#geraskier soft

"My sweet Geralt!" Jaskier cries, throwing his hands up to cover his face. The Witcher gently circles Jaskier's thin wrists with his hands and pulls them away. He releases one arm in order to tilt his wife's chin up with his finger, locking their gazes together. Sun-bent amber and cornflower blue meeting with equal intensity.

"I love to see you blush, my love."

"Geralt," the fairy whines.

"Oh! I got you some gifts, as is the tradition," the Witcher says, pulling the cake and perfume from his pouch. Jaskier's wings flutter and he flushes an even lovelier shade of peony pink.

"I didn't get you anything in return," he apologizes.

Stumbling and barely saving his cocktail from sloshing everywhere, Jaskier trotted after Geralt. To his horror, he realised they were headed straight for Olivia’s spot at the counter. Geralt didn’t skip a beat, linking arms with Jaskier and winking at him.

Well that didn't help at all. Jaskier’s stomach did a little backflip, even as he clung to Geralt, the alcohol swirling in his veins making it much easier to lean on him. He was momentarily distracted by how nice it was to lean his temple on Geralt’s shoulder, even if it was an awkward angle, and he went a little weak in the knees when Geralt leaned against the bar and pulled him close while they waited for the bartender to get to them. 

Jaskier whispered, “What are you-”

Only to be interrupted by Olivia, “Jullian! Hi! How are you darling?”

He felt Geralt’s grip around him tighten just a bit as she spoke and something deep in his chest purred at the protective gesture as he plastered a blindingly fake smile over his features, “Absolutely lovely, dear! How are you?”

“Good! I’m just here with Valdo,” she gestured over to the man sitting next to her at the bar. He looked like the black haired, greaseball version of Jaskier and it took everything in his liquor addled brain to keep from scoffing. Then it hit him. 

“Oh! The Valdo! Well it’s good to put a face to the name,” Jaskier barely kept from gritting his teeth. 

Geralt hugged him tighter, leaning down to stage-whisper in his ear, “We can go if you want. Lambert can go without birthday shots, love.”

Love?! 

Fuck, Geralt never called him Love. Not even at their drunkest, highest, or most deliriously tired. It had him scrambling for a moment, just looking up over his shoulder at Geralt in absolute wonder and… and probably a little too much affection.

“No! Lambert needs his birthday shot of cheap tequila. Thank you though, sweetheart.” 

The pet name rolled off his tongue far too easily. Normally he kept the pet names to a minimum for Geralt. He’d noticed a bit of bristling early on so he just- held back. Now it felt sinfully indulgent to call him that when he wanted… fuck what did he want?

Luckily they were rescued from the awkward introduction by the bartender asking for their order. 

“Eight shots of Casamigos please! And one lemonade chaser and a shot glass of grenadine please!” Jaskier piped up, whipping his credit card out of his pocket too fast for Geralt to stop him. 

“I thought you said cheap?” Valdo scoffed. 

Geralt frowned, half stepping between him and Jaskier, “It is? It’s no Barrique de Ponciano?”

Jaskier was really trying not to laugh now. They’d n e v e r bought something that fancy, nor would they ever. But they’d been googling the most expensive bottles of different alcohols the other night and Geralt had drunkenly tried for a whole half hour to pronounce the name of this particular tequila. 

The look on Valdo’s face was magnificent. Olivia’s eyebrows disappeared behind her betty bangs and Jaskier felt the purring beast in his chest get louder. 

He reached up to pat Geralt’s cheek, “No need to spoil me tonight.” 

Olivia leveled them with a piercing stare, doing that annoying ‘creating suspense’ thing she liked to do before she said something she was proud of, “I’m glad you two finally got together. I think you’ll be good for each other.”

Geralt did the remainder of the talking while Jaskier stared at him in shock. Unfortunately that was exactly what he wanted. He wanted to sink into Geralt’s embrace like this all the damn time and hear his nearly imperceptible huff of annoyance at comments people made. Nothing would please him more than feeling Geralt’s stubble pressed against his temple when he pressed a kiss to his hairline every day and he did his best in his drunken state to memorize it in case it never happened again. 

