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samstree · 10 months

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there is a place where I don’t feel alone

In which Jaskier is Geralt's human-shaped furnace. (General, 4k ☆ also on AO3)

Fire and ice, Jaskier muses. It’s too cliché for his poetry, but there are no better analogies when they press against each other under the covers, a cold witcher warmed by a human bard.

Jaskier is content being Geralt’s human-shaped furnace. He learned a long time ago that witchers’ fast metabolism means they are prone to running cold. He also learned, at the same time, of Geralt’s tendency of ignoring his body’s demands. He’s happy that, after all the years of being together, his witcher is comfortable asking for help, though never with words. It’s in the way Geralt brushes their hands together when his fingers are numb, or subtly reaches out for a cuddle when the night chill settles in.

The potions make it worse. When a hunt ends and the black veins recede from Geralt’s eyes, the adrenaline drop often leaves him shivering. Warmth helps, so Jaskier prepares a bath and hot tea if they are lucky enough to stay at an inn. If all they have is a camp under the sky, he can only hold Geralt close and rub his arms and back, hoping his body provides enough heat for his witcher.

Geralt gets clingy when it happens, though he’d never admit it. Hiding in the crook of Jaskier’s neck, all he can do is cling. The world overwhelms his senses, the coldness harsh on his skin, and he never lets go first.

Jaskier cannot deny him in times like these, doesn’t want to deny him. He takes Geralt in his arms every time, blowing warm air on his cold hands, murmuring soft, reassuring words. He stays as long as needed, and then he stays even longer.

He needs to make the world less harsh for his witcher, even just a little bit.

And Jaskier’s tendency to run hot is neither here nor there. It’s only a slight inconvenience, one that can be overcome easily. He doesn’t mind waking up at night from being too warm, only to find Geralt has added a blanket to their bed. It only requires some adjusting, keeping the extra blanket on Geralt’s side.

He also doesn’t mind Geralt’s cuddling habits. During the mild seasons, he will even tell Geralt to sleep on the other side of the bed, but the distance between them always closes a few hours later. Jaskier is more endeared than bothered, really, and he can simply extract himself and fall back asleep soon after.

It’s an easy enough system. They are different people, polar opposites, as many might say. It takes a lot of practice to fit their lives together, but a few decades are more than enough time.

It’s easy, to be together, to let fire and ice coexist.

It gets less easy as time catches up to Jaskier.

His hair goes grey, and the laugh lines around his eyes deepen. His body starts fighting him from within. It begins with the rushes of hotness at night. He would wake up at night from nothing, with a dry throat and sweat soaked through his back. The healer says it’s common for his age, and the hot flashes will only get worse before it gets better. It becomes increasingly difficult to sleep in the same bed as another person, especially when that person is prone to sprawling on top of him like an oversized cuddle bear.

Insomnia follows naturally, with his sleep disrupted often. The worry makes it worse. Jaskier thought he was used to sending Geralt away on hunts for days and nights on end, but it’s harder to keep check of the anxiety when his mind is tired and irritated. He’d lie awake on their bed and imagine all the ways a simple hunt could go wrong. Even when he manages to sleep, it’s restless and full of nightmares of blood and vacant golden eyes.

His body is getting old, and with it, his heart.

Still, Geralt comes back to him. He always does. The first light of dawn brings his witcher back with morning dew glistening in silver hair, his hands reaching out for touch. Jaskier ignores the hot lava-like state of his upper body as Geralt rests gently on his chest, grounded by the feeling of skin against skin, by the rhythm of his breathing.

Jaskier’s heart feels too tender in his chest, too weathered for a human bard who’s spent most of his life on the road. He wonders how long he can keep doing this.

But then, a shiver runs down Geralt’s body, and Jaskier forgets all about his self-pity.

The path leads them to a mountain, of all places.

The air feels thinner, adding to the heaviness on Jaskier’s breastbone. They find an inn, where word of a mysterious beast up in the mountain finds Geralt while he drinks. The creature sounds more mythical than real. Geralt hesitates to take the contract at first, but is unable to say no in the end. He’s never been able to, anyway.

Jaskier’s stomach churns with the sense of déjà vu. He throws himself into the performance as Geralt prepares for the hunt. The audience is captivated soon, and before he knows it, he has been encouraged by the crowd into a rendition of Her Sweet Kiss. He’s nearly staggering as the song fades, breath shuddering with worry and past heartache.

Geralt is all packed up and waiting by the door when Jaskier finishes his set. He follows his witcher to the street, and is surprised by the tight hug that envelopes him. Jaskier is flushed hot from performing, his cheeks red and heart racing, but Geralt’s armors are cold in the mountain wind. He returns the hug, lingering longer than usual.

Geralt sees through him, worry mirrored in those golden eyes. Jaskier has felt like an open book around him for years, every shift in his mood caught carefully, but his witcher stays patient. He simply kisses Jaskier on the cheek, looking like he wants to say something. Nothing comes out in the end, and Geralt wordlessly turns away.

