains a tinge of humor in them, “Y/N, you’ve already healed and the pain will die soon enough....here, let me just clean the blood away.” He mutters, reaching his arm up to press the pale cloth against your blood smudged skin.

Fine, ignore my pain you ass.

Though you’re still annoyed, the feeling of being tended to by Geralt is enough to dissipate away all your recent frustrations and brewing anger. Sending you into a blissful minute of staring lazily into your mans pretty golden eyes like a dazed lover.

Once he’s confident all the blood is gone, he sets the pink cloth in his lap, saying nothing as the two of you stare deeply into the eyes of one another, the sexual tension of the room rising by the second. You slip out a soft breath, the tiniest of smiles pulling at your lips.

“This is the part where you kiss my pain away. Right here.” You point at your chin, just below your lips. His golden eyes dart down, following your directions.

Ever so meticulously slowly does he lean in closer, the blood smudged cloth left and forgotten as it falls to the floor when his large hands go to touch your face. His lips press softly onto your chin, then cheek, then the other, and another two over your jawline. Earning a satisfied hum of approval from you, much to Geralt’s satisfaction.

Your own hands grasp onto his thick forearms, the rest of yourself feeling rather warm all over as Geralt kisses all over your face, slowly as ever.

“You know..” Kiss, “Geralt, mhmm....my lips are right here...” You mutter, just as he presses a heated one onto the preferred area you’ve asked. He tastes so sweet, like the ale he drank earlier in the evening, but this is admittedly much better then any ale you’ve ever drank.

Soon his hands fall to your waist and arm, then to many other places as he decides to explore your body with his calloused hands. Not being one to hold back, you do just the same, earning a low husky moan from deep within his throat when you palm him just to see what’s going on down there.

Fortunately he’s decently hard, the fabric of his dark pants are nicely stretched out from what pleasantries await you soon enough. Leaving him be for the moment, you gently break away from his sweet lips.

“Oh don’t give me that look.” You chuckle at the annoyed expression adorning his handsome features, “I’m just, rather wet down here and I’d like to get things rolling. Though don’t get me wrong I could kiss those lips of yours all fucking day.” You add, deliberately doing your best to give him your bedroom eyes.

He pauses for a second, his eyes trailing from your clothed nether regions all the way up to your shimmering lust filled gaze, “You’re already wet?”

Rolling your eyes you reach out to pull him further up the bed, “Oh fuck off, you’re already harder then a frozen ice cycle and that was before we even got into this room so shut uh uhh mhmm...” Is all you’re able to ramble out before he’s attacked your neck again with those beautifully plush lips of his, the rest of his body hovering just above you as he rests a knee between your parted thighs.

His lips leave a wet trail all the way down your throat until they reach the edge of your tops laced fabric, where a clear V is had that reaches down to the area between your breasts. He kisses once on the lace and exposed skin on your sternum, then another further down.

He’s just about driving you wild with the frustratingly grand lack of friction in certain areas that are so desperately craving such attention. Done with his teasing you lightly tug at his long white hair.

���Geralt just fuck me already.” You mumble, sucking in a quick breath when he gently squeezes your breast without warning.

Kissing your cheek, his face remains mere inches from your own as he stares mischievously into your crimson eyes, “We may need to take some clothes off first.” He chuckles, planting a quick kiss to your lips before sitting back on the bed.

Laying there, body hot and pulsing with pleasure unreleased, you hastily sit up and fumble as fast as you can to remove your grey top. Flinging it to the floor as your eyes find Geralt’s once again, though this time he’s completely shirtless.

Drinking up every last little piece of your muscular Witcher, you bite your lip as he smiles at you, “And that’s a sight I could look at everyday.” You just about swoon at his quick witted words, no doubt feeling a bit heated the longer he stares at you.

Winking at him, you swiftly shed the thin dark material calling itself an undershirt, a playful gleam in your eye as you watch Geralt quickly find your two exposed breasts. Beautiful and soft, your nibbles perked at the arousal coursing throughout your entire vessel.

Wanting to be bold, you wiggle a brow at him before confidently standing, your eyes never leaving his. He watches with an intrigued curious gaze before you begin unbuttoning your black trousers, earning another blissful smirk across the mans face.

Soon enough are all the buttons finally undone, with a spectacular dramatic bow do you then go to shimmy out of your pants, kicking them to the wooden floor in a rush as you’re now left in nothing but your small whole filled and slightly ripped underwear.

As to be expected, Geralt reaches a hand out to touch your exposed legs, getting nothing but a quick playful kick to his hands as you hum in disapproval. Instead you go to set a hand on your hip, nodding your head for him to remove his own concealing attire.

He hums in reply, standing to his full height as you unabashedly watch him fully undress himself, tossing his pants and undergarments to the floor ever so dramatically. He stares you down with those big beautiful golden eyes of his, you keep your sights locked onto them and painfully ignore his now exposed member that’s hard and dripping with pre-cum.

Biting your lip, you try your absolute best to keep from smiling, “Fuck me I love you so much.” You speak breathlessly, your eyes turning more serious again, “Now sit, please.”

Geralt hums, seating himself upon the soft billowy mattress just as directed, deciding to lean back on his arms and let his body lay open and ready for you. Blinking slowly you finally reveal a pleased smile down at him, just about mirroring the same one that he’s handing you so freely, just like his body.

Slowly you walk forward on the bed, your legs held firmly to either side of his lower waist as you kneel down, hovering your soaked womanhood right above his glistening member. You let out a breathy chuckle, resting your palms against his broad shoulders as he does the same action but with your bare hips.

“May I?” You politely ask, leaning your head against his as he gently squeezes the flesh of your hips in reply.

“Of course.” He mutters, low and gravelly in your ear as he patiently awaits your body, his very heart about to explode with how much he loves you right now.

Parting your legs wider, you remove one hand from his shoulder to quickly grasp his thick cock, “Alright let me just...” Bringing it to your dripping entrance you line it up perfectly, “I’m coming in..” You laugh, “literally.”

“Y/N you don’t have to say it...”

Digging your fingers into the side of his shoulder you quickly tilt your head to shut him up with a kiss, “Yes, but you laughed.” Pulling back to look at your face, Geralt’s mouth opens to reply, though his words are left on the wind when you slowly slide yourself onto him.

The new welcoming warmth of your core sending his mind swirling with nothing but a colorful bliss. Yours about the same, he’s big as he sinks deeper and deeper into your body until finally he’s completely filled you up.

Closing your eyes, your face scrunches up in slight discomfort at the new thrilling contact, this feeling isn’t anything new it’s just he’s quite large and you need a couple moments to adjust before the real fun begins. Sensing your slight displeasure, he keeps still inside you, trailing a comforting hand over your cheek as he watches your brows furrow together as you adjust.

“I’m sorry Y/N, I don’t mean to hurt you.” Worries your beautiful Witcher as you open your glistening scarlet irises to find his concerned face.

Shaking your head you slowly roll your hips into his, “Never. Apologize for a big dick Geralt....you’re honestly about to work wonders so keep that pretty mouth shut and make me scream.”

Holding in his laughter, he decides to do just as you’ve asked, a second later do you gasp in surprise when both his hands dig into your hips. Pushing you down onto him even more as he pulls you with each roll of your hips against his. Creating a blissful synced rhythm that begins to bring a low pleasurable build into your soaked core.

He suddenly thrusts up into you as you bounce down on him over and over again, your chests rubbing against one another as you both attempt to hold each other’s gazes for as long as you can try. The room feels hot and sticky, the smells of sex, sweat, and Geralt filling into your sensitive nostrils that drives you mad with lust.

All that can be heard is the familiar slapping of skin on skin as you both move against one another in quick passionate motions. Without warning Geralt thrusts deeply into your sweet spot sending you into a flurry of moaned curses as he thrusts his strong hips into you over and over again.

Your body falls flush against his as you whimper and moan into his shoulder from the intense buildup of pure pleasure that he’s slowly filling you with by the second. He can tell you’re close and with that thought in mind you’re pleasantly surprised when he abruptly holds your back, keeping you against him as he quickly lays you onto the soft mattress.

You audibly moan at the new positioning, not being able to hold back any more whimpers of pleasure as he fucks you into the comfortable bedding like his life depends on it. You’re visibility sweaty now, the slickness of yourself and Geralt doing everything to increase your growing pleasure as he slides in and out of you like a crazed man gone years without a proper fucking.

Another moan escapes from your lips as Geralt bounds you into the mattress, hitting you with deep precise thrusts each and every time, leaving you with nothing to keep you steady but his bare back that no doubt is covered in fresh pink scratch marks.

He keeps flush against your body, his manhood buried deep within your parted thighs as he intertwines his fingers with yours, his lips so soft and inviting as they press against your neck and jaw. You can’t remember if you’re ever felt such pleasure from this man as he pulls you to the edge of oblivion.

He suddenly moans against your ear sending new waves of bliss deep into your core and just like that do you come, moaning his name over and over again as he relentlessly thrusts into you with all that he has left.

He grips your hands tight, his warm seed spilling into you a second later, causing you to squeeze your legs tighter against his, “Ugh fuck Geralt.” You moan, your lips brushing past his as he pumps into you for a few more blissful moments before he falls limp against your body.

Utterly spent with your heated love making session, you chuckle at his honestly adorable actions as he lays flush with you, his cock still buried deep inside. He may be a large heavy man, but you’re no common human woman who lays underneath this handsome Witcher.

It’s plain as anyone could see, though you’d cut the throats of anyone bold enough to take a peek at your secretive actions.

Humming in content, Geralt moves to lay at your side, bringing you along with him so that he can stay inside you for a bit longer. You smirk, holding him close as he does the same, “A little needy tonight are we?” You muse, placing a chaste kiss against his puffy red lips.

“Maybe I missed you in more ways then one.” He replies, his golden eyes finding your crimson ones, “It certainly doesn’t help that Jaskier is always with us when we set up camp. I never get a true moment to myself with you.”

Trailing a hand down his scar covered back, you smile once again, “Well you’re about to get a whole week with me if you’re lucky. And I’m looking forward to every single second of it.”

The way you make him feel cannot ever truly be expressed in Geralt’s mind, though you can tell he loves you deeply even when no words are said at all or perhaps when he gets flustered and stumbles on his tongue for the right ones. Though right now he seems to have you vexed, completely entranced and utterly opened and surrendered to him.

But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel the same, his eyelids close in content as you gently trail your fingers down his cheekbone, earning a low hum from deep within his throat that sends shivers down your spine even with something so innocent as this.

You break out into a grin, your fangs showing as you let out a couple chuckles once you realize he’s still inside you. His own lips curl into a tired smile, though he doesn’t open his eyes. “Y/N?” He mutters, wondering what on earth could be so funny right now.

Pushing a few stray hairs out of his face you blink, trying to contain yourself once more, “Oh nothing, you’re just being....dare I say, cute. And all things considered, you’re still inside me.”

Geralt shows you a lazy grin, “I like being inside you.”

“Yes and what if I have to relieve myself, or get a drink?”

“I see no problem when you’re lucky enough to be laying next to me.”

Fake scoffing you gently tug on his silver locks, “Geralt of Rivia you’re blessed enough I love you so much you ass.”

Finally he opens his eyes, the most adorable of smiles crossing his face, and only for you, “Well I guess someone has to.”

“Yes.” You smirk, “And I’ll make disappear the next confidant fucker who dare think to take you away from me.”

“So I’m assuming that last tavern wench we met a month ago went missing....not, under mysterious circumstances?” He wonders, a brow raised in humored accusation.

Rolling your scarlet irises, you give him a friendly pat over his bare shoulder, “I wasn’t appreciating that foxy look she was giving you, looked like a horny buck ready to pounce.” The look he gives you is enough to make you burst with laughter, “What? Don’t give me that face Geralt, I didn’t do anything adherently evil....all I did was leave her in the middle of the woods...near another town!” You protest, trying to make your little petty adventure sound less terrible.

 “Well, at least you were nice about it,” Muses Geralt, “though I’m not sure if that’s better.”

“Oh shut it, I couldn’t help myself if you’d like to know alri...” Knock. Knock. Knock. Three raps against the thick bedroom door immediately draws your attention away from Geralt. Propping his head up by his elbow, he turns a protective glare at the mystery person keeping themselves on the other side.

Wanting to snap at the hidden individual who dare break you away from your rather pleasant evening, you push away from the soft comfort of the mattress, quickly pulling out of Geralt, you maneuver yourself into a seated position. “I’ll see who it is, can’t be anyone with a personal vendetta against us, well.....at least I don’t think so.”

Pursing his lips together in slight apprehension, Geralt silently watches you slip from the bed with nothing but a thin white sheet to keep your nakedness from any prying eyes. Your steps to the barred door are swift and silent as an owl in flight, just the same when you remove the chair from the door knob.

With one hand on the golden knob and the other grasped tightly onto the bunched up bed sheet, you turn a curious glance to Geralt who’s now seated fully upright on the mattress, a thin sheet covering his previously exposed manhood.

Finding your sights upon the door once again, you turn the knob, swiftly opening the door where you’re both greeted with the nervous wide eyed face of a young elven boy, who looks only to be about fourteen, dressed in lord-like attire. A suspiciously high status pose about him that sends your brows furrowing in confusion for this strange unexpected intrusion.

Wearing a soft purple scarf over a pure white thick fur laced jacket, his green eyes shift warily from you to your shirtless Witcher then back to you again. His cheeks most certainly reddening the longer he stares, mouth slightly agape, clearly this kid was not expecting the sight before him.

Deciding to relieve the awkward atmosphere, you clear your throat, “Well you certainly don’t look like an assassin, nor do you appear to be ready with coin for a wanted killing. So, do relieve us of this suspense...I was kind of in the middle of something important.” You state, the tone of your voice appearing slightly annoyed even when you try and hide it.

His big emerald irises flicker as he blinks, swallowing his nerves, does the elven boy in the fancy coat and purple scarf stand a bit straighter, “Hello. I am Venemyr of Rorym, messenger to Queen Allira and her husband King Gabriel of this winter kingdom of Turga.” He stammers, eyes shifting nervously from Geralt to you, suddenly he pulls out a folded piece of white and gold craftsmanship in the form of a beautiful card.

His hand shakes slightly as he reaches out for you to take the concealed letter, finding no ill intent from the boy, you fearlessly accept. Once in your hand does he finally begin his explanation, “I come to ask the Princess Y/N of Alkatraz and the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia, if they will accept this invitation to the King and Queen’s eldest son’s banquet as special guests of honor.”

Oh, now things have just gotten very intriguing.

Not positive on how to correctly respond to this large proposition, the young elven messenger nods, “My adversaries had been made aware of you two by a bard named Jaskier who is thought of warmly in this kingdom, then it appeared that the eldest prince became very interested in meeting a lady dhampir and a Witcher of Kaer Morhen.” 

Oh, Jaskier you motherfucker.

Smiling politely, Vesemyr watches with wide foresty eyes when he catches sight of your fangs, noticing his apparent change of demeanor, your face falls, “Uh, well, thank you for the message and this invitation? We’ll see to it soon, and without a doubt report back accordingly sometime tomorrow.”

“The banquet is in two days.”

“Is it now?” You reply in a knowing tone, your brows raising, “Good to know, now if you’ll excuse us...the hour is late and you’d better get to wherever you’ve come from before it gets any colder outside.” And with that said do you flash him a wink before slamming the door into his scared little face and high end attire without a second thought.

Looking down at the strange yet exquisite invitation placed in your hand, you turn it over and find the golden waxes seal of a house sigil. “Y/N come to bed, I think I’d like to have a look at whatever fuckery Jaskier has roped us into.”

Raising your attention back up to the naked man seated casually against the headboard, you smile, making swift steps to the mattress before launching yourself next to his side causing the bed to shift and creak at your jostling movement. Instead of finding his annoyed expression, you’re fortunately greeted with an arm pulling you flush against his side.

With the two of you wrapped up in the white bedsheets, leaning comfortably on one another does Geralt slowly take the parchment from out of your hand. He holds the letter up, studying it’s beauty in the side table’s candle light as you rest your head on his shoulder with one arm slung over his muscular waist.

His breaths are slow and calm, the rise and fall of his chest gently pushing you up and then back down again only ever so slightly while your Witcher carefully observes the golden wax of the houses sigil. “A stag, with a crown of leaves....should we open it?” Muses Geralt, fully aware of how much you want to see what’s inside.

Geralt I swear to god.

Gently giving his waist a loving squeeze, you nod, “If you’d be so kind.” Humming in reply, Geralt makes quick work of the letter, soon its cut open and pulled out for your eyes to witness its ink marked contents.

“Fuck.” Mutters Geralt dismally, “Guess that kid wasn’t fucking with us.”

“And I guess we’re going to a party.” You exclaim, much more excitement flowing through your voice then what Geralt could ever give.

He quickly turns his head down to you, “Y/N no. I don’t give a shit if this prince wants to speak with us, I have no interest in becoming involved in something like that.”

You lightly chuckle at his less then stellar mood before turning your face to press a chaste kiss to his bare shoulder, he sighs, meeting your crimson gaze once again, “Think of it, free drink and food, and this prince wants to see us....we’re practically the guests of honor and I cannot wait to see Jaskier tomorrow cause I’m gonna slap him for it...then I’ll thank him.”

“Ugh, fine.” Begrudgingly mutters Geralt as you press your lips to his.

-

Maybe a part 2 later on, idk we’ll see. Hope you enjoyed this :)

Tagged for series:  @seninjakitey​  @notahappytree​ @ashleyforeverareject​ @sokkasdarling​ @kmuir1​​@haleypearce @diegos-butt​ (@auds24 sorry idk why ur name won’t work) @a-girl-who-loves-disney

[jaskierswolf]

The Love We Have

Part 2/5 - AO3 - Previous - next

Summary: Kaer Morhen has an old tradition in order to keep the witchers safe after the siege. Only witchers and their partners are allowed in the keep but Geralt is tired of parting with Jaskier over the winter so decides to invite him to Kaer Morhen… only he forgets to mention one tiny little detail.

Ship: Geraskier

Rating: T

Warnings: None?? Maybe… I’ll add them later if I remember any.

_______

They’d reached Kaer Morhen by dinner. The keep was… not as impressive as Jaskier had imagined. Deep down he’d known that the home of the wolf witchers had been severely damaged long before Jaskier had taken his first breath, but in his head he’d always imagined a beautiful awe inspiring castle that rose from the mountains and dominated the horizon.

It was barely more than a ruin.

A very pretty ruin, one that Jaskier would normally find absolutely fascinating from an academic perspective, but… he was supposed to be living here during the harsh cold winter.

Perhaps this really had been a bad idea.

He swallowed, debating hiding behind Geralt as they entered the keep, but there was a reason that he’d become a bard instead of inheriting his noble title. If there was one thing Jaskier could do, it was perform. He took a deep breath and plastered a blinding smile onto his face. It was time to act. He laced his fingers with Geralt’s and flashed his witcher a wink before pulling him through the big heavy wooden gates. Another silver-haired witcher grunted as Jaskier flew past him.

“We made it!” he cried with false cheer, spinning both him and Geralt round in a circle. The witcher thankfully loosened his grip on Roach’s reins and she trotted off towards the stable. “I can’t believe we finally made it, oh darling it’s beautiful.”

Geralt’s flushed, a pretty pink that was stark against his pale skin. “Jask,” he groaned but let himself be pulled around, much to Jaskier’s delight.

The other witcher cleared his throat and Jaskier ground to halt, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s waist and pressing his face into his chest with a giggle. “My deepest apologies!” he exclaimed, pulling away from Geralt but keeping an iron tight grip on Geralt’s hand as he bowed deeply. “I am Jaskier, Geralt’s partner.”

He gave the witcher a charming smile and winked as he extended his hand. “It’s good to meet you.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled, as the other witcher stoically ignored his greeting. “Stop flirting.”

Jaskier pouted, but sighed and curled back up into Geralt’s side, taking advantage of the heat. If he didn’t know better, he would have said that Geralt had been blessed by fire nymphs. It would explain the smokey musk that followed Geralt everywhere, even when they hadn’t been near a campfire in days.

“Geralt, what is this?” the other witcher grumbled, his arms crossed in front of his chest, his face clear in its stony disapproval.

“Jaskier, my bard, partner,” Geralt muttered. “He’s staying with us this winter. Jaskier, this is Vesemir.”

“Hi,” Jaskier said with an awkward wave.

“Take him to your room and then come down to the library.”

Vesemir walked away before either of them could argue. Jaskier let out a low whistle. “Well, shit. That didn’t go so well.”

“He’s just protective,” Geralt insisted, squeezing Jaskier’s hand.

Jaskier looked down at their linked fingers, surprised that they were still together. As far as Jaskier could tell, Vesemir was the only witcher at the keep, and thus the only one they had to convince for now. There was no need for Geralt to keep hold of his hand… and yet, here they were.

“I just want them to like me,” Jaskier sighed.

“They will.”

Jaskier scoffed. “Darling,” the pet name rolling off his tongue without thought, “It took you years to warm up to me.”

“That’s not true,” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Yes, it is!” he said as he poked Geralt in the chest.

Geralt hummed and stalked away, pulling Jaskier with him as if he’d completely forgotten they were even holding hands. Jaskier yelped and tripped over his own feet, gripping onto Geralt’s arm to steady himself. It was going to be an interesting winter indeed.

_____________

Geralt’s room was very lovely. He had a large double bed pressed up to the one wall. It was covered in furs of varying types, mostly wolf fur by the feel of it. There was also a large heavy rug in front of the fireplace that was blazing. As a result, the room was actually warm, almost too warm after the numbing cold of the mountain. There was a warm scent of lavender in the room that Jaskier hadn’t expected. It was a scent he enjoyed himself and he frequently chose perfumes and oils that were lavender based if the coin allowed. He found a small incense on the windowsill, the source of the smell. He inhaled deeply and smiled. Whilst Geralt was away he could imagine that the witcher had chosen this particular scent to keep Jaskier with him over their months, sometimes even years, apart.

