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cap-sweet-and-salty-sadness · 1 year

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Thank you to @borealwrites for creating the Monster March prompt list, it was a lot of fun to participate and get to write more horror. This is a fill for day 10’s prompt, "Chthonic/Eldritch Abomination".

Geraskier victorian gothic romance with different first meeting. TW for Body Horror, Lovecraft, Cthulhu Mythos, angst and tragedy

Read on AO3

The front door of the mansion creaked loudly in the relative peace of the night. Geralt carefully stepped into the vestibule, silver sword in hand. The little moonlight filtering through the dirty windows highlighted the cobwebs and the layer of dust covering the statues, the paintings and the massive brass-framed mirror. The rug, once a luxurious burgundy, was moth-eaten and littered with vermin poop.

The door closed of its own whim behind him, the bang shaking his bones.

The Cat potion quickly took effect and his eyes adjusted to the dark. Three doors were connected to the vestibule. Geralt pushed the set of double doors that he knew would give to the central hall. He'd looked up the floor plans of the mansion beforehand to get an idea of what he was getting himself into, but now all he remembered was there was over a hundred rooms, and those plans didn’t include the secret passages and hidden rooms, which Geralt was sure this mansion was full of.

The central hall featured two staircases that led all the way up to the second floor. It was in the same sorry state than the vestibule, with the railing broken in multiple places, like something had fallen through. Geralt paused and listened intently.

Nothing.

This mansion was huge, and yet it wasn't creaking or groaning, no wind and no birds croaking outside. Nothing.

His medallion wasn't thrumming, yet the heavy air around him seemed to be breathing alongside him. He retrieved one of his devices from his satchel and turned it on. It hummed to life in his hand, the sonar like display starting to scan his surrounding. It'd beep to alert him if anything was detected, so he clipped it to his belt and continued forward.

Adjacent to the hall was a salon leading to a dome shaped two-storey ballroom. A few windows were broken, dead leaves crunching under his boots as he turned on himself to take in the big room. There was a pianoforte installed on the side to entertain the guests. The lid was propped up and, when Geralt approached to investigate, he noticed dark smears on the keyboard. He swiped some of it with his gloved index and smeared it with his thumb. It was like wet mucus, slimy and smelly. Some of it was also on the bench and on the floor.

He heard the faint splash of liquid hitting the floor behind him before his device beeped, and he turned around. Something was dripping from the balcony above him. He looked up. There was a shape darker than the shadows up there. He blinked and it was gone. No footsteps, but the air turned ice cold around him for a moment.

He was returning to the central hall to go to the second floor when he heard knocking coming from the kitchen area in the east wing. His device was still beeping in the direction of the balcony, but another bar appeared in the direction of the kitchen. Multiple entities, then. Geralt was glad he charged an hourly wage.

The foul stench of rot hit his nose when he reached the kitchen. It wasn't just rotten food. More noise came from the storage, and he quickly found the reason. A pair of rotfiends were playing with their food in it. He sent an Igni their way and quickly closed the door to protect himself from their explosion. He caught a movement from the corner of his eye as he did so, and when he did, who he assumed to be the same shadow from before was at the end of the corridor. He narrowed his eyes to see better but couldn't discern any particular shape in the shadow. It vanished through the wall before he could approach.

One thing at a time. He reopened the door and noticed another staircase leading down to the basement. The presence of rotfiends potentially meant corpses somewhere and he suspected the monsters had wandered from down below. He went downstairs.

The storage had more rotfiends he quickly took care of. He found a corpse tucked in a corner, almost completely eaten. He took a mental note to come back afterwards and retrieve it to give it a proper burial and ensure it wouldn't attract more monsters. Given the general macabre atmosphere of the mansion, he was sure it wouldn't be the only corpse he'd find tonight.

The trail of rotfiends led him to the root cellar next to the meat kitchen that hadn't been cleaned since its last use. One of the cabinets was smashed to the ground, revealing a passage in the stone wall. He walked in a grotto with turned soil and more rotfiends. The smell of death and decay was telling enough, dirt tombs still fresh. One of the corpses hadn’t been buried, facing him in a mimic of a sleeping pose. It might’ve been convincing if it hadn’t been for the milk white glaze of her pale eyes, her nightgown torn and partially soaked in coagulated blood.

Rich families always took things to the extreme out of boredom, didn't they? There was circulating rumours about the mansion, many of which Geralt was aware of. Old families carried a heavy history, and the Pankratz were no different. Their roots ran deep into the earth, so deep that along the way, one of them discovered an otherworldly species and mated with them. It was said the current generation of Pankratz were hybrids, not fully human, possessing abilities of the beyond. They were worshippers of the evil and rare were the ones who got to live long.

He had been an hour in here and he hadn't even made it through a complete floor yet, and he had five to go through. He was fairly sure he'd taken care of the rotfiends at least, and if not they'd be strays like the first ones he had encountered. What he wondered was why there was so many dead people down here. Sacrifices or victims? A narrow corridor led him to a nondescript door, not as decorated or fancy as the other ones he'd seen in here so far. He emerged on the other side in the back of a place of worship, some chapel he concluded after a quick glance. Whatever deity had been worshiped here was long gone. The place was is total disarray. Twin stone statues, once guarding each side of the altar, were laying in pieces through the broken wooden benches, destroyed beyond recognition. The paintings had been slashed with something blunt, the destruction brutal rather than precise. Someone here was angry.

The device at his belt beeped. A gust of cold wind disturbed his hair and raised goosebumps on his neck, making him turn around. The same shadow presence, taller than before. It extended even further, reaching the high ceiling like it was trying to intimidate him. Or readying itself to pounce, he realised at the same time the shadow bent and transformed into a large tendril as it dove for him. He crossed his wrists in front of him to sign Heliotrop right as it tried to pierce through him. The impact sent him backwards and he crashed into the altar.

Barely recovered, he was reaching for one of his bombs and throwing it at the shadow. The explosion didn't injure it as much as it forced it to remain corporal. He pushed himself to his feet and raised his sword in a wide arc as he dove forward, slashing through its middle before it could get away. With a wail that shook the ground, the shadow was split in half to reveal more goo-like shadow, but in it was an eye. No, not just one, but two, and then a forehead, a nose, a face slowly emerged from the gap. The face had no mouth but the blue eyes were screaming.

"What the fuck?" Geralt had been scrambling his mind for a monster that described what he was saying, but he was coming up short. He had no clue what he was dealing with. He hesitated, not sure of the nature of the human in the shadow. Were they trapped or controlling it?

The shadow was starting to reform again. The person had managed to extract their fingers from it, then their whole hand. It was reaching for Geralt.

What the hell was he getting himself into again? He thought, but he was already moving. He reached for the hand to try and help. Only the hand was much too powerful, and he was yanked into the darkness.

He woke up with a gasp. The sun was hitting his face, yet he didn't feel its warmth. He did a quick inspection of himself. He wasn't injured, he still had his swords, but he had no clue where he was. No, that wasn't true. He was back in the central hall, only it didn't seem like the same room. Everything was clean with no dust in sight. The creepy vibe was still present, with the portraits of men looking down at him as he got to his feet.

The most disconcerting was he couldn't smell anything. He couldn't even smell himself. The staircase rail, when he touched it, was solid.

He could still hear though. His activity detector was beeping alarmingly, the screen displaying red all over, so he turned it off. With it quieted down, he picked up something else. Somewhere up there, someone was singing and playing a string instrument.

" Because love does not exist here, in this garden, there's no feeling, and you say the words so often that I barely know the meaning."

On the second floor, the rug was a deep purple instead of the rotten mouldy mess he'd been half expecting. It padded Geralt's footsteps as he followed the sound through the long corridor of the west wing. Some of the doors were slightly ajar, but most of them were closed and Geralt didn't venture away from his destination.

" And when all the flowers are rotten and all the cannons shot, I'll scream, but you won't hear, " forget me not "."

He walked into a sunny music room, various instruments stored inside glass display cabinets except for the bigger ones. Geralt recognised a grand piano, similar to the one that was in the ballroom, and a cello, but most of them were unknown to him. It was a well-maintained collection, reminding him of his own collection of weapons.

A man was sitting in a plush chair in front of one of the bay windows, looking lost in thought. His fingers were expertly plucking the strings of the lute sitting on his lap. He didn't seem aware his hands were bloodied and painting his instrument in red. He'd been playing for a long, long time.

