Visit Blog
Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.
#but Jaskier wanting to get away for a while and not even getting an answer
witcher-trash · a day ago
Geraskier fic recs
A Few Years Ago In A Galaxy About Three Lightyears Away From The Milky Way (geralt/jaskier, teen, complete, 10k, star wars au) Star Wars AU. Just. I don't know, it's a Star Wars AU.
All I Am Is Open for View (geralt/jaskier, explicit, complete, 2k) There is a game they play every time they reunite. To be granted the privilege and reward of Jaskier’s body, Geralt must impress his bard with five heroic deeds he has done during their time apart.
all i want is you (my sweet honey bee) (geralt/jaskier, mature, complete, 3k) Waking up alone has been hard enough for Geralt, but it’s the lack of music and chatter that’s really taken its toll. The estate is lovely, of course, and it’s easy to find distractions, but Dandelion is what makes Corvo Bianco home.---Geralt reflects on his retirement while preparing for Dandelion's return to Corvo Bianco.
Always Lose-Lose (geralt/jaskier, mature, complete, 125k) For years Geralt and Jaskier travel together. What starts out as Geralt being annoyed by the bard who insists on follwing him turns into something more as the years go by. But in the midst of the war Nilfgaard's wages on the rest of the continent, Jaskier is captured to tell them where Geralt is. It's either betray Geralt or save himself. Will he be able to make the right choice? Or is it already too late for him to choose? And what exactly has lead to Jaskier getting caught in the first place?
appropriate ways to care for your local witcher - series (geralt/jaskier, geralt/eskel/jaskier, explicit, complete. 37k) Geralt makes a joking suggestion about how Jaskier might pay him back. Jaskier only too enthusiastically agrees.
ask me tomorrow (geralt/jaskier, mature, complete, 10k) "Why -" he gestures expansively towards Jaskier, his lute, the forest around them, his swords now strapped to Roach "- are you doing this?" A bard seeking fortune wouldn't watch Geralt across the fire with eyes half-full of tears that he didn't bother to blink away. An artist looking for a muse wouldn't press close, desperately close, against Geralt's side until he finally gave in and turned his head. A young man after a quick fuck wouldn't grip Geralt to him hard enough to bruise even a witcher. The way Jaskier looks at Geralt makes him think he should know the answer already, but he doesn't, he doesn't. "Because I know you," he says at last. "Because I have known you. Because I will know you. Isn't that enough?" (One day, Geralt will understand that it was the closest thing Jaskier will ever have to a goodbye, and it's enough, it's enough.)
a throat full of teeth (geralt/jaskier, jaskier/oc, yennefer/oc, mature, complete, 40k) It occurred to Jaskier, as he forced his own feet to move, one ahead of the other, that Geralt hadn’t once shifted from where he stood on the mountain, arms ridged by his side, staring out into the valley, ass clenched like there was no tomorrow. He really had just let Jaskier leave. Jaskier clenched his jaw. Guess this one is for real then. When he arrived back at camp he gathered his things and gave Roach a gentle pat. He’d told Geralt “see you around,” but he didn’t think it would happen. No, actually, he decided. He was planning on it. jaskier and geralt lose each other. it takes a long time to be found again.
Base Born Bard (geralt/jaskier, teen, complete, 2k) Baseborn. Adjective. Of low birth or origin. Illegitimate or bastard. Some times Dandelion’s heritage causes them trouble, sometimes it doesn't.
No Man Would Dare - series (geralt/jaskier, mature, 40k) Geralt and Dandelion take a contract from a young lord to find his only living relative, his older brother, whose run away following the deaths of the rest of their family. The Witcher and Bard cross the continent on the man's trail and learn there is much more to this man's story than his tragic family. There is a dark secret that is following him--and now it's following them. Or: A Witcher twist on a Familiar Gothic Tale.
not a goodbye, a thank you (geralt/jaskier, complete, mature, 3k) Somewhere further in the courtyard, Lambert yells out a colourful curse while Ciri cackles maniacally. Eskel is taunting the former through his laughter, and Vesemir’s voice joins in with barked commands and corrections once the clang of steel against steel continues. Somewhere above them, on one of the balconies overlooking the yard, Geralt can hear the scratch of quill against parchment as Yennefer works on her correspondence, interrupted every now and again by the tapping of nails against an inkpot. He realises what’s wrong an instant before everyone else grows suddenly, eerily still; Jaskier is quiet.
Own and Make Me Yours (geralt/eskel/jaskier, aiden/lambert, wip, explicit, 50k) Jaskier, a royal pleasure slave, isn't exactly happy with his lot in life—he's having sex with less than desirable nobles at a pace nobody would want—but he's learned to be content with it. Things could be a lot worse. On occasion, Radovid sends him away to bestow his services on nobles who aren't stationed at court. During one such trip Jaskier witnesses the murder of a noble he was supposed to be pleasing, and sees the faces of the assassins; to keep him from identifying them to the authorities, Jaskier is taken with them when they leave, and finds himself held in the royal palace of Rivia. Life in Rivia is anything but what Jaskier would have expected and both the king of Rivia and his right hand are unlike any nobles Jaskier has ever known; the more time he spends with them, the more he realizes that they might just be what they seem to be—good men.
Permeable Barriers (geralt/jaskier, teen, complete, 20k) Geralt and Jaskier are just searching for escape from the oppressive summer heat, when an old acquaintance asks for their help with the current crisis and reveals a past Jaskier had kept hidden. A plague is sweeping the continent, but Geralt would rather not get involved... until a nearby town falls victim to his sort of problem.
Ùine (Time) - series (geralt/jaskier, explicit, complete, 23k) Jaskier's 35th birthday was supposed to be a night full of song and food, a grand banquet to remember. Nothing went as planned. The door creaked, and Geralt roused from a light slumber at the sound. The lingering scent of the snuffed candle by the bed suggested the passage of several hours. Not more than three, which was strange. Jaskier should have been awhile yet, if he was going to return to the tavern at all. And yet… an uneven step, and the door clicked shut. The unfamiliar tread brought Geralt’s drowsy senses to focus, and he picked up more. The copper of blood. Musk of seed. Pallor of salt.
warm you like the sunshine (geralt/jaskier, explicit, complete, 10k) "Why do you go with people who hurt you?" He looked at Jaskier, and kept looking at him after he looked away and the smile dropped off his face. After a long silence, Jaskier said, in a much more tired voice, "I don't exactly have a lot of options, Geralt." On the face of it it wasn't true--Jaskier could find a willing young woman or man in any half-crowded tavern without lifting a finger--but that wasn't what he meant, of course. He meant when he needed...that particular sort of person. That particular experience. Without the slightest forethought or intention, Geralt frowned and said, "You have me."
Witcher (A/B/O) - series (geralt/jaskier, explicit, 100k, abo) The tale of the strange Alpha Witcher and his untraditional Omega Bard.
82 notes · View notes
spielzeugkaiser · 4 months ago
Tumblr media
Season 2 reunion?? I think, as a character, Jaskier can be a petty man, but I also think, when it comes to Geralt... I could imagine it being easily forgiven. And honestly, I could see Jaskier only complaining about it afterwards, once they made up, in a overdramatic don't-think-you-actually-hurt-me-but-you-kinda-did-oh-well-no-confrontation-tho way, because... Abandonment issues?? *me thinking about hexer!Jaskier and crying* And, honestly. Jaskier is self-centered, but I can also see him being hurt (which he won't actually talk about) overriden by the joy that Geralt is safe.
2K notes · View notes
julek · 8 months ago
“Please,” Geralt murmurs, because he learned long ago that he’s simply not above begging, “come to bed.”
Jaskier lifts an eyebrow from the tub where he’s luxuriously and slowly sinking downwards, his nose resting above the surface of the water, only because he needs to breathe — otherwise, he would have already melted into the decadent mixture of orangeseed oil and warm water. “I’m taking a bath.”
Geralt frowns and makes a not-so-necessary effort to pout. “‘M cold.”
“Witchers run hot,” Jaskier says, matter-of-factly, and it’s infuriating, how blatantly he is enjoying this.
Witchers do run hot, but Geralt, apparently, is also not above lying to get what he wants. He’s splayed on his back on the — for once — rather spacious bed, mattress filled with sheepwool instead of straw, comfortable and soft against his skin. The blankets aren’t scratchy, but warm and well-lived, a faded shade of maroon Jaskier would love to nitpick if he would stop being an arse and just get in bed.
“I don’t.” His lie is muffled by the pillow he’s mushed his face into. “The, uh... mutagens... fucked that up. No thermal regulation for me.”
“Hmm,” Jaskier says, inspecting his already clean nails — because they’ve been clean for ages and he just wants to make Geralt suffer — and shaking his head, relaxing back into the tub. Geralt can tell he’s wiggling his toes, like he does when he’s feeling extremely pleased. “You’ll survive.”
The thing is, there’s little Geralt wants in life. For a long time, it’d been a short list of needs — food for Roach, a roof over his head, enough coin to get by. It worked, most times. Or it did, until a not-so-humble bard found his way into his Path and, slowly and patiently, into his heart, and suddenly Geralt found himself wanting. And his bard found himself wanting, too, and, for the first time in his life, Geralt got what he wanted — to be loved by Jaskier.
Which is why, even though he’s an imposing Witcher who could make a flower wilt with a simple stare, he finds himself grumbling against the cream-colored sheets, tossing and turning and on the verge of throwing a tantrum like a five-year-old.
“You know,” Jaskier says, amusement clear in his voice, “for a Witcher who claims to be so meticulous and impassive, you do not possess the virtue of patience, my dear.”
Geralt grumbles under his breath, and it scares him how much he sounds like Vesemir. Maybe he is getting old, after all.
“I just—”
“Don’t make me say it.”
“Oh, but how will I know what you mean, then? The secrets of divination have yet to reveal themselves to me.”
Geralt scrunches up his nose twice before answering, half-embarrassed. “I missed you.”
“You saw me all day,” Jaskier says softly, a hint of fondness breaching the rippling sounds of the water.
Geralt sits up against the headboard, his head hitting the wall with a thud. “There were too many people around— it was too much. Couldn’t focus.”
Jaskier purses his lips and finally, finally stands up from the tub, water dripping from his body as he towels himself dry. “It’s unfair, you know,” he muses, shaking his head, “for you to be this lovely and endearing while I’m having a bath. So inconsiderate.”
Geralt tries to suppress a smile. “But it works.”
“Hm, yes, it works.” Jaskier puts on a pair of fresh underclothes and runs his fingers through the wet strands of his hair, gathering it at his crown and into a lazy bun with one of Geralt’s hair ties. It’s gotten long and unruly, and Geralt loves it. “Now make some room.”
Geralt moves back to his side, pleased, and lifts the blankets for Jaskier to get in. He smells clean, the subtle scent of his soap and oils fresh on his skin, and he presses himself against Geralt’s side with a satisfied sigh. “Witcher mutations, my ass,” he mumbles. “You’re warmer than the sun right now.”
Geralt snorts. “That’s a lazy metaphor, even for you.”
“Yes, well,” Jaskier says as he presses his feet to Geralt’s calves, “I’ve been lured into a warm bed by a warm Witcher, whose powers of persuasion are too strong for a mere mortal to resist.”
“Hmm.” Geralt watches as Jaskier traces circles on his chest, fingers catching on his medallion as he goes. The candlelight softens his features, cheeks rosy from the bath and eyes almost unbearably blue. “And here I thought you’d abandoned me to my fate and left me for a lukewarm bath.”
Jaskier’s lips break into a grin. “I would never, ever,” he says, face serious, “bathe in lukewarm water.”
Geralt tugs on his hair for good measure, before pulling him into his arms and kissing his frown away. “I did miss you,” he admits quietly.
“I’m here,” Jaskier whispers and looks up at him, his lips a breath away.
Geralt kisses his face, pressing small kisses to his cheeks and his lips and pulling back when Jaskier starts laughing. “You’re incorrigible, you know that?” Jaskier asks with a laugh.
“You love it,” Geralt teases, entwining their legs and kissing him some more, just because he can.
Jaskier smiles, his eyes twinkling. “I do.”
965 notes · View notes
theamazingbard · 3 months ago
What *does* happen to a human with dhampire blood in their system? 👀
👀 part 3 you say
i've written a part three. for science. you monsters
one - two - three
Traveling around and hunting monsters is the most thrilling and entertaining way to live, Jaskier discovers. So long as it is Geralt who does all the killing, and Jaskier does all the writing.
He has many ideas for songs and has already written quite a few!
The problem is the complexities of being a dhampir. A horrible name for a very helpful type of vampire. Jaskier also decides that 'vampire' is not the way to go for his songs.
No, he needs something new. Something snappier that will grab the people's attention.
While waiting for Geralt at a little inn at the edge of town, Jaskier has been testing out new names. A title that will be feared and respected across the Continent.
He taps his pencil against his mouth and looks up towards the ceiling, as if the answer might fall from the heavens onto his already crowded page.
Not that Geralt needs help with the 'fear' part.
Whenever they pass through towns, people instinctually seem to want to stay away from the man. The white hair, the yellow eyes, and if they happen to catch a glimpse of those long fangs, have them all scattering.
Fools, the lot of them.
It also doesn't seem to help Jaskier one bit, as they avoid him as well! He prays that his magnetic personality is just a tad exotic for the people in a shithole town like this. One day, they will see his larger-than-life demeanor as a welcome presence.
That day, he thinks as a young woman approahces him, could very well be today.
She has short brown hair and hard brown eyes. Though she looks about as old as he is, there's a glint in her eyes that says she's lived a dark and tragic life.
Jaskier feels inspiration coming on already.
"Well, hello there! Don't you like--"
"Shut up."
"Rude." Jaskier mutters under his breath as she sits across from him.
"You know Geralt of Rivia?"
Jaskier frowns and waits a long moment. "Sorry, was I meant to talk just then?"
"You're funny." She smiles, pulling back her lips. Fangs.
Beautiful women are oft dangerous in Jaskier's experience. That doesn't make them any less attractive, nor his willingness to get to know them. "I prefer charming."
"Delusional, maybe." She leans forward, crossing her arms on the table and narrowing her eyes. "I can smell him on you. He's running in your veins now, isn't he?"
He reaches out and touches his wrist. That was weeks ago. Months, even. Now, Jaskier was never a student of the medical arts, but he didn't think that Geralt's blood being in his system was a permanent thing. "Perhaps. We are, after all, companions. I'm working on a song, you see. It is of the utmost importance that I learn everything about his... your kind."
Another sharp smile. "You're a damn fool if you trust him. Do you know what happens to people like us?"
"Adventure? Romance? Heartbreak?" Onion. A voice chimes in his head.
"Not me and Geralt. You 'n me. People foolish enough to trust him, to see a heart where there isn't one." She pulls out a large, very pointy looking knife. "Oh sure, he'll heal you and keep you near. Did he tell you that he can't leave you?"
Jaskier grins. He did notice the dhampir refused to go, despite his constant grumblings. "Yes, I did notice. I don't blame him; I add a bit of levity to his otherwise drab routine."
This does nothing to extinguish the glint in her dark eyes. "You're his responsibility now. But he won't want that. Oh, no." She takes hold of his wrist and brings it close. "You'll either end up his thrall, his fledgling, or left for dead. Leave now before a bond solidifies. All it takes is one mistake."
"Let him go, Renfri."
The iron-like grip around his wrist disappears instantly. Jaskier looks up and sees Geralt looming over their table, eyes bright and furious.
The woman, Renfri, glares down at the table. "I thought we were past all that."
"You're threatening a human."
"Your human?"
Geralt pulls her up by the arm and leads her out of the inn, leaving Jaskier alone at the table. He looks down at his wrist, the skin there an irritated pink.
The righteous tone Renfri spoke in left little room for lies, but plenty for biases. Jaskier has no idea the full story between the two of them, but he believes that Geralt wouldn't hurt him. It wouldn't make sense for him to do so after going through the trouble of saving his life.
Jaskier puts pen to paper once more and puts Renfri's words aside for now. Her bewitching ways will no longer be... witchering... him.
"Huh." Jaskier says aloud, rolling the word around in his mind a few more times.
Perhaps his search has come to an end.
297 notes · View notes
Tumblr media
Title: I Want You (I Can't Help It)
Prompt: sex standing up/against a wall
Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier
Rating: explicit
Warnings: very public sex, accidental mating bites, public knotting, a/b/o, intersex omegas
Jaskier tries to seduce the hot alpha who's been coming in every night to watch him dance. He winds up getting more than he bargained for.
Jaskier knows he's cutting it close. His pre-heat will hit in a day or so, but it's his last night before he's off for his heat and he's had his eyes on the strange white-haired man since the first day he stepped foot in this club.
The Lone Wolf, he and Essi call him because he's always alone. He always comes in in the evenings, sits near the back of the crowd, orders a single drink - maybe two - and never speaks to anyone. But he keeps his eyes on Jaskier the whole time. Jaskier's left the stage soaking through his shorts before because he can smell the guy all the way across the room and he smells incredible. Jaskier wants him like he's never wanted anyone before. So tonight when the man comes in, he makes up his mind to take him home with him.
Jaskier's off early due to his upcoming heat, but he knows his body well enough to know it won't be tonight. So there's not harm in hanging out at the club a little longer. His fellow dancers are stunning and it would hardly be a chore to watch them.
So when he finishes, he throws a tanktop over his shorts and fishnets and strolls out into the front of the club. He orders himself a drink and joins the crowd who are dancing blindly to the too-loud music, leaning against a wall. But he can't keep his eyes off the wolf and he knows he's being watched in return. The thought makes him hot in a way that has nothing to do with the dozens of bodies around him or the spotlights shining down on them.
Glancing toward the man, Jaskier downs the rest of his drink and steps out onto the dancefloor. He sways his hips enticingly, trying to catch his admirer's attention and he knows he's good at it. There's a reason he's been dancing so long. And he can feel wolf's eyes on him, tracking each of his movements, but he's staying put, so Jaskier steps up his game a little.
He slips up to a familiar face, asking if they mind sharing a dance. The answer, as usual, is an obliging yes and Jaskier wraps himself around him, rocking from side to side and pressing in against the man's neck. There's a shift in Wolf's scent, a tinge of sourness that makes Jaskier grin widely to himself. Jealousy.
When the song finishes, Jaskier gives his partner a kiss on the cheek and thanks them before swaying away, back to where his wolf is waiting. He walks straight up to him with the intention of calling him out, but he can feel how tightly wound his wolf is, see the way his fingers clench around the arms of his chair.
So Jaskier climbs into his lap without pre-empt, wrapping his arms around his neck. He leans in close, lips brushing the curve of Wolf's ear.
"Why don't you ever buy a dance?" he asks, "you come and you watch and you leave when I finish-" he gasps as strong hands grip his hips and he's sure he's going to be shoved to the floor, but he holds strong and continues. "I'd be more than happy to have you. You've no idea what you do to me, darling."
"Don't call me that," Wolf groans, then begrudgingly and with an eyeroll, "name's Geralt."
"Geralt, huh? Sexy." He gets a raised eyebrow in response, but Jaskier just chuckles. "Come on then, Geralt, dance with me."
He runs his hands down Geralt's arms, taking his hands. Geralt doesn't fight him, but he doesn't get up, even when Jaskier climbs up off of him. Jaskier pouts at him and while Geralt offers the faintest smile, he just lifts an eyebrow at him again. So Jaskier bends down craning his neck and he can feel the way Geralt leans into him, noose barely brushing under his jaw. Geralt wants him, he just needs a little persuasion.
"Fuck," Geralt rumbles and Jaskier hums in response. "You're close to your heat."
"Close," Jaskier conforms, "but not yet. All I'm asking for is a dance."
Truthfully, he'd like a hell of a lot more from Geralt, but he is just a customer and Jaskier isn't about to push the limits of what he's allowed.
"One dance?" Geralt asks.
Jaskier grins widely at him and Geralt rolls his eyes fondly, pushing himself to his feet and taking his hands. He gets his hands on Jaskier's waist, guiding him toward the dancefloor. He keeps his distance, but Jaskier can smell his budding arousal now and he wants to get him close. He turns in Geralt's hold, looping his arms around his neck and pressing up against his chest, looking up at him.
The music would drown out whatever he wants to say, so Jaskier just leans into him, moving against him. He mimics the dances he does on stage, letting Geralt feel every inch of his body and by the way Geralt's hands press into his skin, he very much appreciates it.
They move smoothly together, slotted against one another and Jaskier's skin prickles with every little jolt. He buries his face in Geralt's neck, inhaling the scent of his arousal, of alpha, and he knows he's toeing a dangerous line here but his heat isn't due to arrive just yet. So he ignores the prickle of his skin, the way Geralt's breath against his cheek makes him ache.
But Geralt doesn't just let him lead. When the song ends, he pulls Jaskier closer, a wordless promise that he's not finished with him yet, and turns him around so they're back to front. Jaskier slides into a crouch, lifting his arms and winding them around Geralt's neck again as he rises back up. And Geralt meets him, hands sliding over his bare stomach, brushing up to tease his nipples. Jaskier gasps and Geralt presses his nose into the back of his neck.
"Do you know why I come here?" he asks, lifting his head to mouth at the curve of his ear.
"To watch me?" Jaskier guesses.
"Yes, but not just that. Ever since the first night I was here, I can't get your scent out of my head." He nuzzles against Jaskier's neck, inhaling deeply.
"You want me?" Jaskier asks and Geralt rumbles low behind him, a distinct affirmative. "I'm yours alpha, do whatever you want with me."
Jaskier rolls his head back and Geralt nips at his jaw, turning Jaskier's head so he can kiss him properly. The kiss is uncoordinated and desperate and it only takes a few moments for Jaskier to realize Geralt's fingers are slipping around his throat, gently running up the column of it.
"Wanna mark you up," he breathes and in that moment, Jaskier isn't sure if he means to mate him or show his dominance by scent-marking him, but something inside him shifts and he realizes he doesn't really care.
"Do it," Jaskier breathes, "let them smell you on me, show them who I belong to."
Jaskier's breath comes quickly and he doesn't realize how wet he's getting until Geralt' hand slides down his stomach, dipping to cup Jaskier's firm cocklet through his shorts. Jaskier jerks into the touch with a groan, arching off of Geralt's chest. He knows there are people out there who like to think the dancers belong to them, people who come in every day and hire them and think it's a relationship. Geralt asking to mark him should send up some sort of warning flag, but Geralt doesn't feel like that.
Jaskier has has plenty of experience with clients - good and bad - and Geralt isn't like any of them. The alphas who think they can claim him are usually upfront about it, demanding from day one, where Geralt was happy to sit and watch and wait for Jaskier to make the first move- The thought catches Jaskier unaware and he rolls his head back to look up at him. The thoughts running through his head are stupidly fond, too much for a first encounter, but Jaskier wants him - for more than just tonight.
He tucks his head under Geralt's chin, nuzzling against his scent gland; if nothing else, he wants to smell like him, wants everyone to know Geralt is the one he willingly chooses.