It was nonsense, nothing but a dream, but it warmed Jaskier’s heart nonetheless. He flopped down onto the bed, exhausted in both mind and body. It was larger than the ones they’d had to share at the inns on the road. He was strangely grateful for that. It meant he’d be able to put at least some distance between him and Geralt. He would need that if he were to survive the winter. He rolled onto his front and pulled his lute case from off the floor. Once his precious instrument was safely unpacked and in his hands, he rolled back, staring up at the ceiling as he plucked tunelessly at the strings.

The cold had ruined the tuning just like he’d suspected it would. It was hard enough to keep the damned instrument in tune without the sudden changes in temperature, but at least it gave him something to focus on. He closed his eyes and fiddled with the pegs one by one, plucking at the strings with possibly more force than necessary, until his darling instrument was once again the envy of all the Continent.

He sighed dramatically and began to pull a heart wrenching melody from his baby. It had no words yet, but the message was clear to even an untrained ear. It was melancholic, full of longing, heartache… and lust.

He hadn’t even noticed he was crying until a sob tore from his throat. He cradled his lute to his chest and let the tears flood down his cheeks. He wasn’t even entirely sure why he was crying. Perhaps the whole journey up the mountain had just been a bit much for him. Physically he was completely exhausted. He wasn’t sure his toes would ever recover from the cold and even though they’d taken it slowly, the mountain path was called The Killer for a reason. It would have been hard enough even without the emotional toil that had accompanied it.

The hand on his shoulder startled him out of his thoughts. He gasped and shuffled until his back hit the headboard. It took him a moment to notice the soft yellow eyes looking down at him.

“Ah, Geralt,” he greeted with as much cheer in his voice as he could muster.

“You’re crying,” Geralt whispered, behaving uncharacteristically soft for the witcher. Jaskier bit back a groan of confusion at the concern lying in those familiar amber eyes. His heart was too fragile right now for this emotional whiplash and Geralt’s odd behaviour was opposite of what he needed at the moment.

“Just tired,” he muttered, wiping the tears from his face.

Geralt carefully took the lute from his hands and returned it to its case. Jaskier felt an urge to hug Geralt and never let go. No one had even treated Jaskier or his belongings with such tenderness. Gods, he was a mess. He was almost crying again because Geralt had touched his lute and didn’t break it.

“You’ll feel better after some food and then we can come back upstairs. Vesemir won’t be expecting our company this evening. We won’t have to pretend.”

Jaskier chewed his bottom lip to stop himself from blurting out that it wouldn’t be a pretence. That would be far too dramatic even for his tastes. Instead he nodded and let Geralt pull him from the bed. Of course, being the disaster that he was, he tripped and practically fell into the witcher’s arms. Geralt caught him but Jaskier hadn’t expected to be so close to the witcher. It felt like all the air had been sucked from the room as he glanced up at Geralt. Well… more across. Geralt really wasn’t that much taller than him despite his fearsome appearance.

They were close.

Too close.

Jaskier could feel the tickle of Geralt’s breath on his lips, that smokey musk mixed with leather and oil washing over him. He licked his lips, speechless for possibly only the fifth time in his entire life. For a moment he thought he saw Geralt’s eyes flicker down to his lips, but that couldn’t be right. That would just be an illusion, wishful thinking. He cleared his throat and patted Geralt on the shoulder.

“Alrighty! Thank you, Geralt,” he stammered and pushed away.

Gods, when had things become so difficult. They’d been friends for years and Jaskier had never been afraid of physical contact with Geralt before. Why couldn’t he just relax, be himself? He was going to ruin everything. Vesemir would never believe their performance if he kept acting like a scared rat, and Geralt would likely start becoming suspicious if he didn’t get a grip soon.

“I’m sorry.”

Jaskier’s eyes flashed up in surprise. Of all the reactions he’d expected from Geralt, an apology hadn’t been on the list. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You’re scared of me.”

Jaskier gaped, opening his mouth and closing it several times before letting out a long sigh. “No, I’m not.”

Geralt snorted. “I can smell it, Jaskier. There’s no point in lying to me.”

Jaskier swallowed. “And what else can your witcher senses pick up?” he asked. Okay, so maybe he was a little afraid, but not for the reasons that Geralt would think. If Geralt could smell fear, then it was only natural that he could smell other emotions, love for one, lust for another. Oh gods, how many times had Jaskier come back to camp after a moment alone to himself? He’d never even considered that Geralt could smell it on him.

“On you?”

“Yes.”

“Now?”

“Not necessarily.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier would praise all the gods if he never had to hear that again. For once, he would just like Geralt to use his damn words! He was tired of trying to translate all the bloody grunts. Whilst he was unusually proficient in it, he was also a troubadour, a poet, a wordsmith. He took a deep breath, ready to give Geralt a piece of his mind when Geralt cut him off, pressing his palm to Jaskier’s lips. He huffed and glared at the witcher.

“Let me think, Jaskier,” Geralt said softly. Jaskier rolled his eyes and did the only rational thing he could think of. He licked Geralt. The witcher snarled and pulled his hand away. “Urgh!”

Jaskier cackled and put his hands on his hips. “Serves you right, darling.”

Geralt growled and shoved Jaskier lightly in the chest so he fell back onto the bed. “You stink of many things, bard.”

“Oh?”

“Lust mostly, bloody hell I’ve never known anyone to reek of arousal every fucking hour of the day,” Geralt grumbled but there was a fondness in his voice. Jaskier felt himself blush at the witcher’s words. He didn’t mention that his arousal around Geralt didn’t necessarily equate to feeling it all the time. That was a fun little fact for another time, possibly never. One to write into his songs perhaps. “and then something… sweeter.”

“Sweeter?” Jaskier asked, his heart beating faster than any percussion at Oxenfurt. There was still time to run right… maybe the trek down the mountain wouldn’t be as hard as the journey up.

“Not sure what it is,” Geralt admitted and Jaskier let out a sigh of relief.

Oh.

Jaskier’s relief didn’t last long at all. Geralt didn’t know what it was… because he’d never experienced it. Didn’t have the knowledge to put a name to it. He knew fear, and lust… probably anger too.

But he didn’t know love.

Jaskier wanted to kiss him. He wanted to worship him. He wanted Geralt to know how much he was loved, adored, but he was a coward; a fucking coward.

“Ah, right, well… I have no idea what that could be. New perfume perhaps?”

“Hmm,” Geralt answered, not sounding very convinced and Jaskier didn’t blame him.

“Shall we go?” Jaskier asked quickly, changing the subject before Geralt could press. “I am starving!”

Geralt led him through the stone corridors of Kaer Morhen, occasionally pointing out rooms that Jaskier might need to be able to find. He learnt that they were expecting two more witchers for the winter; Geralt’s family, Eskel and Lambert. He’d heard rumours that Lambert had made a friend on the road but, like Jaskier, he wouldn’t be allowed to winter with them unless they were in a relationship.

Jaskier scoffed haughtily. “You do realise that that is a stupid rule, right?”

“It protects us.”

“And you need protection from your friends? Is romance really that much stronger than friendship?” Jaskier muttered. It was bullshit, but he was a little smug that Geralt was prepared to break the rules for him.

Their friendship meant more to the witcher than he’d realised.

“Geralt, bard,” Vesemir greeted with a grunt, gesturing to the bowls of stew that didn’t look too dissimilar to the bowls of food that Geralt pulled together on the road. Jaskier was grateful for his years of acting training at Oxenfurt, because otherwise he would have pulled a terrible face that would have only offended Geralt’s father figure.

Instead, he swiped up his spoon with a cheerful smile and slid into the bench. Geralt silently moved to sit next to him and Jaskier, taking advantage of their situation, pressed a little closer than he would normally dare. Their thighs touched under the table and Jaskier felt a blush creep up on his face. He hooked his foot around Geralt’s, ignoring the startled look he received.

“Good evening,” Jaskier greeted with faux cheer “Oh this. This smells delicious, I can certainly see where Geralt’s gets his culinary skills from.”

Geralt almost choked on his food. Whilst Jaskier’s words sounded like a compliment, they both knew how much Jaskier had complained about Geralt’s cooking over the years. In fact, Jaskier had taken to bringing his own seasoning and herbs on their travels. Anything to save him from the bland never-ending stews of the road.

Vesemir smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Geralt has the culinary skills of a queen, bard.”

Jaskier flushed; rumbled. “Ah well, it does look rather similar.”

“Don’t judge a book by its cover.”

Jaskier dropped his head, feeling sufficiently shamed. Only he would accidentally insult their hosts on the first days whilst trying to make a quick-witted joke at Geralt’s expense.

“Sorry,” he mumbled and ate a spoonful of his soup. The flavours exploded in his mouth and he moaned around his spoon. “Oh, dearest Melitele, this is good! My sincerest apologies, Vesemir. Lesson learnt.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier pressed his lips together to stop himself from laughing. Whilst their cooking skills were vastly different, Geralt and Vesemir’s conversational skills were apparently not so far apart.

“Oh, you have got to tell me how you made this, it’s bloody delicious! Not even the finest banquets in all the Continent can hold a candle to—”

“That’s enough now, bard,” Vesemir growled but there was mirth in his eyes.

Jaskier nodded and went back to his soup. Dinner was a quiet affair. Vesemir asked Geralt a few questions about life on the path, mostly professional curiosity from one witcher to another. Geralt’s answers were monosyllabic and boring, hardly a story to tell. Jaskier vowed to retell their adventures to the Kaer Morhen witchers over the winter. He would do them justice, and contrary to what Geralt thinks of his ballads, he would even tell the truth. They only needed a minor embellishment here and there. The winter would hopefully give him plenty of time to work on a new set. The time he’d normally spend teaching could be spent creating masterpieces, the likes of which the Continent had never seen before.

“Well, this has been very lovely, I thank you once again, my dear Vesemir, for the exquisite dining, but it’s been a long day and we really should be getting to sleep,” Jaskier announced with a flourish, giving Geralt a wink.

“Just remember, bard, that witchers have better hearing than you can even imagine,” Vesemir said with possibly the best poker face that Jaskier had ever seen. It was only the slight twinkle in his ancient eyes that gave away the joke.

Jaskier laughed and pressed his lips to Geralt’s cheek. “We’ll be sure to remember that, thank you.”

_________________

By the time they got back up to Geralt’s—no, their room—Jaskier was panicking. It had been an innocent joke on Vesemir’s part, a warning that privacy was not something they could expect. It was possibly even a plea to keep any sexual activities as quiet as possible and at reasonable hours of the day.

But…

Jaskier was panicking.

“Geralt?” he asked as he paced around the room.

Geralt was busy stripping off and getting ready for bed. Normally Jaskier would try to peek little glances, but he was too anxious. He didn’t have the luxury of ogling Geralt at that moment. They had a problem.

“Hmm?”

“Geralt, we have a problem.”

Geralt snorted. “We always have a problem, Jaskier, and normally you’re the one causing it.”

Jaskier gaped, his hands flying to his hips in a display of outrage. “Geralt! That is just rude! Mister-Let’s-Call-The-Law-of-Surprise-Even-After-We’ve-Just-Seen-How-Bad-It-Can-Be. You are rude and grumpy, and I don’t know why I’m friends with you.”

Geralt turned, giving Jaskier a rather lovely view of his bare torso, and raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t have been there at all if you could keep your dick in your pants.”

“Oh ho ho! No, no, no. You are not blaming that one on me.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Focus, Jask.”

Focus…

“Oh bollocks, yes, yes. Focus! Where was I?”

“You have a problem?” Geralt reminded him gently.

“We have a problem, darling. Witcher hearing,” he announced, his arms wide.

Geralt just stared at him blankly.

“They’ll know if we don’t… you know?” Jaskier hissed, but Vesemir’s words still rang in his head.

“So?”

“Oh come on, Geralt. That’s just not realistic! I assume you have at least mentioned me in passing over the years and the umm… well the trouble my umm… my habits can cause.”

“Fuck.”

“Precisely!”

[wherethewordsare]

Right Where You Left Me

Real quick. Two things. Thank you @kuripon for being just an absolute gem and beta reading this for me. I’m sorry for all of my yelling. You’re an actual factual life saver.

SECONDLY!! Some Content Warnings upfront: Post Mountain, Post Torture, Near Death Experiences, Descriptions of Injury (though not graphic.) and some mild drugging. Just... Jaskier Wump ahead. Happy ending though, I swear. 

Jaskier felt it in his bones, the way his body was starting to give out. He knew it wouldn’t be long now. They had been zealous in his interrogations, all of them. He huddled in the corner of his cell and took a deep breath, wincing at how it pressed against his broken ribs. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of breaking him, not mentally at least. Bodily however, he knew he didn’t have much left to give. 

They had pulled him off the road to Oxenfurt as he was returning from the dragon hunt. Though he was still broken-hearted and angry, he still wouldn’t give them what they wanted. Maybe it was because he didn’t want to be responsible for one more heap of shit shoveled in Geralt’s life, maybe it was because despite the way his heart broke, he would still remain loyal to that bastard. 

He coughed, his body shaking, and he knew that the next time they came to collect him for the information he would not give, they would only find his body but Jaskier would be well far away from this hell. At least he thought so.

Large hands gripped him and hauled him up and when his feet did not find purchase on their own, he was scooped up and carried. He might have heard a small huff and a hum that sounded familiar but he had been hearing that everywhere recently. His eyes had been swollen shut for the past day and what he could see was merely a blurry collection of lines.

Jaskier ached and he was so tired and there was a sickening feeling like the world had turned the wrong way for a moment. Still the guard held him, silent as he was carried. Jaskier was determined not to go out without at least a few biting remarks but his mind was so muddled and his throat had been screamed raw weeks ago. 

“You’ll never find him,” he wheezed, choking on the words as the figure laid him down on- 

Jaskier knew he must have finally snapped. The surface under him was soft and there was a blanket, warm and clean being pulled over him. 

“He’s worse than I’d have imagined,” said a voice he couldn’t quite place, a woman’s voice that made something old and familiar turn in his gut. 

“He’ll make it. Jaskier’s always been a stubborn shit,” came another voice, gruff and also familiar. His chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with his injuries and he didn’t have time to really think about it before he was slipping into darkness. 

~

Jaskier woke slowly, his mind fighting back against the hazy sleep that kept pulling him down time and time again as he slowly realized his body was healing. It still hurt, but the pain wasn’t as deep. There was something warm pressed against his face, gently rubbing against his cheeks and forehead and a soft humming. He wanted to turn into the presence and cling to the comfort that washed over him. 

The cloth pulled away from his face and he knew the whimpering he had heard was his own as he tried to chase the feeling again. A large warm hand cupped his cheek, calloused fingers grazing against his jaw. He could weep with how good it felt after months upon months of that dungeon and those guards and their mages. 

“Can you hear me, Jask?” someone murmured only inches from him. Jaskier could feel the tips of his hair brush against his neck. “Jask, you have to wake up.” His voice sounded tight and wounded. “I’m-” Geralt made a hurt noise as a thumb brushed his temple. 

“Hmm, G-rlt?” He turned his face into the palm that held him, sighing as though it had been the balm to all his aches. The hollow pang of loss in his chest flared again as he slowly gained his bearings. Oh, this wasn’t a dream but a nightmare. Geralt, the Geralt he knew wouldn’t touch him like this, wouldn’t be this soft. The Geralt he knew, the one that had thrown those words at him on the mountain, wouldn’t care about him now, not like this. 

Tears came unbidden. He had been so careful not to let the guards of Nilfgaard see him break but some tricks were far too cruel not to hit their mark. He tried to pull away from the hand, fighting every fiber of himself that wanted it to be real, needed it to mean he was safe. He sobbed as his heart finally cracked open. 

“Jaskier, no. No no, you’re-” Firm hands lifted him up gently by the shoulders and he felt his head rest against a broad chest as he was being cradled. The feeling turned his stomach and he struggled to pull away. 

“You might need to axii him,” came another male voice from somewhere beyond Jaskier’s senses and the chest under his head expanded with a sigh. 

“I don’t want to make it feel like I tricked him, I need him to believe it’s real,” Geralt said from above him, those calloused fingers now sliding into his hair. 

“Geralt, he’s not with it yet. Just let him sleep a little longer,” said the voice. This one he didn’t recognize. 

Jaskier tried to thrash, to pull away. He wanted to fight this but he had no more fight in him to give. The man above him sighed again, almost sadly and Jaskier felt a twinge of magic against his scalp. By his cheek, a round metal piece seemed to hum for a moment and then there was darkness again. 

~ 

The next time Jaskier woke, he was alone in a large room, cocooned in a pile of furs and pillows. The room was bright and outside the window, a craggy landscape stretched as far as he could see. It smelled of pine and clean air and the very tail end of summer. 

“You’re awake, bard.” A man walked in, carrying a tray with what looked like a bowl and two cups, steam rising from all of them. 

“Where am I?” Jaskier croaked, wincing at how his words scraped against his throat. He knew he wouldn’t be singing again any time soon. 

“Welcome to Kaer Morhen, home of the witcher keep and the school of the wolf,” he gave a smile that tugged at the scars that ran along the one side of his face though he had let his hair fall in a way that looked like it was meant to hide them. 

“You’re a witcher?” Jaskier found himself leaning away slightly, not trusting his own eyes. 

“Last time I checked, yes. Eskel. It’s good to finally meet Geralt’s bard,” Eskel set the tray down on the edge of the bed and backed away to give Jaskier room. He sat in a dusty arm chair in the corner, fishing a book from his pocket. 

“I’m not Geralt’s anything,” Jaskier said automatically. It had been what he had told Nilfgaard, again and again and again, even as they continued to break his bones and burn his skin and invade his mind. “Geralt isn’t anything to me,” he added, swallowing around the taste of ash in his mouth. 

“Eat, then we’ll talk,” Eskel only gave him a small smile and turned back to his book. 

Jaskier looked down at the tray. One cup remained and the bowl, a broth with onions and small bits of root vegetable floating in it. Jaskier immediately recognized it as the same soup Geralt had made when he had caught a fever a few years back. He picked up the tea, foregoing the broth for the moment, not ready to swallow those memories just yet. 

It occurred to him that all of this may have been some kind of trick. He had never met Geralt’s brothers in arms, he had never been to Kaer Morhen. Maybe they thought he had and they were waiting for him to mess up. But there was nothing to mess up any further. 

Eskel lifted the other cup of tea that Jaskier hadn’t seen him take, sipping slowly as he disappeared into his book. “Broth too, bard.” It felt like a gentle chide, though he glanced up with an easy smile. 

“Are all witchers this bossy?” Jaskier grumbled as he lifted the bowl to his lips, sipping. It turned out to be nothing like the broth Geralt had made him, this was so much better. The moment the liquid touched his lips, he realized he was famished. He made only a small attempt to go slow at first before simply tilting the bowl back to drink it down. It burned his throat but it warmed his limbs with a deep kind of comfort. 

When the bowl was empty, Jaskier leaned back against the headboard, cup of tea in hand. He let the quiet stretch between them for a few moments, Eskel still in his book, Jaskiser in his thoughts. 

“Now, let’s start with the easy stuff,” Eskel set his book aside but made no move to stand or come near Jaskier. “We heard Nilfgaard had you about six months back. We finally managed to get you out four weeks ago. You were not in good shape but you’re doing better now.” 

It had just frosted when he was taken from the road, Jaskier thinks. Now it looked to be the end of summer. He had been captive for almost a year. He took a sip of his tea and nodded. 

“So this isn’t a trick?” He said flatly, curling his toes to test his minimal strength. They ached with the rest of him. 

“No. We understand that you’re going to take some time to trust that, but we’re not going to rush you. Anything you want to know, we’ll answer to the best of our ability and you are, of course, welcome to stay here,” Eskel looked down then, scuffing his boots along the floor boards. He seemed to be trying to word his next statement carefully. 

“You’re asking that I choose to stay peacefully. I’m not a captive, but leaving isn’t a good option,�� Jaskier bit out. The tea and broth and rest had rekindled a fire in his gut that Nilfgaard hadn’t quite managed to bank and he felt like he was burning with it. 

“Just for now, till we know it’s going to be safe for you,” Eskel shot back. He rubbed his hands on his thighs. 

“Safe for Geralt and his child surprise you mean. I’ve seen your hidden fortress and am now a liability,” He knew it to be true but it didn’t take the sting out any more. 

“Jaskier, that’s not fair. Geralt-” Eskel clicked his mouth shut quickly. 

“Oh no, no no, go on. Tell me what that asshole said, hmm? Did he mention that he threw me aside? Is that why you’re worried I’ll turn him in so quickly? They had me for three seasons and the most I gave them was trouble,” Jaskier shook, suddenly exhausted. He found that he struggled to keep his eyes opened and he looked back down at the bowl of soup. “At least you had the decency not to axii me this time,” he spat. 

Darkness took him again, but before it did he heard another voice from the door, “I’m sorry, Jask.” 

~

He was alone the next time he came to, though he hadn’t been moved to any kind of dungeon which was a relief. His chest tightened at the thought of going from being the prisoner of an army to the prisoner of someone he had once considered his friend. 

He stood slowly, letting his weight shift gently onto the balls of his feet as he made to get up. He nearly collapsed again, grunting at the way his muscles refused to hold him. He scolded himself for not having seen it coming. He couldn’t remember the last time he stood, let alone walked under his own volition. 

Jaskier took a deep breath as he let his fingers pry gently along his healing body. He found that the worse of the damage had been healed though he still ached and he was certain he would have to rebuild his strength again. It would take time, time that he probably had now that he was a resident of circumstance in Kaer Morhen. All those years he had wished of coming here and how he longed to be anywhere else. 

He dropped his head into his hands, groaning. He had just wanted to go home and forget the war and the witcher and the mountain. 

The tap on the door made him jump but when he looked up, Geralt was standing there. He was without his armor, his hair pulled back, and his arms crossed over his chest. Geralt frowned at him, his brows knitted together. 

