#geraskier first kiss

[gwentbleidd]

still my favorite thing about all this is that joey batey really woke up one day, said 'hell yeah queer jaskier' and made thousands of people SO mad

[justsomecouscous]

'in my relationship I only want a guy who's 6ft and has muscles' this 'I want a girl who has a big ass and boobs' that

Nah FUCK that

I want someone to lovingly hold my face in their hands and look adoringly at me then kiss me while the fans scream and cry from happiness after waiting for 5 seasons and the old bitter white men to sit seething in their arm chairs

[swan--writes]

Geralt: "No, wait, you deserve for this to be done the right way–"

Jaskier: "Fuck 'the right way.' Either kiss me like you mean it or don't."

[tonbane]

Geraskier 8 for the kiss prompt!

As my dear @panna-acida​ says, blowing a kiss is so Jaskier >:). I’ve never tried to draw them cartoony and it was so fun!!! Grazie cara mia :’)

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 9

Geralt can't sleep without cuddling Jaskier. He always does it IN his sleep, and only finds out when he wakes up in the morning before Jaskier wakes up. In the winter, it's hellish trying to sleep without him

They've had amazing luck with jobs recently and have plenty of money. Jaskier wants to treat them to separate rooms, and is confused why Geralt is moody all of a sudden. They'll figure it out.

[dapandapod]

Dance floor kisses

HELLO!

I have so many finished pieces hidden away from y'all, oh dear. Working on it, promise!!

Anyway, please enjoy this floof because I want floof.

On Ao3 here

The room is crowded, but Jaskier notices nothing. Nothing but the witcher slowly walking to him, Geralt's eyes not leaving his, and it is making his heart pound.

He stands in the middle of the dance floor, probably being very much in the way of the couples swirling about, but Jaskier doesn't have time to care.

There is this strange energy sparking between them. The air is thick, charged like before a thunder storm. Unable to move, he waits for Geralt to reach him.

When he is only a few steps away, Geralt reaches for him, hands on his hip pulling him close, and Jaskier arches into it, tilting his chin up and looking at his witcher through lowered lashes.

"What are we doing?" Jaskier asks with a smile, his hands slowly snaking up over firm shoulders.

"I love you." Geralt says instead, and it steals the breath out of his lungs.

"Pardon?"

"I love you." Geralt says again, just as easily, leaning in just an inch.

A couple swishes past them, a dress brushing against his leg, and Geralt sets them in motion. 

Nothing more but a sway, a sad excuse of a slow dance, but it allows them to remain, for Geralt to navigate them as bodies twirl past.

"I know I should have said it a long time ago. I thought you knew. I love you."

Jaskier blinks a few times at this. He knew, in a sense. You can't live and travel together like they do without there being some kind of love involved. He for sure loves Geralt, has been in love with him for many years. But this?

It sets his heart in motion, making him feel alive, the beating of his heart so strong it feels like it could break free at any moment.

"Say it again." He asks greedily, and Geralt smirks, leaning in even closer. 

They must look ridiculous, the two of them. Faces tilted, lips inches apart, swaying from side to side with no heed for the rhythm of the song.

"I love you." Geralt whispers, tightening the grip on Jaskier's hips. "I love your stupid hat and your pointy nose. I love your creaking knees and morning breath. I love your cold feet and your ability to speak your mind, constantly. I love how you look when you perform. I love how you smell when you wake up in my arms. I love how you love me, even when I don't deserve it."

It is stupid, and it is rude, and it is fucking perfect.

With a quick glance around, Jaskier notes that Geralt has slowly been leading them off the dance floor. Clever witcher.

Grabbing the hands on his waist, Jaskier backs the rest of the way off it, leading Geralt to a side corridor and a very inviting alcove. 

The moment they reach it, Geralt's hands are back on his hips, pressing them together as he is being pressed against the wall.

"Are you just going to keep poking fun at my flaws, or are you going to kiss me any time soon?" Jaskier teases, his arms wrapping around his witcher's neck.

It is as natural as breathing, the swoop of nerves before something new, the plunge into the unknown. Geralt leans in the last few inches, capturing his lips in a surprisingly tender kiss. 

It feels unreal, unbelievable to be here, but at the same time inevitable. Sighing into it and parting his lips slightly, Geralt presses closer, closer still.

If Geralt ever calls Jaskier dramatic again, he will bring up this moment.

For now, there is just the feeling of being held in his witcher's arms.  For now, it is enjoying the tension finally breaking, molding them into something new. Maybe the air will be clearer tomorrow.

For now, there is not enough air in the world to whisper his own confessions against his witcher's lips.

[jaskierswolf]

A Love that Lingers

For @dapandapod who asked for lingering Geraskier kisses ages ago in @thepassifloradiscord

_

Geralt had been in love with Jaskier for as long as he could remember. They grew up together, inseparable and the best of friends. Geralt had even followed Jaskier to Oxenfurt when he got a scholarship to study music. The apprenticeship in town ended up being a game changer for Geralt and by the time Jaskier had finished uni, Geralt had started up his own workshop, fixing up old motorbikes for a living.

Together they’d decided to stay in the city, and buying a house between them just made sense. It was far cheaper and neither of them wanted another roommate, especially after Jaskier’s awful time in halls. So they’d bought a tiny two bedroom flat not far from the workshop. Jaskier’s manuscripts covered the dining room table and he was often up to unholy hours playing the piano, but Geralt couldn’t imagine a better roommate. 

No one else quite understood his quirks like Jaskier, the times he lost words or got angry and lashed out. Jaskier understood. He might be a pain in the arse sometimes but he never made Geralt feel bad about being… well… him.

Geralt couldn’t even pinpoint the moment he’d realised he was in love with Jaskier. Perhaps he always had been. Perhaps it had just happened so slowly that it was impossible to say.

What was even more impossible was the realisation that Jaskier loved him too.

It was just a sort of awareness that let itself be known day by day. Taking in the things Jaskier said and did, the way he looked at Geralt, the pet names… all of it. At first Geralt tried to argue with himself. Jaskier was just a flirt. He slept around. He loved everyone and anyone. That Geralt wasn’t special. But that just wasn’t true. Jaskier had always put Geralt above the rest, and the smiles he used were just… different. The pet names too. Everything was warmer and kinder and brighter when he spoke to Geralt.

Yes. Jaskier was in love with him too.

The only thing that was left was for Geralt to decide what the hell he needed to do about it.

He’d always preferred actions over words so really it should have been an easy choice, but love wasn’t easy - feelings weren’t easy.

But Jaskier was the one thing Geralt could count on in life. He just needed to take the plunge.

