#maybe jaskier had been turned down earlier that night so that's why it feels like nothing more than a fling

[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.

[roughentumble]

Jaskier finally works up the nerve to kiss Geralt but Geralt thinks Jaskier's just looking for a fling and knows that would break his heart so he rejects him, snaps at him to "never do that again!"

(maybe just earlier Jaskier had been complaining about a dry spell or whatever, did or said something recently that it's fresh in Geralt's mind for him to make the assumption it's just a proposition for sex)

but Jaskier was sincere and the rejection fucking hurts but Geralt's not outright sending him away or running for the hills so Jaskier's determined to stay with him, stay his friend (just his friend and nothing more) bc he's not gonna treat Geralt shitty just bc his feelings are unrequited

but they're not!!! and things are fine for a while, Jaskier doesn't seem at all fazed by Geralt turning him down, but then Geralt notices Jaskier's stopped doing certain things (bc Jaskier's worried he's gonna scare Geralt off esp since he thinks Geralt now knows about his feelings) like offering him massages or sharing a bed with him when there's only one available, so naturally, Geralt thinks he's done something wrong

AUGH those fools..... those FOOLS

[spencer-reid-in-a-pool]

It Was You All Along (Part 7)

Author’s note: So that wasn’t much of a break, but I couldn’t resist! Here is the next installment of the series, featuring a meme I made myself to reflect the vibes of the first half of this part! And yes, it is supposed to be that pixely. It adds spice. Also, I tried to be as vague as possible describing reader’s outfit towards the end so that you could imagine it the way you wanted! As always, feedback is appreciated, and I hope you all enjoy! Link to my ask box! 

Tags: @ayyyyitswednesdaymydoods @blackjay04 @weaselbee04​ @bravelittlesunflower​ @mxsmwndr​ 

A voice called for me, but I didn’t quite process it. I was too busy trying to fix this gigantic, gaping hole in Geralt’s trousers. Melitele knows if I don’t do it, he would just walk around with it decorating his attire. 

The voice called for me again, but this time I ignored it on purpose. If I lost concentration, I would prick myself with the needle...again. And I didn’t really want to turn my fingers into more of a bloody mess than they already were. 

I heard footsteps beside me, but I didn’t realize how close they were until a rush of coldness surrounded my body. Not only coldness, but wetness. A bucket of ice cold water had been dumped on me, causing me to scream and drop what I was doing as I stood up in shock. 

“Julian!” 

His real name still felt unfamiliar on my lips. I had taken to calling him that every so often, usually when I was angry with him, or when I was messing with him. It was for that reason, I think, that he froze so suddenly when I spoke. He wasn’t used to it either, even though he was the one that suggested I start using it more. 

The bucket made a small thump sound as it hit the ground beneath us, and Jaskier raised his hands up in an apology. But he also backed away like a scared animal. I almost felt bad for him. Almost, but not quite. 

“Now, (Y/N)...I was just trying to get your attention is all. It’s quite important, you see.”

I gathered my skirts in my hands and stomped towards him, scowling and shivering the whole way. 

“What could possibly be so important that you couldn’t wait until I was finished? And what made you think dumping cold water on me was a good idea?”

I didn’t give him a chance to respond before I starting running towards him, my clothes making a sloshing noise against my skin. A string of curse words left his mouth as he took off trying to get away from me. He could be quite fast when he wanted to be. But no way was I going to let him get away from me that easily. 

As soon as he picked up speed, so did I. He wove through the trees surrounding our campsite, going in between them like a maze. Eventually we made it back to where we started. My spot was near a tree and the pants I had been working on were visibly in a bunch on the ground. But behind that was the river that I’m assuming the idiot got the water in the first place. I wonder if I could lead him back there... and “accidentally” knock him in.

As luck would have it, I didn’t even have to put that thought into action. He had made his way to the edge of the river, and turned quickly on his heel trying to run away from me again. But he slipped on the muddy bank, and fell right into the water himself. 

Coming to a stop, a sharp laugh came from my chest suddenly. And I laughed even harder when he bobbed above the surface, hair sticking to his forehead and his fancy doublet soaked. 

“That’s what you get!” I yelled to him between bouts of laughter. 

While Jaskier pulled himself out of the water unceremoniously, I heard more footsteps behind me followed by a thud. Geralt must be back. Only one man I know could walk and sit down that heavily. 

I turned towards the sound, and sure enough, Geralt was sitting down on the log he had claimed as his earlier. He took one look at me and one look at Jaskier who was now standing on the bank of the river, shivering like his life depended on it. 

“I don’t even want to know,” said Geralt with a twitch of his eyebrow and a roll of his eyes. 

~

Night had fallen now. I couldn’t help but reflect on the past few months since that attack at our camp. Things had been pretty boring since then honestly. But I guess I couldn’t complain. Being bored was better than being in danger. 

Geralt was asleep and snoring at an unholy volume. This of course caused a glance between Jaskier and I, and sent us into a fit of silent laughter together. The kind of laughter that had your stomach hurting and your mouth open with no sound. The kind that had you grabbing onto your friend for dear life. Which is precisely what the two of us were doing right now. I had such a grip on Jaskier’s arm, I thought he surely must be in pain. But if he was, he made no mention of it and kept laughing with me. 

However much time had passed, it seemed to only be a few minutes. And I still had my hand on his arm, although my grip definitely lessened. He didn’t notice this either, and simply looked into the dying flames with dried tears from his laughter on his cheeks. My gaze lingered a moment too long on his cheeks, and I began to think about how gentle his eyelashes looked against his skin as he blinked. 

Heat rose in my cheeks and I silently withdrew my hand from his arm. This seemed to catch his attention though. 

“Composed yourself now? Don’t need to steady yourself from anymore laughter?”

There was a glint in his eye as he asked me the questions. I had to keep from smiling. 

“That depends. Got any jokes?”

He stood suddenly and rested a hand on his chin, making it seem like he was deep in thought. 

“You look as if you are composing a new song, Julian.”

“I’m a musician, my dear, I am always composing.” 

He paced around the fire, which was even lower than before. The way he took everything so seriously was something that entertained me, and I couldn’t help but smile to myself because of it. 

Suddenly, he opened his mouth in a silent “Aha!”

“(Y/N), why must you never use a broken pen?”

I paused for a moment and scrunched my face in thought, trying to come up with an answer. But before I could, he delivered the punch line. 

“It’s pointless, darling.”

I snorted at the same time Geralt groaned. The fucker was awake. 

Jaskier almost jumped out of his boots at the sudden noise, which only caused me to laugh again. The pain in my stomach from earlier was back, but I couldn’t keep from laughing. 

“Have you been awake this whole time, Geralt?” Jaskier yelled in surprise. 

“Long enough. Don’t you have anything better to do? Like sleep?”

Jaskier open and closed his mouth a few times before settling on a simple, “Right,” in response. He then took his spot a few feet away from Geralt and laid down for the night. 

“Goodnight, Geralt.” Jaskier said with a stifled yawn.

Geralt simply grunted in return, rolling over so his back was facing Jaskier. 

“Goodnight, (Y/N),” Jaskier called in my direction. 

“Goodnight, Jaskier. And goodnight Geralt!” 

“Hmph,” was all I got in response. 

There was a silence over our camp now. But it was too quiet. The kind of quiet that felt like it would be broken at any moment now. Jaskier’s voice was what broke it, of course.

“Goodnight, Roach.”

“Oh, yeah! Goodnight, Roach and Lily!” I called out excitedly. 

“How could I forget Lily? Goodnight, Lily!” Jaskier parroted. 

“Oh, for the love of-” Geralt groaned loudly, sitting up and gathering his things. He promptly moved farther and farther away from us, settling on a spot under the cover of darkness in the trees. 

I snickered to myself as I got my things ready to lay down. Annoying Geralt had become one of our favorite things to do together over the past few months. 

It became silent again, and I could hear Jaskier’s even breathing now, signalling that he was asleep. I had the feeling I wouldn’t be able to sleep. Call it instinct, I guess. 

I laid down on my back and stared up at the sky. Jaskier and I were closer than ever, and it was so nice. But I needed more. I craved more. They say time heals all wounds, but my heart was still shattered after all these months had gone by. I was still so in love with my best friend that it hurt. Even more than it did before. 

Jaskier had been acting differently lately though. He called me more nicknames, and he was even more of a flamboyant disaster than when I first met him. Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen him with any random women in bars or taverns anymore. Could he-? No. No way. I must be out of my mind. 

My fingers instinctively went to the dagger Geralt had given me a while ago. Sometimes I would run my hands along the inscription, trying to remind myself to be brave like it said. I could almost laugh at myself right now. I was being anything but brave when it came to Jaskier. 

“Could you please calm your nerves down? I can feel them from over here,” a gruff voice said in the distance. Geralt. Of course.

“Sorry to disturb you. Maybe you should move to another new spot, even farther away. Oh yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask. How is Yennefer?”

I didn’t have to have Witcher senses to feel how that comment landed. 

~

Morning came much more quickly than I was hoping it would. It meant today was the day we had to get moving, which meant we would be moving closer to the situation I had been trying to avoid thinking about. The ball. 

I seemed to be the last one awake, and I could feel the energy as soon as I had rubbed the sleepiness from my reluctant eyes. Geralt sad brooding in the corner of our camp, and Jaskier was flitting about getting everyone’s things together. It was easy to see who was excited and who was not. 

“Today is the day, you sad sack of...sadness,” Jaskier vocalized in regards to Geralt. 

“I know. Don’t remind me.”

I almost laughed as I sat up from my spot on the ground. Geralt wasn’t looking forward to this, and truth be told, I wasn’t either. At least part of me wasn’t. The other part couldn’t help being excited in a childlike way. I had never been in a castle before, let alone a ballroom. Although I couldn’t help but feel like I would be out of place, and painfully so. 

“Don’t look so excited, Geralt.” 

“You weren’t there. You don’t know what happened at the last one.”

I winced and realized that he was right. Although Jaskier had told me some of what happened, I was almost certain that he watered down the events of Pavetta’s betrothal ball in doing so. 

The man in question turned to look at me, apparently just now realizing I was awake. 

“There you are! Come on, we are losing daylight!”

“Jaskier, do I even really need to come? Geralt is only going to be your body guard, so I don’t really have a purpose.”

“Don’t be silly. You must come! We couldn’t just leave you by yourself for hours at a time. These things do tend to take a while.”

I rolled my eyes and stood, stretching as I did so. 

“I am a grown up, you know. I can take care of myself. Afraid I might get kidnapped?” 

Jaskier scoffed and continued packing, mostly ignoring my comment. But it was true, I could take care of myself. Geralt had taught me some things with the dagger over the past few weeks, and I felt confident in my abilities. 

“Well if I must go, at least be careful with my dress and things. I’m sure Yennefer paid good money for them.” 

“The witch probably stole them, more like.”

I watched as Jaskier carefully started packing my things, and tried not to cackle when Geralt made a comment about shoving his foot somewhere it didn’t belong in reference to Jaskier. 

Today was going to be quite...something. 

~

Since we had done most of the travelling yesterday, what was left for today didn’t take long. We made it to the castle in no time it seemed. 

Lily and Roach were tied up in the stables, in the same stall actually. I was quite happy that the stable master was willing to do that. They always seemed to enjoy each other’s company. 

I sat in my borrowed room getting ready, and I was assuming that Geralt and Jaskier were in their own rooms doing the same thing. But that thought was at the back of my mind now as I looked at myself in the mirror. Or at least, what I think was myself. I didn’t really recognize the woman staring back at me. 

Yennefer had picked out the most beautiful, elegant, and intricate floor-length ballgown I could ever imagine. It was sleeved as well, with lace adorning them to match the bodice. The skirt was made of layers on layers, it seemed, and with every move I made it swished gently to follow. It was even in my favorite color. I wonder how she knew? I don���t remember telling her...

She had also gotten me some jewelry to match, and the metals and gems complimented my skin tone perfectly. How did she know all this? I had only met her once, and it was very briefly. I would have to thank her for all this later. 

Not long after I had finished getting dressed, jeweled, and made up, a knock sounded at my door. 

“Come in,” I called. 

Jaskier entered in his outfit for the night. It was a dark, silky purple with golden accents along the doublet’s center, and my breath hitched in my throat when I saw him in the reflection of the mirror I sat in front of. 

“You look breathtaking, darling,” he said in a whisper as he approached me. 

Hopefully he didn’t notice the blush creeping up the sides of my neck. I don’t think I would ever get used to his names for me. 

“You don’t look too bad yourself. Compare that to when you fell into the water yesterday and looked like a dying animal, you basically are a different person.”

Jaskier feigned anger, but I could tell he was amused. 

“Do you like your clothes? I made sure to tell Yennefer all your favorite colors and shiny things.”

My heart skipped a beat. He had told her all of that? I didn’t even know that he knew those things about me.

I stood before really thinking about what I was doing, and turned to face him, the shock evident on my face.

“You told her all that? I didn’t know that you knew such trivial facts about me...Thank you.”

He chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. 

“Of course I know. And it was no problem. I had to make sure she didn’t dress you in an unflattering way.”

I tilted my head in thought, almost as a reflex, and it caught his attention. 

“What are you thinking about, (Y/N)?” Jaskier asked me quietly with a crooked smile. 

“I seem to be thinking about everything and nothing at once...but I am mostly wondering how you convinced the people hosting this ball to let me in. Geralt is your security, of course, I get that. But how did you get me in? I’m no one special.”

He was silent for a moment and stared at a spot past me, for almost so long I didn’t think he would reply. But then he did, with an odd look on his face that showed happiness and some other emotion I didn’t recognize. 

“I told them you were my muse. A musician cannot perform without their muse.”

My mouth twitched as if to fall open in shock. but I didn’t let it. I didn’t want him to see how this affected me.

“I’m your what?”

“My muse. You know, inspiration?”

I shook my head furiously, matching the speed at which my heart was beating.

“I know what it means. But why did you tell them that? You couldn’t have come up with a better excuse to get me in here? You didn’t have to lie to them.” 

You couldn’t have come up with a better excuse in order to keep me from getting my hopes up?

He looked at me with a smile. But it was a pained smile. Then for a second, it looked like he might speak. Until Geralt passed by the open door way and told Jaskier it was time to go. The crowd was waiting on him. 

I stood frozen in the same spot I had been in, and I watched them leave. First Geralt, then Jaskier following behind him. At the last second before leaving the doorway, he stopped, placing a hand on the frame. 

Finally he turned to me, and looking over his shoulder, he simply said:

“I didn’t lie.” 

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Take Me, I’m Yours

(the highest voted options on the poll were ‘Geralt rescues Jaskier from trouble’ and ‘Jaskier riles the Captain up in public’ so I teamed up with the ever-marvelous, stupendously talented @limrx to bring you this Swashbuckling AU oneshot/art piece featuring a horribly jealous Geralt and a frisky, flirty Jaskier)

------------------------

“Do you think he likes me back?” Jaskier asked. He leaned over the ship’s railing to look more closely at the dolphin following behind them. Lambert didn’t think he’d fall overboard but it would be kind of funny if he did. The strange young nobleman did have a way of always landing on his feet, though. 

“I know he does.”

“Well how come he hasn’t told me anything about it, then?” 

“You’ve met the Captain, right? About this tall, long white hair, weird yellow eyes, emotionally incompetant?” 

“You have a good point. Should I just confront him about it?”

“Yeah, sure.” Lambert rolled his eyes before shooting Jaskier a pointed look. “If you want to send your ransom note back to Lettenhove the following morning.”

“Fuck. I just want to kiss him, Lambert. Regularly. I want to know if he snores or not. I want to lay on the deck beneath the stars and talk to him like we’re friends and not just pirate and pseudo-pirate-captive. I really want to see what his ass looks like under those godsforsaken trousers, Lambert, it’s killing me not knowing.”

“You’re more insatiable than a siren during the rainy season,” the second mate teased. “But with fewer teeth.”

“Shut up.”

“Are you going ashore when we lay anchor?”

“Am I allowed?”

“I assume you’ll be allowed. You’re practically part of the crew. You’ve been aboard for nearly two weeks and you’ve pulled your fair share of the weight, if not moreso.”

“Why thank you, Lambert. I appreciate you noticing.”

“Of course, Jaskier. You may be an utter fool and a fop to boot, but at least you’re a hard worker.”

“Asshole.”

“Mhm.”

They both watched the dolphins for a minute in silence before Jaskier’s face split into the most heinous and dastardly grin. It filled Lambert with an unmistakable sense of fear and worry. “I have a brilliant idea. I know how to get Geralt to admit his feelings.”

“No, absolutely not. I am not getting roped into this, you horrible little minx. Don’t give me that look! I won’t help you this time!”

“But Lamby-bert,” Jaskier whined. “If he has someone to take all his frustrations out on in bed then I’m sure it’ll be easier to negotiate for higher shares next time we take a vessel.”

Lambert did not miss the fact that Jaskier said ‘we’ when referring to the crew. The second mate knew the little nobleman was here to stay; it had been clear that Jaskier would be sticking around from the moment Geralt first laid eyes (and hands) on him. The Captain hadn’t stopped looking out for the lad since. Lambert wasn’t even going to think about that singular flirty kiss atop the mainmast nearly a week and a half ago. Geralt had been pining after the acrobatic little idiot ever since and making absolutely no move to flirt back. It was driving the crew absolutely crazy. “Alright, you devilish siren. I’m in.”

----------------------------------------

Jaskier cleaned up nice.

And he deserved to clean up nice. He’d worked hard to put this outfit together. Billy had lent him a pair of dark blue breeches in return for Jaskier’s help with mending the mainsail. The shirt he was wearing was half a size too big, which was exactly big enough for the neckline to plunge even lower than he usually wore it. This way it revealed more of his toned (and rather hirsute) chest. He’d borrowed it from Starkey, who was the same height as him but who had much broader shoulders.

The Captain was going to absolutely die when he saw Jaskier.

He whistled a rather naughty shanty as he exited the bunk room and made his way towards the gangplank where Starkey, Lambert, and Eskel were waiting for him. He spun in a quick circle, arms out to show off his clothes. Lambert and Starkey whistled appreciatively and Eskel hid his face in the palm of his hand. “Ready, boys?”

“Absolutely not,” Starkey smiled. The first mate standing next to him tilted his head back to look at the sky, sighing deeply.

“Are you sure about this? What if the Captain tries to kill Lambert?”

“He won’t be killing anyone. Hopefully. If he does run his sword through anyone, it will most likely be me,” Jaskier joked. “Now, this is my first time drinking with real pirates. Anything I should know?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Eskel suggested. Lambert bit back a laugh and Starkey snorted.

“Impossible.”

“Well then, let’s go.”

The four men made their way down onto the docks and through the sparse crowd of sailors and merchants still mingling in the evening light. Starkey led them to a decent tavern and found a vacant corner table, which gave them an excellent view of the door.

