#pining jaskier

[everything-but-the-not-natural]

@catscraftsandcommentary @help-help-i-need-an-adult @0dde11eth @fandom-junk-drawer @random-apollo-child @thequeeninyellowlace @akelafang @kupocat

[dapandapod]

38 with geraskier 😌

38. swinging hands back and forth, skipping like children

My dear, this was an absolute delight to write. Thank you for prompting me, and I hope you find this as entertaining as I do!

And with this, we kick of the Hand holding series! Please enjoy!

On Ao3 Hand holding prompt collection

Send me a hand holding prompt?

“What are they doing?”

“Who?”

“The kids? Is that a dance? I have seen them do it before but I don’t get it. Only children seem to do it.”

“.... Geralt. Don’t you know what skipping is?”

They look at each other, both wearing a frown, which is saying something. Geralt, because he really doesn’t understand, and Jaskier, because, well.

For someone who knows as much as Geralt does, it's very strange that he knows nothing about skipping.

Maybe it isn’t actually strange, it has been many many years since Geralt was a child himself, and he spends more time around monsters and politicians than children.

But Jaskier won’t stand for this.

“I won’t stand for this,” Jaskier decides. “Come on, Geralt. We are going skipping.”

Which felt incredibly weird to say, and he has a feeling it is about to be even weirder to do.

So Jaskier leads Geralt some ways away to an area a bit more isolated.

He is a renowned bard after all, and he will not teach Geralt how to skip in the middle of town. Well. Village. Well. Settlement. Well.

Among these farmers. He will not.

Geralt follows Jaskier to the outskirts of the fields of wheat and rye, to where the grass grows high and the flowers bloom freely.

A perfect place to skip, actually.

Jaskier nods to himself. This will do.

Thus he turns to the witcher, whom he is about to take under his wing and teach the way of frollicing. Crossing his arms, he looks Geralt up and down.

“Are you ready?” he asks seriously.

“For what?”

“For what we are about to do.”

“No.”

“Oh yes. Geralt, I will teach you how to skip. Are you ready.”

“I’m content with knowing what it is, bard.”

Oh, bard, is it?

“How will you claim to know without knowing, Geralt? Do I claim to know swordsmanship because I know what a sword looks like? Do I claim to be a priest because I know what a holy book looks like? No, Geralt, I do not.”

The sigh coming from the witcher is nothing short of impressive, but Jaskier hears no protest.

“Come along, witcher. And get those swords off your back, they will only be in the way.”

Geralt frowns, but does as he is told. A small victory.

“Alright, we will start easy,” Jaskier begins. "The secret of skipping is the arms, and the bounce.”

The way Geralt looks at him, and Jaskier knows the struggle of keeping a straight face.

“Look at the way I do it,” Jaskier says, pushing his self restraint to the limits. He has to keep himself from laughing, this is a serious matter.

So Jaskier takes a breath, and skips a few steps, only to turn around and skip his way back.

“See what I did with my arms?” Jaskier asks, doing it again in slow and exaggerated movements. “It’s what brings the spring to the step.”

“You look ridiculous.”

“Thank you. Now you.”

For a long moment, Geralt studies Jaskier, his arms crossed defensively in front of him, but finally he steps up next to Jaskier.

His arms are bent stiffly at his sides, as if he is going for a jog, but the skip itself is performed expertly.

Oh gods, Jaskier, keep it together. Julian Alfred Pankratz, you keep that smile off your face. Geralt turns with a little spin, and skips stiffly all the way back to Jaskier.

“Like that?”

“Close.” Good boy, Jaskier, good bard. Keeping it together. You can do it. “You have to relax your arms more! Do it again!”

Geralt does it again, his arms a little lower, his hands still clenched into fists. This time Jaskier can’t help but to smirk when Geralt returns to him.

“You know what? I’ll help you. It’s more fun to do it together anyway.”

Without hesitating, Jaskier takes Geralt’s hand.

“Come on!”

Jaskier pulls Geralt along as they skip across the grass, swinging their hands back and forth.

This time he allows himself to smile freely, even laughing, as he frolics with Geralt through the field of flowers.

This is something he never imagined ever to happen, but here he is.

Instructing Geralt on how to skip.

“Relax your arm more, Geralt! Like this!” Jaskier says, waving his arm and mid-skip, he turns to look at Geralt.

A Mistake.

