#long haired Jaskier is 💖

[thewitcheress2389]

Succubus

A succubus underestimates Jaskier’s love for you.

I wanna write for my little bard again (I miss him💖) so here’s an attempt at my comeback.

Geralt wasn’t here to protect him this time.

As Jaskier did his usual performance around the tavern, he was unaware of a pair of seductive eyes following him. And they weren't yours. You were out in the town buying some thread to fix up your cloak.

No.

These were the eyes of a monster.

Jaskier will soon discover that bards are one of the most favorite of prey for the succubus.

Once the bard had finished his performance at the tavern, after earning a well-deserved round of applause, he headed back to his room. Now, when he opened the door, he expected to find you back. After all, how long does it take a person to buy some thread? 

So, Jaskier was ignorant to the woman sitting in the shadows on his bed.

“You should have been here tonight darling. It was a major success, and I couldn’t have done it without your input.” Jaskier said while setting his lute aside and fixing himself up. He was rambling on so much that he didn’t even realize the shadowy figure of a woman wasn’t you. As he continued to talk with his back to her, she stood up and slowly walked into the light.

“-and I told her straight off, so you don’t have to-You’re not my muse!” During his talking, Jaskier turned around to come face to face with not a woman, but a creature.

She looked half-woman (top), half-goat (bottom), however, her could be described as the prettiest woman alive. She had wavy brown hair underneath a set of curvy horns, honey-brown eyes, and plump lips. Her body was slender, with only a set of cloth to cover her breasts, and strange markings patterned her figure.

Her eyes were hungry too. Lustful. 

“I-I-I think you got the wrong room...” Jaskier said in a nervous manner, wanting to so badly yell out the name of the witcher that abandoned him. 

However, the creature only approached him, making the bard back into a wall.

“You must be tired...after such a long evening...I’ve been watching you.” She said in a seductive manner, coming over and placing a hand on his cheek. Jaskier merely squirmed under her touch.

“T-thanks? Listen...I don’t want to hurt you, but I will...” He said, trying to sound tough as she continued to touch him.

This wasn’t the first time this succubus has seduced men under her touch, so she noticed something was off. He wasn’t succumbing to her touch, like most. The enchantment wasn’t taking effect. This man seemed to be resisting. She figured that a bard would throw himself on her the moment their eyes met. But instead, he seemed afraid and confused.

The succubus ceased her movements.

“Why do you not lay?” She asked in utmost confusion as she gestured to the bed. It just became clear to Jaskier what this creature had wanted all along, and he swallowed nervously. Getting to his feet slowly, he took a deep breath to calm himself as she watched him intently.

“I have devoted my heart to another, I’m afraid...and she’ll be back soon...so, could you...” As politely as one could to a monster, Jaskier explained his predicament, pointing to the door as he did. However, after a couple irritated breaths, the succubus realized this man was not going to be her’s tonight.

Trying to do so might lead to violence, and she did not want that.

“Fine. Till next time.” She said with a frown, glaring at him as she went towards the window. The succubus was quick to jump out, and as Jaskier rushed over to see where she went, she was gone.

As he was staring out the open window, the door opened again.

“Jaskier? What are you doing?” You asked as you walked into the room. However, your sudden presence caused him to whip around in fright, only to put a hand on his chest in relief when he saw you.

“Thank goodness...It’s you this time...” He said, and you gave him a confused look.

“This time?” You asked, moving to set your basket of thread down. 

“Don’t worry about it...Just a...fan...” He said uneasily, remembering the creature that was sitting on the bed, eyeing him down. You simply shrugged before he moved to engulf you in a hug.

“What’s this about?” You asked with a giggle. Jaskier pulled away to stare at you, moving to brush some hair out of your face.

“Nothing, just...I love you...” He said with confidence, realizing that now more than ever after his encounter with the succubus.

“I love you too...” You responded, still in the dark about why his behavior was suddenly so sappy and clingy. Jaskier gave you a kiss at that moment, causing you to swoon.

The succubus forever remained a mystery to you.

#the witcher #the witcher imagine #the witcher x reader #jaskier #jaskier x reader #jaskier imagine

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

Hi! For the first sentence ask 💖

Jaskier's hair is too long.

He finally has to admit it when somehow, he manages to get it tangled in the strings of the brand new lute Yennefer, Geralt, and Ciri gifted him not long after they left Kaer Morhen.

“Yennefer, help me,” he whines. “My livelihood and my beauty are at stake!”

She gives him an unimpressed look and says, “I do keep telling you to cut it.”

“Yenn.”

With a sigh, his lover puts down her book and says, “Fine, bardling, but I’m going to remember this next time you whine about my hair getting in your mouth.”

Send me the first sentence of a fanfic and I'll write the next five

#the witcher #yennskier #this is technically six sentences but one is just yennefer's name so I'm telling myself that's not a full sentence and it doesn't count #prompt fills

[tellhound]

I KNOW YOU HAVE SO MANY PROMPTS BUT THESE TWO---

It’s not safe here, we need to go.”

“Shh, just sleep, A, we’ll sort everything out, just focus on resting, alright?”

I LIKE THEM! and know you'd do amazing with them <3 any pairing you like, though Yenskier comes to mind x

Lou, you amazing, beautiful, mythical wonder! 💖 The fic is finally done. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: none?

Word count: less than 1000

Also available on ao3

Sitting there in front of the campfire he'd fixed earlier in the day Jaskier couldn't help but wonder if it really was worth it to still be running away from the people that were out to get them. It had been months since they'd had to just grab their things and leave their home in the middle of the night. And he was tired. Tired of running. Tired of hiding. He was just tired of it all.

Looking over at Yennefer who was asleep on a bedroll beside him he knew he couldn't give up though. The day they married each other he'd promised to be there through thick and thin, through sickness and health. Till death do us part. He intended to keep that promise.

The sudden sound of Yennefer whimpering in her sleep brought him out of his thoughts and he shifted towards her so he could reach out a hand and gently run in through her hair in an attempt to stop whatever nightmare she was currently stuck in. It seemed like he was too late though as a moment later she opened her eyes and turned over to her side so she could get a better look at him.

"It's not safe here, we need to go." she said, but made no attempt to get up, still weak and tired from the poison that had been coursing through her veins just hours earlier.

If Jaskier got a coin every time he'd heard her speak those exact words he would be rich now. There was no place that was safe for them anymore. The people looking for them would always find them in the end if they stayed anywhere for too long. So they ran and hid and did whatever they could to avoid the inevitable for as long as possible.

"We're safe here." for now. "I can't feel their magic." magic so strong and powerful that even he who was just an ordinary human could feel it in the air whenever they came too close. It felt weird, suffocating, disorienting whenever their magic was in the air. He hoped he'd never have to feel it again, though he knew it was only a matter of time before they'd be found again.

For a moment she just looked at him, probably trying to decide if he was lying or not, cause she really was in no condition to travel at the moment. Not that that had stopped either of them before though. "You must be tired. Why don't you lie down with me for a while?" she eventually asked, deciding that they really were safe at the moment. 

He had just opened his mouth to protest when she started talking again. "I know you're scared. And I'd be lying if I said that I'm not scared too. But how do you expect us to be able to stay away from them if you get sick because you're not taking care of yourself?"

She was right. Of course she was. But sleep was not something that came easy to him anymore. If he was lucky he might get a few hours each night. But after Yennefer somehow got poisoned he'd been even more on edge than usual.

"Jask…" she said, bringing him out of his thoughts once again and patting the ground beside her. "You said it yourself. There's no magic in the air. We're safe."

For a moment he hesitated before he laid down beside her. She immediately wrapped her arms around him and moved as close as she could get. It had been a while since they had actually laid down together, one of them usually staying up to keep watch in case the others found them again.

After a while he wrapped his arms around her too and just breathed her in. The familiar smell of lilac and gooseberries made him feel less on edge. And when he closed his eyes it became so easy to pretend that they were back in the house they had bought together back before their lives fell apart.

"I'm so tired, Yen." he spoke after a while. "I'm so tired of it all. Maybe we should just let them take us." it was barely a whisper, but as Yennefer started running her hand through his hair he knew she'd heard him loud and clear anyway.

"Shh, just sleep, Jaskier, we’ll sort everything out, just focus on resting, alright?" he wanted to believe her so badly, he really did. But it had been so long, how could they possibly ever sort this mess out? In that moment it didn't matter though as the exhaustion slowly took over his body. It was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open and as Yennefer started humming on a song he didn't recognize, sleep slowly pulled him under.

And when he woke up the next morning, well rested for the first time in a long time, he finally felt some hope that they could get a better future again

Tag list: @luteandsword

#Yennskier #Yenskier #yennefer of vengerberg #Jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #viscount de lettenhove #The witcher #The witcher fic #Tellhound writes #Lou #Luteandsword #Sorry it took so long

[silvertonguelover]

Well, well, well how the turntables..........

Geralt, your ab armour won't cut it this time. Jaskier seems pissed and he has his hat on.....the odds don't look good for you Geralt. 😂

#jaskier #geralt #geralt of rivia #julian alfred pankratz #geraskier #the witcher #long haired Jaskier is 💖 #don't get me wrong I love season 2 Jaskier's look #but Geralt help your boyfriend reclaim his sense of fashion #the witcher season 2

[captainsy-cookiemonster]

Sunshine Smile

(i found these pictures on Pinterest, don't own any of these pictures)

SUMMARY: You catch a certain someone's eye at a festival in your village

PAIRING: Geralt x reader (2nd person POV /3 person POV)

WARNINGS: none, pure fluff, maybe a tiiiny pinch of angst?

A/N: neither beta'd or proofread, typos we're going down swingin'! This little drabble was inspired by @wolvesandhoundshowltogether and the picture she sent me of Geralt. Little note about the moodboard: it's only to give you an idea of the setting and overall mood, the reader is not described in my story.

WORD COUNT: no idea

TITLE: Sunshine Smile

Writers live off validation. If you liked it please like, comment and reblog 💕 thank you for reading 💖

*~*~*~*

The village square was bustling with life, already this early in the morning. The decorations had been already but up yesterday, children had watched the men work with wide eyes, asking their mothers how long now. "One more sleep," they had said, as you listened from your seat on the windowsill, a basket full of flowers next to you as you crafted your headpiece for the festival.

You had heard the excited talk of some girls too, as they went home from the tavern last night. "A bard! And he'll stay for tomorrow!" You were sure the whole village would dance until their feet were sore far into the next week.

As if suddenly waking from a trance, you push yourself up from the windowsill, where you watched the lively morning bustle, and rush over to your small closet, your dress for today already hanging on the door. The nicest dress you own, reserved for only weddings and well, village festivals. The shimmery skirt would catch the sunlight beautifully, you smile to yourself.

Not much later, you find yourself in the village square, browsing the stalls for a nice breakfast, a hard choice; the baker had gone overboard creating the most delicious pastries for today.

You keep on exploring, looking for your friends, a dance in your step, twirling from time to time to the song of the musicians playing at every corner. And then your hear him, the bard those girls had been gushing about last night. His voice luring you across the square towards the small makeshift but decorated stage like a siren song. You gaze up at him in awe, never had you heard a more beautiful voice.

You only snap out of your staring when you're rudely poked in the ribs.

"We've been looking for you everywhere!" your friend squeals and grabs you by the wrist. "Come on, let's go to the others! Let's dance!" She pulls you away, giggling.

The other girls shriek and hug when you reach them, before pulling you to dance. And you dance, twirling around to the bard's tunes with no care in the world.

- Third Person POV -

He doesn't know why she caught his eye the way she did. Maybe it was her dress, the shimmery skirt catching in the bright spring sun. Maybe it were the flowers weaved into her hair and into an intricate crown on her head. Or maybe it was her bright smile, the joy on her face and in her voice as she talked to the girls around her. He didn't know, but what he knew was that by merely watching her, his mood had lifted by a lot. She was sunshine incarnate.

