Ink and Font

23 yo, she/her. i post a lot of witcher content 🤷‍♀️. asks are open ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersunofdoom instagram @darkverrmin

[darkverrmin]

Strong Jaskier who doesn't realize how strong he is?

Carrying an injured Geralt on his back like a sack of potatoes, muttering something about reckless witchers.

***

Geralt lifting one of Jaskier’s bags to pass it to the bard, almost tripping because of how heavy it is.

***

Jaskier, bathing shirtless in the river, showing off his ripped torso: Why can't we just go around? I don't want to climb another mountain, Geralt! I'm a delicate man!

Geralt, internally: eyes on his face, eyes on his face

***

Geralt refuses to take a medicine the healer gave him. "I'm fine, Jaskier. It will heal on its ow-"

Jaskier tackling Geralt to the ground, pinning him down. Both knees on Geralt’s shoulders, holding his mouth open, as he forces him to take the medicine. Yes, the same way you give medicine to a cat.

***

Kicking Geralt out of the bed, when the Witcher tries to steal the blanket back.

***

Knocking Geralt down on his ass, when Geralt tries to drag him out of the bed in the morning.

***

Lambert: C'mon, just hit me. I want to see how you throw a punch.

Jaskier: Are you sure? I don't want to hurt you.

Lambert: *snorts* You won't hurt me, bard, c'mon.

Jaskier: ...Okay, then. Here goes nothing. *knocks Lambert unconscious*

[marvagon]

Eskel, watching the scene unfold:

[darkverrmin]

Geralt arguing with Jaskier, trying to convince him not to do something incredibly stupid.

Jaskier, naturally, refuses to listen.

So Geralt decides to shut him up the only way he can think of: by kissing him.

There has been enough sexual tension between them for a while that Geralt wanted to do it anyway. This just happens to be a convenient excuse. It stops Jaskier from doing something reckless and gives Geralt exactly what he’s been trying very hard not to want.

What Geralt should have remembered, though, is that the only thing this petty bard loves more than Geralt is winning an argument.

So Jaskier simply puts a hand over Geralt’s mouth, pushes him away, and says:

“I am absolutely going to react to that later. But we are not done here.”

[darkverrmin]

Geralt uses the gossip he gets from Jaskier to help him get paid for this contracts.

Jaskier likes to gossip and he has a lot of secret and compromising information about everyone and Geralt listens to him when he talks about it, even when he's pretending not to.

So when some noble or mayor refuses to pay Geralt for a job, because he thinks he can get away with it, Geralt is like:

"Oh, fine... Guess your wife won't mind to hear you slept with her sister".

And just like that, he gets paid.

***

Bonus: he tells jaskier about it later and jaskier finds it hilarious

[darkverrmin]

He paused, considering his words.

“I won’t lie,” he added. “I’ve been in love a ridiculous number of times.”

“I remember,” Geralt said dryly.

“Not the point,” Jaskier said, waving that off. “Those feelings came and went. They always did. They were loud, dramatic, occasionally ill-advised…”

Geralt huffed.

“But this-” Jaskier lifted their joined hands slightly between them, grounding himself in the contact, “-this stayed.”

Geralt stilled.

Jaskier met his gaze. “You’re the only person I’ve ever been able to talk to and know I’ll be understood,” he said. “Even when you were pretending not to listen.”

“I wasn’t-”

“You were,” Jaskier cut in gently. “You’re terrible at hiding it.”

Geralt’s mouth twitched faintly.

Jaskier’s expression softened.

“And you stayed,” he added, quieter now. “Through all of it. Through the songs, the disasters, the questionable decisions-”

“Many,” Geralt muttered.

“-many,” Jaskier agreed. “And somehow you’re still here.”

A pause.

“So no,” he said softly. “You didn’t fail to give me the life I want.”

He squeezed Geralt’s hand. “You are the life I want.”

***

Continue reading:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/82623221/chapters/221839501

[darkverrmin]

Geralt was still awake.

Of course he was.

Sitting on the bed, shoulders tight, like he hadn’t moved in a while. His head snapped up the moment the door opened.

Their eyes met.

Relief, quick, sharp, impossible to hide in time.

“Hey,” Jaskier said simply, closing the door behind him a little more quietly than usual. “Thought you’d be asleep already.”

Geralt didn’t answer. He just looked at him.

Jaskier didn’t look away. “Ugh, I’m so bloody tired,” he complained, strolling into the room, already unlacing his shirt. “I’m getting too old for this much excitement in one day.”