" And in years to come you'll wander to the place up on our hill. " He had a lovely voice.

The man didn't acknowledge Geralt's presence and he continued to play his lute. Geralt examined the music room from closer, noting how the colours of this room seemed so vibrant compared to the other ones he'd seen in this dimension. It was his safe room, where usually his problems seemed a little easier. Only something was eating at him, nibbling him raw from the inside.

Geralt remembered the look in his eyes, the way he'd grabbed him in a last desperate attempt to seek help. Or perhaps it had been a reflection of pale hope in the blue despair. He had to find the source of it all to help him. He reached with a gloved hand and strummed the bloodied strings.

The man gasped and looked up at him. "What—"

A shadowed form fell on the window at his back and shattered it, sending glass everywhere. It pulled the man in its grasp and pulled him through the window and into the void below. Geralt looked down, but couldn't see anything. He cursed and followed, ignoring the sting of the glass shards embedded in his face.

He landed into a roll to cushion his fall, crushing flowers underneath him. He was in one of the inner courtyards, dusk plunging the flower garden into an eerie golden stillness. He flicked off the leaf stuck in his hair.

He looked around and saw the same man sitting on a wooden bench near him. His hands were pressed to his face, his form hunched over. Geralt could hear his quiet sobs even as he approached. He sat beside him. He looked unkept, his hair greasy and clothing wrinkled, fingernails dirty. Much different than the first picture of the elegant artist.

"I'm so sorry," he kept repeating, "it's all my fault."

"What is?" Geralt asked more for himself than the man, but was surprised to see him startle. He removed his hands from his face and his cheeks were streaked with tears black as ink, his blue eyes swimming in darkness. He blinked and the ink slid further down and dripped on his white shirt.

"Who are you?" He hiccuped and wiped his hands on his trousers, but made no attempt at cleaning his face.

"My name is Geralt, I'm a witcher. I was sent to investigate the Pankratz Mansion."

"I'm Jaskier, the unfortunate owner." He sniffed and cleared his throat, his wet lashes sticking together. Geralt searched through his satchel for a fresh bandage and began to clean his tears, leaving his cheeks red. "Thank you."

Geralt offered him the bandage and he wiped his eyes, balling the soiled cloth in his fist afterwards.

"This alternate place, did you do it?"

"No. Well, yes. It's complicated."

"So it seems."

Jaskier had a joyless smile. "I fucked up, is what I did." His chin trembled, but he took a deep breath and regained his composure. "Let me show you."

Geralt noticed the shift from dusk to night, the moon shining bright in the dark sky. No, that wasn't the moon, he realised. There was an eye up there. More than one in fact, for what he assumed to be stars were in fact a myriad of eyes in various sizes and colours. They were looking down at them.

There was a burst of wind beside him, and Jaskier was gone from his seat. He'd simply vanished. Geralt got to his feet, looking around in alarm, when a smell hit him for the first time in this alternate, dream world. Earthy, mouldy scent of decay; sour stench of fear and herbal sweet smell of the monster. Geralt followed it back through the door leading to what he remembered to be the central hall, but instead he stepped in a bedroom. The smell was overwhelming in the stuffy air.

A girl was bedridden. She was young, or at least looked young to Geralt, lost in this giant bed. Her long blonde hair was soaked with sweat and sticking to her feverish forehead. Her complexion was ashy, large bloodshot blue eyes underlined with dark bags. A smudge of red clang to her mouth.

Jaskier, who was knelt by the bed, gently took her hand between his, kissed her knuckles. "Have you ever loved someone, Geralt, so much so that you wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice your life to save theirs?"

Geralt thought of Ciri, of his brothers, and he said, "Yes."

"Love comes with a price. I failed to identify my blindspot as I knelt here, watching my friend slowly being consumed by Death. All the promises I made as a child, refusing to fall in my parents' footsteps, I forgot them. None of it mattered anymore." Jaskier raised his head to look at Geralt. "She was dying and I knew how to stop it."

They weren't in a bedroom anymore. They were back in the chapel in the midst of its glory. The place was pristine, and the statues, grotesque to look at. They depicted deities that were meant to be long forgotten, cosmic gods born from fears and that responded to no one's bidding but to their own. If they did, there was always a price to pay, a sacrifice to be made.

Geralt could easily see the picture now.

Jaskier's friend was laying on the stone altar, only wearing a mint nightgown. To Geralt, she looked more like an offering than someone to be saved. Jaskier was in front of the altar, holding up an old book that radiated Chaos. He was calling out to a deity, speaking an alien language. The candles' flames in the chapel violently flickered for a moment. The next, they were throwing distorted shadows of invisible beings, walking between time and space. Geralt's discomfort grew as he could do nothing but watch the disaster unfold.

"I have called you by your True Name, Old One, and I command you to do my bidding," Jaskier finished his incantation, his breathing ragged. "Save Essi Daven."

The statues began to weep, the numerous sculpted eyes suddenly alive and moving in their sockets. Essi started to thrash on the altar, her weak arms flailing and almost hitting Jaskier in the face. She screamed, the sound ending in a wet gurgle as blood dribbled from her mouth. Her torso cracked with a dull sound, the bones giving under some otherworldly pressure.

"No, this isn't what I bid you to do," Jaskier sobbed. "I commanded you to save her life, you're killing her!"

"No." The voices echoed loudly in the church. Silence, save for Jaskier's trembling breath. "Her mortal vessel has no meaning, for she is to forever live in us."

"To what purpose, if I'm unable to cherish her presence?" Jaskier said, his heart dying with every word.

"We shall free you as well."

Geralt turned his head away, unable to withstand the sight, but the sounds and the screams were impossible to muffle.

"Enough. I've seen enough," he said, and the sounds stopped. The world pitched sideways and he found himself back in the decayed chapel of the present; a silent witness of the many horrors executed in it.

The shadow, the one that had been haunting him since he stepped foot in the mansion, hovered once more in front of him. It didn't attack him, and Geralt knew why. Instead it fell backwards, through the floor, only to leave a physical body in its place.

Geralt rushed to it, uncertain of what he was seeing. It was Jaskier, but instead of the humanoid appearance he'd seen him with in the other world, this one was sporting an extra leg and arm. His grey skin was rippled in places and stretched taunt in others, and naked as he was, Geralt found himself following the dark roads of veins easily visible underneath down his neck and across his breastbone before they disappeared under his chest hair.

"Jaskier?" Geralt pushed back his hair from his face. Something was moving under his eyelids. Jaskier opened his eyes and black tendrils scurried away, back into his head. He didn't seem to notice, focusing on the witcher instead.

"I thought I'd made you up," he softly said. He shifted with a groan and Geralt helped him up. He tripped over his additional leg and almost fell face first, but Geralt caught him in the nick of time.

"Easy. You've a bit more to work with now."

"I do." He let out a shuddering breath and took refuge in Geralt's arms, clinging to him. He was trembling, Geralt realised. He tucked him closer and led him out of the chapel and upstairs. It must've been late afternoon, judging by the red hue of the sunlight beaming through the giant windows in the main hall.

"Let's get you dressed first, mm?"

Jaskier sniffed and nodded, his extra hand curled in one of the belts crossing his chest. His walk was stiff, both from disuse and from getting used to a whole new leg. They made their way upstairs and to an unfamiliar bedroom, different than the one Geralt had seen. This one reminded him of the music room with a lute on a lounge chair and music sheets stacked on the coffee table next to it. The bed was unmade, the covers stained with black splotches of ink.

Geralt found clothes in the wardrobe and, instead of choosing for Jaskier, brought the whole lot on the bed. A bundle of frills, laces and silks. They had to make holes in the pretty fabric to fit the third limb, but soon Jaskier was decent. Geralt observed him as he dressed, getting familiar with the beat of his heart, slower than humans', and his scent that carried that same herbal sweet smell he'd already picked up on.

"For what seemed like eternity, I drifted in this mansion, barely aware of my own existence. Then you came along and brought me back to consciousness. I don't understand how, but I don't think I have enough words to express my gratitude. Which is a feat, coming from a poet."

Geralt huffed and crouched in front of him instead of trying to find a seat through all those frills and silks.

"You already knew how to come to yourself, I was but the trigger you needed to realise it. Your family, how much do you know about them?"