He came back from his dazed fantasy to Geralt guiding his hand down to his belt and it took him a panicked moment to realize he was meant to hold on while Geralt lead them back to the party carrying the shots. 

Jaskier offered a quick “Toodles,” and flipped Valdo off with his free hand when Olivia turned her back, but they were soon lost in the sea of people. Without really thinking, he took his shot with the group and dumped the grenadine into his lemonade. Well he was thinking.

And he didn’t stop thinking, staring off into space until Geralt nudged him with his elbow, giving him a concerned look. 

“What the fuck was that?!”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Geralt shrugged, popping a mozzarella stick in his mouth and speaking around it, “And you didn't have to lie your ass off.”

How Geralt was still so calm was beyond Jaskier. Well, it wasn’t, he’d been sure his roommate had absolutely no feelings for him whatsoever, but part of him had held out for a sliver of hope and that part was the dominant part right then. 

“Love?!”

“Are you- mad? I thought it would help sell it…” Geralt rested a hand on his elbow to guide him away from the group.

Jaskier knocked back what had been left of his cocktail before the shots and could feel the regret in advance. It was never a good idea to talk about important things either drunk or hungover but here he was, about to flip shit on Geralt for… being a good friend?

“I’m not fucking angry, I’m yearning!”

The second, much more intense, wave of regret hit him when Geralt’s eyes went wide and his hand dropped from Jaskier’s arm.

“Oh don’t look at me like that,” Jaskier snapped, wiping a hand over his face, “And don’t remind me about this in the morning if I forget.”

Before he could make his escape with his tail between his legs, Geralt gripped him by the shoulders and trapped him in a kiss so frantic and needy his head was spinning when they parted. 

“Jask?”

“Hm?” He had to remember to open his eyes, lost in the tingling ghost of Geralt’s lips on his and the firm grip still holding him close. 

The grin Geralt was sporting was far too cheeky to be allowed much longer but Jaskier refrained from kissing him again to hear what he had to say, “Can I remind you of that in the morning?”

“Afternoon,” the innkeep nodded. Geralt nodded back and took a seat at the bar. The rotund, middle-aged man turned to face him, not a glimmer of fear or apprehension tainted his welcoming expression. “What can I do for ya, traveler?”

“I’ll have a tankard of ale, please; and stew if you have it. I also need a room for the night and a stable for my horse.”

“Two full pieces of silver will get you all of that and a bath to boot,” the man offered. Geralt gave a small, grateful smile and pulled two silvers and a copper from his purse, setting them on the counter directly in front of the beaming innkeep.

“As a thank you for your unexpected but welcome kindness.”

“Appreciated, sir.”

“Hmm.”

Geralt was just bringing the first spoonful of venison stew towards his mouth when his gaze caught on something behind the bar. His eyes narrowed and he looked down at the food suspiciously. Perhaps the man had been a little too kind to a Witcher. Maybe the kindness in his eyes really was just a well-practiced act, after all.

“Where’d you get that lute?” Geralt asked. He’d almost asked - Where’d you get Jaskier’s lute? - but that would have revealed too much.

“Oh, right. I had nearly forgotten about the lute,” the man frowned and shook his head. The Witcher caught a whiff of relief and sadness drifting off the stranger and grew even more confused. “That’s a tragic tale, really. Not good for a traveler’s appetite.”

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m a Witcher. I’ve seen and heard a few unpleasant things in my life.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” the innkeep chuckled. “But that’s just because I’m not a very observant person. If you’re a Witcher you might just be able to help the lad out. Would you care to hear the bard’s tale and see if it’s something your Witcher magic could fix?”

Geralt nodded and took a bite of stew, convinced that the man wasn’t actually trying to rob or kill him (or both). “Go ahead, then. Who is this bard and what horrible fate befell him?”

“A few weeks ago, just after the second thaw, children from the village started going missing at night. They’d come back at midday, their faces pale and their limbs heavy like lead weights. They would sleep for days before they could get out of bed again, and they were incredibly weak. When that bard wandered through on his way to find his friend, he heard of our blight and followed a child into the woods one evening, determined to solve the mystery and stop the madness.”

“Hmm.”