Geralt and Starkey had spent the morning selling their stolen cargo to various merchants, shopkeepers, and artisans. The Captain had divided up the gold between his crew according to their various contracts and Jaskier, more as a jest than anything else, was given two crowns as well. “For not dying,” Geralt had intoned seriously. The men were amused but Jaskier’s face had gone bright red with embarrassment. The young noble had talked them out of trouble with the Skelligan patrols twice last week and Geralt was repaying him with public humiliation? Lambert knew that the Captain’s earlier actions were about to make this evening a lot more entertaining (if slightly uncomfortable) and he was ready to get this show on the road. He flung an arm around Jaskier’s waist and ordered them all a round of ales.

“So everyone knows what the general goal here is, right?” Jaskier clarified.

“Yes,” Eskel nodded. “You’re using Geralt’s jealous nature to make him act on his less than subtle feelings for you.”

“Correct. Wonderful.”

Lambert squeezed the noble’s hip through his borrowed pants and Jaskier huffed indignantly in reply. Starkey chuckled softly at their antics and winked at the barmaid when she brought them their drinks. “Can’t wait, really. It’s been so boring lately and the last two ships we took didn’t even fight back. This is drama. This is entertainment!”

“Shut up, Starkey,” Jaskier pouted. He leaned back into Lambert’s embrace and gulped down half his ale.

“Slow down, kid,” the first mate teased. “Or you will be drunk when he gets here and your plan won’t work.”

“I need to get the pink in my cheeks or I’ll look suspicious,” Jaskier argued. “One ale should do it without getting me tipsy. Maybe two if it’s weak.”

“Method actors,” Lambert rolled his eyes.

Jaskier was sipping slowly at his second ale and the other three pirates were on their fourth or fifth when Geralt finally came barreling through the tavern door. “There you are!” Eskel shouted, waving the Captain over. Nobody missed the barely-hidden glare Geralt aimed at Lambert’s arm where it rested against the nobleman’s lower back.

“Captain,” the second mate nodded.

“Lambert. Eskel. Starkey.” Geralt greeted them all in turn.

“Heyyyy,” Jaskier whined, leaning forward against the edge of the table and pouting. “What about me, sir?”

“You.”

“Rude,” the brunette huffed. Lambert ran a lazy hand up and down his spine and Jaskier watched as Geralt’s eyes narrowed into slits. He sighed sadly and melodramatically into his mug and nodded once in the second mate’s direction. “Thank you, darling. At least someone in this crew likes me.”

Starkey saw Geralt’s eyelid twitch and slid Eskel two crowns under the table to settle their bet. He thought the vein on their Captain’s throat would show up before the eyelid went, but it must have been the first mate’s lucky night this time around. “Hey Eskel, let’s see if any of the lovely ladies here want to dance with us, eh?”

“You coming, Captain?” Eskel asked. “Seems like Jaskier and Lambert are a bit busy.”

“Yes, Geralt,” Jaskier egged him on. The Captain had a white-knuckled grip on the handle of his mug. The noble took a long swig of ale and licked a bit of foam from his lip when he was finished, noting the way Geralt’s eyes locked onto his mouth. “Why not go dance with a pretty lady. Certainly nobody else has your attention.”

The pirate Captain finally snapped. He slammed his mug down and reached around the table to grab Jaskier around the waist. He hauled him out of the second mate’s grip and onto his feet. “Captain, what are yo-”

“Yer coming with me, siren,” Geralt snarled. Lambert relinquished the nobleman with very little fuss, winking at Jaskier as the pirate Captain swung him up and over his broad shoulder. The young man flashed all three of his co-conspirators a thumbs up as he was carried out of the tavern like a sack of potatoes.

“A little rude to Lambert, don’t you think, sir?” he asked, resting his elbow against Geralt’s shoulder blade and settling his chin onto his hand. He crossed his ankles to make it easier for the pirate to balance his weight comfortably. “But they’ll be happy to know that our little plan worked out.”

Geralt stopped in his tracks but did not set his captive down. “Your what?”

“Our plan,” Jaskier explained as if bored. “To get you to finally do something about all this sexual tension between us. I kissed you on the mouth for fuck’s sake.”

“I thought it was an accident.”

“Oh, and saving you from hanging at the hands of some Skelligan officers, was that an accident? Not sending a ransom note last time we stopped for water and not turning you in for the reward in Novigrad, were those accidents too? There is a hefty bounty on your head, White Wolf, and I could be living independently in a castle somewhere right now except that I happen to find you endlessly attractive and fascinating.”

“Hmm.” Geralt resumed walking. Jaskier noticed with a smirk that his pace had picked up quite a bit. As if he was suddenly in a hurry to be somewhere.

“Hum dismissively all you like, sir, but you’re still carrying me back to your cabin to ravish me senseless, are you not?”

“Ravish may be the wrong word for what I’d like to do to you, but you do look rather tempting.”

“Thank you. I put a lot of effort into this ensemble.”

“You’re a calculating little nymph, aren’t you?”

“No, of course not. I only managed to secure a bunk aboard the Kaer Morhen and wrap its infamous captain around my finger in less than a month. I am but a silly nobleman with excellent dexterity and a penchant for climbing.”

“Lambert was right to call you a minx.”

“He does love that nickname.”

“It’s not an endearment.”

“Whatever.” The ground shifted and Jaskier knew they were making their way up the gangplank and back onto the ship. This was the part he’d been waiting for! Geralt kicked in his cabin door and stepped inside, turning to close and lock it behind them. Jaskier wriggled impatiently. “Set me down!”

“Hmm, no. I rather like the view from here.”

“Excuse me?”

Geralt gave him a gentle smack on the ass, almost a pat really, and huffed out a laugh at Jaskier’s offended noise. “You’ve been an awful lot of trouble for a nobleman and a captive.”

“I’m barely a captive, Geralt. Give it up already.”

“You haven’t signed the book.” He set Jaskier back on his feet and looped his arms around the younger man’s waist to pull him close. “You’re still a captive until you swear on the book and sign your name next to the others. Then you’ll be part of my crew.”

“I have yet to negotiate for my shares,” the brunette stated. He tilted his chin back, baring his neck slightly and offering Geralt his ale-damp lips. “Ten crowns after every capture and I get to sleep in here with you. That sounds fair.”

“You’re a good worker. Seven crowns, you can sleep in here with me, and you can borrow my bandannas whenever you want.”

“Even the red one?”

“Especially the red one.”

Jaskier’s soft pink mouth brushed against the pirate’s as he murmured his answer: “Deal.”

Geralt’s lips crashed against Jaskier’s with the strength of a wave hitting the side of his ship in a maelstrom. The Captain’s mouth was so warm and his lips moved against the younger man’s with almost frightening determination. As if he was trying to prove himself. His arms were strong around the nobleman’s lower back and his white hair brushed deliciously against the skin of Jaskier’s neck.

“You’ve bewitched me, body and soul.”

“Oh, Geralt,” the younger man sighed, opening his mouth to let the other in. I never thought the word ‘plunder’ could apply to kissing but here I stand, corrected by experience yet again. The White Wolf of the Seven Seas pulled away, made breathless by a young and foolish nobleman in search of adventure.

“I’m not a siren, you know. Not even a little. My family’s estate is landlocked.”

Geralt’s fingers rose from his waist and brushed against his cheekbone reverently. Those amber eyes, so cold and focused when he shouted orders or intimidated a merchant captain, were looking down at Jaskier with such devoted tenderness. The ex-noble felt his heart fill anew and double in size. There wasn’t enough room in his body to hold all of this feeling.

“Kiss me again, Captain. Take me to bed.”

“You’re too good at tempting me. You must be evil.”

“I assure you,” Jaskier smirked, ripping Geralt’s shirt over his head in one smooth movement. “I am.”

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Like Sparks Against My Skin

on ao3

When Geralt sets out down the pass, nothing is out of the ordinary. The path is clear enough that he can ride most of the way down and they make good time coming into Kaedwen. He'd written to Jaskier over the winter for the first time this year and he's antsy to make it to their meeting spot along the Pontar. It feels like something has changed over the winter and while it's not a bad thing, Geralt still lays the blame on Jaskier and his soft, longing letters.

Usually, over the winter, Geralt spends most of his nights with Eskel, but it felt wrong to be sleeping with one man during the night and writing to another during the day, so he's spent the entire five months alone. And more than once, the letters he received seemed to have been written when Jaskier was drunk, and the content edged toward something much more suggestive than either of them had ever discussed. Not that anything had been discussed prior to the letters.

And Geralt had started thinking about things he's been burying since he first met Jaskier so many years ago. Like the sound of his voice while he's being railed in the room next door, or the way his trousers fit just right to display a shapely ass and thighs - or that stupid fucking bow that sits right between his hips and haunts him. Surely it's just a frivolity and it's not actually holding Jaskier's trousers up, but Geralt wants to find out, wants to tug at it and see what happens. And maybe, when he meets up with Jaskier, he will be.

He travels harder than he probably needs to, hurrying to get to their meeting spot and see Jaskier and find out where exactly they stand with each other now. It's unnecessary because Jaskier is still travelling on foot and while he has less distance to cross, he's still going to be slower. So when Geralt stops in town to rest for the night, Jaskier is the last person he's expecting to see.

But there he is when he walks into the tavern, lute in hand and singing melodiously and- Geralt's brain stops functioning when he looks at Jaskier's face. Because he's never had a beard before. And something hot and urgent settles low in his gut and Geralt barely holds back a groan. Whatever changed over the winter, he doesn't suspect Jaskier is prepared to be jumped the second they see each other.

But it's a tempting prospect, pulling him into an empty room and kissing the confusion from his lips. He thinks back to the one year Eskel decided to grow a beard, to the scrape of his between his thighs and against his ass. The roughness of it all over his skin and- fuck. He's still in public, he shouldn't be thinking these things.

So he quickly diverts his attention from Jaskier and orders a pair of drinks and supper for the both of them before discussing available rooms. By the time he and the innkeeper have come to an agreement (Jaskier's portion of the room has been paid for already, but Geralt is to pay for his own) Jaskier has finished his set and slipped up silently.

"It's good to see you," he says, "I didn't expect you so soon."

"The path was clear," Geralt explains, "quick riding down. Didn't see any point to delay after that."

"Certainly not, and we are glad to have you. Drinks?”

"Already coming," Geralt smiles and Jaskier beams at him.

The beard, Geralt discovers, is shorter than it appeared, thick stubble more than a full beard, but it doesn't stop the thoughts whirling in his head. If anything, it encourages them. Stubble is rougher than long hair and would be sure to scrape delightfully against his skin. Geralt has to shut his eyes for a moment and compose himself and when he does, Jaskier is looking at him oddly.

They turn in after supper and for the first time since knowing him, Geralt is nervous to share a bed with Jaskier. He's hesitant even about undressing in front of him because he's been half-hard since he walked into the inn earlier that evening. And he's had more to drink than is probably advisable, even if it doesn't affect him that much.

But in the firelight in their room, Jaskier looks unbearably beautiful and Geralt has to hold his tongue to keep from saying something he'll regret. Because Jaskier hinted and nodded at something more, but he hasn't said a word about it now that they're back together. And Geralt would be devastated to lose him over something so trivial as a quick fuck. So he shucks his clothes quickly and lays out his bedroll on the floor. Jaskier gives him an odd look but doesn't question it. It's not the first time one of them has slept on the floor of an inn.

But even when the candle is blown out and Jaskier is snoring softly in bed, Geralt can't sleep. He usually sleeps best the first night they're back together because they're always at an inn and Jaskier's soft breath and snoring lull him, but tonight he's wound too tightly to rest.

He gets up more than once and tries to meditate but being on his knees only brings to mind the image of a cock in his mouth and he's sorely tempted to see if the brothel is still open. He can't keep on like this. Jaskier stretches in his sleep, letting out a soft, happy moan and Geralt's cock twitches against his thigh. He shuts his eyes tightly, focuses back on the sound of Jaskier's breath, but there's nothing for it.

After an hour or more, Geralt shoves a hand down his shorts, taking his cock in hand and jerking himself quick and hard. There's nothing elegant about it, but he thinks of Jaskier, imagines him rubbing his cheeks between his thighs, and he comes hard after only a few strokes.

It's stupid, he thinks, to let himself get worked up over a little hair along Jaskier's jawline, and he resolves to ignore it.

Only the next morning it already seems thicker and darker and, like every other part of Jaskier, it's actually rather a lot of hair. A lot of short, prickly hairs. Geralt's cock stirs as he saddles Roach and he firmly shoves the thought aside. He's spent one too many rides hard and rubbing against the horn of the saddle and he doesn't need to repeat that.

They're not headed anywhere in particular, so he lets Jaskier lead the way, happily strumming and chatting or singing as he goes. They head in a general northwestern direction, toward Vizima and Jaskier seems perfectly unaware of Geralt's new fascination with him. But Geralt can't stop looking, hyper-aware of every little thing Jaskier does from the way he scratches absently at his jaw to the way he stretches it when he's not singing. Geralt doesn't know how he's never noticed all these things before, but they're doing their damndest to drive him out of his mind now.

He spends three days riding uncomfortably because he can't keep his prick under control, but it's better than walking and letting Jaskier see how fucking hard he gets thinking about his stupid scratchy face.

They stop early to make camp just outside of the city and Geralt has barely dismounted - thankfully not currently afflicted - when Jaskier drops his things and sighs.

"What is it?" he asks abruptly and Geralt just looks at him.

"What's what?" A million things run through his mind, but Jaskier looks far too exasperated for this to have anything to do with the recent state of Geralt's dick.

"You keep staring, looking at me funny. Why? Did I grow? Do I have something in my hair?" he reaches up, brushing long fingers through his hair and Geralt swallows hard. "And you're so solemn. What happened to looking forward to meeting me this spring."

Geralt says nothing because he doesn't know what to say. The truth is clearly out of the question, so he's fully out of options, the beard having turned the majority of his brain to soup. Then Jaskier's shoulders slump a little and he gives Geralt the most ridiculous look.

"The beard?" he asks and Geralt's eyes widen without his permission. Jaskier huffs. "I should have fucking known. Okay, get it out, tell me how awful it is."

"It's fine," he mumbles and Jaskier laughs.

"No, no, no, Witcher, you're not getting out of this that easily. Why do you hate it so much, hm? I'll have you know it was quite popular in Oxenfurt." Geralt doesn't need full brainpower to know what that means and a nasty jealous feeling twists in his gut. "So?"

"Told you," Geralt shrugs, "it's fine."

"Fine," Jaskier repeats mockingly, "fine."

He hates to lie to Jaskier, but he doesn't know what else to do and he doesn't want to ruin whatever softness they found over the winter, providing Jaskier is willing to stretch that into the rest of the year.

"It's… good," he says the words so quietly he can barely hear them and Jaskier comes right up to him, getting right up in his face and Geralt can smell him and he shuts his eyes, trying to settle his mind.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"Nothing."

"No, I think you said it was good. Do you- do you like the beard, Geralt?"

He's so close now and Geralt's eyes open when he feels Jaskier's hands on his chest. He's right there and Geralt can't think of anything but biting his jaw, running his tongue along the rough line of it and he nearly groans out loud. He has always, regrettably, found Jaskier attractive but something about the beard is unbearably sexy and Geralt is barely holding it together already when Jaskier grins at him.

"Oh," he breathes, sliding one palm down Geralt's stomach. He leans in so close that his stubble scrapes against Geralt's cheek and Geralt lets out a soft, shaky moan, barely clinging to his self-control. "You do like it, don't you? Is that why you won't sleep with me? Why you can't stop staring at me?"

He leans in again, purposefully this time and Geralt inclines his head so Jaskier's cheek is closer to his neck.

"Shit, Geralt." He nuzzles into his neck, pressing his cheek against Geralt's throat and follows with soft kisses that make Geralt's knees weak. "You like the way it scratches, hm?"

"Yeah," Geralt admits breathily, "Jask-"

"Shh," Jaskier hums, "I know. Fuck, I know." He presses his nose to Geralt's, sighing softly. "I was afraid I overstepped this winter," he whispers, pressing a light kiss to the underside of Geralt's jaw. "Thought you were trying to figure out how to send me away after that first night back."

"Not you," Geralt mumbles, tipping his head back, "didn't want you to know-"

"How much you like the beard?" he nuzzles under Geralt's jaw again and he groans in response. "So you still want-" he doesn't finish his sentence before Geralt slides a hand around the back of his head and holds him there, eyes locked on his own.

"Of course I do," he breathes and then Jaskier's mouth is on his own and he's not sure which one of them moved, but it doesn't matter. Jaskier kisses him like he's been deprived for months and Geralt knows that's not true, but he's happy enough to be the recipient.

Jaskier's lips are soft, but Geralt can already feel the burn of his beard on his upper lip and he moans softly as Jaskier pulls away to nuzzle at his neck again. Geralt shuts his eyes, rolling his head back and biting down on his lip. His cock swells quickly under the touch and then Jaskier's wrapping his arms around his thighs and lifting him off his feet. It catches him off guard, but then they're moving, and Jaskier sets him down on a shelf of rock, smiling slyly up at him.

Geralt's high enough that it takes nothing for Jask to bend and kiss him, fingers reaching in to unbutton his trousers, and Geralt can't keep himself from pushing into the touch, pressing his clothed cock against Jaskier's hands.

Heat rolls through him and he's a little embarrassed to be so hard already, but Jaskier doesn't seem to mind. He wraps his fingers around him and Geralt groans softly as Jaskier plays with him through the fabric of his trousers. He tips his head back as Jaskier gets his trousers undone and then he's shoving them down far enough to get his cock free and Geralt can feel the rush of cool air against him.

"Lift your hips," Jaskier says and Geralt does as he's asked, shifting with him as Jaskier pulls his trousers down to his knees.

He grins at him, then pushes his thighs apart and presses his face between them. Geralt groans immediately despite himself, torn between letting his thighs fall further apart to give Jaskier better access to his cock and just letting him rub his face between his thighs all afternoon.

Because he would. He'd be happy to let Jaskier nuzzle between his thighs for hours without even touching him. He could probably come like that, just with Jaskier's scruff rubbing against his thighs.

"Feels good?" Jaskier asks and Geralt nods. "You like the way it scratches, hm?" He presses closer and Geralt's eyes flutter shut. "Oh, you really like that. Is that what's been bothering you this whole time? And here I thought you hated the beard."

"No," Geralt gasps and Jaskier surges up to kiss him again, groaning against his lips. He fumbles with Geralt's trousers, not pulling away as he pulls them off his legs and throwing them to the ground, then he's hauling him forward so he can fit between his thighs.

"I want you," he breathes, "Geralt, can I fuck you? I'll make it good, love."

"Please," he whispers, "Jaskier, please-"

"Shh," Jaskier hums, running a hand down his chest, "I've got you, darling, I'll take care of you."He presses forward, guiding Geralt onto his back and then he's ducking down to take his cock into his mouth. And the rumours of Jaskier's talents have not been exaggerated.

Geralt has to struggle to keep his hips down as Jaskier draws back and when he sinks back down on him, he makes a point of rubbing his cheek against his hip and the pleasure burns through him. Jaskier's tongue wraps around him and Geralt rocks into the touch, but he just groans when Jaskier holds him down. Then he's pulling off altogether and lifting Geralt's knees over his shoulders.

