#astouract

[missygoesmeow]

commission for @astouract 🦇

thank you!

#the band ghost #my-art #commissioned art #papa iv #papa iv fanart #the band ghost fanart #cardinal copia #papa copia #tw: blood

[papasbaseball]

Primo x Reader (Calore e Gabbia)

+18 CONTENT NOT FOR MINORS. MINORS KEEP SCROLLING

Pairing: Primo x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Good old fashioned smut

Summary: Papa Emeritus Primo, the Gardener of the Ministry, has long caught your eye. You’ve slipped into the Ministry sauna this morning in hopes that you will catch his and move up in the ranks among the ministry. Little birds are rarely as hidden as they think, and Papa Emeritus Primo has plans for you too.

Word Count: 3,627

Notes: This is a birthday present for @astouract! Have the bestest birthday my love! Here’s to another year of sinning <3

Translations at the end.

AO3 Link

There are few things as unpleasant as hell-hot humidity. In the early summer, as the spring rain is on its dying breath, it clings to the skin like a blanket of sweat, unable to be wiped away. Skin sticks to skin and clothes melt to the body in a heated need to be united as one. It churns the stomach in revulsion, cooking the living like a delicacy. In the early weeks of summer the library and catacombs are a refuge to the nausea, ditching out on chores to slip into their cool dark embrace. The lengths you went to to make sure the sweat of nature never touched your skin crossed your mind just once as you pulled the towel around you tighter and walked into the sauna.

It was like choking on smoke, the steam infiltrating your lungs as you inhaled to adjust to the smoldering box. The scent of cedar followed on the tail of the steam seeping into you and you wrinkled your nose at it. Your fingers tightened around the rough terrycloth of the towel as you padded over to a nearby bench, the wooden planks warm and slightly damp to your feet. You were the only person in the sauna right then. Your host would be arriving soon.

You weren’t a morning person. Misfortune had forced that upon you four weeks ago. Standing there in the kitchen as siblings clanged pans and cracked eggs, you laid out soft, doughy biscuits on a tray. Looking out the murky stained glass window as the soft light of dawn slowly brought forth the shapes of cold bushes and delicate flowers, you couldn’t help but to wish for the warmth of your bed, a few more minutes of sleep. In the middle of your dreaming daydream you spotted him: Papa Emeritus Primo, bundled up in thick, warm robes, creeping quietly through the morning mist of the garden to the bathhouse outside the Ministry. Each morning you’d watch  the grease-covered clock that hung over the door to the dining hall until it was 5:50 and then stare out that murky window, waiting for the elderly man’s journey.

It was no secret that you fancied the Papas—most of the congregation did. There were perks to gaining favor with them: nicer clothes with less holes in them, meals with fresh meat and warm bread if you were invited to dine. Some lucky few had been moved to spacious living quarters attached to the papal suites for optimal discretion. That was never why you stopped and stared in the hallways as he passed by, gluing yourself to groups of siblings to make your spying less obvious. No, there was something comforting about the way he moved, something that the other Papas couldn’t replicate. Others thought him to be boring or scary, but you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that there was a gentle touch in those glove-obscured hands.

He was the silent type, sentences short, only giving polite nods and the occasional cough as siblings filed into the chapel for midnight mass. Bland as oatmeal was how one sister had put it. But you'd seen him in the gardens that day when you took a shortcut from the cemetery to the catacombs to avoid the humidity. It was the affection of a lover that guided his movements as he poured water onto the soft loamy soil that covered the roots of a curling plant that spilled its vines freely across the gravel path. He caressed the plant leaves and whispered to them in Italian, thumbs brushing away any stray dust or pollen that might have imposed itself upon the emerald life. Brushing and stroking the leaves, you watched him in a daze, wondering if he would stroke a lover’s face the same way.

The door creaked open and he shuffled in. The burlap cloak fell to the floor with a soft thump and you looked away quickly: he had no clothes on underneath. You looked back just enough to keep an eye on him in the peripheral. He gave a great yawn and stretched like a cat in the lazy afternoon sun. When he leaned back you heard his spine cracking followed by the whispered scratching of nails against skin. He shuffled only one foot forward before taking note of the toweled intruder.

“Sister.” Papa Primo’s voice was still hoarse from sleep. The never-before-heard bass caused you to shift.

“Papa,” you said. Even avoiding his white eye and naked body, the words stuck in your throat, tangled with the steam.

He resumed his procession toward the bench, taking his time to lower himself gently onto the baking wood, watching you the whole way down. His back popped again when he pressed his palms against his thighs. A groan of contentment echoed through the sauna as he released the tension, making himself comfortable. “I do not get many visitors here.”

“I’m intruding,” your voice came weakly. “I’m sorry. I’ll go.” You clutched your towel to you, hurrying to leave, hurrying to crawl back to your bed to forget this mistake.

“Scusa,” he hoarsed, a gruff authority in his voice barring the exit to you, “it is rare to find una suora that is an early bird. The steam only calls to me and an occasional ghoul this early.”

You took your seat once more, tucking your hands beneath your thighs to stop from fidgeting with them. “I couldn’t sleep,” you lied.

He sniffed at this and you dared to look at his face. “Could not or would not?”

You squirmed as he looked you in the eye, unable to speak. This was a bad plan. The urge to run away rattled through your bones. Who were you to try and sleep with a Papa? It would have been better etiquette to just wait for one to approach you. That’s how it’s done. That’s how it’s always been done. Ghouls delivering gifts and keys, being pulled out of Ministry duties for furtive appointments. It was all unspoken rules and signals. Yet here you were, trying to weasel your way into Papa Primo’s bed.

“Scusa, I tease.”

A half-hearted laugh escaped your lungs. He was joking. Of course he was joking. The silence hung as he examined you and your stupid little laugh. It hung until you were convinced it would hang yourself. The fake explanations gushed forth. “My dreams were restless. I found myself waking up so much that I came here. I hoped the steam would help put me to sleep.”

“If you are having trouble sleeping you could come see me, sister.”

“Oh?” It’s all you could manage as you fought the thought of slipping through the night surreptitiously to knock on his door and warm his bed for the price of a good night’s sleep.

He got up, joints creaking, and grabbed the ladle out of the water pail. You watched as he ambled over to the hot coals. You watched the sinewy arms guide the ladle dripping with water over the coals. You watched as the water slipped down the side of the ladle, hugging its curve, clinging to its old way, resisting the fire that would set it free as steam. You watched as with a little more tilt the water broke free of the curve, pulled down, and met the hot coals with a great hiss. You watched as the room filled with steam, obscuring the oldest Emeritus brother and yourself. You watched and moved.

“We have many medicinal plants that can help you if you are feeling unea-“ His words trailed off as the steam cleared, revealing yourself. You arched your back more to accentuate your breasts and the heart that hammered between them. Your hands gripped the towel that now rested around your hips, trying to still their shaking. He whispered something in Italian, his hiss mingling with the residual of the coals. “Rare indeed.”

Your stomach flipped. You were rapidly approaching the coals and had yet to know if they were hot.

A brief smile played in those old tired eyes before he resumed his seat. “You are bold, Suora. I knew I had a little dove watching me from her cage every morning, but I did not know she was so lascivious.”

Your blood ran cold, and you felt more naked in that statement than when you had first shed your towel. He had never once looked over to where you had laid out breakfast for the ministry in stupefied admiration. You knew he had never spied you himself because if he had looked at you in any singular way you would have knocked the tray of biscuits to the floor.

“Gli uccellini raramente sono così nascosti come pensano. You want an antidote to your restlessness?”

You nodded. His unmoving gaze commanded you to nod. It didn’t matter if you were answering the lie or the truth that had roused you from sleep into this hellishly hot sauna so early in the morning, and Satan was it hot.

“Dimmi bambina: You want your Papa’s cock?”

Steam settled around him as he waited for your answer, an early morning reverie that you were uncertain you wouldn’t wake up from. You glanced down at those weathered hands and then back up to his mismatched gaze. “I want your co… only yours. I-” Your mind felt fogged up from the steam, unable to tell him how Terzo was too flashy and Secondo too scary. It wasn’t the title you wanted: it was him.

“Vieni qui, colomba.” He patted the planks in between his legs.

You bit the inside of your cheek as you got up, watching as he dragged his eyes over your naked form. The butterflies in your stomach danced as you watched his pupils linger on your hips a second too long before they met your own, staring up into your sinful soul. He reached out a hand and pulled you to be seated with your back to his chest. His hands were worn smooth and shiny with age and hard work of many a garden tool. They slid up the steam-warmed skin of your arms, not in any particular hurry. Meeting collar bone, he gently pressed you back into him, his smattering of  silver chest hair tickling the nape of your neck. Like a flower, he luxuriously inhaled the bouquet of your scent, his aquiline nose pressed into your scalp and then neck. At last, he licked the petal-soft skin right above the last reminder that you were living and breathing and that it was all real.

You leaned into his touch and taste, whimpering as his right hand gripped your jaw to present your neck to him, his canvas soon to be painted with bruises from his lips. His left hand slipped between your thighs, not wasting any time swiping the smooth pad of his thumb over your clit.

Your breath came faster and faster and you squirmed from the brush, the important nerves alive for the first time that morning. “Rilassati, bambina. Papa will take care of you.” He mumbled the sedative into the crook of your neck as ring and index finger spread your lips, exposing your clit to his leisurely strokes, coaxing it and soothing it as if it were one of his revered plants.

Your heart beat against your ribs as he stroked and kissed, spurred on by the steam that loosened your vocal cords, a stream of moans praising his skilled touch and tongue. Papa Primo’s satisfaction at this pressed into your lower back.

He was well endowed by the Olde One. The tip of his cock nestled into the small of your back and for the first time, your worries were replaced with if you would be able to take the Papa you’d so long desired and watched from your kitchen window all those mornings. “Papa,” you started.

He flickered his finger quicker and quicker, his right hand dragged down your throat to knead your breast like he kneaded the earth before sowing seeds. “Cum for me, colomba. Cum for your Papa. Sì proprio così. Voglio che la tua fica sia bella e bagnata per il mio cazzo.” He quickly slid his fingers into your aching cunt, pressing hard into the tender flesh until you spasmed and fluttered internally.

You gripped his thighs as you watched the cords in his arm flex rapidly, unable to look away as palm and fingers continued to work through your orgasm, unrelenting. They pushed and pressed until you screamed, words failing you as he finally withdrew his fingers. He brought them to your mouth, pressing the cream-coated tips to your gasping lips.

“Assaggia te stessa, bambina mia.” He guided the slick fingers into your mouth, smearing your juices into your tastebuds. His fingers swept the inside of your cheeks, and under your tongue, eventually gently touching the back of your throat. “Good girl. It tastes good, sì? It is much better than the sleeping herbs I would have given you. Do you like the way your pussy tastes on my fingers?”

You sucked against them, tasting the salt and tang, until he pulled them free. The string of drool between your lips and his fingers broke as you answered, “Yes, Papa.”

“Bene, lay  down. This is your first time in the sauna, sì? I do not want you to pass out.” You did as told, and realized just how lightheaded you’d become as the blood flowed more easily, and sights and sounds became more clear. You watched how his thick cock swung as he walked to the pail of water. He scooped the water once more and brought it back to you.

“ Consider this a baptism.” He tilted the ladle, letting the water spill onto your warm skin. You jumped, but relaxed back into the cedar planks as the water washed away sweat and heat. He poured it over your chest, down your stomach, and at last between your thighs.

