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nashibirne · 3 years

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Love bites

A little Geralt one-shot. Enjoy!

Pairing: Geralt x reader

Warnings: 18+ only, sex, oral sex, unprotected sex, vampires, blood, blood drinking, bad language, smut, pwp

Unbeta'ed. All mistakes are mine. English is not my mother tongue, so be warned...

Summary: Geralt is in love with a Higher Vampire. She travels with him and Jaskier looking for her missing brother and she fell for Geralt the moment he laid eyes on her for the first time. He needed a little longer to allow himself to love again but since the moment he's done so they are inseparable. The sex they have is great, but there's one thing they haven't done. Reader has not bitten Geralt, has not drunk his blood. Yet.

Tags (hope they work, had some problems with it lately): @hell1129-blog @lunedelorient @inlovewithhisblueeyes

maybe you like this too? @mis-lil-red @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @demivampirew @willkatfanfromasia

Y/n sighed deeply when Geralt penetrated her, taking her with raw but gentle power from behind, like a tamed beast, like the white wolf he was. They had sneaked off from Jaskier, who was hopefully still sleeping peacefully besides the campfire, to a well hidden glade to make love undisturbed and unrestrained. She was on her hands and knees, her head was bent back in pleasure as he thrust his dick inside her with intense but slow movements, making her feel every single inch of his impressive manhood. His big, strong hands dug into her hips, pulling her onto his cock with well measured force again and again.

"Yes!" she moaned already on the edge of ecstasy, pressing her ass into his crotch.

She straightened up, convolved with passion, leaning her back against his broad chest. She felt Geralt's breath hot against her skin, heard him groaning and panting into her ear. He grabbed her breasts, kneading them eagerly, pinching her nipples.

"So good...fuck...so good." he moaned in a hoarse voice.

"I want to look at you." Y/n gasped out.

Geralt pulled back and she turned around to look at him with eyes full of lust and desire. She placed her hands on his chest pushing him backwards till he sat on his ass, his back leaning against a large tree, his long legs with the thick thighs stretched out, his glistening boner inviting her to continue their interactions.

She crawled between his spread legs, devouring his huge dick with her eyes, biting her lips sensually, exposing her sharp fangs. She lowered her head onto his lap and started licking his cock like a candy stick. Tasting her own juices mixed with his pre-cum, she moaned with lust. She kissed the tip of his cock before sucking on it.

"Fuck. You're shameless. A shameless little slut." Geralt let out a long growled groan, his eyes were half closed, his head leaned against the tree-trunk. "I am." she grinned. "And you love it."

"I do." Geralt admitted. "Go on...use that filthy mouth on my dick. But be careful with those teeth of yours." he hissed, his voice vibrant with arousal and anticipation.

"Don't worry, I know how to use them." She teased him, shooting him a playful glance. Her pointed tongue started licking him again, circling around the little slit on top of his cock, coaxing a loud howl out of him.

"Woman. Stop teasing me." Geralt grabbed her ass, squeezing it before pulling her close onto his lap. "I need to fuck you. Now."

"Hold your horses, witcher." she whispered in his ear, sending shivers down his spine. She lowered her pussy just enough to make his dick touch her dripping entrance, teasing him even more. "Y/n." he growled her name, his voice threatening and dark, before lifting his hips to fill her cunt with his pulsating dick.

She let out a long sigh, her voice vibrating with pleasure, before sinking down on him, taking all of him deep inside of her. They started kissing hungrily while she was riding him slowly, rolling her hips rhythmically. His muffled moans united with hers.

She was close to the edge, well aware that she'd cum if she'd pick up speed, but she didn't. She wanted to extend the pleasure of being with the man she loved, wanted to expand it to infinity. There was no danger that Geralt would come first. She'd never been with a man that lasted that long, he was able to perform for hours, his stamina seeming to be bottomless.

She let her mouth wander, still riding him slowly, placing sensual kisses on his hot, moist skin, sucking on his beautiful neck. She took a deep breath, smelling the blood that was floating through his carotid. She licked over the pulsating spot beneath his skin, lightly scratching the surface with one of her fangs.

Geralt howled, cocking his head, offering her the delicate spot above his collarbone.

"Do it." he panted. "Bite me."

She pulled back, searching his eyes, stopping her movements for a moment.

"Sure?"

"Sure." he nodded. "Feed on me, y/n." His voice was trembling pleadingly.

"You wanna feed on me too?"

"Yes." His breath went so fast, he was hardly able to speak.

Y/n started moving again, lowering her mouth to his ear.

"Listen to me, my wolf. This is gonna hurt. This is gonna challenge your body and your mind. When we do this, we unite our souls. We become one for the moment. You will feel what I feel. I will feel what you feel. Unfiltered. Unrestrained. There's no way of faking anything. This will be a moment of utter truth and sincerity. This can't be undone afterwards. Are you sure you want to share this with me."

"I am." he sighed, laying his hands on her hips, forcing her onto his dick even deeper, making her increase speed a little by setting the pace. "I'm yours. Just tell me what to do."

She nodded, lifting her wrist to her mouth. She let her fangs sink into her own flesh without hesitation. Geralt stared at the dark pearls of blood that immediately started to drip from her arm. He'd never been more aroused in all his life. Y/n offered him her bleeding wrist.

"Taste it. Drink. Suck." she whispered. Geralt gulped before running his tongue over the wound, tasting her blood, moaning and panting, while ramming his cock in her pussy almost violently. He started sucking, causing her to shriek lustfully. "Yes, Geralt. That's it."

Without another warning she dug her teeth into his neck, opening the carotid, devouring his blood greedily, making him yelp for a split second.

When they both were drinking each other’s blood simultaneously, their bodies melted together still moving in unison, Geralt felt the world around him explode and implode at the same time. It was all about feeling now. There were no other senses left. He was blind, he was deaf, he was dumb, all he could do was to sense and to be sensed, to touch and to be touched - haptically and emotionally. He felt her skin under his fingers, her vagina around his erection. Their bodies pressed together, becoming one entity, one mind, one spirit. He felt her unconditional love for him. Her devotion, her loyalty, her dedication but her lust, her arousal, her sensuality and passion too. He knew how close she was, how her climax was awaiting her and when she came, her walls clenching around him, he had the most spectacular orgasm of his life too, pumping his seed deep inside of her. But they didn't simply come physically. They reached an emotional high that wasn't comparable to anything Geralt had experienced before. An emotional orgasm that made him see stars behind closed eyelids. Ecstasy in it's purest form and he desperatly wished he was able to preserve the sensation, to expand it to infinity.

When they had calmed down, their breaths going normal again, y/n stopped drinking from him. She pulled back looking at him lovingly. He let go of her wrist, his mouth smeared with her blood. She let her tongue glide over her lips, enjoying the last drops of his sanguine fluid before licking the wound on his neck to close it. She did the same on her wrist, that immediately stopped bleeding, the tiny holes healing magically.

She climbed down from his lap collapsing on the grass right beside him. Geralt joined her, wrapping his arms around her, hugging her tightly.

"That was incredible. The best feeling I've ever had." He said softly, kissing her tenderly.

"A blood baptism is always special. It was great for me too."

"I'm not going to turn into a vampire now, huh?"

She laughed out loud. "No, don't worry, Geralt. We can do this again and again and you'll still be what you are now. The man I love. The white wolf. The witcher."

"Your witcher." He corrected, looking at her with sleepy eyes.

"My witcher." She said, watching him fall asleep with a smile.

#Henry Cavill fandom #henry cavill #the witcher netflix #geralt x reader #geralt x you #geralt of rivia #the witcher #cavillry #smut #witcher smut #geralt smut #vampire

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jaskicr · 4 years

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fae witcher jaskier

aka the most self indulgent thing i’ve ever written in my entire life as i combine my favourite tropes of fae jaskier, witcher jaskier, and identity porn

the school of the manticore is experimenting with alchemical formulas to create witchers, not just from humans, but from other humanoid creatures as well (such as elves, fae, and vampires)

jaskier is a curious fae who wanders into the human world, but he’s taken by some manticore witchers and experimented on

but they didn’t expect him to be such a powerful fae and he resists their efforts to experiment on him, so to subdue him, they brainwash him

they take his memories of being fae, making him docile, and successfully turn him into a witcher

the mutations make jaskier’s fae features even more prominent - he has pointed ears, horns, deadly sharp teeth, claws, and he’s very tall, with fully black eyes (like he’s under the effects of a potion) and white hair

due to this, he’s ostracised even amongst the witchers in the manticore school - with the exception of those who experimented on him, they all think that the mutations made him monstrous and they don’t know that he’s fae

at this point, he’s mutated beyond both a fae and a witcher, he’s clearly neither - fae features are generally delicate and elegant, whilst jaskier’s have been made deadly and lethal by the mutations

with the brainwashing, jaskier is very compliant and he lets the witchers train him without complaint

he’s very good at signs, and he’s able to do magic outside of the signs for reasons that he doesn’t know

his trainers are afraid of his magic and try to suppress it, but jaskier’s magic is too connected to nature for them to sever the bond

so when he finally sets out on the path, his trainers keep a really tight leash on him, knowing that his power could mean that he might break out of their control and go back to the fae

jaskier’s appearance is so obviously other that he’s immediately hated by humans, but because of the brainwashing, he’s very passive in the face of their hatred

he just weathers the horrible things that humans call him and how they assault him, and it doesn’t even hurt him because he’s so conditioned not to feel anything

this happens for many years, with jaskier taking contracts and enduring the hatred from humans, and returning to the manticore keep to be conditioned/brainwashed further every winter

one day, tissaia stumbles upon this fae/witcher whose mind is completely and utterly blank, and it just feels wrong

and she knows that whoever did this to jaskier must have been unspeakably cruel, so she takes him in

jaskier is very confused by tissaia’s actions - on the one hand, he’s so used to be docile and passive that he doesn’t want to resist tissaia, but she’s not his trainer so he knows that he shouldn’t trust her

but tissaia calms him, treating him far more gentle than anyone has ever treated him, and jaskier’s instincts tell him to trust her

tissaia quickly grows fond of jaskier, who’s inhumanly tall and monstrous but oh-so-sweet and gentle, and she slowly undoes his brainwashing and helps him become more human

but jaskier’s trainers realise that his brainwashing is being undone, and they decide to go after him

tissaia, who’s now become protective of jaskier, portals them far away, refusing to let them take him

jaskier is slowly coming to his senses and regaining his memories as they escape, and he becomes desperate not to go back to his trainers

they stumble upon vesemir, who takes one look at jaskier and decides to adopt him, and the three of them run all over the continent to escape jaskier’s trainers, who want jaskier back under their leash

but tissaia becomes exhausted, and she tells jaskier that the only way he can escape his handlers is to let her strip all their brainwashing/conditioning from him completely

but it might take years or even decades, and it would hurt his body a lot, so she offers to transfer his consciousness to a human body while she works on healing his witcher body/mind

and jaskier agrees, because he’s so close to remembering his fae family and fully regaining his magic, and he refuses to be under the control of the manticore school again

so he’s reborn as julian alfred pankratz in lettenhove, while tissaia and vesemir fake jaskier’s death and spread rumours of it across the continent

jaskier, now human, grows up without any knowledge of his past, even after he goes to oxenfurt, even after he starts travelling with geralt

tissaia checks in on jaskier every once in a while, and vesemir asks after the bard who’s travelling with geralt to keep tabs on jaskier

however, tissaia hadn’t anticipated how strong the brainwashing had been, so it’s taking decades for her to strip it away without utterly destroying jaskier’s mind

one day, geralt is hunting a fae, who lures geralt and jaskier into the fae realm

the fae realm somehow manages to connect to jaskier’s consciousness/his magic, and all of a sudden he regains his memories from his life in the fae realm (but not his memories from being a witcher)

so he remembers growing up as a fea, he remembers his family, but there’s a huge gap between that and his life as a human bard

as geralt is trying to find the fae, jaskier is stumbling around, confused by his identity and his sudden influx of memories, but he knows that something is missing

while this happens, tissaia feels a surge of magic in jaskier’s real body and realises that something must have happened, and jaskier’s body starts destabilising

and she knows that she needs to put jaskier’s consciousness back into his body before it implodes due to the magic

meanwhile, as jaskier stumbles through the fae realm, recognising different places that he used to go to, he suddenly catches a glimpse of his sister, all grown up

and he tries to leave geralt to talk to her and tell her that it’s him, but right before he can do that, tissaia grabs his consciousness and yanks it back into his real body

jaskier’s human body drops dead once his conciousness leaves it, and geralt hears his breathing and his heartbeat stop, and he grieves

in a fit of grief and fury, he hunts down and kills the fae who had lured them here

this angers the rest of the fae, and geralt is quickly overpowered by them and he’s taken to a dungeon

and he just sort of accepts his fate, letting them take him without putting up a fight, because jaskier is dead

as he’s awaiting trial, geralt thinks that he won’t even mind being exeuted. after all, jaskier is gone, and what’s the point?

at the same time, jaskier wakes up in his real body with tissaia hovering over him, his last memory being seeing his sister and being in the fae realm with geralt

all his memories return to him in one go, and it’s so overwhelming to have three lives (fae, witcher, bard) in his head and jaskier has a bit of an identity crisis

and then he remembers that geralt is alone in the fae realm, which immediately makes him forget about his identity crisis for the moment as he readies himself to go after geralt

tissaia tries to stop him, telling him that he needs to recover, but jaskier needs to get to geralt right now

when he tries to walk, he stumbles a bit, forgetting how tall he is in his real body, but he powers through - even if his coordination is awful, he needs to go and save geralt. who knows what the fae could have done to him by now?

and he portals himself to the fae realm where he left geralt behind, only to see his own dead body, and the dead body of the fae that geralt had been hunting - but no one else

when he smells geralt’s tears, he realises what must have happened, and he panics since the fae must have taken geralt, but he doesn’t know where

he tracks down his sister, who doesn’t recognise him at first due to the changes the mutations had given him, but when she does, she launches herself at him, wrapping her arms around him tightly in a tearful reunion

(it’s very cute, jaskier is tall enough that he dwarfs her and can pet her head)

jaskier’s sister tells him what happened to geralt, and jaskier heads off to save his witcher

none of the fae expect geralt to be rescued, so it’s laughably easy for jaskier to sneak to the dungeon and find geralt

and while he’s on the way to the dungeon, jaskier wonders whether geralt would hate him now that he’s little more than a monster

so when he does find geralt, jaskier pretends not to know him, and due to jaskier’s different appearance, geralt doesn’t recognise him despite a faint sense of familiarity

he’s confused why this large, not-quite-a-fae is helping him, and geralt can tell that he’s sort of a witcher, but not really

but jaskier’s dead, and geralt really doesn’t want to be rescued, so he pleads, ‘please, leave me to die’

jaskier is horrified and picks geralt up, knowing that he can’t just let geralt die, and geralt is fighting him - he doesn’t even know this fae/witcher

jaskier portals them to his sister’s house, and geralt passes out from his injuries

jaskier and his sister patch geralt up, all while his sister teases him for having a crush on geralt, which jaskier tries (and fails) to deny

when geralt is unconscious, jaskier sings to him, the way he always had whenever he used to treat geralt’s injuries after a hunt

and geralt, fading in and out of consciousness, thinks he hears jaskier, but surely that can’t be true - after all, jaskier’s dead

when he fully regains consciousness, he sees the large fae witcher who’d rescued him

‘who the fuck are you?’ he demands, slightly pissed that he hadn’t been left for the dead

and jaskier, who still doesn’t want geralt to know who he is, panics and introduces himself as julian

it takes him a while, but jaskier manages to convince geralt that he’s trustworthy - after all, the fae can’t lie, and when jaskier tells geralt that he’s safe, that he doesn’t mean any harm, geralt tentatively relaxes

with geralt still injured, he can’t leave the house even though he just wants to go back to kaer morhen and grieve jaskier, so he stays

jaskier helps him around the house whenever he needs to get around, and geralt is too weak to stand on his own, so he leans on jaskier as he walks (jaskier is tall enough that geralt only comes up to his chest, which geralt finds very nice and warm)

and as days pass, geralt realises that, despite his imposing size, julian is soft and gentle and caring, and it makes his head spin, because only jaskier has ever been this gentle to him

meanwhile, jaskier is having an internal crisis - over his identity, over his memories, but also over geralt

because he knows that geralt thinks he’s dead, so jaskier concludes that he can pretend to be a whole new person who’s decidedly not jaskier, and geralt would never know - after all, jaskier’s human body is dead

and jaskier thinks that’s better for both of them, because he doesn’t want to taint geralt’s memories of human jaskier since he’s a monster now

jaskier’s sister is just done with him, she tries to slap some sense into him but he insists on not telling his true identity to geralt

so geralt feels safe around julian in a way he’s only ever felt around jaskier, but he doesn’t suspect anything

(there’s one morning when geralt wakes up to julian spooning him from behind, and he feels so safe, so cared for. he feels seen)

as he recovers, he realises that he really doesn’t want to leave - julian is so nice to him, and geralt wants nothing more than to stay here with julian

but part of geralt feels like he’s betraying jaskier, even though he’s dead - julian makes him feel like jaskier did, and gods, he misses jaskier so much

so geralt pretends that he’s reocvering slower than he really is, and jaskier pretends not to know what geralt’s doing, and one day, geralt stumbles and falls backwards, and jaskier catches him

geralt realises that their faces are really close as he stares into endless black eyes, and he’s unable to stop himself from pulling julian into a kiss

all while he tries not to feel guilty about it, because he feels like he’s kissing jaskier, but it’s julian

and jaskier is stunned that geralt would even want to kiss him in this form, but he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he kisses back, and internally decides that he won’t ever tell geralt who he really is

jaskier and julian can be two separate people - let geralt remember jaskier as a human, not a monster

after that, they get closer and more intimate, and jaskier tells geralt about his trials and what the manticore school had done to him

geralt’s heart aches for this kind man who’s been through so much, who’s suffered so much, and yet, he’s still so gentle and caring

he asks how julian how he’s escaped the manticore school and regained his memories, and jaskier panics

‘... um...’ he stutters. ‘... magic?’

and geralt gets slightly suspicious because julian is hiding something, and he tries not to think about the fact that julian has the same tell that jaskier did when he was lying

geralt knows that julian physically can’t lie, but clearly, he’s hiding the truth, but julian keeps avoiding the question whenever geralt asks, making him more suspicious, but he decides that julian can have this secret

after all, it’s not harming geralt or anything, and he trusts julian

then geralt fully recovers, and he’s reluctant to leave julian, so he shyly asks julian to join him on the path so they can go witchering together

of course jaskier agrees, beyond joyful that geralt wants his company, even now, and before they leave, jaskier’s sister tries to talk sense into him one more time, but jaskier is still too dumb to listen to her

as they set out on the path, jaskier realises just how much he misses singing, how much he misses playing the lute

he hasn’t sung since rescuing geralt, since he doesn’t want geralt to recognise his voice, and he hasn’t played his lute since it was broken by the fae after his human body died

besides, he can’t really hold a lute now - he’s too big, and it would break in his hands

as they sit together one night, geralt quietly tells julian about jaskier, his heart aching and grieving

when jaskier freezes up, geralt thinks that he’s jealous and gently teases him for that, despite the pain in his heart as he tries not to compare how similar they are

in fact, jaskier’s just panicking a lot, and he tries to act normal

they’re both really dumb

that night, jaskier is lying awake when he suddenly hears geralt having a nightmare about losing jaskier

he’s whimpering, voice pained and fearful, ‘no, please, jaskier, please don’t go, i can’t lose you -’

and jaskier tries to soothe geralt, but it doesn’t work and geralt thrashes harder, going deeper into the nightmare

then jaskier remembers that the only way he used to be able to calm geralt down from a nightmare was to sing, and he can’t bear to thrash and scream in his sleep, filled with grief and anguish

so jaskier sings

he sings geralt’s favourite songs, the ones that always loosened geralt’s shoulders and made him smile, and as he watches geralt relax, he falls asleep as well

the next morning, geralt wakes up before jaskier, remembering his nightmare, and he knows that he heard jaskier’s voice

grief almost threatens to overwhelm him because he must have hallucinated jaskier’s voice, but then he realises that if the singing hadn’t been real, he wouldn’t have been able to return to sleep, and he would’ve woken up instead

so geralt knows that someone must have sung to him - had julian sung to him

and he twists to look at julian, who’s curled around him, and he looks closer

geralt thinks of the way julian would hold him gently, the way only jaskier had, thinks of the way julian made him smile and laugh the way jaskier did, thinks of how only julian and jaskier had ever cared for him like that

and it makes sense now, why julian had kept a secret about regaining his memories, because it must have been tied to jaskier somehow, and it makes sense why julian decided to just come and rescue him

jaskier is alive, and geralt hadn’t known

but jaskier is real, and he’s here, and though geralt is mad that jaskier hadn’t told him, his joy at jaskier being alive makes him forget his anger

when jaskier wakes up, blinking blearily at geralt with a soft, lazy smile, geralt says, ‘jaskier?’

and he prays that he’s right, because he’ll be shattered if jaskier is truly dead -

and jaskier responds, exhaustion slurring his words, ‘yes, geralt?’

then he realises what he did, and he freezes, but geralt gentle pulls him into a kiss, and jaskier relaxes

‘why did you never tell me?’ geralt asks when he pulls away, light and buoyant with love and joy

jaskier has no choice but to confess

‘i didn’t want you to remember my human self as a monster,’ jaskier murmurs, looking away. ‘i wanted to keep jaskier and julian separate, so i wouldn’t taint your memories of me.’

‘you’re not a monster,’ geralt says fiercely, tracing jaskier’s face with gentle fingers, tracing over his horns and his ears, brushing under his eyes and over his teeth.

‘but i am,’ jaskier insists, spreading his arms. ‘look at me, geralt. how am i not a monster? why would you want to remember me, my human self, as this - this monstrous thing?’

geralt’s heart breaks for him, and he tugs jaskier into a tight embrace, peppering him with kisses.

‘you’re beautiful,’ geralt whispers, and jaskier sucks in a breath at the sincerity in his voice. ‘you’re not a monster, jaskier. and i’ll love you no matter who you are, no matter what you look like. it doesn’t matter to me.’

‘even like - like this?’ jaskier asks, vulnerable, as he gestures to his too-large body, to his mutated features.

‘especially like this,’ geralt says, and kisses him

as jaskier wraps his arms around geralt, and geralt tips his head up to meet jaskier’s lips, they feel warm, they feel loved, they feel whole

(afterwards, they travel the continent together, hunting monsters and killing the people who had experimented on jaskier, and they get a glamour for jaskier so he can be a bard again, they get married on the coast and they live happily ever after)

someone once asked how many AUs of i have often dreamed of a far off place can i write, and i think that this might be my third one... with a fourth version that i dumped into the wj server earlier today oops?

#geraskier #geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #fae jaskier #witcher jaskier #witcher!jaskier #buffskier #mine*#thank you to the rbb server for suggesting this wonderful thing #i spent an hour typing this into the wj server and another hour compiling this into a post

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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 4 years

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Good as Gold pt. 1

[part 2] [prostitute!Jaskier masterpost]

It hasn't been long since Geralt left Kaer Morhen for the spring, but he's been travelling non-stop since. He usually does after having been cooped up for months, but this year he's been unusually restless, even for this time of year. But he's beginning to feel the effects of taking contracts for weeks straight without stopping. Truthfully, he should have made his way to town days ago - maybe longer - because the itch under his skin remains despite the exhaustion creeping up into its place. So town is where he heads and Hagge is the closest town to where he is.

It's not his favourite city, but there are many that are worse and most people here don't bat an eye at a Witcher in town anymore. Which is a good thing for him, especially tonight. All he wants is a warm bed and something decent to eat, maybe a bath. And he's intrigued to find a brothel on his way to the bathhouse. It hadn’t been part of his plan for the evening, but once he passes by, the thought of good company sticks in his mind.

He hasn't had any sort of relief since before he headed up to the keep last autumn and thinking about it, it would do him well to feel the touch of someone other than himself. Either way, no one will take him for any amount of coin looking and smelling the way he does now; bathing in rivers and lakes may be enough for a lone traveller on the road, but not for cities and not for civilized company.

Geralt pays extra for oils at the bathhouse so he can be somewhat presentable and he lingers in the hot water longer than he usually would. His aches and pains are soothed by the heat, but the itch under his skin remains, sharpened by the heat of the water and the calming scents of the oils. But bathing is one of the few things Geralt allows himself to enjoy and he takes his time despite his body's insistence that he needs to move on.

