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rileytwenty · 10 months

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Her Price

(Geralt x OC)

!!!MINORS DNI!!!

Summary: Former brothel worker, Mary, is traveling with Geralt and Jaskier. In an attempt to contribute more to the group, she does something rash that forces a confession out of Geralt. Big angst.

TW: prostitution, rough/low-key abusive sex, bite marks/bruises/hickies left from said sex, dom! male, arguing, swearing

Mary had joined Geralt and Jaskier on their journey about a month ago. Since then, the trio had fallen into a nice rhythm. At each town they visited, Mary’s job was one she completed while the boys waited on the edge of town. First, she would go into the market and use her “charms” (breasts) to persuade the merchants to give her a discounted price for any supplies they needed.

Next up was the inn, where she would flirt her way into getting the innkeeper to give her and her “friends” a cheaper rate. Only then, once prices were negotiated low enough, would the boys come into town. This system worked without a hitch nine times out of ten.

Occasionally, the innkeep would be too upset by her friends turning out not to be a couple more pretty women –one of them was a Witcher, for fuck’s sake– and he’d kick them out. Though, this had only happened a few times, and Mary has become careful to use more vague language about her travel companions.

Geralt would go out and fulfill any contracts whilst Jaskier performed at the local inn or tavern.This is where they got their coin from.

Sometimes, Mary’s job would also include patching up Geralt after a bad run-in with a creature. She knew a fair bit about fixing injuries, seeing as her mother had been her town’s Healer growing up. Before she died, that is, and Mary was forced to join a brothel to keep off the streets.

As disgusted as people were about her profession, she didn’t mind it much. Sex never meant anything to her except for a steady income.

If she was being honest, she was more grateful for the sense of adventure she received from traveling with the pair than she was for the opportunity to leave the brothel.

Just an hour ago, they’d arrived at a small town in Velen, and the usual plan was going swimmingly. Mary had gotten all necessary supplies with coin to spare, and had negotiated their stay at the inn for nearly half price! A new record for her. Excited to share the news, she went and retrieved Geralt and Jaskier from the outskirts of town.

“Good job! What did you do, sleep with him?” Jaskier joked, throwing an arm around her shoulders in celebration.

Mary was mildly uncomfortable at the insinuation, and it made her think: did he silently want her to? She could probably get the price even lower if she did. Truthfully, she didn’t do a whole lot of the heavy-lifting, and maybe this was Jaskier commending her for what he thought was her finally pulling her weight. However, she didn’t get a chance to be uncomfortable for more than a moment, because in typical Jakier fashion, he just kept talking.

“Damn, Mary. I think that’s your best bargain yet! You hear that Geralt? We have coin enough for all the ale we can drink! Mary, will you drink, too? You never do, and I find it quite strange. Of course, if you don’t want to…”

She had learned to tune out his ramblings after a week or so. He hardly ever sought a reply, and a simple humm sufficed when he did.

After tying up Roach, they finally meandered into the inn. The innkeeper merely laughed at the sight. “You’re one tricky lady, you know.”

“Oh, thank you, sir. I do try.” Mary took a small but dramatic bow.

The three of them all headed to their separate rooms to put away their belongings.

Geralt quickly headed off to fulfill a drowner contract, leaving Jaskier to make some coin downstairs.

Mary had no job left to do, and she was starting to feel useless; Jaskier’s joke had wedged itself into her thoughts.

How much did she contribute, really? Enough to not put a strain on the two? They had been awfully tired lately, the both of them.

Guilt overwhelmed her. Of course, they were too decent of men to actually ask her to sell her body, but perhaps it had been an expectation all along, or the reason they brought her along in the first place — the thought of more coin, and free inn visits. Had she been a burden, not using her skillset to provide for the group the way they did?

Geralt was always saying that he needed new armor, or supplies to upgrade what he had, but it was too far out of their price range. She considered the idea of him being able to better defend himself if only they had more money. Increased coin meant a decrease in his injuries.

Well, it was decided. She needed to start making as much coin as the other two did.

There was no brothel in this town, so no one would see her as competition if she went downstairs and did some business.

Most men in the town lived there and didn’t really travel, she had discovered through talking with a few. Some were married, but quite a few were single or waiting for a girl to reach maturity.

If they liked the young ones, she could accommodate. She knew how to look up through her lashes and act a little dumb.

After making her way around the room, swaying to Jaskier’s music, she finally spotted her target. He was looking at her almost predatorily, and his clothing quality told her he had the money she needed.

She approached, a sadness in her glossy eyes as she took a seat right beside him.

“Hello, missy.”

“Hi.” She made her voice nice and sweet and sent him a smile.

“You alright, there? Lookin’ awfully distraught.” He noted, turning in his chair to face her.

“Mm-hmm. ‘M fine.” She let a tear fall.

“Don’t give me that crap, sweetheart. Tell me the truth.” He was commanding it of her, his pupils large in satisfaction.

She sniffled. “It’s just… it’s… I don’t want to complain, I-“

“Honey, it’s okay. You can tell me.”

She stared at him with her big doe eyes before relenting.

“It’s my ma. She’s sick. I’ve been trying to make enough money for her medicine, but it’s so hard, trying to make coin around here. I’m not strong enough to help on the farms, and I-“ She let her voice crack.

“Oh, it’s alright.” He rubbed her back, but it was awfully low to be comforting.

“I don’t know what to do.”

He paused to think while she wiped her eyes. “Well, I could help you out.”

“Really?” She shot her head up in excitement. “Thank you, I-“

“But not for free.”

Exactly as she foresaw, word for word.

“W-What do you mean? I don’t have anything to trade, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, we’ll come to an agreement, I’m sure. You have a room here?”

“Uh-huh.”

He tsked at her. “Use your words, now.” She wrote that in her brain for later, it would certainly come in handy.

“Yes. Yes, I do. The third one on the left is mine.”

“Good.” He placed his hand on her jaw in encouragement. “Let’s head up there, shall we?”

Faking her virginity had always been easy, especially when she was younger and could tell men who were passing through that it was her first day on the job. Now, she had to lie a little more complexly, but it still wasn't hard.

The man had surprising stamina, and they went for at least three hours. Long enough for Geralt to come back.

He and Jaskier shared their evening experiences as they trudged up to their rooms. The noises from down the hall stopped them both abruptly.

“Who’s in there with her?” Jaskier asked quietly.

“I don’t know! You’re the one who’s supposed to have been with her all evening!”

“I saw her flirting with quite a few of the men. However, I didn’t know she took one to bed.”

Geralt was shocked to hear this— Jask knew of his feelings for her.

His tone was piercing, “And you just let her?”

Jaskier turned to his companion with his brows raised. “Let her? She’s not a child, Geralt. She may sleep with whoever she pleases.”

“I-“

“And don’t you complain about those feelings of yours. You’ve had plenty of opportunity to express them, and you’ve been too chicken shit. These are the consequences.”

Jaskier was done with Geralt’s emotionally-constipated bullshit and slammed the door to his room.

Geralt’s hearing was superior to most, meaning that he could hear every sound escaping her lips.

So many times had he imagined those sounds, had he prayed that he’d get to hear them. Now that they rung upon his ears, he hated it.

He wanted to draw those beautiful moans out of her. Not some Velen low-life who would be too wrapped up in his own pleasure to truly care about hers.

He didn’t mean to keep listening, but he was frozen with indecision. Though, the more he did, he could hear the slight inflection in her tone that indicated the fakeness of these sounds. She was incredibly good at hiding it, but it was there.

Why was she in bed with this man if she was not enjoying herself? He had to remind himself of Jaskier’s words. If she wanted to stop it, she would.

He couldn’t take another minute of hearing their bodies collide, thus he stormed out of the inn. He couldn’t sleep next to that.

Instead, he found himself in the stables with Roach. She was giving him a look as though she knew the situation, and was judging him for it.

“Fuck off, I know.”

He couldn’t be mad at Mary, he really couldn’t. He had given her no inclination of his desire for her. She was completely unaware of the pain she was causing him. It was not her fault. The only person to blame here was himself.

He would tell her in the morning, he decided. She would never sleep with anyone but him again. She would never feel the need to, he would make sure of that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the morning, Mary woke up sore and bruised. The man —whom she never learnt the name of, as he preferred “sir”— had been a rougher man than she’d taken him for. He liked to see her cry.

Nothing she couldn’t handle, but still draining. All in all, it was not one of her favorite nights.

However, she didn’t mind it so much after finding the large sack of coin on her nightstand, far more than she expected, and definitely enough for Geralt to buy new armor with.

She squealed in glee, dressing herself and packing up quickly. When she exited her room, Jaskier was just about to knock.

“Oh, Jask. Good morning!”

His eyes widened at the sight of her skin littered in marks. “Jesus, Mary! Did he do that to you?”

She followed his line of vision down to her chest, arms and neck, only now noticing how bad it looked. “Oh, God. I look like the whoriest whore around.” She tugged on her coat, despite it being a humid, late-spring day.

“Doesn’t that hurt? Mary-“

“Please, Jask. This is nothing. I’ve had men do far worse. Anyway, where’s Geralt?”

Jaskier hesitated to respond, but eventually let her drop the subject.

“He left yesterday, haven’t seen him since.”

“Left? To go where?”

“Away, I’d guess. You were pretty loud last night.”

Mary scoffed. “Oh, please. I’ve seen him sleep in a roaring tavern before.”

Jaskier only shrugged, not finding anything to say that wouldn’t reveal what was Geralt’s to tell her.

She shoved past him to go find the witcher. With Jaskier in tow, she stepped outside. Where would he have gone? Not far, likely.

“Geralt?” She called.

It took him a minute to get to his feet, but he soon emerged from the stables.

“Mary, I have something to tell you-“

“No, Geralt, you listen! We spent coin on that room, and you decided not to sleep in it because of a little noise next door? I doubt it’s something you’ve never heard before, and now you’re going to be complaining about your back for days. Seriously, you couldn’t just cover your head with a pillow?”

He was astounded. “It… wasn’t the noise keeping me awake.”

“Whatever, it hardly matters now.” She was determined to get back on track with her joy. “Here,” she thrust the sack of money at him, “When I was out yesterday, I saw an armorer by the market. I stopped in to see if anything was cheap, and they had the supplies to upgrade your Griffin armor. Expensive, of course, but not a problem now! Or you could wait until the next town, see what they have. Up to you.”

Both Jaskier and Geralt were puzzled, but then in a moment it clicked.

“Mary… where did you get that?” Jaskier was walking on eggshells with the tension floating around.

She was growing offended by the expression they both wore. “I’ll give you one guess.”

No guesses were needed. They knew.

Geralt spoke. “Look, there’s no judgment from me. You’re welcome to sleep with whomever you please. It’s just-“ He was struggling, he always had trouble expressing things like this, “I want to be the only man in bed with you.”

Mary blinked. Once, twice. “What?”

He couldn’t look her in the eye. “I should have said something before. I lacked courage, and that’s on me. If you don’t feel the same-“

“I do. Feel the same.” He didn't mind her interrupting this time.

“You do?”

“Mm-hmm.” She was smiling so widely she was at risk of her face cracking open.

Officially breaching a grin, he pulled her to him by the hips.

Cupping his face, she brought his lips down to hers. She was so indescribably happy to be held by him that she smiled through the kiss.

His arms roamed up her sides and back, and as his hand slid across a bite mark on her shoulder blade, she flinched.

Geralt pulled away, looking into her eyes for answers.

“It’s fine, sorry.” She dismissed, leaning in to return to the kiss, though he didn't allow it.

A glance at Jaskier’s concerned face confirmed to him that she was injured. “Mary, are you hurt?” He moved to take her coat off to get a better look, but she stepped back.

“It’s alright, nothing that won’t heal up in a few days.”

He looked to Jaskier, as Mary was clearly not going to discuss it.

“Jaskier, don’t you say a fucking word. It’s none of his business. None of yours, either.”

Geralt only had to glare at Jaskier for him to crack and jump behind the witcher. “Sorry, Mary, but he scares me more. When I walked into her room this morning I saw that she was covered with… marks, of all kinds, from her… erm, nighttime activities.”

“Marks? From- Mary, did he do something to you?”

“Nothing I didn’t agree to. The cruel ones are rare, but they always pay the best. Worth it, I’d say.”

Geralt shut his eyes, willing his feelings down. “Show me.”

She didn’t want to, for worry that he would think differently of her. “Why, so you can humiliate me? Call me a whore?”

“No. I just want to see.”

Sighing, she pulled off her coat. He was going to think of her what he was going to think of her, it was really up to him.

Geralt was transfixed with every spot on her skin. Bruises in the shapes of hands, crescent shaped indents from fingernails, scrapes, teeth imprints. He gently grazed his hands over them.

“Why would you let him do this?” He was full of sorrow. She had allowed someone to hurt her, “For what? Coin? We had plenty.”

“I suppose it was foolish. I felt like I had to contribute something, to earn us money the way you two do, but sex is my only skill.”

“Mary.” So much emotion pushed into one word. Defeat, mostly. He’d failed to make her feel taken care of.

Geralt was too overcome with emotion, so Jaskier took over. “I wish you’d have spoken to one of us. We’re doing fine, you didn’t need to do this to yourself. You’re contributing perfectly well, getting us those bargains at the markets and inns. Saving coin is just as good as making it.”

Geralt’s eyes were still staring into space, but he spoke. “I’m so sorry, that you thought you had to accept that man’s abuse for money. In future, I’ll take more contracts.“

“Geralt, no. The whole point of me wanting to buy that armor was that I wanted you as safe as possible. Which, with you being a witcher and all, I know isn’t much, but armor is crucial to your fighting style. Better armor means less injuries for you.”

“Promise me, you’ll never let this happen to you again.”

She looked into his eyes, which still couldn’t focus on her, and saw the pain. The regret, the guilt.

“Okay, I promise.” She grabbed his hands in hers, drawing his attention back to her. “The only hands on me from now on will be yours.”

He wrapped his arms around her waist, lightly so as to not disturb her bruises. She looped hers around his neck.

Geralt was still distraught. “You won’t regret it, I swear.”

She wanted to lighten the mood. “Oh, you’re that good, huh?”

Geralt let her cheer him up. “Being a witcher does have its perks.”

#geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x oc #the witcher #witcher #oc #angst #major angst #geralt #geralt z rivii #confession #secret pining

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artistsfuneral · 2 years

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I quite liked your Witcher!Jaskier short fic! The idea that Calanthe allowed a single Witcher to remain on her lands and the pull of destiny brought them both there even in such different circumstances really caught my interest. Will you be continuing it?

Awww thank you!

