I was inspired to write a little ficlet by this wonderful art by @srapsodia
thank you to @stinastar and @jaskierswolf for nagging me to write this and special thanks to @stinastar for proofreading <3
Jaskier and Geralt part ways for the winter...or do they?
This is fluff with a bit of angst at the beginning and a happy ending. 708 words.
read on ao3
-
Geralt could kick himself. He had rehearsed what he wanted to say, how he wanted to ask Jaskier to accompany him to Kaer Morhen, for weeks in his head. Multiple times he had started the conversion and then chickened out at the last moment. And now he had let the last opportunity slip through his fingers - again.
He watched Jaskier walk away from him with a spring in his step, a song on his lips and his bag and lute thrown over his shoulders. Maybe it was better that way, maybe Jaskier was glad to be rid of the grumpy witcher for a few months. He did not seem to mind their parting.
Geralt turned to Roach and nearly tumbled over when she bumped her head into his chest. “I’m sorry, Roach,” he said softly and scratched behind her ear. She huffed a wave of warm breath against him and shook her head. “It’s better that way,” Geralt said, “Jaskier is better off in Oxenfurt.”
He let his fingers run through her mane and tried to bribe her with an apple. After another long sigh Geralt climbed in the saddle. He tugged at the reins and clicked his tongue to get her to move northwards, towards their winter home.
But Roach had something else in mind. She turned in the opposite direction and followed after the bard. “No, Roach, stop, that’s the wrong way,” Geralt protested, but the horse ignored him. He pulled at the reins and tried to get her to turn around, but she kept going. When they turned a corner Geralt could see Jaskier ahead and Roach took up speed.
“Geralt, what…?” Jaskier had turned around at the sound of an approaching horse.
“Did you forget something?” Roach stopped in front of the bard, who reached over and stroked her long neck. She nuzzled her nose into his chest and he giggled.
Geralt got out of the saddle and scratched the back of his neck. What was he supposed to tell him?
He looked at Roach, but of course she wasn’t of any help, happily letting the bard scratch behind her ear. “Um…” he began. Jaskier looked up at him with bright blue eyes but an otherwise uncharacteristically expressionless face.
When Geralt stayed silent, Roach nudged her head into his side and he lifted his arms in defeat. “Okay, okay, I’m gonna ask him.”
“Ask me what?” Jaskier said. The look of utter confusion that washed over his face was kind of cute and the blush Geralt had tried to keep at bay spread from his neck up to his cheeks.
He cleared his throat and said, “would you maybe...I mean Roach and I would like you to...do you want to come to Kear Morhen with us over the winter?” The last few words spilled out of his mouth, as if he had to force them out or they would choke him. Jaskier looked taken aback and Geralt’s cheeks grew even hotter. Fuck, this had been a mistake.
“Sorry,” he mumbled as he turned away, sure the bard would decline. But Jaskier stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and when Geralt looked at him he saw a radiant smile on Jaskier’s face.
“Of course I want to come,” he said, and threw his arms around the witcher, hugging him even harder than the goodbye hug from half an hour ago, “why didn’t you ask me sooner?”
Geralt felt the tension he hadn’t known he’d been holding melt away. His arms snaked around Jaskier’s waist and he buried his face in the brown hair, inhaling deeply.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “wasn’t sure if you would want to.” He could feel Jaskier smile against his neck, where he had pressed his face.
“That’s what asking is for, you dummy,” the bard said.
Both of them weren’t quite willing to let go, relishing the feeling of the other in their arms. But Geralt reminded himself that he now had the whole winter with Jaskier, time for many more hugs.
A few minutes later they were on their way north. Not just the witcher and his noble steed, but a bard walking - no, dancing beside them, singing a happy song and Geralt couldn’t stop smiling.
-
tag list under the cut
Tag list: @jaskierswolf @dani-dandelino @hailhailsatan @panerato @marvagon @x-anxious @moonysourenza @kaktusbambus @wildonewrites @dapandapod @honeysuckletook @thecomfortofoldstorries @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @broken-verses @vampire--dad @whenrainbowsend @geralt-of-riviass @sleepy-thief @artistsfuneral @hriive @stinastar @innocentbi-stander @darkangel91939 @in-love-with-writing002 @fandommagpie @fontegagrilledcheese @kozkaboi @nonegenderleftpain @veritasrose @havenoffandoms @feral-jaskier @llamasdumpsterfire @dhwty-writes @trickstermoose67 @rockysstupidity @the-bones-friend @peanitbear @your-lordsherlockholmes-posts @berlin-buttercup @pomegranatebitch @ninfatommo @mayastormborn @strippiluolamies @kmuir1 @holymotherwolf (please let me know - if you are 18+ - if you want to be added on or removed from my tag list)
I was vibing with this one tonight. So here we go! 🗡
CW: implied weapon kink? (very lightly though), a little bit horny, Geralt is still coming to terms with being allowed to wear a dress, so know that.
____________
Geralt stared at his outfit on the bed. It wasn’t something he’d ever worn before but the rules of the party were clear. He had to wear a dress. Yennefer had smirked at his obvious discomfort when he’d asked her for help, but enchanted one of her gowns so it would fit him. She’d even offered to help Jaskier dress for the occasion but the bard had waved his hand and assured her he would be fine. Geralt sighed and pulled on the silk black dress. It had a split up one side that looked stunning on Yennefer but Geralt wasn’t really sure it was for him. He grumbled, muttering to a non-existent Roach as he fiddled with his stockings and garters, thankful for the practice he’d had over the years at undoing them, although attaching them was a whole new challenge. Lastly, and most importantly, he strapped a holster to each of his thighs.
They were attending the party for a reason.
Geralt preferred his swords but silver daggers were less conspicuous. The rumours were that the Countess was a werewolf and she’d been terrorising the villagers on her land every full moon. It was a tricky contract and Geralt was hoping it would end peacefully. As far as the Countess was aware Geralt was here as a companion to Jaskier who had been enlisted to attend the affair as a lutist.
“Geralt?”