When the bard told him about the festival in the village they'd pass, he was sceptical. He had no desire of staying at a place for longer than necessary. But he changed his mind so suddenly. When he saw her dancing, he was glad Jaskier somehow managed to talk him into staying.

This girl... A warm feeling bloomed in his chest and a small smile tugged at his lips as he watched her dance like only a careless girl from a village could. She doesn't know about the horrors of the wild and... At this moment, he was almost relieved. He doesn't know her. He probably wouldn't even talk to her for the duration of his stay, but he wanted to preserve her light at all costs. He wanted to protect her, care for her. Twirl her around the village square.

"No!" he scolded himself. Introducing himself to her would corrupt her innocence. She was the sun and he... he was a large dark cloud. His mere presence was a bad omen. His presence meant death, pain and violence. "To protect her, he must stay far away," he told himself. Even if it meant never seeing your beautiful smile again, which he found himself addicted to all of the sudden.

A small voice ripped him out of his thoughts.

"If that isn't the famous White Wolf!" she said. "I thought witchers were supposed to have no feelings, then why are you standing here with that smile on your face? I must say, it suits you."

His golden eyes focus on her, an inviting smile painted on her lips. He wants to respond, but nothing comes to mind.

"I figured you might be thirsty." She smiles up at the white haired witcher, and lifts her hand that holds a big tankard of ale.

"Thank you," he mutters, taking it from her. From you.

Shit! You weren't supposed to go to him. But maybe... Maybe he can have you and your light.

#The witcher #the witcher fanfiction #The witcher fanfic #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia fanfiction #Geralt of rivia fanfic #geralt of rivia fluff #geralt of rivia headcanon #Geralt of rivia drabble #geralt of rivia imagine #geralt of rivia smut #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x you #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill headcanon #henry cavill drabble #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill smut #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you

[witchersgoldenbard]

Perhaps shine, loved, and whirl for Geraskefer or a sub-pairing thereof? 💖

thank you for the prompt, sweetling, i hope you like it 🥰

wc: ~750 | tags: geraskefer, everyone is beautiful and nothing hurts, implied vacation by the coast, dancing, soft geralt

It is no secret that Jaskier and Yennefer enjoy beautiful things — and it makes sense, for they are the most beautiful beings in this universe and the next. Still, it is a privilege every time to watch them fawn over dresses and doublets, silks and lace, a twinkle in their eyes as they enter a world that is foreign to Geralt.

But he gets to watch. He gets to sit back and smile, his heart entirely too full to the point where breathing gets difficult as they break from their bubble of joy and excitement to ask for his opinion.

“You’re beautiful,” he tells them truthfully, and his heart skips a beat when Jaskier lets go of Yennefer’s hand to come over and brush a kiss to his lips, his nose, his forehead.

“Thank you, my darling,” Jaskier whispers. He steps closer into Geralt’s space, arms wrapped around his neck, fingers idly caressing the nape of his neck as he is resting his cheek on the crown of Geralt’s head.

It’s always like this. All the bubbling happiness inside Jaskier pauses for a brief moment just so he can hold Geralt and tell him, “I love you.”

And Geralt chokes on his words, his heart, his feelings every time, can only sit there and breathe him in. Only belatedly does he remember that he’s allowed to touch Jaskier in return, his hands twitching in his lap to reach out and feel the soft, cold silk against his finger tips and hear Jaskier’s hum, feel it vibrating through his body as more kisses are pressed into his hair.

“So much,” Jaskier adds in a whisper before he pulls back to tip Geralt’s head back with a gentle finger under his chin. His sky blue eyes shine with affection and serenity so much that Geralt can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips. He feels loved under the bard’s gaze, and when Jaskier leans down to capture Geralt’s lips again, the smile is still there, and he feels it won’t leave for a long time yet. His hands travel up to Jaskier’s jaw, the smooth fabric under his hands a pleasant sensation, and he holds him there as they trade slow kisses.

When they break apart and Geralt has time to blink away the haze that Jaskier’s kisses always leave him with, he sees that Yennefer has joined them, her arms wrapped loosely around Jaskier’s middle, leaning against his back. Geralt reaches for one of her hands, humming when she immediately laces their fingers.

“I believe I was promised a dance, bardling,” she murmurs, though she makes no move to step away and pull Jaskier away from him.

“I believe the same, my love,” he rumbles against Geralt’s hair, and the witcher closes his eyes.

None of them moves, and it’s like a moment suspended in time that only belongs to them.

Eventually, though, Jaskier begins to get restless and he pulls back, turning in Yen’s embrace to swiftly sweep her off her feet. Geralt pretends not to have heard her squeal of surprise and indignation that quickly turns into the even rarer sound of a giggle.

“Let’s dance, then, beautiful sorceress mine. Let’s show our witcher the true power of matching your outfit with your lover in a ballroom.”

This little house by the coast they’re staying in for a few days is far from pompous, and to call the small living area a ballroom is more than a stretch, but Geralt and Yennefer are too weak to resist their bard’s imagination.

And with the way they whirl across the room, Geralt has to admit that he has a point anyway.

Yennefer’s dress — black silk with blue and golden highlights — is a perfect mirror to Jaskier’s doublet and trousers, and the sight they make is truly magical. Geralt’s breath hitches when the sunlight streaming in through the windows catches on the smooth silk and makes it shine until they might as well be twinkling like stars.

Jaskier leads their sorceress in a complicated dance that has them intertwined and sharing intense looks, but Geralt can feel in the air how much they enjoy this. How devoted they are to each other. Nothing compares to this.

It’s no secret that Yennefer and Jaskier enjoy beautiful things. But as Geralt is sitting here, watching them dance and whirl and exchange looks of challenge and devotion, he can’t fault them for it. He’s no better, after all.

~

tagging: @theshapeofcool @horsedadgeralt @meebles @toboldlynerd @luteandsword @natilieal @wherethewordsare

#geraskier #yennskier #yenralt #geraskefer #jaskier #geralt of rivia #yennefer of vengerberg #yennefer #nat writes #nats follower celebration #yeah i’m still not done with these and have a lot more to go. it’s slow going but it’s going #fluff #hey LOOK!!! complete FLUFF!! from ME!!! and who’s to say miracles don’t happen huh?? bc i just made them happen 😌 #wren my precious #am having a terrible day but look at me writing fluff huh? bless

[luteandsword]

14. "i've been looking for my hoodie-" "my hoodie, you mean."

Jaskier and Eskel, please and thank you!

Can't wait to see what you'll make with this 💖

It would be my pleasure, O dearest CC. You love your Jaskel and I am more than happy to provide it for you. [If you haven't seen In The Mood for Love, I recommend it]

Pairing: Jaskel Warnings: Fluff up the wazoo, implied sex at the end.

Wordcount: 766. 

Jaskier lounged on the couch, his knees crossed at the ankle, a black hoodie draped across his shoulders as he watched Maggie Cheung and Tony Leung on screen, their fated love warming his heart. He wiped a stray tear away, sniffling as Tony said " I had nothing to do. I wanted to hear your voice." Jaskier sighed-- Wong Kar Wai was truly a master of the craft.

Only for his attention to be drawn away from the film by Eskel banging about and cursing in his room, the sound of clothes being flung around greeting Jaskier's ears. He paused the movie, frowning, and slipped the hoodie on further, before he padded silently down the hallway to Eskel's room.

"What on earth are you doing dear heart?" He murmured, looking at Eskel's furrowed face.

"I can't find it," Eskel groaned, running his hands through his hair, turning in circles as he swept through his clothes. 

“I’ve been looking for my hoodie--”

“My hoodie, you mean.” Jaskier nodded definitively, as Eskel’s head shot up and he saw him wearing the hoodie.

“You! Here, give that back!” 

“Shan’t,” Jaskier moved from side to side, mocking him as he wore the hoodie, emblazoned with a beautiful flower pattern in white and green on black background.

Eskel’s face changed, from surprise, to something teasing. “Then you’d better run, Jask.”

Jaskier shrieked and took to his heels, running as if his life depended on it. Eskel was hot on his trail, hands outstretched, fingers making gimme gimme motions. 

Jaskier skidded into the kitchen and placed the table between them, Eskel slamming his hands down on the table in mock fury. 

“Give it back, Jaskier,” he cooed, and Jaskier shook his head.

“It smells like you,” Jaskier said, and Eskel rolled his eyes.

“Just borrow my cologne then, c’mon, I want to wear it to the party later.”

Jaskier shook his head. “It’s the softest one you have-- well had, seeing as it’s mine now!” 

Eskel hummed, and then he was moving. 

 Jaskier feinted to the left. He feinted right. And then he was dipping under Eskel’s arms, and fleeing away, laughing merrily the whole time. 

“Jaskier,” came the whine from behind him and Jaskier giggled-- how he loved teasing his roommate. 

Until he tripped on his own boot and fell flat on the carpet. 

Eskel was on him immediately, and Jaskier screamed and kicked, laughing as Eskel turned him over, trying to yank the hoodie off of him. 

“Give it to me,” Eskel whined, making a pouting puppy dog face, and Jaskier shook his head.

“Nay, those sweet eyes will not work on me!”

“Then this will!’ Eskel’s fingers began tickling over his ribs and Jaskier screeched, trying to get away, but Eskel easily swept up his wrists in one hand and pressed them over his head, so he couldn’t flee.

“Have mercy, mercy!” Jaskier cried, but it was all he could do not to have untoward thoughts towards his own roommate, for fucks sake, but he couldn’t help it. It was in Eskel’s body caging him in, the scent of willow and rose from his hair, the way his green eyes stared down at him. 

And then Eskel stopped tickling him “Had enough yet?” He asked, moving closer to Jaskier’s face. 

“Never,” Jaskier breathed, and-- did he imagine it, or was Eskel looking at his lips?

To test, he bit his lips, and inhaled sharply when Eskel copied the movement.

“Oh,” Jaskier whispered, and Eskel’s eyes floated back up to his. 

“May I?” Eskel whispered, and Jaskier nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Oh, glorious, to be kissed by one he had wanted for so long. Eskel’s lips were chapped from the cold weather, but he made up for it by sighing so tenderly into Jaskier’s mouth that Jaskier flung his grip off and wrapped his arms round his neck, kissing him back as good as he got, and better. 

Eskel kissed like a man starved of food, and Jaskier kissed like he was the cornucopia overflowing-- to give, and give, and give. 

When they pulled back, panting harshly, and Eskel rested his head on Jaskier’s chest, Jaskier held him close. And then, poked him in the side. Eskel shot up with an affronted glare. 

“Don’t think this means you’re getting your hoodie back.” Jaskier said.

“Aha! So it is mine!” Eskel smiled victoriously.

“Wouldn’t it be ours now?” 

“Why don’t you let me take it off you and then we’ll see?”

And then Jaskier was running towards the bedroom, his new lover hot on his heels. The movie was forgotten. 

---

Taglist: @slythnerd @gorkipelin @tellhound

#jaskel #fluff #eskel x jaskier #jaskier/eskel #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher #promptsforlou

[hannibard]

I Didn't Mean To Startle You

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier

Words: 1k

Read on Ao3

I wrote this for @dapandapod bc she reblogged my incorrect quotes post and added these tags:

And since she is one of my favorite fic writers in the fandom i tried writing it myself to show my appreciation 💖

Jaskier hummed the tune for a new song he was working on while he leisurely made his way up the inn’s stairs, repeating it again and again and making small changes here and there until he was satisfied with it. He had just gotten back from the street market and he was in high spirits.

His and Geralt’s travels forced them to be away from civilization more often than not, so when they found themselves in towns or even small villages, he always tried to make the most of it. His top priority was, of course, to perform in taverns in order to make coin, something that had become much easier and more profitable lately due to his steadily growing popularity.

