headtothecoast

[headtothecoast]

Sure Jaskier's neighbour might be so beautiful it's illegal in like 14 countries with a face that would make Mother Theresa cry but this was TOO MUCH!

He stomped over to the apartment across his and banged on the door, but the sound was drowned out by the blasting music on the other side.

Terrible. Music. To add insult to injury.

Gritting his teeth he tried the door knob and found it unlocked so he burst in all fury and the rage born of 48 hours without sleep.

Before he could take a step a large German Shepherd was up and growling with murderous intent, but before Jaskier could see his terribly embarrassingly uneventful life flash before his eyes a strong hand gripped the hound's collar.

Eerie glowing amber eyes glared at him in silence.

"Listen-" Jaskier started but realised his voice was still drowned out. Spotting the offending stero he marched over and plugged it out instead of turning it off. "Listen bud, I don't mean to insult your taste in music...okay I am, a little, seriously Valdo!? I could barf into a tin bucket and it would be better music! Where was I...oh yeah! This is just TOO LOUD! I've been forgoing sleep two days and...why are you glaring like that? And why aren't you saying anything?"

The man and his dog were equally feral in their silence as they stared him down. In confusion Jaskier allowed himself a little glance around and...oh...

There were sticky notes all over. No TV. The intercom was ripped off. On the fridge was a photo of a blonde girl and an elven boy doing the sign for love.

He was deaf.

Jaskier opened his mouth then thought better. He lifted his hands and thanked Jospeh, Mary, and Moses his parents insisted in language classes, even though he handed signed in years.

Signing "sorry. Music very loud."

The man raised an eyebrow. Something almost like amusement in his eyes.

Sweet baby Beyonce but the man was beautiful. He fidgets a bit but the man doesn't chase him off and the dog seems to have settled.

Jaskier takes it as an invitation to stay.

Geralt proves to be the best friend he's ever had. Sure he mostly responds with grunts and only the occasional amused smirk and sign, but he hasn't tossed Jaskier out yet when he comes over with his guitar and notebook. He argues that the noise obviously wont bother the man and his couch (and food) was MUCH nicer than his own.

So he spends a lot of time on Geralt's couch writing, singing, or chatting into the silence. As weeks turn into months he starts to feel more at home there than his own apartment. Geralt no longer grumbles when he throws a blanket over a (pretending to be) sleeping Jaskier and leaves his door unlocked when he is in and not...out somewhere. He still wont tell Jaskier what he does.

Geralt smiles at him more and he could've sworn he once saw the man tapping his fingers along with his song. But deaf or blind people's other senses of often heightened so the man probably feels the vibrations of his guitar.

He songs slowly turn into ballads then into love songs. Sometimes he would just sing about Geralt and his eyes and his smile. Relieved the man couldn't hear him sing about how he had fallen in love with a stranger that would never hear him say he loves him.

The pining hurts but there when he spends a night at the bar with friends he is miserable and thinks of how he would rather be on Geralt's couch smiling at the man fondly rolling his eyes.

Jaskier barely drops his bag off in his cold apartment before he opens Geralt's with a 'Honey I'm home!' when he stops short.

A woman. Dangerously beautiful with ebony hair and deep violent eyes lifts a perfect eyebrow at him.

"Oh, err.." he says awkwardly. Geralt had never had guests over before. The thought that this might be a girlfriend burns sharply in his chest. "Is Geralt here?"

"You must be Jaskier," she says with a ominous grin. "Oh Geralt!" she calls towards the bedroom.

"Yen," a deep growling voice responds and the man steps into the room eyes down as he buttons an illegally form fitting black shirt. "Would it kill you to wait in the car instead of yelling?" he stops short when he looks up to see Jaskier.

Guitar handing in a limp grip, wet eyes wide and horrified, shining with betrayal and hurt. Mouth open but so characteristically silent its uncomfortable.

"Jaskier," he starts but he is met with a slamming door, followed by a muffled other door opening and slamming with the sound of a lock turning.

Fuck.

[headtothecoast]

Ladies and gentlemen and royalty, I present to you: the script coordinator for the Witcher Netflix series regarding the end of episode 6.

[headtothecoast]

In the Light of Destiny, I Stand in the Shadow of Choice

The first chapter of my Slytherin!Jaskier and Hufflepuff!Geralt fic in honor of 50 followers :)  I���ve decided to actually write a fic out of it and it’ll be longer than I expected.  

@max-escaping-reality @jareyes-01 @the-real-dannix @purplelamaart @hauntedfiremilkshake @respectprotectspeople @thatoneperson1967 @lotsofquestionslimitedanswers @witchers-woodruff @little-piece-of-tamlin @19lady-mad81

If anyone else would like to be tagged or I tagged you and you didn’t want to be tagged please let me know :)

[headtothecoast]

Geralt stared morosely at the fire. He could easily see Roach picketed a few feet away, and was glad she seemed to have found plenty of grazing within reach of her line. Snapping twigs with scarred hands, he tossed little bits into the flame and watched them spark and disappear. The bard had decided to stay in town for a liason. Or a tryst. Or whatever word you wanted to use that made damn sure the bard hadn't wanted to stay with Geralt.

