#They clear it up and Geralt accepts him and they kiss | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shy-urban-hobbit · 9 months

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For @elmonstro . Inspiration hit after our convo about potential Witcher Yule traditions and went in a weird direction 😂.

Aiden and Lambert are both oblivious, pining idiots and the other Kaer Morhen residents have had enough.

Implied, non graphic smut under the cut:

"It's mistletoe." Lambert stated like he was talking to a small child when he caught Aiden staring at it yet again with a slightly perplexed look on his face. The other Witcher elbowed him in the ribs as he rolled his eyes.

"I know what it is, Wolf. What I'm wondering is why you've just got random spriggs of it hanging over various thresholds this year."

"Jaskier's idea, probably." Lambert shrugged

"That still doesn't really tell me why." Aiden prompted when Lambert refused to elaborate. The Wolf could feel himself growing flustered. Explaining would lead his mind down a path he'd been trying to steer clear of for years.

"Yule tradition." Eskel piped up and thank the gods! Lambert wanted to hug his brother in that moment, "You're supposed to stay trapped under it until somebody kisses you." He continued, not looking up from his book...Lambert was going to reorganise everything in his brother's room, "And you were right, Lambert. Jaskier thought it would be fun."

"Of course he fucking would." Lambert grumbled under his breath. This was going to be a long and torturous winter.

It started out well enough. Aiden had discovered that Jaskier - typically - was happy with any form of physical affection bestowed on him, Eskel was happy to exchange friendly pecks on the cheek (as was Geralt, surprisingly), Vesemir's facial expression alone had warned everyone present that if they tried to kiss him, there'd be consequences, a brief hug however, was acceptable. It was the same with Yennefer, although it was becoming more of a thing to kiss her hand after Jaskier had done it as a joke and hadn't been blasted through the wall for his trouble and all of this was done with a smile and a laugh. Apart from when it came to Lambert.

No matter where or when, as soon as those two found themselves trying to pass through the same doorway it was like watching a couple of adolescents, the both of them turning into stuttering messes both reeking of anxiety as they brushed barely there kisses to each others cheeks before dashing off in opposite directions like their backsides were on fire. It would have been funny if it wasn't so painful to watch.

"Idiots. They are both idiots." Yennefer stated after having just watched Lambert staring longingly after Aiden when he left to help Vesemir bring some things up from the cellar, with Aiden doing likewise when Lambert left to see to a couple of things in his lab.

"Love truly is fucking blind." Jaskier groused from his perch in Geralt's lap, "I was sure the mistletoe would give them that teeny tiny push, you know?"

Yennefer patted his knee consolingly, "Oh it still will, little bard."

Eskel peered up at her suspiciously from where he'd had his head buried in his arms in despair at the situation, "What are you planning, Yenn?"

The witch said nothing as she took a dainty sip of wine.

"Aiden? Yennefer said you needed help with something."

"Awfully nice, considering I think it's Yennefer who's responsible."

Lambert looked down at Aiden, who was sat cross-legged on the floor just inside the doorway to the room he used whenever he accompanied Lambert in the winter, elbow resting on his knee as he propped his chin on his hand, "....I'm failing to see the problem."

Aiden got to his feet, pointed to draw Lambert's attention to the all too familiar plant above his head and made to take a step forward. Magic shimmered as it blocked him before his foot had even hit the ground, the same thing happening when he tried to take a step back further into the room, "Looks like she decided to take the trapped part of this literally."

Lambert groaned internally, "What about Jaskier, or Eskel? Can't they-"

"Offended." Aiden snorted, "And no, they all tried and no change. There's only you left."

"Offended."

"Well, maybe I've been saving the best for last. Now get over here and help your best friend."

All of Aiden's bravado vanished when Lambert moved into his space, close enough to feel his body heat, smell the slight nerves - but not close enough to touch, with Lambert's gaze settling on Aiden's ear.

"So should I, uhm -" he stuttered,

"Same as always?" Aiden asked, voice sounding only slightly steadier than Lambert's.

They both hastily brushed lips against offered cheeks - the quicker this was done, the quicker they could forget about it. Aiden once again tried to take a step into his room while Lambert made to back out into the corridor.

"Are you kidding me!?" Aiden bit out alongside Lambert's growl of "Yennefer!" as both of them were stopped in their tracks.

"Fucking great. Now what?" Lambert asked, running a hand through his hair.

"Maybe we did it too quickly?" Aiden suggested.

Lambert nodded in agreement, that seemed a perfectly logical explanation. They repeated the kiss, lingering this time, neither of them mentioning the spike in the scents of anxiety and the slightly quickened breathing of the other. Still nothing.

"Well, I'm out of ideas." Lambert leaned against the doorframe

"...I don't think I am."

"Hmm?"

Lambert wrinkled his nose at the nervousness now coming off Aiden in waves, the Cat looking more scared than Lambert had ever seen him.

"Aiden, are you-"

"Shut up. Just...please don't hate me for this."

Before Lambert could say anything else a hesitant kiss was pressed to his lips, his body stiffening on reflex.

Aiden pulled away as soon as he felt the other sieze up, "I'm sorry. I thought that maybe if...I don't actually know what I thought."

Lambert grasped Aiden's chin and repeated the same chaste kiss, only lingering a couple of seconds before pulling away and finally looking Aiden in the eye.

They collided with one another, Aiden's hands fisting in the front of Lambert's shirt while Lambert yanked him in with a hand on the back of his neck, both opening up to one another at the first hint of probing tongue. Lambert's hands travelled down, down, down to press lightly on the back of Aiden's thighs, the Cat getting the hint immediately and giving a little hop so he could wrap his legs around Lambert's waist. The Wolf moaned as Aiden's skillful fingers started making a mess of his hair as he rolled his hips while Lambert shamelessly groped Aiden's ass as he supported his weight.

It wasn't until Lambert's knees hit the bed he realised that they were now fully inside Aiden's room - quickly followed as he lowered them both onto the mattress by the realisation that they should probably close the door. He gave a deep chuckle as he felt Aiden pause in his efforts to apparently just rip Lambert's shirt clean off him and make a quick motion behind his head, closely followed by the sound of a door slamming.

"Hey." Lambert said softly. Aiden cracked an eye open to peer at him from where he'd been dozing in the strip of sunlight that fell oh so conveniently across Lambert's chest "What did you mean earlier before you - when you asked me not to hate you?"

"I thought that would have been obvious." Aiden sighed, propping himself up, "You always smelled like you were about two seconds away from bolting whenever we got caught under that fucking plant. I thought the idea of doing anything like that with me made you uncomfortable, so I kept quiet."

"Like you didn't smell exactly the same." Lambert rebuffed, tweaking Aiden's nose, "I never said anything because I thought it made you uncomfortable, otherwise I would have dragged you to bed years ago."

Aiden grinned, sliding up Lambert's body so they were face to face, hovering over him "Yeah?"

Lambert nodded, running his hands over the others ribs, "Oh yeah. There'd be no doubts about whether you were mine or not. They'd smell me all over you."

"Oh, so I'm yours now am I?" Aiden purred

"As much as I'm yours?"

Aiden gave him a couple of quick pecks, "I like the sound of that."

Without warning, he rolled off Lambert and leaned over the side of the bed, digging through his clothes before holding the sprigg of mistletoe triumphantly - he must have grabbed it off the doorframe when Lambert was distracted - before proudly placing it on the headboard.

"You're fucking ridiculous." Lambert laughed as he moved to get up and get something so they could clean themselves up. He was stopped by Aiden grabbing onto his arm.

"Ah ah ah, we're under the mistletoe. You know the rule."

Lambert made a show of rolling his eyes before leaning in and very quickly deciding that getting clean could wait.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #aiden/lambert #aiden x lambert #lambden #lambert/aiden #lambert x aiden #witcher aiden #witcher lambert #lambert

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loki-is-my-kink-awakening · 1 year

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I wanted to talk about Extraordinary Things and the Geraskier and Radskier elements in the song.

Forgive me if this has been done or is rather obvious. This is just me musing over the lyrics.

Keep your words on ice

Your gaze lights the fire

How many campfires did this happen? Jaskier doing his best to drag even a few words from Geralt while the witcher glares at the fire as if his eyes are stoking the flame.

But eyes of fire really speak of Radovid, too. He may speak more than Geralt did when Jaskier first met him, but there's a lot he doesn't say in words that he says in his eyes.

They say, "Keep on playing nice"

But I have no desire

Jaskier cannot be contained. It's why I love him. He will not be forced into a box. He contains multitudes.

But these lines speak of struggle. Jaskier could be at court if he wanted to, he's a viscount, but he has no desire to be that person. He needs the freedom of the wild.

And the two people that represent this struggle are Radovid (a life at court) and Geralt (freedom/out in the wild). It's kinda obvious who Jaskier is going to choose even without considering what Joey said in interviews (that Jaskier will have a choice, but it isn't a choice for him, he will always choose his found family).

Jaskier has no desire to stay at court, even for love.

Why waste our words

When lips were made for extraordinary things

Jaskier can talk. He can express himself in his songs and with words. But there's some things that can only be truly communicated through a kiss.

And let's face it, Jaskier has waited so long to communicate his feelings for Geralt. He wouldn't waste words any longer, he'd want to show his feelings.

It also links to the later lyrics of unspoken words between them.

With Radovid, there isn't any need to talk because it becomes clear how he feels about Jaskier through singing his song.

But also there is so much they cannot discuss because Jaskier needs to protect his found family.

Kissing Radovid is safer. Jaskier can communicate his feelings that way and can feel Radovid's feelings for him in deeds, not words.

It's not a want, it's a need

It is paying no heed to what others say to sing

Jaskier has never paid any heed to what others said of his songs or singing. But that is also a mask to protect himself.

Geralt told him not to write any songs about him. Jaskier did it anyway.

There's probably others who have told Jaskier not to write songs about them or Geralt that I've forgotten.

But "it's not a want, it's a need" is just so evocative of his heart the love he gives freely, and of him letting his creativity flow through him.

That creativity is something Radovid greatly admires. And I think Radovid also wants to play no heed to what others want him to do; he just isn't as free as Jaskier (the pretty songbird).

Ultimately, what Jaskier really wants is for someone to see him, like he sees others, and for that person to still have a visceral want for him once seeing him.

People have wanted him, his body, his time, his usefulness. Loved ones have finally accepted him as a friend and family member. No one yet has wanted all of him, the magnitudes he contains, the bad parts and the good, the real him. Mainly because he's never had someone pierce his armour.

And if Radovid is using Jaskier I swear to the gods I will rain merry hell on him.

The greatest songs are made up of unspoken words of love

Of them I have had enough

All of Jaskier’s songs contain some element of his love for Geralt. He is his muse, after all.

We all know Her Sweet Kiss and Burn, Butcher, Burn contain it most obviously.

And it's interesting here that we get Jaskier saying he's had enough of writing his love for Geralt. There's only so much you can continue to pour out and not get anything back.

And so, Jaskier has decided that his love for Geralt is platonic as a way to protect himself. If he's not wanting, he can't be hurt.

But we all know when Jaskier said that his love for Geralt is platonic, that it is a lie he is telling himself. Vespula wasn't fooled.

But it's interesting that we clearly see Jaskier longing for the real love he craves in these lyrics. And I don't want to take away the amazing aromatic headcanon for Jaskier or Geraskier having a queen platonic relationship, but there is a longing that is unfulfilled, whatever way you interpret that to be.

That longing can be fulfilled with Radovid.

With you, I have enough

With you, I am enough

I am enough

Again, I see Jaskier saying he is enough with Geralt just to be his friend. After all his years struggling to be his friend and also wanting more, it's interesting to see this friendship now settled as soon as Jaskier stops seeking more.

And a big part of that change between them has to be down to Geralt becoming a father and learning to open his heart to caring about those around him.

But with Radovid, Jaskier gets to be vulnerable, properly vulnerable with his heart. He does feel enough in Radovid's eyes, and that is truly for the first time.

Vespula knows Jaskier, but he doesn't let himself be truly vulnerable with his heart there. He lies about his feelings for Geralt to her (and himself). He gives his body, but does he give his heart? I would say no. They are close in many ways, but not emotionally, not in vulnerability.

Drop the sweet disguise

Your heart's beating too loud

The fairy tales and little lies can't drown out all the sound

We all know about Geralt's disguise: that witchers don't need no one or that they don't have feelings. In S3, we see this façade lift. Geralt shows his true self to Ciri as her father, Jaskier as his friend, and Yennefer as a partner when he forgives her.

Radovid wears a disguise. He's the drunk fool to those who cannot see it. But Jaskier can, because Jaskier also wears a disguise, something Joey commented on in at least one interview.

And I feel like this disguise is definitely shown on screen when Jaskier is with Vespula. He has feelings for her, obviously strong ones, but they aren't the same as his feelings for Geralt or Radovid.

He definitely tells Vespula more than he tells his other lovers. But Vespula isn't looking for Jaskier to be "the only one" for her. She is still pretty switched on about Jaskier’s heart.

So take this heart

And break this heart

For extraordinary things

Geralt has broken Jaskier's heart already. And now Jaskier seems to be settled into the role of friend with his "platonic" love.

And Geralt is an extraordinary thing to Jaskier. Nothing will take that away, not even heartbreak.

But the thing is, Jaskier isn't ready to give his heart truly to Geralt completely. In pieces, yes. The clear barrier of "He's my friend, that's it" has been set (for now).

But with Radovid we see Jaskier let go of his mask, drop down his armour and allow Radovid in. It could very well break his heart, but that won't stop him from loving Radovid.

He has become an extraordinary thing to Jaskier.

For all the years we have watched Jaskier longing, to finally see him with someone is amazing. I don't want his heart broken, but I know we have to accept that it's going to happen.

And here, for the first time since The Mountain, we have Jaskier willing to have it broken again.

Because without taking a chance on being fulfilled and happy, what are we?

Thanks for reading.

#geraskier #radskier #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x radovid #geralt of rivia #radovid #the witcher #the witcher season 3 #the witcher spoilers #extraordinary things #long post #my meta

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geraskierbrainrot · 2 years

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This is a collection of modern AUs where Geralt, Jaskier, or both do porn

Do No Harm by @grassylampshade | E | 3k

“Why are you here?” Geralt’s voice is unbelievably deep, a growl that resonates differently in person than it does through Jaskier’s tinny laptop speakers. Jaskier clears his throat and says, “I need your help.”

