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writinglizards · 3 years

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Poison in my Veins

Summary: Geralt takes a mix of potions on a hunt and has an uncharacteristically bad reaction. Jaskier helps him deal.

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

Rating: Mature

Warnings: smut, dubious consent on the basis of sex pollen (but they’re both into it), minor levels of whump

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Geralt hates potions. He always has, and he probably always will.

They're useful, sure, and he takes them because he needs the edge they provide when he's hunting, but the negatives far outweigh the positives, as far as he's concerned.

Depending on the concoction, they make him prone to headaches, sensitive to light, lightheaded, nauseous. And those are just the mild ones. That's not saying anything about the way they make him look, or how some of the more intense potions feel like they're burning him up, make him twitchy and hypersensitive.

He's mixed a vial of kiss and black blood for his hunt tonight and he knows he's going to need them, even if he hates it, even if he doesn't want to use them. Jaskier's in camp tonight and he doesn't...he doesn't want to have to hide in the trees until he looks normal and approachable again. It's the worst part, feeling strung out and needy and knowing he's got to wait another thirty plus minutes until his eyes change, until the black of his veins fade until he can return to camp.

He hates it.

-----

He knows as soon as he downs the potions in quick succession that something's wrong. He dispatches the garkain taking up residence in the nearby cave smoothly and without problem, but there's a burning under his skin that shouldn't be there, a tight, hot curling in his gut that makes him double over, makes him moan brokenly. It’s not the normal slightly queazy response he has to this mix of potions. It's not...it's not good, this feeling, but he gets the impression it could be, maybe. It feels like being so strung out, so needy that everything hurts, and tears spring to his eyes as he curls tighter into himself, knees hitting the cave floor and he moans again, an unpleasant, painful sound.

It's how Jaskier finds him, however long later.

"Geralt, what--" he stops in the mouth of the cave, and Geralt knows something's really wrong with him because he should have heard him coming, should have--

"Jask," he grinds out, and his voice is thin with pain, "Jask, please--" he doesn't know what he's asking him for, but Jaskier steps forward anyway, puts his hand carefully on Geralt's shoulder as he ducks to get a better look at his face. The touch is like a brand, even through the thick leather of his armor.

"Geralt? Are you okay?"

"Potions," he says, breathless with the tender brush of Jaskier's hand along his arm, the way he squeezes his bicep gently. Even with the barrier between bare skin, it's too much, "hurts."

"Is that--" he trails off, other hand coming up to cup his cheek, force him to look him in the eye. He can feel his face heat, knows that like this his blush will be black like ink instead of red. Jaskier breathes in sharply, thumb rubbing idly back and forth against his cheekbone.

"Yes."

"What can I do to help?" It's...a valid question. But there's not anything that can be done, and if Jaskier isn't going to run screaming, apparently--

"Help me back to camp? Please." It hurts to ask, but not as much as the knotting, painful feeling in his gut, not as much as Jaskier's fingertips on his bare skin. Jaskier nods, more to himself than anything, before working his way under Geralt’s arm and winding his own around Geralt’s waist. When he’s got a good grip on him he stands, dragging Geralt upright with him.

"Oh, fuck," Jaskier gasps when Geralt moans and his knees buckle, almost bringing both of them back to the ground, "work with me, Geralt, I'm trying here."

He focuses on keeping upright, one foot in front of the other as Jaskier leads him from the cave toward their camp. His gut burns unpleasantly and he wants to curl up again so badly. His skin prickles where Jaskier touches and he realizes, belatedly, that what he feels is arousal, so bright and hot it hurts. He wants to wrap his fist around his cock and strip himself until he physically can't take the touch anymore, wants Jaskier to hold him--

"Doing okay?" Jaskier asks when Geralt stumbles, but he keeps a firm grip around his waist, keeps him moving despite the way he drags them both down. Geralt knows he's hard and he knows Jaskier must know, but he hasn't drawn attention to it.

"No," he says honestly, "keep walking." He can see the way Jaskier presses his lips together firmly in response, but he doesn't stop, continues to help Geralt hobble closer to camp, slowly but surely.

By the time they make it back to the camp, Geralt's shaking so hard he can barely stay upright, and Jaskier's gone absolutely silent, breathing ragged as he labors under the majority of Geralt's weight.

He's expecting to be deposited unceremoniously on the ground, but Jaskier lowers him gently beside the fire. As soon as Geralt's knees hit the packed dirt, he's curling forward, moaning lowly.

"Okay, okay, just--" Jaskier's breathless from exertion, but he's still fussing over Geralt, hands working quickly at the clasps of his chest piece as he focuses on freeing him of the heavy leathers, "--give me a minute, Geralt, hold on--"

"Fuck," he mumbles, forcing himself still as Jaskier plucks at the buckles and ties, undoing them deftly. It makes his blood sing to feel Jaskier undressing him, even if he knows that's not how this is going to go.

"I need you to sit back for a minute, Geralt, can you do that?" he asks, palm searing against his back where it rests. He's sure Jaskier means it as a kind of reassurance but all it makes him feel is want.

He doesn't say anything, just forces himself more upright, even as it makes that curl of intense pain flare in his gut. He closes his eyes and forces himself to focus.

There's a high, whining noise in his ears that he realizes belatedly is him. Jaskier's speaking, soft soothing nonsense as he rushes to free the last few ties and pry him out of the armor, and as soon as the heavy weight of it is gone, he's shucking his shirt as well. He shifts to curl back over, but Jaskier doesn't move, a hand pressed gently to his chest. Unbidden, Geralt whines. Jaskier's expression flickers with something, there one minute and gone the next.

"Geralt, you've never...what's going on?"

"Potions," he repeats roughly. "Jask, please--" there's blatant need in his voice, and Jaskier jolts, eyes meeting Geralt's straight on and holding his gaze, which--

"What do you need, love?"

He can't ask that of him, even if he knows Jaskier would give it. This burning feeling will only intensify before it runs itself out. He can...he can wait it out. He's done similar before.

"Space," he says, not meaning it for a moment, but Jaskier nods, shifts back and away to let Geralt curl back around himself, folding his arms on the ground and press his forehead to them tightly. His gut cramps like there's a fist in there, squeezing tight, and he can't help the shocky little sound of pain that filters through his lips when he shifts, his dick catching against the rough fabric of his trousers.

"Geralt?"

"Hurts," he repeats, "sorry, I--" he cuts off when Jaskier presses in close again, not touching but close enough for the calming scent of lavender and pine to wash over him. It makes him ache sharply, makes his dick throb, even if he smells nothing but the sour note of concern under that, tinging with something like fear.

"How's it hurt, love?" he asks softly, and Geralt can feel Jaskier's desire to reach out like a physical thing. It's...worse, somehow, than he thought it would be. His touch burns, but--

"Bad potion mix, they must have been off and I fucked it up, I--" he has to snap his jaw shut or risk biting off his tongue as a wave of shivers hit him, so sharp they're almost, almost pleasant, if it weren't for the aching burn in his gut, "--ah--"

"Geralt?"

"Sorry, I--" he cuts off again, whining as he presses his forehead to his arms, hard. "--Melitele fucking help me."

Jaskier sits silently at his side even though he's practically vibrating with energy, and Geralt just...rides out the sharp swell of it for a few moments, waiting for the bright hot burning need to settle for the time he needs to speak.

"Always a little...ah...but this is, mm--" there's a sharp, needy quality to the noises he keeps making; he can hear them as if they come from another person, "intense." He's panting as if he's run straight from Vizima to Novigrad on foot.

"And there's nothing I can do to help?" he asks, "like a massage or--"

Geralt laughs. It's sharp and painful, more a bark of noise than true laughter. It shocks Jaskier silent.

"Jaskier, I am so hard I can't breathe, you touching me is the problem."

"O-oh," he stutters out, and Geralt wishes he could see his face, gauge his reaction. Is he disgusted? Amused? Merely indifferent? Geralt's already too far gone to read his tone. "Did you...nothing will help?"

"Jerking off might," he bites out, feeling the heat in his cheeks, "but I...it's never been this bad before, I can't fucking think--"

"Do you need help?" Jaskier asks, and the pulse of arousal is so strong it sends him spiraling in another wave of cramps. He cries out this time, trying to ride out the bright hot flare of pain as Jaskier makes his own soft, distressed noises above him.

"You can't help," he gets out eventually. It's supposed to be angry, but it just comes out breathy and weak.

"Okay so you don't--okay," Jaskier says, sounding more like he's talking to himself than Geralt before clearing his throat and sitting up a little straighter, "so you don't want me touching you. Why can't you get yourself off? That should help, yeah?"

"Hurts," he breathes, gut-clenching at the thought of Jaskier watching him. He's just getting that surge of white-hot arousal under control and now it threatens to overwhelm him again, "can't...can't lay flat long enough to--"

"Ah," Jaskier says, as if suddenly getting the picture, "it's...like a cramp? Like that time I had the food poisoning and--"

"Yes," Geralt cuts him off quickly. He doesn't want to think about Jaskier on his knees in any context, even if it involves lots of vomiting and tears.

"Mm, you know what helped with that," Jaskier says, tone conversational, "was when you held me, actually. Do you think that might work?"

Geralt whines again, muscles tensing as the curling heat in his stomach bursts to fresh life again. The thought of Jaskier touching him, holding him so tenderly, even if he's not--

"Please," his traitor of a mouth says before he can catch up to it, "please, it hurts so bad, Jask, I just want--" he cuts off on a sob when Jaskier's palms settle on his back, rubbing warm, soothing circles as he shuffles around him into what his hazy focus assumes must be a better position.

"Alright, Geralt, alright," he's soothing, voice low and warm. Distantly Geralt realizes the fear scent is gone as Jaskier tucks himself across Geralt's back, palms sliding to his hips as he curves over him. "I know it hurts, love, but we're gonna lay back, alright?"

"Can't," he gasps out, hands scrabbling for Jaskier's forearms, hold him closer, "Jaskier, I can't."

"Sure you can," Jaskier says softly, voice honey-sweet and warm, "I know you can, Geralt, you're so strong, love--"

He chokes on a soft sound at the praise, and Jaskier just hums. "I know, darling, you can do it, relax for me."

Slowly, bit by bit, Jaskier works his arms around Geralt's waist and eases him backward until he's sitting upright, knees shaky where they’re bent under him.

"Oh, good job, sweetheart," Jaskier breathes, and Geralt's gut clenches so tight it’s unpleasant, hips twitching, "you're so hard, darling, why don't you take care of that? I'm sure it will take the edge off a little."

He's whining, a thin, sustained noise as he fumbles at the button of his trousers, drawing himself out with shaky hands. He knows from experience that the pull of his own hand feels good, but all he can process is the searing pain, the way it knots his gut and makes him breathless.

"Hey, hey," Jaskier soothes in his ear, hands pressing hard to his stomach just above the jut of his cock, "take it slow, love. Enjoy it." He doesn't enjoy the rough drag of his own hand, but Jaskier's palms against his stomach, right above that licking heat is...

"Fuck," he sobs, hips snapping, but Jaskier just holds him calmly, fingers brushing slowly back and forth across his overheated skin.

"I know, Geralt. Easy, darling," he murmurs. He lets Geralt jerk himself for what feels like an awful stretch of time with no results.

"Isn't working," he rasps out, and he's not sure when he started crying, but there are tears on his cheeks and his throat is raw with them.

"Do you want help?" Jaskier asks, voice calm, and the thought of Jaskier's hands wrapped around his dick--

"Yes, please, oh fuck," he gasps, squirming. Jaskier doesn't even have his hands on him yet, but just the thought--

"Alright, darling, alright," he murmurs, fingers sliding from the flat stretch of his stomach lower to wrap around his cock, and Geralt jerks, coming in long, hot spurts that leave him sobbing, fingers digging into the flesh of Jaskier's thighs as he desperately grasps at something to ground him. "Oh, that's so good, Geralt, there you go, good boy."

"Jaskier," he gasps, not softening in the least as Jaskier continues to work him over, tugging him toward a second peak with skilled fingers and soft words.

"I know, sweetheart, does it still hurt?"

He can't speak, just nods roughly. He moves to press his forearm against his lower stomach and Jaskier lets him before resettling his palm over the top of his arm, a warm, reassuring weight as he continues to jerk him off, slow and smooth.

"That's alright, we'll get you everything you need, Geralt, don't worry, oh, look at you," he breathes when Geralt locks up, spilling a second time over Jaskier's fist and his own thighs, "aren't you a sight?"

"Jaskier, please--"

"You want me to stop?" he asks, touch gentling but not pulling away. He’s worked his trousers and smalls down to his calves at some point, and he kicks free of them, finally bare. Behind him, Jaskier is still clothed, and the contrast makes his skin prickle. All of him aches fiercely, but it's not so bad he feels like he'll die, like he needs to curl into a ball and rock back and forth, sobbing with it, not like earlier.

"No," he mumbles anyway, and Jaskier makes a sweet, approving sound before his lips press against Geralt's shoulder, softly.

"Thank you for letting me help, love," he says, lips brushing skin. He redoubles his efforts, bringing Geralt to an easy third peak, but he can still feel that awful itching burn under his skin that tells him they're not done, even though he's already tired.

"Jaskier--"

"Hm?" he asks. He's paused to play with the head, thumb pressing just a touch shy of too hard under it. It makes his hips twitch, makes him groan. He knows he needs to ask if he wants more than just this, but--

"Would you--" he wets his lips and inadvertently catches sight of his own dick in Jaskier's hand, the way he's swollen angry and nearly purple, the delicate curl of Jaskier's fingers around all that firm flesh, and he watches, raptured, as those fingers stroke to the base, dip to fondle his balls, reach back--

"Yes," he hisses, back arching, and Jaskier rubs a little more firmly against his hole, humming softly.

"You want me to get you off on my fingers? Jerking you off doesn't seem to be helping." It is, of course, but it's a slow depletion of the potions after effects. He knew, even as the burning, itching feeling had settled into his bones, that this was one of the bad ones, one that is easier fucked out of him than fucked through.

"Yes," he husks, "please," and then Jaskier is dragging his hand through the mess of Geralt’s come and pushing one slender digit in, slowly but surely. "Oh, fuck." The ache isn't gone, but it's immediately eased with that slight fullness.

"Breathe, Geralt," Jaskier reminds, and he sucks in a sobbing breath, head lolling on Jaskier's shoulder as he spreads his knees a little wider to give him better access, "there you go, love."

"Fuck me, please," he mumbles, and Jaskier does, moving that single digit in and out nice and easy. The slick of his come eases the way and his head spins as his gut clenches. He needs-- "more, please."

"Eager," Jaskier says, lips pressing to his shoulder again, but there's a second finger nudging against his rim before pressing in, slow and steady, and he chokes on his next breath, "but that's okay. Let me know if it's too much."

It isn't. He wants more, faster, harder, but he doesn't want Jaskier to think he's greedy. It's bad enough he's nearly out of his mind with need, bad enough Jaskier has to see him like this at all, but--

"You're thinking too hard," Jaskier says softly, and he crooks his fingers, brushing against that spot inside him that makes him shake, gasping, "I want you focused on this, Geralt, not whatever's up in that head of yours."

"What if I'm thinking about you?" he whines, prodding for a weakness, anything. Jaskier laughs softly.

"No need to think about me, love, I'm right here." He twists to press his lips to Geralt's cheek at the same time Geralt twists to look back at him and their lips brush, just barely. They both freeze.

"Fuck--" The moment doesn't last long. As Jaskier's fingers still, the heat flares up, sharp and overwhelming, and Geralt's head rolls against his shoulder again as he squirms, trying to encourage Jaskier to move.

"Sorry," he breathes, fingers resuming their easy movement. It quells some of the feeling, but he's still painfully hard, still needy and right on the edge, "sorry, Geralt, can I kiss you?"

"Please," he sobs, twisting his head, lips searching, and then Jaskier is there, lips sliding against his own. Geralt assumes Jaskier will kiss gently, will kiss as thoroughly as he's fucking his fingers into him, slow and controlled and overwhelming. What he gets instead is fierce heat, the slick slide of lips and the quick bite of teeth before the nip is soothed away with the cool lap of his tongue, leaving him gasping.

Jaskier crooks his fingers again as he licks into Geralt's mouth and Geralt comes with a muffled cry, hips twitching as Jaskier milks his prostate, cock spilling over his hip.

Jaskier works him through it, fingers tucked against that spot inside him until it hurts, until he's squirming again and whining, and only then does he back off, fingers easing away from his prostate to play with his rim instead.

"How are we feeling, Geralt?"

"Good," he whines, "Jask, I need--"

"More?" he asks, fingers teasing lightly along his rim until he's panting with it.

"Yes, please, gods fuck me, please--"

"Alright, darling, alright." He kisses him again, quick. "But you are alright though?"

"Yes, Jaskier, please--"

"Alright," he soothes, "touch yourself for me," he says, and then he's pulling away, fingers sliding free. There's an immediate flare in his gut, sharp and painful, but not as bad as it was. Almost...almost manageable. Especially as he wraps his own fist around his cock, movements quick and jerky. He doesn't say anything as Jaskier eases him down onto his back on the hard ground, situates himself between his thighs. He thinks...he thinks maybe he should, but--

"How's it feel?" Jaskier asks, curling his own hand around Geralt's where he's pumping himself roughly still. He jerks in response to the touch, needing Jaskier's more than his own.

"Good," he gasps, "so good, Jask, I--" he bites off the words, teeth sinking into his lower lip. There's...there's no need to tell Jaskier how bad he wants him, no need for Jaskier to know about how he feels. It would make it weird. He's just...he's just here to help.

"Good," Jaskier says, voice rough as he kisses him again, filthy and quick, "want you to feel good, Geralt."

His hand falls away as Jaskier shifts between his thighs and he situates himself around Jaskier's waist. He’s still fully dressed, chemise rucked up, trousers open and dick curving hard and hot from the open vee of his trousers. Compared to Jaskier, Geralt feels open and exposed but he burns with the need to feel Jaskier inside him.

"Don't tease," he says when Jaskier drags the slick head of himself over Geralt's entrance but doesn't push in, "please, Jask."

Jaskier hums and steadies himself wordlessly before pressing in, and the thick, burning pressure makes him shout as he arches into it, hips canting to get him deeper faster.

"Slow," Jaskier grunts, hands on his waist, and Geralt sobs, fingers scrabbling along his shoulders as he yanks him down over his chest, forces him closer.

"Please, need it now, fuck me, please," he gasps, thighs flexing, and Jaskier groans, a deep, primal sound that makes Geralt shiver. "Fuck me hard, Jask, come on--"

Jaskier growls and snaps his hips forward almost brutally as he sinks the rest of the way in and it's perfect, leaves Geralt breathless. There are tears trickling down his cheeks again but it's good, it's so good--

Jaskier doesn't move, wrapping his fist around Geralt's dick and jerking him off hard and fast until he's coming again, Jaskier buried inside him and grinding filthily against his ass but not really moving. Above him, Jaskier hisses, but otherwise doesn't respond, teeth grit in something like a grimace.

"Jask," he slurs out, feeling drunk on pleasure, and Jaskier grunts, leaning forward to kiss him when he tips his chin up needily, "want you to fuck me for real," he mumbles when they part, just enough to breathe, "please."

"'M gonna come if I do that," Jaskier says, words pressed into his lips as he kisses him again, over and over in brief, delightfully filthy little presses.

"'S okay," he says, and it's true; the burning, clenching feeling in his gut has mellowed. He feels...almost normal.

"Are you gonna be okay? I thought you needed to be full?" and the tender care in his voice, despite how rough and deep it is, despite the way his hips twitch restlessly against his ass, makes Geralt flush hot.

"I do," he says softly, "but I want your come in me more," and Jaskier makes a harsh, painful sound.

"You say the prettiest things, Geralt," he gasps, and then he's fitting his palms beneath Geralt's knees and pushing them back to his chest, holding him open. Geralt's own hands settle on his thighs to help as Jaskier pulls back partway before snapping forward again.

The first thrust is like heaven, sharp and pleasurable and almost overwhelming. Geralt makes a sharp, needy noise in response, and Jaskier bares his teeth, expression fierce as he pulls back to fuck into him again, just as hard. The singleminded focus in his eyes makes Geralt feel hot, makes his gut churn and his dick twitch and he can't help but think about how much he wishes this were different--

His thoughts are interrupted by a hand in his hair, yanking hard as Jaskier sinks in again, makes him cry out hoarsely.

"Where are you, Geralt?" Jaskier asks, and it's clear he doesn't mean physically.

"Here," he mumbles anyway, "with you."

"No," Jaskier grunts, hips snapping forward again, and Geralt whimpers, "don't lie to me, Geralt."

"I want you," he sobs out when Jaskier snaps back in again, and Jaskier makes a tsk-ing noise.

"You have me, Geralt, what are you really thinking about?" He tugs the strands in his fist a little harder, tips his head back a little farther as he snaps in again, and Geralt can't help but wail as his cock twitches. He's so close-- "tell me."

"Want you to want me," he gasps, even as he wishes he could strangle the words in his throat--the fierceness in Jaskier's eyes, the intense look there is flaying him open in a way he's never felt before. He couldn't stop them if he wanted to, "want you to want this, Jask, please--"

"You think I don't?" he pants out, still not losing his rhythm, "hm? You think I'd do this for anyone, Geralt?"

He doesn't have an adequate response for him. Of course he doesn't think Jaskier would do this for just anyone, but--

"You think I'm slutty enough to slide between just anyone's thighs, Geralt?" he asks, fingers cinching tighter in Geralt's hair, and he can't help but cry out, back arching.

"N-no, no, fuck, Jask, of course not, I--"

"Then why am I here, Geralt?" he growls out, punctuating the question with the thrust of his hips, and Geralt's thoughts scatter as he nails that place inside him again, leaves him gasping and whining. "Answer me, Geralt. Why am I here?"

He doesn't know what to say, doesn't know why Jaskier's here if not out of some twisted sense of loyalty. But he also knows if he says anything about loyalty right now, Jaskier's likely to snap and he's...he doesn't want that.

"I don't know," he gasps, fingers clawing uselessly across his shoulders, and Jaskier hisses at the bite of his nails, "'M sorry, I don't know."

"I want to," Jaskier growls out, forcing Geralt's eyes to meet his with the hand tangled in his hair, "you fucking idiot, I want to."

He doesn't know when Jaskier closes the space between them again to kiss him, but as soon as he does, Geralt can't breathe, needs Jaskier's mouth moving against his own more than he needs air. And still, Jaskier's relentless pace doesn't let up.

"'M gonna come," he gasps against Jaskier's lips, and Jaskier just hums softly in the back of his throat as his fingers rise to flick over his nipples teasingly, and that's it.

Geralt comes hard, shivers wracking his frame as Jaskier works him through it, thrusts angled deliberately to hit his prostate. Each brush feels like coming anew, makes him whine sharply into Jaskier's mouth despite the lack of come painting his stomach--he's come almost dry this time.

He's still whining and clenching around Jaskier's length, still oversensitive, when Jaskier shoves in deep and comes with a strangled noise, lips slipping messily against his own. The feeling of being filled is good, makes him feel loose and pliant, even as Jaskier collapses across his chest, sticky mess between them.

They lay together, silently panting, for a long, tired moment before Jaskier shifts to pull out and rolls off him. Geralt immediately misses the firm weight of him.

He waits for Jaskier to say something in the issuing silence, but he doesn't, just lays there quietly alongside him, only the harshness of his breathing, already easing, between them.

"I'm...sorry," he says awkwardly, tongue feeling thick and heavy in his mouth. He no longer feels like he might die, but he's still not quite right either, riding the aftershocks of pleasure that make him feel dumb and hazy.

"What for?" Jaskier asks, fingers rising to pluck at the ruined fabric of his chemise before squirming out of it with a sigh, tossing it somewhere to the side.

"For...forcing you into such a position," he says, and Jaskier sighs, an awful, put upon sound.

"You didn't force me into anything, Geralt," he says, "or were you not listening?" The reminder of Jaskier's very attentive lesson makes him flash hot. It's almost upsetting to be turned on again so soon. He doesn't think he could come again if he tried.

"I..."

"Do you need a reminder already?" he asks, voice like steel, and Geralt can't help the whimper that slips through his lips. "I told you I was here because I wanted to be. I do. Too much." Something in Geralt's chest lurches.

"I...not as much as I do," he mumbles, eyes averted. Jaskier is silent so long Geralt can't stand it--he looks back at him, just in time to catch the shock fading to something soft, something like longing.

"What do you mean, Geralt?"

Fuck. Jaskier's really going to make him say it. Again.

"I...told you," he says haltingly, and his cheeks are on fire, "I want you to want me."

"More than just when you're ten seconds from dying without an orgasm," Jaskier says, voice teasing, but there's sincerity behind it, and Geralt feels himself flush harder.

"Yeah."

"Good," Jaskier says simply, "because I do." It...takes Geralt a minute, for his world to readjust.

"You...do?"

"Mm," Jaskier hums, rolling closer and tucking his head under Geralt's chin pointedly. Belatedly, Geralt brings his arms up to wrap around his waist. Nothing about this could be considered comfortable--they're laying on the hard ground feet from Geralt's actual bedroll, Jaskier's still got his trousers on, Geralt can feel come dripping down his thighs and he's absolutely covered in his own spend, itchy where it's already begun to dry.

"Oh," he says softly, and Jaskier gives a snort of laughter, pressing a kiss to Geralt's collarbone.

"Thought you already knew, darling."

"I...did not," he says, and everything has a surreal, slightly fuzzy quality to it. It's...probably the after-affects of the potion, coupled with the haze of pleasure still running through him.

"Mm, well now you do," Jaskier says, "what are you gonna do about it?" It's teasing again, soft. Geralt sighs, a quiet, content gust of breath.

"'M gonna nap," he slurs out, dragging Jaskier closer to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, "and then we'll see about repaying your...favor," he mumbles, and Jaskier laughs, bright and soft.

"I'll hold you to that."

#witcher #witcher fic #geraskier #lizard writes #rating: mature #this is more purely self indulgent smut bc i promised myself a potions fic and STILL had not got around to it

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wherethewordsare · 3 years

Note

I am once again hitting up your ask box to ask for fic

Can i pwease get selkie jask🥺👉👈

Cheese... As always, sorry this took a fucking age? I hope you like it? And just in time for Monster March!!! <3 <3 <3

There had always been something about Jaskier that set Geralt on edge. But not in the way that he was used to. The way he would smile so easily even when Geralt was gruff and unrelenting left him disarmed and at ease. But it was also the way that there were nights when the moon was high and Jaskier couldn’t seem to find sleep that Geralt’s medallion seemed to buzz with a low but urgent hum. Those nights the smell of brine and sun and sawgrass was nearly chokingly strong, rolling off of Jaskier in waves stronger than a riptide.

Magic. What kind, Geralt could never figure out. There had been something about the way Jaskier wore his heart on his sleeve that made it feel like there was so little the bard would actually hide from him, but this one thing. Maybe there was siren blood in him after all, maybe it was fae? But no matter what it was, Geralt wasn’t about to send Jaskier away for something he couldn’t definitively prove. And even if he could, would he?

They were near Oxenfurt, summer coming to an end and Geralt watched with interest as every so often, Jaskier’s head would pop up from where he sat around their campfire, looking westward. The way he tilted his chin as though someone had called his name.

“What are you doing?” Geralt asked. He kept his tone light, his own eyes following Jaskier’s gaze west.

“Hmm,” was all he got, Jaskier not turning to look at him, his eyes focused on the line of trees across from him. It took him by surprise, their sudden unexpected role reversal. He chuckled.

“Jask!” Geralt set down the armor he was cleaning, waving a cloth in front of Jaskier’s face.

“Ah! Right, sorry. Got lost in thought for a moment,” he turned to look at Geralt, his eyes still glazed over with that lost look. “You know, my home isn’t too far from here.”

“Oxenfurt is just a day’s ride. Have someone waiting for you?” Geralt teased but the idea of Jaskier having someone that could pull him away from the path they traveled together made his tone more accusatory than he had intended.

“No, not…” Jaskier’s eyes wandered back west again as he fidgeted. “Geralt, I need-” he licked his lips as if he was ready to say something.

Geralt’s medallion gave a soft hum where it rested against his skin, warmer than it had been. There was nothing here to fight, only Jaskier, face flushed from sitting too close to the fire, his white linen shirt clinging to him slightly in the late summer heat. The nights wouldn’t be cool for another few weeks and they wouldn’t part for a few weeks after that if the snows held off. Or maybe.

Whatever it was that Jaskier wasn’t saying hung between them in the slight vibration of low magic and crickets.

“Come with me to the coast? There’s something I need to take care of,” Jaskier was suddenly on his feet, striding with unsure steps to his bedroll, his hands wringing in front of him. The magic stopped and Geralt watched as Jaskier turned his back on where he had been watching. He could see it for what it was, an offer to an answer of a question neither of them had been brave enough to ask. Not yet.

