#romtober

He thinks you don‘t notice but the grip on your became tighter once you stepped inside. Still, he wears his care-free smile on his face. Of course, you won‘t comment on it and just follow him around. The house is definitely abandoned, no sounds beside the wind going around outside.

»Well, this isn‘t as bad as I expected it to be.« He shrugs lightly and steps closer to one of the drawers, looking through the framed pictures.

There were what looks to be a family from the early eighteen-hundreds. Old gothic clothing, blank faces and of course the familiar black and white filter. Well, not really a filter as they just didn‘t have colourised photographs back then.

»Do you think they are ghosts now that watch over this house?«

Dick‘s poor attempt to scare only resulted you in giving him a stoic expression before you scare him back.

»No, they would most likely be poltergeists or other spirits. Maybe even transform into other creatures,« taking a step closer, you presss a small kiss onto his cheek, »just don‘t piss them off.«

With a playful wink, you let go of his hand and explore more of the house, roaming around freely.

He gets out of his trance and follows you quickly, taking your hand into his again.

»Yeah, I uh… I won‘t.« Dick mumbles back while glancing around the house once more before focusing on you.

It‘s quiet for a while before something seems to fall in the house. Probably next room. Dick gets in front of you, seeming tense as he carefully peeks around the corner and makes sure there isn‘t any danger for the both of you. However, you are not having any of it. Scoffing lightly, you nudge his arm a bit.

»C‘mon, it was probably just a wind.« Now Dick is a little annoyed and glances back to you.

»How can you say something like that? We‘re in a haunted house, remember? Haunted.«

He is really trying not to sound like a concerned parent, but you can still see and hear the hint of worry in his tone. Still, it‘s actually amusing to see him this riled up just because you‘re in a ‚haunted‘ house.

Eventually, he relaxes again but keeps his hand in yours. The room that you heard the thud coming from was just a normal bedroom. Judging by the pale pink curtains and dirty, pastel pink sheets, it probably belonged to the young girl in one of the pictures you saw earlier. With no fear, you stride in quietly and just take a look around, picking up some small things to examine them further. Dick does the same, but not without glancing over to you frequently; ‚just to make sure you‘re alright‘.

And that‘s definitely why he didn‘t jump up when another thud was heard from the room you came from. It didn‘t make things any better that the sun was almost completely down by now, making it dim inside. Naturally, Dick reached for you hand and continued to look around the house like this together.

He was more alert than normally, probably because he didn‘t want anything to happen to you. And probably because he was slightly paranoid now. Some ravens are yelling nonsense outside as he tries his best it just get along.

But it doesn‘t help, it‘s way too many coincidences at the same time.

»Are we sure we took a harmless haunted house? This doesn‘t seem like it...«

He mutters to you, but it only makes you more amused.

»Yeah, we would be dead by now if it wasn‘t. Trust me, supernatural has thought me that much.«

The casual shrug you give him is only making him a more paranoid. It might seem like you know much about paranormal stuff, but he has watched too many horror movies in the past few days to just be relaxed about it. There‘s always some person who says nothing will happen, and then the worst thing happens after all.

Not that he would say that to you.

»Right, yeah… anything else they thaught you? Like, being more cautious?«

You didn‘t even have time to answer before the window of the kitchen suddenly opens up, blowing fresh breeze inside.

He shreeks and wraps his arms around you in a death grip, way more surprised than you.

»See? I told you it was a bad idea!«

»It was your idea!« You argue back and huff out lightly at him. His hug is almost squishing you together at this point and it actually feels a it suffocating.

»Could you… let go?« Dick doesn‘t get what you mean until he looks down at you, letting go with a sheepish expression.

»Right, sorry...« Intertwining your fingers with his, he makes his way to the exit, having to drag you out.

»Wait, what are you doing? Are we leaving already?« You ask rather confused and in disbelief, looking back to take in the house again.

»No, we‘re just going home. This place is weird.« Dick answers back less amused and gets out of the old house finally, pausing once he sees a black cat cross the damn street in front of you.

»Seriously? It was just getting fun...«

You mumble back which makes him snap back into reality. He shakes his head briefly before walking out, leaving the small property.

»You thought this was fun? Well… it… it was fun but ot fun like an amusement park, you know? How about we go there next?«

You stay quiet for a small moment, just studying him before you just accpet it. He seems a bit spooked, so why not?

