#bouncey's endless au collection

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

Prompt idea: Geralt gets a contract for a monster that has been sighted nearby. When he tracks it down, he is surprised to find mothman!Jaskier who (much like actual mothman) has an ass that won’t quit.

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I just want you to know that Mothskier now lives in my head rent free 24/7. I love him. I would die for him. This is my new favorite emotional support au.

2k-ish words - please feel free to shove comments through the bars of my enclosure, I would really like that

art by the ever-wonderful @mawbwehownets, whose drawing of Mothskier made me legit cry.

tw: mild injury, brief blood mention, strangers to lovers

---

“So what you’re saying,” Geralt raises an eyebrow slowly, curious, “Is that you need me to catch a monster that’s half man and half moth?”

“Yup.”

“Alright,” Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer finger. The frustrated Witcher takes a slow breath to calm and center himself, before he ends up botching the entire contract-writing process. Humans tend to grow attached to the strangest monsters sometimes, and apparently this mysterious local being was no different. “Let me get this totally straight, so there are no mistakes or misunderstandings. You want me to capture this man-moth and get it out of your woods, but you don’t want me to kill it?”

“He’s called the Mothman, and he’s pretty damn stubborn about sticking around,” the aging farmer corrects Geralt with a little frown. Then his expression shifts and he smiles in a way that seems almost apologetic. “We were hoping you could find a way to relocate him without hurting or killing him, Master Witcher.”

“That’s completely possible, if he isn’t attached to this specific patch trees by any magical or biological means. You said his natural habitat is just… the forest?”

“As long as there's an abundance of pine around he seems pretty happy. Before he came to live with us, Mothman lived in a heavily forested area up the coast; or at least that’s what the historical records and local mythology seem to indicate.”

“That’s actually pretty helpful information to have on hand, I’m impressed,” Geralt nods. “Alright, Mr. Stevens. I promise to relocate the poor thing without killing or maiming him, and I’ll be sure to take him somewhere far enough away that your crops won’t be in danger. Thanks for calling me first instead of just going straight to an extermination service.”

“Honestly, Master Witcher,” the farmer sighs and readjusts his dirty baseball hat, “If it weren’t for the mischief he’s been getting into lately, we would have let him stick around until spring. I hate to admit it to a man as strong and stern-faced as yourself, but the poor creature is almost… adorable at times.”

“Well that’s a first,” Geralt chuckles, honestly amused by the situation he’s found himself in. “A monster being referred to as ‘adorable’ rather than ‘terrifying’. I’ve never heard such a thing in my many years of life.”

“Then you’d better prepare yourself, Sir Geralt. He’s got a pair of big blue puppy-dog eyes that’ll knock you on your ass if you aren’t careful. And that’s coming from a man who raised three daughters with dimples.”

“Hmm. Fuck.”

---

Geralt knows enough about moths to come up with a plan he thinks will work.

Before he heads into the woods to find and capture the poor wandering creature, the Witcher takes a detour through the lighting section of the nearest Lowe’s.

---

Unfortunately for Geralt, the farmer was right about the power of Mothman’s puppy dog eyes, which are big and blue and begin to water as soon as the Witcher’s net knocks him to the ground. The creature lies in a whimpering tangle of limbs beneath the heavy, magically enhanced restraints. Geralt takes an opportunity to look at what the locals called "a cryptid".

Mothman has a long, lithe body that's covered in a light layer of grey-brown fur, but his hair resembles that of a human’s, falling over those enormous blue eyes in a lovely chestnut fringe. When Mothman sees the swords on Geralt’s back he cries out in panicked recognition and tries to pull his arms up far enough to shield his face. The lamp Geralt used to lure him into the clearing is still bathing him in a pool of yellow light; it’s almost pretty for a monster, Geralt notes.

As the Witcher takes a step forward, the cryptid squeaks and buries his face against his own shoulder. His entire frame is trembling.

“Hey there, shhhhh,” the Witcher murmurs quietly. He drops into a squat and holds both hands up to show Mothman that they’re weapon free. Tears are now falling freely down the creature’s surprisingly human face; whoever or whatever this is, they are likely some kind of Fae. “I’m not here to hurt you, I just want to get you back through the veil.”

“Liar,” Mothman huffs. His voice has a surprisingly musical quality to it and Geralt is now sure of his Fae parentage (or grand-parentage).

“I promise I’m not lying,” Geralt reassures him, slowly crawling forward. When he reaches for the nearest corner of the net, he feels all of Mothman’s muscles go tense. “I’m going to lift this up and I am going to restrain you, but I swear that I’m not going to kill you. I wish to cause as little distress as possible. Is that alright, Mothman?”

The creature hisses and yanks his foot back away from where Geralt’s hand had nearly touched it. “Jaskier.”

“Hmm?” Geralt glances up, raising an eyebrow.

“My name is Jaskier,” the Fae repeats, glaring up from between the sections of woven rope that make up the heavy net. “Not Mothman.”

“My apologies, Jaskier,” Geralt bows his head. He words his introduction carefully, in case this thing can manipulate his name like others of his kind: “You may refer to me as Geralt.”

“That’s your real name,” Jaskier states. The Witcher’s head snaps up.

“How did you know?”

“Hmm,” Jaskier sticks his tongue out as he mimics the sound Geralt made earlier. “Not telli-AH! Stop! Oh go- gods, stop! Please!”

Geralt drops the short section of rope he’s trying untangle from around Jaskier’s ankle and snaps his eyes upwards, already searching for damage. “What’s wrong!?”

“My wing!” Jaskier bawls. His scent spikes out through the clearing, sharp with panic and pain. The creature’s chest begins to shake more violently than before, his shoulders shuddering with the rising force of his sobs, “It’s t-t-torn! Oh gods, my wing! Sir Witcher, p-please!”

Geralt freezes, his gaze settling on the torn section of Jaskier’s large, furry wing. It’s a nasty wound near one of the joints, a faint trickle of barely-luminescent blood has already dried around the edges. Jaskier tries to flutter it a little and screams in agony when the muscles shift too suddenly, shrilly enough that Geralt needs to cover his hypersensitive ears. The Witcher's heart crashes down into his boots; based on the way the shivering Fae has gone pale and silent, the pain is too much for him to process. He’s gone into shock.

A torn wing is exactly the kind of thing Geralt had promised the farmer (and the collective of townspeople he represented) wouldn’t happen to the peaceful moth creature if they hired a Witcher instead of an exterminator. He sighs and gives the strange being another once-over. “Everything's alright, Jaskier. You’re going to be alright. I’m so, so sorry that you've been wounded. We’ll get you out of this net and get you something for the pain, but it’s going to hurt a little to untangle you. Stay still, don’t struggle, and it’ll be over soon.”

“J-Just kill me,” Jaskier pants. He’s continuing to hyperventilate and Geralt needs him to calm down before he passes out. The Fae reaches a hand for the dagger at Geralt's waist and the Witcher twists out of reach with a frown. Jaskier sobs again, fingers still seeking, “I might n-n-never fly a-again so just k-kill me!”

“Breathe with me, Jaskier,” the Witcher instructs, forgoing patience and cutting through the net with that same dagger. He scoops Jaskier up into his arms, ignoring the keening sound at the back of Jaskier’s throat when his wing is jostled, and rushes the Fae to his truck, tucking him into the passenger’s seat and wrapping him in a large, fluffy blanket. “I’m taking you to my friend. She’s an expert at healing magical creatures and I'm certain that she'll get your wing fixed in no time.”

Jaskier doesn’t give an answer. When Geralt looks up into the creature’s face again, the injured Fae has already passed out.

---

Jaskier moves with all the grace of a newborn foal as he explores the room Geralt has provided for him. His wing has been inspected, treated, and bandaged by a rather scary sorceress named Yennefer, who glared at the Witcher the entire time she was caring for him. She had also taken one of Geralt’s old t-shirts and cut an enormous hole in the back for Jaskier’s wings to fit through. The shirt’s bottom hem falls to the middle of his thighs and the thick black material is softer than anything he’d ever felt before.

He hears a knock on the door and calls out, “It’s open!”

Geralt enters slowly, bearing a pair of pajama bottoms and a mug of tea. “I brought you some last minute supplies and - uh… I brought you some tea. Yen always likes some before she goes to sleep and I figured since this was a new place and new places can be scary that I should-”

“Thank you,” Jaskier interrupts, smiling shyly. His antennae twitch happily as he takes the offerings from Geralt's hands and the Witcher watches them with wide eyes. Jaskier carefully sets the pajamas and the tea on the nightstand before turning back to look at Geralt. “I will… see you tomorrow?”

Geralt gives one sharp nod. “Hmm.”

“Goodnight,” Jaskier sing-songs, taking a seat on the edge of the bed as Geralt exits.

From the other side of the closed door, Jaskier’s superior hearing picks up the Witcher’s final whisper: “Goodnight, Jaskier. I will always be sorry for causing you pain.”

The next morning he meets Geralt at the breakfast table, refreshed and ready to learn about the human world. He’s summoned a glamour in order to hide his more Moth-like traits, the only things that remain of his true nature are his wings and antennae; his fur is gone and he’s dressed in a pair of sweatpants and that same old shirt. The Witcher offers him a bowl of fruit and mug of something sweet-smelling. Jaskier glares into the mug with a slight pout to his lips before finally asking, “What is this?”

“Hot chocolate.”

Jaskier takes a sip and his antennae flutter, twitching happily as he swallows the best drink he’s ever had in his long life. He eats a strawberry from the bowl and slowly works his way through the hot chocolate, eyeing Geralt warily as the Witcher moves through the familiar kitchen to make his own breakfast.

“Where is Yennefer?”

“She went home,” Geralt shrugs.

“She isn’t your mate?”

“N-No,” Geralt sputters, turning to stare at the nervous young Fae. “Why would you think that?”

“You smell like each other.”

“We spend a lot of time together,” Geralt shrugs again. “Good friends, that’s all.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier mimics his host for a second time. Rather effectively by the annoyed twitch at the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “Just wondering.”

“Anything else you’re curious about?”

“Why don’t you have more lights?”

“Huh?”

“Lights,” Jaskier gestures around the minimalistic layout of Geralt’s open-concept kitchen/living room and its distinctive lack of lamps. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans forward against the dark marble countertop. The pout has gone from 'slight' to 'full-bore' and Geralt is clinging desperately to his braincell with how cute it looks. “It’s no fun.”

“You really like lamps, don’t you?” the Witcher replies, mouth dry. Jaskier huffs and takes another sip of his hot chocolate, antennae flickering back and forth in irritation. Geralt bites his lip to hide a smile; it’s too fucking cute, which is an odd thought for a Witcher to have.

“So what if I do enjoy a nice lamp or five in my living space?” Jaskier argues. "I'm a Moth of taste."

“No matter,” Geralt laughs quietly. “Finish your drink before it gets cold.”

---

Jaskier stays with Geralt for a few weeks while his wing heals, and for a creature whose sole interest seems to be fancy light fixtures, the Fae becomes a source of light in Geralt's own world. They go to a nonhuman friendly second-hand store to find Jaskier some more clothes and Geralt discovers the cryptid's love for oddly patterned shirts in bright colors. Jaskier chooses several to fill out his closet, as well as a sweater two-sizes too large in deep black (Geralt tries his best not to attach any meaning to this choice), a few pairs of pants, and a jean jacket that he declares, "Can be altered."