You sighed as the heat seemed to wick away from your body. He sunk the ladle back into the pail, returning to massage the water droplets that clung to your skin like morning dew. He tilled the earth once more before cleaving the soil. His hands gently guided your legs apart and you looked nervously once more at his cock trying to suppress a whimper.

He stroked your inner thigh, shushing with each pass. “ Non si agiti. Do not be afraid. You must relax.” Pressing a kiss inside your knee, he continued his parting. You swallowed hard as he lined the thick head of his cock up with your entrance. His hands massaged and pulled at the muscles in the creases of your thighs, stretching you as he slid himself in, never rushing, never hurrying. You winced at the ache only once before he bottomed out. Gentle hands guided you once more, taking your right hand in his to wrap around what wouldn’t fit. “ Good girl. Take all of your Papa.”

Your hand tensed as he moved over you, blocking the hazy orange light that glowed from the ceiling. He growled at the reflex and gave a shallow thrust. You whimpered as you fought the urge to cum from just how thick he was.

“La tua fica è stata mandata dall'inferno. Così stretto,” he growled. He pumped in and out slowly, letting you adjust, spreading your dripping arousal into your hand. He grunted softly as he worked in and out of your hand and cunt. His nostrils flared, pushing faster and harder in the humidity. His white eye burned in a new fire, one that you’d never seen all those times in the chapel or even that summer afternoon in the garden. It burned and plummeted past the side of your face, searing your cheek as he rutted to sow his seed.

“Is this what you wanted, little bird?” he panted against your ear. It was the first time you realized the smell of mint wafting about him.

The ‘yes’ was stuffed down with an anguished cry as his hips dragged up against your clit. His breath came fast at this, at you.

 “I wanted to call for you next week. My ghoul saw you watching. How did he put it?” A savoring kiss to your neck sent shivers up your spine as he thought. “Ah… yes,” he hissed. “‘She watches you like a sad dog.’”

You yelped as he shoved your left leg up against your chest, nails digging in as he hit a new depth.

“ He asked me if he should take care of you,” he continued, not minding the tears that spilled down your cheeks and onto his. “It seems la colomba wanted me to take care of her instead.”

“I’m sorry.” It was quiet, but it stopped him.

“Are you ashamed of your desire, little bird?”

You didn’t answer that.

He scooped you up and set you astride him. You watched as the orange glow highlighted the corners of his mouth set into a hard line. “I will have you, but only if you can rid yourself of shame here.”

You looked down and away, but he gripped your chin forcing you to look him in the eye. His fingers dug in hard enough to press the insides of your cheeks to the sharp edge of your teeth

“You will fuck yourself on my cock, or you will leave. The Olde One rewards greed, Sister, and so do I.”

Laying your hands on his age-thinned shoulders, you raised your hips a few inches. The hardline crooked up into a smile as you sank down onto his cock and into your sin. The greed wrapped itself like a cloak around your body, banishing the anxious chill. You needed this. You needed him. “Papa...”

“Hm?” He looked up at you, pleased.

“I want to be your bird,” you whimpered as you sank yourself down on him again.

“Many siblings want to be my bird…Fuck.” His nails dug into your hips as you took him as deep as you could. The same muscles that had forced you to come undone were digging their claws into you, insisting you keep the pace that you had set, if not begging you to speed up.

Your pained whine flowered into a desperate moan as you felt yourself clench around him. The muscles in your thighs ached as you angled and tried to chase your high, not even bothering to hide just how good the stretch of his cock made you feel. The moans and cries filled the sauna and the warm wood soaked them in greedily like thirsty soil.

“Canta per me, uccellino. Dimmi come hai bisogno che la tua fica bisognosa venga riempita del seme di tuo Papa.”

Was this really what you had wished for all those days in the kitchen? The way his eyes bored into you, seeing you for the first time, all of his attention on you. And yet you knew that you were not special. There was nothing special about a wild bird that looked inside of the window and dreamed of life inside of a gilded cage, being fondled and caressed by a caring master. What a stupid bird to subject yourself to all the scrutiny that came with a cage and perch, and yet…

You felt your high so close on the heels of your distracting thoughts and you couldn’t help the way you pushed yourself just a little bit more. Your voice came high and sweet, “Papa I’m going to come!”

“Right on time,” he smiled as you fucked your swollen cunt on him. “Come for your Papa, uccellino.”

His sweet words of encouragement are all you need to come undone. You cry, drawing sharp breaths of humid air as you look at him. He watched you so intently, mouth agape at the beauty that was turned into a pathetic mess at his command. His hands guided your hips in working through your orgasm, even though you wanted nothing more than to stop and savor every contraction. The sensations drove the tears to your eyes and your lip quivered as you dig your own nails into his shoulders.

The pinch of your talons must have been the final push as his guidance slowed and halted and you swear you could taste the salt as he sowed his seed. His sunken chest heaved with effort as you felt the hot ropes of him soak you completely. He was perfect like this, and everything you wanted: heaving, panting, and devoted to the moment of just you.

But even your unconventional ways had their limits. Prying yourself from him, you tried your best to walk back and grab your towel, cunt aching from the stretch and abuse, seed dripping down and mixing with the sweat on your thighs. Fuck it was hot in here. There was an external relief in being freed from the heat of him and an internal want to curl back into his arms. A hand around your wrist spoke to the latter.

“Uccellino.” He rose to address you, thumb coming up to lovingly caress your cheek. You tried to look away from his eyes, but they held you in the need to know of his approval. “Tonight. I dine at 7. Do not be late. I know you can keep time.” A short smile and one final swipe before he sinks back into the cedar wood, shutting his eyes in contentment. It’s as if you had never even been there, and your signal to leave. You wrap the towel around your trembling body and head out into the morning mist, darkness offering you refuge from the heat that now burned within you at the thought of tonight.

Translations:

Scusa- Excuse me

una suora- A sister

Gli uccellini raramente sono così nascosti come pensano- Little birds are rarely as hidden as they think

Dimmi, bambina- Tell me, child.

Vieni qui, colomba- Come here, dove

Rilassati, bambina- Relax, child.

Colomba- Dove

Sì proprio così. Voglio che la tua fica sia bella e bagnata per il mio cazzo- Yes just like this. I want your pussy nice and wet for my cock.

Assaggia te stessa, bambina mia- Taste yourself, my child

Bene- Good.

Non si agiti.- Do not be nervous.

La tua fica è stata mandata dall'inferno. Così stretto- Your pussy is sent from hell. So tight.

Canta per me, uccellino. Dimmi come hai bisogno che la tua fica bisognosa venga riempita del seme di tuo Papa- Sing to me, little bird. Tell me how you need your needy pussy filled with your Papa's seed.

Uccellino- Little bird.

#the band ghost fanfiction #primo x reader #primo emeritus #ghost fanfiction #primo fanfic

[saradrewitt]

Satanic Horse girls ✨🐴

Just a little things I wanted to draw for my friends and our little horse girl club

Libitina belongs to @princess-nope

Poppy belongs to @astouract

Isavelle belongs to @brihemoth

Saturnia belongs to me!

#sara jackalope’s art #ghost band #ghost #ghost ghouls #the band ghost #ghost oc #siblings of sin #sisters of sin oc #sisters of sin #sara drewitt’s art

[beepophobia]

Commission for @/astouract on twitter !! This one felt so carefree to draw I love it so much

#the band ghost #cardinal copia #copia #papa emeritus iv #papa copia #tobias forge #fanart #ghost fanart #ghost bc #ghost #commission #art #art commission #artist #commissions open #illustration #illustrator #digital illustration #digital art #oc #original character #not my oc #artwork #artists on tumblr #oc artist #character artist #nameless ghoul #the nameless ghouls #ghoul oc

[gggoldfinch]

Favorite ghost fics?

Oh man, so funny thing is that I currently have 27 Ghost fics bookmarked on ao3 (which is more than any other of my fandom tags) but for the life of me I can barely remember what some of them are about, so I’ll give you the ones I remember well enough.

As with the previous fic rec list, there will be a mix of oneshot & multichap, finished & unfinished, x reader & x oc. I’ll try not to add anything too deranged; as always, heed the tags for your own level of comfort.

I Knew Nothing But Shadows by @writingjourney: Papa IV (Copia)/ Reader, unfinished multichap

this is a gift (it comes with a price) by moonlightserenades: Cardinal Copia/reader, unfinished multichap

a midnight snack by moonlightserenades: vampire!Cardinal Copia/ human!reader, oneshot, vampire-typical bloodiness

Snowed In by astouract: Cardinal Copia/ reader, smut oneshot

Tear You Apart by honeynymph: Papa IV (Copia)/ reader, oneshot, heed the tags

Apex Predator by cowboyemeritus: Aether/human!reader, smut oneshot, obligatory monsterfuckery, heed the tags

The demons we keep by EnergeticPurpleLizard: Aether/oc, unfinished multichap, obligatory monsterfuckery

a little nightmarish, a little maudlin (good golly go get this kid some laudanum!) by honeynymph: vampire!Cardinal Copia/human!reader, oneshot, vampire-typical bloodiness

Unholy Temptation by Nonbinary_hades: poly Ghouls + Cardinal Copia/reader, unfinished multichap

Who Me? by Snoozey: poly Ghouls/reader, unfinished multichap, obligatory monsterfuckery

I Am The One, Lascivious by unholy_ghoul: Papa III (Terzo)/ reader, smut oneshot

Friday Nights at the Vinothek by @writingjourney: vampire!Papa II (Secondo)/human!reader, oneshot, vampire-typical bloodiness

Feel free to ask for other fandom fic recs!!! I love compiling these

#this took far less time than o expected it to. phew #I’m gonna be totally honest I actively remember the plots of like. 5 of these fics. the others I’m just going off vague memories #so many vampire fics… #anon ask #fic

[lesdemonium]

42,44, or 54 for the prompts list? 🥰 i wasn’t sure if one of them had been done so i thought i’d mention all three 😂 (by the way i just discovered your blog and i am making myself at home here)

please make yourself at home! i am very happy to have you!! your comments have been making my day!!! 

surprisingly i have not written any of these! so i picked the one that gave me an idea immediately haha. (does almost 2000 words count as a drabble? asking for a friend)

42) things you said when you asked me to marry you

“Geralt, do you think you’ll ever get married?”

Geralt looked up and raised an eyebrow at Jaskier, but Jaskier wasn’t even looking at him. It was a strange question to ask your best friend, out of the blue, while you were thumbing through a book on medieval fashion. Though, Geralt had to admit, it wasn’t the strangest question Jaskier had asked him. Geralt let his head fall back against the bed and shrugged, even if Jaskier didn’t see it.

“I don’t know. I can’t say I’ve thought about it too much. Will you?” Geralt answered.

“I suppose. Eventually. It’d have to be the right person, though.” Jaskier hummed a bit, considering. “You and Yennefer haven’t talked about it? Isn’t that topic supposed to come up after two years together?”

Geralt scoffed. “I am sure Yen will never get married. She doesn’t seem the type.”

“So that means you won’t, either, then?”

“If Yen decides she wants to get married, then I’ll get married. Assuming it’s me she wants to marry.”

Jaskier hummed, and the conversation moved on.

Jaskier was drunk, and heartbroken, and currently hanging on Geralt so thoroughly that Geralt was sure if he were to move too quickly, Jaskier would face plant into the ground. He didn’t move too quickly. Only urged his friend through the streets to their apartment.

“I’ll never marry,” Jaskier announced, and it was just a little too dramatic to sound melancholy. “I’ll die a broken-hearted man.”