Prooobably won't be writing that fic anymore, so I will just tell you what was supposed to happen, hope you don't mind :)

So the base is this: Jaskier once was a witcher of the (redacted) school, but for - apparently - no reason, left everything and everyone he knew behind to serve the crown of Cintra as a personal tool, if you will

Obviously the other witchers didn't like that so they started attacking Jaskier and the crown-wearer (Calanthe's father in this case), verbally and physically

The problem is that Jaskier is mighty strong in this one, like Eskel he's very good at magic stuff, super intelligent and high endurance etc etc - in a way he's the perfect soldier

After to many wichters got fatally wounded or died, Cintra became kind of a no-go-place for them, though every once in a while someone is stupid enough to try and take Jaskier down

The story starts with Geralt entering the cintran palace at Pavetta's betrothal, where he meets Jaskier for the first time and the reader learns about all those things I just told you

Geralt isn't really afraid of Jaskier, (he actually could take him in a fight, I tell you know) but the not-witcher makes him really really uncomfortable for a few reasons, but he's there on a mission

What am I talking about? You see, Pavetta hired Geralt to protect Duny and while Geralt doesn't want to get involved in any of those weird politics, he kinda does need the money she offered him and the curse Duny is under intrigues him

So yeah, Duny appears a la hedgehogman, Calanthe orders Jaskier to kill the monster and Geralt's and Jaskier's swords meet

Peculiarly enough, Geralt wins

Because Jaskier wanted him to

Jaskier, who hasn't said a single word yet, had let his actions speak louder than anything - the problem is, Calanthe who knows what Jaskier looks like when he's fighting, has noticed too

She starts punishing Jaskier, who does nothing to protect himself, so Geralt steps in and his brain short circuits as he calls for the law of surprise - the unborn Ciri is now bound to Geralt and what he doesn't understand yet, so is Jaskier

Years pass, things happen and Cintra goes up in flames

Geralt finds Ciri in a forest, crying over Jaskier, who is heavily wounded after doing everything to protect Ciri, Jaskier sees Geralt, smiles and passes out from blood loss

Geralt tries to take Ciri away to safety but the girl is having none of it, desperately screaming and crying that she won't leave Jaskier, that he's her best friend, that she will do everything to protect him because that's what he has to do for her, because surprise surprise Jaskier is cursed to serve the Cintran Crown until a rightful ruler (with elder blood) sets him free

So now Geralt somehow has to get Ciri and Jaskier to safety (Kaer Morhen), preferably without either of them dying

(this is the part where Yennefer and Triss help and they also discover the whole elder blood discourse etc)

Obviously Geralt and Jaskier fall in love along the way and it turns out that Jaskier has quite the cheerful personality when he's not oppressed by a certain warrior queen and half her courg constantly watching him

He still can't talk, that's part of the curse (to make him a perfect soldier and so on) but he is very quick with paper and ink and over the years Ciri has become quite excellent at interpreting his wild gestures and weird faces

In the beginning the other witchers are definitely not thrilled to suddenly have a hated "traitor" amongst themselves, but with Geralt, Ciri and the sorcerers explaining everything they slooooowly begin to trust him

Then there's this whole thing with a nilfgaardian king that decided to just declare a full on war to every single witcher and it's all vefy dramatic and heartbreaking and there's a lot of cried confessions and then everything goes to shit when said king captures Ciri and she's crowned Queen right there during the battle and suddenly you can hear Jaskier scream her name and she's sobbing and crying as she hears his voice for the first time, thinking it all ends there and that they have lost

But oh, hold on, the curse is broken and with it Jaskier regains a loooot of strength and he berserks across the battlefield like a parent throwing a car off their child with bare hands while simultaneously fighting three bears and a moose

They win because Ciri stabs the shit out of the nilfgaardian king, which also makes her queen of nilfgaard and yeah

Lots of crying, lots of hugs and then there was supposed to be a calm epilog where Ciri is back at the cintran palace where Geralt and Jaskier first met and Jaskier stands by her side as she is traditionally crowned queen and one of the first things she does in front of everybody is bow down to Jaskier

#the witcher #artistsfuneral about the witcher #geraskier #jaskier #geralt #witcher #long post #ask answered

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dreamofbecoming · 2 years

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ough ok this is a rough rough rough draft, but i have a migraine and i can’t sleep so writing - yes, editing - no, lmao. it’s altogether sappier than i intended and the tone is wildly different from part 1 but i started writing and this is what came out, so what can i say? i just work here lol. feedback greatly appreciated, this is a huge departure from my usual repertoire so i’ll welcome any and all suggestions. the banshee/siren hybrid!jaskier saga continues. enjoy!

og post part 1 here ao3

wc 2500

—

It’s vaguely surprising to open his eyes at all, expecting as he was to end his days on the dusty road beside the men he killed, another monster never to terrorize the Continent again, courtesy of the great White Wolf.

But open his eyes he does, blinking blearily in the low firelight of what appears to be a generic room at a generic inn, judging by the slightly lumpy mattress beneath him and the scratchy blankets tucking him in. Geralt is in a chair by the hearth, patching a hole in what looks to be one of Jaskier’s socks, of all things.

Jaskier would prefer to lay here silently for a while, watching the way the light flickers and dances across Geralt’s handsome cheek, but he isn’t fool enough to imagine that his waking has gone unnoticed, or that such attention would be welcome. And, apparently, there’s a conversation to be had, given that the witcher hadn’t slain him where he stood when he revealed himself, and Jaskier would rather have that bit over with, at least.

He tries to sit up, only to grunt embarrassingly and fall back against the pillows when his elbows give out on him. He feels weak and wobbly, like a newborn foal. How long has he been out?

“Easy, don’t hurt yourself. Here,” Geralt rumbles, crossing the room to help lever Jaskier upright, propping pillows behind his back. He looks like he’s physically holding himself back from fussing over the blankets, but that’s absurd. Geralt doesn’t fuss. Geralt would never. Jaskier must still be fuzzy from sleep.

In a desperate attempt to regain some footing, some normalcy, Jaskier decides to be the first to bring up the fiend in the room. “Going soft in your old age, witcher? You don’t normally fluff the monsters’ pillows for them before you slay them, in my experience,” he says, forcing out a chuckle in the hopes of lightening the mood.

It doesn’t work. Geralt’s expression would be flat to the casual observer, but Jaskier, with his years of practice deciphering the minute twitches and shifts of that beloved face, sees the hurt and resignation in the creases around his eyes. Something that feels a lot like shame burns in his belly.

“Don’t. Don’t do that. You’re no monster.” He shifts uncomfortably on his feet. “Besides, I don’t kill anything with sentience or intelligence, you know that. Intelligent may be a bit of a stretch, sure, but you’re definitely sentient.”

Jaskier takes the teasing for the olive branch it is and makes an appropriately outraged noise, swamped with relief and reveling in the pleased little huff he elicits when he reaches out to thwap the witcher across the arm.

Unfortunately the effort involved in moving brings him right back to where he started, and he falls back against the pillows with a hiss. Geralt is back at his side and—there really is no other word for it—fussing over him in an instant.

“You need to be careful, Jask, you lost a lot of energy. You’ve been out a few days, so your muscles are likely to be weak for a while.”

“A few days? How? What even happened, I don’t…” Jaskier trails off, not knowing how to end that sentence. It isn’t remember, he remembers perfectly well, right up until the moment he collapsed in the dirt. Understand, maybe. He doesn’t understand at all. He doesn’t understand why he’s here, why Geralt is here, how he was able to do those things to those men...there are a lot of things he doesn’t understand. He isn’t sure he wants to.

Geralt sits awkwardly at the foot of the bed, perching on the edge in his effort not to disturb Jaskier’s position. Jaskier rolls his eyes and pokes him in the back with one blanketed toe, pointedly shifting his legs over to make room for Geralt to sit properly. The witcher huffs, looking vaguely sheepish, and settles more comfortably.

“You...you used too much magic at once, Jaskier. It drained you. We’re lucky the innkeeper here let us stay as payment for getting rid of the bandits. They’ve been plaguing that stretch of road for months, apparently. Meant they didn’t ask too many questions about the bodies, at least, just figured they got what they asked for, attacking a witcher.” At this, he looks up from where he’s been staring a hole in the floor between his knees, glaring at Jaskier. “Why did you do it, Jask? I had them under control. You didn’t need to—you never should have killed for me. I never asked you to do that.”

“You didn’t, though.” His voice comes out quieter than he means.

Geralt furrows his brow. “Didn’t what? Ask? I know, Jask, that’s my point.”

“Have them under control. You didn’t.”

Something in Geralt’s expression softens, but he rolls his eyes anyway. “I was fine, Jaskier, I can handle seven men. My injury from last week isn’t even that bad, it would have been fi—”

“Eight.”

“What?”

Jaskier finally makes himself meet Geralt’s eyes, determined to make himself heard if this is the last time they speak. “There were eight men, not seven. There was a man in a tree with a crossbow behind you. You didn’t see him, he was about to—” He squeezes his eyes shut, breathing hard against the memory of the foul taste of Geralt’s death Song flooding his mouth, of that crystal moment of knowing the person he loved most in all the world was Doomed, and he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t help—

But he had helped. He had stopped it, despite not even knowing his powers were capable of something like that. Against all odds, Geralt was safe, he was here and alive and gazing at Jaskier with unmasked concern.

“Alright, eight, then. You still didn’t need to enchant them, Jaskier. Siren powers shouldn’t even work that strongly this far from the sea, anyway! You burnt yourself out! You could have been seriously hurt, throwing magic around like that. You should have gotten on Roach when I told you to, you should have gotten to safety. I would have been fine.”

“But you wouldn’t have!” It bursts out of Jaskier, far louder than he’d intended, tinged with desperation. “You wouldn’t have been fine. I’m not just a siren, Geralt. My sire, my matka, is a siren, yes. But my mama, the mother who bore me? Was a banshee.”

Geralt’s brow furrows in confusion. Dam broken, Jaskier continues in a rush.

“My powers have never been good for much of anything. I was a disappointment to my matka and her kin, because even though my Voice comes out as a Song, all it’s ever done is foretell death, I’ve never been able to use it to compel anyone, and what use is a siren without a Lure?

“I don’t have a proper Shriek, either, but my mama always said my Shriek was as good as any other, just prettier. That’s what it’s always been, a Shriek disguised as a Song. I look at someone, I can feel that they’re slated to die, and the Song wants to be sung, but I never bothered because what’s the point? What good is a warning when you can’t escape the inevitable? Better to let people live freely until their last, that’s what mama said. She never used her Shriek, either. It’s why her people cast her out, why she married a human man when her siren mate grew tired of her. She hated death, too.” Jaskier swallows against the tears building behind his eyes.

“Hers was the first Song I ever Sang all the way through. The only one I ever Sang, until now. My father began to suspect I wasn’t really his, and flew into a rage. I was only thirteen, I couldn’t save her. I could only hide in the closet and Sing while he killed her. I left for Oxenfurt the day after the funeral and I haven’t Sung since. Useless.”

A warm weight on his foot pulls him out of the memories, Geralt’s thumb swiping gently back and forth over his ankle while Jaskier dashes the angry tears from his eyes and tries to get his breathing back under control.

It’s Geralt who breaks the silence.

“You’re not useless, Jaskier. Never that.” There’s another long stretch of quiet, before Geralt seems to settle some internal argument and looks up to meet his eyes, molten gold shining with unnamed emotions. “Help me understand. Why Sing for those men? Why risk yourself? You’ve held in your...Shriek, all this time. Why let it out now, for them?”

Jaskier chuckles mirthlessly. “You’re not listening, Geralt. It wasn’t supposed to be their Song. I don’t...I don’t know what I did. It’s never happened like that before.”

“Like what?”

“I’ve never...I changed it, Geralt. It was supposed to be you.” There’s a sharp intake of breath from the foot of the bed, but Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut against the phantom taste of rot and barrels on. “I felt it. The man in the trees, he wasn’t going to miss. The Song was meant for you, but I— gods, Geralt, I couldn’t bear it. I don’t know how I—I just knew I couldn’t let it happen. I couldn’t, I couldn’t, I—” Between one breath and another Geralt has moved up the bed to his side and gathered him into his arms. Jaskier buries his head into his chest and clings.

When he stops shaking, he unclenches his fingers from where they’re fisted in Geralt’s shirt and starts again. “I don’t understand what I did, Geralt. I didn’t know I could do that. I’ve never had a Lure, no matter how my matka and her kin tried to beat one into me.” A low growl rumbles beneath his cheek, and he pets Geralt’s arm consolingly. That pain is long past, there’s nothing to be done for it now.

“I didn’t even mean to, really, the only thing in my head was that you couldn’t die. I never meant to—Geralt, I never wanted to kill anyone. I don’t regret it, I’d do it again for you, but I—” Geralt’s hand strokes softly through his hair, soothing the frantic pace of his heart.

“I’m scared, Geralt.” His voice is small to his own ears, thin and frightened. “If I can do that when I’m not even trying...what’s inside me, Geralt? How can I be sure I won’t hurt anyone else? Someone innocent this time?”

There’s a long moment where the only sounds are the crackling of the fire and Jaskier’s own hitching sniffles, and Geralt’s slow, measured breathing beneath his ear.

“Hm,” comes the eventual response, almost startling a snort out of Jaskier at the sheer predictability of it, until Geralt continues. “We’ll figure it out together, then. There may be someone out there who can help you learn to control your powers, we just have to find them. We can start at Kaer Morhen. Come home with me this year, we’ll talk to Vesemir and figure out where to start.”

Jaskier sits up, gaping in shock. “You’re inviting me home? To the witcher keep? When I’m—”

“If you say you’re a monster again, I’m not buying you a single honeycake the entire trip.” Jaskier snaps his mouth shut, still stunned. Geralt’s face softens, and he sighs. “I should have invited you a long time ago, Jaskier. Human or not, you’re my friend, you’ll be welcome.” He furrows his eyebrows, looking suddenly uncertain. “Unless...You don’t have to come, if you don’t want to. I know it isn’t...it won’t be what you’re used to. I understand if mmph—” He stares, golden eyes wide over the hand Jaskier has clapped over his mouth.

“Foolish witcher, of course I’m coming! Are you mad? A chance to meet your brothers, your mentor? To see the majesty of Kaer Morhen with my own eyes? Gods, the songs to be sung! The stories that must be waiting to be told! Can we go now? Let’s go! Come on, up! Let’s get packed before you change your mind!”

The wondering look is gone from Geralt’s eyes, which are back to familiar flat annoyance. He pointedly grasps Jaskier’s wrist and removes the hand from his mouth, before standing up and manhandling Jaskier back under the blankets.

“Majestic isn’t the word I’d use, and the stories in those walls are hardly the kind of heroic tales for writing songs. It’s not there for—for—material, bard, you really will piss them off if you try that.”

Seems their equilibrium isn’t quite back, that or Geralt really is really, properly nervous about this invitation, if he thinks Jaskier is serious about picking over his home for inspiration alone.

“Geralt.” He waits until his witcher stops fiddling with the blankets and meets his eyes again. “Darling, I know. I’m only teasing. I wouldn’t exploit you, or your family, that way. Whatever songs I write there, they’ll be just for my own memories. And yours, if you like. I promise.”

Geralt deflates a little, shoulders slumping. “I know. I—I know.” He straightens up, and Jaskier can see the mask of The White Wolf, Stoic Scary Witcher descending back into place. “We’re not leaving today, anyway. You’ll need a few more days to recover, and we’ve a few weeks besides before we need to start heading north. Stay there, don’t move. The innkeep said she’d have some broth waiting for when you woke up. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.” He glowers threateningly at Jaskier, who sticks out his tongue in response, before leaving, apparently satisfied his bard isn’t going to make a break for it in the next ten minutes.

Jaskier settles back against the pillows with a sigh, reeling internally from so many new developments at once. Today has been nothing like he expected. He’s still somewhat surprised to be alive at all, and a tiny part of him is still waiting for the moment Geralt realizes he’s made a terrible mistake and Jaskier can’t be allowed to live, though he realizes now, with some chagrin, that that was never a realistic outcome.

He’s still terrified of the power lurking inside him, all the more ominous now for having been used with only the barest consent from his own mind. But for now he can breathe deep and set that fear aside, at least for a moment. Geralt has promised to help him. Geralt will keep him safe.

He’s alive. Geralt is alive. Geralt knows the truth and doesn’t hate him. They have the beginnings of a plan. Geralt called him his friend, out loud, on purpose. He’s been invited to Kaer Morhen for the winter. Soon he’ll have dinner, or something resembling dinner, anyway. He has altogether more blessings than he was strictly prepared to count, under the circumstances. So for now, he supposes he’ll allow himself to rest, and hum, and wait for his witcher to return. They’ll sort out the rest together.

#the witcher #twn #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #dandelion #julian alfred pankratz #siren!jaskier #banshee!jaskier #creature!jaskier #my writing #spot the tad lyric lmao #genuinely don't know how i feel about this one please be honest #might end up getting scrapped and rewritten before it's ao3 ready #i can feel this one wanting to become a longfic aaaaaaa i don't have spoons for another longfic!!#help!#also this one doesn't have a title yet feel free to toss out suggestions

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essskel · 1 year

Note

I think my point was not as 'fare' to Roche and Ves's character, since they were created in the second game. I was trying to make an argument on how Cdpr's writing is dogshit, so I should show the other example, but in the game where they make their original appearance. Sorry for disturbing you again, english isn't my native language, so it's really hard for me to articulate my thoughts properly. I put more brainpower into sounding smart. But anyways, back to the point.