“Could be some contracts that way,” Geralt mused, reaching for his sword to clean next.

If he hadn’t been a witcher, if his sight hadn’t been so keen and had he not been already so attuned to Jaskier, he might have missed it. They had been traveling together for what must have been well over a decade now, and never once had Geralt seen Jaskier pull away from him not even remotely. In the fading daylight, it was hard to miss now. The moment Geralt wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword, Jaskier had flinched away.

He made no comment, only letting the sword rest back against the log as he changed tactics, reaching instead for another piece of his armor to clean. He couldn’t seem to catch Jaskier’s eyes as the bard finally settled down into his bedroll, turning over so his back was to Geralt.

There had always been something about Jaskier that had put Geralt on edge, the smell of sea salt and warm sand and kelp that always surfaced, even with all the oils and perfumes he would soak himself in. A kind of worry gripped him, a beginning of an end to the unsaid things between them. Geralt waited patiently for him to drift off, keeping an ear open for the steady even breaths that came when Jaskier slept. Only then did he reach for his swords to clean them.

Silently he prayed to whatever deity would hear him that he would not find reasons to draw them when they reached the coast.

It had been an easy kind of journey, a day to Oxenfurt then another few days to the coast proper. Once they had left the last village behind, Jaskier led the way, keeping always a few strides out front, his fingers nervously tweaking out half conscience tunes on his lute, barely paying attention to anything other than moving onward. Geralt found that there were moments of unending chatter and then complete silence.

The last night that they camped, the trees had become pine and the grass was rough under Geralt’s hands as he gathered wood for the fire. Jaskier sat quietly by his bedroll, his eyes brighter than they had been in what felt like weeks. He moved his jaw every now and again as though he was trying to find the words to say but the most Geralt could get out of him was broken off sentences and hesitant glances.

“Do you always kill the monsters?” He asked finally, setting aside his quill and lacing his fingers together in front of him, thumbs twirling anxiously.

“Only the dangerous ones,” Geralt said quietly. He had made sure not to reach for his swords in front of Jaskier since that night he had asked to go to the coast, afraid that the answers would slide away like the tide.

“Oh, and how do you know when they’re not dangerous?” It had been a conversation they had had before, but then Jaskier had been less pensive, more chatty, taking notes for his ballads. Now his eyes barely looked up from the fire.

Above them, the moon hung heavy and full, silver catching in Jaskier’s dark hair and casting his features into ethereal shadows where the firelight did not quite reach. Geralt risked moving a little closer, using the poking the fire as pretense before sitting beside Jaskier.

“What are we doing here, Jaskier?” He wasn’t accusatory or flippant. There had been answers that he needed and he wasn’t sure what the right ones would be.

Jaskier sat very still, his tongue darting out for a moment. “You know I trust you?”

It wasn’t what Geralt had been expecting. Hell, it wasn’t something he had even really knew needed saying, not out loud. But they sat there, the words hanging between them like a door that would either be thrown wide open or slammed shut and locked forever.

Jaskier chuckled, looking away. “I… Can you trust me, Geralt?” He looked over then, his eyes seeming endlessly blue just then, and so full of something that tugged at Geralt’s chest. He only nodded and let the night slip into an easy quiet between them.

“Fall isn’t too far off at this point. It will be winter before you know it.” It felt so off-balance, Geralt being the one to keep breaking the silence between them. “Unless you have an engagement in Oxenfurt already lined up, I was wondering if you might-”

Jaskier made a choking sound, his head whipping around to look at Geralt. “Wait!” There was panic in his voice as his hands came up as if to protect himself.

It wasn’t hard to scent in the air, the sharp sting of fear and anxiety, Jaskier’s heart hammering behind his ribs. His eyes looked wild and it took Geralt a moment not to pull back himself.

“Wait,” Jaskier took a shaky breath, swallowing. “There’s… Before you ask anything of me, let’s get down to the beach tomorrow. And then-” He looked down, pulling his hands towards his chest. The fear was gone but the anxiety only seemed to grow. It spelled of kelp in the sun and cold oceans in a storm. “Then you can decide if you still want to ask.”

“Jaskier-”

“Not here, witcher. Let me get to the shore first?” It wasn’t uncommon for Jaskier to ask things of Geralt but it was rare that they felt this important, this urgent.

The sound of the fire and the crickets and the ocean far down the hill were the only sounds between them after that. Jaskier after a time made a murmured good night and slipped into his bedroll without another word. Geralt tried to ignore the sharp scent of salt that came from him, different than the ocean, deeper, tinged in everything that made up Jaskier. He doubted either of them slept much that night.

Geralt must have drifted off at some point, however. When he woke up early, the sun was barely up, the fire had banked itself overnight and he was alone save for Roach who grazed in the hazy morning light.

“Jaskier?” Geralt called, bolting upright and turning.

“Let me get to the shore first,” he had asked.

He debated with himself for a moment before deciding that he would leave his swords behind him, though Geralt couldn’t quite bring himself to leave the dagger in his boot behind as well. He moved down towards the beach, following the path through the thinning trees.

Something was off the moment he stepped out past the first dune. There in the sand, clothes trailed down to the water, Jaskier’s boots kicked off just at the bottom of the first outcropping of rock. Down the beach, a wall of stone rose above the breakers. It would no doubt have a system of caves throughout it. The last of Jaskier’s things seemed to lead that way.

Geralt followed, wishing that he had in fact brought his swords. His medallion hummed then vibrated, shaking against his chest violently as something broke above the waves just to his right.

A smooth head and wide eyes tilted towards him in the early morning light. The sky above the ocean still dark, the last stars slipping over the far horizon with the last sliver of the moon. The thing in the water moved up to the beach, a large slick body, flippers pushing into the wet sand.

It gave a kind of greeting, nodding at Geralt as it rested in the sand.

He hadn’t seen one in so long, Geralt almost didn’t recognize it as a Harbor seal, it’s pelt dark around its face, fading into a spotted silver coat. He didn’t move, let alone breathe as they watched each other for a long moment.

When the seal began to push up its body contorting unnaturally, Geralt took a step back, automatically reaching for the knife in his boot. Dark eyes watched him and seemed… disappointed suddenly as the body of the seal continued to convulse and shift.

The sun broke above the trees and caught the creature in the face and those eyes suddenly shimmered a bright blue. He couldn’t throw his knife down fast enough as the hood of a cloak fell back from Jaskier’s face, sullen and terrified.

“Well, was worth a shot,” Jaskier gave a wet laugh, pulling his cloak tighter around him.

“You’re a selkie.” Geralt said flatly, his hands coming up to show he had no weapons. “I thought you were a viscount.”

To his surprise, Jaskier snorted, the tension in his shoulders relaxing some as shuffled his feet in the sand.

“I am in fact a viscount and a selkie, on my mother’s side,” he winced. “My father keeps her cloak from her. I just barely managed to-” he swallowed looking down. “Listen, Geralt, I know you plan on going back to Kaer Morhen this winter, and even if you-” he huffed, his hand shooting out from his cloak to rub at the back of his head.

“You need somewhere to hide your cloak.” a decade of unasked questions started to click into place.

“Yes,” Jaskier sighed. “But you don’t have to-”

“And you trust me? A witcher? Jaskier, if something happened to your cloak you-” would be stuck, would die, would never be free again. He left everything to blow away out to sea in the wind.

“I do, I trust you as a man, Geralt. I know what I’m asking,” his eyes were sad and suddenly infinitely vast.

The wind tugged the hem of Jaskier’s cloak, the silvery ends snapping in tune with the crash of the waves. Geralt could see the top of his one thigh peeking between the slick material and suddenly he was far too aware that Jaskier was standing naked in more ways than one on a beach telling Geralt he trusted him with his life.

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he took a steadying breath. “Get dressed bard.” This level of vulnerability left him feeling dizzy with a feeling he wasn’t ready to look at just then.

Before going to collect his clothes, Jaskier closed the distance between them, sliding his cloak from his shoulders, the fabric shimmering in the sunlight as he folded it carefully and rested it over Geralt’s arm.

“Hold this for me?” he asked softly, not meeting Geralt’s eyes. “Keep it safe?”

There was no hesitation in him as Geralt nodded, laying a careful hand over Jaskier’s, still on the cloak. “Always.”

#geraskier #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geralt of rivia #nonhuman jaskier #selkie jaskier #monster march #pre relationship #idk you guys

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write-ur-wrongs · 3 years

Text

Facing Your Demons

Jaskier x Reader 1785 words

TW: implied sexual assault, seeing an abuser in public, panic attacks, and references to trauma. I did my best to avoid explicit details but tread carefully.

A huge thank you to @bubblegumfanfics for trusting me with this request - I hope I’ve done it justice :”)

Request: Something where the reader was a*saulted in the in the past and has a flashback or she sees her ex that did it and Jaskier ends up comforting the reader, telling her how much she means to him (accidental love confession? Maybe? I love those) while Geralt is dealing with her ex. The reader says she feel the same way but she can't give Jaskier anything sexual because it makes her uncomfortable. But jaskier says he'll be with her regardless and that he loves her and if she ever wanted to try he will oblige and if she doesn't like it he'll stop

It was only one contract, meant to last no more than a fortnight. It should have been an easy in-and-out arrangement; your client got nervous, enlisted a Witcher’s help, and you agreed against your better judgement to stay on and split the earnings. While you’d dealt with this type of apparition before, you were tired, and figured it wouldn’t hurt to work alongside someone tailormade for the trade.

It was only supposed to be for the one job. It should have never gone on like this. You should have never allowed yourself to be charmed by the Geralt’s friend, the bard. You shouldn’t have grown comfortable working alongside Geralt, earning twice the coin by doubling your work. Hell, you should have refused to travel with them while working that first contract. Because maybe if you’d done that, you wouldn’t have found yourself so heavily linked to the pair of them.

Maybe if you’d had kept your distance, you wouldn’t be where you are now.

And you so desperately did not want to be where you were now.

Cowering in the dank, stuffy corner of this horrid tavern, trapped between Geralt’s gargantuan frame and Jaskier’s far-too-close body, you were stuck looking the devil in the eye.

Okay, don’t be dramatic, you thought desperately, clinging to whatever silver lining you could get your trembling hands on to stay afloat, you haven’t actually looked him in the eye.

But still, you’d seen him, and the memories you’d spent so long trying to scrub away were worming their way back into the forefront of your mind, traveling down your body like furious snakes. Each memory burning with venom over everywhere he’d touched you.

“Hey, Y/N, you alright?” Jaskier asked, reaching over to lay a comforting hand on your arm.

At the contact, however, you recoiled so violently away from him that you practically slammed yourself into Geralt. The combined sensation of Jaskier’s warm, calloused fingers on your arm and Geralt’s broad, hard chest against your shoulder sent blaring alarms of panic through you. Everything was too loud; everyone was too close.

You jerked your knees up in an attempt to curl yourself into a ball but ended up slamming both knees, hard, under the table. Surprised by the sudden ruckus, Geralt swore loudly beside you as Jaskier yelped, jumping back as his beer spilt and splashed across the table and onto his lap.

Both knees were now throbbing angrily, your head felt as if it had been filled with cotton, and your mouth watered dangerously as panic-induced nausea crashed over you. I can’t be here, a voice screamed inside your mind, I can’t be here with him.

“Y/N, what the hell-” Geralt started, stopping short when he finally saw the state you were in; the pallor of your skin paired with your wide, vacant eyes were horrifically familiar. It was something he’d seen in the faces of traumatized villagers whose lives were ruined by war, and in soldiers who’d just seen their comrades killed.

Geralt met Jaskier’s eyes over your head and knew that they were thinking the same thing.

Without speaking, Jaskier pushed the table away from you as Geralt scooped you up and began marching steadily towards the exit. Once outside, Geralt gently set you down on a bench as Jaskier materialized by your side with a cup of water.

You’d been so focused on the devil’s face that you’d barely registered the change of scenery, but when your back hit the cool rock wall behind the bench, you were pulled back to reality. Startled, you blinked back unshed tears and let your eyes focus on the two concerned faces before you.

Your breathing slowed, and as you were coming too you heard Jaskier as Geralt whether he should splash the water he’d brought onto your face.

“N-no,” you breathed, feeling more grounded with every passing second, “please don’t.”

Geralt hummed knowingly and smacked the bard upside the head, scolding him for his ridiculous proposal, eliciting another yelp from Jaskier. “It was just an idea!” he hissed defensively, earning only a vacant stare from you and a glare from Geralt.

Frustrated and inexplicably jealous to see Geralt assume the dominant protective role, Jaskier knelt in front of you and scanned your face for a sign. His brows furrowed as he watched your lips mumble something inaudibly. “What is it?” he encouraged you gently, resting a hand next to you on the bench, but decisively not onto you.

“I can’t be here,” you said, barely above a whisper, “I can’t be here with him.”

Jaskier looked back at Geralt inquisitively, as if assuming he’d know you better since he got so defensive earlier. But when Geralt shrugged unperceptively in response, Jaskier felt strangely vindicated and turned back to you confidently.

“Be here with who, love?” he tried, meeting your eyes and doing his best to communicate non-verbally that you could trust him.

“The devil,” you murmured, your eyes finding the man over Jaskier’s head, through the tavern’s window.

The two men turned to follow your gaze. Upon spotting the man they assumed to be devil – a pompous soldier, gesticulating wildly as he held audience in the tavern – their eyes met briefly, eyebrows quirked, before coming back to you.

“You mean, that ridiculous ass?” Jaskier asked, trying to lighten the mood.

“The one in red? you asked.

“That’s the ass,” he replied, eyes sad as a tentative smile played at the corner of his lips, hoping you’d mirror the act.

You nodded silently, eyes meeting his fleetingly. “We, um, I mean he –” you broke off unable to continue, your eyes now closed as memories washed over you like acid.

“You were… together?” he tried, looking back to Geralt for support but getting nothing back but a non-committal shrug.

“I was, I mean he – um,” you swallowed thickly before going on, “we were.”

“And it was bad?” Jaskier was whispering now, meeting you at your energy.

You hesitated before responding, and that brief moment of silence broke Jaskier completely as he imagined the worst.

“It was,” you replied finally, meeting his eyes head-on, “not consensual.”

What happened next happened quickly.

Geralt swore loudly, his hands closing into tight fists as Jaskier swore in a way you’d never imagined him capable.

“Geralt!” Jaskier called over his shoulder, saying his name more like a command, begging his friend to take action.

“Way ahead of you, Jask,” he replied, already stalking his way back into the tavern.

When the tavern door slammed shut behind Geralt, Jaskier sprang to his feet before tentatively sitting by your side. His hand hovered over yours momentarily before he thought better of it and brought his hand back to rest on his own lap. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“I can’t,” you choked out, putting your own hand over his, surprising both of you.

“That’s alright,” he breathed, placing his other hand over yours lightly, “you don’t ever need to think about it ever again. Geralt is taking care of it.” As he spoke, he swung a leg over the bench and turned so that his body faced yours squarely.

“But Geralt doesn’t get involved in human conflict,” you said, swiping at the tears that had managed to fall as you tucked a leg under yourself to angle yourself in his direction.

Jaskier’s eyes flit momentarily to the tavern’s window before quickly coming back to meet yours. “No, but he does kill monsters,” he assured, “and specializes in demons.”

“Do you think he’ll kill him?” you ask quietly, crossing your arms defensively over your chest.

“Hard to say,” he tried to answer, but was interrupted by loud crash followed by shouting coming from within the tavern, “but, huh, I think it’s fair to say you won’t ever need to worry about him again.”

You nodded lightly, trying and failing to hold Jaskier’s gaze. He was looking at you with such intensity, with a warmth you definitely didn’t think you deserved. “Don’t look at me like that, Jask.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, bringing his eyes down to your still-intertwined hands. “I just hate to think of anything bad ever happening to you. I wish I could have known you then… that I could have protected you, that I could have,” he hesitated, considering his next words carefully, “that I could have loved you the way you deserve to be loved.”

“Oh, Jask…”

“No, no, darling, you don’t need to say anything. Please don’t feel obligated,” he blurted out, immediate regret burning at his cheeks, “I’m so incredibly stupid and selfish! I’m so sorry I-I just, seeing you like this it just, argh! I shouldn’t have said it-”

“Jaskier, please,” you interject, placing a feather-light hand over his chest, the pads of your fingers ghosting over the flesh exposed at his collar, “it’s not that. I’m… honestly I’m glad you said it.”

“Yeah?” he asked timidly, looking up at you through his thick lashes.

“Yeah,” you breathed, “I think I feel the same way… about wishing I could, know your love. Be able to love you, freely.”

“Yeah?” he murmured once more; eyes hesitantly alight with hope.

“Yeah,” a teary laugh escaping your lips. “But Jaskier, I’m afraid that I won’t be able to, you know, love you in the way you need.”

“Y/N, hey,” he cooed, your confession bolstering his confidence, “all I need is to know your heart. Knowing you love me is enough.”

“Jask, I don’t think you’re understanding me –”

“My sweet girl, look at me,” he pleaded, bringing his head down to hold your gaze through the curtain of your tear-soaked lashes, “so long as you’ll have me, I’ll be by your side. And I promise you, nothing will happen unless you’re ready and you want it. Nothing.”

“Yeah?” you ask, your eyes scanning his for any hint of mal-intent or deception but finding only earnest adoration.

“Hell yeah,” he whispered, bringing his forehead to rest against yours.

Just then, Geralt immerged from the tavern and wiped his blood-soaked blade against the tall grass as he spoke. “We’re leaving.”

“Way ahead of you,” you parroted in a small voice, letting Jaskier pull you to your feet, before you ran to your horses.

You didn’t feel ready to ride out yourself, so you hopped behind Jaskier as Geralt led your horse behind him on Roach. As you put more distance between you and the tavern behind you, you found yourself growing ever calmer. Until finally, with your arms wrapped tightly around Jaskier’s waist and your face pushed between his shoulder blades, you took your first full breath of the evening and realized, incredulously, that you knew you were going to be okay.

#the witcher #the witcher series #the witcher fanfiction #witcher fanfiction #jaskier x reader #jaskier x y/n #jaskier fanfic #jaskier fanfiction #Jaskier #fic recs #dandelion #geralt of rivia #witcher geralt

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witchersgoldenbard · 2 years

Text

Snow Angels and Battles

it was my dear friend @jaskie's birthday yesterday and i meant to have this done way sooner but alas, i just am Like That. so anyway, happy un-birthday to you my sweet, i hope you enjoy some un-betaed yennskier shenanigans i wrote in 2.5h on discord 💛

wc: 3k | tags: yennskier birthday fluff, modern au, found family, snowball fights

"Yen!"

Truly, Yennefer has seen Jaskier in many states of glee and euphoria before, because that man is the equivalent of an easily excitable golden retriever puppy. And how that man with the brightest eyes and the brightest smile and the brightest gods-damned mind came to fall in love with her, she doesn't know, but now that he did, she's not letting him go again. Especially not when he looks at her like that before spinning around and looking back out the window to watch giant snowflakes falling from the sky and painting the world in glittering white.

Yennefer doesn't even try to hide her smile even though he can't see it.

"Yen! Yen, it's snowing! Snow! On my birthday!"

He spins back around and grins at her, looking like a six-year-old on Christmas Day, not like a 27-year-old who keeps lamenting that getting old sucks. She grins back and already knows that her plans for the day are for naught now that it snows, because Jaskier will want to head out and—

"I wanna lie in it!" he declares, and Yennefer laughs. Of course he fucking does. That silly, silly, wonderful man with his beautiful eyes and his smile that fills her heart so endlessly.

"You're gonna catch a cold," she says, though it holds no power with the way she can't stop smiling at this infuriatingly cute man.

He inclines his head and thinks for a moment. Then he shrugs. "Worth it."

She snorts and walks over to where he is already shaking a bit by the window, though whether that is because he is still only wearing his ridiculous pyjamas or from excitement, she doesn't know. Possibly both.

He is drawn to her like a moth to the flame and his cold hands immediately reach for hers when she is close enough, like he always does, and Yennefer leans up on her tiptoes to brush a kiss to his nose.

"At least get dressed first, silly."

And with that she turns around and heads out of their bedroom, laughing when all he says is, "Only because you asked so nicely."

Infuriating man. Gods, how she loves him. She can hear him rummage about the room, bumping into the bed a few times and she pictures him trying to watch the snow, get dressed, and reply to his thousands of Happy Birthday! messages at once. It makes her smile as she sets about making coffee and tea – coffee for now, tea for later when they will be frozen down to their bones and in desperate need of something warm.

Coffee brewing and kettle boiling, she grabs her phone and finds a message from Geralt.

Gayralt: "birthday boy excited over the snow? :D"

yen: "you bet. it's adorable"

Then, a thought strikes her and she follows up with another message.

yen: "actually, i think i'm cancelling plans to enjoy as much snow as possible. wanna join? i am sensing a snow ball fight and we need an army against the ball of energy that is birthday jask"

Geralt's reply is immediate and leaves her with a chuckle.

Gayralt: "I'll let the boys know. And Ciri. He doesn't stand a chance!"

"And what's got you smiling so bright, huh?" Jaskier says as he bounds into the kitchen, still excited but not vibrating with it anymore. So, of course, the first thing he does is pour himself a cup of coffee with a splash of vanilla syrup because that man can never have too much caffeine or sugar.

"Am I not allowed to smile now?"

"No," Jaskier says, downing half the cup of way too hot coffee without a care in the world. "It's my birthday, I have singular smiling rights and nobody else."

She nods sagely and does her best to look contrite. "Understood, I apologise, Your Silliness. Wait, what about all the other birthday people?"

"Hmm," he says and leans against the counter beside her, impossibly warm in his entire presence so it's no wonder she begins to lean into him. "I'll allow it."

"You're so gracious," she sighs and there's a beat of silence before they both break out into chuckles. Jaskier wraps his arms around her and brushes a kiss to her forehead and another to her temple before he takes another sip of his coffee. It's quiet and warm and a moment only for them before Jaskier will remember why he was so excited only a minute ago.

"Happy birthday," she murmurs against him and closes her eyes briefly to breathe him in and exist in the moment. A smile on her lips that hasn't left since she woke up. A smile that hasn't really left since she first kissed Jaskier.

"Thank you, my love," he murmurs back and holds her closer. It makes her heart jump that he'll miss out on the snow only to hold her just a second longer.

Gods, but how she really, really loves him.

"Hey Yen?" he breaks the silence eventually.

"Hmm?"

"Hey, don't Geralt me, you ass," he laughs, and she pokes him into the side.

"What, then, you ass yourself?"

He chuckles and skips away from another vicious poke, dancing around the kitchen island with his cup of coffee still half full in one hand.

"Well, I was gonna ask you if we can go outside, but now I'm actually telling you that your face will have to kiss some snow when you're being mean to the birthday boy."

"Oh, will it now?" she challenges, raising her eyebrow in a way that has made many a man cave on the spot. But not Jaskier. All he does is raise his chin with a promising little smile on his lips.

"Oh, it absolutely will."

"Try me, birthday boy," is all she says.

And, boy, does he try.

The very second they step outside is once of peace and excitement where Jaskier just stands on their front step and looks around himself, marvelling at the world that got covered in a thick layer of white in mere minutes. The snow is still falling, catching in his hair, and with his blue eyes and rosy cheeks, this is the most beautiful version of him she has ever seen.

But then he moves in record speed, whirling around to gather a heap of snow from the ground before he hurls it at her. Luckily, he is nothing but predictable, so Yennefer is able to stop the motion of his hands halfway, which only results in them both being covered in white powdery snow that only falls from them because they are both laughing so hard.

"You absolute asshole, I knew it!" she calls and hurries to get away from him, but he is too busy laughing to catch up.

"I love how you made it worse," he wheezes and lets himself fall backward onto their lawn, sinking into the snow with a giggle.

She watches him as she catches her breath, waves of chuckles still running through her. Jaskier isn't faring better, lying there and staring up at the grey clouds before he has to close his eyes against the thick snowflakes.

He begins to flail his limbs and it takes her a moment to realise what he is doing, and it makes her want to laugh all over again.

"How does my snow angel look?" he asks once he has stopped moving, and Yennefer steps closer to inspect it.

She puts on a serious, judging face. "Hmm, I don't know. But mine looks pretty cute."

Jask blinks up at her and it takes him a moment or two before he understands – and if it were at all possible, Yennefer would swear his cheeks just became a slightly deeper shade of red.

They stay outside until midday before the need for something warm calls them inside, and Yen would love to travel back in time to pat herself on the back for making tea and putting it on a stove to keep it warm but not scalding hot.

"Oh, you are the best," Jaskier moans with his hands wrapped around a mug and his nose buried in the steam. "I am so smart for being in love with you, there is no better person on this planet than my wonderful Yennefer, and we should all sing your praises!"

She eyes him. "For making tea?"

"For making tea," he nods and downs the whole cup in one go.

It is not long until the doorbell rings and Yennefer goes to open it, brushing a kiss to Jaskier's forehead when she passes him where he has buried himself into the couch, his hands still wrapped around a warm mug. The door opens to reveal Geralt, Lambert, Eskel and Ciri all bundled up in hats and scarves that must have been at Ciri's insistence. She is a stubborn seven-year-old, and if anyone could talk Lambert into wearing a thick scarf, it would be her.

"I hear there's a birthday boy here who needs to get his ass k—"

"Lambert!" Geralt interrupts his brother, and he looks like he wants to say more when Ciri interrupts him with an excited voice.

"Yeah, let's kick the birthday boy's ace!"

Close, Yennefer thinks with a suppressed grin, and Geralt sighs while Eskel subtly smacks the back of Lambert's head.

"Hi, auntie Yen," Ciri calls and bounds into the house like she always does.

"Ciri, your shoes!" Geralt calls at the very last minute, and with an ever-suffering sigh the girl stops and bends down to get rid of her thick boots.

Yen turns back to the men and grins, holding the door open for them to come out of the cold and into the warmth. "Birthday boy is still warming up because he made one too many snow angels against my advice. Give him half an hour and then the battle shall commence."

Jaskier lights up once more when they enter the living room, and he immediately finds himself with a giggling armful of Ciri. "Hello, light of my life, darling daughter of my best friend, princess among pirates," he says, and she only giggles some more, wriggling and writhing in his lap as though she's trying to climb him and escape him at the same time. Like kids do.

"Nooo, not pirates!" she says, like it’s the most ridiculous thing to suggest.

"Not pirates? Pray tell, my dear, are you still a princess?"

She stops then and frowns at him, looking at him very seriously when she says, "Of course, uncle Jaskier."

He laughs. "Good, I thought I had to reorder the rules of the universe."

"No, the wools or the universe are fine where they are," Ciri says, and Yennefer leans against the doorframe to watch them with a fond smile.

"And what are your father and uncles, then, if not pirates?"

"We're wolves now," Geralt says with a grin, leaning down and ruffling through Jaskier's hair before pressing a kiss to Ciri's. Jaskier smiles up at him fondly, his blue eyes so big and happy.

"Wolves!" he gasps and Ciri giggles again.

"Big, bad, dangerous wolves! But not to me. I am the princess after all, and wolves don't hurt princessessess."

Jaskier nods very seriously. "That is very true, my dear."

While Jaskier is having these very serious talks with Ciri, Yennefer follows Eskel into the kitchen and is delighted to find that he brought cake and self-made mulled wine for later. Bless this man for having their collective brain cell and enough patience to wield it.

Together, they bring the cake into the living room along with coffee and more tea, and they all enjoy it in relative silence.

The battle follows immediately after, and it's Jask, Yen and Ciri against the wolves, with Ciri's reasoning that the wolves can't hurt the princess. Each party has five minutes to build a wall and prepare for battle with all means necessary, and Yen watches as Jask and Ciri giggle their way through building a wall, and it takes three attempts of the girl throwing snow at Jaskier before she remembers that they are in the same team.

And then, snow still falling and Jaskier vibrating beside her, in a state of constant chuckles bubbling out of him, Yen leans up for one last kiss before Lambert opens fire with a vicious battle cry.

It's brutal. It's loud. It's chaotic. It's fun. All Yen can hear are shouts and cries and calls for revenge, all immediately followed with laughter and promises to kiss more snow.

"You're all talk, Lambert," Jaskier calls over to him, just seconds before a snowball barely misses his face and thunks into the wall behind him. He sticks out his tongue like the adult he is before firing back, hitting Geralt straight in the chest who falls over with an exaggerated. "Oof!"

"Daddy!" Ciri giggles and runs over to him before Jaskier can catch her, only stopping once she stands right above Geralt with a grin. She raises her arms and drops the snowball she's been holding right onto his face before Eskel comes and sweeps her off her feet, holding her up in front of him like a shield. A whooping, squealing, giggling shield.

He comes closer and Yen shares one glance with Jaskier before they both duck behind the wall, heaping up snow in a last desperate attempt at defence.