The town had been less than friendly and it had been weeks since he'd slept in a bed. Perhaps he should have sought a tryst of his own or paid a whore for a few hours of company just to not be sleeping on the ground by the fire. The hostility he'd faced ultimately had made those options not worth the risk. And so here he was. Alone with his horse. Less than pleased with not even having fresh food, he didn't feel much like eating travel rations. Perhaps the bard would bring something. If he came at all. They split up sometimes. It wasn't like the bard intended to follow him to the ends of the Earth.

His sensitive hearing picked up the snapping of twigs and mumbling and he saw Roach's ears flick back. Someone was coming. Perhaps they intended to try and kill him. It had happened before.

"Fuck! Geralt, there you are! Why the hell did you have to walk so far from town? Took me ages to find you. You could have left a trail sign for me, but no. You're lucky I know your habits by now!" The bard flounced over dramatically and sat at his side.

"How was it?" He asked in his driest tone.

"How was what?"

"The lay you stayed behind for."

"What? Oh, love, don't be stupid," the bard flapped a hand in disgust. "I resupplied us, you really can be thick when you want to, can't you? Haven't you noticed I haven't been leaving your bed?"

"You aren't in my bed," the Witcher pointed out. Maybe physically they sleep near each other but they aren't bedding each other.

"Well that's hardly my fault is it?"

Unsure of what to say, as he often was, Geralt remained silent.

"Well it's not my fault you're too stupid to see what's in front of you," Jaskier pushed, seeing an opening.

"I am getting very tired of you telling me how stupid I am," Geralt told him softly. He was sick of everyone telling him he was stupid and a monster. Not as educated, not as good. As if he hadn't attended lectures at Oxenfurt or hadn't been brought to the temple of Melitele as a child to learn his letters. Bastards. Or maybe he was stupid. Cabbage-headed moron of a Witcher.

Jaskier looked over and saw he'd deeply hurt his taciturn companion and sighed. He'd expected Geralt to push back, not show he was hurting. Although he knows the statement was meant to sound threatening it had just sounded heartsick. Once he'd set the bag down he dropped himself to his knees in front of Geralt, reaching out to cup his face. The man flinched, but Jaskier was slow and patient and waited until Geralt relaxed before setting his palms against skin. "I love you," he said simply, realizing the Witcher was never going to get the message through subtlety. He wouldn't believe any of the hints or leads the bard dropped. He hated himself too much.

Geralt stared in shock, he hadn't expected that. Not at all. Confused, he didn't know what to do.

"And I suspect you love me, too. And so since I know you won't make the first move, I am going to. I am going to kiss you unless you tell me not to, and I'm going to kiss you whenever I please in the future unless you tell me not to. Because I think you want this as much as I do. And if I'm wrong, I won't do it again and I won't leave unless you want me to, but I won't ever ask again or try again. I'll respect that." He waited a beat to see if Geralt would protest, and when he didn't, he leaned in to kiss the man softly.

Geralt moaned, and was immediately embarrassed. Of course he'd wanted this. When the bard's thumb brushed over his lower lip, asking him to open, he did. Jaskier deepened the kiss and it was everything Geralt had ever wanted from him. He'd been so jealous for so many years. And now, it was his. Until the bard inevitably got bored and moved on. But until then, these soft kisses, those clever hands, they were his to enjoy.

What surprised him most over the years was that bard never did seem to get tired of him. He wished he could understand why, or when the tide would change. But it never did.

[headtothecoast]

Geralt travels through woods, gets swallowed by monsters, and just does all man of things to his hair. And Jaskier always gets it clean.

But Jaskier is, despite some evidence to the contrary, not a god of fixing Geralt’s hair. “I have to cut it, Geralt.”

“No, do whatever it is you do and fix it.” Geralt turned his head and glared. “You always fix it.”

“Yes, but even I cannot magically get all these thistles and burrs out of it.” Jaskier had been trying for two hours and gotten one out and even Geralt had winced at how painful it was. “At least I’ll give you a good haircut. I’m actually quite talented. I mean look how good I look, and cutting someone else it will be even better.”

“Shave it all down then,” Geralt ordered.

“No, you’d look stupid bald. You have a square head, it is not the right look for you.” Jaskier went to his pack and got the thin long scissors he had. “I promise, you will look amazing.” Geralt looked panicked. Jaskier had seen him face off the worst the world had to offer, and look stoic, calm. Here he looked ready to run. “Geralt, it will be fine. I promise.” 

“Fine,” Geralt snapped and sat there. “Do it.”

Jaskier ended up having to cut a lot of hair away. “How long since you had short hair?”

“I was young, it was still brown and I had only had my first trial.”

