#geraskier smoochfest

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

how about some soft "good morning" geraskier smooches? 😘

here you go!! some soft modern au morning feels.

---

Geralt turns off his alarm and slips silently from his queen-sized bed, which has started to feel a little cramped recently. The reason for that cramped feeling reaches out after him, two lightly tanned arms stretching from beneath the covers accompanied by a quiet groan of protest. A smooth tenor manages to slur, “G’r’lt?”

“Shhhh,” the Witcher croons. “Go back to sleep, babe.”

“Kisses first,” the musician grumps, glaring out of his warm nest. When the taller man seems to ignore his pleas in favor of pulling on sweatpants, Jaskier begins to whine: “Geraaaaalt.”

“Fine.” Geralt leans down over his boyfriend and smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to his warm, sleep-chapped lips. “See you after my run, sleepyhead.”

“Mhm,” Jaskier yawns. He’s safely back in the realm of dead-sleep before his mouth can even close all the way again. Geralt envies how easy it is for his partner to stay in bed after sunrise, but he also knows how terribly difficult it is for Jaskier to fall asleep in the first place. Even with his medication, the musician’s mind seems to be a constant whirlwind of thoughts, feelings, ideas, and memories that all beg to be given attention. Geralt wasn’t sure he’d be able to deal with it when they first started dating, but now they’re like a well-oiled machine: Jaskier sews up Geralt's injuries and massages his sore muscles after a contract while Geralt reminds Jaskier to eat lunch and take a shower between gigs or events. 

As Geralt plugs in his headphones and swings a left out of their driveway to start his usual morning jog, the Witcher wonders how he got so lucky in the first place. He and Jaskier should have been like oil and water based only on their general personalities and aesthetics, but they aren’t, they’re more like shadow and sunlight. There couldn’t be one without the other. They’re always together, even if they’re not stuck to each others’ sides.

Geralt loves their relationship and their history together, even the painful parts. Those bits remind him, even now that they’re living together and planning to get married, that relationships take work and communication; he’s great at the first one but the second one had taken time to build. 

But still, at least there was a decent meet-cute, unfortunate as the circumstances had been. They had crossed paths when Jaskier was booed off the stage at a public music festival by some friends of his ex and Geralt, a stranger, had turned and glared them down like a man possessed, teeth bared like a wolf. He hated bullies. Wouldn’t stand for rudeness. Jaskier had given him a nickname that day, thanking him from between quiet, smothered sobs. “My hero, the mysterious White Wolf. How can I ever repay you?”

Geralt had given the younger man his number, which was incredibly out of character, and asked for a coffee sometime, whenever convenient. He hadn’t expected anything to come of it (people very rarely went for guys with weird scars, white hair, and a glower like his) but Jaskier had called the following evening. His voice had been so bright and gentle, Geralt couldn’t have said no even if he’d wanted to, which he hadn’t. 

When he gets back from his run, Geralt stops in his (now their) bedroom doorway for a moment. Jaskier has his head buried in the center of Geralt’s pillow, his arms thrown around it like a shipwrecked sailor with a life preserver. The Witcher smiles softly to himself and pads forward, keeping his footsteps as silent as possible. He crouches next to the bed and observes his boyfriend.

His hair is worse than a haystack, more likely the product of a natural disaster, and a thin line of drool connects his mouth with Geralt’s pillowcase. He can wash it later; for now, he’s happy to let Jaskier abuse it to his heart’s content. “G’ralt.”

“Hmm?”

Jaskier rolls over, and Geralt realizes that his name has been murmured in sleep; his heart threatens to beat right out of his chest. He stands up and leans forward again, his hand smoothing over Jaskier’s shoulder and upper arm. The musician leans into it, humming happily and sighing a little. He squints one eye open after a moment and regards Geralt with an imperious look. “Go shower and then come snuggle me some more.”

“Are you giving me orders? You know only Vesemir can do that.”

“Vesemir be damned,” Jaskier huffs. “Only not really, I like him. But I am your boyfriend, and I overrule Vesemir any day of the week.”

“Is that so?” Geralt asks, leaning forward a bit more. Jaskier sits up a bit to meet him, their lips now only a hair’s breadth apart.

“Yes. And you can tell him I said that, too. I’m not afraid of him.”

“You should be.”

“And you, Mr. Witcher,” Jaskier grins playfully, sliding his hands up into Geralt’s sweat-damp hair and brushing their mouths together as he speaks, “Should be afraid of what will happen to your perky Witcher ass if you don’t get clean and get under these covers in the next ten minutes.”

“Fifteen.”

“Fine, fifteen minutes. But you’d better let me be the big spoon!”

Geralt presses their lips together and kisses Jaskier deeply for a long, slow moment. When he pulls away there’s laughter in his voice and joy in his gaze, “Fine.”

“Now you’re down to fourteen minutes”

Geralt gives a loud, barking laugh of pure happiness and makes his way into the bathroom. 

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

For the kissing prompts - 6: Wild, breathless kisses brought on by a heartfelt gift 💜

Merry you spoil me...

tw: none, just smoochin’

---

Geralt slid the paper-wrapped rectangle from his pack and handed it to Jaskier without a word. The bard glanced at the parcel now clutched in his hand and then up at the Witcher, one eyebrow cocked up curiously. Those beautiful blue eyes held nothing but confusion and the bard smelled lightly of worry. “What’s this?”

“A gift.”

“Oh?” Jaskier smiled suddenly, the worry scent disappearing entirely as it was overtaken by the bright floral springiness of Jaskier’s joy. “What’s the occasion?”

