#Geralt loves the naked Jaskier art and definitely wants his own
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If you’re still looking for fic ideas: jaskier poses nude for paintings as a side gig, and Gerald has absolutely no clue until he saw one of the paintings for sale on the street or in some alderman or mayor’s house when he’s trying to negotiate a contract
Thank you so much for this wonderful idea, I had to giggle as I read it, I had to giggle as I thought about what I could write and I giggled the whole way through writing it. I hope I don’t disappoint.
If you, lovely anon, or anybody else have any more ideas/prompts for me, just send me an ask, please! This makes so much fun!
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“I saw a statue of you today in the mayor's manor,” Geralt told Jaskier upon returning with a wicked grin on his face. With a small surprised intake of breath Jaskier turned away, “I know I am beloved by the masses, but it would be new to me that they are building statues for me now,” he replied.
Geralt chuckled amused, “it was not really of you, but of the mayor.”
With an indignant huff Jaskier replied, “the mayor is at least 80 years old, Geralt, are you insulting me? Do you want to tell me that I look old?”
Geralt, still grinning, “no, calm down. The mayor has a marble statue standing in the middle of his hall of, as he says, himself in his prime. Butt-naked and with way much muscles than that prick ever had.”
Jaskier turned to the witcher, brows furrowed, “and what made you say it is a statue of me?”
The witcher told him how he had waited in the hall of the mayor’s manor for his payment for ridding the local forest of a fiend. The hall had been decorated with paintings of old men, probably some forefathers of the mayor and there had been a white marble statue in the middle of the room, bathed in sunlight.
“And there was something about the statue that reminded me of you,” he said.
Jaskier just looked at him, one hand on his hip, head slightly tilted, lifting his eyebrows as to beckon him to continue. And Geralt burst out in laughter, pointing at him.
“The statue had that exact posture!”
This was the poise Jaskier normally did when he was flirting with someone, or when he was scolding Geralt for something stupid like using plain soap for washing his hair instead of the scented one Jaskier had given him.
What Geralt did not tell Jaskier was, that not only the posture reminded him of his bard, but the broadness of the marble shoulders, the long beautiful fingers on the hip and the curve of the ass, even how the hair was depicted, the delicate locks at the base of the skull tickling the neck were eerily like Jaskier’s. Geralt had by now seen Jaskier naked often enough. The bard was in no way shy and sharing campsites and small inn-rooms made it hard not to get the occasional glimpse of the other. But of course Geralt had never looked that closely at the naked bard.
“The only thing remotely looking like the mayor was the face,” the witcher said, “he had probably some young handsome lad pose for the sculptor and made him put his ugly face on the statue.”
Geralt did not notice Jaskier blushing as he turned away.
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A few weeks later Geralt had begrudgingly accepted to accompany Jaskier to a feast at some small court. He had instantly forgotten what was celebrated and was regretting his promise to come as he was fumbling with the uncomfortably stiff and tight new doublet Jaskier made him wear. As usual he was to protect the bard in case any cuckolded spouse was to run into them.
“Oh, there you are,” Geralt heard a sweet voice call after them. With a barely audible sigh Jaskier turned around, his showman smile plastered on his face, “Countess de Stael, as always does your beautiful smile shine brighter than the sun.” He made a low bow and accepted the hand of the woman for a delicate kiss.
“Julian, the painting is finally done,” she said, beaming widely, “do you wish to see it?”
Jaskier stole a glance at Geralt and with a gasp the Countess turned to the witcher and said, “oh, forgive me, I was so overcome with joy to see my Julian again, that I forgot all my manners.” She curtsied in Geralt's direction and offered him her hand as well, “Anne-Louise de Stael, Countess and biggest admirer of our Julian here.” She winked at the bard.
Geralt hadn’t said anything yet, just shot a look over to Jaskier as the countess curtsied and had mouthed “my Julian?” with a raised eyebrow and the hint of a smirk.
“Ah, yes,” Jaskier said with a side glance at the witcher, “if you don’t mind, I can come by tomorrow and we will have a look at the painting?”
The countess turned to Geralt again, “master witcher, I am sure you are an admirer of the fine arts as well and wish to have a look? Julian must have told you how tedious it was to pose for six days straight. But he did such a good job,” she finished dreamily.
Geralt looked at Jaskier and registered a slight blush creeping up his neck and with a wicked grin said, “I do indeed enjoy the finer arts. Let’s have a look at this painting of our Julian.”
