avstravaganza · 2 days ago
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Summer’s nap
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yodigo · a day ago
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gmmybrrs · 2 days ago
Vi x reader - Cuddles in bed (one shot)
Warnings = None! Just fluff. :)
Proofread = yes/no
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Her lips float over yours, a faint smile on them. When she starts giving you tender, caring, and kind kisses around your neck, her hands warm your sides, sliding down and causing goosebumps to ripple along your skin like bubbles in soda.
Another wave of goosebumps appears down your arms as her palms descend, her pinkies briefly resting on your hip bone, and then she slides them up to your rib cage.
Her body conforms to yours, pressing her chest into yours, her hips against yours, and her legs entwined like a pair of earbuds you've had in your pocket all day.
Each part of you is exactly designed to fit into the other, as though you are two pieces of a single puzzle.
"I love you, y/n," Vi says into your neck, her warm breath fanning over the skin there. You hum, tracing forcefields across her back and focusing all of your attention on the girl.
She raises her head and hovers her face above yours, a small smile on her lips. "You're so lovely," she praises as she hooks a finger under your chin.
She would have noticed the vibrant blush that washed over your face if the lights had not been turned off.
"You're so beautiful. So perfect," she says before returning to you and pressing her nose into the crescent of your neck, inhaling your familiar and calming scent and sighing contentedly.
"You're hot," you snicker back, running your fingers through her tangled pink hair and allowing it to untangle around your fingers.
Your bodies mould together once more, like two halves slotting together, and heat wraps around both of you like a warm blanket.
Vi presses a soft kiss against your lips, pouring every droplet of passion she has in her heart and soul for you into it. Then there was another. And yet another. And yet another. Until you're both giggling like girls at a sleepover. Time appears to fold in on itself, and each kiss expresses how she feels for you, a feeling that you reciprocate.
You breathe bliss into each other's mouths for the remainder of the night, with hushed giggles and gentle smiles that say more than words ever could.
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egalitarianchica · 7 months ago
Normalize taking care of men. Normalize holding and kissing them when they’re sad and just because. Normalize doing nice things for them. Normalize genuinely listening to them when they’re upset. Normalize complimenting them and telling them you love and appreciate them. Normalize taking care of your man the same way you would want him to take care of you.
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happyheidi · 2 months ago
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justcatposts · 9 months ago
Lions cuddling 
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kiss-me-gently · 2 months ago
Do y'all dream about cuddling with Tumblr mutuals who live hundreds of miles away or am I just insane
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becherdireinen · 11 months ago
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cutiecutiekarla · a month ago
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brooklynwritess · 5 months ago
only his girl
summary : some people seem to not understand your fez’s girl which leads to problems
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fezco x reader
warnings : TW DRUGGED DRINK, insecure fez, jealousy, soft smut, guilty feeling, language, reader in hospital, fainting, mention of alcohol, mention of fighting, mention of blood, chocking (handprint left on throat)
The thing Fezco hated the most in this world was people hitting on you even when everyone knew you were his.
He hated when you were with him at one of his deals because any guy or girl that was there would hit on you.
You were one of those girls that everyone loved. The type of girl that was not just beautiful and looked like she should be on a runway but a girl that also had personality. You were very smart and kind and people enjoyed being around you.
Fezco sometimes hated how likable your were, you two rarely got time alone and plus everyone flirted with you even with Fez right next to you.
Many people couldn’t believe a girl like you would date a guy like Fez. Fezco often doubted himself and doubted if he was worthy enough for someone so perfect. You always assured him how much you loved him and how perfect he was.
At first your parents weren’t too sure about who you were dating. You were an 18 year old girl in her senior year that was dating a school dropout. They didn’t really know for sure what his job was but they did have an idea.
After they met Fezco they actually started to take a liking to him. Which made you two very happy.
When word got out you were taken by Fezco he thought that maybe people would back off. But no people did not back off at all. In fact he swore the flirting had gotten even worse.
Ash told him not to worry too much about it.
Fezco knew you would never do anything to hurt him, he knew you loved him and only him. But he still got nervous seeing you dancing at parties and seeing all of the eyes on you. Sometimes he got extremely anxious you would realize how much of a bad person he was for you and that you would leave him, but of course you never did and you always stayed by his side no matter what.
Fezco never brought you to deals anymore because he just hated watching the guys look you up and down asking “if she was a part of the package.”
Fez always kept his cool no matter how hard it was to maintain calm.
Fezco could handle the eyes on you and the flirty comments toward you.
But his last straw were two boys from your high school.
The two boys had been eyeing you all night and Fezco didn’t miss the way they stared at your body and whispered things into each others ears.
He knew something was up.
He got distracted and lost you in the crowd when someone had come up to him to buy something.
He realized the two boys were gone as well.
He immediately got up looking for you and asking people if they had seen where you had gone.
When he found you in the kitchen with one of the boys preparing a very strong drink and the other feeling up your body, that was his last straw.
He couldn’t keep his calm when he saw the boys hand creep up your thigh and his other hand tightly wrapping around your throat.
“please stop,” you said, your voice coming out raspy because of the boys grip.
“How bout you drink this and we get a room,” he whispered with a smirk, a pill in his hand.
Fezco immediately roughly tore him off of you.
He stood protectively in front of you gently pushing you over to Jules and Rue. He told them to take you outside.
The second you got outside you heard screams.
Fezco had beat the absolute shit out of both boys.
“If anyone fucking touches or even looks at my girl wrong again your getting fucked up,” you heard him yell.
You suddenly were feeling very dizzy and sick but you shook it off.
Rue brought you to Fezcos car calling Ash over telling him to get the car started.
You and Ash were very close and when he saw the bruised handprint starting to appear on your neck he immediately was concerned.
“What the fuck y/n,” Ash asked concerned.
“Just start the car Ash please.” Jules said.
The girls laid you in the back. Your heard on Rues lap with your feet on Jules.
The last thing you saw before everything went dark was a bloody Fez looking at you with concern.
“Ash get to the hospital quick.” Fez said.
Ash just sat there in shock looking at you with concern, you were family to him.
“FUCKING DRIVE ASH FUCK.” Fez yelled stressed. Fez never yelled, he always kept his cool but not now, not when you were in danger.
“They must’ve slipped something into her drink.” Rue said quietly.
