"What?"
Geralt asks, frowning, a furrow in his brow.
"I turn into a wolf every full moon." Jaskier repeats.
"How-"
"You were always away on a hunt. You'd just meet me back in the morning."
"...You were a werewolf this whole time?"
"..Yes. I- I'm sorry, Darling. I never wanted to lie."
"Why didn't you trust me with this? Did you think I would hurt you?"
"No! I thought I would hurt you. I'm not myself on full moons, Geralt. I can't even remember them. All I know is that the moon raises, i feel this ache in my bones, and the next thing I know, I'm waking up the next morning, nude, with a full stomach of what is HOPEFULLY nothing gross."
"...You've not transformed in towns, have you?"
"No! Of course not! I'm terrified of hurting someone, Geralt! That's the only reason I'm telling you now! I got the charts mixed up, I thought the moon was still a week away, but it isn't, and we're near a town, and I need you to keep me restrained."
A long pause settles between them.
"You want me to guard you?"
"Guard them. From me. Keep me trapped in a shack and- And lock it up tight. Chain me, hurt me, knock me out, whatever you must do. Keep me from being a danger. I never wanted to be a terrifying beast, Geralt."
Jaskier says, with those damned wet doe eyes of his. Geralt agrees. Because he doesn't know a world where he wouldn't.
Mere hours later, Jaskier is sat against a beam in an old rundown barn. He's tied up with rope, and chained on top of that. There are no windows in the barn, the door is fully barricaded and locked, and Geralt guards it.
"You really should guard it from outside" Jaskier had said. "I'm not leaving you to do this alone. You never should have had to." Geralt replied.
Thus, Geralt stands and watches as Jaskier pales and starts twitching. The moon is rising.
"It's coming- I'm going to be a beast."
Jaskier says with fear, before the transformation takes the air out of his lungs. Geralt watches in horror and awe as Jaskier's body changes, changes, changes....
In...
Into a songbird?
sitting on the ground is a fat little songbird. It easily hops over the ropes and chains, now much too lose to hold it.
Him.
Oh my gods.
Jaskier's not a werewolf.
He's a... were.... werebird...
And not even a scary one.
Jaskier starts pecking the barn floor and Geralt rubs a hand over his face in exhaustion. He prepared for the worst, and instead is treated to watching Jaskier struggle to bathe in a trough.
"Jaskier, it's too deep."
He tells the bird, as it fluffs up it's wings.
"Jaskier, you're going to-"
Jaskier tries to take a step into the birdbath, only to fall, dunking his whole fat little body into the depths of the trough. He flails about in the water, chirping panickedly. Geralt rushes to his aid, gently lifting him out of the water with gentle hands.
Perhaps guarding over Jaskier will still be a challenge after all.
For the dialogue prompts ~ "Can I make you something to eat?...Okay. Want a hug maybe?...Okay. Do you want me to sit with you?...I can do that, love."
Sorry you're having a bad night and I hope tomorrow is kinder to you :)
thank you, this is very soft and lovely and I appreciate it <3
modern au - established relationship - mild angst, mostly soft
tw: nonverbal ADHD Jaskier - overstim (based on my own experiences)
---
Jaskier made his way into the apartment; Geralt listened as the graduate student silently removed his jacket and hung it in the hallway closet. He heard the sound of Jaskier’s familiar footsteps padding down the hall and then the quiet click of his bedroom door closing behind him. Geralt followed quietly, pausing outside and unsure of how to proceed.
This had only happened a couple times before, if the situation was in fact what Geralt assumed it to be. The nervous zookeeper held his breath and knocked on the door lightly with the very tip of his knuckle. “Babe?”
The door opened a crack and one wide, red-rimmed eye stared out at him.
Geralt lowered his voice to a whisper and asked: “Are you okay?”
Jaskier shook his head No.
“Can I make you something to eat?” No. “Okay. Want a hug, maybe?” No. “Okay. Do you want me to sit with you?”
Jaskier opened the door wide enough to let Geralt slide past him and then shut it again, eager to keep the light out. The brunette had drawn his sound-and-light proof curtains closed and piled all three of his favorite weighted blankets onto the foot of his bed. They’d been sharing Geralt’s memory-foam mattress lately since it was more comfortable, but Jaskier needed his own space to work on songs and homework and video presentations.