Jaskier worked his bottom lip, his expression darkening. “Too much. My parents weren’t good people, sought to use our soiled bloodline for dark purposes, but I refused to continue their bidding. My only attempt at exploiting my birthright served no purpose but to shed me of my humanity.”

“Your action, even if negative in hindsight, was rightfully justified. Love has many faces, it is beautiful just as it taints everything it touches. Forgive yourself for acting under its influence.”

Geralt patted his knee awkwardly. Comforting others had never been his strength. He was surprised when Jaskier leaned closer to press a kiss against his cheek, uncaring of the dried blood.

"Thank you,” Jaskier said, his voice small but sincere. Geralt nodded and got back on his feet to give Jaskier time to regain composure, a nervous flutter growing under his own ribs. “What happens now?"

"You need the help of magical experts who can understand your new self, which I’m not."

"No, you kill monsters… Why haven't you put that silver sword through me then?"

Geralt titled his head as he regarded him. “I kill monsters that are violent and wilfully kill people. As far as I’ve seen, you are neither.”

“I thank you for your faith in me, but there’s no telling I won’t become one of those. I don’t know what I’ve turned into.”

“Then we’ll find out together. For now, I still have a mansion to clear. Will its owner accompany me and show me more of its secrets?” That way, he could also observe him. To make sure he’d adapt well to his new body, of course. Nothing but pure professionalism on his part.

Jaskier smiled and followed him out of his bedroom. “You’re in for the best tour then. Have you visited the attic yet? There’s many interesting rooms to be discovered.”

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #lovecraftian #twn #the witcher #my writing #tempted to tag purple prose as well because there's a lot in this #monster march 2023

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theother-will-grayson · 2 years

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Everyone SHUT UP I'm composing the perfect Witcher Modern AU in my head.

I love all the cute coffeeshop aus and actor aus but none of them quite encapsulate the finer aspects of a canon adjacent geraskier romance which are

Traveling separately and finding each other over and over again over the course of a long period of time

Long distance pining

Jaskier stitching up Geralt after a battle

And I have decided we as a society deserve a Renaissance Faire AU. If you don't know, the Ren Faire life as a career involves (usually) a lot of trailer living, roughing it, traveling from Faire to Faire. So I'm imagining Jaskier actually playing the lute and doing a Renaissance Era music set. Yennefer in what I'm calling in my head the "Sorceress Show" which would be like a magic show with pyrotechnics, and Geralt.......get this......in the joust !!!!!

The other element that I think should trickle into every au is Geralt having some job that makes him disliked or looked down on, and maybe there could be a storyline in the show that he's like the bad guy, and he likes playing the bad guy even though crowds don't like him as much as the white knight characters.

Anyways this is rotting my brain.

#toby talks #the witcher #the witcher au #geraskier

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wrongdodo · 1 year

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Murderous knaves and perverts

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier. But like… don’t tell anyone, because it’s a surprise.

Summary: Jaskier knows a thing or two about witchers. After an impromptu gig at a local tavern gets weird, Jaskier enjoys the long walk home with Geralt and they both let off some steam

Warnings: oral sex (m receiving). More plot that I intended to write.

Word count: 3.6k

Authors note: Bit of Geraskier for your nerve! I always thought I’d write super short smut, but I accidentally some plot again. Oops.

Tag list: @madamemelancholysstuff (different to the last two, hope this is up your street!)

Click below for filth only if you're 18+!

Jaskier knew how to get a crowd worked up. Performing was his bread and butter, after all.

Despite the fact that this tavern was at the bottom of arse-fuck nowhere, by the end of his second verse, some of the dreary locals were even clapping along. The bard might have wagered that nobody else had ever played for the tiny village of Baincord... Or Bincord, or whatever it was called.

As the final chords of Toss a Coin to Your Witcher rang through the tiny tavern, Jaskier swore he even heard some people singing. Tunelessly and barely in time, but definitely there. But it should hardly have come as a shock; he didn’t doubt that there were some individuals here tonight who’d never seen a lute- let alone heard one. His rendition of The Fishmonger’s Daughter ensured that the crowd were eating out of his hand, and even encouraged some of the more bashful locals to join in.

What had started as a charitable gig to alleviate some boredom and impart a bit of culture to this dim shithole, had become pretty enjoyable. He decided to finish his set with a soulful ballad, pacifying the crowd and challenging himself to tug at their heartstrings. On the right night, Jaskier’s ballads could pull tears from even the most hardened ruffians.

After taking a bow to the relative-roar of the small crowd, he lifted a jug of cloudy mead from the bar and settled into the most comfortable-looking spot he could find. Spread out along a ragged, barely-cushioned bench, Jaskier took a moment to bask in a job well done. Such was his comfort, he almost dared to rest his boots on the chair adjacent - but stopped short when the scary innkeeper gave him a look.

As expected, it took mere seconds for a pair of new-found fans to approach.

“Can we join you?” one of them asked, coyly curling a ringlet of jet-black hair around one finger. One tall, the other short - the women stood arm-in-arm, pouting and doe-eyed. Jaskier smiled warmly, spreading his arms wide in a theatrical gesture of welcome.

“Please! Ladies, it would be my honour. Did you enjoy the show?”

The duo settled eagerly into the wooden chairs opposite, batting their eyelashes and grinning inanely. The performer smiled back, and idly thought that he was the most famous person they’d ever meet in their plain little lives.

“Oh, it were amazin’!” the red-haired woman beamed. “Felt like bein’ at some fancy party in the city. You rich an’ famous or somethin’?” She could barely contain herself, Jaskier thought with amusement – her entire body jittering with excitement.

“You could say that,” he sipped his mead, slurping in a particularly-chunky bit of something that threatened to make him gag. “I’ve played for a few courts here and there, the odd palace, a royal wedding or two…”

“I said to Ema you was famous!” the dark-haired girl grinned, giving her companion a playful shove. “I knows that song you did! That one about witchers!”

Jaskier could freely admit to himself that he enjoyed attention. This attention, that attention, any attention – he’d take it as it came, soaking up every last drop like gravy on a slice of bread. And although he wasn’t remotely interested in anything else these women had to offer, he could still enjoy a bit of their attention.

“Ah, yes. That’s definitely a crowd-pleaser. One of many crowd-pleasers, I should add. I believe I noticed you two lovely ladies singing along to the chorus?” They looked at each other, giggling shyly.

“Of course, how could I forget such… angelic voices?” The bard’s fibs instantly caused the pair to blush.

“So… you ever actually meet a witcher?” Ema asked –bright eyes sparkling with curiosity in the dim light. Her voice became hushed and breathy. “Daryna reckons there’s one in Baincord. This night.”

“I did says that – seen him with me own eyes, in fact.” The dark-haired woman, Daryna, sat up stiffly in her chair and folded her arms across her buxom chest. Jaskier noted that her tits were almost threatening to pop out the top of her shirt. She suddenly looked quite serious. “Two swords, he had. A grey cloak… and piercin’ eyes, yellow as the moon.”

Jaskier wasn’t surprised that Geralt’s presence was causing a stir among the locals – it often did, especially in smaller villages like this. Still, if all these girls wanted to do was talk about witchers… well, he couldn’t help but feel a bit irritated. Even in absence, Geralt somehow managed to spoil his fun.

“Look, all my works are based on fiction. Myths, tales, legends...” The bard drawled, unable to hide his mild annoyance. It was a disclaimer he’d well-rehearsed. Still, the women seemed not to hear, and were engrossed now in their own conversation, gossiping like loons while he sipped his mead silently. Fucking lovely.

“Devils, they are. Just as like to kill a monster as to kidnap a woman an’ kill her ‘ole family. Murderous knaves and perverts.” Daryna nodded with conviction while she spoke, and her listeners could tell that she truly believed what she said.

“Well, that’s not entirely accurate –“ the Bard cut in, immediately wishing he’d held his tongue. “You know, based on my extensive research. Which was very… extensive.” Nice save, he thought.

When Ema turned to Jaskier, she did so coquettishly – hazel eyes alight. Her gentle smile still managed to show that she had a fair-few missing teeth. “My cousin once bedded a witcher.” Ema reached out to stroke the supple leather of Jaskier’s sleeve, her soft voice far-off and dreamy. “Well, not bedded exactly – ‘cos it were a cowshed... But he loved on her like a man possessed, he did…”

“That weren’t a witcher, you daft cow!” Daryna huffed, snapping Ema from her trance. “That were a weaver. He made baskets.”