Once he's sufficiently clean and relaxed, if not settled, Geralt makes his way from the bathhouse to the brothel. He tethers Roach to a fence at the side of the building and pushes the door open, ignoring the insistent buzz under his skin. He's used to not getting his hopes up; many places won't let a Witcher through their doors, never mind let them spend time alone with their women, but tonight he's trying not to think about it. He wants this; his body needs this and if he’s turned away, it will just be another night getting off alone in his room at the inn. If the inn will take him.

As soon as he walks in, he spots a man at one side of the room; he's tall and fit in a pair of pale blue trousers and boots all the way up to his thighs. Geralt's eyes roam over him before he pulls himself away. He's talking to someone else anyway, and on the rare occasions when men will service other men, none of them are interested in him. So Geralt doesn't even try anymore. Even if he did, the man looks expensive and Geralt isn't exactly drowning in wealth. He makes his way over to the madam but as soon as she spots him, her expression turns sour.

"There's no one here for you," she says before he can so much as open his mouth.

Geralt can feel eyes on him and he isn’t sure if the bouncers are watching for any sign of a confrontation or if the others in attendance are interested purely because he’s a Witcher. It doesn’t matter either way and Geralt doesn’t press the matter. It’s not like it’s the first time and he would never entertain the idea of being with someone who doesn't want him - whether it's their job or not.

He thanks her anyway and he’s about to turn away when the click of bootheels catches his attention, approaching from behind. A gentle hand curls around his bicep and Geralt forces back the urge to spin around and defend himself. He’s safe here, even the bouncers won’t try to harm him unless he resists. And bouncers don’t touch so softly.

Geralt turns slowly, coming face-to-face with the bright-eyed man with bows on his trousers. Up close, he’s even more beautiful, eyes shining even in the dim light and his own scent of citrus and cloves is overwhelming, masking the scent of liquor and sex. Geralt’s cock takes that particular moment to remind him that he hasn’t had sex in months and Geralt does his best to ignore it.

“Oh, come on Lorelei,” the man says, keeping his eyes on Geralt’s, “you’re not going to turn him away.” It’s a statement, not a question and he says it with a seductive smirk, his gaze drifting slowly down Geralt’s body. The hand around his arm squeezes and the man looks up to him again.

“I saw you looking,” he says, “and I’d be more than happy to spend the evening between those thighs.” He slides both hands down, running up the front of Geralt’s thighs to punctuate the claim and grins up at him. Geralt’s mind shuts down and his cock takes over, twitching against the front of his trousers.

It's a ploy he knows. All the women he's been with are the same, but there's a look in this man's eyes that's more than just forced enthusiasm and Geralt wants to see how far he'll take it. At any rate, the man isn't disgusted by him and that's hard to find sometimes.

"You're responsible for yourself then, Julian," the madam huffs and turns in the opposite direction and Geralt casts a look in her direction as she goes. Interesting dynamic, for him to be able to be so commanding, he must be highly sought-after. And Geralt can understand why with those eyes and that voice, talking his way into anyone’s bed.

"Jaskier, if you please," he says before turning back to Geralt. "Don't worry about her, darling, she'll forgive me. Now, why don't we head upstairs and see what I can do for you, hm?" Geralt is weak when it comes to beautiful young men, weaker still when they show interest in him the way Jaskier does. Geralt agrees despite his better sense and allows Jaskier to take him by the hand and lead him through the room and upstairs.

When the door is closed, Jaskier turns to look at him and Geralt isn't sure what to do with the attention. In the past, the prostitutes Geralt has seen are quick to get him into bed and get to it, Jaskier seems less enthusiastic about the sex and more about Geralt himself. Which is unusual, but not unwelcome.

"They usually let you talk to them like that?" he asks, curiosity winning out over good sense. He's never seen a whore quite like Jaskier and a part of him wants to know more.

"I pretty much have free reign," he says simply, and Geralt lifts an eyebrow in response. "I'm very good at what I do. Now, you know my name, what can I call you, gorgeous?"

"Geralt."

"Hmm," Jaskier hums, "I like that." His hands press against his chest and Geralt immediately wants to press into the touch. It's been a long time since anyone has touched him without anger or fear and the boldness of it sends a shiver up his spine.

"You're not afraid of me?" he asks and Jaskier huffs a little laugh.

"Should I be?"

"You don't get many Witchers through here, do you?"

"You're my first," Jaskier confirms, "but enough of that, let's get you out of these clothes." He gets his hands on Geralt's belt, keeping his eyes on Geralt's as he gets it undone.

There's no fear there, and Geralt doesn't realize how much he's relaxed because of it until Jaskier's hands find his bare skin, tugging his shirt up and grazing his stomach as he goes. He's intrigued by Jaskier's boldness, his utter lack of hesitation in his presence because he doesn't remember the last time someone was this forward and confident with him. And when he shuts his eyes and tips forward, inhaling his scent, there's no hesitancy, only excitement and an underlying spice of arousal that has a wave of heat rolling up the back of his neck. He hadn't realized how badly he wanted to be wanted by someone.

It's such a basic desire that he's never considered achieving, something he's repressed for so long that when Jaskier's body presses against his own, Geralt can't help the rumbling groan that bubbles up from his chest. His shirt is pulled up over his head and Jaskier's hands find his chest again, running over his bare skin with an enthusiastic hum.

"Gods, look at you," he breathes. His fingers press into every dip, running reverently over his chest and down his stomach. "Stunning."

Geralt shudders as Jaskier's hands move down over his hips, but they settle on his waist, gently pushing to get Geralt to walk backwards. He lets himself be guided back toward the bed and sits when he's directed to, keeping his eyes on Jaskier as he kneels between his feet. He tugs Geralt's boots off gently, setting them to the side before running his hands all the way up his legs.

Jaskier reaches up with one hand, turning Geralt's medallion between his fingers. He considers it for a moment then lets it drop back into place, happy apparently, to let him keep it on. He looks up at Geralt and Geralt meets his eyes, looking for any sign of hesitation but there's nothing.

Jaskier rises to his feet, lifting Geralt's chin with two fingers, looking down on him and Geralt takes one look at the soft arousal in his eyes and finds himself eager to please, even if he's the one paying here. Soft fingers brush up the column of his throat and as Jaskier pulls away, Geralt's mouth goes dry.

He makes a show of getting undressed, bending low to remove his boots before pushing his trousers to the ground sauntering away toward the cabinet on the other side of the room. He continually casts looks over his shoulder, watching the way Geralt watches him as though he enjoys being on display. When he returns, he's got a delicate glass bottle in one hand and when Geralt catches sight of it, Jaskier smiles.

He presses in between Geralt's thighs, looping his arms casually around his neck and Geralt feels the last of the tension leave his body. It should be worrying for him to be so comfortable with a man who is really only here because Geralt is paying him for it. But he can feel Jaskier's cock press against his stomach and that, at least, is hard to fake. Though his experience with male prostitutes is scant, Geralt has had partners who couldn't perform due to fear or disgust or whatever else - Jaskier is a pleasant change of pace.

"What do you want me to do?" he asks, leaning forward to breathe against Geralt's ear.

"Mm. Anything you don’t do?" Geralt asks and he's surprised to find his voice rougher, scratchy in his throat.

"Not a lot if you pay enough, but if you want to get kinky, it’s gonna cost you. And I won’t do anything without discussing it first.”Jaskier leans back and looks at him, "and no kissing on the mouth. Other than that, I'm all yours. What do you want?"

"Fuck," Geralt mutters, hands clenching in the sheets at his sides. "I want your mouth, your hands, your ass- anything. I don't care." Jaskier's eyes light up and he pushes Geralt back against the bed before sliding off his lap and settling back between his knees.

“Easy to please,” he hums, “I like that.”

He gets Geralt's trousers open with quick precision, pushing them out of the way of his cock. The scent of lust spikes as Jaskier takes hold of him and Geralt groans despite himself, clenching his fists around the sheet. It's been far too long since anyone has touched him and as Jaskier's fingers slip up to play with the head, Geralt nearly growls his impatience.

"It's true then, what they say about Witchers," Jaskier smirks, crouching down so his mouth hovers just above Geralt's cock, hot breath maddening as it rolls over him.

"And what do they say?" he grits out.

"That you've all got massive cocks."

"Never fucked a Witcher," Geralt mumbles, "wouldn't know." Jaskier hums thoughtfully and wraps his mouth around Geralt's cock and that's the end of that.

Jaskier's mouth is hot and slick around him and Geralt's eyes drop shut at the rush of pleasure. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, so he keeps them fisted in the sheet, hoping it doesn't tear under the strain. And Jaskier pushes further between his thighs and takes Geralt's cock deeper than anyone has managed in the past and Geralt's not sure his hand alone will ever be good enough again.

When he draws back, he looks up with wide, dark eyes and Geralt's breath catches. He's still surprised that Jaskier is so enthusiastic about being with him and he looks so incredibly beautiful, which is an odd thing to think about someone with a cock in their mouth.

"You can touch me," Jaskier breathes, smiling softly at him, "I want you to."

Geralt reaches out, tentatively sliding his fingers into Jaskier's hair and he finds he likes the feeling of his hair between his fingers. Jaskier presses into the touch and sighs softly as he ducks back down and takes Geralt's cock back into his mouth. He sucks him down hard and Geralt's fingers tighten in his hair, gripping tight to keep from thrusting into Jaskier’s mouth. He shuts his eyes and leans back on one arm, letting his fingers trail across Jaskier's skull.

He'd be happy to come just like this; his cock presses against the back of Jaskier's throat and there isn't so much as a note of hesitation in him. If anything, Jaskier pushes harder, flicking his tongue against the head of Geralt's cock when he slides up and taking him down again in one quick motion that has Geralt breathless.

And he curses himself for not coming to town sooner, regrets his stubborn decision not to bring himself off on the way here because now he's too sensitive and this won’t last as long as he wants it to. If it hadn't been so long since the last time he'd come, he would have been happy to have Jaskier's mouth around him for as long as he'd allow, but already he can feel himself tensing up. Evidently, Jaskier notices too, because he runs his tongue along the underside of his cock and pulls off, wrapping one hand around the base of him.

"You're sensitive," he hums and the delight in his voice is unmistakable. "When was the last time?"

"Don't know," Geralt mumbles. His mind is foggy, eyes nearly shut as he looks down at Jaskier. He could probably figure it out, but it doesn't seem important enough right now.

"Well," Jaskier rises up, resting his elbows on Geralt's knees. From this angle, Geralt has a clear view of all of him and he can't tear his eyes from Jaskier's cock, already slick and fully hard. He wants so badly to touch him, but he doesn't know if that's part of the deal. Jaskier had said anything, but Geralt has had too many bad experiences to risk it.

"As much as I'd love to make you come with my mouth, I had some other ideas." Jaskier looks up at him and Geralt finds himself agreeing to whatever it is Jaskier wants to do to him. Whatever it is, it can't be bad.

Jaskier asks him to lie in the center of the bed and Geralt complies, letting himself be stripped of the rest of his clothes before Jaskier grabs the little glass bottle and returns to him. He climbs up over him, straddling his hips with both hands planted on Geralt's hips. He opens the bottle and slicks Geralt's cock, taking care to touch every inch of him, both hands wrapped around his girth. It feels amazing but the sensation only lasts a minute before Jaskier is shuffling forward again and leaning over him.

He takes one of Geralt's hands, reaching around behind himself and pressing Geralt's fingers between his cheeks. Instead of skin, Geralt touches something hard and solid. Frowning, he ducks his head, but Jaskier is preoccupied, running his fingers through Geralt's chest hair and kissing along his shoulders.

"Pull it out," he breathes and Geralt nods before doing just that. There’s some resistance and Jaskier moans into his chest, but once he moves past that, the toy slips out easily.

It looks like glass, black and solid and tapered at one end. He doesn't have much time to inspect it though before Jaskier is taking it back from him and setting it on the table next to the bed. He takes the oil again, slicking his own fingers up and Geralt inhales sharply as Jaskier pushes three fingers into himself.

"What is it?" he asks and Jaskier doesn't even acknowledge his lack of knowledge, just presses his nose under Geralt's jaw and groans.

"Keeps me ready," he breathes, "so you don't have to wait." And with that, he withdraws his fingers, readjusts his position and pushes back onto Geralt's cock.

Geralt's hands fly to his hips as Jaskier sinks down on him, fingertips digging into Jaskier's skin. Most women aren't so enthusiastic about taking him like this and Jaskier is tight around him. Geralt isn't an idiot, nor is he oblivious; he knows he's big and he knows that's a deterrent for a lot of people, but Jaskier seems determined to take as much of him as he can. And he does it with grace and without much trouble which sends a weird little thrill through Geralt's core.

Jaskier shifts, rolling his hips forward experimentally and Geralt's head drops back against the pillow. Jaskier is tight around him, pushing Geralt deeper into him and pressing his hands into his skin. He reaches out, slipping his hands around Geralt's and for a second it's too much and Geralt's eyes flash open. But Jaskier takes his hands and places them on his own hips, holding them against him until Geralt's fingers grip his skin.

"I love your hands," he breathes, "fuck, Geralt, touch me."

He knows it's a ploy, that Jaskier is a whore and his tools are his words; the more you pull a client in, the more likely they are to come back. But Geralt can't help falling for it if only just a little. He likes to think that he could do anything to make this good for Jaskier, too.

He rolls his hips and Jaskier groans above him, pushing his hands up and brushing his thumbs over Geralt's nipples. It sends a spark of lust straight down to his cock and he groans as he pulls Jaskier down against him. He gets a startled moan in surprise but Jaskier is nothing if not enthusiastic and when he clenches around him, Geralt goes all but limp beneath him. He won't last long like this, but even spending five minutes with Jaskier is long enough to make the absurd amount of coin he's spending on him worth it.

But Geralt isn't uncaring as some might suggest; he'd never leave a partner unsatisfied and he'll make Jaskier come even if he can’t make him come first. He slides his hands tentatively down Jaskier's thighs; he's still a little unsure about touching and he's been told off for it in the past, but Jaskier seems to welcome it, and when he doesn't get told no, Geralt continues. He wraps a hand around Jaskier's cock, slipping up slowly to the head and squeezing gently.

He keeps his eyes on Jaskier's face, watching the flutter of his eyelids and the way his mouth drops open in a little 'o' when Geralt's thumb sweeps over the head.

"Fuck," Jaskier grunts and he thrusts into Geralt's fist. The sight of his face pinched in pleasure and his lip trapped between his teeth is all the encouragement Geralt needs.

He needs this and Jaskier is here for him to take his own pleasure, but Geralt has always been better at giving than taking, even when he's aching for it. It's nothing for him to gather Jaskier into his arms and flip him onto his back and the surprised smile he gets when he looks down at him is enough to know he hasn't overstepped. If anything, Jaskier's breath comes a little quicker, the scent of his arousal stronger. And that's what really gets to him. Jaskier isn't just good at what he does, but he's genuinely enjoying this; so many whores see Geralt and get things over with as quickly as possible - Jaskier is the opposite.

Geralt drapes himself over him, resting his head on the cushion above Jaskier's head. He thrusts hard, keeping a steady rhythm and he's so lost in his own pleasure that he barely understands the words spilling from Jaskier's lips. He shoves a hand between them, propping himself up on his other arm, and wraps around Jaskier's cock.

"Yes," Jaskier grunts, "fuck me- fuck, those hands. And your cock, I know they say Witchers are big, but this is ridiculous," he huffs a strained laugh. "You’re fucking incredible- how does it feel darling, filling me up like that? Do you want to come like this?" he asks and Geralt squeezes his eyes shut and groans against Jaskier's shoulder.

He gives a quick sharp thrust of his hips, measuring his own restraint and as Jaskier lets out a tiny gasp, fingers Geralt didn't realize were in his hair tug on it. Heat sears through his body and Geralt's cock jerks inside him.

"You like that?" he asks, knowing full well Jaskier won't tell him anything but yes. The little mmhm that slips from his lips isn't as enthusiastic a response as Geralt was expecting, but he seems genuine about it and Geralt does it again, angling his hips and thrusting hard again. But he doesn't stop this time, taking Jaskier's cock in his hand again and stroking him in time with his motions.

And Jaskier babbles under him like he's never been fucked before. Which is an achievement considering the way he takes Geralt's cock like he was born for it.

"Geralt," he groans and for the first time, he sounds like he's not in control. "I'm gonna come-" Good, Geralt thinks, because Jaskier is hot and tight around him and he's so close he just wants to let go.

Jaskier whines as Geralt squeezes around his cock, rocks himself back onto Geralt's cock and then he's coming. His hands tangle in Geralt's hair, tugging with every thrust and when he looks up at him, his eyes are dark and glossy, his bottom lip swollen between his teeth. He whines again as Geralt's hand slips from his cock and Geralt leans over him, pulling one of Jaskier's thighs up over his hip as he pushes into him again.

"Gonna come in me?" Jaskier huffs and he's breathless, voice rough and Geralt just grunts before letting go. He buries himself deep, hips jerking unevenly as he comes and Jaskier's hands slip down to his ass, encouraging him.

Once the rush is over, he pulls out and rolls off of Jaskier, draping his arm over his eyes. He should want to leave immediately; he didn't come here to chat, after all, but he has nowhere better to be and Jaskier hums thoughtfully as he settles into the bed.

"You're welcome to the room," he says, "I'll stay with Astrid for the night."

"Stay," Geralt mumbles, "not about to kick you out of your own room."

"Wouldn't mind."

Geralt hums softly and as long as he lives, he'll never be able to figure out why he looks up at Jaskier and says, "I'd like the company. Been a long time since I shared a bed with anyone." It's true but that doesn't make it any less odd. As a rule, he doesn't share his feelings, least of all those about his personal life and here he is asking a whore to sleep with him because he's lonely.

But if Jaskier finds the request odd, he doesn't show it. He offers Geralt a soft smile and goes about cleaning up before sliding into bed next to him. And it's nothing, Geralt tells himself, that Jaskier presses up close and shuts his eyes. This is his job; Geralt is his client and that means doing anything he can to make him happy so he comes back. But Jaskier is soft and warm and it has been a long time since Geralt has had a bedmate, so he doesn't think too much of it. But then he speaks.

"What's it like?" Jaskier asks and Geralt cracks an eye at him.

"What's what like?"

"Being a witcher."

"Don't have anything to compare it to."

"Is it always lonely?"

"Mostly."

"Why do you do it?"

"Didn't really have a choice."

"Sounds awful," Jaskier frowns.

"It's not all bad." That's not entirely true, but Geralt is feeling particularly good right now and he's willing to be positive about it.

"Tell me some of the good things? I'd hate to think I'm sending you back into the world only to suffer."

Geralt huffs a laugh, turning to look at Jaskier. His eyes are still shut and he looks perhaps more beautiful like this than before. Geralt has no reason to keep these things from him and no one better for conversation, so he entertains him. And when he gets a reply, Jaskier asks for more. He keeps asking until Geralt's replies become slower, more drawn out. His eyes are heavy and his mind slows with the desire to sleep. Next to him, Jaskier hums and curls closer.

"Sleep," he whispers, "you've indulged me long enough."

Geralt hums and settles into the bed. When he slips a tentative arm around Jaskier's waist, the man just hums and shifts to make space for him. His breath is steady against Geralt's neck and Geralt focuses on that, the soft rise and fall, and shuts lets all other worries slip away. He finds, disappointingly, that he very much likes falling asleep with a warm body next to him.

#this got so much longer than intended #oops #BUT #part one is done!#prostitute!jaskier #geraskier #the witcher #rex writes #I will eventually have this on ao3 also #but I need a title #and surprise!#i don't have one yet #good as gold

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spencer-reid-in-a-pool · 3 years

Text

It Was You All Along (Part 5)

Author’s note: In case you can’t tell, this part starts off with a flashback! I think it’s kind of obvious, but in case you are like me and don’t catch onto things very quickly, here is your warning. It’s a bit longer than the others, so please enjoy! I’m a bit lost on where I want to take this, so please drop any ideas if you have them. And as always, feedback is very appreciated! ALSO!! Get ready for some soft platonic Geralt x reader at the end.

Tags: @ayyyyitswednesdaymydoods @blackjay04 @bravelittlesunflower

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If it wasn’t one thing, it was another, that’s for sure. So far it had been a normal morning. I had restocked the flowers and herbs around my shop, and cleaned every display until it was spotless. It felt like it was going to be a good day. I could really use more of those to be honest.

But of course, something had to come and change that. And when I say something, I mean someone. Two someones actually. A really large, intimidating someone supporting a smaller one through the door.

My heart felt like it stopped when the door was kicked open, the sudden noise startling me. So of course I looked up immediately and saw them. The large man with white hair supporting the smaller man who was slumped over and covered in blood.

After freezing for half a second, I dropped the soiled rag that was in my hand and made my way over to them without a word. This man clearly needed help for his friend.

“What happened?” I asked breathlessly, closing the door behind them.

“Can you help him?” the large white-haired man grunted as he shifted his weight to better support his friend.

“Gods, Geralt- I can walk and talk for myself.”

The injured man groaned out his words as he tried to stand on his own two feet. But him standing on his own didn’t last long. He took one step forward and fell into the large set of glass displays in front of him.

I yelped as he fell, and my hands shot out in an attempt to catch him before he hit the floor completely. But the man named Geralt was a few steps ahead of me it seemed, and had already grabbed him by the arm. A large red spot was forming on the side of the man’s face, along with jagged slashes on his cheek from the shattered glass.

“By the gods! Will you please sit down before you hurt yourself even more?” I practically yelled. Not because I was mad, but because I was scared for the man’s safety at this point.

Geralt sat him in the chair that I pulled over for him, and then finally settled his eyes on me.

“Can you help him?” he repeated in that same voice.

My mouth opened but no words came out. Without responding to him, I hurriedly made my way around my stock, picking out the things I would need to help this poor fool.

I pulled up another chair and sat down in front of him. He was slumped forward now, breathing quite hard. Gently, I pressed a hand to his shoulder and leaned him back so I could get a better look at his injuries. Not counting the now half-purple spot on his face and the bleeding, jagged lines on his cheek from just a moment ago, I didn’t outwardly see anything wrong with him.

I began dabbing a clean cloth on his face to wipe away some of the blood and it occurred to me that these men looked familiar.

Without skipping a beat, I said “I know who you two are. You’re that Witcher that everyone sings about. And you’re the one that does the singing.”

As I said the last part, I turned back to the man in front of me, and he almost looked like he was smiling, even through all the pain he must be feeling.

“The one and only,” he panted.

I scoffed at him.

“Is he always like this?” I asked, turning to look up at Geralt.

A look of what seemed like pain or frustration crossed his features.

“Unfortunately.”

Stifling a laugh, I glanced back at the bard.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Geralt. And Jaskier.”

Jaskier perked up at his name but immediately winced after I put a salve on the gashes on his cheek.

“Now are you going to tell me what happened? I see a large amount of blood but no wounds.”

Jaskier raised a shaky hand and pulled back the left half of his slightly undone shirt. Three large gashes, much like the ones on his face, adorned his chest.

“Gods...”

“I never get tired of hearing women say that... but normally it isn’t in this context.”

My eyes seemed to roll themselves at his words, but I couldn’t say I blamed women for their reactions to him. He was quite something to look at. Under normal circumstances.

“I don’t even know what it was...it happened so fast. Did you kill it, Geralt?” Jaskier asked in a huff.

Geralt crossed his arms, and shook his head.

“I figured I should make sure you didn’t die first, bard.”

Jaskier nodded, a simple “Ah,” leaving his lips.

“Well, no matter. You can fix me right?”

He sounded like he was poking fun at the situation, but I could hear the fear in his words. I decided to try and make him smile before I did this next part. It would be painful.

“Anything for Geralt of Rivia and his emotional support bard.”

I don’t know what woke me up first. The pounding in my head or the loud birds above me. I was almost afraid to open my eyes, in case it made my head hurt worse than it already did. So I laid there, on what felt like grass and leaves and twigs, with my eyes completely closed. Then I remembered what happened, and my eyes shot open.

It looked like it was early morning now, which would explain the birds calling loudly to each other in the trees surrounding me. Had I been out cold all night? I had gotten hit pretty hard, so it would make sense, I suppose. Slowly, I lifted a hand to my face. But before I reached all the way up, I couldn’t help but notice the cuts and bruises that adorned the skin on it. This caused me to gasp sharply, which only caused a stabbing pain in my chest. With a whimper, I finally touched the pads of my fingers to the skin on my face and was not surprised when I felt scabs and dried blood. I could only imagine what I looked like right now.

