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#Geraskier

Fake dating!! Don’t mind if I do! I am so glad someone chose this one!!
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Geralt wasn’t entirely sure why he’d come to the bar. He didn’t want to be around people. It was cheaper to drink at home, and the music wasn’t quite so deafening in his flat.

And yet, here he was, nursing a pint of ale and glowering at anyone that came too close. He hadn’t realised that drinking alone by the bar would gather so much attention. He sighed and hunched over his drink more, hoping to give off more intimidating vibes than flirty ones. He heard the clack of heels approach and he almost growled at the approaching blonde. She wasn’t unattractive and on another night he might have been interested but really he just wanted to be alone.

He’d broken up with Yennefer… again.

Or more actually she’d broken up with him… again.

Fuck it. He wasn’t sure how much of their on and off relationship he could take. He loved her but with Yen that never seemed to be enough. So he’d decided to get drunk and getting drunk at his flat by himself had just seemed like a depressing idea. Past him was an idiot. Anything was better than this loud mess of a bar.

“Darling!” An arm wrapped around his shoulder and lips brushed against his cheek.

“What the fuck?” He growled as a man draped himself over Geralt.

The lips on his cheek trailed up to his ear. “Help me.” The man whispered. “My ex.”

Geralt glanced over to where the man was gesturing. An attractive brunette was making her way across the bar. Geralt raised his eyebrow at the man who was now sitting half in his lap. It was the first time Geralt had seen the man’s face. He had soft brown hair that kept falling in front of his eyes, eyes that were the most beautiful shade of blue that Geralt had ever seen. The man was chewing on his lower lip, anxiously awaiting Geralt’s decision.

“You’re late.” He grumbled with a slight nod.

The man lit up with the most dazzlingly smile and wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck, shifting so he was completely now using Geralt as his chair. “I’m so sorry, dearest.” He cooed loudly and buried his face in Geralt’s neck. “I’m Jaskier.” He muttered quietly so only Geralt could hear.

“Jaskier.” Geralt repeated, testing the name out for himself. It was a pretty name and somehow seemed to suit Jaskier perfectly. He wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s waist to stop him from falling off his lap. “I. I missed you?”

Fuck he was never very good at drama at school, but he wanted to try. He didn’t want to put Jaskier in danger with his shit acting skills.

Jaskier laughed. It was melodic and as gorgeous as the man himself. “Oh darling, I missed you too.” Jaskier pressed another kiss to Geralt’s cheek. He felt himself blush under Jaskier’s open affection.

This wasn’t how he saw his evening going but suddenly being alone seemed like a fucking terrible idea. He glanced back over at the brunette. She was standing nearby with her hands on her hips, not looking very impressed with their display. Fuck. He looked back at Jaskier. His face was flushed probably from alcohol. Geralt really didn’t want to seem like he was taking advantage of their situation but Jaskier had asked for his help.

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Main Summary: Jaskier is a sea witch who finds Ciri crying by the edge of the ocean. She’s lonely and desperate to find her Destiny so Jaskier offers to escort her to him. (On AO3)
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The night had been an awkward one. Jaskier had insisted it was too late to go after Geralt but Ciri hadn’t wanted to go back to sleep. He wasn’t proud about it but he had charmed the young girl back into a magical slumber. He hoped that she wouldn’t be too angry with him. Geralt had still been nearby, he knew that much but the witcher kept his distance.

Jaskier had changed back to his human form so he could stay with Ciri whilst she slept. He didn’t sleep as much as humans did but he did manage to catch a few winks before the dawn creeped over the horizon. Jaskier rolled over on the ground with a groan. He never enjoyed the sunlight in the early morning. It took him a while to adjust to the light. He buried his face into his sleeves and squeezed his eyes shut.

“She won’t wake up.”

