Hi, im fucking trash for the idea of Geralt being the front man for a Five Finger Death Punch type band and my brain wouldn’t shut the fuck up about it. This music genre is my bread and butter and I think Geralt’s repressed but highly emotional ass would fit right in. Yes im using another Hozier song, no i dont wanna hear anything about it. I’m a basic bitch and ive made my peace with it
Warnings: i honestly have no idea, its a little horny, little emotional, but theres no actual character interaction?, its at a concert venue? idk yall.
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Jaskier was… out of his comfort zone.
It’s not that he didn’t like the grunge-metal music, he just hadn’t listened to much and he was not used to the energy. People were yelling and screaming and the opener hadn’t even come on yet. He didn’t feel unsafe, far from it. Several people had checked to see if he was okay, seeing as he was the only person in the entire arena wearing a sweater that wasn't ripped or faded to hell. It was just a far cry from the shows he was used to.
He played folky-blues. This was nothing like his shows.
When the lights went down the crowd was deafening, all moving as one to rush the front of the floor, not giving a single fuck about tickets.
The openers were exciting, and Jaskier was surprised by some of the concepts and messages behind the music. It wasn’t what he’d expected at all and he found himself searching them up on Spotify to listen later.
Then came The Witchers.
Eskel and Lambert made their energetic entrance, followed by Aiden calmly walking to his drums and sitting as if he were walking into a college class. But Geralt was nowhere in sight. The one person Jaskier had actually come to see.
He’d seen a video clip from a previous concert where they covered one of his songs, and he was praying they’d do it again. It was lovely in a haunting-almost-threatening way, and the expression in Geralt’s posture alone was enthralling. He had to see it live.
But Geralt was still absent as the band started to build a song. First Aiden with the beat, then Eskel’s bass, then Lambert with a melody on his electric guitar. It built and built and built to a fever pitch, taking the crowd with it. People were already jumping and screeching. Jaskier had to stand on his seat to see the stage clearly.
Geralt’s voice echoed through the venue, low and closer to a growl than singing, but he was still nowhere to be seen.
Jaskier thought he’d been prepared, but his whole body was covered in goosebumps. He briefly wondered if this was what his friends were feeling when they listened to ASMR.
Geralt remained hidden for the whole first verse, getting the crowd even more excited than Jaskier thought possible, only for the band to go completely silent for a whole measure. When the crowd's screams reached their absolute loudest, Geralt dropped from on top of one of the jumbotrons, landing on one of the horse-sized speakers before launching into the chorus.
Oh fuck, he was even more beautiful in person.
He was… well he was a beast of a man. Jaskier really didn’t have another word for the way his muscles bulged and how lithe and powerful he looked springing from the speaker to join his bandmates on the main stage. His thighs filled out his black, tattered jeans and there were clear faded spots where his muscles strained the fabric too often. The thin black tank he wore did nothing but pretend the man was semi-modest. It was so tight, the only thing left up to the imagination was tan lines and the color of his nipple piercings.
Jaskier was most entranced by his long, white, wavy hair falling past his shoulders. As the show continued and he started to sweat, a lot, it got curlier and curlier at the root. Jaskier wanted to give him a mask and some curl cream, but only after a, uhm, rough night of getting to know each other. He’d heard rumors about Geralt from hitting arenas not long after they’d left. He was quite sure they’d have a great time.
As he focused on the lyrics more and more, he was more inclined to want to wrap Geralt up in a hug and worship every part of him until he felt whole again.
Either he’d been shown the shitty side of the genre, or The Witchers were exceptions to the rule of content. Jaskier was almost moved to tears a few different times.
Finally, about an hour into Jaskier mindlessly feasting his eyes on the front man, Geralt leapt onto another speaker and sat down, breathing hard and grinning from ear to ear.
“You still with us?”
The unholy screech from the crowd left no doubt they were just as excited, if not more so, than when they’d arrived.
“Good! Good..” he trailed off, chuckling as he lowered the mic to take a breath, “We’re gonna slow it down for a minute,” he leaned forward and held the mic away as Eskel shouted something up at him to which he laughed and flipped him off.
“As I was saying, we’re gonna yearn for a minute or two and do a cover. Song by Jaskier called ‘Talk’.”
The crowd lost their shit again, various pride flags popping up throughout the stands.
Geralt chuckled and raised his combat boot, showing off the bi flag colored treads, earning another round of screams. If this is what the grunge-metal scene was like, Jaskier had been missing out his entire life. Sure his fans were sweet and supportive and loving when he’d come out. But this was electric and feral and completely addictive.
Lambert struck the opening chord to Jaskier’s song and the crowd settled to a gentle hum, setting the tone immediately, as if they all knew exactly what was coming.
Geralt closed his eyes as he tapped his thigh with one finger, keeping time before his rumbling baritone hit Jaskier like a freight train.
“I’d be the voice that urged Orpheus when her body was found…”
Jaskier could have collapsed right there. He knew he was staring like a lovesick idiot, but hell, everyone around him was too. When the chorus hit and Eskel came in with a heavy bass line he nearly fell off his chair. Geralt’s intensity raised with the addition of the backup but he didn’t move. He stayed seated, swaying slightly, with his eyes closed as he crooned out the words Jaskier had sobbed as he wrote, broken hearted and miserable.