In tw2, there's one thing that absolutely fucking destroyed my brain with how stupid it is. And that thing - is the genocide of vrans. The devs really said: "The elves are oppressed and all, but we kinda made them too good, we need to make the situation more grey. Hm...UH YES, let's make them guilty of genocide!! They're actually as bad as humans! See, player!! Don't feel too bad for them!"....why, Cdpr, WHY?! Sapkowski shouldn't have sold his books to these morons...

So yeah, I really-really doubt, that Cdpr wanted us to perceive Roche and Ves as some kind of metaphor.

Okay, I hear you, and I'm never going to come on here and defend CDPR's writing as a whole. They treat women like hell, they've tried to equate genocidal military forces with minority freedom fighters (your example with the elves), they've been explicitly racist with the way they framed the Ofieri people in hearts of stone, there's antisemitic tropes used in the added vampire lore from blood and wine, and on and on, sometimes stuff just literally doesn't make sense, I could go on forever.

They're a corporation, they selling a pop culture franchise product, of course it's a mess when it comes to social commentary sometimes.

But there is still a team of professional writers behind it. They're aware of concepts like archetypal characters, mirroring between two story lines or people, theme, metaphor, tone, and social commentary.

continued with sources below:

You mentioned the Bloody Baron in an earlier ask, I agreed with you, I also can't stand his quest. I think it's badly written, it reads way too much as a centrist stance on domestic abuse and that's useless, he'll never be a sympathetic character to me. And yet here's an interview with Paweł Sasko who wrote the quest:

The roots of Family Matters can be traced back to Sasko’s childhood, growing up in a poor village in the Polish mountains. “I saw families destroyed by alcoholism and violence,” he says. “I saw parents fighting with each other and beating their kids, but they were also in love and loyal to their family.”

“The Baron was created as a parallel to Geralt,” says Sasko. “They’re two fathers who have lost their loved ones; two men with blood on their hands; they both have personality issues; they’d do anything for their families.” (Link to full article)

The whole interview is really interesting, I still think it's a bad quest, I think Sasko failed to write the nuanced story that he set out to tell, but regardless, he was trying to tell a story. He considered real life examples, he attempted to created a character parallels, he approached social issues, cultural links, he DID want us to view this character as a metaphor for something, something from his own community and childhood - and I really doubt that he was the only writer at the studio who at least tried for similar depth, or that the Baron was the only side character who was written with similar considerations in mind.

Here's story director Marcin Blacha on the writing choices in the witcher games:

“We want to talk about serious problems, about complex situations, about things that, sometimes, make the player uncomfortable. Choices must then be crafted in such a way that they do not simplify the world, but instead, have the player think and interpret it.” (Source)

Again with this emphasis on more complex levels of storytelling and the inclusion of heavy themes. When they write a character who does something super racist like a militarized hate crime, it's safe to assume that yeah, they're probably trying to address or at least touch on racism here, or misogyny, or nationalism, or something kinder like the difficulties of fatherhood. Maybe you disagree with the way I interpret a certain character or story line - good! normal! - but the writers still intend for us to interpret, to discover our own real word links, to challenge our own views.

Here's a link to a (way too long) presentation by two quest and level designers from CDPR about how they approach narrative and tone in a video game -> If you jump to minute 32, they discuss how even something as benign as choosing where to place food items was done with a narrative in mind, with the intention of enhancing setting, atmosphere, relatability, ect.

There's also a great interview with CDPR writer Karolina Stachyra who talks about how she got hired, why she loves the witcher, how some scenes (specifically in hearts of stone) pay homage to classic polish literature, and she also says: "We make sure to establish [the characters in TW3] as real people, so they are not just there to advance the plot." (source)

I'll stop cause this is getting long, but there's also this interesting interview with writers from TW2.

What I'm trying to say here is, yes, CDPR has a lot of bad writing going on, I'll never defend that, but there is a still a clear attempt at genuine storytelling - a process of narrative, framing, metaphor, ect. I fully expect you or anyone else to disagree with my personal opinions of what a character may stand for, but do you really believe that these characters therefore were meant to stand for nothing? I'm sorry that there's a language barrier here, I hope I'm addressing the core of your ask, but this the best response I can give you right now.

disclaimer: really don't want to excuse any of CDPR's failings either. I'm not saying: aw, but at least they tried, that's better than nothing! And actually, in a lot of cases, the intent makes things worse. When they do something like approach the harsh realities of misogyny in military settings through Ves' character but then just write more misogynistic shit by having her enthusiastically jump into a sexy cutscene with geralt.....yeah now you guys made it WORSE???

#ask #anonymous #double shot

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horsedadgeralt · 2 years

Text

it starts in your fingertips

wc: 527 tags: post season 2, h/c, geraskier

It starts out as an attempt to mask the pain. Thumb and index finger pressed firmly together so that Jaskier stops picking at his skin, pressed so tightly he fears his bones might just snap.

He presses to remind himself that it's over, that the flames he feels licking at his palm is just a brush of air in the cold walls of Kaer Morhen.

Still, he presses, clenches almost.

It becomes a habit. Whenever he feels uncomfortable, he presses— whether it's the strings of his new lute that cut deep into his skin or the rough wood of his spoon that nearly drives a splinter into his hand.

He presses, and tries his best to hide it, too, afraid of judgement or mockery. No one asks him about it though. Right. Why would they. He's just a bard, leeching off of them, waiting for the snow to melt so that they can rid themselves of him once and for all.

And so he continues pressing, and eventually the pressing turns into rubbing, trying to numb the prickling in his fingertips, feel anything but that.

He could ask Yennefer to look at it but he doesn't — he needs the physical wounds to remind him that what happened really happened, that even when he is aflame, literally, he still chooses Geralt, chooses love.

A love that doesn't care about him, doesn't ask nor comfort. Doesn't so much as look at him. But love nonetheless.

And so he keeps rubbing, circular motions, one way and then the other. He does it so much he fears he may start developing callouses, and oh wouldn't that be ironic. Developing thick skin where he feels the most raw.

He keeps rubbing until one day, warm hands grab his. They're rough, like the wooden spoon, and its owner has driven more splinters into Jaskier's heart than he can count.

Still, he lets him, looks at him, looks at love.

"I've noticed you doing that," Geralt says, and then he gently rubs his index finger over the tip of Jaskier's.

Oh.

"You're not really there when you do it... Your eyes are empty." Geralt looks at him, and the concern in his eyes makes Jaskier feel ashamed. For once, love spares him a glance only to pity him.

"Nothing to worry about," he responds, chipper, bubbly, lying. But then—

A kiss. On his thumb. A kiss. On his index finger. Each one delicate, almost chase, and oh how gentle love can be when he wants to. It hurts more than the hottest fire.

"I want you to think of this," another kiss, to his palm this time, and Jaskier's vision becomes blurry, "every time you do that."

Jaskier swallows. The tears are already falling, silently, wetting his cheeks and making everything hazy. Love looks beautiful like that. Love kisses his tears away. Ghosts over his eyes and nose until finally—

Love tastes salty and oh so bittersweet. Love hums and Jaskier moans, leaning in. Love embraces him, caresses him, catches him.

Jaskier presses. His hand into Geralt's. Jaskier rubs. The tears away. For the first time in a long time, he can see clearly.

tagging @cthulhusteve ♥

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier fanfiction #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher netflix #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #the witcher spoilers #kathi writes #fellas i wrote this at 8am on a whim #it probably sucks #i apologize in advance

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fandom-junk-drawer · 2 years

Text

The Witcher Headcanon - Soft!Jaskier Part 2

(Plus how Geralt got his knife scars)

I was going to wait until Friday to post this, but I just couldn't. Oh, well, I managed to wait four whole days!

Geralt thinks about Jaskier's odd behavior as he does the supply run. He'd seen Protective!Jaskier many times before, and that odd stillness, and cold glint in his eyes had not been Protective! Jaskier.

Now he's a little uncomfortable about having left the unconscious witch alone with him. Not that Geralt thinks Jaskier would hurt Yennefer in any way.

Sure Jaskier says he would just as soon kill her as look at her, but that's all just a song and dance. Jaskier would cut out his own tongue and sell his lute before he'd hurt his Yen. But there was just something unsettling about that look in his eyes...

Before Geralt can dwell on it further, he is pulled from his train of thought by a familiar voice calling him. Geralt looks up to see a familiar face...

It's dark when Geralt and his friend return to the house. Jaskier is asleep in the chair beside the bed when Geralt quietly enters the bedroom. He silently walks over and leans down to brush a strand of hair out of Yennefer's face...

Jaskier's eyes snap open in time to see two hulking shadows, one of them leaning over Yennefer, hand reaching towards her...he goes very still.

The push knife cuts into the side of Geralt's chest, a little more than a hand's breadth below his armpit.

The only thing stopping it from going in deep enough to puncture anything vital is the darkness of the room and Geralt's reflexes.

He grabs Jaskier's wrist and squeezes until he drops the knife. Geralt is more than a bit surprised at the bloody murderous look in Jaskier's eyes.

It finally hits him; What the 1% is: Feral.

The bard suddenly produces a dagger from f**k knows where and cuts Geralt across the chest, blade grating across his sternum.

The dagger slices into his left bicep before the second shadow knocks the blade out his hand and darts away.

Geralt uses Igni to light the candles and whispers

Jaskier, stop! It's me!

Geralt?! Oh f*** me! I...I...I almost killed you! Ohf***, ohf**** you're bleeding!

Jaskier notices the Witcher he's never seen before standing by the door and the feral look is back in his eyes. He's already crouched, a push knife in each hand.

"Who the fuck are you?" he growls, his voice low and dangerous, barely even sounding like the Jaskier Geralt knows.

This is Aiden, a Witcher from the Cat School. He winters with us sometimes. He's here to help.

The knives vanish, and Feral!Jaskier disappears in the blink of an eye, banished by the bard's concern for his injured Witcher

He helps Geralt clean and stitch his wounds, while also keeping a not quite trusting eye on the Cat, who is looking though his pack for the potion that will help Yennefer.

When Jaskier is finished, Aiden slowly, and as non-threateningly as possible, hands the potion to Jaskier, while avoiding any direct eye contact.

Geralt *amused Hmm*

Jaskier takes it, barely sparing him a glance, more concerned with Yennefer now.

Soft!Jaskier is back, carefully tipping small amounts past Yennefer's lips until the bottle is empty, speaking softly to her the whole time.

Aiden is so confused as to how this Soft Bard and that Feral B**tard can be the same person. Even Geralt is confused.

Where the f*** did you learn to fight like that? And when?

From this Elven assassin I traveled with for a few years after you and Yen got divorced and then left me on that one mountain.

Hmm

Oh, don't get all gloomy. That's all water under the bridge!

Hmm?

What do you mean 'Why didn't I tell you? ' You never asked, and it never came up.

Hmm?

What do you mean 'Why do i need to know how to use knives and daggers?' Have you ever tried to stab someone with a lute? Let me tell you, it's not easy!

I'm allowed to be able to defend myself when you aren't around, you know.

Hmm

Don't be all sad about it! I still need a big, strong Witcher to protect me from monsters and, admittedly, my own stupidity.

And I would greatly appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone! I don't want to advertise it as it will ruin my image.

Yennefer stirs with a soft groan. Can you all either shut the h*ll up, or go the f*** downstairs so I can sleep?

Jaskier strokes her cheek apologetically and kisses her temple. "Of course, dear heart, anything for you!" he murmurs

Aiden sleeps downstairs in front of the fireplace

Jaskier curls up with Yennefer and goes to sleep, finally able to relax.

Geralt takes the chair by the bed, keeping one hand on Jaskier's shoulder so the bard knows he's there in case he's startled awake during the night

So Feral!Jaskier won't try to stab him again.

Yennefer wakes up the next morning and notices Geralt's wounds while he's introducing her to Aiden

What the h*ll happened to you?

Geralt *embarrassed Hmm followed by sheepish explanation*

Yennefer looks up at Jaskier with a knowing look, and with a certain amount of pride in her eyes. She says softly "That's my Songbird!" and pats his cheek.

Jaskier gives her a sunny smile

Wait, Yen, you knew about this?

Of course I knew. We tell eachother everything, Geralt.

And just like that, things get awkward, so Aiden dips the f*** out.

Geralt ends up with three knife scars that he explains away as scars acquired during hunts. It's hard to keep the secret from is brothers, but it would be so worth it to see the looks on their faces when they find out on their own about his feral bard.

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witchersgoldenbard · 2 years

Text

rienskier siblings drabble, following this fic (tumblr), rience finds jaskier again

Jaskier stares at his hands a lot and almost refuses the salve he gets from Yennefer. It’s stupid, his hands are his entire existence, he needs them to work, needs the burns to heal, needs the magic to work so he can play the lute again. But still it makes him ache to see them heal.

He dreams of Wiktor, dreams of Lettenhove, dreams of everything that makes his mind spin with more questions than answers.

Nobody makes him talk about it, and Jaskier is grateful. Grateful for once to be insignificant enough to the others so they don’t ask the uncomfortable questions. Ciri asked once, but since it didn’t come from a place of worry, Jaskier brushed her off with a false laugh and a story that was only half a lie. Yennefer keeps giving him looks when she applies the salve, and Jaskier can’t bring himself to meet her eyes. She has her magic back but she is human enough to understand that plucking someone’s trauma from their mind is too cruel a thing to do. She trusts him. She cares for him.

And Jaskier feels guilty. One night he is about to tell her, but he chokes on his words when Geralt enters the room. They can’t know. They would hunt Wiktor down, would capture him before Jaskier could get a chance to talk to him. He has no doubt that they wouldn’t hesitate to kill him.

It feels like betrayal not to tell them who Firefucker is. But Jaskier is not a good enough person to let that stop him. He has to know. He must find out what happened, must know if Wiktor knew, if he tortured him fully aware of who Jaskier is to him. Who he used to be to him.

He leaves.

Doesn’t know where to start looking for Wiktor, doesn’t know how to track him down, even with his connections across the entire Continent. It would help if he knew the name Wiktor goes by these days, but he knows nothing. The only thing he knows more than anything is that he has to try. Has to find him. Has to save him from himself.

In the end, he is the one to be found. In Oxenfurt, of all places. He’s despairing over what little traces he has, the only information he has is that Wiktor goes by the name of Rience now. It all seems so hopeless that Jaskier is about to throw his notes into the fire he makes sure to keep lit wherever he goes – as though it were enough to summon his brother.

And that night, it does. A storm is raging outside, the wind chasing raindrops to his window as though they were trying to announce the end of the world. Again. Jaskier is pouring hot water over dried herbs, settling in to work through another night, when suddenly there is a knock on his door.

He doesn’t recognise it at first, the storm too loud, thunder rolling over the clouds, but then it comes again. And Jaskier freezes. It’s the middle of the night, and he is not expecting visitors. He’s still a spy, still the witcher’s former bard, still stupid enough to hide in plain sight.

Another knock, more pressing this time, and Jaskier grabs his dagger from the table before he rises from his chair and moves to the door.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight that greets him as he opens the door. Wiktor – no, Rience. His face marked with burn scars, and the phantom of a scream echoes in Jaskier’s head again. Loud enough for him to freeze, long enough for Rience to smile, water dripping from his hair, his clothes drenched and clinging to his skin.

“Hello, Julian.”

He swallows, once-burnt hand clenched around the hilt of his dagger. They stare at each other, the rain laughing at the picture they’re making.

#jaskier #rience #jaskier&rience #the witcher #the promised rienskier rambles that turned into a ficlet #whoops?#more to come soon #nat writes #nat rambles #rienskier siblings #the witcher netflix #this is just to establish that jaskier doesn't tell anyone #wait should i make a taglist for this au? i can sense this becoming bigger...#the witcher season 2 #wiktor pankratz

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write-ur-wrongs · 3 years

Text

Facing Your Demons

Jaskier x Reader 1785 words

TW: implied sexual assault, seeing an abuser in public, panic attacks, and references to trauma. I did my best to avoid explicit details but tread carefully.

