#I don’t really read much new geraskier anymore

[witcher-trash]

Geraskier fic recs

A Few Years Ago In A Galaxy About Three Lightyears Away From The Milky Way (geralt/jaskier, teen, complete, 10k, star wars au) Star Wars AU. Just. I don't know, it's a Star Wars AU.

All I Am Is Open for View (geralt/jaskier, explicit, complete, 2k) There is a game they play every time they reunite. To be granted the privilege and reward of Jaskier’s body, Geralt must impress his bard with five heroic deeds he has done during their time apart.

all i want is you (my sweet honey bee) (geralt/jaskier, mature, complete, 3k) Waking up alone has been hard enough for Geralt, but it’s the lack of music and chatter that’s really taken its toll. The estate is lovely, of course, and it’s easy to find distractions, but Dandelion is what makes Corvo Bianco home.---Geralt reflects on his retirement while preparing for Dandelion's return to Corvo Bianco.

Always Lose-Lose (geralt/jaskier, mature, complete, 125k) For years Geralt and Jaskier travel together. What starts out as Geralt being annoyed by the bard who insists on follwing him turns into something more as the years go by. But in the midst of the war Nilfgaard's wages on the rest of the continent, Jaskier is captured to tell them where Geralt is. It's either betray Geralt or save himself. Will he be able to make the right choice? Or is it already too late for him to choose? And what exactly has lead to Jaskier getting caught in the first place?

appropriate ways to care for your local witcher - series (geralt/jaskier, geralt/eskel/jaskier, explicit, complete. 37k) Geralt makes a joking suggestion about how Jaskier might pay him back. Jaskier only too enthusiastically agrees.

ask me tomorrow (geralt/jaskier, mature, complete, 10k) "Why -" he gestures expansively towards Jaskier, his lute, the forest around them, his swords now strapped to Roach "- are you doing this?" A bard seeking fortune wouldn't watch Geralt across the fire with eyes half-full of tears that he didn't bother to blink away. An artist looking for a muse wouldn't press close, desperately close, against Geralt's side until he finally gave in and turned his head. A young man after a quick fuck wouldn't grip Geralt to him hard enough to bruise even a witcher. The way Jaskier looks at Geralt makes him think he should know the answer already, but he doesn't, he doesn't. "Because I know you," he says at last. "Because I have known you. Because I will know you. Isn't that enough?" (One day, Geralt will understand that it was the closest thing Jaskier will ever have to a goodbye, and it's enough, it's enough.)

a throat full of teeth (geralt/jaskier, jaskier/oc, yennefer/oc, mature, complete, 40k) It occurred to Jaskier, as he forced his own feet to move, one ahead of the other, that Geralt hadn’t once shifted from where he stood on the mountain, arms ridged by his side, staring out into the valley, ass clenched like there was no tomorrow. He really had just let Jaskier leave. Jaskier clenched his jaw. Guess this one is for real then. When he arrived back at camp he gathered his things and gave Roach a gentle pat. He’d told Geralt “see you around,” but he didn’t think it would happen. No, actually, he decided. He was planning on it. jaskier and geralt lose each other. it takes a long time to be found again.

Base Born Bard (geralt/jaskier, teen, complete, 2k) Baseborn. Adjective. Of low birth or origin. Illegitimate or bastard. Some times Dandelion’s heritage causes them trouble, sometimes it doesn't.

No Man Would Dare - series (geralt/jaskier, mature, 40k) Geralt and Dandelion take a contract from a young lord to find his only living relative, his older brother, whose run away following the deaths of the rest of their family. The Witcher and Bard cross the continent on the man's trail and learn there is much more to this man's story than his tragic family. There is a dark secret that is following him--and now it's following them. Or: A Witcher twist on a Familiar Gothic Tale.

not a goodbye, a thank you (geralt/jaskier, complete, mature, 3k) Somewhere further in the courtyard, Lambert yells out a colourful curse while Ciri cackles maniacally. Eskel is taunting the former through his laughter, and Vesemir’s voice joins in with barked commands and corrections once the clang of steel against steel continues. Somewhere above them, on one of the balconies overlooking the yard, Geralt can hear the scratch of quill against parchment as Yennefer works on her correspondence, interrupted every now and again by the tapping of nails against an inkpot. He realises what’s wrong an instant before everyone else grows suddenly, eerily still; Jaskier is quiet.

Own and Make Me Yours (geralt/eskel/jaskier, aiden/lambert, wip, explicit, 50k) Jaskier, a royal pleasure slave, isn't exactly happy with his lot in life—he's having sex with less than desirable nobles at a pace nobody would want—but he's learned to be content with it. Things could be a lot worse. On occasion, Radovid sends him away to bestow his services on nobles who aren't stationed at court. During one such trip Jaskier witnesses the murder of a noble he was supposed to be pleasing, and sees the faces of the assassins; to keep him from identifying them to the authorities, Jaskier is taken with them when they leave, and finds himself held in the royal palace of Rivia. Life in Rivia is anything but what Jaskier would have expected and both the king of Rivia and his right hand are unlike any nobles Jaskier has ever known; the more time he spends with them, the more he realizes that they might just be what they seem to be—good men.

Permeable Barriers (geralt/jaskier, teen, complete, 20k) Geralt and Jaskier are just searching for escape from the oppressive summer heat, when an old acquaintance asks for their help with the current crisis and reveals a past Jaskier had kept hidden. A plague is sweeping the continent, but Geralt would rather not get involved... until a nearby town falls victim to his sort of problem.

Ùine (Time) - series (geralt/jaskier, explicit, complete, 23k) Jaskier's 35th birthday was supposed to be a night full of song and food, a grand banquet to remember. Nothing went as planned. The door creaked, and Geralt roused from a light slumber at the sound. The lingering scent of the snuffed candle by the bed suggested the passage of several hours. Not more than three, which was strange. Jaskier should have been awhile yet, if he was going to return to the tavern at all. And yet… an uneven step, and the door clicked shut. The unfamiliar tread brought Geralt’s drowsy senses to focus, and he picked up more. The copper of blood. Musk of seed. Pallor of salt.

warm you like the sunshine (geralt/jaskier, explicit, complete, 10k) "Why do you go with people who hurt you?" He looked at Jaskier, and kept looking at him after he looked away and the smile dropped off his face. After a long silence, Jaskier said, in a much more tired voice, "I don't exactly have a lot of options, Geralt." On the face of it it wasn't true--Jaskier could find a willing young woman or man in any half-crowded tavern without lifting a finger--but that wasn't what he meant, of course. He meant when he needed...that particular sort of person. That particular experience. Without the slightest forethought or intention, Geralt frowned and said, "You have me."

Witcher (A/B/O) - series (geralt/jaskier, explicit, 100k, abo) The tale of the strange Alpha Witcher and his untraditional Omega Bard.

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

Hi love!

Can I please beg for Tangled Geraskier?

Rapunzel Jask. You know I’m a sucker for angst so including the scene where he cuts her hair would slay me 💖💖💖💖💖

TYILYYYYY

Hello, Stina dear! Sorry this took me actual months to write, but it broke me out of my writer’s block and for that I am eternally grateful.

I chose several pieces of the Tangled narrative to write Geralt and Jaskier into... enjoy! 

2k-ish words (please leave me comments I’m so tired my dudes)

tw: blood, injury, major character (near) death, if you’ve seen Tangled you’ve seen this

---

“So,” Jaskier smiles playfully up at the thief sitting beside him. “Roger Eric, huh?”

Geralt rolls his eyes but Jaskier catches the flush that settles high on his companion’s cheekbones. “It was… It’s a long and boring story about a lot of sad little children that I’m sure you don’t want to hear on such a lovely evening.”

Jaskier scoots closer, until the sides of their arms are pressed too tightly together for even a slip of paper to slide between, and leans his weight against the thief. He bats his thick eyelashes and pouts his lip in a way that always seems to work with his Father. “C’mon, Geralt, please won’t you tell me? Just one little story? I told you about my magical hair, after all.”

“Hmm,” the thief glares dawn at the doe-eyed blonde for a moment before nervously clearing his throat. “Fine. I… I got the name Geralt of Rivia from a collection of short stories that I used to read the other boys at the orphanage in Kaedwen; they were all about this knight who was loyal and brave and courageous despite his hideous appearance. He was rejected by princesses and noble women but was beloved by the people. Having been born with white hair… well, a lot of the folks that came looking for children thought I was under a spell or curse so…. I wasn’t their first choice for adoption.”

“You and Geralt were a lot alike, then. Different. Special… Kind.”

“I wouldn’t say I was spe-”

Jaskier’s hand darts forward and his long, slender musician’s fingers grasp Geralt by the wrist. The fledgling bard clings onto his escort tightly, his large blue eyes suddenly brimming up with tears. “Don’t you dare say you aren’t special, Geralt Roger Eric whatever your surname really is. I’ll never forgive you if you spew such nonsense where my delicate ears can hear it.”

Geralt swallows thickly and glances away. Jaskier always looks so sweet and sincere; the features on his boyish face flicker in and out of focus as patterns of light thrown by their small campfire play across his pale skin. His gaze is intense, focused on Geralt and Geralt alone. The thief panics and asks: “What is it, Jaskier? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You saved me, you know. You saved me from those men back there at the inn, you saved me from being trapped in the tower all my life, you saved me from getting lost in the forest, you… you’re a good person, Geralt. Don’t let the world or the Captain of the Guard or anyone else change your mind, do you understand me? You are-” Jaskier’s hands scrabble frantically to grasp Geralt’s, as if the white-haired man might disappear entirely if Jaskier so much as loosens his grip “- you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me since I’ve been locked in that foul, awful tower!”

“Well I…” Geralt clears his throat again. He stands slowly, disentangling his hangs from Jaskier’s as he takes a slow step back. And then another. “I should go get more firewood.”

Despite the uneasiness in their parting, Jaskier smiles after him. 

The momentary spell cast by their closeness is only broken when Jaskier hears a familiar voice from just behind him: “Well, I thought he’d never leave!”

The blonde jumps up from his seat and spins on his heel to face the black-cloaked wizard. “Father? How… How did you find me?”

Stregobor wraps his arms around Jaskier’s shoulders and squeezes so tightly that it feels more like a threat than an embrace. “It was easy, I simply followed the sound of absolute betrayal.”

Jaskier flinches and tries to pull away but cannot yet escape. 

“I just brought you this,” his Father continues. He finally releases Jaskier and hands his son the worn leather satchel he’d found hidden in his tower. “If this Geralt creature really is the man you think him to be -and don’t deny it, little flower, I can read your thoughts- give this back to him and see how long he stays.”

“Father, I-”

“Goodbye, my child. See you soon, I’m sure. Just remember that Father knows best!”

And in a swirl of black smoke and confusion, Stregobor disappears.

---

“Why do you look so scared?” Geralt asks. He slows the small gondola he’s rented to a stop, turning it slightly more to the side so that they have a better vantage point to see the lanterns spread over the harbor from the city. Jaskier sighs deeply and shakes a stray flower petal away from his eyes, the enormous golden braid shifting ever-so-slightly against his shoulders.

“I’ve been looking out a window for eighteen years,” he says softly. Nervously. “What if… What if it’s not what I expected? I’m terrified to see what it all looks like up close because what if it doesn’t meet my expectations? What if it’s not everything I dreamed it would be?”

“It will be,” Geralt replies without thinking. 

“And what if it is?” Jaskier queries, voice growing frantic. “What if it’s even more spectacular than I could have ever hoped? Then my dream will have been fulfilled and I’ll just… go back to the tower again.”

“You’ll just have to find a new dream, I guess,” Geralt offers. When Jaskier settles down into the boat a bit more comfortably and smiles shyly back at him, the thief knows he’s hit the right mark for once. Behind Geralt, the first lantern lights up the sky. Jaskier gasps and points, eyes wide and sparkling with excitement; Geralt is utterly enchanted by his easy beauty. The thief digs two paper lanterns out from beneath his seat and offers one to Jaskier, giddy when he grins even more excitedly than before. “I got this for you… I hope you like it.”

“Oh, I love it! And I have something for you, too.” Jaskier turns and pulls something from behind him. The bardling hands Geralt his very own satchel, which the thief briefly accepts and then drops to the floor without a second thought. The anxious blonde musician beams over at him more gloriously than the midday sun and then turns away, blushing a sweet shade of pink. “I should have given it to you earlier, but I was so scared… and now I’m not! I’m not scared anymore!”

“Good,” Geralt smiles back. He’s elated. It feels as if his heart is glowing twice as brightly as any of the lanterns floating past and around them. “That’s very good.”

I know what my dream is now, Jaskier. Now that you’re here by my side I never want to see you frown again. You don’t deserve to be hidden away in a tower where your art is stifled… even if you don’t want to love me back in that way, I’ll still protect you. I want to see how you see the world, Jaskier. I lo-

“Geralt! Look! That one has runes painted on it, what does it say!?”

---

Geralt pulls his daggers from his belt but before he can stab them into the craigy stone wall and begin his ascent, the familiar tresses of Jaskier’s long golden hair topple down to reach him. Thank fuck, he’s still alive. 

“Jaskier! I thought I’d never see you again!” he calls as he grabs hold of the thick blonde strands. 

The thief climbs quickly, his arms and legs nearly cramping with the effort to hurry back to Jaskier. As he hauls himself through the large window and into the tower proper, however, he’s met with a confusing and unsettling sight: Jaskier stands across the room, a cloth gag pulled tightly between his teeth, his hands manacled together behind him. A short length of spare chain attached to the manacles keeps the frightened, struggling blonde tethered against one of the building’s thick support beams. Someone had knocked down a mirror or vase during the previous fighting; shards of pottery and silver lie scattered across the floor, working as a weak barrier to keep Geralt away from the bound man. Jaskier screams out in warning as their eyes meet: “Ghmphh!”

If Jaskier is being held captive then who let his hair do-

Before Geralt can finish fully forming his question, a bright flash of pain arcs out from his side and sends him toppling to his knees. A wet, sticky heat begins to spread from a spot beneath his ribs and when he presses his hand against his shirt it comes way red. 

Oh. Oh, no...

He hears Stregobor’s voice addressing the sobbing blonde, “Now look what you’ve done, Jaskier.”

Geralt collapses to his knees and then falls to his side, curling up in the fetal position and clutching at the wound as if that will be any help at all. He knows he’s doomed, but there must be some way for him to help Jaskier… to save his… his love. 

“Don’t worry, little flower, our secret will die with your little thief, here, and then we’ll be safe again. Just the two of us.”

Jaskier keens loudly and the sharp, desperate sound of it makes something deep in Geralt’s heart ache. The younger man pulls and yanks against the chains that hold him in place, his bare feet slipping against the polished floor as he tries and fails to reach the wounded Geralt. 

Stregobor yanks at the lead, pulling Jaskier back harshly by the arms. The young musician’s shoulders burn with the strain of it but Jaskier pulls forward anyway, uncaring. He must save Geralt, he must. The wizard tugs him back again, more roughly, and the jarring movement loosens his gag. He spits it from his mouth and cries out: “Stregobor! Strego- Father, listen to me!”

The wizard pauses, his interest piqued by Jaskier’s use of the word Father given the circumstances. “Yes, child?”

“Father,” Jaskier pants, turning to look at the man who’d held him captive for eighteen years. The man who kidnapped him from his cradle and forced him to grow up without the love of his real parents. The man who had, mere moments ago, stabbed the love of Jaskier’s life with the full intention of killing him. “I want you to know that I won’t stop fighting you. Every moment of every day for the rest of my life will be spent trying to get away from you. I will scream and kick and struggle and yell and you will have to keep me caged away as a bird or a mouse to make me stay by your side unless-” Jaskier pauses to take a breath, his shoulders sagging as his gaze drops submissively to the floor between them “-unless you let me save this man. Let me save Geralt’s life and I will follow you all around the Continent without a single word of complaint. I will never attempt to run away or hide from you, not once. Everything will go back to being exactly like it was before, Father, I swear on his life.”

Stregobor considers for a moment. 

He nods. 

“Alright, then. Let’s be quick about it, little flower.”

He removes the shackles from Jaskier and clamps them tightly around Geralt’s wrists instead, securing him to the bannister at the foot of the stairs. To keep him from following us, he remarks offhandedly. 

Jaskier pads his way across the floor as quickly as he can in his bare feet and falls to the ground at Geralt’s side. He pulls the wounded thief against his side to steady him and gathers two heavy handfuls of his own long hair. “I’m so sorry! Everything is going to be okay now, Geralt, I swear it.”

Geralt shoves his hands away weakly, “No, Jaskier.”

“You have to trust me, Geralt, I-”

“I c-can’t let you d-do this,” Geralt grunts, teeth gritted against the pain. 

Jaskier stares down at him, tears already gathering at the corners of his sky-blue eyes. His voice trembles when he whispers, “And I can’t let you die. I won’t let you die.”

“But if you do th-this then you-” Geralt coughs and Jaskier wipes a trickle of blood away from the corner of the thief’s mouth “-you will die.”

“Shh,” Jaskier quiets him, dropping one fistfull of blonde tresses to cup Geralt’s face instead. “Everything will be alright.”

