In place of August Fourteenth, Promptapalooza 7/
Geralt knows he has a soulmate when he first hears a small voice ask him what his name is. He doesn't respond. He's not humoring destiny (that bitch) or fate (that cunt). He's not going to respond.
It's been a few years and occasionally the voice still speaks to him.
"Are you real?"
"Do you hate maths too?"
"I fell earlier and really hurt my knee. Today's been bad. what about your day?"
"I had a nightmare last night, but thinking of you helped."
"When we're grown ups one day and we get married, we'll have flowers at the wedding, right?"
"Do you like music?"
And Geralt never answers. He won't link this innocent child to his wretched, wretched life. He won't link them to a murderer.
Another few years go by, and unfortunately the voice won't shut up.
"Still not talkin', huh? That's fine! I can fill the silence easy enough! Let me tell you alllll about my day!"
He's temped to use their connection to tell his soulmate to stop talking, but he doesn't want to expose himself.
…
And he doesn't want to hurt them.
But them telling him a long rambling story about their walk in the woods that day and how a squirrel scared them right in the middle of Geralt fighting a leshy wasn't exactly helpful.
A few more years pass, and the voice still speaks to him. It's gotten deeper, so Geralt suspects it's a boy. Almost a man, but not quite.
"Father yelled at me again. If you care. I hope whoever you are, you have a better home."
"Are you dead? They didn't give me a dead soulmate, right?"
"Why won't you talk to me?"
"i don't think anybody likes me. Not even you. You never speak to me. I wish you did."
"I'm thinking of leaving. If there was any time to speak up and tell me who you are or where you reside, it'd be now."
"Please talk to me."
"I dreamt of you again last night. I keep doing it, recently. Sometimes you're a woman. Sometimes you're a man. Sometimes I can't really tell. Sometimes you're sweet and shy, sometimes you're flirty and crass. Sometimes you have brown eyes. Sometimes they're green. Sometimes they're blue. I wish I knew."
They're yellow. Hideous and grotesque. Inhuman. The boy shouldn't wish to know them.
"I left. I finally did it. I left just last night. I swear, wherever you are, I'll find you."
Another few years pass, and the voice is still there, but it's much rarer to hear. Geralt feels relief knowing he's finally giving up on Geralt and will find himself a better life.
"I haven't been doing a good job of finding you. But you haven't really given me any hints. Do you not want me to find you? Do you really want me to stay away?"
And Geralt finally responds to the man, for the first time ever.
"Yes."
"IT'S YOU! You responded! You're real! You're actually real! I do have a soulmate! I knew it! I knew I wasn't unlovable! Where are you? I'll-"
And Geralt hears the exact moment his rambling thoughts come to an abrupt crashing halt, as he processes what Geralt agreed to.
"Oh."
And that's the last message he gets from his soulmate's voice. It's what Geralt wanted all along. But after a solid year of hearing nothing from him, Geralt will admit he misses him. He misses the chatter.
It's the beginning of the very next year that he meets the bard Jaskier, who stubbornly fights tooth and nail to incorporate himself into Geralt's life.
He fills the silence left by Geralt's soulmate. It's nice to have prattle back. He doesn't tell Jaskier that, of course. Jaskier is young and foolhardy and jumps from bed to bed, but soon enough, he'll want to settle down with his own soulmate and he'll leave Geralt. Geralt isn't looking forward to the silence returning, but he likes Jaskier. He'd go through any silence for him.
It's Jaskier's fifth year traveling with Geralt. They sit across from each other around a campfire as Geralt roasts some pheasants and and Jaskier stares despondently at the notebook he's not writing in.
And then Geralt hears him. His soulmate's voice in his thoughts again.
"I've fallen in love."
And Geralt is happy for his soulmate. Because - Geralt glances at Jaskier for a moment and smiles to himself - He has too.
"I don't know if you hate me. Or if you're dead. Or if you've found someone else, but whatever it is, I hope you can be happy for me. I love him. I really, truly do. I love Geralt with everything in me."
And Geralt jolts and whips his head to look over at the bard.
"Jaskier?" He sends through the connection, and watches as his bard's eyes grow wide with shock.
Jaskier wakes with a start. It takes him a second to realize he’s not standing on top of a mountain. The air that fills his lungs is warm instead of cold. There’s no wind in his hair.
The dragon hunt was years ago.
He heaves out a sigh before squeezing his eyes shut. The shaking won’t stop, even with the nightmare gone. The sweat is sticking to his nightshirt and it feels awful—
“Bad dream?”
Jaskier turns to the source of the question but can’t see Geralt in the pitch-dark room. He knows his witcher is there, roused by the noise he must have made in sleep. Without a moment of doubt, Jaskier inches closer and buries his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck, his leg thrown over the other man’s hip. A tremor runs through his body again, and a large hand soothes it away immediately.
