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sweetpickolwarrior · 3 years

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The Three Times You Didn’t Want Them To Hear You, The One Time You Did (Part 3)

Established fic

Small!Brown!Female!Reader

Not too apparent but just letting you know in case.

Fic summary: You have been travelling with geralt and Jaskier for quite some time, you had always been told that your voice would take you places before you had no choice but to abandon your previous life. You still loved it though. This fic explores the times you let go and let yourself sing. We also explore your backstory and the developing relationship with your older and protective companions :)

PART 1 HERE PART 2 HERE

Chapter summary: Bit of a filler chapter, the wait was more so to plan out the rest of the story clearly. Y/N wants to repay geralt for his kindness and show Jaskier that she does not hate him, but has trouble with words and such. Further apologies for the wait... enjoy!

The fact that you had not been sober enough to truly appreciate the room that Geralt had decided to treat you with left you with a pang of guilt, but a wavering reluctance to bring up anything about that night lest he unnecessarily recall the sound of your voice. You don’t suppose he cared much, as far as you could pick out from that night, it wasn't something that mattered very much to him… but then why the room? The situation slightly baffled you. You much preferred going from contract to contract, tavern to tavern, losing yourself in the endeavours of your companions. You roamed the streets of this new, unusually pleasant town, the bustle of the morning bubbling through. Your mind turned to the small sack you had swaddled at the very bottom of your pack buried beneath your myriad of gatherings from your travels. A small, worn leather sack with a drawstring through the top, wrapped in an old sock that had outlived its original duty a few winters ago sat almost full, the weight of the coin inside at most an apple or two. You had kept it for emergencies, a few loaves of bread and some meat if rations had become sparse, a promise payment for a healer or mage, should one or more of you fall incapacitated while coin was low, an emergency room should the cold threaten to settle in someones bones too cosily, and should you feel the need to express gratitude to a generous but stoic witcher, apparently.

You wandered past a bakers stall, sweet pastries dusted with sugar beckoned, small honey dipped loaves with specks of lavender peeking through the golden slopes glinted in the morning light, puffy buns that had been baked with a clever twist in the top to result in a soft swirl sat in a neat row identical to the sweet fresh bread Jaskier had pressed into your palm earlier. You cringed at the thought of leaving so abruptly and didn't like all this coaxing going on, and hoped he would drop the subject so you could shove the topic down your tunic and carry on your simple shenanigans with the bard.

You strolled through, eyes on the dry dirt of the worn path through the centre, ladies walking with shawls wrapped tight around their shoulders gave you curt, tight-lipped greeting smiles as you passed through looking thoroughly disheveled. You had given up on dresses, petticoats, stockings and other such extraneous garments when tripping up on hems or sweating through layers upon layers had become more trouble than your chagrin had been worth. A tunic and breeches were sported now, along with unkempt, thick jet black hair. You tended to forget what a sight you would be to normal folks, constantly surrounded by the bard in his gaudy and intricate clothing (you still didn't know how he survived on the path) and a burly witcher clad almost always in armour and under that, similar garments to yourself. you supposed the three of you stuck out like an arrow between the eyes. Your mind flashed to what your mother may have said should she see you like this. It confused you for a moment, these memories suddenly deciding they were welcome in your conscious thoughts over the past few days. you stuffed the sudden pang of guilt and shame back into oblivion as your hands moved to your tangled mop, carding roughly through so you may find some semblance of being put together.

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You tried hard not to cast your eyes down to your fingers, out of practice as they were. You tried to feel the sections, pick up more as you went, comb through soft with your fingers lest the ends get tangled, keep hold of the ribbon. Roach was being very patient with you. The fire warmed your back as you sat on your knees, tending to a horse who had decided to sit for you. You didn't know much of equine tendencies, but had heard that horses do not sit save for when it was going to rain. Your mind moved to days where your little troop had no choice but to trudge through hail, rain and thunder. She did not object and kept on wonderfully through these times and was rewarded with kisses and slips of dried fruit from you later on.

She had decided to understand what coaxing her to the floor with a brushing, soft words and rubs on her neck had meant that night and folded her legs, coming down with an impressive and somehow graceful thud. You supposed you couldn't know everything about everything and the clearest answer was that she’s just a very good girl. You relaxed as your fingers fell into a rhythm - right strand, left strand, ribbon, taking care to adjust the material so the nicer side was showing. “Expensive.” Geralt stated simply from behind. He was checking through his own pack, counting off vials of witcher potions and such. “Yes, well - an extra room must have cost.. and the food I didn’t touch” you focused on your hands, knowing Geralt was probably trying to avoid eye contact, too. After hearing a somewhat soft “hmm”, your attention returned to your fingers, having now grown a mind of their own. Roach’s auburn mane turned a dark coal in your minds eye, her soft huffs to small complaints of tugging too hard “hush now, or it won’t look nice” you barely whispered as her head jerked, it was an impossible task to try tie the hair of any child into a neat row, your sisters no exception. Your breath slowed as your mothers lullaby sat in between your lips, you tried to grasp the first note of the soft song.

Sisters? Here?

Your knees were cold and sore, kneeling on the ground so long, knobs of grass settling aches into your muscles; your hair unkempt and hastily scraped back, with a small leather tie, bumps hilling over your scalp that you had no care of. Your hands were dirty, grubby from foraging scraps of dry wood to keep warm through the night. Calloused from the past few years of plucking the string of your bow with arrows that reminded you with every swift hit that death was something permanent, immediate, inescapable. These hands were not the same ones that softly put braids in your sisters’ hair. These calluses were not the same ones that came from making music.

The first note of that bloody lullaby froze on your toungue.Best to stop trying to live in the past. Not that you were, trying that is. You wanted nothing more than those memories to keep sitting in the little box in your mind where they were meant to be. Happy, silent, unbothering. Instead they kept feeling the need to rise up, to pester you and drag you away, remind you that those days would never come back, that your whole life had vanished.

Well, this was your life now and different as it was, you needed to live in it. You pushed away the offending memories for the second time that day, focusing on finishing Roach’s mane.

Impeccable timing as always, Jaskier came strolling through after having washed everyone’s clothes in a nearby stream, no doubt a vein of the river you had found yourself in those few days ago. “Honestly, why do I bother? They're bound by fate to stink of ash and dirt anyway- I know! I could write a shanty about the smoked Witcher’s shirt - a real pub sway! Sometimes he smells of heroics and adventure! The whiff of a lady’s perfume often, but will always return to the ash of a trusty campfire” he leaned to put the folded pile down neatly. You were in awe of how these thoughts came running from your musical friend, you were convinced that he could write a song about watching clothes dry and still make it magnificent.

Ah. Exactly.

A dramatic gasp came from the bard, no doubt with a soft hand upon his chest. Your fingers tensed as you pat roach and tried to seem as nonchalant as possible.

"Now! Which one of you has been able to tie a bow so pretty all this time?”

You had laced the ribbon, as careful as you could to not disturb the strings, behind where they were pulled taut to the tuning pegs of Jaskier's lute, taking care that the tails would not brush against the front or impair his hands while playing. The ribbon you had bought was a soft lavender colour, embroidered with a deep violet, floral and feathery motifs weaving through the sleek fabric. You turned to see Jaskier caressing the fine fabric “I shall have to have an outfit made to go with this! Oh what a look that could be for the bardic competition this autumn! Simply revolutionary, a great stride forward in musical fashion! Bows woven through lutes, gods-” a theatrical palm to the forehead “How had I not thought of this before- and Roach! Oh! Exquisite, Y/N,” it seemed he had finally clocked onto the fact that this was your doing, both you and Geralt huffing amusedly as he was practically flying with excitement “I daresay Roach could be a fine show horse! Beautifully healthy and muscular, a shining coat, those deep glistening eyes- “She’s not a show horse” Geralt grumbled "I said could or rather might've been, had the twines of fate been wound a little looser.." You chuckled softly as your trusty bard rambled on into the night about how he knew a thing or two about show horses (being one in a past life, most likely) and you prepared your bedroll, smoothed it out with your hands and checked how close your damp clothes were to drying. When you reflected on Jaskier's words, you thought about how the warm and bitter smell of ash and smoke and fire made from Witcher magic was comforting to you. As you settled, you tried to smell other things, maybe someday you could smell half as well as a witcher if you trained hard enough. Ash, smoke.. the small burnt remnants of a meagre fish dinner, the distinctly horsey smell of Roach, the faintest traces of lavender lingering in your hair. You supposed you could try to hone in your hearing, too. You got comfortable, wriggling a little further in, catching a glimpse of the fine ribbon you had bought before closing your eyes...it was nice to see the splashes of the bright colour woven through your little group. You could first hear Jaskier mumbling on, the scratch of his quill onto the notebook he carried, the pops and snaps of the fire, the wind breathing contentedly through the leaves above, the last clinks of Geralt's potion bottles, then the slight crunch of careful steps in leather boots, his hands patting roach and hushed, almost inaudible whispers of him calling Roach his "pretty girl".

A/N : Hello, dears! I hope you've all been well and taking care of yourselves - I know it has been a tremendous wait. i've been planning the rest of the story out (i'm rly annoyingly particular about it) and lots of things have been a bit crazy the past two months. I hope this chapter isnt dissapointing given the wait but get ready for big angst, hurt/comfort and further progression of the story and characters in the next two chapters. I feel this filler was needed to transition into the next part of the story. I might change the description some as this story is not only about the fact that Y/N can sing, but also focuses on the way that changes her relationship with the boys.

More on the interactions of this night for the boys' POV in the next chapter probably x

I'm hoping the story is well fleshed out and flowing, and that its clear that singing is a great comfort and big part of Y/N's character. I hope its easy to immerse yourself and such. Again, its such a pleasure to receive likes and comments, and i'm very grateful to anyone who has read so far... be ready for great developments! As always, constructive criticism is welcome xxx Thanks gang!

Also yall thank my lil sister for helping me write this, she doesnt have an tumblr account so I cant tag her or anything but she super cool and rambling to her rly helps me organise my writing.

stay blessed!

tagged people:

@ladylizzieofdarbyshire i cannot find @sihxm i did try xxx

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whitetyger123 · 3 years

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I feel like rating Jaskier's outfits cause I'm bored (warning these are all gonna be pretty high ratings, the man knows how to work it)

Four Marks

The colour, the little fake nipple windows, the puffy sleeves, absolutely fantastic, perfect outfit to pick up a brooding Witcher in, 11/10

Before the bath

Lighter color this time, sleeves possibly even puffier, with those cool triangle shapes at the shoulders, fantastic! I think this gets the least screen time, which is a shame, 10/10

Bath scene

This outfit is so hard to get a good shot of because of all the mood lighting, but for an undershirt it's pretty nice! Some lace details, and of course I can't ignore the bisexual rolled up sleeves. It makes things seem very intimate, and I love it, though it just can't get as high of a score because it is still pretty plain because it's an undershirt. 8/10

Banquet

Just stunning, the gold is perfect for a royal betrothal, the color is really the star here. One point taken off for the sleeves not being puffy, 9/10

Lake side fishing

Nice light blue! Puffy sleeves are back, he's got it undone because he's visiting his boyfriend friend in the woods, love all the lacy bits, 10/10

After the djin

Yes! The blood! The rolled up sleeves! The chest hair! This is the moment we all went, this bard can fit so much pain inside it! This is the moment that spawned 865 AO3 WHUMP stories! 1000000/10, excellent, absolutely perfect

Rare Species

And last but most definitely not least, we have this red number. The color is terrible for camouflage, but excellent for making me feel things. And the detail! Cut outs on the arms, cut outs on the chest, cross-stitching in gold thread! And you're probably gonna say 'she's gonna take points off for no puffy sleeves' but you're wrong! Because those shoulder pad things are a marvelous replacement, just absolutely fabulous, i can't explain why but they are wonderful, even with no puffiness. 100/10, the only one that I would want to make myself

#the witcher #witcher #jaskier #joey batey #clothes #whitetyger rates costumes #seriously though if someone has a pattern for the red doublet #i would pay #i want it so bad #it's so pretty

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pillage-and-lute · 3 years

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Thicker Than Water (Part 3)

Part 1 Part 2 (here) Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Ao3 link HERE

Finally here, now that I’m feeling a little better.

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Traveling with Geralt, Ciri, and Yennefer was hard. They went slow for Yennefer’s sake, and for that Jaskier was thankful, but his entire body ached.

He’d woken up cold and damp, body sore from lying on the ground in his cheap bedroll, but he didn’t complain. He drank heavily from his water skin to keep his stomach from growling, unwilling to use up precious food for himself. He was being brought along on this journey against Geralt’s -and his own- wishes, but he would not be a burden.

He forged ahead, even, at one point, taking a bag from Yennefer. She didn’t have much to carry but he recognized the full body exhaustion on her face. She didn’t smile at him or thank him, but she nodded gratefully.

Jaskier reflected on that. He had wanted to hate the witch, especially back then, after the djinn, when he’d seen her and Geralt...playing hide the sausage. He found that he couldn’t. He was an artist, he appreciated beauty and pain and the use of words and an excellent storyline. Yennefer checked those boxes. Jaskier felt ashamed to want to dislike her. She’d held back forces at Sodden, she was strong and good with Ciri and cared for Geralt. He appreciated all these things.

It was just...she and Geralt and Ciri were all together. A powerful sorceress, a twice-made Witcher, a hero, and their adopted child with untold power and a regal birthright. It made a family. And just like with his own family, there was no place for Jaskier.

It hurt.

But he wasn’t supposed to be part of the family. He wasn’t there to share in the chatter Ciri directed at Yennefer and Geralt. Geralt even talked back a little, answering in one or two words the stream of questions. He answered them though. Jaskier wished he’d ever answered him.

Then he felt silly. He was jealous of Ciri, who was a child. A brave child, but a child nonetheless, who’d lost her home and her family and everyone she knew in a very short time. Of course Geralt would answer her questions, he was a good man.

He also liked children, Jaskier knew. He let his memory drift to a happier time.

It had been a summer fair in a tiny, agricultural village, tucked among wheat fields like a lost button beneath a patchwork quilt. The sun had been warm and the whole world was amber. Jaskier was playing music with a scratch band of anyone who wanted to join. Lighthearted jigs and reels had unfurled beneath his hands. He played The Willow Wedding and The Flowers of Fairside and other simple country songs that his fellow musicians might know. All around them people were dancing and laughing. Flower crowns were made. Young women shyly offered them and young men shyly took them to indicate blooming romance, but almost everyone in attendance had one, old and young.

Geralt had been standing, looming without intention, at the edge of the crowd, near Jaskier. In the shadows, in his black outfit (Jaskier had insisted he leave the armor back at the in) he looked out of place, like a thistle in a bouquet.

Then a little girl in a neat yellow pinafore, dyed with weld, probably, and carefully embroidered with little yellow roses at the collar stopped by the musician. She was perhaps four years old, and she looked at the dancers and then just sat down and began to cry.. It had been a sight to bend even the hardest heart and Jaskier had been just about to stop playing when Geralt crouched in front of her.

“What ever is the matter?” Jaskier had heard him say, softly.

“Everybody’s dancin,” sniffled the little girl. “An nobody wants to dance wif me.” She reached up and took the dandelion and daisy flower crown from her dark, bushy hair.