Still nothing.

And then, quieter-

“…you came back.”

Jaskier leaned his shoulder against the wall, fingers still working at the laces, watching him.

“…you want me to sleep in the stables?” he asked.

“That’s not what I said.”

Jaskier managed a small smile.

“Well,” he said lightly, “you looked so miserable when I left, I thought I’d come back and check if you survived.”

Geralt huffed softly, but didn’t look away. “Barely.”

A small pause.

“…so you’re staying?”

Jaskier sighed, tilting his head.

“I did consider a dramatic exit,” he said. “Storming into the night, vowing never to return, possibly acquiring a tragic backstory-”

Geralt’s shoulders tensed.

Jaskier waved a hand. “But it’s cold, and I’m tired, and frankly I don’t have the energy to reinvent myself tonight.”

He pushed off the wall and walked toward him, a little slower than usual, a little looser.

Geralt’s gaze sharpened.

“…you’ve been drinking.”

Jaskier smiled, unapologetic. “Lambert offered. I accepted. It felt rude not to.”

“How much?”

Jaskier tilted his head, considering. “Enough that I briefly considered forgiving you for everything without an argument.”

Geralt snorted, actual amusement this time.

Jaskier brightened immediately. “There it is. I knew you still had one of those.”

Geralt shook his head, but there was something warmer in his expression now. “You’re drunk.”

“I am charming,” Jaskier corrected, pointing at him. “There’s a difference.”

Geralt raised a brow.

Jaskier stepped closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Also, whatever Lambert drinks is fucking strong. I’m fairly certain I saw the floor move at least once.”

Geralt huffed again, softer now. “That was you.”

“Unproven.”

***

Continue Reading:

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[darkverrmin]

Jaskier’s laughter softened into something breathless as Geralt stepped in closer, hands firm at his waist-

and then suddenly he was lifted in the air.

“Oh-” Jaskier let out a startled laugh as Geralt set him on the table, the movement easy, decisive.

“You, my dear Witcher” Jaskier murmured, smiling, already leaning into him. “Are deeply improper-”

Geralt’s answer was another kiss, cutting him off.

Jaskier melted into it immediately, his hands sliding into Geralt’s hair, pulling him closer as Geralt’s hands moved- steady, deliberate- shrugging his jacket off his shoulders.

The fabric slipped away easily.

Jaskier didn’t protest.

Didn’t even pretend to.

Instead, he shifted forward, wrapping his legs around Geralt’s middle, pulling him in tighter with a quiet, pleased sound.

“Geralt-”

Geralt’s hands followed, pushing his shirt open, slow but certain this time, no fumbling now.

Jaskier’s breath hitched, head tipping back when Geralt’s mouth found his neck again.

A soft sigh slipped out of him, unrestrained this time.

“Oh, that’s-” he breathed, fingers tightening in Geralt’s hair. “That’s not fair.”

Geralt didn’t answer.

Just lingered there, deliberate, unhurried.

Jaskier let out a small, frustrated laugh, tilting his head further to give him better access without even realizing it.

“You’re teasing me,” he murmured.

“Mm.”

***

Continue reading:

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[darkverrmin]

The man recognized Jaskier immediately. Of course he did.

Smiled like nothing had happened. Like years hadn’t passed. Like he hadn’t left Jaskier quietly putting himself back together.

Jaskier smiled back.

Easy. Polite. Untouchable.

Geralt stood a little off to the side, watching.

He didn’t say anything until the man was gone.

Jaskier let out a breath, rolling his shoulders. “Well,” he said lightly, “that was unpleasant.”

Geralt glanced at him. “That’s who you were heartbroken over?”

Jaskier blinked. “I- excuse me?”

Geralt frowned slightly. “He’s not-” he gestured vaguely, “you’re so out of his league.”

Jaskier snorted. “Oh, please. I was eighteen.”

“Mm,” Geralt said.

Jaskier glanced at him. “Don’t tell me you agree.”

Geralt didn’t answer right away.

“I remember you at eighteen,” he said instead.

Jaskier smiled. “You do?”

Geralt shrugged faintly. “First day we met. You talked to everyone. Wouldn’t stop. Followed me half the road.”

Jaskier smiled slowly. “Yes, well. I made an impression.”

“You tried,” Geralt said.

Jaskier narrowed his eyes. “I succeeded.”

Geralt’s mouth twitched faintly.

