#touch repulsed geralt | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eggcompany · 5 months

Text

Jaskier and his Snuggly Wuggly Killing Machines Part 7

Early in the night Jaskier slowly blinked open his eyes. He was so warm and so comfortable. Jaskier groaned and went to stretch his arms only to find out that one of his hands was being held down by the wrist and his other hand was being held down by… Jaskier looked down and...well.

Geralt was sucking on Jaskier’s pointer and middle fingers and Eskel was asleep with his head in Jaskier’s hand and was holding onto his fingers. Jaskier stared at them for a long time. He listened to Geralt’s soft sucking sounds and Eskel’s snores.

Shocked by himself Jaskier realized- Where’s Lambert?

Jaskier quickly whipped his head around searching for the baby. Jaskier tried to carefully but quickly get up to search for the kitty but he accidentally woke up the two other babies.

“Dada? Is it uppy time?” Mumbled out Geralt in a sweetly sleepy voice. He had slobber all over his face and his hair was wild. Jaskier needs to brush and braid it before he goes to bed. Eskel pouted and let out a weak whine.

“Daddy- No no, it's nap time! Come back, hold me.” Eskel said and made grabby hands at his daddy. Jaskier stood and looked around more for the baby. The doors were locked and the windows had PetSeal on them so hopefully Lambert was still in the house. Jaskier looked back at the two napping babies and shushed them.

“Sh, she, sh. Stay there. Stay. You stay in the nest and wake up a little bit, okay? Daddy’s in the house but I need to find Lambert. You stay here and I’ll be right back so we can all get ready for bed.” Jaskier said and watched the witchers look nervous but nod. Jaskier smiled down at him.

Jaskier then rushed to the kitchen- no Lambert. Then to the bathroom and then the office and then the recording studio and laundry room. By the time Jaskier got to the stairs he ran up them two at a time. Where was Lambert? Did he hurt himself? Did he get out? Is he okay? Is he scared?

Jaskier hurried to Geralt’s then Eskel’s and then the baby’s room and he still couldn’t find him.

“Lambert, baby, sweetheart, sunshine, kitty baby, darling boy, where are you? Lambert please come to daddy. Come to daddy so I can give you kisses.” Jaskier said in a forced singsong-y voice. He heard a small meow almost. Jaskier hurried towards it, towards the bathroom. Jaskier hoped that Lambert was okay and just exploring. Jaskier knocked lightly on the bathroom door.

“Honey, it’s daddy. Can I come in?” Jaskier asked through the door without opening it. He heard some shuffling and then a slurred little “Yeah”.

Jaskier slowly opened the door and smiled a bit and calmed down. Lambert was sitting up in the bathtub surrounded with towels and a quilt. Jaskier walked over to kneel beside the tub and be eye to eye with the kitty.

“Hey Lammy. Did you wanna be alone?” Jaskier asked and put his hands palms down on the edge of the tub. Lambert shook his head no.

“Did you not like being out there?” Jaskier asked again. Lambert nodded his head. Jaskier hummed.

“Did you not like the nest?” Lambert shook his head. Jaskier thought for a moment.

“Did you dislike the movie?” Jaskier asked and took in the adorable picture in front of him. Lambert had probably six towels fluffed up around and probably under him and his quilt wrapped around him and up over his head. Lambert shook his head again.

“Can you say why you came and made a nest in here?” Jaskier asked again and cocked his head to the side. Lambert worried his bottom lip for a moment and nodded. He spoke in a soft quiet voice.

“I didn’t like… all the skin. It was too much. I wanted to cuddle you but um.. um... I didn’t want to touch your skin and Eskel or Geralt. Just wanted to feel something though.” Lambert finished by pulling his quilt tighter around him. Sex Repulsed. Jaskier nodded. He didn’t even think about that.

“Okay, that’s okay, darling. I’m going to get your brothers ready for bed. Do you want to stay here? You can stay cuddled up here and I can spend some extra time with you. We have to be in here though. What do you think?” Jaskier explained and asked. He watched Lambert think and then nod.

“Alrighty then. I’m gonna go fetch your brothers and then we’ll brush teeth, hair, lotion and then get to bed.” Jaskier said and kissed Lammy’s nose. He stood up and walked halfway down the stairs so he could spot the other two babies. They were just leaning on each other, shoulder to shoulder, talking. They connected from shoulder to ankle practically. Their thighs and arms were all squished together. Jaskier smiled, those two…

“Hey boys, come get ready for bed. We need to brush your hair, brush your teeth, lotion and get you situated in bed. We can adjust the bed arrangements as needed.” Jaskier said as the boys got up and walked to him and up the stairs. They nodded and Geralt mumbled a little “Okay daddy”.

“Your brother is snuggled up in the bathtub right now. How about we go get some pants on you two before we go in there. You can pick out what you want or wear what I left out for you earlier. You can wear whatever you want.” Jaskier said and walked the boys toward their room. They had left their doors open again. Eskel pulled on a pair of underwear, socks, and a snuggly red sweatshirt. Eskel wagged slowly, in a relaxed happy way. Jaskier had found the sweatshirt at a shop and thought it would hang off the pup’s frame nicely. He was so right. Eskel wrapped his arms around himself and swayed a bit, happy. Geralt pulled on sweatpants and nothing else. Jaskier had a feeling Bear had a propensity for being in the nude.

Jaskier smiled and walked toward the bathroom again with the two babes behind him. He knocked on lightly and asked if they could come in. He waited until he heard a “Yeah” once again.

Jaskier smiled at the youngest in the tub and watched as the older two waved at him. Jaskier collected the caddies from the floor and set them up on the large counter space next to the sink. He got Eskel’s and Geralt’s lotions out and looked at them with closed hands.

“So do we know how to brush our teeth or did the pounds clean your teeth weekly or so?” Jaskier asks and looks at the witchers as they tucked their tails between their legs and looked down. They looked guilty.

“The centers cleaned them for you, didn’t they? That’s alright I’ll show you how. Can I put my fingers in your mouths a bit?” Jaskier asked and watched the two of them blush and look at each other. Geralt was the first to talk.

“You can brush my teeth… I got sharp teeth though… I promise I won’t bite you.” Geralt said and fiddled with the tip of his tail that was now pulled around his waist. Jaskier smiled and pulled himself up to sit on the counter.

“Well come here. You stand right here and watch closely.” Jaskier said.

Jaskier showed Geralt his toothbrush and how to hold it. Jaskier then ran it under the water and thoroughly explained the We Do NOT eat toothpaste. Jaskier then put the paste on the brush and instructed Geralt to open his mouth.

Geralt stepped closer in between Jaskier’s legs. Eskel also crowded closer on Jaskier’s left to watch. Jaskier held the brush in his right hand and cradled Geralt’s jaw in his left. Geralt looked timid but then opened his mouth about half way.

“I bit more dearest. Open big and wide! Show daddy your pretty teeth.” Jaskier said and kissed Geralt’s chin. Geralt smiled and opened his mouth nice and wide. Showing off his large molars and long sharp fang teeth. Jaskier smiled and brought his free hand up to push up Geralt’s top lip.

He slowly brought the brush up to Geralt’s face. The pup tried to watch which caused him to go crosseyed. Jaskier put the brush against one of the large fangs and started to brush in small circles. Geralt relaxed a bit and went to lick the brush but Jask made a tsk sound.

“Keep your tongue down. We don’t eat toothpaste but this kind is sweet. Most kinds are minty but I thought that would- Keep your tongue away- burn your mouths or make you upset.” Jaskier said and he started to brush Geralt’s top teeth. Geralt was sniffing and trying to remember to keep his tongue down. Eskel watched with wide eyes.

Jaskier then pushed Bear’s bottom lip down to brush his bottom row.

“You brush in small circles. See Eskel? Small circles and you go back and forth. You wanna get the backs, fronts, and tops. Don’t be too rough doing this. And finally…” Jaskier said as he pulled on the end of Geralt’s tongue. Geralt let Jaskier move his tongue until it was all stretched out. Jaskier thought he had a strangely long tongue. It was almost unsettling. Almost .

“You have to brush your tongue. Do not swallow the frothy foam. Do not. Just keep it in your mouth. But brush from the back of your- Do you have a gag reflex?” Jaskier explained as he brushed the sides of the pups tongue and then asked as he was about to reach to brush the back of it. Geralt shook his head a little bit.

“You brush the back of your tongue to the front. And then when you’re all done and your mouth is all clean you sit out the foam.” Jaskier said and took his hands away from Geralt’s face. Geralt had held perfectly still though. Had Geralt even moved at all other than that one nod? Jaskier thought. He waited a moment and watched Geralt. He stood perfectly still and his eyes were a bit… glazed.

“Geralt, sweetheart, are you alright? Do you feel okay?” Jaskier said and touched Geralt’s bare shoulder. Geralt blinked and looked down at Jaskier with a solid blank expression. Suddenly Geralt curled in on himself and whimpered. Tears quickly appeared and started to flow down his face. Geralt quickly spit out the white foam and looked back at Jaskier.

“Sorry, daddy. I-I-I-” Geralt whimpered and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Jaskier shushed him and took hold of his hands. Jaskier just gently held the ends of his fingers, not wanting to put him in any more distress by feeling restrained.

“Geralt. Geralt, love, baby, puppy, don’t be sorry. It’s okay. I’m not mad. You did such a good job! You didn’t bite, on purpose or accident, you didn’t swallow any, and you let me show Eskel how to do it. You are such a good boy! Do you need a hug? A kiss?” Jaskier said and watched as Geralt pulled away shaking his head. He wrapped his arms around himself. Geralt kept his head down and his tears dripped to the ground. He felt gross, wrong, disgusted with himself, and he felt like he was-was.

“Okay. Okay you can sit down or stand anywhere you want, but first you need to rinse your mouth. Here. Drink, swish it around, and then spit. Do it twice.” Jaskier said in a soft but stern voice. He bent and filled up the light blue cup with water from the sink and held it up to Geralt. Geralt kept his eyes down and reached for the cup. Geralt kept arms length when he could. He stood back near the wall and swished his mouth with the water and then took steps toward the sink and spit. He repeated it again and handed the plastic cup back.

“Thank you dear. You did a good job. Thank you so much. Geralt can you look up?” Jaskier asked. He thought maybe the praise would calm him down. Self deprecating. Geralt shook his head. Geralt just stepped back and got behind Eskel. Jaskier nodded and said a small “Okay, baby”. Geralt got behind and looked like he was hiding behind his big brother. He re-wrapped his arms around himself and laid his forehead on the back of Eskel’s neck.

“Do you want to try to do it yourself, Esky?” Jaskier asked the older boy. Eskel was rubbing the back of his head against Geralt’s. Eskel looked unnerved and nervous for a moment.

“I don’t think I’ll like it. It looks...scratchy. Is the foam stuff slimy? I don’t wanna accidentally bite you if I don’t- If I can’t handle it. I just- I don’t like that kind of stuff in my mouth. ‘M sorry, daddy.” Eskel explains his ears were flat down on his head. He didn’t wanna hurt daddy! Eskel always had problems with some… stuff. Sticky things on his hands, slimy things in his mouth, scratchy things near his face/scar, mittens in general, and anything made of canvas material. He didn’t want that brush near his face.

Jaskier nodded. That made sense. Sensory Processing Issues. Maybe he could order some kids mouthwash… or teeth wipes. Jaskier thought for a moment.

“Okay. How about you let me floss your teeth, which is just putting a tiny string between your teeth to get anything out from between them. I’ll order something else for you to clean your chompers with. Thank you so much for telling me you didn’t like it! Good boy!” Jaskier told the babe. Easy pease.

“Okay! Thank you, daddy! Um… I guess who can floss my teeth. Can Bear… Can Bear go put on a shirt? He wants to put on a shirt.” Eskel says the last part in a hushed voice. Jaskier leaned to the side and looked at the hidden baby crowding behind his brother.

“Of course he can. You don’t need to ask if you can. Just make sure I know where you’re at.” Jaskier said and got the small glass bottle that held the spindle of floss. He pulled out a decent amount and watched a hunched over Geralt walk his way to his room. Geralt looked up at Jaskier for only a moment before shutting his bedroom door.

Eskel crowded up to Jaskier just like how Geralt had. Jaskier smiled and put tension on the string in his hands. “Open, please, my sweet wolf!” Jaskier said and Eskel popped open his mouth wide. Occasionally Eskel would lick Jaskier’s hand or want to such on the string but Jaskier just tsk tsk -ed him and he would stop and open back up. Eskel liked it. It was nice being able to smell Jaskier and having his hands close. Eskel didn’t mind having his teeth flossed either.

Once Jaskier had changed floss quite a few times and hand gotten everything from between his teeth, Jaskier reached for the red plastic cup that sat next to the blue one. Eskel cocked his head to the side and flipped one of his ears up while the other stayed down.

“I don’t have nothing to rinse out.” Eskel asked as he took the cut. Jaskier nodded.

“I know that, but you need to swish your mouth out extra extra because we didn’t brush your teeth. Tomorrow night we’ll have wipes so you don’t need to swish as much. But for tonight swish three times really good.” Jaskier said and watched the witcher put plenty of effort into swishing the water around his mouth.

When the eldest witcher finished he smiled at Jaskier. “Good job baby! Now can you go fix your bed how you’d like it for bed? I have to take care of Lammy and then I’ll come brush your and Bear’s hair and then we can go to bed. Oh and lotion. Especially for your scar, my love.” Jaskier said and then watched Eskel walk toward his own room and then quickly walked into Geralt’s. Separation and stress. They should be together. They’ve been through a lot today.

Jaskier then turned to the lump in the tub. Completely covered in his quilt, Lambert was fast asleep sucking on the tip of his own tail. Jaskier got Lambert’s green cup full of water and the toothpaste and brush and brought it over to the tub and knelt beside it.

“Lammy~ Hey my precious kitty we need to brush those teeth. Daddy’ll do it for you, you just need to sit up. I’ll brush your lovely hair after and then it’s time for bed.” Jaskier said in a light loving voice. Lambert rolled over and sat up in his towel nest. Lambert yawned and showed off those needle sharp teeth.

“Cam I sit counter? Binkie?” Lambert slurred and rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands. Jaskier thought for a moment. Awww baby talk! Adorable! But what the fuck does it mean?

Then it hit him. Can Lambert sit on the counter and can he bring his binkie, his blankie. Jaskier said “Of course, baby boy” and helped Lambert up out of the tub while the babe held the blanket around him with one hand. He would come and fold the towels back up when the babies were asleep.

Soon Lambert was hopped up sitting on the counter with droopy tired ears and relaxed muscles. Lambert opened his mouth and only had to be told a few times to open back up. Lambert was too tired to fidget when Jaskier ran a soft brush through his hair and then a small soft brush over his ears. Next he got the lotion from Lambert’s caddy and got some on his own hand and gently rubbed it into Lambert’s hands and face. Thank gods for all purpose lotion.

“Good job. You are such a good baby. Now you wanna sleep in your room or somewhere else?” Jaskier asked as he rubbed at Lambert's jaw.

