#this is the same man that taunts him and parades his higher pride in front of him too yes

[sculptambitio]

@hiemore replied ; gripping him this is the man esra wanted to throw hands with ?? are u kidding me NDJSKFK

ㅤThis IS in fact the man Esra wanted to throw hands with (as well as the same man that wanted to slit his throat back in exchange)

[camoolla]

The world has their Jaskier, and Geralt has his. 

The soft-spoken poet capable of wrenching lyrics, raw gospels from the very heart of humanity, lute strung across his shoulders like that of Excalibur, the once and future herald of a new generation of musical genius has once again bestowed his wisdom upon the world.

Disciples, who dub themselves the ‘Florets’, continue to sing his praises up and down the country as Julian ‘Jaskier’ Pankratz, known by his stage name Dandelion, has released his latest album Garrotter to the public this month. Comfortably sitting on its rightful throne at the #1 spot on the Official Global Charts for the fourth week in a row, the round table has grown a head to which Jaskier has conquered and is settled to stay for a decidedly long reign.

We fans can only speculate on how this titan of the music industry is spending his amply earned morning. Tapping his foot to the beat of our collective hearts? Strumming the chords to the melody of our souls? Penning the words to the anthem of the generation? Does everything this man touch turn to such benevolent artistry- 

“Oh fuck,” 

Geralt looked over the top of his phone. 

“I put salt in the coffee again.”

The once and future herald of a new generation of musical genius indeed. 

The titan of the music industry pouted as he poured out two mugs of steaming, salty coffee. He turned back to the maker, pressing a few of the various buttons on the over-expensive machine; it buzzed suddenly to life and he jumped. Geralt looked back down at the article. The corners of his mouth twitched. 

He scrolled through many more paragraphs worshipping and deifying the man currently humming and tapping his fingers against the counter to the beat of Cotton Eyed Joe until he paused at an embedded photo. It was the one from Oxenfurt Pride two years ago - a picture that currently sat on the Instagram jaskierxo at a steady 1.2 million likes, but also tucked into a not-so-secret photo album labelled Jask. 

He was mid-set, his hair slightly sweaty so it was perfectly askew, tumbling over his forehead, the dark locks glittering with tiny artificial jewels. His mouth was open in a grin as he sang his heart out. Glitter swiped across his cheekbones in pink, purple, and blue - the blue the same startling hue of that of his eyes, shining and shimmering in the sunlight staring out in awe and joy at the crowd shouting his own lyrics back to him. The stage light behind him was a deep yellow, bouncing off the golden trimmings of his shirt, the hues in his hair, and the light illuminated him, circled, haloed, around his head. He was heavenly. He was beautiful. He was wearing Geralt's dirty hoodie. 

Too large and too dark on him, shoulders drooped over his, the sleeves reaching past his hands. What he matched Geralt in height he lacked in girth meaning all Geralt's clothes swallowed him a bit. Geralt adored it. He watched Jaskier push the stubborn sleeves back up his arm to free his hands for stirring. He hummed as he took a sip.

"Almost forgot how good coffee tastes without salt." Jaskier picked up both mugs and made his way over to Geralt at the table. Geralt hummed, reaching out for his. 

"How can you mess up the only two steps you have to do?" He mused as he took a long gulp of the hot, bitter liquid. Jaskier huffed and then suddenly Geralt had a lapful of still sleep-soft and second-hand sweat-smelling bard. He steadied an arm around him, forgoing his phone for a warm handful of his own hoodie on Jaskier's stomach. 

"Three! I have to put the mug underneath it too." He tilted his head to lean against Geralt's head, cradling the mug between his hands. 

"How gruelling." He chuckled and moved his mug of out Jaskier's reach as he lunged for it. 

"Mean people don't get coffee from their lovely husbands! I lied; there are four steps, but I shielded you from the actual most arduous ingredient: love! I have to scrounge every morning to summon the barest sprinkle for you, and this is how you betray me?" Geralt laughed, kissing away the playful crease between his bard's eyebrows and the downturn of his mouth. He tasted like coffee, milk, sugar and... yes, a bit of salt. 

"You taste of salt." 

"That's just from talking to you," Jaskier placed down his mug and noticed Geralt's phone still lit on the table. He picked it up, catching his name in the lines of text, "What are you reading?" 

Geralt quickly plucked his phone from his hands, "An article Yen sent me." 

"I saw my name." 

"It is... about you." 

"Can I read it then?" 

"No." 

"What why?" 

"She said you're not allowed." 

"What does it say about me?" 

"It's... mean?" 

"Mean?" 

"Yes." 

"Geralt, dear, I've read mean things about me before. I'm a big boy I can handle it." 

"It’s... really mean?" 

"...Are you lying?" 

"...Yes." 

"Give me the phone!" He laughed and moved abruptly, forcing Geralt to sweep his arm of hot coffee out of harm's way, but in doing so, left the side with the pocket his phone was stashed in open. Jaskier's nimble hand wriggled and brought it out, unlocking it and scrolling. He blinked as he began to read, lips parting and then curling minutely, "Oh." 

