Hey darling! Can I perhaps request some soft smut with Selkie!Jask? Maybe he's feeling insecure but Geralt just loves him so damn much 🥺
Wolfie, darling, for you!? Anything!!! Though you know me, gotta make it sad first and for that I am a bit sorry. Here’s part one! link to the AO3 and the actual smut can be found here!!!
Also!!! Thank you @kuripon for all your help beta reading and editing. <3 <3 <3
It had been a hard winter, harder than most. Jaskier had seemed listless and every full moon seemed to have him wandering the halls with a restless energy. Geralt did his best to keep him as present as possible but something else called to him that Geralt just could not compete with.
“You have to go back soon, don’t you?” Geralt asked softly, one night as they laid in bed. Jaskier had been losing sleep and it wasn’t likely for Geralt to wake him.
Jaskier turned over, pressing his face into Geralt’s shoulder, sighing. “I don’t want to, but I can feel the sea calling to me. I’ve been gone too long I think and I can’t seem to escape it, even here.” He looked up at Geralt then, his eyes wide and full of an ache Geralt wished never existed.
“Come with me? See me off?” Jaskier asked softly. He had pulled back slightly as if waiting for a rejection.
Geralt pulled him close again, rolling them until Jaskier was pinned beneath him. He kissed him slowly, his hand sliding up into soft dark curls, his own chest tight and his throat clogged with too many unsaid things between them. For a moment, he wondered if there was a way to stop Jaskier, to hold his cloak and never let go. He pulled away then, his stomach twisting with guilt and shame that he would even consider trapping Jaskier.
“Of course,” Geralt kissed his forehead, his eyelids, his cheeks. He kissed every bit of skin he could reach, lavishing Jaskier’s fingertips and the fine bones of his wrists. “And I’ll be there when you come back to me, too,” he promised softly.
When the snows finally melted, they set out for the coast directly, Geralt taking only enough contracts to get them to where they needed to be without slowing them down too much. The nights were still cold and they would spend every night on the road huddled in their bed rolls, pressed in close. Jaskier would tell him the stories he had grown up with, murmuring softly into Geralt’s hair as the witcher wrapped around him, pressing his ear to Jaskier’s chest. He desperately tried not to think of how it would be seven long years till he got to hear that heartbeat again, steady and strong and grounding.
When the fingers in his hair slowed and Jaskier’s sentences began to slur and stop midway, Geralt only pulled him tighter and told him to rest. They would be at the shore soon.
And they were. They had reached the coast in near record time, every step closer seeming to bring a new vigor to Jaskier that had been nearly lacking the last season they travelled. He would take deep breaths, his shoulders shifting under his doublet as they walked.
Geralt, on the other hand, felt more and more like he was walking to his doom.
They rented a cabin close to the sea two nights before the first full moon of spring where Jaskier left trails of marks on Geralt’s skin that he wished he could keep but by morning, they were already faded. He left his own marks on Jaskier’s hips and chest and neck. They were dark and multicolored in the morning light as he watched him sleep.
Jaskier, his seal-husband, his heart, his.
Geralt slid from the bed before Jaskier could wake. He gently pulled the cloak out from their pack, placing it on the low kitchen table before starting their breakfast. Because everything this close to the sea tasted of salt, maybe that was how he had missed the tears that tracked down to his own lips before a gentle hand pressed to his cheek and a lute calloused thumb wiped them away.
“None of that, dear heart. Seven years is a blink of the eye to witchers and selkies alike. I’ll be back here in your arms before you know it,” Jaskier said in a hushed voice. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of Geralt’s mouth before letting him return to breakfast.
They spent the rest of their day in bed, tangled and warm, exchanging lazy touches and half-heated kisses. Geralt did everything he could to burn the image of Jaskier’s face into his memory. He did not mention that life was dangerous by nature for both of them and that there were any number of things that could keep them apart; that seven years would pass and maybe Jaskier would change his mind about the life he had chosen for himself, the love he had found, or the man that he followed.
Geralt watched the sunlight slide across the room carefully, counting down the hours he had left with Jaskier by his side. He let himself be teased and he let himself laugh easily at bad jokes and he kissed Jaskier every time the bard stopped for breath. But soon the sun was beginning to set, casting the room in warm orange light.
“I think it’s time, love,” Jaskier said with a weak smile. Geralt could only nod as he stood, walking to the table.
He picked up the cloak carefully but Jaskier didn’t come to take it from him, instead walking out the front door and down to the beach, still completely naked. Geralt took in as much of him as he could, tracing the curve of Jaskier’s spine with his eyes, his fingers and lips tingling with the memory of how it felt. Taking a breath, he followed.
The air on the beach was cooling rapidly as the sun faded, Jaskier beside him shivering slightly. Geralt let the cloak unfold in his hands, still marveling at how it seemed to slip easily between his fingers like silk though it felt impossibly warm, nearly alive. It felt like Jaskier.
He moved in, draping the cloak around Jaskier’s shoulders, leaning in to kiss him softly. “Stay safe and don’t get into fights with sharks.” His throat felt tight and his heart pounded out an aching rhythm, too loud in his own ears.
The selkie took a breath and already magic was filling the air. “I love you, Geralt. I’ll be back. I swear.” They kissed once more before Jaskier turned, walking without hesitation into the breaking waves. When he was nearly up to his waist in the surf, he turned back to give one last wave before he pulled his hood up over his head. Geralt watched in wonder as the man shifted into a seal, gray fur with dark spots. They reminded him of the splatters of ink Jaskier made when composing music.
Geralt stood there for a long time, watching as the seal disappeared into the water, moonlight scattering silver over every wave. He took a shaky breath and finally turned, going back to the cabin to collect their things and head on.
Every step on the path was plagued by a constant pull as though the sea were calling him back again. Back to where he left his heart, his home. Back to where he hoped to find it again in seven years.
In response to that earlier anon, I'm doing about as well I can be. It's kind of you to think of me. I haven't been as active on my blogs lately but I promise I'm still around, even if I'm grieving. I've received a lot of love and support, publicly and privately and I'm very grateful. It's all so very unexpected. But I appreciate everyone who has reached out to me ❤️ Love always, The Wolf
