#5"1

[cupcakes-are-ours]

that guy gets it

[kjack89]

I. The first time Grantaire said it, it was their third date.

Ok, that wasn’t quite fair, because they’d known each other for years and been teasing at this for at least half that time, but it was their third official date. They were walking back from dinner, Grantaire’s fingers tangled loosely with Enjolras’s, the moon was shining, and it had been as close to perfection as Grantaire had ever felt.

So he said it.

Because he felt it, and because it was true.

“I love you.”

Enjolras didn’t say it back, but that was ok – Grantaire hadn’t expected him to. __________________________________________

II. The second time, they had just had sex. Not for the first time – hell, not for the fiftieth time, since they’d been doing this since before they got together. They’d always been better at sex than they had been at friendship, let alone a relationship. But that morning, Enjolras had turned his alarm off, and nuzzled his stubbled chin between Grantaire’s shoulder blades, and pressed a kiss to his shoulder, and then they’d had sex.

Lazy, familiar sex, between two people who knew each other intimately, who had mapped every plane of each other’s body and knew the other as well as they knew themselves.

And as they lay next to each other, chests heaving, Grantaire couldn’t help but blurt, “I love you.”

This time, the silence that followed felt too heavy, and Grantaire instantly regretted it. He sat up, avoiding Enjolras’s eyes, and stood for fish for his boxers. “Coffee,” he said brusquely, and left the bedroom.

He hated himself for how much he wished Enjolras had called after him. __________________________________________

III. Raised voices was a nice way of putting it. More accurately, Enjolras and Grantaire were screaming at each other.

The fight had started as something stupid and had escalated rapidly until neither could truthfully remember what started it in the first place.

Not that the reason mattered. Both men were taking out their frustration on each other, and the original reason for the fight was just a convenient excuse.

“Why do you even care?” Enjolras snapped, glaring at Grantaire.

Grantaire met him glare for glare. “Because I love you!” he snarled, pure venom lacing every word.

Enjolras’s expression didn’t change. “Go home,” he ordered, and Grantaire felt each word like a blow to his chest.

“Go fuck yourself,” he replied, because it felt better than the three words he wished he had never said. __________________________________________

IV. “I love you,” Grantaire whispered, saying the words out loud for the fourth time. 

Enjolras turned to face him, his nose just brushing Grantaire’s.

They were so close that Grantaire could see every faint freckle that splayed across Enjolras’s nose. He could see the faint laugh lines at the corners of Enjolras’s eyes, could feel his breath ghosting across his lips. 

And for one moment, he thought Enjolras might just say it.

Instead, Enjolras kissed him, capturing the sigh of slight disappointment Grantaire breathed in the moment before. __________________________________________

V. Grantaire had lost track of the dates, the sex, the fights, and the kisses. Months of perfection marred by one acute absence: Enjolras returning the three words Grantaire longed desperately to hear.

So one night, in the midst of yet another argument, Grantaire couldn’t help but challenge Enjolras, frustration clear even as his voice shook, “I love you! And you don’t even know how many times I’ve told you that! And even worse, you’ve never said it back!”

For one long moment, Enjolras just stared at him, his expression frozen. Then, slowly, he said, “The first time you told me you loved me was after our third date. I probably shouldn’t have been counting, because we’d been together without being together for years at that point, but it was our third. And I didn’t say it back because I didn’t think I felt it yet.”

Grantaire stared at him, and Enjolras continued, “The second time, we had just, uh—” He broke off, flushing slightly. “And I thought about it, but you turned away, and – I lost my nerve.”

“I can’t imagine you ever losing your nerve,” Grantaire murmured.

“You’d be surprised,” Enjolras said, a little wryly. “After all, how many times did it take for me to finally ask you out?” Grantaire just shook his head and Enjolras started again. “The third time, we were fighting, and I couldn’t say it then, even though I did – because I was mad, and I didn’t want to say it when I was mad. The fourth time…” He trailed off. “I kissed you, and it felt like the kiss said everything I needed to, and I’m sorry that I didn’t realize sooner that it didn’t. And the fifth time—”

Grantaire shook his head again, the breath catching in his throat. “Enj—”

“Provided that the fifth time hasn’t passed, I’d really like to say it back.”

Grantaire stared at him for a long moment before croaking, “What the hell are you waiting for, my permission?”

Enjolras just laughed. “Grantaire, I love you.”

Grantaire surged forward to kiss him, and Enjolras laughed again, cradling Grantaire’s face between both his hands. Then Grantaire pulled back, his eyes shining. “Well,” he managed, grinning crookedly at him. “Took you long enough.”

[allthingsmustfall]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

“I was given to understand you were. Otherwise engaged.”

Zeb frowns at him. “Is that Imperial for getting laid?”

