#dramatic jaskier

[faetyrantosaurus]

“Not lying. Just embellishing. There’s a difference.” (Sword of Destiny)

Oh no… another season 4 Jaskier in my style…whatever shall I do...

Reference and bonus half-ish-body below.

[dapandapod]

I can explain BONUS

The way I left it I had to give a bonus, right? I had no choice. And it is a weeee bit fluffy and pining in place and what’s not.

Oh, and Jaskier is bigtime hungover.

Just one left!!!! Oh dear!! 

On Ao3   ONE   TWO   THREE    FOUR      FIVE        +1

BONUS

Geralt is laying right next to Jaskier on the bed. That in itself is not unusual, but the way he is studying Jaskier’s face is. 

Possibly. 

He always made it clear that Jaskier is a complete mystery to him, but this time there is something more than just the usual… thoughtfulness? Scepticism? 

Whatever word his hung over brain can come up with, but that is not it. There is something hesitant in there.

Geralt is gorgeous, as per usual. Pupils are blown wide, his white hair falling over his shoulder, still messy from sleep. He is resting his chin on his hand, propped up on the elbow and looking down on this truly miserable bard.

Oh. Wait.

“Finished spacing out?” Geralt asks, his voice still a bit gravelly. “I think you promised me a reply…”

“Are you sure you are ready to hear it?” Jaskier says, groaning when the throbbing in his head intensifies. He hides behind his hands, pressing the butt of the hands into his eyes, trying to push the pain out of his head. “Misery.” Jaskier grumbles.

“Depends. Did you mean it?”

Jaskier can’t see Geralt right now, but Geralt can surely see the flush spreading across his face, hear his breath hitch and his heartrate pick up.

“Jaskier?” Geralt prompts when there is no reply.

“Will you promise not to treat me differently?” Jaskier asks, and yes, miserable bard. There is a real and solid fear in him, that if he admits to the more-than-attraction-thing he harbors, Geralt will leave him. Or look at him with pity. Both are terrible and he would rather be without it.

“What do you mean?” Geralt asks after a small pause of his own.

Finally dares to remove his hands from his eyes, but damn the soft light alone stings his dry, sad, poor, probably bloodshot eyes. What a time to reveal his feelings.

“I mean, if I tell you, will you do what you always do and run the other way? Because if you will, Geralt of Rivia, I will sing songs about your morning breath and sleep farts and that thing I promised not to tell Yennefer about, but you know what? I just might! And--”

“--You are talking an awful lot for being so hungover.”

Jaskier scoffs.

“Of course I do. Who do you think I am??”

“Someone who loves me?” Geralt says, and there. His eyes do that thing again. That hestitant something that is so fucking weird.

It shuts Jaskier up anyway, and he looks up at Geralt, trying to not let his yearning show. Too much anyway.

“Yes.” 

Geralt breaths in harshly through his nose, clenching his jaw. Jaskier groans and hides behind his hands again.

“See? You already regret asking. Now you will leave me here in all my miserable glory…”

“Jaskier.”

“No, Geralt, I’m having a moment. And I will have to be here all alone and regret not only the night drinking but the loss of my very best friend.”

“Jaskier.”

“Or you will pity me. Giving me that look, just like everyone else knowing it’s hopeless.”

Geralt doesn’t interrupt him again.

At least not with words.

A large hand grip his wrist, pulling his hand away from his eyes, his perfect hiding place.

“Geraaallllt.” Jaskier whines, but he doesn’t fight it. His hand is placed between them, Geralt carefully holding it in place.

“You love me.” Geralt says again, sounding a bit incredulous.

“I do.” Jaskier says, removing his other hand. “Desperately.”

Geralt's eyebrow does a little twitch, but reveals nothing about what is happening inside that head of his. But the hand holding Jaskiers wrist drifts upwards, upwards, and then his hand is covering Jaskiers, and their fingers lace together.

“Geralt.” Jaskier breathes, and then Geralt is leaning over him slightly. It is a little awkward, and he finally lets go of Jaskiers hand to lean over him instead, bracing on his elbow and playing with his hair.

“You really don’t want me to treat you differently?” He whispers, aforementioned morning breath hitting Jaskiers face.

“If you are asking to kiss me, please.” Jaskier says, his eyes dropping to Geralt's lips, which twitch up into a small smile.

Geralt leans in, but instead of kissing his pouting lips, he kisses his forehead. Soft, warm, and a little wet. Perfect.

“Your mouth smells like something died in there.”

“That’s what you get for trying to give me water.”

“Idiot.” Geralt says fondly. Oh, maybe that is what that look was.

“Your idiot.”

That earns him another kiss on the forehead.

[missloubanner]

A normal discussion in a normal day for these two

[jaskiersbrokenlute]

Pairing: Geraskier

Word count: 992

Summary: Jaskier simply cannot perform looking like this, whatever is a bard to do?

No warnings.

______________

“Ugh! This is hopeless,” Jaskier groaned and fell boneless on their bed, his face buried in a sea of pillows and blankets.

“I can’t possibly go looking like this.” He mumbled, words just barely audible.