Geralt teasingly called the space “Pooh’s Corner” because every time he peeked his head through the door Jaskier was wrapped up in at least two different fluffy blankets while he worked.
Now, with his big blue eyes as round as dinner-plates and shining with unshed tears, he looked incredibly small. More like a lost, sad little Christopher Robin than the snuggly rambunctious Pooh. Geralt sat down on the edge of the bed and waited, knowing that Jaskier would tell him what he needed one way or another.
The music student crawled up the mattress and huddled against the nest of pillows by the headboard. He patted the space next to him and Geralt made his way up, careful not to jostle the bed too much. He sat with his back against the headboard and stretched his legs out in front of him. Jaskier wrapped himself up in one of the blankets and scooted himself over until he was curled into a ball across Geralt’s upper thighs. The student’s warm back was pressed tightly to Geralt’s abdomen; one long-fingered hand took Geralt’s and placed it on the crown of his head.
The zookeeper, slightly anxious in case he made a wrong move, began to gently thread his fingers in and out of Jaskier’s hair, petting softly and smoothing it away from his eyes. The student settled, his weight going full and heavy atop Geralt’s legs.
“Rest,” the older man whispered. “I’ve got you, Jask. You’re safe here.”
Jaskier looked up at him, his words hanging unspoken but understood between them: I know. Thank you. I love you.
Geralt smiled down reassuringly and kept running his fingers through Jaskier’s hair. Over and over again. “I love you, too.”
Jaskier is feeling overwhelmed with too much noise and too many people at a party. Geralt calms him the way he always does.
Fluff, modern au, established relationship.
The house was full. Full of friends, strangers, drink, music, laughter, noise. It was too much for Jaskier. He knew what he was getting into, he knew it would be busy, and somehow that made him feel worse. Jaskier liked to sing and entertain, but he liked his space and felt that, because of his work, he had to keep up the facade of being an entertainer all of the time. It was exhausting. He stood against the wall, letting the cool surface calm him. He just watched everyone, keeping quiet, just thinking. He didn't want to talk, he didn't want to socialise right now. He was fine, just overwhelmed and needed a little break. But people kept asking him;
"What's wrong? Why are you over there sulking, come on, join in!"
He began to snap back, which made him look more like he was in a mood. He wished people would just give him a break to breath. Just 15 minutes. He just needed space.
"Jas, c'mere."
A heavy hand touched his shoulder, giving Jaskier a small fright. He gulped.
"Geralt, Gods, you scared me. What is it?"
"Come with me."
Jaskier trusted Geralt. It wasn't like everyone else, he knew that Geralt understood him. He followed Geralt down the hall and into a bedroom. The door was closed behind him and a chair placed against it. Geralt gestured for Jaskier to sit on the bed, while he turned a low light lamp on.
"Breathe. Everything is okay. You're being overwhelmed. Let's take a few minutes to calm down."
Jaskier smiled, it was incredible how much Geralt knew him. Geralt went into his pocket and took out a half empty packet of hard caramel sweets and Jaskiers face lit up. He immediately took the sweet and clicked it round his teeth, then chewed it, rather than sucking it, which Geralt always said was "the wrong way to do it" but it always helped him focus on something else for just a minute.
"5 senses, Jaskier, okay?"
He nodded, anxiously. He never ever wanted to do this, but it always helped in the end. So he always complied.
"Okay, number 1, five things you can see, really easy sweetheart. Do it slowly."
Jaskier swallowed the remainder of the caramel. He tapped his fingers on his thighs between each item.
"The bed. The cream wallpaper. The lamp. Ummm... The.... Bed sheets. And... The cupboard."
Geralt rubbed his shoulders in small circles, trying to push them down on each breath, breathing slowly but loudly so that Jaskier would hopefully fall into the same rhythm.
"Good job, keep breathing. 2, four things you can hear."
He closed his eyes.
"Music, very loud music, lots of people"
He paused, slowing himself down, he could feel a small row coming.
"I can hear the vibrations of the music, a sort of bass noise, coming through the walls. And... I can hear your breath."
"Very, very good. You're doing so well. 3, three things you can feel."
Geralt pushed his shoulders down again and let his hands follow down his arms, down to each hand. He laced his fingers through the younger mans, making both of them breath lower, and faster.
