#I think that the kid has seen and heard some shit! and what if Jaskier in only talking kindly of Geralt to soften the blow for him and- | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

zodiyack · 3 years

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Being Married To Henry’s Characters Would Include...

Requested by @cuisinequeen: Hi, I love your work. I was just wondering if you could do a headcanon for being married to Clark Kent/Geralt/Sherlock Holmes/Napoleon Solo

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader, Geralt of Rivia x Reader, Sherlock Holmes x Reader, Napoleon Solo x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, some references, trashy writing lol

Note: This doesn’t include all of his characters, so my apologies if I misled you with the title. Not all that confident in the HCs so sorry about that too

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @simonsbluee, @darling-i-read-it, @fandom-puff, @thewarriorprincessxo, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow, @maan24, @beckster07890, @missihart23

Masterlist | Henry Cavill Masterlist

Clark Kent

You know he’s superman, therefore, you gotta expect the unexpected

Kiss: Level 100

helping him keep his identity secret isn’t always easy-

you wanna kiss him even when he’s superman but fuck you need him to remain undetected

but you manage

Little hc of the first few months after getting married:

Clark comes home late after a fight you see on tv

you turned it off before anything else happened, too worried already

he’s beat up

your eyes are red and puffy with tear stained cheeks as you stand and cross your arms.

you bet your ass there were cuddles that night.

Later into the marriage, he still scares you like that, but you’ve grown somewhat used to it and wipe the tears away

He’s protective of you too though

Aight sorry, but the gif is making me addicted to Henry kisses so Imma say it again,

best fucking make out sessions ever

yes, I’m gonna say that for all four.

fuck it, Clark!Kisses HCs

they’re soft half the time, needy the other half

if he comes home from superman duties or you have a run-in with a villain, so on so on, his kisses are rougher, needier, more possessive

bitch, he just needs you to know he’s still alive 🥺😢

Henry in glasses really do be hittin tho.

Stealing his glasses

Calling him a nerd because of the glasses

Probably making it a small joke about superman

Especially with oblivious friends

“I think superman’s a nerd.” “why??” “I just do.”

Having to stifle your laughs every time someone gushes about superman in front of him

Clark has to hold you back so you don’t unleash your wrath of fucking doom upon some oblivious woman who wrote about superman in a news article

She wrote things that would make you jealous, like talking about how she’s curious to his personal life *wink wink* and stuff- you don’t just have a raging fury because someone writes about him

Superman this hoe

You’ve made jokes about how he has to take his ring off when he’s superman, but he’s got a feeling that you’re actually not kidding at all

Exercising with Clark

Cursing him out in breathy pants for being more athletic and cheating with his “alien powers”

he just laughs at you

Ah, the difficulty have having a husband with two identities

When you rant about your husband, it’s so hard not to fuck up and say something about being married to Superman

Forgetting that you’re one of the few who knows his identity

Basking in pride because you’re one of the few who knows his identity

One time, Clark forgot to take his ring off and the person he rescued had known him personally.

He asks where he got the ring-

“What ring?”

“The one on your finger. The wedding ring.”

It felt like his stomach dropped...if that makes sense-

Clark ended up making some random story about finding it on the same plane the guy he rescued was on and that he put it on so he wouldn’t lose it.

The guy still thought he was pretty sus, “why was it on your wedding ring finger then?” but let him off after some time

The guy gave it back to Clark in person, but you had no idea what happened,

so when he gave him the ring, you were watching with the most confused look Clark had ever seen

thankfully, he played it off well and informed you later

He forgot to take off his wedding ring? You “secretly” fist bumped the air- ...he totally saw you though

Geralt Of Rivia

I don’t think Geralt really expected to get married

Jaskier didn’t either-

He’s the only one who stands when the priest asks if anyone doesn’t accept... only to ask how the fuck Geralt got lucky enough to get you

Everyone laughed but Geralt, he just grunted and looked away with a lil’ bit o pink tinting his cheeks

You demand he lets you go on adventures with him

You also wash him after adventures

wink wonk ;)))

Geralt is a stubborn thing

You’re a stubborn thing

Y’all love each other

When I say that Geralt is a confusing husband-

I mean that he confuses the fuck out of you

“don’t do that”

“okay”

few minutes later

“I thought you were doing that-”

“You told me not too...?”

“I don’t recall. Do whatever.”

Minutes later.

“What the fuck!?! Don’t do that!”

He’s hard to read and it bugs you

However, it makes a good game out of it

If he ever introduces you as anything but his spouse, you hold a bitter glare while internally plotting

Before you marry, Jaskier hits on you without realizing that Geralt is interested in you

He gulps nervously as soon as it hits him

You might just use that mistake as a way to get back at Geralt for not saying you’re his spouse

Jaskier pleads you not to

like for real

He’s in tears

CuDdLeS!

Congrats, you have a stubborn manbaby for the rest of however long y’all shall live

Kithes

Geralt is a little distant when it comes to admitting his feelings for you at first

When you’re dating, you’re all over each other

Marriage is that but amplified lmao

Braiding his hair

Teasing him not the wink wonk and getting away with it because you’re his spouse

If Jaskier said anything remotely close to the shit you’ve said, Geralt would probably choke him out

But then resuscitate him cause they’re bros

Seeing the softer side of Geralt

Sure, sex, but getting to know each others bodies? Yes.

Soft!Sleepy!Geralt

His deep n husky morning voice telling you to “get your ass back in bed”

Having the excuse of “because I’m his spouse” anytime you do stuff people are too afraid to do

Jealous bb 1 and jealous bb 2 aka Geralt and Y/n

I think Geralt’s the kind of guy to just pick you up, ignore your flailing limbs, and move you out of the way

He takes shit from no one...well, from you SOMETIMES

Gives in to your requests with a sigh and roll of his eyes most of the time

He was protective of you at first

now he’s PrOtEcTiVe so uh

Basically, number one husband, number two bodyguard

you put yourself first for the bodyguard part, but Geralt doesn’t know that

Sherlock Holmes

He asks your family for their blessing, then asks you-

I can imagine Mycroft just ranting away and Sherlock drops to his knee

“What are you doing?”

He ignores his brother and proposes to you

Mycroft is confused and upset because he wanted to rant about meaningless things and Sherlock decided to change the topic

rude

Being married means constant visits from Enola

Probably being the “second parents” to Enola

Gossip with Enola and Eudoria about Sherlock and him as a kiddo

Kicking Sherlock out of the house for sleepovers with his sister

bet

Helping Sherlock with cases

Dealing with Sherlock telling you it isn’t safe

still being upset when he’s right you know it

Finding Enola and Eudoria with him

Snapping at Mycroft for how he treats the girl and everyone else

Threatening Mycroft by just being a badass bitch and telling him to fuck off every now and then

Long story short, you make Enola laugh and Mycroft scoff as he walks away

He’s a stubborn bean, which now that I think about it- aren’t all Henry’s characters?

While he doesn’t say it much, he loves you

You get paranoid with this character too, as he does work that can be very dangerous as well

When he returns, he doesn’t say much aside from that he’s there now and that he loves you

cuddles with him whispering softly,

“I’m here now.” “I’m safe.” “I’m okay.” “I love you.”

Kisses in public either be quick pecks or minute long for goodbyes, but greetings-

especially after being apart for a while?

HC TIME

He comes home on the train and you’re at the station with his siblings

As soon as he spots you, he sets his stuff down because you’re already running at him

You jump into his arms and kiss him hard, not caring in the slightest about the other people at the station

It makes you smile every time he introduces you as his spouse

You’ve heard it so many times yet it still makes your heart flutter every single time

Napoleon Solo

The amount of times you’ve just dropped everything and walked away because he was being ‘too serious”-

You say something, he takes it seriously, you groan and stomp away

But then you know you can do the same back to him

Napoleon is an all around awesome husband but he’s not going to just pretend to agree with stuff

Will correct you no matter how embarrassed you get

Makes up with kisses or stuff idk

Let me be honest, I don’t know much about writing for Napoleon but he is an icon...sometimes

He’s protective

by that I mean he’s stubborn but really it’s his way of keeping you safe

Would probably lock you in your room even though you’re a, a grown ass adult, and b, his spouse for fuck’s sake?!??!

Doesn’t tell you when something’s bothering him unless he feels the need to

“I’m not a fucking mind-reader, Solo!”

“Neither am I but I still manage-”

He doesn’t mean to make you feel bad, he just- emotions and him aren’t the best of friends

Emotions aren’t exactly friends with most of his characters

He’d much rather just speak with actions than admit anything

Sometimes you worry that he’s just fucking with you

When he proposed, it scared the shit out of you ‘cause you thought it was a joke

Never admits to anything willingly...?

Yeah sorry...Idk, that’s all I got :\

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all-hail-the-witcher · 3 years

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say yes to the plus one

the sequel to say yes to the drinks. which you should read first. i am so tired. just have it.

ship: geraskier

warnings: none

editing: ish

words: over 3k but under 4k

genre: floof

After getting drinks with Geralt, Jaskier could not stop thinking about him. He found himself taking more time with his appearance each morning - something that he hadn't even thought would be possible - hoping that Geralt would come into the store.

But Geralt still hadn’t come into Kleinfelds since the day of his trunk show. Jaskier tried not to be disappointed. He knew that he was very busy and it had been a one off that he had even met him in the first place.

Still, he couldn’t help but think that the two of them had something. There must have been some sort of chemistry between the two of them. Why else had Geralt asked him to get drinks after he had made that awful slip up with the magic fingers? Surely, he must feel something for him.

He had been texting Jaskier though, so Jaskier knew that he was at least still interested. Every message that he got wishing him a good morning or about some funny wedding dress design or of a picture of Geralt’s Pomeranian, Roach, made his heart flutter. There just had to be a future for them, right?

So, Jaskier went through yet another day of busy appointments at Kleinfelds, hoping that he would run into Geralt.

Late May into early June was always a busy time for them. Jaskier didn't personally understand the appeal of getting married in a zillion degree heat, but to each their own. This was by far his least favorite part of the year though. He spent every hour at work on his feet, hardly getting a break as he rushed from appointment to appointment: checking on alterations, making sure that every bride was getting their dream dress, and providing tweaks to designs when necessary to prevent bridal meltdowns.

It was nothing short of exhausting.

“Jaskier!” Camille, one of the consultants, called to him at around mid afternoon.

He had just spent the last hour trying to get a very adamant, very conservative mom and a very eccentric bride on the same page. He needed a daiquiri. Or three. Still, he turned around and put on his brightest smile.

“Yes, darling?”

“You’re needed down in alterations,” she said with a sweet smile.

Jaskier nodded and turned back through the salon to walk down to alterations. He hated going to alterations. If he was needed there, it usually meant that shit had hit the fan in some sense. He braced himself for a long afternoon.

He walked up to the manager, about to ask her where he was needed, when a shout from behind him made him jump.

“Jaskier!”

And a swell of desire rose up in Jaskier’s stomach because he knew that gravelly voice. Quickly, he straightened his tie, thankful he had worn his good pink one today, before taking a deep breath and turning around.

“Geralt!” he said, trying furiously to keep his cheeks from flushing. “What a lovely surprise.”

“Surprise?” Geralt’s brows furrowed together as he walked up to Jaskier, his wolfs head cane clicking across the floor. He was wearing a light blue button down today with the sleeves cuffed to his forearms that made his golden eyes pop and Jaskier had to struggle to keep his eyes on his face. “I texted you this morning.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened as he reached into his blazer pocket for his phone. Sure enough, there were two messages from Geralt. The first was a picture of Roach, lying in a patch of sun in his apartment. The second was a message that read:

Hey, I’m going to be at Kleinfelds today doing a custom fitting. Can you help with the appointment?

And Jaskier had never even seen it. Much less responded.

“Oh Geralt, I am so terribly sorry,” Jaskier said quickly. “This is our busiest time of year and I have hardly had a moment to think today.”

“You don’t have to help,” Geralt said sincerely, concern clouding his eyes. “I don’t want to push you too hard with the rest of your appointments, but I just figured that since I was here, I would ask.”

“No, no darling!” Jaskier said, rushing to reassure him. “Of course I will help! Helping you is much better than dealing with emotional brides and entourages that aren’t on the same page.”

“It’s alright Jaskier,” Geralt said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I know you just want to see my magic hands at work again.”

This time, Jaskier did flush bright red. “ You! ” he said outrageously, gaping at Geralt’s audacity to bring up his slip up from last time. “You need a nap!”

But Geralt just laughed, a glorious sound that sent shivers down Jaskier’s spine. “I think you’re the one who needs the nap, Jaskier.”

Jaskier shot him an incredulous look. How dare he make such assumptions, and how dare he be right?

“Anyway, the fitting is for my brother’s fiancee,” Geralt explained. “I made her a custom dress and she’s coming in for her fitting today. There was a shipping delay, so we only have time for one fitting before their wedding next week. I was hoping you could help.”

Jaskier could see the tension that had creeped its way into Geralt’s broad shoulders and the worry that was clouding his pretty face.

Jaskier placed a reassuring hand on Geralt’s arm. “Of course I’ll help, darling. Helping resolve wedding dress disasters is my specialty. Er- not that your dress is a disaster,” he said quickly, amused by the way that Geralt’s eyebrows had shot up. “Nothing that you design could ever be a disaster, the way that you work lace and beads is just divine, not a disaster. Not in any way a disaster. What I meant was the fact that she only has one fitting, that’s the disaster. Not your dress.”

“My magic fingers are quite incapable of creating a disaster dress, you’re right,” Geralt winked.

Jaskier resisted the urge to smack his shoulder. “You are never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Nope.” Geralt looked far too pleased with himself. “Can you grab the dress for me? It’s on the rack for the day. And can you bring it to room 13?”

“Of course,” Jaskier said. He’d let the magic fingers comment slide for now. Geralt looked far too attractive with his moonlight silver hair in an artful bun, tendrils framing his face, for him to stay mad at him for long. He had never been able to resist a pretty face.

“Thank you.” Geralt moved past Jaskier and began to make his way to the room. Jaskier turned to watch him walk down the hall. His ass looked far too delicious in those gorgeous, fitted navy pinstripe pants. He just had to appreciate it. It would be a crime not to.

Distantly, he wondered if his ass looked just as delicious without the pants on. And was he wearing boxers or briefs? Oh who was he kidding, he had to be wearing at least briefs with pants like those. But what color? Geralt seemed like the type of man to appreciate a fun pair of underwear and-

Jaskier. Get your head out of the gutter.

He made a beeline to the rack and grabbed the dress. He had already left Geralt waiting long enough.

“Here you are,” Jaskier said, hanging the dress in the room.

Geralt fidgeted with his shirt sleeves, eyeing the bag. With a pang, Jaskier realized that he was nervous.

“I’m sure she’s going to love the dress,” Jaskier said, putting as much sincerity as he could into his words. “You are one of the best designers in the industry, Geralt.”

“I know,” Geralt said. “But I’ve never designed for someone that I know before, there’s more risk involved if they don't like it. Cause she’s put all her trust in me and what if she doesn’t like it? This is her only fitting. There isn't time to make anything else."

“Geralt,” Jaskier placed his hand over Geralt’s where he was still fidgeting with his sleeve. “She’s going to love it. Don’t doubt yourself so much, it ruins your pretty face.”

Fuck, did he just really say that out loud?

Geralt’s doubt dissipated as he looked at Jaskier amusedly. “You think my face is pretty?”

“Well who wouldn’t?” Jaskier said, trying and failing to backpedal. “It’s a plenty beautiful face, I mean you’ve got a nose and eyes and everything and…”

“I would hope I have a nose and eyes, yes,” Geralt laughed. Then, he leaned in, as if telling Jaskier a secret. “I’ve also heard that I have lips, too.”

Jaskier was saved the embarrassment of having to respond by a consultant escorting who Jaskier assumed to be Geralt’s brother’s fiancee and her entourage into the alterations area.

“Geralt!” a pretty girl with dark, curly hair said as she stepped up to hug him.

“Hi Triss,” Geralt said, giving her a polite hug and waving to the rest of the entourage. “Are you excited?”

“Of course I’m excited,” she said. “It’s only a week away, Geralt. This better be every bit as perfect as you said it would be.”

“It will be.” Geralt’s smile was easy, as if he hadn’t been freaking out about the appointment moments before.

“And who is this?” Triss asked, turning to Jaskier.

“Oh, everyone, this is Jaskier. He’s a consultant here and my friend,” Geralt said.

“Hello!” Jaskier said, giving everyone a wave.

“Jaskier, this is Triss, the bride to be. She’s marrying my brother.” Geralt gestured to the woman with the dark hair standing in front of them.

“Hello darling,” Jaskier said, shaking her hand. “You look just gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” Triss smiled.

“And this is Triss’s friend Yennefer, Yennefer’s daughter Ciri, my other brother Lambert, and Lambert’s husband Aiden,” Geralt said, pointing at the people sitting on the bench.

Jaskier waved to them all and gave them his best customer service smile.

“Tell me about your fiancee, darling,” Jaskier said to Triss.

“I am getting married to Eskel,” she said, her face lighting up immediately. “We’ve known each other forever and he is perfect.”

“Forever is an understatement,” Geralt said. “They went to kindergarten together.”

“Oh, a childhood love story!” Jaskier clapped his hands together. “How romantic! Let’s hope you have a dress to match.” He turned to Geralt.

“Well darling,” Jaskier said, gesturing to the garment bag that Triss’s dress was in. “Would you like to do the honors?”

Geralt stepped up to the garment bag, his shoulder taught with anxiety.

“Take a breath, Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, just quiet enough for only Geralt to hear. “She’s going to love it.”

Geralt nodded once before unzipping the bag and pulling out the dress. Jaskier couldn't help but gasp.

“Oh my god, it’s gorgeous,” Triss gasped next to him, taking Jaskier’s words right out of his mouth. “Geralt, you’ve outdone yourself.”

“You haven’t even put it on yet,” Geralt said, stepping away so that the entourage could see it as well.

“I don’t have to to know that it’s everything I wanted and probably more,” she said, giving Geralt another hug. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Geralt said and Jaskier thought that he saw a light blush tinting his cheeks. Was Geralt embarrassed? Oh that was just adorable…

The dress itself was gorgeous, just as Jaskier suspected it would be. It was a glorious ivory color that seemed to shift under the lights to be a gorgeous pale blush pink. The skirt appeared to be A line and was sleeveless with a high neck. The bodice had an intricate lace and beading design that blended into the skirt. Jaskier knew that the dress was going to be amazing but Triss was right, Geralt had really outdone himself.

“Would you like to put it on, darling?” Jaskier asked.

Triss nodded, still not tearing her eyes from the dress as Geralt stepped out of the dressing room and Jaskier closed the curtains behind him.

He helped Triss into the dress, zipping up the back effortlessly.

“Oh it fits you like a glove darling,” he remarked. “Almost like it was made for you. Oh wait-” he smiled at her. “It was, wasn’t it?”

Triss laughed at his terrible joke - bless her - as she fingered the lace and beads on the front. “I wasn’t expecting it to look this beautiful,” she whispered.

“Well then let's spin you round, darling,” Jaskier said, taking her hand as she turned to face the mirror. “That’ll really shock you.”

“Oh my god.” She clapped her hands over her mouth as she gaped at herself in the mirror, turning from side to side to look at herself better. “Oh my god .”

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Jaskier smiled at her. “Geralt is far more talented than he gives himself credit for.”

“Tell me about it,” Triss said distractedly as she continued to stare at the dress. “This is absolutely gorgeous. I love it. Eskel’s going to love it. Everyone’s going to love it.”

“Stop feeding pretty boy’s ego and show us then!” someone shouted from the other side of the curtain.

“Fuck off, Lambert!” Triss called back. “I’m having my bridal moment,” she whispered, tears springing up in her eyes as she continued to stare, utterly transfixed by the dress.

“Here, darling,” Jaskier said, pulling his pink pocket square out of his breast pocket. “You don't want to get your mascara on the dress now, do you?”

Triss dabbed at her eyes and took a deep breath before handing the handkerchief back to Jaskier.

“Are you ready to show your entourage?”

“She better be!” Lambert shouted from outside again.

Triss let out a watery laugh. “Yeah, I am.”

Jaskier drew back the curtain as Triss turned around.

“Oh, Triss,” Yennefer said, tears unmistakably clouding her eyes. “You look gorgeous.”

“Holy fuck, Geralt,” Aiden muttered as he stared at the dress, his jaw dropped. “ You designed that ?”

“Hey!” Lambert elbowed him. “I already said that pretty boy doesn’t need his ego inflated any more than it is!”

“Okay but fucking look at the dress, Lambert. It’s fucking gorgeous. And I’m half fucking blind. ”

Lambert shrugged. “Yeah I mean it’s nice. It’s a dress. It’s fabric. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Say she looks beautiful!” Aiden nearly shouted, smacking Lambert’s shoulder. “And that Geralt did a great job because if you don't I swear your ass-”

“Boys.” Triss crossed her arms. “There are children present.”

“I’m nineteen!” Ciri protested, throwing her hands up.

Triss ignored her. “There are children present and this is my fitting. So Lambert, shut up and tell your brother he did a good job.”

“You did a good job not fucking it up, Ger,” Lambert muttered.

“I’ll take it. And Aiden? You can finish that sentence later,” she said with a pointed look.

She turned to Jaskier, who had been watching the entire exchange with raised eyebrows. “Sorry about them, they are always like this.”

Lambert flipped her off. Aiden threw up a peace sign.

“Well,” Jaskier said, trying to contain his laughter. “Clearly they are meant for eachother.” He was just glad that he hadn’t had to diffuse the situation. He was tired of telling entourages to get along.

“It’s a good thing they got married then,” Geralt said, standing slowly and walking over to Triss. “You like the dress then?”

Triss once again read Jaskier’s mind and playfully punched Geralt’s shoulder. “I fucking love it . I was right, it is everything I wanted and more. Thank you.” Her eyes were shining with tears again and this time, it was painfully obvious that Geralt blushed when he looked down at his shoes.

“Of course, it was my pleasure,” Geralt said, squeezing her arm. “I’m glad you and Eskel are finally tying the knot, I couldn't imagine a more perfect match for him than you.”

“Geralt,” Triss sighed, the tears pooling in her eyes spilling over again. “You didn't need to make me cry more! The dress was enough!”

Geralt just laughed. Jaskier silently passed Triss his pocket square again.

“Is there anything big that you want to change or do I just need to adjust the fit?” Geralt asked.

“Just the fit,” Triss said, dabbing at her eyes again.

Geralt nodded and set to work, silently slipping into the zone, pinning and adjusting and occasionally stepping back and squinting at his work. Jaskier knew that Triss and her entourage were talking, but he didn't even pretend to be paying attention. He was much more content to watch Geralt work, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the fabric as he made the already gorgeous gown look somehow even more phenomenal.

“Alright,” Geralt said, stepping back. “I think that that should be good, spin round for me.”

Triss turned to look in the mirror.

“Does it look okay?” Geralt asked and Triss punched his shoulder again. “Ow!”

“Geralt if you don't stop insulting your frankly quite stunning work, I will have to steal your little demon dog,” she said, looking over the dress in the mirror. “But yes, everything looks good.”

“Roach isn’t a demon,” Geralt pouted, and oh fuck wasn’t that adoreable.

“That fucking dog almost bit my hand off!” Lambert shouted from the bench.

Geralt made several rude gestures at him and Jaskier nearly swooned. Fucking hell he was gone for this man. And it was only the second time that he had seen him.

“Jaskier, can you get her out of the dress?” Geralt asked. “Be careful with all the pins.”

Jaskier nodded, very much at a loss for words.

“C’mon darling,” Jaskier said, tugging the curtain closed behind Geralt again.

He undid the zipper on the back of Triss’s dress and helped tug the dress off her shoulders, mindful of the many pins that Geralt had put in it.

“Have you and Geralt known each other long?” Triss asked.

“Oh, no not at all,” Jaskier said, glad that he was standing behind her and couldn't see the flush of his cheeks. “He helped me with an appointment a few months ago and we went out for drinks after and we’ve been texting occasionally, but that’s it.” He didn’t say that he wished it was more.

“You went out for drinks on the day you first met?” Triss asked, letting her voice rise. “That’s interesting, Geralt doesn’t often go out with people that he’s just met.”

There was a shout from the other side of the curtain, but it was muffled almost immediately, the sound of a hand slapping over someone’s mouth unmistakeable.

“Well, it had been a long day and we were both in need of one. Step out for me, darling,” Jaskier said, picking up the dress and hanging it back up.

“I’m sure you were,” Triss said from behind him as he zipped the dress carefully back into the garment bag. Before he had the chance to ask what she meant, she was opening the curtains and walking back outside to her entourage.

Jaskier picked up the garment bag and followed her.

“It was lovely meeting all of you,” he said, waving to the entourage. “Triss, darling, I hope you have a wonderful wedding and Geralt, it was nice seeing you again.” He turned back down the hall to go hang up the dress for Geralt to deal with later. He should get back upstairs, hopefully nothing too dire had happened in the salon during his absence, even if the break had been nice.

He was just turning to go up the stairs when he saw Geralt walking purposefully towards him, his cane clicking quickly against the floor.

“Jaskier!”

“Oh, hi again!” Jaskier said. “I was just going to head back upstairs, we are still very busy.” He gave Geralt an apologetic smile. There was nothing that he would rather do than stand and talk with Geralt.

Geralt winced. “Then I guess you probably shouldn't have helped me with the appointment.”

“No, no!” Jaskier said quickly. “It was my absolute pleasure, Geralt. And honestly? The salon was driving me a bit insane, so it was quite a nice and much needed break.”

“Well thank you for helping,” Geralt smiled. “I think it went well.”

“It definitely did, darling,” Jaskier said. “She loved the dress, just like I told you she would.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and looked down at his feet, placing both hands on top of his cane. “Actually though, I had something to ask you before you get back to work, if that’s okay. I don’t want to keep you.”

“The only thing you’re keeping me from is crying brides and disapproving mothers, and there is only so much of that that my poor soul can take,” Jaskier said. “I’d rather stay here with you and your-” he cut himself off before he made another terrible slip up. He had already learned his lesson from last time.

“With my magic hands? Or my pretty face?” Geralt asked smugly.

Jaskier sighed, ignoring him. “What was it that you wanted to ask me?”

“I have a plus one for Triss’s wedding next week,” Geralt started.

“And you haven’t asked anyone yet?” Jaskier asked. “Geralt, what have you been doing?”

“...Designing dresses?” he said sheepishly.

Jaskier swore his heart melted. He just looked so cute. How on earth was this allowed?

“Well, you better ask someone,” Jaskier said. “You’re running out of time.”

“Yes I know.” Geralt looked at Jaskier and smiled. “Jaskier, what are you doing next Saturday?”

“Saturday?” Well…” Jaskier trailed off, trying to remember what was coming up. “That is technically my day off, but I might still come in because we have just been so busy and we’re getting a new collection in and I’m going to have to….wait….” his eyes widened as he finally processed what Geralt had been asking him. “Are you….are you asking me..?”

“Would you like to be my plus one to Triss’s wedding?” Geralt asked, his golden eyes somehow sparkling in the atrocious fluorescent lighting.

“ Oh ,” Jaskier gasped. “Yes. Yes I would love to.”

“Great,” Geralt said, breathing an audible sigh of relief. “I’ll pick you up at 1pm. It’s formal. Be ready.”

Oh, Jaskier would be ready alright. He walked back to a salon with a huge smile plastered across his face.

may be a ch 2. havent decided.

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#the witcher #witcher #witcher fic #geralt #jaskier #geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #geraskier fanfic #saph scribbles

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reinvent-and-believe · 4 years

Note

Hi :) Dialogue prompt 44, Eskel + Geralt?

Dialogue prompt 44 - “I still remember the way you taste”

Wow anon. You get me. You really get me.

Firstly, what a perfect prompt. Secondly, sorry it took me 2+ months to actually write it! And thirdly...I added Jaskier. I’m sorry, I know you didn’t ask for that, I can’t keep him away. Geralt/Eskel is still the primary focus here, but in the context of established Geraskier and with Jaskier still very much involved. This accidentally turned into something like 7.5K of Jaskier and Eskel soft-domming the hell out of Geralt. So, uh...enjoy?

CW: rough sex/soft feelings, undernegotiated kink, nonexplicit references to teenage sexuality, brief discussions of internalized homophobia

—

“Really should be playing for coin.” Geralt grins as he clears his cards after his second victory of the night and shuffles his Nilfgaardian deck.

Eskel curses under his breath.

The witchers sit in a pair of ancient wingback chairs with worn, faded upholstery that might have been crimson in a former life, drawn close to the hearth, a small end table between them holding their Gwent cards and pints of mead. Jaskier sits perched on the arm of Geralt’s chair, his legs draped casually across his lover’s lap as he brushes soft white hair through his long fingers, humming softly to himself.

“Wiping the floor with me like that is its own reward.” It’s a grumble, but a good-natured one. Most everything Eskel does is good-natured, from what Jaskier’s seen. He appreciates that about the witcher.

It’s a fairly usual night at Kaer Morhen.

Well, as usual as a night at Kaer Morhen can be. After years of only vague, grunted acknowledgements of wintering in the mountains, Jaskier had been shocked and delighted at Geralt’s unexpected invitation when beset by an early first frost traveling through Kaedwen. “Winter’ll come before you reach Oxenfurt,” he’d justified brusquely, mindlessly tracing circles into the warm skin of Jaskier’s back as they huddled together on the inn’s musty straw pallet, but when the bard kissed him softly and told him he’d be delighted to see his home, the deep wrinkles on his forehead relaxed into something open, peaceful. They arrived a few weeks later, just before the snow drifts made the mountain pass nigh unbreachable.

