#witcher shenanigans

Witchers when they get the zoomies

ohhhhh boy Comfy. You always hit me with that good shit, don’t you?

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“Your bard isn’t bad looking,” Eskel observes. He’s leaning against the wall, watching as Jaskier splits wood in the courtyard and piles it up neatly along the wall nearest the kitchen door. “In fact, I rather enjoy looking at him.”

“Not a bad conversationalist either,” Lambert adds helpfully from a few feet away. Geralt grinds his teeth and keeps his arms crossed over his chest. “Want to play rock-paper-shears over him, Eskel?”

“I’ll win,” the older Witcher smirks. Geralt looks up then, surprise and confusion bright on his face. The other two feign ignorance and begin their game of luck. 

“What are you going to do if you win?” Lambert asks, still ignoring Geralt entirely.

“I’m going to ask him to read with me after supper,” Eskel says, “And then if he enjoys my company, perhaps I’ll ask him to take a break from his grouchy White Wolf and spend some time on the path with me instead. Maybe he’d like songs about someone who looks after him and says nice things about his music and his taste in literature. What about you, Lambert?”

“I think I’ll start by complimenting his taste in doublets,” the youngest Wolf replies. “The color he chose yesterday matched his pretty blue eyes so well and really brought out the rosy blush in his cheeks. Do you think that might win him over?”

“Perhaps.”

They play one round and Eskel wins. Geralt grows more and more tense as he watches in utter silence. They tie twice before Lambert wins the fourth round. “Ah, tied game. One last round to see who wins their chance at the bard’s affections?”

There’s a deep, feral snarl and their white-haired sibling tears off in Jaskier’s direction. “Fucking finally,” Lambert whispers loud enough for only Eskel to hear. 

“Jaskier!” Geralt calls, “Come here a moment, there’s uhm, there’s something important I have to tell you.”

“Yes, dear heart?” Jaskier wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and settles into a comfortable lean against the axe handle. He’s never looked less like a bard or more like a Witcher in his life and it does something odd to Geralt’s stomach; it feels queasy, almost like he’s eaten bad meat but not quite as violent. “What is it, Geralt?”

“You, uh-” he falters for a moment before drawing a calming breath and continuing on the way he knows he must. “Your nose is cute.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your doublets are nice. Your skin is very soft and you always smell so good. I like the way you cut your hair and the way you braid mine when I let you. I like the way you take care of me even though I have fast healing and the way you don’t listen to me when I tell you to stay out of harm’s way on the Path. I uhm, I like you, Jaskier, and I want you to stay with me for the rest of the winter. Maybe forever.”

“Are you...proposing?” Jaskier giggles. “Geralt, really, what brought this on?”

He turns to look at his brothers, but the other two are nowhere to be found.

“Fuck.”

“Is this a prank?” Jaskier sounds far less happy, now. “Are you... are you and the others playing some kind of mean joke?”

Geralt’s heart flies into his throat. Gods, no! He’d never do that to his best friend and unrequited love!

Rather than let Jaskier suffer another moment of doubt, Geralt pulls him into his arms and crashes their lips together. The bard is an enthusiastic kisser, it turns out, and returns the affection tenfold, wrapping himself around Geralt like a cloak or clinging vine. They kiss passionately, steaming where they stand in the winter of Kaer Morhen’s empty courtyard. 

Jaskier was not a morning person. He had yet to move past the days of Oxenfurt, or more accurately the nights of Oxenfurt. Everyone kept telling him that as he grew older he would get better at mornings.

Bollocks to that.

Mornings were sinful and had a special place in hell. Not even the spectacular sunrises from Geralt’s balcony could redeem them, although he did adore those views. Especially when Geralt came over to wrap his arms around Jaskier’s waist and rest his head on Jaskier’s shoulder so they could watch the sunrise together.

Ok, perhaps that redeemed them a little, but that was neither here or now. Jaskier moaned and thumped his head down on the table. “Ow.” He grumbled.