»I won‘t mind, sure«

He finally smiles more easily at you, his arm going around your shoulders to let you stay close. After that quick trip to the haunted house, you arrive at the amusement and play a few games, you went to a ride together and ended the night with two slushies. All in all, it was pretty fun for both of you. N matter how hard Dick held onto your hand before that, it was entertaining.

a/n: hope you enjoyed this! i'll try to make the other parts more intersting and fluffy, i'm actually very excited to be part of this small challenge!! let's see how i'll hold up though >"<

added note: i won't continue with this series, as mentioned before, this is not my original idea.

--

Jaskier was more than a little drunk. And more than a little sad. And setting his drop-off address for the Uber to be his best friend’s apartment probably wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had, but it also wasn’t the worst. The jury was out on which of his decisions was the worst, but Jaskier was sure Geralt and Yennefer both had a few ideas, and it was definitely not this particular decision.

It was the decision that made him feel the most comforted, however, and that was what Jaskier needed right now. Even if Geralt took a little too long to open the door after Jaskier knocked. He grew anxious, in that time, and began to bite on his thumb nail as he considered his options. He couldn’t call another Uber--his phone was about dead. He couldn't walk home, it was entirely too far. Jaskier knocked again.

Geralt’s glaring face greeted him a second later.

“It’s the middle of the night, Jas--”

He barely got the words out before Jaskier forced himself past Geralt and into the apartment. Jaskier stopped, though, because really his plan had only gone as far as to get him inside, and now that he was standing in the entryway he didn’t know what to do with his hands, his body, anything.

“I think I’m going to be alone forever,” Jaskier finally said, and his shoulders slumped.

Geralt hesitated a second, then Jaskier heard the door close. “Come on,” Geralt said, taking Jaskier’s forearm and pulling him to the couch. He sat Jaskier down on it and handed him a blanket. The only way he could have made Jaskier feel more like a child would have been by laying the blanket out for him, but Jaskier found himself comforted rather than condescended to. It was nice.

“You and Virginia broke up?” Geralt asked some time later as he sat on the couch beside Jaskier and handed him a cup of tea. Jaskier nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

So they didn’t. Instead, Geralt told Jaskier all about Ciri’s middle school drama and the dog he had helped rehabilitate that day. Jaskier didn’t tell Geralt about anything of consequence, only listened quietly--unless the story called for an interruption, as middle school drama often did--until he drifted off to sleep.

When he woke up, he was in Geralt’s bed, and the apartment smelled like pancakes and syrup.

--

He hasn’t shown up.

Jaskier didn’t often use punctuation in his texting--that was more Geralt’s bag. But this situation called for punctuation. Of course his first attempt at a date after his breakup would result in Jaskier getting stood up. It only made sense. Still, it was embarrassing, and Jaskier kept ducking his head to avoid the pitying glance his waitress gave him.

When were you supposed to meet? Geralt sent back.

Jaskier huffed. Half an hour ago. This was stupid. I knew it was too early, too unlikely. He could probably smell the desperation.

Where are you at? The restaurant still?

Yeah. Though I’m about to leave. I can’t take the shame anymore.

Give it ten more minutes.

When the waitress came back, Jaskier offered her an apologetic smile. “No, sorry, still not here. Might as well just--”

“Sorry I’m late.”

Jaskier looked up, astonished, to see Geralt sliding into the chair across from him. Geralt hardly looked at Jaskier, though. Instead, he smiled at the waitress and ordered a bottle of wine and an appetizer Jaskier hadn’t even looked at.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, once the waitress had left. There was a bit of a spring in her step now, as if she was pleased at the way things turned out. “What are you doing here?”

Geralt shrugged, then took a sip from the water in front of him. All the ice had melted and it was close to overflowing. “No sense in wasting an evening. I was hungry.”

Jaskier beamed at his friend and rolled his eyes, but let the matter drop entirely. This was a far better way to have dinner, anyway. Jaskier probably wouldn’t have wound up liking the guy. And Geralt had much better taste in appetizers, Jaskier was sure.

--

Geralt didn’t even bother knocking before he opened the door. Jaskier only just barely masked his shriek with a gasp, but didn’t manage to do the same with his jump, and as a result banged his head on the cabinet he had just opened. He wasn’t sure which look was more unimpressed--Geralt’s or his own.

