#jaskier: *pulling at collar* is it hot in here

[dancingwiththefae]

Love Be Brave

day 1 of @jaskierwhumpweek

Ship: Geraskefer (pre-relationship)

Prompt: Surrender

Tags: Graphic torture, angst, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 2.9k

Completed: yes

1/1

Summary: Jaskier is held captive and tortured for information on Geralt and Ciri. Geralt and Yennefer are on their way to rescue him, but not before his resolve finally breaks.

A/N: this probably would have worked for betrayal too but I have a different idea for that

Also on AO3

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He couldn’t remember how long it had been since they brought him here. It couldn’t have been too long. A week maybe? More? He wasn’t sure. But in the never ending dark of the cell, it felt like forever. All the days blurred into one. Funny that, how quickly you lose your sense of time without the sun. He missed the sun. The light. The crisp air of a winter’s morning. It all felt so far away now. The door creaked open and the false light from the lamps crept in. Only to be blocked moments later by a man.

“Morning bard,” he greeted with cheer. It made him feel sick. “You know, I’m feeling generous today so, any requests?”

Jaskier pretended to ponder on the question a moment.

“A nap,” he ventured, “a jug of wine. And to fall into the arms of a beautiful woman.”

The man laughed an ugly laugh.

“Still full of jokes. Save it for Rience. He’s looking forward to your meeting today.”

“Oh, I’ve no doubt,” he whispered, staring down at the burns already decorating his skin. His hands were a lost cause. His fingers felt hot and tight, barely functional. The ropes around his wrists had rubbed the skin raw. And under his clothes, a litter of bruises and marks. They quickly learned that beatings got them nowhere. Jaskier had taken a punch from many angry spouses in his time. Now, they mostly did it for fun. They took what mattered most, his music. It would take a miracle for him to play again. Or, magic at least. Except the only magic user available was the one destroying him piece by piece. He hadn't broken. That was the most important thing. Though he was starting to lose sight of why it was so important.

The man hauled him up by his collar and dragged him out of the room. He pulled the bard through an all too familiar corridor and into a dark, empty room save for two chairs. Both were empty. Jaskier was shoved into the one in the centre of the room. He no longer fought back when they tied his hands and feet to it. He wasn't sure he had the strength to anyway. The man left and Jaskier was alone. He knew it wasn't going to be for long. It was the same every time. The door creaked open. Jaskier didn't need to look to know who it was.

“Hello, Jaskier,” Rience spoke in a soft voice, “are you ready to tell me where the witcher and the girl are?”

Jaskier let out a laugh that sounded more like a whimper.

“Where's the fun in that?”

His voice didn't match the confidence of his words. Rience chuckled at the sorry sight he must have made. Calmly he approached, not sparing another glance towards him. He took a seat in front of him, rested his chin in his hand and stared. The stillness of it unnerved him. The way he looked at him, like he was his favourite toy, brought him nothing but dread.

“Shall we get started?” Rience said after a while. Standing, he retrieved a poker from the edge of the room. Conjuring a flame, he ran his palm along it.

“Everytime you refuse to answer a question-” he pointed to hot end of the poker towards him with careless grace “-you will be punished. But I'm sure you know how it goes by now. So, where is the princess?”

The bard kept his mouth shut. In reality he wasn't sure where she was. He had never even met her. But he had a pretty good idea where Geralt would take her if he had her. Considering how desperate Rience and his company seemed for answers, Jaskier could only guess that that was the case. He didn't know everything, but he knew enough. The mage let the silence stretch on for a moment. When it continued too long he struck, pressing the poker against his side. The bard didn't hold back his cry. There was no shame in screaming. The poker was wrenched away with a cruel smile. The bard panted against the searing pain in his side.

“Where does the witcher go when they're not roaming the continent?”

More silence. Rience went for his shoulder this time. Pain lanced through him. More questions. More scars to add to his collection until he was drenched in sweat, gasping for air and praying to any god that would listen for a miracle. His will was only so strong. It was made all the worse by Rience's obvious enjoyment of his pain. The man knew how to cause pain, and he did it well. He took pleasure in it.

“Do you know why I do it this way,” he drawled, stepping in close to run his fingers through his hair in mock tenderness, “why I don’t just pull the answers I seek straight from your head?”

“Enlighten me,” he ground out.

Rience crouched down in front of him until they were face to face. Piercing eyes pinned his. When he spoke it was soft and with a smile.

“Because it’s more fun this way. Magic is too convenient. Yes, I could simply force my way into your mind and find everything I need. But what’s the fun in that? I don’t just want to complete my task. I want to watch you break”

Abruptly, he stood and stalked away, turning on his heel when he reached his usual place.

“Now, shall we try this again?”

It was the same as before. Jaskier held on with all the strength that he had left. Rience's resolve was breaking. After a few more attempts, the mage dropped the poker carelessly to the ground. His face twitched and he struggled to keep composure. He paced back and forth. Jaskier tried his best to keep his breathing even. It was getting harder to recover after his ‘meetings’ with Rience. It wouldn’t be long before he couldn’t at all, he knew. There was a part of him that wanted to give up. To just give them everything they want and pray to the gods that they would let him go. He pushed it down best he could.

Rience stopped. With an inquisitive hum he produced a white light from his hand. He looked back at the bard from over his shoulder. The fire in his eyes filled him with dread.

“Let’s make this more interesting.”

He strode across the room far too quickly. He knew it was futile and yet he still flinched back as if to get away.

Rience placed the palm on his hand on Jaskier’s forehead and suddenly he was struck with overwhelming pain. There was not a part of him it didn’t touch. Struggling against it was futile. It was everywhere. There was nothing he could do to stop it. He grit his teeth until they ached. Rience was going to kill him. He was sure of it. When he thought he couldn’t take it anymore it vanished.

The mage looked down at him with a smug grin as Jaskier tried to get air back into his lungs.

“You’re playing a losing game, bard,” Rience murmured, “I’m going to take what I want anyway.”

Panic began to set in. He couldn’t go through that again. He just couldn’t. But he couldn’t betray Geralt. If what Rience said was true - and he knew deep down that it was - he was going to betray him whether he wanted to or not. When he didn’t respond, the mage held his hand up once again. Tears stung his eyes. Jaskier opened his mouth and told him everything.

Shouting emerged from down the hall. The mage's eyes flitted towards the door. The commotion grew louder. With a huff, the mage stalked towards the door and left the room. With him gone, the adrenaline left Jaskier all at once. Slumping forwards in the chair, he suddenly felt exhausted. The world around him began to blur. He barely registered the pain anymore. His body felt heavy. He didn't want to fight the weight to keep himself up. Rushed footsteps echoed from down the hall, approaching closer. Rience reappeared through the door, heading straight towards him with fury. A ball of flame erupted from his hand. Jaskier didn't have time to panic. This was it. This was the end for him. The gravity of what he had just done settled in as soon as it happened.

The door burst open, startling them both. Geralt stood in the doorway, wild eyed and sword at the ready. The world seemed to stop for a moment as they locked eyes. He watched the witcher's face morph from shock to fury. Sword raised, he readied himself to fight. A portal opened before them and in a flash, Rience was gone. Jaskier stared at the space he had occupied in horror until white hair obscured it.

“Geralt,” he breathed. He couldn't quite believe it. Geralt was here. He had found him. He'd come to rescue him. But he didn't know. Oh gods, he didn't know. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” he wept, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”

“Yen,” the witcher called, “he's in here.”

He cut through the ropes at his wrist with a knife.

“It's alright,” he soothed, “we're getting you out of here.”

“No, no. Stop,” Jaskier begged, “I- I told them everything. Rience, he knows. He knows where Ciri is. I'm so sorry.”

The witcher paused. His face was unreadable. Jaskier was sure – he was so sure – that Geralt would leave him. He wouldn't save him. Not after what he did. And he wouldn't blame him. Jaskier was an enemy now. He had betrayed his loyalty, his deepest trust. But then the witcher did something he didn't expect. He carried on.

“Doesn't matter. We can deal with it later.”

He bent down to cut through the ropes at his ankles. Jaskier wanted to ask what he was doing but the words wouldn't come. He could only watch, startled, as Geralt freed him. There was more crashing from outside and then Yennefer ran through the door, stopping in shock when she took in the sight in front of her.

“Fuck,” she swore.

“They know where Ciri is,” Geralt explained in a rush, “we have to get out of here.”

He held the bard from under his elbows and pulled him up to stand. Immediately, Jaskier's feet went from under him. The witcher's arms moved to encircle his middle. It was the only thing keeping him upright.

“Yen, open a portal. Now!”

He couldn't find the right way up. Everything was spinning. It was too much effort just to think. To try and move. He didn't want to fight it any more. He was done fighting. Letting himself drop into the weight that was holding him up, he surrendered to the darkness.

The world came back to him slowly. He was aware of aches throughout his body. Duller than they were before. He was covered by scratchy sheets. They brushed against his legs as he shifted. His eyelids felt heavy. He would drift back asleep if not for thirst making itself known. With immense effort he opened his eyes and blinked. The room was dark. Dark enough that he could almost be convinced he was back in his cell, if not for the bed he was currently occupying. A candle flickered alive on a table beside him and he flinched away.

“Sorry, sorry,” he heard a woman whisper. Her voice was familiar. Yennefer's face was illuminated in the candlelight. She moved it away from the bed and for that he was grateful.

“You're awake,” she said, “can I get you anything?”

“Water,” he whispered. Or tried to, at least. It was difficult to talk. She seemed to have understood anyway, and poured some out from a jug for him. With careful hands, she lifted his head enough to drink. She held the glass for him. He drank slowly until it was empty. Yennefer helped him back down and took the glass away.

“How are you feeling?” she asked him. How was he feeling? He wasn't sure. He hurt, his his limbs felt stiff. His hands were wrapped in bandages and basically useless. The guilt at what he had done ate away at him until there was a hollow in his chest. He was confused as to why he was here. Why Yennefer of all people was tending to him. It was so much all at once.

“Where are we?” he responded instead.

Yennefer chewed her lip. Her lack of response was deafening.

“Not Kaer Morhen,” he continued.

“No.”

Again, the silence stretched out.

“You won't tell me,” he concluded.

Her face screwed up in anguish or pity he couldn't tell.

“I'm sorry, Jaskier.”

“No,” he mumbled, “I understand.”

He really did, as much as it hurt. He had betrayed them. But, boy did it hurt. He had always prided himself on his loyalty. And now they couldn't trust him.

“Hey.” She cupped his cheek and tilted his head to look at her. “When you're healed, we're gonna move to another safe place. We'll stick together. All of us.”

“Why?” He felt tears sting his eyes. “I told him everything.”

“Jaskier, you were tortured. Nobody blames you for giving in.”

Confronted with everything that had happened, he couldn't hold back any more. Tears flowed freely. She held him silently while he wept. Once it had started, there was no stopping. Everything he had pent up since he had been taken by them. All the strength he had used to keep himself together. He let it go. Finally, he let it go. He cried and cried until there was no more left to give. Still, Yennefer held him. Kept him close while his breathing evened out. He pulled away first, wiping the tears from his face. That was when he noticed his sleeves were different to what they were before. He realised he was wearing different clothes and he was relatively clean, all things considering.

“Did you...bathe me?”

“You smelled worse than a sewer,” Yennefer laughed, “but don't worry. We were very gentle.”

Jaskier felt his cheeks flame at that. Any other time and he would have made a comment of fished for compliments. Or even openly expressed how he wished for their hands on him again. Quietly, he wished for it. It had been so long since he had felt a kind touch and he wasn't even conscious for it.

“What about...” He checked down his shirt at the marks Rience had left. They looked old, as if they had happened months ago.

“Do you underestimate my abilities?” she joked. There was an uneasy edge to it.

“And my hands? Are they-” he couldn't finish the sentence. The idea that there was permanent damage was too great to even contemplate. The sorceress sighed a weary sigh.

“They will... take time. But I'm working on it. Can't have a bard without his lute, can we?”

The thought almost made him cry again. He stared down at his bandaged hands. He couldn't do much like this. Whether he liked it or not, he was going to need taken care of. He didn't doubt Yennefer's abilities. Not for a second. He just hoped this was not one thing too many.

“You should try and get some more sleep.”

She pulled away from him and made to leave.

“Don't go.” He didn't mean to sound so desperate. A sudden wave of panic at the thought of being alone took over. He reached out with a bandaged hand to stop her until he remembered how useless they were now. The sorceress sighed and gently coaxed him into the middle of the bed. She lifted the covers and climbed in next to him. The bard didn't hesitate to curl up into her. He was so tired. A kind of tiredness that had settled into his bones. His body ached. If he were in a better frame of mind, he would probably have been embarrassed by his actions He buried his face into her neck. The scent of lilac and gooseberries was strongest here. He breathed deeply and relaxed into it.

He wanted to sleep. His body cried out for it. But when he closed his eyes, he was hit with images of Rience, of that place, of himself giving in. He was too exhausted to cry. Yennefer sensed his unease.

“You want Geralt, too?” she asked.

Jaskier nodded into her shoulder.

“I'll let him know,” she whispered.

A few moments later, the door opened and Geralt appeared a the foot of the bed. Jaskier buried his face back into Yennefer quickly. He didn't want to see if the witcher looked at him with pity. Before Geralt could speak, Yennefer held up a hand to stop him.

“We'll talk in the morning. For now-” she waved her hand towards the other side of the bed “-Jaskier needs us.”

The bed dipped behind him as Geralt cautiously climbed in behind him. He shuffled in further until he was pressed up against the bard's back. Though the witcher was being careful of Jaskier's injuries, the weight against his back settled him. He felt safe between then. Safe in a way he hadn't felt in a long time. He listened to the steady breathing between them, felt the soft rise and fall of their chests against him, and quietly slipped into sleep.

#jaskierwhumpweek #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geraskefer #geralt x jaskier x yennefer #jaskier whump #faye writes #twn #jaskier #the witcher netflix

[roughentumble]

Jaskier runs into Geralt in early spring when he's still got his winter beard and Jaskier abruptly realizes he might have a thing for beards, or maybe just Geralt with a beard

oh literally....... SO true. scruffy geralt rights

#geralt: yeah im gonna shave it soon #jaskier: *instantly gets a vision of himself straddling geralt's thighs with a straight razor against his neck* #jaskier: Hm. Yes. Im Going To Go Stand 20 Feet Away And Think About My Life For A Bit. Have Fun With That #witcher tag #ogc tag #bshdhsnbjs #jaskier: *pulling at collar* is it hot in here? i think its kind of hot. the room i mean. the ROOM is hot not your-- well. hm. #jaskier: i need to leave immediately #on the one hand they could meet out in the open on a bright sunny day where its all out in the open and brightly lit and gorgeous #BUT ALSO #they COULD meet in a dark tavern where geralt has his hood up which results in a Dramatic Reveal as he spots jask and pushes the hood down #both are fascinating and both result in jaskier being like Wow..... Ok. Learning Things. Learning Things About Myself #jaskier: *internally* i want to climb you like a tree mr. mountain man #geralt: can you stop staring at me or...?

