#geraskier fluff

“Sing me a song,” Geralt whispers into Jaskier’s thigh. “Please.”

Jaskier looks down at him. “What kind of song?”

“A soft one.”

They’re still tipsy from the festivities — had walked into town just as everyone had been hanging lanterns and tuning their instruments — and even though they should be sleeping, Geralt can’t find it in himself to be tired. Not yet, not like this: with Jaskier’s hand in his hair, smoothing out the pattern he’d braided into it earlier, the soft cotton of his sleep trousers a gentle pillow for his head.

“My voice is a bit hoarse,” Jaskier points out quietly, but Geralt can feel him sitting up a bit straighter. “It’ll hardly be a grandiose concert.”

“Mm.”

Fishing for compliments, his bard. He should not give in. He makes a habit of not giving in for a reason.

“They all are.”

“They all are what, dearest?”

“Grandiose concerts.”

Jaskier jostles him a bit, puffing his chest with pride. It fills the room, his ego (and it smells like roses and basil leaves, and Geralt loves it, and him, but he knows he shouldn’t feed it often, lest it become a beast he must slash away) and he claps Geralt on the shoulder. “Well, then! If you insist on me showcasing my talents, then I shall not leave you wanting, Witcher o mine.”

Geralt tries to roll his eyes — he really does! — but maybe it’s all that drink that’s made its way into his brain and is slowing his movements down, because, instead of his trademark-eyeroll, a smile dripping with fondness makes its way to his mouth.

(He should really check what kind of wine it was that they drank).

Jaskier’s fingers drum a simple, soundless beat on Geralt’s shoulder, and slowly his voice fills the room. It’s a bit hoarse, just as Jaskier had predicted, but it adds an edge to the honey-soft words that fall from his mouth. Geralt doesn’t really know what he’s saying — can’t really focus right now — but it’s a tender thing; slow and flowing like fallen leaves following a sunbeam on a stream.

It’s gentle. Good.

His eyes close without him ever meaning to, and suddenly there are hands in his hair and music in his ears and love in his heart and he knows, with absolute certainty, that this is where he belongs.

This is where he must stay.

“That was it, my love,” Jaskier murmurs when the song ends, voice rougher than before. “Did you like it?”

Geralt turns his head to look up at him. “I love you.”

Jaskier has a dimple on his left cheek. It deepens when he smiles. “A song was all it took?”

Geralt smiles, too. Dimple-less, but true all the same. “It was over for me when you offered me day-old moldy bread from your dusty pockets.”

Jaskier flicks him in the forehead, leaning down to kiss him anyway. Their mouths meet, their teeth clacking together because Jaskier can’t quite contain his laughter, and it’s far from their finest kiss, but somehow it is the best they’ve ever had — because they’re in a small bed in a small inn, with wine stains on their shirts and rose-tinted cheeks and Jaskier’s hair is falling in his eyes and Geralt can’t quite make his hand push it back, because they’re laughing too much and he’s a bit tipsy and too much in love.

“We should go to bed,” he says, even though they’re both wide awake.

“We should, old man,” Jaskier says with a smile, his fingers carding through Geralt’s hair. “I love you too, you know.”

Geralt closes his eyes, smiles back. “I know.”

They’re still smiling when a gentle, slightly off-kilter Aard blows out the candles on the nightstand. Geralt accidentally tickles Jaskier’s side and gets a kick to the shin for his troubles, and they’re laughing so hard they almost fall off the bed, twice. And when they’re finally settled, when it all seems to have died down, Jaskier snorts a laugh into Geralt’s hair and it gets them going again.

This is where they belong.

This is where they must stay.

Jaskier turns in his bedroll again.

“—fucking winter and its wintery fucking— cold as balls, ice frozen—”

“Jask?”

“—good for nothing— oh.” His tossing stops. The ground is so fucking cold. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

One golden eye peers at him. He would say Geralt looked annoyed, but he can’t see most of his face, tucked as it is under his cloak, so he chooses to interpret it as friendly concern. “Your muttering did.”

