#Jaskier can always find Geralt because all of the stitches he's given act like a beacon

[witch-witcher-witchless]

AU where everyone has varying degrees of vocational magic. Green thumbs and gardeners, cooking and kitchen witches, sculptors and minor animation, mirror makers and scrying, DnD bards and stitch witches.

After 20 years of friendship—yes, I'm your very best friend, Geralt you're as ridiculous as you are stubborn—Jaskier should be offended that the Witcher didn't know his magical vocation from his true vocation as a bard, but frankly, he's too busy crowing with the delight of a man handed priceless and endless ammunition. _________________________________________

Julian Pankratz is a minor noble, a powerful Stitch Witch, and dissatisfied with both. He runs away to Oxenfurt and becomes Jaskier the Bard. Jaskier the Bard barely earns the capital B, he's an exceptionally talented musician but barely displays the magical strength needed to do, you know, bardic magic. Nevertheless, he succeeds and rarely uses his magic beyond weaving melodies with his voice, working lute strings in a pale imitation of a loom, and spinning stories as he would spin a yarn.

Marginally magical but unquestionably talented, he sets off into the world and meets a man Witcher in Posada.

It takes a month for Geralt to get a wound too awkwardly placed to stitch himself.

"What do you mean, you just bandage it?? Bandage it until you get to a healer?"

"No, bard. I bandage it until it stops bleeding and I move on with another scar."

"No. Absolutely not." and so begins Jaskier's relentless and ruthless care, as unwelcome at first as it may be, "Yes, you're a big strong Witcher. Yes, you are sitting still and letting me do this or so help me gods, Geralt, I'll sing you to celibacy."

Jaskier hasn't properly used his magic in years beyond bits and bobs, rips and tears, attaching buttons loose from flings as hurried as they are ill-advised, and various etceteras and sundries. But apparently stitches are stitches whether on silks or skin and he hums in a futile effort to forget the presence of blood and muscle, and that might be bone and Geralt just chalks up the amount of magic in the air to Jaskier's slightly manic humming; bardic magic is notoriously fickle and is known to wax and wane.

Jaskier caves and uses his vocational magic much more frequently and in earnest after the third time he stitches skin where leather armour failed. He embroiders protection into tunics, knits swiftness and purls evasion, and spins strong thread and repairs leather to be stronger yet. Rarely when Geralt is present, but—honestly Geralt, not once in 20 years? Not once did you wonder enough to ask your dearest friend why your collection of self-sacrificing scars ground nearly to a halt??

"Melitele bless hopeless Witchers! Leatherwork was never my specialty, but when was the last time you had to replace Roach's tack?"

"When I was last in Minnowette. They did good work."

Jaskier can feel the edges of his own revelation and hear the edge of growing hysteria in his voice. "Geralt that town burned down 20 years ago."

Geralt, going frightfully still, remembers.

"...WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU HAD TO REPLACE ROACH??!"

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But, Jaskier thinks, staring into Geralt's equally wide eyes, perhaps. Perhaps, he uh, he may have overlooked something substantial and glaringly obvious too. Roach's mane has had thousands of braids, twists, and flowers woven in. Countless little blessings that still do absolutely not explain—

Geralt...Geralt breathes. "A year before that. She was too old for a Witcher's horse and retired on a farm."

Or where Jaskier is a reluctant Stitch Witch so powerful that he accidentally makes Roach immortal and is incredibly distressed by this.

"I am a Bard! Not a little b bard, a big B Bard. Not a stitch witch! Can you hear how I deliberately used lower-case there?"

----------------

"...Jaskier. How...how old are you?"

"The reflection in this water tells me twenty, my mother would tell me forty, and I am incredibly conflicted about this Geralt how dare you bring this to my attention instead of letting me remain beautiful and oblivious"

[wherethewordsare]

Jay’s 500 Follower Title Event! (Pt2!)

This title was sent in by the amazing and wonderful @dapandapod and as always, betad by the love of my life, @kuripon. Thank you both for all your love and support.

So it’s come to my attention recently that I never got around to posting chapter 2 of “You Could be My Unintended” here on tumblr. But you can also read it here on AO3!