Geralt's fingers dig into his hip and the hand around his cocklet squeezes a little more firmly. Jaskier grinds back against him and he can feel the swell of Geralt's cock through his trousers. He slips a hand between them, stroking the length of him as well as he can in the limited space and shuddering at the low moans that slip from Geralt's lips.
"You can fuck me," Jaskier breathes, "if you want."
"I'm serious. Do you know how many alphas come in here with fantasies of bending me over that stage and knotting me in front of everyone?" Geralt growls low against his ear and Jaskier sighs, bringing his hand back up to slip through Geralt's hair. "I'd let you. If you wanted. Even when I dance for them, I'm thinking about you, imagining your hands on me to keep from thinking about them-"
"You're too close to your heat," Geralt rumbles, even as his hips shift forward, pressing his cock against Jaskier's ass. "I want to fuck you, I don't want to lose myself when I do."
"Not that close," Jaskier pants.
He undoes the top couple of buttons on his shorts and takes Geralt's hand, sliding it beneath the leather. Geralt doesn't need guidance as he slips deeper, running his thumb down Jaskier's cocklet where it's trapped there before pushing lower and fingering the folds of his cunt.
Jaskier moans softly at Geralt's enthusiasm, slumping against his chest and tilting his head to give Geralt better access to his neck. Geralt licks a stripe jup his throat and nips at the underside of his jaw, pressing in closer and closer, pinning Jaskier between his mouth and his fingers.
"Fuck me," Jaskier whimpers and before he's even finished speaking, Geralt is guiding him forward, away from the crowd.
Geralt guides him around a corner into a dark alcove and presses him up against the wall. Jaskier knows this spot and he's sure he's not the only one who's been fucked here. Geralt easily undoes the last few buttons on Jaskier's shorts and slides his hand deeper, sinking two fingers into him, feeling him out as he sucks marks into the side of his neck. Jaskier whimpers under him and it only serves to arouse Geralt even more, shoving further into him and thrusting a little.
"This what you want?" Geralt rumbles and Jaskier nods eagerly, mumbling a weak yes as Geralt's mouth slides over his skin again. "Good."
Jaskier rocks onto his fingers, reaching down to play with his cocklet while Geralt fingers him. He's already fully hard, leaking slowly over his own fingers as he touches himself.
"So wet for me," Geralt hums, "such an eager little omega." He purrs the words, nuzzling closer. "You want me?" he asks, "want my knot?"
Arousal shudders through him and Jaskier finds himself nodding despite himself. It's unrealistic for Geralt to knot him here, but he does want it. Maybe after he comes, Geralt could be convinced to come home with him where he can knot him properly, where Jaskier can hang off of him for hours.
Jaskier doesn't realize he's speaking aloud until Geralt pulls his hand away to open his trousers and pull his cock out. He shoves Jaskier's shorts down, pushing the netting with them and he slides his cock between Jaskier's thighs, letting the head slip against his cunt. Geralt is big and Jaskier has to hold back from squeezing his thighs around him and trying to push him inside. He wants the stretch, wants to feel all of that nice big prick buried inside him.
Jaskier shifts, lifting his hips and widening his legs, trying to push Geralt's cock into him. Behind him, Geralt huffs and presses Jaskier flush against the wall, taking his hands and pushing them up above his head to hold them there. Jaskier whines against his bonds, but Geralt just hums into his neck and continues the slow roll of his hips.
"Maybe we shouldn't," Geralt mumbles, "I can smell it on you - your heat's coming on."
"C'mon," Jaskier whines, "it'll be quick-"
"Depends on your definition of quick," Geralt grumbles but Jaskier can practically feel him considering it.
"How long could it be?" Jaskier reasons, his hips twitching as Geralt's cockhead catches on his cunt.
He knows the answer to this, but with zero connection and neither of them truly in their cycle, it shouldn't be long. Geralt can linger long enough to knot him without it being a problem. But Geralt just rocks against his cunt, encouraging the slick that drips to the floor beneath them. He's swelling already, Jaskier can feel his knot with every forward thrust and it makes him crazy. Then Geralt nuzzles against the side of his head, nipping at his ear.
"Can you keep quiet?"
"Mm," Jaskier nods.
Geralt shifts his hips and rocks forward, sliding into him and Jaskier nearly drops forward but for Geralt's hands holding him against the wall. Jaskier rocks his hips slowly to start, but Jaskier writhes on his cock, pushing his hips back to take him deeper. Geralt doesn't stop him, just thrusts harder when he pushes back, keeping his knot away from him as well as he can. Jaskier decides that, for now, he's fine with it because he knows he can convince Geralt to knot him.
But Jaskier can feel the swell of him and every time it nudges against him, his breath catches. He wants to be stretched open on it, to hang off Geralt's knot while Geralt spills inside him again and again. The thought sends a ripple of arousal through him and Jaskier shudders, arching off of Geralt's chest. But Geralt fits himself against his back, bringing one arm down to wrap around his stomach.
Geralt's mouth seals around the back of his neck, sucking marks into the skin and nipping over them. Jaskier will be covered in them in the morning and the idea of it thrills him already. He reaches down, sliding his fingers around Geralt's cock where it breaches him and slipping against him. He loves the girth of Geralt's cock, loves how it feel inside him, how well Geralt uses it to fuck him into a mindless mess.
Jaskier tries to stay mindful but he can already feel himself slipping, feel the fog of lust and alpha creeping in and making him stupid. He moans softly, careful to let Geralt hear him but not anyone else.
"Geralt," he breathes, "fuck Geralt, you're incredible-"
"Mm. You like my cock? Like the way it fills you up?"
"Yes," Jaskier whines, "fuck, you're so good. Gonna give me your knot?"
"We'll see."
Geralt chuckles darkly and leans down to catch Jaskier's mouth in a rough kiss. It's inelegant and awkward but Jaskier won't let him break it, twisting even as Geralt's hands silp up to play with his nipples. Jaskier knows he's getting close, knows without telling Geralt to slow down he's going to come before him and-
Geralt bites his bottom lip and groans into his mouth and Jaskier's body jerks as he comes, spilling onto the floor beneath them. Geralt turns him around and pushes him back against the wall, one hand on his shoulder and the other in the middle of his back, holding him in place.
"Fuck," Geralt rumbles.
He fucks into him quick and hard, letting his knot stretch him just a little before pulling back. Jaskier whimpers every time, his cocklet swelling again already with the increased force of Geralt's thrusts. Geralt drops against him, bracketing his body against the wall and mouthing at the side of his neck. He shifts forward, nipping lightly and when his teeth graze the spot where a mating bite would go, Jaskier shudders and holds his breath.
"You're a little slut, aren't you?" Geralt growls and Jaskier whimpers under him. "Would've let anyone shove you up against a wall as long as they've got a knot, hm? Too close to your heat little omega, makes you desperate."
"No," Jaskier gasps, "no, jus' wanted you- only you alpha-"
There's a growl from behind and Geralt's teeth sink into his skin. Jaskier's head goes soft and soupy almost immediately, too lost in the pleasure to realize what's happening. Behind him, Geralt continues fucking into him, grinding his knot against him until it pops in and Jaskier moans loudly, unable to control himself like this.
Geralt stretches him , fucking him on his knot until he shudders and buries himself deep, plastering himself against Jaskier's back. He's hot and sweaty and Jaskier could cry with how badly he wants to curl around him and bury himself in him. Geralt wraps an arm around his stomach and reaches down with the other, toying with Jaskier's cocklet.
Jaskier squirms at the sensitivity, thrusting between Geralt's hand and his cock. He's so overwhelmed he can't think, going on instinct alone, desperate for the pleasure Geralt offers him. He comes again with Geralt's hand on him, then sags in his arms, forehead pressed against the wall as his body goes all but limp under him.
They remain tied… a long time. Longer than any tie Jaskier has ever experienced and Geralt nuzzles comfortingly against the back of his neck.
"Okay?" he asks and Jaskier just mumbles against him.
By the time Geralt softens enough to pull out, Jaskier's cocklet is firming up again but the rest of his body is limp and boneless. Geralt tucks himself away and adjusts his own clothing before turning to Jask and buttoning him up again. Jaskier slumps against the wall and Geralt leans in, pressing a kiss to his slack mouth before brushing his fingers over the bite on his neck. His demeanour changes immediately and Jaskier reaches out for him to catch his attention.
"I… bit you," Geralt says hollowly, finally meeting Jaskier's gaze.
"'S fine," he mumbles, "no one else was gonna-"
"Hush. Your scent is spiking, I should take you home."
"Gonna come with me?" Jaskier mumbles.
"What kind of alpha would I be if I mated you and left you to your heat alone?" Geralt hums, then shrugs, smiling softly. "Was planning on it anyway."
Jaskier beams up at him and as Geralt bends to lift him into his arms, he kisses him.
Jaskier's heat holds off for another couple of hours until they get him home before coming on in full force. Geralt stays with him, fucks him through it and keeps Jaskier hanging off his knot for hours at a time. If there was any question about whether Geralt would be a fit mate, he shatters it in the few days after their initial meeting.
When Jaskier's heat breaks, he wakes to a variety of foods surrounding his nest and a water bottle that makes it easy for him to drink. Geralt isn't there, but Jaskier can smell him and he remembers enough from the last few days not to worry that he'll be back shortly. And he is.
Jaskier has barely made it halfway through his water when Geralt opens the bedroom door and comes to drop next to him. He tips Jaskier's chin up and gives him a soft smile before tipping forward to kiss him.
"I ran a bath," he hums, "if you're feeling up to it."
"'M tired," Jaskier smiles, pressing his cheek into Geralt's hand, "but if you join me, I could be persuaded."
He can barely hold himself up, can't even keep his eyes open, but the thought of Geralt's warm, firm body against his own, the thought of warm water washing over him - how could he resist?
Geralt picks him up and carries him to the bathroom, stepping into the bath with Jaskier still in his arms and sits back against the tub, letting Jaskier rearrange himself. He turns onto his front, wrapping his arms around Geralt's middle and resting his head on his chest.
"Geralt?" he mumbles and there's a low rumbling reply. "Would you- could I bite you, too? I know it was an accident, but I'd-"
"Yes," Geralt breathes and Jaskier props himself up as well as he can.
"Could I- now?"
Geralt tips his head back and a weak thrill runs through Jaskier's body. He leans up over Geralt's chest, kissin the spot on his neck then licking over it before grazing his teeth against his skin. Geralt shudders just faintly and wraps his arms around his waist as Jaskier's teeth dig in.
He feels Geralt's heartbeat under his tongue and it makes him wild. Geralt's hands slide up his sides, his back and he hums as Jaskier finally pulls away and tucks his head under Geralt's chin. Geralt's got his eyes shut and his breathing is slow and even, but Jaskier can feel his arousal and he rocks his hips down against him. The sleepy moan he gets in response is incredibly hot and Jaskier's cocklet twitches between them.
"Really?" Geralt mumbles, "again?"
"Can I help it if I want you?"
"You just had me. For days."
"Oh, Geralt," Jaskier hums, leaning up to kiss him.
One of Geralt's hands tangles in his hair as he sits up, already bundling Jaskier into his arms. When Jaskier can finally break away, he's panting again, staring directly at Geralt. For a moment, he forgets to breathe at all, amazed that, despite the circumstances, this stunning man wants to keep him.
"I'm never not going to want you like this."
"Mm," Geralt smiles, rising to step out of the tub with Jaskier in his arms, "I think I can work with that."
240 notes · View notes
greyduckgreygoose · 10 months ago
“We’re connected where?”
“There is no where,” Yennefer said impatiently, “It’s a psychic connection. Telempathy.” When Geralt and Jaskier continued looking at her blankly, she stomped over to Geralt and pinched him on the arm.
“Ow!” Jaskier protested, grabbing his arm in the exact same spot.
“Tel-e-mpathy,” Yennefer said with deliberate slowness as Jaskier and Geralt looked at each other with dawning horror.
Obviously, Geralt couldn’t take any jobs while Jaskier would reap the consequences, so while they waited for Yennefer’s return, Geralt found himself sleeping late, sorting his herbs and potions for the umpteenth time, and prowling the gwent tables like a wild animal in a cage, winning and losing the same handful of silver.
Jaskier had made himself suddenly scarce since the diagnosis. He was in town, of course, but never seemed to be staying at the same inn Geralt was, and never seemed to play the tavern where Geralt was drinking away the evening.
If Geralt didn’t know better, he’d guess that Jaskier was avoiding him. Since he did know better, he didn’t have to guess.
From the telempathy ... not much. The twinge of a stubbed toe, the sting of fingers rubbed against lute strings for hours.
At night, sometimes, he felt hot.
Not unexpected, of course. Jaskier was a man with a man’s needs. Geralt wished he would get it over with, but Jaskier always let it linger, the arousal pooling and spreading from his lower stomach, to his chest, his skin heating like fever. Geralt couldn't even put a hand on himself without being wildly conscious about what would be transmitted to Jaskier.
(Not that Jaskier deserved the consideration, perhaps. Geralt imagined the man or woman Jaskier was with that night, recieving such lavish worship that Jaskier would neglect his own needs entirely.)
(He did not feel a twinge of jealously at the thought.)
Geralt heard the familiar, husky croon as he pushed open the door to the tavern.
Jaskier, passionate in the climax of a bawdy ballad, singing ardently of his lady’s fair breasts as the crowd got rowdy, coins clattering at his feet. When Jaskier dropped the last note, panting, Geralt could feel an answering soreness in his own throat.
Geralt hadn't admitted it to himself until now, but he missed Jaskier’s voice. Just the sound of him transported Geralt to a smokey campfire, the air ringing with snatches of dreamy melody interspersed with humming as Jaskier composed his latest ballad, bending his head over the fingerings of his lute as the fire gleamed gold in his hair.
Quietly, Geralt stole into the corner of the tavern, hoping to avoid Jaskier’s gaze. To no avail. Drawn like a magnet, Jaskier’s eyes caught on Geralt’s from across the room. Geralt saw the alarm in Jaskier’s expression at the same moment that he felt a warmth crawl over his neck and his heart begin to pound. Geralt stood, but Jaskier seemed to scramble away from him, turning to clasp the hands of a passing admirer, suddenly eager to pull her into a chat.
Geralt’s jaw clenched, and his stomach felt sour. It was what he expected.
“Hey, Witcher!” a man called from behind him.
Geralt half-turned to see the gwent player, Odem, who he’d humiliated at the tables a few nights ago. The man did not want to learn a lesson. Today, however, Odem had brought reinforcement. Two thugs sitting at his table, also looking familiar as men Geralt had fleeced.
“Now, how about that rematch?” Odem asked, his voice a low threat.
“I was just leaving,” Geralt growled, turning to the door before feeling his shoulder grabbed in a tight grip.
“We insist.”
For a moment, Geralt was tempted to shrug the man’s hand off of his shoulder and ready himself for a fight. Then he remembered Jaskier.
“Well,” Geralt said, forcing a tight smile on his face. “If you insist.”
Geralt meant to let the man have a win, he really did, but Odem was just so terrible. It became a chore to even make believe that they were evenly matched. Adding to his distraction was Geralt's unwanted, agonizing hyper-conciousness of Jaskier.
Perhaps it was that the curse increased in efficacy with proximity. Perhaps just that Jaskier was feeling especially nervous tonight. All Geralt knew was that the fluttering, queasy sensation in his stomach was not his own, and neither was the dryness on his tongue, the slight tremble in his fingers as he spun his last card across the table.
"What?" Odem exclaimed, his chair shoving back with a loud screech that quieted the room.
"You got your rematch," Geralt said grimly, "Now leave me be." He was tired, maybe, distracted, certainly. Otherwise, Geralt wouldn't have thought to reach across the table for his winnings, a pittance in the scheme of things.
He didn't register the dagger until it was planted in the back of his hand, the blade slicing through muscle and bone and sinew, shivering as it pinned him to the table.
Across the room, Jaskier's voice broke in the middle of a lyric, crying out in pain.
"You're a cheat, Witcher-" Odem's next words were lost in a garble as Geralt lunged across the table, putting him down with a hard punch to the jaw. He wrenched the dagger from his hand in time to plant it in the shoulder of one of Odem's men, who spun away with a shout. The other man slammed a bottle to the side of Geralt's head. At the front of the room, Jaskier fell off of his stool, crumpling on the ground.
It was pandemonium then. Geralt could hardly remember the damage he dealt, just the taste of blood on his teeth, the hollow ringing in his ears. He was just able to stop himself short of killing anyone, but it was a close thing.
"Geralt!" Jaskier clasping his arm, the frantic warmth of his touch making Geralt still. He realized, suddenly, that the eyes of the tavern were on him ... and the crumpled, bloodied bodies at his feet. "I think you've made your point," Jaskier muttered nervously, and Geralt turned to see a blossoming bruise on the side of Jaskier's face. "We should get out of here," Jaskier said and Geralt nodded jerkily in agreement.
"This is my fault," Geralt muttered, clumsily applying the field dressing to Jaskier's hand. If it were him, he'd leave it at that, but Jaskier's hand was his trade. "You need a healer."
"If that's your manner of saying you're sorry, I'll take it," Jaskier said dryly. "Though you couldn't have conceived the sheer idiocy of those men to pick a fight with a Witcher." Jaskier sat at the edge of the inn bed with Geralt kneeling at his side, and when Geralt flicked a glance up at him, Jaskier wore a strange, pained expression.
In his own chest, Geralt felt an answering twinge.
"We'll get this sorted when Yennefer comes back," Geralt ground out, looking away. "After we sever the bond we should ... go our separate ways."
Jaskier swallowed. "I ... what?"
"You don't have to lie anymore," Geralt said, as patiently as he could. "I know how you feel. I could ... feel it too."
"Shit," Jaskier pressed his uninjured hand against his face, and Geralt felt a tearing, squeezing sensation in his chest. This time, he thought it might have come from him. "I never wanted you to know. I ... I was just going to live with this-"
"You don't have to explain anything to me," Geralt said, standing and stepping back from Jaskier's bowed form. "I'm a Witcher. A mutant." His lips twisted bitterly. "This just makes you normal."
He just thought ... hadhoped that Jaskier was different.
"I ... what?" Jaskier's head shot up. "What ... what did you think you felt from me?"
"Fear," Geralt said flatly. "Disgust." Jaskier had felt Geralt's attraction to him and reacted thusly. Or perhaps he had just alway despised him and hid it under his bright smile and easy-going charm. It hurt the same, either way.
"What?" the incredulity in Jaskier's face gave Geralt pause. "Noooooo ... no no no no-"
"Your stomach turns when you so much as look at me!" Geralt growled, his heart pounding in his throat. "Don't you think I noticed how you were avoiding me this entire week?'
"That's because I ..." Jaskier licked his lips, his hand snaking out to grab Geralt's hand and press it against his chest.
Warm. Solid. The heartbeat staccato under Geralt's palm. A sudden, familiar heat flushing across Geralt's skin.
"I love you, Geralt." Jaskier said quietly, "I was never going to tell you, but ... there it is." He dropped his hold on Geralt's wrist, but Geralt kept his hand where it was, searching Jaskier's face with muted shock. Jaskier tore his eyes away, laughing dryly. "You think I'd stomp through the width of the Northern Kingdoms twice over to follow a man I despised? It's far more pathetic than that, I assure you-"
Geralt pitched forward, pressing Jaskier into a hard kiss. Surprise. A muted sting. Geralt pulled back, remembering Jaskier's bruised jaw, only for Jaskier to haul him closer with one hand twisted in the front of Geralt's tunic. Their teeth clashed and Jaskier laughed, his voice hesitant in the sudden heat between their bodies.
"Does this mean what I think it does? This won't be ... just a one time thing, right? I mean, I'll take it, as sad as that makes me sound, and attempt not to let it shred my heart to pieces. You just have to prepare my expectations now, because let me tell you, I did not think we'd end up here when I was warming up this evening ..." Jaskier continued to ramble until Geralt kissed him again, slick and frantic.
Can't you feel it? Geralt thought impatiently. His heartbeat - Jaskier's? - so strong that it might burst from his chest. His blood thrumming under his skin, drawing a hot, prickly flush everywhere they touched. The curse was refracting the arousal between their bodies, heightening their need to a fever pitch, to something that threatened to shatter, bright and breathless as Jaskier pressed Geralt against the inn bed.
"You need a healer," Geralt murmured against Jaskier's lips, sweeping his thumb gently, tenderly across his bruised cheek.
"At this time of night?" Jaskier's voice took an edge of humor as he moved to straddle Geralt's hips. "No, my friend, it seems that you have put me in a rather ... compromised state, without even the use of my dominant hand for relief."
"You want me to take responsibility?" Geralt asked, his voice husky as he rubbed his hands over Jaskier's thighs, feeling the muscle jump under his fingers as he squeezed firmly.
"Maybe we should convince Yennefer to let us stay like this a while longer," Jaskier panted, staring up at the ceiling.
"No," Geralt muttered, his face pressed against the curve of Jaskier's shoulder. When he'd put his mouth on Jaskier's cock, the sharp, intense pleasure of their shared connection had nearly made him spend in his pants like a teenage boy. If he ever had any hope of fucking Jaskier, or being fucked by him ...
"Yes, yes, the Witcher thing," Jaskier drew his arm from where Geralt had inadvertently pinned it, and began petting his head. The simple warmth of the act made Geralt's eyes flutter closed, and he knew, as he felt Jaskier press his lips to Geralt's temple, that at last the feeling was mutual.
(feel free to comment on my AO3!)
1K notes · View notes
spencer-reid-in-a-pool · 8 months ago
It Was You All Along (Part 7)
Tumblr media
Author’s note: So that wasn’t much of a break, but I couldn’t resist! Here is the next installment of the series, featuring a meme I made myself to reflect the vibes of the first half of this part! And yes, it is supposed to be that pixely. It adds spice. Also, I tried to be as vague as possible describing reader’s outfit towards the end so that you could imagine it the way you wanted! As always, feedback is appreciated, and I hope you all enjoy! Link to my ask box! 
Tags: @ayyyyitswednesdaymydoods @blackjay04 @weaselbee04​ @bravelittlesunflower​ @mxsmwndr​ 
A voice called for me, but I didn’t quite process it. I was too busy trying to fix this gigantic, gaping hole in Geralt’s trousers. Melitele knows if I don’t do it, he would just walk around with it decorating his attire. 
The voice called for me again, but this time I ignored it on purpose. If I lost concentration, I would prick myself with the needle...again. And I didn’t really want to turn my fingers into more of a bloody mess than they already were. 
I heard footsteps beside me, but I didn’t realize how close they were until a rush of coldness surrounded my body. Not only coldness, but wetness. A bucket of ice cold water had been dumped on me, causing me to scream and drop what I was doing as I stood up in shock. 
His real name still felt unfamiliar on my lips. I had taken to calling him that every so often, usually when I was angry with him, or when I was messing with him. It was for that reason, I think, that he froze so suddenly when I spoke. He wasn’t used to it either, even though he was the one that suggested I start using it more. 