It was surreal.
Sure he’d seen other covers. Sure they’d been lovely. But he wanted to listen to this and only this as he fell asleep for the rest of his life. He’d never play it again if he could only hear it one more time.
After the last verse Lambert launched into a guitar solo while Geralt jumped off the speaker and meandered to the center of the stage to slot his mic back in it’s stand. He gripped it like a lifeline when Lambert held one last note for as long as his instrument would allow and only started singing the last chorus when it was almost silent.
“I won't deny I've got in my mind now all the things I would do
So I'll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I'm imaginin' you
I won't deny I've got in my mind now all the things we could do
So I'll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I'm imaginin' you”
His expression looked hopeless and utterly desperate as he crooned out the last two lines. He let his hair fall to cover his face and Jaskier could just barely hear his panting breath over the sound system as the crowd exploded. Geralt tipped his head back and took two deep breaths before straightening up and getting on with the show but Jaskier was stuck.
He was vaguely aware of someone taking a picture of him, but he really couldn’t care less. The fact that Geralt moved right on to a song called ‘Burn Motherfucker Burn’ didn’t matter either.
Jaskier jumped down from his arena seat, whipping out his phone and sending the band a tweet, because apparently that’s what musicians did now?
“Record it. Please. It’s either that or sing me to sleep every night. You choose.”
He stayed for the rest of the show and walked to his car in a haze. Before he backed out of his spot he checked his phone like always and his heart nearly stopped at the two top notifications.
One public reply: “Both? -G”
And one direct message: “If you’re still here and want to grab a drink, I’m just backstage.”
Hey guys! Here's a little thing I wrote for @witcher-bows-and-arrows fest! I'm no writer by any means, but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway.
Prompt: Song
Relationship: Geralt/Jaskier
Tags: Modern AU, Childhood friends, Singer Jaskier
Geralt was standing at the bar, waiting for his beer. He took another look at the venue: it was a small, dimly lit place with black painted walls.
When Jaskier had invited him to his first concert with a real band, he wasn’t exactly expecting this. But he had learned a long time ago that his old friend was always full of surprises.
A soft, modern soulmate/reincarnation au for @notorioussora
tw: none, just fluff
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Jaskier smooths his sweating palms down the front of his mostly-unbuttoned floral blouse and shakes his hair out of his eyes. The small black mic-pack hooked to the back of his belt is biting into the skin of his waist and the pain centers him. It's the only thing keeping him from flying up through the ceiling and disappearing into space. He’s never been this nervous before - likely due to the fact that he’s never performed in front of such a large crowd or for such a prestigious event.
He hadn’t expected his first self-produced pop single to blast to the top of the music charts only two weeks after posting it online. He hadn’t expected to be signed for a full album less than a month after that, and Jaskier certainly had not expected to be nominated for the Best New Artist of the Year award after the release of said album.
The last eight months have been a whirlwind. Now he’s standing backstage at the largest music awards show on the Continent, minutes away from performing his hit song for an televised audience of millions. His anxiety is through the roof. Jaskier feels as if his heart has taken up residence in his throat; breathing has become damn near impossible.
The already uptight musician practically jumps out of his skin when a tall, broad-shouldered man dressed all in black suddenly steps out from behind one of the heavy velvet curtains and crosses his huge arms over his chest. His hair is whiter than snow and pulled back into a severe bun at the back of his head; it shines like a halo in the dim blue-tinted lights of the wings.
“You’re Jaskier, right?” the stranger asks as his gaze flicks up and down Jaskier's trembling frame. His voice is low and gravelly, the deep timbre making the singer's knees go weak and wobbly.
“Yeah.”
He looks Jaskier straight in the eyes and Jaskier’s stuck breath goes whooshing out of him in one long exhalation. The man’s irises are a beautiful shade of hazel, far more gold than green, and they spark with recognition as his gaze locks onto the musician’s face. There’s a pregnant pause and then the man huffs in what appears to be frustration. “Fuck.”
Suddenly a word bursts forth, unbidden, from between Jaskier’s pretty pink lips: “Geralt!”
“How do you know my name?” the man growls, stepping forward. The musician steps back on instinct and knocks his shoulder into one of the heavy stage props waiting to be wheeled on for his show. He winces in pain and Geralt - how does he know this man’s name? - steps forward again, grabbing Jaskier around the upper arms with his enormous hands and holding him steady. “Careful, bard.”
“Bard?” Jaskier questions. Geralt’s eyebrows furrow and he yanks his hands away from Jaskier as if they’ve been burned.
“Fuck!” the man repeats, snarling under his breath. He mutters something else that Jaskier can't quite catch, his eyes tracking the way Jaskier's tongue darts out to wet his lips.
“Why do I know you?” Jaskier whispers. He takes a turn to step closer and reach out, his hand rising to cautiously cup the side of Geralt’s face. The semi-stranger doesn’t move away this time so the singer continues, “Why is my heart racing in my chest at the very sight of you?”
From onstage the singer hears a deep voice announce: “And this year's Best New Artist is here to perform his hit song ‘Dandelion’! Let's hear a big round of applause for the newest member of the musical elite, Jaskier!”
