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roughentumble · 2 days ago
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But more importantly I'm thinking about Ciri as Supergirl! Instead of being his cousin she's his god daughter (insert some hand wavey explanation for their age difference, like idk maybe some kinda Kryptonian stasis and she arrived later bc of a miscalculation or something idk)
ooo, i thought that was supergirl's backstory, that she was sent out in stasis and so she left before clark but ended up there after he was already an adult, making her his older-younger cousin, and him her younger-older cousin?? but i dont really follow supergirl comics so that idea is definitely cobbled together from multiple sources and assumptions lol.
i googled her really quickly and apparently there was some kind of power struggle in her family?? which i think works well for ciri, this little princess at the center of a huge power struggle. she gets to earth as if a day has passed, her planet and people and FAMILY all dead, the wounds still fresh, and then as if by fate she finds another kryptonian-- the only other kryptonian-- who takes her in and raises her. and there's a lot of him teaching her, but he also has a lot of questions for her about life on their home planet(something he'll never get to know on his own, landing here as a babe)
idk. idk! incheresting. my thoughts are very scattered, perhaps they'll coalesce more once i eat dinner lol
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roughentumble · 7 months ago
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wait wait wait WAIT one day geralt mentions his husband in a sort of roundabout way, and jaskier is like YOUR HUSBAND???? and geralt’s like *amused* yes? my husband? and jaskier goes off to lick his wounds about it, because he had no idea, and he’s a little insulted that he didnt get an invite to the wedding, but mostly he’s just-- yearning. he thought he might have a chance with geralt, SOMEday, but not if the man’s already married!
the mystery man keeps coming up, albeit rarely, little comments like “i think my husband would like these,” while pointing out some jewelry at a vendor’s stall, or once jaskier caught him with a quill and ink and geralt said he was writing to his husband, “parting is hard but letters help to ease the ache, a bit.” at least jaskier gets his own letter, too, that winter. a little consolation prize.
or so he thinks, until it’s finally revealed that geralt has been talking about jaskier this whole time
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roughentumble · 2 months ago
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fic concept: jaskier is restless to get to sleep most nights, so geralt tends to drop off before him. as jaskier watches geralt falling asleep, he notices an odd behavior. geralt touches himself-- not sexually or anything, just things like firmly squeezing a bicep, running his fingers over his collarbone. it seems subconcious, like he maybe doesnt even realize he's doing it, and jaskier cant figure out why he does it. but a few weeks after he starts noticing this behavior, he starts putting things together. he sees geralt flinch back from people's hands, and more importantly sees people flinch away from geralt. geralt's hand brushing an innkeeper's as a room key is passed on gets flexed fingers, a contemplative look. geralt's so touch deprived, his skin hunger is so bad, he unconciously soothes himself to sleep by replicating the feeling of someone else touching him, touching patches of skin that likely havent been touched in years.
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roughentumble · 2 months ago
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like my friend has supplied the idea of "geralt calls on the law of surprise, but it turns out What You Have But Do Not Yet Know is the finalization of a marriage contract with the pankratz family, and now geralt has to marry his friend jaskier" which is *chef's kiss* but also like. the idea of them never having met. is so funny. geralt just has a guy now. following him around
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roughentumble · 9 months ago
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everyone saying cavill's contacts look bad and its just like. well. have you considered that i like them anyway?
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roughentumble · 5 months ago
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the pit of jaskier's jacket has a hole in it. not like the material itself tore, but like the seam's started to give out. you can see his shirt through it, and it must let in the cold. i'd noticed it before but never thought on it too deeply
but now im picturing jaskier waking up one day. his jacket's spread out overtop of him, which he doesnt remember doing, and when he picks it up, careful of the sleeve, he notices that he doesnt need to be careful any longer. the seam's been mended in tiny, perfect little stitches, each one careful and meaningful. maybe he's in his room at kaer morhen and he goes out wandering, or maybe they're making camp and all he has to do is turn his head, but he sees geralt awake and prodding at the fire either way. and all at once he understands
geralt saw the tear, and he fixed it. without a word, just took note of and casually made some small part of jaskier's life a little stronger and a little warmer. and it's partly apology, for harsh words and time apart and the chaos that made their reunion rocky, but it's partly care just for the sake of it. sharp eyes noticing the little details and fixing them. it's part of what jaskier had missed so much he wanted to SCREAM, and did scream when he sang his heart out all those nights in bars, earning his dinner. it's a tentative little peace offering that stops the cold of kaer morhen from sneaking in through his cracks.
so he goes and he sits down beside geralt. leans so their shoulders press together. and just basks in the presence of friendship. what for do you yearn? echos in his own mind, and he cant help but snort a bit as he leans his head on geralt's shoulder.
this, he thinks.
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roughentumble · 10 months ago
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a sorcerer curses jaskier for his "endless chittering" and turns him into a squirrel. it changes shockingly little about his and geralt's dynamic
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roughentumble · 2 months ago
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modern au where Ciri dresses up as Geralt for Halloween or something similar and Geralt's like "oh, because I'm scary?" but Ciri just goes "all my friends are dressing up like superheroes so I wanted to dress up like mine!"
bro. bro i am sobbing i am on the floor i
oh my godddddddd hes her. ssuperherooooo 😭😭😭😭😭😭
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roughentumble · a month ago
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I wrote a fic for disability pride month! Featuring Geralt's knee brace, and some Geraskier fluff.
(Note that I don't personally use a knee brace, but I hope I did an alright job representing it in my fic! Geralt's knee brace deserves more visibility in fandom :3 )
tagging @hale-of-stiles-heart cuz I figured she'd want me to.
here on ao3
——
Geralt can tell it's going to be one of those days. The twinge in his muscles as he stretches his leg, the dull ache seeping into his bones... It isn't so bad yet, but it'll get worse fast if he doesn't nip it in the bud.
His knee brace is as easy to apply as breathing, nowadays. He can do the straps with his eyes closed, the familiar leather sturdy and reassuring under his fingers as he tightens them around his thigh and his calf. He bends his knee once, twice, to make sure everything's in working order, then sets about packing up their meager camp.
