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seidenbros · 3 years ago

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Hello! I love your Geraskier fics, so can I request #26 from the 2021 Spotify Wrapped Fic Meme thing for them? I hope you're having a great day!

Hello, my love! YOU have no idea, how much I chuckled to myself when I looked up WHICH song you chose, and it's a German song which fits the two of them perfectly in my opinion. (Here's a rough translation) I put this in a modern setting, because it fit better with what I had in mind, so I hope you will enjoy this. i certainly had a lot fun writing it <3

(Taken from this list and here are some other prompts, but feel free to request anything <3)

Warnings: fluff Word Count: 1711

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“Geralt? Meet me at O'Neill's Pub at 8, okay?”

“What? Why?”

Not that Geralt is opposed to going out with his childhood friend – at least not in general – but this is a little sudden. It's already past seven, and usually, they plan these nights sooner.

“Just don't wanna sit around at home. I want to go out. So are you in?”

He should probably say no and keep his distance, but he can't let Jaskier down. He's never done that before, so Jask would know that something is going on.

“Alright. See you in a bit.”

Geralt heaves a sigh. This isn't a good idea, not after all the tingles and butterflies he felt the last time they were together. They grew up together, have known each other ever since Jaskier's family moved in next to Geralt's The new kid, the one that was shy at first but lit up as soon as he spent time with Geralt. Best friends, that's what they became and what they still are nowadays. Their parents went on vacation together with them, had game-nights, and they are still really good friends today – just like Jaskier and Geralt. Once they were old enough to not need a babysitter their parents went out together, while Geralt and Jaskier spent the evenings together in front of the TV, watching trash-horror-movies – needless to say that Jaskier was the one hiding behind a pillow, while Geralt chuckled to himself watching his best friend nearly shit his pants.

When they got older, they went to University together, helped the other through heartache, and Geralt even hit the asshole that cheated on Jaskier, because he deserved it. Whenever they needed the other, they were there – and that was still true today, after so many years. Nothing ever happened between them, not even a drunken kiss. They danced together, laughed together and felt normal, no racing hearts, no butterflies... But a few nights ago, everything changed at least for Geralt.

They were out, drinking and Jaskier had too much, so Geralt took him home to his own apartment, not wanting to leave his best friend alone for the night in case he had to throw up. Jaskier cuddled up to Geralt all the way home, and once they were inside, he immediately went for the bedroom, because he knew Geralt's home like the back of his hand. Geralt just wanted to put a blanket on him and sleep on the sofa, but Jaskier pulled him close.

“I need you here,” Jaskier mumbled, cuddling up to Geralt, wrapping his arms around his best friend. It didn't take long for him to fall asleep, but Geralt... He stayed awake half the night watching Jaskier. His heart beat so fast that it was hard for him to calm down. Everywhere Jaskier's body touched him, he felt little tingles that settled in the pit of his stomach. Oh, Geralt knew that feeling. It was a wonderful feeling, but nothing that he wanted to have when he thought about his best friend. They'd touched a thousand times – nothing had happened. But that night... Everything changed for him, but he didn't want anything to change between them. That was why he should keep his distance to figure out what he was going to do with this, but... When Jaskier calls, Geralt is there for him.

“There you are!” Jaskier's face lights up the moment he sees Geralt. There are already two ales in front of him, and he pushes one towards his friend. “You've made yourself so scarce the last few days, I'm glad that we can finally spend another evening together.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Geralt apologises, sliding onto the barstool and reaching for the ale. “Work as always.” It isn't exactly a lie, because his work can get kind of stressful and take up a lot of time, but not this week. He needed to figure out what to do about his feeling the last couple of days, but by now, he still doesn't have a solution, because he doesn't want to destroy their friendship. For so many years, they've been friends, so why is he all of a sudden feeling like a teenager in love around Jaskier? Because he is in love... in love with his best friend, but he has no idea what Jaskier feels.

“Sounds like you need a new job,” Jaskier muses, but he knows that this will never happen, because Geralt loves what he does for a living, which is something you do not find that often. Jaskier himself is lucky enough that he can earn money with his music. It's not that he's standing on big stages, but he writes music for others, fills the pubs around town and sometimes even teaches music. He loves what he does as well, but it's not really stressful.

“We both know that's not going to happen.” Geralt smiles to himself before he raises tha ale to his lips, eyes still lingering on Jaskier. He can't deny the way Jaskier makes him feel. It's not a couple of butterflies anymore, it's a whole as butterfly-farm that are doing somersaults in his stomach, almost to the point where he wants to throw up. If only he could get that stupid smile out of his face, Geralt would feel a lot better, but he's not able to do so. Whenever he looks at Jaskier, he simply has to smile, because he's happy.

“Yeah, probably not.” Jaskier chuckled, his eyes twinkling. Jaskier proceeds to tell Geralt about his day, which is nothing unusual. Once Jaskier starts talking, it's difficult to shut him up. Usually, Geralt interrupts him at one point, tells him that they need to go dancing or whatever just so that Jaskier stops talking, but not this time. Jaskier talks and talks, until he gets frustrated, because Geralt doesn't interrupt or stop him. “Gods, what is going on with you? You've never ever let me talk this long without complaining. Why don't you shut me up like you usually do?”

There is a note of irritation in his voice. Geralt can't help himself when his eyes drop to Jaskier's lips. His mind has been all over the place during the conversation, his eyes looking everywhere – Jaskier seems to be oblivious to that.

“You want me to shut you up?” Geralt asks, his eyes slowly wandering from his best friend's lips up to meet his eyes.

Jaskier's lips part, but no sound comes out at first. His tongue darts out to wet his lips. Is he imagining things or are things getting hotter in here all of a sudden? There is only one way to find out.

“Yes?!” Though it sounds almost like a question, because he isn't entirely sure, whether he is interpreting Geralt's words correctly, but he wants this, wants to find out where this leads.

It's now or never, and though he won't be able to blame it on the alcohol – which would be a save option to play it down in the end – Geralt leans forward. For days, he's been dreaming about this moment, but now that it's really here, Geralt is a little nervous. His fingers tremble slightly when he cups Jaskier's cheek right before their lips connect. It's everything he thought it would be and so much more. The tingles are there again immediately, starting from his lips, moving like a buzzing sensation through his whole body, settling in his stomach again. When he feels Jaskier's fingers in his own hair, fingernails grazing his scalp until both hands settle in his neck, Geralt is completely lost. Is this some kind of dream or is this really happening. Geralt slides off his barstool to step between Jaskier's thighs, deepening the kiss. Jaskier's legs wrap around him immediately, trapping him in place.

They only part when they both need to draw oxygen into their lungs. Geralt's hands both drop to Jaskier's waist, his thumbs skimming over his sides.

“Fucking finally,” Jaskier says against his best friend's lips, their foreheads resting against each other. “I've been thinking about this since we last met.” It's a confession he didn't plan on making, but now the words are out and he'd happy about it, he even smiles.

“Me too,” Geralt admits, placing another chaste kiss on Jaskier's lips, before he pulls back a little bit so he can look in these brilliant blue eyes. “I just didn't think you'd feel the same way... I mean after all these years, and there was never...” He's searching for the right words, but as per usual, Jaskier finds them.

“That spark. But it's there now. A thousand touches, but the 1001st was the one that changed everything.” Jaskier smiles and lets his hands drop down to Geralt's chest, starts drawing lazy circles with his thumbs. “There have been so many nights where I felt like something was missing, and when I slept by your side, woke up next to you, I knew that you were the thing that's been missing.”

“Jask...” Geralt says with a smile. He's known Jaskier long enough to know just how poetic he can get, but having these words aimed at him directly, is something else entirely. Something that makes his heart beat even faster and harder for the man he's known most of his life.

“I'm not finished,” Jaskier says, his words earning him a chuckle from Geralt. He should have known. “I've told you about my problem so many times, and you've always been there for me, but now I know... I know that you're the key to everything. The key to solving these problem. You always have been.”

“Gods, Jaskier!” Geralt says shaking his head. He has to stop him before Jaskier manages to make Geralt cry with his words, because they touch his heart, his soul. It's everything he'd wanted, and now, he has his best friend and his lover all rolled into one in his arms. And to keep him from talking more and more, Geralt leans in again to kiss Jaskier. A good way to shut his best friend up. A very good way.

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eskelstits · 3 years ago

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Okay okay so hear me out:

Jaskier has been acting odd lately, though the bard was either too shy or too stubborn to acknowledge it. At the very least, he was stubborn fool for thinking Geralt, of all people, wouldn’t take notice. Jaskier had suddenly become adamant about more generous rations for his Witcher, started to insist on larger dinners at taverns, and was always quick to suggest another round of food and drink— only to insist that Geralt finish it. The witcher pretended not to notice the way Jaskier watched intently while he ate and hid his wry amusement when the bard hurriedly looked away upon being caught. Geralt had so far played along with these antics in feigned ignorance, admittedly feeling a small thrill as his body started to bulk and strain against his armor. And now that he was paying closer attention, he found himself fond of just how delicate his bard looked by comparison. Armed with his suspicions of what Jaskier is up to, Geralt decides to satisfy his curiosity by embracing the bard’s antics and seeing just how much he can him squirm.

I was thinking some stuffing and size kink ~ with increasingly daring taunts thrown from both sides of the table bc let’s be real neither of the boys would give in easily.

THANK YOU i definitely had fun with this prompt

[ masterpost - ao3 ]

"Are you ill?" Geralt asked the question hunched over the plate of eggs and bacon he was enjoying for his breakfast.

More accurately, Jaskier's breakfast. Geralt had already finished his own serving, but then Jaskier had deftly stacked his own half-full plate on top of Geralt's empty one. To be fair, as it turned out, that particular tavern did tend to dish out surprisingly hearty portions, and Geralt had to remind himself that Jaskier was not a witcher, and therefore did not have the appetite of one. It was not the only occasion on which Jaskier had passed off a good fraction of his food to Geralt, however.

In fact, it seemed to be happening more and more frequently lately. He would demand seconds, larger portions, extra bread or more ale, only to immediately claim that he was full and offer it up to Geralt. After a tough life of fighting for survival, Geralt was a rather opportunistic eater, and so he always took advantage of Jaskier's leftovers. It was … strange, but Geralt could not say he exactly minded it. He did like going to bed warm and satiated rather than starving, tossing and turning and kept awake by his growling stomach. The only thing that really puzzled Geralt was the staring. Jaskier would look at him like Geralt was the most fascinating thing on the Continent whenever they sat down together to eat, but as Geralt had recently discovered, Jaskier would always quickly look away the moment Geralt met his eye.

Jaskier gaped and sputtered for a moment, eyes wide and hand settled over his chest as though Geralt had just viciously insulted him.

"Ill? Geralt, you wound me. I will have you know that I'm positively glowing with good health," Jaskier huffed.

Geralt grunted. Eyes narrowed, he examined Jaskier for just a brief moment longer, then bowed his head again to continue eating. Out of the edge of his vision, he could see Jaskier watching him.

Geralt had been willing to ignore the odd behavior up until his trousers started feeling tight. He still was not quite upset. It was not an overly drastic change, just a slight layer of padding over top of his muscles, making him look more like he did after he had been settled for a while over the winters he spent at Kaer Morhen, but there was a definite difference. Jaskier seemed to be noticing, too. Though he had not said anything about it, he still stared, and whenever he and Geralt fell into bed together, the bard's hands smoothed all over him, wordlessly worshiping Geralt's fuller frame.

Geralt enjoyed it, too. He had always been broader than Jaskier, but putting on a bit of weight had only highlighted that contrast. The day before, Geralt had caught a glimpse of his reflection looming behind Jaskier's in the mirror as the bard stood there checking over his own outfit for the evening's performance, and he had looked almost … delicate in comparison to Geralt. The sight had ignited something deep and primal and exciting in his core, and he wanted to chase that thrill.

No, he was far from upset. He was curious, though. While he had pieced together what was happening, there was still one more question: Was Jaskier doing it on purpose? Geralt supposed he could simply ask, but the thought of setting himself up for vulnerability like that was horrific. He had to find some other way to weasel out the truth. He had to beat Jaskier at his own game.

"Do I look different to you?" Geralt dared to ask that evening while they waited for the barmaid to come back with their dinner order. Jaskier looked anxious for just a brief second, but then he relaxed again and hummed inquisitively as he scanned Geralt's face.

"Is that a new doublet? Oh! Have you trimmed your beard?" Jaskier said.

Geralt hummed. By trade, Jaskier was a performer, but Geralt knew him well enough to be able to tell when he was lying -- or 'acting,' as Jaskier often corrected him. Two could play that game. Feigning ignorance, Geralt nodded and falsely agreed that he had gone to a barber, and he watched Jaskier decompress with relief. When the barmaid returned and set a full plate down in front of each of them, Geralt cleared his throat to get her attention.

"I want another," he said, pointing to his own plate.

"Ah … Another leg of chicken?" The barmaid looked a bit confused, like she was hesitant to believe that Geralt had been referring to the entire meal.

"No. Another plate," Geralt insisted. A brief pause, and he tacked on, "Please."

The barmaid blinked, but she chose not to argue. Rather, she nodded and scurried back to the kitchen. When Geralt looked back towards Jaskier, the bard was staring. Again.

"... Hungry, are you?" Jaskier questioned.

"Very."

Geralt held Jaskier's gaze for a moment longer and watched as just a hint of color began creeping over the bard's cheeks. Without another word, Geralt began to eat. He tore into the half chicken and the hearty portion of roast vegetables he had in front of him, and each time he glanced up, he found Jaskier trying and ultimately failing to be subtle about the fact that he was watching Geralt like a hawk. Geralt thought that he would have wanted to shy away before he managed to get his questions answered, but that was not the case. In reality, he actually liked the attention, those enraptured eyes fixed on him making him feel alight with a strange mixture of pleasure and shame. The barmaid came back with the rest of the food Geralt had requested, and she set it down quickly almost as though afraid of getting bitten if she ventured too close. Geralt grunted his thanks around a full mouth. Jaskier had been uncharacteristically silent the entire time, all the way up until Geralt finally broke for air and a drink of ale.

“Are you … sure you’re going to be able to finish all of that?” Jaskier sounded both tentative and almost laughably eager.

“Yes,” Geralt answered.

He met Jaskier’s eye again, his gaze dark and smoldering. The bard’s throat bobbed enticingly when he swallowed, and Geralt only barely held back a smirk. Whether or not Jaskier had been feeding Geralt up on purpose, it was obvious that he enjoyed the show, and it was always fun for Geralt to try and get him flustered.

“Ah, yes, well … I suppose you have had quite a healthy appetite lately,” Jaskier said. He spoke hesitantly, testing his luck. Geralt pushed right back.

“Someone has to eat all your leftovers.”

“Mm, yes. You are rather good for that.”

Geralt made it about halfway through his second plate before Jaskier was getting restless again. The bard still had some food remaining on his own plate, and judging from the way he kept glancing between it and Geralt and tapping his fingers anxiously against the table, he was hoping to see the witcher finish it off for him.

“Going to eat that?” Geralt spoke around a mouthful of chicken.

He had inched past satisfied a few bites ago, but he could keep going comfortably enough, and he so desperately wanted to see how Jaskier was going to react to his more deliberate goading. Geralt watched while Jaskier blushed and tried his best to act as though he had not been hoping to hear that exact question. It had been painfully obvious. Their many years together had given Geralt the ability to be able to read Jaskier like an open book. Sometimes, it was useful, likely saving Jaskier from some fights when Geralt was able to pick up on the body language that meant foolish determination or rising anger, but other times, like in that moment, it was simply amusing.

“Come now, love, you can’t possibly still be hungry,” Jaskier teased. Somewhat unexpectedly, it sent a jolt down Geralt’s spine. The witcher made a noise somewhat like a little growl, and his pupils widened. Jaskier did a much poorer job of veiling his own smirk. Perfect. Geralt was baiting him, and he was falling for it so easily. “I know you’ve been eating a great deal lately, but honestly … you’re getting greedy.”

Geralt’s heart fluttered nearly as quickly as a human’s as Jaskier scraped the rest of his food onto Geralt’s plate. By then, Jaskier seemed to have accepted that it was useless to hide his interest. He sat with his elbows braced against the table and his jaw cradled in his palms, alluring blue eyes fixed unwaveringly on Geralt. Near the end of his meal, Geralt was at last starting to struggle, the fact that his armor clung to him a bit more than he would have preferred only keeping it pinned in the forefront of his mind just how full he was. Jaskier’s reddened cheeks had only grown more vivid, the color even dusting the tips of his ears. Geralt rarely saw the bard so silent, so unwaveringly focused, usually only when he was in the middle of a fit of intense writing inspiration, and while Geralt felt scrutinized, he was actually enjoying it. Feeling bold, he grunted around his last mouthful and then reclined back in his chair, hoping to give Jaskier a glimpse of his distended belly where it strained against his clothes. Judging from the look on the bard’s face, it had worked.

“Are you finally satisfied, then?” Jaskier asked, and something about his tone of voice had something hot and exciting churning in the pit of Geralt’s stomach. He sounded almost condescending, but in the most deliciously arousing way possible.

“Mhm.” It was little more than a grunt.

Jaskier evidently had very little regard for how sluggish Geralt was looking. Lithe fingers curled around Geralt’s wrist and tugged insistently, and although Geralt easily could have kept himself planted in place if he had truly wanted to, he allowed Jaskier to haul him up onto his feet and lead him upstairs. Such a short trip normally would never have affected him, but with a full stomach weighing him down, Geralt found himself panting softly by the time he and Jaskier had reached their room. Distracted by the unfamiliar feeling of his trousers digging into his skin so tightly that it was almost painful, Geralt had little time to react before he was suddenly backed up against the closed door and drawn into a heated kiss.

“Jask --” Geralt breathed, cut off abruptly by yet another kiss.

Clearly, he had guessed right. Jaskier did enjoy that display, even more than Geralt had been anticipating. Soon, Geralt gave up on speaking, and he yielded to the kiss, lips parting for a teasing swipe of Jaskier’s tongue through his mouth. There was a pleasant warmth against Geralt’s middle that he soon recognized as Jaskier’s hands, kneading gently through stiff leather.

