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Chapter Text

Jaskier was sixteen the first time he met a witcher.

He was drunk off his face and fast asleep on a stone bench in Oxenfurt when he was woken up by a hand squeezing around his neck and lifting him into air. He still had some growing to do but he wasn’t short by any means and yet his legs dangled limply beneath him as he clawed at the calloused fingers that were cutting off his air supply.

“Fuck!” He choked out, he knew that he shouldn’t have listened to Valdo. They had a big exam coming up and the idiot knew that he could never beat Jaskier without sabotaging him.

He was dumped back onto the floor rather abruptly, his knees screaming at him as they hit the damp cobbled street. He looked up at his assailant with wide eyes and gasped.

A witcher.

It just has to be.

The man was incredibly well built, eyes glimmering amber in the light of the moon and a jagged scar etched into the pale skin of his face. On the man’s back were two swords, thankfully sheathed, although the witcher clearly could kill a man with just his bare hands should the mood hit him.

Jaskier should have been scared. He should have been fucking terrified.

In truth, he found the whole affair rather titillating.

He’d always been a bit weak in the knees for partners who could throw him about a bit and this glorious specimen of a man could certainly do that.

Jaskier gazed up at the witcher through his eye lashes and smiled his most seductive smile.

“Why, witcher, if you wanted me on my knees you could have just asked.” He purred in a low voice. He knew the effect was probably ruined by the fact he almost certainly looked like a mess following his night on the streets but Jaskier was a flirt by nature, he wouldn’t pass up an opportunity like this when it was easily presented.

The witcher, unfortunately, only laughed at him and pulled him to his feet. His grip was firm and strong on Jaskier’s arms. Jaskier pouted at the witcher’s laughter but wasn’t deterred.

Rather than letting himself be steadied as he was pulled to his feet, he fell towards the witcher’s chest. “My my.” He breathed as he felt the solid muscle under his fingers, hidden beneath layers of armour but still obvious beneath his touch. “Aren’t you strong, like a…” He stammered as words failed him. “sexy ox?”

The witcher snorted. “A sexy ox? Oxenfurt has really gone downhill since my last visit if that’s the shit they teach you these days, either that or you’re drunker than you smell.”

“Yeah. Well.” Jaskier mumbled.

“Get home, bard. It’s not safe on the streets stinking of booze.” The witcher artfully extracted himself from Jaskier’s arms.

“Care to escort me?” Jaskier winked.

The witcher rolled his eyes. “Persistent aren’t you?”

“For a handsome man such as yourself. Always.” Jaskier grinned.

The witcher shook his head. “I’ll take you home, bard, but I’m not bedding you. What are you, twelve?” He smirked.

Jaskier gaped and stammered back. “I am sixteen!”

“You’re a child.” The witcher pulled him along. “Where do you live?”

“At the university.” Jaskier grumbled. “I’m a student.” He paused. “How did you know I’m a bard?”

The witcher grinned. “You stink of resin and your fingers are covered in ink stains.”

Jaskier gazed in awe at his new friend. “That’s incredible!”

The witcher scoffed and punched Jaskier lightly in the arm. “You’re not bad, for a human. Come along, bard.”

The witcher, named Eskel as Jaskier eventually found out as he tried to lead the man the longest way back to his room at the university as possible, had been hired by one of his professors to kill a monster that was picking off drunk students at night. That was why Jaskier had been so rudely awoken from his drunken nap. Eskel had been trying to save him. A small part of Jaskier’s brain wondered whether the witcher had been intending to use him as bait for the monster but he seemed to genuinely care that Jaskier got back safely.

He also seemed surprised that Jaskier was being kind to him, that he was flirting so brazenly. Apparently not many people found Eskel to their liking which was honestly a crime. His eyes were like burning suns, his smile was gentle and warm like a hearth on a cold winter’s day, and he had a sharp wit that rivalled Jaskier’s.

All in all Jaskier was rather smitten but Eskel continued to reject his flirtations, such a damned shame. The witcher did, however, make up for it by telling him an incredible tale of one of his hunts, a fight against a succubus that turned into a long night of passionate love making.

Jaskier was hooked and itching for a quill so he could capture the tale in a ballad or epic poem, anything that would put Valdo’s work to shame.

Jaskier was devastated when they eventually came to a stop in front of his bedroom door.

He sighed. “Last chance, witcher?” He gave Eskel one last wink.

The man chuckled and shook his head. “Sorry to disappoint, bard.”

Jaskier sighed dramatically. “You break my heart, dear witcher. Tell you what come to my graduation at the end of the semester and heal my broken heart with more tales of your witchering. I have a feeling there are many more ballads in you yet! I’ll even give you a cut of the profits!”

Eskel considered it for a moment and then nodded. “Throw in a bath and a hot meal and you’ve got yourself a deal bard.”

Jaskier smirked. “What about a bed for the night?”

The witcher cuffed him over the back of the head. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I’d like to think of it more as charmingly irresistible.” Jaskier purred jestingly at this point he wasn’t seriously flirting with the witcher. He knew a lost cause when he saw one but it was fun to flirt and Eskel humoured him.

“Incorrigible.” Eskel insisted firmly. “Sleep well, bard.”

And with that, Jaskier’s first witcher left his life for the first time.

Geralt finally felt his muscles relax as he knocked on the doors of Kaer Morhen. The cold was biting against the exposed skin of his cheeks even though his cloak was pulled tightly around his neck. Roach whinnied and stamped on the ground impatiently, butting him on the shoulder. He murmured soothing words under his breath as he stroked her mane. Until the great doors opened.

He was home.

At last.

The last few months had been bizarre. Geralt was used to the hatred of humanity. He was used the suspicious glares and the never-ending litany of insults that the humans threw his way. Every witcher that lasted long enough to go into a town was used to that. It had only gotten worse after Blaviken but he had only himself to blame. He should have known better than he let himself be backed into a corner like that in a place so crawling with humans. He’d never stood a chance. They would never have listened or understood the truth. It was his word against Stregobor’s

The bastard.

What Geralt wasn’t used to was the songs and poems that had begun to crop up around the Oxenfurt and slowly spreading into the wider area.

They told tales of monster hunts, of witchers acting like knights and heroes. It had certainly made it easier to get coin after a hunt in those areas but he just didn’t understand where it was coming from. He was hoping that one of his brothers would be able to illuminate the situation.

It turned out he wasn’t the only witcher that was confused by the sudden change in fortune. Lambert greeted him with a hug and immediately asked him what trouble he’d gotten himself into this time that had inspired such songs.

“If you’re asking whether I’ve fucked a succubus, Lambert, then you should know I don’t kiss and tell.” Geralt smirked. “At least not sober.”

“Well it wasn’t me!” Lambert defended himself.

All became clear when they shuffled into the dining hall to eat and began to catch each other up with their years on the path.

Eskel grinned as he stuffed his face with a bread roll that was the size of his head. “I got myself a bard!” He announced, spitting crumbs all over the table. “A human from Oxenfurt, picked him off the streets, drunk off his face when I was hunting in the town.”