“Shit. You’re so scared,” Geralt murmurs, subtly sniffing Jaskier’s hair, his voice low with sleep. He moves his hand up and down Jaskier’s back before resting it on the small of his back, steady, safe. “Nilfgaard?”
Jaskier feels a kiss pressed to the scar at his hairline. It’s almost faded now, the pain long gone. It is not what plaguing his dreams tonight, so he shakes his head in silence.
Geralt wraps his other hand around Jaskier’s chin. “You are worrying me, Jask.”
Jaskier can only hug Geralt tighter with a suffocating force, and the witcher pulls him even closer. The silence stretches. Jaskier threads his fingers in the long, soft hair that he’s put so much attention into caring. He isn’t sure which one of them he’s trying to comfort.
“It’s…the mountain,” finally he says.
Geralt goes stiff in his arms. It doesn’t take a witcher to sense the uptick of the languid heartbeat against Jaskier’s ribcage.
“Jaskier, I’m—”
“No. No, don’t apologize,” Jaskier adds. “Not again. You don’t need to. I’ve forgiven you, my love, completely. It won’t be fair if I still hold it against you.”
Geralt doesn’t respond. Even without looking, Jaskier can imagine the guilt in his eyes and the furrow between his brows. So he searches in the dark and presses a kiss there, and another on the tip of Geralt’s nose before capturing his lips.
“But you’re still hurting.” Geralt whispers breathily as they pull apart.
“Sometimes my mind plays this trick on me,” Jaskier smiles sadly, dropping back onto a solid embrace. “There’s nothing I can do.”
“What can I do?”
Jaskier rests his temple against Geralt’s cheek, reveling in their closeness. He shouldn’t be this shaken over a dream, and yet just an echo of that day, one moment of believing the venom in Geralt’s words, is enough to leave a gaping hole in his chest. He already dreads the next time when it happens.
“Be here. Just…be here.”
The plea is a desperate thing, but Geralt catches the hidden meaning anyway. His sweet witcher, who has more than made up for his mistake by choosing to stay at Jaskier’s side over and over again, always hears what’s left unsaid.
“Oh, Jask. Don’t you see? There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he says. “I promised you the rest of our lives, and I intend to keep my promises.”
Jaskier’s shoulders sag in the warm cocoon of their bed, surrounded by the love that he’s long recognized as safety and home. Sleep pulls at him once again.
So @firefly-party said "hey, write me Jaskier and Eskel accidently meeting on the beach" and I said maybe, but then I wrote it immediately, because that is how I am as a person apparently. Very hard to convince......
So please enjoy these somft boys having a moment, maybe not that accidental but very unplanned on Jaskier's end at the least! And thank you Socks my beloved for beta reading, it is a great help when my brain is as shut off as it is.
Please enjoy <3
On Ao3 here
It might have been a little on the nose. Very on the nose actually. But Jaskier is lonely. As much as he is over his last breakup, he misses having someone there. Someone to love, someone who loves him back.
It's just a habit of his, to translate his emotion into songs. It is a way to get it out of a system, explore, express, but it leaves him feeling raw and vulnerable too.
Not all songs are sung in front of other people. Not every song makes it to the stage. Some of them are just for himself, sometimes for his friends or family. This one is balancing on the line of too-much. He played it for Essi, Priss, and just the other day at Geralt's house, where all of them had gathered to hang out.
Jaskier is not sure why he played it, but Aiden had asked him to sing, curling his arm around Lambert, and there had been a pang of longing in his chest.
Because Eskel is right there, looking at him, and Jaskier is aching for someone. So he sang it.
Today, he is second guessing himself. He has flipped up the collar of his coat against the wind, it's a little cold, the sky cloudy and gray, the ocean beating angrily against the shore.
As soon as he started singing it, as soon as he sang "someone to you", he knew he said too much. See, some songs you can sing in front of strangers, and they don't know enough about you to draw conclusions.
Some songs can only be deciphered by friends, too specific to make sense to anybody else. Some songs should be sung in his room, fairy lights lit and guitar just a little out of tune, because the need to sing was stronger than the need for it to sound good.
This song is a song for strangers or for himself.
He saw it in their eyes when he finished, their pity. He didn't even dare look at Eskel, just smiled weakly and started the next song, something less personal, something deflecting and funny.
Today, on the beach, he thinks about their faces. Thinks about how cold his hand is when he doesn't have another to hold. How he, despite no lack of suitors, can't seem to make himself reach for them.
He doesn't think about why.