A huge thank you to @bubblegumfanfics for trusting me with this request - I hope I’ve done it justice :”)

Request: Something where the reader was a*saulted in the in the past and has a flashback or she sees her ex that did it and Jaskier ends up comforting the reader, telling her how much she means to him (accidental love confession? Maybe? I love those) while Geralt is dealing with her ex. The reader says she feel the same way but she can't give Jaskier anything sexual because it makes her uncomfortable. But jaskier says he'll be with her regardless and that he loves her and if she ever wanted to try he will oblige and if she doesn't like it he'll stop

It was only one contract, meant to last no more than a fortnight. It should have been an easy in-and-out arrangement; your client got nervous, enlisted a Witcher’s help, and you agreed against your better judgement to stay on and split the earnings. While you’d dealt with this type of apparition before, you were tired, and figured it wouldn’t hurt to work alongside someone tailormade for the trade.

It was only supposed to be for the one job. It should have never gone on like this. You should have never allowed yourself to be charmed by the Geralt’s friend, the bard. You shouldn’t have grown comfortable working alongside Geralt, earning twice the coin by doubling your work. Hell, you should have refused to travel with them while working that first contract. Because maybe if you’d done that, you wouldn’t have found yourself so heavily linked to the pair of them.

Maybe if you’d had kept your distance, you wouldn’t be where you are now.

And you so desperately did not want to be where you were now.

Cowering in the dank, stuffy corner of this horrid tavern, trapped between Geralt’s gargantuan frame and Jaskier’s far-too-close body, you were stuck looking the devil in the eye.

Okay, don’t be dramatic, you thought desperately, clinging to whatever silver lining you could get your trembling hands on to stay afloat, you haven’t actually looked him in the eye.

But still, you’d seen him, and the memories you’d spent so long trying to scrub away were worming their way back into the forefront of your mind, traveling down your body like furious snakes. Each memory burning with venom over everywhere he’d touched you.

“Hey, Y/N, you alright?” Jaskier asked, reaching over to lay a comforting hand on your arm.

At the contact, however, you recoiled so violently away from him that you practically slammed yourself into Geralt. The combined sensation of Jaskier’s warm, calloused fingers on your arm and Geralt’s broad, hard chest against your shoulder sent blaring alarms of panic through you. Everything was too loud; everyone was too close.

You jerked your knees up in an attempt to curl yourself into a ball but ended up slamming both knees, hard, under the table. Surprised by the sudden ruckus, Geralt swore loudly beside you as Jaskier yelped, jumping back as his beer spilt and splashed across the table and onto his lap.

Both knees were now throbbing angrily, your head felt as if it had been filled with cotton, and your mouth watered dangerously as panic-induced nausea crashed over you. I can’t be here, a voice screamed inside your mind, I can’t be here with him.

“Y/N, what the hell-” Geralt started, stopping short when he finally saw the state you were in; the pallor of your skin paired with your wide, vacant eyes were horrifically familiar. It was something he’d seen in the faces of traumatized villagers whose lives were ruined by war, and in soldiers who’d just seen their comrades killed.

Geralt met Jaskier’s eyes over your head and knew that they were thinking the same thing.

Without speaking, Jaskier pushed the table away from you as Geralt scooped you up and began marching steadily towards the exit. Once outside, Geralt gently set you down on a bench as Jaskier materialized by your side with a cup of water.

You’d been so focused on the devil’s face that you’d barely registered the change of scenery, but when your back hit the cool rock wall behind the bench, you were pulled back to reality. Startled, you blinked back unshed tears and let your eyes focus on the two concerned faces before you.

Your breathing slowed, and as you were coming too you heard Jaskier as Geralt whether he should splash the water he’d brought onto your face.

“N-no,” you breathed, feeling more grounded with every passing second, “please don’t.”

Geralt hummed knowingly and smacked the bard upside the head, scolding him for his ridiculous proposal, eliciting another yelp from Jaskier. “It was just an idea!” he hissed defensively, earning only a vacant stare from you and a glare from Geralt.

Frustrated and inexplicably jealous to see Geralt assume the dominant protective role, Jaskier knelt in front of you and scanned your face for a sign. His brows furrowed as he watched your lips mumble something inaudibly. “What is it?” he encouraged you gently, resting a hand next to you on the bench, but decisively not onto you.

“I can’t be here,” you said, barely above a whisper, “I can’t be here with him.”

Jaskier looked back at Geralt inquisitively, as if assuming he’d know you better since he got so defensive earlier. But when Geralt shrugged unperceptively in response, Jaskier felt strangely vindicated and turned back to you confidently.

“Be here with who, love?” he tried, meeting your eyes and doing his best to communicate non-verbally that you could trust him.

“The devil,” you murmured, your eyes finding the man over Jaskier’s head, through the tavern’s window.

The two men turned to follow your gaze. Upon spotting the man they assumed to be devil – a pompous soldier, gesticulating wildly as he held audience in the tavern – their eyes met briefly, eyebrows quirked, before coming back to you.

“You mean, that ridiculous ass?” Jaskier asked, trying to lighten the mood.

“The one in red? you asked.

“That’s the ass,” he replied, eyes sad as a tentative smile played at the corner of his lips, hoping you’d mirror the act.

You nodded silently, eyes meeting his fleetingly. “We, um, I mean he –” you broke off unable to continue, your eyes now closed as memories washed over you like acid.

“You were… together?” he tried, looking back to Geralt for support but getting nothing back but a non-committal shrug.

“I was, I mean he – um,” you swallowed thickly before going on, “we were.”

“And it was bad?” Jaskier was whispering now, meeting you at your energy.

You hesitated before responding, and that brief moment of silence broke Jaskier completely as he imagined the worst.

“It was,” you replied finally, meeting his eyes head-on, “not consensual.”

What happened next happened quickly.

Geralt swore loudly, his hands closing into tight fists as Jaskier swore in a way you’d never imagined him capable.

“Geralt!” Jaskier called over his shoulder, saying his name more like a command, begging his friend to take action.

“Way ahead of you, Jask,” he replied, already stalking his way back into the tavern.

When the tavern door slammed shut behind Geralt, Jaskier sprang to his feet before tentatively sitting by your side. His hand hovered over yours momentarily before he thought better of it and brought his hand back to rest on his own lap. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“I can’t,” you choked out, putting your own hand over his, surprising both of you.

“That’s alright,” he breathed, placing his other hand over yours lightly, “you don’t ever need to think about it ever again. Geralt is taking care of it.” As he spoke, he swung a leg over the bench and turned so that his body faced yours squarely.

“But Geralt doesn’t get involved in human conflict,” you said, swiping at the tears that had managed to fall as you tucked a leg under yourself to angle yourself in his direction.

Jaskier’s eyes flit momentarily to the tavern’s window before quickly coming back to meet yours. “No, but he does kill monsters,” he assured, “and specializes in demons.”

“Do you think he’ll kill him?” you ask quietly, crossing your arms defensively over your chest.

“Hard to say,” he tried to answer, but was interrupted by loud crash followed by shouting coming from within the tavern, “but, huh, I think it’s fair to say you won’t ever need to worry about him again.”

You nodded lightly, trying and failing to hold Jaskier’s gaze. He was looking at you with such intensity, with a warmth you definitely didn’t think you deserved. “Don’t look at me like that, Jask.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, bringing his eyes down to your still-intertwined hands. “I just hate to think of anything bad ever happening to you. I wish I could have known you then… that I could have protected you, that I could have,” he hesitated, considering his next words carefully, “that I could have loved you the way you deserve to be loved.”

“Oh, Jask…”

“No, no, darling, you don’t need to say anything. Please don’t feel obligated,” he blurted out, immediate regret burning at his cheeks, “I’m so incredibly stupid and selfish! I’m so sorry I-I just, seeing you like this it just, argh! I shouldn’t have said it-”

“Jaskier, please,” you interject, placing a feather-light hand over his chest, the pads of your fingers ghosting over the flesh exposed at his collar, “it’s not that. I’m… honestly I’m glad you said it.”

“Yeah?” he asked timidly, looking up at you through his thick lashes.

“Yeah,” you breathed, “I think I feel the same way… about wishing I could, know your love. Be able to love you, freely.”

“Yeah?” he murmured once more; eyes hesitantly alight with hope.

“Yeah,” a teary laugh escaping your lips. “But Jaskier, I’m afraid that I won’t be able to, you know, love you in the way you need.”

“Y/N, hey,” he cooed, your confession bolstering his confidence, “all I need is to know your heart. Knowing you love me is enough.”

“Jask, I don’t think you’re understanding me –”

“My sweet girl, look at me,” he pleaded, bringing his head down to hold your gaze through the curtain of your tear-soaked lashes, “so long as you’ll have me, I’ll be by your side. And I promise you, nothing will happen unless you’re ready and you want it. Nothing.”

“Yeah?” you ask, your eyes scanning his for any hint of mal-intent or deception but finding only earnest adoration.

“Hell yeah,” he whispered, bringing his forehead to rest against yours.

Just then, Geralt immerged from the tavern and wiped his blood-soaked blade against the tall grass as he spoke. “We’re leaving.”

“Way ahead of you,” you parroted in a small voice, letting Jaskier pull you to your feet, before you ran to your horses.

You didn’t feel ready to ride out yourself, so you hopped behind Jaskier as Geralt led your horse behind him on Roach. As you put more distance between you and the tavern behind you, you found yourself growing ever calmer. Until finally, with your arms wrapped tightly around Jaskier’s waist and your face pushed between his shoulder blades, you took your first full breath of the evening and realized, incredulously, that you knew you were going to be okay.

#the witcher #the witcher series #the witcher fanfiction #witcher fanfiction #jaskier x reader #jaskier x y/n #jaskier fanfic #jaskier fanfiction #Jaskier #fic recs #dandelion #geralt of rivia #witcher geralt

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years

Text

Take Me, I’m Yours

(the highest voted options on the poll were ‘Geralt rescues Jaskier from trouble’ and ‘Jaskier riles the Captain up in public’ so I teamed up with the ever-marvelous, stupendously talented @limrx to bring you this Swashbuckling AU oneshot/art piece featuring a horribly jealous Geralt and a frisky, flirty Jaskier)

------------------------

“Do you think he likes me back?” Jaskier asked. He leaned over the ship’s railing to look more closely at the dolphin following behind them. Lambert didn’t think he’d fall overboard but it would be kind of funny if he did. The strange young nobleman did have a way of always landing on his feet, though.

“I know he does.”

“Well how come he hasn’t told me anything about it, then?”

“You’ve met the Captain, right? About this tall, long white hair, weird yellow eyes, emotionally incompetant?”

“You have a good point. Should I just confront him about it?”

“Yeah, sure.” Lambert rolled his eyes before shooting Jaskier a pointed look. “If you want to send your ransom note back to Lettenhove the following morning.”

“Fuck. I just want to kiss him, Lambert. Regularly. I want to know if he snores or not. I want to lay on the deck beneath the stars and talk to him like we’re friends and not just pirate and pseudo-pirate-captive. I really want to see what his ass looks like under those godsforsaken trousers, Lambert, it’s killing me not knowing.”

“You’re more insatiable than a siren during the rainy season,” the second mate teased. “But with fewer teeth.”

“Shut up.”

“Are you going ashore when we lay anchor?”

“Am I allowed?”

“I assume you’ll be allowed. You’re practically part of the crew. You’ve been aboard for nearly two weeks and you’ve pulled your fair share of the weight, if not moreso.”

“Why thank you, Lambert. I appreciate you noticing.”

“Of course, Jaskier. You may be an utter fool and a fop to boot, but at least you’re a hard worker.”

“Asshole.”

“Mhm.”

They both watched the dolphins for a minute in silence before Jaskier’s face split into the most heinous and dastardly grin. It filled Lambert with an unmistakable sense of fear and worry. “I have a brilliant idea. I know how to get Geralt to admit his feelings.”

“No, absolutely not. I am not getting roped into this, you horrible little minx. Don’t give me that look! I won’t help you this time!”

“But Lamby-bert,” Jaskier whined. “If he has someone to take all his frustrations out on in bed then I’m sure it’ll be easier to negotiate for higher shares next time we take a vessel.”

Lambert did not miss the fact that Jaskier said ‘we’ when referring to the crew. The second mate knew the little nobleman was here to stay; it had been clear that Jaskier would be sticking around from the moment Geralt first laid eyes (and hands) on him. The Captain hadn’t stopped looking out for the lad since. Lambert wasn’t even going to think about that singular flirty kiss atop the mainmast nearly a week and a half ago. Geralt had been pining after the acrobatic little idiot ever since and making absolutely no move to flirt back. It was driving the crew absolutely crazy. “Alright, you devilish siren. I’m in.”

----------------------------------------

Jaskier cleaned up nice.

And he deserved to clean up nice. He’d worked hard to put this outfit together. Billy had lent him a pair of dark blue breeches in return for Jaskier’s help with mending the mainsail. The shirt he was wearing was half a size too big, which was exactly big enough for the neckline to plunge even lower than he usually wore it. This way it revealed more of his toned (and rather hirsute) chest. He’d borrowed it from Starkey, who was the same height as him but who had much broader shoulders.

The Captain was going to absolutely die when he saw Jaskier.

He whistled a rather naughty shanty as he exited the bunk room and made his way towards the gangplank where Starkey, Lambert, and Eskel were waiting for him. He spun in a quick circle, arms out to show off his clothes. Lambert and Starkey whistled appreciatively and Eskel hid his face in the palm of his hand. “Ready, boys?”

“Absolutely not,” Starkey smiled. The first mate standing next to him tilted his head back to look at the sky, sighing deeply.

“Are you sure about this? What if the Captain tries to kill Lambert?”

“He won’t be killing anyone. Hopefully. If he does run his sword through anyone, it will most likely be me,” Jaskier joked. “Now, this is my first time drinking with real pirates. Anything I should know?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Eskel suggested. Lambert bit back a laugh and Starkey snorted.

“Impossible.”

“Well then, let’s go.”

The four men made their way down onto the docks and through the sparse crowd of sailors and merchants still mingling in the evening light. Starkey led them to a decent tavern and found a vacant corner table, which gave them an excellent view of the door.

Geralt and Starkey had spent the morning selling their stolen cargo to various merchants, shopkeepers, and artisans. The Captain had divided up the gold between his crew according to their various contracts and Jaskier, more as a jest than anything else, was given two crowns as well. “For not dying,” Geralt had intoned seriously. The men were amused but Jaskier’s face had gone bright red with embarrassment. The young noble had talked them out of trouble with the Skelligan patrols twice last week and Geralt was repaying him with public humiliation? Lambert knew that the Captain’s earlier actions were about to make this evening a lot more entertaining (if slightly uncomfortable) and he was ready to get this show on the road. He flung an arm around Jaskier’s waist and ordered them all a round of ales.

“So everyone knows what the general goal here is, right?” Jaskier clarified.

“Yes,” Eskel nodded. “You’re using Geralt’s jealous nature to make him act on his less than subtle feelings for you.”

“Correct. Wonderful.”

Lambert squeezed the noble’s hip through his borrowed pants and Jaskier huffed indignantly in reply. Starkey chuckled softly at their antics and winked at the barmaid when she brought them their drinks. “Can’t wait, really. It’s been so boring lately and the last two ships we took didn’t even fight back. This is drama. This is entertainment!”

“Shut up, Starkey,” Jaskier pouted. He leaned back into Lambert’s embrace and gulped down half his ale.

“Slow down, kid,” the first mate teased. “Or you will be drunk when he gets here and your plan won’t work.”

“I need to get the pink in my cheeks or I’ll look suspicious,” Jaskier argued. “One ale should do it without getting me tipsy. Maybe two if it’s weak.”

“Method actors,” Lambert rolled his eyes.

Jaskier was sipping slowly at his second ale and the other three pirates were on their fourth or fifth when Geralt finally came barreling through the tavern door. “There you are!” Eskel shouted, waving the Captain over. Nobody missed the barely-hidden glare Geralt aimed at Lambert’s arm where it rested against the nobleman’s lower back.

“Captain,” the second mate nodded.

“Lambert. Eskel. Starkey.” Geralt greeted them all in turn.

