I’ve had an asexual!Jaskier fic idea bouncing around for a while, so I finally made myself sit down and write it, let me know what you think!
As always, I’m willing to take requests for fics or headcanons!
Jaskier had always known he was broken.
Had known it since he was small, when nothing he did was ever good enough. Had known it when he stumbled through yet another sword fighting lesson, his feet stumbling in vain to find their proper place in the footwork. Whenever he looked up to the balcony of the manor, he’d see the look of disappointment etched on his father’s face. It was an expression that he was intimately familiar with even at the age of 12.
That disappointed expression haunted Jaskier throughout his childhood.When he grew willowy and slight, his features were delicate instead of the rugged broad shouldered build of his father. When he chose music over sword fighting, a passion unbecoming of a nobleman’s son.
Jaskier knew he was broken because he saw it in his father’s eyes every time he looked at him.
He knew he was broken on the outside. But as Jaskier grew older he realized he was just as broken inside as well. As he grew older the other noble children began to cast looks at each other he didn’t quite understand. Jaskier couldn’t help but feel like there was something wrong with him. Whatever was going on between his peers mystified him, and he couldn’t comprehend the sudden fascination, but if there was one thing he had learned under the roof of his father it was how to play a part. And Jaskier was always an excellent actor.
So he crafted a mask. A mask of wit and charm. Objectively, Jaskier knew he was considered attractive by his peers. So he used that to his advantage. He masqueraded his way into dozens of beds, not caring if they were men or women, or if they had a partner waiting for them to come home. All he cared about was a warm bed to sleep in at night.
Jaskier made himself a reputation. A reputation of jumping out of windows in early morning light, angry husbands a his heels, a reputation of scandal and movement, and being known. His escapades often only lasted for one night, but one night was all he needed. To Jaskier, sex meant exchanging loving touches and connection, but he knew his many lovers bedded him for another reason entirely. It was just another way to be broken.
It still wasn’t enough. He still wasn’t enough. And Jaskier didn’t understand why. He had done everything his father ever wanted him to be. He had stopped his indulgence in frivolous things like music, had learned to charm the members of the court, had learned to choke down the awful taste of his father’s ire and do better. Jaskier pinned down every piece of himself that mattered and tried to fill the mold of perfection his parents had created for him. It was only then he realized, it would never be enough. It didn’t matter what he did or changed, in the eyes of his parents he was irreparably broken and always would be.
He stuffed only what was needed in his pack, grabbed his lute and left. He ran away from his unhappy life. Away from a future of arranged loveless marriages, desperate affairs, away from the toxicity of court gossip, and away from his parents. And as he walked down the lone road, his pants crusted in dirt and his ill suited for traveling shoes already aching, he never felt more free.
When Jaskier ran, he ran towards Oxenfurt, one of the most prestigious schools on the continent. It was the first place he ever felt he could truly call home. In the city everyone was eccentric and full of contradictions. He was far from his rigid life in court where everyone tiptoed around each other. Oxenfurt was bright and loud and nothing like he had ever seen before.
Though Jaskier studied all seven of the liberal arts, music was the one that claimed his heart. At Oxenfurt his dedication to music was not seen as shameful, but a blessing. Jaskier practised his lute until his hands bled raw. His fingers danced across the strings with a mindless ease, and strum with the passion his father had always wished he had for sword fighting.
It was at Oxenfurt where he learned what love truly was. There was no place for love in court. People would marry who they were told to, whether it was for power, placement, or peace, love was never considered a factor. They would never marry for the passion that they shared with one another. The nobles in his father’s court sneered at the thought of love, declaring it something for foolish children. A good noble was emotionless and stoic, and that was one of the reasons Jaskier had always failed to fit in. At Oxenfurt, he was shown poetry and immediately became obsessed with it. He lost himself in paragraphs written by people overwhelmed with devotion and feeling. The idea of loving someone so fiercely above all else and being loved in return seemed like the most fortunate thing in the entire world.
It wasn’t long before Jaskier graduated Oxenfurt as a bard, and although the traditional path was to join a court, Jaskier knew he had had quite enough of nobles for a lifetime, instead declaring the life of a traveling bard. The decision to rough it on the road instead of settling in a cushy court was seen as extremely unusual to those who knew him.
Jaskier had always been guilty of enjoying the finer things in life. Fine wine, fine clothes, fine food, and fine company. Even at Oxenfurt, he still craved the intimacy of a fleeting romance, no matter how short. For Jaskier, sex was never about the physical act, but instead it was about the romance of it all. The ooey-gooey parts, the closeness. He was a man who loved love, and often found himself in bed with lovers, despite never feeling the physical attraction towards them he knew he was supposed to. Sure, he loved to flirt, he lived for the back and forth, making someone smile and be happy. Sometimes he can even enjoy the physical activity of sex, the intimate moment, but the attraction he holds for people is never sexual. Jaskier holds onto these moments because he knows they are the only way he is able to get any instant of romance.
Throughout his travels he had quickly learned more often than not that most people are only interested in sharing their bodies and their hearts, temporarily. Some days Jaskier found himself wishing that sex wasn’t necessary in order to have a nice dinner with someon, to simply talk and exchange a soft kiss at the end of the night. He’d learned that in most parts of the continent there was a fine line between a bard and a prostitute, and since reputation was everything to a musician he did what he thought was needed and told himself he was happy.
Why wouldn’t he be happy? He was traveling, seeing the world and meeting new people, by this point it seemed that almost half the continent had shared a bed with him. By any other person’s standards he was extremely fortunate, and there were many people who would envy him. Jaskier told himself he was just being ridiculously ungrateful, and he should enjoy what he had. He has his music, and his music was everything that had ever mattered to him, but there was still a small part of him that felt empty.
