young geraskier prompt where geralt comes knocking on jaskier's apartment door begging for kisses and cuddles 🥺
Nonie you’re a genius. This one kinda ran away from me but if we’re not here for overindulgent fluff then what are we doing?
Warnings: Swearing, little bit of nervous love confessions, its pretty soft guys i think we’re good
_________
Jaskier stood outside Geralt’s new condo and fidgeted with his phone, debating on whether or not to call him. The floor of Jaskier’s and Geralt’s old apartment building was just so cold and empty now that his friend had moved. It made sense, new job, more money, more space for his little sister and the new puppy. But Jaskier missed him like crazy. It had only taken two days for him to realize just how entwined their lives had become and how lonely he was now that the little family had moved.
So he swallowed his pride and tapped Geralt’s name, holding the phone up to his ear as he stood between the two doors. That was the only reason he was risking a call anyway. He couldn’t remember if Geralt was door A or B.
If I go crazy then will you still call me Superman?
Jaskier turned around, hearing the ringtone from behind him. He smiled as he kicked some pebbles off the landing, Geralt had kept the dorky ringtone he’d set.
“Geralt speaking.”
“Damn don’t you ever check your caller ID? No need to be so formal.”
“No, I’m unpacking alone. Ciri bailed on me. What’s up?”
“I- uh, which door are you?”
“What do you mean?”
“A or B?”
“B.”
Jaskier knocked, probably a little aggressively with all his adrenaline, and hung up the phone. Geralt thundered down the stairs, the sound, familiar and comforting, had been his alarm clock on more than a few occasions.
Geralt opened the door with a look of concern, “Jask are you o-”
“I miss you.” the brunet blurted it out before he lost his nerve, “I really miss pretending not to cuddle on that loveseat you pretend is a couch. And hearing you hum when you’re cooking dinner. And making extra coffee just in case you come by. And your ridiculous taste in music. And just seeing you. Any time. And I really really hope you didn’t get rid of that couch.”
Geralt’s face seemed frozen in disbelief, “You’re asking to cuddle on my couch?”
Jaskier nodded, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he tried to decipher what was going on in Geralt’s head.
“And you…” Geralt trailed off, still confused apparently.
“Miss you.” Jaskier offered, rocking up onto his tiptoes in barely contained impatience.
“Miss me.” Geralt repeated the words as if he were convincing himself this was, in fact, reality.
Jaskier cracked a nervous grin, “Do you need some water? Oxygen?”
Geralt shook his head, still leaning on the doorframe as he caught up, “How?” when he only got a head tilt in response he continued, “How do you miss me? As a… as a frie-”
“I wanna kiss you,” Jaskier interrupted again, throwing all caution to the wind. If he got heartbroken then, hey, at least they weren’t neighbors anymore?
Geralt seemed to melt from the doorframe as he stepped forward and trapped Jaskier’s face in his hands, pulling him into a deep, decisively not platonic, kiss. Jaskier’s hands settled on his waist, warm and steady, and he finally felt grounded.
When they parted Jaskier giggled as he leaned his head against the older man’s shoulder, Geralt’s hands sliding down to his shoulders.
“What?”
Jaskier clasped his hands behind Geralt's back, "I was just so fucking nervous." He breathed.
Geralt hummed as his massive arms engulfed the younger man, "Wanna help me unbury the couch?"
"Loveseat." Jaskier corrected, lifting his head to wink at Geralt.
Geralt rolled his eyes, leading Jaskier into his new place with an arm around his shoulders, "The product description said couch."
"That's just so they could take more of your money." Jaskier teased, tucking himself close to Geralt's side for the duration of the tour. It wasn't a tour so much as a beeline for a loveseat situated in front of a gas fireplace and covered in books. They moved the pile of books to the floor and Geralt disappeared to dig some blankets out of a box upstairs while Jaskier made some tea. He set the mugs down on a pile of books as he sat next to Geralt on the 'couch' a few minutes later, suddenly just as nervous as he had been standing on the porch.
Geralt ignored the tea and wrapped them both in a blanket, pulling Jaskier's legs over his lap, "I haven't scheduled the Natural Gas guy so the fire doesn't work, but it'll be extra cozy when it does."
Jaskier leaned into him, laying his head on his shoulder, “Its fancy as hell Geralt.”
They chuckled and settled into a heavy silence, watching the steam rise from the mugs.
“So does this mean we should go… on a date?” Geralt asked, snaking an arm around Jaskier’s waist.
“Well I hope so. I’m not your side hoe am I?”
Geralt snorted, placing a kiss on the top of Jaskier’s head, “I interact with like two other people, so no.”
Jaskier leaned back against the arm of the loveseat and pulled Geralt with him so his head rested on his chest, “You little introvert. We can do the date thing later. I just wanna cuddle.”
“Good.” Geralt hummed as he snuggled closer, curling his legs up so Jaskier’s legs were draped over his thighs and laying his arm over the younger man’s torso.
After a few moments, Jaskier frowned down at him, “Geralt? Where’s Roach?”
“Fuck!” He sprang up, almost knocking the tea over, “I forgot we have a backyard!”
A couple seconds later an excited liver and white Springer Spaniel puppy launched itself into Jaskier’s lap, licking his face in hello, “Geralt! How could you forget her?!”
“You’re distracting,” he grunted defensively as he sat back down and tried to wiggle back into his spot, now half taken up by Roach.
“Mmm, thank you,” Jaskier mumbled, leaning in to press a kiss to Geralt’s lips when he’d settled his head on his shoulder.
“Can you stay for dinner?”
“Only if I get more kisses.”
Geralt kissed him again and again, covering his chin and jaw and cheeks and anywhere else he could reach in sweet little kisses, “I- think- I- can- arrange- some- thing.”
(for the love of gods, I’m begging you, leave me some tags and comments on this. I worked really hard and I’d really like feedback/validation)
---
“You can’t just leave me tied here!” Jaskier cried out, listening as the group of men in dark, hooded robes disappeared into the woods around him. He tugged frantically at his bonds and gave a dry, heaving sob. “Come back!”
The young man was terrified. He could feel his heart hammering away in his chest and his lungs had begun to burn with the effort of breathing in and out so quickly. Hyperventilating. He was hyperventilating.
The confused young man had been bound face-first to the trunk of a tree, his wrists fastened tightly together on the opposite side in some strange parody of a hug. The strangers had murmured slow, syrupy words in another language as they tied him into place; their pace grew frenzied and their tone grew more insistent when their leader finally slipped a blindfold over Jaskier’s tearful blue eyes and cut him off from the rest of the world. After he’d lost his sight there had been more strange chanting. Sigils were drawn onto his bare forearms with horsehair brushes and sweetly scented blackberry ink.
Then the young man had been seemingly abandoned.
“Hello?” he called to the darkened forest around him. “Is anyone out there?”
A low, softly rumbling purr erupted from somewhere near his left side and Jaskier jumped in surprise. A wall of warmth approached the left half of his body and a rough, calloused hand slid its way down his arm and through the sigils, smearing them to nonsense.
“Hmm,” a low, gravelly voice hummed. Jaskier’s hands were gently unclenched and examined with great care by whatever creature or person was here in the clearing with him. It paid special attention to the tips of his fingers, where his skin was rough from playing the lute and the harp. He tried not to let his hands tremble where they lay against the creature’s palm but they couldn’t be stopped. “So they have decided to give me a little bird. I suppose that you will have to do.”
“Have to do what?” Jaskier asked, tilting his head up to where he suspected the strange interloper to be. Jaskier gasped in shock when the blindfold was removed and he came face-to-face with the most handsome man he’d ever seen and not, as he’d expected, some kind of hideous monster. The slightly older man had long white hair that fell to his shoulders. It was pulled halfway back to reveal his strong jaw and bright, amber eyes. His teeth were sharp and glinted in the moonlight and his pupils were slit like a cat’s, but Jaskier found himself more entranced or bewitched than frightened. He whispered a slightly different question with just as much frightened urgency, “What will I have to do, My Lord?”
