Something flickered in Jaskier's eyes; the journey of a decision, start to finish, and then the bard huffed a breath, shoulders slumping.
"Fine. But first," he uttered, almost thoughtful, turning away.
He spun quick enough that all he had time to register was the flash of surprise on Geralt's face before he punched him, knuckles meeting his jaw in a move that undoubtedly hurt the musician more than the Witcher.
"Cock, bollocks and a Witcher's cunt!" the bard yelped, shaking out his hand. His captors hadn't even removed his rings and he was certain they were embedded forever on his fingers.
Geralt blinked slowly, one hand coming up lethargically.
"I'm not sure what I'm more surprised by," Geralt murmured, touching a fingertip to the blood dripping from his nose. "The fact that you just punched me, or that it was a decent hit.”
Jaskier stayed sullenly silent, clutching his hand to his chest with a scowl.
"Let me check your hand," Geralt sighed, reaching for him.
"Don't fucking touch me, you utter horse's arse!" Jaskier shrieked, slapping his hand away.
"Jaskier–"
"Don't Jaskier me!" the bard refuted again, and Geralt raised a brow, grinding his teeth.
"Julian, then?" he growled. "Sandpiper, perhaps? What should I call you if not your name?"
Jaskier fell silent, staring wild-eyed at him. "I'm not–"
"Stupid and kind hearted enough to take on Nilfgaard's purges?" Geralt challenged, voice soft. "It's exactly the sort of thing the Jaskier I know would do."
"You don't know me," Jaskier laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "What's my favorite color, Geralt? What flower am I allergic to, hm? What did I study at Oxenfurt, even? When's my birthday?"
"Blue. You're not allergic to any flowers; you ate dog’s bane, which is poisonous to everything. You studied historical poetry and the art of lyrical literature in your first year, song-smithing and composing in your second and the lute for three, alongside several other string instruments, but the lute is your favorite.
Your birthday is Belleteyn, and you tell everyone it gives you magical fucking skills, even though that's horseshit. You hate ginger root and some prick called Valdo Marx and being cold and the first song you ever wrote was called Dixie's Dandy Dally."
He'd started off angry, mettle meeting mettle, but by the time he was done his voice was level, almost fearful, chest heaving for breath as he met Jaskier’s stunned gaze.
"You talk. A lot," he ground out evenly. "So much I sometimes imagine cutting out your tongue. But when you talk; I listen. I've listened to you for over twenty years, Jaskier."
“You didn’t know me enough not to send me away,” Jaskier whispered, gaze falling. “You didn’t care enough.”
“I cared too much. And I destroy the things I care about,” Geralt answered. He reached out slowly, palm open; invitation. “If you’d let me, I’d like to try and fix what I’ve broken.”
Silent deliberation. After a moment, Jaskier heaved a forceful exhale and raised his bruising hand.
“Perhaps you’d like to start with my knuckles, then?”
I’ve been having a hard time getting the words onto the screen so I gave myself an OG ‘there was only one bed’ prompt and well- those are words
CW: geraskier, only one bed, artificial bed scarcity, two idiots pretending not to like each other
Also on AO3
_________________
Geralt usually listened in when Jaskier charmed innkeepers on his behalf, the silver-tongued idiot often forgot whatever convincing lie got them a room and it helped if Geralt could play along later, but this crowd was too loud for Geralt to properly focus. He sighed and accepted their fate when Jaskier told him there was only one room available, but hey, at least this one had a reasonably sized bed. It looked almost big enough for two adults to sleep comfortably.
As the two settled in for bed and the sounds of drunken good times dwindled down to murmured rumors and confessions punctuated with hiccups, Geralt expected to hear snores and people shuffling about in the rooms near them. Only it was dead quiet. Unlacing his boots, he closed his eyes and tried his best to pick up any signs of life from the nearby rooms to no avail. There were certainly fewer people downstairs than when they ate dinner, so where did they all go?
Resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes tracked Jaskier as he pondered the little puzzle he’d made for himself. Did Jaskier lie about something? Did Jaskier get caught in a lie and this was a sort of punishment? Could the bard really never hear the people in the rooms next to them at inns? What a fucking luxury.
If Jaskier noticed he didn’t show it, humming and tapping a beat out with his fingers on any surface he was near enough as he moved about the room and got ready for bed. He very gracefully wasted time. Geralt almost admired the way he managed to look busy while doing absolutely nothing. That pill was decidedly easier to swallow than what he really admired.
He’d held out quite a while, but more and more Geralt found himself speechless when Jaskeir looked him in the eye. The bard would smile and Geralt would feel lighter. He was getting more worried about Jaskier’s apparent lack of self-preservation by the day, and most recently, he’d felt a little bit of jealousy as he watched the bard flirt for coin.
Jaskier finally turned to look at him with his hands on his hips, “You’re acting strange.” he huffed.
For a moment Geralt was almost self-conscious, having been caught, but he recovered quickly enough for his pride to be spared, “It’s quiet. You said this was the last available room.”
“I thought you liked your blessed silence?” Jaskier’s eyes nearly rolled out of his head before he tugged his shirt over his head and pulled the bedding down.