Geralt smirked. Jaskier always knew when Geralt was thinking about him. It was strange how often the bard appeared just as Geralt’s mind drifted. He grunted loud enough for Jaskier to hear him. Jaskier’s head popped around the door, blue eyes lined with dark black smudges, red paint staining his lips. Geralt’s mouth went dry as he took in the sight before him. It was easy to forget just how muscular Jaskier’s arms were, hidden under puffy sleeves but now, in his white silk sleeveless dress… all Geralt could think about were Jaskier’s arms.
His tongue felt heavy, words stuck in his throat.
He tore his gaze away only to be distracted by the plunging neckline that revealed the dark chest hair underneath. It was incredible, Geralt thought, he’d expected to feel less masculine wearing Yen’s clothes, but seeing Jaskier in his dress, no one could deny the raw masculinity exuding from Jaskier. It made him wonder why he’d been so worried. It wasn’t his clothes that defined him as a witcher, not even his medallion. It was his skill and his heart.
And the silk did feel nice against his skin, much softer than his armour.
Jaskier’s eyes darkened as they roamed Geralt’s body. Geralt felt his cheeks heat up, feeling oddly exposed in front of his bard who had seen him in far more vulnerable positions over the years.
“Gods… you look…” Jaskier trailed off with a lick of his lips, as he moved slowly into the room, never breaking eye contact.
Geralt swallowed, Jaskier didn’t need to finish his sentence, Geralt knew how it ended. Looking at Jaskier, the soft silk flowing around his legs… Geralt knew.
Jaskier’s hand slid under Geralt’s skirt, fingers tracing up his thigh. Geralt’s breath hitched as Jaskier’s fingers caught the leather holster. “Ready for tonight, love?”
Geralt nodded, Jaskier’s breath was tickling on his lips but he didn’t move.
Jaskier’s lips ghosted over his, and the bard winked as he pulled back, pulling up his own skirts to reveal the jewelled dagger that Geralt had gifted him last summer. It was strapped above a lacy white garter that Geralt wanted to rip from Jaskier’s body with his teeth. He groaned and closed his eyes as Jaskier dropped his skirt. “Just in case, darling.”
“Fuck, Jask.”
Jaskier’s face was a picture of innocence, except the slight twinkle in his eyes. “Shall we go then?”
Geralt growled, stalking from the room, the long skirt of his dress billowing out behind him. The quicker they could get this over with, the quicker he could get Jaskier out of that dress and into his bed.
________
Tag list (Geraskier): @alwenarin @slythnerd @davidtennan-t @flippinfricks @innocentcinnamonpun @marvagon @elliestormfound @geraskier-trashh @panerato @moonysourenza @artistsfuneral @hailhailsatan @wherethewordsare @havenoffandoms @bitchy-witchy-post-mortem @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @geralt-of-riviass @frances-the-red @kittynannygaming @stinastar @scribblesonmapleleaves @thecomfortofoldstorries @fontegagrilledcheese @anythinggoesfandoms @veritasrose @trickstermoose67 @nonegenderleftpain @ohheytheremiss @kueble @love-more-today-than-yesterday @kozkaboi @llamasdumpsterfire @skai6 @actionnerdgamerlove @bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher
hi! I have a prompt, if you like: what if Geralt hangs up mistletoe to get Jaskier to kiss him? :)
ELLIE, what a galaxy brained concept! It’s so silly and the gay panic is rampant in this one, my friends. The Kaer Morons being a bumbling pack of idiots and Geralt ridiculously pining after Jaskier? Coming right up!
Summary: Geralt is in love with Jaskier. In order to finally get him to admit his feelings, he devises a ten step plan with Lambert, Eskel and Vesemir.
Warnings: NONE, this is tooth-rotting fluff
Read on AO3
There was a conspiracy of the highest order brewing in the Continent involving no less than four witchers, their horses, a goat, and an unsuspecting bard. It is known under many names, including, but not limited to, Operation Home Sweet Home, Gods Save us from your Fucking Pining, and Get Vesemir's Blessing (and Mission Let's Get Geralt Laid, but that was from Lambert and therefore stupid).
They had laid out the Conspiracy in a set of carefully calculated steps last winter with the help of Vesemir's Wise Words and truly copious amounts of alcohol. Once he saw the whole list sober, Geralt had nearly chucked it into the fireplace out of mortification. Good thing Eskel and Lambert had been nearby to wrestle the slip of paper out of his hands.
Only after the creation of at least half a dozen copies was he trusted with it again. He frowned down at the sheet. It was simple, really. A simple ten-step-plan. He could do that.
Step One: Stop fucking staring out of windows and sighing longingly. (Shut up, Lambert.) Get back on the Path and find Jaskier.
Now, at least that was easy enough. Not for the first time since their acquaintance they had agreed upon a meeting place to come find each other as soon as the snows would allow it. Most of the years Geralt would arrive a little late; because even if they chose a spot closer to Kaer Morhen than Oxenfurt, the Killer was usually impassable for a long time.
A few years they had been lucky and could set out relatively early in spring. Geralt hadn't felt lucky at all, sitting in a lonely tavern corner day in, day out, waiting for a familiar bright-coloured bard to fill his life with light again. He had felt terrified, most of all.
So, this year when he set out to the Path, an already crumpled list clutched tightly in his hand, he was even more on edge than normally. He didn't think he could take Step One failing already, and the mortifying possibility of Jaskier lying dead in a ditch. He might just climb up that mountain again and never come back down.
Luckily, Geralt — and Vesemir — were saved from that miserable fate. When Geralt threw open the tavern door in some backwater Kaedwen town, Jaskier was there already. He was peacocking around in his usual manner, enticing his sparse audience with his captivating presence. When his eyes fell on Geralt, though, his three half-drunk spectators were soon forgotten.
The bard gasped and slung his lute onto his back, vaulting off the stage to come rushing over to him. "You're here!" Geralt stood ready, his arms spread wide to catch Jaskier when he flung himself at him in an overenthusiastic hug. "I missed you." Jaskier slung his legs around Geralt's hips and buried his face against his shoulder, clinging to him as if for dear life.
Geralt held him tight, deeply inhaling the familiar scent, a mix of honey, grapes, and cinnamon. He was used to this by now. He didn't mind. Truth be told, he craved it.