“Be my guest, or prisoner if you so desire, at Kaer Morhen.”
Jaskier gasped softly.
“The Beast!”
The young man felt terror coursing through his veins once again; he’d heard endless stories about the Beast ever since he and his father had moved to the quiet village near the northern border. How he was half-man and half-wolf or how he’d eat any man that offended him. How he’d fought off an entire invading army by himself to keep his family’s ancient fortress intact.
Kaer Morhen, the villagers had whispered with fear in their eyes, If you enter the gates then you never come out.
And here was the Beast himself, staring down at Jaskier with a strange glint in his molten-honey eyes, his hands toying with the rope around Jaskier’s wrists. The young man gulped and lowered his gaze. “I don’t have a choice, do I, My Lord?”
“Did they not tell you why they left you here for me?” the stranger asked, quirking a brow. “Are you unaware of your purpose here tonight?”
“I’ve only just moved into town,” Jaskier whispered. “I’ve only heard rumors.”
“Not anything pleasant, I’m sure. What’s the worst you’ve heard?”
“That you eat people.”
The stranger chuckled lowly and the sound sent a zip of terror down Jaskier’s spine. “Stop panicking,” the Beast huffed and began untying the rope from around his captive’s tender wrists. “It smells bitter. It’s annoying.”
“I’m sorry,” Jaskier apologized. “I’m just a wee bit frightened, is all. Not really sure what’s going on or who you are. Now I’m being taken away to some place I’ve only heard tales about in passing…tales where the main character doesn’t usually come back out alive.”
“Do not fear me,” the Beast ordered, removing the heavy black cloak from around his shoulders to wrap around Jaskier. The younger man hadn’t noticed how chilly it had gotten until he was warm again.
Once the Beast was sure that the material was arranged as well as possible, he hoisted Jaskier into his arms and began to trek further into the woods, away from the village. The Beast sounded distressed as he continued, his voice growing increasingly agitated as he explained Jaskier’s circumstances, “I have no intention of hurting you. Quite the opposite. You see, I wrote to the village elders about a month ago and asked if anyone was interested in becoming my consort. I suppose they threw any real effort at matchmaking out the window when they read my signature so...here you are. Fresh-faced and terrified. My unwilling bride.”
“I’m going to be your...your…”
Jaskier’s blue eyes were unnaturally wide and his heart was beating jack-rabbit fast within the confines of his ribs. Too fast. Geralt’s brow furrowed in concern but it was too late for him to do or say anything of comfort; Jaskier had already fallen limp and unconscious in his arms.
“Fuck.”
---
Jaskier awoke with a gasp, rocketing up into a sitting position. He was alone in an unfamiliar stone room. There was a fire blazing merrily in the hearth and a heavy velvet blanket wrapped tightly around his midsection but he hadn’t a clue where he was. He knew he was sequestered somewhere within the bowels of Kaer Morhen, that much was obvious, but otherwise he was entirely lost.
“H-Hello?” Jaskier half-whispered. He knew the Beast was around here somewhere; or perhaps he’d been abandoned for a second time that night. “Mr. Beast?”
“Geralt,” came that same low baritone from just outside the door. “My name is Geralt. May I come in?”
“Yes?”
“You sound unsure.”
“I don’t see how I can stop you, really. If I said not to enter, would you listen?”
“Of course.”
Geralt sounded confused...which only served to confuse Jaskier in turn.
“But...but aren’t I your captive? Your consort by arrangement?”
“You have a right to privacy,” Geralt huffed, coming around the door frame and fully entering the room. “Consort or not. Which we can discuss.”
“It can be discussed?”
“I won’t keep you here against your will, little bird.”
“Jaskier.”
“A pretty name for a pretty man,” Geralt grinned. The way he smiled was canine-heavy and Jaskier thrilled at the sight of it. His stomach filled with butterflies when he registered the compliment. Why? What was so appealing about this strange, strong but endlessly shy man? The anxious young numan couldn’t deny his obvious attraction to the Beast but Geralt was...but having Geralt as his husband? Forever? After only having known him for less than an hour?
“Perhaps we could spend some time together first,” Jaskier offered. He slid his hand across the velvet duvet and laced his fingers with Geralt’s so very gently. “Tell me, Geralt, what is your favorite color?”
“Right at this very moment?” the Beast asked, looking into Jaskier’s eyes with obvious relief, “Blue.”
“And tell me, Geralt, will you ever lay a hand on me without my permission?”
“Never.”
“Then court me freely, my Beast,” Jaskier smiled. It was the sweetest, most precious smile Geralt had ever laid eyes on. He knew in an instant that he’d do anything in the world to make the young man smile at him like that again. Over and over. He was already addicted to the warm sensation that filled his chest when he was near his little bird.
“Thank you, Jaskier,” Geralt rumbled, lifting their joined hands and pressing his lips to the back of Jaskier’s knuckles. “I very much look forward to wooing you.”
“You’re welcome, Geralt,” his little bird murmured in return, placing his own kiss to the back of the Beast’s chapped knuckles. “I very much look forward to giving you my heart.”
Premise: For Jaskier the night is a time for thoughts and anxieties. For Geralt it is a time when his bard seems to get little sleep but disappears a lot. This situation becomes unbearable and the two finally have a conversation about themselves and their feelings for each other.
Author’s Note: Sorry for how long it's been since I've written! My mental health took a bit of a hit these past few weeks, so writing was slow going. Still, I hope you enjoy this, and I hope to be back to posting every five days soon!
My thanks to my readers in the endnote!
Ao3 link in reblog
Jaskier could never say that he was unlucky for being alive. The things he’d experienced, even in the first years of his life, were the kind that children would dream of. For who could say that they’d traveled the Continent with a witcher, that they’d seen the edge of the world and had been gifted an instrument by elves, that they’d seen the absolute best and worst of humanity? Who could say that they met someone said to be a monster and had fallen hopelessly in love with them? For indeed, by now Jaskier could wholeheartedly admit that he’d fallen for Geralt, had crashed and burned, and was now in the process of being eaten from the inside out with the longing. Though he also knew to say anything might be an even more painful fate. So he’d said nothing. And indeed he was grateful, and lucky too. But sometimes it hurt a bit to keep it all inside. Especially after the mountain.
Geralt had apologized of course, and Jaskier, as angry and hurt as he was, couldn’t say no to joining him again. Especially not after meeting Ciri, after hearing that Yennefer had gone missing. How could he leave Geralt to fend for himself in such a situation? So of course Jaskier went along with Geralt. But the bard couldn’t deny that there had been a shift in the relationship between the two and that the secrets Jaskier had once thought to reveal were now locked up firmly in his thoughts. Thoughts not only of his love for the Witcher but other things, like the trials of boyhood and long-gone friends and enemies. The worst thoughts were the anxieties that kept him up ungodly hours into the night. He’d toss and turn, head spinning round and round in a litany of despair. Jaskier wanted someone to confide in, needed it even. But there was no one, and he felt a bit like he was adrift on a dark sea, continued to corrode inside, wondering if there’d ever be some sort of reprieve.
Geralt knew that something was wrong with Jaskier. At first Geralt had tried to ignore it, then he’d tried apologizing again, then he’d said nothing and simply watched as Jaskier seemed to slip farther and farther away. It was an agonizing thing to witness. Nightly there were the now-familiar sounds of Jaskier’s unrest, oftentimes resulting in him walking away from where the trio was camping. He’d leave for hours, hours in which Geralt felt every fiber of his being screaming at him to run after Jaskier. Not that he ever disappeared. Geralt knew Jaskier wouldn’t pull something like that, nor did Geralt have any false pretenses about Jaskier being able to defend himself against vagabonds and the like. Jaskier was lethal with a knife, something that secretly thrilled Geralt. Still, monsters were a different matter altogether, and though Geralt was always careful to camp where they’d be least likely to disturb any creatures lurking who knew where the bard went in the night. And the Witcher knew too well there were some things in the world worse than the monsters around oneself.
