Geraltfluffweek

Let’s get out of here

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, The Witcher (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion Additional Tags: Fluff, GeraltFluffWeek, Day 7, being cute and ridiculous, Established Relationship Summary:

The banquet is freaking boring, like always, so Geralt and Jaskier decide they should get the fuck out.

Word count: 1916

Day/Prompt: Day 6 & 7 - Fighting/Contracts/Monsters & Established Relationship for @geraltfluffweek

Characters/Pairings: Geraskier

No warnings apply

"Have I told you I love your hands?"

"Yes, you have."

"Have I told you why I love them?"

"Yes. Many times."

Jaskier then hesitates, just for a second before slightly raising his head from Geralt's shoulder and gazing at him. A glint wild with tenderness sparkles in his eyes. "Mind if I tell you again?"

A sigh. Then a smile. "No. Not at all."

Excuse the long post, mobile, Tumblr, sucks etc. I have posted this as an AO3 link too, but who knows if that’s gonna show up in the tags?

Anyway pls enjoy.

/\/\/\/\/\

Constellation of the Heart

They meet up with Yennefer in a village too small to have its own blacksmith but large enough to have its own werewolf problem. Geralt deals with that problem and first thing the next morning, as arranged, he contacts her so she can portal to their location and bring all three of them – Geralt, Jaskier and herself – and Roach to Kaer Morhen the easy – well, the quick – way; they’ve left it far too late to get there before the winter reaches its worst without her help.

She appears on the village green about ten minutes after he performs the spell she gave him months ago, and immediately embraces him.

“I’ve missed you,” she says, and her voice is so warm, her arms so tight around him… It feels wonderful. Given the way things started between them all those years ago, he spent so long assuming he could never have this, they could never have this – real, genuine affection and love – but here it is, here she is.

“You too,” he mutters back, and he struggles to infuse his words with the warmth he also wants to reciprocate, but he knows she’ll know he means it. She lets go of him and pulls back so she can give him a brief, gentle kiss.

Jaskier, meanwhile, is standing patiently by, watching and looking utterly charmed by the scene before him. When Yen steps back from Geralt, she turns to him and smiles, and honestly, that never gets old (or much less surprising), the two of them looking at each other with fondness instead of jealousy or derision. Oh, they’ll no doubt bitch and curse at each other whenever Yen is with them over the coming season, but now it would actually be disappointing if they didn’t. Yen kisses Jaskier too and asks him if he’s managed to actually write any good songs yet; Jaskier says that he has, thanks, nearly as many as the amount of children she’s given nightmares since last they met, and then they laugh and hug each other.

Watching them with a slight smile, Geralt feels a tenderness rising in his chest that, even a few years ago, he couldn’t possibly have imagined.

“Do you still have business here, or are you ready to leave immediately?” Yen asks them, looking hopeful – not that she cares much more for Kaer Morhen than she does for middle-of-nowhere villages with absolutely nothing going on.

“We can go now,” Geralt says. “I’ll get Roach.”

“I’ll get her!” Jaskier offers cheerfully and hurries off, and Geralt knows he’s trying to give them a couple of minutes alone together, which is completely unnecessary but still very sweet. He puts his arm around Yen’s shoulders and she puts hers around his waist, and they chat about her plans for the winter while they wait.

A few minutes later Jaskier reappears, leading Roach, who’s already laden with all their belongings and ready to go. Yen lets go of Geralt, creates one of her swirling, nightmarish arcane doorways with a complicated but seemingly effortless gesture, and disappears through it with a quick smile back at them.

“Roach, follow Yen,” Geralt tells his horse, and because she is such a wonderful, excellently trained horse, and far less disturbed by portal travel than Geralt himself, she calmly obeys.

Geralt stands and resignedly watches the vortex swirling for a moment, and Jaskier quickly appears right by his side, taking his hand and lifting it to his mouth for a gentle kiss.

“You know Yen can’t hold the thing open indefinitely, love,” he reminds Geralt gently. “And you know if she has to open another one for us she’ll wait about nine hours first just to be a bitch about it…” he adds, less gently.

She probably would too.