Geralt made a point to deadpan until he was sure Jaskier could feel how much he didn’t like the joke in his bones before he moved on, “Normally I hear people going about their night, or snoring. It’s dead quiet.”
A look of mild horror crossed Jaskier’s face and he hesitated before slowly and carefully crawling into bed, “C-can you really hear through walls?”
“Thin ones like this?” Geralt knocked on the wall as he swung his legs under the blankets, “Sure.”
“That's… violating.” Jaskier decided, staring up at the ceiling with his lips pressed in a firm line and a slight blush on his cheeks.
Geralt almost couldn’t keep the fond smile off his lips as he shuffled into a comfortable position, “I’m painfully aware.”
The silence between them seemed to go on for hours, Jaskier’s heartbeat fluctuating as he laid there stiff as a board and fiddling with the hem of the blanket. Without the normal background of nonsense noise, Jaskier’s movements and very existence were even more distracting. Geralt tried not to think too hard about the nights toward the beginning of spring where they huddled together for warmth. Of Jaskier’s arms wrapped tight around him as he pulled Geralt’s back to his chest. He always gave the excuse that Geralt was a walking furnace, but Geralt really wouldn’t need an excuse. If he could get over his pride and that nagging ridiculous fear ever-present in his mind, he would hold Jaskier even when it was warm.
“I wonder why the innkeeper would have given us this room when the others are free,” Jaskier’s voice climbed at least one octave as he lied through his teeth.
Geralt furrowed his brow and glanced to the side, unable to completely eradicate the smirk growing on his lips, “Oh? Didn’t call me darling this time then?”
Jaskier snorted and lazily whacked Geralt in the ribs, “Not this time.”
“Y’know, if you wanted a cuddle all you had to do was ask,” Geralt teased, nudging Jaskier with his elbow and hoping if he made it sound outrageous to Jaskier he too would stop yearning for it.
Sputtering and completely horrified, Jaskier propped himself up on his elbow to look down at Geralt, “How dare you insinuate- I have integrity- To use trickery instead of speaking one's feelings?! No bard would be so hopeless and foolish! Preposterous!”
A true frown of confusion took over Geralt’s face, his heart racing as he tried his best to keep his tone light, this was his friend damnit. Just. his. Friend.
“Did you…intentionally….?”
Jaskier’s face turned a bright shade of red seemingly in the blink of an eye, several different emotions flitting across his eyes before he flopped back to his pillow, rolling to face away from Geralt and muttering, “I hope you hear the dogs fucking tonight.”
Stewing in his confusion for a moment, Geralt only realized he’d struck some sort of chord with his bard when he heard him take a deep, shaky breath. He hadn’t meant to, and he certainly didn’t want to hurt the bard’s feelings but it didn’t quite make sense how he’d done it this time.
“Jaskier-”
“Leave it.” Jaskier’s tone set him back on his metaphorical heels.
Geralt glared a hole in the ceiling while his little self-loathing brain did its best to put the puzzle together. If Jaskier was embarrassed over him insinuating Jaskier asked for a single bed, then that would mean Jaskier wanted to share a bed. But it wasn’t cold by any stretch of the imagination, and if it had been to save coin he would have told Geralt already. So that meant Jaskier was… embarrassed that Geralt knew…?
“Oh.”
“Fuck, I knew you wouldn’t leave it alone.” Jaskier sounded suddenly older, far more tired than just five minutes ago.
Several thoughts were buzzing about Geralt’s head, not the least of which being his bewilderment, but he stayed quiet. Instead, he chose to wrap his arm around Jaskier’s waist and pull him close, pressing his cheek between the bard’s shoulder blades. He felt Jaskier tense and hold his breath for a moment before Geralt placed a small kiss to his spine.
“I wouldn’t be mad if you did,” Geralt whispered, unsure of how else to express the embarrassingly giddy feeling of hope how blossoming in his chest.
Jaskier practically deflated in his arms, heaving a deep relieved sigh before laying one hand over Geralt’s where it rested just below his sternum, “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”
5 times Geralt had to save Jaskier +1 time Jaskier saved Geralt. Exactly 4800 words. Read on AO3
1.
The fucking bard couldn't keep his dick in his pants to save his life, literally. There were plenty of times when Geralt had to help the womanizer get away from angry lords and ladies, even at his own expense. Given his experience of ditching towns early and talking spouses down from straight up killing the man, he really should have known Jaskier's bed warming adventures wouldn't stop at humans and elves.
They were at a rather large fishing town in Skellege, the alderman complaining of drowners getting a little too close for comfort. It was the bard's first time on the island and he desperately wanted to explore, despite Geralt's protests. He knew the isle was arguably far more dangerous than the continent, and he guessed that was the reason the natives were much stronger than anyone on the mainland. He only felt comfortable leaving Jaskier alone in the tavern when the bard promised he wouldn't leave town.
"Darling, would I lie to you?" the man asked, batting his eyelashes innocently. The thing was, he would lie to him if it meant Jaskier could get his way. He did it before, but Geralt didn't have any more time to waste sitting here arguing with Jaskier.