Just being in these cold halls, rich with history and joy and pain, feels akin to the unsettling mystery of watching someone observe a religious sacrament, something Jaskier can only view from the outside, can never truly understand. But after upwards of a month sequestered in the remote keep, they’ve established something of a routine. Vesemir retires to the library after dinner most evenings. Every four or five days, Lambert gets restless and disappears into the surrounding mountains to hunt for a few nights.

(The first time Jaskier had been mortified, sure that he’d driven him away. “It’s just Lambert,” Geralt reassured him. “Bastard’s not well socialized.”

“And you know it’s bad, coming from Geralt,” Eskel added, but there’s nothing but fondness in his genial smirk.)

So most nights it’s the three of them whiling away the hours before retiring to their chambers. Jaskier finds he doesn’t mind; while Geralt clearly cares a great deal for Vesemir and Lambert, it’s only when they’re alone with Eskel that Geralt’s guard seems to vanish entirely. They catch up on jobs they worked throughout the year, drink together, occasionally reference shared history, although always briefly. In his years of friendship with Geralt and the years of something more, Jaskier has always been the one to keep the conversation going, an unending prattle that Geralt rarely interrupts, but here, Jaskier finds himself listening more often than not, observing the quiet, unassuming intimacy between the two witchers. Here within the walls of Kaer Morhen, here in Eskel’s warmth, Geralt is loose and comfortable and safe in a way Jaskier has rarely seen him in over a decade spent together on the Path.

Jaskier smiles at Eskel, a little too brightly, perhaps, but he doesn’t mind. He’s far from drunk, but between Geralt’s arm wrapped around his waist, the easy comfort of Eskel’s presence, the roaring fire before them and the honey-sweet mead, he feels pleasantly warm all over. “Eskel,” he starts as the witchers draw for another round, “you’ve known Geralt longer than anyone else in the world. Well, Vesemir excepted, of course.”

He hums in affirmation. “S’pose so. What about it?”

“That being the case, I think it only fair that you indulge me in some dirt.”

Eskel looks at him blankly.

“Come on, dirt! You must have plenty, you’ve known each other for, what, at least five hundred years now?”

“At least.” Geralt snorts at Jaskier’s obnoxious shit-eating grin at the exaggeration and plays a third spy card in a row, easily blocking the punch Eskel aims at his arm.

“Come now, Eskel, please? I’m sure you must have loads of dirt you’ve just been dying to, well, to unload! Let’s unlock those memories, boys, and tell me the greatest Kaer Morhen scoop of the past century.”

Eskel’s smiling, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Not sure you really want those memories unlocked, bard,” he says gently.

Jaskier’s breath catches. The last thing he wants is to spoil the relaxed evening with whatever cruelties spark the haunted looks he’s caught a few times during his stay. “No, no, of course not those kinds of memories,” he amends. “None of the witchery sort. The fun things, silly things! Come on, it can be anything. Embarrassing stories, charming anecdotes, stupid pranks you pulled on each other, youthful indiscretions—wait, no, what did I say?”

Both witchers suddenly seem preternaturally focused on their Gwent cards.

A delighted grin slowly creeps onto Jaskier’s face. “Youthful indiscretions?” he repeats, noting how Geralt looks almost sheepish. “I was joking about that one but by all means, I love a good scandal! I simply must have all the details, the tawdrier the better.”

“No scandal,” Eskel answers easily. “There’s nothing…”

“Oh ho ho no, my friend, I’m afraid I’m a bit too well acquainted with Geralt’s non-expressions to let this pass quite so easily.” He’s practically bouncing with excitement in Geralt’s lap, which earns him a glare, but not a very heartfelt one. The most delicate shade of pink has taken up residence in the tips of Geralt’s ears, the apples of his cheeks. Jaskier kisses him lightly on the nose. “What youthful indiscretions, Geralt?”

Geralt rolls his eyes, but his lips quirk upward. “Nothing as obscene as you’re dreaming up,” he mutters drily. “Dumb kid stuff.”

“Just a little healthy competition in the training yard.” Eskel’s smiling, but he’s watching Geralt carefully. “Everybody loves an incentive.”

Jaskier leans in conspiratorially. “Incentive?”

Eskel shrugs, placing a commander’s horn to double his ranged combat cards. “You know, loser jerks the winner off, that sort of thing. ‘Course, you dose up a bunch of horny teenagers with a couple times the regular helping of hormones, and, well, things tend to...escalate?”

“Of course.” Jaskier shifts and inadvertently rubs against the line of Geralt’s cock, which seems to have taken a distinct interest in the conversation, no matter how disinterested its owner tries to look behind his cards. “So, to the victor goes the handjob, eh? A noble endeavor.” He squirms again, very advertently rolling his hips in just the right place this time. The heavy arm around Jaskier’s waist slips down to stroke casually at his thigh. He stops himself from preening at the unexpected rift in Geralt’s composure, but only barely. “Was this all the young men in your—class? Cohort? Uh, battalion? What do you call it?”

“Hands caught on with some of them,” Eskel acknowledges. His eyes, all blown-wide black pupils rimmed with thin rings of gold, track every minute movement of Geralt’s hand on the bard’s thick thigh, straining beneath deep indigo satin. “But a few of us progressed to mouths. Thighs.”

“I’m sure that was delightful,” Jaskier breathes. He threads his fingers into Geralt’s hair, tugging gently on a lock. “So you partook in these escapades, did you, darling?”

Eskel snorts. “Partook,” he parrots, eyes flickering teasingly to Geralt. “Like he wasn’t the one casually suggesting it every time we hit the training yard.”

“Oh please, do tell.” The fire crackles in the hearth before them. By all the gods, there’s nowhere Jaskier would rather be than here, caught in this sparking current between the two witchers.

“Geralt’s the best fighter.” There’s a hint of a growl in Eskel’s gentle voice Jaskier’s never noticed before, low and hot and dangerous. “Always been the best with a sword since the first time he held one. But once we started messing around, didn’t take long to notice I was winning more than usual. After a few weeks I was beating him just about every time we fought.”

“Gods,” Jaskier breathes.

Eskel licks his lips. “Don’t act surprised, bard,” he says softly. There’s a new, intoxicating heat in his gaze. “The whole castle’s heard you two. You seem pretty familiar with Geralt’s taste for cock.”

Geralt’s arm slips tight around Jaskier’s waist, pulling him harder into the ever-more insistent press against the bard’s arse. He palms brazenly at Jaskier’s cock, but his eyes don’t leave Eskel, his face collected, calm. “Still remember the way you taste.”

“Fuck, Geralt.” Eskel’s hand drifts to mirror Geralt’s, grinding roughly against his codpiece.

Jaskier plants a hand on the chair’s back, twisting around enough to pull Geralt into a heated, messy kiss. “Gods, you’re stunning, you know that?” he moans against his lips, tangling a demanding hand into that long white hair. “Gorgeous, shameless thing, throwing fights you were perfectly capable of winning just to get a good dicking, was that the way of it, love?”

Geralt’s eyes flicker closed, accompanied by an aborted, keening noise in his throat.

“Which was all fine, until Vesemir called him out for holding back in the middle of the training yard.” Some of the teasing quality drains from Eskel’s voice. “You know Geralt. Being berated in front of the whole school by your mentor for your piss poor performance is devastating anyway, but for Geralt?”

“I’d forgotten about that,” he admits quietly. “That was a shit day. Halfway through his lecture I swore off sex forever. Nothing kills the mood quite like Vesemir’s disappointed face.”

Jaskier kisses his temple. “Glad that didn’t last, love.”

“Didn’t last long at all,” Eskel chuckles. “Pretty sure you had my dick down your throat in the back of the stables twenty minutes later.”

Geralt’s wry grin serves as confirmation. “It’d been a rough day. Sometimes you need a little consolation.”

Jaskier looks between the two, looks at the soft smiles on both of their faces. The sheer eroticism that was all-consuming a moment ago lingers, shifting into a background pulse as this gentle, familiar openness emerges.

They love each other.

Jaskier feels an overwhelming rush of relief, suddenly, of gratitude, to know that even with all the cruelties Geralt has faced over the past century, he’s had this easy warmth to come home to nearly every winter.

But love isn’t something readily acknowledged, let alone expressed, for Geralt—if anyone knows that, it’s Jaskier. So he smiles disarmingly and goes to work.

“How right you are, Geralt!” he says brightly. “Everyone needs a consoling touch now and then. What about after you left training? Any consolation during chance encounters on the Path? Or when you returned for the winter, perhaps?”

Jaskier doesn’t miss the way Geralt stares at the floor, nor the hunger that flashes in Eskel’s eyes before he looks away, too. When he speaks, it’s measured again. “It didn’t continue past training.”

“What a shame. Well, during training, then, what about fucking?” he asks blithely.

Geralt’s the first to find his voice, a defensive grunt. “Wasn’t like that.”

Eskel leans back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. “Well, it was, of course,” he says slowly. “A hand or a mouth in the dark you can write off as just getting your rocks off. You start talk about fucking…” He shrugs stiffly. “It starts to mean something. Starts to say something about you.” He’s quiet for a moment, staring into the fire. “You get told a lot of things when you’re a kid. Think we all understood pretty clearly how it’d be if anybody found out. So you start coming up with reasons why it’s not like that, why you’re not like that. To make it easier.”

Geralt hasn’t spoken, but he clings a little closer, leaning his head on Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Takes time to sort through it all,” Eskel muses. “I think most of the stuff they taught us, Vesemir and the others...most of it came from a good place. They wanted us to survive, and part of that means not making yourself any more of a target than you already are. Doesn’t mean it didn’t fuck us up even more, though.” He leans forward in his chair, elbows on his knees and eyes fixed on Geralt. “I’m proud of you, Wolf,” he murmurs, a little sad smile on his lips. “Never thought either of us’d get to have this.” He gestures briefly at Geralt and Jaskier entwined in the chair, a twinge of something that might be yearning flashing through his eyes before he looks away, taking a drink.

Geralt plants a small kiss on Jaskier’s shoulder, holds him a little tighter. He wants to comfort Eskel, the bard understands suddenly, showering Jaskier with all the tender physical assurances he doesn’t feel he can give Eskel. And Eskel, with his sweet, melancholy smiles, his gentle percipience, his quiet understanding...he deserves everything Geralt wants to give him and more.

“It seems to me,” Jaskier begins in a delicate singsong, “that we have some unfinished business here.”

“How do you figure?”

“I feel this competition has not been followed to its logical conclusion. Not reached its full potential. You’ve played for hands, mouths, thighs. It seems that the natural progression should be playing for arse next. Winner takes the loser, as it were.”

Silence.

Jaskier wonders, briefly, if he’s made a mistake; but, he reasons, nothing ventured, nothing gained. He barrels on. “I think that the two of you want each other, quite a lot. Now, now, we’re being honest, Eskel just made that lovely speech, so save your protests, both of you. I think you want each other but you don’t know how to have that without the competition.” Jaskier gesticulates widely to emphasize his conclusion. “So compete.”

Eskel’s quiet for a moment, taking a deep breath as he meets Jaskier’s gaze. “Wouldn’t ask that of you,” he says finally. “The pair of you’s got a good thing here. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of that.”

“Oh, darling.” A surge of affection rushes through him as he takes in the Witcher’s concerned eyes, the hesitant posture, the look of astonishment at the endearment directed towards him. “I don’t think Geralt will love me any less for having loved you,” he says softly, leaning forward and placing a steady hand on Eskel’s forearm.

“We fuck other people,” Geralt adds helpfully.

Jaskier squawks in indignation, and Geralt’s mouth twitches in silent laughter. “Yes, Geralt, thank you for that ever so romantic assessment. So there you have it, Eskel! We fuck other people, no conflict there.”

Eskel’s looking back and forth between them, a small, slow smile breaking through. “It’s a little late for a sparring match,” he says. It’s not much of a protest.

Geralt shrugs casually. “Up for another game of Gwent?”

Golden eyes lock, a challenge. Eskel wets his lip and reaches for his cards.

Geralt gently steers Jaskier back onto the arm of the chair with a quick kiss to his shoulder, reaching to pull the forgotten box of his various decks into his lap. He packs his Nilfgaardians away carefully, muses over the cards, then reaches for the forest green deck.

And Jaskier may be no expert when it comes to the intricacies of Gwent strategy, but he’s watched Geralt play enough to know that Scoia’tael is his most neglected deck, the one he’s least likely to use in tournaments, the one he’s spent the least time building up.

Fuck.

From the way that Eskel’s gaze trains on Geralt’s big hands shuffling the sparse deck, a hungry, wrecked gleam reflecting in his golden eyes, he’s noticed, too.

It doesn’t take long, this Gwent game.

Geralt isn’t playing poorly, not really, he isn’t blatantly throwing the match, but the low-powered deck can’t compete with Eskel’s Northern Kingdoms and its unstoppable siege cards, its seemingly endless supply of spies. Even after Eskel passes the second round in a show of sportsmanship, there’s no real suspense.

Anticipation, on the other hand…

Jaskier drapes himself over Geralt languidly, tucking his chin over his lover’s shoulder to watch the game. “Geralt,” he coos, “it’s looking as though you may lose this one.”

“Hmm.”

“What a shame, I know you must be dreadfully disappointed by the prospect of taking his cock.” He’s staring shamelessly now, eyes running over Eskel’s sinewy arms, wide shoulders, broad chest, muscular thighs. “Gods, I bet he’s proportional, isn’t he. Big all over.” His breath is a warm tickle on Geralt’s ear before he begins lightly kissing the sensitive skin of his neck. “I bet he’s bigger than you, isn’t he, love?”

Geralt looks up from his cards, considering. “Girthier,” he concedes lightly.

“I can only imagine.” He sighs, musing with the tiniest of pouts. “You know, if you’d told me when we arrived at Kaer Morhen that one of us would wind up in bed with the gorgeous Eskel before winter’s end, I never would have dreamed you would be the one with that honor. Actually, I’d have put good coin on it being me.”

Eskel drops a scorch card in surprise that knocks out his own 24-point ballista.

“That counts.” Geralt shoves the card towards Eskel’s discard pile. “And you’d’ve lost your coin, bard. He never would have fucked you.” He shrugs off Jaskier’s offended whine. “Would’ve seen it as betraying me, even if you’d explained.” He’s studying Eskel carefully. “He felt guilty enough already, and all he’s done is look.”

Jaskier follows Geralt’s gaze, taking in the deep flush, the heavy breathing, the slightly abashed expression. “Have you been looking, dear Eskel?”

Eskel wets his scarred lip. “Looking respectfully,” he clarifies with the smallest of grins.

Jaskier laughs, delighted. He’s been uncharacteristically modest in his dress since arriving at Kaer Morhen, adjusting the biting chill of the drafty halls, but between the fire, the inferno of Geralt beneath him, and the strong rush of arousal, he’s plenty warm now. He slips his doublet off casually, dove gray shirt open halfway to his navel. “Look to your heart’s content, darling. Respectfully or otherwise.”

Eskel obeys, eyes raking over the bard’s flushed neck, the dark curls on his chest, the taut trousers doing little to disguise his erection. When he speaks, his voice is husky, grating. “If I win, will you be joining us?”

The breath catches in Jaskier’s throat.

He glances down at Geralt. They’ve always been welcome to take other lovers; it’s only practical, since they sometimes travel apart for months at a time and both have a few long-standing arrangements they’re loath to renounce. But they’ve never welcomed someone else into their bed, explored another lover together. Shared.

Geralt’s staring up at him, eyes questioning, hopeful.

Jaskier flits out of his embrace to situate himself easily in Eskel’s lap. “I thought you’d never ask.” He brushes a dark lock of hair out of the witcher’s eyes, tilts that strong, square jaw toward him with a single clever finger. “May I?” he asks, and when Eskel nods wordlessly he draws him into a soft kiss.

Eskel’s lips are slow and gentle, his kiss courteous, restrained in a way that threatens to break Jaskier’s heart. “Relax,” Jaskier whispers against him, “you’re not the first big scary witcher I’ve encountered.” He plants a teasing peck on the corner of his mouth before pulling away and shifting to take stock of the cards in Eskel’s hand. “So how is it looking? Oh.” He giggles helplessly, glancing across the table at his lover’s somewhat dazed expression. “Oh, Geralt, you are fucked.”

Their matching groans at his word choice are nothing short of intoxicating.

“Finish him off, darling,” Jaskier purrs, a hand drifting down Eskel’s sturdy chest. “Then we can play.”

Jaskier drags Eskel unabashedly into the bedroom, kicking off his boots as he goes in a practiced maneuver that might have otherwise proven disastrous. He tugs off Eskel’s padded jerkin, leaving him in a thin cream-colored shirt that Jaskier balls his fist in, pulling the witcher towards him in a breathless, giggling kiss.

Geralt trails slightly behind them, taking off his boots in silence. Jaskier can feel his eyes on the two of them as they part, not jealous, not upset, but unsure. Never one to shy away from tension in the bedroom, Jaskier reaches a hand toward his lover, beckoning him close, close enough to touch, and then he steps back to watch the moment unfold.

As if by instinct, Eskel moves to the side in an evasion of Geralt’s approach, where a sword would glance off him, had one been swung. Golden eyes lock as they circle automatically. It’s a dance. A witcher’s dance, dangerous and calculated, each move precise, graceful, deadly. It’s the most arousing thing Jaskier’s ever seen in his life.

And then Geralt shoves Eskel.

It’s just a light push to one shoulder, no real weight behind it, but the effect is instantaneous. Eskel pins him to the cold stone wall, the full weight of his body pressed into him, his hands trapping Geralt’s wrists tight. They’re both panting, hard, and when Eskel shoves his leg roughly between Geralt’s thighs, he’s met with Geralt rocking savagely against him.

“Like a bitch in heat, huh, Wolf?” Somehow, the words aren’t demeaning in the warm gravel of Eskel’s voice; instead, they’re fond, appreciative. Reverent.

Geralt bucks against him again, a cut-off, desperate growl from the back of his throat, and Eskel buries his face at the juncture of the neck and shoulder and bites the scarred flesh.

Geralt immediately goes limp and compliant against him, capitulation written into every line of his body. He stays that way as Eskel releases his bite, nipping lightly then nuzzling into the skin.

Jaskier lets out a shuddering breath at the sight of his lover so docile, so malleable. They’ve certainly explored such games before, power dynamics and what have you, and he’s known Geralt to drift into a gentle haze of submission on a handful of occasions when he felt particularly safe, but he’s never seen this immediate, intentional surrender. It’s breathtaking.

Eskel releases Geralt’s wrists, still kissing at his neck as he slides his hands down his sides. “Good,” he murmurs against skin, “being so good for me, Wolf. Don’t worry, gonna take care of you.” He tugs the black shirt from Geralt’s trousers, slips a big hand to stroke the bare skin at the small of his back. “Gonna fuck you so good. That what you want, sweetheart?”

“Fuck, Eskel.”

“Tell me.”

“Fuck.” His eyes flutter shut as Eskel’s hand moves to pull him forward by the curve of his arse, grinding their hips together roughly. “Want you to fuck me.”

“Mmm.” Eskel pulls the shirt over Geralt’s head and tosses it aside. “What about your boyfriend? What do you want from him?”

Geralt’s eyes shoot open, casting about frantically for a moment as though disoriented. “Jaskier?”

“I’m here, love,” he says, rushing to his side and pulling him into a soothing kiss. Geralt relaxes again in Eskel’s arms.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Jaskier continues, running his thumb reassuringly against Geralt’s cheekbone. “Do you want us to take you to bed, love? Let us work you over between the two of us, wring out every drop of pleasure we can?”

Eskel still supports Geralt’s weight, but he’s shifting, opening towards Jaskier, creating a space for him. Geralt pulls the bard in, kissing him desperately and tugging off his shirt, and Jaskier clings to them both.

He drinks in the sight of Eskel in the firelight, lips red and parted, eyes hooded beneath dark lashes. He cradles his smooth cheek with a gentle hand. “My, but you are just unreasonably handsome, aren’t you?”

Eskel freezes for a split second before flinching away from the touch, turning his scarred face to the safety of the shadows.

Before Jaskier can react, Geralt places a hand on the back of Eskel’s neck, drawing him in and massaging the flesh lightly. “He’s not mocking you.” His voice is soft and steady. “Or lying.”

After a moment, Eskel meets Geralt’s gaze, holds it silently for a moment before his shoulders relax, a rueful smile twitching on his lips. “Just got shit taste, huh.”

Geralt returns the grin. “He is with me.”

Jaskier splutters with indignation that’s only partially feigned. “Well, excuse you both, I happen to have exquisite taste, thank you very much!” He reaches out, his hand hovering over the scarred skin, a question in his eyes. Eskel takes a breath and turns his face into Jaskier’s touch.

He runs his fingers lightly over the hardened scar tissue, mapping the uneven terrain in caresses. Eskel’s eyes flutter shut. “I can’t speak for the rest of the world,” Jaskier murmurs. “I can’t imagine how cruelly men have treated you. But I do think you’re beautiful, Eskel, truly.” He pauses, glancing at Geralt. His gaze is fixed on the pale fingers and scarred flesh, concern writ large in his golden eyes. Jaskier wonders, not for the first time, how he ever thought his witcher inexpressive. “And I do believe Geralt thinks so, too.”

Geralt startles at the mention, but he leans in, resting his forehead against Eskel’s.

The intimacy of the position strikes Jaskier. Wasn’t like that, Geralt had immediately defended at the slightest implication that there was anything more than the occasional illicit orgasm between them. It’s not the first time he’s seen his dear witcher deny himself affection, connection, especially when it comes from another man, so he can’t help wondering how deep that denial may have run. “Geralt,” he asks softly, “have you and Eskel ever kissed?”

Geralt shakes his head, his eyes shut.

“I think you should.” It’s barely more than a whisper.

A moment of stillness stretches between them all, the two witchers looking at each other wordlessly. Eskel is the first to move. He carefully cradles Geralt’s face, eyes searching before he leans in, capturing his lips gently. It’s slow, hesitant, a meticulous exploration before Geralt moans against him, big hands threading through dark hair and pulling him in harder.

Jaskier moves deftly, slipping behind Eskel and threading his arms around the witcher as he plants reverent kisses down his neck, hands roaming luxuriantly across the hard body. Nimble fingers find the laces of Eskel’s trousers, untying them but making no immediate move to remove them, drawing the roughspun cotton of his shirt from the loosened pants so he can slip beneath to bare skin. He worships every inch of that broad torso with callused fingertips. Eskel is every bit as muscular as Geralt but built differently, thicker and wider and more pliable beneath Jaskier’s curious hands. An appealing layer of fat cushions his hard abdominals like a gambeson; strong, flexing pectorals have the give of flesh beneath his grasp. It’s an altogether delightful body, Jaskier thinks in warm contentment, belonging to an even more delightful man who Jaskier would be delighted to be absolutely railed by.

But that isn’t tonight’s objective; no, not with Geralt panting so beautifully, head thrown back against the stone wall as Eskel sucks a blood red mark on his collarbone. The finesse between them has vanished, replaced by the desperation of a century’s delay. Eskel paws at Geralt’s waist, nearly ripping the buttons from the fabric in his haste to get a hand down the front of the tight black pants, his other hand bracing him on the wall beside Geralt’s head.

Geralt is quick to return the favor, freeing Eskel’s cock from the codpiece, shoving the trousers roughly down his thighs, sinking to his knees.

Jaskier tries in vain to enjoy the sight from over Eskel’s shoulder, but the cream-colored shirt billows loosely enough around his body to veil Geralt. Yanking the offending garment off, Jaskier tucks his chin over the witcher’s shoulder and watches as his lover pumps Eskel’s cock in a pale hand, leaning in to lap greedily at the head before stretching his lips obscenely around the ruddy flesh.

When he speaks, Eskel’s voice is a hoarse wreck. “Isn’t that a sight for sore eyes.” Geralt growls in the back of his throat and takes him further down. “Fuck, Wolf.”

Jaskier snakes a hand down Eskel’s hip to his groin. He circles the base of his cock in a sure grip, grasping the thick shaft and moving in concert with Geralt’s shallow bobbing. Eskel inhales shakily, reaching the hand not buried in white hair back to anchor himself onto Jaskier by the back of the neck, arching into the bard’s embrace.

Jaskier pulls him into a messy kiss. The careful restraint has evaporated into something rough, strong, unleashed. Jaskier loses himself in the kiss, the racing tattoo of his rushing blood making the groan from Eskel something he feels more than hears.

Geralt bats away the bard’s hand jacking Eskel, and when Jaskier glances down he sees Geralt sinking down the thick shaft until his nose is buried in the dark hair at the base.

Eskel rips away from Jaskier’s kiss, breath ragged. “So good at that, shit.” His head falls back on Jaskier’s shoulder, eyes closed. “Used to choke on me when you tried,” he grunts. “Remember? Almost got us caught with your coughing a couple times. But you weren’t ever satisfied unless you tried.”

Jaskier massages at his chest, relishing the little gasp as he rubs a nipple. “He’s had plenty of practice since then. Haven’t you, love? Love swallowing cock, don’t you?” Geralt’s hands grasp Eskel’s hips roughly. “He wants you to fuck his face,” Jaskier says, planting a kiss on Eskel’s temple. “You wouldn’t deny him, would you?”

“Fuck.” Eskel complies, releasing Jaskier to anchor both hands in Geralt’s hair. He pistons forward experimentally, shallow. Geralt tugs at his hips until he’s set a brutal pace, the muscles in his thick body straining as he fucks him with abandon until there’s nothing else, nothing but slapping flesh, labored breathing, and pleased, desperate, muffled moans.

Eskel pulls abruptly back, holding Geralt off him by the hair. “Fuck, Geralt, enough. Don’t wanna come yet.”

“Want you to.” Geralt’s voice is a raw rasp, his eyes red-rimmed. He nuzzles at the juncture of his thigh and groin, sucking at the sensitive flesh between words. “Want you to come fucking my throat. Come again later.”

Eskel pushes him away firmly, discipling his voice into something deep, reproachful, but with a surprising touch of tenderness cutting the sting of his words. “Listen, little cockslut, I said not yet.”

Geralt whimpers, but he withdraws, sitting back on his heels and awaiting further instruction, eyes fixed on the other witcher.

Eskel steps back from both of them, shoving his trousers the rest of the way down and stepping out of them before he looks at Geralt. “Up, Wolf.”

Geralt scrambles to obey.

Eskel pulls him into a kiss, praises spilling out against his lips. “So good,” he says. “Pants off.”

Once Geralt’s naked Eskel pulls him close, hoisting him easily into his arms as strong thighs wrap around Eskel’s waist. Eskel kisses him, holding him effortlessly. It’s a rare thing, Geralt not being far and way the strongest in a room at any given time, and to see him so evenly matched, see him carried about and manhandled as though he weighs nothing at all, is quite an alarming, appealing experience.

“Wanna take you to bed.” Eskel nuzzles against Geralt’s neck, his words barely audible. “Wanna be inside you, Wolf.”

“You did win the game,” Geralt grunts.

Eskel’s brow is furrowed when he pulls back. “Fuck the game, Geralt, wanted this as long as I can remember. It’s not just a game.” He carefully smoothes the messy white locks away from his face. “Wasn’t ever just a game.”

Geralt nods slowly. He holds Eskel’s gaze as he tilts his head, closing the space between them to brush his lips again Eskel’s. “So take me to bed.”

And he does.

Eskel lays Geralt out with an expression of sheer reverence. He crawls between his legs, slotting their bodies together, taking them both in a firm grasp before he leans down to capture Geralt in a sensuous kiss.

Jaskier observes the writhing pair silently as he makes necessary preparations. He rids himself of his trousers and smallclothes. Folds the discarded clothes and sets them neatly on a chair. Retrieves the oil from the chest at the foot of the bed. Stalls.

Because they are beautiful together, their touches familiar yet entirely new. There’s an unmistakable sense of scale between them, a history that Jaskier is loath to disrupt, a tale spanning a century in which Jaskier is barely a footnote.

“Jaskier.”

They’re still entwined, all muscled, scarred limbs curving around each other like one flesh, but they’re both looking at him. Eskel’s face crinkles into a crooked smile. “It’s a big bed, bard. Plenty of room.”

And there is. So much room in Geralt’s outstretched arm, curling immediately around his lover as he slips in bed beside them. In Eskel’s astute gaze as he runs a hand down Jaskier’s back and squeezes his hip reassuringly, pulling him into a nigh unbearably sweet kiss. In the way the three of them move together, exploring, discovering, building a gentle rhythm all their own.

“Have you ever fingered him?” Jaskier asks, his words nearly lost in the velvet-soft skin he’s thoroughly lavishing.

Geralt’s breath catches, though whether it’s at the question or the warm mouth on his balls is anyone’s guess.

“No,” Eskel says, his hand carding through the bard’s hair. “Show me what he likes?”

Jaskier reemerges to kiss them lightly, first Geralt then Eskel. “I’d be delighted.” He sits up on his heels, pulling Geralt with him. “Up, love.” He turns to Eskel as Geralt turns over to settle wordlessly into place. “Hands and knees is best for opening him up. He tends to get overwhelmed otherwise, don’t you, darling?” He kisses Geralt’s scarred shoulder, petting his arms, his back, his sides, nodding with a bright grin when Eskel’s hands join his in their caresses. “You can open him up when he’s lying on his back, but only when he’s absolutely relaxed and he’s already gotten off once. Otherwise he’s self-conscious, can’t lose himself in the sensation.” Geralt is already—perhaps unconsciously—rocking his hips ever so gently back towards him. A wave of warmth spreads through Jaskier as he rubs at the small of his lover’s back. “Eager for us, aren’t you, Geralt?”