"Hmm," he answered, acutely aware of the stares they were attracting. Geralt decided he didn't care. "I... missed you, too."
"You did?" Jaskier pulled back and beamed at him. Just a week ago he had thought he would kill to see that smile again as soon as possible.
"Hmm," he agreed. Now he knew he knew he would die for it.
Jaskier wriggled in his grasp as a sign he wanted to be put down again. "You certainly know how to sweep a man off his feet, darling," he announced with a cheerful wink. "I don't think you've ever told me you so much as enjoyed my company before, let alone miss it."
"Hmm." Hadn't he? He could've sworn he had.
"None of that, now, let me just grab my bag and we can be on our merry way." Without another word, Jaskier rushed up the stairs in the back of the tavern.
Geralt stood uncomfortably in the door, waiting for him to return and doing his best not to attract too much attention. 'Hurry up, Jaskier,' he thought impatiently.
"Oi!" the bartender shouted. "Yer the witcher? The one of the songs?"
"I am."
The man nodded and threw something at him, humming a very distinct tune. It was a ducat. Geralt pocketed it with a sigh. He hadn't missed that.
He didn't have to wait long before Jaskier came barrelling back down the stairs, a much too large bag Roach would have to carry again in tow. "Well," the bard straightened his crumpled doublet, which, for some reason, now gaped open and showed off the pristine shirt underneath. Geralt tried not to stare, "where are we off to?"
"Toussaint," he answered, holding the tavern door open for him.
"Toussaint!" Jaskier exclaimed excitedly. "I love Toussaint."
With their reunion out of the way, it was time to proceed with the plan:
Step Two: Travel with Jaskier. Be nice to him (no fillingless pies!)! Compliment him! Laugh at his jokes!
That part was significantly more difficult than the first. Not that he lacked compliments for Jaskier, quite on the contrary. They, however, posed not one, but two difficulties.
The first was one of his own making: voicing his thoughts with actual words. In the privacy of his mind he had a myriad of compliments. 'You're beautiful,' passed through his head when he saw Jaskier bathed in the golden light of sunset. 'You smell nice,' after a day at the coast, salt encrusting Jaskier's hair. 'You make me smile', 'You make the loneliness go away', 'You're the best bard I could wish for.' None of them were quite eager to leave his mouth.
When they finally did, it was awkward. They didn't sound at all how he imagined them. "What are you looking at?" Jaskier asked.
"Something on your face," he answered. 'Yeah,' he thought dumbly, 'sunlight.'
Or: "Geralt, are you sniffing me?"
"You smell." He still cursed himself months later for omitting the simple word 'nice'.
After a while he got better at it. He could manage an "I like your voice" without stumbling over it, or a "Your outfit looks nice and smooth." It wasn't an "I love listening to you sing and say my name; you make it sound like something that is worthy of affection" or an "I love that you wear silk as soft as your skin and could spend days caressing it without growing tired of it" yet, but he was getting there.
What came then, once he was able to say a simple nice sentence to his bard, was somehow even worse. Jaskier was clumsy, that was nothing new, but this season it was on a whole different level. Whenever Geralt so much asked him about the song he was working on, the bard stumbled over his own feet; with every smile or laugh he nearly dropped his precious lute.
But nothing beat that time they happened upon a particularly clear and blue lake and Geralt had leaned over to tell Jaskier: "I like it. It reminds me of your eyes. Just as pretty." The poet had nearly plummeted right into it, which would have been very unfortunate indeed, since he hadn't convinced the nymph living in it to migrate yet.
In the end, Jaskier's utter lack of equilibrium sense led to Geralt offering him to ride on Roach. That was much better. Sometimes they rode double, too. He liked those days especially, when he had an excuse to hold his bard close. The days when Jaskier would sigh and lean back into his touch he liked most of them all.
Slowly, they settled into a familiar rhythm. It was awkward at first, but soon they became used to the change of their relationship. And it wasn't as if everything changed. They still bickered and insulted each other, and laughed and told stories. It was just right; Geralt almost didn't notice how summer came to an end.
But it did, and when the first leaves started coasting to the ground it was time for the next step.
Step Three: Ask him where he will spend the next winter.
It was probably the most mortifying thing he had to say to Jaskier yet. They were sat at a campfire one early autumn evening, Geralt trying to look busy cleaning his sword and Jaskier preoccupied with his lute. Once he finally worked up the courage to ask, he stumbled over his words like a school boy; he even blushed, for fuck's sake! It was embarrassing.
Luckily, Jaskier didn't seem to notice, too busy tuning his lute. "Why, in Oxenfurt, of course. Why do you ask, Geralt?" he answered nonchalantly as if Geralt wasn't just leading the most daunting conversation of his entire life.
'Fucking great,' he thought. Now it was time for Step Three.5: Ask Jaskier to come home with you, you fucking idiot.
"Hm," he said.
Jaskier laughed. "Talkative as always I see." He smiled at him brightly and turned back to his lute. "Alright then. Keep your secrets."
"Hmm." This wasn't getting any easier. "Jaskier."
"Yes, dear?"
His heart fluttered with the pet name, so much that Geralt nearly bit his tongue off in the process of trying to voice his question: "Would you like to stay with me?"
The lute gave a dissonant twang that made both of them wince. "Excuse me, what?" Jaskier stammered, his voice much higher than normally.
"Hmm. I just thought..." He frowned. 'Shit.' He couldn't do it. He just couldn't. This had been doomed from the beginning. "Forget it, it's stupid."
"No, no, not at all!" Jaskier scrambled to his feet and hurried over to Geralt's side. "Where would we be staying? I suppose you could come to Oxenfurt with me, but it could get a bit crammed and-"
"Kaer Morhen," Geralt stated simply.
"Kaer Mo- oh!" His eyes lit up. "Why, yes, Geralt, I would love to stay with you."
And that was the end of that. They didn't talk about it anymore the whole evening as Geralt did his damnedest to forget the conversation had ever happened. But when he laid awake in the night, Jaskier huddled close to him — it was getting rather cold, after all — he couldn't stop his mind from whirling, excitement mixing with immobilising terror. Jaskier would come to Kaer Morhen with him. They would stay together the whole winter. And Jaskier would meet his family.