“Jaskier,” he started then stopped again, his jaw clicking shut as he shifted. He didn’t budge from the door, only looked out the window as he took a deep breath. 

“I won’t fight. If you want me to stay, I’ll stay. I-” It was Jaskier’s turn to look away. He hadn’t had much time to consider just how he might have made it out of a heavily guarded Nilfgaardian fort alive but with Geralt standing there looking all the world like a man put out by one underfoot bard, it wasn’t hard to put the pieces together. “You didn’t have to come rescue me. I would have-” he swallowed around his next words. I would have still protected you with my last breath, Geralt. “Thank you, anyway.” 

Geralt rubbed his face and took a hesitant step forward before retreating back to the door again. “Jaskier, why?” There was something wrong with Geralt’s voice, like it had been rubbed and frayed. 

“Why? Why am I staying? Because I don’t really have much choice, do I? Apparently I’m not done healing, and now I know where you and your child surprise are hiding, I’m a liability, aren’t I?” He let his hands fall into his lap in defeat. 

“I don’t want you to stay,” Geralt said quickly, his hands coming up in surrender. He looked up for a moment and shook his head before he opened his mouth again. 

Jaskier felt like his heart had finally snapped. “Right, well. Now that we have that settled, I’ll just give myself enough time to get up to snuff and then I will be on my way, shall I? Should have known you didn’t want me here.” He sounded wounded, even to his own ears. “Don’t understand why you went through all that trouble to rescue me if,” Jaskier tilted his head back and squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tears there to not fall. They did anyway. 

“I didn’t mean to shovel more shit, Geralt. I don’t know why you didn’t just let me die in there doing the one thing I’ve always tried to do,” he looked at Geralt then, wincing, “try to make your life a little easier.” 

“I don’t want you to stay if you don’t want to,” Geralt said softly. He took a hesitant step forward as though Jaskier had the strength to cause any real damage to anyone other than himself. “You didn’t give me up, even after the way I… after the hunt,” Geralt rubbed his face. “I just don’t understand why you did it, why you wouldn’t tell them even as they…” His words trailed off and they both seemed surprised to find that he had knelt down beside Jaskier, his hands wrapping around one of Jaskier’s. “Why did you do that, Jaskier?”

“You’re a fucking fool,” Jaskier spat. “Because I love you. Because I’ve loved you for nearly twenty years and even after you tore my heart out, I couldn’t bring myself to give you over,” Jaskier cried. He could feel Geralt fighting down a flinch where their fingers met and a small part of him was pleased. He was shaking, his mouth impossibly dry as he pressed his free hand to his eyes. “Geralt, how did I get here?” 

Geralt moved to sit beside him on the bed, not letting go of his hand, his eyes never quite meeting Jaskier’s. He was getting his words together, Jaskier knew and he gave him the time. 

“We had heard they had a travel companion of a witcher. There are… very few of those who exist, let alone one Nilfgaard would be interested in. When we sprang Yennefer, she confirmed that she had heard you had been taken prisoner too,” Geralt gave a small smile then. “She had heard that you would just sing to them, all of your songs instead of giving them information.” He sounded almost proud as he said it, but then his face fell. 

Jaskier sat in stunned silence, trying to pay attention to Geralt’s words as he seemed to hyperfocus on the warmth of his hands around his own. Slowly, he withdrew his hand, trying to make sense of what was happening. Either his confession was going to be left unacknowledged or Geralt was working up to let him down easily for once. He had to beat him to the punch for once. 

“I’ll get my strength back and then I’ll be out of your hair. I don’t want to cause you any more trouble. I’ll lay low, maybe head to Creyden or somewhere out of the way.” He clasped his hands together, pressing where his skin was still warm from Geralt’s touch. Twenty years of wanting stuck in his throat. Then he thought of the mountain and swallowed them down again. He had always been good at that. 

“You don’t have to leave here, Jaskier. You’ll be safe,” Geralt said, tilting his head down slightly to meet Jaskier’s eyes. 

“I’d be in the way,” Jaskier reasoned. 

“You…” Geralt sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly. “No, Jask, you wouldn’t. But I don’t want you to feel like you’re trapped here. Just… Give me some time?” Geralt winced as he looked back at Jaskier. 

“What am I doing here, Geralt? I don’t want to be kept around just to absolve you of some guilt you’re carrying,” Jaskier asked again. 

Geralt made a low noise, somewhere between wounded and relieved. “I shouldn’t have yelled, it’s true, and it’s my fault they took you in the first place. But I brought you here, because this is where I wanted you, where I thought I could keep you safe.” His jaw worked for a moment as he chose his next words carefully, though he seemed stuck.

“I don’t get it. Help me understand, Geralt. I didn’t even think you cared,” Jaskier frowned, his fingers fidgeting. 

Geralt looked up at him and his eyes had gone soft around the edges. “I’m a fucking fool.” His hand came up and cupped Jaskier’s cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears Jaskier could no longer hold back. He couldn’t help but lean into the touch, his stomach swooping. “I love you, I’ve loved you for… far longer than I was willing to admit.”

Jaskier gave a soft laugh, trying to cover his sob. “What the fuck do you witchers put in your soup?”  

Geralt went still for a moment before he snorted, ducking his head. “It’s the onion.”

Jaskier gasped as he pulled away from Geralt dramatically. He only just managed not to start cackling. “I knew this was a trap! The Geralt I knew would never-” a pillow hit him in the face, knocking him back. He grinned madly from where he had landed only for it to be lost into a yawn. He hadn’t realized how taxing the conversation had been. 

Geralt stood, leaning over to adjust Jaskier’s bedding. “Rest, bard. You’ve still got healing to do and we have a lot to talk about.” He hesitated for a moment before leaning down, pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s temple. “I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

Jaskier let himself settle into the bed again as he watched Geralt leave the room. He felt it in his bones, the way his body melted into the furs around him. He’d be on his feet in no time and he was free to follow them wherever they took him, though he knew he’d still happily follow Geralt anywhere he went.

[alittlebitmaybe]

i’ll stay warm

for @sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo​!

Prompt: ice skating

Relationship: Geraskier

Rating: G (with very mild language and a tiny bit of blood)

Warnings: None

Other Tags: Fluff, Companionable Snark, Already Dating But Too Dumb To Notice, First Kiss

“Let me get this straight,” Geralt says.

Jaskier waves him on.

“You’re going to tie those—,” he gestures to the slim planks of iron on Jaskier’s kitchen table that have leather cords threaded through holes bored into either end, “—to your shoes, and you’re going to go down to the river and stand on it.”

Jaskier, unperturbed, says brightly, “Uh-huh!”

Read more on ao3 or below the cut!

“Let me get this straight,” Geralt says.

Jaskier waves him on.

“You’re going to tie those—,” he gestures to the slim planks of iron on Jaskier’s kitchen table that have leather cords threaded through holes bored into either end, “—to your shoes, and you’re going to go down to the river and stand on it.”

Jaskier, unperturbed, says brightly, “Uh-huh!”

Geralt says, “Why?”

“Because Priscilla asked me along, and it’s good fun, and you can do all sorts of loop-de-loops and swirlies and spinnies and whozits and, uh, whatzits. I dunno, Pris knows all the tricks, I never got the hang of it. But, Geralt, people have been doing this in Oxenfurt for years. It’s the only way fashionable and exciting persons such as I pass the winter these days, gliding as an angel over the ice, cheeks chapped fetchingly pink, you know, it’s all very attractive, one may say winsome—”

“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” Geralt crosses his arms over his chest as he leans back in the small chair and tucks his shoulders in. He takes up too much space in Jaskier’s quarters, and already he rues the day he agreed, in a fit of insanity, to pass the season in the city instead of trekking up to Kaer Morhen as usual. “You’re going to die.”

Jaskier hacks a laugh into his steaming mug and nearly spills tea all down his robed front.

“Nonsense!” he cries, once he has recovered himself. “We go every year once the freeze is hard enough, me and Pris and all my many other dazzling friends, which I absolutely have.”

“And if Priscilla told you it was fashionably good fun to walk yourself off a cliff…”

“I’d do it, obviously,” says Jaskier, not missing a beat. “Haven’t you ever had to cross a frozen river on your travels, Witcher? How’d you go about it then, if not on skates?”

Geralt levels him an incredulous look. “How would I get a horse across a frozen river?” he asks, and Jaskier frowns in thought as he takes another sip.

“I mean, you could just—,” he mimes pushing outward with one palm, “—give ‘er a good shove and see how far she gets.”

“Could give you a good shove. Bet you wouldn’t make it far.”

“I’ll have you know, I have the grace of a, a, er…elk? Are elk graceful?”

Geralt nods and says seriously, “Especially the newborns.”

“There you have it. Graceful as a tiny baby elk with those on my feet, I am.”

“Maybe you should wear them all the time.”

“What good would that…” he starts, and then comes, “Hey. Rude. Remind me why I wanted you here?”

Geralt grins and shrugs. His own mug is on the small table, and he sniffs the steam coming off of it. Floral. He takes a sip. Carefully does not spit it back out. Sets the mug back down farther away.

When he has successfully resisted the urge to spit on the floor to clear out his mouth and looks back up, Jaskier is still holding his own mug gently in the curl of his long fingers, and a lock of rumpled hair has fallen into his eyes. His robe hangs open at his collarbone, down the line of his chest. He wears a strange expression that lies between the exasperation Geralt expected and something startlingly softer.

“So you’ll come with us,” he states.

“Someone has to take your body back to your mother when you break your neck,” Geralt says.

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “You jest, but Mum would be thrilled to see you. Likes you better than me, I think. Her only son! But you’ll come, eh?”

Geralt ducks his head quickly to hide the smile creeping across his face, grabbing his boots and yanking at the laces before acquiescing, “Yeah, I’ll come.”

“There now,” Jaskier says, appeased, “that wasn’t so hard, was it.” He knocks back the dregs of his tea, then stands and pads to the sink, talking on. “You should’ve known I wouldn’t let you stay cooped up in here all winter. I’ll have to see if I can dig out my spare pair of skates, they’re older—animal bone, not iron—but they might be big enough for your witcher feet, and it really works just as well. Or maybe Pris knows someone…I even heard they’re renting the things out down at the river now. Industrious, isn’t it, the ways people come up with to make some coin?…”

Geralt half-listens as he ties neat knots, lost somewhere in the midst of mulling over what Jaskier has described, trying to give it the benefit of the doubt despite its obvious frivolity. Based on the day’s weather it will be a clear night with a brisk breeze, a bright moon. The wind chill will have them each bundled up in furs, and the tip of Jaskier’s nose will go pink as he rubs his gloved hands together for warmth and glances happily over at Geralt. The river ice will be torchlit and smooth as glass, and they’ll strap on their skates and step out onto it. They’ll have a good hold on each others arms, for balance, but then as they gain their footing they’ll find their fingers threaded together and neither will let go. Geralt will listen to the quickened beat of Jaskier’s heart as they pick up the pace, and eventually Jaskier will break their hold to skate backward and taunt Geralt with a small twirl that ends only a little unsteadily. Geralt will smirk and give chase, chuckling when Jaskier squawks and takes off at speed. It’s no use, of course, even with Geralt’s inexperience; Geralt will anticipate his movements, head him off, catch him by the wrist, by the shoulder, and they will collide chest to chest with a huff, the momentum from the chase sliding them a few more feet across the ice before they come to a halt. Their cold noses will almost be touching, there will be frost on the riverbank, there will be a distant owl hooting its nighttime song. Jaskier will quirk his lips and say, “Gotcha, Witcher,” and Geralt will lean in, feel his hot breath, press their lips together—

“Geralt,” Jaskier says, tapping him on the shoulder. A hand waves in front of his face. Geralt keeps his expression carefully neutral as he comes out of his sudden reverie, though he’s been caught red handed. “Are you meditating? We’ve got to be off to the market. Have you even been listening to me?”

“Never,” says Geralt, and Jaskier scoffs and whacks him gently upside the head.

*

The riverbank smells like dead fish.

Geralt knew this. He doesn’t know what he expected. He doesn’t know where the pine-scented idyllic winter wonderland from his earlier distraction even came from, because it couldn’t be farther from reality.

Besides the fish stink, his boots squish and stick unpleasantly in the muddy ground, and the place is teeming with cityfolk, the crowd so thick that you can’t see the opposite bank even despite the abundant torchlight.

“Are you sure it’s frozen solid enough for this?” Geralt asks sourly.

“Of course,” Jaskier replies.

Geralt’s frown deepens. “Couldn’t we go around the bend where there’s not so many people?”

“And where’s the fun in that?”

“Breathing room.”

“I asked about the fun, Geralt. Ah, there’s my girl!”

Priscilla pushes through a group of loitering teenagers and throws her arms around Jaskier’s neck, only her toes left on the mud. “Jask! I see you got your…friend to join us.”

She pauses before friend, eyeing him overtly, but Geralt doesn’t notice because one of the teenagers has been shoved, giggling, into him by another of the group. He steadies her, and does not react when she turns to apologize, catches his unnatural gaze, and stifles her laughter. He doesn’t see Jaskier watching him past Priscilla’s ear, the fond crinkling around his eyes when Geralt gently straightens her and returns her to her place in the circle, which subsequently puts a few feet between itself and the newly-noticed witcher.

“It was either this or die of boredom in the dark, wasn’t it, Geralt?” Jaskier says finally as he releases Priscilla.

“I chose the dark,” Geralt lies, and Jaskier sticks out his tongue.

“Well,” Priscilla says, straightening her skirts, “shall we?”

Geralt pulls both sets of skates from his deep cloak pockets and passes the iron pair to Jaskier, who hops around indelicately while securing them over his boots, rather than plop himself on the soft ground—which is, of course, what Geralt does to put on his own. Priscilla and Jaskier waste a few minutes on a tiff over whether it is polite or belittling for Jaskier to insist on helping her with her own skates whether she wants it or not, but eventually they are all ready to go.

Geralt is the first to the ice. He tests the toe of his bone skate against it, judging the friction of it, deciding if it is likely to hold his weight even with the evidence of the dozens of people currently gliding and spinning past him. It seems stable. Stepping out, he finds it surprisingly easy to get a feel for balance, the minute shifts of weight that send him one direction or the other. He swings himself wide and turns around to see Priscilla and Jaskier also stepping out onto the river, Jaskier clutching tightly to Priscilla’s sleeve, face white and eyes trained on his feet.

“It’s okay, darling, you’ve got this. You made such good progress last time, come on now,” Geralt can hear Priscilla murmuring under the loud chatter of nearby skaters.

When Jaskier sees Geralt watching them, he bodily removes Priscilla’s hands from his person and says, “Please, Pris, I’m a capable man.”

She bristles immediately, leaving him to stand on his own. “And I wasn’t a capable woman when I was putting on my skates?”

Jaskier ignores her to begin shuffling awkwardly across the ice, his knees locked straight.

“Jaskier?” Geralt says apprehensively.

“Doing peachy, thanks, it’ll come back to me, just need to recall how to, um—oh no—” Jaskier starts with a strained voice before he promptly stops, because he has begun to slide inexorably forward. Priscilla and Geralt both reach toward him, but they’re too late; Jaskier’s arms wheel wildly, he tilts on wobbly ankles, and he faceplants onto the ice.

“Ow,” squeaks the Jaskier-shaped lump.

*

“I think your nose is broken,” says Geralt. He dabs at the blood on Jaskier’s top lip with the edge of his own cloak. They are safely back on the bank, and Jaskier is, this time, sitting in the mud. “I guess you were right,” he goes on wryly. “You’re exactly as graceful as a baby elk.”

“I knew you were making fun of me,” Jaskier says thickly, due to the nose injury. “I also knew you’d be a natural. Bastard. I could never get the hang of this stupid bullshit.”

Geralt hums and wipes off the last of the blood. At least it’s clotted quickly. Maybe it’s not a break.

“You didn’t need to lie about your abilities. Who are you trying to impress?”

Jaskier snorts, then winces in pain. His fingers twist in his lap. “Oh, that’s funny.”

Now, Geralt is often joking, but he’s fairly certain that that wasn’t one. Did Jaskier also hit his head? He pushes back Jaskier’s fringe to check his forehead for signs of bruising and doesn’t find any. “Um,” he says, “what is?”

Priscilla skates past holding hands with a woman that Geralt thinks she met approximately three minutes ago. She calls, “All right, Jask?” and in reply, Jaskier gives her a bitter thumbs up. She winks and swoops away as quickly as she came.

“Because I was trying to impress you, obviously,” he answers, gazing after her, before he turns his eyes back to Geralt.

Geralt pauses. “Why?”

“Because I’m actually always trying to impress you. And everyone else, constantly, but…mostly you.”

“You don’t do a very good job of it,” he says, and regrets it when he hears how it sounds coming out of his mouth.

Jaskier smiles. It’s genuine, if a little wistful, like Geralt has amused but not surprised him. “I am well aware, thanks.”

He reaches for the words that will take that edge of resignation off Jaskier’s face, feeling like a fumbling fool. “That’s not what I meant. I meant you don’t need to try to impress me.”

“Yes, I know it doesn’t matter, but I can’t help—”

“No,” Geralt interrupts, “I mean you don’t need to try because you do.” He clears his throat. “Impress me.”

“Oh,” says Jaskier, and then nothing more. “That’s. Okay.”

“Yeah,” says Geralt. He has never been so exposed in his life. He thinks that’s probably a bad thing. “How’s your nose? We could try again, if you want.”

Jaskier looks around at the laughing crowds and shrugs. “Came all this way, got all bundled up. Might as well! I’m sticking with you this time, though.”

They find a spot at the farthest reach of the torchlight where the ice is less populated to step out. Geralt goes first, as before, and finds his footing even faster this time. He returns to Jaskier’s side after a moment of testing the reliability of his newfound skills, and presents his forearm as a handhold.  Jaskier does not protest about his capability this time and takes the offering. With a long preparatory exhale, he puts one foot and then the other onto the ice.

“I’ve got you,” Geralt says quietly.

Jaskier replies, “I know you do.”

“Can’t let more harm come to the money maker. I’ve gotten used to staying in inns.”

“Good gods,” says Jaskier, “I’ve broken him.”

They gradually move farther from the bank. “Loosen up,” Geralt tells him. “Don’t lock your knees. It’s like you’re trying to fall over.”

Jaskier grumbles but takes the advice, and eventually he gains the confidence to move a little faster, though not to stop hanging on to Geralt. They stay on the fringes where they are less likely to be run into by a distracted stranger, gliding along at pace, with Jaskier remarking on the who’s-who of Oxenfurt society who are also out tonight. Geralt recognizes some of the more powerful names, but mostly he lets Jaskier chatter on so he doesn’t think too hard about his feet.

Priscilla passes by and greets them a few more times with her new companion, who at one point proclaims, “You two are so cute together!” before Priscilla drags her back into the mob. Geralt glances over and thinks Jaskier might be blushing, but that might also be due to the swelling around his nose.

“Should ice your face,” says Geralt.

“Sure, later. Hey!” He swings around to face Geralt, stopping their progress. “Spin me!” At Geralt’s no doubt dubious expression, he pouts. “Geralt, I demand to be spun. It’ll be fun!”

“Fine,” Geralt sighs.

He takes Jaskier’s hand, and has a flash of his daydream. There’s too many people, and it does still smell like fish, but this isn’t too far off—

He collects himself, holds their joined hands over Jaskier’s head, and gives him a little push to start him spinning, not too quick, but Jaskier takes it upon himself to propel himself a little faster. Jaskier laughs and maintains his balance remarkably well, until he exclaims “Oops—dizzy—!” and topples directly into Geralt, succeeding in knocking them both down, Geralt on his own back, Jaskier flat on his chest.

Geralt, trapped between the frigid ice and Jaskier’s weight, looks up as Jaskier starts to laugh. The steam of his breath hits Geralt’s cheek, and his knitted hat has gone askew, and his nose is turning purple, and Geralt puts his hand around the back of Jaskier’s neck and pulls him down and kisses him.

Jaskier leans away. “What?” he asks, eyes wide, then continues, “oh, who cares,” and leans back down.

*

Later, with an ice pack pressed to Jaskier’s face and two more hot mugs at the kitchen table, Geralt watches Jaskier rummage through his cupboards. He comes back with two packets, one matching the floral tea from earlier and a different one. He hands the latter to Geralt.

“Black tea,” he says, “for you. Noticed you didn’t like my herbal stuff. I don’t either, to be honest, but I already spent the coin on it.”

“Thanks,” Geralt replies, oddly touched.

As Jaskier passes Geralt to take his seat, he leans down and pecks him on the cheek. Smiling faintly beneath the ice pack, he says, “You know, Witcher, I’m glad you’re here and not up in some weird lonely castle,” and Geralt finds that he is, too.

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

The Warmth of a Witcher

winter prompts day 6 ❄️ hypothermia

"Fuck," Eskel mutters, "where the hell are you, Geralt?"

He wraps himself a little tighter around Jaskier. He's a little better than he was, but still not fully responsive and Eskel doesn't know what to do. If Geralt doesn't get back soon, Eskel will have to carry him back to the keep and it's a long way on foot - especially in the snow. And he needs to get Jaskier out of his wet He's never the life of someone so important in his hands - not since he was young and unable to understand the full weight of something like this.

But Geralt had told him to stay put, to keep Jaskier warm and comfortable while he went back after Roach. They'd tethered the horses a few miles back when the snow got too deep for them, but it feels like much further now that time isn't on their side. After a few more moments' consideration, Eskel decides he can't wait any longer.

As well as he can with Jaskier in his arms, he tugs his cloak off, wrapping it around Jaskier's shoulders as he tugs Jaskier's doublet and shirt off over his head. With half-numb fingers, he undoes his own gambeson, pulling Jaskier's cold body against his own. It's a shock, but he's more concerned about just how fucking cold Jaskier feels.

Eskel rises to his feet, readjusting Jaskier in his arms so that the cloak covers him as much as possible and he wonders how Geralt can bear it. Nine months of the year, Geralt hunts with Jaskier at his side. Jaskier, the most curious, oblivious human Eskel's ever laid eyes on and he doesn't know how Geralt can cope with how fragile he is.