“Come on then,” Geralt says with an amused smile, and honestly, despite all that life has thrown at him, he feels like a lucky man as he lets Jaskier lead him home, never letting go of his hand. 

***

Geralt is not entirely surprised to see Lambert on the stone steps of the main hall as he and Jaskier emerge in the courtyard – it’s early, but it would have to be earlier for the wolves of Kaer Morhen not to be up and about. Lambert has his arms crossed and his usual scowl in place, glaring at Yen, who’s mirroring his posture and glaring back with a sparkle in her eye, but he brightens visibly when he sees Geralt and Jaskier.

“Happy winter, Buttercup!” he calls out to Jaskier, jogging down the steps to wrap the bard in an enthusiastic hug. Geralt never saw Lambert hug anyone in his entire life until he first brought Jaskier here, and he’s pretty certain it’s entirely due to his influence that Lambert greets him with a tight hug too. “Geralt, it’s good to see you!”

“Lambert! We’ve missed you!” Jaskier tells him earnestly, and Geralt snorts – only Jaskier would miss Lambert. Well, only Jaskier would admit to it, anyway.

“Didn’t know you were coming too, witch,” Lambert finally greets Yen.

“Didn’t know you’d managed to survive the year, idiot,” Yen shoots back, but then they grin viciously at each other. Geralt knows these two don’t entirely trust each other, but he still likes it that, in their own way, they get on now.

“What happened?” Geralt hears Vesemir’s disapproving voice from the main door. “You leave it too late to get back the normal way? Again?”

Geralt’s instinct is to feel embarrassed at his tone, but then he thinks of the people he would not have been there to save had he been more disciplined in his schedule, of how proud Jaskier was, always is, of the work he does, and it dissipates quickly. Vesemir looks pleased, anyhow, despite his words. He doesn’t hug Geralt, but he grips his upper arms, looking intently at him as if he’s inspecting him, and nods as if happy with what he sees, and it feels a lot like being embraced anyway. Vesemir turns to Yen and bows respectfully, then to Jaskier to shake his hand politely, a gesture Jaskier always finds charming in its over-formality.

“Where’s Eskel?” Jaskier asks, just as Geralt spots him approaching at an irregular pace, as if he really wants to get to them but doesn’t want to seem too eager. Geralt’s chest aches slightly as his heart beats faster, and if he could blush he feels like he would be. Eskel seems to have eyes only for him, and when he reaches them he doesn’t even say a word, just gives him that broad, handsome smile, takes his face in his hands and kisses him deeply.

“What the hell, Geralt? Him too?” Yen’s voice interrupts their sweet moment together, and when they separate he sees her looking at him, her hands on her hips, looking both indignant and amused. Lambert looks as surprised as Geralt has ever seen him, while Vesemir looks not at all surprised but is rolling his eyes as if they were misbehaving children again.

“You didn’t tell her?” Eskel and Jaskier both exclaim at exactly the same time.

“I meant to tell you,” he says, addressing Yen and ignoring everyone else. “It’s, hmm, a recent… development…”

She looks like she’s trying to look displeased, but it’s not convincing, not to him, not now.

“I can’t keep up,” she complains teasingly, taking his arm as Eskel takes the other. “I shall have to find another lover. Maybe two.”

“You fucking disgust me. All of you. Except you, Buttercup,” he hears Lambert bitching behind him as the two of them lead him up the steps, following Vesemir, who has clearly had enough and disappeared inside already. Catching himself by surprise, he laughs, a quiet laugh he would once have fought against with all his might. He feels so warm, so cared for and loved – he feels like he’s home.

***

“I feel very… fortunate,” he says to Jaskier later that day. It’s just the two of them, for now, wrapped up in front of a roaring fire – it’s acceptable to laze about in comfort for the first day or two after arriving, but it won’t be for long, and they’re taking full advantage of it.

Jaskier, of course, seems to know exactly what he’s talking about and understand the feelings his few, ineptly used words are intended to express.

“We’re the fortunate ones, darling,” he says with a sleepy smile and a sweet, chaste kiss. “Everyone whose life you’re a part of is incredibly fortunate. We – Lambert and Vesemir too, but Yen and Eskel and me even moreso – we must be the luckiest people in the whole world, to get to be closest to you.” He sighs happily and, although it’s physically impossible, makes a valiant effort to snuggle even closer to Geralt under their blanket of quilts and furs.