"Surrender, you fools! I have a Ciri and I am not afraid to use her!" Eskel calls.

"Yeah, you fools!" Ciri giggles.

"Ciri, you're supposed to be on our side!" Jaskier calls then.

"Uncle Esky is cheating, Jaskier!" she calls back, her voice as urgent as his, and it's adorable. "But it's fun so it's okay!"

"Sound logic," Yen murmurs and earns a grin from Jaskier.

In the end, Jaskier runs out from behind their wall to attack Eskel from one side while Yen runs to the other, but their attempt is in vain. Jaskier can't get a clear shot without hitting Ciri, and before he can get over that moral dilemma, Eskel has already covered his face with snow before whirling around, Ciri nothing but a dangling, giggling lightweight. Yennefer knows a lost battle when she sees it, but that doesn't stop her from throwing that ball, knowing it'll miss Eskel just seconds before he heaves his handful of snow right onto her shoulders with a triumphant cry. He whirls Ciri around with a laugh before putting her on her feet once more.

"Hey, uncle Esky," Ciri calls when Eskel has turned his back to her to get cheered on by his brothers.

He whirls around and horror dawns on his face when Ciri, that vicious little princess who has learned so much from auntie Yen, throws a heap of snow at him. It doesn't nearly reach his chest, nor does it count as a proper snowball, but Eskel dramatically tips over and lands on his ass in this snow.

"Oh no! The princess turns on me!"

Ciri runs over, nearly tripping on her own feet, until she stands above Eskel the same way she did with Geralt. And she bends down to grab another heap of snow before unceremoniously dropping that right on Eskel's head with nothing but a laugh.

And that is how a seven-year-old beat them all in a vicious snowball battle. Yennefer has never in her life been prouder of anyone. She and Jaskier carry Ciri on their shoulders around the backyard, parading her in front of Geralt, Eskel and Lambert before sharing just once look and dropping her on a pile of snow.

It's not long before they're all helplessly drenched in melting snow and laughing through the fact that they can't feel their hands or feet anymore. The sun is already setting where it is still hidden by thick grey clouds that keep showering the Earth with snow, and it's getting dark rather quickly.

Jaskier herds them all inside to warm up with tea and dry clothes and all the blankets their house has to offer. Which, to the surprise of nobody, is a lot. And all of them fuzzy and comfy. Ciri wears hers like a cape, sniffling into her tea where she is cuddling into Geralt's side. They're sweet, these two.

Yennefer is about to say something when Jaskier approaches her from behind, wrapping his blanket-covered arms around her and rudely burying his ice-cold nose into her neck. It makes her flinch and want to move away, but his hold on her is too strong and the way he hums and chuckles against her makes her too weak to escape anyway.

"Hi," she murmurs then as she leans back into him.

"Hi," he whispers and presses a kiss to her cheek. "I love you."

Now it's her turn to hum and close her eyes. "I love you, too."

"Thank you for this."

"Of course."

"I know you had plans," he continues, and she detects a hint of apology in his voice that she wants to tramp down immediately.

"I did, yeah. But the main plan was to make you happy, and I can be flexible when it comes to that. Today was about you anyway. And I know how excited you get when it snows. You've not had a snowy birthday since... well, since I know you."

"Yeah," Jaskier says and lets out a small sigh. "I loved this so, so much. But still. Thank you."

She spins around in his arms at his sincere tone, and she needs him to know that she means it when she says, "Anytime." And that's a promise.

A promise sealed with a smile and a kiss, and another smile after that.

"I'm very lucky to have you," he whispers, his cold nose rubbing against hers.

"And I am lucky to have you," she says, and it sounds almost lame. But it makes him smile all the same before he leans in for another kiss.

"Eeeew! Uncle Jask and auntie Yen, that is so ew!" Ciri complains with a laugh, but it's enough to remind them they still have guests. They break apart with one last, fleeting kiss, before Jaskier runs and tackles Ciri into the couch with a roar.

Yennefer stands there and watches, her feet still frozen but her knees weak with how in love she is with this silly, happy, wonderful man.

#yennskier #yenskier #jaskier/yennefer #yennefer x jaskier #the witcher #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #jaskie my darling #look i can write fluff!#i just... cant keep things short and i apologise deeply #this will be posted to ao3 tomorrow or at some point when i have brain capacity to actually read this again #nat writes

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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 3 years

Text

Like Sparks Against My Skin

on ao3

When Geralt sets out down the pass, nothing is out of the ordinary. The path is clear enough that he can ride most of the way down and they make good time coming into Kaedwen. He'd written to Jaskier over the winter for the first time this year and he's antsy to make it to their meeting spot along the Pontar. It feels like something has changed over the winter and while it's not a bad thing, Geralt still lays the blame on Jaskier and his soft, longing letters.

Usually, over the winter, Geralt spends most of his nights with Eskel, but it felt wrong to be sleeping with one man during the night and writing to another during the day, so he's spent the entire five months alone. And more than once, the letters he received seemed to have been written when Jaskier was drunk, and the content edged toward something much more suggestive than either of them had ever discussed. Not that anything had been discussed prior to the letters.

And Geralt had started thinking about things he's been burying since he first met Jaskier so many years ago. Like the sound of his voice while he's being railed in the room next door, or the way his trousers fit just right to display a shapely ass and thighs - or that stupid fucking bow that sits right between his hips and haunts him. Surely it's just a frivolity and it's not actually holding Jaskier's trousers up, but Geralt wants to find out, wants to tug at it and see what happens. And maybe, when he meets up with Jaskier, he will be.

He travels harder than he probably needs to, hurrying to get to their meeting spot and see Jaskier and find out where exactly they stand with each other now. It's unnecessary because Jaskier is still travelling on foot and while he has less distance to cross, he's still going to be slower. So when Geralt stops in town to rest for the night, Jaskier is the last person he's expecting to see.

But there he is when he walks into the tavern, lute in hand and singing melodiously and- Geralt's brain stops functioning when he looks at Jaskier's face. Because he's never had a beard before. And something hot and urgent settles low in his gut and Geralt barely holds back a groan. Whatever changed over the winter, he doesn't suspect Jaskier is prepared to be jumped the second they see each other.

But it's a tempting prospect, pulling him into an empty room and kissing the confusion from his lips. He thinks back to the one year Eskel decided to grow a beard, to the scrape of his between his thighs and against his ass. The roughness of it all over his skin and- fuck. He's still in public, he shouldn't be thinking these things.

So he quickly diverts his attention from Jaskier and orders a pair of drinks and supper for the both of them before discussing available rooms. By the time he and the innkeeper have come to an agreement (Jaskier's portion of the room has been paid for already, but Geralt is to pay for his own) Jaskier has finished his set and slipped up silently.

"It's good to see you," he says, "I didn't expect you so soon."

"The path was clear," Geralt explains, "quick riding down. Didn't see any point to delay after that."

"Certainly not, and we are glad to have you. Drinks?”

"Already coming," Geralt smiles and Jaskier beams at him.

The beard, Geralt discovers, is shorter than it appeared, thick stubble more than a full beard, but it doesn't stop the thoughts whirling in his head. If anything, it encourages them. Stubble is rougher than long hair and would be sure to scrape delightfully against his skin. Geralt has to shut his eyes for a moment and compose himself and when he does, Jaskier is looking at him oddly.

They turn in after supper and for the first time since knowing him, Geralt is nervous to share a bed with Jaskier. He's hesitant even about undressing in front of him because he's been half-hard since he walked into the inn earlier that evening. And he's had more to drink than is probably advisable, even if it doesn't affect him that much.

But in the firelight in their room, Jaskier looks unbearably beautiful and Geralt has to hold his tongue to keep from saying something he'll regret. Because Jaskier hinted and nodded at something more, but he hasn't said a word about it now that they're back together. And Geralt would be devastated to lose him over something so trivial as a quick fuck. So he shucks his clothes quickly and lays out his bedroll on the floor. Jaskier gives him an odd look but doesn't question it. It's not the first time one of them has slept on the floor of an inn.

But even when the candle is blown out and Jaskier is snoring softly in bed, Geralt can't sleep. He usually sleeps best the first night they're back together because they're always at an inn and Jaskier's soft breath and snoring lull him, but tonight he's wound too tightly to rest.

He gets up more than once and tries to meditate but being on his knees only brings to mind the image of a cock in his mouth and he's sorely tempted to see if the brothel is still open. He can't keep on like this. Jaskier stretches in his sleep, letting out a soft, happy moan and Geralt's cock twitches against his thigh. He shuts his eyes tightly, focuses back on the sound of Jaskier's breath, but there's nothing for it.

After an hour or more, Geralt shoves a hand down his shorts, taking his cock in hand and jerking himself quick and hard. There's nothing elegant about it, but he thinks of Jaskier, imagines him rubbing his cheeks between his thighs, and he comes hard after only a few strokes.

It's stupid, he thinks, to let himself get worked up over a little hair along Jaskier's jawline, and he resolves to ignore it.

Only the next morning it already seems thicker and darker and, like every other part of Jaskier, it's actually rather a lot of hair. A lot of short, prickly hairs. Geralt's cock stirs as he saddles Roach and he firmly shoves the thought aside. He's spent one too many rides hard and rubbing against the horn of the saddle and he doesn't need to repeat that.

They're not headed anywhere in particular, so he lets Jaskier lead the way, happily strumming and chatting or singing as he goes. They head in a general northwestern direction, toward Vizima and Jaskier seems perfectly unaware of Geralt's new fascination with him. But Geralt can't stop looking, hyper-aware of every little thing Jaskier does from the way he scratches absently at his jaw to the way he stretches it when he's not singing. Geralt doesn't know how he's never noticed all these things before, but they're doing their damndest to drive him out of his mind now.

He spends three days riding uncomfortably because he can't keep his prick under control, but it's better than walking and letting Jaskier see how fucking hard he gets thinking about his stupid scratchy face.

They stop early to make camp just outside of the city and Geralt has barely dismounted - thankfully not currently afflicted - when Jaskier drops his things and sighs.

"What is it?" he asks abruptly and Geralt just looks at him.

"What's what?" A million things run through his mind, but Jaskier looks far too exasperated for this to have anything to do with the recent state of Geralt's dick.

"You keep staring, looking at me funny. Why? Did I grow? Do I have something in my hair?" he reaches up, brushing long fingers through his hair and Geralt swallows hard. "And you're so solemn. What happened to looking forward to meeting me this spring."

Geralt says nothing because he doesn't know what to say. The truth is clearly out of the question, so he's fully out of options, the beard having turned the majority of his brain to soup. Then Jaskier's shoulders slump a little and he gives Geralt the most ridiculous look.

"The beard?" he asks and Geralt's eyes widen without his permission. Jaskier huffs. "I should have fucking known. Okay, get it out, tell me how awful it is."

"It's fine," he mumbles and Jaskier laughs.

"No, no, no, Witcher, you're not getting out of this that easily. Why do you hate it so much, hm? I'll have you know it was quite popular in Oxenfurt." Geralt doesn't need full brainpower to know what that means and a nasty jealous feeling twists in his gut. "So?"

"Told you," Geralt shrugs, "it's fine."

"Fine," Jaskier repeats mockingly, "fine."

He hates to lie to Jaskier, but he doesn't know what else to do and he doesn't want to ruin whatever softness they found over the winter, providing Jaskier is willing to stretch that into the rest of the year.

"It's… good," he says the words so quietly he can barely hear them and Jaskier comes right up to him, getting right up in his face and Geralt can smell him and he shuts his eyes, trying to settle his mind.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"Nothing."

"No, I think you said it was good. Do you- do you like the beard, Geralt?"

He's so close now and Geralt's eyes open when he feels Jaskier's hands on his chest. He's right there and Geralt can't think of anything but biting his jaw, running his tongue along the rough line of it and he nearly groans out loud. He has always, regrettably, found Jaskier attractive but something about the beard is unbearably sexy and Geralt is barely holding it together already when Jaskier grins at him.

"Oh," he breathes, sliding one palm down Geralt's stomach. He leans in so close that his stubble scrapes against Geralt's cheek and Geralt lets out a soft, shaky moan, barely clinging to his self-control. "You do like it, don't you? Is that why you won't sleep with me? Why you can't stop staring at me?"

He leans in again, purposefully this time and Geralt inclines his head so Jaskier's cheek is closer to his neck.

"Shit, Geralt." He nuzzles into his neck, pressing his cheek against Geralt's throat and follows with soft kisses that make Geralt's knees weak. "You like the way it scratches, hm?"

"Yeah," Geralt admits breathily, "Jask-"

"Shh," Jaskier hums, "I know. Fuck, I know." He presses his nose to Geralt's, sighing softly. "I was afraid I overstepped this winter," he whispers, pressing a light kiss to the underside of Geralt's jaw. "Thought you were trying to figure out how to send me away after that first night back."

"Not you," Geralt mumbles, tipping his head back, "didn't want you to know-"

"How much you like the beard?" he nuzzles under Geralt's jaw again and he groans in response. "So you still want-" he doesn't finish his sentence before Geralt slides a hand around the back of his head and holds him there, eyes locked on his own.

"Of course I do," he breathes and then Jaskier's mouth is on his own and he's not sure which one of them moved, but it doesn't matter. Jaskier kisses him like he's been deprived for months and Geralt knows that's not true, but he's happy enough to be the recipient.

Jaskier's lips are soft, but Geralt can already feel the burn of his beard on his upper lip and he moans softly as Jaskier pulls away to nuzzle at his neck again. Geralt shuts his eyes, rolling his head back and biting down on his lip. His cock swells quickly under the touch and then Jaskier's wrapping his arms around his thighs and lifting him off his feet. It catches him off guard, but then they're moving, and Jaskier sets him down on a shelf of rock, smiling slyly up at him.

Geralt's high enough that it takes nothing for Jask to bend and kiss him, fingers reaching in to unbutton his trousers, and Geralt can't keep himself from pushing into the touch, pressing his clothed cock against Jaskier's hands.

Heat rolls through him and he's a little embarrassed to be so hard already, but Jaskier doesn't seem to mind. He wraps his fingers around him and Geralt groans softly as Jaskier plays with him through the fabric of his trousers. He tips his head back as Jaskier gets his trousers undone and then he's shoving them down far enough to get his cock free and Geralt can feel the rush of cool air against him.

"Lift your hips," Jaskier says and Geralt does as he's asked, shifting with him as Jaskier pulls his trousers down to his knees.

He grins at him, then pushes his thighs apart and presses his face between them. Geralt groans immediately despite himself, torn between letting his thighs fall further apart to give Jaskier better access to his cock and just letting him rub his face between his thighs all afternoon.

Because he would. He'd be happy to let Jaskier nuzzle between his thighs for hours without even touching him. He could probably come like that, just with Jaskier's scruff rubbing against his thighs.

"Feels good?" Jaskier asks and Geralt nods. "You like the way it scratches, hm?" He presses closer and Geralt's eyes flutter shut. "Oh, you really like that. Is that what's been bothering you this whole time? And here I thought you hated the beard."

"No," Geralt gasps and Jaskier surges up to kiss him again, groaning against his lips. He fumbles with Geralt's trousers, not pulling away as he pulls them off his legs and throwing them to the ground, then he's hauling him forward so he can fit between his thighs.

"I want you," he breathes, "Geralt, can I fuck you? I'll make it good, love."

"Please," he whispers, "Jaskier, please-"

"Shh," Jaskier hums, running a hand down his chest, "I've got you, darling, I'll take care of you."He presses forward, guiding Geralt onto his back and then he's ducking down to take his cock into his mouth. And the rumours of Jaskier's talents have not been exaggerated.

Geralt has to struggle to keep his hips down as Jaskier draws back and when he sinks back down on him, he makes a point of rubbing his cheek against his hip and the pleasure burns through him. Jaskier's tongue wraps around him and Geralt rocks into the touch, but he just groans when Jaskier holds him down. Then he's pulling off altogether and lifting Geralt's knees over his shoulders.

He keeps his eyes on Geralt's as he pulls him forward and then he's ducking down, pressing his nose behind Geralt's balls. The first flick of his tongue has Geralt groaning and then he's sliding over him, licking over his hole and Geralt shuts his eyes and gropes at the rock for something to hold on to.

Jaskier doesn't waste any time settling him, just gets straight to work, pressing his face in and pressing at his hole with his tongue. The scratch of his stubble drives Geralt insane and if he wasn't already hard, it would take nothing else to get him there. And Jaskier, the fucker, knows this and uses it to his advantage. He alternates actually touching him with the rough scrape of his beard until Geralt needs the touch, until his cock aches for something more, and his cheeks burn with the roughness of it.

It's just this side of painful, but he loves it and when Jaskier finally presses into him, Geralt goes limp, whining as he throws his head back. He gropes blindly at Jaskier, gripping one arm where he braces himself and Jaskier just hums as he pushes his tongue inside him, barely acknowledging Geralt's whimpers.

"Fuck," he groans, "oh, fuck jask- please, yes."

When he pushes further, he adds a finger and it's a little dry, but Geralt has needed this for so fucking long he doesn't even care about the burn. It feels good, even, like a mirror to the stubble burn now marring the insides of his thighs and ass. And Jaskier is gentle despite his own eagerness, only pushing in when he knows Geralt can take it and then starting slow.

But when he knows Geralt is comfortable, he fucks him hard with his tongue and finger, working up to two quickly as Geralt gasps and groans under him.

"Jask," he groans, "needed you- wanted you all winter. I haven't-"

"Haven't what, love?"

"Haven't come since the summer-" he cuts himself off with another groan as Jaskier's fingers nudge against his prostate for the third time in a row. His eyes roll back and he bites his lip. "Not gonna last like this."

"'S okay," Jaskier says, dipping down to kiss his cock, "I wanna make you feel good, I wanna watch you come. Then I'll fuck you and you can come again."

"Melitele," Geralt groans, but Jaskier leans low over him, quieting him with a kiss as he plunges his fingers into him again.

The pressure rises as Jaskier seeks out that spot, aiming for it again and again until Geralt can barely breathe. And he knows he can't hold back anymore, but he tries. He shuts his eyes and focuses and tries not to think about how fucking good it feels to have Jaskier's fingers inside him, but they bump against his prostate again, just as Jaskier mouths at the underside of his cock and he can't.

"Fuck," he cries, "'M gonna come." Jaskier doesn't say anything, but he licks up the length of Geralt's twitching cock, just slipping over the head and sucking it into his mouth before he's coming.

HE clenches one hand at his side, the other flying up to the back of Jaskier's neck as he sinks down on him and he rocks gently into his mouth, pressing the head of his cock against the roof of Jaskier's mouth. It feels like ages that the pleasure washes over him and Jaskier just keeps bobbing on his cock, fingers still working into him.

When he finally comes down again, Geralt sighs and reaches down, tugging Jaskier on top of him to kiss him. He can taste himself on Jaskier's lips and it sends a bolt of possessiveness through him. He's never been one to consider anyone his, but knowing Jaskier tastes like him is incredibly arousing.

Jaskier appeases him for a few minutes before pushing himself up again and fitting himself between Geralt's thighs, running his hands along them.

"Feel better?" he asks and Geralt just hums softly. "Think you could come again for me, darling?"

"Yeah," Geralt rasps, "yeah, for you."

"Oh, Geralt, you're so sweet to me." Jaskier kisses him softly, then straightens up, reaching down to undo his own trousers.

Geralt watches as he shoves them down, then takes himself in hand, stroking absently, as he looks at him. Jaskier's already hard, the knowledge of which only makes Geralt's need stronger. But Jaskier doesn't make him wait long before he's pressing in, teasing his rim with the head of his cock.

He pushes in slowly, giving Geralt the chance to adjust, but he doesn't want it. He wants Jaskier inside him as quickly as possible, wants to feel the stretch of Jaskier's cock and the burn as he fucks him. He rocks his hips encouragingly and Jaskier seems to get the message, thrusting deep into him with a groan.

"Fuck," he mutters, "you feel incredible, Geralt." He rocks his hips, groaning on the forward thrust, and pulls Geralt's hips against him. "Can you come just like this?" Jaskier asks and Geralt nods.

He's already feeling the urge again, even as his cock swells against his hip. He wants to come on Jaskier's cock, wants to kiss him while he fucks him, wants to touch him. And Jaskier does his best to provide that. He leans over, wrapping his hands around Geralt's hips and pulling him down to ease the motion of his thrusts. He gets one hand around him, stroking in time and pressing his thumb against the slit of his cock, rubbing gently as Geralt squirmed under him.

Jaskier is soft where he touches him, but he fucks him hard and Geralt is already slipping before he's even touched himself. Jaskier's hands on him feel too good and he reluctantly pushes him away, slipping his own hand around the base of his cock.

"Okay?" he asks.

"Gonna make me come too quick," Geralt mumbles, "not yet."

"How come?" Jaskier asks, but his voice is rough, shaky as he fucks him. "This doesn't have to be the only time." He leans over him, kissing Geralt sloppily as he jerks forward. "I've wanted you forever, darling, if I knew all it took to get you into bed was growing a beard, I would have done it years ago."

He smiles and winks and Geralt can't help but kiss him again, tangling his fingers in his hair to bring him close. Jaskier's a flirt and a tease, but Geralt wouldn't trade him for anyone.

He kisses him hard, even as Jaskier pulls him down again, so only his back and shoulders rest on the rock. He slams into him again and again, dislodging him as he kisses him, but it doesn't matter because this is Jaskier and this has been a long time coming.

But Geralt's cock throbs against his hip and he's so close he can practically feel it and one well-timed thrust is all it takes to have him spilling all over his stomach and Jaskier follows with a loud moan, pressing his head into Geralt's shoulder.

For some time, neither of them moves, Geralt with his legs wrapped around Jaskier's waist and Jaskier just barely holding him up as the rush of his orgasm passes. Jaskier is the one to move first, pulling Geralt from his spot on the shelf to set him back on shaky feet.

"Gods, Geralt," he breathes, "who knew a little bit of facial hair could get you going like that." He huffs a soft laugh and kisses his chest, but Geralt ignores it. "If I'd known, I would've let it grow out ages ago, I bloody hate shaving and now that I know what that look means," he grins, leaning in close enough that he's breathing against Geralt's lips, "I think I'll wear it long like this all the time, what do you think?"

"I think," Geralt says, choosing his words carefully, "that next year you're coming to Kaer Morhen with me so I can take full advantage of that threat without worrying about having to ride in the morning."

"Fuck," Jaskier breathes, "deal."

#the promised beard fic!!#geraskier #spicy #rex writes #the witcher

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jaskierswolf · 3 years

Note

Wolfie darling.... Doctor Geralt and mayhaps a girl he knocked up or something, but they keep making eyes at each other, and jaskier turn up alone one day (yes this is literally the summary you gave before but i crave it so i will send it becasue aahh) and there is such tension but Geralt doesn't want to break up Jaskiers presumed relationship, and Geralt is their doctor, and Jaskier is technically not the patient so they end up baning against the wall, please and than you! <333

Me: I will keep prompts short.

Also me: Here have 1.6k

This is based off the song 'Bad Idea' from Waitress

CW: pregnancy, cheating (geraskier both have partners), sexual content but not explicit.

_______

Bad Idea

Jaskier wiggled in his seat as he sat next to Priscilla in the waiting room. She was six months pregnant with his child after a one night stand that had gone wrong, and because he was a good guy they’d decided to give a relationship a go. His mother had been pressuring him to propose to Pris every time they spoke, which would have been a grand idea if they were in any way suited to each other. But they weren’t. Pris wasn’t even sure she wanted the kid but it was too late to turn back and Jaskier certainly wasn’t ready to be a father.

If he were being completely honest with himself then he’d admit that the only reason he even came to these appointments was because of the very hot Doctor Rivia.

Jaskier always found a way to stay after the appointment, which really had started out innocently but ended up with Jaskier being pressed against the wall, Geralt’s lips crashing into his.

One kiss.

That’s all it was.

And Geralt had practically thrown him out the room after. It was obviously a mistake that wouldn’t be repeated, so why was he so nervous? His leg bounced and he couldn’t sit still, a rush of energy making his hands shake and the world seemed all too loud and too bright around him.

The rest of the waiting room sat in silence between coughing or the odd sound of a child talking to their parent. The whole place stank of cleaning products and old people… so it was just even more humiliating that Jaskier was fighting to keep his dick under control.

Really he couldn’t be blamed, not when Geralt looked like that. He was tall, muscular, smart and yet such a fucking dork; just Jaskier’s type. Oh and let’s not forget unobtainable. They were always unobtainable and Geralt was no exception. He was happily married to a beautiful successful businesswoman and had the sweetest little daughter, or at least that’s what Jaskier assumed judging by the photographs in Geralt’s room.

Fuck.

Why hadn’t they been called yet?

“Jask?” Pris asked, startling him from his inner turmoil with a light touch to his arm. “I need to go to the bathroom. If I get called, can you let Doctor Rivia know?”

Jaskier nodded, chewing on his lips as he tapped out a rhythm on his leg. “Of course, dearest.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He’d been counting on Pris being there as a barrier between them, and of course as soon as she was out of sight the intercom pinged calling Priscilla to Doctor Rivia’s room. He didn’t even have time to panic as his head started to spin and all the blood rushed from his face. Jaskier swallowed and stumbled to his feet, walking in a daze towards Geralt’s room.

It was as if there was no oxygen left in the hospital, and he could swear he could feel the heat of everyone’s gaze burning into the back of his neck. His mind kept drifting back to the few blissful seconds of kissing Geralt, a passionate, desperate collision of lips, tongues and teeth. The memory seared into his brain, into the very cells of his body. If he lived for a hundred years he would never forget that kiss. He just couldn’t help himself. Geralt was a flame and he was the moth, the compass pointing to Geralt’s north.

Iron filings pulled towards the magnet…

“Nah, that’s shit,” Jaskier muttered to himself as he ran his fingers through his hair before taking a deep breath and knocking on Geralt’s door.

A shiver went down his spine as he heard Geralt’s gruff, incredibly sexy voice say “Come in.”

God, what Jaskier wouldn’t do to have that voice whispering all sorts of dirty things into his ear…

He licked his lips as he pushed open the door, fighting the blush that was no doubt painting his face as he met Geralt’s eyes. The doctor frowned as he raised an eyebrow at Jaskier, then smirked, cocking his head as he spoke.

“Priscilla, welcome, take a seat.”

Jaskier snorted, flopping down onto the table. “Oh haha, very funny Geralt- Doctor Rivia.”

“Geralt is fine.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier mumbled, unable to take his eyes off of Geralt, golden eyes dark as they dropped to Jaskier’s lips.

It felt as if they were bonded together, an invisible tie from Jaskier’s soul to Geralt’s, pulling them together. Jaskier’s heart was racing in his chest and he fell into Geralt’s arms before he’d even realised he was moving. Their lips pressed together for one amazing, mind-boggling second, Geralt’s hands cupping his face and holding him close. He tasted like sweet, delicious coffee and smelled like heaven; addictive, sinful… so very tempting.

A demon sent to claim Jaskier’s soul.

And then they stumbled backwards, both plastered against the wall on opposite sides of the room.

“Jaskier,” Geralt groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s a bad idea; me and you.”

With a nod, Jaskier bit his lip, hands tugging at his hair and making a complete mess of it. “I know, I totally agree.”

His heart didn’t stop racing and he had to grip onto the wall behind him to stop himself from launching back across the room. Geralt seemed to be having a similar struggle as their eyes met again, his face was flushed and there was barely a speck of gold left in his gorgeous, haunting eyes.

“It’s a bad idea, me and you,” he repeated, his fingers shifting from his nose to press against his forehead but neither of them could keep their eyes off each other for long.

Jaskier’s eyes flicked to the door where Priscilla could enter at any moment, licking his lips as he turned back to Geralt. He wanted to move closer but couldn’t leave the wall for his own sanity, so he ended up circling the room opposite Geralt. Both drawn to each other, neither allowing themself to give in.

“You have a wife,” Jaskier pointed out, as if he didn’t already know that.

“You have Priscilla,” Geralt agreed, and both of them spared another glance to the door.

The unlocked door…

Gold eyes met blue and then they both lunged for the door, dancing around each other in the middle of the room so they wouldn’t touch. The game would be over if they got too close, unable to separate with the torch that burned bright between them, melding their hearts and souls together.

Jaskier bit his lip, locking the door before turning to face Geralt once more, his back pressed against the hard wood behind him. “You’re her doctor,” he mumbled weakly but the protests were dying with every breath.

This was a losing battle and they both knew it.

“You’ve got a baby coming.”

There was a beat of silence where they both just stared deep into each other's eyes, searching for answers to unasked questions. Jaskier couldn’t seem to calm his breathing and his heart was beating so fast that he thought it might fly out of his chest. His hands were shaking in the effort to keep them from reaching out to Geralt. He wasn’t sure what it was about the doctor but he needed Geralt more than he needed the oxygen in the room.