“You were…” he paused, searching for the word.

Jaskier sighed. “This is going to be insulting, I can tell.”

“…adorable,” Geralt finished.

There was a pause.

Jaskier stared at him. “…I don’t think I like that word.”

“Fits.”

“I was not adorable,” Jaskier said. “I was compelling.”

“Mm.”

Jaskier huffed. “Go on then. Continue your character assassination.”

Geralt shrugged. “You talked too much.”

“I still do.”

“Mm.”

Jaskier shook his head, but he was smiling.

Geralt’s gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary.

Then, quieter- “I wasn’t interested in you like that.”

Jaskier blinked. “What?”

“Back then,” Geralt added. “You were too young.”

Jaskier tilted his head. “Too young.”

“Mm.”

A pause.

“And now?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt didn’t look away. “Different.”

Jaskier’s expression softened, just a little.

“…right,” he said.

Geralt hesitated, just briefly, then added, more deliberate this time:

“If I’d been younger back then… the first day we met—”

Jaskier stilled.

Geralt shrugged faintly. “I probably would’ve run off with you.”

Jaskier let out a quiet breath, half a laugh, half something else.

“…into the sunset?” he asked softly.

Geralt huffed. “Mm.”

Jaskier shook his head, smiling despite himself.

***

Continue reading:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/82623221/chapters/220489381

[darkverrmin]

The door opened without so much as a knock.

Geralt looked up at once, irritation flashing across his face. “You could try knocking.”

Lambert sauntered in as if the room belonged to him, shutting the door behind him with one boot. “And miss whatever this is?” His eyes flicked from Geralt to Jaskier, then down to the hand Geralt was bandaging. He gave a low whistle. “Gods, bard. That looks bad.”

Jaskier sucked in a breath as Geralt adjusted the cloth and immediately regretted it. “You are, somehow, not helping.”

Lambert grinned. “No?”

“No,” Jaskier said through his teeth, cradling his hand against his chest once Geralt let go for a moment. “I am in serious pain.”

“You’ll live,” Geralt said.

Jaskier looked at him with wide, wounded eyes. “Will I? Be honest with me. Am I going to lose the hand? Because as a musician, that does feel relevant.”

“No.”

Lambert barked out a laugh and leaned against the wall. “Probably.”

Jaskier made a strangled noise and sat up straighter. “Probably?”

Geralt shot Lambert a flat look. “Ignore him.”

“Oh, that’s easy for you to say,” Jaskier muttered. “It isn’t your hand swelling like a loaf of bread.”

Lambert was still smirking, but when he looked at Jaskier again there was something like reluctant approval in it. “Did you see how he did it, though?” he asked Geralt. “Just launched himself at the poor idiot. Man twice his size.”

Geralt’s mouth flattened. “I saw. He doesn’t know how to throw a punch and shouldn’t be throwing them.”

***

Continue reading:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/82623221/chapters/218392451

[darkverrmin]

The words settled between them, warmer than the sun.

After a moment, Geralt reached for Jaskier’s hand, turning it slightly in his own.

“You’re cold,” he said.

“No… I’m not.” He really wasn’t.

“C’mere.” Geralt wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s middle, pulling him closer.

Jaskier knew it had nothing to do with being cold.

But he didn’t argue.

He let himself be pulled in, shifting easily until he was tucked against Geralt’s side, his head resting on his chest. He could hear the steady rhythm beneath him, slow, calm, grounding.

Jaskier’s eyes fluttered slightly.

“We should get going,” he murmured, though the words lacked conviction.

“Hm. Soon.”

A small smile tugged at Jaskier’s lips. “Oh, so you do like it here.”

Geralt didn’t answer, not with words.

Instead, he dipped his head and placed a quiet kiss against Jaskier’s hair.

Jaskier went still for a heartbeat, then melted, the last of the tension slipping out of him. His hand curled loosely in Geralt’s shirt.

“That’s…” he mumbled, already half-asleep, “that’s very unfair of you.”

Geralt’s arm tightened slightly around him.

The wind moved softly through the grass. The sun stayed warm and steady above them.

Jaskier’s breathing slowed, evening out as sleep claimed him, still pressed close, still smiling faintly as if whatever he had been about to say no longer mattered.

Geralt stroked his back, slow and absent-minded, his gaze drifting up to the sky.

Jaskier wasn't wrong. This wasn't so bad.

