#I feel like jaskier and geralt would be like 'i fucking hate your fit' for weeks

[asweetprologue]

a fashionable exit

“You’ve got to be joking.”

“Hello, Yennefer, I’m quite well, thank you,” Jaskier said. “Oh, you’re welcome, Yennefer, no need for such profuse thanks. Yes, I do think this rescue is quite daring, if I do say so myself--” Geralt reached out and tapped him on the back of the head. Jaskier glared at him, rummaging through the pockets of his ridiculous coat.

"What in gods name are you wearing?” Yennefer demanded. 

Jaskier paused. Geralt looked smug. She watched a drop of dark blood slide from the end of his sword and land in a star on the ground. “I told you,” Geralt said.

Jaskier’s mouth fell open. The expression he turned on her was incensed. “How dare you,” he hissed through the bars. Her cell was made entirely of dimeritium. It must have cost Nilfgaard a fortune to build, but they had spared no expense for her cage. “Do you know what we’ve been through to get here? And that’s the first thing you have to say to me?”

Yennefer raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t only talking to you.” She was covered in filth, her dress in tatters, hair limp and greasy after weeks without a wash. She smelled of soot and blood and refuse, and she knew she must be gaunt with hunger. And yet she was confident that out of the three of them, she was still the most pleasing to look at.

Geralt whipped his head around towards her. Jaskier found what he had been looking for - a set of wires. He knelt before the cell door, inserting them into the lock. “What do you mean?” Geralt demanded. His gaze had narrowed. 

Yennefer crossed her legs, her back straight. Her pallet was basically no more than a couple of boards nailed together across a frame, but she could make it into a throne. The look she leveled at Geralt was pitying. “Really, Geralt? Sculpted armor?”

Geralt’s jaw clenched. Jaskier laughed, loud enough that Yennefer worried they might alert someone. Geralt was tense with annoyance, but his sword was held loosely in his hand. “I told you,” Jaskier said mockingly, shooting a triumphant grin at the witcher. 

“And you look like a highway robber,” Yennefer added, just to hear Jaskier squawk again. She looked down her nose at him. “And not one with good taste.”

“I was on the run. I’m being discreet!” Jaskier cried. He wasn’t glaring at her, focused on the door, but she could feel it directed her way. Where had the bard learned to pick locks?

“I assure you,” Yennefer said, glancing over him, “you are not.”

There was a loud click, and Jaskier seemed to forget his argument. Grinning, he pulled on the base of the padlock. It dropped neatly into his hand, and a moment later Geralt wrenched the door open. 

Immediately she felt her magic stirring in her chest. She wouldn’t be back to her full strength right away, but the warmth of it chased away the chill of the cell. Jaskier hurried inside, and Yennefer was not so proud that she would refuse a friendly shoulder to lean on. Geralt held the door open, face turned towards the hall. Listening for guards, most likely. “I’m just saying,” Jaskier grunted, holding her weight. “I think if you had to rate us, Geralt would certainly be the greater travesty against fashion. I look amazing.”

“The first thing I’m doing when we get out of this place is setting that hat on fire,” Yennefer promised. 

“Then we should hurry.” Geralt’s tone was dead serious, but she could see the smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. Jaskier vibrated with indignation under Yennefer’s arm.

"I hate you both,” he grumbled. Yennefer laughed for the first time in weeks.

#witcher #the witcher #jaskier #geralt of rivia #Yennefer of Vengerberg #yennefer #geraskifer #if you squint #bard hat discourse #anyways i love them your honor #I feel like jaskier and geralt would be like 'i fucking hate your fit' for weeks #and both secretly hoping yennefer will rag on the other one #but then she's like #yuck #my work #drabble #>5k

[cherryjuicegf]

death of a poet

for @whataboutthebard september 16 whump prompt: major character death || geraskier, T, 1.8k, angst, implied/referenced suicide (kind of)

ao3

The greatest act of love, they say, is to die for it.

Jaskier laughed, always laughed at this concept. There’s no doubt, of course, one’s whole life lost as a declaration of love, the highest sacrifice. But not the only one. And it amazed him, how people never seemed to acknowledge anything else, how fairytales of noble knights ended with them throwing their lives away, and for what? For love. Always for love. There was no doubt, and if there was, who was he to utter it?

Still. He wondered, the roots of the poet he was meant to be growing inside him, blooming since childhood. And he wondered, why, why die for love, why not live for it? Why waste this blooming of hearts in the eternal darkness, in grief and the wailing complaint of what could have been? Why, when there is so much beauty in the love of living things? He wondered, always wondered. And his mother smiled, with this faint bitterness of unexpected knowledge, and whispered, you can live for love if you want, sweet child, but one day you’ll understand.

Yet he didn’t understand. And he hated it, hated that he didn’t. Hated that he couldn’t find anything to try and understand in the first place. One day he would understand, yet people smiled at him, flowers bloomed in spring, birds sang on the branches, the wine tasted so sweet and the strings of the lute sounded so magical in the evening hush. And he wondered, always wondered, when would the day come, and what greater love there is, that you’re willing to die for it, even if you don’t lay eyes upon it ever again?

The fire in the hearth suddenly goes out.

A tragic fate, the mage had laughed. True love’s kiss. No one could ever love a monster.

I love him. He’s not a monster.

He’s not?

Geralt’s eyes are glowing in a light Jaskier hasn’t seen before, in a light he never wishes to see again. They’re glowing, and something unworldly glows with them, laughs with the evil memory of fairy tales, and evil sorceresses and true love’s kisses. As the blade glistens dangerously close to his eyes, as he walks backward in trembling steps, he thinks they’re so far away from what would make a beautiful fairytale to tell children before sleep. There will be no happy ending here. Somehow he knows.

There’s a tickle on his fingertips, burning.

The sword whips beside his ear and he stumbles back once more, panting, breath coming out strained. He raises his head, looks at Geralt. Or what he remembers was Geralt. Because now what he sees seems foreign, cold, and the amber in his eyes doesn’t warm him like the sun anymore, instead burns, like a fire which he willingly, inevitably steps into. There’s a lump caught in his throat, a sob screaming to get out. And, as though on instinct, with the strongest pang of guilt numbing his bones, he has to remind himself. He’s not a monster, he’s not a monster. He’s not Geralt. Geralt is not a monster.

For a moment, for the barest of seconds, he meets Geralt’s, no, the man’s eyes and, like the fool, like the poet he is, he hopes. “Geralt,” he says and his voice shakes weakly with the terrifying hint of denial, “Geralt, it’s me, please.” The air is ripped by the blade once again, he steps back, eyes still locked with amber. A whimper. “Come back to me, love, please. I love you, come back.”

For a moment, for the barest of seconds, the sun entering from the narrow, stained window reflects on Geralt’s eyes and something familiar glints behind them, a distant scream of a heart wailing to get out. But it’s only for a moment. Because Geralt growls and lowers his sword again with maniacal force and Jaskier screams, ducks and falls on his knees in an ironic parody of a plea for mercy. There’s a feeling of wetness on his bicep and he hisses as crimson blood stains the white sleeve. Not his fault, Jaskier reminds himself, not his fault.

It’s not his fault, yet he wants to cry as he stares into his eyes, cold like the blade that threatens to tear him to pieces, cold like the countless winter nights he’s spent without him, cold like his hand as he grasps it desperately, pushes him back in a failed attempt to trap him, in a foolish, hopeless hope of making him throw the sword away.

A true love’s kiss, he thinks, and almost laughs, because it sounds more like a death wish. And he’s starting to think it will be.

And then he sees Geralt raising his hand and before he has time to think about it, he’s being swept back with the most violent wind, and falls head first on the wall behind him. And slumps to fall on his knees. But there’s a sudden sting on his abdomen and he opens his eyes just in time to see the silver blade pointed on tender skin and jolts back with a gasp, stuck on the wall. “Fuck, Geralt,” he pants and looks at him and, for some reason, he expects his stare to be requited. It is. But it’s empty. It’s empty, and the sword on his stomach tickles painfully and the room is whirling. He blinks hard, gasps again. He can’t hold on, he knows.

And as he gazes at Geralt, he remembers. Warmth. Faint smiles, fingers down his back. Lips tasting of sweet wine, and flowers on his hair, and sleepy eyes staring at him before dropping, and love, and safety, and home . And finally, finally he understands.

He hates that he understands. But then again, the blade is cold like a hug full of regrets and Geralt’s eyes are empty and, oh, what he wouldn’t give to see those eyes, familiar and warm and looking at him again, even if it’s for the last time. He hasn’t much left to give, truth be told. Only his hope, and his life, and he feels them both competing for which is going to reach the end of the line.

“Geralt,” he whispers, again, and that spare root of hope he had starts to rot. “Geralt, please, don’t...” Are those tears? His eyes are burning. “Wake up, love, it’s me.”

What hope? He knows there is not. He knows, because it’s empty, forever empty, and the blade stings deeper and he pleads, Geralt, Geralt, Geralt, as if it means anything anymore, as if it’s Geralt.

He understands. And knows, if he’s to die, he has to die the way he lived, by love, as a poet. For love, then. As a poet, and for love.

So he straightens himself, eyes steady on Geralt. And takes a step forward against the blade.

It’s numbing, the pain. Another step. He gasps, chokes on his own blood. Another step, and Geralt stares, empty, blade steady in place as though on purpose, but there’s a familiar glint somewhere in there now, a familiar fear. Jaskier is close. His feet are giving in, his breath is shortening, and it’s a pity really, such a torturous death.. He’s close. So close that he can rest on Geralt’s shoulder, and he feels the blade ripping his flesh, his insides, his everything. He coughs up blood, chokes, eyes rolling to the back of his head. And he feels the blade dripping behind him. And he feels Geralt’s breath on his skin. So he cups his face in a shaking hand, and leans in.

It’s nothing. A brush of lips, tender in all its agony. It’s nothing. The world is blurring. It’s love.

It’s nothing.

The sword slips away as he falls, leaving behind nothing but a puddle of unending blood and slowly consuming darkness and he thinks, it’s supposed to be bright, it’s supposed to hurt less now.

He thinks, he’s supposed to spare himself from Geralt’s anguished look when he comes to, and realizes.

Instead.

“Jaskier!”

He doesn’t feel the pain. Only his body, lifted from the floor, and the scorching blood and the arms, those arms that hold him so tight he wants to scream all the apologies, all the regrets of the world. He doesn’t need to. They all echo in Geralt’s eyes.

It’s sweet, the pain. It’s melodic, the plea. Jaskier, please, stay with me, you fool, you’re alright, stay with me.

He wants to laugh. He’s long gone.

The greatest act, to die for love. A fitting ending, for a poet. He wishes someone will write it, this story, their story, and maybe give it a happier ending. Maybe they will go to the coast. Maybe they’ll end up closing their eyes together, holding each other tight, and maybe there’s no blood, only bitter tears of happiness.

It’s a fairytale. It can’t be tragic.

I love you, you’ll be alright, please, please don’t leave me alone.

A forehead pressed against his and he stares at Geralt and, oh, how he misses him already, and how bright he looks in his sorrow, how beautiful behind the veil that slowly falls between them. Jaskier parts his lips, chokes. “Geralt,” he croaks and it sounds like a sob uttered by every single wilting flower in the world. “Geralt, look at me.” He raises a trembling hand on his face, his fingertips leaving smudges of blood over the falling tears.

Geralt doesn’t look. Only stares at the wound, and back at Jaskier, unfocused, horrified, numb, as though it won’t happen if he doesn’t acknowledge.

It’s darker now, and there’s a last grip holding him back, and Jaskier knows it’s the warmth of Geralt’s hug, always is. “If I die for you, will you live for me, love?” he whispers and finally, finally Geralt turns at him, eyes wide, and Jaskier smiles, something close to a wince, as though it’ll hurt less like that, letting go.

Geralt shakes his head. “If I refuse will you stay alive?”

A huff. Painful. “No. No, I don’t think so.” It’s silent like the breeze now, his voice. Jaskier wipes the rivers of tears on Geralt’s cheek and smiles again, and this time it’s genuine, probably because it’s the last one. “It’s alright, hush. You’re not alone.” Shaking, he removes silver strands away from Geralt’s eyes, and slumps, leans on his shoulder as though finally resting. “Hush now, my love. Let me look into your eyes one last time.”

He does. He looks. It’s the same eyes, same as always, warm and loving, like a tender caress.

To die for love. How tragic. But what is a poet’s love, if not the most heart-wrenching tragedy?

The bloodied hand gently falls on the floor.

There’s a streak of red light coming through the stained window, and rests on blue eyes, mistaking them for the peaceful sea after a storm in their stillness.

They stare, forever open, and somehow forever warm.

They stare, and Geralt finally stares back. And slowly, agonizingly, like a sob echoing in eternity between the pages of every promised fairytale, he screams.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #major character death #cursed geralt #chrysa writes #what about the bard #watb #fic recs #angst #you know i had to do it to em #i don't really like this but ehhh

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

Prompt idea: Geralt gets a contract for a monster that has been sighted nearby. When he tracks it down, he is surprised to find mothman!Jaskier who (much like actual mothman) has an ass that won’t quit.

?

I just want you to know that Mothskier now lives in my head rent free 24/7. I love him. I would die for him. This is my new favorite emotional support au.

2k-ish words - please feel free to shove comments through the bars of my enclosure, I would really like that

art by the ever-wonderful @mawbwehownets, whose drawing of Mothskier made me legit cry.

tw: mild injury, brief blood mention, strangers to lovers

---

“So what you’re saying,” Geralt raises an eyebrow slowly, curious, “Is that you need me to catch a monster that’s half man and half moth?”

“Yup.”

“Alright,” Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer finger. The frustrated Witcher takes a slow breath to calm and center himself, before he ends up botching the entire contract-writing process. Humans tend to grow attached to the strangest monsters sometimes, and apparently this mysterious local being was no different. “Let me get this totally straight, so there are no mistakes or misunderstandings. You want me to capture this man-moth and get it out of your woods, but you don’t want me to kill it?”

“He’s called the Mothman, and he’s pretty damn stubborn about sticking around,” the aging farmer corrects Geralt with a little frown. Then his expression shifts and he smiles in a way that seems almost apologetic. “We were hoping you could find a way to relocate him without hurting or killing him, Master Witcher.”

“That’s completely possible, if he isn’t attached to this specific patch trees by any magical or biological means. You said his natural habitat is just… the forest?”

“As long as there's an abundance of pine around he seems pretty happy. Before he came to live with us, Mothman lived in a heavily forested area up the coast; or at least that’s what the historical records and local mythology seem to indicate.”

“That’s actually pretty helpful information to have on hand, I’m impressed,” Geralt nods. “Alright, Mr. Stevens. I promise to relocate the poor thing without killing or maiming him, and I’ll be sure to take him somewhere far enough away that your crops won’t be in danger. Thanks for calling me first instead of just going straight to an extermination service.”

“Honestly, Master Witcher,” the farmer sighs and readjusts his dirty baseball hat, “If it weren’t for the mischief he’s been getting into lately, we would have let him stick around until spring. I hate to admit it to a man as strong and stern-faced as yourself, but the poor creature is almost… adorable at times.”