Geralt smiles sadly up at Jaskier, his decision already having been made. He lets the back of his knuckles ghost across the musician’s peach-soft cheek. Jaskier’s eyes flutter shut for a moment and then open again, curious. “Jaskier, I…”

The thief uses the last of his strength to push up into a sitting position. The hand on Jaskier’s face slides back and gathers his hair at the back of his neck. Geralt’s other hand comes up, a shard of glass gripped tightly in his fist, and slices through the long blonde strands. He watches as Jaskier’s hair turns from radiant gold to chestnut brown. Geralt falls back with a short, sharp sound of agony, his vision already fading around the edges. The shard of mirror, dagger-sharp around the edges, clatters to the ground beside Jaskier. 

“No!” Stregobor screams, gathering up an armful of Jaskier’s still-blonde hair. The golden hue is already fading, shifting to match the short brown hair still fluffed around his head. The lost prince watches with wide, horrified eyes as the wizard trips over a loose floorboard and goes careening out the open window. 

More worrying than his kidnapper’s death, however, is the man lying in his arms, breathing shallowly. Jaskier gathers Geralt close, tucking the thief’s head against his neck and wrapping his arms around the older man’s broad shoulders. “No, no, no, no, Geralt. Stay with me, okay? Stay with me, right here.”

He grabbed at Geralt’s hand, holding it against the top of his head as he sang desperately. “Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine, make the clock reverse, bring back was once was mi-”

“Jaskier!” Geralt says, pulling his hand down to cup the prince’s face. He can feel his limbs growing cold and numb, distant from him and out of his control. “You… You were my new dream.”

Jaskier sobs, clinging to Geralt with all he’s worth. “And you were mine.”

Geralt manages to smile up into those beautiful blue eyes one last time. And then the world goes dark and his hand falls to the floor, limp.

---

Jaskier buries his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck and screams. He throws back his head and howls like a wounded animal, his heart shattering to pieces within the confines of his chest cavity. Then he quiets himself down, adjusts Geralt’s body on his lap, and finishes the song the way he’s been taught to do: “Heal what has been hurt, change the Fates’ design, save what has been lost… bring back what once was mine.”

A single tear falls from his eye and lands on Geralt’s cheek. A cheek that will never blush again, never turn up in a smile, never-

A faint yellow glow catches Jaskier’s vision, just from the corner of his eye. He turns his head to look at Geralt’s wound and gasps: the outline of a golden flower covers his abdomen, glowing so brightly that Jaskier must hide his eyes and turn away to keep from being blinded. When the glow fades enough that can safely look back again, Geralt’s wound is gone and the blood that was once staining his jerkin has disappeared. 

He leans over the white-haired thief with bated breath, waiting for a movement or a breath or something… anything. 

After a long moment, two honey-hazel eyes blink open. Geralt inhales quietly and then asks, with the sweetest smile Jaskier has ever seen in all his eighteen years of life, “Did I ever tell you I had a thing for brunettes?”

Jaskier squeals with glee and throws himself into Geralt’s waiting arms, pressing their eager mouths together for the first kiss of their Happily Ever After. 

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Not Scared

do i have other prompts and ideas that i ignored to do this? yep. am i doing this to procrastinate doing my psych final? hell yeah. have some good ole geralt projection and dont @ me lmaooooo

Warnings: geraskier, big sad geralt - alludes to past manipulative relationships/how society at large treats witchers, crying jaskier, emotionally illiterate geralt lmao, could be read platonic or romantic

_________________

Geralt frowned when Jaskier called him ‘his witcher’ to the innkeeper. He didn’t want to belong to anyone, as much as he’d been desperate for it when he was younger. He had agency on his own, for the most part, and no symbiotic relationship was ever going to have enough benefits to make him give that up.

But Jaskier wanted him.

He wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted him as a trophy, or a muse, or a bodyguard, he just knew he was wanted and he didn’t know why. The uncertainty made him nervous. 

When they made it up to their room, Geralt was still frowning, but now it was because he was thinking too hard. 

“You’re upset. Why?” Jaskier tossed his pack on the bed and set his lute down before turning to him with his hands on his hips and a tired expression. 

“Not upset.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes, his response dripping with sarcasm, “Yes. And I have massive bouncing breasts!”

Geralt gave him a wry smile as he set his own bags down, “Really? How do you fit them in your doublets?” 

“What’s wrong?” Jaskier’s lips didn’t even twitch towards a smile. Usually he found Geralt’s sarcasm ‘refreshing and delightfully dark’. 

Busying himself with unpacking, Geralt grunted, “It’s nothing.”

“For fuck’s sake Geralt! I swear to Melitelle, I am not scared of you. According to you I’m the only human who isn’t scared of you. Will you fucking let me in?! Please!?” 

Geralt paused for a moment, still bent over his pack, before he stood and turned to face Jaskier, “Why?”

Jaskier had the gal to look offended, crossing his arms over his chest and shifting his weight back, “Wh- Why?! Because I thought after a year of travel together we would be friends at the least! Because I just want to see if I can help you? Because I want to make sure you’re okay? Because I want to fucking know what’s wrong with my behavior this time?!”

He didn’t process this all at once, no. Little bits landed at a time as Geralt stood there with his head tilted to the side and a look of confusion on his face. This was new and he couldn’t decide if he needed to be outright angry or defensive.

Finally, Jaskier couldn’t stand the silence anymore, “I’m not scared of you. You don’t have to hide from me.”

Geralt swallowed hard, fighting the little voice in the back of his head to run, “That. That’s why.” 

Jaskier froze, probably from shock that Geralt actually responded, “You want me to be scared of you?”

“No,” Geralt snapped, rubbing a hand over his face and frantically searching for the words, “I- people don’t want to be near me.”

“Yes, you go on and on about the whole witcher nonse-”

“No. That’s not what I mean,” Geralt held up a hand mainly to buy himself time to iron out his sentence. When he finally figured it out his voice was all but inaudible and sounded far too small to be coming out of his own mouth, “The… the only people who aren’t been scared of me want to use me. I don’t want to be used anymore.”

Geralt looked at the floor, waiting for Jaskier to get angry or start on a rant. It never came. He didn’t hear anything for seconds that dragged on like eons. 

When he looked up there were tears on Jaskier’s cheeks and his arms were uncrossed. He took a hesitant step closer, holding out his hand, “I don’t want to use you,” he whispered. 

Geralt glanced at his hand then back at him, “Then… why?” 

Jaskier smiled sadly and a fresh wave of tears fell from his eyes, “I like your presence. And humor and how much you care and the way you talk to Roach. I’m not going to use you. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” 

Hesitantly, Geralt reached out and took Jaskier’s hand, feeling a little tug behind his eyes that he hadn’t felt in years as he whispered, “I don’t remember what that’s like...” 

Jaskier squeezed his hand, “I’ll remind you. It’s not as scary as you think.”

“M’not scared,” Geralt grunted. 

Jaskier nodded, his smile getting closer to his usual cheerful expression, “Of course not, darling… Of course not…” 

[dat-carovieh]

To the coast?

Ship: Geraskier

Rating: T

Wordcount: 2.8k

Tags: Fix-It, hurt Jaskier, emotionally constipated Geralt - apologies, Post Mountain

Read on AO3

“If life could give me one blessing it would be to take you off my hands.“ Geralt turned around and walked some steps away. Jaskier’s lips were trembling. Twenty years of friendship and then he had to hear something like that. He had no idea how to react. Was that really how Geralt felt about him?

“Right. Uh…” He pressed his lips together thinking about what to say next.

“Right, then. I’ll… I’ll go get the rest of the story from the others.” At least, Geralt wasn’t looking at him and couldn’t see his pained face and his desperate attempt to hold back tears.

“See you around, Geralt.” A last desperate attempt to get him to say something else to him. Something that wouldn’t break his heart more. He waited a couple more seconds, before turning around and walking away.

He went to grab his lute and made his way back down the mountain. It would be a shitty travel on his own. He had only little a coin and no food, basically just his lute. But he would manage, he had always managed somehow.

Only normally when he was traveling alone, he didn’t just have his heart ripped out and stomped on. It hurt so much, he had trouble walking upright. He would not talk with the others. The story wasn’t that important. If he really needed a new song, he would just make something up. As if Geralt would care. He had made it extremely clear; he didn’t care about him at all.

What a fool he had been, falling in love with a Witcher, having hopes, his feelings could be returned. He had always believed it wasn’t true, what people said about Witchers and emotions but apparently it was true, Geralt had none. Except maybe anger and annoyance.

“Fuck,” Geralt muttered and pressed his lips together. He didn’t mean to shout at Jaskier. He had been angry but it was not the bard’s fault. He quickly turned around, he had to get to Jaskier. He couldn’t see the bard anymore. Hopefully if he was quick enough, he could reach him, before he was to far away to be found. Quickly Geralt gathered his stuff and walked down the path leading down from the mountain. He ignored the shouts asking him, where he was going. These people were not important. In the distance he could see something red. It had to be Jaskier. Geralt started running and shouting his name, but there was no reaction. The bard just kept walking, but he wasn’t fast so Geralt reached him quickly.

“Jaskier, please wait,” he said after arriving next to him and falling into pace. But Jaskier just kept starring down the path and walked. Geralt could see his whole body shaking.

“Jaskier, please,” he completely ignored his pride. He had hurt his bard and he had to make it right again. But Jaskier still acted as if he couldn’t hear or see him. He jumped in front of the bard and grabbed him by the shoulders.

Finally, Jaskier showed some kind of a reaction. At least he stopped walking. Mostly because it’s hard, when a Witcher is standing in front of you, holding your shoulders. But he kept starring past Geralt.

“Okay, you don’t have to acknowledge my existence, I probably deserve it. Just listen to me. I’m sorry, I snapped at you. I didn’t mean any of it, I was angry and it was not your fault.” Jaskier actually shifted his gaze and looked at him. Geralt felt a little relieved. Finally he got a reaction and he felt like Jaskier was least listening to him.

“I know, I always said, that you were not my friend, but that’s not true and I know, you know that. You are my best friend and the only one who was always there for me without expecting anything in return. Please accept my apology,” he was actually pleading. He couldn’t believe it himself, but he couldn’t lose the only human who had ever cared for him.

Jaskier was shaking more than before and suddenly he vanished under Geralt hands. He had fallen onto his knees and was now kneeling on the ground. A second later Geralt was also on his knees, looking the shaking bard in the eyes. He had pressed his lips together and looked extremely tense. Without warning, Jaskier burst into tears. Shit, Geralt had no idea how to deal with a crying person or why Jaskier was even crying right now.

“Did I say something wrong again? I’m sorry, please tell me,” he was pleading again. Humans were so complicated and he normally didn’t care why they reacted a certain way. Usually he didn’t care about them but Jaskier was different. Awkwardly he patted his shoulder. Jaskier snuffled and wiped his tears of his face.

“You are an absolute asshole, Geralt of Rivia,” Jaskier said. Tears where still running down his face, but at least less rapidly.

“Fair enough,” Geralt answered and nodded.

“Why are you doing that to me? First you shout at me, send me away, make me feel like I’m worthless and the last twenty years meant nothing and then suddenly you come running after me telling me you’re sorry. Maybe Witchers don’t have feelings, but humans do.” He was clearly angry and Geralt couldn’t deny that he was right. He looked to the ground, not able to look Jaskier in the eyes.

“It’s not true,” he whispered “, we have feelings.” He had never said that out loud, never admitted it in front of anyone else, barely admitted it to himself. But it was true, Witchers didn’t get rid of their emotions, they just learned to hide them, lock them away and to not let them rule them. But sometimes that didn’t work.

Jaskier sniffled a bit, then leaped forward and hugged Geralt. Geralt awkwardly patted Jaskier’s back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please forgive me.”

“Just don’t do that again. Not like that.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

After the bard had collected himself, Geralt was able to pull Jaskier off the ground again, and they walked side by side down the mountain. Jaskier was awfully quiet the whole time and Geralt didn’t like that. It was to out of character for him. Hopefully his friend would soon be back to his old self.

Not too much later they finally reached the place where they had left Roach and Jaskier suddenly ran up to her and petted her head.

“Hello girl, so good to see you again,” he said and as an answer, Roach’s soft muzzle bumped into his face which made the bard laugh. Geralt was standing a couple of steps behind them, just observing. It was good, to see Jaskier laugh again and also talk, even if it was just to the horse. He stepped closer and looked at Jaskier.

“So, the coast?” he asked softly. Jaskier looked at him surprised.

“You were actually listening to me?”

“I do that quite a lot, I just don’t always answer.”

“Yes, to the coast. It would be nice, we could get a little break, because I think we both need it. And don’t tell me you don’t. The way you were yelling. You are so full of tension; you need to relax and I mean more then a bath or meaningless sex with a whore.” Jaskier explained. Geralt nodded, maybe Jaskier was right, maybe he really needed a break. He pushed Jaskier up to the horse, before he got up himself. Jaskier inched closer to him and wrapped his arms around Geralt’s waist. It was warm and felt quite good, Geralt had to admit, as Roach started to walk.

-------

It took them some time to reach the coast. They stayed in a couple of inns on their way. Jaskier was able to make some money, playing his songs so they could afford a room and some food everyday. Thanks to Geralt and the songs, he had written about him, he had become quite famous over the years and he was able to make much more coin with his music then before they had met. When they finally arrived, they decided to stay out of the town, just make camp somewhere quiet. It was a beautiful place, a sandy beach just in front of the sea and some woods behind them. They had pitched a tent just at the border. It was much nicer, than being in town in an inn. Sure some luxuries were missing, but at least no one spat or shouted at them. Jaskier might have helped Geralt’s reputation a lot, but there were still enough people who just hated Witchers.

Geralt still had no clue that Jaskier was in love with him, but it didn’t really matter, as long as he could be with him. He was sitting on the sand, looking out to the sea and strumming his lute, singing a song he had composed during the dragon hunt. A love song, obviously. He had called it ‘Her sweet kiss’. It was about Geralt, Yennefer and him, obviously, about how he felt. Yennefer was not good for Geralt. He of course had noticed that Geralt had been in Yennefer’s tent that one night, of course he had been jealous. But now Geralt was here with him and not with Yennefer. But still, it was a good song, he would absolutely sing that when he would perform the next time. Just had to work out some last flaws.

“It’s a nice song,” he heard Geralt say gently from behind, before the Witcher sat down next to him. “Who is it about?”

Jaskier looked at Geralt and sighed. Unbelievable how oblivious that man could be. He decided not to answer that, just looked down to his lute again and continued playing. Geralt didn’t push it any further. Jaskier had written a lot of love songs in the past years, nearly all of them about Geralt, and not once had the Witcher realized it. But at least he was with him right now, he was just sitting by his side, staring out to the sea. Jaskier put his lute down and looked at Geralt. He could make out a small smile on the Witchers face. He seemed relaxed. This trip was so good for the both of them. Jaskier just wished he could lean against Geralt’s shoulder right now. It would make the moment perfect.

“Are you in love, Jaskier?” Geralt suddenly asked, looking back at the bard. Jaskier could feel the heat in his cheeks, quickly looked away and took his lute back in his hands. “Mhm,” he just answered. Probably enough to be interpreted as a yes but who knew with Geralt.

“I’ll leave you to your composing,” Geralt said and got up, briefly putting his hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. The warmth of his hand lingered much longer then the hand had been there.

Geralt returned to the tent deep in thought. They’d been here for a couple of days and he had enjoyed it more then anything he’d done in the last years. He felt like something was missing, something that would make him truly happy, he just couldn’t figure out, what it was. He looked back at Jaskier, a dark shape against the setting sun. Seeing him made him feel somehow warm. He felt like there was something, he should be noticing about the bard, but he didn’t know what it was. He decided to get a fire going since it was starting to get dark.

They were sitting at the fire, had just finished eating a rabbit that Geralt had caught in the forest. The fire was nice and warm and Geralt was watching Jaskier who once again was playing this song, he had been working on for a couple of days now. He realized, Jaskier was looking at him the whole time, a little smile on his face but also a bit of sadness. Suddenly something clicked into place and Geralt’s jaw dropped.

“Jaskier, are you in love with me?”, he asked, before he could think about it. Jaskier played a dissonant note and went silent. The smile had vanished, only the sadness stayed.

“Have been for the last two decades, but thanks for noticing,” he answered. Geralt was not sure how to react to that. Suddenly everything made so much more sense. Jaskier’s total breakdown after Geralt had yelled at him, this little sadness he was sensing, even when Jaskier seemed happy, all these love songs he had composed in the past years.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

“Yeah, that’s not exactly the reaction I was hoping for,” Jaskier answered. Without knowing why he did it, Geralt got up and went over to the bard, sitting down next to him and looking him in the eyes. The blue eyes were filled with longing, hope and fear. Geralt raised a hand and placed it gently on Jaskier’s cheek.

“Don’t play with my feelings, Geralt,” Jaskier warned him. “Because I don’t know if I could forgive you for that.”

“I think I might be in love with you, too”, Geralt explained, after more pieces were falling into place in his head. Suddenly understanding why, he had felt like he did, when Jaskier was smiling at him, when he was sitting behind him on Roach and hugging him, when he was singing and also when he was not there.

“You think?” Jaskier asked, pulling back a little.