“ Can I sleep with Esky? I want bubbas.” Lambert asked in a soft yet still gravel gruff voice. Jaskier nodded and put the hairbrush and the soft brush, lotion, in his pocket. He led Lambert by the hand to Eskel’s room but they found it empty. Jaskier then moved to Geralt’s room and knocked on the closed door.

“Hey Babies? I need to brush your hair and I’ve gotta tend to Eskel’s scar so can we come in?” Jaskier called through the door before Lambert thumped his forehead against the door. He let out a yowl and then said “Eskeyyyyy” and he let out another sharp yowl. They both heard some mumbling and thumps and then Eskel who looked like he had just rushed to get dressed opened the door a bit.

Lambert automatically thumped his head onto Eskel’s sweatshirt clad chest. Eskel made a small howling like sound and wrapped his arms around the youngest. Jaskier stood there and waited until Geralt, who was pulling at the bottom of a blue hoodie that had stars on it.

“Hi baby, do you feel better?” Jaskier asked as he stroked at Geralt’s thick neck. Geralt nodded and looked up into Jaskier’s beautiful eyes. “Good! Now are you all sleeping in here tonight?” Jaskier asked as he made his way to sit on Geralt's now messy bed. He sat down and pulled out the brushes and lotion from his pockets.

“Yeah… Is that okay? Can we?” Eskel asked. Lambert went and flopped down and wiggled his way till he was lying burritoed in his quilt. Jaskier laughed and patted Lambert’s exposed ankle.

“Of course. You can always sleep together or apart. You seem very snuggly so it’s understandable. Oh and if you want you can always just pile all your pillows and blankets in one of your rooms.” Jaskier explained and watched the older boys smile.

“Okay! Well um how about I go get my blankies and pillows from my room while Daddy does your hair?” Eskel asked Geralt and the long haired witcher nodded and flumped onto his butt in front of their daddy.

Jaskier smiled and finger brushed Geralt’s hair for a moment before starting from the bottom and working his way toward Geralt’s scalp with the brush. Geralt held stock still once again and didn’t make much noise as Jaskier finished brushing and got the hair tie from the handle of the brush and braided the silky white hair. Geralt made his happy noise though when Jaskier brushed his ears. As soon as the first swipe made its way down the back of Geralt’s left ear he melted like a puddle.

“Hey baby bear, go ahead and stand up for me. I need to see your perfect face.” Jaskier said and watched the large boy stand up with grace and elegance. Geralt stood like a greek statue above Jaskier. Beautiful.

Jaskier stood up and rubbed the lotion onto Geralt’s hands and then his face which made Geralt tilt and wiggle his head whenever his daddy touched him. Soon Jaskier kissed his lips and told him “Bedtime Bear. Cuddle up and sleep.”

All the while he was tending to Geralt, Eskel had successfully towed in seven blankets, four pillows, and everything from the living room. Eskel was smiling and his ears were perky on his head and he was wagging happily. I love it here! Daddy loves me and and oh blankies blankies blankies and food!

Geralt laid down on his bed and kissed the side of Lambert’s sleeping face. Geralt liked to sleep on his back so he wiggled around until his tail laid between his legs and he snuggled his plushie rabbit up to his face.

“Well Eskel, darling, you’re last, baby. Come sit so I can brush you.” Jaskier told the eldest as he arranged the blankets and pillows on the floor next to the bed. Eskel folded the blankets in fourths long ways to form them into long strips. He then laid the pillows in stacks of two next to them. Jaskier smiled as he watched the wolf work. He’s gonna love the basement!

Eskel huffed and clunked himself down and bent to look up and Jaskier. “Face forward please” Is all Jaskier said until he was done. He hummed a small slow tune under his breath as he brushed the dark hair and soft warm ears. Jaskier felt calm as he rubbed the lotion into Eskel’s warm rough skin. Jaskier kissed Eskel on the forehead and then the lips.

“Sleep darling. You had a long day. I’ll turn off the light and leave the door open. Remember my room is always open for you. And if you want a snack in the night don’t be shy to come get me. I love you Wolfie.” Jaskier said as he turned the light off and left the door open a crack.

Jaskier didn’t just go to bed. He folded up Lambert’s towels and then got a quick shower himself. He then went and put the living room back together and did the dishes. Finally Jaskier organized his room a bit and took a look at the clock. In the electronic red light it showed 11:25 p.m.

Jaskier stretched and laid down in his bed. In less than ten minutes he was dead asleep.

Little did he know that his babies were whispering about him at that moment.

“He smells nice! I like it here. It doesn’t smell like smoke or sharp um drugs, it doesn’t smell chemically.” Eskel said in a hushed voice to Geralt. Geralt nodded.

“It’s warm too. The water was warm and did you see how much stuff he’s already gotten for us? I’m surprised he actually… he actually cares how we feel”. Geralt responded.

“If he is like this for the next… three days then we should let him know about… Well you know. Them .” Lambert said in a sleep drenched voice. He was woken up by Geralt poking his shoulder.

All three agreed. If Daddy was really good then he shouldn’t care about Them .

<- Last Chapter Next Chapter ->

#egg_company #fanfic #the witcher fanfic #witcher geralt #witcher lambert #witcher eskel #yennefer of vengerberg #julian alfred pankratz #jaskier

0 notes

dapandapod · 3 years

Text

Not just anybody

Hello lovelies!

This one has been sitting in my drafts for a while, partially because it's a little personal, partially because ace week was coming up and what better time to post?

On Ao3 here

Please enjoy some grey ace, touchrepulsed Geralt. It is soft, I promise, he is just confused. <3 (Oh, and @thewitcherbog look, i posted!)

Many people are of the belief that Geralt is lonely. He is not, actually.

Even more think that he is so desperate for a kind touch that he would pay for it. Yet another thing he is not.

Well alright. He pays for company every now and then, but it’s not something he craves.

Truth be told, he doesn’t like to be touched at all. It kind of freaks him out a little. When somebody touches Geralt’s arm without permission, when a long gone acquaintance pulls him in for a hug, it just doesn’t feel right.

It leaves him with an uncomfortable feeling behind his ribs, and he is not sure why. He always feels a little bad about feeling that way too, so the easiest solution is to just… not to touch anybody.

So he touches other things instead. While walking past a tree he might reach up and touch a leaf. Not pluck it, just feel it between his fingers.

The different types of texture gives him a secret kind of satisfaction. Softly as to not break it he would rub it between his fingertips and let go. Sometimes it’s prickly, sometimes smooth.

Sometimes he drags his fingers against Roach's fur and mane. Feel the muscles work under her skin. Sometimes it’s a brick wall or the bark of a tree.

There are times he doesn't mind the touch of people.

Mousesack doesn't give him much of a choice, often clasping his shoulders and knocking their foreheads together. For some reason Geralt doesn’t mind, and is weirdly grateful for it.

Yennefer was also fine, more than fine, actually.

Was.

The way she would run her fingers through the hair on his chest, a sharp nail tracing the line of his jaw. It was all amazing, more than, but one day it just… wasn’t anymore. He can’t say why, but it got to a point where he didn’t feel comfortable anymore.

There are probably a lot of psychological reasons behind it, Triss told him that one day when she made him talk about it.

She is most likely right, he knows, but he’d rather not dwell on it. He is going to live a very long life and the moment he starts dwelling on things, he fears he will never stop.

He knows he is not like everybody else. The other witchers don’t seem to have the same feelings about touch as he does. Back in the days there were things like cuddle piles, no such thing as personal space.

Geralt joined in, or rather... sometimes joined in. Eskel was always the one constant in this. Eskel's touch was always a comfort.

Then there was the presence of Jaskier. Jaskier is a source of endless affection. And prattle. Endless prattle.

Jaskier is unable to stop talking. And if he ever shuts up, he is probably moping. That is never a good thing, and as annoying as Geralt finds his bard companion at times, he still cares.

That fateful day on the mountaintop made him rethink everything.

The time of dwelling has come.

Breaking off with Yen was not ideal, but it was a relief.

Breaking off with Jaskier was not what he thought it would be.

Without meaning to, he had come to enjoy the bard's company, and without him there is something missing.

In the evenings, he finds himself holding onto his own hand, pretending it was somebody else's. His pillow, for hugging rather than a headrest.

When Geralt finally stops his moping and whining and moaning about, he goes to find Jaskier.

Their relationship to begin with is strained, unsure. Geralt did a good job to get rid of him after all. So he goes out of his way to fix this.

He knows Jaskier thrives when he gets attention, affection and casual touches.

So he gives them.

A ruffle of the hair, a squeeze on the shoulder. Because he wants back what comfort he got. And Jaskiers touch is not giving him that squeamish feeling.

When Jaskier realizes that Geralt isn't shrugging off his casual touches anymore, he smiles impossibly bright.

That smile lives in Geralt's dreams for days.

At night by their fire, Jaskier will tuck his feet under Geralt's legs as he props himself up to write in the light of the fire.

Geralt lets him, secretly enjoying it. The scratching of the pen against the page, crackling of the fire, the solid feeling of Jaskiers feet under his thigh.

What changes things again is when Geralt returns from a hunt.

It was a tough one, he comes back exhausted and full of potions. It feels like the nerves are on the outside of his body.

When he more or less collapses in a heap by his bedroll, Jaskier approaches him.

The hand on his shoulder startles Geralt, and before he can stop himself he shrugs off Jaskiers hand.

“Don’t touch me.” He rumbles, unease building inside him. It’s too much, he is so tired. Jaskier leans back again, away from Geralt and for some reason he misses it immediately. But he doesn’t. It’s a confusing mess, really.

“What’s wrong Geralt?” Jaskier asks softly, sitting back on his haunches, giving Geralt space.

It takes him some time, not sure how to phrase it, or if to say anything at all. But nothing is ever to be left alone with Jaskier around.

“Are you hurt?” He asks, a hint of worry coming through. Geralt sighs.

“I just…. I don’t like it when people touch me.” He admits. Not what he meant to say but it’s the truth.

“But I touch you all the time?” Jaskier looks down at his crumpled form, and all Geralt can do is look back. What can he say about it, really?

They just look at each other for a long moment.

“Should I stop? Am I making you feel bad? Oh Melitele do I make you feel bad--”

“Jaskier, no. Not you, I… Not when it’s you.” Geralt says, staring at the ground. As he learned when talking with Triss, it is hard to make sense of it.

“I can’t explain. I just… can’t. Please stay.” he squeezes out when Jaskier attempts to back away.

He looks hesitant, but sits down properly, far away enough not to accidentally touch Geralt. Something eases in Geralt’s chest, because he wasn’t sure he would stay.

“How can I help?” Jaskier asks softly, and Geralt closes his eyes.

“Would you sing something?”

He is sure to be teased about it, for actually asking Jaskier to sing when all he ever asked before was for him to shut up.

But he doesn’t. There are some shuffling sounds, and when Geralt looks, Jaskier has laid down next to him, staring up at the sky.

Without the lute, Jaskier sounds different. Without an audience, without the pressure to perform, to be perfect, there is just his voice, naked and raw, soothing the sky, the trees, the witcher next to him.

Geralt unbuckles his armor in silence as best he can, and falls asleep with Jaskier's calming presence next to him.

It takes three days before Geralt brings it up. Mostly because Jaskier didn’t, but he feels he owes him this much. And possibly because Jaskier hasn't touched him as much.

“I don’t like it when people touch me.”

Jaskier looks up at him, giving a small smile.

“You said.”

“Some people are alright. Safe.”

Jaskier says nothing, just keep looking straight ahead as they walk side to side.

“Jaskier.” Geralt says, stopping him with a hand on the shoulder. The bard turns to face him, and if he is surprised that Geralt is touching him, he doesn’t show it. Geralt purposely lets his hand stay there.

“I’m not pushing myself to touch you.” Jaskier looks sceptical. “Alright, maybe a little. But it is because you are...safe to me. You feel right. I see how much it means to you, and I want to give that to you. I might not be able to always, but I’m trying.”

Jaskiers gives him a sad smile that Geralt doesn’t quite understand.

“You don’t owe me anything, Geralt. You are not responsible for my happiness, and if it causes you discomfort, I will not ask that of you.”

That’s not it. How can he possibly explain?

“It doesn’t.”

Please don’t stop touching me.

“I… I like what we have. I like you touching me, I like you allowing me to touch you too. I... If I say no, you listen. Mostly.” Geralt says, trying desperately to be understood. It has never felt this important before. Jaskier gives a little smile and Geralt takes that as a success.

“I barely understand this myself. I can’t predict who works and who doesn’t but, you deserve to know. I don’t want to push you away again.”

“You won’t, my dear. Will you tell me if I become too much?”

“You know I do.” Geralt smiles, relieved, squeezing Jaskiers shoulder a little, because he knows it makes him happy. “And would you… uh. I’m bad at asking for things.”

“I know.” Jaskier smilles fully now. “I think this is the most I have heard you say in one go, probably ever.”

“Hush you. I’m trying to say, don’t hold back around me.”

“I will do my worst.” Jaskier grins, and Geralt can’t help but to grin back.

Truth be told, Geralt doesn’t like to be touched. It kind of freaks him out a little. When somebody touches his arm without permission, when a long gone acquaintance pulls him in for a hug, it just doesn’t feel right.

He touches other things instead. While walking past a tree he might reach up and touch a leaf. Sometimes he drags his fingers against Roach’s fur and mane. Feel the muscles work under her skin.

Sometimes it’s a brick wall or the bark of a tree.

Sometimes it is his bard's hand, his hair, his back.

Because Jaskier isn’t just anybody.

#geraskier #the witcher #the witcher netflix #grey ace geralt #touch repulsed geralt #ish #geralt of rivia #jaskier the bard #jaskier #the witcher ace week 2021 #dapanda writes #geralt x jaskier #julian alfred pankratz

112 notes · View notes

roughentumble · 2 years

Text

oh my god ok, another "geralt thinks theyre dating" geraskier concept. theyre at some festival with some local tradition, you give someone a flower crown or a woven bracelet and everyone Knows the intention behind it, it's like a big love declaration. couples all around them are giving these things to the beaus. but somehow jaskier doesnt know-- no one explained it to him, so he just sees people exchanging them. so as a good friend, he gets one for his bestie geralt, who DOES know what they mean and is deeply moved because the man he's in love with just asked him out, in a very romantic way.

they go to bed that night, and the next morning geralt is operating under the assumption that they're now together, because why wouldnt he think that? and he's seen how jaskier is with new relationships, how loving and soft he is, all the wooing and the romance, and geralt admittedly doesnt have a lot of softness in his life, so he's actually really excited for this part. he wants the gentle touches and the poetry, he's excited for the Dating Jaskier experience. so he's using pet names, and waking jaskier gently, and trying to hold his hand and touch him sweetly, buzzing with excitement for this new relationship.

but jaskier has no idea he just asked geralt out the night before. he has no idea why geralt's acting like this. jaskier thinks geralt's just being weird, and that his love is unrequited! so whenever geralt touches him a bit more than friendly, or says something a bit too loving, it just makes him ache and pull away.

it comes to a head after a few weeks-- geralt's been getting more and more withdrawn, each time jaskier pulls away it's just proof in his mind that he's not made for love or soft things, that apparently even jaskier views him as some kind of beast, and jaskier's been burning inside over all these sweet nothings he think literally mean nothing-- when geralt goes to wake jaskier.

he's trying to keep it as simple as possible, walking on eggshells trying not to offend, but he wants that tenderness so badly that he gently shakes jaskier's shoulder, and says "wake up, dear."

once he's awake enough to process what geralt's saying, jaskier snaps at him, patience frayed by the ache deep in his chest, and before geralt even realizes what he's doing, his hand snaps back from jaskier's shoulder and a sob tears its way out of his throat.