“It’s a bad idea…” Jaskier muttered one last time, before his lips pulled into a smirk and he winked at Geralt. “Let’s just keep kissing until we come to?”

Geralt growled and they met in the centre of the room, Jaskier half kneeling on the examination table, his hands splayed on Geralt’s chest as the doctor held his face with a tenderness that surprised him. Their lips ghosted together, a breath away from touching, but before they could kiss Geralt pressed their foreheads together.

“Let's face it, making mistakes like this, it’ll just make it worse.”

“And it’s already pretty bad,” Jaskier sighed, his fingers gripping Geralt’s white coat tightly. “Just hold me close whilst we think this through?”

“Don’t have much time,” Geralt muttered. “Where’s Pris?”

“Bathroom.”

“Hmm.”

It was torturous, being so close to Geralt but not having what he truly desired, which was, to be blunt about it, to get fucked on the damn table before Pris could come back and find them…

But they really didn’t have much time.

Did they?

Jaskier’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he reluctantly pulled it out, unlocking the screen with his other hand still holding onto Geralt lest he disappear from Jaskier’s life forever.

I can’t stay in the bathroom forever, be quick about it. - P x

A laugh bubbled up and escaped his lips. She knew. The fucking bastard, he was going to buy her the most lavish present he could after this. He fucking loved her, just not in the way his darling mother wished.

Geralt looked at him, eyebrows raised as he cocked his head, his hands still pressed against Jaskier’s back. So Jaskier just grinned and showed Geralt the text.

“Fuck,” Geralt groaned, and then the dam broke.

Their lips met in a desperate kiss, both of them tearing and pulling at their trousers in a rush to get closer. It was clumsy and messy and possibly the hottest fuck Jaskier had ever had in his life, and when they were sat together after, panting as they tried to catch their breaths, Jaskier grinned dopily at Geralt.

“Geralt?”

The doctor’s fingers froze on the button of his trousers and his golden eyes flashed up to meet Jaskier’s gaze, looking flushed and completely indecent despite his best efforts. “Hmm?”

“It was a pretty good bad idea, wasn’t it though?”

Geralt chuckled, rolling his eyes as he pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s hair. The electricity between them hadn’t died down in the slightest and Jaskier was feeling completely high off the thrill and adrenaline of the affair. Geralt hummed as Jaskier pulled him into one last kiss before Priscilla knocked on the door.

A pretty good bad idea indeed.

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskier fanfic #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #wolfie’s witcher writing

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falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 3 years

Text

Curious Travels - Geralt of Rivia x (f)reader

- reader is part of my Of Monsters and Men series

Summary: Yet again has your humble bard dragged you and Geralt to another kingdom for whatever reason, though as the snow falls outside, you know just how to keep warm.

Warning: fluff, SMUT, some actual plot

Masterlist

Jumping off of your own horse you’re immediately greeted with the soft crunch of snow under your boots. Your pack of three mighty adventures have traveled all this way to the wintery mountainside kingdom of Turga for, as Jaskier would say, “food, festivities, and fun times to be had”. Not being one to ever walk away from such intriguing tidings, you’ve made it a point to accompany Jaskier on his trek to the kingdom.

Geralt on the other hand could absolutely not be bothered in the slightest to come for such “fun times to be had” but he loves you and begrudgingly decided to follow the two of you anyways.

The whole ordeal of traveling had taken about a week, through forest and fields, streams to pass and bridges to cross, until finally at last your horses had reached snow. And more importantly the wooden post naming the direction of said mountain kingdom, causing your bard to become even more chipper and talkative then usual.

Much to your amusement and Geralt’s silent moody frustration, though he would have liked to smack the bard across his head or quite possibly snap that lute in two. Watching your face light up at Jaskier’s jokes and stories from before he met both you and Geralt, so far has kept the grumbly Witcher to himself, just being able to see your beaming face is enough to make this trip all the better.

Though he’s still doubtful anything fantastic will actually come out of this journey in any way, considering most travels with the two of you end rather poorly.

You’re eyes grew big once they spotted the snowy glowing city of Turga sitting comfortably atop a silver hill in all her beautiful glory. Jaskier wasn’t fooling, this place is absolutely magnificent, it’s like a true winter wonderland.

Great evergreens stand tall at the large wooden gates of the town, two guards dressed in silver armor and a red sash over their breast greet you three with generous smiles of welcome tidings that take you more off center then you’d ever expected. How strange it is not to be looked down upon, or scrutinized by people who always tend to think the worst.

Jaskier simply grins, clearly knowing something you and your grouchy Witcher do not, but what could that possibly be, then again it isn’t exactly abnormal. Following closely behind, you and Geralt lead your horses along the snow covered streets as Jaskier leads the way to the stables.

The whole time your eyes have been wide in awe at the beautiful surroundings of the town, lanterns held up by steel chains hang in a line above your heads. Dashing evergreens keep watch from their various positions in the square. Oddly enough the stables look cozy, decorative pines are hung at the front doors, and from the opened windows you can see on the inside that there are rafters kept along with ornamental little flags of a hundred colors.

Soon enough the face of a dirt smudge stable boy races out of the wooden door, a wreath on the back of it jostles at the quick unexpected movement. Although on further inspection you realize he is a sylvan once you notice the two hooves peaking out from under his oversized cloak, he smiles brightly at the three of you while his big shimmering eyes shine a soft pink as he shuffles through the snow to Jaskier’s steed.

“Vallo Vaskier! Hove yuv bveen!” Exclaims the boy in a peculiar accent with a smile that could light up a room.

“Oh you know..” Shrugs the bard, “A bit of this a bit of that. But here’s something....I have made some loyal companions on my travels, they’re a real time, it’s been great honestly...although a tad bit dangerous at times but eh I’m still breathing.” He laughs, “So anyways, when’s the grand feast at the lady of winters hall?”

The boys face turns into a thrilled grin, “Are you performing?”

Jaskier glances to you before turning back to the kid, “Of course I am. Didn’t just travel all the way up here for nothing. So uh, when’s the feast?”

“Oh, right the veast. You hev to be invited first. But I vouldn’t vorry to vuch, vord alveys spreads vhen you’re here Vaskier.” States the stable boy with a curt nod.

“Boy you got any taverns close?” He snaps his head up to you, curls bouncing in the process as he gives a shy smile before nodding.

“Of course mviss. Vaskier knows ver they are.”

A smirk plays at your lips as you find the bards gaze, “I should have know.” You mutter, turning your head to find Geralt, “Now to find that tavern.” You add suggestively with a quick wink. Causing your man to hand you the smallest of smiles in knowing acknowledgment.

“Alright, Finn. Take this pretty lady to her home for the night. You’ve got two others who’ll need a stall.” States Jaskier as he nods to his horse, “And uh, the one with the scary face and white hair, be good to his mare. She’s very special to him, more then the half-vampire that rides with us and..Oh! Oww! Y/N don’t hit me woman!” Stammers the bard as you fold your arms across your chest.

A smirk upon your lips at his flustered reaction, “What was that about Roach being more special then me? You didn’t finish what you where going to say.”

“Well I would have if I wasn’t assaulted first.” Assures Jaskier, turning back to the kid, “Anyways, we’re ready to find our stead’s a place for the night. Well perhaps a couple nights, we may be here for a few days give or take.”

“A few days? He never said anything about that?” Grumbles Geralt in that familiar gravelly voice of his, “Y/N did he mention a few days?”

Grasping your horses leather reigns in one hand, you rest the other on Geralt’s broad cloaked shoulder, “Oh where’s your festive spirit? Come on love this is gonna be fun. I can feel it.”

Turning to follow Jaskier and the stable boy into the barn, Geralt tugs for Roach to start walking, rolling his golden eyes as he watches you swagger into the large pine rimmed entrance. Though a small tinge of excitement rushes throughout his body when remembering that subtle wink you shared with him only moments ago.

Your crimson irises light up at the colorful flags and cozy barn atmosphere, perfect for the tired horses that so desperately could use a good rest. You’re never this impressed by such festive decorations most times, but it’s been a long while since you’ve bared witness to such things. It feels rather nice, and anyways, another adventure with your boys is always welcomed.

The stable boy quickly takes Jaskier’s horse to get settled for the night, leaving yourself to find your own stable and Geralt to do the same. You turn, leading your own mare into a hay covered stall and doing what you can to help her feel more comfortable.

Taking off her saddle, you lay it off to the side, going now to brush her brown back, smoothing her fur down as you do. While so lost in your own little world you can’t help but begin rambling about your thoughts to the patient horse.

“Now since it’s come to mind...I think this place isn’t too bad, ya know? I haven’t really met any of the townsfolk so my true impression of the people here have yet to be determined. Although I’m not really getting a hostile feeling coming from this place so that’s good.” The mare snorts in reply, or at least you think she does, causing you to chuckle at the horses timely reaction, “Yes, my friend that’s exactly what I was thinking but you already new that and now I am talking to a horse.....and Geralt is standing right over there isn’t he.” You rush, whispering the last part to your horse.

Geralt leans his large frame against the wooden stalls door, a small amused smirk pulling at his lips as he watches you brush the mare. “Not strange at all. I think they understand, in their own way.”

“Maybe it’s because I travel with you too much, look at me, I’m talking to a horse.” You mutter with a small laugh, “Though I guess their company can be better then an actual persons. I have a feeling you know my meaning.”

He smiles again, looking around the barn until his golden eyes find yours once more, “Better then most.”

You gently tilt your head in a small nod, brushing the last of the mares ruffled hide before setting the brush down. Then reaching for your belongings that are hanging from a metal hook inches from Geralt.

He politely steps to the side as you take your cloak and sheathed silver dagger from off of the hook, bundling them under your arm you take a step forward past him, stopping for a moment to not-so-subtly trail your eyes up to his handsome face.

“See something interesting?” He muses, eyeing you up just the same causing a swarm of butterflies to make themselves know in your stomach.

Biting your lip you refrain from pushing him against the wooden wall and kissing him like your life depends on it, deciding to instead hug your things tighter and give him a small fangy smile.

“Oh, you have no idea.” Is all you can whisper out as you swiftly turn on your heel to go and find Jaskier before you change your mind and pounce on your Witcher like a cat to her prey.

It doesn’t take long to find him, the bard is casually seated on some blocks of hay as he gently strums on his lute while the stable boy brushes his horse for him. Jaskier is so caught up in his own world of playing that he neglects to notice when you’re standing directly in front of him.

“Jask!” You vocalize loudly, causing the entranced bard to jump and just about drop his prized lute if not for the strap.

“My gods Y/N, warn a man would you.” He sputters, setting himself a bit straighter once again as he gathers his bearings, “I could have dropped my dear lady just now.”

Taking a couple steps backwards towards Geralt, you chuckle, “In that case, I’ll try harder next time.”

Jaskier sends you a silent dirty look, causing Geralt to slip a couple hushed snickers out from behind you. “Alright bard..” Starts your Witcher, “where’s the nearest tavern? Considering it’s late and we’re all hungry.”

Jumping to his feet, Jaskier nods, “Right. Right. Of course, a tavern would be nice. Well my friend...and Y/N...let’s go find one.”

“Yes let’s.” Mutters Geralt, annoyance lacing his voice as Jaskier practically swaggers past the two of you, lute tightly in hand.

You turn to follow, nudging Geralt’s shoulder as you step past him, “Come on my White Wolf, let’s find that tavern. I could use a good rest, how about you?” The wink you send him is all but enough to fill his mind with wondrous thoughts for how his evening may truly end.

His heart admittedly fills with warmth and excitement as he watches you trail Jaskier out of the barn and into the wintery night air. Soft cool snowflakes kiss your warm skin as you stand in the silver wonderland, waiting for your Witcher to catch up.

A pleased smirk shows itself upon your face as you turn your head up to the dark clouds, enjoying the feeling of the small ice crystals as they float all around you. The night is absolutely divine, as you enjoy the small white puffs of air leaving forth from out of your mouth and nostrils.

You feel no chill from the harsh winter air, though you’re surprised when a certain someone unexpectedly attempts to throw a snowball at your back. Hearing the ball of ice swishing in the crisp air, you step inhumanly quick to the side.

A burst of laughter falls forth from your lips when the snow crashes into the shoulder of Jaskier as he looks from house to house trying to remember where the tavern is. He jumps back, his blue eyes wide as he snaps his jostled attention over to you, and the snowy haired man smirking from behind you.

“That was—was....Y/N!” Grumbles the bard with an angry pout before he begins to smile and eventually shake with laughter as well.

Chuckling still, you turn a raised brow to Geralt as he simply shrugs, “Couldn’t help myself.”

“Yeah okay, Sir. I-Didn’t-Even-Want-To-Come...” Suddenly your eyes narrow causing Geralt to loose his amusement, “You tried to hit me with a snowball, you fucker.”

Geralt takes a cautious step closer to you, a pleading look crossing his features, “And now I know how well your reflexes are.”

“You already know how well my reflexes are.”

“Yes. But...” He pauses for a moment, trying to think of what to say next as you await an answer, finally he takes another step closer, bringing his hand to tilt your head up with the tips of his fingers. His face so close now you can feel his hot breath against your skin, “I’ll deal with your wrath all night long if that’s what you’d wish.”

Gently removing his hand away from your face, you lean in even closer, your lips practically brushing past his own, “I think that is a deliciously appealing proposition, my love.”

Geralt has no time to answer before you swiftly shift away from him, leaving the man with his thoughts and slightly tighter pants as he watches you walk over to Jaskier once again, knowing exactly what you’re doing to him.

It took about a good fifteen minutes to actually track down the tavern of Jaskier’s choice, an admittedly large and homey hall appropriately called The Silver Faun Inn. Quite the name for quite the tavern, as per usual when walking into anywhere on the continent in a place like this.

Your marry band of three was immediately greeted with a multitude of cautious glares and many other intrigued excited glances. Though to your relief, no one dares bother either of you while you make to find a quiet corner for the late hour of the darkening evening.

Soon fresh food and tasteful ale is to be had, filling the three of you up just enough to be satisfied for the night, but not too much, you’ve got plans for later. Plans that are so obviously unnoticed by the titular bard who’s now decided the tavern is in desperate need of entertainment.

Leaning into Geralt’s strong side, a lazy smirk upon your face, you watch in amusement as Jaskier joyously strums his favorite lute. “Don’t think I’ve heard that ballot before.” You whisper.

Your quiet Witcher hums in reply, earning him a light friendly squeeze to his forearm that rests on the table next to yours, “The enthusiasm radiating off of you is just, astounding.” You chuckle, burying your face into his shoulder.

Geralt smiles affectionately at your adorable reaction to his less then impressive one, his heart swells with more silent joy when you pull away once again. Only to stop yourself from speaking, your scarlet irises so caught up in your lovers humored face.

You remain quiet for a moment, your face stoic though your eyes crinkle with mischief before you finally break out into a large beaming grin. Without a second thought, Geralt leans in to gently press his plush inviting lips against yours for a beautiful moment of love and lust.

He feels so lovely, you can tell just how much he truly wants you, but all to soon does he pull away, “I think we should find that room, what do you say Y/N?”

Biting your lip, you stare longingly into his golden eyes, “Fantastic idea. I got the keys so let’s get outta here.”

In a heartbeat do the two of you slip from the taverns quiet corner to wander past your oblivious bard as he belts out another marvelous tune that sends the crowd into fits of song and laughter. Soon all is forgotten and left to the back of your minds as you lead your Witcher up the steps and down to the end of the hallway where your room just so happens to be.

Quickly going to unlock it, you’re bewildered when the little metal key won’t turn left, huffing in frustration you try and force it as gently as you can muster. Geralt leans an arm against the doorframe doing nothing to help you focus on your new task at hand.

“Y/N just turn it left.”

“I am turning it left.”

“More gently.”

“I am turning it gently.”

“How much did you drink?” He chuckles.

Snapping your head to him you playfully make a face, “Same as you idiot, now if only I could fucking get this bitch open then we could...” Errreck. Crack. “Oh fuck me.” You deadpan.

“I’m trying.” Muses Geralt.

Smacking Geralt against his arm you take a step away from the broken lock, “Dammit. I broke the fucking key....and I think the lock too.”

“Can you open it now?”

Sighing in annoyance you raise a brow at your man, “Well uh, guess we’ll find out.”

Turning towards the thick wooden mahogany door with its freshly broken lock, you nervously reach a hand up to turn the golden door handle, sucking in a breath you twist the knob only to be met with resistance.

Pursing your lips together you lean your head against the door, “Whoever made these shit locks I’ll fucking cut their hands off cause apparently they don’t need them anymore with whatever kinda fuckery this is.” You growl.

All you wanna do is get it on with Geralt, this is not helping.

“You could just force the door.” Suggests Geralt.

“I’m not forcing the door love, I really don’t need a bounty on me for breaking a knob.”

“Well, guess we’ll just have to sleep in Jaskier’s room tonight then.” Replies your Witcher with a shit eating grin, he knows just how much you want him right now. And so help you god if you don’t get what you want when it comes to a night with Geralt of Rivia.

“No! No! I can handle the fucking door!” You sass.

Taking a step back into the hallway, he folds his arms over his chest, “Alright then. Open the door Y/N.” Smirks Geralt, urging you to create some chaos.

Huffing, you take a step back, readying yourself to charge the grand mahogany door. The smirk on your Witcher’s face is admittedly smackable or kissable, you just can’t bring it in you to focus on anything else but opening this door. He watches in anticipation as you charge, hands out and ready to force open the closed entrance as you make hasty steps for the tavern room.

Without warning the giant door swings opens, taking you off guard as you fly through the new opening and into the grand room before falling to the hard floor with a grunt. Your chin smacks the wooden floorboards with a thwack sound, your opened palms doing just the same when you land.

“Ouch.” You mutter, lifting yourself up from the ground, turning when your nose catches the scent of someone new.

Snapping to your right, you’re caught with big brown fearful eyes of a young maid, “Oh, uh....your room is ready miss.”

Not aware of the less then friendly grimace adorning your face, Geralt steps into the room before you decide to shove the girl out yourself, “Sorry. The lock wasn’t working, I think we may have broken it.”

Quickly snapping out of her frightened trance, the girl turns a nervous eye to your Witcher, “Um, that key you have there...it’s not the right one. I’ll just uh....leave then.” She whispers, her eyes never leaving yours as she hastily slips out of the room and down the hallway.

Geralt gently closes the door, shoving a chair under the handle to create a makeshift lock while you take a couple steps forward over to the large mattress, resting a hand on the bed. He turns to you, “Well that was...”

“Entertaining much?” You scoff, rubbing your split chin, “I think I’m bleeding....no yeah, I’m definitely bleeding.”

Geralt hums, nodding before walking over to find a small spare cloth on the nearby table, “Sit on the bed I’ll clean you up.”

Doing just as directed you sit, watching as your silver haired lover walks across the room to seat himself next to you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Rolling your eyes you pout, “Funny is it? The things I do for you, and now my fucking chin hurts.”

Suddenly his eyes go soft, though there still remains a tinge of humor in them, “Y/N, you’ve already healed and the pain will die soon enough....here, let me just clean the blood away.” He mutters, reaching his arm up to press the pale cloth against your blood smudged skin.

Fine, ignore my pain you ass.

Though you’re still annoyed, the feeling of being tended to by Geralt is enough to dissipate away all your recent frustrations and brewing anger. Sending you into a blissful minute of staring lazily into your mans pretty golden eyes like a dazed lover.

Once he’s confident all the blood is gone, he sets the pink cloth in his lap, saying nothing as the two of you stare deeply into the eyes of one another, the sexual tension of the room rising by the second. You slip out a soft breath, the tiniest of smiles pulling at your lips.

“This is the part where you kiss my pain away. Right here.” You point at your chin, just below your lips. His golden eyes dart down, following your directions.

Ever so meticulously slowly does he lean in closer, the blood smudged cloth left and forgotten as it falls to the floor when his large hands go to touch your face. His lips press softly onto your chin, then cheek, then the other, and another two over your jawline. Earning a satisfied hum of approval from you, much to Geralt’s satisfaction.

Your own hands grasp onto his thick forearms, the rest of yourself feeling rather warm all over as Geralt kisses all over your face, slowly as ever.

“You know..” Kiss, “Geralt, mhmm....my lips are right here...” You mutter, just as he presses a heated one onto the preferred area you’ve asked. He tastes so sweet, like the ale he drank earlier in the evening, but this is admittedly much better then any ale you’ve ever drank.

Soon his hands fall to your waist and arm, then to many other places as he decides to explore your body with his calloused hands. Not being one to hold back, you do just the same, earning a low husky moan from deep within his throat when you palm him just to see what’s going on down there.

Fortunately he’s decently hard, the fabric of his dark pants are nicely stretched out from what pleasantries await you soon enough. Leaving him be for the moment, you gently break away from his sweet lips.

“Oh don’t give me that look.” You chuckle at the annoyed expression adorning his handsome features, “I’m just, rather wet down here and I’d like to get things rolling. Though don’t get me wrong I could kiss those lips of yours all fucking day.” You add, deliberately doing your best to give him your bedroom eyes.

He pauses for a second, his eyes trailing from your clothed nether regions all the way up to your shimmering lust filled gaze, “You’re already wet?”

Rolling your eyes you reach out to pull him further up the bed, “Oh fuck off, you’re already harder then a frozen ice cycle and that was before we even got into this room so shut uh uhh mhmm...” Is all you’re able to ramble out before he’s attacked your neck again with those beautifully plush lips of his, the rest of his body hovering just above you as he rests a knee between your parted thighs.

His lips leave a wet trail all the way down your throat until they reach the edge of your tops laced fabric, where a clear V is had that reaches down to the area between your breasts. He kisses once on the lace and exposed skin on your sternum, then another further down.

He’s just about driving you wild with the frustratingly grand lack of friction in certain areas that are so desperately craving such attention. Done with his teasing you lightly tug at his long white hair.

“Geralt just fuck me already.” You mumble, sucking in a quick breath when he gently squeezes your breast without warning.

Kissing your cheek, his face remains mere inches from your own as he stares mischievously into your crimson eyes, “We may need to take some clothes off first.” He chuckles, planting a quick kiss to your lips before sitting back on the bed.

Laying there, body hot and pulsing with pleasure unreleased, you hastily sit up and fumble as fast as you can to remove your grey top. Flinging it to the floor as your eyes find Geralt’s once again, though this time he’s completely shirtless.

Drinking up every last little piece of your muscular Witcher, you bite your lip as he smiles at you, “And that’s a sight I could look at everyday.” You just about swoon at his quick witted words, no doubt feeling a bit heated the longer he stares at you.

Winking at him, you swiftly shed the thin dark material calling itself an undershirt, a playful gleam in your eye as you watch Geralt quickly find your two exposed breasts. Beautiful and soft, your nibbles perked at the arousal coursing throughout your entire vessel.

Wanting to be bold, you wiggle a brow at him before confidently standing, your eyes never leaving his. He watches with an intrigued curious gaze before you begin unbuttoning your black trousers, earning another blissful smirk across the mans face.

Soon enough are all the buttons finally undone, with a spectacular dramatic bow do you then go to shimmy out of your pants, kicking them to the wooden floor in a rush as you’re now left in nothing but your small whole filled and slightly ripped underwear.

As to be expected, Geralt reaches a hand out to touch your exposed legs, getting nothing but a quick playful kick to his hands as you hum in disapproval. Instead you go to set a hand on your hip, nodding your head for him to remove his own concealing attire.

He hums in reply, standing to his full height as you unabashedly watch him fully undress himself, tossing his pants and undergarments to the floor ever so dramatically. He stares you down with those big beautiful golden eyes of his, you keep your sights locked onto them and painfully ignore his now exposed member that’s hard and dripping with pre-cum.

Biting your lip, you try your absolute best to keep from smiling, “Fuck me I love you so much.” You speak breathlessly, your eyes turning more serious again, “Now sit, please.”

Geralt hums, seating himself upon the soft billowy mattress just as directed, deciding to lean back on his arms and let his body lay open and ready for you. Blinking slowly you finally reveal a pleased smile down at him, just about mirroring the same one that he’s handing you so freely, just like his body.

Slowly you walk forward on the bed, your legs held firmly to either side of his lower waist as you kneel down, hovering your soaked womanhood right above his glistening member. You let out a breathy chuckle, resting your palms against his broad shoulders as he does the same action but with your bare hips.

“May I?” You politely ask, leaning your head against his as he gently squeezes the flesh of your hips in reply.

“Of course.” He mutters, low and gravelly in your ear as he patiently awaits your body, his very heart about to explode with how much he loves you right now.

Parting your legs wider, you remove one hand from his shoulder to quickly grasp his thick cock, “Alright let me just...” Bringing it to your dripping entrance you line it up perfectly, “I’m coming in..” You laugh, “literally.”

“Y/N you don’t have to say it...”

Digging your fingers into the side of his shoulder you quickly tilt your head to shut him up with a kiss, “Yes, but you laughed.” Pulling back to look at your face, Geralt’s mouth opens to reply, though his words are left on the wind when you slowly slide yourself onto him.

The new welcoming warmth of your core sending his mind swirling with nothing but a colorful bliss. Yours about the same, he’s big as he sinks deeper and deeper into your body until finally he’s completely filled you up.

Closing your eyes, your face scrunches up in slight discomfort at the new thrilling contact, this feeling isn’t anything new it’s just he’s quite large and you need a couple moments to adjust before the real fun begins. Sensing your slight displeasure, he keeps still inside you, trailing a comforting hand over your cheek as he watches your brows furrow together as you adjust.

“I’m sorry Y/N, I don’t mean to hurt you.” Worries your beautiful Witcher as you open your glistening scarlet irises to find his concerned face.

Shaking your head you slowly roll your hips into his, “Never. Apologize for a big dick Geralt....you’re honestly about to work wonders so keep that pretty mouth shut and make me scream.”

Holding in his laughter, he decides to do just as you’ve asked, a second later do you gasp in surprise when both his hands dig into your hips. Pushing you down onto him even more as he pulls you with each roll of your hips against his. Creating a blissful synced rhythm that begins to bring a low pleasurable build into your soaked core.

He suddenly thrusts up into you as you bounce down on him over and over again, your chests rubbing against one another as you both attempt to hold each other’s gazes for as long as you can try. The room feels hot and sticky, the smells of sex, sweat, and Geralt filling into your sensitive nostrils that drives you mad with lust.

All that can be heard is the familiar slapping of skin on skin as you both move against one another in quick passionate motions. Without warning Geralt thrusts deeply into your sweet spot sending you into a flurry of moaned curses as he thrusts his strong hips into you over and over again.

Your body falls flush against his as you whimper and moan into his shoulder from the intense buildup of pure pleasure that he’s slowly filling you with by the second. He can tell you’re close and with that thought in mind you’re pleasantly surprised when he abruptly holds your back, keeping you against him as he quickly lays you onto the soft mattress.

You audibly moan at the new positioning, not being able to hold back any more whimpers of pleasure as he fucks you into the comfortable bedding like his life depends on it. You’re visibility sweaty now, the slickness of yourself and Geralt doing everything to increase your growing pleasure as he slides in and out of you like a crazed man gone years without a proper fucking.

Another moan escapes from your lips as Geralt bounds you into the mattress, hitting you with deep precise thrusts each and every time, leaving you with nothing to keep you steady but his bare back that no doubt is covered in fresh pink scratch marks.

He keeps flush against your body, his manhood buried deep within your parted thighs as he intertwines his fingers with yours, his lips so soft and inviting as they press against your neck and jaw. You can’t remember if you’re ever felt such pleasure from this man as he pulls you to the edge of oblivion.

He suddenly moans against your ear sending new waves of bliss deep into your core and just like that do you come, moaning his name over and over again as he relentlessly thrusts into you with all that he has left.

He grips your hands tight, his warm seed spilling into you a second later, causing you to squeeze your legs tighter against his, “Ugh fuck Geralt.” You moan, your lips brushing past his as he pumps into you for a few more blissful moments before he falls limp against your body.

Utterly spent with your heated love making session, you chuckle at his honestly adorable actions as he lays flush with you, his cock still buried deep inside. He may be a large heavy man, but you’re no common human woman who lays underneath this handsome Witcher.

It’s plain as anyone could see, though you’d cut the throats of anyone bold enough to take a peek at your secretive actions.

Humming in content, Geralt moves to lay at your side, bringing you along with him so that he can stay inside you for a bit longer. You smirk, holding him close as he does the same, “A little needy tonight are we?” You muse, placing a chaste kiss against his puffy red lips.

“Maybe I missed you in more ways then one.” He replies, his golden eyes finding your crimson ones, “It certainly doesn’t help that Jaskier is always with us when we set up camp. I never get a true moment to myself with you.”

Trailing a hand down his scar covered back, you smile once again, “Well you’re about to get a whole week with me if you’re lucky. And I’m looking forward to every single second of it.”