It takes three tries to wake Jaskier, but Geralt's used to this by now. He wakes the bard in stages, listening to Jaskier's grumbles as he folds their tarp and saddles roach. By the time Jaskier is sitting up, bleary-eyed and groaning, his bedroll is the only thing left on the forest floor. "I'm up, I'm up." He slurs, tripping over his own feet as he tugs on his shoes and sloppily folds up his bedding.
"You never leave me time to fix my hair in the mornings, you brute," he grouses as he affixes his roll to roach's saddle. "You could try waking me earlier."
Geralt lets out an amused hum and throws a stale roll of bread at Jaskier's head.
He squawks and nearly drops it, fumbling it between his hands. "And now you're throwing things at me, you horrible–! Oh, it's breakfast. Thank you, darling, I didn't even realize how famished I was... presentation could do with a bit of work, though." He nibbles on his breakfast and slings his lute over his shoulder as he falls into step beside Geralt and Roach, a spring in his step on this fine summer morning. "So. Where are we off to today, witcher-mine?"
——
The answer, as always, is a small town with a monster problem, which Geralt had told him the night before, but information that didn't interest him had a tendancy of falling right out of his head. This particular small town is right outside the walls of Vizima, but they probably wouldn't end up inside the city itself for a day or two while Geralt dealt with the inevitable small town drowner contracts, and the town was rather small and dingy in comparison, hence Jaskier's lack of interest.
They arrived just as the sun began to peak overhead, and Jaskier's lack of interest was quickly turned on its head when he saw the town's bustling sunday market. It seemed as though everyone was out, whether selling or buying, tables laden with everything from fresh, steaming food, to new journals, to glittering jewelry. Jaskier let out an awed little 'ooh', and turned to scamper off into the crowd immediately, only to have his elbow caught by Geralt. "Notice board first, then the market."
Jaskier whines, but stays put as Geralt dismounts roach, careful not to jostle his leg too badly. "I could go on my own. Meet back up with you after all your negotiating."
"I'd never find you again. You'd get lost between the stalls, or pickpocketed. Why, are you that tired of me already?" Geralt inquires, face kept blank and serious but eyes alight with amusement.
"As if I could ever tire of your illustrious company. Alas, I've tried many things over the years, but nothing seems to do it."
"I suppose, then, you're stuck with me."
"I suppose, then, you're right." Jaskier smiles fondly, hooking his elbow around Geralt's. "Even if I am being dragged to a boring old negotiation."
——
The townsfolk, as it turns out, are staunch followers of the eternal fire. Despite the contract on the notice board, the town priest– acting as aelderman– insists that they don't even need any help, because all that's needed is prayer and the lighting of holy flames at dedicated spots.
Even though a woman was recently torn to shreds on the very riverbank they overlook to negotiate.
Maybe the fires weren't holy enough, Geralt thinks blithely. It tacks on an extra half an hour to negotiations, because he needs convincing that something needs to be done at all, and is that much stingier with funds as a result. Jaskier goes from enraged, to bored, to distracted, and finally slips out of the room during a particularly delicate portion of the exchange, where Geralt can't take a moment to corral him back into the room. Little weasel.
He gets half his payment up front, but the drowners in their river only come out at night, so he has an afternoon– however much is left of it, now– to wrangle Jaskier before he has to go fulfill the contract.
He flexes his leg, stiff from standing so long, leaning into the support of his brace, as he swivels his head in search of Jaskier.
Thankfully, there aren't many alleys for him to be hidden down. The market stretches straight down the main road, then veers straight off to the side, wrapping around the town in an L-shape. Unfortunately, someone else spots Jaskier just as Geralt does.
It must've been his bright garb that caught the man's eye, his showy gestures, the loose way he held their purse, because one moment he's gesticulating at a vendor, and the next a man from the crowd is snatching the purse from his hand. The wrenching motion looks painful, and Jaskier yelps as he snatches back his hand, the sound loud enough to carry across the street to where Geralt stands.
He doesnt stand still for long. Geralt is between the thief and his most obvious exit, the stalls packed in too tightly to slip between acting as a corridor right to the city gates– and the guards standing right outside them. He presses his advantage, darting forward to grab the man before he can escape.
He's fast, even faster than Geralt expected, and he dodges to the left when Geralt swipes right, nearly ducking out of his reach entirely but for the hood he uses to hide his face. A fistful of the loose fabric ends up in Geralt's hand, and he yanks backwards, clotheslining him and making him stumble back, choking and panicking. His arms whirl, grabbing at Geralt's own for stability, twisting in his grip to try and squirm away from his iron hold, and in a last desperate attempt swings his knee wildly at Geralt's.
The brace absorbs the impact and holds strong, keeping Geralt upright despite the distant throb.
The thief's knee crumples in pain on impact, collapsing beneath him in shock.
He hadn't expected the metal core inside the leather, reinforcing it.
Geralt grabs his arm and twists it, following him down to the ground and then pushing him lower, until he's flat on his stomach. The twinge in his knee tells him he shouldn't have done that, but he ignores it for now as he calls jaskier over.
It had only been a few moments in real time, but Jaskier looks frazzled, eyes wide as dinner plates. "Get our coin back while I hold him." Geralt says, and Jaskier nods, rifling through the man's pockets as he squirms under Geralt's weight, then taking Geralt's hand to help pull him back up.
The guards by the gate finally take interest, strolling down the bridge at a leisurely pace. "Go on, then. Before you get thrown in a cell for the night." Geralt says as he steps out of the theif's way. The man looks around for just a moment, as if judging Geralt's sincerity, then scrambles to his feet and runs.
"Well! That was rather bracing, wasn't it?" Jaskier says. When Geralt turns to respond, he sees not one but three bags of coin in his hands.
"Jaskier." He just shoots Geralt an innocent look, and Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose in irritation. "We should give those back to the people they belong to."