He has to be careful as he follows Geralt's tracks in the snow, not to hold him too tightly, but the adrenaline rushing through him screams to squeeze him tight, not to let him go. But humans break so easily so he has to force himself to be gentle, moving as quickly as he can.

When he catches up with Geralt, he's already reached the horses and is in the process of undoing Roach's reins when he spots them. Geralt's eyes narrow in concern and Eskel hurries over to him.

"He's okay, I just- I didn't want to wait any longer." Geralt nods. He understands.

They don't speak all the way back to the keep and Eskel doesn't know how or why Geralt doesn't insist on taking Jaskier back, but he's thankful for it. He can't imagine the terror running through Geralt right now. They've travelled together for decades; Jaskier has only been in Eskel's life for a few, short years, but the thought of anything happening to him makes his blood run cold.

The keep is quiet, but they burst in and Geralt goes ahead up to the room they've been sharing. When Eskel meets him there, there's the beginnings of a fire in the hearth and Geralt is laying furs out in front of it. He looks up when Eskel comes in and gestures for him to sit. Even by the minimal warmth of the fire, Eskel is much more comfortable letting Jaskier go and between the two of them, they peel his wet clothes off and strip down themselves. As Eskel readjusts Jaskier's body in his lap, Geralt finds the biggest blanket he can, shuffling up close to wrap it around all of them.

After a few moments, Jaskier stirs and Geralt and Eskel let out a joint sigh of relief. Eskel tips his head forward, pressing a kiss into Jaskier's still-damp hair and Jaskir shifts under him.

"'s going on?" he slurs. He pulls away and Eskel is loathe to let him go, but he loosens his hold as Jaskier straightens up a little. "Why's it so cold?"

"Idiot," Geralt mumbles softly, but the softness bleeds through and he pulls Jaskier against him. "You fell through thin ice while we were tracking."

"I... don't remember."

"It's okay," Geralt breathes, "do you want anything?" Jaskier shakes his head and settles back against Eskel's chest, tucking himself under his chin.

"Just cold."

Geralt's eyes flick up to Eskel's for a moment, still tinged with worry and Eskel wants to ease that hurt from him, but he knows the only way to do that is to ensure Jaskier is okay. He wraps him up as Geralt pulls away, running one hand up and down his back.

"I'll make tea," Geralt says and Jaskier shuffles slightly, mumbling a quiet request for his favourite.

Eskel watches as Geralt rises to his feet dressed only in his braies, and he lets his eyes wander, earning him an affectionate blow to the shoulder as he passes.

"It'll be okay," Eskel says, unsure who of the three of them he's trying to reassure. As Geralt's footsteps disappear down the hall, Jaskier pulls away a little, looking up at Eskel.

"Is he mad?" he breathes and Eskel's heart breaks. Geralt is closed off to a fault, but he'd thought Jaskier at least would know how to tell the difference between anger and worry. "He always does this when I do stupid things."

"He's not mad," Eskel soothes, slipping a hand up into Jaskier's hair, "he's worried. And this wasn't your fault. It could have been any of us, so don't feel guilty about that." Jaskier presses his face back into his chest and huffs, but Eskel knows that's an affirmation.

It doesn't take long to warm Jaskier enough that he doesn't have to be coddled, but Eskel finds it hard to let him go nonetheless. He spreads his legs, pulling Jaskier between them with the blanket laid out over his lap. Jaskier insists he doesn't need to be cared for, but it doesn't stop him from leaning into every touch and humming as Eskel presses kisses along his shoulders.

He lets his hands wander over Jaskier's body, relieved to find warmth returning to his skin, and revelling in the softness beneath his hands. Jaskier leans against him, humming against his neck and nosing under his jaw, soft little groans slipping from his lips as he squirms. He's soft and warm and Eskel doesn't think much of it until Jaskier moans softly, his legs spreading under Eskel's touch. He pulls back and Jaskier groans in frustration.

"That was nice," he breathes, "why did you stop?"

"Jask, you're-" Eskel really shouldn't have to explain that he almost died earlier. He doesn't want to even think about it, but it's still too fresh a wound to ignore so blatantly.

"Fine now, love," Jaskier finishes, rolling his head against Eskel's shoulder. "Thanks to you." He kisses Eskel's neck, nosing just under his ear and Eskel had forgotten how persuasive he can be when he wants something.

"And Geralt."

"Mm and Geralt." Jaskier shudders against him as Eskel's hand slips low down his stomach and he groans against his neck. "Where is Geralt anyway?"

"Give him a minute," Eskel breathes, running a hand up Jaskier's thigh, "we almost lost you today."

Geralt returns a few minutes later and by the time he steps into the room, Eskel's hot enough to bring anyone back from the brink of death. Jaskier has one arm slung back around his neck kissing him earnestly and it takes Geralt clearing his throat to catch his attention.

Geralt lifts an eyebrow at him as he sets three mugs down next to Eskel. "I told you to keep him warm, not turn him on."

Eskel just gives a low groan as Jaskier presses back against his cock. He's been trying so hard not to let Jaskier's squirming affect him, but they've been separated for months.

"I don't know why," Jaskier hums, lifting his gaze to meet Geralt's. "How am I supposed to just sit here when Eskel is so warm and lovely?"

"Alright, it's time to get you into bed," Geralt huffs, bending low to take Jaskier's hands and help him to his feet.

Eskel tries not to stare, but it's hard when Jaskier's fully nude, his cock jutting obscenely out in front of him. Jaskier pins Geralt against the wall, pressing his lips to his neck and Eskel knows how hard Geralt has to try to resist him, but eventually, the worry wins out and he presses Jaskier back, guiding him toward the bed. Geralt casts a look back over his shoulder and Eskel suddenly feels very exposed without Jaskier to cover his own arousal.

He picks the mugs up and sets them all on the table next to the bed. Jaskier grumbles about it, but once he's in bed with the blankets pulled up over him, he takes his tea without complaint, sipping it as Gerlt frets over him.

When Jaskier is finished, Geralt takes his mug from him and settles into the mattress, pulling Jaskier down against him and tugging him closer. He shuts his eyes and Eskel can feel the odd combination of relief and terror wafting off of him. Ignoring his own mug, he tugs the blankets up, shuffling up to curl around Jaskier's back.

Eskel has barely closed his eyes when he hears Geralt's voice, chiding, "Jaskier." There's a smug hum followed by a shuddering breath and it doesn't take a genius to realize what Jaskier's doing.

"You should rest," Geralt insists, but there's no (vindication) behind it. Jaskier shifts back, pressing against Eskel's crotch as he reaches down again. Geralt groans and Jaskier mumbles against his neck, softly encouraging him. Not that it takes much encouragement to get Geralt on board once there's a hand wrapped around his cock.

Jaskier rolls his head back, kissing the underside of Eskel's jaw and effectively pulling him forward. He rolls his hips back, grinding against his aching cock and Eskel nearly whines as his hips twitch forward to meet him.

"Please," Jaskier breathes and who is Eskel to say no to that?

[longing-and-heartache-and-lust]

the drug, the dark, the light, the flame, Ch.XV

[previous] [next] [Ao3]

A very steamy chapter of my work for this year’s @geraskierbigbang in collaboration with my favourite @gen-syz-art as my artist 💕

take a look at @gen-syz-art‘s sinfully hot art for this chapter right here

(look out for chapter spoilers and your virginities)​

_________________________

Jaskier is usually very warm when he sleeps. 

Geralt finds some special kind of pleasure in that warmth, gets as close to it as he can without waking Jaskier up, and it allows him to sleep better than ever before. 

Jaskier reaches for the witcher’s own warmth in return, and they spend the nights curled up together just like Asra and Lucio on the other side of the bed. 

But this night turns out to be especially cold, and when the fire in the hearth burns out, the room too loses most of its warmth. And it’s only a few hours after the sunrise that Geralt wakes with a start from Jaskier trying to hide his freezing-cold hands between his thighs. 

He hisses, recoiling from the touch involuntarily, and that wakes the bard up. His long eyelashes flutter as he opens his eyes, and the look on his face is so innocently confused that Geralt can’t help the smile tugging on the corners of his lips. 

Jaskier burrows himself deeper into the soft furs, hiding from the cold, and presses his nose to Geralt’s chest. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, still half-asleep. 

Geralt sighs, rolling his eyes affectionately, and wraps his arms around the bard, trying to ignore the bites of cold when Jaskier does the same but still flinching. 

“You’re cold,” he mutters, blindly searching for one more blanket to cover them both with. “And you’re trying to warm your hands on me.”

Jaskier smiles - if not grins - and moves to press the soles of his feet - just as cold - to Geralt’s shins, making the witcher growl a warning low in his throat. 

“Scary Witcher,” the bard murmurs with a satisfied smile, teasing mercilessly. 

Geralt growls at him again, louder, but in return, Jaskier simply props himself up on one elbow, leans in and kisses him on the nose.  

“Pretty boy,” he says in that same murmur. “Gorgeous.”

Geralt pointedly moves away, fighting back both a smile and the blood rushing to his cheeks. 

“I’m not one of your dogs.”

“Of course not,” Jaskier agrees, making himself comfortable on the endless pillows and closing his eyes with a content sigh. “Bet I could make you whine like one, though.”

And oh, that is way too much. 

The heat from Geralt’s chest spills all over his neck and cheeks, making him suffocate for a second, and he immediately hides his eyes, throwing an arm over Jaskier’s middle and pulling him closer, until the bard’s back is pressed to his chest and Geralt is sure he won’t be able to see him.

“You’re playing with fire, bard,” he warns, still, getting a grip on Jaskier’s thigh. 

Jaskier doesn’t try to get out of it, just laughs, completely disarming the witcher. 

“What did you just call me?” he asks. 

“Bard,” Geralt repeats. “What, would you prefer me calling you Prince?” 

Jaskier considers it, making himself more comfortable on the bed and rolling his hips against Geralt’s almost accidentally.  

“My Lord, perhaps?” he suggests. 

And that’s… well, very fitting. And, whether Geralt wants to admit it or not, thrilling. 

But he’s not going to lose this game this easily.

“Well, then,” he hums. “You’re playing with fire, my Lord.”

In this position, he’s got perfect access to Jaskeier’s back and the witcher uses it to his full advantage. He moves away just enough to see the mark between Jaskier’s shoulder blades, and doesn’t even try to hide his satisfaction as he runs his thumb over it, his skin tingling with the low thrum of magic. 

Whatever Jaskier was going to say dies on his lips as he gasps. 

“Don’t you dare,” he warns but Geralt has never been the one to listen to warnings if there’s something in it for him.

So instead, he shifts lower, until he can brush his lips over the softly glowing mark, and Jaskier arches his back with a moan, moving away from the touch and leaning into it at the same time. 

Geralt pulls him closer again, slips a hand down his bare thigh, and leaves another kiss on the same spot, dry and warm, barely even there, but it’s enough to make Jaskier hide his face in the pillows, his breath coming fast and heavy. 

“You’ll pay for this later, Witcher,” he says but it does nothing if not thrills Geralt. 

“I know,” he murmurs, nosing at the bard’s shoulder before going back to his shoulder blades. “But if you want to stop me, you’ll have to use your magic.”

He’s half-expecting Jaskier to take that offer on, keep him away with a force that’s stronger than the witcher, and that thought thrills him, the sheer power that Jaskier holds in his hands almost intoxicating to think about. 

But Jaskier doesn’t try to restrain him, doesn’t tie his wrists and doesn’t try to move away again. He just shudders, face hidden among the pillows so that Geralt can’t see him. 

It’s an invitation that Geralt cannot turn down, even if there’s going to be a price to pay later on. 

He’s dying to ask what it feels like, why Jaskier reacts to it so strongly to every touch, but he’ll have time for that later, when he’s had his fill. 

Slowly, Geralt starts a line of kisses down Jaskier’s neck, moving to his shoulders as he goes, mindful not to overwhelm him right from the start. He waits for Jaskier to relax in his arms, let go of the control that keeps his shoulders tense, and gradually, he gets what he wants. 

Jaskier melts under his attention, soft moans escaping his lips every time Geralt brushes a kiss over a particularly sensitive spot, all of them marked with love-bites. He arches his back, the line of his spine defining in the sweetest of ways, and presses his hips to Geralt’s, allowing the witcher to brush his hand up and down his thigh. 

It’s making Geralt feel lightheaded, just how much Jaskier trusts him. 

As he brushes his lips over the mark in a warm, dry kiss, Jaskier shudders, sucking in a breath. His heart is beating hard and fast in his chest, and Geralt can’t help but prop himself up on one elbow to lean over and kiss him on the cheek to comfort his lover. 

It doesn’t really matter what kinds of games they play, what’s most important to Geralt is that it’s not on the wrong side of too much. 

“Breathe for me, Jask,” he murmurs, peppering warm kisses along the line of his jaw. “If you really want me to stop, all you need to do is say, hm?”

We should choose a word for that, he thinks but doesn’t say it. There will be time. 

“Don’t stop,” Jaskier breathes, barely above a whisper, as he chases Geralt’s lips in a kiss. 

His eyes are darkened and hazy with pleasure, bottomless and hypnotising like the ocean, and it’s too late for Geralt to think about making it out of those waters alive.  

He breaks the kiss, allowing Jaskeir to hide his face among the pillows once more, and lets go of his thigh just for now, wrapping an arm around his waist instead to pull him closer, make him feel warm and safe. 

They’ve got all the time in the world to explore each other, so Geralt doesn’t rush.

Jaskier’s skin is soft and smooth where he presses his lips to his shoulder, and it smells of vanilla and dried herbs and pomegranate. He uses pomegranate bath salts, and though it was a little overwhelming for Geralt’s heightened senses at first, he grew to love it. And, well, it was worth the time they spent together, bathing.  

“There are so many things that I want to do to you now that you’re mine,” he murmurs, a soft purr to his voice. “But this is most definitely a priority.”

He runs his fingers over Jaskier’s side, over the filigree ribs, all the way to the middle of his back, and then moves up his spine, keeping his palm flat against the bard’s skin even as he reaches the mark, and Jaskier gasps, breaking off into a moan as he digs his fingers into the soft fur on the blankets and clenches his fist so hard his knuckles turn white.  

But he doesn’t ask to stop. 

Geralt shifts just enough to be able to reach his shoulder blades with his lips again, and this time, he’s bolder.

Just as Jaskier relaxes back into his touch, he runs his tongue over between his shoulder blades, and the bard cries out, his heart beating in his chest like a bird in a cage. He presses his hips closer to Geralt’s, and it’s torture because the witcher’s already rock-hard, and it doesn’t help when his cock slips over the crease of Jaskier’s thighs. 

He knows from experience that Jaskier is still stretched enough from the night before, that it wouldn’t take long to prepare him, and the thought alone makes him dizzy. 

And yet, he’s just too tempted to see how far he can push the bard just like this. 

“You know, it’s almost unfair,” he murmurs, leaving two soft, calming kisses just on the edge of the mark but that, too, makes Jaskier tremble. “How this makes you suffocate even more than when I’m inside you.”

Jaskier leaves him without an answer, breathing heavily, but his entire body leans into the touch when Geralt slips his hand over his hip and between his legs, wrapping his fingers over the base of his cock, already fully hard. 

He runs his hand over the entire length, twisting his wrist as he moves up, and the sweet little moan that Jaskier gives him in return makes his blood boil. 

“Whatever price I’ll have to pay for this later, it’s gonna be worth it,” the witcher grins, going back to what he’d started. 

He concentrates all of his attention on the mark on Jaskier’s back, following the softly glowing lines with his lips, and moves his hand slowly over the bard’s cock, smearing precome over the tip and making Jaskier tremble harder with what seems like every touch. 

Jaskier moans and whimpers, keeping his face hidden as he writhes on the bed, and whenever Geralt brushes over a particularly sensitive spot, his gasps break off into stifled little cries.

Geralt keeps him grounded, whispering comforting affections against his skin, and that keeps Jaskier’s senses from overwhelming. 

“That’s it,” Geralt murmurs, moving his wrist just a little faster, fingers slick and sticky with precome. “That’s it, I’ve got you.”

In the far end of the room, a tall standing mirror cracks and shatters as Jaskier loses control over his magic, and though he flinches at the sudden sound, he doesn’t recoil from Geralt’s touch still.  

“C-close--” he chokes out, squeezing his thighs to make the pleasure sharper. 

The mark on his back glows brighter, just like it always does when he uses his magic, and when Geralt presses his lips to it in a wet, open-mouthed kiss, his entire body seems to catch ablaze with the intensity of that power.

It’s… certainly the most unusual thing he’d ever done to someone but gods, he loves it. 

The air is heavy with the scent of lust and pleasure, and the sharp undertone of salt only makes Geralt’s head reel more. He knows there are tears in Jaskier’s eyes from overstimulation, and he also knows he’s going to be the one wiping them off, but right now Jaskier doesn’t ask him to stop, and so Geralt concentrates on his pleasure alone. 

“Don’t hold back,” he murmurs, clenching his fingers just a little tighter. 

And that’s all it takes to push Jaskier over the edge. 

His entire body seizes, and he comes with a broken whimper, making a mess of his stomach and chest. 

Geralt immediately pulls him closer, holds him as the bard trembles through the aftershocks, and peppers comforting kisses all over his neck and shoulders, Jaskier’s skin hot under his lips. 

“Gods, you’re incredible,” he whispers, burrowing his nose into the hair on the nape of the bard’s neck and inhaling his scent. “I love you.”

It’s easier now, saying it. 

When he knows that his feelings are reciprocated, there’s no fear of rejection.  

For a few long, blissful minutes, Jaskier just breathes, still trembling all over, before turning around and hiding his face on Geralt’s chest. The witcher wraps his arms around him readily, giving him the comfort and safety he needs. 

They’re both dirty but Geralt can’t find it in him to care.

“I love you too,” Jaskier finally whispers. “But you’re paying for that.”

Geralt laughs quietly, dipping his head to leave a kiss in Jaskier’s hair. 

“Name the price.”

***

Jaskier keeps him wondering for the entire day. 

After sleeping for a couple more hours to get back to his senses, Jaskier goes back to the poem he’d been working on for the past week, and Geralt finishes off his letter to Vesemir, deciding on not mentioning anything about the royal blood in Jaskier veins or the lack of it. 

The bard purposefully keeps him at an arm's length, saying that Geralt can’t touch him until they’re back in bed, and though it’s nothing less of a torture, Geralt knows that he’d promised to play by the rules, so he obliges. 

The day lasts torturously long.

There’s a constant, low thrum of heat under Geralt’s skin, because he’d only cared about Jaskier’s pleasure in the morning, neglecting that of his own, and now the bard turns that against him, slipping out of his touch again and again, leaving Geralt with nothing. 

Geralt could, of course, just push him up against the nearest wall and take it from there, but abiding by the rules promised something far more interesting. 

Jaskier, for his part, has his fun with being in control. 

In the early hours of the evening, he leaves to take a bath, leaving Geralt downstairs with the dogs, and when he comes back, he’s wearing nothing but his silk dressing gown. 

It’s almost like he doesn’t even notice Geralt as he settles down to read on his settee, the fabric slipping down his thigh and revealing his entire leg. There are still faint bruises on his knees, and Geralt is dying to press his lips to it, run a line of kisses from the bard’s ankle and all the way to his inner thigh, but Jaskier spares him no more than a look. 

He does look like a prince like this. 

Despite himself, Geralt finds it thrilling - just how unfazed, almost indifferent he can be. How well he knows what he’s worth. 

How well he knows that he’s in control, unafraid of what his provoking could lead to. 

Geralt tries to keep himself busy with a book of his own, having found an impressive bestiary among the endless shelves, but he can’t concentrate on what he’s reading. 

And so when Jaskier finally puts his books away and stands up to head to the bedroom, giving the witcher a look over his shoulder, Geralt finds it hard to control the thrill of anticipation in his veins. 

They make their way up the stairs and into the far end of the west wing, where Jaskier opens the door of their bedroom and lets Geralt through first, making sure to keep the dogs out of the room as he follows. 

“The bed,” he says, turning the key until it clicks in the lock. “Don’t touch your clothes.”

His voice is different to anything Geralt had heard from him before. 

It’s calm and perfectly measured, leaving no doubt that his words are an order, and Geralt can’t help but oblige, the magic radiating off Jaskier making his knees weak. 

He crosses the room to sit down on the foot of the bed, leaving his clothes untouched like he’d been told to, and watches Jaskier light up the fireplace and the candles that Geralt is almost sure weren’t there before. The fire casts a low, pleasant light around the part of the room where the bed is, leaving everything else in the shadows, and the way it makes Jaskier’s skin glow takes Geralt’s breath away for a long moment. 

Mine, he thinks, Absolutely perfect, and mine.

Jaskier crosses the room, coming closer, and the magic on his fingers is still so strong that it sends a shockwave through Geralt when the bard lays both his hands on his shoulders to straddle his hips. 

“You’ve been so good at following the rules today,” he says, a soft, low rumble to his voice as he tips Geralt’s chin up with his index finger and leans down to brush their lips together, so lightly that it’s barely a touch. “Will you be good for me still?”

Now that they’re back in the bedroom, Geralt can finally touch him again, and it’s almost before he even realises it that his hands already move up to rest on Jaskier’s hips. 

“If you want me to be,” he says, holding Jaskier’s gaze, his voice suddenly hoarse. 

“No,” Jaskier says, still holding the witcher’s chin up. “Say it.”

A wave of suffocating heat rises from Geralt’s chest and he feels the urge to avert his eyes, but he reminds himself that he’s safe here, and that if Jaskier trusts him enough to let him do anything he wants to him, even if it makes him lose control over his magic, then he should trust him the same. 

So, he takes in a breath. Lets it out. 

“I’ll be good,” he promises. “For you.”

Jaskier smiles, his eyes lighting up, and leans down to kiss him, slow and sweet. He runs his tongue over Geralt’s lips, parting them, and licks into his mouth, hands coming down to undo the buttons of his shirt one by one. 