“You were with ‘The Countess’ for three months. Don’t tell me you were already considering marriage.”

Jaskier patted at Geralt’s arm. “Just because you dated someone for three years without considering marriage doesn’t mean we’re all the same! I think I’d like to be married. If only someone would love me enough.” As he spoke, Jaskier’s voice became more and more miserable, but his game was betrayed by the way his cheek, pressed against Geralt’s bicep, hardened with a smile.

“If you want to get married, you’ll get married. Hopefully to someone you’ve known longer than three months.” It was meant to be a reassurance, but Geralt found it sounded a lot like a promise.

--

“Aren’t weddings beautiful?” Jaskier asked dreamily.

Geralt scoffed into his drink. Jaskier looked seconds away from composing a new song, and Geralt figured it was probably best to let him go. There would be no stopping him.

And, really, he was right. Pavetta and Duny’s wedding was beautiful. Geralt had never much cared for weddings in general, they were always so long and boring. It was different, though, when it was someone close to you. Pavetta and Duny looked so happy together, and even Geralt had to admit both the ceremony and reception were beautiful. He wasn’t about to wax poetry about it like Jaskier was, but he was enjoying himself.

“Look at you, smiling!” Jaskier teased. Geralt turned to look at him and raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Oh, sure, look at me and stop smiling. You’re kind of a dick sometimes, you know? Don’t know why I put up with you.”

Geralt rolled his eyes and stood up, offering Jaskier his hand. “Come on. Dance with me.”

Jaskier didn’t need telling twice, though he did look a bit mystified by the offer. Geralt and Jaskier danced to the next three songs before the DJ started winding down, and everyone prepared to leave.

Before they kicked them out, Geralt tugged Jaskier under a flowered archway and kissed him, soft and slow. He had never been good at words, never knew what to say, but Jaskier responded well to action, and even Geralt knew the action was romantic. Their first kiss, under an archway, at their best friends’ wedding. It all seemed rather perfect.

--

“What about you two?” Triss asked, poking Jaskier with her foot.

Jaskier turned to look at her, his eyebrows furrowed. He had to turn in Geralt’s lap to do so, and Geralt would have put up more of a fight about Jaskier moving away from him, if everyone wasn’t suddenly looking at them.

“What do you mean?” Jaskier asked.

“You’ve been together, officially, how long now? And, let’s be real, unofficially long before that. When are you two going to get married?” Triss flaunted her ring, as if to reiterate her point, but Geralt knew it really was because she liked calling attention to it. He couldn’t blame her. Yen had outdone herself.

“Seriously,�� Yen added. “I can’t believe I’m getting married before Jaskier. Always thought you’d have gotten yourself a shotgun wedding by now.”

“Har har,” Jaskier said, rolling his eyes. He turned and looked at Geralt, then shrugged. “I don’t know. We haven’t discussed it. It hasn’t seemed all that... pressing.”

Both women hummed, and Yennefer stood to get more wine. Geralt’s fingers trailed up and down Jaskier’s back, but Geralt was lost in thought for the rest of the evening.

--

“Do you want to get married?”

Jaskier propped himself up on his forearms, peering at Geralt. Geralt resolutely did not look back, just kept his eyes trained to the ceiling, even when Jaskier drew closer and draped himself over Geralt’s bare chest. Jaskier trailed his fingers through Geralt’s chest hair, trying to appear nonchalant as he shrugged. Geralt didn’t believe him.

“Why do you ask? Don’t tell me you’re going to propose right now. I’d like to at least be less sweaty and wearing something if you ask me,” Jaskier said, smiling up at Geralt as he pressed a soft kiss to Geralt’s collarbone.

“No, I’m not proposing. I’m not sure if that’s even something you would want. I’d want to be sure of your answer before asking,” Geralt said, huffing a bit.

“Did Triss and Yen get in your head? You know I am very happy, right? I don’t need to have some slip of paper that says you’re mine. I already know you are.”

Geralt frowned and ran his hand through his hair, pushing it back and out of his face. Though, it probably would have been better to keep his face slightly obscured, for the way Jaskier was scrutinizing him now.

“Darling, you’re doing that thing with your face. I’m very concerned about what’s going on in your head right now, but I can’t fix it if you don’t talk to me.” Jaskier leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Geralt’s jaw.

Geralt sighed, frowning at Jaskier. “You’re not answering my question, Jaskier.”

“I don’t know how to answer if I don’t know the purpose of the question. What do you want to know, here, Geralt?”

“I want to know if you want to get married.”

Jaskier sighed and dropped his head for a moment. Then he pulled away and sat up, and Geralt could tell by the careful way he was turning his face away that Jaskier didn’t want his expression to say more than his words did.

“Yes, I do. I’ve always wanted that with the right person. I like the... official-ness of it. Plus, the legal aspects and protections. If you were to get sick, I don’t know if the hospital would let me visit you. And it’s... romantic. So, yes, I would like to get married. But you don’t, and it’s not that important to me--”

“When did I say I don’t?” Geralt asked, confused.

Jaskier turned back to Geralt, his face incredulous. “Only all the time, Geralt. I asked you years ago, and you basically made it sound as if you’d only get married if someone made you. And you’ve never expressed any sort of interest in it otherwise. Even your congratulations to people are a bit... weird. You have made it abundantly clear that you have no interest in marriage. And I’m not interested in forcing you into that if you don’t want it.”

“I’m not opposed to the idea, Jask. I just haven’t thought about it much.” Geralt shrugged. 

“Well,” Jaskier said, waving his hand in front of him expectantly. “Think about it now, then. Do you want to get married?”

Geralt thought about it. It was hard to picture. The wedding itself sounded stressful and long, and he still found it all to be a bit boring. But the way Triss lit up as she showed off her ring, and how happy Pavetta and Duny looked as they danced together at their reception. Geralt shrugged.

“I would want to marry you,” he answered. “Marriage in general, I can’t say I particularly care. But marriage to you sounds... nice.”

Jaskier laughed. “Thank god you don’t make your living with words, Geralt. Considering I just about swooned at you using the word nice to describe marrying me. Are you still trying to convince me you’re not a closet romantic? It won’t work. I’ve known you far too long to believe that particular lie.” Despite his teasing, Jaskier’s grin was beautiful, blinding, even.

Geralt pulled himself forward and wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s waist. He pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s shoulder. “So. We want to get married.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes and lifted a hand to cup Geralt’s face. Geralt rested his chin on Jaskier’s shoulder. “Yes, we want to get married. But I’m serious, Geralt. This doesn’t count as a proposal. I don’t need anything flashy--” Geralt scoffed, “--I don’t, and I don’t like what you’re implying. But I would like at least to be wearing clothes.”

--

They didn’t officially celebrate Pavetta and Duny’s anniversary as their own--Jaskier had felt it might be a bit too attention-grabbing, and Geralt had to agree. Usually, they celebrated their first date as their official anniversary.

Geralt wanted the element of surprise to be on his side, though. And he knew Jaskier would appreciate the romanticism in this.

Clearly it had worked out, because when Jaskier came to the roof, he looked completely perplexed. Clearly he had found Geralt’s cryptic note to meet him on the roof, and as Jaskier took in the lights, the picnic set up on the coffee table he had stolen from their living room, and Geralt himself, Jaskier’s eyes grew as wide as Geralt had ever seen them.

“Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier breathed, walking toward Geralt on shaky legs. “No one ever believes me when I tell them what a romantic you are. It’d be a tragedy if I wasn’t so glad I could keep it all for myself.”

Geralt huffed out a laugh and took Jaskier’s face in his hands, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. When he pulled away, Jaskier was grinning at him, and Geralt was helpless but to press their lips together once more. When he pulled away the second time, he was resolute in it, even as Jaskier gasped when Geralt lowered himself to his knee.

“Julian Alfred Pankratz--” Jaskier snorted, and Geralt grinned. “Jaskier. Don’t expect me to get wordy.”

“Never, darling,” Jaskier interrupted, thumbing Geralt’s cheekbone.

“I love you. I’m happy with you. And nothing would make me happier than to marry you and know that you are mine for the rest of our days and even longer. Will you marry me?”

Jaskier blinked rapidly, trying to dispell the tears forming in his eyes, and tugged Geralt up. They wrapped their arms around each other and Jaskier buried his face in Geralt’s shoulder. 

“Yes, Geralt. Of course. Nothing would make me happier.”

Though Jaskier (and Geralt, too, for once) was bursting with wanting to tell everyone, they held back for three days, until their official anniversary. Their secret anniversary would remain theirs, just theirs, even long after their wedding.

#geraskier #geraskier fanfic #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #gerlion #my writing #drabbles #ask meme #astouract

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

astouract replied to your post “<p>Could I request one where the reader and Jask were doin it but got...”

DEAD I AM DEAD

RIP babe

at least you died doing what you loved

#astouract #sweet readers

[weirdlyobsessedwithegos]

astouract replied to your photoset “More subtle vampire Mark edits for y’all”

Is so cute ��

Thank u <3

#astouract #replies

[seanfalco]

You said you wanted to discuss punk!jaskier and I’m stuck at home so I have plenty of time and plenty of ideas. To begin: Au Punk!Jaskier proposing??? 😰

awww thank you for the question 💛

@ficsandcatsandficsandcats actually wrote his proposal hereeee & it’s super cute!

#joz answers #astouract

[cleastrnge]

Magical land

Magical land: name a person that inspires you.

Robert Downey Jr and Jameela Jamil

#astouract #there's a couple others that inspire me #but they are the ones i look up to the most #ask me #asks

[missygoesmeow]

the doctor will see you now :) for @astouract

he's like evil barbie to me fr

#he looks like such a nice doctor...ha #jasdhajskdh #my-art #the band ghost #the band ghost fanart #cardinal copia #cardinal copia fanart #copia #mmm #doctor copia

[papasbaseball]

Secondo x Reader (Mimicry)

+18 CONTENT NOT FOR MINORS. MINORS KEEP SCROLLING

Pairing: Secondo x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Knife Play and one cut/blood. Dubcon for aphrodisiacs. Bdsm and degradation.

Summary: Breaking into Papa Secondo's office to steal an artifact proves to be a heart pounding experience as the reader falls victim to a hungry chest with a need to breed. Papa Secondo finds the thieving mouse, trapped for his pleasure.

Word Count: 3,140

Notes: I wrote this a while ago for @astouract but never posted it here. Hope you all enjoy!

AO3 Link

The stolen key turned perfectly in the lock. Slipping quickly inside, you quietly shut the door behind you and shoved the key back into your habit pocket.

The carpet and walls of the second Emeritus brother puffed out the sweet tobacco scent as if they had smoked the cigars he preferred. Footfalls were softened by the smoked carpet as you crept quickly toward the credenza.

“The cabinet in the corner of the room,” you mumbled to yourself, remembering Frate Seth’s words. The midday light seeped through the closed curtains of the corner window, illuminating the side of the black-stained credenza. Wooden snakes wove and tangled themselves across the wood, fine craftsmanship that was undoubtedly from abroad. The knife you were looking for certainly was.

Looking around the office, different tchotchkes caught the eye: a red-lacquered katana resting on a cabinet behind his desk, a tribal mask hanging on the wall, a chair near the door upholstered in fine Turkish weaving. Secondo was rarely in his office and the mementos were evidence of that. The knife you were searching for had come from Bucharest, a cursed antique that supposedly granted a wish to whoever's blood it drew.

A creaking noise caused you to whip your head around. Nothing.