One of the show's crewmembers pushes Jaskier toward the stage but the musician resists. He’s still staring at Geralt in abject wonderment. The crew person mutters in his ear, “You’re on! Go!”
“I can’t- I-”
“Go!”
“Wait for me,” Jaskier manages to gasp. He watches Geralt’s bun bob up and down in confirmation...
And then he’s walking out into the blinding lights of the stage, nearly deafened by the crowd’s enthusiastic cheers. He accepts his award and nails his performance, spurred on by the heavy sensation of two gold-hazel eyes tracking his every move. It feels familiar, as if this man has watched him perform a thousand times before, always from shadowy corners.
Witcher. His mind supplies the word as quickly as it had supplied Geralt’s name. The sensation of such utter familiarity makes him blink; somehow he stays in step with the routine and finishes with a flourish.
As he's whisked backstage again to have his microphone removed, Jaskier searches desperately for any sign of silvery white hair within the crowd. He doesn't understand just why his heart begins to ache so terribly when the mysterious Geralt is nowhere in sight.
"Shit," he sighs. The swarm surrounding him departs, making their way for the next scheduled performer. He runs a hand through his hair to muss it up and sighs again, even more deeply. "That's... unusually disappointing."
"What's disappointing?" a familiar voice asks. Jaskier whirls on his heel and nearly goes crashing into the solid-looking pectorals of his handsome new acquaintance.
"I thought you were gone!"
"And?"
"That was the disappointing thing. Now that you're back, however, I'm right as rain."
"Hmm." Geralt's eyes shift away for a moment before locking with Jaskier's once more. "Have you figured it out yet?"
"Not really," Jaskier shrugs. "Also, what's a Witcher?"
"Double fuck," Geralt says, but this time he's suppressing a smile. "I was a Witcher, once upon a time. And you..."
"Were a bard?"
"Correct."
"I was your bard, wasn't I?" Jaskier asks. He has one hip cocked to the side and his hand resting on it; he looks truly roguish with his half-buttoned blouse revealing most of his chest hair and his two sharp collarbones. His eyes widen again and he smirks, "My darling, my dear, my mysterious White Wolf?"
Geralt chuckles affectionately. "I never thought I'd see you again, Jaskier."
"I never thought Soulmates were real, dear heart."
"Are you glad to find out the truth?" Geralt inquires. He seems honestly curious and his stature goes a little puppy-ish around the edges. He seems so gods-damned eager to please that it makes Jaskier weak in the knees for a second time.
"Very," the singer nods. "Are you uh... interested in me the way I seem to be interested in you?"
"Yeah," Geralt nods. He wraps one arm slowly - ever so carefully and slowly - around Jaskier's waist and waits with bated breath for the singer to pull away. Jaskier remains, still smiling sweetly at his newfound Soulmate.
"Good."
And Jaskier pulls his Witcher, or whatever Geralt is doing in this lifetime, down into the sweetest kiss he's ever had the pleasure to experience.
#44. Im your new neighbor and git locked out, help. With uhhhhh tiktoker jask who likes to sing in the stairwells 👀 bonus points if they become boyfriends loooool
thanks for the ask Cheese!!! I hope you enjoy!! <3
I also want to thank @buttercupbard for being a really amazing sport about me borrowing their handle for the tik tok bits!!! I’ve sent some weird dms in my life but honestly, that was the oddest CYA i’ve ever done. I’m super glad it worked out though!!! Thank you again so much, Buttercup!
44. I’m your new neighbor and I got locked out, help!
The first time he heard it, Geralt had been taking his laundry down to the bottom floor because the units on his level were full. It was only for a moment, but who ever it was who was singing scurried away before he had a chance to make out the song they were singing.
The second time, he had passed the door to the stairwell on his way to grab his mail. This time though he was careful as he pushed the door open as gently as he could. The lyrics to Blackbird resonated in the concrete and steel and it made Geralt want to call home. It was a song he remembered his father singing at the kitchen sink while doing clean up in the evening or working in the garage on weekends.
Geralt tried not to be a creep about it, but it was quickly becoming a habit that was hard to break, sneaking into the side stairwell and listening to one of his neighbors sing. It felt somewhere between a terrible invasion of privacy and a private concert.
There were songs that made him ache with nostalgia, where he ended up calling his dad after or texting his brothers. There were songs that made him want to go work out and go get something accomplished. And then there were those songs that made him want to climb the stairs and face that voice and take them into his arms because he sounded so lonely. Geralt usually slipped back out when those feelings started to creep in.
Omg, Geralt, you have to see this dude! He’s insane!
Eskel sent him a link to a tik tok. It took a moment but after it loaded, Geralt nearly threw his phone across the room as if it had burned him. The only thing that stopped him were the blue eyes and brilliant smile that looked back at him.
@buttercupbard
I think my fan is back on the lower floor. Hope he enjoys today’s #lavieenrose 🙌🎶🌹🌹
Oh... Oh no! No no no, this could not be happening. Geralt watched, listening to the same rendition of La Vie en Rose he had heard the day before. Geralt knew only just enough about tik tok to know that the 500k under the little heart and the fact that he knew that this Buttercup Bard had only sung that song yesterday, he could deduce the facts in front of him. One, the singer knew Geralt snuck in to listen, and two, so did his probably thousands of fans.
