#nonbinary jaskier

"Do you want to tell everyone?" Geralt asks later, when he's standing in front of the stove watching over their dinner.

"Hm."

It's such an uncharacteristic reaction for Jaskier that Geralt whirls around to face them. They're staring at their unlit phone, deep in thought, absently playing with a fidget cube.

"Hm?" Geralt tries. Grunts are his way of communicating, not Jaskier's.

“I don't know," Jaskier mutters.

Geralt thinks it over, flipping the omelette and catching a mushroom before it falls off the pan. "Do you want them to call you Jaskier?"

"Yes," Jaskier responds immediately. But they don't add anything more, and they still look disheartened for some reason.

"Are you scared of how they'll react?"

"No! Yes. No. I don't know. I know they're fine with... me," they make a vague gesture toward their body, "and they gender me right and everything but..."

"But what?" Geralt prompts when Jaskier trails off.

"What if they don't like it?"

Geralt stays stumped for a moment, realizing that Jaskier had no such fear with him. As far as he can tell, they told him straight away. His chest aches with love.

He pulls the pan off the fire, transferring the omelette onto a plate, and he moves over to wrap his arms around Jaskier from behind.

"Do you want me to tell them?" he asks.

Jaskier breathes out slowly, releasing their pent-up energy into the hug. They bring an arm up to squeeze Geralt's hand just the way he likes it. "Would you?"

"For you? I'd do anything."

It takes Geralt about an hour to figure out how he wants to do it, which is far too long when he knows that Jaskier is anxiously waiting and trying to keep it all in. Finally, with a muttered "fuck it", he does something that he would never normally do: he lifts his phone and takes a selfie of both of them, hugging in front of his sloppy omelette.

Bon appétit from Jaskier and me, he captions the photo, adding the only buttercup sticker he can find in the app, and he sends it to the group chat.

Jaskier is the one who normally sends everyone random pictures through the day -- in fact, they created the group chat. It's made up of mostly Geralt's family (Ciri, of course, Ciri's mother Yennefer, Geralt's brothers and Vesemir) plus Jaskier's best friend Essi, since they don't talk to their own family. It's full of banter and encouragements, bits of recorded songs from Jaskier and Essi's band, regular kitty photo battles between Ciri and Lambert, with the occasional baby goat interruption thanks to Eskel, Vesemir's homecooking and Yen's fancy restaurant dishes. Geralt rarely participates properly, uncomfortable with the group setting. He knows Jaskier mainly created it for him, during the worst of his struggles with depression and PTSD, but he's content with opening the app a few times a day and reading through the messages, feeling the love.

OMFG IT'S SUCH A PRETTY NAME 🥺 is Ciri's immediate response. Then, I'm jealous now. Of course she'd be the one to get it first.

Congratulations Jaskier!! comes Yennefer's reaction. Jaskier and her have had a tumultous relationship, mostly owing to Geralt's own issues with her between their divorce and the moment he started dating Jaskier, but the hardships of the last couple years have brought them together in ways Geralt couldn't have imagined.

JASKIER!! so lovely 😭 comes from Essi. Geralt hears Jaskier's phone buzz one more time, and he knows she wrote them privately as well.

"She's asking if I'm only trying it out or if it's time to throw me a name reveal party," Jaskier laughs tearily.

"What do you think?" Geralt asks, finally digging into the omelette, one arm still around Jaskier's shoulders. It's almost cold, but he doesn't mind.

"I know it's the right one. I'm not sure about a party."

"You love parties."

More congratulations are coming from Eskel and Lambert, both enthusiastic and friendly but devoid of the usual level of banter -- they're both unsure how much joking is okay on the subject of Jaskier's gender, Geralt knows. Lambert has put his foot in his mouth more than once before he learned to navigate some of the finer points.

Jaskier stays silent for a beat more. "I don't know," they murmur.

Geralt's phone beeps again. Vesemir. Jakie piękne imię. Geralt squints at it, needing a second to understand, and he feels Jaskier melt against him. They let out a small sob and turn to bury their face in Geralt's neck.