Jaskier can’t tell if the rosiness of Geralt’s cheeks are from embarrassment or from actually having fun, but their eyes meet and the stupid witcher man gives him a stupid stupid smirk and Jaskier’s foot catches in a tuft of grass and he falls forward, his free arm waving wildly.

He falls face first, pure reflex is making him grip Geralt’s hand tighter. And being mid-skip is doing shit-nothing for either of their balance, so Geralt falls with him, on him.

He groans, face pressed into the grass and the dirt, the weight of a stupid, stupid, beautiful witcher on his back.

“Fuck, Jaskier, this is ridicoulus,” Geralt laughs, his entire body shaking, squishing Jaskier even worse.

“Roll off of me,” Jaskier wheezes, but laughing too.

“I can’t believe this,” Geralt sounds out of breath, not attempting to move at all, the absolute bastard.

Alright, Jaskier would like to live. And to see that laugh. Time to squirm.

Somewhat successfully, he manages to at least turn around, but that only leaves him trapped in Geralt’s arms.

The sun lights up Geralt’s hair like a halo, his cheeks flushed red and eyes watery from laughing too hard.

Jaskier can only stare up at him in awe. This is when he realizes they are still holding hands.

“Well now you know what skipping is. And how it’s done,” Jaskier says, trying to distract himself from the impulse of kissing him. Hold it together, Jaskier.

“I do,” the beautiful bastard agrees, smiling down at him. “And we are never doing it again.”

Yes they will. Jaskier will absolutely make sure they will.

Geralt just doesn’t know it yet.

[i-used-to-wear-the-fedora]

Jaskier and Geralt Go Clothes Shopping

"What do you think?"

"I think they both look the same."

"Geralt, this is very important. I don't want to leave looking like an idiot."

"To be fair, I think you look like an idiot most of the time." Geralt watched the bard look between two seemingly identical doublets. The witcher honestly didn't get what the bard was thinking too hard about.

"Well then we're both going to look like idiots today."

"Excuse me?"

"You smell."

"I just took a bath."

"Geralt. You have a total of two shirts and a pair of pants. Both which started out as white. They're black now."

"And? Most people pay a lot of money for black clothes." Geralt shrugged.

"It's. Disgusting." Jaskier threw one of the shirts aside. "I'm taking you to a tailor."

"Excuse me?"

"You need new clothes. Clean ones, not something you pillaged off a corpse."

"For Gods sake Jaskier, it was one time-"

"That's more than most people do Geralt. We are not arguing about this."

"Good luck trying to lift me after yesterday." The bard had to admit, his bones still ached after the lifting he did yesterday.

"Okay fine, I'll leave you. When Valdo starts singing your praises with nowhere for you to go, I'm sure you'll have a fun day. Alone," Jaskier began to walk out the door, "with Valdo."

"Wait." Jaskier paused, a smirk on his face when he saw Geralt's look of distress. "I'll go with you."

"That's what I thought." Jaskier wrapped his arm around Geralt's uninjured one.

~~

"Otto's Tailoring and Alterations?" Geralt asked as he read the sign. Jaskier grinning ear to ear as they entered the building.

"He's the only man I trust to tailor my wardrobe. Well him and Elihal."

"Who?"

"A friend from Novigrad."

"Right...." The bell above the door rang. The witcher glancing around the lobby to see mannequins everywhere. Dressed in brightly colored doublets and gowns.

"Ah, Jaskier!" The duo turned to see an older man dressed in gaudy purple fabrics. A grin on his aging face as he patted the younger man on the shoulder. Kissing him on the cheeks before pulling away. "My favorite customer! As soon as you sent that letter, I started to prepare everything just for you!"

Letter? How long had Jaskier been planning this out? Geralt was slowly starting to theorize that somehow, some way, Jaskier had planned the breaking of his leg.

"It's a pleasure to see you again Otto, it's been far too long since I last saw you."

"Of course," the man paused. Finally seeming to have noticed Geralt's presence. "Oh! Is...this your companion?" The man, Otto, asked in a time that suggested confusion.

"Geralt of Rivia." The witcher replied curtly.

"You didn't say your partner was...of a masculine persuasion."

"Oh I guess I did forget to mention that...." Geralt's eyebrow raised. Did Jaskier bring girls here? Scratch that. He almost definitely did.

"Hmmm," the tailor hummed looking Geralt over. "I can work with this." Otto pulled out a measuring ribbon. "Arms up, shirt off."

"Excuse me?" Geralt asked incredulously.