A breathless grunt is the only answer.

“It’s all right, love, we’re going to take care of you.” He uncorks the oil, leaning down to nip lightly at the swell of Geralt’s cheek as he pours some into his palm. Cold. He warms it in his hand, rubbing vigorously. Eskel’s eyes track each movement. Silent, the bard holds out his lubricated hand. Eskel hesitates for a second then swipes his fingers through the mess until they’re dripping, coated thoroughly.

“Touch him before you touch him there.” It’s a rush, hearing the professorial tone of his own voice, seeing the witcher scramble to follow his instructions. Using his dry hand, Eskel pets the expanse of skin, running his fingers indulgently through the pale hair on his thighs, his arse. “Good.” Jaskier’s voice resonates deep in his chest, a low, soothing murmur. “Acquaint him with your touch. Let him know where you’re headed. Then when you’re both ready…” He takes Eskel’s wet hand by the wrist and guides it. “Just a finger. Start up here, down, down and past, and then up again. Again. Circle his rim, give him some lovely pressure, get him nice and wet but not in, not yet, not until…” He laughs as Geralt cants his hips back toward them with a desperate moan. “There we are. Now you can press in, just a little—oh, you’re being so good for us, love, taking his finger so well. Thicker than mine, isn’t it? What a treat.”

It’s too much, too arousing and too heady and too intoxicating, seeing hefty sword-callused fingers prodding carefully at the flesh Jaskier had seen stretched around his cock only this morning. He reaches out, an oiled finger lightly stroking the taut rim before slipping in effortlessly alongside Eskel’s.

A keening sound almost like a sob is muffled as Geralt rests his forehead on the bed, a full-body shiver running through him.

Eskel pats at his thigh. “Your boyfriend’s back here trying to kill me, Wolf.” He shoots a look of wonder at Jaskier before he leans forward, kissing the slight dimple at the small of Geralt’s back. “Hadn’t even thought about how good you’d look speared on us both ‘til right now.”

Geralt shoves back against them hard, pants as he fucks himself back on their fingers until Eskel adds another. “Not tonight, though,” he growls. “Tonight that hole is mine.”

“Gods, Eskel.” Jaskier pulls him into a breathless kiss. “He’s perfect, isn’t he?” he murmurs against scarred lips. “The way he can’t help seeking out more. Fuck, but he’s going to look so stunning on your cock. How do you plan to take him? Like this, let him whine and cry and shove himself back on your prick as hard as he can? Or have him ride you, watch him desperately take his pleasure as he stuffs himself full of you? Or…”

“Fuck, Geralt, does he always talk this much?” Eskel’s other hand shoots to the base of his own cock, giving himself a few rough strokes.

“Always,” a muffled rumble confirms. “It’s hot.”

Jaskier beams.

He slips his finger nimbly from Geralt’s stretched hole, drizzling a little more oil where Eskel begins to tease a third before Jaskier reclines on the bed, lying his head on the pillow where Geralt’s buried his face. Gently, he tilts the witcher’s chin toward him, taking in the wrecked breaths, the serene, softened gaze. He runs a warm thumb over Geralt’s lips before following it with a tender kiss.

He runs a hand over the muscled abdomen, down the sharp angles of the juncture of his hips, the pale coarse hair at his groin. Geralt’s softened some in the excitement of penetration, as he’s wont to do. Jaskier cups that lovely, familiar cock, rubs against him with just the pressure he knows his lover needs to coax him gently back towards hardness.

A breathy, high-pitched whimper that barely sounds like it could come from the same throat as Geralt’s usual guttural utterances breaks through the hazy atmosphere. “He’s ready for you,” Jaskier murmurs softly, reaching to squeeze Eskel’s unoccupied hand.

Eskel drapes his body over Geralt’s, covering his back and shoulders with fiery kisses as he rocks against him soothingly, fingers still buried deep as they rut together. He turns his face toward Jaskier, a heady desperation in his eyes. “Can I take him on his back?” he begs. “Don’t want to...to overwhelm him. But…”

Jaskier plants a reassuring kiss on Eskel’s cheek.

Geralt whines piteously as fingers slip from him, but he follows the gentle hands guiding him onto his back.

“Love,” Jaskier whispers, soothing fingers massaging his scalp, “are you with us?”

Geralt takes a breath, as though opening his eyes to meet Jaskier’s takes tremendous energy. He nods.

“You’re doing so well, darling.”

Geralt leans into his hand at the praise, eyes fluttering shut again.

“Stay with me, Geralt. Do you need a break?”

“Need Eskel.”

Eskel, kneeling between his legs, surges forward to capture Geralt in a careful kiss, gripping his shaft as he lines himself up. “Oil?” he pants, and Jaskier slips a wet hand between the two bodies to coat the thick, twitching cock liberally. “I’ve got you, Wolf,” Eskel whispers, sinking slowly into the pulsing tight heat, Jaskier’s oiled fingers lingering, anointing the site of their union.

The electric energy swells, inundating them, sweeping them into its current. The rough, slow grind as the witchers find a rhythm. Meandering callused fingertips dancing across scarred skin. Oil and precome and sweat mingling as they slide together. The earthy, sharp smell of the fireplace meeting musk and heat and desperation. Goosebumps covering warm flesh against luxuriant soft furs.

Geralt comes with a harsh cry from nothing but the movement within him and the insistent rub of Eskel’s abdomen against his cock.

Eskel fucks him through the aftershocks gently, bringing himself to a stuttering halt as Geralt trembles beneath him. He pants against Geralt’s neck. “Fuck,” he swears, kisses messily at the sensitive skin, “so beautiful, Wolf, feel so good under me.”

Geralt lets out a long breath.

“Had enough?” Eskel whispers against him.

Blissed out, relaxed, all loose limbs and satisfaction written in every line of his body, Geralt grins, his eyes suddenly clear, kissing Eskel as he rolls his hips pointedly back onto his cock.

And with this second wind it’s different, Geralt’s haze melting into something far more vocal, more demanding. “More,” and “fuck, Eskel,” and “hard,” and “won’t break me, Eskel, fuck,” and movement and manhandling and Geralt back on his hands and knees, Eskel burying himself hard and fast and too much, it’s got to be too much, Jaskier’s sure of it until “don’t hold back, please, please I can take it.”

A hand reaches out to grab roughly at Jaskier’s hip, dragging him in place before Geralt, his back against the headboard. “Please,” Geralt moans, mouthing frantically at the base of his cock, his drawn-tight balls, “need you too.”

He threads his fingers through sweat-damp white locks as Geralt hungrily sucks him down. The harsh, accelerating thrusts from Eskel rip through Geralt, slamming him further onto Jaskier’s cock and it’s so much, the delicate arch of Geralt’s back, the loud slapping of skin against skin, the strange unifying sensation of the three of them melding into one, the tight fluttering of Geralt’s throat milking the head of his cock, the way Eskel’s whole body seems to convulse, the choked-off howl as he chases his climax, the way he shakes as he collapses forward onto Geralt...

The adoring light in those stunning amber eyes as Geralt looks up at Jaskier through thick lashes, the way his hand sneaks up to hold onto his lover’s as Jaskier’s breath hitches, coming with a cry as Geralt swallows around him.

They topple gracelessly into a breathless tangle of limbs. Geralt groans piteously as Eskel unsheathes himself, leaving the bed swiftly, and Geralt hates feeling empty while he’s still coming down so Jaskier finds himself trailing long fingers to his messy hole, pushing the escaping come back into him, massaging and plugging him gently and running a soothing thumb over the stretched rim as they trade languid, exhausted kisses.

Eskel watches them from the beside with a look that might be wonder. “You two are a handful,” he chuckles softly. He climbs back onto the bed, wiping away drying spend from Geralt’s stomach with a warm, wet cloth that drags down, down between his legs, down to where Jaskier extracts himself one finger at a time, cleaning him with attentive care.

Geralt smiles up at Eskel lazily before pulling him down into a quick, filthy kiss, nipping at his lower lip. “You like us, though.”

“Hmm.” Eskel pulls away enough to grab a cup of water, tilting it to Geralt’s lips, careful not to spill. Then he offers it to the bard, reaching over to pet his hair with unexpected tenderness. “Thank you, Jaskier,” he says. “For sharing him with me tonight.”

“Should be me you’re thanking,” Geralt yawns, shifting around until he’s nestled comfortably on Jaskier’s chest, ear pressed soothingly above his heart. His eyes flutter shut as Jaskier traces aimless patterns on his warm skin. “Arse you were fucking happens to belong to me.”

Eskel snorts. “You sure about that?” He blocks the sleepy, playful swat aimed at him, taking the cup back from Jaskier and setting it carefully on the bedside table. He looks down at Geralt, already halfway to sleep on the bard’s chest, and rolls his eyes fondly. “That didn’t take long.”

“Well, in his defense, you did work him over pretty thoroughly,” Jaskier murmurs. He reaches out, tracing the muscles in Eskel’s scarred upper arm gently.

He leans into the touch, looking down for a moment. When he meets Jaskier’s gaze, his eyes are unspeakably bright. “Thank you. For tonight.” There’s a reverent rasp in his voice. “And for being good to him.”

Geralt’s breathing has evened out as Eskel slips out of bed, rifling through the discarded clothes.

“Bloody witchers, gods save me,” Jaskier sighs, flopping a dramatic hand to his forehead. “Geralt always used to try to slink off into the night after sex, too.” He catches Eskel’s gaze and extends a long hand towards him. “It’s a big bed, darling.”

They stare at each other in silence for a moment, something like awe blooming on Eskel’s exquisite, kind face as he nods, climbing back into the bed and molding his body carefully against Geralt’s back, a square hand finding Jaskier’s and squeezing.

And though it’s the dead of winter, Jaskier doubts Kaer Morhen’s ever felt quite so warm. He drifts into a peaceful sleep.

#the witcher fic #geraskel #geraskel fic #geralt x jaskier x eskel #geraskier #eskralt #sexy gwent #WHEW okay hope you enjoy!#my fic #asks

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handwrittenhello · 3 years

Text

where the road then takes me

Prompt: Law of Surprise Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier/Renfri, Geralt/Renfri, Geralt/Jaskier, Jaskier & Renfri Rating: T Warnings: None Summary: When Jaskier runs into a pack of wild dogs while searching for his lost hen, he's lucky that Geralt is nearby to save him. But he has nothing to repay the witcher with except the Law of Surprise, and who do they find upon returning to the farm, but Jaskier's sister, Renfri, back early from marauding?

For @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo!

(ao3 link in reblog)

Jaskier, eighteen, had grand dreams.

They were little more than dreams, unfortunately, because seeing as how he and Renfri had grown up fending for themselves, stuck in a tiny village on the border of Creyden, he didn’t have much opportunity to go to school or learn to play the lute or anything, really, besides tending to the farm while Renfri got… freelance work elsewhere. That was all he cared to know about it—she would leave, and return home every couple of weeks with a decent bag of coin and blood-spattered clothes, which Jaskier would bitch about cleaning. She made enough for them to live, though not comfortably—Renfri had kept him fairly sheltered, but he knew that they were one of the poorer households in town.

Which was why Jaskier only dreamed of traveling the Continent, singing songs and weaving grand tales for the commonfolk. Instead, he was stuck here chasing down their old hen again, after the coop had blown down in the storm for the fourth time. Henrietta was a sneaky fucker, already gone by the time he woke up in the morning. He cursed but pulled on his boots and stumbled out into the cold morning air to look for her.

He cursed all the way to the edge of the forest, where she’d apparently disappeared into, judging by the tracks and the few scattered feathers he found. “Damned hen. Ought to just eat you and be done with it,” he muttered, pulling his cloak tighter around him before heading into the forest.

He followed her trail as the sun slowly rose, stopping when he heard barking in the distance. Fuck, he hoped that was the hunters’ dogs—he hadn’t thought to bring a knife to defend himself with. Whatever it was, he trudged onwards, because they couldn’t afford to lose a hen. Renfri would kill him if—when—she found out.

And then he heard it—familiar squawking, accompanied by those same barks, louder. He crept closer and saw exactly what he’d feared—a pack of wild dogs circled Henrietta, one of them darting in every so often to snap at her slashing claws. She was fending them off pretty handily, actually—Jaskier knew how vicious she could be firsthand.

But the dogs would no doubt attack in force soon, and then she’d have no chance. Without thinking, Jaskier picked up a rock and threw it at the nearest one, hitting it square in the nose. It recoiled and turned its attention away from Henrietta, which was exactly what he wanted.

Unfortunately, it turned its attention towards him, which was exactly what he didn’t want. “Oh, fuck,” he spat, and turned tail as the pack gave chase.

He dashed over tree roots and fallen logs, blind stupid terror coursing through his veins. He had no plan beyond don’t get caught—and he could only run for so long before tiring. He threw a glance backward and saw that they were gaining on him—and fast.

Not looking where was going, he was taken completely by surprise when he slammed into something hard, bouncing off it and landing with an oof on the mossy ground.

Dazed and still half-blind with fear, he didn’t even notice that he’d slammed into a person until they moved, stepping over him and taking on the dogs with an easy confidence, sword swinging with preternatural force.

Two swords, armor, incredible speed and fighting skills? As the man finished dispatching the last of the pack and turned around to reveal mutated cat eyes set in a heavily scarred face, Jaskier realized who the man was. He sucked in a sharp breath.

The witcher sheathed his sword, holding out a hand as if to calm Jaskier. “It’s alright,” he rumbled, voice full of gravel. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

Jaskier picked his jaw up from where it had dropped. “I know that,” he answered, getting to his feet and half-heartedly brushing the dirt off himself. “You’re a witcher.”

“I am. Usually fight more dangerous things than wild dogs, though. Also don’t usually see unaccompanied kids running around being chased by them.”

“I had to get their attention somehow. Henrietta was—wait, Henrietta!” Jaskier, remembered, abruptly spinning on his heel and dashing back to where the pack had cornered her.

“Wait!” the witcher called from behind him, but Jaskier paid him no heed.

He was gratified to see that while he’d been running for his life, Henrietta had seen fit to begin making herself a nest right in the same spot. “Oh, aren’t we cozy?” he grumbled, creeping closer in an attempt to grab her. He was almost upon her when the witcher ruined it, crashing through the underbrush behind him and sending her clucking away just as Jaskier pounced.

Jaskier sighed and turned to face the witcher, who at least had the good grace to look a little guilty. The guilt soon disappeared, though, when Jaskier rounded on him and began to lecture. “Now look what you’ve done. It’ll take me ages to catch her,” he complained, watching as the witcher’s eyes grew incredulous.

“You risked your life for that scrawny thing?” the witcher asked, amused disbelief coloring his tone.

“That scrawny thing is probably the most valuable thing we own, so yes,” Jaskier snapped. He couldn’t stand it when out-of-towners looked at him like that, like he was a stupid farm boy who knew little more than dirt and chickens. Which, to be fair, he didn’t, but it wasn’t as if he wanted it that way.

The witcher’s face cleared to something more akin to understanding—thank the gods it wasn’t pity. “Then I suppose I owe it to you to help catch her,” he said, and in the blink of an eye he’d snatched Henrietta up. Jaskier accepted her into his arms somewhat stunned.

“Thank you,” he eventually managed to stammer. The witcher said nothing in return, and they stood there for a long, awkward moment, before Jaskier realized he was probably waiting for something. “Oh! I don’t—I don’t have anything to pay you with…” he trailed off, recalling all the old adages, that witchers never worked for free. Fuck. Renfri wouldn’t be home for days if not weeks still, and the only coin he had he needed to save for the market day after tomorrow.

The witcher began to speak—what it was he was going to say, Jaskier didn’t know, but he interrupted as an idea struck him. “But I can offer you the Law of Surprise!” he suggested, recalling the ballads of children promised to witchmen. “We’ve a bitch due for pups soon—perhaps we’ll return home and you’ll find yourself with a companion to warm the long nights on the road!”

“Hmm,” the witcher replied, but it wasn’t a no, so he figured that it probably meant he wasn’t about to be forced into the witcher’s debt. Humming, he led the way back to the farmstead, the witcher a silent, hulking protector at his back.

Once they arrived, Jaskier was quick to secure Henrietta in the barn, where normally there would be pigs, but now, after sickness had taken their only sow, there was only dust and hay and the occasional mouse. He left Henrietta to her mouse hunting and led the witcher to the cottage, throwing open the door, excited to see what surprise he might find.

“Jaskier, why the fuck have you brought a witcher home?” asked Renfri, perched on the table and cleaning underneath her fingernails with one of her many knives.

Jaskier paled. “Renfri! You’re—you’re not meant to be home yet,” he choked out.

“What, you’re not happy to see me?” she drawled, eyebrows knitting together. Jaskier, helpless, threw a glance back at the witcher, who was wearing a thunderous expression. Shit.

“I—not in this case, no,” Jaskier said tersely. “Fuck.”

“Some welcome,” she said faux-calmly, hopping down off the table. Jaskier recognized the tenseness in her form that spoke of a predator preparing to pounce. Sure enough, she lunged a moment later, her knife held a half-inch away from the witcher’s throat. Jaskier yelped. “Did he hurt you, Julek?” she asked, not taking her eyes off the witcher’s face.

“No, nothing of the sort, now put that down,” Jaskier hissed, tugging ineffectually at her arm. “He saved me, in fact, and…”

“And?” Renfri asked lowly.

“…and I may have promised him the Law of Surprise in return,” Jaskier finished all in a rush, wincing. “I swear, Ren, if I’d known…”

“That’s the thing about surprises,” the witcher interjected. “But you needn’t worry. I have no plans to claim your—sister?” Jaskier nodded. “As I said before, I need no payment.”

Renfri lowered her knife, and Jaskier breathed a bit easier for it. Renfri was a formidable fighter, but Jaskier doubted even her strength against a witcher. If a fight had broken out, he’d have had to—well, not help, because he was rather useless in a fight, but it was the principle of the matter.

“I suppose I could do worse for myself,” Renfri mused, looking Geralt over critically.

“Wait you’re—Renfri, he said he wouldn’t claim you, you don’t have to.”

“And what if I want to?” Renfri answered. “He seems a decent sort. And not too hard on the eyes, either.”

The witcher, looking uncomfortable, stood there and said nothing.

Jaskier threw his hands up. “You’re insane. And you!” he said, turning to the witcher. “Are you agreeing to this?”

“The life of a witcher isn’t well suited to… companionship,” the witcher replied, face twisted. “Walking the Path is difficult.”

“And if I promise that I can handle myself?” Renfri asked, twirling her knife in one of the many tricks she was proud of. “I’m no stranger to the road. It’s Jaskier you’d have to watch out for.”

“I resent that,” Jaskier said mildly, mostly out of principle. But the prospect was too exciting to dwell on it for long—was Renfri truly proposing that they set out with a witcher? “Ren, do you mean it?”

“If your witcher is fine with it, then I don’t see why not,” she replied. “What do you say, witcher?”

“Geralt,” the witcher corrected her. “If we’re to travel together, you ought to at least know my name.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier repeated. It rolled off the tongue wonderfully. “Oh, this is so exciting! I’m going to write so many songs, just wait,” he gushed. “The Witcher and the Shrike—I can hear it now.”

Renfri pulled him out of his thoughts with a cuff to the shoulder. “Ow,” he said mildly. “Wait—you are planning on sharing, right?” he interjected. “Because, I mean, look at him.”

“Am I a toy to be shared among siblings?” Geralt asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Is that a no, you don’t want to sleep with both of us? Because I’ll respect that, I will, but also, not to objectify you or whatever, but dear gods please, I think my poor heart might break if I didn’t get to fuck you at least once.”

“Jaskier! Leave my Husband Surprise alone,” Renfri said, shoving him away. “Go get packed. Essentials only!”

“Alright, alright, I’m going,” Jaskier placated, raising his hands in surrender. “Don’t get up to anything while I’m gone, you lovebirds.”

As he left, Geralt turned to Renfri. “Is he always like this?”

“Yeah, he’s chronically stupid. Gets it from our father.”

“Remind me again why I agreed to this?”

“Don’t know, but it’s too late now. You’re stuck with us, witcher,” Renfri replied, looping an arm around Geralt’s.

Geralt made a show of sighing, but in truth, he wasn’t annoyed as all that. At least it would make life more interesting.

#the witcher #witcher fanfiction #geraskier #geralt/renfri #geralt/jaskier/renfri #geralt/jaskier #witcher rarepair summer bingo #wrsb #geralt #renfri #jaskier

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jaskiersvalley · 4 years

Note

Hello! I love your work. Would you ever consider writing about a shapeshifter! Jaskier? 🙇‍♀️

While I already have the shifter AU going, this ask has prompted a very different idea. I have nothing to say for myself and I am so very sorry in advance. This is not what anybody could have possibly asked for but it’s what has happened so...enjoy?

The problem with giving Geralt the one blessing he asked for was that Jaskier missed him. And, damn his heart, Jaskier still cared for Geralt, knew that eventually things would settle between them. It might take Geralt a few years, maybe a couple of decades, he was emotionally dense, but they would travel together again. That didn’t mean Jaskier didn’t want to at least keep tabs on him. So he travelled adjacent to Geralt, far enough away to hear of him but not enough to get underfoot or encounter Geralt. Or so he thought.

As far as performances went, Jaskier had been quite pleased with the evening. He had a tidy sum of coin in his pouch, lute slung on his back and making his way to the inn where he was told he could request a room. The murmurings got to Jaskier before anything else and he was grateful. A witcher was in town. A certain white haired, grumpy as fuck witcher. It would have been generous to say Jaskier panicked. No, he freaked out. Not wanting to encounter Geralt just yet but also missing him somewhat fierce, Jaskier did the only thing that made sense. He was near the stables, likely where Geralt would leave Roach. Who was the next best thing and would understand, Jaskier had chats with her before while Geralt was off fighting some monster or other. So, in a fit of worry, Jaskier did the only thing that made sense. He ran into the stables, found an empty stall and shifted. No doubt Roach would be put in the stall next to him and then they could catch up. She had some quite pithy commentary sometimes, especially about Geralt’s choices.

Only, there was no Roach, no Geralt but the stable-hand had come in and Jaskier was stuck. Especially when it was noted that he was there without any explanation. Words spread quickly about the horse just left in the stable without pay or anything else. Nobody seemed to know where he had come from, and now there were more and more people coming by to look at him and Jaskier couldn’t shift back. It was getting awkward.

“I heard there was a horse without an owner,” an all too familiar voice rumbled and the couple of people eyeing Jaskier up parted. Geralt strode forward and looked over Jaskier with a critical eye, lifting his legs to inspect him. “If nobody comes for him in the morning, I’ll take him. 500 oren.”

Just like that Jaskier was sold to Geralt. Things couldn’t get more awkward.

They absolutely did get more awkward. In the morning, nobody had come forward to claim Jaskier so Geralt handed over a pouch of coin and unbuckled a saddle and other riding bits and bobs from his pack. Too stunned to resist, Jaskier let himself be equipped with it all and he was led out. Geralt swung up on his back and they started their way out of town. All Jaskier could think was that Geralt was really sodding heavy.

Nothing was said until it was dusk, Jaskier was grumbling about Geralt and his lazy ass refusing to walk. They had found a nice little clearing and Geralt tied Jaskier to a tree. The indignity of it all had Jaskier tossing his head, smacking Geralt with his mane.

“Alright Roach, alright,” Geralt murmured. Which. Wait. What?! Jaskier was most definitely not Roach. He needed to know what happened to Roach, his dear girl couldn’t have met an unfortunate end. However, there was no way he could ask without revealing his identity to Geralt and that would only lead to more arguments.

What Jaskier didn’t anticipate was for Geralt to start talking while his dinner cooked over the small fire.

“You’ll get used to the quiet, don’t worry.” An ironic thing to say given that Geralt was breaking the silence. “There was a time it wasn’t like this.” If Jaskier wasn’t mistaken, there was a fond smile on Geralt’s lips. “There was lute music, half hummed lyrics, complaining, so much complaining.”

Suddenly, Jaskier didn’t want to listen anymore. He didn’t want to hear Geralt besmirch his good name to even his horse. Who was, unfortunately, not a horse but the very person Geralt was reminiscing about.

“You would have probably liked him,” Geralt continued, unaware of Jaskier’s conundrum. “Jaskier always loved Roach, he would have probably adored you. Tried to spoil you. He made life better for everyone.”

Oh no. Grealt was not doing this. Jaskier snorted and stomped to try and put an end to it all.

“Definitely would have liked you,” Geralt laughed bitterly. “He was a bit of a dramatic idiot too. I’d heard he was in the town I found you. But by the time I got there, he had disappeared. Wasn’t at the inn he was told he’d have a room at. Maybe he heard I was in the area and ran.” This time, Geralt actually sounded tired and sad. “I can’t really blame him. It’s not like he knows I want to apologise. I wasn’t nice to him.”

Jaskier blew air out through his nostrils heavily and Geralt turned to look at him with a wry uptick of his lips. “Thanks, for judging me but not hating me for it. I do enough of that by myself.”

After that, Jaskier really couldn’t shift and reveal his true nature. This wouldn’t have happened if he had just been honest with Geralt from the start, shown him his true nature. But no, Jaskier had wanted to play human and now he was paying the price. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. And fuck again.

The charade went on for three days. Jaskier suffered Geralt on his back in exchange for being talked at. Surprisingly, Geralt really liked to talk to his horse. Mostly it was about hunts of the past, more detailed than he had ever shared with Jaskier in his human form. The topic of Jaskier himself came up more than once, Geralt grumbling about hearing snatches of his songs being murdered by other bards. Finally, the topic of old Roach came up too and Jaskier neighed in laughter. Winter had been cold in Kaer Morhen, vicious and the stable hadn’t held up as well as the witchers had assumed. Roach made more than close friends with Scorpion when the wall separating their stalls crumbled away. So now, she was up in Kaer Morhen, keeping Vesemir company and due to drop a foal a little before winter.

In those three days, Jaskier also waited patiently while Geralt stumbled across a nest of drowners, they outran a warg pack and took out a contract on a kikimora. Nothing Jaskier hadn’t really seen before. He even enjoyed it a little, confident that in his horse form he could run to safety.

Everything unravelled when Geralt returned from the kikimora hunt, a hewn off head dangling from his hand. He approached Jaskier and that was when Jaskier realised what was about to happen. There was no way on earth Geralt was going to tie a dripping, disgusting monster part to Jaskier and sully his beautiful fur.

“Oh no you don’t!” Jaskier growled, shifting into human form and backing away from Geralt. “That is not going anywhere near me.”

Fuck.

They stared at each other, Geralt blinking and frowning.

“I thought I could smell you,” he said dumbly in the end. Which. Okay. Weird as hell to open with that over everything else. But Jaskier could play the game.

“Nice to see you too, Geralt.”

“That too.” Obviously, Geralt had not changed a single bit. Which Jaskier could have deducted without the latest exchange. “If I use a throw to cover you, will you take the kikimora head back to the village? It’s a long way to carry.”

Well then. Jaskier rolled his eyes. It seemed they were not going to have the conversation in that moment. Relenting, he shifted back into horse form and trod on Geralt’s toes in warning.

“You’ve listened to me for the last three days. I’m not repeating myself,” Geralt grumbled. However, he did loop his arms around Jaskier’s neck in a quick hug. Maybe he did find non-human forms easier to interact with. It made Jaskier wonder whether something made Geralt averse to humanity. Who was he kidding? Being a witcher was reason enough, humans treated him like shit. Bumping his head against Geralt’s chest in reply, he started walking, Geralt falling into place beside him.

“Thank you.” The words were quiet but no less heartfelt. “For coming back to me.”

Jaskier found he was rather glad himself.

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #shifter jaskier au #tldr: jaskier is a shifter and accidentally becomes the next roach

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longing-and-heartache-and-lust · 3 years

Text

So, I have promised @spielzeugkaiser a fic based on this amazing thing and what do you know, I finally lived up to that promise. Please, accept this humble Easter gift ✨💕

I was supposed to post in a couple of days back but when I was literally two sentences away from the end, my laptope froze and deleted the entire thing, so this a 2.0 version

As a witcher, Geralt usually thought himself ready for just about anything.

No monsters, curses or wars were something that he didn’t know how to deal with, the long training in Kaer Morhen and the even longer life on the Path having prepared him for all the highs and lows, however good or bad.

The thing he wasn’t prepared for, however, was raising a child.

Especially a girl. Especially a baby girl, his gorgeous little Child Surprise.

If it wasn’t for Jaskier, Geralt really wasn’t sure if he would’ve been able to not only survive the eight months that they’ve had her but to keep the princess alive, as well. For the first couple of weeks, he was terrified of as much as holding her in his arms because she was just so small that he was afraid he’s going to break her if he as much as touches her the wrong way.

Gradually, over the months, Jaskier had convinced him that it’s alright and that there aren’t a lot of people he knows with their hands as gentle as Geralt’s anyway. That might’ve made the witcher blush uncontrollably but it did ease the worry in his chest.

Overall, the time went by quickly. It was bewildering to think that Ciri is just a few weeks from turning one year old.

It goes without saying, though, that if it wasn’t for the rather long list of friends that were more than happy to babysit, that time would’ve felt a lot longer. The list started with Jaskier’s bardic friends like Priscilla, went on to Regis and ended with Geralt’s brothers who were so hopelessly in love with the little princess that they kept travelling to Toussaint to visit them on what seemed like every opportunity they could get.

