#JASKIER HOW MANY FINGERS

[panur]

Scary Witcher fics (Geraskier)

Last year i decided i would compile a mini list of some dark/spoopy Geraskier fic recs to share with the masses. In no particular order:

The Only One Who Resonates by crushcandles

"Did you really worry?" he asks, licking his lips.

Jaskier barely hears the question and it doesn't register. It doesn't matter. No matter what Geralt asks him, the answer is the same.

"Yes," he says, deep from his empty belly.

++++

with lilies and with laurels he goes by twelvemagpies

The day that Jaskier dies, Geralt wakes up to an almighty ringing in his ears.

++++

Fever Song by crushcandles

"What are you doing?" Geralt barks.

Jaskier freezes, knife in one hand, a long deep blue strip of fabric in the other.

"Cutting a ribbon," he says. He doesn't stutter, but his eyes are wide; he knows he might be doing something he’s not supposed to.

++++

Quiet by Funkspiel

But still, Geralt looked for a cure. He did not ask for forgiveness. He didn’t deserve it – not while Jaskier was still unable to say the words to pardon him for his wish. Wishes. How Geralt hated them, hated the word. His wish had driven Yennefer away. His wish had bound Jaskier to a life in which he could not do what he loved. Geralt didn’t deserve forgiveness. So he did not ask.

And then came the contract about the witches of the bog.

++++

Silver and Copper by Heronfem

From the shadows a man steps out, his feet soundless on the flagstones. He’s tall for a human, lanky, and dressed all in grays and blacks. His clothing is good but oddly threadbare, the embroidery standing out against the silk, and the collar is high on his deathly pale, sun deprived neck. He wears many rings on his fingers, and several necklaces tangle at his throat. Handsome, with nut brown hair with a bit of a curl to it, and a fine jaw and nose, but his eyes.

His eyes are horrible.

++++

haunt by theredtailedhawkwithjewelsforeyes

He is exhausted with the grief of it. He does not let himself feel, and he feels this anyways. Sharp, aching, unfair. The absence of a heartbeat.

++++

Echo by ravenbringslight

Jaskier was gathering his things and he wasn’t panicking. He’d known that Geralt was going to leave any day now like he always did, so that was no surprise, even if it hit him like a punch to the gut (he was familiar with Geralt’s punches to the gut and he could say with great authority that getting left behind again felt slightly worse). But he had enough money to get to Oxenfurt now and his headache was gone and the vomiting seemed to have been short-lived. Other than the whole “can’t speak without the pain of a thousand rusty knives” situation he was right as rain.

In the corner, the thing that looked like him winked.

++++  

Bloodhunger by SpinnerDolphin

“What do you need?” Jaskier asks, low. His heart stutters a little, and he firmly tells himself that this is his friend, and he is not afraid of his friend.

Geralt actually trembles. “I need to kill something,”

++++

a thousand voices by mrc2 (this one is actually a WIP but guys it’s SO disturbing i refuse to read it after dark)

“You scared me,” Jaskier said. “I didn’t see you there.”

The statue, as expected, didn’t reply. It was a strange place for a statue to be.

“Why are you here?” Jaskier asked slowly as he took a tentative step closer.

And to his horror, the statue simply smiled.

#the witcher #geraskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Have some Aiden & Kid!Jaskier interaction!!

"It's you!"

Aiden turned his attention towards where Jaskier was sat by the fire alongside the wolves, the bard's face a strange mixture of disbelief and elation, as was his scent. Aiden crinkled his nose slightly as he fought back the urge to sneeze or cough at the unfamiliar combination being directed at him.

"Yeah, it's me. Happy to see you too?" Aiden ventured, despite the fact that it couldn't have been more than an hour since they'd last seen each other. Aiden had gone back out into the courtyard after dinner to run some drills, despite the harsh weather, and get rid of the excess energy he could already feel building up. Vesemir was gracious enough to refer to it as 'extra training' and not act like it was a necessity if they all wanted Aiden to avoid getting so restless he literally started climbing the walls.

"No! I mean...I didn't realise before now until I saw you silhouetted like that with your swords and everything, but it's you!"

Aiden suddenly found himself with a limpet of a bard hanging off him, determined to cling despite the rainwater which now soaked both of them.

"Jaskier, I-"

"Oh right. You probably don't remember, what am I saying, of course you don't - Jaskier you fucking idiot. It's been thirty years, no doubt you've lost count of how many humans you've dealt with in the meantime. But-"

"Jaskier." Lambert huffed out from where he was dozing on the fur which acted as a hearth rug, not even bothering to open his eyes, "Let Aiden go dry off and then maybe some context to go with your twittering, Birdie."

By the time Aiden returned, Jaskier's excitement was enough that even the Wolves were giving him their full attention as he re-entered the main hall. Eskel and Geralt's books lay abandoned on a side table while a now awake Lambert was sat leaning against the wall by the hearth. He pulled Aiden down to sit next to him, the fire hot stone through his thick, wool shirt creating a pleasant warmth against his back.

"Alright then." Jaskier started from where he was sat cross legged in one of the old armchairs, leaning forwards as he once again addressed Aiden directly, "Before I start, do you remember anything about a night in Lettenhove thirty years ago. At the Viscount's estate."

Aiden shook his head, although something about this was starting to niggle the back of his mind.

"Name of Panktratz. Little boy, around six years old?" Jaskier continued, eyes growing sadder as it became clear this memory was potentially very one-sided, "Somehow convinced you to-"

He wasn't sure if it was the name or the wide-eyed look the man was throwing him, but Aiden felt something suddenly tumble into place. "Wait, I do remember that night!"

Aiden fought back a growl as he took in the various toys littering the floor, the miniature four poster bed...whose occupant was an even smaller lump under the covers.

That son of a bitch! That slimy twat had hired him to 'take care' of his nephew so he'd be next in line for the title instead, implying the whole time that his relative wasn't exactly deserving of the title. Aiden had accepted the job - what difference did the inner squabblings of Nobility make to him afterall.

In hindsight he probably should have asked more questions but he didn't have a copper coin to his name and this guy had paid upfront; enough for him to be able to eat regularly and maintain his gear for the foreseeable. He started planning after his employer graciously provided him with a blueprint of the estate and pointed out the targets rooms. He'd failed to mention however, that said target looked to be scarcely old enough to wield that wooden sword properly, nevermind any degree of power.

Fuck it. He should stay as far away from this potential mess as possible. It was bad enough when their employers pointed the finger of blame at them when they assassinated an adult, but a child? That was a complication none of them needed. Mind made up, he turned to climb back out of the window (which had been concerningly easy to coax open from the other side), making sure hood and mask were still firmly in place.

"Hello."

Aiden froze. Speaking of complications....

Rookie mistake! He'd been so caught up in everything else he'd forgotten to keep one ear focused on the other heartbeat in the room. He ran through possible scenarios: he could do what he'd been paid to do, but now the kid was awake there was every chance he'd scream and alert the house before Aiden could even lift a finger. Same potential problem if he tried to leave. He could always cast somne...

"You're a Witcher aren't you? I can see the shape of your swords!" Aiden's nose twitched at the boys scent. Strange. Even through the cloth covering the lower half of his face he could tell the boy didn't smell afraid. He smelled excited, happy even?

"I know all about Witchers. You keep us safe from monsters. Is that why you're here, is there a monster in my room?" The small voice turned slightly fretful as a faint whiff of fear started to sour the air - yet more strangeness in the fact that it was due to imagined monsters rather than him.

Aiden dared to turn and look, something about this child's initial boldness piquing his curiousity (who the hell starts questioning a stranger in their room instead of screaming the place down?). A small boy stared back at him with large eyes as he clutched the soft looking sheets to him like a shield as he curled up in the centre of the bed. "My Uncle Desmond says that monsters like to come out at night and eat little boys. I don't like him. He's mean."

Aiden gave a bittersweet smile at the pout he could see on the little face.

'Oh. You have no idea just how mean, kid.' He thought to himself.

"No, no monsters here. Go back to sleep."

The boys pout turned into a frown, "You didn't even look."

"Because I don't need to."

"Please, Mister Witcher." His bottom lip wobbled in a practiced tremble as his eyes grew even bigger.

Aiden bit back another smile. Kid was good, he'd give him that. Such audacity deserved some sort of reward.

"Alright. One very quick monster check, then you go to sleep. Deal?"

The boy nodded enthusiastically, "My name's Julian, by the way."

"I don't care."

"...are you going to tell me yours?"

"No."

"Can I see your swords?"

"No."

"How about your-"

"How about no talking until we make absolutely sure there's nothing waiting in your wardrobe?"

Turns out the only monstrous thing in Julian's wardrobe was a few hideous combinations of frills and lace. Behind the curtains yielded nothing, as did underneath the bed.

"Ok. Now you hold up your end of the deal and go to sleep."

Julian scowled at him in response from where he was now stood up on the feather mattress to watch rather than huddled under the sheets, arms crossed expectantly.

"What?"

"You're supposed to say sweet dreams."

Aiden blinked at him before replying "Sweet dreams." Monotonously.

"Tuck me in?"

Aiden cast the sign for somne, Julian's body flopping down before he'd even finished. Cheeky little fuck would've been wanting a lullaby next. Still, it wouldn't do for him to get cold, there was no fireplace in this room after all. He grabbed the quilt from the bottom of the bed, not bothering to straighten it as it fell haphazardly over the small body before doing what he should have done thirty minutes ago and taking his leave back through the window.

"I told my parents about you the next morning. They didn't believe me of course. Said it was probably just a dream and that if there had been a Witcher in my room I'd be dead. Although, I suppose that explains why my Uncle Desmond looked apoplectic when I came down to breakfast. I never knew he'd hired you to, you know." He flicked a hand across his neck in a throat cutting motion. "Why didn't you by the way? Not that I'm saying I wish you had or anything. I was a human child, you could've killed me multiple times as easily as scratching an itch but you didn't. Why?"

Aiden's features settled into a frown, "Oh trust me, if your Uncle had waited ten more years it probably would've been a very different outcome. As it is, once I had all the facts, I just decided against accepting a contract on a kid. The one who offered me the contract however..."

Jaskiers eyebrows shot up as he shuffled further forwards, "Are you saying you offed my uncle? He did just sort of... disappear."

"Not exactly. I merely broke back in and left evidence of what he'd planned somewhere I knew the current Viscount would find it. What he chose to do with that I had no involvement in. If he just so happened to be on the lookout for an assassin and I was coincidentally still in the area, well...no Witcher is ever going to turn down such well paying jobs so close together."

Jaskier laughed, causing the wolves to look at him in shock, "Oh don't look like that. I didn't learn the extent of it until I was older but besides trying to murder me he was an absolute cock. Definitely not somebody you'd want in charge of anything!"

"The ones that desperate for power usually aren't." Eskel mused, Lambert raised his cup in agreement.

