Chapter Text
They had been invited back to Oxenfurt. The academy was holding a ball in honour of it reaching its third century. And given that Jaskier was one of its most prominent alumni, how could the small trio refuse the invitation?
“We could just flee.” Geralt looks at the thick paper that Jaskier had handed to him. Picking at the corners.
The script was swirling, asking in too fancy words if Jaskier would join them to perform for the festivities. It had found them that morning, in a tavern in some backwater town that Geralt had found a few jobs in. Not easy ones, but ones where he had come out not exactly worse for wear. So, they had let themselves stay for a short few days.
“And make them suspicious? No.” Jaskier shakes his head. “Look, Ciri is looking forward to it-”
“Ciri is currently still wanted by Nilfgaard.” Geralt’s voice is low with that. Much like Jaskier’s as they spoke. Hushed even in the harsh light of day that was filtering through the window of their room.
“And Oxenfurt is safe.” Jaskier was sitting in his nest in the corner. Geralt was stood by the door, leaning against the dresser as he read over the letter again.
“Jaskier.” He looks up, and Jaskier just stares back. Open and honest.
“It kept me safe. For years it kept me safe. I suspect one or two of the professors knew what I was and they still kept me safe. They’ll keep Ciri safe.” He folds his hands in his lap. “Please.”
He watches as Geralt tilts his head, reading the letter again. His brows furrowed, and Jaskier just waits as he thinks it over. “You can even go dressed in your usual garb. If you want.”
It’s that what does it. Jaskier grins when Geralt puts the letter down, fingers going to pinch at the bridge of his nose as he nods. “Fine.”
“Thank you my love.” He stands, going over to Geralt to wrap his arms around the witcher's waist, resting his chin on his chest to look up at him.
“Hm.” Geralt’s hands go to his hips. “Ciri will need to be disguised.”
“She’s been wanting to cut and dye her hair forever anyway.”
“Urg.” The cost for good dye was pretty steep, hence why they hadn’t done it sooner.
“I’ll play an extra few sets we’ll be fine.” He kisses Geralt’s chest, resting his head there to hear Geralt’s heart beat. “You can even tell her.”
“Hmm.” Jaskier can hear the smile in it, and stays there in Geralt’s arms for a few moments longer before breaking away.
“Go. She should still be with Roach.”
“I know I can hear her.” Geralt looks down expectantly at Jaskier who still hadn’t let go and smiles, the private one he reserved only for him and Jaskier basks in it. When Geralt kisses his forehead he finally lets go with a last squeeze.
“Go and tell her. I’ll be downstairs harassing the patrons.”
“As always.” Jaskier swats him on the ass for that, giggling as he dances out of Geralt’s reach to go and get his lute, following the witcher downstairs after he locks their room door.
He watches Geralt leave the tavern as he goes towards the bar, letting himself appreciate the fact that when not on a job, Geralt wore stupidly tight pants before his attention is caught by the barmaid.
“Hmm, fine piece that is.” She sighs, almost dreamily. Gaze returning from the same place Jaskier’s had been and he bristles against his will. Jealousy came with the possessive nature. Strong bouts of it that pierced his chest, made his gut ache. How dare she talk about his bonded like that?
But he swallows that down with a sharp pain to his throat. Geralt didn’t belong to him. Geralt was his own person. Just because they were bonded didn’t mean Jaskier could control him. Could control any lustful thoughts others had about his witcher. His Geralt.
Instead he focuses on the twisted pride that was lurking beneath the pain. Because while Geralt didn’t belong to him, the witcher still chose Jaskier to sleep with, to nest with and kiss and claim. Jaskier got that. Nobody else.
“He is, isn’t he?” He says instead. Hands clenched into fists by his side although he tries to relax them.
“Hm. You travel with him. And his darling daughter. Any chance?” She’s pretty, he can give her that, with curling auburn hair and a sweet complexion. And anyone who described ‘Ciri’, or ‘Fiona’ to people that they didn’t know, as darling would always have something going for them. But well, Geralt was his.
His pride is swiftly pushed aside though when he remembers why he’s at the bar in the first place. Something he had been able to perfect over the years, and he’s glad he’s able to do it now. Keeping them safe came before being a dragon. And with the reminder of Ciri and her needing some dye to keep her safe, his dragon instincts actually help as his protection outweighs his jealousy.
He shrugs a shoulder. “I’m the wrong person to ask, i’m afraid. Although I think you might be the right to ask if I can perform for another few days here in your lovely establishment.”
“Who better than to ask, than a witcher’s companion?” She really wasn’t getting it. But a lot of small towns were like this, unable to see them as anything more than just friends. At least nobody had been openly hostile though. “But to answer your question, of course. You’ve been great for bringing in business. Although.” She pauses. “You have to put in a good word for me.”
“Done.” He says it through clenched teeth, but thankfully she doesn’t notice.
“Three more nights then bard.” She nods and holds a hand out that he shakes, fingers itching to clench hers tightly and cruelly. But no, he wouldn’t do that. So instead, once she’s let go, he shakes the grip out when it’s out of her view.
“Why thank you. Then I promise we’re out of your hair.”
“Maybe somewhere else if i’m lucky.” She winks, laughing. And oh Jaskier knows they’d be good friends if she wasn’t talking about Geralt.
“Yes indeed well, i’ll just. Go and practise.” He practically flees back to their room for fear of saying or doing anything else that would betray his heritage or would make an ass out of himself.
Geralt and Ciri find him curled up in his nest, angrily muttering to himself as he tossed and turned, frown almost hurting his face with how deep it was.
“Stupid barmaids.” He grouses. “Thinking they have a right to what's mine. My bonded. Fuck her. Stupid witch. Her pretty hair and face doesn’t make up for the fact that she’s stupid!”
He looks over his shoulder when the door opens, Geralt and Ciri tumbling in as Ciri dragged Geralt into the room, babbling about something. Although they stop when they see him.
“Jask?” Jaskier just frowns at Geralt’s gentle tone. Huffing.
“Go away i’m in a mood.” He knew he was being childish. But at least if the pair went back downstairs they wouldn’t hear him being childish.
“I’m gone for five minutes.” Geralt mutters, and Jaskier turns back over. Hearing the door shut, and then a lot quieter, the sound of Geralt sniffing. Scenting him. “Oh.”
“Shut up.”
“What?” Ciri comes over, sitting down heavily in the nest and Jaskier turns to wrap himself around her awkwardly. His bonded. His. Not some barmaids.
“Why on earth are you jealous?”
“Shut up!” Jaskier hisses, glaring up at Geralt before curling even closer around Ciri. “I’m trying not to be okay, leave me alone.” Never mind just childish. He was acting really stupidly childish.
Ciri giggles, petting at his hair. “What happened?”
“The barmaid.” He grimaces. “Asked me, to put in a good for her.” He directs this at Geralt, scowling even as he tries not to.
He’s unsurprised when Geralt laughs, the rare loud one that came from his chest.
“Shut up!” He yells, smiling a little despite himself. Because Geralt laughing like this was always a lovely sound.
“Jask.” Geralt would be doubled over if he were human. “I can’t believe you’re jealous.”
“Okay seriously, how many times can I tell you to shut up?” He raises an eyebrow, annoyance almost gone as he watches Geralt laugh, Ciri now laughing too as she looked down at him. She could probably see up his nose.
He goes to say something else, but a slight whiff causes him to stop. His senses weren’t as good as Geralt’s. But since it had only been about half a year since he had shifted his senses were definitely still heightened. And the scent is one he’s very familiar with. Geralt smells like happiness, the sweet after thunderstorm scent But now there’s a sharper twist to it, like mint. And oh, Geralt was aroused.
Obviously caused by Jaskier’s jealousy. Interesting. He files that way for later.
“Seriously.” He whines, getting Ciri to laugh even harder. “Can you both stop laughing at my misfortune please.”
“Never.” Ciri pets absently at his head. “Because somebody's jealous.” She sings the last word, drawing it out and that’s it.
Jaskier reaches up, tickling her until she’s crying with her laughter, hitting at him uselessly until he stops, giggling and crawling away to wrap herself into one of the blankets to get away.
While she’s distracted, he shoots Geralt a look. One he hopes Geralt understands as ‘I smell that on you, and we’ll talk later.’
Geralt meets his eyes and grunts with a small nod. It was nice knowing that they got each other without words. Obviously it had mostly come from their decades travelling together, being around a person that long meant you learnt pretty much everything about them. But their getting together had helped, and so had them being bonded.
Geralt had said once, into the quiet of the night when they had been curled up under the stars, that Jaskier being able to scent him, even if his senses weren’t as heightened as his own, helped a great deal too. Geralt had never been good with words, more focused on his actions. So being able to smell the emotions that didn’t show on his face helped them both a lot. Especially since Geralt could be frowning and still be bursting with joy.
“The pair of you are awful.” He complains, flopping back down and burrowing into the blankets. “See if we get your hair dye now Ciri. And see if I ever kiss you again Geralt.” He practically howls, getting the chuckles he wants.
“Hair dye?” Ciri perks up, and Jaskier looks to Geralt from under his pile of blankets.
“You didn’t tell her?”
“Hmm.” Geralt just shrugs.
“Well Ciri. We’re letting you cut and dye your hair for the ball.”
“OH!” She squashes him with a hug before bouncing up, throwing herself at Geralt to give him the same bone crushing squeeze. “Thank you thank you thank you thank you!”
Jaskier watches as Geralt pets her hair, hugging back gently. “We’ll go and get you some later.”
“Or now! Please?”
“I think it’s best if you’re not seen buying it.” Jaskier says gently. “But I can go and get it, and then when we’re next camping I can cut it and dye it.”
She deflates a little, but nods all the same. “I guess that makes sense. Okay. Oh, can you pick me up some brown hair dye? Not black, I don’t have the complexion for it. But not too light either, I don’t want to go mousy brown.”
Jaskier keeps to himself the fact that then she’d probably look more like him, although her features would still be as prominent as Geralt’s. It must have something to do with destiny, their features being eerily similar. But with hair colour the same as his, she’d look like a mixture of them. Their daughter.
And oh does that make his gut twist. Because she wasn’t theirs and never would be. But she acted like she was. And he clings to that thought. The fact that she treated them like parents.
“You’ll look great sweet pea.” He answers when she stops babbling, throwing her hands around much like he does as she articulates. “I’ll pick the dye up before we head off okay?”
“Thank you!” She beams, and he smiles right back.
-
He’s unsurprised to see the barmaid serving Geralt and Ciri that night. Because they had apparently wanted to see him perform. Even though they did that practically every night. But Geralt hadn’t found another job, so he guessed it was either join Jaskier downstairs or stay upstairs on his own given that Ciri was always by Jaskier’s side in the evenings.