Out of the entire list, Geralt’s favourite babysitter was Eskel.

The witcher would always bring his goat with him, even though it was far beyond Geralt how that little fragile creature could make it over the Amell mountains over and over again on those thin wobbly legs, and there didn’t seem to be anything that Ciri loved more than that goat.

Watching the young princess play with it in the gardens of Corvo Bianco, losing balance every now and then and flopping down into the grass would make Eskel wipe at his eyes every single time only to then heatedly convince Jaskier that it’s his allergies and he’s not crying. The bard would simply nod with a knowing look while also being well aware that witchers do not have allergies.

Eskel was a very good babysitter, that was true. He played with Ciri for hours and if the weather wasn’t warm enough for them to stay outside, he would read to her even though there was barely anything she understood.

Jaskier’s personal favourite, however, had always been Coën.

Whenever the Griffin would visit them, he would straight up steal their child and take her on adventures, riding down to the slopes of Blessure or to the nearby towns, Ciri safe and very happy in his lap.

And when they would return in the evening, he would stay with her in the garden, providing the princess with just about anything that she could poke him - but not herself - with, explain that that is a sword and then proceed to fall dead every single time she would crawl or wobble over to him and poke him in the leg.

Geralt was worried that Coën is putting the princess in danger but she never laughed as much as she laughed with him, and there was simply nothing that Geralt could do when he heard that sound. after all, he was but a man and his heart had its limits.

Jaskier, on the other hand, had never been worried about leaving Ciri with Coën because even though it seemed like the witcher was raising a little warrior out of her, she would never have as much a scratch on her whenever she was with him.

Eventually, Geralt had also grown used to Coën’s understanding of babysitting.

While Eskel was like a mother hen to the girl, he supposed, Coën was his polar opposite.

A cock, Geralt had once proposed, very drunk and then spilt his entire drink on himself, laughing.

Overall, both Geralt and Jaskier were more than happy to let someone else look out for the princess for an hour or two, assured that she is perfectly safe and taken care of.

Whenever Yennefer or Priscilla would visit, it was simply the best thing they could’ve asked for because they would spend entire days with Ciri, telling them both to make themselves busy with something else because their daughter was not going to be theirs for the next couple of days. Those were the times that everything would almost go back to the way it was before the princess was introduced to their lives, and even though they both missed her dearly when Yen or Priscilla would put her down to sleep with them, in the guest bedroom, spending a day or two in bed felt heavenly.

Sometimes it was Regis that volunteered and whenever he would take Ciri with him to Beauclair, she would return in the most gorgeous dresses Jaskier’s ever seen. When he would say that she’s going to grow out of them in a month or two and that Regis shouldn’t spend so much coin, he would simply say that he has to spend it on something and that it makes him happy to see the princess enjoying herself.

All that being said, there was also Lambert.

And it’s not that he was a bad babysitter - because he wasn’t - it was that it seemed to be his life’s purpose to slip Ciri some ale instead of water on the first instance that he thought would be safe for her. He still has not managed to, Barnabas-Basil keeping a very close eye on him whenever he would go into the kitchen but he was getting there.

Ciri did adore him, though, and that made Geralt ask the gods why is she drawn to bad influence so much.

“Two hours, Lambert,” he says, placing a kiss on Ciri’s temple and handing her over to the younger witcher, automatically taking his hair away when she reaches out to tug on it. “Give us two hours and we’ll join you for dinner. Don’t you dare break my child in that time.”

“Yes-yes,” Lambert said, rolling his eyes and ushering Geralt towards the bedroom. “Now go to your bard.”

With a sigh and one final look over his shoulder, Geralt does as he’s told, crossing the hallway to open the bedroom door and slip inside.

Jaskier is already in bed, waiting for him, and once Geralt lays eyes upon him, the worry in his chest eases, almost disappears. Just a little sleep-deprived, with that impossibly soft look in his eyes, the bard looks more than perfect.

“Come, love,” he smiles, reaching out to take Geralt’s hand and pull him down onto the bed with him. “Don’t worry about her, she’s going to be just fine, you know that as well as I do. He loves her.”

Geralt sighs but can’t help the smile tugging on the corner of his lips when Jaskier leans in and places a kiss on the tip of his nose.

“I know,” he nods. “I know.”

They’ve got a ridiculous amount of pillows on their bed but Geralt finds that very convenient when Jaskier pulls him into a long, sweet kiss and he can lower him down onto those pillows, a soft pleased rumble escaping his chest.

Breaking away, he finds his way to Jaskier’s neck, peppering soft, gentle kisses over the tender skin there and only stopping for a second when the bard tugs his shirt up and over his head.

Out of habit, Geralt keeps half an ear out for Ciri, just to make sure she’s alright, and for an impressively long time - considering that she’s with Lambert - he doesn’t pick up anything out of the ordinary.

And he almost completely forgets himself in the feeling of Jaskier’s warm skin against his own, his hands and lips when, on the very edge of his consciousness, he registers Ciri’s wobbling steps, hears her knock into pieces of furniture as she reaches out to hold on to them.

By the sound of it, she’s making her way towards their bedroom door and, soon enough, there are Lambert’s hurried steps to follow.

“No getting away from me, little lady,” he says, Ciri laughing as he scoops her up into his arms. “Now be a good little nuisance and let your dads fuck.”

Geralt almost chuckles at that, about to go back to trailing kisses down Jaskier’s chest, when he hears Ciri’s high-pitched, excited voice.

“Fuck!”

He freezes, suppressing a whine and Lambert, bursting out into laugher, doesn’t make matters better.

“What is it?” Jaskier says, perking up, the sound loud enough for him to hear.

Just at that, the door to their bedroom swings open and the younger witcher waltzes in, holding Ciri above his head and almost bumping her into the doorframe.

“Put your dicks away and look what your kid can do!” he says, loud enough for the dutchess in her castle in Beauclair to hear.

“Fuck!” Ciri repeats again, matching the volume to the witcher.

Jaskier’s eyes light up and he sits up on the bed, holding the blanket up to his chest and straight-up beaming, his smile so wide that Geralt is genuinely concerned for his well-being.

“Oh, sweet Melietele, it’s her first word!” he says, reaching his arms out for Lambert to deposit the girl into them. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so proud of you!”

He pulls Ciri to his chest, tears in his eyes and that is just about everything that’s keeping Geralt from ripping Lambert apart on the spot.

“Two hours,” he says, defeated. “I asked you to look after her for two hours and you taught my daughter to curse.”

Lambert gives him the very best shit-eating grin he can muster and winks.

“Oh, you’re just mad because you weren’t there to hear it for the first time,” he teases.

Without really giving Geralt the chance to answer, he takes Ciri back from Jaskier’s arms and retreats to the door, still grinning.

“I shall allow you to go back to your ministrations,” he says, closing the door behind him.

Geralt lets out a long sigh and lays down to rest his head on Jaskier’s chest, the bard playing with his hair gently.

“Never again am I going to leave them alone without extra supervision,” Geralt says.

Jaskier snorts and pulls him up into a kiss, smiling against his lips.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Never in my fucking life.”

#I don't even celebrate Easter but I had to have an excue for putting this off for so long #so were we are #the witcher #geraskier #my writing #calton writes

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

Note

The 80s au prompt! Maybe a new transfer student tries to bully Jaskier, thinking he's the bottom of the social ladder? And the football team sets them straight? Or maybe they try to flirt with one of the boys despite being warned away? I just love this verse so damn much! ♥️

(I do love me a jealous Geralt tbh)

tw: panic attack, soft geralt, protective geralt, itty bitty anxiety committee jaskier, Letterman’s jacket

---

Geralt glanced around the cafeteria but Jaskier was nowhere to be seen. Kevin tapped his shoulder and set his tray down at their usual table, “Your boyfriend got volunteered to show some new kid around. I’m sure he’s just a few minutes late.”

“Oh.”

As if on cue, a bright laugh could be heard approaching from the distance. Jaskier and a slightly taller boy were walking shoulder-to-shoulder, laughing and talking as they made their way towards the gathering football team. As they approached Geralt heard Jaskier say, “The one with the long white hair is my boyfriend.”

The stranger looked Geralt up and down out of the corner of his eye. “Would you mind if I sat with you guys today while I catch my bearings?”

“I’m sure that would be fine.”

They finally reached the table. Jaskier plopped himself into his reserved seat at the quarterback’s side and gestured to an empty chair nearby. “Guys, this is Max. Max, this is Geralt, Kevin, Dave, Mark, Steven, Reggie, and Charlie.”

“Nice to meet you all,” the new kid waved. “I’m Max. Juli-uh..Jaskier has been showing me around.”

“You’ll get used to the nickname,” Jaskier smiled pleasantly. “Max is from Aedirn.”

“Welcome to Kaedwen,” Geralt offered. “Glad you could join us!”

“Glad to be here!” Max replied. A pair of golden eyes narrowed slightly in his direction. Geralt didn’t like the way Max seemed to lean towards Jaskier every time the brunette spoke, or how he looked to Jaskier for approval when he made teasing remarks. He definitely didn’t like the way Max’s hand rested on Jaskier’s arm or shoulder whenever he agreed with him.

Geralt was...jealous.

---

“If that Max kid doesn’t stop touching Jaskier every time they hang out together, Geralt might just pop a blood vessel,” Kevin laughed, adjusting the weights on his machine. He, Dave, and Mark were all working one end of the weight room while Geralt was on the other, bench pressing nearly fifteen pounds more than his boyfriend’s body weight.

“Do you want to warn the little bastard or should I?” Mark asked.

“I got it,” Kevin waved him off. “I’ll save his ass from getting kicked.”

---

Kevin didn’t have time to warn him, unfortunately, because Max was an entire fucking fool.

Jaskier had been waiting outside the locker room for Geralt and his teammates to finishing showering up after their workout when Max appeared from seemingly nowhere. The new kid claimed that he’d gotten lost and quickly resumed their conversation from lunch, touching their shoulders together insistently as he tried to convince Jaskier to flirt back. “So you said you like Duran Duran earlier, right? I have their latest record if you wanna come over some time and listen. My system is amazing; I saved up all summer to get new stereo speakers.”

“That’s cool but-”

“You’ll dig it, I promise. We can even smoke a joint or two if you’re into the weed scene; my dad is totally cool with that kind of shit.”

“I appreciate it, Max, and I’d love to hang out sometime but-”

“You’re just...” Max leaned down towards Jaskier. The smaller sophomore was boxed in against the wall, his heart picking up speed in his chest as he began to panic. His next set of refusals got stuck in his throat and he prayed for his boyfriend to come to his rescue. “You’re really just too cute for your own good, Julian.”

“Did you miss the part at lunch where he said I was his boyfriend?” Geralt asked. He’d exited the locker room just in time to see the panic start to spread across Jaskier’s face. The redness creeping up from his boyfriend’s collar to stain his cheeks wasn’t from flattery; Jaskier was legitimately frightened of the the other, larger sophomore.

Jaskier fell gratefully against Geralt’s side and let the quarterback wrap a large, white-leather Letterman’s jacket around his shoulders possessively. “Better, babe?”

Jaskier buried his nose in the collar and breathed deeply, willing his heartbeat to slow back to normal. Geralt turned to face him. He ran a comforting hand through Jaskier’s soft, brunette hair and cupped his face, rubbing his thumb across the younger boy’s blood-warm cheekbone.”Are you going to be okay? Do you need a minute to breathe?”

Jaskier nodded and Max’s eyebrows furrowed. “What’s wrong with him?”

“You gave him a panic attack, you useless fuck,” Dave explained from behind him. Max whirled around. The rest of the Kaedwen Academy Wolves were standing in a group, arms crossed over their chests, their expressions a matching set of grim disappointment. “If Jaskier had hyperventilated and passed out, would you have carried him off to the back of your shitty car?”

“I-uh-I-”

“You’d better get going,” Geralt urged. “Wolves are very territorial creatures.”

“I’m sorry, guys, really. I didn’t mean-”

“It doesn’t matter what you meant,” Geralt growled. Jaskier ducked his head beneath Gearlt’s chin and let the older boy’s hands run up and down his back. The strokes were firm, soothing, and endlessly tender. He felt better already. “What matters is that you scared my boyfriend.”

Max fucked up again, of course. “And the whole football team would get suspended in order to protect this one twink?”

Mark cracked his knuckles automatically. Nobody talked shit about Jaskier like that. Not unless they wanted to enter a world of pain; but Geralt shook his head. “This one isn’t worth it, guys. We have a big game this weekend and I need all of you present on the field.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“But know this,” the white-haired giant turned to Max. His honey-gold eyes blazed with a fury that not even Geralt’s teammates had ever seen before. Dave, one of his closest friends in all the world, took a nervous step back on instinct. Geralt’s voice was low and dangerous as he continued, “If you ever so much as breathe on my boyfriend without his express verbal consent again, you will never know peace. You should know that I will get you back somehow. You won’t know when and you won’t know how, but you’ll get what’s coming to you if you. So I’d better not hear your name come out of his mouth again unless it’s to tell me that you were being a perfect gentleman. Understood?”

Max nodded and disappeared in a flash.

---

“Thanks for helping me out with that creep today,” Jaskier sighed, snuggling closer into Geralt’s side. They were tucked into Jaskier’s bed, with the sophomore’s hand splayed across his boyfriend’s abdomen. Geralt’s hair was haloed across the pillowcase in a spray of silver and Jaskier thought he looked angelic. “You’re beautiful, you know that? You’re my white knight.”

“Does that make you the princess?”

“You know what, I was wrong. You’re actually the dragon. This is the tower and you are the dragon.” Jaskier threw the back of his hand up against his forehead and whispered dramatically, “Oh save me! Somebody save me!”

Geralt pressed several quick kisses against his boyfriend’s temple and cheek, chuckling. “Goober.”

“Mhm. Your Goober.”

“That’s right,” Geralt nodded, tightening his arms around the smaller boy. “Mine.”

#geraskier fic #geraskier #geraskier 80's au #80's teen geraskier au #high school 80's geraskier #geraskier prompt fill #geraskier 80's prompt #jealous geralt #protective geralt #anxious jaskier #panic attack tw #anxiety tw #it's very brief #geraskier fluff #geralt x jaskier #quarterback geralt #theatre gay jaskier

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x-starshines-x · 3 years

Text

JatP Fanworks Appreciation Week

Work in Progress Wednesday

i told @mamirugbee that i'd do what i can this week!!

here's a little wip of a bobby fic that i'm working on :)

Weep, little lion man, you’ll never be what is in your heart. Weep, little lion man, you’re not as brave as you were at the start.

When he was younger, Bobby got into a lot of fights. They were almost always someone else's fault, how could he be blamed for sticking up for himself or some other kid? Most teachers didn’t care how or why a fight started, just how it ended, and if it ended with Bobby’s fist knocking out some “poor, defenseless” kid’s front teeth out, then he was the one that would be punished for it. That’s how he ended up transferring from seven different schools in less than five years.

It’s also how he ended up staying with his grandparents when he was thirteen. Only after moving from his parents, three separate aunts, a cousin, and his mother’s estranged brother. No one wanted him for long. He wasn’t ungrateful, (regardless of what the various counsellors, teachers, therapists, and cops had to say about him) he just couldn’t turn a blind eye to bullies. It wasn’t right that someone could just wake up one day and decide to make someone else’s life miserable. His grandparents, at least, understood that, and more importantly they didn’t blame him. In fact, they’d made it very clear that they were supportive, and even proud of him for doing what’s right. That in itself still confused him, but he wasn’t gonna question a good thing too much. Living with them was the best thing that could have possibly happened to him, for several reasons.

He’d been kicked out of two schools for fighting the year he moved in with them, and while they understood his righteous energy, they also begged him to please make this new school last as they were running out of options. He promised them, and himself, no more fights in school. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t even make it three steps onto school property before he was sure that that promise was going right out the window. He sent a silent apology to his poor, long suffering grandparents for what he was about to do and charged around the staircase. The sounds of a scuffle, and casually thrown slurs were getting louder as he rounded the corner. Surveying the situation, he started weighing his odds. There were three older boys, probably ninth graders or so, surrounding a boy that looked closer to Bobby’s age, maybe even younger.

The first thing he noticed was how small the younger boy looked, and honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that he was shielding his face with a history textbook that Bobby knew was part of the standard eighth grade class (he’d been in two before and the textbook had stayed constant), he would have thought the kid was a sixth grader. The older boys were fairly scrawny too, the middle one was only slightly taller than Bobby, and brunette. The one on his left was a little shorter but stronger looking than the first boy, while the one on the right was blonde and painfully average looking. Bobby was confident he could subdue them if he had to. He decided that he would attempt to get them to back off with words, and only start swinging if one of them tried to hit him first.

“Hey assholes!” he shouts, trying to shift the attention from the boy on the ground to himself.

The three boys whip their heads around, looking for a teacher probably, but their faces relax into casual smirks when they realize it’s another student. The one in the middle, presumably the ringleader, steps forward looking Bobby up and down.

“Yeah, what the fuck do you want?”

Bobby bristles at his bored tone and steps closer himself.

“I wanna know what the hell is going on here.” he spits angrily, gesturing at the scene in front of him.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business, kid,” he says, as if Bobby being younger than him is some grave misstep, then continues. “Besides, what would you even do about it if it was?” he challenges.

Bobby almost breaks his promise -and the kid’s nose- right there, but manages to keep himself under control. He sets his jaw and stares daggers into the other boy’s eyes.

“I think that you three should leave,” he grits out, measured and deathly calm.

Sensing the threat, the boy on the left moves to flank the leader.

“He told you to get lost, kid. Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“I don’t think I’m anyone, but I know that you three are about to be scraping each other off of the sidewalk if you don’t start hauling ass soon,” he responds with a dangerous grin.

He makes eye contact with the blonde one, the only one who hadn’t moved yet, and sees his expression shift like he’d just solved a big mystery.

“You’re the Wilson kid, aren’t you?” blondie asks, stepping back cautiously.

“Huh?” the grin on Bobby’s face falters for a second, in confusion. Why would this guy know him?

“I heard what you did to that kid at Paramount, and the one from Hawthorne,” he states. Looking to his friends, he warns, “I’m not getting fucked up by an eight grader for some little fairy, it’s not worth it.”

Bobby didn’t like remembering what happened at his other schools once he left them, but it was for a good cause this time. He could probably get them to back off without fighting. The way that the kid on the floor was shaking and flinched every time someone moved made him nervous to see what would happen if a real fight broke out. He knew what those reactions alluded to, and if he could get out of the situation without traumatizing the guy anymore he’d sure as hell try.

“I’d suggest,” the easy grin settles back on his features as he pushes into their space, “That if you don’t want to end up being ‘those kids from Los Feliz who got their shit rocked by the Wilson kid’, you Get. The fuck. Out of here.” he says the last part very slowly and quietly. He knows they can hear him by the way they shiver when he steps back.

He tries not to laugh too much at the way they fall over each other to run past him.

As soon as they turn the corner, Bobby’s focus snaps back to the boy on the floor. He looks even smaller like this, scrapes on his face and breathing ragged, even though the sources of the conflict are gone. Bobby selfishly wishes he would have gotten the chance to knock their teeth in for all they put this kid through. He approaches slowly, and tries to exude a calming aura while he holds his hand out to the boy.

“Need a hand?” he grins.

The boy looks almost shocked that someone is offering him help, and it takes all the self-control that Bobby has to not go tearing off in the direction of the bullies and make them regret even looking at this kid. He knows that this boy's reactions aren’t the sole fault of a few middle school bullies, no, it takes years of that kind of treatment for someone to react this way, and that only fuels the fire in Bobby’s soul.

The boy takes his hand and lets Bobby pull him to his feet, breathing out a small thanks. Now that he’s standing, Bobby notices that the kid has at least four inches on him, he’s still scrawny as hell though.

“It’s no problem, man. No one deserves that.” Bobby shrugs, the boy looks at him with a curious expression, like he’s trying to figure out if he’s joking or not.

“Anyway, I’m Bobby,” he says, hoping to gain the boy’s trust.

“Most people call me Peter. I haven’t seen you around here before,” the kid, Peter, says quickly, looking so flustered that the freckles on his face almost disappear with how red he is. Bobby figured that he hadn’t meant to say it so bluntly, or out loud for that matter.

“Yeah, I just transferred from Hawthorne. Today’s my first day,” he explains easily.

Peter seems more at ease with Bobby, and smiles at him widely.

“That’s sick, do you have your schedule? Maybe we have some classes!”

“Yeah, just gimme one sec.” he says, fishing out the crumpled paper from his mess of a backpack. He never claimed to be organized.

Tag List: (i don't really have one yet but here,,) @jaskiers-sweetkiss @bright-molina you guys were in the chat while i was piecing this together

#i said little wip then proceeded to unload 1400 words on you #julie and the phantoms #jatp #bobby wilson #reggie peters

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friendofhayley · 4 years

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In the midst of chaos, it’s healthy to sometimes soothe ourselves with fiction so thank you, fic writers, for providing us with a safe space. Anyway here’s a list of the best fics I read this month. This rec includes 18 fics from Game of Thrones, One Direction, Teen Wolf, and The Witcher fandoms. The starred ones are *special*

Sanrion (Game of Thrones)

1. A Change of Fate by TheTruffalo | time travel fix-it fic - slow burn - BAMF!Sansa - all the unexpected friendships - 119k+

What would happen if Sansa Stark travelled back in time to the beginning of Game of Thrones? How would she change the future? With her knowledge of the future, marriage to Tyrion Lannister, allegiances to the Targarian Dynasty and lets not forget her tutelage under the notorious Lord Baelish, what will she change? She is not a Little Bird this time, no, now she is a wolf. This time she will come out on top. The question is, who will she bring with her and who will be the collateral? It is all in the days work when playing the Game of Thrones; and she has learned from the best.

2. *The North Remembers* (series) by K_R_Closson, tasalmalin | BAMF!Sansa - the revenge tastes so sweet - time travel fix-it fic - more action than romance - 3 parts

When Sansa and Theon flee Winterfell, they encounter someone who can give Sansa a chance to start over. Sansa has to determine what she can change and what she has to accept to get a future she wants.

Larry (One Direction)

3. haunted by the ghost of you by @missandrogyny | real estate agent Louis - angst and fluff - memory loss - enemies to friends to lovers - 49k

“Hi,” the boy—the ghost—says to Louis. His face shifts; somehow his dimples dig deeper into his cheeks. His eyes flit from Louis, to Niall, to Liam, and finally to Zayn, and his face goes from shocked to elated. “I’m Harry.”

At in that exact moment, standing between three of his best friends and staring at a (quite handsome) ghost, Louis can only think one thing.

Nick Grimshaw was right.

4. I’ve Been Hoping You’d Be Somewhere Better Than This by @runaway-train-works | enemies to lovers - rough sex - unrequited love - Louis is such a bottom brat - 39k

The one where Louis is up for a promotion, he just has one tiny, little problem standing in his way.

5. thinking about the t-shirt you sleep in by @absoloutenonsense | friends to lovers - heavy mutual pining - misunderstandings - fluff and angst - 52k

Harry’s alpha fraternity donates to a local thrift shop (because of Liam’s latent crush on a cute beta in his lecture). Louis’ financial situation (and confusing omega instincts) lead him to make some interesting fashion purchases. Lots of pizza, feelings, and not-really-lying.

6. *What’s It Gonna Be?* by @shesarealphony | GOD TIER FIC - based on this music video - there are lesbians!! - gay found family !! - 35k

Louis and Bebe, best friends since childhood, have crushes on two of the most popular kids in school, and in an attempt to increase their respective chances, Louis befriends Harry Styles, quarterback of the football team, while Bebe befriends Clare Uchima, head cheerleader. Only… the plan… doesn’t go exactly as planned.

Zouis (One Direction)

7. Gravity Always Wins by @writeivywrite | canon - friends to lovers - ot5 - misunderstandings - 17k

The truth is: if they weren’t in a band together, Zayn wouldn’t be friends with someone like Louis.

8. keep you like an oath by @ohnokonecny | strangers to lovers - Louis is a force of nature - American AU - fake relationship - 18k

Zayn doesn’t recognize the man through the peephole, but he looks harmless enough, so Zayn swings the door open, barely able to get out a greeting before,

“Hello, would you be interested in being my boyfriend?” The stranger asks.

“Uh,” Zayn mumbles, looking between the man and the space behind him, waiting for someone to jump out at him and tell him what’s going on. No one does. And the stranger is still grinning at him, blue eyes shining and teeth on full display as he waits. “Who are you?” Zayn finally asks, when the stranger makes no move to give him more information about what’s happening.

Sterek (Teen Wolf)

9. hope is the thing with feathers by @shanastoryteller | author wrote Survival is a Talent and you can tell because it’s amazing - first of a series - BAMF!Stiles - alive Hale family - 28k

Then he’s facing a burning home, and he wraps the hood of his sweatshirt around his mouth before he pushes the door open and steps inside. There’s Mr. Hale asleep - he hopes asleep - on the couch, next to - Stiles thinks that’s his brother but there are so many Hales, who can keep track. He rushes over and starts shaking him, can see the rise and fall of the man’s chest so he knows he’s alive, but he’s not waking up.

He shoves away his hood so he can shout, “Mr. Hale! You have to get up, there’s a fire! Mr. Hale, get up!” Nothing, he’s not even twitching, both of them taking in deep even breaths like they’re having the most peaceful of rests, and Stiles is going to cry. “Wake up, wake up, wake up!”

There’s a moment, where all Stiles can hear is the blood rushing in his ears and not the roar of the flames or the creak of wood, then with a violent, silent pop it’s all back and both of the men are gasping awake, eyes open and jumping to their feet.

10. Every stumble and each misfire by @everchanginginks | future fic - deputy Siles - BAMF!Stiles - soft Derek - 14k

Stiles hasn’t seen or heard from Derek in ten years. It’s a bit of a surprise to find out about Derek’s return to Beacon Hills through Tinder.

11. Hide Of A Life War by @etharei | BAMF!Stiles - Sheriff finds out - suspense - found family - 26k

The one in which Stiles has lived to (legal) adulthood and, along the way, become a bit of a badass himself.

12. Pale Skin and Fragile Bone by fakinbrilliance | BAMF!Stiles - mates - don’t underestimate the Hale pack - found family - 62k

Stiles asks Derek to teach him self-defense.

13. *Sweet Buns* by @pantstomatch | omega Stiles - misunderstandings - pining - Derek is bad at feelings - 17k

Stiles hasn’t seen Derek Hale this close up for over a decade. He looks almost exactly the same, except somehow he seems even bigger and broodier—criminally handsome, with soft-looking dark scruff, heavy brows, light hazel eyes. His gaze zeros in on Stiles almost immediately, and his scowl lightens minutely in what looks like surprise.

Stiles is acutely aware that he has melted butter and cinnamon all over his face, and tries to surreptitiously wipe it with the ends of his sweater-sleeve.

14. The Seven Lives of Stiles Stilinski by @glorious-spoon | angst with a happy ending - pining - time travel - hurt/comfort - 25k

Stiles disturbs an abandoned temple and catches the attention of a goddess of time and fate. When he starts time-traveling involuntarily through the past, he’s not sure if she means it as a curse or a lesson–but no matter when he travels to, he always seems to end up at Derek’s side.

7. *I know that you love me, even when I lose my head* by LunaCapisLupus_22 | amnesia - internalized homophobia - omega Stiles - BAMF!Stiles - 135k

“We’re not mates, Cora,” he insists. “I mean look at him-“

“Ouch,” the kid says, no longer pushing that shit eating grin.

“He’s- he’s,” Derek tries, at a loss of how to explain why this can’t be possible. Why it shouldn’t be possible.

15. Daybreak by TheObsidianQuill | SO much angst with a happy ending - slow burn - BAMF!Stiles - PTSD - 70k

The pack was gone. He had nothing left. He had no one. With nothing to lose, Stiles puts everything on the line to go back in time to try to prevent the future from becoming his past. Broken, guarded, and haunted by his past, only one overgrown-pup of a wolf seems able to get past his defenses. Changing the future? Easy. Finding a place for himself in the Hale Pack? Impossible.

16. *Not Your Disney Romance* by Rawren (Deshonanana) | THIS IS SO GOOD - the perfect mix of crack and angst - disabled Stiles - mind control - 42k

After a long-forgotten agreement of an arranged marriage between Derek and the daughter of another pack’s alpha resurfaces, Stiles takes it upon himself to become the most amazing fake fiancé that a clueless, desperate alpha werewolf could wish for.

Geraskier (The Witcher)

17. Landfall by round_robin | merman Jaskier - soft Geralt - future fic - trust porn - 10k

Geralt spotted Jaskier’s blue breeches neatly folded in the sand by the rock, his boots next to them, doublet unbuttoned and blowing in the wind. Those too blue eyes looked even brighter next to the sea and his heart skipped a beat. “Jaskier,” he sighed. He didn’t know what else to say.

While relief flooded Geralt—Jaskier was alive and well, no evil befell him after Geralt stupidly pushed him away—Jaskier didn’t seem to share his feelings. His lips turned down, shoulders slumped. Finally, he said, “Are you here to kill me?”

18. ‘My Own’ by @valleyofwitcher | creature Jaskier - found family - Kaer Morhen - they’re soft for each other - 43k

Jaskier has been hiding his draconic ‘heritage’ for as long as he could remember. And travelling with Geralt and Ciri, it didn’t seem to be an issue. That is until a notice comes up about hunting dragons.