Fez held your hand tightly while Ash drove crazy and ran all the lights.
Even though the hospital was a good 10-13 minutes away Ash got there in about 5.
They pulled up to the ER and handed you away to get taken care of. Fez warned them you may have been drugged. He tried going back with you but they wouldn’t let him which stressed him the fuck out.
Fez tried calling your parents but they were out of town for work for three months somewhere where there wasn’t really any service.
Fez, Ash, Rue and Jules sat there for four hours. Every 30 minutes Fez would check to see if there was any update but nothing.
Maddy, Kat and Cassie showed up as well.
After another long hour a doctor finally came out.
“She’s stable now, we aren’t sure what she was poisoned with but it was very very strong. She’s in and out of it.”
The doctor said one person could see her so of course Fez immediately went.
They walked to your room. Fez was anxious he felt like this was all his fault, if only he wouldn’t have taken his eyes off of you.
“Hi fezzy,” you said still with a raspy voice. 
“Hi baby,” he said with a sad smile.
He pulled a chair up to your bed and asked how you were feeling. You said you were okay just tired and your throat hurt.
That’s when he looked to your throat to see a large purplish handprint imprinted onto your skin.
“What’s wrong Fez?” you asked. You hadn’t been able to look in a mirror at all.
“Nothing baby, nothing.”
He held your hand until you fell asleep.
Once you fell asleep he let himself cry for the first time in a long time.
He felt like this was all his fault. He didn’t wanna loose you, he couldn’t loose you.
Of course it wasn’t Fez’s fault, it wasn’t his fault at all. But he felt extremely guilty.
You had to stay in the hospital for two days. Your friends visited you and Fez well he never left your side.
After the longest two days you could finally go home. You’d been staying at Fez’s house since your parents were out of town.
Once you got to his house he had you lay down on his bed. He didn’t let you do anything for a week even though you insisted you felt perfectly fine now.
He made you stay in bed and would bring you soup and things like that. He never left your side, he had even cancelled all deals which was a very big deal.
Ash also came to check on you many times just to make sure you were alright.
Fez did keep you from your friends which annoyed you a bit. 
One night you caught Fez looking very sad and guilty and you had an idea why.
“Fezzy you know this isn’t your fault right? None of it. I should’ve been more carful with my drink Fez, it’s not your fault, not your fault at all.”
“My girl, I should’ve been paying more attention to you, I’m supposed to protect you and I didn’t, It’s my fault. Not yours.”
“Fezco it’s not your fault you can’t supervise me 24/7 and always be with me all the time. I should’ve been paying more attention Fez.”
After probably hours of reassuring Fez it wasn’t his fault he finally caved and forgave himself a bit.
You were all better after a week of resting.
You had gone back to school. Everyone saw the handprint on your neck and many people knew what that was from. No one mentioned it.
The boys from the party got expelled. So that was good.
After school was over on Friday you could not wait to get home to Fez and spend the entire weekend with him.
The two of you were cuddling when you said “Hey fez”
“Yes baby,” he said, his face tucked into your neck.
“I know a way you could make me feel lots better,” you said.
He quickly lifted his head and got out of his sleepy state. “How?” he asked.
You gently flipped the two of you over so you were straddling him.
“Make me feel good fez, pretty pretty please?” you asked nicely. Fez had been too scared to touch you these past two weeks and you missed his touch.
“My baby, I told you we can’t, it’s too soon you’re still healing.” he said kissing your forehead. “But don’t get me wrong I miss making you feel good, we just can’t right now.”
You pouted. “Fezzy please we’ll be gentle, so gentle, please,” you whined slowly grinding your hips onto his.
Fez groaned at the feeling. He slowly started getting hard as you kept grinding your hips
“Fine baby, but we’re gonna take it slow and soft, no complaining,” he said strictly.
You quickly kissed his lips and he kissed back, soft gentle kisses were all he gave but you took them anyway.
Fez pushed down your pj shorts and panties as you slid off his shirt.
You two went back to kissing and he slowly started gently rubbing your swollen clit in a circular motion.
“Fez im ready now, just wanna be close to you,” you whined.
“I know baby I feel that, but we gotta take it slow. Gotta make sure your nice and stretched for me.” He said slowly slipping a finger into your tight wet heat.
You moaned at the feeling.
He slid another finger into you to prepare you for his length. He pumped them slowly in and out as he studied your face.
“My perfect girl,” he whispered.
He took his fingers out out you as he felt you clenching down on them, a sign you were getting close to cumming.
“Can’t cum yet baby, want you to cum with me.” he whispered.
“Please Fez,” you whimpered into his neck. “Need you bad,” you whispered.
Finally he gently and slowly pushed into you inch by inch.
You both moaned in content as he finally was inside of you all the way.
“Is this what you wanted baby, you wanted to be close huh?” he quietly asked. You nodded your head.
“Fez please move, need it so bad,” You quietly said.
“Anything for you ma,” he said before finally moving his cock in and out of you.
The sounds of your soaking pussy and both of your moans filled the room.
The pace he was going wasn’t too slow but not too fast it was perfect. You could feel every single vain rubbing inside you and his tip hit that good spot inside of you every single thrust.
“Feels so good baby, you feel so good,” he groaned into your ear. “So good,” you agreed with a moan.
“Gonna cum baby, feels so good, cum with me,” he groaned.
“Cum” he ordered gently.
You both came at the same time. You both moaned, orgasms washing blissfully over the both of you.
He let the two of you calm down a bit then slowly pulled out of you and picked you up so the two of you could take a shower.
He massaged shampoo and conditioner into your hair than slowly washed your body, praising every single inch of your skin.
Once he was done washing you he quickly washed himself. Than you two got out and dried off.
He put one of his t-shirts on you and a pair of clean panties you had kept there. He got himself dressed in just a pair of boxers.
He tucked the both of you in, you on top of him your head buried into his neck and him running his fingers thorough your hair.
That next weekend Fez noticed how no one flirted with you or even looked at you in a flirtatious way like they usually did.
Everyone finally learned that you were his girl and his girl only.
euphoria masterlist
fezco masterlist
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yodigo · 2 days ago
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sexiestglaam · a month ago
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coffeedatewithcloud · 2 months ago
*bites your nose*
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Nandor being super cuddly and teasing Guillermo 👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨🦇❤👓
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fallen-in-love-suggestion · 2 months ago
Let's make a pillow fort and spend all night cuddling inside
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perfectfeelings · a year ago
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happyheidi · 11 days ago
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a love story 💗
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not1-2write · 4 months ago
He doesn't mention his hand when the dust settles.
