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#geraskier fluff
julek · 2 years
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Jaskier turns in his bedroll again.
“—fucking winter and its wintery fucking— cold as balls, ice frozen—”
“Jask?”
“—good for nothing— oh.” His tossing stops. The ground is so fucking cold. “Sorry, did I wake you?”
One golden eye peers at him. He would say Geralt looked annoyed, but he can’t see most of his face, tucked as it is under his cloak, so he chooses to interpret it as friendly concern. “Your muttering did.”
Jaskier smiles sheepishly at him, even though Geralt probably can’t see him either, with his scarf tied around his neck and covering most of his face. “Sorry. Just...”
“Can’t sleep?”
Jaskier shakes his head. It’s their fifth year on the Path together, the first one Geralt’s invited him along to spend the winter at Kaer Morhen with him — and Jaskier’s excited, really, but sleeping on the forest floor with a thin bedroll and definitely not enough blankets kind of dampens his spirits a little.
They’ve laid their bedrolls side by side, the fire keeping their feet warm, but still Jaskier can’t fend off the chill that’s seeped into his bones. He would blame it on his frilly, beautifully impractical clothing, with its soft but thin fabrics, with its stunning trim but no insulation, but if he did, he’d basically be agreeing with Geralt, and he can’t have that. Not even in the privacy of his own mind.
(He still hasn’t ruled out the possibility that Witchers are mind-readers). (Geralt is awfully quiet whenever Jaskier brings it up, and, well, one can never be too careful).
So he’s been tossing and turning and singing lullabies to himself in a feeble attempt of finally succumbing to a warm, deep sleep. Not that it’s worked, anyway.
The single golden eye looks considering, now.
“Wha—?” Jaskier manages before Geralt stands up, the bare skin under his sleep shirt immediately reacting to the cold air of the forest and erupting in gooseflesh.
Then, a blanket is being tossed to his face.
(It smells like horse).
“There,” says Geralt, not unkindly, his voice a bit rough. “That’ll help.”
“Well,” Jaskier replies, trying to adjust the blanket without taking his hands out of his bedroll, which proves impossible. “Thanks.”
Before he can sit up straight and, like a sane person, rearrange the blanket on top of himself, Geralt’s doing it for him. His hair is a mess from where he’s been laying on it and he’s squinting, but his hands are warm as they reach for the ends of the blanket and he tucks them into Jaskier’s bedroll, making sure his body is covered.
“You’re tucking me in,” Jaskier whispers, something that suspiciously feels like love standing on his heart a little.
Geralt smiles. He smiles his soft smile, the one where his lips stretch over his face and they’re pink and pretty and there’s a shine in his eyes.
“I guess I am,” he replies, checking no corners have been missed. “We’ll reach the mountain soon. No more cold nights after that.”
Jaskier smiles. He doesn’t know what it might look like on his face, lips chapped and slightly cracked. He hopes it shows his gratitude for him.
Geralt sits back on his haunches. The smile is still there. Fonder, somehow.
“What, no kiss goodnight?” Jaskier murmurs, because he’s an idiot, because he can’t help himself.
“Mm,” Geralt says, and for a second, Jaskier thinks he’s getting up to leave, but then Geralt leans forward and there’s a gentle, sweet kiss being pressed to his forehead. His smile is bigger when he turns away. “There. Goodnight.”
Jaskier can feel the warmth on his skin, the skin Geralt pressed a kiss to. He can feel it seeping into his bones.
When he turns around, blanket firmly secured, Geralt is watching him from his own bedroll.
“Goodnight,” he mouths at him, and Geralt closes his eyes.
His cloak is covering half his face again, but Jaskier can see the smile he’s hiding anyway.
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0dde11eth · 8 months
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Jaskier is always so elaborate and detailed with date night planning. The amount of planning and details he puts into the average date night is unparalleled.
Geealt tries but he's not as creative, so he feels guilty because he's afraid jaskier doesn't realize the depths of his affection.
So for their anniversary he goes all out. He plans for 6 months, and asks everyone he knows, (and even strangers) for advice and help in setting it up. He dips into his savings account to splurge on every one of jaskiers favorite things.
Geralt covers jaskiers eyes to reveal the surprise. To his dismay jaskier bursts into tears. Poor geralt is terrified he did it wrong and upset jaskier.
Finally when he is composed enough to speak jaskier manages to give geralt a watery smile, "these are tears of happiness dear heart"
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eggcompany · 1 month
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Jaskier and Mr.-Zero-Fucking-Body-Fat
Jaskier woke up in a mood. A bad kinda mood. A self hating mood. Thank goodness he has an awesome boyfriend.
Geralt was coming back to the apartment when Jaskier was getting up. Geralt had gone on a morning run and grabbed donuts on his way back. When he walked into the bedroom to get a shower he saw his boyfriend standing in front of their mirror. Shirtless and frowning as he grabbed at his stomach. Jaskier had been up for a little while now. He woke up in a mood.
He hadn’t gotten dressed yet. He was still wearing what he sleeps in, a pair of soft cotton short shorts. He just stood staring at himself.
“Fat. Ugly. Hairy. Gross. Gross. Bleh. Fat fat fat. Lose some weight. Undesirable. Disgusting. Cover up. Cover it. Don’t eat tod-“
“Hey baby, how about we get a shower?” Geralt said to try and pull Jaskier away from those intrusive thoughts. Geralt knew about Jaskier and his body image issues. Geralt came up behind his lover and wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s sternum.
Jaskier laid his head back onto Geralt’s shoulder and took a big breathe, clearing his head. He held it for a moment before breathing out.
