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    At the fourth stumble of the morning, Geralt’s patience breaks. Fine, the little fool is too stubborn to see he should leave and get it over with. Geralt will do the hard work for him, will simply move so fast that the bard has no choice but to end this farce already. He shifts his posture, squeezing Roach gently with his legs to urge her on faster-

    -and nearly goes flying purely out of surprise when she gives him a warning buck, a single crow hop before she settles again.

     

    (there's a reason mares lead herds)

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    04 Jun 2026

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    Supper secured and stuffed away in his trousers, he looks up to find the silver-haired stranger in the corner, the one person who hadn’t heckled him. The man is objectively gorgeous, with fascinating hair and a body that makes Jaskier’s mouth water a little.

    Oh yes, he decides quickly, he will be climbing this stranger like a tree.

    He’s a little wrong-footed when he works out that the stranger is a witcher with big scary swords Jaskier’s heard horror stories about, but after a quick moment of thought, he also thinks about how very many things the fae elders have been wrong about all his life and decides to ignore them once again. The witcher–Geralt of supposedly Rivia, even though Jaskier can tell from his accent that that’s a lie–tries to get rid of him, but Jaskier is nothing if he’s not determined, and he’s simply too damn interested to get scared off easily.

    The witcher has clearly not realized that Jaskier is something to be hunted, and Jaskier, well, he’s never excelled at silly things like self-preservation.

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    04 Jun 2026

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    Two weeks into traveling with Geralt, Jaskier wakes with a horrifically familiar ache in his lower abdomen and resists the urge to beat his head into the ground at the slickness he can feel between his thighs, a slickness he has a terrible suspicion isn’t from some fun dream he can’t remember. He lifts his head to take a quick look around camp and finds Geralt absent, which fills him with a quick swell of annoyed anxiety at the thought that he’s been ditched again until he realizes Roach is still standing in place grazing happily on a patch of clover. Coast clear, a quick reach between his legs confirms his suspicions when his fingertips come back red.

    “Fuckity fucking fuck,” Jaskier hisses under his breath, slamming his head back into the ground. Perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect. Just what he fucking needs when he’s trying to convince Geralt to stop trying to get rid of him. He winces at a sharp stab in his pelvis and lifts the cover of his bedroll to glare at his own body. “Fuck you.”

    (Jaskier bleeds every month) (Geralt proves surprisingly helpful with this)

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    04 Jun 2026

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    “Talk to me,” Geralt says, voice as even and patient as ever. The lack of snap makes Jaskier feel slightly better, but he still can’t help but feel like a failure. If he’s good at anything, he’s good at fucking, but it seems he’s managed to ruin that already between them.

    “Sorry,” Jaskier says, which only makes Geralt frown more. Jaskier hastens to explain. “If you tell me how you like it, I can do better.” He tries to give Geralt a roguish grin, but the witcher doesn’t return it.

    “You were nervous,” Geralt says, and Jaskier feels heat prickle along his cheeks and ears. How fucking humiliating, to have a partner who can sense him reacting like some green lad shyly taking himself out for his first assignation. “What was it?”

    (Jaskier is used to ignoring his own limits in order to please his partners) (Geralt has some thoughts and feelings about this)

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    04 Jun 2026

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    “I would like to borrow a shirt, please.” Jaskier says again before he waits expectantly. Geralt stares at him blankly. They’re parting today for the winter. The entire reason Geralt is going through his pack is to make sure nothing else of the bard’s has gotten mixed in with his things; Jaskier has a longstanding habit of sneaking things in for Geralt to carry, and the bard is far too spacey to be counted on to remember them all.

    “We’re separating today,” Geralt points out at last. Four years into whatever it is he has with the bard makes him almost say ‘until spring,’ but a lifetime of watching people walk away stays him. He knows better than to put fragile hopes out into the world. People smash them far too easily. Jaskier, for his part, sighs as if Geralt is missing an obvious point.

    “Yes, precisely!” The bard says, moving one hand to his hip so he can swing the other out widely. “And there’s a giant world of creepy crawlies out there! Beasts that would love nothing more than to devour a succulent specimen such as myself.”

     

    (Jaskier asks to borrow a shirt to protect himself from monsters) (things escalate from there)

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    04 Jun 2026

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