Jaskier smiles sheepishly at him, even though Geralt probably can’t see him either, with his scarf tied around his neck and covering most of his face. “Sorry. Just…”

“Can’t sleep?”

Jaskier shakes his head. It’s their fifth year on the Path together, the first one Geralt’s invited him along to spend the winter at Kaer Morhen with him — and Jaskier’s excited, really, but sleeping on the forest floor with a thin bedroll and definitely not enough blankets kind of dampens his spirits a little.

They’ve laid their bedrolls side by side, the fire keeping their feet warm, but still Jaskier can’t fend off the chill that’s seeped into his bones. He would blame it on his frilly, beautifully impractical clothing, with its soft but thin fabrics, with its stunning trim but no insulation, but if he did, he’d basically be agreeing with Geralt, and he can’t have that. Not even in the privacy of his own mind.

(He still hasn’t ruled out the possibility that Witchers are mind-readers). (Geralt is awfully quiet whenever Jaskier brings it up, and, well, one can never be too careful).

So he’s been tossing and turning and singing lullabies to himself in a feeble attempt of finally succumbing to a warm, deep sleep. Not that it’s worked, anyway.

The single golden eye looks considering, now.

“Wha—?” Jaskier manages before Geralt stands up, the bare skin under his sleep shirt immediately reacting to the cold air of the forest and erupting in gooseflesh.

Then, a blanket is being tossed to his face.

(It smells like horse).

“There,” says Geralt, not unkindly, his voice a bit rough. “That’ll help.”

“Well,” Jaskier replies, trying to adjust the blanket without taking his hands out of his bedroll, which proves impossible. “Thanks.”

Before he can sit up straight and, like a sane person, rearrange the blanket on top of himself, Geralt’s doing it for him. His hair is a mess from where he’s been laying on it and he’s squinting, but his hands are warm as they reach for the ends of the blanket and he tucks them into Jaskier’s bedroll, making sure his body is covered.

“You’re tucking me in,” Jaskier whispers, something that suspiciously feels like love standing on his heart a little.

Geralt smiles. He smiles his soft smile, the one where his lips stretch over his face and they’re pink and pretty and there’s a shine in his eyes.

“I guess I am,” he replies, checking no corners have been missed. “We’ll reach the mountain soon. No more cold nights after that.”

Jaskier smiles. He doesn’t know what it might look like on his face, lips chapped and slightly cracked. He hopes it shows his gratitude for him.

Geralt sits back on his haunches. The smile is still there. Fonder, somehow.

“What, no kiss goodnight?” Jaskier murmurs, because he’s an idiot, because he can’t help himself.

“Mm,” Geralt says, and for a second, Jaskier thinks he’s getting up to leave, but then Geralt leans forward and there’s a gentle, sweet kiss being pressed to his forehead. His smile is bigger when he turns away. “There. Goodnight.”

Jaskier can feel the warmth on his skin, the skin Geralt pressed a kiss to. He can feel it seeping into his bones.

When he turns around, blanket firmly secured, Geralt is watching him from his own bedroll.

“Goodnight,” he mouths at him, and Geralt closes his eyes.

His cloak is covering half his face again, but Jaskier can see the smile he’s hiding anyway.

And also here: happy (belated) birthday @dani-dandelino! <3

Five times Geralt and Jaskier nearly kiss and one time they do - Summer Fair edition, 2,364 words, modern au, pining idiot roommates

CW: none, just fluff

-

“Oh, come on Geralt, please,” Jaskier whined and looked at him with pleading eyes and an oscar-worthy pout. Triss had cancelled their plan of going to the summer fair last minute and now Jaskier was pestering Geralt to come with him instead.

“No,” Geralt said and crossed his arms. He knew (as well as Jaskier did) that he would give in eventually. But not too easily - he had a reputation to uphold.  

“Pleeeease,” Jaskier said, looking down to his shoes and then slowly up through his lashes. Fuck, it was hard not to give in right away when Jaskier looked at him like that. And his pout looked so kissable…Fuck, fuck fuck. Geralt shook his head to get these inappropriate thoughts about his roommate out of his head, but Jaskier interpreted it as another refusal. “Just for an hour, please? For me, your best friend in the whole wide world?” 