Then he usually tried to replenish part of their traveling supplies (and maybe buy one or two small trinkets that caught his eye in the process) and last but not least, look for someone willing and attractive enough to sate his carnal urges and pent up frustrations with.

His promiscuous nature was by now well-known throughout the Continent, and many condemned him for it but Jaskier was only human, what else was he to do? He had needs, which, since his travel companion and object of his affections never showed any interest in helping him satisfy, the bard was left to deal with them the usual way.

So far he hadn’t had a chance get laid yet in this town but there was still time. The contract Geralt had took hadn’t been very specific with the details and the witcher had spent the entire previous night investigating the nearby forest for clues, so they’d probably be staying put for a couple more days at least. Hopefully the monster wasn't something boring, like a bunch of drowners, and Jaskier would be able to create a catchy song about it after Geralt was done slaying it

Jaskier pushed open the door to his and Geralt’s shared room and the tune he had been humming immediately died on his throat. The witcher was still gone by the time the bard woke up and left for the market, but it seemed he had returned in the meantime because there he was, sound asleep, the large bulk of him splayed on the bed.

Jaskier quietly placed his purchases down by the door and carefully tiptoed towards the witcher’s sleeping form, trying to get a better look.

For the 5 years they had been traveling together, Geralt almost always woke up at dawn before Jaskier and they usually fell asleep at around the same time so the bard rarely ever got to witness his friend like this: his face slack with sleep and lacking the frown that was seemingly permanently etched on it, his body relaxed and his chest rising and falling slowly as he breathed. It was such a peaceful sight and it made Jaskier’s heart swell with barely contained longing.

He stood still while staring at the witcher for a few minutes, drinking in the sight of him, when he noticed a semi-withered leaf sticking out from the top of his silver hair. The bard smiled fondly, imagining how much time his friend had likely spent crouched behind bushes and the like to end up like this.

He reached out his hand, bringing it closer to the wither’s face slowly with the intend to remove the leaf when suddenly, Geralt’s eyes snapped open and he grabbed Jaskier’s wrist as he sat up. In less than a second he had pulled Jaskier down to the bed and climbed on top of him, pinning the bard in place. Jaskier’s eyes widened, and he let out a soft grunt as his back hit the mattress, the air having completely left his lungs.

He looked up at the witcher hovering above him in surprise. Geralt had an unreadable expression on his face but he was breathing normally, as if he hadn’t exerted himself in the slightest.

“Sorry, I thought you were an intruder.” He muttered sheepishly in his gruff baritone voice.

“O-oh, no worries.” Jaskier said when he found his voice again. “I was just trying to remove a leaf from your head, I didn’t mean to startle you…” he said and trailed off before he started rambling as he was known to do because he noticed that Geralt’s expression had turned hungry and his gaze had shifted from Jaskier's eyes to his lips. The bard licked them self-consciously, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart but it was a fruitless endeavor since the muscle started to move even faster inside his chest as Geralt slowly lowered himself, his face getting closer and closer to the bard’s own.

Jaskier got the hint and in turn pushed his torso up as much as he was able to with the witcher still pinning his wrists down. He closed his eyes, giddily anticipating the moment their lips would touch each other. His biggest, wildest and most unattainable dream was, against all odds, finally coming true. They were less than an inch apart and Jaskier could feel Geralt’s warm breath on his face when a sudden thought had him pulling back and squinting suspiciously up at his friend.

“Wait a minute.”

Geralt paused and pulled back as well, looking confused and maybe a little disappointed. He tilted his head to the side with a questioning ‘hm’ which Jaskier took as his cue to continue.

“I distinctly remember you once saying that you had gotten used to my presence and that you couldn’t get startled by me anymore.”

Geralt’s face flushed. He swiftly released Jaskier’s wrists and got up, taking large strides towards the entrance of the room. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He got to the door and threw it open forcefully. “I gotta go check on Roach.”

And with those last words he disappeared. Jaskier stayed lying there for a few seconds, disoriented, before he sprung up from the bed vigorously and ran after his companion.

“Don’t you dare run away from me witcher, we are having this conversation!”

#jaskier #geralt of rivia #geraskier #the witcher #text #gerlion #dandelion #julian alfred pankratz #fluff #humor #@dapandapod #tinythoughts #I really really hope you enjoyed it! #fanfiction #my writing #gift #the witcher netflix #twn #my wrtitng

[bi-aragorn]

Show Them I'm Yours

A very happy belated birthday to the wonderful @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde

Love ya, sorry this is so late 💖

Here on Ao3

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Jealous Geralt, Semi Public Sex, Masturbation, Blow Jobs, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Control, Ruined Orgasm

Pairing: Geraskier

Geraskier smut hiding below✌!

The force with which Jaskier slammed Geralt into the wall had the door rattling in its frame. Geralt moaned into Jaskier’s mouth as their lips collided roughly, forcing him up onto his tiptoes, back pressed roughly against the cold stone. 

They- well, Jaskier- had been invited to a party by some noble or other in Redania, and after several hours of drinking and watching as Jaskier smiled and laughed and flirted with all and sundry, Geralt had snapped. Enough was enough, the bard was his. And anyone who saw them now would damn well know that, too.

He had dragged Jaskier off down the hallway, hand in hand, and nudged him into a dark nook, before looking up at Jaskier with wide eyes. 

“Show them all that I’m yours,” he had murmured, and Jaskier had groaned, pupils growing wide and slammed him back against the wall. 

Now, as Jaskier forced his thigh between Geralt’s own, Geralt couldn’t help but smirk even as he moaned. It took so few words to rile Jaskier up, to push his buttons so he would act like this in public. And it was always worth it, Geralt thought hazily as he felt deft fingers unlacing his trousers. He was already hard, turned on by Jaskier’s easy display of strength, and when he felt those long fingers wrap around his cock he couldn't stifle his moan.

"Careful," Jaskier murmured, leaning in close to his ear, "you almost make me think that you want to be caught," 

Geralt bit down on his lip, eyelids fluttering. So maybe the idea of being caught was appealing, of letting people see how much control Jaskier had over him. Even if the thought had him flushing deeply at the same time. 

"You'll have to be quiet though, can't have everyone knowing the big, strong witcher is such a little slut for me, can we?" Jaskier said, nipping at Geralt's ear and wrapping his other hand around Geralt’s throat. 

Geralt gasped and bucked his hips, seeking more, wanting Jaskier to touch him more, already desperate beyond words. If he wasn't so horny, maybe he'd be embarrassed at how easily Jaskier had worked him up. 

"Please," he gasped out, barely able to speak. "Please, Jask, wanna come," he swallowed thickly. "Let me?"

Jaskier smirked at him, for once saying nothing. Geralt's eyes rolled back in his head as Jaskier gripped him more firmly and began jacking him off a little faster, and he couldn't help the frantic thrusting of his hips as he fucked into Jaskier’s hand. 

"Gonna make you come all over yourself and then you're going to get down on your knees and suck me off, understand?" Jaskier growled and Geralt nodded, with a needy whimper. 

It didn't take much more before he was crying out, spilling over Jaskier’s hand and panting harshly. He fell to his knees, shoving his face into Jaskier’s crotch with a gasp, fingers pushing hard into the bard’s thighs. 

"That's my good boy," Jaskier murmured, carding through Geralt's hair, and Geralt lost himself in the haze of arousal as he finally got his mouth on Jaskier’s dick. He was barely aware of the wet sounds his mouth made as he slid up and down Jaskier’s cock, too busy chasing another orgasm as he ground his hips against Jaskier’s leg. 

Above him, Jaskier had his head thrown back against the wall, watching him beneath his lashes. “Such a dirty slut for me, aren’t you?” he murmured, lacing his hand through Geralt’s hair more firmly. “Humping my leg like that,” he tugged at Geralt’s hair more harshly, and Geralt let out a filthy moan as he was pulled off of Jaskier’s dick. He swallowed, face red, his breathing harsh, a line of spit connecting from his lips to the end of Jaskier’s cock. He wanted to squirm free, get his mouth back on him, but Jaskier had such a tight grip on him that he could do no more than keep grinding against his leg. 

Jaskier stared at him a while, and Geralt felt himself flush further. “Can I-” he began, feeling close again already from the humiliation of it all. Jaskier cut him off. 

“No, you come when I say, because you’re my little slut, aren’t you?” Geralt whined, eyes falling shut, and he nodded. “Good,” Jaskier said, “Now get that mouth back on my cock and show me what you’re good for,” 

Geralt choked as Jaskier forced his cock into his mouth, hands holding either side of his head as he fucked Geralt’s mouth. Desperately, eager to show that he could be good, Geralt moved a hand to fondle Jaskier’s balls, and lapped at the head of Jaskier’s cock the best he could. Judging from the low moans and grunts Jaskier made, he was succeeding. It didn’t take much longer before Jaskier was coming down his throat with a low, breathy groan that had Geralt’s cock throbbing even harder. Fuck, but he was so close, just a little more-

“Geralt.” Jaskier hissed, low and urgent. “Someone’s coming,” 

Geralt groaned, already so close- and then he was coming, but it felt wrong. As Jaskier dragged him up and away, Geralt had to bite back a whine, his cock spurting into his smalls unsatisfactorily as they dashed away into the darkness.

#the witcher #witcher fic #shay's writing #geralt #jaskier #geraskier #geraskier smut #really should change that tag lol

[jaskierswolf]

Hhhheellllooo my dear, for ace week, one of them witchers or possibly a bard, not gamling for the sirens lure, just tilting his head in confusion and his little ace face is safe for another day 💖

Sing for Me

Pairing: Geralt & Jaskier Rating: T CW: death mention for unnamed characters, Siren!Jaskier, light mentions of sexual content

_ Overall, Jaskier loved his life as a siren, he got to sing freely and meet so many beautiful people from all over the Continent. A lot of them were from the coastal towns but others were just weary travellers, sitting along the golden sand as they rested their tired feet. He loved those people the most, their strange clothes and accents, the childlike wonder they had for the sea. Yes, Jaskier met so many wonderful people…

But they never stayed.

He didn’t mean to kill them, he only ever wanted a friend, but they would hear his songs and go mad with lust, swimming into the cold ocean currents, choking on their own breath as they tried to get to Jaskier on the rocks. He would cry for them, every time, his song changing from one of love to one of mourning.

Gods, he was so fucking lonely. He had his family, but he wanted more than the handful of people he’d been around his whole life. Sometimes he flew out to the mainland, flying high above the beaches, but the people screamed and hired monster slayers to hunt him down. He had a very nasty scar on his left thigh to prove it.

Jaskier had tried just… not singing… but he’d been miserable. So he sang, and people died. That was just his life as a siren, and really it wasn’t all bad. The landscape was beautiful and he was surrounded by music.

He grinned as a boat came into view, a little sailing boat with a singular occupant. Long silvery hair fell down past his shoulders, two swords were strapped to his back.

A monster slayer.

Jaskier knew he should be scared as he ran his claws along the dark blue scar on his thigh, but the man was beautiful, and the song escaped his lips before he could help it. He sang about moonlight- the colour of the man’s hair -and two lovers embracing under the blanket of stars in the night sky. He sang about caressing the pale skin, tracing his lover’s scars, worshipping his body, and riding him all night long.

But the boat didn’t change course.

The monsterslayer didn’t even seem interested in the siren’s nest so close to the shore.

So Jaskier sang louder, flapping his wings and flying to the edge of his rock. This time golden eyes met his, gorgeous and burning like fire, seering into Jaskier’s soul. He winked at the monsterslayer as he sang, his hands reaching out to the man.

