#or he's doing it to make geralt feel guilty bc LOOK HOW NICE IT IS TO TRAVEL WITH A BARD

[alwaysraineh]

yooooo rachel that ask game is practically MADE FOR ME, this is just going to be a mix but 1, 3, 10 for jaskier, lup, and taako as characters! not in that order, mix and match to your heaaart's content, i will humbly devOUR any insipiration you can spaaaaare 🥺🥺💛💛

ooomg JOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!! this took a few days so i apologize for that but each prompt could have worked for each character and i had to figure out what i wanted to do but it was so. fun. i had a blast with this!!!! tysm for giving me so much to play around with!!! i hope you like them!!!!

also i’m gonna put them under the cut bc they got kinda long all together lol

send me a number and a pairing and i’ll make them kiss!

1. small kisses littered across the other’s face

“Stop! Stop, stop, stop!” Taako shrieks, giggling wildly in a way that tells Kravitz he isn’t too serious about his demands. He grins, dark eyes twinkling with mischief, and pulls back just far enough to admire the flush on Taako’s cheeks and the breathless part of his lips.

“You’ve made your point,” Taako continues, all teeth and laughter.

“I most certainly have not!” Kravitz protests, swooping back down to press several quick kisses to Taako’s temple and eyebrows. “I told you I would kiss every part of you that I find beautiful, and you-”

“I said you’re a dramatic sap!”

“Perhaps. But I intend to finish what I’ve started!”

Taako dissolves into another fit of giggles as Kravitz kisses his nose, his ear, his eyelashes. He pushes half-heartedly at his boyfriend’s chest, no real effort in his shoves, and tries to roll to the side when Kravitz blows a raspberry against his cheek. Both men go tumbling off the couch at that, ending in a pile of limbs and breathy chuckling on the floor before Kravitz concedes and smooths a lock of hair behind Taako’s ear, giving an infatuated smile when the elf presses a soft kiss to the inside of his wrist in response.

3. a breathy demand: “kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond

For a moment, all Jaskier can hear is his own pulse roaring in his ears. Next comes the heavy pant of Geralt’s breath somewhere above him and the faint hiss of sizzling acid from the other side of the thick tree trunk he’s been pressed against. Then, somewhat belatedly, the realization that his hands are on Geralt’s chest- quite specifically, his fingers are wrapped white-knuckled around the straps of the witcher’s armor.

Jaskier relinquishes his hold, startled, and in the same heartbeat Geralt curses and steps away, shaking his arm with a sour expression. The movement reveals a small hole in his sleeve and a nasty-looking welt on his skin that definitely wasn’t there before he’d seized Jaskier around the middle and whipped him into the relative safety of the tree.

So perhaps following Geralt when the witcher had specifically directed him to stay behind hadn’t been Jaskier’s brightest idea. But in his defense, Geralt rarely provided any details of his hunts, so how was Jaskier meant to know that a dying bloedzuiger would explode into a horrible spray of disgusting stomach acids upon receiving a killing blow? All the same, as he starts to regain his senses after the shock of being slammed against a tree, he does feel a bit guilty about Geralt’s arm- he likely wouldn’t have been wounded at all if Jaskier hadn’t stupidly wandered into the splash zone and needed protecting from the flesh-melting bloedzuiger juice.

Seemingly deciding his arm is fine, Geralt looks back at Jaskier and frowns. He steps closer, sword still in hand and hair brown with mud, dripping dirty swamp water as he looks the bard over for injuries.

“Did it spray you?” he asks, voice gruff.

Jaskier tries to answer and finds he can’t quite get the words out; his pulse now thrums at the base of his throat, nearly choking him. Geralt steps closer yet again, pushing forward into Jaskier’s personal space with a tight expression.

“Jaskier?”

“Y-your eyes,” Jaskier manages to gasp, barely resisting the urge to let his head fall back against the trunk.

Geralt immediately retreats, turning his face away and raising a hand to hide the deep black of his sclerae. Whatever potion it is that he’d taken before the hunt clearly hasn’t worn off yet. Jaskier scrambles to follow as the witcher moves; Geralt has never allowed Jaskier to see him like this before, and Jaskier isn’t going to miss his chance. He’s never said as much, but Jaskier knows that the effects of these potions are what make Geralt feel the most monstrous.

