Over the years, Jaskier gets a reputation amongst witchers as the guy who will get you out of bind if you need him to. He’s the witchers’ bard, after all. Need a hand with your injuries? A safe place to hide? A friendly face? Find Jaskier.
Jaskier, on the other hand, has no idea why witchers in trouble keep bumping into him on the road, but fate is funny that way, isn’t it? He’s certainly not going to turn them away
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
just was thinking how cool it would have been for S2 witcher when Geralt gets told Jaskier is in danger to have a whole episode dedicate to making Geralt terrifying. I’m talking about him leaving normally, reassuring Ciri, thanking Nenneke...and the second he turns around his expression shifts.
cue an episode’s worth of Geralt going full witcher mode and going hunting for Jaskier, tracing his steps through Oxenfurt and leaving the kind of fear/paranoia Batman dreams of behind
I want this man to be lethal and relentless and terrifying, I'm talking witcher 1 game intro Geralt level of ‘this is very other and spoopy’,. Show us what makes Wtchers so uncomfortable for normal humans!
and then you can have the last bit with the reunion and the ‘fuck it’ at the end, Geralt going back to normal mode. it’d cinch it
it's free real estate prompt just tag me so i can read
Voices fading between reality and dreaming. Someone made a plaintive, weak sound like a wounded animal. Geralt thought it might have been him.
“Get him inside! He’s–”
“What the fuck happened?”
Pain burst in shocking waves as his body was moved. He attempted to slit his eyes open but the light felt like a knife to his skull. His thoughts scattered like birds in flight and he struggled to hold onto anything.
Concussion, he finally managed. Bad enough to make his body struggle to heal it.
“Call Triss. Tell her it’s worth the risk.” Yennefer’s voice was distant. He tried to identify the emotion coloring her tone, but failed. It felt like he couldn’t breath and his panting was unnaturally loud in the room.
A shadow moved overhead and he heard Essi’s soft voice. “Is he…?”
Someone attempted to brush away the bloodied, matted hair from his brow. “Geralt?” The voice was painfully familiar and Geralt closed his eyes tightly, terrified now. “Hold on, pretty. We’re getting you help.”
The temptation to open his eyes surged, but it was overwhelmed by the roaring in his ears. It felt like he was falling backwards and his muscles tensed in anticipation of the impact.
We all agree that Jaskier is now afraid of fire because of Rience and I love the whump potential of that
But what about Geralt who literally had to kill his closest brother with fire? Jaskier fears being hurt by fire but Geralt fears hurting someone with fire
I want a Geralt who is afraid of using Igni when anyone he loves is close by. I want a Geralt who refuses to light a fire despite it being cold because what if it gets out of control and hurts Jaskier?
I want Jaskier to learn to trust fire when it comes from Geralt and I want Geralt to learn that he can protect Jaskier with fire. I want both of them to realise that they fear the same thing for opposite reasons and help each other with their fear
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
It only took three years but I have finally completed my geraskier fic, The Proposal. Link is shared below, feedback is welcome. Enjoy!
Title: The Proposal
Summary: Geralt is a pushy boss who forces his young assistant, Jaskier, to marry him in order to keep his visa status in Redania and avoid deportation to Rivia.
“ i don't mean to bother you. “ “ you're not. “ for geraskier? because I am sneakily reminding you that you are not a bother but are in fact greatly loved 😌
i love you so much 🥺💛 thank you for the prompt
wc: 1.9k | tags: yearning, post-s2. love confessions, stars as narrative device, hurt/comfort
as the stars above them hum and hear them
Jaskier feels nothing but hollow looking up at the stars. Essi had always loved them, had spent hours waxing poetic about the comfort she could draw from the stars. Wherever we go, whenever we look, they will always be there as steady companions. Maybe we can be close to them one of these days. It seems like a lifetime ago that Jaskier had met Essi‘s beautiful eyes and drawn her into a hug while she went on and on about constellations, making up stories about them as she went. They were warm and happy on that summer’s night out on the fields close to Oxenfurt.
The stars that are shining down on Jaskier right now are different, though familiar. Every winter they are the same wherever Jaskier goes, and it should bring him comfort. One constant, one anchor, one thing in his life he can depend on. But it doesn’t.