“Who just walks in like that, Geralt?” Jaskier demanded, crossing his arms.

“Who just leaves their apartment door unlocked?” Geralt countered.

Jaskier shrugged, and instead of pulling out one plate for himself, he pulled out two. He put his dinner--a pasta dish, and really he needed to figure out cooking something other than carbs, but they had to stop tasting so good--and held it out as a silent offer to Geralt. As Jaskier suspected, he took the plate, then sat at Jaskier’s very-unused table. Ugh. That meant Jaskier would have to sit there, too.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Jaskier asked as he sat across from Geralt. “Didn’t you have a date tonight? I thought this one was promising.”

Geralt shrugged and didn’t even look up from his plate. “I cancelled. It didn’t seem worth it. The last four dates haven’t gone well, why would this one?”

“You didn’t even give him a chance,” Jaskier said, pointing his fork at Geralt. “What if he was the one?”

Geralt snorted and finally met Jaskier’s eye. “I highly doubt he was the one. I’m taking a break from it all. I only signed up for the stupid app in the first place because you and Yen wouldn’t leave me alone. I’m just… not interested.” 

Jaskier sighed dramatically, but pressed no further. Geralt seemed as if his mind was made up, and nothing Jaskier said at this point would change it. As he thought on it, though, Jaskier wasn’t sure he even wanted to change Geralt’s mind.

--

Geralt was definitely ignoring him. Jaskier was standing there, dressed up, holding dinner from Geralt’s favorite restaurant and a bag of goodies, pounding on the door, and Geralt was ignoring him. Jaskier refused to let this happen, however.

“Geralt, I know you’re in there. Ciri told me you were home tonight!” Jaskier called through the door. He had paused his knocking just long enough to say that, but he started up again, this time with far more force than was necessary. So much force that when Geralt swung the door open, Jaskier staggered forward, caught off guard.

“Jesus, Jaskier, what?”

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Jaskier asked, straightening up and grinning at Geralt.

Geralt glared at him for a moment, but eventually he stepped back and motioned for Jaskier to enter. Jaskier set down his bags of goodies and turned to Geralt, suddenly flustered beyond belief.

“Right, well…” he started, then trailed off. He hadn’t let himself think of his speech--it made him too nervous. But now that he felt woefully underprepared, he wished he had run through it in front of the mirror a few times.

“What, Jaskier?” Geralt asked. His eyebrow raised and he looked over at the bags, then up and down Jaskier himself. “Are you okay?”

“I brought--” Jaskier started, then paused. He cleared his throat, then motioned toward the bags. “I brought food. And. Some other things. To make this… big gesture. But, I have to get something out first.” Jaskier stopped, then met Geralt’s eye. Geralt just watched him expectantly. “You’re not dating anyone.”

Geralt clearly hadn’t expected that, judging by the way his face scrunched up in confusion. “No, obviously I’m not.”

“Do you--want to date me?” Jaskier asked, then winced. Fuck. That hadn’t been part of even his hasty planning.

“Jaskier, what--” Geralt asked, his eyes wide, but Jaskier barrelled on.

“You’re my best friend. And. And I love spending time with you, and things are so easy between us, and whenever I’m upset, you’re the only one I want to see. Whenever I’m happy about something, I want to tell you first. Nothing has ever worked, no other relationship I’ve had, but this one always works. And for the longest time, I was afraid that… pushing things further would ruin things for us. That if we brought feelings into this, that we’d lose what we have.” He paused, and took a deep breath. “But I’m not afraid anymore.”

Geralt watched him, but his face betrayed nothing to Jaskier. Except maybe a bit of disbelief. That was okay, Jaskier could give him time to process this. After he finished.

“I think I love you. I think I’ve loved you for a really, really long time. I think you love me, too. I think that’s why you decided to stop dating.”

Jaskier stepped closer. He walked right up to Geralt, then stopped when there was just an inch between their feet. Geralt could close the gap, or not, with very little effort. If only he took it.

“That’s… an interesting conclusion to come to,” Geralt answered, and his voice was the picture of calm and collected. The way his eyes darted around Jaskier’s face told Jaskier a different story. Jaskier grinned.

“It’s the right one.”

“You sound sure,” Geralt answered. Jaskier saw the barest hint of a smile, right there, at the corner of Geralt’s mouth.