“Look at you,” Jaskier murmured. Geralt bit back a dry remark about how it was difficult to do that with the bard plastered up against him. “You’re getting so big.”

A thrill ran through Geralt at that. He curled his hands around Jaskier’s slender hips and squeezed, drawing him in closer, and Jaskier gasped against his lips. In truth, Geralt did not look too terribly different than he usually did, but there had been a little tone of hopefulness in Jaskier’s voice, a subtle but unmistakable hint that he wanted more. The next few seconds seemed to blur together, but somehow, Geralt had ended up spread out on the bed, staring up into Jaskier’s darkened eyes where he had perched himself on Geralt’s hips. Jaskier’s usually agile fingers trembled with anticipation as he worked Geralt out of his armor, putting him on blatant display. Where he had once been all sharp angles and overly defined muscles, he had accumulated a small layer of padding, and most noticeable of all at the moment was the rounded curve of his belly, warm and full and demanding Jaskier’s complete attention. His hands smoothed over it, rubbing and exploring, interspersed with little appreciative pats and scratches.

“Knew you were doing it on purpose,” Geralt said. Much to his amusement, Jaskier actually looked shocked. “Weren’t very subtle about it.”

“Yes, well --” Jaskier paused, seeming to be struggling to decide on what to say. Eventually, he just huffed, then decided to deflect and taunted, “Are you sure you aren’t just a glutton?”

Geralt smirked. Without any warning, he rolled over, pinning Jaskier beneath him. He heard Jaskier’s pulse flutter. A heated fantasy sped through Geralt’s mind, thoughts of how easily he could subdue Jaskier, how much stronger and bigger Geralt was, how much deep trust it took for Jaskier to lay himself out so vulnerable for a witcher, a predator. Jaskier’s arms snaked around him, and his hands splayed out over Geralt’s shoulder blades. Geralt laid heavier against him and growled in his ear just to feel Jaskier squirm. Jaskier would be unable to get away even if he wanted to with Geralt’s full weight holding him down. Oddly, that was a deeply pleasurable thought, and Geralt had very quickly decided that he would take no issue with it if Jaskier wanted to keep feeding him, making him broader and heavier still, only further exaggerating that contrast between the two of them. If the way Geralt could feel Jaskier’s hardening cock digging into his thigh was any indication, they were in agreement on that.

“Going to get me something good for breakfast tomorrow?” Geralt purred into Jaskier’s ear.

Jaskier groaned, hooked his legs around Geralt’s waist to grind their hips together, and moved one hand to tangle into the witcher’s hair. His opposite hand snuck downwards, and he pinched at the slight, growing plushness at Geralt’s hip.

“Certainly. You’re just wasting away.”

Geralt’s mouth was far too busy then for any proper response.

#fic #prompt fill #HI THIS WAS FUN TO WRITE #thank u :)

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echo-bleu · 2 years ago

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The WIP ask. :) For 2 ✍️ and 👷. For 4 💡 and 👀. For 5 🎮 and 👀. Also, have to comment on those numbers on Whitcher fics - AWESOME!! *grin*

So many questions!! Thank you! and thank you, I'm so happy to be inspired again, it feels incredibly good.

2 is Singer Street, one of my original projects. It's about a neurodivergent shared house and the community they build around it. There's a little synopsis here and a presentation of the main characters here for anyone curious.

✍️ How far have you got with it?

Uh not much more than the last time I talked to you about it, or talked about it here actually. I haven't written in two months. So the actual draft is like 8k, most of which is the first 3 scenes. I did open the file yesterday and read the first scene, and I went "yeah I'd read that book" so I guess that's a good thing? I do have a mostly clear plot, all the characters, so most of the work outside of the actual writing is done.

Theoretically, writing it is my priority, but I'm not gonna lie, the Witcher stuff are taking over for as long as the hyperfixation is on, because brain (and because it's fun, too).

👷 How has the creation of the story gone so far? Stressful or fun?

More fun than stress, unless I start thinking about it in terms of a novel I might one day want to publish. Then I get all perfectionist and just end up dropping it. Given that you've picked me back up a bunch of times already, you know that :)

4 is left you behind just standing there, a Witcher fic. I started it a week ago, and it's one of those fics I just plot as I go, so I have no idea about length (it's 11k now). It has a disabled&traumatized Jaskier and a powerless Yennefer running a small inn and raising a little autistic girl named Maja, six years after Jaskier was tortured by Rience, and Ciri finding them there.

💡 What inspired you to want to write it?

It's a mix of things. I came up with Maja as Jaskier and Yennefer's daughter as a crack concept originally (where Jaskier had a kid from one of the many women he slept with and he wasn't raising her, but when Yennefer saves his life in Oxenfurt she claims the law of surprise and the next day the mother dumps Maja into Jaskier's arms. Jaskier isn't going to give her up, thank you very much, so they'll just have to co-parent, won't they?) I might still write that fic, I actually wrote a little stub, but then Maja took a life of her own.

The second thing was that I wanted to explore Jaskier actually going to the coast (as he offered to Geralt) without Geralt and staying there, and the idea of Rience's torture ending in disability and life-altering changes. Those Jaskier/Yennefer scenes in season 2 are what got me hooked to the show, so that was the starting

👀 Can you give us any sneak peaks?

She can see in Julian and Yen’s eyes that they’ve been through as much as she has, if not more. The calm and peace of this place is deliberate, a comfort that they’ve crafted for themselves and their little girl. Maybe that’s why Ciri feels like she can trust it. It’s real, but it’s purposeful.

This is a place made to rest and recuperate.

What happened to them? Why do they need this quiet so much? Julian’s scars look terrible, although Ciri has seen – and acquired – more than her fair share. But it’s more than that. It’s in the way they move around each other, the way they gracefully, almost unnoticeably shy away from contact with anyone other than their family, the compassion in their gazes.

Yen gives hints of being more distant, cold, even, like she wasn’t always so caring. There’s something about her that reminds Ciri of her grandmother, a fierceness, an old anger that hasn’t quite been smothered. Julian, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to have a vicious streak in his body. Oh, Ciri has no idea what he’d do if someone tried to harm those he loves, but he’s genuinely as kind as he shows himself, she’s sure of that.

She’s curious about his witcher story, and even more curious about why Yen felt the need to intervene before he could tell it. How would he have met a witcher? Does it have anything to do with where he got those injuries?

Her thoughts drift back to Geralt, and then to his bard, the man she’s here to find. Jaskier. The spell led her here – why? Why would Jaskier be in Enktell of all places?

Oh.

I'll answer 5 in a second post, because otherwise this is going to be too long.

From this WIP game

#thank you!!#ask game #echo's writing thoughts #singer street #left you behind just standing there #the witcher #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years ago

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Write something based on just one word. It can be any length: a few sentences, several paragraphs, or even an entire story. It's all up to you! Don't push yourself. You don't need an entire novel. If you're satisfied after only coming up with 3 sentences, you're done! Good luck and remember to have fun!

Your word is lost.

p.s. you're super awesome 👏🏻

“Who are you?” asks the little boy with the big, watery green eyes.

“I’m Jaskier,” the not-quite-human replies. He offers the child his hand slowly in an effort to abate some of his overwhelming fear, “I’m here to help you find your way back home.”

“Don’t have a home,” the little boy huffs, crossing his pudgy arms. “Witchers don’t have homes.”

“Ah, but a hatchling of a Witcher, yet. It seems that I’ve come upon a fearsome warrior-in-training loose in the forest!”

The child giggles brightly, a sweet and melodious sound, and Jaskier takes the opportunity to gather the lad onto his hip and stand.

“Which way back to your fearsome castle, then?”

The boy points to the east and Jaskier begins to jog at a brisk pace in that direction. Witchers or not, certainly somebody was out looking for this bright-eyed boy. He had to be no more than six, certainly.

“Here you go then,” Jaskier smiles when they reach the edge of Kaer Morhen’s sprawling courtyard. He releases the lad from his arms but the child stays put for a moment longer, his mop of unruly brown curls tickling against Jaskier’s neck. The almost-bard wrinkles his eyebrows, “Don’t you want to go home?”

“No,” the boy shakes his head again, emphatically. “Don’t wanna be a Witcher. I wanna be a knight and help people.”

“You’ll help them as a Witcher,” Jaskier nods knowingly. “Won’t you?”

“Yes but-” the boy bites his lip and silences himself. Anxious. Shy. Afraid. It pulls at Jaskier’s heartstrings to see the wee one so still and nervous.

“But what?”

“But it hurts to become a Witcher,” the boy finally whispers. Jaskier’s heart shatters completely and he traces the back of his knuckles across smooth, unblemished skin. Pale skin.

“If it hurts too much,” Jaskier offers. An offer he has never made before and will never make again. “If it hurts to much for you, little hatchling Witcher, call for me and I will answer.”

“What’s your name?”

“You don’t need to know my name for your call to be heard. But, if you don’t mind, I must know yours.”

“Geralt.”

“Well you’d best get home, Geralt. I’m sure I’ll meet you again someday.”

“Good,” Geralt giggles, his own tiny hand reaching out to press against Jaskier’s warm cheek. “You’re pretty and I like your voice.”

“Thank you. I think we’re going to be good friends.”

#cool i like where this ended up #bounceacoinoffyouranons #child geralt #young geralt #witcher training #fae jaskier #creature jaskier #inhuman jaskier #immortal jaskier #geralt forgets him #but his heart remembers #and calls for his friend #and jaskier answers #this could be a fun long term story idk #geraskier?#fluff

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jaskierswolf · 4 years ago

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Ok folks! Here’s some demiromantic Jaskier/ Ace Geralt (feat. a prostitute or two)

This idea was by my ever lovely friend @slythnerd who gave me a bullet list fic and I offered to write it! This is smutty. Do not read if you are under 18. I’ve also never written anything like this before. So be kind? __________

What do you call a bard who’s never fallen in love?

A bad joke, perhaps. The answer is Jaskier. A bard famed for his romantic poetry and exploits and yet he’s never once felt that flutter in his heart strings when he’s looked at someone beautiful. So he keeps trying, over and over and over. He falls into beds of lovers all over the Continent and earns himself quite the reputation. He enjoys sex. He’s good at sex but dearest Melitele he yearns for more. He wants love.

He’s a poet and a romantic and he wants love.

He’s twenty six when he gives up on romantic love for himself. Love is a beautiful and enriching adventure but not one that he will ever experience.

Or so he thinks.

He’s twenty eight when his world is completely turned upside down. After travelling with Geralt for a decade he’s sure that the witcher cannot surprise him any further. That’s when the dreams start. He dreams of holding the witcher’s hand as they walk down the path, Roach trailing after them. He dreams of kissing Geralt goodbye whenever they part, be it for winter or just for the evening. He dreams of waking up each morning wrapped in a lover’s embrace. He dreams of Geralt saying those words.

And for once in his short life, those words don’t scare him. They don’t make him want to run away. They don’t feel him with dread and a sense of inadequacy. He dreams of Geralt saying those words… and he dreams of saying them back.

It’s a startling realisation and one that has him scrambling for his notebook and quill. He stays up all night scribbling away in his messy scrawl until his feelings are left staining the page.

He’s exhausted and giddy with love when he sees Geralt the next morning over breakfast but instead of joy he’s hit with icy dread. How could Geralt ever love him back? He’s been sleeping around, quite unashamedly for the last ten years and it’s gotten them both into more trouble than Geralt’s contracts.

Fuck.

So the smile falls from his face and he pretends that nothing has changed.

Everything has changed and Geralt fucking knows it.

After three days of tense silence every unspoken word explodes between them.

“Just fucking say something, Jaskier!” Geralt yells across the campfire.

“I can’t!” Jaskier buries his face in his hands. His heart aches and he wishes he could return to the numb nothingness of before but it’s too late. He loves his best friend and he loves him with all of his heart.

“Why not?” Geralt glowers, eyes ablaze in the light of the flames.

“Because I love you!” Jaskier screams and the words fill the forest like a battle cry. “I love you” He’s rambling now. “and I never thought I could so I just fucked around hoping that someone would be good enough in bed to make me fall in love with them. No one ever was and… and I felt so fucking broken!” He exclaims with a wide wave of his arms. “Broken, useless, unlovable sorry excuse for a bard! But oh no no, turns out it wasn’t a good fuck I needed.” He glares at Geralt, blaming the witcher for his sudden tidal wave of emotions. “turns out I just needed you. My best friend in the whole wide world but I never fucking saw it so I kept screwing around and now you hate me for it and that’s just shit because it turns out… it turns out that I love you. You bastard.”

He’s said too much. He claps his hands over his mouth. “I’m sorry.”

And he runs.

Or at least he tries to. Geralt’s hand in holding his wrist. “Don’t be. Don’t be sorry. Don’t go.” Geralt whispers in the dark of the night. His face lit up by the orange glow of the campfire. “Stay.”

“You. You don’t hate me?” Jaskier asks, his voice cracking pitifully.

Geralt shakes his head. “No. The opposite. I think.”

Jaskier frowns as he tries to decipher Geralt’s riddles. “The opposite? But. but Geralt?”

“I know.”

“Don’t fucking mess with me now, witcher.” Jaskier hisses, his heart is too fragile. He’s not used to any of this torment.

“I’m not.” Geralt sighs. “But I can’t. I don’t want.” He cuts himself off with a low groan and pinches the bridge of his nose.

Jaskier tilts his head. “You don’t want what, Geralt?”

“Sex. I know, the whole Continent knows, how much you love it.”

“Oh hey!” Jaskier protests but really Geralt does have a point. “Hang on, what about Yennefer, or Triss…. or what was her name? With the swords going missing?”

“Coral.”

Jaskier snaps his fingers. “You fucked her for weeks!”

Geralt shrugs. “It’s what they wanted.”

Alarm bells start ringing in Jaskier’s mind. It’s what they wanted, not Geralt. Geralt hadn’t wanted it. “Did they….”

Geralt smiles faintly with a shake of his head. “No. I said yes. It’s what they wanted, what’s expected of me.” His nose wrinkles. “Yen’s unicorn though. Never again.”

Jaskier whimpers as he embraces Geralt tightly. “I will never. I promise you. If you don’t want sex then we don’t have to have sex. Are kisses alright?” He asked with a tilt of his head.

Geralt frowns. “Umm.”

“No then.” Jaskier sighs. “Hugs?”

“Yeah.” That’s a relief for Jaskier. He’s always needed physical touch and he’s been hugging Geralt for years. The thought that he could have been making his best friend uncomfortable makes him feel sick to his stomach. “What about you?” Geralt asks. “You love sex.”

Jaskier shrugs. “I have two hands.” He winks. “And I’ve heard mages sell all sorts of enchanted toys these days. I’ll manage.”

Geralt shakes his head. “No. I can’t take that from you.”

“But I love you. Do you know how much that means to me Geralt?” Jaskier says quietly, staring down at his feet, fingers pulling at his sleeves. “I never thought that I could.”

“What if you still have sex with others?” Geralt suggests and Jaskier just gapes at him.

“You. You mean that?”

“Yeah.”

“You wouldn’t be jealous?” Jaskier asks.

Geralt raises an eyebrow at him. “You love me, after fucking your way around the Continent. You love me.”

Jaskier licks his lips and nods. “I do. Fucking mother of… I love you.” The words still sound like heaven on his tongue. He would never get used to saying them even if he lived for a hundred years. “I love you.”

Geralt laughs softly and strokes Jaskier’s cheek with his thumb. “I love you too. I trust you. You’ll come back to me. You always have.”

Jaskier joins in with Geralt laughter. The witcher is right. Even before his epiphany Jaskier always returned to Geralt whether it’s after years apart, or merely after a quick romp in the hay. He would come back to Geralt until his dying breath.

So they settle into a new routine. Geralt enjoys sharing a bedroll or bed at the inn when they can but doesn’t begrudge Jaskier if he finds another partner for the night. He rarely stays with them after sex now though. He has his heart to return to and that’s better than any carnal delight. One evening after one such adventure with a particularly gorgeous prostitute, Geralt surprises them both.

“Did you have fun?” He murmurs into the nape of Jaskier’s neck as they snuggle close in the bed.

Jaskier frowns. Surely Geralt’s not asking about his sex life? “Yes?” He answers, sounding more than a little unsure.

There’s a soft press of lips to the back of his neck and he shudders. Geralt didn’t kiss him very often but it makes his heart sing every time. “You don’t sound convinced.”

“No. It was good.” He stammers, trying desperately to control the way his heart is thundering in his chest.

Geralt scoffs. “Good?”

“Very good.” He admits with a soft moan.

“Tell me.” Geralt all but growls.

“Umm well.” His mouth goes dry. He curses mentally, for a wordsmith all words appear to have left him. “She. She used her mouth?”

“Go on.”

Jaskier swallows, willing himself not to get hard. He really didn’t want to make this uncomfortable for Geralt but Geralt’s voice in his ear and the memories of the girl’s mouth on his cock. It’s all too much.

“Gods, Geralt it was…. she was so talented.” He sighs, sinking back into the memory. The room had smelt like sweat and sex and sin, but the bed was soft beneath his fingers as he gripped the sheets. “She swallowed my cock down in one go, oh and the moan. Geralt, it was sinful. You’ve never seen anyone’s lips so good as her’s did around my cock. Her mouth, fuck, so wet and warm.”

“And that did you do?” Geralt asks, a low rumble in his ear.

“I couldn’t help myself.” Jaskier lets out a moan at the memory. “I. I pulled her hair and the noises she made when I fucked her mouth. She took it all so well. She did this thing with her tongue…” Jaskier bites his lip. He’s hard and he just knows Geralt can smell his arousal. “I didn’t even have time to warn her before I came down her throat, and oh how she moaned. She swallowed every last drop.”

Jaskier feels Geralt’s teeth graze against his shoulder and he realises with a start that he can feel Geralt’s erection pressed up against his arse.

Oh.

“Geralt?” He asks, scared that he’ll shatter the moment and Geralt will push him away.

“Hmm?”

“Is. Is this alright?” His voice is breathy as he tries to contain his arousal. Geralt comfort is more important.