With a sigh he turned over, cautiously throwing an arm over Jaskier's waist and holding him like the precious thing he was. The smile that spread on Geralt's face when his bard snuggled even closer, outshone the morning sun creeping over the horizon.
The following days and weeks, Jaskier was buzzing with the same excited energy that Geralt held within. It cost him every ounce of self-control not to turn Roach around and head for Kaer Morhen right away. But it was still early in the autumn, at least a moon's turn before it was time to go home, so they busied themselves with taking contracts and performing for sub-par audiences.
It was alright. He needed the money, after all, if he wanted to cross off Step Four: Bring Jaskier back to Kaer Morhen in its entirety, including the note: Buy him some nice and warm clothes on the way - Vesemir
It was good advice, Geralt knew, as most of Vesemir's advice was. Jaskier might have travelled with a witcher for the better part of his life, but he was still only human. And winters were very cold in the northern Kaedwen mountains.
So, on Geralt's annual stop in Ard Carraigh, he took Jaskier to get him equipped with soft woollen sweaters and stockings, as well as a pair of sturdy boots, ignoring the bard's protests of how 'ugly' they were.
"You'll thank me when you've still got all your toes after this winter," he grumbled as he strapped Jaskier's bag to Roach's saddle.
After that, nothing much exciting followed. There were still a few villages and hamlets along the way to Kaer Morhen but the least of them had so much as a tavern. The ones with a real audience of Jaskier were fewer still.
Geralt couldn't say he didn't enjoy it. Quite the opposite, he loved listening to Jaskier in the privacy of their camp or — if they were lucky — the barn where they could stay the night. He loved knowing that Jaskier sang only for him. And most of all he loved the vibrant smiles he got along the way, and the tiny ones, too, etched on his face even when he curled up against the witcher at night.
During the days, Jaskier finally had to stop riding on Roach; the path was simply getting too dangerous. The way up to Kaer Morhen had never been easy, not even when there had been two dozen witchers and twice as many students living there, but since the attack they hadn't tended to it anymore. The Witcher's Trail was no easy one for humans — and it wasn't meant to be.
Jaskier, to his credit, didn't comment much on it, most of the time too exhausted or admiring to run his mouth about the difficulty of getting to Geralt's home. He was almost a bit worried, anxious even, if Jaskier's reaction to seeing the ancient ruin would just be the same kind of silent admiration.
Evidently, there had been no need. They rounded the last corner and, finally, Kaer Morhen was looming up above them. As soon as his eyes fell on it, Jaskier gasped and ran ahead. He had, apparently, forgotten about his aching limbs he had complained about just that morning. "Is that it?" he asked excitedly. "Geralt, is this it?"
"No, it's another crumbling fortress in the Kaedwen mountains," he deadpanned.
"You're mean," Jaskier accused him and turned back around to the keep. "For months I've dreamt of this moment and what do you do? You mock me, truly a horrible habit, that- oh, gods, Geralt, it's so beautiful!"
"Hmm," he answered, watching Jaskier intently. The childish glee on his face, the snowflakes dancing around him and melting in his hair. "I guess so."
"Can we go inside?"
Another barbed comment was already on the tip of his tongue, but Geralt guessed that he shouldn't ruin the moment. Not if Jaskier was so happy. "We can. Come on."
They were still a good distance away when the gates creaked open and three bulking figures stepped outside. "You're early," he accused Eskel and Lambert once they caught up to them. They weren't supposed to be there. They were messing up Step Five: Meet the family. (Lambert Eskel Lambert Vesemir first.)
"And you're impolite," Vesemir grumbled. "I taught you better, Geralt."
"Hmm," he answered and the silence that followed might've been awkward if not for Jaskier.
Thanks to him there was no silence at all, to be precise. "You must be Vesemir; Geralt told me so much about you. Dare I say, Master Witcher, I am honoured and humbled by the invitation, and am looking forward to my stay. The name's Jaskier and I am at your service," he concluded and bowed with a flourish.
The three witchers gaped at him in surprise and Geralt couldn't help but grin. No overly detailed stories by him could've possibly prepared them for... well, Jaskier. "What," Lambert muttered quietly, "the fuck?"
"Now, that's just rude," Jaskier said as he straightened himself, "don't you think? Geralt, your brother is being rude to me."
It was all he could do not to laugh freely. Instead he shrugged and said: "Told you he's the rude one."
"Oh, you're Lambert!" The bard grinned widely and stretched out his hand. "Nice to finally meet you."
Lambert huffed in surprise and shook the offered hand. "Tell you what, bard, I'm not sure if I should be flattered or offended."
"Offended," Geralt mumbled just as Eskel said: "Flattered."
Jaskier smiled widely and wickedly. "Both."
Lambert opened his mouth, presumably to return a rude comment, but Jaskier's attention was diverted by Eskel, who gave him a thorough once-over and then nodded. "Welcome to Kaer Morhen, bard."
"Thank you, uh, Eskel?" he hazarded a guess.
A smile tugged on the unscarred corner of his mouth. "That's right."
"Dinner's in an hour," Vesemir cut in. "Maybe you could show our guest to his room, Geralt?"
Right. With the meeting out of the way it was time for Step Six: Show him to his room (Make sure it has some nice fur rugs - Vesemir) (Shag him on the rug - Lambert) (Offer to stay with him if he's cold - Eskel). Both of those additions seemed equally daunting to him.
But before he could even think of an excuse as to why he couldn't do that right now, Roach's reins were ripped from his hands and they were being pushed towards the keep.
"Well, they're certainly eager to get rid of you, considering they haven't seen you for a year," Jaskier quipped once they were inside the keep proper.
"That's not- hmm." 'Fuck.' He had almost betrayed himself. "They'll be different after dinner," he promised. "Besides, you know they can hear you."
"So?" He huffed a laugh. "I know they're just like you; all bark and no bite."
He was about to deny that claim but Lambert's offended howl that reached him from the courtyard quickly changed his mind. That definitely was worth the jab at his own ego. "Come on," he urged, smiling, "no need to continue playing the jester for them any further."