“I’ve never been in love before, not really. I’m not really supposed to have emotions like that, remember?” Geralt explained. Jaskier cocked his head a little, then gently grabbed Geralt’s face with both of his hands and leaned his forehead against Geralt’s.

“What do you feel now?”, he whispered. Geralt had his eyes closed and looked calm and relaxed.

“I feel warm, and safe, and…” he seemed to really think about it, “…happy, I think.” Jaskier was shaking a little. They had been close before. Especially when sitting on Roach together and he would be pressed against Geralt’s back, his arms around his waist. But this was different, much more intimate. He felt so overwhelmed by his feelings, love as well as fear. He could hear Geralt breathing and in the background the sea, while he just waited.

“Can I kiss you?”, Geralt asked, unsure if that was the right thing to say right now.

“Yes,” Jaskier whispered in response and he felt a soft hand against his face. In the next moment a pair of lips were on his own. He could just hope that Geralt meant it and wouldn’t realize that was a mistake. But even then, he would always remember that moment.

They pulled back again and Jaskier turned back to the fire, deep in thought. Geralt moved a bit and sat down behind Jaskier, pulling the bard between his legs hugging him. Jaskier allowed him to do that and leaned back. Geralt’s hands couldn’t stay idle and started playing with Jaskier’s hair, stroking it, twisting it around his fingers. Until he realized Jaskier must have fallen asleep. He didn’t want to wake him and the night was mild so he just laid down where they were and pulled Jaskier with him. He actually felt safe, lying here, his bard in his arms and he quickly fell asleep too.

When he woke up the first thing, he noticed was the warmth in front of him missing. He wondered if it had just been a dream, that they had fallen asleep together in front of the fire. He opened his eyes and realized that he was laying exactly where he remembered falling asleep, but he was alone. The fire had gone out. He felt scared for a moment, that Jaskier had realized, it had been a mistake. Because now he was certain, he was in love. He just hoped it wasn’t to late. He got up and turned around. The moment he spotted Jaskier standing on the beach, half way to the sea, he relaxed. He hurried to walk over to him. Jaskier turned to him and gave him a bright smile, which made him incredibly happy in an instant, he could just smile back. Jaskier walked up to him, pulled his head closer and kissed him. Geralt wrapped his arms around the bard and pulled the body against his.

“I love you,” Geralt said, now much more certain then the day before.

“Are you sure?” Jaskier asked.

“Absolutely,” he answered. Jaskier laughed and jumped at him so unexpectedly, Geralt fell backwards in the sand. Geralt now also laughed, pulling Jaskier, who was lying on top of him into a hug.

“Gosh, I didn’t know that you could actually laugh. You should do that more often, it’s beautiful,” Jaskier said, looking at him in awe, before leaning down to kiss him again.

[lesdemonium]

Error Pining

Rating: T Ship: Geraskier Word Count: 2750 Summary:   When his djinn wish goes wrong, Jaskier finds himself unable to speak without excruciating pain. Geralt tries to fill the space himself. AN: a gift exchange fic written for @smuggsy for @thewitchersecretsanta. thanks so much for giving me an excuse to write physical whump for jaskier!

read on ao3  Before their argument, Geralt had been hazy, unfocused, and in dire need of sleep. He was still in dire need of rest, but now every sense was on high alert. The smell of blood and pain was so sharp, so strong, it left a metallic taste in his mouth and he just barely resisted the urge to try to clear his tongue of it. His eyes went wide, wild, as he tried to find the source of the blood. In a distant sort of way, he registered that he had been cut in their scuffle, but it wasn’t his blood he smelled. It was Jaskier’s.

Jaskier was doubled over, clutching at his neck, the djinn bottle long forgotten on the ground. His eyes met Geralt’s and he opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out before he was blinking away tears and dry heaving onto the ground. The hand around his throat was so tight Geralt wondered at how he could breathe, had a wild thought that maybe it was Jaskier’s own hand that was causing his scent to spike in pain and fear.

“Jaskier, what’s happened?” Geralt asked, bending over and hauling Jaskier back up by the collar of his doublet. Jaskier went, and when he tried to speak again, only a weak whimper came out before his face contorted in pain. His hands scrabbled at his throat and his eyes were so wide Geralt felt like all he could see was white, white, white.

“We’ll fix this, whatever it is,” Geralt promised him. Jaskier nodded weakly back.

They made it to the elf, Chireadan, who was less help than Geralt was hoping for. He asked Jaskier questions, and every time Jaskier attempted to answer, the same bitter taste of blood and pain and fear settled heavily within Geralt. The third time it happened, Geralt nearly punched Chireadan. Couldn’t he see this was hurting Jaskier?

“He can’t talk,” Chireadan finally settled on, and the look Geralt gave him must have been murderous, because he took a step back when their eyes met. “I can’t tell you more than that. Its origin is magical, and I have nothing that can reverse it. Something is ripping apart his throat whenever he talks.”

Jaskier let out a muffled hum, a desperate sound, that soon choked out and was replaced with the heavy scent of blood. 

“Sounds like not only when he talks,” Geralt said, and Chireadan’s grimace seemed to agree.

They were sent to a witch, Yennefer, but she wasn’t much help, either. She tried through the night, with Jaskier in a deep sleep, but when he awoke, nothing had changed. 

“I can’t do anything until you open your mouth to speak, bard,” Yennefer told them, and to her credit, she did look at least a bit remorseful. Or perhaps simply annoyed her magic couldn’t solve it. “Since I highly doubt you want to be singing as I fix you, there’s not much I can do for you.”

“Then how do we fix this?” Geralt asked, his voice tight.

Yennefer smiled and patted Jaskier’s hand condescendingly. “Have you considered a vocational change?”

They left, Jaskier silent and mourning beside Geralt. Yennefer’s advice was to track down another djinn, as Jaskier was unable to make the wish himself. Geralt thought this was a fool’s errand, and that Vesemir would be more help.

“I’m sorry, Jaskier,” Geralt said as they laid down to sleep that night.

Jaskier’s response was to turn over and go to sleep.

--

Traveling with a silent Jaskier was difficult for both of them. Every time Geralt looked at Jaskier, he seemed dimmer. At first, he still played his lute, but as they continued to travel and Jaskier’s throat continued to rip itself apart whenever he made even the softest hum, even that seemed to lose appeal to the bard. In taverns, Jaskier stared down at his mug, surviving the evening until he could turn in.

Geralt found he missed the sound. The silence beside him was uncomfortable, and made Geralt feel hollow. This felt as if it was his fault, as if he was the one hurting Jaskier whenever he made a sound. If he hadn’t been looking for the Djinn in the first place, Jaskier’s wish wouldn’t have backfired, and now Geralt wouldn’t have become acquainted with Jaskier’s forlorn face.

It took three days for Geralt to start talking, instead.

“Did I ever tell you about the griffin I fought outside Carrera?” Geralt said, offhand, as they traveled one day. 

He chanced a glance at Jaskier, only to find the bard staring back at him, a curious expression on Jaskier’s face. Jaskier’s lips were pressed tightly together, as if he was trying to remind himself not to speak up, and he squinted at Geralt. He looked almost suspicious. Geralt didn’t blame him. It wasn’t often that Geralt offered up his stories without a request, but Jaskier deserved something, and Geralt couldn't take the silence anymore.

So he told the tale, sparing no detail. At some point, Jaskier took out a notebook, and furiously scribbled the tale down. Often, Geralt had to stop, think about what sort of questions Jaskier would normally ask him, and try to answer them on his own. By the end of his tale, Jaskier was smiling. Despite his discomfort, Geralt smiled back. The remainder of the day was easier to bear.

As they traveled, Geralt told Jaskier of his contracts, as many as he could think of that Jaskier hadn’t already been there for. When he couldn’t think of a new story, he explained to Jaskier the difference between the vampire types, or the exact effects Swallow had on him. He felt silly, like he was play-acting as a professor, but it made the time go by faster. It also made Jaskier lighter, brighter, and eased something inside Geralt.

At night, when they were safely at camp, Jaskier began to play his lute again. Initially, they were the same songs Geralt had heard before. Jaskier’s songs, famous ballads written by other bards, lively drinking songs. As their travel wore on, though, Geralt began to hear songs he had never heard before. Soft, mournful things. Jaskier never met Geralt’s eye when he played these songs, but he did sit close to Geralt, so close that sometimes their arms would brush as Jaskier shifted up and down his lute. Geralt liked these songs best. He hoped, one day, he would get to hear Jaskier sing them.

These nights made Geralt brave.

“I ran into Eskel here, once,” he said. Jaskier didn’t stop playing, but he did look up, his eyes wide, his face open. “I don’t cross paths with the other witchers as much as I would like. You would like Eskel. He plays nice far better than I could. Doesn’t need a bard around to keep him in line around nobles.”

Jaskier bumped Geralt’s shoulder and they shared a grin. Geralt turned his gaze back to the fire and took a deep breath, but a moment later Jaskier nudged him again, this time with his knee.

“Yes, okay,” Geralt said, nodding. “I’ll go on. We were in the trials together. He’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to family.” Until now, his mind helpfully supplied. Geralt cleared his throat, as if to smother the thought. “You really would like him. He’s… thoughtful. Polite. Keeps his temper better. A better witcher, too. He’d make a better subject for your songs.”

Jaskier stopped playing abruptly. He placed his lute gingerly back in its case, then leaned into Geralt’s side. His arm snaked around Geralt’s, intertwining them before he fit their fingers together. Like they belonged there. Like their hands had always been meant to hold each other.

When Geralt looked up, his mouth felt dry. Jaskier’s eyes were so big, so beautiful, and he felt like he could see everything Jaskier couldn’t say in them. Geralt swallowed, heavily, and tried to speak for them himself.

“I’m.” He paused, wet his lips, tried again. “I’m glad you’re here. You make it easier. I feel less… alone.”

Geralt looked away, now. Back at the fire. Jaskier didn’t nudge him back this time, and didn't try to get his attention. Instead, he hesitated only a second--Geralt could feel the way he started, then stopped, then started again--and rested his head on Geralt’s shoulder. They stayed like that until Jaskier’s yawns could no longer be ignored, and they had to turn in for the night.

--

Geralt missed Jaskier’s voice most in the morning.

It was no secret that Jaskier was terrible when he first woke up. Grouchy, whiny, wheedling every which way. He hated mornings and he hated getting up early and would always be dead to the world for the first hour or so that he was awake.

Despite this, he always wished Geralt a good morning, even if it was gruff and his smile was more of a grimace. As he started to wake up, he’d often tell Geralt about his more ridiculous dreams. Often, Geralt was sure he had fabricated them entirely, just to make Geralt roll his eyes.

Now, Jaskier always woke up in pain. He’d groan first thing in the morning, or whine, or make some other sort of noise, and immediately his entire body would seize up in pain. Geralt had gotten softer in his approach to waking Jaskier up, trying to ease him into consciousness, to avoid the pain. It worked sometimes, but Jaskier was still too hazy upon first waking to remember why he couldn’t make noise. Then his eyes would fill with unshed tears as he desperately held out his hand for the waterskin. It didn’t seem to help, but at least it was an action Jaskier could take.

They survived. Hearing Jaskier’s silence never got easier, still left Geralt feeling hollow, but it became easier to fill the silences himself. Jaskier got better at expressing himself through the way he touched Geralt. Geralt had a feeling that had never been a skill Jaskier lacked, per se, but that he had only recently been allowed to touch Geralt. Now, he was taking his fill.

Geralt wondered how much time he had lost without Jaskier’s easy affection.

To get Geralt’s attention, Jaskier would grab his knee as Geralt road Roach, or press a hand between Geralt’s shoulder blades. He fingered Geralt’s sleeve nervously when they were in taverns and he had nothing to do with his hands. He would take Geralt’s hand as they walked through a crowd so they didn’t lose each other.

Geralt’s favorite touches, though, were still in front of their campfire. The trees around them, the stars in the night sky, the light of the fire and the way it crackled, all of it was beautiful, but it was nothing compared to the way Jaskier leaned against Geralt. Jaskier pressed himself into Geralt’s side, often allowing Geralt to wrap his arm around Jaskier’s shoulder or waist. Jaskier would play his lute, would play his soft, lovely songs, that had grown more hopeful as time went on. Geralt would tell Jaskier stories about growing up, about trouble he, Lambert, Eskel, the other wolves, had gotten into. He told Jaskier about the trials and let Jaskier comb his fingers through Geralt’s hair to comfort him, though Geralt insisted he didn’t need comforting. He told Jaskier about Renfri, about Blaviken, about his mother. Geralt told Jaskier everything.

Everything except about the way his heart hammered in his chest as Jaskier looked at him. Everything except how he sometimes dreamed of Jaskier’s voice, and woke up with a longing he couldn’t put to words. Everything except how he wanted, more than anything, to kiss Jaskier, but couldn’t be sure what Jaskier wanted.

“Can I… be honest with you?” Geralt asked one night. 

Jaskier turned to him just enough to roll his eyes at Geralt. As if Jaskier could stop him, the look seemed to say. Jaskier turned back to his lute, but his playing got softer, as if he was trying to give Geralt the space to speak.

“Right,” Geralt said. He paused, took a deep breath, rubbed the hem of Jaskier’s shirt between his fingers. “I don’t. I don’t know if Vesemir can help.”

Jaskier stopped playing and stiffened somewhat. But he didn’t turn around, didn’t put his lute down. Only stopped and waited.

Geralt swallowed thickly. “I hope he can. I think he’s our best bet. But, short of finding another djinn for me to make a wish… I don’t know how fixable this is. Unless we went back to Yennefer and had her heal you while you sing--” Jaskier let out a shiver and the stench of fear overwhelmed Geralt. “I know. It’s not good. But I don’t know how else to fix you if Vesemir has no ideas.”

Jaskier took a deep breath. He remained stiff against Geralt, but now he started playing again. His song was sad, mournful again, and Geralt’s heart ached with it. He wished, more than anything, that he could fix this.

“I’m not giving up,” Geralt whispered, some time later. “We’ll find something else to try. We’ll fix this eventually.”

The sound Jaskier made wasn’t quite a scoff. It was more a sharp exhalation, dismissive and--maybe Geralt was reaching here--a bit wounded. Geralt lifted his hand, hesitated a moment, then ran his fingers through Jaskier’s hair. Jaskier leaned back into the motion, until his head fell back on Geralt’s shoulder.

“I mean it, Jask,” he said. His mouth felt dry again. “I miss your voice. I miss the lyrics that would go with your songs, even the ridiculous ones. I miss your jokes, your incessant complaining, the way you flirt with everyone and sometimes wink at me as you do it.”

Jaskier pulled away, and Geralt froze. Apparently, he had overstepped somewhere. He forced himself to look at Jaskier, but instead of discomfort or disgust, he found shock. Awe. Jaskier put his lute away, his fingers lingering on the clasps of his case, then he returned to Geralt’s side. After another moment of hesitation, Jaskier shifted, climbing over Geralt’s lap. Jaskier cradled Geralt’s face with feather-light touches as he leaned in, pressed their foreheads together.

“Jaskier, I--” Geralt started. 

Geralt trailed off, then wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s waist. He didn’t know how to accept this from Jaskier verbally, he didn’t know what to say, but he could hold him. Jaskier let out a relieved breath, and Geralt felt the gust of air against his lips. Geralt touched his fingers to the corner of Jaskier’s mouth. Jaskier pressed a hand to Geralt’s heart.

“You’re so much better at words than I am. I wish--” He trailed off again, thumbed along Jaskier’s cheekbone, held the back of his head. “You can’t tell me what you want.”

Jaskier’s breath sounded almost like a laugh, just before he leaned in to touch their lips together. The kiss was short, simply a way to test the waters. Jaskier pulled away, only for Geralt to drag him back in for more. Jaskier sighed into Geralt’s mouth and Geralt swallowed the sound, wished desperately he could hear more, wanted to see what all he could pull from Jaskier’s throat.

It was this thought that had Geralt pulling away. Jaskier’s eyes looked hazy, his smile dopey and big, as he stroked the side of Geralt’s face and his hair. He looked the happiest Geralt had seen him in months, since before the djinn had taken away his voice. Geralt kissed him again. And again. And again. Jaskier accepted every time.

“I wish you could talk. I want to hear your voice,” Geralt whispered into Jaskier’s mouth.

Jaskier whined a little, then reared back, just as Geralt flinched away, his arm suddenly burning. Jaskier’s hands flew to his throat and Geralt ripped back his sleeve to see a second mark, just beside the long-forgotten injury he had gotten when they squabbled over the amphora. Geralt’s eyebrows furrowed as he considered the mark, wondered after what in the world caused it, only for his focus to be dragged away by Jaskier.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, and his face broke out into the most brilliant grin. “What--I can talk again. It doesn’t hurt at all!”

Jaskier was still laughing as he dragged Geralt in for another kiss, which Geralt readily accepted. This time, he didn’t hold back any of his sounds. Each one was more beautiful than the last.

[jaskierswolf]

Fuck Indeed 4/4

A Geraskier OnlyFans story

Part 1, 2, 3, - AO3

CW (for whole story): 18+ only, anal sex, masturbation, exhibition kink, sex work, rimming, sex toys, talks of blow jobs, Geralt bottoms but it’s mentioned they switch, biting (but no blood), Jaskier wearing lingerie and makeup.