“Well that’s a first,” Geralt chuckles, honestly amused by the situation he’s found himself in. “A monster being referred to as ‘adorable’ rather than ‘terrifying’. I’ve never heard such a thing in my many years of life.”

“Then you’d better prepare yourself, Sir Geralt. He’s got a pair of big blue puppy-dog eyes that’ll knock you on your ass if you aren’t careful. And that’s coming from a man who raised three daughters with dimples.”

“Hmm. Fuck.”

---

Geralt knows enough about moths to come up with a plan he thinks will work.

Before he heads into the woods to find and capture the poor wandering creature, the Witcher takes a detour through the lighting section of the nearest Lowe’s.

---

Unfortunately for Geralt, the farmer was right about the power of Mothman’s puppy dog eyes, which are big and blue and begin to water as soon as the Witcher’s net knocks him to the ground. The creature lies in a whimpering tangle of limbs beneath the heavy, magically enhanced restraints. Geralt takes an opportunity to look at what the locals called "a cryptid".

Mothman has a long, lithe body that's covered in a light layer of grey-brown fur, but his hair resembles that of a human’s, falling over those enormous blue eyes in a lovely chestnut fringe. When Mothman sees the swords on Geralt’s back he cries out in panicked recognition and tries to pull his arms up far enough to shield his face. The lamp Geralt used to lure him into the clearing is still bathing him in a pool of yellow light; it’s almost pretty for a monster, Geralt notes.

As the Witcher takes a step forward, the cryptid squeaks and buries his face against his own shoulder. His entire frame is trembling.

“Hey there, shhhhh,” the Witcher murmurs quietly. He drops into a squat and holds both hands up to show Mothman that they’re weapon free. Tears are now falling freely down the creature’s surprisingly human face; whoever or whatever this is, they are likely some kind of Fae. “I’m not here to hurt you, I just want to get you back through the veil.”

“Liar,” Mothman huffs. His voice has a surprisingly musical quality to it and Geralt is now sure of his Fae parentage (or grand-parentage).

“I promise I’m not lying,” Geralt reassures him, slowly crawling forward. When he reaches for the nearest corner of the net, he feels all of Mothman’s muscles go tense. “I’m going to lift this up and I am going to restrain you, but I swear that I’m not going to kill you. I wish to cause as little distress as possible. Is that alright, Mothman?”

The creature hisses and yanks his foot back away from where Geralt’s hand had nearly touched it. “Jaskier.”

“Hmm?” Geralt glances up, raising an eyebrow.

“My name is Jaskier,” the Fae repeats, glaring up from between the sections of woven rope that make up the heavy net. “Not Mothman.”

“My apologies, Jaskier,” Geralt bows his head. He words his introduction carefully, in case this thing can manipulate his name like others of his kind: “You may refer to me as Geralt.”

“That’s your real name,” Jaskier states. The Witcher’s head snaps up.

“How did you know?”

“Hmm,” Jaskier sticks his tongue out as he mimics the sound Geralt made earlier. “Not telli-AH! Stop! Oh go- gods, stop! Please!”

Geralt drops the short section of rope he’s trying untangle from around Jaskier’s ankle and snaps his eyes upwards, already searching for damage. “What’s wrong!?”

“My wing!” Jaskier bawls. His scent spikes out through the clearing, sharp with panic and pain. The creature’s chest begins to shake more violently than before, his shoulders shuddering with the rising force of his sobs, “It’s t-t-torn! Oh gods, my wing! Sir Witcher, p-please!”

Geralt freezes, his gaze settling on the torn section of Jaskier’s large, furry wing. It’s a nasty wound near one of the joints, a faint trickle of barely-luminescent blood has already dried around the edges. Jaskier tries to flutter it a little and screams in agony when the muscles shift too suddenly, shrilly enough that Geralt needs to cover his hypersensitive ears. The Witcher's heart crashes down into his boots; based on the way the shivering Fae has gone pale and silent, the pain is too much for him to process. He’s gone into shock.

A torn wing is exactly the kind of thing Geralt had promised the farmer (and the collective of townspeople he represented) wouldn’t happen to the peaceful moth creature if they hired a Witcher instead of an exterminator. He sighs and gives the strange being another once-over. “Everything's alright, Jaskier. You’re going to be alright. I’m so, so sorry that you've been wounded. We’ll get you out of this net and get you something for the pain, but it’s going to hurt a little to untangle you. Stay still, don’t struggle, and it’ll be over soon.”

“J-Just kill me,” Jaskier pants. He’s continuing to hyperventilate and Geralt needs him to calm down before he passes out. The Fae reaches a hand for the dagger at Geralt's waist and the Witcher twists out of reach with a frown. Jaskier sobs again, fingers still seeking, “I might n-n-never fly a-again so just k-kill me!”

“Breathe with me, Jaskier,” the Witcher instructs, forgoing patience and cutting through the net with that same dagger. He scoops Jaskier up into his arms, ignoring the keening sound at the back of Jaskier’s throat when his wing is jostled, and rushes the Fae to his truck, tucking him into the passenger’s seat and wrapping him in a large, fluffy blanket. “I’m taking you to my friend. She’s an expert at healing magical creatures and I'm certain that she'll get your wing fixed in no time.”

Jaskier doesn’t give an answer. When Geralt looks up into the creature’s face again, the injured Fae has already passed out.

---

Jaskier moves with all the grace of a newborn foal as he explores the room Geralt has provided for him. His wing has been inspected, treated, and bandaged by a rather scary sorceress named Yennefer, who glared at the Witcher the entire time she was caring for him. She had also taken one of Geralt’s old t-shirts and cut an enormous hole in the back for Jaskier’s wings to fit through. The shirt’s bottom hem falls to the middle of his thighs and the thick black material is softer than anything he’d ever felt before.

He hears a knock on the door and calls out, “It’s open!”

Geralt enters slowly, bearing a pair of pajama bottoms and a mug of tea. “I brought you some last minute supplies and - uh… I brought you some tea. Yen always likes some before she goes to sleep and I figured since this was a new place and new places can be scary that I should-”

“Thank you,” Jaskier interrupts, smiling shyly. His antennae twitch happily as he takes the offerings from Geralt's hands and the Witcher watches them with wide eyes. Jaskier carefully sets the pajamas and the tea on the nightstand before turning back to look at Geralt. “I will… see you tomorrow?”

Geralt gives one sharp nod. “Hmm.”

“Goodnight,” Jaskier sing-songs, taking a seat on the edge of the bed as Geralt exits.

From the other side of the closed door, Jaskier’s superior hearing picks up the Witcher’s final whisper: “Goodnight, Jaskier. I will always be sorry for causing you pain.”

The next morning he meets Geralt at the breakfast table, refreshed and ready to learn about the human world. He’s summoned a glamour in order to hide his more Moth-like traits, the only things that remain of his true nature are his wings and antennae; his fur is gone and he’s dressed in a pair of sweatpants and that same old shirt. The Witcher offers him a bowl of fruit and mug of something sweet-smelling. Jaskier glares into the mug with a slight pout to his lips before finally asking, “What is this?”

“Hot chocolate.”

Jaskier takes a sip and his antennae flutter, twitching happily as he swallows the best drink he’s ever had in his long life. He eats a strawberry from the bowl and slowly works his way through the hot chocolate, eyeing Geralt warily as the Witcher moves through the familiar kitchen to make his own breakfast.

“Where is Yennefer?”

“She went home,” Geralt shrugs.

“She isn’t your mate?”

“N-No,” Geralt sputters, turning to stare at the nervous young Fae. “Why would you think that?”

“You smell like each other.”

“We spend a lot of time together,” Geralt shrugs again. “Good friends, that’s all.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier mimics his host for a second time. Rather effectively by the annoyed twitch at the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “Just wondering.”

“Anything else you’re curious about?”

“Why don’t you have more lights?”

“Huh?”

“Lights,” Jaskier gestures around the minimalistic layout of Geralt’s open-concept kitchen/living room and its distinctive lack of lamps. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans forward against the dark marble countertop. The pout has gone from 'slight' to 'full-bore' and Geralt is clinging desperately to his braincell with how cute it looks. “It’s no fun.”

“You really like lamps, don’t you?” the Witcher replies, mouth dry. Jaskier huffs and takes another sip of his hot chocolate, antennae flickering back and forth in irritation. Geralt bites his lip to hide a smile; it’s too fucking cute, which is an odd thought for a Witcher to have.

“So what if I do enjoy a nice lamp or five in my living space?” Jaskier argues. "I'm a Moth of taste."

“No matter,” Geralt laughs quietly. “Finish your drink before it gets cold.”

---

Jaskier stays with Geralt for a few weeks while his wing heals, and for a creature whose sole interest seems to be fancy light fixtures, the Fae becomes a source of light in Geralt's own world. They go to a nonhuman friendly second-hand store to find Jaskier some more clothes and Geralt discovers the cryptid's love for oddly patterned shirts in bright colors. Jaskier chooses several to fill out his closet, as well as a sweater two-sizes too large in deep black (Geralt tries his best not to attach any meaning to this choice), a few pairs of pants, and a jean jacket that he declares, "Can be altered."

They watch movies together and make food together - Jaskier is always incredibly impressed by the way the automatic coffee maker works, and how easily Geralt can control the flames of the stove. Jaskier also follows the Witcher along on less dangerous hunts and helps bandage him up after worse ones, always there with a smile and a little kiss over the cleaned-up wound.

“It really is magic,” Jaskier always insists, lips pink and shining from licking them as he concentrates. "It makes you heal faster."

Geralt realizes one night - two weeks into Jaskier’s stay, as he leans against the doorframe and watches the strange creature’s even breathing - that he has gone and done the stupidest thing a Witcher can do: fall in love with a pretty, temperamental young Fae. Head over fuckin’ heels, actually.

So he makes a decision.

---

The next evening, after the dinner dishes have been cleaned and put away, Geralt herds Jaskier down the hall to the guest room. Those entrancing blue eyes blink up at him in obvious confusion. “Bedtime already?”

“No, not quite. I just- I made you… uh…”

“Do you have a surprise for me?” Jaskier asks, used to the Witcher's issues with verbalizing.

Geralt nods, relieved and thankful for the Fae’s steadfast understanding. “Do you want to cover your eyes or should I just open the door and show you?”

“I’ll close my eyes,” Jaskier smiles, covering his eyes with both hands. Geralt finds it adorable, as Jaskier always is, and allows himself a matching grin as he swings the door open. The ceiling light is off but Geralt has built a blanket fort at the center of the room and surrounded it with fairy lights of all colors and sizes. Inside the blanket fort is a mass of blankets and pillows; Jaskier has the odd habit of building nests - Geralt jokingly calls them cocoons - and sleeping in those on the floor instead of on the very comfortable mattress the Witcher has provided.

“Open them,” Geralt urges.

Jaskier pulls his hands away and Geralt watches as his pupils go huge and wide. Jaskier's face breaks out in the sunniest, most blindingly happy smile Geralt has ever seen. He turns and throws his arms around the Witcher, his wings fluttering behind him and his antennae twitching and flicking above his head. He tries desperately to speak but only manages a half-snuffled little “I’m-” before bursting into tears of joy.

Geralt just holds him, letting his arms fold carefully around Jaskier’s waist, just beneath his wings.

"I just wanted you to know that, if you wanted to stay, there would be room for you. Your room, if you want it."

"I do," Jaskier smiles, burying his face in the Witcher's neck. "I'd love to stay. I'd love nothing more than to spend my days going on adventures with you."

"Well then," Geralt gathers all of his courage and presses a soft kiss to the crown of Jaskier's head. He's met with happy spasms from the antennae so he does it again. And again. Moving from the top of the Fae's head to his cheeks and then his mouth - pretty and pink and pouting and so worth the trouble. "I suppose we can get started on our next adventure tomorrow."

#mothskier #mothman jaskier #cryptid jaskier #creature jaskier #witcher geralt #the witcher netflix #geraskier #geraskier ficlet #geraskier fic #geraskier fluff #bouncey's endless getting together fics #bouncey's endless au collection #LYSSA WHY #WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO ME #art and fic #collab sorta #prompt fill #geraskier prompt fill #bouncey answers #ahhhhhhhh #mothskier!!!!

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

The Way I Am

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier Warning(s): virgin!geralt, loss of virginity, erectile dysfunction Rating: explicit

Summary: Geralt doesn't think anyone could ever want him because he can't perform sexually, Jaskier makes a point of proving him wrong.

Geralt has never been wholly comfortable with his body. It was essentially created to kill monsters and survive and for no other purpose and it does its job, but Geralt doesn't like it. And not only because now that he's older it's covered in scars and his left knee has never been the same since the injury, but his body doesn't function normally. He's not supposed to be human, not any longer, but he hates that his heartbeat is so slow, hates that he can't turn off the hypersensitivity when he's in a crowd. 

But the second round of trials brought with them an additional problem that he doesn't share with the others. When he was younger, it was his hair that bothered him the most, that set him apart even from the other Witchers who shared the rest of his maladies, but as he grew his hair became the least of his problems.

Geralt was fourteen when he realized his cock didn't work the same as everyone else's. Which is to say, it didn't work at all.

It wasn't unusual for the boys to mess around with one another; they were all learning and developing and with the heightened senses it could be a lot. But Geralt never had before and the very first time it went… badly. The other boy had been confused as to why he couldn't get hard and when Geralt had continued to struggle, the other boy eventually tired of waiting and went off to find someone else.

It hadn't meant much at the time, but Geralt had continued to dwell on it, thinking about the look on the other boy's face, how wrong it had made him feel. He hadn't tried again after that, afraid to face the same confusion and rejection a second time, afraid to even share his secret with those closest to him. Eskel, he's sure, wouldn't care that he was broken, but Geralt wasn't willing to take that chance.

So when they set out on the Path, Geralt makes a point to avoid sex in any context, bottling up the need when it arises and focusing on his job above anything else. He knows no one will want him because he has nothing to offer them in bed and that's just something he has to live with. But he still feels the need, still desires a soft touch, but even that seems beyond his reach because he's a Witcher and people have little love for Witchers.

Then, he meets Jaskier who is both a blessing and a curse. Because Jaskier is soft and sweet and beautiful and treats Geralt like he's no different than anyone else, but Jaskier is also stunningly beautiful and Geralt longs to get his hands on him. But he knows how that would end, so he keeps him at arm's length, and still, Jaskier just continues traipsing around after him. He takes his leave on occasion, but never longer than a few weeks at a time before he's bounding back into Geralt's life with some new wonderful thing to tell him about.

And Geralt, regrettably, falls hard.

He can't tell Jaskier how he feels because he knows the second they fell into bed together, the whole thing would fall apart. Because no one wants someone who can't perform and at this point, Geralt is so inexperienced, he'd be embarrassed to even consider sleeping with someone, even someone as caring as Jaskier.