He keeps his eyes on Geralt's as he pulls him forward and then he's ducking down, pressing his nose behind Geralt's balls. The first flick of his tongue has Geralt groaning and then he's sliding over him, licking over his hole and Geralt shuts his eyes and gropes at the rock for something to hold on to.

Jaskier doesn't waste any time settling him, just gets straight to work, pressing his face in and pressing at his hole with his tongue. The scratch of his stubble drives Geralt insane and if he wasn't already hard, it would take nothing else to get him there. And Jaskier, the fucker, knows this and uses it to his advantage. He alternates actually touching him with the rough scrape of his beard until Geralt needs the touch, until his cock aches for something more, and his cheeks burn with the roughness of it.

It's just this side of painful, but he loves it and when Jaskier finally presses into him, Geralt goes limp, whining as he throws his head back. He gropes blindly at Jaskier, gripping one arm where he braces himself and Jaskier just hums as he pushes his tongue inside him, barely acknowledging Geralt's whimpers.

"Fuck," he groans, "oh, fuck jask- please, yes."

When he pushes further, he adds a finger and it's a little dry, but Geralt has needed this for so fucking long he doesn't even care about the burn. It feels good, even, like a mirror to the stubble burn now marring the insides of his thighs and ass. And Jaskier is gentle despite his own eagerness, only pushing in when he knows Geralt can take it and then starting slow.

But when he knows Geralt is comfortable, he fucks him hard with his tongue and finger, working up to two quickly as Geralt gasps and groans under him.

"Jask," he groans, "needed you- wanted you all winter. I haven't-"

"Haven't what, love?"

"Haven't come since the summer-" he cuts himself off with another groan as Jaskier's fingers nudge against his prostate for the third time in a row. His eyes roll back and he bites his lip. "Not gonna last like this."

"'S okay," Jaskier says, dipping down to kiss his cock, "I wanna make you feel good, I wanna watch you come. Then I'll fuck you and you can come again."

"Melitele," Geralt groans, but Jaskier leans low over him, quieting him with a kiss as he plunges his fingers into him again.

The pressure rises as Jaskier seeks out that spot, aiming for it again and again until Geralt can barely breathe. And he knows he can't hold back anymore, but he tries. He shuts his eyes and focuses and tries not to think about how fucking good it feels to have Jaskier's fingers inside him, but they bump against his prostate again, just as Jaskier mouths at the underside of his cock and he can't.

"Fuck," he cries, "'M gonna come." Jaskier doesn't say anything, but he licks up the length of Geralt's twitching cock, just slipping over the head and sucking it into his mouth before he's coming.

HE clenches one hand at his side, the other flying up to the back of Jaskier's neck as he sinks down on him and he rocks gently into his mouth, pressing the head of his cock against the roof of Jaskier's mouth. It feels like ages that the pleasure washes over him and Jaskier just keeps bobbing on his cock, fingers still working into him.

When he finally comes down again, Geralt sighs and reaches down, tugging Jaskier on top of him to kiss him. He can taste himself on Jaskier's lips and it sends a bolt of possessiveness through him. He's never been one to consider anyone his, but knowing Jaskier tastes like him is incredibly arousing.

Jaskier appeases him for a few minutes before pushing himself up again and fitting himself between Geralt's thighs, running his hands along them.

"Feel better?" he asks and Geralt just hums softly. "Think you could come again for me, darling?"

"Yeah," Geralt rasps, "yeah, for you."

"Oh, Geralt, you're so sweet to me." Jaskier kisses him softly, then straightens up, reaching down to undo his own trousers.

Geralt watches as he shoves them down, then takes himself in hand, stroking absently, as he looks at him. Jaskier's already hard, the knowledge of which only makes Geralt's need stronger. But Jaskier doesn't make him wait long before he's pressing in, teasing his rim with the head of his cock.

He pushes in slowly, giving Geralt the chance to adjust, but he doesn't want it. He wants Jaskier inside him as quickly as possible, wants to feel the stretch of Jaskier's cock and the burn as he fucks him. He rocks his hips encouragingly and Jaskier seems to get the message, thrusting deep into him with a groan.

"Fuck," he mutters, "you feel incredible, Geralt." He rocks his hips, groaning on the forward thrust, and pulls Geralt's hips against him. "Can you come just like this?" Jaskier asks and Geralt nods.

He's already feeling the urge again, even as his cock swells against his hip. He wants to come on Jaskier's cock, wants to kiss him while he fucks him, wants to touch him. And Jaskier does his best to provide that. He leans over, wrapping his hands around Geralt's hips and pulling him down to ease the motion of his thrusts. He gets one hand around him, stroking in time and pressing his thumb against the slit of his cock, rubbing gently as Geralt squirmed under him.

Jaskier is soft where he touches him, but he fucks him hard and Geralt is already slipping before he's even touched himself. Jaskier's hands on him feel too good and he reluctantly pushes him away, slipping his own hand around the base of his cock.

"Okay?" he asks.

"Gonna make me come too quick," Geralt mumbles, "not yet."

"How come?" Jaskier asks, but his voice is rough, shaky as he fucks him. "This doesn't have to be the only time." He leans over him, kissing Geralt sloppily as he jerks forward. "I've wanted you forever, darling, if I knew all it took to get you into bed was growing a beard, I would have done it years ago."

He smiles and winks and Geralt can't help but kiss him again, tangling his fingers in his hair to bring him close. Jaskier's a flirt and a tease, but Geralt wouldn't trade him for anyone.

He kisses him hard, even as Jaskier pulls him down again, so only his back and shoulders rest on the rock. He slams into him again and again, dislodging him as he kisses him, but it doesn't matter because this is Jaskier and this has been a long time coming.

But Geralt's cock throbs against his hip and he's so close he can practically feel it and one well-timed thrust is all it takes to have him spilling all over his stomach and Jaskier follows with a loud moan, pressing his head into Geralt's shoulder.

For some time, neither of them moves, Geralt with his legs wrapped around Jaskier's waist and Jaskier just barely holding him up as the rush of his orgasm passes. Jaskier is the one to move first, pulling Geralt from his spot on the shelf to set him back on shaky feet.

"Gods, Geralt," he breathes, "who knew a little bit of facial hair could get you going like that." He huffs a soft laugh and kisses his chest, but Geralt ignores it. "If I'd known, I would've let it grow out ages ago, I bloody hate shaving and now that I know what that look means," he grins, leaning in close enough that he's breathing against Geralt's lips, "I think I'll wear it long like this all the time, what do you think?"

"I think," Geralt says, choosing his words carefully, "that next year you're coming to Kaer Morhen with me so I can take full advantage of that threat without worrying about having to ride in the morning."

"Fuck," Jaskier breathes, "deal."

[wolf-and-bard]

What the hell is ‘Geraskier’?

A silly ficlet born from a conversation I had with @frogcheesedoesthewitcher

warnings for mild gore and explicit language. enjoy <3

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

"Geralt, check this out," Jaskier says, grinning like a child and waving his phone. "I found this whole website where people write about us."

"Jaskier," Geralt grunts. "OUT OF THE WAY." He flashes by across the parking lot and close to where Jaskier leans against his car, grappling with a werewolf that snaps its jaws at him, barely missing Geralt's exposed neck. It has already torn Geralt's armour to shreds and the witcher is down to a thin black shirt that hugs his muscles and falls open at the neck.

"Oh, Tumblr is going to love this." Jaskier discards the post he's been reblogging - a picture of himself in the most beautiful, pale blue medieval doublet - and switches to his camera app. He aims to angle away from the carnage and focus exlcusively on Geralt's muscles. This is going to be the perfect kickstart to his new career. Maybe he can use the site to promote his songs.

When Geralt buries his sword in the werewolf's thigh, Jaskier has to stop filming. This is the ugly part and he's not too keen on watching it either, so he refreshes his dashboard and sees a new FanFiction pop up. He likes them, these FanFiction. This one is tagged 'Geraskier'. He's no clue what that means, but it's about him and Geralt and some fight they had so it's gotta be good.

He's halfway through when the werewolf dies with a gurgle and Geralt hovers over it, panting.

"Jaskier, what the fuck," he says when Jaskier saunters over, eyes glued to his phone screen again. "You could have gotten hurt."

"Nah. Look, I've been reading these stories on the internet. About us. Dear gods, they are amazing. Did you know you experience intense sexual heat on the regular? Do you, Geralt? I never noticed."

"What?"

"Yes. And, apparently, I'm immortal. And earlier I read one where Valdo gets publically flogged. I love it."

Geralt shakes his head and whips out his dagger to take a trophy from the werewolf. The monster's been terrorizing the factory grounds of a large car producer by night and the man will want solid prove that he can start production again. Jaskier would usually make Geralt take a silly picture with the head, but he is too distracted by the story.

"Okay, but listen here: in this one you apologize to me after we have a fight like you actually appreciate me."

"I appreciate you," Geralt says, sounding mildly irritated, and dumps the werewolf's head by their feet.

"Oh, come one, you barely tolerate me." Jaskier laughs and puts a hand to his hip, rubbing one shoe over the other so the blood stains won't set. He only just got them.

"What happens next? After I apologize?"

"Let me see... uh... you pull me close by the front of my shirt and cup my face with sword-roughened hands. They are warm and dry against my cheeks. You..."

"I?"

"... you smile and turn away," Jaskier finishes hastily, veiling his embarrassment with a cough. Wow, this random person on the internet really understands his deepest desires. He can never let Geralt find Tumblr or FanFiction or whatever. His face feels hot.

"You're lying," Geralt protests and makes a grab for Jaskier's phone.

"Am not."

"Yes, you are. I know your tells, Jask, give me that phone."

They grapple for a bit, but if Jaskier doesn't want his phone to get crushed in the frenzy, he has to admit defeat. Shit. This is not what he wanted.

Geralt holds Jaskier at arm's length with one hand splayed over his chest and uses the other to unlock Jaskier's phone.

“What the hell is ‘Geraskier’?”

“You don’t want to know,” Jaskier sighs, giving up the struggle. He watches Geralt’s eyes flick, left and right, left and right, as he reads on. His expression is unreadable.

"Hmm," Geralt concludes when he's done and hands Jaskier the phone. Usually, Jaskier prides himself in being able to translate all of Geralt's grunts and hums, but this one could mean anything.

"Yeah, well. The internet, huh?" Jaskier could smack himself for how awkward that comes out.

"It's not that big."

"What?"

"My cock," Geralt says, and tilts his head to the side, looking at Jaskier. "It's not that big."

"Why are you telling me this?" Jaskier splutters.

"Just so you won't be disappointed." And Geralt pulls him close by the front of his shirt and cups Jaskier's face with sword-roughened hands. They are warm and dry against his cheeks. He kisses him and it tastes like sweat and werewolf blood and sunshine and something that is uniquely Geralt.

[knifewieldingenby]

You shine, a Jaskel fic

This prompt comes from the lovely @kueble who always helps me when I’m dealing with writers block, thank you dear friend.

Summary: Jaskier keeps giving Eskel jewelry and he can’t fathom who someone like Jaskier would be courting him.

Content: Jaskel, courting jewelry, insecure Eskel, very mild mentions of sex (but nothing explicit), T

*written and pasted from my phone, I apologize if the format ends up being weird*

———

“What a performance!” Jaskier flopped down on his bed and sighed deeply. Eskel sat across from him on his own bed and smiled.

“You certainly had them eating out of your hands,” he said as he worked his armor off piece by piece. Normally he’d go up to the room first and take it off, but he wanted to see Jaskier perform tonight. The bard had been bursting with energy all day and Eskel knew it was going to be a good one. Besides, he could never resist the beauty that was Jaskier performing for a crowd. His face lit up, fire in his eyes, and every so often he threw a smile Eskel’s way that somehow felt different than the smile he reserved for his audience. It felt personal. Eskel wasn’t stupid enough to think it meant anything, but he was allowed to dream, even if it never came true.

“Easy crowd to please, I suppose.”

“Since when are you modest?”

Jaskier laughed and pushed himself up on his elbows. “You’re right, it was all me.”

Eskel rolled his eyes fondly. He watched out of the corner of his eyes as Jaskier got up and crossed the room, fiddled with his pack a bit before coming to sit next to him.

“I got you a gift.”

Eskel cocked an eyebrow. “A gift?”

“Mm-hmm.” He opened his palm and Eskel’s eyes widened. It was a ring, a simple gold band that glistened in the dim candle-lit room. He was too shocked to respond. A gift was one thing, but this...jewelry was different. Maybe in another life it would mean something different, but in this lifetime no one gave jewelry unless they were courting someone, and that just couldn’t be right.

“You’re giving me a ring?”

“Yup!” He smiled brightly. Eskel didn’t know what to say. Surely Jaskier couldn’t mean...he couldn’t want Eskel. But it would be rude to turn it down and Eskel didn’t want to be that person. He mumbled out a thank you and hastily shoved the ring in his pocket. He caught a glimpse of something shift in Jaskier’s face.

“You don’t want it,” Jaskier said.

“What? No, of course I - I just thought-“

“Give it to me.”

Eskel cringed. This was the moment he’d feared, the moment Jaskier realized that he didn’t actually want to court Eskel. He pulled the ring back out and dropped it in Jaskier’s outstretched hand. To his surprise, Jaskier took his hand in his own. He carefully slid the ring on Eskel’s index finger and then squeezed his hand gently.

“I want you to have it,” Jaskier said softly, their eyes meeting, and Eskel couldn’t look away from that intense gaze. He swallowed through his tight throat and nodded.

Jaskier tilted his head. “Unless of course, you really don’t want it.”

“I want it,” Eskel said far too quickly, and he tried to ignore the way his cheeks burned from the admission. Jaskier smiled and squeezed his hand again.

They retired to their beds not long afterward, and Jaskier, as always, fell asleep quickly. Eskel on the other hand tossed and turned restlessly. He twisted the ring over and over, tracing the gold band with his finger, and wondered how Jaskier knew it would fit. It was true that he would occasionally take Eskel’s hand when they were settled at camp, play with his fingers lightly, but that was...just Jaskier. It was how he was with everyone he was close to.

...Right?

Eskel closed his eyes and attempted to quiet his mind. This was a one off thing, he was sure. Jaskier would quickly realize that Eskel was not the kind of man he wanted to be with, not safe enough, not handsome enough, and move on. Once the novelty of courting a Witcher wore off he would be off courting beautiful maidens and attractive blacksmiths like he did before Eskel showed up. That thought hurt more than he cared to admit to himself, but it was the truth.

With that in mind he settled and fell into a fitful slumber.

-

Two weeks went by and Jaskier didn’t say anything about the ring, though Eskel never took it off. He was waiting for the day when Jaskier asked him to take it off. The bard’s behavior hadn’t changed much. Sure, maybe it was true that he winked and threw smiles at Eskel more often during his performances than he had before, and maybe he’d bought Eskel sweet treats from the market without prompting, and maybe he’d played his favorite song just for him, and maybe…

He still didn’t say anything about the jewelry and Eskel wasn’t going to bring it up, for fear of reminding Jaskier what he’d done and making him regret it.

On a cool early Autumn evening they were sitting around camp after dinner, Jaskier strumming his lute idly while Eskel organized his potions, when Jaskier suddenly jumped up and rushed to his pack. He came back with something in his hands and knelt next to Eskel.

“Got you something,” he said. Eskel’s eyebrows raised as Jaskier opened his hands and revealed a long gold chain with a buttercup pendant. “You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to, I know it’s a little more delicate than Witchers typically prefer, but-“

“I’ll wear it.” Eskel pulled what little hair he had along his neck away and dipped his head slightly. He hoped Jaskier would get the message.

He heard a soft chuckle and moments later felt the warmth of Jaskier’s hands ghosting his neck as the bard fastened the chain around him. He raised his head but his eyes were on the chain. The gold brought out warm tones in his skin.

“I- thank you.”

“Thank you for wearing it. If you decide you don’t want...this, you can take it off. I won’t- I’ll understand.”

“What is this exactly?” Eskel asked before his brain could stop him.

“What do you want it to be?”

And there was that intense look in Jaskier’s eyes again, a look that warmed Eskel just as much as it confused him. He knew what it meant when other people gave each other jewelry out of the blue but this was different. Nobody in their right mind courted a Witcher. Well, apart from other Witchers. He thought briefly of Lambert, who had been courted by a Cat, pretending he hated it but getting defensive if anyone so much as suggested he take the jewelry off. They all knew he secretly loved it.

“I want what I can’t have.” Perhaps that was a bit too honest, too vulnerable, but he didn’t care. Jaskier was so close. With their faces mere inches apart at this point he could feel the pull to lean forward, press their lips together, get lost in the softness that was the bard.

Jaskier’s eyes flicked to his lips and back as if he was thinking the same thing. “If you want me, dear, I’m yours.”

“But-“

“No buts. I’m yours.”

“Can I…” His eyes traveled to the bard’s lips again, and his heart softened at the gentle smile he received in response.

“Yes.”

He slowly reached up and took Jaskier’s face between his hands, hesitating as if giving him a chance to change his mind. But Jaskier didn’t; he made the first move, leaning forward and capturing Eskel’s lips in the softest of kisses. It didn’t last long but when they parted Eskel felt light-headed and Jaskier was smiling dreamily at him.

“Um…” Eskel shifted awkwardly and pointed to their bedrolls. “We should…”

“Do that again?” Jaskier said hopefully. His eyes were hungry and Eskel wanted to drown in them, memorize that look forever. This time he moved, and when they kissed again it wasn’t soft - it was fierce and consuming, and definitely something Eskel could get used to.

-

A week later they lay in bed, sheets tangled around their sweaty bodies, limbs intertwined. Jaskier was on his back and Eskel was draped half over him, head leaning on his shoulder. He traced Jaskier’s stomach with his fingers and noted how pretty the gold from his rings looked against Jaskier’s skin. Rings, plural, because Jaskier had given him another one earlier that night. It had an inscription in Elder that meant beloved, and Eskel had to bite back uncharacteristic tears when he first saw it.

“Why gold?”

“Hmm?” Jaskier’s voice was soft and still somewhat dazed from their love making.

“You always get me gold jewelry. Why is that?”

A silence stretched out between them. Jaskier reached down and intertwined their fingers. “Because silver is for monsters, right?”

Eskel startled at that, his throat constricting, and he buried his face in Jaskier’s neck so that the man couldn’t see the way his eyes watered. He’d always thought of himself as a monster, much as he wouldn’t admit it to the other Witchers. He thought himself monstrous in a way he would never see his brothers. But here was Jaskier, saying the exact opposite. It felt so wrong and so right at the same time.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he mumbled into Jaskier’s neck.

“I know. But I wanted to.” He placed a kiss on Eskel’s forehead.