Jaskier wants to improve his stamina and Geralt is willing to lend him a hand.

Socially Acceptable Ways to Meet Your Soulmate by @elpiething | E | 4k

Jaskier's parents weren't precisely keen on their oldest Omega child going to Oxenfurt to learn art. So they told him to pay off his own student debt. Which means they can't technically get mad at him for going in for a camera test at Vengeance Studios. - An AU where Alphas can't knot without medical assistance. Or their soulmate.

(we should just kiss) like real people do by @thewalrus-said | E | 6k

Jaskier is a dime-a-dozen independent porn star with a party trick. The mononymous Geralt, owner and star of Rivia Studios, is one of the greats in the industry. So Jaskier is a little surprised when Geralt contacts his agent to set up a scene together. Surprised, but very, very willing. (A porn stars AU.)

your two tongue kisses by @krytella | E | 7k

It’s not like Jaskier would want to be in the scenes with Geralt. That’s all highly choreographed, completely stripped of romanticism. No, what Jaskier fantasizes about is ridiculously sappy by anyone’s standards: kissing him, wrapping their bodies around each other in shapes that don't angle to the camera, running fingers through his hair, touching him when he’s not hard, or not to keep him hard, just for pure pleasure. Or: Jaskier is a porn cameraman and Geralt is his favorite performer. Probably not the porn AU you were looking for.

I Can't Take My Eyes Off You by JustSimpleThings | E | 7k

Jaskier is a porn star who can't stop staring at the fit new camera man. The situation spells 'trouble'.

boogie nights by spqr | E | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | 8k

“This isn’t nothing.” His eyebrows draw together. “Jaskier. What happened?” Jaskier fists his hands in his own hair and contemplates pulling it out. “I got shot.” “Shot,” Geralt echoes, in a tone Jaskier’s never heard before. “Only a bit,” Jaskier hedges. “I took some vicodin, it’s perfectly fine. I can hardly feel it.”

Sweet by TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsG | E | 8k

Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo Prompt: rough

They Were Roommates by Nowaki | E | 11k

Geralt finds Jaskier’s porn. A surprising amount of the videos are about him.

Geraskier OnlyFans AU series by @ghostlyfallows | 19k

→ The Tower of the Swallow | M | 2k

The man had a very handsome face. His face wasn’t exactly a problem - Jaskier was used to keeping his cool in front of many beautiful and handsome people. The problem was this wasn’t the first time he’d seen this face. More specifically, the problem was: the last time Jaskier had seen this face, it was when he’d confirmed the $11.99 purchase for a month’s subscription to his OnlyFans.

Geralt opened his mouth - that mouth jesus holy fucking christ on a stick - and Jaskier stuck his hand out for a hand shake.

“Julian Pankratz,” he introduced himself, praying to whatever god was listening that his face hadn’t turned an embarrassing shade of red.

Judging from the look on Yennefer’s face, he wasn’t so lucky.

Geralt nodded, not betraying even a hint of a smile. He shook his hand back and answered in a gruff voice, “Geralt.”

But of course, Jaskier already knew that.

→ Baptism of Fire | E | 5k

A continuation of my previous fic, in which Geralt is an OnlyFans creator and Jaskier is his (simp) twitter manager

→ Weak and Wanting | E | 7k

Not surprisingly, Geralt didn’t budge. “Jaskier, how much have you had to drink?” he demanded after Jaskier’s palms bounced off of his chest. “It’s not the alcohol! I’m serious! It's like you have no understanding of the stages to these kinds of things. I’ve seen you naked and talked you through fucking yourself but I haven’t even kissed you yet.” Jaskier clapped a hand over his mouth. “On second thought, I didn’t say that. Stop it, Geralt, why are you laughing?” The corners of his mouth still twitched, but he did his best to hide his mirth for Jaskier’s sake. “So, you do want to kiss me?” Geralt’s head tilted to the side. Despite his confident posture, he seemed...stiff. He had the nerve to look embarrassed. Jaskier clenched his hands into fists. “Are you hesitating?” Jaskier seethed. “You’ve been playing all these games, but you have the nerve to be shy about it? Let me repeat myself, since you want to act all coy: I’ve seen your cock. You called me while you were - while you were fingering yourself to ask me to help. Why the hell are you looking at me like that? Of course I want to kiss you.”

→ Give Me One Good Movie Kiss (give me one good honest kiss and I'll be alright) | E | 4k

"It was...different from any other job he’d taken. Certainly a step up from backbreaking labor for minimum wage. At least he was making tips. He’d never worked a job with tips before. Geralt clicked his cellphone into the tripod by his bed and stripped his t-shirt over his head. He tossed it, along with his jeans and boxer briefs, into his clothing hamper in the corner. Usually, his audience liked a show. He’s learned to tease, make them wait, instead of turning the camera on fully nude with his cock hard in his hand. He got all dressed up just to slowly peel the clothes away. It was an art form, he’d learned over the past few months. Nothing like the clumsy or cheesy fumbling he believed it to be when he first signed up for an account. It was more like dancing. He’d never been good at dancing, but he was good at sex, and that counted for something in this profession." AKA The Bottoming Video from Geralt's POV

Electric Kisses and Lace by SweetestHoney | E | 21k

What Jaskier expected from parent-teacher night was some demanding parents, some stupid questions, and maybe some gossip about a few of the couples. What he got, however, was Geralt, father to one of his students, letting him know that he knew about Jaskier's second job and threatening to tell the school that Jaskier was a gay porn star. How does Jaskier handle this little revelation? Anything but gracefully, of course. Or that one where Jask is on onlyfans and Geralt calls him out on it, leading to the worlds stupidest morons being dumb at each other for 20,000 words straight.

Show love to all these authors by leaving kudos and comments, and happy reading!

#geraskier #geralt/jaskier #the witcher #the witcher fic #geraskier fic recs

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julek · 3 years

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read on ao3

“Geralt!” Jaskier’s voice calls through the noise of the streets, making him turn. He’s wearing a long coat, blue like the ocean and trimmed with white fur, and is graciously carrying a remarkable amount of shopping bags in his arms as the door to the luthier’s shop closes behind him. “Fancy meeting you here, my friend.”

Geralt arches an eyebrow as Jaskier falls into step beside him. “Bard,” he nods.

“What are you doing here, of all places?” He gestures with an armful of satchel and lute, a bright pink notebook peeking out of one of his bags.

“Provisions,” Geralt says, eyeing his, for once, almost overflowing bag. “I’m stocking up. Heading North soon.”

“Oh,” Jaskier says, and the feather on his — rather ridiculous, if you ask Geralt — matching blue hat falls just shy of his eyes, clear and bright in the midday sun. “What a funny coincidence.”

Geralt hums. “What do you mean?”

Jaskier playfully swats Geralt’s shoulder, and he’s so pleased with himself Geralt can almost smell it. “Why, it must be fate,” he says dreamily. “I’m also heading North myself!”

“How come?”

“Well,” Jaskier begins, and his tone indicates there’s a story to be told, and no, Geralt, you won’t be getting out of it, as he loops his arm around Geralt’s, “as it turns out, I was invited to take up residence in a castle for the winter.”

“Really?” Geralt asks conversationally, his eyes discreetly scanning the price of rolled oats as they stroll across the market street.

“Really,” Jaskier confirms. His eyes also wander around, trailing after a shiny pendant by a stall. He shakes his head, bringing himself back to the present. “An acquaintance of mine realized he and his family would well benefit from my presence this season.”

“Hmm.” Geralt clicks his tongue at the outrageous number scribbled on the price tag of a deck of Gwent cards. Soul-sucking bastards. “And they’re paying you how much?”

Jaskier splutters, not-so-playfully swatting Geralt’s shoulder. “How dare you imply such a thing! I do not sell my company, no matter what one talentless wastrel Valdo Marx may tell you. Of course they’ve invited me as a friend— I’m basically part of the family by now. They’ve been insisting I visit them for years.”

“And this... friend of yours,” Geralt says distractedly, scanning a pair of leather boots on sale. They’re too thin. “How come I’ve never heard of them?”

“Oh, he’s just shy. Or so he says— you should see him drunk.” He takes some inexistent lint off his coat. “He’s addicted to his work — though sometimes he’ll indulge in some small luxuries. Card games and bubble baths, you see.”

“Hmm.” Geralt offers his coin to a merchant for some fresh thyme. “He sounds interesting.”

Jaskier huffs a laugh. “Yeah, no. He thinks he’s a big deal, you know— carries himself with importance and purpose, but he’s actually quite dull. You see, he practically had to beg me to come with him this winter.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Jaskier continues, carrying Geralt over to a stand with dried flowers and notebooks on it. “So sad, indeed — he was so worried I’d turn him down.” He inspects some dried lavender. “Showered me with praise and gifts.”

“Huh,” Geralt says, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why’d you accept, then? If he’s such a drag?”

“Well...” Jaskier considers, his face scrunched up, the way he does when he’s thinking. “He’s awfully sweet, you know. So attentive, so caring... he’s always there for me.”

“Sounds like a good guy, then.”

“Mmm— hey!” Jaskier exclaims as he’s steered away from an enticing stand full of books. He scowls at Geralt. “He can be an arse, actually. I forgot to mention that bit.”

Geralt smirks. “I’m sure he has his reasons.”

“Yes, well,” Jaskier says, inspecting his nails as Geralt checks the price of a tall bottle of Skelligan rum. “You are not the one about to spend four months holed up with him, locked away in a freezing fortress.”

“You’re right,” Geralt agrees. “But there’s this one idiot my brothers are forcing me to take to Kaer Morhen with me, so I understand your pain.”

Jaskier narrows his eyes so hard they’re almost closed. “Really!” He says, yanking Geralt by the arm with more force than necessary as they continue to walk through the market stalls. “He sure must be wonderful, if your brothers are so adamant about having him there.”

Geralt shakes his head. “Their judgment is clouded. Too many potions can do that to a Witcher.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” Jaskier says under his breath. “Why don’t you just ditch this lovely, handsome, sorely misunderstood friend of yours? Why not leave him behind?”

They’ve reached the end of the square, the murmur of the market now behind them. “Well,” Geralt begins, and his tone indicates that they’ll have to leave soon, and no, Jaskier, we can’t stay another day, as he turns to look at Jaskier, “Unfortunately,” he moves forward, until their noses are brushing, “I’m in love with him.”

“Oh,” Jaskier whispers, his breath warm against Geralt’s cheek, lips curled around a smile. “Well, I couldn’t possibly blame you. The man does sound marvelous.”

Geralt slips his hands around Jaskier’s waist, his fingers playing with the fur of his coat. Roach’s waiting for them — he can hear the impatient stomping of her feet in her stall across the street.

He smiles. “He is,” he murmurs, “even though I’ll have to hire four mules and a cart just to carry his doublets.”

“And hats, dear,” Jaskier adds with a grin.

“Oh, yes. And hats.” Geralt nudges his nose against Jaskier’s, reveling in the way it makes him laugh. It tickles, he’d told him once. “Too bad you’ll be locked away with your boring friend. You won’t be able to meet mine.”

A cart drives by, bringing Jaskier closer into Geralt’s touch. Tipping his hat back, he wraps his arms over the Witcher’s shoulders. “Well…” He sighs, like it’s such a hardship to be enveloped in Geralt’s warmth. “Maybe I was a bit harsh on him. He’s quite lovely, in truth.”

The air is thick with the scent of fresh bread from the nearby bakery. “He is, hmm?”

“Yeah,” Jaskier says, coy. “He’ll even hire four mules and a cart, just to carry my doublets.”

“And hats,” Geralt reminds him.

“Oh, yes,” Jaskier says with a giggle. “I’m rather glad he invited me to come with him, you know. I’ve got something important to tell him.”

“Yeah?” Geralt squeezes his waist. “And what’s that?”

Jaskier licks his lips. “That I’m in love with him, too.”

Geralt can’t contain his smile as he leans forward and kisses him, sweet and soft. Jaskier tastes like honey — probably from licking it off his fingers from those pastries Geralt bought for him early in the morning, as bait to get him out of bed — and he sighs happily into his mouth.

“Well,” he says when they part, flattening his palms on the front of Geralt’s armour. “I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time together.”

“Hmm,” Geralt agrees. “You too.”

Jaskier kisses him one more time, a quick peck to his lips. “Take care. And do give your friend my regards. I hope to meet him someday.”

“Will do,” Geralt says solemnly.

They look at each other for a minute, a staring contest gone to waste as Jaskier’s lips curl around an unbidden smile. Geralt can’t help but mirror him.

“So,” he says brightly, taking Geralt’s hand in his own and starting toward the stables. His eyes gleam and Geralt loves him. “Do we have enough carrots and apples for Roach for the way up? I don’t want her taking it out on my hair, Geralt, you know how she gets…”

#mywriting #geraskier fanfic #geraskier fluff #geralt x jaskier #this is the very silly fic i wrote yesterday at 3 AM #<3

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jaskierswolf · 3 years

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I would like to ask for prompt 7 from the hug prompt list, please! 💕

A hug from behind! I went with Geraskier cos I miss them. I asked @officerjennie some either or questions on this one, and he chose future era... so we've gone a bit sci fi!

“Holy mother of fuck!” Jaskier gasped as he ran back into Roach, Geralt’s old and unreliable spaceship that he now called home. The console beeped and pulsed with glowing light as the witcher sheathed his weapons, white hair sticking to his cheek, smeared with blue blood and sweat.

It should look utterly disgusting, but Geralt was still incredibly handsome, and perhaps love really was blind. Jaskier had started his mission up amongst the stars just trying to humanise the feared monster slayers and protectors of the human empire, but somewhere along the line, he’d fallen in love with his mission… with Geralt.

But Geralt, sweet, heroic, gorgeous, Geralt… well, he wasn’t exactly the most open with emotions, and even after a few months of travelling together, Jaskier struggled to read him. The witcher could stare down entire civilizations that threatened Earth or the other colonies, he could single handedly stop a battle fleet with the flick of a button, and he could talk down all manner of invaders and aliens without any bloodshed if need be.

Most of the time.