Geralt was pretty sure he was dreaming. It felt like a dream. Dandelion, or Jaskier as he now knew him as, was sitting on his bed. It wasn’t particularly sexy, not yet anyway. Jaskier was wearing a baggy old hoody and shorts. He was wearing a pair of thick rimmed glasses and he looked… well he looked like he belonged there, which was really fucking with Geralt’s head. Didn’t he hate Dandelion? Weren’t they rivals?

Except that had all been in Geralt’s head.

Jaskier had genuinely been thrilled to meet him, and it was clear that the younger man found him attractive. The bitter feeling of hate in Geralt’s chest suddenly didn’t seem quite like hate anymore. If anything, it was the opposite, but that couldn’t be possible. They’d only met a handful of times in person. Geralt barely knew Jaskier outside of his videos, and tonight he would learn more about Dandelion in his videos too. They’d been through their boundaries and talked about different kinks they’d be willing to try, and occasionally the conversations had gotten off track. Jaskier would tell him about the songs he was working on for his next open mic night at the bar, Geralt would offer up a little fact about his cat, Roach, or they’d talk about Yennefer.

Geralt shook his head. He’d never expected to have a mutual friend with Jaskier, he supposed he should thank Yen really. She’d been too good to him.

“So… I’m fucking you, right?” Jaskier asked, pushing his glasses up his nose “Or did you want to save that for another video?”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “You can fuck me, and Jask?”

“Yes, darling?”

Geralt’s heart clenched at the pet name and he blushed. “Stop making this sound like you’re studying for a test,” he grumbled.

“Right, yes. Sorry. I’m just… I. I don’t know. Nervous?” Jaskier stammered “Bit different just masturbating… isn’t it?”

Geralt wasn’t sure. He hadn’t really thought about it, so he shrugged. “Did you want makeup for the video?”

Jaskier bit his lip, chewing on it before his tongue flicked out and swiped across his top lip. Geralt sighed. He hadn’t expected to be the calm one in this scenario but Jaskier had a lot of energy and a tendency to overthink things. So, Geralt sat next to him on the bed and, cupping the nape of Jaskier’s neck, pulled him into a soft kiss.

He’d expected their first kiss to be something more heated, panting and messy in the midst of fucking each other senseless, but this was something else entirely. Jaskier’s glasses pressed awkwardly into his cheek and he pulled back with a sheepish smile.

“Sorry,” Jaskier muttered and tucked them into Geralt’s bedside drawer. “So they won’t get in the shot,” he explained, and then pressed their lips together again.

It was gentle, almost tender. Jaskier practically melted against him, sighing happily into the kiss, and Geralt took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, still not the blazing fire he’d been expecting but still brought warmth to his chest, tingling across his skin.

When he pulled away, breathless and dazed, Jaskier was looking at him like he’d hung the moon and stars. He swallowed and brushed his thumb along Jaskier’s cheek. “Better?”

Jaskier nodded. “Much thanks, I’ll umm... go and get my makeup sorted. Can you set up the camera?”

Geralt nodded. It didn’t take long to set up but he was grateful for the distraction whilst Jaskier finished getting ready. They were saving his lingerie for a later shoot, and Geralt was keeping his leather straps for another day. It would be pretty vanilla, but they were getting to know each other.

They’d considered fucking before hand but Jaskier wanted it to be more genuine on film.

So the first time Geralt was going to have sex with Dandelion was in front of a camera. Not exactly the most romantic affair.

He scowled and pushed that thought from his mind. He didn’t need a romantic affair, they weren’t dating, they were barely friends… it was just sex, and they’d get paid for it.

Right?

Shit.

“Right, all done! Now where were we, darling?” Jaskier was leaning on the doorway. He’d changed into a sheer black shirt and booty shorts that were doing wonders for his arse. His eyeliner was rough and smudged, highlighting his eyes beautifully.

He was beautiful. God, he was so fucking beautiful. How had Geralt ever managed to convince himself that he hated Dandelion? It had been easier to think that at the time, but Geralt realised now that he’d been falling in love with Jaskier the whole time.

He nodded, a little dumbstruck by his epiphany. “I’ll get the camera,” he mumbled as Jaskier perched on the edge of his bed, looking far more comfortable now he was in costume. Geralt hit record and went to sit with him.

“Hello, darlings,” Jaskier greeted warming, as if he were about to read a bedtime story and not fuck Geralt. The thought made Geralt smirk, he would have laughed but he managed to restrain himself. He didn’t want to start their first joint video by laughing.

He had never laughed in a video before, unlike Jaskier who kept his light and breezy, an endless supply of charm that drove Geralt mad.

“Now, as you can see, I have company today. Wolf, sweetheart, say hello,” Jaskier cooed, his fingers lightly tracing along Geralt’s cheek. The touch tickled, barely there and gentle. Geralt wasn’t sure whether he’d realised he was doing it.

“Hi,” Geralt muttered, making Jaskier laugh. He rolled his eyes and ran his hand up Jaskier’s thigh.

“Don’t mind him, he’s just perpetually grumpy,” Jaskier sang to the camera, “luckily he’s easy on the eyes.”

“Dandelion,” Geralt growled.

“Patience, darling.”

Jaskier winked at him and then flashed a smile at the camera. They’d agreed that Geralt’s face would remain out of shot but Jaskier was quite happy to reveal his, making the blocking a little easier. Jaskier shifted on the bed and pushed Geralt back as he straddled him, his hands running up inside his shirt. “Now,” Jaskier purred “Let’s take this off shall we, it’s such a waste hiding that gorgeous body of yours.” Geralt’s shirt was pushed up but Jaskier got distracted kissing at his neck before they could remove the garment. Geralt closed his eyes, gripping Jaskier’s arse. It was firmer than he’d expected, more toned. Fuck, he’d known Jaskier was not weak but there was something about his energy that made you forget. He nipped at Geralt’s neck, a sharp pain that made Geralt moan softly. With Jaskier’s hips rolling against his cock it didn’t take him long to get hard.

Reluctantly he shoved Jaskier off his neck, shuffling so he could sit up. He yanked his shirt off and tugged at the hem of Jaskier’s, but the bastard swatted his hands away.

“Not yet,” Jaskier purred, crawling back off him and pulling Geralt up so he was kneeling up, displayed perfectly for the camera. “Isn’t he just gorgeous?”

Geralt felt his cheeks heat up at Jaskier’s praise. “Dandelion…” he groaned.

Jaskier pressed another kiss to his neck before moving behind him, hands tracing the lines of his abs, up to pinch his nipples. “So beautiful, and I’m the one that gets to touch you,” Jaskier purred in his ear, so low that Geralt wasn’t even sure whether the camera would pick it up.

He swallowed, arousal beginning to cloud his mind. There was something more about those words, private, just for them.

“Fuck.”

“All in due course, my love,” Jaskier said, brushing his hair from the back of his neck and pressing a kiss there. His hand reached down to cup Geralt’s cock in his pants. “Hard already, Wolf?”

“Hmm,”

“And all for me, lucky me,” Jaskier bit down on Geralt’s neck as he gripped Geralt’s erection. Geralt gasped, feeling Jaskier’s cock pressed against his arse. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the fire in his veins but it was no use. It had been bad enough imagining Dandelion in the room with him, but this was something else altogether.

“Get on with it,” he growled, but Jaskier seemed more than happy to take his time, biting bruises along his shoulders, pulling Geralt’s head back, fingers tangled in his hair. Every tug at his scalp sent shivers down his spine and he felt like putty in Jaskier’s capable hands.

“I could spend hours worshipping you, Wolf,” Jaskier said with a sigh “but not tonight. You’re getting impatient already.” Jaskier kissed Geralt’s neck just below his ear “Can I eat you out?”

“Fuck, yes…” Geralt breathed, heart pounding in his chest.

“On your back,” Jaskier hummed as he moved round to the front, blocking the view of the camera as Geralt shifted positions. It would probably be an awkward angle for the camera. Jaskier seemed to realise this at the same time and, placing a kiss to Geralt’s shoulder, moved to adjust the set up. He winked at the camera as he moved it “Wouldn’t want you to miss the view, darlings.”

Geralt took the opportunity to take his trousers off, leaving just his boxers. “Dandelion, you’re overdressed.”

“Nonsense, I’m exactly how I want to be,” Jaskier smirked and then crawled back onto the bed, pressing kisses up Geralt’s calves, on the inside of his knee and up his thighs, nipping gently as he reached the edge of Geralt’s underwear. He looked completely sinful, dark eyes gazing up at him in adoration, a flush on his cheeks. Geralt wanted to keep this moment forever, on the edge of something new, a fire burning bright between them.

“Fuck, you’re hot,” Geralt groaned.

“Oh, I know,” Jaskier nosed at his cock through his underwear. “Hmm… perhaps I should start with this?”

Geralt swallowed, unable to find the words to answer as visions of Jaskier’s mouth stretched out around his cock sprung to mind. It was almost irresistible, almost. It wasn’t in their plan for the video, and the promise of Jaskier’s tongue in his hole was too tempting, so he shook his head. “Not this time.”

Jaskier pouted up at him through his eyelashes. “Next time then,” he vowed, and pulled at Geralt’s underwear. Geralt grunted as he lifted his hips off the bed, his cock springing free finally, but that wasn’t what Jaskier was focused on. He wasted no time in spreading Geralt’s cheeks and pressing kisses around his rim, humming happily as if there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

“Fuck…” Geralt bit the inside of his cheek, Jaskier’s name almost escaping in the heat of the moment. “Dandelion,” he choked out instead.

Jaskier hummed again, licking gently, teasing… always fucking teasing. “Just… fuck,” Geralt moaned as Jaskier’s tongue delved deeper inside him. It had been years since someone had offered to do this for him. The pleasure was building with every kiss, every movement of Jaskier tongue. He was already a mess beneath him. “More.”

He heard Jaskier laugh, then the click of the lube bottle. “Alright, love.”

Even in his hazy state of arousal the nickname made his heart flutter a little faster. Jaskier had never used that towards the camera. That was just for Geralt. There were a lot of things that Jaskier had done today that were just for him. Geralt bucked his hips as Jaskier pressed a finger inside him, quicker than he’d been expected but it hadn’t hurt. “Shit…” he hissed.

“Good?” Jaskier hummed, looking up at Geralt with wide eyes, his lips were wet and there was spit on his chin. He looked like some kind of demon, tempting Geralt with his very existence. Geralt groaned and grabbed a fistful of Jaskier’s hair, pushing him back down. Jaskier moaned but quickly got back to work, using both his tongue and his fingers to open Geralt up. Geralt grunted under Jaskier’s touch until he couldn’t take it anymore. He needed more… he needed Jaskier’s cock.

“Dandelion,” he growled.

Jaskier pulled back. “Yes, love?”

“Just fuck me already.”

Jaskier smirked, instead of answering he licked a stripe up Geralt’s cock, kissing the tip. “If you’re sure?”

Geralt pulled Jaskier off, which only made him moan. The bastard clearly enjoyed being thrown around a bit. “Ah, yes, alright then.”

Jaskier licked his lips and flashed a seductive smile at the camera before pulling off his shorts, and Geralt’s mouth went dry. He wasn’t wearing any underwear…

“Fuck…”

Jaskier just winked. He dripped some more lube onto his palm before gripping his cock, stroking himself and watching Geralt with a smug smile. “Do you have any idea how fucking gorgeous you are?”

Geralt turned away from him, he knew, of course he did. He made porn videos for money… but knowing it and hearing the words from Jaskier, it was too much, and he wanted to keep hearing it. For as long as Jaskier wanted him.

“The most handsome, beautiful, pretty thing,” Jaskier cooed as he moved into position, pressing his cock against Geralt’s arse. He leant forward to capture Geralt’s lips in a kiss as he finally pushed inside. Geralt moaned into the kiss, fingers gripping onto Jaskier’s back. When Jaskier was fully seated inside him he stilled, letting Geralt adjust as they kissed, open mouthed messy breaths.

“Move,” Geralt gasped.

“Fuck,” Jaskier groaned and slowly pulled out, torturously, taking his sweet time.

Geralt groaned and buried his face in Jaskier shoulder, after a few leisurely thrusts, Geralt growled and bucked up against his lover. “I said move, Dandelion.”

Jaskier cursed again and bit at Geralt’s lip as the pace quickened. Every movement coursing pleasure through Geralt body until every inch of his skin felt alive, and he wasn’t sure which moans were his and which were Jaskier’s. They were one, moving with each other, Jaskier shifted slightly, his cock hitting Geralt’s prostate, shooting sparks through him.

“Shit,” Geralt gasped “Dand.. fuck.”

“I’ve got you, love,” Jaskier panted, and reached down to grip Geralt’s cock as he kept hitting that spot. It could have been seconds or hours later when Geralt’s vision blacked out and he came, a nameless guttural moan tearing from his throat. Jaskier keened and bit down on his shoulder before collapsing on top of him.

They were both sticky with sweat and Geralt’s cum but he couldn’t move, trapped beneath the surprising heavy weight of Jaskier, who was still moaning softly, shallow movements of his hips. “Fuck…”

Geralt hummed in agreement, hiding his face in Jaskier neck, but they couldn’t enjoy it for long. Jaskier always signed off his videos and today would not be the exception.

Jaskier let out a shaky breath as he rolled off Geralt, reaching for the camera. Geralt noted with pride that his hands were shaking. “Well, darlings… until next time.”

Geralt couldn’t see it but he knew Jaskier was winking at the camera. He always did. “Grab a cloth whilst you’re up.”

Jaskier groaned, falling backwards onto the bed at Geralt’s feet. “Not up, very much not up.”

“Grab a cloth… and I’ll kiss you,” Geralt bargained.

“I’ll kiss you, if you let me take you to dinner?” Jaskier sat up, blue eyes challenging him, brave, bold… but a glimmer of vulnerability.

Geralt smiled. “Deal.”

“And we get to do this again?” Jaskier added.

Geralt laughed and shook his head. “Too late, deals made.”

Jaskier’s looked horrified and crawled up to straddle his hips once more. “But… Geralt?”

Geralt grinned and pulled him down into kiss.

_____

Tag list: @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @slythnerd @hailhailsatan @thecomfortofoldstorries @gelos  @moonysourenza @frances-the-red @honeysuckletook @elliestormfound @sleepy-thief @artistsfuneral  @kittynannygaming @stinastar @fontegagrilledcheese @baka-yu @anythinggoesfandoms @veritasrose @trickstermoose67 @nonegenderleftpain @kueble @justjess94 @kozkaboi @wherethewordsare @bastardofmothman @dapandapod @damatris @mayastormborn @jaskierslastbraincell @dazedandinked @jaskierstark @bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher

[pillage-and-lute]

The Courting Ways of Wolves

This is Geralt struggling heavily with emotions. He’s a little dumb but he’s got the spirit. Fluff. Geraskier, platonic Yennalt and Yennskier with a healthy side order of Geralt’s brothers and Good Mom! Yennefer, who deserves all the nice things.

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Epilogue

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After the mountain, and finding Ciri, and tracking down Jaskier and Yennefer both, and dragging them up to Kaer Morhen, Geralt had looked forward to a nice, relaxing winter. His brothers and Vesemir would train Ciri, Yennefer, with whom he had come to an entirely platonic understanding, would recover from Sodden, and he had Jaskier back.

His apology had been poor, and he knew it, but Geralt had rescued him from the clutches of Nilfgaard and had bought him new lute strings and a notebook to boot. 

The strains of Her Sweet Kiss drifted through Kaer Morhen regularly, because his whole family, and yes, Ciri and Yennefer included, kept requesting that damn song. He hated it, Jaskier’s voice broke singing it and his scent was still sad, although less so than it had been the first few times Geralt had heard it.

Amazingly, the sadness had disappeared for the most part after one time, when Jaskier played the song after dinner, Yennefer had looked up from her book and said, cool as an icicle,

“For Melitele’s sake you melodramatic bastard, I’m not dating Geralt and I never want to again.” 

And now everyone seemed to want to hear it. Kaer Morhen’s training had not included music or poetry comprehension, so he was unsure why everyone kept looking at him oddly whenever the song was played. As far as he could tell, it was just another tragic love song. When Ciri started requesting Her Sweet Kiss after supper, and eyeing him while it played, he gave in. He cornered Eskel, the most book smart of the wolves beside Vesemir, who he suspected would be just a bit too acerbic, and asked him what was up. 

“He’s in love with you.”

“He’s not.”

“You’re an idiot,” Eskel said. “And a stubborn one to boot. He didn’t like Yennefer when you two were sleeping together, but they’re the friends now, right?”

“They’re not,” Geralt said, brow wrinkling. This was treading much too far into the realm of human emotions, which Geralt had never been good at, but they snarked at each other all the time still and bickered like children. Eskel rolled his eyes. 

“They are, its just sparring, but with words not swords. You see?” 

That made sense, words were Jaskier’s weapon, and Yennefer’s too, to some extent, and they did both seem to revel in creative insults.