One morning, when Jaskier stumbled into the kitchen, bleary eyed and ink stains still on his cheek, Geralt set aside his coffee and met Jaskier in the middle of the kitchen. Gently, he cupped Jaskier’s cheek and pressed their lips together. He’d intended the kiss to be no more than a peck but Jaskier didn’t protest and Geralt knew he was addicted from the moment their lips met. It started off slowly, a tentative movement as Jaskier’s hands hovered over Geralt’s waist, not quite touching. Their eyes had fluttered shut without Geralt realising but he supposed that was what was meant to happen, no matter how much he might want to gaze into Jaskier’s eyes. 

After a few world shattering seconds, Jaskier sighed into the kiss as their lips parted. Geralt’s hands shifted to Jaskier’s nape, holding him close, and Jaskier’s fingers dug into his t-shirt.

Love. It had to be love.

And Geralt never wanted it to end

His lungs said otherwise and eventually he had to pull back to breathe. Jaskier looked as dazed as he felt, lips kiss bitten and cheeks flushed. Beautiful. When he smiled Geralt thought that his heart might explode. Sunshine filled the room and violins swelled. 

“Oh, wow,” Jaskier breathed. “I love you too, dear heart.”

[avid-reader12]

In Which Roach Tries to Steal Cakes

Rating: T

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

“See Geralt? I told you this was a grand idea!” Jaskier proclaimed, spreading his arms wide.

Geralt, however, was not convinced. The cacophony of screeching children and way-too-loud adults combined with the onslaught of all the smells from food and people alike were giving him a headache. And naturally, Jaskier led them right in the middle of it.

Geralt adjusted his grip on Roach’s reins and pulled her a little closer to him. Focusing on her scent helped clear the ruckus from his mind. He kept his eyes locked on Jaskier ahead of him; if he wasn’t careful the bard would lose himself in the crowd, chasing some fancy, and then he and Roach would be all alone in this commotion.

For all of Geralt’s misgivings, Jaskier seemed to be having the time of his life. His hair bounced back and forth, as he turned his head to look at something, only to whip it around and look at something else. He effortlessly wadded through the throng of people like it was nothing. Geralt envied him. He’d never had a chance to be so comfortable around crowds, and without Jaskier he’d never come here.

Jaskier stopped in his tracks like he’d run into a wall (a situation Geralt could make a comparison to; he had watched the bard actually run into a wall before, too fixated on a pretty noble to watch where he walked). He reached a hand out blindly to Geralt, nearly vibrating in place with excitement. He grabbed it and sighed, thankful for the lifeline.

His appreciation doesn’t last long, Jaskier nearly pulled him off his feet (the bard’s strength is very deceptive) as he headed toward the source of his excitement, a stage. Geralt resisted the urge to roll his eyes, even if Jaskier wasn’t paying attention to him. Of course, his bard would be drawn to a stage like a moth to fire.

His bard?

Before Geralt had time to unpack that thought, Jaskier turned to him, eyes alight with anticipation. “Oh, Geralt, see! I told you this festival would be just the thing we needed!” He turned back to the stage, already half-hooked on the performer. “Oh, you are in for a real treat, I’m good friends with this bard and he is sure to – are you alright?” Jaskier stepped closer to Geralt, turning his undivided attention to him.

Geralt just grunted an affirmative, tearing his eyes away from Jaskier’s inquisitive ones. “I’m fine,” he grunted out, turning instead to Roach. She gave a little head toss, calling him out on his lie.

Jaskier tutted and shook his head. “Any other time you wouldn’t hesitate to tell me. Come on.” Jaskier took his hand again, gently this time, forging another path through the crowd, this time out of it. Geralt breathed a sigh of relief.

Once Jaskier deemed them at the perfect spot, he rummaged around in Geralt’s pack (a habit he tried to scare the bard out of but unfortunately didn’t work) until he pulled out a blanket. He laid it across the grass and gave it a pat. “Come sit down Geralt. You deserve to relax and enjoy the finer things in life.”

Geralt could think of many finer things in life, and he wasn’t convinced this made the list. He glanced back at the crowd, waiting for someone to start a disturbance, call him out as a butcher and chase them out of their festival. But no one did. The most anyone gave was second glance before turning their attention back to the goodies in front of them.

Jaskier waited patiently until he had Geralt’s attention again. “Let yourself enjoy something for once. Come. Sit.” Then Jaskier gave him that soft pleading look, the one that made his insides flip flop and made him powerless to deny Jaskier anything. With an overexaggerated sigh, Geralt settled down on the blanket, Roach automatically moving behind him to start grazing.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Jaskier teased him before bouncing back up. “Now, you stay put, I’m going to go get something scrumptious to go with our entertainment for the evening.” He half-turned before adding, “Roach, I’m counting on you, don’t let him get up.” Geralt played along and gave her a glance. His traitorous horse merely snorted before continuing her grazing.

Jaskier gave her a nod before flouncing off, already muttering to himself about which treat to get first. Geralt watched him disappear into the crowd, trying to control his unease. Good things rarely happened when his bard was out of his sight, especially in a crowd. But given the past few weeks, Jaskier did deserve a break. They traveled hard the past few weeks, only staying in inns when Geralt had a contract. The weather hadn’t been forgiving either, days of endless heat turned into savage storms that left them scrambling for cover. All things considered Jaskier kept his complaining to a minimum, something Geralt had been grateful and concerned for.

 When Jaskier mentioned this festival, in this tiny village, Geralt initially shot the idea down. He claimed it was too far out of their way, they had a schedule to keep. He listened to Jaskier wax poetic about the fall delicacies (to be fair he waxed poetic about many things, Geralt included) and all the things he couldn’t wait to try. He’d even given Geralt that soft look that never failed. So, when they woke this morning, Geralt changed their path, berating himself for being so weak a single look could change his mind.

Roach smacked his back with her tail as she continued to graze. He smiled at her, “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to.” She ignored him. Even with all his reservations about crowds and festivals, it had all been worth it to see Jaskier light up as they neared the village. He watched as weeks of hard traveling melted away, watched as he regained that spring in his step. Maybe Jaskier had been right. They did deserve to relax, even if it was for one night. Even if Geralt couldn’t fully relax with all the bombardment on his senses, Jaskier deserved this. And he would try for Jaskier.

Jaskier returned sooner than Geralt thought, his arms laden with treats. He hadn’t been joking when he said he’d spoil his witcher (‘his witcher,’ a phrase Geralt’s mind wouldn’t let go of), and he proudly laid out his feast in front of Geralt.

“I hope you’re hungry Geralt. Well even if you aren’t, I’ll eat all this myself. Have you enjoyed the music? Certainly not as talented as yours truly, but he’s a fellow Oxenfurt graduate and not half bad. Why even his…” Geralt let his wander as Jaskier rambled on, comforted by his bard’s voice. It had been too long since he’d chattered like this, and Geralt would never admit it out loud, but he missed it. He popped one of the cakes in his mouth, letting the sweet cherries coax him into relaxing further.