"Why, is there any issue with providing entertainment for a living?" Jaskier teased.
"Only if it's at the expense of me."
He sighed dramatically. "That I know, my dear. That I know."
"Jaskier?"
"Yes?"
"Shut up, I'm trying to give you a tour of the keep."
"You are? Oh, I wouldn't have noticed." Geralt shot him a dirty look. Jaskier snickered maliciously, the bastard. "Oh, yeah, yep. Shutting up. Go ahead, Sir Witcher, show me your magnificent home."
From anyone else it might've been mockery. It might've been mockery from Jaskier, too, if not for the sound of absolute awe in his voice as he took in their surroundings.
Geralt could hardly blame him. It might've been a long time since he had arrived at Kaer Morhen, but he still remembered how dumbstruck he had been at the sheer immensity of the place that should become since home.
It had lost its mysticism since then, but seeing Jaskier's childlike wonder as he led him through the kitchens and great hall made him remember. He showed him the library, too, as well as the stairs down to the hot springs that he must never, ever confuse with those that led to the laboratories.
He closed with the rooms the various witchers claimed as their own: "That's Lambert's room down the hall, don't go there, he's a prick; Vesemir is a few floors below us, claims he's too old for our squabbles; that's mine, and that one's Eskel's, ask him if you need something and I'm not there, not Lambert, he's an arsehole-"
"Geralt," Jaskier said soothingly and put a hand on his arm, "you're rambling."
"Am I?" he asked confused. "Don't think so."
"There's no need to be nervous, dear. I won't abandon you; you're stuck with me for the winter."
"I'm not nervous," Geralt insisted, his fingers twitching nervously.
"Right," Jaskier took his hand away, evidently not very convinced. "I'm sorry for interrupting you, then."
"Don't be," he mumbled, not quite able to tear his gaze from Jaskier's gentle smile.
"Geralt?"
"Hm?"
"Do I-" He started fidgeting with his lute strap. "Do I have a room, too? I mean, not that I mind sharing with you, that's not the issue at all- gods, I sound stupid-"
His eyes still trained on Jaskier, he reached behind him and opened the door. "There."
"That's my room?" he asked without turning around to look inside.
"That's yours," Geralt confirmed. He had prepared it last winter already. Just in case.
As soon as the words had left his mouth, the poet whirled around and rushed into the sparsely furnished room. He looked very much... out of place. The realisation hit him like a slap in the face; but apparently the visual of Jaskier and his bright purple doublet in the grey empty walls of Kaer Morhen was what it took for him to realise how little they were reconcilable.
For the first time in his life he felt self-conscious for his home. "'S not much," Geralt mumbled.
"It's wonderful." Jaskier beamed, carefully inspecting the bed and the rug, peering out the window and into the chest. "Might get a bit cold, though."
He grumbled something he knew to be unintelligible to humans into his beard.
"What was that, love?"
"You could always stay with me," he spoke up. "Y'know. We've shared before."
"That we have! You might find that before long you will be forced to let me take you up on your generous offer."
"Hmm," Geralt answered and left him to it, in order to complete Step Six.5: No, let him arrive first, you idiot! There would be no 'being forced' of any kind, but he wasn't quite ready to admit that to Jaskier, yet.
Despite their apparent incompatibility Jaskier settled into the routine of Kaer Morhen disturbingly quickly. Though 'settle into' wasn't quite the right choice of words. More like 'tear it down and build it anew, but with lyrics, laughter, and luminosity'.
The evening of their arrival was truly mortifying, the worst mix of embarrassing stories of Geralt's childhood and very inappropriate questions directed at Jaskier. Geralt had spent the whole dinner frozen in shock and awe at the masterful display of the bard's craftsmanship.
After an hour of vicious cross-examination, the three witchers had finally backed off. And as Vesemir had retreated to his rooms, Lambert had brought up the alcohol. It hall had spiralled out of Geralt's control after that.
Within the hour Lambert and Jaskier were japing and jabbing at each other as if they were lifelong friends and not acquaintances since a few hours. It took his bard three days to have Vesemir completely wrapped around his finger, intently listening to his droning lectures about basically everything. And not even a fortnight into their stay, he found Jaskier and Eskel in the library, talking with hushed voices. He quickly retreated but not before he heard Jaskier telling his brother how beautiful he was, scars or no scars, and Eskel sniveled quietly.
A month since their arrival saw them trapped into the castle by the heavy snowfalls. Unfortunately, that didn't stop Vesemir from drilling them mercilessly.
They were an hour into their morning routine when they all perked at the sound of soft footsteps passing through the hall. "Jaskier," Geralt said softly.
The bard was bundled up in several quilts, his face barely visible beneath the mess of his hair and the blankets. Still his face lit up with the brightest smile when he saw them. "Mornin', lads," he croaked, "lookin' good, keep it up." He gave them a tired thumbs-up and shuffled off to the kitchen, where Vesemir would provide him with a hot breakfast with a side of 'most-boring-information-on-this-earth'. It was their own morning routine of sorts, and the three of them knew it wouldn't be long before they were discussing the 'merits of the iambic pentameter in 10th century love poetry' or some shit.
"Fuck," Lambert cursed once they knew Jaskier to be out of earshot, "I really can't blame you, Geralt. Too much time with him and I start gawking like a love-sick idiot, too."
"Hmm," Geralt agreed. Jaskier definitely had that effect.
"Jealous, wolf?" Eskel inquired with a knowing smile.
"No," he answered earnestly. If anything, he loved Jaskier more for it. His family wasn't easy to deal with, he knew. But his bard didn't care. He had so much affection to give, even for witchers. 'Especially for witchers.' He closed his eyes with a happy smile.
"Y'know, there's still a couple of steps left on our list," Eskel informed him casually.
Geralt's eyes snapped open as his heart sped up. 'Fuck.' The plan. "Hmm."
"Just fucking get it over with," Lambert yearned. "Your pining isn't any less obnoxious just because he's here."
"If anything, it's gotten worse," Eskel agreed.
"So?" he snapped. He had put it off, that was true. Had waited for the snow, he told himself, but now the snow was here and-
"So, we'll distract him this afternoon," Eskel interrupted his spiralling thoughts.