"You know, I'm so happy that Geralt ended up being the Witcher I ran into in Posada. But when I started out from Oxenfurt, I was actually looking for you."

Aiden straightened up in slight surprise, "Why?"

"Because I wanted to do this." Jaskier got down on the floor and once again wrapped his arms around Aiden, the Witcher returning the hug this time.

"Thanks." Jaskier muttered, "For humouring a scared, probably irritating as hell, little boy."

Aiden tightened his hold slightly, "You're welcome, Julian."

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #witcher aiden #witcher jaskier #jaskier #jaskier/aiden friendship #jaskier/aiden

[mlm-writer]

Old Friend (Geralt x GN!Reader)

Pairing:  Show!Geralt of Rivia x Gender Neutral Reader (can be interpreted as platonic or romantic) Rating: Mature Words: 1670 POV: Second Summary: The Big Tober Day 21 - “I did what I had to do to protect those I love… I had no choice!” Note: Don't @ me for still posting things that were supposed to come out in October. Tags: angst, mention of Ciri & Yennefer, ft. Jaskier & Milva, murder and dark magic

Everyone would agree that Ciri was an unlucky girl with a life tainted by tragedy. Every time you spoke with her about her past, you felt a little pang in your heart. However, sometimes you envied her. The way Geralt reserved his warmest of smiles for his charge, the way the most powerful sorceress spent her time teaching Ciri and the power Ciri possessed sometimes made you feel like she was, in some way, a very lucky girl. 

You spent life on the run with Ciri, Geralt and Yennefer. Most of the time you felt like you were family, sometimes you felt like an extra, an unnecessary weight, but no one told you to leave. You had nothing to teach Ciri that Geralt and Yennefer couldn’t. They had it covered from sword to spells to alchemy. 

Then things kept going to shit and before you knew it, Geralt was flirting with death and Ciri was missing. You wanted to go find her, but Yennefer insisted you stayed with Geralt. “You can heal anything!” Geralt exclaimed as you exhausted yourself once more. He was capable of loud verbal abuse. You should’ve counted that as a win, but it was hard to, when Geralt was still bed-bound. 

“I’m doing everything I can!” You yelled back. Milva entered, her hand landing on your shoulder. It has been the same song over and over again ever since Jaskier revealed Ciri was on her way to Nilfgaard. Geralt proceeded to demand more of you. Milva forced you out. Jaskier was waiting for you with a brew of herbs that would help you recover your strength. “I’m really doing everything I can,” you sobbed by the fire. 

Jaskier put his arm around you, comforting you the best he could. “I know. He knows. He is just… Geralt.” You leaned against the bard, letting his body’s warmth seep into yours. You sat by the fire until it got dark. Jaskier eventually let you be to mull over your thoughts in peace. When you had the strength you used your magic on those that did appreciate it. You were weak, but even a little was for many enough to pull their foot out of the grave. 

Exhaustion gnawed at your bones. Your muscles felt like they were weighed down by the state of the world. You took a stroll out of the camp, trying to avoid Jaskier and Milva. They meant well, but their words were not enough to distract you from the power you lacked. 

When the lights of the camp were far behind you, you stopped walking. You couldn’t hold yourself up anymore, knees colliding with the muddy ground of the forest. From a secret pocket sewn into the coat you’ve had for over two decades, you procured an amulet you haven’t worn since you met Geralt all those years ago. The deep red gem reflected the light of the moon onto your eyes. Deep within the stone you could see an old friend. You promised Geralt you’d throw this trinket away; you promised you would never give in to temptation again, but despair had forced you quite literally to your knees. You clenched the charm tightly in your fist. “All is fair in love and war,” you whispered as you stared down at your fist, noticing how red light seeped between your fingers. “These are times of war and… I love him.”

Those words spoken aloud strengthened your resolve. You closed your eyes as you put the thin golden chain over your head, letting the amulet fall right where your heart was. As soon as that metal hit your chest, you felt an old friend occupying your mind once more. “I always knew you’d come back,” it told you. It gave you visions of how to help Geralt. The methods dancing on the grey moral spectrum, but led by these visions, you made your way back to the camp. You entered the tents of the sleeping patients you had helped earlier. You touched those that you didn’t think would make it to the morning. Their life force entered through your fingertips. They breathed their final breath. You felt the weak energy pooling together. One tent, two, three, you passed though the whole camp, taking what you needed from those that were not likely to hold onto it for long anyway. Each time you took, darkness rose to your skin, revealing your deeds in the night. 

Your veins had turned black by the time you entered the final tent. Geralt was fast asleep as well, too injured to even hear you entering, too unwell to open his eyes and ask you what you were doing there. A black tear rolled down your cheek as you placed your hand on his chest and let go of all the energy you had collected. The life energy of the people that died that night flowed from your chest down to your fingertips. In his sleep, Geralt inhaled deeply as the energy filled him. It only took a moment, but it felt like an eternity as you felt the weight of the lives you took to save the one most dear to you. 

When you were devoid of all the energy but your own, you collapsed on the ground, legs too tired to keep you up. You took deep breaths, trying to avoid looking at your hands. However, in the end you just needed to know how bad things were. You raised your palms, the sight - though expected - still horrifying. Your skin had blackened from the dark magic. Your hands felt fine though. “You did well. This is only the beginning of what we can achieve. You’re meant to take what you please,” the old friend’s voice echoed through your skull. The words were reassuring, but you knew all too well where things could lead. You reached for the amulet, ready to rip it off you. “You need me. Without me you’re useless. You can’t protect the ones you love.” 

Geralt had you once believe otherwise, but it only took one glance towards him to show you where his faith in you had led him to. Even the great White Wolf could be wrong sometimes. Defeated, you slowly let go of the amulet, allowing it to occupy its old spot. “Everything will be fine. You will be fine,” the being spoke through the amulet to you. You had heard those words a million times from Jaskier, but only now did they actually soothe you. 

The next morning you woke up from stirring on the bed. You hadn’t dared to leave the tent and slept on a chair. “Geralt,” you whispered, aware of your surroundings the moment your ears picked up on the rustling of blankets. You forgot what you looked like, immediately rising from the chair and joining Geralt at his side. You inspected the wound on his leg, but it was not there anymore, a new scar adorning his skin. 

Your eyes didn’t meet Geralt’s until he sat up on his own. “What did you do?” His voice dripped of venom. You lifted your head to meet his yellow eyes, darkened by the deeply furrowed eyebrows. Your throat felt tight, so tight that not a single syllable could make it through to the cold space between you and the Witcher. He called your name and reached out. You were frozen in place as his calloused fingers traced the black marks on your face. “What did you do?” He repeated the question, emphasising each word with urgency. 

Black tears pooled in your eyes, the first few already rolling down your cheeks by the time you found your voice once more. “I did what I had to do to protect those I love…” You swallowed a lump in your throat. “I had no choice.” Your voice trembled, each word shaking more than the previous one. 

Geralt was visibly seething as he grabbed your arm, his grip tight. “What did you do?” He demanded, voice booming in the small space. You tried to free yourself. 

“Geralt, please, you’re hurting me!” “Say it!” 

He knew you. He knew you from the moment he met you. He knew the person you could be once you gave up on your ‘old friend’. He knew what you did then and he knew what you did last night. He knew, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to be wrong. He wanted to have mistaken that familiar amulet around your neck. However, things were exactly as it seemed and just like things never changed, Jaskier and Milva came in right on que. 

Jaskier called out for Geralt, tried to calm him. He immediately commented on how he seemed to be better, proceeded to ask how. Meanwhile, Milva freed you of Geralt’s grip. A crowd had formed at the entrance, but you couldn’t see anyone in the room but Geralt. “How many have died tonight?” Geralt demanded to know, Jaskier and Milva now in between you two. They tried to calm him. “How many?” He roared. 

His fury eventually ripped the answer out of you. “I don’t know! I only took from those that were not likely to make it to the morning anyway.” 

“Jaskier…” Geralt’s voice was quieter now he got his answer from you. He turned to the bard. “How many people died tonight?” Jaskier turned to Milva, hoping she held the answer. 

“42,” she spoke with surprising steadiness. She then looked at you, shaming you with her eyes alone. She was not the only one who despised your existence after that night. Jaskier pleaded for your life, then left with Geralt to find Ciri. You had to go your own way, fend for yourself once more. If it wasn’t for your aching heart, it was like you never met the Witcher at all. He never wanted to see you again, but even as you walked with your backs facing each other, you felt like you would see him again. It was a funny thing… destiny. 

—————

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#gender neutral reader #male reader #the witcher #the witcher s3 #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x male reader #geralt x gender neutral reader #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x gender neutral reader #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x y/n #the witcher fic #dandelion #jaskier #milva

[samstree]

“Ow, ow, ow…” Jaskier hisses, holding his injured shoulder still. The arrow pulls at his flesh suddenly. “Ow! Are you trying to kill me, witch?”

He turns around to send a glare, only to find Yennefer rolling her eyes.

“It needs to come out so I can heal you, bard,” she says pointedly, one hand holding him by the arm, the other wrapped around that gods-damned arrow. “Now hold still, and stop being a baby.”

She mumbles something about even Ciri making less of a fuss with injuries, and Jaskier makes his most offended noise, ready to throw back more insults.

“I’ll have you know, I was the bravest bait who ever lived, as appointed by a princess! And this is the proof of my bravery! How many bards have taken an arrow in the back? Nary one, I say! I am not being a baby, you cruel, heartless—”

A sharp pain shoots through his shoulder as Yennefer pulls out the arrow in one swift motion, nearly blinding him. Jaskier’s breath catches, and all sounds die in his throat as the world darkens for a moment. The surprise of it all leaves him shaking, his chest heaving.

“It’ll be over soon…”

Distantly, Jaskier knows Yennefer is saying something as she works her magic, but all he can focus on is the pain and the warm trickle of blood down his back. He touches the tips of his fingers on instinct, a self-soothing motion he’s developed in the past year.

“Hey.”

A gentle hand lands on where the arrow struck him, and Jaskier gasps, realizing Yennefer is now touching smooth, unbroken skin. All the pain is gone.

“Hmm,” Jaskier says, intelligently, blinking as he tries to move his shoulder. Nothing tugs at the muscles underneath. He’s as good as new. “Oh, I—Yennefer, I guess I should—”

“Don’t thank me.” She has sat down beside him, one hand still on his shoulder, a magical tingling under her fingertips. “Promised I’d save you, didn’t I?”

Jaskier chuckles, exhaling with relief. “Did you? Not before tormenting me greatly, though.”

Yennefer blinks, violet eyes boring into him. The next thing he knows, she’s leaning down to press her lips to his shoulder, right where the phantom pain has faded. The kiss ends quickly, but it is soft, bordering on sweet.

“Oh…” he breathes.

His skin is now tingling for an entirely different reason.