“No thank you, dear. I’ll get a shower after you get out. You can eat breakfast while I wash up.” Jaskier removed Geralt’s hands. He just wanted to put in his sweatpants and his oversized hoodie and just not be seen. Especially not by Mister Zero-Fucking-Body-Fat.
“I’ll make you breakfast Jask. You can go back to bed if you’d like. We can have a lazy day.” Geralt said as he ran his hand down Jaskier back before he turned to the bathroom.
“Thank you, love.” Jaskier sighed. God that man will be the death of him. Jaskier grabbed his hoodie and his sweats and a clean pair of underwear. He heard Geralt start the shower.
A short while later Geralt came out with a towel around his hips and quickly put on his sweatpants and a black shirt that wasn’t too snug. He knew he should wear looser clothes when Jask was in these moods.
“You get a shower and I’ll bring you breakfast in here. If you want to you could queue something up?” Geralt kissed his boyfriends forehead before leaving.
Jaskier got to the bathroom and tried not to look in the mirror. He quickly took off his shorts and got in the shower.
He washed as quickly as he could so he could get covered back up. He didn’t even wash his hair.
Soon he was in his sweats and hoodie and back on bed queuing up a show on Netflix.
Geralt walked in with a tray of food. Nothing that would bother Jaskier. Mostly cut fruit and yogurt.
“Here. C’mere I wanna hold you. Love you so much. My pretty perfect loverboy.” Geralt said as he held his arms open for Jaskier to cuddle to him. Jaskier cracked a smile at ‘loverboy’.
“You sure you want me too...” Jaskier looked down at himself.
“Yes Jask come here. I always wanna hug and cuddle you” Jaskier nodded and laid his back against Geralt’s chest and sat between his legs, tray of food in his lap.
They started to play Evil on Netflix and Jaskier ate a bit of this and that, not nearly enough.
“Want me to feed you, baby bear?”
“What did you just call me?” Jaskier turned to see Geralt’s face.
“Baby Bear. ‘Cause your cuddly and perfect and you’re my precious baby bear.” Geralt said very matter of factly.
Jaskier blushed and nodded.
Geralt picked up a piece of banana and held it up for Jaskier.
That’s how the morning went. Geralt feeding his baby bear pieces of fruit and spoons of yogurt while Jaskier smiled and fell even more in love with his boyfriend.
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tonbane · 1 year
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Geraskier 8 for the kiss prompt!
As my dear @panna-acida​ says, blowing a kiss is so Jaskier >:). I’ve never tried to draw them cartoony and it was so fun!!! Grazie cara mia :’)
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xinfamousxunderdogx · 2 years
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I’m here to keep you warm
I’ve uploaded this on Ao3 a while ago but I think I’ve never shared it on here. I wanted to write some Geraskier fluff, I hope you’ll like it ^^
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„Geralt?“
Jaskier’s whisper was so quiet the crackling sound of the fire almost drowned out his voice, so when the witcher didn’t reply, he wasn’t sure if it was because he was asleep or because he didn’t hear him. So he tried again, a bit louder this time.
“Geralt? Are you awake?”
Again, no response, so he probably really was asleep. Or he was ignoring him. The thought of that made Jaskier frown.
Slowly, he turned around on the thin sleeping mat that wasn’t really much of use, he could still feel every little stone and branch beneath it. But he was used to it by now, travelling with Geralt for so many months now. What he wasn’t used to was the cold that was creeping through his clothes and not even the fire managed to banish.
Geralt didn’t seem to be bothered by the cold, of course not, he was used to it. He looked warm.
So Jaskier did the only thing that seemed reasonable. Instead of laying down closer to the fire he got up and dragged his sleeping mat closer to Geralt, laid it down next to him and himself on it, his back facing Geralt. For now. As a precaution, he didn’t want to wake him up. (Okay, no be honest he just didn’t know if Geralt was up to some cuddles, he was almost certain he would not be amused and-)
“Jaskier.”
Geralts voice rumbled so low in his chest that Jaskier could feel Geralts back vibrating against his own, as they were touching (he was indeed very warm).
The poet bit his lip, trying to pretend to be asleep, a ridiculous thing to do, knowing that Geralt was fully aware that he’d just dragged almost his entire belongings half across their camp.
But Geralt didn’t say anything further, Jaskier could just feel him bringing more distance between them again so their backs were no longer touching. Immediately, Jaskier missed the warmth of Geralt’s body, the cold ait hitting him again, sending shivers down his spine.
“Geralt, I’m cold!”, the man whined dramatically, which was just answered by another monotonous hum coming from the witcher.
“You know, I for myself don’t have a … a wall of muscles protecting me from the cold”, he muttered as he tried to bring his body as close to Geralt’s as possible without them touching, but so close that he would be able to absorb at least a little bit of the warmth from him.
And I wouldn’t mind if you would provide said wall of muscles that I’m missing, he added silently.
Geralt rolled his eyes internally, trying not to pay attention to the utterly dramatic behavior of the bard. But he had noticed his shivering body even before he’d laid down right beside him. And he felt sorry for him, because thinking about it Jaskier maybe wasn’t overly dramatic this time.
“But of course, just let me freeze here in the deep and dark of a damn … direful forest, with barely any fire because oh no then monsters could notice us. Gods I would-“
“Come here.”
Jaskier stopped his monologue mid-sentence and looked at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He had been so caught up in his rant that he hadn’t noticed that Geralt had turned around and was patting the ground next to him.
“What?”
Geralt sighed and couldn’t help but smile slightly.
“You said you’re cold. And I’d like to get some sleep, which is impossible with either you talking to yourself the entire night or shivering”, Geralt explained the obvious. “So come here. I’ll keep you warm.”
How did he know Jaskier was shi- ah, witcher senses. Of Course.
Jaskier looked at him as if Geralt had revealed himself to be a doppler.