"I, uh..."
Jaskier gulped.
"I can feel the bed sheets, I can feel, um, my jeans, I can feel... You."
Geralt put his head on Jaskiers shoulders. Then queitly asked him for the next sense. Making every hair stand on end on Jaskiers body.
"4, two things you can smell."
With his eyes still closed, Jaskier licked his lips then slowly breathed in.
"I can smell the caramel from my own breath. And..."
He rolled his head round and pressed his nose against the blondes hair, drawing in his scent.
"I don't know what that smell is, but it's incredible. I can smell you."
He drew in another deep, slow breath.
Geralt raised his head, then connected it with Jaskiers forhead. He turned the smaller man round to face him then lightly touched each part of the body he mentioned.
"What's next love? We've done touch, sound..."
He kept the connection from his ear his eyelid.
"sight, smell..."
He ran his finger along his bottom lip, which opened immediately for him, letting out a tiny, audible moan. Light and high.
"I... I need something to taste, Gods, Geralt, I..."
He didnt want to keep Jaskier waiting, he wasn't there to tease him, he was there to calm him, protect him, focus him. Geralt leaned in and lightly rested his lips on Jaskiers, then, slowly licked his top lip. Jaskier shivered instantly, pressing himself into the kiss. He wrapped his arms around Geralts back, drinking in every part of him, senses hightened. His tongue roamed around trying to taste as much as he could. Geralt could taste the sugar on his tongue. Then Geralt leaned back, holding Jaskier in his arms.
"How do you feel, little flower?"
"I, I..."
He opened his eyes for the first time in 10 minutes.
"wonderful. You always know what to do. This is all I need."
Geralt smiled.
"Let's have one more drink, we'll see how you feel, and if you want, I'll take you home, okay?"
Jaskier nodded. He felt much better, ready to talk again. Ready to have fun. It was no longer overwhelming.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion
Additional Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Chubby Jaskier | Dandelion, Geraskier, If you squint and wait for it to walk around the corner
Summary:
Geralt didn't remember Jaskier getting himself stuck in a window as anything more than just another one of his antics, but when an ill timed turn finds Jaskier wedged in a door, Geralt realizes just what pain lies behind his easy smile.
"When you're just fat, people think you deserve the pain." Caught off guard by the admission, Geralt’s fingers slip from the curve of Jaskier’s belly and just like he expected, Jaskier takes the opportunity to curl back up on his side facing the wall.
Companion piece to A Place for You Here, but can be read as a standalone.
Lambert and Eskel have made a game of seeing how many times they can get Geralt to rant/gush about Jaskier.
Without Geralt catching on of course.
You only get half points if Geralt is drunk. The game also stops around midwinter because it gets too easy once Geralt starts missing his bard too much.
WPGIHWAPGAIPWAHIGWP My favorite shit is the kaer morons being brothers
Everyone’s doing a hypothermia fic so I figured I may as well contribute. It’s one of my favorite tropes.
title taken from Brian Czyzyk’s poem “Hoarfrost” (he’s my favorite young queer poet and you should check him out).
tw: hypothermia, angst with a happy ending, whump with a happy ending
---
“Do you always have to be so damnably loud?” Geralt growls, glaring at Jaskier from across the small room.
“My apologies for existing,” the bard snaps back. He’d only been rearranging his pack, looking for something reasonably clean to sleep in while his clothes were laundered by the innkeeper’s lovely wife. “I’ll try to do so more quietly from now on, good sir.”
Geralt huffs out a breath in passive-aggressive annoyance and Jaskier bristles.
“Oh well, then. C’mon witcher, I know you want to say it!”
“Say what?” Geralt asks. His voice is low and threatening. He’s ready to play the game and by god he’s going to win this time.
“It’s practically your motto at this point,” the bard hisses through his teeth, angry and bitter and tired. Geralt sees victory. Sees some peace and quiet on the horizon. “Say it!”
Geralt does as he’s told, like any good witcher would: “Fuck off, bard.”
“There it is!” Jaskier laughs joylessly, throwing up his hands. He pulls on his doublet and boots and heads for the door. “If you want me gone so badly, Geralt, then I will go. I’ll get out of your lovely white hair and leave you to mope in peace.”