Jaskier absolutely believes what he’s saying, no doubt. Still, Geralt thinks he’s wrong. After all, he’s the one with a loving, if unconventional, family; he’s the one adored by three beautiful, amazing people. It seems pretty clear that all the luck in the world belongs to him.

/\/\/\/\/\

Bonus: extremely important notes I added on the AO3 version as part of a game I like to call: Headcanons for Your Own Fic!

(teen | canon au, dream eater jaskier, a little bit of hurt/comfort, mostly fluff and silliness, dadralt is best geralt)

—

Geralt feels eyes on him from across the table, and he looks up from his meagre breakfast to quirk an eyebrow at Ciri, who’s watching him with wide green eyes. “What?”

“I have a contract for you,” she says, voice a mock-whisper. She’s holding onto the edge of the table, almost not big enough to reach, her chin on her hands.

The bustle of patrons around them is minimal at the early hour, the inn not quite awake yet. The innkeep wipes down the bar while the barmaid makes quick rounds to deliver bowls of bland oatmeal to the few people scattered around.

“Eat your breakfast,” he tells her, gesturing to her own plate of fruits. She makes a face but obediently picks up a piece and puts it in her mouth. “What’s this about a contract?”

She perks up, and he watches with no little amount of bemusement as she pulls the coin pouch he’d gifted her some years ago from her coat and puts it on the table between them. It makes an impressive thunk against the wood, and he’s proud of how she’s been saving her coin, like he’d taught her.

“There’s a monster you need to hunt,” she tells him seriously. She nudges the pouch towards him. “Fifteen crowns for the job.”

He eyes her for a moment, her gaze steady and unblinking in return. Casually, he picks up the pouch, pretending to weigh it and think it over. They both know he’s not going to actually take it from her, but she likes the pretense, likes pretending.

After another moment of them staring each other down, he indulges her. “What’s the job?”

Her eyes dart around, like she’s looking for possible eavesdroppers—smart girl, though unnecessary; he’d know if they had any unwanted listeners long before she would, and it’s too early, besides—before she goes on in an even lower voice, though he has no trouble picking up her words.

“There’s a monster under the bed,” she whispers, like she’s sharing a secret.

Geralt blinks—that’s not what he was expecting at all. His brow furrows. “Under the inn bed?”

She nods, eyes still wide. “He talks to me when I have nightmares. Says he eats them and then gives me good dreams.”

Her nose scrunches and she reaches for another piece of fruit from the almost-forgotten plate in front of her. “I don’t remember my dreams, so I don’t know if he’s really telling the truth. His teeth are big. I think he just says he eats dreams because I catch him before he can eat me.”

(teen | canon au, dream eater jaskier, a little bit of hurt/comfort, mostly fluff and silliness, dadralt is best geralt)

—

Geralt feels eyes on him from across the table, and he looks up from his meagre breakfast to quirk an eyebrow at Ciri, who’s watching him with wide green eyes. “What?”

“I have a contract for you,” she says, voice a mock-whisper. She’s holding onto the edge of the table, almost not big enough to reach, her chin on her hands.

The bustle of patrons around them is minimal at the early hour, the inn not quite awake yet. The innkeep wipes down the bar while the barmaid makes quick rounds to deliver bowls of bland oatmeal to the few people scattered around.

“Eat your breakfast,” he tells her, gesturing to her own plate of fruits. She makes a face but obediently picks up a piece and puts it in her mouth. “What’s this about a contract?”

She perks up, and he watches with no little amount of bemusement as she pulls the coin pouch he’d gifted her some years ago from her coat and puts it on the table between them. It makes an impressive thunk against the wood, and he’s proud of how she’s been saving her coin, like he’d taught her.

“There’s a monster you need to hunt,” she tells him seriously. She nudges the pouch towards him. “Fifteen crowns for the job.”

He eyes her for a moment, her gaze steady and unblinking in return. Casually, he picks up the pouch, pretending to weigh it and think it over. They both know he’s not going to actually take it from her, but she likes the pretense, likes pretending.