The way you make him feel cannot ever truly be expressed in Geralt’s mind, though you can tell he loves you deeply even when no words are said at all or perhaps when he gets flustered and stumbles on his tongue for the right ones. Though right now he seems to have you vexed, completely entranced and utterly opened and surrendered to him.

But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel the same, his eyelids close in content as you gently trail your fingers down his cheekbone, earning a low hum from deep within his throat that sends shivers down your spine even with something so innocent as this.

You break out into a grin, your fangs showing as you let out a couple chuckles once you realize he’s still inside you. His own lips curl into a tired smile, though he doesn’t open his eyes. “Y/N?” He mutters, wondering what on earth could be so funny right now.

Pushing a few stray hairs out of his face you blink, trying to contain yourself once more, “Oh nothing, you’re just being....dare I say, cute. And all things considered, you’re still inside me.”

Geralt shows you a lazy grin, “I like being inside you.”

“Yes and what if I have to relieve myself, or get a drink?”

“I see no problem when you’re lucky enough to be laying next to me.”

Fake scoffing you gently tug on his silver locks, “Geralt of Rivia you’re blessed enough I love you so much you ass.”

Finally he opens his eyes, the most adorable of smiles crossing his face, and only for you, “Well I guess someone has to.”

“Yes.” You smirk, “And I’ll make disappear the next confidant fucker who dare think to take you away from me.”

“So I’m assuming that last tavern wench we met a month ago went missing....not, under mysterious circumstances?” He wonders, a brow raised in humored accusation.

Rolling your scarlet irises, you give him a friendly pat over his bare shoulder, “I wasn’t appreciating that foxy look she was giving you, looked like a horny buck ready to pounce.” The look he gives you is enough to make you burst with laughter, “What? Don’t give me that face Geralt, I didn’t do anything adherently evil....all I did was leave her in the middle of the woods...near another town!” You protest, trying to make your little petty adventure sound less terrible.

“Well, at least you were nice about it,” Muses Geralt, “though I’m not sure if that’s better.”

“Oh shut it, I couldn’t help myself if you’d like to know alri...” Knock. Knock. Knock. Three raps against the thick bedroom door immediately draws your attention away from Geralt. Propping his head up by his elbow, he turns a protective glare at the mystery person keeping themselves on the other side.

Wanting to snap at the hidden individual who dare break you away from your rather pleasant evening, you push away from the soft comfort of the mattress, quickly pulling out of Geralt, you maneuver yourself into a seated position. “I’ll see who it is, can’t be anyone with a personal vendetta against us, well.....at least I don’t think so.”

Pursing his lips together in slight apprehension, Geralt silently watches you slip from the bed with nothing but a thin white sheet to keep your nakedness from any prying eyes. Your steps to the barred door are swift and silent as an owl in flight, just the same when you remove the chair from the door knob.

With one hand on the golden knob and the other grasped tightly onto the bunched up bed sheet, you turn a curious glance to Geralt who’s now seated fully upright on the mattress, a thin sheet covering his previously exposed manhood.

Finding your sights upon the door once again, you turn the knob, swiftly opening the door where you’re both greeted with the nervous wide eyed face of a young elven boy, who looks only to be about fourteen, dressed in lord-like attire. A suspiciously high status pose about him that sends your brows furrowing in confusion for this strange unexpected intrusion.

Wearing a soft purple scarf over a pure white thick fur laced jacket, his green eyes shift warily from you to your shirtless Witcher then back to you again. His cheeks most certainly reddening the longer he stares, mouth slightly agape, clearly this kid was not expecting the sight before him.

Deciding to relieve the awkward atmosphere, you clear your throat, “Well you certainly don’t look like an assassin, nor do you appear to be ready with coin for a wanted killing. So, do relieve us of this suspense...I was kind of in the middle of something important.” You state, the tone of your voice appearing slightly annoyed even when you try and hide it.

His big emerald irises flicker as he blinks, swallowing his nerves, does the elven boy in the fancy coat and purple scarf stand a bit straighter, “Hello. I am Venemyr of Rorym, messenger to Queen Allira and her husband King Gabriel of this winter kingdom of Turga.” He stammers, eyes shifting nervously from Geralt to you, suddenly he pulls out a folded piece of white and gold craftsmanship in the form of a beautiful card.

His hand shakes slightly as he reaches out for you to take the concealed letter, finding no ill intent from the boy, you fearlessly accept. Once in your hand does he finally begin his explanation, “I come to ask the Princess Y/N of Alkatraz and the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia, if they will accept this invitation to the King and Queen’s eldest son’s banquet as special guests of honor.”

Oh, now things have just gotten very intriguing.

Not positive on how to correctly respond to this large proposition, the young elven messenger nods, “My adversaries had been made aware of you two by a bard named Jaskier who is thought of warmly in this kingdom, then it appeared that the eldest prince became very interested in meeting a lady dhampir and a Witcher of Kaer Morhen.”

Oh, Jaskier you motherfucker.

Smiling politely, Vesemyr watches with wide foresty eyes when he catches sight of your fangs, noticing his apparent change of demeanor, your face falls, “Uh, well, thank you for the message and this invitation? We’ll see to it soon, and without a doubt report back accordingly sometime tomorrow.”

“The banquet is in two days.”

“Is it now?” You reply in a knowing tone, your brows raising, “Good to know, now if you’ll excuse us...the hour is late and you’d better get to wherever you’ve come from before it gets any colder outside.” And with that said do you flash him a wink before slamming the door into his scared little face and high end attire without a second thought.

Looking down at the strange yet exquisite invitation placed in your hand, you turn it over and find the golden waxes seal of a house sigil. “Y/N come to bed, I think I’d like to have a look at whatever fuckery Jaskier has roped us into.”

Raising your attention back up to the naked man seated casually against the headboard, you smile, making swift steps to the mattress before launching yourself next to his side causing the bed to shift and creak at your jostling movement. Instead of finding his annoyed expression, you’re fortunately greeted with an arm pulling you flush against his side.

With the two of you wrapped up in the white bedsheets, leaning comfortably on one another does Geralt slowly take the parchment from out of your hand. He holds the letter up, studying it’s beauty in the side table’s candle light as you rest your head on his shoulder with one arm slung over his muscular waist.

His breaths are slow and calm, the rise and fall of his chest gently pushing you up and then back down again only ever so slightly while your Witcher carefully observes the golden wax of the houses sigil. “A stag, with a crown of leaves....should we open it?” Muses Geralt, fully aware of how much you want to see what’s inside.

Geralt I swear to god.

Gently giving his waist a loving squeeze, you nod, “If you’d be so kind.” Humming in reply, Geralt makes quick work of the letter, soon its cut open and pulled out for your eyes to witness its ink marked contents.

“Fuck.” Mutters Geralt dismally, “Guess that kid wasn’t fucking with us.”

“And I guess we’re going to a party.” You exclaim, much more excitement flowing through your voice then what Geralt could ever give.

He quickly turns his head down to you, “Y/N no. I don’t give a shit if this prince wants to speak with us, I have no interest in becoming involved in something like that.”

You lightly chuckle at his less then stellar mood before turning your face to press a chaste kiss to his bare shoulder, he sighs, meeting your crimson gaze once again, “Think of it, free drink and food, and this prince wants to see us....we’re practically the guests of honor and I cannot wait to see Jaskier tomorrow cause I’m gonna slap him for it...then I’ll thank him.”

“Ugh, fine.” Begrudgingly mutters Geralt as you press your lips to his.

Maybe a part 2 later on, idk we’ll see. Hope you enjoyed this :)

Tagged for series: @seninjakitey @notahappytree @ashleyforeverareject @sokkasdarling @kmuir1@haleypearce @diegos-butt (@auds24 sorry idk why ur name won’t work) @a-girl-who-loves-disney

#geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia x y/n #the witcher #the witcher x reader #the witcher x you #the witcher x y/n #geralt imagine #geralt x you #geralt x y/n

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wolf-and-bard · 3 years

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The Geraskier Soccer Parents AU of my dreams (in an early morning strike of weird-brain):

-Geralt knows he isn't the best dad ever. He tries so goddamn hard, but his job is demanding and consumes so much time and even with Ciri being seven already, he still has essentially no clue what he's doing. He sometimes falls into bed, half-dead, and she is the one to give him a good-night kiss. He sometimes forgets she prefers cheese and puts ham on her sandwiches. He is sometimes too happy to have her sleep over at her friends rather than invite them to their house. He doesn't read her all the children's classics, doesn't go trick-or-treating with her, doesn't even pretend Santa Claus is a thing. He isn't the best dad ever. He tries.

-There is one thing he never, ever fails to do and that is take Ciri to soccer practice. Ciri picks up and drops hobbies, interests, even tastes by the week, still unsure what she wants to pursue, but soccer isn't only her favourite pastime, it's theirs. Practice is twice a week and they have a ritual for it. Geralt picks her up from school and drives her there, she tells him about what the dumb boys in her class said, how her art project is going etc. Geralt is there throughout practice, tucked in between Foltest - a guy who is constantly worried for his daughter Adda to get hurt and also very much anxious for her to do well - and Tissaia - a woman who has not one, but three girls in Ciri's age group and several more in others, and knits like a magician - and watches. He takes notes, silently cheers for Ciri.

-After their games and while Ciri changes, Geralt chats with her coach Vesemir - who used to be Geralt's coach, but now prefers to train the girls' teams - about the progress of the team, upcoming tournaments etc. Sometimes when Vesemir is indisposed, Geralt even leads the practice. When Ciri is all done, Tissaia usually has another hat or mitten finished and Geralt and her drive with their girls to whatever food place the girls are in the mood for. They have an early dinner in which Tissaia lectures the girls on their form and in which Ciri is sometimes allowed to sit on Geralt's lap - but only if Fringilla or Yen don't tease hear about it - but in which she definitely gets to steal his milkshake (Geralt hates milkshakes). Geralt only praises her when they're back in the car and Ciri tells him he's too much of a softie with her and should be more like Tissaia. Should maybe marry Tissaia. They both laugh because that is never going to happen.

-Life is good that way. It's not perfect, it's not without bumps, certainly not without tears and scrapes, but whatever the job, whatever injury Geralt carries with him, however long he has to drive, he never, never ever misses soccer practice.

-The season's just kicked off in the year of Ciri's eighth birthday when Geralt and her arrive early on the field to find the stands empty save for a girl in the most ridiculously colorful excercise clothes and blond hair that is braided intricately around her head. With her is a man, maybe five years Geralt's junior. Ciri bolts towards them with a bright grin and Geralt is hesitant to follow. He knows neither the girl nor the man, but from what he can gather she wants to join the team which is just what they need as they're one girl short this season. "Hi, I'm Ciri, I adore your braids." Geralt holds back on the eye-roll. It's nice Ciri can make friends this easily, but his house already is a shrine for role-playing and board games, dolls and random DVDs and another friend means more things Ciri will want to try out. "Thank you," the girl replies and tilts her head to better show them off. "My uncle Jaskier braided them for me, I'm sure he can do yours too." Both girls look up expectantly at the man and Geralt only really notices him then. He is averagely built with bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile. His floral print shirt has three open buttons and his pants barely reach his ankles. He has the look of a flippant music teacher or a hipster coffeeshop owner. His eyes meets Geralt's and, wait, did he just wink? "I'd love to, dear," he says in a smooth voice that absolutely does not go straight to Geralt's guts. Geralt turns on the spot and decides to pressure check the balls, but he can hear the others giggling as Jaskier braids Ciri's hair. "I'm Priscilla by the way. What's up with your dad?" - "Oh, don't mind him, he's bad with meeting new people." - "Very intense." That's Jaskier. Oh, Geralt will show him intense.

-Ciri invites them to their after-practice dinner. Geralt wants to begrudge her that, but she and Priscilla have latched onto each other in record speed and Jaskier actually fights Tissaia on some of her more strict stances and he braids Yen's and Sabrina's hair too, only Fringilla doesn't want him to touch hers which he respects. Geralt and Tissaia glance at each other. Come to a silent agreement. They may not befriend Jaskier, but he's sunny and so good with the girls and they can use someone like him among their ranks, someone who doesn't have Calanthe's tendency for swear words or Crach's tendency to break out beer in the middle of practice or even Nenneke's tendency to relate everything to the workings of god.

-Jaskier is as faithful as Geralt, perhaps the only one who shows up every time without fail. Shani's parents only drop her off and Crach switches between Cerys' and Hjalmar's practices and Tissaia sometimes texts Geralt to pick up her girls. Jaskier is there, every time, earlier than any of the others. He chats with Vesemir about his day-to-day, brings home-baked cookies for everyone, he cheers and whoops and tries very hard to understand soccer even though it's evident he doesn't. Geralt never wonders why it's him and not Priscilla's parents that come, it's none of his business. He begins to tolerate Jaskier, but he knows that is where he has to draw the line. He has his hands full with Ciri and his job and his brothers too. He can't afford friendships that extend beyond the field.

-Jaskier doesn't let him off though. He always takes the spot next to Geralt (technically an improvement over Foltest's sweaty visage) and prattles on and on, at least until the game begins. When it does, Jaskier divides his attention between the girls and the stack of paper on his lap which he annotates during practice. It's often either sheet music or the illegible scrawl of pre-teens or wonkily drawn instruments. Jaskier already told him, but from that too it is obvious that Geralt's hunch was right, he is a music teacher. Geralt finds his eyes darting to Jaskier's long fingers, nimble and calloused from the various string instruments he plays. Finds himself glancing at where Jaskier's tongue peeks out in concentration. He listens to the man's ramblings and hums his replies and comes to dislike the days when Vesemir isn't there and he has to focus all his attention on giving the girls a good practice. Not that he doesn't want to, it's just that having Jaskier at his back unnerves him.

-(Jaskier for his part doesn’t care at all about soccer, but he cares about Priscilla so he convinced her parents to let him take her; after that, she said it would be fine if he dropped her off and picked her up again, but Jaskier pretends he is super invested in the sport and the team and he is, but mostly he’s invested in charming Geralt)

-After an entire season of mutual pining and obliviousness, Tissaia decides she's had enough and rallies the other parents. She has Foltest organize a big party at his country house, has Nenneke promise to look after the girls (the woman doesn't drink) and has Crach whip out the finest spirits he has in storage. Calanthe makes a phenomenal playlist and it's Tissaia's job to get Geralt to the party (Jaskier's not a problem) and dress up nicely. Only Aridea, Renfri's stepmother, refuses to pitch in, but she's been a bitch anyway.

-When Geralt picks up Jaskier at his downtown flat he has to grip the wheel of his rover hard in order not to short-circuit. Jaskier has done something to his hair that Geralt can't name but that makes him go woozy inside. He wears a plain shirt that compliments his eyes and hugs his body just right and he looks high on life with color in his cheeks and the most dazzling smile. He's gorgeous. "Darling, don't you look dashing," Jaskier says excitedly and props his feet up on the dashboard, only after kissing Geralt on the cheek. Which is not fair. "Likewise," Geralt mutters, then blushes furiously. He didn't want that to come out, oh no. Jaskier either didn't hear or acts like it and they drive in silence to Foltest's country house. Well, aside from the songs Jaskier hums under his breath, some new composition no doubt.

-At first, Geralt thinks it's a nice enough party for someone who doesn't like parties. Foltest's grilling burgers, they all have cocktails, the music is mellow. Not that that stops Jaskier from swirling an already quite drunk Calanthe over the terrace in dazzling moves. Geralt wants to be swirled like that. "You really have it bad, don't you?" Crach comments when he notices Geralt staring. Geralt downs his beer (he's no cocktail drinker) and tries pointedly not to stare at how Jaskier's swinging his ass around.

-The buzz makes it easier and he relieves Foltest at the barbecue for a bit. But then Jaskier walks up to him, a little short on breath and grinning his most flirtatious little grin. It gives him fucking dimples. Sigh. "Hey you big strong man," Jaskier says. He smells like pineapple and coconut, but isn't even a little drunk. "Jask," he says, pointedly flipping a burger. "Foltest says he has an old karaoke machine in the shed, but it's too heavy for me. Help me?" - "...fine." Geralt gestures for Foltest to keep up with the meat and he and Jaskier make their way along a garden path that winds through thickets and by a small pond. The shed is painted blue and white and Geralt and Jaskier find it very much cluttered, but not dirty which is nice. Geralt only understands it's a trap when it's already sprung on them. The tiny click of the look is almost inaudible over Jaskier's anxious commentary of their search for the machine. There is only one small window and no light Geralt can see. Fuck.

-"Ehm, Jaskier?" he reaches out and gently touches Jaskier's shoulder which has the other man yelp and jump. Which doesn't bode well for what Geralt has to tell him. "I think we're trapped." The effect is immediate. Jaskier goes rigid, his breath catches. Is he afraid? Claustrophobic perhaps? Shit, so he can't be in on the joke. "Jask?" - "Geralt. I know we aren't the closest, but I need you to hold me right now." And he launches himself at Geralt. Maybe he is in on the joke? No, he's trembling too hard for that. Geralt catches him and does as asked. "I am absolutely going to die," Jaskier whines into Geralt's neck and Geralt can't help a small chuckle as he rubs Jaskier's back soothingly. This is... surprisingly nice for a trap. Also likely Tissaia's doing. Geralt has a rare idea. "What if I distract you until someone finds us?" he murmurs against Jaskier's hair and Jaskier draws back a little. In the half-dark his eyes glisten, widen when they meet Geralt's. "You would?" - "Close your eyes, Jaskier." Geralt feels a surge of daring, perhaps granted by the intimacy and seclusion of the situation. He catches Jaskier's lips with his own. When they part, Jaskier grins, shaking from something other than fear. "I thought you didn’t much like me," he whispers. "I thought I got on your nerves." - "Idiot." They kiss again and, faintly, Geralt can hear someone cheer from outside.

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julek · 3 years

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day 17 ❄ freshly baked bread

winter prompt challenge

The leaves have turned brown by the time they start trailing north. Geralt had had a significant number of contracts south of the Alba, after meeting Jaskier in Lyria, and they’d been slowly making their way into Kaedwen so they can arrive at the keep before the first snow. Jaskier’s joined him for many winters at Kaer Morhen now, and he knows better than to wait too long, careful to expose the bard to frozen temperatures when he doesn’t need to.

They’re making camp under a white fir after a long day of walking, but Jaskier doesn’t seem too tired.

“Where are we, exactly?” he asks Geralt, absentmindedly strumming his lute.

Geralt stokes the fire. “Not too far from Hagge.”

Jaskier frowns and licks his lips, and Geralt knows he’s looking at his mental map of the Continent, which, in Geralt’s humble opinion, isn’t all that accurate.

“Hagge... You know I always confuse that one with Brugge? Must be the spelling. Anyway! If we’re near Hagge, we’re near Lettenhove!”

Geralt sits down on a log next to the bard, whose eyes are glinting with excitement. His voice always takes on a soft note when he talks about his family, his expression warm and fond — Geralt knows he misses them, and sadly doesn’t seem to get time to spend around them. Whenever they’re in a city that’s big enough to have a good correspondence system, Jaskier writes to his sisters and his parents, telling them all about their lives as they trudge around the Continent.

Jaskier heaves a small sigh. “Would it be too late for a quick detour? I know you want to get to Kaer Morhen as soon as possible, but I haven’t seen my family for a while and I’d love to hug my mother goodbye for the winter— you don’t have to, though, they can be a lot.” He huffs a laugh. “And maybe— it’s okay if we can’t, actually.”

Geralt shakes his head, a fond smile on his face. He thinks of all the times they strayed from their path just because Geralt had caught word that another Witcher was passing through, the times Jaskier’s missed a banquet just so he could have another round of ale with Geralt’s brothers. “It’s fine, Jask. We can ride out tomorrow.”

“Really?” Jaskier beams, his smile entirely too big for his face and too bright for Geralt to handle, and leans forward to wrap his arms around Geralt’s shoulders. “Oh, that’s so kind of you! I hope you’re prepared, though, they’ll have a million questions about you and they’ll want stories, Geralt—”

“Like you did?”

“Yeah.” Jaskier pauses, a small smile on his lips. “Like I did.”

Getting to Lettenhove isn’t hard by itself — the road’s well-traveled and the closer they get to the village, the more Jaskier remembers. They’ve walked through the marketplace and the smell of freshly baked pies lingers, Geralt’s mouth watering at the thought. There’s a narrow path just on the side of the road, and that’s the one leading to Jaskier’s family’s house. It makes a beautiful picture, the golden treetops curling into one another in each side of the path forming an archway, the stone house in the distance. Jaskier’s scent is tinted with excitement and happiness, and it feels warmer than usual, a bit more muted — home, Geralt thinks.

Jaskier’s family is almost as warm and bright as he is; Geralt’s barely set foot in their house and he’s already pulled into a strong hug, Jaskier’s father clapping on his back with a smile.

“You’re the Witcher!” Jaskier’s mother exclaims, and there’s nothing but pure joy in her scent. “It’s so exciting to meet you, after hearing all of Julian’s songs!”

Geralt can’t help but smile, already overwhelmed by their hospitality. After Jaskier’s sisters have hugged him welcome and introduced themselves —Kitty, Lizzie, and Jane— Geralt’s lead to a room on the second floor, which he belatedly realizes, belongs to Jaskier.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Jaskier’s mother starts as he sets his pack down by the door. “Had we known we’d have guests, we would have gotten the guest room ready— you’ll have to share with Julian, if that’s alright? Or I could ask the girls to find some clean linens and—”

“Thank you,” Geralt says, kindly interrupting her rambling, which sounds familiar. He bites back a smile. “This is perfect.”

She blushes bright red and goes downstairs, and her voice carries as she orders her family around to start preparing dinner. Geralt moves around the room, taking every detail in. Jaskier’s room looks like he’d imagine, and, at the same time, nothing like it — he immediately feels drawn to it, the dark wooden floors and soft blankets on the bed, the bookcase filled with all kinds of books and the seemingly endless stack of papers by his desk. It’s so him, so Jaskier, Geralt can’t think of another word to describe it.

“It’s weird, seeing you here.” Jaskier’s leaning against the doorframe, a soft smile on his lips.

“Good weird?”

“Definitely good weird,” Jaskier says, and presses a chaste kiss to Geralt’s lips, then wraps his arms around him and lays his head against his shoulder. “I’m glad we’re here. Thank you.”

Geralt gently squeezes his waist, pressing his nose against the crook of Jaskier’s neck, breathing in. He hums against his neck.

“Are you hungry?” Jaskier says when they part. “I’m sure Mother would love to stuff you full of pie and wine.”

“Hmm.”

Geralt wakes in an unfamiliar room. He frowns and goes to reach for his sword when he sees a familiar tangle of brown hair peeking out of the blankets, the warmth of Jaskier’s body against his own grounding him. He drinks Jaskier in; the way his legs are tangled in his, the bard’s head resting on the crook of his arm, his slow breathing. Sunlight filters through the thin curtains and falls around them almost gently, painting everything golden in the early morning.

Geralt traces small circles on Jaskier’s arm, basking in his warmth. They don’t get many moments like this on the road, and Geralt relishes every second of them — no contracts ahead, no obligations, nothing other than laying close to each other. He closes his eyes and gently nuzzles his nose against Jaskier’s hair, hearing the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

“You’re thinking sappy thoughts, Witcher,” Jaskier murmurs against his chest, his voice thick with sleep. “I can tell.”

Geralt smiles, then presses a kiss to his temple. “Good morning.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier pulls the blankets over his head, making small sounds of protest, something along the lines of how it’s too early to be awake and too cold to get out of bed, then brings Geralt under with him, draping the covers around them.

“Hi,” he says in the dark under their pile. It’s too warm for Geralt, but for Jaskier, he’ll stay.

“Hi,” Geralt answers, and presses a kiss to Jaskier’s lips this time. It’s slow and sweet and lazy, their lips finding each other again and again, and it’s perfect. “We should get up,” he says when they pull back for air.

Jaskier pouts. “You’re an ingrate, Geralt of Rivia. I bring you to my home, feed you and bathe you—”

“You haven’t bathed me.”

“—share my bed and blankets with you, only for you to demand we get up at the crack of dawn, when we don’t even have anything pressing to attend to. Rude, that’s what you are.”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt says, kissing the frown between Jaskier’s brows. “Will you find it in your good heart to forgive such an indiscretion?”

Jaskier purses his lips, considering. “Hmm, I think I’ll have to. After all, I can’t risk being uninvited to Kaer Morhen. I’ll miss Eskel too much.”

“It’s him you’re after, then?”

“Of course,” Jaskier says with a grin. “This was all a ploy to get to your brother, my one and only.”

“I think you are getting uninvited to Kaer Morhen, after all.”

Jaskier gasps in mock outrage. “Geralt! You wouldn’t.”

“Hmm.” Geralt tosses the blankets aside and sits up on the bed. “It’s decided.”

Jaskier, with his hair all mussed and sleep still tugging at his eyes, kneels on the bed, and he’s never quite looked so beautiful. “I could convince you to change your mind?”

Geralt turns to look at him. “How?”

Jaskier lifts his eyebrows and licks his lips. “I’m sure we can come to an arrangement.”

After a mind-blowing blowjob and another few hours of sleep, Geralt and Jaskier make their way downstairs. The house is silent, and there’s a note on the kitchen table: Went to town to run some errands before the cold settles in. Help yourselves to breakfast! We’ll be back at noon.

“Well, seems we’ve the house to ourselves,” Jaskier says and grabs a mug. “Tea?” Geralt takes a seat at the table and nods. “Okay, I don’t quite remember where everything is— What would you like to eat? I’m sure there’s fruit, and some nuts, and we could— Oh! I could make some bread for you!”

Geralt lifts an eyebrow. “You can bake?”

“Of course I can!” Jaskier starts pulling ingredients out of different drawers and sets them on the table. “I’m quite a proficient baker, mind you.”

Geralt hums and sips at his tea when the water’s done boiling. Jaskier chatters away, bright and awake, and he’s wearing one of Geralt’s shirts. His hair is still a tangled mess, but his cheeks are flushed and he’s in such a good mood his scent is intoxicating. Geralt’s seen him in many ways — performing at banquets and taverns, forehead damp with sweat and a smirk on his lips; composing by a riverbank, his brows furrowed in concentration and a pen hanging from his lips; moving around Novigrad like he owns the place, in one of his brightest doublets and a smile plastered on his face after he downs a bottle of Everluce. He’s beautiful in each and one of Geralt’s memory, but right now, with a line of flour across his cheek, wearing Geralt’s shirt and kneading bread for him, sharing his bed and his home and his life with him, this is the most beautiful Geralt’s ever seen him.

“I love you,” he blurts out.

Jaskier stops mid-rant and brings a hand to his cheek, his eyes wide. “I— you do?”

Geralt breathes out, his chest feeling lighter than it has in years. “I do.” He steps forward, moving closer to him, and presses his hand on top of Jaskier’s. “I do.”

Jaskier smiles, and it feels like sunshine is pouring down on Geralt. He bumps their foreheads together. “I love you too.”

Geralt lets out a quiet laugh and presses a kiss to the corner of Jaskier’s mouth, their breaths intertwined. He thinks of Kaer Morhen, the way the bard takes to it like he’s lived there forever, like there’s no other place he’d rather be. The way he sits by the fire with a book and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, the way he teases Eskel and Lambert like they grew up together, the way he follows Vesemir around the keep with a million questions waiting to be answered. The way he belongs.

And Geralt belongs too, he realizes. Here, in the middle of Jaskier’s family’s kitchen, with his arms wrapped around his bard as sunlight washes over them, and the scent of fresh bread and love fills his senses. He’s home, too.

#mywriting #winter prompts #geraskier ficlet #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #this is so sappy i apologize in advance #they're in love. they're home. i don't need anything else

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funkylittlebard · 3 years

Text

You Can't Make Me

hello, i am back again for the second time in as many days with more smut aha

finally finished (there's a theme atm) a fic i've been scheming up since March. thanks very much to @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde for beta'ing!!

Geraskier, explicitly horny. Also on Ao3.

CWs: brat tamer dom! Jaskier, bratty sub! Geralt, spanking, edging, anal fingering, belt used as restraints, handjob, outdoor sex

When Geralt and Jaskier had started to walk out of town, the sun had been shining and Geralt had been in a good mood, even smiling softly at Jaskier when the bard linked their hands together. When they had stopped for lunch near a babbling, flowing stream, he had let his head fall against Jaskier’s thigh and sat silently whilst the other man had played with his hair. Yes, Geralt had been quiet since then, but that wasn’t particularly unusual.

“Geralt, darling, come look at this,” Jaskier could hear Geralt scuffing his boots behind him, and then a loud sigh. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the other man glaring down at the ground, kicking up dust. The bard blinked in surprise as Geralt looked up at him, almost pouting. He folded his arms and raised a brow at Geralt, daring him to continue. Geralt huffed petulantyly, and crossed his arms. He paused for only the briefest second before he spoke, but it was long enough for Jaskier to begin to understand what kind of mood he was in.