And still the boat stayed steady. The monsterslayer cocked his head, his brow furrowing, but not affected by Jaskier’s song in the slightest

It was probably a good thing. The man would die if he came too close to the rocks that Jaskier called home, still he sighed and flopped back onto his rock with a pout.

“Fine, be like that. I just wanted a friend,” he muttered.

The man’s head tilted the other way, and Jaskier knew the bastard had heard him.

“If I fly to your boat, do you promise not to kill me?”

A nod.

His wings unfurled and he shot up into the sky, circling the boat a few times before diving down to land on the tiny deck.

“If you want a friend, why do you keep singing about sex?”

It was Jaskier’s turn to look confused. “I’m a siren?”

“Hmm.”

“Siren’s sing about sex, that’s just- that’s what we do. Wait, hang on… you weren’t affected?”

The monsterslayer shrugged.

“Is that because of what you are?”

“My brother almost got caught by a siren once, so I don’t think so. Never really been one for sex though. It’s alright but I don’t need it. Yen likes it and I love her but…” he shrugged again.

“Huh.”

“Still looking for a friend?”

Jaskier’s eyes went wide and he smiled brightly at the monsterslayer, sticking out his hand to shake. “I’m Jaskier.”

“Geralt.”

“Oh this is going to be great fun, Geralt!” Jaskier laughed, and pulled the monsterslayer into a hug.

-

Tag list: @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde, @comfyswitcherblanketfort, @fontegagrilledcheese, @dani-dandelino, @dapandapod @damnbert @officerjennie @feraljaskier @geralt-of-riviass @kueble @gilberik @llamasdumpsterfire @wherethewordsare @trickstermoose67 @alllthequeenshorses @slythnerd

#the witcher #geraskier #siren jaskier #non human jaskier #ace geralt #witcher ace week 2021 #wolfie's witcher writing

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

we could be married (and then we’d be happy) - chp 6

Part one || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five || Part Six || Epilogue || AO3

Hey, everyone? It’s the last chapter (apart from the Epilogue). After spending the night with Jaskier, Geralt wakes up alone. Jaskier has to decide what to do next, now everything has changed. RATED E. 9.1k words. No warnings, really.

For @inber, whom I love, and beta’d by @greyduckgreygoose 💖

~

The low, off-white glow of the shaving light above the bathroom mirror was all Jaskier could cope with right now, his eyes too sensitive for anything stronger. He stared at his reflection, hands braced to the cool porcelain of the sink, rivulets of water dripping down his face.

He wondered how he’d managed to work himself into this state. He’d crawled from Geralt’s bed and into the bathroom in a half-daze, sleepy and satiated, but a few moments alone away from the warm, cloying air of the bedroom had woken him to the reality of the position he now found himself in.

Because having left Geralt’s bed, he’d need to decide if he would return. If he could return. And that thought - the choice of what to do next - had mingled with the satisfaction of last night and the renewed intensity of his feelings to leave panic nipping at him, threatening to take hold. Splashing his face with water had done nothing to calm him: all it had achieved was yet another mess, waiting to be cleaned up.

He peered at himself in the mirror. The pale light made the bite marks on his neck and chest look darker than they really were, festooning his skin in red and purple stains. He dragged a single finger over one of them, wincing a little - it didn’t hurt, of course, but it made him shudder regardless.

Goosebumps erupted over his flesh. Jaskier sighed, breaking his own gaze, running his hands through his tangled hair. There was a flash in the mirror, and he paused for just a moment, fingers pressed to his scalp, before lowering his hands and stepping away from the glass, feet sticking to the cool, tiled floor.

He was naked, wearing only bruises and the ring.

It had been - gods - more than he’d dared for. More than he’d dreamed of. When he closed his eyes he could still see Geralt coming apart beneath him, could still hear his breathing, his panting moans. He didn’t even need to concentrate to feel Geralt’s lips still caught around his cock, his tongue hot and wet and urgent.

Of course Geralt had been good. Of course he had. He was passionate and brilliant about everything else: why would sex be any different? Jaskier should have known from the way he spoke in the museum, from the careful care he put into all aspects of their lives, that he’d be just as attentive in the bedroom, typically brilliant.

The itch remained resolutely unscratched. Jaskier had hoped he would be satisfied, but now he just wanted more.

Could it happen again? And if it did happen again - what would that make their relationship? Casual, perfunctory sex, a way for them to get off without all the entanglement of dating and searching and chasing? Just friends, still, despite the rest?

Jaskier wasn’t sure he could bear it. He didn’t want just friends: he hadn’t wanted that for a long time. He wanted more. It was a selfish, grasping urge that left him feeling guilty and desperate: He wanted Geralt to be his. Before, he’d been ignoring it. Geralt wasn’t his, and he had to try to let go of that single, burning wish. But after last night he couldn’t overlook it any more. It wasn’t even the sex, wasn’t the way Geralt had gasped his name, the way he’d carefully and attentively satisfied him.

It was the museum. It was an evening with Geralt’s family, the way he’d taken his arm - taken his hand. He wanted the soft intimacy of being together so much that it hurt.

But Geralt didn’t feel the same way: it was obvious that Geralt wanted him, but not like that. He wanted his body and his hands and his lips - even if it would just be for one night - but not the rest.

Jaskier had rather bitterly memorised Geralt’s choice of romantic partners - both long-term and short - had weighed himself against them, and found himself wanting. He was bright but he wasn’t clever, was too flippant, too silly, struggled to even hold down a job, let alone anything else. He didn’t have that steely conviction that Yen did, all brilliant sharpness with - he’d been told, many times - a softer core beneath. He was just soft, soft all the way through. He wasn’t as politically aware as Triss, not as patient as Regis - although he doubted anyone was.

And that was fine, obviously. It was fine. There were dozens of people out there - plenty more fish in the sea - people who wanted someone like him. Jaskier wouldn’t change himself for anyone, even if that person was Geralt, and he didn’t go much in for moping and self-loathing, but he understood in that implicit, unspoken way that all the things he was were not the things Geralt wanted from a partner, a fucking fiancé. It wasn’t Geralt’s fault, wasn’t some hidden cruelty - it was just a fact.

Besides, Jaskier thought: he was good at this. Very good. If Geralt only wanted their relationship to be roommates and shopping trips and friendship and - yes - sex, then he could give that to him. He wanted Geralt to feel good, and he was going to make him feel good - make them both feel good, even if, afterwards, he ran the risk of only furthering that ache in his chest.

There was another risk, though. One unimaginably worse than the fact that Geralt didn’t love him back.

What if this ruined everything? Last night he’d been too consumed with feeling, too lost in the chance to gain what he’d chased for so long, to think about the consequences beyond getting his heart thoroughly smashed. What if seeing Jaskier come undone beneath his hands, to have his cock in his fucking mouth, was too much? He’d been so focused on Geralt’s touches that he hadn’t considered the much more likely ramifications of sleeping with him: that, after everything, they’d no longer be able to stand one another’s company without it being forced and awkward and - that word again - weird.

There was a chance - more than a chance - that tomorrow, forced to confront each other in the harsh daylight over coffee and soggy toast, that it would be too much. That the warmth of their shared space would mutate to something else: something unpleasant. Friendships had been ruined over less. There was a reason why people told you not to shag roommates, after all.

He’d need to leave, if that was the case. This was Geralt’s house - it was his name on the mortgage. If Geralt found it too awkward to be around him, if this was the beginning of the end, then he would have to find somewhere else to go.

The thought of being away from Geralt only added to the pain, making his stomach tighten in knots. He didn’t want to leave. Even if every day was agony and every night was silent loneliness, he didn’t want to leave.

Last week, Geralt had told him he didn’t know what his life would be like without Jaskier in it. It had been a lie, of course: a well-worded line, part of their foolish game. But he understood, now, what he meant. He couldn’t imagine his life without Geralt. They were too entangled, too crucial to one another.

Or at least, Geralt was crucial to him. Was it the other way around, too? Would Geralt feel the ache of his absence as much as Jaskier would his? Or would he simply move on - would Jaskier be relegated to an occasional friend, an acquaintance, until - finally - nothing at all, just a memory?

If Geralt needed him to leave - to leave not just his bed, but his home and heart too - then he would. He could never make that choice himself, he just wasn't strong enough, but if it was demanded of him then he’d never fight back. He wouldn’t cause Geralt pain - even if that pain was only brought about by simply existing beside him.

But he wasn’t gone yet. Hell, Geralt might even ignore the awkwardness, might invite him to share his bed again: there was no reason for Jaskier to assume that Geralt wouldn’t be interested in a repeat of last night.

There was a dull, constant ache that started in his core and rose, painful and prickling, to his chest, to the gap where his heart was supposed to be. He could feel it building, a wave of panic, the familiar feeling of being too trapped within his own head to think straight.

He breathed in and out, trying to focus, trying to count the seconds between inhales and exhales. Geralt was always on at him to—

He released the breath in a quick, hot gasp. It was not a sob.

He knew, then, with iron certainty, that he should go back to his room. He should go back to his own bed, mess or no, crawl under the duvet and stay there: stay there until it stopped hurting.

If it ever stopped hurting.

He took another steadying breath, trying to regain a semblance of control over his rapid heartbeat, the sickening feeling in his stomach. The pipes had stopped gurgling, now, so he pushed open the bathroom door, moving quietly and deliberately, stepping over the creaking floorboards in the hallway and standing at the threshold between their doors.

He hovered, for a moment. He could run, if he needed to - he could go back to his room and Geralt would never even need to know that he’d been trapped, immobile between two painful choices. To leave would be to wholly give up on whatever had passed between them last night, to turn his back on it. To stay would force him to actually deal with it, when Geralt finally woke - but in exchange, he’d have just a few more moments by his side.

It would be two hours - maybe three, if Geralt turned out to be a heavy post-orgasm sleeper - to bask in the feeling of being with Geralt before everything crumbled around him, if it was to crumble.

When he thought about it like that - well. The choice was easy.

He pushed open Geralt’s door, leaning heavily against it to better control the swing, edging it along the carpet. It moved with a quiet hiss, and he winced even at that low noise. He only opened it a crack, then darted into the room through the slim space between door and frame. He left the door open: Geralt was a light sleeper, and the click of the door shutting could wake him, ruining everything.

Because, of course, he couldn’t catch Jaskier sneaking back in. Staying in Geralt’s bed was fine - it would be natural to stay there till they woke, curled around each other in that warm, satisfied bliss until the sun came up. But leaving and coming back - sneaking back in - was far worse, somehow. If Geralt caught him now, tiptoeing around the bed, then he’d know that the thing that had passed between them was something more, something more impassioned than simple sex.

If it hadn’t meant anything, then Jaskier would have left.

Geralt would ask him why he was back. If he had decided that this would never happen again, he might even be annoyed and tell him to leave. He’d realise, with horrible finality, what Jaskier’s feelings really were, leaving them both to deal with the fallout.

Part of him was shocked that Geralt hadn’t already worked it out. Priscilla had realised years ago, and Lambert and Eskel certainly brought into the lie easily enough that they too must have realised at some point that he was quite terribly in love with their grumpy brother. Maybe Geralt had just never thought to look - too close to the whole thing to really see. Maybe he’d so firmly categorised Jaskier as his friend that to see him - or their relationship - as anything else would have been too absurd to even contemplate.

His back to the door, pressed in the corner of the room, Jaskier peered down to the bed where Geralt lay on his back, his hair spilling around the pillow. The curtains were open just a crack, and the light coming in from the streetlights outside illuminated his white hair like a crooked halo. Jaskier swallowed heavily. Geralt was asleep, his eyes lightly shut, his chest rising and falling in slow, gentle rhythm.

Where he’d moved in the bed - where Jaskier had moved beside him, too - the duvet had fallen away, revealing the smooth planes of his chest and shoulders, the curve of his arm slung up over his head. Jaskier felt his heart stutter, absurdly, his fingers twitch with the urge to reach out and touch him.