The air around him is freezing and he’s not sure he can feel his cheeks anymore, yet he cannot move from where he sat down on the nearly destroyed stone bridge, Kaer Morhen‘s courtyard spread out several feet beneath him in the moonless dark. And Jaskier is looking up at the stars because if he dared to look anywhere else, he’s not sure he would manage to breathe right.
A noise startles him and he blinks away frozen tears, turning his head to find someone standing beside him. Geralt. Jaskier would recognise him anywhere, even on a moonless night, cast only in the light of stars that might as well exist in another world entirely for how far away they are.
“I don’t mean to bother you,” Geralt says, his voice so unfairly gentle that Jaskier barely has time to consider his words before he speaks.
“You’re not.”
Geralt doesn’t move, doesn’t even hum, but Jaskier imagines there to be the tiniest of smiles on the witcher’s lips. It makes his heart race and he has to tear his eyes away from his figure to look back up at the night sky. The stars are well-versed in Jaskier’s feelings for the witcher already, they can bear witness to his yearning expression and the little sigh he releases.
“It’s nice out here, isn’t it?”
Jaskier swallows, suppresses the urge to look at Geralt again and instead keeps his eyes where they are. “Yeah.” It comes out as barely more than a whisper.
Another beat of silence passes, then Geralt takes a step closer to him. “Can I sit with you?”
Maybe it’s the sudden breeze that whips through his hair and brings with it freezing gust of air that smells like freshly fallen snow, but Jaskier feels his eyes beginning to prick.
“Of course,” he croaks, wincing at the quality of his voice. He holds his breath, prays that his heart won’t beat out of his chest and find its place again inside Geralt’s hands for the witcher to crush at will. It’s futile, because even crushed, his heart never left the witcher’s hold.
They sit together for a while, but Jaskier has long since stopped trying to find solace, company or comfort in the night sky. He’s trying not to breathe too loudly, trying not to move, trying not to overwhelm Geralt again with his mere existence, but it doesn’t stop his eyes from welling up again.
“Did you ever manage to find it?” Geralt breakes the silence then, his voice nothing more than a whisper, and still Jaskier jumps ever so slightly, only held in place by the weight of golden eyes he can feel resting upon him. He doesn’t meet them. Doesn’t dare to.
“Find what?“
“The thing that pleases you.”
If it were at all possible, Jaskier would think that the light of the stars above them has dimmed ever so slightly. The words tear into him with how gently they’ve been said, and it does nothing to calm his stinging eyes or racing heart.
“Don’t do this, Geralt,” Jaskier begs.
“Do what?” He sounds genuinely confused, subdued like every time he feels that something should be obvious but he cannot figure it out. It breaks Jaskier’s heart even more, because everything would just be so much easier if Geralt wanted to hurt him on purpose instead of these accidental stabs right into his soul.
“Don’t— I can’t do this again, Geralt.”
It’s not lost on him. Sitting together, only one of them looking at the other... The parallels of it, the same conversation, and everything has changed but his feelings for Geralt. The one constant in his life.
“Alright. I’m sorry.”
And it’s not necessarily an empty apology, but Jaskier knows that Geralt doesn’t know what he’s apologising for. With a broken little sigh, Jaskier decides that he has already lost everything, his once burning fingers now lying frozen in his lap as a reminder of it, and he has nothing left to give but this. He can give Geralt the truth, give away the last piece of his soul before he can truly be nothing but a hollowed out shell of himself.
“It’s you, Geralt,” he whispers then, and that’s when the tears begin to fall from his eyes, the cold air freezing their tracks on his cheeks, but the sting of it is no greater than the pain inside his chest.
“Me?”
“Yes. It’s always been you.” And I’m sorry, he doesn’t add, but it’s a close thing. Loving Geralt is really nothing he wants to apologise for. Loving Geralt feels like the one thing in life that is good, even if he did it so horribly wrong that he lost his witcher in the process.
A beat of silence passes between them and he can still fee Geralt’s eyes on him, but Jaskier only closes his own, hides them even from the stars that know his feelings so well.
“I… I didn’t think you—“ A sigh, then Geralt tries again. “Still? After everything?”