“Turns out it was the Fae -” Geralt’s head snapped up. “- And they were making the children dance all through the night for their entertainment. The faeries would make them dance until the poor little dears were totally exhausted and only had enough strength to wander back home. The bard offered to dance and play for them for two full days in exchange for the childrens’ freedom… and they agreed.”

“Fuck.”

“You sound invested in the lad’s wellbeing,” the innkeep raised an eyebrow. “I can take you to see him, if you’d like.”

“He’s here?”

“Sort of,” the man rubbed his hand up and down the back of his neck and the scent of anxiety spiked through the air. Geralt shook it off, determined to finish his meal before attending to his foolish friend and companion. “The Fae weren’t exactly happy about his interloping, you see. They accepted his terms and let him play for the full two days, and the children have been safe ever since, but they didn’t return him the way he left. Apparently the faeries decided that it would be more fun to curse him a little bit and watch the aftermath play out.”

“What is a little bit, exactly?”

Geralt had never heard of just a little bit of cursing. There were either dire consequences or death on the other end of curses and neither one were fitting ends for Jaskier’s colorful, too-short life. 

“It would be best if you finished your food, Sir Witcher. If you’re as close to the bard as I think you are, it’ll spoil your dinner to see him like this.”

---

The alderman ushered his two impromptu visitors inside and closed the door quietly behind them. He gave Geralt a slow, calculating once over. “So I take it you’re a Witcher, eh?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve come to break the fae’s curse on this bard?”

“Depends on the curse.”

“Apparently he knows the lad,” the innkeeper added helpfully. Geralt glowered and pulled his hood back away from his face. 

“I haven’t actually seen him yet, but it’s very likely that this bard and I are acquaintances.”

“Right this way, then. I’ve kept him out of the children’s hands. I didn’t know if the singing and dancing routine would still make him tired or not and I wanted to be safe; for all the help he did to rescue them from those dastardly faeries, the villagers certainly seem to enjoy turning the key and making him perform.”

Geralt grew more and more worried with every word that passed through the alderman’s lips. Singing and dancing routine? Turning the key? Making him perform? What had the faeries done to his stupidly caring friend in return for his bravery? What kind of curse had they placed on the silly, fun-loving human?

The three men crossed through the manor’s sitting room and dining room and into a clean, empty storage room that ran against the very back of the building. Positioned in the center of the floor was an enormous, intricate music box. The figure standing up from the top was facing away from them, so Geralt took a moment to inspect the stand itself. 

The square box was carved around the bottom edges with buttercup blossoms and had paintings across all four sides, depicting the childish, storybook version of Jaskier approaching the Fae in the woods, his two nights of dancing and singing, his transformation, and, as they came around to the front panel at last, his imprisonment. The doll on top of the stand was Jaskier; or it had been, once upon a time.  

The bard looked only slightly different in his current accursed form, but it was enough to unnerve the usually stoic Witcher. The blue of Jaskier’s eyes was misty and glazed over. Glass, Geralt realized. He suppressed a horrified shudder at the thought. His eyes look like they’re made of glass. His skin was pale and when Geralt reached out to caress his arm (bent stiffly at the elbow much like a jointed doll’s would be) it felt waxy and too-smooth. Inhuman. 

Jaskier’s body was bent slightly forward at the waist, both arms resting oddly at his sides with the elbows bent at ninety degrees. Two circles of rouge brightened his cheeks and his eyes had been lightly lined to make them seem wider and more doll-like. A wreath of colorful flowers had been pinned into his hair and the blue silk doublet Geralt had last seen the bard wearing was nowhere to be found. 

The Fae had clearly taken their time with dressing and decorating him. His waist was cinched into a colorful corset-style vest that tied up the front with little blue silk bows and his legs were outfitted in tight-fitting, navy blue breeches that buckled just below the knee. His hose was off-white and complimented the shapely curve of his calves and ankles. He was wearing the buckled, heeled shoes of a nobleman and they shone with polish. There was nothing holding Jaskier up, which meant that the curse itself was keeping him upright and in place. 

The Witcher turned to glare at the alderman, his emotions finally boiling over at the sight of his bard’s transformation. “Did the Fae tell anyone how to break the curse?”