[contemplativepancakes]

Geralt is possibly the least interesting vampire in the world. Jaskier is strangely okay with that. 4k, G. read on AO3 here!

for @theamazingbard (:

Geralt holds up two ties in front of the mirror, comparing the fabrics against his suit. By now, he’s used to the headless suit that reflects back at him in the mirror. Geralt’s never been one to overly question things, so he couldn’t tell you why vampires don’t show up in mirrors, but really, that’s fine. A relief, even.

He’s not sure he wants to know what he looks like. He knew once, before he was turned. He wasn’t exactly a looker then, and he highly doubts he is now.

Geralt chooses the black tie with the tiny dots instead of the black tie with the stripes, and clips it on to his suit. What? He can’t be expected to tie a tie every single day. He smooths it down over his chest. Satisfied, he sits down on the bed to tie his dress shoes. Reliable double knots.

He walks down the hall to crouch in front of the refrigerator, pulling out one of the bags of blood he keeps there. He pauses to look at the label. It’s his favorite, AB. He tucks it into his lunchbox, then pauses to rip one open and dump it into his travel mug. He pours some protein powder in it to make the blood coagulate. He can definitely see the appeal of this boba tea the humans have been drinking recently.

As he heads out the door, he darkens a little as he looks at his neighbors’ decorations. He hates Halloween. A time for people to get everything wrong about monsters. They live with them, the least they could do is be a little considerate and do their research.

No, they can’t repel Geralt with garlic. He scowls at the thought.

Geralt’s distracted from his thoughts as a young man runs by him out of seemingly nowhere and falls on the sidewalk just in front of him, his knee splitting open.

Geralt rubs a hand on his neck as the man looks up at him beseechingly.

“Uh. Do you need any help?”

“My, you’re ever so kind,” the man says, extending a hand that Geralt uses to pull him to his feet.

“Probably want to get that cleaned off,” Geralt says. “Make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

“Oh, dear! You’re right. Would it be possible for me to use your sink?” he asks, batting his eyelashes.

Geralt squints. “I...guess?”

“Oh, thank you!”

Geralt unlocks his door and leads the man into his bathroom, graciously pretending not to notice the man looking around the apartment in wide eyed fascination. He must not know that Geralt is a vampire, then, or he wouldn’t be so quick to ask Geralt for help. People around here avoid Geralt for the most part.

“I’m Jaskier,” the man says, as he bends his leg so his knee is right under the faucet. Geralt politely looks away when he notices how the motion makes the material of his pants stretch right across the seat of his ass.

“Geralt,” he replies, watching Jaskier closely for a reaction.

There’s none, so Geralt kneels down and looks under the sink for his hydrogen peroxide. When he finds it, he hands it to Jaskier wordlessly.

Jaskier flashes him a winning smile. “I guess it was my lucky day to run into you, hmm?”

Geralt doesn’t think anyone has ever said that about him before. “Anyone would do what they could to help you avoid infection,” he says dutifully.

Jaskier deflates a bit. “Well, there must be some way I can repay you. How about coffee?”

“Oh. I don’t really...drink coffee.” Geralt waits for Jaskier to get it. It’s not like monsters like him are uncommon, per se.

“How about dinner, then? A steakhouse.”

“Sure,” Geralt says, surprising himself. He blinks. His brothers are always telling him he needs to make more friends. And a steak does sound particularly good. He rarely lets himself indulge in things like that.

Jaskier brightens. “Hey, would you mind putting a band aid on this for me? I can never get it to stay.”

“I’m not sure that applying band aids is exactly rocket science,” Geralt says, but he does it anyway, his nose twitching at the scent of the fresh blood.

Geralt is centuries old, though, so it’s not like a little blood is the end of the world. Maybe when he was a fledgling, but those days are long past him.

He gives Jaskier’s knee a tiny pat. “Looks like those pants are done in for,” he says inanely.

Jaskier shrugs. “A worthy sacrifice.”

Geralt doesn’t respond to that, and Jaskier lets the silence linger. Geralt clears his throat. “I’m going to be late for work.”

Before he leaves, Jaskier insists Geralt give him his number so that he can arrange their dinner. “I’m very much looking forward to it,” Jaskier says with a grin.

Geralt gives him a hesitant smile, looking at the clock. He really does need to get a move on.

Jaskier seems to get the hint and lets Geralt usher him out the door.

In the end, Geralt’s not late, but he is grumpy that he only arrived five minutes early instead of his customary fifteen. It throws his entire day off, and the numbers seem to swim before him on his computer screen like never before.

Geralt scowls. He should have picked the tie with the stripes.

-

Jaskier contains his pout as he walks along the sidewalk, away from Geralt’s house. He practically offered himself up on a platter to be ravished, and Geralt was completely unaffected. There was blood right in front of his nose!

Jaskier doubts his information for a second, but Priscilla was the one who told him in hushed whispers that the word was that Geralt was a vampire. If Valdo had been the one to tell him, then he would have had a few more qualms, but Priscilla wouldn’t lie to him like that.

She knows how the idea of being partners with a monster makes him feel hot under the collar.

Jaskier resolves to be better. If a cut knee wasn’t enough, he’ll just have to step up his game for this dinner. And surely, if Geralt didn’t want to be seduced, he would have sent Jaskier on his merry way after bandaging his knee instead of bandaging it for him, for gods’ sake.

Maybe Geralt wants to be the one being chased after for once. Well, Jaskier is happy to oblige.

-

When Geralt gets home from work, there’s a text waiting for him. How about Friday night for our little get together?

It’s not like Geralt ever has any plans that might get in the way besides his weekly meeting, so it’s not like he has to check his calendar before he replies. Sure.

Great! I’ll pick you up at 8! :D

Geralt frowns. This doesn’t seem right. He hasn’t made a new friend in possibly fifty years, and now one literally falls into his path?

He hums to himself as he does his nightly routine, pushing on the gum above each fang to make it pop out so he can properly brush it. Cleanliness is next to godliness, and all that. Actual dentists that weren’t just going to try to pull out his teeth have only been around for less than the majority of his life, so it’s habit to take good care of them.

Geralt strips off his clothes until he’s left in just his t-shirt and boxers and climbs into bed. No, he doesn’t have a coffin or hang upside down like some sort of bat. Geralt’s not sure where all that nonsense got its roots in the first place.

There’s so many things that humans seem to have no qualms believing about monsters, though, and Geralt frowns as he punches his pillow into a better shape. He’s almost 250. His lumbar health is no joke.

-

His anxiety bleeds into his work, making Excel blink more error messages back at him than he’s ever seen before. Geralt’s boss pulls him aside to ask if he’s okay. Geralt sulks.

He is the consummate professional, and he’s not going to let this dinner get the better of him. Geralt contends anyone would be nervous if they hadn’t made a new friend in decades, too.

Now, he stands in front of his closet. He’s certainly not going to wear a suit, but he rarely wears anything else. It’s not like he goes much of any place besides work and his weekly meetings. Geralt sighs as he pulls a pair of jeans out of his wardrobe.

They’re a lot tighter than he remembers, but this is all he has, so it’ll have to do. He finds a long sleeved shirt that is luckily on the baggier side. He hopes that will make up for his too-close fitting jeans.

Geralt brushes his hair, but he can’t see it in the mirror, so there’s no point in doing anything else with it. He’s more likely to make himself look ridiculous than presentable with whatever he might attempt.

Geralt plants himself on the couch, reaching for his book to read until the clock rolls around to the time Jaskier promised to pick him up. His fingers play with the corners of the pages, bending them in a way that he’s sure would make a librarian displeased.

Geralt huffs when he realizes he’s not going to get any reading done and sets the book down on his side table. He takes a deep breath through his nose. He is ancient; he shouldn’t be getting social anxiety right now.

His phone pings with a text. Outside!

Geralt looks out the window, and indeed, there’s a car there. It’s a lime green slug bug, with rust eating its way up from the undercarriage. Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose. That looks like Jaskier’s car, all right.

-

Jaskier tries not to drool as Geralt walks down his steps. He’s wearing pants that are skin tight, which should frankly be illegal, and his shirt hangs off of him so that it shows his collar bones. Jaskier thought that vampires should be the ones who wanted to bite, but he would really love to get his mouth on one of those.

Geralt gets into the passenger seat with a half smile playing around his lips. “Like my ride?” Jaskier asks.

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

Jaskier claps his hand to his heart in mock offense. “I’m wounded.”

Geralt hums, shifting in his seat as he fastens his seatbelt. Jaskier drums his fingers on the steering wheel, flexing his right arm to draw attention to the bandage he has there. He went and donated blood this afternoon, and if Geralt doesn’t get his hint this time, he is going to pound his head against the nearest wall.

-

Geralt shifts his head to look out the window as Jaskier keeps his arms on shameless display. He knows times have changed, but it’s also always a little dizzying to see so much of everyone’s skin on display all the time, their pulse thrumming invitingly underneath it.

Geralt shakes his head to clear it of its reverie as Jaskier pulls his car into drive. It gives a concerning lurch. Before Geralt can open his mouth to comment, Jaskier is holding up a hand. “I can assure you, we are perfectly safe.”

“Hmm.”

“Hey!” Jaskier protests. “It is. I take care of it.”

“All I said was hmm,” Geralt says with a tiny grin. “That’s why it has so much rust, right?”

Jaskier sighs. “I was going to get around to repaint it, and then I just...other things came up.”

Geralt makes a face at him, laughing at Jaskier’s increased defenses. Some of his anxiety fades away as he realizes this isn’t so bad, after all. Maybe Jaskier needs a new friend just as badly as him.

When they arrive at the restaurant, Jaskier pulls Geralt’s chair out for him. Geralt gives him a polite nod. He can’t say he has a firm grasp on all the recent customs. Lambert’s always telling him he’s stuck in the past.

Geralt crosses his fingers and rests his chin on his hands as he watches Jaskier eat his salad, taking endearingly large bites. Jaskier hasn’t even mentioned anything about vampires yet. Geralt is starting to feel a tiny bit guilty. Would he still want to spend all this time with him if he knew Geralt wasn’t human?

As he’s thinking that, Jaskier takes a big gulp of his water and starts to sputter. Geralt’s across the table in an instant, his hand around Jaskier’s bicep and another hand on his back. “Are you okay?” Geralt murmurs, tense and ready to help if the need arises.

Jaskier coughs and waves him off. “Just went down the wrong pipe.”

Geralt relaxes a bit, but as his hand lingers on Jaskier’s arm, he can’t help but feel how warm it is, such a contrast to his own constantly cool skin. When Jaskier turns his face to look up at him, Geralt quickly drops his arm and beats a hasty retreat back to his seat.

He could swear Jaskier looks disappointed. He must be delusional.

When the main course comes, Geralt cuts neatly into his pink steak, mouth watering as the juices come leaking out of it. He sucks the tip of his finger into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut at the salty taste of it.

He makes himself cut the steak into tiny pieces. He’ll have to tell Jaskier he’s a vampire eventually; he might as well make sure he doesn’t think he’s a barbaric onel. Geralt tries his best to keep his eyes on Jaskier’s face instead of his arms. He can’t help but notice that he has some very nice veins. They’re a striking blue, and a perfect compliment to his eyes.

Geralt bites his lip, flinching when one of his fangs pops out on its own, pressing into his lip.

“One of my uncles is a werewolf,” Jaskier says, apropos of nothing, looking at Geralt meaningfully.

A trickle of sweat runs down Geralt’s back. Does Jaskier think he’s a werewolf? Werewolves are generally regarded better than vampires; at least they’re only monsters one night a month.

“Hmm,” Geralt says, not hearing the rest of Jaskier’s sentence.

Jaskier laughs at his own joke, and Geralt blinks rapidly until he can focus again on what Jaskier’s saying.

When the waiter comes with the check, Jaskier insists on paying for it. Is this what friendship has evolved to since Geralt last had one? He doesn’t know enough about it to argue with Jaskier, so he lets him do what he wants.

-

Outside of Geralt’s house, Jaskier puts a hand on the console between them, making eye contact with Geralt before dropping his gaze down to his lips. Geralt gives him a gentle smile, his eyes crinkling. His white hair looks ethereal in the moonlight, and Jaskier is only a little infatuated.

Geralt’s exterior is stony, but he also had no problems giving Jaskier all sorts of secret smiles throughout the night. Jaskier’s not sure he’s met a better listener than Geralt, and he tends to drone on and on, so that’s somewhat important to him.

Jaskier closes his eyes and starts to lean in when Geralt opens the car door. Jaskier opens his eyes.

“I had a great time, thank you,” Geralt says, one hand on the top of the car.

Jaskier bites his lip, stopping himself from saying what he wants. “Me, too. Let’s do it again some time?”

Geralt nods eagerly, and Jaskier watches him walk away, his gaze fixed on Geralt’s devastating pants and not at all on the way his ass looks in them.

Jaskier rests his head on the steering wheel in despair. He doesn’t know how to be any more heavy handed than this. He went and donated blood! And Geralt let him pay for their meal! He’s not sure how he can get across the point any better that he’s a talking blood bag, and he’s open for business.

Jaskier heaves a gigantic sigh and resolves to go home and plot his next move.

Maybe Geralt’s just shy.

Well. Jaskier can work with that

-

Geralt’s weekend passes in its normal fashion. He goes for a run, drinks some blood out of his supply in the fridge, then crashes on the couch for a whole day while he thinks of anything other than work. Sometimes Eskel lets himself in using his key, but he doesn’t that weekend, and Geralt crosses his arms over his chest as he tortures himself thinking of what Eskel might be doing.

Eskel’s never had problems making friends, unlike Geralt, so he’s sure he’s out having a good time with them.

Geralt used to be good at making friends, gods damn it, before all of them died of old age and he just didn’t see the point anymore. He’s come to suppose that there’s not all that much of a point in immortality if all he does is work, though.