So he keeps his feelings to himself for years, suffering through Jaskier's failed relationships and many more dalliances in between. And he tells himself he's okay with it because he could never be what Jaskier wants anyway. Then one night, they're in the city for a festival. Jaskier is performing and between sets he's ducking back to their table, chatting away happily with Geralt and sharing drinks with him. And by the end of the night, they're both a little drunk.

So when Jaskier saunters up and climbs into his lap, Geralt doesn't stop him. Because Jaskier's hands feel good on him and he so rarely gets to indulge in even the faintest of touches. Jaskier's sitting back, smiling at him as he twists his fingers through Geralt's hair and then he gently tips forward, pressing their foreheads together.

"Geralt?" he breathes, "Can I kiss you?"

Everything in him screams no because he can't let himself have this little bit of Jaskier and then never again, but he's already come this far. So he nods, slips a hand up around the back of Jaskier's neck and pulls him close.

And Jaskier's mouth slides against his own like it was meant for it, soft and needy and he doesn't seem to care that Geralt is a little out of his depth. He guides him, showing him how to move and Geralt copies Jaskier's motions as well as he can, licking lightly into his mouth and nibbling on his lip.

Jaskier moans against him, sliding forward so their bodies are pressed together, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging and oh he likes that. But then Jaskier pushes further, sliding a hand down Geralt's chest and pressing against his crotch, and Geralt panics.

He shoves him away without thinking, sitting back in his seat, and when he looks up Jaskier looks hurt and confused. And Geralt knows he can't tell but he doesn't know what to say to him, so he pushes himself up and hurries away, making for their room.

He shuts the door and locks it behind him, stripping out of his outer layers and curling up in the bed. He knows Jaskier will be back before too long or if Geralt's lucky, he'll find someone else's bed to sleep in tonight and Geralt won't have to worry about him until the morning.

But it isn't long before Geralt hears the clink of a key in the hole and the door pushing open into the room. He doesn't look up and he doesn't move from his spot on the bed, but he listens to Jaskier. The door shuts and Jaskier crosses to the other side of the room, carefully undressing, but what Geralt isn't expecting is to hear the sound of his footsteps coming back toward him. Then the blankets are pulled back and a gust of cold air hits his back before Jaskier climbs up into bed with him.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, reaching out and tentatively brushing his fingers along Geralt's back. "I didn't mean to push, I thought it would be okay."

"It's fine," Geralt whispers.

"Obviously not, darling or you wouldn't have pulled away like that. I don't mind."

"It is," Geralt insists, "I… like when you touch me."

"Okay. What was bad about tonight, then?" Geralt just groans into his pillow, pulling it up around his face. One of Jaskier's hands comes up to settle on his arm and he leans up over him. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. But you can, Geralt. You can talk to me about anything."

"It's just," he pauses, curling his fingers around the edge of the pillow in frustration. "I'm… broken." Immediately, he can feel Jaskier's despair and he doesn't know what else to say, he doesn't want to make it worse.

"You're not, love."

"I am," he snaps, frustrated by Jaskier's continued gentleness. "My fucking prick doesn't work, Jaskier."

"Oh," Jaskier says quietly and Geralt wants to scream, to throw something, but Jaskier just wraps his arms around him and holds him closer. "They have medications for that, enchantments."

"They don't work. I got desperate once and tried, even Yen- It was the trials, Jaskier, it's irreversible."

"The others-" he starts but Geralt cuts him off.

"Just me."

Jaskier nuzzles against his back and squeezes more firmly around him. There's silence for a long time, just the sound of Jaskier's breath, and Geralt focuses on the steady rise and fall, letting it soothe him.

"You know," Jaskier whispers at length, "none of that matters to me. I'm so sorry you were made to feel like you were somehow broken, Geralt, but it doesn't matter to me. I- I love you. For who you are, not for your cock, and I don't want you to think something's wrong with you because of it. You're too important to me." Geralt scoffs and Jaskier flattens his palm against his chest, sliding up over his heart.

"Don't argue with me, Witcher. "My love is mine to give."

"But I'm-"

Jaskier sighs softly, brushing his fingers against Geralt's skin. "Beautiful," he whispers, "kind, soft, loving. You're a wonderful man, Geralt, and there are already so many who refuse to see that. Don't be one of them. I'm not going to stop loving you, so you might as well accept it."

He presses his forehead against Geralt's back, kissing up his spine and Geralt shudders under the touch, biting back the insistence that he's not enough, that Jaskier will tire of him because he can't fuck him. Eventually, the soft brush of Jaskier's fingers and his lips calms him and Geralt drifts off, still wrapped up in his arms.

In the morning, he wakes to Jaskier's breath against the back of his neck. They've shifted during the night, so Jaskier is curved right around him, fitted against his body like he belongs there, and as soon as he realizes Geralt's awake, Jaskier kisses the side of his neck and slides an arm up his chest.

"Good morning," he hums.

"Mm, morning."

"How did you sleep, love?" Geralt hums but doesn't answer. He slept better than he has in a long time, but he doesn't know how to say that to Jaskier. "Can I ask you something?"

"Mm?"

"Does it still feel good when someone touches you?"

"I… don't know."

"Can I?"

"You don't have to," Geralt breathes, "I know it's not worth it for you-"

"Geralt," Jaskier interrupts gently, "I thought we went over this. I am in love with you and it's going to take a lot more than a soft prick to keep me away so unless you tell me not to, I will do everything I can to make you feel good."

Jaskier shifts behind him, and the arm wrapped around him slips lower, fingertips slipping through the patch of hair right above his waistband.

"Can I?" Jaskier asks again and Geralt can't bring himself to speak, too afraid to break whatever spell or dream he's trapped in. He nods against the pillow and Jaskier leans up, kissing his shoulder. "Tell me if it's too much, love."

Jaskier fumbles a little with the buttons on his trousers, getting them undone with one hand before slipping inside and wrapping around his cock. He squeezes a little at first, then moves on to stroking him slowly, letting Geralt feel him as he moves down the length of him. Sparks shoot up his spine and Geralt squirms, pushing into the touch and groaning softly because no one has ever touched him like this and it's overwhelming.

"I can't," he whispers and Jaskier immediately lets him go, but Geralt can feel Jaskier's cock swelling against his lower back and it only makes him feel guilty. "No one's ever touched me like that."

"Darling, I'm so sorry. Did it feel good?"

"Yeah."

"Good," Jaskier hums, "that's all I want." Jaskier smoothes his hand up Geralt's side, kissing his shoulders and humming against him. "Do you want to try again? It can be a little overwhelming, but I promise you it'll feel good."

Jaskier gets his hand around him again and Geralt groans as he strokes him, fingers slipping up around the head of his cock pulling back at the foreskin so he can touch him properly. Pressure builds as Jaskier touches him, squeezing around the base then pulling up the length of him again. And Geralt can barely breathe, he’s engulfed with pleasure as Jaskier kisses his neck and his shoulders and presses up against him.

And Jaskier is hard, digging into the small of his back and Geralt wants so badly to turn around and touch him, but he can hardly think through the fog of pleasure. His hips twitch forward, pressing himself into Jaskier's hand and Jaskier loosens his grip a little, letting Geralt fuck between his fingers.

"You're beautiful like this," Jaskier whispers, "Geralt you have no idea how lovely you are." He hums against him, pressing his nose into Geralt's hair. "Are you gonna come for me?"

"It feels-" Geralt gasps, but then Jaskier's hand is around him again, slipping to the base to stroke him quickly.

"Good?" Jaskier asks.

"Like I'm gonna split apart."

"Yeah, it will. You're so close, love, so close."

Geralt jerks in his grasp as the pleasure peaks and he's not certain how he can contain this feeling but then he's coming, spilling over Jaskier's hand and onto the sheets. And he's never felt anything like it before but it's incredible. Blood rushes in his ears and he's only barely aware of Jaskier talking to him as he whines and squirms against him.

Then it's over and he's left panting and hot, sweat gathering at the hollow of his neck and Jaskier's hand slips up his chest soothingly.

"How was that?" he breathes, pressing his lips to Geralt's shoulder.

"Felt good," Geralt mumbles, "really good."

"Yeah," Jaskier agrees, "it feels incredible. And just think of all the different ways I can make you come." His hips jerk, pressing into Geralt's back and he mutters a faint apology against his skin.

"What about you?" Geralt asks, turning in Jaskier's arms to face him. Jaskier tips forward, catching his lips in a brief kiss.

"This is for you, my darling, we can worry about me another time."

"I've never," Geralt starts but he feels awkward talking about it and ducks his head, staring instead at where Jaskier's hand reaches out to twine his fingers with his own. "I've never been with anyone and I know I can't, but…" he trails off and Jaskier presses in again, kissing his lips before tipping his head up.

"Geralt if you want me to fuck you all you have to do is ask."

"I didn't think anyone would want to."

"I do. Fuck, Geralt, the number of times I've thought about it… I've always wanted you ever since the first day. I don't care how your body reacts as long as you're enjoying yourself. So yes, Geralt, if you want me to fuck you I'd be more than happy to."

"Please?" Geralt breathes and Jaskier gets both arms around him, hauling him up against him and rolling onto his back.

Geralt settles quickly as Jaskier's hands slide down his back and over his ass, catching on the waistband of his trousers. When he tips his head up, Jaskier is looking back at him, his eyes dark with lust but somehow still soft and Geralt can't help but dip down, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. And Jaskier hums against him, sliding one hand back up to the back of his head and deepening the kiss.

He presses one thigh between Geralt's legs drawing him in and Geralt lets out a shuddering breath as his cock grinds up against Jaskier's leg.

"That's it," Jaskier hums, "I'm here for you, too, darling just wanna make you feel good." He pushes his trousers down, encouraging the roll of Geralt's hips as he gets them off of him and then, as he brings his hands back up, Geralt's attention is diverted.

His cock feels incredible where he presses it into Jaskier's thigh, but practiced fingers slip up over his ass, spreading his cheeks and dipping between and Geralt holds his breath. Realistically, he knows how men have sex, has seen his brothers do it and has come across it more than once in his travels, but he never expected it to happen to him and he can barely think.

Jaskier reaches for something on the floor, fumbling with it, and the next time he touches him, his fingers are cool and slick. He drags them across Geralt's hole and Geralt whines at the sensation that flickers through him. He drops to his elbows, burying his face in Jaskier's neck.

"Feel good?"

"Mmhm."

"Good. Want more?"

"Please."

"Mm," Jaskier hums, "how could I refuse when you ask so nicely?"

He brushes his fingers over him again, letting them catch on his rim and pressing a little firmer when they do. He circles his hole, pressing against it consistently and then pushes the tip of one finger into him and Geralt nearly cries out. Jaskier's free hand comes up to the back of his neck, stroking slowly.

"Still good?" he asks and when Geralt nods he hums pleasantly. "Good. It's gonna stretch a little, especially when I get my cock in you, but just tell me if it's too much, okay?"

Jaskier presses in a little further and Geralt inhales sharply. He remembers all the calming techniques he was taught as a child and shuts his eyes, breathing slowly. It feels good, having Jaskier's finger inside him and he likes the stretch of it, but he's already creeping close to the edge again, the pressure within him building and he doesn't want it to be over yet, he wants Jaskier to fuck him.

And it feels incredible when Jaskier adds a second finger, when he presses all the way in and rubs into him. He finds a spot deep within him that has Geralt moaning wantonly and grinding hard against Jaskier's cock. And Jaskier groans under him, not faltering as he continues thrusting into him, sending sparks of pleasure up Geralt's spine.

"Fuck," Jaskier groans, "Geralt you're so fucking sexy and you know I'd be happy to make you come on my fingers ten times over, but I'm not gonna last with you grinding against me like that. Think you're ready for my cock?"

"Yes," Geralt rasps and Jaskier is quick to pull out of him, but Geralt doesn't have the chance to miss the fullness before he's being shifted and the head of Jaskier's cock is pressing against him, pushing in.

It's much bigger than his fingers, but Geralt just keeps himself steady, face pressed into Jaskier's shoulder as he takes all of him. And once Jaskier is settled, he shifts his hips slowly, allowing Geralt to adjust to the intrusion.

And it feels amazing, the absolute fullness and the pressure against his cock as Jaskier's thrusts rock him and the fact that it's Jaskier, that he wants him despite everything. Geralt can't cope and he shuts his eyes, burying his face in Jaskier's neck and kissing him softly, frantically.

Jaskier keeps up the pace, finding an angle that hits that spot and sticking with it until Geralt can only whimper and moan with every thrust. It's all so much and before long, he's moving with him, unable to keep still any longer. He pushes back onto Jaskier's cock and ruts against his stomach, whining at the sensitivity of his cock and then without warning, he's coming.

He spills over Jaskier's stomach, dropping against him as waves of pleasure crash over him and he's barely aware of Jaskier coming too until he's pulling his head up and kissing him hard.

They rock through it together and Jaskier doesn't let him go for a second, running his hands over him and kissing him eagerly. It takes longer this time before Geralt finds his breath again, and when he does, Jaskier is right there with him, cheeks flushed and bright, and he can't help but lean in to kiss him again.

He doesn't know how long it is that they lay there, wrapped up in each other just kissing and touching, but eventually, it's Jaskier who pulls away.

"As much as I'd love to stay here for the rest of the day," he hums, lips still barely an inch from Geralt's, "I think we should have a bath and get some lunch."

Geralt would also like to stay in bed for the rest of the day, but his stomach grumbles at him and he finds himself agreeing. Jaskier runs a hand down his chest, wrapping loosely around his cock and brushing his fingers along it. Geralt's eyes flutter shut and Jaskier hums softly.

"If you're amenable," he breathes, "I'd like to rent a room at the kingfisher, one of the nice ones, and stay for a while." He slips his hand back up Geralt's chest and around the side of his neck. "I think we both deserve a break and I'd like some time to… get to know you better." His lips curl up in a cheeky smile and Geralt scoffs at him but doesn't resist when Jaskier draws him back in for a gentle kiss.

A shiver runs up his spine and Geralt thinks, maybe, that despite its flaws, his body isn't so bad after all.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #rex writes #spicy

[burningblake]

ok i just finished my 8-hour long marathon of the witcher and I have opinions to share, some bitter some good, so let's start with the good:

I absolutely adored the yennefer-jaskier bonding scenes, especially when she hugged him and he was so surprised asdfgh and then how she saved him, my lovely girl has such a big heart and love to give. also bonus jaskier later defending her actions to geralt omg adorable

the moment tissaia sees yennefer after she thought she was dead 😭😭😭

the yennefer - geralt reunion I freaking replayed it so many times!! And then when Geralt introduced her to Ciri and that talk they had, asdfg found family united at last. (Would have loved the "dear friend" letter but I understand it wouldn't fit the pace and the vibe of the show to suddenly see geralt and yen writing letters)

The dessert!!!!

The unicorn reference!! 🤭🤭

I loved that Ciri's training is slow and gradual and she didn't like get all perfect and fearless at once

Ok that about sums up the good things, now the bad things, well!! I have a lot of complaints and quite honestly I am salty, if you don't want the negativity, don't read further but I need to express it so..

Why oh why the fuck did they change the plot so much?! What was this absolute shit with the hut spirit? Why???????? I am so pissed!!!