“I am.”

Geralt stared at him a moment longer, and Jaskier let out a huff.

“Geralt, I don’t mean to push you, but I kind of bared my soul there. If you could throw me some kind of bone, or kiss me, or--or do something other than just stare at me like a--”

“Darling,” Geralt started, drawing Jaskier’s attention back to the task at hand--a conversation with the Duke of some township or other. The hand Geralt had on the small of Jaskier’s back sent shocks of heat through Jaskier’s body, every time it moved ever-so-slightly. “There was a vineyard in Dorian, wasn’t there? The one where the owner gave you five bottles?”

That was an interesting retelling. Much more polite than saying that Jaskier stole the bottles after the owner had insulted Witchers and tried to cheat Geralt out of his pay for dispatching a pack of drowners tainting the water supply. Jaskier was learning a lot about just how talented Geralt could be at traversing a crowd of nobles--when he wanted to.

“Ah, there’s some controversy over that. Technically, when the borders changed, that vineyard moved to Maribor. Ask any of the workers, though, and it’s still in Dorian,” Jaskier answered, just barely remembering to add a smile at the end.

The duke guffawed and wagged his finger at Geralt; apparently Jaskier had managed to settle something for them, but Jaskier hadn’t been listening to the rest of the conversation. He wasn’t listening now, even, as Geralt continued on with the Duke as if this was something he just did on a regular basis.

Geralt was baffling. Jaskier had expected him to say no to Jaskier’s favor. Why would he want to pretend to be Jaskier’s husband at the party Jaskier’s parents threw every year? Even Jaskier didn’t want to go, which might have been partly why he even asked Geralt in the first place. Part of him was holding out hope that Geralt would give him an out.

Instead, Geralt had not only agreed, but had listened to every bit of advice and every pointer Jaskier had given him. All night he had been impressive--he had even managed to charm Jaskier’s mother. Jaskier did not often find himself at a loss for words, but apparently watching Geralt entertain a noble with stories of monster slaying with an unfortunately well-behaved hand on the small of Jaskier’s back was enough to render Jaskier speechless for hours. He had been the disappointing one all night.

“Excuse me,” Jaskier said, bowing a little as he shrugged himself out of Geralt’s grasp. It was rude, Jaskier knew, and if Geralt had done it he would have… well, he would have expected it, and maybe would have silently thanked him for the out, while outwardly complaining about his lack of decorum. But Geralt had been the picture of grace all night. Jaskier was the one that had been disheveled and thrown off guard and, at times, downright rude.

Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment, however. Let the nobles talk. He knew they all would as soon as they left no matter what happened tonight, so Jaskier might as well underperform rather than living up to the lies his parents were no doubt telling the other people of the court.

The night air was crisp and cool against his face as Jaskier pushed the doors open onto the balcony. Technically, this area was off limits. No guest was allowed here and the servants had gone to great lengths to make sure that no one made it out here. But what were they to do when the Viscount of Lettenhove was the one trying to escape to his parent’s balcony?

Finally, Jaskier felt as if he could breathe. It should have been a relief to have Geralt so willing and helpful, and really he had been completely wonderful all night. Far better than Jaskier would have ever expected. And yet, he was so thrown off and upset by it. It would have been so easy to just lean into this, to accept Geralt’s exemplary behavior and pretend, just for a night, that Geralt regularly called him things like “darling” and “love.” That Geralt kept a hand on him at all times. That Geralt checked up on him when Jaskier left abruptly. As he did now.

“I must ask you to return--” a servant started, but Jaskier cut her off.

“It’s alright, Orla. He’s my husband,” Jaskier said, and even he winced at how bitter his voice sounded. He didn’t turn to see if anyone else noticed, though. Instead, Jaskier leaned against the railing, his forearms resting on the cold stone as he stared out over the grounds.

He heard rustling behind him and a door closing, but it was still a moment longer before Geralt joined him against the stone wall. There was still a space between them and Geralt, bless him, seemed almost hesitant to step closer.

“What’s wrong?” Geralt asked, finally leaning against the stone beside Jaskier.

Jaskier huffed an extremely forced laugh. “Wrong? What could be wrong? You’ve only been perfect all night. Everyone loves you. Even my mother, who could find fault in a saint.”