They watch movies together and make food together - Jaskier is always incredibly impressed by the way the automatic coffee maker works, and how easily Geralt can control the flames of the stove. Jaskier also follows the Witcher along on less dangerous hunts and helps bandage him up after worse ones, always there with a smile and a little kiss over the cleaned-up wound.

“It really is magic,” Jaskier always insists, lips pink and shining from licking them as he concentrates. "It makes you heal faster."

Geralt realizes one night - two weeks into Jaskier’s stay, as he leans against the doorframe and watches the strange creature’s even breathing - that he has gone and done the stupidest thing a Witcher can do: fall in love with a pretty, temperamental young Fae. Head over fuckin’ heels, actually.

So he makes a decision.

---

The next evening, after the dinner dishes have been cleaned and put away, Geralt herds Jaskier down the hall to the guest room. Those entrancing blue eyes blink up at him in obvious confusion. “Bedtime already?”

“No, not quite. I just- I made you… uh…”

“Do you have a surprise for me?” Jaskier asks, used to the Witcher's issues with verbalizing.

Geralt nods, relieved and thankful for the Fae’s steadfast understanding. “Do you want to cover your eyes or should I just open the door and show you?”

“I’ll close my eyes,” Jaskier smiles, covering his eyes with both hands. Geralt finds it adorable, as Jaskier always is, and allows himself a matching grin as he swings the door open. The ceiling light is off but Geralt has built a blanket fort at the center of the room and surrounded it with fairy lights of all colors and sizes. Inside the blanket fort is a mass of blankets and pillows; Jaskier has the odd habit of building nests - Geralt jokingly calls them cocoons - and sleeping in those on the floor instead of on the very comfortable mattress the Witcher has provided.

“Open them,” Geralt urges.

Jaskier pulls his hands away and Geralt watches as his pupils go huge and wide. Jaskier's face breaks out in the sunniest, most blindingly happy smile Geralt has ever seen. He turns and throws his arms around the Witcher, his wings fluttering behind him and his antennae twitching and flicking above his head. He tries desperately to speak but only manages a half-snuffled little “I’m-” before bursting into tears of joy.

Geralt just holds him, letting his arms fold carefully around Jaskier’s waist, just beneath his wings.

"I just wanted you to know that, if you wanted to stay, there would be room for you. Your room, if you want it."

"I do," Jaskier smiles, burying his face in the Witcher's neck. "I'd love to stay. I'd love nothing more than to spend my days going on adventures with you."

"Well then," Geralt gathers all of his courage and presses a soft kiss to the crown of Jaskier's head. He's met with happy spasms from the antennae so he does it again. And again. Moving from the top of the Fae's head to his cheeks and then his mouth - pretty and pink and pouting and so worth the trouble. "I suppose we can get started on our next adventure tomorrow."

[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. 

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

Hiiiiiii my fluff monarch! 💖💖

For a fluff prompt: what about like.... mod au geraskier, they were childhood friends but one moved away, they run into each other as adults somehow and wow you grew *up* 😳😳 Getting together goodness.

😘😘😘😘

oh Stina, you’re such a darling. I do love my modern au boys!

tw: doctor’s office, medical facility, there is more flirting than actual medical care happening, Jaskier commits an OSHA violation, decently horny but not too bad

---

Geralt walked into the small, overly-bright waiting room and took a seat in the corner, far away from the other patients. He picked up a copy of Men’s Health and pretended to read it, his mind wandering as he flipped listlessly through the pages.

He hated physicals.

They took up precious time and were, in his opinion, completely unnecessary. He was a fucking Witcher; he couldn’t even get sick. 

The disgruntled feeling in his chest dissipated completely when the door to the examination rooms slowly opened and a brown-haired (and vaguely familiar) angel stood before him and said, in the world’s loveliest tenor: “Geralt deRiv?”

Geralt practically flew from his seat, crossing the room in four long strides. “Hello.”

“Hi there,” the brunette smiled. His grin was wide and lopsided and his blue eyes, so fucking familiar it was killing Geralt, sparkled even in the clinical light of the fluorescents. He was wearing a pair of ridiculously bright pink, llama-and-rainbow print scrubs and Geralt blinked stupidly down at the gorgeous creature. Jaskier giggled, fucking heavenly to behold, and gestured through the door. “Right this way, Mr. deRiv.”

Suddenly, hearing that voice up close and seeing the nurse’s colorful outfit, everything clicked gloriously into place. As Geralt followed the nurse down the hallway, he asked, “How has it been, Jaskier? I haven’t seen you in, what, nine years?”

“Something like that,” the younger man grinned over his shoulder. They stopped in front of a nondescript exam room and Jaskier opened the door, letting them both inside. He took a seat on the rolling chair and gestured for Geralt to sit on the table. “Are you still... Witchering?”

“Yeah,” Geralt grunted. Fuck, Jaskier had gotten even hotter since they were teenagers! All those years ago, when Geralt had developed a dangerously huge crush on the underclassman right before his father, some kind of ambassador, had been called away. “Still doing that. So are Lambert and Eskel.”

“Too bad about Lambert, he had a really great thing going with those accounting classes.”

“Hard to switch professions when you look the way we do,” Geralt grimaced. “It’s not too bad, all things considered. Technically I don’t even need to be here.”

“Well your health insurance provider said you do need to be here, so,” Jaskier sanitized his hands and reached for the blood pressure cuff hanging on the wall. “Take off your hoodie, please.”

---

Jaskier had not been prepared for that. No, sir. He had not been prepared for such glorious, absolutely picture-perfect titties to be right in front of his face this early in the morning.

Especially not Geralt deRiv’s titties, the man he’d been dreaming about like some stupid fairtytale fantasy for seven long years. All the way through medical school and then RN certification. And damn... those were some fine pectorals. 

“You okay?” Geralt asked, breaking the spell his chest had cast on Jaskier’s stupid, gay little brain. 

“Oh, sorry, yeah. Let’s just-” he applied the blood pressure cuff and had to turn away for a moment to breathe deeply and calm his nerves. And his arms, too!? “-lovely.”

Jaskier let his training take over, going through the list of tests one after the other and trying not to let Geralt’s eyes, which tracked his every move with predator-like precision, unnerve him into making a mistake. When he was finished, he stood and grabbed for his clipboard. “Dr. Maxwell will be with you shortly to conclude your exam.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt called. His golden eyes settled on Jaskier and froze the nurse in place. “Would you like to go out sometime? I know it’s weird, and that I haven’t seen you in years, but I-”

“Yes!” Oh gods, yes! “I’d love to! Let me write down my number.”

“It was good seeing you again.”

“You, too,” Jaskier blushed, handing over a slip of paper with his number written in neat, tidy print. Geralt accepted it and tried to stand, not realizing just how close he and Jaskier really were. They knocked legs and the nurse began to topple backwards; Geralt reached out on instinct, curling his arm around Jaskier’s waist and pulling him close. Jaskier’s hands landed on his chest and, surprisingly, stayed there for a moment. “Damn, dude. Work out much?”

Geralt laughed, long and loud. That had probably gotten someone’s attention. “Yeah, just a little. Helps with the monster fighting.”

“Right.”

“See you soon, Jaskier,” Geralt chuckled softly, releasing the nurse once he was sure Jaskier was steady. 

Surprising both of them, Jaskier pecked his reacquaintance on the cheek. “Yeah, but not soon enough.”

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

My dearest bouncey! I have a prompt for you if you like: Witchers as a 90s/2000s boyband 😂🤷‍♀️💖💖💖

Ellie, darling, this started as 500 words and turned into like 3.2k words and also a piece of art so... thank you so much. also shout out to my amazing art pal @mawbwehownets for the little comic!!

this contains lots of 90′s/early 2000′s nostalgia so there is also that

tw: hornyish, smooching, perilous music video situations (corny)

---

“Do I have to?” Geralt groans, letting his forehead thud down against the linoleum surface of their tour bus’s shitty dining table.

“Yes,” Vesemir says. His tone leaves no room for argument or whining. “But what if I let you pick the winner personally?”

“There have to be like fifteen thousand letters to go through! How will I manage that in less than two days?”

“There were a few more than fifteen thousand applications, Geralt. There were probably closer to five hundred thousand.”

Lambert wolf whistles and Aiden claps.

Geralt grimaces and keeps his face hidden against the table, releasing a slightly muffled: “Fuck.”

“Language,” Vesemir frowns. He tugs gently at Geralt’s loose ponytail and the singer lifts his head up from the table again, looking at his manager with beseeching eyes. “Anyway, we’ve narrowed it down to about fifty. You can go through those and choose whichever person you’d like to play your love interest. But you have to give me an answer by Friday. The shoot is in three weeks and whoever wins this stupid competition will need time to make arrangements.”

“I thought we were footing the bill for their food and their hotel room,” Geralt raised an eyebrow. “What would they need to arrange?”

“Not everyone can board their pets at the flick of a wrist, dude,” Lambert scoffs from his seat on the couch. Aiden lies draped across his lap, as usual, and the two of them are halfheartedly watching The Lion King. They can only watch movies when the bus is stationary, otherwise the VHS player might move too much while running and damage the film inside the cassette. Even taking advantage of such a rare opportunity, Lambert and Aiden still seem more interested in each other than Jonathan Taylor Thomas’s voice acting. 

“Lambert has a point,” Vesemir sighs. He scrubs his hand over his lightly whiskered face like a tired grandparent and sighs again, more heavily. “It’ll be good for you boys to have a normal person around for a few days. Maybe they’ll be able to put some things into perspective.”

Geralt can only roll his eyes a little bit and thank his manager regardless of his own feelings; he and the rest of TW5 owe the seasoned musical expert their entire careers. Without Vesemir’s help and mentorship they would never have made it past their first disastrous record deal. They certainly wouldn’t have reached the heights they’re at now, enjoying international fame and recognition. 

The begrudging frontman accepts a heavy plastic bin of file folders from Vesemir and sets them down next to his bunk. “Are these organized in any particular way?”

“Nope.”

“Cool.”

Geralt digs his hand into the pile and pulls out a piece of pale-pink stationary, eager to get started and, by extension, get finished. He can already tell that it’s going to be a long couple of days.

---

“I want this one, please, Ves.”

“Huh?” Vesemir looks up from his palm-pilot. Geralt is standing in front of him and trying to hand him something. 

“I want this guy to be in the music video with me.” Geralt holds out the letter again, fingers trapping the accompanying polaroid headshot with great care. A pair of bright blue eyes stares up from the photo, highlighting the subject’s bright smile and unruly mop of messy brown hair. Vesemir tries to hide his amusement; totally Geralt’s type, if the big oaf could admit to having one.

“Alright. I’ll get everything in order. We start shooting in two and a half weeks so get your asses to the gym, please.”

“Yes, Ves,” all five young men chorus. 

“Tomorrow,” Coen mutters a moment later than everyone else, not glancing up from his composition notebook. Vesemir nods in understanding. Coen is the best lyricist of the lot and it’s easier to let him work when inspiration strikes than beg him to focus when he can’t get a solitary idea to stick.

“So why’d you pick that one, Ger-bear?” Lambert drawls. Aiden nods and leans against Lambert’s side. Geralt can’t help the mild jealousy that overtakes him every time he sees his bandmates touch each other with such casual affection. He wants that intimacy, that softness behind the veneer of famous indifference. He wants someone to hold. 

“Yeah. What drew your attention to that poor unfortunate soul. Was it the floppy hair, the big blue eyes, or the dopey grin?” Aiden smirks.

“Hmm.”