“No reason,” Geralt grunted. “Just saw it while I was passing through the edge of Novigrad and... thought you’d like it.”

Jaskier’s expression shifts from pleased surprise to utter awe when he finishes unwrapping Geralt’s present. He is holding a first edition copy of Merrida O’Dair’s Skelligan poetry. “G-Geralt! How could- How did- How?”

The Witcher shrugged, his face gone barely pink with as much of a blush as his mutations would allow. “I thought you would like it.”

“I do,” Jaskier threw his arms around Geralt’s neck and peppered his cheeks with kisses. “It’s fantastic! I’m so incredibly lucky to have such a thoughtful and kindhearted lover!”

“Jaskier,” Geralt whined, letting his own arms fall around the bard’s trim waist. 

“Alright,” Jaskier relented. He pressed his lips to Geralt’s and felt the warm, dry give of them beneath his own. The Witcher held him tightly and pushed back, driving the very breath from Jaskier’s lungs as he was pinned rather happily in place and kissed into senselessness. It felt like hours before they came back to reality, gasping, the book in one of Jaskier’s hands and his other buried in Geralt’s silvery hair. “Oh-” he gasped “-How I love thee.”

“If you can still quote that shit at me,” Geralt chuckled lowly, “Then I haven���t kissed you enough yet.”

“Quite correct,” the bard teased. “Try again, then, Witcher. Give it your best shot.” 

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

MOTHSKIER!!!! KISSES!!!!!!

yeah I wrote this pretty much immediately because it's so fucking cute

no tws only smooching

---

To Jaskier, Geralt is the brightest and most beautiful light in all the world. He's more drawn to the soft-hearted Witcher than anything else. Whenever Geralt is away, the Fae sits in the middle of his nest in the dark and yearns. He waits patiently for his darling to return home to him, carrying the warmth of daylight in the golden hues of his gorgeous eyes.

Jaskier leaps to his feet when he hears the front door open, his wings fluttering behind him as if urging him to speed up. He bursts into the front hall with a wide grin plastered across his face, his antennae twitching excitedly. "Dear heart!"

"Jaskier!" Geralt wraps his arms around the cryptid and spins him in a quick circle.

"How are you, darling?" Jaskier asks, checking Geralt over for any new injuries. The Witcher gently bats his hands away before putting his hands back around Jaskier's hips.

"I'm fine. I could still use a kiss, though."

Jaskier flushes prettily and bites his lip, gazing up through his lashes at the white-haired Witcher holding him close. "I suppose I could manage."

He closes the scant space between them and presses their lips together, letting the tender moment stretch out for a few more heartbeats. He cards his fingers through Geralt's silvery tresses and pulls them more tightly together. The Witcher licks against his mouth and Jaskier yields to him, melting against that broad chest and knowing he'll always be safe in this embrace.

When they pull apart for air, Jaskier laughs breathlessly. "Oh darling," he coos after a moment to gather his composure, "Come back to the nest so I can welcome you home properly."

Geralt grins and allows himself to be tugged down the hall to the guest - no, Jaskier's room.

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

What if Jaskier has a lil cold or something (minor) and is laid up in bed. He loves getting kisses from his Witcher, but he's like "aw man, I don't want to get you sick!" because that's happened with other lovers before? Good news though, he can't get Geralt sick. So they have some good long comfort make outs until he falls asleep and then Geralt just cuddles up with him to keep him warm.

Jaskier gives a long series of loud, hacking coughs before falling back against the plethora of goose-down pillows on Geralt’s enormous bed. It looks even larger with a bard as its only occupant, frail and sickly as Jaskier is. His summer-tanned skin has taken on a greenish tinge. He’s covered by a thin sheen of sweat and his usually bright blue eyes are glassy and seem unable to focus; every Witcher in Kaer Morhen is worried that he will not last the week.

Geralt paces the length of his room again and adds another log to the already impressive fire. Jaskier smiles and rolls his eyes affectionately, “I’m not dying, dear heart.” 

Some of the reassuring sentiment is lost when he punctuates his statement with another cough and a sneeze. Geralt growls low in his throat and settles on the edge of his mattress and reaches out to lay the back of his hand across Jaskier’s forehead. “You’re still burning up. Fuck.”

“Maybe if you and your pile of frigid Witcher brothers get in here with me, I’ll cool down.”

“Hmm.” Geralt seems to consider it before narrowing his eyes. “You’re jesting with me, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely, my love. I know you don’t like to share. Nor do I think the frame of your lovely bed could support all that...muscle.”

“You’re right that I don’t like to share,” Geralt nods. “But I will get into bed with you. I’m not leaving your side again until this fever breaks and I know you’re safe.”

“Will you hold me?”

“Of course,” Geralt frowns, slipping off his boots and trousers. He slides into bed behind Jaskier and wraps his arm around the bard’s middle. “I wouldn’t want you to be lonely or uncomfortable in your convalescence.”

“Mmmm, this is nice,” Jaskier rasps, voice giving out after all of his coughing and hacking. “Will you kiss me, too?”

“That seems...counterproductive,” the Witcher glowers. Jaskier feigns innocence, glancing up through his lashes. 

“Please? Maybe it’ll burn the fever away.” 

Geralt relents with another drawn-out sigh, gathering the bard into his embrace and planting a gentle kiss on his too-warm lips. Then another. And another.