Geralt lets himself be led, gives himself over to his lover, and though it’s very new to him, it lights that familiar fire in his chest. 

Testing his boundaries, he slips his hands under the silk of Jaskier’s dressing gown, runs them up his thighs, the skin warm and smooth under his fingers, and he’s half-expecting Jaskier to slap his hands away, but he doesn’t. 

Breaking away from his lips, the bard finds his way to Geralt’s neck, kissing a line down its side, deft fingers slipping under the hem of the witcher’s shirt, and Geralt doesn’t have enough time to bite back a moan that falls off his lips. 

The neck had always been a sensitive area for him, and when it’s Jaskier kissing him, it makes him feel lightheaded within seconds. 

He helps the bard strip him of his shirt, and falls onto his back when Jaskier pushes down on his shoulder, the soft furs pleasant against his bare skin. Before he really knows it, the rest of his clothes are on the floor, too, and if there’s magic involved in that, it’s too hard to single out in the overall energy of it in the room.

Jaskier, on the other hand, still has his dressing gown on, held closed with a silk belt, and it’s maddening - knowing that he’s naked underneath, that all Geralt needs to do is untie the belt. 

But he keeps his hands to himself this time, allowing Jaskier to climb over him and leave another kiss on his lips. 

“Tell me, Witcher,” he says, running the tip of his index finger over a scar on Geralt’s chest. “Have you ever had anyone put a cock ring on you?”

Geralt’s breath catches. 

“I haven’t,” he says, the fire in his chest flaring up. “But I’m… familiar with the concept.”

Jaskier hums, a pleased smile on his lips, and catches Geralt’s gaze again, his eyes black in the low light. 

“I want to put one on you,” he says, magic snaking around his fingers in shifting colours, glowing like a flame. “But you can say no.”

Geralt’s heart beats hard in his chest, and Jaskier’s voice gets right under his skin, sending a shiver through the witcher’s body. 

“You can do anything you want to me,” he says before he can stop himself. 

Jaskier’s eyes light up even more, and that shine is all that allows Geralt to breathe, keeps him from drowning in those two dark oceans. 

“I love you,” Jaskier murmurs, leaning down to give the witcher a praising kiss and then moving down his body. 

When exactly does the toy appear in his hand, Geralt can’t tell.

He’s already half-hard, and the touch of Jaskier’s fingers sends sparks of pleasure up his spine, making Geralt bite his lip and try to concentrate on his breathing, getting it back under control. 

The ring is a pleasant pressure around the base of his cock, the material soft enough not to cause any discomfort, and the added pressure-points of beads all around make him swell almost immediately. 

“There,” Jaskier hums, brushing his lips over Geralt’s hipbone in a wet, open-mouthed kiss. “This will make the pleasure brighter. For both of us.”

The silk of Jaskier’s robe is pleasantly cool against Geralt’s skin when it brushes over it, sending shivers up the witcher’s body, but he would much rather have Jaskier without it, no matter how good he looks with the fabric halfway down his shoulders.  

Without thinking, Geralt reaches for one of the ends of the belt, but before he can pull on it, Jaskier slaps his hand away, the sound echoing through the room. 

“Did I say that you can do that?” he asks. 

His voice is still calm but the spark in his eyes turns into a flame before Geralt can even take a breath. It sends a thrill through him.

“No,” he says, taking his hands away obediently. “Forgive me.”

Jaskier hums, leaning down to touch a soft kiss to the witcher’s shoulder. 

“That’s better,” he nods. “You wouldn’t want to break your promise, would you?”

His lips are hot and wet where he brushes them over Geralt’s chest, starting with the collarbones and moving down. 

Geralt leans into every touch, careful to keep his hands to himself, and arches off the bed when Jaskier runs his tongue over his hardened nipple and closes his lips around it, sucking it into his mouth. 

Geralt never even knew that he’d be so sensitive to that kind of pleasure, that it would feel so good, but when Jaskier bites on the sensitive bud, he suffocates. 

“Does that feel good, Witcher?” the bard asks, rolling his hips against Geralt’s, and the feeling of his bare skin makes Geralt’s vision go dark for a moment. 

“Yes,” he makes himself say, shutting his eyes against the feeling of Jaskier’s hot tongue. “Gods, yes.”

Unsure of whether or not he’s allowed to, Geralt runs his hands up Jaskier’s thighs, rests them high on his hips, and when Jaskier doesn’t protest, too preoccupied with playing with his other nipple, Geralt allows himself to clench his fingers a little tighter, digging into the soft flesh. 

His eyes flutter shut when Jaskier sucks a mark onto his chest, and then moves up again, one hand slipping into Geralt’s hair to pull on the silver strands, making him throw his head back and expose his neck.            

They both know that he heals fast, and that any marks or bites or scratches will not last longer than a night, but that seems to only fuel Jaskier’s interest in leaving them, for he’s got a clean canvas every time. 

“Turn around for me,” he murmurs into the witcher’s ear, letting go of his hair. “On your knees.”

A familiar flush of uncertain embarrassment rises up in Geralt’s chest, but he does as he’s told, thankful that it’s dark enough for Jaskier not to see the colour on his cheeks. 

He turns around, keeping his chest on the bed, and uses the opportunity to hide his face among the pillows as he props his hips up, knees digging into the soft blankets. It’s strange and unfamiliar - being on display like this, but Jaskier runs a calming hand down his thigh, and slowly, Geralt allows himself to relax again. 

“That’s it,” Jaskier murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to his shoulder. “You’re doing so good, my love.”

The praise gets right under Geralt’s skin, flows through his veins in pleasant weakness, and he can feel his cock throb with it, heavy between his legs. 

The pressure of the ring is more tangible now, fueling the fire low in his abdomen, and though he knows that it’s only the beginning, he already starts feeling lightheaded from the attention. 

The fabric of the dressing gown slips off Jaskier’s shoulders almost soundlessly, and Geralt might not have even noticed it had it not been for his heightened senses, but once it does, he can’t help but sneak a look at his lover, now completely bare. 

Slowly, Jaskier runs the tips of his fingers down the curve of Geralt’s spine, watching the movement carefully, and slips over the crease of his thighs, teasing at the hole but not pushing in. Geralt’s cock twitches in response, and he can feel the drops of precome, threatening to drip down. Perhaps, the ring affects him more than he thought. 

“Tell me, Witcher,” Jaskier murmurs, shifting to follow the line of his spine against, but this time with his lips, torturously slowly. “How long has it been since anyone has touched you like this?”

Geralt shivers under his touch and shuts his eyes again. 

“Long,” he says. “It’s… not easy for me to give someone this kind of control.” 

His breath catches when Jaskier wraps a hand around his waist, pressing a comforting, warm kiss to the middle of his back and resting his forehead against it.                                                        

“I got you, my love,” he whispers, giving them both a few long, comfortable moments before going back to what he’d started. “Tell me about the last time.”                                                                             

Geralt has never been the one to discuss his sexual experiences with anyone unless he lost a bet and it takes him a couple of seconds to get around the sudden dryness in his throat. 

But it’s Jaskier. 

“I was spending the winter in Kaer Morhen,” he starts, focusing all his self-control on keeping his voice from shaking. “We had a guest from a different School, another witcher. Both similar and different to us.”

Jaskier doesn’t interrupt him, mapping out the lines of his back with his lips and paying special attention to the scars that he finds, and that almost allows the witcher to concentrate, but then Jaskier’s hand slips between his thighs again, and Geralt struggles to recall what he’d been talking about. 

“Go on,” Jaskier urges, taking his hand away for barely a moment, and when he teases his fingers around the rim again, they’re slick with oil. 

“We took a liking to each other almost immediately,” Geralt makes himself say, clenching his fists to keep himself from rocking back onto Jaskier’s fingers. “He’s younger than me but incredible with his weapons, and really, all it took is him pushing me down onto the ground and pressing a knife to my throat. The evening of that same day we were already in one bed.”

Jaskier shifts, resting his chest against Geralt’s back, and leans down to his ear, pushing two fingers inside and making the witcher gasp, back arching. 

“Is that how you like it, then?” Jaskier murmurs, slowly sinking his fingers deeper. “Should I put a knife to your throat?”

The thought alone makes Geralt dizzy, and he doesn’t even notice as he rolls his hips, taking Jaskier’s fingers in deeper. A sharp slap to his thigh brings him back to his senses, making him go still again, breathing heavily. 

“Not now,” he manages to say, biting back a moan. 

Jaskier hums, leaving a comforting kiss on the back of his neck, and rises to his knees again, running his free hand down Geralt’s back and stopping on his hip, holding the witcher in place. He moves his wrist slowly, still not sinking his fingers in all the way, and Geralt nearly whimpers with how maddening the anticipation is. 

His cock throbs almost painfully, the ring making him more sensitive, and even the calming kisses that Jaskier’s leaves on his thigh don’t help. 

“Please--” he whispers before he even knows it. 

That seems to be exactly what Jaskier had been waiting for. 

He pushes his fingers deeper, up to the knuckles, and Geralt shudders with pleasure it brings him. 

“I’ll have you come just like this, on my fingers,” Jaskier murmurs, finding the right spot inside him without mistake, and though Geralt muffles his moan with a pillow, it still sounds too-loud in the quiet room. “And then fuck you again, with a different toy. And then again. Witcher stamina, hm?”

Geralt’s head is reeling too much for him to be able to say anything to that, but the thought alone zaps through his body light lightning, making his arch his back even more, panting as Jaskier fucks him with two fingers, brushing over just the right spot every single time. 

He’d never been fucked with toys before, never even thought about it, though he’d seen quite a variety in Passiflora, but now the promise immediately pushes him closer to the edge, and though he manages to bite back a whine, he knows that eventually, Jaskier will get what he wants. 

“You can come whenever you like,” Jaskier murmurs, moving his wrist faster. “This time.”

Geralt doesn’t have it in him to answer, and so he just moans, head spinning with hyperventilation. If it wasn’t for the ring, he would’ve come already, even before he got his permission, but now it makes the pleasure last, building into a tight, hot knot low in his abdomen. 

“I’ve never slept with witchers before,” Jaskier says, running his free hand down Geralt’s thigh and then slipping onto its inner side, when the skin is more sensitive. “Tell me, is it true that your refractory period is non-existent?”

He runs the tips of his fingers over the length of Geralt’s cock, smears the precome over it, catches on the ring, making Geralt absolutely delirious with overstimulation, but doesn’t take him in hand. 

“It’s true,” the witcher chokes out, bucking his hips involuntarily and getting another sharp slap to his thigh that makes the pleasure flare up even more. “But we have our limits.” 

Jaskier makes a pleased little noise, leaning down to touch his lips to the place where his hand had landed, and sinks his fingers in deep, just as his other hand catches on the edge of the ring once more. 

Pleasure spills through Geralt’s veins like wildfire, taking all air away from his lungs, and he comes with a desperate, choked moan, painting his stomach and chest with streaks of white. 

Jaskier fucks him through it, slow and deep, until it’s too much, until Geralt is so overstimulated that he whimpers, trembling all over. 

“You did so good,” Jaskier whispers, peppering soft, calming kisses all over his thighs and lower back but not allowing him to lie down. “So good, my love. Gods, you’re gorgeous when you’re on the edge.”

His voice is barely audible over the thundering blood in Geralt’s ears, but the praise still sends a shiver down his back. He keeps his eyes closed and just breathes, letting Jaskier take care of him even as he knows that this isn’t nearly the end. 

With his heart beating in his chest like a trapped bird and his head still reeling, he feels lighter than he can ever remember being, all doubt and anxiety fucked out of him. 

“You ready for another round, my love?” Jaskier asks, nipping at his thigh to get his attention. 

He smooths a hand up his back, making Geralt get back into his initial position, and the magic in his touch makes Geralt suck in a breath. 

“What do you say we add something else to the game, hm?” Jaskier murmurs, running his tongue over his fluttering hole before pulling away, and Geralt nearly loses his fucking mind at that. 

Jaskier readjusts the pillows, until Geralt’s chest is resting on one, and chooses a high cushion for his head, leaning down to steal a long, sweet kiss from the witcher’s lips before settling behind him again.

“Both arms behind your back,” he says, in that same voice that tells Geralt it’s an order. 

His body recovers quickly, but his mind is still hazy with pleasure and the last aftershocks of an orgasm, but he still obliges, putting both arms behind him so that they are resting upon the small of his back. He knows what Jaskier is going to do, but even so, he shudders when the bard’s fingers slip over his wrists. 

“We have two options, Witcher,” he says. “My first thought was ropes. But you’ve been so good for me that as a reward, you can get a silk belt, instead. What will it be?”

Ropes would be much more effective at holding him down, they both know it. But he’d promised to be good, hasn’t he?

“Silk,” he says, voice hoarse. “Please.”

He doesn’t see Jaskier’s pleased smile but he can feel it. The same way he can’t see the magic swirling around his fingers, but he can feel it with his very being. 

“Wonderful,” Jaskier says, slipping off the bed. 

He reaches down to pick up his dressing gown, pulls the long belt free from its loops, and, just before returning to Geralt’s side, hands him a cup of cold water that Geralt downs in one. Before Jaskier takes it away, he risks intercepting his wrist and pulling his hand to his lips, leaving a grateful kiss on the knuckles. 

Jaskier smiles at him, warm and loving, and brushes a stray strand of silver hair out of his face, leaning down to give the witcher one more kiss before pulling away. 

Geralt gets his arms back behind his back, and closes his eyes, concentrating on his breathing as Jaskier ties them, starting at his wrists and moving halfway up his forearms. The silk is pleasant against his skin, but tied tight enough to keep his arms in place. 

“You like it when you can feel my magic, don’t you?” Jaskier murmurs, running his hands up Geralt’s thighs. 

Even though he expects it, the witcher still shivers. 

“You know that witchers feel it differently than humans,” he says, the last word breaking off into a gasp as Jaskier slips his fingers back inside, moving his wrists slowly.  

He’s still more sensitive than usual, and once Jaskier brushes over the right spot inside, Geralt bites on his lip to silence a moan. He’s still half-hard and swelling fast, the pressure of the ring making him lightheaded with oversensitivity. 

Jaskier doesn’t seem to be in the mood for waiting any longer, so he gets him ready fast, fucking the witcher with his fingers until he’s fully hard again, panting and whimpering with pleasure, each touch bordering on too much. 

He doesn’t need a lot so soon after the first orgasm, and it’s barely minutes that he’s on the edge again, his cock leaking with precome and making a mess of the sheets under him. 

Behind the haze in his head and the overstimulation, Geralt barely notices his medallion trembling. 

But then, without warning, Jaskier pulls his fingers out, and Geralt whines at the loss.

“There you go,” Jaskier purrs. “Told you I could make you whine.”

And then, before Geralt can say anything in his defence or even form a sentence in his head, he pushes a glass toy inside, and all words leave Geralt’s mind. 

It's much longer than Jaskier’s fingers, and though the width is about the same, the three beads along the length are wider, each next one bigger than the previous, and as Jaskier slips the toy in all the way, there are sparks behind Geralt’s closed eyes. 

He arches his back until it hurts, barely able to breathe, and Jaskier gives him a few moments to get used to it, to adjust to the pleasant burn of the stretch, wrapping his fingers around the base of the witcher’s cock and giving him a couple of long, slow strokes.

“Does that feel good?” he murmurs, pulling the toy out halfway and then sinking it back in. 

The glass feels deliriously good when it brushes over the right spot inside, the pressure almost overwhelming, and Geralt clenches his fists, desperately trying to get control over his breathing. 

“Feels good--” he chokes out, hips twitching when Jaskier moves the toy again. 

He doesn’t have it in him to say anything else, even to try, and Jaskier doesn’t seem to be waiting for him to do so, for he picks up his pace almost immediately, knowing as well as Geralt that he’s already on the edge. 

He fucks him fast and hard, pulling the toy out of him almost entirely every time and then sinking it back in, filling the room with the dirty, obscene sounds of it. 

Geralt doesn’t even try to hold back his moans and broken whimpers, rocking into every thrust, and though at first Jaskier slaps him on the hip, soon enough he allows for it.

“You can’t come until you have permission,” he says, and Geralt clenches his jaw so tight it hurts, keeping himself on the edge. 

The pressure of the ring drives him insane, makes him leak with precome, ruining the sheets beneath him, and he feels like he will just pass out if he’s not allowed to come for much longer. 

His entire body trembles uncontrollably, and it’s hard to keep his knees steady under him, but it feels so agonisingly good that Geralt still takes every thrust greedily, even as his eyes burn with tears of overstimulation. 

“You know, I wanted to fuck you myself after this,” Jaskier murmurs, running his lips over Geralt’s thigh and sucking a mark into it, slow and thorough. “Test your limits. But looking at you now, I think I want you in me too much.”

The thought goes straight to the witcher’s cock and he bites his lip, the copper taste of blood spilling over his tongue, if only to keep himself on the edge. 

He can’t remember ever coming untouched twice in a row before, but Jaskier knew his way around maddeningly well. 

“What do you think, my love?” he urges, leaving another mark beside the first one. “Do you think you’ll still have enough energy in you to properly fuck me, hm?”

Every time Jaskier sinks the toy deep into his body, his cock twitches, throbbing painfully, and Geralt is far beyond making sentences, let alone talking.

But Jaskier seems determined to get an answer, for he slips his other hand into his damp hair and pulls hard, making the witcher throw his head back. 

“An answer, Witcher,” he demands.

Geralt knows that there are tears in his eyes, knows that Jaskier can see them shine in the low light of the candles, but it’s too late to hide now. 

“Anything you want--” he manages to say, somehow. “Gods, anything--”

As soon as he gets his answer, Jaskier lets go of his hair, allowing him to hide his face in the pillows again, and it might be minutes, might be hours, Geralt is too delirious to tell, that he finally leans down to his ear, still moving the toy inside, and whispers:

“Anytime you want.”

That’s all it takes to push Geralt over the edge. 

He comes with a broken whine, making an utter mess of his stomach and the sheets beneath, and just like last time, Jaskier fucks him through it, until it gets so much that Geralt begs him to stop. 

His head is spinning worse than from any alcohol or elixir he’d ever had, so much that his consciousness threatens to slip away, and he doesn’t even notice as Jaskier unties his arms, just sighs in relief when the bard rolls him onto his side and then onto his back, his lips and hands all over him. 

“Gods, Geralt, do you know how perfect you are?” he whispers, peppering kisses over his neck and running his warm hands down his sides, calming and comforting. “I can’t believe you’re all mine.”

“All yours,” Geralt echoes, wrapping an arm around the bard’s back but unable to as much as open his eyes.

He knows that Jaskier won’t give him enough time to fully recover, that after an orgasm like that he’ll need an entire night of sleep, and despite himself, the thought of another round thrills him.

He’s proven right within minutes, when Jaskier, still mapping out his chest with his lips, reaches down to wrap his fingers around the base of his cock. 

He slips the ring off, making Geralt shudder at the pressure of it, but once it’s gone, it feels like he can breathe again. The relief washes over him like a wave, fueling the last aftershocks of pleasure, and he doesn’t even try to bite back a trembling moan. 

Slowly, his head clears enough for Geralt to blindly find Jaskier’s wrist, unafraid of any punishment that might follow, and pull the bard into a kiss. 

Jaskier allows him that little disobedience, kissing him back with just as much feeling behind it, licking into his mouth and moaning softly as Geralt catches his lower lip between his teeth. 

Despite the dark haze over his mind, his body recovers faster, and Jaskier’s fingers feel so maddeningly good that within minutes, he’s fully hard again. 

“Fuck, I won’t last long,” Jaskier whispers, pulling him into another kiss before breaking away and straddling his hips. 

He rolls his hips over Geralt’s, ruts against him, and the feeling of his warm, smooth skin against the witcher’s cock is beyond unbelievable. 

“You’re not--” Geralt starts, unable to focus his gaze on Jaskier’s face, but the bard cuts him off.

“You don’t think that while I was taking a bath, that was all I did, do you?” he smiles, pushing back against Geralt’s cock. “I had a little fun of my own, Witcher. With magic like mine, there are so many ways I can play with myself.”

Geralt’s always had a rather vivid imagination, and the fantasy flashes before his eyes in a set of bright images, making him throw his head back with a moan, hands coming up to rest on Jaskier’s hips. 

“You’ll have to show me one day,” he whispers, and by the way Jaskier’s eyes light up he knows that it won’t take a lot to get what he wants. 

Jaskier smiles at him, full of promise, and then he can wait no longer, reaching behind him to wrap his fingers around Geralt’s cock, so slick with precome and spend that there’s no need for oil, and sink onto it, mouth falling open in a silent gasp. 

Even as he takes Geralt in easily, he’s still so unbearably tight that for a second, Geralt feels like he won’t be able to take it, but then Jaskier starts moving, and the witcher’s mind goes completely blank. 

Jaskier doesn’t give either of them time, his own cock flush and throbbing, and picks up the rhythm immediately, both his hands pressed to Geralt’s abdomen for balance. 

He moans, open and sweet, fucking himself onto Geralt’s cock fast and hard, fully in control of his own pleasure, and Geralt’s head reels with it, every move resonating through his own body in waves of sweet weakness. 

They both know that he’s too overstimulated to last long, but it barely matters, if at all. They’ve got all the time in the world now.

Geralt doesn’t even notice his own moans, too focused on Jaskier’s voice, but at the same time, though very distantly, he’s aware of how good they sound together. 

Jaskier drags his nails down his chest, leaving burning scratches behind, and whimpers as his pleasure builds, getting hotter, sharper. 

“You’ve been so good this whole time,” he whispers, voice husky with lust. “And I want you to do just one more thing for me.”

Geralt isn’t capable of answering anymore, nor does Jaskier wait for him to be. 

“I want you to come together with me,” he says, biting on his lip to prolong his pleasure just a little more. “And I’m so fucking close--”

Geralt doesn’t need to hear it to know. It’s in the way Jaskier clenches around him, in the way he loses the rhythm of his moves, in the way that he smells. And gods know Geralt will obey him at anything he wants right now. 