Lambert choked on his ale. “You got a what now?”

“A bard.” Eskel thumped Lambert hard on his back.

“So it’s your fault.” Geralt noted. “With the songs and poems.”

Eskel nodded.

“You fucked a succubus?” Lambert cried earning a disapproving stare from Vesemir.

Eskel rolled his eyes. “Of course that’s what you got from this.”

“It’s made payment easier.” Geralt noted, kicking Lambert under the table and ignoring the redhead’s curses. “The songs. He’s not scared of us.”

Eskel grinned. “That’s the best part. It’s like he’s immune to fear when it comes to witchers. He even wanted to join me on an adventure.”

Vesemir scoffed. “A human bard on a witcher hunt. That’s a foolish idea, wolf”

“That’s why I left him behind but it wasn’t easy. Bloody fool is worse than ivy. He clings onto you and doesn’t let go. An outrageous flirt too.”

Geralt raised his eyebrows at Eskel. A human who openly flirted with a witcher was either a whore trying to trick the man into bed and then demand payment, or someone who bored and wanted to try something exotic.

Neither options were particularly ideal but that was life.

“I think he might be cursed.” Eskel suggested. “I’ve never known any human, let alone a man, to try so hard to seduce a witcher, and it was genuine! I could smell it on him.”

The witcher’s all shared an incredulous look. Lambert patted Eskel sympathetically on the back. “You sure you weren’t on Fissttech. First the succubus, second….” Lambert trailed off.

Eskel launched across the table and soon they were wrestling on the floor. After a year apart tensions were always high before they settled back into their routine for winter. Scraps like this were unavoidable much to Vesemir’s dismay. He barked at them to take it outside or save it for the training ground.

Geralt was too lost in thought to watch the fight between his brothers.

A human bard that had taken it upon himself to change the way the world viewed mutants like him. A human that wasn’t afraid of them. A human that genuinely wanted them around. He scoffed. It was impossible.

Wasn’t it?

But what if it wasn’t?

Geralt was content with his family in Kaer Morhen. During the winter months they could all relax and enjoy the comfort of being home. They didn’t have to watch their backs every second of the day and they could all indulge in the physical comfort they craved during the summer months.

The witcher mutations were fickle. Whilst it was true that it dampened most witcher’s emotions, unless the witcher was foolish enough to undergo further mutations, they heightened other instincts. This varied depending on which witcher school you attended. The bears were solitary witchers. They were brutal and efficient and raw power but they struggled to find humans that wouldn’t flee in terror. The griffin’s style was more acrobatic. They danced and flew through the air. They parried and dodged and pirouetted in aerial attacks that were lethal and precise but the mutations had some of the worst success rates and even those who survived were often damaged and didn’t heal as well as they other schools. The cats were similarly light on their feet. They attacked from the shadows. They were the assassins and the school that gave witchers a bad name.

The wolves didn’t like the cats very much.

Unless your name was Lambert, but then he’d always liked to find new ways to piss of Vesemir and fucking the enemy was apparently his new venture.

The wolves, Geralt’s school, were a family. In the beginning, before the siege and before humans had turned on the ones that were meant to protect them, the wolf witchers had travelled in packs. They were skilled and ferocious on their own, but they were unstoppable together. These days it just wasn’t practical and they were caught in crippling loneliness for the majority of the year. Geralt felt it more keenly than his brothers, the second dose of mutations fucking with his emotions more than most.

During winter the wolves would hug each whenever they ran into each other during the day, they would wrestle on the ground whenever the mood hit them and they could often be found in a pile by the fire after a long day of training and chores. Casual affection during winter was the key to survival during the rest of the year.

No human would every allow a witcher close enough not unless they were being paid and Geralt simply could not afford regularly visits to a brothel.  

But if there was really a human who wasn’t scared of witchers, that liked them even…

Geralt growled and stalked up to his room.

He wasn’t going to get his hopes up. Even if the bard did like most witchers, he would still hate the Butcher of Blaviken. 

Chapter Text

Jaskier had just turned eighteen the second time he met a witcher.

He was fortunately sober this time. He’d bumped into Eskel a few times over the last two years and whilst the man tragically still rejected his flirtations they had become fast friends. Eskel thrived off the extra coin that Jaskier’s songs brought in and had even managed to upgrade his armour which thrilled Jaskier. Eskel’s last set of armour had been starting to fall apart and Jaskier was worried about him. He didn’t want his friend to get hurt on the hunt. 

Another bonus to their friendship was that Jaskier was already successful fresh out of university, the envy of all his peers. He was the up and coming talent. He was the bard to hire for social events. 

And he was also earning a reputation for being an unparalleled lover too. 

He wasn’t sure which he was more proud of. 

He was strolling down the path from Lyria towards Vengerberg with his lute in his hands when he saw him. 

His hair was like fire but his eyes shone like liquid gold.

Another witcher. 

Jaskier grinned and trotted up to the man. He was pulling a dark horse behind him and grumbling under his breath with a sour expression on his face. 

And Jaskier loved him.

“Witcher!” Jaskier called as he approached. 

The man glared at him with fire in his eyes and Jaskier could have swooned. Were all witchers so handsome and sexy? Jaskier decided they must be, a side effect of the mutations perhaps. Eskel hadn’t never been willing to discuss that side of witcherhood. 

“What do you want, bard?” The man growled.

Jaskier felt a rush of arousal at the gruff tones of the witcher’s voice. “Spare a humble bard a tale, witcher, and maybe you’ll find out.” He winked as he stepped closer to the gorgeous redhead. 

He wanted to run his hands through those curls, and he was certain the man’s armour was about to rip open on his arms. Jaskier had never seen such large strong arms before, not even on Eskel. This man was pure muscle and it made Jaskier’s heart feel weak. 

Recognition lit up in the witcher’s eyes much to Jaskier’s delight. “You’re Eskel’s bard.” He grumbled. 

“I’m my own bard.” Jaskier corrected. “Darling Eskel seems determined to reject any opportunities to claim me.” Jaskier pouted for added affect and let his fingers trail absentmindedly down the witcher’s arm.

“Back off, bard.” The witcher growled. “I have a partner.”

Jaskier tilted his head and smirked. “That’s not a problem.” 

The witcher laughed. “You’re brave, I’ll give you that, but I don’t think you’d win in a fight against another witcher, bard.” 

Jaskier pouted but stepped away. “Fine. You win but I’m a flirt by nature so don’t take it personally. You witchers are a slippery bunch. So handsome and yet so unobtainable. Although,” He dropped his voice back into his lower register to flirt some more. “If you and your partner ever want some company.”

“Fuck off bard!” The witcher snapped. “To the gods, Eskel must be mad.”

Jaskier shrugged. “I grow on people. I was serious about the tales though. Same as Eskel, you’ll get a cut of the coin if you tell me some ballad worthy adventures. Perhaps a wyvern or other draconid, they always go down well with an audience. Ooh or a real dragon! There aren’t many of those left.”