"I need your measurements to be as accurate as possible. I refuse to let any paramour of my dear Jaskier have anything less." If Geralt could flush, he would.

"He's not-"

"We're just friends." Geralt said. The tailor was unfazed.

"Regardless, I still need your measurements." There man gestures for Geralt's shirt.

"Can we do this somewhere in private?"

"Private?"

"Somewhere I won't have people staring at me?" Geralt asked. Otto nodded, leading the limping witcher to a room shrouded by curtains. Walking past outfits, namely fancy gowns in a wide variety of colors at the ready. Yeah. Definitely wasn't the first time Jaskier brought someone there. Pulling the curtains shit the tailor turned to Geralt.

"Strip down to your pants please." The tailor turned around. Geralt stared for a moment before doing so. Taking his shirt off and throwing it at the floor. Otto turning around and making a face when he saw the shirt. Or smelled it. Maybe Jaskier was right about him needing a bigger wardrobe. Otto taking in the witcher for a moment before wrapping the ribbon around his waist, taking in the numbers and murmuring to himself. "48...32..." Otto pulled away. Geralt reaching for his shirt but the tailor quickly stopped him. "No, no, that is to be burned by the eternal flame in hopes of forgiveness for whatever sins you committed to make it smell like that."

"What am I supposed to do? Walk around shirtless?" The tailor grabbed a shirt from nearby, tossing it to Geralt.

"Wear that while I work." The witcher shrugged. Putting the shirt on he found it was too big, revealing most of his chest. Geralt brushed it off, better than nothing. Walking out past the tailor now burning his shirt he saw Jaskier lounging in the lobby.

"Geralt! I-" Jaskier paused when he saw the shirt Geralt was wearing. "I, ugh, you, that shirt...."

"Yeah, don't think I'm getting the other one back." The Witcher didn't notice the pink tinge on Jaskier's face. "Gods I feel like Yen in this." Geralt pulled it out when the bell rang. Both the Witcher and Jaskier turned and frowned.

"Gentleman! Such a coincidence to run into you here."

"Valdo...what are you doing here?" Jaskier was attempting to force a smile and failing miserably.

"I came to have a hat mended! Oh Uttu-"

"It's Otto." Jaskier interrupted.

"Right well...." Valdo trailed off when he noticed Geralt's chest. "Oh...I see you're here for a fitting." Jaskier stepped in front of his witcher to block the view.

"And Otto is very busy. So bugger off."

"And done!" The tailor came out holding a package, handing it to Geralt with a grin. "Just some alterations and some hemming, nothing too complicated."

"Thanks Otto, you're the best." Jaskier reached into his coin purse but Otto stopped him.

"It's on me. Trust me, you'll more than pay it off next time you come around. Although just make sure you stop by later so I can see master witcher wearing it."

"I wouldn't mind seeing it on him either," Valdo's smarmy voice oozed as he continued to stare. Geralt shifting under the man's gaze.

"We're going." Jaskier said turning around.

"Oh! Before you do," Valdo reached into his coat and pulled out an envelope. "For you my dear witcher. The Johnslaws Gala, I'd like you to be my plus one."

"He doesn't want to go." Jaskier answered for Geralt, dragging the man behind him. Valdo glared at the other bard when he watched them leave.

"Do you need help with something?" The tailor asked but Valdo didn't hear him, storming out in a huff.

[randomlittleimp]

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

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: The Witcher (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Characters: Jaskier | Dandelion, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Additional Tags: Pining Jaskier | Dandelion, fuck buddies, Drunkenness, Drunken Shenanigans, Enemies to Friends, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Awkward First Times, Morning After, Idiots in Love, Vignettes, Based on a Tumblr Post Summary:

This tumblr post gave me bunnies, evil evil bunnies.

https://penny-anna.tumblr.com/post/611053480940093440/seen-a-number-of-posts-w-yennefer-jaskier

Unbeta'd seriously just spewed forth from my fingers. Let me know if you find a mistake.

[dapandapod]

You know something?

@bananapeel5127 asked: For the hug prompts. Could you please do 36 with geraskier? 💚💚💚 36. I thought you were dead hug. And I’m sorry, this is the third time I’m trying to post this, Tumbl keeps eating them?! 

Yes I absolutely can! I know I have done this prompt before but I do like the challenge of looking at it another way. Thank you as always @kuripon for betareading, you are a right darling! Please enjoy!

