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tickle-bugs · 4 years ago

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Cut From Marble

Summary: Jaskier knows almost nothing about his scary monster-slaying companion, and he’s determined to change that.

This is so self-indulgent but I loved the Witcher games and when the show came out I fell back into it so hard. Have a few tropes that make me soft all stacked up in a trenchcoat, pretending to be a fic. I’m still working on getting Jaskier and Geralt’s voice right (trying to blend game!Geralt into show Geralt just a little bit). If you have any (constructive) criticism or feedback I’d appreciate it :D

Enjoy <3

Geralt of Rivia was, without a doubt, the best thing that had happened to Jaskier since he slept with a foreign queen and got to sing a song about it. Granted, her guards chased him out of her lands and forbade him from returning, but it still happened and no one could take that from him.

Geralt though, he was...interesting. Jaskier had met every kind of man that the Continent had to offer, but never one like him. Quiet by choice and deadly by nature. He was a myth in the flesh. Jaskier had already written a song for Geralt yet he felt compelled to write more.

“Are you a siren?”

“What?”

“Nevermind.”

They’d stopped at a rather nice inn for a well-deserved hot meal. This was the third inn they’d stopped at since dawn that morning because Geralt was being a little particular about their lodgings. He’d said the innkeeper at The Weeping Wench was a prick, and simply grunted at the Grey Lion Inn, so Jaskier and his aching feet were really hoping that The Sweet Crow would be their final stop.

“Is this establishment to your standards, Your Grace?” Jaskier curtsied. A few heads turned at the title, but quickly looked away upon seeing Geralt’s glaring face.

“Shut up.” He sat at the nearest table and a young blonde ran up to them, eager for their orders. As soon as Geralt growled his answer, she ran off to pass it on.

In all fairness, Geralt was right. The innkeeper of The Weeping Wench tried to stab Jaskier as he left (Geralt broke his hand faster than anything Jaskier had ever seen) and The Grey Lion was infested with criminals and killer rats, or so Jaskier heard from one of the prostitutes in that village. It wasn’t that he was ungrateful, he simply loved annoying Geralt.

“So, my grumpy companion, what’s next for us?” Jaskier leaned back to give their waitress room to put down their bowls of stew.

“There’s a dire wolf killing sheep in a farmer’s village nearby.”

“That is what predators do. They hunt. Isn’t there anything more...exciting?” Jaskier huffed, fiddling with his fingers.

“The farmers say it’s the size of a bear.” Geralt took a long sip of his ale.

“Buried the lead there, didn’t you? That is exciting.” Jaskier rolled his eyes before waving at their waitress.

“Sweetheart!” Jaskier called, and the blonde came quickly back to their table.

“What’s your name?”

“Miriam, sir.”

“Miriam, I would be ever so grateful if you could give us your two finest rooms,” Jaskier said, taking a large spoonful of stew. The moan that came out of his mouth sent color rushing to Miriam’s cheeks. Geralt kicked him under the table.

“What? It’s good!” He ate another spoonful, quietly this time. Miriam looked at Geralt nervously for a moment.

“I would love to give you both rooms, but–”

“Love, I have been on the road for ages. My legs ache and if my ass doesn’t touch a bed in the next hour, it might just fall off. If you’re worried about Giggles over here, he won’t be a problem.” Jaskier gestured at Geralt and he attempted a smile. It was more of a grimace than anything. Jaskier gently pulled Miriam closer.

“Consider this extra persuasion,” he whispered with a wink, placing a handful of coins into her hands. Miriam ran off, looking over her shoulder to smile before disappearing upstairs.

“This dire wolf problem sounds interesting. Are you going to keep it as a pet?”

“What?” Geralt fixed him with one of his patented no-nonsense stares.

“Wolves are just bigger, wilder dogs. I’m sure you could tame one. Name it Fluffy or something.” Jaskier folded his hands and rested his chin on them.

“There’s a world of a difference between wolves and dogs. Dogs bark, wolves bite.” He punctuated his sentence with a long sip.

“Killing it seems a bit cruel, don’t you think?” Jaskier dragged a finger across the table, running over a split in the wood that looked unmistakably like a gash from a dagger.

“It’d be crueler to let the villagers go after it and die trying.” Geralt finished his ale and started working at the stew, clearly satisfied by the taste. Jaskier smiled.

“Told you it was good.”

“Shut up.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“You should have let her speak.”

Geralt and Jaskier stood in their room (singular) staring at their bed (also singular). The room was lovely, for all it was worth. Jaskier wanted to jump into the large bed with its red woven blankets just as much as he wanted to jump into the steaming wooden tub in the corner.

“Miriam!”

“Yes?” Miriam poked her head into the room before entering.

“What exactly do you think Geralt and I are?”

“Companions, sir.”

“In the carnal sense? There’s only one bed.”

“This is the only room we had left. I tried to tell you earlier,” she said with a shrug, then disappeared down the hall. Jaskier sighed and shook his head.

“Fate, you are a cruel and mischievous mistress,” he murmured, and gently shut the door. This was going to be a long night.

Almost an hour later, they’d reached some sort of peace. Jaskier was lounging on the bed, skimming a book given to him by a scholar he’d met on his travels—though currently he wasn’t so much reading as he was staring at Geralt.

The Witcher had let Jaskier bathe first, leaving the tub for himself. His eyes were closed and his head rested against the edge of the wooden basin. His lips were slightly parted and his loose hair was occasionally disturbed by his steady breaths. He looked at peace, which was unexpected but certainly welcomed. Jaskier didn’t know his face could do that. Then again, he realized, there was a lot he didn’t know.

What better to do than make a list?

Fact #1 about Geralt: he loved lavender. He apparently was partial to other scents, but Jaskier had never seen him so calm. The entire room smelled of lavender and chamomile thanks to the various salts he’d thrown in the bath. Jaskier had been convinced that Geralt didn’t know what he was doing, that he was simply tossing in random oils and salts after a sniff and a grunt of approval. But now, after the scents had had time to strengthen, Jaskier considered himself wrong. He’d been doing that more and more recently.