The drowners were last seen at a cave close to the docks, its latest victim being a boy that wanted to wait for his dad to get back from fishing. When monsters decide that it's a good idea to hunt for their food right beside human settlements, it'd only be a matter of time before they start coming out of the water to attack people walking by. With his swords on his back and his potions in his pockets, he gave Jaskier a final warning glare before marching off to the harbour.
The fight was longer than anticipated. Mainly because it wasn't only drowners. There were also sirens that seemed to be using the drowners to get easy food. The majority of the cave was underwater, meaning Geralt had to rely on his crossbow rather than his swords and that the monsters were in their natural element, giving them the advantage. His legs and arms got torn apart, and one of the sirens got a lucky swipe at his side. The water was so red with blood and swarming with so many drowners that he didn't see a siren get away. When the water was finally still, he slowly made his way out of the cave, destroying the entrance as he left so that no other monsters could make it their home.
As he swam up to the shore, his clothes dripping with salty ocean water, he managed to down a Swallow to accelerate the healing process. Holding his side, he started his limping walk back to the tavern as he wondered what song Jaskier would be singing at that moment. He figured it would be a sea shanty, or maybe it was the song that was loosely based on his encounter with a waterhag. He caught himself smiling at the memory of the melody. He would never admit it to the bard's face, but he truly loved the man's singing.
The joy of the memory was short-lived as he heard the all too familiar cry of a siren. He let out a sound that was a hybrid of a groan and a growl as he turned on his heel and started sprinting towards the source. He ran past the docks where he expected the siren to be, and further along the water's edge towards the beach. As the wind blew against his face, the witcher caught the scent of chamomile and vanilla.
Jaskier.
Geralt couldn't help that he groaned again, the image of the bard with his back against the sand and the siren above him coming into view. The smell of magic and lust became stronger as he neared, and he rolled his eyes when he caught a glance at the tent in Jaskier's tight breeches. Geralt pulled his silver sword from his back, watching with a hint of fear as the siren opened her mouth to reveal needle-like teeth. He knew he wouldn't get there in time, so he pulled one of his favourite moves. he brought his arm back and threw his sword like a spear. The siren hardly had time to look up before the silver made its way through the chest of the monster, right between her exposed breasts like a knife to butter.
"Jaskier." Geralt panted once he got to the bard's side. The man was dazed, but unharmed.
"G... Geralt?" Jaskier groaned, looking around with squinting eyes. "W-What happened?"
"You left the fucking tavern, that's what happened" Geralt growled threateningly. Jaskier seemed unfazed by the witcher's anger, slowly sitting up.
"You were gone for a terribly long time, my dear. "The bard's voice was low and raspy, the way he sounded right when he woke up in the morning. "Is it my fault I was worried?" Jaskier turned to look at Geralt, only for his eyes to widen to the size of platters as he let out a dramatic gasp. "Geralt! Look at you! We need to patch you up, let's get to our room."
Geralt rolled his eyes, helping the bard to his feet as the man ranted and raved about the witcher not taking care of himself.
________
2.
The streets of Oxenfurt were lit up and bright, despite the late hour. Geralt had business to conduct with an old acquaintance, and Jaskier quickly changed his mind about coming along when he found out who the acquaintance was. Instead, the bard decided he would play in the city square, and Geralt had no objections to that. How could he? If Jaskier wasn't on the road with the witcher, he was in this very city tutoring at the academy and doing who knows what else. Jaskier would be fine.
The meeting was brief, but it still took longer than he would have liked. He agreed to take on a job regarding a boat captain refusing to give the spymaster information that was promised. When Geralt asked why he, a witcher, was being asked to do this underground work, the ugly cretin of a man simply said that the captain was a doppler and that he would be convinced to speak far easier if a witcher wielding a silver sword was asking for the information oh so politely.
Geralt grumbled as he walked down the cobblestone streets, making his way to the Oxenfurt harbour where he was told he would find the doppler. He had his hood over his head to try and blend in with the darkness, the only thing visible was his golden eyes that seemed to glow. As he was walking towards an alley, he could hear a conversation being had in the corners of the night.
"Alright pretty boy, hand over all yer coin."
"You are making a big mistake, my good man" an all too familiar voice trembled in response. Geralt clenched his jaw as he slowed his steps so that the thug wouldn't hear him approach.
"I don't think I am. what sort of fabric is that doublet made of, silk? Must've cost a pretty penny."
"I'm warning you, I'm friends with a witcher, and he's going to find me any second. When he does, you'll be sorry!"
"A witcher? Witchers don't have friends." The thug questioned, silent for a moment before chuckling. "Oh, You must be Jaskier, the witcher-whore. heard plenty of stories about you." Geralt reached into his cloak to pull out a dagger, knowing the sound of his sword unsheathing would draw the man's attention. He turned to creep into the alley, the scene clear to him even in the darkness. Jaskier was pushed against the wall of a building, a knife pressed to his throat threateningly. Jaskier's eyes flicked to Geralt for only a moment before returning their attention to the thug, who didn't notice.
"I wear that title with pride, actually. People are missing out, really. Have you ever seen a witcher? such stamina~" Jaskier swooned dramatically as if putting on a mini stageplay, and if witchers could blush...