Eskel never thought he’d get this, never thought he deserved it. But maybe, just maybe, he did

——————

This is my first time writing Jaskel so please let me know how I did! Thank you for reading! :D

[tellhound]

Could you maybe combine, “ you know, you’ve got a really pretty smile. “ “ you call this a smile? “ AND “ how long are you staying? “ “ for as long as you need me. “

Very excited to see what you come up with, any pairing you like <3

Thank you so much for making me challenge myself in this way and for being so patient with me while you've waited 💖

This was supposed to be the ghost!Jaskier fic, but when I lost those files this got born instead. Hope you like it!

Also I apologize that it stops making sense halfway through

Also available on ao3

Warnings: depression

Words: 1.6k

Pairing: Geraskier

------------

2:37 am. The clock on his phone was mocking him. Another sleepless night with nothing but his demons to keep him company. If only they could tell him something he didn't already know, but their words were like a broken record at this point.

You're worthless. No one cares about you. You'd do everyone a favor if you just disappeared.

Most of the time there's still a tiny part of him that knows every word they say is a lie. But with each passing day it's getting harder and harder not to trust them and tonight especially he feels like they must be right.

Suddenly the apartment just feels too small and there's not enough air to fill his lungs. With a racing heart he gets up from his bed and quickly hurries out to the hallway where he puts on his old boots that's seen some better days before he leaves the tiny apartment, not bothering to grab his jacket.

As he's walking down the streets alone in the darkness he slowly starts feeling like he can breathe again. The voices in his head still keep mocking him though and for just a moment he wonders if it would be worth it to go back to his apartment only to grab his headphones so he can drown them out with music. But truth be told he hasn't exactly paid any attention to where he's been going and he's not really familiar with the area he's in.

Fucking idiot, can't even recognize a part of the town where he's lived for the past 7 years. This is why no one likes you.

***

3:46 am the clock on his phone tells him the next time he checks. He's finally found his way to a part of the town that he recognizes, but he's not sure he wants to head back to his apartment yet. It's not like he'll get any sleep anyway. Besides, the streets are never this calm and peaceful during the day and lately being around people has just been so hard. Most of the time he doesn't even leave his apartment anymore unless absolutely necessary. 

Eventually he ends up outside the White Wolf, the new club in town where his boyfriend got a job a few weeks earlier. If he looks closely through the window in the door he can see movement inside even though they closed at 3am. Probably some poor bartender who had to stay behind and clean up other people's shit.

He'd rather not stay and find out if the person is his boyfriend or not, cause after two weeks of completely ignoring him he can't imagine that it could have any other outcome than being yelled at and he can't handle that right now.

He doesn't make it very far before a familiar voice calls out his name.

"Geralt! Long time no see. How have you been?" Jaskier says as enthusiastically as he can while he turns towards his boyfriend. 

"Cut the bullshit, Jask. We both know what's really going on and I can't help you if you keep avoiding me." The words are harsh, but underneath the anger there's definitely a hint of concern.

He's going to leave you just like Valdo did if you tell him the truth.

There's a moment of silence as Jaskier considers what to do. It's definitely a real fear of his that Geralt will one day just leave if he figures out what a burden Jaskier really can be. And it may or may not have anything to do with his ex. But he just doesn't have the energy to pretend anymore. "I'm just so tired." he admits, silently cursing himself at how his voice cracks on the last word. 

"The kind of tired that sleep can't fix." it's not a question, cause they've been down this road before. "Please, let me help you." There's an unspoken cause I can't lose you in his words, but Jaskier hears them loud and clear anyway.

"I don't want to be a burden." Upon hearing those words Geralt closes the distance between them and embraces Jaskier in his arms. 

"Jask… You could never be a burden. Not to me." he says and if Jaskier starts crying that's between him and Geralt. 

Neither of them are sure how long they stand there in each other's arms, jaskier crying while Geralt whispers sweet nothings to him. But by the time they part the sun has slowly started rising from her sleep. 

“I uh… I’m gonna have to contact my therapist again, aren’t I?” Jaskier asks, wiping away the last of his tears with the sleeves of his shirt. 

“That's a choice only you can make. But I saw how much it helped you to talk to her the last time. However, whatever choice you make I'll support it.”

“Alright. I… I’ll call her in the morning then. But… do you think… nevermind.” He knows Geralt probably won't mind what he's about to ask from him. But he's a grown man, he shouldn't need someone to be with him when he makes a phone call. 

“You want me to be there when you call. ” Geralt says it so matter of factly and honestly isn't it just rude how he sometimes seems to be able to read Jaskier's mind. 

***

It's 4:36 am by the time that they're both lying together in Jaskier's bed. The bed is really not big enough for two people and their solution has always been for Jaskier to practically lay on top of Geralt and this time there's no difference.

“Are you sure about this? It’s not too late for you to grab your things and just leave if you want to.” It feels like someone stuck a knife in his heart and twisted it hard when Geralt hears those words coming from his boyfriend and in response he wraps his arms around the other man and kisses him on the top of his head. 

“So I assume that means you're staying.” Jaskier says and it makes Geralt happy to hear the little chuckle he let out at the same time. 

“Your assumption is correct.” 

“Can I ask you something and please don’t take this the wrong way because I really do love having you here, but how long are you staying?” he turns around in Geralt's arms as he asks this, so they'll be able to actually look at each other as they speak. 

“For as long as you need me.” Geralt answers and he hopes with all his heart that Jaskier actually believes him. He has no idea what he'd do without the musician in his life anymore. Probably crash and burn. 

“Then why don’t we make it official and move in together?” The question is so unexpected that Geralt isn't sure he's actually heard right at first. But from the way Jaskier is looking at him it couldn't have been anything else. 

“Jask…”

“No, I mean it. We celebrated three years together just a couple months ago and while I’m unsure about a lot of things right now, I know that I want this.” He looks so expectantly at the man underneath him and honestly how is Geralt supposed to say no to that?

“I want that too, but do you really think that right now is the right time to do something as big as that?” he asks anyway. 

“Maybe. Maybe not. There’s only one way to find out the answer to that though." Geralt knows Jaskier is right and it's not like they haven't talked about moving in together before." And it would give me something else to think about.” Jaskier adds as an afterthought. 

“Okay. Let’s do it. Let’s move in together." Geralt says, smiling. He can already imagine coming home after a long night at the club, getting into bed beside Jaskier and having him immediately throw his arms and legs around him like a koala whether he's awake or not. 

“Really?” Jaskier asks, almost sounding like he doesn't quite believe his ears.

"It's gonna have to happen at some point anyway." At this Jaskier's face lights up and it might be the most beautiful he's ever looked.

“You have no idea how much I love you.” It's been so long since Geralt last heard Jaskier say this and for a moment he can pretend that things never changed. 

“To the moon and back.” He answers and gives Jaskier a little kiss on his nose. He's not sure why Jaskier frowns at that, but he thinks he knows how to get that beautiful smile back again. 

"You know… I think we should get one of those really tiny apartments where you can barely fit a bed. I just don't like it when there's too much space between us." he says as a joke and watches as Jaskier just grimaces at him for that.

“You know, you’ve got a really pretty smile.” Jaskier may not be smiling at the moment, but that doesn't mean it's not true. 

“You call this a smile?” Jaskier sounds so confused that Geralt can't help but laugh. 

"I didn't say that."

“Hmm. I guess you didn't." He answers and turns to lie on his back again. 

"I love you so much." And at that Jaskier smiles.

So maybe Jaskier wasn't okay and he would probably have a long road ahead of him before he would reach that point again. But as long as Geralt stayed by his side he knew he'd be able to get through anything. 

-----

Taglist: @luteandsword

[write-ur-wrongs]

Be Your Man

A/N: I know I say it every time, but seriously, thank you SO MUCH for your requests, anon or otherwise. It means the world to me that you trust me with your visions. Here’s a requested fic inspired by the song “Be Your Man” by Rhys Lewis! It’s angsty and has the slightest hint of smut if you look really hard. As always, there are no physical descriptions of the reader! I hope you like it - I cried at the end lmao. 

It’s not proof-read so I apologize in advance!! I really hope you like it. 

_______________________________________________________

Being with the bard was, in a word, comfortable.

His connections ensured you always had a soft bed in a warm inn waiting for you at the end of the day. His reputation and acclaim afforded you a higher status among villagers, scholars, and even knights. Everyone loved his music and adored his visits. With him, you were always welcome.

With him, every day was a gift and every evening a celebration. With him, you never found yourself in harm’s way. Never felt the gnawing pull of hunger or the ache of thirst. He never left your side and you had no reason to leave his. And he loved you, he really did. He showed you everyday, through his songs, his words, his touch.

You were his sun and you were, for lack of a kinder word, comfortable.

That isn’t something you were used to, being comfortable. Your life had been tumultuous from the start and you had hardened yourself accordingly. Everything you had you’d earned as a journeying blacksmith; working whatever you could to make a sale. Now though, having access to any workshop, material, or tradesman the continent could offer, you were at the height of your craft.

But still, nothing could ever compare to the blade you forged for Geralt.

It was stunning, perfectly balanced, crafted from your best steel and iron Geralt had been gifted from the mines of Mahakam. The ornate curve of the hilt took you days to perfect and the faceted garnet you’d set within the pommel shone brilliantly with a clarity that royal houses across the continent would envy.

“It’s exceptional,” he murmured, completely in awe, while examining your work, “how you manage to make your blades look so intricate without sacrificing quality, I’ll never understand.”

You bit your smile to keep yourself from gushing as you watched him wield the sword as if it was an extension of him. And it should be, as you crafted it with him in mind.

“Whoever buys this will be one lucky bastard,” he said as he came out of a mock-parry and pirouette.

“Oh, I’m not selling it!” you said, shaking your head at him as he sheathed the weapon.

“What? Y/N this could get you four maybe five hundred Novigrad crowns! Did someone commission you for it?”

“No, no, it’s a gift.”

“Y/N you are far too generous.” He admonished, attempting to hand the sword back to you.

“Hush, it’s for you.” You say, laying your hands over his, your eyes sparkling.

Gods the way he looked at you then. The way his face softened when you laid your hands over his, how his breath hitched when you took a step towards him. Your bodies so close, eyes flitting from his hooded lids to his lips, and when you finally –

“We’re just about there, darling!” Jaskier sang, pulling you out of your reverie just as the familiar ache began pulling at your lower belly.

“Ah! Y-yes! Wonderful!”

“Well look at you, you’re blushing! Are you remembering the last time we were here?” He teased flirtatiously, giving your thigh a squeeze.

“Mm you know me well,” you lied, quickly taking his hand in yours to get it off your thigh. “How much farther, would you say? I’m starving.”

“Not too long, darling.” He said softly, glad that you were watching the forest with rapt attention, and praying the sting of your deflection wouldn’t be too obvious should you turn to meet his eyes. You didn’t turn to look at him though, and that filled the bard with both relief and immense sadness.

Jaskier wasn’t a fool, he recognized your guilt, sensed the way your heart longed for another. But every now and then, when it was just the two of you, he was sure he saw joy in your eyes. You loved him, maybe not quite as he loved you, but he was certain you loved him.

She just loves him more. He smiled at you sadly, rubbing his thumb along the back of your hand in silent resignation.

**

“God, I fucking love these beds!” you sighed blissfully, rolling onto your back. The pair of you had meant to get your room and then head out into the village to find work but you hadn’t been able to ignore the fire the earlier memories had ignited.

“Careful my sweet, or I’ll start to think you’re only with me for the fine accommodations.” Jaskier chanced, hoping you’d finally say the three words he so desperately wanted to hear you say, and see that you meant it.

“Ha! Shut up, Jask.” You laughed lightly, snuggling into his arms where you couldn’t catch the disappointment in his eyes, and where he couldn’t see the sadness in yours. Don’t go there, Y/N, you thought, Jask is Jask, and he loves you just fine.  

“Why don’t you let me,” you whisper, peppering his neck and jaw with kisses between words, desperate to get your mind off your witcher, “show you how much I love you?”

“Aa-euhm…” Jaskier let out a breathless squeal as your hand creeped between his thighs and he let himself be lost in your touch. Maybe, he thought, good enough could be enough.

**

You’d given up on the idea to go out to find work long before the sun had set on the village, but that surely didn’t keep work from finding you. The pair of you had barely settled yourselves at the table when you were recognized and showered in contracts.

“Please, madam, I know it’s not the priceless blades you normally work with, but my pots and pans are in desperate need to be replaced –”

“Of course, miss Eldridge,” you interrupted the inn’s owner gently, placing a light hand over hers to calm her nerves, “it would be a pleasure to help you. I’ve recently been working with new casting molds, and it would be an honour to sell you my first.”

“Oh, my! Thank you, Y/N, thank you!”

“No, thank you – this stew is easily the best we’ve ever had! It would be a crime if you weren’t able to keep serving.”

“Oh, you’re too kind!” she laughed humbly, giving your arm a squeeze in thanks before walking back to the kitchen.

You were beaming as you watched the woman practically skip back behind the heavy wooden door.

“What? Why are you staring?” you asked Jaskier, bringing your beer up for a long sip.

“I love watching you work; you shine like the stars on a winter’s night.” He said, reaching over to hold your hand in his.

“Ugh, Jask,” you groaned, wrinkling your nose at his poetics. “You’re such a cheeseball,” you teased him lightly, as you’d done many times before, but this time something flashed in his eyes.

“Hey! I know you were never showered in compliments when you were with Geralt, but-”

“What?!” you interrupted, practically spitting out your last sip.

Jaskier merely leaned back in his seat and gave you a one-shouldered shrug. You could tell he was trying to be aloof but in the six months you’d been together, the topic of Geralt had been a like a landmine. Someone always got hurt, actually, you both ended up hurt.

“What do you mean, ‘what’? I’m not wrong here, love.”

“Look, I didn’t mean to hurt you, Jask. It was a beautiful sentiment, really! I’m just – y-you know how I am with this kind of stuff.”

“I know, dear” he said quietly, keeping his eyes on his drink.

“I adore your work,” you added, your nerves heightened by his apparent sense of calm, “I’m just not… always comfortable being the subject.”

“My expressions of love make you uncomfortable now?” he scoffed, looking up at you with big, sad eyes.

“No! No, Jask. T-that’s not what I meant!” you put your drink down and scooted closer to him to take both his hands in yours. “Jaskier, please… I love you. This is how I love, it-it’s who I am, it’s how I am. Please, I’m sorry. I’ll be your star.”

Jaskier only shook his head slowly as he looked into your eyes. “I’ve seen you in love, Y/N. I believe you love me,” he said, giving your hands a squeeze, “but you’re not in love with me.”

“That isn’t true, Jask.” You whispered, blinking back heavy tears. You held his hands so tightly now, as if afraid he’d just disappear into thin air before you.

“It is though, and that’s okay.”

“Jaskier…”

“You know, you always use my name,” he said, nodding slightly as he thought, “not always my full name, but alas.”

You opened your mouth to disagree but couldn’t bring yourself to use a pet name, and so your mouth opened and closed silently like a fish. The bard looked at you knowingly with his large, knowing eyes, full of love but still heavy with sadness.

“Jaskier,” you finally conceded, feeling yourself crumble under his heavy gaze, “what’s happening?” you asked, your voice coming out of you like a strangled whisper.

“What do you want to happen?”

“I can’t lose you too.”

“‘Too’.” He repeated flatly.

You wanted to comfort him, to correct him, but nothing was coming to you. He wasn’t wrong, and you couldn’t bring yourself to lie to him now.

“Why are we doing this now, Jask? I thought we were doing okay. I thought we were happy,” you finally managed to ask, your voice shaky.

“Look, I’m,” he tried, his own voice breaking despite himself, “I know I can’t compare with him.” He waited a beat to see if you’d interrupt him with a correction and when you didn’t, he rested his elbows on the table and leaned closer to you and took a deep breath before continuing.

“I know how you feel. How you’ve… been feeling. Y/N, Geralt is here. He walked in not long ago, and he’s sitting at the back the of bar.”

Everything went blurry. You could tell he was still talking to you it was like your ears were stuffed with cotton – everything was muffled but too loud. You were going to pass out. Or throw up. Or both. Every inch of you was screaming to turn around and look for him, but you were frozen in place like a deer who’d spotted the archer and heard the bow snap but just stood stock-still and let the arrow hit.

“Y/N,” Jaskier pulled your hands closer to him, pulling you back to reality along with them, “I made the decision that I’m okay being your second choice,” he swallowed thickly before continuing, “but now I need you to make a choice.”

You felt as though you’d just been struck. He was looking at you with too much kindness, too much understanding, too much compassion. Holding his gaze made you feel as though a knife was being twisted into your chest, but you were so afraid that if you looked away, he’d leave you.

“My dove,” he says softly as if reading your mind, “I love you and no matter what you chose I’ll be there for you, always. I just want you to be truly happy.”  

You squeezed your eyes shut to keep more tears from falling, but upon feeling him get up to leave the table, your eyes shot open and you let the tears fall.

Very softy, Jaskier cradled your face in his hand and gave your forehead a lingering kiss before pulling away.

“I’m going to head upstairs… I’ll see you up there?” he whispered hopefully.

You nodded up at him wordlessly and let the tears fall as you watched him head up the stairs.

Left alone, you wrapped your arms around yourself and bit your cheek until you tasted blood to keep yourself from openly sobbing. The bustle of the inn allowed you some sense of privacy, which you appreciated, but it also exacerbated your loneliness. Letting out a shaky breath, you poured the rest of your drink into your mouth and swished it around to wash away the blood before swallowing.

Jaskier knew. All these months you thought you were the only one hurting, the only one who felt the weight of the witcher’s memory, but you were wrong. Gods were you ever wrong.

You felt terrible, and far too sober. You quickly swiped at your tear-soaked face, picked up your empty stein and turned to make your way to the bar.

But then you saw him.

He was alone, as always, wearing the thick wool cape you loved. The hood wasn’t up so you could see that his snow-white hair was a mess of knots. His eyes were fixed on his drink, so you were saved from meeting his gaze. Gods, you’ve missed him, and fuck he looked good. And tired. Your heart broke at the sight of him.

Then he looked up at you and your breath caught in your throat. His rich, golden eyes were looking straight at you… and they were vacant. He was looking through you, not at you; he didn’t remember you or care to, and your already broken heart shattered once more.

I am nothing to him, you thought somberly, exchanging your empty mug for a full one. You took a deep, shaky breath and downed your beer in one go, slamming the stein back down decisively. But I’m everything to him, maybe that will be enough.

Before heading up the stairs to where you knew the bard was waiting, you allowed yourself one last look at Geralt, only to find he wasn’t at his table anymore. Seems the fates had decided for you, your thought, letting a hollow laugh escape your lips.

The staircase wasn’t especially long, but the trip up felt unending. You took every step slowly, allowing yourself these brief moments of grief over the official loss of your witcher before you committed yourself fully to Jaskier. No more daydreams, no more longing, no more imagining his large, strong arms around you while the bard’s sinewy frame enveloped you.

You had just about convinced yourself that you’d made the right decision when you spotted him, leaning against the wall at the top of the stairs.

“G-Geralt,” you breathed, feeling yourself smile despite yourself.

“Y/N.”

“What, um, how – uh, hi,” you stuttered, needing to look up at the ceiling to keep yourself from completely melting under the burn of his gaze.