Listen!! Yennefer met Cirilla because Geralt ASKED her to take care of her and help her control her magic and YENNEFER was so different from Geralt in her teachings that Cirilla instantly made her her role model and thought of her as a mother figure!!!

THEY FLEED WITH THE HORSES FROM MELITELE BECAUSE YEN WAS PROTECTING HER WHAT THE ABSOLUTE HORSESHIT

yennefer would have never sacrificed an innocent life (much less CIRI!) no matter the cost, she valued life more than anything, SHE FREAKING RISKED HER LIFE TO SAVE A RANDOM BABY and you're telling me she would steal Geralt's baby and give her to the wolves?! EXCUSE ME but I call bullshit. Like sorry for the all-caps but I'm feeling strongly about this, they destroyed the perfect mother-daughter relationship from the books and I AM BITTER

why spend an entire episode at the beginning with that meaningless non-canon plot about yen fringilla and francesca finding some ancient spirit that determined their paths for the entire show WHEN WE COULD HAVE HAD AN EPISODE OF YEN TRAINING WITH CIRI WTF!!!!!!!!

Why the fuck is tissaia with vilgefortz? Where did that freaking come from?! LISTEN! TISSAIA IS EITHER A LESBIAN OR ASEXUAL LEAVE HER THE FUCK ALONE

The Geralt-Rience fight scene was supposed to be like this: Rience finds Geralt and he insults Yennefer in his face and so Geralt pretty much tells him that that insult just determined his fate and killed him on the spot because no one insults his wifey. INSTEAD Yennefer somehow freaking led him to Geralt?! As a distraction to take away Ciri?! HONESTLY FUCK THE FUCK OFF

Also why all that queerbaiting? Like excuse me but I am fairly certain that when Cahir asked Fringilla about her relationship with Francesca and he said "is she just a friend?" and that look fringilla made?! Yeah that was gay and then they twisted it to "she is your plan" yeah I'll tell you what plan her freaking wedding plan!

Even though I understand the cost Yennefer paid for her heroism at Sodden, I still think it was too far-stretched for her to only get her magic back at the very end and only to perform a small healing. My girl should have been able to join the final fight and save Ciri single-handedly along with Geralt and not be like "oh I made a potion"

Which leads to another thing I am bitter about, how did her "making a potion" serve the plot? Such a lazy writing ugh!!!

I HATE NETFLIX

All in all the bad things far outweigh the good for me - they changed so many freaking things without freaking reason!!!!! Ugh I am so annoyed and dissapointed! Truly sorry for the negativity, you can block me if you want, I am simply having a moment and I can't help being so salty about this

#the witcher #the witcher spoilers #yennefer of vengerberg

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

IUI - The Way I Love You

bear with me here folks

I know the Idiots are usually soft af. but my lovely spouse/fiance/soon-to-be-fiance and beta @dani-dandelino hit me with an idea and I added a dash handful of angst bc i couldn’t help it

Warnings: feelings of inadequacy, fear of breakup (no actual breakup I promise), miscommunication, drunk af Geralt, past shitty relationships, happy ending tho I promise, there’s tears but they’re happy I swear.

______________________________________

Geralt only ever got sloppy drunk when Jaskier was the DD. It wasn’t necessarily that he didn’t trust anyone else, it was that he didn’t trust his drunk boyfriend not to goad him into something stupid. 

The last time they’d both gotten fucked up outside of their apartment they woke up with three traffic cones and a “Speed Hump” sign in their living room. When they asked Triss what happened she sent them a video of them giggling as they tried to fit the sign into her trunk.

After hanging the sign in their apartment, they decided it may be best to take turns. 

This particular instance, they’d dropped Triss and Yen off and were on their way home, Geralt’s head lolling against the window as he fought to stay awake. 

“I’m not carrying your perky ass upstairs,” Jaskier laughed, snapping his fingers near Geralt’s ear. 

Geralt grumbled but sat up straight and leaned into Jaskier’s outstretched hand, “Radio.”

Affectionately rolling his eyes, Jaskier pulled his hand away and flipped on the radio. Geralt immediately gasped and started singing along off key and slurred. The first time Jaskier heard Geralt scream along to Taylor Swift he’d been shocked, if extremely endeared. 

“BUT I MISS SCREAMIN’ AND FIGHTIN AND KISSIN IN THE RAIN! IT’S TWO AM AND I’M CURSIN’ YOUR NAME! SO IN LOVE THAT WE ACTED INSANE, AND THAT’S THE WAY I LOVED YOUUUUUUUUU!”

Jaskier turned the volume down to a reasonable level when Geralt cranked it so loud his ears might start ringing. He rolled his eyes when Geralt started singing it to him, taking the shortcut home and trying to ignore the little pit forming in his stomach. 

When the song ended Geralt turned the radio down and picked up his hand not gripping the steering wheel, “Jask?”

“Mhm?”

Even in the car, Geralt glanced around conspiratorially before whispering, “I have a secret.”

Fear flared in Jaskier’s chest but he took a deep, calming breath, reminding himself who he was talking to. His boyfriend thought secrets were fun. Mostly because Geralt’s version of a secret was keeping what he made for dinner a surprise until Jaskier got home. He’d even felt guilty not telling Jaskier he was seeing a therapist when they’d started dating. For all his gruff exterior and suspicion, Geralt really was an open book with those he loved and trusted. Jaskier had a very different idea of what secrets in a relationship meant. 

“What’s that, love?” 

Geralt giggled as he traced the edges of a magnolia on the back of Jaskier’s wrist, “That is the way I love you.”

Luckily for Jaskier’s car, they were rolling up to a stop sign. He had time to loose his breath for a moment and fight back the initial feeling of shame and anger with himself before he pulled his hand away and gripped the steering wheel as he punched the gas. 

Through gritted teeth, he said the gentlest thing he could think of, “We don’t kiss in the rain.”

Geralt frowned, almost pouted at him, “I still love you.”

A part of Jaskier wanted to scream at Geralt, another part wanted to pull over and make him walk home, thankfully the loudest part reminded him the idiot was just drunk. He didn’t know what he was saying and he thought he was being sweet. There was also a good possibility he would cry himself to sleep in the passenger seat if Jaskier yelled at him and last time he tried to carry Geralt to bed his back hurt for a week. 

“I love you too,” Jaskier sighed as he pulled into their parking spot. 

He didn’t sleep well that night. Not because his sweaty, smelly, and fidgety boyfriend clung to him in his sleep, but because he couldn’t stop thinking about the ride home. 

Jaskier had lived in relationships like that for most of his adult life. Hell, even in his teens. They were nothing but all consuming passion with no connection to support it and left both parties jaded and lost. When he left his mentor he’d sat in Yen’s chair for hours and hours, until his arm had gone numb, and the only thing he could think was ‘never again’. 

And now Geralt thought he was being cute. The ridiculously meticulous and serious man was only ever sappy when he got drunk and now instead of reveling in it like he’d like, Jaskier was staring at the clock on his nightstand calculating how exhausted he’d be in the morning as the minutes ticked by. 

Turns out, he was at least in the land of the living by the time Geralt shuffled into the kitchen with his hands in his hair and a pained expression. 

“Feel like shit.”

Jaskier hummed in agreement as he sipped his morning tea and shifted in his seat to see better out the window. 

After popping a few anti-inflammatories and nibbling on a cracker before giving up on food, Geralt lumbered up behind Jaskier and draped his arms over his shoulders, “What’s wrong?”

“S’nothing. I’m just being… touchy.”

Geralt pressed a light kiss over the hellebore tattoo on Jaskier’s neck, “I doubt it.”

Tears threatened to spill from his eyes as Jaskier laid his hand over Geralt’s arm across his chest, “I don’t want to lose this.”

“Why…? What makes you think you would?” Geralt was a little slower on the draw hungover, but he knelt next to Jaskier’s chair and rested a hand on his knee as he waited for a response. He only ever looked so worried when Roach had an abscess and it broke Jaskier’s heart. He didn’t want to say it and ruin everything. 

After a deep breath in, he mumbled out his answer, “Do you really love me like that song?”

“What song?” Geralt breathed, his thumb brushing back and forth over Jaskier’s knee.

“The uh, Way I Loved You one.”

Geralt searched his face for a beat, the crease between his eyebrows only deepening, “Of course I do.”

“Fuck,” Jaskier breathed, biting his lip to keep it from wobbling as he forced all the air from his lungs in the hopes it would do something to stop the tears from falling. When it was clear he would lose the battle he leaned forward with his elbows on the table, hiding his face in his hands.

“You… don’t want me to?” Geralt sounded close to tears himself, but he didn’t take his hand off Jaskier’s thigh. 

“No- yes! No?” Jaskier sniffed and wiped at his face but didn’t lean back to look at Geralt, “I- Geralt I can’t just fill a hollow relationship with lust. We ha- I thought we had more? But if you want the- the fights and the hate fucking- I don’t- Geralt I don’t want that. Not with anyone but not with you. Ne-”

“Hey, hey,” Geralt tugged at Jaskier’s arm, gathering him to his chest when the brunette melted into sobs, “I don’t want that. That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry, love. I’m so sorry I let you think that.” He cradled Jaskier’s head to his shoulder, pressing kisses into his hair between softly spoken apologies and reassurances. They stayed there until Jaskier’s tea went cold and his sobs were closer to little gasps. 

Eventually, Jaskier lifted his head and met Geralt’s eyes, “H-how do you love me?”

Geralt licked his lips, his voice barely above a whisper, “Not- It’s not hollow.”

Jaskier squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead to Geralt’s, “Please?”

One of Geralt’s hands came up to cup Jaskier’s cheek as he took a deep breath, “I’ve never loved anyone like I love you… I never wanted to be romantic with anyone until you. You… You make me feel… safe. I’m never bored of you or numb or sick of you. This is the first relationship I’ve had where I bother to fight, Jask. I love you so much it makes me do things I never thought to do and I’m glad and I never want to change anything about us. Never.” 

A shiver ran down Jaskier’s spine as relief flooded his whole body. His throat ached from crying and his shoulders were sore from holding all that tension in a way they hadn’t for years, but he’d never felt so good. Geralt loved him. Him. Not some tumultuous relationship or the sex or the drama of it all. Someone finally loved him for him. 

It hadn’t really hit Jaskier till then. They’d said ‘I love you’, sure, but he hadn’t really believed Geralt, just like he’d stopped believing the string of selfish lovers before him. 

“Thank Mellitelle,” Jaskier laughed, just on this side of hysterical as he tightened his grip around Geralt’s shoulders, “I fucking love how boring we are. And you. Fuck I really really do love you.”

“Even when I smell like my regulars?” Geralt teased, intentionally huffing a little extra and dosing Jaskier in his horrendous hangover morning breath.

Jaskier wrinkled his nose but smiled and kissed him anyway, “Of course.”

“Mhh,” Geralt pulled away for a moment, brushing his thumb over Jaskier’s crows feet in a silent request for him to open his eyes, “Can we go back to bed?”

“The crying does it for you, huh?” Jaskier chuckled, his voice was still weak but his laugh was genuine.

“I’m so dizzy, Jask,” squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head ever so slightly, Geralt plopped back onto his heels. If Jaskier hadn’t witnessed just how much he drank he’d say he was lying, but Jaskier was truly surprised he’d even climbed out of bed this morning.

“Mkay, up. Back to bed then.”

They settled under the blankets and tangled themselves back together. Geralt hummed, closing his eyes and squeezing Jaskier a little tighter.

New, happier tears threatened at the corners of his eyes but he pushed them down, opting to trace the corner of Geralt’s buttercup tattoo peeking out of his shirt, “I love you.”

Geralt took a deep breath in before he sighed out a rumbling, “I know.”

“No, Geralt. Really,” Jaskier laid his hand over the yellow and green ink, “I’ve said these words more times than I can count but I don’t think I ever really understood them until you.”

“Jaski-”

“I love you,” Jaskier’s interruption was far smaller and far more fragile than he had intended. His words just continued to spill out, “You’re steady and calm and I’ve never had that. I don’t know what it’s supposed to be like and I’m constantly scared I’m gonna fuck it up…”

Comforting fingers ran through his hair as Geralt murmured his reply, “Me too,” Jaskier just squeezed his shoulder in a bit of solidarity and a bit of selfish comfort, “But I think we’re doing alright…”

“Why’s that?”

“Well,” Geralt started, shifting so he was practically engulfing Jaskier, “we both still love each other, and...” his boyfriend pinched him when he trailed off, pretending to fall asleep in a way that always mad Jaskier giggle, “Ow- and you use the hooks by the front door.” 

“I do, don’t I?” Jaskier sniffled, “And you used your words.”

“I’d use all the words for you.”

“All of them?”

Geralt really was drifting away this time, his words coming slowly as his arms relaxed and Jaskier felt their full weight over him, “Not well, but I would...” 

#inked up idiots #geraskier #geraskier inked up idiots #IUI #tattoo au #geraskier tattoo au #geraskier boyfreinds #modern geraskier au #tattoo shop au #kinda #tattoo artist jaskier #weanie geralt #geraskier modern au #the witcher #the witcher geraskier #jaskier #jullian alfred pankratz #geralt #geralt of rivia #the witcher fic #geraskier fic #wow it feels so good to write and like post again? #i mean i wrote a good chunk of this before finals but like #it hits different when im not putting things off lol

[dhwty-writes]

dialogue prompt: I didn't think you cared

Ahhhh, I loved this prompt! Have some idiots in love :)

Jaskier was singing. Well, being a bard that was his default setting. When he wasn't sleeping, that was. Or talking. There was quite a crowd he was entertaining, which was quite a surprise, given the early hour. Normally, Geralt would have detested it. Normally, he couldn’t stand the noise, the stink, the talking. Normally, after a mission that was, with adrenaline and toxins racing through his veins. Normally.

But today there had been no mission. Today, Jaskier had dragged him into town and forced him to stay, despite the lack of a contract. “Come on, Geralt,” he had whined. “Just once.” He didn’t know why he had agreed.

Jaskier spun around and started a new verse. A bright smile spread on his face when he caught Geralt’s gaze. Ah. That was why.

He didn’t know what it was about the bard that made any resolve within him crumble to dust. It took the barest thing, like a smile, a wink, a brush of a hand against his forearm, for his knees to turn into jelly and butterflies to begin fluttering in his stomach. It was extremely annoying and distracting.

And endearing. Which maybe was the most annoying thing of all.

However, the lack of receding panic simmering in his body gave him a most spectacular opportunity: he could enjoy Jaskier’s music. He wasn’t tired or sore, there were no dangers on the road he had to look out for, no contract to prepare for. For the first time, in all the years he had known the bard, he could just listen.

And, to his surprise—it probably shouldn’t be a surprise, given his popularity—Jaskier was actually good at what he was doing. Yes, the lyrics were greatly exaggerated, the heroics embellished, and the innuendos thinly-veiled. But besides that, it was good music. And before long, Geralt found himself humming along and forgetting how much time had gone by.

The performance seemed almost too short, when Jaskier bowed and announced that he would take a prolonged break before continuing. Geralt’s eyes didn’t leave the bard even once as he swaggered over to their secluded table in the corner.

