Fanfic Recs

"The Witcher's bought a room for the night, and says he'll pay double for anyone who can bed him without stinking of fear the whole time." "Oh, I've fucking got this," Jaskier promised.____________ Or, the one where Jaskier works in a brothel and falls head over heels for the stoic, not-actually-that-scary Witcher who comes in requesting his services. Geralt doesn't know what he's getting himself into.

In a small village in the hills of Kaedwan, Geralt is born. In Kaer Morhen, Geralt trains. In Posada, Geralt meets Jaskier. His life is never quite the same after that.

When Jaskier is seven, he first hears the myths of the Witchers--those foul, half-human beasts.When Jaskier is twenty-one, he meets Geralt.He falls in love with him not long after.---Translation in Russian/русский avalible

By the twentieth time Geralt has gone through the loop, he decides to just throw himself off the cliff’s edge after Borch. He wakes up to his twenty-first attempt. “Fuck.”

“Well,” Jaskier replies distractedly. “Lots of things want to strangle you.”“You don’t.”It isn’t a particularly troublesome accusation, or even necessarily an accusation at all.

The Olympics are looming, and this is Haru's last chance to qualify. Trust Rin to show up in the middle of the night to talk some sense into him. Well, to talk about something, anyway.

Once, Geralt had watched Jaskier, deep in a healing sleep, and regretted his own harsh words. Now, with only silence for company as he trudged down King Niedamir's mountains, Geralt realized he hadn't truly known regret because the only thing worse than Jaskier's silent and still form was the absence of it.

"Right, well," Jaskier says, when he halts before Geralt. Up close, he looks much more nervous. There is sweat on his brow and his collar is damp with it, and his teeth keep catching on his lower lip. "True love's kiss. There's—ah—there's nothing to it." And he bends, the utter imbecile, and kisses Geralt full on the mouth.

You wish Jaskier would leave you the fuck alone, but he clings to you like ash after flames have laid waste to a village, like clotted crimson after you have killed something with your bare hands. However, you can scrub blood out from under your nails. Jaskier, so far, has proven to be far more indelible.

Jaskier feels like a dog, on most days. A stray, drooling dog outside of a butcher shop, gazing longingly through smudged glass at sides of beef dripping blood into black earth. Or actually, more like a guard dog, the sort meant to herd livestock. Forever cursed to care for, to protect, to watch exactly what it would prefer to bite into. The thing in question, of course, the metaphorical pork chop, the sacrificial lamb, is Geralt of Fucking Rivia. Or more specifically, his ass.

the sun lived and died in your eyes,

"Geralt is able to scent the guilt on a lying man from ten feet away, to catch sight of half a pawprint in the undergrowth in the dead of night, to know when to lean back before the coming blade can cut through his throat. Much of it comes from his training at Kaer Morhen, where his instincts were honed and enhanced, but even more comes from his travels and experiences while walking the Path. Geralt notices things, because not noticing means death. He does not notice the lack of singing." Something is very wrong with Jaskier.

Jaskier didn’t want to marry just any noblewoman--no matter how comely she may be--he wanted adventure and many loves, but most importantly his biggest, greatest love of all. He is not expecting that love to be in the form of a brooding stranger sitting at the back of a tavern. In one instant his breath catches in his throat at the beauty of the man before him and in the next, there’s a burning sensation on the bottom of his heel as his mark makes itself known. It’s pain and pleasure knotted together, roses surrounded by thorns.

He announces to his audiences, with great excitement, that he is, in fact, the famous bard Jaskier and has been temporarily afflicted by a curse that has turned him into the gorgeous woman they see before them today. At the end of his performances, he’s found it quite lucrative to say, “Every coin you can spare helps me continue my search for a cure.”

Jaskier wanders the wilderness with Geralt; killing monsters, hunting things... and pondering ideas of love and friendship.

Jaskier is eighteen when an elf kicks him so hard in the chest it could break something.

Jaskier is the only person Geralt's ever been around who doesn't smell of fear.

Jaskier trembles slightly, looking up at Geralt’s profile. They had not thought to ask if the creature’s victims assaulted only the women of the village. It had hardly seemed like relevant information at the time, but now...Jaskier feels foolish, and flushed with shame and fear. He knows Geralt has laid with men before, just as Jaskier has, and if the monster’s bite drives men lust crazed it hardly seems like the magic is likely to discriminate based on something as silly as gender. Or, Geralt hunts an unknown monster whose victims become lust crazed and die of fever if their urges are not fulfilled. This is not how Jaskier imagined having sex with Geralt, and he has imagined it often. (Though the consent is definitely dubious, this is by no measure noncon. Please go elsewhere for that.)

Sokka’s fixing you with a soft gaze, and you can’t help but stare as his lips curl into a smile, and he chuckles quietly at your plight. You can’t remember having ever heard a better sound. And that’s when you realize. You’d make a fool of yourself over and over, do everything you could, if it would only make Sokka look at you like that. Fire nation prince you may be, but what you truly seek now is the smile of one distinctly blue-eyed boy.

Far from home, facing down the barrel of destiny, or fate, or whatever it is someone else might believe in, you've never felt quite so afraid - or so lonely. But tonight when the nightmares wake you, as they always do, you realize something you haven't before - you're not alone. And slowly but surely, you learn to make your home in him anew.

Rin has too many questions, and Haru has no questions at all, but between the two of them perhaps they can come to an understanding.

Once upon a time, Haru helped Rin to fall in love with swimming again, and now, Rin wants desperately to return the favor.

Sokka and Zuko have broken up but Sokka hasn't told his family yet. So when Katara and Aang's wedding weekend rolls around and he doesn't want to break Gran-Gran's heart, he asks Zuko to pretend to be his boyfriend for one last weekend. Things don't go as planned.

Zuko runs back into the Gaang at the Western Air Temple, and must regain their trust even after breaking Sokka's heart in Ba Sing Se. The presence of 4 of Sokka's exes doesn't simplify the matter. Sequel to "Of Love, Unintentional Threesomes, and Sokka"

Sokka stumbled into Pao's Family Tea House one afternoon to find the last person he expected to see in Ba Sing Se. How Sokka's would-be stakeout of Zuko's new life turned into an unfortunate cover up, a potential threesome with the dude he'd sworn to hate for life, and making some really questionable jokes about tea. Or: Reconnaissance was never Sokka's strongsuit.

Sokka would swear, later on, that it was completely innocent when it started.

Sokka goes through life tormented by the ghost of his regrets. Or: Sokka doesn't die before the events of LoK and is painfully in love with Zuko

It wasn't a date. No matter how much Makoto insisted that it was. Rin just wanted to visit him in Tokyo on Christmas Eve. That was all. And if that meant Haru had to hold Rin's hand to avoid getting lost in the crowds at the Christmas market, then so be it.

Zuko can't sleep. Sokka knows how to help.

And, spirits help him, Zuko must be really tired, because he finds himself wanting to lean over and kiss Sokka until they’re both breathless and hot and panting. Not again.