“Hm,” he hummed, taking a hesitant step towards you, “still the wordsmith I see.”

“Hilarious,” you retorted, falling effortlessly back into your habits. “I’m happy to see you’ve still got my blade,” you said, nodding to the sword behind his back.

“Of course,” he breathed, now dangerously close to you. “I take you with me everywhere.”

“You mean my blade?” you scoffed with a roll of your eyes.

“No.” he said, his eyes boring into you, sparking the flame you’d spent so long trying to tamp out. “Are you here with him?” he asked with a tilt of his head.

“You know I am.” You replied defensively, irrationally angry to hear him bring up the bard.

“How is he?”

“He’s fine,” you spat, but seeing the way Geralt’s eyes softened knowingly at you, you couldn’t help but to backpedal your aggression. “He’s Jaskier, you know? All silver linings and sunshine.”

“I’m sure,” he murmured, casting his eyes downward as he remembered his friend’s almost insufferable positively. “And you? Are you happy?”

“Geralt…” you practically groaned, crossing your arms to keep the heat radiating off of him from taking over you.

“Are you?” he insisted, reaching over to let his warm, calloused fingers ghost over your forearm. The feeling lit your body on fire and left an obvious layer of goosebumps in their wake.

He was standing so close to you know, you could smell the leather, cedar, and smoke emanating off of him, just like it always had. You could feel his breath on your face. Despite yourself, you looked up at him through your lashes. His proximity was intoxicating, inexplicably comforting.

“This is cruel… you’re being cruel…” you whispered, wiping stubborn tears away but not taking a step in any direction, unable to risk his leaving if you were to move.

“Y/N…”

“He loves me, Geralt, so much.” You insisted, almost like a mantra.

“But are you happy?” Now he was whispering. He sounded sad, his deep gravelly voice melting over you like sunlight after a frozen night.

“Geralt –” you warned, shaking your head.

“Answer me.”

“No. I-I’m not.”

“You’re not going to answer me?”

“I’m not happy.” You conceded, the truth of the statement washing over you as you heard yourself say it.

“Me either.”

You looked up at Geralt then, letting yourself take in the sight of him in full; his eyes, big and sad and fierce as ever, his brows furrowed, creating that deep crease you so desperately wanted to reach up and soothe, his mouth, his lips. You were barely inches from each other now, all you had to do was tip your chin, stand a little straighter…

He closed the gap between you then, his lips crashing into yours hungrily. You fully surrendered yourself to him, reveling in the feeling of his body against yours and you let yourself be happy, insanely, deliriously happy, for the first time in months.

***

Jaskier sat on the edge of the bed, his head in both hands, and sobbed. His broken breath echoed around the empty room, sporadically drowning out the sound of his best friend kissing the love of his life on the other side of the door.

She was never mine, he thought as sobs broke through him.

She was never mine.

[all-hail-the-witcher]

leaves

this started as a hc but turned into a long thing about geralt being a huge softie.  enjoy.

___

jaskier collects leaves that he thinks are pretty during the fall and presses them in his song writing notebook so he can look at them during the winter when all the leaves are gone. and, he'd never admit this to anyone, but he knows exactly where each leaf came from, and what he and geralt were doing when he found them, so they help him stay close to geralt in the cold months when he's away at kaer morhen.

geralt doesnt understand the fascination cause “they're just leaves jaskier” and gets kinda grumpy when jaskier walks extra slow during the fall to admire and inspect the leaves. but he secretly enjoys the way that jaskiers face lights up in front of their camp fire at night as he shows geralt each leaf he collected that day and tucks them safely into the pages of his notebook. 

jaskier used to show them to roach to inspect but after she ate a particularly beautiful one on accident he does not allow her anywhere near his precious leaves.

one year jaskier and geralt part ways a little earlier than normal, geralt deciding to begin the trek to kaer morhen sooner than he normally would due to a lack of contracts so jaskier goes to oxenfurt earlier as well. the leaves are just beginning to change color as they part ways. 

a few nights into the journey geralt is making camp for himself and roach when he sees a bright red leaf sitting on the forest floor, exactly the kind of leaf that jaskier would pick up and admire and wax poetry about before tucking it into his notebook. but jaskier isn't there, and geralt feels a little pang. he glares at the leaf the entire time he's setting up camp. 

the camp fire has burned down to the embers by the time geralt is ready to lay out his bed roll, but he can still see the leaf at the corner of his vision. he sighs and gets up, knowing that it will continue to bother him unless he does something about it. he picks up the leaf, brushes off the dirt far more lightly than he would ever care to admit, and goes to tuck it in to his saddle bag in the roll of parchment he keeps on the off chance he has to write a letter. 

roach snorts at him. “shut up,” he mutters back. “its just a leaf.” roach nuzzles his arm. “no, i don't miss him. im just...bringing him a souvenir. we had to part early this year.” another snort. “yes, i know you know. but he didn't get to see the leaves this year. i don't want him to be disappointed.” roach headbuts him as if to say, you dumb witcher. geralt ignores this, but gives her some nice pats before retiring to his bedroll. 

in the next town geralt buys a random book. he doesnt know what it is, he bought the cheapest one he could find. but he's not going to read it, he just needs something to keep jaskiers leaf in so it doesnt crumble to bits before the spring. he swears roach laughs at him for that. 

throughout his trip up to kaer morhen, geralt finds himself progressively walking slower, taking time to admire the leaves as the bard had once done. 

he picks up the second leaf a week later after a battle with some drowners. he’s heading back into the town, having come across his first contract in weeks, holding the head and covered in river muck and guts when he sees a perfectly yellow leaf on the ground in front of him. he picks it up gingerly, trying his very best not to get guts on it (and he nearly succeeds). if the alderman thinks its weird, a witcher coming back with a drowner head in one hand and a yellow maple leaf in the other, he doesnt say anything. roach does tho, whinnying the second she sees it in geralts hand. he ignores her, and presses the maple leaf into the book a few pages after the brilliant red one. 

after that he adds to the collection more frequently. an reddish oak leaf he finds on the ground outside of a tavern, a brilliant orange leaf he finds at his campsite, a yellowish orange leaf the size of his face that he finds along the road and so on. roach makes fun of him every time he reaches for the book, but geralt ignores her. they're merely souvenirs for jaskier, nothing more. 

collecting leaves slows him down considerably, but he cant bring himself to care. he's even disappointed when the last of the leaves disappear and the first snow sets in. 

but that doesnt stop him from collecting things to add to his book. he gathers different small pine branches, holly leaves and other things that he knows jasper has never seen before because they grow too far north. he becomes so caught up in his hunt for interesting plants that the snow is already falling thickly by the time he reaches kaer morhe, despite him leaving for the keep so early. eskel and lambert chide him for being late, but he ignores them, happy that he managed to fill most of the book with leaves for jaskier.

that whole winter the book remains in the bottom of geralts pack, wrapped carefully in his spare shirt. he thinks about it often, but doesnt dare bring it out for fear that one of his brothers will catch him and make fun of him for being a sap. he's not a sap, he just found some leaves for his friend. 

winter drags on far too long in geralts opinion and leaves as soon as the passes are clear, antsy to get back to his friend and give him the book. but on his way down he discovers yet another beautiful thing that jaskier would love: wildflowers. roach is slightly more appreciative of this because wildflowers are things that she is allowed to eat. geralt often feeds her them to see if she approves. if she spits it out or refuses to eat it, then it doesnt make it into the book.

in the space he has left in the book he fills it with wildflowers, sometimes going out of his way to collect them. there are buttercups, dandelions, little blue ones the color of jaskiers eyes, poppies, apple blossoms, daffodils, and even a few rose petals that he buys from a stall in a market. the book is brimming with nature now. he has to be careful not to lose any of his treasures. 

finally, he arrives at his and jaskiers meeting spot. he stables roach who gives him a headbut of encouragement and he grabs the book carefully wrapped in his shirt before he makes his way to the tavern, suddenly very nervous. 

jaskiers voice is already wafting out of the tavern as he draws closer, having beat geralt to the meeting spot for once, and geralt hesitantly steps inside, knowing jaskiers eyes will be on him the second he goes in. he’s overcome with thoughts, what if jaskier hates it? what if he thinks it's dumb? what if he laughs at him? 

he enters anyway, because he's a witcher for fucks sake and he can handle his friends scrutiny. immediately he sees jaskier, sitting in the corner, working a crowd. as always, jaskiers eyes snap to him the second he steps foot in the tavern and he winks. geralt gives him the smallest nod and heads to his table in the corner after ordering an ale. he tucks the book out of sight on the bench next to him. 

minutes later jaskier barrels over, eyes bright with the life of the crowd he had been entertaining. 

“geralt!” he exclaims. “finally. i thought you stood me up, you big oaf. i never make it here before you do, i thought you may have been eaten! although im not sure by what exactly, i don't know what species has a taste for witches, dragons maybe? well never mind, youre here now and you better have a good excuse for being so late, even im starting to get bored of this town and you know how i love towns...”

geralt smiles into his ale, he missed this, but he'd never admit it. his eyes flick over to the book sitting on the seat beside him, unsure whether or not he should give it to him. 

jaskier, being the observant fucker he is, notices. “geralt what do you have on the seat there? is it a monster head? you know what happened last time you tried to hide a monster head in a tavern, i thought the town would chase us out with pitchforks they were so angry! surely you wouldn't-”

“here.” geralt mutters, cutting him off, unwilling to listen to that horrible story. 

jaskier stares at the lump of black fabric on the table. “geralt, why are you giving me your shirt? its not really my style, i’m not one for black really, makes my skin look too pale.”

“open it.” he says into his ale. 

jaskier does, and stares at the book dumbfounded. “a history book? geralt you know that i am a master of the seven liberal arts, im a professor at oxenfurt! i have all these boring books in the library, i didn't need you to get me one, although it is very thoughtful of you to- oh”

geralt, tired of hearing jaskiers babbling, flips open the book, revealing the bits of nature he had spent their time apart collecting. jasper is silent, which geralt takes as a bad sign. maybe roach was right, maybe he didn't like it, maybe he'd wasted his time for nothing. 

“cause you....you didn't get to see...the leaves this year,” he mutters, looking into the tavern, unable to see the inevitable disappointment on jaskiers face. 

“oh, geralt,” jaskier whispers. “you collected all of these for me?”

geralt doesnt say anything, but his silence is enough. 

“this is why you were late. you were collecting these, for me.”

“its okay if you don't..like them” geralt bites out. 

“oh no no no no, geralt, they're wonderful.” 

geralt looks at jaskier and sees him touching the pine branch he took form the trees outside kaer morhen, tears brimming in his eyes. “you don't hate it?”

“no, love.” jaskier smiles softly. “i adore it. and i adore you. and id love it if you tell me about all of them, please.”

for the first time in years geralt feels something like a smile tugging at his lips and he picks up the pine branch from jaskiers hand, telling him how it came from the tree outside his window, the one that he looked at everyday as a kid growing up. the same tree that lambert once dared him to climb and he nearly did before being spotted by vesemir and scolded at. jasper laughs and sniffs the pine carefully before placing the branch back in the book. 

they pour over the book for hours at their table in the tavern. geralt cant remember the last time he's talked this much, much less about himself of all things, but jaskier is more than happy to listen. 

__

if you want to be tagged in future works of mine shoot me an ask !!

[jaskiersvalley]

I LOVE JASKIER HAVING A SUPPORTIVE FAMILY AND LETTENHOVE BEING A SANCTUARY TO WITCHERS IM AKSJWQKWNOAKANWKQ

I always adore seeing you crop up in my notes, and your enthusiasm in your asks makes we want to treasure them. But they deserve to be let loose into the wilds of this website and, like always, here’s a little thank you fic with some more Lettenhove being a sanctuary and Jaskier’s family being supportive of Witchers. If you’ve ever heard Tie A Yellow Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree, you know what’s going to happen.

Yellow Ribbon

Witchers weren't meant to take sides. They were meant to be neutral, without political agenda or loyalties to any other than their life's purpose to rid the Continent of monsters. This particular fact was drilled into Wolf Witchers to the point that even the most rebellious of them evaded human conflicts as much as possible. Aiden knew all that but he wasn't raised a Wolf. Cats knew they shouldn't blatantly take sides but, given their tendency to take on less Witcher-y contracts, they very much blurred the lines. Then came the Nilfgaardian war and Aiden knew he couldn't sit back and watch as the world he knew tore itself apart. But he also knew Lambert wouldn't understand. His Wolf, so loyal, yet so entrenched in the rules he was raised to hate, he would never be able to understand why Aiden left to join. Why he felt the need to fight the humans' battle. Power ebbed and flowed over the course of time, this was just another turn of the tide. Not to Aiden though. He knew he would likely be killed but at least he'd die fighting for what he believed in. Leaving Lambert was nigh on impossible. Aiden spent so long trying to figure out how to tell him he was leaving, likely to never come back. He couldn't do it. If he was going to die anyway, it wouldn't make much of a difference as to when Lambert thought him dead. So Aiden arranged his own assassination, left enough evidence that all would think him dead and he fled to the frontlines, heart heavy but knowing he took the least painful course of action possible.

The war lasted years. Throughout it all, Aiden tried to keep an ear out for new of his Wolf. He heard of the White Wolf's rise, how Kaer Morhen finally fell and the Wolves now called Lettenhove their home. Aiden could only hope that Lambert was happier there, more comfortable. On some nights thoughts of his beloved Wolf, comfortable and happy, were the only thing that kept Aiden sane.

As all things tended to do, even the war came to an end. Aiden had new scars to show for it but he was alive and on the winning side for a change. It was not something he ever anticipated and he had no idea what to do now. In his heart of hearts he knew what he wanted: Lambert. But the chances of him being welcomed back with open arms were slim. Aiden had to try though, had to know whether there was still a sliver of Lambert's heart that maybe missed him. However, Aiden was a coward in the matters of the heart, he didn't think he could survive the rejection, the anger. So he did the next best thing. He wrote a letter.

Lambert,

I don't know if I can call you mine anymore. When I left, I didn't think I'd survive the war I was compelled to join. But, years down the line, I'm still here, the war is won. Despite this, I still feel like I'm in a battle, fighting to know whether your heart still beats for me. I'll understand if you want nothing to do with me, you'll never see me again if you so wish. Yet I hope you can forgive me and set my heart free even though you were never them one to force it into this fight. I'll be joining the home caravan headed North. It will pass through Lettenhove where I believe you now call home. At the edge of the settlement is an old oak tree. If, when the caravan passes through there, it has a yellow ribbon tied around it, I'll know to leave the caravan and search you out. However, if the tree remains bare, I will continue with the caravan and this is the last you'll hear from me.

As little as it may be worth, I send this with all my hopes and heart at your mercy.

Aiden

The letter would reach Lettenhove a good week before the caravan, Aiden was confident. As they travelled, the caravan got smaller, people leaving to head towards their own home. Seeing all the teary, heartfelt reunions hurt in a way. While Aiden was pleased for them, he was also horribly jealous. Wishing he could dream of such a welcome turned and happiness for his fellow veterans into something bitter. Aiden could only hope he was heading home too rather than setting out on a nomadic life that would be filled with regrets.

As they approached Lettenhove, Aiden could barely look. He kept his head down, determined to only give the old oak tree a furtive glance as they passed. To watch the bare tree in the distance, grow closer but be devoid of a yellow ribbon was too much. He didn't expect the caravan to start murmuring, gasps and giggles going up.

"What do you think it all means?" Someone asked ahead of him.

"Maybe some local festival. Or one hell of a welcome home."

Hope drew Aiden's eyes up earlier than he wanted and he let out a choked whimper. There wasn't a single yellow ribbon around the old oak tree. It was absolutely covered. Every branch, twig and bud was wrapped in a myriad of yellow ribbons. Not just that, all the fences, posts, even dog houses were adorned in yellow ribbons, creating a bright path to follow. It took all of Aiden's control not to run, letting the ribbons guide him. Though, on second thought he was right not to run, his sight was too blurry with tears all of a sudden.

As the caravan moved through Lettenhove, people were standing outside their homes cheering and waving anything yellow. It all culminated with a small group of people at the path to the Pankratz mansion. Half of them were familiar, Geralt, Eskel, Vesemir were all there, yellow ribbons woven into their hair or into a buttonhole. Out front though stood Jaskier in a bright yellow doublet, strutting forward like a proud peacock.

"Welcome home, Aiden," he called and the people in the caravan all turned to look at the Witcher in question. To think that a Witcher of all things would have such a welcome was absurd. But there they were, a Witcher being welcomed home like family. "I will make introductions to my family later-" Jaskier was saying, "-they helped source all the ribbons and are putting on a feast. But I believe there's someone you want to see more."

The group parts and there was Lambert, a crown of dandelions perched on top of his head, a yellow ribbon clutched tight in his hand, creasing the material beyond rescue.

"Lamb." Aiden's voice was breathy, hesitant. Despite all the yellow, he still wasn't certain of his welcome. At least not until Lambert closed the distance between them with two long strides and reached up to cup his cheeks in two hands.

"You bastard."

Their foreheads pressed together, Lambert's thumbs stroked over Aiden's cheeks, feeling the ridges of new scars and the ribbon tickled his chin.

"I'm sorry," Aiden croaked. "I had to go."

"I know." Lambert's eyes were brimming with tears. "I mourned you. I missed you. Don't do this to me again."

Promises dripped from Aiden's lips. He hated how Lambert brokenly murmured "if you'd asked, I've have come with you". That had never been an option, Aiden didn't want to drag Lambert into a war he had no interest in. But it was all in the past, they were choices they couldn't make again, no matter how much they wished they could. What they did have though was a new future together. And, if Aiden had heard right, it was going to be starting off with a feast.

[darkverrmin]

Truly and Wholly

a/n: it's me again, with your weekly dose of fluff

Geralt walked into the crowded tavern. Well, more like, stumbled into it. Taking down ghouls wasn't a complicated task, but it sure was an exhausting one. The people at this town were very nice to them ever since they first arrived, probably thanks to Jaskier's music. So Geralt didn't feel self conscious as he opened the door and walked in. It took him a few seconds to notice that everybody was gaping at him.

The tavern was crowded, townsfolk and travellers filling up the air with laughter and chatter. Jaskier was playing one of his newest ballads and people were singing along. But their voices grew quiet as the white-haired Witcher stepped into the room. Geralt looked around for a brief second, slightly confused. It's not like this was the first time these people saw a Witcher. Eskel was here just a couple of months ago and he was greeted very well. So why are they staring now?

Oh.

The potion.

Geralt realized it still hasn't wore off. Meaning that his eyes were still black as an abyss and his skin was pale, covered in a spiderweb of dark veins. In that moment, feeling very self conscious, Geralt lowered his head, staring at the floor.

And then he noticed Jaskier, standing just a few feet away. Panic started growing in the Witcher's gut.

Jaskier turned his head to look around the room, confused at the sudden quiet and whispering. And then his eyes met Geralt's. Geralt froze in place.

