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annmarcus63 · 6 months

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An ugly, translucent shape opened at the gates of Kaer Morhen. A portal. Mercenaries and a mage, the firefucker. The witchers defend their home and their cub, but they're too many. Ciri gets badly wounded and Rince is about to drag her through the portal, away from her home, away from her family. Geralt feels terror, they can't take her. The wizards fight with all their might, eliminating them one by one in a matter of second. A defeated Rince mocks them and before fleeing, he reaches into the portal to pull out a person who instantly falls to the ground.

"This one sang beautifully, witcher. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't have found Princess Cirilla. And her blood" the mage's face twisted into a crooked smile as he looked at his blood covered dagger. Blood holds power, especially Ciri’s. But before Rince can escape, Lambert appears out of nowhere, taking him by surprise to cut off his head instantly.

On the ground there's a shaking figure.

A pair of frightened eyes looks around. Jaskier. Geralt had not seen the bard for years, he tried not to think about him either. But Ciri is wounded, bleeding and whimpering for Geralt because it hurts too much. The witchers carry the princess inside without looking back, to the shaking man on the ground. Geralt and Eskel heals Ciri as much as they can. She's going to be alright.

Later, he sees Vesemir, through Ciri's bedroom window, approaching a shrunken figure at the stables and after a few breaths said figure following the aged witcher inside the fortress.

Jaskier is there the next morning, sitting in the dining hall, shoeless and wearing simple clothes that are too big for him. But he doesn't want to see him, he can't, Ciri almost died because Jaskier was the one who gave the information to Rince. With a shrinking heart, Geralt turns away to find something to occupy his mind while Ciri recovers.

Guilt is eating Jaskier up, even the pain cannot compensate for his heavy conscience. He hides his hands in a pair of thick gloves that rub against his burned skin, but it is worse to have them exposed. He had never been to Kaer Morhen before, but he had never imagined it would be like this. He never imagined he would be an outsider, a traitor.

He finds a pretty good room, it's small and only has a hole in the wall, so it's not so cold. The wolves are uneasy, uncomfortable with his presence and he totally understands it. Geralt has barely given him a glance. Eskel is kind, he smiles at him whenever they run into each other and even gives him a pair of boots and a cloak.

The day after his arrival he spends the day working on the stables, cleaning and feeding the horses, it's not an easy task due to his damaged hands but he can manage. In the afternoon, Jaskier goes inside and sits down in front of the fire in the hall to warm his freezing bones. Not too close, of course.

Geralt and Lambert enter speaking in hushed voices, Jaskier makes himself as small as possible so as not to attract attention. He's the prey. They are talking about Ciri, she is apparently well and that is reassuring. And suddenly...

"Shh, It's not safe to talk here." It takes him a few seconds to register what Lamber said. Jaskier looks up to find two pairs of yellow eyes, predator's eyes, looking down at him with weariness. Something breaks inside him, something essential, it could be his core, his heart at the very least. In a hurried move he stands and leaves the room to find another place to get warm.

At night the pain is too much to bear. He can't sleep and he's so damn tired so he cries for a while until he decides he’s had enough. He leaves his room barefoot so as not to alert the witchers and a single oil lantern to light the dark corridors of the keep. He wanders around for a while until he finds the lab, surely there must be something here to help ease his pain? he sniffs every jar and bottle whose contents seem familiar when a voice calls "If you smell that one you'll die" Jaskier yelps, turning around.

Vesemir is at the door

"I...I...I wasn't doing anything wrong, and maybe that's not the smartest thing to say. I'm sorry, I’ll just...go"

"...what do you need?"

"Something for the pain" The witcher approaches a cabinet

"What kind of pain?"

Jaskier is biting his lips to decide whether to tell the truth or... "Bard" Vesemir scolds him.

"...burns" Vesemir stops to turn to look at him, his heavy eyes landing on the gloves on his hands. The witcher resumes his search and in a couple of minutes spent in silence he hands Jaskier a vial full of white stuff.

"Thank you" Jaskier smiles sincerely.

"Put shoes on or you'll lose your feet too"

He cries all the way back to his room.

The salve helped a little, but he still couldn't sleep. He's so tired and he doesn't want to be here anymore. He wonders if the snow is thick enough to kill him if he leaves in the night.

It's hard to peel potatoes and Eskel notices upon entering the kitchen. "Are you ok?" says signaling the odd way in which he's holding the knife. Jaskier smiles at Eskel with a nod, afraid that if he speaks he won't be able to stop. The witcher is handsome even with the scar that splits his face. He has a quiet air about him that makes the bard sure that if they had met in different situations they’d surely be good friends.

"You should go to the springs, the one in the middle will help you heal. Just don't go to the one on the right or you'll be burned alive" Jaskier flinches "Thank you, Eskel. I'll be sure to save you an extra portion of broth." the witcher laughs and pats the bard's shoulder before leaving. Jaskier wants to ask about Ciri but knows he has no right.

Geralt is watching over his cub when he hears a door opening outside followed by unsure steps. Jaskier. He still hasn't decided if having the bard here is a good idea, he doesn't trust him, not quite. Eskel says he is too hard on him, also says he's injured to some extent. Geralt makes sure that Ciri is completely asleep before he follows the bard. He's in the springs. It is too late at night for another witcher to be there too, so Geralt decides that this may be the perfect opportunity to finally talk to him. To question him about his betrayal, even if it pains Geralt to know the answer. But he stands frozen in the entrance, Jaskier's back is turned to him, naked. Hand marks decorate the bard's back, ugly burns across his arms that have not fully healed.

Something breaks in Geralt and he is overcome by an unbearable grief and anger towards himself, towards Rince. The witcher watches as Jaskier removes one of the gloves. How had he not noticed the gloves? To reveal a completely burned hand, missing pieces of flesh and blackened areas beyond repair. The bard is weeping quietly, even the touch of the air causes him immense pain. Geralt gulps, wishing he could rewind the time, lift Jaskier off the ground and ask him if he was all right. He wants to turn back time to never shout those cruel words at him on the mountain.

#geraskier #jaskier #the witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier #the witcher netflix #hey it's me again #with yet another angsty prompt #In this one #Yennefer doesn't save Jaskier from the hands of the firefucker #our baby bard is hurting #as in all my stories #i'm sorry

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rileytwenty · 9 months

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Her Price

(Geralt x OC)

!!!MINORS DNI!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello, missy.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Honey, it’s okay. You can tell me.”

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

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

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

“I don’t know what to do.”

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

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

“But not for free.”

Exactly as she foresaw, word for word.

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

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

“Uh-huh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck off, I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, Jask. Good morning!”

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

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

“Doesn’t that hurt? Mary-“

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

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

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

“Left? To go where?”

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

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

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

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

“Geralt?” She called.

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

“Mary, I have something to tell you-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

No guesses were needed. They knew.

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

Mary blinked. Once, twice. “What?”

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

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

“You do?”

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

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

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

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

Geralt pulled away, looking into her eyes for answers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. I just want to see.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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luteandsword · 1 year

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Come to me, in the night hours; I will wait for you.

Pairing: Geraskier.

Warnings: no real warnings!! jealousy (which I do not condone),Jaskier is a pouty baby.

Word count: 1.6k

Geralt had been invited to the Baron’s dance, this Jaskier knew. But he also knew, that amidst the shimmering curtains of the summer night, Geralt had vanished from his side. Now he was across the room talking to some bird.

Bird, Jaskier noted with some finality, due to the feathers on her dress. At least he wasn’t dressed like a bird. Just stuck into an uncomfortable outfit that he hadn’t wanted to wear.

Unfortunately, Geralt looked completely at ease speaking to the woman, therefore Jaskier couldn’t jump in and rescue him.

Jaskier looked into the dregs of his goblet, and tossed back the mulled wine. He kept an eye on the Witcher as he meandered from woman to woman, led on by the Baron.

An exceptionally wealthy man, to be sure, but it wasn’t as if Geralt had killed every single monster in his territory! Jaskier poured wine into his goblet, refreshing himself, and retreated back into the corner.

He was struck by how their roles had been reversed-- once, Geralt had sat in the corner, and social butterfly, bard to the core, Jaskier had found him.

It stung to think about-- how they had barely known each other, but had been drawn to each other.

Geralt wasn’t his-- never could be wholly his, ever, because Jaskier didn’t want to treat the dear Witcher as if he were his property-- but it still hurt, for Geralt to be so far from him.

They had shared the Path, shared bread and wine, shared a bed once or twice-- it wasn’t normal for Geralt to be speaking to others, especially at parties such as this one.

Jaskier sighed, dejectedly, and swept through the curtains, into the night air, and onto the balcony.

He interrupted two lovers kissing-- both not much more than youths-- and they shrieked and giggled, pushing past him back into the fray. Jaskier raised his cup to them.

“To young love, hopeless as it might be,” he sighed, looking out over the acreage and the forest, the moon cold and silent as ever in the night sky.

Cold and silent; that was all Jaskier needed to think about. It reminded him too much of one Witcher, one he was trying too hard to forget.

“Any advice, dear lady? Should I go in and sing a bawdy song, and steal him away? Or serenade him on the dance floor?” Jaskier asked the moon, chuckling to himself. “Ah, it’s ridiculous. It’s useless.”

The flap of the curtains in the night breeze, the cicadas, the soft music in the background; Jaskier shut his eyes and tried to drift away on them.

Soft footfalls made his eyes open.

“The parties over there,” he said, jerking his head backwards, and sloppily sipping from his glass. “I’m afraid that this bard is unable to perform.”

“No one asked you to,” Geralt muttered, stepping to Jaskier’s side.

Close-- a bit too close. Jaskier shifted away, just a bit.

“Why aren’t you in there?” Jaskier said. He knew he sounded bitter-- and fuck, he was. Truly bitter. Truly sad, that Geralt wasn’t looking at him.

“I saw you come outside, and wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“Right.” Jaskier chuckled. “Well, as you can see, I’m fine. So be off with you, and let the Baron lead you to yet another woman who wants to bed a Witcher.”

A strong hand grasped his forearm, and pulled, so he was turned towards the Witcher. The liquid in the goblet sloshed dangerously, and Jaskier looked brazenly into the impassive face of Geralt of Rivia.

“What? Am I not right?” Jaskier yanked his arm out of the grip, and turned away.

“You’re wrong,” Geralt said, from behind him, his hands coming up to grasp Jaskier’s shoulders.

Jaskier shook out of the touch, stepping further away. “Why can’t you just leave me alone, Geralt? I’m not in the mood to see everyone throw themselves at you!”

Geralt stepped in front of him, his broad body making Jaskier pause.

“Well, am I to be here all night or may I leave to fill my glass?”

“You’ve had enough,” Geralt replied, plucking the goblet from his hand, and putting it behind him on the lip of the railing. “Jaskier, do you truly believe that any of these women could entice me?”

“I don’t see why not,” Jaskier huffed, aware that he was pouting.

War torn hands, hands that had seen battle-- they guided him, pressed his body against the railing, and Geralt loomed over him, between him and the party.

"Jaskier, look at me, and tell me what you see.” Geralt said-- was Jaskier imagining it, or was his voice softer than normal?

“I see a Witcher waiting to woo someone else,” Jaskier muttered. “May I go now?”

“You’re not looking at me,” Geralt pleaded-- yes, he was being gentle tonight.

Jaskier let his eyes flicker over Geralt-- stiff in the uncomfortable clothes, his hair loose round his shoulders, his eyes staring down at Jaskier.

“I see Geralt of Rivia, and my close friend,” Jaskier hung his head, suddenly ashamed. “I’m sorry, for what I said, Geralt. It was... uncouth, and cruel.”

“Never mind that, Jaskier. I understand why you said it.”

“You do?” Jaskier stared up at the one he loved.

Calloused hands slipped under his chin, and around to the sides, and then Geralt was cradling his face, cupping it as if Jaskier were water for him to drink.

“Jaskier. I will tell you as many times as you need to hear it, on the Path, in Lettenhove, in Kaer Morhen, and now and here. But I need you to tell me you want to hear me say it.”

Jaskier fought back the desperate ‘yes’ that threatened to escape his lips, and nodded.

“Verbally,” Geralt growled, and Jaskier groaned.