“What about now, oh brave bard?” she asks, half-teasing, half-sincere. Their hands find each other’s, linking together. She squeezes in reassurance, careful to avoid the burn scars on his fingers. “Still cruel and heartless?”

Jaskier holds onto her hand in return, heart picking up its pace. He doesn’t know how she does it, driving him up the wall and making his insides melt into a warm puddle of goo at the same time, all the while being her most infuriatingly witty self. There must be a special magic spell for it.

“No,” he answers, a smile stretching across his face. She raises her eyebrows, as a challenge, as a dare, but he settles on something also half-teasing, half-sincere. “Kind and generous, is what you are, my dear, dear witch.”

He takes Yennefer’s hand to his lips and kisses her in return, and watches violet eyes melt with warmth.

If there was a magic spell, Jaskier thinks, he must have been enchanted by her a long time ago.

(this is for @cherryjuicegf <33 I counted the number of crumbs you were getting and took pity...)

#yennskier #s3 spoilers #you know she must have healed him if he's fine and walking in the next scene #also mended his clothes since he's wearing the same thing later on #anyway #i emerge from the deep end to produce one (1) yennskier fic for chrysa every year #enjoy!

[annmarcus63]

It's unconventional to live with a terminal illness for a long time. Jaskier, of course, has always been unconventional. Barely a year after meeting Geralt, Jaskier began to taste perfume on his tongue. Not long after, he began to pick out delicate little petals from between his teeth. But he gave it no thought, the perfume and the petals meant fresh flowery breath. Some maidens compliment his hygiene in comparison with the rotten breath of her husbands. Things became worrying when he woke up one night gasping, something was in his throat, he stuck his fingers inside to pried the petal out, a full yellow petal followed by a string of spit. Jaskier is filled with fear and denial which prompt him to search for a healer in the next village he visits with Geralt.

I need supplies, he said. I can get them for you, the witcher offered. No! thank you darling but you wouldn't know what kind of strings and scented oils I require to be this talented and fetching, the bard lied. The healer said he got hanahaki disease at an early stage. There's no cure but to give up the love he had for that person. But how could he? Love is not meant to be controlled or selective. Days after, Geralt saved a girl from the claws of some sick bandits that kidnapped her one week before, he was kind and patient with her, even if she couldn't stop crying to tell them where she lives. In that moment Jaskier concluded that he'd die for loving Geralt.

Years on, the disease grows to full flowers and the occasional stems that irritates his throat. He uses the flowers as decoration on his outfits, sometimes weaving them into crowns or into Roach's mane. Acacias, Lilies, Orchids and chrysanthemums, Dahlias, Freesias and some others he doesn't recognize. After a while he can make full bouquets to gifted to Geralt, he washes the blood and spit first of course. The witcher grimaces but accepts them with no complaints. Yennefer and him had a fight over telling Geralt or getting away to find someone else. You want him all to yourself, Jaskier yells. Don't be an idiot, you'd die!, the witch screams back. What is it to you? I'll die sooner or later anyways.

He weaves flowers in Ciri's hair too. It's not until the flowers begin to clog his airways that he knows he's almost there. He doesn't have much time. Geralt notices and he's worried, he confronts the bard about it too many times but Jaskier doesn't tell him. He's pale and weak the day he faints next to Geralt. The truth is revealed, Geralt is furious and feels betrayed but most of all is scared of losing Jaskier. Geralt offers to go on dates with him, to court him and make an effort. So you can forget them, he says, forget them and love me. Oh, darling, that's the problem, says Jaskier with tears in his eyes.

#geraskier #jaskier #the witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier #hanahaki disease #mine #I need hanahaki disease fanfics to be happy #tag me if you know one #also is there someone here who speaks spanish and is willing to share their geraskier obsession with me #i need friends as crazy as me #the witcher netflix

[mjolnir-76]

Geralt Of Rivia X Male!Elf!Reader

genre: fluff, comfort

words: 822

summary: Geralt comforts you after you catch sight of a new scar, leading to you braiding his hair as promised and falling asleep in each others arms

after some decision, you, geralt and jaskier arrive at kaer morhen for the winter. you and geralt share a room and share a lovely night together. you both hop out of the bath after relaxing by the fire, drying yourselves off. you walk infront of the mirror, shorts hanging low on your hips and you pull a shirt over your head when you pause, seeing the protruding scar on your abdomen. you remove your shirt from just over your head, dropping it softly to the ground. geralt glances over at the noise, tugging on his own shirt. your fingers gently feel the bumpy skin, eyes contorting in disgust. you love to trace geralts scars, hear every story but on yourself, you felt it made you look gross, undesirable. like it ruined your smooth skin.

"what are you doing?" his deep voice enters your ears. it brings you out of your thoughts and you quickly grab your shirt from the floor, "doesn't matter" you say, unravelling your shirt when geralt takes it off of you, throwing it on the bed behind you. he grabs your bare waist, pulling you closer, his thumb stroking over the scar. "i know what you're thinking, i've spent many a night thinking the same" he murmurs, spinning you around softly to face the mirror again. he kisses your shoulder before he takes off his shirt again. you sigh as you know what he's doing, he points to one of his scars in the same place as yours, "look, we're matching" he says. "yours are just.. different i don't know" you say, finding it difficult to put your thoughts into words. "but they're not. the longer we spend together getting into fights, they'll build up. and then you'll have stories after stories for each one every time i trace them. they won't look out of place, they'll be your trophy" he says, wrapping his arms around your bare waist, pulling your back and kissing at you neck and shoulder.

"you know nothing can ruin you in my eyes, it only gives you more depth. makes you more beautiful, if that's possible" he says with a smile. he gently sways you and you lean your head back against his chest to which he rests his chin on your slightly damp hair. "i love you so much" is all you mumble, revelling in the warmth of your human heater. he kisses your head, "i love you more" he replies and you twist in his grasp, wrapping your arms around his upper abdomen. "nooo" you murmur tiredly into his pec that your cheek rests on. he wraps his arms around your shoulders, one hand softly stroking your head. he laughs quietly, "tired darling?" he asks and you pull back from his arms, "not too tired to do your hair like you promised" you smile up at him as he hopes you forgot about what he promised. "fine, be quick about it alright" he says and you peck his lips before moving onto the bed. your hop on and rest against the headboard, patting the space between your legs.

he smiles slightly and crawls onto the bed, settling comfortably between your legs. he wouldn't admit it but he loves being in your arms. he's big spoon to anyone who asks, but you know he likes to be held. you grab a brush from the side and gently drag it through his now dry hair. you smile at how soft it is, putting the brush down and running your fingers through it. geralt groans, eyes closed, fully relaxed. you can tell he's close to drifting off but he's actively fighting it to stay in the moment. your fingers gently start to weave together sections of hair skilfully, your routine of doing your own hair every morning coming through. geralt wasn't aware of how much this meant to you. as an elf, braided hair had a lot of meaning and symbolism, it was a craft your mother had taught you when you were young. little did you know geralt was fully aware, it's the only reason he let you do it.

after feeling your gentle hands massage his scalp he may let you do it more often. you normally wore braids in your hair and you mirrored a couple of styles you usually had in his, showing your connection. you tie ribbon after ribbon, weaving together braids and hair in intricate patterns. he just has so much hair, it's incredibly relaxing for both parties. you finish the last braid, smoothing down his hair and kissing the top of his head and wrapping your arms around his upper body. he slowly shifts, turning around to face you, "lay down love, let's get some sleep" you nod and geralt lifts his body up on his arms, letting you slide down until your head meets the pillows. geralt moves to lay beside you but you pull him up instead to lay on your chest, still between your legs. he smiles and let's you, wrapping his arms around you and resting his ear to your chest. your heartbeat lulls him into sleep aswell as your fingers still sifting through his now braided hair. his warmth and weight are so comforting, you never want to leave this moment.

#geralt x y/n #geralt x you #tv show geralt #the witcher games #geralt fanfic #geralt fluff #original character #geralt x reader #geralt x male reader #geralt of rivia #the witcher #henry cavil x male reader #henry cavil x y/n #henry cavil #henry cavil fanfic

[inexplicifics]

🤎 for geralt/jaskier/eskel

“It’s really not fair,” Jaskier says.

“What’s not fair?” Eskel asks, from where he’s spooned up behind Jaskier.

“Well, if I’m kissing you, I’m not kissing Geralt, and if I’m kissing Geralt, I’m not kissing you, and if I’m kissing either of you, you’re not kissing each other.”

Geralt snorts softly. “Truly your life is hard,” he says, tone very dry.

Jaskier puts the back of his hand to his forehead and pretends to swoon into Eskel’s steady strength. “Terribly hard,” he agrees.

“We could take turns, I suppose,” Eskel says thoughtfully.

“Ooh, I like that idea,” Jaskier says, perking back up again. “Let’s do that!”

Geralt chuckles and sits up, tugging Jaskier up with him; Eskel also shoves himself upright, so they’re all buried to their waists in furs. Geralt takes Jaskier’s face in his hands and kisses him slow and sweet, the way Geralt always likes best.

Jaskier sighs happily.

Geralt sits back, and Eskel leans in for his own turn. His kisses are always a little more aggressive than Geralt’s, but his hands are infinitely gentle as he cradles Jaskier’s head between his callused palms. Jaskier kisses back eagerly, carding his fingers through Eskel’s hair, a little coarser than Geralt’s but still so lovely.

And then Jaskier leans back and Geralt and Eskel meet in the middle. Geralt sighs as he melts into the kiss; Eskel curls a hand around the back of Geralt’s neck and pulls him closer. Jaskier has seen a great many beautiful things in his life - and he’s a poet, his job is seeing beauty and turning it into words - but this, he is willing to argue, is the most beautiful thing of all.

Geralt looks so peaceful as he trusts himself to Eskel’s strength. And Eskel looks so utterly content as he takes the lead in the press of lips to lips. If Jaskier could paint, he would paint this, though he knows he couldn’t do it justice.

“Lovely,” he whispers.

His Wolves both chuckle, amber and golden eyes fluttering open again as their lips part, and they turn to Jaskier with near-identical hungry looks. Jaskier grins. “My turn again?”

“Your turn again,” Geralt agrees, and Jaskier flings himself happily into seeing how many times they can go ‘round before they all tumble into the furs again to figure out yet another wonderful way three bodies can fit against each other.

Also HERE on AO3!

#questions answered #ask meme #heart asks #geraskel

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon - Odd Jobs

Witchers make a living by walking the Path. Every Spring, Geralt travels back and forth across the Continent, offering his services in exchange for coin. Most of the jobs he takes involve getting rid of monsters, or bringing back the pieces of them that mages or healers need for their spells or potions. He's also done bodyguarding, bounty hunting, and even the odd job here and there.

Geralt had no idea that the job he was going to take was going to be one of those odd jobs.

He'd been approached by a boy of barely 8 years, begging him to help him get rid of a monster.