Part 1 Here

CW: A bit of angst at the front bit then straight into smut. Against a tree. Also a super long post! ((strongk bard rights))

You Could be My Unintended Pt 2: True to his word, Jaskier wore his gloves, his fingers always fiddling with the material as he walked. With them on, his lute stayed firmly in its case. He didn’t speak much either but that scent of sour agony clung to him like a new soap. 

It had taken Geralt far too long to find a mage that knew how to remove the bands. Every other one he asked would only look between himself and the bard and frown. 

“Why would you think that’s possible?” One had asked with a frown as he examined Geralt’s arm and then Jaskier’s. He looked between them again and shook his head. “I don’t, it’s as easy as all that.” 

One after the other had been the same, for nearly three months. Geralt found himself sleeping in the stables more often than not when there wasn’t two rooms for them in the towns. He really didn’t mind. It tended to be drier than just camping on the edge of the village. 

As the weeks dragged on, Geralt realized he had barely heard Jaskier speak, let alone sing. They traveled together and set camp together, but other than that, he made a point to avoid Jaskier. Most nights he found himself tracing the lines that made up the lute strings around his arm with a heavy heart. This was the most of Jaskier he would ever get to have, a few mere lines etched into his skin like a handfasting.  

Geralt trailed a finger tip around where the flower was wrapped around his knuckle and hummed. The skin there felt warmer than the rest of him, like there was something underneath, quietly burning. 

Some nights from the stables, Geralt could hear Jaskier singing well into the night. He wasn’t sure when he had realized that some of those nights, it was because Jaskier had opened the window of his rented room and sang out into the night. Geralt was thankful for the shelter of the stables as he carefully made his way to linger just behind one of the support beams. He caught sight of Jaskier leaning against his window, his face up turned to the night sky. He wasn’t wearing his gloves and his fingers traced the broad lines that looked like wrought iron shackles from the ground. They must have felt that way to him, Geralt thought, and retreated back to the stall, trying not to wonder about the words of Jaskier’s latest lament of unreturned love. 

There was word of a sorcerer just south of the Blue Mountains that was familiar enough with elven magic to make the trip worth it. Jaskier followed, his hands constantly moving in their gloves as he walked alongside Roach. 

“You know…” He started to say before he snapped his jaw shut again, looking out over the field. 

“Hmm?” Geralt’s own hands were gloved, tightly wrapped around the reins. The night before, they had camped at the edge of a lake and Geralt couldn’t help but notice the way Jaskier had given him a wide breadth. It wasn’t like Jaskier to step away from Geralt. He still held that anxious sour smell to him that now over ran every bit of sweet that usually clung to him when they traveled together. 

“I was just thinking. We could just do this trip later in the year. I’m sure you’d still find better contracts south of here,” Jaskier pointed out, even as he didn’t look back up at Geralt. 

“Figured you’d be eager to be rid of me,” Geralt said flatly and immediately regretted it as more of the sourness Jaskier carried wafted into the air. 

“Geralt…” he finally looked up at him and there was something unreadable in his eyes. Geralt only shook his head at him and urged Roach on a little faster. He didn’t think he could hear if that was the case from Jaskier. It would be easier for him when Jaskier just simply wasn’t there one morning, but for him to actually have to listen to a goodbye would have been far too much. 

They arrived well before dark and Geralt was thankful for that, at least. It meant Jaskier would be able to make it back to the village in relative safety. Not that Geralt wasn’t about to follow him just to make sure he made it anyways, but still. 

When the sorcerer opened the door, he took one look at Geralt and raised an eyebrow. 

“Well, you two might as well come in. As miserable as you look, I imagine I’ll have my work cut out for me.” He stepped aside and let them into the small one room cottage. He pointed to a low bench by the table and told them to sit while he started putting together an assortment of crockery. “Going to be one of those spells, I believe,” he said as he went along making tea. 

“We’re here to see if you can remove these,” Geralt explained as he pulled off his glove and rolled up his shirtsleeve. He glanced at Jaskier as if to say ‘you too’ and watched with mild confusion as Jaskier pulled off his glove with reluctance. 