Send me a hug prompt? On Ao3        Hug collection here

Some nights are a little weirder than others.

That is something Jaskier learned rather early in his travels with the witcher. Part of the fun, he tells his friends and colleagues in Oxenfurt as he retells a story about that time Geralt had a contract on a giant duck.

This night is not...strange per se. It just so happens that Geralt has had a bit more to drink than he usually allows himself, and Jaskier has the honor of depositing him back to his room. Again, not all that strange, were it not for the way Geralt had been clinging to him all night.

“Alright big guy, time to get you upstairs.”

“You know something? I’ll tell, I’ll tell you something. You remind me of a bard, you know?”

“Do I really?” Jaskier asks, smirking as he tries to get Geralt on his feet. The witcher isn’t being all too helpful, leaning on him heavily instead of getting off the blasted chair.

“You really do! But you couldn't be him, you know?”

“Why couldn’t I?” Fuck, Geralt is heavy, but Jaskier realizes that if he allows the hug and just slowly backs up, Geralt will follow. Success.

“‘Cuz I can’t touch him, you know?”

Jaskier stops.

Looks up at the witcher, who looks down at him, his arms slung over Jaskier’s shoulders. Drunkards and their confessions.

“You can’t?” Jaskier asks, a heavy feeling settling in his gut.

“Nope!” Geralt says, popping the 'p' and gifting Jaskier’s face with hot breath that smells like cheap beer and white gull. Ugh.

“Why?” Jaskier prods but Geralt shakes his head violently.

“Secret! A witcher never tells!”

Jaskier huffs goodnaturedly and Geralt clings to him a little closer. Upstairs it is.

“You know something?” Geralt says again as they climb the stairs towards their rooms.

“Probably not, go ahead and tell me.”

“You are really cute.”

Jaskier snorts, catching Geralt as he stumbles on a step.

“Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I see.”

Silly witcher. Jaskier manhandles him the rest of the way, leaning him against the wall as he fumbles with the key. Geralt has gotten to the stage of hiccuping, and if Jaskier’s experience of drunk witcher is anything to go by, they are closing in on the emotional state, which is closely followed by the blackout.

With some effort, Jaskier manages to get Geralt to sit on the bed and instructs him to take his boots off. That should distract him long enough, so that Jaskier can go fetch some water for the morning, find his doublet again, and mend his fractured heart.

Hearing your best friend and secret love interest say they can’t touch you because you are you, well. It’s not all that fun.

“You know something?” Geralt asks again from the bed, struggling with clasps and leather cords and who knows what else.

“What?” Jaskier smiles at his drunk witcher, waiting with a hand on the handle for Geralt to say what’s on his mind.

“You really are very cute, and were it not for my bard, I would bed you.”

The sound that Jaskier makes is not a word. It is literally a sound, garbled and strangled and all kinds of flustered and confused.

“Water,” he croaks, and then straight up flees.

What. What? What???

In a haze, Jaskier walks down the stairs, picks up his forgotten doublet, asks for water, and then stops outside the door to Geralt’s room. From inside, he can hear muffled shuffling, and then something falling to the floor heavily. Probably one of the boots. 

And then a small, broken sound, and no matter how confused Jaskier is, he can’t let Geralt make those noises, especially not alone.

The door swings open, revealing Geralt staring forlornly at the one boot he managed to get off, his tunic discarded on the floor. Jaskier just about manages to put the pitcher of water down before Geralt notices him, and pounces.

“Jaskier!” he says, voice a bit breathy and upset. On his way forward, he stumbles over the discarded clothes and he catches himself on his knees and then flings himself the rest of the way towards Jaskier. Arms outstretched, he manages to grab Jaskier’s waist but as he pulls him closer, Jaskier loses his balance and they fall over each other to the floor.

“Jaskier!” Geralt repeats, and this time it almost sounds like a sniffle. Ah, here comes the emotional part. “I thought you were dead!”

Smushed under a half naked witcher, Jaskier wheezes for breath.

“Why would you think I’m dead?” he asks, pushing against Geralt’s bare arms to get his breath back.

“You disappeared! Gone! I was alone with this really kind man, he looked, he looked a lot like you. But you smell better. And he wanted to bed me, but I said no!”

As Geralt rambles, he climbs over Jaskier, completely covering him, and by the time he says ‘no!”, he emphasizes it by putting his open hand right in front of Jaskier’s nose.

“There is only one I want!” Geralt continues, all serious. “Even when I thought you were dead.”