“They’re friends,” Eskel said. “Now that Jaskier isn’t jealous anymore. Do you see where I’m going with this?” He could apparently tell from Geralt’s expression that, no, he did not know where Eskel was going with this. 

“Her Sweet Kiss is about Yennefer, who Jaskier thinks you love, and it’s about you, who Jaskier loves, and it’s about him, when he says ‘I’ as in “I am weak, my love’. My love is you, do you understand?”

It was dawning slowly in Geralt’s mind that he had definitely missed this, rather spectacularly, because now it was very, very obvious. He was glad he hadn’t gone to Vesemir, who would probably have given him a cuff ‘round the ear for being stupid, and it would have been deserved. 

Eskel, always so much better at reading emotions said, “Ah, you’ve got it, good. Now, what are you going to do about it.”

“I don’t know.” 

Eskel rolled his eyes so hard that Geralt hoped he detached a retina. “Of course you don’t.” His voice softened. Eskel had always been the one Geralt turned to for emotions. He knew Geralt didn’t get them, but wanted to understand and tried so hard that it hurt. Apart from a fair amount of good-natured ribbing, he always helped Geralt with the trickier bits of the human (or mutant) heart.

“Let’s start small, do you love the bard?”

That wasn’t small. That was a very, very big question, but Eskel had settled back in his chair and looked prepared to wait for Geralt to figure out the answer.

Did he love the bard? Geralt didn’t have anything to compare it to except Eskel and Lambert, and it certainly wasn’t like that. Except sometimes it was, like Eskel, Jaskier helped Geralt with reading when his head flipped the letters all around. Like Lambert, Jaskier fought anyone who insulted Geralt. But those were the actions of someone who loved Geralt, that was how Geralt could know (or could have known, if he’d been paying better attention) that Jaskier loved him. But how to know if Geralt loved Jaskier, not as a friend, but like a ballad, like the ‘my love’ in the song. But Geralt did love Jaskier like a ballad, because the songs always compared some lady to a bunch of other things. Geralt did that. He saw bright silks in a market and thought of Jaskier, if there were buttercups on the side of the road he thought of Jaskier, he heard a lute and thought of Jaskier, washed his hair and thought of Jaskier. Everything in his life made him think of Jaskier. 

And it wasn’t like seeing a goat headbut a farmer and thinking of Eskel and his goat from hell. It was also not the same as using a bomb and thinking of Lambert. Those were everyday things, as commonplace as thinking of Vesemir’s training. 

“I love him.”

“Yes,” Eskel said, “You really, really do. Now you just have to court him.” He sat back as if satisfied with a job well done. 

“Right, and how do I do that?” 

Eskel looked stumped. “I don’t know,” he said. Courting wasn’t part of the Kaer Morhen curriculum. 

“Do we ask Lambert?” Geralt asked, feeling a little panicky because now that he realized he loved the bard he wasn’t about to not court him.

“Of course not, he’s the least romantic bastard in existence,” Eskel said, rubbing a thumb over the scarred part of his lip.

“Not true, he reads romance novels,” Geralt said, proud to introduce this new and frankly hilarious bit of information.

“No.” Eskel’s eyes were wide.

“I found it in his pack last week, when I was looking for a sharpening stone, it had a picture of a lady in a torn dress and a shirtless man almost kissing, and the title said Tortured Hearts.”

“You’re pulling my leg.”

“I’m not,” Geralt said huffily, “I read a bit of a page too and it mentioned a lot of throbbing.”

Eskel cackled and, over come with mirth, fell from his chair. That set off Geralt and they both howled with laughter, wiping a few stray tears from their eyes when they heard the door creak open. 

It was Lambert.

That set Eskel off again, which made Geralt laugh too, and Lambert just stared at them. 

“Did you two get into the vodka again?”

“No,” Eskel said, righting himself in his chair, “We were just discussing your reading habits.”

Lambert turned pale, then pink, then pursed his lips and turned up his nose haughtily. “Shows what you two know about literature. It’s a fine way to pass the time.” His cheeks were still a bit pink.

“All jokes aside,” Geralt said, when he’d stopped snorting, “I need to know how to court the bard.”

“Ah, finally pulled your head from your arse then?”

“It was me that did the pulling,” Eskel said. Lambert sprawled onto the couch next to Geralt. 

“Of course you did,” he said. “What you gotta do,” he paused. “No that’ll never work.” Geralt scowled at him.

“No really,” Lambert said, “It’d never work.”

“Try me.”

“Lambert, c’mon, we’re really stumped,” said Eskel.

“Well...”

“Yes?” said Geralt, leaning towards him a little. 

“In the books the man always writes her a poem, to proclaim his love, you know? Or failing that he writes her a letter, all curly writing, maybe some pressed flowers.”

“Oh,” said Geralt.

“Oh,” said Eskel. “Yeah you’re right that’s really not gonna work.”

“Jaskier’s all courtly,” Geralt said. “So I should do it, you know, courtly.”

“Ciri’s royalty,” Lambert said. “She might know, and Yennefer spends a bunch of time with nobles. They could help.”

“You said his family’s kind of old fashioned,” said Eskel. “Vesemir’s really old too, so he can help.

And that was how everyone in Kaer Morhen, except Jaskier, who had been distracted by Vesemir showing him a room with a nice echo, met in the library to begin plan Court the Bard. Eskel was scribbling ideas onto a sheet of parchment. 

“You should kiss his hand,” Ciri said. “And say please and thank you.” She thought of her grandparents. “And tell him how beautiful he looks when he’s covered in blood.”

“Kill things for him,” Lambert chipped in. “Show’s him how big and strong you are, makes him feel safe.” A few curious eyes turned to him. He shifted uncomfortably. “One of the books was about a hunter and and a dairy maid. He killed a bear for her.”

“Always ask before you hold his hand or kiss him,” Vesemir said, seemingly unfazed by Lamberts reading habits. No reason he should be, Geralt thought, we all know he has a stack of romance novels by his bed. “Take it slow, Geralt, be patient, and put in the work, he was patient for twenty years, repay it now.”

Yennefer spoke up. “You don’t have to stop being sarcastic with him, he likes it, but compliment him too. Tell him how much you like his music. He likes music, so you like music because it makes him happy, understood?”

Geralt nodded.

“Good,” she said. “And dance with him. He’d like that. Also get him flowers.”

“Not just flowers, get him stuff,” Eskel said.

“I bought him lute strings and a notebook,” Geralt said.

Ciri wrinkled her nose. “Yeah but those were apology gifts, these are courting gifts.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Not much,” Yennefer said, “Lute strings and notebooks are good because they’re useful and they show that you know what he needs, but courting gifts should also be more...” she waved a hand vaguely, purple sparks twirling about her fingers.

“Romantic,” Eskel said.

“Pretty,” Ciri said firmly.

“They should be able to show you can provide for him,” Vesemir cut in.

At the end the list was short and confusing, but at least they had a plan. In the spring Ciri would go learn about magic with Yennefer, and Geralt’s heart swelled at the way they both glowed with excitement at the prospect. Geralt would then be back on the path alone with Jaskier and he could court him. 

The list said, in Eskel’s simple, neat hand, Number One, kiss his hand. Number Two, use manners. Number Three, compliment him (his music, his features, how he looks after a battle?) Number Four, kill things and bring them to him. Number Five, bring him gifts that aren’t dead things. There was an asterisk by number five and it said, gifts should be useful, romantic, pretty, and provide for him.

It wasn’t much, but it was a plan. 

That night at dinner Jaskier wondered why everyone kept looking at him and Geralt. He figured he had stew on his face, there was some in Geralt’s hair. Geralt wondered why Jaskier kept swiping his face with a napkin and why Ciri kept pointedly running fingers through her hair. 

He couldn’t figure out all of human emotions, but he was going to defeat courting, once and for all.

[king0fcrows]

My number of active fandoms has shrunk so much.

Five or six years ago, I had SPN, Teen Wolf, Hannibal, Doctor Who, MCU, basically anything that was very popular on tumblr at the time.

Now? I don't know if I have one current/active fandom beyond Witcher. (Which I watched season 2 of that and realized I wasn't really into the actual show anymore--I'm more into just Geraskier fanfic--and I haven’t even been reading that lately.) The only fanfic I've read recently is for Harry Potter--me falling back to my most OG of fandoms for comfort. A big problem is that I've simply not branched out into new stuff. I don't think covid helped either--with a lot of tv/movies delaying production/releases--so to tide me over in those last two years, a lot of what got watched was older shows: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Star Trek: TNG, Gargoyles, ect.   And all of these are great and still have active fanbases--but they're definitely not the huge frenetic "next big thing" fandoms I got spoiled with. One of the elements of following a fandom I've always liked was giddy expectation for a new season and fan theories--which finished shows don't really have.   However, a big part of the problem is just me. I've gotten stagnant. I have far less free time than I did when I was younger and--with depression always lurking, eating my concentration--I tend to seek comfort over exploration when it comes to consuming media, so I end up watching old favorites over and over for guaranteed "aww yess love this" vibes rather than trying out stuff that I might not like. (I have so many books and don't read them. It's too much effort compared to laying in bed and mindlessly dozing while listening to asmr videos. I'm always so tired now. I feel bad for not feeling more bad over this--but I take pleasure where I can find it now.)

I need to branch out...but I don’t even know what I want to watch.

I think more than anything, I just miss feeling like I “belong” to a fandom community, which is really just a symptom of me wanting to talk to people about stuff I like, which is just a symptom of loneliness.

Idk.

I guess I need to just focus on putting myself out there more and talking about what I like, even if I feel like someone else has already said it better.

[pherryt]

Writing Tag game

tagged by @hopelessly-me

1) How many works do you have on AO3?  282

2) What is your AO3 word total?  2,520,986 

Note, I don’t know if you can see it, or if only I can, but the above two numbers WON’T match what my AO3 page says as these numbers are LESS because I minused all words from works that I was listed as co-creator on when I did art, and I also minused those works and all my art posts from total works written.

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they? 

9 or so, depending how you count them: Supernatural, Doctor Who/Torchwood, Star Trek (original, AOS, Next Gen), Old Guard, ElfQuest, Marvel (Power Pack, MCU, Punisher/Daredevil, Venom), Scooby Doo, Witcher, Ranma 1/2

4) What are your top five fics by kudos?

Okay, so I’m VERY interested in the answer to this question because for YEARS the one in the top spot, from 2017, has outperformed EVERYTHING else I’ve written. 

And even when I started writing in other fandoms, Supernatural stayed at the top. 

But look at this list (I put the year published in front of each fic) – This isn’t TRUE anymore. Yes, it’s still in the top spot, but out of HOW MANY FICS, I have a NEW ONE pushing into 2nd place???? MY EYES ARE BOGGLING!!!

2017 - Not What I Signed Up For – Spn, Rated E, 43 k, A/B/O, Destiel , Warnings: Underage - Check the tags and the explanation in the notes

2021 - Overwhelmed – Witcher, Rated G, 10k, Geraskier, Creature!fic

2019 - Warming Up – Marvel, Rated T, 45k, Winterhawk

2018 - Rescue Mission for Two – Spn Fantasy AU, Rated M, 48k, Destiel, Creature!fic

2017 - Sam Finally Gets It – Spn, Rated M, 5k, Destiel, 13.05 CODA

5) Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? 

OF COURSE! They’re so fun! They can be a real boost on a bad day, and I’ve made friends inside the comments! Like the person who tagged me in this!

6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? 

Okay, I don’t really do angsty endings. I LOVE angst, but I want a happy ending. Most of my fics that have angsty endings are either super short CODAs or part of a series that resolve the angst eventually – so I’ll give you these two:

What Time Forgets (MCU/Old Guard crossover Series: 49k, Rated M, Nicky/Joe/Bucky)

Till the End of the Line (MCU Canon AU Series: 86k, Rated E, Steve/Bucky/Clint/Natasha – basically a “What if”)

7) Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you have ever written? 

YES I DO!

Craziest? Probably Colliding Worlds – my Doctor Who/SPN crossover (54k, Rated G, Destiel). I had to make a timeline graph to keep track of which version of the doctor was making an appearance at any point in time. It looks like a spaghetti diagram threw up.

Most AMBITIOUS would be the 4 in one crossover I did: All Mixed Up (Rated G, 30k, Destiel, McKirk, Winterhawk) – Star Trek/SPN/MCU at Hogwarts (with a couple of actual HP characters thrown in)

8) Have you ever received hate on a fic? Nope. Thank god. I’ve had some weird comments, I will admit. But not hate.

9) Do you ever write smut? If so, what kind? I do. Um. Porn with plot, pretty much.

10) Have you ever had a fic stolen? I very much doubt it.

11) Have you ever co-written a fic before? 

Yes, for a challenge. It had 3 authors, counting me, and if the challenge hadn’t been set up the way it had, I’m still not sure we could have pulled it off.

It’s called Groundverse (Rated M, 14k, Destiel) – a Supernatural Endverse Groundhog day type fic told only in letters, notes, and journal entries from 3 main POV’s

12) What’s your all time favorite ship? 

You want me to choose between my faves? What’s WRONG with you!

Ahem. How about a fave for every fandom? And only the ones I’ve written or I’d still be here with some more.

Winterhawk, Destiel, McKirk, Geraskier, Nicky/Joe

13) What was the first fandom you wrote for? 

It’s actually a toss up between 2 stories – because I posted them elsewhere first and so the AO3 dates aren’t necessarily accurate. AND ONE OF THEM IS A CROSSOVER!

Ahem.

Star Trek OS/Star Trek Next Gen/Doctor Who and Ranma 1/2

Take your pick.

14) What’s your favorite fic you’ve written? … again with the unfair questions. Okay, a few of the ones I would have mentioned are already mentioned above. But I still have a hard time picking. So I outsourced. Otherwise we’d be here all day.

@hopelessly-me said: Splintered (MCU, Rated G, implied future Winterhawk/AmeriWinterhawk, 8k)

@li-izumi said: Lammas Night (SPN, Rated E, Destiel, Reverse MCD, Fantasy AU, 51k)

@unforth has more than once said (and I’ve always loved this one): I'm Broken (Supernatural, Destiel, College AU, Rated M, 64k, Warnings: Rape/Non con and Underage. Please Read the explanation and tags. Also, not between our mains)

I’ve also had a lot of love for the Just Right Series , which I’m stilly really proud of writing: (Supernatural AU, Dean/Cas/Benny/Alfie, Rated E, 146k)

I’m Tagging WHOEVER WANTS TO DO THIS! oh, what the heck, anyone already tagged plus @gavilansblog @cinagray @sevdrag  but you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.

[geraskier-hell]

“Did you just look me up and down and then bite your lip? ‘Cause if you did we’re having sex. Right now.” ((For the prompts. geraskier ofc. ))

Thank you for the prompt! This got quite long so I’m only posting the first two sections of the one shot here, and you can read the rest on AO3 :)

Smoke is snaking its way down Jaskier’s lungs, replacing the oxygen in them. He leans against the wall as another coughing fit stops him in his way to the door, and he bends in half while he tries to breathe normally again. The unbearable heat of the room doesn’t help, and a hint of panic tugs at his stomach. Is this where he is going to die?

He refuses to let the fire win, and with major efforts he starts walking again only to be stopped by another wall of flames. If he ever finds out who in his apartment complex decided to leave the stove on unguarded, he is going to give them a piece of his mind. If he gets out of this alive, that is.

His vision starts to blur, and the smoke hides the path ahead. Jaskier is covered in sweat by now, and the panic from before is turning into actual terror. He really is going to die here. He starts crying, this isn’t how it was supposed to go, he had plans and ambitions for the future, but it all looks so far away now, a dream from which he is about to wake up.

In his confused state he thinks he hears voices and steps, but he is slowly losing consciousness and doesn’t know what is reality and what an illusion anymore. There is a bang and then quick footsteps before he is being carried out of the apartment. He opens his eyes, eyelids so heavy it feels like lifting a house. When he sees the person carrying him, he is certain he has died. He isn’t too sure he deserves to go to heaven, but the man holding him between his arms has the eyes of an angel.

He passes out for a brief moment and when he wakes up next, he is in an ambulance, a man with white hair and a woman around him. He recognises the golden eyes of the man from before and stares at him in his state of confusion. He hears him talk but doesn’t really catch what he is saying, too busy with his scrutiny. He is even more handsome than he anticipated, and he can’t tear is gaze away, not even when the man looks back at him.

He says something, Jaskier is sure of it, but he doesn’t know precisely what. The man repeats himself, checking Jaskier’s body from head to toe and then licks his dry lips. He is probably just making sure everything is okay with Jaskier after the fire, but the gesture is so sexy Jaskier’s clouded mind goes in an entirely different direction.

“Did you just look me up and down and then bite your lip? ‘Cause if you did, we’re having sex. Right now.”

The man blinks a few times and even the woman with him stops to look at him, half amused, half surprised by Jaskier’s comment.

“This one has inhaled too much smoke,” the firefighter says, and now that he has regained a bit of consciousness, Jaskier can understand what he’s talking about.

“Not at all, I clearly saw you checking me out and then biting your lip.”

“Your vision is still blurred from the smoke,” the man replies in a blank voice. “I think it’s best if you take him to the hospital, Triss.”