“Here, Geralt, you’ve got a little-,” Jaskier reaching towards his face brought Geralt out of his musings. A delicate thumb brushed away some stray pie filling. Geralt felt his slow heartbeat pick up its pace. He watched as Jaskier’s eyes lingered on his mouth, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. Jaskier’s eyes darted back up to Geralt’s and he leaned back, blabbering once more.

“As I was saying, this song really isn’t his strong suite, but he does a better job than most others…,” Jaskier kept his eyes fixed on the stage. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for Jaskier to fix Geralt’s appearance, especially when other people were around. He would chastise Geralt for not taking better care of his looks, since he had a reputation as the great White Wolf to uphold. But it was out of the ordinary for his cheeks to turn pink after he did it.

Geralt let the incident go, making sure not to leave any more crumbs. Even so, Jaskier’s pulse beat faster than normal. He didn’t comment on it. They watched performer after performer take the stage, the audience ever growing as sunlight faded from the sky. Geralt waited for Jaskier to leave him and talk his way onto the stage, but to his surprise, his bard stayed put. Jaskier seemed to settle in beside Geralt more with each passing song, content to make his comments and eat their treats. That was his first clue something was up.

The second clue was Roach. Normally, she would be content to just graze and occasionally pester Geralt for some of his sweets. But as the evening wore on, she nudged Jaskier harder and harder, nearly stealing the sweets from his hand. He’d halfheartedly shoo her away, buying some peace with the last bite of his cake. But Roach demanded more, shoving Jaskier so hard he fell into Geralt’s side.

Geralt caught him easily, steadying him with a hand on his back. He shot Roach a look, one that was met with a snort before she returned to grazing.

“Your devil of a horse is trying to steal my food Geralt,” he complained, not entirely removing himself from Geralt’s space.

“Mhmm.” Roach flicked her ears in annoyance but didn’t say anything in her defense.

“Maybe she’ll leave me alone if I sit closer to you.” Jaskier sidled up even closer to the witcher.

“I bet she will.” Geralt’s dry tone gave him away and Jaskier finally looked at him. The pair locked eyes for a long second before Jaskier looked away, his cheeks turning that delightful shade of pink again.

“You know,” Geralt said, leaning in closer. “If you wanted to sit next to me, all you had to do was say so.” He half-smiled as Jaskier’s pulse picked up and his bard refused to look him in the eyes.

His bard?

“And if I wanted more than just to sit next to you?” Geralt watched Jaskier’s eyes hesitate on his lips before meeting his gaze. It wasn’t like him to be this coy when he wanted someone.

“You don’t need to teach Roach more bad behaviors.” Roach snorted in the background while Jaskier ducked his head. Geralt caught Jaskier’s chin and turned him gently back to face him. Those wide blue eyes stared back into his. “You’ve got a little something right here,” he murmured, his thumb brushing that full bottom lip. He leaned in closer. “Let me get that for you.”

He closed the distance between them, vaguely registering Jaskier’s eyes fluttering shut as their lips met. Soft, and plush, and oh so sweet, Geralt could taste the cake he’d just eaten. His heart beat strangely inside his chest, even more so when Jaskier’s hand found its way to cup his cheek.

His bard indeed.

[shininginyourlight]

JASKIER

[fangirleaconmigo]

Geralt x Jaskier Geraskier First kiss, friends to lovers

Geraskier Dancing

When Geralt of Rivia was a child, he begged Vesemir to teach him the kind of dances they performed at court. The answer was always no, but he kept trying.

After the trials, when Vesemir seemed so affected by his eyes, Geralt would widen them and look up at his tutor, pleading.

After all, Geralt thought, what if he rescued a fair maiden, and she demanded that he accompany her to a party? Perhaps she would drag him, giggling and flushed, onto the dance floor. He would be her noble savior, and she would be his grateful maiden.

He didn’t tell Vesemir his reasoning of course. He said that it might be important for royal courts, with kings in them. Wouldn’t it be best if he could fit in? Fencing was similar to dance, so surely Vesemir could handle teaching it.

Vesemir sighed and gave him the same speech he always gave.

"Geralt. You are not training to be a knight. Put that out of your mind. You are a professional. A working man.

Further, you are a mutant now. You will not be greeted with gratitude. You will be lucky to be greeted with the cash that you are promised."

Geralt felt stubborn. Furious. But he knew when to drop the subject.

Vesemir would pat his shoulder and offer him a sweet bread. His eyes always held regret.

Geralt understood him now. After years of hard lessons, he understood. When he thought back on his youth, he felt like a dolt.

The women he saved were traumatized. He was meeting them during the most terrified, violent moments of their lives. They screamed, bled, and threw up. And they all ran. With his bloody sword and ashen skin, he looked little different from the monsters he fought.

At least to them.

And yet?

He still learned how to dance, despite having given up the dream.

It started with Jaskier of course, like most misadventures and novel undertakings. The young bard had just shown up in his life one day and sort of just...never left.

His enthusiasm, energy, and optimism infected Geralt's life, as did the handsome twinkle in his eyes.

One night, after several glasses of wine they shared their most ridiculous childhood dreams. Jaskier admitted that he wanted to publicly rub his success in his family's face, to make their rejection sting less. So Geralt admitted that he'd always stupidly wanted to woo a grateful damsel on a dance floor.

He thought they were just talking nonsense, so he was startled when suddenly, Jaskier was on his feet, woozy and holding out a hand.

"C'mon. Lesgo." Jaskier jerked his curly, disheveled head towards an empty spot on the tavern large enough maybe for one large man.

Geralt refused at first. It was silly. Besides, They were both men. Who would lead?

But Jaskier simply grabbed his hand. When they touched, Geralt found that all of his resistance dissipated like a magic spell. He found himself standing and allowing himself to be dragged. And after they moved a few tables, he found himself touching the small of Jaskier's back and swaying with him.

Why didn't it feel odd? It should have felt odd.

It probably felt fine because they were alone.

They always danced alone.

They would be in a bar that was emptying out, the last drunkards stumbling home. Jaskier would be inviting, leaning against him, words slightly slurring.

Geralt selfishly loved him like that, not because Jaskier would lose his inhibitions, but because Geralt would. Plausible deniability.

"No one is here, Geralt. You won't ruin your fearsome rep--rep--pox on it. People won't see you." Jaskier waved dismissively as he dragged him.

The bard's lips grew pinker when he drank, and his cheeks flushed when they danced.

So Geralt let himself be led into the middle of empty bars, dance halls, and sometimes even just under the stars near a campfire.

"Y'need this for" *hiccup* "d'plomacy." Jaskier tugged him this way and that.

Despite the slurring, Jaskier always moved gracefully, like a swan. He'd sing to himself, lost in the music, touching Geralt with surety, guiding him. His body would be warm and little puffs of his wine soaked breath would drift towards Geralt. The witcher would inhale and try to control the surge of something primal in him awakening from a terribly long slumber.