Jaskier's face screws up with incredulity. "How? No one's going to be honest, so there's no way to trace the original owners. And it's better than the guards taking it and adding it to the city's coffers. Might as well turn a bad situation into good fortune, and enjoy it!"
Geralt doesnt like the idea much, but he can't argue Jaskier's logic, and the enthusiasm is a bit infectious, though he'd never admit it. "Fine... but I'm holding the purse."
——
When they finally get a room for the night, the sun is just starting to dip below the horizon, and their arms are laden with food and trinkets and books that Jaskier had insisted they spend their new assets on. Geralt will have to don his armor soon enough, but for now he has a free moment, and he sinks gratefully onto the bed.
"Pants off." Jaskier commands, and Geralt raises an eyebrow, though he undoes the strings dutifully.
"Not the sexiest way I've been propositioned, I've got to say." He reaches down to undo the straps of his brace as well, shedding both with ease. "Don't tell me the great bard is losing his touch."
Jaskier throws his head back and laughs, twisting the lid off a jar of lotion as he does. "Trust me, if I was propositioning you, you'd know." He scoops a dollop into his palm, then sets the jar on the side table as Geralt shimmies up the bed, back against the heaboard and legs out in front of him. The lotion is hand-warmed as it's smoothed over Geralt's skin, and Jaskier's touch is gentle but firm as it rubs soothing circles into the tired muscle.
He strokes up and down, long, slow strokes from calf to thigh and back again, until Geralt feels like a puddle on the bed, eyes closed and a little pleased rumble emanating from his chest. "You'll just have to do that again when I get back," he says quietly.
"I don't mind." Jaskier replies, voice equally hushed. He places a reverent kiss on Geralt's thigh, then gently pats it and slides a pillow beneath it for extra comfort. His knee really isn't that bad today– the brace works wonders for him when he uses it– but the gentle love and care makes Geralt's chest ache with affection, and it works to keep his knee from getting worse more often.
Jaskier moves to leave the bed, but Geralt stops him, tugs him towards his lap. "Would that be alright?" Jaskier asks, glancing over at his knee anxiously.
"It's fine, as long as you don't give me too much of your weight." Geralt says, which has Jaskier eagerly scrambling into his lap, grin absolutely blinding.
He reaches out, slowly twining his arms around Geralt's neck. "So. Now that you've got me here, what do you want from me?" Jaskier asks, voice deep and sultry.
Geralt takes a moment to trail his hand up and down Jaskier's back, looping his arms around Jaskier's waist. "Wanted to tell you... how much you mean to me. How much I love you. How much better you make my life."
Jaskier's face takes on a shocked little oh shape, then tranforms into a watery smile. "Oh, you great big sap, you." Jaskier says, pulling Geralt in closer to hide his face in Geralt's shoulder, sniffling. "I love you too, my darling."
They stay like that for a long time. In a little room in a tiny inn, they find peace together as twilight descends.
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roughentumble · 3 months ago
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oh my god oh my god fic concept:
jaskier starts getting kind of depressed, because he's loved so many people over the years, but feels they havent really loved him back to the same degree. his friends are all getting married, and he doesnt really have... a person. someone who's just his. someone willing to give themselves to him, and willing to take him as he is and all that. he confesses all this to geralt one late night, and geralt replies "...i would marry you."
he looks over in surprise. "like a-- a pact? if im not married by the time im 45, you'll marry me to keep me from being lonely?" he asks, and geralt tells him sure, he'd do that. at first jaskier thinks he's joking, or isnt saying it seriously, just rolls his eyes. but as he asks more questions-- "would you have a ceremony," "would you kiss me at the alter," "would you travel with me even more than we already do, come to my competitions, would we- aside from kissing and sex- live as man and husband"-- he starts to realize geralt really, truly means it. and ultimately what jaskier was feeling was loneliness, that no one wanted him. and here geralt was, his best friend, so willing to be his partner in all ways and give part of himself to jaskier, and take jaskier as he is.
he cries, but theyre good tears, and geralt holds him. "then i'll take you up on that offer, witcher-mine." he says, half crying and half laughing, and geralt tells him it's a deal.
45 comes and goes and jaskier has no prospects. they get married in the summer.
it's surreal, marrying his best friend, but it's a beautiful ceremony, and he gets to eat cake and dance and drink, and it's exactly how he always pictured it, and geralt actually smiles, so he counts the day as a win.
years pass, and geralt's made good on his promise. he's a good husband. even if theyre platonic, theyre partners in all things, and jaskier finds he loves married life. he loves the life theyve made together. and, with dawning horror, he realizes he's fallen in love with his friend.
he agonizes over it. those werent the terms of their agreement, after all, and it feels like a terrible secret to keep-- enjoying all their usual intimacy in a new, private way. he's flustered around geralt like he never has been before, and he's sure it must be the most obvious thing in the world.
they've been beyond big secrets for so long that he's no good at hiding it, and it feels so wrong, that eventually he caves and confesses everything, even though he's so afraid of ruining their life together. he's in tears as he confesses. but geralt doesnt run, or curse him, or anything else he'd feared.
geralt kneels before him and takes jaskier's hands in his. reaches up to gently wipe away his tears. and tells him, joyful, breathless, that he'd been in love with jaskier since just a few months after posada
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roughentumble · 3 months ago
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oh my god ok, another "geralt thinks theyre dating" geraskier concept. theyre at some festival with some local tradition, you give someone a flower crown or a woven bracelet and everyone Knows the intention behind it, it's like a big love declaration. couples all around them are giving these things to the beaus. but somehow jaskier doesnt know-- no one explained it to him, so he just sees people exchanging them. so as a good friend, he gets one for his bestie geralt, who DOES know what they mean and is deeply moved because the man he's in love with just asked him out, in a very romantic way.
they go to bed that night, and the next morning geralt is operating under the assumption that they're now together, because why wouldnt he think that? and he's seen how jaskier is with new relationships, how loving and soft he is, all the wooing and the romance, and geralt admittedly doesnt have a lot of softness in his life, so he's actually really excited for this part. he wants the gentle touches and the poetry, he's excited for the Dating Jaskier experience. so he's using pet names, and waking jaskier gently, and trying to hold his hand and touch him sweetly, buzzing with excitement for this new relationship.