“Fine, fine, say it,” he said, feigning disinterest.

“You. You are the one I love, Jaskier.” Geralt said quietly, tenderly, too intimately for them being in a public space.

“Again.” Jaskier begged, his resolve crumpling under Geralt’s soft stroking of his cheek, the cradling of his face when Jaskier turned his face into his palm.

“You are the one I love.” Geralt repeated, and Jaskier let himself go, wrapping his arms around the Witcher’s waist, his face into his hair...

His heart into his hands.

“And I love you, my Witcher.”

fin.

Taglist: @howdoistormspirit @tellhound

My askbox is open and I accept prompts!

Title is from the song I listened to While Writing.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #louwrites #promptsforlou #def not jealous darling <3 promise <3 #surprise darling?#this is for you #tellhound #cc #something for while im gone #hopefully you'll pick up that this a gift for you x #see you in two days!#written on christmas day

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on-a-lucky-tide · 1 year

Text

CW: Geraskier, captured Witcher, Witcher heat cycles, probably some other uncomfortable themes related to ownership, coercion.

"How is he? Is he awake?"

"Sleeping, sire. It was a difficult journey."

"Oh, yes, well... Of course. Were there any problems?"

"He tried to run and when we cornered him, he fought back..."

"If there is a single mark on him! I told you--I told you--he was not to be hurt, I--"

"We had no choice, sire. He's half beast, but--"

"But what?"

"We mentioned the girl and he--he stopped straight away, threw down his swords, and knelt in the mud."

"He--he just gave up? Just like that?"

"Just like that."

Jaskier turned to the window, his eyes unfocused as he peered into the inky black of the mansion garden. He could make out the rough outline of the perimeter wall, and the gnarled claws of the naked trees against the greyish tint of the sky.

He hadn't really thought this through. Not entirely. It had always been his dream to travel the world and meet exotic heroes, but fate had intervened with his father's untimely death and a raft of siblings to care for. As the eldest, they had trapped him with threats and ultimatums.

But now the house was empty, his mother had passed on, and he was left with a huge fortune and nothing to spend it on. He could hit the road but he had become somewhat used to his creature comforts, and his joints would no doubt catch a cold, or something equally as arduous.

That didn't stop the itch beneath his skin. The ache of some yawning gap yet to be filled.

The answer had come in a new fad. Exotic or supernatural concubines for the adventurous and wealthy. Most visited special parlours where they could access a wide array of humanoids; succubi, werewolves, even a Drowner if you were so inclined, but those with refined taste secured their own pleasures.

Jaskier had always wanted to meet a Witcher. Heroes of old, valiant monster slayers with mutated abilities. And now he owned one. Purchased from poachers that specialised in hunting the most dangerous beasts for a huge sum.

He had never expected them to be *successful*, and his mind raced with the next steps...

"And, the uhm, the heat cycle, you know..."

His guest shifted a little uncomfortably. "From what we know it only happens when the potions are out of their systems," he paused to scratch the greying whiskers of his beard, "it's the toxins, messes them up, makes them infertile."

Jaskier's ears perked. "And it's... It's all reversible?"

The poacher shrugged. "Look, witchers are rare. What we know is in the leaflet we have you, but even that's... vague. They were always secretive. Trial and error."

Jaskier nodded slowly. "And is he... is he dangerous?"

"No. The brand will keep him docile. He won't be able to hurt you even if he wanted to."

"If?"

The poacher shrugged one shoulder this time as he turned away. "Doesn't strike me as particularly... violent. He didn't fight maliciously, and he tried to run rather than kill us all. Doesn't... fit what we thought. But don't trust him, you never know. Good evening, sir."

The poacher dismissed himself and left Jaskier in the oppressive silent. He held his breath and strained his ears, hoping to pick up even a breath of noise from his bedroom next door, because, of course, he had told them to drop the witcher off there. It was the comfiest, warmest, quietest place on the estate, and he wanted the witcher--Geralt, Jaskier reminded himself--to feel safe.

Geralt.

Jaskier wandered to his desk and picked up the pamphlet by his inkwell. He had read it a thousand times while he waited for Geralt's arrival. He knew witchers ate raw food, that they were resistant to disease and sickness, that they were strong and could use rudimentary magic. Witchers had cycles of heat where they wanted to fuck and nest and eat and fuck some more. That's why they wintered in big keeps far away from civilisation. Or used to, before--

Jaskier gazed at the wall between him and Geralt and let out a long breath. One little peek wouldn't hurt. He would leave Geralt to rest and fold himself onto the narrow couch by the fireplace, but just... One glimpse.

Unbeknownst to the rest of the household, there were two peepholes tucked behind a painting of Jaskier's great-great grandfather. The torrid old codger had used it to spy on his wife with her young lovers. But Jaskier tried not to think about following in those particular footsteps as he pulled over a chair and shifted the wall covering aside.

The holes were fairly discreet and the resulting view was somewhat obscured. The room was dark but for a small, sputtering candle on the nightstand and the stream of silver moonlight through the parted curtains. Perhaps the light was why the bed was empty. The sheets were rumpled where a body had been placed upon them, but they weren't untucked nor the pillows disturbed.

Jaskier bit his lower lip as he glanced at the door--locked door--and then across at the window, still secure. It was only a small flicker of movement that alerted him to Geralt's presence, tucked into a shadowed corner to the right of the window.

He was slumped against the wall, his knees tucked to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs. Trying to make himself appear small, Jaskier thought. He was barely moving, his shoulders rising and falling in incremental amounts the only indication he was breathing.

And then, suddenly, two gleaming eyes looked up. They caught the sheen of the moonlight and blazed briefly gold as they stared straight at Jaskier. Jaskier squeaked and almost fell from the chair. There was no way Geralt could see him. Not from there.

Geralt seemed to stare for an eternity, two glowing eyes unblinking and intense, and then they were gone. The witcher gave an audible sigh and appeared to fold further into himself, his bare feet disappearing from the moonlight to shirk into the shadows.

Jaskier climbed down from the chair shakily and wrung his hands. What had he expected? An ethereal creature to be snuggled in his bed? Perhaps stretched out and naked, or--

Foolish. Of course Geralt would be frightened. His swords had been taken from him, the back of his shoulder branded with a sigil that would be playing havoc with his thoughts while it settled. Geralt would need time, wouldn't he? And food, yes, maybe some new clothes, a nice bath, some time to rest.

Jaskier climbed onto the couch by the fireplace and pulled the waiting blanket over his body. Tomorrow, tomorrow he would make his introductions.

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #tw3 #the witcher netflix #just in case

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flowercrown-bard · 2 years

Text

2.5k (I just found this in my drafts from forever ago. I don't remember writing this do no idea if I posted it before. Also I titled it "pigeon" so a assume I might have written it for @constantlytiredpigeon?)

Geralt wasn't attractive. It was a fact he was too well aware of. It was hard to forget such a thing when people constantly shot him looks of disgust or even recoiled at the sight of him.

All except Jaskier. He never flinched, though sometimes Geralt found him staring only to avert his eyes quickly once he noticed Geralt looking back at him.

It shouldn't hurt. It should be enough that Jaskier didn't seem to mind his looks all too much.

That didn't change the fact that Geralt's insides twisted uncomfortably whenever Jaskier turned away.

Geralt had never been a vain person, it would have been of no use and only led to disappointment, but the longer he knew Jaskier, the more he wished his eyes would linger and see something other than what Geralt was. He wanted Jaskier to look at him and see something he could love. It was a foolish and naive hope. People like Jaskier - beautiful, with shining eyes and so full of life - didn't fall in love with people like Geralt - ugly, with eyes that were either black or yellow and with the constant promise of death looming over them.

As if that knowledge hadn't been enough already, Geralt was forced to witness time and time again just how little chance he had of Jaskier ever seeing him as beautiful.

For years, Geralt hadn't been aware that Jaskier had a type. He had always seemed to admire everyone's beauty equally. To him it had never seemed to matter what colour someone's eyes were, how they were built or a million other things other people would have preferences for. Jaskier loved everyone equally. Almost everyone.

But lately, Jaskier had developed a preference, one that made Geralt's chest clench and his hands ball into fists.

It always happened when Geralt thought that things were going well, when they were laughing together and Jaskier was leaning into him. More often than not, Geralt would catch himself drifting towards Jaskier, for a heartbeat believing that he would be allowed to close the distance between them and press his lips against Jaskier's. He remembered himself just in the nick of time and pull back again, hoping desperately that Jaskier hadn't noticed, that Geralt hadn't overstepped.

But without fail, Jaskier's face would suddenly fall. He would draw back and stutter some excuse, before he left to find other company. Better company. Company that made quite clear that Geralt could be the last person Jaskier would ever make advances towards.

Because the people he chose to talk to, to touch and kiss, couldn't have been more different from Geralt.

Pale blue eyes, where Geralt's eyes were too intense and too sickly on colour. Soft edges and bellies where Geralt's muscles were hardened to an unnatural degree. Dark and short hair where Geralt's hair was pale as bone and long.

Before all this had started, before Geralt's heart had cracked with every person Jaskier spent the night with that was so contrary to Geralt, he could have let himself believe that maybe there were some features of his that Jaskier might even like.

Often, Jaskier had leaned against Geralt as if he liked the feel of his muscles. Without thinking, he had run his hands through Geralt's long tresses as if he enjoyed touching them as much as Geralt loved being touched by him. It made him almost feel wanted. It made him yearn for more. For caresses, for soft looks and whispered words telling him that he was good enough for Jaskier just the way he was.

But now, there was no doubt left in Geralt that Jaskier couldn't be less interested in him.

That knowledge didn't stop him from wanting. Geralt knew that Jaskier would never love him. He was too gruff, too quiet, too beat down by the world. No, Jaskier could never like him the way Geralt admired Jaskier for who he was.

But maybe... Maybe if Geralt looked different, if he looked like someone Jaskier could desire, he could at least have a part of him. Maybe he could have kisses and caresses and a hungry look in Jaskier's eyes, even if only for one night. It wouldn't be enough. It never would be, and yet, of there was even the slightest chance of Jaskier wanting him in any way, Geralt would do everything in his power to take it.

Except, how was he supposed to become someone Jaskier could look at like that?

The mutations had altered Geralt's body permanently. He couldn't risk losing his muscles to become softer and neither did he have enough money to add a layer of fat to his body. Changing the colour of his eyes was impossible without a glamour, and yet again, he didn't have the coin to pay for such a thing.

The only thing about his appearance that he really could change, was his hair.

The thought churned his stomach. Of all his mutated features, his hair had been the one thing he had come to like. Not because of the colour, but because he was able to wear it in the same style that Vesemir had worn his hair when he had told Geralt that he belonged to the witchers now, that he had a new family.

But then again... It had been years, decades even since he had become part of this family. He no longer needed the reminder that they wouldn't leave him.

Jaskier though... Geralt could never be sure when the day would come that Jaskier decided that he had enough; enough inspiration, enough nights spent on hard forest floors and enough of Geralt.

And when that day came and Geralt hadn't done his damnest to at least get a taste of what if felt like being wanted by Jaskier, he would regret it for the rest of his life. He would stare into mirrors and curse the person looking back at him, the person that hadn't been good enough for Jaskier.

He couldn't let it come to that. He had to at least try.

Still, he couldn't bring himself to put a pair of scissors to his hair. Days and weeks dragged on and Geralt's resolve crumbled time and time again, only to flare back up whenever Jaskier's eyes would search for someone who looked nothing like Geralt.

If Geralt wasn't so loath to fight humans, he would almost call it a streak of luck when he found himself cornered by a bunch of thugs one afternoon. He had just come back from a contract, hoping that Jaskier would be waiting for him at the inn instead of being in another's arms when the group of menacing looking man approached him.

Geralt didn't pay attention to what they said. He was used to sneers and being spat at. He was used to steel being drawn against him.

The fight should have been over mere seconds after it began. It should have taken Geralt no more than a couple of heartbeats to end this. And yet, he found himself drawing out this fight.

It was a spur of the moment decision, so reckless and spontaneous that he didn't even register what he was doing until he felt the blade of his foe almost graze his neck.