In that second, all he could see in the room was Jaskier. His Jaskier.

Seeing him... Like this.

Geralt wanted to disappear. He didn't want Jaskier to see him like that, under the influence of his potions. He was terrified of the bard's reaction. But it was too late to look away now.

Geralt searched Jaskier's face for any sign of fear or disgust. But there were none. The bard's expression changed from confused to surprised and then there was a huge grin spreading itself on his face. His smile was sincere and warm, his gaze loving and open.

"Geralt!"

Before Geralt had time to realize what was going on, Jaskier crushed him in a tight embrace.

"You're back" he whispered against the Witcher's armour. He pulled back to stare at Geralt's face and Geralt immediately turned his head away, trying to cover himself with a curtain of white hair. But Jaskier just casually brushed his hair away and kissed his cheek. "Are you hurt?"

Geralt blinked at him. "Just a few scratches".

Jaskier raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "I doubt that. Finish your business and let's go upstairs, I'll help you get clean. Gods, you stink". Regardless of that, Jaskier wrapped his arms around the Witcher's neck and kissed his nose. "Glad you're back so soon" he whispered "I was staring to lose my mind out of boredom. I've been playing for three hours, Geralt, the people here are craz-"

Geralt was still processing the situation. A tavern crowded with people staring at him, Geralt under the influence of his potions, Jaskier seeing him like this for the first time. Jaskier leaping at him like everything is totally normal, holding him close and kissing him as if he doesn't look fucking terrifying.

Geralt also noticed that the silence around them slowly started to vanish. People resumed their conversations, some were still staring at them, whispering between themselves. But Geralt could hear their exact words, and they weren't unkind. An elderly couple said they looked "nice together" and a few girls giggled and called them "cute".

Suddenly Geralt stopped feeling like he was the center of attention. He felt himself blending in. The anxiety in his gut cooled down and his mind focused on Jaskier, pressing his nose in the crook of his neck and shoulder and lazily tangling a strand of white hair around his finger.

The mayor, the person who gave Geralt the contract, approached them. Geralt looked down at him over Jaskier's shoulder. The mayor still looked slightly startled, but he managed a shaky smile. "Is it done? Did you get them?"

"Yes". Geralt nodded, barely noticable. "The ghouls won't bother you again".

Arms still wrapped around Geralt's neck, Jaskier turned his head to look at the mayor, smiling. "Told you this wasn't a big deal for him".

The fear on the mayor's face was replaced by pure joy and a bright smile. "And you were right! I'm so glad you stumbled upon our small town, it's an honor for all of us here! Please feel free to stay for as long as you want! I gave Jaskier the coin earlier, as I promised".

"Thank you."

"Thank you, dear sir! Have a great night!"

And with that, the mayor left them alone.

Jaskier turned to look at Geralt. "Room. Now".

***

Upstairs in their room, Jaskier swiftly stripped Geralt of his armor and dirty clothes. Geralt caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. The potion was starting to wear off, his eyes returned to their normal colour. But his skin was still pale and covered in veins.

"Get in the bath. C'mon".

Geralt obeyed silently. Jaskier sat on a stool behind him, carefully untangling and washing his hair, humming to himself in the process. Geralt almost fell asleep under his touch.

After finishing washing Geralt, Jaskier helped him to dry off with a towel and pulled him towards the bed, settling together comfortably under the covers.

Jaskier cuddled against Geralt's chest and kissed him softly on the mouth. "No waking up at sunrise tomorrow. I insist you get a proper night's sleep".

Geralt tangled his fingers in Jaskier's hair, brushing the soft locks away from his face. He moved his other arm under Jaskier's middle, encircling his waist.

"Jask".

"Mmm?". Jaskier's face was buried in the crook of Geralt's neck, warm breath tickling his skin.

Geralt swallowed nervously before speaking. "Weren't you scared today?"

"Scared of what?" Jaskier mumbled into his skin.

Geralt pulled away to look at his lover's face, staring at him as if he was stupid. "Me".

Jaskier knitted his eyebrows in confusion before opening his mouth in realization. "Oh. Oooh. You mean your Witchery-potions?"

Geralt rolled his eyes, failing to suppress a smile. "Yes".

Jaskier pouted at him and Geralt was surprised that it looked both stupid and adorable.

"Why should I be scared of you?" Jaskier asked softly, fingers brushing against Geralt's hipbone. "It's you".

"But my eyes. My skin-"

"I know, I know. You told me about it before. That's how your body reacts to it. So what? It's still you".

Geralt was dumbfounded.

Jaskier moved his hand to stroke Geralt's cheek, a worried look in his eyes. "You thought I'd be scared of you? Because of your eyes darkening?".

Geralt nodded weakly. "I thought you'd be disgusted".

Jaskier let out a small laugh. "I'm not disgusted of you, even when you're covered in monster guts. Okay, maybe a little. C'mon Geralt, sometimes the smell-"

"Your point".

"Right, right, sorry. Bottom line, I'm not disgusted nor scared of you. Never. Today I was so happy to see your face, I didn't care- veins or no veins. And if those potions are something that helps to keep you alive and well- please take them whenever you need to".

Jaskier paused, leaning in to kiss Geralt's lips. "You're beautiful to me. All of you. Always".

Geralt felt like he was struck by lightning. He didn't know how to respond with words, so he put all of himself into a passionate kiss, stroking Jaskier's face and hair.

And suddenly, the Witcher knew exactly what he wanted to say. He pulled away slightly, murmuring against Jaskier's lips. "I love you"

Jaskier kissed him again before pulling back. "I love you too, dear. Truly and wholly".

[dhwty-writes]

A Touchy One

Is this incredibly self-indulgent? Yes. Am I posting this anyways? Also yes! I dug this up somewhere in my WIP folder and decided this deserves to be finished.

This is the first thing I've posted in forever, and I know (and am sorry) that it's no OWBABH update (that will come, too, I promise), but take this in the meantime. I am finally feeling like writing again, so here's to hoping I won't take as long next time. Have fun reading!

Summary:  The bard is a touchy one, which is an odd travel companion to have, especially for a witcher. It isn't that Geralt minds so much as that he startled terribly the first time it happened.

Or: how two people, who do not like being touched learn to enjoy each other's closeness, featuring a sex-repulsed Jaskier and our resident grumpy witcher.

Warnings: none, as far as I’m aware

Read on AO3

The bard is a touchy one, which is an odd travel companion to have, especially for a witcher. It isn't that Geralt minds so much as that he startled terribly the first time it happened.

It has been scarcely more than a brush of his fingertips across his forearm, but still Geralt did jump and scoot away as if burned. He even faintly remembers growling quietly, although he's not quite sure if that was a later addition of his mind. He distinctly remembers the surprised, and slightly hurt expression on Jaskier's face, though.

After that, there has been no touching for quite some time. Until one night, when Geralt returned from a contract too tired to rid himself of his armour and simply flopped face down onto the bed in the inn they were staying at. Jaskier drew close, hesitantly hovering at his side, one hand extended. "May I?" he asked quietly.

The bard patiently waited for his grunt of approval, before hauling him upright, deftly unbuckling his armour and putting it away. Geralt was half asleep during the whole process, leaning his forehead against Jaskier's shoulder, while fighting the urge to pull him close.

The bard is a touchy one, and although that seemed odd and startled Geralt in the beginning, it now is the most natural thing in the world. Because the thing is, the bard isn't necessarily a touchy one. He is a spacey one. Comes with the profession, he guesses.

Wherever Jaskier goes, he brings a stage with him, announcing his presence with loud songs and colours as well as grand gestures, uncaring for other people's opinions. It is only natural, that with every other spread of his arms he brushes against someone. And it's also mostly natural that, as his travelling companion, those touches mostly reach Geralt.

Just as natural as touching him in return. In fact, it is the most natural thing in the world. There is seldom a moment when the bard isn't touching him, be it a hand on his forearm, an elbow nudging his side, or his dirty feet in his lap. And it isn't as if the bard is the only one to initiate that kind of intimacy. Geralt delights in throwing an arm around his friend's shoulder, steadying him with a reassuring hand on his back after he had too much to drink, or wrestling him into a river. He especially delights in waking up cuddled close to his bard, their limbs and scents intertwining, both of them too lazy to start the day.

He can't remember when that had started, if he's quite honest. He thinks it was maybe five years after they first met, that they arrived at an inn tired and battered, as well as soaking wet from the thunderstorm outside only to discover that there was only one bed left.

After tucking the witcher into bed, the bard threatened to slip from his grasp. "Jaskier," Geralt slurred after a failed attempt to grab his wrist.

"Yes, dear witcher?"

"C'me 'ere." Geralt doesn't quite remember the motion accompanied by his words, too much asleep for that already, but according to Jaskier he made 'grabby hands'. Despite that embarrassing escapade, the bard beamed and indulged him, slipping into the single bed next to him and cradling him tight to his chest. Geralt never slept so soundly in his entire life.

 He thought that he would mind, if he is honest. He never liked anyone invading his space before, and Jaskier is nothing if not invading. It took them a bit to establish some boundaries, to find out what made the other snarl and pull back or vanish come morning. Geralt doesn't like his potions to be messed with and Jaskier is very protective of his notebook. Geralt prefers to be cuddled instead of doing the cuddling part and Jaskier allows no hands from his hips to his knees, although he doesn't mind waking up with Geralt draped over him from chest to toe.

Other taboos soon soften until they are abandoned completely. Like the bag-sharing ban, for example, or clothes. In the first few months of cuddles and touches, Jaskier enacted his strict shirts-and-pants-required-policy with vigour, only to be the one to ultimately forego it. Geralt still smiles at the memory.

It was an especially hot summer, maybe a decade into their acquaintance and Geralt just wrestled the bard into a clear creek. They were sodding wet, Jaskier huffing indignantly, in nothing but their smallclothes, too lazy to dry off if the sun was about to do the work anyways. Seeing him standing there, shaking his wet hair, his hands on his hips, did something funny to Geralt's stomach. As if it dropped and lifted at the same time.

Before knew what he was doing, he tossed Jaskier his clothes. "Get dressed," he ordered gruffly and spread his arms, "and come here."

Jaskier looked at the garments in his hands and sneered. "Oh, fuck no," he spat out. "You want a hug, Geralt of Rivia?" He threw the dirty clothes back at him and spread his arms. "Come and get it."

Geralt let them hit him. Although that also might have been the shock of Jaskier so readily abolishing his most adamant requirement. "You sure?"

"Yes, I'm bloody sure, you daft witcher. Now come here before I dry and start melting again."

Geralt has never been so quick to comply to a request. He lunged to tackle Jaskier to the ground, happily sprawling across him until they were both sweaty again. He was shoved off unceremoniously and then coerced into another bath in the river.

That night they didn't bother to get dressed either. Not when setting up their camp next to the creek, not when Jaskier got out his lute, not when Geralt started cooking their dinner. Certainly not when going to sleep.

Maybe it ought to feel weird. It's a weird thing to embrace your friend like a lover, is it not? It didn't, though. It doesn't. In fact, it feels like most natural thing in the world.

The bard is a touchy one. But that is not the reason why he is odd. The reason why he is odd, is his reaction to being touched in turn. He often startles and pulls away, just like Geralt has.

They are lying in bed one evening, entangled like they always are, Jaskier on Geralt's chest (the bard insisted they swap for once), Geralt carding his fingers through his bard's hair. There was a performance, earlier that day, and Jaskier made the acquaintance of a nice-looking gentleman. Geralt resigned himself already to the fact that he would go to bed alone that night.

But then, the man reached out to place a hand on Jaskier's knee. The bard froze up and a moment later he was plastered against his witcher's side, insisting they go to bed. It is a strange behaviour, although not the first time he has seen Jaskier react that way. The question burns on his tongue and, of course, Jaskier notices.

"What is it?"

Geralt tenses beneath him. Fifteen years and still not brave enough to ask. "Hm."

"Don't be daft," the bard chides, "we both know something's on your mind. Out with it."

There's no evading a determined bard, Geralt discovered that a long time ago. "You... don't like to be touched," he notices. Which is an odd thing to say to the half-naked man sprawled across his chest, with his ankles hooked around his calves. But they are odd people and an odd pair, so that's neither here nor there.

He is quiet for a long time. Such a long time, in fact, that Geralt feels the need to check with a quiet "Jaskier?" if he hasn't fallen asleep.

"Hm," the bard replies quietly. "That's not strictly true."

"Not strictly untrue either."

Jaskier sighs with a resignation of a man who knows he cannot hide, but doesn't particularly want too either. Still, it takes him a long time to reply: "I don't mind the touching. I... am not a great fan of what comes after."

Geralt freezes, his fingers tangled in Jaskier's hair, trying and failing to decipher that statement. "What comes after?"

"Oh, you know..." Jaskier makes a very illustrative gesture.

"Ah." Yes, he knows what comes after. He is, in fact, a great fan of what comes after. "You mean you don't like men?"

"Oh no, don't get me wrong. I like men and women well enough, just... not in my bed."

He frowns and looks down again at the man sprawled across his chest who must surely notice his heart beating rapidly. "Jaskier..."

"Hm?"

"I'm in your bed."

"Yes, I know, but that's different. I don't like them naked in my bed."

"Jaskier," he says again, glancing down at their almost naked bodies pressed together.

"Oh, shut up, you great oaf," he hisses and grins. "You know what I mean. And you're... different."

"Hm. Why?"

"I don't know." Jaskier sighs and pushes his hair out of his face. "You just are. Never tried to shove your dick into me, for starters. Or tried to coax me to shove my dick into you."

He shrugs. "Never thought you'd be interested."

"I'm not. Are you?"

He shrugs again. "Does it matter, if you aren't?"

"I guess it doesn't. Still, are you?"

"Jaskier," he chides softly and does his best not to squirm under his inquisitive gaze. But the bard is unrelenting. Geralt sighs and raises his eyebrows as he answers. "You... are a very attractive man. I would gladly suck your cock, or let you suck mine, if you were so inclined. Seeing as you aren't... I would rather refrain from it, if it's all the same to you." He smiled and splayed his fingers over Jaskier's shoulder. "I assure you, not the most proficient cocksucking in the world could grant me greater bliss than I am in right now. There is nothing in the world that could persuade me to give up what we have, especially not something as insignificant as a roll in the hay."

"Oh." Jaskier's shoulders sag and for a moment Geralt fears he's said something wrong. But then a bright smile spreads on his bard's face that is mirrored by his own a moment later. "That's a relief. And thank you. I guess."

Geralt snorts, amused. "You're welcome." After a moment of silence, he adds: "Jaskier? You're different for me, too."

"I am?" The bard beams at him. "How so?"

He has to be exhausted. Or drunk. Or both. There is no other explanation for the next words that leave his mouth. "Because I love you," he hears himself say, to his own mortification.

But Jaskier just smiles and closes his eyes. "Oh," he breathes and languidly squirms closer, like a cat basking in the sun. Then, after a mortifying moment that feels like an eternity, with Geralt's heart thundering in his chest, he replies: "I love you, too, Geralt of Rivia."

He breathes out, relieved, and opts for holding his bard tighter. That's always a good option. It just feels right to share their space and share their silence. Natural. 

He's not sure how long the quiet lasts before, for once, he's the one to break it: "Are we lovers?" Geralt asks suddenly, the question that has been occupying his mind for the past few minutes.

Jaskier sleepily blinks up at him. "Do you want us to be? I'm sure you could find a person better—"

"No, I don't think so," he interrupts him without hesitating.

Jaskier smiles again and it's a sweet expression, one that makes his heart speed up and his face go soft. "If we were lovers, Geralt...," he says after a while, "what would that mean for us?"

"You mean, what would change?"

"Yes."

"Hm." He gives him a long glance. "You said you are averse to naked people in your bed."

"I am," Jaskier confirms. 

"Are you also averse to clothed people kissing you?"

Geralt feels stupid while asking it. Apparently, it is very stupid, for Jaskier immediately starts laughing. "No, my dear," he replies after having calmed down, "I am not averse to clothed people kissing me."

"In that case, I would like to kiss you from time to time."

"Like when?" Jaskier props himself up on an elbow and his lips curl into a different smile, one that's more teasing, more flirtatious than the soft expression before.

"Like now," he says before he can change his mind. 

Jaskier hums and reaches out slowly, so that he cups Geralt's face with his hand, tracing his cheekbone with his thumb. Then, he leans in, just as slowly, and presses his lips to the witcher's in a sweet kiss. 

"Good?" Geralt asks when he pulls away.

"Good," Jaskier confirms. 

"Good." He allows himself to smile as well, bright and unguarded like his bard taught him, and pulls him against his chest again. Once they're settled, he says, feeling a little silly: "I suppose I would also like a love poem or two, master poet."

"Oh, Geralt." Jaskier smooths a hand down his side and feels around until he finds Geralt's hand and can interlace their fingers. "Are you so daft as not to realise that each and every one of my poems for you's a love poem?" he mumbles and presses a kiss to his knuckles.

Warmth spreads in his chest again and he smiles. "I had hoped," he replies and returns the gesture, "but I did not dare to presume." After a moment he adds: "Thank you."

"Always, love," Jaskier replies. "Now go to sleep. I'm knackered."

Feeling relieved and relaxed, holding his bard—his lover!— close, Geralt does.

The bard is a touchy one. And an odd one, although not for his relationship to touches. He's an odd one for loving a witcher. But said witcher is an odd and touchy one as well, so it's alright. In fact, it is the most natural thing in the world.

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

When I Rush (I Rush For You)

@sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo

Prompt: scent Relationship: geralt x jaskier Rating: explicit Content Warnings: sex pollen (of sorts), dubcon (due to sex pollen) Summary: Jaskier recieves a gift from a concerned shopkeeper and it has unforeseen effects on his Witcher.

also on ao3

The sun is already going down when they finally stop for the evening. Geralt is still grouchy about the incident with the blacksmith and his silence has only made the afternoon drag on. Well, that and the mysterious bottle tucked away in the bottom of Jaskier's pack. It's been waiting there for him for the better part of the day, having been given to him by a shopkeeper that morning with only this should help as an explanation. Help with what, he doesn't know, but he hopes it will calm Geralt down a little. They had been arguing at the time, so maybe.

And now that they've stopped moving, Jaskier is itching to see what it is. So once the fire is lit and Geralt has gone off to hunt for their supper, Jaskier digs the bottle out to inspect it. Unopened, it's completely innocuous. The liquid inside is clear and for a moment, Jaskier wonders if he's been duped. When he tips the bottle upside down, it looks like nothing more than water and he frowns at it. Well, there's only one way to know for sure.

He uncorks the bottle and lifts it to his nose. It doesn't smell of anything either, but when he tips a small amount onto his hand to taste it, it's a strange combination of bitter and sweet. Not water then.

He's running through a mental list of things it could be when he notices the scent for the first time. It's faint and not unpleasant but seems to arise out of nowhere. Jaskier shuts his eyes and tries to figure out where it's coming from, but whenever he moves it seems to grow fainter. It's not until he's corking the bottle again that he realizes the scent is stronger when he lifts his arms.