After another moment of them staring each other down, he indulges her. “What’s the job?”

Her eyes dart around, like she’s looking for possible eavesdroppers—smart girl, though unnecessary; he’d know if they had any unwanted listeners long before she would, and it’s too early, besides—before she goes on in an even lower voice, though he has no trouble picking up her words.

“There’s a monster under the bed,” she whispers, like she’s sharing a secret.

Geralt blinks—that’s not what he was expecting at all. His brow furrows. “Under the inn bed?”

She nods, eyes still wide. “He talks to me when I have nightmares. Says he eats them and then gives me good dreams.”

Her nose scrunches and she reaches for another piece of fruit from the almost-forgotten plate in front of her. “I don’t remember my dreams, so I don’t know if he’s really telling the truth. His teeth are big. I think he just says he eats dreams because I catch him before he can eat me.”

Title: Constellation of the Heart

Day/prompt: day two, Kaer Morhen/ Wolf Witchers

Pairings/characters: Geralt/Jaskier, Geralt/Yennefer, Geralt/Yennefer/Jaskier, Geralt/Eskel, also featuring Lambert, Vesemir and of course, Roach

Other tags: poly, everyone loves Geralt, Geralt loves everyone, OT3+ (is that a tag? Should be), Geralt needs hugs and gets them, my fave trope of Lambert calling Jaskier Buttercup

“I believe you took my boat,” he announces tiredly as he enters the circle of light, and men immediately seizes up their swords and axes, standing up. “I’m not looking for a fight, just my boat.”

or: Geralt was supposed to be taking a vacation with Jaskier on Ard Skellig. He should not be taking contracts and fighting bandits. There are some good surprises that come out of that though.

Written for @geraltfluffweek day 6 prompt: Fighting/Contract/Monsters!

The contract is easy enough, on paper at least. A pack of Muire D’yaeblen, drowners as the Skelliger calls them, and maybe a water hag. It isn’t easy navigating the boat through the waters that surrounded Ard Skellig, but he manages, barely getting any of the water on himself.

The monsters are sloppy, leaving bits of people floating all over the water, leading directly to their lair. Geralt is quietly glad that he isn’t swimming in there. It would for sure get caught in his hair, and then he would have to wash human and monster guts off himself, and he might be a witcher, but even he had limits. Human guts, when unnecessary, are way past that limit. Plus, Jaskier would surely make a comment or three about his innards-covered witcher again, and since they are supposedly on vacation, he would rather not annoy the bard.

Entering the lair is easy, and he takes Cat to keep his human sight from being a problem. As always, the taste is unpleasant, but he doesn’t balk away from it as he had when he was younger. He finds the drowners easily enough, their stench heavy through the air, and it doesn’t take long for them to die from his blade.

After all, the monsters are disorganized and messy, despite their strength and number. There is also a water hag, which makes Geralt groan to himself. Great, now it won’t be just monster blood, but also mud. Fantastic. He is going to get an earful from Jaskier, and he isn’t looking forward to it.

Ten drowners and a water hag aren’t a match for him however, and they are soon dead. He comes out of the lair with mud sticking to his hair and clothes, only to find that his boat has disappeared. Geralt has half a mind of just walking back to the town, but he had borrowed the boat from a small fisherman, and he knows guilt would eat him alive if he didn’t try and bring it back at the very least. That, and he would have to pay for it.

I’m fine (now that I have you)

Art

Geraskier (Netflix)

Day six: FIGHTING/CONTRACTS/MONSTERS

NOTES: how many times do you think Geralt barely survived a fight and then had to heal in the wild, alone and open for another attack? I willing to bet that it happened too many times. Now that he has Jaskier, he never has to treat his wounds alone, and suddenly, the Witcher life doesn’t seem that bad when Jaskier is around

Day 6 Prompt for @geraltfluffweek: Fighting/Contracts/Monsters

Rating: Teen Relationship/s: Geralt/Jaskier Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence

Excerpt:

It wasn’t supposed to go this way.

All Geralt needed to do was to track down those necrophages that’s been feasting on the town’s cemetery, located in the outskirts near a dense forest. That part was laughably easy, and he made quick work of dispatching them. Rotfiends usually hunt in packs, so that should’ve been his first clue that something was amiss when he only saw three.