“Fuck you,” Eskel sighs, looking between the two troublemakers with the tired gaze of an eldest sibling, “Fuck you for even asking in the first place and expecting a straight answer.”

“Straight is the furthest thing from his answer,” Lambert chuckles. He is promptly smacked in the head with one of the couch’s hideous throw pillows. The youngest member of the band rubs the side of his face and chuckles, “Alright, I deserved that one.”

---

“Holy shit!” Jaskier practically screams. “Holy motherfucking shit!”

“What!?” Yennefer comes flying around the corner. “What’s wrong!?”

“Nothing is wrong, Yenna! Everything is awesome! Everything absolutely fucking rocks!”

“Did you get hit on the head by a falling branch between here and the mailbox or what? You were whining about your finals work not five min-”

“Look at this!” Jaskier shoves an open envelope into her hands and cuts her off. Yennefer reads the watermarked documents once. Twice. Her eyes almost pop out of her head when the words and their meanings finally sink in. 

“Are you fucking with me right now?”

“No, I am absolutely not!” her giddy roommate cheers, bouncing up and down in place. “I did it! I won!”

“Holy shit.”

“I know! I get to kiss Geralt deRiv!” he practically cackles. Then freezes. “Holy fuck I get to kiss Geralt deRiv.”

“You said that already,” Yen teases. She shoves the paperwork back into his hands and grabs a takeout menu from the junk drawer near her hip. “Since you won the makeout lottery, you get to buy lunch. Lucky bastard.”

---

“So this will be your dressing room,” someone’s underpaid PA says, ushering Jaskier into a small, bright room. “Priscilla will be here shortly to get you into hair and makeup.”

“Oh, uh- thanks!”

“Yup.”

And with that, the young man disappears back down the hallway toward the sound stage. Jaskier jogs his leg anxiously as he waits for Priscilla to arrive, nervous and otherwise totally alone in the huge grey building. As the minutes tick by and his heart rate rises, Jaskier’s intrusive thoughts make an unwanted appearance: What if they forget about me being here? What if there’s been a mistake and they accidentally hired two love interests and I just sit in here for hours all alone while-

“Hi!” a bright, peppy blonde woman flies through the door and startles him back to reality. “Nice to meet you, I’m Priscilla! You can call me Priss; I’ll be doing your hair and makeup for the video this week!”

“Oh… hi. I’m Julian, but I prefer Jaskier.”

“Lovely! Well, Jaskier, is your hair naturally this color?”

“Y-Yes?”

“Perfect! I don’t want to mess with such a lovely shade of natural brown, but do you mind if I give it a bit of a trim? I have a few ideas for styles right here in my book- How do you feel about some feathering back here? I think-” she fluffs a few of the hairs around the nape of Jaskier’s neck “-I could really bring out the curls if I adjusted the length a bit and used some product.”

“Just, uhm, go for it, then! Feel free to make me as pretty as possible!” Jaskier declares. He’s committing to this experience wholeheartedly, determined to allow himself every opportunity for positive change. He wants to really let himself enjoy it, and he needs a haircut anyway. Priscilla spends an hour washing, cutting, drying, and styling his hair into a lovely fringed sweep across his forehead. It ends just above his brows, giving his face a slightly softer shape than usual. He grins over his shoulder, “I love it! I’m going to miss you when I’m back at Oxenfurt. Good stylists are so hard to find.”

Priss blushes and nudges against his shoulder, “Oh, you little charmer.”

“I mean it,” he says, examining himself in the mirror. “I look like I could really be worthy of a heroic rescue! This is going to be such a fantastic memory, and I appreciate it. Thank you so much.”

Priss bites back a genuine tear and smiles, “Now that your natural prettiness has been mildly enhanced, let’s get you over to wardrobe, shall we?”

“Wardrobe? Do I have, like, a costume? What’s the music video even about?”

“They didn’t tell you any of this when you got here?”

“Not… not really.”

“Well, my darling, I think you’re really going to like it; they’ve got you in Versace for the first scene.”

“Versace!?” 

Then Jaskier is being ushered into a bright, colorful room full to bursting with grim-faced, middle-aged women and he loses track of his only braincell for the rest of the morning.

---

“You must be Julian!” Lambert declares, bounding up to him and grinning. It’s a feral, animalistic grin and Jaskier resists the sudden urge to take a step back.

“I prefer Jaskier, if you don’t mind too much,” Jaskier corrects him quietly. Lambert rolls his eyes in a long-suffering kind of way and throws a meaty arm around the shorter man’s shoulders, completely ignoring the wardrobe technician’s wincing as he wrinkles the expensive silk jacket. 

“No need to be quiet and polite around here, my dude. We’re just a bunch of rowdy idiots, aren’t we, guys?” 

“Hell yeah!” Aiden calls back. Eskel sighs like the put-upon nanny in a Victorian Redanian comedy. 

“Speak for yourself,” Coen barely lifts his frosted tips up from his book long enough to speak. Geralt is-

Holy motherfucking Britney Spears on toast.

Geralt is the hottest thing Jaskier has ever seen in his short, unfulfilled-until-right-now life. Forget Ralph Macchio. Forget Leonardo Dicaprio and Kate Winslet and Winona Ryder. This man is… Geralt deRiv is… he’s the picture of perfection. And he’s right there, standing in front of an elaborate party set with his thick, beautiful arms crossed over his chest and his eyes trained on the floor, as if willing it to swallow him whole. Jaskier realizes that he probably didn’t have any choice in the matter; maybe this was just as awkward and uncomfortable for Geralt as it was for Jaskier. 

“Ger-bear!” Lambert whoops, yanking Jaskier closer to the brooding frontman. If only he were brave enough to struggle for escape; alas. “This is your boy-toy for the week. Goes by Jaskier, apparently.”

“Nice to meet you,” Geralt manages to grunt. “How did you like the script?”

“I haven’t uh- I haven’t actually seen it?”

“Shit. Fuck. One second,” Geralt huffs, disappearing into the crowd of technicians and machinery operators and PAs. Jaskier loves him already, for real. Sure, he was pretty in the music videos and promo material, but the way he said fuck like it was the noblest word he could think of… Geralt interrupts his train of thought by coming back with a sheaf of papers clutched in his hand. He shuffle-shoves them into Jaskier’s arms immediately. “There you go.”

“Thank you!” Jaskier smiles. It’s genuine and shy, more tenuous than his usual goofy grin. He flips through the pages, glancing between the script to his expensive suit, “So I’m guessing we’re at a party for this scene? Or something?”

“This is… where we meet. This is where… you and I uh…”

Jaskier’s eyes scan the page as Geralt’s ability to speak slowly leaves him. 

Lover ENTERS LEFT, dressed to the nines. Lover adjusts their tie/boa and takes a look around the room. S/He looks sad and a little hopeful. PULL BACK to Geralt, who approaches slowly. Their eyes meet. HOLD SHOT. PULL BACK as they move towards each other. Geralt pulls Lover into his arms and they begin to dance.

“Oh, wow.”

“I hope it’s okay! If you’re not comfortable with that kind of thing we can-”

“I’ll be alright, thank you. I came here to put my acting chops to the test. Well, that and meet my favorite band, of course. Thank you again, by the way. It’s been wonderful so far and I really appreciate you allowing me to be here.”

“Allowing? Psh. Geralt ha-” Lambert is cut off by Aiden, who elbows him sharply in the side. “Ow! What the fuck, babe?”

“I knew it!” Jaskier crows, distracted. “I knew you two were an item!”

“They’re not exactly subtle.”

“They never confirm anything either,” Jaskier retorts. Geralt shrugs his acknowledgement and moves back towards the set. Jaskier follows after the taller man like a lost puppy, eyes flicking from one thing to the next, hungry for detail even in his anxiety ridden state. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience and he doesn’t want to waste a solitary second of it. “This is incredible, really just...wow. You guys do this all the time? You get to make tiny little movies for already great songs that you get to perform for millions of adoring fans? And you get paid!?”

Geralt hadn’t ever really thought about it like that. He’d been raised in the industry. He’d signed to Kaer Morhen Records as an early teen because his mother was a member of the Board of Directors and he’d been making music ever since; an outsider’s perspective to things was… new. A little strange. “Yeah, I guess that is pretty much what we do.”

“Wow.”

“It’s not that exciting, I promise.”

“Have you ever written a fifteen page paper about the history of lute-string design and manufacturing?” 

“No.”

“Then kindly shut the fuck up about what I should consider exciting,” Jaskier grins. Geralt is immediately and irrevocably smitten. Fuck. It hasn’t even been fifteen minutes! “So, which door am I entering from?”

“Left,” Geralt points. Jaskier skips over and begins to introduce himself to the sound and lights crew. His smile seems to be as infectious as his cheer and soon the entire set crew is smiling at one another. There’s been a literal shift in the atmosphere; if he didn’t know any better, the TW5 frontman thinks Jaskier might be some kind of magical creature, because he can’t just be human. Geralt is well and truly fucked, and everyone in the band already knows.

---

“What do you think?” Jaskier asks, slipping anxiously from behind the changing screen. The Versace is gone and in its place are a pair of tight, high-waisted blue pleather pants and a billowing white shirt, which has been strategically ripped in several places to reveal slivers of the lightly tanned skin that lies beneath. He looks like he’s in desperate need of rescuing. He looks like every fantasy Geralt has ever had about the perfect guy. He looks like a fucking dream.

“Nice,” he says.

Lambert and Aiden wolf-whistle and cheer as they approach. Aiden claps twice, loudly, and shoots Jaskier a set of finger guns, “Hot damn, baby. You single? You lookin’ to mingle? Because I am bi and spoon like a Pringle.”

“First of all, babe, I love you but that was the most horrific combination of words yet known to man. Second of all, yeah, I’d dump Aiden for you for sure,” Lambert adds. Jaskier is at a total loss for words. His mouth hangs open and his breath comes in uneven little gasps for a moment.

“Uh… I- Thank you?”

“Oh god, Eskel! Eskel, he’s short circuiting, do something.”

“You absolute-” Eskel groans and makes his way over to the gathered group. He tugs Jaskier away and over to the other end of the set, where a comically huge rocket/bomb (Jaskier can’t tell) is standing at the center of a vaguely science-themed room. A laboratory, maybe? Or like, a really weird spacecraft? A hospital run by rocket scientists? It doesn’t matter, it’s the Evil Lair of the Villain and that’s where Jaskier is being held captive. “Here, Cameron and Elise will help you get set up for the next scene. I’m sorry about the boys they’re... gay?”

“I understand,” Jaskier nods sagely and Eskel relaxes. Then for comedy’s sake he adds an equally dramatic, “I too am... gay.”

The set dresser, an electrician, and a few specialists (likely a rope rigger among them) come over and tie Jaskier to the bomb/rocket/villainous mechanism, ending his conversation with Eskel, who is now in a much better mood than he was before. 

Jaskier is told to make sure his hands are crossed behind the small of his back and the director instructs him to wiggle back and forth “as convincingly as possible without actually getting loose or moving the ropes too much”. Which is manageable, he supposes. 

“Then, when the chorus comes up, we’ll get a few shots of the boys dancing in front of you,” the director continues to explain. That’s… kind weird, but okay. I’ve seen weirder. “Then we’ll do the action shots, with Geralt rescuing you. Are you okay to do the kiss, or would you rather not? We have dynamic shots with or without, so it’s totally up to you.”

“I’m fine with that,” Jaskier smiles shyly. “I consent to be smooched.”

“Adorable,” Lambert calls. Jaskier blushes and the director shoots Lambert a glare. 