Ignoring the spike of jealousy in his gut as she hangs around their table in the back, he turns back to the audience, songs a little sweeter given how early it was in the evening. His raunchier ones were left when the younger patrons had left or been taken home. But sweet doesn’t mean soft and the patrons are clapping along, singing loudly and sloshing their drinks everywhere.
Trying his best doesn’t seem to be working as his eyes continually find the back table, although he’s glad he’s able to perform so well given he doesn’t frown in their direction. She doesn’t seem to be doing much thankfully, just chatting. But she seems to have forgotten to do her work, so caught up in trying to get conversation from the pair. Ciri is chatting along, because somebody had to if Jaskier wasn’t there to keep the person occupied. But he’s glad to see that Geralt has defaulted back to his grunts and hums, he can practically hear them even from tables away.
It warms him, knowing that Geralt isn’t playing into her attention. Not that Jaskier thought he would. But if they wanted to stay in the tavern for the next two days and keep favour within the town they would have to act a certain way, pander to their hosts. Not cause trouble.
Apparently though, the barmaid isn’t bothered by his lack of replies, sitting next to them. And really, Jaskier wants to stop playing, storm over and throw himself into Geralt’s lap, stake his claim and run the barmaid off with a flash of too sharp teeth. But really, he inwardly snorts to himself, fingers not misplacing any chords, playing on autopilot. He knew he didn’t need to do that. Knew Geralt would grumble, not keen on the outward display of affection amongst people they couldn’t trust.
So instead, he manages to tear his eyes away, going back to playing and focusing on the task at hand.
It’s two hours later when he watches Geralt take Ciri up to their room. Bidding the barmaid a terse goodnight as they scoot around her. Geralt sends a wink his way when they manage to lock eyes before he goes up the stairs. And Jaskier finishes his set shortly after that. Grabbing his coin and bidding everyone a good night before heading upstairs himself. Heart already racing.
Geralt is in their nest when he opens the door, and he takes care to lock it afterwards. And Ciri is in her bed, stretched out and reading. She was re-reading one of the books Vesemir had given her in Kaer Morhen.
“Jask.” Geralt drawls, looking up from where he was sharpening his swords.
“I got enough for dye. We can move on a little earlier if you both want?”
“Nooooo.” Ciri protests, although it’s through a yawn. “I want a bed for a few more days. And.” She smirks then. “You only want to move on because you’re jealous. Did you see her, hanging around us all night?” She’s laughing at him, although not unkindly. Eyes sparkling with mischief and he rolls his own back at her.
“I did. She at least seemed to be a good conversation partner.”
“Hmm.” Geralt makes a noise and Ciri slaps at him. “Stop being mean." She pauses. “She did talk a lot though. And it’s annoying when it’s not you.” She shrugs, and Jaskier’s heart only has a second to warm before Geralt is snorting.
“It’s annoying when he does it as well.”
“Oi!” Jaskier can’t help it, laughing as he pounces on Geralt, going to tickle him and shove him back, mindful of the swords that Geralt let’s clatter to the floorboards. “Take it back!”
“You’re both so gross.” Ciri groans. “Seriously.”
Geralt had caught him, hands on his waist and grinning even as Jaskier tried to tickle, immovable as he held Jaskier at arms length.
“Says you.” Jaskier laughs, leaning over to the bed that’s next to the nest, knowing Geralt won’t let him overbalance and fall as he shoves at her gently. “Little Miss Will Happily Bathe in Mud.”
“Mud is good for the skin.” She sniffs. “Yenn told me.”
“Yes, herbalist mud. Not just, every day actual mud. Mud that probably has horse shit in it.”
“EW!” She shrieks, making as if to throw the book at him. “I’m gonna tell Yenn you said she was wrong!”
“I didn’t say she was wrong! I said she wasn’t specific enough. If you’re gonna tattle on me at least do it right.”
They had met up with Yennefer briefly since leaving Kaer Morhen. But she had been needed at Aretuza, remnants of the war still causing chaos. So it had only been a short visit. Enough for Ciri to be able to fill her in on how her power had been growing. As well as enough time for Jaskier to have another drink with her, both knowingly looking at each other over the cups, only to smirk when Geralt had asked what they were up to.
They weren’t up to anything. But since their bonding session the few years prior, they now had an understanding. And part of that understanding, was making sure to tease Geralt whenever they could.
Geralt had told her they were together before she had even spoken to Ciri. And all she had done was laugh and shake her head with a knowing look at the bard before moving on as if nothing had ever happened. Really, he could see them becoming very good friends. Especially given her constant need to cause trouble.
“I’m totally gonna tell her.” Ciri huffs, bringing him back to the present and he sticks his tongue out at her which she mimics before pointedly going back to her book.
“You do that.” He teases right back before wiggling out of Geralt’s grip to fall beside him, lounging back and stretching. He looks up, wiggling his eyebrows meaningfully and Geralt just raises one back. Although it’s the one that means he understands and not the one that’s just general curiosity.
They’d talk when Ciri was asleep.
-
It’s good that Ciri slept like the dead, because if not she’d be awake for hours with their nightly hushed conversations.
“Hm.” Geralt grunts, stretched out under the sheets on his side facing Jaskier, one hand on the bards hip drawing meaningless lines into his skin with his fingertips. Ciri had just fallen asleep, given that his grunt is a lot more hushed than it had been. And Jaskier takes that as his cue.
“So. Are we going to talk about before? Because I smelt that on you. You can’t hide that shit from me.”
Geralt laughs then, barely a rumble in his chest. “I wouldn’t want to.”
“So.” Jaskier pokes him gently in the chest. “Explain yourself.”
“What’s there to tell?” He lowers his voice even further, and Jaskier knows he definitely wouldn’t be able to hear if he weren’t a dragon. “Seeing you jealous. It’s fucking hot.”
Jaskier hisses at the blunt words and groans. “Shit. Next time we get a room to ourselves, i’m fucking you senseless okay?”
Geralt just smirks, because of course he does. Jaskier has to sober the moment though and ask- “But really, it doesn’t bother you?”
“No, why would it?”
“Because you’re your own person who doesn’t belong to me?”
“I know that.” Geralt shrugs under his hand from where it was resting in the crook of his neck. “But I think you and I have different feelings about jealousy. I know that you know that you don’t own me.”
The nights made Geralt a lot less afraid to speak. And as the dark grew, if they were safe in a bed, then he was a lot more open. Jaskier loved it. Loved that he was the one Geralt was the most open with, the person that he wanted to be open with, sharing words and affection when he felt comfortable enough and almost always felt comfortable around Jaskier.
“But jealousy is fairly natural when you see someone flirting with your partner. That’s just how brains work.” He thinks for a second. “Most of them.”
“Oh.” Jaskier hadn’t thought of that. Even with his experience with jealous spouses or potential courtiers. He’d been stabbed plenty of times, he really did think he’d get it by now. “But you know then that my uh, jealousy.” Oh how he hated that word in reference to himself. “It’s not because I think I own you or anything right? Like, you know I don’t think that.”
“I do.”
“Okay. Okay good.”
“Are you going to tell me why this is a constant fear of yours one day?” And ah, a more open Geralt meant more questions.
“I mean probably. Hopefully. Just. Not right now.”
“No. Not right now.” Geralt leans in then, wrapping his arm tightly around Jaskier, pulling him close until Jaskier can bury his nose in Geralt’s chest. “One day. I’de like you to tell me.”
“I’ll try.”
“That’s all you can do sweetheart.” Jaskier grins then at the pet name, feeling such a rush of love that chokes his throat. All he can do to answer is kiss Geralt’s bare chest, nosing in closer and breathing in the smell of thunderstorms and sunshine that he’d gotten used to.
“Love you.” He mutters, and feels Geralt’s arm tighten.
“Love you too.”
-
It’s two more nights of the same. Playing to a crowd that thankfully wants to listen and participate while he keeps one eye on the barmaid that hovers around Ciri and Geralt’s table.
And it’s made even more annoying because she’s perfectly nice and kind to all of them, even him. Especially when they go down for lunch, slipping them a bit more food or ale as she chatted. Honestly, he feels bad for disliking her, the jealousy taking over even when he tries his hardest to push it down.
The morning after their last evening, Jaskier had headed out early to get the dye from the local healers, coming back in time to meet Geralt and Ciri at the bottom of the stairs.
“Got it?” Ciri asks, fluttering around him excitedly given that he promised that when they got to the next stream he’d dye it and cut it for her.
“I do.”
“Got what?” The barmaid asks once again and he turns, seeing her at the bar, eyes firmly on Geralt. Probably realising that this was her last chance to say anything or do anything.
“Just some dye.” He bristles, and then rolls his eyes at himself. “Grey hairs, you know how it is.” A self deprecating joke was better than none at all at least and she laughs.
“Hmm, I guess only your witcher could pull off the grey look so well.”
“I doubt that.” He’s jerked suddenly to the side, startled enough that he goes with it and he’s pulled into Geralt’s side. Geralt keeps his arm around Jaskier’s waist and kisses the side of his head. “I think he’d suit grey, don’t you think Fiona?”
“Oh definitely.” She nods, all three gauging the barmaid’s shocked reaction. She splutters for a second, face redding.
“I can’t believe you let me make such a fool of myself bard!” She gasps, hands going to her chest as she shakes her head. “Men, you’re all the same.”
Oddly enough, she’s taking it rather well and he shrugs.
“Eh, you don’t know how small towns can be. Better not to say anything.”
“No that’s true. Well, be off with you then. Leave me to my embarrassment in peace.” She’s acting put upon, but Jaskier can see her smile so he goes up and briefly kiss one of her hands.
“I’m sorry for not telling you. But now we must be off. Thank you for being such a gracious host.” He acts into her behaviour, feeling terrible really for how he had acted, and he breathes a sigh of relief when she just laughs and bats him away.
“Go, take care of your grey hairs.”
“Bye!” Ciri calls as they leave, Geralt shuffling them out and then they’re on the road again.
-
They stop to set up camp earlier than usual because they find a river that Ciri can use for her hair.
“Okay, so we cut first and then dye it.” Jaskier talks as he gets the dye and scissors out from his pack, watching Ciri as she bounced around the camp with excitement.
“Yes okay! I was thinking shoulder length, just past them.” She sits on one of the drier logs, folding her hands in her lap as she waits.
“Okay, i’ll cut it in increments. Because we can always cut it shorter but we can’t sew the hair back on.”