Geralt sighed. He was thinking about telling him that Roach was his best friend, but instead he rolled his eyes and clucked his tongue. “Okay, okay!” He raised his hands in defeat. “I’ll go with you, but only for an hour.”

1.

Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s hand and pulled him through the crowd towards a stand with a giant ice cream cone on top. “We have to try this!” 

He had been a giddy ball of excitement since Geralt had accepted to accompany him. 

And now they were at the summer fair, the air smelled sweet in an intoxicating mix of cotton candy, popcorn and roasted almonds and the sun was shining almost as bright as Jaskier’s smile. 

Jaskier bought them each a cone with a huge swirl of soft serve and sprinkles on top: chocolate for Geralt and rainbow sprinkles for himself. Geralt eyed Jaskier from the side as they ate their ice cream. The wind had tousled Jaskier’s brown hair even more than usual and in the sunshine it had a golden glint to it. He looked…beautiful… breathtakingly beautiful and Geralt had to stop thinking these things. Fuck. 

Jaskier looked up at him and grinned, which made something in Geralt’s gut flutter. Double fuck. 

“You’ve got something on your lip.” Jaskier gestured at his own face. Geralt wiped his mouth but Jaskier grinned a bit wider and shook his head. “No, on the other side…wait, let me help.” 

He took a step towards Geralt and laid his hand on his cheek. Geralt inhaled deeply as he felt Jaskier’s thumb on the corner of his mouth, gently wiping away the ice cream. Did Jaskier let his thumb linger a moment longer than necessary? 

But when Geralt made a step towards him, Jaskier jumped back as his own ice cream fell from the cone he was still holding.

“Fucking cock, shit shit shit,” Jaskier shouted and was scowled at by parents who dragged their kids out of earshot. 

2. 

Jaskier was pressed to Geralt’s side. “Why did you talk me into this stupid haunted ride when you have your eyes closed the whole damn time?” Geralt grunted. They were sitting in a small carriage of the Spooooooook House. It had stopped for the moment to let new people get in a few carriages behind them. “I didn’t know it was so scary,” Jaskier said, voice muffled from where he had pressed his face against Geralt’s shoulder. 

Geralt looked around the darkened room at the cheap halloween decoration: fake spiderwebs and giant neon colored spiders, a plastic skeleton that was automatically triggered to fall down when a carriage passed by and huge white sheets hanging from the ceiling that were supposed to look like ghosts. 

He felt Jaskier flinch when a shrill laugh sounded from speakers above them. “Could you maybe hug me?” Jaskier asked, his voice sounding small and pleading. “There is nothing to be scared of,” Geralt grumbled but pulled Jaskier to his side. And to be honest, it was quite nice to feel Jaskier this close, his hand fisted in Geralt’s jacket and face pressed in the crook of his neck. Geralt started to rub Jaskier’s arm soothingly. 

Slowly Jaskier lifted his head and looked at Geralt with wide eyes and eyebrows drawn together. He was focussing his gaze on Geralt as if he was the only safe point. Without thinking about it Geralt lifted his hand and brushed a strand of brown curls behind Jaskier’s ear. Geralt’s eyes slid down to Jaskier’s lips that were slightly parted.

With a jerk the carriage started to move forward and Jaskier pressed his face once more into Geralt’s shoulder, not moving till it was their turn to climb out of the carriage. 

3.

They were standing in line to get fries. It had gotten really crowded and they stood close together. “Oh look!” Jaskier pointed down the pathway. “They’ve got balloons.” Geralt could indeed see a person holding what looked like a ridiculously large bouquet of colorful balloons in shapes of different cartoon characters.

“I think I want the Pumbaa one,” Jaskier said with an excited giggle. He tilted his head and Geralt had the urge to lean forward and place a kiss on his cheek. “What the fuck is a Pumbaa?” Geralt asked instead and looked away from Jaskier. Jaskier bumped his shoulder into Geralt, “oh come one, don’t tell you forgot the best character of the lion king!”