There are bodies to clear away, people to mourn. Jaskier steps back for that- he's not a Witcher. He doesn't know these men but he does know what they meant to each other and he knows he has no part in whatever mourning they need to do. So he steps back to allow their rituals.
He finds a bucket and scrub brush and gets to work clearing the blood from the stones while the others are gone. He can be useful in other ways.
His hand burns every time he dunks it in the hot water but he ignores it for as long as he can, scrubbing until the water is dirty but the floors are mostly cleared of blood.
He's trying very hard not to think about how it's getting harder and harder to move his index and middle fingers as the days pass. It's the cold, he tells himself. It's got to be. Every other part of him is stiff and cold and trembling just a bit with the way the wind howls through the newest holes in Kaer Morhen's walls. He's only human. Of course he's affected by the cold.
Jaskier uses his left hand to scrub when the burn gets to be too much, his right to steady the bucket as he washes the blood away. Yennefer could probably magic the stains gone but she's only just gotten her chaos back and she's still a bit unsteady. Besides, she's healing up the surviving Witchers. Jaskier can do this for them if nothing else.
He's careful to remove himself from the hall before they come back down the mountain. He doesn't want to be in the way if they're going to drink and mourn and fight out their feelings. He might get caught in the crossfire or worse, interfere.
The Witchers are people and they've lost brothers tonight. Jaskier will not do anything that upsets their grieving process.
He scuttles up to his room- or well, the room he was shown when he arrived with Ciri in tow, the princess vouching for him when she'd marched inside, all hot anger spilling over at Geralt going off with Yennefer without her.
Jaskier knows the feeling. Isn't insulted by Ciri's lack of interest in him.
She's a princess with Elder blood and magic in her veins being trained by a whole host of Witchers, a daughter of surprise to one of the most powerful Witchers on the continent. Of course a simple bard with no instrument to his name is beneath her notice.
He leaves Ciri to her own devices, getting the distinct impression she'd prefer it that way when she glances up at him. He does offer her a small smile as he passes. It wouldn't do to seem rude and he doesn't want her to think he's afraid of her.
Well. He is afraid of her but in the same way he's afraid of Yennefer; she's terrifyingly powerful and he accords her the respect she deserves due to that. But Ciri is also just a child and she's a little lost right now so he smiles and tells her goodnight as he slips away. A simple kindness costs him nothing.
His hand throbs with each step he takes.
"Fuck's sake," he mutters, clenching his teeth together and trying to breathe through it.
People have died tonight. Men were cut down, cut through, thrown through walls and tables and dripping blood as they stood back up to face down basilisks and all kinds of horrors coming though the monolith. He'll deal with his hand privately and without fuss.
It's not even his hand. It's two fingers and his palm. He still has three good fingers, still can move them slightly even if it makes him hiss in pain. He can deal.
There are more important things, more important people to take care of.
But he is only human. And he's tired.
He doesn't bother building up the fire that's burnt out. He'll wake up freezing but he doesn't have matches or anything to light the logs that are stacked beside the fireplace and he's not about to go all the way back downstairs to ask Geralt to come up to his room and build a fire for him.
He's got a blanket. If he drapes his jacket over the fur it'll provide some extra warmth and he'll leave his socks on.
He doesn't want to listen to the sound of the fire snapping and crackling all night anyway. It might...
He doesn't feel like remembering that right now, so close to the edge of sleep, body and mind both exhausted. No telling what kind of nightmares are lurking in the edge of his mind right now.
Firefucker. Ciri possessed. Basilisks slithering out of a black void. He's not going to add the memory of his own flesh blistering and burning to that, the sound and smell of a fire so close- too close- to his head.
The bandages he hastily wrapped around his fingers earlier are wet now and tinged red with Witcher blood. Jaskier barely has the energy to unwrap them before he's collapsing backwards onto the thin mattress. He's asleep before his head hits the pillow.
He wakes up burning.
For one horrifying second he thinks firefucker has found him again and simply set him entirely alight this time. No need to wheedle information out of him, no secrets to pry out, no. Burn him and be done with it. But when he fights out of the blanket and claws his way to consciousness he becomes aware of two things. The first is that he's drenched in sweat and covered in a burning cold sensation that starts somewhere around his bad hand and ends with his teeth chattering.
Is he cold? Is he burning? Jaskier clenches the fur in his good hand and tries to breathe. Tremors wrack his body, every part of him trembling from whatever nightmare he'd clawed his way out of. It's probably for the best that he doesn't remember.
Sweat drips from his temple, the tremble of his jaw enough to dislodge the bead traveling down his chin so it lands somewhere on his lap.
The second thing he becomes aware of is that he's not alone in the room. Ciri stands in the doorway, anxiously twisting her hands together.
"Everyone's afraid of me now," she says softly, eyes huge and green and landing somewhere near Jaskier's waist. "They won't even... they can't look at me."
She looks up at him then, something close to fear lurking in her gaze. "You looked at me. Last night. You smiled and bade me goodnight like it was nothing."
"It was nothing," he says gently.
Jaskier feels gross and sticky with sweat, not at all how he usually feels when meeting a princess but he shifts over and pats the fur beside him.
Ciri only hesitates for a brief second before padding over to join him.
"It's cold in here," she says.
"It's cold everywhere in Kaer Morhen. I suspect the Witchers might be part ice to be so unbothered by it." Jaskier nudges her shoulder with his. He gets a small smile. "Geralt's never seemed affected by the cold in all the years I've known him. But you should see him when he gets a hot bath. He purrs! The man purrs like a kitten when presented with a tub full of steaming water."
Ciri's eyebrows wing up. "There are hot springs under the keep. Maybe they all go down there to thaw every once in a while."
This is the first Jaskier's hearing of it and he's insulted it wasn't included in the list of things he should know about. He wonders if he's allowed to go looking for the springs. If not he might just go hunting for them anyway. He'd love a soak in a hot spring after the week he's had.
"Sounds wonderful," he sighs wistfully, hand over his heart. "A bit of warmth in this cold place, some comfort for the people who claim they don't need it."