The weekend’s over just as quickly as it began, and on Monday night, he can’t help the smile that creeps across his face when Jaskier texts him about some inane thing he noticed. Was he thinking of Geralt? That’s...nice.

Cautiously, Geralt lets himself hope that something is going to come out of this.

But first, he needs to tell Jaskier he’s a vampire. He wouldn’t be the first person to run away screaming, even though they are much more accepted now than they used to be.

Geralt shudders as he thinks of the industrial revolution. No regard for any monsters then. Humans invent light bulbs, and all of a sudden they think they’re too good for a healthy dash of respect.

Geralt looks back down at his phone, at a music video Jaskier sent him of someone playing a singing saw.

He lets himself focus on that a while.

-

Wednesday creeps around, and with it, Geralt’s weekly meeting.

He takes his spot in his customary chair, and looks around for Lambert, ignoring the look Eskel is trying to burn through the side of his face with.

“Why do I have to be here, again?” Geralt asks, when he gives up on Lambert to come save him.

Eskel rolls his eyes. It’s an argument they’ve had more than once. “If you won’t become a sponsor, you have to at least show them that things get better.”

Geralt huffs a breath out through his nose as he watches the regulars file in. There’s one new person, and Geralt eyes her curiously. She looks a little terrified, and Geralt softens in sympathy.

The meeting starts, and they go around in the circle, the seat beside Geralt still empty in Lambert’s tardiness.

“Hi, I’m Geralt, and I’m a blood addict,” he drones when it’s his turn.

When they’ve moved on to their personal struggles for the week, Lambert finally appears, dropping into his chair.

He elbows Geralt, seemingly unaware of everyone staring at them.

“Hey, what’s got you in such a good mood?”

Geralt firmly fixes a scowl in place and ignores him. He’s not sure why he even wanted Lambert to show up in the first place.

Geralt leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as he listens to everyone else, Eskel being disgustingly reassuring to them all, as per usual. Geralt stamps the jealousy down. It’s not Eskel’s fault he’s so good with people.

The meeting drags by, and when it’s finally over, Lambert doesn’t let Geralt just sneak away. He digs his elbow into his side again, holding Geralt by the shoulder. “You didn’t answer me earlier. What’s got you in such a good mood?”

“I’m not,” Geralt says.

Lambert hums. “You don’t have your usual storm cloud above your head, so I’m going to count it.”

Geralt scowls at him and looks at Eskel for back up, but Eskel just raises his eyebrows at him.

“I hate you both,” Geralt grumbles.

“You love us,” Lambert says.

“Fine. I made a new friend,” he grates out.

Lambert and Eskel exchange an insufferable look.

“What?” Geralt demands.

“You, make a friend? Well, we’re just going to have to hear all about this to believe it.”

Geralt huffs, but he tells them about Jaskier.

“He took you to dinner? And paid? And you think he wants to be just friends?” Lambert asks.

Geralt flaps his hands around and hisses, “Look, I’ve barely been anywhere that isn’t here or work in the last three decades, how am I supposed to keep up with all this human nonsense? And besides, I haven’t even told him I’m a vampire yet. I’ll be lucky if he even wants to be my friend after that.”

Eskel bites his lip. “You know that’s a turn on for some humans, right?”

“What?”

“And you said he scraped his knee the first time he saw you? Geralt, I think he already knows, and he’s just trying to get in your pants.”

Geralt deflates. That makes a twisted sort of sense. “Oh.”

Lambert punches him in the arm. “Hey, lighten up. If anyone can charm him with their stunning personality, it’s you.”

“Fuck off.”

-

It’s difficult to fall asleep that night.

-

A week goes by without him answering any of Jaskier’s texts. He still painstakingly reads and savors each one, but he can’t bring himself to reply. If he was looking for some sort of...fling, he would have gone on one of those apps Eskel keeps telling him about.

As pathetic as it sounds, he could really use a friend. And if sex came later, well, Geralt wouldn’t complain, but he just desperately needs someone who’s going to stick around. He needs someone just for himself, someone outside of Lambert and Eskel who isn’t going to tease him about every little thing.

Geralt sighs. This was at least good practice. Maybe he can try again with someone else.

His heart sinks at the thought. He doesn’t really want someone else. Jaskier wormed his way into his chest in just a week, and Geralt knows he could yank him out with only a little pain if he tried, he doesn’t want to.

Geralt wants to have something nice, for once.

-

Jaskier bites his lip as he peers out the car window at Geralt’s house. He’s half scared there’s not going to be an answer when he knocks, and he doesn’t know what he’ll do then. He thought their date went swimmingly, so he’s not sure why Geralt suddenly stopped answering him unless something happened.

Jaskier has a vision of getting into the house only to find Geralt on the floor, the only way to revive him being letting Geralt drink straight from his neck, obviously leading to Geralt ravishing him against the nearest wall.

Jaskier shakes himself like a dog. Geralt’s given him no interest in anything like that at all. Maybe he needs to lower his expectations. The dude seems lonely, anyway, so maybe he just wants someone to talk to that’s not one of his coworkers.

Geralt told him he’s an actuary, and from the questions he asked of Geralt and Geralt didn’t answer, he’s not convinced that Geralt talks to his coworkers at all.

Jaskier blows out a puff of breath as he unbuckles his seatbelt and opens the door. He’s not sure what he hopes is going to happen when he opens the door.

He walks up the door and knocks.

He waits an agonizing moment before the door swings open, revealing Geralt. He looks even paler than Jaskier remembered him, wearing a pair of sweatpants with a hole in the crotch that he can see Geralt’s plaid boxers through and a t-shirt with a collar that’s outrageously stretched. Jaskier swallows hard.

“Have you considered not oiling the hinges? I think it would do you a world of good to develop a creaky door aesthetic.”

Geralt’s forehead wrinkles adorably. “What?”

“Just, you know. Being a vampire and all.”

Geralt slumps against the door frame. “How long have you known?”

Now it’s Jaskier’s turn to be confused. “Known what?”

“That I’m a vampire!”

“Oh.” Jaskier pauses. “I didn’t think it was a secret.”

Geralt’s hand pauses in its path of trailing the wood grain of the door. “Do you have a...kink?” he spits.

Jaskier raises his hands. “Well, I wouldn’t say that.”

Geralt fixes him with an unconvinced look.

“Look, that might have been part of the initial intrigue, but—”

Geralt raises his eyebrows expectantly.

“But, you’re really fucking hot and also possibly the most boring person I know, but...I’m into it. You know all these weird facts and—gods know I could use a little stability in my life.”

Geralt gives him a bashful smile, and Jaskier wonders if anyone has said anything nice to him at some point this century. “Yeah?”

Jaskier leans across the threshold and cups Geralt’s face with his hands, their mouths a breath apart. “Yeah.”

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #contemplative writing #vampire! geralt

[oldandkinky]

“i don’t know what to do” “then let me teach you” & "no one can ever find out about this”

with Geraskier 👀 ?

CW: priest kink, blasphemy, breaking of celibacy vows, loss of virginity, doubt, first kiss, anal fingering/sex

Part one here

*********

Ever since the day where Jaskier stepped into the confessional, things have… escalated. Geralt doesn't quite know what to do with that.

First, there was the touching, more and more of it. A handshake that morphs into Jaskier clasping both of his hands as he smiles at him, while Geralt tries to keep his thoughts on the conversation and out of the gutter. Those long fingers curling around his forearm and squeezing gently, just for a moment, as they stand around in a circle with others from the congregation, talking about the next big event.

It's all perfectly innocent, if it weren't for the way Jaskier will lick his lips or tilt his head just so. Implying.

It's three weeks after that day in the confessional, and they're entirely alone for the first time. Jaskier hung back after mass, fiddling on his phone, and Geralt tried to ignore him as he finished putting things in order, as he said his goodbyes to the altar boys and the lector. He can only guess at what people think of Jaskier staying behind. Everyone knows he only moved to the town recently, that he's a city boy with issues, so he can only hope people will assume that Jaskier is in need of counsel and nothing more.

Jaskier rises to his feet once the door closes behind the lector and walks up the aisle, to where Geralt is waiting by the altar. There's a light flush high on his cheeks, and Geralt wants to kiss him.

They don't talk. They don't need to. Geralt gently takes Jaskier's hand and leads him out the back into the sacristy, and Jaskier is on him the moment the lock clicks behind them. Geralt grunts as he's pushed back against the wall, moans when Jaskier kisses him like his life depends on it.

They stumble over to the credence table and Geralt's hands are around Jaskier's waist, lifting him up, and Jaskier grabs him by the collar and pulls him into the vee of his legs.

"Please," he begs, "please, I can't wait any longer, I need you in me." He's flushed and beautiful, and Geralt aches for him, wants him so much it hurts. Over his shoulder Geralt can see the cross hung up on the wall, the Paschal candle, and he closes his eyes and presses his face against Jaskier's throat.

"I- I've never-" It should be embarrassing to admit, that he has never had sex, that he's a thirty-nine year old virgin, but it's a simple fact. "I don't know what to do," he whispers, and Jaskier makes a soft noise, his hands tangling in Geralt's hair.

"Then let me teach you, Father," he breathes as he coaxes Geralt's face away from his throat, and then he kisses him again, softly, gently.

Jaskier kicks off his shoes and trousers, and Geralt can't hold back the shocked little noise when his fingertips brush against silk and lace. Jaskier gives him a grin and hands him a sachet of lube, winking.

Geralt's breath catches when the other drapes himself over the table, his shirt riding up and exposing the soft blue panties, and Geralt's prick throbs in his trousers. His hand trembles when he reaches out, and his breath catches when he touches Jaskier, when his palm curves around his cheek.

Jaskier shimmies the panties over his hips, lets them drop to the floor, and he guides Geralt's fingers between his cheeks, to the tight, soft, hot furl of his hole. "Careful," he breathes, "but hurry."

Geralt has no idea how he's supposed to do that, not with the way he's shaking at the thought that he's about to be inside Jaskier. Still, he tries, slicking his fingers with the lube, and his breath catches when that first one breaches Jaskier's hole. The other keens and lifts his hips, spreads his legs wider, and Geralt watches with a mixture of rapturous pleasure and mortification as pre drips from the wet tip of Jaskier's prick, as it sticks to the side of the credence table, a thin, glistening ribbon connecting Jaskier and the wood.

It's obscene. It's sacrilegious. He can't get enough.

Jaskier declares himself ready after three fingers, and Geralt fumbles with his belt until he can get his trousers open and his dick out. His skin feels too tight as he slicks himself, like he'll shatter if he makes one wrong move, and Jaskier looks back at him over his shoulder. "Please, Father," he breathes, and Geralt presses in.

It's a revelation, unlike anything he could have imagined. Jaskier is tight and hot and slick around him, taking him so easily in a manner that defies all logic, and he curls around him and rests his forehead against Jaskier's shoulder with a groan. "Jaskier-" His voice trembles, cracks, and Jaskier reaches over his shoulder and gently strokes his hair.

"Ssh, it's alright, take your time." He sounds overcome, his breath hitching softly with every minute shift of Geralt's hips, and Geralt knows he'll never be able to come back from this. He won't be able to live without this, without Jaskier, and it should horrify him but it doesn't.

A voice in the back of his mind tells him that it's the devil's work, that he's being tempted for a reason, but he doesn't care.

He doesn't care.

Geralt pulls back, slowly, then pushes in again, and Jaskier moans, and it's like a dam breaks. He fucks Jaskier hard and deep, coaxing gasps and cries from the younger man, and when Jaskier grabs his hand and presses it to his mouth to keep him quiet, Geralt snarls and only fucks him harder.

Neither of them lasts long. Geralt comes first, deep inside Jaskier after the other doesn't let him pull out, one hand curled vise-tight into Geralt's shirt. He bows over Jaskier as he comes, cheek pushed against his back and with the other's name on his lips. The orgasm turns his legs to water, but he has enough presence of mind to reach under Jaskier and wrap a hand around his prick, jerking him quickly until Jaskier arches and trembles and goes so fucking tight around Geralt's cock still inside him.

They stay like that, sweaty and panting in the silence of the sacristy, until Geralt has gone soft and slips out of Jaskier, and Geralt knows he should step away and downplay what just happened. Should insist that it can never happen again.

Instead he pulls Jaskier upright and kisses him, kisses him with all the desperation the moment warrants, and when they have to part for air, he presses their foreheads together. He cups the back of Jaskier's neck, clinging to him as though the man could vanish into thin air, and then he says, "No one can ever find out about this."

Jaskier hums and rubs the tip of his nose against Geralt's. "I know," he murmurs, and then he kisses Geralt again.

Later, when they're cleaning the drawers of the credence table where Jaskier's come had crept between the gaps, Geralt wonders if he has gone mad. He's risking his career, his calling. Then again, he has already broken his vows. Broke them the first time he thought about Jaskier in a sexual fashion, really.

If he has doomed himself, well. He can't do that more than once.

#oldandkinky #OldandKinky smut prompts #geraskier #OldandKinky prompts #OldandKinky Jaskier/Geralt #OldandKinky blasphemy kink

[pillage-and-lute]

@thequeeninyellowlace requested “ Geraskier discovering that angry, testy Lambert is actually a big kitten? ❤️❤️”

Warning: some derogatory language, especially anti-sex work slang (although all the witchers are canonically pro-sex work)

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

“I can’t believe you brought your bard to the keep,” Lambert groused. It was the same complaint he’d had all week, ever since Geralt arrived with Jaskier in tow.

“He’s my bard, this is my home,” Geralt said. “I wanted to bring him here.”

Lamberts stood, slamming his mug on the dinner table and glaring at Jaskier. “You wanted a whore to warm your bed in the winter.”

“No,” Jaskier said calmly, turning over a page in the book he’d borrowed from the keep’s library. “Geralt wanted a slut to keep his bed warm in the winter. That’s me.”

“I don’t see a difference,” Lambert growled.

“Lambert c’mon,” Eskel groaned. “This is getting old.”

“The difference,” Jaskier said, speaking over the scarred wolf but not looking up from his book. “Is that I love Geralt very much and I fuck him for free.”

Lambert stormed out, presumably to go throw things about in the armory. Geralt pressed a kiss into Jaskier’s hair.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “He’s not good with change.”

“It’s okay, dear heart, I’m sure he’ll warm up to me.”

Eskel stood and began clearing the dinner dishes. “Good luck with that,” he said.

Vesemir smiled across at Geralt and Jaskier, who were sitting so closely entwined. It was good to see his reclusive pup happy, and he had an idea what had gotten under Lambert’s skin. Before he retired to the library, Vesemir paused, resting a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. 