The countess linked her arm with Geralt and steered him toward a stairwell with Jaskier in tow. They entered a light filled room and Geralt had to stifle a laugh as he saw the huge painting, higher than he was tall and wider than two times his length. Depicted in the enormous painting was Jaskier. Completely naked. Sprawled on a thick red carpet, propped up on one elbow, being fed grapes by a naked lady, probably the Countess herself. Geralt turned to Jaskier with a huge grin, seeing countless emotions battle on the handsome face, ranging from embarrassment, to appreciation and even pride.
“That is,” the bard began, but had to cough to steady his voice, “larger than I expected.”
And after a moment to Geralt he said, “the painter just did sketches when I was here.”
Geralt still grinned like a lunatic and turned to the Countess, “will you show the painting to the other guests?”
Jaskier seemed to have overcome the first wave of embarrassment and took a closer look at the artwork, starting to discuss details with the Countess and Geralt found himself also staring at the canvass. The larger than life painted bard looked relaxed and the colour of his skin almost seemed to have a golden glow. The muscled biceps were as accurately depicted as the brown hair dusting his chest. And even though it was a painting, created to be looked at, he was not sure if he should be studying the lower part of the bard’s body that closely. As he felt a blush creeping up his ears, he turned around and fled the room back to the party in search of a glass of wine. Or better a whole bottle.
Read my (slightly) longer fics on ao3
#ask#anon#thank you#it was so much fin#the witcher#geralt of rivia#jaskier#they are both idiots and I love it#Geralt loves the naked Jaskier art and definitely wants his own#EllieStormfound#Jaskier is a nude model and Geralt accidentally finds out#Anonymous
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the drug, the dark, the light, the flame, Ch.XIV
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A brand new chapter of my work for this year’s @geraskierbigbang in collaboration with my favourite @gen-syz-art as my artist 💕
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For as long as Geralt could remember, spending four days in bed had always sounded unthinkable.
Even in Kaer Morhen, during the long winters of the Blue Mountains, he could never even consider staying in bed for that long, only getting out to take a bath and change the sheets.
It had always seemed like an unnecessary luxury, a waste of time that could’ve been better spent.
But, like quite a few times before, he finds himself proven wrong by Jaskier.
They stay in bed for half a week, talking, sleeping and doing just about anything they can think of to each other.
Jaskier ends up with countless marks of different colour and size all over his neck, chest and thighs, and Geralt has his back scratched raw, and it’s more than perfect.
They take longs baths together, unable to break away from each other for as much as a few minutes, and though Jaskier tries to keep Geralt’s hands away from the mark on his back, the witcher inevitably finds his way to it, making Jaskier gasp and arch his back at every touch.
He’s desperate to find out just how far he could take it before it gets too much but he waits patiently for the right moment.
Whenever Arthur or one of the housekeepers knocks on the door to bring them breakfast or dinner - or yet another pot of the neverending sweet tea - Jaskier makes them both hide under the covers, only eyes and noses left above them, and giggles when Geralt reaches out to get a grip on his bare thigh when no-one can see. In Jaskier’s words, he’s protecting their modesty but they both know that he’s just having fun.
That’s not to say that Geralt isn’t having his own kind of fun, of course.
Over the four days that they spend in bed together, neither of them gets dressed once, and the witcher uses that to his full advantage, mapping out Jaskier’s body with his hands and lips at every opportunity that he gets.
And when they do finally decide that it’s time to get out, he’s even more hopelessly in love than before.
“You just can’t keep your hands off me, can you, Witcher?” Jaskier murmurs, looking at him through the mirror as he does up the laces on his shirt and Geralt leaves his place on the bed to come closer and wrap his arms around him from the back.
He smells of dried herbs, vanilla and pomegranate. He also smells of pleasure, sex and Geralt.
It’s an intoxicating combination.
“You can always tell me to stop,” Geralt grins, nosing at the bard’s neck and pressing a kiss to one of the fresh marks.
He’s still completely naked while Jaskier is almost fully dressed, and the soft silk of his shirt feels nice against Geralt’s skin. Not as good as Jaskier’s warmth but he’s not complaining.
Jaskier responds with a soft pleased rumble from somewhere deep in his chest, and throws his head back, resting it on the witcher’s shoulder.
“We look good together,” he says after Geralt steals a kiss from his lips. “Especially like this.”
And Geralt can’t deny that they do.