There’s a few seconds of tense silence before Geralt answers. “Yes. I like it.”

“Shall I continue?” Jaskier asks.

“Please.”

And so they fall into a routine. Jaskier fucks whoever takes his fancy and later that evening, if Geralt asks, he tells Geralt all about it, slowly becoming less shy with the details. He learns what Geralt enjoys most and what he doesn’t really care for. Sometimes he twists the story to make sure Geralt is getting what he needs out of it. Geralt comes in his own hand to Jaskier’s words and quite often Jaskier isn’t far behind.

It works for them and there’s a certain thrill to it all that Jaskier would have never expected when Geralt first told him he wasn’t interested in having sex. They explore the boundaries of this new part of their relationship. Jaskier learns he can be as filthy as he likes when Geralt asks him to tell him about his latest fuck but they can’t talk about any fantasies involving Geralt. Geralt had asked him to describe it one night and Jaskier agreed. He sat in a chair in the corner of the room and began to weave his tale of how he would worship Geralt’s cock but Geralt froze. Jaskier knew in an instant that something was wrong and his words died on his lips. They didn’t share a bed that night and they haven’t talk about Geralt in bed since.

The greatest surprise comes when Geralt hovers next to him outside the door of the brothel.

Jaskier turns to face his partner with a quirk of his eyebrow. Normally Geralt would have left him for the tavern by now but Geralt is just staring up at the door. Jaskier wonders when the last time Geralt visited a brothel was, back when he tried to fit in with what people expected of a man, probably.

“Geralt?” Jaskier places a hand on Geralt’s bicep.

“Hmm?”

“Did.” Jaskier cuts himself off and bites the inside of his cheek. He really hopes that he isn’t reading this wrong. He can’t lose Geralt, not now. “Did you want to come in?”

Geralt’s hair flies round as he turns to face Jaskier. “What?”

“You could watch?” Jaskier suggests, trying to keep his voice light. “Or not?” He adds with a shrug.

Geralt makes a choking noise and he’s blushing brighter than Jaskier has ever seen him blush before. “You don’t want that.” He mumbled.

Jaskier wants to laugh in sheer astonishment but he doesn’t. He knows laughing will just make Geralt run from him. “Geralt, dear heart, I would love that!”

Geralt glares at him as if he’s grown a second head but Jaskier can’t let go of the idea now. It’s seared into his mind. The thought of Geralt… watching him.

“Fuck.” He moans and he’s already getting hard.

Geralt’s nose flares and Jaskier knows he’s been caught out. “You… you’re aroused?”

“Yes. Well. Thank you, dearest.” Jaskier mumbles. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“You don’t think I’m a pervert?” Geralt’s brow furrows and Jaskier reaches up to try and smooth away the wrinkles.

“No.” He insists. “I want you to watch, as long as you’re comfortable.”

Geralt swallows and looks back at the brothel as if he were preparing to go into battle. “Alright.”

Geralt strides inside and Jaskier is left on the street staring after him until his brain catches up and he scurries after Geralt. It doesn’t take long to persuade the owner to let them share a girl, once they assure her that Geralt will only be watching. Jaskier wants to fight that. If he and Geralt want to share a prostitute and the girl is willing then why shouldn’t they? Just because Geralt is a witcher.

The bloody cheek of it.

But Geralt’s hand is on his back, guiding him upstairs, before he can snap and they’re thrown out of the establishment.

The girl’s name is Anna and Jaskier thinks she’s fucking gorgeous. Her curves are soft where Geralt is all muscle and her dark hair falls down to waist in waves. She winks at them both as they shuffle awkwardly into the room.

“I’ve been told you’re watching, witcher.” She says with one hand on her hips.

Geralt nods stiffly and settles into a chair in the corner of the room as she shuts the door.

“He likes to watch.” Jaskier explains with a wink of his own as she takes him by the hand and leads him to the bed. “And who I am to deny him the pleasure?”

“Jask.” Geralt warns in a low voice.

“What?” He asks, feigning innocence.

“Maybe you should put that mouth of yours to good use, bard.” Geralt suggests with a smirk.

Jaskier blinks, his cock achingly hard in his trousers, and he lets out a soft groan. “I thought you were just watching, witcher!”

Anna laughs and sits on the bed, her legs spread wide. Jaskier’s eyes go wide and he turns back to face Geralt with a tilt of his head. Geralt nods and Jaskier crawls onto the bed, ready to devour the offering in front of him. It’s not often that whores will so boldly put their own pleasure first but Jaskier adores it. He nuzzles at the soft wet folds, relishing in the feel of her warm thighs under his fingers. She lets out a moan as he flicks his tongue out against her clit. He glances up at her, her face with a smirk. She’s flushed already and her eyes are dark with hunger.

“Pull his hair.” Geralt says in a low growl.

She does. Her fingers scrape against his scalp before tugging at his hair, pulling his head back. He feels like he’s on fire and he’s dizzy with lust, a moan escapes his lips and she pushes his head back between her legs. She tastes divine and his head spins as he elicits sinful gasps and curses from her lips and his tongue delves inside her. He hums as he shifts his weight on the bed, trying to get a better angle. His cock drags across the mattress and he whines. He needs the friction. He needs….

She’s tugs again at his hair and he looks up, feeling heady as he wipes his lips.

“Take his clothes off.” Geralt says.

Jaskier blinks and looks over to his partner, crawling off the bed so they can remove his clothes without fuss. Geralt’s hand is wrapped around his cock and he’s leisurely stroking it, as if he has all the time in the world. Jaskier can’t help but watch the slow movements of Geralt’s hand, the way the muscles in his arms flex with every stroke. He swallows as Anna turns his face back so he’s facing her. Her fingers are nimble as she unlaces his trousers and he goes to pull his doublet off.

“Let her.” Geralt orders. “You deserve to be unwrapped, to be savoured.”

Jaskier whimpers but lets his hands drop to his sides. Anna smirks and her lips brush against his neck and gods his legs feel weak underneath him as she slowly removes his doublet, followed by his shirt. She kneels in front of him as she pulls his trousers and underclothes down in one swoop. Jaskier’s breath catches in his throat as she kisses the tip of his cock. He looks over to Geralt who raises an eyebrow.

“Can she?” He asks, not proud of the way his voice cracks but he’s so overwhelmed with the desire that’s burning through his veins.

Geralt nods. “Yes.” His voice is a low growl that makes Jaskier’s breath hitch. “But don’t let him come in your mouth.”

Jaskier groans as he eyes flutter shut. “Fuck.”

He’d forgotten he’d told Geralt that. He likes to come inside his partner. There’s just something so impersonal about spilling into their mouth and he’s not as young as he used to be. It takes him longer these days to get hard again.

She works him over with her mouth, and it’s not long before he’s on the brink of a soul shattering orgasm. Geralt tells her exactly how much teeth to use when pulling off his cock, and he knows that his balls get too sensitive to touch. She swirls her tongue just like Geralt suggest and Jaskier gasps wordlessly before her lips pull off his cock with a pop. He groans in frustration.

“You can fuck her now, Jask.”

Oh gods it’s all too much and it’s perfect. They should have done this months ago. She guides him back towards the bed, tugging him by the hand and he gladly follows, his eyes tearing away from Geralt.

It’s heaven as he sinks into the warmth of her body. She gasps underneath him as she grips the sheets. Jaskier loves to hear the sounds of his lovers but he hates it when it sounds fake. He likes it to be genuine and Geralt knows this. Anna doesn’t whine and scream the way most whores do, on Geralt’s request. Every sound that escapes her pretty red lips is like music to his ears, short gasps as he kisses her neck or long drawn out moans when pulls out inch by inch before slamming back until he’s buried to the hilt.

“Fuck it feels so good.” He moans as he feels his orgasm flying towards him. “Feels so good.”

“That’s it darling.” She gasps. “I’m almost there!”

It’s the pet name that does it. Another one of Geralt’s suggestions.

Sparks cloud his vision and he lets out a loud moan as he spills into her. She cries out and her teeth bite down on his neck as she follows him over the edge.

“Fuck.” He hears Geralt’s grunt from the corner of the room.

Jaskier wants to laugh, giddy from the sex. “Fuck.” He agrees.

They don’t stay the night at the brothel but Anna lets him kiss her goodbye. It’s not long before they are curled up together on a bedroll in the forest, the stars shining high above them.

“Soooo….” Jaskier drawls as he draws a slow pattern on Geralt’s chest. They are both fully clothed now but they enjoy the intimacy of the snuggling and it always makes Jaskier feel like he’s on top of the world after an evening of sexual delights.

“Hmm?”

“The brothel?” Jaskier asked quietly.

“Yeah.”

“We’re so doing that again right?”

Geralt laughs and presses a kiss to his hair. “Yes.” _______

Tag list: @electricrituals @slythnerd @hailhailsatan @thecomfortofoldstorries @gelos @sweetdreamingpeach @moonysourenza @00qtee

#the witcher #geraskier #ace geralt #aro jaskier #heed the note #no kids allowed #Mind the rating #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #ace week #wolfie's witcher writing

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jaskiersvalley · 4 years ago

Note

I absolutely love your writing!! It's so very enjoyable and your au's are absolutely delightful. I just thought you should know.

Thank you so much, Nonnie! AUs are something I really enjoy and to hear that others find them fun makes me so very happy. As a little thank you, here’s another AU feat Kaer Morhen Radio and a Jaskier driving an 18 wheeler.

Life was a lonely one on the road. There were many acquaintances and other drivers Jaskier had a passing friendship with, Valdo Marx had the annoying habit of having similar routes to him - they did say mimicry was the highest form of compliment. Alas, nobody was a steady presence in Jaskier’s life. Well, nobody who was aware of him. Though there was the Kaer Morhen Radio family. They were the closest Jaskier had to everyday friends, as sad as that sounded.

“Good morning fuckheads.” Such a declaration could only mean it was 6am and Lambert had taken over. Instinctively, Jaskier was smiling as he sat up with a yawn. Most radio stations liked to gently rouse listeners with swelling music that got more up beat as the day went on. Not Kaer Morhen Radio. They had Lambert as their morning DJ, there to wake sensitive ears in more and more creative ways. He had become known for his unique way to wake listeners up; from bringing in pots to bang to trying to imitate the mating call of a moose at full volume. The only thing listeners loved more than Lambert being a general prick was his flirtation with Aiden who did weather and traffic announcements.

“And, in those four famous words: and now, the weather,” Lambert announced gleefully. After a long moment of silence, he snickered. “We shall have to give Aiden a moment to climb out from under the desk and rinse his mouth. In the mean time, here’s a banger.”

The banger, Jaskier was surprised to find, was quite literally a recording of someone (possibly Lambert) attempting to play drums (badly) on some kitchen pots. By the time the piece reached its rather boisterous end, it seemed that Aiden was no longer preoccupied.

“The weather today-” Jaskier tuned Aiden’s words out in favour of figuring out whether he was messing around or whether he really did sound so husky and gravelly thanks to having his throat fucked. It was quite the conundrum and Jaskier spent the start of his morning drive wondering how many complaints Lambert and Aiden will get now. Their record was 36 for the game of “identify that noise” wherein they stuck their fingers in various containers and made them squelch. To that day, nobody knew whether the last one really was, in Lambert’s words, “Aiden’s well used hole and my come”.

Afternoons were much more peaceful. Eskel took over at 2pm and he was laid back, played soothing music and gave the impression of being a very calm and reliable member of society. Jaskier always maintained it was an impression because, among all the chat, Eskel would sometimes drop a strange little fact that made him do a double take or two.

“This next song,” Eskel had once said, “was written while under the influence of cocaine.” It was a reasonable enough fact to share, Jaskier had been listening while stuck in a traffic jam along a motorway. “How they managed to write it though, I have no idea. Cocaine is terrible for your focus, I could barely scratch an itch before being distracted by something else. So kudos to the writers for creating a whole song while off their face.”

Which was something Jaskier had never thought Eskel would know anything about. He always seemed to demure, the solid rock of Kaer Morhen Radio. He balanced out Yennefer’s news updates perfectly. It was probably why Jaskier liked him so much, now that he thought of it. The surface innocence mixed in with hints of a very colourful life lived beneath the steady exterior. Well, hints other than the incident where Eskel somehow managed to not turn his microphone off and had a conversation about going to a rave with someone who worked at the radio station. Nobody knew the man’s name and his answers were half muffled but listeners swore they heard him suggest something along the lines of a collar and leash - which Eskel had hummed in agreement to, sounding all too happy. When questioned, Eskel resolutely refused to name the mystery man but conceded that there had been a rave. Jury was out whether Eskel had grumbled about being ‘in ecstasy’ or ‘on ecstasy’ for it. And there was definitely a picture of floating around the internet of him in a collar at what definitely looked like an underground rave.

The real reason Jaskier listened to Kaer Morhen Radio was the late night DJ. 10pm on the dot, Eskel would flick the switch and a prerecorded intro played, announcing that it was Late Late Nights with Geralt. Between 10pm and 6am, Geralt manned the station. The only reason Jaskier knew his name was because of the intro. Otherwise the man was silent other than a few hums between songs. Sometimes, presumably when he knocked something over, there would be a growled “fuck” that listeners lived for.

As little as Geralt said, Jaskier was in love. The music was eclectic and death metal could be followed up by electro swing or grime. There was to way to predict just what Geralt would play next, he didn’t take requests, didn’t talk to his listeners. But, somehow, he still drew them in. Jaskier had made the mistake of looking Geralt up online and swooned a little at the few pictures available. It seemed Geralt was an elusive man, somehow managing to turn away from cameras with an uncanny ability. Though a few pictures did exist of Lambert and Eskel on either side of him, quite literally holding him down for a photo.

Truthfully, Geralt was one of the main reasons Jaskier chose to do overnight hauls. Not only did they pay better, he also had Geralt’s nonverbal grunts and hmms to look forward to. He was well aware that it was an infatuation and nothing more. He’d never met Geralt before, Geralt wasn’t even aware of his existence. So, really, Jaskier could daydream all he wanted but had no intention of doing anything more.

Except, Jaskier couldn’t help but wonder. Geralt had such range in his musical taste, maybe he would like what Jaskier wrote. It was a rare night off and Jaskier was well into the bottle with Valdo when they got talking, egging each other on about who was the better musician. It ended with Jaskier drunkenly posting a CD of his music to Kaer Morhen Radio, addressed for Geralt. When he woke up in the morning, on the floor next to his couch which was occupied by Valdo, Jaskier groaned.

Thankfully, there was never a mention or even a single note of his music in the next week. Slowly, Jaskier relaxed, only a little disappointed that his music hadn’t even been acknowledged by Geralt. He almost had a heart attack when eight days later, Lambert came on air with a mad cackle.

“Morning fuckheads!” Lambert sounded more cheery than ever before. “You’ll never guess what I found. Geralt has been hoarding new music. Good music. Said it was for him. Well, I have decided he cannot hold this back from us. If you’re listening, Jaskier, your note was hilarious. I hope your hangover was worth it. Thanks for the CD!”

There was a growl that sounded like Geralt storming into the booth but the microphone was cut and Jaskier’s song started playing. Jaskier almost crashed his truck in shock. Especially when Lambert declared it so good, they would play it again and, sure enough, the song went back to the beginning to play twice in a row.

If it had just been Lambert, Jaskier would have quietly died of shame, accepting that he was being mocked. But Eskel got in on it too. That afternoon he introduced Jaskier’s song with the promise that management were looking into getting in touch with him about the music. Even worse, a listener even requested the song later that evening. Jaskier was both in heaven and hell at the same time. That night, Geralt didn’t play his song and Jaskier was only a little disappointed.

His phone rang the next day.

“Good afternoon, my name is Vesemir, I’m calling from Kaer Morhen Radio. May I speak to Jaskier?”

Jaskier promptly choked. He got an invitation to the studio. It was a good seven days of driving away and Jaskier searched for a contract that would take him across the continent. While he drove, he got a bit braver and started e-mailing the radio station on his breaks.

His written request for songs were acknowledged by a hum and the song coming on next. When he asked Geralt for a shout out, he got obnoxious pop music playing instead. So Jaskier asked for two hums if Geralt wanted to meet and three if he didn’t. Thus, there was a “fuck” on air and the Beauty and the Beast theme song started playing. It was safe to say Jaskier didn’t understand it but he wasn’t deterred.

By the time Jaskier got into town and made his delivery, it was almost 6am. There was no time he had been specifically invited for and he ended up approaching the building at the same time Lambert showed up with Aiden and three large cups of coffee in hand.

“Excuse me,” he called out, “I’m here to see Vesemir.”

“Bit early for that.”

“He never gave me a time so I figured an early start would be appreciated.” It wasn’t exactly a lie but Jaskier kind of wanted to meet Geralt who would be finishing up soon.

For some bizarre reason, Jaskier was led into the radio studio, no questions asked. Surely it was a security issue but then again, Jaskier checked out Lambert and Aiden, they would no doubt be able to handle any issues. Then there was Geralt, stepping out of the booth, Lambert’s intro queued up. He froze when he spotted Jaskier and, curiously, glanced away, seemingly all shy. The curious response was explained away all too soon. There, on the wall, was Jaskier’s CD and a polaroid of him and Valdo, helpfully labeled “The Talent” with an arrow to Jaskier and “The Fake” pointing at Valdo.

“You here for Vesemir?” Geralt asked eventually, sipping at one of the cups Lambert had brought.

“Amongst other things,” Jaskier replied.

“He won’t be here until 10. Why don’t we go grab breakfast while you wait?”

Aiden wolf whistled at that and Lambert whooped, arms in the air.

“My dear fuckheads,” he purred into the microphone, “we have a date between our local cryptid and our mystery siren. Please wish them luck.”

It turned out that, in person, Geralt was a bit more talkative than on air. And Jaskier helped fill any silence without any problems. He ended up being later than planned to meet Vesemir and Tissaia who had a very handsome cheque for him for playing his music and also his phone number with the promise of passing it on to some connections who had expressed an interest in his music.

Never before had Jaskier thought he would thank Valdo Marx for anything. But, one drinking session with him had landed Jaskier with not only a contract with a record label but also a boyfriend. With his first pay, Jaskier send Valdo the biggest bouquet of flowers humanly possible.