Jaskier’s heart just melted and he wanted to cry in sympathy as one big, blobby tear rolled down a round cheek. She scrubbed it away hastily but more were hanging on lashes all around her big, brown eyes.

“Nobody wants to dance with you?” Geralt said, affecting a wide eyed look of surprise. The girl sniffled again and pointed to the edge of the dancing, where a group of kids, a little older than her, where all wheeling about together.

“Not nobody,” Geralt said, gently putting her flower crown back on her head. “You haven’t asked me if I want to dance, have you?”

She sniffed the last of her sniffles and looked up, a slow smile starting. “Do ya wanna dance wif me?”

“Of course,” Geralt had said, then he’d very carefully lifted her so her tiny feet were safely away from trodding, and he’d set her feet on the tops of his big, black boots. Then Geralt had danced, a little awkwardly, but holding her little hands in his large ones and taking big steps so she bounced on his boots, which resulted in her shrieking with delight.

Eventually an older girl had pulled her away to go spin about with the others, but the memory lived in a quiet, warm place in Jaskier’s chest. He thought of it often, and the way the little girl had offered a tiny daisy from her flower crown. It had remained in Geralt’s fingers as he returned to his place, brooding in the shadows, spinning it between thumb and forefinger occasionally.

“Dandelion,” Ciri said, pulling him from his reverie. “Jaskier, can you tell me a story?”

Jaskier glanced back to see the look on Geralt’s face, but then wasn’t sure why he had, the witcher’s expression held no answers, it never did. The story that leapt to mind was, of course, Geralt dancing with that child in the sunshine, but he didn’t tell it. Instead he leapt into a tale, a long one, of the son of a king who wanted to marry the lovely daughter of an evil enchanter.

It was a good story, very long with lot’s of parts, so Ciri could ask for more again and again, and there were amazing characters with strange tales and true love and magic and wishes. Everything a good story needed. Jaskier prided himself on doing the voices for each new character.

Ciri traipsed along beside him, hanging on his every word. She was a good audience, making surprised noises or saying ‘oh no!’ at just the right points. Jaskier even noticed Yennefer listening, occasionally smiling to herself at a joke or a good part of the story.

Geralt walked on ahead. Jaskier had no way of telling if he was listening, but he probably wasn’t. The story was fantastical to the extreme and if Geralt were listening he would probably be scoffing and complaining about how that ‘can’t be done with magic’ and ‘there aren’t river dragons, there’s only water serpents, they’re different species entirely’.

It was funny, though, when they stopped for dinner-Jaskier picking at the rations offered, reluctant to use up supplies but unwilling to worry Ciri- he continued the story, and Geralt, who had been sharpening his sword, stopped.

Of course, it was probably simply that the blade didn’t need much sharpening, or that Geralt wanted to allow Ciri to listen. Still, Jaskier felt good. He hadn’t complained, he wasn’t eating too much food, and he wasn’t much of a burden.

And Ciri liked the story.

They kept walking after dinner, so long as they still had light, relying on Geralt in the dim twilight to find a spot to camp. Jaskier told more of the story, not even a third of the way through, and occasionally Ciri asked questions.

“Why did the king’s son not want to marry the oldest sister?”

“Because she was too cold,” Jaskier said, inventing, because the story didn’t say. “She was beautiful, but she could not love, so her heart turned to ice and everything she touched froze.”

“And the middle sister?” Ciri asked, wide eyed.

“She was too warm, she was angry, all the time, and so her heart turned to fire and all she touched melted or burned.”

As the story he told progressed, Jaskier used his additions in the story. The king’s son, fleeing with his soon-to-be bride, the youngest sister, had to escape the sorceror’s wrath, but the sisters tried to stop their youngest sister leaving, melting the chains of the drawbridge so that the couple couldn’t escape.

Ciri gasped and wrapped one hand in Jaskier’s traveling cloak, hanging on to him as tightly as she held to his words.

Then the eldest sister in the story sent a blizard after the couple, who had escaped the draw bridge just in time. Yennefer, who looked a little better after their meal and short rest, sent a tiny swirl of snow, a miniature blizzard from her finger, letting it play a moment with Ciri’s hair before dissappearing.

Ciri laughed with delight and Jaskier sent a smile to Yennefer, who nodded at him surprisingly warmly. A good story made everyone happy, he supposed.

They stopped for the night in another clearing. Ciri begged for more of the story before bed. Geralt sat, setting the fire so it could burn through the night, while Yennefer brushed out Ciri’s hair. It was a perfect, domestic little scene, and Jaskier felt odd, seeing it from the outside, but also in the spotlight of Ciri’s focus.

He plucked his lute quietly as he told the story. In truth, there were many little poems buried in the tale, and he’d long ago made little tunes for each so that they could be sung. When he came to one, though, he didn’t sing it. He just plucked out the tune as he talked, and when the poem passed he continued through the story, letting his music be the background.

Hopefully it was less annoying that way.

He wasn’t about to offer this perfect family a fillingless pie.

As he finally lay down to sleep though, he quite felt like a fillingless pie himself. Ciri and Yennefer had once again bedded down in the magic tent and Geralt was rolled up in his bedroll in his tent, across the barely glowing fire. Jaskier lay awake.

His bedroll was thin and his ribs fairly ached with hunger, but Geralt had said they were but a day away from a town. Jaskier could buy supplies there, he still had a little coin, and that way he wouldn’t use up the others’ food.

He could play in the town too, earn more coin. They wouldn’t stay there, he knew, not with half the continent searching for a white haired witcher and his child surprise. But the others needed supplies too, and Yennefer said she had enough magic for a small glamor to hide Geralt and Ciri’s hair and her eyes.

Jaskier settled in for the night. Earning coin made him useful, and therefore not a burden, so he would earn coin.

He made a list in his head of things he should buy to prepare for the trek up to Kaer Morhen. Gloves, his only pair had worn out last year. A thicker cloak, his was practically threadbare. Grapeseed and linseed oil. One for the beard he was growing and the other for his lute. New lute strings.

He rolled over on his bedroll, trying to avoid the root digging into his spine. He’d need to make quite a bit of money. He wasn’t sure he’d be able too. It wasn’t safe to sing about the white wolf, not too much, or someone might recognize him as himself, rather than just some bard singing Jaskier’s songs.

Country ditties then, but they made less money. It wasn’t just his supplies he needed to buy, either. Jaskier didn’t want to just not be a burden, he wanted to help.

They would all need thicker clothes and lots of food to make it to Kaer Morhen. He wasn’t a good hunter so he could really only help by supplying money to buy what they needed. He had little right now, and he felt shame rise in him. He’d had no way of knowing he’d meet up with Geralt and his child surprise, but if he hadn’t drunk so much of his money than he could be a better help.

He could sell his lute.

The thought came into his mind like a knife, and it turned his stomache. He could sell his lute, but the beautiful girl was the only physical thing he had to remind him of Geralt. Filavandrel’s lute. It would be worth a fortune, of course. Elven made, everyone knew they made the best instruments.

It was just...he couldn’t bear the thought of letting the lute go. He loved how she played, loved the memories he had. He knew the story behind every shallow scratch and scuff, and who could love her the same? And when the danger was passed and Geralt never had to see him again, what would Jaskier have then? A handful of memories, turned bittersweet, then bitter. Nothing concrete. He’d go back to Oxenfurt, maybe even Lettenhove. And there would be nothing for him to hold to remind him.

He couldn’t sell his lute.

The thought ate at him as he tried to sleep though. He had in his hands the means to help them all so much, and he was too selfish to do so.

Sleep eventually claimed him, and he dreamt of a mountain, wind whipping about his ears and carrying words to him.

Shit shoveler. Burden. If life could give me one blessing...

He awoke sore and badly rested, tears dried on his face.

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@frywen-babbles

#the witcher #geraskier #found family #fanfic #Yennefer #geralt of rivia #jaskier #cirilla fiona elen riannon #Kaer Morhen #not yet but soon #angst #angst with a happy ending #but also not yet #Yennefer is a good mom #sad jaskier #emotional whump #emotionally constipated Geralt of rivia #emotionally consitpated everybody #geralt/jaskier

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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 4 years

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A Twist of Fate

doing this thing | day 13 - poison

After so many years together, Geralt and Jaskier have developed a system of sorts for large gatherings. Jaskier loves being surrounded by people, loves the food and drink and song and will gladly spend hours upon hours dancing with whichever lord or lady catches his eye. Geralt is very much the opposite. The only reason he attends is either to keep an eye on Jaskier or to support him if he's performing. Otherwise, he'd rather be in the forest sharpening his swords or something.

As such, they've developed a signal for when Geralt has reached his limit of entertainment; he'll catch Jaskier's eye over the crowd - not difficult to do when Jaskier always has one eye on him anyway - and nod toward the door with his head. It's a statement as much as it is a question. I'm heading upstairs but also are you coming? Most nights Jaskier will remain for a while, enjoying the energy of whatever party they're attending, but on rare occasions, he'll turn in early.

Tonight it's the latter. He's finished his set and the main event is over - the engagement announcement of an old friend - and Geralt is looking quite spectacular tonight if he does say so himself. It’s an important event for Jaskier, so Geralt had let him pick out his outfit and had only complained once. Which, to be fair, was about the tightness of the sleeves around his arms. Next time, they'll just go to Elihal and have something made for him. But either way, he looks stunning tonight in black and gold and Jaskier is overflowing with pride that he's the one who gets to leave with him. Even if it doesn't lead to anything more than getting to sleep by his side.

So when Geralt rises from his seat, Jaskier is already prepared to leave. Being alone in their room is certain to prove frustrating because even surrounded by old friends, Jaskier can't keep his eyes off of him. Geralt nods and Jaskier smiles and mimics the gesture, earning him a soft smile from Geralt that makes his stomach flip. He bids a quick goodnight to the group he's talking to and quickly slips through the crowd to say a final congratulations to his friend before sneaking away.

There's a table of drinks to one side of the room and he grabs one on his way out; he'll certainly need the encouragement. He quickly downs the drink, setting the cup back down on the table before making his way through the halls.

He's barely left the hall when his head starts to feel strange, but he puts it down to the liquor being stronger than expected and continues on. But by the time he reaches their room, he's sweating. Heat prickles at his skin and there's an uncomfortable heaviness in his chest that he can't quite place. In a terrifying moment of realization, he wonders if he's been poisoned because something is certainly not right here. He's had his share of drunken nights and no matter how much he's had to drink, he's never felt like this. Even as he turns the handle and pushes into the room, his body continues rapidly heating up and he knows from experience that that is never good.

But when the door swings open, the rest of his body becomes a background thought as his cock twitches in his trousers. He must be gawking because Geralt lifts an eyebrow at him skeptically but Jaskier hardly registers it. Geralt is standing in the room, clearly in the process of getting undressed. His fingers linger on the buttons of his doublet which is open, baring his barely covered chest to the world. Despite his brain ceasing to function, Jaskier thinks this might be why Geralt so often calls him promiscuous. He does look quite lewd like this and oh the things that does to him.

Arousal burns through him and Jaskier swallows hard in an attempt to tamp it down, to no avail. If anything the swell of need increases, which is... not normal. Jaskier has spent half his life forcing down his attraction to the Witcher, so much so that he'd call himself an expert at denying himself. But tonight, his body has different ideas.

Geralt's eyes flick downward then back up, skeptical.

"You didn't have to come up with me," he says, "if you wanted to find a partner for the night, I wouldn't have minded."

Jaskier frowns in confusion. He learned the hard way long ago that Geralt can smell many things, his arousal being one of them, but this is not an uncommon occurrence. He shifts his stance and- oh, when did that happen? His cock is hard, pressing uncomfortably against the front of his trousers now that he's aware of it. That is... not the worst thing that's happened to him in Geralt's company, but the fact that he didn't notice worries him a little.

"Oh, er, I- I didn't."

"Jaskier," Geralt says slowly, taking a step toward him. "Are you alright?"

"Well actually, now that you-" Geralt steps into his space and Jaskier's skin prickles all over. "No, I don't think so."

"Your pupils are dilated," he mutters and Jaskier just shifts uncomfortably. This close, he can feel the heat radiating from Geralt's body and his body burns with the need to touch, to get his hands under that shirt and just touch him. "How do you feel?"

"Hot."

Geralt presses a hand to his forehead and Jaskier groans as a wave of pleasure washes over him. That is definitely not normal. His body is incredibly sensitive in a lot of places, but his forehead is not one of them.

"Oh," he breathes and he presses forward into the touch. "That feels incredible." Geralt's frown deepens but Jaskier finds it hard to be concerned when Geralt's fingers slip down to tip his chin up. He shuts his eyes and hums.

"Did you take a drink from anyone?" Geralt asks and the words almost go unnoticed as Jaskier is overcome with another surge of arousal. "Jaskier," Geralt growls, pushing firmly with both hands on his shoulders, "focus." Jaskier looks up at him and his mouth goes dry.

Geralt's face is pinched in concern but it's hard to worry about that because with his hair tied back like that and that doublet he looks so fucking sexy. He always does, but seeing him like this makes Jaskier's stomach drop in the most delightful way.

"Hmm?" he asks and Geralt sighs.

"Drinks, Jaskier. Did you take a drink from anyone you don't know."

"No, I'm not stupid, Geralt." He leans in, pressing his hands to Geralt's chest without thinking and oh- Gods, he could touch him all day and never tire of it, but- "I did grab a drink from the table," he hums and Geralt takes his hands, gently removing them from his chest, much to Jaskier's displeasure.

"Fuck."

"I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't drink so much but sometimes it's hard." He curls his fingers around Geralt's, stroking his hands. "I just want to touch you all the time and it's so hard not to."

"Jaskier I think you drank a love potion."

He freezes at that. "So I haven't been poisoned?" he asks cautiously.

"Unlikely," Geralt confirms, quickly detangling their fingers and pulling away, "but this could be much worse."

"How?" He's already reaching for Geralt again, desperate for the smallest touch, but Geralt steps away, crosses to lean against the wall at the other side of the room.

"Love potions vary depending on their intended purpose," he says and Jaskier climbs up on the bed where he can be closer. He flops down on his stomach and his cock slips against the inside of his trousers, pulling a soft moan from him as he tries to get comfortable. Geralt clears his throat and continues.

"Some twist other emotions to make someone fall in love - usually with a designated person. Some just enhance already existing feelings. Those ones can go very wrong very quickly if you ingest too much or if the formula isn't correct. Some of them create a false sense of love for as long as the potion remains in your system."

"For how long?"

"It depends on your metabolism. For me? Much shorter than for you. Some of them aren't love potions at all but are still classified as such. Probably because it's more acceptable to make love potions than sexual enhancers."

"And those ones?" Jaskier asks weakly, resisting the urge to rock his hips against the mattress.

"Make you desperate," Geralt says blandly, which seems cruel when Jaskier's whole body feels like it's about to combust.

"Which do you think this is?" he asks, but he suspects he knows the answer already considering it's taking every ounce of his control not to reach out and pull Geralt onto the bed with him.

"Tell me how you feel."

"Like I'm burning up from the inside out. Like I'm losing control."

"Hot?"

"Very."