All of a sudden, everything is thrown into disarray as he has to face feelings and impulses he had been suppressing for years, nothing seems safe anymore. Geralt tries to fix it.

#fic rec #monthly reads #multifandom #sterek #larry #larrie hijinks #the witcher #sanrion #game of thrones #zouis

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mordoriscalling · 3 years

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Life (of) Surprise (4/6)

Jaskier lies to his family about being engaged to Geralt for the second time… and there are way too many surprises involved.

Part 4 of the Singer and the Sailor AU that no one asked for but I wrote anyway (again). The chapter count went up again because I just can’t stop writing this story lmao.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

IV - A Surprise Discovery

Geralt is certain that a stag do shouldn’t involve this much crying.

The evening started innocently enough. They have had a room rented at a fancy club and they’re drinking, talking and playing cards. Geralt would rather do this at home but Lambert and Eskel told him not to be so “tragically boring”, hence the current arrangement.

Geralt’s been spending the day with “the guys”: Eskel, Lambert, Aiden, Vesemir, as well as his soon-to-be brother-in-law Silvio and not-quite soon-to-be brother-in-law Nasir. Jaskier, on the other hand, is away partying with “the girls”: Rozalia, Amelia, Triss, Essi and Yennefer.

Geralt hasn’t heard from Jaskier in a few hours, so he assumes his soon-to-be husband (only two months left to the wedding, and isn’t that a thought) is enjoying himself. Geralt, for his part, is having fun too; the stag do isn’t a disaster at all.

Then, it gets better.

Because Eskel is crying.

They were talking about Essi, commenting on what a lovely person she is. Although she’s not exactly Geralt’s type (he’s into people who are more... feisty), he still agrees that she’s a great woman – loving, warm, intelligent and beautiful inside out. Vesemir commented that there had to be many people mourning the fact that she was taken.

Eskel, upon hearing this, started weeping.

“Should we tell him?” Aiden, sitting beside Geralt, murmurs to Lambert.

“Nah,” Lambert replies gleefully.

They watch as Eskel sheds tears, mumbling about how much he’s in love with Essi but he wouldn’t dare to ruin her current relationship because she deserves happiness and –

To be fair, they have drunk a lot at this point.

Silvio and Nasir are clearly holding back their laughter. Lambert doesn’t even bother and guffaws freely, to which Eskel pays no mind, so lost he is in his despair. Aiden hides his face in the crook of Lambert’s neck, his shoulders shaking.

Vesemir seems more tired and sick of their shit than usual, though sparks of amusement dance in his eyes.

“I wasn’t aware this relationship makes you cry,” he tells Eskel gruffly, playing along.

“It does!” Eskel whines, “I should be her boyfriend.”

Vesemir’s lips tremor but he manages to keep his cool as he asks, “And what’s her boyfriend’s name?”

Eskel opens his mouth to respond but he says nothing. His brow creases in thought – it’s visible how the wheels are turning in his head – and then the moment comes when something clicks in his brain.

“Wait,” he says, understanding slowly dawning in his face.

At this, everyone at the table collectively loses it. Geralt is laughing so hard he’s slapping his thigh. Silvio and Nasir are in convulsions. Lambert and Aiden are leaning against each other, wheezing. Vesemir has to wipe the tears out of his eyes.

Eskel is too happy at the discovery to even notice the amusement at his expense. “I am her boyfriend!” he exclaims with wonder. Letting out a joyful chuckle, he repeats, “I’m her boyfriend!” He reaches for the bottle of vodka on the table. “We should drink to this!”

At the same time, Vesemir answers, “No.” and Aiden replies, “Yes!”

Vesemir plucks the bottle from Eskel’s hands and says, “You’ve had enough for now, pup.”

Lambert starts arguing and Geralt rolls his eyes. He then proceeds to drag his older brother to the side and force a lot of water and some food into him. While he does this baby-sitting, the phone in his pocket rings. As Geralt pulls it out, he’s surprised to find Jaskier’s name displayed on the screen. Slightly worried, he picks up.

“Hey, my loveliest sailor,” Jaskier slurs, his voice unsteady and watery. “Can I –” A sniff. “Can I come?”

Geralt frowns, bemused. “Shouldn’t we spent this night apart?”

“Fuck that,” Jaskier grumbles, “I miss you.”

“You haven’t seen me in five hours.”

“So?” Jaskier asks. “I just... want to see you. Please?”

Jaskier sounds downright miserable. Geralt has nearly come to terms with the fact that he may never master the art of telling Jaskier no but he's not fully resigned to his fate yet.

“Okay,” he answers.

“Are sure, darling? I won’t come if you don’t want to, you know,” Jaskier babbles nervously, “I don’t want to make you do anything you–”

“Jaskier,” Geralt sighs, “it’s fine, come here and bring the rest.”

Ever since their argument three months ago, Jaskier takes extreme care not to do anything without Geralt’s knowledge and consent. He keeps asking about every little idea, fretting and worrying whether he’s not overstepping. Most days, that’s the reassurance Geralt needs to keep believing in Jaskier's words. It does get tiring sometimes, though.

“All right.” Jaskier’s voice goes from resonating from the darkest depths of sadness to cheerful as the sun on a spring day in the span of those two words. “We’ll be there soon, my dearest.”

Geralt hums and hangs up.

After fifteen minutes more of trying to turn Eskel into a more or less functioning human being, Geralt witnesses the other stag do party members arrive. Jaskier opens the door to the room with a bang, his arms spread wide and a grin on his face.

“Geralt!” he exclaims and walks towards him with a prominent stagger in his step.

Before Geralt knows it, he has his arms full of drunk Jaskier. His fiancé peppers kisses all over his face and mumbles something nonsensical while Geralt holds him up, a smile tugging at his lips under all the loving attention.

In the corner of his eye, he can see the rest greeting each other, apart from Yennefer and Triss, who are watching him and Jaskier with a judgemental and an amused look respectively.

“Why are you here?” he asks Yen as Jaskier finally stops kissing him and embraces him instead.

“He was crying about how much he loves you,” she replies with an eye roll.

Triss snickers. “He was telling everyone about it, and I mean it. He wanted everyone in the club to know.”

Geralt stifles a groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. Yennefer and Triss laugh. Jaskier raises his head and blinks up at him owlishly.

“Something wrong, my gorgeous sailor?” he asks.

Geralt really bemoans the fact that even a single look from Jaskier can affect him considerably.

“No, siren,” he sighs, “We should join the rest.”

They ask the staff to bring another table and more chairs, and soon, everyone is sitting comfortably, talking, playing and drinking. Everyone except Essi when it comes to the last part, at least; Geralt quickly notices that she doesn’t touch any alcohol. She claims that she simply doesn’t feel like drinking but Eskel, who sits beside her, starts fretting, concerned that she’s ill.

“I’m fine,” she assures him.

“You sure?” he asks, “You haven’t been feeling well recently. Maybe you should see a doctor?”

Geralt’s the only one watching the exchange, as everybody else is occupied with the ongoing conversation about the rules of Monopoly. He sees hesitation in Essi’s face. She bits her lip, seemingly considering something for a moment, but then looks up at Eskel and smiles. “I think I should,” she replies, “seeing that I’m pregnant.”

Geralt freezes in shock. Eskel’s brain visibly short-circuits.

“The fuck. But we –” he stammers out, “Why, I mean, how –”

“I don’t know,” Essi answers, her eyes wide and apprehensive, “I really have no idea.”

Eskel nods slowly, his expression still absolutely flabbergastered. “Fuck,” he says, with much feeling.

Essi looks at him closely, uncertainty colouring her lovely face. “I know this very unexpected and you never wanted a family but perhaps we can... talk about it? We don’t have to keep it but I –”

Eskel seems to finally snap out of his shocked state. “Essi, no,” he says quietly, taking her face in his hands, “I never let myself have a family, but now that the baby is here... Holy fuck,” he breathes out, one of his palms moving to touch her abdomen. “There’s a baby here?” he asks, his voice cracking. She nods with a watery smile, and he takes her into his arms. His whole frame is shaking now, and there’re tears in his eyes. “A baby,” he chokes out. His tear fall but his whole face is alight with joy.

Suddenly, Geralt’s throat is tight. He knows that Eskel never considered himself a father material because of all the issues he’s been battling since his childhood, just like Geralt and Lambert. Although he was quite a ladies man in his youth, he never allowed any relationship to get serious. Years passed like this, and Eskel’s now in his early forties, which is rather late to become a dad. Essi is six years younger than him, so it’s not early for parenthood for her either.

Yet, they both seem so happy now, and Geralt can’t get enough of seeing his brother like this, smiling and crying as he holds Essi and kisses her.

The rest of the table finally catches on that there’s something important happening. Then, the news is out, which brings their celebration to new heights. Jaskier is so happy and satisfied with himself that Geralt suspects his chest may soon burst from how much Jaskier puffs up with pride.

“See?” Jaskier tells Lambert, “I’m a better matchmaker than you!”

“I made a marriage happen!” Lambert replies.

“I made a baby happen! Beat that!”

Lambert scoffs, the picture of unimpressed. “Maybe you and Geralt are gonna have kids too.”

“We’ve already got two,” Geralt answers without thinking.

Jaskier lets out a shocked gasp, staring at him in disbelief, and Geralt slowly understands what he said.

It’s not that it’s not untrue – they do have two children under their care. The thing is that neither Ciri nor Dara is very likely to call Jaskier their dad. Technically speaking, Jaskier will soon become Ciri’s step-father, but Ciri sees him more as Geralt’s partner. In Dara’s eyes, Jaskier is a supportive, parental figure, but it'd be foolish to think that the boy could ever consider himself Jaskier’s child. Geralt knows that Jaskier realises how silly that wish is but he still seems to hope for it, deep, deep down.

“Geralt–” he says, tears welling up in his eyes.

For a stag do – even two of them at once – it’s too much crying involved.

***

“Shoes off, Geralt, honestly,” Jaskier complains, “Are you doing this on purpose every time?”

Geralt only grunts. His head is spinning, too much to be pleasant, and he doesn’t trust his mouth to form a dignified enough answer. Jaskier’s very drunk too, so he doesn’t comment on Geralt’s response, or lack thereof.

The two of them slowly make their way towards the bedroom. Jaskier’s house is rather large, though, and they’re many objects and corners they stumble into. The rucksack they’re causing makes them snicker but their amusement is cut short when walk by the living room – Ciri and Dara are there, sitting on the couch in front of the TV and observing the two of them with delight.

“What are you two doing up?” Jaskier slurs out, “It’s...” he looks at his hand, where a watch should be, but there isn’t. “It’s late.”

“We found an interesting show on TV,” Ciri replies innocently. Geralt doesn’t believe it for a minute.

“Well, sleep is important!” Jaskier exclaims, gesturing dramatically with the hand he doesn’t use to hold on to Geralt. “Go to bed!”

“Yes, Jaskier,” Dara answers.

“Young people like you should get a lot of sleep.”

“We know, Jaskier,” Ciri sighs.

Jaskier would go on about the significance of sleep for teenagers if he was allowed, so Geralt starts dragging him away. Before they disappear behind the corner, though, he turns back to Ciri and Dara, shooting them what he hopes is a withering look.

“Show’s over,” he growls out.

Ciri and Dara have the decency to look chastised.

Arriving in the bedroom successfully takes them a few more minutes. When they finally do, they go straight to the bed, not bothering to undress. Then, they’re kissing, messy and eager, but their bodies have a problem rising up to the challenge because of the copious amount of alcohol flowing through their veins. Jaskier breaks the kiss quickly anyway, saying that he’s about to be sick, and rushes to the bathroom.

After Geralt is left alone, he tries to process all the holy fucks of the day, primarily the reveal that Eskel is going to be a father and by extension, Geralt’s going to be an uncle. Then there’s the very fact that he marries Jaskier in two months. Geralt also has a memory of seeing Yennefer and Triss kissing during the party, and that is a lot to unpack as well.

The world is spinning as he lays in bed. He registers Jaskier returning and laying down beside him before he falls asleep.

It feels like no time passed at all when Geralt and Jaskier are waken up by noise. The loud thumping bores down into his skull, causing awful, throbbing pain. He sits up, groaning, and Jaskier does the same with a whimper.

Then, they hear Jaskier’s voice sing the first verses of Her Sweet Kiss and, suffice it to say, Geralt has had enough of that gods-damned fucking song and its techno remix especially.

“CIRILLA!” Geralt bellows.

“DARA!” Jaskier yells.

After a torturous minute, the music is turned off, but there’s no blessed silence. Instead, bright laughter reaches their ears. Geralt huffs, irritated, and checks the time on his phone. The fact that it’s one in the afternoon and that there’s a glass of water placed on his bedside table redeems Ciri and Dara slightly.

“Fucking hell,” Jaskier moans, messaging his temples, “I love my life.”

Strangely enough, there isn’t an ounce of sarcasm in Jaskier’s voice. Geralt turns to watch him closely, taking in his pale face, chapped lips and the grimace of pain twisting his features. “You do?” he asks.

Jaskier looks at him, the blue of his eyes as beautiful as always. “I do,” he answers softly, “My life is so much better with you in it.”

Warmth explodes in his chest and Geralt moves closer, kissing Jaskier on the mouth, the cheek, the nose, hoping to convey what he finds himself unable to say. Jaskier responds to the affection with a happy hum, angling his face so get more kisses. Geralt indulges him gladly, pecking him on his forehead, his brows, under his eyes, down his neck.

“So much better indeed,” Jaskier purrs.

Geralt chuckles. “That is thanks to Lambert.”

“Oh shut up.”

Jaskier’s grumble is so grumpy that Geralt can’t help but laugh. Jaskier carries on grouching about being better than Lambert, and it keeps making Geralt laugh.

He couldn’t be more glad that he’s stayed.

#myfic #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fanfiction #modern au #The Sailor and the Singer AU

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ahh-fxck · 3 years

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Chapter 11 of Warrior’s Blues: What Would I Do Without You?

Folks, I am so excited. I finally get to present to you the next chapter of Warrior’s Blues! This chapter (and the following two) have been a labor of love. @stressedspidergirlsfandomblog, editor and co-creator of this fic, thank you for all your hard work and insight!! Ok folks, here it is:

Chapter 11: What Would I Do Without You?

Yennefer's visit throws Jaskier for a hard loop. His best friend helps him sort it out. Best Friend Rating of the Geralt Incident? 10/10 top notch Jaskier fuckery. She loves her disaster queer.

CW for drinking, smoking, implied death of an original character, grieving

Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged (or untagged!) for future updates of this story!

@astouract @smolpoe @yes-im-the-violin-girl @ladyknight-keladry

On the day of Yennefer’s visit, Jaskier arrives at work on a bicycle. He’s late and on a bicycle for the same reason, which is to say, he is drunk and cannot drive his car. He is drunk because he’d been so full of mixed emotions after Yennefer left that he’d sat down to eat the rest of the fruit and whipped cream. Somewhere in there, it had seemed like a brilliant idea to pour half a bottle of bourbon after it.

It was not. Luckily for him, the person working the bar tonight is Julia.

She is a stocky woman in her mid-forties. She has tawny skin and skeptical hazel eyes, and there’s a kind twist to her lips that she often hides. She has a tuft of cropped blue hair and wears a denim vest with a white t-shirt. Even though she is exasperated when he staggers through the door, she feeds him a sandwich and coffee while she fills him in on the meeting he missed. From there, she lets the crew in for the night.

Jaskier feels like the whole world is an itchy sweater, even after the sandwich and coffee. It’s like his brain is on fire, and he can’t quite settle into the usual friendly chatter that his job requires. He passes an irritable and lonely night out by the door. By the time it’s time to clock out most of the staff is eager to clear out from underfoot; Jaskier is a great boss, but when his nearly infinite good humor runs out he can be a real asshole.

The only one who doesn’t give a fuck is Julia. She knew from the second she saw him wheeling in the door that it was going to be a late night, so she lets the rest of the staff out before pouring herself a big glass of gin. Then she settles her elbows against the bar, watching Jaskier mop the dancefloor. He is flailing wildly with the mop, clearing the floor with brutal inefficiency. Internally she begins to count down the time until he knocks the bucket over. Sure enough, a moment later he does just that. She nods in satisfaction, pleased that her timing is still on point.

Jaskier throws his head back and lets out a shout of pure frustration as his poorly-contained feelings boil over at last. Julia smirks and grabs a bunch of towels, then ambles over to him and starts tossing them on the floor to soak up the mess.

As she does so she says nothing, but the look she gives him makes him feel transparent. Jaskier avoids her eyes as he tosses some towels down onto the puddle.

Julia gives a little harrumph, unimpressed, bending to help him clear the towels away. They right the bucket and clean the floor in silence. When they’re done, she turns to him and gives him a long look.

“So… What’s eating you?”

Jaskier grumbles and straightens. “Nothing.” He hauls the bucket away, fills it with water, and returns. Without making eye contact he begins to mop again.

Julia hums, crossing her arms. “Yeah, and nothing made you stink like bourbon, too. Cough it up.” She leans against a nearby wall, giving him a skeptical look. He looks at her from under the fringe of hair that has fallen over his face. Something about the wide-eyed, guilty glances that he keeps shooting her makes him look sixteen again. She smirks. “I think you wanna tell me but you’re embarrassed, so how about I start making guesses?”

Going pale, Jaskier groans. “Why are you so hell-bent on pushing my buttons?” The last thing he wants is Julia making guesses about what is bothering him. She has a terrible habit of being accurate and she has a memory like an elephant.

“Because you’re not a dumbass kid anymore and you haven’t shown up drunk in years. You missed an important meeting! What the fuck, Jaskier? Don’t make me call you Julian, I swear to fucking god I’ll break out your birth name.”

“Julia…!” Jaskier protested. “I d-”

“Julian Alfred P-”

“Fine! Stop! Oh my god, you are merciless!” Jaskier cries, but secretly he’s glad that she cares enough to needle him. He stops and holds the mop for a moment, blowing his hair out of his eyes as he gathers his thoughts. Then he starts pushing it across the floor again. “I’m sure you heard about the man who rescued Pride this year.”

“Heh, I feel like I’ve met him. Yarpen won’t shut up. Heard from him recently?” She narrows her eyes at him, sure that she’s about to hear some sort of horny idiot story.

Jaskier blushes hotly, confirming Julia’s suspicions. “Well, funny thing about that.”

“What did you do now?” Julia asks, smirking. She retreats to the bar and picks up her tumbler of gin, then lights a cigarette.

“We-e-elll…” Jaskier prevaricates.

Julia gives him a long look, and he folds.

“Um, so I might have brought him back to my house after Pride.”

Julia barks a short laugh. “Color me not surprised. What’s the problem? Is he why you were wearing that birdy when you came in?”.

Jaskier’s flush deepens. “I meant to take that off before his wife showed up. After that my day got all sort of… muddled.”

“You mean you got chewed out and then got drunk, right?”

“No! You know what, Julia? She yelled at me when I met her in the hospital, but when she came to my house she was…” He pauses, seeing the bewildered look on Julia’s face. “All right, let me back up and explain. He broke his hand, and I had to take him to the hospital. Two weeks later we go for his followup appointment and his wife is there waiting for him. Tracked him down all the way from fucking England! Got the third degree from her there, but the wildest part is, she showed up at my house the next day to talk. About me dating him.”

Julia laughs again, harder and longer. “What the fuck, Jaskier?”

Despite himself, Jaskier breaks into a rueful grin.“Right? Seriously though Julia. If I talk to you about this it stays strictly between you and me, got it? All of it. He’s in the closet and no one else here needs to know any of this.”

“You got it. No gossip. Your secrets are my secrets.” Julia smiles crookedly, sipping at the last of her gin. She’s been keeping Jaskier’s shit to herself since he was a teen. At first, it was out of a desire to not get involved, but by now she genuinely likes the dingbat. He’s dumb but sweet, and he’s been good to her. “So what’s the deal, kiddo?”

“So what it all boiled down to is that she’s not mad at me for sleeping with him… she’s mad I slept with him so fast. Turns out she’s okay with me seeing him again.”

Julia puts her glass down on the bartop, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Okay, that is a new one on me, I gotta admit. What’s the story there? She into watching or something?”

A surprised laugh escapes Jaskier. “No, thank fucking god, I don’t think I’d survive. This woman… oh Julia, you should have seen her. She’s like, five foot four inches of lightning in a bottle. A total force of nature. I think she could snap me like a twig.” A wry twinkle comes into his eye as Julia’s eyebrow goes up.

Smirking, Julia taps some ash off of her cigarette. “Sounds like a hell of a woman.”

Jaskier snorts, cutting her an amused look. “She is, but I don’t think you’d get very far with her. She’s asexual.”

“Oh? The plot thickens.” Julia grins wolfishly, leaning her chin on her hand. Jaskier had a way of getting up to his neck in crazy situations, and it had become something of a spectator sport for her over the years.

Flushing with embarrassment, a crooked grin flickers across Jaskier’s face. “Yeah, well.” He turns his glass in a full circle. “So it turns out, they uh… have a kid together. And I want you to understand how terrifying this woman was because there was no way in hell I was going to ask for more details. But. What she told me was this. They got married because of their daughter, but Geralt… her husband, the man I was sleeping with… He’s gay.”

“Oh man, you really have a way of finding them, don't you?" This is top-notch Jaskier fuckery, it really is. She’s glad she’d stayed to get the story out of him, even though she knew it meant that she’d be dragged into his shit sooner rather than later.

“I really do,” Jaskier agrees with a little groan.

“What’s her name?”

“Yennefer.”

“Hm. Nice names. Yennefer and Geralt. So she got mad at you for sleeping with Geralt so fast, and then what?”

“And then, Julia! She told me that she’d always hoped that he’d find someone special. She looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘maybe someone like you’ and I just lost my mind. Just- Pow!” He makes an exploding gesture out from his head with his hands, then shakes his head and returns to mopping.

“Wow. That was not the reaction I was expecting.”

“Yeah. Yeah! No kidding! Apparently, he’s always been free to choose his lovers. He’s never wanted to bring one home before, though.”

Julia lets out a low whistle, her eyebrows going up. “So he likes you, likes you. And his wife is… okay with this?”

“I don’t think she likes me very much, Julia, but she gave me the phone number to their hotel room. Says I should have a real talk with him before I think about dating him.” He stalks past her into the kitchen to dump out the dirty mop water.

“Just like that?” Julia laughs, leaning in the doorway.

“Threatened to bury my dead body if I didn’t treat him right, in those exact words,” Jaskier says over his shoulder.

Julia leans against the doorframe, shaking with mirth. “Oh my fucking god, Jaskier.”

“I know!” Jaskier cries, flinging his hands up. “This is absurd, Julia! And you know what’s even more ridiculous? I really think I could fall for him, I really do. He’s just so…” He sighs, tossing the mop and bucket in their corner and washing his hands.

“Yeah, Yarpen wouldn’t shut up about him. Six feet plus, white hair, amber eyes, stacked? Sounds very striking.” Julia drawls, eyebrows arching.

“No, Julia- Well, I mean, yes, but…” He walks back out to the bar, flopping onto one of the tall stools.

“But what?” She smirks, returning to the bar and tapping out her ash.

“Well, I was gonna say beautiful, but I didn’t mean it like that.” Jaskier puffs, drumming his hands on the bar top, trying to find a way to put it. “Like… ohh, I sound like a fool, but he feels like a warm hearth. I just wanna curl up next to him with a book and a cup of tea and fall asleep because I feel so good around him. Safe. And don’t you go telling me he’s a stranger-” Jaskier breaks off as Julia rolls her eyes and opens her mouth to speak. “I know that! I know, and that’s what makes it so weird, Julia. But like, good weird.”

Julia hums thoughtfully, tipping her head to the side. Jaskier has been getting more self-aware as he ages, and for once, she’s inclined to believe that he remembers this guy’s a stranger. “Have you called your therapist yet?”

“For once in my life, yes. I called her before I came in. Hopefully, she’ll have gotten back to me by the time I get home.”

“Good for you. So this is why you came in here drunk off your ass this morning? This whole mess?” She pours him a shot glass of rum and passes it to him.

He takes it with a nod of thanks. “Yeah… I guess I got a little freaked out after his wife grilled me this morning, didn’t cope with it well.” Taking a sip, he frowns. “Julia, I’m in over my head. I don’t really know what to do here. He’s never had a boyfriend before.”

Letting out a low whistle between her teeth, Julia stubs out her cigarette. “Ain’t he about my age?”

“Yeah… He’s… I guess he spent his whole adult life in the military and never let himself have one. That’s what his wife said.” Jaskier worries at his lip, blue eyes wide as he shoots a glance at Julia. His glass scrapes on the bar top.

Annoyed by the sound, Julia tosses him a coaster. Then she hums thoughtfully, swirling the dregs of gin in her glass. “That’s a long time to be lonely.”

Puffing out a long, slow breath, Jaskier nods. He draws the coaster over and sticks it under his drink with a guilty look. “Yeah.” Slumping to the bar top, he puts his chin on his hands. “She said… if I cheated on him it would crush him. She said… ‘Please don’t make things worse by being irresponsible with his very fragile heart.’” Putting his face into his arms, Jaskier gives a little groan.

Julia sucks in a breath, watching Jaskier crumple in front of her. He’d at least grasped the concept of fidelity by now, but until recently his romances had never been particularly stable. Her heart goes out to him. She finds herself walking around to the other side of the bar to stand awkwardly by his side, her stocky frame only coming up to his shoulder where he sits on the stool. She awkwardly pats said shoulder, then gives it a squeeze. “That’s gotta feel pretty big to you. How are you doin’ with it?”

“I’m feeling massively intimidated, Julia. He’s gorgeous and I really want to date him, but I’m really afraid I’m going to be bad for him. I don’t exactly have the most amazing track record.”

Julia hums, sucking her teeth thoughtfully. She rubs a gentle circle between Jaskier’s shoulderblades, an unusually affectionate gesture for her. “Kiddo, you know I wouldn’t say this normally, but you’ve put a damn ton of work into your personal relationships. I trust the man you’ve grown into, and I think you should try trusting yourself for once. See how it works out for you. It’s been a long time since you let anyone in.”

Jaskier sighs, leaning into the touch. “I know. I worked so hard, and Rue didn’t even get to see much of my life after the dust settled. I hope she’s proud of me.”

A smile lights Julia’s face, but as she speaks a note of grief creeps into her voice. Her partner Rue had passed two years ago, but the pain was still fresh and hot. Rue had been more than a friend to Jaskier, she’d been his absolute favorite person. He missed her almost as dearly as Julia herself did.

“She’d be proud of you all ‘round, kiddo. You’ve really shaped up. Hell, you stepped up when I needed you.” She gives Jaskier a little shake. “You might be a dumbass, but it matters that you try to get things right. It matters more that you do your best now to fix it when you don’t. That’s all anyone can do.” Julia’s hand moves back to his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “You’re a good man, and I think she’d tell you that, too.”

Jaskier nods, swallowing hard. As Julia’s hand closes on him he realizes all of a sudden how much he misses Rue. His heart contracts with terrible grief. “Oh!” He gasps, surprised by the abruptness of the pain. Reaching back to squeeze Julia’s hand, he can feel his throat tightening. “I feel really lost right now. She’d know what to do.”

A crack appears in Julia’s heart. She nods and steps closer to Jaskier, reaching around his hip and pulling him close. Jaskier leans into her and she grips him tightly with her strong arm. Her cheek presses against him and she squeezes her eyes shut, nodding. “Me too. I miss her like hell.” As she grips Jaskier, silent tears dampen his cheeks. Before long, Julia’s eyes begin to well over too.

Rue had been the center of both of their lives. Julia had been in love with her since they met one hot summer on Coney Island as teenagers. They had kissed in the rain under one of the piers, and that had been it for her. By the time they’d moved in together as adults, Julia would have gone down on one knee and married her in a heartbeat.

Every summer they took a long vacation on Fire Island, where Julia would pick up part time work as a bartender. They’d met Jaskier one summer there when he was just sixteen years old. He’d been a disaster of a baby queer, but gregarious little Rue had seen something of herself in him. She had taken him under her wing, and he had thrived.

When Rue was diagnosed with ovarian cancer four years ago, it had been at a quiet time in Julia’s life. Jaskier had gotten a therapist a year before and was finally out of her hair. The bar was thriving. Rue and Julia had settled into their home just the way they’d liked it, tea settees and all. Julia remembers looking at this yellow, gold, and cream-colored doily on their tea table after they got home from Rue’s diagnosis. The little sunburst pattern had seared into her mind as she sat in shock.

The following two years had been hell on a plate. The bar came closer to folding than it ever had as both Julia and Jaskier bent themselves completely out of shape trying to get Rue the care she needed. In the end, that had meant hospice and a funeral. Jaskier had ended up having to plan it for her, and he’d stepped up to the role with a seriousness that she hadn’t thought him physically capable of. It changed something about his personality. Julia watched him go almost overnight from a happy-go-lucky kid to a closed-off and responsible adult. The only exception had happened shortly after Rue’s death.

When the fuss from the funeral had died down, Jaskier had disappeared for the better part of two weeks. Scheduled everyone in, made sure payroll was cued to go properly, and just… vanished. He’d come back with a bloody lip and fear in his eyes, and Julia had been too heartsick to ask questions. That night they’d grieved Rue together, sitting next to one another and crying their eyes out. Jaskier had fallen asleep on their dinky little couch, and she’d tucked one of Rue’s crocheted blankets over him before she went to bed.

Since then Jaskier had been eerily quiet. At least, until Pride. After that his mood had been so pleasant that it was making Julia downright nervous. She’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Now, at last, it had.