Geralt clicked the little chat button on the side, pulling up the comments.
“You should go say hello!”
@buttercupbard: Oh no, I don’t know if they’d like that, otherwise they would have come up to say hello by now!
“Wouldn’t it be sweet if they found your tik toks?”
@buttercupbard: 👀👀🙈🙈🙈 Think they’d give me a review? Three words or less!
He wanted to scream. He wanted to run. He wanted to walk up those stairs and be able to drink in the full view of this Buttercup Bard as he sang knowingly to an audience of one. He wanted the earth to crack open at his feet and swallow him whole.
He went back to the video and pulled open Buttercup’s account, scrolling through what seemed like a lot of videos for just a few weeks. He found the one labeled Blackbird and gave it a listen. The caption simply said “This might be the last time I can sing here, someone came in again.”
Geralt frowned as he paused the video, looking down at those bright blue eyes that kept flitting away from the camera to make sure no one was coming. Geralt remembered standing at the bottom of the stairwell, leaning against the cold concrete with eyes closed. It had been peaceful but now it felt as though Geralt had just been encroaching. He couldn’t go back, not now. What would he say if Buttercup came down.
He also had to stop calling him Buttercup, but he had no other name for him. Geralt stopped going to the stairwell and he did his best to not pull up tik tok once in a while just to get his fix. He was doing fine, at least for a little while.
It was about three weeks later when Geralt finally broke down and opened the app he had downloaded just to watch Buttercup sing. That’s when he noticed the little pink ring around his icon.
Buttercup was live right now. Geralt’s feet moved under him without his noticing, walking him to the door. His hand was on the handle as he watched, his whole attention on the screen in his hand.
“I don’t know what happened to them. I guess I wasn’t meant for that kind of cheesy romance story after all!” Buttercup laughed and it sounded like a melody all in itself. Comments rocketed passed and Jaskier chuckled, ducking his head. “Well, you never know, I can’t be everyone’s cup of tea. Do you guys want to hear another song? I was thinking some Presley if you guys-” More comments poured in and Buttercup beamed.
That’s when Geralt heard his door shut behind him. Locked. Fuck.
He dropped out of the live stream and texted Eskel who took a few minutes but finally shot back that he was stuck at work and on the other side of the county. Geralt was going to have to find something to do until he could run over with the spare.
Fuck.
He couldn’t well stand in the hall barefooted. He looked down at his phone and sighed. There was only one thing to do.
----
“Like a river flows, surely to the see, Darlin-” Jaskier gave his camera a wink, chuckling through the lines but below the door opened.
“Uh, excuse me, Mr. Bard?” a voice came up, low and uncertain.
Jaskier gasped, looking in the camera as the chat exploded. He put a hand over his mouth and winced.
“Hello?” Jaskier dropped his head into his hand biting the inside of his lip. When he heard footsteps on the stairs he looked back at his phone and mouthed ‘Got to go’ and blew a kiss. Hopefully it didn’t lose him followers.
Suddenly the follower count didn’t matter. When Jaskier looked up he was greeted by a wall of a man, his white hair pulled back and the most startling hazel eyes. His bare feet wriggled on the linoleum.
“I hate to be a bother, and I know you were in the middle of something,” the man suddenly looked like he wanted to bolt.
“You’re the one who was listening down a few flights,” Jaskier couldn’t help the grin that was breaking out on his face. His followers were going to flip.
“Ah shit, sorry about that I feel like… I should go.” The man turned away from Jaskier and started to make his way back down the steps.
“Wait. Wait, no. Don’t go. Stay, please. Why aren’t you wearing shoes?” His damn mouth got ahead of him.
“I’m locked out of my apartment,” he stood there, looking up through the rail, frowning.
“I… Jaskier.”
“What?”
“My name. It’s Jaskier. Mr. Bard was my father,” he smirked, taking a step down. “Would you like to wait at my place until someone comes to your rescue? I have carpeting and coffee?”
The other man laughed, leaning to press his forehead against the rail for a second before looking up. “It would be appreciated. I’m Geralt from 2C.”
Jaskier tilted his head and smiled. “Well while we wait, Geralt of 2C, you can finally give me a review of my singing.”
“Hmm,” Geralt let himself be led up the rest of the stairs, “Am I restricted to three words or less?”
Jaskier flushed and snorted. And to think he nearly made a habit of doing his videos in this bathroom.
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You can drop me a prompt from this list here!!
Tag list as it stands now <3: @jaskierswolf @geraskier-trashh @elliestormfound @artistsfuneral @thetinymm @fontegagrilledcheese @anythinggoesfandoms @electricrituals
holy fucking shit yall really loved the first one so I wrote some more
this is totally self indulgent tho. like yall have no idea. if i could live in any AU it would be this one. i have so many feels.
Warnings: drinking mention, nothing over the top, unwanted pics taken but like they’re celebrities? i guess, we get a bit emotional about past relationships/crushes but nothing too heavy
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Jaskier had no idea how he got there, but he was knocking on a green room door with a temporary label reading ‘The Witchers’ before the stadium had completely emptied.