#geraskier #laiden #geralt of rivia #jaskier #lambert #aiden #eskel #radio au #long post #tldr: jaskier drives a truck while geralt is a dj

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notaplaceonearth · 4 years ago

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Long-Term RP Pal? (Age 20+)

Hey! I'll try to make this a quick read. I wanna get back into RP again and I have some fleshed out OCs and a few fandoms I like to write in!

If the following interests you, send me a message here or add me on SC at jl_ace98 so we can chat!

Canon (Characters I like writing as):

-The Witcher (Geralt, Jaskier, or canon/oc) -MCU (Steve, Bucky, Loki, Bruce, Nat, canon/oc)

OCs:

-Ezra Dewitt: Mid 20s trans man raised in a cult. He owns and manages an elegant library that, much like him, has some very intriguing and powerful secrets. No face claim.

-Lyric Sun: Frontman of a lesser known punk band, climbing his way to fame as part of his contract with the soul-hungry demon that will not let his body be free. No face claim.

If we build characters and stories, I will likely draw them or find face claims. OOC talk is really fun, so don't be shy! And just because I didn't mention your specific fandom doesn't mean I'm not open to it. I'm also open to all genres!

#rp partner ad #roleplay #roleplay partner wanted #rp partner search #oc #canon #mcu rp #oc rp

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purplesauris · 4 years ago

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The Way the Pendulum Swings

Yes, I am back again with more writing, no, i cannot control myself. My fantastic friend @frostedbasilisk and I got talking, and I was inspired by Buffskier. (yes, i will continue using the name. Look at their beautiful rendition of Jaskier from a scene of the fic here!

Read on AO3 here!

“I think we need help.” Geralt says, leaning over and offering a hand to hoist Jaskier up. His doublet is now covered in dirt on the back and Jaskier’s pride is wounded, but Jaskier grins sheepishly all the same.

“I told you, I’m uselessly lead footed.” Jaskier dusts himself off as best he can and fixes his hair, turning so that Geralt can dust him off the rest of the way. “If you can’t teach me dear, who possibly could?”

“Vesemir trained me.” He points out, and Jaskier raises both eyebrows in shock, tilting his head and hmmming.

“You want to go up north, so that Vesemir can train me?”

“It’s only a few weeks early.” Jaskier pins him with a look that could wither the largest tree, and Geralt has to fight to keep from withering too. Jaskier’s expression lightens quickly, eyes softening, and he goes up on his tiptoes to press a kiss to the tip of Geralt’s nose.

“Fine. But if he can’t train me, I suppose it’s a lost cause, hmm? Then my big brute of a witcher will have to protect me.” Jaskier’s voice is fond, and though the word should sting, he wields it like such a compliment that Geralt feels himself relaxing. Jaskier likes his brutishness, and has said so many times. “Shall we set out in the morning then?”

“Mmm.”

-*-

Their trip up through the mountain is much more pleasant this time- the breeze is just barely beginning to hold the frigid notes of winter, and animals are plentiful along the path. They can take their time, too, in no rush to beat the snows or be the last ones there, so Jaskier can truly admire their surroundings. He spends just as much time singing as he usually does, but now it’s waxing poetics about the way the grass sways in the wind and the mountain air plays with flower petals. It’s meaningless and frilly, but Geralt likes to hear Jaskier like this- wondering at the world around him and seeing the beauty in everything. Not that he’ll tell him such, though if he hums along when Jaskier’s a few steps ahead, no one can blame him.

Geralt has to end up climbing the side of the keep and slipping over when they get up to the massive gates. Vesemir isn’t expecting anyone for at least another month, so the gates are firmly shut and Geralt has to open it for them. Jaskier leads Roach inside and meets Geralt at the stables, helping in taking off all the packs and brushing her down. He leaves that mostly to Geralt in actuality, and feeds Roach a couple of apples from their pack as a treat.

“You’ll make her fat.” Geralt scolds, but Jaskier just laughs and kisses her soft nose.

“She works too hard not to get an apple from me.” Roach butts her head against Jaskier’s chest in agreement, and he looks at Geralt to say see? Geralt shakes his head, but he spends an extra bit of time brushing her down and getting her comfortable. Jaskier murmurs quietly to her, telling her what a good horse she is for putting up with Geralt for so long and smiling when he hears Geralt scoff quietly.

“Geralt, Jaskier.” Jaskier jumps at the sudden arrival of a new voice, and Geralt merely glances over at his adopted father. “You’re early.”

“Geralt’s idea, I’m afraid.” Vesemir chuckles, as if that he already knew that well enough. “He says, and I quote, that I am “woefully unprepared to fight off even the weakest of foes”, and thus, my only hope is you.”

“That’s all he said?” Jaskier grins at Vesemir, snickering when Geralt grumbles and stoops to grab their bags from the hay. “Well, I have to agree. I suppose I could put you through accelerated training.”

“Then consider me your dedicated pupil.” Jaskier bows low at the waist, blue eyes bright when he straightens up. Vesemir smiles at that, a fleeting glimpse under the usual stern exterior, and Jaskier takes it as a win.

No one expected Jaskier to take to training quite the way that he did. Much like a fish to water, actually. Jaskier still woke early to tend to the livestock, as had been his job the last three winters he’d managed to come up to Kaer Morhen, and still managed to make enough food to feed the witchers and leave them wanting for nothing. But when he wasn’t embroiled in other chores, he was outside, under the watchful eyes of Vesemir. Vesemir had sent Geralt off to tend to the monsters in the forests while they trained, and when Jaskier had asked why, Vesemir had just said that Geralt was a mother hen.

They’d started off with basic fighting, and Jaskier’s progress went significantly faster than it ever had with Geralt. He seemed a natural at it; graceful and light on his feet in a way that many witchers struggled with even today, body already strong from years on the Path. Vesemir wasn’t sure where the problem was in teaching Jaskier- he was attentive and driven to continue until Vesemir had to tell him to stop. By the end of Jaskier’s first month, Vesemir watched and paced the length of the wall as Jaskier hopped and danced around the huge pendulum swinging in the wind. The first time Jaskier had hauled himself up onto the poletops Geralt had nearly called the whole thing off, protests on his lips. He’d remembered his own training as a child, much younger than Jaskier, and had decided to trust him, and trust in Vesemir.

Jaskier thought that the pendulum was fun. Geralt had never thought balancing on the tops of poles and dodging a large, spiky pendulum was fun, but Jaskier laughed and jested with Vesemir the whole time, catching himself when he stumbled and swearing like Lambert when a spike slammed sideways into his thigh. After the pendulums, Jaskier would be sent to run the walls in true witcher school fashion, and by the time dinner came around Jaskier was all but dead on his feet. Still, he got up day after day, boasting of the newest bruises that had formed in the night as if they were a badge of valor.

“You hide it.” Jaskier stumbles atop the poles, righting his footing as Vesemir lets out a careful- and watches him a bit closer.

“Hide what, dear teacher of mine?” Vesemir raps a wooden sword against one of the poles, making it shake under foot, but Jaskier merely hops to another pole and brandishes his sword.

“Your fighting prowess.” Jaskier stops then, dropping gracefully into a balanced crouch so he can hear Vesemir over the roaring of the wind. Vesemir allows him a moment to talk, since he started it, and watches the way Jaskier adjusts to keep the wind from blowing him off the poles. “You were already trained, weren’t you?”

“I’m a noble, Vesemir. There isn’t much that I wasn’t trained in. My father thought it important that I learn, in the worry I be called to war.”

“You’re a noble.” Vesemir points out in refute to that, and Jaskier laughs. No noble has ever been called to war anymore than they’ve been called to shovel pig shit. “It’s served you well now, though.”

“I suppose it has.” Jaskier agrees, standing once again. Vesemir uses a weak blast of aard to get the pendulum going again, and Jaskier twirls around the obstacle, feet hardly touching one pole before he vaults for the next.

“When the other boys get here, let’s put that to the test.” Jaskier doesn't say anything, but he’s grinning, and he pushes himself just a bit harder.

-*-

“Since when the fuck have you been first?” Geralt grunts as Lambert claps him on the back, nudging the younger man with his shoulder. “No Jaskier this year?”

“He’s here.” Geralt turns back to the dummy he’s restuffing, pointedly not looking toward Jaskier on the far side of the grounds. “With Vesemir.”

“What, talking about boring old history in the library again?”

Geralt smirks at that, tilting his head back toward the pendulums and turning to catch Lambert’s reaction. Lambert looks over, eyes widening, and he breathes out a holy shit. “You let Vesemir sink his claws in?”

“He asked.”

“He asked? Bullshit.” Lambert goes jogging over, and after a minute Geralt follows, sure that trouble is brewing. Lambert gets to Vesemir first, and the old witcher doesn’t even bother to look at the newest arrival.

“He’s training.” Is all he says, as if that’s ever been enough to settle Lambert.

“Like hell he is, Jaskier, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Exactly what Vesemir said!” The bard calls back, swaying between not one, but two pendulums now. Vesemir had added the second only upon Jaskier’s insistence. Geralt can smell the worry emanating off of Lambert, and he reaches out to grab at the man’s shoulder but finds him already moving. He reaches a hand, trying to catch Jaskier by the ankle and pull him down, but Jaskier hops away with ease and gives him a dirty look. Lambert grabs for him again, but again Jaskier skips away, glancing down and waiting for his next move. The pendulums move with almost the same sway, and Jaskier doesn’t even have to look to anticipate their moves. “Helping?”

“No, you little shit. You’re on the edge of a cliff and I’m not going to be the one cleaning your carcass up. Get down.”

“Make me.” Lambert growls, lunging and following Jaskier along the wall as Jaskier dodges and leaps away just shy of Lambert’s reach. Somewhere in the time of them having come over to witness Lambert chasing after Jaskier like a kitten with a toy Eskel has arrived, and he slings an arm over Geralt’s shoulder as he approaches.

“He’s better than you were.” Eskel remarks, watching curiously.

“Shut up.” He’s done remarkably well though, Geralt has to admit. Just seeing that Jaskier is able to dodge Lambert has his heart settling a bit. He can at least be trusted to run if danger shows up. Geralt’s heart doesn’t get a chance to rest much as Lambert finally catches Jaskier’s ankle, yanking him forward. Jaskier’s leg goes out from under him, and Geralt watches in slow motion as Jaskier tips backwards, out toward open air. Vesemir leaps forward, reaching, but Jaskier goes plunging over the edge, and Geralt’s heart stops completely.

“FUCK. FUCK, I killed the bard-” Lambert goes to hoist himself up so he can peer over, but stops himself short when he hears something. A pained grunt, and a swear colorful enough to curdle milk.

“No, you didn’t, but I’d appreciate it you didn’t attempt to do so again.” Jaskier’s voice comes from the other side of the wall at the same time that he swings himself up and rests on one knee. His arms are shaking and Geralt can smell blood- he’s pulling Jaskier down and hugging him tight before anyone else can move. “Geralt, I’m fine.”

His voice is muffled against Geralt’s shoulder, and Geralt shudders before pulling back to look for the blood. Jaskier’s palm is torn up by the rough grit of the wood, and Geralt counts at least six splinters that will have to be pulled out. He’s alive though, and that’s enough for him at the moment. “Still like the pendulums?”

“What’s not to like, love?” His tone is light, but his scent is bitter with fear and his voice shakes a little at the end. Geralt presses his lips together, trying not to frown and failing to do so. Jaskier does laugh then, quietly, and he tugs his hand from Geralt’s to turn to Lambert. He holds his bloody palm out, raising a brow. “Kiss it better?”

“Kiss my ass.” Lambert bites out, scowling and leading the bard inside to clean out his hand. Eskel eyes the pendulums still swinging in the wind, and looks toward Geralt.

“Once, for old times sake?” Geralt shakes his head, but joins Eskel all the same to duck and weave around the pendulums and each other. Vesemir corrects their form, though he hardly needs to, and Geralt only gets down once the pendulums settle and it’s near impossible to move around them. He hops down, landing lightly, and hears soft clapping. Jaskier’s one hand is wrapped tight in a bandage, but he seems put back together again, and Lambert is hanging a step behind his shoulder.

“Now imagine how much better I’d be with witcher reflexes. No one would ever catch me!” Jaskier casts a sly glance toward Lambert, lips tugging up into a smile. “This one almost didn’t. Beginner’s luck.”

“Who’re you calling a beginner?”

“Not used to sweeping men off their feet, hmm?” Lambert’s cheeks go pink as he scoffs, waving a hand. He opens his mouth to say something, but Vesemir interrupts, nodding his head.

“Heal quickly. We’re going to test your training.” Geralt frowns, wondering how much he could have actually done in a month, but Jaskier’s eyes are eager.

“Yes sir.”

-*-

“We’re sparring today. Each day, one of you will fight him, to see how he reacts.” Jaskier is standing next to Vesemir as he announces the plan, excitement written all over his face. “Lambert will go first.”

“Really? You want to start with me?”

“Scared? I promise I’ll go easy.” Jaskier quips, rolling his sleeves up and taking a couple steps into the large sparring circle they've marked in the dirt. Lambert growls softly and strips out of his armor, leaving it in the dirt.

“Don’t bother, this’ll be over before you know it.” Jaskier walks in a slow circle, watching Lambert and humming softly.

“Are you sure?”

“False bravado makes you look like an ass.” Jaskier nods his head as if he agrees, rolling his shoulders and matching Lambert’s pace.

They spiral in the ring, slowly coming closer. It seems like neither of them want to strike first, until Jaskier steps forward and swings. The blow is weak, shaky, and Lambert bats his hand away easily. He punches the bard with a swift hit to his stomach, scoffing. Jaskier oofs, bending over, and Lambert comes in closer, aiming another hit meant to incapacitate him. Jaskier’s gone and behind Lambert before the man finishes his swing, bouncing light on his toes. Lambert whirls, using the momentum to punch forward, but Jaskier slips past him, slamming a fist into the underside of the man’s upper arm and dancing away. Lambert grunts, fingers tingling unpleasantly, and advances forward. Geralt watches in fascination as they play cat and mouse, Lambert chasing and chasing as Jaskier whirls and skips away, staying just out of reach. Lambert is faster, manages to keep up easily, but the only blows he manages to land are glancing and Jaskier seems to handle the pain with ease.

“He’s fast.” Eskel murmurs, eyes flitting between the two opponents and lingering longer on Jaskier. Lambert snarls, red faced after another blow hits dead air, and his pupils contract as he watches, waiting. Jaskier stops too, panting and using the moment to catch his breath. Geralt sees the moment that Lambert decides what he’s going to do- his heel digs into the dirt and he launches forward, roaring and tackling Jaskier. The hold is one he doesn’t think that Jaskier will get out of, especially not with an enraged Lambert, but Jaskier grabs onto the back of his shirt and brings his leg up, knee slamming into Lambert’s side twice in quick succession. Lambert’s rib snaps with a dull crack on the second hit, and he howls as the two go rolling in the dirt. A broken rib has never stopped him before, never stopped any of them, but he’s distracted and Jaskier uses the momentum of their roll to fling himself up and off. He scrambles from his knees to his feet, arms coming up and taking the brunt of the blow Lambert aimed for his head. Geralt can see the purple bruises already forming along Jaskier’s arms.

“We should stop this.” Geralt breathes, knowing that if they don’t, Lambert is going to do something he’ll regret later. Still, Jaskier hasn’t left the ring and neither of them have yielded. Lambert’s eyes have gone wild, and Geralt’s heart picks up at the sight. Even he will admit he doesn’t want to go up against Lambert like this unless he absolutely has to, and he’s even more impressed and slightly aroused that Jaskier is holding his own. Lambert gets in close and delivers a vicious right hook, and Jaskier ducks down into a low crouch. Geralt’s eyes track the movement, and he sees Jaskier’s thighs flex and his head tuck to the side as he springs up from his crouch, ramming his shoulder up into Lambert’s tender ribs. Lambert goes stumbling back, hissing, and Jaskier follows him, using one hand on the witcher’s chest to shove an already wobbling Lambert from the ring.

“Match.” Vesemir says, glancing down at his son who is currently laying in the dirt, hand pressed to his side as he pants. Jaskier pads over and crouches next to him, tilting his head and probing at his side. Lambert smacks his hands away, and Jaskier grimaces.

“Sorry Lambert. Did it break fully?”

“Just a fracture. Only thing broken is my pride.”

“I tried to warn you.” Jaskier teases, pulling a vial from his pocket and handing it over. “Thought you’d need this.”

“Cocky son of a bitch-” Lambert takes the Swallow and downs it in one go, laying still so the potion can do its work. Lambert lays his head back in the dirt again, and Jaskier settles by his side to wait. “Thanks.”

“Thank you.” Jaskier says in return, grinning when Lambert shoves him.

“I can’t wait to see Eskel beat your ass.”

Jaskier looks up at the aforementioned witcher, still smiling. “I can’t wait either.”

-*-

Eskel refuses to fight him until his bruises are healed, citing unfair advantages if his opponent is wounded already. No one begrudges him this, and Jaskier takes the time to train a bit more in swordplay. They meet back in the ring a week after Lambert’s fight, Jaskier bouncing on his heels and grinning all the while. Eskel is the mirror opposite; he stands calmly on the other side of the ring, watching with amusement as Jaskier looks at Vesemir to signal the start of their fight. Vesemir waves them both into the ring, nodding. “Begin.”

Just as before, they begin circling, slowly moving toward one another. This time, Jaskier doesn’t hesitate. He goes on the offensive immediately, throwing quick jabs that hit with loud thuds against Eskel’s forearms. He absorbs the blows and continues his slow pacing, letting Jaskier come to him. It’s smart, after having seen the way that Jaskier was content to let his partner slip into a rage before doing any substantial damage. Eskel hardly gives anything back, but he’s wearing Jaskier out and he knows it. Jaskier backs off when he can’t break through Eskel’s guard, panting and hands trembling lightly. His knuckles are already bruised horribly, and Geralt frowns. Jaskier has wasted all his energy trying to break through Eskel’s guard- Eskel only has to deliver a single blow to Jaskier’s abdomen to send him flying, and he skids along the ground, stopping just inside the circle. Jaskier curls into a ball, wheezing, and Geralt strains to make sure that he didn’t hear a rib snap or something pop.