Then he met Geralt of Rivia in a backwater tavern in Posada. When he first spotted him sitting in the corner brooding his first thought was fuck he’s attractive, then he thought, I wouldn’t mind spending the night with him. Before he knew it he was walking up to Geralt’s table and recognizing him as a witcher, and not just any witcher, the ‘Butcher of Blaviken’ and he’s spouting some dumb line about bread in his pants.
What starts as an intent to hook his latest bedfellow turns into a quest for inspiration from a man who must have a thousand stories. The next thing he knows he’s been beaten up and captured by a rogue band of elves in the middle of nowhere and watching wide eyed as Geralt exchanges the rest of his coin in order to ensure their release, and that the elves would stop harassing the townsfolk. He could tell the witcher wasn’t fond of him then, with his endless chattering (Jaskier likes to talk), constant lute strumming, and thousand questions as he follows after Geralt and his horse. The witcher would groan and roll his eyes at him but he did not make him leave and so Jaskier stayed.
Days, weeks, months go by and Jaskier remains by Geralt’s side and what began as a hunt for his latest muse quickly turns into a genuine fascination with the witcher. The rumors about witchers were whispered across the continent, stories of horrible monsters with fangs and claws meant to scare children. Jaskier realized after traveling with Geralt that all of these tales were lies. He was a good man who helped people and always tried to do the right thing. One of the nights in their travels they are sitting by the campfire well after dinner. The stars are shining bright that night and the moon hangs low. The glow of the flames ignited Geralt’s golden eyes and exposed the slight curve of his lips as he laughs, laughs, at something stupid the bard has said and Jaskier thinks, This. This is someone I could really love. And technically he already does, and he knows he would follow Geralt to the ends of the earth if he so allowed.
Months turn into years as he travels by Geralt’s side and Jaskier has never met a single person he’s ever been more invested in knowing. He wants to know Geralt like no one else, wants to shower him in all the love and affection he could, because Jaskier knew Geralt thinks he doesn’t deserve it. They travel together, get to know each other, eat together, tumble in and out of danger together, and they never have to fall into bed to do it.
It’s the happiest Jaskier has ever been while spending time with another person. He found himself falling more and more in love with Geralt every day, despite being certain that the witcher didn’t share the same feelings. While they traveled Jaskier still threw himself at people in desperate hopes of a connection, begging for bits and pieces from those instances of romance. But now he has Geralt.
Geralt, who hates it when others touch him, spares Jaskier a touch of the shoulder, and brush of their hands while they travel on the road. Geralt, who always makes sure to have a meal waiting after Jaskier finishes performing at a tavern. Who buys him new strings for his lute and boots when his old pair fall apart. Jaskier laps all of these things up, the pieces of Geralt that the witcher spares only for him. He collected the moments spent whispering back and forth before sunrise, the small smiles, and the flowers Geralt lets him braid into his hair. He holds them close to his heart and in the darkness he thinks Geralt feels the same.
It all leads up to the dragon hunt, up on a mountain at sunset, sitting closer than close on a boulder next to the witcher, watching the color bleed from the sky. Jaskier locks his eyes on the horizon and tries one last time to reach Geralt, desperate for the romantic connection he’d been craving since long before his years at Oxenfurt. Jaskier felt miles away, despite the fact that him and Geralt were right beside each other. He wants to shout,
Come with me, let’s get away from everything, I love you more than anything, but instead, just like the day they met in Posada, his mouth moves of its own accord and he says,
“I’m just trying to figure out what pleases me” And isn’t that the thing that he’s been chasing his whole life. Why he left his home, why he decided to live a life on the road after leaving Oxenfurt. Jaskier is lost in thought and so he is completely taken off guard when he hears Geralt reply.
“W-what?” He sputters out, rocked by the fond smile on Geralt’s lips.
“I said,” Geralt responds, eyes rolling like this is every other day in their travels and not a moment vastly different than any other in the years they’ve known each other, “and what is it that pleases you?”
Jaskier is thrown back to every other haunted moment of his life. Every other second of his childhood where he was told what he should be, how he should be satisfied and how to please others. He remembers every painful moment, every second he felt broken and like he didn’t belong. Every time he was ashamed of himself and what he lacked. Jaskier remembers his time on the road, of someone pushing him into a mattress and muttering, you should be lucky, I don’t do this with everyone. He thought of all the people who told him what he should be enjoying, what was allowed and what wasn’t. Of every time he forced himself into a small little box with neat edges and longed to be free.
And then he thinks of Geralt. Of long white hair and golden eyes. Of a man who has been told his whole life he is a monster, but tries everyday to do the right thing. He thinks of long nights on the road, of evenings by the campfire where smiles fail to stay hidden. He thinks of a hand on his shoulder, softer than anyone has ever touched him before. Geralt knows all his secrets, how he feels about sex and attraction and never asks Jaskier for anything, ever, only taking what Jaskier is willing to give. Oh, if that isn’t the kind of love Jaskier has been chasing his whole life, and he’s been too stupid to realize it’s been right in front of him this whole time. Jaskier has never wanted anything as badly as he does this.
Suddenly Jaskier remembers himself, and the moment he’s in, the mountain and the sunset, and Geralt beside him waiting patiently for an answer. He turns to his side to face the witcher in the fading light, slightly startled by how close their faces are. He stares deep into those golden eyes, pools he would gladly drown in if given the opportunity. Jaskier exhaled suddenly, his breath leaving him as he realized he has never felt more at home than he does now sitting here with his witcher. He reaches for the hand beside him, rough and calloused from hours of sword fighting and scarred for his troubles, winding their fingers together.
“You,” he breathes into the space between them, “nothing pleases me more than you”.
And as Geralt’s lips connect with his in the most painstakingly gentle kiss in his life, he feels whole.