“We don’t hunt dragons.” The witcher rolled his eyes. 

Jaskier persisted. “But you must have seen one.” 

“No.” The witcher shook his head. 

Jaskier huffed. It seemed this witcher would be harder to crack than Eskel. Eskel had always been funny and open. This new witcher was faster to anger and less tolerant to Jaskier’s tactile and openly affectionate personality. He grinned, perhaps this one would be more likely to let him join him on a hunt, if only he could prove himself to be useful. He was pretty handy with a dagger after all. His enemies always seemed to underestimate him which he used to his advantage masterfully. 

Jaskier walked with the witcher back towards Lyria. He was going in the wrong direction to where he wanted to go but he was a curious fellow and he just couldn’t let this beautiful man walk away from him without at least getting one story or even a name.

When they reached the city Jaskier waved at the merchants in the square that he knew and bartered quite successfully with the barkeep for the witcher’s lodgings and food. He slid onto the bench opposite the witcher and stared longingly as his red curls danced in the candlelight. 

“So tell me, witcher, do you have a name?” He hummed as he sipped his ale. He preferred wine but prior experience had taught him to only order ale in this particular tavern. 

The wine was shit.

“Lambert.” He growled. 

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Lambert.” Jaskier raised his mug of ale and grinned. 

The ale loosened Lambert’s tongue somewhat and Jaskier was able to pull a few basic tales from the man, nothing to sing about in their raw form but Jaskier knew he could easily fix it with a few artistic embellishments. The food was tolerable, not great but not as bad as the wine. Lambert seemed to have no complaints as he wolfed down two full plates to Jaskier’s one. Jaskier had noticed Eskel ate like a starved man too when coin afforded a more lavish amount of food so Jaskier had made sure to order extra. 

Lambert grumbled what could have been a thank you, or equally a grievous insult, at Jaskier and then downed the last of his ale.

It was at that point when things began to go downhill. 

The doors flung open and two rowdy drunk idiots fell stumbling into the tavern. 

“Oi!” One of them shouted. His skin was pale, and almost yellow from years of excessive drinking and his eyes were bloodshot. He was a mess. “Where’s the fucking mutant?” He roared and the other man laughed before coughing his lungs out. 

“We don’t want no mutants in our city.” The second man wheezed. “They’re unnatural beasts!  Steal our women and children to turn them into the monsters they’re supposed to kill!” 

“Come out, freak and we’ll kill you quickly.” The first man cackled and spat on the floor. 

A silence fell over the tavern. 

Lambert gripped the hilt of one of the swords that was resting next to him on the bench, but Jaskier was faster. He’d pulled the dagger from his boots and had it pressed up against the first man’s neck before Lambert could even blink.

“Say that again.” Jaskier hissed as he pressed the dagger into the drunkards throat. It wasn’t hard enough to draw blood but it had certainly shaken the other man. 

The first drunk swallowed nervously and his eyes flashed to his companion who answered, sounding less confident than before. “We don’t want no mutants in our city.” 

Jaskier grinned and tilted his head. “Firstly, that’s a double negative. So you’re saying you do want the witcher’s in your city which I wholeheartedly agree with. Witchers are some of the finest people I’ve met.”

The poor man looked confused. His alcohol addled brain couldn’t keep up with Jaskier’s quick tongue. 

“Secondly. Don’t you dare call my friend a freak again or I will not hesitate.” Jaskier pulled his dagger away from the man’s throat and turned back to join Lambert at the table. 

He heard the heavy breathing of his attacker as he launched into an attack but the blow never hit. Lambert had drawn his own knife and thrown it at the man before Jaskier could even turn around.

The dagger hit the drunk in the shoulder and the man howled in pain. Both men scurried from the tavern with their tails between their legs. Luckily Jaskier was well liked by the barkeeper and his family and they weren’t thrown out after them. 

Lambert clapped him on the back. “Thanks, bard.” 

Jaskier nodded and pulled the witcher into an awkward hug. “Anytime, witcher. Anytime.”

It was a rare occasion when two witchers met on the path. They preferred to stay out of each other’s way, there just weren’t enough contracts anymore for them to occupy them same areas and still make enough coin to live on, even with the bard’s songs, which was why Geralt was surprised to run into Lambert in Rivia. 

He tried not to go back to Rivia too often. His chosen name made it awkward to be around the locals. He’d tried to assimilate a Rivian accent but around born Rivians he just sounded like a cheap copy but as was the way, a contract had lured him into town. 

“Geralt of Rivia!” Lambert cheered when he spotted him and Geralt cursed under his breath. “You’ve come home!” 

“Very funny, Lambert.” Geralt muttered but went over to greet his brother. “You here for the contract?”

“Just got back from the Alderman’s house. Drowner infestation down by the docks.” Lambert pushed an ale towards Geralt. 

Geralt hummed thoughtfully. “Fancy splitting the coin.”

Lambert raised an eyebrow at him. “Desperate for the coin, wolf?”

Geralt grunted in affirmation. “My armour needs repairs. Right now it’s that or a decent meal. Not both.” 

As if on cue, Geralt’s stomach growled causing Lambert to howl with laughter. “Take the contract.” Lambert grinned as he dumped a heavy coin purse on the table. “Ran into Eskel’s bard friend. Turns out he’s quite the investment.”

Geralt frowned at the sight of the gold coins sparkling in the dim light of the tavern. The mysterious bard, the lover of witchers had apparently gotten even Lambert to roll over. Lambert didn’t make friends with anyone outside of the wolf pack and his cat lover. 

“You find out his name?” Geralt asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Fuck!” Lambert groaned and hid his head in his hands. “It just never came up!”

The mysterious bard went by a few names depending on where you were on the Continent. In Cidaris he was known simply as the Witcher’s Bard. Further south in Metinna the name Dandelion cropped up. In Toussaint he was known as Fleur-de-lis. In Novigrad he was called Jaskier and in Vengerberg he was known as Daffodil. 

It infuriated Geralt.

He wanted to know who this man was that had invested so much time and effort into singing their praises, who had befriended both his brothers with ease, who didn’t fear them.

“It never came up.” Geralt growled. “How the fuck didn’t it come up?”

Lambert flipped him off and pulled the mug of ale back across the table. “Look, he just never said, which is unbelievable because fucking hell I’ve never known anyone who can talk so much.”

Geralt hummed in response.

“Sort of like your opposite.” Lambert smirked so Geralt punched him in the arm. Hard. “Fuck off!” 

“I’m taking the drowner contract.” Geralt stood up and grabbed his swords. “Some of us still work for a living.”

“Don’t knock it til you’ve tried it.” Lambert grinned and took a long draught of his ale and cackled as Geralt stormed out of the tavern to go search for the drowner nest.

It was all this fucking bard’s fault. 

Geralt didn’t know why he was angry with the bard. He’d never even met him. He chalked it down to petty jealousy that his fellow witcher’s seemed to be earning money off the stories they gave to the bard, that they were eating lavish hot meals with decent ale to wash it down with, that they could visit brothels whenever the need arose without having to worry about the next contract.