And Jaskier waits.

It’s just an ordinary contract, he tells himself, but somewhere in the back of his mind, panic surges out of control. It’s the memory of the last time they were in a place like this, with the wind in his hair and bitterness on his tongue. The fire burns bright in the room, but his heart is away on that mountain with his love.

Geralt returns when the moon is high, eyes still black from the potions and face deathly pale. A deep gash runs down his shoulder, bleeding sluggishly.

“Basilisks,” he murmurs, “two of them. Caught me off guard.”

With that, Geralt’s knees buckle and he collapses right into Jaskier’s arms.

The blood stains both of their clothes with crimson red. Jaskier holds up most of Geralt’s weight and helps him sit down. The process of cleaning, bathing, and bandaging his witcher is a familiar one, his muscle memory working on its own, but Jaskier finds a tremor in his hands. He tries and fails to hold himself steady, and swallows the lump of fear in his throat.

“Hey,” he coaxes Geralt to sit on their bed. “Here, just sit. It’s alright. I’m almost done.”

“Jaskier…” Geralt looks faint, head dropping to Jaskier’s shoulder even before the last bit of the bandage is tied up. A pained groan rumbles out of his chest. “Cold…”

“Shh, don’t worry. Let’s warm you up. I’m here, dearest. I’m right here.”

Jaskier tucks in the bandage neatly before reaching for the blankets on the bed. He lowers Geralt onto the pillow before checking on the fireplace, and adds a few pieces of wood, keeping it burning brighter than is needed for the current weather. With a tired sigh, he finally slips between the sheets, and tucks the blankets around Geralt.

Eyes closed, Geralt’s brow knits together painfully, his muscles trembling. He’s barely awake when Jaskier settles around him, placing Geralt’s hands on the small of his back, where the cold fingers can regain some blood flow. It’s not a comfortable position. With Geralt’s injured shoulder, Jaskier has to lie on his back and support most of the witcher’s weight. He’s trapped like this, the heat gathering under the blanket.

He’s burning, almost, with a whole person sprawled on top of him. Sweat gathers on his skin, clammy and uncomfortable against the shirt.

Geralt drifts off quickly enough, catching some much-needed rest. His breaths come out in gentle puffs against Jaskier’s neck, gradually evening out.

“Stay asleep, love, please,” Jaskier mutters with relief, all the while making the slightest attempt at extracting himself, but immediately, the barest movement makes Geralt jerk in sleep. A whimper escapes his throat, too small and sad for Jaskier’s heart to handle. The arms around his waist tighten almost childishly. Jaskier huffs at the ridiculous sight of the two of them, tangled together like one. “Alright. Hush. I won’t leave, then.”

It must be the bad dreams, caused by the pain and the oversensitivity. Geralt is at his most vulnerable when his mind is muddled, and Jaskier cannot bring himself to deny any comfort he can provide.

“There.” He kisses Geralt’s forehead, accepting his fate. Being wrapped up in a cocoon of heat is a small thing to endure when his witcher is hurt.

He threads his fingers through long silver hair, and counts the moments in the quietness of the night.

Jaskier doesn’t notice falling asleep, but the familiar press of Geralt’s weight lulls him into a fitful rest nonetheless.

Blood stains his dreams, as does the overpowering sense of helplessness. It’s like a roaring flame, threatening to consume, or a ring of fire closing in, squeezing the air out of his lungs. A hot flash comes out of nowhere, radiating from the center of his back, burning every nerve from within.

Distantly, he can hear sounds of distress from his own throat. Sweat soaks through his back, his hair, but there is nowhere to run.

Suddenly, the heat disappears, all restraints gone. Jaskier drifts in and out of sleep, breathing out deeply. He shuffles, pushing away the covers on his upper body, and feels cool air hit his skin. With that, another dream pulls him under easily.

When Jaskier blinks awake after what feels like hours, his head is slow and groggy. His arms are empty and the blankets are nowhere near him. A cool breeze washes over his body like a gentle caress.

He gasps at the absence of Geralt. All sleep is chased out by a surge of panic. Jaskier reaches out for his witcher, ready to call for his name.

“Easy.” A hoarse voice rumbles above him. “I’m right here.”

Jaskier looks up to find Geralt sitting against the headboard, the pillow cushioned behind his back.

“Oh.” Jaskier heaves out a sigh, pressing his forehead against Geralt’s thigh, closing his eyes for a moment.

Another gust of wind washes over his back, loosening his muscles, and Jaskier realizes the source of it. The window next to their bed is wide open, letting in breaths of fresh air. The moon is hanging low. Soon the morning light will shimmer by the horizon. The fireplace is burning to an ember, damped by a mound of ash.

Geralt combs through the hair at Jaskier’s nape, so gently it makes Jaskier’s bones hum. His hand is still colder than Jaskier would like, so he takes it, pressing a small kiss in his palm.