#he's confused!!! he doesnt know what he did wrong!! he's been trying over and over to course correct #but jaskier's been getting mad at him so he's scared to bring it up and ask what he'd prefer. so he just keeps trying new things #hoping he'll get it right. that he'll be good enough and kind enough and nonthreatening enough #even though theres the creeping sense of dread that he CANT be good enough. that even his best friend who said he was a good man #is repulsed by his touch and refuses to use the sweet words he uses for the rest of the world #that he's doing it all wrong. that there's something inherently Bad about him.#and jaskier!!! is!!! also not doing great!!!!! the thing he's always wanted is being dangled under his nose!!!#geralt's suddenly Very Nice but surely it must be geralt trying to feel out the edges of what's acceptable in a friendship #because theyre not dating. so geralt must mean it all platonically. and its making jaskier ACHE #but he feels like he cant talk abt it becuz he knows all his feelings and love would come pouring out if he did #and he's sure he'd scare geralt off if he did that!!!#witcher tag #ogc tag #miscomm-union-cation tag

131 notes · View notes

abluescarfonwaston · 4 years

Text

‘I won’t let them touch me,’ the Witcher muttered. ‘I won’t let them touch me, whoever they are. Be careful, Dandelion... when it starts, you two flee, fast as you can. I’ll keep them busy... for some time...’

‘If he touches my elbow, I’ll strike him, the Witcher thought. I’ll strike him, whatever happens.’

Hmmmmmmmmmmm. I have concerns. Andrzej you’re telling me something very concerning about Geralt right now.

#But this does make the Hexer’s choice to show Geralt actively seeking out physical affection as a way to demonstrate their closeness more si #reading the witcher #Geralt accepts touch from 1. person #in most shows i'd say just having characters hug does not a friendship make #but if that were all you saw of Jaskier that Geralt hugs him willingly and with joy #you would know that Jaskier is his closest friend #because he's so touch repulsed in that damn show #its just..... feelings

14 notes · View notes

jaskierx · 2 years

Text

Geralt has watched Jaskier perform before, of course he has, but he’s never truly paid attention. He prefers to gaze into the bottom of his mug of ale and listen to the bard’s songs with one ear, his mind elsewhere.

This time, he’s paying attention. It feels like the only right thing to do, now that they’re ‘together’. It feels odd to even think about it. They’ve been physically together for such a long time, travelling inseparably on the Path, but it’s still very early days for their…relationship, if that’s what it’s going to be. It feels as if they’re making it up as they go along. Geralt is still getting used to it, getting used to being wanted, getting used to being loved.

It’s nice, watching him. Nobody can deny that Jaskier is talented. Everyone’s eyes are on him, the whole room at his command, each patron of the inn hanging off his every word. Most of the people in the front row are reaching out towards the stage, and Jaskier is indulging them, squeezing their hands, caressing their faces.

It comes so easily to him. Geralt’s stomach lurches.

How is this any different from Jaskier holding his hand?

How is this any different from Jaskier stroking his cheek?

Jaskier is a born performer. Showing affection comes so naturally to him. He can just turn it on and off like a switch.

Geralt’s stomach twists.

How would he ever know if Jaskier’s feelings towards him are not real?

How would he ever know if the bard was simply playing along with what he thought Geralt wanted? How would he ever know if Jaskier was secretly disgusted by his kisses, repulsed by his touch?

Geralt tears his eyes away from the stage and gazes into his mug again.

#the witcher #the witcher fic #jaskier #geralt #geraskier #lyse.jpg #i love to suffer

137 notes · View notes

kingeomer · 2 years

Text

This Life That We’ve Created

Geralt/Jaskier / rated explicit / 3,077 words / ao3 / cw: ace!Geralt, sex repulsed!Geralt, open relationships, hand jobs, anal sex, anal fingering, comeplay, kissing, and lots of aftercare. They’re in love, your honour.

written months ago for @thepassifloradiscord’s ace week. ace people who don’t want to have sex for whatever reason but still feel sexual desires are extremely valid and deserve representation. asexuality isn’t always cute “let’s cuddle and hold hands”; sometimes you want your partner to get railed by a stranger and tell you about it while you jerk off, and that’s fine.

The sound of the door clicking open had Geralt lifting his head from his bestiary, quill hovering over the page as Jaskier quietly slipped through the open door, dropping the latch carefully before he turned. His eyes lit up as they landed on Geralt, a smile spreading across his flushed features.

“Oh, good. You’re still up,” Jaskier said softly, his words slightly slurred and his voice taking on a slightly gravelly tone.

Geralt smiled back at his bard, setting the quill down on the page and closing the book, mindful of the inky tip. “Of course.” Geralt set the book down on the upturned crate next to the bed before turning back to Jaskier. “You have a good time..?” he asked, a smirk tugging at his features.

If the smell coming from Jaskier was any indication, he had a fantastic time.

Jaskier leaned back against the closed door, his head tilted back against it, exposing the long, elegant column of his throat. He let out a breathy sound, a groan almost, from deep in his chest, and let his head drop back down to look at Geralt where he sat on the bed, back propped up against the headboard.

“Oh, I had the best time, darling,” Jaskier spoke, his voice coming out as a purr.

Geralt chuckled softly, shifting on the bed to spread his thighs, bending one at the knee and setting his foot flat against the mattress. “You just gonna stand there, or are you going to tell me about it?”

Jaskier grinned, stretching his back against the door before pushing himself off and walking, no, limping the few feet to the foot of the bed. He sat on the mattress gingerly before reclining, and laid on his side, propping his head up with a hand under his chin as he gazed at Geralt.

“Hmmm, well…” Jaskier started, fiddling with the small buttons on his chemise and exposing a red mark high on his chest. Fuck. Geralt shifted, dropping a hand to readjust his trousers and regretting having not changed into something more comfortable. Jaskier watched him do this and his grin spread, getting brighter and taking on a filthy edge. “We did it behind the tavern,” he added, plucking at a button close to his neck, unfastening it to expose his thick chest hair, making Geralt’s thoughts momentarily grind to a halt.

Laying his palm flat against the newly exposed part of his chest, Jaskier continued. “He was a brute, darling. About as wide as an ox with a prick to match…” Jaskier paused, eyes flitting across to Geralt again as he bit his bottom lip softly. Geralt gave him a small nod, encouraging him to continue as he plucked at the fastenings on his trousers.

Jaskier moved across the mattress so he was sat closer to Geralt, a hand hovering slightly near the other man’s calf as he met Geralt’s eyes. “You can touch,” Geralt spoke softly, shuddering softly as Jaskier’s fingers trailed up his ankle and pushed his trouser leg up slightly so his fingers could curl around his calf.

“I’d seen him watching, gave him the signal, and he took me out back. Shoved me against the wall and practically tore my trousers off, bloody bastard. I’ll have to check in the morning make sure nothing’s ruined…” Jaskier stopped talking when Geralt cleared his throat, and when Jaskier looked at Geralt he noticed one of those broad hands he loved so much was inside his underwear, those thick, calloused fingers wrapped around his prick.

Jaskier didn’t mind their arrangement. He knew how Geralt felt, the two of them had spent years dancing around their feelings for each other because of this. Because Geralt didn’t want like Jaskier did, never had, and he’d thought as a result Jaskier would never look twice at him.

If only Jaskier had been honest sooner, had poured out his heart to Geralt and told him how madly, deeply in love he was with him. If only Geralt hadn’t feared rejection because the thought of being physically intimate with someone made his skin crawl.

When the conversation had finally happened, having run into each other on the road for the first time since The Mountain Bullshit, as Jaskier had taken to referring to it, having sat in a tavern and actually talked about their feelings, how hard the time apart had been, Geralt had been terrified. Terrified of rejection, of the one person who had always accepted him as he was thinking him some sort of freakish monster like everyone else did. But Jaskier had, for once in his life, gone quiet, looked down at his hands where they were wrapped around a tankard of ale before looking back to Geralt and offering him a small smile. “I’d happily never have sex again if it meant getting to tell you how much I love you,” Jaskier had said, and Geralt hadn’t believed him, initially. He’d expected Jaskier’s eye to wander, his hands to stray.

Not once did Jaskier look at someone else with heat in his eyes. Not once did he try to seduce a fair maiden or a strapping young man. He would simply fall into Geralt’s arms, would give him a gentle kiss and tell Geralt he was the love of his life.

Coming to their arrangement had been harder work. Geralt didn’t want Jaskier’s needs going unmet and knew he couldn’t provide. He didn’t want Jaskier getting bored of trading kisses and settling for jerking off because Geralt couldn’t do more than kiss and cuddle, and the first time he’d hesitantly suggested Jaskier follow after a pretty, buxom barmaid who’d spent half the night trying to catch Jaskier’s eye, the other half curling her blonde ringlets around slight fingers coyly, Jaskier had looked like Geralt had slapped him across the face.

They’d argued, then, the first argument since becoming lovers. Geralt’s inability to find the words he needed were almost their downfall, and had it not been for Jaskier’s constant patience, they surely would’ve ended up going their separate ways again, a repeat of the mountain only much more tragic, far more final.

Instead, Jaskier had forced a talk, taken several deep breaths and sat down carefully, before asking why Geralt wanted him to take someone else to bed. Geralt, feeling hot all over, skin tight with humiliation, had finally spilled the truth. That while having sex didn’t appeal to him, Jaskier having sex did. He wanted to know his lover was satisfied, he wanted to hear the stories Jaskier would have to share. His cock had throbbed, all those years ago, thinking of Jaskier’s anonymous trysts.

When the penny dropped, Jaskier had grinned from ear to ear. “You want me to tell you about it? Want me to fuck and be fucked, then come tell you all the sordid details...?” Geralt felt like he was burning, cheeks flaming hot, but Jaskier was smiling, he didn’t look repulsed or horrified. Far from it. In fact, once Geralt had responded in the positive, nodding and blushing and stuttering out a “yes”, Jaskier had cupped his cheeks and leaned in for a deep, tender kiss.

And so, here they were. In another rented room above a tavern, where Jaskier had played songs for the locals while Geralt looked for work. Their eyes had met across the room when Geralt had finished speaking with the alderman, he’d gestured upwards briefly before taking his leave. He’d waited patiently, consulting his notes on the creature believed to be plaguing the village, picking at a plate of food and mug of ale that had been sent up for him, soaking up the heat from the fire in the hearth. It was perfect, save for the absence of his bard.

The bard had stood to undo the fastenings on his own clothes while Geralt’s mind had wandered. He tugged his chemise over his head to expose a scattering of red marks across his chest and stomach, some mouth shaped and others more scrapes and scratches. His trousers were dropped next, and while they weren’t torn, the seat of them was ruined, wet and tacky as the devious bastard had foregone underwear after his encounter. Jaskier stood before Geralt completely bare, the glow from the lamp by the bed and the fireplace illuminating his body and causing Geralt’s breath to catch in his throat. Gods, if he wasn’t a lucky bastard.

Geralt gestured at the space next to him, huffing fondly as Jaskier sprawled out. Geralt shuffled to sit, unbuttoning his own shirt and shrugging it from his shoulders before resettling, draping one of Jaskier’s arms over his chest. Yeah, that was better. Much better than a hand on his calf.

“Tell me everything,” Geralt breathed, turning onto his side so he could comb his fingers through the hair on Jaskier’s chest, gently tugging on the coarse curls. Leaning in closer, Geralt dared to drop a tiny kiss to one lightly furred shoulder, looking up in time to catch the bright smile spreading across Jaskier’s beautiful face.

Jaskier shifted, turning onto his side to face Geralt, and ran his tongue over pink lips. “Well. He took me outside, like I said. Practically tore at my clothes. He groaned when he found I’d stretched myself open already, called me a pretty little whore,” Geralt couldn’t help the frown that creased his forehead at that word, which caused Jaskier to huff a soft laugh. “No need to worry for my virtue, darling, we both know I have none.” Jaskier leans in anyway, lips lightly grazing Geralt’s in a kiss. “Thank you, though, you sweet fool,” Geralt huffed at that, pushing at Jaskier who just laughed before continuing.

“He asked if I spread my legs for anyone, which of course is ridiculous,” Jaskier continued, gently stroking his hand down Geralt’s arm. He took Geralt's hand in his own and squeezed, linking their fingers together. Geralt let out a shuddery breath, using their joined hands to take hold of his prick, teasing his thumb over the head slowly and gasping.

Jaskier kissed Geralt’s chest softly, lips leaving a trail from his clavicle across to the spot where he could feel his slow heartbeat the strongest, nuzzling at the soft, furred skin. “He pushed my chemise up first, scratched at me and twisted my nipples until I thought my knees were gonna give out. Bit my shoulder when I wouldn’t let him kiss me, then he spun me around and shoved me into the wall.”

As he spoke, Geralt slowly moved their joined hands, fingers gliding up and down over hard flesh. Once, while deep in his cups, Jaskier had bemoaned that the greatest injustice in his life was not getting to touch the glorious appendage between Geralt’s legs. Geralt, equally as drunk, had laughed, took one of Jaskier’s hands and guided it between his spread thighs, cupping himself with Jaskier’s hand, and had promised him they’d touch it together in future. Geralt had kept that promise, making sure every time he touched himself while they were together, Jaskier touched him too.

Geralt gasped softly as their callouses -his own from wielding swords for decades, Jaskier’s from plucking strings- caught on his ultra sensitive skin, and he could feel Jaskier grinning where he’d leaned close to press his face into Geralt’s shoulder again. “I could feel the stone scraping my skin, he had one hand on my back as he kicked my legs open, yanked my trousers down as far as he could. Gods, Geralt.” Jaskier’s hand tightened briefly, drawing another gasp from deep in Geralt’s chest.

The fingers on Jaskier’s free hand trailed over his own bare skin, tweaking at his own nipple briefly before dipping between his legs. He completely bypassed his stiff prick, elegant fingers dipping lower to tease at his hole. It was Jaskier’s turn to gasp as he toyed gently with the puffy rim, dipping a fingertip inside and moaning brokenly at the heat, the wetness. “He-” Jaskier started, his breath hitching as his fingers plunged a little deeper. Geralt felt his mouth going dry, the wet, sucking sounds and the musky, sweaty smell in the air, the fucking sounds Jaskier was making, these quiet whines from deep in his chest.

Geralt bit down on his lower lip as he moved their joined hands faster, and his hips stuttered forward as Jaskier ran his thumb over the head, teasing at his slit and humming as a burst of precome leaked out, slicking the way for their hands further. “His… his cock, Geralt. He was almost as big as you, long and thick. He spat on it, on me to slick the way. Fucking burned as he pushed in, and-” Jaskier cut himself off to groan, hand still moving between his own legs as he fucked the sticky mess out of his own hole with his fingers, which in turn only made Geralt harder, more desperate.