He loves the contrast between them, loves the way Jaskier’s slender frame looks against his own, the way his perfect skin compares to the witcher’s scars. Loves the way Jaskier’s chestnut hair stands out against Geralt’s silver.
Jaskier turns around in his arms, running a gentle hand down Geralt’s cheek, and his eyes look so soft that it makes the witcher’s heart ache in his chest.
“You know,” he says, adjusting the lacing on Jaskier’s shirt. “The winter had only just begun but I could stay with you through all of it. If you’ll have me.”
He can feel Jaskier’s heart skip a beat.
“You don’t want to go home?” he asks, barely above a whisper.
Geralt hums and leaves the lacing alone, tipping Jaskier’s chin up to look at him.
“I want to be with you,” he says. “I miss my family but this winter, I want to be with you. And next year, we can go to Kaer Morhen together, hm?”
Jaskier averts his eyes, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.
“Geralt--”
“I’ll get you out of here by next winter,” the witcher says, cutting him off before Jaskier can remind him of the curse, and brushing a lock of hair out of his face. “I promise, Jask. we’ll find a way to break the curse, and we’ll be free to go anywhere we want.”
“Anywhere?” Jaskier echoes quietly, still hiding his eyes.
Geralt pulls him closer and leans in, leaving a warm, chaste kiss on the bard’s forehead.
“Anywhere,” he nods. “What about Toussaint, hm? How do you like wine and pretentious banquets?”
Jaskier laughs, though Geralt can still feel that familiar undertone of sadness in his scent, and catches the witcher’s lips in a quick kiss.
“Wine and pretentious banquets,” he smiles, leaning into Geralt’s touch with his entire body. “Sounds wonderful.”
***
It takes Geralt a little while to write a letter home.
He spends a few days thinking it over, looking for the right words, and when he finally sits down to put them on paper, he writes and then burns two letters before finally finding himself happy with what he’d written.
In the letter, he says that he won’t be coming home this year and that they shouldn’t be worried about him because he’s in a safe place. He says that Jaskier had forgiven him for leaving, and that if they want to know more about it, they should ask Eskel because he’s not going to spend the entire winter composing letters to Lambert just to satisfy his curiosity.
That part of the letter is easy.
But then he writes about the curse, asking for help with breaking it, and that is when it gets much harder. He tries to give as many details as he can while also trying to keep out the ones that he feels Jaskier wouldn’t want anyone else to know. It would’ve been easier to ask him but Geralt doesn’t want to bring the subject up when he can avoid it.
He’d seen enough of his tears.
After the first letter is folded and sealed, Geralt stays behind the desk, fidgeting with his medallion until he finally takes another piece of parchment and writes a second one, addressed only to Vesemir.
In that letter, he does go into more details, including the way Jaskier’s magic feels, and mentions, though briefly, that it’s so strong that it might not be as dependent on the curse as Jaskier thinks. It’s only a theory, of course, and maybe he’s just seeing what he wants to see, but it’s better if Veserim knows as much as Geralt can tell him. And there’s one more thing that he’s missing.
He sneaks a look at Jaskier who’s too busy with a new poem to notice, and his chest gets tight with just how much it makes him feel - seeing the bard so comfortable around him.
Geralt signs and folds the letter, putting it to the side to send out in the morning, and gets up from his place, crossing the room over to Jaskier where he’s half-lying on the settee, an open notebook in his lap.
“Can I ask you something?” Geralt says, sitting down on the floor next to him.
Jaskier looks up from his notes, and the witcher sighs affectionately at the smear of ink on his lower lip. As he reaches out to wipe it off, Jaskier dips his head, leaving a smudged kiss on the back of his hand, eyes shining with something that Geralt can only hope is a reflection of his own feelings.
“What is it, darling?”
Geralt chews on his lower lip for a moment, thinking about the best way to ask the question he’d been thinking about for the last five months.
And, well, there aren’t too many options.
“There’s a town a few hours away from here,” he finally says. “I stop there for the night whenever I’m making my way from the south. And when I was there back in summer, the innkeeper told me something that I’ve been meaning to ask you about.”
Jaskier cocks a brow at him, intrigued. Geralt takes a deep breath.
“The innkeeper told me that-- you’re a prince.”
The bard’s blue eyes widen in surprise and he parts his lips to say something but then decides against it, breaking into laughter.
The heat on Geralt’s chest quickly makes its way up to his face, and he averts his eyes, refusing to acknowledge the blush on his cheeks.