“Get up, bard.” Eskel’s voice is soft, and he allows Jaskier room, time to get up. Jaskier rises to his knees, gasping, and then he stumbles to his feet, raising his hands and swaying. “Yield?”

Jaskier shakes his head and Eskel sighs, padding forward. He doesn’t want to knock Jaskier out or blow him from the ring, but Jaskier is stubborn, dodging to the side when Eskel tries to push him out of the ring. Eskel follows after him, patiently corralling him to the other side of the ring. Jaskier is still stumbling, blinking rapidly as if the sun bothers him, and Eskel seems to take pity on him. He sweeps a leg out, intending to take him out once and for all, but Jaskier leaps up and over. Eskel grabs at him, knowing where he’ll land, but Jaskier is waiting for it, and he grabs Eskel's hand. He spins on his heel, dragging Eskel’s arm with him and pivoting when Eskel tries to break his hold. Jaskier presses a thumb viciously into the meat of Eskel’s thumb, making the bone grind as he finally gets Eskel’s arm behind him and wrenches upwards.

Eskel is the one to gasp in pain now, and Jaskier uses his leverage to press him to his knees in the dirt, bending over until Eskel’s face is nearly on the ground and his shoulder shrieks in protest. Geralt feels his blood heat at the sight of Jaskier holding a witcher down with a very well done pin, and his nostrils flare when he smells a spike of arousal from Eskel in the ring. That… doesn’t bother him as much as it should. Jaskier’s voice is raspy as he pants raggedly, pupils wide. “Yield.”

Eskel tries to wiggle his way out, but Jaskier pulls his arm a bit tighter, digs his thumb in harder, and Eskel gasps again. “Yield, I yield.”

The words stun Geralt, and he looks at Lambert in astonishment as Jaskier lets Eskel go. “Match.” Vesemir calls, pride warming his words. Jaskier nods, smiling, and then promptly turns, takes a few steps away, and vomits into the grass. Geralt hurries to his side immediately while Lambert goes to help Eskel up, rubbing at Jaskier’s back and murmuring softly. The smell of bile hits his nose, sharp and raw, and he grimaces as Jaskier dry heaves, tears dripping down his cheeks. Geralt looks closely at what Jaskier throws up, looking for any blood, but finds nothing but their breakfast from this morning. Good. Nothing seems to have been damaged internally, at least not that he can tell yet, and Jaskier straightens up slowly, wiping at his mouth and burping.

“Ugh, that’s disgusting.”

“Are you alright?” Jaskier nods, giving Geralt a soft smile. Eskel comes over now, holding out a waterskin and allowing Jaskier to rinse his mouth out. Eskel also urges the bard to drink a bit, and rubs the back of his head sheepishly.

“Didn’t mean to hit you that hard, Jask.”

“No, it was a good swing. Almost had me there for a minute. Am I going to get a medal?”

“For what?” Geralt says, voice tinged with amusement and worry and everything else in between.

“Well, beating two witchers at hand to hand combat, of course.”

“You still have one more to go. Beat the White Wolf, and then we’ll talk.” Lambert peers around Eskel, wrinkling his nose at the smell of vomit and pointedly not looking Jaskier’s way again. Jaskier locks eyes with Geralt, winking, and Geralt regrets agreeing to the sparring now more than ever.

-*-

It takes Jaskier a full week to recover from Eskel's well placed punch, and he spends every minute of it working or training. His stomach recovers fine, much to Eskel's (and Geralt's) relief, and Jaskier seems supremely pleased that he was able to even survive such a hit. The weather has gotten colder now as winter fully grasps the valley, and snow falls lightly as they convene outside for Jaskier’s final test.

“Something different today. Swords.” Vesemir waves toward the wooden training swords and Jaskier grimaces. Lambert though, is grinning. If there’s one thing that Geralt is known for, that Jaskier sings of constantly, it’s his swordsmanship.

“Really? I don’t think-”

“He’s already proven his hand to hand. I want to see his sword skills.” Jaskier doesn't object, taking a sword when Geralt holds it out to him. Geralt looks like he's swallowed something sour as he rolls his wrist and dips into a slight crouched stance. Jaskier mirrors the stance but doesn't seem nearly as comfortable.

"You don't have to." Geralt says softly as they walk a slow circle around each other.

"I do." Jaskier replies, nodding his head. "Let's get this over with, love."

Geralt feels his heart constrict- he doesn't want to risk hurting Jaskier, doesn't think he could stomach it, but Jaskier isn’t going to back down. He starts out easy, blows that Jaskier can parry or block without being terribly inconvenienced. He can imagine the sad, frustrated look on Jaskier’s face when he loses, and Geralt’s heart breaks for him already. Geralt is half in his thoughts when Jaskier swings, blade sailing for his side. He moves to block, but Jaskier’s arm twitches and he moves trajectory, smacking Geralt hard on the arm with the flat of his blade. Geralt’s skin stings, and his eyes narrow minutely. His nostrils flair- he’d expected Jaskier to smell like rotting fruit- anxious and resigned, but he doesn’t. He smells of citrus, sharp and bright. Excited.

Geralt lets himself go a bit harder, moves faster and with more of that impossible dancer's grace. None of the witcher’s fought quite like he did, with spinning, overly dramatic moves that were just as effective in disemboweling someone. He expects Jaskier to fall behind, expects to feel his blade strike some soft part of Jaskier’s body, but Jaskier… doesn’t. He grins, laughs, and moves through Geralt’s moves as if they were his own. He mirrors them as effortlessly as Geralt attempts to hit him, and Geralt isn’t sure what to think of this. Jaskier’s spins and hops around him, drops low into near splits that has Geralt wincing in pain at the thought. No wonder he liked the pendulum- they’re the perfect way to avoid an enemy, and he spent ample time on them.

“Stop dancing with each other and fight!” Lambert calls, and that breaks Jaskier’s concentration. He glances over, away from Geralt, and Geralt lunges forward. His blade is a hair's breadth away from Jaskier’s head, a move that will knock him out if Geralt’s lucky when Jaskier bends backwards. He doesn’t stop just out of reach- he bends fully over, spine creating an elegant arch as his hands plant in the dirt and he flips backwards. The toe of his boot catches Geralt’s wrist, jarring his fingers, and the blade goes flying as Jaskier completes his hand stand and drops, chest to the ground. The world around Geralt tilts sharply as the heel of a boot smashes into the backs of his knees, and he goes down onto his back, wheezing and failing to suck in a breath.

He hears the shuffle of feet in the dirt as Jaskier steps forward, rolling his wrist and twirling the blade the way that Geralt has done a thousand times. He presses the dull wooden tip against the soft skin under Geralt’s jaw and digs in lightly, tipping his chin up. His eyes are dark, dangerous, and Geralt feels heat pool in his stomach. He shouldn’t be getting aroused at this, at being beaten, but Jaskier is spectacular, wreathed in light with snow in his hair and cheeks red from exertion.

“Yield, love?”

“Yield.” Geralt breathes out, raising his hands in a placating gesture. A smirk plays across Jaskier’s lips, and Geralt wants nothing more than to kiss him until neither of them can breathe. Jaskier tosses the sword in the dirt and offers Geralt a hand as he leans up. Geralt thinks for a moment about yanking Jaskier down and pinning him into the dirt, but Jaskier draws in a sharp breath and narrows his eyes.

“Don’t even think about it.” Geralt schools his expression into one of faint annoyance, for having lost of course, and not because he’s predictable enough that Jaskier knows what he was planning. Geralt scoops Jaskier’s discarded blade up as he gets to his feet, and hears Lambert begin to laugh.

“We have got to be the worst witchers- a fuckin bard beat all of us!” Lambert laughs harder, doubling over and slapping his thigh.

“Vesemir must be quite the teacher.” Eskel says in agreement, eyes sparkling with amusement as he nods toward Jaskier. Jaskier reaches to brush some dirt off of his pants, smiling and glancing over at Vesemir. Vesemir nods, sharing a small, private look, and Jaskier straightens up.

“I uh, may have misled you lot about my apparent lack of skills.” That shuts Lambert up, and he stands up, frowning hard. Jaskier laughs nervously, shuffles his feet in the dirt, and hurries to explain. “While I am nowhere near your skills as witchers, I ah, was trained as a child. Extensively, I might add, in the art of war.”

“Ha! So the old man isn’t responsible for that?”

“Well, he certainly helped reawaken old skills.” Geralt stares at Jaskier, confusion on his face and lips pressed together in a tight line.

“But… Every time I tried to-” Jaskier clears his throat, blushing, and takes Geralt’s hand in his.

“Ulterior motives, love.” Lambert scoffs in disgust, Eskel laughing quietly.

-*-

“Show me that move, the one you used to disarm Geralt.” Lambert insists that night while they’re eating dinner, golden-amber eyes shining.

“Inside? Fine.” Jaskier sighs dramatically, standing up from the table and moving a few steps away. He folds himself back, fingers splaying against the stony ground, and lifts himself up onto his hands, tilting his body and lowering himself down until his chest is parallel to the floor. He pauses there a moment, then swings his legs around in a sharp burst of speed, knocking over one of the chairs and grunting at the pain in his shins. He’s folded oddly now, still holding all his weight up and off the ground, and he slowly unfolds himself, shaking out his hands as he hops to his feet. “Good enough?”

“Holy fuck.” Lambert gapes, thoroughly impressed. Geralt doesn’t say anything, but he has to agree with Lambert’s amazement. He hadn’t been able to see the whole move, being the target, but it’s rather impressive, and highlights all of the lovely muscles in Jaskier’s arms. Lambert leans over to whisper at Geralt, eyes tracking Jaskier as he picks up the fallen chair and collapses into it, grinning when Eskel says something to him. “You lucky son of a bitch.”

Geralt feels his chest rumble, and distantly hears himself growl, but his eyes are on Jaskier and the exposed column of his neck. Geralt blinks, shaking his head, and tries his best not to seem like a luststricken fool. Jaskier’s eyes aren’t on Geralt, and he can’t possibly have heard the noise Geralt made, but he tilts his head, the muscles in his neck shifting as he slouches in the chair, legs spreading just a bit. Geralt growls louder at that, and Lambert rolls his eyes, smacking Geralt lightly on the shoulder. Geralt jolts, swallows hard and tears his gaze from Jaskier. “Jask, come here. I want to know how you fought like that.”

Jaskier rises to his feet obediently, plopping back into his old seat near Geralt. “Like what?”

“Like me.” It’s been bugging him since they came inside, and he wants to know. He didn’t do that with Eskel or Lambert- he’d used what advantages he had, but he hadn’t bothered trying to emulate them.

“I watch you. A lot. And… Working on the pendulums, it gave me a better sense of your footwork- the way you move. From there, it was about putting the pieces together to create-”

“A dance.” Geralt’s eyes meet Jaskier’s and Jaskier nods, beaming.

“Just so. I didn’t need to be able to actually best you in combat, I just had to survive long enough to disarm you.”

Lambert looks between them, then glances at Eskel, pretending to throw up and rolling his eyes. Geralt sees him mouth the word ‘saps’ and he reaches out to flick Lambert’s ear. He hisses, swatting Geralt away and glaring. He’s still covering his ear from further onslaught when he looks expectantly at Jaskier, as if to say what about us?

“Hmmm. As for you two, I couldn’t spend nearly as much time watching, so I used what I knew. You, my spitfire, are easy to piss off and keep that way. It makes you easy to read.” Jaskier winks at Lambert even as he scowls, but he won’t argue. It’s pretty accurate and he knows it. Jaskier’s attention turns to Eskel, who’s waiting quietly to hear his weakness. “You, my gentle giant, are harder. You’re much more patient, and I can’t rile you for the life of me. But, I can use that gentleness against you.”

Eskel hums, considering this, but he also finds no fault in Jaskier’s thinking. He didn’t want to hurt Jaskier, especially not in front of Geralt, and that had made him easy prey. “Okay, now I have a question about you.”

“My favorite subject.” Jaskier grins, waving for Eskel to go on.

“How did you become so flexible?”

“Ah, yes, everyone always seems to ask me that.” Jaskier muses, tapping a finger on his chin and smirking when Geralt nudges for him to go on instead of dragging out the silence. “I traveled with a carnival troupe when I graduated from the academy. I played the music to accompany their shows, and learned much from the acrobats in the family. One of them, a very pretty elf, was particularly interested in using it combatively. It’s served me well, thus far.”

“Very well.” Lambert’s grin is saucy, and Eskel groans as Jaskier laughs. Geralt sits there, throat dry and cheeks blazing red. He sees Jaskier glance over out of the corner of his eye, and he tenses up to keep from reacting as Jaskier’s hand slides up his thigh suggestively. Geralt swallows hard, and Jaskier sighs at the same time he begins to draw patterns over the fabric of Geralt’s pants.

“Well, now that I am an honorary witcher through ancient rites, I am going to sleep. No one dare wake me.” Jaskier’s voice is threatening, but he’s smiling and chuckles when Lambert mutters honorary witcher my ass. Jaskier glances over at Geralt, hand falling away as he stands to leave. He stoops to kiss Geralt lightly, humming against his lips. “Coming up soon?”

“Mhm.” Jaskier heads up to bed alone, and Geralt only manages to stay with his brothers for another few minutes before following Jaskier up to bed. Lambert whistles at him as he leaves, and Geralt’s cheeks are red as he climbs the stairs up to their room.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #the witcher #say hello buffskier #jaskier is also acrobatic #bc heehehe...#lambert #eskel #vesemir #geralt of rivia #jaskier

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officerjennie · 4 years ago

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Hey Jennie!! How about 6 or 37 from the prompt list for the witcher? Have fun!! Also, I love your writing ❤️❤️❤️❤️!!!

Since you didn’t mention a ship and I’m feeling Curious about one, I’m going with 37 “Wanna dance?” with Jaskier/Aiden :3 Hope you don’t mind the ship!

CW: Rated T. No real warnings? Some roughhousing between Lambert and Geralt. Aiden being a little shit. Lambert, too, being a little shit. Pretty tame flirting. Meet Cute Mischief. WC 2.6k+

It wasn’t every day that they ran into one of Geralt’s fellow witchers, let alone two.

Jaskier had watched, at first in horror, as a rather feisty fellow had hurdled himself towards Geralt and tackled him to the ground just outside of the village. They had just taken a contract over some odd noises and mysterious events surrounding an abandoned keep, one the villagers themselves had insisted on them taking despite how many times Geralt had told them he doubted it was anything - apparently it sounded much less like a monster and much more like a secret getaway for the young folk about but the innkeep had been certain something foul was afoot.

At the very least, Jaskier thought it would make an amusing tale, already crafting lines and lyrics as Geralt tied Roach up in the stable and went off towards the keep (allowing Jaskier to tag along without complaint for once, considering it shouldn’t be dangerous).

Which is one reason Jaskier was rather startled, to put it lightly, when he was suddenly witness to one of the toughest brawls he’d ever seen Geralt take part of. Geralt had grunted and then snarled when he hit the ground, rolling and grabbing for the other man’s limbs, them both rolling while Jaskier clutched at the strap that held his lute to his back, some rather undignified squeaks escaping him while he struggled to keep up with their movements.

But he couldn’t just stand there stalk still while his nearest and dearest friend was fighting for his life. He jerked his arm into motion, grabbing for the dagger Geralt had tried to convince him not to buy half a year ago at one of the southern markets, and managed to fight it out of its sheath and hold it at arms length, waiting for just the right moment to throw it at the accoster.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you, darlin’.”

He jumped and whipped around, dagger first, and the man who’d snuck up behind him didn’t quite duck in time to completely miss the blade. It cut into his cheek, a drop of blood slowly dripping down, cat eyes staring at him in a way that made him freeze.

A smirk that Jaskier really wasn’t sure was from amusement or a promise of death stretched his lips, showing off some very sharp teeth.

“G-Geralt?”

“I’m busy, Jaskier.”

A thump from behind him allowed Jaskier to jerk his head around, seeing Geralt pining the other man face first into the dusty road - but the other man was laughing, even as Geralt’s face was twisted into a snarl, the both of them dirty and scratched up from their fight.

“Damnit, Lambert,” he gave the man another shove but then got off of him, and Jaskier almost squeaked out that that was very much not a good idea - but then Geralt was helping the man up, the anger fading from his face as he dusted some of the dirt off of him.

Dusted...the dirt off of him, yes, because that’s something completely normal for enemies to do with one another. Help clean them off. After fighting. Maybe Jaskier had never woken up that morning after all and this was just some strange dream? Would explain the way the other other man leaned forward into his face sudden, nose twitching as he sniffed, a thoughtful frown tugging his lips down as Jaskier leaned away from the invasion.

“Smell like lavender, but not the flowers. Fancy your oils, huh?”

“Do you know these men, Geralt?” He took a step back away from the one that was once again giving him that smirk, beating a hasty retreat to his friend’s side. Geralt, for his part, finally looked away from the man he’d started to exchange some pleasantries - or what counted as pleasantries for his dear witcher, which was mostly grouching - and turned to look at the other witcher.

He cocked his head, and Jaskier knew before he said anything that Geralt didn’t know that one. “Lambert, one of my brothers.” He slapped Lambert in the chest with the back of his hand, passing the hit off as handing him back the weapon he had gripped in that hand. The man - Geralt’s brother, apparently - took it and buckled it to his side, though not without shooting Geralt a shit eating grin. “The other one I don’t know.”

“Oh, I’m wounded, Lamb.” The man practically purred the words before bowing with a flourish. “Aiden, not necessarily at your service.”

“Don’t call me Lamb, kitty cat.”

“Watch who you call kitty cat, sweets.”

From the increasingly dangerous looks on the two witchers’ faces, Jaskier thought it best to interrupt them then. “Jaskier, long time sufferer of all the hmms and grunts that Geralt passes as communication - though perhaps we could save further introductions for later? We have an, ahhh, rather important contract to be getting done.”