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Jaskier smiled in return.

-- -- -- -- -- -- 

Some days later the younger wolves were relaxing in the hot springs after training. Vesemir had well and truly put them through their paces and their muscles needed a good, long soak. 

Jaskier appeared, looking almost as beat as they felt. He’d been tending the handful of sheep and two goats that Vesemir kept, mending their fence today. In the cold, with the animals butting in and distrustful, it was hard, slow work. He slid in beside Geralt with a sigh.

Lambert huffed, but, exhausted, wasn’t about to leave the hot springs. Eskel eyed him in amusement.

Geralt, to the shock of everyone but himself and Jaskier, curled himself in and rested his head on Jaskier’s shoulder. Jaskier didn’t even blink and instead reached around and began stroking Geralt’s back and shoulders soothingly. This continued for a few minutes, the other wolves watching a little dumbly. Then Geralt pressed a light kiss to Jaskier’s collar bone and turned around on the ledge, resting his arms out of the bath. Jaskier took this in his stride too and began firmly kneading out the knots between Geralt’s shoulder blades. 

Lambert saw the difference now. Jaskier wasn’t a whore, because even the best paid ones wouldn’t touch so...reverently. They didn’t gentle the tension out of scarred skin and pull the knots from muscles. He shot a glance at Eskel, who was watching with the same half envy half hunger that he felt.

Then Jaskier just got up and walked over to a basket settled next to the wall. He and Geralt had brought that too, it had soaps and oils in it. Jaskier hesitated for a moment, then he picked up the whole basket and brought it to the edge of the hot spring. 

He settled back in, seemingly unaware of the eyes on him, and handed Geralt a bar of soap. It was the usual pale yellow-white color for soap, but Vesemir made all his soap in a big vat and it smelled to high heaven and cleaned by taking a layer of skin off every time it was used. This stuff smelled nice.

“Chamomile,” Eskel said, sniffing. “And bergamot?” 

“Very good,” Jaskier said. “It’s Geralt’s favorite.”

Geralt having a favorite soap was news to his brothers, but they didn’t comment. Jaskier poured a little oil into his hands, but it was mixed with soap or something, because he rubbed it into a bit of a lather and began to work it through Geralt’s hair. 

Geralt reacted like a pampered housecat, arching back into the touch and humming as Jaskier worked. The bard seemed to be doing something of a scalp massage while cleaning and the wolves heard a rumble start up in Geralt’s chest.

It wasn’t purring, not exactly. But all witchers could do it, only when they were truly relaxed of course. It was a whole chest rumble that always seemed to soak into their bones. Lambert scowled. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d purred.

Eventually, with Geralt boneless against the side of the pool, Jaskier finished, rinsing the suds from snow white hair and kissing the back of Geralt’s head.

“Alright,” Jaskier said, pulling two more bars of soap from his basket. “Pick one, each of you.”

“What?” Lambert said. 

“I brought five types of soap, Geralt told me about what you all have up here. So I brought his and mine, and one for each of you. Vesemir already picked his.”

“Did he?” Geralt asked.

“Yes dear heart, he gave me the tour the other day, picked that fig and goat’s milk one I brought”

“Hmmm,” Geralt replied, seemingly fast asleep.

Obediently, and somewhat hypnotized, Eskel and Lambert leaned forward to sniff each soap bar. 

The first made Eskel’s nose crinkle, and he quickly moved on to the second one, but Lambert lingered. The first one was nice. 

It was slightly green, which was weird, but it was nice.

They each picked the one they wanted and Jaskier smiled. “Excellent,” he said. “Now let me wash your hair.”

“Geralt,” Lambert said, immediately on edge. “Your bard is trying to fuck us.”

“My bard,” the white wolf answered drowsily, “Is trying to help you. Be nice.”

“You first,” Lambert muttered to Eskel. Eskel just shrugged and let Jaskier work on his back, settling in to a very similar position to the one Geralt had taken. He let out a few grunts as the bard worked skilled fingers into the cords of muscle on either side of his spine, but they certainly didn’t sound pained. Eskel even chatted quietly with Geralt as Jaskier worked. Then, obediently, he let Jaskier wash his hair.

“The soap you picked is oat and lavender,” the bard said. “So I have lavender oil for your hair, but tell me if it’s too strong, we can use something else.”

Eskel sniffed as Jaskier poured some of the faintly purple liquid into his palm. “Smells fine,” he said. Jaskier smiled, humming faintly as he worked it into Eskel’s hair, commenting a few times on how well kept it was. 

“Geralt always let’s his turn into a rat’s nest whenever I’m away.”

That made Eskel and Lambert raise their eyebrows. Geralt had always been meticulous about his hair, more so than was practical for a witcher. Eyebrows raised further when he blushed slightly and avoided their gaze.

The scalp massage continued and, to Lambert’s complete surprise, Eskel began to purr quietly. Jaskier smiled, but not mockingly or cruelly, and continued his work.

Eventually Jaskier finished with Eskel’s hair and then looked towards Lambert questioningly. “I don’t have to wash your hair if you’d rather I didn’t,” he said. “But I like doing it, and I think you’d like it too.”

“Let him, Lamb,” Geralt grunted before Lambert could say anything. 

“I was going to,” he grumbled as he turned around. 

The first press of hands into his back nearly burned. 

Money was scarce on the Path, even with Toss a Coin playing in every tavern. This year had been harsh on many of the villages Lambert passed through too, and they paid him what they could. 

Sometimes he was in the business of returning most or all of the payment, if things were bad.

All that to say, there had been no prostitutes, or bed mates of any kind, all year. Maybe one or two the year before that. Apart from his brothers, who he sparred with and got drunk with, almost no one touched him.

Jaskier touched him like being afraid of him was a foreign concept. Calloused fingers found every knot and point of tension and worked them out. Lambert felt like dough under a rolling pin.

“Where did you learn this?” he wondered aloud. “And why?”

Jaskier chuckled, digging his fingers into Lambert’s neck as he did so in a way that should have set off alarm bells but instead just sent electricity down his spine. “See,” Jaskier said. “I spent my time at university working for a bathhouse to make extra money-well, it was mostly a brothel but it offered baths. I just warmed up towels and sliced soap.”

“Mmmhm,” Lambert said, feeling his mind numb under the onslaught of touch.

“And one of the older women there, Rosie, lovely lady, taught me to make soap and find the right ones. Also taught me about massage, not the happy ending kind, that education I got elsewhere, but good information.”

It must have been, Lambert thought. It felt like Jaskier’s hands were touching his soul through his skin. 

Then Jaskier moved on to his hair. 

Lambert let the feeling wash over him as gentle fingers kneaded into his head, taking away headaches he hadn’t known were there. Manicured fingernails scratched lightly at his scalp. 

It was so good.

It was so nice to be touched when it wasn’t sex or sparring. It felt like a balm on Lambert’s soul and he’d been so jealous. Geralt had brought the bard and gotten all the touch he could want and left Eskel and Lambert without, but he was sharing this. It was like honey inside his brain. To his shame Lambert felt his eyes prickle. 

Witchers could cry. Their eyes didn’t tear up with wind, dust, or pain as much, because that could compromise their eyesight in battle, but emotion could bring tears. 

“It’s okay,” Geralt whispered, although not so low that Jaskier wouldn’t hear. “He won’t judge you.”

“I did too, a little,” Eskel said. Had he? Lambert hadn’t noticed. He let tears fall mixing with the moisture from the steam on his face. Jaskier reached around to get more oil and one landed on his hand, so he brushed a thumb down the tear track on Lambert’s face.

It could have, should have felt either patronizing or romantic. It wasn’t. It was just intimate. Gentle, intimate, platonic touch. Lambert began to cry a little harder. 

Geralt sidled over and leaned against him, pressing their shoulders together. Eskel joined in on the other side so that Lambert was sandwiched between his older brothers. 

They sat like that until Jaskier rinsed out Lambert’s hair.

He’d taken longer on the wash, Lambert noted, even though he had the least hair of the three of them. He was grateful for it. 

Eskel and Lambert watched as Geralt washed Jaskier’s hair, passing Geralt the bottle of oil--mint, to go with the mint and honey soap Jaskier favored--whenever Geralt needed it.

Lambert realised he was purring, and wondered how long he’d been doing it, but he had a pretty good idea.

#fluff #kaer morhen #lambert #lambert centric #eskel #vesemir #jaskier #geralt #kaer morhen hot springs ofc #jaskier likes soap #everybody likes nice soap #geraskier #all comfort no hurt #touch starved witchers #the witcher

[abluescarfonwaston]

Winter Lodgings

It was snowing. It had been for a while now.

The pass to Kaer Morhen probably closed weeks ago.

Which was fine. Except. Except that hym had gotten lucky and he could barely raise his arm to his shoulder now. He didn’t have the funds to make it to the temple- he barely had the funds to make it here. And now-

Now he was waiting to see if Jaskier’s drunken offers of winter lodging had any merit.

Because he had no other choice.

His gut churned anxiously as he waited. Snow collecting atop his and Roach.

Well if you ever need a place for the winter let me know.

It couldn’t have been serious. Clearly Jaskier was joking at best. He’d be lucky if the bard even came out to let him know that he was unwelcome.

A pile of snow fell off his head as he leaned against Oxenfurt’s outer wall.

If he could get one night somewhere in the city he could find work. He could fight left handed. He just. Needed to be out of the snow.

He was so tired.

Roach nudged him.

He sluggishly moved over to pet her. Knocking snow from her mane.

He would figure something out. He just. He just.

“Geralt!” He turned to the overly loud voice cutting through the quiet of the snowstorm. “You look half frozen! Fight an ice giant on the way in?”

Jaskier’s excited jaunt became determinedly rapid as he neared. He was wrapped in an expensive looking bright blue cloak lined with what smelled like sheepskin. It looked warm.

His brow furrowed as he tried to work out what had been said to him. Jaskier pat his forearm with an easy smile. One hand undoing the hasty ties of his cloak.

Snow was knocked from his shoulders and the cloak wrapped around him. Still warm.

“Take Roach to the stables for us my good man.” Jaskier adjusted the collar tight around his jaw and buttoned the front closed. He nosed down into it. Definitely sheepskin. Definitely Jaskier’s. “And do make sure Fillip is awake and actually takes care of her. I swear that boy sometimes-“

Jaskier shivered in the doublet he’d thrown over his nightclothes.

His hand wrapped around his wrist and tugged him forward as the messenger took Roach’s reins and led her away.

“Roach-“ He started.

“Is in the best of hands. Come now before we catch our deaths in this blizzard.”

His room wasn’t big but it was larger than a fair amount of inn’s they’d shared. A bed. A desk. A closet. A bookshelf. Piles of paper strewn about the floor along with bundles of discarded clothing.

Jaskier was quickly adding Geralt’s to the mix.

“Don’t grumble at me Witcher! I have sat through many a lecture from you specifically about the dangers of wet clothing and the cold. Do not give me that look.”

A blanket from the bed was tossed over his stripped form and he was shoved onto the mattress. He knew exactly why Jaskier was so skilled at undressing people but his efficiency was still impressive. He wrapped the blanket tighter. Shivering.

A shirt hit his face. He pulled it off only to be subsequently hit with one of Jaskier’s braies.

“I have clothing.”

“Oh in your soaked saddlebags?” Jaskier turned brandishing his wool stockings like a weapon. He knelt down in front of him. A warm hand wrapping around his numb ankle. Trying to lift it off the floor. “Don’t be as stubborn as Roach Geralt.” He scolded. He grumbled but let Jaskier pick it up off the ground. Not bothering to support its weight himself.

Jaskier’s arm didn’t shake in the least. The warmth of his hand starting the static of sensation returning to his chilled limb. He gathered the material in his hand and softly slipped it over his toes. The arch of his foot. The material bunched at his anklebone and Jaskier switched hands. One holding his heel as he tugged the soft wool over his calf up to his knee.

It bunched there. His thighs too wide for the last of it. Jaskier folded it over his knee and set it gently down.

“Planning on staying long?” He asked as he arranged the other stocking.

“Hmm.” His hair dripped onto the blanket. He wiped the icy beads from his face. Burrowing into the familiarity of its scent.

“As eloquent as ever I see.” Jaskier held the fragile bones of his ankle in his palm. He closed his eyes and bathed in the certainty of his safety. The stocking rolled over his foot and bunched at his ankle again.

His foot lifted a little higher off the floor as he switched hands and he felt Jaskier’s hot breath at the base of his shin.

He shivered and pretended it was from the cold.

“Don’t think I missed the hack job of your shoulder. Whoever sowed you up makes me look like a trained barber. I mean really. Did a blind eyed rat do it?”

He folded the stocking over his knee and collected the braies from the bed.

Picked his foot up and set it in one of the legs.

Then the other.

“First thing in the morning we’re taking you to Shani and getting that mess sorted.” He hitched the underclothing up over his knees. Parting the blanket.

He shuffled into them. Jaskier’s hands warm at his hips. Breathe hot at the top of his thighs.

He thanked the cold for his non reaction.

His hands smoothed down the soft fabric of Jaskier’s underwear. Down the sides of his hips. Over the uncovered hair of his thighs. Stopping to tug lightly at the top of the stockings. Warm against his knees.

Jaskier tugged the blanket closed around him. Dug around for something.

He closed his eyes. Exhausted.

“Don’t fall asleep yet.” His hair was pulled back and squeezed downward. Wrapped in a cloth that was soft against his neck.

Jaskier rubbed it hard against his skull. Shaking him with the intensity of that. He grumbled in protest.

“Oh shush.” He opened his eyes to watch Jaskier fling a pair of trousers across the room. No doubt where he had grabbed it from in the first place. “Get in the chemise and you can sleep for a week you whiny oaf.”

Without the chill to help numb and distract he wasn’t sure he could.

Still Jaskier tugged down the blanket. Easing that arm through first.

His tongue was sticking out. The concentration he devoted to such a menial task.

He smiled slightly and after Jaskier pulled it over his head he rested his forehead on Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Pass is closed.” He whispered.

“Then- you’re really not helping at all are you?” He struggled to pull his arm through the other sleeve. “You’ll just have to stay here. No two ways about it.”

“I can?” He was almost warm and he was surrounded by soft familiar safety.

“Of course.” Jaskier assured, giving up on the other arm and laying him down. “My home is your home Geralt. Or. Dorm. I suppose.”

“Why?” He exhaled as Jaskier settled against him. Chest pressed to the curve of his spine. Arm cuddled over him.