“No, no, no,” he murmurs, catching Geralt by the shoulder and hurrying to plant himself in the witcher’s path. “Geralt, I’m not frightened by you. You’re not a monster, you- gods, Geralt, you’re breathtaking!”

Geralt allows Jaskier to pull his hand down, but keeps his face turned to the side. Jaskier pushes as close as he dares, breath still caught in his lungs and heart hammering in his chest.

“Kiss me.”

Geralt finally looks to Jaskier again, black eyes startled. “Are you- Jaskier, you can’t be serious.”

“Deadly serious, I’m afraid. Kiss me!”

“This is hardly the time or place, bard. We’re in a swamp. That bloedzuiger is barely dead.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes and steps daringly closer, trying to square his shoulders and put forth a challenge for Geralt. “You’re ruining the mood.”

“The mood?!”

“Well, I’ll admit it isn’t exactly the nice, clean inn I’d usually prefer, but-”

“Are you really that desperate?” Geralt interrupts, sweeping his free arm in a wide arc to indicate the carnage and pools of bloedzuiger acid around them.

Heady with the adrenaline of survival and spurred on by the odd attraction he has to Geralt with a layer of sweat and grime upon his skin, Jaskier gives a wicked grin.

“For you, Geralt, I’d have to admit I’m always this desperate.”

Slowly, a similar grin spreads over Geralt’s lips. He shakes his head and steps ever closer, taking Jaskier firmly by the back of the neck and feeling the bard practically melt in his grip.

“You are ridiculous,” he murmurs against Jaskier’s ear before grazing his teeth along the soft skin at the join of his jawline and throat.

When Jaskier whines in response, Geralt indulges him with a chaste kiss that quickly devolves into a rough clash of teeth and tongues that leaves them both breathless. Their panted breath mingles in the space between them, hot on Jaskier’s lips before he stretches up to press gently against the corner of Geralt’s mouth with a lazy smile.

“Next time I tell you to kiss me, Geralt, don’t act so much like you don’t want to.”

Geralt growls low in his throat and shoves Jaskier back up against the tree with one hand heavy on his chest. “Next time I tell you to stay in camp, Jaskier,” he says, voice rough, “don’t follow me until the beast is slain. I can’t kiss you if you’re dead.”

10. a hello/goodbye kiss that is given without thinking - where neither person thinks twice about it

It’s just a weekend with Taako, Barry reminds himself. It isn’t like Lup is about to disappear for another decade, and Taako would never let any harm come to her. There’s no reason to fear her leaving for ‘Twin Time’ - actually, scratch that. There are many things to fear when Taako and Lup are left to their own devices. (What comes to mind first involves several explosions and maniacal laughter.)

What Barry doesn’t have to worry about is that his wife won’t return. Three days, she had said. Three days and she would be home and he wouldn’t have to miss her anymore. Maybe he could invite Kravitz over, she had suggested. Taako had emphatically agreed with that statement, mentioning that it wouldn’t do either of them any good to sit alone in their homes waiting for the twins to return. They could have gone on a mission for the Raven Queen, Kravitz had protested. (They did not.)(If they cuddled on the couch and gushed about the twins or not was another matter entirely.)

All the same, when he hears the telltale sound of a portal opening in the other room and the twins’ laughter, Barry’s mood skyrockets. He pads down the hall in his socks and pokes his head around a doorframe, ready to welcome Lup home, only to find himself wrapped in her arms and lifted into an excited spin. Lup presses their lips together, warm and gentle and familiar and home, as she sets his feet back on the floor, then nuzzles her face into the crook of his shoulder.

“I missed you,” she says, voice muffled against his neck, and Barry finds himself suddenly misty-eyed. He kisses the top of her head and rests his cheek against her hair, closing his eyes as he steadies his breath and relishes the calming weight of her body in his arms.

“I missed you, too, babe.”