Kallus swallows. “Indeed.”

[cupidford]

5 times Holmes falls asleep on Watson by catsinagraveyard

Johnlock Love Letters #2152

And 1 time Watson falls asleep on Holmes.

[dapandapod]

Random ass prompt: 5 times where Jaskier said "I can explain" to Geralt +1 time he really couldn't explain.

(Imma send this to a couple of my favorite witcher fanfic writers cause i really wanna see in which direction (angst, comedy, h/c etc) everyone will take it)

I love prompts like this!!! thank you so much for thinking of me and sorry it took me some time!!

So here be some Geraskier 5+1 (i never managed to do 5, lol, this is gonna be fun!) and because I can, this will be split up!

Please enjoy!!

(hhgjfjdks so kind wordssss hfhjd thank you!)

part:                   two    three    four    five      bonus       +1        Ao3

ONE

“It’s not what you think.” Jaskier hurries to say, before Geralt can open his mouth. “I didn’t sleep with anyone.”

“So why the fuck are they chasing us, Jaskier?” Geralt asks angrily, one step behind Jaskier, making sure he is not falling behind.

“I can explain!” he pants, skidding around a building and barely avoids colliding with a wall. Shit. A dead end.

Geralt almost slams into him, and fine, fuck it. The shadows are thick from the setting sun, and it is rather dark in the alley. Jasker turns and grabs Geralts armor, backing them up as far as he can, and arranges Geralt so that he covers as much of Jaskier as he can.

Raised voices are heard behind them, a henchmen running past their little hideout without noticing them. Geralt and Jaskier are pressed together, breathing each other's air as they try to catch their breath.

“Don’t let him get away!” Someone calls.

“He can’t be far!!” Someone else yells.

More footsteps, doors slamming open and protesting civilians are heard. Jaskier listens, still pressing Geralt close to himself.

It takes him a full minute to realize their noses are touching, and when he figures that out, his heart is beating for another reason entirely.

His eyes are fixated on Geralt's lips, mesmerized when they move. He just wants to lean in and--

“So. Explain.” Geralt growls.

Jaskier licks his lips and pulls himself together.

“It turns out I was given loaded dice….”

[heretherebedork]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 악마판사 | The Devil Judge (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Kang Yo Han/Kim Ga On Characters: Kang Yo Han, Kim Ga On (The Devil Judge) Additional Tags: injuries, lack of self-care, Angst, Fluff, Loneliness, Hurt/Comfort, 5+1 Summary:

A 5+1 about Gaon getting injured after Yohan's departure and being alone... well, kind of.

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Part 4 of the newest train fic! part one | next

Geraskier | T | five times Geralt tries to tell Jaskier he loves him and one time he succeeds.

For some time after that, things return to normal and Jaskier is surprisingly quiet about his scar. It haunts Geralt's thoughts. He thinks about it during the days, especially when they're camped out and at the mercy of anything that might show up to hurt them. Geralt keeps his eyes and ears open, always alert. And even when he sleeps, he dreams about it sometimes, a nocturnal reminder that this is his fault, that if Jaskier had stayed put in Posada all those years ago, he would never have gotten hurt, he wouldn't have that terrible scar now.

And Jaskier has assured him it's nothing, reminded him that Geralt also has scars and they're a mark of survival, but Geralt finds it hard to believe. Not when Jaskier still winces when he bends at the wrong angle or when he has to apply ointment in the evenings before bed. Geralt doesn't think of it as a mark of survival because even though Jaskier did survive, he never should have been in danger in the first place. Without Geralt in his life, he could have been somewhere warm and cozy, home somewhere or in someone's bed, but instead he was in the wrong place at the wrong time because he insists on following Geralt around. Or, rather, because Geralt isn't strong enough to tell him to leave.

And for a little while, things are calm. Geralt keeps his thoughts to himself and Jaskier continues on as optiisically as he always has. But then they come to Vizima. There's a wyvern getting too close to the city walls and they'd put out a contact for a Witcher. Geralt was happy to find somewhere he could find work and leave Jaskier at an inn where he would be warm and fed and safe.

But now that they're here, Jaskier is going on and on about wanting to perform at some feast or other held for the king's son. Geralt had shrugged it off at first because wanting to do something doesn't warrant an invitation, but Jaskier is insistent that he'll play. While Geralt goes to the inn to get settled, Jaskier goes off to talk to the king—or whoever will listen.

Geralt is reluctant to let him go, but the city is completely closed at night since the start of the attacks and guards are posted at every possible entry. Jaskier is safe here, Geralt can relax a little.

The contract is a simple one; it turns out to be a disoriented youngling that Geralt dispatches easily before hurrying back to town. He takes the head to the captain of the guard and collects his pay before returning to the inn. Jaskier is downstairs waiting for him, apparently celebrating his upcoming performance and Geralt sighs.