***

Continue reading:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/82623221/chapters/218191681

[darkverrmin]

Jaskier stumbled backward, dragging Geralt with him, hands gripping his shoulders as he laughed into the kiss. “Gods, you-” he started, then lost the words entirely when Geralt kissed him again, slower this time, deliberate.

“Inside,” Geralt muttered against his mouth.

“We are inside,” Jaskier pointed out, still smiling.

“Further.”

Jaskier laughed and let himself be pushed back, nearly tripping as they reached the bed.

They went down together in a mess of damp clothes and laughter, Geralt bracing himself above him, Jaskier already pulling him closer again.

“You’re-” Jaskier tried, breath catching, “-entirely unfair-”

A sound.

Movement.

Jaskier froze.

“…Geralt,” he said slowly.

Geralt didn’t stop immediately.

“Geralt.”

“What.”

“…we have a guest.”

Geralt stilled.

Then turned his head.

Lambert was sprawled in the chair by the wall, boots up, watching them like this was the best entertainment he’d had in weeks. He was broad shouldered, built like someone who fought for a living and enjoyed it- leather worn, hair a tousled, sun faded blond, a sharp scar cutting across his lip.

He gave them a small wave. “Hi.”

Jaskier blinked at him. “Hi.”

“Oh no,” Lambert said easily. “Please, go on. Don’t stop on my account.”

***

Continue reading:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/82623221/chapters/218122781#workskin

[darkverrmin]

Chapter 3 is up! Thank you for the kudos and comments, I enjoy writing this so much 🫶

***

They lingered there a moment longer, close beneath the tree, the rain softening to a steady rhythm around them.

Jaskier was the one who spoke first this time.

“So,” Jaskier said lightly, though there was something careful beneath it, “are we going to continue pretending that last night didn’t happen, or…?”

Geralt’s hand, where it rested at Jaskier’s waist, stilled.

“I’m not pretending,” he said.

Jaskier studied him for a moment, then tilted his head slightly. “Could’ve fooled me,” he replied, softer now. “You’ve been very… normal.”

Geralt’s brow furrowed faintly. “You wanted me to act differently?”

Jaskier gave a small shrug, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe. A little. Or at least less… composed about it.”

Geralt huffed a quiet laugh. “Hm. So how did you want me to act?”

Jaskier rolled his eyes, though there was no real bite in it. “Stop asking difficult questions.”

“Oh, so I’m the one asking difficult questions?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Not really.” Jaskier just stared at him. Geralt held his gaze for a moment, then let out a slow breath, something shifting, softening. “…Okay. Maybe a little.”

A beat passed.

His voice dropped, quieter, more certain.

“I did want to do this,” he said. “From the moment we walked out.”

Jaskier blinked. “Do what-”

Geralt leaned in and brushed his lips against Jaskier’s.

Soft. Brief. Intent.

“This.”

Jaskier’s breath caught, his expression warming instantly, eyes flicking between Geralt’s as if making sure this was real. “What- again?” he murmured, already leaning closer.

Geralt let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh and kissed him again, slower this time, lingering.

“You can kiss me whenever you want, you know,” Jaskier murmured against his lips, voice softer now, touched with a smile. “You don’t need to ask. Or wait.”

Geralt pulled back just enough to look at him, his hand still steady at Jaskier’s waist.

“If I had,” he said quietly, “we wouldn’t have gotten far on the path.”

***

Continue reading:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/82623221/chapters/217814696

[darkverrmin]

Jaskier pulled back after a few moments, breath catching, lips parted as he tried to steady himself. “It’s not fair,” he managed, voice rougher than usual as he fumbled with the buttons of his shirt.

“Hm?” Geralt murmured, already leaning in again, his mouth finding the line of Jaskier’s neck.

The effect was immediate. Jaskier inhaled sharply, fingers tightening briefly in Geralt’s tunic as a shiver ran through him. “You can just keep going,” he said between breaths, half laughing, hal complaining. “Don’t even need to breathe. Meanwhile, I’m-” he exhaled, shaking his head, “-clearly at a disadvantage.”

A quiet hum of amusement rumbled from Geralt as his hands slid the shirt from Jaskier’s shoulders, pushing the fabric down and away. “Wouldn’t want you to suffer,” he said, the hint of a smile in his voice more than his expression.

Jaskier huffed a soft laugh at that, but it melted quickly into a sigh when Geralt’s hands settled at his back again, grounding, steady. Their mouths found each other once more, slower now, less frantic and more certain, Jaskier leaning into it, into him, like he’d finally stopped holding himself back.

