#geraskier prompt fill

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

for the kiss prompts - a playful kiss to make the other stop rambling + geraskier, pretty please 🥺

Jaskier has never been one to suffer stage fright. Since the first time he gave an impromptu performance at one of his parents’ banquets at the age of seven, he’s soaked up the spotlight at any chance he can get. There’s nothing he delights in more than having a crowded tavern or ballroom watching him with starry eyes, hanging onto his every word. He knows he’s good at what he does, a far cry from the boy who used to get bread pelted at his head while he sang about hags and abortions.

Except that as he stands behind the stage at the Oxenfurt Music Festival, listening to a pair of Nazairi troubadours sing a lovely duet, his insides roil with the same queasy nervousness he’s carried with him all day. He glances over at Geralt to make sure the witcher doesn’t notice. Geralt is leaning against the wall, looking remarkably stoic for a man who has been dragged to a music festival entirely against his will. 

Jaskier can’t let him know how nervous he is, not when Geralt took on two wyverns singlehandedly only three days ago. The fact that Jaskier, who has been a traveling bard for years, who has faced far scarier things than a crowd of onlookers (usually while cowering behind Geralt, but his point stands) has stage fright is too mortifying to admit. Luckily, Jaskier is excellent at keeping his feelings under wraps after years of traveling with his witcher. He’s sure Geralt has no idea.

“You’re nervous,” Geralt says.

Fuckity fuck.

“Nervous?” Jaskier breaks off in a monologue about how he lost the Student Bardic Competition to Valdo Marx his final year due to trickery and biased judging. “I’m not nervous! Merely excited to claim yet another in my long list of accolades.”

“You stink of anxiety.”

Jaskier just manages to resist the urge to sniff himself. “Why, thank you, Geralt. How kind of you to say. And here I thought you liked this new perfume.”

Geralt just stares at him, unimpressed.

Jaskier sighs. “I seem to have come down with the tiniest case of stage fright.”

“Stage fright?” Geralt arches an eyebrow. “But you perform all the time.”

“Not at places like this.” Jaskier waves his hand in the direction of the stage.

“You just told me in detail about all seven times you performed here before. You said you won five times.”

“And it would have been all seven, if Valdo Marx weren’t a cad and a cheat.” Jaskier puffs up in remembered outrage. “But that was the Student Bardic Festival. Everyone expects the acts there to be a little bit shit. Melitele help them, but my classmates didn’t give me much of a run for their money, save for Valdo and Essi. This is the first time I’ve performed in a professional competition.”

“And that’s why you’re nervous.”

“Yes!” Jaskier throws up his hands in exasperation. “I know this isn’t a wyvern or an angry mob, but I don’t want to make a fool of myself in front of thousands of people!”

Geralt gets an expression on his face like he’s valiantly refraining from pointing out that Jaskier doesn’t normally care about making a fool of himself. “You perform all the time.”

“For drunks in taverns who won’t notice if I make a bunk of the pronunciation of an elven ballad or courtiers who wouldn’t know a wrong note if it hit them in the face. Many of these people are trained musicians themselves who have come from all over the Continent to be here today. I have to be perfect.”

“Then be perfect.”

“Geralt.” Jaskier moans and slaps his hands over his eyes. “Have you ever heard of Elsa Svensen?”

“You know I haven’t.”

“Of course you haven’t! She was a cautionary tale when I was at Oxenfurt, a rising star in the bardic circuit until she tried to sing The Six Swans at the Lan Exeter Bardic Festival.” At the blank look on his witcher’s face, Jaskier elaborates. “It’s a famously difficult ballad in Elder. Very long, lots of tricky notes. She butchered it so badly that she was laughed off stage! Suffice to say, there was an unfortunate mispronunciation and she sang a line about the hero committing unspeakable acts with a donkey in front of the entirety of Lan Exeter, including the king and queen. It ended her career. Rumor has it that she changed her name and is now working as a traveling player.”

Geralt doesn’t look suitably horrified, in Jaskier’s opinion.

“A traveling player, Geralt!” Jaskier practically shrieks, which isn’t good for his voice, but he can’t stop himself. “I can’t act! There isn’t a single troupe of traveling players that would have me. I’ll starve. Gods, I should never have let Essi talk me into this. I’m too young to live in disgrace. Can you go out there and tell them that a horrible tragedy has befallen me and an evil witch has stolen my voice? Ooh, yes, say I’ve ruined her for all other men and this is my punishment. Do you think we can find an actual witch in—”

He doesn’t realize Geralt is approaching him until the witcher presses a brief kiss to his lips.

Jaskier blinks, surprised. Geralt isn’t one for displays of affection where anyone else might see. “What are you—”

Geralt kisses him again. Jaskier can feel the curl of his lips.

“Geralt, this is—”

Another kiss, this one accompanied by Geralt nipping at his lower lip.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says through another kiss. “Are you trying to distract me?”

“Trying to shut you up.”

“How dare—”

Geralt kisses him again. “You were working yourself up.”

Jaskier opens his mouth to protest, then realizes he was just plotting to find an actual witch to steal his voice in order to get out of a performance. Perhaps Geralt has a point. “Right.”

“You know Elder too well to accidentally sing about donkeys. And if you do manage to fuck up so badly that you ruin your career, I won’t let you starve.”

Jaskier melts into him. “Geralt, that’s the sweetest—”

“Because you’re right, you’d be a shit traveling player.” Geralt’s lips quirk.

“You—”

Geralt kisses him again, slow and sweet, and Jaskier feels the last bit of tension drain out of him.

“Jaskier the Bard!” a woman’s voice calls from the stage. “Also known as the Dandelion!”

“That’s you.” Geralt pushes him towards the stage. “You’ll do great, Jask.”

Jaskier can’t help but smile at him. “How can I not, after a sweet pep talk like that?”

“Hm. Probably not as great as Valdo Marx did earlier.” A full-on smile spreads over Geralt’s face at Jaskier’s outrage. “But we’ll see.”

And just for that, Jaskier gives the best damn performance of his life. Which is probably what Geralt intended, the terrible man.

***

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome

Kiss prompts

#the witcher #twn #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #ghost's writing #prompt fills

[kingthunder]

Prompt for Geralt and Jaskier: “God I hate you” & “Prove it.” I know you’ll make a masterpiece (like all of your work)!!💜

Rience plays with him. Rience hits him. Rience lights a flame, and laughs, and laughs, and laughs, and all Jaskier can do is burn.

.

Jaskier isn’t quite the same afterwards. The non-essential parts of him have gone up in smoke and what’s left is this: he has found out in the most intimate way possible that when it’s time for hurting—when the very meat of him is black and charred and he can taste the smoke of his own fat on the back of his tongue—that even then he cannot redirect the hurt onto Geralt. He’ll take it all and fold it up inside him and keep Geralt safe, even though Geralt didn’t do the same for him.

He wants to be angry about it. He wants to scream his righteous fury to the skies. Hell, he’s been doing that for a year already, in every tavern that will let him through the door, insisting that he wants Geralt to burn, burn, burn for what he did to Jaskier’s heart.

Only he isn’t angry anymore. He’s burned enough for the both of them. He’s just tired and lonely and misses his friend and wonders, like pushing on a bruise, if Geralt misses him too.

He wants Geralt to miss him too.

.

Later, when everything has gone to hell and back and the dust has settled, Geralt comes to Jaskier’s room in Kaer Morhen.

“We can’t stay,” Geralt says. “I was trying to keep Ciri safe, but all I did was put everyone else in danger. I need to take her somewhere where she can be trained properly.”

Jaskier doesn’t know who Geralt means when he says “we.” It’s been weeks since they hugged through three inches of creaking leather and metal, and in that time he has yet to figure out if he’s still included in Geralt’s life or if the shapes they’ve been broken into don’t fit together anymore. He’ll love Geralt the same regardless, but he needs to guard his heart.

“I wish you the best,” Jaskier says, thrusting his hand out for Geralt to shake.

Brow furrowed, Geralt takes it. Then he turns Jaskier’s hand palm up and says, “What’s this?”

His thumb is running over the scars Rience left.

“It’s nothing,” Jaskier says.

“It’s something.”

So Jaskier tells him, because he could never really deny Geralt anything. His words are dispassionate, a simple recounting of events, but what he means is, I love you. What he means is, I’d do it again but please don’t make me. Describing the depths of his one-sided devotion, even in such dry terms, leaves him aching and raw, and by the end of it he can’t stop his chin from quivering.

He’s clenched his hand into a white-knuckled fist without realizing it. Slowly, Geralt unbends each finger. He presses a kiss to the middle of Jaskier’s palm and Jaskier’s nostrils flare with the effort of holding in a sob.

“Stop,” Jaskier says.

Geralt stops but doesn’t let go of Jaskier’s hand. He says, “Thank you for keeping Ciri safe.”

“Did a pretty shit job of that in the end, didn’t I?”

Jaskier’s chin is still quivering.

“I’ll never let anyone hurt you like that again,” Geralt says. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“How was I supposed to do that?” Jaskier says helplessly. “Oh hello Geralt, nice seeing you after all this time, I know you hate my guts right now, but by the way, someone tortured me for information about you, just thought you should know, cheers, mate.”

“I don’t hate your guts.”

“Yeah, well you did a pretty good impression of it.”

“I’m sorry. I’m not…good at feelings.”

“He’s sorry, he says. And no, you’re not. Good at feelings, that is—oh bloody hell.” 

Geralt has started kissing Jaskier’s fingertips one by one. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs between each one.

 “God, I hate you,” Jaskier says, whimpering. “You just do whatever you bloody want, don’t you?”

Geralt pauses and looks up at Jaskier, eyes troubled.

“Do you not want this?”

“I do,” Jaskier says. “Gods help me, I do, but I  won’t give myself away so cheaply again, witcher. You have to want it, too. You have to really want it, with every poorly articulated feeling in that whole gorgeous body of yours.”

Geralt’s voice is rough. “I do.”

