#human!geralt

geraskier // modern human AU; first meeting during long travels; inspired by Sea Wolf’s Dear Fellow Traveller // 2.5k words

Their eyes meet across a busy street of an unfamiliar city and neither of them knows yet that they have finally found what they were looking for.

read on AO3 here!

Jaskier has stood at this street corner for hours and yet the white-haired stranger is the first one that has truly drawn his attention.

The man stands a few feet away, brooding in the shadow of a building. He’s dressed in all black, would blend into the shadows nicely if it wasn’t for his pale skin and light hair. His shoulders are broad, jaw practically square and fuck, Jaskier can’t take his eyes off him.

It’s not just that he’s exactly Jaskier’s type, though. There’s something more to him - the air of mystery, adventure. And a certain weariness, as though he’s already seen everything the world has to offer.

And Jaskier, besotted fool that he is, wants to make him smile. 

Even though the stranger is ways away, Jaskier can feel his eyes on him. With that knowledge in mind, he makes quite an effort of showing off - swirling around with his guitar, belting out lyrics louder than he had before - but the man is as stoic as a statue. He might as well be a murderer, with how absolutely blank his expression seems and how Jaskier knows nothing of him, but Jaskier has always liked a little in his life.

(And he knows better than to judge a book by its cover. Even if the book looks as though it could snap him in half with one hand.)

At some point, though, the stranger turns his attention away from him and begins to walk away, a slight limp in his step. Jaskier, unable to let go of an opportunity so easily, instantly lets his song fade into silence and wastes no time in shoving his guitar into its case, shooting an apologetic smile towards the little audience he’s gathered. Then he’s off, chasing after the white-haired stranger as though his life depends on it. He nearly trips over his own feet several times before he finally catches up to him.

“Come here often?” 

Welp... @theamazingbard posted this a few days ago and I couldn’t help myself so here we are. Uh, mind the tags, this is probably going to get kinda spooky at some parts and fairly wumpy at others. I’ll update tags as I go and there will also be a posting on AO3... soon...ish? 

Obligatory tag for @jaskierswolf <3 

If you want to be tagged on this series or anything going forward, please let me know! :) 

-Jay

---

The den reeked of unwashed bodies, festering wounds, and spilled blood, layers of it. Geralt wrinkled his nose, his eyes scanning the darkness for the telltale sign of blue he had been warned about. 

The village had called it a djinn, but what they described was nothing near what Geralt had ever heard of before. It was possible that maybe this thing had been a djinn at one point, or it was something completely new. A new mutation that the Witchers would have to now be wary of. 

Looking around, counting up the huddled forms, Geralt got the distinct and unnerving feeling that this thing was not new. It was in fact incredibly old and incredibly dangerous. Every once in awhile there would be a soft sound of contentment or even a rolling giggle, half murmured words. 

He knelt beside an older woman, and watched her face closely. She was still breathing and there was the tiniest smile curling her lips. He looked her over and saw what he had seen on the others around her. Her arms were covered in long scratch marks, like tallies, angry bruises around each of them. Geralt rolled her as gently as possible, finding what looked to be a tendril, almost like a vine slipping into the back of her neck. Glowing blue fluid trickled sluggishly around the wound where it dug in. 

Geralt looked around, not seeing any sign of the monster. Pulling out the dagger from his boot, he propped the woman up and made to cut the tendrel in her neck. He barely had his fingers around it to pull it taught when her eyes flew open, milky and burning bright blue. She let out a scream that nearly burst his eardrum. 

“Fuck,” he tumbled back, pulling the dagger up and wheeling around. Something behind him, always behind him slithered along the ground. His hand clamped over the back of his neck as he felt a pinch but it was too late.

“Fuck!” Geralt was unconscious before he hit the ground. 

-o-O-o-

It was the feeling of his heartbeat, too fast but steady in his throat, that must have woken him. The smell of something terrible lingered but he was safe in his bed at home.

Safe? No, he had just been fighting a… something? Bright blue specks floated behind his eyes, a dull ache pushing against his head.