For all their claims about not needing much the Witchers do partake in a few creature comforts. Well seasoned food (that could be more seasoned in Jaskier's expert opinion), clean dry clothes (that could be cleaner in the opinion of Jaskier's nose), a hot spring, spirits strong enough to knock Jaskier out after two pulls from the bottle. They like to have fires burning in the hearths, soft furs on their beds, the best metals to make their swords.
And they mourn. When they lose one of their own they do not simply move on. They grieve, they cry, they hang the medallion in a place of honor and carry themselves forward.
"Lambert showed me," Ciri says, burrowing into the fur Jaskier drapes over her shoulders. "They're big enough for me to swim in."
"I think I need to see these hot springs immediately."
"I can show you."
If he clenches his jaw the trembling stops. If he fights the urge to curl his hand into a fist the pain is less. If he keeps still and doesn't fidget he won't notice that he can't bend his index finger. He puts the burning feeling out of his mind. Ignores the way his right hand shakes despite his best efforts.
He wonders if Ciri noticed the bloody bandages on the floor when she came in and kicks them under the bed when he stands. He bows deeply and with flourish, pleased when Ciri laughs and accepts his offered hand. She stands and curtseys back, face painted in the regal lines that suit her status. She's got dirt smeared on her cheek and her hair is all but exploding out of the braid she'd so obviously slept in. Jaskier smells like sweat. He can feel the pillow crease on his cheek.
They stare at each other for exactly one second before dissolving into giggles.
"Come on then, let's see these springs."
They're magnificent and warm and Jaskier wants to live in them. Ciri splashes around in a pool to his left, dunking her head under to scrub at her hair. Jaskier's claimed a deeper one that's a touch more warm than Ciri's swimming hole and soaks his weary bones, right hand held carefully out of the water.
He cracks one eye open when he hears Ciri swim up to the natural rock border. She peers at him over the ledge, arms draped on the stone, head pillowed on her elbow as she studies him.
"You're really not afraid of me."
"On the contrary my dear: I find you terrifying." Jaskier flicks water at her and grins when she crunches her nose. "You're more powerful than Yennefer, a Witcher-trained princess and much smarter than Geralt. Who wouldn't find that terrifying?"
When she smiles like that Jaskier can see Pavetta.
They linger for a bit in the springs, warming their frozen toes and washing the previous night from their skin. Jaskier doesn't have any other clothes to change in to but he feels better having washed his hair and wiping the sweat off his brow.
His right hand throbs the entire time he dresses and makes doing his clothes up much harder than it should be but he manages after several minutes of struggle. If he uses his thumb and ring finger he can do the laces on his pants. The buttons on his shirt he does left handed and hopes Ciri won't notice or ask.
"What's wrong with your hand?"
Of course.
"Ah, well." Jaskier isn't about to tell Ciri anything having to do with firefucker right when she's started to get the color back in her cheeks. "Burned myself," he lies easily, wincing theatrically when he attempts to flex his fingers. They barely bend, his pointer finger swollen and too stiff to move. "I'll manage."
"When did that happen?" a gravelly voice asks right behind Jaskier.
He yelps, jumping on the spot and spinning with a hand pressed to his heart. "Geralt-! Fuck's sake I'm going to put a bell on you one of these days, see if I don't! Melitele's flaming tits, you can't just sneak up on people like that."
"I heard him coming," Ciri says, the traitor.
"Oh well, thanks for the warning. And here I thought we were friends."
The corner of Geralt's mouth twitches, face morphing into something fond and amused when his gaze slides to Ciri. She manages a tentative smile back and Jaskier's heart warms at the sight.
Geralt might have fought against destiny kicking and screaming for years but it's clear these two need each other. He's glad they wound up where they needed to be, here in the drafty halls of Kaer Morhen. He doesn't seem any different around Ciri now- a little wary to be sure but that's nothing new. Geralt's always been wary around children, unsure how to approach them or even if he should. Jaskier supposes it's only fair that extends to his nearly teenaged Child of Surprise as well.
But Ciri uncurls at Geralt's gaze, standing taller and smiling wider when Geralt brushes a hand down her damp hair.
"Found the springs, did you?"
"Jaskier didn't know about them."
Jaskier takes the chance to slink off. Geralt and Ciri should have a moment to speak without him listening in. He needs to re-wrap his hand anyway.
And he should probably pack, plan his next move. He heard Geralt and Vesemir last night, he knows Geralt isn't staying any longer than necessary and he's taking Ciri with him. With Yennefer here that probably means they're portaling out as soon as they're packed.
Which means Jaskier needs a plan.
He can't stay here without Geralt. He can barely stay here with Geralt. The others had put up with his presence because he'd arrived with Ciri and the news of Geralt's whereabouts. He suspects he was only let in the front door because Ciri had pulled him inside and announced he was "Geralt's bard friend" to the cluster of intimidating looking Witchers that had surrounded him.
("Ah," Vesemir had said, face clearing. "You'll be Jaskier then.")
He doesn't have much to his name at the moment: the clothes on his back, the jacket in his room. Geralt had taken him from the prison and they'd left immediately and then he'd gone straight to Kaer Morhen. So maybe packing is a bit of a stretch but he does need a plan.
Namely he needs to figure out how to get off this damn mountain before Geralt leaves.
He's had enough of Geralt leaving him on mountains to last a lifetime.
Maybe he can ask Yennefer to portal him to Oxenfurt. He can continue his smuggling operation from there, get the Elves stuck in the North somewhere safe. Maybe not Nilfgaard now, all things considered, but there are places the elves would be safe. He's got a few captains of ships willing to smuggle for him- it costs a pretty penny to get them further away but he can't just abandon the elves that will come looking for safe passage.
How is he going to earn the coin to pay for this if he can't play? His lute was lost when firefucker nabbed him and his hand...
His hand is...
His hand will heal. He'll get another lute.
What he's doing is too important to walk away from.
The warmth from the springs has leeched out of him by the time he finds his room again (really who designed this place? so many twists and turns, so many places to get lost. it's a wonder he's only gotten turned around twice so far) so he shrugs into his jacket the moment he steps foot over the threshold. It doesn't do much against the chill- it was designed to look good not function- but it helps a bit.