“We think the answer is in the song.”

“The song?”

“When you wind the lad up he sings a little song. He’s standing on a music box, after all.”

“Hmm.”

The alderman approached the side of the box and wound the large key jutting out, twisting until he was red faced and the bronze-painted peg would turn no more. He released the key and stepped back to join Geralt and the innkeeper where they stood with their backs against the far wall.

A few soft, tinkling metallic notes played through the room before the doll came to life. Jaskier’s back straightened and his arms reached out towards his audience in jerky little movements. Every time one of his joints extended or shifted there was a loud wrenching sound as the inner workings of the music box manipulated his limbs in time to the melody. 

Jaskier’s bright, lilting tenor flowed forth as he danced mechanically atop his pedestal. He turned in a slow circle, his arms reaching up and around as if seeking an embrace as he sang: 

“What do you see,

You people gazing at me?

You see a doll on a music box

That's wound by a key.

“How can you tell

I'm under a spell?

I'm waiting for love's first kiss!”

Geralt blushed as the doll-Jaskier reached directly out towards the space where the Witcher happened to be standing, almost as if he was reaching out for the true love he sought to break his spell. Geralt’s eyes met briefly with the wax figurine’s and he felt his heart skip a beat. Jaskier is so close and yet he still doesn’t see me. The Witcher gave a heavy sigh and shook his head as the bard continued his automatonlike performance. 

“You cannot see...

How much I long to be free,

Turning around on this music box

That's wound by a key!

“Yearning, yearning

While I'm turning around and around…”

The tune faded away into nothing again and Jaskier fell silent. His torso drooped forward. His hair fell into his eyes and Geralt reached out to move it away without thinking, letting his fingers brush the bard’s painted cheek as he pulled back. “So do you know anyone who could possibly free him? He only has a few days left.”

“What?!” Geralt snapped. He spun to face the innkeep with a thunderous look on his face. “What do you mean!?”

“The curse has to be broken before the end of the month or he’ll be stuck like this forever.”

“Fuck. Why didn’t you tell me that first?” the Witcher snarled. He gazed hopelessly at his friend and clenched his fists at his sides. 

It was so much easier to kill monsters. It was so much easier to break curses when they were placed on princesses or nobles or foolish peasants who had meddled where they shouldn’t. But Jaskier had been doing a good deed without being prompted and he had done it all alone without Geralt there for backup or protection. The stupid bard had rescued an entire village’s children by offering himself to the fae and now… now…

Geralt sighed and shook his head. He needed to think. He needed to breathe.

“I’m going to contact some friends and see what we can do,” he finally said. “But first I need rest. May I return to my room at the inn?”

“Aye. Good luck, Witcher.”

“Hmm.”

---

Geralt tossed and turned, unable to sleep. 

Two glassy blue eyes kept following his every move, searching for him in the dark. 

He knew he had to rescue Jaskier, the only problem was finding someone who loved him enough to break the curse. The Witcher rolled onto his back and glared at the ceiling. Dawn was only a few hours away and he’d failed to get any sleep or meditate deeply enough to rest. He kept hearing those words, high and breathy, echoing through his head over and over:

“You cannot see...

How much I long to be free,

Turning around on this music box

That's wound by a key!”

The thought of anyone else kissing Jaskier sent a tight, angry buzzing sensation flickering beneath his skin. He bristled. He frowned. He… He was jealous. The moment Geralt tried to picture Essi Daven or Priscilla or that one foolish Count with ashy-blonde hair and broad shoulders he’d caught the bard with late one night even coming close to kissing Jaskier, the Witcher felt the urge to growl and bare his teeth. He wanted to curl around the music box and snarl at anyone who came too close for his liking. He wanted to wrap Jaskier in his arms and keep him there forever, where he could hear the bard’s heartbeat and feel his warmth.

An unnerving thought.

He’d always been a very possessive lover. 

Fuck.