Until the bard falls asleep smiling, his arm thrown across Geralt’s hips, his head rising and falling with each of the Witcher’s breaths. Geralt only follows his beloved into the land of sleep when Jaskier’s fever breaks near dawn. He presses another quick kiss to the bard’s tousled hair. “Hmmm. I love you, lark. You aren’t allowed to die on me yet.”

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

I'm sorry you aren't feeling your best! I hope it gets better soon 💕 May I request a soft winter at Kaer Morhen kiss? Maybe Geralt reassuring Jask that he wants him there?

Geralt rolls over and catches the last hint of a frown on Jaskier’s face. He frowns in response and pulls the bard closer so that the skin of his bard’s back is pressed tightly against the warm planes of Geralt’s chest. “What’s wrong, Julek?”

“Nothing,” Jaskier replies, too quickly to be truthful.

“Hmm.”

“I just-” Jaskier bites his lip and takes a deep, steadying breath. Geralt has never heard him struggle to speak like this before and it begins to worry him.

“Do you want... Do you want me to take you back to Oxenfurt? It will be treacherous but I-”

Jaskier interrupts him by twisting violently in his arms and pressing their lips together. He pushes his body impossibly closer to Geralt’s, determined to make his feelings known. He barely pulls away long enough to whisper, “I just want to know that you don’t regret inviting me to stay with you.”

Geralt surprises them both by crying out in dismay. His broad, sword-calloused palms move to cup either side of Jaskier’s face with the utmost gentleness. “I love you, Julek. I have always wanted you here.”

The Witcher leans forward and captures his bard’s mouth for another, much longer series of sloppy kisses. He’s drunk on happiness, on the warmth of Jaskier against him, on the sunshine coming in through the window. 

“I love you too, Witcher mine,” Jaskier replies, returning the embrace wholeheartedly. “Now, let’s get down to breakfast, shall we?”

Geralt rolls over, pinning the beaming human beneath him as he does. “I was thinking we could skip breakfast entirely. Aim for lunch?”

“Hmm,” Jaskier grins, mimicking Geralt as well as he can. “I suppose I can make that work.” 

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

Hey you know that drinking game where you pass a playing card around a circle with your lips? You know how geralt and Jask are stupid? You think there's a kissing fic in there somewhere?

“Okay so you put the card on your lips like this,” Jaskier demonstrates, sucking in a little so the Gwent card goes flat against his mouth. He drops it back into his hand and smiles around the circle. “The goal is to pass it around the circle like that. If you drop it then you have to take a drink.”

“I like this game,” Aiden chimes from his seat beside the bard. The Wolves, Aiden, and Jaskier are staying at Kaer Morhen for the winter and Vesemir has been in bed for at least an hour. It’s prime hijinks time, and they’re sitting in a circle before the fireplace of the library. Eskel and Lambert had brought out some homemade liquor for Jaskier and a bit of White Gull for themselves. 

The Cat Witcher takes the card from Jaskier confidently and holds it up to his mouth. “I’ll start.”

He passes it successfully to Lambert on his left, who passes it to Eskel, who drops it. “Take a shot!” Jaskier cheerfully instructs. Eskel takes a swig from the bottle of hallucinogen and grimaces. 

“Alright, Eskel, now you try!”

The card makes it around twice successfully before Jaskier drops it and has to take a swig of liquor. He coughs and shakes his hair out of his watery, bright-blue eyes. “That’s going to put more hair on my chest.”

“Fuck me,” Eskel laughs. “There’s already too much!”

Jaskier thinks he hears Geralt mutter no there isn’t under his breath, but he’s probably just drunk and doing some wishful thinking. The card goes around again and this time Geralt drops it, but he drops it a hair’s breadth away from Jaskier’s already outstretched lips.

They crash together. 

Geralt’s hands land on the floor on either side of Jaskier’s knee, angling their heads together almost naturally. The kiss doesn’t end immediately; they don’t jump away from each other in embarrassment at all. As Eskel, Aiden, and Lambert watch in a mixture of horror and fascination, Geralt’s left hand slowly lifts from the floor and cups at the side of Jaskier’s jaw, holding him in place.

Jaskier’s hand tangles in Geralt’s white hair and tug at the leather tie, trying to pull it loose.

“Okay, we’re just gonna...we’re just gonna go,” Aiden giggles, standing and tugging at the other two Wolves.

Jaskier and Geralt are not listening, too caught up in finally being together. 

“Should we tell them that neither of them are drunk?” Eskel asks. Aiden shakes his head.

“Pretty sure they already know.”

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

what if... someone made a clone of geralt o.o complete with memory and everything

okay this one was fun to figure out. hope you enjoy! LOVE your art btw. I am honored as heck to have you in my inbox. <3

It also got kinda long.

---

“Am I still dreaming, or have I been cursed to see double?”

“Hmm,” reply the two identical Witchers staring down at him. They’re standing shoulder-to-shoulder at the far edge of camp, likely sensing his apprehension and trying to make him more comfortable by keeping their distance. 

“It’s a curse,” the grumpier of the two Geralts replies, stepping forward. The Original, Jaskier thinks. “Apparently I need to have a good talk with myself and figure some things out.”

“Like what?” Jaskier asks. He’s still sitting up in his bedroll, hair like a bird’s nest and eyes bleary with sleep. He looks so soft and both Geralts ache to hold him and press gentle kisses atop the crown of his messy head. 

“I guess we’ll figure that out,” says the second Geralt, crossing his arms over his chest. He seems softer, somehow. Gentle around the edges where Jaskier’s Geralt, the one currently taking a seat next to his pack, is gruff and irritable. 