Jaskier blinked. That meant at least 80 years. “No wonder you were nervous, if it has been that long with the same look. A look that suited you to be sure, but long time.” He finished cutting. There were a few inches left on top, the back tapered close. It was a good cut.

Jaskier washed the hair and grabbed a cloth to dry it. And Geralt just seemed to grow tenser. Jaskier pulled the towel away. And paused. He rubbed again. “Geralt?”

“Not a fucking word,” Geralt warned. He got up and went to his pack and threw his cloak on over his naked shoulders and pulled the hood up. “Not one.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened. “Is your hair long, so that no one knows you have adorable curls?” Holy fuck one was flopping on his forehead, seen with the hood. 

“I said not a word.” Geralt looked murderous. Only the hood fell off and the curls were exposed and sort of killed how the murderous glare usually worked.

“I don’t have one word,” Jaskier came over, completely willing to risk his life. He sproinged a curl. “I have about 1,000.” He sproinged another curl. “5,000,” he amended. But he didn’t have a chance to say them, Geralt shutting him up with a kiss.

[headtothecoast]

Geralt was never good with saying, doing, the typical affections. Jaskier had gotten used to that far before he ever understood he had other ways of showing his feelings. 

The first sign was the root tea he made him while they were travelling, because Jaskier always was sore from sleeping on the ground and waking up before the sun rose

The second was the tap of his blade in front of Jaskier’s knees, guarding the bard before himself. It wasn’t on purpose, but in those ambush moments, where instinct won over logic, Geralt put their only weapon in front of Jaskier

The third surprised the bard the most; it was his presence

No, not the way a haughty noble father told his attention-starved children that his presence was a gift whenever he offered a teaspoon of it

It was the long baths, the detested parties, the yellow eyes over campfire light

Even when Geralt was scowling and tossing insults over every meal, Jaskier started to notice the space between the Witcher and everyone else he met, and the lack thereof between them. Old friends stood entire pillars away, were given stern nods as warm reunions

Jaskier had untangled so many hair knots and spent so much time right next to his horse, able to pet Roach’s mane whenever the mood took him

Lambert practically got his arm chopped off the last time they saw him just because he dared to try to stroke the mare’s side

So now, whenever he ended a performance and Geralt was still standing in the room, brooding in his corner like he did, the bard knew it wasn’t bare minimum tolerance that kept him there

It was so much more

Though it was unorthodox, it was theirs, and that’s all that mattered

[headtothecoast]

Sorry this is my first time doing prompts so I have no idea if I'm doing this right. Anyway here's an Geraskier idea that has been stuck in my head for a while: They spent the winter in Kaer Morhen. One day Geralt showed up with flowers braided in his hair and his brothers aka Eskel and Lambert thought it was Ciri and they teased him about "letting the sweet one take over" or "spoiling the sweet one". Geralt just Hmmed and didn't deny it.Turned out Jaskier was the sweet one.

This was a bit tough because I haven’t gotten far enough in the games or books to experience Eskel and Lambert, so I used what I’ve gleaned from fan works. Hopefully it’s not too far off!

---

At Geralt’s appearance at morning training, Eskel grinned and Lambert laughed loud enough to echo through the courtyard and send the birds roosting in the eaves into the air. Geralt didn’t acknowledge them, just went to collect a blunted sword from the practice rack.

“Is that a part of training now?” Lambert asked. He waved a hand toward Geralt’s elaborate braid and the delicate flowers woven through it. “Are we all supposed to roam around the Continent looking like a maid at her first Belleteyn?”

“You could start by bathing more than once a month,” Geralt retorted as he swung the sword to test its balance.

“He likes to smell worse than his prey,” Eskel said. “He thinks his stench will make up for his weak sword arm.”

“How’s this for a weak arm?” Lambert demanded as he punched Eskel hard in the shoulder.

Before Eskel could retaliate with more than a laugh, the sound of running feet drew their attention to the stairs. Ciri came bolting down, and Lambert groaned as he saw the decorated braid flying behind her.

“Another one? This isn’t the Cintran court, princess.”

“Good thing too,” Ciri said as she stopped before them, catching her breath. “If you’d ever shown up smelling like you do, my grandmother would have knocked you on your arse.”

“Is that right?” Lambert stalked to the practice rack to retrieve a weapon for himself. “Let’s see if those soft hands of yours are good for more than fancying Geralt’s locks.”

Geralt extended his sword to Ciri hilt first and walked over to join Eskel where he stayed leaning against the fence surrounding the practice yard. They watched Lambert and Ciri cross swords, the clang of the weapons punctuated by increasingly ridiculous insults that had the pair panting with laughter as much as exertion.

From the balcony of the main living tower, strains of music floated down, the complex scales of the bard’s own training. Eskel glanced over at Geralt, and he smiled to see the soft look that crossed his brother’s face when a clear tenor voice joined the melody.

“Wasn’t Ciri who did the braids, was it?”