Long tresses flew through the air in front of Geralt's face and for once he wasn't able to just shake his head to get them away again. He stood almost in shock as the cut hair fluttered to the ground.

He barely heard the hollering of the men as they taunted him. His blood was pumping hotly and a smile that bordered on hideous stretched his face.

Again and again, he let the blades come dangerously close to his head and every time he saw more of his hair fall to the ground, a surge of euphoria hit him.

This was it. This was finally it. No longer would Jaskier look away from him in deisinterest.

When he saw Geralt, he would be stuck by how different he looked. How he looked a little closer to beautiful.

The excitement of getting to see Jaskier's reaction, made Geralt finish the fight quickly and he hurried back to the inn, not stopping once to look at his reflection in windows.

If he had, he would have seen how utterly uneven and unkempt his new haircut was.

If he had known what he looked like now, Geralt would have frozen to the spot, regret and shame washing over him. Possibly, he would have turned tail and fled the town to live in the woods until his hair had grown back to an acceptable length.

Now though, he didn't stop to think of such things. The only regret he had was that now Jaskier would no longer be able to braid his hair absendtmindedly.

But it was worth it. If this worked, if this makes Jaskier look at him it would have been worth it.

And, oh, did Jaskier look. Or rather, he stared. When Jaskier opened the door to the inn room and took Geralt in, he didn't waste a single second, before pulling Geralt into the room with him. Geralt could hear the way his heart stuttered and for a brief, wonderful second, he thought that this was it. This was finally the moment that Jaskier saw someone in him that was worthy to be looked at. For the first time, he could be someone Jaskier might enjoy looking at.

That hopeful and almost giddy thought lasted only for a heartbeat. Then something shifted in Jaskier's expression.

His face turned into a mask, carefully blank, betraying not a single emotion. That alone was enough for dread to pool in Geralt's guts.

Jaskier was always expressive.

"This is fine," Jaskier said and his voice sounded mildly horrified. Firmer, he repeated. "This is fine. We can fix this." He grabbed Geralt by the shoulders and gave him a look so intense that something inside Geralt's chest jostled. "I promise, I won't let you go through this alone."

Geralt didn't know what to say. All of his words had dried up the second the cold realisation had crashed into him that something was going very, very wrong. Jaskier hadn't pulled him into the room in eagerness, but out of shame to have anyone else look at Geralt. Somehow Geralt had messed up again.

He let Jaskier push him down on a chair, before he left to rummage through his bags, pulling out a brush and a pair of scissors.

When he came to stand behind Geralt again, he took a deep breath.

"Geralt," he announced, "just this once, I will be the one to save you."

With surprising softness, Jaskier ran his fingers through his hair. It felt different than it had before. No longer did he feel the nice tug of Jaskier brushing through his long strands but surprisingly, it was no less nice. Jaskier scratched more now, almost massaging his scalp. It made Geralt close his eyes and sigh in contentment, almost forgetting the worries gnawing at his heart like a wolf would on a bone.

Jaskier spent achingly long on this tender ministration, before he truly set to work.

Geralt had expected him to complain, to maybe even break out into laughter, if Geralt truly looked as horrible as Jaskier had made it seem, but Jaskier worked in quiet concentration, as if there was no task more important than saving Geralt's hair.

Geralt would have wished for him to at least hum as he worked, but he contented himself with focussing on the feeling of Jaskier holding him with one hand to keep him steady, tilting his head gently whenever he needed him to move.

It wasn't like a kiss, not even like a caress. Certainly, it was nowhere close to holding Jaskier in his arm, but as Jaskier rounded him, his sole focus on Geralt as he cut the hair at the sides of his face, Geralt couldn't help but think that this moment was achingly intimate.

"There," Jaskier breathed at long last. A soft smile titled his lips upwards as he brushed some stray hairs from Geralt's cheek. "Now you're beautiful again."

"Again?" the involuntary word was more croaked than spoken, strangled and disbelieving.

A blush crept over Jaskier's cheeks and he turned away.

A painful sting shot through Geralt's heart and his hand shot out to cradle Jaskier's face and keep him from looking away. Just this once, Geralt was selfish enough to ask Jaskier to keep looking at him.

And Jaskier looked. With an expression on his face as if he never wanted to look away again. He looked at him as if he were beautiful.

Jaskier let out a nervous laugh. "Well, yes, you see, the way you looked just then couldn't in good conscience be called beautiful." His lips quirked up and he shoved Geralt playfully. "You know I love you, but with that uneven and shaggy hair you for once looked like and actual wolf."

Jaskier's words caught up to them at the same time. Both of their eyes widened, but whereas Geralt froze, Jaskier tried to scramble away.

Geralt caught his hand, stopping him from leaving. His heart was hammering in his chest painfully, but he had to know. If this had just been a joke, Geralt had to know. Then at least he'd still have the memory of the way those words hand sounded coming from Jaskier's lips.

"Jaskier..." His voice was hoarse. "Did you mean it?"

It wasn't a question, it was a plea.

Jaskier's throat bobbed as he swallowed.

"Of course I did," he said quietly. "I wouldn't lie to you, never about something like this."

Jaskier must have seen something in Geralt's expression, for suddenly, the hint of vulnerability left his eyes and was replaced by a glint of mischief. "I truly mean it when I say your hair looked horrible."

He let out a little laugh that took Geralt's breath away.

He couldn't think. He just surged forward and tasted Jaskier's laugh pressing his lips against his desperately.

Immediately, Jaskier's hands found his shoulders and wandered up until it tangled in his now short hair.

The sensation was new, thrilling and Geralt couldn't get enough of it.

When they finally broke apart, panting, Jaskier had to stifle another laugh.

"Your hair's all messed up again," he snorted and reached out to smooth out Geralt's hair, trying to save what would surely be destroyed again in a matter of minutes.

Geralt leaned into the touch and let out a low hum.

"I don't mind." His eyes twinkled and he let his hands wander to Jaskier's shoulders. "But your doublet is full of hair now."

"As it is on your shirt. The white really shows on the black."Jaskier let out a mock-despairing sigh. "Oh woe is us. Whatever shall we do now?"

A sly smirk tugged on Geralt's lips as he said exactly what Jaskier all but begged him to say. "Guess we'll just have to get rid of our clothes then."

Immediately, Jaskier's fingers started to fumble with the buttons on Geralt's shirt and tugged it free. "Let me help you with that."

It didn't take long for both of their hair to look like messes. Neither of them minded.

#Geraskier #Geralt #Jaskier #My writing #Fic #Fanfic #Witcher #The Witcher

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eskelwolfed · 1 year

Text

I wanted to keep quiet about this since I have a paragraph on smut in my rules, but I guess I have to be very direct about it once more.

I love smut. I love writing it, I love reading it, I love it when a story is 90% smut and 10% plot. I'm so super comfortable with smut happening, that's why I have a multimuse that's smut centric and I literally have a succubus OC. You can't play a succubus if you're uncomfortable with smut.

BUT ladies and gentlemen and fellow enbies,

that doesn't mean we have to write it if we're active partners. You want a story driven plot? Gimme. You like to fade to black? Alright! You need some time to open up and be comfy with smut? VALID. You're ace, sex repulsed, hyposexual or WHATEVER and you just don't want to write smut? VALID AS HELL GUYS.

Just don't -- don't shame me for being a lover of filth. Don't act like you're holy, because smut is a rare thing for you. Don't put yourself on a pedestal and preach how you need a "connection" or "chemistry" to ship or write smut.

BECAUSE guess what. I'm the same. Sometimes I don't feel the smut. Sometimes just throw your muse at mine and they be fucking in reply no.3. It doesn't matter really! As long as we vibe and respect another! I can write 90% plot and feelings and 10% smut OR LEAVE IT OUT COMPLETELY. I'M A SKILLED WRITER Y'ALL. I'm doing the tango since I'm 14 years old!

We all roleplay for the fun of it, or as an escapism or exploring something you wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole in your own personal sexual expression. ALL OF THIS IS VALID. It doesn't matter why you RP, but it matters how you treat your partners, especially when you have different opinions about smut.

I'm allosexual and queer and yes, for fuck's sake, I'm sex positive and I'm ship positive and some of my muses are hella promiscuous. If you demand respect for your choices, you'll have to learn respect other people's choices, too. It's that simple.

Also btw, since the old reblogs confused some of you:

Eskel is not gay. Eskel is not Geralt shipping only. Eskel is not hypersexual.

He was planned that way, because ep. 2.02 broke me, guys. I wanted him to have a happy ending obviously. When I started writing him I did not have in mind to make him my primary muse. But I got so entangled with him, I love him so much, he just became what he is now.

Eskel is pan- and demisexual, I ship him with boys and girls and enbies, I ship him with human characters, with elves, werewolves, demons... but even the amount of sex he has -- you have to keep in mind that all of the threads are technically starting off a 'clean slate'. Means, when he meets a girl and he hasn't felt for a girl in AGES, he'll be surprised, because he is mainly still a little more attracted to men - every thread will handle the connection he has as unique. He has like half a dozen verses, but in every thread it basically starts off in a different timeline.

I still ship him with Geralt, but man, all the amazing OCs of my partners? *chef's kiss* and even though they never met canonically (in the show), right now I'm much more enamoured by Jaskier/Eskel. I love the potential angsty ship Lambert/Eskel.

In my opinion, he indeed shifted from being very hyposexual on the spectrum to the middle.

I started playing him as a massive submissive bottom, and that's still his usual preference with male partners, but he can also take the lead.

Overall, characters aren't written in stone. The longer you write a canon character, the more he becomes "original" as you drop stuff you don't like about the canon portrayal, etc. And we all agree that Witchers are horndogs, right? They're canonical horndogs. ALL OF THEM.

AND ANOTHER THING just because I'm a massive smut slut I'm not less of a skilled writer of what happens inside a character (and I'm not talking about the penetration here). Angsty-Shippy threads can have a much more in depth character building and analysis than a monster killing thread.

This is the very last time I'll speak about this. I'll add a statement to my rules and everyone who follows me and comes complaining about Eskel or any of my other muses being "sex crazed" will just get a block. I'm tired of being shamed for enjoying smut.

#cw rant #.⚔ — 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢'𝐦 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬.

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roughentumble · 8 months

Note

B, I, N, & X!

B - A pairing–platonic, romantic or sexual–that you initially didn’t consider, but someone changed your mind.

hmm. this happens a lot with homestuck ships, just because there are so many possibilities that it's hard to think of them all on your own, but once someone comes in with their reasoning it's like *slaps forehead* how didnt i see it sooner! that sounds cool!

I - Has Tumblr caused you to stop liking any fandoms, if so, which and why?

SO many, mostly just due to overexposure. stranger things is the first that comes to mind. there's another fandom on the tip of my tongue, but i just cant recall it right now unfortunately... if i can get my memory to cooperate, i'll reblog this post with the thing im trying to think of

N - Name three things you wish you saw more or in your main fandom (or a fandom of choice).

1) being nice to geralt. this already happens ofc but he's my favorite little guy and i can always use more of people being nice to him :)

2) s2 rewrites. fix-it fics, rewrites from the ground-up, fics that completely ignore canon events they didnt like. seems pretty widespread that people didnt like s2, so some sort of fan reaction where they take it and mould it into what they'd like instead could be fun!

3) more mom yen and daughter ciri bonding moments! i know s2 shot that in the foot by making yen try and kill her, but cmon. thats her momma!

bonus 4) because i forgot about it until the end. everyone shut up about the mountain forever. and that includes having hard feelings at geralt or making jaskier gloomy n shit. ougughghh disliked forever by Me

X - A trope which you are almost certain to love in any fandom.

MIND MELDS!!!! mind melds, mental connections, soul bonding, anything at all like that. if two people in two seperate bodies are forced to share a mental space. the ultimate invasion of privacy, and yet also the ultimate intimacy, not even your thoughts are your own. everything forced to the surface. to an outsider it looks as normal as ever, but inside there is turmoil. and then-- and this is important-- the AFTERMATH!! the delicious, delicious aftermath. maybe the mental connection is severed, and they find theyve gotten used to it, and now their minds are too silent without the constant hum of their partner's thoughts. or perhaps they adapt to it and it never goes away, and to outsiders it looks like everything they do is a coordinated dance. how do they know so much? how do they work together so seamlessly? because their minds are one.

it's sooooo rare, i cant even think of any fics that have done it off the top of my head, despite it being a fav of mine. and yet. oh how i adore it. stories where theyre born that way and never know another way to be, stories of outsiders uncomfortable with their unnatural closeness, stories where it's new and fresh and they dont know how to navigate it, stories where it's old and solid and they rely on it in battle. stories where they have to work to stay seperate people, because the melding wants them one mind in two bodies, and if they let themselves get too close, they start to lose their own individuality. anything! all of it! oh how i adore it!