“And do you believe everything that innkeepers tell you?” Jaskier finally manages, reaching out to brush a silver lock out of Geralt’s face. “And what am I a prince of, if I may ask?”
“Redania,” Geralt mutters, still hiding his eyes even as Jaskier leans down to touch his lips to his cheekbone. “And it’s not just the innkeeper. The entire town thinks so. But clearly, they don’t know what they’re talking about.”
Jaskier tilts his head to one side, biting on his lower lip and runs his gaze over Geralt’s frame like he’s testing his limits.
“Did I say that they don’t?”
And that… gods, that just confuses Geralt even more.
He’d spent the last five months assured that Jaskier really is a prince of Redania, and even after learning that the mansion and everything inside is created by magic, that he’s trapped here because he’s cursed and not because he needs to be kept out of the public focus, it was the way Jaskier acted, dressed, talked that still made Geralt believe that he’s of royal blood.
“You won’t give a definitive answer, will you?” Geralt sighs, finally looking up at the bard.
Jaskier shakes his head with a conspiratory smile.
“I’m afraid I cannot, my love,” he murmurs, and the endearment makes Geralt’s heart skip a beat. “Stability of the kingdom might be at stake.”
Geralt rolls his eyes and, before Jaskier can protest, pulls him down from his settee and onto the floor, pinning him under his body. The bard gasps but his eyes snap up to meet Geralt’s immediately, holding his gaze.
“And what if I am what they say I am?” he grins, wrapping both arms around Geralt’s neck to keep him close. “Would it change anything - knowing that you’re sleeping with a prince?”
Geralt doesn’t tell him that that’s exactly what he thinks this relationship is, simply because Jaskier is already self-assured enough and he doesn’t want to give him that pleasure. Instead, he dips his head down to nip at the bard’s lower lip and then breaks away before Jaskier can pull him into a proper kiss.
“You’re not asking the right question,” he says, mirroring the bard’s grin. “Haven’t you been warned what witchers can do to fragile little princes?”
Jaskier’s eyes light up with mischievous interest.
“My memory must be failing me,” he says, slipping his fingers into Geralt’s hair and hooking a leg over the small of his back in a move that he’d had more than enough time to practice over the last week. “But I'm dying to know.”
Without allowing Jaskier to pull him into a kiss, Geralt finds his way to his neck, leaving an open-mouthed, possessive kiss right under the sharp of the bard’s jaw, and he barely even notices as he undoes the laces on the front of his shirt.
“Well,” he murmurs, a soft rumble to his voice as he intercepts both Jaskier’s wrists and pins them above his head. “Then let me show you.”
***
It’s much, much later that they get to their bed and finally settle in for the night.
Sated and content, Jaskier makes himself comfortable on Geralt’s chest, tracing slow circles onto it, and it’s just about everything that the witcher needs to feel like he’s where he’s supposed to be.
He leans down, touching a soft kiss to the top of Jaskier’s head, and smiles at the pleased little sound he gets in return.
The dogs are long asleep on the far end of the bed, and the room is pleasantly quiet, the silence disturbed only by the soft crackling of the wood in the fireplace and the wind outside. Winter in this part of Redania takes its hold fast, and behind the windows, everything is covered in a blanket of fresh snow.
It’s peaceful, even more so than in Kaer Morhen.
The keep always has something happening within it, be it endless repairs or even more endless trainings, there are chores and duties to wake up to every morning, and it can sometimes get obnoxiously loud; but here, in the mansion, Geralt can just… rest.
He can wake up every morning with Jaskier’s familiar warmth close to him, and then spend the entire day just stealing kisses from him on every occasion he gets only to then fall asleep at night with the bard’s weight against his chest.
It’s a little selfish, of course, and Geralt had never thought that he’d be happy like this, that this kind of life was ever meant for a witcher but gods, he loved him so much.
It almost hurt, just how hopelessly gone he was.
“You know,” Jaskier murmurs, brushing his thumb over a thin scar on Geralt’s chest and then lifting his medallion with his magic, making it hum violently. “There are times when I feel like I’ve known you forever.”
Geralt takes the medallion away from him and instead laces their fingers together, the soft tingle of magic sending a shiver down his back.
“Maybe you have,” he hums, bringing their linked hands up to his lips to touch a kiss to Jaskier’s knuckles and let him go. “Do you believe in past lives?”