Geralt is now leaning over him, his white hair a little messy and falling over his shoulder. He looks rather out of it and absolutely stunning. Jaskier’s heart is beating like crazy, and he really has to restrain himself not to do something stupid.

Geralt is drunk. He doesn’t know what he is saying. Or doing, apparently, because next he knows Geralt is touching his cheek, his thumb touching his lower lip.

Fuck. Fuck.

“I love the sound of your heart,” Geralt mumbles, his eyes getting droopy.

Oh no, they are closing in on the blackout stage. Fuck! If Geralt falls asleep now, Jaskier will be trapped on the floor for the rest of the night. And that sucks.

“Do you want to listen to it?” Jaskier offers, and hoping that that means relocating to the bed.

“I do. All the time,” Geralt whispers, his head falling towards Jaskier’s shoulder. Nononono, as cute and creepy as that is, Jaskier can’t focus on that right now.

“Bed, Geralt,” Jaskier says loudly, pulling at Geralt’s hair. That gets his attention. Geralt gets up on all fours over Jaskier with a sound that reminds Jaskier of a snore, and then scoops him up like he weighs fucking nothing. Jaskier yelps, and then he is thrown on the bed, with a witcher following shortly thereafter.

Jaskier finds himself properly cuddled with no chance of escape. Geralt is resting his head on Jaskier’s chest, snuggling in and rearranging his limbs so that Jaskier is hugging him back. And in all honesty, Jaskier doesn’t mind. He loves those few precious moments he is allowed near, allowed to care, allowed to show it.

But he has a feeling that things will be a bit different from now on. At least, because he is going to make hungover Geralt say all the things drunk Geralt did.

And possibly kiss him.

[dapandapod]

hello my sweet panda!! how about geraskier 17 for the kiss prompts, if you feel like it?? 💞

17. Tucking their hands beneath the other person’s shirt, just to watch them break the kiss and gasp in surprise at the sensation of cold/warm hands on their skin.

I would friggin love to, my dear!!  💞

Ok, so i missed the “just to watch them” part because I saw that first now, but I imagine Geralt does watch him. (is that a spoiler?)  Please have a modern au, completely self induglent because we all need a treat sometimes! Hope you like it, love!

On Ao3 here!

Send me a kissing Prompt? <3

Warnings: The cookies die.......

Being in love with your roommate has its pros and cons. For most of the time, it is the thrill of watching Geralt coming out of the shower, hair a wet mess, dripping water over his t-shirt. It is the warm churn when he stumbles out of his room in search of tea, all disheveled. It is the fluttery sensation when Jaskier is on the receiving end of one of those private smiles.

Then there is the loneliness, when they go to their separate rooms each night. The heartache when Geralt gets a phone call from Yennefer or Renfri, and he stays out until morning. The fear of being found out and ruining everything when Geralt catches Jaskier staring, or crying. He’s done both. Point is, there is a lot going on, and even if it is a little painful at times, Jaskier wouldn’t want to stop loving Geralt even if he could. For all his huffs and puffs, Geralt is the best friend he’s ever had. Even if that is all he gets.

Recently, Geralt has been spending more time at their place. Not staying out as much, not following Renfris and Yennefer's every beck and call. Jaskier isn’t sure what to make of it, but he appreciates it nonetheless.

Today they are baking together. Jaskier decided that 11.30 at night is a perfectly reasonable time to start making cookies, and Geralt realized that the last time Jaskier did cookies they had to buy a new stove. Jaskier currently has half the bag of flour in his hair and on his shirt, and is now put on the kitchen counter and not allowed to touch anything.

Geralt is wearing an apron, which, adorable, and prepares the baking tray to be put in the oven. He is close enough that Jaskier can reach him with his foot, so now he simply has to poke and kick at him. Those are the rules.

“Let me taste them.”

“They are not done yet.”

“But cookie dough.”

“Then you won’t get any cakes later.”

“But I want some now.”

“Are you a child? You can have the spoon when I’m done.”

“How very gracious of you. This was my idea, you know.”

“Most catastrophes are, unless I step in.”

“Rude!”

Jaskier kicks him a bit harder, and Geralt grunts and catches his foot. He already has one of the oven mittens on, for some reason, so Jaskier easily wriggles out of his grip.

“I’m having some.” Jaskier declares, jumping down from the kitchen counter and bare feet hitting the floor. He is a bit closer than intended, and that familiar fluttering comes again, but he is a man with a mission. Geralt is in the way anyway, how else is he supposed to get them.