“Oh. Well, don’t matter…” the red-head mumbled quietly. She grasped Jaskier’s arm now with a fresh expression of wonder, looking deeply into his eyes. “I heard Bards are even better.” She winked.

That’s more like it, he thought, smiling as he shifted in his seat. Time to flex the old charm. Jaskier’s face settled into a well-practiced expression of flirtation.

“Ladies, ladies… believe me when I say; you’ve heard correctly.” They giggled – no, cackled in response.

But the merriment was short-lived… because Daryna wasn’t done talking about witchers – somethingthat was quickly threatening to bore the bard senseless. She droned on and on; “Unnatural creatures they are - make my skin crawl. My Da says if he catches one sniffin’ round here, he’ll be strung up and gutted like a dog.”

Jaskier bit his tongue – then released it. “Your Father sounds like a treat.”

“He’s the landlord.” she grinned smugly. The scary-looking, bearded chap behind the bar eyed Jaskier as he wiped tankards - with a look that could only be described as quite deadly.

The bard took a nervous mouthful of mead, bits and all, and swallowed it with a gulp.

“Ladies, your interest in the inspiration behind my works is flattering. But wasn’t there something else you’d rather discuss?” Jaskier loved to flirt, and wasn’t going to give up on flexing those particular muscles just yet. He loved the way he could hold someone’s attention, turning on the charm at the drop of an eyelid. Some might say he was out of practice lately, but he’d had plenty of experience to know when someone was into him – and he had suspicions he could have these women hanging on his every word.

Both women reached towards him now, leaning over the table and running their hands over the sleeves of his favourite jacket. The sudden reduction in space took the bard by surprise, and he felt uneasy. Now they were closer, the smell of cheap perfume was rank among the scent of tobacco smoke and ale-soaked wood.

“Well, we was thinkin’… you should join us upstairs. Both of us…” Ema winked – this time Jaskier noticed the ugly way her freckled nose wrinkled when she did. The woman nodded towards her companion as she spoke. “You know, she does this thing with her mouth -”

“- I call it the slimy cockatrice -“ Daryna cut in, waggling her tongue lewdly as she looked deeply into Jaskier’s now-terrified eyes.

“Yeah, that’s the one. Want us to show you?”

Jaskier couldn’t hide a look of pure, unchecked disgust. It could have been the mead, but felt the colour drain from his face as his stomach tumbled.

“Ladies, listen. What I’m about to say I mean with upmost sincerity...” The pair somehow managed to lean even closer as they goggled him expectantly.

“That sounds completely fucking horrifying and I will be sure to have horrible nightmares about it.”

Both women withdrew in an instant, as though stung, and eyed him bitterly. “Suit yer-fuckin-self. Arsehole.”

When the sound of barking cut the silence, Jaskier thought he’d never heard a more blessed, welcome sound. It was as though every scruffy guard-hound in the village had been roused – and it was a sound one quickly became accustomed to when traveling with a witcher.

When Jaskier stood from the table, he did it so briskly that the table lurched across the floor with an ugly scrape. “It’s been a pleasure, it really has. But I believe my ride is here.”

Striding away from their sour stares, Jaskier noticed how his boot-buckles pleasantly jingled as he moved, and wondered why on earth he’d chosen to use the word ride. When he reached the door, it swung easily on rusted hinges.

Geralt stood in the moonlight, cloaked and mysterious beside the gravel road which snaked through town. The bard prayed that his sigh of relief went unnoticed as he approached.

“Not staying?” inquired the Witcher. Jaskier didn’t even stop to shake his head – he briskly began striding down the rudimentary path and hoped Geralt would be right behind him.

“No, I’m not staying. No, thank you. I’d like to go far, far away from here as soon as possible.”

Geralt let out a growl of affirmation. “They didn’t like the music, then.”

Not exactly, Jaskier thought. In fact, he was pretty sure they bloody loved it. But it was easier to let the Witcher assume he’d failed, than to go into specifics. Jaskier decided to choose his next words carefully.

“I think it’s something to do with… a lack of culture.” The dim light of the inn was still uncomfortably visible when Jaskier glanced back. “This is a backwards place you’ve dragged me to, Geralt.”

“Hmm.”

“How was your night?” If he could draw the Wolf into a bit of chit-chat, Jaskier hoped, then maybe he could take his mind off the evening’s… discomfort. “Did you find out what was lurking by the cemetary?”

“Hmm.” Geralt seemed not to have heard.

“Was it a pack of ghouls? A troupe of goblins? A cluster of fiends?”

Geralt continued to ignore the bard - which was fine, because Jaskier loved guessing games.

“Ooh, a gravier? An imp? An alghoul?”

“Foxes.” The Witcher’s response was as gravely as the path, and much shorter.

“Come again?”

“It was foxes. No monsters.”

Jaskier knew better than to laugh, but couldn’t stop his mouth splitting into a wide grin. “Wow, you must be pretty pissed off.” But it was more than that - the dark look of aggravation on Geralt’s face was hilariously delicious. “Sounds like we both had shitty evenings. How far back to our splendid lodgings?”

“7 miles. Think you can handle that in your ridiculous boots?” he rumbled, finally confirming Jaskier’s suspicions that he hated them.

“I’d walk on my hands if it meant getting further away from that forsaken shithole,” the bard stated plainly. He meant it, too.

There was a long pause, and Jaskier was beginning to think they’d spend the rest of the journey like that - walking doggedly in silence. The young man knew he was always treading a fine line with the White Wolf – somewhere between outrageous annoyance and what he hoped might be genuine affection. Although Jaskier generally considered himself someone that could read people… it was rarely easy with Geralt.

“You made friends tonight.” Geralt’s low voice in the darkness brought the bard away from his thoughts. Like many things the Witcher said to him, he could never be sure if it was a question or a statement. At that moment, he realised that the smell cheap perfume lingered plainly on his clothes.

Well, the bard thought hotly, a little surprised by his own defensiveness. Am I not allowed a bit of fun?

Geralt and Jaskier had a thing. And whatever thing they had, it had never been discussed. But there was something. It felt fragile to Jaskier – like it might to fizzle into nothing if he so much as thought about it for too long.

It was relaxing by the campfire, wrapped in the Witcher’s arms. It was Geralt’s lips against his own during a stolen moment. It was drunken, wordless nights at the inn. Sometimes more, sometimes less. They’d go weeks without addressing it, then days where it was impossible to keep their hands off each other. Geralt was more hot and cold than a… really hot-and-cold thing.

The knot in his stomach reminded Jaskier that he should probably answer.

“Yes, friends. Delightful girls.” The words tasted funny in his mouth. “They said they’d heard of me, knew some of my songs...” Jaskier was quiet for a moment as their heavy footfalls crunched in the gravel. “They said they wanted to bed me, Geralt.”

“Sounds like they wanted to rob you.”

The remark struck a nerve – more than one, in fact. Really, he thought, as if Geralt found it so difficult to believe that someone else might want to sleep with him. But the worst part was that the Witcher was probably right… although he wasn’t convinced that the slimy cockatrice had many takers.

Jaskier leant against one of the more sturdy-looking fence posts that lined the path, needing a moment to level his pride. Geralt watched with interest as the bard lifted one foot, busying himself by picking tiny stones from the sole of his stupid boots.

Eventually, Jaskier spoke. “You know, there was a time not that long ago when they probably would have managed it. Robbing me, I mean.”

Geralt had stopped walking now. Only he knew he knew the playfully curious expression with which he was eyeing his companion. “What changed?”

“I think you know what changed.” Don’t make me say it, I don’t want to be the one to ruin it. But it couldn’t stay undisclosed forever, until it died like some malnourished baby bird. “I’m talking about us. When we… do things.”

For someone who was supposed to be gifted with language, the bard found it simply impossible to find the right words. Geralt loomed closely now, but Jaskier didn’t dare face him. It wasn’t until he felt a gentle touch on his arm that the younger man realised how near they were.

“You’ve changed your whorish ways?” Geralt eyed Jaskier with a smirk, taking him in easily under the moonlight.

The bard allowed himself an awkward chuckle, daring to glance at the Witcher now and meet his gaze. It had already occurred to the bard that, without Geralt, he’d have been forced into a miserable night back at the tavern, too scared to venture back along the path in the dark. But around the Wolf, it was easy to feel safe.