"Don't change the subject, bard!" The thug snapped, pressing the knife harder against Jaskiers throat, the metallic scent of blood reaching Geralt's nose. "Your freak isn't coming."
Geralt pressed the tip of his dagger to the man's spine, right where he knew it could paralyze the man. He leaned over to the man's ear and whispered with a growl, "If you wish to bet your life on that, feel free to stay."
The man couldn't of run faster.
When Geralt and his bard left the alley, he used the torchlight to check the bard's neck. thankfully, it was just a small cut with no real damage done. As he leaned back, he quirked an eyebrow at the younger man with a smirk.
"Wear the title with pride, do you?"
"Of course, dear." Jaskier winked with a coy smile before wrapping his arms around Geralt's waist, "Although I'd argue that the whore in this relationship is you."
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3.
The duo had made camp in the middle of a forest, just off the trail. Geralt would prefer it if they had made their way out of the forest to make camp somewhere safer, but the trail seemed to go on forever and Jaskier just wouldn't stop complaining about his 'poor wounded feet.'
the fire was large enough to warm them, but much smaller than they would usually have. Jaskier continued to shiver next to the fire, teeth chittering as he rubbed his hands together. Geralt rolled his eyes. He knew the bard was perfectly warm, as it was the hottest day of the summer and if he were really cold he would be closer to the fire. He knew Jaskier just wanted the witcher to cuddle with him.
But Geralt couldn't refuse the bard anything, and he knew it. After a few minutes of Jaskiers fake shivering and moaning about how he will surely catch a cold if he doesn't warm up, the witcher caved and moved across the camp to sit next to the bard, letting the man snuggle up to his side. The white wolf couldn't help the smile that spread across his face, so he hid it in Jaskiers brown mop of hair. He reeked of the smell of body odor, mud, and horse shit, but he still loved it. Sure it made him want to gag, but it was Jaskier. He could smell like kikimore entrails and vomit, and Geralt would still hold him in his arms and bury his nose in his neck or hair.
Mistake number one, getting distracted. Mistake number two, briefly forgetting the fact that they were in a huge forest that certainly had dangerous monsters lurking behind every tree. A hiss-like sound emanated from the darkness behind Jaskier, just beyond the light of the fire so that it wasn't seen.
"Geralt?" Jaskier whispered, his entire body going rigid and stiff in the witcher's arms.
"Don't worry, I got you" Geralt rumbled deep in his chest, his arms tightening around his bard's waist. He peered into the darkness, almost daring the monster to reveal itself. Without a Cat potion, he couldn't see very far into the dark, but as the fire flickered he saw eight giant red eyes staring him down. An Arachnomorph. "Shit."
"What is it?" Jaskier's voice quivered, and he didn't dare to look behind to see the creature.
"Jaskier, close your eyes."
"Huh? But what about my ballads?"
"Shh" Geralt pretty much yelled in a whisper, his eyes never leaving from where the giant spider stood. It didn't move yet, but as soon as Geralt let it be known that he had seen it, it'll pounce. "I'm going to throw you across the camp and throw Quen on you. I need you to keep your eyes closed."
"Will it turn me to stone if I look at it?" Jaskier questioned.
"No," the witcher just knew that Jaskier had terrible arachnophobia. He dramatically panicked at the sight of tiny, harmless spiders. Geralt didn't want to know how he would react to what was staring at him like he was a good cut of steak. "Just trust me."
Jaskier nodded into his chest, relaxing his arms so that Geralt could easily throw him to safety. As soon as the witcher moved his leg to kneel the Arachnomorph let out a ferocious screech. Geralt quickly tossed Jaskier with ease, over the fire and to the other side of the camp, as he cast a golden bubble shield around him. Jaskier audibly grunted when he hit the ground, the air knocked out of his lungs, but he didn't open his eyes.
Geralt couldn't cast Igni, unless he wanted to burn the entire creaking forest to the ground, so he cast Aard to get some distance between the spider and him. The monster flew back with a screech as Geralt sprung up to grab his silver blade. He snatched up the sword and quickly doused it in insectoid oil before turning to face the beast again.
It quickly got back on its feet, making an eight-legged dash toward the witcher. As it shot out a sticky web, Geralt rolled out of the way. there weren't a lot of places to go, the forest was crowded and nearly suffocating with how close the trees are to one another. He needed to make this quick. He cast Axii on the beast, confusing it long enough for him to climb up onto the spider's back. The monster thrashed and screeched, trying to get Geralt off of him, shaking this way and that. Geralt raised his sword above his head, and with a grunt, swung it down to slice at the spider's exoskeleton, causing a gash to reveal the soft brain beneath right on the top of its head. It squealed in pain and finally shook the white wolf off, causing him to go flying in the air. His spine collided with a tree, the back of his head smashing on the bark so hard it made his teeth rattle and the world spin.