He ignores the burning pain shooting up his arm when the leather brushes his fingers. It's fine. He's fine.
It's very cold.
"Jaskier," Geralt calls from the doorway. Ciri is beside him, hand in Geralt's. "You should come eat."
Jaskier takes two steps towards them and then pauses. "Lambert didn't cook it, did he? I might pass if he did." He's not entirely sure he can stomach any food at the moment, much less what Lambert tries to pass off as cooking. He'd rather eat the meat raw and unseasoned.
"Vesemir," Geralt informs him, mouth cocked in that half smile he gets when he's amused. "Lambert's not allowed to cook after he gave half of us food poisoning a few weeks back."
Ciri rolls her eyes. "They were fine- I puked up my guts," she tells Jaskier, releasing Geralt's hand to latch on to his. Jaskier does his best not to wince when she brushes his fingers, subtly adjusting her hold so she's wrapped around his palm instead. "Coen told me to aim for Lambert."
"Sounds like he deserved it."
"It was gross," Ciri says cheerfully, pushing open a door to reveal the mess hall.
Yennefer is waiting at a table, a steaming bowl of something in front of her and a much too nice goblet of very nice wine at her elbow. She offers Jaskier a smile, Ciri a wider one and turns back to her meal.
She's sitting a bit away from everyone, stiff and awkward and unsure. Jaskier knows the feeling.
He accepts the bowl Vesemir hands him with a muttered thanks and tries not to look relieved when Ciri releases his hand. He can't feel much besides the burning still lingering in his fingers and focuses on the food in front of him instead. It smells much better than the food Geralt manages on the road and looks a sight better than how Ciri had described Lambert's cooking.
Ciri seems to be making a point when she goes to sit with Yennefer. Geralt hesitates but Jaskier hurries to join them. They're further from the fire than his chilled skin would like but it sets his mind at ease to have the cracking heat a good distance away.
After a moment's pause, Geralt slides into the seat between Ciri and Jaskier and digs into his meal as well. Jaskier is startled when Lambert comes ambling over to them and plops himself onto the bench across from Ciri, Coen on his other side and a Witcher he doesn't know the name of sliding closer.
Ciri looks startled but pleased. Jaskier hides his grin by taking a bite of the stew. It's awkward to eat with his left hand but he manages not to dribble all over himself. He doesn't think the Witchers will care- Lambert is, in fact, chewing with his mouth open at this exact moment, talking through a mouthful about some monster he slayed before coming home for the winter- but Jaskier has standards, damn it.
And only one set of clean clothes. He should probably figure out how to wash them before he leaves. Maybe he can borrow some of Geralt's clothes. If Geralt has any other clothes. Jaskier isn't about to walk around this freezing keep naked while he waits for his clothes to dry.
Apparently Lambert has been on laundry duty since the food poisoning incident.
"No wonder none of you smell clean," Jaskier mutters.
Lambert scowls but Coen bursts into laughter. "Honestly Lambert, do you even use the soap?" he asks, nudging his brother.
"Of course I use the fucking soap! Ain't my fault all you smell so fucking bad it leeches into the clothes."
Jaskier shivers, spooning more stew into his mouth. His stomach clenches and demands that he stop but it's nice and warm and he's so damn cold that he wants the heat from the food more than he wants the food itself.
Beside him, Geralt shifts and frowns. "You're shivering," he notes.
Jaskier does his best to huff indignantly. "Well it is cold here. I know you Witchers run hotter than we humans do- and Yennefer is nothing but a block of carved ice- but I'm far more delicate than you all. Plus my hair is still wet," he sniffs, taking a sip of the water to settle his stomach. Vesemir had offered him an ale but he'd turned it down. Too strong smelling. He suspects it would have made him drunker than a skunk even if he'd only drank half of it. "I'll be lucky if I don't catch a cold with the way it's so drafty."
"Hmm." Geralt's gaze is a little too piercing for Jaskier's liking. "You should sit closer to the fire."
His gut clenches, stomach rolling. A bead of sweat works its way down his spine. He drops his spoon. "No," he says far too quickly. "No."
On the other side of Ciri, Yennefer straightens. "Jaskier-" she starts and he really doesn't want to hear it whatever it is. Because Yennefer knows. She saw. She's the one that got him out but now everyone is staring at him, everyone is looking and his hand hurts, it burns and he's so fucking cold-!
Jaskier nearly trips over his feet in his haste to stand. He's halfway up the stairs before he realizes where he's going. It's a miracle he makes it to his room at all, lungs wheezing, chest tight and hand burning burning burning all the way down to his bones.
He slides to the floor in front of the cold hearth and shivers. His hand feels hot and numb and it burns. The skin hisses and splits open, blisters forming and bursting as it all burns. He burns, he's burning-!
A large calloused hand slides over his shoulder gently.
He'd know Geralt's voice anywhere. Jaskier comes back to himself with a gasp, body trembling, chest heaving. He's shivering in the cold but he's sweating, undoing all the good the soak in the hot springs had done.
"Jaskier." Geralt looks lost, hand still pressing against his shoulder as he kneels on the cold stone. "Breathe."
Jaskier digs his fingers into the palm of his burned hand to keep himself from reaching out to grab Geralt. He sucks in a deep, desperate breath of air and holds it, keeps it in until his lungs ache and blows it out slowly. His body tries to immediately suck in another deep breath, fast and choppy and he doesn't let it. He focuses on the pain in his palm, the feel of Geralt's hand between his shoulder blades instead.
"Fuck," he manages, thumb digging harder into his hand.
He's in Kaer Morhen. He's cold. His hand hurts.
He's not burning.
"Jaskier, what happened to your hand?"
He bites his lip. Geralt has enough to worry about. He has Ciri and the others, he has Yennefer. The keep still feels like magic and smells like death and they're all pretending to be more okay than they are. Why isn't he allowed to pretend? He can pretend for a little while.
He's fine.
"It's nothing."
"He was tortured," Yennefer announces from the doorway, marching in like she has every right to be there.
On Jaskier's back, Geralt's hand jerks.
"I'm fine-"
Yennefer kneels in front of him, skirts billowing out over his legs and into the hearth. She doesn't seem to care that ash stains her hems. She reaches for Jaskier's hand but stops short of actually touching him.
"You're not," she says simply, lavender eyes boring into his. "I saw what firefucker did you, Jaskier."