After examining my injuries as best I could, I gingerly got up off the ground and leaned against the nearest tree. Right above my head was a really large, thick branch. I’m assuming it was the branch that knocked me out.

Lily was nowhere to be seen. Gods only knows where she ended up. I just hoped with all my heart she was okay, wherever she was. And of course, I hope that Geralt, Jaskier, and Roach were okay. Wherever they were...

It only hit me then how completely alone I was. How incredibly deafening the silence around me was, since the birds had quieted down some. It almost felt as if there was a wall around me. I felt trapped and utterly helpless. Sighing, I lifted myself off the tree I had leaned against, and decided there was only one thing for me to do now. And that was to get moving.

Maybe if I was a Witcher, I could just track down the boys and my horse instead of wandering aimlessly through the woods. I could only dream, of course. Girls can’t be Witchers. That gave me an idea, though.

I glanced at the ground in front of me, and saw what looked to be the prints of horse hooves. They must lead to where Lily went. A glimmer of hope made me feel a bit lighter, so I decided to go with it. It was the only plan I had, after all.

But I quickly realized it would not be as easy as I thought. Some of the prints were obvious, but others were not. Some were covered by leaves and dirt, but others were plain as day. And they were so spaced out, it was hard to tell what was new and what was old. It was hard to tell what might have been Lily’s.

I took a deep breath, one that felt like it filled my lungs to bursting, and kept walking, following what tracks I could see and hoping to the gods that it would lead me somewhere good. At least somewhere where I wasn’t alone.

I had no idea how much time had passed. It felt like hours, but it could’ve been only minutes. All I know is that my feet feel like they could fall off my body, and my stomach is so empty that it made noises that might give the monsters Geralt fought a run for their money. But that’s not even the worst part. It was just so damn quiet. Eerily quiet. The daylight had begun to darken a bit, but there was still plenty of light to see where I was going. I had lost track of the horse tracks a while back, but I just kept walking. I felt as if I was in a trance. Staying in the same place just felt like the wrong thing to do. I had to move. I had to keep doing something.

Eventually, I reached a clearing. In that clearing was the ruins of what looked like an old castle. A small one, but a castle nonetheless. I decided to find the most comfortable spot of rubble I could and rest for a moment. But before I sat down, I saw some movement out of the corner of my eye. Needless to say, it startled me.

Forgetting how badly my feet hurt and how hungry I was in a matter of seconds, I sprang up from my place on the ground with widened eyes.

“Who’s there?” I croaked.

There was no answer. I don’t know why I expected one.

“Please, don’t hurt me, okay? I’m just lost. I don’t know where I am.”

Still, no one replied. This terrified me even more. I frantically looked around and found a decent sized stone I might be able to use to defend myself. After picking it up, I made my way slowly over to where I had seen the movement.

The ground beneath my timid footsteps crackled and crunched. I tried to control my shaking breaths as best I could. Stopping for a moment to try and calm down, I crouched behind the nearest slab of stone and tried listening for any more sounds. All I could hear was a slight swish. It was rhythmic almost. It sounded like something was brushing gently up against something else. To be honest, it reminded me of the sound Lily’s tail makes when it makes contact with the grass beneath her while she is grazing.

My grip on the stone loosened, and I stood up excitedly. Could it be?

With only this thought and a sliver of hope in my chest, I turned to where the noise was coming from to finally see what or who it was. And praise the gods, it was Lily. A very disheveled, dirty, and scratched-up Lily.

I shouted her name, holding back a sudden wave of tears. She turned to me, chomping on a clump of grass lazily. I was probably more excited to see her than she was to see me, but let’s not talk about that.

I ran to her and threw my arms around her neck, not caring that she was chewing grass over my shoulder, probably dropping bits of it and drooling on me.

“Gods, I thought I lost you. Thanks for waiting for me to wake up, by the way. That was really nice. All the things I do for you...”

I didn’t really mean what I was saying and she knew that. I had just been so scared. After I pulled away from her, I began picking out the twigs and leaves and other things that had gotten stuck in her tail and mane. It gave me something to focus on while I calmed down.

Once I was finished, I led her over to where I had been planning on resting.

“We’re gonna wait here a while, okay? I’m so tired, and I’m sure you are too. At least you can eat, though,” I said with a sigh.

She simply glanced at me, but I took it as a signal that said, “Okay.”

Darkness had begun to fall now. The light seemed to dwindle by the minute, and it was still just Lily and I, sitting in the same spot from earlier. I didn’t know what to do. I was starting to feel sick from not eating or drinking anything, and my feet weren’t feeling much better than earlier either. But I didn’t want to put any extra stress on Lily by riding her, so that was out of the question.

I had seen some berries around here before, but I had no idea which ones were poisonous. And I was too scared to venture out to try and find some clean water to drink. So I’m kind of just stuck here for the moment.

The darkness brought a chill along with it. My breaths could be seen in puffs of air out in front of me. And as it got colder, they got more and more shaky. I was only wearing my basic dress that I had been wearing all day, and it wasn’t very thick. The only other clothes I had on were my underclothes, and those were even thinner. All the bags with my things in them were back at our original camping spot. Obviously, I didn’t have time to grab them when we were attacked. So, quite literally, all I had was the clothing on my body.

When it got dark enough for the stars to come out, I laid against Lily who had curled up on the ground long ago. Thankfully, she provided some warmth. Whether she wanted to or not was debatable.

Perhaps the worst thing about my current situation was the silence. It was so damn quiet. I hadn’t realized how used to the noise I was. Whether it was Jaskier talking or singing, or just the sounds of the three of us walking along a dirt road together.

So I did something that I had been taught by the best there was. I sang. I just sang. All my favorite songs that I knew by heart, most of them being Jaskier’s. It made me feel warmer, although I know it isn’t real warmth.

My voice wasn’t the greatest, but it wasn’t terrible either. That wasn’t my concern anyway. I just wanted to feel less lonely and more comforted. While I sang, I thought about the many nights that Jaskier and I sung together around the fire, passing the time while Geralt was out and about. I wasn’t used to singing alone, and it made me sad.

There was only one song left that I hadn’t sung, and I honestly wasn’t sure whether I had left it for last on purpose or not. My throat was itchy now, not used to singing this much for this long alone.

“I am weak my love, and I am wanting...”

It came out like more of a whisper than a song. But I continued anyway. Had I really fallen for him this quickly without even realizing my feelings? Or was I just too stupid to know how I felt from the beginning? I wasn’t sure, but all I could think about while I sang was the purple marks I saw around his collarbone the last time I saw him. And the way he and Geralt whispered about me that night. It made me angry all over again.

“I’m an idiot,” I whispered to myself. Lily shifted underneath my weight as if she was agreeing.

At some point I began to drift off. But I was awoken when I heard footsteps nearby. Immediately, I shot up and looked around. It was pitch black, so I couldn’t see anything. I only heard footsteps, and they sounded like they were getting closer every second. Instead of trying to flee, I sat curled up in the corner of the slab of stone with Lily, hoping whoever it was wouldn’t see me. If the gods were on my side, they would just keep walking.

“(Y/N), I know you’re there. It’s just me,” a gruff voice that I knew all too well spoke out in the darkness.

As soon as he finished talking, it felt like a ton of rocks was lifted from my shoulders. It was Geralt. Thank the gods above, it was Geralt. I had never been so happy to see the oaf in my life.

“Geralt!” I yelled with glee before I could even see where he was.

He got closer and closer and then I could finally see where he was. His hair was a mess, and so were his clothes. I can’t imagine I was looking any better.

“Come on, I’ll start a fire. I’m sure you have questions, and I know you’re hungry.”

My stomach growled in response to his words. If he heard it- which I’m sure he did- he made no comment about it. I was thankful. And above all, I was thankful for his company.

Geralt and I now sat around the small fire he had made. I hadn’t noticed this before, but he had Roach with him, who was now tied to a tree nearby with Lily.

“So what the hell was that? What happened? And where’s Jaskier? Wait- how did you even find me?”

The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. I glanced over at Geralt across the flames, a bit embarrassed. But the corner of his mouth twitched, which meant he was almost smiling.

“What answer do you want first?”

I gave a breathy laugh in response and shrugged.

“I found you because I could smell you. Witcher, remember? Nice bruise, by the way. Hope you gave that branch as good as you got.”

My cheeks burned and I tried to hide them from his view. Asshole.

“Anyway, I don’t know who they were. Bandits, I’m guessing. But one was a mage. That’s why I told you to run before fighting them off. Who knows what would have happened had you been there. Unfortunately, I don’t know where that bumbling idiot Jaskier is. After you left, he tried fighting off one of them, but got a pretty good punch in the face. I turned for one second, and when I looked back he was gone.”

I’m sure Geralt could see the look on my face. I was worried and scared.

“We’ll find him. He’s probably in a brothel somewhere. I caught a bit of his scent a while back. I remember the place. We’ll go check there in the morning.”

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say. Geralt’s words echoed in my head: “He’s probably in a brothel somewhere.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Geralt quietly, “and it’s not what it seems.”

“Well, what is it then?” I spat, my words laced with a sudden venom, “Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me listening in on you two the other night. I heard what you were talking about. He doesn’t want anything to do with me. It was a mistake he said.”

My eyes stung and my chest hurt all at once. Truthfully, I didn’t know just how severe these feelings were since I had somewhat successfully bottled them up. But now they were back in full force. I guess they had never truly been hidden.

“It’s not my place to say.”

“Of course it’s not,” I whispered, barely audible. “You never want to get involved in anything. Except you always do, anyway.”

A silence settled over us. I didn’t know what else there was to say.

The sounds of Geralt digging around next to him broke the silence. It was then that I saw him take something shiny out of his bag. He grabbed some other bags, which turned out to be my things I left at camp before, and slowly walked over to me, never making eye contact with me.

Geralt handed me my belongings first, and I thanked him quietly, He still wasn’t looking at me.

“This is for you. Do you know how to use it?”

He gently held out a dagger. It looked brand new, the silver gleam of the small blade almost blinding even in the dying light of the fire. Its hilt was bejeweled with twinkling stones of several different colors, and there was a small inscription on it.

“It says “be brave” in Elder. I got it for you a while ago because it occurred to me you have been travelling without a weapon all this time. And I thought now might be a good time to give it to you.”

With a slight tremble in my hands, I took it from him, never looking away from it.

“Geralt, I- I don’t know what to say. Thank you,” I whispered, finally looking up at him.

He simply nodded, but his eyes were soft. He truly did care about my well being.

“Truly. Thank you for everything Geralt. For this, for finding me, and for telling me what I needed to hear back at the tavern. But mostly, thank you for being my friend.”

Geralt nodded once more, then turned away without a word to go back to his spot across the fire.

“Get some sleep. You’re going to need it.”

Sleep did sound quite good, so I decided to follow his advice, wondering what tomorrow could possibly hold for our little group.

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officerjennie · 3 years

Text

DIY Porn: Bard Tested, Bard Approved

CW: Smut, bondage, gags, toys, some D/s, DIY porn

Rating: E

Summary: Dandelion and Jaskier have the brilliant idea to make their own porn when the internet fails them, so Dandelion gets tied up, gagged, and fucked. But it seems they might have gotten the roles mixed up by the end. WC: 2.7k+.

A special thanks to @jaskierswolf Bard Peddler Extraordinaire for doing their peddling job so well <3

This was a sight Jaskier would never forget.

Dandelion was kneeling in the floor for him. They’d cleared out the center of the room just for this show, having had to push much of their stuff out of the way, leaving only a floral rug for him to kneel on. Jaskier couldn’t help but lick his lips even as he tried to focus on the camera, setting up the tripod at just the right angle to capture the scene that they’d gone over several times before their night had begun.

It had been wonderful luck that the two’s kinks lined up so beautifully. But the internet, as vast and wondrous as it was, could never seem to satisfy exactly what they needed. It had been Dandelion’s idea to make their own pornography when site after site gave them nothing, or at least what it gave was subpar to what their fantasies had crafted for them - and Jaskier had jumped on the idea, more than willing to run the extra mile to see the poet tied up and gagged with his body begging for him.

And that’s exactly the pretty picture Dandelion was for him at that moment, splashed with color in the viewfinder, red silk rope running all across his body and making Jaskier’s fingers itch to get back on his skin.

But he had to wait, just as Dandelion did, because as much as he really wouldn’t mind doing this all over again he was desperate himself to see exactly how pretty they could be together.

It took some doing, figuring out the right angle. And maybe Jaskier took his time just so Dandelion had to wait longer, the poet’s cock leaking precum that dripped down onto the rug below him, jerking movements attempting to gain friction, his body occasionally spasming in that way that told Jaskier his beautiful poet was clenching around the plug stuffed up his arse.

“Going to be good for me, love?”

He was finally ready. Coming over to brush the blond curls away from Dandelion’s face, to see those beautiful blue eyes glistening with tears from want, the gag in his mouth preventing him from saying anything - and at that moment Dandelion was all the more beautiful for his silence.

It was sometimes infuriating how good Dandelion was with his words. They were both masters of their art but Dandelion - oh Dandelion could reduce Jaskier to nothing but a sputtering mess, his eloquence leaving him speechless, taking coherent thought away from him whenever the poet saw fit to do so. Jaskier loved his poet but for this he needed control, craved it, and there was no way to maintain it if Dandelion could speak.

Convenient, then, that his dear friend wanted to relinquish control so badly.

“You look beautiful like this.” Jaskier leaned across his back, pressing against his bare flesh with his still-clothed body, skimming a hand down his friend’s chest while breathing in his ear. He felt the poet shudder under his touch, felt the whine that desperately wanted to escape his lips but was held back by the gag. The robe was wondrous to feel tied around him making Jaskier’s heartbeat pick up its pace as his hand traveled down, down towards the patch of blond curls he knew waited for his fingers at the base of Dandelion’s cock - and another desperate whine tried its best to be heard.

“Tied up all pretty for me,” he breathed as his fingers found their way through the blond curls, teasing, not touching the aching cock that would have begged for his touch if it could. Dandelion jerked under him, his eyes watering further, pink splashed across his cheeks and chest, and Jaskier had never more than then wanted to know what pink tasted like. “Bet your hole is just begging for the real thing, isn’t it, dearheart? Gods but you’re going to be tight, I know you are, going to clench around me and eat me right up.”

A choked sound came from his friend and Jaskier was once again so grateful his friend couldn’t speak, knowing it was only the gag that kept Jaskier in control - and his control was already such a weak thing. He was weak for his poet, always drawn to him, consumed by him.

Jaskier licked his lips as he leaned back to admire his handiwork again. Red rope tied around him in pretty little knots that he’d spent an egregious amount of time learning to perfect. And really, he knew they weren’t perfect quite yet, could see where he’d struggled when the rope wouldn’t work with him. Some of the knots were a little too loose, some a little too tight, some not quite aligned perfectly with the others. But fuck if it hadn’t been hot to gag Dandelion and tie him up, the poet not even able to laugh as Jaskier struggled and cursed while working the rope around him.

Which is exactly why the gag had been stuffed into his mouth first, and the ropes had come next.

All in all, though it wasn’t the perfect job, Jaskier had done well. Practice had paid off, all of the books he’d poured over trying to find the best technique, the best pattern to tie his friend into. And Dandelion looked good in red; he licked his lips again, his hand running up his friend’s back between his shoulder blades, wondering what other colors would suit him.

They would have to do this again. For the video, of course. Jaskier’s eyes flickered over to the camera, checking that the red light was blinking, that it was still recording. There was no way they’d make the perfect video the first go around, but fuck was it going to be glorious to watch himself take Dandelion apart. All those times they’d fucked in front of a mirror had been fucking wonderful but memories alone could only get him so far when he was by himself.

And there was a thought that had his cock twitching in his pants. Filmed in front of a mirror, without Dandelion talking his brain senseless. Gods but he needed that.

He had to shake his head, clear his own thoughts, force himself to live one fantasy at a time. When his hand reached the long blond curls he wrapped his fingers in them, smirk on his lips as he got ready to put on a show for them, the future audience.

With a rough tug, he yanked Dandelion back, reveling in the whimper it drew from him. But before Dandelion could properly adjust his weight Jaskier was shoving him forward, forcing Dandelion to put his pretty little arse on display for him. It was impossible to form words when he slid his hands down to spread his cheeks apart, catching sight of the light blue plug that kept Dandelion worked open for him, his hole pink and slick from where he’d prepped himself before he’d even come over.

Jaskier couldn’t- he just couldn’t with this man. He had to bite back a whimper himself, knowing just how gorgeous Dandelion looked purring around his own fingers, his curls mussed up from how he’d grip his own hair, the way his whole body flushed as he gasped and drove himself wild with pleasure. Was there truly any way to ever think around this man when Jaskier knew him so well?

“Bet you want to beg me to fill you up, don’t you?” It was faux control that colored his tone, his words more breathless than they should have been, the urge to touch finally winning as his fingers found the end of the plug. Dandelion quivered around it as he took hold of it, spinning the toy inside of him, Jaskier’s hips gently rocking despite himself as he heard the muffled whimpers and moans it drew from his poet. “Want to beg me to fuck you, spill in you, fuck darling you’ll be so gorgeous leaking my cum.”

Jaskier could barely keep his eyes open at the thought, pulling the toy out just the smallest bit and pushing it ever so slowly back in. And he knew Dandelion would be writhing if he could, would be talking and moaning until Jaskier’s brain was nothing but static and the desire to please him - it was already slipping there without the aid of Dandelion’s voice, and it was infuriating in the best of ways.

There were not enough words in the lexicon to describe how Dandelion looked at that moment. Bent over and needy, wanting, leaking precum wiggling pitifully in his binds. The plug working slowly in and out of him and driving Jaskier crazy as it did, his own hips unable to stay still knowing how that tight hole would feel around him, how well he could fill it and fuck it. And he needed it desperately, to fuck his Dandelion like the poet wanted him to.

Gods but he couldn’t take it anymore. He’d wanted to tease Dandelion for a while, leave him wanting, but it didn’t feel right leaving him clenching around a plug when it should be his cock. Jaskier had meant to drive him crazy edging him, had wanted to suck his aching cock and have Dandelion sobbing from it but he wanted to fuck him, please him, be good for him.

The ties to his pants could not come undone fast enough. He didn’t bother taking off his clothes and just fished out his cock, a whimper quivering his breaths when he had it in hand, and he almost forgot the plug was in the way when he went to rub it between the poet’s ass cheeks. It could probably be played off like he’d just been wanting to tease him but Jaskier wasn’t sure, and couldn’t quite think straight, the fuzz in his mind taking the words away as he felt the other’s hot skin around his cock.

The plug had to go. It dropped heavy on the rug next to them, and Jaskier had to fight to keep himself from thrusting into him hard. Had to fight to remind himself to go slow, that this was meant to be a show, a performance - he was good at those, good at performing, but the world was slipping from him and he couldn’t quite remember why it was so important to put on a show.

When the tip of his cock popped past the ring of tight muscles, Jaskier thought he might lose control. Curses dripped between breaths as his hands shook, one clenching on Dandelion’s hip, the other soothing his friend’s back - and he’d entirely forgotten that he’d been meaning to speak filth to him, to speak in commands, because all he could do was moan and stammer out in starts and stops over how good Dandelion felt around him.

All of his control was spent pushing slowly into him. Working his way to the point where they rested fully against each other, where he felt the whole of his length being clenched rhythmically by his poet. His breaths were trembling things, small noises whimpered out here and there, his eyes hardly able to focus past the feeling of Dandelion around him. Dandelion, his Dandelion, who was doing his best to get him to fuck into him and Jaskier had ever found him the most difficult person in the world to say no to.

How could he say no then?

There was a rhythm to his thrusts at the start. Slow out, fast in, his hands hardly able to keep themselves still on Dandelion’s skin. He felt every inch he could reach, at first just because he could, but then his fingers found the spots that he knew made Dandelion tremble. The poet’s thighs had always been especially sensitive and though it was difficult to caress them in just the right way as he thrusted into him Jaskier tried.

But the heat was consuming him. His mind was hazy. His words made no sense - and really he wasn’t sure if he was speaking words at all anymore, lost in the desire to make Dandelion feel good, to be good for him, his fingertips finding the rope at the poet’s thighs and a yearning built up in him.

There was no rhythm then. Jaskier couldn’t help himself, laying against his friend’s back, hearing the muffled moans and suddenly finding his own too loud.

Dandelion was gorgeous, all tied up in red. Left wanting, left to his mercy, but Jaskier wasn’t thinking on that anymore. All thoughts of the porno they were filming had left his mind so far behind he couldn’t even remember they were doing it, his hands greedy things as they felt around Dandelion’s body, feeling the rope and wanting and yearning to know.

He was whimpering, shaking against Dandelion’s back, and Dandelion wasn’t whining anymore. Every clench of the tight muscles that were wrapped around Jaskier’s cock was purposeful, every one of them sending his thoughts scattering further until his mind was nothing but static and desperation - and the last coherent thought he had was that of course Dandelion found a way to be in control even when relinquishing it all over to him.

As his hands roamed Dandelion’s body, his fingers desperately feeling the rope, it felt wrong that his own arms and legs had such freedom. As his whines and whimpers grew higher in pitch the room felt so full of them, the air so empty of that voice that usually spoke him through to the edge and beyond, so void of those words that could so easily make him a begging mess of please and more. When he spilled into him, he cried out, babbling and fucking his seed deep inside of Dandelion - and all he wanted was to feel Dandelion’s cum inside of him, dripping out of him, down his thighs as his own cock was left untouched and aching.

Jaskier couldn’t stop shaking against him. Even after the high of his orgasm left him, even as he laid against his back, he shook, wanting, needing - he needed so much but he wasn’t sure what he needed, but Dandelion would know. As soon as that truth was known to him he was reaching out, fumbling with the gag in Dandelion’s mouth, needing to hear him speak.

“That’s it, pet,” Dandelion gasped out the moment the gag was gone, and relief washed over Jaskier the instant he heard his voice. It was safe, it was warm, it was right, and some of the shaking went away. “What a wonderful mess you’ve made the both of us, such a beautiful job you’ve done. Now, why don’t you take this rope off of me. Think you can manage that for me, darling?”

Jaskier would attempt anything in the world if it was for Dandelion at that moment. It took a while, his fingers and hands couldn’t stop trembling, but as Dandelion talked him through it Jaskier slipped further and further until he was nothing but a man in Dandelion’s lap, a mess for Dandelion to fix, to lead and guide, and to use as he wished.

“I think we might have made a bit of a mistake in our planning, darling.” Dandelion kissed the top of his head and Jaskier whimpered, already hard once more, feeling Dandelion’s aching and neglected cock pressing against his thigh. “Think we might have to try again. Would you like me to tie you up this time?”

Jaskier had never wanted anything more in his life. He needed to feel secured, held down, needed to hear Dandelion’s voice when he couldn’t make any sounds of his own, when his world would be naught but Dandelion’s voice, his command, his hands, his body.

They had gotten it very wrong their first time, but they were both more than happy to rectify that wrong - and Jaskier, after this was all over, after he was sobbing around the gag in his mouth and dripping Dandelion’s seed, desperately trying to clench and keep it all in, after Dandelion took him apart and put him back together with skilled hands and a dangerous silver tongue-

-after all of this was over, when they’d sit back and enjoy the footage played back on Jaskier’s laptop, he’d be forever grateful that the camera had been rolling the whole time.

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

#jaskier #dandelion #jaskelion #jaskier x dandelion #dandelion x jaskier #jaskier/dandelion #dandelion/jaskier #the witcher #fanfiction #mywriting #lemony #my summer bingo #jaskilion

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drowningbydegrees · 3 years

Text

This is very sappy smut written for the Music Prompt List:

17. Ritenuto (Italian: held back) slow down at once~smell the roses, stop before we go any further

NSFW. Technically a sequel to Nothing But the Background Noise, but it totally stands on its own as well.

READ ON AO3

Jaskier makes it exactly three steps out the door. Coincidentally the third step is where the bit of roof that shields his doorstep gives way, and where the slightly inconvenient amount of snow he’d stepped into becomes absurd. Scowling, he grumbles under his breath about the lengths he goes to for his students.

Oh, who is he kidding? Nobody is going to trudge through this for a lecture, not even if he’s the speaker. There’s not a soul even outside besides him, from the looks of it. There’s only the quiet hush that sweeps in with the snow sometimes when there’s no one around to interrupt it. It’s quite beautiful if he’s being honest, almost poetically so.

Beautiful. And cold. If he’s not going to class, there’s really no point in standing there with snow nearly reaching the top of his boots. So for once in Jaskier’s life, he does the sensible thing and goes back inside.