“Yes, Geralt,” the woman retorts with an amused smirk on her lips. “Don’t you want to go with him?”

Geralt glares at her and doesn’t spare even a glance to Jaskier as he hops down the ambulance.

“No, wait, I was serious,” Jaskier calls after him, coughing more smoke out. “I’m really up for it if you want.”

Triss chuckles. “Try asking him again when you can breathe properly,” she says before placing an oxygen mask on Jaskier’s face.

Jaskier whines and his eyes don’t leave the figure walking away from him until the doors of the ambulance close to take him to a hospital.

 A few weeks pass before Jaskier has fully recovered from the incident and it will take many more before he can go back to his apartment again, so he has to live with an aunt that has a house in the area. Some friends have offered to lend him their couch, but Jaskier doesn’t want to impose and his new house is closer to his workplace.

It is also very near the fire station and that’s the main reason why he decides to move there. During his recovery, he has never stopped thinking about the firefighter that saved his life nor has he forgotten how much of a fool he was after that. He blames it entirely on the smoke that didn’t let the oxygen go to his brain, but he has to admit that it was mostly his subconscious speaking out loud. The man really did look too good to be of this world, and partially to apologise for his behaviour and partially to see him once more, the first thing he does when leaving the hospital is going to the fire station.

He doesn’t have a speech prepared nor a list with bullet points he’d like to cover, so his stomach isn’t entirely calm when he buzzes the station.

“Yes?” a voice says over the intercom.

“Ehm, hello,” Jaskier replies. “Is Geralt here?”

“Do you have an emergency, sir?”

“No, not really, I just want to talk to him about a fire that happened at my place some weeks ago.”

“If there’s a problem with what happened, you should talk to the police.”

Jaskier groans. Why is this man being so good at his job?

“No, no, I just want to talk to Geralt personally for a moment if it’s possible.”

“I’ll see if he can meet you,” the man eventually replies and cuts the conversation.

Jaskier waits in front of the gate, pacing in front of it for what feels like an eternity while his mind is invaded by all sorts of thoughts. He shouldn’t have come, what was he thinking? The firefighter is probably busy or has forgotten about him, and Jaskier really should have stayed home instead of risking to make a fool of himself once again, but it’s too late now, the gate is opening and the man with white hair is looking at him.

He is wearing his uniform - God bless - and Jaskier doesn’t regret having come anymore.

“Hello,” he greets, walking up to him. “I don’t know if you remember me, but you saved me some weeks ago when my apartment complex was burning down. I’m Jaskier.”

“Yes, I remember you,” Geralt replies, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Is there an issue with the rescue?”

“No, no, I didn’t come for this at all, you were great actually, so much that I was wondering if you’d like to go get a coffee together as a thank you from me.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow, but his face turns into a blank expression immediately after. “There’s no need for that, I was just doing my job.”

“Yes, I know, but I’d still like to thank you,” Jaskier insists, rubbing his nape. “And I also wanted to apologise for how I behaved afterwards.”

“No need to do either.”

The emotionless tone in Geralt’s voice takes Jaskier aback, and he doesn’t know what to say to convince him to accept his offer.

A siren pierces through the awkward silence between them, and a determined expression morphs Geralt’s features.

“I have to go,” he says before running back inside the station.

Jaskier would like to call him back, but once again all he can do is to watch him leave.

Continue on AO3

[jaskiersvalley]

I love reading your writing! I have gone through your blog and read every post and I can’t get enough. I always get so excited when I see you’ve posted something new. You are a true delight! I hope you’re staying safe and healthy during this frightening time ❤️ Much love and good vibes to you!

Much love and good vibes right back at you, Nonnie! Here’s to hoping you and your loved ones are also staying safe and healthy, it truly is a frightening time. Personally, I find great solace in the fandom family I’ve found myself, be that people I chat to, people whose names crop up regularly or anons who send it asks. To be able to give back a little in the form of ficlets is one of my crutches at the moment. With that in mind, have a slightly more unusual ficlet because It’s not just Geraskier but there’s also a Ciri and a Cahir in this one.

Content warning for major character injury, discussions of death and discussion of mercy killing. But! It is a happy ending where everybody lives!

Kaer Morhen was still a little way away and they knew that there were soldiers hot on their heels. Cahir had warned them that they had to keep moving because Nilfgaard would be relentless. They were due to meet up with Yennefer later on, she had business to attend to. So it was just Geralt, Cahir and Jaskier trying to protect Ciri on their way to safety.

The attack came when Geralt was on watch duty. A group of eight soldiers had stumbled upon their camp and within seconds it had descended into chaos. While Jaskier was trying to bundle Ciri onto Roach, the other two were wielding their swords and trying to ward off the attack. One of the soldiers melted from the shadows too close to Roach and she spooked, kicking up. In the madness that was the fight, another voice crying out in pain and the crunch of bone was easily lost.

When everything fell silent again, there was the sound of ragged breathing and Geralt cursing as he spotted Roach, still tethered to a tree while Cahir methodically went through the soldiers, making sure they were all dead. Which just left Jaskier unaccounted for. An igni set the camp fire ablaze again and Geralt stepped over a soldier’s body to pull Ciri off Roach. By his feet was a familiar looking figure, still breathing but unconscious.

“Cahir!”

It was all a bit of a blur after that. Ciri was settled on one side of the fire before Geralt and Cahir dragged Jaskier opposite her. The flames hid most of their work from her sight but there were murmurs and hisses she couldn’t miss. Bitten off “is that-” “bone, yeah” and “just as well he’s passed out” along with “this needs a healer” to which the angered “well he’s all we’ve got” didn’t inspire much confidence. Ciri didn’t miss the whimper which turned into a full on cry of pain as Jaskier came round. A blanket was pulled over him before Ciri was allowed to see him. It didn’t do much to hide the way one leg was awkwardly twisted under it. She held his hand until her eyes couldn’t stay open anymore and strong arms carried her to her own bed roll.

“How bad’s the damage?” Jaskier asked when it had been too quiet for too long.

“Bad.” There was no mincing words from Cahir while Geralt tried to hum it off. “You’re not walking on that. Even carrying you is out of the question.”

The soft “I see” from Jaskier was one that meant he knew what that meant. He wasn’t even a liability anymore, he was an anchor. Unable to move or be moved from the camp, they couldn’t afford who knew how many weeks in one place while he healed. Even if he did heal, his leg would never be the same, he couldn’t travel with the others. “Could I have one more night please? I trust you both to make it quick, but I don’t want Ciri seeing me with my throat slit.”

“Geralt will take Ciri at first light. I’ll catch up with them.” Cahir replied. “I can make it quick and relatively painless.”

“Thank you.” Jaskier’s voice was strained from tears he was holding back. He reached for Geralt’s hand, pulled it to his cheek and took a shuddering breath as he tried to find some comfort. “You’ll be fine without me, you don’t need me singing songs for you anymore.”

“I never did,” Geralt replied, gruff as ever but his hand was gentle, the tender touch filled with love and words he could never quite express. Not in company at least.

“I’ll go check on Ciri,” Cahir announced and moved to the far side of the camp to give them as much space as possible. He could still hear the rumbles of “I’m sorry” and “I love you” that hurt more than he would be willing to admit. Over time, he’d grown fond of Jaskier and Geralt, appreciated the quiet love that was unshakeable between them. And he’d considered Jaskier a friend after a rocky start. For this to be the end was a bitter blow.

None of them slept that night and both Jaskier’s and Geralt’s eyes were red from crying but their cheeks were dry by the time they needed to wake Ciri.

“We’ll make a head start,” Geralt told her and put her up on Roach while he shouldered a couple of bags. He cast one more look at Jaskier, who had developed a fever overnight on top of his shattered leg. It really was kinder this way but Geralt couldn’t stop his breath from hitching at the soft, sad smile and the mouthed “I love you” sent his way. With one last nod and a look to Cahir, silently pleading to make it swift, he turned at started leading Roach.

They weren’t far when Ciri’s questions started up. “Why are you carrying Jaskier’s bag?”

She wasn’t to know that overnight they had rearranged their packs, knowing that Jaskier’s pack was sturdier and less worn than Geralt’s old one. It made sense that they would redistribute resources and take only the best with them.

“Jaskier’s not coming with us, is he?”

“No.” Geralt kept looking forward, hoping Ciri would drop the issue. She didn’t need to know what was happening.

“What will happen to him? Is Cahir staying with him?”

And Geralt couldn’t lie about that. He knew Ciri would have to find out but he wanted to soften the blow as much as possible. “Cahir will join us shortly.”

Desperately, Geralt hoped that would be enough, that Ciri’s curiosity would be satiated and he could just grieve in peace for a while.

“But that will leave Jaskier alone. And he’s hurt. And you’ve got his pack.” He could hear Ciri putting it all together, her voice rising steadily in a panic. “Turn around! We can’t leave him! Geralt!”

Hand tightening on Roach’s reins, he trudge on and tried not to break. Thinking about Jaskier hurt and Ciri having a meltdown over it wasn’t making it any better.

“Take me back!” Ciri screamed, voice shrill. Her “now” was lost in a high pitched shriek that went on and on. Around them the forest shook under her unbridled power, Geralt couldn’t step forward so matter how much he tried and Roach whinnied in distress.

Finally, the scream died down but Geralt didn’t move. They were far enough away from camp now, Ciri wouldn’t be able to see or hear anything so it was fine. Sure enough, there was the sound of someone approaching. Cahir stepped out from between some trees, eye damp and hands up. Behind him was Triss, pointing a sword at his back.

“What the-?” Geralt murmured.

“We heard the disturbance in Chaos and came. Your Child Surprise has caused quite the stir.” Triss said. “Imagine our astonishment at finding this rat preparing to slit your bard’s throat.”

A small, horrified gasp from Ciri had Geralt closing his eyes. She wasn’t meant to know. Even worse, she was going to find out he had been complicit in it. “I know,” he growled. “We had a discussion.”

And what a pain laden talk that had been. Confessions of words they’d wished they had more time to explore but at least they had been granted the mercy of a few hours rather than a lifetime of regret at never being able to say them.

“Yes, well,” Yennefer stepped through a portal next to Triss. “Lucky for him, we heard Ciri’s screeching. He’s being healed up as we speak, you can have him back next week. Meanwhile, you can enjoy Aretuza’s hospitality. We have created a safe space for you all to hide in until you’re all well enough to leave for Kaer Morhen again.”

Two portals opened up. One to a warm looking room with food on the table and a fire with an abundance of throws in front of it. Triss ushered Cahir through it and took Ciri, along with Roach. Next to it was another portal to a more spartan looking room, more akin to that of a healer’s work space. There was somebody lying in a cot and breathing softly as though in a deep, healing sleep. Without hesitation, Geralt stepped through that one, relieved to have been granted more than just a few hours. He and Jaskier had a lot more to say to each other and suddenly, they had a lot more time.

[mordoriscalling]

Everything I Am, All That You Are (2/4)

Geraskier Soulmate AU, Modern with Magic, Post-Break Up, Getting Back Together

(Part 1)

The weight of Geralt’s gaze on his back is like a burning touch. He struggles to take his breathing under control as he and Essi walk down the hall towards the door that would take them backstage. The people around are talking. Someone stops them to chat but Jaskier leaves that to Essi; she’s more than capable (and kind enough) to entrain others with conversation what he tries to sort out the mess in his head and heart.

Everything of this would be so much easier if Geralt was just his former partner. He has plenty of ex-lovers from before the time he and Geralt bonded. When he meets any of them again, no matter how close they used to be, it’s nowhere nearly as painful as this – as his very soulmate acting distanced.

Now, he understands what Geralt meant all those years ago, before they accepted the bond.

“I didn't choose this life,” Geralt replies to his question about what’s wrong. After he stormed out of that hotel room, Jaskier hasn’t heard a word from him for two weeks, until now. Geralt returned to their flat smelling strongly of alcohol and Jaskier demanded answers.

“The Trials, the Path,” Geralt says morosely, “I couldn’t choose. And now I couldn’t choose again." 

Jaskier sighs, his head hanging in defeat – he suspected that this is the issue. “I can only imagine how difficult it is for you to accept this,” he tells Geralt, “but you could try looking at it in a different way. The bond could be like a... like a consummation of what we already have.”

Geralt grimaces, which sparks his anger.

"Does the idea repulse you so?” he demands, “Does it disgust you that we're such a perfect match?"

“I had no say in it.”

“What do you mean – Geralt. You must know how soul bonds work!”

Jaskier knows all about it now; he had no idea what was going on after Geralt left him back in the hotel after the mark had appeared, so he called Yen. She came to the rescue and – annoyed as ever when Jaskier interrupted something with his calls, which he usually did – explained to him all that was known about soul bonds. It’s powerful, powerful magic, and Jaskier assumed that a magic-user such as Geralt would be aware of the nature of soul bonds.

“I do,” he answers, confirming Jaskier’s suspicions, yet there’s a confused scowl on his face.

Jaskier’s anger doesn’t deflate – how can Geralt not see it?

“You have been choosing me, my friendship, for the past ten years!” he cries, “You have been chosen by me, freely and willingly, since our first adventure with the elves! Over and over, and over!” He jabs Geralt in the chest with his pointing finger.“I've been choosing you, and you changed me, reshaped me, gave me a new life. You've been choosing me, and I've changed you, reshaped you, gave you a new life. A new name. We made ourselves to fit!”

“We made ourselves to fit but we never asked for it!”Geralt roars back, “There’s no coming back, don’t you understand?!”

There’s such conviction in Geralt’s whole attitude, about how terrible that fact they belong together is. Jaskier clearly doesn’t see something Geralt does. “Perhaps I don’t,” he replies truthfully, then storms out of the flat.  

Jaskier was too optimistic back then, too giddy to have been blessed with a treasure as rare as a soulmate, to even think of possible problems that such a bond could bring. At the time, he would have never thought that his relationship with Geralt could become so strained. The reality of now seemed like an impossibility in the past – that they would look at each other without any fondness.

Yet, Geralt seems to have known from the start, and that thought is like a cruel twist to Jaskier’s gut.

"I will die before you,” Geralt says, finally attempting to explain.  

There’s no arguing with that, so Jaskier says nothing. Geralt goes on.

“This will hurt you. I will hurt you. I... I fear that I'll make you regret this.”

Jaskier sighs. Standing up from his bed, he puts the guitar away and walks up to Geralt. As he looks into the beloved, golden eyes, he says, “I’ve never regretted being with you so far. I could have a different life, an easier life, but I do want this. I want you. I won’t regret it.” He tries to make his love for Geralt known but navigating the magic of the bond is still confusing, so he doesn’t know if he succeeds. Nothing in Geralt’s face changes and Jaskier repeats, “I know I won’t regret it.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Geralt grumbles.“The Song of the White Wolf will always sing alone.”

To have Geralt quote his own words back at him in such a small, vulnerable voice breaks his heart. “Oh my dearest, not alone,” he coos, “Not anymore.”

Jaskier reaches out slowly, putting his hand on Geralt’s chest, where the mark is. Beneath his palm, Jaskier can feel the slow beat of his witcher heart, while his own thunders in his chest. He gazes deep into Geralt’s eyes and murmurs, “Do you really not want me?”

The deep rumble of Geralt’s voice envelopes him like a blanket when he replies, “I want you too much.”

Tears well up in Jaskier’s eyes as he tried to push the memory of that moment away, especially of what happened right after – their first kiss, the acceptance of the bond.

His throat constricts as he thinks that perhaps he’s been right all along. Perhaps The Song of the White Wolf will always sing alone. Maybe – no matter however Destiny tries to hurl possibilities for happiness at him – the White Wolf will bite back until he’s alone.

An idea springs into his mind.

“Essi, darling, do you remember how to perform the Song of the White Wolf?”

“Of course,” she replies.

“Good.”

The orchestra will be very mad at him for changing the repertoire so last-minute but well, he is the star of tonight’s show. He’s allowed to be a bit like a diva if he does say so himself.  

An elf woman leaves through the door leading backstage when he and Essi are a short distance away. The door is about to close, so Jaskier casts a gentle Aard. The delicate burst of magic forces them open.

“Show-off,” Essi chuckles.

He flashes her a smile and holds the door for her. As she walks through, Jaskier feels the burn of Geralt’s gaze once more.

He doesn’t look back.

Read the rest on AO3

[king-finnigan]

14. Bodyguard, and 63. Everyone mistakes them for a couple, geraskier.

Okay, not gonna lie, this one was a bit harder to write a drabble for (mainly because I was torn between canon compliance and modern AU)

***

It had all started when one slightly deranged fan had broken into his house. 

Really, no biggie, he had told himself, when the cops had arrived. Sure, it had been a bit scary, but really, all the girl needed was some psychological help. She meant no harm. So, he had decided not to press charges.

Which had gotten him into a lot of trouble with his manager and dad, who had yelled at him that oh my god, are you stupid, Julian? You could’ve gotten hurt! She won’t be the last, mark my words! 

The conversation (if you could call it that) had ended with his dad resolutely telling him he was going to hire his son a live-in bodyguard who would be by his side 24/7. Jaskier had protested, a lot, really, because what the hell is he supposed to do with a stranger in his house? Who even invented live-in bodyguards? What the hell was that all about?

His dad hadn’t taken no for an answer.