The bucket made a small thump sound as it hit the ground beneath us, and Jaskier raised his hands up in an apology. But he also backed away like a scared animal. I almost felt bad for him. Almost, but not quite. 
“Now, (Y/N)...I was just trying to get your attention is all. It’s quite important, you see.”
I gathered my skirts in my hands and stomped towards him, scowling and shivering the whole way. 
“What could possibly be so important that you couldn’t wait until I was finished? And what made you think dumping cold water on me was a good idea?”
I didn’t give him a chance to respond before I starting running towards him, my clothes making a sloshing noise against my skin. A string of curse words left his mouth as he took off trying to get away from me. He could be quite fast when he wanted to be. But no way was I going to let him get away from me that easily. 
As soon as he picked up speed, so did I. He wove through the trees surrounding our campsite, going in between them like a maze. Eventually we made it back to where we started. My spot was near a tree and the pants I had been working on were visibly in a bunch on the ground. But behind that was the river that I’m assuming the idiot got the water in the first place. I wonder if I could lead him back there... and “accidentally” knock him in.
As luck would have it, I didn’t even have to put that thought into action. He had made his way to the edge of the river, and turned quickly on his heel trying to run away from me again. But he slipped on the muddy bank, and fell right into the water himself. 
Coming to a stop, a sharp laugh came from my chest suddenly. And I laughed even harder when he bobbed above the surface, hair sticking to his forehead and his fancy doublet soaked. 
“That’s what you get!” I yelled to him between bouts of laughter. 
While Jaskier pulled himself out of the water unceremoniously, I heard more footsteps behind me followed by a thud. Geralt must be back. Only one man I know could walk and sit down that heavily. 
I turned towards the sound, and sure enough, Geralt was sitting down on the log he had claimed as his earlier. He took one look at me and one look at Jaskier who was now standing on the bank of the river, shivering like his life depended on it. 
“I don’t even want to know,” said Geralt with a twitch of his eyebrow and a roll of his eyes. 
Night had fallen now. I couldn’t help but reflect on the past few months since that attack at our camp. Things had been pretty boring since then honestly. But I guess I couldn’t complain. Being bored was better than being in danger. 
Geralt was asleep and snoring at an unholy volume. This of course caused a glance between Jaskier and I, and sent us into a fit of silent laughter together. The kind of laughter that had your stomach hurting and your mouth open with no sound. The kind that had you grabbing onto your friend for dear life. Which is precisely what the two of us were doing right now. I had such a grip on Jaskier’s arm, I thought he surely must be in pain. But if he was, he made no mention of it and kept laughing with me. 
However much time had passed, it seemed to only be a few minutes. And I still had my hand on his arm, although my grip definitely lessened. He didn’t notice this either, and simply looked into the dying flames with dried tears from his laughter on his cheeks. My gaze lingered a moment too long on his cheeks, and I began to think about how gentle his eyelashes looked against his skin as he blinked. 
Heat rose in my cheeks and I silently withdrew my hand from his arm. This seemed to catch his attention though. 
“Composed yourself now? Don’t need to steady yourself from anymore laughter?”
There was a glint in his eye as he asked me the questions. I had to keep from smiling. 
“That depends. Got any jokes?”
He stood suddenly and rested a hand on his chin, making it seem like he was deep in thought. 
“You look as if you are composing a new song, Julian.”
“I’m a musician, my dear, I am always composing.” 
He paced around the fire, which was even lower than before. The way he took everything so seriously was something that entertained me, and I couldn’t help but smile to myself because of it. 
Suddenly, he opened his mouth in a silent “Aha!”
“(Y/N), why must you never use a broken pen?”
I paused for a moment and scrunched my face in thought, trying to come up with an answer. But before I could, he delivered the punch line. 
“It’s pointless, darling.”
I snorted at the same time Geralt groaned. The fucker was awake. 
Jaskier almost jumped out of his boots at the sudden noise, which only caused me to laugh again. The pain in my stomach from earlier was back, but I couldn’t keep from laughing. 
“Have you been awake this whole time, Geralt?” Jaskier yelled in surprise. 
“Long enough. Don’t you have anything better to do? Like sleep?”
Jaskier open and closed his mouth a few times before settling on a simple, “Right,” in response. He then took his spot a few feet away from Geralt and laid down for the night. 
“Goodnight, Geralt.” Jaskier said with a stifled yawn.
Geralt simply grunted in return, rolling over so his back was facing Jaskier. 
“Goodnight, (Y/N),” Jaskier called in my direction. 
“Goodnight, Jaskier. And goodnight Geralt!” 
“Hmph,” was all I got in response. 
There was a silence over our camp now. But it was too quiet. The kind of quiet that felt like it would be broken at any moment now. Jaskier’s voice was what broke it, of course.
“Goodnight, Roach.”
“Oh, yeah! Goodnight, Roach and Lily!” I called out excitedly. 
“How could I forget Lily? Goodnight, Lily!” Jaskier parroted. 
“Oh, for the love of-” Geralt groaned loudly, sitting up and gathering his things. He promptly moved farther and farther away from us, settling on a spot under the cover of darkness in the trees. 
I snickered to myself as I got my things ready to lay down. Annoying Geralt had become one of our favorite things to do together over the past few months. 
It became silent again, and I could hear Jaskier’s even breathing now, signalling that he was asleep. I had the feeling I wouldn’t be able to sleep. Call it instinct, I guess. 
I laid down on my back and stared up at the sky. Jaskier and I were closer than ever, and it was so nice. But I needed more. I craved more. They say time heals all wounds, but my heart was still shattered after all these months had gone by. I was still so in love with my best friend that it hurt. Even more than it did before. 
Jaskier had been acting differently lately though. He called me more nicknames, and he was even more of a flamboyant disaster than when I first met him. Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen him with any random women in bars or taverns anymore. Could he-? No. No way. I must be out of my mind. 
My fingers instinctively went to the dagger Geralt had given me a while ago. Sometimes I would run my hands along the inscription, trying to remind myself to be brave like it said. I could almost laugh at myself right now. I was being anything but brave when it came to Jaskier. 
“Could you please calm your nerves down? I can feel them from over here,” a gruff voice said in the distance. Geralt. Of course.
“Sorry to disturb you. Maybe you should move to another new spot, even farther away. Oh yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask. How is Yennefer?”
I didn’t have to have Witcher senses to feel how that comment landed. 
Morning came much more quickly than I was hoping it would. It meant today was the day we had to get moving, which meant we would be moving closer to the situation I had been trying to avoid thinking about. The ball. 
I seemed to be the last one awake, and I could feel the energy as soon as I had rubbed the sleepiness from my reluctant eyes. Geralt sad brooding in the corner of our camp, and Jaskier was flitting about getting everyone’s things together. It was easy to see who was excited and who was not. 
“Today is the day, you sad sack of...sadness,” Jaskier vocalized in regards to Geralt. 
“I know. Don’t remind me.”
I almost laughed as I sat up from my spot on the ground. Geralt wasn’t looking forward to this, and truth be told, I wasn’t either. At least part of me wasn’t. The other part couldn’t help being excited in a childlike way. I had never been in a castle before, let alone a ballroom. Although I couldn’t help but feel like I would be out of place, and painfully so. 
“Don’t look so excited, Geralt.” 
“You weren’t there. You don’t know what happened at the last one.”
I winced and realized that he was right. Although Jaskier had told me some of what happened, I was almost certain that he watered down the events of Pavetta’s betrothal ball in doing so. 
The man in question turned to look at me, apparently just now realizing I was awake. 
“There you are! Come on, we are losing daylight!”
“Jaskier, do I even really need to come? Geralt is only going to be your body guard, so I don’t really have a purpose.”
“Don’t be silly. You must come! We couldn’t just leave you by yourself for hours at a time. These things do tend to take a while.”
I rolled my eyes and stood, stretching as I did so. 
“I am a grown up, you know. I can take care of myself. Afraid I might get kidnapped?” 
Jaskier scoffed and continued packing, mostly ignoring my comment. But it was true, I could take care of myself. Geralt had taught me some things with the dagger over the past few weeks, and I felt confident in my abilities. 
“Well if I must go, at least be careful with my dress and things. I’m sure Yennefer paid good money for them.” 
“The witch probably stole them, more like.”
I watched as Jaskier carefully started packing my things, and tried not to cackle when Geralt made a comment about shoving his foot somewhere it didn’t belong in reference to Jaskier. 
Today was going to be quite...something. 
Since we had done most of the travelling yesterday, what was left for today didn’t take long. We made it to the castle in no time it seemed. 
Lily and Roach were tied up in the stables, in the same stall actually. I was quite happy that the stable master was willing to do that. They always seemed to enjoy each other’s company. 
I sat in my borrowed room getting ready, and I was assuming that Geralt and Jaskier were in their own rooms doing the same thing. But that thought was at the back of my mind now as I looked at myself in the mirror. Or at least, what I think was myself. I didn’t really recognize the woman staring back at me. 
Yennefer had picked out the most beautiful, elegant, and intricate floor-length ballgown I could ever imagine. It was sleeved as well, with lace adorning them to match the bodice. The skirt was made of layers on layers, it seemed, and with every move I made it swished gently to follow. It was even in my favorite color. I wonder how she knew? I don’t remember telling her...
She had also gotten me some jewelry to match, and the metals and gems complimented my skin tone perfectly. How did she know all this? I had only met her once, and it was very briefly. I would have to thank her for all this later. 
Not long after I had finished getting dressed, jeweled, and made up, a knock sounded at my door. 
“Come in,” I called. 
Jaskier entered in his outfit for the night. It was a dark, silky purple with golden accents along the doublet’s center, and my breath hitched in my throat when I saw him in the reflection of the mirror I sat in front of. 
“You look breathtaking, darling,” he said in a whisper as he approached me. 
Hopefully he didn’t notice the blush creeping up the sides of my neck. I don’t think I would ever get used to his names for me. 
“You don’t look too bad yourself. Compare that to when you fell into the water yesterday and looked like a dying animal, you basically are a different person.”
Jaskier feigned anger, but I could tell he was amused. 
“Do you like your clothes? I made sure to tell Yennefer all your favorite colors and shiny things.”
My heart skipped a beat. He had told her all of that? I didn’t even know that he knew those things about me.
I stood before really thinking about what I was doing, and turned to face him, the shock evident on my face.
“You told her all that? I didn’t know that you knew such trivial facts about me...Thank you.”
He chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. 
“Of course I know. And it was no problem. I had to make sure she didn’t dress you in an unflattering way.”
I tilted my head in thought, almost as a reflex, and it caught his attention. 
“What are you thinking about, (Y/N)?” Jaskier asked me quietly with a crooked smile. 
“I seem to be thinking about everything and nothing at once...but I am mostly wondering how you convinced the people hosting this ball to let me in. Geralt is your security, of course, I get that. But how did you get me in? I’m no one special.”
He was silent for a moment and stared at a spot past me, for almost so long I didn’t think he would reply. But then he did, with an odd look on his face that showed happiness and some other emotion I didn’t recognize. 
“I told them you were my muse. A musician cannot perform without their muse.”
My mouth twitched as if to fall open in shock. but I didn’t let it. I didn’t want him to see how this affected me.
“I’m your what?”
“My muse. You know, inspiration?”
I shook my head furiously, matching the speed at which my heart was beating.
“I know what it means. But why did you tell them that? You couldn’t have come up with a better excuse to get me in here? You didn’t have to lie to them.” 
You couldn’t have come up with a better excuse in order to keep me from getting my hopes up?
He looked at me with a smile. But it was a pained smile. Then for a second, it looked like he might speak. Until Geralt passed by the open door way and told Jaskier it was time to go. The crowd was waiting on him. 
I stood frozen in the same spot I had been in, and I watched them leave. First Geralt, then Jaskier following behind him. At the last second before leaving the doorway, he stopped, placing a hand on the frame. 
Finally he turned to me, and looking over his shoulder, he simply said:
“I didn’t lie.” 
570 notes · View notes
Tumblr media
(Gif not mine; found on pinterest!)
Anon requested: Geralt and Reader are teasing each other until Geralt snaps and fucks her until she passes out.
Thank you anon for that request ❤️
Summary: You accompany your brother Jaskier and the famous White Wolf on their travels through the Continent. Over the time, you start to catch feelings for the lonesome Witcher, and you decide to act on them – your parents didn’t raise a coward after all. So you keep teasing and teasing, waiting for his strong patience to snap. And when it does, it’s far more than you bargained for.
Pairing: Geralt x 1st person reader; Jaskier x sister!reader
Warnings: SMUT (obviously); teasing (badly written, I suck at flirting); rough sex; multiple orgasms (a total of seven); dom/sub; male!dom/fem!sub; mentions of body fluids; overstimulation; begging; marking; size!kink; mature language; took a slightly darker twist towards the end of the, uhm, session; little fluff at the end; friends to lovers (?)
If you're uncomfortable with any of this, do not read!
A/N: Dear anon, I’m sorry i took so long for this. I started this weeks ago and then got stuck... I hope it turned out like you expected.💕
Word count: 6.7k (yup, I can’t keep it short)
Title: Tease
Tagging @littlefreya, @princess-of-riviaa​, @cherry-acid, @ohjules and @achaoticaugust. Figured you might like it ☺️💕
Enjoy ❤️ feedback and reblog are always welcome and appreciated 💕
Tumblr media
“Is that the best you can do?” I pant as I raise my blade, pointing it at my opponent, who, with a deep growl, does the same. He swings his sword at me and I dodge it expertly, swinging my own sword at him in return. He delivers blow after blow, and I either block or dodge every single one of them. The dance lasts for a while. We let out teasing remarks, echoed by the clashing of our swords. All the while, my brother sits on a log by the campfire, strumming his lute, composing his next song.
Yeah, being the daughter of the Viscount of Lettenhove has its perks. Father lets us do whatever we want. He was the one who allowed Jaskier to travel the Continent before going to Oxenfurt for some education fitting his status. He was the one who trained me in swordfight and fencing when I asked. And when Jaskier showed up at home two months ago, accompanied by none other than the famous Geralt of Rivia, father allowed me to go with them.
“You fight like an angry kitten, girl!”
About half an hour passes and the sword in my hands begins to feel heavy, but if there is one thing father has taught me, it’s to never let your opponent know they have the upper hand.
“What?” I challenge, “Don’t you have more?”
“Oh, my lady, I could go on for hours,” the White Wolf grins at me tauntingly, bearing his fangs, “but I doubt you can.”
I clench my jaw, frustrated with how easily he read me. With a weak battlecry, I charge at him, but my grip isn’t as strong as it had been an hour ago, and sweaty palms made the handle slippery.
Geralt knocks the sword from my hands in a matter of seconds, spins me around and pulls me against his chest, his blade resting against my throat with just enough pressure to let me know I’ve been defeated.
“It seems, my lady,” he growls into my ear, “That you’re not as strong as you think you are.”
I blame it on the exhaustion that I let my body fall slack against his incredibly broad one, letting out a long breath in an attempt to slow my racing heartbeat. I’m lost in the moment, feeling the flex of Geralt’s strong chest against my back. My mind is racing straight to the gutter with the thoughts of his body against mine. He’s large, handsome and seems to have quite the stamina. In short, I want him. I wanted him ever since the stepped a foot onto my father’s court.
So now I stand there, pressed against him, my head barely reaching his shoulder, his sword against my neck and his growled remark still ringing through my ears. Well, until –
“Hey, listen to this!” Jaskier calls and Geralt quickly lets go of me, marching over to slump down on a log and tears the leg off the rabbit that’s been roasting over the fire. With a little blush tinting my cheeks, I saunter over to where my brother is seated, intentionally passing the Witcher. I sway my hips more than necessary. I know he’s staring.
“Sit still, for crying out loud!” I hiss for what feels like the tenth time in just a few minutes. My hands are bloody, the needle slippery and the Witcher’s constant flinching isn’t helping. A bruxa had almost gotten the better of him and it was on me to stitch up the long gash bitch had left along his ribs.
“And they call me a butcher,” Geralt grumbles and then supresses a hiss of pain as I make another stitch.
“It would hurt less if you would stay still,” I mutter, “Or do you want me to kiss it better?”
“As much as I would like that, my lady, I doubt that would work.”
“Then stop whining and let me do what I need to do.”
An hour later, he lies in his bed, ribcage bandaged, and high on herbs that should soothe his pain. I sit at his side watching him, while my brother is out earning some extra coin downstairs in the tavern. Absentmindedly, I run my fingers through the Witcher’s tangled and dirty mane, caress his strong jaw. Luckily, he’s out as a light, so he doesn’t notice.
He looks peaceful now, handsome features relaxed for once. He’s gorgeous, and there is no denying that he makes me feel a certain way. Lost in thought, I keep caressing his cheek and jaw, thread my fingers through his hair. There is a thin sheen of sweat lining his brow, rebuilding within a few minutes every time I wipe it away.
I quickly pull my hand back when I see him stir. Geralt groans in pain, attempting to sit up. In a flash, my hands are on his shoulders, pushing him back down gently but determined.
“No, no, Witcher. Stay down. I’m not stitching you up again,” I scold, dabbing a little sweat off his brow, – again – lingering for just a second longer than necessary.
“You wouldn’t have to in the first place, if you had just followed my orders,” he grunts, then groans again, another attempt to sit up failing.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I exclaim, throwing my hands in the air in frustration, “But I guess you can be happy someone was willing to play the bait. What would you have done if I hadn’t been there?”
Geralt remains quiet while I turn my back and march over to the table, mixing a new dose of herbs.
“Thought so,” I mutter.
Weeks later, Jaskier had convinced Geralt to play bodyguard at some royal banquet – not for the first time, I gathered.
“Well, don’t you clean up nicely,” I grin as I barge into the Witcher’s room, finding him with combed hair for once, while Jaskier tugs the dark blue doublet in place over the light grey shirt, “Why no armour, though?”
“Ask your brother,” Geralt just grumbles, definitely uncomfortable in those new clothes.
I simply shrug and step closer to the broad man, the heavy skirts of my gown rustling as I go.
Bold hands move to touch his medallion, turning the pendant around, so the engraved side is facing outward again. Featherlight, I run my fingertips along the outlines of the snarling wolf, before I let my fingers linger on his chest.
Peering up at him, innocently through my lashes, I catch him staring down at me, not at my face but lower, at the soft swell of my breasts, peeking out from my tightly laced bodice I’ve grown used to over the years.
Once he realizes he’s staring, he clears his throat loudly and takes a step back.
“We should get going,” he mutters, before stepping out of the room.
I’m left behind to stare at Jaskier, dumbfounded. My brother just shrugs, linking his arm with mine to lead me down to the great hall.
The large room is swarming with nobility, the fewest of them I had met before. We find Geralt leaning against the wall, a pint of ale in hand, and not long after, I stand next to him, dumped by Jaskier so he could perform. There is a tense silence between us while I search for something to talk about.
“This isn’t the first time you watch over my brother at a royal party?” I ask clumsily.
“No,” is all Geralt grumbles in return and for a moment, the silence between us continues. Then, “The first time was in Cintra. Didn’t end well.”
I turn to him, surprised that he’s taking. “What happened?” I ask, wide-eyed and curious.
“That’s none of your business, my lady.”
“Jaskier told me you claimed the Law of Surprise? Where is that child it got you?” The question slips out before I can stop it. Anxiously, I bite my tongue while waiting for his answer.
“Where should it be? It’s in Cintra, where it belongs,” comes his grunted reply after a moment.
“You didn’t claim it?”
And the silence resumes, weighing heavier than ever. A few young nobles approach over the time, asking me for a dance, but I politely decline every single one of them. There’s only one man here tonight I’d want to dance with, and he’s not even talking to me. Still, I feel him tense up every time the words “My lady, would you honour me with a dance?” are said.
Dinner is served soon enough, and passes rather quickly. All the while, I can feel the Witcher’s glances, but I don’t pay much attention to him, catching up with a friend I haven’t seen in a long time. When he asks me for a dance, I don’t deny him, letting him lead me to the dancefloor. Geralt’s eyes don’t leave me for even one second, until, finally, I see him get up from his seat and come over, determination in his step, making the ground shake – or am I the only one who feels that way?
“Mind if I take over?” his deep, smooth voice sounds honey-sweet as he steps up to us.
“Of course, Sir,” the young knight bows and lets go of my hand and waist. He bows low as we part and I curtsy quickly, straightening back up to meet the Witcher’s amber gaze, a hint of anger dancing in his eyes like a little flame. Within a blink, his right hand is splayed out over the expanse of my lower back, his other one swallowing my own whole, making me feel small and trapped against his large form – an addicting feeling that I’ve craved since the moment I met him.
Geralt starts to sway to the slow music and I follow as he leads me across the dancefloor with surprising ease. Every single step is precise, sheer dominance radiating off him. I wouldn’t have expected a ‘savage’ Witcher, how many people called them still, to be talented in ballroom dancing.
“I didn’t know you could dance,” I smirk up at him, not letting this new discovery intimidate me – his size compared to mine, so close, does that already, but I won’t let it show.
“I get around,” is all he mutters in reply.
“So I’ve noticed.” There’s a moment of silence between us and I use it to trail my hand from his shoulder down his bulging biceps and back up to rest against his chest. I notice him staring at my cleavage again and I bite the inside of my lip not to laugh.
“You think you can do that, hm?” he growls after a while and pulls me closer, chests touching lightly.
“Do what?” I ask innocently, blinking up at him.
“Don’t play coy now; you know exactly what I mean.”
“I am afraid I do not, Witcher.”
“So you want me to spell it you for you, do you?” Geralt hisses.
On the outside, I keep my innocent mask, giving Geralt a questioning look. But inwardly, I’m squealing and grinning. I had finally gotten to him, after months of hinting and teasing, all it had taken was a little bit of jealousy.
“You think you can tease me for months and then take the first chance you get to flirt with another man?” he almost spits.
I bite my lip and peer at him through my lashes. “Well, yes?”
“Oh no, you cannot.” With these words, he pulls me flush against his body and smashes his lips on mine in an urgent kiss. I kiss back just as needy, letting him pry my lips apart without resistance, welcoming his slippery, talented tongue in my hot cavern. The dance long forgotten, we stand on the dancefloor, tightly entwined in each other, letting our tongues do the dancing now.
“Fuck,” I whisper against his lips once Geralt pulls back to let me breathe. Without another word, he takes my hand and leads me out of the hall. If I had glanced over my shoulder, I would have seen Jaskier grinning and nodding at us, but I didn’t, too caught up in the Witcher leading me away.
I stumble after him, struggling to match his fast and urgent pace. Some people give us weird looks, but neither of us cares. Once in an empty hallway, Geralt slams my back against the stone wall, cornering me with his large body. He stares down at my heaving chest.
“My eyes are up here,” I giggle breathlessly, cupping the back of his neck with both hands and pulling him in for another deep kiss. He growls against my lips, the deep rumble shooting straight to my core, slickening my waiting cove.
“How many of these nobles do you know?” he murmurs against my skin as he moves to nip on my neck.
“Too many for you to fuck me here in the hall,” I pant, before biting back a moan threatening to escape.