He turns his palm over, inspecting the area where he dumped the liquid and lifts it to his nose. Oh. That's definitely the source of the scent, although it doesn't make much sense. The liquid has no scent of its own, but maybe it's some fancy new perfume? Though the shopkeeper had said it should help with the tension between them and Jsskier doesn't see how perfume could help. But it smells rather nice, so he tips the bottle and rubs it into his neck and wrists. No one else but Geralt is around, but there's no reason not to smell nice just for himself.

Tucking the bottle back into his pack, Jaskier rises to his feet to finish going about his tasks. He lays out their bedrolls and gets a fire pit prepared, but he doesn't light it yet. It's a warm night and they'll need the fire for cooking rather than heat tonight.

And as the minutes drag by, it seemingly gets hotter. Jaskier's skin prickles with it, but he just sheds his doublet and doesn't think any more of it. Not, at least, until Geralt returns with a scowl on his face.

Geralt drops the rabbits he’s carrying and immediately frowns over at Jaskier. He looks tense, more so than when he left, which doesn't make any sense.

"Do you smell that?" he grunts and Jaskier lifts his wrist instinctively, sniffing it and holding it out.

"My perfume?" he asks and Geralt immediately shakes his head.

"No, it's something else." After glowering around the campsite, he seemingly shrugs it off and goes back to preparing dinner.

Jaskier sits and watches, taking note of each little movement of Geralt's hands and there's something inherently sexy about the way he moves. He's hyper-focused on it, his breath coming a little quicker, and it's not until Geralt sits up again that Jaskier realizes he's getting turned on watching Geralt prepare raw meat. He wrinkles his nose at himself and turns away. Maybe he just needs to get off. It has been a while, after all, and the incident with the blacksmith certainly didn’t help. That’s all it is. Or, at least, that's the only good reason he can come up with for his reaction to skinning rabbits.

He's lost in thought, thinking back to his almost-encounter with the blacksmith in town, when he realizes Geralt is on his feet again, wandering around the site. And Jaskier knows the look in his eyes; Geralt is searching for something. And he's sniffing. Jaskier is about to speak up again, suggest that the only thing that's changed is his perfume, but then Geralt is right up in front of him, bending and tipping Jaskier's head to one side to smell him.

"It is you," he accuses and Jaskier shrinks back.

This close, Jaskier can feel the intense heat radiating from Geralt's body, which is unusual unless he’s asleep. His eyes flick up and he's met with blown pupils, so focused on him that it makes Jaskier shiver despite the heat. He reaches out, pressing a hand to Geralt's shoulder and nearly withdraws immediately. Geralt's shirt is soaked through with sweat and Jaskier starts to worry. He was fine when he left, what happened in the hour he was gone?

"Geralt, are you-?" he's cut off as Geralt leans into his neck, breathing deeply. Geralt's nose brushes against his skin and Jaskier bites his lip to hold back a moan. It takes an enormous amount of strength, but he presses both hands to Geralt's chest, pushing him back gently.

"Okay," he says, struggling to keep his voice steady. He keeps his eyes off Geralt as he speaks. "Please explain to me what's going on." Because I'm trying very hard to hold onto my self-restraint here.

"What have you been doing?"

"Nothing," Jaskier squawks.

"Then why do you smell like... that."

"Like what? All I'm wearing is this perfume, Geralt."

Geralt leans in again, nuzzling against his neck and if Jaskier didn't know better, he would swear he hears a low rumbling purr coming from the Witcher. Jaskier rises to his feet and pushes him away because this is cruel and unfair and he doesn't want to take advantage of whatever this is, but he can hardly be expected to control himself with Geralt nuzzling into his neck like this. Geralt stumbles a little and stares back at him in shock as if some spell has been broken.

Well, that's something.

But then Jaskier's eyes drop and he realizes with a start that Geralt is hard in his trousers and that's... not helping matters.

"Geralt," he says slowly, "what's going on?"

"This perfume," Geralt snaps, "where did you get it?"

"The shopkeeper back in Dorian. He said it would help. With what, I don’t-"

"Show me."

Jaskier nods and drops to pick up his bag, digging the bottle out to present it to Geralt. Geralt takes it and turns it over in hand hands before opening it and sniffing the lip of the bottle.

"It didn't start to smell until you put it on your skin," he says and Jaskier isn't sure if it's a question or not, but he nods anyway. "Fuck."

"Geralt what-" the bottle is thrust back at him abruptly and Geralt turns away.

"Dump it when we leave tomorrow. Don't get any more of it on yourself. I'm leaving, I’ll be back-"

"Geralt!" Geralt turns back and Jaskier just looks at him. "What the fuck is going on."

Geralt shuts his eyes and exhales deeply, running a hand over his face. "It's a pheromone enhancer. More commonly known as a love potion. But it doesn't make anyone fall in love with you, it just makes them..."

"Horny?" Jaskier guesses as everything starts to settle into place.

"Exactly. And it's only going to make our problems worse, so you need to get rid of it." He tries to turn away again, but Jaskier doesn't let him.

"So you're... turned on by the way I smell?"

"Hmm."

"Oh, that's..." ridiculous. intriguing. stupidly hot. "Geralt?" Jaskier takes a couple of steps forward, slipping up behind him and when Geralt doesn't move, Jaskier presses his palms to his back. "Geralt," he whispers, "it's no secret that I would happily fall into bed with you any given night - or day, for that matter - and if I smell that good… if you want-"

"Jaskier. You don't know what you're offering.

"Mm, on the contrary, my dear, I know exactly what I'm offering."

"Your scent is... intoxicating. It gets inside my head and slowly chips away at my control."

Jaskier huffs a soft laugh, wrapping his arms around Geralt's waist. Despite his protests, Geralt makes no attempt to pull away and it makes Jaskier bolder.

"So you like it rough," he hums, "I'm not a porcelain doll, darling, I won't break."

"I know," Geralt says quickly and his shoulders slump under Jaskier's touch. "It's just... when I thought about... us, I imagined it differently." The words sound like they're pulled from him with great difficulty, but Jaskier doesn't let himself think too long about it because he doesn't want Geralt getting the wrong impression.

"You've thought about it?" he asks, breathless.

"On occasion."

"And you never told me? Never asked me to share your bed?"

"It's not about the sex, Jaskier."

And oh, he isn't quite sure what to do with that. He doesn't want to stay quiet for too long because for Geralt, that's a lot to put out there, but he doesn't want to say the wrong thing. But this is unprecedented for Geralt and this is not the time nor the place Jaskier ever considered talking about his feelings.

"Geralt are you saying you... do you have feelings for me?" Even as he's saying the words, a shiver of fear runs up his spine. That this is too much. Too soon. That Geralt isn't ready for this. That it will ruin any chance of talking about it properly in the future.

"Hmm." Geralt doesn't pull away, but he doesn't elaborate and Jaskier feels like his whole body will collapse beneath him when he catches a whispered, "yes." He drops his forehead between Geralt's shoulder blades with a relieved laugh and squeezes him tighter.

"Oh my darling, I wish I'd known that earlier."

"What," Geralt snaps but the heat doesn't quite come through, "so you wouldn't fuck the blacksmith." More metaphorical pieces fall into place and Jaskier hums and nuzzles against the back of Geralt's neck.

"I didn't fuck him, Geralt. You did a rather good job of ensuring that when you burst into the room. I wish I'd known earlier so I could have just taken you up to my room instead." He nips at Geralt's ear where it peeks through his hair and runs his hands down Geralt's sides, over his hips. He's careful not to push too far, not to touch his cock (though the temptation is maddening) and Geralt grunts at him. "Geralt?" he asks quietly, "you know I love you, too."

"Yes," Geralt grits and that only raises so many more questions, but this is not the time for them, "which is why it's so frustrating when you run around all over town."

Jaskier maneuvers Geralt to face him and smiles up at him, resting an arm on his shoulder.

"Hush, love. There won't be anyone else." He smiles at him, meeting Geralt's eyes as he slips a hand down his chest. Geralt shudders as Jaskier reaches the hem of his trousers and as he slips lower, his eyes flutter shut. Jaskier's fingers slip around the jut of his cock through the leather and hums. "I believe we were discussing you fucking me."

Geralt's eyes open and he frowns at him, pulling back. "Jaskier-" Jaskier knows the argument before Geralt has a chance to speak.

"Geralt, my darling. My love. Light of my life. I love that you want to make love to me the first time, but we have all the time in the world for that and you need this." He presses closer, winding both arms around Geralt's neck to prevent him from pulling away again. "So right now, if this scent makes you lose control, I want you to fuck me so hard I can't walk tomorrow."

Immediately, Geralt's arms are around his waist, hauling him close and Geralt kisses him hard, but briefly. His mouth drifts constantly, returning to his neck to nip at the skin and press his nose under his jaw. Jaskier lets himself be manhandled, lets Geralt do what he wants with him. He gets Jaskier out of his clothes quickly, but he returns again and again to his throat, nipping and sucking at the skin which is sexier than it has any right to be.

Geralt rocks against him, holding Jaskier steady to increase the friction. He drops his head to Jaskier's shoulder, nose pressed into his neck and Jaskier takes the opportunity to get his hands between them. He fumbles with Geralt's trousers as teeth graze against his skin again, but he gets them undone and shoves them down just far enough to free Geralt's cock.

Jaskier takes him in hand stroking him even as Geralt's hips continue shifting, fucking into the tunnel of Jaskier's hand. And by the gods, Jaskier could never have imagined Geralt like this, needy and wanting and taking from him.

He imagines Geralt fucking him like this, wonders if he'll continue taking what he needs, if he'll fuck him hard, if he would- he’s struck by a thought, encouraged by the thick cock in his hand, and he leans up, kissing Geralt quick and hard before dropping to his knees. There's a groan from above him and Geralt's hands are in his head immediately, tangling in his hair, but he shows no reluctance.

Jaskier mouths up the length of his cock, keeping his hand wrapped around the base of him, and even the faintest brush of his lips causes Geralt's hands to tighten in his hair. It's intoxicating, to feel like he has this kind of power over him, and his cock aches in its confines. He wants Geralt to touch him, wants to come, but more than that, he wants Geralt to fuck his mouth and take what he needs from him. He flicks his eyes up, taking in the pleasure on Geralt's face, the way his bottom lip is trapped between his teeth and Jaskier leans forward, pressing a kiss to his hip.

He kisses down the length of Geralt's cock before taking the head into his mouth and Geralt's hips jerk forward hard, pushing between his lips. Jaskier moans encouragingly. If he only gets one chance to see Geralt like this, he's not going to take it for granted.

Jaskier takes him down deep, letting Geralt thrust deeply, bumping the back of his throat as he leans over him. His own cock throbs, ignored in favour of Geralt's pleasure for the time being and Jaskier's legs part automatically. He can't hold back any longer, reaching down to palm at himself through his trousers. He tries to focus on the weight of Geralt's cock on his tongue, the taste of him, but having given in, his body burns for more.

He whimpers as he squeezes around his cock, thrusting abortively up into the touch and then, abruptly, Geralt withdraws and Jaskier finds himself lifted off the ground. It's a blur as Geralt lays him down and there's a rush to get them both out of their clothes and Jaskier aches until Geralt is naked and pressed against him once more.

They move together and it's quick and sloppy, both too desperate for the touch for anything more. Then Geralt reaches for his pack and Jaskier holds his breath in anticipation. He produces a vial of oil and he doesn't waste any time, slicking his fingers quickly and reaching down between Jaskier's legs. Geralt kisses him as he works the first finger into him, breathless but unbearably soft and Jaskier pulls his hand from his cock to wrap his arms around Geralt's neck.

Jaskier whines as Geralt starts moving, thrusting into him steadily. It's hot and impatient and Jaskier moans his praise into Geralt's mouth as he rocks up to meet him. At this rate, he doesn't think he'll last until Geralt fucks him properly. Then Geralt adds a second finger with little hesitation and Jaskier arches off the ground before his entire body goes limp.

"Please," he whispers, "fuck, Geralt, please, I need you-" he's rambling, only half-aware of what he's saying and less aware of Geralt's response. But he focuses on Geralt's voice deep and rough, but soothing as he gets a third finger into him and fucks into him hard.

When he finally withdraws and the blunt head of his cock pushes into him, Jaskier is breathless and struck mute. Geralt is bigger than he imagined, bigger than he looks and while he understands the need for patience, he wants to roll them over and sit back on him. He wraps a hand around the back of Geralt's thigh, gripping tightly to steady himself as Geralt inches forward, slowly splitting him open.

When Geralt finally settles, he presses his head against the ground above Jaskier's shoulder, turning to nuzzle into his neck. He's breathing hard, his breath damp against Jaskier's skin and Jaskier reaches up, running a hand through his hair.

"Okay?" Geralt breathes and Jaskier nods, overwhelmed and at a loss for words. Geralt's lips press against his neck as he rolls his hip and Jaskier tips his head back to give him better access.

Geralt doesn't take it easy on him, but Jaskier couldn't ask for anything else. He can't even think straight, can't focus on anything but Geralt's cock and his hands and his mouth and the constant bolts of pleasure that zip up his spine. He won't last long like this, but he'd rather come too soon than have Geralt hold back even a fraction.

He wraps himself around him, ruts up against Geralt's stomach with every thrust. Geralt's knees press in on either side of his hips and he gets an arm under Jaskier's back, hauling him up into his lap.

Like this, Jaskier can't help but kiss him, but as Geralt fucks into him, he's constantly shifted. He groans in frustration, dropping his forehead against Geralt's shoulder and he gets a little laugh in response before Geralt turns to bury his nose in his hair.

"Jask," he mumbles, "fuck." One of his hands comes up, threading into Jaskier's hair and it's as much warning as he gets before Geralt's arm cinches around his waist.

Geralt holds him aloft, shifting beneath him and he's relentless. He fucks him quick and hard and Jaskier can only hold on and try not to let his control slip too quickly. But his cock slips against Geralt's stomach, sweat and precome slicking the way, and Geralt slams into him with startling precision every time.

Jaskier groans into his shoulder and pushes his hips forward, grinding against Geralt's stomach and he's so close. He squeaks out something resembling Geralt's name in warning and then he's coming, spilling slick and wet between them.

His head spins as Geralt only increases his efforts and then the grip around him loosens and Jaskier slumps against him, exhausted and filthy, but satisfied. He keeps his arms around Geralt's neck, kissing his shoulder even as Geralt lays back against the ground. Jaskier settles against him, uncaring that they're lying directly in the grass. He listens to Geralt's heartbeat, steadily slowing again, and realizes that the shopkeeper was right about the perfume. Pheromone enhancer. Whatever.

He smiles to himself and buries his face in Geralt's neck. "Love you," he mumbles and there's a soft hum from beneath him as Geralt shifts to kiss his cheek. He holds Jaskier against him as he reaches out for his pack to grab his blanket. Without dislodging Jaskier, he drapes it over both of them, tugging it up over Jaskier's shoulders.

As much as he loves laying on Geralt, he can't imagine it's very comfortable for Geralt, so he slips off of him and curls up against his side, resting his head on Geralt's shoulder. One warm arm comes up over his shoulders and Jaskier cuddles into him.

"I take it this means we won't be disposing of my perfume?"

Geralt huffs a quiet laugh. "No, but I think I'll be holding onto it." He turns to catch Jaskier's lips in a brief kiss before returning to his back. "Who knows what you'll do with it if I let you keep it."

"I am offended," Jaskier scoffs, but even as Geralt rolls over again, pressing him down into the grass and kissing him silent, he's already thinking up the perfect time to use it again.

[wolf-and-bard]

The Geraskier Dungeons and Dragons AU of my dreams (inspired by the TAD AMA and Joey apparently being an amazing dm):

-"Why do you hate fun," Eskel complains - for the fifth time that day - after Geralt refused his invitation to a new DnD campaign - for the fifth time that day. Geralt doesn't hate fun. He hates play-acting and games, especially if they rely on luck and are overly complicated, he hates big groups of people, and he hates being told stories. Dungeons and Dragons encompasses all of those aspects and that is why Geralt avoids it like the plague. "It's not for me," he mutters and hands Eskel the sandwiches he made for him to take to work. - "But this Jaskier guy is legendary, like I heard he's the best Dungeonmaster in the state." - "Likely an exaggeration...." - "Pleeaaaase. I had to bribe the hell out of Aiden to have him give up the two spots he had." That piques Geralt's interest. "What'd you bribe him with?" Eskel scratches his head sheepishly. "I may have sold our brother's hand in marriage." - "That's ballsy for you... does Lambert know of his luck yet?" Eskel shakes his head and Geralt huffs a laugh. His brothers are unbelievable, one so nerdy it makes up for Geralt's complete lack of interest in pop culture, the other an oblivious prick that tends to get arrested for being offensive. Ciri is their only hope. "So are you coming?" - "Absolutely no way."

-Geralt doesn't want to go and until half an hour before the game is supposed to start, he keeps his resolve. But then Eskel bursts into their shared living room - their flat is still attached to their father's house, but separate enough that it feels like their own; Lambert has a type penthouse suite to himself and Ciri still lives with Vesemir in the main house - with an excited blush and wearing a WoW shirt and the biggest, brightest puppy eyes, and begs Geralt on hands and knees to come with him. "Why though?" Geralt asks. "Would be more fun if I stayed away..." - "But I'm awkward and your pretty face may distract from that." - "Esk, we have the same face." Which is true, save for... oh. The scars. Of course, Geralt wants to smack himself. Eskel always tends to be more self-conscious in groups of new people because of his marred face, an accident in the zoo when they were young. He believes having Geralt with him shows other people how he is supposed to look like. Geralt doesn't believe it's a great coping mechanism, but he can never deny his twin anything. "Fuck," he grumbles and a triumphant grin blooms over Eskel's features.

-That first session is to go over the basics for anyone who needs a refresher and to talk about what each player expects from the campaign bla bla bla; Geralt doesn't contribute more than the odd grunt and is soon distracted by Jaskier's bright eyes, his pretty mouth, his whole energetic demeanor... he develops a little fixation over the course of the evening and gives up on trying to understand the game

-Jaskier approaches him after, while everyone else is exchanging notes on their characters, excited and electric and Geralt hasn't the first clue on what to do. A light hand on his shoulder, a welcoming smile. "Geralt, right?" Geralt nods curtly and Jaskier pulls up a chair and sits. Way too close for Geralt's comfort. He doesn't... mind? Fuck are those butterflies? Already? "If you have trouble figuring out your character, we could always do a private session to get you going. What do you say?" - "Saturday," Geralt grunts in reply. Jaskier claps delightedly, then is distracted by one of the women, Calanthe Geralt recalls, asking if she can play a lioness shapeshifter. He lets Eskel collect him, endures his brother's constant prattle on the ride back. He dares to give the whole thing a shot.