Which had led all the way to now. As Jaskier walks off the stage, he is immediately flanked by said bodyguard, Geralt. 

“Good show,” the guy mutters under his breath, one hand softly pushing against the small of Jaskier’s back, the other stretched out to ward off fans that are getting a little too close to be comfortable.

Jaskier scoffs, when they finally reach the private area of the concert hall. “Don’t lie to me, I know you hate my music.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s a bad show.”

“Alright, alright,” he pushes himself away from Geralt, his back burning in the spot where his bodyguard’s hand had been mere seconds earlier, “that’s enough, you don’t need to guide me as if I’m some lady from the 40′s who’s about to faint, Christ, dude.”

Geralt shrugs. “Just doing my job.”

Jaskier sighs, as he pushes open the door to the side alley, where his driver is waiting for him. Of course, he knows it’s Geralt’s job to make sure he gets to where he needs to be safely, but he also can’t stand the way the guy always looms over him with his big hulking form in a way that makes blood rush to his face and other, much lower parts of his body.

He stops dead in his tracks, halfway between the door and the car. Shit. He’s bloody attracted to the guy. 

Great, way to keep it professional, Jaskier - he tells himself, as he shakes his head and sighs, opening the door of the car, sliding onto the back seat. Geralt, as always, sits next to him, the ride home quiet.

He looks out the window, watching as the lights of the city flit by, smiling as people bustle around the never empty streets of London. He spots the park where he and Geralt had once taken a stroll. His bodyguard had been forced to hold his hand as to make sure he stopped straying away from the path to give anyone who recognized him an autograph. He had also accidentally fallen into the fountain that same day, and Geralt had given him his jacket to make sure he didn’t catch a cold, and he had bought Jaskier icecream after to cheer him up.

He smiles at the memory.

Half a mile later, he sees the bar they had once gotten absolutely hammered in - at least Jaskier had. Geralt had just rolled his eyes, and had eventually picked Jaskier up, carrying him outside over his shoulder to make sure he didn’t give himself alcohol poisoning. He remembers how weirdly comfortable it had been, being carried by Geralt, and how he had whined like a puppy when his bodyguard had put him down.

When he sees the bakery they get bread at every morning, he knows they’ll be home soon.

Really, despite his initial resistance, it had been fairly easy getting used to Geralt’s presence in the house. The guy was a great cook, honestly, and though they had avoided each other at first, they had eventually fallen into a comfortable rhythm, eating all their meals together, watching a movie or tv show on the couch every night, chatting, laughing, getting to know each other.

And he would never admit it to his dad, Geralt, or anyone for that matter, but he’s not so sure he wants to live without Geralt anymore. 

Finally the car stops in front of his- their house- no, his house. There is not ‘their’, there is no ‘them’, it would be completely unprofessional, and Geralt is exactly the kind of guy who is anything but unprofessional. And of course, Jaskier is a bit of a wild child, he’s never going to settle down. 

So why does he feel a pang of disappointment shoot through him as he realizes he and Geralt could never be a thing? Since when does he even consider the possibility of them being a thing? Since when does he want that?

Oh god, he realizes, as he gets out of the car, walking to the front door, acutely aware of Geralt’s presence behind him, I’m in love.

Fuck.

He sighs again, opening the door, letting Geralt in before he closes and locks it again for the night. He honestly, more than anything, would love to take a shower to wash the sweat of the performance off, but his eye is caught by a bunch of magazines lying on the table next to the door. 

Huh. His dad must’ve delivered them earlier that day, judging by the folded note on top of the pile of magazines that reads: “Julian.” His dad is the only one who still calls him that.

He folds the note open, frowning at the single sentence that is written inside. “This needs to stop.”

He cocks his head, laying the note on the table again, picking up the first magazine. On the cover is a picture of him and Geralt, that day in the park. They’re holding hands, and Jaskier frowns at the giddy expression on his own face as he looks up at Geralt, who has a small smile on his face. “Pop sensation Jaskier finally settling down?” it reads next to the picture.

Wait. 

They think Jaskier and Geralt are a couple.

He shrugs, putting the magazine down again. What’s the harm of a few people spreading rumours around? Could be worse.

Except the next magazine has a picture fo him, from that night at the bar, hanging over Geralt’s shoulder, giving the camera a dopey grin. Then, right next to it, a picture of him leaning against Geralt’s arm, once again looking up at the man with an expression that could easily be interpreted as adoration. Once again, Geralt is smiling. 

“Night out with new boyfriend?” it says next to the pictures.

Oh, okay, maybe two magazines are spreading rumours, what’s the problem with that?

Except the pile is at least fifteen magazines thick and Jaskier has a growing suspicion that they all have the same sort of front page. 

His suspicions are confirmed when he looks through the pile. Every single cover is adorned with a picture of him and Geralt, walking hand in hand along the Thames at night, at the bakery a few blocks away picking out pastries together, of Jaskier leaning on Geralt’s shoulder, of them smiling and giving each other looks that could barely be interpreted as anything other than loving.

And each and every magazine thinks they are a couple.

Well, shit.

And what’s even worse is that he wants the rumours to be real. 

He looks up when he feels eyes boring into him, and spots Geralt, now only dressed in a shirt and sweatpants, leaning against the door to the living room, arms crossed. “What’s that?”

Jaskier smiles weakly, holding up one of the magazines for a second. “A lot of people seem to think we’re a couple.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that.”

Jaskier cocks his head, putting the magazine back down on the pile. “Then why didn’t you say something?”

Geralt shrugs. “I thought you knew and didn’t mention it because you didn’t want to make it uncomfortable.”

“Well, you’re right.” Jaskier looks down at the pile, eyes caught on the way he adoringly stares at Geralt in the picture, and the way his bodyguard smiles back, “not about me knowing, but...” he shrugs “I don’t want to make this uncomfortable.”

“This?”

“Whatever...” he points between the two of them “Whatever it is we have going on.”

Geralt sighs, pushing away from the doorframe, running a hand over his face. “I don’t think I can be your bodyguard anymore.”

Jaskier’s heart cracks in his chest, and he doesn’t even try to fight to keep the hurt from his voice. “What? Why not?”

Geralt walks forward a few steps, stopping a foot or so from Jaskier. He sighs again, avoiding eyecontact, hand scratching at the short stubble on his jaw. “Because I’m in love with you. Which is highly unprofessional. That’s why.”

And, by the gods, Jaskier could kick and kiss this man at the same time. But, he decides his feet aren’t exactly a match against Geralt and he would probably only end up hurting himself if he were to kick the guy, so instead, he moves forward, cradling Geralt’s face in his hands, kissing him.

After a short moment of hesitation, Geralt kisses back.

He pulls back after a few seconds, Geralt’s face still in his hands. “Hmm,” he mutters, “guess I’ll have to find a new live-in bodyguard.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Geralt says, pulling him in for another kiss.

***

Send me two tropes from this list and I’ll write a short drabble for them!

[goldandlights]

title: ebb and flow (“Listen up monsterfuckers, Geralt has a knot.”) pairing: geraskier rating: explicit tags: fluff, tender sex, knotting, handjobs, copious amounts of come

>>> Geralt is insecure about a particular part of his biology but Jaskier shows him that one man’s trash is a bard’s treasure

Like many of Geralt’s other unusual or more animalistic features (the white hair, the fangs, the purring), the knot on his dick is a byproduct of the additional experimentation done on him during Witcher training.

None of the other boys put through the full Trials of Dreams have survived and thus it stands to reason that Geralt is the only one with this particular mutation.

Of course, he's long learned to warn the people he sleeps with (aka prostitutes) about his, hm, enhanced physique, even before the clothes come off. He also knows to not ever, ever try to tie.

Though it’s a hot fantasy, Geralt is not stupid or careless enough to risk having his partner panic when the reality of the situation sets in. A couple of the braver girls he’s met have certainly offered to indulge him, one even looked (and smelled) honestly interested, but if it goes tits up, the risk of severe injury is too great.

Thus far, holding up his fist to show them what kind of swelling he’s talking about has always been enough to dissuade them.

So the hardest part about brothel negotiations is usually the opposite; convincing the understandably weary women that no, he’s not gonna try to pop “it” into them without warning. Letting them keep a guarding hand on his cock just above the bulging tissue while he fucks them mostly helps to ease their minds. Geralt neither thinks about, nor considers mentioning, that if he wanted to take them by force, their fragile human wrists would simply be collateral damage.

What comes after the first glorious moment of cresting pleasure is similarly as awkward and bothersome though.

Geralt comes like a fucking horse -okay, not quite, but sometimes it sure feels that way when he pumps load after load of thick seed into his partner until he can see her belly swelling just so. It’s hot. Until the matron charges additional cleaning costs. (It’s costly. He already has to pay double the normal rate to make fucking a beast worth anyone’s while.)

Geralt has learned to live with it, really. Even tense, rushed and impersonal, sex is sex; he can’t be picky. Needs to keep a clear head to do his job.

When he says that last bit to Jaskier however, the bard’s jaw drops in disbelief.

“ Excuse me. Can you repeat that? You can’t be picky so you, what, resign yourself to a life of bad sex?” his voice is loud and utterly incredulous. Geralt shoots him a glare.

This morning they left Ban Glean and are now on their way south towards Hagge for a potential vampire infestation. There are no roads around these parts, so they set up camp on the first not-so-soggy little rise they found once the sun started setting. The weather is good and the forest quiet. Small mercies. The Livel river and its swamps and marshlands are normally teeming with drowners and bandits.

How they went from eating quietly to arguing about Geralt's preference for whorehouses over random hookups is a mystery -though the Witcher suspects it has something to do with a certain new habit the bard has picked up. That is, he’ll chat up ladies (and on the rare occasion men, too) and then ask Geralt if he wants to share. Which the Witcher does not.

“But why, Geralt.” the bard continues, hushed, “Look at you! You’re gorgeous. I understand the prejudices levelled at Witchers make it hard to find someone willing outside of a professional establishment… but I offered you that maid on a platter, darling! No additional work required!”

“She didn’t know what she was agreeing to.” Geralt says, stroking the fire.

“Well, then I apparently didn’t either. Care to enlighten me?”

“No.”

“Come on. Is this the usual Witcher self-flagellation or do you actually have something to hide? And embarrassing fetish perhaps? A small dick? -hm, no, no I take that back immediately.” Jaskier hums and licks his lips. Geralt feels the bards gaze slide down to the bulge between his thighs. He suppresses the urge to close his legs self-consciously. “There is definitely nothing small about your dick.”

The Witcher doesn’t reward that with a reply but stares resolutely into the flames. Silence stretches.

“Okay, alright. I’m sorry.” Jaskier breaks, at last, sounding honestly contrite. With a sigh, he gets up, takes a few steps around the fire until he can plop down next to Geralt onto the thick fur of his bedroll. “If you’re not comfortable I won’t push anymore, yeah? Just… you deserve positive experiences. To enjoy yourself, you know? Sex shouldn’t be a chore.”

“Hm.”

A log shifts and sends sparks up into the air. The trees whisper in a soft breeze.

“It’s a mutation.”

“Hm. What kind of mutation?”

He’s explained it at least three-hundred times without batting an eyelash. Now, suddenly, it’s hard again, like the first time. Geralt knows Jaskier is pretty indiscriminate in his tastes, tumbling with men and women and those somewhere in-between alike. Geralt had never managed to give up the tiny speck of hope that maybe Witchers, even those with freakish dicks, were on the bard’s list of acceptable bedfellows as well. Still, it had always seemed safer not to try his luck, lest he found out the answer was a horrified no. Well, the grace period is over.

He swallows a few times, searching for the well-practised words.

“There’s some additional tissue at the base of it. It swells when I come. Like a-”

“Like a wolf??”

“Jaskier…”

“Sorry, sorry. I’m not laughing! That’s -uh, it doesn’t hurt, does it?”

“No.”

“Oh, good... And does it really do the, you know, the locking thing? When you fuck someone?”

“It should. Never tried it.”

“Eh? What a shame!” Then, before the Witcher can process how to react to that, “How big is it?”

Geralt snaps his head around to glare at the bard.

“I’m just curious!” he whines. Waits for an answer. When none is forthcoming, he tries again, “Come on, how big?”

The Witcher holds up his fist. Jaskier chokes on his spit.

“Sweet Melitele…”

If he hadn’t heard something suspiciously like awe in the bard’s voice, Geralt would not have dared to look in the human’s direction again. But he does. Jaskier’s face is slack with shock, eyes still fixed on Geralt's large hand. Then his gaze drops, almost comically slow, to Geralt’s crotch. This time the Witcher does press his legs together, caught off guard by the sudden hunger overtaking the handsome features of his companion.

Baby blue eyes snap up to amber.

“Can I see?”

Geralt sucks in a breath, mind going blank for a second. Over the woodsmoke of the fire, Jaskiers scent has spiked. Spicy and masculine, Geralt doesn’t have to look down to know that the human is in the process of getting hard, obviously turned on by the thought of Geralt’s knot. What the hell.

Unsettled by Geralt’s silence, Jaskier backpedals, “You don’t have to! I’m uh, making this weird. But I would. Really like to see. For research and-”

“If you put this into a song I will kill you.”

“I know. Oh, believe me, I know. And I very much value my life so these lips are sealed! Promise! Now, can I?”

The bardling seems about a second away from making actual grabbing motions towards the bulge in question and Geralt, kind of dazed by the sudden turn of events, yields to the insistent pleading. With a grunted “Fine.” and an eye-roll to prevent a more vulnerable expression from stealing onto his face, he gets up on his knees and starts loosening the laces of his trousers.

This is madness.

>>>> read the rest on ao3

[eratobard]

A Night to Remember: Chapter 3

Now available to read. Patreon members had early access. Check out my patreon for early access to other stories.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2  

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Geraskier

Rating: T

Length: 2K

Tag warning: brief sexual fantasy description, canon violence ~~~

Jaskier was sunny, as always, when he greeted Geralt the next morning. “Well, I had quite the night last night. Truly a night to remember. Too bad you missed out on it.”

Geralt ignored him as he tightened Roach’s saddle. 

Jaskier arched an eyebrow, “Aren’t you curious how it turned out? Luckily, you leaving didn’t sour the ladies’ sexual drive. They were more than happy to share.”

Geralt grumbled as he loaded their belongings onto Roach. He really didn’t want to hear about Jaskier’s sexual conquests. Especially after he witnessed how Jaskier looked when he was being satisfied. It really made him want to grab Jaskier, shove him against the stable wall, and ram his cock into him, causing him to scream his name--

“Geralt!”

“Hmm?” Geralt snapped out of his fantasy, turning to look at Jaskier. The bard was frowning.

“Are you ignoring me?” Jaskier’s hands were on his hips as he stood, frowning at him.

Geralt shook his head, “Uh sorry… what was that?”

Jaskier sighed, rolling his eyes, “I asked where we are headed next.”

“There is rumor of a succubus killing men a few towns East. I am headed there,” Geralt finished prepping and climbed onto Roach, nudging him forward along the trail.

Jaskier grinned as he followed behind, “Ooo, a succubus. I thought they didn’t usually kill?”

“They don’t, unless they get greedy, or need to defend themselves,” Geralt sighed, “Either way, people are dying and it needs checked out.”

Jaskier hummed in contemplation, “I wonder what it would be like to be with a succubus… I bet it would be the best sex ever.” He looked up at Geralt, “Have you ever been with a succubus?”

“No,” Geralt growled.

Jaskier shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t see why not. Maybe you’ll have a chance with this one.” He nudged Geralt’s leg, “It could help remove that stick up your butt.”

Geralt glared at him. The bard didn’t seem phased. He smiled and pulled out his lute, strumming a few chords, “The fairer sex, they often call it… but her love’s as unfair as a crook.” He glanced up at Geralt, “It steals all my reason, commits every treason. Of logic with naught but a look.”

Geralt sighed, “Enough, I’d rather hear you sing “Toss a Coin to Your Witcher” twenty times over than that song.”

“Really?” Jaskier gasped in surprise, “I didn’t realize you hated this song.”

“...I normally don’t mind it, but I can’t stomach it today,” Geralt couldn’t bring himself to look at Jaskier. He was still embarrassed from the previous night, and his close call with confessing. 

“Ahh,” Jaskier clicked his tongue knowingly, “because of last night, right?”

Geralt groaned, placing a palm over his face. Was he really that easy to read?

Jaskier patted his leg, “Really Geralt, it happens to everyone. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Geralt grit his teeth, “Change the subject, or I’ll change it for you.”