"And still aroused," Geralt comments. Jaskier just presses his face into the covers and groans. "Is it constant?"

"No," Jaskier mumbles, "it uh, feels better when you touch me."

"Hmm."

"What does that mean?" Jaskier looks to see Geralt uncrossing his arms and coming toward him. His pulse spikes and it feels like his heart is in his throat.

"Like this?" Geralt asks, pressing a hand to his shoulder. Another place Jaskier isn't particularly sensitive, but the simple touch makes him ache and he groans as his hips press forward instinctively. "Does it feel like it's getting any worse?" Jaskier pulls himself up, crossing his legs under him as Geralt pulls away.

"Not really."

"It will."

"What?" Jaskier squawks. It's the first time he's felt anything but overwhelming need since he came up to the room, but the fear of more isn't better.

"Don't worry," Geralt says gently, "I'll be here."

"That's... actually not comforting, Geralt. What does that mean?"

"You're going to get far more desperate before it gets better, you'll need touch and I'm not going to just sit here and watch you suffer." Jaskier's breath catches and he can't believe Geralt is saying this to him.

"Do you mean you'll-"

"Just be glad it wasn't intended for you or I wouldn't be able to help. I'd have to take you to Yen or you'd have to fuck the idiot who did this to you to ease the discomfort."

"I'm not sure it was done to me, per se. I am glad it's not poison though."

"You won't be saying that in a few minutes."

Geralt is right, unfortunately, and after barely five minutes, Jaskier can barely stand the way his skin prickles with the need to be touched. He's hot all over, sweating through his clothes, but taking off his doublet does nothing but apparently make him more sensitive to the fabric of his shirt against his skin. He whimpers as it brushes against a nipple and arches off the bed.

He's propped up on the pillows and it's taking all of his self-control not to roll over and rut against the bed. Even the thought of it makes his cock throb in its confinement and he very nearly shoves a hand down his trousers to ease the need. A sound catches his attention at the last moment and he looks up to find Geralt, divested of his doublet and tugging his shirt out of his trousers.

Jaskier's eyes catch the thin strip of skin above his waistband and he moans out loud as the shirt lifts, giving way to a vast expanse of skin practically begging Jaskier to touch it. Geralt tugs his boots off and climbs up onto the end of the bed, crawling up and pushes Jaskier's ankles apart to kneel between them.

"Geralt," Jaskier chokes, shaking his head.

He can't get the words out, but Geralt can't do this, he doesn't understand what it means to him. Suddenly the ache doesn't feel so bad and he's sure if he went off somewhere for a little while, he could work through it on his own. How long could it take for the potion to work through his system, anyway?

"Shh," Geralt whispers, leaning forward on his hands.

He's too close now and Jaskier has to shut his eyes because feeling him so close is already hard enough. His fingers twitch against the bed and he wants to touch, even to slip his fingers around Geralt's, but he knows he can't.

"You can't-"

"Jaskier," Geralt breathes, much closer than he was a moment ago, "I wouldn't do this for just anyone." Whatever protest he had prepared dies on his tongue and Jaskier chokes out a moan instead as Geralt's palm slides up his hip. "I can find someone else if it's easier for you-"

"No," Jaskier says a little too quickly. "No, please, I want you. Only you."

"You don't mean that," Geralt breathes, nosing at his neck. The second his lips touch skin, Jaskier moans softly.

Tentatively, he wraps his arms around Geralt's shoulders, careful not to be too quick, too needy. He fails miserably, but Geralt doesn't seem to mind as Jaskier's fingers dig into his skin or the way he whines with every little shift of Geralt's mouth against him. Geralt's lips press against his neck, slowly moving up as Jaskier tips his head back and with a sigh.

It does nothing to ease the burning in his skin, but it feeds another need, one much older and grounded than the lust that sears through his veins now. It's a welcome diversion but the insistence returns quickly and Jaskier finds himself squirming to get free.

He wants to get Geralt out of the rest of his clothes, to press against him with nothing between them, indulge in every secret fantasy he's had over the last two decades - but he doesn't get a chance. Before he can move, Geralt's mouth finds his own and any thoughts are chased away by the softness of his lips.

Jaskier's hands slip into his hair and he tugs Geralt closer, biting at his bottom lip and moaning against him. Surprisingly, Geralt doesn't withdraw, he presses closer, fitting himself between Jaskier's legs. He pushes under his thighs, folding Jaskier's up and rocking against him.

"Geralt," he moans, "oh fuck."

Jaskier wraps his legs around him and rolls his hips, rutting shamelessly against Geralt's hip. Geralt is hard against him, and Jaskier has never felt anything so incredible in his whole life. In some way, Geralt wants this too, even if it's just for the sex. He reaches down, squeezing Geralt's ass and pressing him down against him. Geralt is surprisingly welcoming, but it only lasts a moment before he's pulling away, rising up to his knees again.

Jaskier keeps his legs around him, but he reaches up, running his palms up Geralt's chest as he rocks under him. Geralt pushes his shirt up and Jaskier shudders at the first touch of his fingers against his bare skin. He arches off the bed at the faintest nudge letting Geralt push his shirt up over his head

Geralt's hands are rough but gentle, sliding back to his hips and Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut, dreading the moment he eventually wakes. Because this can't be real, can it? Even if he is helping him, Geralt couldn't possibly want this from him? With him? Surely after all this time- His thoughts are abruptly interrupted by Geralt's mouth on his own and dexterous fingers working open his trousers.

Geralt draws away, just as one of his hands snakes into Jaskier's trousers, wrapping around him and stroking gently.

"Stop thinking so much," he breathes, "don't worry, I want this." He rocks his hips forward as if to prove his point and Jaskier groans.

Geralt spares a moment, leaning over to brush a hand down the side of Jaskier's face. It's soft and intimate in comparison to the raging heat and want inside him and Jaskier melts under it, sinking back into the bed as his hips press up. A hand slides under them, holding him off the bed and Geralt holds him like that, bending down to kiss his chest. His mouth is somehow still warm against Jaskier's skin and it feels good despite him already being overheated. He craves the heat and Geralt drops him back against the bed, bending lower to kiss his way down to Jaskier's waistband.

He takes his time licking at sucking every inch of exposed skin, tugging Jaskier's trousers out of the way when he runs out of room. When Geralt's tongue meets the vee of his hip, Jaskier squirms, grasping blindly for Geralt's head. He winds his fingers through his hair, whimpering at the intensity of it. This is a sensitive spot for him, but he can't help wondering if it's just the potion that brings about this heightened sensation or if it's Geralt. Either way, his cock aches with every new touch, hips twitching up, seeking more.

Geralt mumbles against his skin and Jaskier has no idea what he's saying, but suddenly it no longer matters because Geralt's fingers wrap around the waistband of his trousers, tugging them down without hesitation. Jaskier shuffles as Geralt sits back up, moving to help the removal of his clothes.

His eyes are shut, but he hears the sharp inhale and then a pause as Geralt gets him naked, tossing his clothes to one side. Normally, Jaskier might be inclined to go and gather them up and fold them nicely, but when he opens his eyes, Geralt is watching him with intense concentration. His eyes are dark, pupils wide with barely a rim of gold around them and Jaskier doesn't think he has ever looked so sexy. He moves reflexively, wrapping his arms around Geralt's neck and hauling him down and kissing him hard. He gets a soft laugh in return and when Geralt draws away again he presses his face into Jaskier's neck.

"You can't be feeling too badly," he hums, but Jaskier groans at him.

"You make it better," he breathes, "it doesn't feel so... overwhelming."

"It's not me," Geralt mumbles, "that's just how it works. If you give in to it, the desperation eases."

"That's not what I said. I said you make it better, not that I wanted this less." Geralt's laugh tickles his neck and Jaskier twists his fingers into his hair again, pressing his hips against him.

Geralt's trousers are rough against his cock, but it feels good and Geralt is surprisingly responsive, meeting every thrust with his own. It's hardly fair that Jaskier is undressed and Geralt is not. He loosens one hand from Geralt's hair, sliding his palm down Geralt's chest.

He wants to keep touching him, to just run his hands over Geralt's entire body, but he doesn't have the patience right now. A small part of him is regretful that he may never get the chance, but his body protests the delay. Finally, he gets his hand on Geralt's hip, shoving his trousers down just far enough to free his cock and get a hand around him.

Geralt groans at the touch, shuffling forward to press his cock against his hand and he nips at Jaskier's neck. He works over the same spot and Jaskier shudders. He aches. He wants. He struggles to wrap his hand all the way around him and the thought of having that cock inside him makes him lightheaded.

"Geralt," he pants, "please, I want you. Please."

Geralt barely moves, slipping a little further down his neck. He continues nipping at the skin, sucking at it, leaving soft kisses over each mark before moving further down. His tongue leaves wet spots in its wake, cooling against Jaskier's skin in the evening air, a harsh juxtaposition to the heat still simmering under his skin.

By the time Geralt reaches his hips again, Jaskier's mind is foggy with need and his cock leaks steadily against his hip. Just as he's about to sit up, wet heat engulfs the head of his cock and Geralt's tongue slips over the head tasting him and he sucks hard as he pulls off again. Geralt looks up at him and Jaskier barely lifts his head off the pillow to see him, dropping it back with a groan.

"You're a damned tease, Geralt of Rivia. I fear I shall grow old and die before you fuck me."

Geralt dips to kiss his hip once more, laughing softly against his skin before rising up and climbing off the bed. He strips out of his trousers and Jaskier leans up on one elbow to watch. Geralt is magnificent and Jaskier only wishes something other than mistakenly drinking a love potion would have gotten him into his bed. The thought doesn't linger though as heat creeps back up into him, prickling at his skin now that Geralt is no longer touching him.

He wraps a hand around himself to try and ease the ache, stroking himself slowly and squeezing around the head of his cock. It feels good but does nothing to quell the urgency.

But Geralt returns, kneeling on the bed and sitting back on his heels. His cock just proudly from his body and Jaskier can't help but stare at the way it curves back up enticingly. He wants to get his mouth around him, but more than that he wants to climb into Geralt's lap and sit on him, wants to fuck himself on that incredible cock.

There's the sound of a cork popping and Jaskier looks up to find Geralt spilling something over his fingers. He doesn't have to ask what it is because a second later his legs are being nudged apart and Geralt shifts, reaching back behind his balls and slipping against his hole. Jaskier's eyes drop shut involuntarily and he groans, spreading his legs further to give Geralt better access. A wave of pleasure rolls through him and he tightens his grip on his cock, stroking a little slower.

When Geralt first presses into him, he thinks he might implode. But Geralt keeps going, pushing deeper inside him, first with one finger, then two, and he stretches him, thrusts into him until Jaskier can barely breathe - though miraculously his body remains intact. He doesn't realize he's even speaking until Geralt crawls up over him and covers his mouth with his own to quiet him. Jaskier lets himself sink into it, moaning into his mouth and pushing his fingers through his hair.

Geralt's fingers slip from his body and Jaskier groans at the loss, but he's not wanting for long. As Geralt shifts above him, he aligns himself, nudging against Jaskier's hole with the head of his cock. Jaskier holds his breath as Geralt pushes forward, but he wraps a soothing hand around the side of Jaskier's neck, soothing him.

"Breathe," he whispers, "relax, Jask." He rubs his thumb just under his jaw and Jaskier exhales slowly, blinking up at him. "Better?" Geralt asks and Jaskier hums, rolling his hips into him. He slides deeper and Jaskier moans softly, pressing his nose into Geralt's cheek.

"Please," he whispers, "I need you. Please, darling." Geralt tips his head back with just his thumb, nuzzling against his neck and pressing his lips to his skin.

He says nothing, but he moans softly as he pushes deeper and Jaskier whimpers at the stretch but he pushes back against him. As Geralt settles deep inside him, Jaskier shifts his hips, adjusting before rocking onto him again with force. Geralt is by far the biggest cock he's ever taken, but Jaskier revels in the stretch, in the intense feeling of fullness.

Geralt fucks him slowly at first, picking up speed as Jaskier wraps around him. He's quick and hard and Jaskier is overwhelmed at just how good he is, always knowing exactly where to touch him, where to kiss him. And when he shifts his hips just so, Jaskier sees stars,

He whimpers, arching off the bed and rolling his head back and the pleasure rushes through him, threatening to overwhelm him. He finds himself wondering again if it's just the potion or if Geralt is just a fantastic fuck. He finds it doesn't really matter as Geralt's hips snap again and he finds himself sinking back into the bed, eyes dropping shut in pleasure.

It's not long before he's shaking, his legs twitching around Geralt's hips. He's close, so close he can practically feel it already and he can hear Geralt's arousal in every huff of breath against his ear, ever little grunt and groan as he brings him closer and closer to the edge.

"Jaskier," he huffs, burying his face in Jaskier's neck, "fuck."

"Yeah," Jaskier agrees. He pushes Geralt's head back up, biting his lip and moaning against him.

When he comes, it's with his nose pressed against Geralt's, panting so hard he can barely think straight. Geralt buries himself deep, keeping his thrusts hard and shallow and Jaskier cups the back of his head, whispering to him.

"Come on darling. Feels good, doesn't it?"

"Fuck, you feel good."

"That's right," Jaskier runs his fingers through his hair, taking advantage of the few moments he has left with Geralt like this. He slips his hands down his back, rolling Geralt's hips forward even as he thrust stutter and falter.

He kisses Jaskier as he comes, shoving an arm under him and pulling him close. They fit together well, Jaskier thinks, but as Geralt comes down from the high, he rolls to the side, hauling Jaskier up against him.

"Feel better?" he asks, pressing his nose into Jaskier's hair.

"Very much. Thank you."

"Any time," Geralt hums shutting his eyes with a soft smile. Jaskier lets himself be pulled into a warm embrace, rolling so he's facing Geralt. “You’re sure you feel okay?”

"Really?" he asks and he thinks he's pushing his luck but Geralt just presses a kiss into his hair.

"Hopefully next time you won't have to be poisoned first."

Jaskier pulls back to look at him, pressing a hand to his chest. "Darling, if I knew it was this easy to get you into bed I wouldn't have been downstairs long enough to drink the damn thing."

Geralt leans forward, catching his lips in a slow, passionate kiss. "I'll remember that next time."

#this is... not poison at all #so sorry #geraskier #rex writes #october prompts 2k20

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jaskiersvalley · 4 years

Note

honestly, your ability to come up with so many amazing stories/au's/ficlets/etc is astounding and i am so grateful for you and your words

People like you are the ones who make fandom such a pleasure! It’s been a little while since I’ve answered asks and this is one of the oldest messages that’s been sat in my inbox. Hopefully you’re still in the fandom and may enjoy some wedding shenanigans with an additional dose of everyone is poly.

Wedding Bells

Politics was nothing more than absolute bullshit. Why the world at large felt the need to force Jaskier into a marriage was beyond him. He had a very loving relationship with all his partners, why the law mandated that he must marry one and only one in order to fulfill some silly rule about inheritance and governing, it was beyond him. So now he was faced with a tough choice. And, quite possibly, a betting pool to win that Yennefer was organising.

The odds were quite startling, and betting pool wider than imaginable. Almost everyone in Lettenhove and beyond had an opinion about who Jaskier should marry and why.

