Prompt request: I love reading stories where the main tropes are "Jealousy" and "Misunderstanding". Happy ending is preferred, but do what works for your inspiration. :D No preference about who is jealous of who, or where the misunderstanding comes from.
“He dances, dances, dances
Forever to look and never to feel
Forever to look and never to feel
Oh what bittersweet romances
Of one-sided stolen glances
Oh, whatever could be his chances
Of knowing the kiss he longs so to steal?
Yea, how he dances, dances, dances
Forever to look and never to feel
Forever to look and never to feel”
Geralt chugged his ale and glowered at the raucous applause following Jaskier’s last song. It could be about anybody, he thought to himself, trying (and failing) to ignore the hot burst of jealousy in his heart. Jaskier loves someone else, of course he does, it’s idiotic of me to even think that he would ever—he shook his head, banishing the thought before it could come to fruition. But what person in their right mind could ever not love Jaskier back? He could have anyone he wanted, unless… did he notice? Could he have seen me… was I careful enough?
A cold realization froze him in place as Jaskier sauntered towards their table in the back, still accepting praise and applause from the inn patrons.
“Geralt!” Jaskier dropped a substantial bag of coin on the table and plopped heavily into a chair facing Geralt. “What a wonderful evening! Don’t you just love this town? No better place to test out a few new songs! Did you like them? We could have a hot bath tonight, can you imagine?”
“It’s about me, isn’t it?”
“What was that dear?” he turned to the barmaid and flashed a toothy grin. “Why aren’t you just gorgeous? Who would have known we have a daughter of Freya in our very own inn? Two more tankards please, and keep the ale coming, and one roast goose! What a fantastic night, how I love inns that appreciate the fine arts: good music, good food, good ale! I’m positively starving, aren’t you Geralt? Geralt?”
Jaskier’s smile vanished as he read the witcher’s face for the first time since standing to perform, well over three hours ago. In Geralt’s eyes, he found a certain darkness, hurt, that shook him to his core. “What’s wrong, are you okay? Did one of these asshole villagers say something nasty again? Dear Gods do they never let up? I’ll talk to the innkeeper, where’s the—”
“Your song. It’s about me, isn’t it?” Geralt’s voice was lower and scratchier than usual.
Jaskier blushed hard, his eyes widening. “I--, uh, it’s ju—umm, well,” He rubbed the back of his neck and stammered incoherently. Could he have seen… is it really that obvious? Did I scare him away? His mind raced through every accidental brush of their hands or bump of the shoulder over recent weeks. How could I be so careless?
Geralt grimaced and downed the rest of his ale. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Jaskier’s eyes. “I can handle the jokes, getting one bed at every inn, your pretending to hold me and say my name in your sleep, but this? Another fucking ballad? Humiliating me? Because who could ever love a witcher, right?” A sick smirk broke his frown. “Whatever could be my chances, right? This is a new low, even for you,”
Tension rolled off of Jaskier’s back as he began to choke out a nervous chuckle. His smile brightened, color returning to his cheeks where it had drained completely only moments ago. Soon the villagers at surrounding tables were beginning to stare as the bard doubled over, howling with laughter. Geralt felt anger and hot tears rise to his throat, forgetting momentarily his supposed lack of emotions in the wake of bitter shame.
Jaskier’s eyes were watering by the time he was able to form coherent words. “You think—you think—no, you fucking idiot—” He gasped for breath and wiped his cheeks with a finger. “It’s about me, darling, and my—oh, you absolute dunce—my love for you, of course!”
Geralt almost preferred the shame and anger. At least he was used to that, at least he understood it, because suddenly it was as if the chair was kicked out from under him and the air whipped from his lungs. “You mean—you—”
“Yes. Yes of course I love you! Why the hell do you think I’ve followed around aimlessly for the past 6 years? Certainly not for the money! I’d make twi—“
Geralt was standing, tears flowing, pulling Jaskier’s face to meet his, and leaning into the kiss he had longed so to steal.
I hope this is what you were talking about! I sometimes get frustrated with misunderstanding or dramatic irony fics in general, so I wanted to resolve it quickly. I could never write poetry as well as Jaskier, but I thought this would be a fun idea for one of his songs! I could maybe write a slightly smutty sequel... involving a certain hot bath... if someone was interested... :)