“Are you sure?”, he asked, but slowly, almost hesitantly he laid down right next to him, looking at him as if every moment Geralt could turn into a nekker and bite his head off.
“Just shut up and go back to sleep, bard”, Geralt murmured as he wrapped an arm around Jaskiers cold body, pulling him closer.
And surprisingly, Jaskier immediately relaxed there in Geralt’s arms. Even though he was still convinced he was dreaming, but Geralt’s firm and warm body and his hot breath on the cold skin of his neck proved the opposite.
Jaskier smiled to himself as he happily nuzzled up against Geralt, who just tightened his grip around the bard and buried his nose into the crook of his neck.
Well well, who would’ve thought that? Geralt of Rivia was a cuddler.
Now this was almost worth a ballad. Almost only. Some moments were precious, too precious for mankind, some moments just had to be tucked away and cherished privately.
This was such a moment.
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sandinthepipes · 1 year
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I just love when a fanfic is so very soft that I have to stop reading every three rows and walk around my room for a bit with a hand on my heart while whispering "oh my god they glanced at eachother", because I get too overwhelmed with love and sweetness.
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tielmamon · 8 months
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Geralt still hates parties, but most of the time its worth the trouble if he's with his bard 🥹❤️
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emiiinazer · 1 year
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My bard
Some soft babes because I will go down in this fluff ship
Feel free to use as a phone background 😁
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samstree · 2 years
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Jaskier is easy to please.
It’s a surprise finding, Geralt thinks to himself. At least, it goes against everything he knows about Jaskier.
He’s born noble, spoiled and doted on by a loving family for eighteen years. He has the best education, one that gives him endless titles as a master of the arts and a position at the best university. He wears fine silk, dines with lords and ladies, and sings for kings and queens.
And yet, Jaskier’s eyes always light up when Geralt prepares a simple meal at the side of the road as if a chunk of rye bread is anything finer than what Lettenhove can provide for him. He always leaves the lecture halls of Oxenfurt at the first thaw of spring to catch Geralt’s early contract of the year. He delights in the most mundane days on the path and colors them bright with his songs.
“I wonder how many are as lucky as me. How many souls under the sky,” Jaskier says one night, lying on top of a thin bedroll, under a sky full of stars. “To have found what pleases them, and get to keep it.”
“The stars?” Geralt mumbles sleepily. The day has been long and he’s too tired for Jaskier’s bouts of musing. “You don’t get to keep them, Jask.”
“No, you oaf. It’s…” Jaskier trails off, huffing a smile against Geralt’s shoulder. “Never mind. Sleep for now. You won’t understand today.”
“Yes, sleep.”
“Sleep, and you just might tomorrow.”
Jaskier snores through the night on the ground. He wakes up at the first light of dawn, eyes bleary and hair mussed. He wakes up to Geralt, lying next to him and calling his name gently. A soft smile overtakes his face, their limbs still tangling.
☆  
Geralt just might understand.
Or he starts to, when he pays attention to those things that please Jaskier.
He makes a pair of gloves over the winter with leather and fur in his stash. The plain materials are nothing to be boasted, and his sewing is far from the best. Compared to Jaskier’s doublets and coats, lined with jewels and silver thread, these may as well be two lumps of rags, but somehow, Geralt knows deep in his heart that Jaskier will squeal with joy when he sees them on his birthday.
The sureness settles over his chest, spreading until it unfurls his toes like warm mead on a rainy day. He wonders how long this unnamed confidence has been with him but finds no answer. It seems his life is so full of Jaskier, that there are no traces of what came before his bright-colored existence.
On Jaskier’s birthday, the squeal ends up hurting Geralt’s sensitive ears, but the tight hug that lifts him off the ground makes it all worth it. The gloves never leave the bard’s person even in the worst of the summer days and are proudly shown off to every friend they meet on the road.
And then, Geralt learns ballroom dancing from Essi so he may invite Jaskier to a first dance after the bardic competition. Geralt practices and practices, but when the day comes and Jaskier is all close and eager, all the complicated sequences are forgotten like foams on the sea. The world narrows down to the way Jaskier leans into his embrace and those surprised laughs when Geralt steps on his toes. The first dance turns into a second, a third, and then a fourth. Before Geralt knows it, the music has ended. Jaskier keeps holding on in the silence, his chin resting on Geralt’s shoulder, his scent sweet and happy.
☆  
“So, you are Julian’s witcher.”
An unfamiliar figure appears next to Geralt as the night comes to an end. Jaskier has gone to collect the award from his placement, but there’s no need for an introduction. Golden hair, fancy jewels, sharp eyes—it must be Valdo Marx.
“If I am?”
“Ha!” The other bard nurses his drink. “You’d need my warning, witcher. That one, Julian, is hard to please.”
Geralt could laugh if he didn’t hold too much disdain for the man.
“Don’t believe me? You’ll see. I once filled his room with roses and lilies, composed him full cycles of fine music, but all I got was rejection after rejection. I’d give him all the flowers in the world, all the songs and poetry. But no, none of it was ever good enough for Julian. Our dear Julian, who needs the world and more.”
“Hmm.”
Strange. Jaskier has never needed a world of flowers and poetry.
A bluebell is enough to make Jaskier blush when Geralt picks it from a wild field and puts it in his hand. A simple letter is enough to lift his spirit when solitude weighs down his shoulders while Geralt is away.
The flower will be pinned behind Jaskier’s ear for the rest of the day, and the letter will be read so many times the edges are worn out by the time they finally reunite. One particular songbook in the Jaskier’s pack holds tiny wildflowers and old letters on every other page. That book is growing thick over the years, bursting with little souvenirs of their time together and apart.