It wasn’t a contract they ended up doing alone. Lambert and Aiden followed them with little hesitation, the promise of shared coin more than enough to garner their interest (though Aiden made a few faces at the correct of a small amount of coin). Really it wasn’t all that surprising, after all; though Geralt was a rather closed book about a lot of his personal life Jaskier had learned over the years that his brothers were very near and dear to him, and he saw them very little throughout the year - winter being the one big exception.

The two brothers spent most of the journey trading snarky remarks and the occasional shove, Geralt doing his best (and utterly failing) to seem like he wasn’t as into the roughhousing as his brother. With those two rather busy catching up it left Jaskier to follow behind them, wondering what tales those two had to share, what journeys they’d spent together, what hunts they’d conquered.

“Didn’t know what I expected,” Aiden mused, suddenly next to him, his silent steps making Jaskier jump when he finally noticed him. “But it wasn’t what I see, ya know? Big hero and all that.”

“Huh?”

“Suppose anyone could seem a hero, if the right bard sings of them.” He gave a wink, his arms crossed behind his head as he walked, the silver beads in his tight braids glittering in the sunlight. It took a moment for Jaskier to catch up with what he was saying but finally he did, turning back to look at the brothers that walked ahead of them, both looking very much like the heroes to him.

Who else would carry such broad swords so proudly on their backs, wear such armor, but the heroes? Maybe not all witchers would be quite as heroic as Geralt but Jaskier was firm in his belief that they were all capable of such, like so many of his own kind seemed to sniff at in disbelief.

“You’ve not met him before,” Jaskier said a little tightly, trying to not get too defensive of his friend. “No one looks like their proudest moments but he exemplifies them nonetheless. As much as he loves to blather on about not getting involved he puts himself right where he needs to be, even when no one would think to thank him for it.”

“No one but you.”

Jaskier blinked at that, not really sure what Aiden was on about. But he didn’t have time to ask, Geralt motioning for them to come to a halt now that they’d reached the keep, the group of them going quiet for now.

It was, as it turned out, not just a gathering place for the young folk. Aiden was the one who found the mountain lion kits and quickly shooed the rest of them away, sniffing about the rest of the place himself without their help and coming back with a shrug. Nothing but cats and ghosts.

“And not the fun kind of ghosts.” Aiden tossed a coin idly into the air, a rather dirt caked one he’d found during his scrounging. “Just old smells, tattered fabric, a faded painting or two. No monsters here, dear pups.”

“Then what about the noises?” Maybe he sounded a bit whiny but Jaskier had walked all the way here for essentially nothing if it wasn’t even a romantic getaway; his feet were tired and his muse demanded fuel.

But Aiden just flicked the coin in the air again, letting it land in his palm as he said, “Ever hear a mountain lion scream, little bird?”

He had not, and when Aiden made them stick around til he did he regretted admitting as much. Jaskier was very glad to make it back to the inn, empty handed or not.

The innkeep, however, was very reluctant to let go of any coin, even if there were now three witchers and a disgruntled bard there to stare him down. In the end Jaskier managed to convince him to part with some of what he’d promised though not all, and to make up for the rest (to keep that anger he saw flash in Lambert’s eyes at bay) he promised to perform and earn enough coin to keep the gull flowing.

It was a real shame he didn’t have any ballads yet for the other two. His performances went as well as usual, the crowd eating out of his hands, the general mood shifting from hot tension to easy fun. As the night went on he saw even the witchers easing into their corner, the innkeep pleased enough with the promised production that the gull was soon free to the three, something that brought a brilliant smile to Jaskier’s face and a new wind to his songs.

There had been a rather shy woman near the edge of the room at the start of his performance, who left sometime through but came back later in the night. In her hands was a lute of her own, and in-between a brief breather between songs she came up to him and asked, if it wasn’t a bother, if he wouldn’t mind, would it be all right if she joined in as well.

And who was he, honestly, to say no to such a quiet and hopeful request?

She was an absolute talent and Jaskier had nothing but praise for the music she weaved with her fingers. It was a bit of a fumble at first, them not knowing the same songs, eventually crafting some new ones just for this particular crowd to enjoy. Because she was so shy and hesitant Jaskier had to admit he was worried the room of rather drunken bar tenants might not take kindly to her attempts but he was pleasantly surprised, and after a time he even left it to her, bowing out to marvel at the pride and confidence that held her shoulders straight now.

There was no doubt about it, she had talent. He leaned back against a wooden pillar in the room, his breaths a little heavy from exertion, his heart light in his chest. Oh, what a time to be alive, to witness the youth come into their own.

No matter that he was still young himself. He could have wistful, old man thoughts if he liked.

“You seem to do that to people.”

“You seem to love to sneak up on others, you daft-” Jaskier cut himself off, startled into his sass and nearly falling over when he jerked away from the pillar. Aiden now leaned his shoulder into the side of it, one dark eyebrow raised, his eyes alight with amusement - which just made Jaskier wish he hadn’t stopped his sass, if he were honest.

“Startle easy, little bird?”

“What do you mean?” He ignored the second question, for now settling back into his spot, habitually checking that his lute was indeed still on the table to his right where he’d placed it a little while before.

“Bring that out in them.” Aiden nodded his head towards the woman, but his eyes didn’t leave Jaskier. “Whatever you’d call that. Confidence. Belief in their self. Their proudest moments, you have a knack for bringing those out, don’t you?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.” He sniffed delicately, but did add, “Though I suppose I am a rather decent influence. Hard to be around such talent and not seek it out yourself. And I do have quite the air of confidence I’ve been told.”

“And your smart, and beautiful, and have the single best taste in fashion, and are oh so modest to boot,” Aiden drawled, that dangerous smirk coming back, and this time perhaps it was the atmosphere around them - the belly laughter from the crowd, the smell of drink in the air, upbeat and cheerful music kept in time with the stomping of boots on the floor - but that smirk made Jaskier’s heart flutter dangerously in his chest.

Despite the implied insults. Or, fake compliments. Or assumed bloated sense of self that Aiden was suggestion - there were plenty of ways to take his teasing but Jaskier was certain it wasn’t meant to be harmful.

Mostly certain.

“Do you usually travel with Lambert, then?”

He wasn’t really sure what possessed him to ask that. Before he had much time to think on it he flicked his eyes away from that dangerously handsome face - handsome face? - and focused instead on his newest pupil, who had taken a request for a dance piece that was apparently popular in the area. A few in the crowd started to push some tables aside drunkenly, saved by the few sensible not drunk patrons, and soon her fingers were plucking away and the place became twice as lively as it had before.

“Yes, I do, little bird.” Jaskier dared to glance over at him, able at least to not get distracted by the beads in his braids, now nearest to the side Aiden kept shaved. “Lamb and I have been through quite a lot over the years. He’s got my back and I’ve got his, no matter the circumstance.” Something dangerous flashed in his eyes but it was gone when Jaskier blinked next, cat eyes focusing on him again instead of off into the distance on memories he had no knowledge of. Yet. “He is my friend, and I don’t say that word lightly.”

“I’m telling him you said that.”

“The bird threatens the cat now?”

“Oh are we speaking in third person now?”

He really wasn’t sure what had come over him, but something about Aiden - something about that look in his eyes, how the gold in his eyes seemed to glow against his dark skin, how the even darker freckles dusted his cheeks beckoned his fingers to brush against them-

There was just something about him that drew Jaskier in.

Aiden cocked his head, studying him, and for just a moment Jaskier felt very much like the birds he loved to compare him to, trapped in a cat’s gaze. But it wasn’t fear that made him lean forward just so, towards the man he’s amazed he’d never even met before halfway through that day.

And then Aiden’s gaze softened, just for a moment, and he said so softly that Jaskier could have been entirely mistaken that he heard it at all: “You’ll do.”

Before he could ask him to repeat himself, the softness was gone, replaced with a mischievous grin that looked like it belonged on those full lips. “Music’s picking up, little bird. Care to dance?” And before Jaskier had even registered he’d said yes he found his hand snatched up lightning fast, whirled into the crowd of men and women and others who remained faceless to him - because the only face his eyes could see was the one with that sharp grin with teeth, owned by the man who danced with cat like grace and a body that was deceptively lithe, whose eyes never once left him in turn.

#aidskier #aiden/jaskier #jaskier/aiden #jaskier x aiden #aiden x jaskier #the witcher #fanfiction #mywriting #proofreading who? don't know her #persony-pepper #jaskier #aiden

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notebooks-and-laptops · 5 years ago

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maybe #6 for the angst/fluff prompts? geralt/jask is nice but write whatever strikes your fancy!

this is also available on A03 here!

Prompt: 'you make every day worth living'

-///-

The thing is, Jaskier knows that – at heart - he is a one-man catastrophe dressed up in fine doublets and charming smiles.

Oh, he’s not awful. He’s not bad. He’s a good time, in fact! Give him a lute and an audience and he’s some of the best entertainment on the continent. He wouldn’t compare himself to poison - he’s more like alcohol. He’s good in small doses, good in periodic indulgences, but too much of him? He’s lethal.

And he doesn’t even need to try hard to prove it! The long list of wrecked marriages springs to mind, as do the times he’s had to flee town rather quickly to save his neck. And let nobody forget the absolute shit storm with the djinn and all the trouble that caused (trouble is, he would maintain, Yennefer’s middle name).

And so it’s really no shock to him that he makes Geralt’s life harder, that he is often the one ‘shovelling the pile of shit’ as Geralt oh so nicely put it up on that mountain (oh, Geralt has apologised since then, and Jaskier has forgiven him, but that’s not the point). He gets into trouble and Geralt ends up risking much more than he would normally have to on his galivants around the continent in order to save him.

And recently, that point has seemed to be rather hammered home.

He just keeps—he just keeps breaking Geralt, these days.

He doesn’t mean to. But it keeps on happening regardless. And Geralt is still so guilty about the whole dragon fiasco that he’s not even grumbling about it. He’s being all stoic and selfless and honestly that’s worse.

“Sorry, ah—shit, sorry, oh it’s really awful isn’t it, oh fuck—” he knows he’s rambling nonsense as he begins to dress the wound. Jaskier adds playing with griffin babies onto the list of fucking awful ideas but really, they’d been the ones to come up to him in the forest – how was he supposed to know that their mother wouldn’t take to a bit of friendly petting?

And so Geralt had had to swoop in and save him. Again.

Gods, Jaskier was tired of playing the damsel in distress.

“I just, they were cute! And they looked like they wanted a good scratch behind the ears and—”

“They were griffins, Jaskier,” Geralt grunts from where Jaskier is bandaging his shoulder. The mama Griffin got her teeth in deep – it’ll probably leave a scar. One more scar Geralt has so valiantly received in his name. “Not farmyard pups.”

“I know that, but they were friendly! Not all of us have an encyclopaedic knowledge of what monsters to and not to touch.” Jaskier defends himself weakly. He does know. But like he said, one man catastrophe – he can’t help himself.

“After thirty years, I would think that the answer not any of them would be rather drilled into your head by now.”

And alright, fair enough.

Jaskier presses his lips into a thin line and works on dressing the wound, letting his fingertips linger.

Geralt doesn’t say anything. That’s about as much of a scolding he’s going to get. Because of course, Geralt is still incredibly guilty and there’s still this weird tension between them. Geralt walks around like anything he says could break Jaskier. Jaskier walks around breaking Geralt without even trying to hold back and not getting told off for it.

It is…a very, very bad system.

“I am sorry,” Jaskier murmurs when Geralt finally winces his way back into his shirt.

Geralt just shakes his head, “don’t be.”

Doesn’t make Jaskier feel any less guilty as he falls asleep that night.

-///-

The next time he breaks Geralt, they’re at a banquet.

And it’s an accident. Mostly. Okay, maybe it’s a little bit on purpose. But he thought it would be funny and he’s never been one to shy away from the prospect of teasing Geralt and he thought it would be a pretty fun thing to talk up Geralt to the Queen.

And it is fun. Geralt even gets an audience and he looks like he’d much rather be wading through some swamp than making small talk with the Queen of some backwater kingdom.

But then there’s a mix-up – because someone who Jaskier might have been betrothed to at one point shows up and how was he supposed to know that she’d be there? But also apparently she’s good friends with the Queen and what was a funny night quickly turns into a fight, a punch, and Geralt and him running through the gardens at top speed.

Geralt loses the contract he was planning on taking, that the Queen was talking up to him.

And it’s Jaskier’s fault.

Fuck, it wasn’t something he’d thought about before their whole thing on the mountain, but now that he’s looking, he sees it everywhere.

He sees it in the very nearly empty coin purse.

He sees it in Geralt’s bruised knuckles.

He takes them in his hand. They’ll heal – maybe even by morning, Geralt heals so goddamn fast – but he still is the reason they’re there. Because Geralt had to throw a punch for him. Because Jaskier is a walking catastrophe.

He cleans them, even when Geralt tries to shrug him off. They don’t need much tending too, but Jaskier can’t give up any opportunity to be tender with Geralt. Geralt’s seen too few moments of tenderness in his long life.

“I’m sorry,” he apologises.

Geralt grunts shakes his head.

Jaskier wonders if maybe coming back to Geralt’s side was a good idea after all.

-///-

It comes to a head one Monday night, just East of the mountain pass for Kaer Morhen. Winter is setting in, hard and fast, and Jaskier probably shouldn’t have convinced Geralt to stay so long at that last town. They’ll be lucky if they make the pass before the first snow – and even that is the least of their problems because Geralt is shivering.

He’s full-body shivering.

Which is bizarre. Jaskier didn’t know he could do that – he figured, well, he figured that Geralt was a witcher. If either of them were going to suffer in the cold it wasn’t going to be the near-immortal, stunningly hunky mutant.

Except that apparently, it is.

And Geralt had told him they should go, but Jaskier hadn’t wanted to – he’d wanted to get in a good few shows before they bunkered down for winter. He was thrilled to be invited to Kaer Morhen, but he would miss the way he could manipulate a crowd.

And Geralt had sworn, and grunted, and eventually left Jaskier too it.

And now he was shivering.

Jaskier had done it again. Fuck.

“Here,” Jaskier moves closer, an arm outstretched in invitation.

“I don’t need--“

“You do. You look like you’re about to get frostbite.”

Geralt hums, considers, and for an awful moment, Jaskier thinks he’s going to say ‘no’ but then he doesn’t, he just slides into Jaskier’s arm, head resting on his shoulder. Jaskier rubs his arm to try and bring some warmth back into it.

“Why—”

“It’s the mutations. My heart is…slow. I struggle in the cold.”

“Ah.”

Jaskier tilts his head into Geralt’s hair. He wishes he could do more, but there’s not much more he can do. Except maybe break Geralt more.

“We shouldn’t have stayed in that goddamn town so long,” Jaskier mutters, when his body heat barely seems to help at all. “Fuck, I just keep breaking you.”

Geralt goes stiff in his arms.

Maybe he’s been thinking the same thing, but he didn’t want to say it out loud and Jaskier pointing it out means he can finally say yes, yes, please stop doing that.

Only instead, Geralt moves away from him and tilts his head in that quite frankly adorable way he has. His eyes look almost hurt. “Is this—Jaskier, I told you I didn’t mean what I said on the mountain.”

Jaskier blinks. It's not about that. It’s been years since then after all, even if they both still remember the words. Exactly. Except—

“I keep breaking you. This isn’t about what you said on the mountain, it’s about the fact that you were right. I do get you into so much shit. I break you—your shoulder, your contracts, this. I’m a one-man catastrophe, nobody’s ever been able to deal with me in large doses so why I thought you would…Honestly, why you put up with me, why you came back to me—”

Geralt pushes a (horridly cold) hand over his mouth, shutting Jaskier up quite promptly.

“You think you broke me, Jaskier?” And there’s a softness in his eyes that Jaskier loves. It’s oh so rare, but sometimes it appears and why on earth it’s being directed at him now he has no idea.

Jaskier nods slowly.

“Jaskier,” Jaskier has always liked the way Geralt says his name, “You didn’t break me. You’re the one who put me back together. I keep you around because—” he struggles for a moment, Jaskier can see it, the words refusing to come out of a mouth so used to grunting and swearing and keeping his emotions tucked in not blurted out, “—I keep you around because you make every day worth living.”

Jaskier makes a soft sound at the back of his throat.

Oh.

Geralt removes his hand, slowly, away from Jaskier’s mouth.

There’s a moment. They’re staring at each other. Geralt is still cold. He looks—uncomfortable like he’s about to take back what he said and nope, no, that is the nicest thing he’s ever said he is not going to take it back the bastard—

Geralt takes a breath, and to stop the words coming out, Jaskier slots his mouth neatly over his.

Considering its something he’s been thinking about doing for years, worked himself up about, it’s actually…relatively easy. Simple. He kisses Geralt. Geralt kisses him back. Like they’ve been doing it for years. Like they should have been doing it all along.

“So you’re not just putting up with me?” Jaskier murmurs, as he pulls back, and then – because he can – peppering Geralt’s cheeks and nose with little kisses, “You like me.” He can’t keep the smugness from his voice.

Geralt grunts.

“You do.”

Geralt sighs, slips his arms better around Jaskier.

Maybe Jaskier is a one-man catastrophe, but then—Geralt’s not so great himself at keeping out of shit. And if he only gets to be good at one thing, if he gets one blessing, one talent, one skill. Well. He’ll take being able to put Geralt back together again.

#geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt/jaskier #jaskier/geralt #prompt fill #geraskier prompt fill #geralt #jaskier

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cats-obsessions · 4 years ago

Text

The Survey Never Lies

Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion Modern au, something fluffy

Read on ao3

Summary:

Jaskier convinces Geralt to try Speed dating. The results are not what either of them expected.

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Geralt isn’t exactly sure what possessed him to agree to this. It’d been a rough past few months, with contracts being few and far between, and when they came, they were truly the worst. To say that this dry spell had extended to other areas in his life was an understatement; even Yennefer was able to move on by now after their latest, seemingly permanent, breakup. ‘Move on’ might be an understatement- enough time had passed for Yennefer to go into full-blown party mode, get over it, begin a new and honestly adorable relationship with their mutual friend Triss, and make up with him to the point of being hostile friends again.