“And my legs, fuck. They almost gave out, Geralt. He- he had to grab me around the waist, one thick arm digging into my belly as he pressed himself against my back. His… his gut kept pushing into me, bumping me back into the wall. The whole time he spoke pure filth, bit at my shoulders and my neck while telling me what a good little whore I am, asking how I was so tight… he was almost perfect, my love.” Jaskier was almost breathless as he spoke, as he lifted his hand from between his legs and played with the sticky spend clinging to his fingers before wiping them off on the bedding beneath him, tilting his eyes back up to Geralt with blown wide eyes. Geralt’s own breath caught in his chest before he leaned in for a kiss, lips clumsy as the two of them worked their hands faster, more purposefully over Geralt’s prick, an edge of desperation tinting their every move now.

“Fu-fuck, Jask, Julek, I’m close,” Geralt almost whined between panted breaths, nipping at Jaskier’s full bottom lip with his teeth. Jaskier simply nodded, eyes turning down to look at where their fingers were still linked, a thick, broad palm under his own working fast, stripping over a thickness Jaskier had longed to feel, that he was content to see and touch however Geralt allowed him to. Jaskier leaned in again, resting his forehead against his lover’s.

“That’s it, baby, that’s it. Wanna see it, wanna feel it,” Their breaths mingling, Jaskier pressed his forehead against Geralt’s even tighter, his free hand coming up to rest on the other man’s back, holding him as close as he could. “Wh-when he came, he all but roared, Geralt. Ground it into me, before he pulled out and laughed. Said I’d ruin my pretty trousers, cheeky fucker. He didn’t get me off, just… put himself away and thanked me for a good time before he left. Had to do this, same as you, before I came back to you...”

“And that’s what had Geralt shooting off, teeth gritted together as he came hard between them. Through his gritted teeth, an almost pained whine came, and his head hung lower, face hidden in Jaskier’s bare shoulder. “Fuck,” Geralt gasped, taking a few seconds to catch his breath before laughing softly, dropping a tender kiss to the soft skin under his lips. The sound of Geralt’s laughter, a rare and beautiful thing, set Jaskier off as well, a delighted sound bubbling up from deep within his chest as he cupped Geralt’s face in his hands and tilted his face up to kiss him softly, a sweet press of lips as they both caught their breath.

“Gods, I love you,” Jaskier said as he caught Geralt’s eye, taking in the faint pink high on his cheekbones and the sweet, sleepy smile on his lovely lips as he puffed out a warm breath. Geralt’s eyes closed as he looked down, lips curling into a shy smile.

Amber eyes blinked back open slowly, and he stroked one large hand up Jaskier’s side, burying fingers in thick dark hair as he brought their foreheads close again. “I love you too, Jaskier, with all I have,” he spoke softly, leaning in to brush his nose along Jaskier’s cheek, nuzzling as he cuddled up closer.

Geralt inhaled deeply and his face soured. “Fucking hell, we stink,” Geralt groaned as he rolled onto his back, pushing himself up to fetch a cloth. He didn’t mind the smell of sex, particularly. He could appreciate the musk, the sweat and salt of it all, but Jaskier smelled of another man, and Geralt couldn’t abide by that. Coming back to the bed, he stopped to take in the sight of Jaskier, sprawled out and content, his long limbs spread out and all that hair. Jaskier simply smiled at him, bending his knees to rest his feet flat on the bed, and Geralt could see the mess still leaking from his hole, the ring still stretched open and puffy red.

Sinking onto the mattress between his spread thighs, Geralt stroked a hand over furred skin, humming softly as he gently wiped him clean on the outside. “Can I check inside...?” he asked carefully, peering up into soft blue eyes and Jaskier nodded, reaching a hand down to stroke over long white locks.

Geralt carefully inserted one finger inside of Jaskier, listening intently for any hitches in his breath that may indicate pain, feeling for anything untoward, and then withdrew. Satisfied, Geralt dropped a tiny kiss to Jaskier’s inner thigh and laid his head there for a moment, breathing in the clean smell of both himself and Jaskier and sighing contently before crawling up the bed to lay beside him.

Jaskier let out a happy sound once they were face to face again and with a sated smile on his face, he stretched and curled himself around the other man, sinking into Geralt’s warmth as strong arms enveloped him. “Thank you, my darling,” Jaskier almost whispered, face tucked carefully into Geralt’s neck.

“Thank you,” Geralt responded, nuzzling into the hair on top of Jaskier’s head and inhaling deeply. He listened as the man huffed a quiet laugh and smiled, giving him a gentle squeeze as Jaskier kissed his collarbone lightly. Geralt remained still, letting himself drift off once Jaskier’s breathing evened out, content in the knowledge Jaskier would always come back to his home, right here in Geralt’s arms.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #fluff #smut #fluff and smut #ace!geralt #ace fic #manda writes

91 notes · View notes

pillage-and-lute · 3 years

Note

There's plenty of creature!Jaskier works out there. I've always wondered what would happen if it wasn't Geralt that found out about it but someone less accepting of the fact at a bad time.

Hi Anon! Ask and you shall receive (admittedly much much too late)

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been harder than Geralt really wanted to admit, leaving Jaskier behind for winter. Their...partnership was an interesting one. Jaskier would often go ahead or stay behind a few days to spread his songs further while Geralt moved at a steady pace, but he always caught up. But still. They’d traveled together the better part of a year, and Jaskier was loud and bright and the keep, when the boys weren’t sparring, was dim and quiet.

The bard had been so excited about Oxenfurt that year, talking about some ‘one time only Yule bardic competition’. Geralt could hardly keep him from such an opportunity to freeze up in the mountains with some miserable bastards, and Eskel.

A part of Geralt wondered if he’d make an excuse not to ask Jaskier every year.

It didn’t matter now, because the snowmelt was running the rivers high in their banks and here in this little town Geralt had said he’d meet Jaskier again. He was met instead with a mob. They weren’t looking at Geralt but Jaskier, bound and gagged and slumped on a podium as some repulsive man screamed vitriol at the crowd.

“What do we do with unseelie things such as this?” He cried to the crowd. A smattering of rotten vegetables hit the podium, and Jaskier. The roar came back not as words but as violence personified. Geralt knew better than most the horrible violence of a mob, and this one was ready to taste blood. Jaskier was dragged from the podium, slumped and bloodied between two men, to a stake surrounded by logs. Across the town square he saw a difference. Jaskier’s ears were not the familiar human shape, but pointed. Elven.

It explained why Filavandrel had let them go. Geralt’s keen eyes scanned the square, and when he saw what he was looking for he mounted Roach.

Nothing clears a crowd like a battlehorse who has seen the nice boy who gives her treats in danger. Roach’s hooves rang like funeral bells against cobbles and the men tying Jaskier to the stake paused in their task. With Roach clearing the crowd like a streak of lightning, Geralt felt as if he was going in slow motion, but was able to lean in her saddle and scoop the lute from the podium.

Jaskier, his bonds loosened and his captors distracted, reached out for Geralt. Roach’s body bunched, muscles tightening and Geralt stretched out his arm for Jaskier, catching him up as Roach leap over the pile of logs and clattered to safety on the other side. She didn’t even slow down until they were well out of town.

Jaskier, still a little tied up in places, looked at Geralt from his place on the witcher’s lap, face flushed with excitement. Geralt flicked a piece of half-rotten lettuce from his hair.

“You didn’t tell me you were an elf,” he grunted, ignoring how nice the bard felt resting in his arms like a damsel.

“To be fair, I never said I was human either,” Jaskier said. “And I’m only a quarter elf anyway.” It was true, now that he could see more clearly his ears without whatever glamor had been used, they weren’t very pointed, just more than round.

“Do you want me to leave?” Jaskier asked, although his light smirk said he knew the answer.

Geralt brought his other arm up to show Filavandrel’s lute still in his grasp. “Be stupid if you did. Jaskier gasped delightedly and cradled the instrument.

After a moment he said, “You know, that was quite the rescue there.”

“Hmm.”

“No, truly, a real heroic rescue, and what a horse!” he exclaimed, ruffling Roach’s mane affectionately. “I will surely write it into a song. Don’t worry, I’ll emphasize your heroics. Mmh, I think I’ll have to be some maiden instead, wrongfully accused of....”

He trailed off, clearly composing. Geralt felt a little bad for the future audiences, compared to Jaskier, a damsel seemed rather bland. Maybe he was a touch biased, though.

#the witcher #implied geraskier #elven Jaskier #mob violence #mentions of being burned alive #Roach is a VERY good girl #who loves Jaskier very much

230 notes · View notes

geraltofriviasleftbuttcheek · 4 years

Text

Geralt hadn't believed in the horseshit about soulmates until he punched a bard in the gut.

People talked about the pull you feel, guiding you to the other half of your soul, and how it eases when you first touch them, and how the pain of being separated from them is so intense that you physically can't be separated for anywhere up to two weeks while the bond settles in place. It's supposed to promote intimacy and trust, or something like that.

Horseshit, as he said. No pain is that bad. And soulmates don't exist.

Except the pain lancing up his arm as he pulls back from the punch, lighting up his nerves like he's being electrocuted and stabbed with a hundred swords coated in poison simultaneously while also being burned alive, and the way Jaskier—the bard—keens in agony, instinctively reaching for Geralt despite the way he's curled in on himself, very much says otherwise.

He falls to his knees as the pain reaches a sudden spike, and then Jaskier is crawling into his lap and Geralt is hauling him closer without thinking, burying his face in his neck and breathing his scent in deeply, finding notes of lavender and musk that are soothing and calming. Jaskier wraps his arms around him, fingers tangling in his hair, and then the pain is just...gone, as sudden as it appeared.

In his chest, something that's always been restless, always urging him to move, that's kept him going from place to place, never still, finally settles. Something warm starts to take its place, like a soft caress over the very deepest, most vulnerable part of him—

Like a bond slotting into place.

Fuck.

"Fuck," he breathes against smooth skin, and he feels the laugh that rolls through Jaskier in his own chest.

"Well," Jaskier says, relaxing against him, "this is certainly unexpected. But quite a pleasant surprise, to boot! Always wondered if I'd meet my soulmate."

His lips brush against Geralt's temple and he begins playing with Geralt's hair, and fuck it all, but it's nice.

"Soulmates don't exist," Geralt insists, but it sounds weak even to his own ears.

He keeps his nose buried in Jaskier's neck, contrary to his statement.

Jaskier snorts. He's so warm. So soft. "I hate to burst your grumpy, brooding bubble, but I think this is solid proof in their favor."

He goes to pull back, possibly to stand, possibly just to look Geralt in the eye, but the idea of being apart from him is so viscerally repulsive that Geralt instinctively growls and pulls him tighter to his chest, unwilling to let go. Mine, something in him says.

What the fuck.

It draws a breathless huff of laughter from Jaskier, who simply goes back to playing with Geralt's hair. He isn't the slightest bit put out by the situation, which makes Geralt feel even more put out.

"How amusing," he chuckles.

"How annoying," Geralt corrects, snapping the word like it's done him a personal offense. He doesn't ease his hold on Jaskier, though. "I can't do my job like this."

Jaskier hums thoughtfully, and his voice really is nice, smooth and light. His lyrics leave a little to be desired, but Geralt thinks with a bit of practice and some actual knowledge and inspiration, he won't do half bad at the whole wandering minstrel gig.

Which...is why he's following Geralt in the first place. For inspiration for his songs. Like he was being pulled to Geralt, drawn to him.

Like it's Destiny.

Shit.

"It is a bit of an inconvenience, isn't it," Jaskier muses. "The universe didn't quite think this one through, hm?"

"A bit," Geralt deadpans, and finally, finally, pulls away enough to look Jaskier in the eye.

They tense at the same time as he moves, waiting for another surge of nearly debilitating pain, but there's only a soft pulse, a dull throb that goes away again once it's obvious they're not actually separating. Geralt looks up into Jaskier's face, his bright blue eyes, and Jaskier beams at him.

He is pretty. Geralt will give him that.

"So," Jaskier says, still grinning, "how about that devil, then? I still have two hands. Maybe not to grab it by the horns, but I can hold onto you while you hack at it with one of those big swords of yours, yeah?"

"You're going to be in the way," Geralt says, but it sounds way too resigned for his liking. He's giving in and he hates it.

"A specialty of mine!" Jaskier says brightly. "I'm also a great nuisance and a pain in the ass."

Geralt grimaces. "I can tell."

They don't move right away, still sitting on the ground with Jaskier in his lap, Geralt's hands on his waist. They should move, should continue into Dol Blathanna to figure out what's actually been stealing the grain from the people of Posada, but he doesn't want to. A feeling of comfort and safety has wrapped itself around them like a warm blanket, soft and inviting, and it's been so long since Geralt's felt a soft touch that he didn't have to pay for beforehand.

It's nice and he craves it, despite everything.

They can't just keep sitting in the road, though, so eventually Geralt grunts and begins the needlessly harrowing process of getting them upright without causing unnecessary pain. Jaskier takes hold of his hands, pulling his gloves off so that they keep skin to skin contact, and then laces their fingers together and uses that hold to pull Geralt up as he stands. Throbs of pain lance through his limbs, but it's a dull ache like overworked muscles in comparison to the excruciating shocks of earlier. Even the mutations hadn't been that bad, and Geralt had always thought nothing would compare to that.

Jaskier's face is twisted with a grimace as he bears his own share of pain, body tense, and as soon as he's on his feet again, Geralt pulls him in, wrapping him in his arms. Jaskier relaxes against him immediately, sighing in content. It puts Geralt at ease, too, and he hates it.

He hates that he doesn't actually hate it.

He doesn't want a soulmate. He doesn't need a soulmate. This is absolutely pointless. Jaskier is going to get hurt because he physically can't be separated from Geralt, because Destiny decided it'd be funny to give a witcher a soulmate.

Jaskier makes a happy little hum and presses closer to him.

But gods, is it nice to be wanted for once.

This is going to be a problem, he thinks, but he buries his nose in Jaskier's hair anyway.

#the witcher #geraskier #fics.#long post #been a Hot Minute since ive posted here #so have some soulmate au

1K notes · View notes

contemplativepancakes · 4 years

Text

five times geralt saw jaskier naked on accident + one time it was entirely on purpose. ~6k. Read on AO3 here!

“Get back here, you mangy knob!” echoes down the hallway, and Geralt pauses on the way to his room.

It’s been a long night, and Geralt would like nothing better than to collapse into bed, but trouble has a habit of following Jaskier like flies to shit. He’s the whole reason Geralt even has a bed for the night, so Geralt sighs and follows the shouting.

He wishes he could say he’s surprised when he rounds a corner and Jaskier runs head first into him, but honestly, it’s nothing short of expected. What does throw Geralt for a loop, though, is the fact that Jaskier is completely naked, expanses of smooth skin exposed as he sprawls back on the ground in a very undignified manner, clutching his nose.

“Fuck, Geralt!” he cries, but it comes out garbled. “You broke my nose!”

The man who was chasing after Jaskier comes to a sudden halt, panting in front of them. “He slept with my wife!”

Geralt frowns. “Are you sure it was him?”

The man gapes and gestures at Jaskier’s nakedness. Geralt curses Jaskier for being so obvious; it makes his job much more complicated.