Valdo Marx is long gone when Geralt realizes how far his thoughts have wandered. The dance floor is empty. All the bards have left. All except for one.
“Geralt?” Jaskier appears before him, searching, curious. “Goodness, I called your name four times. What’s got you thinking so hard?”
Geralt blinks.
“You.”
“Me? What about—oh!”
Geralt takes Jaskier’s hand and pulls him into a kiss.
It’s desperate and messy, done without so much as a thought. All Geralt knows is that he should kiss Jaskier. All the world could end right now and he should be kissing Jaskier. Their breaths quicken as their bodies press closer. Jaskier lets out a surprised gasp as Geralt opens him up eagerly, teasing him with every swipe of tongue, every quiet moan. He kisses the corner of Jaskier’s mouth at the end before meeting his gaze.
“Wow,” Jaskier breathes, voice hoarse and eyes hazy. He clears his throat. “Wow, Geralt, that was…”
Geralt holds onto the small of Jaskier’s back, practically keeping him upright with how unsteady his legs have become. He can’t help but preen, letting a grin tug at his lips. “That was…?”
“Oh, just…” Jaskier’s cheeks have gone pink. It’s adorable in the candlelight. He lets out a string of giggles, hiding his face in his hands and pressing his forehead to Geralt’s shoulder. “You’ve kissed me, and now I feel like the happiest man on earth,” he mumbles into Geralt’s shirt. “So forgive me if I need a moment. Just a moment to let it all sink in, is all.”
Geralt kisses Jaskier’s hair and feels him suck in another shaky breath. “You are too easy to please,” he chuckles.
When Jaskier finds enough strength to stand on his own and pulls away, his eyes are full of wonder. They are full of Geralt. “Well, of course. It’s you.”
With Jaskier here in his arms, Geralt understands now. He is what pleases Jaskier, and he is lucky. Too lucky, perhaps. To be dear to this loud bard who smiles like a fool at the sight of him is a privilege Geralt would not deserve even if he lived ten lives over. He isn’t sure what to do with this fact yet.
So he answers. “Yes, it’s me.” He makes a promise. “I’m right here.”
Geralt leans in for another kiss, nuzzling Jaskier’s nose, but a finger halts him by the lips.
“You see, if you kissed me in such quick succession,” Jaskier says, swallowing, his eyelashes casting long shadows, “I may burst with joy right this moment. So have mercy on me, will you? Let’s just stay here. Just stay, and remember.”
Under Jaskier’s palm, a witcher’s slow heart flutters at the next beat.
Geralt takes Jaskier’s hand and remembers the moment. He remembers the moment when all the world’s luck is held within their palms, intertwining between their linked fingers.
☆  
It turns out, Geralt is easy to please too.
All it takes is a simple tune under Jaskier’s breath, a slow ballad, full of love and contentment, a private performance for one. It’s such a small thing, such a small joy when they are in the snowy mountains at the top of the world.
Geralt sinks into the big armchair in Kaer Morhen’s library, listening as the last note fades. His eyes flutter shut, tugged heavy by sleep and the burning fireplace. Jaskier put his lute down by the wall and settles on Geralt’s lap, tucking Geralt’s head into the crook of his neck.
“Is my new song putting you to sleep?” Jaskier asks. “Do you not like it?”
Geralt shakes his head, melting under Jaskier’s weight and attention. “Like the song fine. It’s just you.” He lets out a long exhale, his heart slowing. “Want to sleep when I’m safe.”
“Oh.”
Gentle fingers run across Geralt’s eyebrows, and he almost drifts off right there. “We should go to bed,” so he says.
“I’ll join you in a bit.”
Jaskier scrambles away, and the lack of his warmth makes Geralt grumble.
Jaskier huffs, taking Geralt’s hands to pull him up. “Just a few minutes. I have some tidying up to do.”
The world is blurry around the edges and the last line of Jaskier’s song keeps playing in Geralt’s mind. He mumbles an answer, his legs heavy. The bed that belongs to the two of them calls for Geralt with the promise of a mountain of blankets and furs to burrow under.
“Hold on.” Jaskier’s hand is on Geralt’s elbow. “The night is dangerous. Take this with you.”
He turns Geralt around to press a chaste kiss to his cheek.
With his eyes barely open, Geralt winds Kaer Morhen’s halls until the darkness gives way to the warm glow of their bedroom, where the fireplace is lit and his lungs are filled with the clean soap on Jaskier’s clothes.
Geralt returns to bed safely, with a small kiss to guard him.
It turns out, he is easy to please when it’s Jaskier.
It’s as natural as breathing, like these small things, small joys, small kisses. And they are all it takes.
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horsedadgeralt · 1 year
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He’s running
There is someone behind him, chasing him, getting closer with each step he takes, each desperate breath he tries to force into his screaming lungs.
Jaskier knows that it’s futile.
He is no fighter, and though that means that he is the prey, it’s clear that he wasn’t meant for that either, his legs shaking and his muscles twitchting as he’s trying not to get stuck in the muddy forest floor.
“Help!” he screams.
“Someone help me, please!”
But to no avail.
Behind him, there are footsteps, but he doesn’t dare look, knowing that if he gives in, he might just as well slit his own throat.
Is it Rience? Has he found him again, ready to finish what he started?
He can feel his hand starting to burn, can smell the stench of burning flesh and just as his foot gets caught on a root carefully hidden underneath some leaves, he can feel two arms around his waist.
As he closes his eyes to accept his fate, Jaskier lets out one last scream. For himself or the forest, he does not know. Do you really make a sound if no one is there to hear it?
But there is no pain. No fire, no sizzling, no smoke, just warmth.
That, and the two arms still tightly wrapped around his waist, holding him close.
“Jaskier,” Geralt mumbles, his face buried into the bard’s hair.