“And… that’s a problem?” Geralt asked, and Jaskier could almost picture the way his eyebrows must have been knitted in confusion.

Jaskier sighed, then buried his face in his hands. “No, darling, of course not. You’re doing exactly what I asked. You’ve made a wonderful impression and have made everything far easier for me.”

Geralt stood silent beside Jaskier, probably trying to decipher what, exactly, Jaskier was going on about. Jaskier wished he could do more to help, but Jaskier was just as flummoxed. This should have been perfect; a night Jaskier would tease Geralt about for years to come. Jaskier should have been preening under the attention and prideful over how much the other partygoers enjoyed Geralt. Instead, he felt empty and cold and as if he was missing something.

“You don’t seem like you in there,” Jaskier finally settled on. 

The truth was far too big for him to speak just yet, so he settled for a half truth. The man inside wasn’t the Geralt Jaskier knew and loved, and neither the man inside nor the man outside was a Geralt that belonged to Jaskier.

“I thought you didn’t want me to be me. I thought you wanted me to be your husband,” Geralt said, and his voice was just a touch too serious for his teasing to be believable.

Jaskier straightened up and met Geralt’s eye, finally. Geralt looked lost, like a little boy who was just trying so desperately to be good, and coming up short. Or, perhaps Jaskier was projecting, since that was the way he often felt, especially when he was in Lettenhove. Geralt had a hand on the stone wall, and Jaskier covered it with his own.

“I always want you to be you. I’m sorry I made it seem as if I would ever want someone else,” Jaskier mumbled. He took a moment to stare at their hands, before finding Geralt’s eyes again. “This is all just a bit… much.”

Geralt hesitated a moment, then took a step forward. His hand turned beneath Jaskier’s and he took Jaskier’s fingers, his thumb running absently over Jaskier’s knuckles. Jaskier waited, but Geralt didn’t say anything, and Jaskier found he wasn’t surprised. The silence hung between them as they both waited for Jaskier--of course it would be Jaskier--to break it.

“I don’t think I knew what I was asking for when I asked you to do this,” Jaskier whispered, and he took a step closer to Geralt. The tips of their shoes just barely brushed together and if Jaskier wanted to, it would only take a quick sway to bring their lips together. “I don’t think I asked for the right thing.”

Geralt hummed. “What would you ask for now?”

“For you to accompany me. As yourself. Rather than as a puppet or novelty for the court,” Jaskier started. He wanted to say more, opened his mouth again to do so, but the words died in his throat.

Geralt’s eyebrow raised. “I doubt your mother would approve of me as I am for your husband. Didn’t you want to avoid her appeals to court suitable ladies?”

Jaskier looked away. Back over at the gardens. Geralt’s fingers tightened around his, as if Geralt was afraid Jaskier would pull away. This felt different than the hand at Jaskier’s back, but had Jaskier’s heart beating faster nonetheless.  “I shouldn’t have had you pose as my husband at all.”

There was a long silence, and it wasn’t until Geralt tapped Jaskier’s hand with his thumb that Jaskier realized Geralt was waiting for Jaskier to continue. To explain. Jaskier sighed.

“You’ve been amazing in there. I didn’t expect you to… be so wonderfully physically affectionate, or use pet names, or talk me up and be otherwise… casually affectionate. Truly, you are a master at your craft, and if this whole witchering business goes to the wayside, you should consider a future on the stage.” Jaskier huffed and bit the inside of his cheek. He would keep himself together. “It’s easy to believe it’s all real. You play the part so well. There’s not a single person in there that doesn’t believe us as a couple, and sometimes even I forget.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said. His voice was low, firm. Get to the point, Jaskier heard.

“I don’t want to spend a night pretending. I don’t want to enjoy myself too much, only to wake up to reality come morning.” He pulled his hand back from Geralt’s grasp and swiped it over his face. “I’m sorry, I thought I had a better handle on myself than this. I thought I could separate reality from fiction, but apparently I have fooled myself too thoroughly.”

The embarrassment rose through his body to paint his cheeks a vibrant, hot shade of red, and Jaskier could not bring himself to look at Geralt again as he turned toward the doorway.