Geralt just hummed before elbowing him in the side and going to collect another training weapon. Eskel followed. As they armed themselves and took their stances, Jaskier walked out onto the balcony. Eskel lifted his hand in greeting, and the bard grinned and bowed to him, playing and singing all the while.

“Shall I go easy on you?” Eskel asked Geralt. “Let you impress your beau?”

“I’ve never needed you to go easy to beat you.”

“Oho! On your guard then, pretty one.” Eskel grinned as he raised his sword. “I’ll try not to ruin your hair.”

[headtothecoast]

Bed sharing - but of them (you pick who) falls asleep first and the other cant get to sleep, lying awake, thinkin' bout the other one (who's only like. An inch away)

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. 

Geralt isn’t sure how much time passes, but it feels like eternity. Jaskier’s warm is almost brushing his shoulder and fuck, Geralt has never been more aware of his shoulder than he is now. His skin feels like it’s tingling and even the shirt doesn’t stop the goosebumps from forming.

It’s the middle of the night and Geraltr is slowly going crazy.

Jaskier is sleeping just an inch away from him and it’s driving the Witcher insane. It’s far from the first time they slept in the same bed but it’s the first time it happened since Geralt realized that the warm, happy feeling he has when he thinks about the bard may actually be love.

He’s pretty sure he was better off not knowing that.

Now, every smile makes him breathless, every song makes his heart stop, every touch sends his brain into a frenzy. It’s difficult to function and Geralt feels as if he’s slowly losing it and Jaskier doesn’t even notice.

He acts the same as always and that’s the problem because the bard has no concept of personal space and apparently, he doesn't care that Geralt could kill him without even trying because Jaskier touches him constantly. Every touch is as casual as it is soft and Geralt’s heart is old and battered and fragile and he can’t take it much longer.

Sleeping turns out to be worse. It’s been hours now, since Jaskier dropped on the bed next to Geralt and fell asleep with a sweet “Night.” whispered between them. It’s been hours and they need to be up early but Geralt can’t sleep because Jaskier is very very close and he smells very very good and he really can’t take it.

Then, everything gets even worse because Jaskier makes a sweet sound and turns around, plastering himself to Geralt’s side.

The Witcher freezes, shocked and terrified and elated at the same time. Those are way too many emotions to feel but Jaskier just makes Geralt feel things all the time and he hates it and loves it.

Very hesitantly and very slowly, Geralt brings one arm around Jaskier’s shoulders and shifts the bard so that he lays more comfortably on Geralt’s chest. It makes him feel very protective, as the other man is sleeping and vulnerable and clearly trusts Geralt enough to keep him safe like that.

It’s really nice to hold Jaskier like that, safe and protected and warm against Geralt’s body. The bard is breathing slowly and deeply and, after some time, Geralt feels the tension leak out of him, his shoulder’s relaxing and eyes closing.

The room is quiet and dark and smells like Jaskier’s oils that the man used during bathing and it’s enough to put Geralt at ease as well. With Jaskier still cuddled to his side, Geralt falls asleep.

“Oh, my panicking love,” he hears just barely whispered against his chest, but the sleep is tugging too hard for him to wonder who said it.

[headtothecoast]

I loved that little fic you did with omega!Geralt. It made my heart happy to see such a strong character being protected for once. Thanks for your writing and all the happiness you spread 💖

Still living up to your name I see <3 Sorry it’s taken so long to get back to you on this, my ask box may have filled over the brim a little (currently sitting at 53...that’s almost 2 months of replies if I do one a day!). But thinking about strong characters being protected gave me an idea, thank you!

Content warning for injury and blood.

Contracts took a varying amount of time. Jaskier was used to Geralt’s vague guess of how long something might take but he never got overly worried. After the first couple of sleepless nights, he realised that it was pointless staying up and fretting. If things were bad, he would hear Geralt get back and then he’d wake up and be better rested to help. So, when Geralt didn’t get back by the end of his performance, Jaskier collected his earnings and headed for the room they had for the night.

Usually, Jaskier only woke if Geralt stomped in, staggering with an injury. So it was rather unpleasant to wake to hurried knocking on the door.

“You’ve got the key,” Jaskier grumbled but pulled himself out of bed and flung the door open. He blinked at the innkeeper and a patron standing nervously opposite him.

“You’re the witcher’s bard. Come retrieve him, please,” the innkeeper said.

“What’s he done?” Jaskier rubbed at his eyes and decided that sleepwear was absolutely acceptable to flounce around in at such an hour.

“Nothing,” came the odd reply. “He got back from his business, shuffled into a corner seat, dropped a pouch of coin on the table and an ale was taken to him as he’d asked for a drink. He hasn’t moved since and we dare not disturb him.”

That didn’t not sound like Geralt at all and Jaskier picked up his steps into a hurried staccato. As described, Geralt was in the corner, leaning against the wall, hood of his cloak pulled up so it cast a deep shadow over his face.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked as he approached. There was no response. That did not bode well and he reached out to shake Geralt in case he’d fallen asleep. What Jaskier didn’t expect was for Geralt to topple at the touch, slumping limply to the side. “Oh fuck! Geralt!”