Geralt was truly brilliant, but even he didn’t have a hundred percent success rate. Sometimes, the challenge was just too great, or Geralt set his own standards too high- like their last adventure, for example. The monsters had been stubborn and lethal, attacking the crew of the spaceship by picking them off one by one, and by the time Geralt had finally managed to slay them, only two members of the crew had been alive.

They’d been thankful but Geralt had taken the losses hard. He slammed the doors shut behind Jaskier and stalked over to the console, fiddling wordlessly with the knobs and buttons. Roach roared into life around them and the room jerked suddenly, throwing Jaskier onto the floor before he could hold on.

“Oi!” he groaned, rubbing his butt and wincing as he scrambled to his feet. “Warn a man, Geralt.”

“Hmm.” Came the stunted reply, and Jaskier sighed.

The witcher liked to pretend he was fine with death, but Jaskier knew that was a load of bullshit. The deaths of the crew would haunt him for days, and Jaskier likely wouldn’t see Geralt for a while, the witcher locking himself away in the engine room to work on repairs. It was heartbreaking and really fucking lonely for Jaskier, but he knew Geralt needed space.

Except… maybe he didn’t. What if this whole self-loathing routine was making it worse? It would give the witcher far too much time to dwell on his mistakes, if there had even been any… Jaskier knew that Geralt had done everything he could. He always did, often to the detriment of his own safety.

The self-sacrificing idiot.

So rather than leave Geralt alone, Jaskier changed his game plan. Before he could chicken out, he wrapped his arms around Geralt’s waist, hooking his chin over the witcher’s shoulder. It was… more intimate that Jaskier had anticipated, but it was too late now - he’d look really fucking dumb pulling away now.

“You did good, Geralt.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Weirdly enough, Geralt didn’t try to pull away from Jaskier’s touch, instead just melted back into his embrace, like he’d finally been given permission to be vulnerable. Jaskier smiled softly to himself and rested his head against Geralt’s back. “There are two people still alive because of you, that’s good.”

“And countless dead.”

“You did your best, Geralt.”

This time Geralt didn’t respond, but Jaskier didn’t need an answer. He knew that Geralt still didn’t believe him - that much was clear. It didn’t matter though because the witcher had stayed with him, in his arms. There was an acceptance between them now, a trust, and it was a start. Jaskier sighed and pressed a soft kiss to Geralt’s back, hoping the witcher wouldn’t realise what he’d done but unable to resist, squeezing his arms tighter around Geralt’s waist as they raced through the stars… together.

Taglist: @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde, @comfyswitcherblanketfort, @fontegagrilledcheese, @dani-dandelino, @dapandapod @damnbert @officerjennie @feraljaskier @geralt-of-riviass @kueble @gilberik @llamasdumpsterfire @wherethewordsare @trickstermoose67 @alllthequeenshorses @skai6 @karolincki @eya-trying-to-function

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt #jaskier #jaskier pankratz #geralt of rivia #wolfie's witcher writing

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sillyrabbit81 · 2 years

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Dear Rabbit. Ma'am. You NEVER cease to amaze me with your exceptional and exquisite storytelling. Part 4 was *chef's kiss* 🤌🏻

Sy's conversations with Marshall and with Geralt was quite interesting. I really like the way you gave us an insight of their mindset concerning Lori, and a glimpse of their bond as brothers. I love each Walter and Geralt's comments on the "situation" with Lori, ultimately both of them making Sy accept that it's anything but nothing, and it's a good thing. Especially, Walter saying "You think she feels safe with you just because she met you first? You hate yourself that much?" melt my heart in a way i can't really explain. I thought it was soft and caring, and there's some strong brotherly love there. I believe Walt felt a little bittersweet, but his love for Sy makes him want the best of him, and instead of jealousy, he suggests that the thing w/ Lori is kinda what Sy was missing in his life. It's just my take tho, i might be reading too much between the lines here.

I understand Sy's hesitation towards Lori because of the brothers' agreement, it's only fair, and it'd be super 🥵 reading smut for all of them, but hell, i can't help but to root for him. Tho i certainly wouldn't mind some steamy intimacy between Lori and the others, Sy is my ultimate guy, and i always love the way you write him. His caring nature, thoughtfulness and kindness towards her is just... I appreciate that there's respect there, too, from all of them which i hope continues thoughout the series. I'm also looking forward for any further interaction bw August and Lori. I think it'll be quite interesting and entertaining to read, and i'm excited to see where it's gonna go 👀

God, Lori is definetely has quite the work cut out for her with these five. I can't waiiittt!!

Sorry for my long rambling, and a huge thank you for your beautiful work, as always. You've definetely made wednesdays my fav day of the week with this 😍

Hi Anon,

Thank you for your comments and I'm sorry I haven't replied sooner.

Please never apologise for leaving awesome long messages like this. Seriously, they are a drug for writers and really motivate us to keep writing.

I'm glad you enjoyed their conversations and that you are able to pick up the strengths of their bond. Honestly, the hardest part of this story was making it feel a little believable. I couldn't write it without making it clear that the Brothers are basically a chosen family. Even August and Sy, their issues are like a sibling rivalry rather than a true animosity. And so you are reading between the lines in exactly the way I intended you to. For Walter especially, it is bittersweet. In a couple of chapters you'll get a Walter POV and understand more where he is coming from.

Ok so it is a reverse harem story... I'll just say that. But Lori and Sy will bond quickest and hardest, the others develop their relationship with Lori more over time. Yeah, its no secret Sy is my guy too. I'm really glad you like how I write him.

I think the thing about respect is important and I hope to continue it through the story. Lori is in control, she isn't forced or coerced into the relationships and thats important to me. And August and Lori, it's been fun to write the two of them, there will be plenty of little snarky interactions along the way until August can just pull his head in hahaha.

Thank you so so much. I really hope I can keep the story entertaining for you. I mean, this story in particular I wrote for myself because I just couldn't get the story out of my head, but I'm really happy other people are getting something out of it too.

❤️ Rabbit

#ask sillyrabbit81 #anon ask #the fallen wolves brotherhood #tfwb

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geraltofriviasleftbuttcheek · 3 years

Text

38. treasuring a small gift/word of praise the other gave

pining prompts

"geralt, where is my notebook? i could have sworn i put it right here—"

"it's at the bottom of the other bag."

"what would i do without you," jaskier says as he sets down the saddlebag in his hands and goes to the other one.

he can feel his witcher's amused grin on his back. "lose your marbles for good, probably."

"probably," he agrees cheerfully, throwing a wink over his shoulder. he digs through the bag for the runaway notebook, finding it, as predicted, at the bottom.

as he pulls it out, his eye catches on something else stuffed there, and he pulls it out, too. his chest feels tight suddenly as he sees what it is.

"oh," he says, softly. "i didn't know you'd kept this."

geralt looks up with an inquisitive hum, and jaskier turns to show him what he'd pulled out of the bag: a little yellow flower pressed between two pieces of glass, set in a circle of metal—a charm or amulet of sorts.

he remembers the day, months ago now. they'd been on the road for a while, and it had been warm and bright and beautiful. jaskier had been singing silly little limericks, more and more pleased every time one pulled a smile out of his witcher. the road had been lined in buttercups, and he'd stooped down and picked one on impulse, offering it out to geralt with a flourish.

"for the flower of my heart," he'd said, and geralt had rolled his eyes but humored him and accepted it anyway.

it had been a silly little gift, and he hadn't thought any more of it. apparently, however, geralt had.

his witcher looks away, eyes sliding to the ground in that way that jaskier knows means he's embarrassed. it's terribly endearing, and jaskier feels warm all over, and so, so in love.

"it reminds me of you," geralt finally admits. "like i have you with me always, even when we part."

his chest feels fit to burst at the words, and jaskier holds the charm close to his breast as if that might contain it and keep it from overflowing. his eyes sting a bit, and he blinks back the tears that want to fall.

"that," he says, clearing his throat when his voice comes out rough with emotion, "that is probably the sweetest, most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me."

geralt snorts at that. "you spend your days surrounded by romance and poetry, and that's the most romantic thing you've ever heard?"

"yes," he says. he crawls over to his witcher on his knees, pressing into his space. geralt leans into him without thinking, and that warms jaskier, too. "because it's you saying it, dear heart. and that makes it better than anything. thank you."

"for what? keeping a silly little flower?"

"for loving me as you do," jaskier says, and he feels geralt smile into the kiss he steals.

#the witcher #geraskier #fics.#we're feeling soft today lads

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reinvent-and-believe · 4 years

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48 from dialogue prompts + 50 from wordless i-love-yous for geraskier?

Dialogue Prompt 48: “You make me want things I can’t have.” Wordless I-love-you 50: buying them a special treat when you go out shopping

It catches Geralt’s eye while he haggles over an outrageously priced jar of alchemy paste with a none-too-impressed herbalist on the outskirts of Novigrad, a buxom widow with thick-braided auburn hair by the name of Irmina.

“This for sale too?” He picks up the brooch from the countertop where it rests in a beam of golden light streaming through a dingy window. He examines it. It’s simple enough metalwork, a brass oval with a scalloped edge, but inlaid in its face is a single pressed yellow flower framed by tiny white blooms encased in resin.

The herbalist’s dour demeanour brightens immediately. “It is indeed!” she answers, her brown eyes shining in a plump, suddenly pleasant face. “Made it myself just last week. It’s something of a hobby of mine, making pretty knick-knacks from the flowers we can’t sell. Got plenty more like this if you’d like to peruse ‘em, master witcher! Forget-me-nots and arenaria, hellebore, violets, any flower you might like.”

A buttercup, he realizes belatedly. That’s the yellow flower in the center.

“No.” He sees Irmina’s brow furrow in offense, so he hastens to appease her. “No need, I’ll take this one. I...I’m partial to buttercups.”

Her freckled face breaks into a sly, knowing smile. “Oh, aye, I’m sure someone is partial to buttercups.” She winks, waving away his stammered attempts at an answer. “Never you mind, I know a man besotted when I see one, and it seems a witcher’s not so different. Tell you what. Fifty crowns for the paste and I’ll throw the brooch in for only ten.”

Leaving the herbalist’s shop with an overpriced paste, a lighter purse, and a useless trinket, Geralt curses himself for a fool.

He’s not sure why he bought it.

He knows buttercups are Jaskier’s favorite, of course. “None but the noblest of flowers for my sobriquet!” Jaskier had squawked indignantly when Geralt once made the grave mistake of referring to the pesky things as weeds after he’d stopped Roach from chomping on a patch of the bright, poisonous blooms.

They are weeds, buttercups. They serve no function. They can’t be used in any of the potions, decoctions, or oils Geralt brews, nor do they have any particularly helpful curative properties for humans.

“As ever, my dear witcher, you have no sense of poetry,” Jaskier had sighed in a most put-upon voice when told as much. “Their function is they’re pretty. Their function is to enrich our lives through the beauty of the natural world.” He’d looked to the sky, tip of his tongue between his teeth showing through his frown as was his custom when puzzling through the right way to turn a phrase. “From a strictly utilitarian perspective, perhaps the buttercup has less value than, say, moleyarrow, or verbena, or chamomile, even. Some plants provide nutritional or medicinal or alchemical qualities of various sorts. But some exist to make life worth living! To transform the banal into the sublime.” He’d plucked a buttercup from the roadside, twirling it between his long fingers. “It’s graceful and balanced, effortlessly beautiful. It’s vibrant, bright like...like sunlight, on a summer afternoon! And when you see it growing alongside the various and sundry flora, it fills you with the loveliest burst of warmth, like a lover’s smile.”

“So...it’s a pretty weed.”

“You’re incorrigible, witcher, that’s what you are.” Jaskier had huffed dramatically before tucking the buttercup behind Geralt’s ear, his face alight with a delighted grin.

Like sunlight on a summer afternoon.

The Kingfisher Inn is crowded when Geralt arrives. He goes to the bar, orders an ale from Olivier, and leans against the counter to take a look at the stage.

Jaskier loves playing the Kingfisher. In many of the inns he plays across the Continent, he’s relegated to a corner to try to sing over the clang of dinner, his only option to win the common folk over a raucous drinking song or a filthy ditty. And while the bard doesn’t shy away from such vulgarities, the patrons of the Kingfisher tend to be of a more artistically inclined ilk, responding with appropriate gusto to the virtuosic art songs that he rarely performs outside of competitions or Oxenfurt.

Or so he’d explained to Geralt when he’d suggested they meet up at the inn.

Jaskier sits atop a tall stool on a rather large stage framed by crimson curtains, his sky-blue doublet a vivid contrast. The audience, enraptured, listens to his ballad, a melancholy tale of a fair maiden who’s violently killed before she can profess her love to a farmhand in her village, a beautiful, strong, kind man whose hair shines like a blaze of pale fire in the sunlight. Her love for him tethers her to this world, and her spirit—bitter, weary, and endlessly yearning—calls the men working in the fields to join her dance at midday, when the sun is in its zenith, hoping against hope for the chance to finally confess to her beloved.

In the end, the brave, noble farmhand sacrifices himself, hoping to stop the spirit’s killings by listening to her song and joining her as she beckons. And as they are reunited, as she finally kisses the lips she’s longed for in a blinding blaze of sunlight, they pass on together, their spirits becoming one.

It’s a contract Geralt worked a few years ago, a noonwraith outside Oreton—or at least something close. As ever, Jaskier has taken artistic liberties, romanticized the actual events (“Sometimes, in our pursuit of Truth, we must sacrifice the facts,” Jaskier loftily explained on more than one occasion. He seemed quite taken with the profundity he seemed to find in the statement. Geralt called it pretentious once and Jaskier hurled a chunk of bread at his head). Once it might have bothered Geralt, but he’s grown accustomed to Jaskier’s rather malleable relationship with veracity in his ballads. There’s no denying the impact of his storytelling: when Geralt glances around the inn, he sees several patrons discreetly dabbing at their eyes.

It’d been an ugly case, leaving him feeling empty, drained. Noonwraiths haunt his thoughts far longer than most the monsters he dispatches. They’re victims of circumstance more than anything, young women who’ve been transformed into bloodthirsty, violent spirits through no fault of their own, through the violence inflicted upon them. Nearly forty men had fallen prey to her before the farmhand distracted her with his kiss—though Geralt would hesitate to classify his grotesque, gruesome sacrifice as such—so the witcher had a chance to strike her down with silver. Jaskier has spun the miserable tale into something beautiful, moving, something that clearly resonates with his captivated audience, that speaks to a greater force at work than the chaotic, banal evils the witcher sees every day, and Geralt thinks he understands, for a moment, what the bard had told him of Truth and facts.