“No, you’re not.” Geralt says, catching his hand mid-air.

A playfight breaks out, consisting of mostly flailing and half hearted slaps. Jaskier presses on with a grin, and Geralt is grinning right back but not moving an inch.

Everything comes to a halt when Jaskier realizes he did himself in. He is pressed between Geralt and the counter, and he suddenly realizes how very close they are. How very close they are.

Geralt seems to realize this at the same time, but instead of moving away he stands completely still. His arms are caging him in, they faces inches from each other. Jaskier feels himself blushing, heat creeping up his cheeks.

“Jaskier.” Geralt says, and Jaskiers eyes dips to his lips. Oh no.

The inches are disappearing, Jaskier isn’t sure who is leaning in, but he is completely helpless against the pull he is feeling. All his fears are pushed down, pushed away, out of sight, because Geralt's mittened hands are now on his hips.

The first touch of lips sends a jolt through him. And then Jaskier finds his hands clutching at Geralt's arms, warm and real. It is slow, hesitant, Jaskier can’t bring himself to pull away. But he doesn’t have to, as Geralt is the one leaning in now and takes a careful kiss. Jaskier sighs into it, melting into it, barely believing that this is happening. The cookies are completely forgotten, and Jaskier is lost in the dag of lips against lips, noses bumping, breaths mingling.

The kisses become longer, braver, and Geralt's hands lets go of his hips for a moment. He can feel them doing something, and when they come back the oven mittens are gone, and his fingers dig into Jaskiers hip and press him close.

Fuck.

When Jaskier is pressed against him, Geralt's hands travel. They find the hem of Jaskiers T-shirt, searching ever so slowly, creeping upwards. The feeling of Geralt's warm hands pressed against his sides makes Jaskier break the kiss and draw in a shuddering breath.

And again everything halts.

Geralt tenses up, stops, as if caught in something he shouldn’t have done. Jaskier’s heart is beating so fast, trying to catch up with what is happening. He leans his head down against Geralt’s shoulder, exhaling.

“Fuck. Been wanting to do that for a while.” He says quietly, lips tingling. 

The damage is already done. He might as well say it. Geralt is still not moving, his warm hands against his sides frozen in place. That doesn’t bode well. Nothing happens for another beat or two.

Alright. Geralt doesn’t want this. Jaskiers heart sinks, hurts, and he swallows hard to keep everything inside. But when he makes to pull away, Geralt's fingers tighten again, still holding him close to his body.

“Geralt?” He breathes, and gasps when Geralt's hands gently move over his bare skin. He pulls his head back up to watch Geralt, hope burning a hole in his chest. Their eyes meet.

“Can I kiss you again?” Geralt asks, looking so serious, half terrified and Jaskier can only nod.

They burn the cookies. They did set a timer, only ignored in favour of kissing against the fridge, the counter, the couch. The cookies come out hard enough to serve as a weapon, but Jaskier is very much alright with that.

He got to taste something much better.

[dapandapod]

I can explain pt2

On Ao3     ONE                TREE      FOUR     FIVE    BONUS      +1 

TWO

Jaskier shrieks.

It surprises him too, but that is what happens when six small paws are tickling his sides. He has no idea what this tiny creature is, but it is adorable, it’s fur brown and shiny. And heavy, because it is holding him down as it licks him all over the face. Jaskier doesn’t giggle. This is a chuckle. Absolutely a chuckle, and a very dignified one at that, thank you very much. The shriek, alright, it wasn’t very dignified.

The next moment though, Geralt bursts through the underbrush, sword raised and ready to protect Jaskier from his attacker. Jaskier can almost see him on the other side of his new, furry friend, almost hearing his accusing tone through his own chuckles-not-giggles.

“What are you doing?!” Geralt asks, lowering his sword.

“I can explain!” Jaskier wheezes, breathless from both his laughing and the weight of this little creature.

“You better!” Geralt exclaims, sheeting his sword again and pushing the creature off Jaskier. Geralt shoos it away with some big, loud motions as Jaskier catches his breath.

“Aaww.” he complains. “It was so cute.”

“Take off your clothes.” Geralt says when he helps Jaskier up.

Jaskier blinks, mouth falling open in surprise.

“What?” He asks, blinking fast a few times. “Here? Now?”

Of all the times he wanted to hear Geralt say that to him, this is not when he expected it.