Jaskier cups Geralt’s cheek with his scarred hand and says, “Prove it.”

Geralt kisses him. It’s everything Jaskier has ever wanted and it’s not—quite—enough.

“Prove it,” Jaskier says again, breathing hard, his forehead rocking against Geralt’s. “Prove it,” he whispers, drawing back a fraction as Geralt’s lips chase his.

“I’m trying.”

“Not like that.”

Geralt pulls back far enough to look at him. After a moment of silence, Geralt says, “Come with us. Me and Ciri and Yen. Come with us. Then you can let me prove it every day. I’m tired of missing you.”

Jaskier smiles and finally lets Geralt kiss him again. Melts into it and kisses him back, warm and soft. He feels seen. Wanted. The hurt deep inside him dislodges itself and he thinks, for the first time in a long time, that it's possible to be happy again.

“That’s a good start,” Jaskier says.

#witcher #geraskier #fanfiction #prompt fill #geralt #jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier the bard #i'm sorry i don't know where all this despair came from #whump the bard #physically and emotionally #my ask box is still open for prompts if anyone wants to send me one #my fic

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 13

How was Jaskier supposed to know that the lovely woman he spent the night with had a husband? Let alone a husband in a big scary poacher gang? So Jaskier is hauling ass through the forest, only to get his leg caught in a beartrap. He faceplants (very daintily, prettily, and most certainly not with an embarrassing wail, thank you very much) and begins sobbing with the pain. Not to mention his cheap lute breaking into splinters. Great. Just great. What a LOVELY day he's having! A pure white werewolf with bright golden eyes suddenly prowls out of the bushes, growling at him, and Jaskier decides that today really is his worst day. No matter how majestic the beast is, this is cearly the end of Jaskier the bard. He sobs and begs to live, apologizing profusely, and the last thing he sees is the monstrous snout getting closer. Geralt, the werewolf, is stalking for food for his pack, only to come across one of those humans in their own traps. Except... This human isn't one of them. He's wearing brightly colored delicate clothing, and wasn't familiar with where their traps were. It's an innocent human. One that smells very nice, under all the stench of blood and fear. Wolf!Geralt creeps closer, and pries open the trap, intending on releasing the human back into the wild, but it just kind of stares at him in horror before passing out. Hm. Well, it appears it needs more care than he initially thought. So imagine the other witcher's surprise when he doesn't bring food back to the pack, but instead brings a human to patch up. The moon dips out of the sky, they all turn back into their witcher-human forms, and now they're all SCRAMBLING over what they're meant to do!? HOW DO YOU CARE FOR A HUMAN AGAIN??? FUCK- I DON'T KNOW! Geralt stop petting him, he doesn't like that, he's human, not a wolf! What do you mean he likes it? Oh shit- EVERYONE QUICK PET HIM! No wait- He doesn't like it any more- One at a time pet him! And uh- Fuck- What do normal people eat!?

♡!Optional addons!♡ • (ORIGINALLY A TAG) Is Aiden a werecat or also a werewolf? And if he is a werewolf (and/or a werecat I suppose), perhaps he's from a rival pack (against his will) and needs to be rescued by Lambert as a sideplot • Maybe the poachers find poor trapped Jaskier and Geralt has to fight them off first, or perhaps they come back later, intent on killing the White Wolf • Perhaps Geralt turns Jaskier into a werewolf (Either with his consent or without his consent ONLY if he has to do it to save his life, we don't fuck with forced bonds here, people)

#I just want to see a bunch of dumbass witcher werewolves care for their bard #Geraskier #And/or MonoPoly Witchersexual Jaskier #Please someone write any of my prompts i need something good after shane madej and ryan bergara broke my heart by becoming capitalists :( #fanfiction prompts #geralt x dandelion #geralt x jaskier #witcher fanfiction #the witcher #geralt loves his bard! #writing prompts #requited unrequited love #optional smut of course #the regular werewolf sex shenanigans #maybe a knot #maybe a lil scent marking #maybe a lil growling and biting #its up to you darling #werewolf #werewolves #WerewolfAU #Werewolf au #Werewolf Geralt #Is aiden a werecat? or a werewolf like the rest of them? Coen and Letho could also be there to fill up the pack some more #Aiden could be from a rival pack against his will that Lambert helps break him out of as a side plot #if we felt extra gay #lambert x aiden #a soft spot of mine

[spielzeugkaiser]

I’ve been sick lately and feel miserable. 😭 Is there anyway to request a cute pic of Jaskier taking care of a clingy sick Geralt?

Geralt has his peroid! The poor boy. I hope you feel better soon!

#trans!geralt #onlyfans!Jaskier #geraskier #jaskier #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier #the witcher #I just had to fill a prompt today #last year I did so many and it was so much fun! #but sinced I worked so much today I didn't have time to do some proper birthday doodles #but here we are! #tiredly keeping up traditions

[icarustica]

u said u could make the last prompt angstier. do it i dare u

77 - "you were my best friend" round 2 electric boogaloo

(this one is actually on my archive page i'm very proud of it thank u anon for pushing me to finish it)

tw - implied major character death (none actually occur)

♥♥♥ sorrow ♥♥♥

“Listen, we’re out of wine, alright? The–the fucking besotted ladies who were all swooning over that fuckin’ bard bought us out, alright? The last I’ve got is this cheap Redania and that won’t… okay. Sure, I got it!” yelled the cook from across the bar. 

Geralt, midway through drinking himself into oblivion, blinked owlishly, looking up.

Bard.

He’d found himself in Lettenhove, chasing after a lone drowner traveling up the Sinet river. It ravaged every fishing operation it came across, and Geralt figured once the bastard was dead he’d have fishermen practically throwing coin his way.

“Uh-huh. And of course the flashy boy’s got a whole procession and everything,” scoffed the cook, once he’d snatched the last bottle of cheap wine from underneath the counter. “Everyone all dressed up. Throwin’ flowers. Singin’ that song about that witcher.”

Geralt rose.

The cook looked, and his ruddy face paled. His tirade stumbled to a stop.

“The bard,” Geralt said gruffly. “Jaskier?”

The cook nodded, suddenly solemn. “Y-Yes,” he said. To his credit, he wasn’t afraid. Just… nervous, for some reason. “That’s the one. Our own hometown hero.”

Geralt’s mildly tipsy mind raced.

Why would Jaskier be back in Lettenhove?

Why would there be a celebration in his honor?

His mind landed on the only possible answer.

Marriage. The damn bastard had gone and got married.

The wine - ladies who’d desired Jaskier throwing themselves into alcohol. The procession, the flowers - a celebration fit for a lord.

“Of course,” Geralt grumbled, taking the last swig of his tankard. Misery clawed at his gut - all the unsaid words. All the said ones, the terrible ones spoken in biting mountain air. The one I’d been lucky enough to care for… gave up on me.

Geralt swallowed, lashes fluttering as he turned. He gave up on me.

“Witcher,” called the cook as Geralt walked to the door.

He paused, turned back, and met the cook’s suddenly soulful brown eyes. The cook shifted, still clutching the wine. “If you want to find him… Appleshon hill.”

“When?”

The cook’s brows furrowed. He shrugged. “Any time you like.”

Geralt walked up the hill - steep, with just a sparse cobblestone path to guide him. On the way, he was stopped by an old woman with a cane. One of her eyes was milky blue. “Witcher,” she said.

Geralt bowed his head a little. 

“Where are you going?”

“To see Jaskier,” he replied. “The bard. I suspect there was some big fuss about him around here recently.”

She looked at him kindly, then toddled forward, reaching far upward to card her hand through his hair. She inspected it with the eye that worked, then nodded, seemingly satisfied. “You are his witcher, then.”

“I suppose.”

“You suppose?”

He felt that sinking in his chest again, the unpleasant ache. “I don’t think he’s calling me his anything nowadays.”

“Hm.” Her gaze turned sad. “I suppose.”

And, without another word, she pressed a bouquet of scraggly wildflowers into his hands. Dandelions. Daisies. Little purple things Geralt didn’t know the name of. He swallowed the lump in his throat, eyes firmly trained on their scattered leaves as the old woman turned away.

What a lovely gift, for a lover.

What a dismal apology.

He continued on his way.

Again, he was stopped, this time by a tall man dressed in black, with a large leather satchel. His face was drawn, gaunt. “Ho there,” he called. “Witcher.”

Geralt nodded, slid his eyes away, fully intending to keep going up the hill - he could see the crest now, the shambling stone wall dotted with ivy. Ten minutes, maybe five, and he would be there, closer to Jaskier than he had been in years.

He ran over his speech in his head - all the small things to say, all the large ones to hint at.

“Witcher,” called the man again, voice rough and broken. One dark eyebrow cocked. “What business do you have here?”

“Visiting a friend,” Geralt replied with a sigh, turning to face the other man on the path. 

“No monster-slaying?”

“No.”

“Ah.” The man cocked his head. “Say, if you were ever in the mood to kill a monster, and wanted it remembered… well, I noticed your bard has gone rather into retirement.”

Geralt winced.

“Too soon? Sorry,” the man chuckled, in his gentle timbre. “Well. I’m a writer, not a bard. My name’s Hoid - in case you’ve heard of my work. Perhaps the witcher would like to try stories instead of songs?”

For some reason, anger welled up in his belly. Geralt quieted it with a long breath, in and out. He assessed the man again, from the silver on his shoes to the black stubble on his chin. By all rights, he should have liked this man more than Jaskier - the easy way he talked, the simplicity of his clothing, the wickedness of the knife at his hip…

But it wasn’t Jaskier. It wasn’t his fucking bard. 

“No,” Geralt growled. “Never.”

The writer tilted his head forward in a single nod of acknowledgement. “I understand. Goodnight, witcher, and good luck.”

Geralt watched the man’s back for a long time as he made his way back down the cobblestone hill. 