Crouching down, you made quick work of opening the credenza. You raised your eyebrows as the door opened without resistance. There were keyholes on the door handles, but they were not locked, baring their secrets for any who wished to see. You flipped through papers, finding nothing until you got to the lower shelf on the right side.

A golden filigree box was tucked into the corner under some old scrolls. Sliding the cold metal out you flipped it open to a purple velvet. Your heart sank as you found a burnished gold locket inside on top of a brass padlock key. You held your breath, ignoring your hammering pulse as you opened it. Framed in the metal was a picture of a nun, wearing a habit in fashion during the 80s of the church, with a double high peaked bandeau. Though the photo was worn with age, there was no mistaking how pretty she was. A soft smile graced her face and you almost felt bad for closing the locket back up and putting the box back where you found it.

There was nothing left in the cabinet, despite the second flip-through of the papers that you did. You huffed as you closed the serpentine cabinet doors. Where the fuck could it be? Your knees popped as you pushed against your thighs to hoist yourself back up. Eyes darting around the office you found many cabinets, but none were where they were supposed to be.

"That liar said it'd be in the corner of the room by the window. There's only one window, so what the-"

Turning, you took note of the chest on the other wall of the corner window. It was worn smooth and weathered, much older than anything else in the room, and as large as two steamer trunks.

"Not exactly a cabinet," you remarked. Approaching it, you picked up and inspected the padlock keeping it shut. "You'd think he'd at least be consistent." You cursed yourself for leaving your lock-picking set in your room. It would take forever to find the key, time you did not have.

Going back to the serpentine cabinet, you bit your lip fishing out the golden box again. Pushing the locket aside, you grabbed the key and headed back to the enormous chest. Sathanas, please work, I’m begging this works.

Click. The tell-tale mechanical sound and the full twist popped the lock open to your elation. Unthreading the lock from the latch, you set it aside to search for your treasure.

The lid was heavy, probably weighing at least 40 pounds. You sucked in a breath and heaved with all your might to open it. The inside looked like nothing and strangely you couldn’t even tell if there was a bottom to the chest. However, lining the top and bottom rim of it appeared to be animal teeth, maybe horrible souvenirs of big cats that had been fastened to the chest. Their encasements were nothing like you’d ever seen before, a deep purple that almost resembled gums as if it were alive. Putting forth a shaking finger, you touched the glossy flesh.

A deep growl emanated from the void maw. Black smoke rose from the chest causing you to jump back. The smoke moved with surprising speed and wrapped around your body. Much to your confusion, you could not walk through as you tried to go back for the padlock. You tried to move your arms but found them pinned to your sides. The chest hissed at this struggle and snatched you off the soft carpet and into its confines, slamming the lid shut.

The deprivation of light made you incredibly sensitive to how the smoke grabbed you and snaked around your body. Heavily breathing, you felt the tension decrease around your shoulders. It took all your strength, but you flailed your fists, finally landing a blow on the inside of the chest. It was the same fleshy texture as the chest’s gums but was noticeably slimier. You banged a few more times before it growled.

Smoke tendrils tore at the neck of your habit, quickly ripping the garment from your body. Kicking your legs in protest, you noticed that your legs and arms became weaker and weaker the harder you breathed in the sweet smoke. Thoughts slipped off your brain like silk as you relaxed into the embrace of the fog. The rest of your undergarments slid off like butter. The wisps were warm against your skin and ticklish, and you smirked with delight as they danced over your nipples. You gasped softly, a part of your brain urging you to let the box know what you liked and disliked. Something denser came up to flick slimily over the stiffened peaks, rolling back and forth across them in amusement.

“P-Please,” you moaned, “please just a little bit more.” Your cheeks grew hot at how wantonly the words rolled off your tongue like you were trying to seduce it into fucking you.

The chest obliged, the slimy tendrils curling around your nipples before enveloping them in some manner, sucking firmly against them. Not being able to see what was happening meant that every move the cursed object made was a surprise. “Fuck,” you gasped as you felt the sensations and teasing stoking the fire in your core, “so good…”

The chest purred at your words, adding a tendril to prod and lick at your clit. Your fingernails dug into your palm, desperate to grab onto anything to aid in the tension you were feeling building. They pushed in farther, scraping the soft skin, as the lower tendril latched on as well. “Sathanas, fuck that feels good. Just like th-”

The lid of the chest flipped open to reveal Secondo standing above you, lips tight, if not slightly turned up at the corners. “Mi è sembrato di aver sentito una topolina.”

A scream of surprise started in your throat but came out in shameless lust. Your gaze was torn away from him as the lower tendril unlatched to flick hard at your swollen clit. It stung as if the ooze that it secreted had made everything more sensitive, and you realized it was trying to admonish you for the scream.

“Non gli piace quando urli, topolina,” Secondo said, turning one of the chairs for guests by his desk to face the box. He hitched up his chasuble and alb before sitting down, legs spread wide in a commanding way. “I must admit I did not think that I would be getting a show today, or catching a mouse in my office.”

Whimpering in response you tried to find your words. “I- I’m not- I was only…”

“You know, topolina, I could free you, but I have a distaste for excuses… and thieves.”

You sneered at him snarling out, “Thief is such a - ah!” The tendril detached again, this time landing an audible smack across your clit that you were sure caused you to gush as your entire body recoiled in pain. “It’s a strong word, don’t you think?” you moaned, trying to keep your reactions in check so the chest wouldn’t punish you again.

“You are in my office and you have opened an unlocked chest, topolina. What were you planning on finding? My belongings?”

“No,” you said, “I wasn’t looking for anything, I swear.”

The appendages that were latched to your nipples constricted hard like clamps. You cried at this before the tendril between your legs gave you another firm smack for that. Your stomach sank as you felt a stream of slick slowly trickle down to your ass, evidence that you were enjoying its scoldings.

“Non gli piace neanche quando menti,” Secondo said. His hand was resting over his pants, waiting. “I will ask you again: what were you looking for, topolina?”

You held silent except for the moans that passed your lips as the tendrils worked away at your body, your juices slowly leaking out to cover more of your ass. The tension was so good, but you could feel that it wouldn’t be enough, the tendrils always pulling back when you wanted more.

“Da illi quod meruit,” Secondo spoke aloud. The chest responded to the ancient words, producing a fourth appendage. “If you do not want to cooperate, we can always fuck the answer out of you.” The new tendril licked and prodded at your asshole, testing the sensitive skin and tickling to tease.

“Please,” you moaned, “I need more. Please, tell it to fuck me.”

“Tarde,” he smirked, stroking himself through his pants. His mouth dropped open as he watched the tendril wriggle its way past the tight ring of muscle.

The appendage oozed more to aid itself as it torturously slid in and out at a slow pace. You groaned, feeling yourself slowly being stretched out more and more. It was delicious the way it plied you apart, but even more so through watching the second oldest Emeritus brother stroke himself to the sight of you being defiled. “I need my pussy fucked, please.”

“Why were you in my office?”

“K-Knife,” you slur out. There was no hope of getting it now, you were caught.

“A knife?” he said, standing up to undo his belt. “What kind of knife?”

“The Ouroboros Knife.”

He set the belt aside, getting up to go to the cabinet behind his desk. He pulled open the drawer and produced a dagger with a highly sculpted handle and pommel fashioned after a serpent eating its tail. The blade faintly glinted a dark green in the hazy afternoon light. “This knife?”

You nodded your head as a smoke tendril curled around your throat. The tendril fucking your ass picked up speed, causing you to barely notice the tendril that had left your clit red and swollen. “Yes, Papa.”

“You are a pretty sight, Sister.” He held up both thumbs and forefingers as if he were lining up a shot for a photograph, walking closer to you. When he reached the box, he bent down pinching your swollen clit between his gloved thumb and index finger. “How badly do you want that dripping cunt of yours filled?”

The pinch stung and caused your walls to twitch, your body begging you to comply. “So bad. I don’t want anything else. Please, tell it to fuck my pussy, Papa.”

He brought the knife to the top of your thigh, cutting deep enough for the blood to trickle down and join the wetness of the tendril and your own juices that covered your ass. The smile on those skull-painted lips was sickening. “It grants any wish. Go on, Sister: you know what to do.”

That asshole had tricked you into using your only wish. Gritting your teeth, you willed it to be so before he could do something else like close the lid on you and leave you to rot for eternity as a dripping pile of want. The box quickly obliged your wish, pushing a fat tentacle up against your entrance.

“Papa, it’s not going to fit!”

“Topolina, I am confident your whore cunt can take it. La frittata è fatta. Now, open your mouth. Da mihi os suum.” The tentacles of the chest obeyed his commands and moved you so your mouth was available to him. “Open, Topolina.”

You vowed to keep your mouth shut but it fell open in shock as the tentacle pushed into you, working with the other to stretch your two holes wide for their pleasure. Secondo in the meantime had freed his pierced cock from its confines and laid the tip of it on your tongue.

“Fai la brava ragazzina e succhia il cazzo del tuo papa.” He snatched the veil off your head, grabbing a fistful of hair.

The stretch of the chest filling you was so delicious that you obediently closed your lips around his thick cock, hollowing your cheeks and curling your tongue for his pleasure. The tentacle continued to push, stretching the muscles of your walls until it bumped up against your cervix. You bristled in surprise, but soon the tentacle was oozing the same substance that had made your clit and asshole feel so good.

Secondo slowly rocked his hips forward, guiding your mouth down his length. "Topolina, I am assuming you do not know what this is, or you would not have opened it. It is a mimic chest. It looks like any other ordinary chest, but it is a monster. I brought it back from a trip to Turkey once. You are the only sibling or ghoul foolish enough to try to open it. It has been 15 years since it was last opened, which is not good for you."

You looked up through your eyelashes, watching as his face creased in the pleasure he was taking from your mouth. A worry flushed your system only momentarily at his words, before the tendril from before resumed its latch on your clit, making you moan anew with a mouthful of cock.

“Mimic chests tend to lay dormant for two years before the need to breed takes over them. This one is 13 years overdue,” he grunted, pushing farther into your mouth. As the tip touched the back of your throat, you gagged. “Relax, topolina. Breathe.” A rough hand reached down and massaged the smooth column of your throat.

You focused your breathing through your nostrils as Secondo pushed down into your throat. Your eyes shut as you savored the feeling of being filled fully in all three holes like a slut. He gave a few short thrusts before pulling back, letting you breathe again. His piercings ran smoothly across your tongue, and you wondered how they would feel in place of the tentacle currently stuffing your pussy.

“I imagine it is getting close. I am not sure when you entered my office, but it usually fills its host quickly. Less time spent is less time to be caught and destroyed. Relax.”

You took a deep breath as he pushed down into your throat once more, groaning at the soft tightness. The appendages in your ass and pussy pumped in at a quicker pace and you knew they would be cumming soon. The tendrils on your clit and nipples rolled the bundles of nerves, encouraging you closer and closer to the edge with everything filling you. When Secondo pulled back again, you breathed out a heavy groan as you felt your climax approaching.

“Once more, topolina,” Secondo hissed as he pushed back down into your throat. A dozen of brutal thrusts later, and you felt his cock kick and spill his seed into your stomach. “È una brava puttana. Prendi tutto lo sborra di papa. Questo è quello che ti meriti, ladro: essere usato come un cassonetto di sborra.”

Satisfied, he pulled out, offering you the tip. “Sii una brava ragazza. Give it a kiss.” The wretched smile on his face made you want to bite it, but you remembered the chest’s dislike for loud harsh noises. You kissed the tip, taking the last drop of cum between your lips, flicking your tongue out to taste the saltiness. “Sei davvero una sgualdrina.” He slapped his cock on your cheek three times, before stuffing it back in his pants.