“Fuck off, Jaskier, you can’t make me,” he snapped. Jaskier stared at him for a long moment, considering his options, before he laughed.

“Is that how you want to play it then, darling? You’ll have to do better than that to get what you want. Perhaps you could try asking me directly?” he said, goading. They had discussed the possibility of doing something like this on their journey through the woods, and they had agreed that Geralt would be the one to initiate it so that he could be confident they would be safe. Jaskier could feel the excitement thrumming through his veins at the opportunity unfolding in front of him. It wasn’t often Geralt let himself play like this. Jaskier took a step forward, eyebrow still cocked.

“Do you want to try that again, Geralt?”

Geralt’s breath caught and he backed up half a step. He snarled back at Jaskier.

“Make me, I said,” he growled, hands balled into fists by his sides. Jaskier didn’t believe his posturing for a second. He moved over swiftly, trying to catch Geralt by surprise. Geralt backed away before he could reach him, bringing his hands up in a guard. Jaskier scoffed.

“We both know you won’t hurt me, darling. Why don’t you just come here and be a good boy for me?” he knew even as he said it that there was no chance, so he carried on. “You won’t like what happens if you don’t.”

Geralt swallowed thickly, and shook his head. “As fucking if, Jaskier,” He took another defensive step back, hitting a tree. His eyes widened as he realised his mistake. “Jask-”

But Jaskier was already on him, grabbing the hair at the back of his neck and yanking his head back sharply. He tugged, using it to pull Geralt to the ground onto his knees.

“What did you just say to me, pup?” Jaskier said, emphasising his words with a pointed pull of Geralt's hair.

The witcher glared back up at him, baring his teeth as he growled. Jaskier tutted and pulled Geralt’s head back a little further. He shoved his feet roughly between Geralt's splayed thighs, revelling in the cut-off little choke it produced in the other man.

“Let’s try that again, shall we?” he pressed his foot forward and Geralt's eyes widened a fraction at the sudden pressure to his dick. “Answer me, Geralt. Politely.” he pushed a bit more before drawing his foot back slightly, the pressure only enough to tease now. Geralt yelped and glowered up at him- Jaskier could already see how his pupils had expanded, the black hiding the amber iris. Yet Geralt still refused to answer him properly. Jaskier frowned. “You know, if you don't answer me, this will only get worse for you.”

Geralt blinked once and tried to shift his hips back away from Jaskier’s foot. “Oh ho ho, no you don't,” Jaskier pushed Geralt by his shoulders, sending him tumbling into the leaves covering the forest floor. He pinned Geralt's hips down, sitting over his crotch and snatching his hands up above his head so fast it made Geralt's head spin. Mouth dry, he gulped before trying to break free, but to his surprise, he found he couldn’t move. Startled, he stared up at Jaskier, eyes wide, trying to remember if his bard had always been so strong?

“Let me go, Jaskier,” he gritted out.

“No, I don’t think I will. Not until you behave for me.”

Jaskier punctuated his point with a kiss to the sensitive underside of Geralt’s jaw. The witcher let out a soft gasp, then shook his head trying desperately to clear it, and pouted up at Jaskier. He opened his mouth as if to say something undoubtedly bratty- Jaskier didn’t give him the chance. He moved a hand to cover Geralt’s mouth, squeezing the other man’s wrists together tightly with one hand.

Geralt couldn’t hold back his whine at that, overwhelmed at the ease with which Jaskier was overpowering him. His cock twitched where it lay trapped in his leathers and Jaskier smirked.

“Now. Let me ask you this again. What did you say to me?” he peeled his hand away. Geralt squirmed- though he found he couldn’t move very far at all - and Jaskier could see the glint in his eyes as the little shit purposefully swallowed and grinned up at him, saying nothing.

Well. If that was how he wanted to play it, then so be it.

“Well, don't worry dear heart, I’ll give you what you need,” Jaskier said, smile twisting into a snarl. “On your front. Now.” Geralt paused for a moment, uncertain. Jaskier ran his fingers down Geralt’s neck, making him shiver. “Come on, Geralt. Turn over,” he said, his voice still cold and stern.

Geralt swallowed heavilly as he felt his arousal building. He sucked in a deep breath, and finally replied to Jaskier.

“No.”

Jaskier looked at him and chuckled. He slid slowly off of Geralt, rubbing his hands over Geralt’s thighs as he went.

“Have it your way,” he said, and grabbed Geralt’s legs, flipping him over and sending the witcher sprawling face-first into the dirt. He pulled his own belt free next, and folded it over hastily. He grabbed Geralt’s wrists again, and slid his belt around them, tugging it sharply to make sure it was tight as he tied it off. He didn’t stop - he pulled the laces of Geralt’s trousers loose and wrenched them down, taking a moment to lean in and whisper in his ear. “Colour?”

“Green,” Geralt breathed back at him.

“Good,” Jaskier said, and nipped his earlobe before settling back on Geralt’s thighs and taking a moment to admire the scene in front of him. He trailed his nails across Geralt’s bare arse and watched with an almost imperceptible grin as the other man shuddered beneath him.

“You know what happens to naughty, bratty little witchers who won’t do as they’re told, Geralt?” Geralt quivered under him, before answering in a low-pitched voice.

“N-no?”

“No, sir.”

Geralt gulped and tried to hide his face in the leaves, Jaskier’s tone making him feel small and significantly less bold than he was a moment ago. He worried his bottom lip before letting out a quiet, embarrassed whisper.

“No, sir.”

Jaskier yanked his head up by the hair again and snarled in his face, “That’s more like it,” he said and smacked Geralt’s arse, hard. Geralt whined, trying to wiggle closer, most of the fight having seeped out of him at this point. Jaskier laughed darkly.

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll be trying to entice me to keep going much longer, pup,” he slapped his palm down again over the same spot. He hit it a third time before repeating the same thing on the other cheek. He could hear Geralt’s breathing picking up, the other man trying very hard not to make too much noise. Well, that certainly wouldn’t do- he rubbed a hand over Geralt’s arse before digging his nails in, hard. Geralt mewled, trying to wriggle away from the slight stinging sensation. Jaskier smirked at him, and slapped him again, delighting in the full-body shiver it produced. “Hold still for me, boy,” he growled, and Geralt halted, frozen in place. He panted roughly for a moment, and Jaskier spanked him again. Geralt bit his lip, hands clenching tightly together, wrists flexing futilely. He tried so, so hard not to move, finding himself suddenly desperate for Jaskier’s praise, limbs going rigid with the strain. The bard leant in close to his ear again.

“Good boy,” he purred and Geralt cried out, face turning red with embarrassment at how loud Jaskier was making him already. He could feel his arse tingling slightly and whimpered, wishing he could hide his face further into the leaves. Jaskier spanked him again, making him whine deep in his throat, wiggling his hips wildly to gain some friction. His breath caught in his throat as he realised his error, and he waited, heart racing, for Jaskier to say something. He felt Jaskier shuffle off of his thighs to his side, tutting quietly.

“Stay still Geralt, behave for me.” Lips pressed against the hot skin of Geralt’s arse and Geralt gasped faintly, but Jaskier moved away. There was a rustling sound and then Jaskier returned, and Geralt felt him trace a line across his arse. He shivered, still trying desperately to hold himself still, hands clenched into tight fists. A small part of him wanted to move, try and wriggle away, make things difficult for Jaskier, but that had largely been shut down by the much larger part of him that just wanted Jaskier to tell him he’d been his good boy-

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sensation of a warm, oil-slick finger circling his hole. He moaned and tried to lift his hips to get more, but was met with only a brutal slap. He yelped and pushed himself back down, trying his best to stay still. Jaskier petted his arse fondly, making Geralt’s breath turn ragged. His eyes scrunched tightly closed as he whined out an apology. Jaskier rolled his eyes at him, taking a second to breathe deeply and adjust himself in his trousers. That could wait until after he had seen to Geralt.

“If you can keep still for me, then maybe I’ll spare your pretty little arse any more slaps,” Jaskier murmured. Geralt shivered, biting his lip to try not to whine. Jaskier spanked him hard across his arse again and he yelled, hips rutting into the ground before he could stop himself. The friction had him gasping, breath coming out in uneven pants. Jaskier slapped him again. “Answer me when I ask you a question, brat.”

Geralt took a shuddery breath.

“I’ll t-try stay still for you, sir.” He wasn’t sure if he could do it, but he wanted to try, had to do his best to please Jaskier.

Jaskier leant in and nibbled at his earlobe before kissing it gently. Geralt could feel his fingers twitching.

“That’s my good boy. Still green?” Geralt whimpered helplessly, shoulders shaking as he nodded, hard enough that several leaves got caught in his hair. Jaskier brought his hand back to Geralt’s arse with a wicked smile, and continued to tease him. He circled around his hole again before finally slipping one finger inside, being gentle with his witcher. Geralt couldn't breathe for a moment, overwhelmed- no matter how many times they did this, the initial sensation of being filled always caught his breath, made it stutter, made him want to bare his neck for Jaskier and beg him to do whatever he wanted with him. He couldn't help it- it was too much, but not enough all at once- he wriggled slightly.

The finger immediately withdrew, and he cried out at the sudden loss.

“What did I tell you?” Jaskier snapped, before drawing back to lay a series of unrelenting slaps against Geralt’s already sensitive arse. Geralt’s breath came out in harsh pants, eyes tightly closed, as he willed himself to stay still. His dick was leaking steadily against the forest floor now and he wanted nothing more than to grind against it just for a little relief, but he had to be a good boy for Jaskier. That was more important.

When Jaskier stopped again, he moved to fetch more oil before starting a fresh assault on Geralt’s hole. This time he slicked up two fingers and pushed them insistently in. Geralt shuddered, tightening around him. Jaskier’s resulting moan made him smile slightly, eager to know that he was pleasing Jaskier. Jaskier continued to slowly tease him with his fingers, and Geralt managed to resist the urge to rock back on them just barely, teeth gritted together with the effort. He felt Jaskier’s other hand petting his damp back as he struggled to steady his breathing.

“That’s it, just like that. See, I knew you could behave for me,” Something in Geralt flickered rebelliously at the words. The vast majority of him still wanted desperately to behave, to be good for Jaskier, but now the other, smaller part of him was back- and it wanted him to make Jaskier work for his submission. He blinked, trying to establish equilibrium again, but it was hard. Jaskier’s fingers caught on his prostate as he was having his dilemma and he gasped, feeling suddenly right on the edge of orgasm, and he wiggled slightly in place. He remembered a moment too late. He froze. Jaskier sighed above him, teased him a moment longer until Geralt was practically sobbing. Then pulled out before he could come, and placed his hand on Geralt’s slowly reddening arse. Geralt couldn't help it-

“No no no, sir please, I’ll be good I- ah!” Jaskier carried on, unperturbed at Geralt cursing up a storm as Jaskier laid into him again. He was whining near constantly, a tiny high-pitched sound, by the time Jaskier stopped again, moving two fingers back into him without pause. Geralt convulsed as Jaskier sped up, pressing ruthlessly against his prostate.

“You will do exactly as I say or be punished, I thought we had established this.” he pushed another finger into Geralt, and the witcher bit his lip hard enough to bruise. He really, really wanted to push back onto Jaskier’s hand- he was so close again already. His breathing sped up and as he opened his mouth to warn the other man, Jaskier removed his hand altogether. Geralt felt so empty.

“Fuck! Sir, please, please, I wanna come,” he stopped as he felt Jaskier pull his hair, and winced. He risked a glance- Jaskier was regarding him coldly.

“Perhaps you didn't understand me. You do as I say, and you stay still, or I punish you. You get to come when I decide, not you.” Geralt felt his eyebrows rising, and began to splutter out a protest when Jaskier grabbed a handful of his crimson arse. He hissed, back arching and cried out loudly when Jaskier smacked him again. Jaskier smacked him five times on each side, then went back to teasing his hole, plunging his fingers in and out, crooking them just right to catch the spot until Geralt was straight back at the edge again. Jaskier pulled his fingers free as soon as he noticed, and immediately started spanking Geralt again.

Geralt was trembling on the ground, a puddle of precome beneath him, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as the pressure increased and his arse became more and more sore. He felt like his nerves were alight, he was so close to the edge, and Jaskier kept pulling him back from it. He was sure he was going to come if Jaskier kept this up, whether he was given permission or not.

Time passed, Jaskier still alternating between teasing his hole, and spanking his arse raw. Geralt didn't know how long it had been before the tears finally slid down his face, sob falling from his mouth. Jaskier moved his hands up to Geralt’s back, soothing over tense muscles.

“Are you ready to be a good boy for me now, Geralt?”

Absolutely overcome, Geralt whined, tears falling slowly down his face, and nodded. “Well then,” Jaskier purred, and reached down to grasp Geralt’s dick. Geralt cried out, hips thrusting frantically into Jaskier’s grip.

“‘M sorry, sorry, ah, sir, I-” Jaskier silenced him by shoving his fingers into Geralt’s mouth. Geralt moaned around them- his cock wet where he had been leaking, now sliding easily through Jaskier’s hand. Jaskier shushed him, rubbing his thumb soothingly over his lip.

“That's it, that's my good boy,” he slid his fingers free from Geralt's mouth, moving them down to touch Geralt’s arse teasingly, and Geralt let out a gasp.

“Please, sir, can’t help it, ‘m gonna-” Jaskier sped up, and kissed the other man’s shoulder softly. “Be a good boy and come for me, Geralt.”

Geralt came with a loud, almost surprised cry, collapsing boneless into Jaskier’s arms. Jaskier lowered him gently into the leaves away from the puddle of his own spend, and smoothed the witcher’s hair back from his face. He tutted, and smoothed a hand gently over his bright red arse, and Geralt flinched with a pained whimper. “You did so well for me darling, took it so beautifully for me,” Jaskier said with a wicked smile. Geralt whined pitifully into the leaves as Jaskier slid his belt free of his wrists. He shivered, and Jaskier leant down close to his ear. “Good boy, Geralt.”

#my writing #the witcher #witcher fic #geralt #jaskier #geraskier #geraskier smut

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samstree · 3 years

Note

For the reverse trope ask: the soft character comforting the tough character after a trauma

Piece Him Back Together

Part of the reverse trope series.

When Geralt gets kidnapped, it's up to Jaskier to rescue him. Some truths about a witcher's worst weakness come to light.

(geraskier, 2.1k, hurt/comfort, geralt whump, mutual pining, competent jaskier, love confession, mild blood)

read on AO3

"Shit, shit, shit..."

Jaskier lets out a string of curses all the while balancing the weight of two fully grown men with stumbling footwork. He desperately tries to keep Geralt up with a hand on the small of his back but fails to stop the injured witcher from drooping with each step, until, at last, both of them wind up in a heap of limbs by the road.

Geralt lets out a pained grunt and Jaskier scrambles with apologies.

“Fuck, sorry.” The bard shifts Geralt’s bulk with all he can muster and finally settles him on a patch of soft moss under the tree. The witcher hisses as his back hits the bark rather heavily. “Shit, I’m so sorr—”

“You already said,” Geralt interrupts him but there’s no anger in his tone.

“Still. I am.”

Jaskier retrieves a handkerchief from his pocket and begins to dab at the mess of blood at Geralt’s temple, wincing when he finally sees how bad the blow is. Blood oozes from the gash, slower than a moment before. The fabric is soaked through and the skin there is still tender.

It’s all witchers’ weakness.

The temple. A blow to the head.

It messes up all their senses and coordination, leaving them in the most vulnerable state. If Jaskier had reached him any later, this might have done Geralt in.

Jaskier lets out a distressed sound at the thought.

“Stop fussing. We need to go.” The witcher, against all odds, remains level-headed.

“No, it’s all right. I knocked out all the guards and servants, along with the duke and his mage.” Jaskier tilts Geralt’s head for a better angle to press the handkerchief down on the wound. “I may have given the two of them a little more than the recommended dose. The lady at the apothecary warned me about the risk of choking with much sleeping potion, urgh, like I give an ounce of fuck if they die a gruesome death or not. It’d be a favor to the town.”

The venom surprises even Jaskier himself, and Geralt lets out a meaningful hum.

“Rest assured, my dear. No one will be looking for us today.”

Up close, Jaskier can feel Geralt scrutinize him intently as if to burn a hole into his face. He meets the amber gaze, the dark pupils still a little blown wide from the shock, but there’s also something akin to relief flowing in those beautiful eyes.

He revels in the silence, observing Geralt in return for further signs of hurt, but finds none.

The witcher relents first, the tiniest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “So you drugged an entire castle?”

“Didn’t think I had it in me, huh?” Jaskier teases. “The White Wolf, saved by a humble bard and forever impressed by his wit.”

“Hmm.”

“Well, don’t beat yourself up, oh mighty witcher. I’m sure you only needed the rescue because those villains took advantage of your only weakness.” The bard adds his usual dramatic flair into the last two words.

Geralt blinks. Something shifts in his expression, his breathing picking up and his eyes darting everywhere. If the bard didn’t know better, he’d say the witcher is flustered, which makes it all the more confusing.

“Mocking me, are you?” Geralt drops his gaze and tries to shy away, but the bard holds him in place with the other hand. Under Jaskier’s palm, the frame of the witcher’s ear is heating up.

“How am I mocking you? Geralt, even you must admit witchers aren’t all-powerful beings.” Jaskier frowns. “They messed up your head. I know all your senses get muddled when you’re like this. Seriously, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“What are you talking about?” the witcher snaps his gaze back to Jaskier, a puzzled crease deep between his brows, which only makes the bard scoff with amusement.

“The head wound, of course. How did they get you? An ambush and a blow to the head, I’m assuming.” Jaskier explains. “How else did you get yourself into a dungeon and dimeritium cuffs? What, are you telling me you walk into their trap voluntarily?”

He rolls his eyes at the offhanded joke but the silence from the witcher leaves the mood heavier. Somehow, it doesn’t feel like a denial of what he just said. Geralt is staring at him with an inexplicable look on his face, and these looks are hard to come by these days. Jaskier prides himself in being the best on the continent at reading his witcher, and he has no inclination to break the streak.

“What happened then? Talk to me, Geralt.”

Jaskier removes the handkerchief a little. The gash has stopped bleeding, so he ties it around Geralt’s head carefully to keep the wound shielded, at least until they can wash it properly. His hands stay with Geralt afterwards, waiting for him to open up.

“I—” Geralt purses his lips before continuing, golden eyes meeting the bard in earnest. “They didn’t ambush me, Jask. I walked into that castle unarmed by choice.”

“What?” Jaskier’s jaw drops.

“It’s because—” the witcher scowls. “Because I thought…that they had you.”

It’s like a lightning strike, where their skin connects tingling all the way from the tips of Jaskier’s fingers to a warm pool of fuzziness in his stomach. The air is suddenly too hot so Jaskier decides to put more space between them.

“Oh.”

Geralt chases him ever so slightly before settling back with resignation, his eyes still bare and vulnerable, as if he just revealed the darkest secret when it is only the sweetest thing in a horrible, horrible way.

“A whisper of you being held hostage and suddenly I couldn’t think. Couldn’t remember to check the truth. Couldn’t waste another second.” Geralt hovers a hand near the bard’s face before retreating to his side. “You were right that they got me because of my one weakness, Jaskier. Just not the one you assumed.”

The pounding in Jaskier’s chest is jumping out of his throat. He’s sure he will die within the next minute if he doesn’t speak to ease this ache in his heart.

“Oh.”

He ends up saying dumbly.

“It was too late when I noticed the absence of you. Your voice, your heartbeat, your scent. Nothing. You weren’t in that castle or the cells. All I could hear was silence and all I could smell was blood.” Geralt draws a shuddering breath. “I hoped, when they kept me in the dark, that they were lying about ever having you. That you were nowhere near that damn place instead of—”

The witcher swallows, unable to finish the sentence.

“Instead of,” Jaskier adds for him, “they’d already killed me.”

The tension hangs between them. The bard sits back on the heels of his feet and finds himself at a loss for words for the very first time in his life.

Geralt might be the only person who can force Jaskier through so many firsts in his life. His first time writing a hit song, first time smashing into someone’s face with a lute, first time saving a witcher’s life, and perhaps, first time murdering two evil overlords obsessed with collecting witchers for experiments.

Hmm, it’s not like Jaskier regrets any of these.

Geralt reaches out again, tentative and patient like he’s approaching a spooked horse. This time, Jaskier takes pity and meets him halfway, his thumb rubbing small circles at the sword callouses that he adores so much.

“Say something,” Geralt pleads.

Jaskier swallows a lump in his throat and sniffles to ease the congestion in his nose, his vision blurring in desperation.

“It’s the most words you’ve said in one sitting, Geralt. You’ll have to allow me a moment to figure out what you are saying and, most importantly, not saying.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “It’s you, you know? There’s always something you are holding back and that is often the crux of it. I thought I got good at reading between the lines, but this is…overwhelming.”

With the enhanced healing kicking in, Geralt is looking much better by the minute. The blood dries and crusts over and his eyes almost shining in the daylight, or is it just the emotions within them? Jaskier can’t tell.

“Maybe I can help you. With the hidden words.” Geralt squeezes Jaskier’s fingers reassuringly. He tilts his head in the most endearing way. It happens to be that particular head tilt that Jaskier treasures with his life, the one that manages to always take his breath away.

“I love you, Jask.”

The warm pool of fuzziness in Jaskier’s stomach turns into a bottomless pit, and he’s falling.

And soaring.

“I love you.” Geralt smiles sadly. “In the dark of that cell, it became…ever so clear and so loud that I couldn’t deny it anymore. I love you, in spite of myself. Gods, I’ve loved you for so long.”

Geralt picks up Jaskier’s hand and places the barest touch of a kiss there, his lips chapped but oh so gentle. Jaskier lets out a soft gasp and the tears roll down uncontrollably. The next thing he knows, he’s buried deep in Geralt’s embrace. The sobs choke in his lungs like a dam has been broken.

“I—” Jaskier is amazed to find that their roles have reversed. The witcher has expressed everything but the bard becomes mute. So he takes up Geralt’s role gladly and replies with actions.

Jaskier’s lips are pressed everywhere he can reach: the soft, warm skin of Geralt’s neck, the sharp of his jaw, his cheek, the tip of his nose. He disregards the grime and dirt and kisses Geralt’s uninjured temple, the single most fragile part of a witcher’s body—barring their heart, so it seems. He tucks away a strand of white hair and kisses Geralt’s temple one more time, tasting the salty tang of tears.

When he pulls back, Geralt’s smile is blinding.

He hears Jaskier, even though—

“I still don’t know what to say,” Jaskier croaks, sniffling hard.

The bard rests his hands at the nape of Geralt’s neck and loses himself in the sunlit golden honey, his favorite color in the world and the most beautiful dream that’s ever come true.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Geralt wipes away the wetness on Jaskier’s face with the pad of his thumb. “Master Jaskier, poet, minstrel, professor… Stumped for words and forever impressed by a witcher’s love confession.”

He mimics Jaskier’s phrasing and the bard can’t help but chuckle despite the tears and snout, his hand swatting at Geralt’s shoulder. Jaskier knows he must look so absurd, laughing and crying all at once, but it’s the last thing in the world that matters.

Geralt loves him, and—

“You got hurt because of me.”

The remorse licks up, along with the urge to protect and to care. The sight of Geralt limp and bloody, bound by the wrists in a dark cell is something Jaskier never wants to relive again.

“I don’t care, Jask.”

“I care.”

“Then make it better.”

So he does. Geralt never wavers as Jaskier captures his lips and pours everything he cannot voice into the kiss, drawing a contented moan out of the witcher.

“Does it still hurt?” the bard whispers between one breath and the next.

“A little.”

Jaskier resumes his work and cards deft fingers through silver hair, careful not to nudge the handkerchief. His nails ghost over Geralt’s scalp and scratches gently until a purring sound rumbles deep in the witcher’s chest. The bard giggles proudly.

“Now?”

“Keep going.”

Geralt traps Jaskier between his strong arms devours him with passion, the heat of his body solid and calming.

Jaskier has never thought of himself as a protector, except at this moment with his witcher arching into his every touch and producing those heavenly sounds. The world is too bent on hurting Geralt, too eager to take and take and take from him.

A bard is not a fighter. Jaskier cannot stop monsters from tearing through armors or crossbows fired with ill intent.

But a bard is a lover. What Jaskier can do is heal, is piece Geralt back together with gentle words in the dark and soft lips on the thin skin at his temple.

“How about now?”

They are panting in tandem, the gold of Geralt’s eyes dreamy and out of this world.

“Still dizzy.”

“That’s from all the kissing, you oaf.”

But Geralt begs wordlessly with those wide, puppy-like eyes so openly, and Jaskier’s already non-existent resolve breaks into a million pieces. He kisses Geralt until the witcher melts into a puddle of purring mess, sun-warmed and pliant.

And he kisses Geralt more.

Again and again.

---

Thanks for the prompt. I kind of just rolled with the concept. The twist looks a bit obvious from the beginning, but feel free to tell me what you think. <3

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @dapandapod @artisanbaguette @birdsflyhome

Please tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #reverse trope #trope subversion #soft geraskier #geralt x jaskier #cw: blood #soft jaskier #hurt geralt #geralt whump #mutual pining #love confession #first kiss #italicized oh #hurt/comfort

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writinglizards · 3 years

Text

Covet my Heart

Summary: Jaskier keeps sleeping with the wrong people. It puts them in some...interesting situations.

Read on Ao3

"The fuck did you do this time?" Geralt growls, irritated, when Jaskier comes skittering around the corner, eyes wide with barely concealed panic. They're in the middle of the open market in a little town outside Lyria and Jaskier's got a pair of angry brothers hot on his heels.

"Nothing she didn't ask for, fuck--" Jaskier ducks his head as the shouting gets closer. There's no good spot to hide and Geralt's not moving.

"Fuck," Geralt sighs, a weary sound.

"Geralt," Jaskier hisses, goes to duck around him (if Geralt won't hide him, Jaskier will just...hide himself. Fuck), but Geralt catches him with an arm around his waist after only the barest hesitation.

"There's no good spot to hide out here," he says, reinforcing the observation Jaskier's already made, voice more patient that Jaskier's sure he feels.

"Yes, but I can't just--" there's a crash not too far back; his pursuers are at the end of the row.

"Just--" Geralt sighs again, "follow my lead," and he tucks Jaskier just a little closer to his side, arm around his waist tightening. Jaskier instinctively hides his face against Geralt's chest, tries to shrink into his shadow. Geralt turns them, as a unit, and walks them up to a nearby stall. They stand as if they're perusing the offerings--jewelry, not to Geralt's taste at all, but certainly to Jaskier's. He fidgets, tries to make it look like he’s just casually browsing with the bulk of a witcher wrapped around him which is just...it’s fine. It’s all fine.

"Can I help you, boys?" the stall salesman asks, hands resting calmly on the counter. Jaskier jolts, Geralt squeezes his waist gently, reassuring.

"Which one were you looking at?" Geralt asks, voice gone soft and gentle like it does when he's speaking to Roach. The brothers are thudding up the aisle, still angry, somewhere behind them.

"Um, the--that one. The ring," he studders out, pointing to one of the rings, the first thing to catch his eye. It's beautiful and slender, likely meant for a woman's hand. The man smiles, takes it gently between thumb and forefinger.

"A good choice," he nods, holding the ring out, "And it looks like it might fit," he says, indicating Jaskier's hands, "would you like to try it on?" Jaskier's...not entirely sure what's going on right now. His nerves are in his throat, the men who'd been pursuing him are nearly on top of them, and Geralt has him trying on a ring? He cuts his gaze back to Geralt, who merely nods. Jaskier reaches out--

--and they're thrust against the counter, hard. Anger mars the salesman's face, and Geralt whirls them, a snarl on his lips, arm still tight around Jaskier's waist. Behind them is the brothers.

"There you are you fuckin fop," the one snarls, reaching as if to yank him away from Geralt, "knew we'd catch you eventually. Run to hide with your witcher?"

"Don't touch him," Geralt warns, voice low and dangerous, shifts to put himself more between Jaskier and the men. The other brother fidgets, the only sign of nerves between them.

"He fucked our sis," the younger explains, tone somewhere between anger and supplication, "we just wanna teach him a little lesson about keepin his prick to hisself."

Geralt growls. "The bard is mine. You're mistaken." And oh, what that tone, those words, does to him. Arousal, white-hot and nearly painful shoots straight through Jaskier, settles heavily in his gut.

"Bullshit," the older spits, not buying it in the least, gaze jumping from Jaskier to Geralt and back again. "Prove it."