Jaskier always led.

"I thought you were teaching me to dance with ladies," Geralt complained playfully one night. Jaskier was leading him in a lazy circle under some street lanterns on an abandoned street. Trash and litter was everywhere, left over from the spring festival. Their feet crunched on discarded candy wrappers as they moved.

"I am," Jaskier huffed indignantly, eyes hazy. "You must charm these noble ladies. It's not easy, you know. You must practice."

Geralt bit the side of his mouth trying not to smile. He didn't want to ruin the moment. He was so close to Jaskier, the closest he ever got to stand. "But I'm not learning to lead."

"Oh, s'fine. You'll just," Jaskier gestured, twirling his hand in a circle, "turn it all round." Then it was a rolling motion. "Flip it. Change it backwards. You know what I mean. They'll love it."

It was quiet for a moment, Geralt turned his head and crept closer, so he could secretly smile to himself.

"You already complain they simper around me," he murmured near his friend's ear. "You want to make it worse?"

Jaskier snorted loudly. "They're just trying to get to me, Geralt, you know that. Price of fame!!"

Then he spun Geralt, and all the while, Geralt grumbled, purposely moving stubbornly. "I don't twirl, Jaskier."

Jaskier was wobbly and dismissive. "Y'doing great."

Geralt really did learn during those nights. But they never spoke of it in the morning. Those nights were sacred and untouchable lest they shattered in the light of day.

But one day, they finally, truly paid off.

Geralt wanted to run and tell Vesemir. He'd been right. He had needed to learn the skill after all.

Because one spring day he rescued a beautiful young woman, and she was grateful. She was lovely, truly. Her auburn hair cascaded down her back, caressing her delicate waist.

She had been menaced by a werewolf and run screaming into Geralt's arms, invitation to a ball at the ready. It was just like in his youthful dreams.

The werewolf wasn't such a bad guy to be honest. His name was Gil. And he wasn't so much menacing her as he was trying to say hello and simultaneously coughing. But it was an unpleasant sound to be sure. It was a hacking cough.

Geralt had intervened, having been sent there on an errand by Jaskier. The witcher took Gil aside to speak to him. The werewolf was moving on, anyway. He'd just come to see a picnic of beautiful women that Jaskier had told him about, thinking he would say hello.

Geralt wanted to shake Jaskier. Gently of course. To tell his friend that yes, he had needed help with dancing, but certainly did not need help with finding ladies to rescue. They were lying about everywhere there were monsters. Jaskier wasn't around though, he was nervously flitting around at fittings and lute tunings, preparing anxiously for the dance.

It was silly of course.

And to be honest, the young woman hadn't needed much rescuing. Gil's nose was still sore where she had hit him with her bag.

But nonetheless, when she'd seen Geralt she'd sighed and pretended to be quite helpless.

Geralt carried her to safety on Roach, and she had invited him to a dance that night. They were in Lettenhove, and the dance would be packed with nobles. It was the perfect setup.

Geralt got ready with trembling fingers. He laced on his best armor and slicked down his hair. His stomach was weak just to think of it.

When Geralt arrived, the maiden was there in a stunning gown. She arrived breathlessly, ready for her dance. She batted her eyes and curtseyed.

Geralt bowed slightly, and led her onto the dance floor. After a few moments, her raptured attention began to cool. She was well educated and polite, but Geralt caught her regretful glances towards the handsome young nobles in the corner.

He didn't blame her. He was not a small man, and he was stepping on her toes.

The bloom was very quickly off the rose for the young maiden.

"I'm sorry. My mistake." Geralt muttered at every wrong turn.

If you had asked Geralt as a child, whether the disappointment of a maiden would sting, he would have imagined so.

But it didn't. This was not what he had come for. This was not why his stomach had done somersaults as he had laced on his armor. It was because this party was not just packed with nobles, but very particular nobles from a very specific family.

Geralt glanced up to find him.

Jaskier stood off to the side, close by, clutching a glass of wine, and staring daggers at his cousin across the room. His cousin was a handsome man, if you went in for that kind of thing, though not as handsome as Jaskier. But he was holding court with several ladies.

Geralt excused himself with the relieved young lady who tried to look as though she were not fleeing.

Geralt came up behind Jaskier, and touched his back.

Jaskier did not jump or startle. He must have known Geralt's touch and scent by now. He simply turned and smiled.

"You're here!" Jaskier looked behind him. "And Juliet?"

Geralt shrugged. "I never actually learned to lead."

Jaskier's face fell. "I'm sorry, I-" he looked mortified, "-I don't actually know how to teach dance. I only know how to dance. I was just-"

Geralt cut him off by pulling him into his arms with an 'oof'.

Jaskier startled, leaning eagerly into the embrace. But then he remembered himself and looked around cautiously.

"I don't care if they see," Geralt whispered. "I want them to. Let the miserable bastards gossip until their throats are sore."

The widest, brightest grin he had ever seen blossomed on his handsome bard's face. "Well then." Jaskier straightened his shoulders and cleared a catch in his throat. Let me do this properly."

The bard gently detangled himself from Geralt's arms. Then he bowed at the waist and held out a hand. "Geralt of Rivia? May I have this dance?"

Geralt nodded and straightened his jacket. "You may, Viscount Julian of Lettenhove."

Jaskier held his hand with both of his, but he shook his head and whispered. "No. Viscount Julian is theirs. I am Jaskier. I am yours."

Geralt's heart melted. He did not know how to cope with that, so he just nodded.

The music fell silent, and a new song began.

The witcher and the bard were the first couple out on the floor. It may have started as a way to help Jaskier rub his success in his family's eyes. But almost instantly they forgot all about that. They lost themselves in the movement, the laughter, they only saw each other.

But Jaskier's family saw. His mother. His father. His envious cousins. They all saw that he was loved. That he was talented, famous, and loved.

Geralt didn't think a whole lot about Vesemir that night.

He simply danced. And when the last note on the last song died out, he touched Jaskier's chin. His love's eyes lit up with hope. Geralt didn't want to draw out the suspense, so he pulled him in for a kiss. It was tender and they were sweaty, their hearts beating in their chests.

It felt right. And not because they were alone. It was because they loved each other.

When Geralt visited Vesemir during the winter, he brought up his childhood dream. He would tell the old witcher that he understood now.

Love wasn't something you earned through daring acts. It wasn't something you extracted from terrified women as the price for their safety.

Love was a bard who tried his damndest to fulfill your dreams at the expense of his own.

Love was taking him in your arms and fulfilling his.

Well, Geralt tried to say all that. Perhaps it didn't come out the way he meant. Perhaps he stumbled over his words and grunted some.

But when he pulled Jaskier into the room to introduce him to Vesemir, the old witcher understood.

[wren-of-the-woods]

Curse Fic Recs

I absolutely love Witcher fics where a character gets cursed so I thought I'd share some of my favorites! All of them are Geraskier except for a few Lambden ones at the end.