Jaskier huffs out a humourless laugh and sniffles. “Still. Always. I tried to stop, but I’m not as strong as you, Geralt. I’m not strong enough to stop, I—“
“I’m not strong either. I tried to be, Jaskier, I tried too hard. I was weak and only made myself weaker by trying not to be. I lost you and… and then I realised what I think I’ve known all along, but I didn’t want to know it because I didn't want to be weak. But I found out that when it comes to you, I always am. One way or another.” Geralt breathes and Jaskier almost misses his next word for how loudly his heart is beating out of his chest. “You make me weak, Jask.”
He shakes his head, tries not to shiver from the cold and the tears and the waves of emotions coursing through him. This isn’t real. It cannot possibly be.
But when he opens his eyes again, he finds Geralt still looking at him, his hands twitching in his lap like they never did before. Jaskier wants to reach out and hold them. He can’t move, though, can only stare and let the tears roll down his cheeks as he tries to make sense of it all.
“I’m sorry it took me so long,” Geralt whispers then, swaying where he is. Swaying towards Jaskier, as though his body is yearning to touch. “I’m sorry I lost you. I’m sorry you thought you’d lost me. I’m— I just... I need you to know.”
Jaskier doesn’t know what to say, what to think, what to feel. But he knows what he wants to do, and it’s the one thing he has always wanted to do, the constant ache in his chest, the tingling in his arms to lean into Geralt and share his warmth surrounded by the comforting scent of leather and wood. And so, in the cover of darkness with only the stars as his witness, that’s what he does. He leans into Geralt slowly, ready to retreat at any moment and brush it off like he always has. The witcher doesn’t tense, though, doesn’t push him off or grunt in displeasure.
No. What he does is wrap his arm around Jaskier’s shoulder and hold him there like he only ever did in Jaskier’s dreams.
“You didn’t lose me,” Jaskier speaks then, barely audible because he doesn’t dare to interrupt the cover of silence that has settled over them. “I promise you didn’t. You can even ask the stars,” he adds with a little smile.
“The stars?”
“Hmm. They know. They’ve always known.”
Geralt swallows, and Jaskier can hear how his heart is beating a little faster in his chest. “Known what?”
Heart hammering, Jaskier takes a deep breath and lets it out on a wavering exhale. “That I love you, Geralt of Rivia. And that I always have and always will.”
There. There it is. The last shard of who he used to be, who he is and who he could be. The last piece of his heart that he had a strong hold on, now given away and given freely, resting inside the cradle of Geralt’s hands. It should hurt. Jaskier had always imagined it would hurt when he’d finally tell Geralt, had imagined it would be yelled instead of whispered. Had imagined the air would shift and he would suffocate, a stone-faced Geralt the last thing he’d see before he died a broken-hearted man.
Instead, he feels the careful press of lips to the crown of his head before Geralt tentatively takes a hold of his hand, cradling it as gently as his heart.
“If the stars already bore witness to your story, let them hear a part of mine, hm? The part where I tell you that…” he swallows, and Jaskier holds his breath. “That I think I love you, too. That I miss you. And that I need you.”
And then, miraculously, it is Jaskier who pulls back first. He doesn’t leave the embrace, only sits back and stares at Geralt for the first time tonight. For the first time in what feels like years. He’s still crying, but a hand comes up to his face and wipes away the tears before resting there in a gentle hold. It’s warm and Jaskier can’t help the way he leans into the touch, earning another smile from Geralt.
Time is suspended in the way they look at each other, and Jaskier’s breath hitches when Geralt’s thumb gently strokes his cheek. Breathing becomes difficult in the most wonderful way.
“Yes,” Jaskier breathes, leaning into Geralt and letting the man claim his lips in a gentle kiss. Hands find their way into his hair as though Geralt means to hold him in place, afraid that Jaskier would leave him.
Neither of them have any more words to share with the stars, but Geralt trails kisses over Jaskier’s face, kissing away the frozen tracks of tears on his cheeks until Jaskier’s own hands find their way into Geralt’s hair, stilling him so he can press a kiss to his forehead. One to his nose. One to the dimple in his chin, and finally one to his smiling lips.
The next time he looks up at the twinkling lights above them, he could swear they’re brighter than they ever were before. And maybe they are, because it’s the first time they can see Geralt holding him like that. Jaskier doesn’t care to examine that, though, because now he can just close his eyes and breathe in the familiar scent of the man he loves so much. And that’s exactly what he does.
Neither of them bears witness to the shooting star that illuminates the night sky above.