The sheets pooled around his hips when Geralt sat up, softer than he thought they should be. Far finer than anything he had been used to when travelling with-

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to stave off the pounding behind them. He felt-

“Well good morning, handsome!” Jaskier waltzed in and Geralt started. 

He finally took in the room around him. The furniture was understated but still lavish and he found himself in a large four poster with linens that were far more expensive alone than his whole armor set. 

But I don’t have armor? He thought, frowning down at the covers that he gripped in his hands. He looked up again to find Jaskier was standing there with a look of concern on his face. 

“Are you alright, dear heart?” Jaskier leaned first against the edge of the bed before climbing in and onto Geralt’s lap, his arms wrapping around him as if it was just something he did. He gave Geralt an easy teasing kind of smile. “Did you have far more to drink last night than I originally thought? You shouldn’t let Merik egg you on so much.” And then…

Geralt’s mind went pleasantly blank as Jaskier leaned down and kissed him, his fingers threading up through Geralt’s hair. If Geralt wasn’t pretty sure he was losing his mind, he would have even thought it an incredibly nice kiss. Jaskier’s mouth was warm and soft above him and it was easier than breathing to wrap his arms around his waist. He was rewarded with Jaskier’s soft breathy laugh and, oh, he wanted to hear that again. 

This was a dream, Geralt decided. A very good, very vivid, very warm dream. That’s why when he took a deep breath, trying to fill his lungs with as much of Jaskier as he could, he found that the smell of him was muted somehow. But he was there so Geralt rolled them, tangling them both in the sheets as he dipped his head to drag his teeth along the pale column of Jaskier’s throat.  

Geralt tried not to think of how everything around him seemed muted in the same way. Shadows around the edges of the otherwise bright room were deeper, how he had to be pressed tightly to Jaskier to feel his heart beating in tandem with his own.

He didn’t have a chance to think about that before Jaskier was pushing up on his shoulder gently, still beaming under him but now deliciously rumpled. 

“Come on, you big oaf, we have people to meet today,” he hummed leaning up to nip on Geralt’s chin affectionately. 

It struck Geralt how easy the gesture came, how openly affectionate Jaskier smiled at him. His hand came up, cupping the side of Jaskier’s face, pushing his hair out of the way as Geralt’s thumb traced his cheekbone. 

That’s when it caught his eye. Geralt looked closer above Jaskier’s brow and frowned. The small scar that had been in his hairline nearly as long as they had known each other was gone. 

They were sitting in camp and Geralt took Jaskier’s face gently in his hand, dabbing at the cut with a damp cloth. 

“It will need stitches,” he said flatly.

“Oh no, Geralt! Not my face, I’m far too pretty to scar!” Jaskier squirmed. They had been travelling together for only a few months and this was the closest Geralt had ever seen him to fear, and it wasn’t directed at him.

“Don’t worry. You’ll still be pretty.” 

“You think I’m pretty, Witcher?” Jaskier tried to waggle his eyebrows but winced, a fresh stream of blood sliding down his brow.

“Hold still, you’ll only make it worse,” he hid his smile behind annoyance and exasperation. 

When had they been traveling again?

Jaskier was turning his face into Geralt’s hand, kissing his palm. “As much as I would love to stay like this all day,” he leaned up, propping himself on his elbows, “we have so much to do before overmorrow.” 

Geralt let him up, watching this Jaskier closely. As Jaskier moved from under him, Geralt caught his hand, letting himself revel in the way Jaskier just let him as if it didn’t bother him. But the skin he found there was soft and unbroken. The calluses he knew populated Jaskier’s fingertips and the top of his palm were all smoothed away. 

“My you’re affectionate this morning,” he leaned down and gave Geralt a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you at breakfast, dear heart.” 

Geralt watched from the large unfamiliar bed, tracking this familiar and unfamiliar Jaskier as he left. But his eyes caught instead on something else.

Across from where he sat, a long looking glass hung on the wall. What he couldn’t quite understand was that the man there was in fact, handsome. Geralt had the distinct memory of long silver hair and bright amber eyes from the last time he looked into his reflection. Now, he was met with tousled dark curls and warm hazel eyes. His bare chest was unmarred by battle wounds. He was just… a man? A human, stripped of his mutations and the wear of the Path. 