That wasn’t the only alarm though. Geralt sometimes marveled that he’d ever complained about Jaskier talking too much. Not that Jaskier was completely silent, no, perhaps that’d be too obvious. Still, the times when Jaskier made stray comments about something he’d learned at Oxenfurt or asked questions about Geralt’s adventures appeared to be over. Now it was asking if he was going too slow, commenting about whether there’d be a storm, and every so often letting a short hum pass his lips before the melody inevitably stopped short, replaced by a nervous smile. It threw Geralt off guard, more than he’d like to admit, and suddenly the Witcher began to realize how little he knew of Jaskier’s thoughts, much less of his past. The contrast was even more apparent when traveling with Ciri, who was in the habit of mentioning things that reminded her of home or asking Geralt, and now Jaskier as well, about things such as her parents and her grandmother. Jaskier answered those questions readily enough at least, but now even Valdo Marx seemed to become forbidden territory, and when Geralt offhandedly mentioned the incident with the djinn Jaskier simply chuckled and pointed out a particularly lovely patch of daisies.
The fire flickered lazily, reflecting perhaps the hot day that’d come before the night. These were the worst nights for Jaskier since sleep never came easily to him on the best of days it seemed, and the heat was bound to make things a hundred times worse. He’d tried to stave off the others, had spent extra time telling Ciri about various friends and acquaintances of her grandmother and parents, ignoring Geralt’s grumbling that fatigue was deadly for warriors. He’d even broken out the lute, something that hardly ever happened these days in front of other people, for his instrument had become a companion of the night when he could steal away from the campfire, rather than something to be enjoyed out in the open. It was too personal now. Still he’d sung a few songs, the usual fare that people at taverns liked best, and managed to get himself about an hour and a half of time before the inevitable grumblings from Geralt became snappish and it was time to sleep. Well, for the others to sleep at least.
Jaskier lay down as always, throwing off the noisy blanket with the pretense it was too hot, and closed his eyes. He stayed like that for some time, waiting for Geralt’s breathing to hit the length and depth that betrayed the Witcher as fully meditative, before sitting up and grabbing his case. A part of him nagged at this stealing away once more, but it was easily ignored. He needed this, needed some time where he could be alone, could be fully himself, fully aware of all the pain and anxiety that was kept tightly corked in the daytime. So he looked around him, making sure that nothing was out of place from where he left it, and slowly crept out of the glade and into the welcoming trees beyond.
Geralt’s surprise at Jaskier’s nighttime excursions had by this point vanished. It’d become such a routine part of the night that the Witcher couldn’t even find himself surprised at his companion’s reticence to lie down, his insistence on tiptoeing around the idea of going to sleep. Still, the whole activity sat wrong with Geralt, and this night was no different. Maybe it was even worse, for try as he might Geralt couldn’t stop the thoughts spinning round his head. Visions of broken ribs, twisted ankles, shadows that maimed and stabbed and killed, they all lined themselves up in an exhaustive litany in his head. It was ridiculous of course, Jaskier was many things but though the bard was sometimes foolish he was never an idiot. Still, perhaps Jaskier’s leaving and Yennefer’s disappearance had taught him something, for Geralt now stood up, rolling the stiffness out of his shoulders. He walked over to Ciri’s bedroll, shaking her gently. “Whaddya want?” came the response, for by this time Ciri had stopped jumping every time Geralt went to wake her up, something that had originally hurt the Witcher to see, a reminder of how many lives were ruined by the greed of men, a reminder that his family was a band of various survivors.
“Jaskier went off, I’m going to look for him. You know where the weapons are. Whatever you do –“
“Don’t fall asleep yeah, yeah.” Ciri sat up and waved her hand dismissively. “About time you go after the poor fellow, what’s it been three months?”
“Yeah.” Geralt replied, impressed, as he’d never thought that Ciri would’ve noticed. The surprise must’ve shown somehow for Ciri smirked and made a pushing motion.
“Go off and get Jaskier, he’s waiting, whether he knows it or not. Besides you’re all awfully annoying as you are right now.” Geralt shook his head and rolled his eyes, but still, a smile came to his face, and as he stalked out into the woods, trying to track where the bard went, he found himself thinking, survivors or not, he was very lucky with the family he had indeed.
The moon was a sliver in the sky, barely enough light for a human to make out a few fingers in front of their face. Geralt, of course, had no issue picking himself throw the overgrown, well could one even call it a path? The marks of Jaskier on the other hand were much more evident, brambles bent and crooked, marks in the cool, wet earth. If someone had wanted to come after the bard locating him would’ve been no trouble. Still, the air seemed clear enough, and Geralt could hear no anomalies in the normal nocturnal comings and goings, something he found himself grateful for. Ears straining to hear any mark of the bard, Geralt finally caught a few scraps of Jaskier’s voice, although the sounds were hardly intelligible. Using Jaskier’s voice as a guide, Geralt found himself veering off the path, into a particularly lovely group of trees, all greenery, leaves puffing out in perfect circles like mushrooms, although the stars could still be seen through the gaps. Stepping silently near the one with the lowest branches Geralt made to call out, but finally, the words hit him, and the Witcher could do nothing but listen.
“Well it’s not like I wouldn’t still like that bastard to rot. I mean really, the amount of groveling I did in my youth.” Jaskier sighed, leaning back into the cool comfort of the tree. It was really too easy to talk to himself. He was swallowed up by his own words. His lute was swung about his stomach, carefully protected from being smashed, but Jaskier had yet to play it. For now he was simply talking with himself, releasing all the pent up frustration. It wasn’t a two-way conversation, not by any stretch of the imagination, but in a way Jaskier didn’t mind that either. After all, didn’t other people always act like you said the wrong thing?
“Not that I’ve stopped groveling. Damn it’s a miracle I left Geralt instead of beginning for forgiveness or something. Before coming right back of course! Can’t ever explain myself can I? Not that I still don’t love the damn idiot, but it hurt. It hurts to be disposable. But no one ever thinks like that do they? I don’t even think like that. Still, oh I don’t know. It hurts of course, but that’s nothing new.” Sighing Jaskier gazed up at the sky. “I wonder if the stars feel cold and lonely. Do they talk to themselves? Do the gods do so, all up in their marbled palaces, away from us all? Maybe they’re all lonely, and that’s the secret.” Sighing once more Jaskier made a halfhearted attempt to open his lute case. The cap he was wearing, really Jaskier now couldn’t live without his hats, fluttered off his head, and, too afraid to crush his instrument, Jaskier waited for the sound of it hitting the mossy ground beneath. When that didn’t come he leaned over, trying to keep his weight as centered as possible so as not to fall and wreck his lute, and, squinting a bit in the dark, found himself face to face with the last person on the Continent he’d like to have heard his ramblings.
“Jaskier.” Geralt’s voice seemed odd to Jaskier’s ears. He loved Geralt’s voice, it’s deep tone and slow cadence, Jaskier had always suspected the Witcher could be one hell of a storyteller if he wished to be. Geralt’s voice was steadying, but now it only threw Jaskier into a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts, most of them various levels of embarrassment.
“Geralt!” Jaskier’s voice on the other hand was quite squeaky, hardly the dignified tenor the bard was known for. Still, acting cool in such a situation was out of the question, for Geralt had surely heard it all, damn his witcher senses. “Why’re you here?”
“Why’re you here?”
“I… uh… I came to relax. It’s much too hot, even without the blanket. I’m sorry if I woke you up.”
Jaskier could make out Geralt shaking his head, his hair seeming almost like liquid silver in the faint moonlight. “I knew you weren’t going to bed. You always sleep with a blanket, even in the hottest weather.”