“But…” the sorcerer looked down at the marks and then back at the two of them. “Why would you want them removed? The process is extremely painful and will cost you both dearly.” He frowned, his forehead wrinkling. “It’s no easy thing to make the heart forget, even harder when it’s two of them.” 

Geralt looked up from where he had been glaring at the floor. His chest ached. His heart would be made to forget Jaskier. He would be made to forget how much the empty spaces of his previous existence had been filled  and how life had been breathed back into it by his bard's presence. But Jaskier wasn’t his, and not even fae magic could change that because, for once, he had dared to let himself want something. 

“What do you mean ‘two of them’?" Jaskier asked before Geralt could. "It's just... there’s only one heart here that needs to forget,” He looked away when Geralt turned to face him. “We’ll only need the one spell, sorcerer.” 

“At this point, Geralt, I’m sure he can handle it and send me on my way when it’s done,”  Jaskier said to Geralt. He reached up as though he were going for a handshake before he clenched his fist and pulled it back again. 

Sour distress and bitter agony filled Geralt’s mouth. Something was starting to turn over and click into place ever so slowly. 

“But,” the sorcerer leaned away from them, his hands pressed together and he nodded towards their uncovered marks. “You both wear the marks of the other. That wouldn’t happen unless…” He stopped and made a curious humming sound. “Witcher, tell me. How many hearts do you think need to be full of someone else to make two sets of marks?”

Geralt blinked slowly, looking between his arm and Jaskier then back to the sorcerer who only nodded at him slowly. 

“Wait,” Jaskier whispered and looked down at Geralt’s arm. He licked his lips nervously before he looked up at Geralt with a cautious smile. “Geralt… Why were you so determined to get here? For me to wear those gloves?” He asked softly. That thing that was turning so slowly for Geralt had apparently fully flipped on its head for Jaskier. 

The sorcerer sighed heavily. He reached over and picked up the cup of tea he had been nursing when they had arrived. “The fae are many things, but they only bind the willing. At least when it comes to betrothals outside of their realms.” He raised an eyebrow at the two of them. It reminded Geralt sharply of when he and the other young witchers had done something fullhearty and Vesemir would catch them in the act, calling them out for their stupidity. 

Hope, warm and sweet like honey and wheat and sword oil cut through every sense. Geralt watched in wonder as Jaskier tilted his head at him with his bottom lip caught in his teeth. 

“Because I assumed you didn’t want... me,” he finished lamely as he looked down to where their arms lay bare next to each other. The bands around Jaskier’s wrist made the skin surrounding  them stark pale in comparison. The wolf around his ring finger seemed to shift and shiver, waiting to sprint. 

Jaskier was the one who turned back to the sorcerer with a sad smile, laughing wetly. “I apologize. We’ve seemed to have taken up so much of your valuable time.” He pulled out coins and handed them over easily. “For your trouble and our idiocy.” Jaskier looked back at Geralt with a weak grin and nodded towards the door. “Come on, you big oaf. We should talk.”

Geralt followed Jaskier out of the cottage and down the path. His feet carried him almost automatically as he went, not knowing where Jaskier was taking him but somehow trusting him all the same. He had always trusted Jaskier, without fail. He felt like this was more important than being stitched back together after a battle or sleeping next to some kid he had picked up in a dusty little back water that he had only really known for a week. Even then, he had trusted him enough to fall asleep around the same camp fire. 

“Who do you think was going to be drinking that potion, Geralt? Whose heart was supposed to forget?” Jaskier turned, his hands crossed back over his chest. He was holding the gloves in one hand, clenched tightly as if trying to anchor himself. 

“I was going to… Mine. I had to forget that… If you were ever going to be free from those marks. From… my marks…” Geralt looked down to where the black bands were peeking out from under the cuff of Jaskier’s doublet. 

“But you have marks, my marks, too,” Jaskier pointed out as though he were pointing out a cloud in the sky on a day that there wasn’t supposed to be rain. 

“Hmm.” Geralt looked down and frowned, turning his hand over. The flower ring seemed to warm again under his skin. 

“Geralt…” Jaskier reached out and with a kind of twisting pain in his stomach, Geralt realized that Jaskier hadn’t touched him at all since they had first woken up with their tattoos. All the casual light touches, the long nights patching Geralt up, the playful nudges when Geralt was taking up too much room in a shared bed. Geralt had been avoiding all of those, knowing that if Jaskier touched him, he would have never been able to walk away. But here he was, leaning out into the touch like it was a life line. 