The door was made of wood. And even Geralt, at his considerable height, could not see over the stone wall. He swallowed the lump in his throat, preparing himself for whatever may lay beyond it –

Jaskier, incensed. Yelling. Screaming at Geralt, ripping his paltry flowers to shreds.

Jaskier, happy. Having forgotten Geralt and his dirt and monsters years ago.

Jaskier…

Geralt swallowed, hand clenched around the wildflowers. He ran through his speech again, through the careful words that had given him the strength to climb those last few steps. Summoning courage, he pushed open the thick wooden gate.

Headstones.

Geralt blinked, and suddenly things seemed to move in slow motion - the crashing of an ocean miles away. The birds circling one bare tree. The headstones all dotted in a row, a tomb or two along the side of the gray wall.

He swallowed, feeling like the continent’s worst fool.

Time moved like a dream. He walked along the headstones, every running word in his mind frozen. He let the heads of the wildflowers scrape the top of the stones, reading name after name, hoping, praying, for something he was too terrified to name.

Nordand Allsor - A Loving Father

Ophela Dart - When The Wind Moves The Tree, Think Thee of Me

Stormund Brekker - Lover, Took Too Soon

Jaskier

Geralt’s mind almost didn’t register it. The last in the row, nestled beneath a tree. He stood there for a long moment, expression blank as he read it, over and over again.

JASKIER.

Bold letters.

Geralt knelt, knees thudding in the dirt. How could he have thought it was a wedding? The flowers, the sad looks, the sudden kindness to a witcher - it couldn’t have been anything else. Jaskier would not be in Lettenhove otherwise. Except to be buried.

Geralt shoved his hand in the dirt, some animal part of him wanting to dig up the fresh earth, needing to touch him, to hold him, to cradle him in his arms and–

He let out a shaky breath, feeling the cool earth in his fingers. Most of him couldn’t believe it, that his bard had gone and died without him.

Geralt slammed the flowers right below the headstone.

His chest shook.

It felt like–

It felt like Jaskier himself was trying to climb his way out of Geralt’s stomach and into his throat.

The thought of it almost made him laugh, the memory of Jaskier’s voice when it became panicked. How ridiculous the man was. The next time Geralt saw him, he’d tell him–

It thudded into him again. A relentless realization, a chain reaction of simple things, the simple fact that he was now a memory, just some man. Geralt imagined fifty years down the road, when he was old and slow and he would have to tell his brothers about the time he had a friend. The time when someone loved him.

“Fuck,” he said, and it shocked the silence away. Now he could hear his own shallow breathing, hear himself tremble, his heart thudding away in his ears. “Fuck.”

His speech.

He’d had a speech.

“I’m sorry,” he started, because that was the beginning, wasn’t it? That had always been the beginning, when he’d imagined this, Jaskier in front of him, gold and alive and sweet and gentle and tough and angry–

“Fucking hell,” he spat at himself. He rubbed his eyes with the hand not grasping at the dirt. He sat up, shakily breathing, trying to find some semblance of composure. He held onto his meditation with a white-knuckled grip, feeling his own spine shake like a tiny dog. He trembled, but he did not break.

He owed him that.

He owed Jaskier dignity.

“I owe you a lot,” he said. “I owe you my life, certainly.” He swallowed. “Friendship. Coin, probably. I think when you… when you left, off that mountain, I took some of your coin with me.” He grabbed his coin purse, and with shaking hands pressed all the gold coins he had into the dirt. “There,” he said. “I…”

He had to pause. To allow his racing heart to return to his body, to let his clouded mind settle on the dirt and the stone in front of him. The sky rumbled, unhappy with his meager apologies.

“I think, though, we both know our friendship is a lot more than an exchange at this point,” he continued, and the words cut up his throat. “I’m truly sorry, Jaskier, for everything I…” he trailed off as he stared at the headstone. 

JASKIER.

He reached forward to press his thumb into the indents. “You were my best friend,” he confessed, and the wind howled and tears pricked at his face. “In the whole world. The whole damn world. And I know it’s too late,” he added, hoarse. “Far too late. I should have been there to protect you, but I was a fool, Jask, I was a fucking bastard to you and I…”

He hung his head. “I wish I could be better to you,” he said, raw. “Give you things you deserve.”

Geralt swallowed.

“You deserve… me. If you want me.”

“Geralt?”

His eyes flew open, staring at the dirt.

Not a good time to start imagining things, Geralt.

“Melitele, I–”

Geralt turned his head, eyes widening, and–

There he was. Dressed in simple, plain clothes, a string of red around his neck, scruffy and long-haired but smelling of wildflowers and chamomile and apples–

Jaskier put a hand over his mouth.

There was a moment of silence, as Geralt, on his knees, felt his heart slow, then quicken, as shock thudded through him again. 

“I can explain,” said Jaskier quickly, holding up a hand. “Those were very nice words, okay, I just–I didn’t want to interrupt, it looked like you were having a moment–”

Geralt stood on admittedly shaky legs, looking at him, just…

He was alive.

The embarrassment of the moment was overshadowed by the beating heart he could hear over the wind.

One moment he had stood, the next he’d wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s very warm, very alive body, pressing his face into the space between Jaskier’s shoulder and his neck. He breathed him in, only briefly wondering if he was allowed this, allowed this contact, before Jaskier’s hands gripped him back.

“Now, listen,” said Jaskier carefully after a moment. “There was a very nasty escapade involving my mother wanting me back to rule over Lettenhove. I had to fake my death. It was really quite an adventure but I can see how you sobbing over my grave–”

Geralt grumbled, deep in his chest. “Not sobbing.”

“Practically sobbing. Really close, in fact.”

Geralt leaned back, and held Jaskier’s chin in his hand, feeling that pulse again. Alive, alive, alive. “Weeping,” he said very seriously.

Jaskier laughed, blue eyes twinkling. Then they faded. “Wait. You’re serious. Geralt, I’m fully prepared to forget what I just saw if you want me to. I swear, even the part about you owing me your life–”

Geralt brushed his hair out of his face. “Don’t joke. I was mourning,” he said, and his voice was still rough. “I never want to mourn you again.”

“Oh,” breathed Jaskier, soft as a whisper. “Well, that’s very–”

Geralt kissed him, soft as anything.

-♥icarusty

#geraskier #implied/referenced character death #implied/referenced major character death #tw implied death #tw death faking #tw faked death #geraskier angst #angst #angsty #ficlet #prompt fill #prompts #geraskier fanfiction #fanfiction #geraskier fanfic #geralt of rivia #jaskier of rivia #short fic #2000 words #hoid reference #guys look i've read other books

[cherryjuicegf]

for @toss-a-coin-to-your-bard thanks for the prompt darling the poem was magical!! it was only fit to write some fluff for it, i hope you enjoy ♡

wc 640

love song - rainer maria rilke

"I tried to hold it back, you know."

A light autumn breeze enters the window and the curtain floats with it. Jaskier looks at Geralt beside him, a light frown between his brows. "Hold what back?" he asks, but can't bring himself to frown for much longer.

Because the afternoon is soft and the sheets are white and Geralt looks so beautiful with the sun tangled between his lashes, that he can't help but smile. A habit, perhaps, the way he delights in the presence of beautiful things.

Geralt huffs silently and sits up to watch him straight. Yet his gaze lowers at once. "This, now." His voice is hushed as if embarassed. Regretful. "I tried to keep you at bay."

Maybe he is waiting for an answer, but Jaskier doesn't give one. He doesn't even try, and it feels so heavy on his tongue, but he can't. Beause he knows. He knows what Geralt tried to do, he knows what he chose instead. He knows what Geralt needs.

And now, sweet gods, he knows even more. The taste of his kiss. The cracks on his lips, the lines of his jaw, the love in his eyes. The way he touches and the rythm of his breath. And he can't imagine a world in which he doesn't know. A world in which he didn't try.

So he doesn't speak, and only the distant, otherworldly sounds of the street fill his silence.

Geralt looks at him then, and shakes his head. "I never thought you wanted this. It was..." he pauses, a moment, and searches for words inside Jaskier's eyes. In some peculiar way, he always finds them. "You were worlds apart. I never thought you wanted me."

Be the one to hurt, so that you don't end up on the ground. Be the one to leave first.

Jaskier lets out a bretah that sounds like a complaint, and reaches for Geralt's face, warm and fitting inside his hand. Geralt leans into the touch like an ages hungry man afraid to eat too much, lest he cannot take it.

Why would you ever think that, Jaskier wants to say, but he knows the answer. He knew it when he came back.

Instead a smile, faint. "You know what makes a song beautiful, Geralt?" He chuckles at the way Geralt squints, almost playfully, perhaps expecting another one of his musings. But this oen doesn't need many words.

He turns around and reaches for his lute beside the bed, skilled fingers easily finding the strings, and Geralt stares.

"The chords," he continues, "never consist of a single note. Nor a single sound." He proceeds to play two strings, and they sound the same. Geralt can see why they always want him to give lectures in Oxenfurt. Jaskier doesn't take his eyes off him, smile wider. "You must play two or more different notes to ring them. And then you get a memorable melody." He strums the strings, fingers carefully placed, and indeed, a beautiful sound.

Geralt huffs a laugh. "So you're saying we must be pressed to make a nice sound."

Laughter. Jaskier nudges his shoulder and puts the lute on the floor. "Don't be a prick! I know you understand."

He does. Because before Jaskier can properly look at him again, he pulls him into a kiss, deep and warm like syrup, a hand reaching for his nape to keep him close, and Jaskier sighs, and smiles.

Then, a question. A golden stare melting in the setting sun. "What about our song then?" Geralt smirks and watches as the bard rolls his eyes. Fond. "What do you think of it?"

Tune. Press. Strum.

Jaskier's eyes crinkle like lake waves with his smile and he presses another kiss on Geralt's lips, short and blissful.

"I think it's the sweetest song I've ever heard."