“Very true.” She nods, and then wiggles. “Oh i’m so excited okay okay. I’m sitting still.”
Geralt chuckles at that, sitting opposite them as he builds the fire up.
“Alright, please do actually sit still. I’ll start with a few inches and see how we go.” She does still, although the excitement is radiating off her in waves as he eventually cuts her hair in inches until it brushes just past her shoulders. Still long enough to tie up, but no longer down her back.
“Oh grandmother would never let me do this, this feels so nice!” She runs a hand through it once she’s done as Jaskier throws the spare hair onto the fire, grimacing at the smell. It’s better than having it be used to track her though. He sees Geralt grimace too and shrugs.
“Well, i’m glad we can do this for you. Now, to the river?” He’s also glad she can mention her family now without crying. Not that he’d ever fault her for doing so, and he knows she will until the day she passes. Grief was like that. But it’s nice that she feels comfortable enough to mention them in passing with positive memories attached instead of their last moments.
“Yes yes yes!” He knows she’s missed a good chunk of her early teen years to war and grief, so the over excitement doesn’t come as a surprise, her reclaiming some of that time back. He just grins at her, nodding eagerly himself.
“Well then lead the way!”
She carries on talking as she goes, babbling about maybe sewing up one of her older dresses into something new, about how Geralt had been teaching her stitching so she could reuse one of her other dresses that had been ripped in a surprise monster attack to add to the old dress in time for the ball.
“Sounds great sweet pea. Have you spoken about it with Geralt?”
“Yes! He said we can start work on it soon. We just have to plan. I think we’re taking the corset aspect out of it too, the bones in it hurt.” She frowns then, thinking about it and he nods.
“Maybe use them to structure something else?”
“Oh maybe an elaborate headpiece.” She giggles, hands going to her head to make shapes even as she kneels by the river, tipping her head forward. “It’s fucking cold.”
“Worth it though. And don’t let Geralt hear you say that.”
“I can hear from back here!” Geralt calls, obscured by a sparse line of trees separating the river, more of a brook really, from the camp and Ciri giggles, sitting up straight.
“So we have to wet my hair first yes?”
“Yeah.” He nods. “And then dry it, oh good you grabbed a towel, until it’s damp and then we put this on.” He wiggles the large jar of murky brown dye. “And wait for however long we can. And then rinse it all out."
“Okay. It looks like mud.” She eyes it for a second, sitting on her heels and he uncorks the lid.
“Doesn’t smell like it though. It smells like rosemary.”
“Okay.” She eyes it.
“You’re not a stranger to mud anyway.”
“I’m still telling Yenn.”
He laughs at her indignant tone. “Shut up and dunk your head.”
She rolls her eyes but does so, gasping as she comes up for air because of the cold. “Fuck!”
“Hey! Look. Here, towel.” He presses the towel into her hand and she takes it, muttering under her breath as she roughly dries her hair off.
“It’s gonna be worth it.” She mutters, and Jaskier barely holds back his laugh.
“Okay, wrap the towel around your shoulders, come on.” She does, clasping it at her chest as he scoops out some of the dye and unceremoniously wipes it onto her hair, applying it much like soap as he rubs it in.
It takes most of the pot and getting both of his hands dirty to rub it all in evenly, making sure all of her hair is coated. And once it warms up a little she stops complaining.
“It does actually smell nice.”
“Hmm. Like I said, rosemary.”
“Can you smell that because of your human nose or because of your dragon nose?”
“The human nose can smell the rosemary. The dragon nose can smell the undertones of a crushed up tree and it’s bark and what is also possibly another earthy substance. It could be clay as a binding agent. Oh also some cloves.”
“So there is mud in this.”
“Clay isn’t mud.”
“It sort of is.”
“You’re not complaining.”
“You’re the only one with the vendetta against mud here Jaskier.”
She’s not wrong, and he finishes up with a gentle flick to the back of her head before he washes his hands in the running water, drying them reluctantly on his shirt before Ciri gets up and they head back to their little camp.
“All sorted?” Geralt asks before he looks up.
“Nearly. Just gotta wait an hour then we can rinse it out and Fiona will have a whole new head of hair.”
“Smells nice at least.” Geralt shrugs. “Didn’t think mud could smell that nice.”
“BEAST!” Ciri shrieks as Jaskier falls about laughing, almost actually toppling over as he sits on his and Geralt’s bedroll. “You’re the worst dads ever!”
All three of them freeze then, and Jaskier turns to her where she stands, her face steadily growing a darker and darker shade of red. It’s an odd sight, her bright red with her hair piled in a brown muddy mess on top of her head. But he thinks that a confession like that wouldn’t happen any other way.
“I’ll have you know.” Jaskier starts, wanting to break the quiet and proud of himself for how his voice doesn’t shake with the rush of fond emotion he feels. “I am the best dad. Thank you very much.”
“Jaskier.” She gasps the word, eyes wide with fear that he’s glad to see is slowly turning into relief. “You’re too flighty to be a dad.”
“Don’t speak to your father that way.” Geralt grunts, and Jaskier whips his head up to see him smirking at Ciri, shit eating grin spreading across his face before Ciri throws a stick at him.
“You’re both the worst. I take back what I said.” She sits next to Jaskier, crossing her legs as she reaches to her pack to get out her sketchbook, a newer purchase.
“Too late.” Jaskier sing-songs, knocking their shoulders together. “But it’s okay, we never have to talk about it again. We’ll just be smug and happy forever.”
She doesn’t reply, instead she makes a point of ignoring him, face still flushed and he drops it. Although he does bump her shoulder gently with his own.
One of his bonded doing the human version of bonding with him. It makes his heart sing, head feeling woozy with how happy he is. He wiggles to himself, unable to stop the beam that's on his face. He’d been surprised when Ciri had accepted the initial bond, and to be thought of as a parental figure in her own words is more than he ever thought he could have.
“You’re face is gonna stick like that.” Ciri grouses.
“So let it.”
“Urg.”
He just chuckles, reaching for his lute, and let’s himself play out his joy until it’s time to wash out the dye.
-
Geralt climbs into their bedrolls later that evening after Ciri had gone to sleep. Hair a soft brown colour around her shoulders, carefully tied up by Geralt’s own nimble fingers. She was snoring softly, the beginning of a cold that Jaskier makes a mental note to keep an eye on.
“So how badly did you want to cry?” He asks as he turns over, arms instantly going around Geralt’s waist.
“I don’t cry.”
“Bullshit, your eyes were watering. I could see them.”
“Jask, witchers can’t cry.”
“They also say you don’t have feelings but that’s not fucking true either.”
“No, I think they took my tear ducts out.”
“Gross. Also inhumane.”
“Told you.”
“Urg.” He nuzzles into Geralt’s chest, grimacing thinking about Geralt’s treatment.
“Hm.” Geralt kisses the top of his head and he tilts his head back, leaning in for a proper kiss.
“I almost cried.” He admits, and Geralt smiles. It’s small and indulgent, and Jaskier stifles a laugh when he rolls his eyes.
“I know you did.”
“She really thinks that huh?” He can’t keep the giddy tone out of his voice, and he headbutts Geralt gently to try and get some of his excitement out. “I could fly with happiness.”
“It’s nice, knowing she thinks that. I’m glad she feels that way.”
“Shit, we’re her dads.”
“We are.” Jaskier looks up to find Geralt smiling and leans over to press a kiss to his jaw.
“I can’t believe we’re here. This is, well it’s the last place I expected us to end up.”
“I’m glad we’re here though.” When he’s like this, Geralt always speaks softly. As if speaking any louder will alert somebody or something of his happiness and take it away. So different to how he was in Kaer Morhen and it hurts Jaskier’s heart.
Slowly though, Jaskier was making sure he felt secure and safe when they were out in the world. Like now, he squeezes Geralt’s hip, pulling him as close as he can.
“I am too, my love.”
“Hmm, I saw you almost burst with happiness.”
“I really did.” Jaskier wiggles. “It’s different than just accepting the bond. It means so much knowing that she created her own bond.” It’s hard explaining it. The feeling.
Geralt grunts, and Jaskier wiggles again when he feels Geralt nose at his hair. “Well you’re our bard. Of course she would bond in her own way.”
“Just like you did?”
“Mostly.” Geralt growls, rolling his hips forward just a fraction and chuckles when Jaskier whines almost silently. Knowing they can’t do anything with Ciri across camp.
“Fucking tease.”
“Hm, that’s why you love me.”
“Do you want me to list all the reasons I love you? Because we’ll be here for hours.”
“That a threat?”
“Maybe.” He grins up cheekily, laughing into Geralt’s mouth when he leans down to kiss him.
“Go to sleep love.”
“Hmm.” He snuggles close, smiling at the protective arm Geralt throws around his back, wiggling his arm underneath Jaskier’s head so he can rest on it. “Night my love.”
“Night Jask.”
-
They spend the next few days on the road. Passing through towns but not stopping.
“Seriously. Can we not stop somewhere with a bed?” Ciri whines on the fourth day, and Jaskier would be agreeing with her if he knew they didn’t have to make time.
“You can get an entire room to yourself when we get there sweet pea.”
“Urg.” She’s slumped behind Geralt, head resting on his back as they trot along the road. It’s weird seeing a small head of brown hair behind Geralt instead of blonde, but he knows he’ll get used to it.
Given her small confession, she had been a lot more open with her feelings which was nice. Even if it meant that they hear her complaining a lot more. It just meant she was comfortable.
“We’ve got two more days.” Geralt grunts.
“That’s too long.” She huffs, but doesn’t say anymore.
Not until another twenty minutes have passed anyway. Jaskier had gone back to playing, trusting Buttercup to follow Roach like she always did but he stops when Ciri speaks up again.
“Can we stop in the next town for a proper meal at least please.”
“We’ve got the coin for it.” Jaskier adds, tone wheedling a little and he watches as Geralt’s shoulders tense in the way he means he’s thinking, and then relax, although he turns his head specifically so he and Ciri can see him roll his eyes.
“Fine.”
Ciri punches the air before wobbling, hurriedly going to clutch back at Geralt’s waist. “Just for lunch, we can even be very quick I promise.”
Geralt just grunts, and Ciri flashes Jaskier a thumbs up behind her back, making Jaskier cackle as they continue their journey.
-
Over the days of travel, Ciri and Geralt work on her dress. They would pick her up a new one in Oxenfurt so she would have a few outfits to change into. But Jaskier watches their delight as they create a new one from the old during the evenings.
It’s quiet in its domesticity, although they bicker back and forth about what’s best, and Jaskier feels his heart melt as Geralt teaches Ciri how to sew properly, showing her different techniques as they slowly start stitching her a new dress.