The moment Geralt’s silver sword, slick with necrophage oil, cuts off the third rotfiend’s head, he hears rustling coming from the edge of the forest. He looks up in time to see a dozen more come out, the breeze carrying the stench of their decomposing bodies and nearly overwhelming Geralt’s senses.

“Fuck,” Geralt curses as he grips his sword anew. He’s half-tempted to just cast Igni on them, but that’s a rookie mistake and Geralt has every intention to make it out alive. “Fucking fuck. Shit. Should’ve doubled the reward, fucking buggers.”

The nearest necrophages make a lunge at Geralt, and he easily strikes them down. He manages to take down half a dozen while he signs Aard at another, teeth gritted and face fixed in a scowl. Unfortunately, one manages to sneak behind him and hit his side, causing the witcher to stumble. Geralt growls before he pivots and cuts off their arm before slicing their head off, only to have a second rotfiend pounce on him. The force knocks him to the ground, his grip on his sword loosening.

“Ugh, chew a fucking mint,” Geralt snarls when they descend on him, their breaths reeking of death and viscera.

He kicks and punches them before he sees a window of opportunity to grasp his sword and cast a quick Aard, causing them to fly off at a considerable distance. His ribs are aching and his side is burning, and Geralt can feel blood running down his flank from where he was struck. The second wave of the creatures rapidly approaches, and Geralt uses the few seconds he has to take the bottle of necrophage oil from the pouch attached to his hip and tip the contents over his silver sword.

Better safe than sorry, he thinks as he returns the empty bottle in his pouch.

Geralt grits his teeth and braces himself for a long night.

~

He passes out in the field, surrounded by mangled corpses of the monsters he’s slain. The last thought that passes over Geralt’s mind before he loses consciousness is—

Fuck, I’m never gonna hear the end of this from Jaskier.

~

Some time later, Geralt regains consciousness.

The first thing he notices is that he’s lying in something soft, if a little scratchy. Hmm, straw mattress, then.

The second is that he’s devoid of his armour, the familiar feeling of bandages wrapped around his torso and shoulders alerting him that he was found and is somewhere safe.

The third thing Geralt notices is the feel of warm, calloused fingers tightly clasping his limp hand. His brows furrow at the unfamiliar sensation of someone voluntarily holding his hand, their fingers entwined like lovers do.

Geralt distantly hears himself grunt, the sound low and pained even to his ears.

The hand gripping Geralt tightens for a fraction before their thumb starts rubbing soothing circles over his knuckles.

“It’s okay, you’re safe now, darling,” a familiar voice filters through Geralt’s sluggish mind. It takes him a moment to realise that it’s Jaskier. Jaskier holding his hand and cooing sweet nothings, as if it will bring comfort to the injured witcher.

“Hmm,” Geralt hears himself say. It’s nice, he thinks, being touched like this.

Jaskier lightly squeezes his hand, then there’s a rustling of fabric followed by the scraping of a wooden chair being shuffled closer. A moment later and Geralt feels fingers brush a few strands of hair from his forehead to tuck it behind his ear. Another trails featherlight touches across his cheek, the heavy breathing of the bard next him loud in the stillness of the room.

“I’m so fucking glad you’re gonna be okay,” Jaskier says in a choked voice. “I demanded the alderman double your reward, because those were not a few necrophages you fought, my dear.”

“Nngh,” Geralt grunts in agreement.

Jaskier laughs, a wet sound as he sniffs. Something in Geralt twinges at the thought of the bard crying. He doesn’t like it when Jaskier cries.

“Jas,” he mumbles, although it comes out sounding more gibberish.

“Rest, my love,” Jaskier tells him soothingly, his voice sounding raspier by the second. Geralt hears him sniffle again, followed by the distinct salty scent of tears. “You’re safe. I’ll never leave your side.”

Sentimental idiot, Geralt muses fondly as he replies with another hum. It’d take more than a pack of those buggers to bring him down.

And yet.