but jaskier has no idea he just asked geralt out the night before. he has no idea why geralt's acting like this. jaskier thinks geralt's just being weird, and that his love is unrequited! so whenever geralt touches him a bit more than friendly, or says something a bit too loving, it just makes him ache and pull away.
it comes to a head after a few weeks-- geralt's been getting more and more withdrawn, each time jaskier pulls away it's just proof in his mind that he's not made for love or soft things, that apparently even jaskier views him as some kind of beast, and jaskier's been burning inside over all these sweet nothings he think literally mean nothing-- when geralt goes to wake jaskier.
he's trying to keep it as simple as possible, walking on eggshells trying not to offend, but he wants that tenderness so badly that he gently shakes jaskier's shoulder, and says "wake up, dear."
once he's awake enough to process what geralt's saying, jaskier snaps at him, patience frayed by the ache deep in his chest, and before geralt even realizes what he's doing, his hand snaps back from jaskier's shoulder and a sob tears its way out of his throat.
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roughentumble · 8 months ago
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my whole dash rn
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roughentumble · 2 months ago
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ok this is kind of vague but i just got the idea of like. ok so geralt's having some sort of Bad Time, like a sensory overload type thing, or just general kind of distress. and jaskier is trying to calm him down, petting his arm soothingly, telling him "it's alright sweetheart," and in his sort of discombobulated state, geralt thinks to himself who's sweetheart? like, who is he talking about. and jaskier keeps saying it, and geralt keeps thinking that, eyes casting about for who jaskier could be talking to, until it clicks in his head
oh.
i'm sweetheart
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roughentumble · 2 months ago
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jaskier saves a king from something very minor and then dramatically calls on the law of surprise, only to find back at his castle a witcher awaiting the king to finalize details of a contract. jaskier now has a witcher in his back pocket who is bound by the law of surprise to do a contract for him, and he is absolutely not letting this opportunity slip through his fingers
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roughentumble · 5 months ago
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Pay Me Some Mind, Love
Geraskier, explicit, 5k. Here’s the AO3 link
SUMMARY:: Jaskier and Geralt confess their love, and Geralt prepares to live happily ever after with him, only to discover Jaskier is a rather selfish lover. It stings a bit, of course, but perhaps lessons are in order...
(top!geralt for the majority. bottom!geralt only briefly mentioned)
@greyduckgreygoose​ asked to be @’ed when/if i ever got around to writing the concept, and thanks to the lovely @hale-of-stiles-heart for giving it a once-over for me before posting.
FIC::
Jaskier settles between Geralt's thighs, nudging them wider, pressing in closer, and Geralt finally gets what Jaskier is aiming at. "I don't usually..." he starts, hands on Jaskier's shoulders.
"Don't usually what?" he asks, brow furrowed adorably, head cocked in confusion. He's a bit breathless already, just from kissing, and Geralt's heart swells at the sight of him. It's not that Geralt hates bottoming. And Jaskier's so eager, surely this one time wouldn't hurt.
It's their first time together, and the mutual confession had been so wonderful, heads spinning with love and promises and devotion-- Geralt can give him this, it's no hardship. He smiles and tugs Jaskier back in, nuzzling their noses together. "It's nothing, don't worry about it." Jaskier's answering smile makes him melt. This will be good.
==========
Fifteen minutes later and Geralt wonders what just happened. Cum leaks out of him. He's just as hard as he'd been when they started this little tryst. And Jaskier snores beside him-- already asleep.
So-- okay, it wasn't the most mind-blowing first time. Perhaps it was the anticipation, mythologizing everything in his mind. And perhaps Jaskier was one of those men who fell asleep right afterwards no matter what, the hormone changes effecting them more intensely than others. Geralt would never begrudge someone that. Especially not Jaskier, whom he loves so dearly. He sighs at the erection he will apparently have to deal with himself, but still leans over to kiss his sleeping partner on the temple.
He snuffles sweetly in his sleep, and Geralt's heart clenches with love once more.
The next time will be better.
==========
It...
Is not.
Geralt wonders why Jaskier doesn't even bother getting a hand on his dick. Being a quick shot, he would understand, falling asleep he gets, but not even attempting to touch him? To bring him off at all?
How strange...
And kind of worrying.
============
"Hey," he asks the third time, before Jaskier can fall asleep. "Are you still planning on performing tonight?"
"Yeah, my nap shouldn't interfere with getting downstairs in time. Thank you for worrying, though, love." he says. He doesn't sound tired in the slightest. He rolls over and falls asleep, apparently just by choice, because he just wants to nap, and NOT due to any sudden hormone dumps.
Geralt is still hard. Jaskier hasn't touched him there beyond a flirty squeeze once.
Fuck.
=============
Okay, so his boyfriend is a selfish lover. Not... ideal. They'll need to talk about it.
...Geralt HATES having talks like this.
==============
He works out a whole speech in his mind, really he does, and he's going to approach it gently. Delicately. He's going to be a good boyfriend, and he's going to give Jaskier so much space to be upset because it's a very delicate and personal thing, sex.
But then Jaskier overhears a snippet in a tavern, and he snorts derisively into his ale about braggarts, about the ridiculousness of sex lasting more than an hour. "The stories people invent, trying to one up each other." he says, rolling his eyes in good humor.
Geralt feels a brow twitch. "I've had sex that lasted that long. Longer, even." Jaskier laughs, a loud, boisterous sound, and the irritation grows.
"Oh come on, don't be preposterous. Everyone says that to make themselves sound better, but it doesn't really happen."
"It does. Not every time, surely, the world'd never get anything done, but sometimes. Are you saying you've never had sex last longer than a few minutes?"
Jaskier flushes a bit, mouth twisting down into a derisive frown. "So what if I am? I'm right, there's no reason to do it any longer, not unless you want to chafe. It's all for bragging rights, not about actually feeling good. It's useless."