The house is as quiet as the world outside it, though considerably warmer. As he hangs up his cloak and quietly traverses the stairs, he keeps expecting some sign of life. But the bedroom door is still swung open the way he left it and there is a distinctly witcher shaped lump under approximately all of the blankets, white hair peeking out in long tendrils.

He’s never gotten to see this before, a time where Geralt finally stops to take a breath. Looking back, Jaskier recognizes the moments now and then that show he’s enough of a fixture in Geralt's life that his presence doesn’t register as a threat. But this is more and he revels in it. Geralt trusts him, recognizes him so instinctively as not to even stir when the bard comes close enough to tuck a stray bit of hair behind his ear. It says more than words ever could. Watching the steady rise and fall of Geralt’s shoulder, Jaskier thinks he’s never been so in love.

It seems a shame not to indulge a little, since he’s not leaving anyway. Stripping down, Jaskier crawls in on his side of the bed. He fits himself against the slight curve of Geralt’s back and rescuing some of the blanket from the witcher’s clutches. Even then, Jaskier only gets a soft, wordless grumble before Geralt settles once more.

They fit like they were made for basking, tangled up with each other in the comfort of a warm bed while the snow falls outside. He could go back to sleep, Jaskier thinks. It’s winter. He might be teaching, but it’s still a break of sorts. If he can’t sleep in now, then when can he?

Idly, he drags his palm down Geralt’s flank. There’s comfort in the familiar topography of the witcher’s body, and isn’t that a heady thought? Geralt is - has allowed himself to be - familiar territory. It seems a silly thing to be so giddy over, but Jaskier smiles as he nuzzles against the nape of Geralt’s neck.

He means to drift off, back towards a well deserved sleep. It’s just that when Jaskier’s fingertips sleepily map out the divot of Geralt’s hip on their way to settle against his stomach, the witcher’s breath hitches ever so slightly. Jaskier might have missed it entirely if he didn’t know Geralt so well, but he does and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t find joy in that too. He knows the subtle shifts in Geralt’s expressions, recognizes the changes in Geralt’s body language as if they were his own, and now there’s this. A sharp, quiet inhale, the very slightest angling of his hips like Geralt’s instinct is to chase after Jaskier even if his mind hasn’t caught up quite yet.

Jaskier has always thought Geralt was rather beautiful, but it’s all the more true like this. Beautiful and his, and Jaskier is absolutely certain that last bit is never going to stop leaving him a little bit stunned. He grins because he can’t help himself and gently mouths at Geralt’s shoulder, delighting in the shudder it earns him.

Geralt pulls out of Jaskier’s grip, but only enough to roll over on his back and pull the bard in close. He presses sleepy kisses to Jaskier’s lips, not even bothering to open his eyes as he rumbles. “Thought you had class?”

“‘Had’ being the operative word. Now I don’t, so I’m afraid you’re stuck with me instead.” Jaskier indulges Geralt’s whims for a moment before he strays to nip at the juncture where the witcher’s jaw and throat meet.

“That’s t-” Geralt’s breath hitches in the most positively satisfying way as Jaskier sucks a bruise into the delicate column of his throat. “Terrible.”

“The worst. I’m sure. However will you stand it?” They’d been frantic in the beginning, like any moment now this was going to slip away from them, but there’s none of that now. Jaskier maps out the crook of Geralt’s neck with lazy, open mouthed kisses, and Geralt’s fingers curl in his hair so haphazardly that Jaskier would think the witcher was dozing off if he didn’t know better.

“That is the question.” Geralt breathes out in an amused huff when Jaskier nips at his collarbone. “I imagine I’ll manage somehow.”

Jaskier means to say something snarky, but before anything takes shape, he finds himself distracted by the indulgent drag of Geralt’s fingertips down the divot of his spine. It makes Jaskier cant his hips forward and he grins against Geralt’s skin at the quiet, pleasured sound that drags from the witcher.

It’s encouragement enough for Jaskier to lazily continue his downward trajectory. After all, they’re both here and he’s still thrilled that he’s allowed to do this and Jaskier has every intention of making the most of it. He’s only just begun to map out the rise of Geralt’s chest with his tongue when the witcher reaches out to stop him. Judging from Geralt’s expression it isn’t a ‘not in the mood’ sort of thing, but he treads carefully anyway.

“I had plans for you, witcher,” Jaskier teases. When Geralt hums in acknowledgment and idly pulls at Jaskier’s shoulder, he finds himself biting down on a fond smile. It’s unexpectedly endearing. Geralt’s fingers tighten in his hair, which is far less endearing, but it is very much something else, making Jaskier’s eyes cross and his throat go a little dry in anticipation.

“Have them up here,” Geralt grumbles, as if Jaskier isn’t already letting himself be herded back to eye level. Somehow, he’s never taken Geralt for much of a romantic, but with the witcher’s hand clasped around the nape of his neck, pulling him close enough to kiss, Jaskier is pretty sure he was just so desperate not to fall in love that he missed it entirely.

Not that there’s anything particularly innocent about the way Geralt’s legs splay out, heels pressed against the backs of Jaskier’s thighs to draw their bodies flush. There’s a distinct sense of purpose to the cadence with which Geralt’s body arches up to meet his, lined up so that the drag of Jaskier’s cock between their sweat slicked bodies leaves him momentarily breathless. Geralt’s teeth drag playfully at Jaskier’s bottom lip, entirely indecent, but all a bit wondrous anyway.

There are parts of Geralt that have always been Jaskier’s but the shape of this is entirely new. He has known for ages the harsh urgency of Geralt yanking him out of harm’s way, but never the barely restrained clutching of the witcher’s fingers, caught somewhere between reverence and desire. He’s always recognized Geralt’s capacity for tenderness, but has never been the focus of it. Now there are soft, half formed endearments whispered between kisses, and stuttered breaths as Geralt rocks up to meet him and Jaskier has to squeeze his eyes shut in the face of it for fear that he might just fall apart.

Of all the things that are his now, this is perhaps the one Jaskier cherishes most. Not the sudden tension of Geralt’s body beneath his, though that is overwhelmingly lovely. Not the sharp press of Geralt’s nails scrabbling at Jaskier’s back, surely leaving red marks in their wake and threatening to drag the bard right over the edge with him. It’s the moment Geralt is too undone to hide his own vulnerability any longer. Their pace goes a bit frantic and uneven and Geralt tucks his face against the crook of Jaskier’s neck, breathing out in harsh pants. He mostly tends to be as quiet when he comes as he is in everything else. It would be a shame, but he clings to Jaskier’s back like he might be swept away in some invisible tide, and he stifles a quiet moan with his teeth against Jaskier’s shoulder. Jaskier wants very, very much to be the source of this particular surrender for the rest of his life.

Love and pleasure are an intoxicating combination, leaving Jaskier struck stupid with the fleeting notion that if all there was to this was Geralt shaken down to his foundation, it would be enough. Maybe it would even, though the idea is immaterial when he's in the midst of chasing after his own release. Geralt shudders and pulls him closer and even if Jaskier wanted to, there wouldn’t be any holding off.

He doesn’t want to. What he wants is Geralt’s shaky sigh against the sensitive skin just under his ear, a quiet sound that might possibly be a whimper. Jaskier's own climax wrenches Geralt’s name from him like a prayer, whispered desperately against his lover's temple. The pillow caught in his fist doesn’t feel like enough to hang onto, but somehow Geralt’s jaw cradled carefully in his open palm does.

It's a lovely feeling, this careening off into nothing, but strangely, Jaskier finds what he wants the most is the aftermath. The sweat and come stuck between them is going to be dreadfully unpleasant later, but Geralt noses against Jaskier’s jaw in another one of those tiny, inconsequential gestures the bard collects like a magpie. He can feel the way Geralt’s mouth turns up in a rare smile and somehow the mess feels entirely unimportant when there’s that to think about.

There are a great many things Jaskier would like to say, but the bridge they've built is new and fragile and now is not the time for grand declarations. He settles for turning his head enough to briefly catch Geralt’s lips against his own. “So, the lesson I’m taking away from this is that I ought to wake you up more often.”

“Menace,” Geralt grumbles. There’s no bite in it, but even if there were, Jaskier can't possibly mistake it for anything but affection. Geralt is currently dragging the fingers of one hand through Jaskier’s hair, the other coming to rest at the base of his spine like he something precious enough to hang onto. This is the moment Jaskier covets most. No music. No monsters. The whole world narrowed down to something Jaskier feels little need to label.

“Most definitely,” Jaskier agrees solemnly. In a momentary fit of bravery he adds. “Your menace, though.”

Yours. That is... sort of a label, Jaskier supposes.

But the fallout he braces himself for, the rejection he fretfully anticipates never comes. There's no sudden tension. Geralt’s fingers don’t even go still against Jaskier’s scalp the way he expects them to. As if he knows somehow what Jaskier is afraid of, Geralt affectionately rests his cheek against the bard’s. “Yeah. Suppose you are.”

YOU CAN FIND THE REST OF MY WITCHER FANWORKS HERE. <3

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #the witcher #my fic

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xdandelionxbloomx · 3 years

Text

a lion sleeps (not in a jungle, but in a crib)

1.7k of softness, They Were Roommates! AU, general audiences - also on AO3

Ciri was crying.

Ciri was crying and Geralt didn’t know what to do.

Ciri was crying and Geralt didn’t know what to do and it was killing him.

He’d tried everything - changing her diaper, giving her that ratty little lion cub stuffy, he’d even tried to feed her but she hadn’t wanted it.

Geralt was very near the end of his rope.

Jaskier arrived home to the mess - Geralt absolutely frazzled and close to tears himself, Ciri wailing on his lap as he sat slumped on the couch.

His roommate’s eyes went soft in that way Geralt had come to hate for how it made all his organs do strange things in his chest.

“Oh, Geralt. Come on.” Jaskier picked his way across the apartment, avoiding some of Ciri’s toys - being a sudden single father hadn’t been easy on Geralt and he was doing his best alright?

Jaskier, with his guitar case still slung over his back, gently scooped Ciri out of his hands. He lifted her and Ciri momentarily stopped crying at the sight of him, reaching a pudgy little hand out to touch his cheek. She reeled it back after only a second, though, and turned it to a tiny fist that smacked with considerable force against Jaskier’s jaw. He barely even showed his grimace, still smiling at her as he cooed.

“Someone’s grumpy.” Jaskier murmured, and Geralt had a violent flashback to a few months prior - to when he’d gotten absolutely smashed and Jaskier had come to wake him up the day after, all soft and haloed by sunlight, hair gone gold.

Geralt lifted a hand to drag it down his face.

“I don’t know what she wants.” He rumbled, exhausted.

Jaskier shot him a small smile, something sad buried in it - he’d worn it before, an expression linked to things Geralt didn’t fully know.

He had never asked, never wanted that sadness to be so overwhelming that Jaskier couldn’t bear it.

“Sometimes we just need to cry, my dear.” Jaskier said, easily, and shifted Ciri to one arm, offering his freed hand up.

Geralt took it, letting him pull him to his feet and grabbing the lion stuffed animal as an afterthought.

Together they walked to Geralt’s bedroom where Ciri’s crib was set up across the room from his bed. It had been painstakingly made by hand by Eskel, who would have adopted Ciri if Geralt hadn’t been first in line as her godfather.

“It helps, however-” Jaskier spoke again as he let go of Geralt’s hand - Geralt giving a small jolt as he realized they’d held hands all the way into the bedroom. “To have music. Always.” Jaskier half said it to Ciri alone as he lowered her into the crib. Geralt watched how she squirmed, fighting him until she could stand in the crib, teary eyes peering over the edge as her hands curled around the railing.

Jaskier walked over to the bed and perched himself on the edge, ignoring her as she wailed even louder, making Geralt flinch.

“Come.” Jaskier said, over the crying, patting the space beside him. Geralt reluctantly joined him, sitting down beside his roommate on his bed, hands clenched around the lion cub white knuckle, one the verge of tears again himself.

Jaskier, the calmest of the three of them bless the man, simply brought his guitar case around to take the instrument out, plucking a few strings and tuning by ear. As if he even really needed to.

He looked up, meeting Ciri’s eyes over the edge of the crib. “Sweetheart.” Jaskier kept repeating it until she sucked in a ragged breath, wailing quieted to sniffles as Jaskier plucked out a soft melody that made the knot between Geralt’s shoulders slowly start to loosen.

Geralt breathed.

Jaskier began to sing in the quiet, his voice a bit higher and softer than usual.

“Meow-meow meow-meow meow meow…” It was a soft thing and Geralt blinked. He turned his gaze down to the lion cub in his hands and then back to Jaskier in surprise. Blue met his own hazel and they smiled softly, even though Jaskier’s mouth was occupied.

“I am just a kitten, hardly fit my mittens…” Jaskier’s gaze drifted back to Ciri, who was now firmly focused on the two of them, crying dying out into little snuffles, her nose stopped up from her fit. A little gurgle as she swayed where she was standing.

“Much too small, I figure-” Jaskier tipped his head at her, a lock of chestnut hair falling into his face. Geralt’s fingers itched to reach out and brush it away. He watched Jaskier’s profile in the dim yellow light of the lamp he’d left on - Geralt knew it wasn’t exactly platonic to want to touch his fingers to the curve of Jaskier’s nose, to trace it down to the bow of his lips.

“One day I'll be bigger, one day I'll be a great big kitty cat - Use open windows to go from flat to flat…”

Ciri’s hands slipped from the railing and she landed on her rear with a soft thump. She sniffed and blinked bleary eyes at Jaskier. After a long moment Geralt stood to cross the room. He brushed his fingers over the top of her head gently, feeling the wispy blonde strands soft under his work worn hands. He didn’t think these hands were the ones she deserved, but they were the ones she had and so Geralt had to be good. For her. He moved to place the lion cub stuffy in her small - so small - arms, watching her immediately bring it close and latch her mouth onto the ear. She chewed on it, looking at Jaskier all the while, barely even sparing him a glance.

“I am just a kitten, hardly fit my mittens… Much too small, I figure.” Jaskier sang and Geralt turned to watch him, the way he swayed back and forth on the bed and watched Ciri right back.

It was a lot like peace.

Geralt wanted to bottle this moment - like the little ships frozen meticulously in time, waves suspended in motion. He wanted to be able to look at this any time he wanted. He wanted to be able to -

“One day I'll be bigger, one day I’ll be all grown up and strong - But ‘til then I'll just purr and sing along.” Jaskier cooed and Geralt turned his gaze back to Ciri, who had laid back on her back, watching him drowsily through the bars of the crib. The lion was tucked close to her chest and Geralt’s heart ached.

He loved her.

He loved her probably more than anything else in the world.

It was not something Geralt had ever anticipated.

Then again, he’d never anticipated Jaskier either.

Geralt turned to make his way back to the bed, settling himself down beside Jaskier, watching talented fingers slow dance over the strings, plucking the sweet melody long after Jaskier had stopped singing, humming instead.

Geralt dropped his head down to rest on Jaskier’s shoulder.

He could feel Jaskier tense, heard the twang of a string, surprised fingers slipping. Geralt didn’t bother to say anything for a few moments and Jaskier’s fingers resumed the same soft melody.

Geralt closed his eyes.

“It’s funny. I think she likes you better than me.” He whispered, at last. A soft shudder beneath his cheek told him that Jaskier had laughed one of those quiet ones, lips pulled into a crooked smile.

“No.” Jaskier whispered right back, shifting to adjust to Geralt’s weight against his side. He crossed his arms over the guitar, finally ceasing his playing and Geralt, with his heart in his throat moved to slide his arm around his waist.

“No, I may distract her from whatever upset her, but when she’s hungry she turns to you. When she falls, her eyes find you first. Given the choice between the two of us, I’m sure she’d ask you to pick her up.” Jaskier’s voice stayed hushed as he turned his head to press his nose to Geralt’s hair - half fallen out of the hectic bun he’d thrown it up into earlier.

Geralt wanted to keep this moment forever.

“I’m trying so hard, Jask, but I have no idea what I’m doing.” He admitted and Jaskier’s shoulder shuddered under him again, though he heard the laugh this time.

“Does anyone? Really?” Jaskier asked, and there was a press of lips to his temple. “You’re trying your best and that’s all you can do. Ever.” The shoulder under his cheek lifted and Geralt made a soft noise of complaint, though he lifted his head and opened his eyes.

Jaskier was-- looking at him.

Really looking.

Like he could see right through to Geralt’s heart, where he kept all the things he cared about held tightly, as if he could shelter them from the world by not talking about them.

Jaskier’s hands blindly leaned the guitar up against the bed like he’d donen it a thousand times - probably had - and one reached after, to brush Geralt’s hair back from his face. He tucked it behind Geralt’s ear in a gesture that shouldn’t feel so intimate and tender, but did.

Geralt blinked, lowered his gaze to the collar of Jaskier’s shirt - where, as usual, the first three buttons were undone.

He’d had thoughts about that before, but in that moment all he wanted to do was bury his face against warm skin, breathe in the smell of Jaskier’s honeysuckle perfume.

“It’ll be alright, Geralt.” Jaskier murmured and, to Geralt’s surprise, he believed him.

A trembling sigh through his nose and Geralt lifted his gaze to meet Jaskier’s.

Ciri snored softly, disturbing the quiet, and Geralt smiled, shaking his head. He looked away from Jaskier for a moment, at the far wall above the crib.

His brows furrowed and a touch between them smoothed out the expression, Geralt’s gaze back on Jaskier, on the way the edges of his hair went gold.

Geralt didn’t believe in God or Heaven or Hell - but there were moments like these where he wondered if Jaskier were an angel.

Kindness, goodness, an overwhelming brightness given human form for minds to process.

Geralt lifted his hand, catching Jaskier’s in his own.

It was to the soundtrack of Ciri’s soft snoring that Geralt kissed Jaskier for the first time - slow and delicate, trying to hold the moment as one might hold a butterfly--

Trying his very best not to break quivering wings, heart poised to fly away, carried by a breeze, lazily drifting towards honeysuckles that it could not resist.

#geraskier #geraskier fic #my writing #mine #the song is Meow Meow Lullaby by Nada Surf #and I had very many Ciri feelings #please take this as an apology for my absence #something soft

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johnnyutah · 3 years

Text

i haven’t been posting my stuff on here enough so here’s the start of my latest geralt/jaskier fic! (Also on AO3)

E, 5.4K words, no warnings, Geralt has a kink for poetry (specifically Jaskier’s)

Never before has a crowd been so steadfast in their misery. By rights, their spirits should be buoyed. The witcher came to their backwater town and slayed the monster, saving the day. But the townspeople still mourn for their lost families and friends, slumped over their mugs of bad ale and bland food. Their pain cannot be undone even by this tremendous— and unexpected— victory.

Jaskier tries his hardest to raise their spirits but all his typical tavern songs are poorly received. Strangely, the ballads resonate with the audience more than ever. So he leans into it, playing everything from ancient elven songs of tragedy to his own darker compositions. Somehow it helps. When he sings “So arise and face me, I am poisoned with the rage of song,” one young woman almost smiles. Not out of mirth or joy, but rue, and perhaps the sad beginnings of acceptance.

That’s alright, then. He can get a little angsty. He strums a few basic chords and launches into a very old sonnet that had come to him on a particularly lonely autumn night at Oxenfurt. It isn’t the kind of thing he’d perform for most crowds, but in this room of grief, his listeners actually applaud at the end of the recital. How bizarre.

Jaskier tips his chin to the mourners. At the back of the room, Geralt climbs to his feet and abandons the rest of his dinner.

Well, that’s alright. The witcher doesn’t usually stick around for his performances anyway, and Jaskier couldn’t blame him for missing this despondent concert. He watches Geralt mutter silently to himself as he makes his way out of the tavern, no doubt heading for the inn. Roach has been installed in her stable for hours already; it’s high time her owner gets some rest too.

After playing one last ballad and bidding farewell to this somber crowd, Jaskier takes his minimal earnings and follows Geralt’s path out of the bar. The light rainfall from earlier has grown into a heavy storm, turning the shoddy dirt lanes of the town into slippery mud traps. Jaskier grimaces, out of habit, but after so long travelling as Geralt’s barker, he’s well accustomed to wading through mud. Shit, he’s waded through far worse.

He hurries to the inn where their belongings and clean beds await. In most settlements, inns play double duty as either taverns or brothels. This one is a hospice, so although the pious innkeeper is unlikely to bring them ale with their morning breakfast, things should be quiet. Jaskier, nearly drenched just from the quick run over, heads right to the room. No point making peace with any reverent types— his hedonistic interests ensure that he rarely receives invitations to temples or anything like that.

Despite the ominously dark storm clouds, it’s still early. His audience’s melancholy must have been contagious, as Jaskier now realizes he didn’t stay for a single drink. He hadn’t even considered it. Or perhaps he just had no desire to stay there without Geralt. Still dripping from the deluge outside, he opens the door quietly.

For once, he’s caught a witcher off their guard. Few men can truly claim to have accomplished that, but it seems the case. Geralt is sitting on the edge of his bed, hunched over a small book and scrawling into it feverishly. He takes his time choosing every word but seems desperate to record the thought, toes curling. He’s discarded his trousers and socks somewhere, leaving him in just his underclothes and a loose shirt. His eyebrows are drawn close together with intense focus as he tugs, distracted, at his bottom lip. He’s gorgeous, and oblivious, and he’s making Jaskier feel like an intruder in his own room.

Jaskier’s scent must change, or perhaps Geralt’s reactions are just delayed. After all, he had definitely been drinking tonight. Whatever the case he suddenly raises his head, noticing his companion, and with a fierce immediacy he chucks the book into one of his open bags beside the bed.

Unfortunately for him, this only serves to pique Jaskier’s interest. “You didn’t miss much with that last song,” he mumbles, breaking eye contact. He shrugs off his damp outerwear, hanging his doublet on a hook by the door and taking off his muddy shoes. Geralt keeps watching him, so finally Jaskier glances back at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Geralt huffs. Even after however many years they’ve spent together now, the low rumble of his voice still astonishes Jaskier sometimes. “Thought you’d stay longer.”

He squints at the colour sitting high on Geralt’s cheeks. Is he… irritated? Flustered? Jaskier stares at the witcher, trying to decipher exactly why he might want Jaskier to stay at the tavern longer. He settles on the most ridiculous answer possible. “Are you writing a novel?”

The witcher blinks, slowly, golden eyes narrowing. “Jaskier,” he finally deadpans. “Look at me. Do you really think I’m writing a novel?”

“Why not!” Well, his utilitarian approach to the Common language, for one thing. But lots of people like stories that don’t use particularly intimidating words, and Geralt is funny. It’s just impossible to tell thanks to that gravelly rasp he’s got going on. But he doesn’t want to insult the man, so Jaskier encourages him with, “You’ve got a first hand experience of all these incredible stories. I mean, I do my best with the scraps you give me, but I can only recount what I can imagine. And you’ve got all those enhanced senses, I mean— I bet you could give a really perfect description of a monster, really make your reader feel all enveloped in the action—”

“I’m going to bed,” Geralt interrupts roughly. He’s full on flushed now, and avoiding Jaskier’s eyes. Gods, is he embarrassed?

“I didn’t mean to offend,” Jaskier tries, but his companion has already abandoned the conversation, crawling up the bed to hide under the covers. Like a turtle retreating into its shell. “I mean it, Geralt, I think your writing would be lovely!”

“Good night, bard,” growls the embarrassed turtle, muffled by the pillows he’s shoved his face into.

Sighing, Jaskier collapses onto his own bed. He almost wishes that they hadn’t sprung for a room with two beds, although he doesn’t think the saintly old innkeeper would have liked that request. It would be easier to try and read Geralt’s emotions if they were sharing a bed, but now, his companion feels distant.

The thing is… Jaskier had been telling the truth. The songs that he has composed since joining the witcher on his Path are epics, ones that will outlive both of them. His thoughts unravel into memories of their unbelievable and wild adventures together, of parties in Gulet and devils in Posada. He thinks he would like to read something written by Geralt, even a small story.

He contemplates getting up to sneak into Geralt’s bag and steal a look at the fledgling novel, but he wouldn’t betray his friend’s trust like that. Besides, it’s hard to tell if Geralt has actually fallen asleep or if he’s simply hiding, waiting for Jaskier to pass out so that he can resume his writing.

By the time he finally gives in to his exhaustion, Geralt’s breathing still hasn’t evened out.

(keep reading the rest on AO3!)