But what if he tried to kiss the bard and the spell didn’t break? Then he might lose Jaskier regardless of whether or not he woke up. If Jaskier’s curse dissipated at the hands of another and he knew that Geralt had kissed him, had acknowledged his love for the bard and faced it head on and failed, then the Witcher might break down forever. Without Jaskier, what reason was there to return to the inn or the campfire at night? Of course there was Roach, but once she died he didn’t have to seek out another…

He could just disappear like many of his Witcher brethren often did. 

Geralt groaned and rose to his feet, slipping on his boots and cloak as quietly as possible. He crept through the sleepy town under the blanket of night and snapped the lock off the alderman’s back window. He gripped the lower sill and took a deep, steadying breath before heaving it open.

He had to try, at least.

He had to know.

The Witcher climbed silently into the storage room and walked in a slow circle around the music box. Jaskier was standing perfectly still, the painted smile on his face and the silk flowers in his hair looking as brilliant as ever, even in the darkness. Geralt stood in front of his cursed friend and sighed quietly. 

“I wish you didn’t have to find out just how much I care about you like this, Jaskier. I wish I could have told you about my rather prominent and passionate feelings before any of this nonsense had happened. If I fail you now, if you don’t wake up because this love is one-sided, I’m sorry. I want you to know that I’m so incredibly sorry for not being able to love you enough to save your life.”

With his soul bared and his confession carefully whispered into wooden ears, Geralt reached up and placed his palm against the bard’s waxy cheek. He had to stand on tiptoe in order to reach Jaskier’s mouth with his own and the position made him feel strangely vulnerable. He tried not to think about it as he closed his eyes and pressed his lips against the smooth, painted wooden mouth of the music box doll that had once been his most faithful friend.

He pulled away after a lingering moment of contact, shaking his white hair out of his eyes. A few terrifying seconds ticked past and nothing happened. The Witcher was about to cry out in frustration and disappear out the window again when he heard a shallow breath being drawn. His worried amber gaze snapped up and met, for the first time in far too long, a pair of bright blue irises that flashed with recognition and confusion. 

Geralt held out his arms and caught the bard just as he went limp, his body exhausted from being held upright for so many days on end. He felt like a pile of crumpled laundry in the Witcher’s arms, all deadweight and no control over his limbs at all. “Are you alright, Jaskier?”

“Hnn.”

He was still waking up from the spell and likely had no memory of what had happened. Geralt bit back the pang of bitter disappointment that threatened to echo through his heart; he had no real claim over Jaskier and it wasn’t fair to make one now. Not if the bard didn’t remember his declaration.

“Let’s… Let’s get you back to the inn and get you taken care of, Jaskier. I can tell the others about the broken curse in the morning.”

“Do you mean it?” Jaskier rasped. His head lolled against Geralt’s shoulder and he glanced up with tired but frightened eyes, “Do you really love me?”

“Hmm. Yes.”

“Good,” the bard managed to shift closer despite his full-body exhaustion. “I love you, too.”

“No more running off and trying to save people by yourself.”

“Well you aren’t always around to help, Geralt, what am I supposed to do?”

“I’ll be around from now on,” the Witcher asserted. He pressed another quick kiss to the bard’s lips and watched as Jaskier blushed and stuttered in his firm bridal carry. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

---

“Geralt please stop humming that song.”

“I can’t help it! It’s so catchy, it just keeps getting stuck in my head. Will you sing it for me? Maybe that will help.”

“Fine,” the bard muttered, settling down next to the fire with his lute. “Just once.”

“Thank you.”

Geralt sank into his meditative kneel and closed his eyes. A smile played at the corner of his lips and Jaskier pretended not to see it.

“What do you see,

You people gazing at me?

You see a doll on a music box

“Hello?” he called to the darkened forest around him. “Is anyone out there?”

A low, softly rumbling purr erupted from somewhere near his left side and Jaskier jumped in surprise. A wall of warmth approached the left half of his body and a rough, calloused hand slid its way down his arm and through the sigils, smearing them to nonsense.

“Hmm,” a low, gravelly voice hummed. Jaskier’s hands were gently unclenched and examined with great care by whatever creature or person was here in the clearing with him. It paid special attention to the tips of his fingers, where his skin was rough from playing the lute and the harp. He tried not to let his hands tremble where they lay against the creature’s palm but they couldn’t be stopped. “So they have decided to give me a little bird. I suppose that you will have to do.”