Jaskier has just enough time to wonder how the fuck these men think Geralt's going to prove Jaskier’s his bard and hasn’t been fucking around with their sister before Geralt's tipping his chin up and pressing a claiming kiss to his mouth. It's sudden, possessive, and Jaskier's frozen with some mix of terror and surprise. Oh. That’s how. Geralt nips his lower lip, gently, and Jaskier melts, kissing back like a drowning man seeking air. His hands slip upwards into Geralt's hair and Geralt settles two large palms around his waist, squeezing with almost too much pressure (it's glorious).

Geralt moves to pull back after a few, long moments, but Jaskier leans forward, chases his lips without thinking. Geralt grunts, indulges him another moment or two, before finally pulling away, one hand on Jaskier's cheek to keep him from chasing the kiss again.

"Mine," Geralt rumbles, sending shivers through Jaskier's core. He can't seem to pull his gaze away from those gold eyes, pupils blown just a little too wide.

It’s silent a beat too long. Geralt breaks Jaskier’s gaze to glower over his shoulder at the men. "Uh--S-sorry master witcher, sir, we'll just--" the younger brother fumbles, yanking on the elder and nearly dragging him away. The elder doesn’t look strictly convinced still, but it doesn’t matter. They’ve obviously re-thought their plan. With the immediate threat gone, Jaskier expects Geralt to drop his hold on him, step away. Instead, he turns him gently back to the jewelry stall with a hand on the small of his back. The salesman is still there and still holding the ring, frowning at the retreating men.

"Sorry 'bout that. We've got some rough ones here. Now, did you want to try the ring on?"

There's no need, they've thrown Jaskier's pursuers off his trail but--

"Try it on, Jask," Geralt murmurs. It sends another wave of heat through him, but he does as he's told, takes the ring from the salesmen with only slightly shaky fingers, slips it on to his right ring finger. It's beautiful--slim and flattering, the gem a pretty amber color the same as Geralt's eyes. It makes his heart skip. "You like it?"

"Yeah," he breathes, flexing his fingers to feel the way it shifts on his hand, "it's gorgeous work."

"How much?" Geralt asks. Jaskier's eyes snap up to his face.

"Three hundred crown," the salesman says. Jaskier proffers the ring back to the man, shaking his head, even as he smiles.

“It’s exquisite,” he tells him, and he can’t help the little bubble of longing in his chest as he stares at it, “but alas I’m not in the market for quite such a fine piece of jewelry at the moment. Geralt?” He cuts a look back over his shoulder at Geralt, whose gone very, very quiet. He doesn't know what to think about the thoughtful look on Geralt's face.

Geralt just hums, and loops his arm around Jaskier's waist again. It lights something warm in Jaskier’s chest, even as they leave the little ring behind. He doesn’t need another ring, even if it had reminded him of Geralt’s eyes. They meander their way back towards the inn and their room, Jaskier still wrapped in Geralt’s hold. When Geralt pulls away behind closed doors, it’s like a cloud passing in front of the sun--Jaskier’s world gets a little colder, a little duller. But he’s safe, after all and they'll be leaving tomorrow morning. Jaskier plans to hide out in their room until then, won't even play tonight. He’s not sure he could keep the swelling feeling in his chest under control while he played anyway.

The next evening, after they've left the town behind, Jaskier finds the ring tucked into the front pocket of his pack where he keeps his extra lute strings. His chest siezes. Geralt went back for it. He slips it on, twists it a little around his finger.

When Geralt sees it later around their little fire, he smiles, a little thing, barely more than a quirk at the corner of his mouth. It sends Jaskier's stomach into a riot of butterflies, reignites that swelling feeling in his chest. He doesn't even know what to do with that, only knows that it leaves him feeling a little too warm, a little too shivery.

He wants Geralt to smile like that again.

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

Jaskier promises himself he's not going to put them in a similar situation again. He's going to keep it in his pants (or at least be more discreet about it). Besides, he’s not sure he could survive being saved by Geralt like that again. His heart couldn’t take it.

His resolution lasts only as long as it takes to get to the next major town.

"Geralt, Geralt, wait--"

"Jaskier, shut up," Geralt shoves him into the tiny alcove of the baron’s manor, presses him face-first against the wall before pressing in over Jaskier's back, close enough to engulf his form, protect him from the gaze of the pursuing guards. "Did you have to fuck the baron's daughter?" He huffs; they've only been here a day. It's a rhetorical question, but Jaskier answers anyway, head turned back at an awkward angle as he tries to keep his cheek from pressing against the wall.

"Excuse you, Geralt. It is very closed minded of you to assume--"

"The baron's son, then," he sighs, put-upon, "not that it matters when you're about to be jailed or run out of town."

"It very much does matter--" he starts, only to hush immediately when Geralt gives a warning squeeze to the hip in his grip. His other arm slips around Jaskier's front, presses to his chest to hold him still. Under Geralt's fingers, Jaskier's heart jackrabbits.

"Shh, they're just down the hall." Geralt's voice is remarkably even as his breath ghosts over Jaskier's ear. He presses in closer, forces him to shuffle a little father forward, closer to the wall. He's practically glued to Jaskier's back, hugging every contour. It's...rapidly becoming a problem.

"Geralt," he whispers, soft but urgent. He doesn't get any farther, though. Geralt shifts his hand up from where it presses against Jaskier's chest to cover his mouth, firm but not painful.

"They're coming this way, just--follow my lead," he murmurs, voice so low it sends a shiver down Jaskier's spine, sends Jaskier’s heart pounding that much faster. He’s sure Geralt can feel what his words do to him, with the way he's pressed against him. He can’t help but picture the last time Geralt asked Jaskier to follow his lead.

Geralt hesitates before he leans farther into him, removes his hand from Jaskier's mouth to catch a hand, places it gently on the wall beside Jaskier's face. The little amber ring glints at him, sends a shiver of pleasure through his core. He jolts a moment later as he realizes what Geralt intends to imply, his other hand moving to mirror its twin on the other side of his face, cheeks hot.

When Geralt's satisfied with that, he drops his hand to wrap his arms around Jaskier's torso, presses his face into Jaskier's neck and just...breathes, warm puffs of air ghosting over the delicate skin of his throat. Another shiver wracks his body. He's sure he reeks of arousal by now, but Geralt just hums, presses impossibly closer. He's got to know how Jaskier feels by now. He's been shit at hiding it, especially lately.

Jaskier's wetting his lips in preparation to say...something, maybe make an off-color joke about all this...when he hears a shout, the clatter of boots on stone. It's apparently what Geralt's been waiting for.

He growls, hips snapping forward to grind against Jaskier's ass. His teeth press against the nap of Jaskier's neck in a snarl as his arms change their grip from tender to punishing. Heat zings through him, from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes, so sudden he's nearly dizzy. He whines and Geralt grunts in response, rewards him with another thrust that's too brief for Jaskier to tell if this is all an act or whether Geralt is as...affected...as he is. He thinks he feels the blunt, hot pressure of Geralt's cock against his ass, but he's so lust addled he could be mistaken, thinks he must be--Geralt doesn't feel that way about him.

The boots close in, clatter to a stop. "Oh, shit, uh--"

"Get out," Geralt growls, voice low and dangerous even though he doesn't pull away from Jaskier, keeps him hidden with his bulk. Jaskier moans, soft and breathy, at his tone.

"Um, sorry, but we're, uh, looking for--" One of the guards starts, nervous but undeterred.

"I said, get out," Geralt thunders. Panic swoops through Jaskier's stomach, mixing uncomfortably with the arousal that refuses to abate even when Geralt pulls away to level the guards with a look.

"Oh, sorry Master Witcher, we'll just--" there's a frantic quality to their footsteps as the group hustles past and continues down the corridor past their little alcove. Jaskier barely bites down on a nervous giggle, sinks his teeth into his lower lip to keep himself in check.

Geralt molds himself across the expanse of Jaskier's back again, hips canted politely away from Jaskier's ass as the footsteps grow quieter before fading out altogether. Jaskier knows they're in the clear when Geralt groans, something distinctly exasperated, and sags his weight on top of Jaskier in clear retaliation. Jaskier barely locks his knees in time to keep them both upright.

"Fuck," Geralt mumbles, face still pressed into Jaskier's throat. He may no longer be able to feel Geralt pressed firm against his ass, but the nearness still sends another shiver through him, raises goosebumps on his arms despite the relative warmth of the keep.

"Did you have to go completely boneless, you great brute?" Jaskier hisses, mustering up some irritation about the surprising weight. Geralt weighs a gods damned ton and he's got to focus on something other than the curling heat of arousal still simmering in his gut or he's going to embarrass himself.

Something about his tone must hit home--Geralt jerks back, seems to give himself a mental shake. "Sorry," he says, tone flat. He pulls back, allows Jaskier to straighten himself out with shakey hands. Geralt looks remarkably unruffled--Jaskier must have only imagined the hard, hot pressure against his ass (wishful thinking, as always).

They bundle out of the baron's place in a hurry. Jaskier desperately wants to ask about what the fuck that was, but he's leery he's already built it up into something it wasn't. They don't talk about it, no matter how badly Jaskier wants to bring it up--he has no idea how to.

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

After that, Jaskier swears to himself he's not going to let it happen again. It doesn't matter he's already made that promise to himself, he means it this time. So of course, it happens again.

He throws open the door to their room at the inn, still half-listening to the sounds of commotion in the bar below--he didn't even get the chance to do anything this time. Yes, okay, he'd been flirting with the young man at the corner table, but he hadn't realized he was the alderman's son and he'd layed off when he had. Apparently, his luck is just that bad.

"What is it now?" Geralt can guess, if his tone is anything to go by.

"I didn't even do anything this time, Geralt," he groans. He's aware he's whining, but gods above, this is rediculious.

He sighs, sets the sword he'd been sharpening off to the side along with the whetstone. He rises, crosses the room to stand at Jaskier's elbow. His face has the far away, vaguely pinched look he gets when he's listening.

"Well, they're certainly looking for you," he says after a moment. Jaskier groans again.

"Just my luck. What--"

"Shh." Geralt's still listening intently, "they're coming up the stairs."

"Fuck," Jaskier swears, spinning on the spot to survey the tiny room. There's nowhere good to hide, really--under the bed isn't shadowed enough, the armoire isn't big enough. He's just figuring standing behind a curtain and praying to Melitele is his best bet when Geralt catches him around the waist, tugs him to follow. He follows, if only because he trusts Geralt implicitly--he'll protect Jaskier, always (even when it's his own fault, even when Jaskier's a greater risk than an asset).

The look on Geralt's face is calculating. "Get on the bed."

"What?" Jaskier can feel the flush creeping up his throat, tries to tamp down the swell of embarrassed arousal at the request (he's an adult, damn it, and Geralt doesn't mean it that way, he's sure).

Geralt opens his mouth to answer before his attention snaps back to listening. His expression is still vaguely pinched, a little leery. "Just...trust me, Jaskier." And damn it, he does.

He scrambles up onto the bed, turning to face Geralt just in time to be face to face when Geralt clambers over him--his legs spread instinctively and Geralt settles between them, too close for comfort. Awkwardly, he leans forward, nearly aligning them from shoulder to thigh. Jaskier's dick twitches valiantly. He wills himself not to react.

"They think you plan to head back down and woo him anyway," Geralt breathes, voice soft with how close they are, "they're in the hallway listening. If they think you've taken another--" he trails off, eyebrow raised. Ah. Fuck.

"So we're just going to--" Jaskier cuts off, shifts restlessly beneath him, eyes averted. He catches Geralt's lips twitch, a subtle thing but practically a grin on his witcher, "you're enjoying this," he accuses.

"Mm," Geralt hums, tips his head forward to press his face to the curve of Jaskier's throat, inhales blatantly. He makes a pleased rumble and Jaskier can feel his face heat, focuses on keeping his head clear, "So are you."

He gasps, a quiet thing as Geralt presses his lips to the smooth expanse of Jaskier's throat, mouths pointedly at his pulse point as if to emphasize how Jaskier's heart is hammering. It’s fine, it’s fine, they’re just making noise, it’s fine--

"Need to be louder than that," Geralt murmurs, lips still brushing his throat. He's looking up at Jaskier from under his lashes, entirely too tempting.

This feels like a dream, like it can't possibly be real. Geralt isn't offering sex, of course, but the implication--he breaks off that line of thinking. That way lies madness and broken hearts. "Louder, huh?" he replies, just as quiet. He finds his fingers trailing along Geralt's jaw of their own violation, slipping up into his hair. He tugs gently, testing, and Geralt makes another pleased sound, arches into it. Jaskier moans in response.

"Yeah," Geralt rasps, "like that." Jaskier doesn't know if he's talking about the grip in his hair or the moan. He feels feverish with how badly he wants.

"Geralt--"

"Yeah?" he sounds a little breathless, a little horse. Arousal clenches a little tighter in Jaskier's gut, arousal Geralt has to know about. It’s hard to focus. Geralt abruptly drops his hips and rocks against him. They both break off to moan, louder than they should be at an inn. Someone bangs on the neighboring wall. Good.

Between them, Jaskier can feel the hot, hard outline of Geralt's cock through his trousers as he rolls his hips against him again. They're almost aligned--if Geralt shifted a little to the right he'd be grinding right against his dick instead of the crease of his thigh. The fact that Geralt's hard sends his thoughts spinning, leaves him breathless and panting.

"Fuck," Jaskier warbles, arching underneath him and tugging hard with the fist still in Geralt's hair. It's like pulling a switch--Geralt chokes, moaning brokenly, hips stuttering. "You like that, love?" Jaskier asks, rolling his hips up as he tugs again. They're supposed to be making noise, right? This is just that. Noise. Doesn't have to mean anything.

"Yeah," Geralt gasps, soft and pliant in his hands suddenly, and fuck if he doesn't sound beautiful, just this side of wrecked already. This absolutely means something, no matter how much it probably shouldn't. Jaskier doesn't know if Geralt's playing along or if he's really as into this as Jaskier is, but the erection rubbing along his thigh is real either way.

"Fuck yeah you do," Jaskier pants, free hand settling on Geralt's hip to hold him steady as they roll together, graceless and a little frantic. Geralt tucks forward, presses his face back down into Jaskier's throat to whine quietly between deep, panting breaths. Jaskier fits his fingers close to the base of his skull, tugs firmly again. Watching Geralt arch and moan is addictive. "Let me hear you, darling."

"Fuck, Jaskier," Geralt whines, trembling. His name in that tone feels like a bolt of lightning in his veins. Distantly, Jaskier knows they've crossed multiple lines some minutes back, that this has jumped from "faking loud sex noises" to something painfully sincere almost immediately, but with the noises Geralt's making, the way he's shaking and pressing into his touches, he can't think.

"Gods, you're beautiful," he groans, releases his hair to run a soothing hand down his back. Geralt folds back down against him, presses his lips to Jaskier's jaw, still making quiet little noises as their hips shift together.

"Jask," Geralt says, breath ghosting hot over his throat, his jaw, the shell of his ear. It's too quiet for anyone in the hallway to hear, "'m pretty sure they're gone."

And that should be the end of it. They've sufficiently persuaded the guards Jaskier's preoccupied upstairs with another lover. But Geralt isn't moving.

"Yeah?" He asks, dipping his fingers under the hem of Geralt's shirt to trace gentle patterns across his lower back. "You want to stop?" Geralt shakes.

"You don't--"

"Shh," Jaskier cuts him off, presses his palm flat to the small of his back, skin to skin. "I didn't ask about me. Do you want to stop?" He's quiet too long, breath harsh where he's still tucked to Jaskier's throat, face averted. "We don't have to," he murmurs, tips his head so he's resting his cheek against the top of Geralt's head.

Geralt makes a tiny, punched out noise. "Fuck, Jaskier. I can't--"

"It's okay," he soothes. He can't quite mask the way disappointment settles heavy in his chest, even as he shifts to slide out from under him. Before he can, Geralt drops his weight all at once, pinning him in place. Jaskier startles, eyes a little wide.

Geralt wets his lips, nervous. "No, Jask, I'm--I want it, please, I want it so bad," his words are a little frantic, as if ripped from somewhere deep. He's panting still as he presses his face roughly again Jaskier's shoulder, obviously embarrassed. Something in Jaskier's chest surges painfully.

"Oh, darling, that's okay," Jaskier shifts the hand on Geralt's hip up to card through his hair, "you can have as much of me as you want, sweetheart. Always." Geralt whines at that, hips jerking. Jaskier gasps, digs his fingers into Geralt's scalp a little, delights in the way he shivers.

"Please," Geralt raps out. He cranes his head back when Jaskier pulls his hair again, gentle this time, to let Jaskier see his face, finally. He's flushed, pupils blown, eyelids fluttering.

"Can I kiss you?" Jaskier asks, leaning up to hover a scant few inches away from Geralt's lips.

"Please," he repeats, holds so, so still while he waits for Jaskier to close the distance. The first press of lips is tentative, gentle, makes Jaskier's chest tight with an emotion he's terrified to name.

"Fuck, Geralt," he says against his lips, both hands now pushing up his shirt, palms sliding across the scarred expanse of his back, "Tell me what you want, darling."

"Want you to fuck me," he mumbles, cheeks red and eyes downcast. Jaskier goes hot.

"Fuck, you'd really--? You're going to kill me," he mumbles. Geralt whines, hides his face in Jaskier's throat again (he's shy in bed and it's painfully adorable, makes Jaskier feel fit to burst with that emotion he won't acknowledge).

"Thought for sure you'd want to fuck me into next week," Jaskier teases. Geralt starts to stiffen, "this is a nice surprise, though," he soothes. He doesn't want Geralt to think he doesn't want him this way--he does, gods does he ever--but he is a little surprised, still.

"I can--" He starts.

"No. I'd be delighted, love. Let me take care of you," he says, pressing another gentle round of kisses to Geralt's mouth, "you deserve to be taken care of, Geralt." Geralt groans softly as he relaxes back into that placidity of earlier, melts into the kisses. He opens beautifully, lets Jaskier lick into his mouth, claim him in a mimicry of that kiss in the marketplace before he'd bought Jaskier the ring. He’s still wearing it.

"Up for a moment, darling. Let me go get the oil," Jaskier breathes into the kiss. He follows Geralt's roll to the side so he's on top, hands settling on his broad chest, fingers skimming under the hem of his rucked up shirt to brush bare skin. Geralt shivers. "Be a dear and get this off for me, too," he says when he pulls back, leaving Geralt with another parting kiss before he forces himself up and away to dig through his bags.

He finds the oil momentarily. "Alright, sweetheart--" he starts, but his words die in his throat when he turns back to find Geralt nearly bare, stripped down to his underthings, one hand cupping the bulge in his smallclothes that makes Jaskier's mouth water.

"Fuck."

Geralt has the nerve to fucking smirk, arch his back, press his palm roughly to his still hidden dick, moan brokenly. He's putting on a show.

"Oh darling, you should have told me you like to show off. Fuck, I could watch you forever." The act cracks when Geralt blushes, bright and adorable. The contrast is delightful. "And you're so shy," he teases, grin soft.

"'m not shy," Geralt grumbles, ducking his face as if to hide the blush.

"Oh, dear heart it's okay. It's cute."

"'m not cute," Geralt continues to grouse as Jaskier strips himself of his doublet and chemise before climbing back onto the bed, settling himself over Geralt's hips.

"You are," Jaskier grins, leans down to press a kiss to his forehead, the tip of his nose, his cheek. Geralt gives a growl that rocks Jaskier to his core. "Yeah," he groans. That too.

A large palm slides up Jaskier's side, thumbs at a nipple. He bites back another noise, leans forward to mouth at Geralt's exposed collarbones. He feels Geralt's other hand settle on the small of his back, fingers teasing at the waistband of his trousers. Jaskier focuses on kissing down his chest, pausing to swirl his tongue around a nipple, suck it into his mouth. Geralt groans, soft and lovely.

He spends a few moments just lavishing his chest until he's panting and writhing, bucking up into the hot suction of Jaskier's mouth before he moves down lower, to kiss at the crest of a hip, the dip of his lower stomach. Geralt tenses when he pulls back, breathes warm air over the tented fabric of his smallclothes.

"Fuck, Jaskier, please--"

"Yeah?" he asks, voice low, "what do you want, Geralt?" It's a tease, revenge for the posturing earlier. They both know it.

"Fucking--shit. Just," he breaks off, flexes his hips up. Jaskier rides the movement, keeps out of his range, one hand on Geralt's thigh. He can feel the grin pulling across his own face. Geralt whines, "want your mouth, Jask, please."

Jaskier groans. "So sweet for me, darling," he says, ducking forward to mouth at his dickhead through the fabric. Geralt's hips snap up, back arching.

"Fuck!" The neighbor from earlier bangs on the wall again. Jaskier pulls back to laugh.

"We're going to be thrown out at this rate," he snickers, pressing his face into the crease of Geralt's thigh.

"Then get to it, bard," Geralt growls. It would be intimidating to anyone not Jaskier.

"In good time, darling. Don't you want to feel good?" Even as he says it, he hooks his fingers in Geralt's smallclothes, drags them down.

"Your mouth could be put to better use," Geralt grunts, hips flexing as he helps Jaskier undress him.

"Bossy," Jaskier grins, just before he takes Geralt back in his mouth. They both moan. Geralt's thick and perfect against Jaskier's tongue, the taste salty and warm and decidedly masculine. He focuses on relaxing his jaw, working him a little deeper with every pass. He's not sure what he expected of Geralt, in bed exactly. Or more accurately maybe, he does know what he pictured; rough, frantic, Geralt very much in charge, and Geralt is...none of those things. It's not bad, just very, very different.

Instead of the rough treatment Jaskier was expecting, Geralt's holding frighteningly still, hips twitching gently in response to Jaskier's ministrations. He's breathing harshly as if fresh from a fight, head rolling on the pillow, silver hair fanned out beneath him. He's not passive, but he's certainly receptive. He's the most beautiful thing Jaskier's ever seen.

One handed and with only a little difficulty, Jaskier uncorks the vial of oil and douses his fingers liberally before replacing the little stopper and dropping it by his own hip for later. Above him, Geralt's eyes have fallen shut, expression twisted with pleasure. He's making quiet little noises as Jaskier sinks as low as he can on Geralt's generously endowed dick before pulling back to suck and lave at the head, free hand wrapped around the base.

Carefully, Jaskier traces wet fingers back to Geralt's hole and presses, gentle and teasing. Geralt's eyelids flutter and he shifts backward, encouraging Jaskier to press harder, press in. Instead, he keeps the touch gentle but persistent, rubs back and forth to tease at the rim with slick fingertips.

"Jaskier," Geralt says, breathless. Jaskier hasn't taken his eyes off his face so he gets to watch as Geralt struggles to keep his eyes open, struggles to meet his gaze, "Jaskier, please."

He takes pity, if only because Geralt is beautiful and Jaskier is impatient. He presses a single fingertip in as he swallows him down again, closes his eyes so he can focus on the sound Geralt makes at that, something wounded and painful. It's almost enough to have Jaskier withdrawing, just to check in, but Geralt's already rocking enthusiastically back on that finger.

Jaskier runs his tongue along the vein when he's in all the way to the last knuckle, lets Geralt rock gently between the slight intrusion and the suction of his mouth before he starts to press the tip of a second finger in.

"Fuck," Geralt groans, back arching, "fuck, Jaskier, yes." Jaskier moans at the praise, makes sure he's got his lips pressed as far down his shaft as he can manage when he does. Geralt's hands, still balled into fists in the sheets at either side of his hips, clench and unclench as Jaskier works him over, works him open.

Geralt takes two fingers beautifully and enthusiastically, even when Jaskier's jaw begins to ache and he has to pull off, give himself a rest.

"Fuck, you're beautiful. Look how good you take it. You want my cock, love?"

Geralt whines, thrusting back onto Jaskier's fingers with a little more force. "Yeah, yes, please, Jaskier."

Jaskier doesn't answer, just presses in, searching for--

Geralt jerks, throws a fist up to shove in his mouth to muffle the sounds. Jaskier leans up, gently pulls the fist away. "Darling, let me hear you," he murmurs, rubbing deliberately against that spot again. Geralt keens. "Gods, you sound so pretty. Can't wait to be inside you. Feel good, sweetheart?"

Geralt nods frantically, arching his back to give Jaskier better access without shifting back down his body. He nudges the tip of a third finger in as reward, watches the way Geralt tenses before going lax again, every muscle trembling.

"Fuck, you're so good at this," Jaskier praises, presses his lips to the underside of Geralt's jaw. Geralt turns his face, chasing his lips and Jaskier indulges him in a slow, filthy kiss full of tongue and teeth. He feels drunk on this, could do this happily for the rest of his life. But--

"Jaskier, 'm ready. Please," Geralt gasps into the kiss when Jaskier's able to fuck him on three fingers easily. Jaskier presses in one last time to rub against his prostate, watches with hungry eyes as Geralt shakes and whines, arches both into the touch and away all at once. "Don't tease," he hisses, one hand locked around Jaskier's shoulder, blunt fingers digging deep into the tissue. He fervently hopes there will be bruises in the morning.

"Okay sweetheart," he grins, pulls his fingers out slowly so he can listen to the way Geralt's breath still hitches, listen to the broken little noise he makes when Jaskier leaves him empty. "Shh darling, just a minute," he soothes, as he shuffles out of his own trousers and smallclothes, snatching the little vial back up and popping the cap again to slick himself with a few quick, efficient strokes before capping it again. He drops it, doesn't care where it ends up (he'll find it in the morning). Geralt watches him intently, one hand wrapped around his cock and pumping slow and even. "How do you want this, love?"

"Just like this," he groans, spreading his legs a little wider as he pulls Jaskier back down to press their mouths together. His hands find their way to Jaskier's shoulders, loop around his neck. Jaskier adjusts their position, settles Geralt's thighs a little higher on his hips. Blindly he presses the blunt head of his cock to Geralt's entrance, watches the way Geralt's eyelids flutter, pupils blown so wide the gold is nothing but a ghost of a ring around pools of inky black.

"Breathe for me, Geralt," Jaskier whispers before he presses forward and in, and it's all he can do to keep his own breathing even, keep his hips from snapping forward too quickly. Geralt sighs, long and low and satisfied, head thrown back and throat exposed. Jaskier worries marks into that beautiful throat as he presses forward, bottoms out, presses lips and teeth and tongue against pale skin, marveling in the way it colors under his attention.

"Jask," Geralt groans, "move," and that's all the encouragement he needs to start rocking into him, gentle and slow. It's a tease, no more than a little friction and it's not enough for either of them, but fuck if it isn't nice. To be this close, this trusted by someone he cares about more than he's comfortable admitting out loud. It shouldn't, but gods this feels like so much more than sex.

"How's it feel, darling?" Jaskier asks, presses their foreheads together so there's nowhere else to look but at each other. Geralt's breathing raggedly, eyes fixed on Jaskier's. His throat works for a long moment and Jaskier thinks he probably won't be getting a response. It's fine. Geralt doesn't do words, really and it's obvious he's enjoying this, it's fine.

"'S good," he mumbles, color dusting his cheeks, "you're so good, Jask." It leaves him on a sigh as he arches his back a little, forces Jaskier just that little bit deeper. It leaves them both panting.

Jaskier tucks his face into Geralt's throat and sets a slow, languid pace as he trails fingertips down his chest, his sides, his arms to trace the puckered scars he doesn't ask about with a reverence that feels divine. Geralt whines, tips his head to hide his face in Jaskier's hair. This is love, honest and bold-faced and it leaves Jaskier shaking with how much he wants this to mean as much for Geralt as it does for him.

"Good," he breathes against Geralt's skin, "wanna be good for you, love. You deserve it so much." He should shut up. He's going to say something he'll regret, something that will make Geralt uncomfortable--

"Jaskier," he sounds wrecked, "fuck, Jask, I don't--"

He snaps his hips hard on the next thrust, listens to Geralt's objections die with a gasp. "You do, you daft idiot," he groans. He picks up his pace after that, focuses on making him feel good so maybe he can keep his traitorous mouth closed. He presses his mouth to Geralt's collarbone and worries it with lips and teeth, feels fingers slip into his hair, carding gently.

There's no talking for a while after that, just quiet breaths, little moans and sighs of pleasure as Jaskier keeps pace, fucks him hard and deep in long, practiced thrusts. He's aware of the fingers in his hair holding his mouth to Geralt's skin, the swell of arousal in his own gut, building, the quiet way Geralt keeps breathing in, like he has something he wants to say but can't quite manage it. It's so, so much. Jaskier feels overwhelmed, completely full of this bursting love he's afraid will show on his face, in his voice. He doesn't want to ruin this, especially if he never gets this again.

When Geralt does speak, it's gravelly and low and a little awkward, "sweetheart," he mumbles, the word foreign in his mouth. He presses his lips to Jaskier's temple, his forehead, cards his fingers back through his hair again. Jaskier shakes, hips stuttering as he loses his rhythm. "Sweetheart," he repeats, a little louder. He's tugging gently at the fine hairs at the nape of Jaskier's neck, encouraging Jaskier to lean back, to look at him and Jaskier is powerless in the face of Geralt's want. He goes.