Watching the waves stumble over each other, reach for whatever it is they seek on the shore, reaching, forever reaching, breaking against rock and sand. The symbolism is there, it's hard to miss, but the ocean always was a place of comfort for him.
The air is cleaner here, the forces of nature always taking his mind off of what ails him. Not entirely, but much like the songs, it helps him sort things out.
There is sand on his shoes. His scarf is flapping in the wind. There are birds riding the winds, gliding above the water.
There are footsteps behind him.
Jaskier doesn't turn. This is a popular space for people to take a walk. In fact, he made a friend because of it. An older lady with a small dog named Frank. She stops to talk to him every once in a while, he even joined her for coffee once.
But it is not Frank and his lady. It is Eskel, hands deeply buried in the big jacket he's wearing. Jaskier's traitorous heart skips a beat as he watches him approach, smiling as Eskel stops in front of him.
"Hi." Jaskier greets.
"Hi." Eskel replies, shoulders drawn up. "Real shit weather for a day on the beach."
"Sure is." Jaskier agrees. "Care to join me?"
Eskel nods, and they turn back to look at the waves. For a long while, they just stand there, until Jaskier breaks the silence.
"Geralt told you where to find me, didn't he?"
"Didn't need to. You always come here when you are upset." Eskel says, bumping their arms together. It is a small gesture, companionable and comforting, and it works damn him.
"Hmm." Is all Jaskier says, bumping back.
"Want to talk about it?" Eskel offers after another silence.
"I'm fine. Just a little lonely. It will pass."
"Am I interrupting your loneliness?"
"Yes. Don't you dare leave."
Eskel looks thoughtful for a moment, and Jaskier glances at him from the corner of his eye.
"You know, I might have a cure for that."
He what?
"You do?"
"I might." Eskel corrects. "But it really depends."
Eskel turns towards him, and Jaskier's heart is beating fast now. It almost sounds like...
"On what?"
The wind is strong, making the tip of his nose red and cold. The gray sky is a backdrop, the waves a soundtrack.
"On you. If you'd want me. Uh- want it. Me."
"Eskel." Jaskier interrupts, stepping closer with a smile. "Are you asking me out?"
"I guess I- I am. Yes I am."
Jaskier can do nothing but smile and lean closer, resting his head against Eskel's shoulder.
"That sounds like a lovely cure."
Eskel puts an arm around his back, and they stand together and watch the waves.
"This is a good place." Eskel says after a while.
"I know." Jaskier agrees. Even better now that Eskel is here.
A bitch takes one Human Sexuality class and gets stuck on the fucking Sensate Focus bullshit then has to write a fic about it. Its me. I’m the bitch. 😂
Warnings: Geralt is self depriciating-whats new, insecure jask, insecure geralt, overwhelmed by touch, big vulnerability, they’re in couple’s therapy, so like, its a rocky relationship, we got some connection building and cuteness in the end too, its not all bad, mentions of sex, nudity but like not in a smutty way, for once I dont think i used a single swear word? I had big feels while writing it i really hope they translated lmao.
I am but a humble psych major, not an actual therapist, so plz don’t come at me if shit isn’t accurate. I tried my best.
Also this is under a cut for a reason, not just length. If you are easily triggered by touch starved type fics this is not for you. It gets emotionally heavy plz read with caution.
____________________________
“You want us to what?”
“Come on, Geralt. You said you’d try.”
“I- no. Just- why? What’s the point?”
Both Geralt and Jaskier turned to their therapist, each equally confused and a little scared.
The tiny woman kept her face completely impassive and answered his question, “The exercise helps people get out of their heads and reacquaint themselves with, not only being open with their partner, but also slowing down and enjoying touch for touch sake. Without being so focused on the end goal of sex or pleasing a partner, people can begin to refocus on the connection attachment theorists claim is the underlying motivation for sex without reproduction in the first place.”
Geralt swallowed hard. This was for him and he knew it. He’d said it himself, he was fucking terrified of failure and rejection and that absolutely extended to Jaskier. His husband. Of five years. Who’d been with him for ten. Logically it made no fucking sense, but the woman with the PhD had told him this was rather normal for a child of divorce as if he’d said he didn’t like horseradish sauce. He didn’t see how being scared of your spouse secretly hating you was normal in the slightest.
He glanced over at Jaskier who sat at the other end of the black leather sofa picking at his nails. When they’d gotten married they’d laze around all day just holding each other and talking. It was safe and sweet and Geralt couldn’t for the life of him remember how it was tainted.
“Alright,” he grunted, “What’re the rules again?”
-
The next afternoon they’d carved out an hour and a half with no distractions, no phones, not even any music to Jaskier’s dismay. Apparently that was against the ‘guidelines - not rules’.