Jaskier turns to rest his chin upon Geralt's chest, looking up at him from under his lashes. They’re both completely naked, and his warm skin feels perfect against the witcher’s as he settles right on top.
“I suppose,” he says after a pause. “Do you?”
Geralt isn’t sure if he believes in past lives. He’d never really thought about it but then again, he’d never thought he’d be in love with a man who - and now he’s even more sure of it - is a prince of Redania.
“Maybe,” he says finally, shrugging with one shoulder. “And if they are real, then maybe we knew each other in a life before this one.”
Jaskier smiles, seemingly pleased with the thought, and his magic gets stronger, snaking around his fingers in shifting colours of blue and purple, slithering up Geralt’s skin like painless flames, making him shiver.
“I like the sound of that,” Jaskier murmurs, tilting his head to the side as his magic gets to Geralt’s hair, runs through it, making the witcher’s breath stutter. “A different life, but still with you.”
It feels almost the same way that it does when Jaskier runs his fingers through his hair but the magic gets right under his skin, brushes over his every nerve, and there’s nothing Geralt can do to suppress another shiver.
“A different life, but still with me,” he echoes, catching and holding Jaskier’s gaze. “Would you want that?”
Jaskier smiles.
“A different life?”
“A life with me.”
Geralt can feel his heart beating hard and fast in his chest. It’s just four words but they just might’ve required more courage from him than any hunt he’d ever been on.
Jaskier shifts, moving closer, and cups Geralt’s cheek with one hand, looking into his eyes before leaning in even more and kissing him, slowly and softly.
“I would,” he smiles as he breaks away, resting his forehead against Geralt’s, his hand still resting on the sharp of his jaw. “I would, darling.”
Geralt’s heart starts beating even faster, almost painfully, as he thinks over the words that he’d been meaning to say for weeks now. It’s absolutely horrifying, the thought alone, but if he’s being brave with his words, he might as well go all the way.
“Jask?--” he calls softly, keeping his eyes closed and catching the bard’s lips in one more kiss before finally letting go. “I love you.”
Jaskier’s breath catches, his heart skipping a beat in his chest, and he pulls back, looking Geralt in the eye for an endlessly long moment, searching for something, until finally his lips curl up into a smile and he surges forward, pulling Geralt into a heated, messy kiss.
“Gods, Geralt--” he whispers, their lips still touching, and kisses him again. “The things you do to me--”
Geralt can barely breathe as the bard finds his hand and brings it up to his chest, pressing it over his heart, breathing like a bird in a cage.
“Oh, my darling,” Jaskier runs his hands over Geralt’s face, catching his lips with his own again. “I love you more.”
A weight falls off Geralt’s chest, and the lightness that takes its place makes him feel lightheaded for a moment or two.
“Not possible,” he grins, wrapping his arms around Jaskier’s back and pulling him so close that he knows there are going to be bruises in the morning.
Jaskier gasps at the pressure on his ribs but then just laughs, finding Geralt’s lips without looking and rolling over to flip them both around, throwing his arms around Geralt’s neck, the smile never leaving his lips.
It’s a strange, new feeling for Geralt but he can’t deny how good it feels. How fast it makes his heart beat - knowing that Jaskier feels the same way.
“I wanted to tell you sooner,” he whispers in-between kisses, propping himself up on one elbow and running his free hand down Jaskier’s side. “I knew-- for a long time.”
Jaskier laughs, and the fire in the hearth flares up with his magic.
“For how long?” he asks.
Geralt breaks away from his lips and moves lower, to Jaskier’s collarbones, covered in his marks.
“Since that night you took me out into the gardens to see the stars,” he says. “But I only realised it after I talked to my brother in Novigrad. He was the first one to say it out loud, and once he did, everything just… fell into place.”
Rolling around on the bed, they wake up the dogs, and once they see the smile on Jaskier’s face, both Asra and Lucio take it as their cue to crawl closer and lick at his face, making the bard laugh and let go of Geralt, shielding himself with his arms.
Geralt doesn’t even think about helping him, just turns to fall onto his back beside Jaskier, and scrunches his nose when Asra picks him as her new target, getting drool all over him.
And this… makes him feel like he belongs.
Like for the first time in his life, he belongs somewhere other than Kaer Morhen.
#the witcher#geraskier#geraskier big bang#geralt x jaskier#geralt/jaskier#geralt of rivia#jaskier#the drug the dark the light the flame#my writing#calton writes
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