“So broody already,” Jaskier sighs. “And the sun has barely risen. There’s a long day ahead for me.”

“I could, uh…” Second Geralt trails off nervously. Jaskier perks up. 

“You could what? How are you going to brighten my day, White Wolf?”

The real Geralt feels his chest tighten when Jaskier calls the stranger by his moniker. The nickname that Jaskier had bestowed upon him after their first adventure together. He doesn’t miss the way his doppelgänger’s chest puffs out with pride at the form of address. 

“I could carry you,” he offers. Jaskier lights up immediately, practically bouncing out of his bedroll to hug the half-stranger. 

“Oh, you lovely thing! Geralt,” the bard shoots the Original a pout, “Can’t we keep him?”

Second Geralt smirks at his counterpart and glances down at the bard, who still has his arms wrapped around the Witcher’s neck. Something hot and angry prickles to life beneath the real Geralt’s scarred skin; he has to suppress the sudden, primal urge to growl and rip Jaskier away from the imposter in their midst. He desires nothing more than to shelter the bard in his own embrace and never let another person touch his Buttercup again. 

Oh, he realizes with a start. He glares across the campfire at the copy, still holding Jaskier as comfortably as ever, and narrows his eyes: I think I know what the mage wanted me to figure out. 

“Geralt, darling, stop glaring at our guest and help me figure out what to do about breaking our fast.”

“Hmm.”

“I can fetch a rabbit or two,” Second Geralt offers. Real Geralt shoots him another dark glare. 

“That would be lovely,” Jaskier smiles. Geralt glowers from his seat beside the fire. 

“Go ahead. I’ll get Roach brushed down and watered.”

“Good plan,” Jaskier nods. Second Geralt disappears into the trees and Jaskier bounces over to his Witcher with a wide grin. 

“What happened? I thought you were just turning in a trophy and getting paid.”

“I got paid; but I also got cursed, as you can see.”

“I kind of like him,” the bard says. “He’s nice. He offered to carry me.”

“Well he doesn’t have a horse, does he?”

Jaskier nods and goes quiet. Geralt kicks himself. He can’t prove his affection if he’s too busy being a self-flagellating asshole. He watches with anxious golden eyes as the bard cleans up their bedrolls, packs away their supplies, and builds a small cookfire for breakfast. 

Jaskier goes about his duties silently, and the silence is unnerving. 

Uncomfortable.

The itching beneath Geralt’s skin grows stronger. 

---

Second Geralt carries Jaskier piggy-back for a good majority of the distance between their campsites, hefting him easily and letting the bard hug and nuzzle as much as he pleases. Geralt can hear every word of their conversation from his seat atop Roach and he can smell the self-satisfied smugness radiating off his counterpart; he also can’t help catching continuous and ever-stronger whiffs of Jaskier’s bright, tangy happiness and softly floral arousal. 

That should be me holding him, Geralt huffs to himself, the jealousy hot and bright and ever-present. This ends tonight.

---

“Wolfie! You’ve brought more food!”

“Hmm,” the Second Geralt nods, dropping three skinned and skewered rabbit carcasses over the cookfire. Jaskier beams and drops onto his bedroll with his notebook. Before Second Geralt can make a move, Real Geralt kneels beside the bard, close enough for their shoulders or arms to brush in passing.

“What are you writing about?” 

“Oh! Uh… you, of course. Working on the song about that Griffin hunt.”

“You were very brave getting as close as you did,” Geralt says offhandedly, like it’s not the nicest thing he’s said to Jaskier in weeks. “And I can’t wait to hear how it sounds when you’re finished. I’m sure it’ll be a big hit.”

The bard blushes and stutters, eyes flicking between Second Geralt, the fire, and Real Geralt’s soft but focused gaze. Eventually he goes back to writing, murmuring and singing in little spurts when he feels the need. Both Geralts kneel on their respective bedrolls and meditate. Only the Real Geralt does so with Jaskier close enough to touch, and that settles the itching rage. That settles a lot, actually.

---

“Jaskier,” Geralt whispers beneath the light of the stars. The bard turns towards him.

“Mhm?” comes the sleepy reply.

“I love you.”

“Wha-?” Jaskier murmurs, confused. His eyes, bluer than the sea but equally stormy, are bright and wide in the darkness. Geralt bolsters himself and repeats the admission.

“I love you, Jaskier. I’ve wanted to tell you for awhile now, but I wasn’t sure that you’d want to stay with me if you knew. Lately though, seeing the way this other Geralt has been making you so happy… seeing the way he’s been treating you so well and with such gentleness; you deserve that, Jaskier. You deserve softness and care and compliments. I’ve been too stubborn and selfish to do what you’ve needed and I’m so sorry; you could have so much better, but I love you.”

“Foolish Witcher,” the bard sniffles, scooting himself closer until the two are chest-to-chest. “I love you, too. You must have known?”

“I may have improved senses, but I am foolish and uneducated in uh… matters of the heart.”

“Well luckily for you, I’m a professor,” Jaskier winks. He follows up the wink with a wide yawn and Geralt tucks the bard’s head beneath his chin, wrapping one heavy arm over those slim hips to keep him close. “Goodnight, Geralt.”

“Goodnight… my love.”

Jaskier’s scent spikes with happiness and contentment and within a minute or two, he’s drifted back to sleep. Geralt stays up an hour or so more, simply enjoying the solid weight of Jaskier’s body pressed against him. 

---

When they wake in the morning, the secondary Geralt has faded away, not a trace of him to be found. 