Jaskier takes a few napkins out from under the bar top, passing them to Julia. They wipe their faces in sticky silence, and afterward, Julia pulls out a smoke and hands him one too. The click of her lighter is loud in the silent bar, echoing off the far walls.

“Can you imagine what she’d say about this mess?” he asks, a soft huff of laughter escaping him as he shakes his head. His wide blue eyes turn up to take in the fairy lights over the bar, the smoke twisting among them.

“Oh! I can just imagine.” Julia chuckles damply, shaking her head. “She always said you found love in the strangest places.”

Jaskier smiles crookedly. “She’s not wrong.” Smoke drifts from the cigarette between his long fingers, swirling eddies forming as it rises.

Julia nods, then blows a slow, lazy smoke ring. “She’d say… don’t listen to your heart anymore. Don’t listen to your head. You’ve heard enough from them for now. Go find someplace quiet, where the silence can slip in through the cracks of you and fill you up. Sometimes the answer slips in alongside the silence."

The damp groan of chagrin that escapes Jaskier makes Julia smile. "That's right,” he replies, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And I would say, I hate silence, it makes me nervous."

Julia nods, amused. "And she would say-" Jaskier's voice joined Julia's and they finished together, "There's your problem right there."

With a damp chuckle, Jaskier shakes his hair out of his eyes and blinks away the last of his tears. “Oh lord, Julia. I’m glad you’re still here. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Suffer.” Julia jokes, knocking back her gin. “Suffer and die, probably.”

“Crash and burn, at the very least.” Jaskier snorts. He knocks back his glass of rum, then rises at last from the bar. He stubs out his cigarette as he rises. Then, with a soft clinking, he gathers all the glasses and takes them back to the sink to wash. A hush falls over the room, broken only by the splash of water against the metal sink.

Julia turns to watch him, leaning her elbows against the counter. Her head tips to the side as she watches Jaskier dry the dishes, then start scrubbing at the already-clean sink. He takes sanitizer and sprays it on a towel, then starts trying to evict the microscopic grit left around the base of the faucet. After a while, she stirs. “You think this guy might be it?” she asks, her eyes soft as she tips her head to look at her friend.

Jaskier looks down at the wet towel dripping in his hands. “I don’t know. I just… he’s different. I feel really different around him. I think I want to try, but I’m trying to just...” He grimaces, tossing the towel into the bin with a little too much force. “Take a minute to look before I leap.”

Julia breaks into a wry smile, hazel eyes sparkling with gentle humor. “Good for you. Does that mean I’m gonna be staying late a few more nights?”

“Could you? I could use the company.” Jaskier looks at her out of the corner of his eye, moving on to wipe the counter.

Julia scoffs, but there’s a playful note in her voice. “Fine, but you gotta cough up those kreteks you've been teasing me with. You owe me.”

“Oh! I actually have those back at my house, thank you for reminding me!" Jaskier exclaims, smacking his forehead. "I can't believe I forgot. I’ll bring them in tomorrow, I got you a whole case. They came in from Indonesia last week and I just spaced out about them what with everything else going on.”

Eyes lighting up, Julia socks Jaskier affectionately on the shoulder. “Hey! My man! That’s what I’m talking about.”

Jaskier laughs, rubbing his shoulder. “Anytime. It's the least I can do.”

Julia takes one last drag off of her cigarette, then turns to stub it out. “Listen. You want a ride home? It’s late.”

Jaskier wavers, then turns to look at the storeroom where his bike is. It’s a long ride home in the cold and dark, and he’s heartsick as all hell. It’s hard to turn her down. “Got room in your trunk for my bike?”

“Yep. No sweat. I’ll pull the car around front while you shut down.” Julia pats her pockets, making sure that her wallet, keys, and cigarettes are all in place.

By the time she’s parked in front, Jaskier is locking the door of the bar. They wordlessly wrestle the bike into the back of the car together, working with the ease of practice. In the car, Julia flips on the stereo and pops in a Patti Smith cassette. Patti’s smoky, dry voice floats through the car, twining through the bouncing and jangling guitar riffs of the opening song of the album. Oh, she looks so fine… I’m gonna uh-uh, make her mine…

They drive home in comfortable silence. Julia pulls up behind Jaskier’s car and parks. She eyes the white truck in the driveway silently, finishing her smoke as she considers it. Jaskier sits beside her, making no move to get out of the car. Finally, she stubs out her smoke and says, “Is that his?”

Jaskier nods. “Engine keeps overheating. He knows what’s wrong with it but I don’t have the tools for him to fix it, so it’s gonna stay there until I can get them for him. Honestly I don’t have the faintest idea what he wants, it all goes in my ear and then out the other. If he’d just let me take him to the store it would be fine but no-”

Putting her hand on the door, Julia eyes Jaskier kindly. “Kiddo, I don’t need every single detail. It’s his truck, I get it. Let’s go in.”

Jaskier puffs as he’s thrown off track. Then he smiles crookedly, face catching in a bar of orange light from the streetlamp outside. “Sorry. You go on in, I’ve got to bring the bike around back.”

Flourishing her keys, Julia nods. She ambles around the front of Jaskier’s house and unlocks his door, letting herself into the dark entryway. Flicking on the lights, she looks around. The place is uncannily clean and stinks of floor wax and furniture oil. Jaskier’s home usually looks a bit rumpled, like a bed that’s been slept in and then had the covers thrown back into place without being smoothed or tucked. Not dirty, precisely, but not clean. Lived in. This, though… she gives a low whistle under her teeth. Her friend had been understating the distress he’d been experiencing. His home didn’t get this tidy unless something really got under his skin.

She kicks her boots off and heads to the kitchen to get a pot of coffee going, then snags a pudding out of the fridge. As she’s digging around for a spoon, she hears the jingle of keys announcing Jaskier’s arrival through the back door.

He notes the pudding cup in her hand and the very corner of his mouth turns up, but he doesn’t comment. Instead, he slips past her to drop his bag in his bedroom. When he returns to the kitchen he smiles at her, leaning against the fridge.

“Better?” she asks, tearing open the plastic lid.

“Better,” Jaskier agrees, eyes dancing with a teasing light. “Still like the taste of stolen pudding?”

“Tastes better if you swipe it,” Julia grins unrepentantly. She settles on the stool with her pudding. “Gonna cough up those kreteks?”

Jaskier grins. “You’ve got it. Just a minute, darling. I have to figure out where I put them.” He turns on his foot and bounds off to the other end of his house, rummaging around until he remembers where he stuck the package. It turns out it’s still next to the front door in plain view, hidden on a shelf by the other oddities it’s been stuck on top of. Jaskier’s house is unusually clean, but it isn’t that clean. Making a triumphant noise, he grabs it and heads back towards Julia.

Pleased, Julia opens the case up in a few quick movements and takes out a carton. She flicks it open, smelling it with great satisfaction. The rich smell of clove and tobacco wafts up to her, and she sighs in contentment. “Ah, that’s the good shit. Thanks, man.”

“You’ve got it. I’ll order more tomorrow, you deserve them. Takes them a while to import but we should be seeing them in the next month or so.”

Julia laughs. “Man, I’m earning them signing up to listen to your shit like this. Go check your message machine, I ain’t subbing in for your therapist.”

Jaskier huffs a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Fine, fine, I’ve got it.” He pours himself a cup of coffee, then ambles over to the message machine and picks up the receiver. He punches in a code and waits, then jots something down on a pad of paper next to it with a brief smile flashing across his face. He turns back to Julia, wiggling the notepad at her. “Got an appointment tomorrow before I go to work. She shoehorned me into her lunch hour.”

“Huh,” Julia grunts, amused. “Better bring that poor woman lunch, she’s a saint for taking you back like that on short notice.”

Jaskier looks chagrined. He settles himself back on a stool with his back to the refrigerator. “Yeah, you're not wrong. Best kind of saint. I thought I’d bring her Thai from that place up on Market street. You know the one with the little golden treasure bag dumpling things?”

“Man, she gets treasure bags? Do I get some?” Julia teases.

“If you come hold my hand tomorrow, you get anything you want.”

“Mm, no dice. I’m doing enough hand-holding as it is. Speaking of which, you could still bring it to me at the bar...” she grins over her mug, eyes sparkling playfully.

Jaskier rolls his eyes and sighs. “Extortionist.”

“You love me,” she snorts.

“I do,” he breaks out into a smile, leaning against the island top with his elbows. “Thanks for running me home.”

Julia shifts in her seat and sighs, leaning forward onto her elbows and giving Jaskier a frank look. “I got you, it’s no problem. It’s not every day you get blown out of the water by something like this. You gonna be ok?”

Jaskier considers his mug with a thoughtful moue, then nods. “I think I am, Julia. I’m sorry about this morning, it won’t happen again.”

Smirking, Julia shrugs. “Just do better.”

Fluffing the hair on the back of his neck, Jaskier nods. “You got it.” He takes a thoughtful sip of his coffee, then asks, “How are you doing?” His voice is gentle as he asks the question, sensitive to the ongoing nature of her pain.

Julia shifts uneasily, squinting at her mug. “I dunno. I’m making it. Don’t wanna look for a new place yet, but I know it’s gonna be time soon.” She casts a short, hard-to-read look at Jaskier. She appreciates him asking, but she’s also not sure how much she wants to talk.

“When’s the lease up?” Jaskier asks, his eyes soft.

“Uhm…” Julia cleared her throat. “June.”

“Julia!" Jaskier gasps, exasperated. "That was over a month ago! You didn’t just sign a new one, did you? Why didn’t you talk to me first?”

“I didn’t wanna talk about it,” Julia growls, scowling.

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Oh, don’t get all growly with me. You’re miserable there! Rue is all over that place, darling! I can barely turn around twice in there without bumping into something that breaks my heart, I don't know how you go and live there every day."

Julia presses her lips together, tapping her carton of kreteks between her fingers. She shrugs. "I can't imagine being anywhere else. All I have left is there."

Heart breaking a little, Jaskier sighs. He regards Julia kindly. "You can't hold on like that forever."

Scowling, Julia shrugs. That might be true, but she didn’t have to like it.

Pursing his lips thoughtfully, Jaskier looks her over for a moment. He hesitates, then says, "Why don't you just start looking? There's no harm in at least checking the paper…" he nudges her gently. "Worst that can happen is you don't fall in love with the first place you see. No harm, right?"

Julia shuffles uncomfortably, taking a big gulp of her coffee. She frowns at her cup, then looks out of the corner of her eye at Jaskier. “I can’t afford to break the lease.”

“Nonsense, you’ve got plenty of savings to cover shit like that,” Jaskier replies, still exasperated. “Besides, even if you didn’t, I’d cover you. You know that!”

“I know…” Julia grumbles, “But-”

“So what you mean is, you’re still stuck and you’re not ready to go yet.”

Julia scowls. She wants desperately to argue with him, to lash out and protect herself, but the impulse passes before the words can even form. She shrugs. “Maybe so.”

Jaskier sighs. “Julia darling, I’m convinced there’s a place in the world for you. Somewhere that will feel good and be just for you. Who knows, maybe you’ll even meet someone soon? Stranger things have happened.”

“Stranger things can eat my ass,” Julia snaps.

Unimpressed, Jaskier shrugs. “Okay.” He pops open his pudding cup and spoons up a mouthful, sucking it off of his spoon thoughtfully. “Mm. Should you ever decide to come out of that suck-ass hedge-maze of grumpiness you’ve built for yourself I’ll be here. I love you, despite all your best efforts to turn into an unmanageable troll.”

“Oh what, and you’re Prince Charming?” Julia scoffs. “Puh-lease, you little drama queen.” They both eye each other for a moment, wavering, then break out in quiet laughter. Jaskier reaches over and pats her hand, and Julia smiles crookedly. She drains the last of her mug, then sets it down with a final-sounding ‘thunk.’ “All right, mijo. I won’t keep you talking all night. Thanks for the kreteks, I hope you work everything out. Call me if you need me.”

“I will. Same goes for you, darling. My phone is always on for you, and my door is always open. I don’t care what time it is, if you need me you come. Ok?”

Julia eyes him uncertainly, then nods. She had taken him up on the offer before, showing up at odd hours eaten alive by grief and unable to be alone with it anymore. “Ok. See you tomorrow.” She punches his shoulder affectionately, then heads for the door.

“Good night, Julia. Safe drive, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

~*~

Jaskier puts himself back together during the intervening days. He attends therapy, brings Julia her takeout, and things return to normal at the bar. Sunday morning he rides his bike, but this time he’s sober, more himself. At the end of the night, he pulls Julia to the side as she sighs in exasperation.

Jaskier gives her a sheepish smile, leaning back against one of the counters. “Sorry, I’m not going to keep you long tonight.”

“Yeah? Good, my fish are starting to worry I’m seeing someone new,” Julia cracks. “What’s up?” Her eyes travel to the closet where the bike is and back to him. “Car ok?”

“What?” He looks over his shoulder in the direction she’s indicating. “Oh! No, it’s fine. I just wanted to take a long ride tonight after work, maybe catch the sunrise out south of my house.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s Geralt. I finally decided to call him. I think I’ve got my head on straight and I still wanna do it.”

Julia sucks her teeth thoughtfully. It’s sweet to see him excited, but she worries about his heart, too. He doesn’t always guard it as carefully as he should. “You sure? From what you’re telling me, it doesn’t sound like you’re lookin’ at a walk in the park. He’s married, he’s got a family halfway across the world, he’s in the closet…”

Jaskier sighs. “I know, Julia. I was there, I remember.”

Julia arches her eyebrow at him but doesn’t comment.

Jaskier chews his lip. “I know it’s probably stupid, and I know we could break each other’s hearts, but…” he ruffles his hand through his hair. “I don’t meet men like that every day. Besides. I will definitely regret it if I don’t at least see him one more time.”

Julia rolls her eyes, but a fond smile creeps across her tawny face. “I’ll give you wanting to see him again one more time, you two really should talk. Just try not to be a dumbass, ok? Go slow. You’ve gotta take care of yourself, you’re not twenty anymore.”

The look on Jaskier’s face softens thoughtfully, and he nods. “I know. I’ll try to be good.”

“Good. Where are you planning on taking him? This doesn’t sound like public conversation material.”

“Well… that’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you. I was thinking maybe the best place would be the bar.”

“What, don’t want to use your house?” Julia asks dryly.

“Nnnoo, uh…” Jaskier rubs the back of his neck, turning red.

“I get it.” Julia cuts him off with a quick gesture, smirking. “You wanna keep it on the up and up. Don’t you have somewhere else you could meet him though?”

“Mmm… I mean, there are some parks I could take him to, but that feels weird for a private conversation, you know?” Julia nods. Jaskier continues, “He’s staying with his wife at the hotel, and I feel like it would be rude to ask him to kick her out so we can talk. Most of my friends have these teeny apartments so I can’t exactly borrow space from them. The bar seemed like the best place.”

Julia hums, then nods. “I get it. Not like I have a porch I could offer you or anything.”

“Yeah. So…?”

Shrugging, Julia stuffs her keys into her pocket. “Go for it. Just don’t fuck all over the furniture or I’m gonna fire you,” she cracks.

Jaskier laughs. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She might not be able to actually fire him, all joking aside, but Julia has a way of finding truly horrifying tasks to saddle him with. He isn’t about to try her and they both know it. He pushes off of the counter, then digs a faxed receipt out of his back pocket and unfolds it. “Kreteks are on the way, by the bye. Here’s the tracking number.”

Julia lights up, making grabby hands as Jaskier hands the receipt over. She scans it, then gives a satisfied smile and folds it up to stick in her wallet. “Great. All right, I’m gonna head outta here. Let me know how it goes, ok?”

“As if I’d leave you out of the loop,” Jaskier hums fondly. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Am I gonna lose a hand if I try to hug you?”

“Yep,” Julia says with a chuckle. She reaches over and slaps Jaskier’s shoulder companionably on her way out the door. “Good night, mijo.”

“Good night, Julia. Drive safe.” Jaskier says to her retreating back, smiling. He turns away as the kitchen door swings shut and makes one last circuit of the bar. When he gets outside he closes up; there is a satisfying click as the tumblers lock into place. It has been a good night, and tomorrow is full of possibilities.

#geraskier #geraskier fanfic #geraskier fanfiction #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fanfiction #yenralt #geraskier pride week 2020 #warriors blues

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eratobard · 3 years

Text

Mouth to Mouth: Chapter 3

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Lamskier, Lambert x Jaskier

Rating: T

Tag warnings: swearing

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

~~~

Jaskier fidgeted in his seat as he stared at his phone. He hoped he got the restaurant correct. This was the closest place to the campus. He arrived early so they could get a good table, but he still felt nervous. What if he didn’t show? Jaskier glanced at the door then back to his phone. It was almost noon.

Jaskier sighed and swore silently to himself. He assumed Professor Lambert didn’t have a class to teach around lunch. What if he took his lunch at a different time? Several worries started to overwhelm his thoughts. He clenched his hands and tapped his foot to help calm the overwhelming anxiety forming in his chest.

When he heard the bell above the entrance door chime his head jerked in that direction. His heart stopped and he practically jumped out of his seat when he saw Lambert walk through the door. Aw hell, who was he kidding? He did jump out of his seat, and waved vigorously while shouting, “Professor Lambert! Over here!”

Lambert frowned when he saw Jaskier. He gave him a nod and headed over to him. “Hey…” Lambert mumbled as he took a seat in front of him.

Jaskier beamed as he sat down, “I’m glad you could make it. I started to worry you had class or something.”

Lambert scoffed, “You should have waited for me to respond. Would have saved yourself the worry.”

Jaskier looked down sheepishly as he fidgeted with his hands, “I didn’t want you to say no…”

Lambert glanced at Jaskier and sighed, “...no harm no foul… have you had a chance to look at the menu?”

Jaskier brightened again as he looked up, “Kinda… there is so much to choose from. I was hoping you could recommend something?”

Lambert grinned, “Yeah, sure. They have some great Beef Pho. If you like spicy food their curry is pretty great. I always get a side of wantons. Oh! And they have this drink that has this gummy bubble shit in it. Have you had it before?”

Jaskier giggled and shook his head, “No, I don’t think I have.”

Lambert frowned, “What are you laughing at?”

“Sorry,” Jaskier covered his mouth, “I meant no offense… I’ve just never seen you talk so excitedly about anything. It was cute…”

Lambert’s face grew red as he quickly stood up, “Let’s go order our food.”

Jaskier followed after him questioningly, “What do you mean?”

Lambert pointed to the register, “You order and pay at the same time. Then they call out your order number.”

“Ohh,” Jaskier gasped, “I see.” He stood beside and slightly behind Lambert as they waited in line to order.

Lambert frowned when he saw where he was standing. He grabbed Jaskier’s arm and pulled him to stand next to him, “Hey, if we’re having lunch together then act like it.”

Jaskier’s face reddened, “Ah? Oh… sorry.” He smiled and stared at his feet.

When they reached the front of the line Lambert gave the cashier his order. When he finished he elbowed Jaskier, “Your turn.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened and he quickly shook his head, “Ah, I was gonna pay for my own--”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lambert growled, “I’m not going to have a college kid pay for his own food. Now hurry up and order.”

Jaskier nodded as he bit his lower lip, “Right, I’ll have the beef pho… and some green apple boba tea?” He glanced up at Lambert to make sure the pricier drink was alright.

Lambert huffed a laugh and nodded his head, “We’ll have some wantons too.” He nudged Jaskier, “You like wantons?”

Jaskier smiled, “Yes…”

Lambert grinned as he paid. He glanced back at Jaskier as they headed to their table to wait for their food, “Why are you so shy all of a sudden? You seemed so confident earlier.”

Jaskier blushed and covered his face with his hands, “I lost my confidence when I was waiting for you to show up… I was so anxious. I thought you weren’t going to come.”

“Hmmm,” Lambert rested his chin on his hand, tilting his head as he examined the younger man, “I guess it’s a good thing I’m not a jerk who would stand someone up.”

Jaskier glanced over his fingers, the majority of his face still covered by his hands. “Yes,” he mumbled, “I’m very lucky…” His eyes ran over Lambert’s body. His heart quickened as he admired Lambert’s strong forearms visible due to his rolled up shirt sleeves.

“So… um…” Jaskier lowered his hands, “what do you like to do in your spare time?”

“Drink with my friends, watch sitcoms, workout, stuff like that,” Lambert shrugged his shoulders.

Jaskier smiled, “What kind of sitcoms?”

Lambert crossed his arms over his chest, frowning, “I feel like you know a lot more about me than I know about you.”

Jaskier laughed and nodded, “Ah… true… I’m an open book. Ask me whatever you want.”

Lambert raised an eyebrow questioningly but nodded his head, “Alright, what’s your degree?”

“Music and Arts. I want to be a composer some day,” Jaskier grinned.

“A composer?” Lambert frowned as he leaned forward, “Like Mozart?”

Jaskier laughed, “I guess you could say that.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Lambert grinned, “You must be very talented.”

Jaskier rubbed the back of his head and shrugged, “I don’t know about that.”

The order number was called out and Lambert stood up. Jaskier started to follow him, but he placed a hand on his shoulder, “I got it.”

Jaskier’s heart leaped in his chest. He had known Lambert was his type, but he hadn’t known how much till now. He was quite the gentleman. He bit his lip nervously as he waited for him to return with their food.

Jaskier almost jumped when Lambert set the tray down in front of him. Lambert grinned as he took his seat, setting down his own food. “Bon appetit,” Lambert smirked.

Jaskier smiled and grabbed the chop sticks, “Thank you for the food.”

Lambert shrugged his shoulders, “No problem. Let me know what you think.”

Jaskier hummed as he slurped up the noodles. “Dish ish delishush,” he said around a mouthful of food.

Lambert laughed, “Didn’t anyone teach you not to talk with your mouth full?”

Jaskier blushed and covered his mouth, “Sorry…”

Lambert smirked as he nudged him under the table with his foot, “I’m just giving you a hard time.”

“Is that so?” Jaskier grinned as he plucked an eggroll from Lambert's plate with his chopsticks.

Lambert whined in exasperation as he watched his eggroll disappear into Jaskier’s mouth, “Hey!”

Jaskier laughed, almost choking on the eggroll. “That’s for making fun of me,” he coughed.

Lambert chuckled and shook his head, “Eggroll going down nice?”

Jaskier hummed as his eyes flicked up and down over Lambert, “Not as nice as some other things would...”

Heat rose up in Lambert’s cheeks at the innuendo. He frowned in embarrassment. “Uh, why don’t you-- have you-- Boba tea?”

“Oh, right!” Jaskier smiled as he grabbed his glass, “I haven’t tried this yet.” He wrapped his lips around the large straw, sucking up the dark bubbles. “Mmm,” he licked his lips in satisfaction as he chewed the tapioca pearls, “this is really good!”

Lambert nodded, grateful for the subject change, “Yeah, it’s weird, but still tasty.”

“I could eat these large balls all day,” Jaskier smirked as he gazed across the table at Lambert.

Lambert cleared his throat as he turned toward his food, “So… uh, you said you wanted to be a composer. Have you composed any songs?”

Jaskier nodded, “I sure have… I uh, have one of them on my phone.”

“Really?” Lambert held out his hand, “Let me hear.”

Jaskier blushed and pulled out his headphones. He set the phone up with his song then handed it to Lambert, “Just press play…”

Lambert put in the headphones and played the song. A gentle melody came through the earbuds followed by a silky voice. He glanced up at Jaskier, “Is that you singing?”

“Yeah…” Jaskier replied quietly, nodding.

Lambert smirked as he continued to listen to the song. He didn’t know much about music, but he could tell the kid had talent. When the song finished he handed Jaskier back his phone, “That is fucking amazing.”

Jaskier wrapped up his headphones and shrugged his shoulders, “It’s nothing special…”

Lambert growled, “Like hell it isn’t. You are talented, kid. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Jaskier smiled slightly and nodded his head, his cheeks tinted pink, “Thanks.”

Lambert nodded and continued eating his food, “No thanks needed. Hurry and finish your food. My lunch is almost up. You take the bus here?”

Jaskier nodded as he quickly ate his food.

“I’ll give you a ride back to the university in my car.”

Jaskier waved his hands, “You don’t need to do that.”

Lambert raised an eyebrow, “Why? You done with classes for the day? I can drop you off at your place.”

Jaskier sputtered and shook his head, “No I, um, I don’t want to put you out…”

Lambert chuckled, “You invite me to lunch without allowing me to give an answer and now you don’t want to put me out?”

Jaskier hunched his shoulders as he stared down at his hands guiltily, “Ah… sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Lambert kicked him gently, “I had a good time. Let me take you where you need to go as thanks.”

Jaskier beamed, “Really? You mean it? You had a good time?”

Lambert frowned, “Do I look like a liar? Now where should I drop you off?”

“Um, well, I guess the dorms if you don’t mind?” Jaskier glanced up expectantly.

Lambert nodded, shoving a wonton in his mouth. “Shor,” he said around the mouthful. He finished chewing before he continued, “To-go containers are over there. Pack up what you want to keep and we’ll head out.”

~~~

“Stay right there,” Lambert called to Jaskier as he was walking over to the passenger car door.

Jaskier fidgeted nervously as he held his to-go container, staring at Lambert questioningly. Lambert walked around the car and opened the door for Jaskier, “Go ahead.”

Jaskier blushed as he entered the car. He had never had anyone open a car door for him before. “Ah… thanks.”

“In all the way?” Lambert asked before closing the door. Jaskier nodded as he smiled to himself. Lambert grinned as he closed the door. He found this move to be very successful with the ladies before taking them back to their place.

Lambert frowned as he walked over to his side of the car. ‘Wait a sec. What the hell am I thinking? I’m not taking this kid back to his place to fuck him,’ he thought bitterly. He growled in frustration, ‘Get your shit together Lambert.’

Lambert indicated to the radio when he started the car, “Put it on whatever you like.”

Jaskier pulled out his phone, “You got bluetooth?”

“Nah, I got a cheap car. I got AUX though,” He held up the cable for Jaskier.

Jaskier nodded and plugged it into his phone. Lambert glanced at Jaskier as he drove them toward the dorms, “You going to play more of your music?”

Jaskier blushed and shook his head, “Ah, no. I’ve just recorded the one…”

“Pity,” Lambert said with sincerity.

It was a short drive back to the dorms. Everything was fairly close to the campus. Jaskier chose a couple songs for them to listen to. He fidgeted with his phone anxiously. He glanced at Lambert, whose eyes were focused on the road.

His heart jumped in his chest. Seeing Lambert from this point of view, his steady gaze, the strongline of his jaw, his hands gripping the steering wheel… it sent shivers down his spine.

“You’re staring.”

Jaskier flinched and averted his gaze, licking his lips, “Sorry…”

“It wasn’t bothering me,” Lambert sounded amused, “I was only curious as to what your fascination was.”

Jaskier shrugged his shoulders, “I… I just… you are so beautiful.”

Lambert frowned in embarrassment, “I’m… I’m not…” He glanced at Jaskier. The brunette gazing up at him with bright blue eyes, his soft bangs falling into his face. “If anyone is beautiful it’s you…” he muttered returning his eyes to the road.

Jaskier bit his lower lip and laughed, “Thanks…”

Lambert swore under his breath, “Fuck… I…” He sighed and pulled up next to the dorms. “We’re here… is this good?”

Jaskier smiled, “Yes! Thank you for lunch and the ride.”

Lambert nodded, “No problem.” He watched as Jaskier exited the car and walked around the front toward the dorms. He was about to pull away when he saw Jaskier run back up and motion for him to roll down his window.

“What’s wrong? Forget something?” Lambert smirked.

Jaskier grinned, “Yes.” He leaned forward, placing a kiss on his lips. He smirked at Lambert’s shocked expression. “Later!”