“Are you alright? How do you feel now?” Jaskier blinks, observing his witcher in the low light of the bedside candle. “Feeling cold? Your hands are cold. Why did you open the window? And the fire, do you want me to light it again?”

Geralt is still too pale, the effect of the blood loss, but his spirit seems high. A half-smile warms his golden eyes when he meets Jaskier’s gaze.

“Leave the fire, Jask. That’s silly. You were overheating. Did you not notice?” he says. “You shouldn’t have kept the room so warm.”

Jaskier sits up on the bed so they are shoulder to shoulder. It is nice now, the temperature. He unties his shirt a little bit more to cool off.

“I didn’t want you to be cold.”

“I can cope.”

Jaskier pouts. “I don’t want you to cope.”

“And I don’t want you to have a heatstroke.” A frown knits between Geralt’s eyes. “You were sweating all over. Was it another hot flash?”

Jaskier looks down, absently tugging at the blanket so it covers more of Geralt’s torso.

“I’m fine,” he insists stubbornly. “It’s only one of those nights. It happens, these days. I should be used to it.”

“Hmm.”

The cicadas hum outside the window, signaling the upcoming hot days. Geralt’s eyes place a gentle weight, patient and not demanding.

“It’s just…” Jaskier cuts himself off before starting again, trying to push down the fear in his stomach. “You were in a bad way when you came back. It caught me off guard, is all, and I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

Geralt sags a little, catching Jaskier’s hand and threading their fingers together. “I really scared you this time, didn’t I?”

Jaskier doesn’t think he needs to answer. Nothing can be hidden from his face, not from Geralt, who knows every secret in his soul.

“Hey, come here.” Geralt’s voice softens to a whisper with understanding. He squeezes Jaskier’s hand, tugging him close so his head rests on the witcher’s uninjured shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

“It was only a hunt. I’ve had much worse.”

Something within Jaskier shudders. “Yes, I’m well aware of the occupational hazard for witchers. That’s the problem. I don’t know how I dealt with it all this time. The terror of it all…” He huffs, self-deprecatingly. “It must be the age. I’m getting old. Too old for the foolish bravado of youth. I feel like my heart is getting weaker these days. Like it could break more easily, somehow.”

A kiss lands on top of Jaskier’s head.

“You are still brave. Foolishly so,” Geralt says, reverently, proudly.

“Never wanted to be brave. Just useful, so I can take care of you.”

Jaskier turns around, so blue meets gold. Despite the lines at his temple, despite the grey hair, he knows his eyes are still the same. He still looks at Geralt the same way as all those years ago, when he was young and stupidly idealistic. They are full of love for the man in front of him. Always full of love for Geralt.

And Geralt is looking at him the same way.

“You don’t have to be useful. Not if it means you need to push yourself too hard.” A hint of guilt tugs at his lips. “I don’t want to break your heart. Never did.”

“Well, that’s the occupational hazard of a poet,” Jaskier teases, wanting to erase the guilt. It has no place between them. “I don’t blame your trade, love. It is who you are. The path, the monsters, the way you scare the hell out of me every other day. I’ve accepted it. Old age be damned. I promised to follow you until the end of my days, and I tend to keep my promises.”

“Jask, I…”

Geralt closes his mouth, and they fall into silence, though it’s a poignant one.

“It’s alright.” Jaskier wants to steer them away from the heaviness of it all. “You should try to rest more. Meditate, perhaps. That wound is not going to heal fast if you don’t—”

“Fuck it, I need to tell you,” Geralt blurs out. “I wanted it to be a surprise, but now… Jaskier, you deserve to know.”

The interruption makes Jaskier blink. Confused, he sits up straighter. “What is it?”

Geralt’s entire posture changes, and suddenly he looks a lot more serious, which is all the more puzzling. He brings Jaskier’s hand to his chest, pulling him closer. All the tiredness from the hunt is gone, replaced by a nameless excitement.

“Jaskier.”

“Yes, Geralt?”

“Don’t worry. It’s good news. At least, it’s good in my head. I think you’ll like it.” When Geralt smiles, a quiet joy lights up his face. It’s Jaskier’s favorite smile of his. It means Geralt is deeply, unreservedly happy, the kind that makes him frightened, even. Like someone could break in and take this happiness from him any moment, so he tries to not show it. “Do you remember that cottage we passed by last summer? The one we saw on the coast in Cidaris?”

The mention of the coastal trip brings back fond memories, making Jaskier’s heart warm.

“Of course. The one on the cliff, with the pretty windows. The old couple lived there for decades,” he says, still not sure where this is going. “What about it?”

Despite the paleness and the dark circles under his eyes, Geralt’s cheek grow pink with a blush.

“Well,” he simply says, “I Bought it.”

Jaskier’s eyes widen.

“What?”