“You look good Jaskier, but you’ll look late if we don’t leave soon,” Geralt sighed, running his hand down his face. He’d been sat in the corner of their shared room for the past hour watching as Jaskier slipped in and out of his outfit choices, some he’d been provided by the court he was to be performing at and some of his own.

He’d cycled through each one at least twice, mixed and matched some of the doublets with the undershirts, or tried on different accessories wherever they fit, and yet all he’d managed to do was mess up his hair with the endless on and off of his clothes.

“Yes, I know I look gorgeous, it’s these bloody outfits!” He shouted, rolling onto his front like a child mid-tantrum.

“They provided them to humiliate me, I’m sure of it.”

“These clothes could pay for an entire season on the path bard, I doubt they would spend such wealth just to make you look bad.”

“Well then they’ve no sense of fashion!” He shot up, pacing around the small room a few times before settling in front of the mirror. All he donned now was a white undershirt with frilly sleeves and a plunging neckline and a very immodest pair of pants just barely visible past the bottom of the shirt,

“You should go out like that,” Geralt mused, “You’d certainly be the center of attention.”

“Yes, but unfortunately I’d like to get paid.”

“You won’t get paid if you don’t show up, and we’re already late.” Geralt leaned heavily back in his chair. Personally, he’d be fine with staying here all evening, more than fine. But he also knew that Jaskier’s indecision was more nerves than anything. As much as he loved performing in front of the masses it could be daunting, and tonight that fear seemed to be manifesting in how he looked.

“You really won’t wear any of those?” He asked, looking to the pile of discarded doublets, tunics and trousers in the corner.

“I don’t think so,” Jaskier sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. As the dramatics began to wear off Jaskier’s frustration began to take over alongside his anxiety. He began to chew on his lips while he stared at the clothes and then back to himself in the mirror. They really did have to leave soon, but something in him knew that he wouldn’t be able to give a performance he was proud of unless he was first confident in himself.

“Wait here,” Geralt spoke after a moment of deliberation, then disappeared out of their room before Jaskier could even turn to ask where he was going.

He brought his hands up to his face, rubbing his eyes and then migrating to his temples as he took a few steadying breaths. He had to go, and he will, and he will get paid even if he leaves feeling like a bard on the same level as Valdo Marx himself. It’s may just be the price he has to pay.

“Here, see if this helps,”

“Geral- what?” Jaskier didn’t have a moment to process what had happened before Geralt was back inside the room and thrusting a mass of light blue fabric into his hands.

“I bought it a few towns back, I was going to give it to you on your name day,” Geralt explained, fidgeting with his hands as he looked suddenly bashful.

Once he’d recovered from the excitement and pulled the garment away from his face he could see what it was.

A skirt, a lovely, mid-length skirt that would lay just below his knees, made of a soft material that came all the way up around his waist, with white buttons in the front to hold it together and show off the gentle curve of his hips. The entire thing was dyed a light shade of baby blue, layered with a light lace that faded off into white as it reached the hem of the skirt, patterned with barely visible flowers only on the ends.

It was simple, elegant, pretty, and so very Jaskier that all he could do was stare at it for a few minutes and bask in its perfection.

“Where did you get this?” He breathed, turning to Geralt with wide eyes.

“I love you too, now go change before they decide not to let us in.”

“It’s beautiful Geralt, I love it.” Folding the skirt over his arm he left the mirror to go place a soft kiss on his Witcher's forehead.

“I love you,” He whispered, bending down to kiss him properly, trying his very hardest to show every ounce of adoration he could manage.

“This is perfect, I’m ready.” Jaskier smiled, admiring himself in the mirror.

Jaskier pulled away with a bright smile, lacking all of his earlier frustration.

In the mirror he pulled the skirt on over his lacey white tunic, tucking the shirt under the skirt so the buttoned waistline showed off his curves, even more, giving a lovely contrast to his broad shoulders.

Finally, to avoid scandal, he picked up a light blue doublet that matched the skirt just enough to pass as a pre-coordinated outfit, and even so, with it unbuttoned and most likely to be discarded halfway through the night, the slight difference in the shade was likely not to be noticed.

“Good, let’s go,”

“Yes, right.” Jaskier made to follow Geralt out of their room, stopping just short of the door.

“Wait! I can’t possibly wear my boots with this! Oh fuck, where did I put those black ones? Geralt can you check Roach’s saddlebag for my heeled boots? Or the white ones!”

Geralt sighed and dearly hoped ‘fashionably late’ would be acceptable.

---

Fic and Series also on ao3

[incorrectly-quoted-queers]

Jaskier: I miss Geralt

Zoltan: Why don't you go find him then? Or go with him next time he's in town?

Jaskier: Ugh no, it would be tragic if he ever thought I was needy

Zoltan: But you are needy...?

Jaskier: Shush. Ignoring that very rude comment, the thing I have to do is create a perilous scenario where I make myself a necessary component in his quest. Then he has to come to me, begging on his knees for my gracious help. Making a Witcher grovel is the most delicious kind of reunion. It'll be perfect

Jaskier: ... How do you feel about being kidnapped?

[faetyrantosaurus]

“Sounds like a lovely dream to me.”

Season 4 Jaskier is finally here… Click/press for better quality.

Reference and progress sketch below.