“Ah.” Jaskier wasn’t sure whether to be even more embarrassed or vaguely happy that Geralt knew his habits so well. The talking, however, was a habit that Jaskier would rather no one know about, witchers absolutely included. “Well, I’m sorry to worry you, but I’m alright, really. Just want to stay out and see the stars a bit longer. You don’t have to babysit me. I know you don’t like dead weight or anything like that. Go back to bed, I’m sure Ciri needs sleep too.” No way would Geralt leave Ciri asleep alone at night; Jaskier realized with a pang how much this excursion was costing others. Still, he couldn’t go back to sleep, not now.
“You aren’t dead weight.” The reply was so unexpected Jaskier for a minute thought he’d imagined it, that this was one of his fantasies where Geralt was understanding and receptive, and, yes, as in love with Jaskier as he was with Geralt. The breath seemed to steal from Jaskier’s lungs, and a what was forming on his lips before Geralt continued. “You don’t have to go off to talk either. I… I’ll listen to them. I want to listen to them. I want to know more about you, like before.” Geralt’s head moved, showing the Witcher had moved his gaze towards the ground. “I want to know about your past. I want to know about your feelings. I want to know your thoughts, about yourself, about those around you. About,” the pause in the air was so charged Jaskier wondered if it would shock him, “me. You aren’t disposable. And I’m sorry. About the mountain. About making you feel like you aren’t important to me. You’re my companion. My family.”
Geralt felt as if all the air had been knocked out of him. He usually didn’t like to talk much, stringing multiple sentences together felt somehow burdensome to others. Still, the words needed to be said. More needed to be said of course. Geralt’s feelings for Jaskier had always been warm. Jaskier was the sunlight in his life, a fire that danced and crackled, brilliant and flashy, yes, but warm and comforting too. He didn’t want to think about it, not even to himself. He wasn’t brave like Jaskier, couldn’t put those words out into the universe, where they’d have such power. Still, apparently keeping them locked up harmed instead of helped. He gazed up in the tree, could see the watery quality of Jaskier’s eyes, something that only made the blue of his irises more striking. The urged seized Geralt to climb up the tree and sweep the bard into a hug. To listen to the stories of the bastard who forced Jaskier to grovel, something that swept waves of anger and sadness through Geralt, so strong for a moment he couldn’t even pin them down. He wanted to listen to Jaskier, to respond so that the bard didn’t have to respond to himself. He wanted to do that and then to talk himself, to string those tricky sentences together, to bind them and throw them haphazardly into the world where they’d fall to Jaskier’s feet, like flower petals. He wanted Jaskier to feel less alone, to feel happy. He needed to say that. How though? There seemed such a barrier, why was there always a barrier?
“Thank you.” Jaskier was speaking now, even as his eyes continued to water and his face redden. “I know this is unexpected. And I know you don’t talk much about it. About anything really, most silent man I know.” Jaskier huffed out an awkward laugh. “You don’t have to say that just to humor me though. I just need time for myself.”
“You don’t need to say that, don’t need to make me leave you alone.” Geralt he knew this dance, had learned the steps himself at an early age. Tell everyone it’s alright. Push them away. Let the loneliness eat you up inside as long as no one else knows. “I meant those words. I want to listen. And I want you to have someone to listen to you. I’m not letting you humor me either.”
“You don’t understand what that means. I’m fine.”
“No, you aren’t. And you don’t have to haul ass in a tree to hide. I don’t understand. But I want to. And that’s it.” Geralt reached for the nearest branch, and quickly found himself sitting on the same level as the bard. “I won’t force you to talk. But I also don’t want you to pretend and then spend the better half of three months running away at night to let yourself get eaten up by the feeling you repress. You always defended me against people who said witchers didn’t feel things, right? Well, I’m defending you against whatever part of your mind tells you bards don’t feel things either.”
“Alright.” Jaskier shook his head. “I’m tired. You win. But don’t act all surprised when you don’t like what you hear.”
“Thank you. From now on?”
“From now on.” Jaskier nodded. “But first, sleep.”
“What?” Geralt looked a bit as if he’d been rammed by a horse, something that made Jaskier burst out into laughter, for it all seemed so wildly hilarious now, the entire situation.
“You left Ciri to defend on her own, didn’t you? And talking to you is exhausting.” Jaskier gazed up through the tree. “The stars will be here tomorrow. Just like my troubles. One night won’t make them go away. Even hundreds of nights won’t.” Sliding down the tree, careful to protect his lute, Jaskier landed in the moss, Geralt close behind. “You sure you meant all you said?”
“Yes.” Geralt seemed back to his reticent self. Jaskier felt the urge to slip into his regular persona as well, but it was too late for that. Besides, he thought to himself, I don’t want to hide who I am anymore. I’m tired. And, somehow, I think it’ll be alright. After all, no one’s offered to listen before. Jaskier suddenly felt his hand enveloped in warmth. Glancing down he saw his finger intertwined with Geralt’s.
“You sure about this?” He blurted out.
“Yes.” Geralt replied again. “And, Jaskier?”
“Yeah?”
“I… I may not… I mean… you’re my friend.”
“I hope I am!” Jaskier joked, slipping into his usual bluster. Still, it seemed as if Geralt wasn’t quite done with his thought, for he shook his head again slightly, and plowed ahead.
“You’re my friend. But also, you’re more than that. Witchers don’t have companions. Not with our lifespans, not with the danger we put ourselves through. But, if we were to have them, if I could choose a companion… you’d be mine.”
It wasn’t quite the same thing as Jaskier’s ramblings, honestly, nothing could compare to those, but the bard smiled anyways. Squeezing his hand Jaskier suddenly felt light. There was still so much he had locked away, still, so much he’d buried and hidden. Still, it was as if, if only for a moment, there’d been a great flash, and hope had suddenly warmed his soul. It wasn’t quite the same thing, but it was enough. And if Geralt was truly going to listen, then Jaskier was so very lucky to be alive indeed.
My heartfelt thanks to the 20 people who liked my last post and the 4 people who reblogged it. I’m so sorry for the wait and every single like makes me feel honored and brings me joy. I hope to live up to your expectations as a fanfic writer and I hope you continue to enjoy my works!
Summary: Geralt x Jaskier where basically Jaskier is a merman who met Geralt while Geralt was training to be a witcher. Both of them were young, Jaskier was curious, Geralt wasn’t as broody, and they fell in love with each other. But after Geralt completed his trainings, something happened and they parted ways. Years later, perhaps destiny does have a way of bringing lovers back together, they met again. But this time, things are different.
Warning: smut hehe
A/N: just a tiny note, i love calanthe and eist and ciri, i’m just using cintra sort of as the bad guy of the series, but no hate at all! hope you guys enjoy this part, the following parts will move faster and I promise, more exciting things coming soon!
Geralt sighs as he lowers himself in the tub of hot water and finally feels all the built-up exhaustion and tension melt away. Somedays he wonders why he puts up with these aggravating nobles - all he wants to do is to hunt monsters, help innocent people and earn some coins while doing it. But more often than not, he gets involved in these tiresome events and has to put up a friendly face, which he was never trained for.
Geralt closed his eyes and breathed in the scent. Chrysanthemum and carnation. Just like Cintra, Geralt noted, the two overpowering scents compete with each other and they lack a quieter note that anchors the scent. Although the strong scent is starting to make him feel hazy, Geralt is still thankful for Queen Calanthe’s invitation to stay the night - it is still better than spending the night in the wilderness where everywhere is cold and dark and has a faint smell of horse shit.
The music is still vaguely audible from Geralt’s room. However, underneath the jolly music and drunk lords out-of-tune singing, Geralt picked up on a voice. A lonely voice that somehow stands out from the loud noises and rings through the hallways hauntingly, like a nightingale’s solitary ballad in the night. He gets out of the tub and gets dressed, following the song that guides him through the hallways of the Cintran castle.
Geralt arrives at a barred wooden door. The door and the metal bars look sturdy enough, but the corner of the door has grown mouldy, and the bars rusty. Geralt can hear the song through the door,
“But the story is this,
he’ll destroy with his sweet kiss,
his sweet kiss.
The story is this,
He’ll destroy with his sweet kiss.”