Thoughts of Jaskier worrying over him, doting him like a mother-hen, and tending to his injuries brings a surge of warmth to his chest. And though a part of him feels guilty for distressing Jaskier, the bigger part in him is beyond moved to have his bard care so much for him.

Hmm. That sounds nice.

Word count: 1242

Day/Prompt: Day 5 - Magic for @geraltfluffweek

Characters/Pairings: Geraskier

No warnings apply

(it's the fifth time i post this if it doesn't make it to the tags again i swear to god)

"I didn't know your voice is actually magical," the witcher smiled sleepily and let out a long sigh, feeling soft fingertips trailing his face.

Jaskier chuckled. "Oh, it's not. I just love you too much."

Day 5 Prompt for @geraltfluffweek: Magic

Rating: Teen Relationship/s: Geralt/Jaskier Warnings: None

Summary:

Geralt gets turned into a teen, Jaskier finds him adorable, and along the way Geralt finally learns to use his words.

Excerpt:

“Oh, aren’t you a poor, lovesick one,” the sorceress simpers. She tilts her head, a mischievous smile on her face as she hums thoughtfully at Geralt. “Touch-starved, too. Gods, it must be horrible being a Witcher. All that sacrifice for the greater good has done shit for you. Tell me, when was the last time you didn’t pay someone to touch you?”

Geralt growls in response, gloved hand tightening on the hilt of his silver sword as he ignores the pang in his chest at the cruel words. It’s really not the time let his guard down.

However, before he can take a step forward, the sorceress, dressed in a deep emerald velvet gown, speaks up again.

“I was just on my way after, hmm, tying up some loose ends, so there’s no need for you to growl like a mutt. But you’re a special case, Geralt of Rivia. Perhaps I’ll leave you with a parting gift instead. It should be fun, turning you inside out. Which, you’re welcome, by the way.”

“The fuck—”

Geralt’s irritated response is quickly cut off when the sorceress murmurs an incantation under her breath that not even his enhanced hearing could make out.

A burst of white light is the last thing Geralt sees before he loses consciousness.

~

“Huh.”

“What huh? What does that mean? Is he okay? What is it?”

“It means that I’m assessing your friend, so shut your mouth.”

“Well, that’s very rude—!”

“Jaskier, shut up,” Geralt says through gritted teeth with a hard shove of his elbow to Jaskier’s ribs.

The bard makes an oomph noise before he meets Geralt’s glare with an annoyed huff. Jaskier looks down at Geralt, mouth opening to make a retort, only to shut it closed when he sees the witcher’s expression. Jaskier purses his lips before he looks away, but not before Geralt glimpses the slight twitch on the bard’s mouth.

If possible, the witcher’s scowl deepens when he sees that. Sure, Jaskier is worried about him, hence why they’re at the village’s local mage right now. But not only can Geralt see the unmistakable concern in the bard’s cornflower blue eyes, but he can also smell the amusement pouring off of him in waves. He obviously finds this whole thing hilarious, no matter how worried he appears to be for Geralt’s welfare after his altercation with that godsdamned witch.

Who has likely fucked off to the other side of the Continent, liking searching for her next victims in some backwater village to do god knows what.

Not really Geralt’s problem anymore. However, his current predicament belies that thought.

After some time, the local mage finally straightens up from examining Geralt. One look at her and Geralt’s stomach sinks in dread when he sees the sympathetic look in her grey eyes.

“I’m afraid I can’t do much for you dear,” the mage, Adelaide, says. She sounds genuinely apologetic when she adds, “It’s a simple curse, but I can’t remove it. Sorry.”

“Why can’t you remove it?” Jaskier asks, frowning.

Adelaide shrugs one shoulder. “Because the only one who can break it is the person who has been cursed.”

Almost in unison, the mage and the bard turn their heads to look at Geralt. He glares at them in return when he discerns Jaskier’s questioning gaze.

“If I knew how to break it, do you think we’d be here asking for the fucking cure in the first place?” he snaps, crossing his arms over his, significantly, smaller chest.

“Language,” Adelaide quips. Geralt’s jaw drops when Jaskier gasps at the mage and doesn’t bother to hide his snort of laughter.