“Heyyyy,” Jaskier whined, leaning forward against the edge of the table and pouting. “What about me, sir?”

“You.”

“Rude,” the brunette huffed. Lambert ran a lazy hand up and down his spine and Jaskier watched as Geralt’s eyes narrowed into slits. He sighed sadly and melodramatically into his mug and nodded once in the second mate’s direction. “Thank you, darling. At least someone in this crew likes me.”

Starkey saw Geralt’s eyelid twitch and slid Eskel two crowns under the table to settle their bet. He thought the vein on their Captain’s throat would show up before the eyelid went, but it must have been the first mate’s lucky night this time around. “Hey Eskel, let’s see if any of the lovely ladies here want to dance with us, eh?”

“You coming, Captain?” Eskel asked. “Seems like Jaskier and Lambert are a bit busy.”

“Yes, Geralt,” Jaskier egged him on. The Captain had a white-knuckled grip on the handle of his mug. The noble took a long swig of ale and licked a bit of foam from his lip when he was finished, noting the way Geralt’s eyes locked onto his mouth. “Why not go dance with a pretty lady. Certainly nobody else has your attention.”

The pirate Captain finally snapped. He slammed his mug down and reached around the table to grab Jaskier around the waist. He hauled him out of the second mate’s grip and onto his feet. “Captain, what are yo-”

“Yer coming with me, siren,” Geralt snarled. Lambert relinquished the nobleman with very little fuss, winking at Jaskier as the pirate Captain swung him up and over his broad shoulder. The young man flashed all three of his co-conspirators a thumbs up as he was carried out of the tavern like a sack of potatoes.

“A little rude to Lambert, don’t you think, sir?” he asked, resting his elbow against Geralt’s shoulder blade and settling his chin onto his hand. He crossed his ankles to make it easier for the pirate to balance his weight comfortably. “But they’ll be happy to know that our little plan worked out.”

Geralt stopped in his tracks but did not set his captive down. “Your what?”

“Our plan,” Jaskier explained as if bored. “To get you to finally do something about all this sexual tension between us. I kissed you on the mouth for fuck’s sake.”

“I thought it was an accident.”

“Oh, and saving you from hanging at the hands of some Skelligan officers, was that an accident? Not sending a ransom note last time we stopped for water and not turning you in for the reward in Novigrad, were those accidents too? There is a hefty bounty on your head, White Wolf, and I could be living independently in a castle somewhere right now except that I happen to find you endlessly attractive and fascinating.”

“Hmm.” Geralt resumed walking. Jaskier noticed with a smirk that his pace had picked up quite a bit. As if he was suddenly in a hurry to be somewhere.

“Hum dismissively all you like, sir, but you’re still carrying me back to your cabin to ravish me senseless, are you not?”

“Ravish may be the wrong word for what I’d like to do to you, but you do look rather tempting.”

“Thank you. I put a lot of effort into this ensemble.”

“You’re a calculating little nymph, aren’t you?”

“No, of course not. I only managed to secure a bunk aboard the Kaer Morhen and wrap its infamous captain around my finger in less than a month. I am but a silly nobleman with excellent dexterity and a penchant for climbing.”

“Lambert was right to call you a minx.”

“He does love that nickname.”

“It’s not an endearment.”

“Whatever.” The ground shifted and Jaskier knew they were making their way up the gangplank and back onto the ship. This was the part he’d been waiting for! Geralt kicked in his cabin door and stepped inside, turning to close and lock it behind them. Jaskier wriggled impatiently. “Set me down!”

“Hmm, no. I rather like the view from here.”

“Excuse me?”

Geralt gave him a gentle smack on the ass, almost a pat really, and huffed out a laugh at Jaskier’s offended noise. “You’ve been an awful lot of trouble for a nobleman and a captive.”

“I’m barely a captive, Geralt. Give it up already.”

“You haven’t signed the book.” He set Jaskier back on his feet and looped his arms around the younger man’s waist to pull him close. “You’re still a captive until you swear on the book and sign your name next to the others. Then you’ll be part of my crew.”

“I have yet to negotiate for my shares,” the brunette stated. He tilted his chin back, baring his neck slightly and offering Geralt his ale-damp lips. “Ten crowns after every capture and I get to sleep in here with you. That sounds fair.”

“You’re a good worker. Seven crowns, you can sleep in here with me, and you can borrow my bandannas whenever you want.”

“Even the red one?”

“Especially the red one.”

Jaskier’s soft pink mouth brushed against the pirate’s as he murmured his answer: “Deal.”

Geralt’s lips crashed against Jaskier’s with the strength of a wave hitting the side of his ship in a maelstrom. The Captain’s mouth was so warm and his lips moved against the younger man’s with almost frightening determination. As if he was trying to prove himself. His arms were strong around the nobleman’s lower back and his white hair brushed deliciously against the skin of Jaskier’s neck.

“You’ve bewitched me, body and soul.”

“Oh, Geralt,” the younger man sighed, opening his mouth to let the other in. I never thought the word ‘plunder’ could apply to kissing but here I stand, corrected by experience yet again. The White Wolf of the Seven Seas pulled away, made breathless by a young and foolish nobleman in search of adventure.

“I’m not a siren, you know. Not even a little. My family’s estate is landlocked.”

Geralt’s fingers rose from his waist and brushed against his cheekbone reverently. Those amber eyes, so cold and focused when he shouted orders or intimidated a merchant captain, were looking down at Jaskier with such devoted tenderness. The ex-noble felt his heart fill anew and double in size. There wasn’t enough room in his body to hold all of this feeling.

“Kiss me again, Captain. Take me to bed.”

“You’re too good at tempting me. You must be evil.”

“I assure you,” Jaskier smirked, ripping Geralt’s shirt over his head in one smooth movement. “I am.”

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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 3 years

Text

Like Sparks Against My Skin

on ao3

When Geralt sets out down the pass, nothing is out of the ordinary. The path is clear enough that he can ride most of the way down and they make good time coming into Kaedwen. He'd written to Jaskier over the winter for the first time this year and he's antsy to make it to their meeting spot along the Pontar. It feels like something has changed over the winter and while it's not a bad thing, Geralt still lays the blame on Jaskier and his soft, longing letters.

Usually, over the winter, Geralt spends most of his nights with Eskel, but it felt wrong to be sleeping with one man during the night and writing to another during the day, so he's spent the entire five months alone. And more than once, the letters he received seemed to have been written when Jaskier was drunk, and the content edged toward something much more suggestive than either of them had ever discussed. Not that anything had been discussed prior to the letters.

And Geralt had started thinking about things he's been burying since he first met Jaskier so many years ago. Like the sound of his voice while he's being railed in the room next door, or the way his trousers fit just right to display a shapely ass and thighs - or that stupid fucking bow that sits right between his hips and haunts him. Surely it's just a frivolity and it's not actually holding Jaskier's trousers up, but Geralt wants to find out, wants to tug at it and see what happens. And maybe, when he meets up with Jaskier, he will be.

He travels harder than he probably needs to, hurrying to get to their meeting spot and see Jaskier and find out where exactly they stand with each other now. It's unnecessary because Jaskier is still travelling on foot and while he has less distance to cross, he's still going to be slower. So when Geralt stops in town to rest for the night, Jaskier is the last person he's expecting to see.

But there he is when he walks into the tavern, lute in hand and singing melodiously and- Geralt's brain stops functioning when he looks at Jaskier's face. Because he's never had a beard before. And something hot and urgent settles low in his gut and Geralt barely holds back a groan. Whatever changed over the winter, he doesn't suspect Jaskier is prepared to be jumped the second they see each other.

But it's a tempting prospect, pulling him into an empty room and kissing the confusion from his lips. He thinks back to the one year Eskel decided to grow a beard, to the scrape of his between his thighs and against his ass. The roughness of it all over his skin and- fuck. He's still in public, he shouldn't be thinking these things.

So he quickly diverts his attention from Jaskier and orders a pair of drinks and supper for the both of them before discussing available rooms. By the time he and the innkeeper have come to an agreement (Jaskier's portion of the room has been paid for already, but Geralt is to pay for his own) Jaskier has finished his set and slipped up silently.

"It's good to see you," he says, "I didn't expect you so soon."

"The path was clear," Geralt explains, "quick riding down. Didn't see any point to delay after that."

"Certainly not, and we are glad to have you. Drinks?”

"Already coming," Geralt smiles and Jaskier beams at him.

The beard, Geralt discovers, is shorter than it appeared, thick stubble more than a full beard, but it doesn't stop the thoughts whirling in his head. If anything, it encourages them. Stubble is rougher than long hair and would be sure to scrape delightfully against his skin. Geralt has to shut his eyes for a moment and compose himself and when he does, Jaskier is looking at him oddly.

They turn in after supper and for the first time since knowing him, Geralt is nervous to share a bed with Jaskier. He's hesitant even about undressing in front of him because he's been half-hard since he walked into the inn earlier that evening. And he's had more to drink than is probably advisable, even if it doesn't affect him that much.

But in the firelight in their room, Jaskier looks unbearably beautiful and Geralt has to hold his tongue to keep from saying something he'll regret. Because Jaskier hinted and nodded at something more, but he hasn't said a word about it now that they're back together. And Geralt would be devastated to lose him over something so trivial as a quick fuck. So he shucks his clothes quickly and lays out his bedroll on the floor. Jaskier gives him an odd look but doesn't question it. It's not the first time one of them has slept on the floor of an inn.

But even when the candle is blown out and Jaskier is snoring softly in bed, Geralt can't sleep. He usually sleeps best the first night they're back together because they're always at an inn and Jaskier's soft breath and snoring lull him, but tonight he's wound too tightly to rest.

He gets up more than once and tries to meditate but being on his knees only brings to mind the image of a cock in his mouth and he's sorely tempted to see if the brothel is still open. He can't keep on like this. Jaskier stretches in his sleep, letting out a soft, happy moan and Geralt's cock twitches against his thigh. He shuts his eyes tightly, focuses back on the sound of Jaskier's breath, but there's nothing for it.

After an hour or more, Geralt shoves a hand down his shorts, taking his cock in hand and jerking himself quick and hard. There's nothing elegant about it, but he thinks of Jaskier, imagines him rubbing his cheeks between his thighs, and he comes hard after only a few strokes.

It's stupid, he thinks, to let himself get worked up over a little hair along Jaskier's jawline, and he resolves to ignore it.

Only the next morning it already seems thicker and darker and, like every other part of Jaskier, it's actually rather a lot of hair. A lot of short, prickly hairs. Geralt's cock stirs as he saddles Roach and he firmly shoves the thought aside. He's spent one too many rides hard and rubbing against the horn of the saddle and he doesn't need to repeat that.

They're not headed anywhere in particular, so he lets Jaskier lead the way, happily strumming and chatting or singing as he goes. They head in a general northwestern direction, toward Vizima and Jaskier seems perfectly unaware of Geralt's new fascination with him. But Geralt can't stop looking, hyper-aware of every little thing Jaskier does from the way he scratches absently at his jaw to the way he stretches it when he's not singing. Geralt doesn't know how he's never noticed all these things before, but they're doing their damndest to drive him out of his mind now.

He spends three days riding uncomfortably because he can't keep his prick under control, but it's better than walking and letting Jaskier see how fucking hard he gets thinking about his stupid scratchy face.

They stop early to make camp just outside of the city and Geralt has barely dismounted - thankfully not currently afflicted - when Jaskier drops his things and sighs.

"What is it?" he asks abruptly and Geralt just looks at him.

"What's what?" A million things run through his mind, but Jaskier looks far too exasperated for this to have anything to do with the recent state of Geralt's dick.

"You keep staring, looking at me funny. Why? Did I grow? Do I have something in my hair?" he reaches up, brushing long fingers through his hair and Geralt swallows hard. "And you're so solemn. What happened to looking forward to meeting me this spring."

Geralt says nothing because he doesn't know what to say. The truth is clearly out of the question, so he's fully out of options, the beard having turned the majority of his brain to soup. Then Jaskier's shoulders slump a little and he gives Geralt the most ridiculous look.

"The beard?" he asks and Geralt's eyes widen without his permission. Jaskier huffs. "I should have fucking known. Okay, get it out, tell me how awful it is."

"It's fine," he mumbles and Jaskier laughs.

"No, no, no, Witcher, you're not getting out of this that easily. Why do you hate it so much, hm? I'll have you know it was quite popular in Oxenfurt." Geralt doesn't need full brainpower to know what that means and a nasty jealous feeling twists in his gut. "So?"

"Told you," Geralt shrugs, "it's fine."

"Fine," Jaskier repeats mockingly, "fine."

He hates to lie to Jaskier, but he doesn't know what else to do and he doesn't want to ruin whatever softness they found over the winter, providing Jaskier is willing to stretch that into the rest of the year.

"It's… good," he says the words so quietly he can barely hear them and Jaskier comes right up to him, getting right up in his face and Geralt can smell him and he shuts his eyes, trying to settle his mind.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"Nothing."

"No, I think you said it was good. Do you- do you like the beard, Geralt?"

He's so close now and Geralt's eyes open when he feels Jaskier's hands on his chest. He's right there and Geralt can't think of anything but biting his jaw, running his tongue along the rough line of it and he nearly groans out loud. He has always, regrettably, found Jaskier attractive but something about the beard is unbearably sexy and Geralt is barely holding it together already when Jaskier grins at him.

"Oh," he breathes, sliding one palm down Geralt's stomach. He leans in so close that his stubble scrapes against Geralt's cheek and Geralt lets out a soft, shaky moan, barely clinging to his self-control. "You do like it, don't you? Is that why you won't sleep with me? Why you can't stop staring at me?"

He leans in again, purposefully this time and Geralt inclines his head so Jaskier's cheek is closer to his neck.

"Shit, Geralt." He nuzzles into his neck, pressing his cheek against Geralt's throat and follows with soft kisses that make Geralt's knees weak. "You like the way it scratches, hm?"

"Yeah," Geralt admits breathily, "Jask-"

"Shh," Jaskier hums, "I know. Fuck, I know." He presses his nose to Geralt's, sighing softly. "I was afraid I overstepped this winter," he whispers, pressing a light kiss to the underside of Geralt's jaw. "Thought you were trying to figure out how to send me away after that first night back."

"Not you," Geralt mumbles, tipping his head back, "didn't want you to know-"

"How much you like the beard?" he nuzzles under Geralt's jaw again and he groans in response. "So you still want-" he doesn't finish his sentence before Geralt slides a hand around the back of his head and holds him there, eyes locked on his own.

"Of course I do," he breathes and then Jaskier's mouth is on his own and he's not sure which one of them moved, but it doesn't matter. Jaskier kisses him like he's been deprived for months and Geralt knows that's not true, but he's happy enough to be the recipient.

Jaskier's lips are soft, but Geralt can already feel the burn of his beard on his upper lip and he moans softly as Jaskier pulls away to nuzzle at his neck again. Geralt shuts his eyes, rolling his head back and biting down on his lip. His cock swells quickly under the touch and then Jaskier's wrapping his arms around his thighs and lifting him off his feet. It catches him off guard, but then they're moving, and Jaskier sets him down on a shelf of rock, smiling slyly up at him.

Geralt's high enough that it takes nothing for Jask to bend and kiss him, fingers reaching in to unbutton his trousers, and Geralt can't keep himself from pushing into the touch, pressing his clothed cock against Jaskier's hands.

Heat rolls through him and he's a little embarrassed to be so hard already, but Jaskier doesn't seem to mind. He wraps his fingers around him and Geralt groans softly as Jaskier plays with him through the fabric of his trousers. He tips his head back as Jaskier gets his trousers undone and then he's shoving them down far enough to get his cock free and Geralt can feel the rush of cool air against him.

"Lift your hips," Jaskier says and Geralt does as he's asked, shifting with him as Jaskier pulls his trousers down to his knees.

He grins at him, then pushes his thighs apart and presses his face between them. Geralt groans immediately despite himself, torn between letting his thighs fall further apart to give Jaskier better access to his cock and just letting him rub his face between his thighs all afternoon.