#geraskier #the witcher #gerlion #fic blogging #my writing #is this just an excuse for me to use edna st vincent millay sonnets in the middle of smut? Hey maybe

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skai6 · 3 years

Text

Jaskilion - Part 2 of this prompt

Warning: 18+ (It’s all smut. What else do you expect?)

----

He wasn’t tense, or anxious, or frightened. He needn’t be, not when another version of himself was hovering over him with the promise of a good time – and good would be an understatement knowing what he himself was capable of. Dandelion was delighted to be under, and it was about damn time. He had taken many over the course of his life. It was his turn to be taken for a change, and who else a better candidate than himself?

God, the things he could do.

“Oh, that face,” Jaskier purred on top of him, suddenly so sure of himself, so smug, “Shameless Dandelion. That’s the face I pull when I’m practically begging for it.”

Dandelion’s stomach fluttered at the belittling. This was a game long lost, when the other knew exactly how to play him. Every turn-on, every kink, every sensitive spot.

He could moan at the mere thought of how ruined he could be made for everyone else after this.

But Dandelion knew better than to lay there and have his mind blown. Jaskier was just as vulnerable, as exposed. A trail of a warm tongue along the outer shell of his ear and he would be sent squirming. Dandelion knew his weakness, he knew it all, and he was unwilling to let the chance where he could get the other at his mercy pass so idly.

He laced his arms around Jaskier’s shoulders to remain flush against him, and with a pull, brought their bodies to shuffle to the side. Dandelion rose on top of him, palms spread over his chest, hips on hips, heat flooding to and fro.

“Have I always been so talkative in bed?” Dandelion purred, fingers fiddling with the buttons of his doublet, “Or are you just so thrilled to be finally getting my attention?”

“How can I not be?” said Jaskier with breathtaking eagerness, “With those cornflower eyes and those sunshine curls, anyone would be over the moon just having you glance over their side of the room. Whilst you are here, straddling me so prettily.”

“Are you calling me pretty?”

“Darling I’m calling you heavenly, godly, the world’s most beautiful – Oh!”

With the grind of his hips, Dandelion’s bulge came grazing against something hard and throbbing, feeling it pulsate under layers of clothing, unbound by the thickness of the fabric. And he loved it. He loved being the reason behind the luscious moan that slipped Jaskier’s tongue as a result, behind the slight curving of his back off the mattress as he felt it, behind the awareness dawning on him that his was the state of someone weak and wanting.

It never befell Dandelion, not until this moment, that he reveled in the thought of exposing Jaskier in his entirety.

It took him a second to appreciate the sight before Jaskier’s hands came dipping into his hair, fingers twirling around his curls, soft, gentle, tousled, and he pulled. And Dandelion had never obeyed so fast in his entire life – for gods forbid, he was the opposite of obedient – but now he was following the motion eagerly, greedily, desperate to catch the lips that came melting against his own.

He tasted of sweet wine and forbidden lust, a mixture that sent Dandelion’s head into a daze. He thought he knew himself inside out, and oh was he terribly wrong.

Long fingers came brushing the length of Dandelion’s clothed cock, fingertips dipping under the hem of his chemise, grazing the skin underneath and rising along his sensitive side. The shudder cascaded down his spine like a waterfall.

“Gods, your fingers.”

“Gods, your everything.”

Dandelion had to suppress an urgent moan when a thumb came tickling the edge of his nipple, his cock throbbing in the aftermath. He was seized by the sudden need to wipe the resulting grin off the other’s face, and began working, no – tearing Jaskier’s breeches open.

“Easy, love.” The fingers previously clutched in his hair softly loosened to come brushing the side of his jaw, the stubble on his chin, then landing on the lip that had been hanging open the whole time, expectant. “You wouldn’t want to rile me up beyond compare. We both know how that ends.”

“Oh, I know,” he said steadfastly, “It ends with you begging for a release you will never be getting. Just because you’re taking me doesn’t mean I don’t get to tease you beyond compare.”

Dandelion’s lips curved into a side smirk and he slowly, tentatively, closed them around Jaskier’s thumb. He felt him shudder underneath and when he glanced up, he captured bright blue hues gazing back at him with profound desire. Dandelion knew desire did not suit every commoner, but Jaskier wore it like a king wears his crown, with pride and a hint of control.

And gods it suited him.

His tongue twirled around the soft pad of his thumb, grazing the side of it before taking it in entirely. Their eyes remained locked on each other, until Jaskier’s gaze gave in and followed the bobbing motion of his head. Each time Dandelion reached the bottom of his thumb to suck on the sensitive flesh connecting to his forefinger, he would enjoy the sight of his eyelashes falling hooded with gripping want.

Eventually, Jaskier grew impatient and peeled his digit out of Dandelion’s flush lips, bringing it to his own and dragging his tongue over it, licking it clean.

And accidentally, unintentionally, Dandelion moaned. Aloud.

“Oh love, oh dear, oh sweetheart,” Jaskier’s tone came fluttering out of him with a hint of amusement. He cupped Dandelion’s face and pecked the corner of his lips. “Am I making you wait too long, leaving you wanting? Want me to kiss you harder, rougher? Want me to make every inch of your gorgeous body tremble with the sweetness of the thrill? The things I could do to you, oh, a brothel whore would blush at the mere mention of it all.”

Dandelion’s cock pulsed at the thought. “Gods.”

“Trust me, dear.” Jaskier placed a soft peck on his bottom lip, whispering. “The gods have nothing on what I’m about to do to you.”

Dandelion might have as well been swept off his feet, literally. His balance was lost, his back hit the mattress, and Jaskier regained the upper hand once more. His mouth parted open to utter a snarky remark or two, to ease the tension until he could reclaim his dominance, but Jaskier was having none of it. He captured his lips then and there, worked him open with his tongue, and made a moaning mess out of him when the breeches came undone and his hand came grazing the edges of his entrance.

“What is it, darling? Have something to say?”

Dandelion’s teeth sank into his bottom lip in an attempt to hold back a whimper when a cold finger slipped inside him. It was oiled and ready, and Dandelion was utterly confused as to how and when he had found the vial let alone spread its content over his hand. When he looked up, it was already being placed on the night stand and Dandelion knew he was done for.

“You look gorgeous, honey,” said Jaskier, his breath heavy against his ear, “Now, see, I know what you desperately want right now. And we both know what you must do to get it.”

Then Jaskier trailed the tip of his tongue over the edge of his ear.

“Go on,” he purred, “Beg for it.”

Dandelion moaned, voice high-pitched and sultry and the echo of it must have sparked something in Jaskier, whose delicate fingers began working him open in slow, sensual thrusts. Tender kisses were laid on his earlobe, the crook of his neck, and teeth dipped lower to graze the sensitive skin of his collarbone.

And Dandelion was losing his mind.

“Gorgeous,” purred Jaskier, “So beautiful. So perfect. So slutty. All for me.”

“Gods –“ he cried, “Please. Please, I beg you. Fuck me, Jaskier. Fuck me now.”

“Oh, darling,” he grinned, content, prideful, “Gladly.”

The slender fingers left him void and aching. The warmth of his tongue came to remind him of a closeness he had never experienced before. Gentle and passionate, just how he liked it. His breeches came undone and his legs spread open willingly, welcomingly. The sight of Jaskier parting him open with lust sparkling in his eyes was enough to make him come, and it was painful to hold himself back. Just a little bit longer, he reminded himself. Just a little bit longer and –

“Gods fucking above you’re so good for me,” Jaskier whined, voice cracking at the word good. His cheeks burned red and his mouth gaped. His hands came supporting himself on each side of Dandelion’s waist and with a slow, desperate thrust, sent both of them moaning in unison.

The room’s details melted in the background and soon all what Dandelion could hear and feel and see was Jaskier. The trickling of the sweat down his neck, the fluttering of his eyelashes, the peeking of his tongue while he fucked him slowly, tiredly, at first, then his teeth sank into his bottom lip and his hips grew restless, the slow rhythm soon to be thrown out of the window.

Dandelion clasped his hands against the headboard and braced himself for what was to come. The bed creaked louder underneath and Jaskier above him, with his doublet wide open and his chemise unlaced, exposing a trail of curly hair that glistened under the dim lighting of the room. There was something captivating about his heaving chest, his disheveled state, and his clothed body, something about being fucked by a man who worked you inside out in the exact manner you loved being worked. It was like a dream come true. Something straight out of his deepest, darkest, most desperate fantasies.

Dandelion, moaning and trembling, wanted to believe it was all a coincidence. Because this was just him, and clearly they fucked similarly, nothing to make more out of. But then those thin, long, perfect fingers came curling around his throat, those lusty eyes came gazing down at him from above, that smirk curving at the side of his mouth, condescending and cheeky.

And Dandelion understood he was doing it, all of it, on purpose.

“Oh, the look on your face, my love.” Jaskier’s breath hitched while he dived into him, “Makes the most skilled of whores pale in comparison, and trust me, I have fucked oh so many. But never, ever have I felt this absolute thrill, this – gods, this carnal urge to use everything I know makes you writhe and squirm and moan against you. Gods forgive me, I want to fuck you until you can’t walk for days and I know you love it when it aches after.”

A high-pitched cry of pleasure echoed in the room and Dandelion could not believe it came out of him. He wanted to retort, to speak his mind, to tell him that he wanted it, yes, gods, he did, he wanted it so badly. But when he opened his mouth all that came out were sultry, hoarse moans that were worthy of the whore he had become.

His cock swelled, the pit of his stomach burned, and a delicious haze had begun slipping into his head under Jaskier’s firm yet careful grip. Those fingers. Those fingers. They pressed all the right corners of his neck and Dandelion was gone for the split of a second, higher, further, somewhere that was beyond.

His orgasm might have as well sent him straight to heaven’s door.

When he came back to himself, the hand around his neck had loosened and Jaskier’s weight was heavy on top of him, all breathy and sweaty and completely and utterly fulfilled. He felt his cock still buried deep inside, stuffing him sensually, the slick of it a sign that he had spilled, too. Dandelion wrapped lazy arms around his body and sighed in pure content.

Few seconds passed by, then Jaskier dared lift up his head. He looked so prettily overdone. A sight Dandelion was never going to forget. Then he grinned like a fool, cheeks flushing in the aftermath, and Dandelion’s stomach fluttered with something that wasn’t there. Something tender, and real.

“You look like you’ve been sent to heaven and back,” said Jaskier.

“Would you –“ his voice broke, so he cleared his throat, and tried again, “Would you believe me if I said I was? I think I have seen the gods for a split second, shaken their hands, thanked them for whatever magic that brought you in my life, then floated my way back here to wake up complete.”

Jaskier laughed heartily at his words and, supporting his weight on his elbows, traced kind fingertips over the curls plastered to his forehead. He dragged a strand behind his ear and as he leaned in to press the softest of kisses on his lips, Dandelion’s heart gave out a wild throb.

“Thrilled to hear my cock could send you places,” he said, grinning. “And what’s that look on your face, darling? Have you been struck by love?”

“You wish,” Dandelion scoffed nervously.

“I do,” admitted Jaskier, then he let his gaze fall back on his mouth. “Have been for a while, actually.”

Dandelion fell suddenly still.

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no.

This wasn’t happening –

When Jaskier leaned in to taste his lips again, Dandelion realized it was already too late.

-----

@kueble @electricrituals @jaskierswolf @geraskier-trash @selectivegeekwithstandards

#jaskilion #jaskier x dandelion #jaskier #dandelion #smut

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moonlights-inkwell · 4 years

Text

Just Relax and Come to Bed With Me

Jaskier x Reader

Word Count: 4,333

Summary: Dreams are such delicate things, especially when there’s something there to aid them. A Bard in a dress may not have been the bait you thought it to be- especially when there is a girl alone in the woods.

A/N: This has plot now, and I’m ashamed of myself for not being able to just write smut normally. Oops. Also, I wound up merging Aswangs and Incubi in this to make them a little more interesting, and to look at the reader's experience with Jaskier and sex. Title from Little Miss Why So.

Warnings: smut. Kinda dub/con- it’s in a dream so I don’t know if it counts, vampire shenanigans, Gore. Blood. Canon typical violence but like. It’s kinda gross.

Part 1

He has you crowded against the wall, knee between your thighs and grinding painfully slow against your clit, sea-blue eyes half-lidded and coupled with a self-satisfied smirk. Hands grip your hips painfully tight, so tight you almost worry that you will bruise under such treatment, and you shiver when one hand releases your curve to reach up and squeeze your breast- rolling your nipple between his forefinger and thumb, stopping briefly to pull on it. Breaths come out in shaking gasps, and your fingers curl into the silky black fabric of his doublet trying to pull him as close to you as you can manage. Pink, parted lips glide over your own, but don't linger for long- instead moving down to the curvature of your jaw and you feel teeth nip at the skin.

“Jaskier-" You gasp out, trying to angle your head to capture his mouth with your own but instead of him kissing you, he chuckles before dragging the flat of his tongue across the flesh he had just bitten. “Jaskier~”

The whimpering of his name does little to encourage him as you had hoped, if anything it just makes him move his mouth down to your throat. It’s almost unbearable; being touched while simultaneously not, kissed but not. He smirks against your flushed skin, biting and sucking at the column of your throat as if to mark you- to make proof of how you are quaking beneath him, how he has you dripping with very little effort. It’s blissful, the feeling of overwhelming heat mixed with how the muscles of his thigh are dragging slowly across your cunt, but something is... not quite right. And you can’t quite lay your finger on what is wrong.

He’s silent. Jaskier isn’t saying a word. That’s what it is. Dandelion is never quiet, never so... harsh. He asks if he can touch you, murmurs sweet nothings into the shell of your ear while rubbing circles into your hips, not silently gripping you like he expects you to change your mind at any second. Kisses are always interrupted by his words; whispered revelry about how shocked he is by your willingness to be involved with him, words that sound like snippets of songs you’ve never heard him sing. Silence is what you have in its place. There's no bird song, no wind, no crackling from the fire and no noises from the bard. Not even so much as a moan or gasp. The only noises you can hear is your own breathing, even when you strain to try and hear his there is nothing but the hammering of your heart and shaking breaths.

“...Jaskier?” The moans have left you entirely, and the words come out strained by concern. He still does not say a word, and your worry is only intensified by this; Jaskier is never silent. You try and think of a joke that might make him laugh or speak but nothing comes to mind. A cold hand slides easily into your trousers, past the boundaries of your undergarments to circle your clit once, twice, before burying two of his fingers in you, twisting and scissoring. You were sure you had left your trousers tightly laced but he worms his hand into them as if they’re completely undone.

“Yes?” He mutters. His voice is choked and muffled by your own skin; you can’t help but release a soft moan which he takes as encouragement to increase the speed of his fingers thrusting inside of you. The sickly feeling that something being wrong does not leave you, but intensifies instead. Your moaning ceases as you attempt to work out just what isn’t right but the Bard's fingers still move at that rapid pace. Jaskier never just says things like yes on its own, he’s much too verbose for that, and never says anything to you without adding some sort of affectionate name along with it. Dear Heart, Little Miss, Darling Love, My Muse... even when annoyed with you he uses pet names, like Little Terror or Gremlin. You can’t think of a time in recent memory when the bard hasn’t addressed you with a name only he uses, it’s so often that you could almost fret he doesn’t quite remember your name, but then, sometimes, in taverns when the beer’s sweet haze has turned from comfortable to sickly, he whispers your name so softly into the space behind your ear and you swear you can see stars behind your eyelids, especially when his hand takes yours and fingers intertwine as he guides you back towards your room in the inn. Even then, he asks softly if he can kiss you goodnight before turning in to the room, he shares with Geralt, and even when in a drunken state you know just a little too much shame to beg him to share the mattress and show you what a bard's fingers can truly do.

Because you and Jaskier aren’t intimate. You want to be, want the simple pleasure of pleasing him, but you aren’t. Jaskier doesn’t want to push you into progressing before you’re ready, and you’re too shy to ask him to fuck you. Except for earlier. Earlier, by the fire when you had given up on shame and instead just wrapped your fingers around him and smiled at the feeling of hard, rigid flesh throbbing in your hand, showing that the want for progression isn’t one sided. In that moment, every moment where you’ve thought about being under the bard, you hadn’t even thought about his fingers being inside you. You hadn’t even known that was an option at all. When he said he wanted to put his mouth on you, you thought he meant kissing, but with two digits buried to the knuckles in you and the heal of his hand pressing into your clit you’re starting to think he meant putting his mouth on your cunt- though for what purpose you have no idea. You had always just... thought about his cock being inside of you. How it must feel to have that appendage pushing into you while his fingers curl into your hair, shifting it out of the way of your ear so that he can whisper sweet nothings.

Fingers. Callous-less fingers move at a rapid pace within you, curving and parting in search of something, but what you don’t quite know. Jaskier's fingers are calloused beyond belief, marred by years of ballads and epics and witty ditties played on too many string instruments to count, but these hands are as smooth and soft as you had believed Jaskier's to be when you first met him- believing him nothing more than some noble slumming it in your pub. The realisation has your thighs squeezing together in an attempt to squash the hand breaching you, but instead the man-who-isn't-Jaskier only seems encouraged, flexing his fingers while your own grip his doublet, moving the fabric between your fingers deliberately.

Jaskier wasn’t wearing a doublet earlier. In fact, you've never even seen Jaskier in a colour as dark as black. Black is a colour that is reserved for Geralt. The Witcher wears black, you keep yourself in neutral whites and browns but the Bard? The Bard keeps himself in pretty colours. Blues and greens and violets, colours that look deeply out of place in the villages and woods you stay in. Vibrant colours and the sorts of pastels that inspire some jealousy in you, wishing you had dresses in such delicate, expensive looking fabrics. Dress. Jaskier was wearing a dress. Your dress. He was wearing it to act as bait for something. Something. Something. Why can’t you remember what it is? Something that wants girls. Soft, silly girls alone in the woods; girls like you. Made all the more alone by her companions going to hunt a beast. You couldn’t come, the beast would want you, a real girl, and so they left you alone. The dress, your dress, white and flowing and godlike on his frame, is a world away from this black suit on the body of someone who-isn’t-Jaskier-but-looks-like-him. You stare at him, at the clothes, and see it. Buttoned doublet and fully laced chemise, something that he could never do. It’s always near completely undone, thatch of hair visible from the plunging neckline of every shirt he wears- a man as flirtatious and playful as Jaskier would never fully button any shirt unless at a ball.

When did he even return to camp? Recent memory is fading, and all you can remember is him pushing you roughly and slamming his mouth on your own. Successful hunts never end like this. Geralt goes to collect his coin, Jaskier pulls you to him and whispers affirmations of your wits and bravery then insists you rest, you return to wherever you can sleep and feel the adrenaline seep from your body to allow you peace. Even unsuccessful hunts don’t end this way. The ones where beasts take too much fight before they die, when they get away, those end with Jaskier letting you use his legs as a pillow as he hums a lullaby that you don’t know the words to. You can’t recall the melody and it’s a more frightening thought than you would ever have thought a forgotten tune to be.

Finally, he seems to have taken notice of your silence and pulls himself back from your throat to stare at you. It’s Jaskier's face, and it makes you uncomfortable because it isn’t acting as it should. He’s always beaming, always glowing from the inside out with joy, but his brows are threaded in confusion, looking at you as if he thinks you might do something brash. You don’t know what you might do yourself, and so you stay silent and stare at him. Same high cheekbones, same cupid’s bow, same fine eyes on the same fine face; you try in vain to find something amiss, but he looks as he always does. No subtle difference, no mark that should be that isn’t, and no mark that isn’t has magically arrived.

“Sweet thing,” He starts, angling his head to kiss the corner of your mouth, and it isn’t right. Sweet thing isn’t anything Jaskier calls you; it feels patronising and demeaning, not what someone calls a travelling partner, even if you spend much of your time kissing that traveling partner.

None of this is right. This isn’t Jaskier, and beyond him all you can see is darkness though he's illuminated like it’s the middle of the day. Your mind is tripping over itself trying to figure out what is happening, why that darkness is creeping closer and closer, and why even though your mouth is opening you cannot summon any words to say, and where is your sword? You always have it close at hand, but now it’s nowhere to be seen. Where is Geralt? Where is Geralt? Where's Roach? Where's the fire pit, and felled tree or makeshift tent where Jaskier insists you sleep? Where is The Witcher when you need him?

Hunting an Aswang, something in the very recesses of your mind reminds you, and all at once you feel cold,

“Aswang,” you can hear a phantom of Geralt say, “a sort of vampire.”

You're cold. Too cold. Not just the sort of cold that comes from a chill in the air, but one you know better than you would like. The feeling that comes when you’ve lost quite a substantial amount of blood. Cold that comes right before the earth begins to turn in on itself and makes you shake with fear. Healer's Cold, Geralt calls it, because when you feel it you need a Healer immediately. The last time you felt it was the first time Jaskier ever kissed you, when a werewolf had crushed your ribs and torn your side open. Geralt calls it Healer's Cold, or the result of being a fool. Jaskier calls it inspiration- a means of writing a new song that will earn enough coin to feed and house you. You? You call it Dying. Blood and life ebbing out of you until there is nothing left at all, not even sure if you have enough time to try and make your way to some healer.

Finally, the last pieces of the puzzle fit into place when you think of the spot on your throat that this thing has been mouthing at, and shakily your hand reaches up to touch it. It’s wet, but when you pull your hand back there doesn’t look like there’s anything on your fingers at all. You can barely see anything at all, but your own skin is dry to the naked eye. But you can feel it, wet and warm and haunts you every month. You'd know the feeling in the dark, know it blind and dumb, and when the scent hits your nose it’s all the confirmation you need. Blood.

Horror must be written across your face, because a sickly, patronising grin settles across the imposter’s face. With his mouth parted you see them; fangs, eerily white and reminiscent of a dog's. No, no. Not a dog. A wolf. A kind of beast that could and would rip out your throat without a thought. Hungrily, happily, eagerly even. Anything so that they can feast. You’ve never seen a vampire before, and never expected one to look like Jaskier. But it doesn’t look like Jaskier, does it? It’s just making itself look like Jaskier, using your feelings for the bard to lower your guard. You try to move, but it feels like your body is made of lead and something slimy and wet is wrapped about the base of your neck, dripping onto your clavicle.

“Sleep, sweet thing.” It doesn’t even attempt to mimic him now; its voice is raspy and dry and reminds you of rocks passing over each other or bones hitting each other. “And for what it matters, you were delicious~”

Sleep sounds marvellous. How sweet it would be to let your eyes slip shut and slip into sleep. To sleep. To sleep perchance to dream. The body is a traitor, and however hard you try to keep your eyes open; they fight against you and flutter shut and-

“Little Miss!”

Jaskier. Actual Jaskier, his voice rings through your mind and your lips turn up in a sleep addled smile before the not-Jaskier before you let’s out a blood curdling screech, but you can’t hear it at all, not over

“Melitele! GERALT! You'll be fine, Little Miss. I promise you. Please open your eyes, Muse. Please, please open your eyes. Just a little. Please.”

Lashes flutter against cheeks as you stop trying to fight the need for sleep, feeling the thing holding you in place drop you, and you know you ought to land on the ground but you don’t. You don’t land at all: you just... fall. Down. Down. Down, from where you have no idea, but you can feel the wind rush through your hair and up your sleeves as your heavy lids finally shut, only for that to be the exact moment you feel your back hit the ground-

You shove yourself up from the ground quickly. Too quickly, in fact. Everything about you twists in on themselves, and a pair of bare arms wind about you to keep you upright, only realising when they’re around you that you were swaying.

“Gods above, Little Miss.” Jaskier sighs softly from behind you and holds you in place before moving his body closer to press his chest to your back. The smell of lavender and musk tells you that it's him, really Jaskier, pet names and dress clad and warmer than the flames of hell, and even with that knowledge in mind, you fling yourself forwards and out of his reach. The fire behind you is crackling and roaring, but you still feel cold, the orange flames illuminates the look of hurt on the bard's face. You stare at him, and wait. Wait for his mouth to warp and change, fangs to appear and the corners to turn up in a sickening smirk. But it never happens, he just keeps his distance, and stares at you as you stare at him. He’s really himself. Beautiful, wonderful Jaskier, but you can’t bring yourself to move back towards him all the same.

A gruff call of your name comes from the other side of the fire, and it takes a second too long for you to realise it’s Geralt.