As expected, Geralt was the front runner, he was the White Wolf, Jaskier’s first witcher. He was well known around the Continent, would bring a new gravitas to the Pankratz name and nobody would dare cross Jaskier when the White Wolf was by his side.

An unexpected second favourite was Eskel. The voice and reason of the group - at least, that was what the population at large believed. They didn’t need to know about the succubus and fisstech or any of Eskel’s other adventures. As far as the public was concerned, he was the calm one, the one who held everything together. He would be kind and fair, honest and hard working. Definitely a good balance to Jaskier’s more extravagant side.

Interestingly, Cahir was a dark horse pulling ahead. As the other human in their relationship, people who were keen on believing witchers to be beasts and unable to rule, they opted to favour Cahir. Plus, a marriage with Nilfgaard’s finest would definitely bring a certain amount of safety and peace to those living in Lettenhove. The security Cahir would bring with him as the husband of the Viscount (soon to be Count) de Lettenhove was definitely popular with Jaskier’s subjects.

Aiden was the fun choice. He was personable, so very easy to like and fun. He and Jaskier were often seen gallivanting around the lands, laughing and making friendly with the locals. If there was a troublemaker with charm in the group, it was most definitely Aiden. With him at Jaskier’s side, Lettenhove would be chaotic, non-stop party.

Last, and probably least, was Lambert. Sour, grouchy and almost always scowling if out and about. People were scared of him. The few who put money on him were doing it either as a joke or because they thought his demeanour would frighten off anyone nosing around Lettenhove with bad intent. Without a doubt, Lambert would not tolerate any kind of tomfoolery or malice from anyone.

It was a topic of great discussion amongst the group. Jaskier only sat in on one of their late night ponderings. He would have laughed if his heart didn’t bleed because they were all touting each other’s virtues and why anyone but them would make for a good ruler alongside Jaskier.

“You do realise,” Jaskier had cut in, “that just because of a piece of paper, I won’t love one of you more than the others, right? This isn’t me picking favourites. And if I could, I would marry you all in a heartbeat.”

Thankfully, it moved the conversation from Jaskier’s impending wedding to one of them to the logistics of a private ceremony for the six of them. While legally not recognised, it was enough for them to declare their love and commitment in front of friends and family.

The identity of Jaskier’s wedding partner was kept secret until the very day. Rumours were rife, talks of ceremonial witcher armour and Nilfgaardian wedding outfits were bandied around. Plus, everyone was placing last minute bets on who it could actually be. Finally, the ceremony was starting. Everyone sat in their seats, craning their necks to see what was going on. Assumptions had been that Jaskier would walk down the aisle.

First murmurs went up when Jaskier walked in from the side, Geralt and Cahir at his side as best men. They took up their spots at the front and turned to the back of the hall as the music started. The doors opened and the first two through the door were Aiden and Eskel as joint maids of honour. They even snickered as they scattered petals for the happy bride to walk down.

Behind them, calm, measured and only a little teary, Vesemir was walking Lambert down the aisle. He wasn’t prepared to give away his youngest pup even though he knew this was all towards a path of happiness for everyone. Next to him, Lambert beamed, wearing a white dress, bouquet of flowers in his hand and a traditional veil atop his head. Murmurs whipped around the hall as guests whispered about losing bets and how good Lambert actually looked.

Getting to the top of the hall took a bit of time, Lambert far too into the whole thing. As he took up his spot, Vesemir finally let his arm go and gave his hand a squeeze.

“I’m so proud of you.”

For the first time, the shit eating grin fell from Lambert’s face and he looked vulnerable, hopeful and so painfully young under everything.

The official wedding was over in a timely manner. There was no pomp or grandiose declarations. An exchange of rings, some simple vows and a kiss. And thus, Lettenhove had two Counts and four Count Consorts. It was after the ceremony that those who mattered gathered in the gardens where the six of them actually exchanged the vows they meant, six hands were fastened together amidst some giggling and tears.

People often wondered why Lambert had been picked out of the group. To Jaskier and the others, it was quite painfully obvious once they discussed it. Of them all, Lambert had been the one who resented The Path the most, had raged against the hand destiny had dealt him. This was his way out, a way to stick both middle fingers up at fate and do good on his own terms. He’d been through all the shit of families not having enough, of barely surviving. His ‘escape’ had been Kaer Morhen which he despised with a vengeance. Now, he could stray from The Path, could actually help his people while the others went off on their journeys. Jaskier could follow Geralt, Eskel and Cahir ventured out together and Aiden had a base to return to when things got tough. Even Vesemir had a new household to keep in order. He’d wrangled witchers long enough, a house of humans couldn’t be worse. Lambert, it was decided by the history books, was one of the best, most humble and kind Counts the lands had ever seen.

#geraskier #lambskel #laiden #jambert #geralt/jaskier/eskel/lambert/aiden/cahir #everyone is poly #geralt of rivia #jaskier #eskel #lambert #aiden #Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach #tldr: jaskier needs to get married to just one of his 5 lovers

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havenoffandoms · 3 years

Note

Can we get some Lambden with prompt 13 pls? 🥲💜 (@geraskier-trashh)

@geraskier-trashh I’m so glad you requested two separate prompts ahhhhhh! Okay so this one is soooooooooo soft. Toot-rotting fluff fits the description of this prompt fill. Hope you enjoy it, I certainly loved writing it.

Anyone can send me a prompt from my list.

Lambert x Aiden: “You have to make a choice” (prompt 13)

"How about this one?"

Aiden emerges out of the fitting rooms for what feels like the hundredth time. Lambert jerks awake (he cannot let Aiden know he's falling asleep or he'll never hear the end of it) and thankfully his eyes adjust rapidly to the light. Aiden is wearing a fitted grey pinstripe suit, which to Lambert's despair, looks like the exact same suit his fiancé tried the first time round. If Lambert had known that "wedding suit shopping" entailed a whole day of sitting in an uncomfortable chair under an unflattering lighting, he would've convinced Jaskier to be Aiden's fashion advisor for the day.

"Yes, very handsome."

"You've said that about all the suits I tried," Aiden whines, yes whines, not unlike a child, and Lambert refrains from rolling his eyes.

"That's because you look handsome in all of them."

“Flatterer,” Aiden drawls, shooting Lambert a cheeky wink before assuming a serious expression once again, “okay but, if the house was on fire and you could only save one suit, which would it be?”

“Trick question,” Lambert stifles a yawn as he straightens himself in his chair, “if the house is on fire, the first thing I save is our son.”*

“Obviously, but after that,” Aiden presses, a pointed eyeroll following his words. Lambert heaves a tired sigh and wonders if it’s worth calling Eskel and faking an emergency just to get out of this shop. He decides against it because Eskel would enjoy his suffering far too much and be exactly zero help. Plus, he might tell Aiden which would mean a whole lot of trouble for Lambert. How long have they been in this shop, anyway? Lambert guesses not far off two years.

“The navy blue one,” Lambert suggests, praying to God that Aiden tried a navy blue suit at some point.

“Because grey washes me out, doesn’t it?”

“No,” Lambert is quick to correct his mistake, forcing himself to soften his tone, “no, babe, you really can’t go wrong here. Everything you try on fits you to perfection.”

Aiden grins at those words, his cheeks flushing red as he basks in Lambert’s compliment. God, how did Lambert get so lucky? Yes, shopping with Aiden was a nightmare under normal circumstances and literal hell on earth when shopping for their upcoming wedding, but other than that Aiden is the best thing that happened to Lambert since… well, since nothing. The day he met Aiden and the day they adopted their four-year-old son Connor - those are Lambert’s happiest memories. And soon, he’ll add his and Aiden’s wedding to that list.

“Well, thank you babe,” Aiden croons at him, his eyes flickering to his reflection and checking himself out with a newly-found confidence, “I like this one. Hmm, but I think I want to try the white suit.”

That’s when Lambert snaps.

“No!” He rises from his chair and faces a surprised Aiden. “Baby, I love you, but this has been torture for me, okay? Aiden, you have got to be a better shopper than this, I’ve seen you order three outfits while stopped at a traffic light.”

“This isn’t just any outfit, Lambert,” Aiden bristles, “this is our wedding outfit. This is the single most important outfit of our entire lives. It’s like you don’t want it to be the most beautiful day of our lives.”

“We don’t need fancy suits and expensive menus to make it a beautiful day,” Lambert argues, “all we need is each other. Now you have to make a choice, or so help me God I will drag your indecisive ass out of the shop and order myself a suit off Amazon.”

A dramatic gasp pushed past Aiden’s lips as one hand shoots up to cover his chest, as if the gesture alone would serve to steady his racing heart.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Don’t test me, Aiden,” Lambert threatens, his eyes narrowing with determination, “you get to try one more suit. And then you decide! End of the discussion.”

“Well where was all that righteousness when I booked your favourite venue? What were the words you said then? ‘Aiden, I swear if we don’t get married on that beach I will lose my shit.’ Don’t be a hypocrite.”

“It took me all of ten minutes to pick our venue.”

Lambert watches Aiden’s cheek puff up in consternation upon hearing the barefaced lie with a certain amount of amusement. He loves nothing more than winding up Aiden and seeing those cheeks fill out and flush red. It was truly an adorable look.

“Oh, the cheek! Just for that I will try on two more suits.”

Lambert lets himself fall back into his seat with a frustrated groan.

“Fine, two and then you decide.”

Lambert resents himself to the fact that he will be spending the rest of his life in this shop. He probably should let Geralt know that he will need to pick up Connor from school and, well, take over his entire education because Aiden and Lambert will die in this shop before they find Aiden’s dream suit. No, he’s not being dramatic. Lambert’s leg shakes nervously in anxious anticipation. He’s really beginning to lose his patience. He’s feeling restless. A coffee and doughnut sound like heaven right now. It takes another ten minutes for Aiden to reappear wearing a white suit.

Lambert’s jaw drops. Aiden looks fucking gorgeous. The whiteness of the suit brings out his natural tan and the material hugs his lithe yet muscular form just so. The burgundy tie bring out the chocolate brown of Aiden’s eyes, and oh that radiant smile. Aiden is speechless as he checks his reflection in the mirror. Lambert can tell that Aiden loves it. And so does he.

“This is the suit,” they both say in unison, their eyes meeting in the mirror. A mesmerised smile tugs at the corner of Lambert’s lips.

“Yes babe, that’s the suit. You look…”

“Hot?” Aiden offers cheekily, “drop-dead sexy, like a literal god?”

“Beautiful,” Lambert breathes out, his voice heavy with emotions and just on the right side of soft, “you look beautiful, Aiden. There’s no other suit.”

Aiden’s eyes shimmer with a myriad of emotions that remain unspoken between them. Aiden and Lambert don’t do cute, they don’t do cheesy declarations or poetic waxing. It doesn’t mean they don’t love each other, it just… it’s just that it’s not them, but in this moment Lambert can’t think of a more accurate word to describe Aiden.

Beautiful.

His beautiful fiancé.

Lambert couldn’t wait to finally make Aiden his husband.

#aiden the witcher #lambert the witcher #aiden x lambert #aiden #lambert #lambden #lambert x aiden #the witcher #fluff #modern AU #havenwrites #prompt fill #send requests #geraskier-trashh #laiden

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 3 years

Note

Hiiiiiii my fluff monarch! 💖💖

For a fluff prompt: what about like.... mod au geraskier, they were childhood friends but one moved away, they run into each other as adults somehow and wow you grew *up* 😳😳 Getting together goodness.

😘😘😘😘

oh Stina, you’re such a darling. I do love my modern au boys!

tw: doctor’s office, medical facility, there is more flirting than actual medical care happening, Jaskier commits an OSHA violation, decently horny but not too bad

---

Geralt walked into the small, overly-bright waiting room and took a seat in the corner, far away from the other patients. He picked up a copy of Men’s Health and pretended to read it, his mind wandering as he flipped listlessly through the pages.

He hated physicals.

They took up precious time and were, in his opinion, completely unnecessary. He was a fucking Witcher; he couldn’t even get sick.

The disgruntled feeling in his chest dissipated completely when the door to the examination rooms slowly opened and a brown-haired (and vaguely familiar) angel stood before him and said, in the world’s loveliest tenor: “Geralt deRiv?”

Geralt practically flew from his seat, crossing the room in four long strides. “Hello.”

“Hi there,” the brunette smiled. His grin was wide and lopsided and his blue eyes, so fucking familiar it was killing Geralt, sparkled even in the clinical light of the fluorescents. He was wearing a pair of ridiculously bright pink, llama-and-rainbow print scrubs and Geralt blinked stupidly down at the gorgeous creature. Jaskier giggled, fucking heavenly to behold, and gestured through the door. “Right this way, Mr. deRiv.”

Suddenly, hearing that voice up close and seeing the nurse’s colorful outfit, everything clicked gloriously into place. As Geralt followed the nurse down the hallway, he asked, “How has it been, Jaskier? I haven’t seen you in, what, nine years?”

“Something like that,” the younger man grinned over his shoulder. They stopped in front of a nondescript exam room and Jaskier opened the door, letting them both inside. He took a seat on the rolling chair and gestured for Geralt to sit on the table. “Are you still... Witchering?”

“Yeah,” Geralt grunted. Fuck, Jaskier had gotten even hotter since they were teenagers! All those years ago, when Geralt had developed a dangerously huge crush on the underclassman right before his father, some kind of ambassador, had been called away. “Still doing that. So are Lambert and Eskel.”

“Too bad about Lambert, he had a really great thing going with those accounting classes.”

“Hard to switch professions when you look the way we do,” Geralt grimaced. “It’s not too bad, all things considered. Technically I don’t even need to be here.”

“Well your health insurance provider said you do need to be here, so,” Jaskier sanitized his hands and reached for the blood pressure cuff hanging on the wall. “Take off your hoodie, please.”

---

Jaskier had not been prepared for that. No, sir. He had not been prepared for such glorious, absolutely picture-perfect titties to be right in front of his face this early in the morning.

Especially not Geralt deRiv’s titties, the man he’d been dreaming about like some stupid fairtytale fantasy for seven long years. All the way through medical school and then RN certification. And damn... those were some fine pectorals.

“You okay?” Geralt asked, breaking the spell his chest had cast on Jaskier’s stupid, gay little brain.

“Oh, sorry, yeah. Let’s just-” he applied the blood pressure cuff and had to turn away for a moment to breathe deeply and calm his nerves. And his arms, too!? “-lovely.”

Jaskier let his training take over, going through the list of tests one after the other and trying not to let Geralt’s eyes, which tracked his every move with predator-like precision, unnerve him into making a mistake. When he was finished, he stood and grabbed for his clipboard. “Dr. Maxwell will be with you shortly to conclude your exam.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt called. His golden eyes settled on Jaskier and froze the nurse in place. “Would you like to go out sometime? I know it’s weird, and that I haven’t seen you in years, but I-”

“Yes!” Oh gods, yes! “I’d love to! Let me write down my number.”

“It was good seeing you again.”

“You, too,” Jaskier blushed, handing over a slip of paper with his number written in neat, tidy print. Geralt accepted it and tried to stand, not realizing just how close he and Jaskier really were. They knocked legs and the nurse began to topple backwards; Geralt reached out on instinct, curling his arm around Jaskier’s waist and pulling him close. Jaskier’s hands landed on his chest and, surprisingly, stayed there for a moment. “Damn, dude. Work out much?”