“He’s already pink enough, don’t make me change my gels you little shithead!”

“Sorry, Pierre!”

“Fucking sorry my ass,” Pierre grumbles beneath his breath. Then he smiles at Jaskier. “Do something nasty to him for me, will you? Not too nasty but… just a little?”

“I’ve got your back,” Jaskier winks. 

“No plotting! Not fair!” Aiden whines.

“You have a team,” Pierre retorts. “Now I have a team.”

“Rules are rules,” Eskel sighs. “Now can we please shoot this damn video?”

“Right,” Pierre claps, getting everyone’s attention. “Places!”

---

Geralt races up the stairs, trying to keep the long sleeves of his black mesh shirt from catching on any of the set pieces. The solid black t-shirt he’s wearing underneath makes his arms and back look bulkier than normal; it’s a visual technique to make him look larger than Jaskier, whose billowing white shirt will hide how wide his shoulders actually are. Fuck, those are some nice shoulders. And the smattering of dark chest hair that peeks from the front of the college student’s shirt? Geralt wants to bury his face in it.

Okay, focus. 

He reaches the top of the set and rushes towards Jaskier, ripping the ropes from around his torso and pulling him close. He cups the back of Jaskier’s head with his upstage hand, framing the slightly smaller man for the camera and making him seem even shorter, another trick of angles and body posturing. Geralt plays Jaskier like an instrument, bending him back by placing his downstage arm around Jaskier’s waist, pressing their mouths together and holding them still for as long as it takes the director to yell, “Cut!” with a satisfied tone of voice. 

Geralt’s suspicions are confirmed when Pierre laughs and claps some more and cries, “Print it, lads! That was a one-take wonder!”

He tries to ignore the way Jaskier’s shoulders slump as if disappointed. “Good job,” he manages to say.

“You, too.” Geralt wishes he could keep a picture of Jaskier smiling in his back pocket forever. No other sight could light up the world so effortlessly. “Thanks for being gentle.”

“I’m trying to sweep you off your feet,” the singer shrugs. Jaskier wiggles his eyebrows and follows Geralt down the narrow set stairs.

“Are you, really?”

“Is it working?” Geralt asks, turning to look up at Jaskier. The student pauses to look at him and his foot catches on an uneven board. He topples forward with a short cry of surprise and seems surprised when Geralt reaches out to catch him. “Jaskier!”

“Oh my god!” Lambert races over, Aiden hot on his heels. “Are you okay, dude?”

“I’m fine,”  Jaskier laughs, a little breathless. “Just a little shocked.”

“You should take him to get a snack or something,” Eskel says, nudging his shoulder against Geralt’s. “He’s been busy all day and hasn’t even been to craft services.”

“You haven’t eaten?” Geralt asks, honestly baffled. Jaskier shakes his head, face heating once again. He wishes he could stop blushing, but Geralt’s presence seems to make it impossible. He wraps one arm around the younger man’s temptingly slender waist and leads him towards the food carts. He shoves a couple of sandwiches and a bottle of punch into Jaskier’s hands, not giving him a chance to argue. “Here, I’ll have something, too.”

“Thanks,” Jaskier smiles, understanding that he is, in turn, being understood. They sit comfortable folding chairs off to the side, food spread across their laps. Jaskier laughs and chats around his mouthfuls, pulling things from Geralt like his favorite color and his least favorite nicknames. Songs he liked and dances he disliked. 

“You made it fun again, today,” the singer smiles. “Thank you for that. I wish you could be here for every video shoot.”

“Looking for another member of the band?” Jaskier jokes, doing some half-hearted jazz hands. Geralt shakes his head and laughs. 

“I wish we were,” he sighs. “But I guess five is the magic number.”

“Makes the dances look cooler,” Jaskier nods. “I agree with whoever made that decision. I wouldn’t dare ruin the aesthetic.”

Geralt laughs again and Vesemir turns to look, honestly shocked at the volume of the sound. 

“Plus, you can’t be the frontman if there’s no front.”

“Shut up,” Geralt chuckles, still grinning broadly. 

Vesemir makes a phone call.

---

2 Weeks Later, Backstage in Kaedwen

---

“He’s been sulking like this ever since Jaskier went back to Oxenfurt,” Lambert whines. “C’mon Vesemir, do something.”

“What do you want me to do, make Geralt’s boyfriend appear out of thin air?”

“Not my boyfriend,” Geralt growls, stomping past his bandmates and manager. He can’t help but feel grumpy. Jaskier had been like the sun, bringing light and wonder to everything he touched, and without that joy around it doesn’t seem worth the extra effort to smile. So he’s been moping. 

“Fucking hell,” Vesemir sighs. “Thank goodness I thought ahead.”

“What do you mean?” Eskel asks, joining the little group in the hallway outside the dressing room. “What did you think of?”

“Three,” Vesemir smiles, glancing at his watch. “Two… One…”

“Boooooys,” echoes a high tenor. “Where’s my welcome wagon, Vesemir?”

“Jaskier!” Aiden practically screams, leaping out of the dressing room and flying down the hall. Lambert follows at a sprint and Vesemir hears the resounding oof oh fuck of both giddy musicians hitting their mark. 

Geralt comes back down the hall at a jog, eyes searching frantically. “I thought I heard-”

“Geralt!”

Vesemir’s heart clenches in his chest at the way Geralt’s face lights up. At the end of the hallway, surrounded by spilled luggage and apologetic boyband members, is Jaskier. Geralt floats to him, it seems, like he’s dreaming the whole thing. Jaskier takes his hands and then releases them and wraps his arms low around Geralt’s hips instead. 

“I missed you the most,” he whispers, just for Geralt to hear. “Couldn’t sleep without listening to your CD. I know it’s silly but I really like you.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt whispers reverently into his shaggy brown hair. “What are you doing here?”

“I was going to do my thesis on pop culture’s relation to music history,” he says. “And then the manager of TW5 called Oxenfurt and offered me the opportunity to do some… first hand research while I worked on finishing the paper.”

“R-Really? You’re going to be here… every day?”

“Do you… do you not want me he-”

Geralt kisses him before he can even finish the question. It’s a stupid question anyway, of course Geralt wants him here. Wants him right here, kissing him silly. The singer presses his lips desperately, crushingly against Jaskier’s; he never wants to part from this man again. He never wants to be without that glorious laughter and contagious liveliness. Who knew that life could be so full of delight and happiness if he only let it? 

He kisses Jaskier for all he’s worth and more, pouring his heart and soul into it. When they pull apart, both gasping for air, Geralt asks, “Stay with me, Jaskier? You don’t have to do anything I just-”

“I’d love to be the big spoon,” Jaskier winks, whispering again. “Thank you, Geralt, for the rescue.”

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

Subtext, by Calvin Klein

happy birthday @stinastar!!! I know it’s not the prompt you wanted, but I’ll write that too. :) Thank you so much for being awesome and so so sweet!

Legally Blonde au - modern - fluffy pre-getting together

depending on the comments I get on this, I might post a second part

tw: Geralt’s tragic backstory (foster care mention)

---

Geralt approached Jaskier slowly and kept his hands firmly in the pockets of his loose-fitting jeans. “What’s up-” he noticed the bunny ears poking up from Jaskier’s fluffy brown hair and added “-doc?”

The young law student looked up at Geralt through teary black lashes and let out another soft sniffle, his lips wobbling unattractively. Geralt hurried to drape his zip-up hoodie over Jaskier’s bare shoulders and take a seat on the wooden bench beside him. 

The worried teacher’s assistant rubbed his hands up and down Jaskier’s arms through the material, trying to warm him up a little better. “Why are you dressed as a Playboy bunny, sitting on a bench in the middle of the night in this terrible New England weather?”

“I made a terrible mistake in coming here.”

“What?”

Geralt had never heard Jaskier sound so utterly defeated. Usually the student was bright and bubbly, congenial to a fault even when he made mistakes or answered incorrectly during class discussions. The charming brunette seemed to pull bucket after bucket from a nearly endless well of positivity; until now, apparently. 

As he sat beside Geralt on the worn wooden bench, wearing the tight pink leotard and little wrist cuffs, practically glowing in the yellow-tinged lamplight, he seemed too ethereal to be real. Even as he shivered and sniffled, Jaskier looked too gorgeous to be human. Seeing him in such a distressed state was a little unnerving, like bumping into an old teacher outside of school or accidentally seeing your neighbors kissing through a window. It felt wrong. 

“I followed the love of my life to this stupid fucking university and now he’s going to marry some fancy, well-bred blonde woman like his parents wanted and I’m going to flunk out of these classes with nothing to show for my time here and my parents are going to-”

“Hey,” Geralt interrupted, taking one hand from his pocket to place on Jaskier’s trembling knee. “It’s going to be okay. Breathe, Jaskier.”

“Right. Breathing. Yeah.”

“Are you… okay?” 

Jaskier looked at him again and Geralt flinched away from the obvious hurt in his watery blue eyes. Of course he’s not okay, he’s sobbing alone on a cold bench in the middle of Halloween night. 

“Jaskier, I’m sorry. I’m not good with words but- Wait... are you saying you came to school because of a man?” 

“Y-Yeah. You could put it that way, I guess.”

Geralt yanked his hand away from the younger man’s knee and scooted backwards, away from the man he’d just been admiring. “Oh my god, that has to be the absolute stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. You came all the way to Oxenfurt University’s prestigious and award-winning Law School to hunt down a husband?!”

Jaskier looks taken aback. Startled and bewildered and sad, like a much smaller child rather than an adult man with a degree and a half. “Are you mad at me!?”

“A little bit, yeah,” Geralt laughed humorlessly. He shook his head, swiping one hand over his face on his way to tuck in a stray strand of white hair. “I worked two jobs to get myself through college. I was doing full-time classes and pulling sixty hour weeks at the bar and the grocery store; I don’t think I’ve had a full night’s sleep since I graduated high school. I certainly don’t know the meaning of the word vacation anymore... and you came here to follow some- some guy that you liked?”

“We’d been together for three years before he suddenly dropped me to pursue a degree in fucking bitter looking women, to be completely fair. And I managed to get a good enough LSAT score to qualify for admittance, so it’s not like I’m totally incompetent.”

“No,” Geralt nodded, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I guess that’s true.”

“No guessing involved,” Jaskier spat, tired and angry and flustered. “It is the truth, plain and simple. I deserve to be here and I will be successful.”

“Hmm.” 

“Well why are you here, then, Mr. Grouchy T.A.?”

“I grew up in foster care and let me tell you, from experience, that the system is shit. If I had been forced to remain a foster child for any longer than I was, I probably would have become a match-happy little delinquent like my youngest brother, Lambert. Luckily my third foster parent, Vesemir, adopted me legally and made me his son. He already had one adopted son, my older brother, Eskel, and after me there was Lambert.”

Jaskier took a moment to contemplate Geralt’s story, pulling the sweatshirt closer around his shoulders and burrowing down into the neckline in a way that sent butterflies swirling through Geralt’s stomach rather unexpectedly. Then the younger man smiled at him, pearly teeth glinting in the light of the streetlamp. “That’s… that’s a little sad and a little sweet. It makes sense.”

“What makes sense?”

“The sadness and the sweetness,” Jaskier repeated, grinning a little more shyly than before. Geralt wasn’t sure, since it was so dark and he was so skeptical, but it almost looked like Jaskier was blushing. “Like you. Sweet, kind, caring, but a little melancholy. Anyway, I should be getting back to my dorm. I need to study.”