“Cheer up, bard.” Eskel clapped him over the back and Jaskier shot an icy glare in the witcher’s direction.

“I’ll cheer up when Geralt stops dragging me out of bed at the crack of dawn! Fucking witchers.” Jaskier glowered and pulled his plate of bread and cold meat towards him. He wasn’t hungry, he never was in the mornings but Geralt insisted.

“I thought you liked fucking witchers?”

“Shut it, Bertie!” Jaskier turned his glare onto Lambert who had just entered the room with the worst case of bedhead that Jaskier had seen.

Lambert stuck his tongue out at Jaskier and muttered something about Wyverns eating Jaskier for lunch. Jaskier chuckled as he nibbled on his breakfast. Lambert was just lucky Geralt had left early to hunt, otherwise Jaskier would have been shamelessly snogging his partner by now just to make a point.

“Yeah, Bertie.” Eskel laughed as Lambert punch him in the arm. “What’s wrong, Bert? No one to flirt with?”

Lambert roared and tackled Eskel to the ground. Jaskier tilted his head to watch the two witchers wrestle, smirking as Lambert’s shirt slid up his torso. Jaskier was faithful to Geralt, of course he was. He’d been pining after the man for long enough, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t admire the sight of rippling muscles on the other wolves.

“That never leaves Kaer Morhen!” Lambert yelled, his voice strained as he pushed against Eskel’s grip on his arms. “Do you hear me? Not a word!”

“I could write a song for Eskel too, if that makes you feel better?” Jaskier mused, his thoughts already racing with rhymes and metaphors.

Eskel scoffed as he sat on top of a struggling Lambert. “What would my nickname be? Scarface?”

Jaskier gaped and put his hand to his chest. “Eskel, no!” He whined and immediately decided that he needed to take a different approach with the blond witcher. He shimmied off the bench and ran over to hug Eskel, then he cupped Eskel’s face in his hands. “No.” He repeated. “You are so much more than that, darling witcher.”

Eskel immediately flushed and stared very intently at the wall away from Jaskier. Jaskier felt a bubble of mischievous joy well up inside him . Oh ho ho, so you could get to Lambert through insults but Eskel… Eskel got flustered with praise!

Oh this was very good!

“Of all the witchers I ever met,” Jaskier began to sing “let me tell you about my darling, Esk.”

Eskel made a strangled noise and Lambert began to cackle, using the blond witcher’s distraction to his advantage in their fight and flipping their positions, much to Jaskier’s delight!

“So daring, and kind and ever so bold, a smile like the sun and eyes, molten gold.” Jaskier winked at the blond witcher.

“Lambert what is he doing?” Eskel spluttered. “Make it stop.”

“Hey! At least he’s nice about you!” Lambert grumbled and let the other witcher up off the floor.

“He’s rescued you all from ghouls and from fiends.” Jaskier bopped Eskel’s nose as he sang. “My friends, my dear Eskel is the witcher of dreams.”

Eskel hid his face behind is hands. “Fuck I’m not drunk enough for this.”

Jaskier cackled. “Not drunk enough… for compliments?”

“Yes!”

“He’s got a point.” Lambert agreed as he hopped up onto the table, grabbing a plateful of food that had been all but abandoned.

“Shut it, Bertie!” Eskel groaned and flopped back onto the floor.

1) Not all kissing has to be horny, so no worries there.

2) This is cute as fuck, so thank you for sending it in! I love seeing your comments on my stuff <3

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Winter had been long. It had been long and boring and lonely and even colder than usual, even though he’d spent it the same way he always did: training with the other Wolf Witchers at Kaer Morhen. 

Geralt blamed the late thaw for his wanderlust but his brothers and adoptive father knew that he was only antsy to get back to his bard. He hadn’t shut up about Jaskier since he’d first stepped foot in the stables.

Flour as far as the eye can fucking see.