He had been foolish - stupid and ignorant and entirely wrong - to ever believe that allowing himself one night with Geralt would cure him of his feelings, would let him toss them aside. Now he knew what Geralt’s skin felt like, the ropes of his muscles under his hands, the crush of his lips against his own - not perfunctory or practical like it had been before, but real and hard and wanting.

He knew the noises made Geralt made when he came, and he would never - never in a million years - be able to forget them.

He tiptoed closer to the bed, avoiding the piles of hurriedly discarded clothes from the night before, including his own boxers, crumpled beside the bed. He pulled back the duvet, taking care not to disturb it too much, and slowly - glacially slowly, his heart thundering - slid back beneath it, lowering himself down onto the mattress. He realised, with another little sting in his chest, just how much he was interrogating every thought, overthinking every movement. He would be doing it for a while, he suspected, no matter what happened next.

The bed was still warm, the sheets soft and welcoming beneath his skin. It smelt of sweat and sex and Geralt - a wholly comforting smell, enveloping him as he slowly pulled the duvet over himself. He was grateful that Geralt wouldn’t be able to hear his heart: if he had, the drumming surely would have woken him by now.

He lay, just for a second, waiting to see if Geralt would stir. He didn’t: didn’t even shift to accommodate the sudden weight beside him, didn’t change his breathing, didn’t even twitch. He must have been deeply asleep to not even unconsciously notice Jaskier’s slow return.

If he was so deeply asleep… perhaps Jaskier could risk a little more. He shuffled closer, slowly moving towards him, searching out the heat of Geralt’s body. He hesitated again, watching and listening for a sign that he’d disturbed his friend, then carefully slid his arm over Geralt’s chest, pressing himself against him beneath Geralt’s raised arm, his cheek on his shoulder.

Gods, but he was warm. He felt so good against Jaskier’s side, so right, like he could lie beside him forever and never grow tired of the way their bodies fit. He closed his eyes and let his hand slowly creep up Geralt’s chest, up towards his neck, aware that he was virtually clinging to him but failing to find the will to care - unable to stop himself.

He breathed out, feeling his frantic heart begin to calm.

And then Geralt moved. He shifted the arm that Jaskier was nestled beneath, moving it down, hooking it around Jaskier’s side and pulling him close. Jaskier’s breath caught, his eyes fluttering open. Perhaps he had a scrap of deniability, here: it wasn’t his returning to the room that had woken Geralt, but his sudden closeness. Jaskier could claim that he’d been asleep, or nearly asleep, and mindlessly clung to him while lost in a dream, like he had done so many times in the night.

“Ah—” he breathed, forcing himself to sound casual and sleepy. “Did I wake you up?”

Geralt tugged him even closer, making his heart stutter. “No.”

Thank all the gods for that. He was about to respond, but Geralt kept talking.

“Where did you go?”

Jaskier froze. Shit. “You…” his low voice cracked. “You were awake?”

“Only after you’d gone.”

He’d noticed. He’d woken to an empty bed, noticed Jaskier’s absence and had lain there, pretending to be asleep, while Jaskier had crept back in.

“Oh.” It was all he could manage, aware of how close he was to tumbling over a cliff edge.

“I thought you’d gone back to bed,” Geralt continued. “Your bed, I mean. You… you can. If you need to.”

Jaskier swallowed, looking up at his face. In the low light, it was impossible to read Geralt’s expression, but his voice had sounded unsure. He would go back to his bed - if Geralt wanted him to. But that uncertainty was too tempting, too dangerous. He had to know.

“Do you need me to?”

There was a long, heavy silence. Jaskier was glad that he couldn’t see Geralt’s expression, now.

“...No,” he said, finally.

Jaskier’s chest squeezed. His heart fluttered against his ribcage, trying to escape. Geralt turned, twisting around till they were face to face, closing both his arms around Jaskier’s body.

“Jaskier…” his hand had made its way to the small of Jaskier’s back, resting there, fingers lightly twitching. Jaskier felt himself shudder, alert to every tiny move Geralt made. “In the museum, you asked me what I wanted. What do you want?”

His ribs were going to explode, his heart was going to give out. He should say nothing. He should say nothing at all - keep his secrets trapped behind his teeth, keep them hidden in his hollowed-out chest and let them die there.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t, not with Geralt’s arms wrapped around him, not with the slow and quiet and somehow heartbreaking way he’d spoken.

“I want…” he hesitated, fingers twitching together between their bodies, heart thundering so loudly it might deafen him. “I want to wake up in your bed every day. Not because we’re having a phenomenal amount of sex, but because it’s the place where I sleep. I want to be here…” He flexed his fingers, pressing them to Geralt’s chest, “for” —forever— “for as long as you’ll have me.”

Geralt stilled. He didn’t even appear to be breathing, just holding him, just waiting. Fuck. Jaskier knew, immediately, that he’d said too much: but it was a relief, too. Even if Geralt turned him away, even if he swiftly removed him from his bed and his home and his life, at least the truth was out there, now, horrible and ringing and real.

He couldn’t bear the silence, though. Geralt twitched, a little, as if he might be about to speak, but Jaskier got there first, rambling over whatever he’d been about to say, his voice quick and stuttering and growing too loud for this shared, close space.

“Why couldn’t you at least have the decency to be bad in bed, hmm?” He tried to make it a joke, tried to make it hurt less. “I’d hoped, stupidly, that maybe last night would get it out of my system. That I’d be satisfied, and could leave it at that. Yet...” he stopped, and the truth caught up with him once more, like a wave drowning him. “Yet here I am.”

It was so quiet. Outside, a car hummed past. Geralt moved, finally, pulling his arm away. Jaskier’s stomach dropped, his heart a sudden, clenching stone in his chest, winding him. This was it. This was it.

Then - almost desperately - Geralt grabbed his hand, their fingers slotting together in the hot space between their bodies, pressed against their chests. Jaskier could feel Geralt’s heart pounding against his skin.

“Here we are.” Geralt breathed, barely more than a whisper. “In the restaurant, you told me to pretend. To make something up. I didn’t. You have changed my life. And I don’t want to imagine what it would be like without you.”

It was like he’d sucked the air from his lungs, like the room was spinning around him. “Geralt—”

“I love you,” Geralt spoke quickly, forcing the words out, his expression taught. “But—”

“But what?” Jaskier’s voice cracked. I love you, but—

Geralt’s face was set into a frown, a little grimace, unable to keep Jaskier’s gaze. He licked his lips, brows furrowed. Jaskier wished, desperately, that he’d just look at him - just see him - so he could read him properly.

“But...” Geralt swallowed. “My life is… routine. With someone else you could have excitement. But with me it’s just… watching TV and going to Tesco and arguing over who has to unload the dishwasher.”

No. It was absurd. How could Geralt think that was enough - that any of that was a reason not to love him - not to need him with the fierce, unfair intensity that he did? He couldn’t help it - he burst out a laugh, short and loud - and then Geralt looked at him, his expression showing nothing but hurt.

“Geralt, no—” Jaskier squeezed his hand, feeling awful for laughing at Geralt’s earnestness. “Truthfully… once, yeah, I wanted excitement. But I’m not twenty-one anymore! I want going shopping and watching TV and getting in each other’s way in the kitchen, and I want it with you.”

“But—”

He cut him off. “But nothing. You’re a terrible grump and you’re stickler for details and you’re always moaning at me and I love you, you stupid man.”

And then Geralt was kissing him. He crashed his lips against Jaskier’s, desperate and needy and awkward, their noses bumping, their hands sandwiched between them. Jaskier laughed against his mouth and kissed him back with equal feeling, unlinking their hands, wrapping his arms around him.

Jaskier was quickly losing count of all the ways he’d kissed and been kissed by Geralt, but this: this was different. Like removing a mask, dropping an act, allowing himself to feel him, honestly and openly. He didn’t need to pretend: didn’t need to pretend that it was fake, but also didn’t need to pretend that he wasn’t in love, that everything that was happening was spurred on by appetite alone.

It was thrilling, the vice that had been constricting his chest finally giving way, his heart free. He breathed into Geralt’s mouth, laughing, like if he didn’t touch him he might die.

“I love you,” he said it again, against Geralt’s lips, “I love you,” against his jaw, “I love you,” his neck, his collar, his chest.

He whispered it to the palms of his hands, to his wrists, until Geralt tugged him back with desperation, locking their lips together, exploring his mouth with his tongue, nibbling on his lip. Jaskier arched against him, splaying his fingers over his chest, pressing himself as close as he could - lit up from the inside.

Eventually, Geralt pulled away, leaning his forehead against Jaskier’s, one of his hands pressed to his nape, staring into his eyes. So close, like this, it didn’t matter how dark it was: it was like Jaskier could really see him, for the first time.

“Jaskier…” even Geralt’s voice made him shudder, “I love you.” He kissed him, brief yet tender. “I should have told you.”

Jaskier grinned. “And I should have told you. It’s been years, for fuck’s sake.”

He kissed him again, drunk on it, then stilled.

“Hold on…” A thought, sudden and a little scary, pinched at him. “Does this mean - Geralt - does this mean we’re actually engaged? Because while I do love you and everything, that might be a little - ah - soon?”

Or - or was it too soon? If Geralt asked him, right now, if they both wanted it - would he say no? He wasn’t so sure that he would - if he even could. But this was so fresh and new and soft, full of potential fragility. He didn’t want to risk a future with Geralt by tying it down too soon.

“That is, ah…” he realised how insulting he sounded, too, as he rambled “I’m not saying never, of course, just that maybe… maybe not right now, if that’s—”

Geralt cut off his chattering before he could wind himself up any further. “Jaskier.”

He finally stopped to breathe. “Yes?”

“It’s fine. You’re right. It’s probably too soon.”

Probably.

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.” He swallowed. “Probably.” He nestled closer to Geralt’s chest. “We might be awful together, anyway.”

He didn’t believe that, of course, and judging by the low laugh that rumbled up Geralt’s throat and the kiss he pressed to his forehead, neither did Geralt.

“Anyway,” he continued, blithely, “if we really were engaged, I’d want a ring that I didn’t buy from the market for a tenner, thank you very much.”

“Is that right?”

“This one is a little plain, I think. And it turns my finger green…”

“Hmm.”

Geralt reached for Jaskier’s hand, examining his fingers. He pulled off the ring, peering at the skin below. Jaskier felt somehow even more naked than before without it, like a final defence had been removed. But it wasn’t real, it never had been. This tingling, fearsome thing between them now - Geralt’s muttered I love yous - that was.

Geralt turned, the ring in his hand.

“Wait,” Jaskier said, quickly. “Just… don’t lose it, okay? It’s… it’s important.”

If Geralt thought his request was unusual he certainly didn’t show it, simply placing the ring carefully onto his bedside table before turning back to him. He linked his hand into Jaskier’s again, squeezing.

“Has it really been years?” He muttered, half sincere, half amused.

Jaskier frowned, mentally replaying their last conversation, then grinned, ruefully. “Years,” he admitted, with a sigh. “I— hold on.”

“What?”

“What about you? How long have you… have you felt like this? About me?”

Geralt ducked his head, and Jaskier could feel his fingers twitching. “A while,” he admitted, eventually.

“And how long is ‘a while’, exactly?”

Geralt shrugged. “Just… a while.”

Jaskier huffed, rolling his eyes. “You’re terrible. You’re terrible and I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

“Urgh,” he kissed Geralt’s fingers where their hands were pressed together. “I don’t. You bastard. I can’t believe we didn’t figure this out sooner… Gods, everyone else fucking did.”

“Did they?”

“I mean… your family must have at least had an idea, considering how unsurprised they were… even Ciri noticed. Priscilla twigged that I was in love with you ages ago. Even fucking Valdo knows… everyone but you.” He laughed. “Clearly I’m not as subtle as I thought. How didn’t you realise?”