He nods, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of Jaskier’s thighs, and the bard shuts his eyes, moving faster and faster, scratching Geralt’s chest raw with his nails, until finally, his body seizes, and he comes with a sharp cry, spilling all over both their bodies. 

He clenches around Geralt painfully tight, shaking through his orgasm, and the witcher is still so overly-sensitive that it’s all it takes for him to reach his high, too, filling Jaskier’s tight heat with his spend.

For a second or two, his mind slips into complete darkness, shutting down, but before Jaskier can notice, he comes back to his senses, breathing hard. 

He’d had three orgasms in a row before but never this powerful, and he can barely even feel his body with just how much it’s been. His fingers tingle with hyperventilation, completely numb, and he can barely find it in him to wrap his arms around Jaskier when he carefully pulls off and falls onto the bed beside him. 

“I love you,” Jaskier whispers against his chest, still trembling with the aftershocks. 

Geralt knows that he’s an absolute mess after three orgasms, and that he should tell Jaskier not to touch him until he cleans up, but fuck, he’s just a man, and there are some things that are just beyond him. 

“I love you more,” he echoes, a pleased sigh escaping his lips as Jaskier pulls a warm blanket over both of them.      

He’s barely conscious, exhaustion tugging him into the sweet realms of dreams, but he’s still awake when he feels Jaskier smile against his chest and say:

“Not possible.”

[jaskiersvalley]

Omfg!!! I absolutely love your shifter AU! I want to share it with the world because it's such a unique idea I wish there were more fics like this because would read all of them! I love that Jask is a fox!! that is so fitting!!!! I'm just curious as to how he performs with a tail and ears? And do the wolves take him into the forest and teach him how to truly use his fox body and instincts. I could totally see a camping trip in their future.

@stitchedopen I have added your super cute idea into this story!

It only took a couple of weeks for Jaskier to master the art of rudimentary shifting. Though the wolves had a tremendous amount of fun in that time because Jaskier shifted when frightened. Only, he wasn’t frightened by the regular, human things. When Lambert snarled at him, throaty and full of teeth, Jaskier had playfully growled back at him and tackled his wolf into a game of rough and tumble.

For a change, it was Eskel who managed to elicit the unintentional shifting with relative ease. All he had to do was stare at Jaskier without saying anything and it had an unsettling effect that made Jaskier shift nervously. Not that Eskel did it often and none of the other witchers seemed to have the same effect. But sometimes it was funny to make Jaskier turn into a fox. It was worth the small bundle of fury he became when he realised what was going on.

“Okay, time to go out,” Vesemir had said. “Go pack, pups. You know the drill.”

Magically, a whole week of Jaskier’s schedule had been cleared and he was, unceremoniously, carted off by his pack to some secluded woods. He didn’t pay much attention to where they were going, trusting his wolves to know what was going on.

Sure enough, as soon as they were out in the true wilderness, Jaskier watched as Vesemir, Eskel and Lambert shifted and Geralt helped attach packs to them. Once done, Geralt shifted too and four wolves stared at Jaskier.

“Right, yes, me too. Let’s see.” He tried his best to shift into his fox form but ended up needing to sneak a quick glance at Eskel before he managed. The five of them began their hike, the wolves keeping a brisk speed. As much as Jaskier tried to keep up, he was so much smaller and not used to travelling long distances so, all too soon, he was falling behind and feeling very sorry for himself. In the end, Geralt lowered himself down so Jaskier could climb onto his back and be carried. It was quite a nice vantage point, Jaskier was able to sink into the thick white fur and take in the scenery while still on the move.

By evening time, the wolves had reached a clearing and Geralt twisted to deposit Jaskier on the ground. In human form, Geralt helped take the packs off the others and they all stretched, Vesemir taking human form while the other two sprawled on the ground, eyes closed.

“So, what’s the plan?” Jaskier asked, watching as the packs were opened up and the makings of dinner were pulled out. His stomach rumbled loudly.

“You’re going to learn how to control your form. Unless you want to spend the next who knows how long with fennec fox ears and tail.” Vesemir shoved a bowl of water towards Lambert and Eskel who then nudged each other to drink first. 

It all sounded terribly exciting and Jaskier was truly grateful for the care his wolves were showing him. In reality, it was a little more dull than frolicking around in their various forms.

“You need to learn how to be able to control your shifting. To have absolute control over your form is to know yourself through and through in all states.”

It all sounded a bit spiritualistic until Jaskier actually tried it. Despite his expectations, he learned quite quickly to hide his tail and ears but making just his whiskers pop out was most difficult. To be fair, it took Lambert a few attempts to do it. Looking around their group, Jaskier couldn’t help a soft giggle at how ridiculous they all looked - whiskers out followed by tails and ears. The best control was seen from Eskel as he could add in claws and paws before taking his full wolf form.

“So-” Jaskier drawled, “-wolves. They’re like dogs and have knots, right?”

As soon as the words were out, the implications were understood and a variety of “no” and “never” chorused around the group. Though Lambert did look quite contemplative.

That night, Jaskier was flopped against Geralt’s warm chest when he woke to movement.

“Just Lambert and Eskel, don’t worry,” Geralt murmured and pulled Jaskier closer to his chest.

“Where they going?” Too sleepy to really fathom it, Jaskier worried that something was amiss.

“I’d rather not know, they’re running far on four legs. They’ll be back.”

Sure enough, the two of them meandered into their little camp later in the morning. Lambert grimaced a little as he sat while Eskel was doing his best to look innocent.

“Idiot pups,” Vesemir grumbled but he was passing Lambert pain killers along with their share of breakfast.

“Worth it,” Lambert sighed, a little dreamy. “Jaskier, you have some of the best ideas.”

Momentarily confused, Jaskier blinked and then his eyes were flying wide in understanding. His first reaction was to look at Geralt hopefully, wondering whether they could experiment too.

“No. Absolutely not.” Geralt shook his head. He was suddenly faced with a very sad looking fennec fox, ears drooping and eyes large. “Okay, fine. We’ll talk about it.”

Cheering, Jaskier was back in human form and flinging himself at Geralt. Sometimes he really did have the best ideas.

[dapandapod]

Hollow part 2

After months and months here is part 2 of Hollow finally. I have decided to make a part 3 of this, since this part ran away from me a little.

You can find it here on Ao3!

Part 1         Part 3   Part 4 Ao3

~~*~~

It’s early morning. Julian can’t explain it to himself, but he wants to be there when the witcher leaves. He can’t stand the thought of the man just disappearing.

The night before was so odd, the resigned hurt written over the witcher's features as they sat across each other in the filthy tavern. Like he was holding back, like there rumbling forces above a dam moments before it breaks. And there is that feeling when he looks at him, at his white hair, scars and yellow eyes. That feeling where he feels like he is missing something important, a small scratching on the inside of his ribs insisting he keeps an eye on him.

So Julian stands by the stable waiting for the witcher. One would expect him to come from the inn, but to his surprise Geralt comes from the streets. His gait is slow, exhausted. His hair is mussed and filled with leaves and moss and when he gets closer Julian can see his knuckles are scraped raw and his eyes are red and swollen. Haunted.

Geralt's eyes do not leave the cobblestones beneath his feet until he is just a few steps from Julian. There he stops mid motion, eyes latching on to Julian and he looks so… sad. Deflated, as if the air in his lungs left and refused to return. His nostril flares and Julian can see it happening, how a lid is put on whatever is simmering in there.

“Jask-... Julian.” Geralt greets. For some reason, the name sounds flat on his lips. Wrong.

“Good morning master witcher.” Julian responds with an incline of his head. “I wanted to see you off. I have always found goodbyes hard.”

The witcher gives a weak smile not reaching his eyes.

“They are.” He says and ducks into the stables. Julian follows close behind him and the smell of straw, fur and that distinct scent of horse hits him. It is comforting, but also just a little confusing. Julian rarely spends time around horses.

Together they take care of the witchers mare. Julian likes her eyes and he smiles when he buffs his arm.

“Sorry, I got no treats, honey.” He is not sure why, but it hits him hard, how could he forget to bring a treat for her? She seems to be such a sweet thing.

“Did you get a contract last night?” he asks the witcher, who just grunts. It seems to be his prefered way of communicating, spicing it up from time to time with a little “fuck”. During their two weeks together Julian almost has it figured out, and he interprets this as a solid maybe.

Jaskier rubs absently at his side, he has a scar he almost remembers getting and the new skin is still tight and stiff and a little itchy.

They reach the outer walls surrounding the city and walk under the gate. Awkwardly they stand by the side of the busy road, trying to figure out what to say. Why is this so hard?

”Do me a favor Jask- Julian. Let a magic wielder look at you. Mage or witch or something. To make sure the spell didn't do anything else.” Geralt says quietly.

Julian had almost forgotten about the spell. Honestly he finds it hard to care about, there is so much going on in his head right now. Confusion, mostly, and for some reason a lot of sadness and a little fear.

Julian is not sure he likes the witcher leaving.

It doesn’t sit right with him, but who is he to ask him to stay? They are not friends, they don’t know each other?

“Julian?” The witcher asks, and there it is again. That off-ness when the witcher says his name. Julian looks up at him, ripped out of his reveries. Right, there was a question.

“Uhm, yeah, sure. I’ll look into it.” He says, trying to keep that thought from slipping away. It seems to fight him, wriggling out of his fleeting grasp, slippery between his mind's fingers.

They watch a carriage pass, dust rushing up in its wake, particles dancing in the early morning light. Neither of them make any indication to move.

“I guess this is goodbye.” Julian finally says.

The witchers fist tightens around the reins in his hands. He is still staring after the carriage and Julian is staring at him.

“Or maybe…” Julian thinks out loud, a nervous flutter of excitement sparking into existence in his chest. “I could join you? Travel with you for a while? See the world?”

“No.” The reply is short, definite. The fluttering crumbles, sinks, lands heavy and weighs him down.

The witcher's horse steps a little, impatient to get moving. On instinct Julian puts a hand on her neck to calm her, her fur warm beneath his fingers. He is not sure who is comforting who, but this mare has a calming impact on him. And because he is looking at her, Julian misses the pained expression of the witcher.

“You are not safe with me.” Geralt says, and really, Julian understands. He was not very comfortable during their travels, the ground was hard and cold even through a bedroll.

“Please Jas-Julian. Find a magic wielder. Be safe.”

With that, the witcher mounts his horse, gives him a brief nod, and turns their backs to him. And Julian just stands there, letting the noise of the waking city behind him wash over his curiously empty mind. He stands there as long as he can see them, and then he stands there a little while longer.

The halls of the Oxenfurt University are big and echoing. Perfect acoustics for singing, if that was something you liked, Julian mused as he walked through them. He walks through the corridors and halls on his way to the room assigned to him.

It’s the same one he always had, but it doesn’t give him the sense of comfort he expected. His sleeping pallet is soft, his writing desk neat and tidy, ready for a day's work. So why does he feel so restless?

He moves about in the room, not really doing anything. The witcher gets further and further away for every minute and Julian just can’t get it out of his mind.

A soft knock on the door pulls him back to reality. He moves to open it, and for some reason he really, really wishes for it to be him. Geralt, right? The witcher, Geralt, will be on the other side of the door, asking him to join him on the road.

It’s not the Witcher.

It is one of the professors, Julian is sure his name is O-something.

“Good morning Professor Pankratz.” O-something smiles at him. He is an elderly man with fine clothing and a few extra pounds around the middle and a moustache. “I came to wake you for the morning meal, but I see you are already up and about.”

Jaskier stands with his hand still on the handle, squeezing it a little. Of course it would not be him. There is no reason he would want Julian with him on the road.

It is with some reluctance that Julian follows O-something to the dining hall. He laughs and smiles and eats with the other professors and scholars and students. They all seem to be surprised to see him, talking about some muse Julian had found on the road.

Huh.

Is that why he feels so empty? Because his muse is gone? They all ask him of stories from the road, of his muse, and he would be glad to answer if he felt like he knew how.

The feeling of unease washes over him, and the spoonful of porridge he just placed in his mouth just refuses to go down. The others don’t notice his silence, his turmoil, and as soon as he can get that horrid piece of food down he excuses himself.

Pure muscle memory brings him back to his chambers, so deep in thought he barely registers his surroundings. When safe behind his door again Julian stops in the middle of the room and just stares into nothing.

If he did find a muse, as he dreamed of his entire life, why would he possibly let them go? Did they die? Get tired of him and left? That did happen more than once, a small lonely voice in the back of his mind reminds him. Absently he drags a hand over the side of his stomach, over the scar he almost remembers.

His eyes fall on a case next to his bed. It looks like it might contain an instrument of some kind. Did someone leave it in this room for storage?

Placing it on his bed, he drags his fingers over the fine grains of wood. It feels oddly familiar under his fingers, and something makes him open it to look inside.

The case holds a beautiful lute in perfect condition. He can tell someone cared deeply for it, there is barely a scratch on it. And under the lute Julian finds notes bound together by a string. He picks them up and flips through the pages. Precious paper and ink and so many words collected.

With a start he recognizes his own handwriting, his own way to express himself, but the words are unknown.

They are lovesongs. Poems, thoughts, feelings unadulterated and raw and overflowing. It’s spilling over, the ink rippling waves of ebb and flow, raging storms against the cliffs that seems to be Julian.

He was in love with someone.

Julian has no recollection of writing this. None at all. Was this from a drunken stupor? He did have a stormy relationship with his countess, and he did drink a lot during that time. He sits down on the bed and leans back against the wall, getting comfortable.

There are no dates. Here and there you can see the shade of the ink change. He kept notes long enough for the ink to run out at least three times. Either he was drunk for longer than he remembers, or there is something wrong here.

When next Julian looks up, his neck is aching and his back is stiff. If the new shadows in the room is anything to go by, he’s been at it far longer than he thought. And he is none the wiser.

Carefully he puts the case under the bed for safekeeping, the notes he puts on his desk. The writing is really good, and he grumbles over how he could possibly have forgotten about it as he leaves the room to reacquaintance himself with his life in Oxenfurt.

[whitewolfandthefox]

Call of the Wild Part 13

Summary: You try to mend the bond between yourself and Geralt.

Series Masterlist

Words: 4.4k

Warnings: whole lot of angst, mild panic attacks, a little bit of fluff

A/N. Enjoy this chapter! We’re almost there!

Add yourself to my taglist!

Connections

When you finally returned to camp, Geralt had disappeared and the other three were sitting quietly by the fire, murmuring amongst themselves. When you had appeared in the treeline, yellow eyes glowing in the light, Ciri had spotted you first. She dropped forwards onto four paws as she trotted towards you, leaning her head down to brush her snout against yours. You hummed low in your chest, pushing back into her. You followed her towards the other two, curling into her side when she flopped to the ground. Jaskier had offered you a sad smile, dropping a hand on your head to rub behind your ears. You leaned into his hand, a silent thanks. Yennefer had made eye contact with you, giving you a small nod, to which you dipped your head in response.

Geralt hadn’t returned by the time Ciri had gone to bed, so you followed the woman back to the tent. Jaskier had lifted you onto her bed when it was clear you weren’t going to change back, Ciri following your lead as she leapt up, curling around you on top of the blankets. You nuzzled into her, warmth enveloping you as you drifted off to sleep. You had remained in your fox form in the morning, Ciri staying with you. As the two of you emerged from the tent, you could see Geralt chopping wood on the other side of the clearing. He started towards you when he saw you before halting as you glared at him, turning away to stay with Ciri. You nudged at the younger woman to lie down, placing yourself at her head as you started licking her, washing behind her ears. She purred, a low sound in her throat, as her eyes closed and she flopped onto her side, allowing you better access.

Jaskier couldn’t quite hide his smile when he approached the two of you, bowls of oatmeal in his hands. He placed them on the ground in front of you, Ciri lunging for one as you stood and made your way over. She ate quickly, headbutting the bard as a silent ask for more. You ate more slowly, continuing to ignore Geralt as he watched you from across the clearing. Once finished, you caught Ciri again, cleaning the extra food off of her before releasing her to go explore. You watched her until she disappeared into the trees with Yennefer, off on another magic lesson. You made your way over to Jaskier, sprawling out on the ground next to him. You lay there, eyes half-lidded as you watched him play. You could see Geralt out of the corner of your eyes, saw him approach, a hesitant look on his face. You closed your eyes again, not wanting to have to interact with him.

“Geralt!” You winced when Jaskier’s clear voice rang out through the clearing. “Come, sit! Join us on this lovely afternoon.”

You could almost sense his hesitation, before he moved toward the two of you, sitting with his back against the log Jaskier was on. You didn’t move, letting Jaskier’s music soothe you into a daze, the sun warm against your fur. You let yourself drift, only coming back to yourself when you realized Jaskier had stopped playing. You opened your eyes to see him stand, panic flashing through you at the thought of being left alone with Geralt, to have him reject you once more.

“Well, Yen said something about needing a victim to help Ciri with her spells, so I’m just going to go join them. Enjoy the quiet while you can.” With that, Jaskier turned and sauntered out of the clearing, humming a tune as he went. You forced yourself to relax, loosening the muscles that had tensed at Jaskier’s departure. Sitting, you busied yourself with your paws, cleaning the dirt that had gathered between your toes. You stilled as a large hand entered your vision, grasping the foot you were working on.

“Let me,” Geralt’s voice was soft, his hands gentle as he picked at the leaves that were tangled in your fur. You stayed motionless as he worked, allowing him to lift your other paw when he finished with the first. Setting your paw on the ground, he gently placed a finger under your muzzle, lifting your head so that you were looking at him. You could see an apology in his eyes, remorse clear on his face. You sighed, pushing your nose into his palm, bringing a sad smile to his face before it dropped off again.

“Can I hold you?” At your nod, he gently wrapped his hands around your middle, lifting you into his arms as he sat back on the log. He kept you against his chest, face pressed into your head as he exhaled, a shaky breath that warmed your fur. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

You whimpered, pushing back against him as you closed your eyes. You knew he hadn’t intentionally tried to hurt you, but he did, and he had to know that. Sighing again, you dug deep, submerging yourself into the pool of magic as you let yourself shift. You found yourself sitting on Geralt’s lap, your back to his chest as his arms tightened around your waist. A small smile came to his face at the sight of you in your human form and he pressed a kiss against the back of your neck before resting his chin on your shoulder, his presence warm on your back. You let yourself relax against him, relishing in the feel of him against your skin.

You didn’t rest long though, pushing away from the Witcher to stand a little bit away, your back to him as you hugged yourself. You heard Geralt stand and take a step towards you, freezing when you spun around to pin him with a glare. “You can’t do that, Geralt, it’s not fair!”

He stared at you, a guilty look on his face. His hands came up as if to reach for you before he fisted them as he crossed his arms across his chest. “I know, I’m sorry, I really am.”

“You can’t just keep saying you’re sorry, you really hurt me. Every time I try and get close to you, you push me away. I feel like you don’t want me around.” He flinched at your harsh tone, face falling as what you said registered.

“I do want you around, truly. I’m trying Y/N. I want to have a relationship with you, I just...I don’t know how.” His voice was pleading, desperate to make you understand. He took another step towards you, you retreating in response. Anger flared through you, frustrated that he wasn’t understanding.

“Then talk to me, Geralt! We need to be able to communicate. You can’t just run away whenever I ask a hard question. You need to be an adult and actually talk to me.” You were panting, your outbreak draining your energy.

“I know, I will try, I promise. I want to learn, I just need you to be patient with me.”

“Geralt…” You sighed, turning away again. You thought back to Yennefer’s words, Don’t give up on him. Your shoulders drooped, posture slumping as the fight drained out of you. 

His voice was tentative, fear lacing his tone. “Y/N?”

You spoke tearfully, soft voice trembling, threatening to break. “Just… hold me, please.”

He was quick to step towards you, spinning you towards him as he pulled you against his chest. You pressed your face against his tunic, your tears staining the fabric as you wept silently. Geralt’s hand came up to run through your hair, his other hand pressed between your shoulder blades. Your own hands came up to fist in his shirt, clinging to him as you cried. He shushed you, gently rocking back and forth. 

You drew back and looked up at him. “I just want to go to bed.”

He nodded, a hand coming up to wipe a tear from your cheek before leading you back to the tent. Once you were changed and settled, Geralt climbed into the bed behind you, pulling you against his chest. You let yourself drift, the heaviness of sleep overcoming you as warmth enveloped you.

**~*~*~*~**

You tried to give Geralt another chance, you really did. Yennefer had said that he would come around, and after the talk you two had, he was better for a while. He was attentive to you, making sure that he gave you attention throughout the day. He would brush a hand down your arm whenever he passed you, drop a kiss on your hair. You were happy, basking in the glow of this little family you were slowly being welcomed into. 

You noticed Geralt was still avoiding your questions, though. You wanted to get to know him better, but he would dodge your questions, suddenly remembering something he absolutely needed to do then. As much as he was giving you physical affection, he was still emotionally distant from you. 

You spent most of your time basking in the sun, almost fully recovered from your ordeal. Quite often Ciri would join you. As you were mostly healed, you started teaching her your trade. You would explore the forest, teaching her the names of various plants and herbs as well as what they would be used for in healing. She took to it like a moth to a flame, quickly able to recall various healing qualities when asked. Maybe when you passed a town you could pick up some supplies and teach her how to make potions. 

You had noticed that Geralt and Yennefer would often disappear during the day. You had gone into the tent a few days earlier to see the two of them huddled together over a map. You had asked Jaskier about it later that day.

“Oh, they’re still worried about the sorcerer. He got away from us when we went in to grab you. They need to come up with a way to contain him when we finally find him again, and we’re waiting for him to resurface so that we can go after him.”

You had felt a sharp flare of panic pierce through your chest, your breath accelerating at the thought of your captor still being out there. You hadn’t realized he had gotten away, hadn’t even thought to ask. Jaskier stared at you, worry clear in his gaze. You managed a tight smile for him, face pale. “I’m okay, I just...I hadn’t thought about it.”