“We should go back inside. I’ll get it together, and we can continue on as if--”

“We could start smaller,” Geralt interrupted, taking Jaskier’s hand again and using it as leverage to pull him back. Jaskier allowed himself to be pulled, and faced Geralt again, his eyebrows furrowed in his confusion. “Make reality. Different.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier started. His mouth opened and closed a few times as he tried, very carefully, to find the words he was looking for. Nothing sounded right. “You’re not proposing--”

“I’m proposing we change tomorrow, rather than tonight,” Geralt answered. He took a step closer to Jaskier, his free hand cupping Jaskier’s hip. “Build up to tonight.”

Geralt dropped Jaskier’s hand in favor of trailing his fingertips along Jaskier’s cheekbones, his jawline, his lips. Jaskier found himself breathless, almost dizzy, and he closed his eyes, trying to convince himself that this was real. It seemed far more likely that he had managed to stumble, hit his head on one of the many heavy, solid, and jagged rocks, and was now having a very imaginative, blunt-force-trauma-induced dream.

“Geralt, I’m afraid I might have been struck with delirium. It feels rather like if I asked you to kiss me, you would,” Jaskier whispered. Surely his imagination wasn’t good enough to create the feeling of Geralt’s thumb shifting as Jaskier’s lips moved. Jaskier may have to come to the conclusion that this was real.

“Why don’t you try it, bard?”

Jaskier let out the breath he had been holding, and rested his hands on Geralt’s hips. He opened his eyes again to find Geralt staring at him with probably the softed, most fond smile Jaskier had ever seen on his face. It was that smile, that barely-there tick of the corners of his lips that gave Jaskier his courage. Jaskier smiled back, just as small and soft, and Geralt stopped tracing Jaskier’s lips and held his face instead.

“Please kiss me,” Jaskier breathed.

The words were barely out of Jaskier’s mouth before they were swallowed into Geralt’s. Jaskier’s arms wove themselves around Geralt’s back, pulling him closer, and Geralt’s hand crept up Jaskier’s back as well. Geralt still held his face, cradling Jaskier’s cheek carefully, no matter how they moved together.

The air was just as cool as it had been when Jaskier stepped outside, but now Jaskier found himself warmed by the heat of Geralt’s lips. He put every ounce of longing into the kiss, and was almost surprised to find just as much wanting in Geralt. They had wasted time, so much time, but Jaskier was already quite fond of their methods for making up for that.

Finally, they had to part. Neither strayed far, though. Their foreheads pressed together, their breaths intertwined as Jaskier’s heart settled. Geralt’s thumb stroked Jaskier’s cheek, and Jaskier could hardly hear the din of the banquet hall over his own disjointed, trailing, endlessly giddy thoughts.

“If I ask you again tomorrow, will your answer be the same?” Jaskier asked.

2. Alderman

The alderman’s eyes were dark the moment he set eyes on Geralt.

Geralt braced himself, more than well aware of what a look like that meant. Even if there was a monster in this town--and, according to the people who had pointed him in the direction of the tavern to find the alderman--this man was not going to be easy to deal with. He had already decided he didn’t like Witchers, and Geralt was more than prepared to deal with not only his bigotry, but with Jaskier’s likely reaction to his bigotry.

“Jaskier,” he said to his companion, and placed a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. He turned Jaskier toward a table and nudged him into sitting, while Jaskier looked at Geralt curiously. “Stay here. I’ll talk to him alone.”

“But Geralt--”

“Stay here,” Geralt insisted, then walked away to avoid further argument.

As he turned back to the alderman, Geralt noticed his expression had darkened even further. Now he was eyeing Geralt as if Geralt was a threat to him. Well, people like this often thought Geralt was, so it wasn’t entirely surprising.

“I hear there’s a contract on a harpy,” Geralt said as he sat heavily on the seat opposite the man.

The alderman picked up his tankard of ale, and for a long moment, all he did was eye Geralt. “There is,” he said, then bent over to his side and produced a large bag of coins. “This enough for payment?”

Geralt lifted the bag. It was surprisingly full. Apparently, the problem was big enough that it was worth subjecting himself to paying a witcher a decent price. Geralt nodded his head, then handed the purse back.

“Just kill the monster, Witcher. We don’t care much for your kind around here.” And then, surprisingly, he nodded to Jaskier .

Geralt turned to look at his companion, who he assumed was causing some sort of trouble. Surely, he was flirting with the alderman’s wife or someone’s daughter. Instead, Geralt saw Jaskier just sitting there, thumbnail between his teeth, as he scratched some words onto the parchment before him. When Geralt looked at him, Jaskier looked back, and a smile stretched out behind his thumb.