Of course. Of course Jaskier was waiting for Vesemir's approval. Vesemir has been nothing but welcoming to them, if a little awkward and confused with pronouns on occasions, but Jaskier's overall experience with parental figure is less than stellar. Choosing a name in Vesemir's own mother tongue, announcing it, must have been nerve-wracking for them.

Geralt hugs them tightly, giving up on his omelette, and lets them sob into his shoulder. It's good crying. “I'll take the party," they laugh through their tears, sending dziękuję bardzo 💙 in response to Vesemir's message and an assortment of emojis to the others -- which goes to show how emotional they are, as they normally never shut up even in texts.

"I love you," Geralt whispers, already wondering where he can find bouquets of buttercup in the middle of the winter.

Jaskier's protest comes belatedly and is only half-hearted. "Noo," they whine, not at all trying to get out of the embrace and back to their essay. "I have to finish this by midnight, Geralt."

"And you will," Geralt promises them, his voice calm and full of conviction because they both know Jaskier will absolutely have this eight-page essay written within two days and finished by tonight. They always do. That's part of the problem. Geralt sighs. "I know you will, but you haven't eaten anything since breakfast, and coffee is not a meal, Jask. I'm taking you downstairs now and then you eat."

"Geralt, no, I can't," they sigh and actually do make an attempt to lean forward and get back to their laptop, but Geralt is holding them close with a huff. "Come on, let me, please. This has no structure, it's barely coherent let alone cohesive. I already have two pages too many and am barely even close to having all points covered. And I don't even know what I'm talking about because I cannot read the primary literature."

Jaskier is actually about to cry from this, Geralt realises, and he holds them closer.

"I cannot read, I cannot process any kinds of information. My brain is foggy and my head hurts because I keep trying to make sense of it but I cannot, because I'm just talking out of my own ass here, and I will absolutely fail this, Geralt. I might get an A, I might get an F, and I couldn't even tell you the difference right now because everything is blurry and I need... I need... I just. Hmm." They whine, and Geralt knows how it is, so he lets them.

"You need food. And you need a break. And you need to go annoy Lambert and let me work on this for a moment so I can tell you that it's not bad at all and that you're brilliant as always. And you need to let me fix this for you while you rest, okay? I make the rules now."

Jaskier sniffles, and their voice sounds hoarse when they say, "Geralt, no."

"Geralt yes," he whispers and presses a kiss to Jaskier's hair when he retreats. "Come on. Food."

Jaskier lets him take their hand, but they stop him before he gets to take three steps, pulling on his hand to pull him back in and into a hug. They wrap their arms around him like they usually do when they need Geralt to take the reins for a moment because they physically and mentally cannot take care of themself right now. Geralt smiles and runs his hand through their hair, loving the sensation and the rumble in Jaskiers's chest that almost rivals Roachie's purr. Almost.

"Thank you," they whisper, and Geralt smiles.

"I've got you." He holds them for a moment before stepping back and taking their hand once more. "Come now, I'm gonna make spaghetti."

And the way Jaskier's eyes light up at that, Geralt knows this is the right thing to do. It might cost them an hour of potential productivity, but no essay is worth starving over. No essay is worth getting intense brain fog over — even though that is easier said than done.

Roach follows them downstairs and into the kitchen, which allows Jaskier to coo over her and baby-talk with her while Geralt gets the water to boil.

"You're a baby!" Jaskier exclaims, and the warmth spreading in Geralt's chest is almost enough to overwhelm him. "The bestest baby in this whole world, Roachie. Woachie. Woachie-boo, I am so jealous that you don't have to write stupid essays on stupid things and can just... Yeah, you're right, let's just lie down together. You're so smart. So smart, Roachie! Geralt, your cat is very smart!"

In the kitchen, Geralt snorts as he puts the spaghetti into the boiling water and listens to his love talk nonsense at and about his cat. Gods, how he loves them both so much, it makes his hands tingle and his cheeks hurt and—

"What's happening here?" comes Vesemir's voice gently from the living room area where Jaskier and Roach have disappeared, separated from the kitchen only via an open doorway.

"Ves!" Jaskier says and Geralt can hear shuffling. He chances a glance at the spaghetti in the pot before he pokes his head into the living room area, only to see that Jaskier is getting up from the floor. "Hello! What a coincidence that I should run into you, but now that I did, would you kindly tell your son that he should just let me work on my essay instead of making me eat food and then fixing it for me himself?"