Great. A child. Geralt did not like dealing with children. They tended to scream a lot, and p*ss themselves. Or follow you around and talk incessantly, and they had no sense of personal space, like a certain someone he knew...

"Stop doing that with your face, you're scaring the poor boy!" Jaskier admonished Geralt, who was scowling. Geralt attempted to look a little more friendly.

"Well, now you just look like you licked a nekker's ar*ehole!"

"Hm!"

"Just go stand over there and let me handle this."

Geralt waited by Roach while Jaskier talked to the boy. He had probably been sent by his parents while they ran other errands. How inconvenient. But as long as the job paid well...

Jaskier returned moments later, his expression odd. "He said to follow him, and he will show us where he saw the monster."

Geralt frowned, "Jaskier, what the h*ll is going on?"

"He wants to hire you to get rid of a monster? I mean, I thought it was obvious, Geralt."

"I'm being hired by a child?"

"He said the pay was negotiable. We can always talk to his parents afterwards."

Geralt bristled, then 'hmm'ed and looked away, thinking. There were so many things about this that he didn't like. But what harm could it do to go and look? He could tell the boy wasn't lying, and was truly afraid. Geralt didn't want to leave things to chance.

They followed the boy on foot, having left Roach in town since they weren't going far, according to the boy. Geralt 'hm'ed in quiet disaproval as the small human led them off the road, cut through the grass and led them into the forest. Jaskier's eyes were sparkling with excitement when the boy paused and said "This is the way to our hideout. It's a secret, so you can't tell anyone about it!" He looked at Jaskier.

The bard quickly nodded, held up his left hand and used his right to cross his heart.

The boy looked at Geralt expectantly.

Jaskier looked at Geralt expectantly.

Geralt 'hmmm'ed and crossed his heart.

The boy nodded, satisfied, and led them along a path that was little more than a deer track.

They crossed a small stony creek, turned right at a massive, rotting tree stump, and walked down an ancient sunken lane. Jaskier was frantically taking notes and making sketches in his notebook, babbling on excitedly with the boy about the holloway. Geralt knew he was probably already mentally composing an embelished song about a fae tree tunnel or something.

The path was short, and ended at the remains of an ancient stone wall. There was a large hole in it, large enough for a man to pass through. The boy clammered through the hole with practiced ease.

Geralt walked up to the crumbling wall and 'hm'ed' unhappily.

"Oh, where's your sense of adventure?" Jaskier asked as he ducked through the little tunnel.

"It seems to have b*ggered off somewhere with your common sense."

Jaskier's arm poked back through the hole on Geralt's side of the wall. His wrist did a complicated little twist, fingers doing a fluid little dance, and then, with a flourish, he extended his middle finger.

Geralt slapped the hand down and followed him through the wall.

On the other side was an impressive, if somewhat lopsided, and crooked structure that looked like a woodshed with inexpertly done additions. It was a slapped together conglomeration of stones, sticks, various tree parts, and scavenged bits of building materials from the town.

There was also a pack of children of various ages gathered a healthy distance away from the 'hideout''. They huddled tightly together when they saw Geralt approaching, cringing when his shadow fell over them.

Geralt looked down at them, at their frightened faces, and rumbled quietly, making his tone as soft as possible, "I'm here about the monster. Your friend hired me to get rid of it."

One of the children, a girl of about 6 years, inched forward and quavered, "It's a bogeyman! It came out of the corner by the fire pit and screamed at us! It chased us out and we haven't been able to go back in. Merik tried to go in yesterday, and it was still there! It screamed and came at him from the shadows."

"A bogeyman," Geralt said cocking an eyebrow. He looked at Jaskier, 'hmm'ed and said, "A bogeyman," in case Jaskier hadn't heard the first time.

Jaskier gave him a warning look before crouching down, "Can you describe it for him, love?" he asked the little girl. "So he knows what kind of bogeyman it is?"

The bogeyman was blurry, had big, black holes where it's eyes should be in it's deathly white face. It's body was made of inky shadows and wind. And it screamed like a banshee.

It didn't sound like any monster Geralt had ever seen. He decided to just go have a look for himself.

"Stay with the children." Geralt said to Jaskier as he marched off to the jumble of a house. He carefully cracked open the door and slipped inside. It was dark, but he could easily see what had frightened the children. It was up in the rafters in the corner, watching him.

Geralt rolled his eyes and, since no one was around to see him, smiled. Kids and their imaginations.

Jaskier was entertaining the children with one of those inappropriate songs about body parts and bodily functions that kids love so much, when crashing and screaming erupted from inside the house.

The children screamed and joined Jaskier in hiding behind a fallen log. There were thumps, bumps, scrapes, and thuds overlayed by Geralt's growls and shouted expletives.

Jaskier and the children gasped when Geralt came flying backwards out the door, crashed to the ground, jumped up, and charged back inside, roaring like a bull. There was more screaming, more sounds of struggling. The children were peeking over the edge of the log along with Jaskier, imagining the epic battle that was raging inside.

Geralt crashed through one of the windows on the side of the house, rolling and struggling with a black, shadowy thing that was flapping and flipping in his hands.

They disappeard behind the house as they struggled, and then reappeard, rolling on the ground. Geralt punched and kicked, and slashed at it with his silver sword. He gained his feet, grabbed the thing and started beating it on the ground, then pinned it in the dirt with his sword and cast Igni. The thing burst into flames, turning to ash.

Once the nightmare had been slain, the children had calmed down and came over to confirm that the bogeyman was really dead. Then it was time take care of business.

Jaskier watched as Geralt accepted the payment for his contract. He solemnly held out his hand, and the boy dumped a collection of items into it. There was an impressive amount of coppers, and an assortment of bits and bobs.

"You said the pay was negotiable. I'll take this as my payment," Geralt said, taking a cat's tooth out of the pile. He could give it to Yen for her spells. He handed the coins and other treasures back to the boy, then rose and nodded to them.

He was mentally thrown off balance when several of the children hugged him. He patted their heads awkwardly and assured them that their secret hideout's location was safe, then went on his way.

"So what was it?" Jaskier asked as they navigated their way back to the road.

"A barn owl. I cast Axii on it to keep it calm and wrapped it in an old cloak I found in the corner. I let it go when I went around the back of the house."

Jaskier laughed, "So you just stomped around, banged on some stuff, and made a bunch of noise to make it sound convincing. And let me guess, you used Aard to throw yourself through the door?"

Geralt: *Affirmative Hmm*

"Well, it was very believable, especially the part where you were struggling with the bogeyman outside. Very convincing. Have you ever thought of going into theater? You'd make a good actor."

"No. I have too much self respect."

"But you would look so good in hose! You have very nice legs, and such a lovely bott-!"

Geralt bumped Jaskier, causing him to step in a pile of fresh deer droppings.

"My boots! These were new, you jacka**!"

They made it back to town, Jaskier had fodder for his next song, and Geralt had a humorously odd story to tell that winter.

#the witcher #the witcher headcanon #the witcher netflix #twn #geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geraskier #odd jobs headcanon

[panur]

Radskier snippet

Snippet for a fic that’s so far into the future I may as well share as its own thing until I decide to use it (if it ever happens). dedicated to @flootzavut as most Jask tit-centric chats are.

-----

“I missed this.”

“My tits?”

Radovid makes a thoughtful noise, rubs his cheek against the other man’s chest like a contented cat. Blame it on being spread over a beautifully bare (and somewhat sticky) bard.

“If I say yes, would you kindly pretend I said something suave, mayhaps even romantic? I’m afraid you’ve left me too spent for much else.”

He can feel Jaskier chuckle under his ear, which is somehow just as lovely as the rest of him. “You’re in luck. As it happens, I've always considered compliments to my cleavage a pivotal part of the whole romancing process.”

“Is that why you wear your shirts open halfway to your navel?”

Radovid tries to lean away so less of his weight is on the other man, but his hair gets caught on one of Jaskier’s necklaces. The bards’ deft fingers untangle it before he can try to do so himself. He tucks the traitorous strand back in place.

“And why should I deprive the continent of one of my many charms?” His hand moves from Radovid’s hair and to his jaw, stroking gently

“Oh, trust me, I felt many things the first time I saw you,” Radovid pauses, for both effect and to steal a kiss “- ‘deprived’ was not one of them.”

It might as well have happened in another lifetime, but that did not mean the former prince could forget the first time he’d set eyes on a man he’d so deeply admired and hoped to meet– only to find him only half dressed and in the process of having most of his worldly possessions thrown at him out of an irate lover’s flat.

After so long, Philippa’s insidious presence is almost easy to drown out by other, far more pleasant parts of these memories. The shock of catching a flying instrument before it brained him. Realizing what he was holding and who it belonged to. The most outstanding eyes he’d ever seen, turning to look into his. 

And of course, the bard's barely-covered—how had he put it?— charms. 

Jaskier eyebrows waggle. He seems to have a sixth sense for the carnal musings of others, particularly the ones where he was the lead. “Hmm, should we try for ‘depraved’?”

“I think you should try ‘dreadful'.” Radovid sighs, moving to lay next to him “Considering that was quite so.”

The waggle intensifies, somehow.

“I can’t help but notice a suspicious lack of denials coming from your end, my dear,” the bard purrs, leaning to face him.

“Remind me why I find you charming?” Radovid asks, trying not to blush.

“The decolletage is very persuasive.” Jaskier points, traces an entrancing path down his clavicle to the center of his chest with a finger, then flicking at Radovid’s nose when his eyes predictably follow the path.

“Among other things, yes,” he agrees, meeting Jaskier halfway when he leans to kiss the smile on his lips.

#radovid x jaskier #radskier #radovid the stern #jaskier #the witcher netflix #the witcher #post coital flirting

[bambirex]

Tell It With Your Heart

Pairing: Geraskier

Characters: Jaskier/Dandelion, Geralt of Rivia

Additional tags: fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, acts of kindness, soft Geralt of Rivia, soft Jaskier/Dandelion, getting together, domestic fluff, friends to lovers

Word count: 2,504

Chapters: 1/1

Summary: While Jaskier always says what's on his mind, Geralt works a little differently. That doesn't mean he cannot tell Jaskier how he feels - he just does that without words.

Author's notes: for @wren-of-the-woods!! Wren, dear, we've talked so much about the different love languages the Witcher characters would have, and we both agreed Geralt's would be acts of service, so I had to gift this to you! I hope you'll like it, thank you so much for brainstorming with me ❤️

It's really nice finally being back with some fluff! There's a scene that might be familiar to some as it's directly taken from the Spirit cartoon hehe

Read on Ao3

**

Geralt wasn't a man of many words, Jaskier was well aware of that. For the first few months that they've spent traveling together, Jaskier was mostly met with grunts and an awful lot of "hm"s, and if Geralt has graced him with a sentence consisting of more than three words, Jaskier was practically over the moon.