Geralt’s heart clench at the lyrics. Nausea swirls unrestrained in his empty stomach. Half-formed regrets and memories swimming within his head. Geralt’s heart felt as if his blood has become tar as it struggles to keep a steady beat. He feels like drowning, but he’s not even in water. It just hurts. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to think. Geralt fishes out a tiny pin and picked at the padlock. Without much effort, the tarnished lock falls to the ground.
Geralt gingerly pushes the door open. He is scared to look. If he is correct, and it is who Geralt thinks it is, Geralt wouldn’t know what to say.
Geralt’s heart races as he rushes through the woods. It is rare for a witcher’s heart to beat that fast, but Geralt can’t be bothered to be concerned about it now. He has places to be, damn it, and out of all the days in the month, today has to be the day he gets held up by training. Judging by the position of the moon, it has to be about an hour past midnight.
“Geralt!” Geralt turns around at the sound of someone calling out his name. “You’re late.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” replies Geralt, finally slowing down and smiling as he spotted his merman, Jaskier.
Jaskier is sitting by the river, legs dangling over the edge, completely unclothed. Above Jaskier and Geralt, a full moon hangs over their heads. And every full moon, mermen turn into human until the sun rises again. Ever since Jaskier has told Geralt about this, Geralt has been extra excited to see Jaskier on nights with full moons. When they were younger, they used to run around the woods and look for fireflies, night blossoms, and Geralt would even teach Jaskier some fighting skills just in case he needs them. Similarly, Geralt has been waiting for tonight for forever.
“So, what are we doing tonight?” asked Jaskier as Geralt sits down next to him.
“I don’t know, take a walk?” says Geralt.
“Hmm, I want to play this human game. I don’t know what it is called, but it’s like, we ask each other questions and you have to answer it as truthfully as possible,” explains Jaskier.
“That’s just talking. Sounds boring,” Geralt grunts, “We should do something you can only do with legs!”
“Please, Geralt? begged Jaskier, looking at Geralt with a face he knows will soften Geralt.
“Fine. You start first,” says Geralt, rolling his eyes.
“Let’s see. What is your favourite colour?” asks Jaskier, his face lighting up.
“Blue. What is your favourite food?” Geralt continues.
“Catfish. Um, where - who is your best friend?” asks Jaskier.
“You’re cheating, Jaskier, you know it’s you.” Geralt answers, rolling his eyes.
“Go on, then, what insightful questions do you have for me, philosopher Geralt?” teases Jaskier.
“Where is your favourite place?” asks Geralt, tilting his head as he looks at Jaskier’s bright blue eyes.
“I really like the coast. Have you been to the coast?” asks Jaskier.
“Never.”
“I’ve been there once. The ocean is just - just something you love, I guess, something you respect,” says Jaskier, looking off the distance as if he can see the coast in front of him if he looks hard enough. “The ocean is easily as beautiful as it is dangerous. I think it’s fascinating how the waves softly crash against the rocky beach, their curling fingers brushing each stone with a gentle caress as the wind ushered them gently towards the shore. I love the way the sun shines off the rippling water, its golden light warped in the twisted, glass waves. I can’t find words to capture its mysterious majesty, you just have to see for yourself.”
Geralt looks at Jaskier thoughtfully. Through Jaskier’s words, Geralt feels as if he is living vicariously through Jaskier’s experience - the freedom, the weightlessness, the liberty.
“Tell me more about the coast,” asks Geralt.
“Well, what more is there to say?” continued Jaskier, “I guess, the water tastes funny.”
Geralt leaned forward and captured Jaskier’s lips. This kiss is different from the other ones that they have shared. Amidst the passion, the innocent first love, there is a hopefulness to it. Through the kiss, Geralt wants to show Jaskier how much he wants to spend the rest of his life with Jaskier, despite how impossible it will be. Their lips move in sync, hands exploring each other’s body, as Geralt pushes Jaskier back gently until Jaskier is lying on his back and Geralt is on top of him.
“Your heart, Geralt, it’s racing,” Jaskier says breathlessly, his hands over Geralt heart.
“I love your voice, Jaskier, but please, just - just shut up for once.”
The kiss is filled with so many emotions - love, admiration, hopefulness, and so many other more which Geralt doesn’t even have the words for. Geralt bites at Jaskier’s lip gently, before kissing his jawline, his neck and his collarbone. Jaskier gasps, which only encourages Geralt more. The broke the kiss briefly so that Geralt can take off his leather armour and his shirt, leaving him bare-chested. Jaskier places his hand on Grealt’s chest once again, his gentle fingers ghosting over some faint scars that decorate Geralt’s toned body. Jaskier’s cold fingers give Geralt goosebumps but in a good way. Geralt suspects that Jaskier doesn’t even realise what his touch does to him. But what Geralt does know, is that his touch is doing something to Jaskier. He can feel Jaskier’s erection brushing against his lower abdomen. Geralt leaves a trail of kisses down Jaskier’s torso, stopping just on his pelvis.
“God, Geralt.” Jaskier whimpers. Geralt can feel his own erection growing. Immediately, he stands up and takes off his pants, allowing his cock to spring free. The sight of Geralt completely naked is driving Jaskier crazy, the twigs and rocks digging into his backside are long forgotten.
Geralt smirks at Jaskier, slowly growing cockier. He reaches between Jaskier’s legs and fondles Jaskier’s balls. Jaskier reacts to Great touch instantly, lifting his hips to get more contact, more friction. Geralt’s touch extends to the base of Jaskier’s cock, earning a moan from Jaskier.
“Feels good?” asks Geralt, and Jaskier only answered with a whimper followed by a moan, which Geralt takes as an affirmative. With one hand stroking Jaskier’s cock, Geralt strokes his with his other hand, his breaths growing raspier. Jaskier spreads his legs a little wider and rocks his hips to match Geralt’s rhythm.
Jaskier feels a knot growing in his stomach. It feels like fire - spreading and spreading until it has consumed his whole body and his mind until it is the only thing he can think of. Everything became unimportant. There is only Geralt, and pleasure, and this gust of warmth that courses through his veins that is killing him but also making him feel alive at the same time. This moment is too much for Jaskier - the emotions, the feelings, the sensation is unbearably something. There has to be a word that describes this feeling because everyone should have the chance to feel something this strong, this good, and someone must have created a word for it. Jaskier wishes silently that he knows this word, and he can store the memory of this moment in a word, a phrase.
Jaskier sat up as the feeling continues to escalate. “Wait, Geralt,” Jaskier whispers.
“Did I hurt you?” Despite his own growing pleasure, Geralt stops all actions completely, scared that he might have moved too fast or hurt Jaskier in some ways.
“Not at all,” replied Jaskier while sitting up. He kisses Geralt, arms wrapped around his neck, and shifts so that now Jaskier is on top of Geralt. “My turn,” said Jaskier.
Jaskier kissed Geralt’s jaw and trails his kisses down to Geralt’s cock. He kisses the tip of Geralt’s cock lightly, causing Geralt to lean back and gasp softly. Jaskier continues to kiss down Geralt’s cock, licking the pre-cum that leaks out. Geralt’s soft moans confirm to Jaskier that he is doing something right, which fuels Jaskier’s confidence. He wraps his lips around Geralt’s cock and slowly sinks down until he feels Geralt’s cock hit the back of his throat. Geralt tugs on Jaskier’s hair, urging him to do it again wordlessly. Jaskier repeats his action, sucking on Geralt’s cock until Geralt’s hips starting to buck frantically, his breaths raspier, and he keeps hissing ‘fuck’ over and over again. Geralt grunted loudly as he comes, hot white cum filling Jaskier’s mouth. Jaskier is shocked for a second, but he swallows it all, and his eyes never left Geralt’s face. His cheeks flushed, hair tousled, mouth agape, all because of Jaskier.