#i didn't post the ask eventually because it ended up very long #but look!! they're happy for once #the witcher #geraskier #jaskier #geralt of rivia #chrysa writes #fic recs #fluff #prompt fill #toss-a-coin-to-your-bard #poetry prompts #geralt x jaskier #seriously the poem was SO BEAUTIFUL oh my god

[clementinecrane]

For @thepassifloradiscord‘s Team Bingo, this was for the prompt ‘come back to bed’ on my card. This was fun and cute.

    Jaskier was so comfortable at the moment he never wanted to move again. He was sprawled out in bed, laying almost entirely on top of Geralt, one leg thrown over him, head on his chest, one arm reaching across him to hold onto his shoulder. When he’d first awoken, and realized the position he was in, his whole body had felt like it was on fire as a blush overtook him. This was the first time that Geralt had finally allowed him to share a bed with him and of course, he’d turned into an octopus and wrapped himself entirely around the witcher.

    Jaskier whined at the loss of contact as Geralt slipped out from under him and sat up on the edge of the bed. He tried to follow him, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s waist and nuzzling his back, but Geralt soon extricated himself from Jaskier’s hold and stood up, moving across the room.

    “Nooo,” Jaskier whined before he could stop himself, “come back to bed, Geralt, please.”

    Geralt sighed, “I have a contract to do, Jask.”

    “Just a little bit longer, and then you can get up,” Jaskier pleaded, “please.”

    Geralt turned to look at him from where he stood next to their bags on the table. There was a fondness in his gaze that made Jaskier’s stomach flip over. He blushed and sprawled out in the bed, gathering up Geralt’s pillow and shoving his face into it so he could breathe deeply the smell of his witcher. It was faint, with them having only been there the one night so far, but it was still there, and he relished it. 

    Footsteps could be heard as Geralt came back over to the bed and shoved lightly at Jaskier to move. Jaskier relinquished his hold on the pillow and wriggled back to make room for Geralt who lied down next to him. Jaskier immediately snuggled up next to him, worming his way under Geralt’s arm so he could lay his head on Geralt’s chest. He sighed contentedly and threw an arm over Geralt’s torso to hug him even closer. 

    Geralt chuckled, “Comfortable?”

    “Hmm, yes, very much so,” Jaskier replied.

    They laid like that together for some time, Jaskier wasn’t sure how long, but he savored every minute. It couldn’t last forever, however, as eventually, Geralt moved to get up, and Jaskier let him without much struggle. He laid there, pouting, until Geralt leaned over the bed, gathered Jaskier’s face in his hands, and kissed him on the forehead.

    “I’ll be back soon, don’t worry,” Geralt told him.

    Jaskier spluttered, “O-okay, you better.”

    Geralt smirked at him as he went over to their bags and pulled out fresh clothes to change into. 

    “Or what?” Geralt asked.

    “I’ll come up with something,” Jaskier assured him, “something suitably nefarious.”

    Geralt snorted, “I’m shaking in my boots.”

    Jaskier simply watched as Geralt changed into his day clothes, remembering the feeling of his chest under his head, his slower than normal heartbeat under his ear. He found himself looking forward to the coming night, where he’d be able to enjoy such closeness again. 

#geraskier #the passiflora discord #prompt fill #my fic

[seidenbros]

How about 9 and Geraskier for the dialogue prompts? 💚

Wreeeeeen 💚 Oh this is such a good prompt, and I had a vision first, BUT then I turned it around again and came up with something entirely different, so there's still that other idea for the prompt in my head. I enjoyed this so much, so I hope you'll enjoy it as well 💚

Prompt: “how did you even get up to my window? my room is on the second floor.” “romeo finds a way, juliet.”

(I’m always happy to receive requests, so if you want to, send some in. If you need inspiration, here are some prompt lists )

Pairing: Geraskier

Warnings: lots of fluff, maybe a little angst

Word count: 1637

________________

Romeo & Juliet

“You are getting married tomorrow. End of discussion!”

“But father-”

“No! I've had enough of your antics. This marriage has been arranged for you and you will get married. It is your duty.”

“But-”

“Julian Alfred Pankratz!”

His full name from his mother's lips was enough for Jaskier to clamp his lips shut and not say a single word anymore. So far, she'd been quiet, had listened to the interaction between her husband and her son, but it was enough. Her head was pounding, and she couldn't take any more of this loud conversation.

“To your room,” hi father said, rubbing his temples with both hands before he walked over to his wife to check up on her.

Jaskier stood there for a moment, wanting to say something else, but h knew that this wouldn't end well, so he decided to do as he was told and go to his room. What was there to do for him right now? As soon as he tried to walk out the door, guards would be there to hold him back, and that would make the night even more miserable for him.

Once in his room, he made sure to slam the door so that his parents could maybe hear it – probably not because of the size of their home. He threw himself on his bed, buried his face in the pillow and screamed until his lungs hurt. He was twenty-one, he should be allowed to make his own decisions, but apparently not here. Where he was the heir of the family throne, which he didn't even want. His parents had allowed him to go to Oxenfurt, to do his studies, but only if he came back to fill his rightful place. Jaskier had agreed, but back then he hadn't known what it meant to be free. Oxenfurt had given him that possibility. He'd travelled a bit, had met wonderful people, and he'd even fallen in love – with the wrong person. Not in his own opinion, but in his parents eyes.

Of course, he'd told them about Geralt, that he was a Witcher, but that he made him happy. None of that was of interest for them. He didn't even know whether it was because Geralt was a Witcher or because they'd already arranged Jaskier's marriage years ago. It didn't matter in the end, because one way or another: They didn't approve.

He'd left Geralt two months ago, had gone back home in hopes of convincing his parents to let him go, to let him live his own life. He wasn't made to be caged in by these walls, to live a life by the rules that were set here. He didn't want the throne, wasn't made for it, but his sister was. She was perfect and she wanted it – at least that's what she'd told him.

They'd talked all through the night, where Jaskier had told her about Geralt, about their meeting, their first kiss, and how much he loved this man. She'd smiled all the time, had hugged him and told him that they'd find a solution... that was a week ago and so far, there was no solution in sight. He didn't want to give up hope, but by now, it was becoming increasingly hard to believe in some kind of miracle.

He didn't come out of his room for dinner, because he didn't want to face his parents, like a sulking teenager. Trust his sister to take care of him, because she sneaked something into his room, before her parents called her again. Jaskier was nearly starving because he'd already skipped lunch to spend some more time in the garden, so he was more than grateful her.

Usually music always managed to cheer him up, but even picking up his lute didn't manage to uplift his mood. With a sigh, he put the instrument aside, when he heard something at his window. First, he thought, it was just his imagination, but then he heard a tentative knock again. Grabbing the candle from the side of his bed, he walked up to the window and opened it, only to be greeted by honey golden eyes and white hair that he'd missed running his fingers through.

“What... How...”

Jaskier was lost for words, not sure if he was even seeing right, or if that was some kind of dream he was having right now.

“Hello Jaskier,” Geralt said with smirk, climbing through the window.

“But... How did you even get up to my window? My room is on the second floor!”

“Romeo finds a way, Juliet.”

Normally, Jaskier would have laughed at this comparison, but Geralt captured his lips in a kiss and everything was forgotten. Jaskier practically melted against the love of his life, tangled his fingers in Geralt's hair to keep him as close as possible, wanted to savour this moment, because he knew that it wouldn't last long.

“Ready to go?” Geralt whispered against his lips, once they separated again.

“What do you mean?” Confusion clouded Jaskier's face.

“Do you want to get married to some stranger tomorrow?”

“Well... no of course not.” Because he loved Geralt and not the person he was supposed to meet for the first time tomorrow and marry immediately. But he'd tried to convince his parents, had tried to make it clear to them that he wasn't happy like this. “Wait, how do you even know about this?” Jaskier had tried his best to push this aside, had told Geralt that he needed to go home to talk to his parents about his plans, about the man he loved, but not that he was supposed to get married.

“Certainly not from you.” There was a hint of disappointment in Geralt's voice, because he wished that Jaskier had been honest with him, had confided in him, but what mattered in the end, was that he was here now. “Your sister sent a message to me. She figured that they would watch you closely, but she could do what she wanted. And she knows that you're not happy, so she wanted to give you a way out.”

“She's really something.” Jaskier shook his head smiling. If it was possible, he loved her even more now. “I wanted to write you, I wanted to go and search for you, but they didn't let me out of here.”

“I know... I know you don't want this. You're a free spirit and you need to be out there.”

“I need to be with you!” That was more important for Jaskier than being free, though he knew that he was free with Geralt by his side, that he'd never be caged in by him.

“That's what I wanted to hear,” Geralt said with a smile, before he leaned towards Jaskier to kiss him once again. When he heard noises in front of the door, though, he stiffened and listened intently. There were quiet voices, but they were walking away again. Still, Geralt didn't want to waste any more time. “So... ready to go?”

“And you're sure this is safe?” Jaskier walked over the the window and looked down in the darkness, swallowing hard, because if he fell down, everyone would hear him scream in pain, he was sure of it.

“Safer than staying here.” Geralt was already making his way out of the window, but he looked back at Jaskier once more. “I'll make sure you won't fall. I'll keep you safe.”

That was everything Jaskier needed to know, so he followed Geralt out of the window. Carefully, they climbed down. Geralt had to steady Jaskier twice, but they managed to get down unharmed.

“Jaskier!” he heard a voice from above, from his window and froze in place, before he turned his head to look up. Relief flooded him when he saw his sister's face in the darkness, illuminated by the moonlight. “You forgot this.”

She waved his lute before she carefully lowered it as far as she could, but then she had to let it fall. Geralt caught it before Jaskier even had a chance to react. He could never leave without his lute, they all knew it, but in that moment, Geralt had been the most important thing, and Jaskier would have followed him anywhere.

“I love you, you know that?” He called up to her, and his words were met with a smile, but she quickly shushed him.

“Get going! But visit me!”

“I will.” Tears were brimming in his eyes as he turned around to leave with Geralt. He'd miss his sister, he always did, when he was gone, but he'd come back. For now, he had to look out for his own happiness, and the person that made him happy, was the one holding his hand right now, leading him away from the place that he'd once called his home.