Geralt laughed, long and loud. That had probably gotten someone’s attention. “Yeah, just a little. Helps with the monster fighting.”

“Right.”

“See you soon, Jaskier,” Geralt chuckled softly, releasing the nurse once he was sure Jaskier was steady.

Surprising both of them, Jaskier pecked his reacquaintance on the cheek. “Yeah, but not soon enough.”

#geraskier modern au #doctor's office au #nurse jaskier #i think it would work #he likes taking care of people #and music can be a hobby that he uses to decompress #geraskier #witcher geralt #modern au geraskier #bouncey's endless getting together fics #thank you for this lovely prompt stina #goob prompt fills #bouncey's endless au collection

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ofheroesandvillains · 4 years

Text

Dorian - Part I

Geralt x fem!reader Words: 2k Warnings: None, I think? Summary: Jaskier convinces Geralt to stop at Dorian on their travels. Things don’t go according to plan.

Never written for the Witcher before, but I’ve been a fan for a few years. This won’t follow any main storylines, just a bit of fun. Hope you enjoy it!

(gif not mine, credit to the creator!)

“So, where are we going exactly?”

Jaskier trailed behind Roach, eyes squinting against the glare of the sun and a scowl on his face. They’d been walking, well, he’d been walking, for hours. He wouldn’t have minded it so much if Geralt hadn’t been acting like his usual solemn self. There were only so many conversations he could have with himself before he went mad.

“Vizima,“ Geralt sighed, a reward for five minutes of silence, as agreed. Oh, how he’d enjoyed those five minutes.

“Vizima?” Jaskier’s nose scrunched up. “What’s in Vizima?”

Geralt didn’t answer. Of course, he didn’t.

Another silence stretched between them - a rare feat if Jaskier had any say in the matter. It was the first thing that raised Geralt’s suspicion.

“You know, Dorian is on the way to Vizima,” Jaskier mentioned. Perhaps he sounded a little too innocent, because Geralt brought Roach to a halt and shot a narrow-eyed look over his shoulder.

The bard held his hands up in surrender.

“I’m just saying! We’ve been travelling for days. My feet hurt, I look like I’ve been rolling around in pig shit, and I haven’t seen a woman in days!” He ranted. “Come on, Geralt. We could both do with a home-cooked meal, and to be quite honest I’m not sure what smells worse at this point, you or the horse.”

Geralt rolled his eyes with a grunt and spurred Roach forward.

“Just think about it, at least!” said Jaskier, skipping ahead of them. He kept his feet surprisingly well, pedalling backwards to avoid being trampled by Roach. “I have a friend in Dorian, we’d be more than welcome, I’m sure!”

The bard was resolute, even when Geralt sent a golden glare his way Jaskier didn’t flinch. A first time for everything, he conceded.

“This friend of yours,” Geralt began, “you don’t owe him any money, do you?”

It wouldn’t be the first time the bard used him to intimidate his way out of a situation. There was a reason Jaskier looked like he’d been rolling around in pig shit - because he had been, after a burly farmer caught him in bed with his pretty wife a few nights ago. The farmer was problem enough for Jaskier, his five sons arriving had ensured Geralt’s intervention. He couldn’t let the bloody bard die, now could he?

“Of course not!” Jaskier had the nerve to look affronted.

Geralt sighed silently. He had to wonder if there was a single settlement the bard was genuinely welcome in - he was almost met with the same amount of disdain as Geralt in certain towns.

But Geralt knew that if they didn’t stop soon he would never hear the end of it. If they did stop, there was a chance that Jaskier would take a beating as he very nearly did wherever they went. It was with that thought in mind that Geralt reached a decision - probably one he’d come to regret regardless.

“Fine.”

He ignored the bard’s triumphant grin and urged Roach into a trot.

———

Jaskier had been adamant that the very first thing he would do upon arriving in Dorian was take a much needed bath. He’d scrubbed himself clean and dressed in the finest clothing available to him. If Geralt wasn’t suspicious before, he certainly was now as Jaskier straightened his outfit and made sure that not a single hair on his head was out of place.

“Now,” he turned to Geralt. “You feel free to sit quietly in the corner and I’ll pay for the ale - my treat.”

He gave Geralt a pat on the back and swept into the tavern with his head held high. Geralt shook his head and followed.

———

The inside of the tavern was cast in a soft gold glow, candlelight illuminated dark wood tables and glimmered off of stained glass windows. It was surprisingly full, and the people seemed merry. It became clear to Geralt that Jaskier wasn’t the only one enamoured with this place. Naturally, it left him uneasy.

As Jaskier had suggested, there were a few vacant tables hidden in dark corners, corners Geralt wouldn’t hesitate to hide away in on an average day. But this wasn’t an average day, and Jaskier looked far too eager perched on one of the barstools. His neck was craning every which way as he searched for…something. Or someone, Geralt thought.

He’d suspected it the moment Jaskier had made his interest in Dorian known. The bard had two types of ‘friends’, the ones he’d ‘accidentally’ exploited at some point, or the ones he’d slept with. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that it was the latter he was in search of, especially when the object of his affection finally made an appearance.

She glided down the narrow staircase gracefully, the front of her plain dress pinched between her thumb and forefinger. Patrons greeted her warmly as she passed, and the smile she graced them with was captivating. She was captivating, Geralt conceded, and Jaskier’s sudden eagerness made a lot more sense.

Geralt hummed in amusement as he looked back over to the bard, now hovering out of his seat as if he were about to launch himself across the tavern to demand her attention. His eyes, previously glued to the woman, snapped over in panic as soon as Geralt dropped onto the stool beside him.

“What- what are you doing?” He all but hissed. “I thought I told you to wait in the corner- and gods, would you cover your damn face-“

“Jaskier?”

He whipped around at the sound of her voice, panic melting into his usual confidence.

“Y/N!” said Jaskier, a hand thrust out as if he were reciting poetry before court. “Beautiful, sweet, stunning, Y/N. The very sight of you fills me with…with…” his fist clenched passionately and he sent her a smouldering look. “Amorous intent.”

Geralt almost grimaced on his behalf.

“Oh, Jaskier,” she laughed, a sound that had the bard perking up like a pup. His eyelashes fluttered when she gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “That’s certainly not the only thing you’re full of.”

Jaskier smacked Geralt’s bicep with a longing sigh the moment she turned away to fetch him a drink. “Isn’t she marvellous?”

Geralt grunted. “Don’t touch me again.”

He went completely ignored as she approached them once more, sliding a tankard Jaskier’s way.

“And who’s your friend?” She asked, glancing at Geralt.

“Hm?” The bard blinked out of his stupor. “Oh! He’s nobody really, just a stray I picked up on my travels,” said Jaskier with a casual shrug. “Saved him from an elven ambush not too long ago, and he’s been indebted to me since.”

Amusement twinkled in her eyes as she returned her attention to a frowning Geralt. “Is that right?”

“They fled into the wilderness as soon as they heard his voice.”

Jaskier’s startled gasp went unheard over her sweet laughter, and he paled when he noticed the spark of curiosity in her eyes and the tiny twitch of the Witcher’s lips.

“Another!” Called a bloated drunkard, and she bustled away once more, sparing Geralt a glance over her shoulder as she went.

Jaskier whipped around to face the Witcher.

“Is that…are you…smiling?”

Geralt’s ‘smile’ morphed into a smirk, and he slowly - deliberately - let his eyes rove over her body.

“Uh, no! Absolutely not,” said Jaskier, thrusting his hand in Geralt’s line of vision. “I saw her first.”

Geralt cocked a brow. “She’s not a former lover, then?”

“She- she’s-” Jaskier floundered, “She’s a work in progress, damn it!”

The Witcher hummed. “And how long’s it been?”

Jaskier crossed his arms petulantly. “A few months, if you must know.”

He rolled his eyes at the knowing look Geralt sent his way. “Fine! A year or two.”

“What’s been a year or two?”

Jaskier jumped at the sound of her voice, and found her forearms braced against the top of the counter. His gaze, naturally, fixed itself to her cleavage.

“I was just telling my friend here how long you’ve been denying your obvious feelings for me,” he quipped with a smile.

“Ah, I see,” she nodded, looking every bit a mother humouring the outlandish stories of a child. “And what of the six years before that?”

Jaskier’s smile faltered. “Well, I mean, he didn’t really need to know about…those,” he mumbled as she turned her attention to the Witcher.

“And what’ll it be for you, Geralt?” She asked, straightening, much to Jaskier’s dismay.

“What’s cheap?”

“Everything,” she answered with a sweet smile. “Jaskier drinks for free, so do Witchers…” she trailed off.

So much for it being ‘his treat’, thought Geralt.

“Surprise me,” said the Witcher, which in turn, surprised the bard. She seemed pleased with his answer, but instead of pouring him a drink, she made her way toward the backroom.

“Unbelievable,” huffed Jaskier, eyes darting between her retreating back and Geralt - who he didn’t fail to note was still watching her. “I cannot believe you’re doing this to me.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Oh, you absolutely are!” Jaskier scoffed and drained his tankard in one go. He was going to need a lot more ale before the night was done. He knew it was a bad idea to bring a Witcher along, she’d always been far too interested in their comings and goings for her to pass up the opportunity to meet Geralt. He was just hoping that Geralt himself would stick to his usual ritual and brood in the corner, hood drawn, eyes hidden - it would have made Jaskier’s plan a lot easier if he wasn’t so bloody eye-catching!

Jaskier’s forced a saccharine smile when she returned, a bowl in one hand and a tankard in the other.

“Lyssa is an excellent cook,” she told Geralt. “I think you’ll enjoy this.”

Geralt inclined his head in thanks. The soup was steaming hot and smelt better than any he’d ever had before. Perhaps Jaskier hadn’t been completely wrong about needing a home-cooked meal every now and then.

“So,” she looked between them. “What brings you to Dorian?”

“We’re travelling to Vizima,” said Jaskier, ignoring the look of warning Geralt shot his way. “Some nasty business we need to take care of, nothing to worry about, dear.”

“The Wraith you mean?”

Geralt’s face was stoic, but he straightened in his seat. “You know of it?”

Her eyes widened for a moment so brief, Jaskier had missed it. Geralt hadn’t.

“Yes, well…we receive many travellers through our doors. Talk about all sorts of things.”

He could hear the slight fluctuation of her heart beat, and if that hadn’t been enough, the way she refused to meet his eye assured him that she knew more than she was letting on.

Geralt merely blinked. “I see.”

She forced a smile under his penetrating stare and clapped her hands together. “I um, I suppose I should be getting back to work. If you need anything, do let me know.”

Jaskier returned her smile, but it was quick to fall when she was out of sight. Trust Geralt to scare away the most beautiful woman in the room - probably the only woman who he’d expected to not fear the Witcher in the first place. “Is it just me or did that become very awkward, very quickly?”

Geralt frowned, for once, Jaskier was right.

His friend knew something. What’s more, Geralt didn’t remember telling her his name.

“It’s just you.”

———

Nervous about this one. Should I continue with part 2?

Part 2

#the witcher #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher fanfiction

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jaskierswolf · 3 years

Text

You Set My Heart Ablaze (24/25)

Warnings: Jaskier has a small panic attack in this chapter, but Geralt helps him through it. The whole thing is barely a paragraph.

_______

Saturday.

Finally!

The first day of the summer holidays! Jaskier had barely been able to resist throwing his arms around Geralt the day before when the fireman had come to collect Ciri after school but they’d both agreed that they should at least try to wait until the weekend. So he’d forcibly stuffed his hands in his pockets and shuffled on his feet. He couldn’t help the dazzling smile he flashed at Geralt but at least he managed to keep his hands to himself.

But that was now a thing of the past.

He sat up in bed with more energy than he’d had in the mornings in years. He pushed his glasses up his nose and ran a hand through his hair as he searched for his phone within the pile of sheets. He found the bastard under one of his pillows and immediately rang Geralt without looking at the time.

It rang a few times before Geralt picked up.

“The fuck?” Geralt grumbled into the phone.

Jaskier frowned and pulled the phone away from his ear so he could look at the time. “Oh shit!” He cackled and then put the phone on speaker. “Sorry, darling. I’m still on school time.”

“Jaskier, you’re never on school time, even during term time,” Geralt muttered.

“Oh shush. I just wanted to say that I love you!” He trilled happily.

Geralt grunted.

“Oh ho ho! Aren’t you a grumpy arse this morning?” Jaskier giggled and rolled onto his back, planting his legs up against the wall.

“Fuck off.”

“No! Because it is the school holidays and I, Jaskier Pankratz, love you, Geralt Rivia.” He sighed wistfully.

“Hmm.”

“Geralt!” He whined.

He knew the fireman was tired but he could at least say it back once. The fucker.

“Love you too, now can I get back to sleep?”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Yes, dear heart, but call me when you’re awake, alright?”

“Fine.”

The line went dead.

The bastard.

He considered going back to sleep himself but he had too much energy. He jumped out of bed, tripping over his shoes that were on the floor right by his bed, and went flailing across the room.

“Oh cock!” He cursed as he landed, rather painfully, against the door. He would probably have a lovely bruise on the hip that crashed against the wall, but it was better than landing on his wrists and breaking them.

He sort of needed those to play his instruments.

He supposed he could always just sing.

Nah. That was shit.

Plus Priscilla would kill him if he couldn’t finish up the new album. He still had at least one lute track to put down, and even though she could play the lute, he was more skilled and she preferred to focus on the singing. She’d complained enough about his insistence on using the lute over the guitar on this album but he’d refused to back down. He had a vision!

So fuck the guitar.

He sighed and straightened his glasses, frowning as he noticed the smudges on the lenses. How the fuck were they already dirty? He’d only cleaned them last night before bed.

Fuck it.

Pancakes!

Ooh he could make the chocolate chip kind and send photos to Geralt. They had an unspoken rule that one did not make chocolate chip pancakes without photographic evidence unless they were both there to enjoy it. He frowned as he reached the edge of his living/kitchen area, and stuck his tongue between his lips. Maybe he should wait until he could make pancakes with Geralt and Ciri? He didn’t want to make them too often. They wouldn’t be special if he made them too often.

He scoffed. “Yeah, well. I’m hungry.” He muttered. He gazed longingly at the flour and sugar on the top shelf of his cupboards and then grabbed a box of chocolate cereal instead.

Yes he still ate chocolate cereal. The boring old flakey stuff was shit and he actually had taste buds. He preferred his food to not taste like cardboard.

Gods, how was he an adult?

He sighed and scrolled through the social media on his phone. Triss had put up a few pictures from the pub the night before. He’d reluctantly declined the invitation as the wolves were going along, even though Geralt had stayed behind to look after Ciri. There were quite a few of Triss and Eskel pulling funny faces at the camera, and one adorable photo of Triss kissing his cheek. Eskel looked incredibly happy. They were cute together. Jaskier hit the heart button and typed out a string of heart-eyes emojis in the comments.