“Fucking finally,” the witcher snarls, turning away. He doesn’t see the genuine hurt in Jaskier’s blue eyes as the bard quietly closes the door rather than slamming it. He doesn’t hear the quiet sob that rips its way out of Jaskier’s throat as he stands very still, shocked and suddenly exhausted all the way to his bones. He doesn’t smell the salt of his bard’s tears as he slips silently down the hallway and out into the late autumn night. He doesn’t notice the snow starting to pile up on the windowsill ahead of season.
He’s too busy being a self-flagellating moron to notice any of that.
---
Geralt is woken in the middle of the night by a commotion downstairs. He can hear several loud, panicked heartbeats and one very quiet, very slow heartbeat beneath all of those; it’s achingly familiar but the half-asleep witcher can’t quite call its source to mind. Geralt listens as the innkeeper barks out a series of sharp orders: “Meredith, you get to the kitchen and make some strong black tea! Florence, fetch a pail of warm water and two or three towels from the laundry. Josiah you lazy lout, get into the attic and fetch some blankets! The poor lad has gone blue all over!”
The witcher peers into the hallway and catches the skinny stable hand, Josiah, racing for the attic staircase. “What’s going on?”
“A farmer from the next town over was on his way over to help a friend’s sow give calf and he found-” the lad pauses to suck in a great gulp of air and launches off again “-and he found that friend of yours lying in a snowbank, muttering nonsense and shivering like a leaf. The poor fool didn’t have a cloak on him or anything, just a doublet and walking boots! He’s near-dead!”
Geralt curses and makes for the stairs, taking them two at a time until he reaches the main floor. There are voices coming from the kitchen and he follows them as if in a dream, his feet moving without aid of his conscious mind. “Jaskier? Is it the bard, Jaskier?”
“Are you the great brute what kicked him out?” the innkeeper’s wife asks, crossing her arms over her ample chest and narrowing her eyes. Geralt falters.
“No, he- he left on his own, in a huff.”
“Wonder who could have started the huff,” the woman rolls her eyes. This isn’t about his status as a witcher, Geralt knows; this eye roll was made by a woman who knows a lovers’ quarrel when she sees one. Except that this stupid little spat might have cost Jaskier his life.
“Where is he? May I see him, goodwife?”
The woman points to a table in the corner, which has been cleared of cooking implements and cushioned with a heavy bearskin. Jaskier lies atop the brown fur, his skin frighteningly pale, his lips and fingers tinted a slight blue. Geralt rushes to his side and takes one of the bard’s stiff hands in his own. He brushes a stray lock of brown hair from Jaskier’s forehead and nearly recoils in shock from the temperature of his skin. Even colder than his hands, which are already dangerously frigid. If Jaskier cannot play his lute-
Geralt doesn’t even allow himself to finish the thought. Instead he works on rubbing small, careful circles onto the back of the bard’s hands with his thumbs, warming the skin in tiny increments: “Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.”
The bard remains unmoving, heartbeat fluttering weakly, lungs barely drawing breath; Geralt fights back an overwhelming sense of panic, trying to recall whatever training he’d received at Kaer Morhen concerning freezing humans.
“Do you mind if I take him upstairs and tend to him myself?” the witcher asks.
“Can you take care of him?” the innkeeper’s wife replies.
Geralt bows his head, shame licking like flames up and down his bent spine, and nods. “Yes, Ma’am. I have dry clothes for him in our room and I was trained extensively for emergency situations such as this, all witchers are.”
“Alright,” she narrows her eyes. “But he’d best be alive come morning.”
“I’ll happily turn myself over to the village elders to be dealt with accordingly should the bard come to any harm,” he vows. Her eyes widen minutely and he can read the surprise in her body language, but she remains relatively calm.
“Any further harm, rather. Alright, then. I’ll have my husband and the girls bring those supplies up to your room for him. We’ll be glad to go back to sleep.”
“Thank you for your kindness,” Geralt bows formally. She blushes despite her irritation with him and waves him away.
“Take your bard and go, witcher, before I change my mind and spend all night caring for him myself out of motherly pity. Go.”
Geralt hefts Jaskier into his arms, heavy bearskin blanket and all, and hurries up the stairs to his room. He will not let Jaskier come to any further harm. Not by his hand. Not by his word. Never again.