Skin pressed against the chill of his neck. It moved quietly with barely a hint of air or sound.

“Because you are my home.”

#geraskier #geralt #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #fluff #featuring Geralt's ankles #And the tenderness of Dressing someone in your clothing #Also little spoon Geralt at the end there #could i use this for the hypothermia whump? #Probably but i need validation now #just. Dressing someone can be so intimate #more so than the stripping Jaskier also does in this fic

[skaldingrayne]

Prompt: Breaking up* Relationships:  Jaskier/Lambert Rating: Explicit Content Warnings: None Summary:  Jaskier has a problem, Lambert has a very creative solution, and they both get banned from the Kaer Morhen library for the rest of the winter.

Jaskier dropped his head onto the table and whimpered a little.

“Something wrong, Buttercup?” Lambert asked from where he leaned in the library’s doorway.

“I can’t - I can’t - Melitele’s talented tongue, I can’t word right,” Jaskier groaned in embarrassment, gesturing above his head as if to illustrate the criminal lack of muses currently flying above it to drop sweet words of inspiration directly into his ears.

“You can’t what?” Lambert asked in concern, striding over with a confused look on his face. He had heard of attacks humans could sometimes get where they started talking nonsense.

“I’ve got writer’s block,” Jaskier hissed in frustration, indicating the parchment in front of him that was half-filled with crossed-out starts and a few entertaining doodles of stickmen in various salacious positions together, but little in the way of actual headway. “I’ve been sitting here all afternoon trying to write this anniversary ballad for a Duke who wants to surprise his wife with a song about their engagement.”

“Okay…so what’s the problem?”

“I don’t know,” Jaskier growled in frustration. “It should be a cakewalk. He’s given me a very healthy incentive and broad artistic license. It only has to somehow mention a lake like the one they were sailing on, some elven ruins on the shoreline they admired, and the boat where the engagement party actually took place. All very romantic imagery and brimming with metaphoric possibility! But I’ve been sitting here for hours now and I’ve got fuck all to show for it.”

Lambert dutifully leaned over Jaskier’s chair to see what he had been working on. Presumably, his snickers were at the erotic doodles and hopefully not at Jaskier’s complete lack of progress so far.

This close Jaskier could tell Lambert had been down in the little reinforced workshop just off the armory where he worked on his bombs and other explosives. The faint scent of gunpowder and metal still lingered around him. There was even an adorable smudge over the bridge of his aquiline nose, which Jaskier was in no way tempted to alert him to.

Instead, Jaskier snuck his fingers into Lambert’s shirt collar - as much as anyone could sneak around a witcher that is - and tugged him down for a kiss.

Lambert’s eyebrows nearly met his widow’s peak when they finally parted. “What was that for? Not that I’m complaining Buttercup, but you usually don’t like me to interrupt you when you’re working.”

“Hrm…Maybe I need some inspiration?”

Lambert’s lips curled in a slow grin as he reached a hand out to cup Jaskier’s chin. He swiped his thumb across Jaskier’s bottom lip, tugging slightly at the bow before continuing on to press gently against the corner of his mouth in silent question.

Jaskier flicked his tongue out around it, swirling, before catching it in his mouth and sucking.

“Fuck, Buttercup,” Lambert whispered, his cat-slitted pupils blown as wide and round as saucers leaving only a faint ring of gold left to be seen. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as Jaskier hollowed his cheeks before sliding off with an audible pop.

Suddenly - delightfully - Jaskier had a lapful of witcher as Lambert’s mouth pressed hot kisses along his throat, those oh so clever fingers running through his hair.

Lambert nuzzled his ear, a deep indrawn breath tickling across it. “You smell amazing.”

Jaskier chuckled, “I smell like old books and spilled ink.”

“Like I said,” Lambert replied between little nips and bites under his jaw, down his throat, at the join of his shoulder. Then before Jaskier knew it, Lambert had wiggled underneath the table and was picking slowly at the laces to Jaskier’s breeches.

“Wha - ?”

READ MORE ->

* Well, they worked to break up the writers block anyways. I just could not properly angst this prompt, it defied all my other attempts. So what’s a poor writer to do other than pull a reframe? 😅

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo​ @continentcakeshop​

#Lambert #Jaskier #lambert/jaskier #jaskier/lambert #thewitcherfanfic #the witcher fanfic #witcher fanfic #witcher fanfiction #bombard #lambskier #jambert #heavy petting series #wrsb #witcher rarepair summer bingo #Oxenfurt archives

[thebadboyfanclub]

The Dream (Geralt x Reader)

Do I have other requests I need to write? Yes, however if I didn’t get this off my system I can’t focus on anything else, so here it goes. Enjoy!

T.W This is my interpretation of nymphs, I don’t want to hear if it’s accurate or not.

Being a Naiads nymph meant to be in tune with nature and water, maintain the peace and harmony with the river, protect it and worship it like it deserved and anyone would pity the man that harmed the rivers and lakes that are protected by them. However the ones that respected it meant that they would in the nymphs good graces, to drink of the water of the naiads river meant to be inspired, madmen, barbs and prophets had told a plethora of stories about the enchanting delicate nymphs.

(Y/n) loved her place in this world, her sisters and the other creatures lived a peaceful life, yet something was missing. A lot of them had witnessed some couples that found sanctuary near the water and had seen them intertwine and let the fiery passion take over them, oh to be in love and worshipped.

“Geralt you might be all indestructible and all but your blood is staining roach”

The lively barb joked loudly enough for the nymphs' to hear. Without even discussing it they all took cover and hid as quickly as they possibly could, of course the humans were aware of the nymphs existence, nonetheless the cruel ones have been known to try and kidnap or harass them.

Geralt was feeling the pain from the wound get more and more intense and it was just his luck that he had just ran out of healing potions, he did not expect that vicious creature to be such a fighter. Dawn was slowly approaching and was hot on their trail, they wouldn’t make it to the next village before dark and thieves could be waiting for them.

“Fine, we stop here”

“Excellent, at least we can wash on the water”

“Don’t even go near, naiads are guarding the water”

“Naiads? What is that?”

“Nymphs fool”

“Nymphs?! Oh it must be my birthday, I heard they are the most beautiful of creatures”

The childlike Jaskier claimed happily, as Geralt got down from his horse and neatly tied it on the tree he wished to have never showed kindness to the annoyingly optimist barb that was calling the nymphs and was taking off his shoes to jump in the crystal clear river. Geralt was just on time to grab him from the collar mid air and pull him back to ground, Jaskier misstopping and falling down on his back with a thud.

“What was that for?”

“You fool, you have to ask them permission and let them show themselves or else they will drown you”

“That’s not very nice of them now isn’t it?”

“Don’t make me throw you in the water Barb”

As nightfall completely took over (y/n) watched them from afar, hiding behind the bushes and half of her face out of it to take a good look at the two men, specifically the white hair muscular man. She could smell his blood, he was severely wounded and tired, her little heart was starting to beat faster every time he spoke with that deep voice

“Sister, get back here, they could be dangerous”

“He respected our river sister, he respects us”

“He is a witcher, he kills creatures”

“Harmful creatures, he protects us from dangerous beasts”

“Don’t tell me you have gotten interested in a mutant”

Her blond hair sister questioned  (y/n). Her sisters were all aware of her desire to fall in love, to be like the couples, she had the chance to marry demi gods yet she raised her nose to them and denied herself, she wanted nothing to do with those stuck up pesky little men.

“He is hurt”

“He will survive it’s what they do... fine, stay here and watch”

And that’s what she did, stayed and watched them slowly drift off to blissful slumber. That is when she got the brilliant idea, she would help him, heal him, he had respected her grounds, saved his mortal friend from punishment, he deserved her help. 

She approached them silently and swiftly through the other side of the river, her breath getting uneven the closer she got to him, he looked so handsome from afar, he was even more perfect when she got next to him. His hand was over his wound on his stomach, a nasty deep slice that looked like it had just stopped bleeding not even moments ago, his face was not peaceful, his brows were furrowed and he would let a groin from time to time, even at his sleep the cut was torturing him

As she gently took his hand off the wound she placed hers over it, feeling the power run through her delicate fingers and to his body.

“Who are-”

“Shhhh, I’m not here to harm you, I mean no harm”

Her voice was like sweet honey to his ears, you can imagine his surprise when he felt a hand to his body and opened his eyes to meet an ethereal creature, her hair fell so effortlessly in her face, yet her eyes pierced his soul, those hues that showed such kindness and purity that lived in her, her sweet smile that made those perfectly shaped lips of hers curl could be the source of the sweetest nectar anyone in this world would ever taste. Her skin glistered under the moonlight, she was an angel sent for him in his dream.

“Rest witcher, you are safe here”

She couldn’t resist anymore, her hand almost acted on its own when she reached to caress his cheek with the back of her fingers, slowly and gently. His hot skin made hers crave more than just a once in a lifetime touch, his flesh was like drug to hers. 

He went to speak when they heard Jaskier start shuffling, a big chance of him waking up startled her. She quickly turned to Geralt and placed a kiss on his Forehead, it could be the last time she ever saw him she had to let him off with some sort of intimacy.

“Goodnight”

“No wait”

Before he could even move the girl was gone, vanished from thin air and leaving him high and dry, he groaned as he let his head touch the ground once again. It was even a minute before he went back to sleep, wondering what was that creature that had helped him and swooned him with just one look.

-

“IT’S A MIRACLE”

Geralt woke up by the defeating voice of the barb. As he opened his eyes a few strands of sunlight hit him in the face, he was almost ready to feel the great pain in his abdomen when he realized the pain never came. 

“Geralt I have to give it to you, I wasn’t sure if you could heal that time of wound. Look at you! All cleaned up and ready to go”

“What?”

As he sat up he took a look at his stomach, the tear in his clothes was there, yet no scar, no blood, like it was never there. He was healed, just like the girl in his dream said

“You know I was scared, you were talking in your sleep”

“I did?”

“Yes, in a... girly way. You almost fooled me I thought we had company, yet when I woke it was just you”

“The dream”

“What dream now?”

“I saw a girl, an angel"

All that was heard was the laugh of Jaskier, he had grown tired of being the only one that talked about a lady and being met with the dissapointed look of his witcher friend Geralt.

(Y/n) on the other side of the river felt her heart stop when she heard him call her an angel, of course the nymphs were known for their beauty, she had heard compliments that would make any woman blush over the years, still it was different when it came from him. It meant something to her when it came from him

"An angel, you were hallucinating Geralt? Well I don't blame you, that cut was nasty so it probably took all your might to heal it"

"Or just a thank you to your healer"

That sweet voice. Geralt turned his head immediately when he heard it, it was her, the girl that he saw at night, the angel in his dream, she was now in broad daylight approaching him. Jaskier that was standing was now seated, completely stunned by the awfully gorgeous woman that was quickly coming to them.

As she rose from the river Geralt and Jaskier felt her immaculate presence and their eyes fell almost simultaneously to her body, she was covered by a piece of see through white dress, that barely covered what was necessary. Her body was as perfect as the rest of her, it was like a woman out of a painting came to life, as her hair fell in front of her breasts, teasing them.

"Holly.... They weren't lying"

"excuse me?"

"the prophets, the songs, nymphs are really"

"you haven't seen a nymph before?"

She questioned. Her voice was more melodic than anything any bard- especially Jaskier- had ever sung. She stood in front of this men, so graciously that she made them feel uncomfortable by just being around her.

"no no I have not. I'm Jaskier"

"oh yes, the eager barb that wanted to jump in."

It was the first time Geralt had ever seen Jaskier blush, he was thankful of that blush because it made the girl laugh, her laugh was also like the best of music, she was a fairytale to look and be around to.

"It's alright dear, my sisters will allow you to go in. Right sisters?"

As she said that, the men saw other girls letting themselves out of their spots, one by one came closer and some of them giggling at the baffled man.

"this is.... Exquisite, excuse me dear"

As he kissed her hand he was gone in a bling of an eye and in a few seconds you heard the splash he made when his body hit the water.

Geralt had just gotten on his feet, no doubt the other nymphs were pretty as well, gorgeous as one would say, yet he was mesmerized by the one standing in front of him. She was looking over at the river, her profile was all he could see when he made a few steps to come near her

"I thought you were a dream"

"I didn't want to wake you... Geralt"

He had never been more excited to hear his name come out of someone's mouth. The gruff, cold man was now swooning over a female he had only seen once in his life.

"Thank you for healing me"

"you respected us, it was the least we could do"

"is that the only reason?"

She turned to look at him, she wasn't that much shorter than him. If he could be certain no one was watching he would had gotten her on his horse and hit the road with her, what has gotten into him? Just one look from those... Diamond like eyes and he was ready to leave with her. As he kept looking at her he felt a smile forming in his lips, his usual stiff characteristics had soften, all because of her

"Such pretty eyes"

She whispered to him. It was the first time he had received a compliment for his eyes, the color of his eyes was a sign on what he was, of what he did.

"what's your name?"

"(y/n)"

She introduced herself as she made a step, filling the small space between them. As he felt her skin against his clothes he tried to not show any type of emotion, he was enchanted by her. She once again reached and caressed his face, her skin felt so soft against his, making him relax and enjoy it.

"I've never met someone like you Geralt"

"A witcher?"

"A noble witcher, you are so rare"

Part two

#geralt imagine #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #geralt of rivia oneshot #geralt oneshot #geralt x oc #geralt headcanon #the witcher headcanon #the witcher imagine #the witcher x reader #the witcher oneshot #the witcher #the witcher x you #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill oneshot #henry cavill #geralt of rivia imagine #geralt of rivia x y/n #geralt x you #geralt x y/n #henry cavill one shot #henry cavill appreciation

[knifewieldingenby]

love bites

@kueble this is like, three months late and I am so sorry about that! I hope you like it nonetheless :D

cw: vampire!Jaskier, cockwarming, biting/blood, fun with vampire anatomy, rimming

Jaskier sighed softly as he felt his shirt pulled from his body, hands skirting across bare skin. The room was warm, far too warm for the green and gold doublet that clung pleasantly to his form. Candles littered the room and Geralt had given them a nice, steady fire that wasn’t going out anytime soon. Jaskier let the temperature settle into his bones as his pants were pulled down next, leaving him in nothing but soft lavender lace. 