The only thing that seemed to not have changed was the deep concerned scowl reflected back at him. Even in his wildest dreams, Geralt was still always Geralt the Witcher, he would never even hope to be…

“It’s a djinn, Master Witcher. It has to be! How else could it have shown me… It’s all I ever wished…” The man sat there, haggard and on the brink of breaking down. His eyes had been sunken and they couldn’t seem to focus on Geralt’s face. 

“Hmm. We’ll see,” Geralt nodded, leaving the tavern and the only survivor of the monster that had taken up residence in a nearby cave. 

human geralt.

not like pre-trials or au anything maybe it’s some kind of curse i’m not sure

but suddenly he’s human.

and everything is muted. everything is moving so fast. he’s so weak, he’s vulnerable, he’s tired and hungry all the time and he hates it. HATES IT.

and for a few days he can hardly take care of himself, he’s so overwhelmed by the silence

because it really is a silence. not just of sounds- though it is strange, not being able to hear the others’ hearts beating, not being able to hear what people are saying- but of smells, of sensations, of sights in the dark that were a constant presence in his life but now they’re gone.

and it takes him a while. long enough for him and jaskier and yen and ciri to accept that maybe he isn’t getting back to normal. but he adapts. he can fight just as well as ever, maybe he’s a bit slow, but he’s still known and feared as the white wolf in the same armor, with the same companions.

so yeah. he learns to fight and live and breathe human, but above it all he learns to value himself as himself, rather than as a witcher.

He could lose his memory and get taken in by some nice people from some village. Geralt could be a farmer or work in the stables, because his love towards horses wouldn’t go away. He would be more relaxed and because of that he would often smile, joke and talk freely (many would call him even charming).

After half a year have passed, Witchers from the School of Wolf (Lambert and Eskel) would start an investigation, but would only find Geralt’s things (swords, armour, potions and medallion) and his horse abandoned somewhere in a forest. They would also find Yennefer and question her about their brother, but even with her help they didn’t find anything, then they would find Jaskier and question him as well but only find out that after the mountain accident they didn’t meet again. Few months later the Witchers deemed Geralt dead and decided that they needed to go back on the Path, no matter how much it would hurt them.

Yet there was still someone who didn’t stop looking for the White Wolf. And it was Jaskier, even as the Witchers informed him that it was no use to look for Geralt, the bard still didn’t stop and promised himself that he would never stop looking for the man that he loved (even though said man broke his poor heart).

During his search Jaskier found a girl in the woods, this girl was Princess Cirilla. Jaskier knew her well because he managed to get to play on many of her Birthdays, always keeping an eye on the girl that was bound to Geralt. Through the years he managed to get close to the girl, Jaskier never though that he would enjoy spending time with a child and yet this little cub of Cintra had him wrapped around her finger.

And with that meeting, his plan has changed. Jaskier decided to deliver Ciri to Kaer Morhen, where Geralt’s brothers and father figure would surly take care of her and protect her. After he’ll make sure that Ciri is safe and okay, he promised himself that he would go back to looking for Geralt.

So Jaskier and Ciri travel together, until they decide to stay in a small and harmless village where no one would even recognise Ciri or Jaskier. They get checked into an small inn and everything is going well, until they get bothered by some drunk men.

Jaskier pulles Ciri behind him and tries to reason with the men, but is prepared to fight in order to protect Ciri or at least let her escape and go get help. Just as one of the men is about to touch Jaskier, his hand is harshly grabbed by someone. The man is standing protectively in front of Jaskier and Ciri, the only thing they can see are his wild short brown curls and broad shoulders.

“I believe that my friend and his daughter would appreciate it if you left them alone. So how about you back away and go home”

Men are away in minutes muttering apologies, as they leave the inn the tall stranger turns towards Jaskier and Ciri with a charming yet apologetic smile.