Jaskier yelped and sat up, his head spinning at the sudden movement. “G-Geralt?” He slurred and blinked a few times. Geralt was indeed sat across them poking at the ashes of the campfire. His swords were strapped to his back and his was looking all grumpy in his black leather armour.

Honestly, how did anyone manage to look that attractive with a constant frown on their face?

But Jaskier also remembered how they had laughed together in the water, the bright smile on Geralt’s face. It had been absolutely radiant in its beauty. He also remembered the way they had held hands on the walk from the tavern, he wasn’t sure Geralt had even realised they were doing it but Jaskier had been giddy the entire time.

He’d always had a habit of falling in love too fast, but this time was a whole new level. He wanted to pull Geralt down into the depths of the ocean and never let him leave. It was such a pity that witchers needed the air to breathe.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been staring at Geralt, in his sleepy haze, but it suddenly dawned on him that Geralt had spoken to him, not a question exactly but one that still required an answer.

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I am currently writing a geraskier fic, and I want to start posting it on ao3 (it has multiple chapters and it is not finished yet). The problem is: I have NO CLUE of how I should title it. So i guess I’ll post the incipit and y’all can suggest me titles??? If you want??? I’ll credit u obv. 

HERE WE GO

In this story, Jaskier dies. But then he comes back. Only to die again. But then he comes back AGAIN. By the fifteenth time, Geralt does not even cry. He just thinks “fuck, here we go again”.

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There are still days when Geralt doesn’t know how to deal with Jaskier’s constant chattering. Conversations that go nowhere, songs that fall flat, stories that are ‘embellished’.

Yes, these days continue to be difficult.

Then comes a day when Jaskier is quiet. Pensive.

What the fuck is he supposed to do with that?

They’re walking. Geralt on Roach, Jaskier trailing a bit behind. His lute in hand, unstrummed.

The quiet sits heavy in the air. More alarming than

Geralt glances over his shoulder. It takes a long moment for Jaskier to notice he’s looking at him. Once he does he smiles brightly. Geralt blinks. He turns his head to look forward again.

Stops in his tracks.

Jaskier nearly bumps into Roach. “Wh- Geralt? What are you doing?!”

Geralt turns Roach around and starts off in the opposite direction. He knows this road. Knows the area well. If they start now, they can make it before sunfall.

“Wait, you can’t just- just change direction like that without explaining!”

It sounds a little more like Jaskier normally does. But it’s not enough to pull him out of whatever dark mood he’s in. So Geralt continues onward, only half ignoring the loud groan of protest.

Jaskier follows, as he always does. That’s all he needs.

An hour of retracing their steps, Geralt dismounts Roach. He looks around for a moment. Listening. It’s not quiet, but there’s… an angle that’s best for this. Slowly, he turns his head.

Hm.

Yes, there.

He starts walking. There are no monsters or bandits in the near vicinity to worry about, thankfully.

“Geralt. What are we doing here? I thought you wanted… I thought we were going to the… fuck, where was it we were going? Did you even tell me?” A sigh joins Jaskier’s extensive back catalogue of unhappy sounds. “Not that you ever tell me anything. Oh, shit. And it’s muddy, too. I hate when the forest goes ‘squish’.”

The path is muddy, and grows muddier with each step. Frogs croak and there are dragonflies flitting about.. Smooth stones litter the ground. Running water is now close enough that Jaskier should hear it.

And hear it he does. “Where are we?” He asks, his voice softer. “What are-” Another silence hangs in the air. 

Geralt turns his head for a moment. The dark cloud hanging over Jaskier’s head seems to have lessened, if only to make room for the curious spark in his eyes.

Jaskier walks faster, keeping pace now. Looking around. Fingers twitching again. The trees break apart, just a few feet away from what Geralt had seen years ago.

Beside him, Jaskier gasps.

A waterfall, tall and flowing shines in the sunlight, a rainbow reflecting off it’s white gushing waters. Vines and greenery growing up the cliff. All ending in a sparkling river with clean drinking water.