Of course, if Geralt didn’t give half his coin away to people in need then he’d probably not be having a problem in the first place, but he just couldn’t help it. What good was a trip to the brothel if he knew that he’d taken the last of a villagers coin and they wouldn’t be able to feed their family that week.

The guilt would sour the pleasure before it could begin.

He sighed and pinched his nose. 

“Bloody bard.” 

He’d heard the bard’s songs a few times in his travels but never from the composer’s lips. He’d asked a few times whether the troubadours had written the songs but none of them had. One snivelling looking pompous bastard had laughed in his face and declared that his own songs were far superior and that they only reason he played the witcher songs were because they drew in a bigger crowd.

Geralt suggested that that meant the songs were better and the bard went blue in the face and then stormed out of the tavern. Geralt had been asked to leave soon after. 

One girl, a pretty blonde with cornflower blue eyes, one of which was hidden behind her hair, had giggled and said she was just stealing the songs from a friend of hers but wouldn’t say anymore about the mysterious witcher bard. He’d felt foolish after asking because he knew that Eskel’s bard was a man, it was just the girl’s eyes had drawn him in more than he would like. 

It wasn’t that Geralt cared about the bard.

He just wanted to know for himself.

Chapter Text

Jaskier was still eighteen the third time he met a witcher.

Two new witchers in one year. It was officially his favourite age so far.

He was also beginning to suspect that he had a type.

He’d always loved freely and had never really considered the idea of him having a type before. He didn’t care about looks or gender. He simply just fell in love with whoever was standing in front of him. It was both a blessing and a curse. Sure he had his preferences in bed but that was less about the person and more about the variety of sex, but even then he could adapt his own particular interests to suit his partners. It was all about working out what worked best for both of them and he was extremely good at it. 

He was playing in a tavern in Posada when he saw him. 

Geralt of Rivia.

Now this was a witcher that needed no introduction. He was infamous, the Butcher of Blaviken. His silver hair drew Jaskier’s attention over the crowd. He was sat alone in a dark corner of the tavern and Jaskier almost missed a note when he realised that Geralt was staring at him.

And oh those eyes.

The same as Eskel and Lambert. 

Witcher’s eyes. 

Like the finest honey in the Continent.

He finished up his ballad as quickly as he could without completely destroying the performance and then bowed to his adoring audience. They tossed coins in his direction which he hurried to scoop up. He gave a handful to the barkeeper’s daughter as she passed, and picked up a full mug of ale, never taking his eyes off the witcher. He couldn’t. He was trapped in Geralt’s eyes. They lured him in like moths to a flame. Like he was a vampire and Geralt’s blood was the finest he would ever taste.

No.

That was shit.

And gross. 

He would stick to honey and flower metaphors in future. He was good with those.

He leant against the pillar and smiled seductively at the witcher who was still staring at back at him in a way that made his heart sing. “I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood.”

Geralt smirked and picked up his drink. “You’re the bard.”

Jaskier tilted his head, flicking his fringe from out of his eyes. “I’m a bard.” He agreed. “One of many I imagine. It’s a popular profession.” 

Geralt growled and Jaskier was gone. His heart now belonged to this man. He was gorgeous and sexy and to the gods Jaskier wanted to drag Geralt’s leather clad ass upstairs to his room immediately. 

“Why do you do it?” Geralt asked watching Jaskier with an intensity that was honestly killing him.

“Do what exactly?” He hummed as he slipped onto the bench opposite the witcher and licked his lips. 

Geralt’s eyes flickered down to his lips and Jaskier did a little dance in his head. Finally! 

“The songs, the coin, the poems.” Geralt tilted his head. “No one else gives a fuck about witchers. So why?”

Jaskier rested his chin on his hands and watched Geralt as he thought about his answer. “Why not?” He settled on. “Eskel saved my life in Oxenfurt, and I thought it would be a good way to repay the debt. I never dreamed it would be so successful.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “That’s not how Eskel tells it.”

Jaskier smirked as he leant forward on the table. “How does Eskel tell it, my darling witcher?” 

Geralt leaned forward so that Jaskier could feel the heat of his breath brush his cheeks. “That you tried to seduce him, begged him to take you home.”

Jaskier’s cheeks felt like they were on fire as he took a shaky breath, arousal flooding his senses. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from whimpering like a fool and cocked his head. “Well, you can’t blame a man for trying, Geralt.” He purred the witcher’s name and looked up at him through his eyelashes. 

Geralt reached across the table and grabbed Jaskier’s wrist tightly, bringing it up to his nose. He sniffed deeply and Jaskier furrowed his brow before raising an eyebrow at the witcher’s antics. 

“You aren’t afraid?” Geralt breathed huskily. 

Jaskier laughed and moved his hand in Geralt’s grip so he was cupping the witcher’s cheek. There was a prickle of silver stubble beneath his fingers and he couldn’t help but stroke his thumb along Geralt’s cheekbone. 

“My dear witcher.” Jaskier smiled fondly at the man in front of him. “Why would I be afraid?”

Geralt growled and pulled away and then gestured to the crowd in the tavern behind Jaskier. “Ask any of them.” Jaskier glanced behind him and scoffed. 

“They simply don’t know you.” Jaskier rolled his eyes.

“You don’t know me.” Geralt muttered.

Jaskier let his hand rest on Geralt’s arm and squeezed gently. “Not yet, but I wasn’t lying when I said Eskel saved my life. He saved my life and ensured that I got home safely when there was no reward for doing so, even though I was quite honestly being a bit of a brat.”

Geralt chuckled. 

Jaskier grinned sheepishly. “We all do things we’re embarrassed about when we’re sixteen.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “So what’s your excuse with Lambert?”

Jaskier laughed as he remembered his encounter with the prickly witcher from earlier in the year. “Oh come on, Geralt.” He whined but continued to trail his fingers along Geralt’s arm. “Why must you shame me in this way?”

“Seems you have type, bard.” Geralt chuckled fondly and stopped Jaskier’s flirtatious caresses on his arm by catching Jaskier’s hand in his.

Jaskier was incredibly pleased with this latest development. He smiled softly at his witcher. “Perhaps,” He laced their fingers together. “Or perhaps every breath, every rejection, every missed opportunity was just leading me here. To you.”

Geralt scoffed. “Romantic fool.”

Jaskier pouted at the new love of his life. “Geralt.”

Geralt frowned. 

“Bard?” He asked looking a bit confused. 

Oh.

Oh.

“Oh Melitele, You idiots don’t even know my name!” He gasped and fell back in his seat, pulling his hand away from the witcher. 

Geralt grumbled something under his breath.

“No no no. Use your words, witcher!” Jaskier snapped. “I sing your praises all over the Continent for two bloody years and not one of you knows my name! I am a famous troubadour Geralt!” 

“It’s not our fault you have so many bloody monikers. Dandelion, Daffodil, Fleur-de-lis, Buttercup, Daisy, Marigold.” Geralt sniped back. “Two years, bard, and not one person has been able to tell me your name.”