"Yen said your head was big enough already." Jaskier’s grin widened bit by bit as he read each paragraph, the gleam in his eye the exact one Yennefer had warned Geralt against. 

"Not remotely big enough as by evidence of this spectacular article! In comparison to the scripture of this journalist, my head is microscopic! I'm practically a monk with all this modesty! I better buy some extra-extra-large hats, my dear, because I have some major cranial engorgement to do!” He trilled, squirming in Geralt's lap to evade his hands. Geralt jabbed him in the side and Jaskier relinquished, Geralt snatching the phone from his nimble fingers. 

”I think you've read enough.” Jaskier pouted, and in punishment shuffled off Geralt to perch on the table, which in hindsight was more punishment to himself really by how Geralt's warm hand didn't move from his thigh. But he stood his ground. Or sat it, he supposed.

Geralt's phone buzzed, officially breaking up their playful moment, and Jaskier sighed, taking a long swig of his coffee as if in preparation, "What toil does Yennefer have for me to do today?" Geralt pulled up their shared calendar, looking for the dreaded yellow dot on the day. There wasn't one. He smiled. 

"Nothing." 

Jaskier whipped up from his cup and tilted Geralt's phone to see - oh to see, miraculously, incredibly, unbelievably - a white square without a trace of yellow, "Nothing?" 

"Hm." And Jaskier had never heard a hum so pleased. His shoulders slumped with relief, and, placing his mug down, he carded a hand through his hair ruffling it back out his face. Today was a day of possibilities. He probably should, and Yennefer would agree, work on the few very early drafts of his next album, he was still struggling to find a rhyme for amber-eyed after all, or, even just as the bare minimum, interact with some fans. But it seemed Geralt had made the decision for him as he reached over to place his mug next to his. 

Two large hands engulfed his thighs and with a tug, pulled him down to fall on Geralt's lap, pulling and pulling until his knees bracketed his hips and his nose bumped his. But Geralt leaned down and to the right instead, his mouth sliding around the curve of his jaw. Jaskier exhaled softly, his arms gliding over his shoulders automatically, and he smiled, "No responsibilities," 

Geralt moved his mouth further down his neck, "No photoshoots," 

behind his ear, "No interviews," 

over his pulse point, "No taunting evil little yellow dot." 

"We'll have to be quick," Geralt rumbled, unwillingly to pull back from Jaskier’s throat to make the words clear, “Ciri’s coming for lunch.” 

Jaskier squirmed, and his patience snapped as he fisted his hands into Geralt's hair to bring their mouths together as he rolled his hips, delighted to find that the fabric of Geralt’s sweat pants were thinner and more revealing than he thought. Geralt groaned, circling his hands to keep the pressure against him hot and taut - Jaskier’s restlessness as he constantly shifted, twisting, rising higher to claim Geralt’s mouth at newer angles, creating gorgeous bursts of friction. Jaskier keened as he squeezed his handful and Geralt bit desperately at Jaskiers lip at the flare of hot pain. He pulled back for a brief gulp of air. 

“Plenty of time,” Jaskier smirked down at him, his mouth sinfully red and curved. Geralt briefly grinned wolfishly and with a swift movement that had Jaskier's heart dropping into his stomach and thighs tightening their grip, stood the both of them up with Jaskier lined particularly up where he needed him most. 

"Back to bed." Geralt muttered before licking back into his mouth with distinct possessiveness. With a muffled moan, Jaskier agreed.  

The phone laid abandoned on the floor, knocked by Jaskier's hip, and the ignored even when notifications flooded the screen. JaskierStan999, jaskiersbrokenlutestring, jasss_bitch, and hundred of others were commenting and tagging the article Yennefer had taken the liberty in warning the two of them about. Is he even real??, have y'all seen the fucking photo renaissance painters are quaking!!, jaskier is my god and i pray by being gay bitch!!, can you believe this man walks around and breathes and eats like we don't know he's an immortal nymph; reverence in all varieties swamped their feed, liking and praising and loving and worshipping the image Jaskier had created. 

But what nobody saw, what nobody would ever be allowed to see (sans a curious Jaskier who upon finding, smiles wetly with a silent promise of secrecy and a whispered, “Fucking sap.”) is the photo found if one were to scroll to the very first photo in the album Nudes (Fuck Off). Taken off-stage, the two of them blended into the crowd, two faces into a parade of thousands. A front camera photo, an accident, an overlooked distraction from a planned photo snapped, a moment of time caught and treasured. Geralt has been positioned to press a kiss to Jaskier’s cheek, but, having turned suddenly to check the timer, instead had glitter smudged across his nose. Jaskier had exploded, forgetting the camera to press his forehead to Geralt’s as he leaned into his laughter. Geralt grinned back, full and fond, eyes magnetised to the scrunch of his nose, the pink blush beneath the glitter, the brilliant blue of his eyes. The two of them shimmered in the sunlight, basking in one another’s glow. 

The world had their Jaskier, and Geralt had his.