“Are you okay, Jaskier? With this?” Geralt had to make sure when they reached Roach, who immediately sought out Jaskier's touch. She'd missed the bard as well.

“More than okay.” Jaskier's smile soothed Geralt's worries. “I'm happiest when I'm with you. No matter where that is or if we sleep on the floor in the forest. As long as you're there...”

Geralt needed no more words, just another kiss that lingered a little longer than necessary on his lips. If Jaskier did in fact get married on day, it was to this man and no other, no matter what his family thought about it. As Geralt had established earlier: They were Romeo and Juliet, and they belonged together, just hopefully alive for years to come, instead of dying for one another.

#Geraskier #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier fanfiction #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher imagine #geraskier imagine #staffi writes #prompt fill #romeo &juliet

[faetxlity]

Do you write Geralt/Jaskier? If so can I request “Reading up on the things your lover enjoys so that when they talk about them, you'll understand a little better and be able to hold a conversation. “ thank you!

I do!

Gen Rating, 127 words

Geralt had never been one for music or poetry. He loved a good good tavern song and to whistle as he walked but he didn’t have much care for composition or theory. Then came Dandelion with his words and his songs and suddenly he was holding books of poetry and The Trinity of Sound.

It was nearly three years before he knew enough to speak on the topics that Dandelion, Jaskier, loved so dearly.

“I think you should try it in C.”

“What?”

“The scale. You should try it in C.”

Rather than argue Dandelion did. In uncharacteristic fashion he said nothing, kept the tune, and only hummed.

“Thank you, dear heart.”

Geralt smiled at the sword in his lap. He kept on smiling throughout the day.

#jaskier #geraskier #geralt of rivia #prompt fills #my writing

[dapandapod]

helloooo I am here for mermay prompts! 👀

how about "lost" for Geraskier (bonus points if Geralt is the mer) 💜💜

ALEX YESSSSS, look, this was finished two days ago, and then it was finished again yesterday, and now again this morning. Did I add 1k to the story just to add a kiss? Maybe. Please enjoy <3 Send me a pairing and a word and I will make you some words? ❤️

On Ao3 here

Bardic inspiration be damned, Jaskier decides, slipping once again on the pebbled ground as he climbs the rocky coast line of Skellige.

He had wanted to see the whales, but did not listen to the advice given by the locals to go to one of the cliffs beyond the village. No, Jaskier really thought it would be better to experience it up close and all that.

He didn’t even see a fucking whale. 

Maybe whale watching is done better from up high, but Jaskier had seen this perfect spot down by the rocks and now he is full of sweaty regrets.

Because he can’t find the path he took to get down here and the high tide is sweeping in, making his path treacherous and slippery. 

Swearing profusely, Jaskier manages to at least get above the waterline. His shoes are wet, as are his breeches to the knee, but at least his leather satchel is fine.

Good thing he didn’t bring the lute.

Jaskier settles down to wait it out. It’s a fine day after all, even if the sun is slowly setting, and the sea is as calm as it can be around here.

Despite being so frustrated with himself, Jaskier finds himself relaxing. The sun shimmers on the surface of the sea, and gulls cry above, accompanied by the lapping of waves.

There are some rock formations further out, some of them almost shaped like giant, crooked pillars.

This view is why he was drawn to Skellige after all, so far away from his homelands. The stone he sits on is hard, yes, but warmed from sitting in the sun all day. 

Out of the corner of his eye, to the left, Jaskier notices movement.

When he turns his head, there is nothing there.

Strange.

He knows Skellige is not the safest of places. The coast is riddled with harpies and sirens, the latter especially dangerous this close to the water.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

Then he spots something again, but this time straight ahead. It is directly in the bright reflection, so Jaskier has to squint but isn’t that… it looks like…?

The back of a whale!

Jaskier scrambles up to his feet, trying to shield his eyes to get a better look. Yes, that really is a whale out there! A big one, looks like, and far out!

He can only see the top of it, and the strange huffing sound travels across the surface when it blows water high, high up into the air.

The droplets are glistening like diamonds, like rain on a sunny day, as they fall back down.

The whale stays there for another minute or two, breathing deeply, and then the surface ripples as she dives.

Her tail comes up, rivulets of water falling down her fin, and then gives a giant splash as she pushes herself further down.

Jaskier realizes his mouth is hanging open.

He truly didn’t expect to see one, and not this close to the shore. Alright, it was not that close to the shore, but still visible to the naked eye, and he is thrilled.

He scans the surface once more, hungry for another sighting, but once the water has calmed there is nothing else.

Immediately, Jaskier starts going through his satchel to bring out the precious paper and pencil to write this down. When he finds it, he plops back down on the rock, legs crossed, and everything else forgotten.

The words come easily, filling the page with poetry and observation.

So lost in it, he doesn’t even notice he isn’t alone anymore until there is a soft splash right in front of him.

Jaskier startles, a long black line scratching across the page.

He could swear there is the upper half of a face sticking up out of the water, just a few feet away from him.

Pale skin, yellow eyes, even paler hair slicked back over what seems to be a surprisingly human-shaped head.

Jaskier’s heart is beating so hard he can feel it in his throat. Is this a siren? No, he would be dead by now, wouldn’t he?

Is it a dead person? No, the eyes are watching him very intently, blinking slowly, so it couldn’t be. It could be a drowner, though, but aren't they blue?

When nothing happens, Jaskier forces himself to relax his posture. His entire body is fighting him, that knee-jerk fight or flight response trying to decide which is best to do, but Jaskier decides on neither.

“Hello?” he ventures, and the eyes look back at him. “Who might you be?”

There is no response, which, fair, nose and mouth both seem to be submerged. But the being comes just a little bit closer, and Jaskier fights to keep his breathing even.

Just to be safe, Jaskier puts his papers to the side, pinned in place by the satchel. It wouldn’t do for them to become wet, even if this is where he meets his end. Maybe the skalds can sing about him, were they to find his notes. The bard who got too close, or whatever.

Fear is great inspiration, it would seem.

With a soft sound, the top of a head becomes an entire head, a neck, shoulders, and arms. Pale, glistening, well muscled, and surprisingly human looking, were it not for the gills on his neck, the long fins along the outside of the under arms, and smatterings of scales.

The white hair is longer than he thought, slightly curly now that it is out of the water, and sticking to the sides of the person’s face.

Jaskier blinks hard, taking it all in. 

“Are you a mer?” Jaskier asks breathlessly, as the person pulls themself up on a rock. The lower half of the body is still hidden, but he can see hints of scales on their sides and down over the hips. Pale grey, like pale silver, he thinks.

The person, who looks very much like a man, tilts his head, and seems to scent the air.

“Afraid?” The person asks, his voice raspy and low. Yeah, it absolutely sounds like a he, but Jaskier is not very well versed in Mer anatomy.

“You surprised me,” Jaskier says carefully. “I thought I was alone.”

“You are never alone in the sea,” the mer says between sharp teeth. 

As if that wasn’t a terrifying statement.

But the Mer speaks the language of Skellige, and Jaskier desperately wants to know more.

“Who are you?” Jaskier asks. “Do you live here?”

“This is my territory,” the Mer says, straightening up a little, revealing just a hint of a powerful tail below the surface. “Mine to keep.”

Jaskier smiles at the little display, finding it a little endearing despite the hint of aggression. Like a hissy kitten, trying out its claws.

“Then I am your guest. Forgive me, but I am lost, and I can’t find my way back.”

The mer watches, expression giving nothing away. Then again, expressions just might be different for Mer, Jaskier muses.

“Forgive? Do you need forgiveness for being lost?” 

“Maybe not, but for imposing on your territory. I did not know it was yours. I only wanted to see a whale.”

The mer looks over his shoulder when Jaskier motions with his hand out to the open sea. His profile in the fading light is stunning, and Jaskier feels like he is in some kind of fairy tale.

“And did you see her?” The Mer turns back towards Jaskier.

“I did. She was beautiful.”

The Mer seems satisfied with this answer, and does an odd little hum. It rumbles along his sides, and Jaskier notices another set of thin fins along his ribs. He also notices scars, some new and some old. 

“You may call me Geralt,” The Mer suddenly decides, pulling Jaskier out of a daydream where he considers what else is out there.

“Geralt,” Jaskier repeats. Not what he expected a Mer to be named, but again, who is he to tell? “You may call me Jaskier.” 

“Jaskier.” Geralt says it like he is tasting the name, and with a slight lisp. “Is this land your territory?”

“I am but a guest here as well. I am a wanderer.” Jaskier smiles again, and Geralt’s eyes dip down to it, as if he doesn’t understand.

“So no territory?” Geralt asks, seemingly confused about the prospect.

“None. Well, none but this one.” And Jaskier pats his satchel. “It holds my treasures, and the stories I collect.”

“How does one collect stories?” Geralt asks, sinking into the water again and swimming closer, eyes all the while trained on Jaskier.

He stops when he is about an arm’s length away from the rock where Jaskier is sitting, making Jaskier’s adrenaline run again.

“Afraid?” Geralt asks again with a frown, tilting his head back as if he is smelling the air. Huh.

“A little,” Jaskier admits, seeing no point in lying. “I have never met your kind before, and I don’t know if you would wish to drown me.”

“If I had wanted that, you’d already be dead,” Geralt says with a cold expression, probably meant as a reassurance, but it doesn’t feel like one.

The Mer props himself up on a rock hidden under water and Jaskier now sees the tail, sleek, strong and silver.

“I collect stories by writing them down, and sometimes singing them,” Jaskier explains, deciding he does not want to remain on the subject of drowning while stuck where he is. “Would you like to hear one?”

When Geralt nods his assent, Jaskier thinks about the skellige songs he knows. Most are bawdy tavern songs, to be honest, but he recalls a ballad of the Maid and the Moon.