He slid into the chair across from him, his cheery mood almost visibly brightening the dark corner as he grabbed Geralt’s tankard of ale. The witcher just grunted and pushed the half-eaten plate of stew into his direction as well. Jaskier hummed with delight and began scarfing it down immediately. In the beginning, this had been an annoyance. By now, this ritual was soothing to him.

Despite his hunger, Jaskier obviously tried not to bolt down his food too eagerly. Geralt couldn’t help but smile fondly at the sight. That happened more and more often, as well; it was quite disturbing. He had started smiling stupidly at a moment’s notice. And he had begun to blurt out nonsense, too!

“I liked the new song,” he heard himself say. “It’s wiggly.” Like that. For example.

Up to that point, Jaskier had managed to cover Geralt’s slip-ups with excited ramblings of his own. Obviously, this had passed his breaking point. The bard grew red in his face, choking on his food.

Wordlessly, Geralt passed the tankard over to him again. He would hate to see his bard suffocate.

Even after he had overcome his coughing fit, the redness in Jaskier’s face didn’t fade. “Excuse me?” he squeaked.

“Hm.” Well. If he hadn’t felt stupid before, he certainly felt stupid now. Witchers didn’t blush, but Geralt definitely could feel the redness rising in his face. “Forget it, bard,” he mumbled and snatched the tankard back.

“Oh, no! Oh, no, I don’t think I will.” A wide smile spread on Jaskier’s face that was more reassuring than it had any right to be. “Truly, Geralt, I am delighted. You never told me so before.”

“Hmm,” he said again and took a deep gulp. There were a thousand ways to tell the truth racing through his brain. Given enough time, he was sure it would slip through his lips.

Normally, Jaskier would start talking again before anything quite as embarrassing could happen. Normally. But this was no normal day. Instead of what he did normally, Jaskier quietly continued to shovel the food into his mouth. Before long, Geralt’s resolve crumbled again: “You stopped talking about your songs,” he blurted out.

His bard flinched and that—oh, that hurt worse than any injury he had ever sustained in a fight. Jaskier had never flinched from him, not even when he hadn’t known him at all. He had never been scared, not even in the beginning and the beginning had been years ago.

And he wasn’t scared now either. Only hurt. And that was, somehow, maybe even worse. “I didn’t think you cared,” Jaskier said almost too quietly for even a witcher to hear.

“Hmm,” Geralt said again. ‘Fuck,’ he thought.

Again, the bard fell silent.

Again, that coaxed the words out of Geralt’s mouth like nothing else ever could. “I do,” he admitted quietly. “Just don’t know how to talk about it.”

Jaskier’s mouth fell open. It was a nice mouth. A mouth that would nice to be kissed. Wait, what?

Before he could be forced to continue thinking about this disturbing thought, the bard thankfully began talking: “Oh,” was all he said. Then again: “Oh!” Jaskier opened and closed his mouth a few times, before simply stealing the beer back. After a few gulps, he asked: “Would you like to learn?”

“Hmm.” Would he? Of course, he would. He couldn’t just say that, though. Instead, his leg began bouncing up and down without his permission.

“Well,” Jaskier said and took another gulp, “I’ll be sure to talk about talking about it.” He smiled and winked and Geralt’s knees turned into jelly. “I’m sure you won’t care.”

Geralt reclaimed his tankard to hide a smile behind it. He was sure he would care. And that he would be delighted.

#multiplelizards #look i've got an ask #my writing #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geraskier fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier

[jaskicr]

for buffskier, for some reason jaskier has to wear geralt’s armour (this is like @spielzeugkaiser’s art) and geralt realises that his armour fits jaskier extremely well. and also jaskier can lift his (rather heavy) sword and can also fight with it

i love a good clothes swap and i had a lot of fun writing it, so this got longer than expected, oops! (also known as: let me see how many of my favourite tropes i can gleefully shove into this) and thank you to @spielzeugkaiser for letting me write a ficlet inspired by their art<3

“No, no,” Jaskier says frantically. “That village - it’s not a good idea. Let’s find another place to get a contract.”

Geralt frowns. “Why not? There’s a well-paying contract there.”

"Trust me, it’s better if we find another one,” Jaskier insists. 

“There are no other villages that are within a day’s ride,” Geralt points out, annoyed. Why is Jaskier being so adamant?

Jaskier sighs, pinching his nose. “I’ve been there, okay? They weren’t very - receptive towards my songs. They loathe you.”

“That’s not news,” Geralt comments dryly.

“You don’t get it, Geralt.” Jaskier rakes a hand through his hair, frustrated. “The Blaviken thing - they’re really, really set on that.”

“We need to stock up on supplies, and we’re basically out of coin,” Geralt grumbles. They could camp for the night, but it really wouldn’t be ideal. Besides, Geralt is used to the boundless hate thrown at him for Blaviken. This will just be another hateful town, and he can handle it. “I need to take the contract, Jaskier.”

Jaskier throws his hands up with another loud sigh. “Geralt -”

“I’m used to it.” It’s the truth, but familiar anger ignites in Jaskier’s eyes at the thought of the injustice directed towards Geralt, and it warms Geralt to see Jaskier so protective of him, even if it isn’t anything either of them can change.

“They truly hate you, Geralt, and I don’t want you to be subjected to that.” Jaskier’s voice is concerned, worried. “If only we could…” his voice trails off, and he murmurs, “oh.”

“What?” Geralt asks warily. There’s a glint in Jaskier’s eyes that Geralt has come to recognise as Jaskier having one of his ideas, ideas that usually end in disaster.

“What if...” Jaskier pauses, grinning, which does not bode well. “Gods, I’m a genius. They’ve never seen you, so they don’t know what you look like.”

“... And?”

“Well, they’re expecting the Butcher of Blaviken to be a white-haired, golden-eyed witcher with big fuck-off swords and a surly demeanour,” Jaskier rambles, eyes brightening. “But if we swap clothes, and I pretend to be a witcher and you can pretend to be a bard, then they won’t suspect anything!”

“That’s...” stupid, Geralt wants to say, but as crazy as Jaskier’s idea sounds, Geralt needs to take the contract, and as much as he hates to admit it, Jaskier’s idea is likely their best shot. Gods, is he really going to go along with one of Jaskier’s harebrained schemes? 

“It’s genius, isn’t it?” Jaskier says with a proud smile on his face, looking expectantly at Geralt. “We can waltz into town, me as a witcher and you as a bard, take the contract, you can slay the monster, then I can collect the payment, pretending to have killed the monster. It’s perfect!”

Jaskier’s idea is one of his better ones, though Geralt is still dubious about pulling it off. “Our clothes won’t fit each other.”

“Oh, trust me,” Jaskier reassures him confidently. “They will.”

After some needling from Jaskier, Geralt eventually gives in reluctantly, softening slightly when Jaskier sends him a triumphant grin. He doubts that this will work - after all, his armour will likely be too big for Jaskier, and Jaskier’s frivolous, vibrant clothes will undoubtedly be too small for him, but Geralt always gives in to Jaskier in the end. It won’t work, but Geralt might as well let Jaskier indulge for a few moments. 

They turn their backs to one another as they strip off their clothes to swap with each other, and Geralt can’t stop his eyes from wandering over to Jaskier. Jaskier’s doublet is strewn on the ground, and when he pulls his shirt over his head, Geralt’s mouth goes dry.

Jaskier’s back is unexpectedly broad, the strength evident in the width of his shoulders, and Geralt sucks in a breath as Jaskier bends over to take off his trousers, his firm bottom directly in Geralt’s view, and as Jaskier pushes his trousers down, Geralt gets an eyeful of thighs that are thick with muscle, built up over long hours of walking, and strong, shapely calves.

Geralt hurriedly whips his head around, his face heating up suddenly. 

Well. That had certainly been unexpected. 

Where had Jaskier been hiding all of that?

Geralt keeps his mind on taking his own clothes off, determinedly not thinking about the sight he’d just seen. When Jaskier’s clothes land next to him with a thump, Geralt tosses his own armour over his shoulder, and it takes every ounce of his willpower to not turn around and catch another glimpse of that expanse of tantalising skin. 

Picking up Jaskier’s cream-coloured shirt and sky blue trousers, Geralt eyes them dubiously, reluctant to put them on. They’re rather too bright for his taste, and Geralt fears that he might accidentally rip Jaskier’s clothing - though after what he’d seen earlier, that doesn’t seem to be the case. 

Geralt gingerly pulls the sky blue trousers on, grimacing inwardly at the way the too-bright colour stands out against his pale skin. To his surprise, his legs slide in without much resistance, and he barely has to struggle for the trousers to fit, with the trousers only squeezing his calves and his ass the slightest bit. 

He hadn’t expected to be able to squeeze into Jaskier’s trousers, and certainly hadn’t expected them to fit so well. They’re slightly short on him, though not by much, since he and Jaskier are nearly of height, and Jaskier’s trousers don’t fit that much tighter than his own. 

Less tentative now, Geralt pulls on Jaskier’s shirt. Like the trousers, it’s a slightly tight fit, particularly around the chest and shoulders, but not tight enough to be uncomfortable, and looking down at himself, Geralt finds himself once again surprised at just how well Jaskier’s clothes fit him. 

Behind him, Jaskier lets out a teasing whistle. “Well, would you look at that lovely bottom.”

Groaning, Geralt turns around. “Jaskier, why -” He chokes on his own spit when he sees Jaskier before him, decked out in black leather. “Unf.”

The armour fits well. Very well. Unlike what Geralt had expected, the armour doesn’t hang loosely off Jaskier’s body but hugs it perfectly, fitting almost as well as Jaskier's own tailored clothes. The bulk of Geralt’s armour only serves to make Jaskier seem more broad, a hulking, dangerous presence. 

Geralt had thought that his armour would hang from Jaskier’s shoulders in an unflattering way, too loose to be practical, practically drowning him in fabric. Instead, the armour clings to Jaskier’s body in all the right ways, drawing Geralt’s eyes to the wide expanse of Jaskier’s shoulders and the thickness of his biceps. Geralt’s trousers are pulled taut over Jaskier’s thighs, the strength in them clearly visible through the tight fabric. 

For a moment, Geralt sees another witcher looking back at him, broad-shouldered and strong, ready to take down the monsters that roam the Continent, but the illusion is shattered when Jaskier sends him a slow, lazy grin. 

“Well, it seems that you’re wrong,” Jaskier purrs, prowling towards Geralt, and he makes quite a sight, looming and lethal as he approaches Geralt, and Geralt has to swallow down an involuntary gulp. Gods preserve him. “Our clothes fit each other quite well. Extremely well.”

His eyes rake down the length of Geralt’s body, something almost hungry sparking in his gaze as it lingers on the way his shirt is stretched just slightly too tight around Geralt’s chest, the way his blue trousers cling to Geralt’s legs and ass, and Geralt had to fight the urge to hide himself from a look so predatory that he feels as if he’s being sized up for a meal.

“Yeah, um, yes,” Geralt stammers, and why is he stammering? He tries again, grasping for words that elude him with every second he’s graced with the sight of Jaskier in his armour. “Hm. I - yes.”

“Yeah?” Jaskier’s eyes are sparkling, and Geralt gets the distinct impression that Jaskier is laughing at him. 

“We, uh - your plan worked,” Geralt mumbles. He wants to avert his gaze, wants to duck his head in embarrassment, but his eyes refuse to leave Jaskier, desperately drinking him in. “We can, uh…”

Jaskier chuckles. “Let’s head into the village then. Better not waste any time.”

“Yes,” Geralt says faintly, watching as Jaskier heads over to where Geralt’s swords are laid out. “Uh, right. Can you, uh, lift them?”

Jaskier raises an eyebrow, bending down and reaching for the swords, and sweat beads at Geralt’s temple as the tight leather trousers pull tight around Jaskier’s ass. “Lift them? Of course I can, my dear witcher - or my dear bard, I should say - they’re not that heavy.”

He closes his hands around each sword, one steel and one silver, hefting them thoughtfully in his hands. Geralt realises with a start that Jaskier is holding his swords like he knows what to do with them, like he’s fought with swords before. Jaskier keeps surprising him today, it seems.

Jaskier slides the swords into the sheaths on his back with practised ease, then grins at Geralt. “Well, my darling bard, shall we?”

My darling bard, Jaskier purrs with a low tone that makes Geralt’s too-slow heart beat just a little too fast, and Geralt swallows at how easily Jaskier refers to him as his. 

“W - what?” Gods, he really is distracted, and Jaskier smirks at him. 

“We need to take the contract, Geralt,” Jaskier reminds him, amusement dancing across his face. “Come on, grab my lute, and we can go.”

“Right,” Geralt mutters, turning away to hide the way his cheeks are burning. The weather is really quite hot today. Reaching for Jaskier’s lute, he slings it over his shoulder the way he’s watched Jaskier do thousands of times, and heads towards Roach, getting ready to leave. 

“You look good as a bard,” Jaskier murmurs, and Geralt startles, turning back to look at him in surprise. Jaskier winks at him, and surely Geralt’s eyes must be deceiving him, because Jaskier has that glint in his eye when he flirts with young men and women that catch his fancy - now, that glint and that wink are directed at Geralt, and gods, the weather is really hot. Maybe he should go take a dip in a stream later. 

Maybe he can even ask Jaskier to join him, and watch as water drips down his body, the droplets clinging to the bare lines of his muscles, and why the fuck is Geralt even thinking this?

Shaking the tempting image from his mind, Geralt croaks out, “We should. Uh. Let’s go.” 

His face still feels too hot as he clambers on Roach, resolutely not looking at Jaskier as they set out towards the town. Despite his efforts, images of Jaskier’s body bombard his mind - his wide back, his strong thighs, his shapely ass, and Geralt has to make a concentrated effort to stay on Roach. 

Though it wouldn’t be a hardship if he were to fall off Roach and have Jaskier catch him in those strong, thick arms -

And Geralt needs to get a fucking grip. One look at his surprisingly muscular friend and now it’s all he can focus on. 

When they finally arrive at the village, Geralt is beyond grateful for something else to distract his thoughts from how they’re spiralling into increasingly inappropriate territory. Jaskier is his travelling companion, his best friend, for gods’ sake, Geralt shouldn’t be thinking this about him. 

The villagers bristle with thinly veiled hostility as they pass, glaring at Jaskier, and Geralt hunches his shoulders and ducks his head, doing his best to hide his eyes, but no one pays him any mind. Their eyes slide over Geralt’s colourful clothing and lute to rest hatefully on Jaskier, who strides on with a blank mask on his face, unbothered by their stares, looking every part a dangerous, deadly witcher. 

Geralt can practically touch the hostility that thrums in the air, his enhanced hearing catching snatches of witcher and mutant and butcher, and he grudgingly admits that Jaskier was right - had they not swapped their clothes, Geralt would’ve been chased out of the village for being the Butcher of Blaviken. While the town is clearly not welcoming towards witchers, they’re likely making an exception for any witcher who isn’t Geralt.