"And you pull your head outta your arse and fucking follow through," Lambert added.
"Fine," he ground out. "We do that." Not before he kicked both their arses during their training, though, for being such utter dicks.
Before long, however, the inevitable happened. Morning passed over to noon, and, true to their words, Lambert and Eskel whisked Jaskier away after lunch. They left Geralt behind in the hall with a branch in his hands and nothing left to do but complete Step Seven: Hang up a mistletoe.
"Fuck," he muttered. Nearly one year had passed since they had come up with their conspiracy. One year to gather his courage, one year to come up with a plan, one year to at least think about where to fucking put it. "Fuck," he said again, for good measure.
He looked around. Looked to the rafters. Looked at the mistletoe. "Fuck it," he declared and tucked it away to scale up to the rafters.
He was already up there, dangling from one of the beams when he remembered that he had nothing to secure it with besides the silky ribbon that would never fit around it. He scowled darkly. He sure as hell wouldn't climb down and up again. Without further ado he pulled his dagger from his belt and drove it deep into the wood, pinning the mistletoe by the ribbon.
He climbed down again, making sure that it was visible from the ground. 'Perfect,' he decreed. With the mistletoe in place, it was now time for Step Eight: Have Lambert and Eskel inform Jaskier of the mistletoe and a strategically placed Geralt.
He spun around to go and alert his brothers, when he heard a cheerful voice behind him: "Geralt! There you are, you mean witcher, I was wondering where you were hiding. You know, it is not nice to leave your, uh- bedmate all alone and freezing in the morning, and- oh." There was a thoughtful pause. "Now would you look at that."
Geralt heaved a long sigh. He dreaded turning around, for he had a very distinct feeling he knew already what he would see. And fuck, he was not ready for that step. For some stupid reason, he still did turned around.
Jaskier stood in the middle of the hall, squinting up at the ceiling. "Are my eyes deceiving me — and they might be, mind you, my eyes are not as good as a witcher's — or is that a mistletoe I spy up there."
He cursed internally. He knew he should've hung it lower. "Hmm," he answered, his heart beating in his throat. Why was his heart beating in his throat? It wasn't supposed to do that. His voice was surprisingly calm when he said: "Seems like it."
"Oh no!" he moaned woefully. "Quick, Geralt, come here and lift the curse!"
"Curse?" he inquired bemusedly as his feet moved without his volition. "What curse, Jaskier?"
The bard gasped. "Don't you know? When someone passes beneath a mistletoe, they are frozen to the spot until the curse is broken."
"Hmm," he stepped under the mistletoe, too. He should've known Jaskier would make up a story around this. It was just a tradition, for fuck's sake, no curse. Although a curse was certainly more romantic, even he had to admit that. "Must be a rare curse if a witcher's never heard of it."
"The rarest," Jaskier insisted and pointed at his cheek. "It may only be broken with a true love's kiss."
In light of what happened next, let it be known that, in Geralt's defence, he was panicking. Quite thoroughly so. Since the Trials his legs hadn't shaken like that anymore.
He had been promised a pep talk by his brothers before having to confront the situation at hand. And yet they were nowhere to be found and Jaskier was here, evidently expecting him to kiss him.
'Shit. Fuck. Shit fuck.' He was not ready; he was not ready; he was not-
"Geralt?" Jaskier ripped him from his thoughts. "Are you waiting till my nose grows icicles, or what?"
Still, he leaned forward, placing one hand on Jaskier's hip and the other on his shoulder, and pecked him on the cheek.
The cheek. That had not been the plan. That had not been the plan at all. And then, of all things, he heard himself ask: "Can you move again?"
Jaskier blinked, looking just as dumbstruck as Geralt felt. "I- I think so?" he stammered and moved to pull away, blushing furiously.
'Fuck, no,' he remembered thinking. And while he wasn't quite in control of his limbs again, what he did next was probably the single most clever thing he had done in his entire life. Gingerly almost, he tightened his grip on Jaskier. His head tilted to the side, an invitation, an escape.
His bard didn't move. Instead, he said: "Doesn't seem like it."
"Hmm," Geralt answered and leaned in closer. "Difficult curse, seems like. Let me try again."
Before he could even think of changing his mind, Jaskier had his arms looped around Geralt's neck and crushed their lips together. He did his best to reciprocate the kiss, which wasn't easy with fear still gripping his heart tightly, but then Jaskier crowded closer, moulding his body against Geralt's and that was all it took for the tension to seep from his bones and go limb.
It was a weird sensation; being wrapped in Jaskier's arms was so familiar, but he was also kissing Jaskier, which was new- 'Great gods, I am kissing Jaskier, I am kissing Jaskier, I am-'
He pulled back with a triumphant grin, evidently startling his bard. "What?" he asked, very confused.
"I am kissing you," he announced, his grin widening even more.
Jaskier frowned. "That you are, but-"
"I am kissing you," he said again and pecked him on the lips. "And I can keep doing it."
"Oh!" The frown eased away, giving way to the softest of smiles. "That you can, my dear."
So, Geralt did. Again. And again. And again, and again, and again. He didn't know how many times he had kissed Jaskier, how many times Jaskier had kissed him, before he pulled back and blurted: "I love you."
Jaskier stared at him in silent awe, before blushing and cupping his cheeks gently. "That you do, my love," he whispered. "And I love you, too." Softly, he pressed their lips together again.
"You do?" Geralt asked disbelievingly.
Jaskier smirked. "I do. For years and years, I have. I thought you knew."
"Fuck," he muttered. Did that mean... 'I didn't have to do any of this.' He could've just- "I'm an idiot."
"Only sometimes," he allowed, giggling sillily. Geralt was compelled to join in. "Besides, you’re my idiot, and I love you for it." He shifted a little, so he could lean his head comfortably onto Geralt's shoulder despite them being nearly the same height.
"So," Jaskier drawled, curling a strand of Geralt's hair around his finger, "are we just going to keep standing here, or...?"
He scoffed. Of course, they wouldn't. He had a plan, after all. "Fuck." The plan.
Jaskier raised his head. "Is that a curse or an answer?"