“It’s incredible! Amazing! Hidden away like the treasure it is. A true wonder!” The bard watches agape for a moment longer before he turns to look at Geralt. “Thank you. This is…” He shakes his head, but there’s a smile. None of the hollowness it held from before. “Thank you.”

And Geralt finds himself smiling back. There was no contract to be found here, but he feels richer all the same.

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The Saovine prompt for October 26 and 27th is Cursed Ones!

Ghosts and specters, and the ones that were just a victim of the curse - maybe with enough determination the magical chains could be broken?

Tag #oxenfurt archives or #oxenfurt event on your post to make sure it gets reblogged here. Don’t worry if you’re late, either! Anything tagged for the Halloween event will be featured no matter when its finished.

oxenfurt-archives
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KINKTOBER DAY: 22

PAIRING: Geralt/Jaskier

PRIMARY KINK: Overstimulation

OTHER KINKS/TAGS: fuck-or-die, dub-con, handjob, blowjob, aphrodisiac, paralysis 

Geralt cursed as he dragged Jaskier’s limp body from the arachnid nest. He cursed Jaskier for, as usual, taking no heed of Geralt’s barked orders to stay at the inn. He cursed the mage who hired him to deliver the arachnid queen’s head with both venom sacs intact, thereby curtailing the most effective method for clearing arachnid nests - igni. But most of all, Geralt cursed himself for being too slow to push Jaskier out of the way when the arachnid queen spat a mouthful of (the damned mage would insist was precious) venom in his direction.

Jaskier had fallen to the ground with a sickening cry, his lute making a discordant sound as he clawed at his face. Soon, his breath began to hitch shallowly, his pained noises growing soft and muffled. Geralt slew the arachnid queen with a desperate fervor, no longer pulling his swings to save the value of her head.

Jaskier was still conscious when Geralt reached him, blinking weakly. But he did not speak, which was a clue to how dire the situation was.

Jaskier,” Geralt said, his teeth clenched as he steadied Jaskier’s head. “Can you walk?”

With great effort, Jaskier was able to jerk his head in an approximation of a nod. Geralt slung Jaskier’s arm around his shoulder and hurried the both of them to Roach. Under his hands, Jaskier’s muscles felt tight, clenched and trembling. His head rolled into the crook of Geralt’s neck, his breath sputtering against Geralt’s shoulder as they rode.

With each passing second, Geralt prayed that Jaskier would just continue breathing.

“Fascinating,” the mage Staclen said, examining Jaskier’s bare chest, then lower, where the front of his breeches strained against his fully erect cock. Geralt looked away, embarrassed. “Near complete paralysis, though his condition appears stable. Bard,” Staclen said, as if speaking to a very slow child, “Can you understand my speech? Blink once for yes and twice for no.”

Jaskier very deliberately blinked once.

“Very good,” Staclen stood, leaving Jaskier’s stiff body on the bed. “He has full control of his eyes, can open and close his mouth with effort, but cannot speak. He should be fully recovered in a day or less.”

“Wait,” Geralt growled as the mage turned to leave. “Can’t you help him?”

Staclen shook his head, smiling. “Perhaps, but I don’t work for charity. You haven’t brought me what I asked for, after all.” He tutted at Geralt’s furious expression, “What did I say? He will recover on his own. Though if I’m proven wrong, I would be happy to buy the body off of you for further study.”

“What about his … condition?” Geralt muttered, and Staclen glanced at Jaskier’s arousal with amusement.

“This is why the arachnids of Vattweir are so sought-after, you know. Their venom, distilled correctly, is a powerful aphrodisiac. Poor thing, he got dose enough for three men,” Staclen shook his head, “What a waste.”

Geralt glared after the mage as he left, his attention suddenly drawn to Jaskier when he made a small, high sound. Quickly, Geralt walked to his side, taking in Jaskier’s flushed face, his chest raising and lowering in shallow breaths.