“I want my sweatshirt back,” Geralt said, standing and offering Jaskier a hand up. He wobbled to his feet, still wearing a pair of dangerously high black stilettos. Geralt knew this outfit would haunt his dreams for the next few weeks and cursed Hugh Heffner’s lingering spirit. 

“If you’re lucky,” Jaskier replied, and click-click-clicked his way into the darkness. 

Geralt honestly wasn’t sure he’d mind if Jaskier decided to keep it… maybe someday he’d wear it to class. And didn’t the thought of that send something odd and new and terrifying swirling in Geralt’s gut.

---

“Where are we going, exactly?” Geralt asked, eyeing the giddy brunette before him. Jaskier batted his long eyelashes at the grumpy T.A. and gave his sweetest pout.

“You trust me, don’t you?”

“Hmm,” Geralt’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

“Well then don’t stop now!” 

The excitable young law student laced his fingers with Geralt’s and pulled him through the large glass doors and into the mall. When at last his eyes adjusted to the bright lights of the shopping center he asked: “What is this place?”

Jaskier grinned, taking a deep, dramatic breath. “A department store.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and took his own deep breath, his nose wrinkling in distaste. “What is that smell?”

“Love,” Jaskier replied.

“What!?”

“Love,” the student repeated, pointing at a sign with his free hand. It was large and pink and read LOVE, BY CHANEL in black block-letters. “There’s Love in the air.”

“Terrible joke, really,” Geralt teased. “But really, Jaskier, why are we here? You have plenty of clothes for court; I know because I’ve been in your closet and seen them firsthand.”

“We’re not here for me,” Jaskier elbowed his mentor and study partner gently in the side. Their hands were still interlaced in a way that made Geralt’s heart thunder dangerously against his ribs; love really was in the air, it seemed. Jaskier continued breezily, unaware of the older man’s roiling internal conflict. “I’m taking you shopping so that you have the proper outfit to wear when accepting Stregobor’s partnership offer.”

They had reached the men’s business section and the brunette released Geralt’s hand in order to dig through the racks of clothing. He was elbow deep in Calvin Klein and Kenneth Cole, hunting for jackets in Geralt’s size. “Jaskier, I can’t afford this kind of-”

“Hush,” Jaskier replied, waving his hand dismissively in his direction, letting it go limp at the wrist. “It’s a gift. No! Not a gift, a repayment.”

“I didn’t give you anything…” 

Jaskier looked up from the selection of suits he’d been inspecting and shot Geralt a dangerous glare. “You most certainly did give me something, Geralt Roger Eric du-Haute Bellegarde! You looked past my bubbliness and my pink blazer and my previous degree and treated me like a person. You supported me and encouraged me without asking for anything in return so this is what I’m giving you.”

Geralt took a step towards him and sneezed. “What is that smell?”

An attendant appeared as if from thin air, a little glass bottle clutched in her hand. “It’s Subtext, by Calvin Klein!”

“It’s not really my thing,” Geralt frowned, closing the distance between himeslf and Jaskier as he made his apologies, “But thank you, regardless.”

“Let me know if you gentlemen need anything!”

Geralt stepped close enough to feel the heat of Jaskier’s body, still not brave enough to initiate touch. “Thank you.”

“It’s not a problem,” Jaskier grinned again. 

Geralt considered the feelings that were stirring in his heart, driving through his veins, branching out through his mind so that all he could focus on was Jaskier... 

It might be a problem, he thought, allowing himself to enjoy the moment. But it can be dealt with another time. 

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

in the highest room of the tallest tower

Jaskier was half-crawling by the time he reached the top of the huge stone tower; it had looked intimidating from the ground, looming against the almost unnatural blue of the midafternoon sun, and it had taken nearly a full hour to climb in its entirety. He arrived in the tower’s sole room completely out of breath. “By Melitele’s great bosom, I nearly died coming to your rescue, my dear.”

Geralt, the room’s only other occupant at the moment, did not answer for a plethora of rather obvious reasons, the first and most important being that he was cursed. Jaskier shuffled his feet against the stone and coughed a little awkwardly, trying to clear his throat. He really wasn’t sure if this plan was going to work, and he knew that if it didn’t his heart would probably shatter to pieces.

“Right, well then... I suppose I should get down to business.”

Jaskier approached the bed and couldn’t resist smiling to himself. The mage had really gone all-out with the aesthetics; a gossamer curtain enclosed three sides of the huge four-poster bed, leaving one of the sides wide open for the witcher’s rescuer to lean through. 

Which he did.

Geralt himself was a picture. His white hair had been braided back out of his face and whatever had been left loose was splayed artfully over the pillowcase. His hands were folded over his abdomen, a rose clutched between them. His chest, armor-less and clad in a shimmering blue tunic, rose and fell softly with each silent breath. Breaths that escaped through a pair of sweet, barely parted pink lips. The witcher’s eyelashes, thick and dark in comparison to his white hair and brows, were fanned against his pale cheeks. 

Jaskier gulped nervously and leaned forward, “Here goes nothing.”

He pressed his mouth to the witcher’s and waited a moment before pulling back. A beat passed. And then another. The bard was about two seconds from bolting from the room entirely when Geralt’s golden eyes began to flutter open. Jaskier’s heart leapt into his throat.

“J-Jaskier?” 

“Yes, dear heart?”

Geralt blinked again and slowly sat up, his arms reaching out for the bard automatically. Jaskier fell against him, sagging in relief like a man breathing fresh air after a long shift in the mines. “We... We have some things to talk about, don’t we, Julek?”

“Yes, my darling, I’m afraid we do.”

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

climbing lessons

well you can all blame @thecomfortofoldstorries ​ for this one

yet again I am set loose in the world with Ideas

warnings/tags: horny but soft, flirty jaskier, flirty Geralt, competent Jaskier

---

Jaskier came breezing out of the dressing room in his favorite pair of teal mermaid-print leggings and a tank top that showed off all his assets. With broad shoulders, a slender waist, and long limbs, Jaskier knew he was at least somewhat attractive to other people. He was flirty, charismatic, and just chaotic enough to garner attention without coming off as insincere. 

And today he had his eye on the hot rock climbing instructor he’d met two months ago (and who he’d been bringing coffees on his off days as an excuse to talk to him). Geralt was, for all intents and purposes, Jaskier’s perfect man. The sexy white-haired teacher loved animals, hated unnecessary violence, and thought craft beers were “great but not all that they’re hyped up to be”. Really, did it get any better than that?

It did.

Geralt was not only the sweetest person alive, the living embodiment of the term ‘gentle giant’, he was built like a brick shithouse and his ass was probably the inspiration for Major Lazer’s hit song “Bubble Butt”. Jaskier didn’t just want to climb his gorgeous acquaintance like a tree, the young music student wanted to climb Geralt like a tree and then build himself a whole damn treehouse while he was up there. He never wanted to come back down once he being supported by those thick, sweat-shined muscles, the branches of his silly metaphor...

“Jaskier? Earth to Jaskier?” a deep, rumbling voice chuckled. Jaskier smirked and tried to hide his blush. Geralt was standing directly in front of him, his hair in a messy bun and his hands caked with chalk. “Ready to head up?”

“Oh, hey! I was just looking for-”

Jaskier’s eyes were drawn southward, where Geralt was wearing a brand new harness. It was hot pink and tight, accentuating every single one of Geralt’s rather lovely... attributes. The white-haired man raised his eyebrows as if challenging Jaskier and asked, “Do you like it? I ordered it special.”

“It’s very nice. Seems... safe.”

“Yeah. Really cushions everything and keeps me steady,” Geralt flirted back. Jaskier was dying. He had to be dying. He gave a strained laugh and unhooked his own rental harness from the shelf.

“Once I get geared up I’m racing you to the top.”

Fuck. Topping. Don’t think about topping while you’re wearing these leggings you fucking idiot, Jaskier chastised himself. Now is not the time for a boner!

---

“You win,” Jaskier huffed as he reached the top of the Novice level climbing wall. “Again.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt replied, “I do this all day every day and teach people way worse than you are. Of course I’m going to be faster than you.”

“Still not fair.”

“How about some compensation for a race well run?” Geralt offered as they repelled back down to the ground. 

“What are you thinking?” Jaskier asked. “Coffee, a movie, dinner?”

“All three?”

“No, just tossing out options.”

“I was thinking,” Geralt leaned in, gauging Jaskier’s reaction and giving the younger man plenty of time to pull away (which he did not do). “Maybe I could...”

“Kiss me? Yes, please. Get on with it already,” the musician whined, hands finding their way around the instructor’s waist to fiddle with the straps of his harness. “Please?”

Geralt sank his fingers into the warmth of Jaskier’s chestnut hair and pulled their chests together. The metal and straps around their hips clinked and rattled as they moved even further into each others’ space. Geralt’s thumb caressed Jaskier’s cheek, smudging it white with climbing chalk. “Fuck you’re lovely.”

Jaskier couldn’t wait another moment. He surged up and locked his lips with Geralt, the first kiss of many. And yes, later that evening, Jaskier finally lived out his man-climbing fantasies (they saved the harness for their fourth date... for safety).

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

The Witcher but instead of picking up the correct Child Surprise from Cintra (Ciri), Geralt accidentally befriends/adopts a little girl who can light shit on fire with her mind (Carrie).

Eventually he gets his shit together and raises two chaos daughters who give him, his little gay husband, and his terrifyingly lovely co-parent a run for their money.

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

Also, we talked a mill years ago about an Inuyasha AU? You wanted to make G wear the necklace etc. Which OBVIOUSLY is a fantastic idea and I really which you would, please 🤣😘💗

Okay, so this isn’t exactly the necklace bit, but it’s the most Inuyasha crossover thing I could think of at the moment! Also I’m sorry that this has been sitting in my inbox for so long! <3 Oops!

Geralt turns into a human one night a month, during the new moon.

wordcount: 1.7k

TW: emotional Geralt whump, angst with a happy ending, pining

---

“Stay in the room,” Geralt instructed, glaring Jaskier down from his place near the door. The bard nodded obediently and made a show of pulling his recently acquired book from his travel bag. 

“I might go down and perform for a bit, but I promise not to bring anyone back and I promise not to start any fights.”

“I’d rather you didn’t leave the room at all,” Geralt grumbled, “But I suppose the coin wouldn’t hurt.”

“Where are you going, anyway?”

“Next town over. Nightwraith.”

“Why can’t I come with you?” the bard pouted. His lower lip stuck out slightly and his eyes crinkled so cutely that it always made the Witcher question his ‘human’ parentage; there was a siren’s power in the way he turned up his nose and fluttered his pretty lashes. “Surely I could sit incredibly high up in a very sturdy tree and watch my glorious companion in all his… glory?”

“Excellent word choice,” Geralt rolled his eyes. He hefted his swords over his shoulder and shot the bard another meaningful look.  “I’ll see you in the morning. Stay. Safe.”

“Yes, Milord,” Jaskier sighed dramatically, flopping back against the pillows and opening his book. “Return to me in as few pieces as possible, dear heart.”

“Hmm.”

And with that, Geralt disappeared into the late afternoon light. 

---

There had been several distinctive changes to Geralt’s physical body after the second round of experimental Trials; his hair, of course, and his ghostly-pale skin were the most obvious. His greatest secret, however, and the strangest of all the Trials’ side effects, were the temporary changes he underwent on the nights of the new moon. His Witcher strength and senses abandoned him and his body returned to its pre-Trial state. He became, for all intents and purposes, a normal human man. 