They stood in their bedroom, lights dimmed and curtains drawn, as much for the ambiance as for the privacy. Geralt felt his stomach flip flop as he stepped out of his clothes, feeling a bit ridiculous. It’s not as if this was the first time they’d seen each other naked, but it was the first time they were to spend ‘as much time as necessary’ -whatever that meant- touching each other, one at a time.
Jaskier dropped his clothes in the laundry bin and stood with his arms crossed, almost like he was hiding, “Right. So… Do you want to go first? Maybe go over things again?”
“Do you want to go first?” Geralt asked, immediately drawing his bottom lip between his teeth to gnaw at the peeling skin.
“I just want to know why you look so scared, to be honest,” Jaskier breathed.
Geralt took a deep breath, reminding himself that he wasn’t the only one being vulnerable here, “Not scared. Just nervous.”
“Rules then?”
Geralt nodded, “No talking. No, uh, erogenous zones. No sex. No kissing. If you don’t like something or it’s a big turn on or it tickles, move the other person’s hand.” the weight in his chest lessened a little bit, this really was simple. Just touching Jask. Something he’d done a million times. Hell he might not even get anything out of it. He didn’t need to be so damned worried about things going wrong.
“If you get overwhelmed think about temperature and texture and how it feels. Don’t think about what the other person is thinking or feeling. The only bit that matters is moving their hand,” Jaskier added, his posture relaxing ever so slightly as he rocked up on his toes and back down.
Geralt stepped a little closer, holding out his pinky finger, “We don’t stay still if we don’t like something.” He said it more to reassure Jaskier than anything.
Jask hooked his pinky around Geralt’s and smiled, “No barreling through,” he agreed.
“Can I, uhm… go first?” Geralt kept their pinkies hooked together as he let their hands hang between them.
Jaskier looked surprised, but nodded fervently, “Of course!”
“Okay,” Geralt pulled his hand back and ran it through his hair before stepping a bit closer, hovering both of his hands over jaskier’s shoulders, “So I just-?”
Jaskier nodded and whispered, “No talking, love.”
Geralt let out an amused huff, the irony of the words bringing a soft smile to his face. He took a deep breath in and slowly let it out as he placed his hands over Jaskier’s arms.
Sensations. He could do this. He was doing this.
Jaskier’s arms were soft, both in texture and in feel, giving way to Geralt’s fingers ever so slightly when he squeezed. He trailed his hands down over Jaskier’s elbows, noting the patches of dry skin over the joints that Jask had been scandalized by in college. His forearms had more hair, but it was softer than Geralt’s, silky even, and nice to touch. Geralt trailed his fingers down Jaskier’s wrist and back up, watching as the little hairs stood on end but seemed to stick to the pads of his fingers as he moved past them. When he noticed the goosebumps he glanced up to Jaskier with mild panic in his eyes, worried he’d already fucked it up and made him uncomfortable. But his husband just nodded, a light smile on his lips.
Temperature. Back to task.
Geralt picked up Jaskier’s hand, holding it in one of his as he skimmed his fingers over his knuckles and calluses. His palms were warmer than the back of his hand and it seemed every spot where his skin had built up from use was just a tad colder than the thinner skin next to it.
He gently guided Jaskier’s hand back down and trailed his hand up his arm, ghosting his fingers over his collar bone. He thought about how much softer this skin was, and how it made the butterflies in his stomach go wild as he moved back and forth over the spot a few times. He liked the pleasant little pitfall of his stomach, not arousal but not unlike it, just a little higher in his abdomen and lighter. He moved his other hand to mirror his movement’s on Jaskier’s other shoulder, palms soon coming to rest over his chest almost on their own.
Geralt was so aware of his hands they almost felt numb. It made him think of one of those motor skills brain maps where it showed how much of your brain was devoted to moving which part of your body. Those huge chunks devoted to his hands must have been screaming.
Jaskier gasped as a bit of his chest hair got caught in Geralt’s ring as he swept his hands downward. Geralt gave him an apologetic look but just got a grin and slight shake of his head in return instead of the shock he expected.
Geralt continued, moving his hands in slow circles over Jaskier’s abdomen and hips and flanks, marveling at the warmth he felt not only under his hands but spreading through his chest. He let his hands rest above Jaskier’s hips, just at the bottom of his ribs and watched as his hands slowly moved apart and back together in time with Jaskier’s breath. It looked like such a small movement, but when he closed his eyes he felt like he was throwing his arms wide open. He tried matching his breathing to Jaskier’s, but that was close to overwhelming, so he moved on, refocusing on the texture and thickness of his chest hair as he moved up to his neck.