“Are you having trouble breathing?” Geralt asked, feeling for Jaskier’s pulse. It was, to Geralt’s surprise, fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings under his fingers. Jaskier’s eyes met his, blue and pained and imploring. He blinked twice.

Geralt swallowed heavily.

“Does it hurt?”

One blink.

“Your body?”

Hesitation. Two blinks.

Geralt drew in a short breath.

“Your … prick?”

One blink, immediately. Jaskier’s eyes looked fevered.

Fuck,” Geralt muttered.

(READ THE REST ON AO3!)

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“My dearest…“

Jaskier taps the end of his quill on his lips, watching the ink, curved into the runes of his delicate handwriting, dry slowly on the parchment. 

“My love,“ he adds, a smile playing on the corners of his lips as the runes form into words. 

It’s late at night and he’s alone in his room in the Academy, the entire wing allocated for the lecturers silent, everyone but him long asleep. 

The candlelight is not nearly enough to illuminate the entire room but all Jaskier really needs is for it to cast light onto his parchment, the flickering flame casting a distorted shadow from his quill. 

“I do hope that you’ve made it home safe and the winter had been kind to you. Now that I can call you mine, it’s truly unbearable to think that I won’t see you until spring. It’s only been a month and I already miss you so much that I know I won’t be able to let you go next time.“

Geralt did offer for the bard to come with him to Kaer Morhen this winter, for him to meet the other Wolves. 

And Jaskier would’ve gladly accepted that offer if it wasn’t for the fact that he’d already made an agreement with the Academy that he’ll be a guest lecturer on the winter term. 

“Every time I go to bed, I feel like it’s too big for me and, gods, I miss having you by my side at night.“

Jaskier leans back in his chair, bites his lip, fingers tapping on the tabletop in no real rhythm. A thought runs through his mind, making heat creep up the back of his neck.

“I couldn’t sleep yesterday, thinking about you. About the way you’d always kiss me after putting out the candles, the room so dark sometimes that I’d be unable to see you, lead by touch only. Thought about your hands all over me, impatient as always.“

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Geralt’s Sick and Jaskier’s in Deep Shit

“Mmmpff….bard…you really are talented with your fingers.” The half naked noble woman moaned as Johan pulled away from under her skirts.


“I try my best.” The doppler was grinning like an idiot. Such a pretty woman normally wouldn’t even give him the time of day. But with this face woman swooned over him. Martya. Wife of the village’s mayor. The affair made it even more exciting as he leaned into kiss the woman again. Stopping short when the door to the room slammed open. He turned coming face to face with Martya’s husband. “Oh shit-”


“Who you’re fuck are you?” The man snarled loudly as Johan struggled to get his trousers back up. Diving out the window and coming to a tumble as he landed in the flower bushes just below. He groaned, in far too much pain to even think about shifting as he ran down the street. The man calling out curses after the supposed bard. Now would be a good time to leave town.


~~


Geralt coughed and hacked out bile loudly into his elbow has he made his way through the village’s busy crowd. All the people blurred together as their pungent scents overwhelmed him. Combined with the sounds that seemed louder than usual, Geralt could barely keep his stomach down. It was almost sunset and Jaskier was still gone. If Geralt could bring himself to it, he’d throttle the bard’s neck when he found him. Stupid bard… probably didn’t even get the gods damned medicine.


His vision scanning the crowd as he tried his best not to stumble into someone.


“Shit, shit, shit, shit-” Geralt heard a familiar voice repeating. There was Jaskier trying to adjust his pants as he dove between people. Geralt felt the ever present migraine grow. Idiot probably got himself into trouble and now they were vanned find yet another village. He huffed, walking over to the bard who paused to stare at him. He looked terrified. And smelled…weird. But then again everything smelled weird right now. He grabbed the bard by his collar with a snarl.


“The fuck have you been?” His voice, normally terrifying, sounded nasally.