Lambert yanked the door open, Aiden clinging to his back like a monkey, and his eyes nearly bulged out of his head before a huge grin spread over his face, “Hey there, Jaskier!”
Eskel grumbled, “Haha, Bert. No need to fuck with Geralt.”
Jaskier shoved his hands in his corduroys and rocked up onto his toes, “He’s not fucking with anyone,” he laughed, desperately trying to keep the nerves out of his voice as he peeked around the door jam.
Geralt was curled up in the corner of a couch, now wearing a massive grey-blue hoodie and gold wire-rimmed glasses, scribbling in a composition notebook propped up on his knees. His hair was pulled back in a disaster of a bun with pieces falling in his face but Jaskier absolutely loved it. It suited him. He hesitated a moment before scrawling one last line in his notebook, brow furrowed as he chewed on his bottom lip.
When he looked up he snapped his notebook shut, “Holy fuck,” he breathed, “Hi!”
His eyes were actually gold. Jaskier had just thought that was some thirst driven exaggeration. He expected light brown, but no. He was staring directly at eyes that practically sparkled.
Lambert waved Jaskier in and he hesitantly stepped through the door, “Hi! I uh, dig your boots.”
“Th- Thank you,” Geralt bit back a grin, blushing bright pink as he stood up, “I didn’t think you’d see my message. Or respond.”
“After that performance?” Jaskier, normally bard-worthy with his quick tongue and easy conversation, was feeling his own cheeks heat up as he scrambled for something to say, “I’m honestly not sure if I even locked my car when I came back in.”
Eskel snickered from behind Jaskier, stretching and putting his feet up on a coffee table, “Told ya.”
Aiden sighed and rested his chin on top of Lambert’s head, “This is so cute.”
Jaskier laughed, not entirely uncomfortably but definitely awkward, and ran a hand through his hair, turning back to Geralt.
Geralt pushed his glasses farther up his nose and snatched his wallet from the coffee table, “I offered drinks. You wanna…” Geralt trailed off and made an exasperated, and maybe a little annoyed face at the guys behind him but when Jaskier turned around they were pretending to mind their own business, “How does Pensive sound?”
Jaskier shot him a grin, “Sounds perfect.”
Geralt snagged his keys from a bag and held the door open for Jaskier, “After you.”
-
“Okay so,” Jaskier took a sip of his drink and set it in line with their two empty glasses and a napkin holder, “Aiden and Lambert fuck?” he asked, pushing an empty glass and the napkin holder together. Geralt snorted and nodded so he went on, “And Eskel and Lambert are brothers?” Another nod as he tapped the two empty glasses, “And you and Eskel were college roommates?” he asked, gesturing to his half-empty glass.
Geralt grinned, “You know, you’re keeping up pretty well for a self-proclaimed lightweight.”
Geralt leaned his head back and laughed and Jaskier was absolutely done for. He rested his elbow on the table and his head in his hand as he stared dreamily at this adorable man. He was carefree and soft around the edges, nothing like Jaskier had expected from the lyrics he’d listened to all night. And either he was a good listener or Jaskier had had one too many vodka-crans.
When Geralt finally got himself under control he took off his glasses to wipe at his eyes before placing them back on his nose with a grimace, “I shouldn’t have taken my contacts out.”
“Old prescription?”
Geralt blushed, “Don’t usually wear them in public,” He admitted, pushing the frames higher.
Jaskier must have had too much to drink because he reached out and tucked a curly strand of white hair behind Geralt’s ear, “I think they’re cute on you.”
Geralt’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at Jaskier, jaw hanging down just a bit, his pupils blown wide. Jaskier bit his lip and smiled as he pulled his hand away and rested it on the table between them, hoping Geralt would get the hint. Gods he just wanted to hold his hand and giggle until the sun came up.
“Thank you,” Geralt muttered, blinking a couple times and laying one of his hands over Jaskier’s.
“Can I ask you something?”
Geralt licked his lips and nodded, shaking the hair loose that Jaskier had just tucked away.
“Why that song?” Jaskier stared at their hands, not having the courage to look at Geralt in case the answer wasn’t what he wanted it to be.
“Hmm…” he didn’t sound upset, but he was certainly choosing his words carefully, “I’ve done the whole.. How do I put it?” Jaskier looked up at him only to see him staring at their hands too, “...‘I could be enough for you if you’d let me’ dance more times than I can count… and knowing it would never happen but yearning anyway…” he chuckled and glanced up at Jaskier, a sad look of acceptance in his eyes, “And I love your voice.”
Of course, he’d heard those words before, it was his job to have a good voice, but fuck, they hit different coming from Geralt. He was so earnest and disarmingly handsome that Jaskier felt anything he said would make him giddy. His chest felt warm and it took a moment for his brain to catch up. He had planned on showering Geralt with praise and adoration, not the other way around.
Jaskier squeezed his hand, “I love yours too,” he whispered.
There was that gorgeous blush again, making Jaskier’s heart skip a beat.
“I can’t imagine anyone thinking you’re not magnificent,” Jaskier mumbled, watching Geralt blush even deeper and dip his head so the loose hairs covered his face a bit. Jaskier may have been a flirty drunk, but he was one hundred percent sure he’d be just as forward with Geralt sober. He wasn’t leaving the bar without making damn sure Geralt knew he was gorgeous and talented and everything Jaskier could imagine wanting in life.