It wasn't because he was dumb as many people believed witchers to be: Geralt was very intelligent, he was just simply very closed-off. He had many walls pulled up around his heart, protecting him from the harshness of the world. Armor on his body and on his soul, Jaskier mused about it one day.

It took a while for Jaskier to understand Geralt. The bard was very talkative, has been that way all his life: he's talked his way out of the worst situations, has seduced his lovers with his kind words, and has made himself a name with his poetry. For him, it was hard to imagine there were ways to talk without using words, until he met Geralt.

That was why he needed some time to put the pieces together after the first time Geralt has returned with two rabbits dangling over his shoulders one day.

It was a couple of months after Jaskier's joined Geralt on the path. Money was scarce, and so the food was too, and Jaskier may have complained a little about being hungry. Geralt has growled at him that if he wanted to eat, he was more than welcome to go and find food for himself. Jaskier decided it was wiser if he didn't do that on his own.

When Geralt told him to stay in one place while he disappeared into the woods, Jaskier was sure Geralt has left him behind. He cursed himself for being so stupid to whine about being hungry while he knew right well that Geralt was working his ass off trying to gather enough for the both of them. Now he really did it, he annoyed Geralt to the point that he wouldn't come back for him.

But Geralt returned, with one tiny, scrawny rabbit and a large, fat one. He did not say a single word, he just sat down on a tree trunk and started skinning them. Jaskier stood there confused, anxiously rubbing his fingers together while Geralt got to cooking the meat.

Once he was done, he handed Jaskier the much bigger rabbit. It smelled deliciously, and Jaskier noticed that Geralt cooked his rabbit so much better than his own, Jaskier's meat being pink and juicy, while Geralt's looking bony and half raw.

"We can share mine, I won't be able to eat all of this anyway," Jaskier offered. Geralt shook his head, not even looking up as he started tearing at his own food.

"You need it more than me," was all he said. Jaskier tried a couple more times, but Geralt refused his offer.

"Thank you," Jaskier said softly when they were done eating. His stomach was full, and he felt warm and comfortable. Maybe it was the post-lunch daze that made him see things that weren't there, but it seemed like Geralt looked satisfied as he watched Jaskier rest a hand on his full belly.

*

The night was cold, possibly the coldest all winter. They were refused from every single inn. Things seemed more hopeless than ever, and the night was slowly creeping up on them. Jaskier pulled his furs tighter around his body, his teeth chattering loudly as they wandered around, trying to find a place to rest.

They eventually found a tiny stable. It was an old, ragged building, not very warm and the hay was dusty and dry, but it was better than nothing.

Geralt placed both their blankets over the hay, then gestured at Jaskier to lie down on them. Jaskier raised an eyebrow in question.

"What about you?"

"Lie down, Jaskier."

Jaskier did, but his confusion remained as Geralt took his own fur off and laid it over him.

"Geralt, you're going to be cold," Jaskier protested. He tried to hand the fur back, but Geralt threw it back at him.

"Burrow in," Geralt said. He leaned down and wrapped the furs around Jaskier as tight as he could, cocooning him until he was as warm as he could be. "It's only going to get colder. I'll be okay."

"Geralt," Jaskier sighed, "please. I don't want you to freeze to death. At least... come a little closer, then?"

Jaskier could swear he saw a hint of a blush on Geralt's cheeks. The witcher hesitated for a moment before he lay next to Jaskier, shifting close enough that their sides touched.

It was the best sleep Jaskier has gotten in weeks. He felt safe and warm against Geralt's side, who seemed to have shifted even closer to him during the night. Jaskier didn't mind, not even a little bit.

*

"Oh, this is really pretty," Jaskier sighed dreamily, "very lovely."

"It would look marvelous on you," the vendor mused as he held up the necklace for Jaskier. The thin golden chain glimmered in the candlelight. The medallion, forming a tiny bird, dangled off the vendor's hand.

"That's so kind of you to say, but it's a bit expensive," Jaskier sighed. He fell in love with that necklace the second he's laid his eyes on it, but they weren't here to buy jewelry with the small amount of coins they had. Geralt was browsing the shelves for the necessary supplies they needed for the path. He had his back to Jaskier, but Jaskier was sure he was rolling his eyes over Jaskier's ridiculous love for pretty jewelry.

Jaskier tried not to show his disappointment when they left the shop. He stared down at his boots and bit his lip, imagining how that necklace would have looked on him.

They barely even made a few meters when Geralt abruptly turned around.

"I forgot something," he said, all but storming back in the shop.

He was back soon, holding a tiny bag in his hand. Jaskier eyed it curiously.

"What is it? Something for Roach?"

Geralt cleared his throat a little awkwardly before he squeezed out a "no". Then, he gave the bag to Jaskier.

"It's mine?"

"It's yours."

"Well, that should be interesting," Jaskier chuckled softly as he peeled the bag open. He let out a loud gasp when he saw what was inside.

"Geralt..." Jaskier whispered, his throat constricting around the words. "You shouldn't have..."

"I know you liked it," Geralt replied. He didn't look at Jaskier, instead stared at a small rock on the ground. He kicked it, watching it roll away as if it was the most interesting thing he has ever seen. "So, there."

Jaskier suddenly didn't know what to do with himself. He wanted to run back to the shop and give it back, he wanted to berate Geralt for spending so much on something so useless, but he also wanted to sob and throw himself into Geralt's arms.

He did the latter, clutching Geralt so hard that the witcher let out a surprised huff. Jaskier buried his face in Geralt's neck, his eyes welling up with tears.

"I don't know why you're being so kind to me," Jaskier whispered, "you shouldn't have to do all this for me."

"I should," Geralt said. He brought up a hand and placed it onto Jaskier's back, a slightly awkward but very endearing attempt at a hug. "You're welcome."

*

Jaskier sat in the grass, scribbling in his notebook while Geralt sat next to him, working on his bestiary. It was a nice and comfortable way to spend time together: just being close to each other, both working on their own thing while not having to be alone. As years have passed, Jaskier has learned to appreciate these moments. He used to think of them as boring, awkward silence, but now he understood just how precious it was to be together like this.

He glanced over at Geralt. The witcher was deeply lost in his thoughts, a furrow between his brows, his face half-covered by his hair. Jaskier felt his heart flutter just looking at him.

Geralt must have sensed he was staring, because he looked up, shooting Jaskier a questioning look. Jaskier quickly looked away, redirecting his eyes upwards to the tree above them and pretending like he hasn't been staring at Geralt for the past few minutes- and the past decade, really.

He spotted a beautifully ripe apple on one of the branches above him. It was harsh red and perfectly round. Jaskier could imagine the taste of it on his tongue.

"When I was young," he started, speaking more to himself than Geralt, "I would always pick at fruits while I was working on a song. I would lie belly down on the grass, scribbling with one hand and stuffing my face with the other."

"Did it help you create better?"

"I don't know. It was a nice habit. And at least I didn't forget to eat while I was writing. I tend to do that."

"I know," there was an almost soft tone to Geralt's voice. It made Jaskier smile.

Jaskier peered up at the apple again. It sat on a high branch, and there was no way Jaskier would have reached it, even if he jumped for it. He decided he'd rather just wait until a fruit fell on the ground.

He picked up his notebook again. He didn't manage to write the next sentence down, because from the corner of his eye, he saw a quick movement that made him look up.

Jaskier's jaw dropped when he saw Geralt jumping up so high, it looked like he was practically flying. Taking good advantage of his advanced strength and reflexes, Geralt grabbed the apple from the branch before he landed again on the ground with a soft thud.

He opened his palm and showed the apple to Jaskier, making him snort.

"Way to humiliate me, Geralt," Jaskier rolled his eyes, "I'm sorry I can't fly. I didn't even know witchers could do that. Eh. Show-off."

"No," Geralt reached out again. "I got it for you."

"For me?" Jaskier whispered in awe. He stared at the apple in Geralt's hand, then up at Geralt. He blinked at him in surprise. Geralt hummed.

"Do you not want it?"

"I do," Jaskier replied. The muscles in his face ached as his lips curled into a wide smile. His heart swelled so big in his chest, he was worried it would burst. "But only if I can share it with you."

"Alright," Geralt concluded. His own lips twitched into a smile as he reached into his satchel, looking for a dagger.

Their knees touched as they sat, passing apple slices between each other. Once again, Jaskier found it hard to look at anywhere but Geralt's face, that lovely face that looked so content now, Jaskier wished he could kiss it.

*

The years have officially caught up to Jaskier. He wasn't old, not by any means, but he wasn't exactly young either. He started to tire out easier, his legs aching after having to walk so long. His joints often creaked and popped when he stood up, and to his absolute horror, he even noticed a gray hair at his temple.

"I don't mean to complain... well, I kind of do. I know it must be hard being a witcher but at least your lower back doesn't try to kill you if you sit a little weird for a few minutes!"

Jaskier groaned as he sunk into the water. The warmth felt heavenly for his tired bones, his cramping muscles easing up slowly as he leaned back in the tub. He rested his head against the edge, letting out a big sigh.

"And I'm only thirty-five!"

"You're thirty-eight, Jaskier."

"It's awfully rude to bring up a lady's age, Geralt!"

"You brought it up first. And you're not a lady."

"No, I'm an old man," Jaskier whined pathetically, closing his eyes. "I'm withering away."

His eyes snapped open again when he felt a touch against his shoulder. He twisted around to see Geralt standing behind the tub.

"Relax," Geralt told him. Before Jaskier could ask what he meant, Geralt pressed his thumb into a sore spot gently, making Jaskier keen in his throat.

"Heavens," he sighed, "this is incredible."

Geralt hummed, a pleased little sound. He ground the heel of his hand into the knots in the back of Jaskier's neck, drawing content little noises out of him.

Jaskier couldn't help but grin when he smelled the chamomile oil. He wanted to make a joke about the tables turning, but he could only manage a blissful moan when Geralt massaged the oil into his skin.

"You know, you do an awful lot of things for me," Jaskier pointed out. "You take care of me a lot."

"You take care of me as well."

"Yes, but it's different for you, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I've been thinking," Jaskier admitted. He let out another happy sigh as Geralt rubbed over his shoulder. "I had a lot of time to do that in the past fifteen years or so. You're not very talkative. Sometimes, when you're in the right mood, you talk a bit more. But even then, not as much as me."

Jaskier could hear the grin in Geralt's voice when he said "No one can talk as much as you."

Jaskier snorted. "Alright, maybe the comparison is a little unfair. But my point is, I've told you many times that I love you. You just never seemed to hear me. And I was wondering if it was because you didn't want to hear it, or because your way of telling me is much different."

Geralt's hands stilled. Jaskier turned back, glaring up into amber eyes.

"You're doing all of this for me, buying me things, feeding me, spoiling me, because you don't know how else to tell me."

He reached for Geralt's hand. He smiled when Geralt - even though a little tentatively - laced their fingers together.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to understand your language," Jaskier said softly, "but I get it now. I mean... I get it, right? Oh, gods, it would be very awkward if I misinterpreted this and..."