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samstree · 1 year

Text

(more on sober!jaskier)

Geralt sneaks into their room nearly on tiptoe. The night is dark and quiet enough that any tiny creak of the floorboards makes his heart flutter. Luckily, the fireplace burns dimly, so he doesn’t need to light the oil lamp and make any more noises.

The scent of the strong white gull clings to his clothes, his hair, his breath. He doesn’t want to wake Jaskier like this, with every part of him reeking of alcohol. The only problem—the world just won’t stand still.

Geralt blinks hard against the swaying of the floor. His hand slips on the handle, and the door shuts loudly.

“Geralt?”

Fuck.

He freezes like a child being caught.

The lump on the bed moves, and then there is the vague shape of Jaskier sitting up, rubbing his eyes.

“Um…” Geralt finds his throat inexplicably dry.

“You are back,” Jaskier says, voice deep from sleep. “Had a good time?”

“Good.”

Geralt doesn’t move. The door frame digs into his back uncomfortably.

“Good, then, that it was good.” Fading embers illuminate Jaskier from one side, his hair messy and smile soft. The blankets pool on his lap, warm and inviting. “Lambert and Eskel? Also good?”

“Also good.” Geralt nods.

“We are saying the word too many times,” Jaskier teases, patting the space next to him. “If all is good, you should come to bed now. Can’t let your brothers hog all your time. Your bard misses you too.”

A distressed sound escapes Geralt’s throat. He breathes through the dizzying rush in his head and closes his eyes for a second.

“I…” Geralt hesitates. “We were drinking. A lot.”

“Oh.”

“Thought you’d be asleep by now. Didn’t mean to be drunk around you.”

“It’s okay,” Jaskier says, though it sounds like a lie.

Even years after Jaskier put down the bottles and never picked them up again, there is still that tension within him. When he’s in a tavern, or a banquet, where wine is poured and refilled freely. He never speaks of it, but it’s difficult. Geralt can tell, the tightness of his shoulders and the reservation in his eyes. Jaskier is lonely in company like this, when he’s the only one who cannot drink.

Geralt never wants him to feel lonely again.

“I got carried away.” Geralt winces, blinking to sober himself up, but the white gull is strong. Even his fast metabolism can’t do much within minutes. “I’ll sleep somewhere else.”

“Wait, no,” Jaskier calls out. He doesn’t need to raise his voice for Geralt to stop in his tracks. “There is no need. Just come here.”

Jaskier shifts on their bed, hugging his knees. There is a certain vulnerability in the way he curls into himself, a particular gentleness. And Jaskier is always the most convincing when he’s gentle.

So Geralt has to oblige.

He moves while the room swims before his eyes. It’s hard to find his balance but he manages. He ends up sitting at the edge of the bed, not touching Jaskier, turned slightly away for the stink in his breath.

“I know you don’t like it when I drink,” Geralt says.

Jaskier blinks, confused. “When have I said that?”

“You don’t need to. I can tell when people are drinking. You look…lonely, even in a crowd.”

Geralt suddenly finds his hands the most interesting thing. He wriggles them in his lap, the sensation of his skin strange.

“Oh, Geralt.” Jaskier’s fingers are cool against Geralt’s cheek and soothing when they tidy the loose strands at his temple. “But you see, you are not people.”

“Hmm?”

When Geralt looks at Jaskier, there is only patience in the way his head tilts, and only amusement at the corners of his eyes.

“Yes, it can be hard when I’m surrounded by those who are less understanding,” Jaskier explains, the movement of his hand not stopping. Geralt leans into his palm, letting Jaskier cup his cheek. “But there’s them, and there’s you. You are not the same.”

“I’m not?”

Perhaps Geralt does get slower when affected by alcohol, because Jaskier’s eyes are crinkling beautifully like he thinks Geralt is being silly again.

“No, you are not. You never fill my cup along with yours and pressure me to drink. You never use drunkenness as an excuse to be rude to me. You never make me feel bad for staying sober, for not being fun enough.”

“I’d never,” Geralt says, nearly feeling offended at the idea.

“No, you’d never,” Jaskier continues. “On the contrary, you are the one to take away the cup forced into my hand and save me from those impossible situations. You defend me, but not with your swords. You protect me, just by being there.”

“It’s all you ask. Of course I’m there.” Geralt catches Jaskier’s hand in his. “So you are not disappointed?”

Jaskier’s smile is laced with a hint of melancholy, his eyes casting low. “How can I? I’ve long since forgotten how it feels like to be disappointed in you,” he answers. “And it’s my fight. I’ve never asked you to charge into battle for me. Just because I don’t drink doesn’t mean I expect you to do the same. I understand it’s different for you—for everyone, really. Besides, you haven’t seen your family for months. You deserved the fun.”

“We did rather have fun.” Geralt squeezes Jaskier’s hand in reassurance, his chest now lighter.

“Was it Lambert’s homebrew again?”

Geralt’s lips stretch into a lopsided grin. “It was.”

“My, my, you must still have quite a buzz.” Jaskier returns with an equally big grin of his. “It’s okay. I like it when you are tipsy, with all the easy smiles and free cuddles, and you let yourself get giddy when I call you sweet names. I know your soft side, dearest, but even I don’t see it often—oh yes, just like this.”

It’s really the dearest that does Geralt in. Of all the sweet names, it’s the one that makes Geralt preen. His bard is easy with his affections, throwing dears and darlings to all who are close to his heart, but then, there is Geralt.

Dearest.

Perhaps he is different, after all.

Suddenly, his cheeks are hot for entirely different reasons. He looks at Jaskier’s knowing expression and can’t help feeling too proud.

“I am, aren’t I?” Geralt finds himself giddy indeed. “Your dearest?”

“Yes, you are,” Jaskier sighs softly before leaning in to press a kiss on Geralt’s cheek. “You are also very much drunk, so take off your clothes and get under these covers. I am not going to undress an uncooperative witcher all by myself, thank you very much.”

With that, Geralt lets out a contented hum and follows Jaskier’s directions. Despite his words, Jaskier still helps him, their limbs bumping awkwardly when Geralt nearly trips over his trousers. He squirms when Jaskier’s touch becomes ticklish on his tingling skin.

“Alright, just lie down,” Jaskier says, throwing his hands up. “Not tickling you when you are giggly already.”

“I’m not giggly,” Geralt insists. He sinks into the comfortable bed and drags Jaskier on top of him, nearly falling asleep just like this.

“Not giggly. Just happy,” Jaskier agrees, his fingers running through Geralt’s hair. “Happy, and dear to my heart.”

With his eyes closed, Geralt quietly corrects him, “the most dear.”

“Yes, the most dear, the most special,” Jaskier whispers as if revealing a secret. “It’s you. Only you, my dearest, my best person.”

“And you…” Geralt slurs his words, drifting off. “You too…”

He needs to tell Jaskier how dear he is tomorrow, how strong he is underneath all the gentleness. Jaskier must know already, that Geralt is in awe of his strength with every day that passes, every small milestone, every anniversary.

He is in awe when Jaskier is simply here, leaving his haunted past behind.

For now, Geralt is content just being tipsy, half-asleep, and dearest to his bard.

#geraskier #geraskier fic #sobriety #alcoholism

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ladyannemarie5 · 5 months

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Jaskier: the emotional support bard for EVERYONE

Well, remember my "Things we learned/confirmed about our bard in Vol. 2" post? You can see it here.

I haven't stopped thinking about point #16 (He's the emotional support bard for EVERYONE (Geralt, Yennefer, Ciri and even Dara) but who the hell is my baby's emotional support?) and after many sleepless nights I finally got around to it to write something about it.

So here you have 2k words of hurt/angst for my beautiful bard. Because he needs to vent to someone and I love a Geralt writhing in pain and guilt :D

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

Geralt is truly grateful to have Jaskier in his life. Having him is the true blessing.

The bard is always by his side, with a soft and understanding smile on his face, with the right words that will give shelter to their hearts and a joke to lighten the mood.

He knows just the right combination of words to make Yennefer smile sincerely. He knows what song to sing for Ciri after her nightmares. He knows what to say to elves who have lost their homes and families to always keep them hopeful.

And of course, Jaskier is always sincere about his emotions, the things he likes, the things he dislikes.

Jaskier is colorful, loud, colorful and true with his feelings.

That's why Geralt is at a loss for what to do when he hears Radovid comforting his bard.

Geralt was about to tell them both to gather by the fire to continue the party after saying goodnight to Ciri. The party in the forest was in full swing when both lovebirds decided to step away from the spotlight and spend some time alone.

"How are you, lark?" asks Radovid.

"I'm perfect, my prince. All things are finally flowing properly" replies the bard cheerfully.

There is silence for a moment, Geralt sneaking up on the pair, not wanting to abruptly interrupt their moment.

"I could see how your hands shook as we approached the fire, I also noticed that you didn't play your usual notes on your lute, and of course, you tried to sing the dirtiest songs in your repertoire only to have your friends tell you to stop singing in front of the girl" the prince murmurs softly and Geralt stops his steps altogether.

"Well, I wouldn't want a witcher and his sorceress to cut little Jaskier for singing obscenities in front of his daughter. You should thank me for stopping, I know how much you enjoy little Jaskier."

A silence follows, Geralt thinks the matter is settled, that Jaskier is fine.

"And now you're evading the issue" replies the prince in a tone Geralt can't detect. "You said you weren't afraid of the fire anymore but you sat in the farthest place from the campfire, you didn't have your twitch with the strings and I know you only do that when you don't want to want to keep playing the lute and I also know you only sing your dirtiest songs when you want to make people uncomfortable and make them stop asking you for songs.

I ask you again, how are you?"

Jaskier doesn't respond. Geralt holds his breath and frowns in the darkness.

Jaskier isn't acting weird, it's just Jaskier being Jaskier, Geralt thinks. His bard is always happy, in fact he is surprised that he always smells like honeysuckle and lavender all the time because humans always have a wide variety of smells about them. Sadness, anger, joy, satisfaction, and more and more, but Jaskier always smells of happiness, and several (many) times of lust. Radovid believes that just by knowing Jaskier for a few years he is already able to read him backwards and forwards. Like him

Jaskier doesn't say anything for several minutes and for a second, it seems like the conversation has stopped there, maybe he'll start cracking a joke about how being the most famous bard on the continent is taking its toll on him or maybe he'll comment that Radovid isn't giving him any enough attention.

If there's one thing everyone who knows Jaskier personally knows, it's that the bard is...

"I'm tired "

And Geralt's heart stops. Because he has never heard the bard speak in that tone. Not even when they had walked miles and miles for hours, not when they had spent days and days sleeping outside instead of an inn, not even when Geralt apologized after the mountain. It's not the kind of physical exhaustion that Jaskier always brags about, it's the exhaustion that comes from his soul.

A soft sound is heard and the witcher must not have special mutations to know that the prince has gotten closer to the poet “Dear heart, it is me. "You know you don't need to pretend to be someone you're not with me."

More silence. More doubts.

And then, like a dam that has broken, Geralt smells for the first time the bitter aroma of rotting dandelions: Jaskier's sadness.

"I feel so lonely." Jaskier sighs, an exhausted, desperate sigh.

And then the sobs come.

Geralt can imagine the prince holding Jaskier in his arms because the poet's voice sounds muffled and sobbing.

Jaskier talks about how he has always felt sad and alone since he was a child. How sometimes he is not able to remember his childhood because his mind has blocked everything bad to protect him. He talks about how music saved his life, how sometimes it's not enough and he just forces himself to make it enough.