“Pity. I could take you right against this wall,” he growls.
“As much as I would love that, Geralt, my father would disown me if he was to ever find out,” I mumble, trying to catch my breath.
“That you fucked a Witcher?”
I shake my head, laughing a lightly, “That I fucked in public; not to mention at a royal court. My father does not hold grudges against you Witchers. If he did, he would have never allowed me to come with you,” I point out, playing with the collar of his shirt. “You look very nice, by the way.” I smile up at him, suddenly shy.
“I would have preferred my armour, bu-” I cock my eyebrow at him and he stops his grumbling, smiling down at me softly, “Thank you. You do too, my lady.”
I grin and pull him in for another short kiss, before saying, “But I believe we’d both look better without all these constricting layers. Am I not right?”
Geralt doesn’t say anything, just lets go of a deep growl that makes me shudder before pulling me along the long hallways of the castle towards his assigned chamber. Once inside, he backs me up against the locked door with a predatory look in his eyes.
“You’re really asking for this, aren’t you?” he growls as he grips my hips tightly and pins me to the door.
“Oh fuck, yes,” I breathe in response, fumbling to push the doublet over his broad shoulders. He shrugs it off, the fabric rustling quietly as it falls to the ground. With my fingers tangled in his hair, the Witcher dives forward to claim my lips again, the kiss more urgent than minutes ago.
“How important is that dress to you?” he mutters against my mouth, nipping at my bottom lip, the day-old stubble on his jaw scratching my tender skin as he speaks.
“I said, how important is that dress to you, my lady. Because I am tempted to tear it off you.”
I swat his hand away playfully as he starts tugging at the bottom of my bodice. “Don’t you dare, Witcher!” Geralt pulls his hands away and allowing me to turn around, my chest pressing against the chill wood as he slowly leans in to start unlacing, lips caressing every inch of skin that’s revealed to his eyes. The bodice falls to the ground with a quiet thud, followed by the rustling of my heavy skirt.
“Too many fucking layers,” Geralt grumbles, tugging at my slip and corset until both join the heaps of fabric on the floor, “But I can still smell how wet you are for me, girl.”
I gasp at his words, turning abruptly to throw my arms around his neck. I pull him in deep, and let him kiss me even deeper. Geralt’s hands wander from my waist down to the back of my thighs, but not before giving the cheeks of my behind a firm, long squeeze. A moan slips escapes my throat, spurring him on as he hikes my legs up to wrap around his waist.
Within seconds, my back is flush against the wall, hips grinding desperately against the hard planes of the Witcher’s body, seeking for some kind of friction. A deep growl erupts from the large animal as he devours my mouth, and suddenly, the constant pressure against my beck is gone, but soon replaced by the sweet softness of the castle’s expensive bedsheets.
Geralt lays me down on the bed, kneeling up for a moment, letting his eyes hungrily rake over my trembling form.
“You’re beautiful, little kitten,” he rasps, before diving back in to claim my lips, but he doesn’t remain there for long.
Slowly, he kisses his way from my lips to my jaw and down my neck, leaving little marks as he goes. He nips and licks at my collarbone, the dark purple marks a stark contrast to my skin. Geralt pulls back a little, admiring his work with lust-blown pupils. My body shakes in anticipation under his hot stare, the gold in his eyes glowing like ember, their heat seeping right into my core.
“I’d say the same about you, but I can’t really see you,” I try to purr, but it comes out as clumsy whisper instead, my brain hazed by the large, handsome Witcher above me and what he’s done so far.
With a sound between chuckle and growl, Geralt dives back in, lips, tongue and teeth caressing and teasing down the valley of my chest, strong hands coming up to firmly knead my tender breast. A whimper slips from my lips as my nipples harden against his rough, warm palms almost instantly, so sensitive, his ministrations send sparks all over my body.
Geralt turns his head and bites into my soft flesh, where it wouldn’t be hidden by any clothes I owned. I gasp as his teeth sink into my breast, gentle, yet hard enough to bruise. He licks and kisses at the stinging skin, humming at my taste as I let out small, breathy moans. The need within my core is burning, I’m trembling and desperate to have him inside me.
“Fuck, Geralt, please,” I whimper weakly between moans and shaky breaths.
He looks at me, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he grins. “Patience, my lady.” With these words, he moves to my other breast, marking it up just like the one before.
“No, please. He’ll see,” I whine, but my words are empty. Deep inside, I love being marked up by the famous Witcher. Deep inside, I don’t care that my brother will see what we did – he knows anyway.
It doesn’t matter anyway; my words fall to deaf ears. I guess he could smell how wet it was making me, so he keeps going, ignoring my pleas. He travels further down my body, marking my stomach, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses along my ribs and down my torso. Goose bumps rise on my skin as he blows on the wet patches, making me tremble.
Again, he pulls back, admiring his work: a tiny, trembling girl, marked by his lips, teeth and spit. There is a sense of pride in his eyes, like a predator that is about to devour its prey. Oh and devour me he does.
Within seconds, my undergarments are ripped from my body and my legs thrown over the Witcher’s shoulders, before I can even comprehend what happened. Wide-eyed, I stare down at Geralt, propped up on his elbows between my legs, grinning up at me teasingly.
“Please,” I pant, not knowing what exactly I’m asking for. The Witcher ticks his tongue.
I let out a whimper, the need within my core growing unbearable, but Geralt just grins and starts nipping at the inside of my thigh, up to where I need him the most, but skips my keening folds, repeating the action on my other thigh.
My mind is swimming with just one thought: I need him. With my head thrown back into the soft pillows, I am panting, pleading for him to do something. But his cruel torture continues. He peppers soft kisses all over my mound, inching closer to my heat oh so slowly.
Unable to take it anymore, my hands find themselves tangled in his long, silky mane, trying to tug him to where I need him.
Geralt chuckles against my skin. “So desperate,” he muses in a rough whisper, but he groans when I tug a little harder than before, then inhales deeply. “Fuck, you smell so sweet, kitten.”
I let out a whine at his words, way beyond the point of forming ones of my own. Another chuckle. Another tug on his hair. And then, finally, he lays a small kiss on my lower lips, making me jolt.
“No one’s ever done that to you, hm?” he observes and I shake my head, “But you’re no virgin either.” Again, I shake my head, then gasp as he licks a broad stripe through my folds, from my slit right to my clit. But he spots just before he can touch my little pearl of pleasure. I can feel it throb and let out a whine of protest, wordlessly begging him. For what I’m begging, I’m not sure, all I know it that there is a pit forming in my gut, burning with hellfire, and only one thing can put it out.
Obeying to my pleading, Geralt repeats his action, this time flicking my little bundle of nerves with just the tip of his tongue. But the sensation is enough for me to cry out and clench around nothing. He hums lowly, dragging his teeth along my lips.
“You taste so much sweeter than I first thought, kitten. Fuck, you taste amazing!”
The vibration of his rough voice registers deep in my core, giving him a new wave of wetness to feast upon. With his eyes set on mine, he licks his lips before sinking into my folds, groaning at the taste.
“Fuck!” I cry out, followed by a string of broken moans as he devours me like a starving man. His tongue laps at my insides, discovering new spots that make me buck, just to hold down my hips in his iron grip.
Everything I feel is so strong and new, that it doesn’t take long for my walls to tremble, the pit in my belly threatening to explode. Desperately, I tug on Geralt's strands, but I don’t know if I want him to go deeper or to stop. My legs shake on his shoulders and threaten to clench around his head, but he keeps them open, grunting like a beast as he fucks me with his tongue.
And then, suddenly, I see white, my whole body tenses and twitches. A faint cry of the Witcher’s name rings in my ears and it takes me a moment to realize that it’s me screaming. Wave after wave of euphoria washes through my body, and I’m panting heavily, feeling boneless and limp as my vision clears.
Heavy-lidded, my eyes settle on the man between my legs. Throughout my climax, he kept licking and sucking, and he isn’t stopping. No. Instead, he picks up the pace, tongue plunging in between my petals, drinking in the honey of my pleasure.
Without warning, a finger joins his tongue, and shortly after, I see white again. When I come down, he still isn’t stopping. Fingers crooking in my core, Geralt latches his lips to my sensitive and throbbing pearl. It’s all too much and within a minute, I cum again, convulsing, trembling, spine lifting off the bed. And still, he keeps his ministrations steady, stroking and caressing my insides with two long and thick fingers, crooking them up, fingertips touching just the right spots, while his tongue keeps tracing patterns my poor, throbbing clit.
“Please, Geralt. No more. I can’t. Please,” I beg, not tugging, but pulling on his hair, trying to get him off me. It’s too much.
My pleading is answered with a growl. Like a dog when you try to steal its bone. Low and threatening. A tiny rush of fear flows through my body. He is not going to stop. Not until he has punished me for teasing him and then flirting with other men. The fear washes a new wave of wetness through my core, which he feasts upon, grunting wildly.
“Please,” I whine, one last time. My voice is meek, hoarse from screaming for him before.
“One more, kitten,” Geralt coos then, “I know you can do it. One more time. Cum for me, kitten.”
My body follows his demand before I can even process what’s happening. I cum around his fingers with a strangled cry, my whole body twitching and trembling. Tears fall from my eyes from the intensity of my orgasm, and when I come down, I’m a shaking and sobbing mess.
This is when Geralt finally pulls his fingers from me. I jolt and whimper weakly when he accidentally makes contact with my clit, only briefly, but it’s enough to send painful sparks of overstimulation throughout my whole body.
Geralt comes crawling up to lie beside me, his face glistening with my juices in the candlelight just like my skin is shining with my sweat.
“You did so good, little kitten,” he coos, pulling me into his arms. I cling onto his shirt, balling the fabric in my fist as I bury my face into his chest. Rubbing gentle circles on my back, Geralt whispers soothingly into my ear, calming me down effectively. Once my sob cease, he pushes me back a little to look straight into my eyes. His face is serious, yet his pupils remain lust-blown. It scares me a little. I dread what’s coming, but it excites me nonetheless.
“You know I’m not done with you yet, right?” he asks, but it’s far from a question. It’s a fact. He’s not done with me. Period.
I bite my lip and nod at him, eyes wide and innocent, as if I hadn’t just let him eat me like it was his last meal on earth.
“Are you ready?” his voice is a tad more gentle, now. I shake my head.
“A few more minutes?” I ask timidly.
“Okay.” Still, Geralt gets off the bed and starts stripping of his clothes.
I can’t help but stare at the glory that is revealed to me. Broad chest is littered with scars in all shapes and sizes, and even if I had seen them before, in this setting they make my breath hitch instead of heart clench. He is beautiful, gorgeous even. Dark curls dusting his pecs and lower abdomen, the line of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his trousers, but lead no doubt to his treasure.
He sheds of his constricting breeches, the outline of his manhood becoming clearer as he stands in front of me in his pants. My mouth water at the sight of him, more so when with one final push, he stands there, completely bared to my eyes. I can’t help but gape at the glorious sight, the famous White Wolf in all his beauty.
“You’re drooling, my lady,” Geralt chuckles as he climbs back into bed, “Ready?”
Again, I shake my head. The spot between my thighs is still pulsing, still sensitive with every move I make. Yet there is no denying that I want him to be inside me. “Just a little bit,” I whisper.
With a low hum, the Witcher wraps me up in his arms, holding me close in his tight embrace. The way we’re laying, it’s almost impossible not to feel his hardness pressing to my side. He’s throbbing already, wet with precum and just as huge as the rest of Geralt.
“Just ignore it,” he mumbles, noticing the slight shift in my breathing, “Wait until you’re ready.”
I simply nod and nuzzle in deeper to his chest, the iron rod wrapped in velvet he calls his cock now pressing into my hip. As worn out as I am, I want him.
So, I slowly start grinding against him, craning my neck to claim his lips. Willingly, Geralt kisses back, probably relieved that I’m ready. He lets me assume control, holding onto my hips as he rolls to lie on his back, our lips not parting. Geralt lets me go at my pace, patiently caressing up and down my sides. I know, by now he’s so hard it must hurt, but still he isn’t rushing me.
After a few minutes of lazy kisses, I slowly pull back, my hands on his chest for support. Geralt looks up at me questioningly, and I nod. He puts his hand on my hips and guides me to kneel up. My eyes grow wide as I see his length, all hard and heavy against his abdomen.
“You can take it,” he encourages, “We’ll take it slow.”
I nod, biting my lip, and reach for his shaft. But he beats me to it, holding his member in one hand, guiding my hips above the tip with the other. Cautiously, I sway my hips back and forth, feeling the head of his cock just between my petals. I slick him up with my juices, watching as Geralt's face twists with the first bits of pleasure he received that night. I feel a little guilty and start to sink down on him, wincing after just a few inches, my taut canal too sore to take him at once. I lift myself up again and then slowly sink back down, taking him a little deeper than before. I continue until there’s only one third to go. There, I stop myself and take a few calming breaths, bracing myself for what I’m about to do.
“Good, so good,” Geralt coos, not catching on to my plan, “You’re doing amazing, little kitte- Ohh.”
With once swift movement, I sink all the way down on him, crying loudly out when his tip meets my cervix.
“Shit,” I hiss, feeling him stretch me out, farther than any other man before, but begin rocking on him anyway, without giving myself much time to adjust, the pain welcome.
“Fuck,” Geralt mutters as I start to bounce on top of him, speeding up relatively fast. Soon, I’m riding him like a wild horse. The pit in my belly starts to grow just as fast, only making me pick up the pace once again. Bouncing up and down on him, supported by his hands on my hips, I can feel every vein and every ridge of his cock inside me, stroking against my walls just perfectly. The way his tip rams into my cervix with every time I sink down on him hurts deliciously. The room is filled with Geralt's deep groans and grunts, and my loud and high-pitched moans of pleasurable pain. Flames lick at my insides and I clench tightly around him, my pace beginning to falter.
Not long before the coil snaps within, throwing me into the abyss of white-hot euphoria. Again, my vision goes white as I twitch and tense throughout my high. Geralt keeps guiding my hips while my head is thrown back, mouth hanging open with inaudible chants of his name. He catches me when I collapse on his chest and carefully turns us around. He kisses me sweetly while riding me through my bliss, prolonging it.
With a sigh, I come back down and cradle his skull, keeping his lips pressed on mine while he rolls his hips against mine, deep and slow. I wince slightly at the overstimulation, but with him inside me, I’m still not sated, even after five orgasms.
“Can you take it?” Geralt asks, propping himself up on his elbows. I nod, hesitantly, still sensitive, but eager for more. “Good.”
With that, he starts to pick up his pace, the rolling of his hips becomes hard, deep thrusts, that gradually become faster. I cling onto his shoulders, dig my nails into his muscle. He is wild from having to hold back for so long. Animalistic grunts leave his throat, rumbling through my body straight to my core. He’s not gentle. No, he’s rough and demanding, now chasing his own high. But it feels good, somehow, to be nothing but an instrument for his pleasure. It’s only fair that he uses me now, after he had given me not one, but five orgasms. It hurts, the way he is rutting into my cervix. I’m sure it’s bruised by now, but the pain feels so good. So good that I catch myself clenching around him once again.
Tears escape from my eyes, but Geralt kisses them away, thrusts becoming faster, deeper and harder once again.
And then my world goes white for the sixth time tonight. I go limp, twitching and trembling beneath him. I cum, sobbing and crying, convulsing around him, but he keeps going.
“Please, I can’t,” I beg weakly, barely at the brink of consciousness, “N-no more. Geralt, I can’t. Please.”
“You can,” he pants, “Just… one more, kitten. You asked for this. You can do it. I know you can. One more time. For me.”
And so, I hang on as he rams into me, hard and fast. Everything is so intense, borderline painful, but the pain only feeds to the bliss. Apart from hurt and pleasure, my mind is blank. All I can do is cling on to the beast above me; how his muscles flex beneath my fingers. He’s large, and I realize that I couldn’t fight him off, even if I wanted to. I am completely and entirely at his mercy. This thought feeds to my arousal like nothing else.
Soon enough I feel him swell and twitch between my velvet walls, and both his thrusts and groans become even more animalistic. In a brief moment of clarity, I wrap my fingers around the chain around his neck and pull him in for a deep kiss, grunts and cries muffled by our lips on each other. His pace is faltering, hips stuttering, and then he spills himself into my core, hot seed splattering my battered walls. He lets go of a deep moan and keeps rutting into me, making sure I get everything he has. The sensation of his essence shooting inside me send me over the edge. I cry out, curses mingling with his name, my mind in a daze as I fall slack against the bed.
I barely feel how Geralt pulls out carefully and cleans me up, whispering gentle words while I just lie there. I don’t understand the words he’s saying, my mind too far gone, but I feel safe in his presence. My world goes black the moment he pulls me into his protective embrace.
Hours later, I wake up, still trembling and aching. Geralt must have not slept at all, because as soon as I begin to stir, he peppers my face with soft butterfly kisses.
“Shh, you’re safe, little kitten. I got you. Shh,” he coos as I whimper, gently rubbing my arms and back. “Are you okay?” His question is gentle, but when I turn my head to look at him, his face is as serious as it could get.
“Yeah,” I nod weakly, “It just… it hurts a little.” A lie. It hurts a lot. But I want it to hurt. This was the only night I was able to spend with him, I’m certain, so I want to remember it; I want to feel him for weeks.
“I’m sorry. I was too rough. I couldn’t stop myself,” Geralt rambles and I shake my head, cupping his jaw and kiss his stubbled chin.
“It was a lot, but it was amazing,” I giggle, “You were amazing. I don’t think I ever felt this good, and I doubt I will ever feel that way again. Witcher, you’ve ruined me.”
His low, rumbling laugh is music to my ears. “Good, because I intend on keeping you, my lady.”
“I… what. I thought-”
“Shh, sleep now, little kitten. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”
With a hum of agreement, I nuzzle up closer to him. Chuckling, Geralt turns to lie on his back and pulls me with him, sprawled out on his chest. There, he hold me close while I press small kisses to the hollow of his throat until I fall back asleep.
The morning comes way too soon, bright rays of sunlight breaking through the gaps in the heavy curtains, shining rudely right into our faces. I groan, nuzzling my face further into Geralt's neck, inhaling his intoxicating musk. He rubs my back, laughing quietly to himself and pulls the blanket higher. But as hard as I try, I can’t seem to fall asleep. I let out a frustrated huff as I lift my head, finding Geralt relaxed, with his eyes closed, a soft smile playing on his lips.
“Morning,” I grumble tiredly, making him chuckle as he opens his eyes, peering down at me.
“Good morning, little kitten. Slept well?” His raspy morning voice makes me melt.
“Mhmhh,” I hum, “Just too short.” I’m silent for a moment, contemplating whether I should say it or not. Fuck it. “But I’ve never slept better.”
“You said you’re planning to keep me?” I ask timidly, after another moment of silence.
“Only if you want to, my lady.” He turns to his side, holding me so we can properly look at each other. Though his face remains soft and gentle, I can see something in his eyes that makes my heart hurt. He’s afraid I might reject him, scared to be alone. Carefully, I cup his cheek and capture his lips softly.
“Of course I want to, silly,” I smile as I pull back, “I wasn’t just after you because you seemed like a good fuck, Witcher.”
Geralt dips his head down and kisses me again, full of relief. The kiss slowly but surely becomes deeper. Geralt tugs on my bottom lip with his teeth, making me open my mouth to his tongue. Carefully, he rolls on top of me, caging me with his large body. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him in deeper as our tongues dance.
A knock on the door makes us jump. The door swings open just a second after, giving us no time to, uhm, change our position.
“Good morni- Wow!” Jaskier barges in without much care.
Quickly, I scramble to pull the blankets up to my chin, glaring at my brother, while Geralt flops down next to me.
“My sister and my best friend,” Jaskier gapes jokingly, “About time. I was getting tired of your constant pining. But next time, keep it down a little, will you. I’m sure the whole castle heard you.”
My face heats up and I quickly hide it against Geralt's chest.
“Is there more you wanted to say, Jaskier?” the Witcher grumbles, wrapping me up in his arms.
“No, just that.”
I don’t see it, but I feel the glare that Geralt sends my brother. Shortly after, the door closes with a bang and we’re left alone. Chuckling, Geralt pries my face from the crook of his neck and hold it gently between his large palms.
“Now, where were we?” he smiles before capturing my lips again, sweetly and full of hope.
Needless to say, we spend the whole day in bed, cuddling, kissing and recovering from the night before. Luckily, my brother arranged for food and drinks to be brought to our room – I’m sure I couldn’t walk, I didn’t even bother to try.
“Geralt?” I mumble as we lie in bed, watching the sunset.
“Hm?” he hums, wanting me to continue.
“I’ll follow you, wherever you go,” I whisper, “You do know that, right?”
“I know. But then we have a lot of training to do.” He grins at me, teasingly.
“Oh, so you’re calling me weak?”
“No. You’re definitely not weak. You’ve proven that last night. But there’s still room for improvement.”
“Mhh. Guess you’ll have to protect me, then.” I turn to him, smiling.
“I’ll make sure I’ll do.”
He kisses me sweetly and I sigh against his lips, pulling him close.
4K notes · View notes
penandinkprincess · 12 days ago
Okay so I had a thought in the shower like Jaskier met Eskel or Lambert (leaning towards Eskel) when he was like 8 and whoever it was put up with him asking a bunch of questions which most people didn't do so it made a lasting impression and when Jaskier goes to Kaer Morhen for the first time he's just like good to see you again and it takes a minute but Jaskier still has the same mischievous look in his eye and all they get out is the J of Julian before Jaskier is like "We do not mention my past™ in front of anyone but especially Geralt" and "think about it you can taunt your brother about knowing something he doesn't"
I also had an idea where 14 year old Jaskier and Yennefer became pen pals that could exist in the same brain fic
In my head, Jaskier/Julian had a rough homelife where at best his parents were distant and at worst one or more was actively abusive (boy looks for love EVERYWHERE he wants love SO BAD) (I know it was played for laughs, but the fact that Geralt fucking punched him in the stomach and he still got up and went oh that's fine! raises SO many flags) (sweet boy, why would you follow someone who hit you unless you've grown up thinking that oh people hit me sometimes, but it doesn't mean anything, it's fine!), so I have a personal little ficlet in my head of Julian wandering away as a little kid with half-baked notions of running away and getting totally lost. Maybe a monster finds him and maybe he just stumbles across a witcher on his own, but he's still totally unafraid. I feel Jaskier has always had a heart that's totally open and ready to accept.
In my little scenario, Julian ends up following the witcher around for a couple of days like a little duckling, totally ENTRANCED by this giant stranger. And the witcher lets him because he can't really let a kid wander around alone when the kid is OBVIOUSLY not used to being a forest like a peasant kid would be. And also, this kid is an odd novelty because he is SO unafraid?? What the fuck?? He just chatters on with a million questions the way the witcher has seen kids do with humans other than him? What is up with this kid, why does he not seem to understand that this is not how he should behave around witchers???