Fact #2 about Geralt: he had little to no regard for his own life. The scars on the Witcher’s body had sent shivers down Jaskier’s spine—not out of disgust, but out of sheer curiosity. How could someone come so close to death again and again only to be left with the physical reminders? Did they hurt? Or had he been sliced so much that he simply stopped feeling it?

“You’re staring,” Geralt hummed, his eyes fluttering open. He shifted a bit in the bath to better see the bard.

“I’m just thinking.”

“About?”

“I know almost nothing about you.”

“And this bothers you?”

“You’ve saved my life, can’t I know a little about yours?”

Geralt was silent for a long moment.

“What do you want to know?” He murmured, not accusatory, but carefully neutral. Jaskier knew the topic was touchy—he could see it in the way that Geralt’s shoulders tensed and the way his spine straightened—but he had to know more.

If only he knew what to ask. It was like asking a god about their escapades—you’d die long before they were able to recount the first fraction of their life. Further still, the likelihood of Geralt actually sharing a story without shutting down was very slim. Jaskier didn’t have much to work with, but he was determined to try.

“You’re not a very good conversationalist. Ironic, considering how much you talk,” Geralt chuckled, rising from the tub. Jaskier nearly stopped breathing.

In the same way that stone could be carved into softness, Geralt’s battle-worn form was the perfect illusion. His muscles were taught, immovable, yet his skin was soft, supple. He was a dancer in Death’s concerto—always tense, waiting for the next strike to further a performance with no end in sight. On the days when it got exhausting, Geralt was more human than ever.

No mutation could erase the tiredness in his eyes or the way he stared longingly at the horizon, watching the setting sun as if he wanted to push it back up into the sky.

Jaskier purposefully avoided his eyes while Geralt took his sweet time toweling off and getting dressed. He bothered to tug on his pants before drifting over to the bed and flopping down on his bare back, eyes once again fluttering shut. His sigh was almost palpable.

“Your scars,” Jaskier said finally, “do they bother you?”

“They’re a part of me now. I don’t give them much thought.”

“You should!” Jaskier said with a little too much force. Geralt fixed him with a strange look.

“There’s an entire story etched there, into your skin. Every battle and encounter is another thread in the tapestry that is you. It’s exquisite. May I?” Jaskier’s fingers hovered over Geralt’s chest. Geralt grunted, which Jaskier understood to mean yes. He gently traced over a large raised scar.

“Pitchfork,” Geralt rumbled, and Jaskier whistled lowly.

“How’d that happen?”

“Riot in Rivia.”

Fact #3: Geralt was timeless. He’d done so much in his lifetime that he’d give even the most devoted historian a run for his money. Jaskier wondered if anyone had tried to catalogue the Complete Chronicles of the White Wolf. Maybe he would be the one to try.

“And this one?” Jaskier pressed on a hellish claw mark across Geralt’s stomach, near his side. Geralt flinched, grabbing the bard’s hand with impossible reflex.

“A nekker. That’s enough for tonight.” Geralt began to rise, and Jaskier was still trying to piece together exactly what had happened, because things had become so fragile in a matter of mere seconds. He could sense that a good thing was coming to an end but he wasn’t quite ready to surrender the moment.

Had that been a smile upon the witcher’s face?

“Wait,” Jaskier said quickly, stalling like a man on the executioner’s block, “Your hair. You can’t possibly go to sleep with it looking like that.”

Geralt ran a hand through his hair which was loose from the bath. He looked equally startled and self-conscious, and while Jaskier wanted to comment on how adorable it was, he opted to live another day.

“What’s wrong with it? I don’t have time to preen like you.”

“I’m going to ignore that and do something nice for you. Sit.” Jaskier rustled in the bedside table for a comb and brush, then slid to sit behind Geralt on the bed.

“If I touch your hair, are you going to throw me?”

“Maybe,” Geralt replied, and Jaskier had come to recognize Geralt’s smirks by sound alone.

“There is some mischief in you after all. I may corrupt you yet.” Jaskier ran his fingers through Geralt’s hair, pulling the soft mane into sections and gently dragging the comb through.

“I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting. If this is the path I must trudge, I welcome my sentence, give to you my penance, Garrotter, jury and judge,” Jaskier sang quietly, brushing and combing as he went. At one point, his hand brushed against Geralt’s neck in an attempt to grasp some stubborn baby hairs, and the witcher nearly leapt into the air. It was at that moment that everything clicked.

Fact #4: Somehow, Geralt was ticklish. It shouldn’t be possible, with how the legends and even Geralt himself described his kind, but it was happening. An untameable mischief rose in Jaskier’s soul and for the life of him, he couldn’t keep the smile off of his face.

“I’m nearly done,” Jaskier said, keeping his voice purposefully even, “I just missed a spot right here-”

And then, Jaskier flew. Geralt grabbed Jaskier’s hand and threw both of them to the side, landing upon a very disoriented bard with catlike agility.

“I thought we agreed not to throw me?” Jaskier huffed, not entirely upset that Geralt was on top of him. He was upset, however, that his nice brush work had gone out the window.

“I said maybe. Maybe I wouldn’t throw you. What were you plotting?” Geralt raised an elegant eyebrow.

“Nothing,” Jaskier said, far too quick to be convincing. Geralt simply stared, his silver hair hanging down and brushing Jaskier’s pinkening cheeks.

“Please, either come closer or get off of me. You’re quite heavy and this is getting less fun by the second.” Jaskier gently shoved at Geralt’s shoulders, refusing to meet the Witcher’s eyes. Sure, they’d flirted back and forth—at least, Jaskier had flirted. With Geralt, it was a little harder to tell. This was different, though. This intentional closeness was fragile and Jaskier was finding it harder to breathe. Especially when he could see the faint freckles on Geralt’s cheeks.

“You’re a horrible liar.”

“I disagree. I’m widely known for my way with words-” Jaskier was cut off by his own squeak as Geralt poked his stomach.

“You say so much-”

“Geralt, no. I will never lend you another bath salt-”

“But your body quickly betrays you,” Geralt finished, dragging one finger down Jaskier’s stomach. A single giggle slipped from the bard’s mouth.