Geralt drew back just enough to look at him, his gaze moving over Jaskier’s face, then lower, something thoughtful in the way he lingered. “You have a beautiful body,” he said quietly, the words low and unadorned, as if he saw no reason to soften them.

Jaskier blinked, momentarily thrown, color rising faintly in his cheeks despite himself. “L-look who’s talking,” he said, trying for his usual easy confidence, though it came out a touch unsteady.

“I mean it,” Geralt continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. His hand moved again, slower this time, tracing along Jaskier’s side, not possessive, not rushed, just… certain. “You’re strong. But there’s something else, too. The way you move. The way you carry yourself.” His gaze flicked back up, meeting Jaskier’s. “Hard to look away.”

Jaskier didn’t have a clever answer ready. He held Geralt’s gaze for a beat longer than usual, something softer settling behind his eyes.

“Then don’t,” he said at last, quieter than before.

A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched Geralt’s lips. “Wasn’t planning to.”

***

Continue reading:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/82623221/chapters/217632966#workskin

[darkverrmin]

“You’re not terrible to look at.”

Jaskier barked out a laugh, tension snapping just a little. “Why, thank you. High praise.”

Geralt’s mouth curved, just slightly.

Jaskier swallowed.

“So… that means you’ve… thought about it?” His voice dipped, suddenly less certain. “About us?”

Geralt didn’t look away.

“Yes.”

“…Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

Geralt’s shoulders rose in a small shrug. “Never seemed like the right time.”

Jaskier let out a sharp laugh, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “Didn’t seem like the- Geralt, I was practically throwing myself at you the first year we met.”

“That didn’t count,” Geralt said evenly.

Jaskier blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You were eighteen,” Geralt continued, finally shifting his gaze to him. “Too young. Didn’t know what you wanted.”

Jaskier stared at him for a moment, then narrowed his eyes slightly.

“…And you?” he asked, quieter now. “Didn’t you know what you wanted?”

Geralt didn’t look away.

“I knew,” he said.

Jaskier’s breath caught, just slightly. 

***

Jaskier stared at him for another moment, then huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Okay, so you didn’t want to go for it when I was eighteen. Well. I’m thirty now.” His smile turned a little sharper. “If anything, I’ve only gotten better.”

Geralt didn’t smile. Didn’t look away, either.

His eyes stayed on Jaskier- steady, intent in a way that made something twist low in Jaskier’s chest.

“Well,” Geralt said quietly, “yes.”

Jaskier huffed a small laugh. “That was a joke, Geralt. I mean, I’m getting old.”

Geralt’s gaze stayed on him.

Longer than it should have.

Jaskier was still half-smiling, like he always did when he was trying to turn something into a joke, like he could soften anything if he just talked around it enough.

Geralt didn’t miss the details.

The way the candle light caught in his hair, softer now that it was clean. The line of his mouth, still curved even when he wasn’t speaking. The easy way he took up space, unguarded, like he didn’t realize how he looked when he wasn’t trying.

Geralt exhaled slowly.

“You? Old?”

A beat.

“If that’s old… you wear it well.”

The words landed heavier than they should have.

***

Continue reading:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/82623221/chapters/217496811

[darkverrmin]

Jaskier: You know what I really love about finally being in a relationship with you?

Geralt: That now every time you ask me to carry you because your feet hurt, you know I'll feel bad if I say no?

Jaskier: Okay, that too.

Jaskier: But my favorite part is that I don't need to hide my thoughts and feelings anymore.

Jaskier: I think you look adorable when you're brooding in the corner? I can say it aloud!

Jaskier: I want to kiss you on the nose when you come back exhausted from a contract? I can do that!

Jaskier: When you ask me if I'm scared of you when you're under the effect of your potions? I don't have to be subtle and say it's okay. I can say that you're the sexiest man on earth and may I take off your clothes here and now, please?

Geralt, smiling and shaking his head: You're insufferable.

Jaskier: And I can also say that I like annoying you because you roll your eyes like that and you give me that smile and that's how I know you're into me too.

Geralt: Hardly.

Jaskier: And even when you're a mean, mean witcher, I still adore you.

Jaskier: Ha, made you blush!

Geralt: So this means I don't need to hide my feelings anymore too, right? So now, every time you make me feel embarrassed with your affections, instead of telling you "fuck off bard", I can simply say "You know I've been in love with you for almost two decades?"