Meanwhile Julian is just SO excited to have a grownup! who listens to him! and answers his questions! and doesn't tell him to shut up even once?? His parents and their friends have no patience for his chattering and the only other adults he interacts with at his family's manor are servants, so they listen because he's technically a future viscount so they have to, but they're busy, and Julian even at a young age can read people, so he SEES that they're impatient with him even if they won't say it.
So he imprints HARD on this witcher! Because I think we can all remember, especially as little kids, grownups that made you feel important and listened to. We remember kindness, especially when we might not have known it day to day.
Eventually the witcher finds out where Julian's supposed to be (either through finally convincing him to tell him or backtracking Julian's scent through the woods) and returns him to his family. The witcher is slightly unsettled that his parents didn't even seem to know he was missing, but what else is he supposed to do? He can't take a kid along on the path, and a witcher life is no place for a child. Julian isn't even his child surprise (he wouldn't WANT him to be. the idea of this bright-eyed, sweet child going through the trials makes him feel sick, actually). So the witcher pulls a sobbing Julian off of his legs and hands him over to his nurse and walks away like Julian crying for him doesn't feel like blow from a sword, and he tells himself that Julian will grow out of it. Maybe all kids are that open. One day he might cross paths with him again, and Julian will sneer at him just like every other person the witcher meets.
Julian does not grow out of it. He becomes somewhat of a witcher enthusiast, which makes him a bit of an oddity whose special interest gets him less amusement and more odd looks the older he gets. He doesn't care, though. No matter what, he remembers a stranger who was kind to him when he was a very lonely little boy. So no, he doesn't buy that witchers are emotionless or evil or monsters. He remembers that witcher. He remembers him through his adolescence, through his university years, all the way through when Julian is now Jaskier and is sitting across from a grumpy stranger in a pub in Posada.
A grumpy stranger with a medallion and swords that make Jaskier recognize exactly what he is.
And this time! He can't get dropped off anywhere! He found another witcher the SECOND he was out on his own, and this one will NOT ditch him! He won't let him!
127 notes · View notes
Waffle House AU
It’s never mentioned but for clarification, Jaskier has a beard in this. Anyway, @officerjennie, @all-hail-the-witcher, and myself shouldn’t be left alone together because then things like this happen. I love you both.
Geraskier, rated t, modern au and Geralt's still a witcher
The first time the man showed up, it was nearing three in the morning. The Waffle House Jaskier worked overnights in was as packed as ever, that’s to say there were two regulars sitting at the bar and a hoard of bugs flying around the place.
The man in question was dressed head to toe in some sort of armor that looked like it belonged in a steampunk cosplay and covered in an odd black substance that looked sticky. Even from across the restaurant, Jaskier could already smell the foul odor rolling off the man in waves. It was so strong Jaskier was surprised that he couldn’t see it.
Walking to the other end of the bar, closest to the corner table the man had seated himself it, Jaskier shouted at him, unwilling to get any closer than necessary, “What do you want to drink?”
“Coffee,” the man’s voice was deep, more a growl than anything else.
Wrinkling his nose in displeasure, Jaskier grabbed the coffee pot and a mug and made his way over to the table, singing loudly to himself as he did so. Jaskier’s voice bounced off the shitty interior of the Waffle House, making it echo in a most unpleasant way. Jaskier switched to humming an upbeat tune as he approached the man at the table and began pouring the coffee.
“So, what do you think of my singing?” It was a question Jaskier asked all of his late-night customers. Their answers would determine whether he would keep them as regulars or do his best to run them off.  And his best never failed.
Jaskier frowned at the non-answer, “Come now, three words or less.”
“Filling-less pie.”
Spluttering, Jaskier pointed at the man angrily, “You know nothing about music. What do you want to order?”
“Hashbrowns. Smothered and covered.”
Spinning on his heal, Jaskier stalked away from the man without responding, instead muttering angrily under his breath, “I’ll show you filling-less, you bastard.”
Dropping the plate in front of the man, Jaskier watched as the rubbery meal bounced uncomfortably off the plate before landing back on it, somehow looking even worse than it already had.
“What is this?” The man’s voice held no inflection and Jaskier had no way of knowing the man’s feelings as he looked at the pathetic plate in front of him.
“Your food.”
“I ordered hashbrowns.”
Jaskier had to hold in his gasp as the man’s eyes, the most unusual golden shade, met his.
“Well, this is what I’ve brought you.”
The man looked back at the plate, flipping open the joke of an omelet, revealing that it was just eggs cooked in a pan and folded over, “There’s nothing inside. What kind of omelet doesn’t have anything in it?”
“Oh? Do you not like filling-less omelets? What a shame.”
Jaskier stalked back to the bar and took a seat by the regsiter, pulling his book back out and pretending to read it while he watched the man from the corner of his eye. He didn’t even look back to Jaskier’s direction, instead staring grumpily at the eggs in front of him before beginning to eat them.
The man ate quickly and before long he was walking over to the register where Jaskier sat, throwing a wad of bills down on the counter, “Keep the change.”
“I will.”
“You’re a shitty waiter.”
“You smell bad.”
And that, Jaskier assumed, would be that and he would never have to see the weird, smelly, strangely attractive man ever again.
The next night when the man arrived again, this time covered in a weird flaky green substance, Jaskier couldn’t help but eye him suspiciously. People didn’t typically return after Jaskier provided intentionally bad service, at least not if they were sober and of a sound mind. Jaskier couldn’t confidently say this man’s mind was sound, although he did seem sober.
Jaskier grabbed the coffee pot and a mug and stalked over to the corner table. He filled the cup halfway.
“More hashbrowns?”
The man wrinkled his brow, a frown on his face “Yes.”
Wandering back to the kitchen, in no rush, Jaskier stuck his head back in to look at the cook, “More eggs like last night. And can you add something weird to them this time?”
The line cook saluted him before reaching up to grab something off the shelf above his head. Jaskier winced, he wasn’t sure what exactly was in the mixtures of spices that were kept up there, but he had never had a good experience with them, that was for certain. This would for sure run off the weird tone-deaf man for good. The cook was done in no time and Jaskier walked the plate over to the man in the corner, throwing it down on the table like he had the night before.
He did no more than blink in surprise when the table collapsed. Jaskier wasn’t sure exactly why the table collapsed, the plate and shitty eggs didn’t weigh very much, and he hadn’t thrown the plate down particularly hard. But, it wasn’t the weirdest thing he has ever seen in the Waffle House, so he simply caught the man’s eye and shrugged, turning and walking back to his seat.
He watched amusedly as the man juggled his plate off the table before propping it up awkwardly and moving seats. That hadn’t been part of Jaskier’s plan, but it would certainly work in his favor.
Jaskier was shocked when the man walked in for a third night in a row. The normally difficult to fluster waiter was very aware that his face was the very picture of surprise. Luckily, the man didn’t even look at him as he walked over to the table in the corner. He shook it a bit before sitting down, presumably making sure it wouldn’t collapse today. To be honest, Jaskier wasn’t overly confident it was any sturdier now, but it did appear that someone on day shift had at least made it look as though it was fixed.
Grabbing the coffee pot and a mug, Jaskier couldn’t help but hope this wouldn’t truly become a ritual. He didn’t want a man in his Waffle House if said man couldn’t tell that Jaskier’s singing was nothing short of marvelous.
“Hashbrowns again?”
The man nodded, staring out of the window rather than looking at Jaskier. He wasn’t in the weird steampunk armor anymore, this time wearing a soft black tee shirt and worn in jeans. It also seemed he had managed to find a bath and was able to get all of the weird grimy things off of him.
He really was quite attractive all cleaned up, Jaskier couldn’t help but notice.
“What’s your name?”
The man turned to look at him, “Geralt.”
Walking over to the kitchen, Jaskier put in the order and sat back down by the register to wait. It wasn’t long before One-Eyed Larry grunted at him from his usual seat at the bar, “Napkin holders on fire, kid.”
Looking over at the table in front of Geralt’s, Jaskier saw that the napkin holder was, indeed, on fire. Sighing and getting a glass of water, Jaskier walked over to the table and poured the glass on it, drenching it thoroughly. Waving away the smoke, Jaskier turned the napkin holder around, making sure the fire was completely out, before putting it back in its place and taking his seat again.
Geralt’s golden eyes followed him curiously the whole time.
If the man was going to be spending his nights here, then he would need to get used to these kinds of things. It was three in the morning in a Waffle House, weirder would happen.
A few minutes more passed before there was a bell ding from the kitchen, signaling that Geralt’s food was ready. Jaskier tossed the plate on the table as was tradition, smirking when he saw the surprise flit across the man’s face. No doubt he hadn’t been expecting to receive hashbrowns, smother and covered as he had first asked for two nights prior.
What could Jaskier say, he was rather weak for a pretty face. Even if was a rude one.
“If you agree that my singing is spectacular, I’ll let you take me out for coffee sometime.”
“Good coffee or this shit?” Geralt gestured to the mug in front of him.
Jaskier scoffed, “You think I would ever eat or drink anything from here?”
“That’s comforting.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.” Jaskier sat a notepad and pen on the table, “Leave your number and I’ll call you tomorrow to cash in.”
Later when Jaskier cleared the table, he couldn’t help but smile at the neat handwriting on the notepad.
Looking forward to hearing from you. You should get your napkin holder checked out.
 Check out my masterlist!
 Tag list: @jaskierswolf​ @fontegagrilledcheese​ @dani-dandelino​ @feraljaskier​ @bastardofmothman​ @moonysrz​ @its-onions​ @dapandapod​ @negativenuggetz​ @feral-jaskier​ @kueble​ @llamasdumpsterfire​ @selectivegeekwithstandards​ @holymotherwolf @officerjennie
218 notes · View notes
fic-request-blog · 3 months ago
A Welcoming Sea
This is inspired by @srapsodia  ‘s art here. I am, of course, still behind on about six requests, but I saw Jaskier’s little smile and have had nothing but it rattling around in my brain since. (I have fallen into the Witcher fandom over the last few months, in large part because of @srapsodia  ‘s art, though plenty of authors have also contributed to this.) To those of you still waiting on requests, I am swiftly getting my writing feet back under me. 
This post finally ends my roughly three year hiatus, so thank you to everyone in the Witcher fandom, most especially @srapsodia
Gen fic, just Geralt realizing something. 
A Welcoming Sea
Geralt looks up, scanning the clearing for any last supplies, hands busy strapping their bags to Roach for the day. It's not long after dawn, but the day is bound to be hot and he wants to get a few hours of travel in before he needs to give her a rest from the incoming heat. Jaskier, thank the gods, is actually up, though he's still a while from coherency. He's of no help in the mornings, but at least he's dressed and Geralt doesn't have to drag him from his bedroll. 
Geralt nods, finding nothing missing. 'Time to go, bard' forms at the tip of his tongue, but it washes away in an instant, the rest of his thoughts dropping from his mind just as quickly. 
Jaskier stands in front of a break in the trees, hands wrapping loosely around the strap of his lute case, looking off to his right. He is quiet for once, utterly motionless, his hands idle as he drifts outside of true wakefulness. A little smile is playing over his soft features, blue eyes still fuzzy with sleep, but warm with fondness. Their blue is all the deeper from the doublet fitted across his shoulders, the rich fabric seemingly reflecting its matching color in Jaskier's eyes. Geralt's breath stutters. The rising sun halos Jaskier's head and shoulders, the golden rays almost appearing to spill forth from his chest where the doublet splits, a bright yellow chemise peaking from underneath. Yellow wildflowers caught in the same golden rays of the sun dance in the open fields behind him. Jaskier is a motionless sea, risen over an easel of blinding gold. 
In the backdrop of morning light, he looks brilliant, looks like the sun has risen with the sole purpose of filling him with its rays. Everything else in the little clearing they've camped in remains dull, muted by the long shadows stretching from the surrounding trees. It is as though the sun filters through Jaskier alone, as though Jaskier brings forth its light, holding it out to wash joy and color into Geralt's grey world. 
And then, slowly, those blue blue eyes sweep across the clearing, moving with the inevitability of the rising sun, to land on Geralt. Suddenly, Geralt is the subject of that little smile, the object of fondness so clearly reflected in those eyes. Time seems to grind to a halt. Geralt is transfixed. He feels as though he is drowning, dropping slowly, endlessly, into two warm pools, no seafloor to be found in their depths. His lungs expand, but can fill only with the sweet softness rolling over him from Jaskier's gaze. 
Geralt has never been caught so thoroughly. The crinkles at the very edges of Jaskier's eyes are there because it is Geralt they have anchored upon. He is bound, trussed and tied tightly, by the realization that the fondness in his bard's sleepy eyes is for him. 
Jaskier loves him. 
There are no other words for the emotion swimming across his face. Jaskier loves him, and the sun rises as it always does. Jaskier loves him, and the sun rises as though the foundation of Geralt's understanding of the world, of himself and his place here, has not gently crumbled into a welcoming sea. Jaskier loves him, and the day moves on.
Geralt finishes tightening the straps on Roach without looking and, even as the sun continues inexorably to rise, he meets Jaskier's gaze. He feels an answering swell of fondness, as natural and powerful as the tides, and decides. 
Jaskier loves him, and this will not just be another day on The Path.
175 notes · View notes
carryonmywaywardbucky · 6 months ago
Tumblr media
Pairing: Geralt x female!reader 
Type: Fluff 
Warnings: Swearing 
Word Count: 1.3k
Summary: Geralt has never shown this much human emotion before. Between Jaskier and his constant jabbering (though it was something Geralt grew to be fond of after a while), and you. Just you. You weren't doing anything aside from existing and it was driving Geralt crazy. He had been blind to his feelings until you threw them down in front of his face. 
Request: hi! can u do "Shut the fuck up and hold my hand, loser” with geralt x fem!reader? (from anon) 
Fluff Prompt #31: "Shut the fuck up and hold my hand, loser”
You had tagged up with Geralt and Jaskier in a village you couldn’t remember the name of five months ago. You were a trained doctor, with everything in your arsenal just short of mage level magic. While Jaskier could haphazardly patch up any minor wound Geralt encountered, you were needed within the small group. 
You stayed with Geralt day in and day out. He was quiet, something you didn’t mind, liked even. You had never been one for conversation, and having someone to be with in comfortable silence was something you could get very used to very quick. 
Geralt liked your presence. You were useful for something more than conversation or entertainment. He enjoyed talking to you and hearing what you had to say. Not many people had been able to keep up with him in a normal conversation, but you impressed him with the knowledge and opinions you had on certain topics. 
Jaskier was just about done with your shameless flirting. As far as he knew, it had been you flirting and Geralt getting lucky with his responses. Either way, he was sick of the unresolved tension. At the end of a long hunt, Jaskier was ready to see the end of the banter. 
“I’m going to spend the night in town,” he announced as he stood up with his lute and coin bag. “Meet in front of the tavern in the morning?” 
He hoped leaving you alone with Geralt would spark something that would lead to the end of the back and forth. 
“Stay safe,” you and Geralt said at the same time without looking up. Jaskier rolled his eyes as he walked off through the trees. 
You and Geralt went about your business after Jaskier left. Geralt was sharpening his sword, watching the sparks disappear into the night air. You were posted up by the fire, drying some of the herbs you had picked earlier in the day. Geralt looked over at you in fascination. Watching you work was one of his favorite things. 
“What are you doing?” he asked, though he already knew what you were doing. He just liked to hear your voice. 
“Drying some herbs I picked today,” you answered, glancing up at him as he came to sit by your side. “Some of them are for healing but some we can save if we run out of food.” 
“You know I’d never let us run out of food,” Geralt said, looking at you intently. You could feel his eyes on the back of your head. 
“I know,” you answered, focusing on tying the twine around the bundle of sage. You glanced back over your shoulder and tossed him a smirk. “But it can be nice to take a break from venison every once in a while.” 
Geralt chuckled quietly and continued watching you. A comfortable silence settled over you. It was always like this between you and Geralt. You didn’t need to talk to enjoy the other’s company. You were relaxed as you continued drying and tying your herbs. 
Geralt, on the other hand, was waging a mental war. Jaskier had dropped the perfect opportunity for him to admit his feelings right into his lap. The bard could be annoying as all fuck, but he was smart as shit. Geralt knew exactly what Jaskier had been doing when he decided to spend the night in town.  
Trying to quiet his mind, Geralt looked up to the sky. It was alive with the orange and pink and purple hues of the sunset. However pretty it was, though, it didn’t work. He was still overthinking. 
“Stop thinking,” you said, pulling Geralt’s attention back to you. “I can practically smell the smoke.” 
“Nice,” Geralt hummed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. 
“What’s got you so uptight anyway?” you asked, setting the last bundle of herbs in your basket and moving to sit on the log next to him. 
He swallowed thickly and stared into the fire and in an instant you knew exactly what was wrong. You had never seen him this flustered and it could only mean one thing. 
“Shut the fuck up and hold my hand, loser,” you said, offering your hand, palm up. Geralt froze, looking between your face and your hand. He tentatively laced his fingers with yours. The feeling of your hand, small in his, made his heart rate speed up to what could be considered concerning for a normal person. The affectionate physical contact was not something he was used and didn’t think he ever would be. 
“This is,” his voice trailed off as he tried to find the right word. 
“Different?” you offered. 
“Different,” he agreed, cracking a small smile. 
“A good different,” you tried to gauge his reaction. “Or bad different?” 
“Good different,” Geralt mumbled as he studied the way his fingers were interlaced with yours, how his rough skin contrasted with your smooth skin. He was fascinated by the difference and contrast of it all. “A very good different.” 
“Can I show you something else different?” you asked, your heart rate picking up. Geralt’s amber eyes flicked up to yours, his brow furrowed in confusion. 
“Sure,” he answered, his voice quiet. 
You hesitated before continuing. You knew he had been kissed before, it was no secret. You knew what he was doing on those nights he left you to babysit Jaskier. Yet still, you were confident he had never been kissed as you were planning to. 
Your fingertips danced over his cheek and slipped into his hair. Confusion crossed his face. You leaned closer, your lips just inches from his. He stayed still, letting you take the lead. You careful pressed your lips to his, waiting for his reaction. He didn’t move, unsure of what to do. 
Your kiss was affectionate and loving and passionate. All things Geralt had never felt in one place before. Softness and gentle touches. A kiss with love and sincerity behind it. He wasn’t used to it, but he was sure he could learn to be. 
“Was that okay?” you asked, your voice hoarse as you pulled away. 
“Can you do it again?” he requested. You smiled and kissed him again. He savored it, basking in the moment. He tried to commit the feeling of your lips against his to memory. He engraved it into his mind, filing it away for future use. 
Geralt couldn’t remember a time when he had felt so at peace. 
Jaskier hummed to himself as he walked back through the woods to the camp. He’d waited outside the tavern for all of five minutes before he knew you and Geralt wouldn’t be meeting him. 
“I fucking knew it,” he said to himself in pride as he came across the camp. You and Geralt were fast asleep next to the remnants of the fire, you tucked under one of Geralt’s arms and pressed tightly to his chest. Jaskier took a second to admire the fruits of his plan before grabbing the cup of water that had gone cold and pouring on Geralt’s head. 
“The fuck?” he grumbled as he jolted awake, bringing you out of your slumber in the process. Geralt groaned when he saw Jaskier standing above him, a smug look on his face. “Fuck.” 
“Fuck indeed,” Jaskier grinned as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes. “So, how was your night? Better than mine, I’ll wager.” 
“Depends,” you yawned, subconsciously sinking back into Geralt’s warm embrace. “What did you do?” 
“Oh no, no,” Jaskier chided, sitting down on a log and settling his lute in his lap. “We’re not playing that game. You two are going to tell me everything and I am going to write the greatest love ballad the Continent has ever heard.” 
“Unless you want the words ‘shut the fuck up and hold my hand, loser’ in your ballad I suggest you put that lute away and help clean up,” Geralt grumbled as he stood up, helping you along with him. 
“You didn’t!” Jaskier’s jaw fell open in surprise. “Oh Y/N I am so proud of you!” 
You and Geralt exchanged a look. It was going to be a long journey to the next town. 
HENRY TAG LIST: @miraclesoflove​ @mashtoncliffin​
334 notes · View notes
When Buttercups Wither
Also on AO3. Lots more under the cut!
Jaskier dies an old man, and the Witchers are saddened at his leave, but they bury him in Oxenfurt with his lute, and move on with their lives.
Unexpectedly, Jaskier finds himself back in the world of the living, with a burning desire to right the wrongs upon Witchers across the continent. For a while all he can be is aggressive, inconveniencing anyone who he had heard say something bad about the Witchers he devoted his life to. He figured out pretty quickly that he’s a ghost.
What’s strange to him is that he doesn’t seem to be attached to his lute. Realistically that should be it, right? A love of music that’s brought him back to watch how his legacy drags on. But no, he finds himself in shitty taverns and inns mixing lye into horrible people’s ale.
It takes him a while, but he finally gets the pattern: he wakes up in a dark room, usually alone, and finds people in the main room raging about Witchers. When he finally takes a moment to look around instead of immediately going for a target, he recognizes a familiar presence.
There are Witchers wherever he goes.
Jaskier has, somehow, become attached to Witchers. When he realizes this his vengeful spirit begins to settle, and he starts being useful. Whenever he wakes up, he finds the Witcher he’s attached to and helps them. At first it’s with vengeance, then it’s with a tidier room, checking the beds for lice, and if it isn’t safe he breaks the doorknobs. His help goes unrecognized, but at this point, hems used to being ignored.
The first time a Witcher thanks him it’s a man from Griffin school, and he hears the man’s name echo through his shapeless form. Coën. He says it quietly, “someone must be watching out for me,” he chuckled to the air. “Well they have my gratitude.”
Jaskier finds himself on the road next, sitting in a camp beside a Witcher with a very familiar medallion. It’s not Geralt, this one has scars over the side of his face. He looks sad, and Jaskier wants to comfort him. He thinks the Witcher must feel it, when Jaskier wraps his arms around his shoulders, tells him his work is important, that humans may be ungrateful but he knows of his sacrifice, and is so proud he’s alive. The Witcher sighs, tension disappearing. Then he gets his name— Eskel. “Someone has to do the job, eh Scorpion?” The Witcher says, looking at his horse. Much better than Roach, thinks Jaskier. Jaskier stays with Eskel as long as he can, with nowhere else to go, sings to him while he falls asleep. He doesn’t need a thank you, that the Witcher eases is thanks enough.
Jaskier finds himself in similar places for a while, a tavern where Witchers are being cursed, on the road when a Witcher is feeling down. The names start blurring. Aiden, Letho, Ivo. Jaskier helps all of them find a moment of peace.
He runs into another wolf some time later, and he seems to be a little off. Jaskier heard his name, Lambert. Lambert is standing before a cliff, looking down at the ravine, holding a bottle of wine. Jaskier has a terrifying thought that the Witcher wants to die, and jumps in front of him. He shoves uselessly at his chest, runs his hands through his hair and begs “please, stay alive,” and pulls at his armor until Lambert sighs and retreats back to his camp. Jaskier, ghostly tears on his face, follows him, clinging the entire time. Jaskier sits on a log and it clears, just a little, under his weight. Lambert stares at the log and Jaskier sees his pupils narrow into slits.