Because he would. He'd be happy to let Jaskier nuzzle between his thighs for hours without even touching him. He could probably come like that, just with Jaskier's scruff rubbing against his thighs.

"Feels good?" Jaskier asks and Geralt nods. "You like the way it scratches, hm?" He presses closer and Geralt's eyes flutter shut. "Oh, you really like that. Is that what's been bothering you this whole time? And here I thought you hated the beard."

"No," Geralt gasps and Jaskier surges up to kiss him again, groaning against his lips. He fumbles with Geralt's trousers, not pulling away as he pulls them off his legs and throwing them to the ground, then he's hauling him forward so he can fit between his thighs.

"I want you," he breathes, "Geralt, can I fuck you? I'll make it good, love."

"Please," he whispers, "Jaskier, please-"

"Shh," Jaskier hums, running a hand down his chest, "I've got you, darling, I'll take care of you."He presses forward, guiding Geralt onto his back and then he's ducking down to take his cock into his mouth. And the rumours of Jaskier's talents have not been exaggerated.

Geralt has to struggle to keep his hips down as Jaskier draws back and when he sinks back down on him, he makes a point of rubbing his cheek against his hip and the pleasure burns through him. Jaskier's tongue wraps around him and Geralt rocks into the touch, but he just groans when Jaskier holds him down. Then he's pulling off altogether and lifting Geralt's knees over his shoulders.

He keeps his eyes on Geralt's as he pulls him forward and then he's ducking down, pressing his nose behind Geralt's balls. The first flick of his tongue has Geralt groaning and then he's sliding over him, licking over his hole and Geralt shuts his eyes and gropes at the rock for something to hold on to.

Jaskier doesn't waste any time settling him, just gets straight to work, pressing his face in and pressing at his hole with his tongue. The scratch of his stubble drives Geralt insane and if he wasn't already hard, it would take nothing else to get him there. And Jaskier, the fucker, knows this and uses it to his advantage. He alternates actually touching him with the rough scrape of his beard until Geralt needs the touch, until his cock aches for something more, and his cheeks burn with the roughness of it.

It's just this side of painful, but he loves it and when Jaskier finally presses into him, Geralt goes limp, whining as he throws his head back. He gropes blindly at Jaskier, gripping one arm where he braces himself and Jaskier just hums as he pushes his tongue inside him, barely acknowledging Geralt's whimpers.

"Fuck," he groans, "oh, fuck jask- please, yes."

When he pushes further, he adds a finger and it's a little dry, but Geralt has needed this for so fucking long he doesn't even care about the burn. It feels good, even, like a mirror to the stubble burn now marring the insides of his thighs and ass. And Jaskier is gentle despite his own eagerness, only pushing in when he knows Geralt can take it and then starting slow.

But when he knows Geralt is comfortable, he fucks him hard with his tongue and finger, working up to two quickly as Geralt gasps and groans under him.

"Jask," he groans, "needed you- wanted you all winter. I haven't-"

"Haven't what, love?"

"Haven't come since the summer-" he cuts himself off with another groan as Jaskier's fingers nudge against his prostate for the third time in a row. His eyes roll back and he bites his lip. "Not gonna last like this."

"'S okay," Jaskier says, dipping down to kiss his cock, "I wanna make you feel good, I wanna watch you come. Then I'll fuck you and you can come again."

"Melitele," Geralt groans, but Jaskier leans low over him, quieting him with a kiss as he plunges his fingers into him again.

The pressure rises as Jaskier seeks out that spot, aiming for it again and again until Geralt can barely breathe. And he knows he can't hold back anymore, but he tries. He shuts his eyes and focuses and tries not to think about how fucking good it feels to have Jaskier's fingers inside him, but they bump against his prostate again, just as Jaskier mouths at the underside of his cock and he can't.

"Fuck," he cries, "'M gonna come." Jaskier doesn't say anything, but he licks up the length of Geralt's twitching cock, just slipping over the head and sucking it into his mouth before he's coming.

HE clenches one hand at his side, the other flying up to the back of Jaskier's neck as he sinks down on him and he rocks gently into his mouth, pressing the head of his cock against the roof of Jaskier's mouth. It feels like ages that the pleasure washes over him and Jaskier just keeps bobbing on his cock, fingers still working into him.

When he finally comes down again, Geralt sighs and reaches down, tugging Jaskier on top of him to kiss him. He can taste himself on Jaskier's lips and it sends a bolt of possessiveness through him. He's never been one to consider anyone his, but knowing Jaskier tastes like him is incredibly arousing.

Jaskier appeases him for a few minutes before pushing himself up again and fitting himself between Geralt's thighs, running his hands along them.

"Feel better?" he asks and Geralt just hums softly. "Think you could come again for me, darling?"

"Yeah," Geralt rasps, "yeah, for you."

"Oh, Geralt, you're so sweet to me." Jaskier kisses him softly, then straightens up, reaching down to undo his own trousers.

Geralt watches as he shoves them down, then takes himself in hand, stroking absently, as he looks at him. Jaskier's already hard, the knowledge of which only makes Geralt's need stronger. But Jaskier doesn't make him wait long before he's pressing in, teasing his rim with the head of his cock.

He pushes in slowly, giving Geralt the chance to adjust, but he doesn't want it. He wants Jaskier inside him as quickly as possible, wants to feel the stretch of Jaskier's cock and the burn as he fucks him. He rocks his hips encouragingly and Jaskier seems to get the message, thrusting deep into him with a groan.

"Fuck," he mutters, "you feel incredible, Geralt." He rocks his hips, groaning on the forward thrust, and pulls Geralt's hips against him. "Can you come just like this?" Jaskier asks and Geralt nods.

He's already feeling the urge again, even as his cock swells against his hip. He wants to come on Jaskier's cock, wants to kiss him while he fucks him, wants to touch him. And Jaskier does his best to provide that. He leans over, wrapping his hands around Geralt's hips and pulling him down to ease the motion of his thrusts. He gets one hand around him, stroking in time and pressing his thumb against the slit of his cock, rubbing gently as Geralt squirmed under him.

Jaskier is soft where he touches him, but he fucks him hard and Geralt is already slipping before he's even touched himself. Jaskier's hands on him feel too good and he reluctantly pushes him away, slipping his own hand around the base of his cock.

"Okay?" he asks.

"Gonna make me come too quick," Geralt mumbles, "not yet."

"How come?" Jaskier asks, but his voice is rough, shaky as he fucks him. "This doesn't have to be the only time." He leans over him, kissing Geralt sloppily as he jerks forward. "I've wanted you forever, darling, if I knew all it took to get you into bed was growing a beard, I would have done it years ago."

He smiles and winks and Geralt can't help but kiss him again, tangling his fingers in his hair to bring him close. Jaskier's a flirt and a tease, but Geralt wouldn't trade him for anyone.

He kisses him hard, even as Jaskier pulls him down again, so only his back and shoulders rest on the rock. He slams into him again and again, dislodging him as he kisses him, but it doesn't matter because this is Jaskier and this has been a long time coming.

But Geralt's cock throbs against his hip and he's so close he can practically feel it and one well-timed thrust is all it takes to have him spilling all over his stomach and Jaskier follows with a loud moan, pressing his head into Geralt's shoulder.

For some time, neither of them moves, Geralt with his legs wrapped around Jaskier's waist and Jaskier just barely holding him up as the rush of his orgasm passes. Jaskier is the one to move first, pulling Geralt from his spot on the shelf to set him back on shaky feet.

"Gods, Geralt," he breathes, "who knew a little bit of facial hair could get you going like that." He huffs a soft laugh and kisses his chest, but Geralt ignores it. "If I'd known, I would've let it grow out ages ago, I bloody hate shaving and now that I know what that look means," he grins, leaning in close enough that he's breathing against Geralt's lips, "I think I'll wear it long like this all the time, what do you think?"

"I think," Geralt says, choosing his words carefully, "that next year you're coming to Kaer Morhen with me so I can take full advantage of that threat without worrying about having to ride in the morning."

"Fuck," Jaskier breathes, "deal."

#the promised beard fic!!#geraskier #spicy #rex writes #the witcher

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abeautifulblog · 3 years

Note

oh hey! i don't know anything about armour, but what kind of outfit would you put geralt in if you had full creative control? :v

lol, well, my complaints with his costume design and my complaints with making his costume are two completely separate things. The latter is mostly just bitching, because it's cronch time for getting Halloween orders out, and I am feeling that cronch. 😅

But on a design level... I really think they're doing both the show's worldbuilding and Geralt's character a disservice by dressing him in mid-level World of Warcraft armor. The source material of The Witcher is distinctly non-American in flavor, and Netflix had the opportunity to make a story world that would really be unique to anything else on TV, that wouldn't be just another Generic Hollywood Grimdark Fantasy, and then... they didn't. =/

And Geralt's season 2 armor pretty much epitomizes that failing. It's not rooted in any historical time or place, but neither does it feel fantastically innovative, nor does it have any coherence with the other costumes in the show. It's just not ANYTHING.

(Except "cool," maybe.)

And I don't even hate it as much as some people do, because I have an abiding fondness for World of Warcraft and I enjoy its signature look of Big Stupid Pauldrons, but it is such a bad choice for a TV show that's striving to be taken seriously.

I have no idea what it's supposed to say about Geralt's character that he'd wear something like that. Does he realize what a Statement that armor is making? Does that mean Geralt's secretly the kind of guy who wants to make that Statement? Or is he supposed to be humble and practical, and we're just supposed to ignore the mismatch between what we're told his character is, vs what his outfit says about him?

(Frankly, I will only be satisfied if it turns out that he escaped from Cintra all but naked, killed the first Nilfgaardian soldier he came across, looked at the man's armor and went "This is fine.")

(Yen and Jaskier: "That is not fine.")

Though to me the most damning part is that it doesn't even look functional, like an outfit that someone would realistically operate in. Where are his fucking pockets?? He's got a potion pouch, but he doesn't even have a place to hold a goddamn wallet. (I had to stitch my pockets shut to keep them from gaping when the pants were that tight.) Does he really wear that whole apparatus around everywhere he goes, even when he's not fighting, is that what he travels and eats and shops in?

(I can tell you from experience that that armor isn't uncomfortable, but it is unwieldy -- to wit, I have to turn sideways sometimes to fit through doors. For a witcher who practically lives in his armor, is something that clunky really the best choice for him?)

(Visually, it's also so top-heavy, UGH. There is practically nothing going on below the waist to tie the look together and give it balance.)

Basically anything from The Witcher 3 would be better, in my opinion. Here's a picture of the manticore armor that I got off a quick google search:

Pockets. With the suggestion that he can layer on more pouches if he needs to, or hang things from his belt. The whole thing just looks so much more comfortable and practical for day-to-day living. I feel like the costume people should have been thinking about Geralt's lifestyle and taking that into account when they designed an outfit for him.

Anyway, I'm not actually a design person, I just make the stuff, so my vote would be -- practical like The Witcher 3, and then hire someone talented to add some fantasy flourishes to their Continental fashion that would give everyone's outfits a distinct non-western-European feel.

#witcher shit #costume stuff #geralt's very stupid season 2 armor #twn critical

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jerakeenc · 3 years

Text

June-Sept Recs (10)

This is pitiful. I think I'm mostly re-reading older fic, so I don't end up with anything new to rec? Would you guys want recs of rereads? Re-recs?

✨Crash and Burn by Aureutr_Accoredge

Mandalorian | Din/Luke | Explicit | 315,000 words

There had been no Seeing Stone on Tython that Grogu could use to call for a Jedi. They had survived Gideon's light cruiser mostly by luck. And now Din Djarin is trapped between trying to resume his old life with Grogu in tow or facing what wielding the Darksaber truly means for him and his people. Mostly he just wants a nap. Luke Skywalker is looking for Jedi artifacts he can use to help build a curriculum for the school he seeks to create. Not that he knows where it will be. Or how to find pupils. But then he runs into a shiny stranger whose beskar armor makes him a null space in the Force. And he doesn't know who Luke is. Intrigued (and in need of parts to repair his ship), he Skywalkers his way into tagging along on the latest bounty.

Look, I'm pretty far gone on this ship so my judgment is super suspect, but 300K words and I still like a story? It has to be good. If I have to nitpick I can say I would've preferred a more splashy romantic ending but again - 300K words.

Worlds Apart by PepperPrints

Mandalorian | Din/Luke | Explicit | 69,000 words

Having safely delivered the Child, Mand'alor Din Djarin inherits the Darksaber, a ruined planet, and the burden of Moff Gideon's fate. That burden brings Din to the New Republic on Coruscant, where he's thrown into a shimmering world of galactic politics even less familiar to him than the planet meant to be his home. Din isn't the only one on Coruscant with his hands full of a once forgotten order - the Jedi is here too, and as their paths cross, Din will be forced to navigate both what's expected of him, and what he wants.

Din becomes the leader he's meant to be.

Stardust Legacies by Withercrown

Mandalorian | Din/Luke | Mature | 187,000 words

The child has found safety with the Jedi, but that doesn't mean the threat is over. What's left of the Empire is still hunting Force-sensitive individuals, and a not-so-chance encounter leads Din to some uncomfortable truths regarding his own nature. What does it mean to be both a Mandalorian and a Jedi, and what will that mean for the future of the galaxy?

This is a proper Star Wars novel. Cards on the table, I'm not at all interested in the wider Star Wars universe, so the whole ensemble was wasted on me. Great writing, made me buy jedi!Din which I didn't think was very probable.

✨Curtains by winterhill

James Bond | Bond/Q | Teen | 20,350 words

Indulgent domesticity. No real plot to speak of, just Bond and Q moving in together as friends after Q is targeted and his place burnt down, and slowly progressing to being a couple.

Frickin' perfect curtainfic.

Mercenary by BootsnBlossoms & Kryptaria

James Bond | Bond/Q | Explicit | 66,000 words

Five years ago, Commander James Bond of Her Majesty's Royal Navy left England in disgrace, escaping a court martial -- and what should have been a promising career in MI6 with Alec Trevelyan, his oldest friend. He becomes a mercenary, selling his military expertise to the highest bidder, though not once does he act against England or her interests. Now, new intelligence has possibly located Bond in the United States, and Alec is tasked with the mission to bring him back to MI6. But to do so will require a very unique type of field operative -- one Bond will never suspect. Enter Aidan Green, codename Q.

So satisfying.

a wall, a ceiling by Shinybug

Witcher | Geralt/Jaskier | Mature | 3,770 words

“I hear you,” Geralt murmured, even though his ears were ringing. The distance between them, only a few yards, was an ocean. Jaskier held his traveling bag in his arms and his lute was strapped over his shoulder. He looked like a man with one foot already out the door. A confession, a realization, longing, and hope.

Nothing more romantic than a love confession.

louder than words by Shinybug

Witcher | Geralt/Jaskier | Teen | 5,600 words

Geralt tries to apologize. Jaskier tries to listen.

Lovely tiny fix-it.

✨Infinite Coffee and Protection Detail by owlet

MCU | Bucky/Steve | Teen | 264,000 words

The mission resets abruptly, from objective: kill to objective: protect

I'm probably the last person to have read this, but in case you've also been skipping it: It's very very good. I don't generally read pre-slash but I kinda didn't want the relationship in this to progress at all? Bucky had what he needed in Steve and I had what I needed as a reader. Devotion trumps sex, imho.

As Is by Arsenic

MCU | Clint/Phil | Explicit | 52,800 words

In a world where people are put on the market as commodities for all sorts of reasons, and SHIELD buys those who might be useful to them, Coulson makes what seems, at the time, to be an ill-advised purchase.

Hurt!Clint

Professional Front by Arsenic

MCU | Clint/Phil | Teen | 11,300 words

When Clint finds out Coulson has been secretly alive for some time and is now the director of SHIELD he's determined that he can be a professional about working with the man.

Coulson's back from the dead. Clint's not gonna let him die again.

Between the Personal and the Real by Arsenic

MCU | Clint/Phil | Explicit | 21,400 words

Clint knows how things work between principals and their obeisants. At least, he's always thought he does.