One of his hands stayed resting on Jaskier’s chest as his other brushed up the side of his neck with the backs of his fingers. Even with such light pressure he could feel the thick ropes of muscle and tendons under his skin. It was warmer over his pulse point and Geralt’s breath hitched when he felt the little thump of a heartbeat under his fingers. He closed his eyes for a moment, surprised to find himself taking a deep breath, not out of fear or frustration, but to sink into the feeling as much as he could. He counted the beats, making a note of how comforting the feeling was. The longer he held his fingers in place, the softer the beats became, until they leveled out to a soft and steady thrum.
When Geralt opened his eyes the beats picked up, matching the strange look on Jaskier’s face. Geralt moved his hand over his jaw and back a few times. He could almost hear the ridges of his fingerprints catching on Jaskier’s stubble as he traced over his upper lip.
He felt a soothing sense of familiarity when his fingers grazed along the outline of Jaskier’s lips. His body latched onto the feeling and he found himself starting to get watery eyes as he reacquainted himself with the thin pink skin. He remembered their first kiss and how much it scared him even though he craved it so completely. He remembered kissing Jaskier over and over and over when they’d finally said ‘i love you’ and dropped the casual pretense. He remembered their kiss at their wedding, soft, firm, and a little wet with happy tears.
An annoying voice that sounded an awful lot like their therapist sounded off in his head, “This is what I was trying to tell you, asshat. Focus on the positive.”
Geralt smiled despite the sharp tug behind his eyes that told him he might cry, and brushed his fingers up over the thin skin beneath Jaskier’s eyes, careful not to press hard enough to catch and pull at the blueish skin. He traced his eyebrows, the bridge of his nose, his cheekbones and hollows, his chin, and his cupid’s bow, all with that same surprisingly pleasant near-tears feeling in his chest. He watched Jaskier’s eyes watching him as he carded one hand through his hair.
That was what did it, what made the tears start to dribble down his cheeks as his hands continued to gently comb through his husband’s hair. The look of wonder and relief he was met with was overwhelming. He felt a bit of guilt, sure. Guilt for letting things get as bad as they’d been, but he was overwhelmed by how much love he felt. It permeated his whole body and the air around him. He hadn’t even felt this in the beginning; this was a settled and sure feeling, not the frantic need he’d felt before.
Geralt pressed their foreheads together and closed his eyes, sending a fresh wave of tears over his cheeks as he brushed his hands over Jaskier’s back. He traced his spine, counted every rib, and outlined his shoulder blades with the tips of his fingers.
Their fronts were pressed together, but technically it wasn’t against any rule, so neither of them moved back. Geralt’s hands moved to the dip in Jaskier’s hips, his thumbs brushing over the place where his skin creased when he sat and Jaskier wrapped his hands around his wrists. A warm puff of air washed over Geralt’s face as Jaskier breathed a small laugh and moved his hands up. Surprisingly enough, Geralt was only amused by being moved, filing the information away for later as he settled for measuring Jaskier’s breaths again, now leaning into the full body tingle he felt when they both exhaled.
He wanted to stay right there for hours, but he suddenly wanted Jaskier to touch him. More than that, he wanted Jaskier to feel like him. He gave his sides a gentle squeeze as he straightened up and rocked back a bit, making the smallest bit of space between them.
“Switch,” he whispered, the soft sound coming out like crunching gravel in the charged silence.
He let his hands fall to his sides as he opened his eyes, a little relieved to see he wasn’t the only one crying.
Jaskier immediately reached up to cup Geralt’s cheeks and brush the tears away. It was odd, having to stay still when Jask was right there, when he could still feel the echoes of the sensations in his hands. But he stayed put, if for nothing else than the look of cautious excitement Jaskier was wearing.
He wanted to tell him there was no need, that he would gladly spend the rest of the day standing in the dim light of their bedroom, silently taking turns softly caressing each other. But rules were rules.
Jaskier drew his hands a little closer together over his cheeks, making sure all the tears were smudged away with his thumbs as Geralt’s eyes fluttered shut. The warmth of his hands was soothing, especially when Jaskier slowly brushed his thumbs over Geralt’s eyelids. As Jaskier dragged his fingers over Geralt’s chin and brushed the backs of his fingers back up and over his cheeks, Geralt almost started to feel dizzy. He forced his eyes open and focused on watching Jaskier’s face.
His tongue stuck out between his lips as his hands fluttered down his nose and to his lips. A wistful smile graced his features as he brushed over the chapped skin, pulling his bottom lip down just enough so when he let go it popped when it jumped back up to meet his top lip. Geralt tried not to smile, wanting him to do it again, but raised an eyebrow. Jaskier openly grinned and popped his lip a few more times before smoothing his thumb over it. He tucked some hair behind Geralt’s ear and cupped his hands around the base of his neck, gently pressing his thumbs into the tense muscles.