That is to say, it has been a long time.

With next to no money and even less company, even Geralt could admit he has been feeling down. And yet, of course, Jaskier was always there right beside him through it all. It was always that way. Which is precisely why he got himself into this mess.

Initially, when the troubadour had suggested they try speed dating, Geralt was quick to strike the idea down. He’d already gone through the pains of using that awful dating app at Jaskier’s insistence, and he wasn’t about to have a rerun of that disaster. But then, Jaskier started to frame it as if he was the one that needed a date, and Geralt accompanying him would just be a favor- just to keep him company if it was boring, and to keep him safe if things went wrong. Geralt knows that was just a ploy to make him go, but between that and big blue puppy dog eyes, he found himself reluctantly agreeing.

Jaskier did not, however, tell him how horrible it would be. ‘it won’t take long’. Bullshit. Over an hour of small talk with strangers, and Geralt feels like he wants to crawl out of his skin. The establishment isn’t the finest, either. Everything is cheap- 90s music playing on shitty speakers grate on his eardrums, dimmed florescent lighting and fake candles on every table make it feel morel like a pizza parlor than a romantic dinner. And then there’s the people.

They’ve been paired into groups based on some benign personality survey they were forced to take when they got there, then paired off for short conversations. Five-minute sessions are timed on a buzzer, each blessed ring marking the end of the conversation, and bringing with it another stranger. They’re awkward at best and insufferable at worst.

It’s Geralt’s personal nightmare incarnate.

The best conversation he’s had all night was about one woman’s five cats. The worst was probably when a man tried to lean across the table and grab at his medallion without asking and Geralt found himself releasing an inhuman snarl before he could stop himself. The poor guy ended up hiding in the bathroom for the remaining duration of their five minutes, but that’s what he gets for trying to touch people, especially a witcher, without asking.

Even the cheap beer doesn’t make it better. When the timer dings, and all the participants in the room begin to shuffle to new tables, Geralt takes a moment to look down at his glass, taking a long, long sip of tasteless beer. By the time he has glanced up again, Jaskier is seating himself across the table, wine glass in hand. The bard flashes him a toothy grin, leaning in closer, propping his elbows on the scratchy, off-white tablecloth. As per usual, his button down shirt is left undone far too low, exposing a far too distracting patch of chest hair that Geralt most certainly doesn’t stare at, nor do his eyes slowly trace up exposed skin of his collar bones and neck to the slight blush tinging his cheeks.

“So, how’s it going, my friend? Found the new Mrs. Rivia, or Mr., though, I suppose it’s not guaranteed he’d take your last name. Not that it’s guaranteed with a woman, either. You could take her name. Though, I do like yours- better than my own, actually.”

Geralt glances away, trying his best to hide his smirk at Jaskier’s prattling, “Hm.”

“Oh, come on now, use your words. We’ve talked about this. You’re not going to find someone when I’m the only person that understands your unintelligible grunting.” Jaskier chides, though it is true. Somehow, over the years since they met in that shitty bar in Pasoda, Jaskier has come to understand the witcher well- better than most. Where other humans shy away from him, Jaskier became stuck to him, following him on hunts and writing songs about their adventures- reluctant at first, he’s now thankful for the bard.

Geralt sighs “This is hopeless, Jaskier.”

“No, it’s not!”

“It is. They’re all- ugh, I don’t know.” Geralt rubs his hand over his face, “They’re all either freaked out by me or oblivious to what I am, and they just talk about their normal lives and normal jobs and- and how Geofry from accounting fucked things up again, while I’m sitting here thinking last week I was swallowed by a fuckin’ kikimora. I don’t fit in here.”

“That was horridly disgusting, but lots of people are into adventurous men. What about Eveline? She seemed amenable.” Jaskier gestures to the woman a few tables down with long red hair. Yes, she had found Geralt attractive, in dim lighting which hides his scars and expands his pupils into circles rather than slits, but that doesn’t translate to companionship, or even a night of fun. Yet, Jaskier is always the optimist, “There’s still hope yet!”

Geralt shakes his head “Easy for you to say. You don’t need to go speed dating to find someone. Everyone likes you.”

“As flattering as that is, I think, there’s nothing wrong with speed dating. Anyone who isn't interested in you is a fool. Besides, it's not always that easy for me! I’m looking for something a bit more committed this time. Not that I didn’t have great affections for my previous romances. Just…” Jaskier trails off, tongue sticking out slightly as he looks for the right terms.

“Momentarily and in measured amounts?”

“Mm,” Jaskier hums in agreement.

“Infatuation has to wear off some time.”

“So I’ve been told. Seems some hang around longer than others though,” He mutters. He casts his eyes down as if in thought, his ever-moving hands finding the rim of his wine glass, a long finger tracing it in a way that emits a high-pitched noise the musician likely isn’t even aware of. Geralt grunts, frowning slightly as he grabs Jaskier’s hand to remove it from the glass. The bard lets himself be moved easily, fingers warm and inviting under the witcher’s touch.

“Noise,” he grumbles.

Jaskier smiles apologetically, “Ah, witcher hearing. Sorry, my dear.”

His fingers tap on the tabletop, looking for something to fidget with in the wine glass’ absence. He finds the long-abandoned conversation que cards so kindly provided by the event’s organizers, as if they knew rightfully well how miserably uncomfortable this predicament would be.

“Have you looked at these at all tonight?” he asks, picking them up to glance through them.

“Tried not to. They’re deplorable.” Yet, the well-worn corners of the cards attest to how many attendees truly rely on them.

Jaskier smiles coyly “You’ve been showing people pictures of your lovely lady Roach again haven’t you?”

“Maybe” he blushes, both of them chuckling. “People like horses”

“Mm, that would only be a good pick-up tactic if she didn’t bite strangers.”

“She’s shy.” He defends, though he knows she’s not. She’s just picky; she’s never tried to bite Geralt, or Eskel or Vesemir for that matter. These days, she likes Jaskier enough to let him ride her when they visit her stables at Vesemir’s farm.

Jaskier glances to the clock, red numbers counting down the seconds until he will be subjected to yet another stranger. “We still have a bit of time, want to try these dumb questions?”

“Is silence not an option?” Geralt groans, though not without the hint of a smile on his lips.

Jaskier swats at him lightly, ignoring the comment. He flips through the cards, reading a few under his breath “What color is your personality? That’s dumb- yours is blue, obviously, and mine is yellow. Hmm, Ah, here’s one.” Geralt tilts his head, waiting “Describe your best friend.”

He can’t help but snort at that “Annoying.”

“First of all, rude. Second of all, appropriate answers could have included handsome, funny, talented, brilliant, loyal” Jaskier counts his claimed attributes on his fingers, likely to go on forever lest Geralt interrupt.

“Reckless, frivolous-” He jumps in, a teasing, toothy grin on his face.

“Fun. Fun is the term you’re looking for. It doesn’t matter though. I know you adore me.”

There’s too much truth in the words; though he wouldn’t hesitate to call Jaskier his friend -his best friend- adoration is a strong word, a word unknown to many witchers. Yet, he can’t deny the way Jaskier makes his heart fill with warmth, makes him feel alive and safe like he never has before. But that is something he’d much rather keep to himself. Geralt looks away, surely blushing as he lets a curtain of white hair falls in front of his face, hopefully hiding the pink tinge.

Jaskier watches him quietly, that soft warm expression in his eyes that somehow seems to be reserved for the witcher. A moment of silence passes before he snaps out of it, only a few seconds left on the clock “Wanna get out of here?”

At that, Geralt perks up, “I could use a real drink, but what about your search?”

“I don’t think I’ll find the one in this crowd,” he says, looking out on the group, a disappointed little pout pulling at his lips for just a moment before he turns back to Geralt, ever bright smile returning to his face.

Geralt nods, standing up and slipping on his jacket in preparation to leave. He catches Jaskier’s eyes roaming over him for a moment before the bard diverts his gaze, catching his lip between his teeth. Geralt does his best to focus on anything else. Whatever warmth or fluttering feelings it may give him, he knows he’s just imagining his friend’s interest.

They almost make it out with everyone around them shuffling to new tables. But, of course, they’re stopped by the group coordinator. They’d met him when they came in- a young man far too invested in this program, reciting his company provided lines with an unnatural enthusiasm.

“Looks like you two are having a good time. I’m glad to see some real sparks fly tonight! Sneaking off already?” the man grins, a little too much, as he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh, we were just-” Jaskier begins, laughing slightly under his breath.

“No, don’t tell me- for liability reasons and such. But good news!” he exclaims, “According to our survey, you two are our most compatible couple of the night, and the survey never lies!”

“Of course, we-” He’s cut off again, and next to him, Jaskier cringes.

“Which means, if you’re interested and it certainly seems like you are, you have won our luxury romance date package!”

“I think there’s been a mis- Sorry, what?” Geralt stops as the boy pushes a bright pink, sparkling gift card into his hand.

“$200.00 to the White Orchard, free drinks included and guaranteed reservations within the month. All you have to do is go together, have fun, and discover the romance of your lives!” The boy’s smile doesn’t falter as he continues to speak. “I’m legally obligated to tell you we have not run background checks on anyone.”

“But we’re-” Jaskier tries to speak, but not before Geralt can stop him.

“Excited!” Geralt grins, grabbing Jaskier’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “Thank you!”

$200 is $200. He’s not about to let the first chance he’s had at a fine dinner in who knows how long go by because of Jaskier’s big mouth. So, with that, he leads the bard outside, their hands still firmly grasped together, and pointedly doesn’t think about why his thumb is rubbing circles into the back of his best friend’s hand. Nor does he consider how well their fingers fit together. He certainly doesn’t notice the disappointed pang in his chest when their hands separate as they step out into the cold night air outside.

One glance between them and their prize, and neither of them can stifle their laughter. “I can’t believe you almost said no to the nicest restaurant in town.” Geralt chides, elbowing Jaskier lightly as they begin to walk home.

“I can’t believe it either. It’s like the offer didn’t register in my brain yet.” Jaskier chuckles.

Geralt rolls his eyes at him “Seems to happen a lot.”

Jaskier deliberately ignores him, instead leaning over his shoulder to look at the gift card, still cradled in Geralt’s hand “It is ‘luxury romance’” Jaskier snickers, “We may have to keep up this act a bit longer.

“Apparently it’s not too difficult.” Geralt sneers “Some survey. Of course, we match; we spend all our time together.”

Jaskier’s chuckles quiet down, a silence hanging between them as he seems to think it over, “I have known you longer and more deeply than any other in my life. There’s no one I’m more comfortable with.”

“And I you.” He doesn’t often admit such things, but somehow in the silence of the night, with the way Jaskier had stated it so gently, he can’t help but know he truly means it when he agrees. After the silence becomes too heavy, Geralt clears his throat “Anyways, it’ll be fun.

“Yea, fun.”

Somehow, Jaskier’s voice comes out flat, preoccupied. When Geralt glances over at him, his lip is caught between his teeth again, his face scrunched in deep contemplation. It’s not a long walk back to their apartments, their complexes within walking distance of each other. Geralt doesn’t push, silence between them doesn't normally bother him after a night of so much noise. But try as he might, he can't help but wonder if Jaskier is bothered by the implication they were- could be a couple. Instead, he tries to focus on the sounds of the city, cool air blowing around them, leaves crinkling as they skip across the cement sidewalk.

When they approach Jaskier’s apartment complex, they stop in front of the old brick stairs leading inside, and Geralt waits for either an invitation inside or a declaration that Jaskier has changed his mind about drinks. He looks… uneasy. His hands are shoved into his pockets, and he shifts back and forth on his feet.

“Um, Geralt?” Jaskier says, voice uncertain for once.

“Hm?”

“I, um,” Geralt barely has time to see Jaskier stop biting his lip before suddenly his lips are on Geralt’s, his hands in his hair, caressing, not forceful. The witcher could pull away without much of a fuss, but he finds himself pulling Jaskier in by his waist, holding him tightly as if he’s afraid he’ll lose him if he lets go.

The kiss is equal parts gentle and desperate. He feels like he’s on fire; he feels like there’s electricity running through him, between them, and- and butterflies in his stomach, for maybe the first time in his life. It’s all so new and different, but he finds he doesn’t mind- not one bit.

When Jaskier pulls away, he finds his head feeling light “Jask,” he breathes lightly, their noses bumping each other lightly.

“Sorry, I-” Jaskier moves to step back, a spark of caution and panic glimmering in his eyes, as if he hadn’t felt Geralt’s desire in their embrace. “I thought-” he begins, but Geralt pulls him back in.

“I didn’t say stop.” He smiles softly, bringing up one hand to cup Jaskier’s cheek. It relaxes the bard, all the tension melting away to be replaced by a mischievous smile as the witcher pulls him into another kiss.

****

Rays of morning sun beam through the windows of Jaskier’s apartment, illuminating every inch of it. Below, the city is bustling with noise, but here, things are peaceful. Geralt woke up first, no surprise there. He would have been more than content to stay in bed all day, wrapped tightly in his lover’s embrace- the thought of that word describing Jaskier brings a smile to his face. But cursed with his witcher metabolism, he was dragged out of bed by a growling stomach.

Rummaging through Jaskier’s kitchen for breakfast, he barely notices the other man enter the room. When he turns around, Geralt is met with striking blue eyes watching him intently as Jaskier leans against the counter, dressed in his boxers and a hoodie he’d stollen from Geralt long, long ago. Geralt chooses not to dwell too much on the thought that he’s been sleeping in it all this time- for now, anyways.

“What are you so smug about?” Geralt grins, abandoning his task to invade Jaskier’s space.

The musician smiles, unabashedly staring as he runs his hands over Geralt’s exposed chest, settling above the hem of the sweat pants he snatched from Jaskier’s closet this morning, “Who wouldn’t be smug after getting a boyfriend as beautiful as you?” Even though they kissed all through the night, Jaskier’s lips on his send a shiver down his spine.

“You know what they say.” Geralt murmurs, kissing his way down to Jaskier’s neck.

As he presses dark marks into the pale skin of his throat, Jaskier only breathlessly hums in response “Hm?”

“The survey never lies.” He quotes mockingly.

Jaskier snorts, shoving at Geralt’s shoulder playfully, but the witcher doesn’t budge, only nuzzling in closer against his neck. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Very.”

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier fic #fanfiction #my stuff #modern au #fluff #drabble #idk how to tag things #Geralt and Jaskier go speed dating and omg who wouldve guessed their best match was each other #oh gosh please let the read more button work

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diamondcamefromhell · 5 years ago

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Jaskier falling in love~

Jaskier x Reader

Submission by the loveliest @victias 🦋

Hi, I’ve just discovered your blog due to our shared witcher obsession and I love your writing, thank you! I was wondering if you would be willing to do an imagines or short dabble on what jaskier would be like genuinely falling in love as opposed to the lustful infatuations he frequently wafts in and out of. Pretty please

[I really, really hope you all enjoy this one, especially Victias who submitted such a wonderful idea. It was so fun to write and imagine Jaskier in such way, I hope i didnt mess it up!]

[[also couldnt figure out how to do proper posts on the app, had to wake my lap top up, lmao]]

Warnings: None, I think

Word count: 1,207

There was something different about the way Jaskier behaved. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I’ve seen how he acts with other people he takes interest in, I have tagged along with him and Geralt long enough. But somehow, when he was around me, he began to just behave… differently.

I know even Geralt began to notice, as he would just stare at the bard, confused, whenever he would begin showing the difference. I doubt the Withcer minded it that much – Jaskier has gone quieter, over all. He almost seemed more shy.

I began to notice he paid really close attention to my words, not cutting me off, always listening to everything I had to say. I enjoyed teasing him, talking whatever nonsense I could come up with, but he still, took each and every word in. Sometimes I felt like I am speaking the most beautiful poetry, from the way he never seemed to get bored of my words. It was impressive, a silent bard, just listening to whatever I got to say.

I was used to receiving an array of compliments from Jaskier, he loved complimenting everyone about, seemingly everything. Until his compliments became more spaced out. More genuine.

He loved complimenting my hair, whenever I did something different to it, he always noticed. Even if I myself didnt realize it. He also loved trying to find what rhymes with my name best, twisting it around. “Y/N, Y/N" he would sing, quietly, so me and Geralt couldn’t hear.

We still did.

There were a lot of other, smaller things as well. He would flirt with others less, to the point, where he almost didn’t. It was in his nature to be nice to everyone who wasn’t an enemy, but his flirtatious behavior receded.

Needless to say, I was flattered. Whenever his eyes would land on me, Jaskier seemed to find it difficult to look away.

He also began writing more love songs. They weren’t ever directed at me, they were vague, but I began to notice he wouldn’t look at me when singing them. Only a few careful little glances, just to check if I am listening.

Which I always was.

One rainy evening, as Geralt and I were watching Jaskier perform, Witcher confessed to me that the bard has been nicer to him over all. Picking on his less. According to him, our friends attention has been drifting other directions. I couldn’t hide my blush, not from Geralt, who kindly pretended not to notice.

I stare at Jaskier now, prancing around. Many people in the tavern are giving him loving looks, but he doesn’t respond, only a kind smile here and there. His focus is mostly on his lute and sometimes us. I let out a sigh as he finishes his song.

He grabs more ale, bringing it to us, I notice he sits next to me, our shoulders almost touching.

“A toast!” Jaskier shouts. “To our friendship!”

“Friendship?” Geralt teases, looking from Jaskier to me. I glance at the bard to see him blush. I dont remember ever seeeing him do that. My cheeks in response heat up too.

“A toast.” I break the silence, lifting up ale. “To us all.”

“Hm.” Geralt grunts, hiding his smile. I glare at the Witcher, crossing my arms. Jaskier, from what I can tell mindlessly, does it too. Geralt raises his eyebrows.

“Do not say anything.” Bard jumps in, uncrossing his arms. If it’s possible, he blushes even more.

“You two just mirror each other.” Geralts speaks, ignoring Jaskier. “Well, he mirrors you, Y/N.“

“No he doesn’t.” I argue, but Jaskier says the same thing at the same time. Of course, instead of ‘he’, he uses ‘I’.