If anyone has other fics to reccommend, please feel free to give them a shoutout – I’d love to read them!

~

Cursed Jaskier

A Friend in the Wild by @samstree (Rated T, 1k)

In which Geralt acquires a tiny mouse friend who wouldn't stop following him.

If There's Any Sleep At Night by @smolalienbee (Rated T, 22k)

A mare, also known as a mara or a zmora - a malicious entity, a bringer of nightmares and a demon of the night. An easy enough contract to fulfill, if only frustrating, or at least that’s what Geralt believes when he first sets out to hunt down one such mare. What he doesn’t expect is to be wrapped up in a tale of a wronged soul, of love and of joy.

My Name is Hidden On Your Tongue by @anarchycox (Rated T, 10k)

Jaskier is cursed. Well his whole family line is. Every male born child cannot be named. They can be given a name, but it will never be a true one and people will always have an allergic reaction to saying this false name. Only a soulmate speaking your true name aloud will break the curse. The family though has never cared, they've only cared about the family fortune and marrying well. But Jaskier cares. He is determined to travel the world, find his soulmate and learn what his name is. And the best way to travel the world seems to be with a rather taciturn witcher named Geralt of Rivia. If he started to hope that Geralt would be the one to say his true name, well that was one thing that Jaskier would not say aloud.

The Cursed Jewels of Lettenhove by GoldenDaydreams (Rated T, 8k)

Geralt has no intention of getting involved with breaking a curse and naturally ends up very involved.

Silver and Copper by @heronfem (Rated M, 56k)

Jaskier is kept from becoming a bard. Geralt finds him anyway.

Priceless by @handwrittenhello (Rated M, 38k)

Jaskier was cursed as a child; when spilled, his blood turns to rubies and his tears turn to diamonds. When his secret is discovered, Geralt must save him from those who would take advantage of it. Together they work to break the curse, but the cost might end up being too steep.

Set My Wings on Fire by bilboakenshield27 (Not Rated, 4k)

Jaskier gets turned into a bird and has to warn Geralt about an ambush.

Sleep of the Dead by @dancedelion (Rated T, 20k)

Jaskier thinks he hit rock bottom when Geralt flushed twenty years of friendship down the drain, but then he finds himself suddenly translucent and rudely walked through by a traveller. Apparently he's dead - that's certainly a new low. He needs to find out what happened, and who better to help him than the man who's made more than clear he wants nothing to do with him.

The Sandpiper by @welcomemysentence (Rated T, 2k)

When Jaskier gets cursed into an actual sandpiper, the little coast bird, the only way to save him is with true love's kiss.

What's Engraved Upon My Heart (In Letters Deeply Worn) by @made-of-constellations-blog (Rated T, 6k)

Jaskier gets cursed to be a lark with a strange failsafe to turn him back. Geralt misses this, and realizes too late that he's not ready to lose his bard.

to be held by @wanderlust-t (Rated T, 1k)

The knife dropped on the ground. And Geralt’s thoughts reached to a halt for a moment. He had no rope. Not anything to keep Jaskier still. To hold him back. Oh. That was going to be a really long night.

Catskier by @al-in-my-head (Rated T, 17k)

Due to an unfortunate encounter with a mage while him and Geralt are apart, Jaskier is transformed into a cat. It just so happens that Geralt likes talking to animals.

~

Cursed Geralt

A Marvelous Night for a Moondance by @flowercrown-bard (Rated T, 1k)

There was a warning every child living near Oakwood Valley knew. "Don't go out at night, or you'll disturb the Moonlit Dancer." No one truly knew who the Moonlit Dancer was, but everyone agreed on two things: The Dancer must be dangerous. And he must be oh so lonely.

animal instinct by leodesic (Rated M, 13k)

Despite Jaskier's hard work, there are still plenty of people who hate witchers. They think they're monstrous, inhuman, only held back from violence by a thin veneer of control. One mage has a plan to spread his views by capturing a witcher and bewitching them to remove their control. When the Butcher of Blaviken walks into his hideout, he's convinced he's found the perfect candidate - and a convenient way to get rid of the pesky bard that's been singing his praises. Jaskier is forced to agree witchers are not human, but that doesn't mean they're dangerous. In fact, he's astounded by how many of Geralt's uncontrolled impulses involve touching.

Connecting dots by @dapandapod (Rated G, 3k)

Geralt is hit with a lying curse, and it takes Jaskier an embarrassing amount of time to figure it out. Now, it Jaskier only would stick to the safe questions....

Don't Go Stealing My Heart by @thesilverqueenlady (Rated T, 17k)

When Jaskier is stiffed by a lord on payment, he decides to help himself to proper compensation. Alongside the correct amount of gold and silver, he also steals a beautiful silver wolf's head medallion. It's safe to say that he is not expecting the medallion to be haunted by the spirit of a very grumpy, very handsome, very cursed Witcher.

Cuddles, Curses, and Confusion by me :D (Rated T, 3k)

Geralt becomes oddly affectionate after being cursed by a mage. Jaskier would just like his life to be less complicated, please.

Spectre's Soul also by me :D (Rated T, 31k)

When Jaskier tried to go on a date with a man named Rience, he did not expect to nearly be killed. He certainly did not expect to discover a beautiful valley while running away from him. He very definitely did not expect to find out that the valley was haunted — by an absurdly beautiful man. Or: In which Geralt is cursed to be a ghost and Jaskier is the first person in decades to talk to him.

~

Cursed Aiden

Headache at First Sight by YorkAndDelta (Rated T, 12k)

A story of how Lambert ends up looking after a cursed cat, helping a Witcher from a rival school retrieve his gear from angry mages, and maybe finds love along the way.

~

Cursed Lambert

the mortifying ordeal of being known as a cat by @skaldingrayne Rated M, 10k

Lambert is cursed to be a cat. Fortunately, he finds Jaskier.

~

You can find my other reclists here!

[inexplicifics]

🧡 geraskier for the kiss game 🥰

When he’s still coming down from his potions, everything is too loud, too bright, too scratchy, too bitter. Usually, Geralt pushes through that - he’s been trained to do so, as every witcher is - and sometimes the routine of cleaning his armor and swords, making sure his trophy is bundled up in oilcloth, and bandaging any injuries he may have taken - in whatever order seems best at the time - is enough that he can almost forget that the light is like daggers in his brain and his tunic feels like it weighs as much as full plate.

Or rather, that is what Geralt used to do, before Jaskier.

These days, when he gets back to camp, still black-eyed and corpse-pale, stained with the ichor of his kills, Jaskier is waiting. There’s a bucket of water beside the fire so Geralt doesn’t need to use an Igni to warm it, and clean cloths stacked next to it, and a White Honey in case even Geralt’s twice-Grassed strength is not enough to bear the potions he has had to take.