Jaskier smiled coyly. “You’ve been asking about me?”

“Professional curiosity. You’ve made all our lives a lot easier, bard.” Geralt mumbled. “It seems only fair to know who we’re thanking.”

Jaskier tilted his head at the witcher. “Aren’t you a gentleman?”

Geralt just hummed gruffly and Jaskier patted the witcher gently on his cheek. To his surprise the witcher leant into his touch ever so slightly, he was certain that Geralt hadn’t even noticed he was doing it. 

Jaskier was falling in love even more with every moment that passed between them. Yes the witcher was, like all witchers, fucking sexy, but he was also gentle and kind, thoughtful and surprisingly vulnerable? He was certain that most people would call him mad for saying that but Geralt seemed genuinely hurt that the world saw him as a monster. 

Jaskier just couldn’t comprehend that at all.

He was dangerous and lethal yes, but only when he needed to be, or at least Jaskier assumed as much based on his encounters with Eskel and Lambert. Eskel in particular had never drawn his sword unless he absolutely had to, Lambert admittedly was faster to attack but then he was less forgiving to the world that showed him no mercy and Jaskier could hardly blame him for that. 

“So, Geralt…” Jaskier hummed thoughtfully. “Tell me a story.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and smirked. “No.”

“No?” Jaskier cried. “What do mean no?” 

Geralt grinned. “You’ve had enough second hand stories, bard.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes at the witcher whilst he considered his words, smiling as he realised the implication behind the words. “I can come with you?”

Geralt hummed and nodded his head. “As long as you stay back and do as I say. Vesemir would kill me if I got you killed.”

Jaskier tilted his head. “Vesemir?”

Geralt grunted but didn’t elaborate which was fine! Jaskier would draw out more details from the witcher eventually. It seemed no witcher was totally immune to his charms. 

“So when do we start?” Jaskier leaned his chin on his arms and looked up into Geralt’s eyes, happily getting lost in their swirling amber depths. 

Geralt shrugged. “When I get a job.”

Jaskier grinned and leapt up from the table, bounding back to where he’d stored his lute behind the bar. There were still a few songs left in his witcher centric repertoire that he had yet to play, he could easily tweak the lyrics a little, make them about the witcher tucked away in the back of the tavern… the Butcher of Blaviken.

No. 

That wouldn’t do.

He appraised Geralt thoughtfully and grinned as his muse came to him.

The White Wolf!

He took a deep breath, brushed his fingers against the strings of his lute and the tavern fell silent as he began to sing.

Geralt hadn’t intended to invite the bard along when he noticed him dancing and flirting with the crowd. He had had no doubt that this was the one. He was Eskel’s bard. He’d watched completely enraptured by the bard’s performance. His gaze drifting over the bard’s surprisingly muscular body. He’d imagined him to be slight and effeminate, like many bards were but that wasn’t the case. His legs were long but muscular. As he perched one foot on a bench and strummed freely on the strings of the lute, Geralt hadn’t managed to stop his gaze from being drawn to the man’s calf. 

And his voice.

He’d played effortlessly with the melody and even Geralt’s untrained ear could tell that singing came as naturally to this man as breathing. He didn’t have to strain to reach any of the notes and his voice didn’t shake no matter how much he danced and spun and flirted with the patrons of the tavern. 

No, Geralt hadn’t intended to do anything more than simply introduce himself and find out what the damned bard’s name was and yet, here they were travelling side by side towards  the fields where the supposed devil had been spotted. 

And he still didn’t know the idiots name.

He swore, silencing the chattering bard who looked at him curiously. 

“Everything alright, Geralt?” He asked, cornflower blue eyes shining in the bright sunlight.

“Why flowers?” He asked the troubadour who smirked and gently dampened the resonating sound of his lute strings with his hand. 

“We all have our secrets, witcher.” The brunet winked and strode on ahead. 

Geralt frowned and ignored the surge of desire that rushed through him at the bard’s easy flirtations. “Well which one is it?” 

“Which one is what?” 

Geralt grabbed the bard by his shoulders spun him round so he was facing him. Geralt didn’t miss the spike of lust in the bard’s scent and filed that away for later. Not that there would be a later. One adventure, one song and some extra cash. That was all this would be. 

“You know damn well, bard.” He spat out and gripped the man tightly so he couldn’t escape this time. “No changing the subject.”

“As if I would do that!” The troubadour gaped in offence and a quick sniff of the air told Geralt that he was only teasing him. “In all my days.”

“Bard.” Geralt was half-minded to forget the whole thing and gallop away on Roach but he was pinned in place by the mischievous twinkle in the bard’s gaze. He sighed and released his grip on the man.

“I call myself Jaskier.” He answered with open arms and a dramatic bow.

“Jaskier.” Geralt frowned. “From Novigrad?”

“Oxenfurt.” Jaskier corrected. “I am rather delighted that it was translated differently across the Continent. Although it does make it a little harder to make myself known.”

“You’re the bard that sings the songs of the witchers, of Kaer Morhen.” Geralt hummed. “The name didn’t matter as much as the stories.”

Jaskier cocked his head. “It did to you.”

“Hmm.” Geralt agreed. “Jaskier’s not your real name.”

“No.” Jaskier admitted.

“Will you tell me?” Geralt asked. 

Jaskier shook his head. “Not yet, maybe eventually, dear heart.” 

Geralt’s heart didn’t soften at the newest term of endearment. 

Witchers were made of sterner stuff than that.

But he did smile fondly at his new companion behind his back as they headed deeper into the farmland. 

Chapter Text

Jaskier was twenty seven when he met his fourth, fifth and sixth witchers. 

They had fled from Cintra following the disastrous banquet and the child surprise. Geralt had all but pulled Jaskier from the castle, he’d apologised profusely to the lovely lady who he had been flirting with all night whilst Geralt made nice with the Queen and had let himself be dragged away by the witcher.

He’d invited Geralt along because he thought it would be a break from all the witchering and the monsters but honestly Geralt was cursed. He could go more than a week without stirring up trouble. 

Not that Jaskier complained.

Much.

There were days when he desperately missed the comforts of taverns and castles but that was not nearly as bad as being parted from Geralt. They were almost ten years into their acquaintance and Jaskier was still hopelessly in love with the witcher. 

Well, it wasn’t completely hopeless. Geralt, unlike his brothers, had not rejected his advances entirely. They had spent many a night locked in each other’s embrace after a rather splendid evening of fucking each other senseless.

But that was all it ever seemed to be.

Geralt just didn’t seemed to be interested in pursuing a more emotionally intimate relationship so Jaskier settled with what he could get. It wasn’t exactly an exclusive arrangement either. Geralt still bedded the occasionally whore or sorceress, and Jaskier wasn’t one to say no to the advances of a beautiful person. 

But his heart was Geralt’s and it had been for almost a decade. It was an extraordinarily amount of time for one person to hold Jaskier’s heart. He normally flitted in and out of love like a hummingbird dancing between flowers. 