“Technically, Yen bought it for us.” Geralt tilts his head cheekily. “The couple told me they were selling right before we left, so I wrote to Yen. She went to Cidaris and did it, just like that. It’s ours. It’s going to be our house. We can spend as much time there as we want. Every year, every season, if we wish to. If we get restless, the world is still out there, but we’ll have a home to return to. A place to settle down.”

The sound of the world fades away for a moment, replaced by blood rushing into Jaskier’s ears. He notices his mouth is now hanging open, but nothing is coming out. His heart grows like it's too big for his chest.

A house.

Their house. Their home.

“I—”

Jaskier, to his horror, realizes he has been rendered speechless, all the words of a bard stolen by a witcher. He stares at his witcher, his lovely, perfect, thoughtful witcher, who insists on giving him heart palpitation one after another.

“Jaskier?” Geralt softens, a hint of doubt creeping into his voice. “What do you think? Say something. Please.”

Tears blur his vision, and Jaskier chokes out a sob.

“I—”

His voice shudders with emotions, but the sight of Geralt being so unsure of himself is so unacceptable that Jaskier finds the strength to overcome himself. The sob turns into a wet chuckle.

“It’s good, Geralt. It’s the best news I’ve ever heard. You… you bought that cottage for us?” Jaskier lets the tears fall freely. Happiness tastes like salt on his tongue. “I never thought you’d ever want to stay in one place. I mean, you always said—”

“That witchers don’t retire?” Geralt catches the tears with a thumb, wiping away the streaks on Jaskier’s cheeks gently. “What else did I say?”

“That you don’t need anyone.”

“Hmm. Another lie. What else?”

Jaskier sniffles, hiding his wet cheek in Geralt’s palm. “That you don’t want me.”

Another string of tears streams down Jaskier’s face, and Geralt catches each and every one of them. He dabs them away with the edge of his sleeve, so carefully as if Jaskier could break with the barest touch.

Geralt presses a kiss at the corner of Jaskier’s mouth. It’s only a chaste thing to soothe him, but Jaskier kisses back fervently, desperately. The space between them seems too big. With an arm wrapped around Geralt’s back, still careful to avoid the bandage, he pulls them together. Salt melts between their lips.

They break apart, panting in tandem.

“You are all I ever want,” Geralt whispers, a promise carved upon Jaskier’s heart. “Just you, Jaskier. Forget the lies. I want you. I want… this, for us.”

It takes a while for the storm of emotions to calm down. Jaskier rests his forehead against Geralt’s temple, their bodies rocking together like waves lapping against the shore.

A small cottage by the coast, where the seabirds sing in the sky and the sand is cool between his toes. A place for Geralt to rest, for Jaskier to create, and for both of them to simply be.

The future of their life feels like an old, faded memory. They were always going to end up there from the very beginning. The moment they locked eyes in that small tavern in Posada, they were going to end up there.

Jaskier wipes away the last of the tears, spirit lightened.

“Wait.” He pulls away to look at Geralt, eyes still puffy. “Did you say you asked Yennefer to buy a house for you?”

Geralt winces visibly. “I may owe her a few favors again, but I’m sure she’ll be reasonable.”

“Yennefer.” Jaskier gives a look. “Reasonable?”

“Do you still doubt she has a soft spot for you, especially now that you’ve become less durable? The letters were nice enough. She even offered instructions,” Geralt says. “Told me to bring you back to the coast, make a grand gesture of sort. A nice picnic, she said, before breaking the big surprise.”

“See? Even Yen has more regard for my tender heart. Unlike a certain someone, who will put me through one hell of an emotional turmoil in one night.” Jaskier holds his chest dramatically. “It’s not good for an old man’s health!”

The laugh that Geralt lets out is better than any music Jaskier could ever write. It’s the reason for all those songs in the first place.

“I guess we are heading to the coast next.”

“Are we?”

Jaskier can’t help the grin on his face.

“Mm-hmm. For your health, old man,” Geralt teases. “I hear Cidaris is never too warm in the summer. The ocean carries over cold streams, all the way from the north. The wind is always cool. Sleep will come more easily for you.”

“But how will you cope? Won’t it be cold for you?”

Geralt hums, eyes crinkling. “I have you. I’m sure you’ll fuss enough.”

“You are damn right I will!” Jaskier begins his musing. “I’m going to make our home so cozy! Do you remember those rugs we saw at the winter market last year, the ones you said were too impractical for the road? Finally, I can get those, now that we have somewhere permanent to return to. And we shall build a garden for your herbs, and then a library for me. Plants and arts, let’s not forget! Oh, and those velvet robes you like!”

“I never said I liked them.”

Jaskier pokes Geralt on the cheek, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“You don’t need to. Your face betrays everything. You have this look when you see something you desire but don’t think you deserve—it’s how you used to look at me. I should have known you’d be the first one to suggest settling down. You always were the domestic one. The world just didn’t let you think it could be an option.” he pauses, softening. “Something must have changed your mind.”