It was a wholly rhetorical question - and he didn’t need an answer, not really - but Geralt looked away from him, peering at their hands. “I never thought you would… love me.”

It sounded like a struggle - a difficult, painful admission.

“Why?” Said Jaskier, aghast.

Geralt shuffled, a half-shrug against the bed. “I thought… it’s you. Why would…” he sighed, and Jaskier pressed closer, aware of how hard this must be for him - to spill his closely-guarded feelings. “I couldn’t see why you’d love me like that. Like I love you. And…”

“And?”

“What if I’d told you, and ruined it? It would have ruined our friendship, and you’d have gone. It was better to just... Leave it be, and keep you.”

It was such a soft confession that Jaskier felt his heart break a little, felt his stomach drop for the Geralt who’d spent so long believing that he wasn’t what Jaskier was looking for - wasn’t what he needed. It was a painfully familiar thought, too - one they’d both wallowed in.

Jaskier thought back to the previous night, to Geralt’s attentive, eager caresses, the way he’d touched him till he was trembling and insensible. And then he realised - quite all at once - why.

“You were telling me.”

“What?”

“Last night, I thought… I thought you were just, you know…” he shrugged, “exceptionally good in bed.” Geralt raised his eyebrows in a smug little half-smile. “And, of course, you were. You are. But… but that wasn’t it, was it? You were trying to make me feel good because… because...” He faltered.

“Because I love you.”

“I, well, yes,” even now, that made Jaskier stammer and blush, “but it’s more than that. You were… trying to show me how much you cared. Am I right?”

“I wanted to make you feel good. I wanted to…”

His skin was flushed and warm against Jaskier’s hands. He could feel his heartbeat quickening again - and more, lower, could feel Geralt’s cock twitch, already teased by their desperate kissing.

“You wanted to what?” Jaskier asked, voice low, edging closer till their lips drifted over each other.

Geralt edged just fractionally closer, and now Jaskier could feel more than just a twitch - more than the suggestion of arousal, the ghost of what had happened last night. He was hesitating, Jaskier realised, choosing his words carefully.

“I wanted you to know,” he said, slowly. “And… I wanted to be good enough for you.”

Jaskier felt his chest squeeze. Geralt sounded so sad, so sincere. He couldn’t help but kiss him, cupping his jaw with one hand, pressing their mouths together.

“You’re too good for me, if anything,” he whispered. “Far too good.”

“I—”

Jaskier could tell he was about to deny it, about to spout more humble nonsense, so he silenced him with another kiss, moving their lips together, hoping Geralt knew how wrong he was.

“Anyway,” he said, pulling away. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I want you…” Jaskier swallowed, thickly. “I want to make you feel good too, you know.”

Another quirked lip, half smile. “Did you not last night? Certainly felt very good.”

Jaskier batted at him with his fingertips. “You know what I mean. I didn’t even realise that you spent all bloody night focusing on me and I didn’t spare a single moment for you…”

“You say that like it was a trial. I wanted to focus on you.”

“But you didn’t have to.” Jaskier was finding it hard to say, exactly, what he meant: the gap between them, the unfairness, the sudden realisation that Geralt had tried, in his own way, to tell him he was in love with him without having to say it

“I want to make you feel good, Geralt,” he repeated, moving closer, keeping his voice deliberately low.

Geralt said nothing - but Jaskier could feel him moving beside him, feel his interest pressed into Jaskier’s hip. Tentatively, slower than the frantic kisses of before, Jaskier brushed his lips against Geralt’s, testing, tasting. He moved his hands, fluttering over Geralt’s side, down towards his hips. Geralt hummed into his mouth, and Jaskier pressed his thumb into the delicious curve of Geralt’s hip bone, the perfectly sculpted line where his leg met his stomach met his crotch.

“Will you let me?” He asked, finally.

Geralt looked back at him, his lips parted, and even in the early morning darkness Jaskier could see how wide his eyes were.

~

Still sensitive from the night before, those sparks still tingling beneath his skin, Geralt could only sigh into the crown of Jaskier’s head as he pressed hot, wet kisses against Geralt’s chest, tonguing at his neck. His body was responding eagerly to Jaskier’s movements, his prick already half-hard as Jaskier heaved his hands to his shoulders and pushed him onto his back, slinging one leg over his hips so he could straddle him where he lay against the sheet, lowering himself down so Geralt nestled in the cleft of his arse.

He kissed him again - mouth, jaw, chest - then leaned back, his hands slowly trailing down from Geralt’s shoulders to his hips, tracing little circles with his fingers to the soft skin below Geralt’s navel. He was still naked, but Geralt could only see the dark outline of his silhouette hovering above him. He reached up, placing a sturdy hand to either of Jaskier’s thighs, thick and warm beneath his palms.

“You should turn the light on,” Jaskier muttered, his hands moving tantalizingly close to Geralt’s crotch.

Geralt blinked up at him. “What?”

“I can’t see you in the dark. I want to see you. You’ve got one of those fancy dimmable bulbs, don’t you?”

Geralt raised an eyebrow, wondering just how Jaskier knew that, but did as he was told, leaning over and switching the bedside lamp onto its lowest setting, filling the room with a muted orange glow. Jaskier was suddenly illuminated, the dim light softening his edges, casting blurred shadows across his face, his chest, the strong lines of his thighs. Trapped beneath him, Geralt could only gaze up, his breath caught somewhere below his ribs.

“That’s better,” Jaskier purred, “Now I can actually see you…”

In this light, Geralt could see Jaskier properly - his dishevelled hair, his cheeky, permanent grin. But he could also see the trail of dark bruises starting on his neck and sneaking downwards, across his collarbone, over his chest. He hesitated, then sat up, causing Jaskier to tip into his lap, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s shoulders so he wouldn’t tumble back onto the bed.

Geralt reached out to skim his fingertips over the largest bruise, Jaskier’s skin warm and soft.

Jaskier peered down, following his movements. “Oh, right,” he said, chuckling. “I’ve got that concealer still, and I’m pretty sure there’s a turtleneck at the bottom of my wardrobe. I’ll cover them up before Ciri...” he spotted Geralt’s expression, trailing off. “What’s wrong? You’re not about to get all maudlin and say you hurt me, are you?”

Geralt swiped his finger back and forth across the blemish. That had been his first thought, one that he’d quickly pushed aside, remembering the noises Jaskier had made when he’d trapped his skin beneath his teeth.

He surged forwards, folding his arms around Jaskier’s body and pressing his lips to the bruise, opening his mouth against it. This time, he didn’t nibble or suck or edge his teeth across Jaskier’s skin, but kissed it, softly and lazily. Jaskier made a little startled noise before sighing into the touch, relaxing against him, twisting his legs around his waist for better balance.

“It’s like…” Geralt growled against his neck, inhaling him, “Ah…”

He couldn’t finish that sentence. Couldn’t complete the thought that was so dangerously possessive. He didn’t need to, though, as Jaskier arched back, lips parted.

“Like I’m yours?” He breathed, looking down at him.

That thought sent another shockwave through Geralt’s body, down his spine, and Jaskier grinned wolfishly at him as Geralt’s cock hardened even more.

“Well,” he drawled, moving his legs and manoeuvring Geralt back down onto the bed, “they’re a little more enduring than a ring, aren’t they? You can’t just take them off…” He leant above him, his expression thoughtful. “Although they do fade… you’ll have to make sure you do something about that.”

Before Geralt could reply, Jaskier kissed him hard, huddling him against the bed. He let one hand press into the side of Geralt’s throat, sneaking beneath his head to dig his fingertips into the buzzed hair at Geralt’s nape, while the other inched down his body, the lightest graze against his ribcage, his stomach. Geralt’s skin lit up where he touched him, his core tightening, his heart thundering once more.

He stopped just short of actually grasping Geralt, of touching him where he ached for relief. He moved his kisses to Geralt’s neck, nibbling at his ear, taking the soft flesh between his teeth with a little tug that made Geralt mutter out a bitten-off swear.

Finally Jaskier released him, edging backwards, sliding himself down his body, peppering it with small, fluttering kisses. Before his lips could reach Geralt’s cock, he leaned away, perching just above it once more, his hands pressed to Geralt’s stomach.

He paused there, above him, his expression hungry. Then at last wrapped his hand around Geralt’s cock, gently at first, then squeezing, rubbing his thumb across his head. Geralt arched into the touch, thrusting into Jaskier’s hand, desperate for more. His other hand moved from Geralt’s hip and down, sneaking between Geralt’s legs, cupping quickly against his balls and then - lower - edging between his cheeks, towards his entrance.

This - this had not been what Geralt was expecting. Jaskier must have noticed the way he stilled beneath his body, because he froze, the hand gripped to Geralt’s cock loosening a little.

“Don’t stop.”

The words slipped out before Geralt even knew what he was saying. He realised - with sudden certainty, with a sureness that made him gasp - how much he wanted to feel Jaskier inside him. How much he needed it.

Jaskier seemed less certain, still reacting to the way Geralt had hesitated. “Are you sure? I should have asked, I just—”

“Please.”

In the orange light, Geralt could see Jaskier’s expression shift - the worry morph into something hot and urgent. He smiled - slowly - and then began once more to stroke Geralt’s cock in long, languid strokes, shifting his fingers, teasing at his hole again. Geralt twitched against him, ready and eager, and Jaskier hummed with a little smirk.

He stroked his cock again, dragging him out, pressing harder with the tip of his finger. Geralt bucked against him, pushed down, wanting more. From his position on his back, staring up at Jaskier, Geralt could see Jaskier’s cock jutting up between them, too, feel it knocking against his stomach. He was about to reach out - to feel the hardness beneath his palm - when Jaskier stilled.

“Hold on,” He said, looking around. “Do you have, um, or shall I—”

Oh. Of course.

“Bottom drawer.” Geralt indicated with his head. Jaskier half-slid off of his lap, Geralt immediately missing his touch, then lowered himself off of the edge of the bed and reached for the drawer, his naked arse sticking in the air above Geralt’s legs. The sight alone was enough to make Geralt stiffen even more with an appreciative hum that Jaskier certainly noticed, giving his hips a cheeky wiggle. Geralt couldn’t resist - he reached up, grabbing, cupping.

Jaskier laughed - “Geralt, you cad,” - then swatted his hand away. “How can I find anything in this mess while you’re trying to distract me, hmm?”

Geralt satisfied himself with another quick squeeze before moving his hand away. Jaskier resumed his searching, pushing things aside, until—

He made a soft little gasp. “Oh, Geralt.”

Geralt suddenly remembered what else was in the drawer. Shit. What if Jaskier didn’t - what if he thought— what if he was expecting—

“I—”

“Now, tell me,” Jaskier arched back, a pair of black leather cuffs dangling from one hand, “are these for you, or for....” he hesitated. “...for your partner?”

Even watching Jaskier fiddle with the cuffs, running his fingers over the soft fabric lining, made Geralt's cock throb. He imagined being pinned beneath Jaskier, bound and begging, or Jaskier beneath him, arms up, wriggling and eager.

“Depends," he managed, voice low.

“On?”

“Lots of things.”

"How intriguing,” Jaskier grinned. “Perhaps… next time, then.” He casually let the cuffs fall back into the drawer, before pausing, looking smug. “Oh, I’m allowed to say that now, aren’t I?”

“Say what?”

“Next time. Before, I was so sure…” he nibbled at the inside of his lip, then grinned again. “Anyway. Next time.”

He leant back over, returning to his rummaging. Geralt wasn't too sure what he was finding in there - although he could make a reliable guess. Judging by the excited little noises Jaskier was making, Geralt’s concern that Jaskier was about to judge him was completely unfounded.