Geralt thinks about the times Jaskier didn't sleep or eat because he stayed to write in his notebook, how he took his lute and held it to his chest saying that the muses were blessing him with inspiration. He now wonders how much was real and how much was the bard breaking.

The bard tells the prince how scared he was when he first toured the continent, fearing that he would have to crawl back to his parents to survive. The happiness of being able to find Geralt and follow him. The sadness of being rejected over and over again by the only person who was his lighthouse at that moment. The panic attacks he suffered when he woke up and Geralt was already gone. The tremors in his legs when he ran to the next town to catch up with the witcher and the fake smiles he had shown when pretending that their reunion was accidental.

Geralt remembers a time, in Temeria, when he found Jaskier drinking beer in a tavern and how his leg kept moving, up and down over and over again. How Jaskier told him it was the emotion that the red-haired waitress caused him. He tries to remember how many miles Jaskier had to walk by himself.

Jaskier tells him how devastated he was when Geralt left him. Because he knows that 20 years are nothing for a witcher but they were half of his human life. He tells him that he returned to Geralt because he missed him and is his best friend, the person he has the most faith in, but he doesn't think he can trust him again, not like before. Because he had been his only friend, his only constant after leaving and being disowned by his own family, because he had given him his youth, voice and friendship for decades and yet Geralt had left him. And his heart is so broken that he can't put another patch on it or will be useless forever.

He tells him how ashamed he is of his human condition. Because he's surrounded by gods who can set the world on fire literally and figuratively, he clings so hard to being someone magnificent like them, but sometimes he's so exhausting that the very breath escapes him. He tells that every time they make a joke about being weak, worthless or just being left behind he gets it because they remind him of his family, but now it has become a dull ache that builds up in his heart and he knows it's wrong, but now has gotten used to it.

Geralt doesn't even have a specific memory, but he knows that he has a lot to think about.

The poet talks about nightmares about being burned, about being left behind for being a mere human. Because he knows that he is only a second in the infinite life of the people he loves, that he is nothing more than a thorn in the hearts of the people he considers his family. Because they will live long, wonderful lives and the memory of him will one day be erased from their minds, and sometimes it's okay, but other times it feels like it burns his soul to know that he means nothing to anyone.

He tells Radovid that he is so afraid that he will leave him too. Because he knows that he can be a lot and feel so much that he is used to being left aside, but he doesn't believe he can bear Radovid's rejection and he doesn't believe can bear to say goodbye to the prince he has fallen in love with like never before. He tells him how much loves him, how fervent his love is, but Radovid is a prince, the representation of the gods on earth, the man who has armies and subjects and men and women at his disposal; and he’s a simple bard, with scars from torture and a lute on his back. Jaskier opens up and talks out loud about how scared he was when he met him, because he always jokes about being heartbroken, like every good poet, but he never talks about the fear of not being enough again.

He talks about his resentment and envy of others. He was always the bard of comfort for everyone, always the shoulder to cry on and complain about, always the perfect man to put down and feel good about yourself. Jaskier, the man who always smiles. Jaskier, the man of a thousand words. Always the bard Dandelion.

He says that has no right to cry and complain about his pain, because there are elves out there who have lost their homes, their family, and their lives. Because just a few steps from him, there is a girl who lost her parents, her grandparents and her entire home in the flames. There is a sorceress who was sold by her father, who was undone and remade countless times. Because he has traveled with the man with the purest and noblest heart on the continent, that he has suffered for decades without complaint. Because there is a prince trapped in a viper's nest next to him. He has no right to cry because he is exhausted.

But sometimes it's so hard to stay smiling. Sometimes the curtain must be lowered, sometimes his lips also get tired of saying words of encouragement without any in return, his arms are also tired of holding and not being held, his heart sometimes gets tired of loving without being loved.

Sometimes he just wants to sleep and not wake up again.

Jaskier talks and talks and talks. But for the first time, he's not about the best color for his doublet, but instead he mutters about the insecurities he hides behind those colors. For the first time, Geralt doesn't tune out Jaskier's inane, meaningless chatter and actually listens, hears the tremor in his voice, smells the pain in the air, feels every sob rumbling in his chest. And he wonders how he never saw it, how he always took his friend for granted.

It seems that Jaskier's words are exhausted, because all that remains is a deafening silence and the aroma of salt from tears not shed for years.

“You are not alone, lark,” the prince murmurs, soft and determined. “You have me, Geralt, Ciri and Yennefer. We are your family. We are yours. And I'm sorry you feel that way, because it was never our intention to burden you with our burdens. Because we love you. You are the light of our lives, and the only reason we all have a family. Jaskier, you are my lark, my heart and my soul. I love you more than anything, Jaskier. You can always come to me to listen to you, to cry or simply to be by your side, the way you want me, all the time you want me.”

Jaskier sobs again and Geralt can imagine Radovid holding him tighter, closer, because it's something the witcher wants to do.

Geralt walks away silently with only the thoughts of him.

He returns to the bonfire that miraculously continues to burn, with no Yennefer and Ciri in sight.

Geralt sits in his place. He thinks about everything he has learned from the bard in 1 hour and has been missing for 24 years. He wonders how much of what he sees in Jaskier is him and not his mask. He questions why he never asked Jaskier how he is.

Then he hears footsteps coming out of the forest. He feels Yenn sit silently to the right of him and then Ciri to the left of him. Everyone heard, everyone felt their bard break.

No one says anything, as if the bard had taken away their words. He probably did it. So the three of them sit together until they decide to go to sleep, always in silence.

The next morning, the 3 find a note from Radovid saying that he and Jaskier will take some time together. That they will soon find them.

The witcher, the sorceress and the princess shed tears together and then wait anxiously for their bard. Their lark.

#jaskier #my baby deserves the world #my beloved bard #radskier #geraskier #fanfiction #ficlet #the witcher #geralt of rivia #emotional support bard #angst bard #ao3fic #fanfic

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vitusxaydin · 1 year

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THE INSPIRATION BEHIND VITUS AYDIN (TASK #9)

(Content warning: mention of sex work)

Vitus, Vitus, Vitus... My sweet, messy boy.

I've been writing Vitus for about a year and a half now. He first popped up as a side character in a series of short stories, but he didn't want to stay a side character. He kept buzzing around the back of my head until I let him loose.

It's no secret we build characters using pieces of ourselves. When I sat down to figure out which parts of me had made it into Vitus, I discovered why it was impossible to neglect him: he's the most vulnerable pieces of me, dialed up to 11. Vitus is what would happen if I took all of the raw, human yearning I've ever felt, concentrated it into a single moment, and shoved it into a person with no boundaries. (Sorry, bud. This is your mess now.)

The reason I find him so compelling to write is he embraces the most unconventional parts of himself:

He's struggled with his queerness not because he ever thought there was something wrong with his attractions, but because his family or other social circles didn't accept his identity.

He's struggled with infidelity not because he thinks it's inherently wrong to love or be with more than one person, but because he's fallen into relationship structures that don't leave room for those desires.

He's struggled with moving around a lot not because he doesn't find it freeing, but because the world around him has made it difficult to remain financially stable while he does so, and because the people he loved almost never had the means to move with him.

He's struggled with his history as a sex worker not because he didn't love his job, but because he hates how people turn their noses up at him when they hear about it.

Vitus's "problem" is not that the yearning itself is wrong—it's that there's no space for it in the society he's grown in. He's learned to roll with it, painful as it may be sometimes. He's even grown into a person who will make space for others and their troubles, even if he doesn't know them well, if only to provide that sense of safety he's always wanted for himself.

Other characters who remind me of Vitus include:

Jaskier (The Witcher)—another messy boy, whose charisma and free spirit often land him in sticky romantic situations;

Lucifer (from the self-titled Netflix show)—for his tendency to flirt with anyone, and his valiant but fruitless efforts to shove down any raw feelings that bubble up;

Zevran Aranai (Dragon Age: Origins)—another cheeky man who loves connecting with people physically and grows awkward, sensitive, and uncomfortable when he realizes he's fallen in love;

Alcide Herveaux (True Blood)—who most reflects Vitus at his current age, a reliable friend and partner who refuses to give up on the people he loves even when it hurts him;

Dorian Pavus (Dragon Age: Inquisition)—whose struggles with his queer identity and familial relationships probably inspired Vitus more than I yet realize; and

Oberyn Martell (Game of Thrones)—who's sex-positive and a blast to be around but has a stubborn streak a mile wide.

And last but not least, the playlist I use to get into his headspace:

I love writing this man when he's making a mess. But even more than that—I love watching him persevere.

#merrocktask #cd

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bambirex · 8 months

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The World Is Yours, If You Seek The Good: Chapter 12

Pairings: Geraskefer, Yennskier, Geraskier, Yenralt

Characters: Jaskier, Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt of Rivia, Ciri of Cintra, Lambert

Additional tags: implied/referenced abuse, forced pregnancy, mpreg, creature fic, fae Jaskier, creature Jaskier, creature Yennefer, captivity, enemies to friends to lovers, polyamory, found family, hurt/comfort, it starts out angsty but it will get better, completely made up lore, fertility issues, completely made up skills and powers, angst, angst with a happy ending, whump, Jaskier whump, Yennefer whump, intersex Jaskier, Ciri whump, Geralt whump, blood, nightmares, injury, wound care

Rating: mature

Full word count: 37,220 words

Chapter word count: 2,989 words

Chapters: 12/?

Summary: Used and abused by humans, Jaskier and Yennefer believe they are alone and with no reason to trust anybody. That is, until they meet each other - and then, a couple of other strange misfits.

Chapter summary: Jaskier and Yennefer have a heart to heart that helps the both of them get over their fears and doubts. Geralt teaches Ciri some important things.

Author's notes: MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING for a lot of pregnancy talk in this chapter, especially leaning into the forced/unwanted side of it, so if that's something that makes you uncomfortable, please, skip this chapter or at least the first half of it for your own sake!

Read on Ao3

Positioning his lute against his growing belly was getting harder and harder to do each day. The first time he experienced a pregnancy, Jaskier felt tremendously sad over this, since playing his instrument and singing along was one of the only small comforts in his life while he was in captivity. He wanted to bash his lute against the wall, claw his stomach open and tear himself from the inside out when it first happened. He screamed and cried and mourned the life that was taken away from him.

It never got any easier, but his emotions dulled enough for it to be a bit more bearable. He became desensitized to the discomfort, to the alien feeling of being a guest inside his own body. Jaskier could barely remember a time when it truly belonged to only him.

Strangely, now as he struggled to place his lute over the parts of his lap that weren't yet covered by his bump, he laughed. Something that used to be so humiliating, was now almost endearing. Somehow, he didn't hate the child growing within him.

He was never allowed to think of them as children because he knew he would get too attached, then, and it would hurt all the more when he had to give them away to the humans. He thought of them as invaders of his body, as things that were put in there for someone else's needs. He had to, because it made it easier to handle the heartache of seeing yet another baby ripped out of his arms. They were never his, not even for a fleeting moment.

Jaskier didn’t know what the future had in store for him, but he was certain he was never going back to Master. He would rather die than live like that again, as a pretty decoration, an entertaining toy. He found something that finally gave meaning to his sad, lonely life. Maybe it was too soon to say, but Jaskier felt like he's found himself a family. And he didn't want to leave them.

He felt a small kick against his belly and he chuckled.

"What, you like my misery? You find it funny that I can't play properly?"

Another kick. Jaskier ran his hand over the place where he felt the little feet. He swallowed when he felt them press against his hand.

"I don't know what to think of you," Jaskier told the baby honestly, rubbing over his swollen stomach. "What am I allowed to call you? Are you mine? Kick once for no, twice for yes."

Nothing happened. Jaskier chuckled at his own silliness. Then, two little kicks in quick succession. Jaskier's eyes welled with tears.

"Don't lie to me," Jaskier whispered, "I can't handle it if you're just joking."

He heard the soft sound of someone clearing their throat. He looked up to see Yennefer standing in the doorway, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other.

"Hey," Jaskier greeted her, forcing a smile through his tears. Yennefer stared at him for a few seconds with an unreadable expression, before she spoke.

"Hi. You okay?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" Jaskier chuckled. "Just, uh, talking to myself. No big deal."

"You weren't talking to yourself," Yennefer pointed out as she walked inside the room. "You were talking to the baby."