(Geralt doesn’t know what greater Truth is served by changing the beloved farmhand’s hair from the dull brown it really was to “a blaze of pale fire,” but then, Geralt’s not a poet.)

The final notes hang in the air, all eyes fixed on Jaskier for a rapt, breathless moment before the room bursts into wild applause. Jaskier stands and bows deeply, once, twice, a third time, surveying the room as he offers his thanks. When his gaze catches Geralt at the bar, his expression of showman’s grace vanishes, a flash of something that looks almost alarmed for a split second before it’s replaced by a small, gentle smile.

Geralt nods and raises his mug toward the stage in cheers, draining the remainder. Jaskier is quickly swept into the swarm of captivated fans, accepting their praises with a gracious, if distracted, smile.

The witcher turns back to the barkeep to order himself another ale along with a glass of wine.

“Geralt!” Jaskier swerves to avoid a near-collision with a frenzied barmaid on his way to join his companion at the bar. He grabs the wine glass with a groan of appreciation, taking a swig before asking, “Is this for me? Gods, but you’re a marvel, darling, I thank you.” He takes another sip and sends a disarming, roguish wink to a pair of girls staring at him and giggling to each other. “I wasn’t sure when you’d arrive, but it wouldn’t have mattered, I suppose, they only had one room to let when I checked in and it hasn’t cleared out since. You’ll share mine, of course, but I’ve been here a week so, you know, best brace yourself, I’ve quite made the place my own.”

Geralt snorts. He’s stayed in enough rooms that Jaskier has made his own over the past decade to predict with some certainty what mess he’ll soon venture into.

(Doublets draped over furniture after they’ve been discarded; crumpled sheets of paper tossed near, never in the fireplace; a few near-empty bottles of wine; a shirt hung to dry over the modesty screen between the sleeping and bathing areas; bottles of a dozen oils and perfumes and soaps scattered haphazard near the tub; an unmade bed that may well contain an abandoned undergarment or forgotten stocking left by some well-satisfied guest.)

“Have you eaten? Shall we? I’m starved, felt jittery all afternoon and didn’t eat a damned thing which was all well and good until I got onstage and suddenly wished for a fainting couch. Or we could take your things up to the room first, of course. Oh! We could have them bring our dinner up to us, it’s awfully crowded down here tonight and I’m not sure I’m up to socializing all evening, to be honest, I’ve been dreadfully out of sorts, did you notice, Geralt, that I’ve…”

Jaskier continues his ramblings, and the witcher can’t help a twinge of worry for his friend. It’s not unheard of for Jaskier to be in a heightened state over a particularly important performance, but usually afterwards the nerves dissipate and he seems more himself. Not to mention, why would playing in an inn prompt such anxieties? Even if the Kingfisher clientele trends toward the more refined than the country folk he often plays for, it’s still rather a low-stakes environment to trigger such stress.

“New song?” he asks casually. Jaskier always beams when he notices such things, when he makes an effort to ask about his music.

Instead, Jaskier blushes, looking away with an expression that almost seems guilty. “Ah, yes, well, I wasn’t certain when you’d be arriving, of course, I thought I might try out something different, a sort of test audience, as it were, to feel out the piece before I use it for anything important.” The look he’s fixed on Geralt seems almost wary. “Did you...like the song?”

Geralt shrugs. “Not quite how it happened,” he grumbles, out of habit more than anything.

A smile, genuine and rueful, breaks out on Jaskier’s face. “Gods, I’ve missed you, my friend,” he says, shaking his head and looking away quickly.

“Hmm.” He reaches quickly into the coin pouch at his side, thrusting the trinket from the herbalist into Jaskier’s hand with a brusque, “Here.”

“Whatever have we got…” He cuts off as opens his palm. “Oh.”

There have been so few times over the years that Geralt has seen Jaskier speechless that he begins to worry he’s offended him. He turns the brooch over in his hands, once, twice, his thumb swiping gently over its smooth enamel face. He doesn’t look up.

Even in the crowded room, Geralt can smell the shift in his demeanor, the muted sickly-sweet anxious smell becoming something sharp, metallic, pained, like he’s been stabbed. “You’re upset.”

“I...no.” Jaskier shoves the brooch into his trouser pocket, a tense smile on his face, not at all reaching his eyes. “Thank you, Geralt, it’s lovely. Shall we take your bags to the room now?”

“I didn’t...I didn’t get it to upset you.”

Jaskier laughs, a broken thing, and Geralt grows even more alarmed. “You didn’t, it isn’t that, sometimes I want things I can’t have is all.” He grabs the saddlebag sitting at Geralt’s feet, not meeting his eyes as he rushes past him up the stairs to the last bedroom in the hall.

Geralt follows after a moment, giving his companion a respectful distance. There’s a tightness in his shoulders, a knot in his gut that only grows as he watches Jaskier’s hand tremble on the key as he unlocks the door.

It was a stupid idea. He knew it was stupid when he bought it, yet he bought it anyway, somehow ruined everything anyway.

“Here we are.” Jaskier’s voice is filled with a forced cheer as he sets the bag down, hand never leaving the doorknob. “I’ll go fetch us some supper. Or, actually, you know, now that I think of it, I’ve a few errands to run before it gets too late, meant to do it earlier but you know how it goes, lost track of time…”

“Jaskier.” Geralt moves toward him but stops himself, helpless. “Please. I’m sorry I upset you.”

Jaskier stands in the doorway for another moment. He takes a deep breath, closes the door, and walks slowly to the writing desk in the corner. He pulls the chair out, moving the doublet strewn across it before sitting. He doesn’t look at Geralt.

“You didn’t.” Every word is calculated, deliberate. “What kind of ungrateful wretch gets upset over...over an exceptionally thoughtful gift from a friend after a time apart?”

Geralt sits on the edge of the bed. His elbows rest on his knees, fingers locking together as he stares at the floor. “You’re not a wretch. The fault is mine.”

“Dammit, Geralt, there isn’t fault, I only—why did you bring me a gift?”

Geralt frowns. “I’ve bought you things before,” he says slowly.

“Things, yes!” Jaskier vaults from the chair, pacing listlessly about the room, no longer trying to mask his inexplicable distress. “Lute strings when I broke a string and I was low on coin. The lute is my livelihood, it made financial sense for you to replace the string so I could pull my own weight, help you when we pass through several towns in a row with no contracts. Boots when you noticed the hole in the heel of my old pair, because I slow you down limping about in footwear that’s falling apart. Room and board, sometimes, because you know I’m good for it, I’ll cover you the next time.” He’s stopped pacing, stares silent into the fireplace.

“Wasn’t keeping a tab.” Geralt’s voice is quiet. “You needed strings and boots and food and a room.”

Jaskier doesn’t turn to face him, but Geralt sees his hand slip into his pocket, pull out the brooch. His head bends, studying it.

He’s not offended or annoyed or angered by the gift. He’s hurt. But why?

Except...

Jaskier looked guilty when Geralt brought up the song. Like he’d been caught red-handed. Did you like it? he’d asked. Incredulous.

The noonwraith singing her song in hopes that her beloved hears her confession. That he’ll hear her song of longing and come to her.

Hair like a blaze of pale fire, not dull brown.

Sometimes I want things I can’t have.

“Geralt?”

The witcher snaps back to attention, eyes fixed on Jaskier, finally facing him.

“Why did you get it for me, Geralt?”

Geralt frowns. “It’s...pretty,” he starts lamely. “I thought you might wear it when you play. You wear gaudy things.”

Jaskier snorts, a small, crooked grin on his lips.

“It made me think of you,” he confesses quietly, his eyes tracing the wood grain of the floor. “Sometimes...things don’t have to have a function. It was a buttercup and it was pretty and it…made me think of you.”

When Geralt dares to raise his eyes, Jaskier’s staring at him, brows drawn together and mouth slightly agape. After a moment, he walks toward the witcher, sitting carefully beside him on the bed. He reaches his hand towards Geralt’s and presses the little brooch into his palm.

“Will you pin it on me?” he asks softly.

Geralt nods.

His fingers feel thick and clumsy as he fumbles with the delicate clasp. The top few buttons of Jaskier’s doublet, as ever, are undone, but it closes neatly just beneath his exposed neck. Geralt slips a finger beneath the satin fabric to pull it away from his throat, cautiously piercing the fabric with the thin pin and sliding it into its slot, locking the clasp with shaking hands.

His hand doesn’t move from Jaskier’s chest. A sword-calloused thumb, seemingly of its own volition, grazes lightly over the bobbing Adam’s apple.

“Geralt.”

He looks up, almost pulls away but for the flushed cheeks, the tongue that darts out to wet pink lips, the hooded eyes beneath dark lashes fixed on Geralt’s mouth. Jaskier’s breath is warm against his face. When did they draw so close?

“Are you going to kiss me, Geralt?” The breathy whisper is laced with wonder.

And he didn’t...didn’t buy the brooch to entice Jaskier into anything, didn’t mean to solicit any sort of reward, and he opens his mouth to tell him so, yet as his rough hand moves to gently cup the back of Jaskier’s neck the words that tumble out instead are, “I’d like to.”

And Jaskier throws back his head and laughs, a euphoric, intoxicated sound, as his lovely hands cradle Geralt’s face. He brings his forehead to rest against Geralt’s as they still, breathing each other for a moment before Jaskier surges forward to capture his lips.

His kiss tastes like sunlight.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fic #the witcher #my fic #anon asks #prompt fill #thank you so much for this absolutely lovely prompt!!!!! i'm so sorry it took me months to actually filling it!!!

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mollymawkwrites · 4 years

Note

Eskel/Jaskier: AU where Jaskier met Eskel instead of Geralt and wrote Toss a Coin for him instead - scar kissing/appreciation - "guess love is a response/of the body it haunts"

This took me longer to write than I would have wanted, so thank you for waiting! This is... pure fluff. Hope it’s worth the wait, thank you for the lovely prompt!

CW: mildly horny towards the end, but otherwise it’s only fluff!

"I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood."

Eskel raises his head from where he’s been staring at his spit flavoured ale to meet a pair of twinkling blue eyes.

The bardling can't be more than eighteen, fresh-faced and smelling of arousal as he looks at the Witcher appraisingly. Eskel expects him to recoil at the sight of his scars in the low tavern light, but the bard's eyes only widen with interest, and he slides into the opposite empty seat, leaning his lute against the table.

"Oooh, you're a Witcher, aren't you?" He asks with barely restrained excitement. "I could tell from the other side of the room you were filled with stories. How about I buy you an ale, and you tell me some of them?"

Eskel snorts. "And how are you planning to pay for that ale? Stale bread?" He nods towards the bulges where the bard stuffed the food thrown at him after his less than appreciated performance.

"Well, no," the man deflates, but not for long, his carefree smile returning along a flirty wink, "but I'm sure we can find an arrangement."

The Witcher rises from his seat, leaving his untouched ale and a couple of coins on the table. "I do not bed teenagers."

That earns him an offended splutter from the bard, who doesn't take the hint and follows him through the tavern. "I'm not… I can assure you that I am a man. An adult man." His voice breaks a little on the last syllable and Eskel smirks.

"Want to try that again?" He asks, but before the bard has a chance to reply, a man interrupts them. There is fear in his voice when he asks for Eskel's help with a so-called devil haunting his fields, and the way his eyes keep going back to the Witcher's scars shouldn't make Eskel so uncomfortable, but it does. He still accepts the job.

After the whole debacle with the elves, Jaskier follows Eskel back to the inn, strumming his lute with a spring in his step despite the bruise on his forehead and the tears in his doublet. Eskel informs the man who hired him of his deal with the elves, collects his meagre pay, and immediately spends half of it for a warm meal. He sits in the same corner as this morning, and forgets all about the whole ordeal for the time it takes to fill his stomach.

His peace is temporary, as Jaskier takes back his place in the middle of the room, undeterred by his earlier flop, and starts strumming the same melody he’s been composing on their way back to Posada. And then he starts singing.

The song is… embarrassing. Jaskier doesn’t pay attention to the first hollers and insults from the patrons who recognize him, his eyes rarely leaving Eskel, who sits still, mortified, as he discovers the lyrics at the same time as everyone else.

By the end, the complaints have turned to cheers and stomping, and Jaskier’s cheeks are ruddy with exertion. He accepts to play the song a second time, then follows with popular jigs and bawdy tales that have the drunks singing and the others getting drunker. His attention strays from Eskel, though he still spares him smiles and winks when he happens to pass by his table.

Eskel should leave, he knows. The sun will go down soon, and he still has to find a place to set up camp. But he’s stuck to the bench, people throwing coins at him, clapping him in the back. The bartender even slides a free ale in front of him, with a grateful though reluctant nod. It doesn’t even smell of spit.

A warmth spreads in his chest that has nothing to do with the alcohol, and it only flares brighter every time Jaskier sends a smile his way. It takes him a while to identify this emotion, practised as he is at ignoring them. It’s gratefulness. Not for the people thanking him for ridding them of the elves, though that is a nice change. No, he is the one being grateful for the bard who met an old, grumpy Witcher and decided to see a hero worthy of ballads instead.

Eskel knows the bard benefits from it too, his pockets clinking with coin, knows the friendliness of the villagers will only last as long as alcohol fogs their stereotypes and superstitions, but he can’t help but revel in it, hoarding warmth and comfort as much as he can before he goes back to the cold loneliness of the Path.

Just after the sun sets, but long before the impromptu party is over, Eskel slinks outside, stomach full, a little tipsy on ale and joy. He doesn’t want to wait until alcohol makes the mean ones meaner and pushes them to try starting a fight with him. The bard has earned his success, Eskel won’t be the one to ruin it. He meets Scorpion on the outskirts of the city, caresses his velvety nose as the horse sniffs at his pockets for some treats.

“That was a good day, boy,” the Witcher tells his horse. “We shouldn’t get used to it, though. That’s how you get disappointed.”

Traveling with a human is a change Eskel struggles to adapt to, though it is admittedly nice. The boy is a smart one, cultured and quick-witted, but he doesn't know anything about life. His noble upbringing quickly becomes obvious to Eskel, the lack of basic knowledge like making a fire or cooking food revealing themselves on the first evening of their acquaintance. Eskel doesn't mind teaching the boy. It seems like the thing to do to thank the bard for the song, and for the company.