“Geralt?” He asked as they galloped from the Cintra on the back of Roach. 

The poor mare couldn’t keep the pace for long, especially not with both men on her back but Geralt clearly needed to put some pace between himself and the castle and for some reason he needed Jaskier with him. 

Jaskier winced at the movement of the horse. He was gripping Roach as tightly as he could between his thighs and his arms were wrapped around Geralt’s waist to steady him but both of them wouldn’t fit on the saddle and Jaskier’s ass paying the price. 

“Geralt!” He snapped louder. “Slow down. Poor Roach can’t keep up with both of us like this.”

The witcher pulled on the reins and they slowed gradually to a stop and Geralt dismounted with ease. Jaskier slipped off the back off the horse but stumbled on the landed and fell into the mud. 

“Geralt, talk to me, dear heart.” Jaskier scrambled to his feet and followed the witcher into the woods, not even taking the time to grumble about his sodden clothes, which honestly was commendable. “Geralt, please.”

Geralt punched a poor innocent tree and cursed loudly. “I need.” His voice trailed off. 

Jaskier approached the witcher cautiously and took his gloved hand in his own, lacing their fingers together. “What do you need, Geralt?”

“Home.” Geralt grunted. 

“Kaer Morhen?” Jaskier asked in surprise. 

It wasn’t winter yet, they were supposed to have a few more weeks, at least, before they went their separate ways for winter. Jaskier wasn’t ready to say goodbye yet. It felt like he’d only just been reunited with his heart and now Geralt needed to leave again.

Geralt didn’t answer he just pulled Jaskier into a blistering kiss. Jaskier yelped in surprise but quickly caught up and threw his arms around Geralt neck. He jumped up and Geralt caught him easily as Jaskier wrapped his legs around Geralt’s waist. 

Jaskier felt himself get caught up in a wave of arousal. He wanted nothing more than to let Geralt ravish him up against the nearest tree but there was a nagging thought it the back of his mind.

Geralt wasn’t alright.

Which meant that this wasn’t alright, no matter how much he wanted it.

He pulled away from Geralt’s hungry lips, whimpering at the witcher caught his bottom lip between his teeth. Jaskier buried his face in the witcher’s neck, inhaling the comforting musky scent of the witcher mixed with the softer floral chamomile oil from his bath earlier in the day. Jaskier’s preferred scent.

He wondered if Geralt knew that Jaskier was subtly marking the witcher as his. 

It fed his fantasies that this was something more than what it was. 

“Geralt.” He mumbled as he kissed the witcher’s neck. “Dear heart.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s hands squeezed his arse and Jaskier was starting to find it very hard to resist, especially when Geralt said his name like that. 

“Geralt. Stop.” He groaned and unwrapped his legs from his lover’s waist.

“Why?” Geralt growled in the way that he just knew drove Jaskier crazy. 

“Because we need to talk.” Jaskier insisted and pulled away from Geralt’s embrace. He reached up and cupped the witcher’s cheek.

“That’s all you ever do.” Geralt snarked.

Jaskier laughed and rested his forehead against Geralt’s. “You said you needed to go home.”

“Hmm.” Geralt replied.

Jaskier smiled fondly at his witcher’s favourite answer and pressed a kiss to the man’s forehead. “So we’ll head north to Kaedwen. I’ll let Oxenfurt know I’ll be back sooner than usual and we’ll get you home.”

Geralt shook his head. “No.” 

“No?” Jaskier asked with a tilt of his head.

“Come with me.” Geralt asked, his amber eyes boring down into Jaskier’s soul.

Jaskier inhaled sharply. He’d often teased Geralt about letting him visit the famous keep but nothing had ever come of it. Geralt always rejected the idea. He’d asked Eskel and Lambert a couple of times over the years but the answer was always the same. 

Until now.

He nodded, not trusting his voice not to betray the flood of emotions in his heart.

Geralt was still staring at him intently. “Can I fuck you now?” 

Jaskier laughed at the singular track of Geralt’s brain. 

“Darling.” He purred. “I would be offended if you didn’t.”

Geralt was clearly nervous as he trekked up the mountain path with Jaskier by his side. Jaskier had kept up a monologue pretty much the entire way since Ard Carraigh. The witcher usually butted in occasionally with snarky remarks or bumped their shoulders together but now he was as silent as the starry sky that glittered above them. 

Jaskier had Geralt’s cloak wrapped around his shoulders and his hands were clad in Geralt’s gloves. 

He was still shivering.

He couldn’t believe Geralt made this journey in the start of winter. It was bad enough in autumn. Although the snowy peaks of the mountains that loomed above them hadn’t seemed to have gotten the memo. 

“G-Geralt.” He stammered as he trudged up the path behind the witcher. It hadn’t been so bad during the day but now that night had set in, he was bloody freezing. “I think my toes are going to fall off.”

Geralt turned around with a frown on his face and then looked up at the stars. “We’re about an hour away from the keep. Can you last that long?” 

Jaskier nodded, not entirely sure whether he could but he really didn’t want to spend another night on the cold mountain path. “I think so.”

Geralt pulled him into a warm embraced and Jaskier buried his face in the witcher’s chest. He breathed in Geralt’s earthy scent, this set of armour was fairly new and still smelled like fresh leather, the rusty scent of blood hadn’t quite seeped into the dark leather yet. They stayed like that for a few minutes until the worst of Jaskier’s shivers had settled and his teeth no longer chattered. 

“Good?” Geralt murmured into his hair. 

Jaskier nodded. “Better, thank you, dearest witcher.” 

They trudged up the rest of the mountain in silence. Geralt held Jaskier’s hand as he pulled him up the jagged path after Jaskier slipped on some loose rocks and almost fell as his ankle twisted underneath him. Luckily, Roach knew the path well and walked behind them without Geralt needing to guide her too much, he still kept a loose grip on her reins in case a harpy startled them unawares but neither of them had to pay much attention to the mare apart from the occasional head butt or whinny. 

The keep of Kaer Morhen was an impressive sight. It rose from the mountainous landscape, a relic of another time. It was clearly falling apart but Jaskier could easily picture what a sight it must have been in its prime. 

Geralt thumped his fist hard on the large heavy door. After a few minutes the doors swung open to reveal another silver-hair witcher who was looking up at Geralt with sharp eyes filled with concern. 

Like all the witchers Jaskier had met before, this witcher had golden eyes. He was clearly older than the others. Whilst he was still incredibly muscular, there were wrinkles in the corners of his eyes and mouth and creased into his forehead. Jaskier knew that every line held untold stories and adventure and didn’t that just make Jaskier’s heart sing. This man was part of history. Given that Geralt was alive at the time of the Great Cleansing and looked a good thirty human years younger than this witcher, Jaskier could only imagine what those gorgeous eyes had seen. How many lifetimes of ballads and poetry had he lived through? He wondered whether the witcher knew any old folk songs that were now lost to time. 

And wasn’t that just a sexy thought? 