“Fine, I’m ticklish. Proud of yourself? I’m not the only one, though, am I?” Jaskier pushed himself up on his elbows, raising an eyebrow. It took Geralt a moment to catch his meaning.

“I’m not, if that’s what you’re implying.” Geralt leaned back, still pinning Jaskier to the mattress.

“Now who’s the horrible liar?” Jaskier sat up, leaning his back against the headboard. Geralt sat on his thighs like a bag of bricks, but Jaskier didn’t mind. He was having far too much fun trying to poke Geralt, who had suddenly become very defensive. Every time a hand reached for his sides or his neck, he batted it away.

“If you’re not ticklish, why are you so adamant on fighting me? Would it not be easier to let me poke you and prove your point?” Jaskier smirked when Geralt caught both of his wrists.

“Jaskier-”

“The tables have turned, Witcher,” Jaskier whispered in Geralt’s ear, his hands finally nestling into Geralt’s sides. In hindsight, Geralt probably let it happen, but the moment was far too sweet for Jaskier to care.

“This is honestly adorable.” Jaskier tweaked Geralt’s nose and snickered at the scandalized expression on his face.

“Shut up,” Geralt grumbled, followed by a few low, humming chuckles as Jaskier’s fingers skated up to his ribs. He really should have put on a shirt.

“I wish that you weren’t so afraid to laugh,” Jaskier sighed, pressing his fingers in a little more. A startled giggle—an actual, honest giggle—fell from Geralt’s lips and he squirmed a bit, nose crinkled, as he fought to keep his arms pressed to his sides.

“And, there it is!” Jaskier beamed, tickling as much as Geralt’s stubborn arms would allow. All it took was a quick vibration of his fingers and the dam broke.

Geralt’s laugh would be the death of him. It was so clear and gentle, as if he were afraid to let the sound pierce the air. It had such a genuine sweetness to it, like the pureness of a summer wine. Jaskier, a man intimately acquainted with vices, could sense the coming of a new (and thankfully, harmless) addiction.

“I didn’t peg you for the ticklish type—or the giggling type, for that matter—but I am not at all disappointed.” With some difficulty, Jaskier wrenched his hand out from under Geralt’s arm and wiggled fingers into his stomach, chuckling when Geralt let out some sort of strangled yelp. He growled at Jaskier’s comment but laughter followed the sound out.

“I know, I shouldn’t tease. You are a wonder, Geralt.” Jaskier’s sincerity slipped past before he could reign it in, but in all fairness, how else could he respond? Geralt was beautiful, inside and out, scars and all, and Jaskier’s heart was so full that he could only smile as he unraveled his companion’s prickly composure.

His heart made the mistake of muddying his brain, though, because Jaskier found himself being yanked down the mattress by his ankle before he could do anything about it. His back slid down the headboard and his head hit the pillow with a whump, and when he looked up at Geralt, he found himself a little out of breath.

“Would you have mercy on your very best friend? Your beloved companion, who braved the beasts of the Continent just to walk by your side?” Jaskier raised his hands, trying to block Geralt’s fingers, which were already wiggling and diving towards his stomach without preamble.

“I would, if he hadn’t been so bold just a few moments ago.”

“So you admit it, then? You love me!” Little giggles punctuated the bard’s words as he squirmed and dodged Geralt’s fingers.

“I tolerate you. Barely.” Geralt said, amusement coloring his words, and he grabbed Jaskier by the sides and squeezed. Jaskier cackled, shoving desperately at Geralt’s chest while he kicked and flailed. Geralt’s fingers prodded and skittered over every inch of his torso, more exploratory than cruel, but he was so damn sensitive that every touch brought waves of contagious, musical laughter. At a particularly jolting pinch to the ribs, followed by more infuriating pinches, Jaskier started kneeing Geralt in the back. It was unintentional, but he’d lost all hope of controlling his limbs the second had Geralt got a hold of him.

Geralt reached behind him, grabbing firm hold of Jaskier’s leg to remove it from his spine, and the desperate gurgle that he made startled a small chuckle out of Geralt.

Uh oh.

“Don’t you dare,” Jaskier pointed a shaking finger at Geralt’s chest, eyes squinted in mirth.

“Oh?” Geralt drew his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment, eyes absolutely glittering with mischief, and as much as Jaskier loved it, he couldn’t stand it at all.

“I take back every nice thing I have ever said about you! I am going to rewrite my songs about you into ballads about how you reek, you absolute-”

Geralt kept Jaskier’s leg in place with both hands, giving his thigh an experimental squeeze. The noise that left him was less of a laugh and more of a scream, his entire body twitching as he hid his face in his hands.

“This is quite the weakness you have.” Geralt wriggled his fingers into the muscle, jumping around to different spots on his thigh.

“Y-You—” A shriek tore out from Jaskier’s lips before he fell into wild, tumbling laughter and resigned himself to die. His voice so quickly plunged into hoarseness, then silence, and Geralt stopped as quickly as he’d started.

“If the people here thought we were together before, their beliefs were certainly just confirmed,” Jaskier murmured after a minute or so, finally regaining his voice.

“Hmm?” A request for clarification.

“I’m certain they could hear me screaming from here to Temeria.”

“It isn’t my fault you’re so loud.” A smirk tugged at Geralt’s lips and he pushed himself up on his elbow. Jaskier spluttered, his face blooming pink, then red, and he smacked Geralt’s shoulder.

“Careful now. I know your weakness.” Jaskier fluttered his fingers over Geralt’s bare stomach and he huffed a quiet laugh, turning his face away to hide his smile. His hair fell into his face, fluffed and disheveled, and Jaskier tucked some behind Geralt’s ear on instinct.

He didn’t expect the Witcher to catch his hand and press a kiss, timid and soft, to the heel of Jaskier’s palm. What else was there to do, then, besides thread his hands into Geralt’s hair and capture his lips with his own?

They pulled apart slowly, both still reveling in the warmth of company.

“While this development is incredibly exciting, I think I am going to pass out if this goes any further.” Jaskier grinned, poking the Witcher’s nose. Geralt rolled his eyes but didn’t move away, simply cradling Jaskier’s face with his hand.