"Fine, maybe I was," Jaskier held his hands up in defeat. "Ciri is downstairs cooking with Geralt. I'm bored."

"You could have joined us," Yennefer told him. She sat on the bed. "Geralt was asking about you."

"Oh," Jaskier felt his cheeks warm up. He shrugged with a sheepish smile. "He must be wondering why I'm not eating everything in his house for once."

"He likes you," Yennefer said, her smile genuine. "And I think you like him, too."

"Well, you can't deny he's a gorgeous hunk of a man, Yennefer."

"It's more than that."

Jaskier snorted softly. "Then I guess I'm not alone with that. I've seen how you look at him, too. You can't deny you've warmed up to the witcher."

The flush on Yennefer's cheeks, and her fleeting smile made Jaskier grin.

"Thought so."

"Shut up, you moron," Yennefer scoffed, her cheeks still pink.

She looked down on Jaskier's stomach, her small smile fading. Jaskier bit his lip. He knew what it meant. She tried to hide it, but she always looked at him that way. There was a deep ache, a longing in her eyes.

There was a time when Jaskier thought he and Yennefer would never get along well. There was a time where he thought that being from such vastly different species, they would never find common ground. And yet, there was a bond between them, which got deeper and deeper as they went through all the horrible things back at their owner - and now, they were going through something else together, something lovely. At the bottom of it all, there was him, a chatty fae who fell in love with a sassy witch. And he may have not known what exactly did Yennefer feel for him, he knew she trusted and cared for him.

He knew about the pain Yennefer hid under her angry exterior, the loneliness and the loss. And like he's promised her he would try and make sure she would get through things okay when she was dragged home from the market all those months ago, he was more than ready to keep caring for her the way she deserved.

And that care had to come with honesty.

"I know you think it's a gift," Jaskier started. He cupped his belly, Yennefer's eyes following his movements. She swallowed audibly.

"That I can carry children."

"It looks like that to me," Yennefer replied honestly. "I can't do that. I wish I could."

"It would be a gift, I think. If I was allowed to do it on my own terms."

He took a deep breath. The baby shifted in him again, as if trying to calm him.

"I was very young when I had the first child. I was terrified. I wasn't prepared. And I did not want it, not like that, with the knowledge it's not really mine. That they would be taken away at the end."

His throat tightened painfully. He felt Yennefer's eyes on him all the while.

"You carry them inside your body for months, but you don't get to cherish it. The kicks, the little movements... they do not belong to you. Your body... it's not yours anymore. It's a vessel for someone else. And you go through all that pain, that discomfort, completely alone. Not with a mate to hold your hand, not with a family to have your back. You have a heartless Master who only checks on you to make sure you would deliver a healthy product. That's what he called them. The babies. He called them products."

He blinked against the tears in his eyes. He heard Yennefer take in a sharp, shaky breath.

"I don't hate being pregnant," Jaskier explained quietly. "I guess I did, in the beginning, but only because it was forced on me. I wanna have a baby. A child. I do. I wanna know what it's like to bring my own child into this world, to myself and people that would care about them. But I never had that, and I kept brushing it under the rug but Yennefer, I hate that I never had that."

When he looked up, he noticed Yennefer's eyes were shiny with tears. It made his composure crumble even more.

"I was much lonelier than I let on. And then... you came along."

He gave Yennefer a wobbly smile. "You, and your strormy violet eyes, your death threats and your constant hissing. Your acidic insults and your thinly masked self-loathing that manifested in hatred for everyone. You... and your lonely, hurt heart. You and your emotions that you weren't allowed to feel. The kindness, the love, the gentleness in you. The beauty that was not dangerous, but soft. Something that deserved to be cherished."

A tear ran down Yennefer's face as she told him to stop it. But Jaskier wasn't finished.

"I love you, Yennefer," he told her as he wiped at his eyes with a wet little laugh. "You're my exact opposite and yet, you are just like me. Lonely. Used and abused by humans. Abandoned and humiliated. You came along and it was like looking into a mirror. I don't know what this thing is between us, but I know I never want to lose it."

He reached for Yennefer's hand carefully. Yennefer immediately squeezed his without hesitation.

"And then we met Ciri. This brave girl who's suffered like us, whose heart remained kind and pure despite what she's been through. A true inspiration. A wonderful child. The first child that maybe... will stick around. I love her. Like she's my child, and that's silly, right? But it's true. I care about her. And I don't care who wants to get their dirty hands on her, I won't let them. I will grow a whole forest around them and bury them under the trees before I'd let them hurt her."

"Who knew you had such a violent streak in you," Yennefer chuckled softly. Jaskier shook his head.

"You bring this out of me. Not violence, but... bravery. Something I lacked before. Geralt... he's making me brave, too. Because I see this man, who isn't even supposed to feel anything and yet he feels so much. He's a wonderful father, a great friend... so much more human than the ones who call themselves such. He's strong, not just in his body, but in his heart. He would do everything to protect his daughter, and now us. And it means a lot to me. That he had no reason to trust us, but he still does, that he's willing to put everything aside to keep everyone safe. I love him."

Tears fell onto his shirt, soaking the soft material as he looked down on his stomach.

"And this baby...I don't know, for the first time in my life, I think maybe I'll get to keep them? They might be a part of me that will finally stay. I want them to. I want them to be mine. I feel like after we escaped our owner, we all got a new life. And I want this life to be great, I want to share that life with you and Geralt and Ciri and maybe this baby, too... because I think I love this baby."

He broke down sobbing, wringing an arm over his face. He felt arms wrap around him and pull him close, fingers threading through his hair soothingly. He buried his face in Yennefer's chest as she shushed him.

"Thank you," Yennefer whispered, her own tears falling onto Jaskier's head. "Thank you, for telling me this. It means a lot, you know? Because I envied you so much for being able to get pregnant. I hated you for it. My own body did not belong to me either. It never did. It was used like yours. And it was hollow. Devoid of the things yours had. I always wanted to create something but the humans made sure I never could."

She pulled back to cup Jaskier's face, gently making him look into her eyes.

"But you know what? Fuck the humans. Fuck everyone who made us feel like we weren't worthy. Who told us we were only useful for our womb, or who made us feel like shit for the lack of it. Because we both create beautiful things, Jaskier. Look at us! Look at what we have together! Look at what we're doing with Ciri, with Geralt! It may not be much, but it means something, right?"

"Right," Jaskier sniffled. He let himself lean into Yennefer's touch as she gently wiped his tears away with her thumb.

"I never thought I'd have this," Yennefer admitted. She pressed her forehead against Jaskier's, taking a deep breath.

"I thought I would be alone all my life. And I kept saying I was fine with that, because who would ever love me, anyway? I was called scary, dangerous, hideous... I never had a bond with anyone. The closest to it was another drepima. We spent like, what, four days together? I did like her. But then she was beaten to death. And I promised myself I would never get attached to anyone. My kind isn't cut out for that."

"You never told me about this," Jaskier said quietly. Yennefer swallowed.

"I know. I only just told Geralt about it, too. He was the one that pointed out that it may have hurt me more than I let on. I believed I wasn't deserving of care, of friendship, love... of a family. And I genuinely did not like you in the beginning."

Jaskier chuckled. "Yeah, that much was obvious."

"I hated you for being everything I couldn't be, and I hated you for still being so kind to me. It scared me. To be treated with care. I wanted to keep you away from me, but... I love you too, you little asshole. You've grown on me like a particularly clingy, annoying moss, and you know what? I'm fine with that. And I'm fine with sticking with you. And Ciri... she does feel like a child to me, too. Something I thought I could never have. Geralt... yes, I do love him. He's different from what I imagined him to be. All my life, I've been surrounded by hatred and fear. Chaos and destruction. Now... now, it feels like I'm building something. A family, maybe."

"You deserve a family, Yen," Jaskier told her, the nickname slipping out easily. Yennefer didn't seem to mind, if her smile was anything to go by.

"We all deserve a family. I know I probably can't get my own back. I'm not sure they're even alive. But that does not mean I have to be alone, right? We could be a family. The four of us."

"Five," Yennefer corrected him softly. Jaskier noticed she was looking at his stomach again - and for the first time, instead of the painful longing and envy, he saw something else in her eyes. Something like awe.

"Can I..." Yennefer whispered, her smile wobbling, "would you mind if I...?"

"No," Jaskier replied softly. He took Yennefer's shaking hands and guided them to his belly. Yennefer took in a sharp breath as she placed her palm over the swell of Jaskier's belly.

"How do you feel?" Jaskier asked her. Yennefer opened her mouth, but no words came out. Then, she smiled again, bright and genuine. Jaskier's heart fluttered at the sight.

"Great," Yennefer replied earnestly. She let out a soft gasp along with Jaskier when the baby kicked again, fluttering excitedly against Jaskier's skin.

"They like you," Jaskier grinned. Yennefer laughed through her tears as she gently caressed the curve of his belly, making the baby kick and roll inside him again.

The sight of Yennefer smiling as she held his belly was everything to him. It was beautiful, genuine. It was perfect.

"Yen," he whispered, causing her to look up at him curiously. "Can I kiss you?"

"Yes," Yennefer replied without hesitation. Jaskier gently cupped her cheeks as he leaned in and pressed their lips together. Yennefer's hands remained on his belly as she kissed him back happily, melting into him.

Ciri could barely believe her ears when Geralt told her it was time for her to learn some swordsmanship. She's been begging him for ages to teach her how to fight, but Geralt always refused, claiming it was better if she stayed out of trouble.

"What changed now?" She asked, curiously watching Geralt packing away their food and grabbing two swords. He handed Ciri the lighter one with a smile.

"I decided to stop being dishonest with you," Geralt told her. He placed a hand on her back as he led her outside. "Now you know everything about yourself. You know why I said the world was a dangerous place. You were right when you said you're stronger than anyone in this house. Not just because of your powers."

He placed his left foot forward and drew out his sword, motioning for Ciri to do the same. Ciri stood next to him and mimicked his movements.

"I will keep protecting you," Geralt promised as he swung his sword around in the air, deliberately slowing his movements down so Ciri could easily copy him. "But that does not mean you should be kept from protecting yourself. Yennefer will help you control your powers, and I can help show you how to fight even when you can't rely on them."

Ciri grinned at him. There was something different about Geralt now: he was a bit less stoic, a bit more open. Ciri wondered if revealing her family's history was what did this to him, or his clearly growing feelings for Yennefer and Jaskier. It was perhaps a combination of both.

"We're supposed to be training," Geralt reminded her as he caught her staring. Ciri laughed.

"I'm sorry. I'm just happy, you know? Things are so scary now, but you're making them okay."

She placed her sword down on the ground and hugged Geralt tightly. Geralt wrapped his arms around her in return.

"We're all gonna be okay, right?" She asked against Geralt's chest. Geralt hummed as he gently ruffled her hair.

"I'll make sure of it," he promised. "We all will. No matter what happens, we won't abandon each other."

"That includes Jaskier and Yennefer too, right?" Ciri asked, looking up at Geralt hopefully. Geralt smiled.

"Of course."

Ciri put her head back on his chest with a happy smile. Right now, no matter how uncertain the future may looked, she truly believed they would all be okay.

#geraskefer #yennskier #geraskier #yenralt #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fic #my fic #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #geralt of rivia #ciri #the world is yours if you seek the good

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katwriteswitcherthings · 1 year

Text

Title: Vi Moxt Miirik (Chapter Three - Also on AO3)

Prompt: Wuv: Meeting After A Long Time Apart

Pairing: Geralt & Jaskier

Rating: T

Warnings: None

Catch me sliding in 15 minutes till midnight to post this one! :D

Summary:

Our favorite lovable Bard is a little more than he let's Geralt know. Follow them through the years as he learns to let down his walls and show Geralt how beautiful he really is.

Chapter Three

"Geralt." The name slipped past his lips in surprise. He was staring into golden eyes for the first time in three and a half gods-be-damned years. And even though he wanted nothing more than to cry or scream or even shout out his joy at seeing his Witcher again, he didn't.

He didn't even realize Geralt would still be here, if Jaskier was being honest with himself. Oh sure, he could feel in the back of his mind where Geralt was at all times, but that didn't mean he actively looked. He hadn't since... since Geralt went to live with Yennefer.