“Not. Fucking. Funny.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jaskier says with a shit-eating grin that Geralt is incredibly tempted to wipe off with his fist. “It’s pretty funny, actually. Sixteen-year-old you looks absolutely adorable, Geralt!”

Geralt gives Jaskier his dirtiest look, but he knows the effect of his glare is lost because who would take him seriously when he barely reaches the bard’s chest?

~

“You’re not actually going to carry your swords, are you?”

“They’re not that heavy.”

“Hmm, well, no. I know that. But see, we’re trying to be discreet here. If others see a child with a witcher’s swords strapped to their back, they’re going to wonder, and then they’re going to talk. That’s the opposite of what we’re trying to do here.”

“Fuck.”

An exasperated sigh.

“You really should mind your language, Geralt. People are going to talk and assume I’m a bad influence on a sweet-faced, innocent-looking chi— ow!”

“Fuck off, Jaskier.”

“Rather not, thanks. Now come on, you should ride on Roach, your legs are too— uh. That is, you’re not wearing the proper footwear. And it’s, um, half a day’s ride to the next town. We can settle there first before contacting Yennefer.”

“… Fine.”

“Alright. Great! Here, let me—”

“I don’t need your fucking help. I can get on Roach myself!”

“But—”

“Jaskier.”

“Alright, fine! Hands to myself, see?”

A very, very long moment of silence.

Roach whinnies.

“Fuck.”

“Um, so—”

“Yes. And shut up. We will not speak of this.”

“Sure, Geralt. Sure.”

~

There are a few things which Geralt takes note of:

He’s physically sixteen-years-old again, meaning that his body is not of a Witcher’s, but is instead of a child’s. So nobody looks twice at him, in fear or disgust. Frankly, Geralt finds the sudden anonymity refreshing.

Because he looks like he used to before the trials, his hair is back to its original brunet, striking green eyes replacing golden cat-like eyes.

Geralt was never a short person to begin with, but he absolutely detests how Jaskier towers over him. The bard’s cornflower blue eyes twinkles as he smiles impishly down at Geralt, the annoying bastard. Geralt’s petty enough to kick his shin, but chooses not to for some reason.

Which brings him to his fourth observation:

The human part of Geralt that craves physical affection, that constant phantom ache in his chest that only dulled with time, comes back in almost full force.

And it frightens Geralt how easy it is to allow himself to feel human again.

Magic touch

Art

Day five: MAGIC

Geraskier (Netflix)

NOTES: when Geralt goes full feral, the only person to really snap him out of it is Jaskier. Many have joked that Jaskier has a magic touch or what not, but does he really?? Yep I’m jumping on the Magical Jaskier AU

For the  @geraltfluffweek​ -  Day 4: Hugs/cuddling

It’s been a while since I was planning to do this crossover with The Witcher and The Man from U.N.C.L.E., I decided to combine the two fandoms in this nice event.

Summary:

(gen audiences | huddling for warmth, pre-relationship geraskier)

—

Geralt fully expects the bard—Jaskier, he calls himself—to give up the idea of following a witcher around for inspiration after a week or two. 

The ordeal with the sylvan and the elves doesn’t phase him—much—so he figures letting him tag along and learn what it means to walk the Path will be eye-opening enough. Some people need to learn through personal experience, he thinks, and Jaskier seems like one of those people who have to make mistakes himself to understand the consequences his actions and decisions have. 

That was in the summer. 

Winter is setting in now, and Geralt glances over to watch Jaskier mutter to himself as he pulls his jacket closer around himself, his shoulders up at his ears. He’s not outfitted in the slightest for the weather, still clothed in flimsy, bright-dyed silks, and his teeth chatter as the chill bite of the wind turns his cheeks pink. He looks utterly miserable. 

And yet he’s here. Here, with Geralt, in the cold and the snow, instead of holed up in court somewhere where there are willing bodies around to keep him warm and sated with food and sex. He complains about it enough, how traveling with a witcher means none of the luxuries he’s used to, and how much of a tragedy it is. 

Geralt wonders why he’s still here, then, if that’s how he feels, but men make very little sense. And Jaskier, he’s learning, makes even less sense than anyone. 

I want to help you, Jaskier had said. Geralt snorts. No one wants to help a witcher. No one is ever kind to a witcher, because witchers are not kind. 