“Have to do what?” Jaskier asked, tilting his head up to where he suspected the strange interloper to be. Jaskier gasped in shock when the blindfold was removed and he came face-to-face with the most handsome man he’d ever seen and not, as he’d expected, some kind of hideous monster. The slightly older man had long white hair that fell to his shoulders. It was pulled halfway back to reveal his strong jaw and bright, amber eyes. His teeth were sharp and glinted in the moonlight and his pupils were slit like a cat’s, but Jaskier found himself more entranced or bewitched than frightened. He whispered a slightly different question with just as much frightened urgency, “What will I have to do, My Lord?”

“Be my guest, or prisoner if you so desire, at Kaer Morhen.”

Jaskier gasped softly.

“The Beast!”

The young man felt terror coursing through his veins once again; he’d heard endless stories about the Beast ever since he and his father had moved to the quiet village near the northern border. How he was half-man and half-wolf or how he’d eat any man that offended him. How he’d fought off an entire invading army by himself to keep his family’s ancient fortress intact. 

Kaer Morhen, the villagers had whispered with fear in their eyes, If you enter the gates then you never come out.

And here was the Beast himself, staring down at Jaskier with a strange glint in his molten-honey eyes, his hands toying with the rope around Jaskier’s wrists. The young man gulped and lowered his gaze. “I don’t have a choice, do I, My Lord?”

“Did they not tell you why they left you here for me?” the stranger asked, quirking a brow. “Are you unaware of your purpose here tonight?”

“I’ve only just moved into town,” Jaskier whispered. “I’ve only heard rumors.”

“Not anything pleasant, I’m sure. What’s the worst you’ve heard?”

“That you eat people.”

The stranger chuckled lowly and the sound sent a zip of terror down Jaskier’s spine. “Stop panicking,” the Beast huffed and began untying the rope from around his captive’s tender wrists. “It smells bitter. It’s annoying.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier apologized. “I’m just a wee bit frightened, is all. Not really sure what’s going on or who you are. Now I’m being taken away to some place I’ve only heard tales about in passing…tales where the main character doesn’t usually come back out alive.”

“Do not fear me,” the Beast ordered, removing the heavy black cloak from around his shoulders to wrap around Jaskier. The younger man hadn’t noticed how chilly it had gotten until he was warm again. 

Once the Beast was sure that the material was arranged as well as possible, he hoisted Jaskier into his arms and began to trek further into the woods, away from the village. The Beast sounded distressed as he continued, his voice growing increasingly agitated as he explained Jaskier’s circumstances, “I have no intention of hurting you. Quite the opposite. You see, I wrote to the village elders about a month ago and asked if anyone was interested in becoming my consort. I suppose they threw any real effort at matchmaking out the window when they read my signature so...here you are. Fresh-faced and terrified. My unwilling bride.”

“I’m going to be your...your…”

Jaskier’s blue eyes were unnaturally wide and his heart was beating jack-rabbit fast within the confines of his ribs. Too fast. Geralt’s brow furrowed in concern but it was too late for him to do or say anything of comfort; Jaskier had already fallen limp and unconscious in his arms.

“Fuck.”

---

Jaskier awoke with a gasp, rocketing up into a sitting position. He was alone in an unfamiliar stone room. There was a fire blazing merrily in the hearth and a heavy velvet blanket wrapped tightly around his midsection but he hadn’t a clue where he was. He knew he was sequestered somewhere within the bowels of Kaer Morhen, that much was obvious, but otherwise he was entirely lost.

“H-Hello?” Jaskier half-whispered. He knew the Beast was around here somewhere; or perhaps he’d been abandoned for a second time that night. “Mr. Beast?”

“Geralt,” came that same low baritone from just outside the door. “My name is Geralt. May I come in?”

“Yes?”

“You sound unsure.”

“I don’t see how I can stop you, really. If I said not to enter, would you listen?”

“Of course.” 

Geralt sounded confused...which only served to confuse Jaskier in turn. 

“But...but aren’t I your captive? Your consort by arrangement?”