Without any hesitation, Jaskier pushed the table out of the way and almost slipped on something wet and sticky. There was blood pooling under the table, dripping from the hem of the cloak. More swearing and Jaskier finally managed to ease Geralt into lying on the bench. It was the best place to have him for now and he unfastened the cloak. The problem was immediately evident, there was a deep gash across his side and some creature had taken a chunk out of his chest. Behind Jaskier there was the sound of gagging.

“Is the witcher dead?”

“No but he hasn’t got you to thank for that. Get me a bowl of hot water, some clean cloths and the brown satchel from my room.” For a moment nobody moved and Jaskier looked up. “Now!” he bellowed. That got people moving. In a couple of minutes, Jaskier had everything he’d asked for.

People watched from a safe distance as he worked, Geralt still limp and unconscious on the bench. Perhaps it was for the better as he couldn’t feel the agony of Jaskier pouring half a bottle of potion over his wounds where they fizzed.

His clothes were a lost cause so Jaskier cut them open with his dagger and set about wiping the blood from unbroken skin. About half way through, a shaking hand clutched at his wrist and Geralt made a wounded noise.

“You’re okay. You got back to the inn, I’m just patching you up.” Jaskier tried his best to reassure.

“Drink.” The word was barely audible but Jaskier turned, demanding a tanakard of cool water. It was brought over and placed just within reach before the person dashed back to a safe distance.

It was a bit of a struggle to help Geralt into a position he could take a few sips before choking on a mouthful and Jaskier was dropping the tankard to floor and trying to help. Boneless, Geralt fell back into his support, gasping for a breath through the fresh waves of pain.

A bench in a tavern was no place to recover from such an injury but Jaskier couldn’t hope to move Geralt by himself in such a state. He ended up demanding the innkeeper fetch a sturdy sheet they could lay Geralt on and carry him up to the room. The grumbles of blood on a bed were silence by a glare from Jaskier.

Finally, Geralt was on a bed, tended to and as comfortable as he could get.

“I killed it,” he whispered fervently. “I promise I killed it.”

“I know,” Jaskier ran a hand through his hair. “I know you did. Now rest.” He looked up at the innkeeper with a hard glare. “And because the locals are so grateful, you can rest up here for as long as it takes to recover. A whole week if you need.”

The innkeeper was about to protest but Geralt twisted to give him a wide eyed, grateful look. “Thank you.” Relief was written in his whole body, face looking uncharacteristically young. Gruffly, the innkeeper shrugged.

“If we need anything, we will call for you,” Jaskier said, dismissing the man. Once the door shut behind him, he turned to Geralt and fussed over him a bit more. At least his wound had stopped bleeding now but it looked so painful, Jaskier wished he could do something about it. However, all he could do was sit up and guard Geralt while he was at his weakest, sleeping not because he wanted to but because he had no other choice. Healing took up a lot of his energy and Jaskier knew that if it was possible, he’d try and convince Geralt to take the whole week before getting back on the road again.

[headtothecoast]

4. “You’re faking.” or 25. “Well this is quite the discovery.” for geraskier maybe? i'm personally soft for lee!jaskier, but that's mostly due to me never having seen lee!geralt around, so whichever seems better fitting/you want to write more!! (and again, feel free to push this one to the way way back, i don't mind waiting) ~🌵

Hey hey, coming right up my friend! Hope you enjoy it!! (also yes I am doing both you can’t stop me lol)

4. “You’re faking.” 25. “Well this is quite the discovery.”

Wake-Up Call

Fandom: The Witcher

Ship(s): Geraskier

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Jaskier/Ler!Geralt

Word Count: 819 words

Summary: Geralt is awake and ready to go, now the only issue is getting Jaskier up.

[ao3 link]

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Geralt, as usual, woke with the rising sun. It was a habit that he would likely never break, even when he had the chance to sleep in. He tended to get restless if idle for too long, needing to get started with the day as soon as possible.

But with Jaskier curled up against his chest, hogging the furs covering the bed of the inn, he found enough peace to stay still for a little while longer. He carefully readjusted his arms, not wanting to wake Jaskier just yet, but needing to regain feeling in his limbs, and settled back down with his love.

Of course, he could only last so long remaining still, even with Jaskier’s warmth and scent overwhelming his senses. So after some time, Geralt carefully slipped from the bed, readjusted the furs around Jaskier, and set about to packing up their things.

It didn’t take Geralt nearly as long as he thought it would to pack things away, and soon enough, he was stuck back at square one. He could only wait so long before he decided to try and wake Jaskier.

“Jaskier,” he said, gripping Jaskier’s shoulder and gently shaking it.

Jaskier muttered sleepily, but didn’t wake. Geralt sighed and shook him a little harder, but Jaskier simply rolled over in bed and relaxed again.