Even Yennefer had put up a rare personal post. She normally kept her social media for her art stuff but there was a stunning photograph of her outside the pub. She was wearing a long white chiffon dress matched with a leather jacket and heavy leather boots, not exactly summery but it was Yennefer. She was gazing off to the side, her face lit by dull glow of the street lamps, one fiery violet eye almost glowing in the darkness.

Jaskier pouted. How was she so fucking photogenic all the time? Seriously how was Geralt now dating him after that?

“Urgh,” he groaned and hit the heart button.

JaskierTheBard: Stop making us all look bad, Yennefer! Stunning photograph darling x

He reread the reply twice and hit send. It was kinder than he usual response to Yennefer but honestly he had to admit she was a little bit sexy in that one, which just wasn’t fair.

Renfri had posted a group photo of the whole gang and he whined. It looked like a fun night. Stupid Philippa and her rules. It wasn’t fair that he had to miss out, but thankfully those days were officially over!

He lost track of time as he scrolled on his phone. He swore as he suddenly remembered his cereal. He groaned as he peered into his bowl. The milk was chocolatey and the cereal had all but disintegrated. He fucking hated soggy cereal.

“Cock,” he muttered and threw the whole lot in the bin.

He was about to put some toast on when his door bell rang. He yelped and jumped at the sound. He looked down at himself. He was still just wearing his boxers. Fuck. He ran to his bedroom and grabbed his dressing gown. It was too hot really to wear it in the summer but he wouldn’t have time to get dressed.

As it turned out, he needn’t have bothered. Geralt was at the door holding a bunch of roses with a sheepish smile on his face.

Jaskier grinned. “Geralt!” He flung his arms around his boyfriends neck and then swore as he realised he was probably crushing the flowers. “Umm, let me just go get some water. Wait. These are for me? They are beautiful. Geralt!” He whined and covered his face in his hands.

Geralt, the fucker, just laughed at him. “They’re for you. I thought… well, Ciri said I couldn’t go on a date without flowers. She was really stubborn about it.”

Jaskier snorted and carefully took the flowers from Geralt. They weren’t too badly crushed, thank Melitele for that. “I wonder where she gets that from,” he teased.

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Calanthe, her grandmother. Even Pavetta had a stubborn streak. Trust me, this one has nothing to do with me.”

Jaskier’s eyes went wide. “Oh shit! I’m sorry. I forgot. I didn’t mean… hmmph!”

Geralt had kissed him.

Not that he was complaining. He smiled into the kissed and then pulled back to gaze into Geralt’s beautiful amber eyes.

“You don’t get to do that every time you want me to shut up, dearest,” he chided gently.

Geralt smirked and just kissed him again.

Ok so perhaps he could.

Gods he was so smitten.

“I love you,” he breathed against Geralt’s lips when they finally pulled apart.

Geralt brushed his nose against Jaskier’s. “I love you too, even if you do have morning breath.”

Jaskier gasped and shoved against Geralt’s chest. “Rude!” He pouted.

“You love me,” Geralt reminded him. “How are you not dressed yet? You’ve been awake for hours.”

Jaskier shrugged. “Internet.”

“Come on, get dressed. I want to take you out.” Geralt instructed with a tilt of his head.

Jaskier laughed. “Take me out how? Kill me or date me? Honestly I’m down for both.”

“Jaskier!” Geralt growled and rolled his eyes.

“Kill me, right. Got it,” he winked at his boyfriend. “Now are you absolutely sure you want me to get dressed? Because I have the perfect outfit to wear but once I’m in those jeans I am not taking them off again,” he stroked Geralt’s cheek with one finger and then bopped him on the nose.

“Hmm. Brush your teeth and I’ll get water for the flowers.” Geralt took the roses back off him. “Do you have a vase?”

Jaskier scoffed. “Of course I have a vase. I’m gay!”

“That’s not an excuse for everything, Jaskier, and I’m pretty sure you’re bi,” Geralt rolled his eyes.

Jaskier laughed. “That’s just homophobic.”

“That’s not—” Geralt cut himself off and pinched his nose. “Bathroom. Now. I’ll find the vase.”

Jaskier giggled happily and went to brush his teeth.

Oh sweetest Melitele! He loved the summer holidays!

__________________

After a few false starts they finally made it out of Jaskier’s flat. He was slightly regretting his choice in black skinny jeans but really they made his legs and arse look great. It was was his first proper date with Geralt and he wanted to look good. They both managed a quick shower and Jaskier braided Geralt’s hair to elevate his usual half up do. Geralt even let Jaskier slip a couple of buttercup clips into the braids.

Geralt was wearing the outfit he’d turned up it which Jaskier hadn’t managed to appreciate before but he could now as he gazed happily at his partner across the table. Geralt had also gone for black skinny jeans, thank you Freya, and a slick black short-sleeved shirt. Honestly Jaskier didn’t know how the man wasn’t boiling in the heat of the summer in all that black but he wasn’t going to complain. It was the first time he’d seen Geralt in a shirt and he was loving it.

In comparison Jaskier had decided on a bright turquoise shirt. He’d left the bottom few buttons undone and tied the ends in a knot to turn the shirt into a crop top. The intensity of Geralt’s gaze on him when he’d finally been allowed to see the whole look had almost cause yet another delay to their date but Jaskier had just winked and pulled his slightly dazed partner out of the flat, switching his glasses for his prescription sunglasses.

He had been far too hungry to delay any further and he wanted to go on a cute date with his boyfriend!

Geralt suggested an adorable little sandwich parlour. It didn’t look like much from the outside but inside it was cosy and quiet, a perfect lunchtime date spot.

Or it would have if they hadn’t been interrupt by Lambert and Renfri… again.

Seriously, every time they ended up in a coffee shop those two were there. They both had wet hair and flushed red faces. Jaskier assumed the pair of them had been at the gym. Geralt had mentioned they liked to spar together on the wolf pack’s days off, that and the work out clothes sort of gave them away.

“Well, well, well,” Lambert laughed as they approached and crossed his arms. “So much for Triss and Eskel’s theory of you moving on, Dandelion.”

Jaskier gaped at the redhead. “Wait what? Have you been talking about us?!” He pointed a finger at the pair of them.

Renfri rolled her eyes. “Do you honestly think they have anything better to do? I’ve had to keep my mouth shut for months whilst these idiots try and think of a plan to set you two up. Triss was heartbroken when you told her you’d moved on. She was really rooting for you guys.”

“Wait, you knew?” Lambert growled at Renfri, she just shoved him in the face.

“Of course I knew. It was fucking obviously. You just had to look at Geralt’s face whenever Jaskier was mentioned. He lit up like a petrol can.”

“Renfri,” Geralt sighed. “I wasn’t that bad.”

Renfri snorted and Jaskier cackled. Oh ho! He was going to have so much fun with this. He held Geralt’s hand over the top of the table and smiled at his lover. “Oh darling, I didn’t know you cared so much,” he simpered with a flutter of his eyelashes.

“I’m pretty sure I showed you how much I care this morning, more than once.”

Jaskier blushed and pulled his hand away. “Touché, dear heart, touché,” he licked his lips as he remembered the morning’s activities. “Please, feel free to remind me any time.”

“Nope!” Lambert yelled and covered his ears. “No. You are not going to be that couple. Urgh.”

“Months I’ve had to put up with this!” Renfri complained. “Come on, wolf. Let’s leave the love birds in peace. They’ll put me off my lunch otherwise.”

“So gross,” Lambert agreed.

Jaskier laughed as the pair of them scarpered from the shop, and he rested his head on his chin as he ate his chips. They were like the kind you get in fish and chip shops and covered in blessed salty goodness. Geralt, the monster that he was, covered his with vinegar so Jaskier wouldn’t steal his chips as well.

“So what’s their deal?” Jaskier asked though mouthfuls of delicious fried potato.

Geralt tilted his head, he also now had a mouthful of cheesesteak sandwich.

“They said they weren’t dating?” Jaskier tried to explain.

Geralt huffed and Jaskier waited for him to finish eating. “Renfri doesn’t date. She has no interest in it.”

Jaskier nodded. “Asexual?”

Geralt shook his head. “Don’t think so. Just the dating thing,” he scowled as he tried to formulate his thoughts. “I think she called it aromantic, but even then her and Lambert are practically siblings. They’d probably both stab you for suggesting anything else.”

“Right. Noted. Rather not be stabbed. I made it all the way through the school year. It would be a fucking shame if I got stabbed now,” he flicked his fringe from his eyes. “Especially when you look so bloody sexy in that shirt.”

Geralt scoffed. “Says the man wearing a crop top.”

Jaskier grinned and leant forward so his lips were almost touching Geralt’s. “It would look better on your bedroom floor, darling.”

Geralt’s eyes went dark and Jaskier kissed the tip of his nose. “But not yet. I’m starving and these chips are brilliant! I cannot believe you would ruin them with vinegar.”

Geralt groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re a fucking tease, Jaskier.”

Jaskier just laughed and brushed his foot up against Geralt’s leg under the table. “You love it,” he agreed with a wink.

“Hmm.”

“You doooo,” Jaskier insisted. “And you love me!”

“I admit nothing.”

“I’ll make it up to you later?” He flashed his most flirtatious grin at Geralt, rubbing his foot further up Geralt’s leg.

“Jask,” Geralt half moaned and Jaskier laughed at the pretty blush on Geralt’s cheek.

“Yes, dearest Geralt?” He sang, feigning innocence.

“I hate you.” His boyfriend groaned and hid his face behind his hands.

“I know, love. I know.”

____________________

Jaskier was busy pulling on one of Geralt’s hoodies that he’d pinched earlier on in their relationship, when Geralt sighed loudly. Jaskier bounced back over to the bed and straddled his boyfriend’s hips.

“What’s up, dear heart?” He said with a tilt of his head.

Geralt’s long hair was now loose. Jaskier had taken great delight in undoing his own work and letting the silver strands fall loosely by Geralt’s face. His hair was naturally wavy after a shower anyway but it had been accentuated where the braids had been, and by the gods, Geralt had looked so beautiful. He still did. Only now he had his grumpy face back on. Jaskier gently stroked his thumb along Geralt’s cheek, brushing a loose strand away from his eyes.

“We need to tell Ciri,” Geralt groaned.

“Already? I thought we were going to tell her we’re friends first.”

“Won’t work.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow and huffed. “And why not?”

“She’s too clever, and I love you,” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier felt his smile soften at Geralt’s words and he shifted so he could lie back down on Geralt’s chest, nuzzling into the crook of Geralt’s neck. “And I love you, my dearest of hearts.”

“Hmm.” He felt Geralt kiss the top of his hair and he sighed happily.

“So we tell her when?”

“Come home with me?” Geralt suggested. “She knows I was on a date.”

“It has been a long date,” Jaskier hummed thoughtfully, and it really had. Geralt had arrived mid-morning at it was now late afternoon bordering on early evening. “Won’t she be worried about you?”

Geralt chuckled and Jaskier felt his heart race faster in his chest. Geralt’s laugh was so warm, rough and woefully underused. It always made Jaskier’s day when he could make Geralt laugh so freely. “Yennefer took her to the zoo. She thought we might need the extra time.”

Jaskier giggled. “I cannot imagine Yennefer Vengerberg at the zoo!” He laughed harder as he pressed his face against Geralt’s bare shoulder.

“Why?”

“Oh I don’t know,” he grinned, placing a kiss on Geralt’s shoulder. “She seems too classy for the zoo.”

Geralt threaded his fingers through Jaskier’s hair and he hummed in contentment. He’d always enjoyed it when his partners played with his hair. The gentle tug at his scalp just turned him to goo. If he was a cat he was sure he’d be purring. As it was he couldn’t stop the happy hum in his chest.

“No one is too classy for the zoo,” Geralt said with such sincerity that Jaskier let out a peal of laughter and rolled onto the mattress next to Geralt. He felt Geralt roll onto his side and their eyes met. Geralt was smirking at him with mirth in his eyes.

Jaskier was overwhelmed with the love that was in his heart. In reality his time with Geralt really hadn’t been that long at all but it had just been blissful. Their forbidden romance seemed to have extended their honeymoon period and he still felt as gooey over his boyfriend as he had the first time he’d seen Geralt enter his classroom ten months prior.

“Quite right, dear. I love the zoo,” he sighed longingly. It had been ages since he had been.

“Next time we’ll go.” Geralt suggested. “I like the animals.”

“Deal. Ooh does this mean I finally get to meet Roach?!” He cried in excitement, a smile lighting up his face.

Geralt nodded. “She doesn’t like new people though. Don’t get your hopes up.”

Jaskier reached over to kiss Geralt and then rest his forehead against Geralt’s. “Of course not, darling.”

“Good…” Geralt paused. “Darling.”

Jaskier’s heart clenched in his chest and he buried his face in one of the pillows of the bed, making sadly incoherent noises that he wasn’t proud of. “Geralt!!” He whined pitifully. “You can’t just say things like that!”

Geralt scoffed. “You do all the time.”

Jaskier glared at him with a pout. He could feel the heat of the blush on his cheek. “Yeah, well…”

“Don’t worry.” Geralt smirked, kissing Jaskier’s temple. “I don’t think pet names are my thing.”

Jaskier pouted. “Hmmph.”

Reluctantly he rolled off the bed and pulled Geralt to his feet. With one last kiss he let Geralt get dressed. His boyfriend really did need to get back to Ciri and apparently Jaskier was going to be re-introduced to the young girl as her father’s new boyfriend; only a day after the term had finished.

Jaskier wasn’t nervous. Why would he be? Ciri loved him… as her teacher. Oh gods, he was going to fuck this up so badly. His heart was racing, and not in the good I’m in love way. Oh no. No, no, no, no.

He gasped a breath and leant against the wall. Geralt’s arms wrapped around his waist in an instance. “Breathe, Jaskier.”

Jaskier breathed, trying to match his breath with Geralt’s. “Sorry,” he mumbled when the worst of it was over.

“What happened?”

“What if she doesn’t like me?” He asked, his voice sounding pathetic even to his ears.

“She adores you, Jaskier.” Geralt nuzzled his neck gently. “She was disappointed when I said it wasn’t you.”

Jaskier groaned. “She’ll hate that you lied to her.”

“She’ll come round.” Geralt insisted.

“How are you so calm?” He snapped.

Geralt sighed. “Because she’s my daughter and she loves me, and she adores you.”

Jaskier nodded. “Ok. Ok. Yes. Let’s do this, before I run away and decide to live in a cave with just my lute for company.”

Geralt scoffed. “Always so dramatic.”

Jaskier managed a smile at that, even after his little wobble of anxiety. “You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

__________________

They were standing, hand in hand, outside Geralt’s house. Geralt and Ciri’s house. Jaskier hadn’t been here since the beginning of May when Ciri had been away with Yennefer. Ciri wasn’t away this time and they were about to reveal everything to her. He curled his toes in his shoes and hummed nervously under his breath. Geralt’s house suddenly seemed a lot larger than it had before.

Geralt squeezed his hand. “It’ll be fine, Jask.”

He nodded and took a deep breath. “I know. I know. I trust you.”

“Come on then. You’ll stay for dinner?”

Jaskier nodded again. “But I should probably go home after dinner. I imagine we’ll both need our own space by then.”

Geralt chuckled quietly. “Yeah. Ready?”