The appendages fucking your pussy and ass stuttered in their pace and soon you could feel the hot cum filling you inside. The fat tentacle that stretched your cunt pushed all the way against your cervix as the tendril on your clit sent you tumbling over the edge. The contractions were shorter, the muscles being so stretched out as they gripped the tentacle, trying to force it out. Instead, it pushed harder and you felt your womb flood with its seed. A different, thicker substance filled your cunt before it pulled out. Strangely you felt none of the seed spill down your legs when it pulled out. “What did it just do to me?”

“It has plugged you for optimal breeding chances. Usually, it wears off within a few hours, but because this one has laid dormant for so long, who is to say? It might take weeks.” He refastened his pants and threaded his belt back through them. “You do not have to worry about getting pregnant, our species is incompatible, but I suppose you will get to enjoy the feeling of it moving around in you.” He pulled you up from the box, closing and locking the lid once more.

“If you would like something to cover you, I have an alb in that closet over there,” he said, pointing to a pair of bi-folding doors. As you walked over to them, you could feel what he was talking about as the liquid sloshed within you with every step. You took a black alb, much too big, and threw it over your naked form. As you turned to face him, he slipped the knife back into the cabinet drawer.

“Aren’t you afraid that I’ll come back and steal it again?” you said, biting your lip.

Shutting the drawer, Secondo made his way back over to you, stopping so he towered over your shoulder. You looked up and saw the knowing look in his eyes as he brought his gloved hand to rest on your lower abdomen. You shifted under his gaze and felt it slosh once more. “Why would I be afraid of that when you already got your wish?” He patted your stomach a few times before heading toward the door. “Have a good rest of your day, topolina. You learned a hard but fulfilling lesson.”

Translations:

Mi è sembrato di aver sentito una topolina. - I thought I heard a little mouse.

Non gli piace quando urli, topolina, - It doesn't like it when you scream, little mouse,

Non gli piace neanche quando menti - It doesn't like it when you lie either

Da illi quod meruit - Give her what she deserves

Tarde - Slowly

La frittata è fatta- You’ve made your bed, now lie in it.

Da mihi os suum- Give me her mouth

Fai la brava ragazzina e succhia il cazzo del tuo papa - Be a good little girl and suck your Papa's dick

È una brava puttana. Prendi tutto lo sborra di Papa. Questo è quello che ti meriti, ladro: essere usato come un cassonetto di sborra - She's a good whore. Take all of Papa's cum. This is what you deserve, thief: to be used as a cum dumpster

Sii una brava ragazza - Be a good girl

Sei davvero una sgualdrina - You really are a slut

#the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #secondo x reader #papa emeritus ii x reader #secondo smut

[astouract]

It’s me, newton-artemis-thunderpuff! I changed a lot of things about my blog to help me get motivated. My username and theme have changed, but my content will stay the same! In fact, I have another Loki fic coming out tomorrow afternoon, and I think it’s my favorite yet!

#new username #new url #newton-Artemis-thunderpuff #astouract #loki imagine #loki #original post

[ahh-fxck]

Chapter 14: Yes is Just the Beginning

Geralt and Jaskier have some real talk to do… and a choice to make. This is part two of the Big Talk. Some actual adulting ahead, some sweetness, and a good old fashioned dose of ow, my heart.

Thank you to @stressedspidergirlsfandomblog for being an amazing friend and awesome beta. Onward!

P.S. @stinastar deserves an extra shout out for this chapter and the last! YOU. YOU HELPED SO MUCH. Thank you friend!!!

Rating: M

Tags: See Ao3

CW: Internalized homophobia, depression, PTSD

Tag list:

@astouract​ @smolpoe​ @yes-im-the-violin-girl @ladyknight-keladry @your-lordsherlockholmes-posts @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde

Let me know if you would like to be added/removed from the tag list!

“‘Yes’ is just the start, after all. Now we need to figure out what comes next.”

“Hmm,” Geralt hums, tilting his head in acknowledgment. He is silent for a long moment, watching Jaskier from the corner of his vision. Then he turns his head to look at him. “What’s this… polyamory supposed to look like? The way you talk, you’ve done this before.”

“Ah… ye-e-es…” Jaskier hedges, wrinkling his nose. “But I’m not convinced it’s actually made me better at it. You know? It’s awkward every single time.”

Geralt chuckles darkly. “That I believe.” He sets his glass down on the counter with a soft thump, a pensive look coming over his face. “Uh, how often have you been with someone who’s…” he takes a deep breath, gesturing with his hand, “Like I am with Yennefer.”

Jaskier breaks out in a sudden laugh, shaking his head. “Darling, I don’t think anyone is like you and Yennefer.”

The summer sun has finally risen over the rooftops outside, turning the fog off of the waterfront into a hazy soup. Heat chases the remainders of the morning chill into dark corners where it hides, lurking under tables stacked with chairs and lingering inside cabinets. Geralt listens to the mutters and groans of the old building as he cleans up the bar tools, feeling the air of the main room expand and shift behind him. The heat sweetens the smell of the old wood that lines the space, mixing with the smoky breath that rises from the upholstered stools and clean-swept floor. It sharpens the smell of Jaskier’s deodorant, reminding him of how close by he is. Geralt steals a glance at him only to meet blue eyes. Feeling his cheeks heat, Geralt clears his throat and grabs his drink, retreating to his familiar place next to the taps.

Jaskier is silent as he watches Geralt settle in. Grenadine is sweet on his lips as he darts his tongue out, sweeping his tongue across his lower lip and trying to gather his thoughts. His eyes run over Geralt's broad shoulders and sturdy hips. They pause on the slight softness of his belly, usually hidden by a ramrod-straight posture. Jaskier hides a smile, his expression softening. “I wish I knew where to start,” he finally admits, breaking the silence.

Geralt looks up at him. His expression is guarded, but there is something fragile behind it as his eyes trace Jaskier’s face.

“‘Yes’ is just the start, after all. Now we need to figure out what comes next.”

“Hmm,” Geralt hums, tilting his head in acknowledgment. He is silent for a long moment, watching Jaskier from the corner of his vision. Then he turns his head to look at him. “What’s this… polyamory supposed to look like? The way you talk, you’ve done this before.”

“Ah… ye-e-es…” Jaskier hedges, wrinkling his nose. “But I’m not convinced it’s actually made me better at it. You know? It’s awkward every single time.”

Geralt chuckles darkly. “That I believe.” He sets his glass down on the counter with a soft thump, a pensive look coming over his face. “Uh, how often have you been with someone who’s…” he takes a deep breath, gesturing with his hand, “Like I am with Yennefer.”

Jaskier breaks out in a sudden laugh, shaking his head. “Darling, I don’t think anyone is like you and Yennefer.”

Geralt huffs, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Right. But I mean-"

“Do you mean like, everyone is in on it and it’s not cheating?” Jaskier rescues him, garnering a grateful look. “Hmm…” Jaskier hums, poking at the ice in his drink thoughtfully. Then he shrugs. “A handful of times? I haven’t had an overwhelming amount of experience with polyamory, but I’ve enjoyed my forays.”

“Explain,” Geralt grunts, sounding more irritable than he means to. The look he gives Jaskier out of the corner of his eye is curious, though.

Hearing the nerves behind the tone, Jaskier brushes it aside with an airy wave of his hand. “Polyamory! Many loves, ah, ethical non-monogamy. It’s where you have an agreement with your partner that one or both of you can sleep with... or date… or what have you… with other people outside of your primary relationship, as long as you’ve got everyone’s knowledge and consent. How far you can go with other people is something that really depends on the comfort of everyone involved. Which, as you can imagine, entails a hell of a lot of talking. Honestly, it can be exhausting. But it’s gorgeous when it works right.”

“Hmm,” Geralt says. His face is inscrutable as he takes it all in, but when his head comes up he gives Jaskier a flicker of a smile.

Jaskier grins. “There are books about it and everything! Remind me to pass you my copy of Loving More at some point. It has some wonderful notes on how to be a more ethical slut, if that’s your bag.”

Geralt huffs, bemused. “Sure.”

“Better than being an unethical slut like me,” Jaskier hums, arching his eyebrows playfully. “Can’t believe I slept with another married man. You bastards ought to come with a stamp on your forehead, I swear to god.”

Geralt smiles crookedly. Then he raises his head and eyes Jaskier, his expression becoming thoughtful. “Did you ever do it on purpose? The way you joke about your past…”

“What… cheat with someone married?” Jaskier asks. Geralt nods, and Jaskier blows out a slow puff, leaning back against the counter. He taps it with his fingers, considering how to answer.

“Mmm… Yeah, I joke about it, but it’s not really funny, is it, darling? It’s whistling in the dark. Real hearts get broken, and that’s not funny at all.” He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding Geralt’s eyes.

Geralt watches him patiently. It’s not news that Jaskier has a past, but Geralt is willing to give him a chance to tell his story. When Jaskier is silent for a moment too long, Geralt prompts him. “Why, then?”

Jaskier shuffles, then gives Geralt a forced smile. “Well… Historically, I’ve found the attention I get when someone comes on to me to be a little addictive,” he says, clearing his throat. “Just… brain off!”

“And pants off?” Geralt adds wryly, a hint of amusement in his tone.

Jaskier groans, rolling his eyes. “Ugh, yes, more often than I should. I get so caught up in the moment that I forget to ask questions…” he breaks off as Geralt smirks and smiles sheepishly. “Which is how I’ve ended up in bed with most of the married people I’ve slept with. Not intentional, just… not asking questions. Which is not to say I’ve never…” he breaks off again and frowns, then glares at his hands. “In the interest of full disclosure... there are a few skeletons in my closet there. I’ve slept with a few people I shouldn’t have, and I did it anyway.”

Geralt grunts, crossing his arms. “Why?”

Jaskier taps his fingers on the counter, his arms feeling electric with nerves. He’d been dreading this moment, but now that he’s here there’s no turning back. He pulls a face, then says, “Well… first of all, before I say anything else I’d like to note that there’s no excuse for it.”

Geralt snorts, giving a curt nod.

Jaskier eyes him, fidgeting with his straw. Then he sighs. “But, that being said, I was at a really dark time in my life. I was in this space where it never felt like there was going to be a tomorrow. I’d wake up every day sure that this day, this was going to be the one that crushed me to death, and I would go out and act like it was the last day on earth. Every day, the last day on earth. And there were a few people who had been giving me…” he squints at the fairy lights, “really inappropriate attention. And I hit this point where the attention felt so good that the consequences stopped mattering for a minute.”

“And then?”

“And then…” Jaskier sighs, throwing up his hands, “The consequences came back and bit me in the ass.”

“Hmm. How did you deal with it?”

“Well…” Jaskier drops his gaze to his soda. He takes a thoughtful sip, then sets the glass aside and leans back against the counter again. “I uh… ran away and partied and hid until there wasn’t anywhere else I could run to. And then my favorite person in the whole wide world slammed her front door in my face. That was the day I realized I could do one of two things. I could abandon everything I’d built here and go drown myself in the lifestyle until I actually died, slow suicide if you will… or, I could get help.” He chews his lip, then adds, “I love what I’ve built. So I got the help.” He shrugs. “Got into therapy. Faced the music. And ah… made some changes to how I run my life.”

Frowning, Geralt mulls this over. “Like what?”