“I,ugh, er-you-”


“C'mon.” He tugged the bard along back to their camp. He just wanted some damn sleep.


~~


“Sorry my dear, but I have a sick friend to attend to.” Jaskier waved to the keen woman who leaned against the door frame. She was older but still very beautiful and more than happy to make a deal with the bard for what he needed. In exchange for a…favor. Said favor took longer than expected and it was almost dusk now. But hopefully whatever foul concoction was in these bottles would make his witcher at least slightly less miserable.


“You.” He turned to see a man in fancy clothing with a handful of rather intimidating men staring at him.


“Me?”


“That’s the whoreson donkey fucker who defiled my wife.” Jaskier way grabbed by two of the men and forced too face the man.


“Whoa, whoa, I think there’s been a mistake here. I never slept with your wife. I think I’d remember-” A hard slap quieted the bard as he let out a whine. “Owwwww.”


“I’ll deal with you later.” The man nodded at the two holding the bard. Something hitting the back of Jaskier’s head and he was sent spiraling into unconsciousness.

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It didn’t come all at once. He’d really thought they’d made it out unscathed. That the box he’d opened in that mage’s abandoned laboratory hadn’t worked.

As they walked back thick fog rolled in. Obscuring the sky. The path ahead. The trees aside them. Even dimming Geralt and Roach a few paces ahead into off grey.

He jogged closer to them. Geralt gave him a look.

“What? Sorry I don’t want to get lost.”

“Why would you get lost?”

“Because?” He waved at the thick grey mist around them. “The fog Geralt? Not all of us can follow a scent trail. Even if it’s yours.” He fanned the thick smell of Geralt’s sweat away.

He stopped. Turned to him.

“Theirs’s no fog Jaskier.” Grabbed his face. Studying his eyes as the fog rolled in thicker. Obscuring even Roach right behind him. “It’s clear out.”

“Oh.” His hands started shaking and his eyes grew hot. “Then I suppose we have a problem.”

And Geralt’s face; hard and angry and concerned disappeared into the grey.

“Ah Master Witcher! Master Bard! Haven’t touched your room!” Something wooshed past his ear. Jangled at his side as Geralt moved oddly next to him.

“Thanks.” Geralt grunted moving him through the bar.

“Ah! Master bard!” Footsteps. Creaking wood. People talking. It was. It was a lot and nothing at all because he had no idea where or what or who it was. “You’ll be playing for us tonight yes? Dinner and a bath as agreed?”

“No.” Geralt growled. “He won’t.”

“Of course!” He agreed over top him. “I will however need a stage,” He didn’t remember if the bar had one. He preferred not to use them anyway. Moving through the crowds instead. But he doubted it did. “Or a chair at least. Our little adventure has left me a bit short sighted.” He grinned at where he hoped the man was.

There was a lull. Where the only noise was the bar. He shifted his feet.

“He’s blind.” Geralt said finally. He leaned a little harder into his solid mass. Steady and warm and there.

“Temporarily!” He quickly assured. The arm not wrapped around Geralt’s flapped. Smacking sharply into something. “Ow.”

“Oh!” The barkeep Seemed startled. He was further to the left than he’d thought. “We’ll set something up then! I hope you make a hasty recovery Master bard!”

“Jaskier is fine.” He assured. “Now if you’ll excuse us.” Geralt pulled him from the bar.

“Why’d you agree to play!” Geralt snapped at him after he’d been deposited on the bed.

“I don’t need eyes to play and sing Geralt. What? Am I supposed to just sit in this tiny room and twiddle my thumbs all week?” He yelled into the darkness.

Geralt exhaled with a forced slowness. “I need to go return this.” Metal sliding on metal. The chain of the necklace they’d been sent to retrieve. That had been locked in the box he’d opened. Very cleverly he had thought. “Stay.”

“Stay!” He barked. “I’m not a fucking dog!” He yelled at after him as the door closed and his footsteps faded away.