Jaskier held his hands up, “Alright, I get it… touchy subject. If you want to talk later though… I’m here for you.” Geralt continued to glare at him. Jaskier smirked as he returned to his lute, “When a humble bard, graced a ride along… with Geralt of Rivia… along came this song…”

“Fuck,” Geralt breathed. He suddenly regretted his earlier comment as Jaskier continued to sing. It was going to be a long trip.

~~~

When they arrived at the town with the reported succubus Geralt couldn’t move fast enough to down a tankard of ale. He needed the alcohol after listening to Jaskier sing ‘Toss a coin to Your Witcher’ over twenty times during their trip. The bard knew other songs, but he seemed to be mocking him by singing the song on repeat.

Jaskier moved to his place in the center of the tavern and started his usual performance. Geralt groaned, slamming his head on the bar as Jaskier started singing ‘Toss a coin to Your Witcher’.

The bartender grinned, “Rough ride, huh?”

Geralt held out his mug for a refill, “You have no idea.”

The bartender obliged him, filling it to the very top, “You in town for the succubus then?”

Geralt sat up, nodding his head, “Yes, what have you heard about it?”

The bartender shrugged his shoulders, passing back the full cup, “Not much, just that men go in the woods, and don’t come back. People are too afraid to see what happened to them anymore.”

Geralt sighed, before downing his new glass. That didn’t sound like a succubus. It was dangerous to go on a hunt not knowing what you were dealing with, but no one else was qualified to do it. He watched Jaskier prance around the bar, winking and smiling as he performed.

Jaskier would have to wait here while he checked out the situation. When the bard finished his set, Geralt motioned for him to come over. Jaskier beamed as he plopped onto the bar stool next to Geralt, “Any news on the succubus?”

Geralt shook his head, “Not really… just that it doesn’t sound like a succubus. Men are going missing in the woods. I’m going to check it out.” He handed Jaskier a bag of coins, “Rent a room for the night.”

Jaskier frowned as he took the bag, “You’re going now? But we just got in… shouldn’t you rest? We’ve been on the road practically all day.”

“If anymore men go missing, those lives will be on me. I need to get as much information as I can and take this creature out.”

“It sounds dangerous,” Jaskier protested, “you shouldn’t go by yourself.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow, “So what? I should take you with me then?”

Jaskier pouted, “Well… I mean, someone should watch your back.”

“No,” Geralt stood up, “I can’t worry about you.”

Jaskier stood up as well, “You don’t need to. I can take care of myself.”

Geralt grabbed his shoulder and shoved him back down onto the bar stool, “No. I’m going alone.”

Jaskier frowned, “Fine. But if you take too long I’m coming to look for you.”

Geralt only grunted in response as he exited the tavern.

He followed the road to the area of the woods the bartender indicated. He studied the dirt for tracks. When he found some he followed them deep into the woods, moving slowly as to not alert any nearby enemies. 

Eventually he came upon a cave. Geralt rolled his eyes. This narrowed the creature down to about 100. Why did most creatures live in caves? He studied the surrounding area for any signs of what type of monster he might face inside. He drank a cat potion allowing his eyes to see in the dark. He saw bones scattered about the entrance. 

Bones. Cave. Missing men. He went over the list of possible enemies. There were too many. He sighed as he grabbed another potion from his belt. This one provided increased agility. He’d just have to hope for the best. He downed the liquid and unsheathed his sword, silently making his way into the cave.

He glanced around the chamber. More bones. Whatever it was, it had been hungry. He heard a voice cry out from deeper inside. His grip tightened around his sword. He scanned the area for any signs of danger. The cry got louder. It sounded like a plea for help.

His instincts prevented him from rushing forward. It could be a trap. ‘There is no helping the victim if you get killed, if there truly was one,’ he reasoned with himself.

He saw a flicker of firelight as he continued deeper. An evil cackle echoed around him as he drew closer. Shadows moved across the lit cave walls. Geralt frowned as he recognized the laugh. “Devourer,” he muttered. Ugly witches that preyed on human flesh. They loved torturing their victims before they ate them.

He heard another cry of pain. He needed to hurry. He moved around the corner, and spotted the witch cutting off it’s victims flesh. He cried out in pain.

Geralt grabbed a jar of necrophage oil he kept on him. Devourer’s were susceptible against it. It burned their skin like acid. He made sure he was close enough and threw the jar. It broke against the devourer’s back. Howling in pain it reared away from his victim, spinning toward Geralt.

Geralt raised his sword, striking the devourer across it’s naked form. It shrieked, clutching at it’s bloodied chest. It rushed forward, trying to tackle Geralt to the ground. He spun out of the way, slashing his sword at it’s back, knocking it to the ground. He slammed his boot onto it’s back, holding it to the ground as he drove his sword through its head, silencing it permanently.

After ensuring the creature was dead, and there were no other enemies around, he rushed to the man, untying him and tending to his wound. The victim thanked Geralt over and over. He nodded as he helped support him, “We need to get back and properly dress these wounds.” The man gratefully complied as he followed Geralt back to town.

After Geralt had made sure the victim had been properly taken care of, he headed back to the tavern. He found Jaskier still up, chatting up an attractive man. He frowned and made a beeline to the bar, ordering a drink.

Jaskier called out to him when he saw him, “Geralt! How was the succubus?” He stumbled as he walked over to him. His ale slightly splashed out of his tankard.

Geralt frowned as he sized up his friend. He wasn’t too drunk, but he was getting there. “It wasn’t a succubus. It was a devourer.”

Jaskier scrunched his nose, “Devourer? What is that?”

Geralt thanked the bartender for his drink before quickly downing it. He aimed to catch up with Jaskier. “A witch that eats human flesh.”

“Eww,” Jakier’s face contorted in disgust, “That’s gross. Speaking of not gross. Have you met my friend?” He turned toward the man he was talking to when Geralt walked in.

Geralt glared as he stared at his ‘friend’. “No.”

Jaskier grinned, leaning closer to Geralt, “I think you will find, he is more your type.” He smiled proudly, “I’ve been talking you up.”

Geralt arched an eyebrow as he looked the stranger over. The man never seemed to take his eyes off of Jaskier. He scoffed and turned back to his ale, “It seems he’s more interested in you.”

“Oooh? Really?” Jaskier turned, leaning his elbows back against the bar. He smirked as he looked the man over. “I think you’re right.” He sighed and shook his head, turning back to Geralt, “I’m utterly failing as your wingman, aren’t I?”

“I don’t need a wingman,” he muttered into his mug.

Jaskier poked his arm, “I feel like we’ve had a similar argument before.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. They had. Right before ‘The Night to Remember’. He tried to ignore Jaskier as he chugged his ale.

“Come on~” Jaskier poked his cheek, “let me help you out.”

Geralt grabbed his finger, holding it tightly in his hand. He looked him straight in the eyes, “You really want to help me out?”

Jaskier’s blue eyes stared at him innocently, “I do.”

He clenched his jaw and resisted the urge to kiss him right then and there. He growled and pushed away his hand, “Leave me alone.”

Jaskier sighed, “Fine. One of these days Geralt. I’ll get you laid… Lain? A lay…” He waved his hand dismissively, “It doesn’t matter. You know what I mean.” He put on a smile before heading back to the waiting stranger. He grinned as he sat on the attractive man’s lap. The man seemed more than pleased with the behavior.

Geralt sighed as he pushed the empty tankard forward, “Keep them coming.”

[geraltofriviasleftbuttcheek]

a breath of sunlight

geraskier | teen | 2.3k | soulmate au

he’s just past thirty when he gives his soul to a witcher on a whim, because those lonely gold eyes look like they’ve seen too little love and jaskier has nothing but his lute and his love to give.

( read on ao3 )

When he was a kid, Jaskier turned up his nose at the idea of finding his soulmate.

“You don’t want to meet them?” one of his friends—he doesn’t recall their name anymore, a time that seems so, so long ago—had asked, as they played with sticks in the streets in the town.

He remembers scrunching his face up, lips pursed as if he’d just eaten a lemon. "Why? So I can grow old and die? That doesn’t sound very fun.”

And it didn’t—there was so much to do, how could he possibly do it all in a single lifetime? Jaskier wanted to see the world, to travel and learn things and make a name for himself across all the countries and in all the cities and towns outside of the only one he’d ever known.

“I think it would get lonely,” another of his friends had said softly, looking off into the distance. “You’d meet so many people, maybe even love them, and then you’d have to watch them die when they found their own soulmates. You don’t think you’d want an end to it? Your own soulmate to love?”

Jaskier never did find a response to those questions that felt satisfactory. Of course he wanted someone to love! He wanted to love lots of someones, but he also didn’t want to wake up one day and find he couldn’t move for the arthritis in his joints, or the rattle in his chest as he breathed, or even remember his own name.

He isn’t the only one to scoff at it all, wanting instead to live forever, but it doesn’t sit right with him when the hunters come through, slitting the throats of the people unfortunate enough to have soulmates who’d rather they were murdered than grow old together. Jaskier wants to live, but not at the cost of his own soulmate’s life.

It doesn’t sit right with him but it doesn’t stop him from turning his eyes away and strumming louder notes on his lute when cries and screams fill the air as someone is beheaded for sharing a soul with the wrong kind of person.

He’s a coward like that.

Which is maybe why, when he turns twenty-five, and he’s still obviously aging where he should still look like a young-faced baby of eighteen, it seems only fair that the universe should curse him to have no soulmate at all, and his plans of living forever crumble at his feet.

And it’s not that he’s met his soulmate, he knows. Even if only in passing at a market, everyone knows if they’ve met their other half—you feel it, they say, somewhere deep in your bones and it’s like being able to breathe after being underwater for far too long, like the sun rising after the night ends.

Jaskier still feels choked by water making it hard to breathe, still sees darkness even in the middle of the day. It’s not because he’s found them, but because he has none at all.

It’s a rarity, and not a good one. Most people stop aging at eighteen, just on the cusp of adulthood, to wait for the other half of their soul so they can live together and grow old together and die together. It’s the ultimate achievement: meet your soulmate, and live, and die. Those that don't, that continue to age despite not meeting anyone they can call their own? It's because there isn't anyone for them; their soul is whole on its own and doesn't need another—or is so jagged and rough that no other will fit it, and why would destiny let a soft soul suffer that kind of pain?

Jaskier will live, and he will die, but he will never have a soulmate. His soul is too rough, too jagged for another to fit with it.

He tells himself he won’t let it bother him. So he won’t live forever—fine. He’ll just have to live the fullest life he can while he has it, and it will have to be enough. And for a time, it is: he travels and he plays and he sings and he loves and he loves and he loves, and it never fills the emptiness in his chest where his heart is supposed to be when he’s not throwing it at whoever smiles at him like he might just be something more to them than he is.

He’s just past thirty when he gives his heart to a witcher on a whim, because those lonely gold eyes look like they’ve seen too little love and Jaskier has nothing but his lute and his love to give.

He knows the tales of witchers, with no feelings and no souls and no soulmates—the mutagens deaden whatever bond might have been there, sever it like the head from any beast by a witcher’s silver sword, so they live long, lonely, empty lives.

Unnatural, people hiss in behind their hands, evil and vile, no better than the monsters they hunt—before turning around and having their soulmates killed for immortality, and Jaskier thinks them hypocrites.

Geralt of Rivia has lived a long, lonely life, but Jaskier thinks he is far from empty.

He is lonely, but he craves companionship and compassion. Jaskier sees it in the way he talks to Roach, always soft, with gentle hands on her neck; in the way he holds himself surrounded by people, careful of his presence like just breathing might have him looking at his hands to see innocent blood on them; in the way he lets Jaskier follow him even when his words say otherwise, and the almost-smiles he gives when Jaskier plays something soft and just for them on the road.

Jaskier thinks their loneliness matches, jagged souls rough around the edges, craving love and eager to give it. He’s more than happy to let Geralt have all his love he wants.

Loving Geralt is like taking a deep breath after holding it for too long, like seeing the sun for the first time on a cloudless summer day after being in the dark. Jaskier looks at him and feels the empty space in his chest fill up with gold eyes and white hair and a body covered in scars, feels complete for the first time that he can recall, and it seems like a cruel joke on destiny’s behalf to make him feel so much for someone who will outlive him by lifetimes.

For the first time in his life, Jaskier wishes he had a soulmate—not because he doesn’t still want to live forever, but because now his eventual death seems like a waste. Here he is, heart and soul belonging to a witcher that deserves nothing short of all the love in the world, and Jaskier will eventually pass on, leaving him alone yet again, taking his love with him.

If he had a soulmate, Jaskier wouldn’t feel like he’s leaving Geralt behind in the end, teasing him with sweet promises only to disappear in the night—Yennefer does that enough for all of them.

But he doesn’t, so he plays his lute and sings songs and keeps following Geralt on the path laid out for him by destiny, and he keeps giving his love despite it all.

It’s Ciri that asks about him about his soulmate, holed up in Kaer Morhen and spending a rare day off from training by Jaskier’s side, listening to him pluck notes on his lute and hum suggestions of songs. Geralt is out doing...something that witchers do, probably, Jaskier wasn’t paying attention.

“What’s it like?” she asks, and Jaskier raises his eyebrows at her in question. “Having a soulmate, I mean.”

His throat closes up and a heavy feeling settles in his chest. He thinks of Geralt and pushes the thought away, swallowing thickly. “I—I don’t know,” he says, and his voice is rough with longing. He has to clear his throat. “I don’t have one. I mean, I don’t like drawing attention to them, but can’t you tell by the wrinkles around my eyes that I’m aging—” he smiles like he's making a joke of it, gestures around, “—and there’s no one around that could possibly be the cause of it? I’m getting old all by myself, thanks.”

Ciri looks...concerned comes to mind, but mostly confused, brow furrowed and lips pursed. “You don’t know, do you?”

Jaskier just looks at her. He doesn’t understand. “I don’t know what?”

“Jaskier,” she says slowly, gently, like he might spook if she speaks any louder, “you’ve looked the same as you always have for as long as I've known you.”

It makes him smile a little. “Well, thank you for your kindness, Ciri, but—”

“I’ve known you for fifty years, Jaskier,” she cuts him off quickly, but kindly. “Since Geralt found me and you were with him. And according to him, he’s known you at least half that many years before me.”

What? He doesn’t—he doesn’t understand. “What?”

She apparently realizes this is news to him—and oh, what news it is—because she smiles even more gently, almost playfully. “You have a soulmate, Jaskier,” she says, and Jaskier is, hysterically, glad she’s spelling it out for him. “And you’re living your life with him, like you’re supposed to. It’s just a little backwards from the norm. Sounds like him, doesn’t it?”

It’s like opening his eyes after being asleep: at first everything is blurry, but as he wakes up, it clears. Ciri’s words—You have a soulmate, Jaskier—float in his head, circling his mind, finding parts to cling to.

I have a soulmate.

Jaskier forces himself to look at Ciri—really look at her—and when he finally sees her it clicks: she’s grown up quite a bit, the round curves of childhood in her face now mature, more angular, though still soft. Her body is that of a woman’s, and while Jaskier could never find himself attracted to her—gods, he’s basically her father, that would be too uncomfortable—he still recognizes that she is attractive, in a way a woman is. Her eyes no longer shine with the innocence of youth, now more world-weary and wise, very much like Geralt’s on quiet nights around a campfire.

And Jaskier is still here. He’s still with them, still follows Geralt when he leaves Kaer Morhen to travel and slay beasts to make some coin—still sings his songs in taverns and sleeps on rough ground beneath the stars and it’s still not fun but his back doesn’t protest it and his joints don’t ache as he strums his lute, his steps still spry and lively as they’ve always been, no cough rattling his lungs when winter sets in, making it hard to breathe.

He feels alive, as full and complete as he has since he fell in love in a tavern, stale bread in his pants and a yearning to tell the stories of a witcher who wanted to be loved.

“How?” he asks, breathes it into the air like it might break, like destiny might come down to him and laugh in his face and tell him it’s not true after all, he’s going to die any minute now and it will all have been for nothing—

But perhaps destiny likes him a bit better than that, has always meant for this to be, because Ciri says, “The same reason my grandmother didn’t begin to age until she met Eist: it’s your destiny to be with him, Jaskier, and destiny wouldn’t separate you so soon.”

It’s...a comfort to hear it, that perhaps the reason he’d aged for the first part of his life wasn’t because he didn’t have a soulmate, but because he did and that soulmate was a witcher, a being meant to live a long, long life. It was destiny telling him, You will need to be more than a child to be with him as long as he needs you.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, to be needed by someone who fears being needed at all!

Jaskier realizes he did know, like they all said he would: he knew it by the way looking at Geralt was like coming up for air, like being blinded by light. He felt it in his soul that this was the one he wanted to give his love to for the rest of his life.

His soulmate.

“Well then,” Jaskier says, finally, settling back into his seat. He picks his lute up from where it had fallen out of his lap. Ciri looks at him curiously, and he gives her a smile. “I suppose, then, my answer is that having a soulmate is like being able to breathe after being underwater, and seeing light after a dark night.”

He looks up at movement in the door, and he smiles when Geralt comes in, dropping his swords and taking off his coat. Geralt raises an eyebrow at him, mouth quirked at the corner, like he’s asking a question—What’s going on in here? probably—and Jaskier feels at peace. He turns back to Ciri, strumming thoughtful notes out into the air.

“It’s seeing them and wanting to give all your love to them, because they deserve it and it’s all you have to give, and following them wherever their path takes them because there’s nowhere else in the world you’d rather be than by their side...”

He lets himself talk as Geralt comes to sit next to him, and Jaskier leans into him as he waxes poetic to Ciri about what it’s like to have a soulmate—because he does, and isn’t that just a hell of a thing?

Really, having a soulmate is the greatest adventure out there, and Jaskier thinks his child self would forgive him for wanting one of his own if he knew it would be Geralt of Rivia.