Geralt is outright growling. "What happened?" he demands, fingertips pressing slightly into Jaskier's back through his jacket. Jaskier focuses on those five points of contact and breathes. "When did this happen?"
"Oh stop growling," he says, chancing a look at Geralt's furious face. "It was before you found me in the prison. Yennefer got me out."
"Not before he'd burned you," Yennefer oh so helpfully reminds him. Her fingertips brush over his, carefully peeling the clenched fingers of his left hand away from his palm. "And I didn't have the chance, or the ability to heal you before... everything else happened." Gently, far more gently than Jaskier had thought her capable of before now, Yennefer runs a her hand over his. "Let me help you now."
He swallows and, feeling like he's not got much of a choice, allows Yennefer to bring his hand up for inspection.
The blisters are ugly, the skin red and angry and split. Pieces of him are flaking off, jagged edges burned into his fingertips. His palm is cracked, the blisters and welts spreading down to his life line.
Geralt's hand fists in his jacket, his other hand coming up to grip Jaskier's elbow.
"Jaskier," he breathes, like the sound has been torn from his throat. "Why the fuck didn't you say something?"
"When?" Jaskier demands, eyes on the stones they're all kneeling on. "When we were looking for Ciri, when I took her to Kaer Morhen? When we were under attack from those big scaly monsters and people were dying? It's just a hand, Geralt. It's nothing that won't heal. There were more important things to worry about."
"Tell me I'm wrong." He meets Geralt's gaze then, steadily ignoring Yennefer's probing touch. "It's just a burn."
"It's infected."
That would explain the cold burning sensation he's been feeling. "Well I was crawling around on the floor. The disgusting floor- when was the last time any of you cleaned it? Do Witches not have mops or something? It could do with a good scrub. I did what I could with the brush but I'm not about to be on my knees for days scrubbing decades of grime off your floors- ow, fuck Yennefer!" He jerks, attempting to get his hand away from the newest pain but between Geralt and Yennefer he's well and truly pinned in place. "Warn a man!"
"I need to draw the infection out before I heal this," Yennefer says, completely ignoring him. "Wait here, I need a few things."
"Things?" Alarmed, Jaskier burrows backwards into Geralt as Yennefer stands and stalks from the room. "What things? Yennefer! Gods, she's going to enjoy this far too much. To think I saved her life."
Geralt's grip on his elbow is unyielding. "You've been hurting," he growls, head bowed. His forehead is nearly on Jaskier's shoulder. "This whole time you've been- you didn't say anything."
Geralt's actually nice and warm all pressed up against him like this. Jaskier shamelessly burrows further into his chest- partly to warm up his numb skin and partly so he can turn to look at Geralt without dislodging the other man's grip on him.
"Yes, well." He shrugs. "There were... things happening. All so fast, too. I didn't realize it was this bad until after the whole deathless mother, basilisk, black portal thing and then it was-" He bites his lip. "I don't know. Small? It seemed like nothing in comparison. People died. My hand was burned. It's nothing."
"You were tortured."
"That's..." nothing, it doesn't matter, it was days ago, he's fine.
His hand burns, even under Geralt's careful touch.
"Yes," he says to Geralt's bowed head. Sword calloused fingers cup the back of his hand. Geralt is so much bigger than him, his bulk surrounding Jaskier without trying, his chest easily broader than Jaskier's back and warming him where they're pressed together. He shivers again, warmth seeping into him after so long of being so cold. "Yes I- I was... I was tortured."
The hand on his back slides down to cup his hip, Geralt's grip nearly bruise tight.
Geralt's never... held him like this before.
Not the time, he reminds his foolish heart as it begins to beat wildly in his chest. Geralt can probably hear it pounding away behind his ribs. It will never be the right time for this, for his unrequited feelings to rear up and kick him in the chest. There are other things to worry about and he just got Geralt back.
He's not about to chase him off because he was foolish enough to fall in love with the man.
Geralt's head comes up slowly, gold gaze meeting Jaskier's. "You were tortured," he says slowly, in that low voice of his that Jaskier can feel deep in his bones, "because of me."
And well. There's not really a way around that.
"He thought I might have some information about you," Jaskier allows. He doesn't look away. Doesn't let Geralt either, good hand shooting out to turn his face towards him when Geralt flinches and starts to shift back. "I didn't give him anything," he promises. "I didn't-"
"I know." Geralt's hand spasms around Jaskier's hip once before his arm loops around and hauls Jaskier into his lap properly and oh, that's nice. That's very nice. "I know you wouldn't."
Jaskier swallows around a very dry throat. "To be fair, I didn't have any information to give. He wanted to know about you and Ciri. I didn't even know you had Ciri yet, so-"
"You knew enough." Geralt's eyes close now, his head tipping forward to rest gently against Jaskier's forehead. "We've parted ways at the base of the mountain before. You know the type of inns I prefer to stay at. You know that I go North for the winter, what path I take to get there. You might not have known where Kaer Morhen was until now but you knew enough."
And that... well. Jaskier hadn't thought about that but it's true enough. He'd put all thoughts of Geralt out of his mind for so long that even during the torture he'd refused to bring his memories to the front, determined to keep them out of the hands of that beast. He hadn't known what firefucker was looking for- or rather, who- but it didn't matter. He would never betray Geralt.
"I wouldn't have- I didn't say anything," Jaskier says again, his own eyes slipping closed. "I begged," he admits, feeling Geralt flinch and tighten his grip. "Screamed a bit. But Yennefer found me in time."
She finds them now, just like this. Jaskier in Geralt's lap on the floor, Geralt gripping him tight and breathing him in. Jaskier flushes but doesn't attempt to move away. Geralt's very warm and the room is very cold and he doesn't seem to want to let go of Jaskier any time soon anyway.
"You can keep clinging to him but I at least need his hand," Yennefer says, sounding amused. To Jaskier she says, a bit softly, "This is going to hurt."
Wearily suddenly, Jaskier holds out his hand and collapses fully against Geralt's chest. "Doesn't it always?"
Geralt's arms wrap around him to keep him in place when he arches and curses through Yennefer's ministrations, swearing the witch black and blue while she ruthlessly douses the open sores in a foul smelling concoction that burns nearly as much as the flames did.