“What are you, seeing ghosts?” Lambert speaks to himself, and shakes his head. “Could’ve been me. Maybe it was you who got me away from that cliff.” He huffs a breath. “Must not be great for a Witcher in the afterlife.” Jaskier can’t bear the one sided conversation.
“It’s not so bad,” he says. “But the world is better with you here to protect it.” Jaskier kicks a rock, and Lambert watches it scurry away.
“My very own ghost,” Lambert says. “Nah, It’s the wind.” He eyes the bottle in his hand. “Well, Maybe...” Jaskier Can see the indescision. Lambert looks up. “Eskel and Geralt are going to think I’m crazy,” he huffs, and sets the bottle right where the rock had been. “If there is someone there, well...” Lambert sniffs. “Thanks for watching out for me.” Jaskier cries again, and when Lambert goes to bed, is pleased to find he can still drink the wine.
- -
Jaskier doesn’t expect to get to Kaer Morhen, but he finds himself there in the winter, peering over familiar white hair. Geralt. Jaskier hadn’t really gotten to say goodbye, though he knew Geralt had visited his grave. He could sense the sadness in his mind, but then he listened to the conversation. He recognizes Lambert and Eskel. Eskel is listening to Lambert, whose talking about a suspiciously empty wine bottle, and Eskel talks about being sung to sleep. Oh. Geralt must have been thinking about him. Jaskier has gained some strength in the world, likely as the Witchers he assists have acknowledged a presence that helped them. He starts humming Toss a Coin in Geralt’s ear, running his hand through his hair, rubbing his shoulder. “I’m still around,” he says, knowing Geralt still can’t hear him. But the sadness exits his eyes as he sings, and instead he smiles lightly.
“What are you grinning about?” Eskel Asks. Geralt shakes his head.
“Jaskier,” he says. “He would’ve sung for you.” Eskel looks pained.
“I’m sorry, I know you miss him—“ Geralt rises abruptly.
“Bet it was his ghost or something,” he says. “Seems like him, right?” And Geralt sounds so fond. “Reminding Witchers of their worth when they feel like shit.” He looks around and Jaskier finds himself in tears again, clinging to Geralt, saying his name,
“You are worthy, every one of you.”
“It’s like I can almost smell him.” Jaskier kicks him. He May have been stinky in his life, but he is a perfectly clean ghost! Geralt shifts his foot and looks down at it.
“Do you think...” it’s Lambert who speaks. Everyone looks at him, surprised by the meekness in his voice. “Maybe it was him?” Jaskier feels a surge of something in his chest. He hugs Lambert from behind, and his shoulders ease. “Maybe he’s come back as a ghost to help out Witchers. Aiden told me he saw someone who was shouting about mutants pass out at a counter last summer, and Coen said that thing about having a nice room...” Geralt and Eskel both look surprised. “It’s stupid but...” Jaskier remembers the sadness in Lambert’s eyes when he stood on that cliff.
“It could be,” Eskel said. “Some kind of spectre. They exist.” Geralt looks down at the ankle Jaskier had kicked.
“Guess he’s still mad at me then,” he sighs. Eskel puts a hand on his shoulder.
“He’ll come round.”
- -
Jaskier calls out to Geralt as a warning, hoping he can be heard, when he sees a monster leap at him. His senses must have alerted him, as Geralt whips around and slices with his silver sword— Jaskier feels a surge of energy in his body as he watches Geralt heave for air and stumble back, whipping his head around.
“Jaskier?” He calls. Geralt looks down at the sword and pulls it from the monster. “Thank you,” he says. Jaskier smiled, but is tugged away by another Witcher in need.
- -
Jaskier gains more abilities, he discovers. With every encounter he seems capable of doing more to help, finding that he can scream warnings, or move very small things, and make sound when he walks— his feet crunch over gravel sometimes when he’s concentrating on it, and he sees Witchers look down from their horses in shock. He can also sing, though he doesn’t have his lute, and he doesn’t know what he sounds like, but it seems to ease Witchers into sleep. Jaskier also learns—
It’s their swords. Since he watched Geralt sink his sword into a warg he’s paid more attention, always found himself directly behind a walking Witcher, or standing by their gear when they left it in a room in an inn. Jaskier is connected to the silver in a Witcher’s sword. He knows they can’t kill him— has been run through more than once with it, and when they’re used with his added existence he feels the power surge through him. It’s incredible.
Jaskier continues helping, and he finds more Witchers regularly, until he’s met all the ones he think exist, and run back between them a few times. He’s been called names: the wolves call him Jaskier, but he gets “buttercup” a lot, sometimes “friendly ghost,” sometimes “friend,” and it’s always in gratitude. Jaskier also gets gifts sometimes. Lambert always leaves him something, a drink, a coin, a carved instrument. But he gets other gifts, like the buttercups he apparently leaves when he’s lingered. And he hears Witchers talk to each other about him. He catches a conversation between Lambert and Aiden and Aiden learns his name. Letho and Geralt chat and Letho starts calling him Jaskier. Jaskier gains a reputation as a helpful spirit, and sometimes Witchers will cal on him directly, seeking a little emotional support. Jaskier is happy to provide.
Jaskier talks to them a lot, even though they can’t hear him. He finds Geralt walking down a road in Redannia and starts telling him about the Witchers he’s helped that day. He tells him about the gifts he’s been given. The excellent wine that Lambert left him the other day. He rubs Geralt’s back and tells him how much he values him.
Mages can see him now.
Nearly all the Witchers know him by name, and he’s become quite a presence in their stories to each other. They even make some up, and wonder what he gets up to when he’s not helping Witchers. The answer? Well, Jaskier isn’t sure what he does either.
He first encounters his mage issue when he’s with Geralt, appearing where he’s rested his swords by the door of Yennefer’s cottage. They’re talking, and Jaskier strides over.
“Yennefer again, Geralt? I should have known you’d still be in touch. She’s not good for you, you know.” Yennefer looks right at him. Geralt is still looking at her.
“Geralt?” Yennefer asks, turning back to him.
“How long has Jaskier been a ghost?” Geralt looks around.
“Can you see me?” Jaskier asks, looking at his body. It’s a little more solid now, after years of existing. Yennefer nods a little. Jaskier claps a hand over his mouth.
“Since his death, likely,” Geralt mumbled. He sounds sad again.
“Look at that, you’ve gone and made him sad again.” Yennefer scoffs.
“Not my fault Witchers can’t see spectres.”
“He’s here? It’s him?” Geralt’s questions for ignored, and Jaskier starts bickering with Yennefer.
“You’re looking young, Jaskier... I know. Yes, I’m hilarious aren’t I?” Jaskier tuts at the insensitive joke about his death.
“Well I’m going to go, since you two are clearly occupied. Since you can talk to Geralt, do tell him I miss him, won’t you? And that I don’t hate him?” Yennefer’s eyes soften.
“Alright,” she agrees. Geralt looks confused. “Bye, Jaskier.” Jaskier tilts his head, listening for any summons. None come, so he decides to travel with Eskel so he can rant. Eskel’s always been good at interpreting him.
- -
Jaskier continues to gain power, and manages to figure out his connection to Witchers swords. It’s easy now, to lock onto large bulky silver and manifest. He manages to find their daggers too— viper school is more fond of the smaller ones. Then he can get around by sending their medallions— though it was riskier, as he discovered it made them vibrate when he concentrated on them. Jaskier has been met more than once by a Witcher whirling around for a fight, and had to calm them down by moving dirt and stomping his feet for them to discover it’s just him.
After that he can teleport to anything silver, not just on Witchers. He finds himself freeing an elf prisoner from silver handcuffs. Rescuing a woman wearing a silver necklace from bandits by shouting in their ears. Comforts a recently widowed man wearing a silver ring. He was proud of that one, seeing him cry out his feelings and telling him his wife was in a good place. He had gone to sleep satisfied.
Jaskier was also given more gifts— he liked the wine a lot, but a Kadewen town where he’d helped several people near Kaer Morhen started bringing silver coins and buttercups to a fountain in the square. Jaskier was pleased, liked to sit and sing to passerby. They’d pause sometimes, almost as if they could hear him. And Jaskier gained more power.
- -
The fountain turned from stone to silver where he sat, when the offerings of silver coins grew, and Jaskier seemed to just bring it lut. It was a miracle, people said, but the Witchers who came in for supplies just before winter knew, had figured out where Jaskier came from.
Jaskier starts to turn more things into silver. Plated earrings into solid metal, cheap gifts from husbands turned into expensive indulgences for their wives, and it wasn’t long before that little trick was discovered and people started putting things in the fountain to purify. Jaskier discovered by accident the water had been purified, and upon following the source found a whole stream of pure freshwater. He didn’t know what it was, but Jaskier was happy to be helping. He couldn’t do it on command at first, but his ability grew until he could.
More often than not of course, Jaskier traveled with other Witchers. He only took reprieves to inspect his fountain. (Because undoubtedly it was his fountain. The Witchers called it his, the townsfolk called it an offering to “the silver being” and Yennefer called it a sham.
“You realize,” Yennefer said one day, sitting beside him on the fountain. “You’re a god?” Jaskier’s jaw dropped.
“I’m just a ghost!” He said. “And a lot of people know I exist!”
“Jaskier,” Yennefer shook her head. “You’re sitting on your shrine.” Jaskier blinked and looked at the fountain.
“This is just a fountain,” he said sheepishly. But people put things in it as gifts to him. People called on him for aid. There were stories about him. “Oh,” he said. “I’m a god.”
“Congratulations,” Yennefer said jokingly. “But what are you the god of?”
“Witchers?” He suggested. “Turning things into silver?” No, he had turned water fresh, not into silver.
“Maybe...” Yennefer said softly. “Maybe you’re the god of purity.” Jaskier snorted. “Think about it,” she said again. “You remind Witchers of their worth. You turn stone into silver. You turn a dirty stream into freshwater.”
“I’m no pure god,” Jaskier repeated. “I just see the good in everything. The value. And the water was an accident.” Yennefer smiles brightly.
“That’s it then,” she says.“The god of the pure within the impure.”
That made sense, actually. There was silver in stone. There was humanity in mutants. There was freshness in water.
“Can I also be the god of Witchers?” He asked. Yennefer laughed, but Jaskier was serious.
“Jaskier, you’re a friend to Witchers. You’re the god of their weapons. Just as you’re an enemy of their critics, but a god of their critics’ jewelery.” Jaskier smiled, content with the explanation.
A ghost to a god.
Well, there was some purity in his spirit after all.
Part 2
5K notes · View notes
Geralt and sexual assaults
As you know, sexual assault and rape usually happens only – or mostly – to female characters. Especially in medieval and war settings of the books: which yes, is realistic, but also often used just for shock value, and ignores that men also can be victims of sexual assault. I’m not going to get into statistics for this one – we know it happens, we know that society often ignores it – but I’m going to talk about how it’s shown in The Witcher books.
Usually, when books are written by a male author, you see that they usually flinch away from such topic. Yet, Sapkowski approaches important topics as racism, women agency, abortion rights, climate change, war, prejudice – head on. And so, we see not only Jarre, a male student from Nenneke’s temple, narrowly escaping a threat of being sexually assaulted… but Geralt, too. A male character— male protagonist, even! And, what’s interesting (and unfortunate for him), he doesn’t exactly… escape the threat. This doesn’t happen every day nor in every book. I’m going to get further into this below, but I just want to add something right now:
…how this changes when it comes to the games and fandom. I think we all agree that if someone has to be put under influence (be it drugs or alcohol… or a spell) to agree to have sex with other person, that act is not consensual by any means. Especially if that same person keeps on refusing the advances later on when they’re sober. And yet, Triss Merigold, your typical genderbent “Nice Guy™” (who used a spell to get Geralt into her bed, and then enjoyed his pain) is made into Geralt’s potential love interest in the games! It honestly blows my mind, seriously. Then the fandom (especially Team Triss gamers) who tends to say things like “yeah, she’s a rapist, but she’s hot”, “that was a very small spell!” etc. It ties into the society’s line of bullshit and hurtful argument that “men can’t be raped”, “a guy should be happy he scored with a hottie” and such. Ugh.
Unfortunately for Geralt, but very in line with Sapkowski’s play on subverting the tropes (the Chosen One telling the world to fuck itself after she loses everything, and fucking off; the Love Interest not being a fawning and fainting damsel in distress; the Male Co-Protagonist being passive and not wanting to be a hero or to change the world), Sapko decided to – apart from having some female characters be assaulted or threatened (to be fair, I remember the most vividly the time with a girl from a family that died from some plague – because it was something that finally made Geralt decide consciously to tell his neutrality to go fuck itself, and act) – have Geralt join that group, too.
I have to say, I don’t usually come across any male characters in the books or shows – and, especially, male protagonists – that have the same fate fall upon them that falls on their female counterparts. It’s an important topic in itself – it shows that men can be vulnerable too. And Geralt – a “tough” witcher – shows that in a very solid way. Yes, he’s a passive, pacifistic, pretty submissive character around his friends and loved ones, but also a character that can fight very well and stands up to injustice. He preaches neutrality, but comes to recognize neutrality as something “cruel”. And he’s right. He might not want to engage in the beginning (like when a “crazy village girl” was about to be on trial for being a witch, and Jaskier turned to look at Geralt so he’d help her… but Geralt avoided his gaze), but will do it anyway – he won’t stand innocents being hurt (two minutes later, Geralt challenged the priest to leave the girl alone ;)).
I think Geralt not doing anything to defend himself (apart from one instance - he defended himself against two men in prison who wanted to rape him - we’ll get to it in a bit) falls in line with his character: he takes a lot of shit when it’s about him, but draws the line when it’s about others. Like – with Coral. When Geralt really turned away from her? When she teleported away to safety instead of helping him save drowning people. He even accused her of leaving later. He liked Coral when she was dangerous but helping women at the same time, but the moment he discovered she would abandon others in need? She stopped existing to him right then.
So, what are the times that Geralt’s assaulted? And how he reacts? I’m talking about them under the cut below :)
1.       Dub-con. Iola.
Why Iola? She had sex with Geralt while he was barely conscious and injured. It’s literally the first scene of the books, and it sets the tone of it. Geralt is there in Ellander, he can’t really move after the fight with the striga and Nenneke reopening his wounds to stitch them properly. He definitely wasn’t in the right position to make a decision: “Yet this faint sound was enough to wake the witcher - or maybe it only tore him from the half-slumber in which he rocked monotonously, as though travelling though fathomless depths, suspended between the sea bed and its calm surface amidst gently undulating strands of seaweed”.
 Geralt’s reaction is also very telling:
 “'It's late,' said Nenneke, opening the shutters. 'You've slept in. Off with you, Iola.'
The girl sat up suddenly and leant out of bed to take her mantle from the floor. Geralt felt a trickle of cool saliva on his shoulder, where her lips had been a moment ago.
'Wait...' he said hesitantly. She looked at him, quickly turned away.
She had changed. There was nothing of the water nymph in her any more, nothing of the luminous, chamomile-scented apparition she had been at dawn. Her eyes were blue, not black. And she had freckles - on her nose, her neckline, her shoulders. They weren't unattractive, they suited her complexion and reddish hair. But he hadn't seen them at dawn, when she had been his dream. With shame he realized he felt resentment towards her, resentment that she hadn't remained a dream, and that he would never forgive himself for it.
'Wait,' he repeated. 'Iola... I wanted—'
'Don't speak to her, Geralt,' said Nenneke. 'She won't answer you anyway. Off with you, Iola.'
Wrapped in her mantle the girl pattered towards the door, her bare feet slapping the floor - troubled, flushed, awkward. No longer reminding him, in any way, of—
He thought that Iola had been his dream, she reminded him of Yennefer, and he felt a resentment towards Iola that she wasn’t a dream. I’m calling it a dub-con because Geralt’s aware what was done to him, but stays good friends with Iola later nonetheless.
 2.       Dub-con. Essi Daven.
 Geralt’s feelings about her – after the first fascination – are pretty clear:
“She threw herself violently on his neck. Geralt had anticipated the movement, turning his head for a cool kiss on the cheek. He hugged her gently but with some reservation. He felt the girl's body stiffen and slowly withdraw, but no farther than the length of the arms she was always resting on her shoulders. He knew what she wanted, but he did not meet her expectations: he was not attracted to her.”
 And yet, Essi cries and mopes about Geralt refusing her like a teenage girl mourning the fact that her crush doesn’t love her back (because she’s eighteen, and, well, yes xD). Geralt’s reactions are clear: he doesn’t even think about Essi, his low self-esteem makes him assume that Yen feels about him just like he feels about Essi.
“’By the devil,’ he thought, ‘if, when she is with me, Yennefer feels exactly what I'm feeling now, I sympathize with her plight. I'll never be surprised by her reactions; I'll never hate them... never. (…) No, I will no longer blame Yennefer for being unable and unwilling to give me a little bit of attention. I know now that the smallest trace is as heavy as gold.’”
Essi continues to whine and cry, blaming Geralt that he didn’t bewitch her (wow), says that she would gladly be humiliated in order to get an antidote for love, she says that she hates Yennefer because Geralt loves her, threatens her, she says that she hates Geralt for not taking advantage of her. Like… wowwowwow – wow ;p
“I should,” she moaned again, “be grateful that you don't try to take advantage of the situation. But this is not the case. I am ashamed of that too. I hate your silence and your eyes dilated with fear. I hate you... for your silence, your sincerity, your... Her too, I hate her, the sorceress; I would gladly settle things with her using my knife... I hate her.”
 And what happens later? Jaskier backs Essi up and both guilt-trips and peer-pressures Geralt into having sex with Essi. The story is called “A Little Sacrifice”. And Geralt sacrificed himself for her happiness.
 3.       Non-con. Triss Merigold.
I feel like I don’t even need to explain this at length ;):
a) ‘Of course it wasn’t Geralt. Don’t get excited, little one. Don’t get excited, just think of his expression in the stable. You’ve seen expressions like that before. You’ve seen them, so don’t kid yourself. The foolish, contrite, embarrassed expressions of men who want to forget, who regret, who don’t want to remember what happened, don’t want to go back to what has been. By all the gods, little one, don’t fool yourself it’s different this time. It’s never different. And you know it. Because, after all, you’ve had a fair amount of experience.’
 b) Then Geralt of Rivia appeared. A witcher leading a stormy life, and tied to her good friend Yennefer in a strange, turbulent and almost violent relationship Triss had watched them both and was jealous even though it seemed there was little to be jealous of. Their relationship quite obviously made them both unhappy, had led straight to destruction, pain and yet, against all logic… it had lasted. Triss couldn’t understand it. And it had fascinated her. It had fascinated her to such an extent that… she had seduced the witcher – with the help of a little magic. She had hit on a propitious moment, a moment when he and Yennefer had scratched at each other’s eyes yet again and had abruptly parted. Geralt had needed warmth, and had wanted to forget. No, Triss had not desired to take him away from Yennefer. As a matter of fact, her friend was more important to her than he was. But her brief relationship with the witcher had not disappointed. She had found what she was looking for – emotions in the form of guilt, anxiety and pain. His pain. She had experienced his emotions, it had excited her and, when they parted, she had been unable to forget it. And she had only recently understood what pain is. The moment when she had overwhelmingly wanted to be with him again. For a short while – just for a moment – to be with him.
Geralt doesn’t know what was done to him, that Triss used magic to make him agree to choose her. He thinks he did it on his own. And because of that, he… he even apologizes (!) to Triss for being unable to love her! Ahh, that scene frustrated me the most because an unaware victim apologized to his rapist. As for Triss, she doesn’t learn:
a) she greets Geralt with an unwanted kiss – he tries to stop her
b) Vilgefortz in Ciri’s visions tells her to stay away from Geralt and stop torturing him – if one of your main bad guys says something like that, then you know it’s serious :D
c) Triss has diarrhea and keeps trying to kiss Geralt while he and Ciri bathe her. Ciri is weirded out, Yarpen comments that she shouldn’t mistake kindness for love, and Geralt tries to put a stop to those kisses
d) she keeps obsessing over Geralt and yet betrays them all (Ciri, Geralt, Yen) for the Lodge. Yen dragging Triss is the single most satisfying scene in the books ;p
4.       Verbal assault. Marti and Sabrina.
Geralt clearly doesn’t feel comfortable with their comments about him - and the comments also weren’t made out of a good heart.
‘Don’t talk so loud, Marti,’ hissed Sabrina. ‘Don’t look at him and don’t grin. Yennefer’s watching us too. And stay classy. Do you really want to seduce him? That would be in bad taste.’
‘Hmm, you’re right,’ agreed Marti after a moment’s thought. ‘But what if he suddenly came over and suggested it himself?’
‘In that case,’ said Sabrina Glevissig, glancing at the witcher with a predatory, coal-black eye. ‘I’d give it to him without a second thought, even lying on a rock.’
‘I’d even do it lying on a hedgehog,’ sniggered Marti.
The witcher, staring at the tablecloth, hid his foolish expression behind a prawn and a lettuce leaf, extremely pleased to have the mutation of his blood vessels which prevented him from blushing.
 He even tells about it Yennefer, calling it “rape”, but she doesn’t take him seriously:
‘I will,’ he sighed. ‘But I can’t imagine your wily old fox is capable of surprising me. Not after what I’ve been through here. I’ve been mauled by spies and jumped by endangered reptiles and ermines. I’ve been fed nonexistent caviar. Nymphomaniacs with no interest in men have questioned my manhood. I’ve been threatened with rape on a hedgehog, menaced by the prospect of pregnancy, and even of an orgasm, but one without any of the ritual movements. Ugh . . .’
‘Have you been drinking?’
 5.       Non-con. Female guards in Kerrack.
Geralt takes the abuse while staying polite and mostly silent, even if he’s clearly uncomfortable. The first time he practically escapes out of the room, the second time he has to engage in a fight, but it’s about his stolen swords, not about defending his honor and virtue.
1) The second woman approached and with a movement opened Geralt’s shirt, grabbed the silver chain and pulled out his medallion. (...) ‘A witcher! A mercenary monster slayer! Giving up his sword! Instantly! Humble as shit!’ ‘He would give up his dick had we ask.’ ‘Let’s ask him then! huh, girls? Let him take it out.’ ‘We will see what kind of dick, witchers have.’ ‘Enough!’ the commander shouted. ‘Get gone, cunts! Gonschorek! Come here now! Gonschorek!’
2) ‘The witcher, look at him,’ said the commandant standing very near. ‘He came here.’ ‘I'm leaving town. I'm here to claim my belongings.’ ‘If we let you,’ a second guard elbowed him seemingly accidentally. ‘What will we get in return? You have to buy yourself out, pal, buy out. Eh, wenches? What we will make him do?’ ‘Let him kiss every one of us on the bare ass.’ ‘With licking! And slipping!’ ‘But girls! He will infect us!’ ‘But he has to,’ she pushed him with her breast, hard as rocks, ‘please us somehow, no?’