“So I guess that’s what the mage needed him for, huh?” Jaskier surmises. “Getting you to admit your feelings. You big, broody, handsome thing.”

Geralt blushes as much as he still can and runs his fingers gently through Jaskier’s hair. He cups the back of Jaskier’s neck and slowly leans down to capture his lips for a sweet kiss. “Hmm. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of that.”

Dreamily, Jaskier blinks up at him through long black lashes, doe-eyed and content, “Me neither.”

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

Uhhh, Geralt stealing a kiss as they get ready for bed?

“You have something on the corner of your lip, bard,” Geralt murmurs, leaning in close. Jaskier’s heart stutters magnificently in his chest. 

“Do I?”

“Hmm.”

“Would you mind... getting rid of it for me, dear heart?”

Two warm, dry lips press against Jaskier’s in the next instant and the bard’s blue eyes flutter closed in rapture. Geralt is gentle and fierce in equal measure, cradling Jaskier against his chest even as his teeth and tongue conquer the bard’s will to move completely. When the Witcher finally pulls away, Jaskier is left gasping for breath. After he calms down enough to speak he asks, “Did you get it?”

All he gets in reply is a quiet laugh and, “Goodnight, lark.”

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

sorry to hear about your injury. maybe some jaskier giving geralt forehead kisses will make you feel better?

Jaskier smiles softly and glances down at the man whose face is pillowed on his chest. He can feel the warmth of Geralt’s broad palm stretched across the expanse of his ribcage, the fingers splayed out to cover as much skin as they can. Strands of white hair are tangled with the dark, matted curls of the hair on his arms and chest; it’s adorable, really, how calm the mighty White Wolf looks as he sleeps.

He never snores.

“Witchers don’t snore, Jaskier. It’s a tactical thing.”

Jaskier snores terribly, but Geralt never seems to mind. So the bard doesn’t mention his lover’s occasional drooling. 

“Sweet dreams be yours dear, if dreams there be. Sweet dreams to carry you close to me. I wish I may, and I wish I might So goodnight, my someone, goodnight.”

Geralt snuggles impossibly closer, a wall of heat against Jaskier’s right side. His arm is looped across the Witcher’s broad shoulders, and he revels in the way Geralt’s muscles slide and shift beneath his pale skin. He’s a wonder. A fallen star in the arms of one foolish, mortal bard. Jaskier is a lucky man and he knows it.

“I love you,” the bard whispers. He tilts his chin down and presses a kiss to the Witcher’s forehead. “Always have, always will.”

[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]

BABE. WHAT IF GERALT DRINKS A LOVE POTION!?! WHAT IF HE?? CoNfEsSeS!?!?

This is why I come crawling into your messages begging for prompts. You get me, boo. 

tw: love potion, Yen interfering but in a nice way

---

Yennefer had grown bored of watching the bard and Witcher dance around each other like courting swans. It had been years and they still hadn’t figured things out between them. It had probably been more than years; more like decades. The bard, something not-quite-human but not inhuman enough to be suspicious or a problem, was too frightened of losing Geralt a second time to say anything to him about his clear and obvious feelings. 

The Witcher, too self-loathing and repressed to express anything other than frustration or exhaustion, didn’t know how to say anything for fear of driving his only friend away for good. She’d been watching the two idiots circle each other in an endless loop of yearning for far too long and the sorceress was finally ready to give them a little push in the right direction. 

“Jaskier,” she drawled, approaching the bard after he’d concluded a public performance. “It’s been awhile since we’ve traded blows. How are you and that Witcher doing?”

“I am still the finest voice on the Continent and Geralt is the grumpiest Wolf Witcher to ever grace the halls of Kaer Morhen,” he winked. “How have you been, dear?”

“I remain the most ravishing woman alive, fortunately.”

“Of course,” he bowed in mock politeness. Their banter had gotten less fiery and more friendly after she and Geralt had come to their understanding about Ciri’s education. Split custody of an affectionate, exuberant magical child worked wonders for strained relationships, apparently. “What can I do for you on this fine occasion, Lady Yen?”

“Oh hush,” she came alongside him and elbowed him lightly in the ribs. He bumped his shoulder back against hers, falling into camaraderie as if they’d never parted. “I actually have something for Geralt this time, but figured you’d be easier to get a hold of. I was correct in that assumption, as per usual. I thought he might be missing his White Gull while out on the Path and I know how he stresses himself nearly to death, so I brewed up something fun for him to try.”

“He’ll be overjoyed to have an equal substitute to his Witcher liquor.”

She pressed a small vial of swirling gold liquid into Jaskier’s palm. There was a label hanging from the tag containing a blocky #9. The sorceress smiled warmly and shook out her heavy skirts, adjusting them to her liking before opening a swirling purple portal. “I have some things to take care of in the next county over, so goodbye for now, darling.”

“Good day, gorgeous.”

And just as soon as she’d appeared, Yennefer was gone.

---

“Geralt! Here, I’d nearly forgotten. Yennefer said this would work like White Gull next time you want to get pissed after a job,” the bard said, passing along the little golden vial. The Witcher pulled the cork, sniffed at it, shrugged, and put it away in his pack. 

“Remind me to thank her next time we cross paths.”

“Already thanked her for you,” Jaskier winked. “No worries.”

“You terrify me, bard.”

“You love me, Witcher.”

“Hmm.”

---

“Geralt, what’s wrong?”

“That wasn’t… that wasn’t White Gull at all, Jaskier.”

“What was it, then!? Are you going to be okay!?”

“It wasn’t poison. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, so what was it, exactly?”