And Jaskier is waiting, setting his lute down as soon as he sees Geralt approaching and bouncing to his feet to help Geralt out of his armor, murmuring under his breath at the mess and the recalcitrant buckles but never raising his voice enough for it to hurt Geralt’s too-sensitive ears. He lets Geralt clean his armor, because Geralt is particular about it, but Jaskier has learned to stitch up a wound and to apply poultices, and it’s his clever hands that wipe the ichor and blood from Geralt’s skin with soft cloths soaked in warm water, gently enough that it doesn’t scratch at all.

And when everything has been tended, Jaskier coaxes Geralt down onto their shared bedroll, where he can rest his head on Jaskier’s chest and listen to the bard’s heartbeat and the low murmuring of Jaskier’s constant chatter - still kept almost too quiet for any but witcher ears to hear - while Jaskier strokes his hair in long, gentle passes.

The fire is still too bright, but Geralt can look away from it. Speech would still be too loud, but Geralt can focus on the steady quick beat of Jaskier’s heart, and tune out everything else. Cloth would still be too rough, but Jaskier’s skin is soft, his surprisingly abundant hair also astonishingly fluffy. Geralt has gotten into the habit of rubbing his fingers over it, just gently, and focusing on that tiny tickling sensation instead of anything else.

He loses time, like that. He has no idea how long it takes him to purge the potions from his system; how long until his eyes are yellow once again, his skin a slightly less unnatural white. But however long it takes, Jaskier is there holding him, ever-moving hands steady on Geralt’s hair and shoulders, ever-babbling tongue made softer for Geralt’s sake.

Is it any wonder, then, that when Geralt feels like the world is bearable again, the first thing that he does is push himself up just far enough to kiss those singing lips?

(Or here on AO3!)

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

for the kiss prompts - a playful kiss to make the other stop rambling + geraskier, pretty please 🥺

Jaskier has never been one to suffer stage fright. Since the first time he gave an impromptu performance at one of his parents’ banquets at the age of seven, he’s soaked up the spotlight at any chance he can get. There’s nothing he delights in more than having a crowded tavern or ballroom watching him with starry eyes, hanging onto his every word. He knows he’s good at what he does, a far cry from the boy who used to get bread pelted at his head while he sang about hags and abortions.

Except that as he stands behind the stage at the Oxenfurt Music Festival, listening to a pair of Nazairi troubadours sing a lovely duet, his insides roil with the same queasy nervousness he’s carried with him all day. He glances over at Geralt to make sure the witcher doesn’t notice. Geralt is leaning against the wall, looking remarkably stoic for a man who has been dragged to a music festival entirely against his will. 

Jaskier can’t let him know how nervous he is, not when Geralt took on two wyverns singlehandedly only three days ago. The fact that Jaskier, who has been a traveling bard for years, who has faced far scarier things than a crowd of onlookers (usually while cowering behind Geralt, but his point stands) has stage fright is too mortifying to admit. Luckily, Jaskier is excellent at keeping his feelings under wraps after years of traveling with his witcher. He’s sure Geralt has no idea.

“You’re nervous,” Geralt says.

Fuckity fuck.

“Nervous?” Jaskier breaks off in a monologue about how he lost the Student Bardic Competition to Valdo Marx his final year due to trickery and biased judging. “I’m not nervous! Merely excited to claim yet another in my long list of accolades.”

“You stink of anxiety.”

Jaskier just manages to resist the urge to sniff himself. “Why, thank you, Geralt. How kind of you to say. And here I thought you liked this new perfume.”

Geralt just stares at him, unimpressed.

Jaskier sighs. “I seem to have come down with the tiniest case of stage fright.”

“Stage fright?” Geralt arches an eyebrow. “But you perform all the time.”

“Not at places like this.” Jaskier waves his hand in the direction of the stage.

“You just told me in detail about all seven times you performed here before. You said you won five times.”

“And it would have been all seven, if Valdo Marx weren’t a cad and a cheat.” Jaskier puffs up in remembered outrage. “But that was the Student Bardic Festival. Everyone expects the acts there to be a little bit shit. Melitele help them, but my classmates didn’t give me much of a run for their money, save for Valdo and Essi. This is the first time I’ve performed in a professional competition.”

“And that’s why you’re nervous.”

“Yes!” Jaskier throws up his hands in exasperation. “I know this isn’t a wyvern or an angry mob, but I don’t want to make a fool of myself in front of thousands of people!”

Geralt gets an expression on his face like he’s valiantly refraining from pointing out that Jaskier doesn’t normally care about making a fool of himself. “You perform all the time.”

“For drunks in taverns who won’t notice if I make a bunk of the pronunciation of an elven ballad or courtiers who wouldn’t know a wrong note if it hit them in the face. Many of these people are trained musicians themselves who have come from all over the Continent to be here today. I have to be perfect.”

“Then be perfect.”

“Geralt.” Jaskier moans and slaps his hands over his eyes. “Have you ever heard of Elsa Svensen?”

“You know I haven’t.”

“Of course you haven’t! She was a cautionary tale when I was at Oxenfurt, a rising star in the bardic circuit until she tried to sing The Six Swans at the Lan Exeter Bardic Festival.” At the blank look on his witcher’s face, Jaskier elaborates. “It’s a famously difficult ballad in Elder. Very long, lots of tricky notes. She butchered it so badly that she was laughed off stage! Suffice to say, there was an unfortunate mispronunciation and she sang a line about the hero committing unspeakable acts with a donkey in front of the entirety of Lan Exeter, including the king and queen. It ended her career. Rumor has it that she changed her name and is now working as a traveling player.”

Geralt doesn’t look suitably horrified, in Jaskier’s opinion.

“A traveling player, Geralt!” Jaskier practically shrieks, which isn’t good for his voice, but he can’t stop himself. “I can’t act! There isn’t a single troupe of traveling players that would have me. I’ll starve. Gods, I should never have let Essi talk me into this. I’m too young to live in disgrace. Can you go out there and tell them that a horrible tragedy has befallen me and an evil witch has stolen my voice? Ooh, yes, say I’ve ruined her for all other men and this is my punishment. Do you think we can find an actual witch in—”

He doesn’t realize Geralt is approaching him until the witcher presses a brief kiss to his lips.

Jaskier blinks, surprised. Geralt isn’t one for displays of affection where anyone else might see. “What are you—”

Geralt kisses him again. Jaskier can feel the curl of his lips.

“Geralt, this is—”

Another kiss, this one accompanied by Geralt nipping at his lower lip.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says through another kiss. “Are you trying to distract me?”

“Trying to shut you up.”

“How dare—”

Geralt kisses him again. “You were working yourself up.”

Jaskier opens his mouth to protest, then realizes he was just plotting to find an actual witch to steal his voice in order to get out of a performance. Perhaps Geralt has a point. “Right.”