Before he finds himself maudlin longer, Eskel swings a leg over the saddle, and directs Scorpion to the South. Rapid footsteps echo behind him, and he turns to find the bard running in his direction, lute banging on his back and pockets heavy with the night’s earnings. The warmth that had bloomed in Eskel’s chest in the tavern buries itself deeper.

He doesn't expect the boy to stay long, maybe a week or two, until he's tired of sore feets and sleeping on hard ground, or he finds another "muse*, like he insists on calling Eskel.

But he stays, following Eskel everywhere, unless the Witcher insists he stays back at camp while he goes on a dangerous hunt, or he finds something of interest in a town they go through and decides to stay a couple more days. He always catches up, though, finding Eskel in whatever clearing he's set up camp and sitting at his side like they've never parted. It's nice, Eskel admits to himself. To have someone to talk to, about everything from music and art to monsters and magic. He finds himself brooding less and less, his mind focused on the colourful bard chatting next to him rather than on his own dark thoughts.

It comes slowly, he thinks, it buries itself under his skin, filling his every crevice without him noticing, but it's like falling from the edge of a cliff when he finally realises: he's happy.

He's been happy for a while. Since the ridiculous, optimistic, flirty bard entered his life.

He thinks about running, leaving Jaskier behind, before the inevitable happens and Eskel is left with a heart emptier than it was before. He could survive the loneliness when he had nothing else to compare it to; he's not sure he can go back to it now.

But he's not like his brothers, running from his feelings or translating all of them into anger. He takes the time to think about it, and decides that he'll take the risk. Jaskier doesn't look or smell like he has any intention of leaving Eskel's side for the moment, and Eskel has no intention of letting anything happen to the bard.

So he stays, and gets used to the company. It's surprisingly easy.

Winter is close, and Eskel finds himself feeling maudlin. Soon, Jaskier will head towards Oxenfurt to spend the season in warm lodgings, between some pretty girl's thighs, and wait for the sun to come back. Eskel will depart for Kaer Morhen, if he wants to get to the pass before it gets snowed in.

They've talked about it, and agreed to meet in the spring, but it doesn't keep Eskel from wishing they could stay together. He won't keep Jaskier from his plans, though, the bard sounding happy every time he mentions the friends he has at the Academy and his favourite inns to play at, where everyone, even the lowest drunkard, knows how to appreciate good music and poetry.

He shouldn't ask for more, he knows. The bard already gives him so much; his friendship and his songs and his smiles.

The day before they part, they pay for a room in an inn close to the crossroad where they’ll have to say goodbye to each other, and Eskel spends the afternoon knees deep in murky water to rid the local pond of a particularly aggressive bloedzuiger. It’s not dangerous, just long and damp, and his already foul mood sours even more. Back at the inn, Eskel leaves muddy puddles on the way to their room.

Jaskier hasn’t moved from the bed, where he is writing down his latest composition in the leather bound notebook that never leaves his side, along with his lute. He raises his eyes as Eskel enters the room, nose scrunching up at the Witcher’s state.

“I asked for a bath,” Eskel grumbles, unbuckling his armour and putting it close to the crackling fireplace to dry.

“Oh, good,” Jaskier chuckles. “Everything suits you, my dear, but I can’t say I like the smell of dead fish on you.”

Eskel snorts, but doesn’t reply, as the innkeeper’s daughter knocks on the door and sets to filling a modest tub with tepid water. He thanks her, and waits for her to close the door behind herself before undressing completely and stepping into the bath. It’s not Kaer Morhen’s hot springs, but it does soothe the ache in his bones that always settles when it gets cold. He sighs, relaxing after the frustrating contract, and doesn’t notice Jaskier has moved until he’s right behind him.

It should unsettle him that the bard can sneak up on his Witcher senses, but it has become a recurring occurrence, and Eskel doesn’t mind it so much. He likes being able to lower his guard with someone who’s not his brothers or Vesemir.

Nimble fingers thread in his hair, and he suppresses a shudder at the pleasant sensation. “What are you doing?” he asks without opening his eyes.

“Helping you clean that mess,” Jaskier replies in a low voice, almost a murmur.

Eskel hums, not seeing a reason to refuse the offer. The bard’s fingers on his scalp feel divine, and a purr builds in his chest as he slowly melts into a puddle. “That feels nice.”

Jaskier doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t stop either, even when he’s done with Eskel’s hair. His hands trail down to the Witcher’s neck and shoulders, digging into the muscles there with both strength and care. Eskel’s hard prick bobs in the water, but he doesn’t do anything about it. He knows the bard would accept enthusiastically if Eskel were to proposition him; he hasn’t stopped smelling of lust and ogling Eskel even after all these months, but that’s not what the Witcher wants at the moment.

The hands on his shoulders have traded their massage for featherlight caresses, trailing down old scar tissue and up again, teasing and tickling the sensitive skin. Touch purely for touch’s sake. Eskel hums again and Jaskier chuckles, a puff of air brushing the damp skin of Eskel’s neck. “What are you thinking about?”

“Come with me to Kaer Morhen,” the Witcher says before he has time to talk himself out of it.

The silence that follows is short but Eskel has the time to regret everything that has led him to that moment, until a pair of soft lips caresses the curve of his shoulder, where a werewolf bit out a chunk of flesh thirty years ago and left only a jagged silver scar. Jaskier follows it from one end of the half-moon to the other, then breathes against Eskel’s skin, “I’d be honoured.”

And the warmth in Eskel’s chest makes itself a home there.

#prompt fill #jaskel #jaskier #eskel #fic #the witcher

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geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde · 4 years

Text

Written for @bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher! <3 <3 <3

“Please, Geralt! I swear I’ll be quiet for the rest of the night!” Jaskier was standing in the middle of their shared inn room, hands on his hips, looking every bit the spoiled noble he was raised to be.

Geralt grunted and rolled his eyes, sitting on the bed where Jaskier had indicated he should after he had returned from his bath.

Jaskier had been asking for weeks if he could do something with Geralt’s hair, saying that a simple braid would be far more practical for the witcher. Geralt had been unimpressed by the offer and had said no time and time again when Jaskier had brought it up.

But Jaskier had never been known for giving up, and he known he would win eventually.

Smiling in triumph, Jaskier clambered onto the bed, settling behind Geralt. He wasted no time, his steady hands quickly dividing Geralt’s hair into sections. Humming softly, Jaskier wove the strands of hair into a simple three stranded plait, tugging gently on Geralt’s scalp as he did so. Jaskier was especially pleased when he noticed Geralt’s shoulders, normally painfully tense, were relaxed.

“Alright, all done.” Jaskier said softly, patting Geralt on the back. “Turn toward me so I can get a look and make sure I didn’t miss any hair.”

Geralt turned slowly and Jaskier took a moment to study his face, barely registering the hair, which was of course done perfectly. “You, my dear, look lovely.” Jaskier breathed, meeting Geralt’s eyes.

Geralt cleared his throat and his cheeks started to darken. Jaskier’s brows furrowed, worried that something was wrong, but at Geralt’s cheeks continued to redden, he realized that Geralt was simply blushing.

Jaskier’s face lit up, “Don’t be embarrassed, darling. It’s a well-earned compliment. You truly are lovely.”

“Not embarrassed,” Geralt grunted out. “And not lovely.”

Geralt made a move as if to stand up but Jaskier reached out, grabbing Geralt’s shoulders. Jaskier knew he wasn’t strong enough to keep the witcher there, but he hoped Geralt would stay anyway.

And he did, Geralt not resisting as Jaskier urged him to stay seated.

Jaskier reached up and stroked a finger over Geralt’s cheek, marveling at the color, the normally pale skin a bright red. “I didn’t know you could blush,” he said, happiness shining in his eyes.

Geralt looked bashful, “It’s not… common.”

“But I made you blush.”

Geralt huffed, “Yes, well, you make me do a lot of things I wouldn’t normally.”

Jaskier laughed, a hand still resting on Geralt’s warm cheek. “There once was a time where you would have thought that was a bad thing.”

“Hmmm.”

Jaskier’s heart was fit to burst with the fondness he felt and he couldn’t help himself as he leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Geralt’s reddened cheek.

Pulling back Jaskier looked at Geralt, noting that it seemed he was blushing even more, if that was possible.

“Thank you, Jaskier.” Geralt said softly, his eyes filled with an emotion Jaskier couldn’t quite place.

Jaskier was shocked, he had never heard the witcher quite so earnest, and he had certainly never been thanked by him. “Whatever for?”

Geralt hummed thoughtfully, leaning forward until his lips were nearly brushing Jaskier’s, “Just for being you.” He pressed their lips together in a chaste kiss, pulling back quickly and resting his forehead against Jaskier’s.

Suddenly, Jaskier found himself blushing as well.

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#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fandom #fanfiction #ficlet #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt blushes #some hair braiding #cheek kisses #i was tryna give bouncey all the soft she could handle

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contemplativepancakes · 4 years

Text

enough to drive a man mad

~7k geraskier fake dating, because that is what this fandom needs. read on ao3 here!

Jaskier smells anxious. He reeked of apprehension all of yesterday, not to mention the fact that he hasn’t been able to sit still or stop tapping his foot on the wooden floorboards this morning.

It’s grating on Geralt’s last nerve.

“What, Jaskier?” he finally growls.

Jaskier jumps, almost falling out of his chair from where he sits tapping his quill idly in his notebook.

“What?”

“What has you so worked up?”

Jaskier looks Geralt in the eyes before glancing away again. He clears his throat. “Nothing.”

Geralt grunts.

“Oh, don’t sound so unconvinced,” Jaskier complains.

Geralt rolls his eyes, turning his back to Jaskier to finish settling all of his things into his pack. He wraps the glass jars carefully and tucks them between Jaskier’s shirts, so they don’t break. “If nothing is wrong, you’re ready to go then, right?”

Jaskier grumbles, but he tucks his notebook away and gets to his feet.

They make it about three hours before Jaskier finally broaches the subject.

“So, Geralt,” he starts. “Dear friend of mine.”

Geralt doesn’t even bother to look back at him. Nothing good can come with this as a conversation starter.

“Have I ever told you about my parents?”

“No.”

Jaskier sighs. “I suppose not. Well, they’ve written to me. They want me to visit.”

Geralt thinks back to the letter an innkeeper had handed to Jaskier a few weeks ago, the one that made him eerily quiet the rest of the night and that he had clammed up about when Geralt questioned him. Jaskier was perky and practically completely back to normal the next morning, so Geralt had almost forgotten about it. Apparently, Jaskier had not done the same.

“Hmm.”

“Yes, yes, I know. Dreadfully inconvenient for you. What will you do without your loyal companion?”

Geralt frowns. He hadn’t even thought about that, just registered the smell of unhappiness coming off of Jaskier at the thought of his parents. Jaskier is rather helpful, though. He’s never afraid to step in the middle of pay negotiations, inevitably getting Geralt more coin, and he’s certain Jaskier has stopped them from getting kicked out of at least three towns after Geralt had stumbled back to the inn covered in viscera.

“Do you want to visit them?”

Jaskier trips over his feet, and Geralt dutifully looks away, pretending not to have noticed. “Not particularly. But I have to.”

Geralt won’t pretend to understand how a typical human family works, so he just accepts Jaskier’s words at face value. He’s never felt obliged to return to Kaer Morhen every winter; it’s something he looks forward to—to seeing his patchwork family. But Jaskier deliberately never speaks of his family, and gets twitchy every time anyone brings them up, so Geralt had accepted it as one of Jaskier’s many quirks and moved on.

“Hmm. Well, I can travel with you there, at least. I’m sure there will be contracts in the area somewhere.”

Jaskier flushes red. “I was...I was actually hoping you would come with me.”

“What? I’m sure that’s not what your parents had in mind when they wanted you to visit. They wouldn’t want to meet me .”

“Well, they said it’s unbecoming for someone of my age to be a bachelor. And, so I. I, um.” Jaskier scratches the back of his neck. “I told them I wasn’t. And I maybe sort of perhaps insinuated we were together.”

Geralt can feel a stress headache brewing.

Marilla looks down at the letter in shock.

Dear Mother,

I fear I am not quite as much of a bachelor as you suppose. Have you heard any of my songs? I have gone and fallen head first into my muse. Typical, foolish me, but I’ve never been happier. We’ll visit soon.

Julian

She doesn’t like to think about Julian’s songs, about how he couldn’t even keep the name she had given him. She thrusts the letter to her husband. “He’s coming to visit,” she says in disbelief. “When’s the last time we saw him?”

Ethbert considers this as he reads the letter. “At least five years.”

“And I can’t believe he hasn’t spoken of this ‘muse’ any sooner. I’m not sure I believe him.”

Ethbert gave Marilla a placating smile. “He’s probably just ashamed he hasn’t found himself a wife yet. We’ll find out when he comes, doubtless with an excuse about where his beloved is.”

Marilla sniffs. “You’re right.”

Nell looks down at the scene in the kitchen with wide eyes from her spot crouched down between the banisters at the top of the stairs. Her brother? With a wife? She could scarcely imagine it. She thinks back to the last time Julian was here, the way he had boasted to her about his conquests for hours, away from the prying ears of their parents.

Well, surely if he had someone, he’d have talked about her in his songs. She resolves to get her hands on some of his music. She’ll solve this mystery before Julian even gets here.

“The first thing to know is that they’re awful,” Jaskier says, ticking down one of his fingers as he walks along beside Roach, seemingly uncaring of the dust that’s drifting up from her hooves and onto his doublet. “Well, except for my sister. Be nice to my sister, please, Geralt.”

“I’m nice to everyone.”

Jaskier stifles a laugh. “Mm. Be extra nice to her, then.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“You need to loosen up, too. They’re never going to think we’re together when you look all...constipated like that.”

Geralt huffs.

“You’re lucky opposites attract,” Jaskier says, before dragging a hand down his face. “This is never going to work, is it?”

Nell squints at the lyrics spread out before her. This doesn’t sound very romantic to her at all. Maybe a breakup song? She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss , Nell hums. She can’t help but notice there’s three different people the song is talking about, though. Odd. She shakes her head and moves onto the next song.