The fondness in Geralt’s eyes melts into a golden pool of warmth. “It was someone, actually.”

He leans forward, tucking a strand of hair away from Jaskier’s face, fingers tracing the hair at his temple. A warm blush spreads across Jaskier’s face when he’s observed like this, with his crow’s feet and grey hair on display.

“That someone must be amazing,” Jaskier says, proud of his crow’s feet and grey hair when they are loved like this.

“Hmm. I don’t know. He’s very smug.” Geralt squints. “Less so with age. It wised him up, against all odds.”

They smile into another kiss as the morning sun rises, spilling silvery light into their room.

There are many things to plan in the process of building a new home. They will need to travel to the coast, for one, and then pick out all the furniture. Jaskier will insist on filling their life with soft, warm things for Geralt. Blankets, pillows, teas, and then, freshly collected flowers from their garden. Ciri will need a guest bedroom, for the girl to rest her weary feet when the path gets too much for a witcher-princess. And only the gods know when Yennefer will drop by, with her secret soft spot for domesticity.

There are many things to plan for the future.

But for now, they already have a home right here.

#geraskier #geraskier fic #old jaskier #a lot of cuddling #the new season is coming and the urge to write is back!#blorbos! in situations you go!

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spielzeugkaiser · 9 months

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Kind of a second part to this - inspired by a convo I had with @panur in the replies! Ciri comes to them for cuddles and at this point Geralt is 100% awake, but Jaskier handles it all rather well.

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #geraskier #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #ciri #the witcher netflix #if this really was lettenhove Jaskier this might have been a touch darker but I love to imagine that 🥺#but Jaskier and Ciri being softe!! I do think she plays with Geralt and hugs him and she goes to _#Yennefer because that's her dad and her mum #but there is something that hits the spot with Jaskier cuddles #because he gets some things that the other two do not

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kuripon · 2 years

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touch of comfort

Geralt/Jaskier | G | 503 words | cw: just cuddling after a long day.

Written at @dapandapod‘s indirect request, inspired by a gif.

A long day's work deserved an evening of rest. At least, that's what Geralt told himself as he lay back on the bed, lazily flipping through the TV's streaming apps. He didn't know if he particularly wanted something to watch or something to fall asleep to. He hated to admit it, and he never admitted it to a specific someone, but it was always too quiet without Jaskier around. Unable to work it out, he settled on an old familiar program, starting at the beginning of the first season. He put the remote on the bedside table, tucked an arm under his pillow, rested the other over his stomach and nestled further into bed.

The next he opened his eyes, some time had clearly passed. His show was on the third episode and Jaskier was standing in the bedroom's doorway, a wide pout decorating his plush lips.

Geralt cleared his throat and stretched a bit. "Jask." His voice was still rough with sleep.

Jaskier dropped everything in his hands, his keys and handbag hitting the floor with a thud. Geralt hoped the downstairs neighbors didn't mind too much. Jaskier whined at Geralt.

"Wanna talk 'bout it?" Geralt said through a yawn.

He only shook his head and drooped further.

"Keep standing like that and you'll ruin your back," Geralt mumbled, muting the TV. Jaskier only bent over further, the tips of his fingers seeming to scrape the carpeted floor. "Come here, you ridiculous man," Geralt said through a chuckle.

Socked feet dragging against the carpet, Jaskier slowly made his way to the bed tucked in the corner of their room. He paused for a moment and then crawled onto the bed, choosing to become Geralt's blanket in that moment. Jaskier buried his face into Geralt's neck and tucked his arms under his shoulders, clinging to his beloved as thumbs stroked over precious skin.

It was rare for Jaskier to be silent, to choose not to vent about what was on his mind, but Geralt made sure to always be there during these times. In times when words failed Jaskier, touch spoke measures.

Geralt freed his arms and wrapped them tightly around Jaskier, folding him into his warmth. He pressed a kiss to his forehead and snuggled impossibly closer.

"How about this," he murmured into Jaskier's silky-soft hair. "We'll take a short nap, shake off the ills of the day, yeah? And then, when we wake up, we'll order out. We'll get your favorite pierogies from down the block, with some ice cream and kołaczki for after."

Jaskier let out a short, soft grunt, burrowing deeper into Geralt's hold.

"Then we'll shower, get ready for bed, and sleep. Tomorrow is a new day." He pressed another kiss to Jaskier's forehead.

"For now, nap. I'll be here when you wake up."

Geralt, in a moment equally as rare as Jaskier's silences, started to hum, waiting for the moment when Jaskier's body fell lax against his. He let out a sigh and followed him into dreamland.

#The Witcher #Geraskier #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #cuddles #what I would give just to be cuddled right now

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process-pending · 1 year

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"My presence is announcement enough," Lambert's smirk is tired and she watches him sway towards the door frame before catching himself and straightening.