“Our kind?” Geralt asked, turning back to the alderman with an eyebrow raised.

“Just keep your distance from each other, and we’ll be fine. And leave soon as you can.” The alderman’s arms crossed tightly over his chest and he glowered at Geralt.

Ah. Not the type of bigotry Geralt was prepared for. It made hot anger unfurl in his chest and he had half a mind to tell this man to go fuck himself. Geralt glanced back at Jaskier, now wondering at what had even led this man to come to that conclusion, and found it didn’t much matter.

He killed the harpy and took the man’s coin, but dumped the bloodied head on the floor of his home. Whatever Geralt had might be catching, after all. Wouldn’t want to risk the poor, delicate man.

3. Yennefer

“I see you two are still traveling together.”

Geralt glanced from Yennefer to Jaskier, who was over by Roach. He tried to make himself look busy, but Geralt could see that largely he was just weaving flowers into her mane. Geralt suppressed a smile; later, Jaskier would admonish Roach for eating the flowers as they fell, as if that hadn’t been his entire intention.

When Yennefer had shown up, Jaskier clammed up. They had traded a few barbs and Yennefer had come out as the clear winner, as she often did, and Jaskier had been sulking ever since. He was keeping his distance from both Geralt and Yennefer now, though Geralt caught the forlorn looks he tried to sneak every so often. Geralt, for his part, had moved his conversation with Yennefer far away from Jaskier to give him the space he clearly wanted; anything to help improve the foul mood he would likely deal with for the remainder of the day.

Geralt looked back to Yennefer and grunted. He didn’t like the look in her eye as she made the comment, or the fact that they had already finished their business, and yet she was still here, making conversation. Neither the look nor her continued presence was a comforting sign. Geralt had to be careful about how he answered her questions.

Yennefer watched him a moment longer, then sighed.

“Are you ever going to tell me ?” she asked, her face twisting into disappointment. “Or are you both just going to pretend that we don’t all know ?”

“Know what?” Geralt asked. His eyebrows furrowed.

Yennefer waved her hand impatiently. “You know! About you both. About how you feel for the other--” She cut herself off, then peered at Geralt a little closer, inspecting his face. “You don’t know?” Then her eyes moved to Jaskier, who was now locked in an intense discussion with Roach about something or other. “Neither one of you know, do you?”

“Know what ?” Geralt repeated, a bit impatient now.

“Oh, no. This is far better than I ever would have imagined.” Yennefer laughed and shook her head. “Please tell me when you figure it out. I will portal here immediately if only to see the look on your face.”

She refused to explain further, and even made her way back to the camp just to press further into Jaskier’s poor mood. It seemed to only fill Yennefer with glee, as she was laughing when she left them.

“What the hell was that about?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt wished he could answer that question.

4. Innkeeper

“Just the one room?” The innkeeper asked, sounding bored.

“Is there only one room available?” Geralt asked, and just barely held back the sigh.

They weren’t low on coin this time. Maybe Jaskier would like to have his own room for the night. He was too far away to ask; already he was trying to flirt his way into a free meal in exchange for his performance from the innkeeper’s wife. The patrons had perked up a bit when they saw Jaskier’s lute case; it was likely he’d make a fair bit tonight as well. They could splurge.

“No,” the innkeeper answered. “You have your choice of rooms. Haven’t had much travelers lately. Did you and your partner have someone else with you?”

The innkeeper nodded his head toward Jaskier, and Geralt’s eyes followed. Jaskier was getting his way, if the charming look on his face was anything to go by. His eyelids fluttered, and Geralt found himself momentarily distracted by the way his dark eyelashes fluttered against his pale cheeks.

It took Geralt a moment to realize the meaning the innkeeper imbued the word “partner” with. Another person thought Jaskier was his lover. It wasn’t an unpleasant thought. A confusing one, to be sure, as Geralt was sure they had done nothing to make anyone think so. Though, he had been wrong many, many times before about this very thing.

They had the money for another room. The room was available. He and Jaskier could sleep separately and have a little personal space from each other for once, and still have enough coin to get them a hot meal and through to the next town.

“No, no one else,” Geralt said, turning back to the innkeeper. “One room.”