“Beautiful.” Geralt looked him over before he took Jaskier’s face gently in hand and pulled him into a tender kiss. Their lips moved softly, a stark contrast to what they both wanted for the night. Okay, maybe for what Jaskier wanted for the night. Geralt seemed perfectly content going slow, regardless of how bad Jaskier wanted to ravish him. Geralt smiled against his lips as Jaskier tried to pull his body closer. He pulled away with an amused ‘tut’ and pinned Jaskier’s hands to his side. 

“Be good.”

“‘Good’ is not in my vocabulary, dear heart,” the vampire said.

“Shame,” Geralt said as he trailed his lips down Jaskier’s throat. “You would’ve made an excellent poet otherwise.”

He ignored the indignant squawk that had barely left Jaskier’s mouth before he was cut off by a sigh, head lolling to the side to allow Geralt’s lips to explore his neck and collar bones. Geralt took his time sucking dark marks into Jaskier’s skin, harder than any human could withstand. Jaskier’s body didn’t bruise easily, especially when he hadn’t fed for a while. His mind was currently divided by hunger, equally craving Geralt’s body and his blood. 

Geralt moved down further, lips caressing every inch of firm muscle coated with a thick layer of hair that he lovingly rubbed his nose through until he got to Jaskier’s chest. His chest was adorned by fine strings of lace that encased each nipple in a triangular fashion. Geralt bit at the fabric, tugging it away before releasing. It smacked his skin with a snap that would have been quiet to anyone else’s ears but sounded loud to nonhuman ears. It was a sound that would normally have Jaskier on edge, but he just couldn’t get there. And Geralt, the bastard, knew it.

“Geralt, you fucking- ahh…” Jaskier trailed off as Geralt sucked his nipple between his lips, kneading and pulling slowly. The tingling sensation that arose was beyond weird; it sparked through his body and settled in his gut, higher than he was used to, not quite making it to his dick like he had hoped. Another pitfall of being a vampire; he couldn’t get hard unless he’d recently fed. 

“What about me?” Geralt whispered against his skin, hands stroking his ribs.

“You’re a fucking tease.”

“Hmm,” Geralt licked over Jaskier’s nipple, earning another sigh from his lover. He brought his hand up and worked Jaskier’s other nipple, pinching and pulling the way he knew he liked. Jaskier was at an impasse; his brain told him to grind his hips forward like he normally would at this point but the command never reached his hips. He was caught in a weird zone of mental arousal without the physical proof to back it up. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier whined as his lover started to move downward. “Don’t you dare…”

“Shhh. Be good, remember.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes but watched, entranced, as Geralt made his way to his hips. He kept moving until he was resting on his knees, face buried in Jaskier’s panties as he mouthed over the cool fabric. He’d always liked the feel of lace, a fact that Jaskier often used to his advantage. Geralt took the top of the panties between his teeth and pulled them down, releasing Jaskier’s soft cock. His hands did the rest of the work, and soon enough Jaskier was bare from the waist down. He pulled back for a few seconds to get an eye full of Jaskier, pupils blown wide. Okay, so maybe he was more affected than Jaskier expected.

“Look at you,” Geralt breathed. “Perfect.”

Jaskier fought the urge to roll his eyes again. He was a grower, not a shower, and in this state he would even be willing to admit that he looked quite small, especially next to the warm hands that pressed his thighs apart. Still, he threaded his fingers through Geralt’s hair and pulled, a last ditch effort to get what he really wanted. Geralt groaned, eyes locking with his, and the hunger in those black eyes, barely rimmed with gold, made Jaskier bite his lips. Even more enticing was the expanse of his beautiful neck. He could faintly make out the way Geralt’s skin pulsed, a sure sign of the slow movement of blood. Jaskier licked his lips.

“Don’t you want me hard, love?” His other hand came up to stroke over Geralt’s neck. The Witcher shuddered and leaned into the touch in the same breath as he shook his head.

“No,” Geralt pulled away and grinned wickedly. “I want you just like this.”

A moment later Jaskier watched as Geralt ducked down, hot breath on his cock, and licked a strip from base to tip, an almost embarrassingly short trip. It was hard to feel that shame though when he took into account the darkening of Geralt’s eyes, the way his nails dug into his thighs. He mouthed over the tip, lips moving slow, before slipping the head into his mouth. The motion wasn’t as smooth as usual, no firm shape to push passed Geralt’s lips smoothly, but the witcher didn’t seem to care. His wet mouth took Jaskier’s small cock down easily before he stilled.

Jaskier squirmed under him, not sure whether to remain still or rock his hips into Geralt’s inviting mouth. Usually by this point he was shaking with need, Geralt pressing his hips down to prevent him from fucking his lover’s face. Now he remained still, a new sensation washing over his body. It was nice, really nice. Like a really good massage, something that settled into his bones and made him feel warm and relaxed. He dug his fingers into Geralt’s hair, nails grazing his scalp, and Geralt moaned around his cock. His tongue moved gently, mapping out Jaskier’s small cock in a way he never had. 

“Fucking tease,” Jaskier muttered, but there was no heat behind it. He liked it more than he thought he would.

Geralt whined around him. His hands slid up to touch every sensitive inch of Jaskier’s body. One hand played gently with Jaskier’s balls, a feeling that made the vampire jump slightly but settle quickly, that nice feeling amplified. His other hand reached around to pull Jaskier to the farthest edge of the bed so he could explore Jaskier’s ass. Hands moving freely, he rested his head against Jaskier’s thigh and looked up at him through his lashes, eyes fluttering as he sucked around Jaskier’s soft length. 

For once, Jaskier wasn’t in any rush to move things along. He sighed, eyes heavy, as Geralt started to bob his head, short and slow as to keep Jaskier in his mouth. He was so warm, so wet; Jaskier stroked his cheek lovingly. He was amused to note that Geralt looked ten times more affected by this than Jaskier himself. 

“Aren’t you so good for me?” Jaskier cooed, feeling a shift in their dynamic. Whereas Geralt had started the night in control, he moaned as Jaskier took the reins. Jaskier swiped his fingers along Geralt’s cheek; where he would normally feel the press of his cock stretching his cheeks, he merely felt the soft suctioning motions. Something in him clicked, and suddenly he felt desperate for something more.

“I think you’ve had your fun,” he said as he pulled Geralt’s head back by his hair. Geralt moaned as Jaskier’s cock popped out of his mouth. His lips were the prettiest shade of pink, glistening with spit. “Come here, love.” To his great satisfaction Geralt scurried up quickly and planted himself in Jaskier’s lap, hands wrapping around his back. His impressive cock pressed against Jaskier’s stomach through his pants. Jaskier wasted no time latching his lips to Geralt’s neck, licking over his pulse point. Geralt moaned, pulling him closer. He smirked, briefly considered teasing the man in retaliation, but he couldn’t bring himself to go through with it. Not when Geralt was writhing desperately in his lap. Not when he felt the rush of blood beneath his lips.

“Jask, please,” Geralt whined. Teeth grazed along his neck, sharp and tantalizing. The moment Jaskier broke skin Geralt’s hips shot forward, grinding his cock into his lover as he came hard against his stomach. Jaskier worked slowly, both by nature and desire. Geralt’s blood moved slower than humans to begin with, but the desire to draw it out even longer was a temptation he couldn’t resist. The feeling of the White Wolf clinging to his back, trying to get him impossibly close, made his head spin. As he fed he felt that amazing sensation he’d been craving all night - the desire that pooled high in his gut moved downward quickly, settling between his legs. His cock grew, and he took advantage of Geralt’s position, grinding up against his firm ass. As he retracted his teeth, pulling away ever so slightly, he licked at the small line of blood dripping from Geralt’s puncture wounds. Geralt dropped his head back as if he wanted more. 

“Get these off,” Jaskier tugged at Geralt’s pants for emphasis. Geralt jumped up from his lap, ridding himself of his pants and smalls in mere seconds, shucking his shirt for good measure, and climbed back on him. This time he pushed Jaskier down so that he was straddling his lap. He rocked his hips forward, their cocks sliding together, both men moaning from the motion. 

“My turn,” Jaskier grinned. Geralt cocked an eyebrow, confused, until the world started spinning as Jaskier flipped them over and pinned Geralt to the bed. He leaned down and lapped at the bite marks on Geralt’s neck, the small purple dots that would be gone in a few hours. He rubbed his hands down Geralt’s chest, paying special attention to his perfect tits. Geralt groaned as he leaned forward and tried to catch Jaskier in a kiss. This time it was Jaskier who pulled away, working himself quickly down Geralt’s body. He slid to his knees, eyes trained on Geralt’s big cock, on the way he arched off the bed begging for attention. Jaskier ignored it entirely. He hiked Geralt’s legs up and apart.

“Hold those,” he said, and Geralt immediately complied, wrapping his hands under his knees to keep his legs spread. He shuddered a moment later as warm breath ghosted over his ass.

“Jask, hurry the fuck up,” He grumbled. Jaskier chuckled and kissed his cheeks one by one, getting closer to his destination.

“That’s rich coming from you, my good sir.” He placed his hands on either cheek and, using his thumbs, spread him, taking in the sight of Geralt’s hole, the twitch of anticipation. Geralt still smelled like the rose soap they’d washed each other with. Jaskier leaned forward, poked his tongue out ever so slightly, and teasingly circled Geralt’s hole. The Witcher shuddered and pushed into the touch only for Jaskier to move out of the way. 

“Be good,” He repeated Geralt’s words from earlier. Geralt settled even as he caught Jaskier’s gaze and begged with his eyes. Maintaining eye contact, Jaskier licked over his hole again. He concentrated the tip of his tongue and pressed, feeling his tongue slip inside. The slight pressure made Geralt whine softly and arch his back, trying to push his hips into Jaskier’s face. Jaskier withdrew his tongue and pushed back in, over and over, enjoying the way Geralt squirmed beneath him. He wrapped a hand loosely around Geralt’s cock as he ate him out, slowly running his fingers up and down the length of his cock. 

“Jask, fuck…”

“Mm,” Jaskier hummed against his hole. He fucked him steadily faster, savoring the taste of his lover, the beautiful sounds slipping from those pretty lips. He pulled out, circled around Geralt’s hole before pulling away. “Do you want to come again, dear?”

“Mhm,” Geralt nodded quickly, looking down at him with eyes blown wide and a blush on his cheeks. 

“Do you want my mouth? My hand?”

Geralt shook his head, shuddered as Jaskier tightened his grip around his cock.

“What do you want, my love?”

“T-teeth,” he blushed. Jaskier grinned. He dragged his tongue along his teeth, over the sharp points of his fangs, and watched with joy as Geralt’s eyes followed his every move. 

“Anything for you.”

Jaskier pulled his hand away from Geralt’s cock, splaying it on his abdomen to steady him. He didn’t need to touch his cock when he used his teeth; one bite could have the man shooting off. Perks of vampire bites. He brought his lips down, dragging them slowly over Geralt’s thigh to kiss every inch of his skin. Geralt moaned and gripped him by the hair, attempting to urge him forward. He grinned and teased his skin with his fangs, applying the slightest of pressure. Not enough to break the skin, but just enough for Geralt to hold his breath in anticipation. The third time Jaskier pulled away without biting, Geralt huffed. His hips were rocking into nothing, hard cock leaking steadily against his stomach. 

“Jask, please-”

“Shh.” Jaskier rubbed his stomach soothingly. His cock ached as his fingers came away wet with his lover’s precum.  He licked over the crease between Geralt’s thigh and his ass, marking his target.

“Good boy,” Jaskier whispered right before he sunk his teeth into that spot. Geralt practically wailed, body shaking as he came across Jaskier’s hand. Jaskier moaned against his skin, the warm taste of blood along his tongue. He quickly brought a hand down to his own cock and jerked himself off. It took an embarrassingly short time before he was coming, accidentally sinking his teeth deeper. To his astonishment Geralt cried out, cock jerking, spilling more cum over his body. 

When Geralt’s body stopped shaking Jaskier finally withdrew. He licked over the wound for good measure before pulling himself up on unsteady legs and crawling into the bed next to Geralt. Geralt’s eyes were closed, mouth dropped open with deep breaths.

“You okay, love?”

“I...yeah.” He slowly broke out into a dazed smile. “That was…”

“Something we’ll be doing again?” Jaskier guessed. Geralt chuckled lowly and threw his arm out, inviting Jaskier to cuddle up into his side. He would get up in a few minutes and clean them both off, but for now Geralt was soft and warm underside him and nothing else mattered.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfic #geraskier #geraskier fanfic #vampire jaskier #my writing

[roughentumble]

Perfectly Titillating, v2

Geraskier, explicit, 3k, on ao3

SUMMARY:: just an excuse for some chest worship, after that bathing scene in s2. you all know the one 👀 we're ignoring any negative associations jaskier may have for being tied up, i just wanted to write something horny. 

(when i wrote this fic i accidentally went a little hard on geralt calling jaskier's chest his "tits". i wasnt sure how i felt about it, so i created a second version with very minor edits where i removed all but one reference to them being "tits", and this is that version. if you think that the word "tits" is/could be hot and fun, feel free to view the original, posted here)

@greyduckgreygoose asked to be tagged when this fic was uploaded, so i’ll be tagging her in both versions. and @hale-of-stiles-heart just because i get the vibe she’d wanna be tagged :3

FIC::

Yes. This, this feels right. When they'd first kissed again, it had been slow, soft, filled with trepidation both of them wondering, would the other feel the same? Had time and fights and reconciliation changed things? Where were they allowed to touch, how far could they go, a gentle testing the waters. Geralt's hand had shook where it cupped Jaskier's cheek, and his own didn't fare much better, clutching at Geralt's shoulder. Hesitant lips and trembling breaths both met in the middle, but as they both sank into the kiss, it became obvious there were no reservations, no hesitations. Just want, just yearning, just the feeling of coming home. Desperation had taken over, and now as Jaskier is shoved onto the bed in a flurry of motion and need, everything just feels right.

Geralt's on him in a moment, straddling his hips and kissing him breathless all in one fluid motion. He licks his way into Jaskier's mouth with fevered determination, and it makes Jaskier shiver, already drunk on kisses. Heat pools in his stomach, licks up his spine, flares to life at every point of contact between them, and Jaskier needs more, nails digging into Geralt's back and fingers kneading at his flesh, as if he could somehow drag him even closer, like the weight of him might somehow quell the rising need under his skin.

Geralt's hands rest on Jaskier's shoulders, another point of contact pressing him down onto the bed, grip almost bruisingly tight as he rubs at the straining muscles through Jaskier's shirt. Then one hand is wandering up, tangling itself in Jaskier's hair and pulling and it's perfect, perfect, Jaskier's spine bowing off the bed as he gasps and leans into that glorious tug, feels his toes curl with delight, feels the pull all the way down his back, electricity crackling.