“Jaskier, come on,” Geralt said, shaking him again.

Jaskier didn’t respond, but Geralt swore he saw his shoulder twitch. He narrowed his eyes.

“Jaskier,” he growled, grabbing his shoulder to turn him over. “You’re faking.”

Jaskier’s lips twitched, but his eyes stayed closed and his breathing stayed steady. Geralt started jabbing at his shoulder, feeling petulant enough to take a page out of Jaskier’s book and try to annoy him into getting up. When that didn’t work, he moved his jabs up and down Jaskier’s arms and chest, until he hit a spot on Jaskier’s ribs and Jaskier curled in on himself.

Geralt froze for a moment, suddenly worried he’d hurt him, but after scenting the air and finding no evidence of in mingled into Jaskier’s smell, he relaxed. He still smelled honey-sweet with the citrus tang of good humor. And so, Geralt, jabbed him in the ribs again and got the same reaction.

And Geralt’s brain finally made the connection, digging up memories from a lifetime ago of young boys tussling in wrestling matches and digging fingers into sensitive spots to cheat into winning against larger opponents.

Jaskier was ticklish.

“Well this is quite the discovery,” Geralt said, raising an eyebrow with a smirk.

Jaskier continued pretending to sleep, but the smile tugging at his lips was undeniable now. Geralt grabbed his closest arm with one hand and poised the other to attack.

“Get up now and this can all be avoided,” he said.

Jaskier did nothing.

Geralt dug his hand into Jaskier’s stomach, not bothering to build up with lighter tickles and giving into his instincts from those childish tickle fights so long ago. Jaskier squealed and burst out laughing, curling up into a ball around Geralt’s hand.

“That’s not a very effective defense,” he quipped, pushing Jaskier’s legs back down and pinning them to the bed with one of his one. “Maybe I should teach you how to fight.”

Geralt darted his hand up into the armpit he still had exposed and Jaskier’s shrieked, tugging at his arm and snorting as he frantically shook his head.

“Geralt, no!”

Geralt grinned. “Guess you should’ve gotten up sooner, huh?”

“No!”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “No? Maybe I’m not tickling you good enough.”

Jaskier shrieked again as Geralt started squeezing around various tickle spots, trying to find a sweet spot. His armpits were pretty good, his ribs not so much. His stomach and sides had him squealing, but that wasn’t necessarily what Geralt was looking for. He absentmindedly squeezed Jaskier’s hips and down his thighs, and that’s when Jaskier screamed.

His flailing free hand found it’s way to his mouth to cover his laughter and he bucked and kicked as much as he could, but Geralt had quite the advantage. Apparently, witcher mutations weren’t good for just killing monsters, they were also pretty good for tickling your lover to absolute bits. After a few more moments, though, Geralt had mercy.

“Wake up,” he said, pulling away. “We should leave soon. Especially after all your yelling.”

Jaskier sputtered, waving his hands around. “And who’s fault is that?”

Geralt gave him a look. “Yours, for not getting up sooner.”

Jaskier crossed his arms and pouted. Geralt rolled his eyes fondly and leaned back in to give him a quick peck on the lips. Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck and deepened the kiss, not letting him pull away until he decided he was satisfied.

“I’ll get you back,” Jaskier said as they parted.

Geralt smiled and shook his head as he stepped back toward their bags. “Good luck with that.”

[headtothecoast]

for the prompts, I am very very weak for anything related to outsider!pov...

“Do you promise not to stab anyone?”

“No.”

“Jaskier.”

“Don’t you ‘Jaskier” me, Geralt, it’s not my fault they’re all idiots and don’t deserve to live. They’re not using their brains anyway,” the bard snarls with a wild glint in his eyes.

Geralt just sighs deeply and tightens his hold on the other man. Yennefer is content with watching it all unfold but even she has to admit that she wasn’t expecting this when she redirected the spell.

Her reasoning was sound but faulty because of one simple unknown - Jaskier the bard. Yennefer doesn’t know him well and her opinion of him is pretty low but with every hour under the spell it’s rising quite quickly.

So far the bard has broken 3 chairs over people's head, tore a sorcerer's throat out with his teeth and stabbed 5 people before Geralt got there and pulled him away. None of them are dead but Yennefer wouldn't care either way, as they really are way too stupid to be alive.

“You can’t go around stabbing people,” Geralt sighs deeply, looking tired and done with everything.

Yennefer can’t relate, she’s having the time of her life watching a bard go absolutely rabid. She’s seen wild dogs less rabid than him.

“They can’t just insult you after you saved them, Geralt, that’s not how it is,” Jaskier insists.

“That’s how it always was.”

“Not with me here,” the bard almost growls, whipping out one dagger again.

Geralt is quick to grab it and make Jaskier hide it away again but they’re all aware that Jaskier just will stab someone again. The curse makes him lose control of himself in a fight and Yennefer never anticipated so much anger and spite in the bard’s colorfully-clad body.