“You’re sure?” he made to stand, but you shook your head to stop him. 

“Yes, Jask, thank you. I just need some time alone.” He still looked unsure, but nodded, prompting you to head towards the trees. You wandered below the branches, continuing to take measured breaths as you forced yourself to stay calm. You were healed, you were fine. Your pack would never let anything happen to you, Geralt would never let anything happen to you. Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize there was anyone else in the forest until you heard voices. You froze, not wanting to alert the two to your presence.

“We need to find Astarion, Geralt, there aren’t many more days left in the spell I cast. He’ll have his magic back soon, and we need to have him contained before that.” Yennefer’s voice was tense, urgency clear in her tone. 

“We’ve been tracking him for months, Yen, why is now any different?” Geralt sounded disinterested, mumbling in response to the mage’s points.

“Because of Y/N! Did you not see his research? He’s going to want her back and he’ll do anything to get her. You can’t tell me you’re not worried about her.” The disbelief was clear in the woman’s voice. You felt like you had been doused in ice water, the thought that you might end up back in that cell causing your breathing to accelerate once more. 

“She’ll be fine so long as she sticks around here, she just can’t go running off into the woods like she did last time.” The disinterest in his voice stung, your heart clenching at his words.

“And who do you think caused that, hm? If a certain someone would just admit their bond, then she wouldn’t have gone running off. You’re the one pushing her away.” Sarcasm was clear in the words, you could almost picture the accompanying eye roll, had you not been full of terror.

“She’s an adult, she can make her own decisions. It’s not like I forced her into the forest.” Geralt’s tone was tense, the words said as if through gritted teeth.

“Stop being an idiot, Geralt!” Yennefer’s was starting to sound annoyed, her tone harsh as she reprimanded the Witcher. “You have to accept this relationship, otherwise it will harm you both.”

“There is no bond to accept, Yen, you’re wrong. Yes, I care about Y/N, but that’s it, there’s nothing else there.” You froze at the mention of you, struggling to understand what Geralt was talking about.

“There is, Geralt! Why are you being so stubborn? You’re just going to hurt her!” You could almost see the two of them. You could picture Yennefer, standing with one hand on her hip while she gestured with the other. Geralt would have his arms crossed a scowl on his face. “Mating bonds are sacred, you need to honour it.”

“There’s no fucking mating bond, Yen! She’s just someone I met, it's a coincidence that she’s even a shapeshifter! Just stop harassing me…” His voice seemed to fade into the background as his words registered. She’s just someone I met. You turned, blindly racing away as tears blurred your vision, spilling hot down your cheeks. You didn’t hear the conversation behind, the low fuck from the Witcher followed by a harsh stay here.

You ran until you couldn’t anymore, doubling over as sobs tore their way out of your chest, your breathing harsh as you gasped for air. All you could hear were those words repeated over and over; just someone I met, just someone I met, just someone I met. You were a fool, thinking that there might have been something there. Everyone must have been laughing at you this last week, watching as you pined for Geralt, made an absolute idiot out of yourself. You jumped when you felt a hand on your arm, not having heard anyone approaching. You looked up to see Yennefer, concern clear in her violet eyes.

“Oh Y/N,” she murmured, pulling you against her in an embrace. Her hand came up to cup the back of your head, pressing your face against her shoulder as you clung to her, tears staining the cloth of her dress. You were so tired of this, you had cried more in the last few weeks than you had in years. It was an emotional rollercoaster, trying to keep up with Geralt. One minute he was kind and caring and the next it was like you didn’t exist. You just couldn’t keep up.

“I- I thought he- he cared for-for me.” You were in shambles, heart shattered to pieces at the realization that the man you deeply cared for, maybe even loved, didn’t return even the vaguest of feelings your way. “I’m a fool, I can’t believe I let myself think there was something there.”

“There is, I promise you, Y/N.” Yennefer pulled back to look at you, sympathy in her eyes. “Geralt is just being an absolute idiot. The mating bond just makes this even worse for you, and he’s the fool for not being able to see the absolutely wonderful partner you would make.”

“Ma- mating bond? Geralt said something about it being a soul bond, but I don’t understand. Yennefer, why does it hurt so much?” You had calmed slightly, the human touch having helped to soothe you, though tears still ran down your cheeks. The mage guided you to a large tree, supporting you as the two of you slid down to sit on the ground, backs against the trunk.

“Yen, please. You’re a part of our pack now, everyone calls me that.” You managed a small smile at that before it faded, another sob forcing its way out of your throat. Yennefer took your hands in hers, a serious look on her face as she met your gaze.

“A mating bond is one of the most sacred connections our people can make. Our gods gifted them to us after our kind was slaughtered by humans out of some misconception that we were dangerous. One half of a couple was struck down, and the other begged the gods to save them. They did, forming a soul bond between the two of them to be able to.” Your gasps had turned to hiccups, as intent as you were listening to the mage.

“What does it do?” you whispered, eyes locked on to the violet gaze across from you.

“It changes depending on the pairing, but there are a few basic qualities that span every mating bond. You are able to feel each other’s emotions, especially the strong ones. If the other is in danger or in pain, you will know. When there is an incredibly strong bond present, you can sometimes speak to each other in your minds. Each pair is different, but they are all destined by the gods to be made, regardless of who you are.” She glanced back in the direction of the campsite, hesitation clear on her face. “I really shouldn’t be the one to tell you this, but obviously he won’t, and it’s just hurting the two of you because of it.”

You stared at her, confusion and a little bit of fear building inside of you. Had they formed a bond these last few days? Is that why Geralt had rejected you so harshly?

“You and Geralt have formed a mating bond. He started it before he left your home the first time, and completed it while you were in captivity. That’s how we knew where you were, Geralt was able to find you through the bond.” You were stunned at Yennefer’s admission before the fear that had been festering inside of you suddenly spilt over, hot rage accompanying it. You pushed up off the ground, stalking a few meters away.

“No! I don’t want this! Why does he keep treating me like shit if we’re mates? Whenever I try to talk to him, he shuns me. What do I have to do to get rid of it?” You spun back around, seeing Yennefer stand as well, brushing her dress off as she shook her head.

“You can’t break it, it can be severed only through death or the gods. There are rumours of shapeshifters pleading with them to have their bond severed, but I don’t know that they are true.” You were panicking again, breath coming in short gasps, the world spinning as you became lightheaded. Yennefer seemed to sense this, grabbing your arm and helping you back to the ground, tucking you into her side. You curled up into her warmth, desperately trying to control your breathing. You felt Yen’s gentle hand push your hair away from your face before moving to your back, rubbing circles as you fought yourself.

“I know it seems bad right now, but I promise it gets better. Mating bonds are such a precious gift, those who have one are so lucky. If you lose your mate in death, the world is a little bit darker; you should do anything you can to keep them.” You could hear the sincerity in her voice, but you refused to acknowledge her reasoning.

“It hurts too much, I can’t take it. Please Yen, tell me what to do.” You were almost begging at this point, needing to do something to stop the pain that you were in.

“I had a mate once.” You started at that, not having expected the woman to share. “I was in love, we were thrilled when we discovered we had formed a bond. We did everything together, it was rare that you would see us apart. My world was full of laughter, full of hope.”

Quieting, you shifted so you could see her face. Yennefer had the gentlest expression you had seen from her yet, her eyes cloudy with a distant memory. “My world shattered the day my bond broke.”

A single tear rolled down her cheek as she continued. “It had been a rare moment that we were apart, I had stayed back in our community to help heal a young child while they went on patrol. It was supposed to be routine, we occasionally get information on a new shapeshifter and will send a group out to either train them or bring them back. My mate was one of the best at calming our young. It was a trap though; some humans had given us false information to lure us in.”

Her voice broke, mouth working as no words came out. She sighed, looking at you once more. “No one made it out alive. I felt when my mate died, as if we had a string connecting us and it just snapped. No more thoughts, no more emotions, I could feel nothing. There was a black hole in my heart where my bond used to be. It’s still there today, even though it’s been years. I don’t think it will ever go away. I don’t think I will ever be totally happy again. A part of me died with them.”

You could feel fresh tears running down your cheeks, prompted by the agony that ripped through her voice. “Don’t ever lose that, Y/n, promise me. You have to keep trying, because the alternative is worse than death.”

You nodded silently, at a loss for words. You had been so wary of her at first, thinking she hadn’t wanted you in her pack when in reality she was scared of getting hurt again. Surprising both of you, you leaned forwards, wrapping your arms around the other woman as you pulled her into a tight embrace. She went willingly, arms going around you as she returned the hug, pressing her face into your shoulder, breathing ragged. The two of you stayed that way for a while, content to sit in the silence of the new bond you had just created. Finally, Yennefer pulled back to look at you with a sad smile. 

“I need to leave tonight, to go to Aretuza to confer with other mages about how to contain the sorcerer.” You shivered involuntarily at the mention. Seeing this, Yennefer reached up to cup your cheek.

“Nothing will happen to you, I promise. The pack will protect you. You have nothing to fear from him any longer.” You closed your eyes, leaning into her hand as your own came up to press against hers.

“Be safe,” you finally got out, voice rough from crying. She nodded, standing as she pulled you up with her. Making a sharp gesture, a ring of light appeared in front of the two of you, showing the tent from the camp. She stepped forward, tugging you along with her. As you passed the circle your stomach jolted, sending you staggering. The mage helped you to the bed next to you, pressing a hand against your forehead as she muttered something under her breath. The nausea immediately dissipated and you looked up at her in silent thanks.

“Sleep in my bed tonight, I’m going to be leaving as soon as I say goodbye to the others.” Exhausted, you nodded, making your way over to the chest where you stored your clothes to pull out a nightgown. You quickly changed before climbing into the bed, pulling the covers over you. Yennefer finished packing her bag, stopping next to you to offer you a tight hug.

“Good luck, and be patient. I’ll be back soon.” You smiled at her, reaching out to squeeze her hand before releasing her, watching as she left the tent. You curled onto your side, the exhaustion from today’s events finally making itself known as you closed your eyes, allowing sleep to pull you under.

**~*~*~*~**

Yennefer felt a rage come over her as she watched Geralt saunter back into the clearing, looking like he hadn’t a care in the world. Striding over, she grabbed his arm and pulled him to the side. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

He startled, looking down at her in shock. “Yen, what-”

She cut him off, voice hissing through the air, “You are tugging that poor girl around enough, Geralt. You need to fix this, fix your relationship or you may kill her yet.”

He scoffed, “I don’t know what-”

“Now you listen here,” she jabbed him hard in the chest, hard enough to send him a step backwards as he regained his balance. “You know as well as I do that when there is a strain on a mating bond, the shapeshifters suffer. Especially when the other does nothing to fix it. Now, I am going to Aretuza to speak to Tissaia about containing this sorcerer long enough to question him about his research, and by the time I get back you better be a happy couple, or I swear to the gods I may just help Y/N find a way to break this bond.”

She took a deep breath, exhaling harshly through her nose in an attempt to calm herself. “I know just what it feels like to have a broken bond, Geralt, and I will do anything I can to prevent someone else from feeling like that. But this? You’re destroying her, and I don’t know which is worse: What you’re doing to her or a broken bond. Don’t make me find out.”

With that, the mage spun on her heel with a sharp gesture, opening a portal to Aretuza. She stepped through, turning back to spare Geralt one last vicious glance before raising her hand to close the portal. As the circle shrunk, she glared at the Witcher before saying one last time, “Fix this.”

Geralt sighed as she disappeared, running a hand over his face. Cursing under his breath he made his way back to the tent, freezing in the entrance. You were asleep in Yennefer’s bed. Slowly he made his way over to you, heart sinking as he saw the tear tracks on your face. He reached out to wipe them away, stopping just shy of your skin. He swallowed harshly before clenching his fist, withdrawing his hand before turning and making his way to his own bed. Sleep didn’t come easy to him that night, every conversation the two of you had had playing over and over in his mind before he finally drifted off into darkness.

**~*~*~*~**

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[eldritcharchive]

6 and or 5 for the cliche tropes prompt? With any of the others if you like? Or any of them, really. They all seem so soft and I would love to read whatever you come up with, no matter the ship.

Jolting awake after a nightmare and being comforted and/or Playing with their hair while their head’s in your lap

Going to go ahead and write Jaskel because h e l l it’d be cute

Witchers didn’t have nightmares. That’s common knowledge; ask any villager or king or bard and they’ll all tell you that witchers were, at best, immune to that sort of fear, or at worst, the cause of every nightmare on the continent through dark magic. In the School of the Wolf, most instructors intoned similar beliefs - witchers don’t feel fear, such a thing is a weakness that will lead to death on the Path. Only Vesemir, later, when Eskel and Geralt and, later, Lambert passed the trials, taught them that a bit of fear was healthy, kept you grounded. But he never covered nightmares.

Eskel definitely had nightmares.

They were different from the vaguely prophetic dreams Geralt suffered through, less vivid, so Eskel never brought them up with his brother. He had enough to deal with between finding Ciri and the end of the world. Eskel could get through this alone.

Of course, that was before a certain bard made his way to Kaer Morhen with Zoltan Chivay.

Jaskier always entered the keep like a loud, colorful storm, slamming doors if it suited him, demanding attention with his presence. It was late, and Eskel was the only one in the main keep, still cleaning off the table of discarded katakan bits when the bard kicked one of the large doors open.

“Eskel!” Jaskier yelled, his melodious voice echoing against the cavernous walls of Kaer Morhen’s main room. Eskel looked up and registered the skip in Jaskier’s step as he picked up the pace, the scent of relief and warmth wafting off of him as got closer. “Vesemir said you might not be around. I’m glad he was incorrect in that regard.”

“Had a katakan corpse to take care of,” Eskel said, smirking when Jaskier blanched at the faint smell of rot. For someone who boasted about his travels with Geralt, Jaskier really wasn’t used to the less exciting parts of the Path. Still, he had a fondness for the bard. When Jaskier was close enough, Eskel yanked him into a tight hug; Jaskier yelped but settled into the embrace quickly, looping his arms around Eskel’s neck. “Missed you,” Eskel murmured as he nosed Jaskier’s hair, reveling in the bards familiar sage and chamomile scent.

“I missed you, too, Eskel,” Jaskier said, his warm breath ghosting against Eskel’s neck in such a way that the witcher shivered a bit involuntarily. Jaskier leaned back against Eskel’s arms and smiled. “Have you eaten yet, dear?”

“Had some stew earlier. I think there’s meat and cheese in the pantry,” Eskel said, nodding towards the kitchen, running his hands down Jaskier’s sides. “You hungry?”

“Gods, yes, Zoltan wouldn’t let us stop for food on the way up here.” Jaskier slipped out of Eskel’s grasp with a grin. “And please, for the love of Melitele, tell me  you have alcohol that was not brewed by Lambert in a tub.”

“Ehhh,” Eskel said, making a waffling gesture with his hand. Jaskier danced around the kitchen gathering meat, cheese, and any fruit he could find while Eskel got them both drinks. He managed to find a nice bottle of vodka Geralt had stashed in his trunk and grabbed the two cleanest mugs from the table. (He’d buy him a better bottle later. Probably.) Jaskier swaggered out of the kitchen with a loaded up plate and fell into step with Eskel. “Yennifer and Triss have the large guest room,” Eskel said, “We’ll have to settle for one of the smaller rooms.”

“As long as it’s not your bunks in the main room,” Jaskier muttered, “and warmer.”

“Wouldn’t bet on warmer.”

They both crowded into the room and Eskel kicked the door shut, leaving the vodka and mugs on the bookcase by the door. Jaskier sat down at a small table at the far wall near the fireplace and started dividing up the food as Eskel pulled out a set of furs and started working on a fire.

“Is that Geralt’s nice vodka?” Jaskier asked.

“Yeah, I’ll owe him one.”

The pair ate and talked about Jaskier’s pub in Novigrad, his friend Priscilla and the higher vampire that attacked her (”Really it was a miracle Geralt even found him out, apparently he had to track formaldehyde? He may have also killed the guy in charge of the mortuary, but to be fair, that guy was torturing the fine young ladies at Crippled Kate’s so I gave Geralt a pass on this one..”). Eskel filled Jaskier in on his more interesting contracts until the two men ran out of light things to talk about.

Jaskier began composing quietly to himself while Eskel reviewed his bestiary on the bed. It wasn’t long before the stress of the past few weeks caught up with Eskel, and he found himself dozing off.

He was strapped to a table - to Sad Albert - and his veins, his skin were on fire, melting but frustratingly whole. The Decoctions of the Grasses poured into into him as tall black figures watched. When he turned, he saw Geralt thrashing around in the distance as they changed out the normal decoctions for the experimental ones. Screams echoed throughout the keep. And then he was one of the dark figures, opening up the veins of Uma, and then faceless children, pumping poison into them with a cool indifference. Over and over again for eternity.

Eskel gasped awake, sitting up and sending his bestiary clattering to the ground. Jaskier jumped a bit, looking at Eskel with wide eyes; the witcher folded in on himself and pressed his hands to his face.

“Eskel? Are you alright?” Jaskier asked, approaching the bed slowly. Eskel shook his head. “Nightmare?”

“Witchers don’t have nightmares,” Eskel mumbled through his hands. Jaskier sighed dramatically and clambered onto the bed behind Eskel; the witcher felt the mattress dip behind him.

“That is the most witcher bullshit I’ve heard since Geralt told me he didn’t need people,” Jaskier murmured. “Scoot down, lay your head in my lap.” Eskel shot Jaskier a look over his shoulder - the bard looked back at him with worry, but the type of seriousness in his eyes that told Eskel that arguing would be useless. He sighed and moved such that his head was nestled in Jaskier’s lap.

Hands were in his hair immediately, Jaskier’s nails scratching over Eskel’s scalp, letting brunette strands slip through his fingers. He didn’t talk, just kept humming the tune he was composing earlier as tension slowly eased out of Eskel. The room was warm, the fire slowly dying, and Eskel felt... safe.

“You know Geralt gets nightmares, too,” Jaskier murmured, slowly messaging over Eskel’s temple, smiling when the witcher’s eyes slipped close.

“‘S different. His are... important. Real.”

“And yours aren’t?”

Eskel opened his eyes and looked up at Jaskier and huffed humorously. “It... was about the Trial of the Grasses. Reliving it. The trial breaks you down so the older witchers can rebuild you with mutagens. We had to... in order to find out where Ciri was. Geralt and I had to administer it,” Eskel looked away from Jaskier as he explained. “It... when we were younger, trying to survive the aftermath of the Trial, I promised Geralt we’d never...” Eskel trailed off.

Jaskier brushed his fingers down Eskel’s cheek, holding him gently. Eskel expected him to judge him, to admonish him for his actions or condemn his weakness. Instead, he felt the sudden drip of tears on his forehead.

“Jask...”

“No, stop,” Jaskier said sternly. “It is... I’m sorry you had to break your promise to Geralt. You must’ve succeeded - Geralt told me he knows where Ciri is.”

“Yeah, the elf is recovering in Vesemir’s room.”

Jaskier nodded, sniffing slightly, trying to stem the tide of tears. “This is really serious, isn’t it?” He asked, voice only cracking a little bit. “Geralt... he never gives me details and I wanted to come see you just in case... And if you’re doing something like that then...”

Eskel reached up and cupped Jaskier’s cheek. “Jaskier, look at me,” he said, and met Jaskier’s eyes, pulling Jaskier down for a soft, chaste kiss. When Jaskier pulls away, Eskel maintains eye contact. “This is going to be a hard road. You can’t be here when Geralt gets back.”

“I know, I just -”

“I’m glad you came,” Eskel said, and Jaskier stared back at him. “Whatever... whatever this is, I’m glad you came.”

“I love you, Eskel,” Jaskier whispered back. “Please promise me you’ll try very hard not to die.”

“I promise to try my hardest.” Eskel pulled Jaskier down and held him against his chest, and used Igni to douse the fire. Safely ensconced under layers of furs, Eskel pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s nape before adding, “I love you, too.”

[bi-aragorn]

It’s Warmer With You Here

Here is some platonic fluffy nonsense featuring Aro Jaskier and Vesemir. Also Lambert briefly, but this isn't really about him.

CWs: none that I can think of this time.

Here is the Ao3 link

Jaskier sighed contentedly, snuggling in closer. Vesemir was running a hand through his hair so gently, at such a leisurely pace, that he thought he might fall asleep at any moment. A sleepy smile spread across his face- this had been a wonderful idea. They were sat by the fire in the Keep’s library, Vesemir in a worn, comfortable armchair with his legs covered in furs, and Jaskier leant back against him from his place on the rug. It felt soft beneath his fingers where he tugged gently at the strands, the sensation comforting. He could always relax better when he had something to do with his hands. Vesemir ran his hand through Jaskier’s hair, letting it fall through his fingers.

Jaskier shuffled even nearer to Vesemir, smiling widely as the other man hummed as he buried his fingers deeper into Jaskier’s hair. The calloused tips felt incredibly good on his scalp, so good that Jaskier could feel himself practically purring. Vesemir actually did purr when Jaskier did this for him- it was a Witcher thing, apparently, though Jaskier had yet to try it on any of the others.

The fire cracked loudly in front of them, startling Jaskier from his thoughts. Vesemir chuckled at him, legs shaking as the laugh reverberated through him. Jaskier looked up, pouting. He didn’t have to say anything before Vesemir smiled at him and stroked his cheek fondly, before going back to petting his hair.

Jaskier closed his eyes and leant back. Over the last few years of visiting the Keep, he had established that it was definitely much better than seeing out winter marking mediocre essays in Oxenfurt. Here, he had a friend who would show him affection openly and had never once mistaken their friendship and its resulting closeness for any kind of romantic arrangement. It was nice to be understood. Especially without any awkward explanations about how he “simply didn’t feel that way”. Poor Valdo, Jaskier thought, it wasn’t his fault I suppose. Just as his eyes were slipping shut, sleep calling to him, there was a heavy knock at the door.