As Geralt comes down from his high, Jaskier crawls back up and kisses Geralt sweetly on his lips, his own tasting of Geralt’s cum. One of Geralt’s hand cups Jaskier’s cheek, the other hand snaking down and pumping Jaskier’s cock. Jaskier immediately moans when Geralt touches his sensitive tip, holding on to Geralt’s shoulders. Jaskier is now straddling Geralt as Geralt pumps his cock in increasing speed, and the only reason why Jaskier didn’t lose balance is that he is holding onto Geralt’s shoulders very tightly. Jaskier turns into a moaning mess, which to Geralt, is an absolutely perfect sound. Geralt wishes that whatever he is doing is making Jaskier feel as good as Jaskier made him feel, and Jaskier’s face, twisted with pleasure, assures Geralt. Jaskier comes not long after, his whole body shaking, his nails digging into Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt swears Jaskier’s voice could have made him come again.
They lied on the ground for a long time that night, holding hands, and talked about everything.
“What will you do after you become a witcher, Geralt?” asks Jaskier.
“I don’t know, probably go to different places, wherever the monsters are, and just, keep doing that until I can’t, I guess.”
“Come to the coast with me.” Jaskier rolls over and props up on his elbows, looking down at Geralt.
Geralt smiles at Jaskier. Something in Jaskier’s look tells Geralt that he isn’t joking, and Jaskier is inviting Geralt to spend their future together. Jaskier’s bright blue eyes have never been so certain, so heartbreakingly optimistic.
“We’ll go to the coast,” Geralt replies, reaching up to kiss Jaskier, “I’ll be done with whatever the fuck training that has left by the next full moon. Then I’ll see you at midnight, and we’ll leave and never look back. We’ll head to the coast.”
This is the first time Geralt notices that when Jaskier smiles, the corner of his eyes wrinkles a little bit, and his blue eyes curves into crescent moons.
summary: jaskier cannot help but wonder about geralt’s tattoos.
notes: what can i say? i’m a cheeky little shit and got inspired by my own post
warnings: fluff, some angst if you squint
pairing: modern!AU geralt x jaskier
word count: 641
read on AO3
got feedback or a request?
He still wasn’t sure what he had done in his past life to deserve to be blessed like this; lying in bed with the most attractive and surprisingly gentle man in all of Cintra. Although Jaskier has not slept with every single man in the capital, he was certain to have found the top one - in every way possible.
Geralt looked rough and the closer you got the more intimidating he seemed with these fine white lines tattooed all over his body, covering his pale neck, chest, arms, everything. But to Jaskier’s defence: he was known for having a death wish. He just never expected for his death wish to turn into something so soft, something so precious.
The sun broke through the window of Geralt’s apartment and shone onto the bed, covering them in gold. As if these moments weren’t valuable enough already for Jaskier. Though Geralt’s eyes were closed, the younger one knew that he wasn’t asleep. His soft hums whenever Jaskier’s gentle fingers traced the lines at a particularly sensitive spot gave him away. Or perhaps he wanted to be given away.
To Jaskier’s surprise, the lines never felt rough beneath his fingertips; in fact, he barely felt them at all and if he had closed his eyes, he was sure that he wouldn’t have been able to tell tattoos from blank skin. Even though he had memorised everything about Geralt’s body by now - from the fine lines on his neck to the head of the wolf on his ribs to the dagger on his thigh and the birthmarks at his lower back.
Jaskier settled his head on one of Geralt’s arms. He felt warm, fuzzy, so unbelievably happy.
“Geralt?”Jaskier's voice was hoarse and he spoke softly. His lover opened his eyes just the tiniest bit to peak at him. “Hmm?”
His fingertips lightly traced the scenery tattooed onto his chest. “Why are your tattoos in white ink?”
Jaskier flinched and instantly felt his cheeks redden. That’s it, he thought to himself and stiffened, I overstepped the boundaries. In just a second he’s going to tell me to leave like everyone so far. He scolded himself for his nosiness and ability to always ruin things. However, it had just been a matter of time until he ruined it. If he only could shut his stupid mou-
A soft kiss was planted onto his head and he snapped out of his thoughts. His eyes widened in surprise, confusion, shock, anything. He felt like they got even wider when Geralt answered his question.
“They’re white because I didn’t want people to be scared of me right away.”, he admitted and cleared his throat,”I mean, even more scared than they already are.”
A soft ‘oh’ left Jaskier’s mouth.
“Yeah.” Geralt’s hand snuck to the back of Jaskier’s neck, softly massaging the tense muscles before finding their way further up, idly playing with his hair which had gotten a tad bit longer than Jaskier prefered. Rough fingers found their way up to his scalp and massaged it as softly as he touched his lover’s skin.
“But when you ask about them it’s okay.”,Geralt’s voice was merely more than a whisper,”I trust you, Jask.”
And essentially that’s how they spent their morning: in each other’s arms, bathed in gold, soft fingertips, stories spilling from Geralt’s lips, sharing sweet kisses, whispering even sweeter nothings.
Until Jaskier decided they needed to eat and when he felt Geralt sneak up to him to hug him from behind and lazily put his head on the shoulder of the younger one while both were dressed in nothing but their boxer shorts, in that moment Jaskier still couldn’t help but wonder what he’d done in his past life. But it didn’t matter because he was still forever grateful.
Okay but just like,, imagine geraskier smut but this time geralt has 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴 (oh god 😳🥵)
Nonie what have you done to me??? this just took off at a full run???? if i had any sort of good girl reputation it would be ruined.
Warnings: S M U T. like there's not even any lead-up - just smut, biting kink, butt plugs, anal sex, if there’s any more you think I missed please let me know! I want this to be a safe blog and I'm still kinda new to sharing the smut I write!
aight yall, bitey smut under the cut oo that rhymed!
Geralt moaned into Jaskier’s neck and the bard rolled his hips over Geralt’s almost painfully hard erection. They had intended to use this rented room to rest, for once, but Jaskier did that thing with his tongue right after dinner and Geralt felt like he was on fire. So it was really inevitable that Jaskier would end up straddling Geralt instead of having a calm, relaxing night.
He sucked at the bard’s pulse-point, licking over the bright red mark and letting out a shuddering breath as he felt his fangs extend over his canines.
“Oh, fuck. Geralt, let me see you.” Jaskier panted, practically petting the witcher as he ran his hands through his hair.
Geralt gripped the bard tighter and rolled back and over so he was nestled right between Jaskier’s legs on the bed. Instead of doing as Jaskier asked, he started making a trail of hickey’s down the bard’s bare chest, taking a slight detour to a nipple just for the delighted humming it elicited.
He was doing his best to hide his fangs, they only ever extended during a hunt or, as he’d newly discovered last week, sex with Jaskeir, so it hadn’t been a problem until now. But Jaskier’s moans did something to his body and mind that made him claw for control within himself and as much as it made him nervous, he couldn’t help but chase it.
Jaskier’s hand reached down before he’d made it to his trousers and tilted his face up to him, nothing but adoration in his eyes, “Let me see them. I know what that gasp means.”
Geralt ran his tongue over his teeth, defensive anger bubbling from somewhere deep in his gut, “Don’t know what you mean.” he mumbled, not breaking eye contact in his stubbornness.
“They come out sometimes when you sleep,” Jaskier explained, tracing one of Geralt’s eyebrows with the softest touch that was still somehow electric, “Show me.”
Geralt hesitantly pulled back his upper lip and Jaskier sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, stifling a moan.
“You’re not scared?” Geralt hesitantly ran his hand up Jaskier’s torso to rest over his heart.
He shook his head, resting his hand over Geralt’s, “Bite me.”
Geralt frowned, moving so he was hovering over Jaskier with a hand holding hip up on either side of his head, “Nothing happens. It’s just a wolf side effect.”
Jaskier rolled his eyes and slid his hands down to rest over Geralt’s cock, “I know. Still want you to bite me. If you’re okay with it?”
Geralt thought about it for a moment, what it might be like to nibble at the pale skin of Jaskier’s collar bone, or hip crease, and his dick decided for him. He kissed Jaskier and ground his cock against Jaskier’s hand, letting out a breathy “Yes.”