Take Me Back (Chapter 51)

#Witcher #ModernAU #BikerAU #Geraskier #Hurt/Comfort #SickFic #Disabled Jaskier #Major Character Injury #KittenChop chapter!#Sick Lambert #Fluff #Cuddles #Lambert is a comic book nerd #The audacity of this ginger #Take Me Back

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eggcompany · 1 year

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A Soft Kind of Home (Fluff) (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/story/334687395-a-soft-kind-of-home-fluff?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_myworks&wp_uname=EggCompany&wp_originator=5aQj56G6s5gBFTLKQITCWV6t7meAsRURF76q%2FZXwIg%2BcSxTQX%2B1QPKHG9dTb26S5Gj1pj2f4INfmOcHG2TR%2FXCJpePTe68tCEn9dhLYOOiRls%2BZId9PSgTUBeNziLkWL Jaskier learns a lot about the witchers the first winter he stays at Kaer Morhen

#cute #jaskier-learns-about-the-witchers #no-sex #no-smut #pack-cuddles #snuggles #wattpad #jaskier #geralt #geraskier #lambert #eskel #witchers #the witcher #geraskier fluff

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bambirex · 1 year

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We Match

Pairing: Geraskier

Characters: Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier/Dandelion

Rating: Gen

Additional tags: fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, established relationship, stretch marks, scars, body image, body positivity, chubby jaskier/dandelion, a little bit, self-esteem issues, cuddling & snuggling

Word Count: 1,121

Chapters: 1/1

Summary: Geralt and Jaskier compare their stripes.

Author’s notes: Dear @carrottheluvmachine, I've enjoyed brainstorming about this one with you, so naturally I have to gift it to you!!!! I hope you'll like it!! <3

Feedback is super appreciated from everyone, but please, check the tags before reading!

Read on Ao3

The last rays of the descending Sun poured in through the cracks of the curtains, caressing their skin as they lay together in bed, basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking. The sweat was cooling on their skin, and their frantic breaths have evened out into slow, peaceful sighs. Geralt never wanted this moment to end, never wanted to leave their soft bed and the warm embrace of his lover.

His head rested on Jaskier’s thigh. He purred softly as Jaskier carded his fingers through his hair, idly playing with his tangled tresses. Geralt caressed Jaskier’s soft skin, running his palm over his delectable curves.

As Jaskier had grown out of his lanky teenage years, his body changed in ways that Geralt couldn’t get enough of. The simple passage of time, combined with the fact they had more money now and could eat better, softened Jaskier wonderfully. His bones, that used to jut out from under his skin were now well-covered by a soft layer of fat that made him look so much healthier and livelier. Geralt’s heart fluttered happily at the knowledge his companion was taken care of, that he never had to worry about starving ever again.

He traced a pink, ragged line over Jaskier’s hip with the tip of his finger, smiling when Jaskier shivered softly. Geralt knew his lover’s skin was especially sensitive at those places, where his body has grown the most over the years. Geralt adored those marks: they were the proof of Jaskier living well.

“That tickles,” Jaskier laughed softly, nudging Geralt in the side with his knee. Geralt ignored him, continuing his trip over the same line, up to Jaskier’s waist where more of them gathered, criss-crossing over his small rolls like the roots of a tree.

“You’re beautiful,” Geralt whispered. He gave Jaskier’s hip a small squeeze. “I love your body so much.”

“Are you trying to seduce me again?” Jaskier chuckled. His cheeks were adorably flushed as he peered down at Geralt from under his long lashes. “We’ve just finished this round.”

Geralt chuckled as he ran his thumb across Jaskier’s supple lower belly, following the pattern of his stretchmarks there.

“I’m just adoring you.”

“Now, that I can live with,” Jaskier smiled. He placed his own hand onto Geralt’s shoulder, rubbing gentle circles into the hard muscle. Geralt closed his eyes in bliss and leaned into the touch, letting Jaskier caress him the same way he was doing it to the bard.

“You’re beautiful, too,” Jaskier whispered, his own fingers dancing across the scar on Geralt’s shoulder. It was a fresh one, not fully healed, so his touch was gentle, barely more than a breeze. All the same, it made Geralt shiver pleasantly.

“If we’re talking bodies, then, my dearest, yours is the most amazing.”

Jaskier smoothed his palm over Geralt’s upper back, where Geralt’s nastiest scar has been edged into his skin. He collected that one after an encounter with a particularly aggressive griffin. The skin has healed, but the reminder of the attack was forever ingrained into his body. Geralt thought it was ugly, but Jaskier touched that particular scar with such awe, that he realized he may have to rethink that. His own fingers never stopped caressing Jaskier: he mapped out every single line across his belly and waist, exploring the faint ones and the angry-looking, red ones as well, with the same gentleness. Jaskier’s hand was now on Geralt’s chest, his fingers tracing the scratches he found there. If witchers had the ability to have increased heartbeats, Geralt was sure his own heart would have pounded like a hammer under Jaskier’s palm.