Finally, he pulled back, the shiny wrapper of a condom in one hand and a little bottle of lube in the other. He examined the lube with an apparent expert eye.

“This is the good stuff,” he said, eyebrows raised. “I wasn’t aware you were a connoisseur, Geralt.”

Geralt shrugged, watching as Jaskier positioned himself above him. Jaskier appeared to be watching him as carefully as he was watching Jaskier, as if worried that at any moment he could change his mind, like it all might disappear. That was certainly how it felt: like it was too good to be true, like it could be a dream, and at any moment he could wake and would be alone, again.

But the pressure of Jaskier’s arse against his prick was real enough, the feeling of Jaskier’s hands on his chest was real, the tingle of where his lips had brushed at his neck. Jaskier placed both condom and lube to one side, slowly crawling back up Geralt’s body, his eyes hungry. He kissed him again, and Geralt couldn’t resist - sliding his hand between their bodies until his fingers brushed against Jaskier’s rigid cock, wrapping his fingers around the shaft, tugging.

Jaskier gasped into his mouth, so he did it again - adding a little twist, another tug. He was hotly hard, and Geralt could feel a sheen of pre-come coating his tip. He rubbed his palm against that spot and Jaskier groaned again, then finally pulled back.

He leant away, scrambling for the condom and fiddling with the shiny wrapper. Geralt could only watch as he pulled it out, slipping it over his cock and tossing the spent foil to the floor. Next, he took the lube, popping off the cap with a dextrous flick and dripping it across his cock, across his hand, squeezing it between his fingers.

Geralt watched, enraptured, hyper-aware of Jaskier perched above him, of what he was intending to do next. He slid his slick hand between Geralt’s legs, and Geralt jerked instinctively as he touched him, his finger edging at his hole.

And then, finally, slowly, he pushed in. Geralt released a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding, relaxing his body, arching back against the bed. It was full and tight but not enough - and Jaskier seemed to read his thoughts, slipping a second finger inside him without needing to be asked.

Geralt sighed, and Jaskier grinned. “That’s it,” he breathed, “Gods, Geralt… is that okay?”

In lieu of responding, Geralt pushed down against him. Jaskier moved a little quicker, and Geralt could feel him quirk his fingers - finding the sweet, heady spot inside him that made him feel like he was lighting up - like he was tumbling.

“Can I—” Jaskier started, one hand pressing against Geralt’s hip and the other squeezed beneath him, “Do you—”

“Yes.”

Jaskier slowly pulled away his fingers, leaning back, swiping the remaining lube across his cock before reaching down, pulling up Geralt’s legs, kneeling beneath his arse and positioning Geralt’s legs across his thighs. He stroked himself once, twice, then positioned himself against him, poised there - waiting - his hands cupped beneath Geralt’s arse.

Geralt could feel the tip of his cock, slick and hard, pressed against him. Then, slowly, he pushed - easing in with a long, low sigh. Geralt could feel the edge of that familiar burn, but the slight pain was nothing compared to the exhilarating sense of fullness, broiling in his core, filling him. Once he was inside him, Jaskier stilled, pushed to the hilt - and they paused together for a moment, breathing one another in.

The feeling was intoxicating - but Geralt wanted more.

At last, well aware of how much he was teasing him, Jaskier began to thrust, the burn morphing into just a heady fullness, tight and deep - deeper than Geralt had even considered possible, making him grip his hands into the sheet below. Jaskier moved back and forth, building it, starting with deliberate, slow thrusts that quickly turned sharp and immediate.

Now he’d adopted a steady rhythm, Jaskier reached for Geralt’s prick, taking it in a firm grasp. Geralt moaned, aware he was being loud - and not being able to care. He squeezed his eyes shut with a gasp as he pushed back against Jaskier’s hips, moving in tandem with him.

“Gods,” Jaskier muttered, “You’re beautiful, Geralt. You feel so good—” He groaned, squeezing harder, moving faster, “so good.”

Geralt couldn’t respond, his breath catching - his lungs full and burning. Jaskier continued to talk, muttering soft, choking praise.

“Listen to you,” he said, “you’re so… you’re marvellous, Geralt, brilliant—”

It was all too much - Geralt wasn’t sure he’d ever been complimented like this before, and in other circumstances he would have told Jaskier to fuck off. But he couldn’t, now, and with Jaskier buried within him and his mind only able to focus on that enveloping feeling, he was forced to accept that it was true, that Jaskier meant every bit of foolish flattery.

“Jaskier,” he breathed, his name hot and sticky on his tongue.

Jaskier huffed a short laugh - a breathy exhale. “Yes,” he mumbled, “Geralt, say it...” he swallowed, “Say it again.”

“Ah - fuck,” Geralt panted, feeling that warm, familiar ache building in his core, threatening to spill over. Jaskier clearly liked hearing his own name like this, racing before a climax. A cheeky impulse grabbed at him. “Julian…”

Jaskier froze on the thrust, buried inside Geralt, his hands pressed hotly into the backs of Geralt’s thighs. Geralt laughed - he couldn’t help it.

“I can still—” Jaskier chuckled, the words strained, “I can still leave, you know. Take it all back.”

The sensation of Jaskier laughing at him - at the cheeky use of his discarded, thrown-off name - sent vibrations rushing from the point where their bodies met all the way through Geralt’s core in a torrid wave.

“No you won’t,” he said, goading him, clenching around him and making him gasp.

Jaskier stuttered again - possibly a swear - before resuming the rhythm. He was steady and sure and powerful in a way that Geralt hadn’t seen him before - it was devastating. Having Jaskier over him, like this, having him inside him, was new and wild and somehow safe, somehow comforting, like through the careful touch of his fingers and the confident movements of his hips and cock he was holding him close - showing him how loved he was.

“Fuck,” he muttered, feeling himself drawing closer, “fuck.”

Jaskier showed no sign of slowing, tugging at Geralt’s cock with one hand while the other supported the curve of his arse, keeping him steady on top of his knees. He matched his pace - the stroking of his hand to the steady thrusting of his hips - and Geralt could feel himself falling to pieces, all of the sensation in his body coiling and building and concentrating to a single, burning point. Jaskier’s mumbled affirmations drifted over him, soft and constant, burying him.

“Ah—” Jaskier breathed, squeezing him harder, fingers slipping, “Yes, Geralt, you’re so good, so good—”

It was too much, all too much. It was like a dam had burst inside him, years of silent longing building up and over, drowning him, carrying him along.

“I love you,” he mumbled, the words raw and panted. “Julek, I love you—”

And that was it, that was all he could take, his whole body shuddering as he spilled into Jaskier’s hand. Jaskier hissed through his teeth, managing two more thrusts before he, too, came with a hot gasp and a long, broken sigh. He kept his hand on Geralt’s cock, easing him out of the orgasm, and they stilled, for a moment, neither of them moving. Geralt’s heart was thundering, his ears ringing, his skin tingling all over in a sheen of cooling sweat.

Slowly, Jaskier drew out with another soft hiss before letting himself fall heavily on the bed next to Geralt, letting out a deep, contented breath. He swallowed heavily, Geralt watching the movement of his throat, still peppered with bruises.

“Hmm,” Jaskier peered at him, his eyes heavily lidded. “Well, then.”

“Well then,” Geralt agreed, quietly.

“I love you too,” he mumbled. “I’m not sure I quite managed to say it back, just now.”

Jaskier shuffled forwards and kissed him drowsily with another one of those satisfied hums, then with a pained groan he sat up, reaching once more for the box of tissues. When he finally deemed himself suitable, he crawled back into the bed, back into Geralt’s waiting arms.

Geralt held him there, feeling his heart beating quick against his chest, his breathing slowly calming. They lay tangled in each other and Geralt wondered - not for the first time - how this had happened. Yesterday, it would have seemed impossible.

After a few minutes, Jaskier let out a sigh that skittered across Geralt’s chest, and finally spoke.

“We’re going to have to tell your family, you know.”

“I know.”

“And we need to tell them the truth, this time, alright? I don’t want you telling them we’ve just, I don’t know, decided not to get married but are still together. You have to tell them everything.”

Geralt kissed the top of his head. “Everything?”

“Well,” Jaskier wiggled his shoulders, brushing his hand in little circles across Geralt’s chest. “Not quite everything.”

“They’re going to think we’re idiots.”

“We are idiots,” said Jaskier. “What about Ciri? Are you going to tell her tomorrow, or phone her, or what?”

Geralt considered this. “I want to tell her in person,” he said, “although I don’t think she’ll be surprised.”

“I… yeah,” Jaskier slumped against him a little. “I still feel bad about that.”

“Don’t. I think she’s probably been expecting this for a while…”

“What about Yen?”

“Well, I was thinking you could—”

“Oh no, no way.”

Geralt chuckled. “I’ll ring her later. And we can tell Ciri together?”

“Deal.” Jaskier paused, for a second, his hand still. “Are you sure you want to tell everyone? I just… I don’t want to force you if you don’t want everyone knowing about…”

“About us?”

“Not us, really, just… I know you keep things to yourself, sometimes. I don’t want to make you do something you’re not ready for.”

Geralt hesitated. He couldn’t imagine a world in which he’d want to keep this hidden. They spent most of their time alone, of course, aside for Ciri - but he didn’t want to pretend, anymore. He didn’t want to stop himself from pulling Jaskier close, from holding his hand, from kissing him whenever he wanted to.

“No,” he said, finally. “I want them to know.”

“Good,” Jaskier said. “I don’t think I can keep up with any more pretending.”

“Hmm.” Geralt relaxed against him, basking in how warm he was, how soft. And then he remembered. "Where did you go?"

Jaskier looked up at him. "I'm right here?"

"Earlier. When I woke up and you'd gone. Where did you go?"

Absurdly, Jaskier began to blush. He'd had his prick inside Geralt not ten minutes ago but now he was blushing.

"I ah…" he hesitated. "I needed a piss."

Geralt laughed - he couldn't help it. Jaskier scowled at him, the blush deepening.

"Next time I'll just piss in your bed, then, shall I?"

Geralt rolled his eyes at him. At both of them, really: he'd woken alone, convinced that Jaskier had left him unloved and alone, when really he'd just been emptying his bladder.

Fucking typical.

"Please don't."

Jaskier moved up the bed so their heads rested against the same pillow, then nuzzled against Geralt’s cheek in what appeared to be an attempt at a half-hearted kiss. “What’s the time?” He said, his words muffled.

Geralt turned to look at the alarm clock as best he could without dislodging Jaskier. “Nearly quarter past six. Don’t you have work?”

“I booked it off,” Jaskier sniffed, “I’d assumed I’d be getting utterly smashed last night, and I’d either be too hungover or terribly broken-hearted and distraught this morning to go in. What about you?”

“Booked it off weeks ago.”

“Excellent,” Jaskier shut his eyes. “That means I can do this for a couple more hours, at least…”

Jaskier yawned, and Geralt pulled the covers up a little higher, to better cover them both. Usually he would get up if he’d woken this early, even on a day off, but with Jaskier plastered to his side he didn’t quite feel the need.

“So,” Jaskier hooked a leg between Geralt’s, sliding his arm across his chest. “What did you have planned for the day? I’m assuming it wasn’t, you know…” he kissed him again, “... this.”

“Surprisingly not,” Geralt muttered. He hadn’t really planned what to do with his day. He suspected that, rather like Jaskier, he’d assumed that the day would be lost to the emotional hangover of the night before - that he’d spend the day quietly mourning what he’d never had.

He didn’t have to, now.

“Is there anything you want to do?” He asked instead, leaning his head against Jaskier’s on the pillow.

“I need a shower,” he sniffed. “I really need a shower.”

“We both need a shower.”

“Or a bath….” Jaskier paused, thoughtfully. “Is the bath big enough for two?”

Geralt shrugged. “For us? I doubt it.”