This one is just a ditty, so Nell turns the page to see a song about the witcher Jaskier travels with. And then another, and another. Is he all Julian writes about? She expected to see love songs, not this nonsense. She goes through more of his catalogue, briefly regretting spending her allowance on the songbook, but she supposes it supports her brother, after all.

She’ll just have to see what she can wheedle out of him while he’s here.

Finally, after flipping through no less than four more songs about the witcher, she lands on one titled “The Eternal Flame.”

Interesting.

Around your house, now white from frost

Sparkles ice on pond and marsh

Your longing eyes grieve what is lost

But naught can change this parting harsh

Spring will return, on the road the rain will fall

Hearts will be warmed by the heat of the sun

It must be thus, for fire still smolders in us all

An eternal fire, hope for each one

There, Nell can read some romance in. She rubs the ends of her hair together in thought. This one song certainly isn’t enough proof that Julian has actually found a wife. More like he’s still pining over some old flame. It doesn’t seem like he’s written very many good love songs at all.

Nell rolls her eyes, thinking back to all the raunchy songs in his catalogue. Typical.

There’s the squeak of the door opening downstairs, and Nell hastily slams the book shut and hides it under her mattress. She doesn’t want Julian seeing and getting a bigger head, after all.

She straightens her dress and runs down the steps, eager to see if Julian’s by himself, which is her guess. She comes to a skidding halt when she sees who is with him.

Oh.

She supposes he does write love songs, after all.

Geralt shifts uncomfortably from the scrutiny Jaskier’s family is giving him. He wraps an arm around Jaskier’s shoulder, hoping he doesn’t look as awkward as he feels. He looks over to Jaskier for help, and Jaskier shrugs off his arm and takes Geralt by the hand, leading him forward to meet them.

“Mother, Father, this is Geralt. Nell, this is a very large, scary witcher who will eat you up if you don’t behave.”

Geralt frowns. He thought Jaskier told him to be extra nice to his sister?

Nell laughs, a delightful, tinkling thing that reminds him of Jaskier’s. “He’s going to like me better than you by the time he leaves.”

Geralt looks back to Jaskier, only to see him sticking his tongue out at her. Right. Their relationship is definitely more antagonistic than Jaskier had prepared him for, so Geralt is glad he had Lambert to prepare him for these things.

He’s not sure his interactions with Lambert would be appropriate to apply to Jaskier’s sister, though, so Geralt will let Jaskier handle the ribbing.

“Nice to meet you,” Geralt finally says. “Jaskier’s told me a lot about you.”

Which, of course, is a lie, but Geralt knows that’s the polite thing to say.

“He’s never even mentioned me, has he?”

When Geralt waffles, Nell sniffs dramatically and casts Jaskier a betrayed look.

Jaskier shoots that look right back to Geralt, and Geralt is so impossibly out of his depth right now. “Hmm.”

“Now look what you’ve done, you’ve made him regret agreeing to meet you in the first place!” Jaskier cries.

“That’s quite enough, Julian,” Jaskier’s mother cuts in, and—Julian?

He shoots Jaskier a puzzled look. Obviously, there was a little more he should have told Geralt before they came here.

“Well, I’m afraid we are absolutely knackered; we’ve been riding all day. I’m going to head upstairs…”

Geralt shoots him a look.

“I mean, we are going to head out to the stables and make sure that Geralt’s very polite mare is taken care of.”

“We have someone—”

“No, no, Geralt is very picky about who cares for his horse.”

With that, Jaskier drags Geralt out of the house and to the barn. “I thought the goal was for them to like me?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier snorts. “Gods, no. The goal is to have them believe that we’re in a relationship, and they would never believe I would choose anyone they actually liked .”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Honestly, Geralt. It’ll be fine. Just stop acting like you’re terrified of me every time I touch you. Maybe we should practice.”

Jaskier gets a gleam in his eye as he darts a glance back to the house, and then his very warm mouth is on Geralt’s. Geralt’s surprised for a second before he relaxes and kisses Jaskier back. He’ll show Jaskier he’s not terrified of him. Geralt would scoff if his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied.

Geralt brings one hand up to rest on Jaskier’s jaw and one to wind through his soft hair. Geralt strokes his thumb over Jaskier’s cheekbone, and Jaskier melts against him, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s waist and tugging him closer.

“What was that for?” Geralt says, trying to keep his breathing even after they pull away.

Jaskier peers around him and looks back up at the house. “Well, they were watching through the window. Figured we’d give them a show. Alas.”

Jaskier turns and heads to the stables. Geralt trails behind him, surreptitiously bringing a hand up to his medallion to make sure it’s not vibrating.

He is in way over his head.

Nell stares at them with wide eyes from her bedroom window. She had...not exactly doubted them when Julian showed up with his witcher in tow, but she hadn’t exactly believed them, either. Who could let Julian trail around after them for years and not get sick of him?

If she hadn’t witnessed them kissing with her own two eyes, she never would have believed it. She pulls the book out from under the mattress and looks at the songs again, this time with a more critical eye. She can’t believe she didn’t see it before. Especially “Her Sweet Kiss.” She’d never admit it to Julian, but she’s glad he won over whoever this her is. He looks happy, in a way that he never did while he was here.

Her mother calls for her, so Nell sighs and puts away the book. She runs down the stairs. “Yes?”

“I need help with supper.”

Nell sets the table, noting they’re using the fancy silverware, which is a surprise, because her mother has never taken a particular interest of what Julian thinks of her before this, so this is an interesting time to start. She’s sure their meal is going to be a very uncomfortable affair. Well, not for her, unless it starts to become painful to hold her laughter in.

She can’t wait.

She’s just finishing arranging the cutlery when her mother turns back to her. “Can you believe Julian? I knew witchers were for hire, but I didn’t think their services extended to...this.”

Nell barely holds back a snort.

Jaskier looks over to Geralt and suppresses a sigh. He had just planted a hand on Geralt’s thigh, and he’s sure his parents think that he just stabbed Geralt, from his reaction. He scoots his chair closer over to Geralt and drapes an arm over his shoulders. “Relax,” he whispers into Geralt’s ear.

Geralt does, marginally, but Jaskier can still see the doubt on his parent’s faces.

Jaskier’s father clears his throat. “So, Geralt, um. I suppose we know what you do, but, um. Um.”

“Honestly, haven’t you heard any of my songs? They are all the very true accounts of what Geralt gets up to,” Jaskier butts in.

Geralt takes a gulp of wine from his goblet to avoid commenting.

Jaskier notices, and elbows him in the ribs. “Geralt loves my songs, right?”

Jaskier’s parents are staring right at him, and it’s more than a little unnerving. “Right. They’re...very romantic.”

Jaskier’s grip around Geralt’s shoulders tightens. “Thank you, darling.”

Geralt is sure Vesemir once told him witchers can’t blush, but his face feels hot all of a sudden, and everyone is looking at him expectantly.

Geralt takes another drink.

Jaskier shakes his head. “Geralt’s been so nervous about meeting all of you. The poor dear is overwhelmed.”

Geralt shoots him a glare, before softening the look into something more akin to convincing Jaskier’s parents that they’re very happily together. Jaskier hastily bolts down the rest of his dinner before he drags Geralt up the stairs and to his room.

He shuts the door behind them, leaning against and tugging at his hair. “There’s no way they’re buying this,” he moans.

“I thought I was being rather convincing.”

The corner of Geralt’s lips twitch, so Jaskier hits him with a pillow. “You did not, you brute! Geralt if you’re doing this on purpose—”

“Hey, hey,” Geralt soothes. “I’m not. It’s just. Acting is not exactly on my list of talents.”

Jaskier crosses his arms and huffs. Geralt tugs him over to the bed and makes him sit down, plopping beside him. “What can I do?”

Jaskier throws his arm over his eyes and lays back, rather over dramatically, if you ask Geralt. “Nothi—Well, actually.”

Geralt does not like the sound of that. He was offering more to be nice than anything.

“We have to have sex.”

Geralt’s mouth goes dry. “What?”

Jaskier scoffs. “This is no time to act the blushing virgin, Geralt,” he says, before his hands are on Geralt’s clothes, tugging them and unbuttoning.

Geralt jerks back, but Jaskier is already done. “There. Nice and dishevelled.”

Geralt gapes at him for a moment, giving Jaskier the opportunity to muss his hair. Geralt growls.

“I know, I know. That took you hours to accomplish.”

Geralt catches his wrist. “Just, hold on a second. What are we doing?”

“We have to consummate my childhood bed, Geralt,” Jaskier says, completely seriously. “Or at least make my parents think we did.”

Jaskier starts moving his hips on the bed, making the headboard brush up against the wall with every gyration. “Mmm, fuck, Geralt, right there!” he cries.

“ Jaskier!” Geralt hisses, but Jaskier pays him no mind.

“You feel so good, darling!” He throws Geralt a wink, and Geralt tries not to combust.

Jaskier undoes three of the buttons of his doublet, revealing a thicket of chest hair. Geralt casts his eyes to the ceiling. Gods help him. “You know, you don’t have to be so stoic all the time, dear heart. You can let me hear you,” Jaskier says, pointedly prodding at Geralt.

Geralt shakes his head furiously. This is not what he agreed to.

Jaskier gives Geralt a put on sigh before clearing his throat quietly. “Oh, Jaskier,” he says in a deep voice.

“That doesn’t even sound like me,” Geralt whispers furiously.

Jaskier just arches an eyebrow, and Geralt knows that’s a challenge. He swings his leg over Jaskier, straddling him and trying to ignore both of their pounding hearts. It’s the heat of carrying out their plan, Geralt is sure, and not at all Jaskier’s proximity.

Geralt rocks the bed back and forth, making the headboard slam against the wall now.

Gearlt gives a half hearted moan, and Jaskier gives him a glare. “You’re making me sound like a terrible lover who’s left you horribly unfulfilled!” he hisses.

Geralt rolls his eyes and gives a more enthusiastic moan this time. Geralt begrudgingly keeps this up for a few more minutes before he grunts and clambers off of Jaskier. “A little quick to the finish line?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt shoots him a rude hand gesture.

Jaskier gasps in mock offense. “Why don’t you go get me a wash rag?” he suggests.

Geralt glares at him; this is taking the charade much too far, if you ask Geralt, but he follows Jaskier’s direction to the bathroom—where Jaskier’s mother is standing. Geralt suddenly becomes conscious of what a mess he must look like right now, thanks to Jaskier. “Hello again,” Marilla says.

Geralt grunts and nods to her, before remembering he should probably say something, anything. “Hi.”

Geralt grabs a washcloth and flees.

When he gets back to Jaskier, Jaskier is sitting on the bed with his knees drawn up to his chest, scribbling away in his notebook, the inkwell balancing precariously on the mattress. He still has his buttons undone, and Geralt curses himself for even noticing.

“Did you run into anyone?” Jaskier asks.

Geralt’s disgruntled expression must be answer enough, because Jaskier rubs his hands together in delight. “Excellent.”

Marilla scurries back to her room, completely scandalized. She can’t believe they would...defile her home like this. It’s bad enough that Julian couldn’t choose anyone they suggested for himself, and now he brings home a witcher ? He’s trying to make her gray even faster.

She shuts the bedroom door behind her and looks to Ethbert. Her expression must linger on her face, because he asks her, “What?”

“They—” She makes a floppy hand gesture.

“Are you sure? What would a witcher want with Julian? There’s something not right about this.”

Marilla fans herself. “I know. They’re not even wed. It’s impropriety, is what it is.”

Ethbert squints doubtfully.

Geralt is not a morning person. When Jaskier first discovered this, he was puzzled. Geralt is the only person who dictates his schedule, so no one would yell at him if he chose to sleep until midday.

The more Jaskier thinks about it, though, the more it makes sense. Of course Geralt would wake up at the asscrack of dawn; he probably thinks of it as a punishment or some other such self loathing nonsense.

It’s certainly more of a punishment for Jaskier, because he’s the one that has to put up with Geralt’s bearish attitude every morning.

Geralt blinks awake and squints at the rising sun like it’s personally offended him, and Jaskier closes his eyes, not wanting to be caught staring.

“Morning,” Geralt grates out.

Jaskier’s lips twist into a wry smile. “Good morning.”

“I know you weren’t asleep,” Geralt says, sounding annoyed. “You could have woken me up.”

“Mm. And deal with a grumpy witcher first thing in the morning? I don’t think so.”

Geralt scoffs. “I’m not grumpy.”

“Right.”

Geralt swings his legs out of the bed and begins getting dressed. Jaskier stretches into the warmth Geralt left behind, tugging the blankets up over him.

What? He never said he was a morning person, either. “Where are you going?”

“Into town.”

“For what? Do you need things for potions? I’ll go with you.”

“No, no, I’m just going to see if there’s any contracts; you stay here.”

Jaskier gives a sly grin. “Does my family make you nervous?”

“ No .”

“Hmm,” Jaskier says.

“Shut up.”

“Well, don’t go gallivanting off without telling me where. You know I worry.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “No need.”

Jaskier adopts a high pitched voice. “Why, thank you, Jaskier, my dearest friend. I’m so touched to know someone is looking out for me.”

“It’s pretty sad if you have to imagine someone to be your friend.”

Jaskier splutters as Geralt walks out of the room, a smile tugging at his lips.

Jaskier sighs as the door shuts behind him, wanting to bundle himself back in the blankets and Geralt’s scent, but he resists the urge and stumbles out of bed to pull on his clothes.

He makes it down the stairs and to the kitchen, picking up a bowl of eggs and whisking them, the need to be helpful overriding his desire to collapse in a chair and go back to sleep.

“Good morning, Julian,” his mother says stiffly. “Where’s your beau?”

Jaskier lets himself smile at the image of Geralt’s reaction to being heard of himself referred to as Jaskier’s beau .

“He’s out looking for a contract. He’ll be back for lunch, I’m sure.”

He gives his mother a bright grin. He thinks he should have made Geralt suck a hickey on his neck, but, to be honest, he’s not sure if he could have beared that. Geralt had already been so unbearably close to Jaskier when he straddled him. Jaskier’s not sure what had possessed Geralt to do that, all the while expecting Jaskier to keep his hands to himself.