“It’s okay, I’ve got you. It’s just a dream, you’re safe.”
It takes a moment for reality to catch up with him, but then Jaskier feels it. The mattress below him, the blanket covering them both.
He hears the sound of the last few pieces of wood burning in the fire places, crackling as the fire eats away at it, and dollops of rain falling against the window with a random yet comforting rhythm.
And, loudest of all, he hears Geralt’s hearbeat. Steady and slow, each thud pulling him back into reality more and more.
Thud.
He is safe.
Thud.
Geralt is here.
Thud.
Slowly, he turns around so that he is facing the Witcher, their chests flush. He mimics the sleepy smile on Geralt’s face and leans in close for a kiss.
Thud, thud, thud.
With butterflies in his stomach and chest, he closes his eyes, the song of their hearts beating in unison lulling him back to sleep.
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cherryjuicegf · 1 year
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"You've been crying."
Jaskier laughs as Geralt sits beside him on the pebbles and raises his eyebrows, not looking at him still. "Now you can tell the salt of tears from that of the sea too?"
A light hum. "Always could."
A red ray escapes the setting sun and hits the waves, making the tears in his eyes melt as they mirror it. He sniffles and wipes at the trails his previous crying had pathed on his cheeks, and puts on a brave smile. Not really a smile. A curve of lips, at least, because Geralt is here now, the warmth of his body resembling a lit hearth, and it's a kind of comfort. Always has been.
Except. Geralt is staring at him.
Geralt is waiting.
And it's nothing, it really is. Jaskier likes to convince himself it is trivial, because how else could he mend a broken heart, if not with lies. The truth just seems too far out of reach.
But maybe now he is tired. And maybe in another time he wouldn't talk about it, he would only smile wider but now Geralt's stare is so gentle, and his eyes so safe like the sun on a spring's day.
"I feel like I've been missing, you know," he says at last and looks at him straight, soft, because Geralt really does know. "On love. And it's been too long."
What Geralt doesn't know, perhaps, is the way his heart clenches inside his chest and curls on itself like a child punished in the corner. So he frowns. "You? Jaskier, you can have anyone you want. I've seen you." Then, a smile, almost fond. "You fall in love with everyone."
Everyone, everyone. Anyone. Anyone there is. Anyone who looks like maybe, maybe, they will stay, or he is just too careless at this point that he tries anyway. A heart that never has too much. He knows they won't stay. And he knows the one who will stays for a different reason. So, so close.
He smiles, bittersweet, and lowers his look. "Yes, indeed. Everyone." Everyone, she sent a letter today. Never to meet again, never to be seen. Jaskier shakes his head. "And me? Who of all them has fallen in love with me, Geralt?" As if to answer his question, a seabird cries along. The sea, too, a cruel mistress. His voice quivers. "I feel like a desperate dog chasing love, while running from it all the same."
With the corner of his eye he sees Geralt parting his lips and a fake hope blooms in his chest, fading at once when he holds back, and stays silent. And he can only bask in the imagined possibility of what he intended to say.
The tears are done with him now. Only numbness remains.
Eventually, Geralt speaks. "If it is any helpful, no one has ever been in love with me either." The lightness in his voice sounds exactly like the pained strings mending Jaskier’s heart.
But oh, what a foolish man. Jaskier can't help but smile and turn at him, and for a bit he remembers that lonely as it is, he can't stop loving. "Well, that's just not true. I'm in love with you."
As though he doesn't know, as though it's not as simple as it was uttered, Geralt flinches. Jaskier chuckles and averts his gaze again, a little happier than before. Love, it is simple. It's what he does.
Just not something that happens to him.
"Well, then," he hears after some moments, "that makes us even."
He laughs before he thinks. "It does?" And then.
His head spins at once, eyes wide as they meet Geralt's, almost afraid. No, not afraid. Unbelieving. It's been so long, you see. But Geralt only rolls his eyes, oh so fondly, and before Jaskier manages to splutter any words sweet lips are on his, and a hand holding his nape. And it's not like other times. Not like everyone else. It's certain and terrifying and deep like a promise, like two stray roots finding each other through the earth and keeping their living hearts bound forever. Like what he has been craving for so long he forgot he may one day have it. Like Geralt.
And then, as though to seal it, this promise, Geralt pulls back and looks at him like he always does and Jaskier wonders, wonders how this that he never caught stands right here, catching itself. Geralt smiles, voice soft as a feather. "I'm in love with you, Jaskier." And that's it. Simple as that.
His eyes are burning again and Jaskier can only nod, and smile back. And it's almost funny, almost tender how love happens to be so close, so close he can taste its kiss without even trying, just for once.
Just for once, how love happens to him.
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julek · 2 years
Text
“Jas,” Geralt calls, not taking his eyes off his journal.
Jaskier stops strumming his lute with a palm on the strings. “Yes?”
“Would you pass me an orange from our pack?”
He hears Jaskier murmur an assent, and goes back to the ardent task of drawing a cockatrice that resembles the one he’d fought the week prior. There’s a rustling sound as Jaskier rifles through their things, a triumphant little ah-ha! as Jaskier, presumably, finds the orange, but then, there’s silence.
Geralt sketches the final lines of the cockatrice to his satisfaction, and takes a look behind him to see what could be taking Jaskier so long in the simple delivery of the fruit.
He finds Jaskier poking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, brow furrowed in concentration as he picks at the orange between prying fingers.
“What are you doing?” Geralt asks, coming to crouch beside him.
“Oh!” Jaskier says, his eyes snapping up, as if he’d forgotten Geralt was there at all. “I was just getting all the white stuff out for you,” he says, and presents his palms to Geralt.
It’s a small orange, halved, bright and plump in Jaskier’s hands, and all the white tendrils have been carefully removed.