“As a poet, I’d put it a different way…” He responded, easing into a sing-song tone that he hoped might draw some amusement. “I’ve tried the best, so I’ll forget the rest-

“You’re a shit poet.” The Witcher growled, connecting his rough lips with Jaskier’s ear and causing his eyes shut to tightly. Fuck this stupid man - the thoughts ignited brightly in the bard’s mind - he can do whatever he wants to me and I don’t fucking care.

Geralt knew it too. He loved how easy it was to make Jaskier shiver, how the bard bent and snaked in response to his touch. He was used to it with women, but seeing it work on Jaskier was exciting. Pinned between the Witcher’s lips and the fence post, the bard’s knees quivered, as they both knew they would. Geralt ran a lazy hand up Jaskier’s thigh, across the front of his trousers, and tugged purposefully at the waistband.

The owner of the trousers gulped. “You want to do this here? Now? By the road?” He was suddenly pulled uncomfortably away from his lust, and the knot of nerves was back in his stomach. “What if someone sees?”

Geralt’s smile could be felt against the bard’s neck, before rumbling into his ear. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had your cock sucked under the stars.”

The poet held his tongue, knowing it was probably not a time for honest answers.

Geralt knelt in the gravel, briefly looking up with pale eyes that seemed to reflect the moon. Through nerves, Jaskier bit his lip - but didn’t stop the unfastening of his trousers. There was little doubt in his mind that he wanted it, and when Geralt spoke, all remaining doubt was slain.

“I want to make you feel good.”

Fuck,something about the Geralt of Rivea uttering those words made Jaskier crumble. For all his bombast and confidence, he’d never thought a man like the Witcher would want him like this. But from the first time it had happened, he’d thanked the Gods each day that it had.

When Jaskier’s cock sprang forwards, Geralt wasted no time wrapping his warm mouth around it and drawing a breathy moan from the bard’s throat. They’d never discussed Geralt’s experience with men, but Jaskier had always suspected it was scanty. Not because the Witcher lacked any particular skill, but because of his totally uninhibited enthusiasm. Geralt’s eagerness to please was incomparable to anyone Jaskier had ever been with. If he was inexperienced, the Witcher certainly seemed to relish every chance to practice.

Leaning against a rickety wooden fence under the stars, the poet imagined how they’d look to some local passer-by. Geralt on his knees, serving cock with his mouth, grasping the bard’s narrow hips in his strong hands. Jaskier’s head lolling back, eyes shut in bliss. If those tavern girls could see me now, they’d lose their fucking minds, he found himself musing, with more than a tinge of smugness.

Answering the ache in his jaw, Geralt drew his lips off the bard, gripping his cock in one hand and lapping eagerly over the head. He was enjoying each little groan he could elicit, just by jerking his hand up and down - rotating and sliding the bard’s slick cock across in his palm. This, Jaskier thought, Geralt was particularly good at.

The Witcher rose to plant a heedless kiss on his lover’s shaky lips. When he rolled his pelvis against the bard’s, it drew another groan, allowing the hardness of his own cock to be felt between them.

Jaskier didn’t wait to be asked. Sinking to his knees, trousers pooled around his ankles, he released Geralt’s splendid cock from the confines of his clothing. The white-haired man couldn’t help feeling impressed by how skillfully the bard managed the transition. It was his turn now to lean headily against the wooden fence as Jaskier took the Witcher’s thick cock into his mouth.

There had always been something about sucking cock that Jaskier just adored - but when Geralt filled his mouth, fingers laced in his messy hair, the bard felt transcendent. He settled a hand over his own cock, jerking it skilfully as he enveloped his prize. Hungrily, he worked his lips along the Witcher’s length, tasting every inch with his tongue. They both knew the bard took pride in his ability to please a lover, and in the few times they had done this, it had hardly taken Geralt any time to cum at all.

The Witcher announced his climax breathily, moaning his lover’s name and pulling his pretty mouth deeply against his cock. Gods, how Jaskier fucking loved to hear Geralt moan his name. As he groaned his own reply, the bard spilled his own orgasm messily into the gravel. When Jaskier carefully withdrew his mouth, he ensured every drop was savoured.

The bard glanced up at his lover curiously, watching his broad chest rising and falling against the stars. He was eventually able to stand with only a minor stagger, licking the remnants of his own orgasm from his fingers in a way he hoped was subtle.

“A public footpath, Geralt…” he mused, beginning to fix his trousers nonchalantly. “Never knew you were so filthy…”

“Hmm,” came the gruff reply from the witcher still leaning against the fence. “Not sure I knew either.”

Jaskier smiled, feeling brave enough to plant a kiss on the stubble of Geralt’s jaw. He idly noted how pleased he felt to have the taste of rank mead gone from his mouth. The notion made him smile stupidly.

By the time they met their destination, a tired Jaskier was sure he could see the first pinkish light of dawn creeping from the east. Geralt, of course, had noticed long before. The rest of their journey had passed without incident, giving them both much-needed time to reflect.

If you enjoyed this fic (or even if you didn't) I'd die for feedback of any kind! I'm very new to fanfiction so it would be much appreciated. Thanks :)

Jaskier still hoped that they could leave Bincord as soon as possible, and took comfort in the fact that he wouldn’t be leaving alone.

***

#geralt x jaskier #the witcher smut #witcher sex #the witcher oneshot #geraskeir

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westmoor · 2 years

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Jaskier is human.

Geralt knows that. He knew that from the moment they met and has known ever since. Even when others watched with narrowed eyes for signs of Fae or Elvish traits, Geralt never doubted.

He knows Jaskier draws breath through human lungs, that the beating in his chest is that of a human heart. He knows it by touch, by feel, by scent, that Jaskier is perfectly and exquisitely human.

He’s as human as any man - maybe more so than most - Geralt as ever met. And humans, regardless of their stubbornness, or ambition, or reckless courage, are fragile.

#1/3 #the witcher drabble #geraskier #geraskier adjacent

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 3 years

Note

Can I request some more autistic/adhd Geralt? It’s too soft I love

oh absolutely. sorry it took me a minute to fill this prompt but... life hard, author tired

modern au this time, if you want some in canon you can hit me up again with more prompts :)

tw: Geralt deals with some negative symptoms of ADHD and makes a new friend at the gym!

---

Geralt frowned. "I don't want to go, Eskel."

"C'mon dude, please? I need you there to be my spotter... and my wingman."

"Take Lambert."

"Nah, girls like him now. They think he's some kind of Tik Tok sexyman."

"Never say those words in that order to me again. Please."

"Fine. If you agree to come with me tonight."

Geralt did not want to go to the gym. He was tired from working all morning and his medication was starting to wear off; he'd been on Zoom for seven straight hours hashing through the details of the Zoo's grand re-opening at the end of the month with the new director of operations. He was braindead and over-stimulated and grumpy. He wanted to drink something uncharacteristically fruity and alcoholic and hit the hay early.

But he was a good sibling, and good siblings helped out when they had the opportunity. So Geralt grabbed his gym bag, refilled his water bottle, and followed Eskel out the door.

---

Geralt was going to scream.

He needed to go. He needed a minute alone to breathe and process things. Not even a low-dose Ritalin could save him now because he was already on the road to a complete meltdown and he was still stuck at the fucking Planet Fitness.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a soft voice asked from his left side: "Hey, are you alright?"

Geralt's eyes snapped to the stranger's face. A pair of blue eyes were gazing at him with concern and - not pity, but definitely something similar. Empathy, maybe?

"No."

"Do you want to go outside and grab some air? Or we could go sit over by the yoga mats, it's pretty empty right now."

"I don't know you."

Geralt realized how rude and brusque he sounded immediately after the words left his mouth, but he was being honest. He had no clue who this twunk - because no straight man wears a hot pink crop top to the gym unless they're rushing a frat - even was.

"I know," the man smiled, unperturbed. "But I get the same way sometimes when the world gets to be too much. You're breathing wrong and your eyes don't seem to be able to focus very well. Do you need some water or juice?"

Geralt felt very silly and very small, but he managed to ask: "If it wouldn't be a bother, may I have some juice?"

"Yeah," the twunk grinned. "My name is Jaskier, by the way. Right over here..."

Jaskier led Geralt to a quiet corner of the gym and slipped two pouches of Capri Sun from his tie-dyed bag. "How did you know?"

"I have the same problem," Jaskier winked. "ADHD, right?"

"Mhm."

"Haven't eaten anything substantial today, have you?"