Jaskier looks up, examining Geralt for a moment before answering. Geralt’s face is guarded, but not unkind. It’s a safe look, a listening look, and it gives Jaskier the courage to keep talking. “Well, I realized that I had been really, stunningly disrespectful to the people I loved…” he tips his head to the side in admission, “And myself.” He pauses, licking his lips. “So... I sat down with my therapist and figured out what acting respectful looks like. And, ah, once I had that figured out I started trying to live from that place. You know, instead of doing things out of the darkness that was eating me up. And ah… that’s been my life for the last five years or so. Just ah… trying to get that balance right.”

Geralt leans back, slowly puffing out a breath. He nods. He’s done a few things out of his own darkness that he’s not proud of… hell, that’s the reason he’d ended up in Jaskier’s bar in the first place. If he’s going to judge him for having fucked up in his past, then he might as well leave right now. Instead, he gives Jaskier an appraising look. “Ok then. What does respect look like to you?”

Jaskier looks back at Geralt, crossed arms and stern face making him look more intimidating than he usually does. His amber eyes glitter with intelligence sharp enough to cut. A little shiver travels down his arms, and he chooses his next words carefully.

“Well… ah, it looks like doing my best to be honest. It means thinking twice before I do any old thing, having decent manners, following through on what I say I’m going to do.” He chews the inside of his lip, looking up at the ceiling again. "I try to make sure my actions are coming from a good place. To, ah, to consciously choose to be honest and kind, especially when it’s hard. I can be, ehh, a bit of a wanker. It’s uphill some days,” he admits, “but I’m doing my best.” He smiles crookedly at Geralt, who finds himself smiling back ever so slightly.

“Hmm,” Geralt hums. He leans back, considering the man in front of him. From what he’s seen of Jaskier’s life, he is well-liked by his community and consistent in meeting his commitments. The fact that he’s pulled his life back together isn’t a guarantee that he’s a good person, but it means that he gives enough of a shit to try. That counts for a lot in Geralt’s book. “Sounds like you’re doing your best to be decent.”

Jaskier looks up and gives Geralt a bittersweet half-smile. He combs his hand through his hair, gaze flickering. “I’ve sure as hell tried to.” He shrugs. “Anyhow… that’s a very long answer to your question, but there you have it. I understand if any of that is a dealbreaker.” He pokes at his drink with his straw, avoiding eye contact again.

Geralt hums, then slowly un-crosses his arms. He rests the heels of his hands on the counter, feeling for the hidden rough edge of the underside with his fingertips. “I knew what kind of man you were weeks ago, I’ve got eyes.” He regards Jaskier, still appraising him. His tongue darts out across his lower lip. “Thank you for being honest. Means a lot.”

Jaskier forces a painful smile. “I ah… don’t like talking about it. It’s stuff I’m not proud of. But healthy relationships are built on trust, or so the rumor has it. This isn’t the kind of thing I’d want you to find out from anyone but me… you know? I can’t expect you to trust me if I don’t own my shit. So…” he shrugs.

“Yeah.” Geralt goes quiet again for a moment, a complicated expression working its way across his face. But when he looks up again his eyes are kind. Guarded, but kind. “Listen. If I was going to let a past like yours stop me, I wouldn’t have come here. I wanted to know if I can trust you, and... Look. As long as you show up and pick up your messes, I think I’m good. I’m not perfect either. We all have our shit.”

Jaskier looks up, his eyes wide. He hesitates and licks his lower lip, then tentatively says, “I think I can do that.”

Geralt hums in response. He takes a drink of his soda, rolling the bubbles across his tongue. His eyes rove Jaskier’s strong shoulders, his long arms, his elegant hands. A brief flash of memory seizes him, clever fingers running up his naked flanks, and he flushes guiltily. Frowning, he crunches some ice between his teeth. “I’m sorry I wasn’t more upfront with you about my marriage,” he apologizes, his voice quiet.

Jaskier’s head comes up again. His gaze stops first on Geralt’s finger, where his wedding band shines. Then it travels to Geralt’s frowning face. His brows knit together. “Geralt… I was a stranger. We didn’t know one another well enough for me to expect you to share something like that. What I should have done is given you time to tell me before sticking my tongue in your mouth.” This last is delivered with a wry twinkle. “I’m old enough to know better, or so the rumor has it.”

Geralt goes quiet for a moment. A lump rises in his throat, warring with the barest hints of a pained smile. “Still. So am I. I brought a mess to your door and I shouldn’t have.”

Jaskier tips his head to the side, one eyebrow coming up. “Darling… Do you think I’m blind? I know what a dishonorable discharge means. I knew your life was going to be a wreck for at least a short while, and I didn’t mind the idea of helping you pick up the pieces. I’ve been through a little hell myself.” He catches Geralt's eye briefly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Would you at least tell me a little about the mess you’ve brought to my door, as you put it? Give me a chance to decide whether or not I want to take it on?”

There is a teasing lilt in Jaskier’s voice that makes the corner of Geralt’s lip turn up, barely noticeable. He sighs and nods. “Yeah, all right,” he says, easing back against the counter. The rustle of his clothing as he does so sounds loud to his over-strained nerves. “I, uh… It’s a little complicated. I met Yen pretty early in my career, her and her camera guy Cöen. They’ve been working together since the 70s. They’re uh… they’re tight. Yen and I got married in the 80s, right before the birth of our daughter. We’ve all been close since she was born, it, uh… we had to pull together to make things work.” Geralt shakes his head, then looks up to the stacks of soda glasses across the way. His eyes trace along the contours of each one as he speaks. “I had to deploy when she waCöens too young, and I couldn’t get home very often.”

Humming, Jaskier tilts his head and surveys Geralt. “How often?”

“Six weeks about once a year, give or take.”

“Brutal,” Jaskier grimaces, a flash of comprehension going through his eyes. “Money good at least?”

“Good enough,” Geralt grunts, his scowl returning. “Point is, I’ve got to step up, and… hmm. I owe them a lot. We’re all going to be adjusting for a while.” Shame eats at him, but he forces himself to keep his expression even. Jaskier doesn’t need to know how terrified he is, or how lonely he feels. He can deal with that by himself.

Nodding, Jaskier studies Geralt quietly. He chews the inside of his lip, noting the heartache hidden behind Geralt’s carefully schooled exterior. “That doesn’t sound easy, darling. And I imagine your daughter’s going to need you a lot when you next see her.”

A look of pain flashes through Geralt’s eyes. “Yeah. Uh, I’m going to have to be there for her. Ciri’s…” He clears his throat, not sure how to talk about his daughter. He never has been. All he knows is that he loves her and wants her to be safe. “Yen needed help. Uh. Most of my money used to go towards the stuff that Ciri needed… tutors, lessons, private doctors. I can’t pay for that anymore, so the next year or two is gonna be really hard on my kid while we figure out how to adjust. And, uh… Yen’s not going to be easy to deal with once all the cards are down, either. We’re all going to be...” he pauses, then pulls a rueful grimace. “Stressed.”

Jaskier’s eyes widen as he begins to take in the scope of what Geralt’s telling him. “Oh wow.” He puffs out a slow breath, ruffling his bangs, then rakes them out of his face with a distracted hand. “Stressed sounds like the understatement of the year. I can see why you’ve been so worried.”

Geralt’s scowl deepens and he shrugs.

Jaskier sets his drink aside, regarding Geralt. If he’s read between the lines correctly, and he thinks he has, Geralt’s daughter must have extra needs of some sort that he is reluctant to discuss. And for now, that’s fine of course… But Jaskier still can’t help feeling a twist of worry as he wonders what, exactly, that he’s getting himself into. It’s all enough to make a sensible person worry.

And then he looks up at Geralt across the way, picking at the counter discreetly. His amber eyes are downcast but Jaskier can still see the softness in his expression. It’s the kind of softness that no amount of scowling can hide. He isn’t sure exactly what it is, but something tells him this man is good, wounds and all. Good enough to at least try.

Eventually, he breaks the silence. “Thank you for trusting me enough to say all that…” Jaskier says. “And… you’re not wrong, that does sound complicated.” he takes in a slow, thoughtful breath, then blows it out. “Ah, I need another minute to take this all in.”

Geralt nods. It’s not like he could talk more anyway, not right now. The hard lump in his throat seals any further words deep inside, burning him every time he takes a breath. The two of them finish their drinks in silence, withdrawing into themselves. Geralt finally stirs a while later, setting his empty glass aside. Jaskier lifts his head and, to Geralt’s surprise, gives him a lopsided smile. He beckons Geralt to come to lean on the counter next to him, holding out his arm. Geralt hesitates, torn. On the one hand, he wants to scoff the affection away, protect himself. On the other, he is heartbroken and lonely, and Jaskier is beautiful.

In the end he allows Jaskier to pull him lightly against his side, feigning reluctance. The warmth of his skin when it brushes Geralt’s is shockingly good though, and Geralt finds himself sucking in a breath before he can quite conceal it. Jaskier just smiles, leaning his head against Geralt’s shoulder and giving his waist a gentle squeeze.

“Geralt… I can’t promise I’ll always know what to do or say, but you know what?”

“What?”

“I still maintain that I'd be a fool to turn you away. Mess and all.”

“Yeah?” Geralt gives Jaskier a skeptical look, but there is a barely concealed glimmer of hope in his golden eyes.

“Oh yes,” Jaskier says, turning to him and smoothing Geralt’s shirt out along his collarbone. His hand pauses on his shoulder, and he fixes Geralt with one of those direct looks. “I understand that you’re going to have a hard time and that you’re not always going to be happy or fun to be around. Your daughter is going to need you, your family is going to need you. I’m not always going to come first for you, you’re going to drop the ball on me sometimes, and even when I see you you’re not always going to be great company. I get it. It’s a mess. I’m a mess sometimes, too, for what it’s worth. I’m impulsive and greedy and silly and I can make a shit all royal mess of things, but... I like you, and I’d like to give it a chance… if you’ll have me."

Geralt looks down into the bright cerulean of Jaskier's eyes, swimming in the heady sensation of being held, being wanted. He tentatively picks up Jaskier's hand and looks down at it, thumb brushing back and forth across his knuckles.

"I think… if I left without giving you a chance, I'd spend the rest of my life kicking myself." Geralt confesses, watching Jaskier’s hand instead of his eyes. He grimaces, feeling a flush making its way up to his cheeks despite his best efforts to suppress it. His eyes come up to meet Jaskier's, flickering uncertainly. "Are you sure you want this?"

Jaskier hums, thrilling as Geralt's rough thumb runs over his skin. "I want you," he replies, hearing the hidden question in Geralt’s words and answering it. He breaks into a smile as Geralt squeezes his hand. "I'll take the rest as it comes, and I promise I won't vanish the moment things get hard. Ok?" Jaskier squeezes back, bringing Geralt’s scarred hand up to kiss his knuckles.

Geralt breaks into one of his rare unguarded smiles. He draws Jaskier’s hand against his chest, gingerly tugging him closer. Jaskier follows his hand as it’s pulled, leaning in. Geralt rumbles under his breath, letting his hand slip down to rest at the small of Jaskier’s back. Their eyes meet, and Geralt’s smile widens at what he finds there. He leans hesitatingly forward, ready to shy back at any sign of Jaskier’s discomfort, but Jaskier is warm and welcoming in his arms. Lowering his lashes, Jaskier invites him closer with a subtle tip of his chin. Geralt closes the rest of the distance with a sigh, feeling the world give a dizzy dip when their lips meet.