He fell to the ground with a thud, squeezing his eyes shut as a firey pain spread from the back of his head like a wildfire. He could feel the slick blood drip down the back of his neck and into his shirt, the fabric sticking to his spine. He looked up, seeing that the spider was equally dazed. It was stumbling and looking around, green ooze leaking from the gash. with a mighty groan of pain, Geralt forced himself to his feet, despite his body screaming at him to stop. After taking a millisecond to collect his thoughts, he ran toward the beast. Using Aard beneath himself, he shot into the air like a rocket. He brought the sword up again, and with a shout, stabbed his silver sword through the exposed brain of the monster. It sputtered and weakly screeched, before falling dead.
Panting, he looked over the corpse of the giant spider, its legs curling up beneath it. He pulled out his sword and watched as the same green ooze clung to the silver, keeping them connected like a thick and sticky string. His face scrunched up in disgust as he threw the slime-covered sword toward his bag. He would clean it later.
The witcher then turned his attention to the bard, still in the protective bubble. Jaskier was crouched with his knees to his chest, covering his ears with his eyes shut tight. Geralt could help the chuckle he let out as he let the sign down.
"It's ok now Jask." His voice croaked like an old man who started smoking cigars at the age of three, forcing a cough to come up from his throat.
Jaskier quickly turned around, looking over the battle scene. His face paled when his eyes landed on the Arachnomorph, but it didn't compare to the absolutely horrified expression that crossed his features when their eyes locked. "Geralt, are you alright?!"
"I'm fine," Geralt groaned, carefully sitting next to the fire with a wince. "I just hit my head."
"You look... well you always look pale, but you look awful!"
Jaskier then proceeded to patch up the back of Geralt's skull to the best of his abilities after he made sure his witcher downed a Superior Swallow. He praised his witcher for his heroics and bravery and promised to write an epic ballad about how the mighty white wolf saved his precious little lark.
As much as Geralt grunted and groaned, he felt a swell of pride at the praise.
________
4.
The abandoned elven temple was no place for a bard, but Jaskier begged and pleaded that he come. Kept saying something about 'history that was forgotten' and 'transcribing the ancient songs' and other such complaints. The younger man was probably expecting golden walls and marble floors, and while the architecture was impressive, it was not something most would think of or expect. Still, Jaskier skipped beside Geralt like he was in the hall of the Gods, marvelling at every shattered statue and crumbling painting.
For once, they weren't looking for a monster. Geralt had heard of witcher gear manuscripts hidden deep in the temple, and he always loved a treasure hunt. Jaskier discovered this little-known fact that witcher wolves liked to hunt one winter in Kaer Morhen, when Jaskier decided to hide from Geralt to see how quickly he could find him. When the white wolf finally did find him by tracking his scent, he looked more like a puppy. Their game of 'find the bard' progressively got more and more complicated, with Jaskier running around the keep so that his scent was everywhere, hiding in spots for a few minutes and then running away so his scent was particularly strong in those spots, wearing other witchers clothes to hide his scent, and climbing up to places Geralt thought he couldn't reach. The other witchers began to catch on and started joining the hunt one by one, making it a race to see who could find Jaskier first. The winner typically got a prize of their choosing, which was more often than not a kiss on the cheek or some quality time with the bard, whether that be reading or simple training or drinking together. Of course, the witchers will never admit to playing 'hide and seek', but Jaskier still found it cute.
This was the first time Jaskier was allowed to come on one of these treasure hunts and wanted to be of help to Geralt on his quest. The monsters were surprisingly few and far between, usually consisting of nekkers and foglets. Geralt was just thankful there was no Arachas, knowing well how Jaskier would react. Eventually, they made their way to what seemed like a library, deep underground after going down a long swirling staircase. Jaskier's cornflower eyes lit up like the sun at the sight. He flitted from shelf to shelf, quickly speaking about how old the tomes were and that if he grabbed a few no one would notice.
"Jaskier," Geralt hissed with no real venom, "be careful. There could be traps, and don't take anything unless I say it's ok."
"But Geraaaaaalt" Jaskier whined, "This is a book of music. Music! These songs probably haven't been played for hundreds of years!"
"Don't. Touch."
Jaskier huffed and crossed his arms, causing the witcher to roll his eyes at the childish display. As they walked through the labyrinth of shelves they found themselves staring at a statue of a beautiful elven woman, her arms outstretched as though to welcome them. Below her was a bright yellow and thick tome, covered in a layer of dust sitting on a pedestal. Jaskier gasped and quickly jogged over to it.
"Jaskier!"
"Isn't it pretty? I wonder what it is." He reached out to touch it, his fingers grazing the dyed leather. A clicking sound could be heard from a wall nearby.
Geralt dove to tackle the bard to the ground, just before a dozen arrows shot out from the wall, embedding themselves into the shelf opposite them.
Jaskier coughed as the dust created a cloud around them, and once the debris settled he looked at Geralt, who was frowning in a clearly displeased manner.
"You're either stupid or have a death wish, and I know damn fucking well you aren't stupid." The witcher rumbled.
Jaskier laughed, hugging his saviour around the neck and kissing his cheek. "I just like it when my darling hero saves me."
_________
5.
The snow fell sooner than it usually did, to Geralt's dismay. They were only halfway up the killer and already the snow consumed their feet, hiding their shoes beneath the cold flakes of ice. Jaskier complained about how much of a bitch mother nature was to them, but didn't voice his annoyance after that.