“You alright?” He asks, but your tongue won’t cooperate with your mind and so no words come out. “Jaskier- is she alright?” He sounds concerned. Still, you cannot quite connect why he sounds so concerned to what is happening around you, all you know is that you’re afraid. Afraid of the-thing-that-isn’t-your-bard. Afraid of pointed canines, a growing darkness and cold. Cold that seems from the inside out, carries whispers from people you cannot see. You turn, albeit slowly, to look for The Witcher: finding him on the other side of the flames, sat atop a creature that you assume must have been the creature that had been in your head. It doesn’t look like a creature. It looks like a man, but not Jaskier not anymore. He, It, is pale as snow, with fair hair that curls around his face in boyish waves and big green eyes. The only thing that looks wrong is the mouth. Those fangs, long and perpetually glinting, grinning at you.

“Hello sweet thing-" The thing beneath Geralt says, voice dripping with contempt and lust that makes you shake.

“Do Not fucking speak to her.” Geralt snaps at it, head turning to face you. His eyes are pitch, and the baring of his teeth reminds you all too much of the thing he's cursing at. “Jaskier-"

“She’s... she’s scared, Geralt.” Jaskier says gently, and you turn back to face him, meeting his eyes once more, they never leave your face. “She’s bleeding everywhere.”

That’s news to you. You can’t feel anything, not the fire behind you, the grass under you or the wind, there’s nothing. Nothing at all, so you look about wildly. Bad idea, really.

Blood. Or what looks like it any way.

He was right. It’s everywhere. The ground, your blouse, the once stark white fabric of the dress now stained a rusty red across the Bard's lap. Though you cannot see it, you don’t doubt that it’s in your hair, matting and sticking the strands together into a bloodied clump. A hand shakily lifts from your side, feeling like your veins are filled with lead, and you see it. You couldn’t see it at all in your dream, but now here it is for all to see. Blood. Sticky, dark red blood, perfectly visible on your skin. You can’t feel it’s warmth, or smell the copper, but you know they must be there. Especially with how Jaskier’s nose wrinkles in a cringe, but you cannot bring yourself to care. The wound is giving no pain, no smell, no warmth. It doesn’t feel like an injury, well, not your injury at least. Instead, it feels like you’re looking at the result of someone else’s misfortune. It is yours though. The pitying look that the bard is giving you proves that. Your hand moves up quickly to your throat but before you can make contact with the skin Jaskier all but flings himself at you and tugs your hand down holding it gently in place. It takes too much effort to not flinch away from him, afraid that he’ll fix his mouth over that wound and take all that’s left to take.

It wasn’t him that hurt you, you know that; truly you do, it was the thing with fangs beneath Geralt, who smirked at you as if you were old friends sharing a secret. Jaskier’s just unfortunate enough to be the only person who’s face it could have taken. Only person who’s mouth you want at your neck.

“No, no, no Dear Heart. Don’t you do that at all, Darling.” He coos to you, like trying to placate a frightened animal. You feel like a frightened animal; shaking like a leaf, coated in your own blood, and unable to verbalize a thing. Bottom lip trembling, you try and speak out your fear, but just a croak comes out in its place. “Oh Darling, please, no. Don’t. You're hurt, don’t exert yourself.”

“J-J-Jask.” You force out, almost screaming when you're hit by the pain in your throat from speaking. Oh, Melitele’s tits, it is most definitely your wound. You wish you hadn’t tried to speak. You could have fooled yourself that the blood was the beasts until the tendons began to shift. Tears spill unbidden, and Jaskier leans in and presses his lips to the space between your eyebrows. It should be comforting but it isn’t, it makes you flinch and wait for the other shoe to drop.

“Please, please don’t speak.” He pleads and you nod weakly, swaying unconsciously until he gently pulls you by the shoulders to rest your head on his knees. “Geralt!” The only response that comes is a grunt, and an all too familiar darkness surrounds you once more, making you whimper.

“J-Jask... jask-" You whisper but he shakes his head, trying to shush you. “It’s so dark...” He heaves a heavy sigh and kisses your forehead again, holding onto your cheek,

“You’re going to be fine, Muse. I promise you'll be fine; we’ll get you to a healer. We'll have you to a healer and you'll be fine and well and warm and safe, I promise you. I promise.” You believe him, or believe that he believes what he says.

“It... It looked like you.” You croak pitifully and he looks down at you, eyes watering and fingers gently rubbing at your face while his other hand covers your neck and presses down. It feels like your skin is ablaze for a few agonising seconds, but then it’s replaced with a kind of relief, dull but still present, lessening the ache even if just a little bit. It looked like him when it tried to kill you, but now it is him, trying so hard to keep you alive. You were wrong earlier, when you thought that sex would be what had him stealing the very heart from his chest, it instead is him desperately attempting to keep it beating. Letting himself be smothered in your blood in a need to keep you alive.

“Darling, please stop talking.” He begs and you go silent, he kisses your forehead for your cooperation. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” He whispers your name, head hanging over you so you can stare easily at his face. Weeping, hair swept about his face by the wind, and with bare skin, he looks like a statue. Some tragic warrior cradling a dying lover. “I’m so fucking sorry.” Feels right, somehow, to spend your dying moments admiring him.

“...You look like a god.” You murmur, more to yourself than to him. The muscles that work to make you speak pass over the pads of his fingers, and you feel like you'll be sick- knowing that the thing-that-wasn’t-Jaskier had done such damage that your flesh was torn and the muscles were exposed to the air in this way. Brunet hair hangs in front of his eyes and you notice the tears dripping down his face and watch one fall onto your face. Nothing at all. You watched it fall, know it must have landed on your cheek, but you don’t feel it at all. All you can feel is pain and bile rising in your throat, knowing logically that blood must be bubbling up in wet, copper-scented waves over the hand trying to compress your wound. He doesn’t complain. Just apologises, as if this is somehow his fault. You want to apologise, but before you can even attempt it you can no longer keep your eyes open and feel yourself drifting somewhere between sleep and awake as Jaskier begins to shout for Geralt once more.

“Dear Heart? Darling. No. No, no, no, please, don’t. Stay awake for me, please don’t go.” Jaskier insists. He worries far too much. “Please keep your eyes open. Look at me, please look at me Darling.” You open your eyes once more, but you can't even see him anymore. His frenzied calling of your name and for the Witcher is nothing but whispers to you now, the only thing you can focus on is the moon.

You asked the moon to keep Jaskier safe and Jaskier is safe, you ought to thank it for that. Really, all you can think is that the moon truly must have a sick sense of humour, to keep him safe at your expense. Geralt has a sick sense of humour too, maybe the white wolf got it from the moon itself. You smile. It feels like the moon is smiling back at you, glittering and winking back at you as if it expects you to be grateful. You aren’t grateful, not for your shredded neck or how the world around you, but for Jaskier's safety you are grateful; so the smile remains all the same as you slip slowly towards what feels like sleep.

Drifting, slipping between the veil of wake and dreams, you could swear you hear your mother's voice, singing as she used to when she baked. It’s the thought of poppy seed bread, slathered in honey and butter while still warm that sees you finally sleep again.

“Little Miss? Little Miss? No, no open your eyes. Little Miss! Geralt, get here now!”

“Jaskier, we need to-”

Were you awake, you might have heard the choke in the Witcher’s voice, felt the tears of the Bard land on your skin. But the only one there to watch is the moon, silent in her judgement.

#jaskier imagine #jaskier x reader #jaskier x you #jaskier smut #jaskier x y/n

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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 4 years

Text

The Sound of Your Voice

doing this thing | day 30 - mutual masturbation

I had to change the prompt for today because it turns out I had marking on the list twice. Also, it’s late (sorry) because my brain was empty until late last night and then I got v carried away with this one.

Jaskier throws himself onto the bed, sighing happily as he shuts his eyes and Geralt forces back a smile as he sets his things down at the end of his own bed. For once, they haven't been travelling long between inns, but it's been a long day and Geralt at least is happy for a comfortable bed and a decent meal - and some time to himself while Jaskier inevitably finds some other bed to warm. It may not have been a long time on the road, but Geralt's patience has been tested with every moment of it.

The weather is beginning to turn and Jaskier, constantly walking and no temperature regulation to speak of, has taken to removing his doublet most days and pushing his sleeves up to his elbows. On occasion, he's threatened to remove his shirt altogether and, although it had been a throwaway comment, Geralt had nearly toppled right off Roach and into the stream they'd been following.

It's not as though this is a new habit, he's been doing it for years but this spring is... worse. This spring Geralt is dealing with a rather frustrating realization that he does, in fact, quite like having Jaskier around - to the point where he was miserable for most of the winter without him, wondering what he was doing and who he was with back in Oxenfurt. Eskel had just given him a knowing look, but Lambert had wandered around the keep telling anyone who would listen (Geralt) about it every five seconds.

Geralt doesn't think often about things like love. The closest he ever got was with Yen and that was... a train wreck, in the end. But he's been thinking about it a lot lately and as he looks across the room to where Jaskier is basking in a ray of sunlight, he thinks if he did love anyone, it might be him.

"Well," Jaskier chirps, sitting up with his feet on the floor, "I think I'm gonna head downstairs. Will you be joining me?"

"Not tonight, I don't think."

"Alright then, darling, enjoy your rest. Should I come collect you for supper?"

"No. Thank you. I'll be fine."

Jaskier flashes him a warm smile and crosses the room, slipping through the door with a final little wave to Geralt. Geralt hums to himself as he strips away his armour, piling it neatly on the floor. The work is mindless after so much practice and as he goes, Geralt thinks about Jaskier. He's probably starting his set about now, grinning out at the crowd and working them up with his charm. All the better Geralt is up here and not down there with him.

When Jaskier performs, he puts on a show, flirting with everyone in the room without a single word. He dances and slips through the crowd, pressing up close when he can and winking at those who stumble into his orbit. Although, Geralt has learned it's rarely an accident that people end up in Jaskier's presence.

They don't realize it's all a show, they don't know what Jaskier is like under it all and, Geralt suspects, they don't care to. They want their moment in the sun, they want their night in his bed or with him in theirs, but nothing more than that. It's part of the reason Geralt doesn't mind the constant flirting. He can't ask Jaskier to love him back, but he knows that no matter whose bed Jaskier winds up in, he always returns to him.

Beneath his feet, the music starts and Geralt's lips twitch up into a soft smile. Tugging off his boots, he climbs up onto his bed and lays down on his back, shutting his eyes. He'd much rather listen to Jaskier's performance up here where he can enjoy it without having to worry about anything else. Jaskier has a terrible effect on him most of the time, but when he's performing, when he's and sweaty and he's got his doublet undone and his shirt unlaced- Geralt groans at the thought of it.

And when he gets hot, his shirt clings to his chest, clearly defining the musculature he so often has to avert his eyes from. And oh the way he smiles when he catches Geralt watching him, like nothing in the world could make him happier than catching Geralt's attention. It's intoxicating and Geralt is weak against it. Even now just thinking about it, his body heats and his cock stirs.

He settles in, resting a hand on his hip as he gets comfortable. From his bed, he can perfectly hear Jaskier below him, can picture each of Jaskier's movements by the inflection in his voice. He hadn't realized how well he knew Jaskier's performance, but somehow it doesn't surprise him.

His fingers twitch and he focuses on the sound of Jaskier's voice, aware of the way his cock twitches at the sound of him. He's alone for a while, Jaskier has only just started his set; he has time now and he could just listen to him, there's no harm in listening. As his fingers drift, slipping closer to the growing bulge in his trousers, Geralt assures himself that he's not the only one who's ever gotten off thinking about him. He can smell the arousal in the air every time as men and women alike are drawn in by Jaskier's display.

Geralt presses the hell of his hand against his crotch as below him, Jaskier finishes one song and begins another. This one is faster, too raunchy for respectable crowds, but the guests seem to enjoy it and, although he'd never admit it, it's one of Geralt's favourites. It also gets him worked up quicker than anything. He has no intention of telling Jaskier that either.

He spreads his fingers down over the swell of his cock, cupping the base of it and dragging his fingers up the length of it. Pleasure zips through him and his eyelids flutter. It's been too long since he's had any sort of relief and it's starting to show; three times today, he tripped over something because he was too focused on the way Jaskier's shirt was plastered to his back or the way his muscles shifted beneath it.

But now he has time. When they're on the road, camping wherever they can find shelter, he doesn't get a chance to take things slow and really enjoy it, at best he gets a quick wank in the woods while pretending to gather firewood. So far, Jaskier hasn't caught on, but it's only a matter of time before he starts to wonder what's taking him so long. Not that it does take him that long, not with Jaskier's scent still close and tinged with sweat and the sweetness of arousal that clings to him near constantly.

His cock jumps under his fingers and Geralt groans. If he's not careful, he won't last long tonight either. He's fully hard now, his cock pressing up against the front of his trousers and he wraps his fingers around himself , stroking firmly through the thick fabric. He bites down on his lip, an instinctive response brought on by years of travelling with a companion and his hips shift, pushing up against his palm.

Stupidly, he lets his mind wander, imagining Jaskier's fingers wrapped around him without the barrier of fabric between. Jaskier is always so focused and considerate with his lovers, so fully attuned to them and worried more about their pleasure than his own. Geralt knows if they ever made it to bed together, Jaskier would be the same with him, regardless of how much Geralt might try to turn the tables on him.

And he could easily overpower him, press Jaskier down into the bed and prove his affection, kissing it into every inch of his skin until Jaskier shakes beneath him. Fuck. The thought along makes his cock throb and he wants to shove a hand down his trousers and jerk himself hard, but he knows Jaskier will return to their room, if only for a moment to put his things away, and he can't let him find him like this.

Abruptly, the music from below stops and Geralt's hand freezes where it's drifted to the buttons on his trousers. He hadn't realized how long he'd been daydreaming and Jaskier's finished his set and he'll be upstairs soon. But then, he hears Jaskier's laugh ring through over the crowd and a softer, lilting voice respond. Jaskier has found someone for the night. Geralt doesn't listen to their conversation, but he catches of course, darling, right away. So Jaskier won't be coming back to their room, which means he's free to do whatever he pleases.

Gods, but he knows Jaskier is heading back to someone's room right now and he wishes it was theirs, wishes that he was the one Jaskier was hoping to jump into bed with. He unbuttons his trousers and slips a hand inside, wrapping around himself as he imagines Jaskier climbing into his bed in the middle of the night. He has nightmares sometimes, the thought isn't even that far-fetched, only this time, Jaskier doesn't curl up against him and sleep. This time, he presses his nose into Geralt's neck, slides a hand down his chest and there's no way he could help himself in that position, he'd be hard before Jaskier ever reached his cock.

And oh how Jaskier would make him sing. He's good with his hands, and Geralt would know after all the hours spent watching them. Jaskier would bring him right up to the edge in no time, but he'd make him wait because he'd want it to last. And Geralt would whimper and whine and ache for him, but he wants it to last just as much.

Geralt's cock throbs against his palm and he arches off the bed with a groan. Without Jaskier's voice to ground him, he feels wild and he bucks up into his hand, careful not to think about where Jaskier is or what he's doing.

There's a creak outside the room, but he doesn't think anything of it. Jaskier's performance is over, people will be heading up to their rooms for the evening now. Some will stay behind, but what's the point when the beautiful bard is gone? Geralt doesn't blame them; he's just as bad. He slips his thumb over the head of his cock and has to bite his lip again to muffle a moan, all thoughts of the outside world banished by the rush of pleasure.

There's a soft gasp from somewhere far too close and Geralt's eyes flash open, searching the room. Jaskier is standing at the foot of his bed, flushed a rather pretty shade of pink, and shifting uncomfortably. Geralt is about to apologize when he catches the scent of him, thick and sickly-sweet and when his eyes drop, the bulge in Jaskier's trousers only confirms his arousal.

Geralt releases his cock, shifting further up the bed and beckoning Jaskier closer with a single finger. To his shock and delight, Jaskier's eyes go wide and he stumbles over himself in his rush to get onto the bed. Jaskier settles on his knees between Geralt's ankles doing his best to keep from staring at his cock but his focus keeps slipping and each time it does, Geralt throbs under the attention. He doesn't quite know what to do with this. He supposes he should say something.

"I thought you'd found someone to spend the night with," he mutters, his voice thick with arousal and disuse.

"You were listening?" Jaskier asks. He doesn't sound upset, just intrigued, and Geralt takes that as a good sign.

"To your music," Geralt clarifies and Jaskier's eyes go wide again. His pupils are blown wide, so dark Geralt could lose himself in them, but then Jaskier opens his mouth again.

"Were you listening to me while- Geralt, were you getting off listening to me?" There's nowhere to hide, here. Jaskier just walked in on him with his cock in his hand and he all but admitted to it already.

"Yeah," he breathes and a quiet whine escapes Jaskier's lips.

"Fuck, that's- do you do this often?" Jaskier's hand slips between his thighs and Geralt barely holds back a groan.

"No. I usually come down to watch." Jaskier's mouth drops open, but it's too late to change what he said, now.

"Geralt?" Jaskier asks, shifting closer so his knees bump the insides of Geralt's thighs. "Does it... turn you on to listen to me perform?" He could easily say no, lie about it and say something else got him hard, but Jaskier is sitting between his legs doing absolutely nothing to hide his own erection, so why would he bother? Jaskier likes this and Geralt isn't going to do anything as stupid as let him think he doesn't.

"Yeah," he reaches out, brushing his fingers down Jaskier's arm - the one not currently rubbing himself through his trousers. "I think about you sometimes, too." That much is a lie, but only just. He thinks about him almost every time because he rarely finds himself so desperate unless he's already thinking about Jaskier.

"Fuck." Jaskier squeezes himself through his trousers and Geralt's eyes drop to follow the motion. He wants to tell him that it's okay, that he wants to see him touch himself, but the words won't come. He seems to get it.

Geralt watches, transfixed, as Jaskier fumbles with the clasps on his trousers. He watches as his hand disappears inside, wrapping around himself and pulling his cock free and his skin tingles watching him. He's so focused on Jaskier's cock, on the way it slips between his fingers and the soft little sounds he makes when it does. He doesn't even realize he's rubbing himself again until Jaskier lets out a little groan and Geralt's eyes snap up to find him watching.

"You're gorgeous," Jaskier breathes. Geralt isn't sure he's supposed to hear it, exactly, but he lets his fingers slip down Jaskier's arm, trailing down the inside of his thigh. "Just look at you." He strokes himself a little quicker, rolling his hips onto the touch and Geralt has to wonder for a moment if he's not dreaming.

He watches the way Jaskier's hand moves over his cock, slowing down to squeeze around the head with every stroke and he commits it to memory. If he's ever in a place to touch him, he wants to be able to do it right, to give Jaskier exactly what he likes. But what he likes, apparently, is not so complicated as that.

Geralt's finger slip under the head of his cock and a moan escapes his lips before he can bit it back, but the way Jaskier's hips stutter makes it hard to regret it.

"You like that?" he asks and Jaskier lets out a breathless chuckle, sitting back on his heels.

"I like everything about you," he breathes, catching Geralt's gaze as he shrugs out of his doublet and gets a hand on himself again.

Like this, Geralt's view of his cock is perfect and Jaskier looks incredible like this. He's still sweaty from performing, and there's a dark flush in his chest that creeps all the way down. Geralt's hips jerk as he thinks about tugging Jaskier's shirt over his head. He wouldn't need it anyway and Geralt would give anything to get his hands on him, to run his fingers through the thick thatch of hair.

Geralt groans and shifts up the bed, readjusting himself to lean against the wall. Jaskier follows. He climbs up over him, straddling Geralt's thighs and settling himself in his lap. From here, Geralt can feel the heat radiating from him and he aches to reach out and touch him, to wrap his fingers around the curve of his pick and bring him off himself. His own cock twitches at the thought and he squeezes hard, sliding up to the head.

Without thinking, he reaches out, curling a hand around the back of Jaskier's head and bringing him closer. Jaskier whimpers as their lips brush, but as soon as Geralt's lips part, he presses into it, arching against him so their cocks slip against each other. The moan that slips from Geralt's lips is lost, but Jaskier presses forward, intentionally rocking his hips against him as he kisses him deeply.

He can't help himself, not with Jaskier pressed against him, teeth dragging along his lip. He tugs at Jaskier's shirt, easily freeing it from his trousers, and brings it up over his head, breaking the kiss for only a moment to rid him of the offending material completely. Jaskier only hums and reaches up to cup Geralt's face with one hand as he deepens the kiss again, slipping his tongue between Geralt's lips.

Their cocks slip against each other disjointedly, but Geralt is too preoccupied with the expanse of skin as his fingertips to care too much about finesse. He runs his hands over Jaskier's chest, letting his thumbs press just a little firmer over his nipples. The responding gasp against his mouth is intoxicating and he does it again, this time slipping one hand lower to wrap around his cock.

He finds where they meet and takes them both in hand, moaning as Jaskier's cock jumps at the touch. He's already been close for so long now, he's afraid he won't last, but then Jaskier breaks away, pressing his face into Geralt's chest with a groan.

"Oh," he breathes, "careful, love, you'll make me come like that." The words hit Geralt like a wave, knocking into him and setting him off balance, but he can't resist teasing just a little.

"I thought you were a renowned lover," he whispers, pressing his lips to Jaskier's jaw and working his way down. He flicks his eyes up to Jaskier's as he reaches his chin. "Are you gonna come so soon?" Jaskier's eyes fall shut and his breathing is uneven.

"If you don't stop talking I'm gonna come even sooner than that. Do you have any idea what you do to me? What the fact that you get off to my voice does to me? Fuck Geralt, with a confession like that you're lucky I didn't come in my trousers." That image settles itself in Geralt's subconscious and he groans as he hauls Jaskier's mouth against his own again.

He wants to make him come, wants to see the look in his eyes as he tips over the edge and know he's the one who did that. Jaskier meets him thrust for thrust, pressing so close that Geralt has to pull his hand away. He wraps his arms around Jaskier's waist instead, panting against his mouth as they rock in tandem. Their movements are uneven and jerky but fuck if it doesn't feel good and it's barely two minutes before Geralt can feel his orgasm approaching. He pulls from Jaskier's mouth, resting his forehead on his shoulder.

"I'm gonna come," he pants and Jaskier's hand slips from his neck up into his hair.

"Please, love," he whispers, "come for me."

That's all it takes before he's spiralling, spilling hot and wet between them as Jaskier continues rutting against him. His head is foggy with lust, but he manages to find Jaskier's mouth, kissing him hard as he rides the high of it.

When his heart finally returns to a steady beat and he can hear past the blood rushing in his ears, he opens his eyes and finds Jaskier looking back at him, the same dopey expression on his face.

"You've been holding out on me," he teases, kissing a line down Geralt's neck. Geralt's still coming back to himself, but he shuts his eyes and leans into it.

"Did you come?" he asks and Jaskier hums against his skin.

"So hard I thought I'd pass out. You have no idea what you do to a man, do you?"

"In my defence," Geralt mumbles, "you never told me."

"Well, I'm telling you now." Jaskier's thighs shake as he lifts himself from Geralt's lap and as he flops down next to him, Geralt curls an arm around his waist, pulling him close. Jaskier smiles as he looks up at him. "You make me crazy, Geralt." He runs a hand through Geralt's hair and tips up to kiss him slow and soft

He's still wearing his boots so Geralt bends, tugging each of them off in turn and tossing them on the floor. Jaskier gives a little grunt of indignance but Geralt wraps both arms around him and deepens the kiss and that seems to satisfy him. But when he pulls him closer, Jaskier squirms.

"Sleep," Geralt mumbles, his mind already slipping. Jaskier huffs a laugh and tugs at his shirt.

"At least get out of this." Reluctantly, Geralt detangles himself from Jaskier's arms, pulling the shirt up over his head. It falls to the floor with Jaskier's boots and he turns back, pressing back into Jaskier's embrace.

"Happy?"

"Very," Jaskier hums, "I do just have one question about all of this."

"Hmm?"

"Is this just a sex thing, or-"

Geralt's mind immediately jumps back to watching Jaskier lying in this sun earlier this afternoon. HE smiles and presses his nose against Jaskier's.

"No, it's not." Jaskier sighs happily and tucks his chin under Geralt's, pressing kisses against his throat.

"I never thought I'd be so happy to hear you tell me no."

#rex writes #geraskier #smut #october prompts 2k20

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pressedinthepages · 3 years

Text

Frantic

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Jaskier/Reader

Rating: E

Masterlist

a/n: Reader Request: [Hello! I have a fic request for Jaskier x reader: Jaskier fingering her while sitting behind her on horseback. Would be a shame if Geralt rides with them, of course aware what‘s going on. 😈] listen so i know i said this when i answered the ask but this idea was literally the same thing that was the first request i ever made for someone else. so this felt very like, full circle.

also thanks to @sometimesiwrite for being a second set of eyes XD

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: language, smut, fluff, horseback shenanigans

Jaskier lends a hand (and some fingers) on the last leg of a journey.