"Yes," he answered warily.
It earned him the most beautiful snorting laugh he had ever heard. "What are you cursing at, love?"
"We skipped Step Eight," he admitted, "got right to Step Nine."
"Excuse me, what?"
"Step Nine: Kiss Jaskier." The poet just gawked at him. "I had a list," he explained.
"You had?" Jaskier's eyes lit up and he made grabby hands. "Show me, show me!"
Reluctantly, Geralt handed it over, studying Jaskier's face carefully as he read through it.
"I knew it," Jaskier concluded finally.
"Huh?"
"Oh, come on!" He threw up his hands. "You were acting weird all year round, Geralt! Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but still, weird. It took me about ten minutes to figure out there was some ploy at play." He laughed quietly and waved the paper around. "Though I never would've guessed what was amiss."
"You don't like it."
"On the contrary! It's a wonderful plan," the poet said and pecked him on the lips. "I've got to admit, though, Lambert was right: you should've just fucked me on that rug once we got here."
"Hmmm." Geralt nuzzled against Jaskier's neck, holding him closer when he tried to squirm away from the tickling sensation. "That still an option?"
"Very much so. I believe it has to be one more step before completing your list." He pulled him close and whispered against his lips: "Take me to bed, my love"
And how could Geralt refuse such a request? Especially if it coincided so luckily with Step Ten.
Moonrock dildo prompt: Geralt works in a geological museum and Jaskier is a visitor and is fascinated by the phallic moonrock on display and asks Geralt everything about it, but he is so bad at flirting (sorry, 💖💖💖💖)
Ellie, you darling soul, this fic really got out of hand. I hope you like it cuz honestly... I wanna write more.
Please forgive my rock knowledge, it’s spotty at best. I did a ton of research though so be gentle.
Shout out to Ellie for the line “Jaskier was quite gay”
Warnings: phallic moon rocks, discussion of dildos, flirting
-
The museum was quiet as Jaskier wandered through the large rooms, the only sound his footsteps echoing around him. No matter how many times he had suffered through donor tours because of his parent’s generosity, he didn’t think he would ever feel comfortable in an almost empty museum. The quiet was almost eerie and, although he knew there were security and other employees about, it always left him feeling incredibly lonely.
He was a social person, he liked company and talking and these museum walk throughs were never like that. He wouldn’t even get a docent who could tell him about the exhibits, he was just expected to wander aimlessly until he had to meet with whatever person was in charge of whatever thing his parents donated to this time.
Normally he could at least enjoy the paintings and sculptures as his parent’s favored art museums but this time, they had decided to put their money towards a small mineralogical and geological museum for… whatever reason, and he was bored. Sure, the rocks and minerals and stones and whatever else he was looking at, for he knew nothing of rocks and the like, were pretty but… they were rocks. And he was bored.
Thankfully though, it was a truly small museum and he was almost down to the last room, which was where he was to meet with the curator of the final collection, something to do with space rocks. Or maybe it was moon rocks. Truly, Jaskier didn’t know the difference and he wasn’t sure he really cared.
Humming absentmindedly to himself, Jaskier approached the archway leading into the last room of the museum. The first thing he noticed was how much larger the room was than all the other ones, even the ceiling was higher, and bearing a beautiful painting of the night sky. The second was how many more display cases there were here than in the other rooms.
Jaskier walked inside slowly, looking into the closest display cases eagerly, already more interested in this room than all those previous. He gazed into the first case, reading the card identifying the rock as a “Lunar Meteorite”. The rock was dark in color and filled with holes, rather plain really. Jaskier stood quietly, studying the rock. There was honestly nothing special about it, to him, other than the fact that it was from the moon, but if he hadn’t known that fact it certainly wasn’t something that would have drawn his eye.
Moving on, Jaskier directed his attention to a display case located in the center of the room. Walking up to it curiously, his brows drew together in confusion as he stared at the rock in front of him.
Jaskier tried to think of how to describe it other than phallic, but nothing came to mind. It looked like a dick. Looking at the description, he was surprised to see that it was recovered during a space mission. And there was also no mention of it’s rather surprising shape.
“Mr. Pankratz?” A deep voice inquired from behind him, shocking Jaskier. The voice echoed in the room, though not as loud as the squeak Jaskier let out as he spun around.
Standing in front of Jaskier was possibly the most beautiful man in existence. He was of a height with Jaskier, perhaps and inch or two taller. His brilliant white hair was pulled back into a low bun, showing off the undercut he was sporting. His jawline could cut marble, which looked to be what the rest of him was made of. The neat suit he was wearing accented the broad line of his shoulders and narrow taper of his waist.
Jaskier was quite gay, thank you very much, and being confronted with this absolute Adonis of a man was rather overwhelming.
“Uh… yes. Well, no. I mean, I am who you are looking for but please don’t call me Mr. Pankratz. Jaskier, if you don’t mind.”
The man grunted.
“Right… and should I assume you’re Dr. Rivia?” Jaskier asked as it became apparent.
“Yes.”
For as much as the man was most certainly handsome, he seemed equally unwilling to talk. Jaskier held out a hand, “Nice to meet you.” As the large, warm hand clasped him, Jaskier shivered involuntarily, thinking about better places that hand could be grabbing.
“Okay so you’re the curator, right? This is your exhibit?” Jaskier gestured vaguely at the impressive collection around him.
“I am. Have you gotten to look around, much?” Dr. Rivia’s reply was short and brusque.
Jaskier hummed thoughtfully, glancing back at the case behind him, “Not in here, no. I was just looking at this one actually.”
Dr. Rivia hummed thoughtfully, looking at the case, “And do you like it?”
Did he… like it? Well, he was rather fond of dick. “I… don’t know. I actually have a lot of questions about it.”
“I’d be happy to answer any questions you have.”
Any questions he had… should he go for it? Eh, might as well, Jaskier decided, hoping the conversation wouldn’t get back to his parents. “Well… for starters, is there a reason it’s shaped like a dick?”
“According to the team that returned from the moon with it, that’s the shape it was found in.”
“So it naturally formed in the shape of a dick?” Jaskier couldn’t help but feel skeptical.