#ask game #taakitz #geraskier #taz #taz balance #the witcher #my writing #seriously though these were so cute and fun!!! #i did get way carried away with the jaskier one though lol

[starthirst]

Crueller than jealousy

An idea struck me where because of his low self-esteem, Geralt doesn’t get jealous. He just accepts that someone has decided what’s best for them and it’s not him. It never is. Even if it hurts, he puts aside his own aching heart and leaves that person in peace. So when Jaskier decides to try and make Geralt jealous and feel like a fool for casting him aside by having revenge sex, it backfires. Geralt doesn’t even fight to keep Jaskier even though he wants to so so badly, he wants to fight for him. But Jaskier has made his choice. And it’s not him.  (It gets worse when Geralt finds out he’s not Jaskier’s only witcher, which means he doesn’t have anything the bard wants that he can’t get from anyone else). Sample:

”Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier says, equal parts cheerful and pitying as he climbs off the lord, “I simply forgot you were coming,” Jaskier feels smug, and it’s a satisfying high, all for a moment, before he sees Geralt’s face crumple in a way he’s never seen it do before.

Geralt knows what he did was completely unfair and wrong about an hour after he’s done it, when the anger has evaporated off of him enough that he comes to his senses and realises that he has just left his bard up a dangerous mountain.

He searches and searches, so desperate to find him before a monster did that he ends up searching all night, just in case Jaskier is hurt somewhere in a crevasse with his leg broken, his voice too weak from dehydration to call out for help. When he finally makes it back down to Roach, he finds she’s been fed, that the rest of Jaskier’s things that were in Roach’s saddlebags are gone, and he smells the lingering scent of Jaskier’s cologne, so he takes comfort in the fact that the bard made it down the mountain at the very least. It’s hard to stay on the path at first, when all he wants to do is search out his friend, make things good between them again. It’s especially hard when he catches himself glancing over the fire light, or when he hears the start to Toss a Coin but he gets by. Geralt reminds himself that he is a witcher. Witchers didn’t have special people to go home to and he figures out that’s what he wanted of Jaskier after too many dreams where they’re laid together, tangled up in their sheets, naked, warm and safe. No, he doesn’t deserve the chance to redeem himself in the bard’s affections, especially not after what he said on the mountain. While he was away from Geralt- their on and off adventuring together, Jaskier encountered one or two witchers and ended up charming them into bed for companionship, meaning nothing by it. After the mountain Jaskier makes a point of bedding witchers to convince himself that Geralt isn’t special and there’s plenty of witchers worthy of ballads out there, even if he hasn’t been able to write anything but maudlin love songs for the past couple of months. Jaskier ends up taking a residency at a high end tavern on behalf of the lord he’s currently bedding. The man is kind and dotes on Jaskier, giving him a nice room upstairs where he can work on his songs and poems in peace. He doesn’t even mind when Jaskier has guests over, so long as they don’t linger. One night after passionate relations, Jaskier’s eyes flutter open and his heart seizes with fear. There’s a monster standing over them, with fangs sharp and eyes wild. He wants to call for help, but the man who owns the name on the tip of his tongue left him- didn’t want him. He lays there, thinking he’s going to die but his fingertips brush against the dagger- silver, pressed into his hand by Geralt one summer’s evening years ago after he was almost carried off by a harpy, hiding under his pillow. Jaskier slashes it across the bruxa’s face. She screeches and flees out the window. The lord orders his men to find a witcher to exterminate the threat before her blood his dry on the dagger.  Geralt has been dragged from across two towns by some lord that wants him to kill a vampire. He’s finished the job and he’s been paid, so he’s about to move on when he runs into Jaskier gazing longingly at a kalimba in the marketplace. He’s so focused on trying to weave through the crowd without causing too much commotion that he doesn’t even see Jaskier, who is so distracted by his love of mastering new exotic instruments he doesn’t even notice until he turns and steps face first into Geralt. They stand in close proximity, stunned by the other’s sudden reappearance. Geralt apologises immediately, before Jaskier can get over his stupor and peel off one of his clever, biting quips. He looks so sincere and sorry Jaskier leans up and whispers in Geralt’s ear, telling him ‘You can make it up to me later,’ and invites him to his room after dinner time to talk. Geralt agrees eagerly, and Jaskier leaves the marketplace, his heartbeat all over the place replaying the ‘I’m sorry I was cruel to you. i shouldn’t’ve have spoken to you like that. I miss you, and I know what I want now,’ in his head like a melody he was trying to assign lyrics to. When he gets back to the tavern, he’s disappointed in himself for not being angrier. He had told himself plenty of times that when he encountered Geralt again he wouldn’t fall into his kind, forgiving ways. He couldn’t let Geralt get off with just a few ‘I’m sorry’s and brooding looks. He has some dignity and sense of self value. Geralt has to suffer a consequence, just a bit so he thinks twice before yelling at Jaskier again and discarding him like a used rag. Though he can’t think of what he should do, he’s too excited thinking about what Geralt meant by I know what I want now. The lord comes over to tell him the bruxa is dead and he need not fear her wrath. The lord begins feeling him up when Jaskier decides, in his pettiness, that instead of explaining he has a guest coming and taking the lord’s hand out of his pants, to let Geralt catch him like this. To prove to him that he didn’t need him, that he could easily find a comfortable place to live out his days. Maybe then Geralt would pull his act together and never treat him like mange on a dog’s arse again. Meanwhile, Geralt has been rehearsing his apology in his head for the past couple of months. The one he spewed out at the marketplace was weak, and not enough. Not enough for the man that followed him for the better part of twenty years, looking at him as though he hung the stars in the sky, the man he sorely missed, the one he injured so gravely. Destiny has given him a chance to make it good again and he’s going to grab it with both hands. He bought the instrument Jaskier was so fascinated with, which he was nervously turning around in his grasp. A present to ease the conversation, but not one large enough that Jaskier might think he’s trying to buy his forgiveness. As he ascends the stairs, he can’t help feeling lucky that Jaskier wanted anything to do with him anymore. Knowing Jaskier, it’ll be hard to earn his trust again, but he’s willing to apologise every day from now until his death if it meant Jaskier didn’t hate him.