The snow fell gently, but it wasn't going to stop any time soon. Geralt knew that they were only a day's travel away if they didn't stop to rest, so he continued to push Jaskier to keep going. To make up for it, he offered the bard more food and the rare privilege of riding Roach. As the day turned to dusk, the temperature dropped as it usually did when the sun left the sky. Jaskier was visibly shivering but was clearly trying to hide it under his massive cloak. Geralt watched him with a close eye, guilt and a small dose of fear twisting his guts inside out. The concern he didn't show consumed his every thought, pushing him to get them to Kaer Morhen quicker.
Late that night, the wind blew so hard it bent the trees, and the keep was just ahead. All they had to do was cross a rickety old wooden bridge and walk up to the gates nearby and they would be home, or what Geralt considered home. The bridge was long, with the water beneath still running, splashing ice cold water up and around when it hit the sides of the river's edge. Jaskier hopped off roach just before they were about to cross, and Geralt shot him a confused look.
"What?" Jaskier asked. He was still shivering, but the excitement in his eyes was clear. He smirked at Geralt as he walked past the witcher and onto the bridge. "We're right there, Geralt. Just a hop, skip and a jump and we'll be next to a fire. Let's go already, I'm freezing!" the bard took Geralt's cold hand into his own and pulled the witcher along.
The wolf looked down at the icy cold river below and frowned, holding Jaskiers hand tightly. every time the wood of the bridge creaked, Geralt's shoulders would tense and his hold on his companion's hand would tighten. when they were halfway across the bridge Jaskier couldn't help but laugh as he let go of his anchor's hand, crossing his arms with a cocky smirk.
"See? Nothing bad happened, darling." Jaskier spread his arms open wide and made a grand show of looking around. He even jumped gently, causing the wood to groan beneath him and Geralt's jaw to clench, his fingers itching to reach out and grab Jaskier, to stop him from falling. But he didn't fall. The bridge gently swayed beneath them, in one piece. Jaskier give a triumphant laugh, and Geralt's shoulders dropped just a little.
Maybe he was being paranoid. Maybe there was no danger to be had. It was just that Jaskier was so accident-prone, it was hard to remember that he was a grown-ass adult, and a professor at that. He wasn't an idiot, he just liked to push Geralt's buttons sometimes.
Just then, the wind blew hard against them. Because Jaskier had his arms outstretched, his cloak was blown up and onto his face. This was no ordinary breeze, as the cloak against Jaskiers face acted as a sail, catching the wind and pushing the thinner man back, towards the edge of the bridge. Jaskier also didn't wear proper boots for such wet weather, causing him to slip as his back pressed against the rope barrier.
Jaskier yelped as his foot slipped off the edge of the bridge, causing him to fall between the rope rail and the wood.
Thankfully, Geralt grabbed Jaskier by his bright blue doublet, now revealed from underneath the cloak. With hardly a huff Geralt pulled the man up and into his arms, pulling the cloak out of his face to scowl at him. The bard huffed and crossed his arms, pouting a bit like a child.
"If you say 'I told you so' you're going to sleep on the floor tonight."
"Bold of you to assume I'm not going to kick you out of bed tonight for acting like a fucking idiot."
Neither of them slept on the floor that night. By the time they got to their room, they had already forgiven each other. Mostly forgiven each other anyway, as Geralt asked Vesemir to give the bard the job of feather dusting the entire library.
________
+1.
Geralt slowly came into consciousness, groaning as the light of the fire assaulted his stinging eyes. His entire chest hurt, like some boulder had fallen on him when he was asleep.
"You fucking asshole." He heard Jaskier's voice say softly from beside him. Slowly turning his head, he saw the bard looking down at him with tears pricking his eyes. For a moment, he was a bit confused. He couldn't remember why he was laying in the camp, until Jaskier kept talking. "You should have noticed how many potions you were taking!"
Oh. That's right.
He was fighting a Leshen. It was midnight, so it was dark. he took a Cat potion so he could see. When the Leshen stabbed him through the shoulder with a tree root that shot up from the ground, he took a Swallow potion to accelerate the healing process, followed by a Full Moon potion so that he could take more hits. He was forced to take a Blizzard potion so he could dodge the ten wolves that were attacking him, and a Willow potion when he realized the Leshen was aiming for his head to disorient him.
By the time he noticed he had taken too many potions too quickly, it was too late. He managed to behead the Leshen, but collapsed soon after. His veins were on fire, and it felt like he was going through the Trial of the Grasses all over again. His arms wouldn't move, so he couldn't reach into his chest pocket where he kept an emergency vial of White Honey. He passed out soon after.
Geralt looked up at Jaskier. The bard must have found him within minutes of him losing consciousness, otherwise, he would have died of the toxicity.
"Jask..." He croaked. The guilt weighed heavy on his heart. He knew what he must've looked like, having seen a witcher that overdosed on potions himself. Skin paper thin and white as a sheet, veins bulging on every inch of his body to an uncanny degree, pumping thick black blood. The twitching and gurgling that rose up from their throats. It was a sickening sight, and he must've looked much the same when Jaskier found him.