Geralt should be nicer about this. About his stupid, pretty, awful, selfish boyfriend's myopic views on sex. He should be nicer, because they're new and fragile and despite it all he wants this to work, because the love is true. Instead, what he says is a sharp "And the not bringing your partners off, is that because it's useless too?"
Jaskier sputters into his drink, eyes wide with shock. "Wh-- that-- I'll have you know I'm an EXCELLENT lover!"
"Right," Geralt replies calmly, "that's why you barely take any time, and never give a good reach around. All hallmarks of excellent lovers."
"You!" he replies in outrage, puffing up angrily. "There isn't a point, actually." he replies hotly. "Sex is about feeling good, I've just refined the system. If they want to get off the best they can, they can take themselves in hand. We both reach absolute bliss with absolute efficiency."
"You think whatever little peak you can reach in fifteen minutes is the same as the pleasure reached in hours?" he's not sure he can believe what he's hearing.
"It's all the same end point, isn't it? And like I said, it's not normal to go so long, surely it must be a witcher thing." He turns away to take a haughty little sip of his ale. "Maybe your partners feel bored in bed, having to take so long just for one measly orgasm."
"Sex is about feeling good together. Not on your own. What you're describing isn't efficiency, it's selfishness. And by the way?" Geralt leans in closer, lowers his voice just a bit. "It isn't just one orgasm."
Jaskier's eyebrows fly up. "Multiple...? Now I know you're winding me up."
Geralt sends a silent apology to all the fairer sex who'd had Jaskier before he was thankfully taken off the market by Geralt, them and their unique suitability to many, many orgasms in a row. If it wasn't so vain, he would wonder if perhaps fate is real, and his existence was her attempt at balancing things out. He's so shocked that he has no idea what he's about to say, until it tumbles out of his mouth. "What if we bet on it?"
Jaskier looks interested in that-- he loves a chance to come out on top. Little peacock. "What sort of bet?"
Geralt leans in again, to keep the rest of the tavern from getting all the details-- and hopefully entice Jaskier. "We try it my way. A few hours, alone in a bed, just you and me. I take the reins, I set the pace the whole time, and I show you how good it is when both people feel good together. If I can take you apart for hours, and you have fun, then I win."
He swallows hard, eyes flitting between Geralt's eyes and his lips. "And... if I'm bored? If I decide I didn't like it?"
Geralt shrugs, leans back. "Then I lose. You'll get bragging rights, and I'll even admit you've got a point."
Jaskier's eyes flash-- Geralt admitting that he's right. "You've got a deal."
=================
This, Jaskier thinks, will be the easiest bet he's ever won.
Surely some of it, for a few minutes, is going to feel good, but for hours? No way. And even if it does, he can just lie and say it wasn't his thing. It cant be that hard to fake. He is so, so excited to win, and rub this is Geralt's face.
When they get back to their room, Geralt's immediately shoving him up against the inside of the door and kissing him. Instead of fire or passion, though, Geralt kisses him deliberately, cupping his face with infinite softness, his lips moving slow and carefully.
Even with his wounded pride, and Geralt's insults, and insistence that he doesn't know what he's doing-- the kiss is so sweet, and loving, and tender, and he can't help but melt a little. He wraps his arms around Geralt's neck, and opens up for his probing tongue. Oh his sweet, gorgeous, frustrating witcher.
Soon enough, though, he judges himself ready for the next stage, and starts grinding against Geralt's hip. Implacably, Geralt just reaches down and holds his hips firmly, pinning them in place. Jaskier makes a frustrated sound, but Geralt just keeps him there, pressed against the door.
He doesn't kiss faster, either, keeps it slow and deep, only pulls back to nip and suck at Jaskier's lips. He eyes seem alight with amusement, though Jaskier isn't in on the joke. He seems intent on exploring every single corner of Jaskier's mouth, even running along the back of his teeth. He isn't sure what to do with such a thorough mapping.
It doesn't leave him breathless. It doesn't.
He doesn't know how long passes for the kiss, time stretching out like molasses with no marker for how much of it goes by. By the time Geralt backs away, though, Jaskier's lips tingle, feeling raw from Geralt's careful ministrations. Geralt only pulls away when Jaskier's impatient squirming reaches a peak. He presses one last, chaste kiss to his mouth, then pulls Jaskier away from the door.
"Finally," he gripes, "thought I'd die of old age, lip locked with you."
"So you didn't like it?" Geralt asks, though he mostly sounds amused. He deftly slides his fingers up to push Jaskier's doublet off his shoulders-- oh, when had that come unbuttoned?-- and then back down to cup his crotch meaningfully. "Then I guess all this is just for show." Jaskier's half-hard, and he squirms at the contact, rocking into that warm hand.
"Just anticipation over my inevitable win, darling, don't get too full of yourself." he says, and even manages to not sound strained, which he's rather proud of. It makes Geralt laugh, and he kisses him again, this time short and sweet.
"Fair enough." he replies, brushing some of Jaskier's hair out of his face with startling reverence, eyes unspeakably fond. "Now, let's get you on the bed."
"Yes please." Jaskier replies eagerly, scrambling onto the mattress. He expects the first part to be very fun indeed, before Geralt mucks it all up by dragging everything out, and he's looking forward to that part. Geralt chuckles, but stops him before he can get comfortably seated by the pillows. He crawls up while Jaskier's still on his hands and knees, covers Jask's body with his own. Somehow he's managed to strip to just his smallclothes in the intervening moments.
"Before we get too into it, I want to ask-- have you ever bottomed before?" he asks, chin hooked over Jaskier's shoulder.
"I have. It's pretty good, if a bit more prep than I usually waste time on, why?"
Geralt smothers a flare of irritation at that-- he hadn't communicated his preferences, so that's on him. He takes a deep breath to purge himself of that useless feeling-- and takes the opportunity to delight in Jaskier's scent, burying his nose in the crook of his shoulder. His hands work on slowly tugging Jaskier's shirt out of his pants.