Geralt squeezed his hand and he looked to his witcher with a smile on his face. “Behave.” Geralt murmured. 

Jaskier rolled his eyes, if he didn’t know better then he would say the White Wolf was jealous, which was utterly ridiculous, and he didn’t know why Geralt had said it so quietly. Jaskier was well acquainted with witchers and their keen hearing. He knew that if he could hear Geralt then this new witcher certainly could.

Dramatic fool.

“White Wolf, what brings you back so soon?” The older witcher asked as he hurried the pair of them inside. “And with a guest?”

“This is Jaskier.” Geralt answered gruffly. “Jask, Vesemir.” Geralt gestured between the pair of them. 

Jaskier flashed the older witcher a charming smile. “It’s an honour to meet you, Vesemir.” 

“Likewise, bard.” Vesemir nodded. “But keep your hands to yourself.” He smirked.

Jaskier gaped and looked between the two witchers. “Oh hey now, that’s not fair.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt said with a roll of his eyes. “You’ve tried to seduce every witcher you’ve met.”

“One quite successfully I might add!” Jaskier winked.

“Hmm.” Geralt replied, turning away from Vesemir’s puzzled gaze.

“Wolf. Show your guest to his room and then meet me in my study.” And with that Vesemir left.

Jaskier stared after him in awe.

Geralt’s fingers hooked under his chin and his mouth snapped shut. “Really, bard?” Geralt  asked with a smirk.

“Think of the stories, Geralt!” He pouted. 

“Hmm.” Geralt shook his head but brushed Jaskier’s bottom lip with his thumb. 

Jaskier was suddenly lost in Geralt’s eyes. So like Vesemir’s and yet in many ways so different. The way Geralt looked at him was entirely different for a start and they didn’t shine with ancient wisdom like the older witcher. He was incredibly mesmerised at how something could be so similar and yet poles apart. 

It must be witcher magic.

He leant forward to rest his forehead against Geralt’s. “You’re home now, just like you needed.”

Geralt huffed a laugh under his breath and pulled away to kiss Jaskier’s hair. “I’ll show you to your room, come on.”

They led Roach to her stables and made sure she was settled before heading inside. Jaskier was delighted when Geralt showed him to a room that was closest to the witcher’s, and he was even more delighted when Geralt suggested it might be prudent for Jaskier to just share with him as the nights would get cold even inside the keep.

It was an excuse.

They both knew it.

But Jaskier was not one to complain about excuses to curl up in his love’s arms. 

They settled into a routine fairly quickly at the keep. Jaskier would help Vesemir in the study, sorting through old parchments and books or labelling jars of ingredients for the witcher’s potions. Jaskier’s hands shook as they brushed against the fragile paper of the oldest books. 

They were beyond anything he’d ever seen. Even Oxenfurt’s library didn’t have writing this old. 

Geralt spent the majority of the day helping to maintain the old keep or hunting so they would have enough food stored through to spring. Jaskier and Geralt both took turns in the kitchen. His favourite moments were they were both dancing around the kitchen. Geralt wasn’t a natural cook but he was good at preparing the kill so they were ready to be either cooked in a stew or salted down into jerked strips that would last longer should they get snowed in during the winter. 

Jaskier played for both witchers in the evening, trading songs for some of Vesemir’s tales of the distant past. Geralt didn’t pay much attention to the older witcher, and preferred to sleep in front of the fire with his head in Jaskier’s lap. Jaskier found his hands absentmindedly threading through his witcher’s hair, pulling the black leather band out of its place and combing the tangles from the silver hair with his fingers. 

After a few weeks there was a knock on the great doors to the keep.

Eskel came bundling in from the cold and Jaskier ran to greet him. The witcher pulled him into a flying hug before setting him on his feet. Geralt watched the interaction from afar with a scowl on his face before pulling his brother into a hug. 

“Good to see you, Eskel.” He grunted and then whispered something else, too quiet for Jaskier to hear. 

It must have been hilarious though because Eskel laughed heartily and thumped Geralt on the back.

The next witcher through the doors came only a few days later. 

Jaskier was stunned to see that his eyes were different, but no less beautiful. 

Instead of molten gold, this witcher had startling green eyes with curious golden streaks almost scarring across the emerald of his irises. He had naturally tanned brown skin that, like the other witchers, was marked by the scars of his trade. Jaskier wondered what monster or man had been behind the puckered line that ran across the man’s throat. He must have almost killed the witcher even with the help of witcher healing and potions. The man’s black hair was short, barely there, but instead he sported a thick bushy beard that covered the lower half of his face. 

He made a note to bother Geralt about it later. He’d tried to get Geralt to grow a beard a few years ago but his witcher had insisted that it wasn’t practical whilst fighting monsters. Jaskier had of course challenged that by pointing out that Geralt’s long elf-like hair was also not practical but Geralt had just grunted and prodded at the fire with a stick, ignoring Jaskier’s protests. Clearly, the witcher had been holding out on him. Jaskier liked a man with a beard. It was one of life’s simple pleasures and Geralt could hardly hold that against him. 

At least this new witcher understood the rugged beauty of a beard. He looked handsome and oh so noble, like a knight setting out to begin his virtuous and honourable quest. 

Jaskier must have been staring a little too long as Eskel bumped their shoulders together. “Watch out for this one, Coën. He’s got a thing for witchers.”

Geralt growled at that and pulled Jaskier away from the courtyard and up to their shared room. 

Jaskier was starting to like this possessive side of Geralt very much indeed.

The last witchers to enter the keep were almost too late. Jaskier could see his friends were starting to get anxious as the snow began to fall harder by the day.

“Still no word?” Eskel asked over dinner one evening. 

Vesemir pressed his lips together in a thin line and shook his head. “Nothing, from either of them.”

“I’m sure they’re fine.” Coën said quietly. 

But the tension hung heavy in the room and Jaskier could tell that no one believed the younger witcher. 

Fortunately Coën was proved right the next day when Lambert’s shouts could be heard from the courtyard. 

The fiery witcher carried another man through the doors with a curse. Geralt and Eskel instantly ran to help him.

“What happened?” Vesemir asked as the bleeding witcher was hauled inside the keep. 

“Fucking wargs.” Lambert growled. “Ambushed us just outside the keep. Thought I’d lost him.”

“We won’t let that happen.” Jaskier said defiantly.

Lambert’s eyes snapped up, noticing him for the first time. “Jaskier?”

“The one and only!” He grinned and hugged the his friend tightly. “He’ll be ok, Lambert.”

“You don’t know that.” Lambert groaned but buried his face in Jaskier’s neck.

Jaskier stroked his hand through Lambert’s curls, they’d grown even longer since the last time they’d met. He would need to tie it up soon to fight if he kept this up. “You know, I have become something like an expert on you witchers.” Jaskier teased gently. “He’ll be ok. Melitele knows you need him to keep that temper in check.”

“Fuck off, bard.” Lambert snarled but gripped him tighter in his arms. 

Jaskier was, of course, right.