Vesemir blinks at Jaskier, then meets Geralt's eyes with a raised eyebrow. Geralt is shrugging with a smile, wooden spoon still in his hand. His father returns the smile and directs it at Jaskier, speaking after a moment of silence. "Well, firstly, you know there's no stopping Geralt from taking care of someone just the way he intends to do it. Secondly, I think you would do the same for him, son, so I doubt you have a leg to stand on. Go annoy Lambert and let him do this for you, hm?"

Vesemir's smile and the pout on Jaskier's lips beneath that adorable blush are really making Geralt's cheeks hurt and his whole arms tingle, and he takes that moment to turn around and make sure the spaghetti don't stick to the pot, distracting himself from the almost overwhelming warmth and joy and love he's feeling. Happiness, he thinks. Before he knew Jaskier, happiness had never felt like tingling arms and lightness in his chest that made him wonder if he could still breathe. He doesn't know how Jaskier does it, but he knows it's almost the same for them.

Geralt sighs and smiles down at the spaghetti. He should make a sauce, but he doesn't want to. Jaskier prefers any kinds of noodles with cheese only anyway, and Geralt doesn't really care for the taste of tomatoes right now.

They eat on the couch and Geralt preens at the sight of Jaskier, visibly less tense and more lively than he was just a few minutes ago up in his room, chattering idly with Roach in between bites – though thankfully not while their mouth is still full. Yeah, this was the right decision, Geralt thinks, and nudges Jaskier's foot with his own, earning a beaming smile.

Once their afternoon lunch break is done and Jaskier has had their second helping, Geralt is being regarded with a squint.

"What?"

"You're not fixing my essay for me," Jaskier says, and it's almost a dare.

Geralt stares back. "Yes, I am."

Jaskier holds his eyes for a while, then they sigh. "Fine. But I'm taking Roach!"

The cat in question only chirps as Jaskier picks her up, and she settles into their arms like she's prone to do when someone is in dire need of kitty cuddles, as Jaskier loves to call it. Roach seems to have a sixth sense for that, and Geralt reaches out to pet her, making her purr against Jaskier's chest, which in turn makes Jaskier giggle.

"Love you, Roachie," they say in unison, looking up at each other in shock and mirth before Jaskier giggles again and Geralt leans over to press a kiss against their cheek.

"Love you, Jask," he whispers, and Jaskier only hides their face in Roach's fur.

It almost makes Geralt burst with everything he's feeling. He's glad it's not too much, not too overwhelming. It's just nice. Great. Wonderful.

He's so in love.

"You can keep Roach," he says once he trusts his voice enough not to waver in the face of everything that's bubbling up inside him now. "But I don't wanna see you in my room before a whole hour has passed, understood?"

Jaskier frowns. "Yow want me to go annoy Lambert for an hour?"

"He won't mind. And he likes hanging out with you, you're his favourite right after Ciri. Don't tell him I told you, he's going to kill me."

"Are you not his third favourite, then?"

"No, third favourite is actually the shiny rock outside beside the door."

Jaskier thinks for a moment, then nods sagely. "That is a good rock."

"My words exactly," Geralt says, grinning. "He won't mind, I promise. You do deserve a break — please take one? I've got this, I promise you."

Jaskier thinks for a moment, then sags on a sigh. "Okay. But only one hour!"

In the end, Jaskier doesn't last a whole hour.

Geralt is sitting on his bed, editing Jaskier's essay that is by far not as bad as they made it out to be, even if it is a bit rambly and redundant in some places that are easily reduced to concise statements without further ado. He has just reached the seventh of ten pages when he hears the door opening slowly, hesitantly. A glance down at the time tells him that it's barely over half an hour that has passed, but he looks up to see Jaskier looking at him with big, round eyes.

"I swear I will shut up and let you work. But can I come in?"

Geralt smiles and melts a little bit inside. "Of course," he hastens to promise them, shuffling on his bed to make room for them, a subtle invitation that Jaskier seems glad to take. Roach is not with him, so Lambert must have demanded payment in kitty. Geralt grins down at Jaskier's laptop and continues his work.