“You even love my scars?” Geralt asked, his skin breaking out into goosebumps as Jaskier touched a sensitive spot over his ribs. That was a tiny scar, but it had hurt like hell when Geralt had received it.

“They make you who you are,” Jaskier replied simply, “a hero. So many of these scars are from you protecting me. And the rest is from protecting people who wouldn’t even thank you. You’re my selfless, brave, strong witcher.”

“I love your scars, too,” Geralt said, unable to resist kissing one of Jaskier’s stretchmarks on his hip. Jaskier made a soft snorting sound above him.

“Those aren’t scars, those are just from my skin breaking when I got fat.”

“You’ve grown,” Geralt corrected him gently, “into the person that you are now. Someone who is delicate, and soft, but also strong and resilient. And maybe they are not exactly scars, but they are marks.

And they’re on your body, so I love them.”

Jaskier blinked quickly, his cheeks pinkening even more. A dreamy smile tugged on his lips as he gently laid his palm over that scar on Geralt’s side, as if protecting it.

“Well, they’re red stripes,” Jaskier concluded, “and you have red stripes on your skin, too. We match.”

“We match,” Geralt repeated softly. He nuzzled into the softness of Jaskier’s inner thigh, nosing along the army of stretchmarks he found there. “We’ve both grown in different ways.”

“They may be blemishes to some, right?” Jaskier laughed. His voice was a little choked-up. “But to us, they’re the most beautiful things. People are scared of your scars because they don’t know the truth behind them, and they sure as hell don’t know the man who carries them. With every single scar, you have only gotten stronger. And there is nothing repulsive about that.”

“And some people may mock you for these marks,” Geralt continued, twisting his head to look into Jaskier’s eyes, “but they don’t know how much you had to endure. They don’t know how your body has become a true home for your soul, at last.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, his eyes welling up with tears, “stop being a better poet than I am, or I’ll cry.”

Geralt only grinned in response. He kissed a pink line under Jaskier’s navel, just as Jaskier ran his fingers across a scar on his bicep one last time before they moved to be face to face with each other.

“I love matching with you,” Jaskier admitted with a wobbly smile, placing his hand at where Geralt’s has been just moments ago, touching his own body with the same care Geralt did. In return, Geralt has brought up a hand to touch his own scars, getting to know them with the same gentle curiosity Jaskier did.

He leaned in and kissed Jaskier deeply, sinking into his welcoming, sweet embrace.

The thing was, by loving the “flaws” on Jaskier’s body, he has started to learn to embrace and appreciate the ones on his own.

Besides, he matched with Jaskier- of course, he couldn’t hate a body like that.

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fic #geraskier fanfiction #geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #my fic

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dapandapod · 1 year

Text

Well planned miscalculations

There, another story hidden in the depths of my wip archive! This time from November something! Thank you beloved Ebs for beta reading, you are a gem!

please enjoy! <3

On Ao3 here

"Jaskier, Hocus Pocus doesn't count as a scary movie."

"Geralt," Jaskier says, matching his tone, looking down his nose for good measure. "They eat children. They are witches. I was terrified. It counts."

With a sigh and a shake of his head, Geralt leans on the arm rest on the couch, while Jaskier sits curled up in the other corner.

"So what makes you think you can deal with Paranormal Activity?" he questions, looking so completely unimpressed Jaskier can't help but feel a little offended.

"I got you? And it's not real! Right? I can tell the difference between a movie and reality, I'm not a child- stop giving me that look, I am a man grown! Ish! Grown enough, shut up, I'm almost as tall as you."

"I literally said nothing," Geralt huffs, not even trying to hide is smile, but gives in and settles back more comfortably as he starts the movie. "Do you have your pillow, mister Man Grown?"

"Locked and loaded." Jaskier beams, opting to ignore whatever Geralt is insinuating, but with his Protection Pillow firmly set in his lap.

To exactly nobody's surprise, the movie is scarier than Hocus fucking Pocus.

It takes minutes for Jaskier to realize that this was a very bad idea. Partially because, you know, watching it is scary. It’s a little bit because he has to walk home, all alone, and also sleep all alone.

He sure as shit is never going to put up security cameras in his house, because if there is something in there except him, he doesn't wanna know. Never. Unless it's a cat. Or Geralt.

Point being, this was a mistake.

He sinks lower and lower into the couch, hiding behind the pillow. It brings up some logistic struggles, because he can't have his feet on the floor or a monster will be able to grab his feet from underneath the couch. Mister Man Grown knows how this works.

Eventually, Jaskier realizes he has been ignoring the obvious.

Geralt is just the right size to hide behind—against—to hide him! He has yet to work out the details on exactly how, but the increasingly creepy sounds from the tv makes Jaskier keep his eyes trained on his best friend in this entire world (as if that is unusual for him) to figure out a way of action.