“Maybe he can give you some tips on how to satisfy her so she doesn’t feel the need to look elsewhere next time,” Geralt suggests, one hand coming up to casually rest on the hilt of his dagger strapped to his belt.

“It’s all about the tongue,” Jaskier pipes up in a nasally tone, and Geralt rolls his eyes.

The man’s eyes dart from Geralt to Jaskier, and back to Geralt before a look of realization crosses his face and it drains of color. “You’re… the butcher of Blaviken?”

“That’s him! So you’d best get back to your chambers if you want to keep all your limbs!” Jaskier crows, but only half of it is intelligible through the hand he’s holding to his nose.

The man looks like there’s something else he wants to say, but he bites his lip and retreats, after one last withering glance at Jaskier.

Geralt turns to Jaskier, suddenly very aware of his lack of clothing. “Will you ever learn?” he asks in exasperation. “I’m not always going to be around to clean up your messes, you know.”

“I’m fairly certain you have a much longer life expectancy than me,” Jaskier lisps, looking up at Geralt with doe eyes.

Geralt sighs and sticks out a hand to help Jaskier up.

Jaskier takes it, his fingertips lingering on the soft flesh of Geralt’s forearm, and heaves himself up. His hand stays on Geralt’s arm, and Geralt drags him back to their room.

“Sit,” he says gruffly, rustling around in his pack for a clean rag.

He steps over to the wash basin and dips it in before walking back to over Jaskier. He wipes the blood away from Jaskier’s nose gently, but an observer wouldn’t think so from the way Jaskier winces and groans.

Geralt sighs. “Serves you right.”

“That’s just cruel, Geralt.” Jaskier squirms on the bed, pulling a corner of the blanket over his lap.

Geralt resolutely focuses on his face. He squints at Jaskier’s nose, which is just the slightest bit crooked. “This is going to hurt,” Geralt warns. “One, two.”

Jaskier yelps as Geralt sets his nose back into its proper place, finishing up dabbing the blood away before he packs Jaskier’s nose full of gauze. “There,” he says. “Good as new.”

There are tears welling in Jaskier’s eyes from the pain. “I don’t know if I’d go that far,” he says weakly.

“Maybe you’ll be able to go more than a week without cuckolding another husband this time.”

Jaskier lets out an indignant snort. “Hey, sometimes I just sleep with the husbands themselves. Then I have to watch what I eat, though,” he blathers on, and Geralt is honestly impressed with the lengths of his chatter even when Geralt imagines it must be painful to speak. “Have sex with one wrong person, and all of a sudden everyone and their mother is trying to poison you.”

Geralt’s not sure how to respond.

Jaskier sighs and turns over in the bed. “Good night, Geralt.”

“Try not to drown in your own blood.”

“Always nice to know you care.”

And then, almost too softly for Jaskier to hear, “Good night, Jask.”

ii.

Geralt jerks awake and sits up in his bed roll. The fire is crackling happily, a far cry from the smoldering logs Geralt would have expected. He looks around, and Jaskier is gone. Normally, this would worry him, but if Jaskier took the time to stoke their fire, that probably means he hasn’t been eaten. Most likely.

The slight chance that something untoward has happened propels Geralt out of the warmth of his blankets. He tugs on his boots and follows the faint scent of Jaskier, a warm mix of wood smoke and contentedness, these days.

His nose leads him to the river bank, and he hovers right on the edge of the tree line, scouting for any possible dangers. He doesn’t see any, but as he does his sweep, his gaze catches on Jaskier’s bare back and lingers there. There’s a smattering of freckles that Geralt can just barely make out, until they disappear when Jaskier dunks his hair under the water.

Geralt knows that he should stop just standing here, should either reveal himself or just slink back to their camp and start packing things up, but he finds himself rooted in place as Jaskier rubs a rag over his shoulder blades.

Geralt is half tempted to offer his help in reaching Jaskier’s back, but he knows how that would probably be received.

Geralt is transfixed as Jaskier begins to sing, and he sinks down to sit with his back to a tree to listen. Jaskier is always wanting his opinion on his songs, so surely he’d be fine with this, right?

It's not fair, oh, it's not fair how much I love you

It's not fair, 'cause you make me ache, you bastard

And he'll say

Oh, how, oh, how unreasonable

How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do

I'll spend my days so close to you

'Cause if I'm stood here, then I'm stood here

And I'll stand—

Geralt’s jerked out of his trance of listening to Jaskier sing in his honeyed tones by a disturbance in the water, and Geralt focuses in on the ripples that are starting to froth before a drowner emerges, its scaly skin glistening in the morning light. Jaskier screams, and Geralt leaps from his hiding spot, unsheathing his sword.

Jaskier turns to look at the new disturbance with wide eyes, minutely relaxing when he sees it’s Geralt. Geralt jumps into the water, landing on the drowner’s back. It jerks and bucks, deceptively strong as it tries to toss Geralt off. Geralt hooks his hands around its neck, his sword gripped precariously.

The drowner gives one last shake, and Geralt goes flying, his sword falling with a splash. There’s a clawed, webbed hand on Geralt’s head, forcing him under the water. He thrashes, trying to get free, but to no avail. Geralt keeps his mouth tightly shut, and his lungs start to burn as he continues to fight.

Bright spots start to dance at the edge of his vision, getting darker and fuzzier now, and Geralt knows he’s right on the verge of losing consciousness. He’s unable to stop his gasp for air, but only water finds his lungs. He’s resigned himself to this being the way it ends when suddenly the grip goes lax and he’s able to propel himself to the water’s surface, gasping for breath.

“Geralt? Geralt?” comes a worried voice, floaty and distant sounding. “Geralt, are you okay?”

There’s a pounding on his back, and water dribbles from his lips. A litany of curses follow and sharp tugs on his arm that lead him back to the bank.

Geralt coughs and splutters, more water escaping him as he finally registers Jaskier pacing around anxiously... completely naked. Geralt chokes, and Jaskier is there in an instant, a warm hand on his back, rubbing in soothing circles.

“You’re okay,” he croons with a gentle pat.

Geralt doesn’t feel okay. He feels like he about died and is seconds away from doing it again via spontaneous combustion at the sight of all Jaskier’s skin on display. Geralt picks a spot on the distance and fixes his gaze on it.

“Good thing you were around,” Jaskier says finally, and Geralt burns in shame at the thought of why exactly he was there.

He’s lucky Jaskier isn’t running away in repulsion, like he would be if he knew the truth.

Jaskier asks him if he’s okay yet again, and Geralt grunts.

“Oh, goody, you’re well enough for monosyllabic conversation. Back to normal, then.”

Geralt grunts again, and Jaskier laughs, a delightful trilling thing.

“Oh, here you go,” Jaskier says, handing Geralt back his sword that’s covered in monster guts and ichor.

Geralt’s eyes do not bug out as the realization hits him. “You… you?”

“Well, it was drowning you! I couldn’t just stand around, now could I?”

“I...suppose not,” Geralt mutters, but in actuality, he can count on one hand the number of times someone’s actually come to his aid while he was fighting a monster. The most he can wish for is someone who won’t recoil as they patch up his wounds later.

“Are you sure you’re alright? You’re acting a bit,” Jaskier pauses, “distracted.”

“I’m fine,” he says gruffly.

“Well, I guess it’s not every day you have a near death experience,” Jaskier muses, “Oh, wait.”

“Maybe if I didn’t have to save your sorry ass so often.” Geralt shoves at him and instantly flushes red as his hand touches Jaskier’s bare skin and he registers again that he’s naked.

“Put on some clothes,” Geralt mumbles, averting his eyes.

There’s a heavy silence as Geralt waits for Jaskier to say something in response, some sort of rib, but nothing comes, just the soft swish of fabric as he gets dressed.

Geralt grits his teeth.

iii.

Geralt trudges down the rocky path, Roach just behind him. The trail from Kaer Morhen is downright treacherous at the best of times and fatal at worst, so Geralt would rather walk than risk Roach making a wrong step and sending them both pitching off a cliff.

Not that that would be entirely unwelcome, after the winter Geralt has just endured. Eskel and Lambert took great pride in elbowing Geralt and making him the butt of their every joke, saying in glee that they could smell the longing drifting off of him.

“Is Geralt in loooove?” Lambert had sang, until Geralt shoved him off his chair to shut him up.

Lambert tumbled to the floor with a clatter of his armor, but he still wore his unbearably smug expression. Eskel had looked at him with soft eyes. “You could have brought them here, you know. I want to know whoever can make you happy.”

“Yeah, we all know how impossible that is for Mr. Melancholy,” Lambert said.

Geralt shakes his head and puts his focus back on putting one foot in front of the other. The other witchers had endlessly pestered him about his plans for the spring, but Geralt hadn’t wanted to tell them. He likes Jaskier being just for him, and he had waited impatiently for the snow to melt in the pass. He was the first to set out, and he valiantly tried to ignore Lambert’s snickers as he left.

Geralt is headed to Oxenfurt. He and Jaskier hadn’t made set plans to meet up, because it normally doesn’t take too long for them to accidentally on purpose run into each other, but this year, Geralt doesn’t want to wait. The winter had stretched out into much longer than normal, with biting cold and piles of snow, so Geralt is more than ready to be warm again.

When the path finally stops twisting and turning, Geralt mounts Roach and picks up their pace a bit. It’s certainly only because he’s eager to sleep in a bed, never mind that he’s been sleeping in one all winter.

Geralt pulls his hood up against the early spring chill and soldiers on.

When Geralt finally arrives, several days and sleepless nights later, it’s just before dawn. Jaskier has always had a proclivity towards nocturnal behavior, with only Geralt’s need to be up and moving at first light tempering it, so Geralt doesn’t think Jaskier will mind the intrusion.

Geralt ties Roach to a hitching post, promising to come back and find her a stable once the sun breaks over the horizon, and then he wanders until streets start to look familiar, and Jaskier’s cozy house comes into view.

Geralt steps up to the door and knocks, and he definitely does not try to tame his hair into some semblance of kempt or get an anxious churning in his stomach at the prospect of seeing Jaskier again. There’s no answer to his knock, so he tries again, but Jaskier still doesn’t materialize. Geralt tries the knob, and to his alarm, it’s unlocked.

His first thought is one of panic—what if something’s wrong? Jaskier wouldn’t just leave his door unlocked; someone could walk right in and steal his lute. Geralt opens the door quietly and creeps through the dark house. There are no immediate signs that there’s anything amiss. There are only three rooms, and Geralt eases the bedroom door open to peek inside. He’s immediately arrested by Jaskier sprawled out naked on his bed.

Geralt takes a hurried step back, but not before his eyes dart all over Jaskier’s body. He’s just taking stock of any new injuries Jaskier might have incurred while Geralt wasn’t around to protect him from the wrath of cuckolded husbands, that’s all. Jaskier looks paler and more gaunt than he was when Geralt left him, but Geralt supposes that’s just a side effect of winter.

Geralt retreats slowly, locking the door behind him and resolving to come back when the sun is high in the sky.

Geralt stumbles onto the street, the early morning light making everything washed out as he scuffs his boots along the ground. He meanders back the way he came, deciding he’ll stable Roach and then see about something for breakfast. He hadn’t felt hungry in his haste to get to Jaskier, but now that his enthusiasm has been tempered, he’s starving. He tries to remember the last time he stopped to eat something more substantial than whatever he could pull out of his pack. Two, three, days ago, maybe?

Roach comes into view, pawing her hoof against the dirt impatiently. Geratlt huffs a laugh as he walks closer, untying her reins from the hitch and clicking his tongue as he leads her in a direction that he’s getting a big whiff of horse from.

Geralt leaves Roach at the stables, with his usual stern frown at the stable boy and a chastisement to Roach to be good as she nips at his shirt.

Roach taken care of, he sets off to look for something to eat, wondering if it’s too soon for Jaskier to be up yet. His eyes flicker shut for a moment as he thinks of the Jaskier’s robe, and how if he goes right now and knocks on his door, he might answer wearing that and nothing else.

Although, if he does that, even Jaskier might be able to smell the lust rolling off of him.

Geralt sighs and continues his trudge, until he stops in his tracks and redirects his path. He looks up at the sun’s position in the sky. It’s been long enough. Surely Jaskier is wearing actual clothes by now?

Geralt walks back to Jaskier’s home, the path turning from dirt to cobblestone as he gets closer. There’s a patch of grass peeking between the stones with three orange wildflowers growing in it. Geralt stoops down and picks them without thinking too much about it.

Geralt carries the flowers loosely in one hand down at his side. When he reaches the steps leading up to Jaskier’s door, he pauses to steel himself, to try to prepare himself for if Jaskier’s whole chest is on display in his robe, but he’s interrupted by an obnoxious throat clearing.

Geralt whirls around to glare at the person, but he’s arrested by the sight of a man scowling right back at him. “Hope you’re not planning to bother some nice girl, Witcher. Like anyone would ever want you.”

Geralt glances down at the flowers in his hand, and then back to the man, mouth flapping uselessly. He has a point.

“She’s probably just too scared to tell you to fuck off,” the man sneers, and Geralt’s fingers itch to pull his dagger from his belt, but he restrains himself.

He surreptitiously looks around for a place to drop the flowers. The man is right; this is a terrible idea. What is he hoping to accomplish with this? Just to make Jaskier smile? He’s an idiot.

A door slams open, and then, “Well, I have no such qualms. Fuck off.”

Geralt turns around to see Jaskier—and thank fuck he’s wearing clothes this time, but he’s wearing that ridiculous lavender robe, with his leg jutting out right below where it’s knotted together. Geralt desperately averts his eyes, turning back around to frown at the man, but he’s disappeared.

He looks at Jaskier, then, drinking him in after a winter apart. Jaskier makes a pleased hum in the back of his throat. “For me?” he asks, holding out his hands for the flowers.

Geralt hands them over without comment, but he can’t hide the smallest of smiles as he follows Jaskier into the house, Jaskier chattering away about everything Geralt missed.

And, gods, did he miss a lot.

iv.

When Geralt bolts awake this time, Jaskier is gone again. Geralt would be concerned that just anyone could sneak up on him while he’s sleeping, but he knows his body has started to become in tune with the sound of Jaskier and it no longer deems it necessary to rip him from his sleep for just Jaskier padding around.

Still, Geralt wipes the sleep from his eyes and slowly gets up to start disassembling their camp. Jaskier will be back soon, and then they can be on their way. Geralt casts his eyes to the horizon, noting the first rays of morning peeking over it.

Geralt ambles over to where he had tethered Roach to a tree and scratches his fingertips over her neck. She headbutts his other hand, impatiently waiting for her breakfast. Geralt huffs a laugh.

Geralt has everything packed up and he’s been leaning against a tree impatiently for three minutes when he starts to get worried. Who knows what could be in these woods? There could be any number of things looking to make a meal out of Jaskier.

Geralt paces in a circle around their doused fire. On one hand, Jaskier could be doing something like taking a shit somewhere, but on the other hand, he might be hurt.

Geralt freezes when he hears a faint strangled cry, and his feet are moving even though his mind has barely registered the sound. Geralt crashes through the underbrush, uncaring about how much noise he makes or the thorns that tear against his skin, until he skids to a stop in front of Jaskier. In front of Jaskier, who locks eyes with him while his cock is in his hand and comes with an aborted gasp.