The sun lingered just above the horizon and bathed the fields of sunflowers in a wash of orange light. The flowers were all turned away from you, reaching for the last tendrils of life before the moon began her nighttime sigil.

Geralt sat proudly on Roach’s back in front of you, slowly meandering down the trail towards the treeline some distance away. You leaned down and offered your own horse a few scritches behind the ears as you called out, “Will we be stopping there for the night, Geralt?”

He only hummed in response, but you had come to expect that. In fact, you had even been able to recognize a few different hums and what they represented. One meant yes, another no, yet another was specifically directed towards Jaskier to ‘stop it.’ Said bard was traipsing along at your side, dutifully plucking at his lute as he composed in his head.

You watched the end of the day’s caress of his face, his cheeks high and light, and his eyes shining an ethereal blue in the waning sun. He glanced up and caught your gaze, his lips blossoming into a grin brighter than that of a thousand suns.

“Care to join me for the rest?” You asked with a gentle tilt of your head.

Jaskier pondered a moment before slinging his lute over his back. You guided your horse to stop and you scooched forward a bit in the saddle. Jaskier fit his foot into one of the stirrups and used your hand for leverage to pull himself up and swing his other leg over the horse. His chest pressed firmly into your back, and his legs fit themselves tightly against your own. Jaskier slowly snaked his hands onto your waist and over your stomach, holding you snug in his grasp.

You could feel the steady thud, thud, thud, of his heart against your back, and it seemed to be speeding up just a bit the longer you both sat in the saddle. Jaskier rested his head on your shoulder, his chin just in the crook of your neck. You felt his gaze trailing up your arms and down over your chest, finally falling between your legs. Arousal bloomed in your core and you could feel how wet you were becoming with each passing moment.

“Slow down just a tad, darling,” Jaskier murmured, his voice low and husky in your ear. His thumbs rubbed idle circles into the soft flesh of your tummy as you pulled on the reins, letting Geralt push further and further ahead. You saw him glance over his shoulder briefly before turning back with a roll of his eyes and a minute shake of his head. Once Geralt was far enough away, though, you knew you were in for a treat.

Jaskier let his hands wander now, one traveling up to cradle your breast, while the other traveled lower the junction of your thighs, spread wide over the horse’s back. He gasped into your hair when his fingers met the wet fabric of your trousers. “Fuck, love,” he whispered, nibbling gently on the lobe of your ear, “always so ready for me, hmm?”

You nodded, trying to focus on the reins in your hands and not the very insistent set of fingers trailing along the line of your sex through your pants. “Been watching you prounce around all day in those tight little trousers of yours and your chemise half-undone for the world to see. Can you blame me?”

He chuckled, that fucker, before carefully tugging at the laces holding your pants closed. His other hand lightly kneaded the soft skin of your breast, playing with the nub through the fabric of your tunic. “I felt your eyes on me all day, my dove,” Jaskier murmured, his fingers dragging down under the delicate embrace of your underclothes. “I couldn’t leave you wanting all night, too…”

Jaskier pressed his lips to your neck and started to suckle a mark into the tender skin just as he swiped a finger through your folds. You keened into him, arching your back in an effort to push him closer to where you wanted him. But he reached up with his other hand and wrapped it over your mouth, rubbing slow circles against the bud of nerves at your center.

“Now,” he whispered, dark and pressing hard into the small of your back with his own arousal, “are you going to behave?”

You whimpered into his hand and nodded frantically, your eyes fluttering shut as you shifted your hips to allow him better access. Jaskier’s fingers bent and pressed slowly into your core, pulling a muffled groan from low in your chest. Your head thumped back onto his shoulder and you turned, blindly breathing into his neck.

Jaskier chuckled as he pleasured you, thrusting his fingers in and out as his other hand dropped back to your breast. “Mmm, always so good for me. You always know just what I need, my sweet.”

You keened quietly into his neck as his breathing picked up, tightening your grip on the reins in your hands. He ground his palm against your cunt with each thrust of his fingers, drawing your climax closer and closer to the light. “Come now, darling,” Jaskier whispered in your ear, “before we get in the trees.”

You arched into his hands and gasped, muffling yourself into your own lips. Jaskier shifted and raised your head to his so that he could swallow the sounds of your pleasure. You floated in bliss, suspended on a flimsy strand of being before plummeting back down into yourself.

“-fuck, love,” Jaskier was gasping into your mouth as he gently slid his fingers out of your core. You felt boneless against him and you sagged back into his chest as he started to redo the laces of your trousers. You blindly reached behind you for Jaskier’s arousal but he batted your hands away as Geralt loudly cleared his throat ahead of you.

“You two stay and make camp here,” he called, already leading Roach further into the forest, “I’m going to make sure the area’s clear. It may...take a while.”

You chuckled to yourself as you watched Geralt disappear into the shadows. You hopped off your own horse and pulled at Jaskier’s arm, desperately trying to get him to join you on the ground. Once he finally did you moved swiftly, pushing him backwards until his back rested firmly on the trunk of a tree. “Now,” you smirked, dropping to your knees and pulling at the laces of his pants, “it’s my turn.”

#jaskier x reader #smut #fluff

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spencer-reid-in-a-pool · 3 years

Text

It Was You All Along (Part 3)

Tags: @ayyyyitswednesdaymydoods @blackjay04

Author’s note: This one is a bit short, but I was just too excited to post it! Enjoy the angst~

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

The rest of the day went by fairly quickly. I’m not really sure if that is good or bad, but at least the hunt Geralt went on was successful and he made some coin. Now, it was Jaskier’s turn.

The tavern owner agreed to let Jaskier perform tonight before we head out in the morning. Honestly, I was looking forward to it. Maybe I could clear my head while listening to him sing.

Geralt and I sat across from each other at a table in the back of the tavern, each of us gripping a mug of ale. Jaskier stood off to the side of the makeshift stage getting his lute ready and adjusting the collar of his doublet.

“Keep staring like that, and your eyes just might freeze,” Geralt muttered over his ale.

I jerked myself out of my stupor and turned to the big oaf in front of me.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Geralt.”

“I’m sure you do.”

I glared at him and turned back to look at Jaskier who was now being announced as the performer for the night. What does Geralt know? Not a damn thing. He’s probably been hit in the head too many times to even remember how to spell his own name. Idiot.

As Jaskier introduced himself to the crowd, I couldn’t help but notice the gaggle of desperate girls in the very front, pointing and giggling while he spoke. It was like that at every tavern, but this time it rubbed me the wrong way. And I really don’t know why.

“What a bunch of morons,” I grumbled into my ale as I brought it to my lips.

I noticed Geralt looking at me over the mug’s rim.

“You should learn to mind your business, Witcher,” I spat at him.

“And you should learn how to read your own feelings.”

What would he know about feelings? Nothing. Nothing at all.

“Piss off, Geralt.”

I’m not really sure where this anger came from. All I knew was that I was frustrated, and I could feel it bubbling inside me. I almost felt like hitting something. Almost...

But when I looked at Jaskier performing, a smile gracing his lips and his hands strumming his lute, that anger disappeared. It was replaced with another feeling. A happier feeling. But also a sad one. I really couldn’t describe it. I had never felt anything like it before. But I liked it. I think I liked it, at least. It made me feel better, to look at Jaskier. His happiness was contagious, and I wanted more of it. I wanted it for myself.

As I watched him, I thought back to this evening in the square, when I caught up to him after the dance and had all those thoughts flitting through my mind. Just recalling them made my heart speed up. And as he finished his rendition of “Toss a Coin to Your Witcher,” my heart sank and my thoughts stopped all at once.

“Oh, gods...”

Geralt glanced at me from the other side of the table with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face. My face was on fire as I turned to face the wall.

“Shut up, Geralt, or I’ll cut your hair in your sleep.”

He laughed quietly to himself, a low rumble erupting from his chest. I knew we were both thinking the same thing. He just knew about it before I did.

I was in love with Jaskier.

Said bard moved on to his next song, but I wasn’t really listening. I was staring at the girls that were still fighting for Jaskier’s attention. Is that all it takes? A few brain cells and exposed breasts? Maybe I have more of a chance than I thought I did.

He shot them a wink as he turned on stage, pulling out all the theatrics for this one. I couldn’t help but feel a bit hurt by it. But he did it everywhere he performed. It was part of his charm. It was part of what I liked about him, I guess. But every other girl liked it too, and that made my heart feel heavy.

Jaskier finished his set with a flourish, and he made his way over to us. I was on my second mug of ale and Geralt looked as if he was bored to death.

Jaskier plopped down next to me, his doublet slung over his arm, leaving him only in his undershirt. The white fabric clung to him, and sweat glistened on his forehead. But he looked very pleased with himself. And his smile took my breath away.

“So what did you think? Good, yeah?” he asked us as he waived at a server for a drink.

“It was great!”

He turned to me, his chest still heaving a bit from his heavy breathing. The corners of his lips were turned up in a smile, and he looked down at the drink that was set in front of him.

“Thank you, love,” were his words to the woman that brought it to him.

She smiled and left. And I had to keep from glaring at her.

Geralt cleared his throat and I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. A hint of the smirk he gave me earlier was reappearing on his face, and my foot shot out to meet his shin underneath the table in response. If it hurt at all, he gave away nothing. He simply stood and looked down at where we still sat.

“I’m going to bed. You should too. If you aren’t up on time, I’ll leave without you.”

And then he was gone. Which meant that it was just me and Jaskier at the table now. Under normal circumstances, this would have been fine. But I was feeling anything but normal at the moment.

Jaskier turned towards me and opened his mouth as if to say something, but then closed it suddenly, looking up at what seemed to be my head.

“Oh, your flower crown has already started wilting! I wonder if there’s any way to save it.”

His lithe fingers, so sure of their movements, reached up to my head and gently grasped the crown. As he took it off, the edge of his knuckles gently grazed my forehead, and the contact made me shiver. Thankfully he didn’t notice because he was looking at the flower crown with genuine concern in his eyes.

“Perhaps you could press the petals in a book to keep them. To remind you of our epic adventures when we are all old and gray!” Jaskier said with a childlike grin.

His words made me smile too, and I took the crown from him gently, my forehead still tingling where his skin made contact with mine.

“Perhaps I will,” I murmured quietly.

It was at that moment that the woman who brought Jaskier his drink earlier approached our table once again. She was very pretty, with her long blonde hair done in a loose braid. She had big doe-like eyes that reflected the soft light of the tavern in their blue irises.

Jaskier glanced up at the movement next to us and when he realized it was a person, he flashed her a smile.

“What can I do for you, darling?”

“You’re Jaskier, right?” she asked excitedly.

“The one and only,” he said with a wink.

“I just- well, I couldn’t help but notice you tonight. Like really notice you.” As her words left her lips, she leaned over the table, her breast a bit exposed at the top of her dress.

“I’m done working for the night, and I was wondering if you wanted to...get to know each other a bit.”

I swear I could feel bile rise in my throat as she talked to him. And it only got worse when he placed his hand over hers on the cracked wood of our corner table.

“All you had to do was ask, love.”

Tears began forming in my eyes and I had to blink rapidly to keep the stinging feeling they brought at bay. The woman giggled and grabbed Jaskier’s hand, pulling him up from his seat.

As they walked away to what I assumed was her room, Jaskier turned to me with a crooked smile and a glint in his eyes.

“Don’t wait up for me!” he yelled back at me.

I sat frozen, clutching the wilting flower crown to my chest to try and bring some sense of comfort to my racing heart. To try and remind myself of the good day I had with my best friend. But it wasn’t working. And long after he left, I was still staring at the spot he had been standing when he gave me his parting words.

“I won’t.”

I didn’t get much sleep that night. I didn’t think I would. My room was right beside Geralt and Jaskier’s and that was all I could think about. Would he even return to his room? Or would he spend the night with that woman from before? I stared at the ceiling as I thought about all this, gripping the blanket a bit too forcefully. When I realized my knuckles were becoming sore, I released the blanket and got out of bed. I’m not sure where I was going, but I just couldn’t sit still anymore.

I glanced out the stained window next to the washtub. It was pitch black, and a few stars twinkled in the night. The stables were right below my room, and I could see Roach in her stall. That made me smile a bit. Lily was two stalls down from her, munching on something. I gave a small laugh, though it sounded more like a clicking noise than anything. I wasn’t truly in the mood for laughing.

Deciding that I needed to move again, I made my way across the room towards the door leading out into the hallway. Maybe I’ll take a walk around to clear my head a bit. As I reached out to grab the door handle, I heard footsteps coming closer. They were heavy and spaced out. Whoever it was walking was not really all there. A drunk perhaps. Maybe I need a drink. That sounds like a good idea...

I cracked the door open to leave, but then I saw who it was stumbling down the hallway. It was Jaskier. Of course it was.

He was leaned against the wall, stepping here and there. He was clearly drunk, as I thought before. His doublet dragged behind him from where it was clutched in his fist, and his shirt was halfway undone and untucked from his pants. Even in the shadows of the night I could see the dark purple marks blooming along his throat and collarbone. Tears threatened to spill over once more, and I decided to close the door.

But before I did, I saw that he made it to his room, and he went in. Then I heard voices. Geralt must have still been awake.

I didn’t really know what I had in mind. All I know is that in a split second, I was on the other side of the room, leaning my ear against the wall that divided me from them.

Surprisingly, I could hear them talking. But I couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying because of my pulse pounding in my ears. Taking a few deep breaths to calm myself down, I closed my eyes and began to concentrate.

“...couldn’t have been any quieter when coming in?”

I heard a scraping sound and a thud. I assume Jaskier sat down in a chair.

“Shut up, Geralt.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” was Geralt’s gruff reply.

My heartbeat picked up again, causing me to only hear bits and pieces of their conversation that followed.

“...wouldn’t understand...what do I do?...”

“You want advice?...grow a pair...stop whining...”

“...seeing her was...bad idea...(Y/N) can’t know...don’t want her...”

I decided I had had enough when I felt tears pricking my eyes for what seemed the millionth time that day. My hands met the wall and pushed the rest of me off. He didn’t want to see me? Is that what he was saying? That it was a bad idea to be around me?

I wasn’t sure if I was more hurt or angry or confused. So I made my way back over to my bed and fell into it with a sigh that felt like I had been holding it in for hours.

I prayed to whatever god was listening that I could sleep tonight without dreams.

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whitecrowapothecary · 3 years

Text

Bottled Delights (4)

This is the final chapters folks! In this, Jaskier makes good on a promise, and Geralt explores something new.

Tag list: @love-more-today-than-yesterday

Read it on AO3 here!

Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Geralt had a fascination with Jaskier’s mouth. He wasn’t sure if it was because they were together now or because he knew what Jaskier was, but he stared. He also didn’t know which would be worse. His lips were always moving, talking or smiling or singing, and Geralt got to see first hand how he did not hide those sharp teeth of his. Not in a way that affected Geralt anymore. Jaskier had dropped his glamour after Geralt had caught him a week ago and apologized. Jaskier was not amused when Geralt had called it an illusion, because he ‘wasn’t a mage’, and so Geralt had asked what he should call it.

Geralt found himself watching Jaskier far more than was necessary, but he found Jaskier watching him nearly as much, eyes dark with hunger. The look made Geralt intimately aware of the blood rushing through him every time, as if it called to Jaskier as much as Jaskier called to him with a sly smile or crook of the finger. Geralt had just about had enough of it too- so that afternoon, Geralt told B.B. that under no circumstances was anyone to come into the house after lunch. B.B. had been a bit confused by the request, but did as he was instructed. Workers were cleared out quickly, and Geralt and Jaskier were the only ones around for dinner that night.

Jaskier had quirked a brow when people had begun to clear out, but Geralt merely sipped his drink and shrugged. He was the one to take care of the dishes that night, and he was drying his hands, trying to figure out how to broach the subject when arms wrapped around his waist and a slim body pressed against his back. Lips press against the skin right behind his ear, and Jaskier’s voice is velvet.

“Someone has plans.” Geralt hums, leaning back into Jaskier’s arms and delighting in the easy way that Jaskier’s arms tighten around him. “Are you that eager, darling? It’s hardly been a week.”

“I’ve been patient this long.” Geralt’s voice is scratchy, rough in his ears compared to Jaskier’s, but Jaskier chuckles, and his voice takes on a husky tone.

“I would say so.” Jaskier grazes his teeth over Geralt’s neck, sending shivers down his spine, and he wordlessly takes Geralt's hand to lead him from the kitchen. Geralt hardly registers going through the main room to get to his bedroom, but he hears when the lock clicks, shutting the two of them in. Jaskier leans back against the door, eyes half lidded, and he nods toward the bed. “Undress.”

This- isn’t quite how he was expecting things to start, but Jaskier’s voice is firm and Geralt does as he asks. He feigns calm indifference the best he can, tugging his shirt up and over his head and slipping out of his boots. He pauses for a moment when he gets to his pants, glancing up at Jaskier, and he smirks when he sees Jaskier watching, enraptured. The ties come undone easily, and Geralt lets them drop, stepping out and trying not to feel self conscious. Jaskier’s eyes roam over him, taking in the sight of Geralt undressed, and his brows raise.

“You aren’t done.” Warmth pools in Geralt’s stomach at Jaskier’s tone, and he hooks a thumb on either side of his smallclothes. They drop to the floor to join his other clothes, and now he’s truly bare. Jaskier huffs out a small breath, coming forward to smooth hands over Geralt’s chest. His fingers trace each scar, large or small, and something warm and flimsy takes residence in his chest. “On the bed, love.”

Geralt pushes the blankets down to the end of the bed, crawling into the middle and laying down on his back. He should feel vulnerable, exposed and on display like he is, but Jaskier stares at him like he’s been given a gift, shrugging off his doublet. It’s Geralt's turn to admire Jaskier as he strips, taking the time to pick his own clothes off the floor and tuck them somewhere safe. Jaskier digs through his things for a moment, looking for something, and comes back to Geralt quickly. He crowds into Geralt’s space, settling between his legs and humming when Geralt squeezes his thighs around Jaskier’s hips affectionately. Geralt props himself up on an elbow, admiring Jaskier between his legs and wondering aloud. “Have you done this before?”

“I’ve done many things in my life, love.” Jaskier leans down, kissing a trail from Geralt’s stomach up his chest, scraping his teeth over Geralt’s collarbone. His skin stings with the sharpness of Jaskier’s teeth, but he hasn’t drawn blood yet. “But never this.”

That pleases Geralt immensely for some reason. For Jaskier to trust him enough to even suggest, let alone go along with it? It makes heat boil through him, and he can feel his cock twitch against his hip. Jaskier notices immediately, and he brings a hand down to pet over the new scar on Geralt’s thigh. Shocks shoot through Geralt at the touch, and he gasps, thigh twitching madly the longer that Jaskier traces gentle fingers over it. None of his other scars are quite so sensitive, so new, and he reaches a hand up to draw Jaskier down. He kisses Jaskier to hide the noise he makes, and Jaskier laps greedily into his mouth, tasting them for himself and shuffling a bit closer. Geralt hears the soft pop of a cork, and he strains, listening closer. He doesn't smell anything out of the ordinary, but Jaskier has learned quickly that unless he wanted Geralt to have a sneezing fit their oil had to be relatively scentless.

Still, he jumps at the first slick finger sliding over his hole, and he moans against Jaskier’s mouth. This is another thing they haven’t done yet- Jaskier was content to take, to rock in Geralt’s lap, but Jaskier had told him that wouldn’t happen if he drank. The thought had gotten Geralt half hard in an instant, and now as one warm finger circles his hole anticipation builds in his gut. Jaskier kisses him as he teases, pressing a finger in just to the first knuckle before slipping back out. Geralt groans against his mouth, disappointed, and his back arches against the bed when Jaskier slides a finger into him and crooks. He’s merciless immediately, and Geralt’s hips jerk when Jaskier’s finger rubs over that spot inside of him.

“Fuck, Jask-” Jaskier chuckles quietly, his other hand resting on the bed beside Geralt’s ribs. He keeps himself propped up, and the only point of contact they have is Geralt’s thighs around Jaskier and Jaskier’s finger working in and out of him slowly. Pleasure trickles through him in easy waves, washing over him and making his muscles relax. He tilts his head back, panting and groaning when a second finger prods at his rim. The second finger goes in as slowly as the first, and Geralt focuses on the feeling of being slowly and thoroughly stretched out. Jaskier spends his time trailing kisses across Geralt’s chest and collarbones, particularly taken by the juts of bone and fond of scraping his teeth over them. Geralt feels the moment that Jaskier finally breaks skin at the same time that a third finger presses up and into him, and Jaskier inhales sharply.

He goes still over Geralt, fingers pressed deep as he inhales, breath hot against Geralt’s skin. Geralt’s hand comes up before he realizes what he’s doing, and he touches the back of Jaskier’s head lightly. “It’s okay.”

Jaskier’s tongue flicks out, and he shudders at just the small taste, thrusting his fingers in and out roughly. Geralt moans, shifting his hips down and hand idly petting at the back of Jaskier’s head. Jaskier seems to tire of the teasing, and he pulls his fingers out, sitting back on his haunches and reaching for the oil. His cheeks are flushed, eyes bright, and he still seems with it as far as Geralt can tell. Geralt watches as Jaskier slicks himself up, and Jaskier has Geralt scoot further up the bed. He’s close to the headboard now as opposed to in the middle, but that seems to be what Jaskier wants. He searches Geralt’s face for a moment, and his lips twitch in a private smile.

“You’re sure about this? I’ll be near insatiable.”

“I can handle it.” Geralt promises, spreading his legs a bit wider and smirking at the way Jaskier’s breath catches in his throat. Jaskier crowds into his space, cock pressing insistently at Geralt’s hole while he tucks his face against Geralt’s neck.

“Let’s pray you can. Sing for me, love.” Geralt opens his mouth so say something cheeky, but Jaskier presses into him slowly and Geralt’s hips shift down of their own accord. He almost loses himself in that sensation alone, but teeth prick at his neck, razor sharp, and Geralt is caught between the instant of pain as Jaskier’s teeth sink in and the pleasure of Jaskier’s cock sliding deep inside him. Jaskier’s hips roll slowly as he takes his first mouthful of blood, and Geralt hears himself moan faintly over the sound of wood splintering. The drag of Jaskier’s mouth against his neck is an odd sensation, but he can’t feel Jaskier’s teeth anymore and sparks shoot over his neck and down his chest as Jaskier takes another long drink. Geralt hears wood crack again, but Jaskier’s hips pull back and snap forward and Geralt quickly stops caring about the sound.

Geralt shifts in Jaskier’s grip, whining when Jaskier snarls against his neck and gathers him up. His head spins at the sudden change of position, and he’s seated firmly in Jaskier’s lap as Jaskier thrusts up into him. Geralt wraps an arm around Jaskier’s neck, fingers sliding into the bard’s hair to hold him close. Jaskier makes a pleased, throaty sound against Geralt’s neck, pulling back to lap lazily at the wound. Geralt can feel his flesh knitting back together faintly, but Jaskier’s cock is pressing against his sweet spot and he’s quickly losing any semblance of formal thought. Jaskier keeps himself seated deep, grinding his hips up, and he’s so, so hard inside of Geralt, body thrumming with energy. Geralt blinks his eyes open, panting and taking in the sight of Jaskier in all his glory.

His pupils are blown wide, overtaking the blue of his iris’ entirely, and there’s blood on his lips and smeared on his chin. Geralt dips to kiss him automatically, and the metallic copper taste of his own blood shouldn’t be nearly as attractive as it is. Jaskier seems to like Geralt lapping into his mouth for more of a taste, and he rocks up harder into Geralt. Geralt lifts and drops his hips in time with Jaskier’s thrusts, coming back together hard, and he gasps when a hand wraps firmly around his cock. He arches up into the touch immediately, grinding forward and moaning against Jaskier’s lips. His release builds rapidly as Jaskier strokes him in time with his thrusts and Geralt rocks between the two sensations, breathing raggedly. He doesn't think he could ever tire of the way Jaskier feels under him, muscles shifting with each strong, smooth thrust up into him.