After some serious thinking, planning and risk calculation under the span of about three seconds, Jaskier decides that the solution is to be discreet. Geralt is already mocking him for being (reasonably!) scared of witches, there is no way he will get away with hiding behind him as well.

Jaskier turns his head towards the tv, but makes sure to keep his pillow strategically placed to cover his plan. Perfect. Step two is to become a dangly little worm, a stealthy little sneak, and squirm sideways to get close enough to take refuge behind Geralt's shoulder.

Flawless plan.

Excellently executed as well, if he may say so himself. Geralt only gives him a side glance once (or twice), and thus it is a win.

There is a lull in the movie, some plot being all relevant and stuff, and Jaskier takes the opportunity to straighten up a little, to get more comfortable. It just so happens that their shoulders touch now, and Jaskier wedging his own shoulder between Geralt and the couch is just a mere coincidence.

Perfection.

Until Geralt turns towards him with a smirk and yet another shake of his head. How dare he look so attractive when he does that? Terrible.

"Scared already? It has barely started," he teases, and ah well.

"Just being prepared." Jaskier sniffs, and to prove his point he wraps his arms around Geralt's, like his arm is just a well shaped teddy bear. A very comfortable one.

The problem with this plan, however, is how very nicely Geralt smells. And how very warm and comforting it is to press against his side. And how awkwardly placed Geralt's hand is right now, since Jaskier has pulled up his knees too to create yet another barrier between him and the terrible things on the tv.

The problem solves itself, though, by Geralt simply putting a hand on one of Jaskier's knees. It then creates another problem entirely, because with Geralt causally just touching him like this makes Jaskier's hands all clammy and his heart all jittery. A kind of clashing contrast to the feelings he's getting from the movie.

Time ticks by, and Jaskier finds himself sinking deeper and deeper into the couch, pressing his cheek to Geralt's arm when he dares look, and his entire face when he does not. It seems Geralt is taking some pity on him, leaning back against him, his thumb rubbing against his knee soothingly (and distractingly) every now and then.

When the movie is finally over, it is already past midnight, and it is too late for another, kinder one.

They sit in silence for a while after the end credits start rolling, still pressed together.

"I guess it's time for me to head home," Jaskier ventures, but makes absolutely no move to get up yet.

"Just stay," Geralt suggests gently, and Jaskier's head whips around to stare at him. "We both know you are going to call me the moment you step outside my door anyway, and be scared to fall asleep-"

"-Hey!"

Geralt gives him the 'tell me I'm wrong' look that he has perfected throughout his years at Jaskier's side, and continues as if Jaskier never opened his mouth.

"-so, you might as well stay. You still have a toothbrush here since last time."

Everything he has said is true. Jaskier opens and closes his mouth a few times to retort, but he really doesn't have anything. Truth be told, he actually does want to stay. Geralt's bed is big enough for both of them, and having him there next to him is a sure recipe to keep nightmares away.

After teeth are brushed and t-shirts borrowed, they tuck into bed.

Jaskier is quick to pick his feet up from the floor, a shiver running down his spine even for that brief unprotected moment between the wardrobe and climbing up. It is silly, he knows, but he can't help it.

Geralt doesn't seem to notice, or at least to care, and climbs in next to him, on the right side.

They turn the lights off, and wait for sleep to claim them.

Only, Jaskier can't stop tossing and turning.

He swears every sound of this entire fucking building is out to get him, and if he doesn't keep his eyes firmly shut, he vow under oath that he can see a reflection of eyes across the room. Which is blatantly untrue, not only because there really is no one there, but because the room itself is pitch black.

After a few minutes, Geralt gets tired of his moving about. He turns on his other side and pulls Jaskier close against his chest, holding him tight.

Jaskier was not expecting this, not at all, and he lies there blinking, heart racing and arms stuck between their chests.

"Better?" Geralt grumbles, shifting to get a little more comfortable.

Jaskier wriggles some more, until his arms are free enough to wrap around Geralt's chest, and he can tuck his forehead under Geralt's chin, then he sighs contentedly.

"Much. My brave, strong hero." He can feel Geralt draw a breath, his arms tightening around his back and shoulders, which is a little curious.

"Sleep," his friend grumbles, tucking his nose into Jaskier's hair. "And no more scary movies for you."

"You'd miss the excuse for cuddles," Jaskier shoots back, sleep drawing him in now that he is being held so securely.

"I would," Geralt whispers, so quietly Jaskier barely catches it.

Sleep takes some time to come, but while he was protected so fiercely, despite the night doing its damndest to scare him, Jaskier finds there is little else on his mind than his friend, wrapped around him.

#geraskier #the witcher #modern au #watching scary movies as an excuse to cuddle #mayhaps #geralt x jaskier #dapanda writes #cuddling #one day they will just cuddle without excuses #today is not this day #adhd jaskier #possibly

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