“Yes?” Jaskier’s voice squeaked a little, much to his embarrassment.

“Good.” Geralt moved to unlock the front door but it opened before he could get the key in the lock.

Yennefer stood on the other side with her hands on her hips. She was smirking at them both, looking far too evilly delighted for Jaskier’s liking.

“MR JASKIER!!” Ciri shrieked and there was a blur of blonde hair before Jaskier was knocked flying by the young girl.

He laughed nervously and hugged her back. “Hello, Ciri.”

“I knew it was you!!” She screamed happily. “Dad said it wasn’t but I knew it was you!”

“You don’t mind?” Jaskier asked, tentatively patting his former student on the back as she clung onto him.

Ciri pulled back and looked up at him. Her nose was scrunched up and she pouted. “Why would I mind?”

“Well, because I was your teacher and now I’m dating your father?” Jaskier stammered. He glanced at Geralt who just raised a knowing eyebrow at him. The bastard had known this would happen.

Ciri rolled her eyes and scoffed. “So? Everyone will be jealous. You’re the best teacher at school!” She announced as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

He laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. “Maybe you shouldn’t boast too much about it Ciri. It’s not kind.”

Ciri just stuck her tongue out at him. He stuck his tongue out right back at her and she giggled.

“Jaskier’s right, princess. It would be best if you don’t tell everyone just yet,” Geralt said as he scooped her up into a hug.

“But it’s Mistle’s birthday party next week!” She pouted.

“Ciri,” Yennefer sighed, brushing the young girl’s hair out of her eyes. “Can we trust you to keep this a secret for now?”

Ciri scrunched her nose but nodded. “Ok, but only if we can go back to see the lions at the zoo! They were my favourite.”

Jaskier met Geralt’s eyes and smiled. “Well, buttercup, funny you should say that….”

____________

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #geraskier fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #modern au #wolfie's witcher writing

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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 4 years

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“No one has a romantic bone in their body anymore! What happened to playing songs outside windows, glitter and sparkles on handmade Valentine’s cards, dancing in the rain!? What happened?!” this screams jaskier to me, feel free to ignore (:

OH MY GOD. 100% it absolutely does. I tried so hard not to get carried away with this one. And yet...

Jaskier slumps in the seat across from Geralt, crossing his arms over the table and flopping onto them, head down. Is it too much to ask that people spare him a little common decency? Something more than just a quick fuck and out you go. It's not like he asks for much, just a few moments together before heading back off to whatever he's supposed to be doing. If all he wanted was a quick fuck, he'd go to a brothel.

"Should I even ask?" Geralt mutters. Jaskier sighs, lifts his head, sighs again.

“No one has a romantic bone in their body anymore! What happened to playing songs outside windows, glitter and sparkles on handmade Valentine’s cards, dancing in the rain!? What happened?!”

The look on Geralt's face is somewhere between fear and that of a man calculating his easiest route of escape. Jaskier suspects the latter is most likely.

"It's fine," he mutters, "better luck next time. I should prepare for my performance tonight. Will you stay to watch?"

"I have other matters to attend to."

"Ah. Right. Well, I'll try not to be too late."

"Hmm." Geralt doesn't even look at him as he rises from his seat and Jaskier wonders what the point of romance is when it's so hard to find. When even your very best friend in the whole wide world won't stay and watch you sing.

It's fine though. Geralt rarely stays to watch him perform anyway. Though usually he's preoccupied with a contract or keeping Jaskier from being mauled by the innkeeper's husband. Or wife. It just hits a little harder tonight because he's already been effectively turned down once.

Mathilde is a lovely woman, to be sure, but he's never been shooed away after sex quite so forcefully. As though he were a trespasser in her home. And to think, all he wanted was to cuddle a little and maybe talk. But it's fine, he can talk to Geralt later - once he's finished with his other matters.

Jaskier tries to push the thoughts from his head as he chooses his outfit for the night. They're in Vattweir and the inn is large enough and popular enough that he can wear something a little fancier. He picks one of his favourite doublets and the trousers to match - a lovely dark burgundy accented with gold - but even as he admires himself in the glass, he can't bring himself to be as cheerful as he should.

Everyone else's lack of romance is starting to wear off on him and if he doesn't pull himself together soon, he'll be going hungry. After all, what good is a poet without romance?

Jaskier is feeling a little better after his performance, though he turns down the many offers of company - he's not quite ready for any more potential rejection just yet. Already, he'll be going up to a cold and empty bed. And to think, he'd been quite pleased when the innkeep had said their only available room had only one bed. One bed! The perfect chance to cuddle up close to Geralt without it being suspicious! And now Geralt was off doing gods know what for an indeterminate amount of time. By the time he gets back, Jaskier will probably be long asleep, having dozed off alone again, as usual.

He doesn't hurry up to their room, dreading the cold sheets as he considers whether it's worth lighting a fire for only him. Maybe he could stay up and work on some writing, it's been some time since he's had time to just sit down and write uninterrupted. But as he reaches the landing, he finds he doesn't have the energy, not tonight. He's slept in colder places than an unheated room at an inn, he'll be fine.

But when he pushes the door in, it's not dark and cold as expected. In fact, it's quite warm and while the light is focused mainly in the centre of the room, it's also quite light. He pushes the door a little further, wondering if he chose the wrong room and when he peeks in, he nearly drops his lute on the ground.

In his rush to catch it, he stumbles and somehow winds up flush against Geralt's chest. Oh, and he smells wonderful. But- why? Muttering a hurried thank you, Jaskier extracts himself from Geralt's arms, stepping back to peer around him. So he wasn't just imagining things.

In the centre of the room is a little wooden table, just barely big enough for two people to sit at with a chair on either side, a plate of dinner at each setting. In the middle, barely squeezed between the plates, are a pair of candles and a small jar with a little bunch of purple flowers. He wants to cry but he doesn't know if it's because it's so beautifully laid out or just because he's tired and confused.

He turns back to Geralt to ask what exactly is going on, but as soon as his eyes land on him, he stops dead again. Geralt is dressed up. It's not much, a clean pair of trousers and a fresh white shirt with a waistcoat, but for Geralt it's extravagant. Jaskier suddenly finds it hard to breathe. He glances up and finds Geralt's hair neatly tied back, the loose bits tucked behind his ear, and when he can finally look him in the eye again, Geralt seems nervous.

He sets Jaskier's lute down, leaning it carefully against the wall before taking a couple of steps forward, closing the space between them.

"The chambermaid helped me," he shrugs, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve. "I know I'm not very good at this kind of thing."

Jaskier doesn't know what to say. He opens his mouth a couple of times hoping for inspiration, but nothing comes.

"I'm not one of your lovely maidens," Geralt mumbles, "but is it alright?"

Jaskier could cry. He might, actually, if he doesn't do something to occupy himself quite quickly. He takes a final step closer, taking Geralt's face in his hands and pressing a soft apprehensive kiss to the corner of Geralt's mouth. As he draws away, he keeps his eyes on him, boldened by softness he finds there.

"My darling Witcher," he whispers, "how could I ever want anything more?"

#rex writes #loved this one so much ty #geraskier #the witcher #replies #contemplativepancakes

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comfyswitcherblanketfort · 4 years

Text

I was sold to Wolfe, this is my story (a shitty Witcher 1D AU)

I mean we all need a little nostalgia nowadays right? and its fun making fun of ourselves?!

Summary: Jaskier gets sold to Wolfe, his favorite boy band, in typical One Direction fan fic style.

Warnings: Yeah all of them. The fuck was I thinking? This is just awful but i giggled the whole time i wrote it😂😂

In keeping with the spirit of shitty old 1D fic, I didn’t edit this AT ALL. I cannot stress enough how much I tried to revert back to 13 year old Regan with an unidentified need to be dominated projecting onto this type of fic 😖🤣

__________

I was a normal teen boy. Everything in my life was typical. Parents’ house, school was boring, a small group of catty girlfriends that probably only kept me around as the token gay, everything. I was even into the major boy band at the time, Wolfe. I mean was I supposed to resist? They were all so pretty, and talented, and the front man, Geralt. Wow. Just wow. I had probably fifty posters of him alone all over the walls of my room. Typical, boring, normal.

Until that morning.

I, Jullian ‘Jaskier’ Alfred Pankratz (pretentious I know), woke up like any other day. Showered, blow dried my hair to softly lay over my forehead, dressed in my favorite outfit of red skinny jeans and a blue and white horizontal striped top, and smudged the brown coal I stole from my sister around my eyes, I was ready for school. When I got downstairs though, things were… off.

“There you are! Jullian! Come here.” My mother seemed frazzled, but I was more concerned with the intimidating man standing in our kitchen doorway, munching on an Eggo waffle.

Mom took me aside into the living room and sat me down at the sofa, “I have something to tell you.”

“Mom, what? Who is that? He looks familiar?”

“Vessimir. Wolfe’s management. You’re going with him.”

My mind screeched to a halt. Ves? He looked different in real life. I guess it’s just because I’m not distracted by the boys in the pictures with him. Wait? What?

“I’m… where am I going?!”

My mother took my hand and squeezed it gently, “We had to cover the mortgage somehow honey, and your father is already working so hard and Josie just can’t stop school suddenly, you know how much she struggles. You’re smart, you’ll be fine. We sold you to Wolfe.”

I didn’t know how to feel. Sold? Bad. I didn’t like being given up by my parents sure. But to Wolfe? The obsession that took up literally all of my free time? The hottest boys I’d ever seen? That gave off the strongest bi vibes I’d ever picked up? Bought me? I could live with that.

I smiled hesitantly, “Okay mom.... Okay.”

She leads me back to Ves in the kitchen who introduced himself and lead me out to a long white limo.

“But my stuff?”

Ves just laughed, “The boys want to choose your wardrobe. You won’t need it.”

The inside of the limo was everything you see in the movies, bottles of champagne, fancy leather seats, gold plated knobs and handles, everything. I was in too much of a state of shock to enjoy it though.

By the time we arrived to a gated drive and big mansion my palms were sweaty and I was worried my eyeliner would be running. Ves opened the door and helped me out, leading me up the front steps and into a big beautiful foyer. I could get used to living in the palace they shot Princess Diaries in.

“BOYS! IM BACK!” Ves grinned and hid me behind a curtain, “Let’s trick them, yeah?”

I heard the skidding of sneakers and could identify each voice muttering to each other in excitement.

“The fuck? Alone?” Lambert. Definitely Lambert.

“Mom backed out,” Ves explained, not quite selling it well enough.

“Ves. Stop. You said she already signed.” Eskel sounded disappointed and it made me even more nervous if that was even possible.

Then, suddenly, the curtain I was hiding behind was pulled away, and standing tantalizingly close, was Geralt. He grinned and called back over his shoulder to the others without breaking eye contact with me, pinning me to the floor with those golden eyes, “Found him!”

His voice, goddamn. I had a little thought about how I should try to play it cool, but he was just so pretty and I was putty in his hands without him even having to try.

He stepped back, holding his hand out to motion where he wanted me to go, “You’re a cheeky one, aren’t you?”

I nodded, not sure how to form words anymore, just trying not to trip over my own feet as he lead me over the meet everyone. He rested his hand on the small of my back and whispered so only I could hear, “Relax, we don’t actually bite.”

I squeaked instead of saying anything but took it as a win, that much closer to being able to say anything.

Lambert shook my hand, “What’s your name? You’re a cutie.”

I blushed furiously and whispered my answer, “Jullian, but my friends call me Jaskier.”

Eskel took my hand and kissed it, bowing like a noble knight, “Pleased to meet you Jaskier.”

I only realized I wasn’t breathing when Geralt pulled me into his side, “I think he’s in shock.”

I nodded, “That and Ves ate my breakfast.”

All three of them shot him an exasperated look, but he only shrugged.

“Well then,” Geralt began, leading me through the halls, the others following behind us, “... let’s get you something to eat then give you the tour?”

He still hadn’t let go of my waist and I sure as hell wasn’t going to complain, leaning into it as we walked.

Eskel jogged up next to us and laced his fingers through mine, “No fair Geralt, don’t hog the pretty boy.”

Lambert hung back, “I don’t know, this is a pretty good view.”

I squeaked again and leaned closer into Geralt who turned around to scold his band-mate, “At least try to be decent. Let him get settled before you act like a perv.”

I grinned up at him. “Is that what you’re doing?”

Geralt looked down at me with those beautiful golden orbs and I melted, “Hmmmmm”

#I'm so sorry #i had to #the witcher #the witcher fanfic #the witcher AU #this is simultaneously the best and worst thing ive ever done #geralt of rivia AU #geralt of rivia #eskel #lambert #jaskier #jullian alfred pankratz #fucking hell what have i done #Witcher one direction au #one direction AU #oh lord its so weird to tag that again #yikes #I've been listening to the OG album while i wrote this tho and i forgot just how fire it really was

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jaskiersvalley · 4 years

Note

I’ve been sitting on the prompt for a while, and I’ve been wanting to find the right blog for this prompt, not saying that others aren’t good, but I like your writing style a lot!!! I love reading your writing! The prompt is if Jaskier is framed for a crime he didn’t do and is suppose to be, well, punished for it the next or next few days, and geralt saving him just in time??? You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to!! I just thought it would be interesting!

This whole fandom is a massive pool of talent! I would be more than happy to help you find writers who produce incredible content if you would like :D But on the topic of you prompt, that is a very exciting one. Hopefully I can do it justice for you.

For once in his life, Jaskier had done nothing wrong. Well, he was in the wrong place at the wrong time but he hadn’t actually committed the crimes he was accused of which was thievery. The countess of the court had been adamant that her rather lovely brooch had been pilfered by light fingers and she had accused the visiting bard because of course everyone else in her court was too loyal to do something as beastly as lift if from her dress. Oh course the bard in question was Jaskier. The only problem was,he hadn’t actually stolen the brooch. For one, it was a fucking ugly thing. And two, he had better things to use his fingers for than stealing brooches for petty cash. However, no amount of arguing and sweet talk could dissuade anyone.

“I demand punishment!” The countess had cried. “He’s publicly humiliated and hurt me, his fate shall be the same. To the pillory in the town square with him for two days. And ten lashes, one for each floren the brooch was worth.”

Not a good outcome at all. Jaskier tried to get out of it, twisted this way and that but he was surrounded by guards and rather unarmed. If only Geralt could hurry up with his hunting of some beast and step in, he had a habit of making things resolve with or without a bit of blood spilling.

Unfortunately, luck was not on Jaskier’s side. He was thrown in a cell overnight with the promise of beginning his penance in the morning when the town was bustling with the morning market. Sure enough, come morning, he was dragged through the town, forcibly stripped, doublet and chemise thrown into the dust, making him mourn for their until then relatively pristine state. Fighting wasn’t going to gain him any favours and Jaskier let himself be shoved into the pillory and secured. To say it was humiliating was an understatement. Then the idiot in charge of doling out his punishment started up.

“Gather up! Gather round!” He was yelling, trailing the tip of the whip in the dirt behind him. “We have a light fingered bard to teach a lesson to. In our fine town, his fingers should only be light on his lute, not other’s finery.”

A titter went up in the crowd Jaskier could see gathering if he craned his neck.