Something creaked. He flinched away from it.

The bed was firm under him. The blanket decent but not soft.

He drummed his fingers on his leg.

Someone walked passed the room.

He grabbed the blanket and found the wall. Carefully followed it into the corner. Curled up there with the blanket around him.

He couldn’t read. Write. There was no one to talk to anymore. Just him and the grey darkness.

He hoped if someone came into their room they wouldn’t spot him. Because he couldn’t run. Couldn’t fight. Not that he was particularly good at that normally. But he couldn’t tell if he was hidden. Because he couldn’t see.

He couldn’t see.

Geralt was gone and he couldn’t see and every time something made a sound he couldn’t identify he flinched.

Temporary. Should only last a week. Geralt assured.

But Geralt didn’t know that much about magic. Or he might have been lying. To keep him from panicking.

He was panicking now. But there was no one there to see. So he let himself.

And when he was too exhausted to panic more he fell asleep and he hardly noticed the difference because everything was dark anyway.

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Hello~! Sorry for the late reply! School has been C-R-A-Z-Y all the way.

11. How do you come up with your fic titles?

Uhm, most of them are song titles/song lyrics because songs have always resonated with me? If it’s not a song, it’s poetry, and that’s because I usually write whatever emotions I’m experiencing so my feelings for the fic and what the fic represents are meant to be reflected in poetry/songs because I feel poetry/songs resonate deeply with a lot of people. And if it’s a goofier fic, it’s usually a parody of a song lyric, haha!! Sometimes I’ll use common phrases too (like You Can Lead A Horse To Water.)

12. Tell the author your favorite fic title of theirs (not the fic, strictly title). Author: what’s your favorite title you’ve come up with and why?

I think you’ve understood the question right so no worries, haha!! I actually really love that one too. But for the sake of picking another title, I really like A Wet Red Devil (which is my John Constantine x King Shark piece and the title comes from a style of drink which is a pun.) As much as I love the poetry/songs, I love puns or wordplay, things with double meaning. A Wet Red Devil is a (pun of sorts?) because the drink (A Red Devil) is a mix of Irish Whisky and Tomato Juice (with John Constantine being the Irish Whisky and King Shark being the Tomato Juice. If anyone knows those characters, I hope that’s like clever-sounding, lol.) Serving a drink wet usually means “heavy on the mixer” or something? I don’t remember at the moment the exact terminology (long day) but it’s mostly a pun about it being wet because the fic is a M sexual content/implied sexual content work.

If anyone would like to ask me more questions from that ask game, check the question list out here!!

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a concept: netflix!geralt is aware of jaskier’s romantic and sexual affections for him and he doesn’t exactly dislike the notion of being in love with jaskier, but he won’t because jaskier is going to die, will die, is dying every second he lives. he sees the grey specks in his companion’s hair, sees the crow’s feet near his crinkled eyes when he does that shit-eating grin at him, notices how he gradually needs to walk slower, rest longer between their treks. geralt will not allow himself the luxury to indulge in the full force of his bard’s love and tender touches and sweet confessions because he will leave eventually. and geralt will be alone, again, and he can’t bear to lose someone that would mean that much to him. the thought of losing jaskier, his greatest, closest friend, hurts enough. i do not accept constructive criticism

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in which jaskier is immortal and someone makes the mistake of asking how he and geralt met back in the 1200s:
jaskier: the year was 40 aut 6. I was eating dutch fries cause France hadn't been invented yet. Suddenly there he was, Geralt of Rivia! He had an ass like a cotton gin still. This was back before you millennials invented deodorant, so all i had was Kaiser's Underarm Powder, and my wits. Sure we got to talkin...we got to talkin good. He was laying down the first tubes of the inter webs. I wanted to slide into those DMs, but back then! DMs stood for diptheria medication.
geralt: ....
geralt: that's not what happened.
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