They both gasped when Jaskier’s hand closed around his wrist. Their marks began to glow and heat, bright warm light shining just under their skin. Geralt reached down, taking Jaskier’s other hand and letting himself finally run his fingers along the broad bands there, his thumb swiping over his knuckle where the wolf had rested. Those too glowed. 

“Oh,” Jaskier breathed. He chuckled softly and his hand squeezed around Geralt’s wrist gently. “Dear heart, why didn’t you say something? How could I possibly…” Jaskier swallowed thickly and seemed to have made up his mind about something. 

He pressed into Geralt’s space before the witcher could stop him, his hands sliding from where they had been on Geralt’s arms to around his neck, pulling him close. 

“I wear your marks because it’s the only thing I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember,” Jaskier murmured. 

Then he was kissing Geralt. He went slowly, giving the other ample time to pull away but Geralt only surged forward, capturing the bard's lips as his arms wrapped around his waist. The marks on his skin tingled and flared the closer Jaskier pushed into his arms. Geralt was remotely aware of the glowing light around his shoulders from Jaskier’s tattoos. 

“I thought you were going to leave,” Geralt practically whined into Jaskier’s mouth, the bard walking them back slowly from the path. 

“How could I ever leave you, dear heart?” Jaskier hummed in return, pressing Geralt carefully into the trunk of a tree. “You’d have to send me away, and even then, I’d still find a way back to you.” 

“I claimed you in that wood, the fae tied you to me and I thought you didn’t-” Geralt pulled back again, searching Jaskier’s face. 

“Geralt,” he sighed, put upon and fond and smiling. “You’ve had me for so long, they didn’t need to hear the words out loud. Not when I was right there, practically screaming a confession in their faces.” He pulled away and Geralt’s body leaned away from the tree, swaying to stay in his arms. A hand came up and pressed him back gently by the shoulder and rested there. 

Jaskier pulled back his sleeve where it had fallen around his wrist and smiled at the marks there, glowing softly. “You’ve always had me, White Wolf. How could you possibly think otherwise?” 

Geralt wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s middle again, pulling him back under the tree. Their mouths clashed in a graceless mess of teeth and tongue and need. He groaned when the fingers on his shoulder slid up his neck and back into his hair, fingers tangling in silver strands. 

“Fuck,” Jaskier gasped. They were pressed from knee to forehead, panting into shared air. “Keep this up, love, and I’m going to have to do something about it.” It was a tease but suddenly it was all Geralt could think of. 

He nodded eagerly, guiding Jaskier’s mouth back to his before sliding his fingers down the bard’s chest to start plucking open the buttons of his doublet. Jaskier only laughed and deepened the kiss, licking into Geralt’s mouth with hungry abandon. A knee came up, slipping between Geralt’s thighs and pressed against where his trousers were growing tight.  

“You delightful creature, how have we wasted this much time.” Jaskier nipped along his jaw, one hand coming up to rest against the broad trunk of the tree while the other slid down Geralt’s body and squeezed first his hip, then his thigh. He tugged then, pulling Geralt’s leg up to wrap around him. 

“Is this… is this alright?” he whispered, nudging Geralt’s chin with his nose. 

“Jaskier…” Geralt growled in warning but it was tarnished by the soft keen he made when Jaskier pressed up again with his thigh. His fingers dug into Geralt’s leg, making him shiver. 

“Yes, darling?” Jaskier smirked, pressing light kisses to the corner of Geralt’s mouth and along his cheek. 

“Should have figured you’d be a pain in the ass in the sack, too,” Geralt grumbled. He gasped sharply as nimble fingers slid over his hardening cock through too many layers of clothes. 

Jaskier had a wicked smile in place as he repeated the motion, watching Geralt with near adoration in his eyes. 

“Oh, is it a pain in the ass you want?” He all but purred. Jaskier dipped his head down again, biting just below Geralt’s jaw, making his body bow and his thighs tremble where one leg was still trying to support him. It felt like Jaskier had taken on most of his weight though and Geralt was caught in a kind of free fall that sent his stomach swooping. 