“You know Elder too well to accidentally sing about donkeys. And if you do manage to fuck up so badly that you ruin your career, I won’t let you starve.”

Jaskier melts into him. “Geralt, that’s the sweetest—”

“Because you’re right, you’d be a shit traveling player.” Geralt’s lips quirk.

“You—”

Geralt kisses him again, slow and sweet, and Jaskier feels the last bit of tension drain out of him.

“Jaskier the Bard!” a woman’s voice calls from the stage. “Also known as the Dandelion!”

“That’s you.” Geralt pushes him towards the stage. “You’ll do great, Jask.”

Jaskier can’t help but smile at him. “How can I not, after a sweet pep talk like that?”

“Hm. Probably not as great as Valdo Marx did earlier.” A full-on smile spreads over Geralt’s face at Jaskier’s outrage. ���But we’ll see.”

And just for that, Jaskier gives the best damn performance of his life. Which is probably what Geralt intended, the terrible man.

***

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome

Kiss prompts

[dapandapod]

Kelp Forests and trinkets

Hello lovelies!

My brain is very empty but it is Mermay and I had to! Because somfte! Please enjoy!

Oh, and Kuri I love you, thank you for Beta reading, you are a gem!

On Ao3 here    For the @thepassifloradiscord Merweek

Normally, Geralt would roam in the Kelp Forests of old. He enjoyed the sunlight filtering down from the surface, the broken off rays of light shimmering between the kelp's thick leaves. 

It is not without its dangers, but that is why he is there, to guard their little reef. His folk rely on him to keep the dangers at bay, and he does so to the best of his ability. His body wears the scars to prove it; bitemarks, and sometimes even claw marks from surface creatures.

Usually, it is not so bad. It heals up fast enough when he is allowed to rest back home. But one of his side-fins took a bad beating a few years back, and every now and then it pains him. It is healed, as well as it can be with being torn into pieces, but sometimes when he makes a sharp turn, or when he gives chase after some pest trying to eat his family, he feels it for a long time after.

The Kelp Forest is calm. Their stems sway in that soothing way of theirs. Dancing, Jaskier called it once, and Geralt thinks that, yes, maybe they are. At least when Jaskier sings to them, they do.

That is how they met actually.

Geralt was patrolling the outer edges of the Kelp Forest, when a voice reached his ears. Distance was tricky sometimes, but it sounded close. Geralt had followed it, only to find Jaskier singing to himself as he sat on the edge of a big rock formation, his scales glittering in the sunlight.

At the time, Geralt had been pissed about it because the singing had attracted a rather large shoal of Razers, a small but sharp toothed fish that were too nosy (and hungry) for their own good.

Jaskier, the idiot, apparently did not yet know what it meant to be out in the open like that. While singing in itself is an innocent activity, and usually a good strategy for placating whales or even sharks, it can be a bitch when his folk were unable to read their surroundings and attract attention such as that.

They were not in mortal danger, but would have been had Geralt not stepped in and not only shut Jaskier up, but pulled him into the relative safety of the kelp. After that near-death experience, he took to following Geralt, watching his every move, *singing* until Geralt finally relented and admitted they were friends.

It took even more time for Jaskier to nestle himself into the reef, but no time at all to make sure that there was a place for him in Geralt's home.

Living together came surprisingly easily; his family took to Jaskier like algae to a bone.

And since then, they have been living like that for years. The cave system Geralt had chosen was perfect for inhabitants more than himself. Maybe he had hoped one day to fill those rooms with life, despite the aching loneliness when he originally chose it. Maybe Jaskier had already known, and that is why it was so easy to slip into Geralt's life, once he found the door.

This time, he is making the rounds on his own. It is a longer route this time because his brother, who would usually meet up with him halfway, had to stay home. 

Eskel mentioned something about a 'hatchling' that needed his help in the message sent earlier, but Geralt knows full well it's because said 'hatchling' is in fact a full grown mer who had been courting Eskel for a full year already.

If he had the guts to do it, Geralt would probably attempt courting too. Sometimes when he is on patrol, he would spot something Jaskier would like. A pretty shell, smooth sea glass, sometimes even a pearl.

He has a little pouch of things he has found. He has only once ever given Jaskier something from those treasures. The smile Jaskier gave him stayed with him for days.

A few days later, he would be the one who let someone else take patrol. Geralt had made up his mind just the night before. Yes, he and Jaskier live together, do pretty much everything together, but there is one thing he is missing. 

The one thing yesterday had given him a taste of. Jasker had fallen asleep while clinging to his arm, his lips pressed against Geralt's shoulder. And Geralt would do anything to get that again.

So this morning he sent Roach with a message, the little sea horse speeding off to Eskel's home. Payback for flirting instead of working, he thought, as he collected another armful of seagrass.

Jaskier won't be back for a while yet, so he should at least have an hour or two to finish up the first step of his plan. When he decides he has enough seagrass, he settles into a nook in the cave wall, weaving the grass together so it becomes thick and soft. Perfect to nest on.

It takes some time, some swearing, and some more gathering of sea grass when he butchers a few too many to keep going, but when he is done, he has new, bigger bedding for his nest.

There is just about enough time to put it into place when Jaskier returns, calling down the halls to announce his arrival. It makes Geralt's blood pump with nervous energy, and before he can change his mind, he rummages through his hidden bag of courting gifts, and picks out a shark tooth.

As per usual, Jaskier bursts into the room, telling Geralt about his day, arms waving and fins swirling with expression. Sometimes, Geralt feels like he could watch him speak forever.

"What's that?" Jaskier interrupts himself, mid story, finally picking up on what Geralt is hiding in his hands. 

Geralt feels his face heat up, and he offers up the little treasure to Jaskier with an open palm.

"Found this when patrolling," Geralt mumbles. "Thought you might like it."

Jaskier's smile is blinding. He picks it up, the very tips of his fingers brushing against Geralt's palm. There is no reason for that to send a shiver through him, down to his tail fin, but it does.

Jaskier studies the tooth this way and that, holding it up in the light as he asks what kind of animal it came from, if you can tell the creature's age from it, what this spot right here means, would this be better as a knife or as a necklace, and so on.

Geralt answers all of his questions, and when he quietly offers it to Jaskier as a keepsake, he is rewarded with a kiss on the cheek. As much as he had decided that today would be the day asked Jaskier to be his, he can't fight off the nervous grumble at that.

Jaskier just smiles and swims back to his own nest to place the gift somewhere safe until he has decided its fate.

As soon as the other mer is gone, Geralt finds his little bag of treasures again. This time, he chooses three very small pearls he found. Rolls them between his fingers, feeling their smooth surface, letting them ground him.

He wonders if he can give them to him just like that? Or maybe he should save them, give the pretty rock instead, the one that glitters when turned.