5. Ciri

“You know you don’t have to be careful around me, right?” Ciri asked.

Geralt looked up from the rabbit he was skinning, only to be met with Ciri’s keen eyes. What, exactly, it was that she saw that Geralt hadn’t yet, he wasn’t sure. He raised an eyebrow at her, then went back to his task.

“Be careful how?” he asked. “Are you saying you want more work?”

Ciri groaned. “No, the training and getting the firewood and learning how to hunt and everything is enough, thank you,” she answered, sounding just a little petulant. As if she hadn’t been teasing Geralt earlier about not being able to keep up because he was an old man. Maybe he would throw a few extra drills at her. “I mean about you and Jaskier.”

Geralt’s hand slowed, just slightly, as he considered this. “What about me and Jaskier?” he asked.

He lifted his head to look at Jaskier, who was off bathing in a nearby stream after complaining for hours about how he had gotten covered in mud when a carriage rolled past. Even his face had been splattered, while Ciri and Geralt had managed to avoid the worst of it by sheer luck. Geralt had told him that if he would stop complaining and go bathe , then Geralt would catch three rabbits tonight. Jaskier had agreed, and didn’t even complain about how frigid the water would be. Not yet, anyway. Geralt was sure that was coming.

“That you’re… you know.” Geralt glanced at her in time to see her gesture… something. It mostly looked like she was pushing something invisible in Jaskier’s direction. “That you… love him.”

Geralt stared at her, baffled, for a long moment. “Ciri, we’re not-- Jaskier and I aren’t--”

“I’m just saying,” Ciri interrupted, “that you two don’t have to hide anything from me. If you love each other, that’s okay.”

She stood, abruptly, and set about setting up her bedroll. She didn’t need to do it now, usually she waited until after they had eaten, but Geralt understood the message there. Cirilla did not want to discuss this further. That was fine by Geralt, who also did not want to discuss this further.

That didn’t mean he was done thinking about it, though. He glanced back at Jaskier, who was now cupping water and pouring it over his head, then running his fingers through the strands. Geralt didn’t have to imagine how soft his hair would be now--he knew, he had washed Jaskier’s hair before. The only reason he wasn’t doing it now was because Jaskier had annoyed him enough that Geralt refused to help him remove the mud. He found, in a distant sort of way, that he regretted that decision.

Jaskier came back just as Geralt was pulling the last rabbit off the fire. He took the meat from Geralt with a grateful smile, then settled close beside Geralt to eat.

“That water was freezing. I’m surprised I still have all my limbs attached. We might need a larger fire, Geralt, because if I do not warm my legs soon , I fear I will lose them.”

+1 Priestess

“Would you like to leap the flames?”

The Priestess’s eyes were wide and Geralt, for once, found it to be welcoming, rather than with curiosity or fear. She looked young, but it was impossible to truly tell how old she was. The priestess motioned toward both Geralt and Jaskier.

“It’s a Belleteyn tradition. You leap over the bonfire for luck or fertility. If you leap as a couple, it is supposed to grant you luck in your relationship. New lovers often partake in this tradition, and guests are welcome as well.” She smiled, then, and gestured broadly to the bonfire. “Care to see if luck smiles down on you?”

“Oh, we’re not--” Jaskier started, but stopped when Geralt touched his wrist. Lightly, so lightly, just enough to get his attention. Jaskier turned to look at him, his expression curious.

“Do you want to?” Geralt asked. His heart pounded in his chest and as soon as the words left his lips, his mouth felt dry.

Jaskier considered him a moment, and all along Geralt felt the dread rise in him like bile to his throat. But then Jaskier’s face split into a wide grin and he took Geralt’s hand, their fingers slotting together as if that was where they meant to be all along.

They stood together and lined up behind another couple and just as they were about to take their own turn, Jaskier pulled Geralt to the side, out of the line, and motioned for the man behind them to go.

“Geralt you--you mean this, right? Exactly as the priestess said?” Jaskier asked, and though their hands stayed pressed together, doubt crept into his voice.

“Exactly as the priestess said,” Geralt agreed, nodding. “We’ve been mistaken for a couple enough times. They might as well be right for once.”

“We’ve been--what? What do you mean?” Jaskier asked.

Instead of answering, Geralt pulled them back in front of the bonfire, and prepped to run.

“Geralt, if you do not explain--”