He didn't get to finish his rambling as Geralt pressed their lips together, his hand still holding Jaskier's. Jaskier felt like melting into the warm water as Geralt kissed him, a little too careful for Jaskier's taste, but so perfectly like no one else could.

"Are you happy?" Geralt asked as he pulled back. Jaskier definitely didn't just imagine the flush on his cheeks this time.

"Very," Jaskier grinned. He kissed the back of Geralt's hand, holding it against his cheek for a moment. "I love you."

Geralt leaned down to kiss him again, carding his fingers through Jaskier's damp hair. Very quietly, very gently, he said the same thing against Jaskier's lips.

#geraskier #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fic #my fic #geraskier fanfiction #geraskier fic #jaskier #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Modern au - Vesemir royally screws up by driving Aiden away.

“Aiden.”

“I’m sorry Lambert. Please believe me I am so fucking sorry, but I can’t keep on like this and I’m not going to be the boyfriend who makes you choose between me or your family.”

“So your making the choice for me. Real fucking nice.”

Aiden gave him a sad, teary smile as he threw his duffel bag into the trunk of his beat up, third hand car, “Your family’s everything to you, Pup. Look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn’t regret cutting ties with any of them.”

“You’re family too!”

“It’s been made pretty clear time and again that I’m not and never will be as far as certain people are concerned. I love you Lambert, but there’s only so many times I can take being made to feel like some lowlife criminal every time I interact with your dad.”

Lambert felt his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth when he realised that he couldn’t even argue that. As he had when he and Lambert had first started dating, Aiden had been upfront about the shit he’d been involved with when he was younger and new to trying to fend for himself after ageing out of the system when the conversation at their first meeting had turned towards questions about his family and childhood. Ever since, Vesemir had taken every opportunity to weaponise it against the younger man - despite the fact that Aiden’s life could very well have been that of any of his own sons had fate played out differently. Lambert, Geralt and Eskel had been some of the lucky ones in the Care Kid Lottery. Aiden, not so much.

Every time, Lambert had asked him to give Vesemir another chance, promising it would be different this time (it had taken him awhile to warm up to Jaskier too, and he was a god damn ray of sunshine) and every time, Vesemir had made him a liar.

Aiden moved his arms awkwardly, looking like he was trying to decide if going in for a hug would be a wise idea until a couple of tears finally fell. He wiped them away hastily as he stepped back, opening the driver’s side door, “Goodbye, Lambert. I wish you every happiness.”

Lambert could only stand and stare as his every happiness drove away down the dirt track.

He heard the front door creak open followed by multiple pairs of footsteps, because of course they couldn’t even let him get his heart stomped on in private – they’d probably all had their noses pressed to the kitchen window. Jaskier was stood shoulder to shoulder with Geralt, looking like he was making a huge effort not to start crying himself while his brother was grim faced. Eskel strode towards him, giving him the same heartbroken look as he had when Lambert was newly seven and had casually informed them he’d never gotten birthday presents before.

“Shit, Lambert.”

He went to pull him into a hug which Lambert immediately ducked away from, “Don’t Esk. Just...fucking don’t .” He pleaded, voice breaking as he stomped back towards the house, jabbing a finger at Vesemir with a snarl as he did so. The old man had yet to react to anything that had just transpired, despite being the cause.

“I am never going to forgive you for this.”

Vesemir sat hunched over in his customary chair by the fireside, elbows resting on his knees as he stared into the tumbler of vodka he’d been nursing as his little granddaughter, Ciri, busied herself making popcorn garlands at the table. It had been over a month and he’d yet to hear anything directly from Lambert no matter how many times he tried to call or how many texts he sent, with any necessary replies being sent to him through either one of his brothers or Jaskier.

He turned when he heard someone clearing their throat pointedly.

Speak of the devil.

Jaskier stood slightly awkwardly, eyes darting between the man and the girl, “Ciri, why don’t you go see how your uncle and dad are doing untangling those lights?” It was flimsy at best but Ciri didn’t seem to notice as she darted off, too caught up in the excitement of Christmas preparations.

Vesemir held the bottle out to Jaskier in a silent offering as he took the chair opposite, “He said he’ll come, but only for Ciri.”

Vesemir sighed through his nose. That was about what he’d expected, “How is he?”

Jaskier bit his lip, “No change really. He still misses him and I...”

Vesemir raised a bushy eyebrow expectantly as he waited for Jaskier to carry on.

“I don’t think that’s going to stop any time soon.”

Vesemir shook his head, “Why does that boy have to be so stubborn? I tried my damn hardest to stop them all from heading down that path and then he goes and throws himself head first.”

“Sir?”

Vesemir downed the rest of his drink, “Do you know how many people see those in the system as easy targets for criminal activity? They purposefully prey on kids who are lonely, desperate for acceptance.”

“Kids like Aiden?”

Vesemir looked up sharply, Jaskier looked for all the world like he hadn’t intended for that to slip out. He took a deep breath before continuing, “With respect, while I think it’s incredibly sweet you’re still looking out for them, Lambert’s a grown man now and Aiden’s had no issues with the law for the last decade or so.”

“That still doesn’t mean he’s good enough for my son!”

Jaskier held up a finger as he started tapping away on his phone, “I remember you thinking the same about me at one point.”

“And what made me change my mind about you?”

“I think the fact that I wasn’t Yennefer turned things in my favour in the end. I don’t know if it’ll change anything but, perhaps you should look at this. Please.”

Lambert took the proffered phone. It was a candid picture of Aiden and Lambert, sometime late in the summer from the looks of it. They were stood in each others arms, smiling softly and looking absolutely besotted, their heads so close together their foreheads were touching and seemingly oblivious to everything else happening around them. Was this how they’d been when he wasn’t around?Vesemir felt his chest clench as he recognised the look in the picture, it was one that had passed between himself and Luka too many times to count before...

Good God, what had he done?

Vesemir knocked smartly on the black painted door for the third time. The apartment building was nicer than he’d expected and he instantly felt shame at his assumption that Aiden would be living in some rat infested hovel. He heard the click of a lock and inwardly winced at the sight that greeted him. Aiden eyes were sunken and puffy, as if he’d been crying himself to sleep before falling victim to insomnia, his clothes were dishevelled and Vesemir found himself wondering when the last time was he’d eaten a proper meal. Nevertheless, he drew his shoulders back and met Vesemir’s eye, even if he did have a death grip on the door knob.

“Jaskier gave me your address. Can we please talk?”

Christmas Eve came around far too quickly as far as Lambert was concerned. He couldn’t deny he was looking forward to seeing his niece and brothers but the thought of long periods of time with Vesemir right now was already mentally exhausting him. He grit his teeth as he threw the last of his things into his overnight bag, it would be fine. It was just two days, and if he needed a distraction God knew Geralt wouldn’t be able to assemble and find correct batteries for all of Ciri’s new toys single handed. It was just two days. He could do this.

Lambert sent up a prayer of thanks that Vesemir wasn’t there when he arrived in the late afternoon, Geralt informing him that he’d just gone out to grab some last minute things and had instructed them to make a start on preparing dinner.

Dark had well and truly fallen, the food was almost ready and Geralt was half threatening Ciri, Jaskier and Eskel with coal in their stockings if they sang ‘grandma got run over by a reindeer ‘ one more time (Lambert might have been partly responsible for that and had zero regrets) when the tell tale beams of car headlights flashed through the kitchen window followed by Vesemir elbowing his way through the door, a neatly wrapped present under each arm.

“Seriously dad?” Geralt sighed, “Ciri’s going to be getting enough from Santa tomorrow without you adding to it.”

“Why should Santa get to spoil my granddaughter? Lambert, there’s one more back in the car. Run and grab it please.”

Lambert rolled his eyes but conceded at Geralt’s ‘Don’t start’ look.

“Happy Christmas, Pup.”

The smallest breath of wind could’ve knocked him over at that moment. Aiden was leaning against the side of the car, arms crossed as he smiled shakily at Lambert, “Vesemir came to see me and we talked. Really talked. He apologised and promised I’m welcome here from now on. If you want me here, that is.”

Lambert all but ran to him before sweeping him up in his arms and into a desperate kiss which Aiden eagerly returned, clinging to him.

“I missed you so fucking much.”

“I missed you too, you have no idea how happy I am right now. Mainly because Vesemir was my ride so, kinda would have made for a very awkward Christmas if you’d said no.”

Lambert yanked Aiden’s hood down over his eyes with a laugh, “Dork.”

Jaskier had let out a whoop of delight when Lambert led Aiden into the house, followed by Lambert and Vesemir sharing a brief bear hug in silent apology and the start of forgiveness and when they weren’t eating, Aiden’s hand was firmly wrapped in his.It was perfect.

“Aiden?” Ciri piped up from opposite him, all wide eyed innocence, “Do you know grandma got run over by a reindeer?”

Aiden quickly took in the smothered laugh from Eskel, Geralt’s eyes turned heavenward, and flashed Lambert that impish grin he loved so much, “You know Ciri, I’m not sure I do. Remind me, how does it go?”

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

[d-andilion]

sing me a tragedy

(geraskier, E, canon compliant, blood origin spoilers, getting together, angst with a happy ending, vague and handwavy smut, it barely counts tbh, 2.6k)

read on ao3

Hidden in the underground, far from the beaten path, Geralt watches his bard whip a crowd of humanity’s most despised into a beer-fueled frenzy. Not to earn their supper or their lodgings this time; the elf who owns this worn but well-loved waystation refused to accept coin for either after what the Sandpiper did for her grandson, seeing the boy on a ship to her arms. Right now, Jaskier plays because their fellow patrons chanted his name until he obliged. 

Geralt has to admit that Jaskier has more than proven himself as a travel companion these past few weeks. Since leaving the safety of Kaer Morhen, Ciri in Yennefer’s care for the season, finding places to keep their heads low has been a challenge. A challenge, at least, among humans. The Sandpiper, however, has won great favor with elves, dwarves, halflings, and just about every other intelligent species on the Continent. In their carefully concealed taverns and speakeasies, Jaskier is received like royalty.

“Sing loud and proud

The Song of the Seven

Be you halfling or gnome,

Or Dwarven or Elven”

This song is a new one. In fairness, most of Jaskier’s tunes are new to Geralt these days. Jaskier hasn’t abandoned his older repertoire, but he avoids large swathes of it to ward off any unwelcome attention. This one, though, feels different than the other additions to Jaskier’s catalog since their parting. More heroics than heartbreak, and a fiery call to action that sets it apart from his typical drama and sensation.

So much about Jaskier is different than Geralt remembers, his songs being the least of it. A few years is nothing in the grand scheme of their history, even less compared to all the years Geralt has lived, but it feels as though decades have slipped between his fingers. So many things have changed, things that Geralt didn’t realize he’d come to see as fixtures in his world until they disappeared, some of them forever. 