The Witcher made his choice, loud and clear to the bard.

So, he picked himself up and went home to cry to his mother and sisters.

After a good winter in Lettenhove, he'd set out refreshed and focused. He toured the festivals, and though he made sure Geralt was still alive every now and then, he did not seek him out.

So, yes, it was quite the shock to see Geralt here, halfway across a crowded tavern. And for once, Jaskier felt embarrassed of himself.

Geralt looked awful, worse than he'd ever seen him before, and yes, that did include before Jaskier had repaired his reputation after Posada. He was gaunt and haggard, with a beard that Jaskier knew Geralt despised because facial hair was itchy. His armor had been badly repaired multiple times just from what little Jaskier could see, and his hair was a dirty greasy mess of dull grayish-brown instead of the moonlight it could be.

Here he sat, fresh off a season of festival tours, bardic competition wins, and a rich appointment at a court for the winter, in a newly finished blue doublet and breeches set in the latest fashion by one of the best elvish tailors in Novigrad. He was freshly washed, well rested, and had plenty enough coin that he didn't have to worry about going hungry.

Geralt hadn't even gotten a drink, just a bowl of stew.

Jaskier squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze as he ate, the weight of those golden orbs heavy on his mind. The food, which had been delicious before this, felt heavy and turned to ash as he swallowed.

Jaskier was a terrible friend and companion. Geralt deserved so much better. With one last bite he stood. Geralt did deserve better and Jaskier was going to provide. He stepped up to the bar and ordered another bowl of stew and two mugs of ale, and used all his performer's grace to move across the crowded room without spilling a drop.

He saw Geralt sitting with his head down, not looking at anyone, trying to make himself smaller. Perfectly timed, Jaskier smiled as he sat down the fresh bowl of stew just as Geralt was finishing his current bowl, sliding into the seat across from him with a practiced ease. He saw Geralt's eyes flash up to meet his before dropping back to the bowl in front of him. Well, that wasn't a rejection, at least.

"Here to drink alone?" Jaskier asked, sliding one of the mugs across the table to his Witcher, making sure to keep his voice soft and light. A huff of a laugh escaped the Witcher, a look of surprise flashing across his face as it did, like Geralt surprised himself by laughing.

"... Just brooding in the corner..." Geralt's voice was creaky and hoarse, like he hadn't spoken in a year. It broke Jaskier's heart to hear it so; Geralt's husky voice was always a little crackly, but never like this. Jaskier just smiled at the snarky response and raised his mug for a toast. Geralt complied, downing the whole mug in one long drink before tucking back into the bowl of stew.

Jaskier waved one of the maids over to refill Geralt's mug, tossing a coin her way and waiting until she cleared back out before speaking again.

There were many ways for this conversation to go, Jaskier knew. Geralt hated talking about feelings; he was a man of action through and through. Geralt also admired honesty and integrity above all else.

"Have you gotten a room yet?" Jaskier asked, voice still soft. Geralt paused eating for just a moment, frozen in place staring down at the food.

"No." The word was grumbled out low, almost as if he'd not wanted Jaskier to hear it.

"I have a performance tonight and tomorrow at the Narakort. Part of the pay is a room." Jaskier offered without hesitation. He smiled, just a little. "It beats sleeping in Roach's stall again."

Geralt remained silent, eating at a steady pace without his gaze wavering from the bowl. Jaskier did not push. Only once Geralt had finished off the food did Jaskier speak again.

"Look, Geralt." He spoke slowly, carefully. "I heard about what happened in Kovir." Jaskier watched Geralt closely, waiting on a flinch that did not come. It was Essi that sent him the letter, about the huge city-wide scandal between Geralt, Yennefer, and some other mage named Istredd. "I won't pry, but Geralt..." Jaskier promised, voice fading as he lost his nerve. Geralt did not move. "You can only pick up a shattered vase so many times, Geralt. Soon enough, the pieces won't be big enough to pick up and put back together."

"Fuck off." Geralt grumbled, but it lacked any real threat. Jaskier huffed a laugh at that.

"Come with me?" Jaskier asked, as open and honestly as he could. Geralt looked up at him, wonder and bewilderment clear on his face. Jaskier just smiled at him, soft and sweet and genuine.

"Okay." The word was barely more than a breath, but Jaskier could see the tension draining away from Geralt's posture.

#what about the bard #wuv the bard #jaskier #jaskier whump #geralt of rivia #non human!jaskier #my fanfic #pining #all the pining lads #its like a forest in here

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piceuscelus · 1 year

Note

SOOO.... The trans day prompts. I really just want genderfluid Geralt in a pretty skirt and to do his makeup and for trans masc Jaskier to do his hair. And then they go out for a night on the town and Jaskier totally doesn't tease Geralt during dinner and at the bar. Which absolutely doesn't lead to a sloppy quick mutual blowjob in the alley behind said bar. Absolutely not that would be ridiculous.

okay so this focuses more on geralt than jaskier but! transmasc jaskier, genderfluid (a woman for the moment in the fic) geralt, mutual semi public blowjobs and they are. In Love.

why yes i did just hand geralt my flavor of genderfluid in this because i am allowed have a wonderful day

also on ao3!

words used for geralt's genitals are typical: cock/balls, jaskier's are referred to as cock/hole

The date is Jaskier’s idea.

Realistically, most of their dates are Jaskier’s idea. He’s just…much more creative, than Geralt. And more spontaneous.

And the thing is that Jaskier has wanted to go out for a while, and they just haven’t, for various reasons – one week, Geralt was sick; the next, Jaskier was. A sudden family emergency put Geralt on a plane to see his idiot brother in the hospital over a long weekend (though, at least this time Lambert seemed to have learned his lesson about illegal fireworks). Jaskier was caught up in his recording studio again and again.

Through basically no one’s fault – except maybe Lambert’s (and Jaskier swears he doesn’t hold it against him, considering he’s barely more than a dipshit teenager, which is fairly rich coming from Jaskier who is barely into his twenties) – they just…haven’t been able to go out.

They’ve had dates, of course, it’s just been – staying in and watching movies, or playing extremely modified board games, or even just taking an hour in the middle of the day to eat lunch and take a nap together.

But Jaskier has wanted to go out and do something fun, Geralt! for weeks, and finally, they both have the time, and….

Well. Jaskier will definitely disagree with Geralt’s assessment that she’s ruined it, but. It’s kind of hard to think that she hasn’t, when she’d woken up feeling disgusting until she’d shaved and then realized, in the immediate relief, ah.

She knows Jaskier wanted to go to a bar, to get drunk and probably play pool or darts and make friends with the local rednecks, because that’s usually what he wants to do when he wants to do something fun. And Geralt had been fine with that, enjoys it the same, especially since it means he gets to watch Jaskier bend over a pool table, but –

But….

It’s hard, when she’s a girl, to go to bars like that. She feels…watched, even if she’s not, even if they’re in a progressive neighborhood in a progressive city and Jaskier has a right hook even nastier than his mouth. Part of it is just that it’s not exactly common, to go so rapidly and fully from her usual state, which is just kind of…none gender, thank you, to a woman; part of it is that she’s not used to going out when she is a woman, because it took more than a few years for Jaskier to even coax the reality of the fluidity out of her.

A larger part is that she does not, and never has, and doesn’t really care to, pass.

But not passing is…uncomfortable.

So she’s…stuck, really, and because she spends too much time fretting about it while obsessively double-checking to make sure she hasn’t missed any of the unfortunate stubble she woke up with, she doesn’t manage to call Jaskier to cancel or explain or even pretend this is fine and get dressed before he’s knocking on her door and letting himself in.

“Geralt, are you – ” Jaskier’s brows go up. “You are not ready. And you also – shaved.” He steps closed to reach out and grab Geralt’s wrist, pulling his hand away from her throat. “Stop, you’ll irritate the skin and bitch for days.”

Geralt very maturely sticks her tongue out, but doesn’t say anything and lets Jaskier keep a hold of her hand, because her boyfriend is right and they both know it.

“You alright?” Jaskier asks, softly, and fuck, Geralt doesn’t deserve him.

“Yeah,” she says. “Just. Didn’t….”

She still struggles to just say it, sometimes, and she feels so stupid for it, but Jaskier just twists his grip on her wrist to slide their palms together, entwining their fingers, and waits patiently.

“Don’t wanna go to the bar,” is what she manages first, and then she’s making a frustrated noise and running her free hand through her hair. At least it’s long; she usually keeps it that way, regardless of any gender fuckery, but one time she’d decided to do something different and then spent a week as a woman, refusing to leave for fear that she might encounter a mirror and be reminded how much she hated how it looked on her. When it was him it was fine though, which was frankly the worst part.

She shakes herself out of that thought spiral and continues, though, just as Jaskier is giving up on her silence, opening his mouth. “Not that I don’t want to go, or go out, it’s just – I don’t…. You wanted to go to the Avenue, and – ”

“I mean, it’s just the closest to here so we can walk.”

“...oh.”

Jaskier smiles, and it’s gentle for all the sparkling in his eyes is familiar teasing. He tugs Geralt closer with their linked hands, getting his opposite fingers tangled into Geralt’s hair and rubbing their noses together.

“Do you want to wear a dress or a skirt? We can go to the Roadhouse instead.”

Geralt’s laugh is more than a little wet, but Jaskier just rubs his nose over hers again and hums, a wordless reiteration of the question.

“...skirt,” she decides, and Jaskier grins.

“Fantastic. Let’s get you ready then, hm?”

– – – – –

When Jaskier is done, Geralt feels…almost excited by what she sees in the mirror. Jaskier has always been better at makeup than her – I’m a performer, darling, of course I know how to use makeup, and it’s not like that isn’t a part of it, but Geralt also knows that Jaskier had hyper-fixated on makeup to avoid any soul-searching about his own gender as a kid and teenager.

That aside, though, she does look…very good. Not passing – again, she never has or will and she’s mostly just fine with that – but good, the eyeshadow Jaskier picked out complementing both her eyes and her outfit, the eyeliner and mascara making her look almost fox-like, the lipstick tying it together so it doesn’t look unbalanced.

All of it, plus the fact that she really does love this skirt and blouse pair, means she’s feeling…. Much more confident than she’d assumed she could, when she woke up this morning.

Of course, the only option she’s got in the face of that is to kiss Jaskier.

He laughs against her mouth but kisses back, running his fingers through her hair. “Good thing that lipstick is smearproof or we’d be going nowhere,” he murmurs, when Geralt gives in to let them breathe, and Geralt snorts.

“Sound a little less excited about that prospect, would you?” Geralt retorts, standing up and straightening her clothes. “You’re the one who wanted to go out.”

“Well maybe if you weren’t such a gorgeous lady, it would be easier to tell you no, but unfortunately – ”

Geralt kisses him again, instead of letting him start with the theatrics, and they do eventually leave, but…later than they intended, to say the least.

– – – – –

By the time they get to the Roadhouse, the night is well underway for most of the patrons. Aside from one of the security guards squinting real hard at Jaskier’s ID – “Yes, I know, I have a baby face, I promise it’s real,” – they don’t even get a second look as they walk in and snake through the crowd to the bar. It makes Geralt feel significantly more at-ease, too, when she sees the multitude of pins the mullet-wearing bartender is wearing, and tips her head at the wink he gives her alongside her drink.

Jaskier bumps their shoulders together with a chuckle. “Already found someone to go have a tryst with, then?” he asks, all teasing, and Geralt shoves him right back, snorting before she’s downing most of her drink. “I don’t blame him, y’know – you are quite the stunner.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt mutters, pretending she can’t feel her cheeks going pink, and Jaskier’s mischievous grin just widens.

“Get another drink, baby girl,” he says, all put-upon sleaze, and Geralt experiences the urge to slap him, just a little.

Jaskier would just like it, though. She settles instead for pinching Jaskier’s cheek red, grinning and saying, “‘S long as you’re paying, baby face.”

She gets an offended sort of snort, at that, and then a proper laugh. “Uh-huh,” he nods, and leans back to wave the bartender back down.

– – – – –

After that second drink, Geralt is admittedly a little tipsy, which is probably the only reason Jaskier gets her onto the dance floor.