“Cute.” Geralt chugs his ale down and I fail to believe the Witcher even knows the word ‘cute’ exists.

I look at Jaskier, who while still visibly flustered, is smiling looking at the table. I stand up, taking our empty cups, going for a refill.

When I make my way to the bar, my cheeks almost seem to go back to normal. I take a couple deep breaths in, until I feel someone staring at me.

I sneak a glance at our table, were Jaskier is unapologetically staring at me. I dont think, however, that he notices me looking. His lips move so I know he must be talking to Geralt, but his gaze stays glued to me.

I look away, my cheeks setting ablaze yet again. As the man pours us ale, I feel myself drift, to when Jaskier first started changing.

It happened in a blink of an eye. We were camping, fire barely making our faces visible. Geralt has left us alone, doing whatever he does when he disappears for a couple of hours.

It was the first time Jaskier truly opened up to me. He put his heart on a plate, he confessed how being a bard was always his dream. Not necessarily because he truly wanted to do it, he felt like he sucked at everything else.

He learnt to play lute all by himself. Then he began writing songs. He even told me he loves to always be so cheery and happy because bards are often referred to jokers, royal clowns. He believed he was a fool.

However, since that night, he changed. It felt like he opened up the real him, for some reason in bards eyes, I was worth that. He continued, slowly but surely, opening up about more things.

Stardust by stardust, he was allowing me to see his entire galaxy, instead of just the usual sun.

I drift back to present, glancing at the men again. Jaskier still has his eyes on me, and I doubt he took them off for a second. If I didnt find it cute, it would be creepy.

I sit back next to them, as the night drags on, laugh fills the air, many drunken songs break out. Geralt leaves early, but Jaskier and I stay behind.

Until it’s only the two of us. His eyes capture my gaze, as he curls his lips, heat from alcohol rushing his cheeks. Jaskier, however, didnt drink as much as he sometimes does. I knew he was sober enough.

I respond with my own smile, as he reaches for me, shyly placing his hand on mine. I dont pull away.

“I never imagined I could feel this way, Y/N.” I continue smiling, his eyes lighting up.

“What do you mean, Jaskier?” he pulls back just a little, and I can see him drift in a thought.

“Love always seemed so casual to me. I loved everyone. It was just such a natural thing to me. All the popular love ballads seemed like false tales to me.” He focuses back on me. “And then I met you. And I started writing love songs, more than anything, they began to make sense.”

So that was it. Jaskier was falling in love, the true chaotic kind of love.

I dont think he was changing. He was finding himself in love.

I straighten my grip in response, to see the shy bard blush even more.

“I feel it too.” I reassure him, as the sun rises in the horizon.

#you know the drill #jaskier #jaskierxreader #jaskier x reader #jaskierfluff #jask boyy #geralt #geralt of rivia #witcher imagine #jaskier imagine #fallin in love #loved this idea #but im biased #bc i love jaskier #witcher #the best show hands down

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elliestormfound · 4 years ago

Note

If you’re still looking for fic ideas: jaskier poses nude for paintings as a side gig, and Gerald has absolutely no clue until he saw one of the paintings for sale on the street or in some alderman or mayor’s house when he’s trying to negotiate a contract

Thank you so much for this wonderful idea, I had to giggle as I read it, I had to giggle as I thought about what I could write and I giggled the whole way through writing it. I hope I don’t disappoint.

If you, lovely anon, or anybody else have any more ideas/prompts for me, just send me an ask, please! This makes so much fun!

read on ao3

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“I saw a statue of you today in the mayor's manor,” Geralt told Jaskier upon returning with a wicked grin on his face. With a small surprised intake of breath Jaskier turned away, “I know I am beloved by the masses, but it would be new to me that they are building statues for me now,” he replied.

Geralt chuckled amused, “it was not really of you, but of the mayor.”

With an indignant huff Jaskier replied, “the mayor is at least 80 years old, Geralt, are you insulting me? Do you want to tell me that I look old?”

Geralt, still grinning, “no, calm down. The mayor has a marble statue standing in the middle of his hall of, as he says, himself in his prime. Butt-naked and with way much muscles than that prick ever had.”

Jaskier turned to the witcher, brows furrowed, “and what made you say it is a statue of me?”

The witcher told him how he had waited in the hall of the mayor’s manor for his payment for ridding the local forest of a fiend. The hall had been decorated with paintings of old men, probably some forefathers of the mayor and there had been a white marble statue in the middle of the room, bathed in sunlight.

“And there was something about the statue that reminded me of you,” he said.

Jaskier just looked at him, one hand on his hip, head slightly tilted, lifting his eyebrows as to beckon him to continue. And Geralt burst out in laughter, pointing at him.

“The statue had that exact posture!”

This was the poise Jaskier normally did when he was flirting with someone, or when he was scolding Geralt for something stupid like using plain soap for washing his hair instead of the scented one Jaskier had given him.

What Geralt did not tell Jaskier was, that not only the posture reminded him of his bard, but the broadness of the marble shoulders, the long beautiful fingers on the hip and the curve of the ass, even how the hair was depicted, the delicate locks at the base of the skull tickling the neck were eerily like Jaskier’s. Geralt had by now seen Jaskier naked often enough. The bard was in no way shy and sharing campsites and small inn-rooms made it hard not to get the occasional glimpse of the other. But of course Geralt had never looked that closely at the naked bard.

“The only thing remotely looking like the mayor was the face,” the witcher said, “he had probably some young handsome lad pose for the sculptor and made him put his ugly face on the statue.”

Geralt did not notice Jaskier blushing as he turned away.

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A few weeks later Geralt had begrudgingly accepted to accompany Jaskier to a feast at some small court. He had instantly forgotten what was celebrated and was regretting his promise to come as he was fumbling with the uncomfortably stiff and tight new doublet Jaskier made him wear. As usual he was to protect the bard in case any cuckolded spouse was to run into them.

“Oh, there you are,” Geralt heard a sweet voice call after them. With a barely audible sigh Jaskier turned around, his showman smile plastered on his face, “Countess de Stael, as always does your beautiful smile shine brighter than the sun.” He made a low bow and accepted the hand of the woman for a delicate kiss.

“Julian, the painting is finally done,” she said, beaming widely, “do you wish to see it?”

Jaskier stole a glance at Geralt and with a gasp the Countess turned to the witcher and said, “oh, forgive me, I was so overcome with joy to see my Julian again, that I forgot all my manners.” She curtsied in Geralt's direction and offered him her hand as well, “Anne-Louise de Stael, Countess and biggest admirer of our Julian here.” She winked at the bard.

Geralt hadn’t said anything yet, just shot a look over to Jaskier as the countess curtsied and had mouthed “my Julian?” with a raised eyebrow and the hint of a smirk.

“Ah, yes,” Jaskier said with a side glance at the witcher, “if you don’t mind, I can come by tomorrow and we will have a look at the painting?”

The countess turned to Geralt again, “master witcher, I am sure you are an admirer of the fine arts as well and wish to have a look? Julian must have told you how tedious it was to pose for six days straight. But he did such a good job,” she finished dreamily.

Geralt looked at Jaskier and registered a slight blush creeping up his neck and with a wicked grin said, “I do indeed enjoy the finer arts. Let’s have a look at this painting of our Julian.”

The countess linked her arm with Geralt and steered him toward a stairwell with Jaskier in tow. They entered a light filled room and Geralt had to stifle a laugh as he saw the huge painting, higher than he was tall and wider than two times his length. Depicted in the enormous painting was Jaskier. Completely naked. Sprawled on a thick red carpet, propped up on one elbow, being fed grapes by a naked lady, probably the Countess herself. Geralt turned to Jaskier with a huge grin, seeing countless emotions battle on the handsome face, ranging from embarrassment, to appreciation and even pride.

“That is,” the bard began, but had to cough to steady his voice, “larger than I expected.”

And after a moment to Geralt he said, “the painter just did sketches when I was here.”

Geralt still grinned like a lunatic and turned to the Countess, “will you show the painting to the other guests?”

Jaskier seemed to have overcome the first wave of embarrassment and took a closer look at the artwork, starting to discuss details with the Countess and Geralt found himself also staring at the canvass. The larger than life painted bard looked relaxed and the colour of his skin almost seemed to have a golden glow. The muscled biceps were as accurately depicted as the brown hair dusting his chest. And even though it was a painting, created to be looked at, he was not sure if he should be studying the lower part of the bard’s body that closely. As he felt a blush creeping up his ears, he turned around and fled the room back to the party in search of a glass of wine. Or better a whole bottle.

Read my (slightly) longer fics on ao3

#ask #anon #thank you #it was so much fin #the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #they are both idiots and I love it #Geralt loves the naked Jaskier art and definitely wants his own #EllieStormfound #Jaskier is a nude model and Geralt accidentally finds out #Anonymous

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ficsandcatsandficsandcats · 5 years ago

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YAY TH! 💛i was thinking plus size reader travels with Jaskier &Geralt, she's good friends with both but has always been in love with Jaskier She has notebooks she draws in & is so careful to never draw all of jaskier ON one page She's got pages of eyes, hands, chest, neck, hair, all the little parts of him she loves But she thinks he could never love her cuz she's not the typical kind of girl he goes with One day he finds her notebook he knows he shouldn't look she always swats him away 1/2

But he cant help it. He’s so curious and at first he doesn’t realize who it is, just thinks the art is beautiful. And then on the last page there’s an incredibly detailed drawing of a feild of buttercup flowers, maybe with Jaskier in the middle playing his lute in the sun. he talks to her carefully about it. Cuz she’s shy but she usually tells him everything, and he loves her too he just never wanted to make her uncomfortable. Then love confessions! Woo! THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!! (2/2)

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Jaskier x ReaderWord Count: 1,836Rating: GTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock @magic-multicolored-miracle a/n: This was a really interesting challenge for me. I’ve been plus size my entire life and I don’t think I’ve ever once written a character who looked like me. Writing this was really eye-opening for me and made me really think about how to portray a plus size character in a way that was positive while still acknowledging the very real insecurities and struggles. I hope this is ok and what you were looking for and thank you for the prompt!

Being Jaskier’s best friend was glorious.

He always got invited to the best parties and insisted on bringing you along. He knew the best tailors who made you dresses that flowed perfectly with your body. Growing up you’d been forced into clothes that were the same cut and shape as others around you, just larger, which somehow left you feeling both swamped and pinched by the fabric as it tried to force your body into a shape it simply wasn’t. But the tailors Jaskier took you to fit wonderfully and if they ever rankled at or felt challenged by your size you never knew because Jaskier would have slain them where they stood if they even breathed a word to that effect. Jaskier was fun and affectionate but also fiercely protective in a way that made you feel cared for even if it did sometimes make your heart ache a little. When he turned away the men who came to ask you to dance or tried to pursue you he always declared it was because he knew their “reputation” and they “weren’t good enough for you” but a small part of you – well, alright, a very significant part of you – wished he were doing it because he wanted you all for himself.

He called you his muse though creative partner was a more fitting title. Being a ‘muse’ implied you just sat there and looked stunning and words flowed through the artist. In truth the pair of you talked through his song dilemmas. You challenged near rhymes and even though he put up a fuss in the moment, later on he would always thank you and give credit to you for helping him ensure a song flowed perfectly. In turn you would work on your drawing as he composed. You’d catch him sneaking a glance every now and then and you always swatted him away, but you’d been extra careful to ensure that even if he did look he wouldn’t realize what you were doing. Only one picture, drawn up after an especially beautiful day where he’d taken you to a field of buttercups, woven you a crown and declared you Queen of Springtime, exposed your deep secret. But he would never see it because you were too careful about keeping it close and he did respect your privacy after all

—–

Jaskier knew he shouldn’t do it.

You always kept your notebook on you and when you saw him try to take peeks you swatted him away. He knew it was private and important to you. So much so that he almost became jealous of the damn thing. When would you gaze at him the same adoring way you gazed at whatever you drew? His heart churned with jealousy at the thought that you were drawing someone. Some man he hadn’t been quick enough to push away. He felt a tinge of guilt at that, knowing it wasn’t fair to keep you from finding a partner when he was too afraid to make his intentions known. But he would tell you one day. As soon as he got any sort of sign that the feelings would be reciprocated. Or, if he knew you were interested in someone else, he was gracefully bow out and never tell you. And perhaps his answer was waiting in that notebook. And perhaps that was reason enough.

As he flipped through the pages he admired your great talent. The craftwork in drawing the hands, long-fingered and held in different poses. Some were positioned as though it was holding an invisible instrument while others were gestured openly or clasped together. Some hair that swooped to an angle, thick and fluffy in some though she’d also taken the challenge of drawing it wet, dripping down the neck into the collar of an undershirt. Then there were drawings of eyes. Though no color was etched into them the eyes were gorgeous. Light and filled with a light that nearly gleamed off the page. A thick neck, craning at an angle that attached to just the barest edge of a strong jaw. A picture of someone that only showed the collar bones down to the waist, an undershirt left open long enough to show an etching of thick, dark chest hair. He flipped through the photos feeling an odd sense of familiarity but mostly immense pride, already trying to figure out how to tell her that she must begin selling her art or at the very least not hide it away from the world any longer.

And then he flipped to the last page.

He almost missed it, skimming fast as the pages grew blank, but he saw a touch of color. He remembered the day he’d gifted you the colored pencils. Your face had lit up and you’d thrown your arms around him, pressing your soft, warm body against his and he’d taken the chance to hold you close for longer than your usual hugs, relishing the feeling of having you in his arms. That was the end of a perfect day. A day he’d almost told you, as he looked into your eyes, farmed by a crown of buttercups. He’d almost told you that even surrounded by the gorgeous blooms, you were the fairest thing by far. But his courage had failed him and so instead he’d found you the pencils, a technicolor declaration of love he worried he would never put into words. He’d wondered if you even used them since every drawing was in the same grey and white but there it was. A picture filled with color. And himself.

He sat cross-legged in the center of a wide expanse of buttercups, lute in hand. The same hands, he realized now, that he’d seen earlier in the notebook. The hands that held the book, trembling slightly as his heart swelled and took in the picture. You’d lovingly sketched every detail of his outfit from the cerulean of his doublet to the off-cream of his undershirt. His hair fell over his face slightly though did not obscure the brilliant blue eyes that gazed at the viewer of the photo much the same way he imagined he must be looking at it right now. His mouth was drawn open mid-song and he could even tell what lyric was passing through his lips. Your talent was truly spectacular. And you loved him. And he wouldn’t waste anymore time.

—–

When you returned from the market you were frazzled. You’d left your notebook behind and that was too dangerous. You’d practically run all the way back, arriving to camp winded and red faced. So much so that Geralt drew his sword, certain you were being pursued, and you had to convince him through gasps that everything was fine. And then you saw Jaskier walk into view, holding the notebook. Your heart sank and when Jaskier saw you he froze. He looked a little guilty but there was more there as well. You couldn’t place it, too anxious about your secret finally getting out. As he walked over to you, you began to try and form a lie that would cover it up and let things stay the way they were before.

“Geralt can we have a moment?” Jaskier asked once he reached you. Geralt opened his mouth to say something but Roach nickered and he sighed heavily and stood up, taking her reins and walking away without another word to either of you. Your heart pounded in your chest and you looked down at the notebook still in Jaskier’s hands.

“Y/N, I should apologize-”

“It’s fine just give it back,” you said quickly, reaching for the notebook but he pulled it away too fast.

“I should apologize, but I’m not going to,” he finished. Your eyes widened slightly and he held up a hand to staunch the angry tirade he could see welling up.

“Y/N, you’re amazing,” he said a little breathlessly, “Your art, your talent, it’s… it’s just beyond compare. I understand what it means, how important one’s creative works are and how personal, but please at least assure me that you aren’t hiding it away out of some misplaced sense of insecurity. Because you have nothing to feel insecure about, Y/N. Nothing.”

You fought back the tears that the words, hitting so close to so many parts of yourself you had never even told him about, brought to your eyes.

“Jaskier, how much did you see?” you asked, your eyes falling to the notebook.

“Everything,” he said, “I saw everything.”

“Fuck…”

“Y/N,” he tilted your chin up gently with one hand, raising your eyes to meet his. “I love you.”

“I know you do, Jaskier, we’re very good friends-”

“Y/N,” he said, cutting you off and gently resting the notebook on the ground so he could take your face in both of his hands as he stared into your eyes with his, brilliant blue and full of emotion, “I love you.”

The words resonated and even you couldn’t deny what he was saying. He wasn’t looking at you like a friend or a brother or anything but a man who was deeply in love and trying desperately to communicate it to the person he loved.

“But…” you began, and then bit your lip as you worried how to phrase it.

“What?” he asked, tenderly brushing away a tear.

“I’m not… you usually… I’ve… I’ve seen the women you’re with,” you began.

He nodded and waiting for you to continue.

“They are all very lovely and all very similarly bodied. That is, they’re, well, oh for god’s sake – they’re thin, Jaskier. You’re always surrounded by lovely, slender ladies and I am-”

“Lovely,” he finished the sentence for you.

“And plump,” you said pointedly.

“And plump,” he echoed, “Lovely and plump and talented and caring.”

“I just don’t want you to love me in spite of it,” you said, an old wound aching at the thought that he was listing the things that made your body an acceptable compromise.

He frowned and then before you could try and explain further he pulled you in for a kiss, his lips soft and warm against yours. His arms surrounded you and you pressed closer into the kiss. He pulled back and began to pepper your jaw with kisses, moving down to the slope of flesh beneath your chin and back up to your lips.

“I don’t love you in spite of anything. I love you for everything that you are, no exceptions, no alterations. Every inch, every ounce, every day. If you’ll have me,” he said, realizing you hadn’t actually said the words to him yet. You smiled and felt a weight you hadn’t realized you’d been carrying begin to lift off your heart.

“I love you,” you said. Jaskier’s face broke into a smile you knew you would never capture on paper but would spend the rest of your life trying to recreate.

Being Jaskier’s best friend was glorious.

Because Jaskier’s beloved is beyond words.

#disasterjaskier #jaskier x reader #jaskier x plus size reader #jaskier imagines #reader request

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