The old corset boning gets reused but for detail instead, the whittling lessons Ciri had learnt from Vesemir getting used to detail the boning to be used within the neckline of the dress.
Her old dress too is used, being inserted into the top part of the dress given both fabrics were of deep green colours, and the difference in them complimented the other beautifully. With the extra fabric, the sleeves are elongated to points that attach at her finger too.
He’s surprised that Geralt knows about dresses. Or making them at least. Because the sewing made sense, he had to stitch up his armour and clothes sometimes as well as himself. Even though Jaskier did that now, especially when it was in spots he couldn’t reach himself.
But knowing about making clothes was different. So the night before they get to Oxenfurt he asks, tucking into one of the rabbits he had caught them.
“How do you know how to make dresses? I’m impressed.” He says it truthfully, smiling at Geralt across the campfire. “I never pegged you as one to hold that knowledge.”
Geralt just shrugs, as always. Although when he looks at his hands, Jaskier can see him smiling, just a little. “I used to make my own clothes, back when I first started out and had no money. It was cheaper to buy a bolt of cloth than it was to keep buying shirts. I didn’t make dresses back then, but it makes sense when you know the basics.”
Jaskier doesn’t realise he’s resting his head in his hand, leaning his elbow on his knee until he sighs, although he doesn’t bother to move, rabbit forgotten. “I’m so in love with you it’s unreal.”
“Oh gross.” Ciri gags. “Finish your rabbit before I actually vomit.”
“You’ll be like this one day.” Jaskier sniffs, and finally looks over to Geralt who is trying to catch his eye. When Jaskier finally looks he just raises an eyebrow. But then he smiles, a little bashfully, and shrugs helplessly. And Jaskier knows if it were just them he’d currently be pinned to the floor and ravished.
So he just leers back, laughing when Geralt frowns and huffs, getting a shove to his shoulder from Ciri.
“Gross.” She grimaces again. And Jaskier’s laughter filters into the night.
-
Jaskier is unsurprised by the fanfare that greets them when they get to Oxenfurt. And his draconic pride swells at the welcome that’s practically showered on them as they enter the university.
“Master Julian!” A voice greets after they’ve handed the horses off to one of the stableboys, and Jaskier turns to beam at the now wizened professor.
“Professor Hawthorn!” He bows low, laughing at the clip around his ear she gives him. “Thank you for the welcome!”
She was the professor that knew, and had been protecting him for years, and with him returning the sense of protectiveness for her comes back in full force. Especially seeing how much she’s aged now, bones visible as spectacles balance precariously on her nose.
“Well of course.” She laughs. “Who are your guests?” Turning to Geralt and Ciri who were waiting and fidgeting behind Jaskier, she grins, and he almost laughs when he watches them try their best not to smile back too awkwardly.
“Ah, this is my family. Geralt and Fiona respectively.” He introduces, almost tripping and introducing them as his bonded. The most important people in his life, the people he would die for, how Geralt was his soulmate. How Ciri was practically his daughter.
Family would do.
She laughs though, as if she knows what he means and holds a hand out to both of them in turn, smiling even wider as they awkwardly shake. “Well this is just wonderful. Come, i’ll send to get an extra room prepared. You’re lucky you’re early Julian. We can get you adjoining rooms.”
“That would be brilliant thank you.” He says as he follows her, feeling like a student again as the three of them follow her like baby ducklings.
It feels like home, being back inside the walls of the university, and he takes a deep breath as they walk, getting used to the new smells and sounds as they navigate the well worn hallways, smiling at people as they pass, most of whom are carrying supplies for the event.
“Here we are. You’re not expected to perform tonight Julian, but you will be given a schedule. We have a few others performing too.”
“Don’t tell me he’s here?” He grimaces and she laughs, automatically knowing who he means.
“Valdo Marx has not come back this year. Too busy for us lowly educators.” Jaskier doesn’t miss the acidity and contempt in her voice, and is very glad he wheedled Geralt into coming back.
“Well that just means the atmosphere will be lighter then.” He smooths over. “Thank you, is dinner still at the same time?”
“Of course. Now i’ll leave you to it.” She leaves with a nod, and Jaskier hustles the bewildered pair into their rooms.
“Who’s Valdo Marx?” Ciri asks, and Geralt actually laughs then as he shuts the door.
“Don’t get him started Ciri. He’ll never shut up.”
“I resent that.” Jaskier hisses. “Valdo Marx is an absolute shit stain. Scum of the earth. A cad! A no good do nothing bastard!”
“He insulted Jask once-”
“He insulted me my entire time here Geralt!-”
“You wished death upon him!” Geralt is chuckling, and with the door shut now he comes over to Jaskier, smoothing his hands down the bards arms. “Really, you hold an impressive grudge.”
“Okay gross, i’ll find out later. I’m assuming this door is to my room?” Ciri is asking, even as she’s marching to the second door and flinging it open, finding a room much like the one they’re currently in but with a single bed instead of a double and there’s a bath in the corner surrounded by partitions. “Oh this is lovely. I’m calling first bath!”
“Fine.” Jaskier rolls his eyes, and makes a happy note that there’s no secondary door out so nobody could get into her room without going through theirs first. And the windows are small enough that nobody could get through those.
Good. Nobody could get her there, and although she could take care of herself, it was nice knowing she was especially safe.
“Wake me up for dinner, don’t be loud.” She says, and shuts the door firmly. Jaskier tilts his head, listening to her put her bag down and starts sorting through her things, and with the normality of the actions he focuses back on Geralt.
“He’s a bastard you know.” Geralt’s hands are still on his arms, rubbing circles into the fabric with his thumbs, and he laughs when Geralt hums.
“So you said.”
“Thank you, for letting us come back here.” He wraps his own arms around Geralt’s waist, pulling him close so that Geralt has to wind his own arms around his neck.
“I’m glad we did. You look good here, happier. Content.”
“It’s safe here.” Jaskier tilts his head to nuzzle at Geralt’s jaw. “It was my first proper home.”
“Will I hate the promised dinner?”
“Oh absolutely. You think i’m bad?” He scoffs. “Wait till you hear some of the bards here.” Tilting his own head back when Geralt mimics his movement he sighs into the soft touch, knowing Geralt was scenting him, cared enough to. It was nice.
“I never said you were bad.”
“No you just imply it with every eye roll.” He tightens his grip, chuckling lowly when Geralt nips at his jaw for the tease.
“Guess I better prepare myself then.”
“Seriously, you’ll have to.” Jaskier warns.
“We’ll see.”
-
Jaskier watches as Geralt almost breaks his goblet with how hard his irritated grip is and deftly takes it from him, threading his fingers through Geralt’s own to hold them on the table.
He barely resists saying ‘I told you so’ as Geralt grits his teeth.
There are about six separate conversations going on over the long table they’re seated at, and at least three of the seven bards have instruments out and are playing them. Jaskier sniffs at the lack of tact, but is able to ignore it after having grown up in such a similar environment. Plus most of the time in the halls, he had been the one with his lute out.
At least he’d grown out of it.
Glancing past Geralt to Ciri, he finds her speaking with the girl next to her, both looking a little overwhelmed but already companionable. He breathes a quiet sigh of relief at that, and notes that the girl is the daughter of one of the professors and the relief sinks in further.
“Look at her making friends.” He whispers proudly in Geralt’s ear, bringing their joined hands up to kiss Geralt’s knuckles.
Geralt just grunts, but he doesn’t pull his hand away, a little more comfortable here than he would be in a tavern somewhere due to Jaskier’s comfort. Although Jaskier would never try this out somewhere he knew neither were comfortable. And Geralt knows that too.
He squeezes once, a silent check in, and relaxes when Geralt squeezes back.
“So.” There’s a student opposite them and he leans forward, resting his chin in his hand. Jaskier likes him a lot better than the ones who had their instruments out already. “I know how you met, because everyones knows the story.” Jaskier pouts as Geralt rolls his eyes at that. “But when did you become a proper thing? Honestly, we all thought it was unrequited on Julians part.”
“Hey!” He protests, pride flaring a little under his skin. And promptly he decides he doesn’t like this bard either. Geralt just squeezes his hand to keep him where he is.
It works too, Jaskier relaxes his metaphorical hackles and slumps back.
“Never unrequited.” Geralt says, with too much confidence for something that is definitely a lie considering he didn’t even understand what his feelings were for a while and even those feelings weren’t until a few decades in.
But it’s a defence towards the student who was close to pitying. So Jaskier doesn’t say anything, although he definitely will later.
“Oh? It took you so long though. Julian was pining for years, honestly we were getting worried.” He’s leaning forward even further now, and Jaskier just know he's trying to get a story from it. Their story. So he sits back and does his best Geralt impression. The only ballad written about him and his witcher would be from him thank you. Also, the offence he feels from the last comment that was definitely sarcastic really riles him. Who did this guy think he was?
“Well you can’t rush these things.” Geralt just holds onto his hand tighter. “You’ll find out about it when you’re older kid. Less naive.” Geralt takes a sip of his drink. “And hopefully less obvious in your fishing for gossip too. It’s unbecoming.”
Jaskier watches as the guy splutters, sitting back with wide eyes as a deep flush crosses his features. “I gotta-” And then he’s up, legs shaking a little as he walks off.
Somebody laughs, and both Jaskier and Geralt turn to the head of the table where another professor was seated, sipping at her own drink. “Be prepared for a badly written yet scathing ballad written about you witcher. Nathaniel has his pride hurt far too easily.”
“Can’t be any worse than what Jaskier has written.”
Jaskier gasps, unlinking their fingers to slap at him. “I resent that-”
“And anyway. Nobody insults my bard.” Geralt just carries on over him, nonchalant as he uses his free hand now to tuck back into his food properly and if Jaskier wasn’t in public he’s pretty sure he’d swoon.
His head hurts from the quick change in emotion, but really. How could Geralt do that to him, say something that Jaskier knew meant a lot more and not expect him to react in any way. For his small smirk, Jaskier knows he knows what he’s doing too.
Instead of doing what he wants, which is to dramatically fall into Geralt’s side and make a big deal out of what he said, pride at being the one Geralt loved and possessive nature wanting to trill at the fact that he was Geralt’s, he instead just locks his ankle around Geralt’s under the table and tunes in to a different conversation.
-
Later than night, he swoons as he had wanted to earlier, right into Geralt’s arms after changing into sleep pants, giggling as Geralt just gently lowers him onto the bed. He rolls to his back, wiggling so he’s properly under Geralt, hands going to rest against Geralt’s chest as he thumbs over the skin there, catching on some of the scars there.