For him.
The orange almost flies into the other direction when Geralt surges to kiss him.
“Oh,” Jaskier says when they break apart, flustered and a little dazed. “What brought that on?”
Geralt smiles, taking one half of the orange into his hands.
“You.”
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0dde11eth · 5 months
Text
Awww, just thinking about geralt knitting jaskier fingerless gloves so he can still play on cooler nights
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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
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dapandapod · 3 months
Note
Concept:
Geralt works in an aquarium, near the biggest fish tank.
Jaskier is a newly hired mermaid performer
Geralt was not told about this
In my dreams, it's still Mermay 2023. Husshhh time is fake. ANYWAY here it is! Thank you @magdelanesingerin helping me beta read <3 and thank you Ella-la for the prompt! It was a lot of fun! Please enjoy <3 On Ao3 here
Technically, Geralt does not work with humans. As in, he’s not there to provide care to humans.
Most of his coworkers are human, yes, but that is not the point. He did not start working here to serve people stale sandwiches and sparkling water.
Geralt knows every inch of the aquarium, knows every work position available.
He knows how to do everything, despite actually being there for the more excotic species of aquatic animals, usually with many teeth. Pros and Cons of working with the family, he supposes.
The years he has spent out in the field and all the late nights he worked with his doctor's thesis, all the scars from times he spent crawling through knee deep water that stank of sulfur and decay, only to find his arm swallowed to the elbow by something very small with big hubris-- all of that is put to perfect use as he wraps yet another dry, overpriced sandwich, or scoops yet another ice cream.
The reason he actually stays, despite the screaming children and the sweating parents and the bored teenagers and the entitled grandparents and the weird work tasks he gets assigned, is the way a young girl's face lights up when Geralt holds up a frog, big enough for him to have to use both hands.
Or the way the sullen teen beams when one of their rare giant butterflies lands on their hands. Or when he can hold an audience captive while showing them something new and exciting and incredibly nerdy about his sharks.
Geralt loves his sharks.
Due to every summer reason ever, Geralt has sadly been called away from his animal related daytime tasks to cover shifts where their usual summer employees are out sick. Which seems to be most of this month.
Where he stands right now, in the very small and very understaffed little kiosk, he has an excellent view of the shark tank, at least. As the aquarium has grown in popularity, so has their shark tank, his pride and joy.
Coën had explained to him excitedly that their new tank would have a much bigger viewing area, and seating area, almost like a little theater. To allow for future opportunities, he had said, and Geralt thought of the way he would be allowed to show off his beauties through the window and almost got excited himself.
It is unusually crowded today, and a lot of people are gathering around the viewing area and are chattering.
It's so loud, their voices bouncing around the room and amplifying, and it's hard to hear the woman in front of him inexplicably order their largest latte and a lactose free cheese sandwich.
Luckily, Milva is coming in soon to cover the rest of the shift, so Geralt can finally get back behind the tanks, out of sight of all the people.
But before he can, the clock strikes one, music blares through the speakers the speakers, and one of the employees he knows from birthday parties steps out with a microphone. It makes Geralt frown, because this is new.
Usually, the show around the big tank would involve a kid friendly lesson about the fish and aquatic animals in their tank, sometimes accompanied by a sweaty Lambert in a mascot suit.
This time, however, there is dreamy music, the lights are lowered even more, and the employee is talking about the magical beings living in the deep, out of sight of human eyes.
See, Geralt is a man of science.
He knows there are mythical and magical things in the depths, having been up close and personal with a few. But this sounds like they are setting up for some kind of misinformed children’s movie.
Which is why Geralt's jaw is somewhere around floor level, when an actual mermaid- wait no, merman, swims up to the glass, waving at the children.
Milva has to elbow him out of the way so she can serve the next customer, while Geralt stares at the Merman flitting around in his beloved shark tank.
The sharks stay clear, because even if the merman's tail is beautiful, it is still striped much like a dragon fish, warning all of them not only with his size, but also with his pattern and coloring, that he is dangerous.
Yet his smile is wide, his claws retracted to tap a smooth fingertip at the glass and wave at the crowd with a webbed hand.
His hair is chestnut brown, matching the pattern riding up along his back, with specks of gold dancing on his skin and in his blue, very blue eyes.
Geralt somehow finds himself by the rail to the seating area, and the merman's eyes lock with his.
As they do, they widen a fraction, and the smile turns into a smirk. The merman winks, and turns, swimming in a pirouetting circle as the employee narrates his movements.
As he swims, the light dances over muscle and bone and scale, the crowd around him making ‘Oooh’ and ‘Aaah’ noises. He is beautiful.
The merman keeps showing off, his many long fins twirling around him like ribbons in the calm water. It is mesmerizing, and as the show is coming to a close, Geralt hurries to the back area and towards the tank.
He gets intercepted by Lambert, of course, who steps in front of him with a shit eating grin spread wide across his smug face.
"Like the new show, did you, pretty boy?" Lambert says, sly eyes watching him.
"I didn't realize we had a new show." Geralt grumbles. "I need to-"
"-Go and ask our new pretty fish boy intrusive questions, yes I know. Just remember he is not a science project."
With a pat on Geralt's shoulder, Lambert walks past him and intothe guest area.
"Oh, and ask him for his number. Literally everybody in the room saw that wink," he throws over his shoulder as he goes.
Geralt feels his ears burn as he moves forward again, because yeah, that wink felt very... yeah. Words fail him, which is a bit unfortunate, seeing as he is just arriving at the stairs to the tank.
Climbing them, he tries to remember what he planned to do in the first place, other than, as Lambert called it, 'ask intrusive questions'.
