#future geraskier

And today for things nobody asked for... Witcher Wolfwalkers au!

Plot rambling under the cut

The Greek god in gym clothes was enormous. He was built like a brick-fucking-wall and seemed to be just as broad. He got home from his job at the gym every afternoon at 5:45pm on the dot and Jaskier loved to quietly observe from the safety of his own apartment as the stranger walked down the sidewalk between their buildings. His ass was always swathed in a pair of gloriously tight joggers and his arms always looked like small tree trunks no matter what style of shirt he wore.

Jaskier watched him struggle with the door for another moment, a dreamy look on his face.

Eventually the adorable hunk figured out his issue and blushed scarlet before slipping quietly into the maintenance building. “Cute,” Jaskier muttered to himself. “So cute and so fucking stupid.” 

Hey darling! Sorry this prompt took me forever and day to get around to! I hope you enjoy <3

#3 from this list was “I’m sorry I yelled at you”

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Jaskier stood inside the upstairs hallway of the inn he and Geralt were to be staying at that evening.

If Geralt was willing to share a room with him, that was.

Taking a deep breath, Jaskier turned the handle and pushed the door to his and Geralt’s room in. Geralt stood stock still on the other side of the room, still in his armor, staring out of the window.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked softly, closing the door behind him but moving no further in the room.

“Hmmm.”

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” And Jaskier was truly sorry he’d yelled at Geralt. They’d been travelling all day and Jaskier was having trouble with a new verse, focusing more on writing than eating, and he’s just snapped.

Argh sometimes I hate you! He hadn’t meant the words, but he’d said them, none the less.

“It doesn’t matter, Jaskier.” Geralt responded tersely, not removing his gaze from the window.

“It does!”

Geralt hummed and turned away from the window, finally turning from the window and meeting Jaskier’s gaze, “I’ve had worse.”

Jaskier placed his hands on his hips, instantly fired up at the idea of Geralt being mistreated, “You shouldn’t have!” Jaskier was emphatic with his movements, waving his arms around as he continued ranting, “You deserve better than the way people treat you, Geralt! I want to give you better!”

“Jaskier, it’s fine.”

“No! I was an ass. I was being fussy, and I hadn’t eaten enough when we stopped and then I just snapped on you. You didn’t deserve that and I’m sorry, Geralt. It wasn’t fair to you.”

Geralt walked over to the bed and sat at its edge, his mask of indifference finally slipping.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked again softly, walking to the bed and taking a seat next to Geralt, close but not quite touching. Geralt shook his head, not looking at Jaskier.

“Geralt, I wasn’t truly mad at you. I just… let my emotions get the best of me. You know I don’t hate you, don’t you?”

“It’s okay, Jaskier. You can be honest.”

The earnest look on Geralt’s face floored Jaskier more than the words themselves. He loved the witcher with every inch if his being but how could he make Geralt believe it? Especially after his cruel words.

“I am being honest, Geralt. I don’t hate you, I don’t think I ever could.”

“Jask-”

“No!” Jaskier cut Geralt off, “You are my best friend and I love you! I couldn’t hate you if I tried. Can you believe me?” Jaskier implored. He’d do anything to make the witcher understand he was loved.

“Maybe. One day, maybe.” Geralt responded uncertainly, looking away from Jaskier.

Jaskier sat a hand on the witcher’s shoulder, squeezing it gently, “Well then, I’ll keep saying it until that day comes.”

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Songs used for this prompt: 

“She’s Got You” and “Sure as Hell Not Jesus”, both by Cosmo Jarvis

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The guy playing some tiny stringed instrument and singing into the bar’s beer-scented microphone is surprisingly cute. Geralt feels a pang of guilt when he takes a moment to listen to the lyrics that fill the room up to the rafters with heavenly sound:

“I don’t care what you do, She says she’s in love with you But I know the devil wears a thousand faces.”

Geralt orders himself a straight whiskey on the rocks and moves closer to the makeshift stage to better hear the words. It feels as if they’ve been crafted especially for him; especially for the situation he’s come to find himself in. 

“So what you telling me, That you found love truly, But let go or you’ll forget the basics... “Like who’s your friends, you know, The ones you always told you trusted; But you’re a double agent.”

The singer has soft, feathery brown hair that sits against his forehead like something out of a 2007 emo calendar shoot and eyes the color of... well fuck me, Geralt thinks, those are the prettiest blue eyes I’ve ever seen in my life. 

Whoever this guy is, he’s at least five years or so younger than Geralt, still with a babyish roundness to his face, but his hands move across the strings with the confidence of a seasoned performer. He’s been doing this awhile and he loves it. Geralt can tell by the way his voice wavers and pitches through the lyrics like he’s living every word for the very first time.