He hated it. He hated himself. There was no power behind his punches on his human nights and while he remained graceful and competent with his swords, he lost his speed and dexterity. It left him feeling helpless and alone, and an onslaught of emotions (which he was usually able to suppress or ignore) flooded his mind, pulling tears from his eyes and putting a ruddy redness on his cheeks and ears that he found ugly. No doubt Jaskier would find him just as hideous. And useless…

If he couldn’t protect the bard, the handsome young human who smiled at him as if it was the most natural thing in the world to be friends with a Witcher, then what good was he? Keeping Jaskier safe, keeping him alive and smiling like that, was what motivated Geralt to slump his way back to their room even when he wanted nothing more than to drop to the ground and pass out from exhaustion. Making sure Jaskier was okay (and, alright, getting his wounds fawned over and his hair washed wasn’t too bad either) was what kept him alive.

I can’t believe I forgot to keep track, Geralt berated himself as he set up his small campfire just inside the mouth of a cave. I almost revealed my secret to Jaskier. 

Geralt wasn’t sure which outcome he feared more: Jaskier seeing him in his less horrible state and rejecting him completely for keeping secrets/being a true monster, or Jaskier finding his human body attractive and being even more disgusted by his Witchery appearance. Geralt wouldn’t be able to stand either outcome, so he disappeared into the woods or back to the Path (if Jaskier was stuck in a town, teaching or performing) whenever the night of the new moon arrived.

He sighed and crossed his legs, resting his elbows on his bent knees and setting his chin on one upright palm. He glanced up at Roach and grumbled out an excuse: “I just don’t want to lose him.”

Roach whinnied quietly, reproachfully, and Geralt nodded. 

“You’re absolutely right, I should tell Jaskier about all of this, but if I tell him now, after travelling together for so long, he’ll think I don’t trust him. And I do trust him! I trust him as much as I trust my brothers, maybe more considering their pranks… But I don’t want to scare him off, either. I’m such a fucking coward.”

As the last light of day slipped away beneath the horizon and darkness fell, Geralt felt his hair grow coarser and heavier atop his head. His eyesight dimmed and his knowledge of the landscape - every scent and sound - disappeared from his consciousness. The scars on his skin faded away into nothing as his pupils dilated into circles, the irises shifting from honey-gold to a deep, forest green. 

From a nearby bush, Geralt heard a familiar voice mutter, “Holy shit.”

He leapt to his feet and backed against the cave wall, throwing his arm across his face to hide it. “Dammit, Jaskier, I told you to stay at the inn!”

The bard took a nervous step forward, away from his hiding place, and waved bashfully. “Sorry, dear heart. Are you really- is it really you in there, Geralt?”

“Yes?” the Witcher-turned-human raised an eyebrow, lowering his arm back down to his side with no small amount of shame. “Who else would it be?”

“Well,” the bard said, taking a measured step forward. “I wasn’t sure if this was, like, a reverse-werewolf type deal. I didn’t know if you’d have the same memories as before or- or if-”

“It’s still me,” Geralt blushed, actually blushed, and dipped his head down to avoid Jaskier’s curious gaze. “I’m sorry for not telling you before, but-”

“Don’t.”

Geralt glanced back up, even more confused, his emotions playing havoc with his pulse. “I- Don’t I owe you an apology?”

“No,” Jaskier said, settling down on the rocky ground across the fire and gesturing for Geralt to join him. The flames lit up his face, highlighting the roundness of his cheeks and the softness in his eyes. So youthful, yet so determined. “If you’re still Geralt in here” - he tapped the side of his head and grinned playfully - “then you’re still my best friend.”

“Hmm.”

“Oh yeah, my Witcher is definitely in there somewhere,” Jaskier laughed brightly. The sound wound down and he wiped a tear of glee from the corner of his eye. After a long, sobering pause he asked: “So is this what you looked like before… they did all that stuff to you?”

“Before the Trials? Yes. This is what I looked like fifty years or so ago, when I was young and mortal. My shoulders are wider, of course, but that’s just old age.”

Jaskier made his way slowly around the fire, inching closer to Geralt, who had finally taken a seat on his bedroll. When the bard was right next to him, close enough for Geralt to feel their combined body heat through his shirt, he took a lock of Geralt’s hair in his hand. “It’s… it’s not as soft, like this. But it has curls! And it’s almost red!”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier looked overjoyed at the change, and every one of Geralt’s fears flashed before his eyes. He was tempted to wrench away, to fling himself up into Roach’s saddle and ride hard until they both needed a rest. 

But Jaskier had begun talking again, and Geralt did his best to pay attention. “It’s different, but not bad. I think you’re only slightly more handsome when you’re a Witcher, but  your eyes are a lovely shade of green and I’d love to do up your hair someday… if you’d like that. If you’d let me.”

Geralt made a startled noise and turned his head sharply, his eyes boring into Jaskier’s very soul. “Do you mean it?”

“Of course!”

“You don’t- you aren’t mad? Or scared? You don’t think I’m more approachable like this? You wouldn’t prefer me to be like this - like a human - all the time?”

Jaskier shook his head, a sadness Geralt often noticed but didn’t understand falling over his face. “Oh Geralt, you silly, silly, wonderful man. I don’t lo-” - he paused, took a deep breath, and continued - “I love you, okay? As a Witcher. Like this. I have always loved you and I will always love you, regardless of what you look like, but I fell in love with the White Wolf. The man whose reputation needed mending and whose heart… whose heart is so incredibly large despite how often the world tries to harden it.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt gasped. He clutched at his chest, the ache he felt there intensifying a hundredfold under Jaskier’s steady gaze. “I love you, too. I never thought-”

“You often don’t,” the bard teased, closing the space between them with careful, intentional slowness. “Now, keep up the good work and stop thinking entirely. Just kiss me, Geralt. Please?”

“Would you like it if I kissed you?” the Witcher asked, incredulous. Jaskier lifted one delicate hand and slid a lock of Geralt’s curly hair back behind his ear. He pressed a soft kiss to Geralt’s cheek and smiled. 

“Very much, darling.”

“Alright,” Geralt breathed, closing the space between them. It felt so much more intense like this, with his heart beating as quickly as Jaskier’s, threatening to burst from his chest because it was overflowing with happiness. His hand, smooth and unblemished in its current state, cupped the peach-soft skin of the bard’s cheek. He ran his thumb over the hinge of Jaskier’s jaw, feeling the bone and joint working as their mouths moved together. When they finally pulled apart they were both beaming broadly, “Was it okay?”

“You’re very soft like this,” Jaskier noted. “But I miss your eyes and your hair… when will my Geralt return?”

“I’m still yours, Jaskier. Even when I look like this,” Geralt frowned. Jaskier took one of the Witcher’s hands in both of his and held it flat over his heart.

“I know, my dear. And I’m always yours, of course. It’s just… odd. I’ll get used to it the more often I see it, I’m sure. How long does it usually last?”

“I’ll be back to normal when the sun rises.”

“Until then?”

“Come here,” Geralt held up the corner of his blanket. Jaskier shifted so that they were cuddled together, side-by-side. “Better?”

“Now that I’m with you? Of course.”

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

close encounters of a new kind

The Witcher/X-Files au that literally nobody asked for

tw: the FBI

---

Jaskier straightens his new plaid blazer, squares his shoulders, and swans his way into the Director’s office as confidently as possible. The Director stands quickly from the leather chair behind his enormous desk and offers Jaskier a wrinkled hand to shake. “Good morning, Agent Pankratz, and thank you for coming in on such short notice. It’s nice to finally meet you face-to-face.”

“And you, Sir,” Jaskier nods. The Director gestures for him to take a seat and the agent does, trying to keep his nerves from showing. “Your message sounded urgent; how can I help you?”

“You’ve been with us for just over two years, yes?”

“Yes.”

“You attended medical school but chose not to practice; why not become a doctor? Why work for the FBI?”

“My parents thought it was just rebellion,” Jaskier says, chuckling a bit to break the tension. “But actually, I was recruited out of medical school. I thought it would be a good opportunity to establish myself.”

“Are you familiar with an agent by the name of Geralt deRiv?”

Jaskier tries desperately to hide his shock and confusion. Of course he’s heard of Geralt ‘Spooky’ deRiv, the FBI’s most notorious psychological profiler-slash-field agent. “I know him by reputation, Sir.”

“Reputation?” the Director looks skeptical and Jaskier hurries to continue.

“I know that he’s an Oxenfurt-educated Psychologist who wrote one of the most educational and widely-read studies on serial killers and the occult. I know he’s helped catch several notorious and dangerous murderers. He’s an incredible analyst.”

The Director’s eyebrows scrunch together thoughtfully and he glances up at Jaskier with an expression of utter exhaustion on his wizened face. “Lately he’s been… focused on a project outside the FBI mainstream. We’re having trouble reigning in his less standard investigative practices and we need... Have you ever heard of the X-Files, Agent Pankratz?”

“They deal with unexplained phenomena, if I’m correct, Director.”

“Yes, Agent Pankratz, you are correct. That’s why we’ve asked you here, you see. We’d like you to assist Agent deRiv. We need you to write field reports of your experiences and double-check the validity of his work.”

“Are you asking me to debunk the X-Files and all of Agent deRiv’s work?”

“No, Agent Pankratz. We merely want you to observe, assist, and solve whatever cases possible. We want you to tell us the truth.”

“Understood, Sir.”

---

A few long minutes later, Jaskier finds himself standing outside a nondescript beige door with a covered glass window; the same as every other door in the long white hallway. He knocks twice and puts his hand on the knob without waiting for an answer, even as a low voice calls from within: “Nobody here but the FBI’s most unwanted.”

Jaskier steps into the room and takes a long, slow look around. As with any FBI office, there are a couple wooden desks piled with boxes of files, their accompanying chairs invisible beneath the collected data. The walls are covered with graphs and data charts, newspaper clippings and, oddly enough, there’s a poster displayed prominently at the center of the chaos depicting a UFO and the large white block letters: I WANT TO BELIEVE.

Huddled over a desk, his surprisingly broad shoulders hunched forward and his head lowered over a light board, sits the most handsome man Jaskier has ever laid eyes on. This is Geralt deRiv? This absolute god of a person, with long white hair that cascades over his shoulders like a waterfall of moonlight and eyes so piercingly light that they’re almost gold rather than hazel… this is Spooky deRiv?! Jaskier takes a moment to organize his thoughts before fully entering the room and approaching his new (gorgeous) partner.

“I’m Agent Julian Pankratz, but you can call me Jaskier,” the younger man introduces himself, stepping forward and offering his hand. “I’ve been assigned to work with you.”

“Ah, lovely. Who did you piss off to end up down here with me?” the senior agent grunts, glancing between Jaskier’s hand and the lightboard. 

“I’m actually really excited to be your new partner,” Jaskier smiles. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Hmm.”

“If you doubt my credentials I have my-”

“You’re a medical doctor even though you did your undergraduate thesis on Einstein’s Twin Theory. High marks, especially for someone who had the nerve to rewrite Einstein.”

“Yes, well-”

“It’s just that the laws of physics apply so very rarely to my work,” Geralt gestures at the alien poster, the lightboard, the walls tacked up with newspaper clippings; Jaskier shrugs in reply. “But maybe I can get your medical opinion on this.”

He turns off the lights and shows Jaskier a series of photos, followed by a chemical equation that leaves the doctor reeling. Holy shit. This is… fascinating. 