Heat burns up Geralt’s face. “Sorry, I—” he cuts himself off and flees back the way he came.

He berates himself as he walks back to their camp. They haven’t been in a town in over three weeks, why was that not what he expected? In all honesty, that’s why he hadn’t gone after Jaskier immediately, but after he heard him shout all of the thoughts of restraint flew out of his brain. The only thing he could focus on was Jaskier needing help.

Geralt tries not to dwell on the thought of how Jaskier’s cock had looked, flushed and jutting out proudly. Geralt pulls Roach’s brush out of the saddle bag and works her over carefully, making sure every hair is going the same way and helping her shed her thick winter coat.

By the time Jaskier stumbles back, Geralt had thought he had managed to put the incident out of his mind, but the sight of Jaskier proves him wrong. “Ready to go?” Geralt grunts.

Jaskier opens his mouth and shuts it with a click of his teeth. “What are we waiting for?”

Geralt swings himself up onto Roach, and doesn’t let himself look back to make sure Jaskier follows.

Geralt’s eyes crack open as the door to the inn room squeaks. He grunts in displeasure at being disturbed, and then remembers Jaskier is supposed to be with the barmaid and bolts upright. The door is just out of view from the bed, so Geralt eases himself out of bed and picks up the dagger. He creeps to where the wall juts out and then jumps out on the other side, revealing himself.

“Is that a knife or are you just happy to see me?” Jaskier laughs nervously, and Geralt sheepishly drops the dagger onto the chair as his eyes widen.

“What is with you and always being naked?” Geralt growls in frustration, trying not to look at the creamy expanse of Jaskier’s skin, marred with freckles instead of scars like Geralt’s.

Jaskier’s brows pull together in confusion. “What?”

“Nevermind. Just—what is going on?”

“Ah. Right. That. I got…kicked out.”

“Did she have a husband?”

“Um, yes, yes, that’s exactly right. He did not appreciate the soiling of their marital bed.”

Geralt rolls his eyes fondly even as a pang of longing lodges itself right between his ribs. He doesn’t stop to examine it for too long.

Geralt turns his back and slips back over to the bed. The one bed, because he had thought he would be alone tonight. Geralt sighs.

There’s a quiet swish of fabric as Jaskier pulls on some clothes. “That was one of my favorite shirts, and now it’ll probably end up burnt or some other ridiculous thing.”

The doublet in question was a gaudy scarlet thing with obnoxious gold threading and beading sewn into it. The light always caught on it just wrong to shine into Geralt’s eyes and give him a headache. “What a pity.”

Jaskier shoves at his shoulder as he clambers into the bed without a second thought. Geralt swallows hard at the dip of the lumpy mattress, at the body what so close to his all of a sudden. Jaskier’s heartbeat thuds, and a peculiar smell drifts off of him that Geralt can’t quite place.

Geralt turns over so that he’s facing Jaskier. “What’s wrong?”

Jaskier buries his face into the pillow. The one pillow, that he tugs away from Geralt. “Nothing,” he says, heaving a dramatic sigh.

“Hmm. Well.” Geralt pauses and tries to think of a way to respond that won’t have Jaskier calling him an emotionless boulder later. “If you want to talk about it, I can listen.”

Jaskier lifts his head up from the pillow to meet Geralt’s eyes. “Wow, I didn’t know that I was speaking to anything other than the wall when I talk to you.”

Geralt yanks the pillow out from under Jaskier and hits him with it. “Shut up.”

+ i.

Jaskier sighs as he unfurls his bedroll. He’s been unleashing heavy sighs about once an hour for the past week, and it’s driving Geralt up the wall. He’s asked Jaskier if everything was all right four separate times now, and Jaskier has brushed him off each time.

“Jaskier, just tell me what’s the matter,” he begs after Jaskier sighs as he returns with water from the stream.

Jaskier plops the bucket down right next to the fire, and some splashes out and douses the small smolder Geralt had got started.

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls before Jaskier can even react.

“Fine! You want to know what’s so wrong? It’s you!”

Geralt rears back, blinking rapidly. He wants to make a beeline for Roach and try to get the feeling of Jaskier’s eyes boring into his out of his mind as soon as possible, but he can’t just leave Jaskier high and dry out here all alone. Geralt shakes his head and turns away.

“Wait,” Jaskier’s hand comes around to clamp onto Geralt’s wrist. Geralt nearly shakes him off, but then Jaskier is saying again, “Wait. That’s not what I meant.”

Geralt meets Jaskier’s eyes cautiously and arches an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.

Jaskier rubs the back of his neck. “You know I got kicked out of that room the other night.”

Geralt grunts. “For cuckolding the husband?”

“Well, yes, but not exactly. I lied. There was no husband. Turns out some people aren’t all that impressed when you say the wrong name in the heat of things.”

“Jaskier, what does that have to do with—”

“It’s you, Geralt,” he whispers.

“Oh.”

Geralt is taken aback. He’s never had this happen with a human before. It’s… hard to imagine that a human could see him as anything other than repulsive, something to be tolerated just to part him from his coin.

“And now I see that I’ve made a complete and total mess of things. I’m sorry, I’ll just—”

As Jaskier’s grip on his wrist loosens, Geralt takes Jaskier’s hand instead. “You haven’t made a mess of anything.”

Jaskier’s eyes widen before he reaches the hand Geralt isn’t holding up to cup Geralt’s face. Geralt turns his head to nuzzle into Jaskier’s hand, and Jaskier leans forward to press his lips to Geralt. Their fingers become untangled as they move on, Jaskier’s coming up to twist in Geralt’s hair, and Geralt’s stroking across Jaskier’s cheek bone.

When they pull away, Jaskier lets out a disbelieving chuckle. “Wow. It seems like I could have saved my hand some work while we were on the road.”

Geralt rolls his eyes at Jaskier’s crudeness.

“Come on, you know that was funny,” Jaskier wheedles into his ear.

Geralt pushes him aside and crouches down to rebuild their fire. “You’re rarely funny.”

Jaskier claps a hand over his chest and splutters. “Okay, still incredibly rude. Nice to know some things never change, I suppose.”

Jaskier huffs and walks away, going over to feed Roach while Geralt attempts to find some kindling that isn’t damp.

A smile tugs at Geralt’s lips.

When the fire is roaring once again, Geralt wanders over to where Jaskier is now sitting against a tree.

Geralt sits down beside him. “I do think you’re funny sometimes,” he admits.

“You’ve already wounded my pride, Geralt; it’s too late.”

“And so if I offered you a… hand, you’d turn me down?”

Jaskier jerks his head up and turns to Geralt. “That is not what I said in any way, shape, or form.”

“Hmm.”

In the end, it doesn’t happen that night, or the day after that. It’s when they’re finally at an inn that Jaskier pounces on him. Geralt has barely shut the door to their room when Jaskier is on him. “I’ve been so patient,” he whines.

Geralt raises his eyebrows, unconvinced. “All you had to do was ask.”

“Geralt, you’re impossible,” Jaskier huffs in exasperation. “Well, I’m asking now.”

Geralt kisses him, slow and sweet, and Jaskier groans his eagerness into his mouth.

Jaskier’s fingers fumble with the clasps of his armor, until Geralt laughs and takes it off himself. When he turns back around after carefully setting all the pieces on a chair, Jaskier is already naked, and finally, Geralt allows himself to look. He drinks it in, notices the tiny scar Jaskier has on his thigh, rakes his eyes over Jaskier’s chest. He moves closer so he can comb his fingers down the hair between Jaskier’s pecs, and he preens at the attention.

Jaskier reaches down to undo his trousers, and Geralt steps out of them. He takes off his shirt, and sheds his smallclothes, looking back up to see Jaskier staring at him. His soft expression turns into a self satisfied grin as he hums to himself.

“What?” Geralt asks, already sure he doesn’t want to know the answer.

“Nothing. Okay, fine, just—the carpet matches the drapes, is all.”

Geralt rolls his eyes. “It’s a mutation. Do you think I would choose for it to be white? What were you expecting?”

“You’re no fun,” Jaskier pauses. “What color did your hair used to be?”

Geralt stops and thinks. “Brown, probably? I don’t remember.”

Jaskier whistles. “That’s terribly sad. Do you think your childhood would make a good ballad? I bet it would.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt grits out.

“Okay, okay. Insensitive, I apologize.”

Geralt pulls back, but Jaskier winds his arms around his shoulders and keeps him in place. “I’m sorry,” he says again, rubbing his nose against the delicate skin of Geralt’s neck.

Geralt shudders and lets Jaskier distract him. It’s not like his childhood is something he particularly likes to dwell on, especially when there’s something much better for him to focus on in the form of Jaskier’s swelling cock judging against his hip.

Jaskier presses up close against him, bracketing Geralt against the door and putting his palm flat over Geralt’s heart before he kisses him again.

Geralt lets the sensation wash over him, the pleasant feelings and the vibration that sends a thrumming through his bones. He walks Jaskier back to the bed and lays him out, crawling on top and straddling him.

Jaskier sucks in a breath. “Gods, Geralt. You’re beautiful.”

A hot blush rises to Geralt’s face and he turns away, but Jaskier takes his wrist.

“Don’t mock me,” Geralt mumbles.

“Darling,” Jaskier says, sitting up and taking both of Geralt’s hands in his. “I’m not.”

Geralt doesn’t know how to respond. He looks down at his body, littered with scars, some pink and small and some, long healed, white and wicked looking. “Hmm.”

Jaskier sighs and tugs Geralt in for another kiss, before he maneuvers Geralt so he’s the one laying down. Jaskier works his way down Geralt’s body, lingering on each scar until Geralt squirms uncomfortably beneath him.

Jaskier huffs a soft laugh as he makes it to the soft inside of Geralt’s thighs, and Geralt starts squirming for a different reason. A whine comes from the back of Geralt’s throat as Jaskier continues to ignore his cock, throbbing and painful at this point.

Jaskier finally has pity on him and takes him in hand, making Geralt sigh and his eyes flutter shut. Jaskier jacks him quickly, bringing Geralt to the edge faster than he would like to admit before he backs off and moves his hand. He goes back to tracing Geralt’s scars, his fingertips finding the one that cut through the muscle of his leg and healed jagged and rough.

He hovers over a different one, looking up at Geralt with a question in his eyes. Jaskier’s wheedled most of the stories of his scars out of him, but this one—Geralt huffs. “I tripped over a rock and fell right onto a very pointy root,” he admits.

Jaskier’s lips quirk up into a grin, and Geralt is about to chastise him for laughing when Jaskier directs his attention back to Geralt’s cock.

Geralt gasps as warm heat envelops him, and his hand comes down to tangle in Jaskier’s soft hair. Jaskier’s other hand comes up to stroke the part of Geralt’s shaft not in his mouth and scoots further back to trail his fingertips over Geralt’s balls and ghost over his perineum to his hole.

Geralt shudders at the feeling, and Jaskier pops off of him with a wet sound. “Can I—?”

“Yes, yes, please,” Geralt babbles.

Jaskier disappears for a moment to rummage through his pack, and Geralt tries to slow his pulse. His heart is practically trying to thud out of his chest compared to its normal steady pace, so he sucks in a deep breath through his nose.

Jaskier returns and settles himself between Geralt’s legs. Geralt lets Jaskier position him until his knees are bent and his feet are planted on the bed on either side of Jaskier. Geralt swallows past the lump forming in his throat as a wave of vulnerability crashes down on him.

Jaskier must be able to sense his skittishness, because he takes Geralt’s hand in his and rubs soothing circles into it with his thumb. With his other hand, he rests the pad of his pointer finger against Geralt’s hole until he slips it in, a second finger quickly joining it.

Geralt can feel himself tensing up, but he tries to relax, tries to let himself give in and just be boneless.

Jaskier stretches him out until Geralt whines in anticipation. Jaskier chuckles and pats his clean hand on Geralt’s thigh. “I seem to recall you saying I was the impatient one?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt growls.

Jaskier laughs again. “Fine, fine. I truly don’t understand why people think you’re so frightening.”

Geralt could list a few reasons, but he doesn’t want to kill the mood. He just grunts at Jaskier until he finally shuffles closer to Geralt and presses inside of him.

Geralt’s head thumps back against the mattress as he squeezes his eyes shut, adjusting to the overwhelming fullness and the way the feeling radiates through his stomach.

Are you good?” Jaskier whispers.

Geralt nods, one of his hands finding Jaskier’s and tangling their fingers together, while the other grips the sheets as Jaskier begins to thrust.

He starts out slow, almost too slow for Geralt to bear, each slide dragging inside of him and creating delicious friction while the head of Jaskier’s cock nudges his prostate.

Geralt hums.

“Let me hear you,” Jaskier says into his ear.

Geralt looks off to the side, but Jaskier puts a finger on his chin and tilts his head back. “You’ve never been shy; don’t start now.”

Geralt stays sullenly even quieter than before, deliberately slowing his breathing.

Jaskier laughs at his obstinance. “No performance review for me?”

“Just shut up and fuck me,” Geralt says breathlessly.

“Who am I to say no to that?” Jaskier asks, and then there’s no more talking for a while, just gasps and moans as Jaskier slams into Geralt at a pace that leaves them both panting.

Finally, Jaskier shudders to his climax and wraps a hand around Geralt’s weeping cock to bring him over the edge with him.

Jaskier slips out of him and collapses onto the bed beside him, draping his leg over Geralt’s thigh, his fingers meandering their way again to the forest of scars that live on Geralt’s skin.

“You’re lovely. Do you believe me yet?”

Geralt gives an unimpressed hum.

“Well, lucky for you, I have the whole rest of my life to make you see reason.”

Geralt likes the sound of that.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #ficlet #fanfiction #contemplative writing #5+1 fic

406 notes · View notes

valdomarx · 4 years

Note

if you're looking for some geraskier prompts, i offer you this: geralt genuinely thinks he's ugly. to him, the hair and the eyes and the overall witcher-y-ness make him complete undesirable to humans unless he pays them. early on in their relationship, jaskier takes the time to convince him otherwise, listing off every single thing that he loves about his witcher's body. (PLEASE feel free to add some more non-human witcher traits, too. we love some fangs in this house)

Geralt isn’t surprised when villagers shrink back from him in fear, or when children run from him in the street. He knows what he looks like. Deathly pallor, ghostly white hair, yellow eyes which glow with unnatural luminescence. His is a face of nightmares.

It’s even worse when his concentration slips and his pupils slide back to their natural cat-like slit, excellent for hunting beasts in the darkness but a horrifying sight for anyone to behold.

And that joke he likes to tell about having his fangs filed down... well, let’s just say that doesn’t seem so funny when he’s been on the road for half a year and he realises his canines have grown back in, sharp and pointed and threatening.

So he understands why men’s breath catches in their throats when they see him, and why townsfolk look away when he passes. His appearance marks outwardly what he has always known to be true on the inside: that he is not, and never has been, human. That he is an abomination, a thing only good for killing, and that they are right to be afraid of him.