“Careful. You can’t just say things like that,” Geralt warned, flicking the hair out of his eyes with a guarded but amused smile.
“And why not?”
Geralt squinted at him for a moment, “I might believe you.”
“Geralt, darling,” Jaskier started, sitting up and turning to square his hips toward him, holding his large hand in both of his, “I don’t mince words. I mean everything I say. And tweet. I really do think you’re wonderful. And I really do want you to sing me to sleep. Sometime. Anytime. I’m not picky.”
Geralt raised his eyebrows and took a breath in to say something but was interrupted by a camera flash in the low light of the bar and someone swearing.
“Oi!” Jaskier turned toward the light, and the idiot fumbling with their phone.
Geralt squeezed his hand before he could say anything more, “It’s alright. The hair kinda glows in the dark, I’m used to it. I was thinking we could get out of here?”
Jaskier did his best not to let the sly smile take over his face and give him away, “Would you like to come to my place?”
Geralt grinned, “Absolutely. Mine is a shit show right now.”
“Is it really that bad?” Jaskier joked as they stood.
“Eskel is a slob,” Geralt laughed.
“Mine it is!” Jaskier declared, slapping enough cash to cover their drinks and an exorbitant tip on the table.
They walked out of the bar with Geralt’s arm around Jaskier’s shoulders, both with giddy smiles and a little extra pep in their step.
We’re throwing it WAY back to the early 2000′s with this one, guys. One of my first hyperfixations crossed over with my latest; poetic, really. I also dug into my Weird Memories archive and remembered that we used to make banners for our fics back in the fanfic.net days (I’m old as hell and I’ve been doing this for a long time). So...without further ado, the first story in my A Very Bouncey Halloween series:
Jaskier perched on the velvet-padded stool in front of his dressing room mirror and ran a brush through his soft brown hair. He hoped to remove the curls it had been pulled into for the performance and return it to its normal fluffy mess; unfortunately that wasn’t entirely possible, the pomade his costumer had applied was too thick.
Once his chestnut locks were as silky smooth as they were going to get, Jaskier placed the silver brush back on the tabletop and sighed. The Phantom had left him another plain red rose with a plain black ribbon around the stem. No note. No name. Just Madame Yennefer’s quiet, “He was pleased with you.”
A whisper in passing.
Valdo interrupted the young starlet’s thoughts when he poked his head in the door and smiled brightly. Jaskier pulled his delicate white dressing gown closer around his shoulders and chest, hiding whatever skin he could despite its laciness. An ingénue’s aesthetic did not always lend itself well to preserving one’s modesty, ironically enough.
“You did wonderfully tonight, my sweet,” the Viscount purred from his place in the doorway.
“Thank you.”
“Could I have the honor of escorting you to a late dinner?”
Jaskier was about to turn him down outright when he struck upon a very particular thought. If his Angel of Music was as possessive as Jaskier hoped, surely he’d step forward and show his face to deter the Viscount. If the Phantom thought his claim on the pretty opera prodigy was being threatened then perhaps he’d make an appearance. The scheming young starlet smiled softly and let his excited Angel-related blush do the work for him in regards to Valdo Marx, “That would be lovely, Viscount Valdo.”
The mustachioed cavalier beamed. “I’ll have my footmen bring the carriage around.”
And then he disappeared back out the door.
Jaskier turned towards his mirror, still clutching the robe around his shoulders tightly to keep it closed. He wished desperately that he hadn’t changed out of his costume before the Viscount arrived at his door. Valdo had all the appearance of a gentleman, and he’d been kind enough when they were both children, but something about the way he’d looked at Jaskier in such a state of undress, like he was hungry…
The prodigy shivered and ran his hands up and down his upper arms for both comfort and warmth. The corset around his middle felt unusually tight as he stood to get dressed in his street-clothes. If he was to meet with the creepy young Viscount for dinner then he’d need to be dressed.
Before he could move an inch, however, a cold wind swept through the dressing room and doused the candles. Jaskier gasped and let his hands fall to his sides. Had his plan really worked so well? Had his Angel decided to step out of the darkness and finally show him the face behind the roses?
The deep, familiar rumble of his tutor’s baritone seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, filling the pitch dark room with sound: “Insolent boy, this slave of fashion, basking in your glory! Insolent fool, your brave young suitor; sharing in my triumph!”
The possessive note in his Angel’s voice sent a shiver down Jaskier’s spine and he replied quickly, already halfway under the Phantom’s dizzying spell: “Angel, I hear you! Speak, I listen; stay by my side and guide me. My soul was weak and I wished…” - the boy shook his head to clear the thought away - “Forgive me. Enter at last, Master.”
“Flattering child,” the Angel chuckled darkly. “You shall know me soon and see why I hide my face in shadow. You shall understand at last why I have not let you lay such innocent eyes upon me in all these years.”
“Yes,” Jaskier breathed, stepping forward into the embrace of darkness. From behind the two-way mirror on the wall, Geralt gasped softly. He felt his heartbeat double in speed. The longing on his flower’s face was exquisite. It lit a flame in the composer that could not be dampened by the mists of any Paris catacomb. The boy cast his eyes around the dark room, searching for his tutor, “I want to see your face, my Angel. Don’t tease me any longer with your pretty words. I’m tired of spending my nights alone, Phantom.”