“Goodnight.” He rumbled, slipping beneath the blanket. Geralt tugged Jaskier close before turning over, pulling the bard’s arm over his body and linking their pinkies together. Jaskier stifled a coo in the back of his throat.

“Sleep well, darling.” Jaskier murmured, pressing a tender kiss to the sculpted shoulder in front of him.

Fact #5: Geralt was a cuddler—and a snorer, for that matter—but Jaskier wouldn’t have him any other way.

#my fics #bug’s greatest hits #the witcher #geraskier #ticklish!geralt #ticklish!jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier the bard #this is so self indulgent #but im proud of it anyway :')

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dreamingwitcher · 1 year ago

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OHMYGODYES

Addendum: Geralt just comes back from a big hunt and decides to spend his spare money on a rainbow of colors in order to render the masterpiece properly. (And discovers he kinda likes painting!) Jaskier squirming and giggling cause the paintbrush tickles (real hair brushes on bare skin are sooooo ticklish)

Geralt painting landscapes to decorate the keep.

I think that AO3 needs to read this. Permission to play with the idea?

Imagine an alien sharing a cool human fact they just learned like ”hey guys did you know that the silvery markings on humans actually aren’t true stripes? They’re called stretch marks, they happen when the human is growing fast enough to actually outgrow their skin, which is apparently something that just fucking happens to almost all of them at some point of their life.”

and another one is like ”wait so you’re saying humans don’t have stripes.”

”actually they do, but the stripes are invisible. There’s genetic code that’d give them stripes but they’re just the same colour as the rest of the skin. So the visible stripes are not real stripes and the real stripes are invisible.”

”I swear if you tell me one more weird human thing today I’m beating your ass.”

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thorin-is-a-cuddler · 4 years ago

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Abs of chiseled marble

A/N: Jaskier has gotten it into his head to get in shape. Geralt isn’t totally convinced of Jaskier’s reasons. But he’s definitely very eager to help... with uncommon methods.

I just wanted Geralt and Jaskier to be soft together. So, have this Geraskier fanfic. :)

Geralt returned to their camp with freshly refilled water bottles, a bag filled with mushrooms and a big loaf of bread. Enough for him and Jaskier to make it through about two of the following days on the road.

They were travelling to a village that had experienced strange disappearances for a while now. There was a monster, there was a mayor, there was money and - how Jaskier liked to additionally point out - there were villagers who would sing the songs about Geralt of Rivia. His songs obviously.

Speaking of Jaskier, where was that trouble magnet anyway? Geralt petted Roach’s neck and attentively scanned the area of the forest where they had settled down for the night. There was no Jaskier in sight. The witcher furrowed his brows. He didn’t like the feeling of worry that immediately wrapped itself around his heart like a spiky string. He knew he shouldn’t let his idiot lover out of sight for too long. That man just couldn’t sit still for longer than five minutes, before he started following suspicious trails in the grass leading him to traps to step in, riversides to fall in or monsters to end up in... digested...

Sometimes Geralt couldn’t help but wonder whether Jaskier had an inner voice that kept telling him to do the worst possible thing in any situation just to keep his and Geralt’s relationship exciting. That really wasn’t necessary in Geralt’s opinion. He straightened his shoulders and looked over Roach’s back. “Jaskier?”

Carefully he listened for a response. But all he could make out was a strained voice that kept on counting. “Eleven, twelve, thirteen,...”

Humming to himself, Geralt walked past Roach and started following that voice which he slowly started to recognize as Jaskier’s. The relief he felt at that recognition made him roll his eyes at himself. Was he feeling a blush spread out on his pale skin? Jaskier was going to turn him soft.

After a few more steps Geralt stepped out onto a field. Grass and hills and the sky was all he could see for a few miles. The wind was audible in the trees and in the meadow, brushing through it like the hand of a lover. It was a very peaceful sight. A sight that could make even a witcher forget that there was bloodthirsty evil out there.

Jaskier was lying on his back in the grass to Geralt’s right, his eyes closed, his hands crossed on his stomach. He looked like a tender blue flower in the ocean of green. His hair appeared almost golden on the sunlit ground and his face, his neck, his hands, the bits of skin his blue gown wasn’t covering looked more vulnerable and beautiful to Geralt than they usually did. He lingered for a second and tried to convince himself that he was lurking and definitely not marveling, when he noticed that Jaskier started moving his head and back off the ground. He opened his eyes, put his hands to the back of his head and ... started doing crunches... ? Now Geralt saw that the pink of Jaskier’s face looked more a shade of red actually. “One, two, three-”

The bard saw him and a huge smile broke out on his face. Something in Geralt’s chest melted at that and slowly made its way down to his stomach. Huh. That whole love-thing tended to feel like he was getting sick. Or dying. Jaskier’s smile definitely brought that little blush back to Geralt’s cheeks.

The witcher rubbed his hand down his face, all in all just relieved that Jaskier hadn’t been digested by a monster and closed the distance between them with a few final steps. He put his hands on his hips and watched Jaskier do a few more of those crunches, before the bard let himself fall back into the grass with a load groan and an even darker shade of red to his cheek.

“What are you doing?” He asked when Jaskier had moved his head to look up at him with a beaming smile.

“I am getting in shape,” Jaskier responded cheerfully and patted his stomach. “This stomach will soon look like chiseled marble.”

That forced a smirk on Geralt’s face. He tilted his head to the side and blinked. His eyes were glowing with amusement. “Huh.”

Jaskier waved him off and put an expression of dramatic determination on his features. He looked almost solemnly.

“Now don’t say anything, Geralt, it is not necessary. I know this probably means a lot to you. So let me just conclude with: you are welcome.”

Softly Geralt chuckled at Jaskier’s already trembling form. Three crunches had managed to bring the sweat to his forehead, but he looked very determined not to give up anytime soon. Geralt knew that Jaskier could absolutely get himself into shape if he really set his mind to it. But the way he had talked about it made him wonder where that sudden urge to train himself had come from. The idea that Jaskier was doing it to please him didn’t appeal to Geralt at all.