Forced into a slavery-ish contract

Been Looking At You Forever by torakowalski

MCU | Clint/Phil | Explicit | 18,880 words

Clint and Phil are friends. Friends who have sex. That’s all there is to it. Honestly.

This is cute!

They Say You Can't Put A Number On Love by torakowalski

MCU | Clint/Phil | Teen | 3,000 words

“Look,” Stark says. “I ran a simulation: attributes you have shown most interest in versus likelihood of success. It turns out that there’s a sixty-five percent chance that your type is Director Fury.”

SUPER cute!

stick together and see it through by torakowalski

MCU | Clint/Phil | Teen | 5,680 words

There are many places that Phil would rather be than stuck in a HYDRA base with Tony Stark.

Competent!Coulson, Tony & Phil friendship, so much cute.

I Could Live By The Light Of Your Eyes by nerdwegian

MCU | Clint/Phil | Explicit | 44,550 words

All Clint wanted was to get laid. (In which Clint meets a mysterious man who may or may not be named Phil, and accidentally stumbles into a big conspiracy where very few things are what they seem to be.)

Fun spy AU.

#recs

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penny-anna · 3 years

Text

a hundred buttons

“It’s this dress,” Yennefer admitted. “It fastens up the back with about a hundred miniature buttons. It’s, not strictly possible for one to remove it on one’s own.”

Jaskier snorted. “Oh? Well, how would usually get it off?”

“Usually I just,” she said, and motioned, trying to convey the general idea of I unfasten them all at once, with magic. “Whoosh.”

His eyes widened as he grasped the problem. “Ahh, I see,” he said. “That does sound very awkward.”

Temporarily bereft of her magic, Yennefer finds herself in a tricky position.

(On Ao3!)

The room was too small for Yennefer’s liking, and she paced it from end to end, keeping her ears pricked up. There could be someone standing right outside the door, waiting for her, and she’d never know. There could be someone lurking outside the window. She lifted a corner of the curtain, peering out at the empty blackness.

She dropped into a crouch, making certain that the knife she kept strapped to her angle was still secure. Standing up, she resumed her pacing. Her corset was beginning to chafe at her, pressing uncomfortably snug around her ribs.

She was itching for this to be over.

Footsteps pounded down the stairs. Geralt’s bard put his head into the room. “Evening,” he said, though it was well after midnight. “Still up?”

“Evidently,” she said. “Any sign of Geralt?”

He pulled a face. “Not a whisper. I take it you haven’t had any luck with the curse, then?”

“For the last time,” she said, “it is not a curse. A curse I could handle. The lingering effects of a magical void are the farthest thing from a curse.”

“If you say so.”

“In fact one might say it’s the precise opposite of a curse.”

Smacking his lips, he said, “it’s all the same to me.”

He, of course, had felt nothing at all, even when he was standing in the void itself. He hadn’t felt its deadening silence, its stomach-churning emptiness. He hadn’t felt anything vital inside himself go dark.

No, he’d just stood there with his hands on his hips and said, “what’s got into your pair, then?”

She was tired. She hadn’t realised how much she’d come to rely on her magic to give herself little boosts, after a long and difficult day. She said, “I can’t imagine where he’s got to.”

“Well, he’s away in a huff, so probably nowhere in particular,” said Jaskier.

“He isn’t in a huff,” said Yennefer.

“Hmm, I really think he is,” the bard said. “You know, because you so unfairly snapped at him that this entire situation was his fault?”

“It wasn’t unfair.”

“Even though this whole mess is quite patently no-one’s fault,” he went on as if she hadn’t spoken, “and there was really no need for any shouting or throwing things or storming off in huffs.”

“Debatable,” she said. “Did you come down here just to irritate me?”

“Ah, no, I came down because I forgot my pack,” he said. “And, I suppose, to say that I’m going to bed.”

“Alright,” she said. “You do that.”

“Are you staying up?” he said. “Because if so I’d appreciate if you could stop rattling about. This house is very creaky.”

“I shall rattle as much as I like,” she said. “I’m waiting for Geralt.”

He tilted his head to the side, and stepped fully into the room. “Much as it doesn’t behove me to express concern for your wellbeing,” he said. “Given how much of a huff he was in there’s every chance he won’t be back before morning, so I wouldn’t bother.”

There were times – not infrequently – when he’d go out of his way to remind her that he’d known Geralt longer and therefore knew him better. Oh, he’d said airily, Geralt can’t stand sheep’s cheese. Oh, Geralt always gets like this after a hunt. Geralt doesn’t like it when people touch his weapons. Geralt won’t like this. Geralt doesn’t do that. It was difficult to gage if that was what he was trying to do now, without being able to look into his mind, but she didn’t think it was. He seemed to be making a sincere attempt to offer her some advice.

She had to admit, privately, that she felt a little better for having him in the house. Unlikely as it was that they’d be attacked by marauders or wild beasts or monsters in the twelve or so hours before the effects of the void wore off, she was painfully aware that she was limited in her ability to defend herself and that if the worst did happen, the bard’s help might be better than no help at all.

But his being aware of that most uncomfortable facet of the situation – the thought of his having the gall to feel protective of her – made her skin crawl.

“It’s fine,” she said curtly. “I’ll wait up for him.”

“Hm,” he said.

“What?”

“Are you alright? Aside from the obvious, I mean. You seem a little – frazzled.”

She was tired. She was sweaty, and itchy. She wanted badly to complain to someone and since Jaskier was the only person around for miles he’d have to do.

“It’s this dress,” she admitted. “It fastens up the back with about a hundred miniature buttons. It’s, not strictly possible for one to remove it on one’s own.”

He snorted. “Oh? Well, how would usually get it off?”

“Usually I just,” she said, and motioned, trying to convey the general idea of I unfasten them all at once, with magic. “Whoosh.”

His eyes widened as he grasped the problem. “Ahh, I see,” he said. “That does sound very awkward.”

He looked her up and down, pursing his lips. She avoided his gaze.

“Well,” he said at length. “Night, then.” Turning, he left her alone.

Yennefer stood in the middle of the room, listening to his footsteps recede up the stairs. After a moment, they faltered and then began to descend.

Leaning back into the room, he said, “would you like some help?”

“From you?”

“I do have,” he waggled his fingers, “some experience removing ladies’ clothing. And very dextrous hands.”

“I’ll wait,” she said.

“All night?”

“If necessary.”

“Are you sure?” he said. “I promise not to tell anyone. Not even Geralt. I, I really do understand how, hm. Uncomfortable this must be.”

Yennefer heaved a sigh. Her corset creaked faintly beneath her dress. Oh, but she ached to have it off. “Fine,” she said.

“Goodness,” he said, upstairs in the bedroom, peering at her back in the flickery lamplight. “They are small, aren’t they? You can barely see them.”

“Just unfasten it,” she said. She felt a gentle tug at her neckline as he began to ease the first button out of its hole. “It’s a very fashionable and elegant design,” she said stiffly. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“It is very nice,” he agreed. “I suppose this is the sort of thing one usually has a ladies’ maid for.”

Or a husband, Yennefer thought.

“So this void business,” he said, working his way down her back, carefully teasing out each button. He was being more delicate about it than she’d expected, trying not to damage the embroidery. More delicate than Geralt would probably have managed to be. Well, she supposed, he’d always had a healthy respect for nice clothes. “Did it – hurt?”

“No,” she said. “It wasn’t pleasant. But no.”

“I see,” he said. “Good to know.”

“Worried about Geralt?” she said.

“Naturally.”

“It’s uncomfortable,” she said. “That’s all. It’ll pass.”

“Let’s hope it passes soon.” He was almost all the way down her back. “I imagine it’s worse for you. Isn’t it?”

Geralt was hampered, by the loss of his signs, but by no means was he rendered powerless. He wasn’t stripped bare, the way she was. She wasn’t entirely sure he understood – that he realised that, although they’d both had something taken from them, his loss wasn’t the same as hers.

She said, “I can handle it.”

“Good grief,” he said. “How far down do these go?”

“Most of the way.”

He reached the small of her back and dropped to his knees to keep going. “Ah,” he said, his face perfectly level with her behind. “Quite a view.”

“Bard,” she said, “if you say one word about my backside my first act when this wears off will be to flay your skin from your body.”

“Understood,” he said, reaching, cautiously, for the buttons. “I shall keep my comments to myself. Although, if I might say, they are all complimentary.”

“I am currently mentally cataloguing all the spells I know to flay a man alive.”

“I’ll be quiet.”

He finished unbuttoning her, in silence and – to his credit – clearly taking care to touch her bottom as little as humanly possible. With a sigh of relief, she pulled the dress down her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

She stood in her corset and petticoat, her arms and shoulders bare, gooseflesh rising on her skin in the chilly room. It wasn’t a position she’d usually like to be in when alone with a man she didn’t fully trust.

But then, she supposed she must trust Jaskier; there was no way she’d have agreed to this otherwise. Somehow she hadn’t noticed that she had come to trust him.

“Goodness,” he said, rising to his feet. “Laces too?”

“Corsets usually have them,” she said, putting her hands upon her hips. She was very glad she didn’t have to look him in the eye for this.

“Shall I –”

“I’d appreciate it.”

“It would be worse,” he said as he began, cheerfully, to unlace her. “I once had a tryst with a lady who was wearing – five layers of petticoats. We had to put them all back on in rather a hurry, and then I managed to tie myself to her stays and her husband was coming up the stairs so we were both panicking –"

There was the faintest creak on the landing outside. The bedroom door opened.

They froze, Jaskier’s fingers stilling on her laces. Geralt was standing in the doorway, staring at them. Yennefer stared back.

He walked like a cat, in spite of his considerable bulk. Bereft of her magic, Yennefer hadn’t sensed him approaching at all. The look on his face was utterly inscrutable. She hadn’t the slightest idea what to say and evidently Jaskier didn’t either.

At some length, Geralt said, “what are you… doing?”

“I’m undressing your lover,” said Jaskier. “Why, what does it look like I’m doing?”

Geralt said nothing at all. There was no change to his facial expression. Turning upon his heel, he walked back down the stairs.

Jaskier resumed unlacing her corset. “Do you suppose he understand that was a joke?”

Yennefer said, “I wouldn’t count on it.”

#the witcher #yennefer of vengerberg #jaskier #yennskier

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valdomarx · 4 years

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Hi there! I love your work! I've only found your account today and I've read all of your stories! I was wondering whether you could write something about Geralt and Jaskier doing kind things for each other without realizing it just because they know each other so well. I love all of your work, so thank you!!

“Here.” Geralt tosses the package at Jaskier, who catches it with a puzzled frown.

“What’s this?” Jaskier asks, unwrapping the paper. When he sees the coiled lute strings inside, his face softens into something uncomfortably fond. “Oh, Geralt. How did you know?”

Geralt has learned Jaskier’s lute gains a slight tinny reverberation when its strings are getting worn. And when they inevitably snap, Jaskier complains and moans endlessly until he gets them replaced. Best to head off that need at the pass.

“Your lute sounds like shit,” Geralt growls.

“Everyone’s a critic,” Jaskier says with a dismissive wave of his hand. But he clutches the strings closely and continues to smile.

Geralt skins and cleans the rabbits, stoking the fire as he does. Jaskier has been dispatched to collect more firewood, so Geralt goes to his pack to retrieve the herbs that he insists on adding to their food. Geralt will grudgingly admit that they do improve the flavour.

In Jaskier’s pack he finds not only sprigs of sage and thyme, but also neatly bundled bunches of honeysuckle and mistletoe. He’s puzzling over this find when Jaskier returns to camp.

“You know these are poisonous to humans, right?” he indicates the bunches.

“I do in fact know that, Geralt, thank you.” Jaskier purses his lips. “I thought they might be of help in your potion making. I’ve seen you use those plants before.”

That’s... rather useful, actually. He tucks the bundles away in his potions bag, giving Jaskier an assessing gaze. Perhaps he’s been more attentive that Geralt had suspected.

Jaskier gives a shrug, not quite looking him in the eye. “I was gathering herbs anyway so I picked them while I was at it. It’s no big deal.”

Jaskier is shivering in the snow, his fancy doublet barely protecting him against the punishing northern weather. He’s progressed past complaining about the cold and into that concerning phase where he’s not saying anything at all. Even in the rare and blessed silence, Geralt can’t ignore the sound of his teeth chattering.

“For fuck’s sake,” Geralt scowls, unclasping his thick winter cloak from around his own neck.

He throws the garment at Jaskier. “Put that on before you freeze to death and I have to cart your lifeless corpse to the nearest village.”

Geralt cracks one eye open, and for his efforts gets a lance of pain through his skull. It’s always like this when the potions he takes for combat have worn off, leaving him depleted and full of aches.

He’s lucky to have a bed to sleep in. But he knows from experience that passing out straight after a job without cleaning and drying his armor is a mistake he’ll pay for in the long run.

Ignoring the pounding in his head, he props himself up on an elbow to search for the armor he dropped on the floor last night, and is surprised to see it cleaned and laid out carefully in front of the fire. Jaskier turns from where he’s wiping the grime from Geralt’s swords to tut at him.

“Go back to sleep,” Jaskier chides. “I’ve ordered some breakfast and I’ll wake you when it arrives.”

Jaskier doesn’t look like he’d accept any arguments. Fine. He can win this round. Geralt collapses back into slumber.

“Geralt.” Jaskier sticks his head around the door, chewing at his lip. Geralt can smell the anxiety coming off him in waves. “I find myself quite unable to sleep. It’s... far too cold in my room.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow. It’s high summer and the air is thick and warm. Still, the two of them having separate rooms is not ideal. It’s harder than he would have expected, trying to sleep without the familiar patter of Jaskier’s heartbeat nearby.

“I thought we could share,” Jaskier continues, hopping from one foot to the other. “So that we might be prepared and together should any vile beast set upon us in the night.”

Geralt is fairly certain that the most dangerous beast in the vicinity is the innkeeper’s tabby cat, but he doesn’t mention that.

“Idiot,” he grumbles, thought there’s undeniably an affectionate edge to it. He makes space for Jaskier in the bed and lets out a tiny sigh of contentment as Jaskier scurries over and burrows in next to him, soft and familiar at his side.

“Curmudgeon,” Jaskier retorts, and kisses him on the cheek.

He puts an arm around Jaskier and splays a hand over his chest. Beneath his fingers, Jaskier’s heart beats strong and comforting, and finally, Geralt sleeps.

#tonight it's softe hours lads #anonymous #geraskier #the witcher #my writing #george replies

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jaskicr · 4 years

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for buffskier, for some reason jaskier has to wear geralt’s armour (this is like @spielzeugkaiser’s art) and geralt realises that his armour fits jaskier extremely well. and also jaskier can lift his (rather heavy) sword and can also fight with it

i love a good clothes swap and i had a lot of fun writing it, so this got longer than expected, oops! (also known as: let me see how many of my favourite tropes i can gleefully shove into this) and thank you to @spielzeugkaiser for letting me write a ficlet inspired by their art<3

“No, no,” Jaskier says frantically. “That village - it’s not a good idea. Let’s find another place to get a contract.”

Geralt frowns. “Why not? There’s a well-paying contract there.”

"Trust me, it’s better if we find another one,” Jaskier insists.

“There are no other villages that are within a day’s ride,” Geralt points out, annoyed. Why is Jaskier being so adamant?

Jaskier sighs, pinching his nose. “I’ve been there, okay? They weren’t very - receptive towards my songs. They loathe you.”

“That’s not news,” Geralt comments dryly.

“You don’t get it, Geralt.” Jaskier rakes a hand through his hair, frustrated. “The Blaviken thing - they’re really, really set on that.”

“We need to stock up on supplies, and we’re basically out of coin,” Geralt grumbles. They could camp for the night, but it really wouldn’t be ideal. Besides, Geralt is used to the boundless hate thrown at him for Blaviken. This will just be another hateful town, and he can handle it. “I need to take the contract, Jaskier.”

Jaskier throws his hands up with another loud sigh. “Geralt -”

“I’m used to it.” It’s the truth, but familiar anger ignites in Jaskier’s eyes at the thought of the injustice directed towards Geralt, and it warms Geralt to see Jaskier so protective of him, even if it isn’t anything either of them can change.