Geralt realized that he hadn't eaten anything other than a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast before work and felt very silly once again. "How could you tell?"

"The thousand mile stare," Jaskier answered truthfully. He finished his Capri Sun and tossed the little foil pouch into a nearby trash receptacle. "Respect the pouch! Anyway, it happens to me during class sometimes and my students always remind me to have a snack or take a few sips of my lemonade."

"You're a teacher?"

"Professor! I teach a few English and Music History classes at Oxenfurt, but mostly I'm a member of the research faculty."

"Cool," Geralt smiled. "I'm the head zookeeper over at Kaer Morhen Public Zoo; I'm a monster specialist and I do a lot of their wild animal and monster rehab."

"That's so awesome!" Jaskier declared. "What's your favorite monster?"

Geralt opened his mouth to release a long string of facts about Wyverns before biting his lip and shaking his head. "I don't want to get into that right now, I'm sure you have other places to be."

"I really don't," Jaskier leaned back, crossing his legs in front of him. "And I love hearing people info-dump."

"Me too," Geralt smiled again, more shyly this time. "Anyway... I love Wyverns."

---

"See you tomorrow!" Jaskier beamed, waving as he made his way across the parking lot. "Can't wait to talk more about those endangered Endrega species!"

"Yeah," Geralt waved back. "And about your thesis!"

"Who's that?" Eskel asked, bumping shoulders with his brother.

"I made a friend. Also we're going to Arby's right fucking now because I haven't eaten all day and I'm starving."

"Aye, aye," Eskel nodded. Then he grinned salaciously at his brother and wiggled his eyebrows, "They have the meats."

"Dork."

Geralt leaned the passenger seat all the way back and let his eyes stay closed during their ride to the fast-food joint.

#geraskier adjacent #geralt #jaskier #adhd jaskier #adhd geralt #neurodivergent geralt #geralt centric fic #geralt ficlet #the witcher netflix #geraskier ficlet #witcher ficlet #adhd symptoms #bounceacoinoffyouranons #prompt fill #geraskier prompt fill #adhd geralt prompt #modern au

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marvelousmaize · 4 years

Text

Headcanon that Jaskier can’t flirt because he never really needed to learn. Those big blue eyes and that smile and maybe a well-placed strum of his lute for good measure is all the game he ever needed.

It’s when he finds himself having to work for it that his lack of game because hilariously, endearingly, embarrassingly obvious because who else on this entire planet thinks “bread in his pants” and “sexy goose” are acceptable come-ons?

#jaskier #the witcher #the witcher headcanons #geraskier adjacent #txt post #this is part shitpost part genuine belief #i mean look at jaskier #why would someone who *looks* like that ever feel the need to learn to flirt???#how could he have possibly predicted that a certain grumpy witcher would be impervious to his charms???

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dapandapod · 2 years

Text

Promise? Promise.

Hi darlings! This one has been sitting min my drafts for a while, just waiting for the opportunity to see the light. It is a little sad, but I promise there is a happy ending. My darling dear friend Nat wrote a wonderful fic where Geralt called Jaskier while crying and well. It stuck. And tonight my brain is misbehaving and so I thought, tonight we deserve some comfort. Please enjoy <3 Warnings: very, very sad Geralt, could be read as panic attack? emotional hurt comfort, but so much comforting i could muster. On Ao3

I GOT A POCKET, GOT A POCKET FULL OF SUNSHINE-

The phone screeches next to Jaskier’s bed, its broken speakers making it sound like something right out of a horror movie. He has never regretted his choice of ringtone, not even when Geralt threatened to drown it in Roach’s water bowl.

Right now, though, woken up at shit o’clock, he is rethinking his life choices. Geralt’s name and face illuminates the screen, and Jaskier quickly props himself up on his elbow to answer.

“Geralt?” he asks, voice cracking as it has yet to realize they are awake.

On the other end of the phone, he can hear a heavy intake of breath, and then nothing.

“Geralt? What’s wrong? You never call this late,” Jaskier asks again, sitting up. The blanket is pooling around his hips and he shudders when the cold air hits his bare skin.

“Jaskier,” says someone who is unmistakably Geralt, and then something seems to break. Heavy sobs, the kind that hit you so hard you can’t breathe, and Jaskier presses the phone to his ear.

“Geralt, talk to me. Where are you?” Jaskier tries, looking around for his clothes.

It doesn't seem like Geralt can answer him. Another shuddering sob comes through the speaker, and Jaskier aches for him.

"I'm here, Geralt. I'm right here," Jaskier says, trying to be comforting, but fuck. He is usually the one calling others to cry his heart out, not others calling him.

He swipes up a stray sock and tries to put it on in the darkness. It doesn't even occur to him to turn on the lights, so focused is he on listening to Geralt on the other end. The second sock is under his desk, and he grabs a pair of sweatpants. Geralt's sweatpants that he stole last time he was over, in fact.

"What can I do?" he asks, but there is just another hitched breath. "Do you want me to talk? Listen? I can even sing for you if you want me to?"

For the first time, he feels ridiculous making this offer, but he gets a deep breath in response, like Geralt is trying to calm himself.

"Sing? Alright, I'll sing for you."

Jaskier hums. Doesn't even think about what it is until it strikes him that he is singing the lullaby Geralt used to sing for Ciri when she was little. His humming is interrupted by Geralt's voice. It takes him a second to hear what he's saying through the tears.

"I love you." It is soft as a whisper at first, and then Geralt breaks again. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

Geralt is saying it like he is terrified out of his mind, like he is mourning, like he is alone in the entire world.

Jaskier can't listen for another minute. They only live two blocks apart.

He hangs up and regrets it instantly. He needs to get moving. The old hoodie on the Wardrobe Chair is big and warm, and he snags it as he runs out the door. Doesn't even bother locking, just slams it shut and trusts that his neighbors are still asleep.

He runs down the stairs, nearly stumbles after miscalculating how many there were left, and then runs out into the cool night air. Out of the two of them, Geralt is the athlete, and as he runs over the empty streets, Jaskier is more inclined to agree than ever. His breath is burning in his lungs and his back already feels damp with sweat, but he couldn't care less.

Outside Geralt's doors, he pats his pockets frantically for the keys. Shit, where the fuck are they? They jingle in his left pocket, and he digs them out, hands shaking. He has had better precision when he was blind drunk, but he gets the door open and climbs the new set of stairs until he reaches Geralt's apartment.

He lets himself in again, and just a few steps inside the door, he sees Geralt is sitting on the floor. He is hugging his knees, arms wrapped around them, rocking slightly from side to side as if to try to comfort himself. The phone lies on the floor as if dropped, and Jaskier feels an overwhelming guilt for hanging up. What it must have cost Geralt to call him at all.

"Geralt," he says softly, kneeling down and touching Geralt's arm. His friend doesn't give any inclination to have heard him, so Jaskier sits down properly. "Geralt, love, I'm here. Please look at me."

Jaskier pulls at his arm. Geralt doesn't look at him, but he lets himself be pulled, and Jaskier pulls him into his chest. Geralt comes willingly, more or less sprawling over Jaskier, allowing himself to be engulfed in Jaskier's embrace.

It's not very comfortable, so Jaskier shuffles them backwards until he can lean back against the door for support.

Geralt doesn't seem to be crying anymore, but his breath is doing that hitching thing, his entire face a wet mess against Jaskier's chest.

"I got you," Jaskier whispers, letting Geralt fit between his knees so they are pressed together. "I'm here."

He takes slow, deep breaths, trying to encourage Geralt to breathe with him, as he strokes Geralt's hair. He always wanted to do that, but not like this... Gently he lets his hand travel over the crown of his head, over his ear, his jaw, his neck, down to where the hair ends on his shoulders, and then he starts over.

Geralt's hands fists in his hoodie behind his back, burrowing his head deeper into Jaskier's chest. For a long while they just sit there, and after another heart wrenching sob, Jaskier can't hold back anymore. He presses a kiss on Geralt's hair, pulling him tighter, as hot tears spill from his eyes.

His chin is doing that thing where it gets all wrinkled and that lump in his throat is so big, it aches. They hold each other for what seems like forever. It would have been alright if it were forever if it made Geralt feel better.

Finally, Geralt heaves a sigh, as if ridding himself of something heavy and terrible, and he relaxes against Jaskier.

"Back with me?" Jaskier murmurs, petting his hair again.