“Jask, please,” Geralt’s hips bucked and his fingers tightened in Jaskier’s doublet, nearly ripping the fine material. 

“Fuck,” Jaskier huffed and slowly let Geralt down onto both feet. 

The witcher all but whimpered when Jaskier pulled away, his hands clinging tightly. But then Jaskier’s fingers worked his trousers open, a hand slipping inside without finesse, stroking Geralt roughly. 

“Here I’ve always thought it would be you to take me apart with those hands I’ve bandaged and cared for. But now I have you practically singing for me, witcher, and I think I could get drunk on those sounds alone.” He twisted his wrist deftly, pulling another moan from Geralt, far louder than Geralt had intended to be. 

“Perfect, darling. Fuck, you’re perfect.” Jaskier panted and pulled his hand away. “Let me care for you? Please, Geralt. This one thing. Let me…” Jaskier begged, though it seemed neither of them could really understand what exactly he was asking. Geralt found that he really didn’t care. If Jaskier was going to ask for it, he was going to get it. 

Jaskier kissed his cheek, far more chaste than what Geralt needed and turned, walking to their packs. Geralt clung to the tree, trying not to follow the bard and push him down onto the ground simply to ravish him. Years of hunger and need and something far more complex battled every rational thought he had as he watched Jaskier return to him, a bottle in hand. 

As he approached, Jaskier was peeling off his own shirt, his hands fumbling with his trousers and then those same hands reaching for Geralt. He stripped them both down, nearly dropping to his knees as he yanked down Geralt’s pants. Jaskier’s mouth never left his skin, biting and sucking marks into every inch he could get to as he unwrapped Geralt with a wanton kind of hunger. Words were murmured into his skin, soft promises and growled praise before teeth sank into his hip making Geralt buck and keen. 

He didn’t give Geralt a moment to register the cool air on his overheated skin before he was scooping Geralt up by the thighs and pinning him to the tree. Geralt automatically wrapped his legs around his bard and squeezed, pulling him in tighter as his hips grinded down eagerly. 

“The number of times I have thought of this, of you, of all the ways I wished you would look at me… And all it took was me getting us into trouble. You’d think it would have happened far sooner than this, hmm?” Jaskier chuckled. 

Geralt only growled, rocking his hips to make his point. “You talk too much, bard.” 

His low growls turned into soft whines as a slick finger was suddenly pressing just behind his balls. His back arches as he gripped Jaskier’s shoulders, his heels digging into Jaskier’s ass. 

“Oh, you like that, don’t you, love?” That slick finger traced back along Geralt’s skin until it brushed lightly over his rim, teasing in a slow circle. “What other noises can I pull from you? Would you let me?” Jaskier rasped, dipping his head down again and sinking his teeth into Geralt’s neck. 

The air left Geralt’s lungs like it had been punched out of him as Jaskier’s finger slid in, just to the first knuckle, slowly working him open as his teeth raked against Geralt’s skin. Jaskier’s free hand was in his hair again, scratching at his scalp. It was too much and not enough and perfect. Geralt bore down onto Jaskier’s finger eagerly, his thighs squeezing the bard tightly. 

“Jask… fuck!” He groaned and pulled Jaskier from his neck to kiss him. Geralt grunted as another finger joined the first, Jaskier pumping them slowly into Geralt’s tight heat. It had been a long time since Geralt had been taken like this, but he felt like his bones were going to melt from the heat that was building at the base of his spine. 

Jaskier became wordless, his mouth and free hand never leaving Geralt for too long as he took his time working him open. Once or twice, his hand would be pulled away only to return with more slick and more urgency. Geralt squeezed his legs tighter around him, rolling his hips to meet every thrust of Jaskier’s hand until there were four fingers buried in him and curling just so. He threw his head back and groaned, heat wrapping around his gut and chest and pulling him ever closer to the edge.

“Oh no you don’t, darling witcher. Not without me,” Jaskier chided gently and his fingers disappeared from where it stretched Geralt’s opening. 

“Then fucking get inside of me,” Geralt tried to growl but it came out as a groan. 