“Hmm,” he sighed. “Shame.”

“We need to tidy before Ciri comes tomorrow, too. The kitchen’s a mess.”

“Urgh.”

“And we need to do a shop.”

Jaskier grumbled. “A big shop?”

“Unfortunately. Food, toiletries… we need toothpaste. Bin bags, bleach...”

Jaskier groused again, twisting beneath the duvet so he was facing the ceiling. “Maybe I was wrong about not wanting excitement anymore…”

“What if I buy you a bottle of wine?”

“Interesting proposition…” he said. “Call it a bottle of wine and a cake, and you’ve got a deal.”

Geralt peered towards Jaskier from the corner of his eye, watching him. That little fear bit at him again - the worry that all this wouldn’t be enough for him - but he pushed it back. There was an ache in his chest, his legs, in his core - a comfortable throb. If Jaskier didn’t want this, he knew, he wouldn’t even be there: he’d have left hours ago.

Jaskier sniffed. Geralt stared at him - his messy hair, his sparkling eyes, the trail of marks on his neck that disappeared below the soft cover of the duvet. Later, they’d wash away the sweat of last night’s - and this morning’s - adventures, but those marks would remain. So would, he suspected, the little green stain around Jaskier’s finger: at least for a day or so.

As if feeling his gaze, Jaskier turned, eyebrows raised.

“You’ve got that face on,” he said. “What’re you thinking about?”

He was thinking about last night. He was thinking about that morning - Jaskier’s lazy kisses, his urgent thrusts. He thought how later, washed and dressed and irrevocably changed, they’d go to Tesco and buy potatoes and washing up liquid and pasta like the world hadn’t suddenly started spinning in a different direction, taking both of them with it.

He licked his lips and shuffled forwards, pressing their foreheads together.

“You.”

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #we could be married #modern au #my fic #again this chapter is lemony as all hell #this one is even more E rated than the last #featuring #more mutual pining #freaking out about sleeping with your best mate #and (drumroll please) #bottom!Geralt #.....and maybe a satisfying ending who knows

[havenoffandoms]

Hey, first off - congratulations on hitting 900 followers, that’s amazing!!

For your 900 follower prompt list, could you write Yennefer x Jaskier with 9, 19 and 56? I would be very grateful 💖💖

Hello nonnie!! Thank you for requesting this pairing... it was a challenge for me! This prompt fill is a little shorter. I have never written Yenskier before, so I hope this turned out okay and not too OOC? I felt inspired and this is angsty, but also soft. I hope you like it <3

Masterlist

Pairing: Jaskier x Yennefer

Prompts: Prompt 9: One is sick/injured; Prompt 19: "I would give up the world for you."; Prompt 56: “Surrender or he dies”

Warnings: angst, mentions of torture, graphic depiction of injury.

Side note: daerinn means sorceress in Nilfgaardian (at least, that's what Google told me. If it's wrong, take it up with Google)

“Surrender, witch, or your precious bard dies,” the spy drawls in a thick, Nilfgaardian accent that Yennefer has come to despise. Jaskier yelps when the man’s grip in his hair tightens painfully, shooting her a pleading look. She doesn’t need to read Jaskier’s mind to know what the bard is thinking, but there is no way in heaven or hell that Yen will leave Jaskier now to save herself.

“Hm,” Yen brings one finger to her chin, tapping it pensively, “and what exactly makes you think that I care whether the bard lives or dies?”

The spy sneers at her, showing a row of uneven and rotten teeth. “You didn’t just come here for a friendly chat, daerienn.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Yen conjures a ball of fire in the palm of her hand without breaking a sweat, head held high, her eyes never leaving the Nilfgaardian spy’s face, “I need the bard alive, because he has information that I’m very much interested in. It so happens that you are in my way, so I’ll give you a chance to let him go. One…”

“You don’t scare me, daerinn,” the soldier hisses between clenched teeth, but years of experience have taught Yennefer how to recognise fear in another man’s eyes. And this man is scared alright. The sorceress smiles a fleeting smile, one which barely tugs at the corner of her lips.

“Two…”

“I won’t surrender to the likes of you, bitch.”

“Three.”

Yennefer utters a spell under her breath which sends the fireball in her hand flying towards the soldier, who thankfully drops Jaskier in his fear and bolts in the opposite direction through the open door. The ball of fire follows him, and it will until it hits the desired target. Yen vaguely hears a scream echo in the otherwise empty hallway - the other guards hexed out of the castle before the sorceress made her grand entrance, all part of her elaborate plan to rescue her beloved bard.

“Yen,” said bard croaks, his voice breaking halfway and making him cough. Yen is quick to drop to her knees then, gently cradling his face in her soft hands and resting it in her lap.

“Why is it that every time I leave you alone, you get yourself into some kind of trouble?” she chastises, though her tone lacks any heat and her voice is closer to a whisper. Jaskier smiles at her, pearly white teeth sparkling in the dim light of the torches, then hisses when the pain in his ribcage makes itself known.

“What can I say. I live a dangerous life.”

“Mhm, I’m sure you do.” Yen tilts Jaskier’s face from side to side, inspecting the cuts and bruises left by the brute who tortured him. “Dangerous work attending parties, singing to the nobility and frequenting brothels.”

“My dear,” Jaskier says solemnly, bringing crooked fingers to brush through her silky curls, “I’ll have you know that I haven’t seen the inside of a brothel in a while. Why would I seek the company of whores when the memory of you keeps me warm and satisfied, even on lonely nights?”

She flinches when her eyes land on broken fingers... Jaskier’s livelihood, reduced to nothing. Yen could probably use magic to accelerate the healing process, but even so, the joints will be stiff for a long time. She fails to hide the flattered smile that graces her lips at Jaskier’s words, her heart fluttering in her chest at the thought of Jaskier not having paid for a whore since the two started this relationship of sorts.

“Seriously, Jaskier. What happened?”

“Urgh.” Jaskier drops his head back in Yen’s lap, biting his lip until it bleeds to keep himself from crying out in pain when Yen begins setting his broken bones with her magic. “Shit, that’s… fuck.”

“Maybe later,” Yen jokes, earning herself a huff of laughter from Jaskier, “though you’re in no condition just now, my dear.”

“I’d chance it. There are worse ways to go.”

It takes Yen a little while to heal Jaskier. When she’s done, she feels drained and like she could collapse into bed and sleep for a few days. Jaskier looks equally exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes a stark contrast to his ghostly pale skin. Yen decides that they can afford to rest in this room for a while longer.

“What did the Nilfgaardians want from you?” she asks Jaskier again, softly and with a sweetness that she only musters for the people she truly cares about. Her fingers start massaging Jaskier’s scalp, pulling a pleased groan from the bard.

“They wanted to know about you, Geralt and Ciri. Mostly you, though. You’re a wanted woman, my dear.”

“Geralt and Ciri? You know where they are?”

“I could probably make an educated guess,” Jaskier winks at her, earning himself a half-hearted slap to the shoulder, “but no, I don’t know exactly where they are, and even if I did. I wouldn’t tell anyone. Geralt may be a cantankerous, emotionally constipated son of a bitch, but he is still my friend. And well… I would never tell the Nilfgaardians where my beautiful Yennefer resides.”

Yen’s eyes land on Jaskier’s broken fingers again, and her heart tightens in her chest. Jaskier’s loyalty to Geralt earned him a few broken ribs, a shattered collarbone and countless cuts and bruises. Jaskier’s love for Yennefer probably cost him his livelihood… broken fingers are useless on a lute. Stiff joints will make composition and writing difficult, as well. Yennefer may have mended the bones, but she is not a miracle worker, and Jaskier will probably never recover the mobility in his hands he used to have…

“Don’t blame yourself, my dear,” Jaskier pleads her, eyes soft and staring at her lovingly, “I would choose to do it again if it meant keeping you safe.”

“Jaskier, don’t say that.” Yen tightens her hold on the bard, biting back the tears that threaten to spill. “You could have died. I don’t want you to give up your life for me.”

“My darling Yennefer,” Jaskier intertwines their fingers together and brings Yen’s hand to his lips, placing a delicate kiss over her knuckles, slightly blistered from the ball of fire she conjured to save Jaskier, “I would give up the world if it meant that you got to live another day.”

The thought should terrify her - truly, she has never met someone as stupid and delusional as Jaskier. The things he would do for the people he cares about, for the people he loves… well, Yen would probably go to great lengths as well to keep her loved ones safe. She really isn’t one to talk. Gently, she leans down until her lips brush against Jaskier’s in a tender kiss, which Yen hopes conveys all the love she feels for her bard but cannot bring herself to voice out loud.

Request a prompt

#havenwrites #the witcher #yennefer of vengerberg #yennefer z vengerbergu #yen #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #dandelion #jaskier x yennefer #yennefer x jaskier #jaskier/yennefer #yennefer/jaskier #yenskier #prompt fill #requests open

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

Can I get A for the alphabet game? Lots of fluffy romanticness, please? 💖

Greetings! This is... sort of romantic. But also. Not that romantic. Woops. Your word is APPRECIATE!

Geralt does not ask for thanks. He doesn’t ask for praise or adulation - only coin. This is his job. He doesn’t hunt monsters because of the valour that comes with saving people, he does it because he’s a witcher. People, typically, don't celebrate witchers. They pay them and move on. 

Geralt doesn’t need praise or adulation - and no one gives it to him.

Geralt isn't a hero from the stories his mother used to tell him when he was a boy, and he doesn't ask to be. He knows that even Jaskier’s songs and their overblown lyrics aren’t designed to immortalise him like a folk legend: they’re designed to earn money.

But after a long hunt, no matter how close to dawn or how late at night, Jaskier sits with him until the toxicity subsides and the trembling stops and he can finally sleep. When his hair is coated in blood, Jaskier dunks water over his head and washes it away with swift, tender fingers. When an angry villager threatens to have him removed from a tavern, Jaskier puffs up like a blowball and shouts until they back down.

When there’s an injury on Geralt’s back that he can’t quite reach, Jaskier cleans and bandages it. When there’s an ache in his calf from the wound he sustained over a year ago and he can’t get fucking comfortable, Jaskier will silently reach for his leg and press his thumbs into the flesh until the worst of the pain subsides. When he’s in town, he brings back food for Geralt and oats for Roach. When he’s on the road, he picks the herbs and flowers that he knows Geralt needs for alchemy. 

When Geralt’s contracts dry up and there’s no more adventures - just drowners and wild dogs - he half expects Jaskier to leave. But he doesn’t. He still sits with him when he can’t sleep, still washes his hair, still picks him little bundles of celandine even though Geralt isn’t using up the ingredients he already has. There’s no money for inns, and no stories for songs, but even then Jaskier still washes his hair in the streams they’re forced to bathe in.

Geralt isn’t used to such soft, continual affection. He can’t understand where it comes from - why Jaskier carves out time and money and energy for him. So when they eat outside, a hare roasting over the fire, Geralt makes sure he gets fed first. When the seasons change and it begins to grow chilly, Geralt spreads his bedroll next to Jaskier’s and wraps an arm around him, sheltering him from the worst of the cold. If he needs to, he lets him ride on Roach - but only if he truly needs to.

And when he passes him the first strip of meat, or presses his hand to his chest beneath a thin blanket or even heaves him up onto Roach’s back, Jaskier says a dutiful thanks and then, the next day, there’s always more hair washing and massages and flowers and small, continual acts of appreciation, one after the other, willingly given with nothing asked for in return.

Geralt does not hunt monsters for praise or glory. He does not work for thanks. But when Jaskier presses his hands to Geralt’s shoulders as he bathes, smelling sweetly of chamomile, and starts to rub away the troubles of the day, Geralt thinks he doesn’t need them anyway.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #short n soft yo #prompt game #alphabet game #Anonymous