Geralt is chuckling above him as he straddles Jaskier’s thighs.
Ciri had gone to sleep a while ago, safe in the other room and tired out from the socialisation.
“Can’t believe you lied to that kid, it wasn’t always requited Geralt you know that.” He tilts his head back though as he talks, letting Geralt kiss at his jaw, his neck, stopping at his collarbones to suck a bruise there and Jaskier’s toes curl in pleasure at the sting of the bite.
“Hmm, it is now though.” He just bites a little harder with his comment, licking over the skin afterwards before moving to mouth at the junction between Jaskier’s neck and shoulder.
“Very true.” Jaskier wiggles his hips, laughing when Geralt grunts at the friction on his dick.
“Fuck me c’mon.”
“So impatient my love.” Jaskier chides, but reaches up to tilt Geralt’s mouth towards him to kiss him properly, wasting no time and licking straight into his mouth. “Oil?” He asks when he breaks away and Geralt nods, leaning over to the small table by the bed to grab the vial.
“Don’t know why you even bothered getting pants on.” He growls, uncorking the vial with his teeth with one hand, and pushing at Jaskier’s waistband with the other.
“Just to tease, my love.” He helps, pushing his pants down and kicking them off before reaching for Geralt’s own, tugging until they’re gone too.
“Fucker.”
“S’why you love me, hmm, turn around c’mon wanna see.” Geralt turns around, passing Jaskier the vial and Jaskier sits up, awkwardly kneeling as Geralt kneels, dropping his head to his arms and chest to the bed.
“Get on with it.” He growls, stinking of lust and want. And Jaskier gently slaps his ass when he swings it.
“Hmm, don’t want to rush this love.” He oils his fingers up, gently setting the vial back on the table before leaning forward, kissing up Geralt’s back and then down again, biting as he goes until he gets to Geralt’s ass.
He swipes one of his fingers over Geralt’s hole, humming at Geralt’s impatient hiss before tapping inside of his thighs, placing an open mouthed kiss to the small of Geralt’s back when he parts them even further, leaving himself more open.
Sitting back on his heels, Jaskier thumbs over his hole once again, delighting at the shiver it gets him and the sway of hips before slowly inserting his first finger.
Once he’s to the knuckle he waits as Geralt gets used to it. It had taken a while for Geralt to let him do this, take care of him, even when the witcher said he could take things. Prep was always the most important part. And even if he could take two fingers straight away with only a little sting, that sting was still too much if it wasn’t pleasurable.
“There you go my darling.” He whispers when Geralt starts to grind back, shifting his hips and he adds the second, waiting again before he starts to scissor them, pushing in and out and feeling until he finds Geralt’s sweet spot. He smiles when he hits it, grinning even further hearing the choked off hine it gets from Geralt, one that’s quickly buried into the crook of his arm so as not to make too much noise. “That’s it my love.” He praises. “So good, my own. Doing so well.”
“For fucks sake Jask, fuck me.” Geralt grits out as Jaskier continues to massage his prostate and Jaskier just tuts.
“One more finger sweetheart then we’ll see hmm? See how good you’ve been.”
“Oh fuck off.”
“Sorta the opposite of what we’re doing here darlin’.”
“Fuck you.”
“Maybe after i’ve fucked you hm?” He laughs at Geralt’s exasperated huff, knowing that it’s definitely a possibility.
He adds a third finger, and soon Geralt is writhing back against them, openly panting as Jaskier holds out, hard and leaking against his own thigh.
He wasn’t bothered though, not much. Too focused on making sure his bonded was satisfied. “Think you can come from my fingers alone?” He gasps, surging forward to lean over Geralt, fully lean his weight against his back as he bites down harshly on Geralt’s shoulder. Still fingering him sloppily, pressing against Geralt’s prostate with every thrust, grinding his fingers into the spot to make Geralt keen against him, pushing back into his grip.
“My love please.” He gasps back, and Jaskier bites at his neck, sucking what he hopes is a bruise into the soft skin there earning himself a quiet moan.
“Want just my fingers? Or want me to touch you my love?” He presses his dick into the swell of Geralt’s ass, grinding there for a second just for the friction.
“Just, fingers. Please.” He’s wanton, mouth open and panting against his own forearm and Jaskier leans further forward to kiss at his cheek and already sweaty temple.
It was wonderful, seeing how easily and quickly he could make Geralt become undone, a panting writhing mess. He was so honoured, knowing he was the only one. It only gets him harder and he has to pull his hips away, leaning back onto his heels so he doesn't come too soon, just from the sight before him.
Leaning down though, a little to distract himself and a lot because he wants to hear the noise Geralt will make, he leans forward and licks at Geralt’s rim around his fingers, getting the cut off moan he wants and grins into the soft skin of Geralt’s ass before leaning back in to swipe the flat of his tongue messily around his digits.
It’s wet and messy, and by the time Geralt is thrusting back onto his face he’s covered with oil and spit as he licks at Geralt’s ass. Once or twice managing to push the tip in along with his fingers, drinking in every little moan Geralt makes, almost drunk off it.
From there it’s only a minute or two before Geralt comes, desperately grinding back against Jaskier’s face and hand before he shudders, moaning through his teeth sunk into his arm as he tries to keep quiet.
“Oh my own.” Jaskier moans, just from the sight of Geralt coming undone and with his free hand has to gip himself to stop himself from coming just from that. “You need a minute?”
Geralt just grunts, staying there for a second while Jaskier runs his hands up and down his back soothingly before he rises, turning around almost too fast and Jaskier falls back against the pillows.
“You okay there my darling?” He chuckles, letting Geralt pull him down the bed a little, straddling his thighs. “Wait, here hold on.” He grabs the vial again as Geralt stills, sitting on Jaskier’s thighs as he waits, raking his eyes appreciatively up and down Jaskier’s body.
“Fuck you’re gorgeous.” He breathes. “So glad you’re mine. Hurry up.”
“Doing it love.” Jaskier preens, quickly slicking himself up before replacing the vial again. “Go, now.”
He moans at Geralt’s hand on his dick, own dick already hardening back up on his messy stomach, come still dripping down onto Jaskier’s own which will be a bitch to clean up later given his hair but it’s worth it.
Especially with the harsh breath Geralt lets out as guides Jaskier’s dick into his ass and they both gasp when he starts to sink down.
It’s almost already too much, the hot wet heat of Geralt. And the way he squeezes down with every hitched breath.
“Fuck you feel so good my sweet.” He moans, and then promptly copies Geralt from before and bites at his own arm, because really they didn’t want to wake Ciri up. Especially with this.
“Love you. Shit.” Geralt bottoms out and throws his head back, holding still as his hands scramble to find purchase in the sheets until they settle on Jaskiers chest, flexing as he gets used to the feeling, head rolling on his shoulders in lieu of making sounds.
“Hmm, my own.” He murmurs, getting cut off when Geralt clenches around him. “Fuck.”
And then Geralt starts moving, and Jaskier almost whites out. He’d be worried, but every time was like this. Their connection, their bond, his love for Geralt enhancing everything.
“Fuck-” He gasps, before biting down harshly on his arm to stop him from saying anything else.
“Jask.” Geralt husks, just rocking in place barely, enough to tease.
Jaskier goes to say something, anything, but then Geralt seems to plant his hands a little more firmly on his chest and rises up, just a little and drops back down, pushing a grunt from the both of them.
Then he does it again, throwing his head back and Jaskier moves his hands from where they had been uselessly lying by his head to Geralt’s hips, gripping and guiding him as much as he can as he continues to rise and fall, the pressure and movement going straight to his head as he gets lost in the rhythm.
It doesn't take too long before Geralt is practically bouncing on his dick, muscled thighs rippling as he uses them to move, Jaskier doing nothing but holding him at the waist as Geralt set the pace, whining near silently every time he bottomed out.
“My love. My own, my darling, my sweetheart.” Jaskier is babbling, eyes unable to leave Geralt’s blissed out expression. “Fuck you wanna come again? Gonna come on my cock?”
“Yes.” Geralt hisses, and Jaskier grips at his hips harder. Holding him in place as best he can, he starts to thrust up with every downstroke of Geralt’s and Geralt chokes on a breath at the sudden movement. “Shit, my love.”
“That’s it.” He’s almost too wrapped up in Geralt’s own pleasure to feel his own orgasm building, the sounds of flesh on flesh fuelling his desire with every thrust. And Geralt is only pushing him further, clenching on every downstroke, breath coming out in gasps as he keeps his mouth open and pliant, trying not to make too much noise. “Come for me love. My own please.”
Geralt is nodding, leaning back trusting Jaskier has a tight enough hold on him and it takes a few more thrusts before he comes again over Jaskier’s chest. He clenches down as he comes, falling forward to bury his moan into Jaskier’s shoulder and with that Jaskier comes too, spilling inside of geralt as he moans into Geralt’s ear, clutching at him tightly as he grinds his hips into Geralt until he’s finished, babbling nonsense into his ear until he stops.
“Fuck.” Geralt collapses onto him, knowing that Jaskier can take his full weight due to him being a dragon and huffs into his ear. Nosing underneath his jaw and biting gently in his own show of possessiveness that Jaskier knows would get him hard again if he weren’t so tired.
“My own.” He kisses Geralt’s temple, before very carefully pulling out, hissing at the feeling on his overly sensitive dick. “I need a bath tomorrow fuck.”
Geralt just chuckles, running his fingers through the mess on Jaskier’s chest to spread it even further. “You’re disgusting.” Jaskier just sighs, but accepts the kiss Geralt gives him anyway.
“Gonna smell like me. Hmm. My Jask.” Geralt says as he starts cleaning them up with Jaskier’s tossed shirt.
“Yours.” Jaskier leans up, kissing Geralt again when he’s finished. Brain foggy with contentedness.
“Yours.” Geralt mimics, before rearranging them and pulling the covers over them, almost all from Jaskier’s blanket hoard. And in his last thoughts before he drifts off he vows to make a very nice nest the next day.
-
He wakes early that morning, before Geralt even, to get ready for the day’s festivities. He wasn’t performing until the evening, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the performers before him, and he was looking forward to having his bonded with him in an environment he knew he thrived.
Plus, getting to see Geralt and Ciri dressed up and dancing and happy was something that made his very bones sing with happiness.
Puttering around the room, he hears Ciri get up once he starts to make a bit more noise with getting his clothes out and things for the bath so he knocks on her door. Effectively waking Geralt too.
“Sweet pea, let me know when the bath’s free.”
There’s a very sleepy “got it” from behind the door and he laughs.