Probably there was something he could do about that. Jaskier looked so soft and exposed in the grass that Geralt felt the unfamilar wish to attack him. Not in a way that he himself would attack a monster. He wanted Jaskier to be his prey in a completely different way. And he knew just what he could do to satisfy that wish for attack.

Smirking to himself he stepped closer to the bard and looked down at his small form on the ground. With a voice that could have given his sneaky plans away he asked: “You want me to show you a trick?”

Jaskier squinted his eyes at him and seemed to consider the offer for a second, before he apparently came to the conclusion that no mischief was in the making. He was wrong about that. Eagerly the bard nodded his head and looked up at his lover. The view from down there was pretty breathtaking.

Geralt nodded to himself and moved to stand above Jaskier, one foot on either side of his hips. “Okay.” He motioned for Jaskier to move his arms. “Hold your arms up over your head!”

“Over my head?”

“Mhmm.”

Jaskier rose an eyebrow, but slowly followed Geralt’s instructions, not noticing the smile that immediately appeared on Geralt’s features. “You mean like this?”

“Yes. Perfect!”

Before Jaskier could become too suspicious about the situation, Geralt quickly bent over and jammed his fingers into Jaskier’s now exposed armpits. The poor bard let out an impressive shriek at that sudden, mean attack and moved his arms down frantically to cover the ticklish upperbody he had just so openly offered up to Geralt’s evil hands.

“NOO!! G-GERALT!! AHHahahahHAHA!! YOU- YOU BASTARD!!! YOU-” The rest was lost to incoherent, chaotic laughter as Jaskier tried to curl into a little ball that could no longer be attacked by tickling hands of treacherous witchers.

Geralt smiled as he easily continued his tickle attack on the helplessly giggling, twitching bard, moving his hands down to his ribcage, to his sides and stomach and easily uncurling him out of his defensive poses with strong witcher hands.

“This is very good training for a toned stomach.” He casually mentioned while holding Jaskier down with one hand and squeezing all over his stomach with his claw-shaped other hand. The ticklish bard was wheezing with laughter, his hair falling into his eyes and his cheeks turning redder than they’d been before from his incessant giggling.

“STOP!! STOP!!! NO! STAHAHP!! Pleehehheease!! Geraahahalt!! You evil, horrendous SON OF A AHAHAHAHA!!” Jaskier almost doubled over with laughter when Geralt plopped down on his hips, pinning him to the meadow with his entire weight and started wiggling all ten of his fingers into the sides of his stomach, not at all impressed by Jaskier’s attempts to push his tickling hands away with his own. “AHAHAHA NOHOHO!! THIS IS NOHOHOT A FAIR FIIIHHIGHT!!!”

Geralt merely smirked to himself and squeezed Jaskier’s sides a little faster, making him shriek and hit at his arms more frantically than before. “Challenges make us grow.” He hummed in his calm, dark voice and roughly dug into his stomach again. “See? I can already feel the muscles come through.”

Jaskier threw his head back with laughter and uselessly tried to hold on to Geralt’s meciless fingers. “GERAHAHALT!!”

“If we do this daily from now on, you will soon have a very defined stomach. Let me look at our progress.”

Jaskier started squealing louder again as Geralt made to unbutton his shirt. “NO NO NONONONOO!! DOOHHON’T!!!”

Geralt couldn’t hold back a chuckle at that, easily holding Jaskier’s arms down with one hand while the other slipped underneath his white shirt and dug into the warm skin on his belly.

Jaskier’s laughter turned silent at that, his eyes squeezed shut and his laugh bright and wide on his face. He was shaking his head helplessly as Geralt continued the ticklish examination of his abs.

“Hmmmm. I don’t think we need anymore progress. This feels fine.”

Jaskier kicked out with the most adorable squeaky laughter when Geralt squeezed his way from one side of his stomach to the other, before he finally let go off his pinned arm and took away the tickling witcher hands.

Jaskier fell back into the grass with a loud sigh, before he moved up and hit Geralt against the chest, making the witcher chuckle gently. “You- you!! You are full of lies and deceit!!”

“Oh, am I?”

“You tricked me!! Into a full blown, merciless tickle attack!! That’s --- rude!!”

Geralt grinned as Jaskier tried to throw a few more punches against his chest, but was easily overwhelmed once more as Geralt grabbed his wrists and pinned them down next to his face. Jaskier squeaked, but calmed down when he saw Geralt’s smiling face so close to his own now.

“So, you won’t admit that you liked it, hmm?”

Jaskier opened his mouth in shock. “Admit that I liked getting tickled out of my freaking mind?”

“Mhmm.”

“You must be delusional.” He purred, but a grin was on his features.

“Not as much as you.” Geralt retorted, eyeing his stomach meaningfully.

That actually worked to make Jaskier shut up. Timidly he looked up into Geralt’s eyes and bit his bottom-lip. “So, you wouldn’t like me better with.. you know...”

“Abs of chiseled marble?” Geralt finished his question with a raised brow, making Jaskier laugh, embarrassment evident on his face.

“I would like you no matter what,” Geralt continued, lowering his face a bit closer to Jaskier’s still, their noses almost brushing together now, “but what I don’t like is you changing something about yourself to please me. It is... unnecessary.”

Jaskier smirked up at Geralt and touched their noses together. “So... what you’re saying is... you don’t want me to stop singing during dinner? Because, you know, techincally that would be changing something about me-NAHAOW!! NOO!! DOHOOHN’T DO THAT AGAIN!! PLEEHHEEASE I’M SORRYYYY!! GERAAALT!!”

#geraskier #Geralt x jaskier #tickling #the witcher #ticklish!jaskier #the witcher tickle fanfic #the witcher fanfic #geralt of rivia #jaskier

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a-simple-lee · 4 years ago

Text

Fools

Jaskier, reader

Description: a couple of paragraphs of fluff that I found whilst clearing out my drafts folder.

__________________________________________________

You don't notice you're leaning to rest your head on Jaskier's shoulder until you've already done so. He leans back a little and you follow, nestled against the tree you're under. Jaskier's lute sits on his lap, and he plucks out a gentle melody.