The bed dips beside him and before long, Jaskier has unceremoniously taken up space behind Geralt, wrapping their arms around his middle in a secure hold. Just holding. Not pushing and pulling, not looking over Geralt's shoulder at his laptop to see what he's editing in or out, not speaking at all.

Geralt leans into his hold for a moment, letting Jaskier know this is okay, this is welcome, this is good. Jaskier hums but does nothing else.

It's quiet in the most comfortable, companionable way that only gets broken when Geralt has finished Jaskier's essay and promises him that all he has left to do is write a conclusion and fix his formatting.

Still, Jaskier does not move, their cheek still pressed to Geralt's back and their arms still wrapped around his middle. "I love you, do you know that?" A sniffle. "You are the best. Miraculous. Wondrous. Wonderful. Beautiful. Just so... full. You make me feel so full, and I don't know how you are so incredible. But you are. And I love you and just... Thank you."

It's Geralt who moves, twisting in Jaskier's hold until he can wrap his arms around them in turn and run his fingers through his hair again. "I love you, too. And you're welcome. Anytime, okay?"

Jaskier nods, and Geralt smiles.

"You make me feel full, too, you know? One day I'm gonna burst and you're gonna have to clean up after me."

Jaskier huffs, warm breath against his throat, and shrugs. "Worth it. It'll be pretty goo to scrub from surfaces."

"You're a goof," Geralt laughs.

"Your goof."

"Hmm."

*

“Hey?” Priscilla took Jaskier’s lute from their hands, brushing her lips against their stubbled cheek, and adjusting their hat with a fond smile on her lips.

“Sorry,” Jaskier mumbled.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said, the warmth in her voice infectious and so very calming.

Jaskier shook their head. The ache in their chest whenever someone called them a man or something of that ilk had just become unbearable in recent months. It was time to show the world who they really were.

“I really, really do, my sweet Priscilla.” With a gloomy smile, Jaskier took Pris’s hands in theirs and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Wish me luck?”

“Good luck, buttercup,” she breathed softly, light shining in her eyes.

“Ladies and Gentleman!” a voice called from the stage, making Jaskier wince. “Please welcome to the stage your reigning champion, the famed Master Jaskier!”

“Bollocks,” Jaskier whined, burying their face in their hands. The announcement was just salt on the wound, shaking them to their core. “I can’t do this.”

Priscilla just reached out her hand, her long blonde hair falling in front of her face as she tilted her head. “Together?”

They took a deep breath, chewing anxiously on their lips and then nodded. “Together.”

Jaskier strode onto the stage with a bright shining smile on their face, lute in one hand, Pris’s fingers gripped tightly in the other. Their long leather coat flung out behind them in a way that was so delightfully dramatic. Along with growing their hair out and a brand new hat, the coat was part of their new post Geralt and gender crisis look. It might not last forever, but having been stuck in a rut for twenty years of their life… they sort of loved it.

They bowed to the crowd, waving as they licked their lips. “Ah, umm, hello! Hi. I’m Jaskier, just Jaskier. No master, if you don’t mind,” their eyes flicked to the Master of Ceremonies. “Before I start my set, I’d like to say a few words if I may?”

The man frowned but nodded.

“Yes, right, well. You see I- I am neither a gentleman or a lady, and I would very much appreciate it if you could refer to me as they or them or Jaskier. Just not him- her isn’t so bad, but- but… yeah.”

“And I will personally fight anyone who doesn’t respect that!” Priscilla snarled as she glared out at the crowd.

“So will I,” an all too familiar voice growled, one that made Jaskier’s eyes go wide as their heart jumped to their throats. They frantically scanned the crowd until they found the startling white hair.

“G-Geralt?” Jaskier stammered.

Geralt looked at them, a soft smile on his lips that Jaskier hadn’t seen in decades, not since the fateful banquet, before the child surprise, before Yennefer.

“Good luck, Jask,” the witcher called before the Master of Ceremonies cleared his throat, looking rather tired with the whole thing.

“Master Jaskier.” Jaskier winced and the crowd went silent as Geralt reached for his sword. Jaskier had to hold Priscilla back from launching off the stage, desperately shaking their head at the witcher to try and get him to stand down. “J- Jaskier…”