There’s the lute, for one thing. Jaskier has been cagey about how exactly a brand new elven lute came to be in his possession after the first one was destroyed against the side of his head, but it plays as beautifully for him as Filavandrel’s ever did. It’s nearly identical in style, too, with dark wood and golden patterns etched into it. Anyone who didn’t spend half a lifetime watching Jaskier’s long fingers dance along the strings would never be able to tell that this lute’s pattern of markings is different from its predecessor’s.

There’s the outfit, too. The waistcoat is similar enough to patterns and styles that Jaskier has worn before, but the hat and jacket make him look like a third-rate imitation of a storybook pirate. It’s nothing at all like the bright-colored matching ensembles he used to wear, though it’s nearly as impractical if not more so. Geralt honestly can’t tell if he hates it because it’s ridiculous or because it doesn’t fit into the gallery of bold greens and soft blues and glaring reds that roll through his mind when he thinks of his bard.

And there’s the bard himself, of course. Not really Geralt’s anymore if he ever was. He’s still loud and dramatic and filled to the brim with useless romantic notions about what the world is or ought to be. But there’s something lurking underneath it all now, something harder and fiercer behind his eyes than anything Geralt has seen in him before. The harshness of a man who’s seen the senseless death and darkness of war. The bitterness of one who’s been left behind and expects to be again.

There’s none of that in him when he performs, though. Or else he hides it far more efficiently. Even to Geralt’s honed eye, Jaskier exudes only joy when he sings.

“No oppressor can hide them

Carry their glories and rise!”

Jaskier finishes with a roaring flourish and the crowd chants his words back to him twice as loud. This Song of the Seven may be more popular than Toss a coin ever was. Geralt has never seen an audience warm so quickly to a new tune, much less poor folk in a war-torn country. These people need hope now more than anything.

The barkeep pushes a pair of ales at Jaskier as he passes by and refuses to take a cent for them despite Jaskier’s best efforts. He finally gives up when she threatens him with a broom, turning to Geralt’s dark corner of the room. 

“That’s new,” says Geralt as Jaskier sits down, passing a stein to his side of the table.

Jaskier crooks an eyebrow at him and smirks. “I’m surprised you noticed.”

Geralt doesn’t know what to say to that. Before, he might not have thought twice about teasing so light as that, but this, too, has changed. Sometimes there’s banter and sometimes there are digs from that snarl of discontent that still rears up between them, and Geralt can never really be sure which he’s getting.

Jaskier takes pity on him, smiling easily. “It came from a story I heard in Temeria,” he says. “There’s a bard in it, you know. And a witcher.”

He looks for a moment like he means to say more, but then the corner of his mouth twists sharply and he snaps it shut with an audible click. Jaskier smiles again, this time cruel and close-lipped. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he says.

Before Geralt can think of anything to say, any comfort or correction to whatever it is he’s done wrong this time, Jaskier stands up and flees to a nearby table of dwarves. He doesn’t look back.

An hour or so later, the revelry dies down and the bar room clears out but for a few stragglers. Jaskier is among them, across the room now from Geralt at an empty table with a drink Geralt knows is almost completely full. Geralt watched the bard carefully while he made round after round of the room, soaking up the occupants’ stories and sharing his own entirely fabricated ones. Half a dozen rounds were shoved into Jaskier’s hands, and he took them gratefully with bright smiles, but he abandoned them just as quickly when their givers were occupied.

When Geralt found Jaskier in Oxenfurt, he couldn’t be parted from a bottle for his life. Now his drinking comes and goes. Some days he dulls his senses with wine from dusk till dawn. Some days are like this: feigning all the trappings of a man in his cups without downing more than a mouthful. 

Geralt leaves his own stein half-full with a few coins beside it and turns for Jaskier’s table. Another Geralt might have left his friend to sulk, but that Geralt wouldn’t have used the word ‘friend’ to describe Jaskier, not even in his head. This one is trying to make amends, still, all these many months later. 

If Jaskier hears him coming, he doesn’t show it. Geralt sits on the bench beside him, facing out towards the room with his back against the table, and Jaskier doesn’t give him so much as a glance. Their shoulders just barely brush.

“Tell me your story,” says Geralt. “About the bard and the witcher.”

Jaskier fixes him with a confused frown. “It doesn’t—”

“Tell me anyway.”

Geralt watches Jaskier watch him through a long, pregnant pause. Blue eyes, still so bright in the low light, search Geralt’s face and he can’t tell whether they find what they’re looking for or not. Either way, Jaskier huffs a humorless laugh to himself and speaks.

“It was a long time ago, just before the Conjunction.”

Jaskier pauses again like he’s waiting for Geralt to correct him. There were no witchers before the Conjunction; there was no need for them. Geralt doesn’t say so, though. Instead, he waits patiently for Jaskier to continue.

“The witcher was a warrior,” he says. “A protector, wrongfully exiled for defiling a princess.”

Jaskier eyes Geralt again, warier this time. Geralt feels that twist in his gut the way he always does, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“The bard was a runaway, fleeing a life that was chosen for her.” Jaskier grins at that, small and wistful. “Fate brought them together, but they chose to walk side by side.”

It’s not a pretty story, exactly, but it’s the kind of story that has always caught Jaskier’s attention. A ragtag group of heroes, an indomitable foe, magic, monsters, and romance to tie it all together. It might even be true for all Geralt knows. The way Jaskier tells it, his voice soft and his phrases unembellished, so unlike his usual way of weaving tales, makes the whole thing almost believable. They’ve all seen stranger things.

Geralt doesn’t miss the shift in the air around Jaskier when he talks about the Lark and her witcher. His heart beats just the slightest bit faster and his scent deepens imperceptibly to anyone who doesn’t know it better than their own. Geralt isn’t blind to his own reaction either, the heaviness in his chest that grows and grows.

Contrary to popular belief, Geralt isn’t stupid. It’s not that he doesn’t know how much he wants Jaskier. The depths of that desire plunge too deep to go unnoticed, and it has holed up inside him for so long, he doesn’t know who he would be without it. It’s not that he doesn’t know how Jaskier feels either. The bard isn’t subtle and he has never insulted either of their intelligence by pretending to be.

What Geralt doesn’t know has never been the problem. It’s what he does know. And what he knows, has always known, is that acting on his wants would be a singularly terrible idea.

But that was before. Before Geralt’s own Child Surprise foretold the end of the world and all of them with it. Before he landed with his own feet in another sphere of demons and monsters beyond his wildest imaginings. Before all of them wound up tangled in a war with nightmares, more terrifying than any foolish mistake, hidden around every corner.

Before Geralt knew what it felt like to lose Jaskier. And before he knew with crushing certainty that to have done so without ever knowing what it felt like to have Jaskier, really have him, is worse than any fear Geralt has ever felt.

“She killed him, in the end, to end his suffering,” says Jaskier softly.

“Not a very happy story,” Geralt replies.

“Some of the best stories are tragedies. It’s romantic.”

Geralt frowns. “But he dies at the end.”

Jaskier smiles miserably. “I think you and I both know that love doesn’t always have a happy ending.”

That plucks something sharp in Geralt’s chest, something that twists at the bitter shadow in Jaskier’s eyes. Fuck it, Geralt thinks, fuck all of it. He takes Jaskier's chin between his thumb and his forefinger and kisses him before good sense can frighten either of them away again. 

There’s a gut-wrenching fraction of a second where Jaskier’s mouth is still against Geralt’s, but within the same heartbeat, he’s kissing back and back and back. Jaskier’s hand curls around Geralt’s wrist, holding himself in place as if Geralt would ever let him go now. His lips part for Geralt’s tongue with a soft groan and he tastes like his last sip of ale. Geralt feels drunk on it, on Jaskier, the plush warmth of his mouth, and the scent of his growing arousal filling Geralt’s nose. 

The harsh scrape of chair legs on a wooden floor startles them apart. Geralt’s head snaps up to find the barkeep straightening her stools, eyes focused downward but a knowing grin on her lips.

When he turns back, Jaskier hasn’t pulled away but his uneasy expression says that the thought is playing on his mind. He looks at Geralt like he’s waiting to be pushed away, even as he clutches Geralt’s wrist. Geralt pulls Jaskier back to him, fingers still cradling the bard’s chin, until their noses brush. 

“What are you doing?” Jaskier asks and his hot breath rolls over Geralt’s lips carrying the taste of his mouth to Geralt’s tongue, and even that faint echo makes Geralt’s heart stutter.

“Kicking off another tragedy, I expect.”

Jaskier pushes their foreheads together. “You can still stop this one.”

“No,” says Geralt and it feels like surrender. “No, I can’t.”

The small hearth in their room is dark and cold when they stumble inside. Geralt can see well enough to guide them both, but he tears himself away from Jaskier’s hungry kisses to light the fire. When it’s finally ablaze and he turns to find the bard sprawled out on their bed, discarding the last of his clothing, Geralt is glad he took the time. 

Even if only in the dim red light, cast over with long and flickering shadows, he wants to see this.

This—miles of bare skin, calloused and scarred in places it wasn��t when last Geralt laid eyes on it, and quivering as he presses his lips to every place he should have been there to protect. Jaskier is so warm to touch, so much warmer than Geralt, his emphatically human heart hammering away in his chest for both of them.

This—achingly familiar hands with long fingers and soft palms, gliding over the shine of sweat on Geralt’s chest and his arms and his back. Jaskier is so gentle with his touches, as though Geralt could break beneath them, as though Jaskier would ever break him even if he could. But then Geralt touches just so and nails bite into his skin and he longs to see their matching bruises side by side. 

This—a hungry mouth that kisses wherever it can and urges Geralt to give, to take. Every graze of his fingers, his lips, his tongue, draws the sweetest sounds. Jaskier is so liberal with his voice, utterly without shame as he tells Geralt exactly what he needs and how good he feels, as he begs him to touch me darling, there, again, more, more, please, please, please…

Every sense, every synapse, every nerve is straining to capture this moment because if their world ends tomorrow, Geralt wants his last memory to be the way Jaskier clings to him, sings to him, as he pushes inside.

Each second stretches into a thousand and disappears in an instant all at once. An eternity is lived in the space between each of Jaskier’s gorgeous moans and breathless cries, but too soon, Geralt feels himself hurtling over the edge. He comes with Jaskier’s name on his lips and the hot burn of tears behind his eyes.

They lie there, silent but for their breath, while their sweat dries and the fire burns to embers. Geralt fits himself to Jaskier’s back, a knee between his, an arm circling his waist, and his face tucked into the crook of Jaskier’s neck. The bard reaches back to tangle his fingers in Geralt’s hair and begins to hum an unfamiliar tune.

“That’s new,” Geralt rumbles, muffled by Jaskier’s skin.

Jaskier hums in agreement. “I think it’s about a bard and a witcher.”

Geralt takes a few long, slow breaths before he replies. “Another tragedy?”