"Melitele's burning balls," he yells, gritting his teeth and turning to burrow his face into Geralt's shoulder. "You gods-damned goat-witch."
"Mm-hmm," Yennefer agrees placidly, her grip nearly as iron as Geralt's and just as useful in holding him where she wants him. "I know, I know."
"No you fucking don't- fuck!"
"Breathe," Geralt murmurs into his hair, one hand running through the sweaty strands in a soothing motion when Jaskier's vision begins to blur. "I've go you, Jas. You're okay."
"I hope your hair falls out," Jaskier whimpers pitifully. Yennefer has the audacity to laugh at him but she puts the bottle down. "Please tell me you're done."
"Nearly," she assures him. Jaskier groans, digging his teeth into his lip. "The hard part's over with now."
"Thank the gods for that. I didn't mean it," he says, blinking to clear his vision and seeing Geralt above him. "About your hair. Your hair is lovely."
Yennefer purses her lips at him. He's almost sure she's hiding a grin.
"But I am a gods-damned goat-witch?"
"Oh most definitely."
"Well, at least that's cleared up then." She bends to examine Jaskier's palm carefully. Something soothing follows her fingertips, Jaskier's split skin knitting together, a cool balm flowing over him where she touches. "Bend your fingers," she orders.
He does. He can. It doesn't hurt nearly as much, the digits responding to the movement with barely a flare of pain.
"I can't do much about the scars," Yennefer is saying, unrolling a bandage and beginning to wrap his hand. "I'm afraid those are here to stay but the rest is as healed as I can make it."
Jaskier licks his lips to wet them. "I- will I be able to play? In the future?"
Geralt's breath hitches. Jaskier hears the stutter in the Witcher's too-slow heartbeat. Feels the way Geralt's arms squeeze him that much tighter, bring him that much closer.
If he didn't see it he wouldn't believe it but Yennefer softens right before him even as her fingers stay busy wrapping the bandage tightly around his hand. She squeezes his hand gently, just once, when she's done.
"You'll play again," she promises him. "I expect a song about this."
"My lady, I will write you a ballad."
Yennefer swirls out with a swish of her skirts and leaves them sitting on the floor, Jaskier still perched in Geralt's lap, all but melted into his chest. Since Geralt hasn't let go and doesn't show any sign of doing so in the near future, Jaskier nestles in against him with a happy hum. He's tired, weary down to his bones but his hand doesn't burn anymore. He can move his fingers. He'll play again.
Maybe he can keep helping the elves after all, his songs bringing in enough coin to smuggle them safely out to... wherever they want to go. He needs to find better ways for them to travel on land but it's easier to smuggle people on ships than it is in carriages.
"You're shaking," Geralt notes.
"Oh. So I am."
Geralt frowns down at him, one hand maneuvering out from under him enough to rest against Jaskier's forehead. "No fever. Yen would have said." He hums thoughtfully and hitches Jaskier more firmly against him. "Are you cold?"
"A bit. It's a lovely place, Kaer Morhen, but it's very full of holes and the wind does nip a bit."
Jaskier smiles, closing his eyes.
"Will it panic you if I light the fire?"
His eyes snap back open. "Um," he says through numb and tingling lips. "I honestly don't know."
Geralt hums again, chin coming to rest on the top of Jaskier's head. "You need a fire," he says.
He knows. It's far too cold in this room to not have a fire even with the furs and his coat and he knows that but. But the heat against his skin... would it remind him of ropes around his wrists and ankles or would it simply warm him up as it's meant to? Would he wake from a nightmare again and hear the fire crackling and be unable to keep in his screams?
"Jaskier. I'm right here."
Jaskier shudders once. His newly healed hand fists in Geralt's shirt. "Light it," he orders into Geralt's neck.
Geralt does. Jaskier feels him shift to cast Igni but doesn't turn to see the flames catch the kindling, refuses to open his eyes to the brighter light that suddenly fills the room.
Slowly the fire grows. The warmth fills the room, the stones under Jaskier's feet and Geralt's thighs growing warmer as time passes. He thinks Geralt might remove himself soon or at the very least pull Jaskier out of his lap but he does neither. The only movement Geralt makes is to carefully run his hand up and down Jaskier's back in jerky movements, like he's unsure of the motion.
It takes close to an hour for Jaskier's death grip on Geralt's shirt to loosen. Another ten minutes for him to convince his eyes to open. When they do, when his body relaxes enough to glance up, Geralt's gaze is focused on him.
"I'm okay," he says and almost means it.
Geralt doesn't stop sweeping his hand up and down Jaskier's back. He doesn't loosen his grip on Jaskier's hip or shift the bard from his lap. They stay there on the dusty, dirty floor and hold each other in front of the fire. Jaskier feels the heat of the flames against his back and pretends that his increased heart rate is because of it and has nothing to do with the way Geralt leans forward to bury his face back into Jaskier's hair.
"Can you... will you stay?" he asks, voice shaking just a bit.
"As long as you like."
Jaskier finds it in himself to huff out a laugh. "Dangerous thing to promise," he says, ignoring the way his nose brushes Geralt's neck from this position. If he mentions it Geralt will most definitely pull back and Jaskier can't even begin to say how much he doesn't want that. "What if I want to stay like this forever?"
Fingertips brush the back of his neck, sliding into his hair to cradle the back of his head and encourage him to tip his head back.
"As long as you like," Geralt says again, voice low, eyes on his. "For as long as you need."
And that... it gives him the strength to pull himself up. Not out of Geralt's lap because he's in Geralt's lap and he's going to stay there as long as he's allowed, thank you very much, but he turns to face the fire.
Geralt's arms are still around him, one slung low over his hips, the other draped almost casually across his chest. Geralt's nose brushes the back of his neck, his breath ghosting across Jaskier's skin and jacking his heart rate up even more.
But he looks at the fire. Into the flames. He feels the heat across his skin and watches the wood crack and burn and doesn't feel the need to run.
"I'm okay," he says and his teeth don't rattle with the lie.
Geralt's grip on him does not loosen. He does not pull away.
Jaskier reaches up with his bandaged hand to grip Geralt's where it rests against his shoulder. Geralt hums and threads their fingers together carefully, mindful of the bandages and the lingering burns Yennefer wasn't able to heal, his thumb brushing over the cloth of the bandage again and again.
