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kuwdora https://kuwdora.tumblr.com/post/688053422508916736/fic-stories-well-memories-we-share-and-the :

[witcher fic]: stories we tell, memories we share, and the words we hold dear

fic on AO3 https://href.li/?https://archiveofourown.org/works/39313305 | 28k, Geralt/Jaskier. Post-Canon, featuring old Jaskier and old Geralt, chronic pain/disability, softness, poetry, lots of dick jokes, silliness, and Geralt getting railed by puns.

Summary:

Three decades after the war, Jaskier’s thoughts are faster than his aching hands can keep up, but Geralt has learned enough by his side to take up the quill for him.

excerpt:

“I beseech thee, o’ witchery muse. My dear new scribe,” Jaskier said and there was a rhythm without a melody as he spoke directly to the wolf doll. “Bestow divine inspiration from your ancient tome.”

Jaskier paused and dipped his chin at Geralt, his eyes dancing.

Geralt raised an eyebrow and Jaskier waved at the page with the doll until he began writing. Jaskier helpfully over-enunciated the words and began muttering under his breath, his gaze going unfocused, until he suddenly held the doll up like it was a revelation to behold.

“You open for me with a sigh, when I part your pages—those oh-so very steady thighs,” Jaskier said, spreading his hands wide, his face sliding into that broad, leering grin. The doll slipped from his fingers and Jaskier cursed as it tumbled to the floor. He sighed and Geralt watched him judging the effort it would take to retrieve it, leave it, or ask for help. All the options weigh heavily on Jaskier’s face. Geralt took the moment of Jaskier’s indecision to dip his quill in the inkpot, listening to any and all particular catches in Jaskier’s breath when he finally and slowly bent over to reach for it.

“Ah, hmm,” Jaskier said, glancing at Geralt, his nose scrunching.

“Pages and thighs,” he prompted and Jaskier’s face lit up. He would have snapped his fingers at Geralt if his hands hadn’t been hurting, but Jaskier gestured at Geralt with the wolf doll and nodded enthusiastically. Geralt smiled into his wine and turned to an empty page.

“Right, my source of knowledge,” Jaskier said and raised the wolf doll, peering into its button eyes. “Tome, book. My inspiration, my scholarly examination of a lifetime…Love how you open for me,” Jaskier said to the wolf. “Clenching tightly around my fingers. Now that is a massage.”

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