“I’m- fuck, m’close, Jask.” He finds it difficult to talk, especially when Jaskier’s other hand grips his hip tight and he can imagine the bruise it'll leave. Jaskier growls softly, his hand speeding up just a bit as he thumbs the head of Geralt's cock, making the other man groan. He wants to give another warning, say something, but heat boils in his gut as Jaskier's hips stutter, a faint whine coming from Jaskier. He's close, just as desperate, and Geralt works his hips in time with Jaskier, kissing him as his release hits him. Jaskier follows a heartbeat after, snarling softly and burying himself deep, lapping into Geralt's mouth as Geralt pants, moaning and sagging in his lap. His heartbeat thunders in his ears as he tucks his face into Jaskier’s neck, panting and moaning as Jaskier works him through his orgasm. His hand stills sooner than it usually would, and Geralt makes a soft little noise in his throat.

“Sorry I-” Jaskier’s voice is muffled, and despite having just come he’s still achingly hard inside of Geralt.

“Oh.” Geralt breathes, pulling back and looking closely at Jaskier. He looks- high for lack of a better word, cheeks flushed darkly and eyes half lidded. Geralt shifts in his lap, grinding down, and Jaskier moans, shuddering. “I don't want you to stop.”

Jaskier’s eyes meet his, and Geralt squeezes around Jaskier to goad him on. Jaskier snarls a warning, words scrambled in his throat, but Geralt is lifting up out of Jaskier’s lap and turning. He doesn’t get very far before Jaskier is crowding up against his back, a hand gripping the back of Geralt’s neck and pressing his chest down into the bed. Geralt goes without any resistance, trusting wholeheartedly in the man who’s got him pinned. The hand lingers for a moment, brushing Geralt’s hair out of the way before Jaskier kisses the spot. A hand guides Geralt’s hips a bit higher, and Geralt groans as Jaskier quickly seats himself back inside, teeth digging into the back of his neck without drawing blood. Geralt can feel his chest vibrate with the moan that falls from his lips, and Jaskier rumbles against his back, pleased. Jaskier’s hands are bruising on Geralt’s hips as he thrusts, fucking into Geralt with hardly a thought for anything else. The bed frame creaks perilously, protesting at Jaskier's strength, but Geralt pays it no mind, moaning as Jaskier angles his hips and slams very pointedly against his prostate.

Geralt can feel Jaskier’s come on his thighs when Jaskier pulls back, and he has a very sudden thought that Jaskier is going to keep stuffing him fuller and fuller. One of Jaskier’s hands slides down, tracing over Geralt’s scar and tickling at the soft skin of Geralt’s inner thigh. Geralt isn’t sure what he’s doing until Jaskier’s fingers dig in a bit, spreading him a bit wider, and Geralt whines as Jaskier presses just a bit deeper. Geralt can feel himself growing closer and closer, and he’s floating pleasantly on the edge when Jaskier’s hips still and warmth floods him. He moans, tightening around Jaskier and squeaking rather unbecomingly when Jaskier snatches at his hips.

“Sorry, you haven’t- I need-” Jaskier’s voice is deeper than Geralt has ever heard it, and Geralt shifts, arching his neck to the side. Jaskier’s nails dig into his skin, and his whole body goes still. He has the stillness of a predator, watching, waiting, and Geralt goes up onto his hands despite the way that Jaskier tries to press him back into the bed. It’s considerably harder to do now that Jaskier isn’t trying to hold back his own strength, but Geralt sits himself back in Jaskier’s lap and grinds down. His neck is still arched, and he eyes Jaskier, raising a brow as if to say what are you waiting for? “Geralt, you could-”

“Please.” Jaskier groans, the sound vibrating against Geralt’s back, and Jaskier doesn’t say anything else as he latches back onto Geralt’s neck. The witcher moans at the flash of pain that comes with the first draw, and he melts back against Jaskier as he drinks, hips grinding lazily up into Geralt.

He doesn’t seem as frenzied, though with each mouthful he takes Geralt’s head spins more and more and Jaskier throbs inside him. He can feel himself faintly getting sore, but Jaskier is so gentle, sipping from him slowly and rolling his hips up softly. Jaskier doesn’t do much more than that, but Geralt tenses in his lap and comes, untouched. Geralt feels Jaskier huff out a hot breath, and he twitches as Jaskier drags his fingers through the mess Geralt has made of his stomach. Geralt's eyelids flutter as he leans heavily back against Jaskier, and Jaskier pulls back, licking the wounds closed and humming into Geralt’s ear.

“You’re so good for me, love. You’ve taken me so well. Can you be good, just a little bit longer?” Geralt nods, but he’s drifting, head swimming, and Jaskier guides the both of them into a comfortable lying position on their sides. Geralt’s eyes close once his head hits the pillow, and he relaxes back into Jaskier’s chest when the man rolls his hips. Geralt’s cock gives a twitch, but he’s exhausted already from the blood loss and he isn’t going to get anywhere. Jaskier presses his face into Geralt’s shoulder, panting raggedly against his skin and whining when Geralt squeezes down around him. “So good, can you keep that up, darling?”

Geralt gives a tired little hum but does as Jaskier asks, tightening around Jaskier and moaning softly when Jaskier shudders. Jaskier drapes an arm around Geralt, tugging him so they’re flush together, and Geralt very nearly falls asleep then and there. He feels Jaskiers teeth in his skin, little dots of pain, but he isn’t drinking, merely leaving marks that heal quickly without Jaskier needing to do anything. The backs of his shoulders are quickly covered in the marks, and each tiny taste of blood has Jaskier’s hips rutting into him a little bit harder. Geralt slides a leg forward just a bit and Jaskier cries out against his back, hips snapping up at the way Geralt squeezes around him from the movement. Geralt smiles when Jaskier whimpers his name, hips rolling up and stuttering messily as he comes, filling Geralt up even more.

Jaskier pulls out of him slowly, as if unwilling to do so, but Geralt sighs at the reprieve, relaxing into the mattress as Jaskier pets his stomach. Geralt falls asleep to Jaskier murmuring sweet nothings against his shoulder, drifting in and out of consciousness. Jaskier slips away from him at some point in the night, and he’s woken briefly to drink a tea that frankly, tastes awful. He feels much better after drinking it, and Jaskier smiles, telling him it helps with blood loss. His pupils are still blown wide and his hands shake when he takes the cup, but he’s gentle and refuses to let Geralt do anything when he smells Jaskier’s arousal. Geralt falls back asleep and doesn’t wake until he hears a soft growl and senses Jaskier leave the bed.

He sits up in bed quickly at the noise, a hand shooting out to keep himself from falling over again when his head goes fuzzy at the sudden motion. The candles have burnt low, but Geralt sees Jaskier immediately, standing by the window and letting an early morning breeze blow across his skin. Geralt slips from bed, ignoring the way his hips twinge as he pads up behind Jaskier and wraps his arms around him. Jaskier freezes for an instant before he relaxes, sighing softly. “Can’t sleep?”

“Still coming down.” Geralt hums in surprise at that, and he holds Jaskier close with one hand, wrapping the other around Jaskier’s still-hard cock. Jaskier jerks in his arms, swearing, and Geralt strokes him slowly, nuzzling against Jaskier’s neck as he shudders. “Geralt…”

“Hmm?”

“If you don’t go back to sleep, you aren’t going to.” Jaskier warns, voice rough, and Geralt laughs softly. Jaskier’s hips jerk again as Geralt’s hand disappears briefly, coming back much slicker than before. Jaskier growls at the sensation and Geralt nips at his neck, smiling when Jaskier snarls dangerously. Geralt does it again, twisting his wrist at the same time, and Jaskier dissipates into smoke. It disorients Geralt for a second, but Jaskier reappears and grabs roughly at Geralt’s thighs. Geralt goes up into Jaskier’s arms easily, ankles locking behind Jaskier’s back as Jaskier lines up and lowers Geralt down onto his cock. Geralt gasps at the instant fullness, moaning when Jaskier’s teeth dig into his neck, anchoring him.

Jaskier takes him twice up against the wall, not actively drinking but driven by the taste of Geralt in his mouth. Geralt’s thighs cramp at holding his own weight, but Jaskier keeps him up when Geralt’s own strength fails, hips pinning him back against the wall and dragging moan after moan out of him. He’s sore in ways he’s never been before, but the pain lets him drift, mind hazy, and an orgasm rocks through him when Jaskier presses up into him and bites down harder, making Geralt’s hand tighten in his hair. Jaskier’s got him back in bed when he finally begins to come down, and Geralt watches the process with sleepy eyes. Jaskier sways, pupils constricting to pinpoints and something human coming back to his eyes slowly. His hands tremble when he gets a towel to wipe Geralt up, and Geralt draws him in to kiss him gently. His mouth tastes like blood, new and old, but Geralt has quickly grown used to the taste and he holds his love close until his body finally slows. Jaskier goes boneless in his arms all at once, exhausted, and Geralt hugs him close as the two of them drift off.

-*-

Geralt hears a crow cawing outside when he wakes up, the sun low in the sky. They’ve been locked away for more than a day, based upon the sunlight rapidly leaving them, and Geralt twitches his fingers to light the candles in the room. They’re practically nubs by now, but they’ll do as Geralt rises from bed. His knees give out briefly when he first stands, back protesting, but he gives himself a moment and then rises again. Jaskier is curled up on the bed, a hand idly searching for Geralt. He doesn’t find him, but he does grab a pillow and clutch it close, appeased by the scent Geralt has left on it. Geralt peers out the window at the crows lining the stone wall outside his house, and as soon as the first crow spots him the rest of them alight, flying off into the night. Regis must be checking in on them.

Geralt goes about drawing a bath, needing one desperately. He’s sticky from at least three different substances, and Jaskier is no better. There’s blood crusted around the corners of his mouth and smeared down the left side of his jaw and Geralt shakes his head fondly. Leave it to Jaskier to clean him up but not himself. Geralt’s back tries to protest any kind of movement, but the warm water will do wonders, and he shakes Jaskier’s shoulder gently. Jaskier blinks sleepily, and his eyes are bloodshot when he looks up at Geralt. He groans softly, burying his face back in the pillow, and Geralt coaxes his face back out. Geralt kisses him gently, and when he pulls away Jaskier chases him, not done with the kiss. Geralt uses this to get him up and out of bed, and the two of them climb into the tub, Jaskier settling in Geralt’s lap. He’s still half asleep, swaying back and forth with his eyes closed, but that’s fine with Geralt.

Geralt takes this time to wash Jaskier up, gently scrubbing the blood from Jaskier’s cheek and laughing when Jaskier grumbles. “Lemme help….”

Jaskier tries his best to wake up, but between Geralt’s scent and the warmth of the water Jaskier drifts off again. Geralt keeps him awake enough not to drown while he washes himself up, and he’s got Jaskier bundled against his chest, fast asleep when he smells a familiar mix of herbs and cologne.

“There is something known as knocking.” Geralt says in greeting, Regis laughing softly and padding over. His gaze is polite as he looks the two of them over, and he raises his brows at the state Jaskier is in.

“If it worked my friend, I think we would both do it much more often.” Regis’ gaze sweeps over the room, taking in the scene before him. There’s old blood on the sheets and the bed frame itself is in pieces. Hand sized chunks have been gouged into the wood of the headboard, and Geralt is rather proud of the destruction. Regis seems less so, but he shakes his head fondly. “You let him imbibe rather heartily.”

“That I did.”

“You two seem no worse for wear thankfully, though you’ve driven your majordomo half to worry. He knocked twice on the door before Jaskier scared him off.”

“How so?” Geralt has no doubt that Jaskier had a crow watching them for Regis when they began, not trusting himself fully. Regis perches on the chest against the far wall, resting his hands in his lap.

“A rather spectacular growl, I was told. Rumors have spread that you took the poor lad hostage, brute that you are.”

Geralt laughs- it should worry him more, but this is his home, and they can make whatever rumors they’d like. “So long as no one tries to burn me at the stake, I think I can live with it.”

“If that’s Regis, tell him to fuck off.” Jaskier mumbles suddenly, shifting in Geralt’s lap and sinking a bit deeper into the warm water. “My head is killing me.”

“With how much you drank, I’ve no doubt of that. Here.” Regis tosses a flask over to them, Geralt catching it nimbly and twisting the cap off. Whatever is inside is pungent and sharp, but Jaskier perks up and downs the flask quickly. He seems much, much better having drank whatever concoction Regis brewed up, and though his eyes are still bloodshot they’re clear and happy.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” Jaskier turns to look at Regis over his shoulder, and the older man laughs, standing to take the flask back and tuck it into his belt.

“It would serve you well to be nice to me before I bring you gifts, Jaskier.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Geralt rolls his eyes at Jaskier's cheeky grin, but Regis shakes his head, ruffling Jaskier’s hair fondly and heading for the door. The lock clicks open easily, and he pauses in the doorway.

“I shall have to come back another night, when your staff has not been run off.”

“Tomorrow night, then.” Regis nods, ducking out of the room as Jaskier turns back to Geralt. His eyes linger on the bed for a moment, brows twitching into a momentary frown, but Geralt’s hands pet over Jaskier’s back, drawing his attention back. Jaskier’s gaze softens, and he tips forward, kissing Geralt softly and pressing their foreheads together. “You’re okay?”

“Sore. But good.” Jaskier leans back, tracing the small rings of teeth marks that trail down Geralt’s chest. There are identical ones on his back, but they aren’t bad enough to scar, and they’ll fade in time. Geralt’s neck is another matter in itself. There are at least four new scars on his neck alone, deep bites that overlap, but Geralt is moving his head just fine and he shivers when Jaskier traces each of them. Jaskier opens his mouth to apologize, but Geralt leans up and kisses him firmly on the lips, only pulling back when Jaskier keeps his mouth shut. “I like them.”

“Are you sure you didn’t lose too much blood? You aren’t hallucinating?”

“Fuck off.” Geralt’s tone is affectionate, and Jaskier laughs. He pulls the two of them from the rapidly cooling bathwater, steadying Geralt as they dry off. Geralt gets rid of the bathwater while Jaskier tidies their things, and Geralt’s brows go up when Jaskier comes out of the room carrying their clothes. Jaskier’s smile is sheepish, and he waves for Geralt to head up to the guest bedroom. Geralt does so with minimal protest, and only once Jaskier has deposited their clothes does he explain. Neither of them has bothered to get dressed, intent to spend the evening in bed.

“I- broke the bed, rather wonderfully. We’ll want to stay up here until they can deliver another one.”

“When was that again?”

“The first time I bit you. And the second. And the third.” Geralt laughs as Jaskier scowls, cheeks pink. “I told you it was hard to control myself like that!”

“You did fine. You didn’t break me at all.”

“Not for lack of trying.” Jaskier’s fingers trace over the dark hand shaped bruises running over Geralt’s hips and thighs, but Geralt shrugs, tugging Jaskier closer and kissing him softly. He recoils when he tastes the bitter, acrid tang of whatever hangover cure Jaskier was given, and it’s Jaskier’s turn to laugh.

“No kissing until you rinse your mouth out.” Jaskier pouts, leaning closer, but Geralt places a finger on Jaskier’s lips, pushing him back. “Go, and bring back something to snack on.”

“Pushy pushy.” Jaskier chides, disappearing down the stairs again. Geralt gets himself comfortable on the bed, idly tracing at the scars on his neck and shivering at the memory. He hears Jaskier coming up the stairs, footsteps intentionally heavy, and turns onto his side to watch him come in, carrying a tray laden with food. Geralt watches, humming as Jaskier comes over and rather elegantly crawls into bed, holding the tray in one hand and slipping under the covers to settle down beside Geralt. “Figured you might be hungry after not eating for a day.”

Geralt's stomach grumbles loudly in reply, and Jaskier laughs. Geralt tries to take something from the tray, but Jaskier tuts and seems intent to feed him. Geralt allows it after a moment, and Jaskier relaxes once Geralt’s gotten something of substance in him. Geralt’s voice is amused when he lays back among the pillows, Jaskier disposing of the tray and coming back to lay against Geralt’s side. “You like to take care of me.”

“Geralt, I drained you nearly dry and fucked you half to death.”

“At my insistence.” Jaskier rolls his eyes, but it’s obvious he would no matter what, and Geralt feels safer and happier than he has in a while. “Would you do it again?”

“You really don’t like your blood in your body, do you?”

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #higher vampire jaskier #major sluttiness #this is all smut guys #please be forewarned #blood drinking

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ric0cheted · 4 years

Text

distraction tactics (fic)

In which Geralt needs to sleep, Jaskier has no chill, and Yennefer is perfectly happy to take one for the team.

(aka time for messy, shoddily-written witcher porn(ish)! all hedonism, zero redeeming qualities. all sorts of permutations of geraskefer. they’re all fucking in my world, lads.)

Upon returning to the manor house, Geralt managed exactly three things: getting undressed, bathing, and crawling into bed.

He wouldn't call the residence at which Yennefer had--temporarily--allowed himself and Jaskier to stay home, exactly. But it certainly beat out the ratty, shit-smelling inns that the nearest town boasted.

Especially since Geralt's most recent hunt had lasted two days longer than it should've, the monsters had numbered threefold more than they should've, and the coin he'd been paid hadn't reflected either of those developments. Thank the gods he'd managed to, for once, convince Jaskier to stay back.

All told, Geralt was looking forward to nothing more than sinking into the mattress and letting sleep take hold.

Which meant, of course, that barely three minutes of blessed silence passed before Geralt heard someone kneel beside the bed. He cracked an eye open, right in time to see Jaskier swoop in for a kiss. Geralt rolled his eyes and indulged it, winding his hand in Jaskier’s hair and moaning despite himself when Jaskier's tongue curled around his.

Jaskier pulled away, grinning. "Bring us back anything good?" Jaskier was feeling particularly agreeable, then, if he was referring to himself and Yennefer together like that. "Absolutely fine if the answer happens to simply be your lovely Witcher self. Because we missed you quite a bit." Without further ado, Jaskier slipped under the covers and plastered himself to Geralt, the distinct aroma of arousal wafting from him.

Geralt had a tendency of forgetting how solid Jaskier was under his clothing, tailored as they were to lend a deceptive waifishness to his frame. Geralt was still taller, still broader, but Jaskier could drape himself across Geralt and cover a good stretch of his body. Much like he currently was. Geralt usually appreciated it, but this time his muscles ached in protest.

Geralt snorted. "Jaskier, I'm fucking tired. I don't even know if I could."

"I'll be good for you," Jaskier promised, kissing Geralt's throat. "Or be good to you. Whichever you'd like." His voice broke into a purr towards the end of his sentence.

"Jaskier," Geralt groaned. He wrapped his fingers around Jaskier's waist, the slimmest part of him, regretfully. He was a hair's breadth away from dislodging the bard himself when Jaskier yelped and jerked out of his grasp, nearly tumbling off the bed.

"You're insufferable," Yennefer told the bard from where she stood in the doorway. Jaskier sat up and rubbed the side of his head, which Geralt could only assume she'd magically slapped. "Now, come with me. I require assistance, and it seems as though yours will have to do.”

Jaskier sighed, deeply put-upon. "You never need my help, so I'm going to assume that you've finally decided to murder me." Jaskier gazed at Geralt with woeful eyes. "Geralt. Geralt. I expect at least a full year of mourning out of you. Also, I'd like my lute donated to a museum, possibly one devoted to the paraphernalia and personal effects of the continent's greatest artists."

Geralt didn't even stay awake long enough to roll his eyes, much less wryly ask why Jaskier would go with her if he was so convinced of his imminent demise.

***

Geralt awoke an hour later. He would've desperately liked more, but it seemed as though sleep would elude him for the moment.

It was all Yennefer and Jaskier’s fault, Geralt thought, grouchily, dragging himself out of bed to bitch at them. He hadn't seen where they'd vanished to earlier, but he didn’t need to guess at their whereabouts, given the overwhelming scent of lust and sex drifting from the library. He'd smelled it in his fucking sleep. It had woken him up.

In retrospect, Geralt really, truly wished there was something that could've prepared him for what he was walking into.

Dressed in a soft, lace-trimmed robe that ended at her thighs, Yennefer lounged in an armchair, using one hand to page through a thick tome and the other to feed blackberries to Jaskier, handsome and unclothed at her feet. Jaskier was reclining against the chair, one knee pulled to his chest, tilting his head back to take the fruit from her with shocking obedience. His mouth closed around it and Geralt could see his tongue licking at her fingers. Jaskier's soft lips were berry-dark, but his chin and cheeks glistened with something else. His cock was hard, leaking, and untouched.

Geralt choked on his own saliva. Jaskier's eyes, half-closed with bliss, flew open. Their gazes met. Geralt blushed, and then, to his utter bewilderment, Jaskier blushed, scrambling to arrange his limbs in some semblance of modesty and opening his mouth to blurt something out.

"Geralt." Yennefer said, calmly, twisting her fingers in Jaskier's hair to cut him off. "How was your rest?" Her hold was tight and kept Jaskier from looking away from Geralt. Geralt had no such excuse for failing to tear his own gaze away.

"Fine," Geralt wheezed. It was a terrible lie, but the blood that should've been making its way to his head was traveling decidedly southwards.

"Good," Yennefer hummed, as though nothing were out of the ordinary. She relaxed her grip and petted Jaskier's hair instead. "Now, it took quite a while to get him like this, and I'd hate to see all of that time and effort undone. Do you intend to stay?"

Jaskier tilted his head into her touch. There was a still touch of embarrassment about him, burning hotly in his eyes and cheeks, but a dizzy lust was starting to bleed into it. He relaxed his legs, just slightly, letting Geralt catch a glimpse of his cock. It was still very, very hard.

Geralt's mouth watered, his own cock making a valiant effort. But he'd been telling Jaskier the truth, about the degree to which he felt as though he was about to unravel at the seams and fall apart.

Besides, there were things that Geralt hadn't quite worked out about Yennefer and Jaskier, together, certain intricacies to their relationship that Geralt didn't feel equipped to navigate when exhaustion was making him feel the weight of each individual bone in his body. This seemed like one of those occasions.

"I'm going back to sleep." Geralt forced out, voice strangled. "Don't fuck each other to death before I wake up." Taking the coward's route, he turned and fled, Yennefer's peal of laughter following him out.

Geralt made it back to the bedroom and immediately started rifling through the chest of drawers. After a moment of searching, he found a vial of the sleep potion Yennefer had once specially brewed for him. He paused in consideration. It did work, but it was difficult to make, expensive, and usually only granted him a few extra hours, given how quickly his Witcher metabolism burned through it.

Distantly, he could just barely make out Yennefer's purred oh, good boy, followed by Jaskier's low moan. Without hesitation, Geralt downed the entire bottle and welcomed the sweet embrace of sleep.

***

Geralt slept for three or four more hours before the potion wore off. It took the edge off, at least, bringing him firmly into tired from his previous death walking.

He was stretching, trying to ease the tightness in his muscles, when Jaskier slipped into the bedroom, freshly-bathed and smelling of Yennefer's various soaps and oils. He met Geralt's eyes and blushed.

"Ah! So. About that." Jaskier rubbed the back of his head and flashed Geralt a charming, sheepish grin. The bruised look to his mouth spoke more of thorough use than of berries. "I--"

Rolling his eyes, Geralt looped his arm around Jaskier’s waist and pulled him down into the sheets, savoring his surprised yelp. After all, his cock was now very, very capable of participating.

***

Geralt left Jaskier passed out and drooling on the bed to seek Yennefer out. It took a little longer without the ludicrous trail of arousal to follow, but he eventually found her in the alchemical workshop.

She'd traded the shimmering cream of her robe for one of her traditional black dresses. Jaskier probably could've waxed poetic about the finer points of this particular garment compared to the others. Geralt couldn't tell the difference between them like that; he just knew that she looked beautiful in all of them.

Geralt made his way to her and nuzzled at the hollow of her throat before tugging her in for a kiss. Yennefer wound her hands through his hair and deepened it, tilting his head for a better angle.

After a moment, Geralt pulled away. He'd come here to see her, but he figured he might as well ask. "So, about that."

"Oh, that," Yennefer replied. There was a vaguely smug twist to her lips. "I've found that he occasionally benefits from a firm hand and something to keep him...occupied. For everyone's good, really."

"For everyone's good," Geralt repeated, dryly, as though her comment didn't have his cock perking up.

"Yes, for everyone's good. It isn't my fault that you both woke up and turned us down." Her lavender eyes glinted. "Consider joining us next time. It'll likely be impossible to keep him behaved with you around, but there's fun to be had, regardless."

"Next time," Geralt growled, sliding his hands down her body. He couldn't stop picturing it. "How about you wait until I'm awake."

"No promises," Yennefer purred, allowing Geralt to lift her up onto the nearest unoccupied table. "But maybe. If you're lucky."

#yennskier #geraskier #geraskefer #yenneralt #fic #my fic #smut #not that literally any of my work is cleaned up #but this is too sloppy even for my ao3 lmao

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