He tries not to impose his presence on others. But in occasional moments of weakness, he just wants to be around people, even if he can never be one of them. He sits in the darkest corner of the tavern that he can find and pays for his ale with an extravagant tip.

And that’s how he meets Jaskier. Barely out of childhood, flush with the beauty of youth, wide blue eyes and rosy cheeks and a smile that never leaves his face. He is, in a word, breathtaking.

Geralt does everything he can think of to rebuff him. His is no fit life for a young man, and he is no fit traveling companion for anyone. And yet, Jaskier stays. It is baffling.

Geralt prefers it, at least, when Jaskier walks ahead of him. That way, he can watch over him without having to feel Jaskier’s gaze on him in return. When they walk together, he sometimes catches Jaskier staring, looking for too long at his face or his hair or his blood-spattered armour. He knows he is repulsive, but it still hurts to feel like the object of sick fascination, like one of those travelling freak shows with oddities presented in cages.

Still, sometimes, he is weak, and when they stop at an inn for the night he will order a bath and allow Jaskier to sit by him in the tub. When Jaskier wants to smother him with oils, he agrees to it even though they burn noxiously through his heightened sense of smell, because he can’t change the way he looks but he can at least cover up the way he smells.

And when Jaskier offers to wash his hair, he will let him. Even though he should refuse. Even though it’s not right to oblige someone like Jaskier to put his hands on a thing like Geralt. Because Jaskier clearly feels obligation, or guilt, or something of the sort, and Geralt should not take advantage in this way.

But it feels so good, to have someone touch him tenderly for once, to have Jaskier carefully work out the knots in his hair and to scratch light fingers over his scalp, and in those moments Geralt lets himself imagine that it is because Jaskier cares, because he can look past Geralt’s hideous mutations and to the person he is beneath.

In his very weakest moments, he even lets himself pretend that Jaskier can see him as he cannot see himself: as human. As a thing of beauty. As someone worthy of care, perhaps even worthy of love.

But that’s only ever a passing fantasy. Because who could ever love a monster like him?

#local monsterf*cker jaskier pankratz: I VOLUNTEER!!!!!#anonymous #geraskier #my writing #the witcher #this came out sad but dw jaskier will cheer him up soon (i hope)#george replies

3K notes · View notes

flowercrown-bard · 4 years

Text

It’s ace week! So have some aspec Geralt and Jaskier. Featuring ace-angst and comfort.

They were lying in bed together. It wasn’t anything new, of course. For years they had been sharing beds. When they were short of coin, when autumn was cold, and lately when they just wanted the feel of having the other close.

With a creak of the bed, Jaskier turned onto his side, so that he was facing Geralt. There was something Geralt couldn’t name in his eyes, a softness that after all the years he was still surprised to find there.

“Geralt?” he asked softly, as though he wasn’t sure if Geralt was even still awake.

“Hmm?”

Through the dark, Geralt could see Jaskier’s tongue darting out to lick his lips nervously. “I, um… I know you don’t really like to get touched all that much …” He trailed off.

Geralt’s breath hitched. There it was. The reason why Geralt had never made a move on Jaskier, despite how much he wanted to tell him how much he meant to him. Despite how obvious it was that Jaskier liked him too. Because Geralt didn’t like to be touched in the way Jaskier did.

He stiffened, waited for Jaskier to continue.

“But I was wondering…would it be alright for you, if we, I don’t know, just held each other for a bit?”

“What?” Geralt’s voice was hoarse. Jaskier wanted to just hold him?

“We don’t have to, of course,” Jaskier was quick to answer, almost sounding nervous.

Geralt didn’t answer, he didn’t know what he was supposed to say. He couldn’t remember a time where anyone had asked him for a cuddle.

So instead of saying anything, he moved closer to Jaskier and opened his arms a bit, inviting Jaskier.

The smile that Jaskier sent him was enough to light up the night. After only a heartbeat of hesitation, Jaskier snuggled closer, wrapped his arms around Geralt and pressed his head against his chest, letting out a content sigh.

“Thank you.” His voice was muffled against Geralt. “I really needed that. It’s nice being close to you.”

Geralt’s heart sped up. Jaskier was right. It was nice. In fact, it was the nicest thing Geralt could imagine at the moment. Geralt hummed in agreement and felt Jaskier’s arms tightening around him. It was strange. The way they laid together like this…it felt so intimate. So loving. But it couldn’t be. All of his life, Geralt had been told that the only way – the right way – to be intimate with someone, was to have sex with them. So he had done it. Time and time again, he had wanted to be close to people, he had wanted to feel loved.

It hadn’t worked. Having sex didn’t feel loving to him. It just felt uncomfortable and even repulsive at times. It had been years ago, that Geralt had decided that apparently, he just didn’t like and want intimacy.

But oh, he wanted this. Whatever he had with Jaskier at the moment filled him with warmth and he wanted to do it for the rest of his life.

Somehow, Jaskier snuggled even closer, humming a soft melody. Geralt’s fingers twitched and he couldn’t resist running a hand through Jaskier’s hair.

He felt Jaskier smile against him.

“I like that. I like that a lot.”

So did Geralt. He wanted to say it back, and yet… Guilt crept through him. If he said that he liked touching Jaskier, Jaskier would surely assume that he would like more as well. He would maybe hug him more often, which would be wonderful. He would maybe kiss him, which would be fine. And then, he would expect them to sleep together. And Geralt wouldn’t be able to do it. He had thought about it, of course. He had considered telling Jaskier how he felt and living with the fact that if Jaskier felt the same way, sooner or later he would have to sleep with him, if that’s what it took to keep him by his side. But he didn’t want that. The thought of having sex was enough to send an unpleasant shiver down his spine, but it would be unfair to deprive Jaskier of something that was important to him.

Jaskier made a small sound of happiness, as he nuzzled against him and Geralt tensed. He couldn’t keep doing this. He was leading Jaskier on. As much as he ached to hold Jaskier like this every minute of his life, he couldn’t pretend that he wouldn’t disappoint Jaskier eventually. He had done it before. When he had been sore from riding all day, Jaskier had massaged him, rubbing chamomile all over him. It would have had been the perfect opportunity to make advances. Geralt had tensed under Jaskier’s hands, dreading that the touches would change into something Geralt didn’t want. They hadn’t. Jaskier had not touched him in any way that wasn’t intended on anything other than releasing the tension in his muscles. It had been a relief, and still Geralt had felt like he had let Jaskier down in some way. Just as he was about to now.

The arms around him loosened a bit. Geralt’s heart clenched painfully, when Jaskier pulled back and looked at him with a frown.

“What’s wrong?” His eyes flickered over Geralt’s face even though he wouldn’t be able to see in the dark. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. We can stop, if you don’t like this.”

Jaskier made to lie back into his own side of the bed. He looked so crestfallen, with his eyes downcast and the nervous laugh a pitiful attempt to mask his discomfort.

Panic surged through Geralt. He needed Jaskier to understand.

“I don’t want to have sex with you.” Geralt froze. He wanted to take the words back as soon as he had blurted them out. He was so stupid. Jaskier deserved to know, of course, but this was the worst way to tell him. In the best case, Jaskier would be insulted, thinking that Geralt didn’t like his appearance. In the worst case, he would finally realise that witchers had no emotions, that Geralt’s mutations had broken him and that Jaskier would be better off leaving him.

“What?” Jaskier haltered in his movement. As far as Geralt could see, there was no hurt on his face, only confusion and surprise. But he couldn’t be sure. Jaskier loved having sex. He had to be disappointed.

“I think you’re pretty.” The words escaped him, without thinking. The urge to explain what he didn’t even understand himself, became overwhelming. “Your eyes are beautiful and your hair is so soft I want to touch it and seeing you smile makes me happy. But I…I don’t want to have sex with you.”

“Alright,” Jaskier said slowly. “And thanks, I think you’re pretty too.”

A blush crept over Jaskier’s face. He clearly didn’t understand what Geralt had just said.

“I like what we just did. But I don’t want to have sex,” Geralt repeated, the words still feeling foreign and bitter on his tongue. Never before had he admitted this out loud, but it was important that Jaskier understood.

“Great,” Jaskier said lightly and he even sounded a bit…relieved? No, it couldn’t be. “To be honest, I don’t really want to have sex with you either. I mean, I’d be happy to, if you wanted to, but I much prefer just cuddling. I don’t really look at people and want to sleep with them. So, like I said, you are beautiful. But when I look at you, I mainly see that you look like you give wonderful hugs. And I was right.”

Something warm spread through Geralt’s chest. It was strange, but knowing that Jaskier didn’t think of him in a sexual way made relief wash over him. Relief and confusion.

“But…but you are human,” he said carefully. “Humans are attracted to others. That’s what everyone says. I know I am different. Witchers aren’t human, we don’t have emotions. We don’t love.”

“Yes, you do,” Jaskier said firmly and sat up in bed, looming over Geralt with a hint of fury in his eyes. “Who you are attracted to sexually, has nothing to do with being human or being able to love. You are not less human for not wanting sex.”

“So it has nothing to do with me being a witcher? It is me who is broken?” The words tasted bitter in his mouth.

“No. Nothing about you is broken, Geralt.” Jaskier’s tone became soft. “I am like you. I don’t need sex to love someone. I don’t mind it either, it feels nice and it’s fun, but that doesn’t change the fact that I am not attracted to people that way. Do you think I am broken?”

Geralt shook his head. How could wonderful, caring, beautiful Jaskier ever be broken?

“And I am human, yes?”

Geralt nodded.

“And I love you.”

Geralt’s heart skipped a beat. His mouth went dry. “You what?”

“I love you. And I don’t want to have sex with you. Do you think I love you any less because of that?”

It was too much. Geralt’s eyes started burning. Jaskier loved him. He wasn’t broken and Jaskier loved him and he didn’t expect Geralt to give him something he wasn’t comfortable giving.

“I love you too.” Geralt’s throat was tight, as he pressed the word forth. “This is really enough for you?” It couldn’t be true. It was too good. Too perfect.

“You are enough for me. More than enough. Would sleeping with me make you happy?”

“I… no, It wouldn’t.” Something in Geralt’s chest loosened, as Jaskier smiled at him. It was so freeing finally saying it and not having guilt sweep over him because of it.

“Then it wouldn’t make me happy either.”

Carefully, Jaskier laid back down, his head tugged into Geralt’s shoulder and his hand resting above his heart. He was so pretty. So loving. He was more than Geralt deserved or ever thought he would have. Gently, Geralt pressed a kiss into Jaskier’s hair.

A smile flashed over Jaskier’s face. “You know what makes me happy though?” Jaskier said quietly. “Just this. What we have right now. Just laying here with you. Loving you. Holding you. That’s more than enough for me. That’s everything.”

Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier, pulling his closer.

“You are everything to me too.”

#geraskier #the witcher #jaskier #geralt #ace!jaskier #ace!geralt #ace week #my writing #I never expected to be able to write those two as aspecs #but I read so many wonerful fanfics doing just that and it felt wonderful and validating #asexual!Jaskier #asexual!Geralt

441 notes · View notes

dhwty-writes · 3 years

Text

A Touchy One

Is this incredibly self-indulgent? Yes. Am I posting this anyways? Also yes! I dug this up somewhere in my WIP folder and decided this deserves to be finished.

This is the first thing I've posted in forever, and I know (and am sorry) that it's no OWBABH update (that will come, too, I promise), but take this in the meantime. I am finally feeling like writing again, so here's to hoping I won't take as long next time. Have fun reading!

Summary: The bard is a touchy one, which is an odd travel companion to have, especially for a witcher. It isn't that Geralt minds so much as that he startled terribly the first time it happened.

Or: how two people, who do not like being touched learn to enjoy each other's closeness, featuring a sex-repulsed Jaskier and our resident grumpy witcher.

Warnings: none, as far as I’m aware

Read on AO3

The bard is a touchy one, which is an odd travel companion to have, especially for a witcher. It isn't that Geralt minds so much as that he startled terribly the first time it happened.

It has been scarcely more than a brush of his fingertips across his forearm, but still Geralt did jump and scoot away as if burned. He even faintly remembers growling quietly, although he's not quite sure if that was a later addition of his mind. He distinctly remembers the surprised, and slightly hurt expression on Jaskier's face, though.

After that, there has been no touching for quite some time. Until one night, when Geralt returned from a contract too tired to rid himself of his armour and simply flopped face down onto the bed in the inn they were staying at. Jaskier drew close, hesitantly hovering at his side, one hand extended. "May I?" he asked quietly.

The bard patiently waited for his grunt of approval, before hauling him upright, deftly unbuckling his armour and putting it away. Geralt was half asleep during the whole process, leaning his forehead against Jaskier's shoulder, while fighting the urge to pull him close.

The bard is a touchy one, and although that seemed odd and startled Geralt in the beginning, it now is the most natural thing in the world. Because the thing is, the bard isn't necessarily a touchy one. He is a spacey one. Comes with the profession, he guesses.

Wherever Jaskier goes, he brings a stage with him, announcing his presence with loud songs and colours as well as grand gestures, uncaring for other people's opinions. It is only natural, that with every other spread of his arms he brushes against someone. And it's also mostly natural that, as his travelling companion, those touches mostly reach Geralt.

Just as natural as touching him in return. In fact, it is the most natural thing in the world. There is seldom a moment when the bard isn't touching him, be it a hand on his forearm, an elbow nudging his side, or his dirty feet in his lap. And it isn't as if the bard is the only one to initiate that kind of intimacy. Geralt delights in throwing an arm around his friend's shoulder, steadying him with a reassuring hand on his back after he had too much to drink, or wrestling him into a river. He especially delights in waking up cuddled close to his bard, their limbs and scents intertwining, both of them too lazy to start the day.

He can't remember when that had started, if he's quite honest. He thinks it was maybe five years after they first met, that they arrived at an inn tired and battered, as well as soaking wet from the thunderstorm outside only to discover that there was only one bed left.

After tucking the witcher into bed, the bard threatened to slip from his grasp. "Jaskier," Geralt slurred after a failed attempt to grab his wrist.

"Yes, dear witcher?"

"C'me 'ere." Geralt doesn't quite remember the motion accompanied by his words, too much asleep for that already, but according to Jaskier he made 'grabby hands'. Despite that embarrassing escapade, the bard beamed and indulged him, slipping into the single bed next to him and cradling him tight to his chest. Geralt never slept so soundly in his entire life.

He thought that he would mind, if he is honest. He never liked anyone invading his space before, and Jaskier is nothing if not invading. It took them a bit to establish some boundaries, to find out what made the other snarl and pull back or vanish come morning. Geralt doesn't like his potions to be messed with and Jaskier is very protective of his notebook. Geralt prefers to be cuddled instead of doing the cuddling part and Jaskier allows no hands from his hips to his knees, although he doesn't mind waking up with Geralt draped over him from chest to toe.

Other taboos soon soften until they are abandoned completely. Like the bag-sharing ban, for example, or clothes. In the first few months of cuddles and touches, Jaskier enacted his strict shirts-and-pants-required-policy with vigour, only to be the one to ultimately forego it. Geralt still smiles at the memory.