After a few days Aiden was curled up next to Lambert at dinner, swiping food from his partner’s plate when he wasn’t looking and teasing the redhead endlessly for worrying so much. 

Aiden’s eyes were also different, and Jaskier realised it varied on the school and the mutations. Aiden’s eyes were the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. They were like looking into pools of the clearest water on a summer’s day, or like the frozen waterfalls he’s seen as they were trekking up the mountain. 

They almost seemed to glow in the darkness of the keep. 

He wasn’t as muscular as the wolf witchers but he wasn’t slight either. He was built rather like the dancers Jaskier had once seen at a travelling circus. His hair was a soft blond, like the sand glittering on the beach as the waves crashed around him like a steady beat of a drum and filled the air with a cool salty scent, the tiny grains warm between his toes and the sounds of seagulls calling in the sky. 

Lambert sniffed and noticed Jaskier’s gaze lingering on the newest witcher. 

“Geralt, control your bard.” He snapped.

Geralt snarled back at the redhead but Jaskier felt a hand stroke up his leg. He turned to face his wolf who was watching him with narrow eyes. Geralt’s handed gripped Jaskier’s inner thigh and remain there for the rest of dinner which was highly distracting and just not fair.

He sighed.

It was going to be a long torturous winter surrounded by witchers.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Geralt was surprised at how well Jaskier had slotted into their routine at Kaer Morhen.

Really he shouldn’t have been.

Jaskier had been charming witcher’s since he was sixteen, he’d moulded his entire career around that particularly skillset. Vesemir was fond to finally have someone that was interested in his books and never-ending monologues about days long past. Coën was surprised by the presence of the bard, especially when the idiot did something stupid like look up at the witcher through those ridiculously long eyelashes of his. Geralt felt a bitter feeling twist in his chest like knives. He knew his friend was a natural flirt but did he really have to flirt with every person on the Continent. It was bad enough when he was charming them out of their coins but there was no coin to be gained at Kaer Morhen and Geralt just couldn’t understand why Jaskier was so taken by his family.

But at the end of the day Jaskier came to his bed.

That soothed ugly beast that reared up whenever Jaskier’s eyes began to wonder.

Aiden found the whole thing rather amusing and flirted back just as outrageously, much to Lambert’s despair. Although Geralt was certain that the cat witcher was just doing it to get a rise out of his partner. 

Jaskier basked in the attention he received from the cat witcher but he always had a hand on Geralt, in his hair or arm or thigh. Geralt could live with that.

What really astounded Geralt was how easily Jaskier had become such an intrinsic part of their pack. He’d always been special. Ever since Eskel had mentioned that he’d found a human friend, but since Geralt had been travelling with him that bond had grown stronger with every passing year. 

He greeted Eskel and Lambert like they were his closest friends that he sorely missed, he took an interest in every single one of the witchers and their individual stories, he happily joined in with their dog piles in front of the fireplace and he wasn’t shy with his casual touches of affection. Not even with the newest witchers in his life.

In short, he had every single one of them wrapped around his little finger.

Geralt more than any of them.

“Geralt?” Jaskier slurred sleepily from under the thick furs in their bedroom. “You awake?”

Geralt grunted in affirmation and threaded his hand through the bard’s hair. 

“Is it good to be home?” Jaskier snuggled up closer and rested his head on Geralt’s chest. 

Home.

Jaskier hadn’t stopped talking it since Geralt had mentioned it in the woods after Cintra.

Home.

Geralt scoffed. Jaskier had completely misinterpreted what Geralt had needed and they been heading up the mountain towards Kaer Morhen before Geralt could find the words to explain the truth and whilst it had been a good decision to bunker down at the keep early, it didn’t change the deeper meaning behind his words, the secret desire.

Geralt kissed the bard’s hair. “Jaskier.”

“Hmm?” He hummed sleepily as his fingers traced out a pattern on Geralt’s chest.

“I was always home.” He admitted quietly. 

Jaskier made a confused sound and propped himself up on his arm on the bed next to Geralt. His hair was stuck out all over the place and his nose scrunched up as he tried to figure out Geralt’s words. The furs slid off his shoulder and Geralt was sorely tempted to kiss the newly exposed skin. 

“I don’t understand.” Jaskier huffed. “Were the woods your home?”

Geralt shook his head. “No.”

“Cintra?” Jaskier guessed again.

“Jaskier.” Geralt sighed in exasperation.

“I don’t get it Geralt. Tell me! It’s too early for puzzles.” He pouted and this time Geralt couldn’t resist capturing the bard’s soft lips with his own. 

Jaskier hummed happily and pawed at his chest before pushing away. “Don’t you dare distract me like that! We are having this conversation, witcher!” 

Geralt sighed again. “You. Jaskier.”

Jaskier’s mouth fell open, his blue eyes sparkling in the dim light, then he scoffed. “You don’t mean that.” He said with a shake of his head. “This is just…it’s just…” He trailed off.

“What, Jaskier?” Geralt growled holding the man’s face in his hands. 

“Sex! Geralt! Isn’t it?” Jaskier was breathing rapidly. “I mean, it never was for me but you. You’ve never?”

Geralt stared at bard in shock. “I’ve never what? Let you ride Roach because your feet were hurting? Given you my cloak and gloves because you were cold? Kept your food warm with Igni because you were too caught up in whatever song you were singing or composing? Come back to you every spring because the thought of going all year without you physically hurts? Invited you to Kaer Morhen because it’s not my home anymore, that’s you Jaskier. You have become.” Geralt’s own feelings overwhelmed him and he cut himself off. “Fuck!” 

Jaskier was still just gazing at him. “Geralt.” He breathed reverently.

“You’ve become everything to me. The one constant in my life, the one person I know I can trust on the path when everyone else is out for blood, the one person I couldn’t bear to lose.” Geralt finished quickly before it became too much.

Jaskier pulled him into a deep kiss, it wasn’t passionate or heated or leading towards anything more, but it was everything. Geralt felt Jaskier’s very soul being poured into the kiss as they breathed into each other and hands threaded into each other’s hair.

“I love you too.” Jaskier sobbed when they broke apart, tears rolling down his cheek. “Fuck. I’ve loved you for so long. I didn’t notice. I didn’t realise. Gods, I am a fool!”

Geralt pressed his head against Jaskier’s. “A romantic fool.” He agreed softly, echoing his words from when they first met.

Jaskier must have recognised them from the little gasp he emitted. He pulled back and gazed into Geralt’s eyes with such adoration that it made him feel a little heady. 

“Julian.” 

Geralt frowned. “What?”

“My name.” Jaskier breathed shakily. “My real name.”

Geralt froze and stroked his thumb along Jaskier’s cheek. “Julian?”

Jaskier nodded. “Don’t.” His voice cracked. “Don’t tell anyone else, please. A name. It’s too important.”

Geralt frowned and scanned his lover’s face for answers. He was missing something but right now it didn’t matter. He had Jaskier, he really had Jaskier. 

“I won’t.” Geralt assured him and pulled the bard into another kiss.