"Don't 'Jask' me!" Jaskier wanted to snap, to shout, but only managed to whisper with a cracking voice because he knew Geralt's ears would be sensitive. "Do you have any idea how scared I was when I saw you? I thought you were dead!"
"I'm sorry." There wasn't much else Geralt could say. What else could he say to make it better? He fucked up and it nearly killed him, nearly left Jaskier all alone in the middle of nowhere. He could never forgive himself, so he couldn't ask Jaskier to forgive him.
The bard bit his lip, trying and failing to hold back a sob. He leaned down to rest his head on the witcher's head.
The younger man reeked of fear, worry, sadness, relief, and the smallest hint of panic. Above all that, he smelled of chamomile and vanilla. Geralt closed his eyes and took a deep breath in and out, slowly falling into a meditative state. Jaskier's scent always calmed him, and he could feel the bard relax as he wrapped his arms around the man.
"Geralt?"
"Hmm?"
"I... I love you."
"I love you too, Jask."
"Don't do that again, please. My heart couldn't take it."
"Mmhm. But now you know what I have to deal with every day." That earned Geralt a soft punch to the shoulder, followed by a kiss.
What about an AU where Jaskier didn't meet Geralt at Posada, he met a different Witcher, one who brings him home to Kaer Morhen one day, to Geralt and the others.
And Jaskier takes one look at Geralt and falls in love, only... Geralt seems to be indifferent to him at best and hates him at worst. The small moments where Geralt seems to warm to him only make it harder.
(Maybe he hears the others tease Geralt about Yennefer, and his heart sinks, because of course the gorgeous Witcher is already taken by a beautiful, powerful sorceress.)
Meanwhile Geralt thinks Jaskier is A Thing with the Witcher who brought him here, and he can't understand why this lovable little idiot keeps seemingly trying to flirt with him, and he's definitely not going to hurt his brother by falling into bed with his mate. But fuck if Jaskier doesn't just worm his way into Geralt's heart.
Cue a winter chock full of misunderstanding, mutual pining, growing closer and falling in love.
How about some rough foreplay between a jealous Geralt and Jaskier being all "fucking finally you dumb sack of potatoes"
my darling nonie, thank you for your patience, im sorry it took me so long to get my writing vibes back, but we're finally back in business!
Warnings: horny, lil bitey/manhandle-y but nothing past netflix canon consistent roughness, grumpy dumb geralt and jaskier doing his best to get him to use words, lol and swearing.
_________________
“You don’t scare me, Geralt,” Jaskier huffed, leaning back against the footboard of Geralt’s bed. They’d been sitting on the floor by the fire in his room for hours now, enjoying the warmth and reveling in the rest that the last few weeks of winter provided. Geralt, of course, had been getting a little antsy, ready to pack up and go, but also reluctant. So of course he had expressed this by being a bit of an asshole.
“I don’t want you scared…” he grumbled, picking at a hangnail and feeling a little bit like an idiot. He couldn’t exactly tell Jaskier how he wanted him, and that was probably the most frustrating thing on his mind that night. No matter what, he was going to keep the bard around as long as Jaskier would suffer his foul moods and emotional illiteracy. But it hurt to have him so close but so far out of his reach and he was constantly angry with himself for continuing to want.
“Then how do you want me? Hm?” Jaskier asked, flailing his arms about, expressing nearly as much frustration as Geralt felt, “Are you looking for a fight? Someone to hold your hand? Would you like me tied up instead? For fucks sake Geralt just fucking spit it out.”
Clenching his jaw, Geralt growled as he did his best not to picture his best friend tied up and desperate for him, “No.”
Jaskier got up on his knees and shuffled a little closer to where Geralt was leaning against the opposite wall, looking something like a praying monk, “Mellitelle, Geralt. I don’t think I can get it through your thick skull that I will absolutely not run and hide or abandon you if you tell me what you’re thinking. Even if it’s uncomfortable. Especially if it’s uncomfortable.”
As Geralt tried to find a way out of the corner he’d backed himself into with words satisfactory to the bard, he made the mistake of glancing at him. Jaskier looked like a romanticized painting in the firelight. His hair glowed in an orangish warmth and the low golden tones made his blue eyes sparkle even in the fading light. It really wasn’t fair. How the hell was Geralt supposed to say anything other than what he truly wanted?
Fear. Fear of rejection, or worse, of Jaskier, thinking it was some ridiculous joke and laughing him off like that couldn’t possibly be what has Geralt so worked up. That was plenty to keep Geralt from telling him exactly what he felt and thought. So he stayed quiet.
“You absolute-” Jaskier grumbled, almost to himself before starting in on a lecture, with animated hands and everything, “Here I am, quite literally on my fucking knees asking you to tell me what’s bothering you - which appears to be about me, so I think I have a right to know- and you just fucking look at me. What the ever-loving fuck makes you think I’m shivering my ass off in this haunted keep for, not getting laid in a warm castle - or even by your brothers down the hall- for anything other than a pathetic devotion to your grumpy ass?! Are you blind? Are you really so self-loathing? Do you just not care? For fuck’s sake, Geralt. Tell me so I can make it better because I’m not allowed to make the leap here! I’m not a sorceress! I can’t just probe your mind to-”
Geralt lunged, not a single thought in his head, just a frustrated need to tell Jaskier what he meant and an inability to do so with words. ‘The first leap..’ Fuck he hoped he’d read that right. If years traveling with the bard and constantly unraveling his riddles was anything to go by, he absolutely had. But the chance of rejection still hung in the air and pushed him near the edge of tears.