“Four different states, four different women. All the same marks and the same unknown chemical compound left behind. Now, can you tell me why this is being labeled unexplained phenomena and shoved down here with the rest of these boxes? Why isn’t this case getting solved by our outstanding agents, right this very moment? This picture is less than two days old.”

“Well I suppose that it is unexplained, isn’t it? Until we solve the case, of course,” Jaskier grins at Geralt over his shoulder. He knows he’s a goner. It’s too late for him, both professionally and romantically. This guy has him by the heart and the mind. Geralt smirks a bit and shakes his head. Jaskier looks back at the projector screen and asks, “Do you have any theories?”

“Several.”

“Well then, partner,” Jaskier grins, shoving a box over so that he can perch on the desk’s worn surface. “Let’s get started.”

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

Barbie Girl

I’ve seen like... 3 or 4 really fuckin’ sad ‘almost geraskier but Geralt is a fuckin’ idiot’ ficlets on my dash tonight and that just... hurt me.

So here’s some goofy modern au fluff to lighten up the vibes tonight (and because I’m addicted to putting Jaskier in goofy outfits and ruining his taste in music).

---

Geralt leans back against the faux-marble countertop and crosses his arms over his chest, relaxing comfortably in warmth of the familiar space. The holidays have been rough on both of them and he’s glad that their families have all gone home and left them alone for the time being. The Witcher smirks when his boyfriend greets him and nods towards the radio. “Really, babe? Aqua, on a weekday?”

Jaskier spins around on the smooth linoleum with his too-fluffy socks and uses his wooden spoon like a microphone, singing along with his Cursed Pop Favs playlist: “I'm a blond bimbo girl in a fantasy world; dress me up, make it tight, I'm your dolly!”

He points his wooden spoon at Geralt, who raises an eyebrow in return. The next two lines of the song play and Jaskier frowns when Geralt doesn’t sing Ken’s part.

Jaskier picks Barbie’s part up again effortlessly, turning back towards the stove as he belts along: “You can touch, you can play, if you say, ‘I'm always yours.’”

“You're my doll, rock 'n' roll, feel the glamour in pink;

Kiss me here, touch me there, hanky panky...”

His hips swing back and forth to the beat of the song as he moves through the kitchen with practiced ease. He tastes and seasons the vegetables gathered in his cast iron pan like he’s auditioning for Food Network, voice still loud and clear and sweet as he works: 

Geralt gives in to the brunette’s whims with a little grin, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s waist and bopping back-and-forth with his knees like a high schooler at a dance: “Come on, Barbie, let's go party!”

“I'm a Barbie girl in the Barbie world!

Life in plastic, it's fantastic!

You can brush my hair, undress me everywhere;

Imagination, life is your creation!”

“Ah-ah-ah yeah!” Jaskier beams over his shoulder, pressing a quick kiss to Geralt’s ever-chapped lips. The Witcher represses a chuckle in order to keep singing. 

Geralt has never been one for dramatic displays of affection, which he knows can bug Jaskier sometimes. The slender musician is just as possessive of Geralt as Geralt is of him, though, so things have a way of working out in their favor when it comes to love languages. Quality Time is something they both crave and cherish in equal measure.

Geralt winks and finishes out Ken’s last set of lines: “Come jump in, bimbo friend, let us do it again. Hit the town, fool around, let's go party!”

“Make me walk, make me talk, do whatever you please;

I can act like a star, I can beg on my knees!”

When dinner is on the table and the radio has been turned off, Jaskier gives his boyfriend a quiet, private smile. “Thank you for playing along. I know it’s not really your thing but... I enjoyed it. And I like hearing your voice.”

“I don’t practice like you do.”

“I know, but it’s still sweet. And it’s nice to spend time with you like that.”

“I like spending time with you, too,” Geralt blushes. He scoops some potatoes onto Jaskier’s plate before serving himself and the brunette beams again. Geralt swears that his boyfriend’s smile could re-light the sun if it ever decides to go out. He’s amazing. He’s gorgeous. He’s... He’s more than a Witcher deserves.

“You’re thinking really loud, babe,” Jaskier offers him an out. Geralt takes it gratefully, momentarily overwhelmed by his own feelings. 

“You’re just lucky it wasn’t Butterfly. I’m not singing that one with you, no matter how I drunk I get.”

“You don’t want to be my samurai?” Jaskier teases. “I can be your little butterfly.”

“Your food is delicious,” Geralt says. “Don’t ruin it with early 2000′s pop disasters.”

Jaskier blushes and the conversation turns to other things, like work and their plans for the weekend.

Later, after the dishes have been put away and their pajamas are on and their teeth are brushed, Geralt kisses his boyfriend goodnight and smiles to himself. He’s happy to have found someone as sweet and kindhearted as Jaskier to call his own (and even more grateful that Jaskier has claimed his heart in return). 

He curls himself around the younger man, one arm pillowing Jaskier’s head and the other looped over his waist, and whispers against his sleep-warm temple: “Actually, nevermind. Whatever you want, you can have. My heart, my home, a drunken rendition of a bad song... it’s yours. I will do everything in my power, from this moment until forever, to make you smile. I love you, Jaskier.”

If Jaskier hears him, he doesn’t let on. The brunette merely sighs in his sleep and nuzzles closer to the Witcher’s warm chest.

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

With Your Hands on Me Like This

I have to go be a grocery store manager so if y’all want to cheer me up, I’d love a comment or some fun tags!

we all love a good soulmate au right?

---

There has always been a wide handprint around Jaskier’s upper arm, laid against his skin in buttercup-yellow. The owner of the hand has large fingers and a broad palm. It has been there since he was born, the only clue as to who his heart may someday belong to. 

Jaskier doesn’t know whether or not this handprint comes from a rough embrace or a gentle caress. Perhaps he’s going to be manhandled. Perhaps he’s going to be held still (he does tend to roam and bounce and sway). Perhaps he’s being thrown or tossed or... or perhaps he is being held tenderly, braced for a kiss even (Jaskier has always been rather romantic at heart).

He’s half in love and half terrified of the man (for clearly it is a man’s hand) he’s meant to spend forever with. The person whose soul mirrors his perfectly. The person whose side he shall never leave just as soon as he manages to find him.

He attends university at Oxenfurt. He graduates with honors. He begins to travel. He flirts with farmhands and soldiers and sailors and none of them ever let their hands circle his upper arm. None of them ever hit the mark.

And he never hits any of theirs.

---

Geralt is nearing 60 years of life when the marks suddenly appear on his skin. It’s the middle of the night, sometime in the spring, when he feels an odd tingling on the left side of his chest and against his right shoulder. He slides from his rented bed and lights a candle, peering at himself in the tarnished hand mirror of his inn room. 

There is a pale blue handprint spanning his left pectoral, right over his heart. 

A soul bond? For a Witcher? 

It seems impossible, yet here is the proof. 

He tilts his head to observe the second part of the mark and his yellow eyes widen in shock and surprise: there’s an imprint of two lips, right at the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder. A kiss. Someday, someone will see him and their first instinct will not be to run. 

A soulmate who’s soft...for a Witcher? Who would willingly kiss and caress a man only barely less hated than the beasts he slays? Who could it possibly be?

---

The bard is persistent, Geralt discovers. His name is Jaskier and he has wide blue eyes, such a strangely familiar shade that it rattles the Witcher’s heart in his chest the first time they lock gazes. The boy follows him everywhere, careful to keep out of harm’s way for the most part. He babbles and laughs and sings and fills Geralt’s Path with light and noise and joy. 

Jaskier’s presence becomes less of a novelty and more of a constant; they become companions, perhaps even close friends.

It’s unfamiliar. 

It’s dangerous.

It has to end before Geralt can really hurt this person. This gloriously open and kind and courageous person who tells him day-in and day-out what a glorious, lovable, and worthwhile person the Witcher is. He has to do it for Jaskier. Buttercup. The only bright bloom in the Witcher’s otherwise dim existence. 

---

They’re tracking down a lone wyvern when it finally happens. A screech in the darkness has Geralt on the defensive, and he wraps his hand firmly around Jaskier’s upper arm in case he needs to pull the younger man to safety.

The bard nearly faints. Nearly swoons. Could it really be? Could it really be that the sweet, quiet Witcher who’s already stolen his heart...is also his soulmate?

He can’t control his movements. He slams forward, pressing his free hand over the Witcher’s heart and burying his face against Geralt’s neck. He presses a nervous kiss to the heated, half-hidden skin and panics immediately: “Geralt! Oh gods, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me I-”

The Witcher silences him with kiss. 

That deep, rumbly voice murmurs, “It’s you.”

“Yes,” Jaskier replies. Their words are barely whispers. Their eyes fill with matching tears of joy and relief. “Oh, thank gods, Geralt. I already loved you.”

“I can’t believe -” Geralt kisses him again, to be sure that it’s really happening, and sighs when Jaskier smiles up at him with a wide, dopey grin, “I can’t believe that a Witcher could be so lucky.”

“Oh, my wolf,” Jaskier kisses him again. And again. “My glorious, handsome, beautiful White Wolf.”

They never do find that wyvern.

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

Electric Blue

I just really needed some serotonin, so enjoy this modern au ‘and they were roommates’ situation with goofy singing/cooking Geralt and clumsy Jaskier

song: Electric Blue by Icehouse

no warnings apply, fluff only

---

Jaskier’s 8am client had canceled on him suddenly the night before, so the young music tutor wondered why he was somehow still being awakened before noon. The answer? His roommate and crush of several long years, Geralt, was determined to keep him from sleeping in. Apparently the ridiculous(ly handsome) man had decided to get up at the ass-crack of dawn and blast some tunes in their small kitchen. The glorious, tiny kitchen where he spent nearly every minute of his free time cooking things for Jaskier that made the brunette yearn just that much harder. 

Jaskier slid from his bed and out into the chilly hallway, his too-long pajama pants almost tripping him up until he yanked them higher on his waist and tied them tightly. He often wondered what his favorite white-haired hunk got up to when he was gone and now was the chance to find out.

Jaskier crept quietly down the length of the hall and peered through a crack in the kitchen door. Geralt was dancing around the room as he made some kind of baked goods - muffins? it looked like muffins - and Jaskier was enthralled.

The music tutor watched with absolute wonder as Geralt approached their fridge and gently reached out to run his fingertip down a photo stuck there. It was from a pre-pandemic party: Jaskier stood between Essi and Renfri, his hair a wild mess and his eyes shining brightly. He’d had a wonderful night, Yen’s birthdays were always wonderful, and that picture had hung proudly on the fridge ever since. 

He paid attention to the lyrics of the next song, especially since Geralt had started to sing along with that gruff, sexy, sonorous voice: 

“If a boy had a chance, a chance with someone like you Are you gonna break his heart, Let him cry for the moon? Are you hiding somewhere behind those eyes?”

Jaskier bit his lip to keep from interrupting. Was Geralt seriously pining over him, too? Was this a mutual pining situation, like those stories that Priscilla was always sending him? “Sounds like you and Captain Oblivious,” she’d said, six links deep into the conversation. 

He kept his eyes focused as Geralt continued whisking and singing, occasionally making eye contact with the photo.  “I just freeze every time you see through me And it's all over you, Electric blue.”

“On my knees (on my knees); Help me, baby, tell me what can I do? Electric blue.”

He was going to stay silent and observe for another minute or two, but when he went to adjust his position his feet betrayed him and he slipped on the edge of his pajama bottoms. He slammed through the kitchen door and sprawled across the linoleum, scrambling awkwardly like a baby deer.