“Are you alright? They usually don’t cause problems around here but you’re new so you were a perfect target for them unfortunately. I’ll talk to them tomorrow, what they did wasn’t right”

But Jaskier doesn’t pay attention to the words as his heart squeezes in his chest at the sight of the man’s handsome face. He is so shocked that only word leave his lips, almost like a prayer to Melitele herself.

I know it’s not Eskel, but have some modern, human Geralt. Because leather jackets, because outfits. 

Yes to those but instead of a witcher Jaskier still identifies as a bard thank you very much.

He's a poet at heart and a damn good one at that. It's only a matter of time until he will be famous and requested to perform at all the highest of courts. He just has to figure out how to actually perform in front of people without getting chased off for being a witcher.

People can be very rude all of the times sometimes unless they want him to kill a monster and unfortunately he never has the heart to not help them out in the end. So he sees all of his witchering as more of a side hussle until his career kicks off.

And all poor Geralt ever wanted was a quiet life on the road as a wandering horsetrainer(?) /fighting instructor (?)/philosopher (?) and now he's somehow stuck with this really loud and annoying idiot of a witcher claiming Geralt as his muse of all things.

He's not impressed and doesn't understand how anyone could possibly be afraid of Jaskier.

Jaskier meets human!Geralt (and tries to chat him up over drinks)

Edit: this has been in my drafts forever because I haven't been able to motivate myself to create lately, but I really love this artists work and wanted to share some of what I do have that they inspired 💙💙💙

@hey-there-hunter I hadn't gotten to the meat and potatoes of your lovely head cannon, but I still wanted to show you😅

~~

   Practiced fingers tease their way across well loved lute strings. It's a delicate melody that filters through the witcher's consciousness, hardly disturbing the night that had fallen around the two traveling companions, but instead weaving into the natural ambience of the woods.

   Jaskier blinks open his eyes, abandoning meditation until he can focus enough to reign in his heightened senses. Ignore the bats flitting through the trees, far enough away that no human would possibly detect or think to track the positions of them. Briefly let the rushing of the stream north of their camp be a normal man's stream, home to no threat of monsters. Separate the scents that creatures had long since trailed in their wake, thinning and fading, only to be crossed and replaced a hundred times over.

   There is only the sound of their sleeping horses, at the edge of the camp. The woody smell of the crackling fire in the middle of it. And the music of the bard. Simple observations for any ordinary man to take in. Appreciate.

   Geralt pauses when he notices his attention has settled on his playing, casting a gentle smile and a silent nod when Jaskier stands to gather his swords.

   He will never be a common man, could rarely ever find the kind of energy it takes him to consider himself even a man. A Witcher was made to stretch their senses. Complete a contract. Collect the proof. Coin. Move. Repeat.

  An average man will not fight a horror. Is not sufficiently prepared to. But that is a matter for another night.

   With a small shake of his head, Jaskier refuses to entertain further musings of monsters and men, blinking the incessant weight from his eyes. Sleep has brought little comfort for a number of days, with little respite in comparison to the energy they expend between contracts. Although, it can hardly be considered rest when there always seems to be some invisible force that refuses to let his racing thoughts idle. 

   He checks the potions he has sequestered away into pockets and pouches along his person. 

   It is a full moon out tonight.

    The werewolf sightings have all been reported to be on the other side of the forest. Their camp is upwind in the current weather, mild breezes carrying their combined scents back to the debatable safety of the small village they had left behind. 

   This does not stop Jaskier from pressing the hilt of a silver dagger into Geralt's awaiting hand, only stepping away when his fingers wrap securely around the weapon. Does not stop him from telling him to let the fire die down when it begins to fade. From grabbing his own bedding and stacking it diligently together with the bards, unwilling to let him suffer dropping temperatures if it can be helped while he is out on the hunt. Necessary precautions for Geralt's safety.

   It isn’t as if he will be using his bedroll anyways, upon his return. If he can manage to. Villagers have apprised skewed information before. Jaskier can hardly begrudge their fear for miscalculating the exact number of monsters that go bump in the night as he makes his way farther from the light of the fire. 

   Let the darkness try and envelope his senses. He is, if nothing else, a monster of men. Made to battle even the night due to his mutations. Perhaps that particular thought might be of some use to Geralt.