"You're invited, of course," Jaskier babbles as they make their way up to their room. "The king could not possibly deny my best friend—and the man who saved his kingdom from a ravenous beast!"

"It was a confused wyvern, Jaskier."

"Eh, same thing. Anyway, you will be accompanying me and we'll have to find you something to wear and—"

"I'm coming with you," Geralt says, "but I'll wear what I like."

"Gods, Geralt, can't you ever have a little enthusiasm about anything?"

"Yes, but I hardly think dressing up for a bunch of nobles is something worth being enthusiastic about."

Jaskier just rolls his eyes as Geralt pushes the door to their room open and darts in ahead of him, sitting on the bed at the far side of the room.

"Well, I'll be getting dressed up and I think you'll look quite silly showing up like that."

Geralt looks down at himself, still splattered with blood and lifts an eyebrow at him. "Well," Jaskier shrugs, "not exactly like that, but you know what I mean." He turns away and bends to pick up his lute from where it's leaning against the wall and he lets out the faintest little whine.

A human wouldn't be able to hear it, but Geralt is attuned to Jaskier at the best of times. He's striding across the room and hovering in a matter of seconds. Jaskier just sighs at him as he straightens up and places the lute case on the bed.

"I'm fine," he says, "just twisted funny is all." Geralt doesn't believe him.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" he asks and Jaskier rolls his eyes.

"Yes," he says firmly. " Geralt, you wouldn't even let me play for days. I am fine, I want to do this. Just… stop worrying so much." He offers up a warm smile that melts away the remainder of Geralt's protests and he grumbles to himself as he crosses back to his own side of the room, already pulling off his armour.

Geralt doesn't own anything nice to wear to a feast and he's not about to go and buy something for it, but he will clean up. He couldn't give a shit about the king or his son, but Jaskier does and he'll do it for him.

He calls for a bath and cleans the muck off himself and out of his hair, declining Jaskier's assistance. He's already going to be straining himself playing tonight, Geralt doesn't need to make it worse. So he gets clean and picks out his nicest clothes once he's dry; a spare pair of trousers that haven't been worn since the last time they were washed and a white linen shirt. He looks presentable and Jaskier doesn't complain about it, so he considers that a win.

Jaskier finishes tuning his lute and warming up and then, smiling delightedly at Geralt as he leads him away from the inn and toward the castle. Geralt watches him closely for any sign of pain, but either Jaskier is doing an excellent job of hiding it, or the wound is getting better.

Jaskier lights up when he performs, always has, but something is different about tonight. It's probably because it's been so long since he's had a captive audience but Jaskier glows under the attention of his audience. Geralt has never been one for poetry, but watching Jaskier, he can understand the need to write down, to keep a memory of beauty when you see it. There's no mistaking it now. He let himself consider it once and the gates have been opened and refuse to shut again no matter how hard he tries.

He loves him. Loves the way he smiles when he sings, the way his laugh will sometimes disturb the rhythm of the song, but he just keeps going. Geralt loves all of it and he almost lost it, almost lost Jaskier.

He looks at the people around them, how they fawn over him and he understands, he does. But they see a smiling troubadour, an entertainer. They don't see the way, as the night wears on, that Jaskier favours one side or the way he slows and limits his movements. Geralt does and something about it makes his blood boil. They don't care about Jaskier, they care about his music, about what he can do for them, and Geralt itches to get him out of there, to somewhere he can be properly cared for.

Jaskier takes a break after a couple more songs and Geralt pulls him into the corridor.

"What's wrong?" Jaskier asks, clearly recognizing the anger in Geralt's face.

"It's hurting again, isn't it?"

"It's fine," Jaskier says, but he lowers his eyes and Geralt curses.

"It's not and you're making it worse performing for these people. They don't care that you're hurt, Jaskier, they just want to listen to you."

"And I want them to," Jaskier shrugs but Geralt sees how even the slight movement causes pain. "Anyway, why do you care what they think about me? You've never cared before. You let me perform after I nearly drowned that one time in—"

Because I love you, you fucking idiot. Because I want you to be warm and safe and comfortable.

"Because I—" the words catch in his throat and he frowns. "Because you certainly don't and someone needs to look after you," he scoffs. Jaskier just smiles fondly, if not a little teasingly, up at him.

"Oh, Geralt, you do care." Geralt wants to tell him that he always has, but Jaskier doesn't give him a chance, ducking away to return to his performance with only a quick, got to go, see you tonight. Geralt measures his breath and shuts his eyes, but just as he's about to turn and head back to the inn, Jaskier appears back through the door.

"Thank you, Geralt. I'll try not to overdo it."