A shiver ran down Geralt’s back as Jaskier brushed his hands out and over his shoulders, thumbing circles over the points where muscle just barely covered bone. Geralt watched his eyes, watched the little crows feet get deeper when he smiled and watched his brows lift up and together.
It occurred to him then that Jaskier might have been just as lonely as he was, that the exuberant extrovert he’d married wanted this as badly as he did. It truly never crossed his mind until he saw it written plain as day on Jaskier’s face; he wasn’t the only one with insecurities in their relationship.
Every bone in his body wanted to pick Jaskier up and crush him to his chest. The trails of goosebumps his fingers left over his skin made it even harder not to, but Jask was enjoying this. He’d even go so far as to say he was lost in it. Rules be damned, Geralt couldn’t take this away from him if he’d wanted to.
When Jaskier’s hands ghosted over his navel he shivered and let his eyes flutter closed. If he wasn’t going to break and move he should at least lean into it.
However, being held without expectations, without needing, or even being allowed, to do or say anything in return was beginning to seem overwhelming. How had Jaskier just stood there and watched him? How could anyone just stand and constantly be told with the light brush of someone else’s knuckles over their cheek that they were desired and cherished? When the hands pressed to his chest told him over and over that he was loved, what kind of escape was there?
One of Jaskier’s hands once again brushed his tears away and he leaned into it, lip trembling as he looked up at the ceiling trying to compose himself. Jaskier would have none of it, gently tilting his head down until their noses brushed and he was forced to look into his watery blue eyes.
He needed this. Geralt was terrified but Jaskier’s expression spoke of a yearning that ran so deep even he probably couldn’t put a name to it. Geralt licked his lips and offered a watery smile, feeling warm relief when Jaskier smiled back and ran his hands down his arms to rest behind his elbows. He squeezed the meat behind his arms, the tops of his forearms, the tendons in his wrist, making his fingers involuntarily curl. Geralt didn’t move, he barely breathed, as Jaskier watched his own hands roam over Geralt’s like he’d never seen anything like it.
When he stopped trying to run the sensation faded to a dull roar. Jaskier’s hands were warm and his breath across his skin was gentle. Geralt might even admit he felt a little bit worthy of the adoration in his husband’s eyes after a few minutes.
Jaskier’s touches were light in some places, firm and grounding in others. Like when he circled his arms around Geralt and pressed his palms into the small of his back, resting his forehead where his collar bones met. Geralt had no idea how something so simple could make him feel so weak. He knew it wasn’t entirely true, but it felt like the only thing holding him up was Jaskier’s touch. When he rocked back, even if it was only an inch or so, Geralt had to fight not to follow him.
Jaskier rested his hands over his ribs, just above his elbows, and stared into his eyes.
They’d agreed to say ‘end’ with their therapist. That’s what Geralt was waiting for. So when Jaskier whispered ‘enough’ and gave him a gentle squeeze it was all he could do to bite down on his lip and keep quiet. Of course he would say enough. The one word Geralt had struggled with from day one. Being enough always felt impossible, but he could begin to think of it as a bit more attainable standing in their dim bedroom without a sound in the world other than their breathing.
He nodded and they both picked up their notepads and scribbled down the notes they were supposed to. Geralt’s was just a list of words but he didn’t care, he filled most of the page and chucked it on the bedside table before tugging on his sweats.
When he looked up for Jaskier he found him staring at him, worry on his brow and pen hovering over what looked like a second nearly full page.
“Do you, maybe want some tea while you write?”
He licked his lips and nodded, adjusting the blanket wrapped around his shoulders before going back to frantically scratching words onto his page.
Geralt gently closed the door after him and took a deep shaky breath as he padded into their bright kitchen, running his hands through his hair. The kettle seemed to take forever with how fast his mind was racing, replaying every bit he could to lodge it in his memory.
Jaskier was just closing his notebook and setting it on top of his laptop when he opened the door with his foot, careful not to spill any hot liquid on the carpet.
“Thank you,” Jaskier whispered, taking his cup and sitting at the foot of the bed.
Geralt joined him and draped an arm over his blanket wrapped shoulders, “Of course.”
They slurped at their mugs in silence until Geralt was able to take a full sip without scalding the roof of his mouth.
Jaskier’s voice was soft as he spoke, the air from his words interrupting the steam drifting up from his mug, “Can I ask you something?”
“Mhm,” Geralt leaned in just a hair.
“Why did you look up?” Jaskier rested his head on Geralt’s shoulder as he asked and it took Geralt a moment to remember he was supposed to answer.
“I…” he took a deep breath to pull his words together before he mis-stepped, “You stood still and watched me, and looked happy… and I wanted to do that for you… but I started crying again and I-hm. I didn’t want you to think I didn’t want to be there-here. Wherever.”