"Sorry," Geralt croaks, his fingers tightening their grip again.

"No apologies. Can you stand?" Jaskier murmurs into Geralt's hair, resting his hand on Geralt's cheek, who nods.

They straighten themselves up, Geralt remains sitting against the wall for another moment as Jaskier gets up to pour him a glass of water. He knows exactly how draining this sort of thing is.

Geralt drinks it down eagerly, and when Jaskier manages to pull him to his feet and into the kitchen, he drains another one. After that, Jaskier guides Geralt to his bedroom, helping him out of his clothes and then into bed.

Together they curl up around the blankets, their legs tangling, arms wrapped around each other, Geralt's head once again tucked into Jaskier's chest.

"I love you," Geralt whispers with his arms around Jaskier's middle. He whispers it over his heart, and this time he doesn't sound as broken. Exhausted, but less terrified.

Jaskier pulls him closer and kisses his forehead.

"Sleep," Jaskier whispers back. "I'll still be here in the morning."

"Promise?"

"Promise. I won't leave you."

It only takes a few minutes for Geralt to drift off, but Jaskier stays awake. He listens to the soft breaths, feels the heavy weight of another body against his, and his mind is curiously blank for once. He fiddles with Geralt's hair, twining it between his fingers and touches the soft skin on the back of Geralt's neck.

�� Morning comes without him realizing he fell asleep. Geralt is still wrapped around him, they haven't moved an inch during what was left of the night. Geralt shifts again, and Jaskier leans back to get a look at him.

"Good morning,." he croaks, lips dry and slightly chapped. Gods, he is parched.

"You're still here," Geralt murmurs, sounding like he doesn't quite believe it.

"I promised you I would be."

"You usually leave when they love you."

Oh. Well.

"That's... That's because they are not you..." Jaskier admits, burying his nose in Geralt's hair. He doesn't need to see him. It's fine. Hiding is great, actually. "Is that why you sounded so scared?" Jaskier finally asks after a long moment of silence. "Because you thought I would leave you?"

"I.... I don't know. I don't remember much."

"Had you been drinking?"

"No. I just... I got home and you weren't there and it just hit me."

"That you love me?" Finally, Jaskier dares to feel it. Feel his heart swelling, soaring, beating with furious hope.

"Stop saying it," Geralt complains, but it sounds more like whining and it makes Jaskier crack a small smile.

"That you love me? Never," he teases, laughing when Geralt moves, pushes him onto his back and glares down at him. He looks like shit, his eyes red and swollen, his hair a right mess after Jaskier played with it, red blotches climbing his cheeks.

"I won't let you take it back," Jaskier whispers, reaching up and tracing Geralt's cheeks with his thumbs. "I won't ever let you forget it. I won't ever leave you."

"You won't?" Geralt ventures, looking terribly uncertain.

"I won't. Can you tell me again?" Jaskier asks, tracing those dark bags under Geralt's eyes.

"I love you." Geralt lays down atop of him again, burying his face into Jaskier's neck. "I love you so much it hurts."

"Can I tell you something Geralt?" Jaskier murmurs, wrapping his arms around those broad shoulders and holding him close.

"What?"

"I have never, not once, told anyone I love them." It feels odd to say it out loud.

Geralt doesn't say anything, just waiting for what Jaskier is going to say next.

"Alright, I might have told my parents and Roach and I think I told a lamp post once," he amends.

Geralt huffs at that, and Jaskier considers it a win.

"I think I have been saving it."

Again, Geralt doesn't reply. The silence stretches out between them.

"For who, I hear you ask." Fingers play with Geralt's hair again to calm his nerves.

"I didn't."

"For you. I don't think I could ever mean it if I said it to anyone that wasn't you."

Geralt props himself up on his elbows again, looking down on Jaskier with painful hope.

"You love me?"

"Always have."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I do. Every time I see you, I give you all that I am."

"Jaskier."

"I was... scared. And when you called me last night, I was terrified for you. You are so, so brave, my stupid, wonderful, idiot darling Geralt."

"I'm pretty sure you aren't supposed to call someone you love an idiot."

"You do every day."

"You are an idiot."

"See? Now let's go do something about your terrible morning breath so you can kiss me."

There is a glint in Geralt's eye, and it stirs something in Jaskier's chest, even when he knows what is coming.

"Oh no no no no, Geralt, no." Jaskier squirms and giggles when Geralt grabs his arms and pins them above their heads, slowly leaning down towards Jaskier's face.

"Are you saying you don't want me to kiss you?" he breathes, morning breath hot and stinky all over Jaskier's face, and Jaskier is helpless. He loves him.

Geralt kisses him, just a press of lips. Both of their lips are dry and chapped, but their fingers are twining and Jaskier's toes are curling and he feels like he is dreaming, like he is flying and everything is perfect.

Their lips part with a soft sound and Jaskier takes a moment to just collect himself.

"You alright?" Geralt murmurs, kissing the corner of his mouth and on the right side of his jaw.

"No. I am ended by morning breath." Geralt chuckles and it sends shivers down Jaskier's spine. "Oh how you have betrayed me."

"Dramatic man." Geralt smiles, stubble dragging against Jaskier's neck.

"Your dramatic man," Jaskier says, aching as he says it. "Who is owed breakfast and non-morning-breath kisses."

"Is that so?" Geralt asks, without moving an inch.

"If you love me, that is so," Jaskier decides.

Geralt pulls back and looks down at him again. Fuck, Jaskier will never tire of it.

"And you will stay? You won't leave me?"

"I will stay," Jaskier promises, and despite himself pulls Geralt down for another press of lips. "I am yours."

#geraskier #getting together #friends to lovers #emotional hurt/comfort #so much comfort #crying geralt #geralt x jaskier #fluff adjacent #the witcher #dapanda writes #morning kisses #confessions #cuddling

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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 4 years

Text

It has been years since the mountain incident. Geralt hadn't seen Jaskier since and things are going badly for him. As Jaskier's fame grows, less and less people are willing to house the witcher who broke his heart (Jask tries to fight against this, but Geralt doesn't know that and assumes Jaskier is warning people against him). He thinks Jaskier must hate him, knows he can be petty but this is more than that so there really isn't any other option.

Geralt starts to lose work and after a couple years he can't make the trip to Kaer Morhen bc no one that far north will hire him and he can't haul enough food to last. His armour suffers bc he makes sure Roach's equipment is kept up before his own and he's injured more frequently because of it. She eats first, too, because he really would be a monster if he let Roach suffer for his mistakes.

Geralt takes a job that's probably too much for him but it's the only work he's been able to find without going further south than he's comfortable with. He winds up getting bitten and poisoned by the thing, but he knows there's a healer in town so he heads there bc it's his best option. He doesn't make it all the way before collapsing against a tree and he's not disappointed per se bc he expected to die alone, but he thought Roach at least might be with him.

After a bit he can't hold back sleep and he gives in, shutting his eyes and whispering an apology to Jaskier that he knows too late, but Jaskier won't hear it anyway so it doesn't really matter. Geralt dreams about Jaskier holding him and singing to him and for a short time he's content before everything goes black.

Then, just as abruptly, everything is far too bright and something is on top of him. Instinctively, he fights against it, despite the soft but frantic voice telling him he's safe.

#heyy #i'm gonna write this one day #probably #but i'm procrastinating #so here u go #have part of a sad fic #geraskier #adjacent #the witcher #ficlet

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natilieal · 2 years

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mr witcher will u pls get ur dick out ? 👀🧡

hello ily!! mr witcher will u pls get ur dick out is the working title for a fic that I've spammed u about at length a geraskier 5+1-adjacent fic wherein Jaskier is a noble who is attempting to get the attention of the witcher his parents have hired, in increasingly ridiculous ways.

excerpt:

‘Sir Witcher!’ Jaskier tries not to look too pleased at the sight of the hulking figure in his doorway. He’s supposed to be terribly afraid, after all. ‘You must help me, I fear there’s a monster hiding in my room.’

‘A monster.’ The witcher replies, deadpan. His voice is deep, barely above a growl, and Jaskier shivers.

‘Yes, a monster,’ he insists, eyes wide and pleading. ‘I’ve been trying to sleep, but I keep hearing this awful creaking, like footsteps, and there’s a terrible chill in the air. And then, just before, the papers on my desk moved of their own accord!’

The witcher is almost unnaturally still as he listens, eyes trained, unblinking, on Jaskier. The light is dim but he can see that the witcher’s face is as impassive as always.