They head into the village’s biggest tavern, and Geralt hangs back as Jaskier stalks up to the man who’d put out the contract, listening to the details of the monster - a few nekkers, nothing too dangerous - as Jaskier negotiates payment far more skilfully than Geralt could ever have done. After a few minutes, Jaskier returns to Geralt, and they leave the tavern with distrustful gazes on their backs.

“It doesn’t sound like a big nest,” Geralt murmurs, just loud enough for Jaskier to hear. “Let’s deal with it and get out of here.”

“How did you - ah, witcher hearing, yes, silly me.” Jaskier scans their surroundings warily. “If we get changed in the forest, you can take care of them and then we can change back, collect our gold, buy what we need, and leave. No one will even suspect anything.”

Geralt frowns as Jaskier steers them in the direction of the forest. “But the nest is in the forest, it might not be safe -”

“It’ll be fine,” Jaskier dismisses, waving a hand. “We’ll just make sure to be quick.”

Geralt wants to disagree, but he keeps his mouth shut as they head into the forest, trying to tell himself that it’ll be fine. After all, it’s not like the nest will be that close to the village anyway. They’ll be fine.

“We just need to be far enough from the village that no one sees,” Jaskier says cheerfully as they wander deeper into the forest. “Then you can go do your witchering -”

Then Geralt feels a rumble beneath his feet, and he barely has the time to shout out Jaskier’s name before several nekkers burst from the ground, surrounding them.

“Fuck!” Geralt curses. He’s not in armour, his sword is with Jaskier, who’s too far away for Geralt to get to in time, and Jaskier is drawing the silver sword, what the fuck is he doing -

Two nekkers leap at Jaskier, and even as Geralt raises his hand to cast Aard, he knows it’s too late to stop them from tearing into Jaskier - but then Jaskier dodges them easily, slashing Geralt’s sword through the air, decapitating one of the nekkers, and Geralt’s jaw drops at the skill and speed with which Jaskier handles his sword.

Geralt doesn’t have much time to stare in shock, however, as he detects a few nekkers trying to ambush him from behind, and he casts Aard to blast them back. He has his signs, at least, and with the nekkers pushed away from him, he quickly glances towards Jaskier just in time to see him run his sword through a nekker’s chest, then duck under a swipe from another nekker, rolling up behind it to deliver a deadly gash to it with his sword, and just like that, Jaskier has dispatched all the nekkers that had surrounded him.

Something burns in Geralt at the sight of Jaskier in his armour, wielding his swords, easily holding his own against a pack of monsters, and Geralt pushes it to the side for the moment. He has no time for distractions.

“Jaskier,” he calls, his hands ready to cast a sign as he watches the nekkers from earlier recovering from Aard, and Jaskier, as always, understands what Geralt wants before he says it, and tosses the sword to Geralt.

Geralt catches it just in time to slash his sword across a nekker’s throat, leaving one nekker snarling viciously at him. It lunges at him, and Geralt dodges its attack, swinging his sword and managing to catch it in the throat, but he’s so preoccupied with it that he doesn’t notice the shift in the air behind him until it’s too late.

Geralt braces himself for the pain of deadly claws digging into his back, but nothing comes, and he turns to see Jaskier standing behind him, Geralt’s steel sword in his hand as the head of a nekker thuds to the ground.

“You’re welcome,” Jaskier says, only sounding slightly out of breath. “Well, wouldn’t you say that this contract has gone rather swimmingly?”

Geralt can’t answer, unable to formulate a response as he stares at Jaskier, standing before him with a triumphant smile, Geralt’s sword in his hand and Geralt’s clothes on his body, and well, Geralt had always been rather attracted to competence, and what Jaskier had done…

“You can. Fight?” Geralt stutters dumbly, tongue like lead in his mouth as his mind replays the last few minutes of Jaskier swinging his sword with an expertise that few can match, of how Jaskier had managed to hold his considerably heavy sword far longer than most humans can, of the way Jaskier’s thighs had tensed underneath those tight trousers when he’d crouched before lunging at the nekkers.

Jaskier shrugs, the movement drawing Geralt’s gaze to the breadth of his shoulders as he slides the steel sword back into its sheath in one smooth motion. “You sound surprised.”

“I… didn’t know,” Geralt says slowly. Since when has Jaskier been able to fight?

“I never told you, because you never asked,” Jaskier admits with a rueful smile. “It was worth the look on your face, though. You still look rather dumbstruck, my bard.”

Geralt opens and closes his mouth a few times. “I…”

Jaskier’s eyes gleam, and he stalks towards Geralt with predatory intent, mouth curling in a lazy grin. “Why, Geralt,” he purrs, stopping just in front of Geralt. He reaches out and captures Geralt’s chin in one hand, forcing his gaze up from where it had been wandering down Jaskier’s body. “You like this, don’t you?”

“Like what?” Geralt manages, held in place by the force of Jaskier’s gaze, their faces too close together for Geralt’s brain to work properly.

Jaskier laughs. “You do,” he murmurs, and for a moment, Geralt holds his breath, waiting for something -

But then Jaskier steps away, releasing his grip on Geralt’s chin, and some part of Geralt mourns the warmth. “Let’s go,” Jaskier says, casual as ever, like he hadn’t been pressed close to Geralt just a moment ago. He starts walking back to town, leaving Geralt staring after him, frozen in place.

He doesn’t move for several moments, blinking at Jaskier’s retreating back, and his eyes involuntarily wander downwards, appreciating the way his own tight trousers do wonders for accentuating Jaskier’s thick thighs and firm ass. It’s only when Jaskier turns his head back to look at Geralt with a raised eyebrow that Geralt is pulled out of his trance, realising that his mouth had fallen open rather embarrassingly when he’d been ogling Jaskier’s assets.

“You coming?” Jaskier calls, and there’s something teasing in his voice, a quirk in his smile that hints at a promise of more, a whisper of later, and Geralt’s breathing stutters.

And as he stumbles after Jaskier, who’s still clad in Geralt’s armour and looking unfairly good as he struts in front of Geralt, all he can think is, gods, he’s going to kill me.

dkjfgn i made geralt very, very thirsty. this was so utterly self indulgent and i just threw in a bunch of my favourite tropes lmao

update: here’s the sequel!:)

#geraskier #jaskier #geralt #buffskier #mine*

[cherryjuicegf]

Hello, love!! 💕💕 If it's no trouble, can i have number 29 of the 5 word whump prompts please?? You can choose the ship, i trust you!! 💕💕

in the morning, i'll be with you

thanks so much for this prompt love!! surprisingly it fit with a geraskefer bingo prompt so who am I to say no :D

29. “Stop, you’re gonna hurt yourself!”

for @geraskeferbingo prompt: argument || geraskefer mainly, geraskier interaction, 1.3k, T, hurt/comfort, character injury

For one more day, the sun rises.

Jaskier looks out of the window. Lets the first rays fall on his eyes, blind him, deliberately as though, in a failed attempt to return to the much desired darkness. Something closer to sleep, at least. At least, he won't have to sit in this damned chair for days on end in stoic vigil, waiting, waiting, and he's tired of waiting. This craved darkness. He thinks, at least then he doesn't have to lay eyes on Geralt once more.

Not before he's fully awake.

He does. Of course he does and for once, there are no violet eyes to bear his agony, to share it, in a way. Sometimes when he looks at them he suspects her agony is screaming louder than his and he longs for it to cease, for him to take the burden, all of it, just for her not to hurt.

But she's not here now. Either way, after all the blood and chaos and despair, she deserves some rest.

If he feels the constant breeze of her form passing beside him, he doesn't think about it.

Once more, he turns to stare at Geralt. There, as though it's the only movement he's capable of, he stares. He wants to scream.

He did. When Geralt was lying on the ground drowning in a puddle of blood, his blood, stumbling between life and death. Jaskier had seen him like that again, of course he had. From the hollow of her gaze, he knew Yennefer had seen him too. And yet, this time, oh, this time they could both sense the soft stroking of death as it passed past them and, as though competing in a lost fight with the foolish hope of success, he screamed. Clung on Geralt, a grip on his soul to stay in its place while Yennefer was whispering broken enchantments beside him, saving what was slipping through their hands.

She did. And he knew then, Destiny's turn had still to wrap them in its claws. And yet, oh, how familar it all felt.

Like a caress by the strings of future.

He wants to scream. He doesn't. He doesn't want to wake Geralt, he needs to sleep, finally. Although, by the rapid shaking of his chest and the fever burning him like a fire, he thinks, at the moment, sleep is a dangerous escape.

And, as if hearing the howling of his thoughts, Geralt opens his eyes.

All the poets of the world would be unable to describe with words the aching relief that overwhelms Jaskier the moment he looks into amber eyes, seeing them alive, shining with fever and the veil of nightmares unknown to him. The relief, and the horror all the same.

Geralt turns, looks at him, or at least seems like he does. "Jaskier," he says, whines, and Jaskier shivers, as though hearing his name pouring from these lips for the first time. His voice is rough, barely audible. Still enough.

Jaskier smiles, feels his eyes burning. "Hey, there." Geralt is not actually here, he knows. He knows by the way his eyes dart around the room for a threat that doesn't exist, by the way Geralt looks at him and and the darkness of the world shadows his gaze. Still. Jaskier stands, takes the cup of water from the nightstand and gently, as though afraid to break the glass of Geralt's lethargy, he brings it to the witcher's lips. Geralt hesitates on the first sip, and he puts a hand on his, shaking as he holds the cup. "Slowly," he says and Geralt drinks greedily, "you'll choke."

His own voice sounds hollow on his tongue, falsely tender, concealing a grief that can only get out in cries. Geralt lowers the cup on the nightstand.

And, again, he looks around. The moment his look meets him, Jaskier freezes. Geralt frowns as if in thought, then tilts his head. "Yen?"

A pause, and Jaskier huffs a strained laugh, shakes his head. He thinks some stray tears are starting to fall. "She's alright, don't fret." He hates how Geralt frowns deeper, hates the doubt, as though it's his own. "She needed some air, that's all."

Geralt stares at him and somehow, he feels guilty, as though uttering the worst truth of the world. It seems that he did. Geralt grunts. "You're lying."

"No, I–" Jaskier swallows, looks at him. Searching for something he's afraid is not there, not now. He snorts, voice coming out coward. "Geralt, I wouldn't lie about this."

For a second, he thinks he's lying to himself. What if he goes out and finds Yennefer collapsed from exhaustion? What if it's not exhaustion? What if they found them again?

Geralt making to rise to his feet wakes him from his momentary panic and he pushes him back. "You're injured, you can't move!"

Amber eyes pierce him like daggers, glazed over with fear, worse, anger. "I know you're lying, Jaskier, I see it in your eyes."

"You're delirious."

"I have to see her!" and Geralt rises again, Jaskier watching in horror as the bandages on his abdomen stain with blood, and he pushes him back again, making him growl as he searches the room, frantically, trapped in a neverending nightmare and the tears are now scrotching hot, and Jaskier can smell the blood as Geralt thrashes weakly into his arms.

"Geralt, stop, please," he glances at the bandages again, crimson red, and back at Geralt, "you're hurting yourself, please–"

A bruising grip on his forearm. "Where is she?" Geralt's voice is weaker now, almost pleading, and he looks at Jaskier drowning in despair. "Is she dead? Why are you crying?" More tears, flooding and Geralt's grip tightens, his eyes widen even more. "Speak!"

"Fuck, Geralt!" Jaskier pushes him one last time on the pillow with more force than he would admit, and steps back. "You've been in the verge of dying for three days and you ask me why I am crying?" He laughs, sharply, and it feels like the only reasonable thing to do. When did he start shouting? "Yennefer is alright, as much as she can be, and you're fucking bleeding! Please, please stay down," he shakes his head, vision blurry with tears, "we're alright, I promise."

Silence.

Jaskier blinks the tears away, looks at Geralt, into his eyes, suddenly half-closed, suddenly clear. His chest moves slowly and somehow, it's comforting. As Jaskier parts his lips, a sob chokes his throat, and his voice sounds small, exhausted. "Geralt?"

Geralt breathes evenly now, stares at him. With confusion, pain. Warmth. His lips curve in something close to a smile. "Jaskier... You're here."

As though with a snap, Jaskier lets out a silent laugh. Steps closer, on the bed, lowers himself beside him again. "Yes, dear." His hand cups Geralt's face and the witcher leans into the touch. "I'm here."

A figure standing on the door.

Geralt frowns slightly, barely awake. He raises a hand on Jaskier's cheek, trailed by rivers. "Why are you crying?"

"Just happy," Jaskier says and it sounds more like a whimper. He catches Geralt's hand on his face, sees as the witcher lets his eyes drop. "That's all. Hush now, love."

The mattress dips on the other side and violet eyes study him in a tired softness he wants to kiss away. A delicate hand, tangled into Geralt's hair, and she leans down, places a kiss on his forehead. "We're going to be alright, Geralt."

Geralt hums, a familiar warmth nuzzling at his side. Barely a moment after, he's asleep.

Jaskier thinks it's going to be a restful sleep. As Yennefer lies down, finally, after what feels like centuries, as he feels her hand finding its way inside his, he knows it will be.

He discerns a faint smile on her lips. Yennefer breathes shakily.

The sun has risen, but it's only time for them to bask in comforting darkness, and he lowers his head on Geralt's shoulder with a sigh. And stays there.

#the witcher #geraskefer #geralt of rivia #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #geraskier #yenralt #yennskier #chrysa writes #geraskefer bingo #prompt fill #whump prompts #moonysrz #fic recs #geralt x jaskier x yennefer #hurt/comfort #i'll post on ao3 later #also i've not read this through any typos are your problem now <3

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

For whump prompt: maybe Geralt gets his arm broken and also panics because no sword or sign casting? Feels weak and vulnerable in addition to the pain? Bonus: jaskier being both protective and caretaking.

oh you always spoil me with your prompts

tw: mild injury, Geralt is a self-loathing fool

---

Geralt grimaces and swears as he snaps his arm back into place. He holds it completely still while Jaskier puts it in a makeshift splint and wraps it tightly. “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry,” the bard bites his lip. He looks to be on the verge of tears himself and he smells of nothing but worry and fright. “I’m trying to be gentle, I swear.”

“You’re doing fine,” the witcher grunts. It’s not like this is Jaskier’s fault; he’d been the one to dodge at the wrong time. He’d been the one to get his arm broken. And now he can’t protect Jaskier. He can’t form the signs and he can’t wield his sword for at least a few days until the break fully heals. He swears again. “Fuck.”

“Verbose today,” the bard teases gently, fitting Geralt’s arm into a sling. “Alright, there you go. All fixed up for now.”

“We need to find an inn.”

“Geralt, dear heart, we both know the nearest town is a day’s walk from here and it’s nearly twilight.” Jaskier looks up from where he’s busy packing away their medical supplies and frowns, “Why are you so anxious to find a town? You hate people.”

The witcher’s expression only grows more brooding and thunderous, however, so Jaskier drops it. 