“We don’t have to do anything until I open the ceremony this evening.” He starts talking to Geralt, even as Geralt pulls the cover back over his head and growls. “So I thought I could give you a tour of Oxenfurt hm?”
“The one time we have to sleep in and you don’t take it.” Geralt grouses, still not coming out from under the covers.
“You can sleep until i’ve finished my bath.” He wheedles, because they both knew how long he took in the bath, and he watches as Geralt nods his heads from under the covers. Unable to stop himself, he goes over to pat the lump under the covers and smiles when Geralt wiggles even further into a ball.
“Here.” Ciri opens the door with a grunt. “Baths’ yours.” Still in her sleep clothes and quilt around her shoulders, she unceremoniously pushes past Jaskier to shove Geralt over to the other side of the bed before climbing onto it. Both of them now just a bundle of blankets as they fall back asleep.
Smiling to himself, he goes into Ciri’s room, taking a second to heat up the bathwater from last night that Ciri hadn’t even used, using his breath to do so without thinking, and makes himself take longer in the bath than necessary.
-
By the time he’s ready both witcher and child are up and dressed, lounging about dozing while they waited for him.
“Alright all set.” He claps his hands, laughing when they both jolt back to being awake, muttering to themselves.
“Coming.” Ciri staggers up, smiling thankfully when Jaskier steadies her. “Where are we going?” She’s blinking sleep out of her eyes, Geralt behind her doing the same as Jaskier leads them from the room.
“I thought i’de give you a tour of my old stomping grounds.”
“Please don’t tell me i’ll have to keep an eye out.” Geralt asks, hint of a growl in his voice and Jaskier laughs.
“No, not here.”
“Good. M’fuckin’ tired.”
“No this place is full of students. Really, people know what they’re getting into around here. Plus. I wasn’t that notorious yet.”
“I don’t believe that.” Geralt smirks, but then Ciri is tugging on his arm.
“Can we go to a bakery first? I'll die without breakfast.”
“Of course sweet pea. Come on. There’s a small lesser known one that does the best breakfast muffins!”
Leading them through the streets he knows so well is comforting in a way he can’t place. Tinged by nostalgia and the sounds of the town just waking up. The cobblestones are well worn under his feet, and he takes joy in pointing out various spots or places. The alley where he had first got beaten up. The hole in the wall almost-tavern where he had shared his first song. The park where he had spent most of one summer composing. It’s wonderful. Getting to share a piece of his history.
They do indeed stop at the bakery Jaskier was so fond of the now elderly owner recognises him, laughing about his lack of ageing and wagging a finger. Mentioning it where the university staff hadn’t.
“Could have sworn this one fucked one of the gods or something.” He laughs, leaning on the counter as he wraps up Ciri’s muffin. “Never seems to age, talent beyond anyone else, that sort of thing.” He’s joking, eyes kind so Jaskier let’s himself laugh.
“Well you never know good sir, I slept around so often I might just have!” Ciri giggles, laughing further when Geralt shuffles her out, although he nods in thanks when the owner waves away Jaskier’s payment.
“On the house godfucker.”
“You’re very kind.” Jakier winks, and sashays after his bonded, laughing brightly in the noonday sun. They could guess anything they wanted as long as it wasn't near his heritage. And he liked the title of ‘godfucker’ anyway, it had a nice ring to it.
“Another, to add to my legends.” He trills, leading them back to the main square, practically waltzing around the people in the slowly filling streets as they prepared for the influx of visitors for the festivities. Because even after the ball, people would still want drinks and foods to carry them into the early hours. And the town would be here to provide that.
“Jask.” Geralt groans, reeking of despair which only makes Jaskier chuckle, grabbing onto his arm and leading him to one of the tailors he knows to get Ciri another dress.
The tailor is new, but the work displayed is stunning and she takes a shine to Ciri, showing her some of the newer cuts in fashion that Ciri coo’s over and compliments her own dress which Ciri proudly shows off, dragging Geralt over to the conversation to explain how they made it on the road and the whittling of the boning.
Jaskier just watches proudly, throwing himself over one of the seats to wait until they’re done. Liking how Geralt was actually joining the conversation, if only for Ciri’s sake. He’s halting and gruff but trying and Jaskier loves him.
Taking an idle look around, the spike of want blooms in his chest. The want to buy another prettied up chemise for himself to keep and add to his hoard. But he stomps that down quickly. His hoard of blankets was enough. More than enough. The instinct to gather and collect was stupid at worst and harmful at best. No, he refused to give into it thank you very much. He was stronger than that.
So he tears his eyes away from the garment, letting his eyes close as he basks in the warmth of the shop, chattering of his bonded lulling him into a secure almost doze.
Eventually they pick out a dress, thanking the woman profusely. Jessica, he thinks her name is. And she even gives them a discount.
“Ready to go?” He stands, cracking his back earning a grimace from Ciri and they nod.
“Yes! Oh it’s lovely Jaskier! And I have that ribbon I can tie in my hair to match, you know the one I found a few weeks ago and Yenn gave me some kohl for my eyes it’s gonna be brilliant!” She rambles as they leave the shop, waving the lady goodbye and head to get some lunch.
The town doesn’t welcome him home exactly. Although after being away for so long he’s unsurprised. Everything is still the same though. Which feels like a welcome in itself. The roads were the same, and the shops handed down families still bore the same names and occupations if not the same workers.
It was nice, knowing where he was going. Able to follow his nose and not be lost.
They find a pierogi stand, and Jaskier feels like he almost buys them out. Wanting the treat. And it’s definitely worth it as they spread out on the grass in the park, all of them tucking in to their lunch making appreciative noises as people filter past.
Occasionally he’ll see people he vaguely remembers and wave at them, and they always smile back. Almost all carry on their way though, holding things and getting prepared for later. A few stop though.
“Haven’t seen you forever Master Bard.” it’s a middle aged man that stops, one of his fellow students back in the day and he smiles at the tease.
“Well not all of us could stay here Henry. How’s the wife?” He remembers him and a girl getting wildly infatuated their first year, and had ended their education with a proposal. He thanks his dragon memory for being able to remember such small details. Especially seeing the guys face light up.
“Good!” He beams. “Just had our second child. Little boy.”
“Congrats.”
“Unsurprising you have one of your own.” Henry beams, gesturing to Ciri who grins, blushing a little but pointedly raising her eyebrow at him.
“Yeah, not surprising. This is Fiona.” Henry smiles at her.
“Good to meet you. And you are?” He turns to Geralt, apprehension clear on his face but he doesn’t back down.
“Geralt.” Geralt nods and Henry smiles even wider before smirking at Jaskier.
“Should have known he was the one you wrote ballads about Jask.” He chuckles, and goes to say something else although Jaskier is drawn to Geralt who growls at the nickname.
Oh. Interesting.
“Anyway.” Henry gets his attention. “I best be off. I’ll probably see you later!”
“Bye!” Jaskier waves at him until his back is turned and then turns to Geralt who’s sulking, smirking over at him.
“I heard that!”
“Only I call you Jask.” He shrugs, but’s ruined by the sulky way he crosses his arms and Ciri giggles.
“What if I call him Jask?” She pokes him in the shoulder.
“Doesn’t matter. You’re bonded. He wasn’t.”
Jaskier snorts, standing and brushing off his clothes. “Come on then jealous arse. Let’s go back before somebody else says something.”
Geralt just growls again but he gets up. Herding Ciri up too as they follow Jaskier back to the university. Bags from the tailors back in hand.
-
It's not until Jaskier is readying for his performance a few hours later that Geralt presents him with a present. Ciri had begged off for a nap, and then to get ready herself. So it’s just him and Geralt in their room.
“What’s this?” He asks, taking the carefully wrapped parcel and he knows that if Geralt could blush he would be.
“It’s nothin’. I just, saw you looking.” He shrugs, hands twitching nervously and Jaskier can’t wait any longer so he opens the present. Laying aside the ribbon holding it together gently for Ciri. Or to tie in Geralt’s own hair. He unwraps the tissue paper slowly and can’t help but gasp when the present is revealed.
It’s the chemise he was looking at. Blue and lilac embroidery standing out starkly against the cream of the fabric. Long sleeves billowing and flowy.
“Oh my love.” He breathes into the quiet, putting it aside carefully before throwing himself at the witcher. “I love it, I love you. My own. You’re so thoughtful!” He laughs when Geralt catches him, hoisting him up slightly before putting him down, arms cradling him. “This is the second one you’ve bought me. Buy me any more and i’ll assume you have a thing for them.”
“Shut up Jaskier.” He huffs, but then ruins it by nuzzling into his throat. “I like getting things for you.”
“Is this your version of courting?” He asks, laughing when Geralt makes an affronted noise.
“No, there's. Nothing like that. And anyway. Isn’t it too late for courting?” He bites at Jaskier’s jaw, moving down to lick at his throat, pushing aside his shirt with his nose to get to Jaskier’s shoulder.
“Never too late my dear. Never.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He hums, before Jaskier’s mind blanks as he sucks an impressive bruise into the join between his shoulder and neck, practically nibbling on the skin there.
When Geralt picks him up, he just wraps his legs around his waist, laughing brightly when Geralt throws him onto the bed.
“I should be practising.” He protests, although he just gets comfortable on the mattress. Not making a move to get his lute at all, or even to get up.
Geralt just hums, climbing over him, boxing him in with his arms before peppering kisses all over his face. Keeping it sweet and light so they’re not dealing with anything unfortunate when Ciri eventually bursts into the room.
“Hmm. You don’t like people calling me Jask huh?” He asks, when Geralt goes to make a mark on his other shoulder.
“No.” He grows, truthful in a way that gets Jaskier’s toes curling. “You’re my Jask. My bonded. My heart. My jask.”
Hearing him say ‘his bonded’ has Jaskier’s heart almost leaping from his chest and he growls, rolling them over to pin Geralt underneath him, his turn to kiss his own senseless.
“I love you I love you I love you.” He chants in between kisses.
“Love you.” Geralt replies, surging up and kissing back with everything he has. “Although you gotta stop if we wanna stay decent.” He sounds put out by it and Jaskier in his kiss addled state doesn’t understand until he shoves down a little, feeling Geralt’s semi. Ah.
“Fucking hell okay.” With a last kiss, he climbs off. Rolling off the bed and almost onto the floor until he steadies himself. Throwing the chemise he was wearing off, he replaces it with the new one. It went fetchingly with his doublet, the darker colours of the embroidery standing out with the light blue of his doublet and pants.
Looking over his shoulder he laughs when he catches staring, lounging back with his hand behind his head. Semi going nowhere.