It’s not exactly sparsely populated, but it is much more open that Geralt would normally be comfortable with. Something about tonight, though, seems just…a little different – like she can’t feel quite so many eyes, and the only pair she really cares about are Jaskier’s baby blues that basically haven’t left her since they started swaying around the scuffed floor.

Of course, for all the romance in it, Geralt is still tipsy, and wearing a skirt, and Jaskier has never been known for his self-restraint. The first chance he gets, he’s flipping Geralt around to pull her back against his chest, and using that position to very unsubtly grind them together, hands splayed low and wide over her hips.

He’s not packing – she doesn’t think – but the point is very clear, and fuck if it doesn’t work, her cock twitching in interest. She tries to ignore it, to just get lost in the dancing again, Jaskier’s hands on her and arms around her, and while that works, sort of, it…also doesn’t.

Because the problem with focusing on Jaskier is that those wicked hands of his keep wandering, fleeting little passes that could be – absolutely are being – mistaken for nothing more than innocent movement from the outside.

From within the embrace, though….

“Jask,” Geralt is slightly embarrassed at how breathy her voice is, but forges on despite it. “Jask, you – not here.”

Jaskier chuckles and nuzzles against her ear. “There somewhere I can, then?’ he asks, absolutely just to be a brat, and Geralt pretends to growl about it even as she’s laughing, spinning around to tug him into a fierce kiss. She can tell he’s very interested in those proceedings, but doesn’t give him what he wants, instead spinning him around as well to return the favor of that grinding and teasing touch.

It’s not quite as effective, through the rough denim of Jaskier’s jeans, but it gets the point across.

Of course, that payback comes right back around to bite her again, because after a few more songs of that kind of exchange, of feeling Jaskier shivering against her and spewing filth whenever he can catch her ear, well.

This is not exactly the kind of skirt that can hide a boner. He thinks Jaskier is fairly lucky, in that regard, that he can, in most situations, get stupidly horny and never show it, as long as he can keep a lid on his expression and his voice.

By this point, the dance floor is more crowded, and it’s darker; the lights have come on and are starting to strobe, the songs getting less and less slow or melodic and turning into the kind of bass-thudding that you’re meant to grind against a partner to.

Which Jaskier takes full advantage of, of course, heedless of Geralt’s tight grip on his hips, bending slightly at the waist to rub himself against the press of Geralt’s erection as if he’s getting paid to do it.

She swears, nearly loud enough to hear it over the music, fuck, but can’t even focus on that for very long, not with Jaskier slowly straightening just to turn around and wrap his thin, deceptively strong arms around Geralt’s neck and shoulders. He leans up on his tiptoes – mostly just to be a problem, forcing Geralt to take his weight, because they’re near the same height – and then mouths at Geralt’s ear.

“Seems like you’ve got a bit of a tough problem, darling,” he murmurs, and when he shifts his feet their thighs slot together, his trapping the material of her skirt back and up. He uses that thigh to press against Geralt’s cock just as he murmurs, “Pretty hard one, yeah.”

And Geralt should be, and is, ashamed that the line…works. Fuck, she’ll dig up her dignity again later.

“Seems I do,” she plays along, rolling her hips forward against his thigh. Gripping his hip and yanking him forward has the same but opposite effect, and the sound he makes, sharp and high, is worth any trouble for it. “Wanna help me out?”

Jaskier giggles, high and breathless and genuinely gleeful.

“Absolutely, gorgeous,” he says, and indulges himself in a few more rolls of his hips before he’s untangling them and turning to drag Geralt through the crowd.

She stumbles as she goes, but Jaskier just keeps pulling, until they’re at a back door that reads fire escape – alarm will sound. Despite the warning, Jaskier pushes the door open, and keeps dragging Geralt out to the back alley.

The alarm never goes off, at least. Which she thinks is illegal, actually, but it’s the least of her concerns right now.

By now, the booze is wearing off, enough that she’s fairly lucid, but somehow she still doesn’t expect Jaskier to push her up against the rough brick and go straight to his knees. Her cock throbs in its barely-there confines, though, and when he starts gathering her skirt up her legs to duck under it, she’s yanking it from his fingers to hold it up, ignoring the way she’s shaking.

“Look so fucking good, baby,” Jaskier murmurs, just loud enough to be heard over the sounds of the street and the thump of the music from inside. “So fucking pretty. Wanna get my mouth on you.”

“Uh-huh,” is her very intelligent response. Jaskier doesn’t call her on it, though, just pulls her underwear down to her knees and ducks close, breath hot and wet as it ghosts over her balls and the wet tip of her cock. “Jask, fuck!”

She thinks she hears a laugh from below her bunched skirt, but she can’t really be sure. Even if she could, though, it doesn’t matter, because a heartbeat later Jaskier is wrapping his mouth around the head of her. She whines at the way her skull throbs when she throws it back against the wall.

Jaskier doesn’t bother with any more teasing, instead just groaning in his throat and bobbing forward and back, until his chin is covered in spit and so is Geralt’s cock, each tight gag and little swallow around her sending her straight through the stratosphere. At some point, her hands find soft brown hair, and Jaskier just moans around her when she pulls, moans again louder when she rocks her hips with the next push.

“Jask, Jaskier,” she pants, thighs already starting to tremble, knees feeling weak. She presses her shoulders hard against the wall, hoping it will keep her up, and keeps shallowly fucking Jaskier’s face. “Feel so fucking good, fuck, Jaskier – please.”

Jaskier hums, a distinctly encouraging sound even with no words at all, and Geralt whines, hips jerking into the vibration. Her lover takes it remarkably well, moaning once he’s finished coughing through the tickle. Geralt pets his hair, while he coughs, trying her best to ignore the throbbing closeness between her thighs, how much she just wants to squeeze Jaskier’s cheeks open and make him take her cock again.

Maybe later, she promises herself (because right here, in an alley, isn’t the place, but Jaskier is usually fairly open to that), and just gets one hand around the base of herself to paint precome over Jaskier’s lips instead. He licks it up, tongue following until he can suck hard at the head again, then try to take more of it, until he’s stopped by how hard he gags again. She’d try to tell him to slow down, but she knows that it’s entirely futile – especially considering, again, the semi-public place – and also, she can’t lie and say that it doesn’t make her vision swim to feel it.

It and the way Jaskier just moans after the gag and does it again, until he’s managed to force his body into enough submission to take her all the way down.

“Fuck, Jask,” she pants, and he just hums around her, the sound vibrating through her and up her spine. Her fingers clench in his hair, making him moan again, which just makes her hips jerk forward hard enough he’s choking all over again. This time, though, he just digs his nails into her thighs, pulls back enough to suck a breath in through his nose, and then ducks right back in, swallowing hard.

And that – his clear desire to keep going, even as he choked, that is what finally tips her over, half a warning pouring out of her before it’s too late.

Jaskier chokes again, but he’s laughing a little when he pulls back, before he’s back to sucking hard at the head of her and swallowing the bursts of cum. She tries to apologize, but all that comes out is a garbled little mewl, her knees shaking as she finally twitches through the last of it and Jaskier can pull all the way back without making a complete mess.

Of course, he waits til she’s looking at him to finish swallowing, because he’s a goddamned menace to her refractory period and fuck, she loves him so much.

“Your turn,” she says, even if it’s a bit slurred, and grabs him by the shoulders to yank him up and spin them, putting his back to the wall and dropping to her knees instead, ignoring how it’ll ruin her underwear and…probably the skirt, too, fuck.

Whatever. It’s washable, fixable, and replaceable. Jaskier is more important.

“You don’t – ” Jaskier is gasping, but Geralt has already got his pants undone and shoved down to his knees by the time he even opens his mouth, and tugging his boxers down makes his voice cut out on a whine.

“Fuck, Jask,” Geralt murmurs, ducking in close to lick up some of the wet mess on his thighs. “Already so hard for me.”

“‘S because you’re hot, bab – fuck!”

Geralt laughs, a little, tipping her head up to look up Jaskier’s body where she’s got his swollen cock in her mouth. When Jaskier’s eyes slit open to look at her, she winks and sucks at him, slow but hard, and his eyes squeeze shut again as his hands scrabble against the brick to his back, at first, and then her hair a moment later.

She just moans, pressing her head back into his palms for a second, then goes back to what she was doing. With Jaskier hobbled by his underwear and pants, he can’t spread his legs as far as Geralt would like, but that doesn’t mean Geralt can’t get to what she wants – just means she’ll have to be a bit more creative, that’s all.

Ultimately, she ends up holding Jaskier’s lips open with one hand while she pets over his hole with her fingers, still mouthing at his twitching cock, and Jaskier mewls, grip in Geralt’s hair tightening and sending heat skittering down her spine. She sucks hard at the same time that she slips two fingers into him, and Jaskier rewards her with a pitched, broken moan and yanking her closer with that grip.

She groans and pulls back just long enough to say, “Go on, fuck my face,” and she can feel the way his cock throbs, his hole clenching hard around her knuckles.

He does as he’s told, though, when she leans back in and takes him into her mouth, hips rolling slow at first and then faster, riding her fingers at the same time that he’s grinding his twitching little cock into her mouth. It makes her cock throb, a little painfully, and she just curls her fingers and shifts her wrist, so it’s easier for Jaskier to grind his g-spot against them.

“Fuck, fuck, Geralt, – already gon…gonna, fuck, fuck.”

Geralt grins, as much as she can, at least, and hums around his cock, feeling the way it goes through him in a violent shudder. She wants to encourage him, use filthy words to help him along, but her mouth is doing much better things right now, so she settles for keeping up that humming and moving her fingers a little faster along with Jaskier’s rapidly-devolving rhythm.

“Geralt, Geralt, can’t – can’t – ”

Jaskier never finishes the sentence, but she gets the gist, shifting and stretching her arm up to cover his mouth with her free hand just as he starts to shout and come on her fingers and tongue. It doesn’t really stop or even totally cover the loud, desperate sounds he’s making, but it does muffle them, which is better than nothing and she’ll take it.

And even though they really should probably be moving along, before someone comes out to investigate, or just shows up and finds them…. She can’t resist the urge to curl her fingers harder into his g-spot and sucking softly on his cock to coax another few aftershocks out of him, until the sounds he’s making against her hand are trending toward a little bit panicked.

She carefully pulls her fingers out of him, leaving his twitching cock with a little kiss. The last thing she pulls away is the hand on Jaskier’s mouth, mostly because he’s got his hand around her wrist and is sort of nuzzling at her palm, panting as he continues to come down.

She’s wobbly when she finally manages to stand, but Jaskier just giggles through the grunt as she stumbles forward and presses him into the wall. When she kisses him, he tastes like fruity booze and her cum, and it very much makes her want to get one of his legs free and do much more than suck him off, but she knows better.

If nothing else, she’s certain she can’t fuck him up against a wall with how weak her knees are right now. Also, none of this was hygienic, and while neither she nor Jaskier are really germaphobes, there are limits.

“Fucking hells,” Jaskier mutters, once the kiss breaks. He struggles to pull his underwear and pants back up with one hand, refusing to take the other off of Geralt, and she laughs at him struggling for a moment before bending to help.

Once he’s decent – or, well, some semblance of it, at least, he glances toward the door and then looks over her, and bursts out into laughter. She feels offended for the space of a heartbeat, and then remembers, looking down at herself. Her underwear is still around her…well, her ankles, now, and there’s a massive stain across the front of her skirt, and also her shirt, which doesn’t – oh. Jaskier probably squirted a little.

“Fuck,” she says, and laughs, too.

“I’ll go in and pay the tab,” Jaskier says. “I definitely look like I might have gotten blown in an alley, but you, uh. You’re the proof. Go sit in the car.” He fishes the keys out of his pocket – Geralt drove, but this skirt doesn’t have pockets, and she doesn’t own a decent purse – and hands them over. Once she’s got them, Jaskier is kissing the corner of her mouth and then ducking back through the fire door and into the bar.

She looks down at the mess of herself again, still chuckling a little, then haphazardly pulls her underwear back up and heads to the car.

#celus writes #dead dove #dead dove: do not eat #celus trans characters cw #celus public sex cw #celus face fucking cw

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