“You have a right to privacy,” Geralt huffed, coming around the door frame and fully entering the room. “Consort or not. Which we can discuss.”

“It can be discussed?”

“I won’t keep you here against your will, little bird.”

“Jaskier.”

“A pretty name for a pretty man,” Geralt grinned. The way he smiled was canine-heavy and Jaskier thrilled at the sight of it. His stomach filled with butterflies when he registered the compliment. Why? What was so appealing about this strange, strong but endlessly shy man? The anxious young numan couldn’t deny his obvious attraction to the Beast but Geralt was...but having Geralt as his husband? Forever? After only having known him for less than an hour? 

“Perhaps we could spend some time together first,” Jaskier offered. He slid his hand across the velvet duvet and laced his fingers with Geralt’s so very gently. “Tell me, Geralt, what is your favorite color?”

“Right at this very moment?” the Beast asked, looking into Jaskier’s eyes with obvious relief, “Blue.” 

“And tell me, Geralt, will you ever lay a hand on me without my permission?”

“Never.”

“Then court me freely, my Beast,” Jaskier smiled. It was the sweetest, most precious smile Geralt had ever laid eyes on. He knew in an instant that he’d do anything in the world to make the young man smile at him like that again. Over and over. He was already addicted to the warm sensation that filled his chest when he was near his little bird. 

“Thank you, Jaskier,” Geralt rumbled, lifting their joined hands and pressing his lips to the back of Jaskier’s knuckles. “I very much look forward to wooing you.”

He shook the younger man by the shoulders but Jaskier remained locked in sleep, his shoulders and hips twisting violently as he attempted to free himself from the bedroll. All the witcher could make out were Jaskier’s high, half-whines of his name, Geralt, sprinkled between more of those awful keening sounds. Sobs and hiccups followed moments after and the witcher began to panic.

Geralt pulled Jaskier free and hauled the bard into his lap. “It’s okay. I’m right here.”

“G-Gera?” 

“I’m here,” Geralt repeated, practically crooning the words into the crown of Jaskier’s head. His sweaty brown hair tickled the witcher’s nose but Geralt refused to let go or adjust their positions. Not until Jaskier’s heart rate returned to normal and he was breathing regularly. “Are you okay?”

“I had a nightmare.”

“Hmm. Any monsters?”

“...Yes.”

“Don’t you trust me to keep you safe from monsters?” the witcher teased gently, squeezing his arms around Jaskier’s middle. The bard cuddled closer, burying his nose in the side of Geralt’s neck; Geralt repressed a shiver at the sudden surge of heat against him. When Jaskier didn’t reply immediately, the witcher frowned and squeezed again, reassuring the younger man of his presence. “D-Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you!” Jaskier sighed. “It wasn’t me I was worried about.”

“Hmm.”

“You’re the one who’s always putting himself in danger. I worry about you. I-”

“I’m right here,” Geralt repeated, interrupting the flow of words he knew would lead to more unnecessary panic. “And I’m not going anywhere. And until you go to sleep-” he readjusted the bard until they were both laying comfortably in his bedroll, Geralt’s arms keeping him balanced on his chest like a bard-shaped blanket “-until you go to sleep, you’re not going anywhere either.”

There was a beat of silence as Jakier got comfortable.

“Thank you, Geralt.”

Jaskier had been asleep on a bench in the common room for gods-knew-how-long when he was awoken rather suddenly by the sensation of something small and furry rubbing up against the leg of his trousers. A soft purring caught his attention and when he leaned down to see what little creature had approached him, a tiny white kitten with wide golden eyes stared back. It cocked its head cutely to the side and waited for Jaskier to pick it up. 

“Hmm,” he groaned, sitting up properly and stretching. He scooped up the kitten into his left palm and retrieved his lute with the unoccupied hand. “I guess Geralt won’t be getting back until morning. I hope he’s okay.”

The incredibly small, snowy-white kitten made a sort of half-sneezing little sound and pawed impatiently at the lacey collar of Jaskier’s chemise. “Mew.”

“No, darling, I can’t go out into the woods tonight. If the monsters didn’t kill me, Geralt most definitely would,” the bard closed the attic door behind him and set the interloper on the bed. “That grouchy bastard. Why is it that bards always fall in love with the most cantankerous characters?”