“Clothes. Off.”

This time, Jaskier does blush, but he covers it up quickly with a flirty smirk.

“Why, Geralt, I’d thought you’d never ask.”

“No time to act cute, bard. Why were you playing with a Moth Puppet?”

Geralt thinks he is cute. That is what he registers first.

“Wait. Moth Puppet?” Jaskiers hand stills on his buttons, and he looks confusedly up at Geralt.

Geralt sighs and steps in close to help him speed up the process.

Oh shit. Geralt is undressing him.

“Yes. The Puppet finds and marks the prey, and then the Moth follows. You have its scent all over you. Get those clothes off, now.”

Jaskier might have given Geralt undressing him a thought, just the once or twice. But in his mind, it usually ends with Geralt getting undressed too, not Jaskier hurrying after Geralt back to Roach and getting a massage with raw onions to ‘hide the scent’.

Not at all, actually.

[dapandapod]

I can explain pt 4

Y’all. It’s 02.39 am. Don’t let me stay up this late. Or I will make them kiss.

On Ao3   ONE   TWO   THREE            FIVE     BONUS    +1

FOUR

“I’m so sorry for this,” Jaskier says, climbing Geralt's lap. He is lucky Geralt isn’t just shoving him off, he is amazed really, so he settles in quickly, straddling his thighs. With no time to lose, and no time to change his mind, he presses in close. Still Geralt doesn’t stop him.

Jaskier's heart is beating like crazy. It’s not like he hasn't been thinking of this since he met the man, not as if he hasn't been fantasizing about it for an embarrassing amount of time or something. He leans in close and kisses him. His hands are on Geralt’s ridiculously thick arms, and at the first touch of lips he can’t help but to fist his hands into the fabric of his tunic. Gods everywhere.

Geralt doesn’t push him away, but doesn’t really kiss him back either, and there is no way that would work to Jaskier's advantage.

“Please just go with it,” Jaskier whispers against his lips, smiling as if he is saying something sweet.

Geralt sighs and rolls his eyes, but to Jaskier's delight he leans in this time. There is nothing chaste about this kiss. Nothing at all. Geralt grabs his thighs, pulling him closer. Jaskier falls forward and catches himself with a hand on Geralt’s chest and hm. Maybe this will fuck Jaskier up good, now that he's thinking about it. Maybe this was a bad idea.

Hot breath hits his upper lip as Geralt sighs again, but it feels different. Can a sigh be content? It feels content to Jaskier, and he bravely moves his hand from the arm to Geralt's neck. Jaskier is content too. Very content. But name one good thing that lasts. Just as their kiss deepens, a heavy hand settles on Jaskier's shoulder.

“Bard,” someone growls threateningly, and oh no no no, he is being pulled away from the kiss, rather rudely he might add.

“What?” He asks irritably, glaring up at the interrupter. Geralt seems equally annoyed, his hands on Jaskier's thighs inching upwards.

“You slept with my sister,” the man gripping his shoulder accuses.

Fair,  but Jaskier had asked, and it went nowhere. It was something about her noticing his affections being engaged elsewhere, white hair and silvery scars, something something, and Jaskier had decided it was a lost cause. Didn’t stop her brother from getting pissed though.

“Do I look like someone who would sleep with your sister??” Jaskier asks, perched in Geralt's lap, lips kissed red, possessive hands on his thighs, his chemise unbuttoned rather generously. Yes, this was very much on purpose.

The interrupter looks a bit taken aback by that, finally noticing what Jaskier was actually doing. And with whom.

“Fuck off,” Geralt adds rather helpfully, pulling Jaskier in for another kiss. Another, very not chaste one. Jaskier can’t help but whine into it, melting against Geralt as he feels the interrupter let go of his shoulder and, hopefully, actually fucking off.

He doesn’t turn to look, allowing himself to sink into Geralt's touch the way he always wished to. Geralt seems to be in no hurry to let go either, licking and nipping at Jaskier's lower lip, his hands traveling over his lower back and thighs. This is heaven.

Eventually they part, oxygen is a thing at least bards need sadly, and they breathe each other's air for a moment. The rest of the tavern slowly comes back into focus around them, but honestly? Jaskier is still rather fixated on Geralt’s hands, still at his lower back, and the way his eyes having not quite left Jaskier's mouth.

“I can explain,” Jaskier breathes.

“You really don’t have to,” Geralt huffs. “That was fairly obvious.”