Jaskier doesn’t answer the door when he knocks and because Geralt travelled with him for years he’s savvy to Jaskier’s inability to lock a door so he turns the handle and steps inside. Geralt’s is frozen as he helplessly takes in the sight of Jaskier on top of another man and very clearly enjoying himself. Jaskier turns his head at the intrusion and huffs, faux annoyed. ”Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier says, equal parts cheerful and pitying as he climbs off the lord, “I simply forgot you were coming,” Jaskier feels smug, and it’s a satisfying high, all for a moment, before he sees Geralt’s face crumple in a way he’s never seen it do before. He’s not angry, or disgusted. Jaskier can’t even figure what he’d call the expression before Geralt is gone from the doorway without even a ‘hmm’. He’s out of the tavern before Jaskier can get his pants on to go after him. When he goes downstairs the next morning to take care of his few affairs before he leaves town, the tavern owner hands him a package, brown paper tied together with a yellow string. He unwraps it, guilty. He already knows who it’s from. It’s the kalimba he was looking at in the marketplace, only someone has taken a knife to the wood and delicately whittled a delineation of dandelions and buttercups onto it. Geralt kicks himself as he rides Roach hard away from the town. Of course Jaskier had someone else in his bed. Of course he didn’t want a freak like Geralt, with no fortune, no lands or titles, not even a home to shelter him during the winter, and no assurance he wouldn’t die the next job, leaving him alone. Of course Jaskier would choose a lord that would keep him comfortable and sated for the rest of his days. Geralt was the fool to believe Jaskier would want him.  It’s getting colder by the day and Jaskier can’t find Geralt anywhere, let alone hear heads or tails of him. On the road encounters Lambert again, having fucked him about a year ago for a week. That night at his camp site, Jaskier has too much fortified mead and tearfully explains the whole thing. Feeling pity for the bard and mirth at the idea of how much it would bother Geralt, Lambert decides to bring Jaskier to Kaer Morhen for the winter. Geralt isn’t there when they arrive and Jaskier is worried that Geralt, presumably still brooding, won’t even come to Kaer Morhen. The other witchers, handful of them, some familiar faces from overnight encounters, try to cheer him up. He plays some song and dines with the wolves. Vesemir is wise and kindly and offers Jaskier words of encouragement and assures him Geralt won’t hold a grudge. Finally after two days, Geralt leads Roach into the stables, shaking the snow from his hair. He smiles as he greets his mentor and his old friends. He goes upstairs to his old room, the one in the north wing that nobody wanted because the broken staircase was awfully hard to climb when you were drunk. Gods, Geralt couldn’t wait to get drunk and forget his problems just for one night. He comes down stairs and he thinks he’s dreaming when he sees Jaskier in a over jacket, pouring the surrounding witchers some mead. But he’s as real as the wind howling outside and Geralt hears his heart begin to race when their eyes meet.   ”Thought you’d be tucked away in one of your lord’s winter manors,” Jaskier mistakes the jab for banter and tries to follow it up, tries to pretend it’s the same as it used to be. ”No song there,” he says casually, “A winter in a Witcher’s keep sounds so much more interesting. Interesting bunch, you lot,” ”Why are you really here?” That’s his opportunity to ask to talk in private, to explain everything, to make things right but Lambert speaks first. ”The bard is our guest. He already familiar with Eskel, Aubry, and Nasir.” Lambert says and there’s a undertone that’s mean and snide, Jaskier doesn’t appreciate the way he says familiar. “Hell, I brought him here. Thought he could entertain us for the winter.” ”Familiar?” Geralt repeats, looking at the mentioned names. Then a look of understand blossoms over his face and his entire being turns sour. Geralt’s jaw clenches. He takes his plate and sits all the way down the table away from Jaskier and Lambert. Geralt says nothing else, through his aura is menacing, finishes his meal in dead silence, all the while feeling humiliated he stupidly let himself believe he was anything remarkable, unique, to Jaskier. When Lambert opens his mouth to try and incite some kind of response from the white wolf, Vesemir fixes him with a stern, dark look and his mouth clamps shut. They finish eating and clean up in the tense atmosphere. Some wolves stay downstairs to drink, and the younger ones are already howling as Jaskier goes up to Geralt door. Geralt refuses to open his door and it not until Jaskier finally manages to corner him in a broken stairwell in the dead of night, where there’s no room to dodge by him, does he get an opportunity to speak to him. ”Geralt, Geralt, wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” he tries, but Geralt won’t listen. He lifts Jaskier up by the waist and switches their positions. His hands around his waist makes Jaskier warm from the inside out. He tries to storm off but Jaskier clings to him desperately. Geralt brushes him off and continues down the hall. ”Please Geralt, please talk to me. I’m sorry I offended you during our last meeting, please can’t we talk?” ”Well done.” Geralt says, not turning around to face Jaskier. “You’ve hurt me in a measure proportionate to how I hurt you. Call it even and leave me be. Castle is plenty big enough that you and I won’t have to see each other over the winter.” ”Please Geralt, I know what I did was mean, but I love you.” Jaskier says, tears in his eyes, “I do, Geralt, I really do. I want to talk to you again. I miss you.” The rest of Geralt’s heart goes black and shrinks down to the size of a crab apple. The time where hearing that would’ve changed his life is long past, now it tastes bitter in his mouth. Geralt laughs in his face. They’re all same, his mother, Yennefer, Jaskier, they said loved him before they hurt him, like applying ice to the skin before a hot poker. And he was the heartless one when he pushed them away before they could hurt him.  ”I’m to believe there was something between us when at any opportunity you found another witcher to bed, some of them my brothers, to wring tales from so you could twist them into ballads? I don’t care that you did, we owe each other nothing. But you cannot honestly say what we had was special. I was never special to you.” ”You are,” Jaskier’s voice is croaky, his heart in his feet. How’d this all go wrong so quickly? ”I came to Kaer Morhen to find you,” Geralt sneers, ”Oh, pardon me, I thought you were here as Lambert’s guest.” ”Geralt, that’s not fair!” Jaskier cries out, “I didn’t know who he was when we slept together. And we were just friends,”  He’d take ‘just friends’ over this contempt, this terrible disdain. Then Geralt says something to him that hurts worst than what he said on the mountain. ”I mightn’t have been your only witcher, but you were my only bard.” And he goes to his room and closes the door firmly on Jaskier. Geralt leaves Kaer Morhen in the morning, the snow ankle deep and the frost setting in. Vesemir is worried that Geralt will have a hard time getting down the valley in the cold. Jaskier just feels like he lost a game without knowing the stakes.

#geraskier #angst #geralt x jaskier #ah fuck i made myself cry #geraskier fic #revenge sex and low self esteem are a bad mix