---

They make camp a few hours later, when the sun is nearly all the way below the horizon. Jaskier gathers wood and quickly gets a fire going, used to starting his own when Geralt isn’t around with a helpful Igni. The witcher hates that he’s essentially useless for the time being, and watches with a slight pout as Jaskier gets them dinner and sets up camp with startling efficiency. He kneels on his bedroll and pretends to meditate, wishing desperately that his busy mind would actually let him slip into peaceful thoughtlessness.

“I can hear you being mean to yourself from all the way over here,” Jaskier says. He’s brushing down Roach, one of Geralt’s usual evening tasks, and the witcher scowls. The brush is set down and soon, before Geralt can stop him, Jaskier is taking a seat at the witcher’s side, settling one of those lovely hands on his unbroken arm. “What’s wrong? Please talk to me. I know it’s not your favorite thing but... I’m worried about you.”

And Geralt can smell it. The air is thick with worry. The witcher could choke on the scent of Jaskier’s concern for him; but beneath it, almost hidden, is the gentle, warm chamomile and honey of care. Jaskier cares. Jaskier might even-

“I can’t protect you, like this,” Geralt explains, voice quiet even to his own ears. “I’m... I’m of no use to you.”

“Oh darling,” the bard laughs. It’s a sad laugh, and it makes Geralt meet his gaze at last. “You don’t need to be of use to me. You could never lift a finger again on our travels and while I may be slightly confused and put out, I still wouldn’t leave your side. Is... is that what has you so worried?”

Geralt can only nod. 

“Well, that’s settled, then. I’m sticking around to bother you indefinitely and you,” the bard pokes the witcher in the chest and Geralt blinks owlishly, still processing this little revelation. “Are going to stop being so self loathing. It’s a terrible look on you, really. Gorgeous hair, strangely fantastical golden eyes, glorious ass, and all that delicious muscle and you still-”

Jaskier’s little rant is interrupted by Geralt’s lips against his, the witcher’s good arm coming up to wrap around Jaskier’s shoulders and pull him close. The bard just laughs and kisses back, hands cradling Geralt’s jaw on either side. Jaskier’s eyes are sparkling and his laugher fills the evening air with the bright sound of joy. Geralt notes, through the haze of his own pleasant emotions, that the worry smell is gone.

Now it’s just happiness. Happiness and chamomile and honey.

#veritasrose #prompt fill #geralt whump #hurt/comfort #geraskier ficlet #geraskier #geraskier fluff #getting together #bouncey's endless getting together fics #injured geralt #protective jaskier #caring jaskier #geralt uses his words #broken arm #injury tw #first kiss

[babylooneytoonz]

the Vessel [ Pt. 14 ]

— pairing: Geralt of Rivia x reader

— summary: You, Geralt and Jaskier are on the road again, and something is on the Witcher's mind. How would you react to it?

— warnings: a lot of fluff🥺

*Please reblog if you like it, do not repost or claim my work as yours.

[My Masterlist] [My Witcher Masterlist - Read the other parts here!]

"I'm still here, you know?" Jaskier deadpanned, kicking a stone that came his way, cradling his long lost lute like a baby.

You chuckled at his words and sunk back into your lover's arms, who was seated on the mare behind you, your head now resting against his sturdy chest as you looked up at him and he looked down at you, smirking slightly.

"Come on Geralt, Jaskier's jealous. He thinks you've stopped focusing on him now that I'm here," you giggled playfully as Geralt shook his head, amused and craned his neck slightly, giving your earlobe a bite.

"Well, I'm not jealous, but I definitely feel like a third wheel, and in dire need of an inn—"

"Or a brothel," you added, and Geralt hummed in agreement with you, his thick, veiny arms locking around your now wide girth making you feel ticklish and squirm, "On a serious note, Geralt. Can we stop? I really need to take a piss. And a bath."

"Gosh, [Y/N]." Jaskier pretended to cover his ears dramatically, "You're the Princess of Cintra!"

"So?" You scowled, taking your foot out of the saddle and jutting out your leg so you could kick your friend's bottom but he dodged it, "Do princesses not take a piss? Besides, I am not a Princess anymore."

"What?" Geralt and Jaskier said out loud, together. And you nodded. Whelp. In all the drama, you had forgotten to actually tell them why you had run away. Or that— you had run away.

"Well, I sort of left it?" You drawled, absentmindedly and Geralt nudged you slightly, looking down at you, concerned.

"Why?" He raised a brow.

"Well, it seems that not only did the Witcher had some things to hide," Jaskier began, and you glared at him, "by the looks of it, you have something to tell us [Y/N]?"

You scowled, running your hand sheepishly through your hair and began clearing your throat, when Jaskier interrupted, "Don't tell me Queen Calanthe decided to name your baby Podrick."

You gave him a look of disbelief at first; but couldn't keep a straight face, as you bursted out laughing.

"What's wrong with the name Podrick for a boy?" You asked, wiggling your brows at him, and Geralt shook his head, faintly, silently amused.

"Well, Princess [Y/N], if you have a boy, you are naming him after me. Jaskier, obviously?" He smiled at you, wiggling his brows in retaliation.

"Or maybe, Dandelion?" You began, and both Jaskier and Geralt muttered, "No." At the same time.

"I won't have my son named after a flower, for fucks sake," he grumbled under his breath, and you pouted, pushing out your lower lip as you felt Geralt's palm ghost over your belly, protectively securing his palm over the bulge of it and you smiled.

"What happened in Cintra?" Geralt suddenly asked, manouvring the conversation back to where it had started from, and you looked down at your hands, rubbing them against the fabric of your dress.

"Mother wanted me to marry Foltest."

Upon hearing your words, the Witcher stiffened, his hand slowly pulling away. Suddenly, he tugged at Roach's reins so hard, the poor mare stopped."Ouch," you cursed under your breath, and then tried to pacify the sudden uncomfortable silence between the three of you by making small talk, "What?"

"I'm sorry but your mother wanted you to marry that sister fucker? Isn't that right Geralt?" Jaskier nudged your foot that was in the saddle and you sighed, your shoulders tensing slightly. Geralt was morosely quiet, and although he was a man of few words, you felt like this revelation was going to stop the progress that he was making with you.

"She thought that's the only way to protect me. And this baby. Because a lot of enemies will want to get their hands on me. Although, it's stupid, right? I mean, I have Geralt to take care of me," you muttered absentmindedly, staring at the flock of birds that flew past your mare.

It was only when Geralt cleared his throat, a little to coursely, that you craned your neck slightly towards him and noticed how his jaw had clenched, and he was fisting the reins in his grip.

"Shall we move on? We should reach a village in an hour or two. We can see if an inn can accomodate us," he bluntly added, and you blinked, looking down at Jaskier and giving him a questioning look.

Lucky for the three of you, the three of you reached a nearby village sooner than you had expected. By that time, you were exhausted; your body sore at all the odd spots that you couldn't even put a name to or say it out loud. Geralt helped you get off Roach, his movements being tender, but he did not even once, try to talk to you.

The three of you entered the tavern, Jaskier leading the way in while you waddled through in the middle, as much as your bump allowed you to move. Geralt was in the extreme end, and you couldn't see much of him, or hear from him, except for a few occasional grunts you received.

Geralt got the three of you the last of the two rooms that were available and Jaskier disappeared into the first one, leaving you and Geralt to settle down in your own shared room.

You sat down by the edge of the bed, the bed creaking when you put your weight on it. Geralt placed his sword by the chair, before his hands came to rest against the fabric of his shirt and he started prying it off.

"Are you going to say something?" You finally asked, pulling both your hands together and rubbing them as though you were cold, "You've been sulking ever since I told you about what happened in Cintra."

Geralt grunted under his breath, and instead of replying to you, he moved past you to where a metal bathing tub, big enough to fit in the two of you, had already been set out, the water warm, and steam arising out of it. Geralt lowered his slacks, letting it fall to the floor as he stepped out of it, practically ignoring you. You could hear the sound of him wading into the water.

Sighing to yourself, you slowly lifted yourself off the edge of the bed, and turned to face the witcher, who was now seated against the tub, his arms holding the sides of the tub as he looked at you. Slowly, you let your tunic drop to the floor as you stepped out of it. It would have been a lie to say that you felt sexy, especially with your baloon belly that didn't let you look down at your feet. But you really needed that warm bath, to cure the soreness you were feeling.

Geralt threw out his palm towards you when he saw you step into the bathtub and you were thankful for it. He helped you get in and finally, you settled yourself in between the Witcher's legs, letting the back of your head rest against his sturdy chest, feeling the rise and the fall of it, "You're angry with me."

"Not with you. I'm just angry in general," Geralt retorted, and you couldn't help but roll your eyes at him.

"I'm not marrying Foltest. You should know that. Not after all that happened between us." You stared at the ceiling, while Geralt scooped some water into his palms and poured them on top of your head, trying to give you a head bath.

"When you said that, it got me thinking," Geralt suddenly began, as his fingers began to lather against your wet hair, his fingers rubbing through your scalp, making all the tension and the knots in your body melt away, but what words followed afterwards, only made the tension once again spiral back, "What happens once you give birth? Will you and the baby travel and be on the roads with a fucking Witcher? Who cannot settle in one place?"

"Geralt, where is all this coming from?" You turned to face him, letting your legs slide behind his body, with your baby bump now between you and his body forming a shield around it.

"Just got me thinking.. what kind of a life am I gonna be able to give you?"

Your fingers were now drawing intrinsic patterns over his chest, but your eyes were looking into his, trying to reach out to the man that hid beneath the facade of a cold, unemotional Witcher, "I don't care Geralt, all I know is that I want you."

"I want you too but I am thinking of your future." He said, stroking the side of your face with his wet thumb.

"I don't care if our love's forbidden, all I care about is that I want to be with you, I want us to raise our baby together," you slowly dropped your hand into the water, your hand finding his as you clasped your fingers with his and pulled out his hand. You brought it up to your baby bump, placing your hand tenderly over his. Geralt's breathing hitched, his huge palm draped protectively over your unborn baby and you smiled at him.

"I'm scared I will disappoint you. We Witchers weren't exactly meant to be domestic," He brought your palm up to his lips and planted a warm, chaste kiss on the inside of your palm, "I'm going to disappoint you and our baby. And you're going to hate me for the life I couldn't give you."

"No you won't. You underestimate yourself. You might be intimidating and cold on the exterior Geralt, but you—" Your smile widened, and Geralt popped his brow up, waiting for you to continue, "You are one big softie secretly."

"No, I'm not," he said, sounding fake serious.

"Oh yes, you are. You're a big bear," you playfully pulled your hand away from his, and splashed him with water. His eyes widened when the splash hit him, his lips pursing together.

"Geralt, I — I'm sorry."

"Oh, no love. This is war."

Geralt used his two hands to scoop as much water as he could and splashed you back and you let out a playful screech, "Geralt!"

"What? You called it. Come on now."

Geralt towered over the bathtub, the towel wrapped securely around his waist, covering his manhood, droplets of water rolling down his chest and his calves. He threw out a palm towards you and you whined; the water was too soothing for your exhausted body and you didn't want to get out. But there was no standing against the White Wolf. He slowly helped you up, making you stand, and carefully holding you by your waist so you didn't slip, as the pads of your feet were wet; he waited patiently for you to step out.

"Worried I'll catch a cold? I'm stronger that that." You drawled as you placed your hand into his.

Once you were out, he slowly turned you towards him to face him and wrapped a towel around your frame, using it to tap dry you all over.

"You pamper me, love," you smiled, letting your palm rest against your chest as he now worked to dry your hair.

"This is nothing compared to the happiness you are gifting me with."

You gave him a weak smile as you sat down by the edge of the bed, and slid into your comfortable slip, pulling it over your face and your neck, letting your eyes shut. After a few seconds, you opened your eyes, only to find the Witcher kneeling down between your legs, his eyes on your belly.

"You would never have been possible if it wasn't for your mother," Geralt whispered to your stomach in a tender way, momentarily glancing up into your eyes.

"Mhm, don't listen to the crap this man is feeding you with, Podrick."

"Not with that name again, [Y/N]." Geralt grumbled under his breath, but you could see a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. He let his forehead rest against your bump as he fluttered his eyes shut and inhaled your sweet fragrance, his hands holding you from your hips, "Besides, I have a feeling it's going to be a little girl, with eyes like her mother. She is going to take over on you. Not that I would have it any other way."

"Oh, Witcher, my Witcher ," You pulled him up to sit next to you as you leaned in to kiss him, and he slowly arched forward, his lips melting into yours as he mumbled between the kiss, "You might be a future Queen of Cintra, but you are my queen this day forward."

When you pulled apart, licking your lips, tasting the aftermath of Geralt's lips on you, you suddenly grabbed his wrists, and smiled cheekily, "let me do your braids, love."

"Go to sleep," he grumbled, moving away but you caught his hand again, giving him a sad pout, "Please?"

"Fine," he grumbled as he sat down on the floor in front of you, his back turned towards you, his elbows resting on his knees as he turned his gaze to the side, instead of turning to face you completely, "only this once." He turned back around, a small smile playing on his lips. Who was he kidding, he wanted you to braid his hair every single day. He fluttered his eyes shut, letting out an exhale as your fingers dug through his scalp, pulling his hair back.

Geralt woke up rather abruptly.

He sat up in bed, squirming slightly but when he turned towards you, sleeping peacefully on your side, your arm protectively draped over your beautiful bump, his heart swelled twice the size it was. You looked so innocent, so pure and you were his.

Gently, he pried the covers off, sliding his feet to the edge until the pads of his feet were resting against the cold ground. He stood up, and grabbed his discarded clothes that were strewn all over the floor, sliding into his slacks before he pulled his crumpled tunic over his head.

He turned to look at your sleeping form once before he slowly walked out of the bedroom, ensuring to let the door close as quietly as possible.

He dragged himself downstairs. He was starving after the night, but all he needed was a pitcher of ale to set him up. The tavern was empty, except for one or two men who did not have a steady job, so they had found themselves drinking at the tavern. The usual rush came in the evening.

Holding his pitcher in his left hand, he made his way to a table in the back, that overlooked the window. He sat down, huddling in a corner, bringing the pitcher up to his lips, when someone slammed himself in the chair in front of him.

"Rough night?"

"Speak for yourself, Jaskier, " Geralt smirked, as he brought the pitcher to his lips, eyeing him.

"Why on earth do you think I am hiding in a corner like this?" Jaskier blinked, wiggling his brows.

"Jaskier, don't drag me into the messes you create," Geralt hummed, taking a sip of the ale.

"You look different. You have a glow. Now I am curious. Did [Y/N] give you a beauty treatment?" He said smugly, letting his elbows rest against the table as he grabbed a piece of meat and tossed it into his mouth.

When Geralt didn't reply, Jaskier arched his body even more forward, leaning almost close to Geralt and Geralt scowled.

"I see you let her braid your hair."

"Fuck off," Geralt murmured, tight-lipped. He would have said more, but something in the back caught his attention, and his jaw dropped. Jaskier, following Geralt's gaze, slowly turned towards the direction where Geralt was looking at and that's when he saw what he was staring at— it was you.