Lambert watched, still in shock, as Jaskier skipped away. His fingers touched his lips, the ghost of Jaskier’s kiss still present. He frowned as his face grew warm, “Little shit.”

~~~

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#the witcher #jaskier #lambert #professor!lambert #student!jaskier #jaskier x lambert #lambert x jaskier #jaskbert #panerato writing #mouth to mouth #modern au #college au

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suffering-and-happy-about-it · 4 years

Text

The Witchress of Keadwen (Geralt x reader, Part 4.)

Series description: The Butcher of Blaviken has a long and famous past, thanks to his friend Jaskier. Yet, neither of those dies easily and it still lurks behind Geralt like a shadow after all those years. History, neither unfriendly relationships, doesn't die easily.

Part Summary: Your arrival to villages of Borin and Corin were more or less accepted by the folk living there. Yet with uncovering the mystery risen up around Mahakam mountains, there were more questions than aswer.

A/N: Why did I fell so hard so the Witcher politics? It was almost not mentioned in the series at all, but I am all about Temeria this and Redania that.

Tagging: @osgon-azure @davnwillcome @missdictatorme @nemodoren

Word count: 2.8K

Master list: H E R E

The party of mighty heroes was established, consisting of two witchers and one certainly attractive and legendary bard. As it was said the previous night, all of them met in front of the residence early in the morning to gather the last clues so later that day, they could set on their journey. The fog was thick and white as cow’s milk, the air was ice cold.

"I feel that I'm dying Geralt, I swear, I shall fall on this grass and never get up again." - Jaskier jested rather loudly, catching your attention. You were just feeding your horse and it appeared that you were talking to the animal. That was kinda a common thing when you were a witcher. You hadn't a better friend than your animal.

"It's only a hangover, Jaskier. You'll be fine as always." - Geralt grunted back, having a hangover himself. He shouldn't drink four ales and two wines. Yet he did and this was what he had gotten for acting dumb.

"This is the professionality you get from Geralt of Rivia himself." - You chuckled back and swung your leg over your horse to get on top of it. While Roach was a small, brown, and gentle mare, your horse was a beast. It had about two meters and it was as black as night. It was one of the expansive warhorses that weren't common for a witcher. What was common for a witcher was a werewolf head you had strapped to the saddle. Geralt has done the same and jumped on Roach’s back, only Jaskier still stood on the ground and was looking at both of you.

"Where is your horse, bard?" - You asked a bit unbelievably, your look being shot at Geralt as he was the bard's friend. - "If you ride on one horse, I don't judge. Just hop on there so we can go." - You said to Jaskier, petting your horse's neck.

"He doesn't have a horse." - Geralt said, making Roach go forward. Jaskier nodded and started walking behind Geralt. No. On your watch, the bard wasn't going on his feet. It wasn't that you liked him or anything that human, it would just be too fucking slow. And your horse was a big, strong one. Your two meters tall horse called Chamberlain stopped right next to Jaskier and you furrowed while you offered him your palm.

“You are too slow on your feet and I am not listening to your crying.” - You hissed as you helped Jaskier on the horse’s back. You almost slapped the man when you felt palms on your hips. - “If you touch me again I swear to Melitele that I will decapitate you, bard.” - You hissed and made Chamberlain go.

Jaskier wouldn’t recognize you in the morning. All the fancy diamonds were now gone, you weren’t wearing any make-up or jewelry. Jaskier could feel one of your swords poking his leg the whole ride, the second one’s hilt almost hitting his forehead.

Since he never has seen a female witcher, a witchress you would say, he was kinda wondering about your armor and the similarity it bore to Geralt’s. You had the same medallion of a wolf head, the same leather was used on your chest pieces, even the scabbard of the swords were similar. Yet you looked more charming, feminine, and gentler than Geralt could ever look, which made a lot of sense.

It could be felt that you’re going to the mountains shortly after - even if the sun got on the sky and the birds started to sing, the air was getting colder and colder. You had to cross three villages and a mountain pass to even get to the place of your contract - that could last a week if you’d be quick. Which certainly wasn’t your case since Jaskier was with you. And besides, you and Geralt had to look at the place where did all of the massacrings happened, and you had to speak with the survivors, which could be a difficulty on its own.

You had your suspicion about the monsters. It could be trolls or giants. But... This behavior wasn’t normal for either of them. Giants mostly didn’t even live on the Continent. Once you encountered one, it was on Skellige and you were glad that he didn’t notice you. And trolls... Yeah, they cooked people rather often, but they weren’t big enough to massacre a whole village and to break trees and stones apart. There was something fishy going on with this whole contract.

Most scared you were of the case that you would not have enough herbs to brew potions. Healers and herbalists could be hours, days, or weeks away and although it was just the start of fall, many rare herbs simply didn’t grow anymore.

To your surprise, you were stopping by the first village in the evening. It was getting cold, the sky was cloudy and the rain was about to break through any second. It was kind of normal when small kids started to yell and cry when they saw your pupils glow in the dark. Cows were running away, pigs shitted themselves. That was what being a witcher meant most of the time. Animals shitting themselves, usually being the first ones to notice you riding by. Then children crying and hiding behind their mother’s skirt since you were the scarecrow used when kids didn’t want to go to sleep. And at last, it meant a shit ton of disrespect and hatred from strange people.

The innkeeper was more or less quick with you.

“Are there any survivors from Makaham mountains taking refuge in this village, good man?” - You asked quietly, but at your question, the innkeeper shook his head.

“No, lady, we don’t have any folk from these poor villages ’ere. But if you’ll continue souther in the direction of Lyria and Rivia, you will surely find a village of Borin and Corin. There is the folk you search for.” - He answered, giving you two pints of ale for you and Jaskier. Geralt was sitting there with a pin of beer. As you mumbled a quiet thank you, you got back to your companion.

“Borin and Corin are the villages we need to visit next. Something tells me it will be already the territory of dwarves.” - You furrowed and sat down to the men, now waiting for the dinner you’ve ordered.

“Something about all of this doesn’t make sense.” - Geralt drank up and looked over the inn. It was calm, there was only one musician in the corner and most of the people didn’t even notice you. They surely weren’t provoking you, at least for that moment. Jaskier didn’t completely understand what you were talking about, but you hummed and nodded.

“Why would these rich Redanians hire us for a contract that is taking place in Mahakam? These mountains aren’t even in Redania, this isn’t Radovid’s concert nor theirs? And for a reason, I don’t trust that this is because they are worried that the monsters could ascend to their homeland.” - You nodded at Geralt’s suspicion, gently stroking your hair.

"Do you mean that this has something to do with the tension between Redania and Temeria?" - Jaskier asked all of a sudden, making you both interested. Geralt mentioned Jaskier to go on with his speech.

"People like you do not take interest in the normal people's problems," - Jaskier started, yet as soon as he saw Geralt raising his eyebrows and you shifting your position uncomfortably, his tone and expression changed drastically. - "Politically speaking, King Radovid is trying to take over Temeria, which is by cutting off its business and preferably killing off its king. Yet I think this has barely anything to do with this nonsense. It's just another bloody monster, killing everything that moves. You both know how these things go."

For a long moment, there was complete silence. Geralt was drinking his beer, so his furrowing face was hidden behind the bottom of the pint. His eyes were presumably closed as far as Jaskier could say. Your face was turned from the bard as well, but suddenly, after ten long minutes, you woke up from the trance. - "That makes sense. You aren't completely dumb."

"I can't be dumb when I am the biggest storyteller on the whole Continent." - The man in bright clothes jested playfully, laughing unbelievably.

"Although, I am not sure why would Skellige gave their consent to this. Honestly, I think all we are going to find will be some giants, piles of bones, old blood, and ghouls that were attracted to the place of massacre. Yet we can't just turn out horses back and drive to Redania just like that. Trying to accuse the king of buying giants, sailing them to Mahakam, and watching as they get out of your control... It is an amusing story and an impressive theory, but I don't think it would get us too far." - With that, you had Jaskier speechless, which didn't happen often.

It was rare to see witchers speak... Normally. You were talking in full-blown sentences that made some sense and told kind of a story. And it actually could be heard that you know what you're speaking about. Redania, political situation with Skellige, possibly bounded to Cintra and Temeria. One would never suspect that witchers could know so much about politics.

"But we can't be sure. Maybe the Devil sent his reign of terror to rule over Mahakam? Maybe we will find some undead, what can I know?" - You finished the speech, finishing the ale in one good swing. The truth was that witchers could not digest alcohol well, but they were good and grateful drunks. Whatever alcohol you would serve them, they would drink all of it.

As the last night, all of you went to sleep early. There was a long road ahead of you just to get to Borin and Corin and you weren't even thinking about some bad weather if a storm would meet you on the road, the journey could last additional week.

As far as you would talk about Jaskier or Geralt as your companion on the road, it wasn't exactly the best, but it wasn't the worst either. Jaskier could lift your spirits after you had enough forbearance to listen to his voice. His stories were pretty interesting, even if you were aware of how many of them were manufactured by the man. His facts about the monsters were mostly wrong, God knew what happened, but you at least smiled when his voice got the loudest and his eyes started to widen itself.

Geralt could at least hunt and prepare the fireplace when he wasn't exactly the most talkative from the bunch. He was mostly sitting there and prepared various potions and liniments. Your pouch was full of them already, yet Geralt was making some recipes you had never heard about. These recipes were unknown to you.

When the mist was settling down on the dawn of the fifth day, you were approaching the gates of Borin. Normal people were living there along with the dwarves, yet these villages couldn't be more different from the ones you would find in Redania or Kaedwen. There were mining shafts, members and ashes were flying in the air and there were only some conifers or bushes, normal flowers weren't growing where Borin was built. Some houses were built into small hills, only showing the door in the ground, some wooden cottages and houses could be seen and on the main square of the village, there was a monstrose fireplace.

For you, these villages were kind of a mystery. They never appeared as rich, neither they bounced above the abyss of poverty. Dwarves who lived in this town and who quarried inside the shafts exported their ores to Nilfgaard and the Northern Kingdoms, sometimes to Lyria or Rivia... Basically to anyone who had the best offer. Who paid the most got the best ore on the Continent.

And there were camps for the refugees who lived higher up in the Mahaken mountains. The tents were big and could fit at least ten to twelve people. A lot of fireplaces were started to the human beings and dwarves could warm themselves up.

"This is so terrible and ashaming." - A voice in your ear had woken you up from your thoughts. Jaskier was looking at the suffering people. And in his eyes were tears. Oh, you have forgotten. This man surely never saw how whole towns and cities... Sometimes even provinces or kingdoms looked after Nilfgaard raided it. There were dead bodies set on fire laid down next to roads, people hung up on the trees, buildings that were torn down, and cities that were fabricated.

That was mostly why you had to take roads that were leading through the woods. That was where elves, Cintrans, dwarves, and halflings were hiding. That was where most of the refugee camps were located. And the things there... You saw non-humans eating cooked parts of their friends because there was nothing else left to eat. Non-humans were killed, their clothes and poverties were stolen, their bones were cowardly buried in one big pit.

"They have something to drink, normal things to eat, and a place to sleep. I have seen way worse than this, bard." - You said quietly, getting off Chamberlain's back. As usual, witchers were the main interest of everyone. Yet this time, it wasn't meant to make you angry. Refugees and beings living in Borin understood that you are there to investigate.

Slowly, you walked to the refugee camp, having an emotionless expression on your face. You led Chamberlain just a few meters behind, still letting Jaskier sit on its back. - "Is there anyone who comes from the villages of Lhanbyrde or Hwen? I wish to speak to someone who saw what happened there."

Geralt was watching you with his eyes. That charm, calmness, and smile could be admirable. You politely asked the people if anyone saw what happened in the heart of Mahakam - Geralt would just randomly ask someone in his typical barbaric style, scaring them to death. Jaskier surely thought the same thing since he was already looking at Geralt with his eyebrows rose. This was the way to go.

"I, good lady, I saw what happened there." - A boy stood up immediately looked you in the eyes. The boy was about sixteen years old, he was pretty tall and too slim for his age, which could be caused by the events of the last few weeks. No matter what, he was too young to even see such horrors. A nod of your head was what made him talk about what he did see.

"It happened all of a sudden. We were sleeping, oy? And suddenly, fire and screaming filled the air. I heard bones breaking, I saw people bleeding out, I saw all of that. But these footsteps, fair lady..." - The boy gasped for air and looked away for a second.

For a second, you shot your look at Geralt, widening your eyes a bit. The giants you were talking about before. Dear lord, this was strangely exciting. - "Do tell, boy. What about these footsteps? What about them?" - You sighed and the corners of your lips curled upwards.

"I don't know what it was, lady, but the footsteps were... I have never heard anything more horrifying. It was... Like the sound... Of a gong. The land was shaking under the footsteps. Whatever it was, it was huge." - The boy told you and there were tears in his eyes. The memories sure were terrifying someone who wasn't a witcher, yet for a witcher, their memories were everything and more.

Quickly, you bowed to the boy and put up the emotionless expression once again. Chamberlain was still slowly driving behind you with Jaskier on its back. As usual, you booked a room inside the inn, ordered alcohol, and some food to eat.

Good thing was that now you were almost sure about the monster species. On the other hand, there was also the thing that you were most possibly about to die in a painful death. The other thing was... How did giants get into the middle of the Continent? As a lot of questions got answered, more of them raised from the darkness of mystery.

#the witcher #the world of the witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #Geralt of rivia x female! Witchress #the female witcher #jaskier netflix #andrzej sapkowski #we stan a witchress #oh yes kween

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thefatedthoughtofyou · 4 years

Text

Bright Smiles And Tired Eyes ~ Part 4

( okay so this took ages, and i’m exhausted, but i fucking DID IT!!! i tried to cushion the angst in this with some lead in fluff and i don’t know if it helps or just makes it worse! hahah! either way i’m sorry! love you guys! thanks for reading!!!! )

Ao3 - Whole Fic

Summary: Modern Au, Punk!Jaskier, Creature!Jaskier. Geralt needs a new roommate to help him pay rent. Jaskier answers his ad. Through a handful of circumstances and series of events… there’s bed sharing. And some angst. …And so much more.

Word Count: 4741

Warnings: I’m putting this this time cuz some not so chill shit happens in this chapter. Torture, mentions of torture, blood, death (no main characters!!)

They keep the rabbit.

It’s Geralt’s fault.

Inadvertently.

They’d been sitting on the floor, Jaskier pressed against the window with her pressed up between his legs, her favorite spot to be. She was always on their legs, no matter where they were. Sitting on the couch? She was on their thighs. Sitting at the table? She’d press herself between their feet. Lying in bed? She’d taken it upon herself to curl up between them. Or, on most nights now, she’d curl up in Jaskier’s bed with him. On those nights. Jaskier stayed in his room. Geralt shoved his jealously deeper each night the opposite side of his bed remained cold. She kept Jaskier from screaming himself awake. Most nights. And for that Geralt managed to shove the jealousy away. She did what he did, and together, he supposed they’d keep him safe. And sane, if the gods willed it.

Her face had been pressed against his thigh, nose snuffling against the dark wooden floor, Jaskier’s fingers buried deep behind her ears as he smiled lovingly down at her. Geralt looked up over his book, his legs stretched out on the couch as he looked down at them.

“Little cockroach isn’t spoiled at all is she?”

Jaskier’s head shot up, his mouth dropped open in shock.

“Geralt!” he pressed the rabbit’s ears gently back onto her head, trying to keep her from hearing.

“You cannot call our child a cockroach! What is wrong with you?” his voice was full of drama, but Geralt could see it, the way his lips where curving, twitching at the sides, waiting to jump into a smile.

“That… creature.”, Jaskier gasped and pressed her ears down a bit more.

“Chewed through my favorite pair of slippers last week. I can call her what I like.” Jaskier’s mouth dropped open again. Geralt quirked his eyebrow at him and he closed it again, finally releasing her ears and petting her head, Geralt looked back to his book and then heard Jaskier snort. His eyes moved slowly back up.

“Your favorite pair of slippers.” Jaskier wasn’t really talking to him. He was muttering to himself. He did this a lot, Geralt found it endlessly entertaining, and probably more endearing than he should.

“Yes. So I’ll call her a cockroach and she’ll accept passively. The way she accepts most things.” Geralt gave Jaskier a knowing look and then a smile when he laughed and shook his head. His attentions back on the rabbit.

“How bout it? You wanna be a cockroach? A little roachy roach.” Jaskier said, his voice in pet mode, and then he gasped again and looked up at Geralt, who resolutely had not been staring.

“Oh my god! That’s what we should call her!” his hands flailed near his head, the rabbit against his leg gave no sign that she had even heard the shout.

“Hmm?” Geralt questioned.

“Roach! Cuz you called her cockroach! And! Oh ho ho aaaannnd! She has a little white spot on her back foot that I swear looks just like a little bug! Oh my god Geralt! It’s perfect!” the amusement and contentment rolling off him in waves was intoxicating. Geralt took a deep breath and clenched his fist behind his thigh, keeping it from Jaskier’s view. Jaskier dug his fingers deep into the rabbit’s fur and pulled her close. She let herself be moved by him like a ragdoll, her paws curling gently onto his shoulder.

“Geralt you’ve named our child! The heavens will finally be appeased!” Geralt couldn’t help but smile at his dramatics. His stomach fluttering at the second mention of her being their child.

“Do you know what this means Geralt!?! Have you any. Feasible. Idea?” he let her down and punctuated his words with slaps to the floor as he crawled awkwardly toward Geralt, his eyes shining. Geralt grumbled and rolled his eyes, trying to hide behind his book. The book was quickly pulled away, Jaskier’s finger fluidly marking his place as he tugged the book out of his hands.

“What?” Geralt sighed, he needed this to be over. Jaskier was so close to him, and he smelled so… happy. Geralt thought he might pass out. Jaskier leaned closer, Geralt repressed a groan. Jaskier leaned down so that his chin was resting on Geralt’s arm and smiled, wild eyed, up at him.

“Whaaat?” Geralt said again, his voice drawing out the word the way he’d heard Jaskier do a thousand times before.

“We have to keep her now. You named her.” He whispered, his slender fingers walking up Geralt’s shoulder and then poking him in the nose. Geralt looked at him. The smile on Jaskier’s face faltered and he pulled back a bit, his hand resting on Geralt’s shoulder.

“I mean. Or not. I was… just kidding. Kind of. Can we keep her please?” his voice dancing upwards as he began to beg. Geralt moved his eyes from Jaskier to the rabbit, Roach, who was now stretched out in a sunspot on the floor, and then slowly moved them back to find even Jaskier’s eyes pleading. Geralt moved his eyes between them once more and then nodded. Jaskier looked at him, his head tilting like he wasn’t sure what he’d seen.

“She can stay.” He sighed, moving to grab his book back from Jaskier. He moved it quickly out of reach again and then threw himself bodily across Geralt’s chest, an awkward attempt at a hug in their off-kilter positions.

“Oh thank you! Thank you thank you thank you!” he gushed, giving Geralt a squeeze before pulling away and setting the book pages down on Geralt’s chest, his place easily saved. And then he was back across the room, laying flat on his stomach as he pressed his face into Roach’s fur, her feet twitching as he jostled her. Geralt lifted his book and pretended to read.

“Did you hear that lovely? Not only do you have a name, but you have a home now too!” Jaskier whispered into her side, his fingers gently playing with her big ears.

“You get to stay here with us. You’re a rescue now dearest… Just like me.” His voice had dropped lower, the softest it had been since the night he’d come home to them both sleeping on the couch. Geralt watched him sigh and snuggle closer to her, his face pressing deeper into her as they lay in the sun. Geralt felt a pressure in his chest, a deep aching beneath his ribs, and wondered if maybe, just maybe, this was what true happiness felt like.

~*~

Three months.

That’s how long it takes for Geralt’s happy life to be shattered and ripped from beneath him.

Three. Months.

He opens the door to their building and has his senses assaulted by the stench of fear. Jaskier’s fear. He runs up the stairs three at a time, his chest burning as he reaches the top and sees their door knocked off its hinges. He pulls his dagger from his boot, twirling it easily into position and walks slowly inside. The smell of fear is overwhelming. He pushes it aside, forcing himself to concentrate. He listens closely, the silence pressing against his eardrums as he stalks through his own home.

His eyes land on the wall. And the message left there for him. And his heart nearly stops in his chest.

IF YOU WANT YOUR LITTLE MONSTER BACK

COME AND FIND HIM

The dark red letters dripping sinisterly in the dark. Geralt’s heart jumps into his throat when he realizes that the letters look like blood. His hands start shaking as he turns around in the dark.

“Roach.” His voice is hoarse, barely clawing its way out of his mouth as he breathes heavily into the silence of the room. He takes a few steps, his feet carrying him forward on their own volition.

“Roach!” he’s walking faster now, his boots loud on the floor of their hallway.

“Jaskier! Roach! Where are you?” he calls, he knows Jaskier won’t answer, knows Roach can’t. But he calls for them anyway, it’s all that he has.

He steps into Jaskier’s room and can hear her heart beating, fast, faster than normal. She’s not in her pin, it’s been tossed aside, clearly having been thrown into the wall, it lies shattered on the ground, along with Jaskier’s guitar. There’s a different smell in the air here, if Geralt hadn’t known Jaskier so well he didn’t think he’d be able to place it. It’s a difficult scent to pin down, but he does know Jaskier, and he knows this scent.

Defiance.

Jaskier had fought. And fought hard. His guitar shattered on the floor. Geralt scans the room quickly and sees his keyboard laying in the corner, bent at a strange angle. He’d used the things he loved more than anything to fight for himself, and no doubt, Roach.

Geralt drops to his hands and knees slowly. Lowering himself down to look under Jaskier’s bed. She was there, cowering against the wall, eyes shinning at him. He could see her sides moving rapidly, she was terrified. Geralt couldn’t tell if she was hurt though, he needed to get her out.

“Hey sweetie. Roach. It’s me darling. It’s Geralt. Can you-“ she was scurrying toward him before the request was out of his mouth, her claws scratching on the wood floor as she moved franticly to him. He reached out for her, scooping her up and pulling her close. She clung to him, her paws pressing into his shoulder as she trembled in his arms. He shushed her, moving his hand slowly over her back until her breathing calmed, subtly pressing harder here and there to asses any possible damage, resolutely ignoring the patch of stickiness in her fur. She didn’t flinch or whine and he was easily swayed that she, at least, was alright.

He carried her to his room and shut the door, turning the light on and dropping onto his bed. He let her crawl out of his arms and lie on the bed, she pressed against his leg, not wanting to leave him. There was a dark spot on her back, her fur sticking up in stuck together tufts, Geralt moved his hand over it, pressing the fur flat. His heart dropped when he saw the clear handprint that had been left on her. A hand print of blood. Geralt closed his eyes, breathed deep, and tried to shove away the fact that the blood smelled like Jaskier.

“Yennefer.” He whispered it. Just her name. The way she’d told him to do if he ever needed her. He’d never done it before. Never had too. But he needed her. He couldn’t do this by himself. He was too close to the situation. And he needed to find Jaskier, now. He feels the air shift and opens his eyes, the portal opens seconds later, right before him, Yennefer and Renfri walk through, both holding the daggers he’d given them the Christmas before.

“What’s going on?” Yennefer asks, eyes bright, Renfri stands ready at her side, her eyes widen when they land on Roach, she clocks the blood quickly.

“They took him.” Geralt says. And he tries to keep his voice even. But it shakes, and it’s hollow, and he needs help. He looks up at Yennefer, doing his best to ask for help without asking for help.

“They took him.” He says again. He can’t seem to find any other words. Those three words are all that’s in his head. He watched Yennefer snarl and rip the door open, he hears her stomp down the hall as Renfri kneels in front of him, her hand on his knee. She says nothing. She knows she doesn’t have to. She sits there, comforting Geralt as best she can, and she waits for Yennefer to return to them. She soars back into the room on a wave of crackling energy, her eyes blazing.

“The message on the wall isn’t blood. It’s paint. But there is blood. Other places. In his room. In the living room. It’s not a lot. Probably just a bloody nose. And not all of it’s his.” Her voice is forcibly even, trying to console Geralt even as she fumes, a small smirk painting her lips knowing that he’d fought.

“Do you have any idea who it could be?” She’s pacing the room now, her outward appearance matching the feelings roiling inside him. He watches Renfri close her eyes and take a deep breath and knows she’s shoving emotions down, she’ll deal with them later, it’s how she works. Geralt shakes his head, and then blinks, his eyes locked on Yennefer.

“What?”

“His parents. They were killed.” He chokes out, his throat tight, he clears his throat. Yennefer’s eyes have gone soft, at the tone of his voice or the mention of Jaskier’s past horrors, he doesn’t know.

“Hunters. Monster hunters.” He says, taking a deep shaking breath.

“If you want your little monster back.” Yennefer growls, low in her throat as she quotes the message on the wall. She moves to kneel next Renfri in one fluid motion, her hand landing on Geralt’s cheek as she looks up at him.

“Listen to me. I know that you’re feeling lost right now. And I understand. We’re all feeling rattled. But I need you to focus.” She pats his cheek firmly. The soft smack to his cheek bringing him back to himself a bit. He blinks down at her, his head clearing slowly as the smell of Jaskier’s blood floods his senses again, he moves his fingers into Roach’s fur and looks back to his friends. The two strongest women he knows look back at him, eyes shining bright with fury.

“Let’s go get him back.” Renfri snarled, her teeth bared and eyes burning. Geralt looks at them, his two closest friends, ready to fight beside him for the most important thing he’s ever had, and he stands. They move back in unison, both standing and stepping back. Geralt looks at them a moment longer, his chest burning with pride and aching with worry as he walks to his weapons case and tosses the lid back.

~*~

It only takes two hours to find him.

Less, really. Yennefer takes some of his blood. Does some kind of spell. And has his location in minutes. It takes them two hours to get there. Yennefer tried to portal but something was blocking her. Renfri shrugged, grabbed a few more knives from Geralt’s case, and marched out the door. She drives them, features still calm. Geralt sits in the back seat, watching Renfri’s still face, and Yennefer’s twitchy fingers, and knows he’s looking at the literal embodiment of the calm before the storm.

The warehouse is dark when they pull up. Geralt can hear several heartbeats. One beating very very fast. His knuckles go white around the handle of his knife. Renfri shuts the lights off, kills the engine, and looks back at Geralt, beside her, Yennefer turns to him as well.

“Shall we?” they ask, in unison. Geralt grunts, nods, and shoves his door open.

He opts to walk straight through the front door. Figures that, as distractions go, that one’s pretty good, a classic even. He kicks the door in, easily, and lets his eyes adjust to the lights inside. It’s dim, and dark. One bright light shines in the middle of the warehouse, swinging in slow circles above a chair. Geralt’s skin crawls, like electricity crawling down his back. Jaskier is in the chair, his eyes wide and shining as he looks at Geralt. He’s covered in bruises, one eye starting to swell shut, his bottom lip looks split, and Geralt tightens his grasp again when he realizes that one of Jaskier’s lip rings is missing. There’s blood dripping down his chin and Geralt’s heart skips a beat when he realizes that there’s a gag shoved between his, sharper than usual, teeth. The tight straps cutting into his cheeks where they wrap around his head. He feels his own lips part in a snarl and stalks forward.

“Ah ah ah,” a voice in the dark admonishes, Geralt pauses.

“Not so fast Witcher.” And there it is, that biting tone digging into the word that people throw at him like a weapon. His knuckles are white on his dagger handle, his lips curl dangerously when he sees Jaskier glare at the man for speaking to Geralt that way. Having been beaten and gagged and still defiant.

“Can I help you?” Geralt asks the four men who walk out of the shadows, two standing near Jaskier, two walking toward him. He can hear more heart beats in the dark, but that’s where they stay for the moment.

“Sure. All you have to do is kill the siren. Like you should have when you found him. And we’ll let you leave.” One of the men near Jaskier says, his hand coming down hard on Jaskier’s shoulder, making him flinch violently in the chair he’s bound to. Geralt can’t help but notice the rather large gash on the man’s face, and the accompanying bruise, his chest fills with pride at the thought of Jaskier slamming his keyboard into the man’s head. He watches the mans fingers dig into Jaskier’s shoulder and hears him whimper, a wet sound around the gag and the blood in his mouth.

“You’ll let me leave?” Geralt asks with a smirk, moving forward a few steps, slowly, lowering his dagger to his side, grip steady.

“Yes. We will. After you do your fucking job.” Another man shoots back, missing the mockery Geralt had tossed at them. And that was fine. Let them think they have the upper hand. They wouldn’t have any hands at all soon enough. He moves a step to the right and stands still, save for a head tilt, looking at the two men still walking slowly toward him.

“I do wonder how he swayed you.” The man on the right said, folding his arms over his chest and looking Geralt up and down.

“Though, we know what he is, not so hard to figure it out I suppose. I just didn’t think a big strong Witcher would be so affected by something like him.” The other man scoffed, nodding his head back at Jaskier. The man next to Jaskier shoved his hand against Jaskier’s head roughly, pushing his neck at a terrible angle, Jaskier flinched away and then glared up at the man, eyes full of fire.

“Something like him.” Geralt repeated, voice low. Dangerous. The men nodded, moving a step closer still. Geralt had to give them credit, they were brave. Or more likely they were stupid. Those two where often mistaken for each other, and Geralt found that whether it was bravery or stupidity that spurred men onwards, they died just as easily either way.

“Yeah. Ya know. A siren. A monster.” He spat the word, and then literally spat, on the ground at Geralt’s feet. The men were ever so close now, Geralt would only need to take two or three steps to get to them. And he would get to them.