Geralt pulls away for a moment, watching, eyes dark with desire as they linger on the curve of his torso, twisted into an arch. "How much do you like this shirt?" Geralt asks, somewhat randomly if you were to consult Jaskier, and he blinks dumbly as he attempts-- unsuccessfully-- to pull Geralt back into a heated kiss.

"It's a pretty good shirt, not my favorite but certainly not the worst thing I own, why--" Geralt lets out a growl, takes two fistfuls of the shirt right near the collar and pulls just enough to strain the fabric so it creaks pitifully.

"How much," he asks again, pointedly, voice a low rumble, "do you like this shirt?"

A thrill goes through Jaskier as he understands what he's being asked. "I fucking hate it."

Geralt grins, and tugs, and it's like the shirt is paper in his hands the way it rips down the middle with no effort at all. Jaskier gasps, stomach fluttering pleasantly as the tatters of his shirt come to rest on his now bare chest. Geralt takes a moment to tease, fingers tracing the frayed edge so they lightly skim across Jaskier's overheated skin, and he twitches and squirms away from the feather-light touch. "Geralt, please," he begs, but Geralt takes a few more moments to explore, hands groping at his half-exposed body, before he finally takes pity. He grabs the remains of the shirt and tugs it down hard and fast, yanking it down Jaskier's arms.

It bunches at his elbows awkwardly, drawing them together and getting stuck there. He moves to fix it, but then pauses, staring. "Geralt..?" Jaskier asks, chest heaving, head cocked in question. With his elbows trapped together behind his back, his chest is pushed up and out, with nothing to cover it, no way to twist away from Geralt's gaze. He watches as Geralt takes his pose in, expression growing hungrier by the moment, hand fisted in the fabric of his ruined shirt to keep him pinned on the spot.

Geralt rearranges them just a bit, shuffling so he's kneeling on the bunched up fabric, keeping Jaskier pinned but both of his own hands free. He takes just a moment to shed his own shirt, barely taking his gaze off the prone body beneath him. Geralt watches him, eyes dark, and slowly drags a single finger down his body, collarbone to belly button, then back up again. Anticipation skitters across Jaskier's skin, leaves him flushed and heaving.

"You taunted me with this on purpose." Geralt says, voice a low rumble, finger trailing back up to circle one exposed pec. It sends a thrill up Jaskier's spine, and he bites his lip, tries to hide his eager panting.

"I don't know what you're talking about." he replies, then squirms a bit beneath Geralt's iron grip.

"Teasing me. Had no reason to take your shirt off, to wade in so deep and yet leave all this exposed." His fingers skirt over sensitive skin, too light to be fully felt, gentle enough to raise goosebumps  in their wake.

"When have you ever known me to tease?" He says just to rile Geralt up, reveling in the look that flashes through his eyes.

Geralt grabs him by the jaw, forces his head back a bit, caught in his grip. "You're a brat." he rumbles, thumb coming up to rest on Jaskier's lower lip, pressing lightly as if testing the plumpness. His lips part easily, little huffing breaths escaping between them. "I'm gonna take my time with you... really savor it." His fingers release Jaskier's jaw to trail down his exposed neck, following the sensitive line of his veins down to his collarbone in a caress. Jaskier shivers to be touched somewhere so delicate, could swear he can feel his heartbeat in his throat, the ghost of Geralt's touch, the gentle pressure, lingering long after his fingers have gone.

His palm comes to rest in the center of Jaskier's chest, and he buries his fingers in the wealth of hair there, curling them into a fist and tugging. Jaskier moans and arches further, following Geralt's pull, relishing in the gentle ache. He does it again, just because Jaskier seems to like it so much, then he lets go and pets the skin soothingly.

His hands trail down farther, tracing the point where chest gives way to rib, that sensitive little patch of skin on the underside of Jaskier's pectorals. He cups his hands under both sides, holding and framing them, lip caught between his teeth as he stares down at the tableau beneath him.

"Wish you could see yourself from this angle," Geralt says, squeezing them just a bit more, so they stick out more prominently. "how pretty your tits look." Color immediately rises to Jaskier's cheeks and he inhales sharply, the crass word throwing him off-guard.

"They're, they're not--" he starts, tripping over that word as it catches in his throat. His arms yank in their bonds, trying to cover, but there's nowhere for them to go.

"What, pretty? Sure they are." Geralt teases, playing dumb as he squeezes again, pushes them up and together. "Prettiest tits I've ever seen in my life. And they're all for me, aren't they?" Jaskier whines, flushed red high on his cheekbones, and tilts his head to the side as if attempting to hide. He isn't usually shy in bed, but Geralt just does something to him.

Geralt keeps his touch feather-light for as long as he can stand, tracing whorls and patterns across Jaskier's skin, watching as he squirms. "Fuck, you're so beautiful..." he mumbles, more to himself than to Jaskier, but it makes him suck in a breath anyway. A finger trails down to circle an areola teasingly, watching as it slowly peaks and hardens beneath his touch. "How often do people touch you like this?" Geralt asks. It's not a sensation Jaskier's all that used to, and it makes his stomach flutter.

"Often enough, I get plenty in my bed--" He cries out as Geralt suddenly pinches his nipple, harsh and punishing on the unsuspecting flesh. He stops as quick as he started, thumb petting over it soothingly.

"How often." His tone brooks no argument, and Jaskier lets out a shaky breath.

"They don't, really," he admits, "they don't bother."

Geralt growls, as if the statement personally offends him. Perhaps it does. "Idiots. They don't know what they're missing." He ducks his head down, nuzzling at Jaskier's chest affectionately before taking his other nipple in his mouth. He laves his tongue over it gently, lapping and suckling, and Jaskier moans again, a helpless, unrestrained sound.

Geralt cups the breast not in his mouth, callouses dragging over sensitive skin, finally moving with purpose. He massages and squeezes, kneading the flesh, petting it eagerly, careful not to miss a spot, his mouth never quitting as it works in tandem with his fingers. He catches the nipple between his teeth and rolls it, tugging back on it just so, and Jaskier keens.

He squirms under the onslaught of both at once, breath coming in weak pants, arms tugging uselessly at their cloth prison. He wants to push him away, pull him closer, urge more out of him, something. But he cant, so there he continues to lay as Geralt torments him, switching sides in an apparent interest in keeping things even.

It's like there's a direct line to his dick, each squeeze sending sparks of pleasure down his spine until they stop to settle at the base of his throbbing cock, trapped and neglected in his pants, tenting them as an ever-growing wet spot soaks the front.

He finally gets his footing, planting his heels in the bedding and arching up, as if he could press more of his chest into Geralt's mouth, pleas for more falling from his lips. He doesn't come close to dislodging him, but Geralt gets with the program anyway, pulling his mouth away so he can knead them both equally.

He doesn't go far, though, lavishing wet kisses over all the free skin he can reach. Up to his collarbone and then back down, down, until finally he focuses on a single patch of skin and bites. Jaskier yelps, but Geralt doesn't let up, sucking and nipping at the same patch of skin until a bright red hickey blooms across the pale skin of his chest. "Fuck, Geralt," Jaskier moans as he looks down at the spot, skin tingling where his mouth had just been.

"Geralt, please," he begs, though he isn't sure what he's begging for, hips shifting endlessly to make his smalls rub against his dick just so. Geralt's uninterested in bringing anything to an end, though, interest instead sparked by the hickey on his chest. Over and over Geralt leans down, working another pretty red mark into his skin as he grows ever needier, skin alive and tingling with each love bite left behind.

Geralt kisses him again, on the mouth, and it does something to quell the frantic thrum beneath his skin, but then Geralt pinches both nipples and rolls them, leaving Jaskier to pant into his mouth, all finesse lost. Something about that sort of touch fills his stomach with butterflies, it's so sensitive but in such a different way from anywhere else on his body, and he gulps for air when Geralt finally leans back.

He doesn't go far, though he does twist himself to retrieve something from the nightstand-- a bottle of oil. "So fucking gorgeous," he says, "most beautiful thing I've ever seen." And oh, the butterflies are back but for a different reason now.

"Geralt," he breathes out. All his words have left him, it feels, and he struggles to find them. "You-- you too, so gorgeous. So good to me. Always so good to me. Please touch me, please?"

"Fuck yes, anything you want, baby. Just one second, alright? Gonna get myself off, then we'll make you feel good." He fishes himself out of his pants and his smalls and gives himself a few perfunctory strokes. He pours a generous amount of oil in his palm-- then waits, warming it before it touches Jaskier's skin. It's a little detail, but it makes him feel so cared for he almost coos... but then Geralt's tipping his hand over, pouring it across Jaskier's chest.

He works it in, makes sure everything's coated, and briefly Jaskier worries about how much it's going to suck to clean out of his chest hair, but then those glorious hands are rubbing at him, and the smooth glide across his hypersensitive skin makes his mind go blank. "Fuck, should've started with this." Geralt says, both hands massaging Jaskier's chest enthusiastically.

He seems to snap out of it after a moment, though, to the sounds of Jaskier's moans, and he-- somewhat precariously-- procures himself another handful of oil. "Don't worry, Jask, just a bit longer, okay?" He coats himself in the oil as well, hissing slightly as he finally makes contact, then wipes one of his hands on the thigh of his pants, to middling effect.

"What... what are you--"

"Gonna fuck your gorgeous chest." he says, and just the thought has Jaskier's dick giving a rather interested twitch in its confines. "Is that okay?"

Jaskier's head lolls back as he moans, loud and unrestrained. "Yeah. Yeah, yes, fuck, please."

There isn't really enough there to actually fuck, and it's awkward trying to move into position while also keeping Jaskier's arms pinned, but Geralt manages, squeezing Jaskier between his thighs to force the flesh together. He has to press his palm overtop of his dick to actually form a tunnel to fuck, but the effect is still obscene, and Jaskier cant help the little punched-out noise he makes with each thrust, heels scrabbling for purchase in the sheets.

"Geralt." Jaskier whines, arching up into his touch. "Geralt, I- I want you to cum on my chest." Geralt groans like he's been shot with a crossbow.

"Don't worry, baby, that's exactly what I'm gonna do. 'm gonna give you exactly what you want." he says, panting harshly.

Jaskier can't decide what to focus on, Geralt's face, his thighs, the flex and clench of his stomach muscles as he thrusts, but what he keeps coming back to is the head of Geralt's dick, framed on either side by his own pecs. The angle's a bit steep, but he can't tear his gaze away, and the constant rubbing is making his own dick leap in his pants, almost certainly ruined now from the wet patch forming at the front. It chafes, but he can't find it in himself to complain when it's all so good.

It doesn't take long, anyway. The sight of Jask spread out and eager, chest puffed out so perfectly and slick with oil, desperate tears clinging to his lashes, is all practically enough on it's own to tip him over the edge. The tunnel he's created is slick, but the chest hair drags just right on the underside of his cock, rubbing against where he's most sensitive, and his balls drag through the mess just right. The room is filled with obscene, wet sounds and harsh panting as he chases his orgasm, sweat beginning to drip down his spine. "Geralt," he hears, and he looks up at Jaskier's face, beat red and panting as well, making sure to plead as perfectly as he can. "P- please... please cum on my pecs."

"Oh, f- fuck," Geralt mutters as Jaskier's words push him over the edge. He groans so loud that it fills the space, and he pulls his hips back, jerking himself through the aftershocks. The first spurt of cum hits Jaskier on the collarbone, gives him a pretty pearl necklace, but he makes sure the rest decorates his chest, and they both let out a groan when they look at the finished product.

He takes just a moment to catch his breath, then he says "Your turn now." as he walks backwards on his knees, shuffling down to sit on Jaskier's thighs.

Geralt's knee's off the fabric now, but it's gotten all twisted, and his body feels too heavy to lift off his arms, so he remains as pinned as when they started. It only takes Geralt a moment to get Jaskier's pants down around his thighs, and then Geralt jacks him hard and fast and tight and perfect, exactly what he needs. His toes curl so hard his foot cramps, and he can't stop the weak little 'ah, ah, ahn's that fall from his lips. He's been so needy for so long that being touched directly makes his head spin.

"Look at yourself." he says, voice harsh, and Jaskier's head snaps down, looks at his cock angry and red, at how it disappears and reappears in Geralt's grip with each movement, at the mess smeared across his chest. Geralt follows his gaze, then slowly he leans down, and licks a long wet stripe up Jaskier's chest. Jask can see the cum collecting on his tongue as he does it.

Jaskier's head slams back against the pillows as his orgasm tears through him. A ragged moan is pulled from his chest, and he regains his faculties just in time to look down and see Geralt smearing the cum on his hand across Jaskier's chest, one final addition to the mess they've made. Jaskier moans and collapses against the bed like a puppet with its strings cut, mindless of how uncomfortable it is to lay on his arms.

They must sit there for a full minute, panting and puffing like racehorses. then Geralt's moving him oh-so-gently, picking him up like a rag doll to finally free his arms, setting his coat and ripped shirt aside. He lays Jaskier's arms beside him, gently massaging feeling back into his shoulders, each movement tender and careful.

Geralt wipes him clean and the cool water against his abused chest pulls another moan from his lips, but Geralt doesn't linger long. Just gets him stripped and cleaned up, then tugs some blankets over him to protect him from the cold winter air.

"Feeling alright?" Geralt asks gently, and even though his arms feel useless, he manages to open them up, tops it off with a show of grabby-hands.

"I will once you come join me." Jaskier replies, and Geralt's smile warms him up almost as much as his body does.

#witcher tag #ogc tag #witcher #geraskier #fanfic #writing tag

[dhwty-writes]

Keep You Warm

Day 2 of @witcher-and-his-bard‘s prompt challenge, huddling for warmth.

So, this turned a bit steamy in the end. Since I haven't written anything spicier than a tomato in ages, I am a bit confused as to how this happened. I looked away for two seconds and suddenly the bard was horny. Have fun!

Summary: It is snowing. Again. In spring. Jaskier is freezing his fucking balls of, thank you very much; and who is he to deny his witcher's request to sleep next to him? 

Warnings: mild sexual content

Read on AO3

It was cold. No, that wasn't quite strong enough of an expression. Jaskier was freezing his fucking balls off, in a cave in the arse end of nowhere no less, with no one but a grumpy horse and a grumpier witcher as his companions. Oh, right. And a damp fire that smoked more than it gave off heat or light.