“Better go and take care of that before the party my dear. Wouldn't want to be thrown out for indecency.”
Geralt just looks at him and rolls his eyes before huffing and standing. “Fine. But you know this is your fault.”
“Of course I do. I’ll let you back in once you’re done.”
“Urg.” Geralt huffs, leaving the room without even a kiss, but his sulking leaves Jaskier cackling. Finishing getting ready himself.
-
Geralt comes back just before they’re set to leave. Almost sheepish as he comes in. Jaskier and Ciri were playing gwent, and she was definitely winning.
“They asked me to help put things up.” He admits, and Jaskier beams as Ciri laughs delightedly before standing.
“Let’s go then! Celeste should be here already!” She whirls in her skirts. The dress being her new one. A deep red that goes with her hair, and Jaskier and Geralt can do nothing but follow her out. Jaskier has his lute slung over his back, ready to open the ceremony. He should feel nervous, he knows. But how could he, when his bonded were so excited.
Even Geralt was, in his own way.
They were safe and happy. It was going to be a good few days.
The large hall is already bustling. A small band playing light dance music on the dias that’s slightly raised in the center back. To one side there’s a banquet to be picked at, and at the other there are seats. The entire place is decorated beautifully. Silks hung from the tall ceiling, creating a cloud effect as small dancing lights drifted around the place. Casting everything in a soft glow. It was positively dreamy.
“Oh I can’t wait to dance.” He breathes to Geralt. Smiling widely as Ciri leaves them without a second glance, going over to her new friend who’s surrounded by her own friends. She’s greeted with a hug and introductions. And Jaskier know she'll be safe and happy over there with them. “And where are you going my love?” He asks Geralt who was following him through the throngs of people.
“Midpoint where I can see you both.” Geralt nods. Still looking intimidating in dark silks and cottons, as well as his bare bones armour. He doesn’t have his swords though. Although that does nothing to soften his look. Jaskier loves him.
“Well you know where i’ll be. I’ll keep an eye out for you my own.” He kisses Geralt’s shoulder as they reach the dias, letting Geralt situation himself by it as he goes towards the back where he can see the professors have their own seating arranged.
“Julian!” Professor Hawthorn greets. “Just in time!”
“Good. I am assuming you’re saying a few words?”
“Ah not me, but the headmaster. He will introduce you. Wait with me.”
He sits next to her, unable to do much else as the headmaster takes his cue to go onto the stage.
It was a different headmaster from when Jaskier was there. But he knew his face. Not too well, but enough to know he was a professor first. Jaskier thinks he may have been an art professor before being promoted.
“Ah esteemed guests.” He starts, as the music comes to a faded halt. “Thank you, for attending the three hundredth anniversary of Oxenfurt University.” There’s polite clapping. “Please do indulge yourself in the food and drink we have to offer, as we showcase the best of talent from our alumni. And our most esteemed alumni shall open for us. Julian Pankratz. Now going as Jaskier. Please if you will welcome us into this evening's festivities.”
They share a bow as Jaskier goes onto the stage. Lute already in hand and around his neck.
“Esteemed guests.” He mimics. “Thank you for attending. And thank you, for that warm welcome.” And it’s with that, that he starts playing the least dirty of his repertoire.
Of course he starts with the White Wolf ballads. He would be a fool not to.
Everyone is dancing by the time he takes a more courtly approach. And he watches as Ciri is convinced into a few dances. Although they’re mostly by Celeste. And with the way Ciri is blushing well, he might just have to tease her about it gently later. Crushes were always fair game to tease after all. Especially since she was his daughter! His daughter! The reminder gets him playing with gusto, a jig he knows she likes that has her dragging Celeste to the crowd to dance to and he delights with it. Eyes finding Geralt still by the dias. Back to him, but definitely aware as his head tilts to one side and then the next.
He plays with gusto until it’s the next guest's turn. And he’s so happy he barely wraps his set up, too quick to want to go and dance with his beloved.
“Geralt.” He’s laughing, almost high on the endorphins of a good set. And Geralt catches him by his arms, smiling with his eyes down at him.
“Yes?”
“Dance with me.” He pleads “Let me put my lute away and then dance with me.”
He expects a no. And he wouldn’t be sad about it. He knew Geralt wasn’t one for outright affection or dancing. Not really. So he’s surprised and even more elated when Geralt just chuckles and inlines his head.
“One dance.”
“You have my word my love!” He doesn't kiss him like he wants. Knowing that would push it too far. Still wanting to respect Geralt's boundaries. And turns on his heel, pushing through the crowd to get to his room quickly.
Suddenly though, there’s a face in front of him that he never thought he’d see again and he stops. Happiness draining out of him, leaving him empty and terrified.
“Marek.” Jaskier greets, blood running cold. “I didn’t ever expect to see you again.”
“Julian” He looks him up and down, eyes narrowing as he does so. Mouth twisted into a sneer. “We were invited. A new professor wanted nobles to attend and who would we be to pass up such an honour?” He visibly snarls then. “Although i’de refuse to attend if I had known that you were playing.”
“Jaskier?” Somehow, Geralt always knew when he was in distress. “Are you alright?” Position at the dias forgotten, he presses his hand to Jaskier’s arm, turning to the other dragon and scowling. Obvious that he’s the cause of Jaskier’s discomfort.
“Geralt.” Jaskier coughs on his words, almost stuttering. “This is my brother, Marek.”
Instantly, he tenses. Eyes going cold as his face falls. “Oh.”
“I see Julian spoke of me.” His disdain is obvious, although Jaskier watches as he rakes his eyes over Geralt, instincts wanting to put him in his hoard, take him from Jaskier.
“No. But I know a bastard when I see one.” Geralt is growling, low and threatening. All witcher training about dragons apparently gone. “Fuck off.”
“Is that any way to talk to an esteemed guest?” Marek places a hand over his heart mockingly. “I could have you thrown out for that.”
“I hold more sway here than you do Malek.” Jaskier hisses, hand going to cover Geralt’s with his own, keep him there. Keep him close.
“Hm. I wouldn’t be so sure.” When he smirks then it’s vicious, reeking of danger to come. “I’de watch your back Julian.” He looks them both up and down again. “I would hate to see what mother will do to you when she finds you.”
“She’s here?” His heart stops and Marek just grins.
“Of course. The whole family was invited. Now, I must go find them.” And then he’s swanning off without another word.
Once he’s gone, out of sight and swallowed into the crowd Jaskier deflates, clinging heavily onto Geralt so he doesn’t fall over.
“We have to go. Please. We have to go.” He’s babbling before he’s even aware he’s doing it, tugging him through the crowds to try and find Ciri.
“Jaskier wait-”
“They’re awful, we have to go.” His breathing is frantic, flashes of his mother's angry eyes behind his eyelids every time he blinks.
“Jask wait.” Suddenly he’s being pulled through the crowd by his arm and through a doorway into an empty corridor. Gently, because Geralt was always so gentle with him when he needed it, he pushes him back against the wall, hands on either side of his shoulders to box him in. “What the fuck is going on?”
“I refuse to see my mother again. Geralt. Fuck. She’s vicious. She’s the embodiment of everything that people hate about dragons and she loves it. And my brother and other siblings aren’t much better.”
“Are you unsafe? Will they hurt you?”
Jaskier tilts his head back, closing his eyes. “Not physically. Probably. I mean she has in the past. But this is a public place and they like keeping their reputation so none of them will now.”
“Okay.” Geralt sighs before humming. “Will you be allowed back in with good graces if you leave right now?”
Jaskier thinks, and he knows for a fact that the answer is a resounding no. Leaving now would be like spitting on Oxenfurt, completely disgracing it. “Ah fuck.”
“So, we keep you away from your family. You perform. And then as soon as this is over we leave.”
“How are we gonna keep them at bay?” Jaskier opens his eyes, staring into Geralt’s golden ones.
“I’ll do it. Hang around you. Be threatening. Maybe you should stay in your rooms in between performances though.”
“I. yeah. Okay.” He nods, hating the idea of being trapped but knowing it was better than the alternative. “Hey, at least they won't go after Ciri. At least she’s safe this time.”
“They won't?” Geralt tilts his head and Jaskier shakes his own back.
“No uh.” He swallows. “Young damsels aren’t their type. They want a challenge. And I know she isn’t a damsel.” He holds his hands up. “But she’s a young girl, so they’ll assume she is.”
“We best tell her then to keep it that way. Come on.” Geralt pushes himself back, hands flexing before taking Jaskier’s arm in his own. “Let’s go find her and regroup.”
It doesn’t take long to find her, considering she had spent all of her time dancing with her new friends. As well as stalking the food table when she took smaller breaks. Making the most of the rich foods available and indulging.
The indulgences looked good on her.
“Fiona.” Geralt gets her attention, motioning with his head to one of the doorways and it’s instant when she puts her plate down, following them back through the growing crowd and through corridors back to their rooms.
“What’s going on?” She asks before the door even closes.
“My family are here.” Jaskier says, rushed and hurried. His breathing had calmed down now that they somewhat had a plan. And knowing that Ciri and Geralt would be safe this time eases most of his anxiety. “You need to keep away from them. And basically just act like a teenage girl to avoid their attention.”
“But I am a teenage girl?” She raises an eyebrow. “Also your family? The ones who kicked you out? Do we need to kill them?”
She asks so honestly, and Jaskier knows she would do it if he let her. He chuckles despite himself.
“No, to the killing. And by teenage girl I mean a stereotypical not at all accurate representation of what people think teenage girls are like. Giggly, flighty, can’t fight. That sort of thing. They don’t go after damsels, so it’s best if you act like one.”
“So?” She tilts her head. “Just, what? Act all shy and meek in a corner?”
“If someone asks you to dance then go ahead but.” He throws his hands around looking for the words. “Just, act the way you see the other girls act that sort of thing. If you can make friends with them and enter into their little group all the better.”
“Oh, well I already get along with Celeste. And she’s part of that group! And they seem nice enough already” She perks up then. “So basically I just have to act in a way people consider normal.”
“Yes. Act like you’re not travelling with a witcher and a dragon.”
“Got it.” She nods. “This is going to be so easy you have no idea. Geralt, are you okay?”
Jaskier turns to where Geralt had been silent. Which wasn’t unusual, but when he looks Jaskier notices how hard his hands are clenched.
“Ciri has the right idea, are you sure we can’t kill them?”
“And make you go back on your training? No.” Jaskier is quick to stop that line of thought. Because really, no matter how badly they had treated him he wouldn’t wish death upon them. Even if they wished it upon him.
“Hm.”
“Look, I don’t want them dead. I just want to get away from them as soon as we can and never see them. Big difference.”