Geralt sighed but tried to remember. They had watched the film together a month ago. Jaskier had pestered him for weeks, told him that it was his favorite movie and that Geralt really had to watch it. “Is it the meerkat?” he asked after a moment. 

Jaskier had been particularly cuddly on that evening and Geralt could remember the comforting weight of Jaskier leaning against him, the softness of his hair pressed to Geralt’s cheek and how lovely it had smelled of his shampoo. But he couldn’t remember a damn thing about the movie. 

Jaskier giggled once more and said, “no, that is Timon. Pumbaa is his friend, the warthog.” “Hmm….yes of course, the warthog,” he replied and Jaskier bumped his shoulder into Geralt’s once more. “Sure you don’t want a dinosaur?” Geralt pointed to the bundle of balloons that had turned in the wind. A green stegosaurus was now visible and Geralt knew that Jaskier loved dinosaurs at least as much as the lion king. 

“Hmm…now you say it…it is a hard choice!” Jaskier scratched the back of his neck.

In the next moment someone shoved into him and he stumbled into Geralt who caught him around the waist, pulling him close. Jaskier’s face was all of a sudden directly in front of Geralt’s, just a breath away. 

“Oi, the queue moved on, are you still waiting in line or just ogling each other?” 

Geralt released Jaskier and took a quick step away.

4. 

“Close your eyes, I’ve got a surprise!” Geralt heard Jaskier call from behind. “No, don’t turn around, just close your eyes.” A moment later Jaskier was behind him and asked into his ear, “are your eyes closed?” 

“No,” Geralt murmured, “you know I hate surprises.” But he did not turn around. So Jaskier took a step closer, rested his chin on Geralt’s shoulder from behind and leaned his chest against his back. 

“Oh, I forgot, sorry,” he said. Geralt shrugged with his unoccupied shoulder and asked “What is the surprise?” 

Jaskier hummed and Geralt could feel the vibration against his back, an unexpectedly pleasant sensation and he leaned into him just a tiny fraction. 

Then Jaskier said, “I bought cotton candy. Do you think you could guess the flavor?”

“There is flavored cotton candy?”

Jaskier giggled and Geralt found it even better than his humming.”Yes and I bought the weirdest one I could find.”

“Mh…okay.” Geralt said. He did not really want to taste the cotton candy but he wanted to stay like this for a while, Jaskier pressed to his back, his warm breath tickling the sensitive skin on his neck.

“Open your mouth,” Jaskier said. 

He reached around him and Geralt opened his mouth. The soft cotton candy instantly melted on his tongue but he had no idea what this flavor was supposed to be.

“I have no fucking clue what this is,” he said eventually. Jaskier laughed, peeled himself off Geralt and stepped around him. The cotton candy was an unnatural shade of blue and Geralt frowned.  Jaskier was grinning and said, “it’s called ‘smurf’.”

“How the fuck does a smurf taste?”

“Like this?” Jaskier wiggled the cotton candy. Geralt ripped a bit off and reached over. Jaskier looked startled for a second before he slowly opened his mouth. Geralt’s fingers brushed Jaskier’s lips and Jaskier closed his mouth faster than he had anticipated (or did his fingers linger too long?). 

A moment later Jaskier coughed and let the cotton candy drop to the ground. 

“Fuck, this is disgusting!”

5.

Jaskier pointed at a stand nearby and jumped up and down excitedly. “Look, catch-a-duck!” He beamed not unlike the children surrounding the stand and Geralt sighed. “Jaskier, this is for kids.” 

“Nonsense,” he replied and pulled Geralt along. 

Geralt was always amazed how at ease and natural Jaskier looked in even the weirdest circumstances. An adult man with a child-sized neon-green plastic fishing rod with a magnet at the end of the line should look ridiculous - but not Jaskier. He was laughing at something the young man in the stand had said and a sting of something that was definitely not jealousy made his heart contract painfully for a second. 