Yennefer was sure that making the bard bear the brunt of the curse instead of Geralt, but now she’s rethinking that. She had no idea how much anger and murderous tendencies was hiding in that body.

“Lets just leave,” Geralt finally sighs, looking at the slowly setting sun.

“Absolutely not,” Yennefer quickly shuts it down. “I am quite tire and do not fancy sleeping on the ground again. That spell was powerful.”

“He will just kill everyone in this village,” Geralt states flatly.

“Not if they stop being stupid,” Jaskier helpfully provides with a sunny smile. He doesn’t look like a man capabke of murder but his green doublet is streaked with red and the steel of the dagger is glistening in the setting sun. He looks a bit deranged.

Yennefer is quite impressed.

“That will never happen,” she hears Geralt mutter under his breath but finally, they stumble back into the tavern.

The barkeeper looks a bit as if he wants to throw them out, but not many are stupid enough to say that to a sorceress, a Witcher and a man who just stabbed 5 people.

Soon enough they have wine and food, and Jaskier relaxes slowly, teasing Geralt and stealing food from his plate. Yennefer rolls her eyes at their love but she’s only pretending to be annoyed. They do fit together surprisingly well.

Their quiet evening is once again interrupted by some drunk man slamming his hands on the table next to Geralt. The Witcher just looks up at him, face stone-cold, and that only seems to make the man angrier.

He looks just about ready to start saying something, when a knife lodges itself in the table millimeters from the man’s finger. The tavern goes quiet again.

Yen turns to face the bard, already knowing the anger she’ll see there.

“I have another knife,” the bard informs everyone. “Next one goes straight through your hand. Think if you really want to speak now.”

The man stares at the knife for a few seconds before making a hasty exit, and the conversations pick up again. Geralt is glaring at Jaskier, though the bard seems completely unbothered, pulling the knife from the table with some difficulty.

“Don’t glare, Geralt, it really doesn’t impress me that much,” Jaskier chuckles. “Besides, I didn’t stab him so I don’t know why you’re angry. Learn to love yourself, my dear.”

Geralt just sighs again and goes back to his stew. Even the Witcher knows that some battles are not worth picking.

[headtothecoast]

Hanahaki Geraskier AU idea. (Happy ending)

You know how their’s almost always a cure for the disease which no one ever takes because its always a terrible deal?

How about one where the ‘cure’ just removes unrequited love? The disease is brought on by unrequited romantic love but it will remove any un-returned feelings. Including friendship.

Jaskier falls in love all the time. But he can’t let the flowers ruin his voice so he drinks it somewhat regularly. The scent of flowers and the curing tea are integral parts of his scent. But it’s usually just passing townsfolk so it doesn’t matter.He sheds the unrequited romances like his doublet at the end of a long day.

Then he falls in love with Geralt. Who doesn’t love him back. Obviously. 

And he’s stuck. Do i drink this and lose everything? The friendship he’s built? Petals to blossoms. His throat hurts.

Well. If Geralt isn’t even his friend theirs certainly no point in dying for him.

He drinks it.

They’re still friends.

Vindication.

Then Geralt falls in love. With Jaskier.

Dandelions everywhere.

Jaskier convinces him to drink the tea. He’s been chugging the stuff for years.

They’re Still friends.

They both become chronic. They keep falling back in love over and over and over again.

They Keep drinking the tea. Which sets the other one off. So they drink more.

They run out of tea.

One of them goes down like a sack of bricks.

But instead of getting worse, with each passing hour they improve. The fully stemmed flowers turn into blossoms into petals into nothing at all.

Because they love each other.

[headtothecoast]

I’ve written some stuff about Geralt sort of starting out the process of figuring out how he deserves to be treated, and what his worth is. In my mind it seems obvious that this would be something he confronts with Jaskier, that the bard would help him work through. I think Yennefer tries to help too, even if she doesn’t really have a baseline for normalcy to reference. I’m sure they both protect him viciously. So when some lord is pushing him to take a dangerous contract before he’s fully recovered from his last fight, or a sorcerer demands his blood as payment for some service rendered, or they come to an inn that only has a free bed for him if he agrees to let them chain him to it for the night they find themselves needing to deal with his protectors. Jaskier in particular has definitely gone absolutely rabid on some of these people. So it’s not just the way they treat him, it’s the way they expect other people to treat him. And he’s trying to learn how to expect the same, even if he’s not sure he really deserves it. But however much Yen and Jaskier help, I think the real change comes with Ciri.

She’s smart, and she’s strong, but she’s young. She’s training to become like Geralt, to become what he is, and oh boy does she start absorbing and internalizing behaviors and mannerisms and all sorts of other stuff from him. Neither of them are really consciously aware of it happening, even if it’s kind of obvious, kids take in traits from their parents. She’s learning how to be a witcher, even in moments when he’s not actively teaching her.