-Their private session starts out with Jaskier explaining different classes of characters, a few bottles of Geralt's favourite Redanian Lager on the side. He tries to listen, at least at first. But then Jaskier keeps licking froth from his lips and some of the perspiration from the cold bottles runs down his exposed neck and fuck, Geralt just can't stop himself. Eskel said over and over that Jaskier was basically a magician, but Geralt thought that would be restricted to the game. Nope. His dick definitely twitches when Jaskier leans over him to grab the dice Geralt brought upon Eskel's recommendation. Geralt catches a whiff of his shampoo - vanilla? - and Jaskier's arm brushes Geralt and well. He lets out a low whine. Jaskier hums a question mark, but when he sees the look on Geralt face his encouraging smile turns devilish, knowing. "Good," he breathes, drops the dice and climbs onto Geralt's lap. "I thought it was only me." Geralt catches Jaskier's hips and they kiss. No classes are studied that day, no alignments picked, no attributes determined. Instead, Geralt learns all the beautiful noises Jaskier can make, learns some of his own anew. They will need another private session to make up for lost time

-"Perhaps I should just design a character for you," Jaskier pants into Geralt's neck as he slow-fucks him on their couch, Eskel being out with Lambert to clear up the whole Aiden thing. It's the third time they're meeting to figure out Geralt's character. Geralt grunts and accelerates just enough to keep them both on the edge. His skin is burning and Jaskier writhes, his shoulders littered with bite marks. "Oh, fuck, Geralt, please." Later, Geralt agrees to Jaskier's suggestion. He makes him pancakes for breakfast.

-When the first session is well underway, everyone quickly realizes that this game really isn't for Geralt. He tries, he does. Jaskier was kind, gave him a stoic half-orc warrior that communicates mostly with grunts, but he still doesn't get all the rules and Calanthe is getting impatient with him, her boyfriend Eist amused by this, and Eskel keeps throwing the dice for Geralt, and these girls, Téa and Véa, stare daggers at him. Jaskier's watches it all with amusement, gently steering the group back towards their adventure - not that Geralt has the first clue what their objective is. But Geralt wants to keep playing if only because Jaskier is so fucking beautiful in his element, imitating voices, using the most ridiculous vocabulary, glowing with pure joy. It's a privilege to see, Geralt understands that now. And he has to thank Eskel for taking him despite his reservations

-"Won't you go on a normal date with me?" Geralt asks one night when they are wrapped up in Jaskier's bed, contented and tired from their earlier activities. "I could take you hunting or whatever." - "That's what you call a normal date?" Jaskier laughs and kisses him lightly. They haven't defined whatever it is they're doing, but Geralt is in no rush. Especially because he hasn't yet dared to breach the topic with Eskel who quickly befriended Jaskier (and everyone else of course, at the end of the day Eskel is a social butterfly, no matter what scars he bears). "Just... go out with me." - "You know, usually I have a strict policy for dating players, but... well that's already way out the window so, yeah, okay. I'll go out with you. But we're absolutely not going hunting, I'm a vegetarian." Alas, there had to be some catch.

-Geralt keeps playing and his permanent confusion becomes part of his character as well. It isn't ideal, but the others - and Jaskier's forgiving storytelling - drag him through to the end of it. By then, Geralt almost gets it. "Well," Jaskier concludes. "That was a bit of a different campaign. Hope you all liked it." The bastard acts abashed. Hah. Geralt and Eskel are the last ones to leave after they all toasted and talked about playing again some time. "You coming?" Eskel asks, hovering near the door. He's long past his initial anxiety, his fangirling, his self-consciousness. That too has been a glorious part of this, seeing Eskel unfold, gain confidence, be at ease. He likes that he could give his brother the safety he needed. "I, uhm," Geralt starts, but Jaskier interrupts by threading his arm through Geralt's. "We are! What's for dinner?" And he drags Geralt past Eskel who raises a brow. Geralt tries to communicate with his eyes all he neglected to tell Eskel. It's only because they're so close that Eskel at least understands that they are something like boyfriends now. He laughs.

-"My baby brother," Eskel lulls later when Jaskier is already passed out from too much wine and Geralt and him stand outside, sharing a rare cigarette. He ruffles Geralt head. "I'd wondered why you stuck around so long." - "Fuck off," Geralt says.

-The next time Eskel invites him to a campaign, Geralt tags along. Not because he particularly wants to, but because now there are two pairs of puppy eyes, begging him, and he can't say no to either of them, let alone both (maybe someday he will actually enjoy the game for its own merits)

[alittlebitmaybe]

i’ll stay warm

for @sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo​!

Prompt: ice skating

Relationship: Geraskier

Rating: G (with very mild language and a tiny bit of blood)

Warnings: None

Other Tags: Fluff, Companionable Snark, Already Dating But Too Dumb To Notice, First Kiss

“Let me get this straight,” Geralt says.

Jaskier waves him on.

“You’re going to tie those—,” he gestures to the slim planks of iron on Jaskier’s kitchen table that have leather cords threaded through holes bored into either end, “—to your shoes, and you’re going to go down to the river and stand on it.”

Jaskier, unperturbed, says brightly, “Uh-huh!”

Read more on ao3 or below the cut!

“Let me get this straight,” Geralt says.

Jaskier waves him on.

“You’re going to tie those—,” he gestures to the slim planks of iron on Jaskier’s kitchen table that have leather cords threaded through holes bored into either end, “—to your shoes, and you’re going to go down to the river and stand on it.”

Jaskier, unperturbed, says brightly, “Uh-huh!”

Geralt says, “Why?”

“Because Priscilla asked me along, and it’s good fun, and you can do all sorts of loop-de-loops and swirlies and spinnies and whozits and, uh, whatzits. I dunno, Pris knows all the tricks, I never got the hang of it. But, Geralt, people have been doing this in Oxenfurt for years. It’s the only way fashionable and exciting persons such as I pass the winter these days, gliding as an angel over the ice, cheeks chapped fetchingly pink, you know, it’s all very attractive, one may say winsome—”

“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” Geralt crosses his arms over his chest as he leans back in the small chair and tucks his shoulders in. He takes up too much space in Jaskier’s quarters, and already he rues the day he agreed, in a fit of insanity, to pass the season in the city instead of trekking up to Kaer Morhen as usual. “You’re going to die.”

Jaskier hacks a laugh into his steaming mug and nearly spills tea all down his robed front.

“Nonsense!” he cries, once he has recovered himself. “We go every year once the freeze is hard enough, me and Pris and all my many other dazzling friends, which I absolutely have.”

“And if Priscilla told you it was fashionably good fun to walk yourself off a cliff…”

“I’d do it, obviously,” says Jaskier, not missing a beat. “Haven’t you ever had to cross a frozen river on your travels, Witcher? How’d you go about it then, if not on skates?”

Geralt levels him an incredulous look. “How would I get a horse across a frozen river?” he asks, and Jaskier frowns in thought as he takes another sip.

“I mean, you could just—,” he mimes pushing outward with one palm, “—give ‘er a good shove and see how far she gets.”

“Could give you a good shove. Bet you wouldn’t make it far.”

“I’ll have you know, I have the grace of a, a, er…elk? Are elk graceful?”

Geralt nods and says seriously, “Especially the newborns.”

“There you have it. Graceful as a tiny baby elk with those on my feet, I am.”

“Maybe you should wear them all the time.”

“What good would that…” he starts, and then comes, “Hey. Rude. Remind me why I wanted you here?”

Geralt grins and shrugs. His own mug is on the small table, and he sniffs the steam coming off of it. Floral. He takes a sip. Carefully does not spit it back out. Sets the mug back down farther away.

When he has successfully resisted the urge to spit on the floor to clear out his mouth and looks back up, Jaskier is still holding his own mug gently in the curl of his long fingers, and a lock of rumpled hair has fallen into his eyes. His robe hangs open at his collarbone, down the line of his chest. He wears a strange expression that lies between the exasperation Geralt expected and something startlingly softer.

“So you’ll come with us,” he states.

“Someone has to take your body back to your mother when you break your neck,” Geralt says.

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “You jest, but Mum would be thrilled to see you. Likes you better than me, I think. Her only son! But you’ll come, eh?”

Geralt ducks his head quickly to hide the smile creeping across his face, grabbing his boots and yanking at the laces before acquiescing, “Yeah, I’ll come.”

“There now,” Jaskier says, appeased, “that wasn’t so hard, was it.” He knocks back the dregs of his tea, then stands and pads to the sink, talking on. “You should’ve known I wouldn’t let you stay cooped up in here all winter. I’ll have to see if I can dig out my spare pair of skates, they’re older—animal bone, not iron—but they might be big enough for your witcher feet, and it really works just as well. Or maybe Pris knows someone…I even heard they’re renting the things out down at the river now. Industrious, isn’t it, the ways people come up with to make some coin?…”

Geralt half-listens as he ties neat knots, lost somewhere in the midst of mulling over what Jaskier has described, trying to give it the benefit of the doubt despite its obvious frivolity. Based on the day’s weather it will be a clear night with a brisk breeze, a bright moon. The wind chill will have them each bundled up in furs, and the tip of Jaskier’s nose will go pink as he rubs his gloved hands together for warmth and glances happily over at Geralt. The river ice will be torchlit and smooth as glass, and they’ll strap on their skates and step out onto it. They’ll have a good hold on each others arms, for balance, but then as they gain their footing they’ll find their fingers threaded together and neither will let go. Geralt will listen to the quickened beat of Jaskier’s heart as they pick up the pace, and eventually Jaskier will break their hold to skate backward and taunt Geralt with a small twirl that ends only a little unsteadily. Geralt will smirk and give chase, chuckling when Jaskier squawks and takes off at speed. It’s no use, of course, even with Geralt’s inexperience; Geralt will anticipate his movements, head him off, catch him by the wrist, by the shoulder, and they will collide chest to chest with a huff, the momentum from the chase sliding them a few more feet across the ice before they come to a halt. Their cold noses will almost be touching, there will be frost on the riverbank, there will be a distant owl hooting its nighttime song. Jaskier will quirk his lips and say, “Gotcha, Witcher,” and Geralt will lean in, feel his hot breath, press their lips together—

“Geralt,” Jaskier says, tapping him on the shoulder. A hand waves in front of his face. Geralt keeps his expression carefully neutral as he comes out of his sudden reverie, though he’s been caught red handed. “Are you meditating? We’ve got to be off to the market. Have you even been listening to me?”

“Never,” says Geralt, and Jaskier scoffs and whacks him gently upside the head.

*

The riverbank smells like dead fish.

Geralt knew this. He doesn’t know what he expected. He doesn’t know where the pine-scented idyllic winter wonderland from his earlier distraction even came from, because it couldn’t be farther from reality.

Besides the fish stink, his boots squish and stick unpleasantly in the muddy ground, and the place is teeming with cityfolk, the crowd so thick that you can’t see the opposite bank even despite the abundant torchlight.

“Are you sure it’s frozen solid enough for this?” Geralt asks sourly.

“Of course,” Jaskier replies.

Geralt’s frown deepens. “Couldn’t we go around the bend where there’s not so many people?”

“And where’s the fun in that?”

“Breathing room.”

“I asked about the fun, Geralt. Ah, there’s my girl!”

Priscilla pushes through a group of loitering teenagers and throws her arms around Jaskier’s neck, only her toes left on the mud. “Jask! I see you got your…friend to join us.”

She pauses before friend, eyeing him overtly, but Geralt doesn’t notice because one of the teenagers has been shoved, giggling, into him by another of the group. He steadies her, and does not react when she turns to apologize, catches his unnatural gaze, and stifles her laughter. He doesn’t see Jaskier watching him past Priscilla’s ear, the fond crinkling around his eyes when Geralt gently straightens her and returns her to her place in the circle, which subsequently puts a few feet between itself and the newly-noticed witcher.

“It was either this or die of boredom in the dark, wasn’t it, Geralt?” Jaskier says finally as he releases Priscilla.

“I chose the dark,” Geralt lies, and Jaskier sticks out his tongue.

“Well,” Priscilla says, straightening her skirts, “shall we?”

Geralt pulls both sets of skates from his deep cloak pockets and passes the iron pair to Jaskier, who hops around indelicately while securing them over his boots, rather than plop himself on the soft ground—which is, of course, what Geralt does to put on his own. Priscilla and Jaskier waste a few minutes on a tiff over whether it is polite or belittling for Jaskier to insist on helping her with her own skates whether she wants it or not, but eventually they are all ready to go.

Geralt is the first to the ice. He tests the toe of his bone skate against it, judging the friction of it, deciding if it is likely to hold his weight even with the evidence of the dozens of people currently gliding and spinning past him. It seems stable. Stepping out, he finds it surprisingly easy to get a feel for balance, the minute shifts of weight that send him one direction or the other. He swings himself wide and turns around to see Priscilla and Jaskier also stepping out onto the river, Jaskier clutching tightly to Priscilla’s sleeve, face white and eyes trained on his feet.

“It’s okay, darling, you’ve got this. You made such good progress last time, come on now,” Geralt can hear Priscilla murmuring under the loud chatter of nearby skaters.

When Jaskier sees Geralt watching them, he bodily removes Priscilla’s hands from his person and says, “Please, Pris, I’m a capable man.”

She bristles immediately, leaving him to stand on his own. “And I wasn’t a capable woman when I was putting on my skates?”

Jaskier ignores her to begin shuffling awkwardly across the ice, his knees locked straight.

“Jaskier?” Geralt says apprehensively.

“Doing peachy, thanks, it’ll come back to me, just need to recall how to, um—oh no—” Jaskier starts with a strained voice before he promptly stops, because he has begun to slide inexorably forward. Priscilla and Geralt both reach toward him, but they’re too late; Jaskier’s arms wheel wildly, he tilts on wobbly ankles, and he faceplants onto the ice.

“Ow,” squeaks the Jaskier-shaped lump.

*

“I think your nose is broken,” says Geralt. He dabs at the blood on Jaskier’s top lip with the edge of his own cloak. They are safely back on the bank, and Jaskier is, this time, sitting in the mud. “I guess you were right,” he goes on wryly. “You’re exactly as graceful as a baby elk.”

“I knew you were making fun of me,” Jaskier says thickly, due to the nose injury. “I also knew you’d be a natural. Bastard. I could never get the hang of this stupid bullshit.”

Geralt hums and wipes off the last of the blood. At least it’s clotted quickly. Maybe it’s not a break.

“You didn’t need to lie about your abilities. Who are you trying to impress?”

Jaskier snorts, then winces in pain. His fingers twist in his lap. “Oh, that’s funny.”

Now, Geralt is often joking, but he’s fairly certain that that wasn’t one. Did Jaskier also hit his head? He pushes back Jaskier’s fringe to check his forehead for signs of bruising and doesn’t find any. “Um,” he says, “what is?”

Priscilla skates past holding hands with a woman that Geralt thinks she met approximately three minutes ago. She calls, “All right, Jask?” and in reply, Jaskier gives her a bitter thumbs up. She winks and swoops away as quickly as she came.

“Because I was trying to impress you, obviously,” he answers, gazing after her, before he turns his eyes back to Geralt.

Geralt pauses. “Why?”

“Because I’m actually always trying to impress you. And everyone else, constantly, but…mostly you.”

“You don’t do a very good job of it,” he says, and regrets it when he hears how it sounds coming out of his mouth.

Jaskier smiles. It’s genuine, if a little wistful, like Geralt has amused but not surprised him. “I am well aware, thanks.”

He reaches for the words that will take that edge of resignation off Jaskier’s face, feeling like a fumbling fool. “That’s not what I meant. I meant you don’t need to try to impress me.”

“Yes, I know it doesn’t matter, but I can’t help—”

“No,” Geralt interrupts, “I mean you don’t need to try because you do.” He clears his throat. “Impress me.”

“Oh,” says Jaskier, and then nothing more. “That’s. Okay.”

“Yeah,” says Geralt. He has never been so exposed in his life. He thinks that’s probably a bad thing. “How’s your nose? We could try again, if you want.”

Jaskier looks around at the laughing crowds and shrugs. “Came all this way, got all bundled up. Might as well! I’m sticking with you this time, though.”

They find a spot at the farthest reach of the torchlight where the ice is less populated to step out. Geralt goes first, as before, and finds his footing even faster this time. He returns to Jaskier’s side after a moment of testing the reliability of his newfound skills, and presents his forearm as a handhold.  Jaskier does not protest about his capability this time and takes the offering. With a long preparatory exhale, he puts one foot and then the other onto the ice.

“I’ve got you,” Geralt says quietly.

Jaskier replies, “I know you do.”

“Can’t let more harm come to the money maker. I’ve gotten used to staying in inns.”

“Good gods,” says Jaskier, “I’ve broken him.”

They gradually move farther from the bank. “Loosen up,” Geralt tells him. “Don’t lock your knees. It’s like you’re trying to fall over.”

Jaskier grumbles but takes the advice, and eventually he gains the confidence to move a little faster, though not to stop hanging on to Geralt. They stay on the fringes where they are less likely to be run into by a distracted stranger, gliding along at pace, with Jaskier remarking on the who’s-who of Oxenfurt society who are also out tonight. Geralt recognizes some of the more powerful names, but mostly he lets Jaskier chatter on so he doesn’t think too hard about his feet.

Priscilla passes by and greets them a few more times with her new companion, who at one point proclaims, “You two are so cute together!” before Priscilla drags her back into the mob. Geralt glances over and thinks Jaskier might be blushing, but that might also be due to the swelling around his nose.

“Should ice your face,” says Geralt.

“Sure, later. Hey!” He swings around to face Geralt, stopping their progress. “Spin me!” At Geralt’s no doubt dubious expression, he pouts. “Geralt, I demand to be spun. It’ll be fun!”

“Fine,” Geralt sighs.

He takes Jaskier’s hand, and has a flash of his daydream. There’s too many people, and it does still smell like fish, but this isn’t too far off—

He collects himself, holds their joined hands over Jaskier’s head, and gives him a little push to start him spinning, not too quick, but Jaskier takes it upon himself to propel himself a little faster. Jaskier laughs and maintains his balance remarkably well, until he exclaims “Oops—dizzy—!” and topples directly into Geralt, succeeding in knocking them both down, Geralt on his own back, Jaskier flat on his chest.

Geralt, trapped between the frigid ice and Jaskier’s weight, looks up as Jaskier starts to laugh. The steam of his breath hits Geralt’s cheek, and his knitted hat has gone askew, and his nose is turning purple, and Geralt puts his hand around the back of Jaskier’s neck and pulls him down and kisses him.

Jaskier leans away. “What?” he asks, eyes wide, then continues, “oh, who cares,” and leans back down.

*

Later, with an ice pack pressed to Jaskier’s face and two more hot mugs at the kitchen table, Geralt watches Jaskier rummage through his cupboards. He comes back with two packets, one matching the floral tea from earlier and a different one. He hands the latter to Geralt.

“Black tea,” he says, “for you. Noticed you didn’t like my herbal stuff. I don’t either, to be honest, but I already spent the coin on it.”

“Thanks,” Geralt replies, oddly touched.

As Jaskier passes Geralt to take his seat, he leans down and pecks him on the cheek. Smiling faintly beneath the ice pack, he says, “You know, Witcher, I’m glad you’re here and not up in some weird lonely castle,” and Geralt finds that he is, too.