"Normally, I'd want you on your back for this sort of thing," Geralt says, speaking directly into Jaskier's ear, "would want to fuck you face to face, look you in the eye as I sink inside. But unfortunately, for what I have planned, I need you on your knees." Something about it makes Jaskier's hair stand on end, goosebumps raising all down his neck. He decides to ignore it.
Geralt doesn't know what he's talking about. Sex does not take that long, and if it did it'd be boring. He rolls his eyes at the bravado behind him. "Could we just get on with it please?" he asks, tone dripping with irritation.
Geralt smooths a hand down his spine, dips his fingers under the hem of Jaskier's shirt to dance across his bare skin. "Hush. We're doing this at my pace. That's the whole point. and remember--"
"I can call it off whenever I want if I'm getting overwhelmed, right." Jaskier says, cutting Geralt off, repeating what he'd been told on the walk back to the room. "Pretty bold to assume you'll even be able to overwhelm me." Geralt doesn't respond to that, just pushes his hand up Jaskier's back, his palm dry and warm as it glides across Jask's skin.
His shirt bunches up with the movement, and Geralt helps him out of it, fingers trailing down his arms as he chases the fabric. He feels aware of the skin in a way he normally doesn't, and Geralt presses a dry kiss to his shoulder.
Geralt keeps kissing him, pace agonizingly slow, little dry pecks down his back, coming to settle in the dimples at the base of his spine. Geralt's fingers barely ghost over his ribs before coming to settle on the waistband of his pants. "Can we at least hurry up the disrobing, I--"
"You're beautiful." Geralt says, and that stops Jaskier in his tracks. "Let me appreciate it. Let me show you how beautiful I find you."
Jaskier's mouth feels a bit dry. "...Yes, well, that-- g- go ahead, then."
He feels Geralt's smile pressed against his skin.
Geralt keeps his movements slow, light, deliberate. With each patch of bared skin he finds something else to kiss, and his touch somehow wakes Jaskier's skin up, hyperaware of each sensation, even the air moving against it. Despite the agonizingly slow pace, Jaskier finds himself preening under the attention.
He is thoroughly impatient by the time he's entirely bare, though, as nice as it is to be fawned over in Geralt's own special way. He shifts his weight, ready for the pleasure to start.
Geralt just keeps kissing though. "Is this actually going to start anytime soon? or shall I wither away to bones, first?" he asks, derision dripping from his voice.
Geralt ignores him, kissing down one thigh and up the other, and it's lovely, really, except it's boring, and if he thought he could start this bet without Jaskier whinging, he has another thing coming. He kisses one of Jaskier's cheeks, and then the other, and the set-up for a quip about kissing his ass is so perfect that Jaskier can't resist, but then suddenly his cheeks are pulled apart and Geralt's kissing between them, and Jaskier cant help the surprised little yelp that cuts him off, brain short-circuiting at the sensation. "G- Geralt, what--?"
"Has anyone ever done this for you?" he asks, thumb rubbing feather-light against Jaskier's rim. Somehow, Jaskier understands what he's asking.
"N- no, too much foreplay..." Jaskier replies, and Geralt 'hmm's. He pulls his thumb away and for a moment there's nothing. Then, he blows cool air directly against Jaskier's hole. He startles, jumping forward a bit and yelping again. "What the hell was that for?"
"Thought it'd look cute." Jaskier can hear him holding back laughter. "It did, by the way."
Jaskier wants to curse him out, but Geralt finally leans forward, and any complaints die in his throat. He starts slow-- because of course he does-- just little kitten licks. The sensation is all new though, and Jaskier squirms under his ministrations, dick twitching with interest between his thighs. Geralt's fingers rub soothing little circles into his skin, easing some of his nerves, and slowly he finds himself sinking into the sensation. His skin feels hypersensitive beneath Geralt's tongue, and distantly he wonders if the air had actually done something more than make him flinch.
He adjusts his stance so he can slip a hand down and wrap it around his length. His hand moves nice and fast, jacking himself quickly, and it feels so good his toes curl. Geralt allows it for a while, just lightly licking over his hole while Jaskier chases his orgasm. After a minute, though, Geralt grips his wrist and tugs it away.
Jaskier whines and struggles, twisting in Geralt's grip. "What the fuck, let go!" he whines, trying desperately to get his hand back on his dick.
"We're going at my pace, remember?" Geralt replies, placing Jaskier's hand up by the pillow and holding it there. "Hands to yourself. Unless you'd like to forfeit the bet."
Jaskier groans and grumbles, but keeps his hands where they've been put. Geralt watches him for a moment, making sure he's truly complying. When he stays, Geralt pats his hip. "Good boy." he says, and it sends a wave of heat through Jaskier's body, dick throbbing where it hangs untouched.
It takes him by surprise-- that's never happened to him before. He prays Geralt doesn't notice how still he's suddenly become.
Geralt leans back in, breath ghosting over Jaskier's skin and sending another wave of goosebumps down his arms. He licks a hot line from perineum to tailbone that makes Jaskier's toes curl and his breath catch in his throat. Geralt licks him again, and again, deeper than before. It's not quite penetrating, just barely pressing into his hole, and yet it's so sudden it has Jaskier shaking. He dips just inside, and then slowly he circles Jaskier's rim with his tongue, over and over. Jaskier gasps at the foreign sensation, hips rocking back against Geralt's face. "Oh, oh fuck... hurry up, c'mon," he begs breathlessly, rules forgotten again already.
Geralt pays his pleading no mind, tongue fucking steadily deeper into him with no heed to the pace he begs for. His mouth opens wide so he can get that much closer, that much deeper, and Jaskier lets out a reedy sound. Suddenly Geralt's hand encloses his dick, palm coated in oil, and Jaskier jumps at the opportunity, muttering "Yes, fuck, finally," as he starts fucking into Geralt's hand and back onto his tongue, eager for the orgasm he can feel waiting in the wings.