Jaskier, almost choking on his drink: You what?

Geralt: Ha, made you blush.

Jaskier: Stop laughing at me, you stupid, gorgeous, heartless, sexy witcher! (At this point Geralt can't stop laughing) No, we are having this conversation right now!

[darkverrmin]

Jaskier bets Geralt that he can drink more than him without getting shitfaced and Geralt finds it completely ridiculous, because hello, witcher skills: high resistance to poisons and substances.

Geralt accepts the bet and loses in the most embarrassing way possible, with Jaskier being the one who has to carry him back to the inn after drinking much more.

The next morning (or more accurately, noon), Geralt is still hugging a wooden bucket, completely hungover.

"How?" Geralt asks, his brain unable to produce any more words.

Jaskier is sitting by the window, examining his nails.

"I got my degree in Oxenfurt, dear. The number of parties I had to go to — and the amount of alcohol I had to drink to connect with the right people — makes your witcher school look like kindergarten."

[darkverrmin]

Jaskier inhaled slowly, visibly alarmed but keeping his voice level. “How much time?”

“Hard to say. Maybe a day, maybe hours. If the infection spreads to his lungs—”

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s voice was hoarse, but steady. It was the first time he’d called the viscount by name since arriving.

Jaskier’s head snapped toward him. “Yes, Geralt?"

“Stay. Please.”

There was a long pause. In his fevered haze, Geralt was already sure he’d made a mistake asking. But then Jaskier’s voice came - soft and quiet.

“You know I can’t do that.”

Still, he reached down and squeezed Geralt’s hand briefly - firm and warm - before letting go.

“Do anything you can to save him,” Jaskier said quietly to the healer, his voice tight. Then he turned and left, his footsteps fading as Geralt slipped into unconsciousness again.

***

Geralt had strange, vivid dreams. Fire and water. Laughter turning into screaming. The smell of lilac and gooseberries.

When he regained consciousness for a short while, it was already dark. Rain was hammering the windows, loud and relentless. He noticed a figure in the room. Someone was sitting in the chair by his bed. Turning his head slowly, he saw Jaskier - arms folded, legs crossed, head slumped forward, asleep.

***

continue reading:

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[darkverrmin]

Geralt couldn’t shake the strange feeling in his chest.

The man sitting across from him was undoubtedly Jaskier. He had the same blue eyes, the same voice, though slightly deeper and the same familiar body language.

And yet, he wasn’t the Jaskier Geralt remembered.

There was something heavy in the air around him now, something that had settled on his shoulders with the weight of years. His face bore more than just wrinkles - it held stories. Wounds. Choices. And though he still moved with elegance, there was a steadiness to him now that didn’t exist before, like a man who had learned when to speak and when to remain silent. That alone made him nearly unrecognizable.

He looked older, of course, probably in his early fifties. His shoulder-length hair was threaded with silver, which, oddly enough, suited him. He wore a simple black tunic, dark trousers and a forest-green cloak - nothing like the flamboyant outfits Jaskier used to favor.

But what unsettled Geralt most was the look in his eyes. Gone was the carefree spark of an exuberant eighteen-year-old. Instead, it was the gaze of a man who’d seen too much and lost more than he let on. It was calm. Measured. But behind it, there was weariness. And something else - Command. Authority. Geralt had seen that look before, but never on Jaskier.

He wasn’t just older. He was… transformed. Sharper. Colder, maybe. Or simply hardened by time.

The room was warm, lit by a fire crackling in a stone hearth, shadows dancing against the walls. It smelled faintly of parchment and cloves, unexpectedly comforting.

Geralt had just finished explaining how he’d ended up here, fifteen years in the future. Jaskier had listened silently, nodding occasionally. That alone was a change. The Jaskier Geralt had known could barely keep quiet for thirty seconds.

“I apologize that my men tried to kill you,” Jaskier said at last, after a long pause. He took a sip of his drink, looking faintly amused. “We don’t get many visitors, and with the Rebellion sniffing around, you can’t be too careful.”

Geralt nodded. “I understand. Sorry I broke your commander’s arm.”

Jaskier leaned back, setting his glass aside. “So, let me get this straight - you pissed off a witch and she threw you fifteen years into the future?”

Geralt nodded.

Jaskier chuckled, shaking his head. “Didn’t even know magic like that existed.”

“Neither did I.”

“The more you know, huh?” Jaskier gave him a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “So tell me, how can I help?”

***

Continue reading:

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works