He sings it with the lapping of the waves and the cry of gulls, slapping his hand to the rock to keep the beat. It sounds better with a drum, but it will do.

Geralt keeps watching him, keeps doing that weird blink of his. Jaskier starts another one, one of war and fire. And then another one about returning home, which aches just a little.

When the songs are done, Geralt doesn’t say anything, just dives beneath the waves.

The sun is getting really low, and Jaskier is a bit worried he will have to stay here all eve. He isn’t wearing much more than his white tunic and a thin pair of trousers, courtesy of the Skelligan summer heat, but the temperature is dropping along with the setting sun.

Geralt returns with less of a splash than Jaskier expects.

His hair sticks to his forehead, and this close Jaskier notices a scar over his left eye. It looks old, and deep, and Jaskier can’t help but wonder if Geralt’s skin would be cool to the touch, if he were to reach out.

With some strain, Geralt reaches up to the rock where Jaskier is sitting, and Jaskier shifts to accept what Geralt is offering. Their fingers touch, and Jaskier learns that no, Geralt is not cold. The ring that he is handed, however, is. 

“Does this one have a story too?” the Mer asks, and Jaskier is immediately flattered for being trusted with Geralt’s treasure.

“I’m sure it does, but it seems it is not mine to tell. Is it yours?”

Jaskier attempts to give the ring back, but Geralt sinks further into the water, shaking his head.

“I do not know it. The ring is yours to keep, Jaskier, as a thanks for sharing your collection of stories with me.”

Jaskier senses this is goodbye, as the Mer swims backwards, back out towards the deep. Despite their short time together, the thought of parting stings. It feels unlikely they will meet again. 

“Come back again, Jaskier the wanderer. It was good to have you as a guest. Your path to land is clear.”

Jaskier blinks in surprise, and then frowns at this statement. When he turns to look towards the rocks around and behind him, he realizes that the tide has pulled back enough for him to climb up towards the safety of land. When Jaskier looks back, Geralt is gone.

The waves lap against the stones as if nothing happened. Before the sun can disappear beyond the horizon, Jaskier gathers his things and carefully makes his way up.

When he’s ascended to safety, he turns once more, looking out over the ocean. The sky is a myriad of colors, birds a dark outline against its splendor, but not a hint of his new friend is to be seen.

-----

The day after brings a storm and Jaskier is unable to go back to the shore for another two days. It’s strange, but Jaskier feels an itch under his skin, he wants to go back, learn more, see Geralt again.

On the third day the sky clears, the clouds finally finishing with their weeping and the wind its howling.

Jaskier is better prepared this time. He sits down on the same rock as before, and he sings while he waits.

Geralt finds him again on that rock, this time swimming close without any hesitation.

“Lost again?” Geralt asks. There is a new set of gashes on his arm, looking like claw marks, too big to be anything Jaskier would ever want to meet. 

“No. Looking for a friend.” Jaskier smiles. “If you will have me as a guest once more.”

Geralt smiles back at him then, stiff though it may be, but Jaskier sees it as the gift it is anyway.

“It would be my honor.”

------

Since Jaskier came to Skellige, he has seen at least three whales, climbed a number of beautiful and treacherous mountain passes, and tasted alcohol strong enough to give women chest hair. He has made friends with skalds and fishermen and errand boys and lords, and his time is coming to a close.

He will miss it. Them. This sharp country and its inhabitants, the living myths found hidden everywhere.

There is one he will miss a lot, Jaskier thinks, as he makes the now familiar climb down the rocky shore.

Saying goodbye is a part of being a wanderer, but it doesn’t make it any easier. His mother always liked to remind him, a goodbye is not a farewell, but still, Jaskier doesn’t have much hope for that.

Geralt is already there waiting for him, and Jaskier plops down on a rock further down so he can dip his feet into the water.

The Mer had expressed great interest in the concept of shoes, struggling with understanding their  function. That first time Jaskier had joined him for a swim, Geralt had made one of his unreadable faces when Jaskier took off everything but his underclothes before getting in.

Technically the cove not a safe place to swim as the currents are strong and had threatened to pull Jaskier under more than once, but Geralt was always there to catch him.

Now, Geralt is sunbathing, propped up in a way to let his bare chest soak up as much sunlight as possible, his tail lazily moving side to side in the shallow water.

He is achingly beautiful, and Jaskier is suddenly struck by melancholy.

Jaskier doesn’t say anything when he sits, only removes his shoes and socks to dip his toes in water that doesn’t get warm, even in summer. 

The Mer opens his eyes, gazing directly at him, eyes as bright as rays of sunlight.

“Sad?” Geralt asks in that direct way of his. 

“Yes,” Jaskier admits, splashing his feet and scaring off the shrimp that were brave enough to approach him.

Geralt sits up enough to lean back on his elbow and watches Jaskier intently.

“Why?” 

“I am leaving soon, my friend. A ship arrives within the week to take me home. To my territory.”

Geralt opens and closes his mouth, then looks out over the sea.

“Hm,” he says, confirming that he understood but doesn’t know how to reply.

Were Geralt a human, Jaskier would have asked him to come with, but he is not. Geralt’s territory is here, his life is here, and even with a boat, the travel across the seas is dangerous.

He will not ask it.

They sit in silence for a long while, Jaskier humming under his breath when a story, this story, starts to take form. 

When it is time to leave, Geralt swims close, gently taking hold around Jaskier’s calves to stay afloat.

“You have been a good friend,” Geralt says, deep in thought.

“As have you,” Jaskier says, aching with the sadness of parting, of leaving Geralt behind.

To soothe himself, he reaches out a hand and cups Geralt’s cheek. Something he has not done before, something he did not think welcome, but Geralt leans into it. 

“I will miss you,” Jaskier says quietly, and the Mer looks up at him through thick lashes.

Then he pushes himself out of the water, heaving himself up on the rock and leaning over Jaskier, into his personal space.

There is water everywhere, soaking Jaskier’s breeches and shirt, but Geralt has leaned forward, and Jaskier meets him halfway.

The kiss tastes like salt and sunlight. Geralt is careful not to hurt him, his teeth hidden behind gentle lips.

“I will miss you, too,” Geralt murmurs against his lips, and then he sinks back down into the water and is gone.

----

Lettenhove in spring is beautiful. The trees are full of buds ready to bloom any day now, bumblebees waking up and doing their confused dance around the flowers in the courtyard.

It is now late enough in the year that summer threatens to overtake the land, waking a wanderer from his slumber.

Jaskier makes his way down past the docks, to the rocky parts where the river meets the ocean.

It’s a habit he can’t shake, and he dips his feet in the cold water, just like he did last summer. He sits there for a good long while, thinking of a kiss and a ring.

There is a ripple in the water to his left, and for a moment, Jaskier thinks he only imagines the familiar face peeking up just over the surface.

But their eyes lock, and half a face becomes a full head and shoulders, as Geralt swims closer.

It is impossible, or, well, improbable. Jaskier feels a giant smile form on his lips and something heavy that’s been on his heart finally lifts.

“Are you lost, wanderer?” he asks, when Geralt swims ever closer, reaching for Jaskier’s calf to hold himself steady.

“No, I'm here to see a friend.” Geralt returns the smile tentatively. “I crossed the sea to find you.”

“Then you are welcome as my guest, friend,” Jaskier says warmly, reaching down to touch Geralt’s cheek, just like the last time they saw each other.

And just like last time, when Jaskier leans forward and down to meet him, their kiss tastes like salt and sunlight.

#mermay #the witcher #geraskier #mer!geralt #geralt x jaskier #skellige #whales #getting together #fluff #this gave me fairy tale vibes ngl #dapanda writes #thanks a billion for the prompt i had so much fun #singing #kissing #friends to lovers

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

if you have time i would love to see what you do with prompt number #5 “i can’t believe i married you” with geraskier please!! i feel like geralt would say this when jaskier is being silly and ridiculous but also jaskier would use it when geralt gives him only one good morning kiss instead of two lol. but only if you have time!!!! 💖✨💖✨

Jaskier is still half-asleep as he shuffles to the fridge, his eyes bleary and unfocused after a late night of composing. Hoping for a few slices of last night’s leftover pizza, he opens the fridge, only to let out a little shriek of surprise when he finds a pair of bulbous eyes staring back at him.

“Geralt!” he yelps. “What the fresh fuck is in our fridge?”

His witcher appears in the doorway, already dressed and ready for the day. “A drowner head.”

“Right, good,” Jaskier says. “Let me rephrase. Why the fuck is it in our fridge?”

“It didn’t fit in the freezer.”

“Geralt!”

Geralt’s lips twitch. “Its brains are useful for potions. I’m going to harvest them later.”

“Not in our kitchen, you’re not.”

“Would you prefer the bedroom?”

“Geralt, I swear to Melitele, if you get drowner brains on the duvet—” Seeing the grin on Geralt’s face, Jaskier breaks off, scowling. “I cannot believe I married you.”

“Hm. Jask, we’re not married.”

Ah, right. They’ve been together so long, Jaskier forgets that sometimes. Their friends and family are always complaining that they act like an old married couple anyway. “And if you keep putting drowner heads in the fridge, we won’t be!”

Geralt comes to press a kiss to Jaskier’s forehead. “Go take a shower and I’ll make coffee and deal with the drowner.”

“You’ll make the coffee before you touch drowner brains, right? Avoid cross-contamination?”

“Drowner brains are good for you. Protein.”

Jaskier huffs and turns on his heel to leave the kitchen. “I want a divorce.”

“Again, not married.”

Jaskier starts up the stairs, calling over his shoulder, “Then we should get married just so I can divorce you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay!” Jaskier makes it to the top of the stairs, then pauses, registering what they just said, and turns around. “Geralt?”

From downstairs, there’s the rumble of Geralt’s answering hum. “Hm?”

“Did we just get engaged?”

“I think that’s traditionally what comes before marriage and divorce.”

Jaskier hurries back down the stairs so fast that he nearly trips over his own two feet. He finds Geralt standing right where he left him in front of the fridge. “Do you really want to get married?”