“It was a-” Geralt clapped a hand over his mouth and shook his head furiously. He took a few deep breaths before releasing a muffled, “I can’t talk.”

“What do you mean you can’t talk? You barely talk as it is! Do I need to worry about you or not? Should I send for a healer or no? Was I duped by a very clever, portal-making doppler or was that really Yennefer?”

Geralt glared but kept his hands over his mouth. Jaskier could see from his seat beside the Witcher that he was trembling in place. His shoulders were set in a tight line and his legs were bouncing in place. He was putting a great amount of effort into staying as still as possible and even with his great Witcher willpower was failing him. Slowly, carefully, Jaskier reached out one of his hands but Geralt shook his head and pulled himself further away. 

“Geralt please tell me what’s wrong! I’m scared!” Tears started to well up in his eyes and his hands fluttered uselessly, desperate to touch but banned from doing so. Geralt hated seeing the fear mounting in Jaskier’s eyes, turning down the corners of his gorgeous mouth. “Geralt, tell me something! Anything, please.”

“Love potion,” the Witcher finally managed to grind out. 

“Oh. Do you need me to leave so you can, you know, deal with it?”

Geralt growled and turned away, hands moving from his mouth to grip at the tops of his knees. His fingers dug into the material of his leather trousers and he grit his teeth. “No. Not that kind.”

Jaskier stood anyway, legs wobbling, and took a slow step back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know, she said-”

“She knew what she was doing,” Geralt snarled, standing also. He took a measured step in the bard’s direction and Jaskier’s hands rose again; he wasn’t sure if it was an attempt to ward Geralt off or to welcome him closer. “She knew she was meddling.”

“Meddling!? Geralt wha- what’s going on?”

The Witcher picked his way easily over the forest floor, closing the minimal distance between them. One of his hands reached to grip at Jaskier’s waist and the other cupped the bard’s jaw, holding him still and tilting his head back so they were making firm eye contact. “She’s tired of watching us stay quiet, Jaskier.”

Jaskier, for his part, was trying desperately to summon words enough to answer, but Geralt’s calloused thumb was brushing back and forth against the skin of his cheek and it was incredibly distracting. “I- uh, I don’t know wha-”

The Witcher pulled him closer. There was no pressure, no point of contact that Jaskier couldn’t escape if he wanted to; he just really didn’t want to move. This gorgeous dream was too good to be true, but he was very much enjoying it. 

“Bard,” that low, hungry growl made Jaskier weak in the knees. “Do you love me, too, or do your racing heart and fluttering eyelashes deceive me?” 

“I do,” Jaskier breathed, finally relaxing into his darling Geralt’s comforting embrace. “I love you so incredibly much. With every fiber of my being.”

“May I kiss you?”

“Yes. Gods, yes.”

The thumb on his cheek never stopped moving. That soft caress was the only thing holding Jaskier to the surface of the earth, it felt like. If Geralt let go of him then he would certainly float away into space and never return. The Witcher’s lips, chapped and warm and slightly parted, lit against his as lightly as any feather falling upon the surface of a calm lake. It was a chaste, anxious brush of skin-against-skin and Jaskier whined when Geralt pulled away too quickly for his liking. 

The sharp, sudden sound broke something in Geralt’s resolve. His lips crashed down again and his hands tightened their hold on the bard, keeping him pinned in place for Geralt’s hands and mouth to eagerly explore. “Yes, Geralt, fucking finally.”

“I love you,” the Witcher murmured into his skin. He kissed his way along one pale collarbone and then the other, praying his love into every damp press of his lips. “I love you, Jaskier.”

“I’m writing Yennefer a thank you letter.”

“Shut up and kiss me again,” Geralt growled, the hand cupping Jaskier’s jaw moving down to encircle his waist. Better than I’d ever imagined, the bard thought, one leg lifting unconsciously up from the ground. Oh, my love, at last! 

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

Babe. Brain cell bae. Bestie. Would you bestow upon us some ever so soft "post-potions" geraskier goodness? Pretty please?

I included purring for you, boo. Cause ily and you’re my bff and all that jazz.

---

“Loud,” Geralt complains, curling even further in on himself. “The fire is loud.”

His eyes are still pitch black, the veins curling outward and around his temples in little black tendrils of pulsing, toxic blood. The Witcher lies curled around himself, nestled deeply in his bedroll. He’s wrapped himself tightly with a blanket and even covered up most of his head. Only his eyes are visible to the bard, dark and narrow to filter some of the overwhelming light.

Jaskier sits nearby, as close as he can without touching his hypersensitive companion, and whispers: “Do you want me to hum again?”

The bundle of blankets nods in affirmation and the bard smiles. He begins to hum as quietly as possible, one of Geralt’s favorite lullabies. Eventually one scarred hand finds its way out of the mound and grips tightly at the soft blue silk of Jaskier’s pants. He starts to rub a bit of the material between his fingers and hums along to the familiar tune, settling himself back into his body.

“Feeling better, love?” the bard whispers again. The bundle nods a second time. 

“Hmm.”

“Would you like it if I played with your hair?”

“Hmm.”

“Alright. I’m going to lift your head into my lap now,” he narrates the movements he makes as he makes them. Geralt could be flinchy and flighty in this state and Jaskier doesn’t ever want to frighten him. He starts weaving his fingers through the long white strands, delicately and carefully pulling any knots or tangles free. “Is this still okay?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Jaskier plays with it for awhile, braiding and unbraiding it as Geralt slowly comes down from his post-hunt potion high. Slowly but surely the bard listens as his breathing evens out and watches as his body stops making frantic little twitching movements from within his cocoon. 