“Oh, scary witcher…” Jaskier chuckled, leaning in to kiss Geralt’s mouth gently. There was a bit of a shift and Geralt was being lifted and then slid back down. The blunt head of Jaskier’s cock prodded once then twice at his entrance before Jaskier rolled his hips up and let Geralt sink down onto him. 

They both took a shallow breath and held still, Jaskier’s eyes fluttering for a moment while Geralt clung tighter to his shoulders. 

“Oh ho ho… You really are just,” Jaskier rolled his hips up to punctuate, “perfect.” He buried his face into Geralt’s neck as he started at a slow pace. 

Geralt tangled his fingers into Jaskier’s hair, his eyes snapping open as the angle shifted and Jaskier’s cock hit just right, making him shudder. Something on his wrist caught his attention. The vine of the flower that had been wrapped around his finger glowed brighter than it had when they had first touched. The stems seemed to grow and spread, wrapping around his hand and then his wrist, warm and grounding. 

He felt supported, looked after. Geralt felt like his chest might have imploded as another thought came rushing in with the soft mutterings against his neck. 

He felt loved. Jaskier had- 

“Fuck, Geralt. I-” the bard bit off, his body shaking with effort as he picked up his pace. Geralt dragged his mouth back out from where it was marking up under his jaw and kissed him roughly, swallowing every wonderful moan on the bard’s tongue. 

Jaskier’s nails dug into Geralt’s bare thigh, clutching him tighter. He felt like he was about to shake apart, caught between Jaskier’s broad chest and the rough bark of the tree. His shoulders were going to be sore the next morning but he couldn’t be fucked into caring. There was a single minded need coursing through him just then and he was going to get it, so help him.

He clenched around Jaskier’s cock eagerly, his body gripping and refusing to let go the deeper Jaskier drove into him. 

“Jaskier,” he panted through eager moans, “Jask!” 

Jaskier only thrusted into Geralt harder, his hands bruising tight against his thighs as they jostled. 

“Come on, darling. Come on, come for me. Fuck… Geralt, I love you.” Jaskier pressed their foreheads together, his voice completely wrecked. “Yours. Of course I’ve been yours, love,” he babbled, giving the answers to questions Geralt couldn’t find the courage to ask. “Come on, Geralt…” 

Geralt’s heart pounded in his chest and suddenly everything was overwhelmingly good. His muscles went taut and he arched against the tree. There was a howling and his vision seemed to white out for a moment. It must have been him making that noise because his throat suddenly felt raw with it. 

Jaskier had followed him over that edge, spilling into Geralt with one final hard thrust, burying himself as deep as he could with a low groan. 

Geralt felt like he could float, the way his body nearly went limp against the trunk of the tree. 

“Fuck,” Jaskier grunted, his fingers petting against Geralt’s thighs. They were trembling. When did that happen? 

Geralt was set down carefully, soft hands brushing the hair back that had fallen in his face. Jaskier’s voice drifted to him as though from very far away and for a moment, all he could see was light, two thick bars of warm light that felt like coming home after the darkest of nights. 

Jaskier had been there, just a moment ago and then he was gone. He felt dazed but he relaxed into it, not worried that something might come out of the brush and get them as he leaned against the tree. It didn’t surprise him when Jaskier came back. Geralt trusted that he would always come back.

He let himself be cleaned up and led back to their packs. A single bedroll had been laid out and he was guided down into it. And then…

Jaskier was still there, wrapping around him, his arm around his waist and his head tucked under Geralt’s chin. His chest was bare against Geralt’s, though he couldn’t quite remember taking his shirt off. Jaskier had been the one that had taken him apart and put him back together again, strong and whole and wanted. 

There was something nagging at him though. Something in the back of his mind told Geralt that he had missed something. 

He turned and wrapped his arms tightly around Jaskier, burying his nose into his hair. “I love you, too. And I have always been yours. Without a question, I have been yours.” 

Jaskier sighed happily, hiding his face into Geralt’s shoulder. “I know, love. I know.” 

When Geralt woke the next time with his arm around his bard, he did not pull away because he knew then that there was nothing to pull away from. So he simply slid in closer and let himself enjoy the closeness of his unintended husband.