Geralt looks at him like he’s started singing in gnomish. “Sure.”

“Sure?” Jaskier lets out an exasperated laugh. “Geralt, my love, this is one of those things where I’m going to need an unequivocal yes or no from you.”

Geralt leans against the front of the fridge, frowning slightly. “I never thought you wanted to get married.”

“What?” Jaskier is bewildered. “When did I say that?”

“Back when you were dating Vespula.”

“Geralt, I was twenty-two when I dated Vespula! That was nearly a decade ago! Of course I didn’t want to get married.” Jaskier throws his arms around Geralt’s neck. “I never thought you wanted to get married. All that witchers walk alone bullshit.”

Geralt’s lips twitch. “I think that ship has sailed by now, Jask. I think it sailed about five minutes after we met.”

“Well yes, probably,” Jaskier says. “So, Geralt, will you marry me?”

“Seems like a lot of trouble to go through just so you can divorce me over drowner brains.”

“Darling, you should know by now that it’s going to take more than drowner brains to get rid of me. I told you when we first moved in together and I’ll tell you now, you’re stuck with me.”

“Romantic.”

“You know you love it.”

Geralt’s eyes crinkle as he smiles, pressing a kiss to the tip of Jaskier’s nose. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

The few times Jaskier has pictured proposing to Geralt, he’s imagined grand gestures: singing a love song in front of a crowded stadium of fans, holding a sign as he jumped out a plane, a moonlight boat ride and a four-string quartet. But standing with Geralt in the kitchen, still in his boxers with a drowner’s head in their fridge, somehow feels more right than any of those fantasies.

They just hold each other for a moment before Jaskier pulls away. “Want to go get breakfast to celebrate?”

Geralt’s eyes are soft with fondness as he watches him. “Did you propose just for an excuse to go get pancakes and mimosas?”

“Like I need an excuse to get pancakes and mimosas.” Jaskier is smiling stupidly. “Let me go get showered. I can be ready in twenty minutes.”

“See you in an hour.” 

“Har.” Jaskier turns and hurries up the steps. In the bathroom, he draws back the shower curtain, slapping a hand over his mouth to stifle his shriek at what he finds inside. “Geralt!”

“What?” Geralt calls from downstairs.

“What the fuck is in our shower?”

“Oh,” Geralt says. “That’s the rest of the drowner.”

“Excellent. Just so you know, I’ve changed my mind about that divorce!”

***

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #ghost's writing #prompt fills

[kingthunder]

Geraskier prompt: Unbidden first kiss (bonus if it's in the morning)

Jaskier was woken in the dark before dawn by Geralt buckling his armor on.

“What unholy hour is it?” Jaskier said, yawning. “Whatever it is, it’s either too early or too late. Come back to bed.” This was the first bed they’d had in over a week, and it was a nice one, filled with sweet, fresh smelling straw. It was even nicer when he had a warm body next to him. Nicest when the body was Geralt.

“This is the best time for hunting graveirs,” Geralt said. He checked his sword for sharpness before sliding it into its sheath.

Oh, right. The contract Geralt had picked up yesterday evening when they got into town.

Jaskier yawned again. “Be back before lunch. I want to make it to the festival today and you’re going to need a bath.”

Geralt only grunted. He came over to pick up something off the bedside table that Jaskier couldn’t make out in the dark. Jaskier propped himself up on one elbow and grabbed Geralt’s wrist.

“And be safe,” Jaskier said. He hadn’t meant it to sound as soft as it did, almost pleading. He squeezed Geralt’s hand and Geralt squeezed back, and Jaskier’s face was tipped up towards him, and when Geralt leaned in it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Geralt’s lips were chapped but soft. It was short and sweet and chaste and Jaskier could have been knocked over with a feather afterwards.

“You too,” Geralt said nonsensically, and then he was grabbing his pack, and the door was shutting behind him.

Jaskier fell back on the bed with his fingers touching his lips where Geralt’s had just been. Oh, he thought, his belly fluttering. Oh, Geralt is going to act so stupid about this later.

He fell asleep smiling.

#witcher #geraskier #fanfiction #my fic #ask box #prompt fill #geralt x jaskier

[27dragons]

New Year Countdown: Dec 17

The prompt word barely made it into today's ficlet because I got a concept and spent more time chasing it down than figuring out how to fit the prompt, lol. Anyway, have some A/B/O Geraskier!

Dec 17 - Geraskier - A/B/O AU - Holly/Greenery

There was both freedom and heartbreak in being one of the rarest of the rare, a male omega, unable to either sire or bear children. Julian spent his early years almost entirely forgotten by his parents, a tiny ghost that fluttered in through the Lettenhove estate, often quietly singing or humming but never when his parents were nearby.

When his sisters arrived, proper beta and omega girls who could be bartered as wives to those with power or money or both, Julian snuck into the schoolroom like a shadow to absorb their lessons. A farmer, taking pity on the lad, taught him to carve a simple herdsman’s flute out of a branch of holly. He spent the better part of a month squashed into a small corner of a tavern watching the bards for hours on end, until he’d learned how to play a lute.

It was a pity, the servants whispered. The boy was intelligent and quick-witted, almost ridiculously charming -- if only he’d been a beta, he’d have a bright future ahead of him.

He was almost seventeen when his oldest sister bore her new husband a son, an alpha. A week later, he was summoned to his father’s study. He was surprised, because he hadn’t been aware that his father even remembered he existed.

“You’re a problem,” the Earl said, not unkindly. “Can’t carry on the line, but you can’t be skipped over, either, because the law was written in a time when your sort were sacrificed to the gods or left out for the wolves. So you’ll inherit, but after you, the title will pass to your nephew.”

“Yes sir,” Julian agreed, fidgeting nervously with the holly-wood flute that he always carried with him, now. He’d known the line of succession for years.

“So it will be better if you abdicate now and let it pass directly to the boy. If you agree, I’ll permit you to retain the title of Viscount and the family name, and you will be issued a modest allowance. It would be best if you left, so as not to cause any confusion.”

Julian wouldn’t have thought he harbored any fond feeling for Lettenhove, but the thought of leaving it, probably forever, filled him with dread. He opened his mouth to ask for time to consider it -- and then his father pushed a sheet of thick, creamy paper across the desk toward him. “Sign it,” the Earl told him firmly. “The servants are packing your things now.”

The document declared him unfit and stated that he abdicated in favor of his nephew. The ink of his nephew’s name was a subtly different shade than the rest of it. This had been planned for some time, he realized, and only waiting on his sister to produce the necessary heir. Numb, he signed it.

The Earl countersigned the document, and then dropped a purse on the desk, in the spot where the document had been. It was heavy enough, Julian supposed, to be the down payment for an earl’s title.

The first thing he did, after leaving Lettenhove, was enroll at Oxenfurt under the assumed name of Jaskier. The second thing he did was to have a holly leaf embroidered over the Lettenhove crest on all his clothes.

*

“He died a couple of years ago,” Jaskier said, eyes fixed on the fire. “I only found out last month.”

They were silent for a moment, and the Jaskier shook himself free of the fire’s trance and took another mouthful of his wine. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It matters,” Geralt said, the first thing he’d said all evening. “He was a bastard.”

Jaskier laughed, a dry bark that rasped at his throat. “Not at all. There are whole books of his lineage in the Lettenhove library.”

“He was a bastard,” Geralt reiterated, lip lifting in a sneer that revealed the sharp alpha canines that Jaskier had fantasized about for years. “How many men die without leaving an heir, for one reason or another? He didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, but then I’d have got my omega cooties all of his precious title,” Jaskier pointed out, and swigged back the last of his wine. “Anyway, it’s fine. It’s for the best. I’m happier now than I ever could have been there.”

“Are you?”

“Of course. I’d have been all alone if I stayed, you know. No one would embark upon a long-term relationship with a man already known to be sterile.”

“Mm.” Geralt threw back the rest of his own drink, then stood, snaring Jaskier’s cup. “I’ll get us a refill.”

Later, as they were climbing the inn’s narrow stairs to their rented room, Geralt said, “Witchers can’t sire children, either. Not after the ritual.”

“What?” Jaskier stopped in the middle of the stair.

Geralt went up another three or four steps before realizing Jaskier was no longer at his back. He turned and frowned down at Jaskier, and there wasn’t much light, but Jaskier could have sworn Geralt’s pale skin had darkened. Slowly, Geralt explained, “You said that no one would want a man who was sterile.”

“That’s not quite what I--”

“But you didn’t consider another sterile man, did you?”

“Well, of course I...” Jaskier lost the thread of his thought as what Geralt had said ignited a torch of realization in his brain. He stared. “Geralt?”

Geralt huffed and turned back to finish the climb. “Stop thinking, Jaskier, and come to bed.”

#my writing #countdown to 2024 #the witcher #geraskier #a/b/o au

[icarustica]

77... geraskier <3

77 - "you were my best friend" - G rating, 900ish words, tw alcohol, angsty

♡♡ filing this under the "could've made it angstier" column lol but i didn't have any better ideas ♡♡

Somehow, Geralt had thought this would have gone better. He ran through the night in his head, an anxious, guilty tumble of hours. So many silent apologies. So many half-spoken, unsure ones.

Only one had counted.

The one Jaskier had accepted.

But Geralt was old enough to know that acceptance did not always mean forgiveness. And how could it be forgiveness, when Jaskier’s words were sharp like that? When he barely spoke at all?

But now they sat at the inn, and Jaskier’s hair was long and ruffled and no longer as blonde as it used to be, and his cheeks were stained like berries and he smelled of cheap wine and elderflower. He rubbed at his nose with one velvety sleeve.

Geralt took a long swig from his ale, trying not to listen too hard to the silence.

Perhaps I can live with this, he thought. This pantomime of our friendship. 

“Mmfh,” mumbled the tipsy Jaskier, sliding a shiny silver coin across the table.

Geralt stared at it. “What’s this?”