No one except Jaskier, apparently, who is following a witcher around on a whim and singing his praises—and who is not dressed for cold weather, because he is an idiot following a witcher around on a whim. 

Geralt ignores the budding warmth in his breast and rolls his eyes with a sigh. “Bard." 

Jaskier’s muttering stops and he looks up at him, blue eyes wide. The chattering of his teeth does not stop, and he curls further in on himself, leaning closer to their fire. "What? Is something wrong?" 

"Your teeth are going to crack at this point,” Geralt says, watching with amusement as Jaskier’s cheeks flush in embarrassment. 

“Not my fault I’m not built for this weather,” he says petulantly. “Not all of us can just sit out in the cold for as long as we like. Are witchers cold-blooded? Is that why you can stand the freezing winds?" 

Geralt’s brow lifts, the corner of his mouth twitching up. "We run hot, actually. Weird side-effect of the mutations.”

“Bastard,” Jaskier sulks, pouting at the fire. “Of course you do." 

"Jaskier,” Geralt says, and when he has those blue eyes on him again, he holds out an arm and says, “Come here." 

Jaskier eyes him suspiciously but doesn’t hesitate to stand and move closer. He takes a seat beside Geralt and then leans into him, tucking himself into Geralt’s side as his arm comes around his shoulders. Geralt pulls his heavy cloak around them, and it makes an immediate difference: Jaskier’s shoulders relax their tension, and he blows out a relieved breath. 

"Oh, that’s nice,” he sighs, and his arm snakes around Geralt’s waist so they sit in a more comfortable embrace. He tucks his nose into Geralt’s neck, and Geralt almost flinches at the ice-coldness of it. Almost. “That’s really nice. Thank you." 

Geralt hums. He pulls Jaskier a little tighter against his side. "Didn’t want to have to listen to your moaning if you lost your teeth." 

"Sure, sure,” Jaskier agrees, in that way that says he doesn’t buy a lick of the bullshit coming out of Geralt’s mouth. “Purely selfish reasons to make sure I don’t freeze to death. Absolutely. I’m sure there was nothing in that white-haired head of yours that wanted to do it out of the kindness of your nonexistent heart. I understand." 

"I’m not kind,” Geralt says. 

Jaskier’s arm squeezes around him. “Not at all,” he agrees. “Admit it, though. You like me at least a little." 

"You’re a pest." 

"But one you like, right?" 

"Don’t push it." 

"You wouldn’t survive if you lost my charming anecdotes and sweet melodies,” Jaskier says, sounding sure of himself. “Now that you’ve got them, you’d be at a loss without them. I have that kind of effect on people. I know I’m irresistible." 

"Irresistibly hard to not want to hit, maybe,” Geralt says, and he feels the urge to grin again when Jaskier makes offended noises and gently hits him in reprimand. 

Most people wouldn’t dare act so familiar with him, too afraid of what he might do in return. Not Jaskier, though. Jaskier sees right through him and has apparently decided he likes what he sees. 

Geralt…doesn’t hate it. He thinks he should, that maybe he’s supposed to. Witchers don’t have friends. They don’t have people who joke with them and sing songs about them and follow them across the continent just because. Most people can’t stand them long enough to get past the fear. 

But, he thinks, Jaskier isn’t most people. Jaskier is…Jaskier. 

Word count: 1486

Day/Prompt: Day 3 & 4 - Family & Cuddling/Hugs for @geraltfluffweek

Characters: Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier/Dandelion, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon

Pairings: Geraskier

No warnings apply

(reposting because it didn't make it to the tags. again.)

Jaskier took both of Geralt’s hands in his, forcing him to turn around whole and face him properly. "Being a witcher is not what is going to make you a different parent. What is going to make you a different parent is the amount of love and care and protection you’re going to give to this girl, and I know pretty well you’re more than capable of those things."

The Wolf and the Swallow

Art

No ships (the Wild Hunt)

Day four: HUGS/CUDDLES

NOTES: the reunion scene in the Wild Hunt is great and all but can I have a little bit more?? Please? (I actually posted something already for today’s prompt but the longer I looked at it the more I hated it)