It’s the first time he permits himself to feel just how badly he wants Jaskier, and the sensation almost crushes him. It’s more than just lust, more than hunger, it’s the craving to be connected. He pulls Jaskier in hard against himself with one arm, the other one coming up to cradle the back of his head. They murmur their pleasure as their bodies press close, tongues entwining. Jaskier’s hands spread softly across his back and Geralt makes a helpless little noise, drunk on delight.

They kiss until they are breathless and rumpled, until the first bright spark of their hunger mellows to a deep, long-abiding glow. Jaskier pulls back first, eyes shining. He chuckles as Geralt blinks dazedly at him. Feeling a little dopey, Geralt begins to chuckle as well. He brings up gentle fingers to brush the hair out of Jaskier’s eyes. The casual sweetness when Jaskier smiles and turns towards the touch thrills him. It’s the unspoken permission to adore and caress that he’s watched straight couples enjoy all his life. He’s never wanted to reach out so badly and then just be able to do it, to feel the silent yes of a paramour turning towards his tender hand.

He feels his racing heart climb into his throat and swallows it down, running his thumb back and forth across his skin and watching as Jaskier’s eyes slip shut. A sigh of pleasure escapes him, and he basks for a long moment before opening them. There’s a touch of wry thoughtfulness there that makes Geralt quirk an eyebrow.

“What?” he asks, mildly suspicious.

“Well, darling…” Jaskier sighs, straightening and kissing the palm of Geralt’s rough hand. “I don’t think we’re quite done being grownups yet.”

Geralt gives a low rumbling chuckle that is half a groan, dropping his hand to Jaskier’s hip. The corners of Jaskier’s eyes crinkle, and Geralt feels an unexpected warmth in his chest. “What now?” he asks.

“Well. Now is about the time that responsible adults might theoretically lay some ground rules, that sort of thing… what do you say we give it a go?”

Geralt narrows his eyes at Jaskier, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “Hmm. Say we do. What then?”

“Well… then we’d talk about things like what the boundaries are between you, me, and Yennefer… how often we might see one another… things like that. We don’t have to talk everything to death in one day, but…” he wrinkles his nose somewhat comically, “we really ought to at least start.”

Geralt’s chuckle turns into a full groan, his head dropping back to bare his throat dramatically.

“Regretting your life choices?” Jaskier teases, his eyes dancing.

“Deeply,” Geralt grumbles, but his eyes are still warm. He threads his fingers through Jaskier’s belt loops, holding him lightly against his hips. “What’s… uh. What first?” He rubs the soft denim between his fingers as he studies Jaskier’s face, privately thrilling to be able to hold him this near.

“Well…” Jaskier hums, swaying back and forth. He feels warm in Geralt’s arms, giddy with the closeness. “Can I confess something to you?”

“Sure.” Geralt raises his eyebrow.

“All right, and please forgive me if this sounds stupid, but I am completely lost when it comes to you and Yennefer. Do- do you two do that on purpose? Rattle people by being confusing?” To his surprise, this elicits a rich, rolling chuckle from Geralt.

“We do,” he says, a glint of pure mischief in his eye. Jaskier gasps and thumps his chest lightly, drawing another chuckle out of him.

“You bastard! Bastards! I knew it! Okay. You have to tell me the story now.”

“Hmm,” Geralt hums, his chest still shaking. “It’s a long story.”

“Cliff notes then, but I’m getting the long version from you someday,” Jaskier says, pointing a finger at him and fixing him with a stern gaze.

Geralt scoffs, batting his hand away affectionately. “Fine.” He shoves Jaskier gently back, moving along the counter to make room for him to lean at his side again. Jaskier settles in next to him, and Geralt clears his throat. “Short version is, uh,” he rubs the back of his neck, squinting at the far wall. “My CO dumped her on me my first day on base. She was making his life hell, and he thought she’d eat me for breakfast. Which,” he admits with some chagrin, “she did, right at first.” Jaskier chuckles, and Geralt gives a rueful smile. “Hmm. Made friends with her though, eventually. Good friends. We got real close and uh, people started talking. She saw a prime chance for mischief and roped me in on it. Had people guessing if we were dating or not for the better part of a decade. Heard rumors there was a pretty good size betting pool on us by the time we got married.”

“Amazing,” Jaskier shakes his head in admiration. “And you went along with it?”

“It was funny,” Geralt affirms, arching an eyebrow. “And it kept us safe. She wasn’t married and I…” he shrugs, and Jaskier snorts softly, understanding. “Hmm,” Geralt hums. “It was easier than being ourselves.”

Jaskier’s lips press together, a sad, angry expression flicking across his face. Then he nods, bumping Geralt’s arm gently with his own. “I get it. Clever way to deal with it. Do… ah, do you mind if I ask why you two ended up getting married if you were just friends?”

Geralt grunts, his expression turning thoughtful. He nods. “We uh… got really drunk one night and sex seemed like a good idea. Turns out it wasn’t, but we made a kid so it seemed like the thing to do.”

“Ah! Thank you, I am so much less mystified now,” Jaskier says. “I’d wondered what Yennefer meant when she said you two had married for your daughter. Have… have you been happy? Has it worked for you?” Geralt cuts him a pensive look, then crosses his arms across his chest. Jaskier’s eyebrows go up. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t my place to ask. Forget I said anything.”

“No,” Geralt says. “It’s fine. Uh… I don’t know if happy is the right word, but happy wasn’t why we did it. It’s been good. I don’t regret it.”

“Do you love her?” Jaskier’s voice is quiet, and there is a vulnerable note that wasn’t there a moment before.

Geralt turns to look at Jaskier from the corner of his eye, appraising him before he answers. “Yes,” he says simply. “She’s important to me.” He notes that Jaskier carefully tucks his expression away, keeping his face even while his eyes flicker. Sighing, he nudges him gently with his elbow before continuing. “Not like that, though. She explained that to you, right?”

Jaskier looks up, meeting his eye. “She mentioned something about you two not sleeping together,” he says, eyebrow going up.

“We don’t have sex,” Geralt corrects, his tone dry. “She sleeps in my bed every chance she gets. Takes all the blankets, too.”

Jaskier’s other eyebrow goes up, a complicated expression making its way across his face. It ends in a merry laugh. It wasn’t the answer he was expecting, but somehow it suited them perfectly. He takes a deep breath, feeling his stomach release tension he didn’t realize it was holding. “Now that, I believe,” Jaskier chuckles. He looks at Geralt as he thinks. Slowly, his expression becomes more serious, and eventually he says, “So… putting all the dots together, I’m going to say that Yennefer isn’t your standard-issue beard. You two really love one another.”

Geralt inclines his head, and the way his expression softens gives away more than words ever could. “Yes.”

A solemn, thoughtful look comes across Jaskier’s face. He tilts his head to the side and nods, tasting the weight of those words before he responds. “Then I’d better step carefully around that bond, hadn’t I, darling?” His tone is gentle, but it’s clear from his expression that it’s not a question.

Geralt nods again, rumbling a quiet assent.

Jaskier nods as well, becoming uncharacteristically still as he absorbs that. When he lifts his head the look he gives Geralt is surprisingly soft. A smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, just a small one. “Okay, I’ll keep that in mind. At least it sounds like I don’t need to worry about including her in our talks about sex. Though she might have plenty to say about your schedule and where you sleep, yes?”

Geralt huffs, nods, then chuckles. “She will, yes.”

A quick smile flickers across Jaskier’s face. “Consider that firmly noted then, she doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman I want to cross.”

“Smart.”

“While we’re on that subject, have you talked with her about what time between you and I might look like? Does she expect you home after dates, or…?”

Geralt gives another muffled groan and Jaskier laughs, holding up his hands. “It’s okay if you haven’t yet.”

“No, we have,” Geralt sighs, palming his face. The mortifying talks with Yennefer are paying off, as much as he hates to admit it. He drops his hands to the counter and stares at the floor for a moment, then continues, “Overnights are fine, but she’s going to want me back pretty early in the day for now. We’ve got-” he pulls a grimace, “apartment hunting to do.”

The corner of Jaskier’s mouth tugs, and his eyes crinkle warmly. Apartment hunting. As entirely intimidating as this all is, he can’t help but feel a soft glow at the idea that Geralt is going to stay.

“I’m sure we can work that out,” Jaskier replies. His gaze turns thoughtful again and he says, “How about Cöen, how close are you two?”

“We don’t sleep together,” Geralt grunts, growing tired of the personal questions. “In any sense of the word.”

Jaskier tucks his closed fist against his mouth briefly to hide a smile. “And that’s all for family members, just those two and your daughter?”

“That’s right.”

“All right. And when Cöen arrives, is he going to have much to do with your schedule? Beyond, ah, co-parenting or whathaveyou.”

“No,” Geralt grumps, crossing his arms over his chest. Jaskier frowns as if he’s worried he’s said something wrong, and Geralt sighs, consciously softening his posture, dropping his arms back to his sides. “He’s always been pretty independent. We might work out together or go out drinking but it’s not like we’re up each other’s assholes all the time.”

“Well then, that’s simple enough at least,” Jaskier says, mollified as he notices Geralt making an effort. “That sounds… not too difficult to navigate. How about…” and here he hesitates, gesturing his hands awkwardly together in a suggestive manner, “Do you want to see… have sex with… other men? Go to clubs? You just got out of the Army, a lot of men in your place might want to sow a few wild oats-”

“I’d rather eat glass,” Geralt interrupts him, his mild tone concealing a surge of anxiety. “Between you and Yennefer, I’m going to have enough to juggle.”

Jaskier’s eyebrows go up, but then he breaks into a shy smile, looking away and scratching behind his ear before Geralt can see what a dopey face he is making. He clears his throat. “Well then… What sort of relationship are you looking for? If you don’t mind my asking?”

Geralt’s heart flies up into his throat, and he looks blankly at Jaskier for a long moment before he finally licks his lips and shifts slightly. “Ah… I just… simple. Yen’s always going to be part of my life, but I don’t want anyone else involved. Not now. Maybe not ever. ” His stomach drops out as the words leave his mouth and he looks away. He raises his gaze when Jaskier is silent for a moment too long, tracking up to Jaskier’s face, to blue eyes full of surprising softness and patience. His lips are quirked in a little moue, and he is giving Geralt one of his piercing looks.

“Geralt… Can I be honest with you?”

Geralt inclines his head, feeling his stomach filled with a sudden passing flock of butterflies.

“I’d rather gargle bees than try to add yet another person to this… us… right now.” This draws a quiet huff of amusement from Geralt, and Jaskier smiles, tilting his head to the side. “You are… more than enough to focus on. Especially if I, mm, get lucky enough to know your family?”

This draws a shy smile from Geralt, one he doesn’t hide quite fast enough.

The corners of Jaskier’s eyes crinkle and he adds, “For now, I’m happy with that. Simple sounds good.”

“For now?” Geralt asks, a surge of trepidation going through him.

“Well. Love is strange, isn’t it?” Jaskier tilts his head, frowning, then gestures off into the distance. “If we’re still together a decade from now, who can say what we’ll be like? Someday I might want to share someone with you, or swing, or even add another partner to our family. You know?” He turns back, eyeing Geralt. He is watching Jaskier evenly, his arms crossed across his chest. When he is reassured Geralt is doing alright, he continues, “That’s a later thing, though, if it happens at all. And if it does come to pass that I find someone… inspiring, shall we say, then you and I will talk first before I act on it. No exceptions. And I’d expect you to do the same.”

“Ok.” Digesting this quietly, Geralt works his jaw for a moment. Then he nods, lifting his eyes to meet Jaskier’s again. “You promise you’ll tell me if you want to change things?” His gaze lingers, searching.