He’s not sure Geralt’s looked in a mirror anytime in the past fifty years because of the whole monster-staring-back-at-him thing (complete horse shit, in Jaskier’s humble opinion, not that Geralt cares to listen to it), but Jaskier is forced to look at him every day, and he suffers.

He suffers every time he trails behind Geralt atop Roach, watching the subtle shift of his back muscles as he rides, and he’s devastated when Geralt deems Roach too tired to carry him and leads her in his tight leather pants. If Geralt hadn’t been wearing just such a thing when Jaskier met him, Jaskier would be convinced Geralt does it just to personally spite Jaskier.

To doom him to look but not touch for the rest of his life. As such, he had never expected Geralt to actually agree to this whole charade. But, he did, and now here they are. Here they are, with Jaskier knowing exactly what Geralt tastes like (less onion than one would expect), but still having to not just kiss the blank looks Geralt likes to give him right off his face.

It’s enough to drive a man mad.

Geralt looks at the pitiful notice board and sighs. He tugs down the one prospect to examine it more closely. Something is stealing a farmer’s sheep. There’s a few possibilities for what it could be, ranging from minor nuisances to things that he shouldn’t even mention to Jaskier because he’ll nag at Geralt until he lets him tag along, and those are always the kind of jobs that Jaskier should be nowhere near.

Geralt’s not sure how someone with the survival instinct of a fly larva is still alive, especially when he insists on following Geralt around, but Geralt’s not going to let Jaskier get hurt on his watch.

Geralt pockets the notice and goes to talk to the farmer who set the contract, but he has very little useful information to tell Geralt. All he offers is that the sheep have been disappearing without a trace. Geralt walks the edges of the property and a bit into the woods, doing a cursory inspection for the carcasses, but he doesn’t find them, either.

Hmm.

Geralt turns and heads back to Jaskier.

Geralt’s acting out of sorts when he returns from town, so Jaskier tugs him aside. “What’s wrong?”

Geralt just grunts and shakes his head.

Jaskier sighs. Typical. “Weren’t there any contracts?”

“There were, just—I don’t know what it is. But I’m sure it will be fine.”

Geralt even tries to give him a bracing smile, and even though it looks more like a grimace, Jaskier knows it’s not good if Geralt has stooped to trying to comfort him.

Jaskier hums at him and leads him to the table where his family are waiting on them for lunch. Jaskier keeps a hand on Geralt’s knee, because he’s allowed to, at the moment.

He delights in watching Geralt make awkward conversation with Nell, but it seems like they’re quickly warming up to each other. Jaskier’s mouth goes dry at the thought of them teaming up on him. They would truly be a menace.

Jaskier’s mood is quickly soured when they finish eating and Geralt insists on heading back out.

“Shouldn’t you wait until the morning? You know, be well rested?”

Geralt shrugs. “It’s been taking the animals at night. Better chance of finding it if I go now.”

“Geralt, we’re not exactly short on coin right now. Why even go?”

“If I don’t take care of this, who will?” Geralt huffs. “This farmer’s livelihood is at risk.”

Jaskier grins. “Geralt, you unbearable softie. You make me look callous.”

Jaskier darts a glance over to his family, who are pretending not to watch them. He takes that as license to tug Geralt in for a chaste kiss. Geralt stiffens against him, and Jaskier is just about ready to pull away, before Geralt starts kissing him back. He makes it decidedly less chaste, and Jaskier puts a hand on his chest. He lets himself savor it for one, two, three seconds before he takes a step back.

“Geralt, there are children present!” he says in a scandalized tone, grinning at Nell.

She glares, and he shoots her a wink.

Geralt clears his throat, and Jaskier jerks his attention back to him. “Right. Well, if I’m not going to talk you out of it, be safe.”

“I always am.”

Ethbert watches as Julian paces back and forth as he waits for the witcher to return. “Sit down,” he says gruffly.

Julian looks at the clock, then out the window, completely ignoring him. Ethbert snorts. Good to know nothing’s changed, then.

“Surely it can’t take this long to murder one measly little thing,” Julian mutters.

“He’s fine,” Ethbert says. “It’d take a lot to overpower a witcher, right?”

Jaskier sits down in a huff, and Ethbert starts to wonder if maybe their relationship is less of a farce than he thought. It’s certainly an odd one, and he’s still clueless as to what they could possibly have in common, but Julian is painting a convincing picture right now, especially as he tugs his cloak off the hook and settles it around his shoulders.

“Where are you going?”

“To find him!”

Ethbert jerks out of his seat with a splutter. “You can’t be serious. You think you’re going to be able to handle whatever a witcher couldn’t?”

Julian pauses. “Well, no. He’s probably lying in a ditch somewhere, slowly bleeding to death. Oh gods, what if he’s out there bleeding to death?”

Julian becomes even more frantic and rushes out the door and to the stables.

Ethbert resigns himself to a long night.

Jaskier clambers onto one of the smaller mares. He doesn’t have the patience to go through the whole process of putting all the tack on, so he clings to the horse’s neck and prays he doesn’t fall off. He digs into her with his knees, and away they go.

Jaskier has no idea which way Geralt went, but there’s some fairly fresh hoof tracks in the wet dirt of the road, so he follows them and hopes they’re Roach’s. Eventually, they go off the road, and Jaskier is left to squint at trampled grass. He wonders if Geralt would be proud of his tracking abilities, and he smiles thinking about the inevitable jab. Jaskier would respond with something about how Geralt was no better than a dog sniffing the air, and all would be well.

But first, he has to find him. Jaskier slows the horse to a walk as the trail becomes fainter, squinting as he looks at the ground. He comes to an outcrop of rocks with an opening just big enough to go inside, and he dismounts his horse cautiously. He certainly doesn’t want to deal with whatever calls this place its home.

Jaskier notices blood, and his heart kicks up a notch. It’s a rust red color, so it’s not very recent. Jaskier follows the splatters, and as he goes, they get brighter and brighter, until Jaskier’s heart threatens to burst out of his chest with the panicked tap dance it’s doing.

It certainly doesn’t help matters when he finds Roach wandering through the woods by herself. “Where’s Geralt?” he asks, and she snorts at him helpfully.

Jaskier casts a look at the blood glistening under the leaves underfoot and knows Geralt has to be close. Roach gives an agitated whinny before she turns and trots off, and Jaskier rushes after her.

In the end, Geralt’s not all that far away. Jaskier sees his hair before he sees anything else, and then he’s sprinting over to him with little thought for anything else. Jaskier drops to his knees beside Geralt. He looks paler than normal, even though Jaskier hadn’t known that was possible

There’s so much blood, and he’s not moving. Jaskier sucks in a breath. “Geralt? Geralt?” he asks, his voice getting louder and more panicked. “Geralt?”

Jaskier resists the urge to shake him and jostle whatever injuries he has, but there’s bile rising in his throat, and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do—

His eyes latch on to the infinitesimal rise of Geralt’s chest, and the pressure on his own suddenly lifts. He shuts his eyes for a moment. Geralt isn’t dead, and he can work with that.

Jaskier takes a closer look at Geralt and finds there’s a chunk missing from his side. It’s still bleeding freely, and Jaskier tries to resist the urge to be sick. He works Geralt free of his armor with shaky hands, so he can take a closer look.

Geralt moans and starts to stir, and Jaskier plants his hands on Geralt’s chest. “Just stay still; you’re going to be fine.”

“Jask?” Geralt slurs.

“Yes, yes, it’s me, and you know I’m far too stubborn to let you die.”

“My pack—”

Jaskier could slap himself for not thinking of that. “Right. Um, your potions.”

He whistles for Roach, and she approaches skittishly. Jaskier glances back down at Geralt, and his eyes are slipping shut. Jaskier tightens his grip on Geralt’s shoulder. “Geralt! You have to stay awake. Do you hear me?”

Geralt murmurs something Jaskier doesn’t quite catch, but his eyes open wider. Geralt’s pupils are so dilated, there’s barely a ring of yellow left around the outsides. Jaskier clambers up to look through Roach’s saddlebags, and his heart clenches when Geralt’s hand comes up to clutch at him as he moves away. “I’m not going anywhere,” he soothes.

He rustles through the saddlebag. “Fuck, Geralt, do you really need so many tiny bottles?”

Geralt gives him a weak chuckle before he hisses in pain.

“Which one do you need?” Jaskier asks, hoping Geralt is coherent enough that he’s not about to poison himself.

Jaskier pulls the pouch out of the saddle bag to show him the options. Geralt points to a few, and Jaskier eyes them doubtfully. He uncorks them anyway, sitting back down and settling Geralt’s head into his lap, helping him get the elixirs down, even when Geralt tries to bat his hands away.

“Save your energy for something useful, would you?” Jaskier tuts.

Jaskier prods at the wound in Geralt’s side, jerking his hand back when Geralt winces. “I forgot just how delicate you were, my apologies.”

Geralt barely manages a huff at that, and Jaskier furrows his brows in worry. He pulls Geralt’s shirt away from the wound, biting his lip as it pulls skin away. The wound looks a sickly green underneath all the blood, and Jaskier gasps a little. This is much worse than he thought.

“Geralt, it’s—Geralt?”

Geralt’s eyes have slipped shut, and Jaskier scrabbles at him, trying to make him wake up again, but he stays stubbornly still. The only thing giving Jaskier even a tiny glimmer of peace is that his chest is still rising and falling.

Tears are threatening to burst to Jaskier’s eyes, but he pushes them down and takes a deep breath. Somehow, he manages to heave Geralt across Roach. Roach snorts, disgruntled, and Jaskier runs a hand over her flank, trying to soothe her.

He looks around, but he has no idea where the mare he rode out here went. Oops. Hopefully it will wander back to his parent’s estate, but if not, well, will they even miss it?

Jaskier gathers Roach’s reins in his hand and leads her back towards town at a steady trot.

When Geralt comes to, he’s sweltering. He seems to be in a tomb of blankets, and the fire is roaring in the corner of the room. The room? He’s not quite sure how he got here; he would have expected to be lying on the cold ground instead of a soft and yielding bed. There’s even less lumps than he’s accustomed to.

He groans when he tries to move, and there’s a rustling from beside him. Geralt looks over to see Jaskier jerking from his chair to fuss over him. Jaskier’s eyes are red when he finally looks up.

“You promised me you were going to be safe, you terror,” Jaskier sniffs.

Geralt doesn’t have his wits about him enough yet to be dealing with crying bards. “Hmm.”

“Geralt, you—What was it?”

“A cockatrice. It got me with its tail; spit a little poison at me just for fun.”

Jaskier shakes his head. “You wouldn’t know fun if it bit you in the ass.”

This makes Geralt look even grumpier, if possible. Jaskier’s glad; he much prefers that to the slack expression Geralt had had while he was sleeping, and Jaskier was terrified he wouldn’t wake up.

Jaskier looks back at him, and Geralt can’t help himself when he reaches out to swipe away Jaskier’s tears with his thumb. “I’m fine,” he murmurs.

Geralt tosses the covers off himself so he can see his wound. It’s wrapped rather nicely, and when Geralt pokes at it, it feels like there’s some kind of poultice under the bandages. He raises his eyebrows at Jaskier, waiting for an explanation.

“A healer.”

Geralt’s surprised Jaskier found someone who would treat him; most people aren’t too keen on helping witchers.

“I yelled at him until he helped you,” Jaskier admits.

Geralt huffs a laugh. “I’m sure he was terrified.”

Jaskier finally cracks a grin. “Hey, you’re not the only scary one around here.”

Jaskier’s eyes drop to his hand, the one that was just on his face, and fuck, what was Geralt even thinking, but Jaskier reaches out and puts his hand over Geralt’s.

“I was worried,” he says softly. And then, sharper, “Don’t you dare say hmm .”

“Hmm.”

Geralt laughs, and there’s a warmth that settles in his chest when Jaskier does the same.

“You’re incorrigible,” Jaskier finally says.

There’s a lengthy silence, and when Geralt looks up, Jaskier is staring back at him.

“You got the trophy, right?”

“Geralt, my ears must be deceiving me. You cannot possibly be worried about that right now.”

“How else am I going to get paid? Last time I checked, you liked to eat. It needs done before something else drags the carcass away.”

Jaskier sighs and huffs and does everything short of stomping his feet before he gathers his cloak from the back of his chair. He glares at Geralt before he slams the door shut behind him.

Geralt rubs a shaky hand down his face.

He’s an idiot.

Jaskier grumbles to himself as he makes his way back out into the chilly night. His advances are obviously unwelcome, if this is the kind of punishment Geralt is doling out to him. Well, that’s fine. Jaskier will just let him bleed out next time.

Okay, he won’t, but that doesn’t mean he won’t consider it for a few seconds.

Stupid emotionally repressed witchers. He can’t say he wasn’t hoping something would happen with Geralt while they were here, but he should have known better.

Jaskier trudges all the way back to near where he found Geralt, pointedly not looking at the blood stain on the grass. He’s fine , he reminds himself. Jaskier pokes around for a little bit until he remembers the cave he had seen earlier and some vague knowledge that cockatrices prefer them.

He’s half expecting another to show up as he plucks some feathers and cuts off the head, for good measure. He almost gags as his knife goes roughly through the bone and sinew, but he manages to keep his supper. He looks around for any last creatures that are just waiting to murder him, but none appear.

He sighs and makes the trek back.

When he arrives, Geralt is sitting at the table, talking to his family, and Jaskier wonders for a moment if he should be concerned about a doppler. Nell is eating up every word Geralt says, and Jaskier hopes she has pried some good stories out of him that Jaskier can repurpose as songs later.

For now, he swings the cockatrice head up onto the table, and silence falls. “There you go, love,” he says cheerfully.

Geralt is looking back at him with a peculiar expression, and he rises from his chair stiffly. Jaskier rushes over to him to help, and Geralt reluctantly drapes an arm over his shoulder. Geralt leads him to the bathroom, and Jaskier makes sure to say loudly enough for the rest of his family to hear, “Well, if you needed help holding it you only had to ask.”

Geralt huffs in exasperation and shuts the door behind him. Jaskier raises his eyebrows in question. “Did you actually need help, or…” Jaskier trails off, and then Geralt’s lips are on his, warm and hungry, and anymore of Jaskier’s thoughts fly out of his brain.

His arms automatically come up to wrap around Geralt’s waist, until he registers that this is Geralt , and he puts a hand on his chest. “Um. Do you need your head checked out, as well? I thought it was your side, but I can go get the healer again.”