Geralt doesn't let him, keeps his hand firmly wrapped around the base of his dick until he settles before starting to pump again. Jaskier growls in frustration, pressure mounting. It feels good but it's not enough. He moves again, squirming and bucking in Geralt's grip.
"Hurry up and fuck me already," he demands, nearly snarling, and Geralt lets go of his dick to pin his hips in place. He whines and squirms, but cant buck out of it, and his poor deprived dick throbs between his legs.
Geralt remains focused behind him, and it does nothing to abate the itch, the need under Jaskier's skin-- if anything it makes it worse, the constant licking and sucking, the wet filthy sounds, as if Geralt could lick all the way to the very core of him. Jaskier's stomach clenches. It's good but it isn't enough.
"Just relax," Geralt burrs, "it feels good. Let it feel good." He presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the small of Jaskier's back, and he shivers, fingers clenching in the sheets. Geralt's oil-slick hand returns, but instead of wrapping around Jaskier's dick, a finger circles his hole, then presses inside. Jaskier moans in relief, hips twitching-- but he's learned better. He doesn't want it to stop again so soon, so he stays as still as he can stand, silently begging Geralt to continue. "Good boy." he says again, and starts pumping his finger in and out.
It feels so good, the friction against his hole, the well-lubricated drag of Geralt's callouses against his sensitive insides, and Jaskier can't help but moan, arms shaky at finally getting some relief. Geralt's tongue loosened him up enough that it's easy for a second finger to slip inside, though soon enough they stop thrusting and start petting, exploring his insides, poking and prodding until he finds the spot that has Jaskier groaning deep in his chest. "There we go," he croons.
His fingers don't move, they stay right there, making gentle but relentless circles over his prostate, watching as he squirms and writhes uncontrollably. He feels warm with it, sweat starting to dot his forehead, pleasure licking up his sides and pooling in his stomach. "That's it, baby, just like that..." Geralt dots a few kisses over Jaskier's back, then trails them lower, leaning in and licking the spot where his fingers are sunk inside Jaskier's ass.
He gasps and moans, arching under the contact, as Geralt starts licking back inside him, fingers never letting up on their steady motion, tongue fucking deeper and deeper, only to stop and return to playing with his rim. It feels endless, hazy, and Jaskier moans with it, hips trying to rock back but stuck in Geralt's iron grip.
Somewhere along the way he collapses, arms giving out. He turns his head so he can still breathe, cheek mashed against the pillow, feeling horrifically exposed with his face in the sheets and ass in the air, but unable to do anything to rectify it.
He feels like a mess, whining and clawing at the sheets, sweating and cursing, and Geralt stays right behind him, as steady and composed as ever. It does something to Jaskier, to think that, and he whines again, louder, the sound breaking out of his chest as his dick throbs again, precum drooling out of the tip.
Jaskier learns something about Geralt, stuck suspended there on his fingers and his tongue.
Geralt likes to build the heat like a good fire; in layers, log upon stick upon kindling upon dry moss, until Jaskier is ablaze, every inch of his skin burning, a fire in his belly that threatens to consume him or melt him like lead. His thighs tremble from the strain of holding himself up, and sweat drips down his skin to soak the mattress uncomfortably. But it's all peripheral.
"Please," he finally says, not a demand, but a broken plea. His legs burn along with the rest of him, his dick painfully hard beneath him. "Please, Geralt, I need-- I need--" his words slur together, tongue thick and useless in his mouth. Geralt's free hand pets the damp small of his back, up his spine, a soothing motion to offset the slow, filthy grind of his other hand.
His tongue is as insistent as when they'd started, only stopping occasionally to gently suck at his sore, sensitive rim. Those fingers inside don't let up that calm, steady pressure, making the same little maddening circle over that same damn spot over and over and over, steady as a clock, pleasure crashing over him like ocean waves, only without any ebb. He's hard as steel with no air in his lungs and he burns, burns, burns.
It's been building inside him for so long, he doesn't know what to do with himself, he cant escape it, and his hips have no power behind them to even squirm away. It feels like Geralt's hand-- now stopped petting and returned to it's spot where stomach meets thigh-- is the only thing holding him up. He gasps for air like a dying man, and still he feels lightheaded, like it does nothing, and he makes a sound he didn't even know himself capable of-- high and reedy and broken.
There is... something building inside him, though he cant put a name to it. Have Geralt's fingers sped up, or is he imagining it? He cant tell. He claws at the sheets, gasps again, and the feeling creeps inescapably up his spine, no matter how he tries to curl away from it, threatening to swallow him whole, while Geralt's thick fingers move inside him, pleasure zinging through him like a live wire, up and down his spine, up and down. His balls draw up, his dick red-hot and throbbing.
The tension snaps, and the building pressure inside him explodes as his vision goes white.
He cums screaming, the sheets tearing beneath his hands, as Geralt milks him through it all, steady behind him. He barely even registers how gently Geralt treats him, the slow tapering of movements instead of a sudden stop, the hand that guides him as he collapses into a puddle of his own spend. He becomes distantly aware that his face is wet with tears. Geralt pets his flank with firm strokes, shuffles until he's straddling Jaskier's thighs, waits until Jaskier's gasps sound a little less like he's dying. He's briefly grateful to not have to spread his legs so wide anymore, thighs still burning from exertion, hips given out entirely for now.
Then he feels something hard press against his hole.
"Wh-- wha--?" Jaskier mumbles, head spinning.
It's so loose, so fucked out from what must be hours of Geralt playing with it, that he slides in without any resistance, slicked with oil that Jaskier didn't notice him apply. He rests flush against Jaskier's ass, thighs bracketing Jaskier's own, arms slowly sliding up to tangle with Jaskier's and hold him close. He nuzzles sweetly at Jaskier's neck, heedless of the sweat that must now be coating him.
"You had your fun. Now it's my turn." he replies, voice a rough caress murmured right into Jaskier's ear. "Remember, this is about both of us feeling good." Jaskier is dizzy with pleasure, and he whimpers, tries to scoot away, because surely it will be too much, oversensitive and weak as he is-- but there's nowhere to go. Geralt is big and hard and everywhere, inside him and on top of him. Jaskier moans, a weak little sound, as Geralt starts to move.