“That is what we are led to believe, yes.”
That wasn’t a particularly confident response, “And you believe it?”
The man hesitated before answering, “There is some documentation missing that would normally be filled out upon finding a specimen but we have no reason to believe it is anything other than organically formed.” Jaskier didn’t know Dr. Rivia but he would argue the look on his face screamed doubt.
“So you don’t believe it.”
Dr. Rivia did not respond.
Jaskier turned back to the case, looking at the rock again. His curiosity was peaked. Why would someone make it look like a dick? For the fun of it? As a joke? A dare? To be used?
“So… hypothetically speaking, would a rock like this be safe if used as a dildo?”
Dr. Rivia seemed startled by the question, “I wouldn’t recommend it.”
“But is it safe?”
Dr. Rivia’s brows furrowed, “In it’s current state? No.”
Well that probably ruled out it being used, “But it could be safe?”
“If someone wanted to turn a piece of anorthosite into a dildo then there would be ways to do so, yes.”
“That’s what kind of rock this is?”
“Yes. And it’s very rough, I wouldn’t recommend putting it anywhere in your body.”
“So… if there are moon dildos, is there moon lube to?”
“There aren’t moon dildos.” Jaskier laughed at the obvious exasperation present in the man’s voice.
“Well, maybe you can show me around the rest of the exhibit? To be honest, I know nothing about rocks and the rest of the museum has been rather boring. Maybe you could liven things up.” Jaskier stepped forward, giving the attractive man his best bedroom eyes.
Something flashed in the man’s eyes as the roamed over Jaskier’s body, settling on his lips. Jaskier bit his bottom lip, batting his eye lashes.
“Follow me. And call me Geralt.”
The man, Geralt, spun around, striding to a door labeled “Employees Only” and Jaskier hurried to follow, hoping there was a bathroom or a closet somewhere back there they could put to good use.
Hi! For the kissing prompts "An accidental brush of lips followed by a pause and going back for another, on purpose" with Geraskier?
4. An accidental brush of lips followed by a pause and going back for another, on purpose.
This is cute!! I hope I did it justice for you.
—
Geralt watched, entranced, as Jaskier tilted his head back, laughing loudly at his joke. He’d hardly thought it was funny himself, but the bard was nearly in tears.
“He says- mercy of, oh, my ribs!”
To others, Geralt was positive that Jaskier looked and sounded ridiculous, honking like a goose and practically shaking with laughter. But to Geralt, he looked stunning. He was beautiful, and the way he but his lip to try and keep his giggles in was cute, his face pinching together as he hit Geralt on the arm, leaning against him.
“You’re ridiculous, darling. Goodness, I must’ve hurt myself from all that.”
Geralt really wanted to kiss him.
“A good joke is underrated, you know. I’ve spent years working in an academy and the times we get someone who’s truly amusing... is...”
Jaskier was turned towards him then, the wide smile on his face softening minutely. “Geralt?” He asked. It seemed as if Geralt could feel his breath on his face, if he just moved a little...
Closer...
Geralt startled when something touched his mouth, and he blinked to recover his awareness. Jaskier was there, eyes wide, lips parted just slightly. Oh.
Jaskier was saying something then, and his cheeks were getting red, but none of it was reaching Geralt’s ears as the urge to kiss him grew and grew, until Jaskier’s tongue flicked out from between his lips, and Geralt’s desire crescendoed; he cut him off with a much more intentional kiss.
There was suddenly more important things to focus on than the ring of Jaskier’s laughter.
Hallo! Your word is CUPRIFEROUS, which means “containing copper”.
The wet walls of the caves shimmered greenly in the flickering light of Geralt’s torch. Jaskier reached out to touch the weird looking rocks, and they were cold beneath his fingertips, slick with run-off water coming from somewhere above.
This had been a mine - it was still a mine, the cupriferous walls still glimmering with tonnes of copper ore - but the workers had abandoned it weeks ago, despite the riches trapped within its caves.
Thick fog gathered around their ankles, and Geralt shot out a warning hand.
“Stay here,” he said. “Don’t go any further. Take this...”
He passed Jaskier the torch, then cast the sign for Igni, bathing his own hand in flames. Jaskier gripped the torch, willing his arm not to shake.
“Foglets,” said Geralt, dropping his voice to a whisper and leaning closer, his mouth brushing Jaskier’s ear. “Hear that?”
Jaskier strained his human hearing, but could only hear the creaking, dripping noises of the cave itself. And then… a skittering, a kind of laughing hiss. He nodded, his lips tightly pressed together.
A strange noise rumbled lowly from Geralt’s chest. “I shouldn’t have let you come,” he muttered. “It’s too dangerous. Have you got the dagger I gave you?”
Jaskier reached down, pulling the shining silver blade from its sheath. “I do,” he whispered, peering into the darkness over Geralt’s shoulder. He fingered the intricately carved handle beneath his thumb - a nervous habit.
“Good. You might need it…” Geralt took a deep breath, and pulled his silver sword from his back. “If you see a light,” he said, “whatever you do: don’t go towards it.”
He blinked. “Isn’t that usually the opposite of the advice? Go towards the light…” he grinned, despite the fear nibbling at his stomach, “Am I dead?” He asked.
“Not if you stay here,” Geralt said with a scowl, “and not if you don’t follow the lights.”
Jaskier swallowed. In the darkness, Geralt had suddenly become the picture of the well-seasoned monster hunter. His cat-like pupils were wide, and oil glistened on the blade of his sword. Fire licked painlessly at his fingers. The dancing shadows made him look almost inhuman. Almost.
“Stay here,” he repeated, “Stay close to the wall. I’ll be back soon.”
And then he hesitated. He glanced towards the shadowy tunnel at the end of the cave, then back to Jaskier.
“I will be back,” he said, finally, and in a quick movement he darted forward, capturing Jaskier’s face and pressing a quick, dry kiss to his jaw. Jaskier flushed - he still did, even now, even after all these months.
Hi there! :D Love that gif! bonk the witcher XD good Roachie! She knows she can shove and he won’t budge <3 (Give her treat, Geralt! She’s a good girl! She deserves treats! And a cuddle. Pet her ears!)