 3) He was hit in the back of the head, and immediately after that in the ear. And then the loins. One of them tripped him, and two of them got on top of him, and pounding him with fists. The rest were not skimping on kicking him. With a hit of a forehead in the face he eliminated one of guards lying on him, but the other instantly took over. The commandant he recognized because of the dripping sauce. With a blow from overhead he was hit in the teeth. He spat blood straight into her eyes. ‘A knife,’ she shouted, swinging her shaved head. ‘Give me knife! I will cut off his balls!’ ‘Why a knife!’ shouted another. ‘I'll bite his balls off!’
 6.       Non-con. Two fellow prisoners, male.
‘In custody,’ the lawyer finally lifted her eyes, ‘you had beaten two fellow prisoners. I should probably know the reason behind it?’ ‘Firstly I discarded their sexual advances and they did not want to understand that no means no. Secondly I like to beat people up. Thirdly - it’s a lie. They wounded themselves. With the walls. To denigrate me.’ He was talking slowly and blankly. A week in custody had made him completely indifferent. (...) Geralt sighed. He was curious to see if his fellow prisoners had come to their senses, and if they had learned from history. And if he would be forced to beat them up again.
This is the only time when Geralt actually puts up a fight and defends himself, even if he’s very… indifferent and numb after that week in prison in their company. But this is a direct attack with a direct intend to bend Geralt over and have his way with him. Because of that, Geralt is left with no choice but to act and protect himself.
 So! What do you think about this all, hmm? I’m going to wrap this up here, because we’re approaching 3k words, but I’m curious about your opinions – after all, Geralt not only faces prejudice and hatred, but, well, even this, and out of six times, he only one time really put up a fight – I think it speaks a lot about his tendency to just take the abuse and think about other people first.
699 notes · View notes
theamazingbard · 6 months ago
companion piece to this.
dedicated and blamed on @julek
Jaskier is giving a lecture. His immortality is viewed as a quirk, much like the rest of his sparkling personality. Some do speculate on his humanity, but he brushes it off. So long as he gets to play his music, pass knowledge off to the curious, and remain free, he is happy.
Are there things he wishes were different? Sure! But he is going to make the best of his undefined lifetime.
And so he gives the best lecture he can.
It's about the halfway mark when something hot sears through his stomach. Jaskeir doubles over, clutching at the phantom pain. Blood drips onto the floor from between his fingers. The iron taste enters his mouth and spills out of his lips.
His classroom breaks into chaos.
Absurdly, he thinks about how he's lost control over his students. Then he falls into his own puddle of blood, likely ruining his robes.
Someone rolls him onto his back, presses their hands to his wound.
"What happened? Professor, what happened?"
It's here that Jaskier realizes his connection, his tie to Geralt's life, has finally reached their obvious conclusion. A consequence he's never truly forgotten, but pushed to the back of his mind: Geralt is dying.
Now Jaskier is dying, too.
Why couldn't Geralt have taken a swift arrow to the head, or fallen off a cliff? Why must it be slow?
Why must he suffer?
Jaskier never wanted that for his old friend. Even after everything. The absence in his life, the incident with the dragon, and worst of all: stealing Jaskier's heart.
The pain doesn't fade, exactly, but Jaskier's awareness of it does. Whichever student is trying to staunch the blood cannot save him. Does not realize there is magic at play.
Through this bond between his life and Geralt's, he thinks he might feel the witcher beside him. Whether reality has folded in on itself, or he's simply hallucinating doesn't matter.
Jaskier reaches a hand out, reaches for Geralt. The bastard has gotten himself maimed by a beast of some sort. The least he can do is walk hand in hand with an old friend to the edge of existence. And, in this way, he can insure his witcher isn't alone.
Maybe he shouldn't have walked away from Geralt. If Jaskier had forgiven him, perhaps they wouldn't have found their lives ebbing away in such a melodramatic way.
He sees a flash of black and white beside Geralt, and rather than watch the world drain of all color, he closes his eyes and prays for no further pain and for plenty of food, women, and wine in the afterlife.
Pain is a lot more prominent post death than Jaskier had initially envisioned. Fewer bright lights and bouncing breasts as well.
He places a hand on his stomach, half expecting a gaping wound. Instead, he finds bandages.
Jaskier opens his eyes and sits up, finding himself face to face with the second worst witch he's ever met. "And while he's been tended to, in a comfortable bed in a lavish looking room, as well as miraculously alive, he says, "I must be in hell."
"Hold your tongue, or I'll send you there without a second thought." Yennefer replies breezily.
The last time he was Yennefer, she was storming away, tears in her bright violet eyes. For a long time, he was angry with her. Whatever happened between her and Geralt ruined what ever could have happened between Geralt and himself. In time, he realized that it wasn't her fault at all. It was just easier to think that rather than the alternative; that Geralt just couldn't tolerate Jaskier any longer.
"It's good to see you."
There's a brief look of surprise on her face, before it's replaced with indifference. "I'll start charging you if you keep this up."
"What, dying?" Jaskier throws his hands in the air. "But it wasn't my fault this time!"
"Neither was the first time."
"Wait... where's--?"
"Recovering. Your wounds have mostly faded, as they were a product of magic. His, however..." Yennefer shakes his head. "Getting drunk to seek out a vampire. I'd say this is one of the most idiotic things he's ever done, but it doesn't even crack the top ten."
An old itch to hear every detail is difficult to keep at bay. "He's okay, then?"
Jaskier toys with the edge of his bandages. He should be thinking about whether or not his skin has been horribly disfigured. Instead, he can't get his mind off the fact that Geralt is somewhere in Yennefer's current abode, possibly still unconscious.
"How did you forgive him?" He asks.
Yennefer takes a slow, deep breath. "Forgive is a strong word."
"I don't know if I have. But the war got in the way. Our lives were constantly on the line." Jaskier thinks he might see her smile. "And there was the girl to think about."
So he did find his child surprise. Jaskier always did wonder. It still doesn't answer his question.
"Ultimately, it's your decision, Jaskier. He's down the hall. He won't blame you for leaving. I certainly don't care what you do either way." She glides across the room, elegant as always. With her hand on the door handle, she stops. Without turning around, she says, "You're also free to stay." Then, she leaves.
Alone, Jaskier considers his position. True, he feels better by miles. But if he leaves now, he's sure that this will be the last time he will run into Geralt ever again, even with their connection.
As it turns out, it's much easier to forgive someone with your dying breath, than it is facing an uncertain future.
Jaskier mulls the options over in his mind.
Ultimately, he stands and walks towards the door only a few minutes after Yennefer's departure. After all, his impulsivity has matured and aged as much as he has.
He crosses the room, opens the door, and makes his choice.
341 notes · View notes
kueble · 26 days ago
Let Me Spoil You
This is my @thewitcherbog team bingo prompt for intercrural. Thank you to @kuripon for being such a lovely beta.
18+ under the cut. Warnings: None. 1,000 words.
Jaskier ducks under the water, letting the warmth wash over his head and rinse away the soap.  He stays under as long as he can, moving his fingers through his hair and making sure it’s clean.  It’s gotten rather long lately, and while he loves the way Eskel tugs it when they’re caught in the moment, it’s harder to care for.  He might chop it off by spring, but for now the extra time in the hot springs is well worth it.
“Thought I’d have to dive in and save you,” Eskel says, chuckling softly while Jaskier shakes the excess water out of his hair.  “You look like a wet dog.”
“Oi!  Is that any way to treat the man who’s about to wash your hair for you?   Honestly, I get no respect around here.  Not even sure why I let you talk me into wintering here again this year,” he jokes, waving his finger at an amused Eskel.
“Rumor is you love me,” Eskel answers, and it tugs at something in the center of Jaskier’s chest.  He offers Eskel a wide smile and then breaks off in a giggle when he leans forward and nips at the finger he’d been waving at him.
“Can’t believe everything you hear,” Jaskier scoffs, but he breaks under Eskel’s scarred pout, his one fang exposed as the corner of his mouth pulls back.  “This one you can, of course.  Now get over here and let me spoil you.”
Leaning back against the stone wall, he gestures for Eskel to join him.  He does, diving under the water to wet his hair before sitting on Jaskier’s lap, looking out towards the rest of the water.  The caverns are lit by this incredible glowing moss, and Jaskier would be perfectly content to while away the afternoon down here if Eskel will let him.
First things first, though, he has a lover to pamper.
He grabs the bar of soap Eskel prefers - mint and rosemary - and works up a lather before bringing his hands to Eskel’s hair.  He takes his time, massaging his scalp while he works the suds in, making sure every strand gets covered.  Eskel lets out a soft sigh, and Jaskier hums happily as he finishes.
“You can rinse now,” he tells him, and Eskel scoots forward before dipping under the water and running his hands through his hair.  When he’s done, he turns and faces Jaskier, smirking as he shakes his head and water goes flying everywhere.  “Who’s the wet dog now?” Jaskier giggles, slapping him playfully on the shoulder.
“Figured you shouldn’t be the only one who gets to have fun,” Eskel says, chuckling as he slides close again.  For a long moment, they just smile softly at each other, content to just be here in the moment.
But then Jaskier realizes he has a lapful of wet, naked witcher, and his smile turns suggestive.  Eskel grins back before leaning in and catching his mouth in a kiss.  He doesn’t even try to keep it chaste, just moans as Eskel’s tongue slides against his and grinds his hips up against him.  He sucks on Eskel’s tongue and digs his fingers into his hips, desperately trying to get more friction on his quickly hardening cock.
“Want you,” Eskel grunts against his lips, “but it takes way too much time to get me ready for you. Fuck.”  
Jaskier thinks about the best way to do this, and while he’d love to feel Eskel’s tight heat around him, there’s no way he can hold out that long.  For all the rumors about witchers being well-endowed, Jaskier takes the prize here.  Rather annoying to be so blessed, sometimes.  He huffs and wraps a hand around them both, loving the way Eskel’s smaller prick feels against him.
“Gonna fuck your thighs, love,” Jaskier says in a moment of brilliance.  Eskel bucks into his hand and nods frantically, clearly on board.  “Turn for me?” he asks, reaching for the soap as Eskel faces away and settles his back against Jaskier’s chest. He brings the soap down, slicking up Eskel’s thighs the best he can.
Eskel kisses the side of his neck, whining deep and low as Jaskier soaps him up.  Jaskier tosses the soap back onto the edge of the springs and presses Eskel’s thick thighs together before sliding his cock between them.  He starts to thrust, and Eskel keens and just lets him move him how he wants, his large body nearly weightless in the water.
“That’s it, so good for me,” Jaskier mumbles as he bucks his hips up and holds Eskel’s thighs tighter together.  Eskel wraps an arm around his neck and clings to him, his legs shaking as Jaskier fucks him.  His prick rubs against Eskel’s balls and cock with each thrust of his hips, and soon they’re both panting and on edge.
The water swirls around them as they move together, and Jaskier can’t stop his hips from slamming up, chasing that tight slide between Eskel’s thighs.  Everything is warm and wet and he feels like he’s floating as much as Eskel is.  His fingernails dig into Eskel’s skin, and he’ll press gentle kisses to the marks they leave later on, but right now he’s lost in the frantic rush towards orgasm.
“Touch yourself,” he grunts out, and Eskel keens as he wraps a hand around his cock.  He jerks himself roughly as Jaskier slams between his thighs.  Jaskier isn’t sure how much longer he can hold out, but then Eskel cries out, his back bowing as he spills in the water, and it’s the permission he needs to let go.
Jaskier shouts Eskel’s name as he comes, his hips stuttering as he fucks his thighs through it.  He nuzzles Eskels cheek, moaning quietly as he comes down from it all.  Eskel leans back against him, and they sit there panting for a bit.  Thankfully the water washes away any traces of their pleasure.  They'll be expected for dinner, but there’s plenty of time to just laze about and cling to each other.  Jaskier means to enjoy every second of it.
76 notes · View notes
rebrandedbard · 7 months ago
Hi! Can I ask for 30. “It’s not what it looks like…” from the drabble list?
Oh, it’s you! Welcome back! Here for another order at McDrabble? Very well then, I am obliged to use the good serving platter for the sake of continuity:
Tumblr media
30: “It’s not what it looks like…”
wc: 1991 (Wow! That’s a year!)
No Modesty Among Thieves
Geralt finds Jaskier tied up in their room after returning to the inn and all their things have been stolen. He has an unexpected family reunion when he goes to find the burglar.
Kidnappers would have been easier, Geralt thought, than dealing with burglars. Had Jaskier been kidnapped, someone would have left a note and ransom. They would be waiting somewhere easy to find. A burglar did not want to be found, which meant he’d have to track them down, which meant more work. He’d had a long day and all he wanted to do was crawl into bed. The moment he’d opened the door of their room, those lovely plans of rest and relaxation had flown out the window, and he was suddenly wide awake, his heart racing, for he found Jaskier tied to the bed frame, completely bare, blindfolded, with a gag in his mouth. He gaped a moment before the smell of fear hit him, then he hurried to the bed and tugged the blindfold from Jaskier’s eyes.
Jaskier sagged with relief at the sight of him. As soon as Geralt removed the gag, the words came flooding out. “It’s not what it looks like…” he sighed, knowing very well what Geralt’s first impression must have been. He shifted uncomfortably, glad of the pillow thrown over his lap. At least the burglar had been thoughtful enough to provide that before clearing out.
“What happened?” Geralt asked. As he worked the knots above Jaskier’s head, he cast eyes about the room. It was completely empty; all of their belongings had been taken.
“Burglar caught me in the bath, blindfolded me, tied me up, and gagged me. Took all of our stuff and booked it.” He rubbed his wrists and shook them out to get the feeling into his arms again. “I’m so glad you got home when you did; my arms just about lost all feeling. I’m already sore from the fight with the gargoyle last week. The second-hand blast knocked me halfway across the room, remember? Burned the doublet right off my back! Singed my shirt, too.”
“I remember,” Geralt replied. He inspected Jaskier’s arms with care. “Are you hurt?” he asked.
“Only my pride. I thought I could tell you from the sound of your footsteps, but evidently, I was wrong. The way the fiend came striding in here, confident as anything like they belonged—well! I thought it could only be you,” he grumbled. “Anyone else would have tried to sneak up behind me instead. They strode right in! And I know, I know; I ought to have kept the door locked, but I swear, Geralt, that I had locked it. It’s a faulty lock, that’s what I think. This inn is cheap and ready to fall to pieces when the wind next blows, and that’s the truth.”
Geralt tossed the blanket over Jaskier’s shoulders for modesty’s sake. “Stay here. I’ll take care of it.” He sniffed the air and announced, “There’s only one trail; pretty strong, too. Likely another patron somewhere down the hall.”
It was an easy game, stealing from other travellers. There were plenty of rooms to hide in. All one had to do was pretend to flee out the door, hood down, pass a few witnesses, then sneak back to their room calm as anything. It was a play Geralt had encountered before.
His brow creased as he scented the room again. It smelled … familiar. He crouched, following the scent from the bed over to the bath, to the corner where he’d left their bags. Meanwhile, Jaskier stumbled out of the bed, the blanket wrapped clumsily around him. He peeked beside the bed and circled the tub. With a huff, he dropped onto the bed once more and sat grumbling.
“Might have at least left the pants, if not my trousers. Not any money in selling those. Rotten thieving bastard.”
Geralt turned to look at him. “They took your clothes?” he said.
“Not that I blame them, really. People are trying to get in my pants all the time,” Jaskier quipped. He resumed his sulking after when he considered how much they’d cost him to buy in the first place.
The smell was stronger as soon as Geralt opened the door. He groaned, the pieces clicking into place neatly. “I’ll be right back,” he growled.
The door slammed shut behind him as Geralt stalked down the hall. He followed the scent to the every end and thrust the door open. And there the prick was, sitting on the floor, Jaskier’s stupid hat on his head, flipping through Jaskier’s notebook with one hand and helping himself to one of Geralt’s dried apple slices with the other. Lambert didn’t even bother to look up as he entered, merely smiling as he popped the slice into his mouth.
“Still hiding your snacks among your potion kit,” Lambert said. “A wonder your bard hasn’t found them yet. His smell is all over your things; one would think he’s always in and out, fetching things for you.”
“Pack it up. I’m kicking you out of here as soon as you’ve helped me carry this shit back.”
Lambert ignored him, rolling over on his back as he flipped to a page closer to the front of the notebook. “Is this one about you? ‘What amorous sight I scowling see, the sweet delights he flares in me, with eyes the gods have wrought of gold, for men to weep and thus behold?’”
Geralt snatched the book from his hands, ears burning hot. “You’ve no right to be prying into others’ things,” he snarled.
“Ah, so you haven’t read his poetry, I take it.”
Lambert hovered over Geralt’s shoulder as Geralt started shoving things into Jaskier’s bag. He grabbed the hat from Lambert’s head and gathered it with the rest, careful not the bend the feather. Of course he hadn’t gone snooping. Jaskier’s notebook was private and Geralt respected privacy, unlike some who felt entitled to anything not bolted and locked.
“How did you like my present?” Lambert asked, flopping onto the bed. He raised his arms above his head in a mockery of the position he’d left Jaskier in. “Oh, what an amorous sight!” he cried, smirking. “Did you weep? I know you to be a weeper; heard enough whores gossip about the white-haired witcher crying in their arms after a tumble. Or did you not unwrap my present? He smelled pretty good for a minute there—aroused by danger, is he?”
Geralt picked up a pillow and smacked him with it. “Don’t go sniffing my bard,” he said.
For once, Lambert made no retort. He only raised one cocky brow at him and smiled.
Geralt found Jaskier’s clothes folded messily on a chair. He put them away carefully in Jaskier’s bag piece by piece. He was about to put the chemise away when Lambert plucked it from him. He flapped it in the air, gave it a light sniff and said, “Kind of smells like you, you know. You two share a bed or something?”
The speed with which Geralt snatched it back was all the answer Lambert needed. In addition, Geralt took back his bag of apple slices. He shoved them in a bag and collected the rest of their things. Last of all, he slung Jaskier’s lute over his shoulder.
Before leaving, Geralt seized Lambert’s own bag and stole from it a package of dried cod. Lambert hated cod. And Geralt knew why he had it. “Stay out of my room and away from Jaskier,” he said, “Or I’ll find your cat and shave him.” He tossed the bag back at Lambert and slammed the door in his gaping face.
The very first thing Jaskier did upon Geralt’s return was check his lute for damage, forgoing his awkward wrap in his hurry to get to it. His cry of relief filled the air and he cradled the instrument close. Geralt waited until Jaskier had put it safely away in its case before tossing his trousers at his head. Jaskier laughed and hugged them close, but rather than dress, he resumed his bath, the water warmed by courtesy of Geralt for his troubles. Geralt sat on the other side of the room, reordering their things as he told Jaskier the truth behind his unpleasant encounter.
Dinner was ordered to their room a half hour later, an apology sent along with it in the form of two baked pears. They ate it together on the floor, Jaskier in a towel, and Geralt kept his eyes on his food, trying in vain to forget the bit of poetry Lambert had sung for him.
“I’ll have to repay him one of these days and run his clothes up a pole,” Jaskier said. “If he’s ever in Oxenfurt, be prepared to spot them flapping below the university’s flag.”
“You’d get nowhere near them,” Geralt replied, cutting himself a bite of pear.
“I don’t know. He seemed eager enough to get my clothes off earlier. Should be easy to tempt him to do it again, then scoop his up while he sleeps.”
Geralt quickly abandoned his pear, apatite gone. He offered Jaskier his plate and returned to his organizing.
After eating, Jaskier stood. He stretched and dropped his hands to his hips, then swayed back to where he’d left his trousers. As he dressed, he looked around, humming to himself.
“Geralt?” he called. “Do you know what became of my undershirt?”
“Lambert doesn’t have it,” Geralt answered.
“Fuck, did he lose it? I haven’t got one spare.”
After another minute of rummaging, Geralt cleared his throat. “You can wear one of mine,” he offered. He produced a large black shirt and held it out to Jaskier at arm’s length.
Jaskier beamed and made a grab for it. “You’re a dear! I shall not wander cold and bare on the road, thanks to your generosity.” He pulled it over his head and smoothed it down. “Hm, very worn and soft. It’s quite comfortable, actually. You sure you don’t mind?”
“Can’t have you walking around half naked,” Geralt grunted.
“Quite right. It may take some time to get to a decent tailor. Be warned: by then I may be disinclined to return it to you. You know how attached I get to my clothes.”
Geralt shrugged. “I can get another,” was the only reply he offered.
Jaskier smiled and bounced happily into bed. “In that case, say your goodbyes now. I’ve never owned anything black but for my hat—it’s quite an attractive color. I’m sure I look as raffish as you! Perhaps more so for the novelty of it. What do you think?”
Whatever it was that Geralt thought, Jaskier was not to know. Geralt gave no answer the next morning, even as Jaskier pranced in front of him, fishing for a compliment. Geralt kept his opinion buried in his throat, almost as secret as his bag of dried apples. And tucked beneath them, he kept another secret folded neatly at the very bottom of his bag. He’d forgotten it in his haste to leave Lambert’s room that night. But Jaskier looked well in his shirt. So the chemise remained where it was, tucked away. After all, if Jaskier intended to keep his, it was only a fair trade.
Jaskier danced another turn in front of him and bowed, the shirt billowing at the end of his arms. He stood upright once more and posed. “Come now, Geralt. You’ve got to admit it makes for a pleasant change.” He flicked the end of one feather from his hat and winked. “What say you? I think we go perfectly together.”
Geralt looked at him, bathed in the early morning light, the very picture of radiance. He nodded, giving Jaskier a small smile. “We do,” he whispered, so soft that no human could ever hear.
“Did you say something?”
“No,” Geralt replied, a startled blink. “Nothing.”
Jaskier looked at him a moment, then shrugged, striding the path ahead. They would get there, he thought privately to himself. They had all the time in the world.
Send me a drabble prompt!
284 notes · View notes
oldandkinky · 6 months ago
For Mermay, Jask is part water creature and needs water to mate sometimes-- practically this means getting frustrated/edging/teased (for days? Unintentionally or not?) Until he has sex while wet (in a pond, bath, rainstorm... Potentially trying it with his hand or foot in a glass of water? Potentially humiliation if he gets caught that way, desperately trying to get off?) Basically edging/control/orgasm desp with water as the mechanism. (Would also enjoy the reversal, where the wolf school has water monster dna, and it's geralt who has to be wet, comes back from water monster hunt with terrible cockstand, or gets hard in the rain, etc, has to hide it from the Bard... ;)
Contains masturbation, weird biology, anal sex.
It doesn't take Jaskier long to grow to absolutely despise his non-human heritage. To be precise, that happens around the same time he learns what his cock is for.
Nobody in his family knows what sort of creature one of their ancestors fucked, or, if they do, they aren't telling him. All everyone knows is that it was some sort of water creature, and this leads to young Jaskier's predicament.
For some reason he can only get off if some part of him is submerged in water. Which, if you asked him, is the most ridiculous side effect of having non-human ancestry he could possibly think of.