Geralt was going to fall to his knees and cry if the boy said another word, so he interrupted: “Look at your face in the mirror.”
Jaskier turned to the full-length mirror on the wall and saw a light shimmering faintly from behind the glass. He reached out involuntarily and his eyes went wide with confusion. There was definitely a figure there...a tall, broad-shouldered man standing just beyond the wavy glass wall. He was holding out his hand in Jaskier’s direction. The singer’s ghostly, lace-clad reflection stared back at him with hazy vision, enthralled entirely by his Angel’s presence.
“Angel of Music, hide no longer!” Jaskier begged, stepping forward again. “Let me see you, please!”
“Come to your Angel of Music,” the figure in the glass beckoned, waving him forward with that broad, outstretched hand. Further into the room. Into the dark.
Jaskier placed one delicately slippered foot in front of the other, crossing the carpet in a slow but determined line. He tried to keep his legs from tangling with his dressing gown as he moved, slipping it open a bit to reveal his mostly-bare legs. Geralt bit his lip at the sight of all that skin, too much and too little at the same time. Gods, how he wanted to touch the younger man. Hold him. Please him endlessly.
Jaskier’s eyes never wavered from the figure in the mirror. His Angel had finally come for him and he wasn’t about to waste the chance to see his tutor up close. To feel his Angel’s hands against him. He reached out towards the glass and the white silk of his robe slipped easily from his shoulder, baring a swathe of pale skin.
Geralt hadn’t been aware, until that very moment, that someone could feel both predatory and terrified at the same moment. He wanted to take Jaskier away and hide him beneath the Opera house forever where nobody could ever touch him again; but oh, how sinful would it be to keep his talented student sequestered from the sun. He didn’t want to be rejected. He didn’t want the boy to see his face, his hideously scarred face and strange white hair, and turn from him in terror. He wouldn’t be able to live through that.
And then…
“Jaskier!”
Fuck. That stupid little Viscount was going to ruin everything Geralt had worked for! Had waited for! Had prayed and begged and yearned for!
But the starlet didn’t turn around.
The posh young fool pounded against the strong mahogany of Jaskier’s dressing room door, screaming his head off to get the opera star’s attention but Jaskier’s bright blue eyes stayed trained on the composer’s outstretched hand. His gaze was glassy and out-of-focus.
Hypnotised by chance, Geralt mused. I probably should have expected that, given the circumstances and the usual nature of our meetings.
It had been months since the Phantom of the opera last had to hypnotize his prized pupil; and it was only to keep him from getting too close to his lair.
Now his darling little flower, the boy whose voice he’d trained from good to gorgeous, was standing willingly before him. His face was void of anything but devotion. His eyes were misty and his lips were parted oh-so-sweetly as he stood before his Angel, utterly enthralled. The decadent white lace of his dressing gown had fallen from one of his shoulders, baring not only his entire left collarbone but the long, statuesque expanse of his neck as well. Geralt took his flower’s pale, rose-petal soft hand in his larger, more calloused one and whispered, “Will you come with your Angel of Music?”
Jaskier nodded and breathed out a soft, pleading: “Yes. Take me, Angel.”
Geralt pulled the younger man’s robe back over his shoulder to return him to a state of oddly indecent modesty before grabbing up the torch and turning his back on the dressing room entirely. Jaskier followed behind as they walked, the gentle whispering swish of his robe’s lacy train a constant reminder of his presence. You are taking Persephone down to the Underworld, a little voice at the corner of Geralt’s mind whispered. You are pulling your flower away from the light of the sun.
He shook away his guilt and squeezed the starlet’s hand. Jaskier squeezed back instantly, firmly, and any doubt left in the composer’s mind flew clean away. He wants me back, the older man realized. He came with me into the Underworld.
They rounded the final curving corner of the low, quickly-dampening stone hall and came upon Roach. The trusty mare was waiting as patiently as ever where Geralt had left her bridle fastened to the wall and she perked up her ears when her master approached. The opera ghost lifted his muse up into Roach’s saddle and nervously met Jaskier’s blue eyes with his malformed gold ones, “Sing once again with me our strange duet.”
“Your power over me grows stronger yet,” Jaskier replied easily, finishing the rhyme of a song Geralt had once composed for him. His hand reached down to cup the side of the Phantom’s face that wasn’t hidden by the white plaster mask. Geralt flinched away but Jaskier paid the movement no mind, continuing to caress him wherever he could reach. “Oh, my sweet Angel.”
The composer turned away, leading Roach down the echoing hallway as quickly as possible. He tried not to glance back at his flower too often, afraid of having his intentions misunderstood by the drowsy-looking boy but oh - the way Jaskier looked sitting astride the horse with his stockings still fastened above his knees and his underthings only barely reaching to meet them. The way his dressing gown, all thin white silk and fine lace details, cascaded down around his hips and spilled over Roach… “Fuck.”
“My Angel?” he inquired. He sounded half asleep and Geralt bit his lip in shame. It wasn’t right to look at someone like that without their permission, first. He’d apologize later.