"Hi."

"Hello," He smiles, bumping his head against yours. you wrap an arm around him. "I take it somebody's tired?"

"Yep."

Comfortable silence settles as he spends the next couple of minutes playing, humming an accompaniment here and there. Your hand wanders up to card through his hair. A grin finds your lips when your fingers brush his neck and he twitches.

"Careful," He warns after a moment, "You're tickling me."

"Mhm. Sorry." You're not, but you humour him. A couple of seconds pass. His humming starts up again. You let your hand slip to the same spot on his neck, movements a little more deliberate but brief enough to seem unintentional. Jaskier's shoulder hunches up a little in response, his humming stilted for an instant.

"Ah, you're doing it again." He mutters, moving his lute to the side.

"What?" It's rather difficult not to grin.

"Tickling me."

"Oh?" Acting oblivious is more entertaining than you'd expected. You swipe a couple fingers over the side of his neck and smile when he tilts his head away from you.

"Ah, hey, nonono!"

A laugh escapes you as you promptly turn your head to plant a quick raspberry on the other side of his neck.

Jaskier lets out what can only be described as a squeal, immediately pushing you away with a few panicked giggles. You immediately dart your hands to his sides, laughing triumphantly when he falls backwards, leaving himself prone.

"Y/n! Don't!" He cries, trying and failing to bat you away in his hysterics.

"Why not?"

"Because- there- Ahaha- there are other ways to make me laugh!"

"Mhm, yeah, but this is fun." You grin, pausing to untangle yourself when Jaskier grabs one of your wrists.

But then you find that you can't.

"Ohoho, is it now?" Jaskier grins, "Then I'm sure you won't mind me returning the favour." An instant later, you feel his fingers crawling up your side. You withdraw your free hand from his torso immediately, holding it up in an attempt to defend your own.

"No! Jaskier!" A giggle almost escapes, a smile pulling on your lips. Somehow, in the time it took for you to panic internally over this sudden change in events, Jaskier has flipped you onto the ground, grabbing both of your hands and securing them under his knees. The bard wastes no time in exploring your reactions to various pokes, prods, and squeezes on your torso.

"Aha! Gotcha! Now, are you ticklish?" He asks, tweaking your ribs to accentuate his point. your reflexive twitch and poorly concealed squeak tell him all he needs to know. how annoying.

“You- already know the answer to-” Just as the retort forms on your lips, Jaskier darts his hands to your ribs, wriggling his fingers and sending you into a fit of hysterics.

“Yea, you’re right, I do.” He sounds so smug, but the look on his face is one of fondness. “You, my friend, are too ticklish for your own good.”

It’ll be a few more minutes and a couple of mirthful tears before he backs off, but if that means you both get to act like fools together for a while, then so be it.

#reader insert #tickle fic #the witcher #jaskier #ticklish!Jaskier #fluff #drabble #minific

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sugarfics · 5 years ago

Text

Quiet!

Here, have an extremely short and hastily written Witcher fic while I work on a few longer ones so they’re actually decent, as a treat. Enjoy! xxx

Geralt sighed. Jaskier has been rambling on for what felt like an hour, refusing to let either of them get some sleep. The two were laying in bed side by side in the dark, and Geralt has thought that he made it clear that they were going to sleep when he pinched the candle out in their bedside. Apparently not.

“Jaskier.” Geralt said, firm. “Please stop talking. Just sleep.”

A pause. “Okay, but the end of this story is so-“ and he still kept on talking.

“That’s it.” Geralt said gruffly, finally at his breaking point. In a flash, he was on top of Jaskier pinning him to the bed. This was one of those times where being a Witcher really worked in his favor; he could see Jaskier perfectly but Jaskier couldn’t see him in the dark of the room.

“Oh, Geralt. I-AH!” Jaskier’s flirtatious tone was pierced by a yelp when he felt Geralt’s hands dig into his sides right where his ribcage ends; a spot Geralt knew was particularly sensitive.

Jaskier fell into a fit of laughter at the Witcher’s unrelenting touch.

“Will you be quiet now and go to sleep?” Geralt asked.

“Ihi just wanted toho fihinish my stohory! Ihi’m not tihired!”

“Oh, we can fix that.”

Geralt shoved his hands under Jaskier’s arms, squeezing in a madding pattern. Jaskier shrieked with laughter as he desperately flailed in an attempt to get the hands off of him. The Witcher grew tired of Jaskier’s hands getting in the way, so he easily pinned them above his head and set to work dismantling his lover.

Jaskier bucked and flailed, his head thrown back as he squealed with laughter.

“GERALT!”

“Now will you be quiet and sleep?”

“YEHEHES!!”

With that, Geralt withdrew his hands and laid back down next to Jaskier as he caught his breath. Within minutes, Jaskier was fast asleep.

#mine #the witcher #geraskier #ticklish!jaskier

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amazingmsme · 2 years ago

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What would you like my first fic of 2023 to be? Here’s some options from my stash of prompts

The Witcher- Yen & Geralt, vague prompt but with lee!yennefer

Wwdits- Nandor & Guillermo, Nandor finding out Guillermo’s ticklish & using it to his advantage

Ace Attorney- Larry Pheonix & Miles, Phoenix & Larry gang up against Miles after reminiscing on their childhood

Ace Attorney- Miles & Phoenix, Phoenix notices Miles is ticklish at an inopportune time & waits to explore further to cheer him up

Tua- Five & Viktor, sick fic with clingy Five

Blue Exorcist- Rin & Bon, Bon walks in on Rin singing & teases him

Avengers- Bucky & Sam, they flirt with each other through insults that gradually get less insulting & more genuine

Dexter- Dexter & Rita, Rita opens up to Dexter about a dark fantasy she’s had & he indulges her desires, NSFW

The Witcher- Jaskier & Geralt, Jaskier is oiling Geralt when he notices something unexpected about his witcher, kinda NSFW

#first fic of the year #pick your poison #you better decide or else i will #vote for your favorite #fic in the works

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fanficsandfluff · 5 years ago

Note

Saw the tickle monster idea & raise you: Geralt using Jaskier as bait to attract it

WOAH HOLD ON HERE

WOWZAH

Ok bc Geralt absolutely knows how sensitive Jaskier is, so it’ll work out great! And Jaskier is dragging his heels on the ground, pleading and babbling about why this is such a stupid idea. Geralt keeps pulling him along. He throws him into a clearing and Geralt goes off to hide.