“Mrew.”

“Exactly! You’d think I’d get it through my thick skull that Geralt doesn’t love or worry about me the same way I love and worry about him, but it’s too late now! I’m in over my head! I’m head-over-heels, rather. My heart has run amok and taken the rest of me with it, following that rude, short-tempered, endlessly sweet and sexy Witcher wherever he goes,” the bard ranted as he readied himself for bed. Jaskier eventually finished his speech and his routine and settled beneath the covers. He patted a comfortable-looking spot on his sternum and made soft, gentle sounds until the kitten approached him.

“I suppose you’ll need a name,” he mused, watching the puny ball of fur curl into a little ball on his chest. It rested its head on its paws and continued to purr loudly. “Perhaps Dandelion, for your yellow eyes? Or Sunflower? I like Sunflower best. The tiniest blossom in all the land.”

The kitten mripped quietly and stretched its tiny paws, revealing the little pink bean-shaped pads beneath its sharp, untrimmed baby claws. Jaskier bit his lip to keep from squealing and frightening the little animal away. It was just so cute and small and soft. “Surely Geralt won’t let me keep you,” he sighed sadly. “Or I’d put you in my saddle bag and take you on the merriest adventures.”

“Mrew.”

“Stop being so adorable. I can’t take it, Sunflower, truly I can’t.”

The kitten remained silent; its small, quick breaths finally evened out as it fell into a deep sleep. Jaskier, now much calmer with something to ground him, allowed himself to slip into the world of dreams shortly thereafter. 

---

The morning brought no clearer sign of Geralt and with a heavy heart, Jaskier began to pack his things. Sunflower batted and pawed at his trouser leg, meowing and chirping ferociously as the bard’s bags grew only slightly more organized. “No worries, Sunflower, I’ll bring you with me. No doubt Geralt would just shoo you away and I don’t want you ending up drowned or eaten or-”

Jaskier’s façade slipped and he suddenly burst into tears. He collapsed to the floor and wrapped his arms around his knees. He hadn’t had a breakdown like this in months, maybe years. He’d never been so worried about Geralt before. He wasn’t even sure why he was packing up...

Geralt wasn’t... He couldn’t be, you know...

Jaskier couldn’t even think the word. 

The bard channeled his worry elsewhere, petting Sunflower’s soft white coat as he mewed and chirped some more, purring up a storm. “Oh Sunflower, will he ever come home to me again? Is he lost forever to the forest?”

The bard lifted the puny animal into his hand and pressed a soft kiss to the center of its forehead. 

He was not expecting Geralt to suddenly appear out of nowhere, a handful of his hair held tightly in Jaskier’s grip. Both men yelped and Geralt sat up quickly, trying to explain himself as the bard looked around frantically for the kitten. “Where’d he go? Where did you come from!? Where is Sunflower!?”

Geralt took a deep, steadying breath and adjusted his position on the floor so that he was sitting cross-legged. He ran a hand through his messy hair and sighed. “I... I was Sunflower.”

Jaskier’s facial expression changed from confusion to realization to horror to shame so quickly that Geralt felt his own head spinning. Maybe that was just the curse wearing off; who knew? 

“You heard me sa-” Jaskier clapped a hand over his mouth and scuttled backwards, away from Geralt. The Witcher’s heart twinged uncomfortably in his chest. Jaskier had never been this afraid of him before. The scent of fear filled the room, warm around the edges with a bit of anxiety. “You heard me say so many things. Things I’m sure you never wanted to hear.”

“I killed the nekkers,” Geralt offered rather unhelpfully. “And then I think I stepped into fairy ring or a witch’s trap or something because the next thing I remember was finding my way to your table downstairs.”

“What do you remember?”

“I...” Geralt sighed and summoned all of his courage, glancing up to meet the tearful gaze of his best friend and companion. “I remember you ranting about how much you love me.”

“And?”

“And that you don’t think I loved you back. Not in the same way.”

“I’ll finish packing up,” Jaskier whispered hoarsely. “I’ll be gone before dinner, I swear it.”