“For my drink. Drinks. Drinks,” he stressed.

Shaking his head with refusal, Geralt pushed it back across. “We share,” he said. “My coin is yours. Just like before.”

We share. Remember when we shared? I liked that.

“Oh, and I suppose mine is yours?” mumbled Jaskier, fiddling with the coin, flipping it onto its side. It wobbled between a crevice in the wood. 

Geralt frowned, swallowing. There was a pain in his chest like a large bird beating itself to death, or a starving cat crawling at the walls of his stomach.  “Well. No. Not if you don’t want it to be.”

“I don’t want it to be.” He flicked the coin, then pushed it across the table.

Geralt stared at it. It felt like a trick.

Jaskier swallowed the last of his wine. Cheap wine that Geralt had bought him - not even the expensive apple stuff he liked so much. And the coin was silver, embossed with the mark of Lyria, far from where Geralt thought Jaskier had traveled. He didn’t even know how much it was worth. Probably more than his entire coin purse.

“Jaskier.”

“Hm?” he said, looking up at him. But his affect was blank. His blue eyes, usually so full of light - dim. Disinterested.

Geralt’s chest ached. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

Jaskier’s eyes narrowed. “You said you needed me.”

“I do. I just–”

“Come on, Geralt. I’m not that thick. Whatever you need me for’s more important than my…” he smacked his lips, leaning back in the chair. “My idiotic pride.”

Geralt stared at him. At the worry lines around his mouth. The scar on his neck. The stubble that suited him. When did you become this?

“Geralt. If you’d like to stop gawking at me like a virgin in a whorehouse that’d be just dandy. I know the little kid bard has gone and grown up on you, but please, unless you’re going to shower me with compliments and flowers I’d tone down on the big-doe-eyes.”

“Would you like me to?”

The question shocked them both, but as Jaskier froze, still balancing back in his chair, Geralt straightened. 

He swallowed. “I know you haven’t forgiven me,” he said, voice low and full of barbs. He felt like crying out. He felt like kissing every part of Jaskier's hands, pressing I'm sorry into everything he'd failed to protect.

“I accepted your apology,” he retorted, indignant.

“You’re still angry.”

“I’m not.”

“You smell of it,” Geralt snapped back. Jaskier’s jaw set. 

His breath came short for a few long seconds, and the scent of it, metallic and sharp, filled the air. “Fine,” he said, leaning forward, snatching the coin from Geralt’s side of the table. He fiddled with it between his knuckles. “I am angry.”

Jaskier’s eyes flicked up, blue and imbued with hidden fire. “You were my best friend," he swallowed, long dark eyelashes fluttering for a second as he looked down at the coin between his fingers. “An apology and a drink won’t fix that.”

“I don’t know a lot about friendship,” Geralt started slowly. His mouth tasted like cotton and blood.

Jaskier scoffed.

“I know I don’t. But whatever I can do to–”

“Geralt,” Jaskier snapped, holding up a hand. “You aren’t hearing me. I’m not here because you were my friend,” he continued, nearly growling. “I’m here because right now you happen to be the most important man on the continent. And you need me.”

Despite the bustling of the inn, everything felt so silent. Like the very air was judging him, sizing him up for a flogging.

Jaskier laughed. “You need me. Do you know how ridiculous that is? The whole fucking time I went around, following you like a dog, and you never even wanted me.”

“I want you,” he said, the words torn from him.

But Jaskier didn’t hear them. He leaned forward across the oak table, wine and anger mingling with disappointment and wildflowers. “There was supposed to be a point, you know, where you actually wanted me in your life. Between when you hated me and when you needed me. When did you want me, Geralt?”

When I came back to Roach and your pack was gone. When I saw you’d taken the buttercup you’d tied into her mane. When I realized you had nothing, no-one, nobody to keep you safe. You might have died. And it could have been my fault.

“You were my best friend,” Jaskier repeated, breath ragged. His face was ruddy, his eyes shining as he sniffed, rubbing his sleeve under his nose again. “How the fuck could I ever believe that I was yours?”

#adhdskj thank you for the ask!! glowing rn ahsdkjh #love love love #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #geralt of rivia #witcher #fanfiction #witcher fanfiction #witcher (tv) fanfiction #angsty #one-shot #prompt fill #jaskier the bard #geraskier fanfiction #snippet

[cherryjuicegf]

Hi! For the spotify prompt thingy, maybe Geraskier with 7? 😊

thank you for the prompt!! number 7 made no sense for a fic so i did 17 it fit way better, hope you enjoy ♡

wc 563

17. please leave a light on when you go - brittain ashford, dave malloy

The light of the candle makes the shape of their hands appear larger on the wall, closer, a shadow. Jaskier avoids looking at it.

It's almost ironic, he thinks. Only fire can pull them just a bit closer now. Geralt is holding his hand, applying salve on the almost healed skin as though to find an excuse to break the coldness and the candle fits, it really does, with the burning of his hands where Geralt touches him, the burning inside his chest, his body whole.

Ironic, because it hurts to touch Geralt now, and yet he looks so beautiful in the candlelight.

Absently, Jaskier smiles as he stares at him. Tilts his head. Yes, beautiful. Eyes soft like melting gold as they carefully focus on their task, hair falling loose on his shoulders, the lines of his face gentler than he remembered, than the light of day betrays.

Geralt catches his gaze, and raises an eyebrow in question, voice hushed. "What?"

Jsakier has lied before. Just for the sake of lying, because he knows he can't deceive Geralt, but now he sees no use. Now the ache is burning, though pleasantly warm, and he feels the words heavy on his tongue before he knows it. He shakes his head. "Nothing. I love you."

It could be a big confession, the deepest secret, the way he lays his heart out bare in Geralt's hands. But it is not.

He knew it would be not. Because Geralt stares at him for a long moment, silent, hands still in their embrace. Then, with a sigh, he smiles. Nods. "I know."

Of course he knows. It wouldn't burn so much, if he didn't.

And Jaskier knows too. Always did, from the first moment, and yet despite all, despite the heartbreak and the fire, he kept lingering on that moment, because then he was young, and quicker to hope. And that hope remained like a cool river to heal the burning inside his chest every time he lied, every time he touched. And he dared not speak, for hope was too sweet a deceit to be refuted.

Geralt swallows and lowers his eyes, continues his task. For him, after all, nothing has changed. "I love you too, Jaskier," he whispers after some seconds, and it sounds like an apology. He finishes and turns the lid on the salve, holding Jaskier's hands just a little longer. "Just not in the way you want me to."

At that, Jaskier laughs silently. With his other hand, he covers Geralt's and meets his eyes. Smiles. "I know."

And that's it.

For Geralt, nothing has changed. Only for him, the little river of hope finally dries up and dies, and suddenly his shoulders feel lighter, and he realizes that hope was far too heavy to carry for so long.

Geralt looks at him for a moment longer, eyes soft and loving, despite all. Then, he squeezes his hand, and stands up. Walks to the door.

His touch still stings.

"Do you want me to blow off the candle?"

Jaskier turns to look at him, then at the flame dancing carelessly, everlasting. A bittersweet smile curves his lips. "No. No, please leave it burning."

Geralt nods softly. Then, "Goodnight, Jaskier."

"Goodnight."

He closes the door, and the candle keeps burning, and Jaskier only stares at it, hands still warm from Geralt's grip.

And the ache remains.

#this kind of fic will never get old i swear #they love each other!! and they always will!! and friends. it will pass #the witcher #geraskier #jaskier #geralt of rivia #fic recs #chrysa writes #spotify prompts #prompt fill #bambirex #geralt x jaskier #unrequited love

[clementinecrane]

28 for geraskier ^-^ just gettin comfy 💕💕

This was cute and fun! Thank you for this. If you want to prompt me, I have a couple of prompt lists here!

~

    The third time they share a bed together, Jaskier decides to be a bit bold. Geralt is lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, and Jaskier snuggles under his arm to lay his head on Geralt’s chest and wrap an arm over him, or at least he tries to. He’d gotten as far as lifting Geralt’s arm to snuggle under it when he was abruptly stopped.

    “What are you doing?” Geralt grunts, snatching his arm back from the bard.

    “Just getting comfy,” Jaskier responds rather flippantly.

    “And what does that have to do with me?” Geralt grumbled, folding his arm back over his chest where it had been before Jaskier had taken hold of it.

    “What? Have you honestly never been cuddled before?” Jaskier asked, not expecting an answer, and in fact all he got in response was a hum.

    “Well then, now’s as good a time as any to start,” Jaskier told him, “now give this back.”

    He said this while grabbing insistently at Geralt’s arm which remained steadfastly on Geralt’s chest, tensing only with the effort it took to resist Jaskier’s pulling. Finally, after a few long moments of tug of war that he was sorely losing, Jaskier sighed and flopped down beside Geralt and snuggled as close as he could, resting his forehead against Geralt’s shoulder.

    “You know, this could be a lot more comfortable if you weren’t being such an ass,” Jaskier said pointedly.

    “I’m the one being an ass?” Geralt asked incredulously.

    “Yes, you are,” Jaskier pouted, stubbornly wrapping his arms around the one that Geralt refused to relinquish.

    “What would the end result be? If I let you have my arm back,” Geralt asked.

    “Well if you would let me, I’d show you,” Jaskier said.

    With that, Geralt’s resistance faded away, and his arm became relaxed in Jaskier’s grip. So Jaskier lifted Geralt’s arm and snuggled under it, pressing his head against Geralt’s chest, and tugging Geralt’s arm over his waist. He threw an arm of his own over Geralt such that he could curl a hand around his opposite shoulder. Finally comfortable he let out a contented sigh.

    “See? Is this really so bad?” Jaskier asked.

    It was as he was slowly drifting off to sleep that Geralt’s hand settled on Jaskier’s hip, and he thought he heard him say, “No.”

#geraskier #my fic #prompt fill #cute and fun #thank you for this! #I had fun writing it #I hope you like it