“I mean, them dying is a great way for you to never see them again.” Ciri offers and then suddenly Geralt is nodding along seriously and shit.
“Neither of you are killing my family.” He puts his foot down, tone just strong enough to get them to stop from where they looked like they were going to start planning. “I just want these next two days over with and then we can leave okay?”
“But they hurt you.” Geralt turns, his eyes intense with a frown that Ciri mimics.
“I know, but you’d do more harm than good hurting them come on. You both know it.”
“It’s worth it if they hurt you.” Geralt says, but his shoulders slump. “But fine.”
“We won’t kill your family.” Ciri sounds just as disappointed as Geralt and Jaskier can’t help but sweep them both into a hug.
“I appreciate it, I really do. But I would also like to be welcomed back here.”
“Are you really sure?” Ciri asks, looking up with puppy dog eyes and he laughs, pushing them both away gently.
“Very sure. Now you, off you go. Make some friends.”
“Fine.” She rolls her eyes. “Are you both staying here?”
“Jaskier is. I’m coming with you.”
“Geralt-” He hates how he protests at Geralt leaving.
“You agreed didn’t you?” Jaskier scowls at Geralt’s smirk. Although there's no heat behind either expression.
“Go then, the pair of you. But expect a scathing sonnet about the pair of you when you get back.”
“Looking forward to it.” Ciri giggles, waggling her fingers before swanning past him and Geralt kisses his forehead before leaving, shutting the door tightly before muttering a gruff-
“Lock it.” And following Ciri back into the fray.
Jaskier does, staying at the door to feel where they go, heart tugging at him to follow, but he stays in the room.
He knows Geralt went with Ciri to keep her safe. And if he had tried to stay, Jaskier would have shoved him out. But still, it suddenly hurts being on his own, trapped in a room much like he had been when he still lived at home.
Really, he didn’t understand why he was putting so much importance in staying at Oxenfurt. Did he really think so highly of their opinion? And when he thinks about it, going over to sit on the bed he finds that, yes he does.
They had given him safety and shelter when he had needed it, given him his education and his attitude. Shaped him to be something that wasn’t just based on him being a dragon. They gave him a craft to hone, something to focus on. He owed them an awful lot. So losing this place, one of the places he felt safe, would break him.
He doesn’t feel safe now though and he grimaces. Because really, what were they doing here? He could try and explain, but explaining would mean actually revealing himself because nobody actually thought his family were dangerous. And if he revealed their heritage then his family really would kill him. And if he gave some flowery excuse about simply disliking his family, well that wouldn’t do. Nobody spoke about their own family that way and he would simply be dismissed and never invited back to Oxenfurt again for his awfulness.
No, he had to just grin and bear it. They only had two more evenings to go. He could do this. All he had to do was stay in their room in between performances.
To distract himself, he starts making the nest he had thought about the night before. So, he drags the double mattress onto the floor, moving the bedside table out the way so it’s able to fit and it hits the stone floor with a satisfying thud.
The fire is on the other side of the room, and without thinking, he kneels down beside it to light it with his breath. The familiar warmth that floods his throat with the flames soothes him in a way he didn’t realise he needed, as does the smoke that filters out of his nose. It’s not enough of a smell to permeate the door so he lets it linger in the room, feeling as though it’s blanketing him as he goes back to work pulling out all of their blankets from their packs as well as the chest by the bed to cover the mattress on the floor.
It’s not home, and he doesn’t even really feel safe. But with the smell of his fire, the heat of the fire now in the hearth and the comfort of his nest, he’s able to at least pick up his lute and sit in the coziness. Not composing, brain too addled for that, but he plays. All the softer melodies that filter into his head to calm him down end up being played on his lute, and he ends up sprawled on his back, eyes closed as he feels the music, although he’s unable to get out of his head completely.
Fuck.
Every now and then he stops, listening for footsteps outside of his door or he sniffs, trying to scent out his family.
He never hears or smells anything, but his paranoia that they’ll come to find him keeps him from getting invested in something or sleeping. His anxiety was through the roof, and he’s very tempted just to leave. Never return to Oxenfurt again.
-
Just when he’s about to start packing up, there’s a knock at the door. “Jask. Let us in.”
Scrambling up, he unlocks the door and lets Geralt and Ciri back in, throwing himself at the pair of them when the door is once again locked and holds them as tight as he dares.
“You okay?” Ciri asks, and he nods against Geralt’s chest.
“Yeah just. Gimme a minute. Before I have to go back out there.” Ciri hugs him around the waist hard, and Geralt holds them both tightly, fingers digging into Jaskier’s shoulder just hard enough to ground him but not hurt.
“Okay.” He says, after a while. “I’m good. I can go and play.”
“You sure?” Geralt asks and Jaskier nods.
“Yes just, you keep close to me. Ciri, act normal.”
“We can do that.” Ciri nods, and holds on a little longer than Geralt, letting him hug her back maybe a little too hard. “Come on, you can see the dance Celeste taught me!”
“Lead the way then sweet pea.”
He locks the door again, knowing how his family were about snooping and stealing his stuff. And follows his bonded into the crowd of students and attendees.
Geralt leads him straight to the raised dais that served as a stage, Ciri having broken off to go and see her friends before they had even gotten into the large hall properly.
“She’s been doing good.” Geralt whispers to him, hand on the small of his back to lead him through the crowd.
“Good.”
“I’ll be here. Go, play.” Geralt places a quick kiss to the side of his head before ushering him to the small troupe that were gathering and setting up, and Jaskier’s relieved to see that Professor Hawthorn is overseeing still, her own flute in hand.
“Professor, can I have a word after this?” He asks when he gets to her, covering up his question by tuning his lute and she nods.
“Of course.” Somebody walks a little close and she covers easily. “Did you get the setlist? You know what we’re playing, yes?”
“Of Course! I even memorised it!”
“Ah, how we wish you did that with your studies.” She looks him over once, raising a concerned eyebrow and he nods. She nods back. “Now do you need any rosin?”
“Ah no thank you, oh. We’re up.”
He follows the troupe onto the stage, giving a perfunctory bow and hand wave as the crowd clap, although his eyes are scanning them to find his family.
And he does. Almost instantly. Mainly because they’re at the back of the room, reclining on the seats lining the walls. And they all smirk when they see him on stage. His brother wasn’t lying. He sits there next to their mother, his sister and younger brother at her other side. Their father was nowhere to be seen, and Jaskier’s heart breaks. Because that must mean he’s gone. They travelled as a unit, and if he weren’t there, something must have happened.
He stumbles with that knowledge, watching as his mother flicks her tongue out, forked because she knows nobody will see, a show of dominance and arrogance that he hates.
Hating how his heart hurts, he covers, smile pasted on his face as he introduces the troupe with a wave of his hand and starts playing. While he plays, he keeps his eyes on Geralt. Less so Ciri, knowing Geralt would have his eyes on her, and Jaskier didn’t want to draw attention to her. Because while his family didn’t care for people who weren’t a challenge. If he showed too much affection for her they would take her just to spite him.
So he plays with as much enthusiasm as he can muster, throwing himself into the performance. His own version of spite towards his family. Showing them how well he was doing, how well he could perform.
Glancing over, he catches Ciri and Celeste dancing, more refined than a jig but definitely something of their own creation, hands clasped and laughing and smiles even further, drawing his eyes to Geralt who’s still glaring around the room. That only makes him smile harder though, almost laughing and messing up the lyrics.
Fuck his family. He was doing what he loved with his new and better family within reach. His new bonded. His new life. They couldn’t take that away from him. He’d die first before they took that from him.
“Quell your daughter's hunger.” He finished the song, hands outstretched to the applause he gets before starting on the next song, one eye always on his family.
It’s one of his more stressful performances but he gets through it. And with a last round of applause he is off the stage and being hustled into a courtyard off the hall area by Professor Hawthorn. Both still clutching their instruments. Jaskier knows Geralt won’t worry, will wait for him and keep an eye on Ciri. And that’s what matters.
“So what’s happened?” Hawthorn asks, getting straight to it and Jaskier deflates.
“My family are here. I need to know who invited them.”
“Shit.” She hisses, and Jaskier can’t help but smile at that. She was his favourite professor for a reason. She knew about them mostly. Knew they were cruel and had kicked him out. And he knows that she and a few of the other professors who cared for him had been the ones keeping them away while he had been there. Or atleast made a point not to have any events where they would be invited. Forgot to invite them for any conferences that sort of thing.
“Apparently it was a new professor.” He offers and she curses again.
“Fuckin’ bastard. It’ll be Jamison.” she’s scowling. “He’s an absolute bastard. The board were wanting to fire him anyway, this is just the nail in the coffin.”
“Oh?”
“He’s a shit teacher. I can spin something, get him kicked out it’ll be fine.”
“You won’t be in danger though-”
“Julian.” She stops him from panicking with a hand on his arm. “I have been at this college longer than you have, I am very safe don’t you worry.”
“Okay.” He trusted her. “Now to get through the next two days.”
“It’ll be fine.” She reassures. “You can dine in your room and such. All you have to do is perform.”
“Okay. Thank you.” He nods as she does, sharing a smile.
“Now go back to your witcher. Have him escort you back to your room. I’ll keep an eye on your daughter.”
He chokes up at that and she laughs at him, although not unkindly. “Go.”
“Thank you.” He leads them back into the hall, finding Geralt waiting for him like he expected.
“They’ve gone.” He announces, nodding to Professor Hawthorn as she slips past them, smiling kindly before going to take her seat on the dias again with the other professors.
“And Fiona?” He asks and Geralt motions with his head to where Ciri was still dancing with her friends. Unaware of anything else but dancing and having a good time.
“Good.” Another troupe was already playing, something a little more raucous than he had been as the night had grown later.
“Dance with me.” Geralt asks, before Jaskier starts to head back to their room and he stops.
“What?”
“You came here to dance, and I refuse to let your family deprive you of that.” His heart swells with love, but shakes his head.
No matter how much he wanted that, wanted to dance with Geralt and forget what was happening. His thoughts wouldn’t let him.
“I can’t. I need to go back to the rooms. Keep you both safer by doing that.”
“Jask.” Jaskier hates the sadness in Geralt’s eyes at that and shrugs.
“I’ll be fine my love. They won’t do anything right now.”
“Are you sure?” Geralt lowers his head and Jaskier nods.
“I am. Now go, linger by Fiona and scare off her friends.”
“Shut up.” Geralt chuckles, letting him go and Jaskier goes with a kiss to his cheek, making his way back to their rooms.
He only gets half way there before he’s accosted.