“Nothing, my little flower. Would you sing for me?”
They’d reached the shore of the underground creek that cut through Paris. It wasn’t the sewer but it wasn’t exactly nice either. Geralt swung Jaskier down from Roach and into the boat, settling him back against a pile of velvet pillows gathered (stolen) just for this occasion. He wanted his love to be comfortable. He wanted the boy to return once his tutor gave him back to the outside world.
Because Jaskier could not be kept away from the sun. From the stage. From the adoration of the Paris elite.
No, Jaskier was destined to succeed.
Jaskier sang through the final notes of the aria he’d performed earlier at the Gala, daring to push his voice further and pitch the notes higher than was written. It sounded heavenly as it rang and bounced off the curved brick walls of the tunnel system. Geralt knew his home would never sound this lovely again and he marveled in it for a moment.
“Sing for me!”
Jaskier went ever higher, his face turning pink with the effort of sustaining the song. He gasped for breath between notes.
“Sing, my flower! Sing for me!” Geralt demanded, rowing the tiny boat closer to his odd little home. Jaskier was so caught up in pleasing his Angel, his tutor, his Master, that he didn’t pay attention to how constricting his corset was or how little air he’d actually been taking in.
The desperate opera singer finished out the final two notes of his aria as strongly and loudly as the rest before he slumped, unconscious, to the floor of the boat.
The phantom dropped to his knees, abandoning the oar completely. He gathered the younger man into his arms and laughed in shock. His fingers paused at Jaskier’s neck to feel his pulse. He was alive. He would be fine. He’d been so eager to impress that he had run himself out of air.
“The little fool,” Geralt chuckled, settling him against the pillows again to resume rowing. “I’m fucked.”
---
Jaskier’s eyes blinked open slowly, surveying the unfamiliar bed he’d found himself in. “Angel?” he called nervously. There was no reply, but in the distance he could hear an organ playing quietly. Jaskier stood and stepped gracefully from the bed, summoning up all his greatest charms to impress his teacher.
When he crossed the floor and ducked into the antechamber he gasped; the Phantom wasn’t hideous at all. He wasn’t a hunchback like Triss had suggested. He wasn’t deformed like Firman claimed. His Angel’s hair was long and white, swept halfway up and away from his face while the other half hung to sweep against his shoulders. Jaskier knew already that his eyes were deep honey-gold and slit like a cat’s; they had haunted his dreams before.
He had seen them in Box Five before. Watching him sing.
“Angel!”
“Jaskier!”
The music stopped as his darling Phantom rushed to reach his side, arms outstretched to steady him if necessary. Jaskier thrilled at the attentiveness of his soon-to-be-lover (he hoped) and let himself fall bodily against the Phantom’s chest. His head fit perfectly against the older man’s broad shoulder and he sighed contentedly as he settled into place. “I thought you’d never show me your face.”
“I still haven’t.”
“Let me see,” the brunette pleaded, reaching for the edge of the mask where it sat on Geralt’s face. The composer turned away and grasped Jaskier firmly by the wrist. His grip sat just on the edge of painful and Jaskier bore it bravely. If he had to prove himself than by gods he most certainly would. “I want to see you, Phantom. I want to know your name and your face, truly.”
“You’ll… I don’t want you to leave yet,” Geralt whispered brokenly. Jaskier’s heart ached for this man, the man who had taught him to sing so beautifully. Surely the only thing beneath the mask could be more beauty?
“I’m not scared of you,” he reassured. “I love you, my Angel. Can’t you tell? I’ve been waiting for you for years, now.”
“You were merely a boy, then.”
“You aren’t much older than I am,” Jaskier huffed. “What, six years? Maybe seven?”
“Closer to ten.”
“And if I hadn’t been orphaned so terribly young then I would have been married at fourteen,” Jaskier reminded his tutor, whose face had turned pink beneath his covering. “I was a noble’s son, my dear. Please let me see you.”
Geralt sighed and removed the mask, baring the scar that marred one half of his otherwise very attractive face. Jaskier’s fingertip traced feather-light across the surface of his wrinkled skin. He didn’t flinch this time.
“Beautiful,” the boy muttered. “You’re so beautiful, my love.”
“My love,” Geralt sobbed, burying his face in the younger man’s neck. “My name is Geralt.”
“Geralt,” the prodigy whispered softly, like a prayer. “My sweet, perfect Geralt. You have shone so brightly in the darkness of my life, darling Geralt. You must know that I love you deeply and dearly.”
“As I love you,” the Phantom admitted. This had been more than he’d ever hoped for. Tolerance he was prepared for. Tolerance he understood. Reciprocity? Acceptance? He was terrified and thrilled and giddy.
“You are brighter than all the stars in the sky,” Jaskier beamed, pressing his lips to the opera ghost’s. Geralt kissed back, pressing their bodies together from hips to shoulders. Feeling him.
“You are my little flower,” Geralt stated, pressing another soft kiss to the boy’s forehead.
“Come,” the starlet insisted, pulling away and tugging at his hand. “If I am to be your virgin sacrifice in the pits of this Parisian Hell then I intend to enjoy it thoroughly.”
The Phantom laughed and followed his darling into the bedchamber.