You were standing by the counter, in a long, flowy dress, a beautiful white flower fixed to your hair, talking to the owner of the tavern. You slowly looked up from whatever you were talking to the owner about, and as though you had felt his eyes on him, you looked right at Geralt, the corners of your lips tugging into a warm smile. Jaskier looked from you back to Geralt, noting the smile that had formed on his friend's lips as you made your way towards him.

"Morning, husband. What do we have in here for breakfast? Your baby is starving," you gave Jaskier a wink, and Jaskier's jaw dropped, as he spat out the ale that he was drinking, splashing it all over the table, coughing and hitting his chest as though something was lodged into his throat.

You and Geralt looked at each other, and Geralt sat back, patting on his thigh as you sat doen on his lap, and Geralt locked his arm around you. "What did you say?" Jaskier asked, standing up, his hands on his hips, "HUSBAND?! You're married now? What happened in that bedroom last night?"

"Words, words, words and confessions?" Geralt's arm held you steady on his lap and you turned towards him, your nose touching his as you bit your lip, "Well, the Butcher of Blaviken declared he wanted to live his action packed life with me."

Geralt grumbled under his breath; and you kissed the tip of his nose, biting it teasingly, "Now husband? Where's the food?"

Geralt smacked your thigh playfully, and you immediately stood up, before Geralt was up too, "On it, woman."

A/N: okay for those who are wondering if they missed a chapter in between, wherein they got married then no you did not. I didn't write their wedding descriptively. They got married at the inn during the night, which I chose not to write because I had no freaking idea how to😂

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[jaskierswolf]

okay firstly hello Wolfie my dear ilysm and i am giving you a big internet hug in this moment ^_^ if you're open for prompts, could i ask for some platonic sickfic? whoever you feel like writing, im happy with anyone gently caring for someone else thru like a stubborn cold or w/e. maybe some tired cuddles interrupted by a sneezing fit lol ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (if this doesn't grab you that's fine of course, im always happy to read your stuff! <3)

Aww hello <3 Thank you darling! I went with Geraskier... cos why not? (although you very nearly got Gerlion). Oh and Geralt is aro/ace now. I don’t make the rules. (in my head Jaskier is also aro in this but... that’s up to you.)

WC: 723

CW: Jaskier has a cold soo... yeah. Light whump/comfort

_________________

Jaskier woke up with a loud groan. His throat was burning, the telltale sign that he was getting sick. He fucking hated getting sick. He whined and buried his face in his pillow, blinding reaching for his water bottle that he kept near the edge of his bed. He desperately hoped that maybe, just maybe he was dehydrated. He did often forget to drink after all. He struggled to sit up enough to pour the cold water into his mouth.

“Oh cock!”

He’d spilt water all over his pillow and down his chest. He groaned, running his fingers through his hair, sniffing loudly, and then  he cursed again. He was definitely getting sick. His head was heavy and there was a tightness in his chest. Looking around the darkness of the room, he considered whether he should go back to bed or get up to find supplies before he felt too shitty to do anything but nap and scroll through his phone. With a quiet cough he decided on the former. If he got up now he might be able to catch his roommate, Geralt, before he went to work. So he wrapped his duvet around his shoulders and padded from his room, pausing only to wipe his nose.

“Geralt?” He asked loudly, cutting his own question off with another cough and whine.

“In the kitchen!”

Jaskier muttered a string of curses under his breath as he went to find Geralt. His friend was prodding bacon around a frying pan. Jaskier pouted, he hadn’t been able to smell the delicious breakfast food from his room which was honestly a tragedy. He fucking loved bacon. He flopped down onto a chair and thumped his head against the table, despairing at his life. It was his week off from work and he’d had so much planned. Of course he’d fucking gone and got sick.

Geralt’s hand touched his shoulder, and he pouted up at his friend, bottom lip quivering. “I’m sick.”

“Come on,” Geralt rolled his eyes, a fond but exasperated smile playing on his lips. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

“I don’t want to be sick!” Jaskier whined loudly.

“No one does, Jask.”

“I had plans!” He threw his arms out widely, and then swore as he scrambled to pick up his duvet from the floor, the sudden movement of leaning down made his head spin. “Oh bollocks.”

He vaguely registered Geralt turning off the hob and setting the bacon aside, before being bundled back into his bedroom. “I’ll get you some Olbas oil and decongestants. Rest Jaskier.”

“You’re not my mother.”

Geralt smirked. “Hmm.”

Jaskier hummed back and stuck his tongue out at Geralt, but there was a warmth in his chest. This was exactly what he’d been hoping for. He adored being coddled over by his best friend, it made him feel wanted. It was what he craved, to be loved, adored, and most of all… wanted. He hummed happily as he pulled his duvet up to his chin, wiggling as he tried to get comfortable. Geralt would be back soon. It was his last thought before he fell back asleep.

_______

Geralt didn’t take long to gather a steam inhaler and a packet of cold and flu tablets. He quickly messaged Vesemir to tell him he’d be late for work, then pushed open Jaskier’s door. The brunet was snoring loudly, gasping for air through his mouth on every other breath. His hair was ratty, sticking up all over the place, and there was already a drool patch on the pillow he was cuddling. Geralt shook his head. Jaskier was known all around the bars in town for being a flirt and an irresistible lover. It always made Geralt laugh. They’d been best friends since childhood, and he meant more to Geralt than any other person on the godforsaken planet… but he’d never quite understood the mindless lust that drove the rest of the world. He sighed and gently roused Jaskier long enough to get the cold medicine down his throat then lay down on the bed next to him. Jaskier snorted in his sleep and then latched onto Geralt like a koala like he always did.

“Geralt?” Jaskier slurred, the syllable blending into one.

“I’m here, go back to sleep.”

“Hmm… ok.”

Geralt chuckled as Jaskier flopped back down to sleep.

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[twiistedgalaxies]

Three Times Jaskier Didn’t Seem Quite Human

(And one time Geralt asked too many questions.)

      “Jaskier isn’t human,” Yennefer stated bluntly, swishing a wine glass in her right hand.

      Geralt blinked, “What?”  This gave Yennefer pause. She knew that her on and off again lover was oblivious, but she hadn’t realized it was quite to this extent. Jaskier gave her a pained, pleading look from the other end of the table. She ignored him.

      “You seriously haven’t noticed?” she continued with a huff.

      “...No?” Geralt’s brows furrowed together in confusion. The nerve of these idiots. Yennefer had half a mind to just state the obvious, to keep these two from continuing to dance around the subject, possibly until the end of time.

      But it was much more fun to gently direct Geralt to the answer and watch his bard squirm. Yennefer took a sip of her wine, mentally cursing her high alcohol tolerance, “You’ve been travelling with the man for decades,” Geralt’s face was blank, the puzzle pieces not fitting into place, “He hasn’t aged, Geralt.”

      “That doesn’t mean anything,” he protested, though from the way his eyes shifted towards his companion he was clearly thinking it over. If they were not at such a high profile party Yennefer would have strangled him. He opened his mouth to say something else, but it was at that exact moment that Jaskier decided to pick up his lute and perform for the crowd - granted, it was what he had been invited to do, but Yennefer sent him a withering glare anyways. She was met with a cheeky wink. Oh if looks could kill. 

      “I could prove it to you, you know? A few well placed detection spells and-”

      Geralt shook his head, “He’ll tell me when he’s ready.”

      “You two are hopeless,” Yennefer sighed.

-@~*^*~@-

      It had been after a particularly difficult hunt, when Jaskier had to dress his companion’s wounds for the umpteenth time. Geralt sat upon a stool in the center of their tiny room at the inn. He looked more irritated than usual as Jaskier gave him what was essentially a sponge bath around where a kikimore had stabbed his shoulder with one of it’s spindly arms. Jaskier winced, it was too close to important organs for comfort. Humming as he worked, Jaskier tried to stitch shut what he could and thoroughly bandage the rest. The wolf medallion on Geralt’s chest thrummed contentedly each time the bard’s delicate hands drew near.

      “Where did you learn?” he asked suddenly, his gruff voice cutting through the peaceful quiet.

      “Hm?” Jaskier hummed, ignoring the Witcher’s grunt of pain as he applied one of his many salves to his shoulder, “You’re going to have to be more specific than that, dear.”

      “The salves, the stitching, all of it,” Jaskier raised an eyebrow at that, but Geralt continued, “It’s a very odd skill for a bard to have.”

      A laugh, Geralt had to bite back a hiss as Jaskier’s touches grew less gentle. He clearly wanted him to drop it. “What? Do you think that I was helpless before you came along with your bulging muscles and witchery glares?”

      The witcher shook his head, silver hair sending droplets of water in the air, “No it’s not that,” the bard had certainly proved capable and skilled many times over, “It’s just, were you a healer before you became a bard?”

      Jaskier froze, seemingly caught in a memory, “Something like that,” he began to bandage Geralt’s shoulder, “This kikimore did quite the number on you, didn’t it?”

      Geralt gave him a look of disbelief because obviously.

      “Come on, come on, give me the details, I can’t write my ballads off of just grunts and intrusive questions now can I?”

-@~*^*~@-

      Jaskier had tagged along on what was supposed to be a minor contract. Nilfgaard had stormed a small town, leaving destruction and countless corpses in their wake. Corpses that were perfect for every Alghoul in a three mile radius. 

      He and Geralt were engaged in their usual banter (which consisted mostly of Jaskier rambling about whatever was on his mind, punctuated with the occasional grunt from his witcher), when a sudden, piercing screech rang through the air. It was high pitched, shrill, and caused Jaskier to clutch his head as he let out a groan of pain. 

      Meanwhile, Geralt immediately leapt into action, drawing his silver sword as a pack of the necrophages surrounded them. He was able to take out several, his sword and the ghouls creating a smooth, gory dance. It all seemed to be going well before an Alghoul caught Geralt off guard, leaping onto his back while extending its spines. This sent Geralt off balance, and he was quickly overwhelmed. His sword got knocked out of his hands in the scuffle and he thought that this, however stupid it may be, would be what would kill him. 

      A cry of rage. Slashing, tearing. Suddenly the weight that was dragging Geralt to the ground grew lighter. He felt something wet and sticky. Geralt looked up to see Jaskier standing over him, holding Geralt’s silver sword, out of breath, and covered in Alghoul viscera.

      The bard looked down at himself, annoyance on his admittedly handsome features, “That was my favorite tunic too!” The tunic in question, once baby blue (like his eyes which were now flashing gold, what the fuck?) was now stained red and black. Jaskier brushed a bit of entrails off his shoulder, visibly disgusted.

      “Huh?” Geralt said, intelligently.

-@~*^*~@-

      The pair was making their way north, Jaskier strumming on his lute and Geralt sat atop Roach. The dirt road was a tunnel bordered by a wall of towering trees, whose orange and red canopies blocked out the sun, casting the duo in dappled shade. 

      Jaskier strummed a few chords in the major key, before he spoke, “Geralt, are you doing alright?” His face was soft and forget-me-not eyes distant like they often grew when he was lost in thought. Geralt shot him a confused look. “It’s just that, you’ve seemed rather distracted lately.”

      “Hm?”

      “I,” Jaskier sighed, collecting himself, “It’s just with the kikimore and the alghouls, and just last week when you forgot your potions in Roach’s saddlebags. I’ve never seen you get like this before, what’s going on?”

      “It’s nothing.” Geralt replied, gaze sliding to anywhere but his bard.

      Jaskier reached up, intertwining his lithe fingers with Geralt’s own, “I’m worried about you, Love.”

      Geralt huffed, he could never resist the man’s pouting lips and puppy-dog eyes, “Yen and I had a conversation at that party a few months ago.”

      He felt the bard tense, “Is that so?” There was a long, uncomfortable silence between them. Jaskier must have realized Geralt, man of few words that he is, wasn’t going to elaborate any further, so he spoke, “What did you two talk about?”

      “She said you aren’t human and I just thought about it more and… it makes too much sense,” Geralt began, feeling awkward as he tried to find the words to explain, “The way you don’t age, your medical knowledge (even of witcher potions!), how you know your way around a sword and how your eyes gleamed-”

      “Geralt, as you know I have an impeccable skincare routine and-”

      He frowned, “Don’t give me that shit, bard.”

      Jaskier sighed, “You really want to know?” A nod. “Okay, well, here goes nothing.” The bard let go of the witcher’s hand, and pulled off a golden ring that, now that Geralt thought about it, he had never seen the man without. A shimmer fell over the bard’s body, like a statue being unveiled. The first thing Geralt noticed was his eyes, they were a sickening, piercing yellow. His face was marred by countless scars, from claws, burns, knives, and magic. Jaskier’s build underneath the glamour more closely resembled Geralt’s, though he retained his shorter stature. The bard smiled sardonically at the witcher’s shocked expression, “Like what you see?”

      Geralt’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again, “How?”

      “You’d probably know me better as Julian,” Jaskier’s eyes got that distant look to them again, his face was downcast, an unusual expression for someone who typically embodied sunshine, “I was in the Griffin school, before we were attacked,” a joyless laugh, “I had never wanted to be a witcher, ya know? Wasn’t cut out for it. But my father, Viscount Pankratz himself, couldn’t pay a witcher for his contract, so he offered me up instead. I failed as a noble, so maybe I wouldn’t fail as a witcher. He was wrong, of course, I spent most of my time writing poems instead of studying Signs. Singing instead of sparring. After the trials I spent a few years on the path before I grew sick of it and returned to Kaer Seren.”

      Geralt hummed, encouraging Jaskier to continue.

      “I was made to look after the students, I had to patch up their wounds and keep them from blowing themselves up with alchemy. I loved the little rascals, which is why..” Jaskier trailed off, fingers tracing the grooves in his lute.

      “It’s okay,” Geralt said, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

      He shook his head hurriedly, “No, no I want to, I have to,” his voice cracked, “I left after the trials killed them. All of them. I couldn’t bear to be a part of it. A part of everything. So I ran, like a coward,” He spat out that last word like a curse.

      The pair stopped. Geralt placed his gloved hand on the bard’s shoulder, a rare gesture of affection and reassurance.

      “Eventually, I found a mage and spent my life’s savings on a well-made glamour and the lute the elves at Posada so lovingly destroyed. It wasn’t until I had graduated from Oxenfurt that I found out what happened in Kaer Seren.”

      “Why didn’t you tell me?” Geralt asked, his voice gentle.

      Jaskier’s face flushed red with shame, “I was afraid. Afraid of what you would think of me. That you’d hate me.”

      Geralt frowned, “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you.”

      At that, Jaskier laughed, “Just look at me! I’m an ugly fuck-up.”

      “No,” Geralt said resolutely.

      “Huh?”

      “I said no. Do you know how many times you’ve saved my life? Made long nights on the path easier to bear? I wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for you,” Geralt continued, looking Jaskier directly in the eyes. He didn’t reply to that, just slipped his ring back on and hugged his arms to his chest.

      The rest of the day’s journey was spent in silence.

A/N:  I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to leave a comment, I love hearing feedback. I had one hell of a time writing this, I originally had only written the first scene, and it took a few months for my single window's screensaver brain cell to finally hit a corner and figure out how to continue and finish the story.

Ao3

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