“Shall we sleep now, dear heart?”

“Hmm. Get in,” the Witcher scoots over, making room for Jaskier to slip easily into the circle of his arms. It’s a smooth, practiced series of movements and soon they’re pressed together within the confines of Geralt’s shared bedroll. 

Jaskier’s lips find the Witcher’s even in the pitch dark (he’d let the fire fade to nothing in the warm embrace of summer) and latched them together. It gave him a point of connection. Geralt could anchor himself to the world with Jaskier’s warmth alone; sometimes he thought it might be the only thing keeping him from going absolutely mad with the darkness of his life. 

Jaskier, the man who was now winding his hands into the front of the Witcher’s worn black shirt like it was his favorite childhood blanket, was the Witcher’s personal sun. His arms dart out and wrap around the bard with sudden intensity, crushing the smaller man against his chest. 

A deep and thunderous rumbling erupts from his very core. Jaskier’s hands are still clasped against his chest and his head is resting safely in the crook of Geralt’s neck. Soft puffs of air breeze across the skin of his Adam’s apple every few seconds, marking the bard’s breathing and further strengthening the Witcher’s happy purring. 

“I’m glad to hear that you’re happy, darling.”

“You’re here. You’re safe. I’m happy.”

“Does it make you happy, you know, keeping me safe?” 

Geralt can see the unease in Jaskier’s eyes; it’s not so dark that he can’t make out the bard’s face with his Witchery enhancements. 

“I don’t want to get in your way.”

The Witcher curls around Jaskier entirely, building a nest with his arms and chest and some of the blankets. He nestles his darling against him and purrs even deeper, vibrating the bard with the force of the sound. “Very happy.”

“I love you, Geralt.”

Geralt kisses his way across Jaskier’s face, from his cheek to his nose to his other cheek. He marks a slow path to the bard’s lips and presses a final, soft kiss to his mouth. “I love you, Jaskier. Thank you.”

“Always and forever, my dear.”

“Hmm. Good.”

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

Bouncey!! Dearest gremlin 💖 I have a prompt idea for you! It's pretty tropey but can I request some soft morning kisses and snuggles with Geraskier, with perhaps Jaskier wearing Geralt's clothes?

this is so cute. yes, absolutely.

---

Geralt fingered the fraying edges of his old tank top where it rested against the back of Jaskier’s neck; his boyfriend was always rooting through his dresser drawers for something new to steal or ‘plunder’. It was equally frustrating that the young actor always looked adorable in whatever it was he’d taken. 

“You’re thinking about me,” the younger man mumbled into the hollow of Geralt’s throat. One of the Witcher’s broad hands began to sweep gentle lines up and down the length of Jaskier’s sloping spine while the other stretched out from his shoulder to pillow both their heads. 

“Hmm.”

“Good things?” 

Geralt’s lips pressed to the warm skin of Jaskier’s forehead and left a damp mark when he pulled away. “Always good things, Julek. We have to get up and get ready, soon. You have to be on set by six.”

“Five more minutes,” Jaskier whined. He burrowed even closer into the warmth of Geralt’s chest and tucked his knee between both of his boyfriend’s beefy thighs. “Just five, and then we can go to set.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier rumbled, a parody of his lover’s usual reply, “Now hold me tightly, dear heart, and keep me warm for a little longer.”

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

okay so here is a kissing prompt i’ve been thinking about. it’s not super horny tho, pretty sweet. so i’m thinking what if during a reunion between Jaskier and Geralt, Jaskier laughs and runs forward to jump into Geralts arms. Geralt catches him and jaskier is just so excited that he gives him a big fat kiss on the cheek. Geralt is super blushy and frozen and Jaskier hops down and acts chill but is super freaking out internally. I really enjoy your work, including the memes. Even if you don’t really write this idea, I hope you get some prompts that you have a lot of fun with! I hope you have a great day, Bouncey!!💕💕

1) Not all kissing has to be horny, so no worries there.

2) This is cute as fuck, so thank you for sending it in! I love seeing your comments on my stuff <3

---

Winter had been long. It had been long and boring and lonely and even colder than usual, even though he’d spent it the same way he always did: training with the other Wolf Witchers at Kaer Morhen. 

Geralt blamed the late thaw for his wanderlust but his brothers and adoptive father knew that he was only antsy to get back to his bard. He hadn’t shut up about Jaskier since he’d first stepped foot in the stables.

He sings like a bird with consumption. 

Or: He can’t lace his own doublets half the time, I wonder why he buys such silly items of clothing at all. 

Sometimes the complaints strayed all the way into compliments: I hate the way his hair looks so soft and touchable in the moonlight and his eyes are too blue to be totally human. 

“How much do you want to bet that they kiss?” Lambert asked the day after Geralt left the keep to get back to his Path.

“Suppose I made this bet with you,” Eskel scoffed, “How would we know whether or not they kissed?”

“We could follow them?”

“Lambert,” the heavily scarred Wolf shook his head. “He’s a Witcher. He’d catch onto us long before we could sneak up on them.”

“He’s an idiot in love,” Lambert replied. “He wouldn’t notice us within a thousand yards unless we were threatening that lark of his.”

“Fuck, you’re right. Let’s do this.”

---

Eskel and Lambert settled into the high, thick branches of an ancient oak and watched in complete silence as their brother set up camp and wrung his hands over the lack of a proper fire. “What if Jaskier already passed through?” they could hear him muttering to himself as he paced. “What if he’s decided not to come back this year?”