"Next time, say something," Geralt breathes against the back of his neck. "You should never have to suffer in silence. Not around me."
"I could say the same for you," Jaskier says just as quietly, hand gripping Geralt's tightly. "You always suffer so quietly, Geralt. You're allow to feel your pain too." He feels Geralt's hum against his neck and has to suppress a shiver. Gods, does the man have any idea what he's doing to him? "Everyone is suffering right now. I guess I felt like my pain was... less. I could keep quiet about it so everyone could mourn or do whatever it is you Witchers do when you're pretending you're alright."
Geralt's head comes to rest against Jaskier's shoulder. "You cleaned up the blood in the main hall."
"I had to do something."
"You didn't." Geralt unfurls his legs slightly and presses his thighs against Jaskier's so they're both sitting on the floor but Jaskier is still surrounded by him, still held by Geralt, boxed in by his legs on either side and his arms around his chest. "But it was appreciated."
"Oh. Well." Awkward, slightly embarrassed, Jaskier wiggles back into Geralt's chest. Feels the other man chuckle slightly. "You're welcome."
He doesn't hide the wince as well as he hopes when one of the logs cracks loudly, his hand spasming against Geralt's. Geralt hums low in his chest, the sound becoming a growl when Jaskier's breath hitches.
"What did he look like?"
"I need to know who this man is so I know to kill him slowly if I ever see him."
"That's... sweet of you Geralt but I'm pretty sure Yennefer burned half his face off."
"I'll remove his head from his shoulders," Geralt promises him, lips brushing Jaskier's ear and making his breath hitch for an entirely different reason. "He'll never touch you again."
"Hmm," Jaskier says, sounding so much like Geralt the other man outright smiles against Jaskier's skin. "You can't protect me forever."
Geralt buries his face into the curve of Jaskier's neck. "Watch me."
That's frighteningly sweet and speaks of a future Jaskier has only dared dream of before now.
"Thank you. For Ciri. She was- she said you helped."
Blinking, Jaskier cranes his neck to meet Geralt's gaze. "I didn't do anything. She mentioned the hot springs and I really needed a bath. And on that note I can't believe you never told me about the hot springs. I would have come up each much earlier if I'd known you got to soak in hot springs all winter long. They're marvelous. How do you get anything done? I never wanted to leave."
"She was frightened."
"Well. Yes. It's a frightening thing, all that power. I can't even imagine. But she's still- well I'm not going to say just a child because Ciri isn't just anything, but she's so young still. I know you're all big and tough and strong- and yes I am including Yennefer in that- but Ciri needs to feel it still. Needs to know that it's okay to feel whatever she's feeling and that there will be people around her who will let her feel what she needs to. She's lost so much already. Let's not take any more from her, hm?"
"Hmm," Geralt says and it sounds like an agreement.
Impulsively, Jaskier stretches up to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. "Thank you," it's his turn to say. "For staying. For this."
Geralt's stunned look stretches Jaskier's smile wide. His lips are tingling again, this time at the memory of Geralt's cheek under them, the feel of his stubble catching ever so slightly.
He's not expecting Geralt to cradle the back of his head again, to tip Jaskier's face back towards his and crush their mouths together. He can't help the whimper that escapes him, can't stop his hand from reaching to fist in Geralt's hair, can't keep his eyes from sliding closed or his mouth from opening under the assault. Geralt kisses like he fucking means it, all hard teeth and tongue and unyielding pressure and Jaskier helpless beneath it all.
He gives as good as he gets, sinking his teeth into Geralt's bottom lip like he's dreamed of doing for years, for fucking decades and now he can. Geralt hums, his chest all but vibrating under Jaskier's hand and tips them further back, stretching out in front of the fire, kissing and kissing and kissing Jaskier until he has to pull away to catch his breath. He doesn't pull his hand from Geralt's hair and is delighted when Geralt only pulls back far enough for the bard to catch his breath before he dives back in.
Gods above the man can kiss. The floor is hard underneath Jaskier's back. He can smell the dirt and dank of the room but it doesn't matter because Geralt's arm is under his neck, his hand in Jaskier's hair, his other arm bracketing Jaskier's body to pull him closer. His tongue is in Jaskier's mouth, searching out every taste hiding in the corners, teeth scraping against his lips and tugging until Jaskier moans against him.
"Geralt," he gasps, hands coming to cup the Witcher's face. "Fuck."
"If you like."
"Gods don't make promises you don't want to keep-"
Geralt kisses him again, softer now, fingers gentling in their journey down Jaskier's sides to carefully work their way up under his shirt. Jaskier shivers, arching into the touch. Gods it's even better than he's dreamed.
"I want," Geralt promises against his mouth.
If Geralt is going to touch then Jaskier gets to touch too. It's only fair. He wastes no time getting his unbandaged hand under Geralt's shirt, clutching at the muscles he's admired from afar and stitched up and rubbed soothing balm on but never been allowed to explore before. Geralt shudders at the touch, pulling back, no no pulling away- but he yanks his shirt over his head before crawling back over Jaskier again and sealing their mouths together.
Jaskier moans, loud and wanton when Geralt gets him out of his jacket, undoes the buttons on his shirt with blinding speed to let it dangle open. He presses his mouth down Jaskier's neck, biting slightly teeth scraping and catching all the way down his chest.
"Geralt," Jaskier moans, hands fisting in his hair.
"Again," Geralt growls around the massive hickey he's sucking into Jaskier's chest. "Say it again."
And then Jaskier can't speak, can't even think with how thoroughly Geralt is kissing him, how carefully he takes Jaskier apart.
"Jaskier," Geralt murmurs against Jaskier's skin. Against every part of him. "Jaskier."
Later, curled up in the bed and tangled around each other so tightly that Jaskier isn't sure where he ends and Geralt begins, Geralt presses his mouth carefully to the bandages still tightly wound around Jaskier's hand. He kisses each finger, each knuckle, down to Jaskier's palm before taking his time to mouth at Jaskier's wrist.
Jaskier hums happily, pulling Geralt up for a proper kiss. The fire crackles behind them merrily, warm and burning bright.
And as Jaskier slips into sleep, Geralt wrapped around him and practically purring, he's warm.
                                                   (ao3 link)
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thenatsdorf · 3 months ago
Mom? Moooooom? 
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ilovemen222 · 5 months ago
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- @malecrave
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