He sighed and turned to his other side, sulking that he wouldn't find a comfortable sleeping position either. It had started out well enough, when he had found Geralt a whole month earlier than anticipated—he always was the first to set out on the Path, since Oxenfurt wasn't encased in ice and snow as Kaer Morhen was.

But it had been a warm winter with an early thaw and no sooner had he entered Kaedwen, he had felt two strong witcher-y arms lifting him up in their annual reunion hug. After a decent amount of complaints (squeals, Geralt insisted, the liar) and a maybe more-than-sufficing amount of alcohol to swap stories to (complaining about colleagues, students, and siblings, which were more or less the same for Geralt, but quite different for Jaskier), they had continued with their adventuring. And now- this.

One day they had been tracking a griffin and the next, BOOM, snow again. Snow! At the beginning of Birke! Not unheard of, of course, there was snow as late as Belleteyn sometimes, but still, this was outrageous. Because they weren't talking a few flakes barely encrusting the blades of the grass here, oh no! This was a twenty-to-forty-inches-situation they were dealing with here; Jaskier wasn't sufficiently equipped for that in the best of times and these were not the best of times.

He had been preparing for spring, and summer after! Wading through tepid creeks, enjoying a goblet of wine at the coast, those kinds of things. He had cropped trousers, silken doublets, sheer shirts through one could see every hair on his chest (with a witcher's eyesight, at least). But furs and wool? No, he didn't have any of that! That was all stored in his quarters in Oxenfurt, way too heavy to be brought along on the Path. In hindsight, that had been very stupid.

Geralt wasn't being helpful, either. At first the witcher had laughed and called him an idiot (the prick), and now he was getting grumpier and grumpier with every chatter of Jaskier's teeth.

He, of course, was fine, stupid witcher mutations. Well, and he did have sturdy boots and a real cloak, which promptly had been converted into Jaskier's with the first flake hitting the ground. Not that it made much of a difference. 'Fucking cock,' he thought as he pulled the coat tighter around his shoulders with trembling fingers.

He exhaled a painful breath and forced his eyes close again. He should try to sleep, he knew, come morning they had a long way ahead. And then he wouldn't notice the cold either, he hoped. On the other hand, he remembered Geralt telling him something about falling asleep when cold, something he couldn't quite remember-

"Jaskier," Geralt grumbled quietly from where he laid on the other side of the campfire.

"Y-yeah?" he managed to get out with his chattering teeth, and turned around to face him.

Geralt was propped up on one arm, studying him with a curious look on his face. This procedure continued for such a long time that Jaskier's skin began to crawl. He was just about to ask what exactly they were doing, when Geralt lifted his blanket a bit and jerked his chin to the side. "Get your arse over here."

Jaskier felt like he should protest the gruff order. In any other situation he probably would've protested. But fuck, it had to have been hours since he last felt his toes. If Geralt was willing to share his blanket with him, he wasn't about to object.

Getting up and walking the short distance over to him, was a bit of a chore, if he was quite honest. Especially since he was dragging his bedroll and useless blanket with him, while doing his best not to trip over Geralt's cloak or soak Geralt's woollen socks with slush.

When he was within an arm's width of his friend, it was the witcher who carefully laid out the bedrolls so that they were overlapping slightly and hopefully wouldn't slip apart to much while they slept, so that one of them ended up sleeping on the floor. Once Jaskier had sat down, it was also Geralt, who untied the cloak with deft fingers, who pulled their two blankets up to their chins and spread the cloak over them, too. "Sleep," he grunted.

Jaskier nodded obediently and closed his eyes, giving his best to do so, as he scooted as far away from his friend as their shared blankets allowed him. That wasn't quite as effective in terms of sharing body heat, but if a decade of travelling with Geralt of Rivia had taught him something, it was that, while the witcher was many things, a cuddler was not one of them. Jaskier doubted it would be any different in this completely unprecedented situation.

Imagine his surprise, when it was Geralt, too, who threw an arm over his waist to pull him close. Jaskier 'eep'-ed and Geralt 'hmm'-ed, and went ahead to press his forehead against the base of Jaskier's skull. "Stupid bard," he mumbled, "should've come over sooner. Can't have you die of hypothermia."

"A-alright," he managed through his still chattering teeth, "I-I'll k-k-keep that i-in m-mi-mind." At least now he was certain that his heart was still pumping blood through his veins. Quite thoroughly so. Gods, Geralt was bound to notice at this rate.

"Hmm," Geralt said again and propped himself up on his elbow again, frowning darkly down at him.

"Wh-what?"

"You're still cold."

Jaskier almost laughed. "Yeah," he managed to get out without being interrupted by his teeth. "It- It'll t-t-take a whi-while." Shucks, there went his record.

"Hmmm," he hummed even more displeased, his fingers twitching as if he wasn't sure what to do with them. Geralt tore his gaze away and hissed something akin to "Fucking fragile humans," before simply yanking his shirt over his head.

Cold or not Jaskier thought his reaction that could only be classified as 'bewildered, admiring staring' was more than justified. He caught the thought 'Oh, fuck me' flitting through his head and thanked all his lucky stars that he didn't utter them out loud.

Geralt tossed his shirt to the bedroll, to be used as pillow. He fixed him with a piercing glare and, oh, if Jaskier had been frozen before he was positively melting now.

He really tried not to ogle his friend. He really did. But he couldn't quite stop himself from raking his eyes over the bare torso before him that looked as if it had been sculpted by the gods and-

"Off," Geralt growled, pulling Jaskier's attention back to his eyes.

"I'm sorry, what?" he squeaked. He wasn't embarrassed to admit squeaking this time, thank you very much. Evidently, he had missed something.

"Off," Geralt insisted again, and tugged on Jaskier's collar.

"Umm-" His eyes bulged. 'Oh, shit.' His chances of surviving the night were sinking rapidly.

"Body heat will keep you warm," Geralt replied with a simple shrug. As if there was nothing much to sleeping arm in arm with your half-naked, very good looking... friend. As if that wouldn't lead to a whole host of other problems and-

Geralt raised and inquisitive eyebrow and Jaskier couldn't even finish thinking 'He's got a point' before he was divesting himself of his own shirt. His fingers were still numb, so it took a lot longer (and probably looked a lot less appealing) than normally, but before long Jaskier was shirtless, too, staring at Geralt with wide eyes.

He just huffed a breath—in... annoyance? Amusement? Who was Jaskier to judge—and lay down again, his arm outstretched for him. Jaskier gulped and stretched out next to him. Again, it didn't take long for Geralt's arm to settle on his waist, and oh, there was no chance he'd survive until sunrise. The cold forgotten, his nerve-ends ablaze; along the sparse points of skin-to-skin contact there was a delightful tingling, bordering on unpleasant.

"Sleep," Geralt mumbled again, his lips brushing against the bare skin of his shoulder.

Jaskier closed his eyes and breathed out a shuddering: "Fuck." Sleep, Geralt said? How the fuck was he supposed to sleep like that, with arousal coiling hot in his stomach. With a casual arm thrown over his waist, presenting a perfectly hold-able hand within grasping distance? With Geralt so close he could feel the heat emanating of his torso, so close he only needed to scoot back and tip his head up to have a wonderful neck exposed to him that basically begged to be kissed-

'Ah, shit.' He squirmed uncomfortably, in an attempt to hide his rather embarrassing predicament, that he knew to be futile. At least he had his back to Geralt, anything else would be truly mortifying. Still, he really hoped the witcher would choose to ignore it.

Apparently, the witcher knew no such mercy. He sighed deeply and—tightened? tightened—his arm around his waist. "Really, Jaskier?" He pressed his face into his neck and inhaled deeply. Jaskier imagined to feel his lips spread in a grin against his skin. "Now? You were chilled to the bone not half an hour ago."

Horrifyingly, he heard himself say: "Well, people change, Geralt, gods, keep it up." His mouth snapped shut as he became cognisant of the stupidity of his own words.

When Geralt didn't answer, Jaskier idiotically kept on talking: "You never would've noticed except for your stupid sense of smell." He rolled his eyes. "Really, what do you deem to be the appropriate reaction to- to-" He waved his hand around to encompass the absurdity of the situation. "-to this! Hm?"

Geralt, ever the conversationalist, replied: "Hm."

"My thoughts exactly," Jaskier huffed and crossed his arms. His heart was beating as if he had just completed an endurance run, and he heaved a few breaths to calm himself down.

The lack of response from Geralt was beginning to freak him out. Maybe he had underestimated the severity of this folly. Self-consciously he pulled up his shoulders. "Do you want me to leave?" he hazarded a guess. "So, um- so, I can do something about it?" 'And not bother you with it anymore,' his mind supplied.

No reaction. He closed his eyes. 'Look at the bright side, Jaskier,' he told himself. 'No reaction is better than reaction.' Yeah, it didn't convince him either. "Geralt?" he tried again.

The witcher hummed against his neck, his arm moving at a snail's pace. After an overabundance of hitched breaths and skipped heartbeats, there was a possessive hand splayed all over his stomach, and Jaskier thought he had finally an idea of what was going on in Geralt's head. "Do you-" He cleared his throat, there was really no reason to lead this conversation in a voice an octave higher than normally. "Do you want to do something about it?"

Geralt's arm twitched, still hesitating. "Do you want me to?" Geralt rumbled in his gravelly voice. The smallest of nods was all it took for him to pull Jaskier flush against him; albeit carefully and slowly so, as if any too sudden movement might startle him, scare him away.

"Well," Jaskier laughed nervously. "It might help to alleviate the awkwardness of this situation a bit," he joked, pressing back even further.

A gasp escaped his mouth when Geralt rewarded him with a roll of his hips for that, his hand ghosting over the front of his pants. "Y-yeah, I would very much like you to do something about it," he was quick to splutter.

"Hm." Oh, he was grinning after all. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing, and he was enjoying it. Jaskier was almost about to voice his complaints when Geralt's grip tightened even more, his hand steadily travelling lower, ghosting over his hips, splaying his legs, but never touching right where he wanted him to.

Jaskier sighed contentedly, as he tipped his head against Geralt's shoulder. Oh, the urge to pull him into a kiss was even worse than anticipated. "Geralt," he whined.

He chuckled quietly and dragged a rather toothy kiss over his shoulder. "Good?" he asked as his fingers ghosted over the front of Jaskier's breeches again.

The audacity. "Yes, good," he hissed, chasing the friction to no avail. "Would you get on with it, then? Else I might overheat."

Geralt huffed a laugh and retracted his hand back to his abdomen, rubbing infuriating circles right above his waistband. "Bossy," he commented, "and rude." After a moment he added: "Nothing's changed, then."

Jaskier had a thousand biting comments on the tip of his tongue, but a thumb slipping below his waistband reminded him that now was not the time. He held his breath, expecting Geralt to loosen the ties. Nothing happened.

Well. Good thing he wasn't above begging. "Please," he murmured, rolling his hips back, where Geralt was straining against his breeches. "Weren't you going to keep me warm?"

"I s'pose I was." Now that definitely was a kiss to his shoulder, followed by sharp nipping teeth. Geralt tugged at his breeches. "Off," he demanded again.

And, well, Jaskier was weak, and he was wanting; who was he to decline such an offer?

#my writing #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #geraskier fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier #winter prompt challenge

[jaskierswolf]

So we've seen aiden in a kilt (and i love aiden in a kilt) but what about jask in a kilt 👀👀 showing off those calves he's got from trekking around the continent

Oh I do like a good kilt fic! Sorry it took so long, I was lacking inspiration 😭Aiden kilt fic is here. I guess this is sort of a prequel?

Geraskier - established relationship. 405 words (tag list undercut)

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Jaskier made a face as he tugged at his shirt collar, too tight around his neck. When he’d first seen Geralt in his kilt at Kaer Morhen he’d almost melted on the spot. Luckily for him they’d already had awkward love confessions at Oxenfurt the previous year so he hadn’t felt quite so bad about jumping Geralt and completely messing up his outfit before dinner. Geralt hadn’t asked Jaskier to wear a kilt last year, the bard's silken doublets were deemed formal enough to attend the first dinner of the year with all the remaining witchers, but he’d felt like the outsider he was so this year he’d asked Geralt if he could join the tradition.

That didn’t mean he liked the shirt collar around his neck. It was too constricting and reminded him of Lettenhove.

“Stop fiddling,” Geralt growled as he crossed the room, taking the loose fabric around Jaskier’s neck and expertly tying it into a bow. “You asked for this.”

Jaskier pouted at his witcher with wide eyes. “Only because you looked so hot. I just look like a mess! I do like this… what did you call it again?”

“Sporran.”

Jaskier snapped his fingers “Sporran! That’s it, perfect to hide a flask of vodka, don’t you think?” He asked with a tilt of his head, blowing his fringe from his eyes.

Geralt rolled his eyes, a fond smile dancing on his lips. “Hmm.”

“Oh shush, hmm all you like. You know I figured all that out years ago, darling,” Jaskier leaned forward to kiss Geralt’s cheek. “I must say I do like the kilt though, it’s very airy.”

He winked at Geralt, flicking up the ends of the kilt, fingers brushing against the small dagger pin at the hem of the pretty woollen fabric. Geralt’s eyes darkened as they roamed Jaskier’s body. He smirked, spinning around to show off his calves, which looked absolutely stunning in his long white socks, tartan flashes pinned neatly at the top. “Not bad for a bard?”

Geralt growled and pulled him into a kiss, hands groping Jaskier’s arse. Jaskier laughed into the kiss, gripping at the lapels of Geralt’s jacket to pull him closer. Geralt nipped at his bottom lip as they broke apart for air, nosing along Jaskier’s jaw, pressing kisses to his neck. Jaskier giggled, hands threading into Geralt’s hair; one day they wouldn’t be late for dinner.

Today was not that day.

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Tag list (Geraskier - You can be added/removed at any time): @alwenarin @slythnerd @davidtennan-t @flippinfricks @innocentcinnamonpun @marvagon @elliestormfound @geraskier-trashh @panerato @moonysourenza @artistsfuneral @hailhailsatan @wherethewordsare @havenoffandoms @bitchy-witchy-post-mortem @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @geralt-of-riviass @00qtee @kittynannygaming @stinastar @scribblesonmapleleaves @thecomfortofoldstorries @fontegagrilledcheese @anythinggoesfandoms @veritasrose @trickstermoose67 @nonegenderleftpain @ohheytheremiss @kueble @love-more-today-than-yesterday @kozkaboi @llamasdumpsterfire @skai6

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #kilts #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #wolfie's witcher writing #fontegagrilledcheese