One of Jaskier’s hands drifted from his mug to Geralt’s thigh, “I was just worried.”
“Didn’t translate, huh?” Geralt asked, giving him a light squeeze.
“Not quite,” Jaskier chirped, almost giggling.
Geralt hummed and pressed a kiss to the top of Jaskier’s head, “I’m sorry.”
“S’okay. Now I know.”
There were a few more moments of silence before Geralt chuckled, “I didn’t realize your hips were so ticklish.”
Jaskier snorted, an attempt at sipping his tea absolutely aborted to save a spill, “I’ve never been ticklish, Geralt.”
Geralt set his tea on his knee and tilted Jaskier’s chin up to look at him, suddenly concerned, “What didn’t you like about me touching your hips?”
Jaskier’s goofy smile turned a little sly, “Absolutely nothing. In fact,” he started, taking both their half finished teas and setting them on the window sill before turning to envelop Geralt in the blanket with him, pulling him down onto the bed, “I liked it a bit too much.”
Jaskier woke up in the same pile of hay he’d fallen asleep in and stretched languidly, like a cat. He stood and brushed a handful of thin golden sticks from his hair, doublet, and hose before making his way towards the inn.
He was incredibly surprised when he stepped inside and saw a handful of men standing around a map at the center of the table. Geralt was at the head, grumbling orders to the others: “If you haven’t found him by the time you reach these caves, you ca-”
Geralt’s nose twitched and his eyes glanced up. A confused but relieved look spread across his face and he practically threw the table to the side in his rush to reach Jaskier. The Witcher grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him close and burying his nose in the wispy, hay-filled nest of the bard’s hair. “Geralt? What’s going on?”
“What the fuck are you talking about what’s going on?” Geralt snarled, hands still clamped tightly around Jaskier’s upper arms as if he would float away if released. “Nobody’s seen you in days.”
“I went to sleep in the stables last night after you left on the hunt,” Jaskier frowned. “I needed to talk to Roachie girl because I was frightened and-”
“You what?”
Jaskier’s face went white and he shook his head emphatically. “Nothing, don’t worry about it.”
“Jaskier, did you sleep next to my horse because you missed me?” Geralt inquired. The bard blushed and stuttered before turning away completely. Geralt bit his lip before asking quietly, “Jaskier?”
“I don’t even know where I disappeared to for days and you want to make fun of me for missing you,” the bard’s lip quivered. “I’m sorry for getting so attached. I’ll just pack my things, pay my dues, and depart. I’m sorry for wasting your time, gentlemen.”
“Jas-”
“Don’t worry, Geralt. I understand. I knew it would happen eventually. I’d just hoped to have more time at your side.”
Geralt would give all the coin in the world to never see his bard look so forlorn or hopeless again. There was nothing he could do but close the space between them with one long stride and pull Jaskier close for a gentle but insistent kiss. One hand supported the bard’s lower back and the other cupped the side of his jaw. He worked his lips slowly but surely over Jaskier’s, pouring his love, his devotion, his apologies for a hundred tiny wrongs into this singular gesture.
“I don’t want you to leave. I’ve been worried half to death about you. I haven’t slept for three nights, not since you disappeared.”
“Do you remember anything?”
“No, but it was warm. I thought I was merely sleeping.”
“Hmm.”
“But I’m back, now.”
“Mhm. And you’re not going anywhere unless I’m there with you.”
Jaskier smiled as Geralt nuzzled into his neck and pressed soft and gentle kisses there. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Ok! Quick little prompt survey thingy going off of the ‘Geralt is hella fucking possessive over his bard’
Now! Had this thought because I read a fic where Jaskier is super insecure about his relationship with Geralt because he doesn’t want the other to go back to Yennefer.
Now the idea was that Jaskier thought that happened, went out to drown his sorrows, this guy started hitting on him and feeling him up but Jaskier (for all his sleeping around and ruining marriages) is a faithful man. If he is in a relationship with you he will not talk of previous lovers, won’t hit on others and never cheats. Geralt doesn’t know this though... well it’s more he doesn’t realise because he’s an oblivious bear but onward!
So Jaskier comes back to room, unaware that he reeks of this strange, new, horrid smell. Geralt is sitting on the bed and he thinks that some drunken man has mistaken his and Jaskier’s room for their own but when his bard walks in he sees red.
This is where the survey thingy comes in. Do you think he would:
A) Get super pissed with Jaskier and just start yelling at him and accusing him and Jaskier will turn around and start yelling at him for going off with Yennefer. Then the two realise they were both wrong and running on left over anger and adrenaline just fuck each other’s brains out before settling down and calmly explaining what actually happened.