As he reaches the top of the stairs, the merman is just climbing out of the tank, assisted by Eskel. Once again, Geralt feels his jaw drop, noticing that his tail is now legs.
Long legs. Bare legs, that goes up, up, and lucky for all of them, the rest of the view is quickly hidden by a towel wrapped around a slim waist.
"Figures," he hears Eskel snort, "Jaskier, this is Geralt, our aquatic expert."
They are on separate ends of the room, the tank between them, but the world narrows down to just the two of them.
There is, and always has been, a specific mood to the rooms that houses the the big tanks.
The way the water reflects light, sending it dancing on the walls and ceiling, how it softens shadows, how it can be dark but bright at the same time; Geralt has always did found it a little romantic.
Which isn't something he would ever confess to unless he was swimming in alcohol, or so sleep deprived he didn’tt even know his own name, but it is there, simmering in the back of his mind.
Especially now as he is standing there in the soft, romantic light with a man, who was just a merman, looking back at him as if he has discovered the world anew. He can even pretend that the humming of pumps and gurgling of water filters and dripping of pipes are an orchestra, a symphony to accompany a first meeting.
Alright, that is overdoing it, but still.
Behind Jaskier, Eskel is rolling his eyes so hard his body moves with it.
"Every. Frickin. Time. Jaskier, good job, don't forget to wash off before you get dressed. Let's talk after... after. Later. I do not want to be here right now."
Eskel leaves, patting Jaskier's shoulder, who only nods and waves absently, eyes still fixed at Geralt.
When Eskel is gone, disappearing through another door leading to more, smaller tanks and the food prep area, Geralt finally finds he can move.
It is oddly silent, except for the metallic sound of his shoes hitting the maze of walkways hanging above the tank. He stops, even before he has turned the corner to the final stretch.
"Hi," he manages after a few seconds too long.
The corner of Jaskier's mouth tugs up into a smile, and he reaches for another towel hanging on a hook on the wall.
"Hi," he echoes, his voice just a little raspy. Jaskier wraps the towel around his shoulders, using a corner to dry his hair. "So, you are the Geralt that I have heard so much about."
Geralt blinks. He did not expect people to have mentioned him, but then again, they might actually have warned Jaskier of him.
"Ah. Sorry. I can be uh... less than tactful when something grabs my interest."
Jaskier tilts his head even more and takes a step closer to him.
"So did I? Grab your interest, I mean."
Shit. Fuck. Shit fuck shit.
"I have never met a merman before." Geralt says stiffly, ears burning something fierce, and Jaskier looks amused.
Jaskier steps closer; his feet probably hurt from walking barefoot on the metal grating of the walkway but he doesn't stop until he is close enough to Geralt to stretch out his hand.
"Well then. My name is Jaskier, as you might have gathered. Nice to meet you! Though, I am not full mer, actually."
Interesting.
Geralt shakes his hand, noticing the tips of Jaskier’s fingers are a little rough against the back of his hand.
"Is that why you have... uh..."
"Legs?" Jaskier supplies helpfully. Geralt is still shaking his hand. "In part, yes. Some Mer have a splash of elven blood, granting them the ability to choose."
Geralt should stop shaking his hand. He really should. Their eyes are still locked, and Jaskier is still giving him that amused smile.
"You can stop shaking my hand now," he reminds Geralt, but doesn’t pull his hand back.
"Right. Yes. Right. Sorry." Geralt manages to let go, and is infinitely happy Eskel has left the room, though no doubt Lambert will look at the security footage for later. Shit.
As soon as Geralt manages to break the stare into the man’s eyes, he notices the next problem. Jaskier is pretty much naked, barely covered by the towels, revealing skin, chest hair, and the hint of a tattoo along his ribs and on one thigh.
He wants to ask about that, if it transfers to his fins or not. But as he stares, he also realizes Jaskier is shivering slightly. He's an idiot.
"I uh. Should leave you to get dressed. There is a shower in the changing rooms. Uhm. Can I get you a coffee or something? Later?"
Jaskier smiles that amused smile of his while Geralt is kicking himself internally. Words never were his thing, no, but this is ridiculous.
"As in bring me a coffee, or drink a coffee together with me?"
"Whichever you are comfortable with. Sorry, I am not making a good impression here."
"You are very cute, if that helps." Jaskier says, and Geralt blinks, stunned.
When he fails to reply, Jaskier pulls his towel tighter around himself, and nods.
"Right. So, I'll go shower, and we’ll pretend I never said that. And I'll see you later. For coffee."
Jaskier’s ears are slightly red, and Geralt wants to pretend it’s from their conversation, not from being cold.
Geralt nods, and flees before he can put his foot in his mouth any further, and only after he is half way down the stairs does he realize that he forgot to ask if Eskel showed Jaskier where the changing rooms are.
Too late now, he absolutely won’t go back and risk walking in on a very naked Jaskier. Nope.
When Geralt steps into the public area again, the crowds are slowly thinning out, now that the show is over.
Parents are herding kids towards bathrooms and other viewing areas, and Geralt decides that he needs to find something just a little better than the staff room coffee machine.
It feels a little cheap to go with the aquarium café, and he realizes he doesn't even know how Jaskier likes his coffee. Geralt himself has a sweet tooth, and very few ever believe that at first sight.
He decides to stand and awkwardly waits until Jaskier comes back out.
He manages to work himself up as he waits, overthinking until he’s standing there frowning and glaring at the wall when Jaskier emerges at last.
Quirking an eyebrow, Jaskier hoists his dufflebag a bit higher on his shoulder.
"You good?"
"Hmm. What kind of coffee do you like?" Geralt asks, before he can say something dumb.
"Black as tar, so anything is good." Jaskier smiles. See? You never know what to expect, even with sunshine incarnated.