Beneath him, Geralt's face is soft and open and so full of gentle concern it hurts to look at. "Jaskier, sweetheart," Geralt repeats, strong and sure this time. He brings a hand up to cup his cheek, brushes a thumb under Jaskier's eye, and only then does he realize he's been crying. "What's wrong, Jask?"

He sucks in a hitching breath, closes his eyes. He stills with a great effort, bites back the whine that builds in his throat in response. "I'm just--" I'm just so happy, I want it to be good, I want you to want me, again and again and again, this won't be enough, "--I'm just--"

"Too much?" Geralt asks, thumb still sweeping tears away.

"No," Jaskier mumbles, catches Geralt's hand so he can press a kiss to his palm, "happy tears, love."

Geralt just hums in response, lets his palm be kissed. He doesn't object when Jaskier starts to move again or when he links their hands together and presses them into the pillow beside Geralt's head, but he doesn't let Jaskier hide away again. "Look at me, Jask," he rumbles when Jaskier moves to press his face to Geralt's throat again. "I want to see you."

"Fuck, Geralt, you can't just say that," he groans, presses their foreheads together instead. He keeps his eyes closed so he doesn't have to stare into Geralt's eyes. He's as terrified of seeing his own feelings reflected there as he is of not.

He gives a little huff Jaskier might call a laugh if he was being generous, tilts his head so his lips brush against Jaskier's. "Mm, better kiss me quiet then," Geralt hums, "or I might have to tell you how much I've wanted this for months." Jaskier's hips stutter again.

"Fuck Geralt, what the fuck," he gasps out, and Geralt groans as Jaskier's pace goes choppy and hard as he does exactly as Geralt asked, kissing him with teeth and tongue, sloppy and frantic.

"Been trying to tell you for a while," Geralt rumbles into the kiss, twisting their joined hands around so he can rub the ring Jaskier's still wearing very, very gently. Jaskier sucks in a sharp breath. "Yeah," Geralt groans, "yeah."

"Stupid, noble, idiot," Jaskier pants out between thrusts, "have you been trying to woo me into bed?"

The shy little grin Geralt gives at that is telling.

"Geralt!" It's something between a laugh and groan. He wraps his free hand around Geralt's dick, jerks him in time with his thrusts. He's getting close.

"Thought you'd catch on," Geralt gaps, back arching when Jaskier hits the right angle again, "fuck, Jaskier, do that again." He endeavors to obey, starts twisting his wrist at the top of every stroke as well.

He wishes he had something witty to say in response to that, but he doesn't. He'd assumed Geralt had just been doing what was necessary to protect Jaskier. He'd never thought--"So about my antics does it for you then, darling? Is it the danger? I bet it's the danger."

Geralt does laugh at that, a quiet chuckle that bites off into a moan. "'s just you," he gasps, "all of you, Jask." And oh the things that does to him.

"Fuck, I'm close."

"Yeah," Geralt sighs, "come in me, sweetheart," and that's all it takes.

Jaskier's orgasm isn't the earthshattering thing he thinks it probably should be, considering. Instead, it crests warm and bright like an ocean wave, sweeps him under gently and returns to lap at him, over and over again. He presses his forehead into Geralt's shoulder and shakes his way through it, hips twitching. Geralt's free hand, not the one still wrapped around his own, smooths down his spine, pets at the small of his back until he can breathe easy again.

"Fuck darling," Jaskier sighs. He feels fucking exhausted, but, "let me finish you off, sweetling." He resumes his previous stroking with renewed purpose and doesn't pull out, even though the way Geralt's clenching down on him is quickly edging into "too much" territory. Instead, he grinds in a little bit, focuses on hitting his prostate with each shift and watches the way his face contorts and his breathing picks up.

"Jask--Jaskier, I--" he's breathing hard and the hand he's still holding is squeezing tighter.

"Shh, it's alright love. Come on, come for me."

"Fuck, Jaskier," Geralt whines. He clenches down hard, making Jaskier hiss, and then he's coming in long stripes over his own stomach and Jaskier's knuckles. "Fuck."

Jaskier hums in response, pulling out to collapse gracelessly beside him. The silence that ensues is remarkably comfortable and Jaskier's nearly dozed off when Geralt shifts and sits up. He tamps down on the twinge of disappointment that shifts under his breastbone--just because Geralt's been angling to get him into bed doesn't mean anything other than this. It's...fine. It's all fine.

Jaskier hears the water pitcher slosh and listens with a quiet detachment to the sounds of Geralt cleaning himself off. He's trying not to let the silence get to him, now that he's thinking about it. Geralt's a quiet guy, he reminds himself. He doesn't have to psychoanalyze the silence. It probably means nothing.

"Can hear you thinking from across the room," Geralt says, appearing at Jaskier's hip. He cleans him off quick and thorough before bending to press a gentle kiss to Jaskier's lips that sends his entire thought process to a clattering halt. "And you should stop thinking whatever it is that's making you smell like dying flowers."

"What?" He's never heard that one before.

"The--" Geralt walks back across the room to discard the cloth on the table, "--the dead flower smell. Whatever's making you sad." He pulls a face as he says it.

"Didn't know dead flowers had a smell," Jaskier mumbles; he knows Geralt can hear him anyway.

"They smell like--" he trails off, sighs. "It's sickly sweet. Like rot but...floral. It's unpleasant."

Jaskier makes a tiny noise of acknowledgment and jerks in surprise a moment later when Geralt slides back into bed behind him and tucks him up against Jaskier's back, arm around his waist.

"I said stop thinking about it," he murmurs, pressing his lips to the curve of Jaskier's shoulder. Then a beat later-- "is this...not what you wanted?"

"What?" Jaskier scrambles to roll over, to see Geralt's face. Geralt lets him, reluctantly. "Why would I--? Is this not what you wanted?" He asks instead, hiding behind another question. Geralt's expression pinches.

"I told you I wanted this."

Oh.

"Fuck, I'm an idiot," Jaskier groans, presses his face to Geralt's chest.

"We've established that, yes," Geralt agrees, weathering the look of irritation Jaskier shoots him at that, grinning softly.

"I thought--I thought you wanted the, the sex. And not--" not this.

"You are an idiot," he sighs, long-suffering, and presses a kiss to Jaskier's forehead.

"Should have maybe figured that one out when you called me sweetheart, huh?" He grins, just a little shy, but it's worth it to watch the way Geralt colors immediately and pulls him in close so he doesn't have to look him in the eye.

"Hm." Jaskier laughs.

They settle back into a comfortable silence that leaves Jaskier pressed snugly to Geralt's chest, face tucked into his neck while he spins his little ring absently around his finger.

"Don't give me any more reason to hide you from angry family or guards anymore, Jaskier," Geralt mumbles into his hair, "You want something, I'll take care of you."

Jaskier flushes warm, presses his lips helplessly to Geralt's chest, right over his heart. "Of course, darling," he breathes, trying not to choke on the feeling that wells up in him at those words. This, he thinks, is a much better arrangement anyway.

#witcher #witcher fic #geraskier #lizard writes #this one gave me SO MUCH TROUBLE but I really do love it

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wherethewordsare · 3 years

Text

Birds of a Feather

For @notsafeformurphy who was having a day of it the other day and we got to talking and.... oops this happened. This honestly started out as a nature docu au and ended up a coffee shop au? Idk man.... Anyway, Shay I hope you enjoy this!

Also tagging @herostag since it was requested. and @jaskierswolf cause I think they’re gonna start yelling at me if i keep forgetting. Going to try to get my tag list back together if anyone is interested. <3 <3 <3 Hope yall enjoy Jaskier huffed as he flopped over again, his body refusing to just relax down into his mattress and let him sleep. It had been a stressful day and to make matters worse, it had been the third night in a row where he was simply unable to sleep.

Giving up, he reached for his phone, scrolling through youtube for a moment, looking for something that he could just zone out to for a little while. Usually he would put on music or white noise but even that didn’t seem like it would be helpful. He had to find something extremely dull and maybe a bit pretty.

He scrolled past a thumbnail of three large men in park uniforms. Two of them looked like they were at least somewhat interested in being there while one tall man with near white hair simply scowled at the camera.

Wild Wednesdays with the Rivia Nature Reserve the title read.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Jaskier huffed as he rolled onto his stomach. He pulled the kickstand of his phone case out and set it up before pressing play and curling his arms around his pillow.

“This week, we’ll be talking to Geralt Rivia, our resident raptor specialist about what goes into rehabilitation efforts when it comes to conservation,” someone said off camera, cheerily. When the camera panned to Geralt Rivia however, he did not seem to share the narrator’s same upbeat tone.

For a few minutes, the narrator off camera seemed to try to ask Geralt about himself, only getting stilted answers and that same scowl that had been in the thumbnail. Jaskier snorted with a smirk.

“You’re not having any of this, are you? You’re gorgeous though,” he chuckled. He felt his back relax as he yawned, snuggling closer into his pillow.

And then it happened. From off camera, someone handed Geralt a leather glove that he put on easily before taking a cord. He clicked a bit and the scowl he had moments ago melted into a fond smile.

“And who is this?” the narrator asked. They clearly had picked up on the shift in Geralt’s demeanor as a small falcon took up perch on his forearm.

He actually cooed at the bird for a moment before holding it up for the camera. “This is Roach. She’s one of our recent rescues.” He smiled, a barely there tilt of his lips and his honey colored eyes softened. Jaskier got the impression on anyone else, it would have been a full grin.

“Oh, I like that look,” Jaskier murmured, feeling his cheeks heat up.

“And what is Roach?” the person asked off camera.

Geralt took a step back, turning his arm slightly, causing the bird to flap agitatedly at him as she kept her balance. “Yes, I know, but I have to show off how pretty you are,” he said to the bird, fond and warm.

“Oh no,” Jaskier whispered into his pillow. “He’s soft and hot.”

“Roach here is a red-tailed hawk. They’re pretty common through North America,” he explained, pointing out the red-brown of her tail. The hawk nipped at him as he got her to open her wings for the camera and he only chuckled. “She’s about six, the same age as my daughter actually. And,” he leaned in conspiratorially, “I’ll be honest with you, I’m not sure which one is less well behaved.”

Roach must have understood a bit of that because she gave a cry before nipping at Geralt’s hair, clearly annoyed.

“Listen, if you weren’t so hornery, I wouldn’t say it,” he said to Roach, pulling another scowl but there was clearly no heat in it.

This was not the same man from the thumbnail or the same man that barely gave answers about himself at the beginning of the clip. When that bird sat on his arm, he lit up and Jaskier was weak.

Geralt answered a few other questions about hawks and about the reserves program for rehabbing hawks, his voice deep and gravely. He would have sounded gruff if not for how much he clearly loved what he did.

Geralt looked at Roach a little sadly. “Unfortunately for our little lady here, she won’t be able to return to the wild. Due to her injuries when she came to us, she won’t be able to hunt on her own,” he gave her a soft smile before he petted down her neck gently.

Jaskier’s eyes were starting to feel heavy. He had turned into the pillow, letting Geralt’s voice wash over him with simple facts about red-tail hawks as he drifted off to sleep. It hadn’t been dull at all but there was something about the way Geralt spoke that just melted him into his mattress.

When he woke, his phone was dead, probably from being set to autoplay. As it charged, he looked at the videos that had played while he was asleep, most of them from the Rivia Nature Reserve. There were a few specials with other team members but Jaskier picked out the ones that mentioned Geralt Rivia directly.

It had become a near routine and soon, Jaskier found that he just slept better after watching those nature clips. Sometimes, Geralt wasn’t even on camera, simply walking through the process of population counting for the reserve as the camera panned around to different birds up in the trees. There were other videos featuring Roach the red-tailed hawk as well and it was clear that she was a favorite, not only of Geralt’s but the viewers as well.

Within three weeks, Jaskier had made his way through nearly the whole catalog of the reserve’s videos. He knew he would move on from tall, silver and brooding and find his next sleep fix but for now he simply enjoyed it.

He should have said no, he should have mentioned that he simply did not do morning shifts, and there was a reason for that, but Essi had been persistent, almost feral about him taking her shift.

“Please, Jask. I promise, you won’t regret it!” She grinned at him and there was something in her eyes that sent up a dozen red flags.

“What are you plotting?” He asked flatly, squinting at her over his glass of wine.

“Not a thing, darling, just trust me on this,” she giggled, sipping her own wine neatly.

It hadn’t been a terrible morning, though Jaskier was barely managing to stay upright by the the coffee grinder. He was used to staying up long nights and it hadn’t changed anything when he knew he would have to open.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

I know you mentioned he had a kid, but he’s single. You’re gonna want to put a blueberry muffin in right now.

He blinked at his phone, squinting as he tried to decode just what the fuck Essi was saying.

What?

But he put in the blueberry muffin, his phone on the counter as he watched the three little dots dance where Essi was texting back.

You still owe me a no questions.

“What the fuck is she even-” Jaskier heard the bell above the door just as he set the timer for the oven.

“-and so I tell him that if he isn’t going to at least make an attempt to clear out the back trails, we’re going to find a new contractor.” Came a voice behind him.

Jaskier froze, his hand on his phone. He nearly threw it in a panic. He recognized that voice. He’d recognize that voice in the dark, though to be fair, he usually listened to it in the dark.

He glanced over his shoulder and sure enough, Geralt Rivia was standing at his counter with two others from the nature reserve.

“Be with you in just a minute!” he tried for cheery and landed firmly in panicked. He ducked behind the large coffee machine and shot a text back to Essi.

I haven’t decided on whether or not I love you more than anything or if I’m ever going to

speak to you again!

Have fun! ;)

That bitch. It had been a setup! He adored her, the meddling little sneak. He schooled his face the best he could, knowing full well that his ears were still the color of the strawberry frap they served.

“Morning, what can I get you guys?” He asked as he wet his lips, trying not to stare right into Geralt’s gorgeous face.

“Three coffees, a blueberry muffin warmed up and a plain bagel, untoasted,” Geralt said offhandedly as he looked around. “No Essi today?”

“Uh, no. I’m filing in this morning. Jaskier, at your service.” As he dipped his head in a mock bow he internally cursed himself. One day, one normal day, that was all he asked for. “Hope the bagel isn’t for Roach. I’m not sure she’d like it. How is she? We haven’t seen her much recently?” He shot off without thinking as he started to pour the coffees. He froze again as his brain caught up with his mouth.

Behind Geralt, both of the men snorted. “Looks like you’ve got a fan, pretty boy,” the darker haired one jostled Geralt’s shoulder with a smirk.

Geralt only stood there, tilting his head slightly as though he wasn’t sure what had just happened.

“Ah, I mean…” Jaskier fumbled, nearly spilling one of the coffees down his own front.

“She’s doing fine actually,” there was a soft smile on his face, the same he wore when he got to handle the birds directly and Jaskier could feel himself melt on the spot. “Naughty as ever. Learned a new trick to take a swipe at Lambert here if he’s holding the feed bucket,” there was a low rumble of a chuckle.

The dark haired one behind Geralt stopped laughing abruptly. “She’s a menace.” He growled, picking up his own coffee from the counter.

Behind Jaskier, the oven dinged. “Oh and your muffin!” He turned, letting himself have the moment his back was to them to silently scream. He had been tricked! He had been set up! He was going to try to get this man’s number and he would never hear the end of it.

“You already had it in?” Geralt asked, that smile still in place.

“What can I say, we make sure to take care of our favorite customers.” He was almost proud of himself at how smoothly that had come out as he turned to look back at Geralt. He should have been paying attention to the muffin as it dropped, missing the bag completely and splatting on the floor.

“Fuck,” Jaskier nearly cried. “I am so sorry. Give me, just a moment, I’ll get another one in for you.”

He watched as Geralt ducked his head, smirking. “Would you like to meet her?” He gave another tilt of his head, his eyes clearly looking Jaskier up and down.

He was sure he had died. This wasn’t real. This was the good place. Or the bad place. Either way, this place was the place his soul had clearly left his body. He stood there, cold muffin in hand as he gaped at Geralt.

“Uh-”

“You don’t,” Geralt cleared his throat, “I was just wondering since you seemed… to be a… fan.” His face slipped into a scowl and no. No that wouldn’t do at all.

“I would love to, yeah. I’m off at three?”

“Oh! Jaskier! Thank you for coming in to open. I can take it from here,” Essi slipped in beside him, taking the muffin from his hand. “Morning, Dr. Rivia,” she nearly sang, her face smug.

“Dead. You’re very very dead when I see you again,” Jaskier whispered to her though he couldn’t stop grinning.

“So you were saying?” Geralt asked, leaning against the counter.

“Turns out, I’m free as a bird, you’d say.” Jaskier chuckled as he slipped his apron off and made his way around the counter.

Geralt snorted and rolled his eyes but took his coffee and muffin from Essi. “You know that phrase ‘eat like a bird’ is really not that good of a way of saying that someone doesn’t eat much?”

Behind them, Lambert scoffed. “Here we fucking go again. I said I was sorry for bringing it up!”

Later that afternoon he found himself wearing a glove similar to the one he had first seen Geralt in, a small tawny owl bobbing on his arm as he looked on in wonder. He had met Roach and she had nipped at his hair and shirt, screeching when food wasn’t produced.

“Hmm, let’s get Scorpion. He won’t tear you to shreds,” Geralt gave Roach a fond little tap on her wing with the back of his fingers.

By the end of the day he left with a few knicks in his fingers and a phone number. He had never slept better.

#geraskier #modern #ecologist geralt #cause always #roach is a hawk #meet cute #jaskier is a disaster #but we love him anyways #witcher fanfiction #this is... a mess #and i am so sorry

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write-ur-wrongs · 3 years

Text

Nature’s Nurturing Ways

Hi y’all! This pandemic has really taken the wind out of my sails these past few weeks (maybe months? Time is completely untraceable right now). This piece is born out of a lovely anon’s request, bolded below. As always, I haven’t proofread this mess, so please forgive the typos! I’ll do my best to correct them post-publishing. I seriously can’t thank you enough for taking the time to send me your ideas, and I promise I’ll get better at writing actual drabbles LOL. I hope you enjoy :)

Hii can you write something abt Geralt being w a plant-based reader where she loves animals and nature? Tysm

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Geralt and Jaskier had been travelling for hours when the beating sun finally wore them down. There hadn’t been a breeze in days and the hot, stale air was starting to suffocate the uncharacteristically quiet bard, who wouldn’t dare compete with the surrounding cicada’s symphony.

“Geralt,” he rasped, “do you hear any running water? Drips or gurgles? I’ll take anything.”

“Jask, it hasn’t rained in days and it’s hotter than the depths of hell,” the Witcher sighed before continuing, “I said no yesterday, the answer is the same today.”

“Euughh!” Jaskier threw his head back in despair before hanging his head in exhaustion. “Geralt, I don’t want to be dramatic -,”

“Ha!” Geralt twisted in his saddle to look back at his friend with a quirked brow.

“- but I will fall off this horse and die of exposure if we don’t find water soon.”

Shaking his head, Geralt knew that despite the bard’s tendency to embellish, the situation was getting dire. They’d traveled this way dozens of times before and had always relied on the steady creek that ran alongside the trail for water. The region wasn’t known for dry spells and while Geralt was sure he could manage either way, his companion on the trail was not so durable.

They wouldn’t arrive at their destination for another three or four hours, at his level of dehydration and with probable heat exhaustion, Jaskier might not have that much time.

With another gruff sigh, Geralt pulled back on Roach’s reins and redirected her off the road and into the forest, turning back to ensure Jaskier’s horse would follow.

Geralt knew that there was a small clearing off the road where the thick leaves from the old trees made a lush, and shaded, canopy. He’d been there before a handful of times. It’s where he shared a tender first kiss, where he’d laid his head on Y/N’s chest before falling asleep feeling the cool, lush, grass cradling his large frame. It’s where he first said I love you.

Shaking his head slightly to pull himself from his memories, he dismounted and grabbed both sets of reins, leading the horses into farther the clearing. Once they’d reached the middle of the small field, Geralt released Roach’s lead and gave her a neck a scratch before leaving her to graze.

“Come on Jaskier,” he said, reaching into the gelding’s saddle bag for some food, “get off your horse and lay down in the grass.”

The bard fell out of his saddle with a thud while Geralt continue to root around the bag, huffing as he kept coming up empty.

“Did you eat the last of the cheese?”

“Mmpft,” Jaskier replied incoherently, face down in the grass.

“Hey –”

“Oi! You kicked me!”

“Where is the food? We had bread, cheese, and meat left over last night. Did you fucking eat it all?”

“No, you oaf,” he said, rolling over onto his back, “we ate the rest of it this morning.”

“Fuck!” Geralt cursed under his breath, pulling his hair up off his neck to cool off. He could barely remember what they’d done earlier that day. The heat had been unbearable all evening, and the rising sun only made it worse.

“Don’t worry about it Geralt! No need to apologize for accusing me so harshly.” Jaskier said, words dripping in sarcasm.

Geralt merely looked down at the bard with disdain and rolled his eyes, refusing to admit the sun might be affecting him too.

“Shut up and take off your shirt –”

“Oh-ho!” he laughed weakly, wiggling his eye brows at the witcher. No matter how beaten and battered the bard may be, he’d never miss an opportunity to tease Geralt.

“No, Gods! Fuck,” Geralt went on, flustered, “the grass will cool you down a hell of a lot faster if you’re in direct contact. And besides, Y/N will kill me if I let you die of exposure.”

“Always so serious, eh Geralt?” Jaskier chided playfully, pulling off his tunic before laying back down onto the grass, “Oh-ho-ho-ohhhh yes… Sweet merciful goddess of all that is good, this feels amazing! Yes, yes, yes!”

While he was sure the bard was still mumbling gratefully, and disgustingly, at the feeling of the cool grass against his skin, Geralt’s mind was elsewhere. Somewhere in this clearing, wild heliotropes had bloomed and the sweet, almondine scent was pulling him into a memory.

“Geralt! Witchers use herbs, mushrooms, and flowers in all kinds of magic,” you said, your hands resting high on your hips, “I find it incredibly hard to believe that in all your years and extensive travels, you’d never learned to forage?”

“All my years, eh?” he’d replied, cat-like eyes gleaming back at you.

“Well of course,” you teased, “I mean, unless you mean to tell me that silver head of hair is a choice born out of vanity?”

“I’m going to make you pay for that later, Y/N.” He laughed, taken aback and a little impressed that you felt so comfortable with his mutations as to mock him playfully.

“Ha! Me and what coin?” you reply with a light laugh, bending over to collect the generous mushrooms growing through the bed of leaves and needles.

Geralt turned his head towards you to hit you with a winning comeback, but found himself lost for words when his eyes failed to meet yours.

You get up slowly, peering over your shoulder to find your witcher’s eyes on your backside. Smirking to yourself and quirking a brow flirtatiously, you toss a handful of dirt and wet leaves his way, hitting the poor soul right in the chest.

“Distracted, Geralt?” you said, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you straightened up.

Geralt swallowed thickly, desperately trying to string together at least a couple words – witty at best, coherent at least – when he heard a twig snap in the surrounding forest.

Quick as a flash, he drew his sword and his attention towards the source of the disturbance, a large boar. Chest already swelling with pride at the thought of providing you with a hearty meal, Geralt prepared his attack on the creature before him.

Seeing that the “threat” in question was nothing but a passing porcine, you dove before him with a shout, dropping the mushrooms on the way. Your scream coupled with your sudden movement startled the beast, and it dove deeper into the brush to escape.

“Geralt, no!”

“Damn it, Y/N,” he swore, “I could’ve had it! We could have had a decent meal! We – we would have been set for days!”

“No, Geralt! We have food, right here in this clearing. We needn’t take lives from the forest to eat.”

“Gods, Y/N,” he sighed, dropping his sword to the ground in frustration, “do I need to remind you of the cycle of life? Creatures live, they die, and they get eaten so others can live –”

“Yes, and by leaving that gentle giant to its ruminations, we’ve allowed it to go on, to feed its young, or hell! By leaving that boar to live, we might have secured a lifeline for a fellow wolf or fox. Geralt look around you; mushrooms, flowers, these thick leaves, those berries? You see that tree there? At its roots there are nuts, and over there? Those flowers? Means there is garlic. The forest will feed us with ease if we simply care to drop our weapons, and look.”

Geralt looked at you and with soft eyes, he took in the way your eyes burned with passion, the way your chest rose and fell with every energized breath. He looked around you and really looked at the plants around him, beyond scanning for any toxic or dangerous herbs, he did his best to see the forest through your bright eyes.

Looking at you he felt his chest swell once more, but this time the feeling was warm, grounding.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said quietly, pulling you into his arms, “so, so much.”

You looked up at him with tears in your eyes. You knew he loved you. You had known for months, but you’d made peace with the fact that he loved you however he could, and that that would have to be enough, even if it meant you wouldn’t hear him say it.

“Oh, my sweet, sweet dove,” you murmured, reaching up to lay a soft kiss on his forehead, “I love you too.”

Geralt was wrenched from his thoughts by a swift kick to his shin, courtesy of the bard.

“Shhht!! Geralt!” Jaskier shout-whispered, still kicking at the witcher’s shins. “A deer! A d- dinner! Food! Geralt!”

Side-stepping out of the bard’s frantic little kicks, Geralt looked around him in a quick movement, spotting the deer with his hand primed above his sword’s hilt.

The world seemed to go quiet and still when his eyes met the doe’s. Despite himself, he could hear your voice in his head telling him that she’s a young, vibrant member of this forest’s population. That at her age, she’s likely a first-time mom or about to be. That she has more life to live and more to give to the land than be a poor man’s meal.

Jaskier watched in hungry-horror as Geralt waved his large hand at the creature, turning his back to it before looking down to meet his shell-shocked gaze.

“What the fuck, Geralt!” he spat, “what happened to “Y/N would kill me if I let Jaskier die”? What the fuck! That was food! Survival!”

“You’ll be fine Jask, shut up and lay in your grass.”

“As long as you don’t make me eat it.” He grumbled, not quietly enough.

A laugh rumbled through him as he walked towards to forest line, spotting thick dandelion leaves, mushrooms, and bushes ripe with nuts. He might not necessarily need to feed Jaskier the grass beneath his feet, but he was going to make him eat his words.

***********************************************************************************

“There you are my intrepid explorers!” You damn near squealed at the sight of them, dropping your basket of recently-purchased produce as you ran towards them.

At the sight of you, Geralt dismounts and runs to meet you in a tight embrace. You hold each other tightly, breathing in each other’s scent; his cedar, damp earth, and cut grass, and yours sweet almond.

You pull back just enough to look him over quickly and, spotting no fresh injury or new scars, pull your brows together curiously.

“Did you get lost?”

“Not at all,” replied Jaskier, clapping Geralt on the shoulder, “You’d be impressed, madam Y/N! Our dear witcher made quite the feast. Pulled me right out of the greedy jaws of death, he did!”

“Oh?” You said, brows furrowed in a silent question. Knowing what you meant, Geralt shook his head and kissed your temple to reassure you.

“Picture me this, Y/N,” Jaskier mused as he untacked his gelding, “I’m wilting away, inches from Death’s grip, and Geralt sweeps me under a lush canopy of trees and lays me in the grass…”

“Lays him in the grass? Should I be jealous?” you whispered.

“Never my love,” he replied softly, his forehead against yours.

“… then our honorable friend bid the deer a fond farewell, letting him get away! Yes, Y/N, there I lay, starving, thinking the sun must have cooked the sense right out of him when he marches out of sight only to emerge moments later with a bounty!”

“A bounty?” you mock-gasp, egging the bard on to Geralt’s great displeasure.

“Yes! We ate like kings in that forest, Y/N. All we did was eat but I felt hydrated and renewed! Truly a culinary delight.”

“A delight, Geralt!” you giggled, giving his waist a squeeze.

“Gods, won’t he ever shut up?” he grumbled, ghost of a blush creeping up his collar.

“Oh hush, my love,” you cooed, “without Jask’s bragging, I’d have never known what a big softy you’ve become.”

Wordlessly, Geralt looked down at you in mock-contempt, unsure that this wasn’t a veiled insult. He was instantly reassured though, when his eyes met yours.

“You left the deer.”

“I did.”

“And you foraged, found just what you needed.” You spoke softly, admiration and love rounding your features out beautifully.

“That’s right.”

“Now where did you pick up skills like that, my dove?” You chanced another tease, twirling a lock of his white, dust-packed hair around a finger before giving it a light tug, your head cocked to the side.

“Oh, I had an exceptional teacher…” he said, wrapping an arm tightly around your waist and bringing his other hand up to cup your face, pulling into a deep kiss.

#geralt of rivia #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher x reader #the witcher fandom #geralt of rivera #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt x reader #Jaskier #fanfiction #fanfiction requests #fanfic #geralt imagine #anon

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