B) Geralt yanks Jaskier into the room and fucks him against the door, repeating the words, “Mine. Only mine.” Over and over as he marks every patch of skin available while smothering the bard in his scent. Afterwards Jaskier explains what happens and Geralt is kinda embarrassed but he’s too smug that he made Jaskier scream himself hoarse to care too much. (Geralt ends up explaining the thing with Yennefer when his bard finally builds up the courage to ask)
C) Geralt goes on an absolute rampage trying to find this guy so he can beat the crap out of him for touching what was his. Jaskier is honestly touched that Geralt would beat the shit out of someone for him but he doesn’t want another name like ‘butcher of blaviken’ popping up because of some misunderstanding so he stops Geralt. It takes a little time and patience but it works and eventually Geralt just brings Jaskier back to the room so he can cover the bard in his scent, not some scummy shmuck’s who lives in a pile of shit.
Geralt has noticed some...
Things...
About his traveling companion, Jaskier.
Troublesome things.
Like how he's almost certainly of faeblood.
It's just little things he does or says or is that make Geralt's imaginary radar go off.
He never uses iron utensils, He is truthful to a fault, He's mischievous and lustful, He never breaks a promise, not in an honorable way, but almost in a way as if fate is forcing his body to complete whatever he promised, no matter what.
He's also gorgeous. Even in times when the road should've worn him down. Where there should be dust or grime, Jaskier somehow still shines like a freshly polished jewel. And don't even get Geralt started on the impossibility of Jaskier's freakishly vibrant blue eyes. That is NOT human!
There are always wildflowers when Jaskier walks in the woods, even sometimes when they are out of season. Trees seem to bend toward him, always making a cover for the rain to keep him dry. When he went swimming, Geralt swears the water looks cleaner afterward.
One time Geralt got tired of human-safe food, and decided to cook their dinner that night differently. He cooked one serving all the way, safe for humans, and one only a little, still nice and raw, unsafe for humans. And yet Geralt came back from feeding Roach to find Jaskier happily chowing down on the raw one. Geralt went to warn him, but stopped. Could Jaskier really not tell the difference? Surely the texture and taste was different... And then Jaskier was done. Geralt waited a few days, just sure Jaskier would fall ill, as humans usually did when eating food Geralt has learned is unsafe for them, but Jaskier didn't fall ill. In fact, he seemed healthier than ever.
Which could only mean he isn't human.
When Geralt talks to Jaskier and hints about knowing however, Jaskier doesn't seem to realize. Which means he must not even know.
Geralt paces around camp. How is he to break the news to Jaskier that Jaskier has fae in his blood? Perhaps his mother cheated, perhaps one of his parents were a changeling, perhaps a grandparent wasn't what they said they were, perhaps he, himself, is a changeling...
Jaskier returns from a bathroom break and cocks an eyebrow at his witcher pacing around camp like a restless animal.
"Geralt? Darling, what are y-"
"Jaskier, you're fae."
Geralt blurts.
Fuck.
That is not how he wanted to break the news to poor Jaskier. Jaskier is standing there, face paling, eyes wide, breath coming in short rasps. It's difficult news to deliver, and Geralt did it insensitively. Jaskier seems to be panicking. Geralt will help him, will comfort him. Fae or not, that's his Jaskier.
Jaskier is freaking the FUCK out. Geralt found out he's fae! Fuckfuckfuck! He thought he was so good at hiding it! Sure, there were a few slipups here and there, as there is with any big secret, but he really thought Geralt was none the wiser! He should've known the monsterhunter would recognize a monster when he saw one.
Now Jaskier must decide if he'll die by Geralt's hand, or try to outrun the witcher, as surely no man wants to be companions with a member of the trickster faefolk.
Jaskier thinks of Geralt as the ocean. Geralt is the ocean, and Jaskier is a fish. Jaskier cannot live without Geralt, but the ocean weeps not for a single fish. The ocean is full of fish, it can just look to another fish, if this one fish died or left. But that fish can't leave the water without losing itself. It'll suffocate from the lack of the waves. The touch of the cool sea. But no ocean needs a fish in order to breathe.
Geralt thinks of Jaskier as a flower. Jaskier is a flower, and Geralt is a flame. He longs for nothing more than to touch him, but all it would do is burn the flower. The flower gets hurt, no matter what the flame tries. Tendrils of fire and billows of smoke, as the flower withers sadly. Thus the flame watches the flower from afar and admires it from the distance. The flower entangles itself with the garden, and the flame protects the flower with it's own solitude.
Yennefer thinks of Jaskier as a dumb gay rat. She also thinks of Geralt as a dumb gay rat. She wishes dumb gay rats stopped staying over at her house.