Geralt nods, and leads the way to the little kiosk where he was working just a few, life-changing minutes before. .
Milva smiles gleefully at Geralt when it's their turn, and hands them a coffee black as tar, and for Geralt, coffee with milk and three sugar cubes.
Instead of sitting down, they put away Jaskier's bag and wander around the aquarium. It turns out he never had the chance to look around before diving in for his first show.
Geralt tries to not ask all the intrusive questions bubbling up in his head, his scientific curiosity temporarily pushed down by the way Jaskier coos at tiny crabs and little fishes in weird shapes and colors.
At last, Jaskier informs him that he can't stay any longer, that he has band practice after his show, and should have gone already.
"But I'll see you again, Geralt," Jaskier promises with a smile. "Next week. Unless you want to grab a bite sometime?"
Jaskier's ears are red again, and Geralt can feel his own face getting warm.
"I'd like that," he mumble, and Jaskier beams. They exchange numbers, just in case Geralt had anything else to ask.
Not one minute after Jaskier leaves, waving over his shoulder, Lambert is on him.
"Getting some tail, are you, pretty boy?" Lambert grins, and Geralt elbows him away.
"If you say anything ever again, I'll show Aiden all your drunk texts," he threatens, which he knows will only work for a few days.
Geralt risks sending a text that same night, and Jaskier replies only a few minutes after.
They have a lunch scheduled in a few days, and Geralt doesn't dare call it a date, not yet, no matter what Eskel says.
When Geralt goes to sleep later that night, he dreams of blue eyes, of chestnut brown and gold specks glimmering in the underwater light.
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irrlicht-writes · 10 months
Text
dandelions
“If ever I’d be reborn, I’d like to be a flower,” the bard says, while gently sitting in a field, picking flowers for no reason really. Geralt sits not too far from him, keeping an eye on Roach so that she might not eat too many flowers and sour her stomach.
“Hm,” the Witcher replies, not knowing what to say.
“Think about it,” the bard continues undeterred, “as a flower, I could waive in the wind, dance under the sun and sing of worlds yet to come.”
“You sing plenty now,” the Witcher reminds him, “why not sing of those worlds now?”
The bard laughs, and it’s a clear, bright sound, and it engulfs the entire valley.
“If I sang of those worlds now, darling Witcher,” he plucks another flower, deep violet, and adds it to his ever-growing bouquet, “they would all tell me to shut up and sing the coin song again.”
“We both hate the coin song.”
“Indeed we do! It’s the price of fame, although I’d wish they would have forgotten it by now. I haven’t even sung it in ages! I’ve written catchier refrains.”
The Witcher snorts. “You have? I must have missed them.”
The bard throws some flowers in the Witcher’s general direction but as flowers do, they all fall to the ground before ever hitting their target. “I am wounded,” the Witcher says tonelessly, for nothing but mocking purposes. The bard huffs and turns his attention back to his flowers.
“If ever I’d be reborn,” the bard says again, “I’d like to be a flower.”
“Hm,” the Witcher replies again, not knowing what to say.
“Think about it,” the bard continues undeterred yet again, “as a flower, they would not hear me sing at all. But if they could hear me on the wind, they would love me all the more.”
“They love you plenty now, hearing you sing already.”
The bard laughs again, like the Witcher does not understand.
“No, my love, they do not. Oh they love me, yes, my prancing and my singing, and my flirting, and my twirling, but me, they love not. If I were not to sing, not to prance, not to flirt, not to twirl, not to joy their hearts for coin – they would take no interest in me. Another washed up wanderer on the road, they’d say! Throw him some mouldy bread and hope he brings no plague with him!”
“I’ve not met a many washed up wanderers brave enough to follow me into the fray.”
The bard smiles then, a whispered little thing the Witcher almost did not see. Roach wanders around, sniffing the different flowers and yet, she had eaten not a single one of them.
A pleasant silence befalls them in the valley, as the bard continues to pick more flowers – who he is picking them for, the Witcher does not know. The bard does things sometimes that make no sense, because he wants to. The Witcher has learned to accept this, and this is a pleasant thing to do, a pleasant place to rest.
“If ever I’d be reborn,” the bard starts again, “I’d like to be a flower.”
“Hm,” the Witcher replies once more, because it is tradition now, not knowing what to say.
“Think about it,” the bard continues – as per tradition – undeterred, “as a flower, mayhap a dandelion, I could be carried by the wind, being carried to where I need to go.”
“You travel plenty now,” the Witcher says, “no need to be carried by the wind.”
“That might be true, dear heart, and yet! How limited are we, bound to the ground beneath our feet, the saddle of a horse? The wind! The wind knows no limit, crescending into a storm. And! Darling Witcher, how would we know where we’re needed? We can only travel so far, see so many places. What if we’d be needed in the other direction? How would we know?!”
“All we can do is move forwards, bard. We do our best where we can.”
The bard plucks his last flower and turns to the Witcher. In his arms, he holds all the flowers he picked – colourful and pretty, a plenty a piece. In his hand, he holds a dandelion, with its seed ready to be carried away.
“That we do, my love. That we do.”
He looks at the dandelion in his hand, and the wind plays gently with his hair.
Quietly, he blows and the dandelion seeds get picked up by the wind.
The Witcher and the Bard look after them until they are out of sight.
Then, they move on to the next town, and the bard plays music in the tavern. He prances, and sings, and flirts, and twirls, and they love him.
Many, many years later, Geralt comes across a field of flowers.
In it sits a boy, picking flowers.
He notices Geralt from a distance, and looks up, waves, and grins brightly like the sun. He wears a flower crown made of buttercups and dandelions.
“If ever I’d be reborn,” the bard whispers quietly, “I’d like to be a flower.”
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