Bc we all know tickle monsters are weakest while they’re in the act of tickling. So Geralt has to wait a bit, hearing Jaskier’s laughter rise. And finally he swoops in and kills it or whatever

but boy does Jaskier want payback for that stunt

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt #tickle monster #headcanons #ticklish!jaskier #amazingmsme

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samstree · 3 years ago

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The Tickler’s Conundrum

Jaskier really wants to keep kissing Geralt, but they may have encountered a teeny tiny problem.

(1.7k, fluff, ticklish!geralt, cutagens, winter at kaer morhen)

For @julek. Happy birthday my dear! 🎉🎉🥳

AO3

“Geralt, dear. I love you, but—”

Jaskier winces as Geralt pulls away.

“Okay, that came out wrong. What I’m trying to say is that I love you dearly. You are the best thing to ever happen to me and I don’t know where I would be if I hadn’t met you that day in Posada. Now that I get to kiss you, it’s even better and my love continues to grow daily in a way that cannot be measured,” he pauses, “but.”

“Jaskier.”

“I’m getting to the point!”

The mood is now entirely ruined. Jaskier abandons their kissing position and leans into the headboard. “Let’s start again.” He groans, frustrated. “Geralt, my love, don’t take this the wrong way—”

“Just say what’s wrong.”

Geralt looks genuinely clueless, worried even. Jaskier would roll his eyes if he wasn’t already gone on this man for the very sweetness he is showing.

Jaskier lets out a sigh, crossing his legs so he looks more serious. “Do you really not realize what you do?”

The way Geralt’s eyebrows go up with confusion is answer enough, so Jaskier continues.

“When we are kissing, more precisely, when I’m trying to touch you, you either flinch, or push me, or—” To demonstrate, Jaskier runs a hand up Geralt’s side, caressing the skin under his shirt. Geralt instantly sucks in a breath and bats his hand away with his oh-so legendary witcher speed. “—Or you attack me! See? What is the problem?”

“There is no problem,” Geralt insists, pouting, and Geralt never pouts.

“You are lying, Geralt. Why are you lying all of a sudden? Do you—do you not want me to touch you?” Worry creeps into Jaskier’s voice. “That’s the reason, isn’t it? I’ve been offending you this whole time. Oh, no.”

Before dread can sink in, Geralt almost looks insulted.

“No. Of course not.” Geralt leans forward to steal a quick kiss, and then another, which is sweet and manages to make Jaskier’s blood sing.

Being allowed to kiss Geralt is new, being showered in his affection even more so. Jaskier feels his insides being turned into a warm pool of love with two consecutive kisses, and he’s distracted enough to forget his words for a bit.

“But why?” Jaskier shakes himself awake, tipping his head so the next kiss lands on soft skin under his ear. There’s a slight burn from Geralt’s stubbles, and Jaskier jokes, “Sweet Melitele, I have no clue then. If I didn’t know you better, I’d guess you are too ticklish to be touched.”

Geralt freezes, and the next second stretches into eternity. All Jaskier hears is his own heartbeat in his ear and the subtle hitch in his witcher’s breath.

Oh.

“Wait.” Jaskier pulls back, placing a hand on Geralt’s arm, not believing what he’s about to say. “Are you?”

Geralt blinks, opens his mouth and closes it. “Maybe.”

“Seriously?” Jaskier springs up on the mattress like an excited puppy. “All this time, I thought you hated me—”

“That’s a bit dramatic."

“—But it’s because you are ticklish! Oh, what will the people think, knowing the fearsome white wolf can be easily defeated by a few tickles!” Jaskier lets out a laugh, watching as his witcher’s face turns pink. “Think about what this will do for your reputation! Your worst weakness, now uncovered by a simple bard.”

“Not simple.” The blush spreads to the shells of Geralt’s ear, but he still clings to the picture of defiance that he’s trying—and failing—to paint. “He’s just the most terrible one, too cheeky, and cruel too.”

Jaskier squawks with indignation. “Are we feeling rude today, hmm? Don’t forget that I now hold your darkest secret in my palm!” The bard rubs his hands together, smiling an evil smile. “There will be consequences, witcher, for being mean to your best, best bard in the world!”

With that, Jaskier lunges at Geralt and tackles him with all his might, landing them both on the bed. Within the blink of an eye, a tickle fight is descended upon the witcher who does not appreciate his bard enough. Jaskier sneaks his hands up Geralt’s shirt, which makes the witcher gasp in surprise.

“Jaskier!” Geralt warns, chuckling uncontrollably, his whole body squirming under Jaskier’s nimble fingers.

“Take back what you said!”

Stubbornly, Geralt sends a challenging look and only retaliates by trying to tickle Jaskier under the arms in return. Alas, the bard is not nearly as ticklish, and Geralt never uses his full strength—he never does when it comes to Jaskier, no matter how much of a bastard he is.

In the end, Jaskier is the one who ends up with the upper hand and Geralt is pinned to the bed and panting hard. His hair is a mess and his golden pupils are blown wide.

“Stop, Jask—”

Geralt begs between urgent breaths, his expression softened by fondness, and Jaskier stops immediately. All of his weight is holding Geralt in place, so he shifts to move away.

At the slight movement, Geralt flinches as if expecting Jaskier to attack again. The amusement in his eyes fades a little, replaced by a hint of anxiety.

“Hey, it’s alright. I’m stopping,” Jaskier reassures quickly, plopping down next to Geralt on the bed so they are shoulder to shoulder. He raises his hands in a gesture of peace. “Promise.”

“Hmm.”

The tension in Geralt’s body releases, his eyes now soft and relaxed. Jaskier props himself up on an elbow, looking down fondly at his witcher’s beautiful blush and his heaving chest.

“I didn’t know this about you,” Jaskier says, picking up a strand of white hair and wrapping it around his thumb. “Weird. Feels like I should, somehow.”