Jaskier presses the tips of his fingers against Geralt’s scalp and massages along the back of his head until he finds a spot he discovered years ago while scrubbing drowner brains from Geralt’s hair, the one that elicits a sound very near purring. Geralt no longer expects an answer, but he gets one after his eyes have long fallen shut, whispered into the gathering darkness.

“Not this time.”

~~

my masterlist

#blood origin spoilers #geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #my fic #mine

[samstree]

The sun is setting, casting golden orange light through the leaves.

Geralt leans against the tree and closes his eyes for a moment, the dappled light warm on his eyelids. He has been sitting for too long, with a soft pillow in his lap and Jaskier’s head resting there comfortably.

Jaskier sleeps peacefully through the afternoon, all the while Geralt tries to finish a new sock. He’s only halfway through, but he keeps trying anyway. The glasses slip down his nose, so he pushes them up again.

The yarn ball rolls into the crook of Jaskier’s arm and he stirs.

“Mmph…” Jaskier breathes, his nose wrinkling.

“Good nap?” Geralt puts down a bare needle to comb his fingers through Jaskier’s hair and gets a contented purr in return.

Jaskier blinks open his eyes, nuzzling into Geralt’s palm. “Didn’t mean to sleep,” he says. “Wanted to spend a nice day with you.”

“It was.”

Geralt goes back to knitting, one stitch after another. Jaskier wakes slowly as always, stretching and yawning on the pillow before pressing his cheek against Geralt’s stomach. He hugs Geralt’s waist to get his attention. “Who is this for?”

Geralt smiles. “Ciri.”

“Not me?”

“Don’t you have enough socks?”

“One can never have enough socks.” Jaskier pouts, his voice still hoarse and lazy. “You know how my feet get cold.”

“Yours is next then,” Geralt promises. He’s already planning the next pair anyway.

Jaskier picks up the ball and feeds the yarn as Geralt works, his eyes fixed on Geralt. A soft grin spreads across his face, bright in the sunset.

“You have too many needles, poking out everywhere,” Jaskier says. “It looks like witchcraft.”

“Dangerous witchcraft. Your feet could be too warm if not careful.”

Jaskier has that look again, one that says he needs more attention.

Geralt tidies up and puts the half-sock on the ground. He takes off his glasses too, so he can look at Jaskier properly. By some miracle, the grin on Jaskier’s face grows bigger, his cheeks turning pink from a blush.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just…” Jaskier answers, “I think I have a crush on you.”

“Do you now?”

“Is that so bad?”

Geralt lets Jaskier catch his hand and press a kiss on his wrist, right over a small scar. His hands, the things he once believed to be only capable of killing, now make socks to keep Jaskier’s feet warm. His hands now belong over Jaskier’s heart, where they are cradled carefully.

Perhaps, Geralt has a crush in return.

“It’s embarrassing, is all,” he says. “You married me already.”

“Yes, yes, I’m hopeless, having a crush on my husband,” Jaskier giggles. “Can you blame me? He looks too sweet when he’s knitting.”

Jaskier looks as smitten as Geralt feels, his cheeks red and eyes gentle, which means Geralt must kiss him now. It’d be unfair to let Jaskier go unkissed when he looks like this.

They meet each other in the middle, with Geralt leaning down and Jaskier wrapping his hands behind Geralt’s nape. It’s rather awkward, so Geralt holds Jaskier’s back in return. The sun warms Jaskier’s doublet, and Geralt kisses him patiently, and kisses him again.

“Oh no. It gets worse,” Jaskier whispers, settling against Geralt’s knees. “Now I’m falling in love too. Would that be too pathetic?”

As if Geralt isn’t falling in love every day himself. He falls in love every time Jaskier puts on his socks and wiggles his toes. He falls in love so much that he knits a drawer full of them.

“If it is,” Geralt answers, “we’ll just be pathetic together.”

“We should put that in the vows.”

“Didn’t we?”

“No, but next time, maybe.” Jaskier’s eyes flash with mischief. “I shall marry you again one day.”

“Oh? Where will you do that?”

“Your home? Under the stars, with your family there this time.”

Geralt’s stomach flutters with the promise. He can picture it perfectly, the snow falling on Jaskier’s eyelashes, the northern light in the sky, the last of the wolf witchers there, witnessing all the happiness in his life.

“It’ll be cold in Kaer Morhen,” Geralt says, his lips quirking into a hopeful grin.

“Oh, that’s okay then.” Jaskier puts a hand over his heart. “You’ll just need to make things that keep me warm.”

And luckily, Geralt has a lot of practice with that.

#geraskier fic #geraskier #established relationship #knitting #this fandom needs more knitting content #and did you know the circular needle was invented in the 20th century #and did you know the magic loop only became popular in the 2000s #we used double points all the way baby #justice for dpns NOW

[dapandapod]

Stuff of dreams

Hello cuties! So I dreamed I was reading a snippit of @damatris fantastic work, and woke up and realized the only way to read it was to write it, so here ya go! Selfindulgent fluff at its finest! On Ao3 here!

The fire cracked merrily, built tall to fight the winter. It was colder than Geralt ever remember it being, and he was tired of trying to live up to standards of dead witchers.

Jaskier stands by the bed, tunic loose over his shoulders, legs bare save for a pair of cut off sleeping trousers and thick socks.

He climbs into the bed and under the many furs, and Geralt watches him make himself comfortable before following after.

As they had gone to their room, they had seen Lambert and Aiden push each other against every available surface, kissing as their life depended on it. It left something behind in the air, something like a promise.

~

Geralt never wears a shirt when they sleep, at least not here in Kaer Morhen. It leaves his chest on display, hair draped loosely over his shoulders. The bed dips when he sits, and then evens out when he lies down.

The room is still somewhat bright because of the fireplace, and it is comfortably warm in their shared room.

They watch each other in silence, Jaskier sees his own small smile mirrored on Geralt’s lips.

He suddenly realizes, were the circumstances different, Geralt might have kissed him.

In his mind, he sees how Aiden pushed Lambert down on a table, leaning over to completely ravage him. It makes his heart beat faster, and he slowly wets his suddenly very dry lips.

Geralt watches the movement, and with a rustle he leans closer, propping himself up on an elbow. His eyes are warm as he looks down on him, their bodies close but still without touching.

That is, until Geralt slowly leans down over him, his nose tracing along Jaskier’s cheekbone, and up to his temple.

There is no brush or press of lips, just the slightly cool tip of his nose against Jaskier’s now burning skin, and he clenches his fingers under the blanket not to reach out.

Jaskier holds still, eyes lowered and focused on keeping his hands to himself. The silence is so loud, his heart beat thuds in his ears. Geralt's other arm comes up to brace on the other side of Jaskier, effectively boxing him in, and Jaskier is weak.

"Jaskier," Geralt says, so softly Jaskier just has to tilt his chin up, get closer.

"Geralt," he replies, goosebumps breaking on his skin when Geralt's lips touch the shell of his ear.

The witcher leans more properly over him, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes.

Molten gold, warm honey, autumn sun, however you want to describe it, Geralt's gaze travels over Jaskier's face, lingering on his parted lips.

When their eyes meet again, Geralt reads the permission on him, and slowly leans down. Jaskier's hand come up to meet him, cradling Geralt's neck, warm under his hair, firm with muscle and restraint.

The kiss was a long time coming, he thinks, and ever so gentle. Geralt kisses him, and kisses him again, sinking into it until their chests press together, the hand he was bracing himself on dipping under the blankets and finding Jaskier's waist.

The contact travels through Jaskier's body, arching into the touch to be closer, reaching for what he has denied his heart for so long. Geralt pulls back enough to watch him again, then brushes their lips together before pressing a light kiss to the corner of Jaskier's mouth, then his cheek.

Their shape changes into an embrace, their arms around each other, Jaskier's head braced on Geralt's shoulder, the witcher's lips on the top of his head.

"Stay with me?" Jaskier asks, heart ever growing until it strains against his ribs, so full of emotion that his vocie trembles with it.

"Yes," Geralt confirms, tucking Jaskier closer, tangling their legs. "Yes."

#fluff #geraskier #the witcher #so much fluff #cuddling #winter at kaer morhen #sharing a bed #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #dapanda writes

[limerental]

here you are, a purple prosey jaskier/radovid ficlet that maybe goes heavy on the book references sorry

**

There is some world where, in the coming days, they found themselves reenacting those hours spend in a shadowed outbuilding again and again, but this time cocooned in a bed so luxuriant its silk and down ached on the skin. 

The door to the bedchamber opened only to servants bearing wine and cheese and pomegranates pressed jewel by jewel into each other's mouths. There was no worry to conserve the myriad of candles lit on every surface, allowing them to burn to the hilt in spent pools of wax through long nights of indulgence.

The prince was refreshingly eager and flexible, unabashed in voicing his desires but shy in receiving them so earnestly. As though he were used to acts done for his sake, for his name, but could barely handle being touched with slow, careful pressure while watched intently with a heavy gaze. He threw an arm across his burnt-pink face, sighing like a song on each exhale.

Sweet thing, the poet said against the tremble of his ribcage. How sweet you are. 

The prince's eyes were glassy, his hair a sprawl of curls against silk, the grasp of his searching fingers desperately entangling with the poet's own.

Sing me the one about the swallow, the prince would ask, and the notes lilted through the air of the bedchamber in an octave higher than usual. And as the pitch sank, so would he down his lover's body, each wavering octave a shiver of sound against flesh. 

The learned scholars believed that given the swallow did not touch the ground its entire life, that it was a creature of pure, heavenly weightlessness, but there was nothing pure about the poet's swallow, the weight on the flat of his tongue and curve of hollowed lips. Though the soft cries from the prince's open mouth, the tears that slipped to his temples, were nothing if not divine.

And there were plans made for limitless futures, ones possible and improbable and rife with hyperbole.

My consort? sighed the prince, fingertips petting the hair below the poet's navel. No, you will be crowned yourself. A laugh so immediate it startled them both. What an insufferable king I would make, my dove. I'd call for the hangings of scores of my university fellows. And for any court jester who told a trite joke.

We'll run off together. Keep a homestead in the mountains. A snort. A sigh. Will you muck the shit heap or I? Surely not I.

In some world, said the prince, naive and sweet, perhaps we grow old together. In a little house by the sea.

Ah, yes, in some world maybe, said the poet, who felt old enough for both of them, and had dreamed often of the coastline blushed red with the fade of evening.

In this world, he allows the dream to take shape and then dissipate with a long-held breath released. 

Months on, this world has changed in many ways, but not like that.

"Come now, Pegasus," says the poet with a nudge of his heel, and the sorry old horse sways down the silt of the bank and into clear water.

And on he goes into a different sort of story.

#twn #my fic #radskier #radovid x jaskier #i havent written something THIS earnest about this little clown boy since s1 lmao #purple prose only for my horrible little guy's fantasies