“Our beloved countess has decided to go easy on him, first offence and all. So only ten lashes and two days. Make sure you get a good look at him in those two days. Commit to memory, what an inept fool looks like.”

Jaskier was not an inept fool, thank you very much. Just rather unlucky. And innocent at that. But yelling about that only caused the crowd to boo him, someone even threw a rotten tomato in his direction. Its splatter caught him across the face.

“Shall we see if he sings as pretty for a whip as he does for food, board, payment and a brooch? Because obviously our hospitality wasn’t enough for him!”

A few people started up a chant that swept through crowd.

“Punish him! Punish him! Punish him!”

The executor strutted out of Jaskier’s sight but he could still track his footsteps. It was all a great show, the bastard probably got off on the power and the attention. Jaskier really hated his kind. The crack of a showy warm-up hit made him jump and the crowd jeered. The whip hadn’t even touched him on that one but he was already flinching. Any hope of somehow, magically, getting out of this beating was rapidly diminishing and Jaskier could only grit his teeth and curse his bad luck.

“What’s going on here?” A familiar voice rumbled from behind and Jaskier wanted to turn around, fling himself at Geralt and hide behind him.

Instead, he could only yell, “Geralt, tell these fuckwits that I didn’t steal any cheap, shitty brooch.”

Familiar legs rounded the pillory and Jaskier craned his neck to look up at Geralt.

“It was a bloody ugly one and not worth much anyway. The gems were fakes.”

Pressing his mouth into a thin line, Geralt glanced behind the pillory at the man in charge.

“Let him go. We will go to the countess and clear things up once and for all.” Once again, the crowd booed and Geralt looked angry. “If you don’t, I will call back the griffin I chased off for you and he’ll bring his brood mate and offspring.”

It didn’t matter that its head was currently tied to Roach and that Jaskier was fairly certain Geralt couldn’t actually do that. Instead, he was grateful when, after a few seconds of silence, there was a click and the pillory’s top was being lifted off him.

“Well I never!” He groused, picking up his clothes and beating dust from them. “Such treatment for a famous bard. No bard, troubadour or musician will ever grace there courts again, you mark my words.”

Still grumbling away, he followed Geralt to the countess, who looked rather displeased to see him.

“What is the meaning of this?” She sneered, looking between Geralt and Jaskier. “These are my lands, my rules are to be carried out, witcher intervening or not.”

““Even if you’re punishing the innocent?” Geralt asked tersely. He was in no mood to argue or prove a point. “Maybe you should do a check under the tables where you sat and feasted while the bard you hired worked tirelessly to keep you and your guests entertained.”

When that got a laugh, Geralt shrugged and, with Jaskier in tow, walked to the banquet hall,pulling tablecloths from tables. Under the third one was a brooch. He turned to the countess.

“I believe you owe my bard an apology and compensation for tarnishing his good name, humiliating him in front of your subjects and keeping him here longer than planned. Perhaps accepting the punishment you saw fit to dole out on him?”

Immediately, the countess was blathering, apologising and trying to make amends. It was how Jaskier walked out with an addiction two pouches stuffed with payment. And even the brooch was offered to him. He took great glee in looking it over and turning his nose up at it, declaring it too cheap to actually look good with any of his outfits.

Shaking his head, Geralt led them back out to the tavern they had been staying at.

“You’re an idiot,” he declared and Jaskier only grinned.

“Yeah, but I’m your idiot.” He nudged Geralt in the side with his elbow. “I heard you call me your bard, there’s no denying it now.”

Stopping abruptly, Geralt turned and licked Jaskier on the cheek.

“You’re right, no denying it now. I licked it, so it is mine.”

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #tldr: jaskier gets accused of stealing something he didn't

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wordsablaze · 3 years

Text

9~ i’ve been in denial

tell me your problems (i’ll chase them away) Internal scars can be difficult to deal with but Eskel vows to heal any that Jaskier is weighed down by if it’s the last thing he does…

A/N: this was meant to be angsty but it’s festive season n all so here’s the most fluff we can get rn <3

@random-nerd-3 @betaray-jones @w-s-kibela @in-love-with-writing002 @screaming-flapjacks @blueboobutterfly @havenoffandoms @lasaga666

previous chapter

“Hey, Jaskier?” Eskel asks as they reach their room.

Jaskier hums, perching on the edge of the bed and all but peeling his boots off, making a face at the way his feet free themselves with a soft squelching noise.

“Why haven’t you changed clothes yet?” Eskel continues, not exactly sure what he’d been expecting but definitely not having expected the way Jaskier freezes, his pulse spiking.

It’s almost alarming how quickly Jaskier manages to turn his panic into a grin. “I’ve been reliably informed that this blue really brings out my eyes and I don’t see any reason not to flaunt that. Certainly helps with bargaining for another drink, you know?”

“No, I don’t,” Eskel replies slowly.

Jaskier laughs brightly, too brightly. “Well, yes, I suppose witchers don’t often have to rely on their sense of fashion for coin, what with the whole monster-hunting business and-”

“Jas.”

“-the twin swords you all seem to carry. I mean really, they’re very intimidating to most people and while they may be useful, they’re not exactly in style. At least you’ve got a splash of colour rather than-”

“Jaskier.”

“-just black, not that there’s anything wrong with black but it does often give the impression you’re dressed for a funeral and that’s a pretty morbid picture to paint for yourself! Unless it’s Valdo Marx’s funeral, which would truly be a momentous occasion if you ask-”

“Jaskier!”

The bard flinches.

Eskel exhales softly, trying his best to cause any kind of panic. “I’m not mad, I’m just… I’m just worried. You almost drowned in those clothes and you’re gonna make yourself ill if you don’t wear something clean and dry.”

A small smile blooms on Jaskier’s face but he shakes his head anyway. “I- uhm, I… I don’t have anything else… with me.”

It’s not that Eskel hadn’t already guessed that, at least deep down, but it hurts to hear the confession anyway. “Then you should borrow something of mine,” he says before he can change his mind about his decision.

Jaskier’s eyes widen as he looks towards Eskel like he’s just offered up the moon itself. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“I’m sure,” Eskel confirms before gesturing to where his bags are in the corner of the room. “You can just, uh, choose something you like. I’m afraid I don’t have bright colours but I do own more than funeral clothes.”

This time Jaskier’s laugh is genuine and he wastes no time in making his way over to the bags, carefully shuffling things around inside one before pulling out a black shirt that has long since faded into a soft, dark blue. The breeches he finds are just a shade darker but they match enough for him to look good when Eskel turns around again. Really good. In fact, he looks so good that Eskel suddenly understands what that woman from his last contract had been talking about when she’d said seeing her wife in her clothes was a truly magical experience.

“That bad?” Jaskier asks, half-laughing but clearly not very amused if the sour scent of worry is anything to go by.

Eskel shakes his head, forgetting how to use words for a second. “No, no. Not bad at all, it’s just… I didn’t think my clothes could ever look so good.”

And he’s not even lying. He is surprised that his ordinary clothes can seem so fashionable even if that’s probably a result of Jaskier generally being Jaskier and he’s even more surprised to realise that, even though they’re clearly big for him, they don’t just comically hang off him - Geralt certainly hadn’t mentioned that his- that the bard is built so well.

The red that floods Jaskier’s face most definitely does not match his new outfit but Eskel thinks it looks stunning all the same. Not that he says that aloud, no, he’s taken to biting his tongue so he doesn’t say anything else stupid and scare off his favourite bard.

“I think I’m going to use the stars as an excuse to sleep again. Could you-” he bites his lip for a moment, “-uhm, that is, could you try and be back here for when I wake up?”

Eskel frowns, letting go of his tongue. “Back here?”

Jaskier exhales softly, shakily. “Or not. I mean, of course you must not be tired again since witchers don’t need as much sleep anyway but I- you mentioned travelling on together?”

Ah, so they’re not over the doubt yet.

“Are you losing your memory, bardling, or do you still remember what we discussed at the table earlier?” Eskel asks, trying his best to sound like he’s teasing instead of insulting.

Jaskier’s eyebrows furrow as he bites his lip and Eskel simply waits, smiling softly when Jaskier’s eyes eventually widen and his scent softens into hope and relief. “When you said you’d choose me?”

Nodding, Eskel gestures to the bed. “I meant it, and now I’ve chosen to forget my bedroll again.”

With a pointed glance at Eskel’s bags by his feet, Jaskier raises an eyebrow. “Is that your attempt at flirting me into bed, darling?

Really not having predicted that kind of response, Eskel’s mind decides to stop functioning for a moment. He would be embarrassed but the way Jaskier laughs makes him reconsider his urge to flee and just shrug instead. Neither of them say anything else as they settle under the blanket again but a soft gasp escapes Eskel when Jaskier curls around him bit by bit until they’re almost entirely pressed together from Eskel’s chin resting on Jaskier’s head to their feet locked around one another’s. It’s the closest Eskel has ever been with anyone outside of Kaer Morhen’s cold winters spent huddled in front of the hearth and he can’t stop the smile that takes over his face.

“Promise you won’t leave while I’m asleep?” Jaskier asks sleepily.

“I promise I’ll be here when you wake up,” Eskel confirms, wanting not for the first and probably not the last time to literally knock some remorseful sense into Geralt’s thick skull.

“Thank you,” Jaskier mumbles just before he drifts off, most likely missing the way Eskel quietly confesses that it’s his pleasure.

He doesn’t sleep for even a second, he doesn’t need to after all the sleeping they’ve done in the past few days, but he does let himself relax and true to his word, he doesn’t move a muscle until Jaskier stirs again.

“Hello there,” Jaskier yawns, grinning up at him before he rolls out of Eskel’s arms and stretches his limbs as if he were a cat.

Eskel hums, returning the bard’s smile. “How do you feel?”

He already knows that Jaskier will feel better, it’s obvious that he would after sleeping off the siren-induced exhaustion, but it only feels right to ask. Besides, Jaskier’s eyes light up when he does and the warmth of his happiness fuels Eskel’s own.

“Like I could survive a lightning strike,” Jaskier replies theatrically, and Eskel can’t stop the snort that escapes him. Thankfully, Jaskier only rolls his eyes. “Well alright, if you want it in simple terms then I suppose I feel great, much better, well-rested, all of those plain descriptions.”

“What’s wrong with being plain?” Eskel asks, turning onto his side and resting his head on one palm just in time to see Jaskier glare at him like an overly passionate professor would at a hopelessly dispassionate student.

“I have never been plain a day in my life and I certainly do not intend to start now! Do you know how many ways there are to describe waking up, Eskel? I could list them for hours and still not be finished! And not to mention that after you have what may very well be one of the best nights of sleep you’ve had in years- no, decades, that you really cannot be satisfied with anything even close to a prosaically plain answer!”

Jaskier looks ready to fight someone to prove his point but all Eskel can focus on is that someone would want to poetically declare a night with him one of the best nights of sleep they’ve had in not even years but decades. He’d be lying if he said that, minus the sleeping part, he doesn't feel the exact same way.

“Eskel, are you even listening to me?” Jaskier whines, poking his cheek.

He blinks, bringing his attention back to Jaskier with a genuine smile. “I think I get your point, though I’m no bard and will have to make do with being plain.”

Jaskier scoffs. “You, plain? I think not. Have you even looked in a mirror recently?”

While Eskel is busy trying to recall the last time he’d looked in a river and wondering if catching his reflection in his ale counts, Jaskier springs off the bed with a nervous laugh. “I um, I didn’t mean any offence by that, truly, I was just…”

“I don’t own a mirror,” Eskel says, politely overlooking how worried Jaskier seems to look for some reason and the way he’s anxiously rubbing his fingertips together the way he tends to do when he’s expecting the worst.

“Then we’ll be needing a trip to the market,” Jaskier replies easily, the tension in his expression melting into both amusement and disbelief. Eskel doesn’t usually like going to the market on account of the not quite subtle stares and not quite hushed whispers, but he might be looking forward to it this time.

“Right now?” Eskel asks, which prompts Jaskier to remember he’s still wearing Eskel’s borrowed clothes and flush red again; Jaskier points an accusing finger at him but dissolves into laughter before he can say anything, laughing for so long that Eskel wonders if he’s gone mad. Finally, he shakes his head and pulls on his doublet, the lighter blue somehow working well with the rest of the outfit.

Eskel stays still, watching as Jaskier weaves his fingers through his hair so it sweeps to one side and pulls on his boots before picking up his lute and winking. “Might be useful to gather a little extra coin first. There’ll be food waiting for you if you decide you want to listen to more of my singing.”

As if there’s even the slightest possibility that he wouldn’t.

Still, Jaskier’s footsteps have long since faded when Eskel finally sits up and wonders how he so quickly went from leaving at the first hint of dawn to waiting for a bard to buy him a mirror. Not that he’s complaining, he might have a mean poker face but even he couldn’t pretend that finding a plateful of food waiting for him on a quiet corner table doesn’t warm his heart.

He doesn’t know what the song is about this time but it sounds lovely all the same, although not quite as lovely as the bright smile Jaskier sends his way when he notices him. He has all of three seconds to wonder what the mischievous look in those bright blue eyes is about before Jaskier starts singing about the rose of the wolves - about him - again, which leads to everyone raising their tankards at him even if they’re only half-awake.

“You don’t have to sing about me every time I enter the room,” Eskel tells him as he finishes up.

Jaskier shrugs, making sure his now-cased lute is balanced safely before slumping into the seat opposite him in yet another confusing but endearing show of priorities. “It’s the least I can do.”

No, it’s really not.

“I appreciate it,” Eskel says warmly, not sure he’d win in trying to convince Jaskier that he’s done far more than is expected of anyone for witchers, whether or not he’d initially meant to. Another day, perhaps.

“The markets will open soon, are you ready?” Jaskier asks once they near the end of their meals.

Eskel raises an eyebrow as if to remind Jaskier that witchers are known to always be ready for anything. Jaskier offers him a sheepish grin. “Yes, yes, I know you all have enhanced everything and all but what I meant is, do you want to go right now?”

He finishes his drink before replying. “Lead the way, bardling.”

Jaskier grins so widely that Eskel is afraid his face may crack. But all that happens is Jaskier practically inhales whatever is left of his food before rising to his feet and slinging the lute case over his shoulder. He’d ask why Jaskier is taking his lute with him but he knows the question would be thrown right back at him regarding the twin swords on his back so he doesn’t say anything, merely gesturing for Jaskier to lead the way and trying not to make it obvious how momentarily overwhelming he finds the subsequent scent of joy.

“I am going to find you the best mirror, darling, I swear!” Jaskier declares happily, and Eskel doesn’t have the heart to tell him he’s probably never going to actually use such an object.

almost 22k and they're only just barely flirting, send help- no but really, i can’t believe the year is ending before any of my wips, oops :p

thanks for reading! masterlist | witcher sideblog: @itsjaskier | next chapter

#jaskel #jaskier x eskel #jaskier #eskel #hurt jaskier #soft eskel #slow burn #getting together #fluff and angst #gratuitous use of nicknames #i'm sorry but it's just cute #hurt comfort #idiots in love #flirting #who even uses tumblr tags properly idk #anyway yeah we love to see a lil bit of progess :)#my writing #tmypicta

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