---
Back in their room, Geralt quickly undresses the shivering human, peeling away what few damp layers there are with growing disappointment. Jaskier hadn’t been prepared for a walk in the snow at all! Although, to be fair, it hadn’t seemed that cold earlier in the evening and the snow had been sudden and heavy.
He wipes Jaskier down with a warm cloth and slips one of his own clean shirts over the bard’s head. He tries not to let his gaze linger on the way Jaskier’s shoulders don’t quite fill out the dark material. Or on the way his dark, wiry chest hair peeks out through the open laces at his throat. The witcher quickly shuffles him into clean smallclothes and wraps him in a thick wool blanket.
They sit curled before the fire and Geralt holds Jaskier against his chest. He hums with his voice like gravel, grating out one note after the other in some attempt to soothe the bard’s aching body. Jaskier shivers and shakes violently in the witcher’s strong embrace, his eyes clenched shut with the cramps that wrack his frame as his muscles return to their normal temperature. Geralt feels like he’s holding a porcelain doll and keeps his grip deliberately loose, tight enough to comfort but not restrain.
“G-Geralt,” he groans. “Hold me, please.”
The witcher squeezes his arms more confidently around the bard’s middle, burying his face in Jaskier’s soft hair and breathing deeply. The warmth that usually emanates from his busy human body is gone and his chamomile-honey scent is buried beneath a layer of damp cold; it feels wrong. Terribly wrong. Geralt murmurs against his temple, begging the younger man’s forgiveness: “I’m so sorry, Jaskier. Gods, I’m so sorry. Will you ever be able to forgive me? I’m a fool, you know. I’m a fool witcher who never says anything important until it’s too late. I’m so incredibly sorry, my love.”
“This is a very good dream,” the bard sighs, smiling despite the pain. His eyes open, bleary and addled. “Like I was having in the woods, but better.”
Geralt raises an eyebrow and Jaskier seems to understand the unspoken question, even in his current sorry state.
“The real Geralt would never be so gentle with me, dear heart. You must be a dream, sent to me on my deathbed to ease my passage into the afterlife. There’s no other explanation for your sudden displays of tenderness.”
“It’s... It’s really me,” Geralt affirms. He runs his hand up and down the length of Jaskier’s spine, “I’m here, Jaskier. Can you ever forgive me for being so stupid?”
“I forgive you for being stupid ever other day, dear witcher. It is of no consequence to me.”
“It almost was,” Geralt frowns. “I nearly- I almost-”
Jaskier’s arm raises weakly and his too-chilly hand presses to Geralt’s cheek. “I shouldn’t have stormed off like an idiot. I shouldn’t have kept picking the fight. We both fucked up, alright? What matters is our second chance. We got to have one, Geralt.”
“Hmm.”
“Am I wearing your shirt?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Yours were all being laundered and this one was clean and it had been in my pack near the fire so it was already warm and-”
“Did you take care of me all night?”
“Hmm.” Geralt sighs after his hum and glances away for a moment. “What did you mean about... about the dream in the woods?”
“Oh. Well, when I was very cold and things were hazy and slow, I dreamed that you were there with me. Everything got very fuzzy and warm for a little bit, and when it was warm you were holding me like this and giving me little kisses. It was... nice. Even though I knew I was dying because you were being so soft, so considerate; saying things to me you’d never say out loud in real life.”
“I love you, Jaskier. I will try my best not to lose my temper needlessly,” the witcher swears. “You don’t deserve it.”
“Can we still cuddle like this?” Jaskier asks, leaning his weigth against Geralt’s firm chest. “It’s so nice to be held.”
“Of course. Anything you want. I’m not going to waste my second chance by treating you poorly. Not for another second, my beloved bard.”
“B-beloved?”
“Hmm.”
“Oh, well then I’m definitely still dreaming.”
Geralt lifts Jaskier into his arms and carries him over to the bed, which is piled high with their extra blankets. He tucks Jaskier into the nest against the wall and lays along the outside of the mattress. He presses his lips to the bard’s, reveling in Jaskier’s returning warmth, and smiles. “I’ll prove it’s not a dream. Every day.”
“Sounds nice,” Jaskier yawns, snuggling into the witcher’s arms and settling down to sleep.