Geralt stared down at him, horrified, whisk in one hand and bowl of batter in the other. “Jaskier!? I thought you were at work!”

“They canceled.”

“Oh. I- uh, I- how much did you see?” he blushed. Jaskier smiled and clambered back onto his feet. 

“Enough.”

“In too deep, (in too deep), Standing here waiting as I'm breaking in two, Electric blue.”

Jaskier took a slow step forward, wrapping one nervous hand around the broad curve of Geralt’s hip. The other reached to cup his roommate’s stubbled cheek. “May I?”

“Yeah,” Geralt breathed, homemade muffins suddenly forgotten. Jaskier pulled their faces close, until they were breathing nervous little puffs of the same warm air, before pausing again. Geralt barely withheld his confused and disappointed whine. 

Jaskier pulled back and sighed. 

Geralt put the bowl on the counter and set the whisk next to it. 

The musician ran a hand through his hair, tousling it even further. Geralt’s heart did a little flip and he itched to lean forward and mess it up even more himself. But Jaskier was speaking and he should pay attention: “I just... I love you, okay? And I don’t want this to be just one-”

Geralt suddenly sprang forward, crashing their lips together. He wrapped both of his very strong, very sexy arms low on Jaskier’s waist and held the barely-shorter man close. He groaned openly when the brunette sank his fingers into his tangled white hair and hung on for dear life. He kissed the breath out of Jaskier and then some, just for good measure. Just in case. Just for safety.

Just for being so close and so terribly unattainable for so long.

When he glanced down again, suddenly shy and anxious, he saw only love in those bright blue eyes. Jaskier licked his lips and smiled, a light blush now painting his cheeks as well. “Wow.”

“Wow?” Geralt chuckled. 

“Yeah. Wow. Now get those muffins in the oven so we can make-out on the couch while they bake, yeah? I’m not letting you out of this apartment for the rest of the day.”

“Promise?”

“Oh, I promise. I absolutely promise. Cross my heart and hope t-”

Geralt cut him off with another kiss. 

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

Geraskier Ladyhawke AU

I love this movie and honestly it really, really fits our two loveable idiots. Also yes I changed the parameters of the curse but that was only to make room for Ciri.

Ciri “the Last Rose” of Cintra escapes from a Nilfgaardian prison camp and disappears into the woods in search of help 

She is nearly recaptured by some local nobility’s guards while pilfering food but Geralt saves her along with the help of his trusting hunting hawk

They spend the night in an abandoned barn, and Geralt tells Ciri to stay in the hayloft for her own safety

But she’s a curious little shit

So some time in the middle of the night she peeks down over the edge of the loft and sees... a bard? A young man softly strumming a lute and singing while a huge white wolf lays sleeping with its head in the man’s lap

“Are you okay?” Ciri asks

“Of course, my child,” the bard replies. “Geralt would never hurt me.”

“Where is the hawk?”

The bard smiles sadly but doesn’t answer, so Ciri goes back to sleep to the sound of peaceful lute strumming

In the morning the wolf and bard are gone but Geralt and his hawk have returned (Ciri doesn’t bring it up out of politeness, and also she REALLY needs to hitch a ride back to Cintra)

Nilfgaard comes looking for Ciri and during a fight to escape, Geralt and his hawk are both severely wounded

They rush to a local temple, where the hawk is separated from Geralt and taken care of in its own private chamber, which Ciri finds extremely odd (cause it’s just a bird?)

While Geralt floats in and out of consciousness, he keeps asking about “Jaskier” but Ciri doesn’t know who that is

Ciri sneaks into the hawk’s room only to find the bard there instead

“You must be Jaskier, then. Geralt is worried about you.”

“He does that,” the bard smiles sadly. The only smile Ciri can get out of him is a sad one, it seems

The white wolf returns and allows both Ciri and Jaskier to pet it; although Ciri notices that the bandage on the wolf’s back leg looks suspiciously like the one she just helped tie onto Geralt and-

“Who put this curse on Geralt?”

“On both of us, you mean? I’m sure you must recognize me,” Jaskier teases, flicking his brown hair out of his bright blue eyes

“You’re the hawk! But... how did this happen?”

“I grew up as a nobleman and I was betrothed to a very wealthy sorceress. Unfortunately for her, I was already head-over-heels for Geralt, here. She cursed us to live like this, forever together yet always apart, until I gave in and agreed to marry her or until we could manage to achieve true love’s kiss.”

“So kiss him?” 

“We both have to be human, but it only happens for a split second between the sun setting and the sun rising. It’s impossible, I’m afraid.”

As they travel towards Cintra, Ciri begins to quietly practice using her own powers

She learns to pause the world around her one millisecond at a time until she can get to three whole seconds

Long enough for true love’s first kiss

As they near the border of her homeland (and safety) Ciri turns to her rescuers and explains her plain; unfortunately the sorceress appears and whisks Jaskier away at the last moment

Geralt and Ciri fight their way through her castle, trusting each other and affirming their father/daughter relationship as they go

They rescue Jaskier from the birdcage he’s been trapped in and Ciri waits for he sun to set while the Geralt holds off the few remaining guards

“Here we go, guys!”

She screams out the window at the top of her lungs, holding out her hands towards the horizon and freezing time for just a moment

Just long enough for Jaskier and Geralt to press their both-very-human lips together

The curse breaks and the two men fall into each other’s arms for the first time in over a decade, smooching and crying 

The sorceress is caught in the direct line of Ciri’s incredible power and straight up disintegrates (karma’s a bitch)

Ciri rejoices over the best possible outcome for her plan and leaves to fetch her new adoptive fathers both some better clothes and food

Geralt and Jaskier have a moment alone to touch and caress and talk to each other again

Lots of tears and kisses and gentle touches to be had here, folks

They agree to raise Ciri together since her kingdom has essentially fallen to Nilfgaard and Geralt agrees to train her as a knight/Witcher

And They All Lived Happily Ever After

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

Hey Bouncey! I just heard "Sweet Creatures" for the first time and it really reminded me of creature!Jaskier or just regular old geraskier, haha. I thought you might like to write something short and cute inspired by the song. Hope you're well! Best wishes! ❤️

I can do short and cute.

---

The airy spirit was young at heart, although he had seen the changing of many seasons. In all those years he had never fallen so violently or deeply in love like he was now. Jaskier was filled with nothing but joy from his head to his toes as he flew through the treetops. He flitted from branch to branch in his hurry, flurries of autumn leaves flying from the branches in his wake. 

“Jaskier?” he could hear the familiar voice calling from up ahead. He grew closer with every leap, with every rush of warm current around him as he moved, his darling came ever nearer to his grasp. “Jask?”

“Geralt!” the forest spirit cried, flinging himself from the final tree and down into the arms of his lover. “You’re back!”

“Of course,” the witcher grinned. “I’ve come to collect you, actually.”

“Are you taking me North this year!? Really!?”

“If you’d li-”

Jaskier kissed the rest of the question out of his mouth and answered in kind. His hands wove into Geralt’s silvery hair and held their faces close, breathing shared air in the few moments when they weren’t kissing. 

Jaskier loved the feeling of Geralt’s mouth against his. The witcher’s lips were perpetually chapped, but they had a lovely shape and they parted so easily when he ran his tongue across the seam in between. They hid sharp teeth and biting wit; Jaskier could spend hours kissing his witcher senseless.

But he had other plans today!

“So, Kaer Morhen... your brothers and father... will they approve of me?” Jaskier asked, when their embrace drew to a close.

“Aye. How could they not love you? You are, by far, the sweetest creature I’ve ever met.”

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

In The Dark of the Night

So I contacted the amazing @tishawish and asked for permission to write a story about This Vampire Comic! It was granted! Please enjoy!

tw: blood, major character un-death, biting but not in a sexy way

---

Geralt was nervous. Jaskier should have been there waiting for him in the little clearing near their camp but he was nowhere to be found. His lute was sitting abandoned near his pack and the doublet he’d been wearing earlier in the evening to stave off the autumn chill was discarded in the dirt; Jaskier would never leave something so expensive or precious just laying there like that.

Geralt’s hunt had been quick, his supernatural powers as both Witcher and vampire giving him the immediate upper hand over a singular wraith. Now, though, with his gold-hued eyes back to their normal sensitivity and his body recovering from one small slash to his leg, he was beginning to tire.

He couldn’t rest until he found Jaskier, though. He was far too worried for sleep or meditation. 

“Jaskier?” he called, making his way through the dark of the forest. He shook his head in frustration, “I told him to stay put.”

As soon as the words had left his mouth, Geralt smelled it. 

Blood.

Jaskier’s blood, sweet and floral and distinct. The scent hung heavy and thick in the air. Not a good sign. He dashed in the direction of the trail, his feet barely touching the ground as he willed his body to hurry even faster than usual. When he finally came across the body of his bard, splayed in a pool of his own ruby-red life force, Geralt gasped. “Fuck! No, Jaskier!”

He collapsed to his knees in the dirt and shuffled forward. “Hey!”

No response. 

Geralt leaned over Jaskier’s limp form and pressed two fingers to the artery beneath his chin, on the side of his neck. He waited without breathing and tuned every other sound out of his ears. 

Nothing.

Jaskier’s usually racing human heart was still and silent. 

Blood leaked steadily from a wound in his head and another gouge on his chest. From the pool gathered beneath him, Jaskier had been bleeding like this for awhile. All alone. The bard was on the brink of death if he wasn’t dead already. 

I can’t hear any of his usual sounds, Geralt panicked. And I won’t let him die like this when I could have done something about it. 

“Please,” he prayed to whatever deity might still care for creatures like him, “Let this work.”

He gently cupped the back of Jaskier’s skull, tilting his head back to reveal the smooth expanse of his pale neck. A neck that Geralt had admired and caressed many times before under far less terrifying circumstances. With a deep sigh and a muttered apology, he sank his venomous fangs into the bard’s skin and held them there for a moment. 

Even with all his willpower intact, Geralt couldn’t help but take a small sip of his best friend’s blood while he was still human. Fuck, he tastes good; even better than he smells. The exhausted vampire retracted his fangs and pulled away, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and shaking his head in shame. Now is not the time for such thoughts, Witcher. 

A moment passed, then another. Geralt stayed hovering over his companion, his chest practically pressing against Jaskier’s as he listened for a sign. Any sign. Any hint that the last-ditch effort he’d put in to save his best friend’s existence was working.

Please let this work. Please. Please. Please, gods.

He chanted it like a mantra as he waited. After a minute or so, Jaskier’s eyes fluttered open. His lashes, which had been pretty before, now seemed thicker and even darker. His irises, once a gorgeous blue, bluer than the sky or the sea or the flowers in a sunny field, were bright red and shining. “G-Geralt?”

His voice had been beautiful as a human but now? Now it was indescribably beautiful. Like bells or windchimes or... or... Geralt suddenly realized that he was still hunched over the bard’s chest, his hand still cupping the back of Jaskier’s far-less-breakable neck. 

“Oh, thank the gods, Jaskier.” The last word from the Witcher’s mouth was barely even a whisper, his gold eyes closing in relief as he leaned his forehead against the bard’s. “I thought I’d lost you for good.”

“I’m far too persistent to let something as silly as death stop me from following you across the Continent and back,” Jaskier smiled, his own baby fangs glinting in the light of the full moon. “Besides, I love you too much to leave you.”

Geralt grinned and helped the newborn vampire into a sitting position. He pulled the leaves and twigs from his messy brown hair and brushed a quick kiss to his temple. “Hmm.”