“Yes,” Jaskier says, meeting his eye with a serious expression. “I promise.”

A small rill of hope rises in Geralt’s chest. Knowing that Jaskier wants him, knowing that he will continue to be wanted, knowing that he will be able to touch, to crave, to have, it feels good. He feels like he’s been lost for weeks, with no idea what the next ten minutes will bring. But for the first time in a long time… he’s actually looking forward to finding out.

“Okay,” he says quietly. He holds Jaskier’s eye for another moment before looking away, overwhelmed by the energy passing between them. He clears his throat, shuffling awkwardly.

Jaskier’s eyes twinkle, but then another thought occurs to him and his smile fades. He fixes Geralt with a long, thoughtful look, long enough that Geralt raises his eyes to look at him again. “Have… ah… have you thought about what you’re going to tell them? Your family, I mean?” he asks, gesturing between himself and Geralt. “About us?”

Geralt blanches. A flat expression comes over his face and he crosses his arms. The truth is, he has thought about it, but even talking to Yennefer hasn’t left him feeling any more prepared. When he was outed he hadn’t been ready. Maybe he never would have been. But for better or worse, the closet’s miserable comforts had been stolen from him. Trying to gather the tatters back around himself is more and more painful every time he tries. The more he struggles, the more he feels like he’s trying to cover nakedness with a handful of confetti. It’s fucking exhausting, and he’s not sure he has any fight left in him. He raises his eyes to meet Jaskier’s, his expression guarded and pensive.

“I’ve thought about it,” he admits. Then he falls silent, and for a moment it looks like he isn’t going to say anymore.

Jaskier bites back a surge of anxiety when more isn’t immediately forthcoming, forcing himself to wait for Geralt to finish. He’s figured out that Geralt processes slowly sometimes, especially when he is in pain. So he holds still and makes space for him. His patience is rewarded sometime later when Geralt flicks his eyes back up, shifting his weight.

“I uh…” Geralt rubs the back of his neck, feeling his heart begin to hammer against his ribcage. “I don’t want to make a big deal out of it, but if anyone important asks, I’ll tell them.” Even saying this much makes Geralt feel like he’s just jumped out of a plane with no parachute. Like there’s nothing beneath his feet, and he is spinning, and the breath is being stripped from his lungs almost faster than he can get it in.

Across the way, Jaskier’s eyebrows go up. He studies Geralt’s face carefully, hopefulness and ill-ease combining in a way that makes his stomach twist. “About…?” he fishes, trying to get Geralt to elaborate.

Geralt shoots him a frustrated look, but deep down he knows he’d want Jaskier to be clear if their positions were reversed. He bobs his head, scowling, then tries again, gesturing towards himself. “About me. And uh, that we’re-” He breaks off, and Jaskier lifts his hands before he tries to struggle on any further.

“Together?” he supplies, noticing how Geralt looks like he can barely breathe.

Jaskier’s voice is soft, and when Geralt glances briefly at him, he’s surprised by how little judgment he finds there. Geralt tentatively nods. His heart hammers harder and harder, but he forces his breath to stay slow, forces himself to stay inside of his body. “Right,” he forces himself to say, hearing himself as if from a distance. He raises his head and meets Jaskier’s gaze again, squaring his jaw stubbornly. Sheer bloody-mindedness is about the only thing between him and blind panic, but now that he’s picked started he’ll be damned if he doesn’t finish. “I don’t want to go telling strangers on the street, but I’ll let people know if it’s relevant. Just…” he grimaces, rolling his shoulder slowly. “Let me do it at my own pace. Don’t call the newspaper or some shit.”

Jaskier huffs, breaking out in a bittersweet half-grin. “Got it, no newspapers. Skywriters are right out then, I imagine?” Geralt growls and Jaskier waves his hands. “Kidding, kidding. I hear you.” He settles back and gives Geralt an old look, sadness softening the corners of his eyes. “This isn’t the kind of thing you rush.” The hope he’d been feeling sharpens, becoming something hot and painful in his chest. No one should be as afraid as Geralt looks right now, not ever. “You know you don’t have to rush for me, right? I have time if you need it.”

“It’s not that,” Geralt replies, a look of frustration darkening his face. He makes a cutting gesture with his hand. “It’s not you. I just- My cover’s shot to shit, I’ve got a record, what am I going to do, pretend it didn’t happen? No. It’ll follow me. I can’t-” he stops, working his jaw angrily. Jaskier waits again, and after a moment Geralt relaxes a hair or two, noting that Jaskier seems to sense the gravity of what he is processing. The gentle silence is welcome, helping him falteringly find his words. He clears his throat. “If I go back into the closet I don’t know what will happen, I just know that it won’t be good. I uh… Yen knows about me, Cöen knows. I’ve just gotta tell my kid.” He flips up his hands, straightening as if he’s standing to leave. “It’ll be fine.” He casts around for something to do with his hands, too uneasy to hold still anymore. His eye lands on Jaskier’s empty glass. Relieved, he scoops it up along with his own and stalks off to the sink to clean them.

Jaskier’s heart leaps into his throat when Geralt straightens, then plunges with relief when he sees that he’s just collecting the glasses. At a loss for words, Jaskier moves aside to let him pass. He watches the short, sharp movements of Geralt’s muscular shoulders in silence, the ache behind his breastbone gnawing at him. The feeling builds up until he feels like his whole body is buzzing, and he knows that at any moment he’s going to start randomly jittering if he doesn’t give himself something to do. Lord knows what he might do then, much less what he might say. As he casts around he spots a bottle of blue curaçao sporting a crusty, sugary mess on the outside. It looks disgusting, and Jaskier seizes on the excuse for something to do. He ducks behind Geralt to grab a few towels and a spray bottle, pauses at the sink for water, then bustles off to busy himself.

Geralt bends to the side as Jaskier leans in for the hot water, watching him out of the corner of his eye. Jaskier moves off and picks up a bottle off of the glass display with a distinctly sticky sound. He starts to scrub, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth. Without a word Geralt puts the glasses and mugs away, insides roiling with jumbled emotions. He keeps expecting Jaskier to say something, but all he does when Geralt finally turns to face him is offer the other damp towel. Blinking, Geralt takes it. He watches as Jaskier offers him a sticky bottle, then turns without a word back to his work. Geralt falls in beside him, grateful to have something to distract himself with.

They fall into a rhythm, the silence broken by the muffled clinking of glass and the occasional hiss of the spray bottle. The air fills with the scent of sanitizer and sticky liqueur, mingling with the ever-present reek of stale cigarettes and beer. Geralt finds himself beginning to come back down to earth, his unpleasantly numb feet starting to warm with sensation again. He casts the occasional glance at Jaskier, but his lover seems to need the silence as much as he does.

Eventually, Jaskier takes a deep breath and raises his head. He glances out of the corner of his eye at Geralt. “Can I ask you another question?”

Geralt grunts, then darts his tongue out over his lip and gives a cautious nod. “Shoot.”

“Well... if someone were to ask me about you, or ask if we’re together. And I’m talking friends of mine, people I know, not strangers on the street. Are you comfortable with me being truthful?”

A complicated look crosses Geralt’s face, ending with a stormy scowl. He rumbles under his breath, head gently moving from side to side. His palms would be slick with sweat if they weren’t damp from the towel in his hands, and his stomach is churning so badly it’s making him regret all the coffee. He scrubs at a bottle, waiting for the howling shame inside of him to subside long enough to think clearly. “Look… I’m going to be honest with you. I’m not comfortable with it, but…” he pauses, swallowing as he steels his faltering resolve. “If it’s important, if it’s relevant, then yeah. Tell them the truth.” He turns away, placing the bottle on the shelf before reaching blindly for a new one, fumbling it into his hands and beginning to scrub so that he doesn’t have to meet Jaskier’s eye. His blood rushes in his ears as he scrubs, and he realizes distantly that he’s so panicked again that he can barely feel his fingers. He forces himself to take another slow, disciplined breath, bringing years of training to bear to bring himself back to reality. When a warm hand brushes his shoulder he startles hard, looking up to see Jaskier has closed the distance between the two of them.

“You’ve got it,” Jaskier says, serious and quiet. “I can do that for you.” He looks into his eyes for a moment from over his shoulder, then places his other hand on Geralt’s waist in silent invitation.

Geralt stiffens, giving him a wild-eyed look, and Jaskier goes exquisitely still. It feels like he looks right through Geralt, seeing right to the roots of him… and what they see there, even in the midst of all Geralt’s shame and fear, makes him soft. Geralt hesitates for a long moment, vibrating with the urge to shove him away but curiously rooted to the spot. Something frantic and lonely batters at his ribcage as he feels the warmth of his lover’s hands sinking into his skin through his shirt at his shoulder, against his waist. For a long moment, it feels like he’s going to pull himself into a million pieces. He’s unable to go forward, too heartbroken and weary to go back. Then Jaskier tugs on him, the hand on his waist pulling him ever so softly. And that is all the frantic thing needs to break free, shattering him from the inside out as he sags just slightly, allowing Jaskier to draw him close.

Jaskier steps up behind him and wraps his arms around Geralt, drawing him against his warm chest. He rests his chin on Geralt’s shoulder, his breath warm where it tickles against Geralt’s neck. This close he can feel Geralt’s thundering heartbeat, hear the tightness in his throat as he breathes with disciplined slowness. His muscles are rigid with tension, but he tolerates being held. His eyes drift slowly shut as Jaskier holds him without moving, his breath beginning to slow.

Jaskier burns with rage and heartache as he cradles Geralt against him, feeling the big man soften incrementally in his embrace. No matter how many times he’s seen people wracked with the same anguish, it never gets any easier. And this is especially difficult because Geralt is someone he has come to like very much. He can’t take the pain away from him, can’t even really ease his burden. But he can be there while Geralt feels it. He presses his cheek into Geralt’s hair, letting his own eyes drift close.

The echoing silence of the bar embraces them and Geralt realizes that, for the first time in his life, he has a boyfriend.

#geraskier #witcher fanfiction #geraskier fic #witcher fic #geralt x jaskier #warrior's blues #geralt #jaskier #modern au #gay bar au #warriors blues

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

astouract replied to your chat “Boyfriend: Do people ever request author x Jaskier fics? Me: No?...”

What a supportive mans ����

supportive of my ever quickening descent into madness

#astouract

[yespolkadotkitty]

KITTY!!!!!

Congrats on 3500!

May I get a letter from Captain James Conrad telling me how he can't wait to return to me from war?

I re-watched a couple scenes from K:SI to write this. What a hardship that was.... how I suffer for my art.

A letter from James Conrad:

Darling,

It's filthy here. Hardly the place I'd choose to pen a letter to my beloved, but needs must. I'm afraid my penmanship is poor; I'm hoping to make the post in time. It goes infrequently from this outpost.

I wish I had some news for you, aside from that we're still trying to kill each other. Bloody war; some days I feel it's all the world thinks about.

I'd rather be with you. And that's a sentiment I never thought I'd hold, but, darling, you've rather spun my world on its axis. You're all I can think about, and if I have to win this war to get home to you, I'm damned well going to do it.

I swear that I will move heaven and earth to get back to you, to hold you again. To tell you how I adore you.

Signing off now to make it to the outpost before the courier does.

Yours, in everything,

-James

Gif credit: @astouract (please tell me if I should remove this and I will right away, no questions asked).

#3.5k follower celebration #james conrad #kong skull island au #tom hiddleston character fic