It was an especially hot summer, maybe a decade into their acquaintance and Geralt just wrestled the bard into a clear creek. They were sodding wet, Jaskier huffing indignantly, in nothing but their smallclothes, too lazy to dry off if the sun was about to do the work anyways. Seeing him standing there, shaking his wet hair, his hands on his hips, did something funny to Geralt's stomach. As if it dropped and lifted at the same time.

Before knew what he was doing, he tossed Jaskier his clothes. "Get dressed," he ordered gruffly and spread his arms, "and come here."

Jaskier looked at the garments in his hands and sneered. "Oh, fuck no," he spat out. "You want a hug, Geralt of Rivia?" He threw the dirty clothes back at him and spread his arms. "Come and get it."

Geralt let them hit him. Although that also might have been the shock of Jaskier so readily abolishing his most adamant requirement. "You sure?"

"Yes, I'm bloody sure, you daft witcher. Now come here before I dry and start melting again."

Geralt has never been so quick to comply to a request. He lunged to tackle Jaskier to the ground, happily sprawling across him until they were both sweaty again. He was shoved off unceremoniously and then coerced into another bath in the river.

That night they didn't bother to get dressed either. Not when setting up their camp next to the creek, not when Jaskier got out his lute, not when Geralt started cooking their dinner. Certainly not when going to sleep.

Maybe it ought to feel weird. It's a weird thing to embrace your friend like a lover, is it not? It didn't, though. It doesn't. In fact, it feels like most natural thing in the world.

The bard is a touchy one. But that is not the reason why he is odd. The reason why he is odd, is his reaction to being touched in turn. He often startles and pulls away, just like Geralt has.

They are lying in bed one evening, entangled like they always are, Jaskier on Geralt's chest (the bard insisted they swap for once), Geralt carding his fingers through his bard's hair. There was a performance, earlier that day, and Jaskier made the acquaintance of a nice-looking gentleman. Geralt resigned himself already to the fact that he would go to bed alone that night.

But then, the man reached out to place a hand on Jaskier's knee. The bard froze up and a moment later he was plastered against his witcher's side, insisting they go to bed. It is a strange behaviour, although not the first time he has seen Jaskier react that way. The question burns on his tongue and, of course, Jaskier notices.

"What is it?"

Geralt tenses beneath him. Fifteen years and still not brave enough to ask. "Hm."

"Don't be daft," the bard chides, "we both know something's on your mind. Out with it."

There's no evading a determined bard, Geralt discovered that a long time ago. "You... don't like to be touched," he notices. Which is an odd thing to say to the half-naked man sprawled across his chest, with his ankles hooked around his calves. But they are odd people and an odd pair, so that's neither here nor there.

He is quiet for a long time. Such a long time, in fact, that Geralt feels the need to check with a quiet "Jaskier?" if he hasn't fallen asleep.

"Hm," the bard replies quietly. "That's not strictly true."

"Not strictly untrue either."

Jaskier sighs with a resignation of a man who knows he cannot hide, but doesn't particularly want too either. Still, it takes him a long time to reply: "I don't mind the touching. I... am not a great fan of what comes after."

Geralt freezes, his fingers tangled in Jaskier's hair, trying and failing to decipher that statement. "What comes after?"

"Oh, you know..." Jaskier makes a very illustrative gesture.

"Ah." Yes, he knows what comes after. He is, in fact, a great fan of what comes after. "You mean you don't like men?"

"Oh no, don't get me wrong. I like men and women well enough, just... not in my bed."

He frowns and looks down again at the man sprawled across his chest who must surely notice his heart beating rapidly. "Jaskier..."

"Hm?"

"I'm in your bed."

"Yes, I know, but that's different. I don't like them naked in my bed."

"Jaskier," he says again, glancing down at their almost naked bodies pressed together.

"Oh, shut up, you great oaf," he hisses and grins. "You know what I mean. And you're... different."

"Hm. Why?"

"I don't know." Jaskier sighs and pushes his hair out of his face. "You just are. Never tried to shove your dick into me, for starters. Or tried to coax me to shove my dick into you."

He shrugs. "Never thought you'd be interested."

"I'm not. Are you?"

He shrugs again. "Does it matter, if you aren't?"

"I guess it doesn't. Still, are you?"

"Jaskier," he chides softly and does his best not to squirm under his inquisitive gaze. But the bard is unrelenting. Geralt sighs and raises his eyebrows as he answers. "You... are a very attractive man. I would gladly suck your cock, or let you suck mine, if you were so inclined. Seeing as you aren't... I would rather refrain from it, if it's all the same to you." He smiled and splayed his fingers over Jaskier's shoulder. "I assure you, not the most proficient cocksucking in the world could grant me greater bliss than I am in right now. There is nothing in the world that could persuade me to give up what we have, especially not something as insignificant as a roll in the hay."

"Oh." Jaskier's shoulders sag and for a moment Geralt fears he's said something wrong. But then a bright smile spreads on his bard's face that is mirrored by his own a moment later. "That's a relief. And thank you. I guess."

Geralt snorts, amused. "You're welcome." After a moment of silence, he adds: "Jaskier? You're different for me, too."

"I am?" The bard beams at him. "How so?"

He has to be exhausted. Or drunk. Or both. There is no other explanation for the next words that leave his mouth. "Because I love you," he hears himself say, to his own mortification.

But Jaskier just smiles and closes his eyes. "Oh," he breathes and languidly squirms closer, like a cat basking in the sun. Then, after a mortifying moment that feels like an eternity, with Geralt's heart thundering in his chest, he replies: "I love you, too, Geralt of Rivia."

He breathes out, relieved, and opts for holding his bard tighter. That's always a good option. It just feels right to share their space and share their silence. Natural.

He's not sure how long the quiet lasts before, for once, he's the one to break it: "Are we lovers?" Geralt asks suddenly, the question that has been occupying his mind for the past few minutes.

Jaskier sleepily blinks up at him. "Do you want us to be? I'm sure you could find a person better—"

"No, I don't think so," he interrupts him without hesitating.

Jaskier smiles again and it's a sweet expression, one that makes his heart speed up and his face go soft. "If we were lovers, Geralt...," he says after a while, "what would that mean for us?"

"You mean, what would change?"

"Yes."

"Hm." He gives him a long glance. "You said you are averse to naked people in your bed."

"I am," Jaskier confirms.

"Are you also averse to clothed people kissing you?"

Geralt feels stupid while asking it. Apparently, it is very stupid, for Jaskier immediately starts laughing. "No, my dear," he replies after having calmed down, "I am not averse to clothed people kissing me."

"In that case, I would like to kiss you from time to time."

"Like when?" Jaskier props himself up on an elbow and his lips curl into a different smile, one that's more teasing, more flirtatious than the soft expression before.

"Like now," he says before he can change his mind.

Jaskier hums and reaches out slowly, so that he cups Geralt's face with his hand, tracing his cheekbone with his thumb. Then, he leans in, just as slowly, and presses his lips to the witcher's in a sweet kiss.

"Good?" Geralt asks when he pulls away.

"Good," Jaskier confirms.

"Good." He allows himself to smile as well, bright and unguarded like his bard taught him, and pulls him against his chest again. Once they're settled, he says, feeling a little silly: "I suppose I would also like a love poem or two, master poet."

"Oh, Geralt." Jaskier smooths a hand down his side and feels around until he finds Geralt's hand and can interlace their fingers. "Are you so daft as not to realise that each and every one of my poems for you's a love poem?" he mumbles and presses a kiss to his knuckles.

Warmth spreads in his chest again and he smiles. "I had hoped," he replies and returns the gesture, "but I did not dare to presume." After a moment he adds: "Thank you."

"Always, love," Jaskier replies. "Now go to sleep. I'm knackered."

Feeling relieved and relaxed, holding his bard—his lover!— close, Geralt does.

The bard is a touchy one. And an odd one, although not for his relationship to touches. He's an odd one for loving a witcher. But said witcher is an odd and touchy one as well, so it's alright. In fact, it is the most natural thing in the world.

#my writing #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier

56 notes · View notes

on-a-lucky-tide · 4 years

Note

Hello. Here's a prompt if you want. After the mountain Geralt brings Jaskier for winter and they are very happy together. Eskel immediately retreat into himself, hiding away on the deepest parts of the Keep thinking the bard he spent a few incredible weeks with and wanted to see again was with him just until he could get the "real deal". Jaskier (with or without Geralt) finally gets it after a while and uses all his tricks to show Eskel how much he cares and that he wasn't a consolation price

Eskel’s used to living in the White Wolf’s shadow, but sometimes it hurts just that little bit too much…

Those few months with the bard were the best of Eskel’s life. It wasn’t an over exaggeration. The well of happiness he carried around his chest whenever Jaskier was near was unlike anything Eskel had ever felt. To find a man—hell, just another person—that smiled at him, touched him, without fear. They met in Vole, on the coast of Cidaris, while Eskel was dealing with a selkie problem, and they clicked immediately. Jaskier was like sunlight, and Eskel couldn’t help but bask in him. The first time they’d made love—because it wasn’t a fuck, people didn’t fuck like that—Eskel had been terrified of ruining it. That his thick, scarred body would be repulsive to the beautiful creature straddling his hips.

But Jaskier’s eyes had blown wide, his slender yet deceptively strong hands kneading over every inch of Eskel’s chest, his arms, his face. Jaskier kissed and touched his face. All of it. The sensation of his lips on those scars. The symbol of Eskel’s shame—his failure as a man, as a Witcher—gently caressed as if they were no more than another part of his story. Because that’s what Jaskier saw his scars as. “They’re chapters of your story, Eskel. Your story is an adventure, not a romance, so you have a few more than I. That’s all.”

Two glorious, exciting months turned into three, four and five. Splitting up occasionally, but always coming back together. Months of making love in dingy taverns, running from trouble that Jaskier had managed to stir up by his mere presence, talking and singing beneath the stars. Eskel taught Jaskier the song he remembered from his childhood; Jaskier spread their map out on the dry soil and pointed to Velhad in Poviss. “I’ve heard that song here. Only here.” Eskel felt his chest tighten as he rested his palm over the mountains. The people were generally described as outlaws by the rest of the Continent, but only because they lived in ways that others didn’t understand. They were merchants, geologists, miners, scientists and technicians. Their very existence was defined by curiosity and discovery. Jaskier smiled, “Perhaps that’s why you’re so inquisitive. It’s in your blood.”

Jaskier had caught him once worrying over the fungal infection he found on a dead wyvern’s scales. Eskel explained that it could spread to the rest of the population, and when Jaskier posited that surely that was a good thing for the rest of civilisation, Eskel had baulked. No creature deserved to suffer. That’s why Witchers were quick and clinical. They were pest control; they didn’t revel in the suffering of another living thing. Out in the wilds, far from civilisation, wyverns thrived and lived peacefully—well, peacefully for them.

They learned and thrived on each other. Then they parted ways. Jaskier had commitments in Oxenfurt, and Eskel headed south. Even though the bard was at the other end of the Continent, Eskel still felt his presence in the nice smelling soaps he’d bought in Ban Ard, in the new journal of pressed flowers that Jaskier had encouraged him to keep—“you like documenting things, and this is something that doesn’t require bloodshed or cost”—and the soft shirt they’d picked up in Vizima.

So when Geralt arrived with the bard in tow that winter, Eskel’s heart dropped out of his chest and shattered on the stone floor. They greeted him with bright smiles, embraces—Geralt already knew about their acquaintance—and headed upstairs to sleep.

Of course. Why have second best when you could have the real thing? The Great White Wolf. Beautiful, majestic and mysterious. Compared to him, Eskel was drab. He was boring. Just Eskel. “I’m a simple Witcher, Wolf.” And simple didn’t keep the interest of lively, energetic bards with a thirst for adventure and intrigue.

Eskel made himself scarce. He disappeared into the keep and went high into the mountains in search of harpies, kikimora and forktails. Lambert pointed out that he always did that when he was avoiding something but stopped short of actually saying the name ‘Deidre’ lest the glare of menace turn into a thump in the face. It was fine. He just needed time to repair the huge hole in the fortifications around his heart; the bricks were time, the mortar isolation and hardwork.

Jaskier noticed.

The first gift was a small bar of soap wrapped in brown paper. It sat in the middle of Eskel’s pillow one evening when he returned from playing cards with Lambert. The next was a new song about the time they spent in Cidaris. It talked about the sea, the sand and the sun on their skin. Eskel was pretty sure there were euphemisms for sex in there, but he didn’t trust his literary skills to fully analyse it.

It was constant. Jaskier topped his drinks up for him, brought him food and water while he was working, mended all the poor sewing in his shirts and left them folded on Eskel’s desk. Finally, after two weeks of it, Eskel snapped and rounded on Jaskier in the stable. “What’re you doing?”

“Hm?” Jaskier pulled the brush from Roach’s back and held it before him in two hands.

Eskel pushed Scorpion’s nose towards his feeding bag. “The soap, the poems, the shirts—why?”

There was a brief pause as Jaskier considered his words. For once, they weren’t just falling off his tongue in an avalanche of flowery prose. He was… thinking. That alone put Eskel on the back foot. When he did eventually speak, he did so softly. “I’m waiting for you to talk to me. You’re hurting, and I don’t know why, but last time I pushed someone I cared deeply about to speak with me—to trust in me—I lost them. I don’t want to lose you too.”

Eskel felt like he’d been punched in the throat. His jaw went slack and he momentarily forgot about the huge stallion behind him. It was a hard nip on his elbow that brought him back to reality again. “I thought—.”

Jaskier opened his mouth, but snapped it shut again with a liberal application of self-control.

“I thought you’d… I thought you were…” Eskel cleared his throat. “I thought you’d gone back to the better option.”

“Oh, Eskel,” Jaskier threw the brush into the nearby bucket of tools and stepped over to cup Eskel’s face between hands that smelled of horse and hay. “Geralt is my dearest friend. I love him deeply, and perhaps one day he may reciprocate, but even if that day comes, even if he falls down upon his knees and screams his love to the heavens,” Jaskier mirrored Eskel’s small smile of amusement, because they both knew that was a ridiculous image, “I will still love you. My knight in shining armour, who found me sitting alone on a cliff edge and asked whether I could spare a handkerchief because you had selkie guts in your eye. The stew we had that day was bloody awful, but I could barely taste it because I was too busy savouring every inch of the sight before me.”

“They sting, selkie guts,” Eskel grumbled, but the smile was growing between Jaskier’s palms. “You… mean it? These aren’t just… you’re not…”

Witchers weren’t men of words when it came to this kind of thing. Sure, they could talk themselves around a contractor, and out of trouble if they needed, but navigating relationships and emotions—things they’d never had practice in—required vocabulary they’d never learned. So Jaskier kissed him. Deeply, passionately, desperately. His wolf melted in his arms and returned his fervour. Those big arms crowded him into a clean stall, with a heavy cushion of hay, and they made love. It was awkward—and quite frankly hilarious when Scorpion leaned down and bit Eskel’s ass, Jaskier could barely breathe for laughing—but they each looked into a pair of eyes brimming with love. The bard had his Witcher Wolf, with his amber eyes, mop of black hair and beautiful, bashful smile. And they couldn’t be happier.

#rawrkinwrites #Eskel #Jaskier #Jaskel #Requited Love #A Little Pining #Simple Witcher Wolf #Smut #Ish

324 notes · View notes