It feels like there's no more space inside of him, like he can't even breathe, lungs and everything else pushed aside to make room for Geralt's cock inside him. He starts slow, easy rolls of the hips, same ebb and flow as before, and a hysterical laugh bubbles up out of Jaskier's mouth at the idea of enduring hours more of this maddening pleasure. He doesn't think he'd come out the other side unscathed. Geralt takes pity, though, or else has waited long enough he has just as little patience, and he picks up speed as he finds his rhythm-- it's just as measured, though. Precise and punishing, leaving no room in Jaskier's mind for thoughts. No room for anything.
That feeling inside him hasn't had time to bank fully, and every point of contact between them feels like liquid fire, racing up his back, pooling in his hips, his sore cock rubbing against the sheets in time with Geralt's pounding, deeper than Jaskier's taken anyone before. Maybe it's pushed past his lungs into his brain-- cock drunk and needy.
He can't control the sounds that come out of his mouth or his limbs, mewling pathetically as he claws at the sheets, and the whole time Geralt keeps going, steady as a metronome, hands wrapped around Jaskier's wrists in a way that shouldn't make even more heat flare in Jaskier's stomach but it does. He's started to drool as he open-mouth pants into the pillow, yet another liquid to soak the bedding beneath them, and yet he cant find the wherewithal to do anything about it, just lays there open and wanting and takes it.
Jaskier whines suddenly, a wild, desperate, almost frightened sound, because he realizes something is building inside him, again. It's sitting right behind his teeth, hot on his heels, as Geralt pants and grunts above him, and it's too soon, this has never happened to him before, it's too soon. He doesn't know what to do, Geralt's steady thrusts pressing right against that spot inside him, any painful overstimulation turned to pure molten pleasure-- he screams again as a second orgasm rips through him, and surely this time he will combust, burn Geralt and the inn down to cinders, fire and pleasure racing through his veins, racing to see which will burn him up first.
He thinks he hears Geralt murmuring sweet nothings, but it's hard to tell with his ears ringing.
A moment later and Geralt's stilling, grunting, spilling inside Jaskier with one last filthy grind of his hips. They lay there like that, touching from head to toe, formed to each other, Geralt still seated deep inside him as they both catch their breath.
Geralt, of course, is the first to move. He doesn't go that far, just leans back to pepper Jaskier's cheek and shoulders with kisses. Jaskier makes a noise when he finally pulls out, but Geralt's right there to soothe and comfort, hands petting him like Geralt's worried his skin will get lonely.
Which-- it-- kind of weirdly does feel lonely, actually. Jaskier's only peripherally aware of this lonely feeling, though, as Geralt pulls all the way away to get up off the bed. His mind is blissfully blank-- except the raw, hungry, unmitigated loneliness to not be touching. He must make some little noise of despair, because Geralt shushes him again, and soon a cool washcloth appears to wipe away the worst of the evening. He whimpers when it cleans his crotch, and between his legs, the skin hypersensitive, but Geralt is efficient and kindly doesn't linger.
Geralt gently brushes Jaskier's damp fringe away from his forehead. "Gonna' roll you over onto the clean side." he says, and Jaskier nods mindlessly. He finds himself on clean sheets, with Geralt up against his side before he knows it. The aching loneliness goes away the more Geralt holds him, so he burrows into the embrace as well as he can.
It takes forever for Jaskier to come back to himself. It happens in stages, the mindless peace fading into a slow awareness of his surroundings-- Geralt's hand petting his hair, the uncomfortable way the new sheet is bunched under his hip, the gentle ticking of the room's clock. His breathing has evened a bit, but his lungs and thighs still burn, and he finds his stomach muscles sore as well, presumably from all the clenching. He's handed a cup of water before he can think to ask for it, and it helps, but it doesn't soothe his raw throat as well as he'd like.
"Well," he says, voice rough, "that's one way to win a bet." He's trying to keep it casual, as if his whole world hasn't just been turned on its head, but he's pretty sure it doesn't work. Geralt's brow just furrows, though.
"I still haven't won the bet." Geralt says, sounding confused. "We'll have to go again sometime for that."
"What?" Jaskier responds, not because he's opposed precisely, but because it simply doesn't make any sense. "You just went at me for hours, I feel like I just lost a boxing tournament."
Geralt raises an eyebrow. Fuck him for looking so unaffected. "Jask, it's been an hour."
What? That's not possible. Jaskier flops his head to the side to stare at the clock on the wall, squinting to try and read it's face. Oh melitele, his vision's blurry. He's been fucked blind. "An hour and forty-five" Geralt amends-- he must be able to see it. "I had to stop, you were getting too overwhelmed."
"Don't worry, we'll work you up to more." Geralt rumbles into the skin right behind Jaskier's ear, then presses a kiss there. It's sweet, despite how filthy the promise is, and Jaskier's weak, fucked-out body shivers.
Maybe being shown up isn't so bad. This once.
Jaskier's definitely going to find some way to one-up him, though. If only to wipe that smug look off his face. He hasn't figured out what yet, but he'll think of something, he's sure.
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roughentumble · 10 months ago
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yennefer of vengerberg: haters will see you portal and say she cant afford a horse
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roughentumble · 6 months ago
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ooooh but Jaskier gets cursed to shapeshift but he can't control it, it's more based off his emotions so if he gets really mad suddenly he's a hissing cat but the next time he's a raging bull, and maybe that's the point of the curse is to make him confront his actual emotions instead of just burying them under false confidence and forced positivity
!!! ooooOOooo i dig it!!! i can imagine happiness turning him into a bouncing little puppy, but sadness perhaps makes him a prey animal? something small and trembling, curled up in a little ball or freeze response? though maybe that works better for fear... but he isnt exactly scared all that often. something that makes his misery unavoidable would be *chef's kiss* excellent
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