“I don’t exactly advertise it.” Geralt pauses. “After the trials, all witchers’ senses are enhanced. Hearing, sight, smell…”

It dawns on Jaskier.

“And touch,” he adds. “So it’s a witcher thing? Your skin is also sensitive just like everything else. Are all of you like this?”

And now Geralt looks pained. “No. Just me.”

“Oh.” Jaskier reaches out and Geralt’s hand is right there, ready to accept his comfort. “It’s the extra mutation.”

“Yeah.”

Silence hangs between them for a moment.

“Now I feel bad for teasing you,” Jaskier says as Geralt snorts. “It’s true! It’s horrifying to think. To have a lover’s touch turned into something you need to suffer through… That is just sad, darling. Has it always been this bad? How do you kiss others? And bed them? Do they just…not touch you?”

Can Jaskier not touch him too? The prospect tastes bitter on Jaskier’s tongue, but Geralt only lets out a laugh.

“No, silly bard.” Geralt bops him on the nose. “It’s fine as long as it’s not too light. And it’s not like this with the others.”

“Oh?” Jaskier frowns.

“They are not like you.” Geralt shrugs. “No one has handled me this carefully. Your touch—it feels featherlight, sometimes. It takes me by surprise. You hold me like I’m something that can break.”

“But you can,” Jaskier protests. “I know you can, and you deserve careful handling too.”

The crooked smile Geralt gives him is warm and indulgent, and he brings Jaskier’s hand up for a kiss.

“Well, then we have a conundrum.”

And what a terrible conundrum it is.

Jaskier worries his lower lip, determination rising in his chest. “That won’t do,” he decides, sitting up and pulling Geralt with him. “Teach me.”

“Pardon?” Geralt’s eyebrows shoot up.

Jaskier lets out an exhale. “Teach me how to touch you. I need to learn so I can properly care for my witcher who, despite denying it on multiple occasions, definitely enjoys gentle kisses and cuddles, so the lack thereof is unacceptable. Now, chop chop!”

Geralt looks like he wants to mock for a moment, but the dead seriousness on Jaskier’s face must deter him. Clearing his throat, Geralt moves to sit against a pillow.

“Alright,” he guides Jaskier’s hand to his face first. “This is fine.”

“Obviously.” The bard leans in for a tiny kiss, his thumb tracing the stubbles there. “Good start?”

“Good.”

Jaskier’s hand is wrapped in a much more callused one, and moved downward to press against Geralt’s pulse. A slow rhythm thrums under his fingertips.

“Neck, not so good.” Geralt’s throat bobs under Jaskier’s palm. “Don’t be too gentle, and don’t hover.”

Jaskier smiles, tilting up Geralt’s chin, and presses a bruising kiss on the witcher’s pulse point, deliberate and sure. A strand of stray hair is in the way so Jaskier tucks it away, and a contented purr rumbles deep in Geralt’s chest.

“Hmm. Feels pretty good to me,” Jaskier winks, pulling away.

Geralt looks at him like he’s just bought new shoes for Roach and convinced the seller to throw in a horse blanket too.

“Next?” Jaskier prompts, and he is pulled forward by an arm wrapped behind his back until he’s straddling Geralt’s thighs.

They shift a little before Jaskier settles down, trapping Geralt’s hips between his knees.

“I like it, like this,” Geralt says. “Your weight is comfortable.”

“Ooh, high compliment.”

“Don’t get smug.” Geralt huffs, placing one of Jaskier’s hands at the small of his back and the other on his chest. “Now, the back is okay, but—” Jaskier tries to trace one of the scars under Geralt’s collarbone, but hears a sudden gasp. “The scars are sensitive, so you need to hold on tight.”

Geralt puts more force at the back of Jaskier’s hand and moves him further down.

“Same here?” Jaskier asks.

“Mm-hmm.”

Jaskier’s hand roams freely. He makes sure every touch is certain and purposeful. When he reaches Geralt’s belly, his thumb runs a few soothing circles there before moving to the side.

“This alright?” Jaskier looks up to observe Geralt’s reaction.

“It’s nice—ah!” Geralt’s hand snaps to Jaskier’s, and it’s obvious that he’s forcing himself not to fight Jaskier off. The bard tries to retract his hand but only to be caught again. “No, don’t’ go. It’s okay.”

Jaskier’s palm is placed in the dip of Geralt’s waist again, the sharp angles of the witcher’s ribs now less prominent from being well-fed in winter. It makes Jaskier grin with pride.

“Just,” Geralt says, squeezing Jaskier’s wrist reassuringly, “don’t go any up. Here is fine.”

“Here?”

“Hmm.”

The hum that escapes Geralt’s chest is a happy thing, and they are sitting incredibly close. Jaskier leans in with his hands exactly where they are left, nuzzling Geralt’s nose once before catching his lips. The kiss deepens, and all that surrounds Jaskier is the clean scent of linen and soap.

Geralt holds onto Jaskier tightly too.

When they break the kiss, a blush has returned to Geralt’s ears, and Jaskier imagines he can’t be much better.

“I guess we are not too ticklish now,” Jaskier teases.

The only answer he gets is Geralt’s lazy smile before he buries his face into Jaskier’s chest, clinging tightly still.

“Thank you for the lesson,” Jaskier murmurs into the mess that is Geralt’s hair. “It’s an important one. I won’t tell anyone else.”

It feels like a secret, all the intricate workings of Geralt’s body, and Jaskier is privileged enough to keep it in his heart. It might be greedy that he intends to learn more until all parts of Geralt are uncovered under his hands.

“I love you too,” Geralt says, voice muffled in Jaskier’s chemise. “No buts.”

A string of giggles takes over Jaskier, and soon they are both laughing like fools. It’s truly ridiculous how much he loves this man when he knows this love still has room to grow tomorrow.

#geraskier #geraskier fic #ticklish witchers #cutagens #ticklish geralt #fluff #tooth rotting fluff #soft jaskier #kissing #soft geralt #it's about the trust #also somehow i made this about consent again #established relationship #winter at kaer morhen

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