“But ya know now that I think about it. I guess it makes sense that you people would flock together.” The man chided, smiling. Smiling at Geralt like Geralt wasn’t holding his life at the end of a sharp blade.

“Not that we can really call you a person though, am I right?” He nudged the man next to him at that, a laugh actually daring to pass his lip. Jaskier snarled against his gag, blood bubbling through his pointed teeth as he glared at the man who stood so close to Geralt, insulting him.

“Aww, I think you’ve upset the little monster.” The man on Jaskier’s left said, amusement in his voice. Jaskier bared his teeth again and glared up at him, the man slammed his fist into Jaskier’s cheek, his head snapping to the side and hanging against his chest for a moment before he looked back up again, shaking his head. Geralt swears he sees Jaskier’s skin shimmer, like moonlight dancing on water.

“Seriously though, how did he get you? He tell you a little sob story about his parents?” The man who had spat asked, turning back to Geralt, looking him up and down again. Geralt’s eyes moved to Jaskier, briefly, his features softened, his eyes pleading as he looked at Geralt. Geralt knew what he was thinking, Jaskier was worried that he’d believe these men. Believe them over him. Geralt’s heart sank. He’d had enough. He moved his eyes back to the men in front of him, and moved his body in the same instant. His hand moving to shove his dagger deep into one of their necks, his leg moving to kick the other, his foot connecting with his knee swiftly.

The warehouse filled with an ear-splitting scream as the mans knee collapsed backwards, he fell to the floor, hands reaching for his leg. Geralt moved his hand back, his dagger withdrawing with a sickening wet sound, the man, now just a body, fell to the floor in a crumple of limbs. The doors at the other end of the warehouse burst open, Yennefer and Renfri stalking through it, the air crackling around them. A few more men stalked out of the shadows. Renfri and Geralt rounded on them, spinning and swaying effortlessly through and around them, dropping them easily.

Yennefer waved her hand toward Jaskier, the bindings on his hands and feet sprang free as the two men near him launched themselves at Yennefer. She held her hand out in front of her, her face creased with concentration. She held one man in place, the other was suddenly shoved to the ground as Jaskier tackled him from behind, a grunt leaving him as he slammed bodily in the man. Yennefer flicked her fingers and the man she had hold of was dead in an instant, falling to the ground with a thud. Renfri and Geralt dispatched of the last few men and then turned to see what Yennefer was looking at.

She stood over Jaskier, and the man with a gash on his face. Jaskier was straddling him, his slender fingers wrapped around the man’s throat. Geralt stepped forward, intending to stop him, but Yennefer pressed her hand into his chest. She shook her head at him, and let her eyes fall back to Jaskier as her hand fell from his chest. Geralt watched as Jaskier struggled. The man under him clawing and pushing at Jaskier’s face, trying to shove him off. Jaskier released his neck for a moment, slamming his fist into the man’s face three times in quick succession, his skin shimmering again with ever blow, and then wrapping them tightly around his neck once more. There was blood dripping down his chin, staining his skin a sickly red. His teeth were bared again, sharp and still covered in blood as well. He was doing his best to yell at the man, gag not letting him speak, but sounds, sounds moved around the gag with now problem. Garbled shrieks clawed their way out around the gag and the blood in his mouth as he choked the remnants of life out of the man beneath him.

Geralt could see the tears falling down his face. The man twitched beneath Jaskier, his legs kicking and then stilling. The frustrated screams from Jaskier died away, fell into a stream of sobs, choked out of him as he choked the man under him. Geralt watched the man twitch a few more times and then still. Pushing down the feelings watching Jaskier choke the life out of someone had stirring inside him, a low pulse near his groin. He moved forward, kneeling next to Jaskier and wrapping his fingers gently around Jaskier’s wrists, pulling him away from the man. Jaskier startled, his entire body shaking and flinching away from Geralt. Geralt gave his wrists a squeeze and moved one hand to Jaskier’s cheek, guiding his head up to look at him.

“It’s okay. It’s me. I’m here.” He whispered, his own voice sounding shattered as he spoke. Jaskier’s eyes seemed to clear as he looked at Geralt. He blinked hard, twice, and then whined and lurched forward, his arms wrapping around Geralt’s neck and pulling him close. Geralt held him, arms wrapped tightly around him, as he trembled against him. Jaskier pulled back suddenly, almost jerking himself away from Geralt, he was tugging at the straps on the gag, his fingers clawing at his own face trying to free himself. Geralt looked to Yennefer, she snapped her fingers and the gag was gone. Jaskier whined again and sagged, his shoulder drooping, hands gently touching his face, avoiding his ruined lip. His eyes moved to Geralt, his fingers still pressed against the raw lines on his face.

“Thank you.” He breathed, his voice rough, the way it had been the night he met Yennefer.

“For what?” Geralt frowned, had Jaskier really thought he wouldn’t come for him. Jaskier moved his hand to Geralt’s cheek, the blood stains on his knuckles standing out on his pale skin.

“For not being tempted to believe them.” He whispered, that soft smile Geralt liked so much curling his blood smeared lips. His eyes where full of something that Geralt didn’t have time to analyze right now. His chest was full of heat, a terrible pressure pushed against his rib cage as he looked at Jaskier, so close, and out of harms way.

“And for bringing the calvary.” He smiled, grimacing at the pull on his lip and nodded toward Renfri and Yen. Geralt looked up to see them standing there, looking down at them, arms wrapped around each other, soft expressions on their faces. Geralt felt his cheeks burn, the heat running down his neck as he stood and extended his hand to Jaskier. Jaskier took it and let himself be yanked to his feet, Geralt catching him easily when he over corrected and swayed forward too far. Jaskier grinned at him, a half grin, not moving the right side of his mouth, trying not to irritate the split. Geralt’s hand moved to touch him, to sooth the hurt, but he made a fist instead and clenched it at his side.

“You’re welcome.” Geralt grunted, he could feel the heat creeping into his ears. And Jaskier was giving him some kind of look, his ocean eyes shinning in the single light in the warehouse.

“Can we go home now?” Jaskier asked, his voice quiet, he sounded like a child. Yennefer laughed through her nose and nodded, moving forward to pull him into a quick hug. Renfri wrapped her arms around him as well, hugging him quickly and carefully and then letting go.

“Hmm.” Geralt hummed, moving to wrap his arm around Jaskier’s waist, pulling his arm over his shoulder, helping him walk. Jaskier grimaced at the movement and let Geralt hold his weight and guide him.

They walk to the car in silence. The only sounds in the evening air their footsteps in the gravel and their car doors opening and shutting behind them. The drive is silent too, save for the sounds of Jaskier’s slightly wheezy breathing next to him. They hit a bump at one point and Jaskier grimaces before letting his head fall onto Geralt’s shoulder.

“You know what would be amazing right now?” Jaskier asks, his fingers playing with a rip in the knee of Geralt’s pants.

“Hmm?” Geralt inclines his head towards him, knows he can’t see it, doesn’t really care.

“A milkshake. A gigantic, horribly huge, like, disgustingly large, milkshake.” He sighed, his head pressing into Geralt’s shoulder harder as he tried to get comfortable. Geralt smiled down at him, his stomach fluttering as Jaskier’s eyelids did the same. He listened to Jaskier’s heart calm, his breathing even out and slow, as he relaxed into his side. That pressure was behind his ribs again, shoving at them like it was trying to get free. He moved his hand up and rubbed at his chest, trying to figure out if it was a pleasant feeling, or something he should be guarding against. Jaskier hummed sleepily into his shoulder, the thing behind his ribs pulsed and hummed back.

And he decided he liked it.

#bright smiles and tired eyes #bright smiles part 4 #bsate #bsate part 4 #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #yennefer x renfri #siren!jaskier #feral!jaskier #the witcher #the witcher netflix #geraskier fic #my writing

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ficsandcatsandficsandcats · 4 years

Note

Can you please write something for the Punk!AU where Jaskier is touring with the band, and the reader FaceTimes him, because she missed seeing his gorgeous face, and Sam has said her first word, which happens to be Dadda/Daddy, in which Jaskier cries into emotional tears, about how he misses his wife and daughter, and how proud he is of Sam saying her first word.

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Punk!Jaskier x ReaderWord Count: 1,571Rating: GTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock @magic-multicolored-miracle @writingstudent @mlleecrivaine @coffee-and-stories @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @astouract @your-not-invisible-to-me @kemmastan @mycat-is-mylove @amirahiddleston a/n: Got me fucked up in my feelings tonight, fam. I only hope I can return the favor with this humble fic

Your fingers drummed along the countertop as you checked the time in New York for the fifth time that hour. Vicious Mockery should be wrapping up their setlist soon and when they got to the hotel Jaskier said he’d facetime you. You’d nearly texted him the news but you wanted him to hear it from you if he couldn’t be there himself. Sam had begun to sleep through the night and you glanced at the little monitor screen to make sure she was still out. You couldn’t believe that it had already been a year and a half since she was born but somedays it felt like there was never a time before her. She’d changed your lives and even covered in mushed pears you wouldn’t have it any other way. You briefly realized you should change before Jaskier called and had just pulled off the soiled t-shirt when your phone lit up. You swiped in answer without another thought and then there was Jaskier’s face, still a little sweaty, some of his eyeliner blurring. You jokingly called this is “sexy racoon” look.

“Oh hello,” he said, eyes widening in surprise. That was when you remembered that you were only wearing your bra.

“Is that Y/N?” you heard Aev call and then the screen was pressed against his chest protectively and you heard him mutter something about wanting to talk with her alone.

“LOVE YOU Y/N!” you heard Aevryn yell. The next time the screen was pulled back you could recognize the tour bus, specifically his little nook where you’d spend many wonderful hours. Your heart ached with missing him.

“How is everything?” he asked, “How are you? How’s Mitka?”

“It’s going alright. We miss you,” you said. You struggled with whether or not to mention that he was missed, trying not to guilt him but needing him to know how much he meant to you. He rested his fingertips against the phone screen and you followed suit.

“I miss you both more than I could ever say,” he said. “Tell me every little thing that happened today. Is Sam still protesting everything green and vegetable?”

“I managed to get her to eat some peas…” you began, “That fancy stuff Valdo bought she just devours.” Jaskier harrumphed but begrudgingly admitted he was happy to hear she was getting nutrients. You chatted a bit more about general things and then you took a deep breath.

“Something kind of big did happen today,” you said. Jaskier’s face immediately crumpled in worry.

“What? What is it?” he asked anxiously. He struggled with the fear that something would happen to you and Sam while he was away, much more than he let on, you suspected.

“She said her first word!” you exclaimed. Jaskier’s face softened, the pale blue eyes growing glossy.

“Really?” he breathed, proud and pained at the same time.

“Yes,” you said nodding.

“What was it? Oh gods… don’t tell me it was Uncle Valdo,” he said, face growing serious. You laughed and brushed back a tear.

“No, silly. It was Dada,” you answered. His face lit up and then utterly fell apart, a sob choking out as his shoulders began to shake.

“Oh, babe, no,” you stroked the phone screen helplessly, wishing more than anything that you could hold him. But if you could, he would’ve been there to hear it himself and these would be happy tears.

“I’m sorry,” he cried, “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“Jaskier, hey, listen,” you implored, “Babe shhh it’s ok.”

“No it’s not,” he argued, eyes a total smudged, dark blur, “I should’ve been there. I shouldn’t have done the tour.”

“We can’t put our lives on hold. You did the right thing.”

“It doesn’t feel like it. I mean, what else am I going to miss?” he asked. It was a conversation you’d had in the months leading up to her birth and for a bit after she was born you’d been lost in the safe little cocoon of your family as Jaskier took his paternity leave. Technically he could’ve waited as long as he wanted to go back but if they wanted to keep getting people buying tickets they had to have a presence.

“But sweetheart, just think about it. I know you’re scared about not being here for those moments but her first word was Dada. Because you’re such a big part of her life and she already loves you so much that she talks about you even when you aren’t here. You’re a good dad, Jaskier. She is so lucky to have you,” you said, touching on another anxiety that plagued him, one he spoke about a bit more openly. He nodded but you could tell he didn’t quite believe it.

“I play her clips of your shows before bed. And the videos you recorded, of course, but she likes the shows the best. She gets so excited,” you said. He smiled, wiping his face.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you replied.

“Can I see her?”

You silently moved upstairs and crept into her room. She had one of Jaskier’s shirts clutched in her little hands like a security blanket and you brought the camera in close so he could make out the long, thick eyelashes and chestnut curls and chubby little cheeks and fists. She was growing fast but she was still your baby, just for a bit more. You sat in the rocker next to her bed and kept the camera switched to her.

“She’s so beautiful,” he whispered.

“She really is,” you agreed, still in awe that you’d made something so incredible.

“Like her mother,” he said warmly. You chuckled quietly.

“She’s the spitting image of her father,” you teased.

“There’s so much of you in her, Y/N,” he insisted, “She’s lucky to have you, too.”

“Stop you’re going to make me cry again,” you joked, though you wiped away a stray tear. You tried to stifle the yawn but Jaskier noted it.

“You should get some sleep,” he said.

“I guess,” you replied reluctantly.

“Take me into bed with you and I’ll sing you to sleep,” he offered.

“You have things to do too,” you said, though you hoped he’d insist.

“They’ll survive just fine without me,” he said. You gave him one last glimpse of her and then you got ready as he told you about their day and how the show had gone. When you crawled into bed you pulled his pillow into your arms and snuggled down under the covers.

“You comfortable?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Thank you for telling me, Y/N,” he said.

“Of course,” you answered, “Now, if you are taking requests, I’d like Peppermint Tea.”

He smiled and began to sing a quiet, acapella version of the song he’d used to propose. It took about one minute before you were snoring softly. He kept watching you for a bit until he felt creepy about watching you sleep and hung up. As soon as he did there was a knock at the dividing door.

“Yeah?”

Geralt stepped through the divider hesitantly.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

“Geralt Rivia asking to come into his own tour bus, will wonders never cease?” Jaskier joked. He was trying hard to put on a brave face but he knew Geralt could see through it. The man sat across from him quietly and nodded at the phone still in Jaskier’s hand.

“Everything ok?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Jaskier said, and then, “Sam said her first word.”

“No shit?”

“Yeah.”

“What was it? Uncle Geralt?”

“Dada.”

Geralt smiled and nodded approvingly.

“That seems right. The second one can be Uncle Geralt.”

“Geralt do you think I’m a bad father?”

The question poured out before he could stop himself and to his credit, Geralt didn’t miss a beat before answering.

“No.”

“But I wasn’t there,” Jaskier insisted.

“Jaskier, you’re a good dad.”

“My dad wasn’t there for mine. Hell, I doubt he even knows what it was,” he continued.

“Jaskier, Sam adores you. She’s a bright kid and she’s well-loved and cared for and that’s in big part to you and Y/N. You can’t be there very minute but you are there. And you know her. And you want to be there and that’s more than a bad dad could say,” Geralt argued.

Jaskier nodded, trying to take his friend’s words to heart. One of the perks of having Geralt as a friend was he would always tell it to you straight.

“Honestly if I get to be a dad someday I hope I’m half as good at it as you are,” Geralt admitted.

“Oh c’mon, Geralt, you’re going to be the best dad,” Jaskier argued.

“Well the difference is we’ve seen you do it and have the proof. No clue what it’s gonna be like for me. Kids are scared of me sometimes,” Geralt said.

“Sam isn’t.”

“Well she’s your kid,” he said shrugging.

“Yeah, and your kid will be your kid. And Yennefer’s, which means they’ll probably be fearless and leading a small country before their fourth birthday,” Jaskier joked. Geralt smirked, amused by the thought and not entirely against it. The two men looked at each other with warm, tired smiles.

“It’s still weird you’re a dad,” Geralt said.

“For me too.”

“It suits you, though. And you’re good at it.”

Geralt said it in a tone that would not be argued with and this time when Jaskier smiled he meant it.

#Anonymous #Punk!Jaskier x Reader #Punk!AU #Vicious Mockery #Vicious Mockery AU #reader request

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thearvariblues · 4 years

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The Bard And The Wolf - Chapter Five

(AKA Geraskier in the Metal Band AU you didn’t know you needed)

AKA me desperately trying to catch up my Tumblr with what’s already been posted to AO3. ;)

The masterpost for this fic can be found HERE.

5 – No Firstborns Needed

Even though the food Geralt had brought him certainly helped, it still took Jaskier a significant amount of time to recover from the hangover. He had to admit it to himself – he wasn’t getting any younger. There used to be times when he would drink all night and be completely alright in the morning…

Nah, that was a lie. His hangovers always used to be hell, but this was worse than ever.

He was mostly alright, though, when his phone rang in the afternoon.

He answered it without even looking at the screen.

“I’m listening,” he said.

“Uhm. Erm. Hi,” a girl’s voice replied. “This is… This is Ciri.”

“Ciri!” Jaskier beamed. “How are you? I was gonna call you, I swear, I wanted to thank you for sharing the video, and also for not telling on me to your dad… Oh, no, I mean, I probably shouldn’t be thanking you for lying to your father...”

“Didn’t lie to him. Just didn’t tell him,” Ciri said.

“That’s not making it any better,” Jaskier murmured. “Anyway! You were calling me for a reason, I guess?”

“Yeah, yeah. I just wanted to ask… Well, since you’re definitely staying, because the fans really love you, I… I mean… Would you like to go shopping with me?”

“Shopping?” Jaskier blinked. “Oh, you mean for some clothes to fit my new metal singer image?”

“Yes. I know all the good places. Mom takes me with her all the time. I know where they have the best T-shirts and pants and–”

“Yeah, sure, I’d love to go! Wait… Does your father know about it?”

“Does he have to?”

“Well, I’d like to stay alive, so yes, he kind of does.”

“Right. So I’ll… ask him and then call you back?”

“Perfect,” Jaskier smiled. “And what about Renfri? Is she coming too?”

“She said she’d rather cut off her right hand with a pocket knife.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“That’s definitely a no. Right, I’m gonna go and ask dad. Might take a few minutes, though. He’s working, and when he’s working, it takes him a while to start focusing on anything else.”

“That’ fine. Yeah. Right. See you soon. Well, hear you soon.”

“Bye, Jaskier.”

Geralt didn’t mind Ciri going with Jaskier. He even called Jaskier himself to tell him that. (And also to tell him that Ciri is allowed to buy something, too, within reason, and that he would give her his credit card, in case she wanted something she couldn’t afford to buy with her pocket money… Jaskier couldn’t help but think it was incredibly cute.)

So Jaskier went shopping with Ciri.

Two hours later, he had five large bags of clothes and his credit card was weeping silently in his wallet. Oh, dear, he would have to take some new students. At least two. Maybe even three. He didn’t want to, but he would have to.

Who’d have thought black clothes were so damn expensive?! (Except he absolutely didn’t buy only black clothes, quite the opposite, in fact.)

Right, right. So it might not have been absolutely necessary to buy those black leather pants and that leather jacket… But Jaskier had wanted a real leather jacket for a while, okay?

“So, am I now officially ready to take my place in the band?” he asked Ciri. He’d dropped the bags off at his flat and he and the girl were currently walking to Kaer Morhen’s rehearsal. Ciri was carrying a little bag with a black-and-purple striped dress that Jaskier wasn’t sure Geralt would approve of, but Jaskier definitely approved. It looked so good on the girl. It was stylish, but not revealing, a perfect dress for a kid her age…

“You’re more than ready,” Ciri said. “You look great.”

Oh, yes, so Jaskier had definitely found the time to change while he was at home. He was now wearing tight black pants, a dark purple T-shirt and a black brocade vest that, he had to admit, did wonders for his figure. His waist looked slimmer, his shoulders broader… Yeah, he looked great as hell.

“All thanks to you, mylady,” he grinned.

“Hush. You chose most of the clothes yourself. You just needed someone who would make you actually buy them. Like the coat.”

Oh, yes, the coat. The coat that was currently spread on his bed. The coat that had already managed to become one of Jaskier’s most prized possessions.

The beautiful, steel blue, double breasted, clearly Victorian era-inspired thing cost more than half of Jaskier’s monthly income, and it was love at first sight. He tried to be be strong, tried to resist, tried to remind himself that he was saving money so he could buy his own flat instead of renting it… But then Ciri saw him drooling at the coat and said: “Oh my God, you have to try it on!”

And so he did. And he was lost.

“It’s not exactly… what a metal singer should wear, is it? I mean, the color is so… light? Too light,” he had tried to protest, stroking the fabric lovingly.

“Don’t be silly. Female singers wear light colors all the time. Even mum did!”

“Mum?”

“Yennefer? Hello?”

“Yeah. Of course. Of course. Way to win the fans’ hearts, by pretending to be her.”

“Nobody’s gonna think you’re her, stupid. Buy it. I bet dad’s gonna love it. It’s one of his favorite colors.”

“I’ve never seen him wear anything but black.”

“I didn’t say his favorite to wear. He just… likes it.”

And it shouldn’t have been the last impulse Jaskier needed to buy the fucking thing, but it kind of was.

“I still think you should have bought the golden jacket, too.”

“Sorry, sweetie, but even the coat was a bit too much. The jacket? I could never afford that.”

That beautiful, gorgeous, amazing golden jacket with V-shaped stripes on the front. Oh, yes, he would kill for that beauty, but he wasn’t ready to eat dry rice for the next two months.

“Too bad. You looked beautiful in it.”

“I know, Ciri, I know,” Jaskier sighed.

They were nearly at the door. Nearly at the rehearsal room. But then Jaskier heard fast footsteps behind them and he (stupid, stupid, stupid!) decided to turn his head.

“Oh, hello,” said a voice Jaskier never wanted to hear again. “If it isn’t the useless wannabe singer! And who’s that? She’s a little too young to be your girlfriend, isn’t she?”

“Who the hell is he?” Ciri muttered.

“Valdo Marx,” Jaskier growled. “What do you want?”

“Oh, nothing. I just wanted to say hello!” Valdo grinned a crooked grin. “I saw your video. Man, I’ve never seen something so ridiculous. Have you been kicked out, yet? You’d deserve to be kicked out for that shit!”

“Since there was no bitch around who would be horny for my place in the band… Nope, still in, sorry.”

“And what about that terrible song?” Valdo continued, as if Jaskier didn’t say anything. “Toss a coin to your whatever. I’m not surprised Dandelions had to get rid of you! Ugh, appalling.”

“Excuse me?!” Ciri exclaimed and took a step in Valdo’s direction.

“Ciri. No. He’s not worth it,” Jaskier said, stopping her. “Valdo. May I introduce you to Cirilla, Geralt’s daughter and a former fan of Dandelions, now a devoted fan of Kaer Morhen?”

“And a fan of Jaskier,” Ciri added.

“Geralt? As in the singer of Kaer Morhen?” Valdo snorted. “Oh, dear. You really did suck his cock, didn’t you? Since he’s borrowed you his daughter. Has he fucked you yet? You’ve always said he was a moron, I’m sure you’re really desperate for him to fuck you.”

Jaskier’s eyes went wide, and this time he took a step towards the man.

“What did you say you bitch?!” he growled.

A hand grabbed his shoulder from behind.

Jaskier turned, kind of expecting to see Geralt there, but no. It was Lambert, a smirk on his lips and murder in his eyes.

“Relax, sweetie,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.”

“And you are?” Valdo asked.

“Lambert. Funny you don’t remember me, because you spent weeks trying to get in my pants when you wanted to sleep your way into Kaer Morhen. I ruined it for you by being so annoyingly and boringly heterosexual. Don’t worry, though, even if I was gay, you’d stand no chance.”

“Burn, baby, burn,” Jaskier smirked.

“Now, Valdo,” Lambert continued, his smirk growing a little wider. “My friend Jaskier here might be ready to cut your throat, but I would never let him.”

“Thank… you?” Valdo blinked.

“And if Geralt heard you were mean to his beloved daughter, well… He’s a calm man, I mean, he tries to be. But I don’t think he would remain calm if he heard. You know what they say, demons run when a good man goes to war.”

“Hey. I understood that reference!” Jaskier blinked.

“Shush. I’m in the middle of threatening here,” Lambert said. “Valdo. Valdo, Valdo, Valdo. Trust me. You wouldn’t like what would happen if Geralt heard about this.”

Valdo visibly paled.

“He… he doesn’t need to know, does he?”

“No, no, of course not,” Lambert nodded. “But then again… There’s still me.”

“You?”

“Me,” Lambert grinned. “My dear Valdo. There’s one thing you need to understand about me. I am not a calm man, I am not a good man, but I am also not someone who would just simply cut your throat. No. If you show your ugly face near our rehearsal room again, I am going to rip off your cock, fuck you with it, and then use it to gag you while I cut you open and remove your organs in alphabetical order. Are we clear?”

Valdo’s face was completely void of blood now. All the guy was able to do was a single short nod.

“Good. I’m glad for that,” Lambert said. “Why are you still here, then?”

With all the dignity he had left (which was, well… none), Valdo Marx turned and power-walked away without another word.

“Wow. That was awesome!” Ciri beamed.

“I had it,” Jaskier growled, looking at Lambert.

“I know. You were absolutely ready to cut his throat. Or… throttle him,” Lambert shrugged. “But Geralt doesn’t like that. He always tells me, use your words first, there’s still time for stabbing later. So I do it. I threaten, and then, if it doesn’t help, I stab.”

“And do you… stab a lot?” Jaskier asked, fearing the answer.

“Nah,” Lambert grinned. “But fist fights and bar brawls, well… Those do tend to happen.”

“That’s a relief.”

“I bet. Everything alright, Ciri?”

“Absolutely,” the girl nodded.

“Now, Jaskier. Saw your video. Did you seriously call me a dick?”

“Well,” Jaskier smirked. “You are kind of a dick.”

“Guilty as charged,” Lambert grinned. “Let’s go in. Eskel hates it when we’re late.”

They weren’t late, but someone else was. Twenty minutes late, to be more precise. And that someone was Geralt.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said in reply to Eskel’s disapproving glance, closing the door behind him. “I was working, forgot time existed.”

“So… as usual?” Renfri smirked.

“Hush, Renfri,” Geralt glared. “It only happens once a month.”

“More like once a week,” Renfri replied.

“Thrice,” Ciri said.

“Did I ask for your opinions?” Geralt growled.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Jaskier peeped, raising his hand. “I don’t wanna sound like an idiot, really, but… What is it that you do? I mean… your job?”

“Oh, dad’s a blacksmith, and a jeweler!” Ciri announced. “He makes those cool iron monsters and wrought iron fences and amazing rings and necklaces and earrings. Look, he made me this!”

She showed Jaskier her necklace – a beautiful swallow made of silver.

“It’s lovely,” Jaskier smiled. “Wow. Really… Wow. Geralt, what do you want for making a cool necklace for me, too? I’m kind of broke now, I have to admit, but I could offer you my firstborn, if you wanted.”

“I’m kind of glad you asked,” Geralt said. “Because that’s precisely the work I got so lost in.”

“Excuse me?”

Geralt reached into his jacket pocket and took out a pendant on a silver chain.

“I made this pendant for every member of the band. A common symbol, you might call it. A white wolf. Well, a silver wolf, really.”

“Like in the logo of Kaer Morhen? Seriously?” Jaskier blinked.

“Seriously,” Geralt smiled. “And this one is yours.”

“Mine?!”

“You are the member of the band, aren’t you?” Geralt said, raising his eyebrow. “Consider this a welcome gift. No firstborns needed.”

Jaskier raised his hand to gently touch the pendant.

“You’re kidding, right? You gotta be kidding me. How many hours did you spend making that?!”

“Not as many as you probably think,” Geralt chuckled. “I mean it. Take it. It’s yours.”

“I… Thanks, Geralt,” Jaskier beamed and took the necklace from Geralt’s hand. “It’s beautiful. But now I’m realizing… Cirilla!”

“Wow. You sounded just like dad,” the girl said. “And yeah. I knew. That’s why I wouldn’t let you buy any kind of necklace. Sorry?”

“You should be ashamed for lying to me like that,” Jaskier smirked, fastening the necklace around his neck. “How do I look?”

“Gorgeous as always,” Renfri smiled. “Welcome to the band, Jaskier. Officially.”

Eskel cleared his throat.

“Yeah, welcome. There are a few rules you need to know about before you start. Rule number one – if we say the rehearsal is starting at… let’s say seven...”

“And here we go,” Lambert smirked. “Relax, Eskel, we’ll begin in a minute. Jaskier! Have you, by chance, managed to finish that stupidly catchy song that’s been stuck in my head for… five hours now?”

“Toss A Coin?” Jaskier beamed. “Well, I have, actually! Turns out horrible hangovers are surprisingly inspirational. Would you like to hear?”

“Oh, yes!” Ciri said.

“Sure thing,” Renfri nodded. “Hey! We could even squeeze it into the setlist for the next gig! Try it out. See how people like it!”

“You think Geralt will be able to learn a song in a week?” Lambert smirked. “Ouch! That really hurt, Geralt!”

“I hope it did,” Geralt growled.

“You realize that you’re expecting me to learn several songs during the very same week?” Jaskier asked.

“Yeah, but you’re… clever,” Lambert smirked. “Ouch! Eskel, tell Geralt to stop hitting me!”

Eskel raised his drumstick.

“If you don’t stop talking so we can start, I’m gonna help him!”

“I feel very unloved right now,” Lambert muttered.

“You are very unloved right now, I think,” Renfri chuckled.

“Play us the song, Jask,” Geralt said. “Quick. I think Eskel is about to have a heart attack. Ow. Fuck you, Eskel, I’m on your side!”

“Shut up, then,” Eskel growled. “Jaskier. Take your guitar and fucking play.”

“You know, nobody ever told me playing in a metal band was so risky,” Jaskier said. “If I knew… No, no, no, don’t hit the poor bard! I’m playing, see? See? Now, how did it… Oh, yes. When a humble bard…”

“So unrealistic,” Lambert whispered, and Geralt chuckled.

“Poetic license,” he muttered.

Jaskier winked and kept on singing.

Oh, how he already loved this band of idiots.

Late that night, already in bed, Jaskier opened his Instagram. He knew he probably shouldn’t. Blue light and all that jazz, right? But he was used to browsing his social media before going to sleep, and hey, he never had any trouble sleeping afterwards. So he opened it, only to find out that he had been tagged in a pic… by Renfri?

He looked at the pic. And blinked. And blinked again.

He hadn’t noticed her even taking the photo, but she must have, somehow.

It was of him and Geralt, face to face, both holding their microphones and apparently singing, eyes closed, faces intense with concentration. It must have been in the second half of the rehearsal, because Geralt had already taken off his jacket. He was only in his absolutely inappropriate tight black T-shirt, and it took all of Jaskier’s willpower not to look at those muscular arms. He scrolled to the caption.

Because it seems that everybody wants to see those two morons on a pic together, I give you: the mighty White Wolf and @jaskierthebard working on Toss a Coin To Your Witcher. And let me tell you – they don’t just look good together, they also sound AMAZING. I can’t wait to play this song live!

#kaermorhen #workinghard #rehearsing #thebardandthewolf

Jaskier rolled his eyes.

The Bard and the Wolf? Seriously?

Yeah, that was never going to catch on…

Continue with Chapter Six

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #the bard and the wolf #the witcher fanfiction #witcher fanfiction #my fics

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