“Oy! I’m coming in,” came a yell from outside. Vesemir tutted and tugged his furs closer to him.

“Don’t know why he bothers knocking when he doesn’t even ask if he can come in. No bloody manners that one,” he muttered as Lambert charged through the door and came to stand in front of them with a tray.

Jaskier blinked his bleary eyes open, not quite able to understand what Lambert was saying. His eyes were drawn to the pair of steaming mugs the younger witcher had on the tray. There was a slight smell of spiced rooibos emanating from them and Jaskier sighed happily, wriggling his arms out from under his blanket. He reached out towards Lambert, waggling his hands at him. He still hadn’t heard a word the man had said but that didn’t matter- Lambert had tea. The witcher frowned down at him and his sentence stuttered to a halt.

“Impatient bastard,” Lambert mumbled, leaning down to pass Jaskier the spiced tea. Jaskier let out a happy little squeak and snuggled back into Vesemir’s legs with his cup. He closed his eyes again, enjoying the warming sensation. He could vaguely register the deep grumbling sound of Vesemir talking to Lambert, but he was blissfully ignorant of what, exactly, they were talking about. He took a sip of the tea and was pleasantly surprised at the combination of spices. Witchers weren’t always too keen on strong flavours, he had noticed, as they bothered their strong senses. He flicked his eyes back open, staring at the fire and its comforting orange hues again. Lambert had settled himself on the window seat with a book, his warm breath fogging up the glass.

Vesemir looked at Lambert for a long moment, and then stood up, making to walk over to the fire, but Jaskier grabbed his ankle.

“Wait, Ves, I have something for you,” Jaskier rummaged around under the chair and Vesemir frowned at him fondly- the space wasn’t that big, so it was impressive that Jaskier had managed to hide anything there at all. Jaskier produced a brown package, tied up tightly with string. He held it out to Vesemir, eyes wide and sparkling with excitement. Vesemir tore open the package carefully, smiling at Jaskier as he pulled the object loose from the packaging. It felt soft in his grip, and he ran his thumbs over it for a moment, enjoying the feel of the fabric. It was a dark, forest green colour, made with beautiful tight-knit lines of wool. He looked down at Jaskier, who smiled up at him sheepishly. “I tried to make one for you myself. But uh, it didn’t turn out so well.”

He pulled out another package- equally well- wrapped, but when Vesemir opened it he found a fluffy green hat, lopsided and with several large holes in it. There was a loose line of wool trailing down the left side, and Vesemir felt like his heart was going to burst. He slipped it onto his head, and let out a chuckle when it fell to cover his eyes. Pulling it back just far enough that he could see out again, he looked at Jaskier.

“Thank you, Jaskier, for the two lovely hats.” He paused to pull the too-large knitwear off his head and stopped when he heard a sniffle. “Jaskier, wait no, why are you crying?” The snuffling continued as a few tears started to fall down Jaskier’s face. Jaskier wiped a hand across it and blinked wet eyes up at him.

“I picked out the decent one in Ard Carraigh, the lady told me it was the best for the snows and the cold weather, and- Vesemir what’s that?” The older man was now holding a parcel out to him, which Jaskier took with shaky hands. He tore it open hastily, shreds of paper flying over his shoulders. He pulled out the soft fabric with wide eyes, a look of awe on his tear-stained face. “Did you make this?” Vesemir nodded. “What the fuck? Why were you so nice about my knitting when this is what you can do?” Jaskier scrambled to his feet and threw himself at Vesemir, clinging desperately to his friend’s shoulders. “Let me take mine back and you can pretend you never saw it,” he finished, hiding his head in Vesemir’s neck, and he felt a hand pat his back.

“And why would I want to do that? When one of my dearest friends has made something for me, how could I possibly want to get rid of it?” Jaskier sniffled again, and Vesemir hugged him tighter. They stood there for a long moment holding each other. There was a sudden loud noise, and they startled apart in surprise, glancing around for the cause. The tension was broken when the noise rumbled through the room again and they saw Lambert, now sound asleep by the window, snoring loudly. Vesemir chuckled quietly at the sight of his youngest pup slumped against the glass, and Jaskier had to hold a hand to his mouth to keep the laughter back. “I think that’s our cue to go to bed, bard,” Vesemir said, stepping up to Lambert and lifting him into his arms with ease. They headed out of the library and Jaskier walked up the stairs, wrapped tightly in his new scarf. He never wanted to take it off again.

[goofgoofdildo]

They’re lying on their bedrolls by the fire. Jaskier closer to it and Geralt by his side, so Jaskier feels protected from the darkness that looms outside of their vacuole of warm firelight. The forest smells delightful. They were forced to stop by the storm, complete with raging winds and a bit of hail by the end. The trees provided some meager cover, and then, it’s nothing they’re not used to. And oh, the smell. The earthiness the water brings out from the forest floor mixed with the watered greens of the brush. The fire gives off a powerful smoke from the wet wood, which took Jaksier a while to light, and wards off swarms of annoying insects coming out after the rain. The sky is dark blue, the sun still setting somewhere behind the mountains. It makes them look like mere silhouettes, and with the smell of Jaskier’s skin by his side, the world becomes smaller, less heavy.

Jaskier shifts against Geralt’s side, pushes closer, and Geralt stretches out his arm to invite him to lay on it, close to Geralt’s chest. His back is cold, and so are his hands. Geralt pulls him close and Jaskier turns on his back, and Geralt can now press his forehead against Jaskier’s face. He feels Jaskier’s nose on his eyelid, sweet icy pressure. ‘Cold?’ he says as he’s already pulling the furs up to cover Jaskier’s shoulders better. He presses their chests together, that cold nose now at his collarbone.

‘You take such good care of me,’ Jaskier says deep from his throat, nose at Geralt’s throat. It’s a bit short of seductive, because Geralt can tell Jaskier means it, even if the statement itself makes him huff out a laugh. Jaskier makes more money than he ever could, and even if he doesn’t prefer it, he could fend for himself in the wild just fine. If someone’s taking care of someone in the relationship, it’s probably Jaskier, of Geralt. But of course he won’t have it.

‘Don’t you huff at me. You care for me well,’ there’s a beat of silence that gets heavy fast, ‘you’d be a good dad,’ and Jaskier whispers that so quietly Geralt almost doesn’t hear. He knows Jaskier would know about good and bad dads.

‘I am a dad, Jask,’ and that’s so difficult to say, but it’s true.

‘Don’t you want to get her? She’s almost five now, you know?’

Geralt didn’t really know. Tried not to.

‘I know you said you want nothing in life,’ he says, ‘but is that still true?’

Geralt presses his chin into Jaskier’s hair. Of course it isn’t.

‘When you look into the future, Geralt, what do you want to see?’

That’s quite easy. It’s easy if he’s selfish.

‘You.’

Jaskier presses a soft kiss against his chest, but says nothing. He’s waiting.

‘I just want to see you. I want you to be happy. Comfortable,’ he thinks of that, a soft Jaskier in a bed with fresh linens. An open window, the smell of bread, a hand on his cheek, and it’s all familiar.

Jaskier smiles. ‘Do you see a bed?’

Geralt nods

‘Windows you can’t see but already know what’s behind them, because you’ve looked a thousand times? Cooking that smells familiar? Do you see a place you’ve been before?’

Geralt nods.

‘I think we want the same thing, dear heart,’ Jaskier whispers, ‘I think we want a home.’

It makes sense. It’s terrifying, but before mulling it over, Geralt already knows he’s making sense and he holds Jaskier tighter.

‘We could share that with someone, if they’re bound to you. Some people have children for all the wrong reasons. But we already have legacy. We have love. We could be good. We’d be good,’ Jaskier kisses his chest again, ‘just give it a thought.’

Geralt gives it a thought, well into the night. He thinks of tiny feet on wooden floorboards, of golden hair a bit darker than his own on tiny white pillows. He sees his arms around something soft. There’s a cat somewhere and maybe it doesn’t even like him, but it makes a smile pop up on two chubby cheeks, so he feeds it and it keeps coming back. There are strong hands on his waist as he kneads dough. There’s a million tiny soft things blooming in his mind.

Jaskier likes her, he likes children, he was meant to be surrounded by people. Maybe Geralt can give him that. He cares, it’s true. He cares about the child. And maybe he can do this, for them, he can build something out of nothing for Jaskier and him. And the tiny one, too. He could do that, he thinks. He thinks that long into the night, until the sky becomes ink, the mountain silhouettes disappear, and by morning, he’s drowning in possibility.

[jaskierswolf]

What Form Love Takes

Summary: Geralt and Jaskier return once again to Kaer Morhen, only this time they're travelling high in the skies.

- Can be read as stand-alone - Part 8 of my Shapeshifter!Jaskier AU

CW: Non-sexual/non-graphic nudity (they take a bath)

___________

The fire in Jaskier’s lungs burned as he flew over the mountains. Another year on the path had come and gone. Winter was creeping in, a slow frost carpeting the Continent, tendrils reaching further south with each day. Both Jaskier and Geralt were anxious to return to their home in the Blue Mountains. They’d spent most of the year searching for Yennefer of Vengerberg with no success. Sorceresses were funny people and hard to track down. Jaskier had no doubt that the witch would turn up when she was ready. He roared as the crumbling keep came into sight, a pillar of flames bursting free from his lungs. The colours of the flame danced in front of his eyes, more vibrant in this form than any other. He could see the heat haze rippling through the air and he had to resist the urge to dive and spin through the air, dancing in the waves his flame had created.

But he had a rather fragile witcher on his back who would not be able to hold on if he were to dive the way he wanted. Geralt’s arms already had a death grip around his neck and the flight had been pretty steady so far. He heard his mate groan and felt the slight pressure of Geralt’s head pressing into his scales.

He snorted a smoke ring and flew through it. Flying was a phenomenal feeling. Geralt was just whining for the sake of it.

“Jask…”

Jaskier snorted again. There wasn’t much else he could say to his darling mate in this form without using telepathy, and he had never quite mastered that skill. He had a habit of barrelling into memories instead of placing his thoughts in the other’s mind. So he preferred to avoid it. Instead he just sniffed the air. The scent of roasted venison hit his senses, making his stomach rumble. He peered out over the horizon, a small smoke stack was puffing above the keep. Vesemir already had dinner on the go. Jaskier let out a happy rumble, not too dissimilar to a purr, and he felt Geralt’s finger brush the scales of his neck.

“What have you seen?” Geralt asked, still sounding a little queasy from their flight from Oxenfurt.

He pointed his snout towards the keep that was growing larger the closer they approached. Geralt should be able to see it now with his witcher senses.

“Kaer Morhen,” Geralt hummed and Jaskier nodded. He resisted the urge to dive towards their home. Instead he started a slower descent. When they got closer he still he began to circle the keep, getting lower with every turn.

He roared when he spotted Eskel and Vesemir waiting for the in the courtyard, another pillar of fire tore through the sky before he landed with a heavy thud on the ground. The two witchers waved them down.

“Always a dramatic entrance, bard,” Eskel laughed, reaching out his hand so that Jaskier could bump his snout against the palm of Eskel’s hand.

“We were late setting off.”

“We were starting to worry,” Vesemir huffed, arms crossed in front of his chest. Jaskier felt a swell of bitter pride in his chest. How dare this witcher insinuate that he couldn’t look after his mate? He was a dragon! He let out a low snarl, warmth heating up in his lungs.

“Easy, Jask,” Geralt rubbed the back of his neck in a warning. It wasn’t enough to incapacitate him but it did send a slight ripple of warmth down his spine. He blinked, forcing down his more draconic urges, and focussed on the voice of his mate. “Where’s Lambert?” Geralt asked, not removing his grip from Jaskier’s neck.

“He got caught up in Nilfgaard with that cat of his,” Vesemir grunted “they’re alive.”

Jaskier snorted, tail flicking against the ground. He was looking forward to having his family back together again, the disappointment was almost overwhelming. It wasn’t fair. They already had to walk the path alone throughout the year and now he couldn’t even see them for winter. Geralt must have sensed his distressed as he nuzzled his face against Jaskier’s neck.

“Wintering in Nilfgaard seems pretty cushy to me,” Eskel noted. “A lot less cold.”

Jaskier hissed at the blond witcher, earning himself a laugh from Geralt. “We miss them too, Jask.”

“We’ll get together in the summer for one of the festivals?” Eskel suggested. “There’s always plenty of contracts around then, I think the wine gets to everyone’s head.”

“Good idea.”

Jaskier let out a rumble of agreement before shaking Geralt from his back. The smell of venison in this form was too much, it was making him hungry and he had to dig his craws into the stones to stop himself from charging through the keep to the kitchens. He needed to change from this form, and fast.

Geralt landed next to him and pulled off the makeshift saddlebags with their belongs. Jaskier closed his eyes, letting his magic loose, rippling out in waves over the shiny red scales until pink skin morphed back into view. He landed on his hands and knees on the stone, the chill of the mountainous winter breeze quickly seeping into his bones. “Bollocks,” he hissed and launched himself into Geralt’s waiting arms. “It’s fucking freezing.”

Geralt chuckled and wrapped his arms around Jaskier, shielding him from the wind. Jaskier felt the press of Geralt’s lips on his hair and he sighed happily. The wind might be like shards of ice cutting into his skin but his lover was attentive and Jaskier felt safe in his arms. “We’ve had a long journey, we’ll be down for dinner,” Geralt told the oldest witcher before pulling Jaskier inside the keep. They dumped their bags in the entrance hall before making a beeline for the hot springs that lay deep within the keep, the only part of the building that remained unscathed from the battles of so long ago.

Jaskier shivered violently in Geralt’s arms. He should have transformed into something with fur first but he’d been stuck without words as they flew over the continent for hours, barely taking a break.  His back and shoulder were aching from the journey, a phantom pain where his wings had been. The hot springs would do wonders for the aches. “H. Home,” he stammered through chattering teeth.

Geralt hummed, fingers rubbing circles into his upper arm as they walked. The corridors grew darker as they walked further down, soon the light from the windows and cracks in the wall faded away and the only light left was the glow from the torches along the wall. Geralt held his hand out in front of them, a tiny little ball of fire in his palm. It wasn’t much but the heat from the flames was blissful.

Fuck, humans really weren’t meant for the winters of Kaer Morhen. This year must have been colder than usual, as Jaskier could have sworn that he could usually at least stand outside long enough to strip out of his clothes, perhaps the weariness from the journey had worn him down more than he thought. Now that he thought about it he eyes were starting to droop and Geralt was practically carrying him through the corridors.

“‘M tired…”

“I know.”

Jaskier wanted to make a joke about Geralt’s ever eloquent ways but his tongue felt too heavy in his mouth. Bath, food and a good sleep. That’s what he wanted.

The air was thick with steam as they pushed the door open into the springs. Jaskier sighed happily as the heat prickled against his skin. He took one look at the pools of water and shifted. Geralt’s hand reached up to hold his medallion as Jaskier’s magic whipped out around them, the crack of bones bouncing off the walls. The room grew bigger and he fell to the ground on four paws, scratching against the wet stones as he scurried to the water’s edge. He chosen this form well. He knew he was too tired to bathe without falling asleep and he would really rather not drown. He squeaked up at Geralt before diving into the water.

It was warm, hotter than the water he’d usually have liked in this form. The otters of this species were used to cold open sea water but he wanted to float. He swam under the water for a while, letting the warmth seep into his fur before breaching the surface. He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, keeping his paws tucked into his chest.

“Jaskier,” Geralt chuckled and Jaskier felt himself float a little further, the water rippling as Geralt finally joined him. “We can’t stay here for too long, love.”

Jaskier squeaked, not opening his eyes. He would stay here forever if he could.

“Are otters really that fluffy?”

Another squeak, and he cracked one eye open to glare at Geralt. His anger didn’t last long when he saw the look Geralt was giving him. It was unbearably fond, head tilted and a soft smile on his face. His hair had come loose from the leather hair tie on the back of his head, and water was clinging to his chest, caught in the dark grey tuffs of hair. Jaskier felt a swell of love in his heart, it was almost too much. He’d spent so many years worrying that he would never find a partner that would accept his true self, hiding his magic away like it was a dirty secret. If he felt himself falling in love then he would sneak out of the window in the dead of night, never to return.

He’d been convinced that no one would ever love him when they knew what he was, and he wasn’t willing to give his heart away to someone that couldn’t accept him. Geralt had blown past all those walls in an instant, and somehow Jaskier had managed to worm his way past the witcher’s own defences, finding both a lover and a new pack to call his own.

He pushed at the water with his paws and floated over to where Geralt was sat at the edge of the pools, he didn’t want to lose Geralt. He couldn’t loose Geralt. He reached out to his partner with his paws, with a quiet squeak.

“I love you too,” Geralt breathed in a soft voice, like he was in awe of Jaskier. As if the witcher wasn’t the most incredible creature on the whole Continent.

Geralt let Jaskier hold onto one of his fingers, tiny paws wrapping around the digit as if it were a lifeline. Jaskier chattered happily before closing his eyes, finally letting the exhaustion wash over him. He was safe, he was home, and Geralt wouldn’t let him float away.

He woke up to a gentle rocking movement, his face pressed against Geralt’s chest as the witcher carried him back to his room. He blinked, flicking his tail out behind him. It was only when he started purring that he realised he’d shifted forms in his sleep. His ears flicked out and he pawed at Geralt’s shirt.

“You only changed once I picked you up,” Geralt answered his unasked question, scratching him gently behind the ears. “I don’t think cats like the water very much.”

Jaskier meowed softly and nuzzled against Geralt’s chest. A gentle bite against Geralt’s collar was all the warning the witcher got before he let his magic ripple out over his skin. Geralt grunted under the sudden weight of the human in his arms, changing his hold so Jaskier was being carried bridal style up to their rooms. “Hey,” he mumbled sleepily “how long was I out?”

“Nearly an hour. Vesemir came to find us a few minutes ago. he’s keeping our food warm.”

Jaskier yawned and then pressed his lips to Geralt’s shoulder, sadly now covered by the tattered black shirt he wore under his armour. “I love you, darling.”

Geralt’s laughed rumbled in his chest and Jaskier smiled, still half asleep, as he buried his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck. Geralt’s hand cradled the back of his neck, carding through his hair, and Jaskier was asleep again in seconds.

The next time he woke they were back in Geralt’s bedroom, the witcher was now fully dressed in his thick winter clothes that the witchers preferred to wear in the evenings once training was done for the day. Jaskier was buried under thick furs on their bed, still naked. A roaring fire was blazing in the hearth, filling the room with its heat. “Dinner?” he asked as he blinked the sleep from his eyes. His stomach rumbled as if to repeat his question.

Geralt chuckled and crossed the room to kiss him on the top of his head. “Ready when you are.”

His stomach growled again and he grinned sheepishly. “I’m starving,” he whined. “why did you let me sleep?”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at him. “You just flew us halfway across the Continent, Jask, you needed the rest.”

“But I’m hungry,” he pouted.

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Bloody bards, never win.”

Jaskier grinned and pulled his boyfriend into a kiss, cupping Geralt’s face in his hands. “Au contraire, my love, I think you win every single day.”

“So modest,” the witcher grumbled against his lips, rubbing their noses together.

“You love me,” he purred.

“Hmm.”

Jaskier giggled and kissed Geralt again, lazily, pouring all his love into the kiss, but he blasted stomach rumbled again before the kiss could get anywhere. He whined as he pressed his forehead against Geralt’s. The witcher laughed, stroking a thumb along his cheek. “Let’s go find the others,” Geralt suggested.

“Hmm,” Jaskier replied, still pouting then with a heavy sighed he pushed Geralt away. “fine, spoilsport. Just let me get dressed first.”

Both Eskel and Vesemir were finished with their food by the time Geralt and Jaskier made it downstairs. Jaskier was wrapped up in thick wool lined clothes, a vibrant turquoise compared to Geralt’s dark navy blue ones. It wasn’t as thick as the fur he could have but he really did want to say hello to his family properly. He’d not seen Vesemir since last winter and they’d only run into Eskel once on the path.

“Greetings,” he waved at the two witchers “sorry we’re late.”

“He fell asleep again.”

“Well I’m sorry! You’re the one that lost Roach in a game of Gwent. It’s not my fault we had to fly all the way here.”

Geralt’s growled at the reminder. He’d been so sure that he could beat the arsehole but the bastard had cheated and they’d practically been run out of town, leaving Roach behind. Eskel gave a full bellied laugh, his tankard of ale crashing onto the table. “I wondered what had happened to her, it was a little soon to be replacing her.”

“She’s not dead,” Geralt grumbled, shooting daggers at Jaskier.

“We’ll find you a new horse in the spring, dearest of hearts,” he cooed, fluttering his eyelashes at his lover in attempt to soothe his anger.

“Not the point.”

“Oh ho ho!” Jaskier laughed, pulling his plate of food towards him. It was venison, of course, with thick gravy and roasted vegetables. On the side was a freshly baked roll, now a cold sadly but he really had needed to rest so he wasn’t too upset. “Grumpy witcher.”

Geralt growled again, which only made Jaskier laugh and this time Eskel and Vesemir joined in. Jaskier reached across the table to poked Geralt on the nose. “You know you don’t scare me, love.”

“Hmm.”

The dining hall echoed with the laughter of witchers, and for a brief moment Jaskier could imagine what Kaer Morhen had been like before the siege; full of witchers, brothers in arms, loyal friends and family. It made his heart ache. As much as he adored his pack, they didn’t deserve the pain of losing so many. Contrary to popular belief, these wonderfully kind beings were not meant to be alone.

He gazed around at his family, a pang of regret that Lambert and Aiden were not with them for the winter, and smiled fondly. He took Geralt’s hand under the table. The witcher raised an eyebrow at him but he shook his head. There were no words to describe this feeling, the warmth in his chest for finding the place that he belonged, the bitter pain of yearning. So many different and conflicting emotions in one single moment. How could he possibly find the words that could encompass all of that? He settled for holding Geralt’s hand under the table as they ate, joking and laughing with their family as if they’d never been away.

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