They turned to the side, having already caught the bard’s lavender-honey scent on the wind. Geralt followed a moment later and both of the voyeurs had to hold back their laughter at how quickly his white hair snapped to the side as his head whipped in Jaskier’s direction. 

“Geralt? Geralt!” A blur of blue-and-green movement swept through the camp before their brother was engulfed in two surprisingly broad, silk-clad arms. “Oh, my darling Witcher! I’ve missed you!”

“Jaskier,” Geralt hummed. The bard, still holding on for dear life, planted an enormous, wet kiss to the Witcher’s stubbled cheek. Geralt’s eyes went wide and Eskel clung to the tree with all his might. He was going to die of withheld laughter. 

Geralt smelled hilarious. Like surprise and shock and love and confusion and such intense, puppyish devotion that it nearly turned his brothers’ stomachs. 

“Oh! Geralt, I’m-I’m so sorry!” Jaskier dropped back to the ground and adjusted the strap of his lute case anxiously. “My sincerest apologies.”

Geralt’s eyebrows scrunched together with momentary determination before he surged forward, enveloping the bard with his not-much-larger form and sweeping him into a deep, passionate kiss. Lambert slid Eskel two gold coins and the older Witcher finally released a low, quiet chuckle.

Below them, Geralt tensed but didn’t stop kissing the bard. His arm waved in their direction once, a warning, and they disappeared into the foliage as quickly as they’d climbed into it. No point ruining the moment.

---

Back at camp, Jaskier was sitting comfortably astride Geralt’s lap. “How long, now?”

“I don’t know. When I got to Kaer Morhen, though, things were different. I couldn’t get you out of my head. I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t train as hard or as much as usual. I felt...listless.”

“Awww! You were pining,” Jaskier cooed, running his hand through Geralt’s loose white hair. “I was pining for you, too. I have been for many years now, actually. Now, kiss me again?”

“Hmm...I could be convinced.”

“Well,” the bard smirked, leaning his forearms against Geralt’s shoulders and holding him in place with his smoldering blue eyes. “How can I convince you, Sir Witcher?”

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

Idk if you've got one already but for the kisses prompt: It's cold outside the covers and no one wants to get up so we get morning cuddle kisses?

Ily braincell bae

---

“I don’t wanna get up,” Jaskier says. He’s expecting resistance. An argument. Some grumpy mumbling about how they need to get up and get moving, right back out to the Path as quickly as possible.

“Me neither.”

The Witcher wraps his arms around Jaskier’s waist and tugs, rolling over and pulling the bard to lay on top of him. The brunette tucks his legs up so his knees are caging in the sides of Geralt’s hips. He presses his nose into the crook of the Witcher’s neck and pushes his arms beneath the pillow to support the back of Geralt’s head. 

One of the Witcher’s hands begins running in soothing lines up and down the curve of Jaskier’s naked back. His fingers dip in and out of the bumps of his lover’s gently sloping spine, feeling how delicate and easy to break his bard really is underneath the sinewy muscle and fierce, fae-like loyalty. 

“You’re never like this in the mornings. What’s so different about today?” 

“Twelve years ago today,” the Witcher rumbles, letting the hand on Jaskier’s back come to rest on the nape of his neck, “This idiot bard approached me in Posada and asked me to give him a review. Three words or less. I wouldn’t want to keep a man with bread in his pants waiting.”

Jaskier grins into the Witcher’s warm skin. 

“Idiot bard?”

“Hmm. Kind, too. Caring to a fault. Loyal beyond all reason,” Geralt continues. He can feel the blush cross Jaskier’s face where the bard’s cheek rests against his shoulder. He pushes forward, “Lovely singing voice, too. Didn’t want it to go to his head, though, so I told him the song was wrong.”

“I love you.”

“Hmm.” Geralt brings Jaskier’s face up to meet his and bestows several languid, slow, intense kisses upon his blushing bard. “I love you too.”

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

Geralt as a knight in shining armor kissing his love Jaskier after coming home?

I LOVE knight in shining armor shit, fam. You really just threw this right up my alley.

---

Jaskier flew across the yard and into his husband’s strong arms. “You’re back!”

“And did you keep the chicks safe for me?”

“They’re chickens, now. You’ve been gone for so long!” Jaskier was kissing his way up and down the knight’s sweaty neck. His chainmail shirt rubbed harshly through the thin layer of Jaskier’s tunic but he couldn’t be asked to care. The King’s men had been away defending a border village from a pack of ghouls for nearly two months. “I’ve missed you, my love.”

“I’ve missed you as well,” the knight replied, gathering his darling into his arms. He swept Jaskier into a comfortable bridal carry and took him over the threshold of their cottage. “I’ve missed this house.”

“It’s too quiet without you.”

Jaskier carefully removed his husband’s chainmail and placed it on a stand in the corner. The tunic went next, and the sheep’s wool trousers that Jaskier had woven himself over the course of last winter. He hurried Geralt into the large wooden tub and filled it with warm water from the cauldron over the fire. 

Jaskier scrubbed him down with lavender soap, massaging the knight’s sore muscles as he went. He washed, oiled, and braided his hair back out of his honey-golden eyes. 

“Let’s eat something, brush down Roachie girl, and go to bed. I’ve spent many long nights dreaming of being safe in your arms once again.”

“Hmm, and I’ve missed holding you.”

“Good. Then hold me tightly tonight, husband, and do not let me go for a week.”

“Alright. A week, then.”