#comfy's corner

Why yes, yes I do... but I changed the flour to frosting, sorry.

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“Ger-ralt!” comes the shriek, shortly before an equally large spoonful of blue frosting gets launched over the counter in the Witcher’s direction. “This shirt was new!”

“Then why are you wearing it to bake and decorate cookies!?”

“Because I thought you might-” he shuts his mouth abruptly and returns to applying a delicate layer of pale silver piping to the cookie on his plate. “Because.”

Geralt doesn’t comment for a moment, content to watch Jaskier’s tongue poke out of the corner of his mouth as he works. He wants to reach out and swipe the stray bangs out of Jaskier’s eyes but he doesn’t know how welcome his touch will be after the frosting flinging of a moment ago. His lets himself drift in the pleasant warmth of his best friend’s frankly enormous kitchen; the perks of being a pop star, apparently. 

And why the pop star stayed friends with him after college Geralt still can’t begin to guess. Loyalty? Jaskier is a fiercely loyal friend. Adventure? Several of Geralt’s more fascinating experiences with monster hunting have ended up in the chorus of Jaskier’s hit songs. He still isn’t sure, but he’s happy to stick around for as long as he’s welcome.

Without looking up, the brunette says, “You’re staring again.”

“No I wasn’t,” Geralt lies. “You just have...”

He swipes his finger through the bowl of pink frosting and smudges it evenly along the soft skin of Jaskier’s lower cheek, nearly dipping below his jawline. 

“You just have some frosting on your face, that’s all.”

Jaskier glares from beneath his bangs and straightens up to face his poorly behaved kitchen assistant. “Wipe it off.”

Geralt leans in with the corner of his apron in hand but Jaskier turns away.

“Not like that,” he teases. “If you want to pay me back for all the havoc you’ve been wreaking on my kitchen, you know exactly how I want this frosting taken care of, Witcher.”

Geralt does not miss the way Jaskier’s heartbeat picks up as he leans forward. He also doesn’t miss the way his friend’s smell spikes pleasantly with excitement and happiness and perhaps even a little bit of relief when he realizes what Geralt has in mind this time. 

The Witcher kitten-licks the frosting from his friend’s face and immediately moves to put his sugar-coated tongue in that stupidly clever mouth. The kiss begins passionately and stays that way, too. Jaskier’s hands are in his hair, on his waist, all over his arms and chest - they never stop moving - as Geralt’s hands find the younger man’s hips and hold on. Jaskier’s waist is an anchor, keeping the Witcher against the surface of the earth as their mouths collide.

When they finally pull away, Jaskier is blushing and smiling as brightly as the Yule Log that crackles in the fire. “What a wonderful present.”

You truly do share a braincell with me. I might just do that. Maybe a sonnet or two.

When I saw you, my heartbeat gained a quickness

That only sprinters live to tell about;

For when I was facéd with that thiccness

Ahhhhhh Goob Morning lovely!

16) What fanfic tropes do you avoid writing for?

Oh geez uh... fake dating? I’m bad at it. I love to read fake dating/fake marriage aus but I am SHIT at figuring out how to write them. 

Also the miscommunication trope ie Romeo and Juliet. Idk why but that shit bugs me. Just talk! Just fucking have a conversation you dumb sluts!

17) What fanfic tropes do you gravitate towards writing for?

Uhhhh that’s quite a list. I love soulmate aus, reincarnation, vampires, curses, true love’s kiss is my mega-fav if y’all can’t tell, retelling fairytales, there was only one bed, sleeping together platonically but waking up snuggling... I can go on forever honestly. These two idiots are so MALLEABLE.

14) How do you feel about your older work?

Oh yes, thank you darling; this is exactly what I needed.

tw: catmint/drug-like effects, mood altering substances

---

“He’s so... soft,” Geralt says slowly, eyes shining in the dim light coming from the fireplace. Eskel is smirking and Lambert’s eyes have rolled nearly all the way back into his head. Vesemir and Jaskier are standing in the far doorway, silently listening; Jaskier’s sudden arrival at the keep for winter had been planned as a birthday surprise for Geralt. 

The secret stash of catmint being brought out to enjoy was Lambert’s additional prank. 

He hadn’t been expecting this kind of reaction from his older brother at all.

“He’s so soft,” Geralt repeats, hands drawing Jaskier’s outline in the air. “And sweet. And kind. And fierce! Oh, he’s like a wildcat when he’s angry. It’s beautiful, Eskel, you should see him when he’s angry. It’s glorious!”

Jaskier wipes a tear from his cheek and stifles a happy sniffle. Vesemir pats his shoulder approvingly and his chest floods with warmth and contentment.

“His eyes,” Geralt sighs happily, his expression dreamy and his gaze far away, “His eyes are the prettiest color in the world. Bluer than any ocean. Brighter than the sun. Oh, he’s beautiful.”

“Do you really think about me like that, Geralt?”

The Witcher’s pupils dilate with excitement and he rises to his feet in one swift motion. “Julek!”

“Hello,” the bard blushes. Vesemir pushes him forward, out of the shadows, and Geralt’s arms engulf him instantly. He’s crushed happily against a muscular, rumbling chest. He’s only heard Geralt purr a few times before, but this is different.

This is deep and happy and safe. Geralt pulls Jaskier onto one of the furs before the fire and wraps his arms around his middle, tucking the bard against his body. “Hmm. You’re cold. I’ll warm you up, Julek, and you rest. Thank you for coming to visit me.”

Oh Comfy, you always come to my aid with the best ideas and prompts. Thank you, boo.

I’m goofin’ with the lore a little so if Amaryllis wouldn’t actually poison Geralt canonically... deal with it for the sake of my whumpy fluff.

Poem is Sonnet 98 by my boy Willy Shakes (the OG Bard).

tw: poison, whump with a fluffy ending

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“Shit,” Jaskier mutters, flinging his empty bag to the side in his haste. His hands dig through one of Roach’s saddlebags, then the other. “Where the fuck is it!? Where is it!?”

“J-Ja-”

“Hush, Geralt,” the bard orders with what little breath he has. He’s trying with all his might not to let the tears clouding his vision fall but it’s too late for that; he’s already a mess. Geralt is lying there, barely conscious, his skin as cold as death, and all Jaskier can do is panic and stumble around the campsite in search of some Swallow. “Fuck me, where is that blasted potion?!”

“Jaskier,” the Witcher whispers. “All gone.”

“What do you mean all gone?!”

“None left. Stock up.”

“Fuck! Fuck!” he cries. “I’m not going to lose you like this! Not like this, to something so stupid.”

Oh yes we love that.

We are going back to the canon universe for this one

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Geralt frowned and flashed his canines as the eager-eyed farmboy approached their table. The redheaded youngster considered his options before changing course and returning to the bar. “Huh. I thought he was going to accept my offer to dance,” Jaskier shrugged.

“Hmm.”

“Well, since my partner has disappeared I suppose I must find another,” Jaskier mused, eyes wandering over the crowd. Something twisted in Geralt’s gut and he pushed his tankard to the side.

“I’ll do it.”

“Excuse me, Geralt?”

“I’ll dance with you for awhile,” the Witcher offered. “But only if we can get to sleep at a decent time.”

“Of course,” the bard smiled.