Jaskier wrapped his legs around Geralt and groaned, pushing his head back into the pillows as he arched into his witcher’s touch. Geralt took full advantage of the position, peppering small kisses over Jaskier’s shoulder before he took a small bit of skin between his teeth to test the waters, keeping an ear out for the little flutter Jaskier’s heartbeat did when he was scared. Instead, he was gifted with a downright sinful moan as the bard’s nails dug into Geralt’s shoulders.
“Fuck. More.” Jaskier panted, thrusting his hips up to meet Geralt’s as he begged. The witcher obliged, sinking his teeth into Jaskier’s traps and rolling his eyes back in his head when he moaned. Geralt released him, licking over the teeth marks and placing a kiss there before he moved to a sensitive spot at the base of the bard’s neck. Another moan that would make a succubus blush filled the room and Geralt couldn’t stand it any longer.
He sat back on his heels and fumbled with the laces of Jaskier’s trousers, “Do you still have it in?”
Jaskier, rather breathless, nodded, helping Geralt rid him of his clothing and frantically pushing at Geralt’s breeches.
“Thank fuck.” Geralt breathed, kissing Jaskier roughly before rocking back to kick off his clothes and grab the oil. When he turned back Jaskier was already gripping the pink glass plug but Geralt slapped his hand away.
“That,” he snarled, “is for me.”
Jaskier whined impatiently, moving his hand to slowly stroke his cock. Geralt held one of his knees up at a higher angle and kissed down his thigh, leaving a gentle bite, more of a nibble, as he got farther up his leg.
Jaskier’s fist squeezed a little harder around his length as he gasped, “Again.”
Geralt obeyed immediately, sinking his teeth in, a little closer to his hips and a little harder, as he wrapped his fingers around the polished glass. When Jaskier writhed under him he started to slowly tug, easing the plug out as he nipped at his bard’s thighs. Geralt pulled away and set the plug safely on the ground before he slicked his fingers with the oil and gently ran a finger over Jaskier’s sensitive hole.
“How are you feeling?”
Jaskier swallowed hard, his breath coming quickly as he looked down at Geralt with absolute fucked out wonder, “Amazing.”
Geralt grinned, enjoying the way Jaskier’s eyes flickered to his fangs now that he knew what they did to him, “But are you ready?”
“Fuck me, Geralt. Please.”
He didn’t wait to be told twice to insert one slick finger, meeting practically no resistance, and the one more. It wasn’t long at all before Jaskier was telling him to ‘get the fuck on with it, I’m fine’.
He moved to hover over the bard, kissing him again, trapping his bottom lip between his teeth as he pulled back and shivering when Jaskier’s hands roaming his chest curled into fists around his chest hair. He guided himself into Jaskier ever so slowly, letting out a low hum of relief as he pushed in as far as he could go. The bard’s arms wrapped up around his ribs, holding him close as he adjusted, all gasping inhales and shaking exhales.
“Mmmm, Geralt…”
“Hm?” Geralt really wasn’t capable of higher forms of communication anymore.
“Teeth. Please.”
Without a second thought, Geralt was biting down on Jaskier’s other shoulder as he slowly began to rock his hips back and forth. Jaskier whimpered under him, whispering little praises when his breath would allow as Geralt covered his chest and neck with bite marks. Geralt’s thrust soon turned desperate, faster and sloppier as he chased those moans and his own pleasure.
Jaskier’s hands’ reached down to grip at his ass, “One more bite, I’m so close.”
Geralt moaned and latched his teeth onto the skin right under Jaskier’s ear. True to his word Jaskier screamed as he came, rocking his hips up to meet Geralt’s as he rode out his orgasm.
Geralt only thrust a few more times before spilling into Jaskier with a sound close to a growl, snapping his hips forward at longer and longer intervals before he stilled, completely sheathed. He rested his forehead on Jaskier’s shoulder as they panted and came back to reality for a few moments before gingerly pulling out and collapsing on the bed next to his bard.
“Holy fuck.”
Geralt nodded, running his tongue over his fangs and tasting the sweat from Jaskier’s skin, “Agreed.”
Jaskier slapped his hand around over the edge of the bed looking for a towel, “So I really can’t turn into a witcher if you bite me? That would be kinda fun.”
Geralt laughed, feeling the slight sting of his fangs retracting, “No, no turning you.”
Jaskier finally managed to grasp a towel and swung it to smack Geralt in the chest.
Geralt took it and cleaned them up before tossing it back on the floor and curling around his bard, peppering kisses over all the little bite marks, “How do you feel? Do you want some water? The bruise cream we got yesterday?”
Jaskier wrapped one arm around Geralt’s shoulders and kissed his hair, “If you do anything to make these fade I won’t blow you for a month.”
(prompt fill for @ciaimpala, this one was super fun and hurt me to write)
Everything happening around Jaskier felt murky and far away, as if it was happening to someone else instead and he had only managed to catch parts of it. His body was jostled and moved and contorted and lifted and carried. He felt battered and exhausted despite being unconscious for the better part of five whole days.
They kept the kidnapped nobleman drugged and groggy as he was smuggled from a private port in Oxenfurt to his family’s estate in Lettenhove. Once he arrived at the keep and the sleeping drought wore off, his family’s hired mage put him under an enchantment. He obeyed direct orders and could not speak of his own volition; it was hell.
He knew he was being punished for all the trouble he’d caused at sea. He had used their family name to get Geralt out of trouble more than once and now the real Lord Pankratz was getting his revenge. He was marrying Jaskier off to the Countess once and for all.
With no pirates to interfere.
---
When the day of Jaskier’s wedding arrived, the young noble felt his heart shatter apart in his chest. The servants dressed and groomed him, trimming the hair he’d worked so hard to grow out while at sea. He knew how much Geralt loved to curl his fingers there and drag them against the smooth skin at the back of his neck. He almost shuddered at the thought of that sensation alone.
But it didn’t matter, did it? He’d never see his darling White Wolf again.
He’d been grabbed off the street some dingy port town in Temeria and rushed across the straight to Oxenfurt overnight. Geralt probably didn’t even know where he was or who had taken him. Jaskier would probably be on his heavily guarded honeymoon by the time his Captain found him again.
He was ordered downstairs by his Mother and he marched into the great hall for his wedding ceremony with a grim sense of acceptance.
---
“Do you, Countess Rosamund Elise DeStael of Rinde, take Lord Julian Alfred Pankratz de Lettenhove to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I do.”
“And do you, Lord Julian Alfred Pankratz de Lettenhove, take Countess Rosamund Elise DeStael of Rinde to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to answer. He was aching over the loss of his Geralt like a wounded man grieves for a lost limb. Even in he agreed to this marriage he’d be a living corpse, anyhow. He’d never smile again if he said ‘I do’ and accepted the Countess as his wife. She was a piss poor replacement for his mischievous, tender, possessive White Wolf.
As the silence lengthened in the great hall and his Father glared him down from his place next to the priest, something deep in his chest came bubbling up. It wrenched itself from him, screaming for freedom.
It was his voice.
Not his normal voice, however. No. This voice was bright and brassy and dark. It was full of the pain of a thousand drowned sailors. He let it come bursting forth from his mouth, filling the air with words he didn’t know he’d even learned. Words in a language he felt but didn’t understand.
The priest fell to his knees, as did his father and his would-be wife. Every person in the keep who could hear his voice suddenly fell to the ground and desperately tried to cover their ears. The siren in him had reached its limit. It wanted its beloved mate. His Captain. His Geralt.
He wouldn’t be pacified until they were together again.
Luckily...
“I object!” Lambert yelled. The familiar pirate burst through the doors of the great hall with his cutlass drawn. Starkey and Eskel were close behind, with his darling White Wolf taking up the rear. Three of the four pirates fell to their knees like the rest of the party-goers but Geralt remained standing.
Jaskier realized that he was still singing. The tone had changed from deep-seated hatred and loss to something brighter and lighter at Geralt’s appearance. Something soft and full of love. He let himself babble out the unfamiliar notes and words as his Captain moved towards him down the aisle. Only when those strong arms held him tightly and those chapped lips pressed against his own did Jaskier cease his singing.