Before he can make up his mind, Jaskier returns, words exploding out of his mouth again with ideas for the tooth. It has Geralt smiling, glowing inside with how his gift was so well received and with so much enthusiasm.

He doesn't notice himself floating closer until Jaskier turns silent, looking up at him with quiet wonder.

"Geralt?" he asks, quietly for once, eyes big and questioning.

"If I told you I picked you dozens of courting gifts, but lacked the courage to give them to you..." Geralt starts, but trails off. The naked hope on Jaskier's face, it catches him off guard somehow.

"Yes?" Jaskier whispers, inching closer too.

He blushes, even his gills turning a pretty pink, and Geralt just wants to reach out and touch him.

"If I collected them to give them to you... would you accept them?" Geralt braves, and when Jaskier's smile wavers, when his chin wrinkles and his brow furrows, Geralt thinks for a moment he read it all wrong.

"Can I show you something?" Jaskier whispers, and when Geralt nods, Jaskier reaches for his hand.

He is guided out of his own room and down the hall, to where Jaskier has his nest. He should be used to Jaskier's tactile nature, but he still isn't. It always surprises him when Jaskier reaches out, when he offers reassurance or seeks comfort.

As soon as they are inside, Jaskier lets go and swims up to one of the upper shelves. His nest has always been a mess, full of things that Jaskier finds interesting and beautiful, his ornaments and instruments strewn about the room, mixed with the little corals growing here and there. Jaskier returns with a sheath, and inside it a whale bone, carved into a knife.

It is beautiful, if a little crooked, but wonderfully decorated with runes and carvings.

"Where did you find this?" Geralt asks with wonder.

"Lambert helped me make it. Or, well. He made it mostly, didn't let me near any of the sharp objects."

Geralt snorts and Jaskier smiles, coming closer and pointing out the finer details on the knife.

"Yennefer helped me with this bit. Said it would help keep you safe. And this one, Ciri put it there."

Geralt admires the handiwork, recognizing the runes and symbols. The one Ciri had put on it was a charm to lead him home.

"And this one?" Geralt asks, pointing to an inscription along the top blade.

"If I told you this is a courting gift, would you accept it?" Jaskier whispers, mirroring what Geralt had asked before.

Gently, Geralt sheathes the knife and puts it down. Then he reaches forward, cradling Jaskier's face in his hands, leaning forward.

"There would be no higher honor," Geralt whispers, and Jaskier's face crumbles again. He looks devastated, and Geralt doesn't understand it, but then the mer is throwing his arms around Geralt's shoulders, pressing close.

He tucks his head in under Geralt's chin, the hands that had been cradling him now holding him close instead, and Geralt finally, finally feels whole.

"Beloved," Geralt whispers, and Jaskier makes a pained sound and presses closer.

"I have had that knife for months," Jaskier admits into Geralt's collarbones, lips grazing the sensitive skin there.

"I have collected courting gifts for years."

They stand there for a long time, just holding each other. Then they hold each other while lying on Jaskier's nest, barely fitting together even with their tails curled around each other.

"I had another question for you," Geralt murmurs into Jaskier's hair eventually, and the mer looks up at him.

"I... uh....made my nest bigger...."

Maybe it is too soon to ask? It feels soon, but also oh so very late. But Jaskier is smiling at him, adjusting them so that he is looking down at Geralt, bracketing him in between his arms.

"Would you share it with me?"

Jaskier kisses him. Soft and lingering and warm and perfect, one of his fingers slowly dragging along Geralt's cheek bone. When they part, Jaskier is giving him another of those blinding smiles.

"There would be no higher honor," Jaskier replies, leaning in for another kiss. Geralt melts into it, losing himself in Jaskier, in the sensations of finally, finally being close the way he has always wanted but never dared. 

Too scarred or too broken to think someone like Jaskier would ever want him, but here they are. It has barely reached midday, but it is hard to do anything other than hold each other close and trade kisses.

Eventually, Geralt's stomach growls, and they have to get up and get food. Now that it is allowed, Geralt can't stop touching him.

Brushing their fins together, resting a hand on Jaskier's lower back, thumbing away food from the corner of Jaskier's mouth... He can't stop.

They wrestle, which dissolves into cuddling, into kissing, and it is like all those years of waiting has led them up to this. The first touch is tentative, hands exploring and kisses deepening. 

When Jaskier presses closer, presses them together, Geralt can't help the low moan slipping out.

"I thought the courting came first," Geralt teases, but Jaskier won't have it. Not entirely, at least.

"I have spent years courting you in my head. I want this. Please."

Despite those years of mental courting, it is too early for the final step. Maybe this will all fall apart in time, maybe it will turn out they won't be able to stand each other within a few months.

Jaskier just laughs when he says it, and Geralt doesn't believe it either. But for Jaskier, he wants this to be done right.

Day by day passes as he empties his courting bag. Trinkets and gifts and findings are given, and Jaskier accepts each and every one. 

Until Jaskier is gone for two full days, returning with a golden ring for Geralt.

The inscription matches the one on the knife, and what Geralt had called him that first night.

Beloved.

Geralt still makes his rounds in the Kelp Forest. He doesn't hesitate to pick up the treasures he finds now. He brings them home to his husband, his mate, presenting each and every one as a gift.

Jaskier calls him a romantic. Geralt calls him home.

[kingthunder]

Geraskier prompt: Unbidden first kiss (bonus if it's in the morning)

Jaskier was woken in the dark before dawn by Geralt buckling his armor on.

“What unholy hour is it?” Jaskier said, yawning. “Whatever it is, it’s either too early or too late. Come back to bed.” This was the first bed they’d had in over a week, and it was a nice one, filled with sweet, fresh smelling straw. It was even nicer when he had a warm body next to him. Nicest when the body was Geralt.

“This is the best time for hunting graveirs,” Geralt said. He checked his sword for sharpness before sliding it into its sheath.

Oh, right. The contract Geralt had picked up yesterday evening when they got into town.

Jaskier yawned again. “Be back before lunch. I want to make it to the festival today and you’re going to need a bath.”

Geralt only grunted. He came over to pick up something off the bedside table that Jaskier couldn’t make out in the dark. Jaskier propped himself up on one elbow and grabbed Geralt’s wrist.

“And be safe,” Jaskier said. He hadn’t meant it to sound as soft as it did, almost pleading. He squeezed Geralt’s hand and Geralt squeezed back, and Jaskier’s face was tipped up towards him, and when Geralt leaned in it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Geralt’s lips were chapped but soft. It was short and sweet and chaste and Jaskier could have been knocked over with a feather afterwards.

“You too,” Geralt said nonsensically, and then he was grabbing his pack, and the door was shutting behind him.

Jaskier fell back on the bed with his fingers touching his lips where Geralt’s had just been. Oh, he thought, his belly fluttering. Oh, Geralt is going to act so stupid about this later.

He fell asleep smiling.