“They truly hate you, Geralt, and I don’t want you to be subjected to that.” Jaskier’s voice is concerned, worried. “If only we could…” his voice trails off, and he murmurs, “oh.”

“What?” Geralt asks warily. There’s a glint in Jaskier’s eyes that Geralt has come to recognise as Jaskier having one of his ideas, ideas that usually end in disaster.

“What if...” Jaskier pauses, grinning, which does not bode well. “Gods, I’m a genius. They’ve never seen you, so they don’t know what you look like.”

“... And?”

“Well, they’re expecting the Butcher of Blaviken to be a white-haired, golden-eyed witcher with big fuck-off swords and a surly demeanour,” Jaskier rambles, eyes brightening. “But if we swap clothes, and I pretend to be a witcher and you can pretend to be a bard, then they won’t suspect anything!”

“That’s...” stupid, Geralt wants to say, but as crazy as Jaskier’s idea sounds, Geralt needs to take the contract, and as much as he hates to admit it, Jaskier’s idea is likely their best shot. Gods, is he really going to go along with one of Jaskier’s harebrained schemes?

“It’s genius, isn’t it?” Jaskier says with a proud smile on his face, looking expectantly at Geralt. “We can waltz into town, me as a witcher and you as a bard, take the contract, you can slay the monster, then I can collect the payment, pretending to have killed the monster. It’s perfect!”

Jaskier’s idea is one of his better ones, though Geralt is still dubious about pulling it off. “Our clothes won’t fit each other.”

“Oh, trust me,” Jaskier reassures him confidently. “They will.”

After some needling from Jaskier, Geralt eventually gives in reluctantly, softening slightly when Jaskier sends him a triumphant grin. He doubts that this will work - after all, his armour will likely be too big for Jaskier, and Jaskier’s frivolous, vibrant clothes will undoubtedly be too small for him, but Geralt always gives in to Jaskier in the end. It won’t work, but Geralt might as well let Jaskier indulge for a few moments.

They turn their backs to one another as they strip off their clothes to swap with each other, and Geralt can’t stop his eyes from wandering over to Jaskier. Jaskier’s doublet is strewn on the ground, and when he pulls his shirt over his head, Geralt’s mouth goes dry.

Jaskier’s back is unexpectedly broad, the strength evident in the width of his shoulders, and Geralt sucks in a breath as Jaskier bends over to take off his trousers, his firm bottom directly in Geralt’s view, and as Jaskier pushes his trousers down, Geralt gets an eyeful of thighs that are thick with muscle, built up over long hours of walking, and strong, shapely calves.

Geralt hurriedly whips his head around, his face heating up suddenly.

Well. That had certainly been unexpected.

Where had Jaskier been hiding all of that?

Geralt keeps his mind on taking his own clothes off, determinedly not thinking about the sight he’d just seen. When Jaskier’s clothes land next to him with a thump, Geralt tosses his own armour over his shoulder, and it takes every ounce of his willpower to not turn around and catch another glimpse of that expanse of tantalising skin.

Picking up Jaskier’s cream-coloured shirt and sky blue trousers, Geralt eyes them dubiously, reluctant to put them on. They’re rather too bright for his taste, and Geralt fears that he might accidentally rip Jaskier’s clothing - though after what he’d seen earlier, that doesn’t seem to be the case.

Geralt gingerly pulls the sky blue trousers on, grimacing inwardly at the way the too-bright colour stands out against his pale skin. To his surprise, his legs slide in without much resistance, and he barely has to struggle for the trousers to fit, with the trousers only squeezing his calves and his ass the slightest bit.

He hadn’t expected to be able to squeeze into Jaskier’s trousers, and certainly hadn’t expected them to fit so well. They’re slightly short on him, though not by much, since he and Jaskier are nearly of height, and Jaskier’s trousers don’t fit that much tighter than his own.

Less tentative now, Geralt pulls on Jaskier’s shirt. Like the trousers, it’s a slightly tight fit, particularly around the chest and shoulders, but not tight enough to be uncomfortable, and looking down at himself, Geralt finds himself once again surprised at just how well Jaskier’s clothes fit him.

Behind him, Jaskier lets out a teasing whistle. “Well, would you look at that lovely bottom.”

Groaning, Geralt turns around. “Jaskier, why -” He chokes on his own spit when he sees Jaskier before him, decked out in black leather. “Unf.”

The armour fits well. Very well. Unlike what Geralt had expected, the armour doesn’t hang loosely off Jaskier’s body but hugs it perfectly, fitting almost as well as Jaskier's own tailored clothes. The bulk of Geralt’s armour only serves to make Jaskier seem more broad, a hulking, dangerous presence.

Geralt had thought that his armour would hang from Jaskier’s shoulders in an unflattering way, too loose to be practical, practically drowning him in fabric. Instead, the armour clings to Jaskier’s body in all the right ways, drawing Geralt’s eyes to the wide expanse of Jaskier’s shoulders and the thickness of his biceps. Geralt’s trousers are pulled taut over Jaskier’s thighs, the strength in them clearly visible through the tight fabric.

For a moment, Geralt sees another witcher looking back at him, broad-shouldered and strong, ready to take down the monsters that roam the Continent, but the illusion is shattered when Jaskier sends him a slow, lazy grin.

“Well, it seems that you’re wrong,” Jaskier purrs, prowling towards Geralt, and he makes quite a sight, looming and lethal as he approaches Geralt, and Geralt has to swallow down an involuntary gulp. Gods preserve him. “Our clothes fit each other quite well. Extremely well.”

His eyes rake down the length of Geralt’s body, something almost hungry sparking in his gaze as it lingers on the way his shirt is stretched just slightly too tight around Geralt’s chest, the way his blue trousers cling to Geralt’s legs and ass, and Geralt had to fight the urge to hide himself from a look so predatory that he feels as if he’s being sized up for a meal.

“Yeah, um, yes,” Geralt stammers, and why is he stammering? He tries again, grasping for words that elude him with every second he’s graced with the sight of Jaskier in his armour. “Hm. I - yes.”

“Yeah?” Jaskier’s eyes are sparkling, and Geralt gets the distinct impression that Jaskier is laughing at him.

“We, uh - your plan worked,” Geralt mumbles. He wants to avert his gaze, wants to duck his head in embarrassment, but his eyes refuse to leave Jaskier, desperately drinking him in. “We can, uh…”

Jaskier chuckles. “Let’s head into the village then. Better not waste any time.”

“Yes,” Geralt says faintly, watching as Jaskier heads over to where Geralt’s swords are laid out. “Uh, right. Can you, uh, lift them?”

Jaskier raises an eyebrow, bending down and reaching for the swords, and sweat beads at Geralt’s temple as the tight leather trousers pull tight around Jaskier’s ass. “Lift them? Of course I can, my dear witcher - or my dear bard, I should say - they’re not that heavy.”

He closes his hands around each sword, one steel and one silver, hefting them thoughtfully in his hands. Geralt realises with a start that Jaskier is holding his swords like he knows what to do with them, like he’s fought with swords before. Jaskier keeps surprising him today, it seems.

Jaskier slides the swords into the sheaths on his back with practised ease, then grins at Geralt. “Well, my darling bard, shall we?”

My darling bard, Jaskier purrs with a low tone that makes Geralt’s too-slow heart beat just a little too fast, and Geralt swallows at how easily Jaskier refers to him as his.

“W - what?” Gods, he really is distracted, and Jaskier smirks at him.

“We need to take the contract, Geralt,” Jaskier reminds him, amusement dancing across his face. “Come on, grab my lute, and we can go.”

“Right,” Geralt mutters, turning away to hide the way his cheeks are burning. The weather is really quite hot today. Reaching for Jaskier’s lute, he slings it over his shoulder the way he’s watched Jaskier do thousands of times, and heads towards Roach, getting ready to leave.

“You look good as a bard,” Jaskier murmurs, and Geralt startles, turning back to look at him in surprise. Jaskier winks at him, and surely Geralt’s eyes must be deceiving him, because Jaskier has that glint in his eye when he flirts with young men and women that catch his fancy - now, that glint and that wink are directed at Geralt, and gods, the weather is really hot. Maybe he should go take a dip in a stream later.

Maybe he can even ask Jaskier to join him, and watch as water drips down his body, the droplets clinging to the bare lines of his muscles, and why the fuck is Geralt even thinking this?

Shaking the tempting image from his mind, Geralt croaks out, “We should. Uh. Let’s go.”

His face still feels too hot as he clambers on Roach, resolutely not looking at Jaskier as they set out towards the town. Despite his efforts, images of Jaskier’s body bombard his mind - his wide back, his strong thighs, his shapely ass, and Geralt has to make a concentrated effort to stay on Roach.

Though it wouldn’t be a hardship if he were to fall off Roach and have Jaskier catch him in those strong, thick arms -

And Geralt needs to get a fucking grip. One look at his surprisingly muscular friend and now it’s all he can focus on.

When they finally arrive at the village, Geralt is beyond grateful for something else to distract his thoughts from how they’re spiralling into increasingly inappropriate territory. Jaskier is his travelling companion, his best friend, for gods’ sake, Geralt shouldn’t be thinking this about him.

The villagers bristle with thinly veiled hostility as they pass, glaring at Jaskier, and Geralt hunches his shoulders and ducks his head, doing his best to hide his eyes, but no one pays him any mind. Their eyes slide over Geralt’s colourful clothing and lute to rest hatefully on Jaskier, who strides on with a blank mask on his face, unbothered by their stares, looking every part a dangerous, deadly witcher.

Geralt can practically touch the hostility that thrums in the air, his enhanced hearing catching snatches of witcher and mutant and butcher, and he grudgingly admits that Jaskier was right - had they not swapped their clothes, Geralt would’ve been chased out of the village for being the Butcher of Blaviken. While the town is clearly not welcoming towards witchers, they’re likely making an exception for any witcher who isn’t Geralt.

They head into the village’s biggest tavern, and Geralt hangs back as Jaskier stalks up to the man who’d put out the contract, listening to the details of the monster - a few nekkers, nothing too dangerous - as Jaskier negotiates payment far more skilfully than Geralt could ever have done. After a few minutes, Jaskier returns to Geralt, and they leave the tavern with distrustful gazes on their backs.

“It doesn’t sound like a big nest,” Geralt murmurs, just loud enough for Jaskier to hear. “Let’s deal with it and get out of here.”

“How did you - ah, witcher hearing, yes, silly me.” Jaskier scans their surroundings warily. “If we get changed in the forest, you can take care of them and then we can change back, collect our gold, buy what we need, and leave. No one will even suspect anything.”

Geralt frowns as Jaskier steers them in the direction of the forest. “But the nest is in the forest, it might not be safe -”

“It’ll be fine,” Jaskier dismisses, waving a hand. “We’ll just make sure to be quick.”

Geralt wants to disagree, but he keeps his mouth shut as they head into the forest, trying to tell himself that it’ll be fine. After all, it’s not like the nest will be that close to the village anyway. They’ll be fine.

“We just need to be far enough from the village that no one sees,” Jaskier says cheerfully as they wander deeper into the forest. “Then you can go do your witchering -”

Then Geralt feels a rumble beneath his feet, and he barely has the time to shout out Jaskier’s name before several nekkers burst from the ground, surrounding them.

“Fuck!” Geralt curses. He’s not in armour, his sword is with Jaskier, who’s too far away for Geralt to get to in time, and Jaskier is drawing the silver sword, what the fuck is he doing -

Two nekkers leap at Jaskier, and even as Geralt raises his hand to cast Aard, he knows it’s too late to stop them from tearing into Jaskier - but then Jaskier dodges them easily, slashing Geralt’s sword through the air, decapitating one of the nekkers, and Geralt’s jaw drops at the skill and speed with which Jaskier handles his sword.

Geralt doesn’t have much time to stare in shock, however, as he detects a few nekkers trying to ambush him from behind, and he casts Aard to blast them back. He has his signs, at least, and with the nekkers pushed away from him, he quickly glances towards Jaskier just in time to see him run his sword through a nekker’s chest, then duck under a swipe from another nekker, rolling up behind it to deliver a deadly gash to it with his sword, and just like that, Jaskier has dispatched all the nekkers that had surrounded him.

Something burns in Geralt at the sight of Jaskier in his armour, wielding his swords, easily holding his own against a pack of monsters, and Geralt pushes it to the side for the moment. He has no time for distractions.

“Jaskier,” he calls, his hands ready to cast a sign as he watches the nekkers from earlier recovering from Aard, and Jaskier, as always, understands what Geralt wants before he says it, and tosses the sword to Geralt.

Geralt catches it just in time to slash his sword across a nekker’s throat, leaving one nekker snarling viciously at him. It lunges at him, and Geralt dodges its attack, swinging his sword and managing to catch it in the throat, but he’s so preoccupied with it that he doesn’t notice the shift in the air behind him until it’s too late.

Geralt braces himself for the pain of deadly claws digging into his back, but nothing comes, and he turns to see Jaskier standing behind him, Geralt’s steel sword in his hand as the head of a nekker thuds to the ground.

“You’re welcome,” Jaskier says, only sounding slightly out of breath. “Well, wouldn’t you say that this contract has gone rather swimmingly?”

Geralt can’t answer, unable to formulate a response as he stares at Jaskier, standing before him with a triumphant smile, Geralt’s sword in his hand and Geralt’s clothes on his body, and well, Geralt had always been rather attracted to competence, and what Jaskier had done…

“You can. Fight?” Geralt stutters dumbly, tongue like lead in his mouth as his mind replays the last few minutes of Jaskier swinging his sword with an expertise that few can match, of how Jaskier had managed to hold his considerably heavy sword far longer than most humans can, of the way Jaskier’s thighs had tensed underneath those tight trousers when he’d crouched before lunging at the nekkers.

Jaskier shrugs, the movement drawing Geralt’s gaze to the breadth of his shoulders as he slides the steel sword back into its sheath in one smooth motion. “You sound surprised.”

“I… didn’t know,” Geralt says slowly. Since when has Jaskier been able to fight?

“I never told you, because you never asked,” Jaskier admits with a rueful smile. “It was worth the look on your face, though. You still look rather dumbstruck, my bard.”

Geralt opens and closes his mouth a few times. “I…”

Jaskier’s eyes gleam, and he stalks towards Geralt with predatory intent, mouth curling in a lazy grin. “Why, Geralt,” he purrs, stopping just in front of Geralt. He reaches out and captures Geralt’s chin in one hand, forcing his gaze up from where it had been wandering down Jaskier’s body. “You like this, don’t you?”

“Like what?” Geralt manages, held in place by the force of Jaskier’s gaze, their faces too close together for Geralt’s brain to work properly.

Jaskier laughs. “You do,” he murmurs, and for a moment, Geralt holds his breath, waiting for something -

But then Jaskier steps away, releasing his grip on Geralt’s chin, and some part of Geralt mourns the warmth. “Let’s go,” Jaskier says, casual as ever, like he hadn’t been pressed close to Geralt just a moment ago. He starts walking back to town, leaving Geralt staring after him, frozen in place.

He doesn’t move for several moments, blinking at Jaskier’s retreating back, and his eyes involuntarily wander downwards, appreciating the way his own tight trousers do wonders for accentuating Jaskier’s thick thighs and firm ass. It’s only when Jaskier turns his head back to look at Geralt with a raised eyebrow that Geralt is pulled out of his trance, realising that his mouth had fallen open rather embarrassingly when he’d been ogling Jaskier’s assets.

“You coming?” Jaskier calls, and there’s something teasing in his voice, a quirk in his smile that hints at a promise of more, a whisper of later, and Geralt’s breathing stutters.

And as he stumbles after Jaskier, who’s still clad in Geralt’s armour and looking unfairly good as he struts in front of Geralt, all he can think is, gods, he’s going to kill me.

dkjfgn i made geralt very, very thirsty. this was so utterly self indulgent and i just threw in a bunch of my favourite tropes lmao

update: here’s the sequel!:)

#geraskier #jaskier #geralt #buffskier #mine*

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