Then one day something like this happens:

There’s a wizard, whose help they desperately need for the hunt. In exchange for his services, he wants to perform some experiments on Cirilla. He’s got this intense and terrifying curiosity, like he wants to dissect her or something. But he promises that when the experiments he has in mind are completed, she’ll be in more or less the same condition as she is now. And she agrees to it.

Maybe the others are there with her and hear right away. Maybe she had gone to him alone, and they don’t find out until the hunt is over, and the wizard comes to collect his payment. Either way, all three adults are horrified. Furious at the request, and terrified by her ready agreement to it. All ready to attack the wizard on the spot. Yennefer gets to him first, which is probably for the best. And while she’s forcing him to renegotiate the deal, Geralt and Jaskier take Ciri out of his cottage. And she’s more relieved than she thought she would be, which she supposes means she had also been more afraid than she’d realized in the moment. 

She doesn’t notice that she’d been crying until Jaskier is wiping the tears away. She hugs him, and he holds her tight, and he’s shaking like he does when they overhear the words “butcher” or “mutant” in a pub. He’s quiet though, and that in and of itself is strange, and despite the hug a part of her is wondering if she could be in trouble. (”Trouble” in this context referring to whatever the medieval fantasy equivalent of getting grounded for sneaking out of the house on a school night is. So not not like serious trouble).

In further contrast from the natural order of things, Geralt is the one who breaks the silence.

“What were you thinking?”

And that’s when something that none of them had realized was building up starts to come to a head. Because over the course of the following conversation they hear: “he had information we needed,” like it’s all the reason they should need. And they hear: “It’s not a big deal right?” and “it’s part of our job. We needed him to agree to help us in order to keep people safe.”, “Witchers are supposed to do what we need to to protect humanity.”, “I’m strong enough to get through anything he could have done to me.”

Jaskier freezes with his arms still around her. Geralt looks like he’s just had all the air knocked out of him.

[headtothecoast]

hi! i love your writings so much! but may i suggest,, jaskier being a prince whose kingdom will be attacked, and his parents are worried so they hire someone (cough geralt) to protect their son. then sends them both off to a small town far away from the kingdom, to pose as a married couple so tht no one suspects anything. then we get those cliche tropes like one bed, fake marriage,, and maybe sum bamf jaskier and protective geralt 👀👀

Oh, thank you, my sweet!! I don’t have the time to turn this into a proper fic at the moment, so I tried to fit it into a five-sentence fic - I hope it suffices!

- - -

When Julian’s parents had told him he was to be sent away with a hired guard to keep him safe from the war, the last thing he had ever anticipated was to be carted off to a little cottage in the countryside with a large, white-haired man whose eyes spoke of inhuman solar energy and whose strength told of a career filled with combat; “he’s your husband now, until this is over,” he had been told, and, well, looking at Geralt, Julian found himself hard pressed to complain (he was very easy on the eyes).

When Julian had first gotten himself cozy in the little cabin away from the nearby town, the last thing he had ever anticipated was for there to be a single bed in the small and simple bedroom, and for Geralt to be entirely alright with it when Julian brought it up; they were, after all, married, the other man pointed out, and Julian was certain there was amusement glinting in his bright golden eyes.

When Julian’s newfound routine of peaceful days and comfortable nights was rudely interrupted by a soldier from his parents’ opposing kingdom knocking on their door and demanding to know the whereabouts of the Prince, the last thing he had ever anticipated was for Geralt to turn him away with kind words but a bitter tone, saying that the only man he had seen in a week was his husband, Jaskier; the soldier had left with obvious reluctance, and Julian - Jaskier - had merely stared, something inside him stirring with the sight of the man so domineering, so defensive.

When Julian awakened one night to a vivid terror, his parents slain and his own heart split in two, the last thing he had ever anticipated was for Geralt to draw him into his arms from the opposite side of the bed, to kiss his brow and hold him close until the trembling began to subside; Julian kissed him without hesitation that night, leaned up to press their lips together, melted into his chest when Geralt kissed him back.

When Julian returned home at the end of the war, the last thing his parents had ever anticipated was for him to ask to wed his witcher, for he had long since fallen in love; after all, it wouldn’t come as news to some people at all.

[headtothecoast]

thinking about spring 

[headtothecoast]

Geralt meets Jaskier and is like *sniff sniff* ‘yeah this guy’s part elf, I’m not going to comment on this because it’s a very personal thing to bring up in mixed company and also none of my business’ & never once questions that Jaskier knows this bcos like, that’s the kind of thing people know about themselves, right? and it’s a touchy sort of subject so it’s understandable that Jaskier doesn’t really talk about it, w/e

& then years later Yennefer comments on how improbably youthful Jaskier is and Geralt’s like ‘yeah he’s part elf’ (cause like, we’re all ambiguously-human friends here, nbd)

but Jaskier is like ‘what the fuck? are you talking about?? no I’m not???’ and Geralt is like ‘��..fuck.’

[headtothecoast]

wow