“I’m fine,” Geralt growls.

Jaskier’s not convinced Geralt hasn’t sustained a lasting brain injury, but then Geralt is saying, “I should have done this a long time ago,” and kissing him again.

What is Jaskier to do but kiss him back? It’d be terribly impolite not to, after all. When Geralt finally pulls away, Jaskier asks breathlessly, “What was that for?”

Geralt shrugs, considering. “You looked kind of hot carrying that cockatrice head. The trachea hanging down really got me going.”

Jaskier stares at him in disbelief for a beat before they both dissolve into laughter.

“You’re an idiot,” Jaskier says. “You’re my idiot.”

Ethbert looks across the table, where what his son is doing can only be called terrorizing his witcher, and harrumphs to himself. This is not exactly who he pictured Julian ending up with, to say the least.

He wonders the etiquette for having a son in law older than he is. He supposes he’s going to have to find out.

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #fanfiction #contemplative writing

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imagineredwood · 3 years

Text

Champagne and diamonds 🥂💎 + "How much did this cost?" "Don't worry about it."

Summary: Miguel spoils you with jewelry and champagne after a much-needed night together.

Pairing: Miguel Galindo x female reader

Warnings: Alcohol use, implied sexual content

Word count: 683

“I got you a present, mi amor.”

You looked away from your book and over at Miguel as he walked toward you, a large jewelry box in his hand. With a smile, you placed your crystal flute down onto the coffee table in front of you, eyes twinkling at the idea of new jewelry.

“What did my gorgeous husband get me this time?”

You had long since stopped scolding and reprimanding him for buying you jewelry. You knew he was never going to stop doing it, his explanation being that you deserve to be draped in the most precious of diamonds. You had learned to accept and enjoy it now, no longer feeling guilty for letting your husband spoil you. You deserved it and had no issue with basking in the treatment now.

Having a seat to your left, Miguel opened the box and faced it toward you, displaying the necklace. It was simple, the chain dainty and thin. The diamond at the bottom was gorgeous though, glittering even in the dim lights of the living room. It was just the two of you, the guards outside and on the roof. They had been instructed by Miguel to give the two of you some privacy and you had been thankful for it, the moans and cries that had been falling from your lips just an hour ago more than loud enough for them to have heard had they been in the house.

“It’s beautiful, Miguel.”

The cartel leader grinned, knowing that you were going to love it. He pulled it from the box and opened the clasp as you turned your back to him. You opened the neckline of your fluffy white robe slightly, still covering your breasts but exposing your neck and back so he could put the necklace on you. Miguel’s fingers were gentle as he brushed your hair off the nape of your neck, bringing the necklace around and then clasping it back closed. You brought your hand up to feel the diamond that was resting on your chest, Miguel’s lips kissing gently along your still exposed shoulder blades and back.

“Do you like it?”

You nodded as you looked down at the newest addition to your collection, enjoying both the gift and the feel of his kisses.

“I do. Thank you. How much did this cost?”

Miguel continued to kiss your skin, his mouth sucking gently at your shoulder before releasing and mumbling against your skin.

"Don't worry about it."

Miguel finally pulled away and then stood, making his way over to the ice bucket that held the rest of the champagne bottle. You eyed him as he came back toward you, the navy-blue silk pajamas he wore looking just as good on him now as the day you had bought them. Miguel topped off your flute, watching as the bubbles jumped and floated in the perfectly clear glass. His eyes landed on yours then and he smirked, hunger and lust flaring in the chocolate brown orbs once again.

“You keep looking at me like that and we’re gonna end up needing another shower. Or at least you will.”

Your thighs clenched slightly as you recalled the encounter before your shower. How filthy his mouth had been as he ravaged you, painting you with himself and leaving you a mess. You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry, and you reached for your now full flute as he handed it back to you. You took a long sip, half of the carbonated liquid gone. Miguel topped you off once more and you chuckled, trying to will away the tingle that was starting to take over again.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would think you were trying to get me drunk.”

Miguel grinned, arrogance in his aura as he brought the bottle up to his lips, not bothering with a glass. He took a long swig and then put the bottle down, eyes on yours as he spoke words you both knew to be true.

“I don’t need to get you drunk. You do whatever I ask of you sober.”

General taglist

@piccasoe @ateliefloresdaprimavera @gemini0410 @woahitslucyylu @my-rosegold-soul @that-chick212 @everyhowlmarksthedead @glimmerglittergirl @elcococruz @fanaticfangurl21 @encounterthepast @iambabyharry @svintsandghosts @starrynite7114 @saturnsaree @multiyfandomgirl40 @destynelseclipsa @sadeyesgf @queenbeered @iamthegraham @emoengelfurleben @all-the-boys-to-the-yard @otomefromtheheart @rosieposie0624 @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @beeroses

Mayans MC taglist

@dazzledamazon @abunnykisses @briana-mishell24 @angelreyesgirl @wrcn9fvlcver @peaches009 @capt-canadian @thesandbeneathmytoes @krysiewithak @veracruz-djarin @appropriate-writers-name @cind-in-real-life @blessedboo @montanaraed @kkim120 @megapeacelovemusic-blog @emoengelfurleben @blowmymbackout @abby-splace

Miguel taglist

@omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @maciiiofficial @jatriciaaa

#miguel galindo x reader #miguel galindo #Mayans MC #mayans imagine #imagines #mayans fx #miguel x reader

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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 4 years

Text

Promise Me Your Heart

a follow-up to Good as Gold.

Geralt has never voluntarily brought someone new into his life and for a long time, he wasn't sure how to go about it. Eskel has been with him almost as long as he remembers. Vesemir too. Even Lambert has been around since very early on, but Jaskier? Jaskier still feels new even after all these months. But they're making it work and Jaskier has so much patience that some days Geralt doesn't feel like he deserves.

He had expected things to be a disaster, but they're not. Even his inexperience with relationships and Jaskier's total lack of knowledge of anything monster- and survival-related, things are... good. Geralt is happy.

Then he's contracted to protect a wedding party from a pack of drowners that's been hanging around.

It's a good job. Simple enough and they're offering good pay to ensure the beasts aren't seen by the party guests, but Geralt is hesitant. There's not a scrap of doubt in his mind that he adores Jaskier. He's totally useless out here on the Path, but he tries and what Jaskier can get a grasp on he does well and he does often.

But Geralt sometimes worries that Jaskier's unhappy. Lately, he's been catching him looking pensive, scribbling things in his notebook but never seeming to present a song or poem like he normally would. Perhaps Jaskier has a journal as well. When Geralt was young and struggling to deal with emotions he was told he shouldn't have, Vesemir gave him a journal. It was a relief to be able to get all of his emotions out without having to share them and he wonders if Jaskier is doing the same now. He loves Geralt, so maybe he doesn't want to admit that this life isn't what he expected. Maybe he wants to return to Hagge but doesn't want to hurt Geralt's feelings. The thought of it makes his chest tight, but Geralt hasn't been able to bring himself to mention it.

Because what if Jaskier does leave?

Geralt wants him to be happy, but the thought of losing him now... he doesn't even want to think about it. So taking him to a wedding feels like rubbing a life in his face that he will never have.

When he tells him about the contract, Jaskier is delighted, at least outwardly, but there's a tense scent of worry just below the surface that Geralt is nervous about. He frowns and it earns him a swift smack on his arm before Jaskier presses up against his chest.

"Stop sniffing at me," he scolds, "I know you're doing it. I worry every time you take a job and you can't do anything about it. I love you, my darling. I don't want to think about my life without you, but here you are running off into danger every other moment." Geralt opens his mouth to speak, but Jaskier interrupts. "Ah-ah, I know. It's your job, but I'm still allowed to worry." He tips forward, pressing a soft kiss to Geralt's lips. "Now, let's get you into that armour, hm?"

Jaskier has become an expert at helping Geralt into his armour - and even more an expert of getting him out of it again later. The next few minutes pass in a blur and then Jaskier kisses him goodbye to go and play at the wedding and Geralt is alone again.

He throws himself into the hunt, clearing his mind of any doubts and insecurities. Because he knows how to do this. He can get this done and protect those people - and Jaskier. Whatever Jaskier wants can come later; he'll deal with it in its own time.

But as soon as he's finished - and has thrown himself in the river to rinse away some of the gore - he returns to find Jaskier in the centre of a circle, playing his lute and beaming. This is where he belongs. Geralt forces up a smile and crosses toward them, keeping an eye out for the mother of the bride. She holds his contract and he'd like to be on his way as quickly as possible.

He finds her with little trouble, talking with a group of people and he stands off to the side to wait. She's quick about excusing herself and she pays him extra and promises to pay Jaskier for his performance as well. It's unusual to find someone so generous and Geralt says as much, but she assures him he has earned it for protecting them.

Once everything has been sorted, Geralt slips away.

The woman has offered them a room in her house, but Geralt prefers the anonymity of an inn or the forest floor. Reluctantly, he accepted her offer to pay for the room. And he's grateful for it now, able to just return to the room and collapse without bartering or worrying about being turned away.

He strips out of his armour in the doorway and steps into the waiting bath. It was poured this morning, so it's cooled down, but he warms the water quickly enough - and it's warmer than the river in any case.

Evidently, Geralt doesn't realize how exhausted he is, because the next thing he knows, Jaskier's hands are in his hair and when he opens his eyes, the room is dark except for a few sparse candles.

"Hey, shh," Jaskier whispers as he bolts upright. "It's just me, love. You must have been tired."

He’s emotionally tired, more than anything, but he doesn't say anything. He warms the water again with igni and lets Jaskier wash the remaining muck from his hair before getting out. Jaskier leads him to bed and strips down to his skin before climbing in after him. Geralt clings to him, tucks his head under Jaskier's chin because if their time is limited, he wants to enjoy him as long as he can. Jaskier cuddles closer, holds him tighter, and for a long time, it's silent.

"Geralt?" he asks after some time. "Are you awake, love?"

"Mm."

"Do you ever... want something but you're afraid to ask for it?" he scoffs at himself almost immediately. "Never mind. I know you do. How do you... deal with it?"

Geralt's chest tightens. He's been waiting for this, but he still doesn't know what to say, how to act. All he knows is that more than anything, he wants Jaskier to be able to find the kind of happiness he's given him.

"If you want to go... I understand. I would never keep you here if you're unhappy." Jaskier pulls away immediately and Geralt knew it was coming, but it still feels abrupt and painful.

"Geralt, I- I don't want to go." His voice is low, he smells scared.

"I want you to be happy."

"I am. Geralt. I don't want to leave."

"You looked so happy this afternoon. At the wedding. Surrounded by all those people."

Jaskier huffs a soft laugh and slips his hand into Geralt's between them. "My love. I was happy seeing the bride and her new husband, the love they shared. I was happy because I thought... maybe we could have that, too?"

"You know I love you," Geralt whispers and Jaskier smiles soft at him, leaning up to press their noses together.

"I know love, and I adore you. I- Geralt, I want to marry you." Shock and delight rush through him in equal measures and Geralt isn't quite sure what to do with himself. He stares blankly for a moment while Jaskier looks at him. "Um?" Jask tries. "Say something?"

"No one would marry us."

Jaskier sighs. "Geralt, I know my upbringing means I'm supposed to marry for money or power or some such nonsense, but-" Geralt cuts him off with a soft kiss, cupping his jaw. He really does love that Jaskier doesn't even consider the obvious.

"Not because of your family, Jask. Because I'm a Witcher. No one would willingly bind another person to a Witcher."

"Then we'll have to do it ourselves." Before Geralt can even reply, Jaskier is slipping out of bed and crossing to the other side of the room and his bags.

When he returns, he's holding a length of blue silk in his hand and Geralt recognizes it. He leans up on one arm, focused on the cloth in his hand and Jaskier smiles as he climbs back up onto the bed.

"I thought you might remember this," he grins and Geralt can't help the way his pulse picks up. Apparently, Jaskier notices because straddles Geralt's hips and dips down to kiss him. "Marry me first," he whispers, "and we can do whatever you want with it later, hm?"

"Okay," Geralt breathes and Jaskier beams at him, kissing him quick and hard again before sitting up.

"I need your hand," he says and Geralt offers it freely. Jaskier winds their fingers together and twists the silk around them, tying it in a knot below their joined hands.

Geralt doesn't know much about marriage, but he knows enough to know this isn't exactly the way it's done. But maybe that's better. Maybe going against tradition is more appropriate for them anyway.

"As this knot is tied," Jaskier starts, "so are our lives now bound. The promises we make here tonight strengthen our union; they will cross the years and lives of each soul's growth. Do you- do you still seek to enter this ceremony?"

"Yes," Geralt whispers and his fingers tighten around Jaskier's.

"Do you promise to be a faithful partner in life? To love me without reservation?"

"I will." Geralt pauses and Jaskier nods. "And you?"

"I will."

"Do you promise to stand by me in times of joy and of sorrow?"

"I will."

"I will," Jaskier echoes. Gently, he unwinds the silk and runs his thumb over Geralt's fingers. "I don't-" he cuts himself off, pulling one of the rings from his left hand.

It's plainer than the others and Geralt has never quite understood why he likes it so much, but Jaskier holds it up, showing him the ring of buttercups on the inside of the band.

"I bought this for you so long ago I'd forgotten about it. But I was afraid to give it to you then, so I wore it myself as a way to keep you close. I want you to have it now." He slips it onto Geralt's finger and it fits surprisingly well.

"How long?" he asks and Jaskier shrugs.

"Long enough."

"I don't have one for you."

"That's okay," Jaskier hums. He takes one of his other rings, the one Geralt knows to be his favourite, and slips it off.

"Let me?" Geralt asks and Jaskier gives it to him. He takes Jaskier's hand and he doesn't realize how badly he's shaking until he slips the ring over his finger, pressing it down into place. Jaskier clasps their hands together and leans down to press his forehead against Geralt's. "I think you're supposed to kiss me now," Geralt hums.

Jaskier laughs as their noses bump against each other, then he kisses him, long and soft and sweet. When he pulls away, he doesn't go far.

"My husband," he whispers and something warm and possessive spreads through Geralt's chest.

"Husband," Geralt repeats, testing the word on his tongue. He decides he quite likes it.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #good as gold #rex writes #the witcher

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