“Sirens,” Eskel groaned, pulling himself to a standing position. “You are not to be fucked with, Jaskier.”
“Wait, Geralt, if I can’t be compelled by sirens then why can my family?”
Lord Pankratz looked guilty and wouldn’t make eye contact with any of the pirates or his son. Geralt shrugged. “Maybe you were a foundling.”
Jaskier turned to his Father with wide, angry eyes. “You absolute bas-”
“My love,” Geralt murmured, tightening his grip on the younger man’s waist. His little nymph stilled in his arms at the sound of his voice. “There’s still a wedding to be had, if you’d like.”
“I don’t want to marry the Countess.”
“I didn’t say it was your wedding to her,” Geralt grinned. His siren’s eyes swam with happy tears and he nodded enthusiastically. “As you said to me once before, my love, let us never be parted.”
Since you asked 'It will come back' by our Hozi boi (i feel like this is a creature Jask vine hardcore)
Y’all plz listen to this song if you haven't heard it its so fucking good and i fux with it hard. I see your creature Jask and raise you canon Geralt.
As a fellow touch starved idiot like Geralt I just couldn’t resist. This got LONG, much longer than I thought and I have lost all objectivity. I hope you like it! 😂
Warnings: Hella self loathing, mainly just big time moodiness, we got swearing as always in my fics lol
__________
Geralt couldn’t say he was surprised when the bard fell into the seat across from him in Posada, annoyed but not surprised. With his pristine clothes and expensive shoes he looked like a noble’s son on a rebellious streak or a mission to ‘find himself’, so it was part of the script for him to approach Geralt. He was different, dangerous, a new shiny toy that would be cast aside rather quickly.
But he stayed. Not only did he stay, but he was also kind and jovial, even protective at times. Geralt was surprised by this, of course, but it was clear the young man wasn’t aware what he said had any effect on the witcher. Jaskier must not have been taught, Geralt concluded, that witchers were abominations. The bard couldn’t know his small smiles and stupid jokes were wrapping the witcher around his little finger. He didn’t understand what he was doing, surely.
Geralt began insisting on roughing it more often. There was a week, about four months in, where he thought Jaskier had finally had enough of him. Good, he’d thought, he can leave before he becomes a weakness. But he had been careful not to put into words ‘before he becomes my weakness.’
When Jaskier stormed off into the woods and came back a few minutes later with an angry gleam in his eyes but forgiveness on his tongue Geralt was stunned.
When those eyes softened in… pity? sadness? understanding? Geralt was terrified. In that moment he was sure he would rather endure another round of trials than lose this stupid little human.
So he did the only thing he knew how. He withdrew and drew a wide circle around himself that he did his best to keep the bard out of. He snapped at him, critiqued his songs, drove him near the breaking point of human exhaustion, but this human wouldn’t leave. And his persistence wore him down occasionally.
There were nights he leaned into Jaskier’s warmth. When he was too tired to fight and the bard’s words were sweet as honey they would talk. He told stories from Kaer Morhen that none but his brothers knew, told Jaskier how he got all his scars, told him about his first heartbreak. It felt too good. Too comfortable. He began to fight it less and less, finding he enjoyed letting go of this particular shield around the bard.
Then Jaskier hugged him, and he hugged back.
Every bone in Geralt’s body was screaming. His arms were warm and comforting, almost bringing tears to his eyes as Geralt failed to pull away. His body was begging for more, to be held and treated gently, but his mind was in a fog of panic.
Geralt couldn’t let it happen again.
He wracked his brain trying to think of ways to get Jaskier to leave and stay gone, if not for his own safety then for Geralt’s sanity. He realized with a mix of horror and confusion that he’d become inexplicably attached to Jaskier.
Geralt felt a bitterness creep in over the next few months.
There was no way the bard didn’t know the effect he had on him. Geralt was helpless. He couldn’t tell him no, couldn’t sleep without him near, couldn’t think about anything but him when their hands brushed or their knees knocked beneath a table. He wasn’t bitter because of the bard’s hold on him, no, he was bitter because he knew as soon as he gave in and let himself fall into Jaskier like he wanted to he would never be able to climb back to the surface.
He already noticed how he’d changed. He was more patient, more self-assured, better able to understand the way a husband might lash out over his missing wife. It irked Geralt to admit it, but the bard had chipped away at a small section of his armor and made him soft again; almost vulnerable.
The bitterness turned into a possessiveness he’d never experienced and, frankly, it scared him. Geralt began to miss him when he wasn’t near, felt a kind of desperation when the bard wouldn’t look at him that made him want to pull his hair out.
Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. They were laying out their bedrolls near the fire and Jaskier winked at him, fucking winked.
“What are you playing at?” he demanded, throwing his bedroll at their pile of packs.
“Oh calm down, you big brute. It was a joke. Or are you too old for those?”
Geralt tried to answer but found he was unable. The torrent of emotions swirling in his chest wanted out and he was choking on them, anchored to the spot. He just stood and stared at Jaskier as he went about his business for a moment longer.
“What, Geralt?”
“You can’t keep doing this to me…” his words barely left his mouth but he regretted them as if he’d shouted from the mountain tops.
Jaskier’s face was unreadable, “What is it that I’m doing to you?”
Geralt grit his teeth and clenched his fists. The problem was he had no idea what the bard was doing to him.
“If you’re going to leave, or resent me… just go now. I can’t take it. You’re perfectly capable of finding a nice wife to fill your father’s castle once he’s gone. Stop wasting your time on me and… and making me…”
Jaskier stepped closer, a frown creating a new line between his brows, “Making you what, Geralt?” his tone was almost impatient, but there was an edge of something Geralt dare not identify.
The witcher could barely breathe, he just stared into the fire to his right and screwed up his face in shame. He couldn’t say it. He’d probably never be able to say it.
Then Jaskier’s fingers were trailing down his forearm and gently grasping his ring and pinky fingers as he whispered, “If you need time, take it. I’m not going anywhere.”
Geralt’s chest tightened and he snarled before he could think of stopping himself, “For fuck’s sake, don’t be kind to me.”
Jaskier tilted his head, still not letting go of Geralt’s hand, “Why wouldn’t I be kind to you?”
“Because I don’t know what to do with it!” Geralt felt as if he were tumbling off a cliff even though he was staring at his feet firmly planted on the ground, “If I accept your… your.. Whatever this is and you leave I’ll be broken. Please, for the love of Melitelle, just go so I can breathe. You don’t know what it is you’re offering when you say these things.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere.” Jaskier insisted, not budging an inch.
Geralt found he wasn’t strong enough to pull his hand from the bards grasp, not even to make an attempt, “You know better than to hold me like this…”
“Clearly I don’t.” Jaskier argued, that edge of frustration in his voice coming back, “Why is this so fucking hard for you? I’ve seen you bed men, tell me it’s not just me that’s so abhorrent to you.”
“You can’t afford to be tied to me like that… and I can’t afford to lose you…” Geralt whispered, doing his best to shove the tears back down his throat.
“I believe what I deem worth paying is up to me,” Jaskier tilted his chin up, looking directly into his eyes with such a tenderness that Geralt’s knees almost gave out, “Stop pushing me away.”
Their faces were terrifyingly close, so close Gealt could feel the bard’s breath on his neck as he tried to steady the shaking of his hands, “I want to…” he breathed, “...if I-”
Jaskier didn’t give him time to finish. He sealed his lips to his witcher’s and pulled him as close as he could. Geralt felt his heart twist in his chest, painfully so, like he would burst as soon as Jaskier pulled away.
To his surprise, when they parted, he didn’t keel over dead.
Jaskier brought his other hand up to rest against Geralt’s jaw, “I have every intention of keeping you. Forever.”
Geralt groaned in defeat, leaning his forehead against the bard’s, “Good. You’ll never get rid of me now.”
