jaskier watches, utterly enchanted, as ciri makes geralt laugh and grin,
he’s teaching her how to fish and it’s such a delight to see her regal and proper manners collide with geralt’s gruff softness.
he watches as ciri giggles and splashes the witcher,
watches as geralt throws water back at her,
he sighs and melts against the tree, rolls his eyes when roach snorts at him with derision,
“don’t judge me dear,” he tells her, “i’m in love.”
and then a shadow falls over him,
“you should try telling geralt that,” ciri says, dripping wet with her cheeks flush with exaltation.
“my dear sweet ciri,” jaskier croons, throwing his doublet at her, so that she may chase away the morning chill, “i tell that man about the depths of my adoration at least three times a day. do you know what he says in turn?”
ciri cocks her head, an impish smile on her features, “hmm?” she offers lightly.
“hmm,” jaskier confirms slyly.
ciri rocks back on her heels and regards him with shrewd eyes, “are you actually telling him that you love him, or are you simply reciting poetry and hoping he understands the meaning?”
feels alarmingly called out.
ciri arches a brow and shakes her head at him. then turns as geralt approaches them, three fish held firmly in his hand. he’s beautifully drenched - his breeches cling to his thick thighs, his shirt practically see-through and soaked. fuck, he’s such a pretty, pretty man and jaskier is so desperately weak.
“what’s going on?” geralt asks, his eyes flicking between ciri and and jaskier with a small amount of suspicion gleaming in them.
“jaskier has something to tell you,” ciri announces, before she stalks off to attend to roach.
the bard watches as she leaves and feels the cold blade of betrayal slide between his ribs and sink deeply into his heart - he shan’t ever forgive her for this.
“oh?” geralt queries, turning to jaskier with a light smile on his lips, “is something troubling you?”
it’s so desperately unfair how beautiful geralt is when he smiles; of course, it’s only one of the many reasons as to why the bard adores this man, but…
geralt isn’t ready for such professions - for a man so brave, he’s charmingly shy when it comes to matters of the heart.
“you’re a lovely vision when you smile,” jaskier says instead, his eyes softening as he watches the witcher duck his head and huff out a laugh.
“and i suppose i should do it more often?” geralt murmurs tiredly, with the air of a man who is used to being told such a suggestion.
jaskier hums, contemplates.
and then he rises to his feet, leaves behind ink-stained parchment and presses an ink-stained hand to geralt’s damp cheek.
“hardly,” he says with a small shrug, “wouldn’t be as special if you smiled as often as i.”
and he sweeps a thumb across a bristled cheekbone and steps away, winking at the stunned witcher with a saucy smirk on his lips. he watches as a pink flush coats geralt’s cheeks - his body grows warm with pride and he has to swallow down the urge to cover that handsome face in kisses.
“i should… cook our breakfast,” geralt chokes out, his eyes glimmering in the morning sun.
“you spoil us, darling,” jaskier sighs, and then he walks away to fetch wood for the fire, his heart fluttering wildly in his chest,
well dear ciri, he thinks with idle glee, how’s that for a confession?
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