Jaskier discovers this shortly after he wakes up with his dick hard enough to smash diamonds. He very vaguely remembers the dream he had, something about a shapely young woman, and he knows orgasms are a thing (he's young and educated, he knows things). So Jaskier pushes his hand into his smalls and takes hold of his cock, and it feels absolutely divine.
Right until it doesn't any more. He strokes himself for what feels like hours, but he just doesn't get there, that release that he can feel building in his gut just out of reach. Frustrated, he stops, pulling a pillow over his face. He waits until his hard-on goes away on its own, thinking it's a fluke, owed to his inexperience.
So he tries again. And again, and again, always to the same result: a body coiled so tightly he thinks he might just explode and then - nothing. It's rage inducing.
He doesn't stumble onto the solution to his problem until a couple of weeks after that first night. He's in a bath, and because he's young, the gentle movement of the water, of his hands across his skin, is enough to make his cock fill out. For a moment, Jaskier considers ignoring it. He has tried until he chafed, until his wrist ached. Why should it work this time?
It takes approximately two minutes until he's coming so hard he thinks he may have burst some blood vessels, his back arching against the side of the tub as he spills into the sudsy water. After, he lies there, staring at the ceiling, and an idea takes root in his brain.
It takes a lot of experimentation to figure out how much of him needs to be wet to enable him to come. Just being wet in general - like after getting caught in the rain - isn’t enough.
He would find all of this hilarious - if it happened to someone else. As it is, he's not laughing.
Once he figures out that having just part of him, say, a finger, submerged is enough to let him reach his peak, he makes sure to always have a cup of water close by. It's a bit of a hassle to set up and takes some practice to keep his hand still as he's coming his brains out so he doesn't knock over the cup, but he manages. Most of his partners don't pay attention anyway, so it works just fine.
Until Geralt.
Geralt has the peculiar gift of being both extremely observant and horribly obtuse. Jaskier is certain the man notices the little cup beside the bed when they fuck for the first time, but he doesn't comment. The bard is relieved, deciding that they've wordlessly agreed to not mention it, except that's not what is happening.
It turns out Geralt thinks it's some weird kink.
The whole thing comes to light when Jaskier does knock over the cup while he's receiving one particularly energetic pounding, and he groans as he realises what that means. It's not that getting his insides rearranged by Geralt's magnificent dick isn't amazing on its own, it absolutely is. He still really wants to come on said dick, and now that isn't happening.
"What's wrong?" Geralt is curled around his back, lips brushing over Jaskier's shoulder as he speaks, and he slows his thrusts, even as Jaskier can feel the way his stomach trembles with the effort of holding himself back.
"I- Nothing, keep going-"
"You can come without it, right?"
Jaskier grows cold inside. "W-what?"
"Your cup. Or did you… train yourself to only come like that?" The Witcher is still humping him, slowly and almost involuntarily, his breath hot against Jaskier's skin, and he can feel a crazed laugh bubble up from his chest.
"I- Geralt, I didn't train myself to do anything!" He sighs, even as he pushes back against his lover. "Is that what you think?"
"I wasn't going to mention it."
Now Jaskier does laugh. "That's not surprising." Geralt is pressing gentle kisses to the curve of his shoulder now, and it derails Jaskier's thoughts for a second or three. Finally he gathers his courage and mumbles, "I need it. I can't… I can't come unless part of me is wet." He swallows thickly. "Sea creature heritage."
Geralt stills above him, and Jaskier's heart stumbles over itself, even more so when Geralt pulls out. This is it, he thinks, this is the moment he gets either skewered by the Witcher in a very much not sexy way, or just gets left behind.
Instead, Geralt urges him onto his back, and then he moves between Jaskier's thighs and slides smoothly back into him. Jaskier keens and grabs him by the shoulders, the angle pushing the fat head of Geralt's cock directly against Jaskier's sweet spot.
"I had my suspicions," Geralt says breathlessly as he resumes fucking him properly, and Jaskier makes a high, questioning noise. "Your singing."
Jaskier scoffs and slaps his arm. "Oh, fuck you, I'm not a siren."
Instead of deigning that with an answer, Geralt catches his flailing hand, and Jaskier watches, wide-eyed, as he brings it to his lips. When they part, Jaskier can see the way saliva pools on Geralt's tongue, and he has about a second to process that before Geralt sucks his finger into his mouth at the same time that he wraps his free hand around Jaskier's prick, and when he feels the slick wetness of the Witcher's spit around his digit, Jaskier is gone. His back arches and he screams his release to the ceiling, coming across his stomach in thick spurts as Geralt works him through it. He's shaking and incoherent when Geralt let's go of his finger, taking hold of his hips as he fucks him roughly, and soon he grunts, eyes closed in bliss, and Jaskier can feel the rush of his seed inside his arse.
They collapse into a sticky, sweaty pile, and Jaskier winds an arm around his Witcher's waist, kissing his chest. "That was incandescent."
"Hm." Geralt's eyes are closed, but there's a faint smile tugging at his lips. "No more cups," he mumbles after a while, and Jaskier chuckles.
"No more cups."
249 notes · View notes
wolf-and-bard · 8 months ago
The Geraskier divorce attorney AU of my dreams (hear me out):
-Geralt doesn't have regulars. Of course, he doesn't have regulars, he's a divorce attorney, a good one at that; sure sometimes there are clients that hire him twice because of mistakes or short-lived marriages, or he will have the odd person whose ex-partner he once helped, but in his ten-year-career, he's never once had a person come to him more than twice
-He has never married. The few long-term relationships he had didn't amount to anything in that regard and perhaps his job has spoiled the whole affair for him; there's never been a need either, he has his daughter Ciri, has his horse Roach which he rides on weekends, he couldn't be more content (or so he thinks)
(-Jaskier knows that many people would and do call him a whore, an adulterer, but he isn't. He is a romantic, a fall-in-lover, a dreamer, a free spirit. Which is why he gave himself the name 'Jaskier' (much more befitting of his character than Julian, what a common name) and why he tends to end up at the altar... more often than is strictly normative)
-The first time Jaskier enters Geralt's office, he acts as though it's the beginning of a Broadway show. He walks in, stands in the middle of the room and opens his arms wide. "Good day," he twitters and flashes Geralt the brightest grin. Geralt raises his eyebrows, but he isn't about to turn away a guy who looks affluent enough he can charge him a little extra. "Hello?" - "Julian Alfred Pankratz, call me Jaskier." Jaskier settles into the chair opposite Geralt's desk and puts his leather-clad feet up on them. Geralt pushes them off and asks: "Mr. Pankratz, what can I do for you?" - "Ah yes. My lover and muse, the Countess de Stael, has left me for another. The problem is that we got married just last month and I'm afraid she is going to bleed me dry if I don't have a proper attorney. You've been recommended to me by a friend. What do you say? Help out a fool?" What? Countess? Well. "Fine," Geralt says. "Let's talk fees."
-Jaskier is a lot and when the divorce is through and all aspects of their working relationship are settled, Geralt calls his babysitter - Yen's always happy to jump in on short notice - and invites his colleagues Lambert and Eskel to get drunk. Jaskier was annoying and exhausting, constantly babbling and flirting with Geralt and, god, he never wants to see him again.
-Of course, Geralt sees him again. By the time he does - half a year after the first time - Geralt has almost forgotten about Jaskier and his stupid Countess and how utterly drained that job left him. Jaskier sounds cheerful on the phone, not at all the common cadence for Geralt's clients, and comes into the office with two Macchiatos and a box of donuts; disgruntled, but unable to say no to sugar, Geralt allows for them to have the coffee over their conversation about Jaskier's upcoming divorce and it makes it more bearable. "So," Geralt says. "Give me a rough outline of the situation." Just to be prepared. Jaskier grins, wipes a sprinkle off his lips and takes a sip of coffee. "This is going to sound ridiculous, but hear me out. So about two months after you helped me last time, the Countess de Stael gave me a call..." Geralt wants to smack the man when he is done his well-embellished tale. Jaskier is obviously being used. But he's not here to judge, he's here to do his job and Jaskier pays well.
-The third is a woman called Molly. Geralt never gets to meet her, Jaskier never talks about her, it is as though she doesn't exist as more than a job to get done, a contract to fulfill. Aside from the topic of his soon to be ex-wife, Jaskier is more talkative than usual. He asks questions about Geralt's personal life, talks about his job - of course he's a broadway performer, 'star' doesn't quite apply - lingers. Geralt finds he... doesn't mind this time. It's nice to socialize for a bit, even if it is within the general bounds of his job. Jaskier makes him laugh somehow.
-"You should give me a discount," Jaskier jokes when he's there to leave a paycheck for Geralt for the fourth time (that Countess again, Geralt doesn't understand how they got married three times in a span of two years (in addition to that Molly woman)). "I don't give out discounts," Geralt replies. - "Why not? I'm a loyal customer, you should have a system for this." - "Mr. Pankratz, do you realize that you are the only person I know who goes through this many marriages in such a short amount of time?" - "Always knew I was special," Jaskier laughs and leaves with a small wave.
-"Okay, Geralt, what the hell?" Lambert asks, strutting in after Jaskier's gone with a bad temper written across his face. "Who is this man? And why does he keep coming back? You know I can hear his voice from my office. So if, like, you're having some sort of strange workplace affair, cut it the fuck out." -  "He's just an idiot who keeps getting married," Geralt says and waves Lambert away. He doesn't add that he kind of starts to miss the idiot.
-Priscilla is very nearly a different story, something Geralt only finds out after the fact. Jaskier breaks down before their court appointment, sobbing into Geralt's shoulder that he can't do it, he can't let her go, why doesn't she want him; by that point Geralt has known Jaskier for almost four years and the thought of him staying in a marriage for longer than half of one makes him queasy, gives him little bursts of pain against his breastbone; in truth, he's glad Priscilla's leaving Jaskier, antsy that it took almost a year for them to split up; she approaches him after the divorce is through, while Jaskier's in the courthouse bathroom crying his eyes out. "Tell him I'm sorry," Priscilla says and Geralt scowls at her. "Tell him I wouldn't have left him if I didn't have to. Tell him to wait for me." She leaves and Geralt doesn't even know why he should be the one to relay that message to Jaskier and so he doesn't. Jaskier never mentions her again.
-The sixth time is the Countess de Stael again and Geralt already prepared his case from the e-mail Jaskier sent ahead. The last three times all went in favour of the noblewoman who was able to protect her fortune, but Geralt thinks he can make a case for emotional manipulation and get Jaskier at least a sizable indemnity. "Mr. Pankratz," Geralt says when Jaskier comes for their appointment.  "Are you ever going to call me Jaskier?" Jaskier replies with a sigh and drops into the chair. His hair is tousled, there are deep half-moons under his eyes which look like he spent the whole night crying. Geralt's heart feels bruised, but he can't get involved dammit. "That would be inappropriate," he grunts. They get to work and Jaskier walks out with a broken-heart and a swollen bank account.
-"When will you give up on that woman?" Geralt asks when Jaskier saunters into his office one Friday, not three months after the last divorce. It's late afternoon and Geralt's ready for a weekend of watching Disney movies with Ciri, but Jaskier's always a sight for sore eyes these days. Not for the first time does Geralt consider asking him out for coffee, but the fact that he's only ever seeing Geralt because he's in need of a(nother) divorce somehow poses a barrier. "Now that is not very professional of you. To answer your question: right now. That's why I'm here." And for the first time with these two, it's Jaskier that wants the divorce, Jaskier that takes the initiative. He's only ever been the one to get dumped. Geralt's up all night thinking about that.
-For an entire year, Jaskier does not return and that annoys Geralt. He finds himself fretting, distracted, hoping Jaskier will turn up with another marriage to be dealt with, but he doesn't. The thought that Jaskier might have found someone he wants to stay with makes him physically ill. His code of conduct forbids him from using Jaskier's contact info though. Maybe this is for the best and anyway, Geralt is down to earth while Jaskier is... well, Jaskier. An emotional roller-coaster. He has his daughter and his horse and all is well. Only it isn't because Geralt managed to fall in love with Jaskier. (When Lambert and Eskel find out they laugh at him for two hours straight)
-Jaskier does turn up eventually, but not to get divorced again. He waits outside the building where Geralt works with two cups of coffee in hand and a tired smile. Geralt lets himself be led to a nearby bench, lets Jaskier speak. "I considered proposing to random strangers just to have another botched marriage for you to get me out of," Jaskier says. "But that would have been rather inconsiderate and there are easier ways to see you." - "I thought you might have found one that sticks," Geralt replies, tracing the rim of his coffee cup with a finger. "I might have."  Jaskier winks at Geralt and Geralt decides to throw caution to the wind. He leans over and kisses Jaskier's lips, then mutters, "I don't ever want to see you in my office again." - "And here I thought that your desk would make such a great hmph..." Geralt shuts him up with another kiss. It feels right.  
376 notes · View notes
drowningbydegrees · a year ago
As it turns out, falling into bed with your very best friend who you are privately very much in love with isn't nearly so nerve wracking as waking up with them the morning after.
Read on AO3
He can’t remember the last time waking up was a remotely soothing experience. Geralt’s sleep muzzy mind has no other word for the body plastered against his front from shoulder to hip, the steady heartbeat against his palm where his hand is splayed out across someone’s chest. His nose is tucked against the nape of someone’s neck, and the scent is far too familiar to be jarring.
“Jaskier,” he rumbles quietly, his mouth miles ahead of the rest of him. The quiet, absent pleasure of waking up tangled with someone who smells sleepy and content and like they’re his leaves no room for reason. There’s no room for anything really, except to press a kiss to whatever patch of skin he can find, savoring the soft sigh it earns him.
Jaskier is… The night before rushes back to him, and Geralt almost jerks away, even though it would be entirely pointless to bother with that now. He cracks an eye open and is met with the disaster that Jaskier’s hair, mussed in the night by sleep, and by Geralt’s fingers buried in it before that. Even as worry begins to creep in, he sort of wants to do it again.
This isn’t the first time they’ve shared a bed. This probably isn’t even the hundredth time they’ve shared a bed. This is most definitely the first time they’ve done so with so little clothing between them, none to be exact. There’s only the blanket tucked around them both, warm and lovely and unexpectedly distressing.
Geralt isn’t sorry, per se. Jaskier’s chest rises and falls under Geralt’s palm in the slow rhythm of sleep. It’s the loveliest thing Geralt can remember waking up to, and therein lies the problem. An emotion fed only grows, and this unruly, sprawling affection is the worst offender. Stupidly, Geralt had thought getting this out of his system would quell it, but the longing reaches a fever pitch instead.
Jaskier is beautiful, all the more so for the way he shifts in his sleep, closing the gap Geralt has tried to put between them. Geralt could happily wake like this every day for the rest of his life, but it isn’t a fair thing to ask of someone who flits from one love to the next like a butterfly between flowers. He will not trap Jaskier in this just because he happens to be besotted. Somehow, the resolve not to try to keep this does nothing to ease the guilt welling up that he wants to in the first place.
Nothing Jaskier said the night before conveyed meaning beyond a playful desire to tumble into bed together. Moving the target now would only be cruel. He should be rolling out of bed, hastening them back to normal. He should be proving that this has done nothing to harm their friendship. It isn’t Jaskier’s fault, after all, the way Geralt wants to breathe him in and kiss him senseless and forget the rest of the world until the innkeeper boots them out.
“Geralt?” Jaskier startles the witcher from his worries, wriggling impossibly closer and laying a palm over his knuckles. “You okay?”
“Thinking,” Geralt replies vaguely.
“Well, don’t hurt yourself,” Jaskier teases, still warm and lethargic with sleep. Geralt almost manages to take advantage of the levity of the moment and extricate himself, but before he can, Jaskier rolls over so they’re nearly nose to nose. His fingers cradle Geralt’s cheek and any attempt to escape now would just be graceless. “What about?”
Geralt doesn’t know how to answer, so he only hums noncommittally and hopes Jaskier will let it lie. Of course, Jaskier being Jaskier, does no such thing. He takes advantage of the change in positions to tangle his legs up with Geralt. “I can’t tell you to knock it off if you don’t tell me what it is.”
“We should get going.” Geralt tries once more to escape, frowning when Jaskier shows no sign of releasing him. It’s silly of course. Jaskier couldn’t hope to hold him here if Geralt was set on leaving. He just can’t actually make himself do it.
“Was it that bad a night?” It’s an easy opening, an invitation to stray back to their usual banter, but Geralt gets no further than a raised eyebrow before Jaskier is clasping a hand over the witcher’s mouth. “Wait. Don’t answer that or I might have to smother you with a pillow and that’ll just be unfortunate for both of us.”
Right there, with Jaskier smiling at him, Geralt can almost believe they’re going to survive this. Almost, but almost still leaves a distance he cannot cross. As soon as Jaskier pulls his hand back from Geralt’s mouth, the witcher opens it. “They’re not going to let us sleep in forever.”
“They might if I convince them to let me play again this evening. We could move on tomorrow,” Jaskier ventures, but something in Geralt’s face must give him pause. “Oh do not look at me like that. The world isn’t going to end just because you stop to take a breath once in a while, Geralt.”
“That’s not…” Geralt starts, but he doesn’t know how to finish. There are no words that convey the razor wire sensation of facing down the impermanence of Jaskier’s affections, of realizing how deeply his own feelings run far too late.
“Shh.” Geralt knew what to do with impulse, with Jaskier’s mouth crashing into his, with Jaskier’s hands scrabbling at him to shed his clothes. He doesn’t know what to do with the tender, intentional way Jaskier regards him this morning, lips pressing to the witcher’s brow and lingering afterwards. Does it mean something, or does Jaskier grant all his lovers this subdued, aimless devotion? Lust was so much simpler than this aching sort of affection that puts down roots even as Geralt tries to burn it away.
Geralt doesn’t precisely surrender, but he resigns himself to the lazy attention Jaskier is so determined to lavish on him. If he lets Jaskier turn him away later instead of now, there will be at least this one pleasant thing to remember. So he doesn’t complain at Jaskier’s fingers combing through his hair, or the bard’s body pressed warmly to his. If every touch feels like a harbinger of their demise, it’s still hard to let go of.
He almost passes things off as okay, he thinks, until Jaskier kisses him. It’s a brief thing, immediately withdrawn. “Geralt?”
If realizing the hopeless situation he’s stumbled into was uncomfortable, the idea of talking about it is nothing short of torture.
“Well, you haven’t shoved me out of bed yet, so you’re not mad. Talk to me,” Jaskier coaxes, his expression so openly concerned and affectionate, Geralt could scream.
“It’s no-” Geralt starts, but Jaskier shut him up with a theatrically sour look.
“I swear if you say nothing,” Jaskier threatens aimlessly, an easy smile on his lips, but underneath, Geralt can hear the way his anxious heart threatens to vibrate right out of his chest.
“I don’t know what this is,” Geralt admits because that, at least, is safe. It’s nothing about how he feels in relation to anything. It’s nothing about the want that simmers under the surface despite his guilt.
Jaskier’s brows scrunch in a way that would be endearing if the entire ordeal didn’t feel so fraught already. “I don’t think I follow. I mean, I know having a conversation isn’t your usual wheelhouse, but it’s not exactly a foreign concept.”
“Not. That.” Geralt bites the words out, tight and clipped while he gathers his frayed nerves enough to explain. “You’re not in the habit of keeping people. I don’t know what you want.”
For just a second, Jaskier looks like he’s been struck and Geralt wants desperately to take the whole thing back. But the bard’s expression smooths out and then twists up in a wry smile. “Of course I don’t. What would I even do? Drag someone else along on our travels?”
There’s a point Jaskier is making. It’s right there. He knows it is, but it eludes Geralt anyway. “You could have stayed somewhere if there was someone you wanted to stick around for.”
Jaskier laughs, just a giggle at first, and then so hard that even his efforts to bury his face against Geralt’s shoulder do nothing to stifle it. “You are absolutely right. I could fall completely and utterly in love with someone and choose to stick around.”
“I don’t see how that’s funny,” Geralt says flatly, staring at the far wall of their room. The urge to curl around Jaskier and forget the whole stupid conversation in strong, and maybe he’d have been better off doing that in the first place, but he doesn’t surrender to it.
“Well, you’re one of the smartest people I know, so these moments where you decide to be an absolute idiot happen to be hilarious,” Jaskier teases. The bard must take pity, because his palm slides to cradle Geralt’s jaw, and Jaskier puts himself right at eye level where the witcher can’t look away. “Don’t you realize? I fell in love with someone, and I chose to stick around. It happened ages ago.”
Geralt has long since given up on trying to anticipate what Jaskier will say to any given prompt, but that is… somehow not even on the same continent as anything he might have expected. “What?”
“You really are determined to make this as difficult and stressful for me as possible, aren’t you?” Jaskier asks. There’s a tightness around his eyes when he looks at Geralt, leaving the witcher with the awful realization that Jaskier must be flying as blind as he is. He’s probably as unsure of Geralt’s intent as Geralt is of his. And yet… “I chose you, you ridiculous man. I always choose you.”
That… that explains a lot, actually. Geralt swallows thickly as Jaskier’s nose bumps against his. “Why didn’t you ever say?”
“Ah yes. ‘Hello my very dear emotionally… hampered witcher who will sometimes, on a very good day, admit that we are friends. Would it it complicate things overly much if I also happened to be completely, utterly in love with you?’” Jaskier huffs out a helpless, almost panicky sort of laugh. “Tell me Geralt, is there any time in the last few years where that would have gone well?”
Years? Now, confronted with the full force of it, Geralt isn’t sure how he even missed it last night, let alone for so long. Now that he knows it’s always been a bit painfully obvious. And much as he’d like to, he can’t really argue against Jaskier’s point that it probably wouldn’t have gone well to say so. “What changed?”
Jaskier sighs in that dramatic, overdone way he tends to when he’s being asked what he thinks is an exceedingly silly question. “You did.”
“Hmm.” Geralt doesn’t comment and Jaskier doesn’t press for further conversation. It’s peaceful, this thing blossoming between them, now that his most immediate concerns have been silenced.
That Jaskier laid his heart on the line and asked for nothing back isn’t lost on Geralt though. The words catch and stick on his throat, so Geralt writes them into the tender way he traces the curve of Jaskier’s spine with his fingertips. He presses them against Jaskier’s lips, jaw, throat with lazy, lingering kisses.
“So tell me-” Jaskier starts, the words interrupted by a soft sigh as Geralt’s thumb skims the divot of his hip. It’s an unmistakably promising sound all by itself, even ignoring that delightful way Jaskier presses into the touch. He finishes his thought, but it’s unmistakably breathless. “What are you thinking now?”
The recognition that this isn’t some fluke settles warmly around him. This could be always. There are so few things a witcher really keeps, but for now he’s willing to entertain the notion that this might be one of them.
“I’m thinking…” Geralt mumbles against the side of Jaskier’s neck, delighting in the way the bard’s fingers tangle in his hair and tug. “That maybe we’ll leave tomorrow.”
1K notes · View notes