Undeterred, Jaskier stretches out further in his bed. He is resting back on his elbows, one leg stretched in front of him, the other bent at the knee, doing his best impression of an alluring damsel in distress. He tilts his hips subtly, and feels incredibly pleased when he sees the witcher’s eyes flick downward. The sharp gaze is back on his face almost instantly, but still, Jaskier preens. ‘So you see, there must be some sort of awful presence in this room. I can’t possibly spend the night here alone, cold and vulnerable as I am. I need you to stay here and protect me.’

The silence stretches on as the witcher considers him. Jaskier looks up at him through his lashes, hoping he looks appropriately coquettish. The candles in the room have all been extinguished; he can only see the witcher through the barest slivers of moonlight coming in through the curtains, and it makes for an incredibly pleasant view. The severe angles of his face are emphasised by the half-shadows, his white hair all the more lovely as it spills along his shoulders. His catlike amber eyes seem to glow brighter in the moonlight, almost otherworldly as they watch him. Jaskier feels strangely exposed under the witcher’s heavy stare, as though he is pinned in place and being catalogued. Almost, Jaskier thinks hopefully, as if the witcher is considering Jaskier’s obvious proposition.

He tries to smile, coy and inviting, and his heart leaps as the witcher takes a step forward into the room.

The witcher walks over to Jaskier’s desk and shuts the window, the latch clicking quietly into place. ‘Found your monster.’

Jaskier swears that, for a moment, the witcher’s solemn mouth twitches into a smile.

With that, the witcher turns on his heel and leaves without sparing him a glance.

Jaskier throws himself back onto the bed with a defeated groan.

tag meme: ask me about my wips!

#txt #my fic #horsedadgeralt

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all-hail-the-witcher · 3 years

Text

5 times geralt wrote jaskiers name wrong on his coffee cup plus 1 time he didnt need to: part 1

its @natskier‘s birthday and hhh nat fucking slaps and her birthday fic accidentally became a 5+1 and yeah. here's part 1.

___

ship: geraskier, modern

warnings: lamberts a bitch, geralt has feelings, jaskiers a little shit

editing: yes

words: 1.1k

genre: slow burn adjacent cause the boys are hella fucking impatient oops

___

“Geralt! Get your bitch ass up here and work the register!”

Geralt didn't even bother opening the door of the breakroom. “Fuck your boyfriend when you’re not on the clock!”

The door to the breakroom swung open and a very disgruntled Lambert glared down at him, arms crossed over his chest. One of his bright red curls fell out of his bun and hit him in the eye. Geralt had to hold his hand in front of his mouth to stop himself from laughing.

“If you paid attention, you’d know that Aiden is out of town. I’m going to the bank to get change you fucking piss biscuit.” Lambert pointed at him angrily. “If you burn the place down it’s coming out of your damn paycheck.”

Geralt groaned as the door slammed shut behind Lambert, but he still got up and walked begrudgingly to the front. Getting fired by his father would have been nothing short of embarrassing.

He made sure that his apron was tied correctly as he walked up to the register. Eskel was making the drinks, which was the job that Geralt usually preferred because it involved less interaction with the customers. But Lambert really hadn’t given him much of an option.

The bell above the door chimed and Geralt put on his best customer service smile.

“Hi, welcome to Kaer for More Coffee, what can I get for you?”

“Just a black coffee. Large. Dark roast”

Geralt punched the order into the register without looking up. Then he grabbed a cup off of the stack, pulled the sharpie from behind his ear and scribbled the order on the side. The routine was so familiar he could probably do it in his sleep. Not that he would ever admit that though because then Lambert would definitely try to get him to do it.

“Name?” he asked, still not looking up.

Whatever the customer said got lost in the noise of the shop.

“Could you repeat that?” Geralt asked, looking up for the first time and holy fuck.

The man standing at his register was abso-fucking-lutely gorgeous. He had dark brown hair that was falling in his bright blue eyes and the little smile on his face that showed off his dimples made Geralt nearly melt. It took all of his willpower to not drop the cup in his hand and keep his eyes on the man’s face instead of the bit of chest hair peeking out from his scandalously unbuttoned, peach colored shirt. It was almost like he was tryingto make him swoon.

“Jasper.”

Or at least that was what Geralt thought that he said. Eskel chose that exact moment to knock over a sack of espresso beans.

Geralt clumsily scrawled his name on the cup. Seeing that Eskel was otherwise occupied and he didn't want to keep the attractive man waiting, Geralt went to grab him his coffee. It wasn't like there were any other customers waiting.

Geralt filled the cup, double and triple checking that he had the right roast before sliding the order across the counter.

“Jasper!” he called out.

The attractive man was standing on his phone, not making any move to come and get his coffee.

“Jasper!” Geralt called out again, hoping to get his attention.

Still nothing. The man was scrolling like his life depended on it and it honestly didn't help that he had the cutest look of concentration on his face: slightly furrowed brows and an adorable frown line creasing his forehead.

“Hey,” Geralt said. “Your coffee’s ready.”

This time the man looked up, slightly surprised to see Geralt holding out the cup.

“Is that mine?” He asked, gesturing to the cup.

Geralt nodded. “Large black dark roast.”

“But you didn't call out my name,” the man said, crossing his arms.

“Yes I did.” Geralt cocked his head in confusion. “Twice.”

The man took the cup from him skeptically, spun it until he could see the name that Geralt had written on it and laughed.

“Well darling,” he said. “I didn't respond because my name isn't Jasper.”

Geralt spluttered, momentarily distracted by the fact that such an attractive person had just called him darling. He tried desperately to ignore the swell of heat in his stomach. “But you said-”

“I didn't say Jasper.” The man took a sip of his coffee and tried and failed not to wince. Geralt didn't blame him. Black coffee was terrible. “I guess I’ll just have to come back tomorrow and remedy this issue, won’t I, uh,” the man squinted at his name tag, “Gerald.”

“That’s not-”

“Oh I know,” the man smiled, taking another large gulp of his disgusting coffee. This time he couldn't hide the wince at all. “I’ll get your name right when you get mine right.”

And then he had the audacity to turn and walk out of the shop. Without putting any milk or sugar in his coffee, Geralt couldn't help but note.

Geralt stared transfixed at the door that the man had just walked out of. What the hell had just happened?

Unluckily for him, he didn't have much time to ponder that because Lambert walked through the very same door not two seconds later.

“What happened, pretty boy?” Lambert asked, opening the drawer of the cash register and putting in the change that he had gotten. “Did that door tell you that your hair looks terrible straightened? Cause I’ve been telling you that for at least the last three years.”

Geralt opened his mouth to respond but Eskel beat him to it.

“A hot guy came in and ordered and Geralt wrote his name wrong on the cup.”

Geralt turned away from the door to hide his blush. The way that Eskel said it made it sound so much worse than it was. It had been an honest mistake! It wasn't his fault that Eskel had dropped the damn espresso beans right when he had said his name!

Lambert tisked disapprovingly. “Of course the one time you manage to find someone who actually likes that mop on your head, you don't even manage to learn his name. Now I can’t stalk him on Instagram! Geralt, you really need to be more considerate of these things.”

Geralt threw an empty cup at him.

“Fuck off, you know I’m right!” Lambert groaned. “And I could get you written up for harassment in the workplace! What if you injured me and I couldn't work anymore, huh?”

“Lamb, it was a paper cup,” Geralt sighed. “And considering our dad is our boss, he would have seen straight through your dramatics.”

Thankfully, any further retorts from Lambert were cut off by the bell above the door ringing.

“Hi, welcome to Kaer for More Coffee what can….”

Geralt used the distraction to slip back into the break room. He still had another 10 minutes left on his break and he fully intended to use them to mope over the fact that an attractive man had shown actual interest in him and he’d somehow managed to not get his name.

Lambert would never let him live this down.

___

hehehehe :)) dumbasses

tag list: (inbox me to be added)

@percy-jackson-is-sexy-

@barlowpng

@eminasan

@llamasdumpsterfire

@nonegenderleftpain

@geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde

@geekymagicalpotato

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@toss-a-coin-to-your-stan-account

@toss-a-coin-to-your-lesbian

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@dapandapod

#the witcher #witcher #witcher fic #witcher fanfic #geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #geraskier fanfic #geralt #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #modern geraskier #saph scribbles

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