His hands gripped the front of Jaskier’s chemise and yanked him closer, so he was almost hovering over Geralt, and he recklessly mashed their lips together. Jaskier had to brace himself on Geralt’s shoulder and for a moment the witcher was terrified he was being pushed away. He was about to let go and quite literally tuck tail and run when Jaskier’s other hand laced its way through the hair at the back of his neck and tilted his head for him, deepening their kiss and adding a little intent to the passion.
Geralt groaned and hauled Jaskier up with him as he clambered to his knees, only breaking the kiss out of necessity but sealing their lips together whenever he could. He’d been given permission. After years of wanting and wishing and guilt-ridden fantasy, he could finally taste what he’d been longing for and self-restraint was rather hard to come by. So he didn't bother.
He crushed Jaskier to himself, needing to know this was real, not just one of his many dreams. In turn, Jaskier hooked one leg around his hips, an awkward position for the two of them standing on their knees on the cold stone floor, but it spurred Geralt on nonetheless. He lifted one knee so the bard was practically sitting on his thigh and rose to stand, kissing and sucking dark red marks on the bard’s jawline and neck. Without a second thought, he used his momentum to slam Jaskier against the wall, trapping him against his own body. Exactly where he wanted him. The bard let loose a soft grunt on impact but dug his nails into Geralt’s back regardless.
“Sorry,” Geralt murmured before leaving a set of angry red crescent teeth marks on the bard’s exposed collar bone.
“None of that, I’m in heaven,” Jaskier gasped, rolling his hips against Geralt as he rested his head back against the wall, “Fucking finally.”
Geralt made a confused grunt, not entirely too concerned with the conversation as he worked on untucking Jaskier’s shirt, clumsily and forcefully yanking it over his head.
“You thick sack of potatoes, I’ve been flirting with you for years. Fucking claim me already,” Jaskier gasped, gripping Geralt’s hair and pulling him back to him in a punishing kiss.
If there’s one thing Geralt was good at, it was following orders. And he followed this particular order with hitherto unmatched enthusiasm, in Jaskier’s words, “going above and beyond the call of duty.”
Jaskier has seen a hundred deaths in his lifetime, deaths of all faces and kinds. His mother was the first–so early in his life all he remembers is the low lilt of her lullabies and the grief on his father’s face at the funeral.
Jaskier has seen all things die; people, animals, plants, ideas and beliefs.
Hope.
Love.
Death comes for everything, in the end, for it is the end. The end of all things. Death will spare nothing and nobody; even stone erodes over time. Death claims all.
Even Witchers.
But not today. Death comes for all but it can be bargained with, sometimes. Cheated, even. Death has a tally but most often it is numbers, not names, and, well.
Jaskier is a number.
There’s no question of it, in the end. No comparison. A Witcher to a human bard. Geralt to Jaskier. The White Wolf of Destiny against one face amongst millions, a bard who’s name and songs will fade the way a flower wilts.
“Life is the price,” the voice rasps, a horrid grate of death and emptiness. The whisper of a blunted sword over a thousand throats.
Geralt would pay it. A hundred times over. His life for Ciri’s; his life for Yennefer’s; his life for some random pockmarked farmer’s in a backwater town in the middle of nowhere.
But Geralt cannot. This is not how Geralt’s story ends; facing down a power older than any of them, the difference in a tipped scale swaying the weight of their lives between them.
Geralt will do anything for his Child of Destiny, and Jaskier…
Jaskier will do anything for Geralt.
Jaskier will do anything; even die, for Geralt.
Because what use does he serve otherwise? What else could he possibly offer? It s a poet’s desired end; to give all in the name of love. History is riddled with woeful romance and tales of sacrifice in the name of the heart’s desire.
It is the greatest gift Jaskier could give. The greatest deed he could ever do.
He got Geralt into this mess, anyway. This is a debt repaid. The greatest apology he could ever offer.
He steps forward.
Life is the price, and he is a living thing. Life is the price but it demands a number, not a name.
And Jaskier is a number.
Geralt says his name.
It is the best possible thing Jaskier could ask to be the last thing he hears. His story began with Geralt’s voice and now it will end with it; that rumble like distant thunder, a calling into the wild and the unknown.
For the first time in his life, Jaskier does not follow it.
He closes his eyes.
He cannot bear for the last thing he sees to be death’s face, and so he thinks instead of Geralt. Of silver hair, shining snow-white in the winter sun. Of eyes that can never decide between being gold or honey. Of the peek of pointed canines the first time Geralt ever smiled at one of Jaskier’s jokes, begrudging and hidden but a smile nonetheless.
Jaskier has seen a hundred deaths in his lifetime, but Geralt’s will never be one of them, and with this knowledge he dies peaceful, quiet, thinking only of Geralt.