But then Jaskier turned to Geralt and smiled at him and his chest felt tight for another reason. Geralt nodded and Jaskier turned back to the horde of colorful plastic ducks with magnets glued to their heads that swam in the basin surrounding the stall. His face was scrunched in concentration now and Geralt could see the pink tip of Jaskier’s tongue poke out between his lips. How could a grown man with a fuck ton of hair on his chest look so unreasonably adorable? 

When Jaskier had managed to fish two blue ducks he called, “Geralt, can you rub my back for luck?” 

“Wha..?” 

“Don’t ask, just do it,” Jaskier interrupted him. Geralt sighed and reached over, placing his hand between Jaskier’s shoulder blades. He felt him breathe in deeply and he planted his hand a bit more firmly, not pushing but letting him know he was there. 

And a moment later Jaskier shrieked excitedly as he fished out a third blue duck. The stallholder took the ducks and rod from him and Jaskier turned around, hugged Geralt and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Geralt could feel a blush creeping up his neck when Jaskier leaned back a fraction to look him in the eyes, arms still wrapped around him. “Thank you,” Jaskier said, so close that Geralt could feel his warm breath on his face. 

“What reward do you want?” the stallholder asked a little too loud. Jaskier sighed, let go of Geralt and selected a teddy bear holding a heart.

+1

Jaskier wiggled his eyebrows and asked, “what do you say?” 

Geralt snorted, “about what?”

“My fishing skills.” 

Geralt snickered and replied, “it’s a game designed for four-year-olds.”

Jaskier huffed, hugged  the teddy bear to his chest and said, “I’ll better keep you for myself and not give you to mister grumpy-pants here.” Geralt rolled his eyes but blushed a little at the thought of Jaskier giving him a bear holding a fucking heart. 

As the sun descended, painting the sky pink, the fair got more and more crowded. The promised hour was long over but Geralt had forgotten about it. The neon lamps on the stalls and carousels gave their best to attract customers like flowers attracting bees. Geralt and Jaskier let themselves be steered by the flow of people over the fair but when they nearly got seperated, Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s hand and interlaced their fingers. 

When they joined the queue for the Ferris Wheel, neither of them let go - or acknowledged that they were practically holding hands, even though Geralt was quite aware of Jaskier’s hand in his. He just hoped that his palm was not too sweaty and stole glances from the corner of his eye at Jaskier. Jaskier was still clutching the teddy bear to his chest and looked happy and content and a warm feeling washed over Geralt. 

They got a carriage for themselves and when the Ferris Wheel started to move, lifting them slowly into the night sky, Jaskier looked down as the fair shrank under their feet and said, “oh, it’s beautiful!” Geralt looked at him and felt like in a bad romance novel because he wanted to agree, but not regarding the fair below them. 

The Wheel stopped when they were on top. The wind was much stronger up here and he felt Jaskier shiver, so Geralt wrapped his arms around him.

“Here,” Jaskier said, “you hold little Geralt for a while.” He pushed the teddy into Geralt’s hands. 

“Little Geralt?” Geralt asked with a raised eyebrow and Jaskier giggled, pressing closer to Geralt. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” Jaskier asked after a moment.

“Of course,” Geralt replied.

Jaskier stayed silent for another moment before he said, “I…wanted to kiss you at least five times today.” 

Something cold washed over Geralt and he tried to swallow but his throat was too dry.

“I…what?” 

Jaskier leaned away to look at him, Geralt’s arm still awkwardly around him.

“Kiss you,” Jaskier repeated and his eyes dropped to Geralt’s mouth. 

“Umm….” Geralt’s thoughts were racing and he wasn’t sure if this was some kind of fever dream. Maybe he had fallen off the Ferris Wheel and lay on a coma?

Fuck it. “We could do it now,” he said after a moment, “kiss?” 

His racing thoughts stopped suddenly when he felt Jaskier’s warm hand on his cheek. And the next moment they were kissing. When the Ferris Wheel started to move again Geralt broke the kiss, but Jaskier kept close and said, “oh no, not this time.” Geralt smiled and pulled him in for another kiss. 

-

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