#she’d go ‘oh no I just thought Jaskier’s been looking a bit down recently so I paid every single tavern in this town to perform his songs :)

[honeypiehotchner]

Statistically Speaking (a Spencer Reid one shot)

Okay, yes, I know I literally just made a post about being triggered by Criminal Minds, but writing fluff about Spencer has been one of the things that has helped me heal (weirdly enough) and this is one of the one shots that I wrote. It’s all fluff. Enjoy xx.

(Also I’m only on like season 2 of the show so that’s when I’m imagining this is set but it can be whenever idc)

Tagging @breadgenie892​ because she ruined me with her Jaskier x Geralt fluff earlier. This is 100% payback :)

You and Spender Reid — sorry, Dr. Spencer Reid as he adorably introduced himself to you on your first day at the BAU (and scrambled to say, “S-Sorry, it’s Spencer. Just Spencer Reid,” immediately after).

The two of you have quite the bond.

You’re no genius, not in the way Spencer is. Your memory is nowhere near Eidetic, it more resembles Dory from Finding Nemo, but you don’t make that joke anymore. Hotch gave you quite a worried look and called you into his office an hour later to ask if you were alright that day.

But you digress.

Before you met Spencer, Google was your best friend. You ask a lot of questions, and by a lot-- well, just ask Morgan.

On your first day, Morgan said, and you quote, “Oh, God. There’s two of them.”

Whenever you had a question, you Googled it. You researched, you found literary journals and universities that studied what you wanted to know. You found your answers, and sometimes more questions along the way.

But when you started at the BAU, Google was child’s play. Especially when Spencer could give you the answer faster than you could type in the question and hit enter on Google.

It’s one of the things you love most about him. At first, he only answered you because you have a bad habit of asking questions aloud when meaning to just speak to yourself. Spencer didn’t know you were mainly asking yourself, and he launched into a full explanation. You were too mesmerized to stop him, and started asking further questions. It went on and on until you were dazed and he was smiling, and the rest of the team was staring at the two of you like you’d gone insane.

So now, you ask him anything and everything.

Like…

Recently, you called him at almost ten at night. It was storming, but you really needed to take a shower. It had been two days since your last, and you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Hey Spence,” you said when he picks up. “Statistically speaking, how likely am I to get struck by lightning?”

“What? Y/N, what are you doing?”

“I need to shower and it’s storming. How do I look statistically?”

“Not good! Don’t take a shower!”

“Spencer,” you groaned, flopping down on your bed.

“Y/N, showering increases your likelihood of being electrocuted. Ten to twenty people on average are struck by lighting when bathing.”

“There’s the stats,” you chuckled. “Fine, genius. I’ll wait it out.”

“Good,” he sounded genuinely relieved.

His concern made you smile. “What are you up to?”

“Talking you out of electrocuting yourself.”

“I wouldn’t be electrocuting myself. The lightning is what would do it.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Are you tired of me yet?”

Spencer laughed airily before he replied in a soft voice, “No. Never.”

As strange as it sounds, things changed that night. Spencer stayed on the phone with you until the storm passed -- you were getting scared after a particularly loud boom of thunder, but you’d never admit that to him. Once it passed and once Spencer checked the weather radar to be sure it was gone, he let you shower.

The next morning at the BAU, you fixed a cup of coffee for him as a thank you for the night before. You were expecting him to take it and move on, but he pulled you into a hug instead.

Thankfully, no one saw it. If they had, you’d both be getting hell for it.

But despite not seeing the hug, the team has noticed things.

Hotch first noticed it when you offered to accompany Reid to the local police station to set things up on a new case. You normally go with Emily to talk to the families or even with Morgan to visit crime scenes. It was nothing against Spencer, you just happened to like being out in the field more than holed up in a station with exhausted law enforcement.

But not this time. This time you wanted to be with Reid. You even turned down Morgan’s offer to go to the crime scene.

Yeah. Hotch knew something was up.

Morgan noticed, too. He saw you pouring a massive amount of sugar into a cup of coffee and jokingly asked if it was for Reid. In your flustered state, you said it was yours. But Morgan watched you hand the cup off to Reid once you were back with him.

Emily’s suspicions were confirmed when you were talking with her one night on the plane. Everyone else was asleep, so you, Emily, and JJ began talking about “girly” things. Tonight’s topic happened to be crushes.

“I can’t imagine falling for someone on the team,” Emily whispered, pulling a face, overdoing it just to get your reaction.

And your reaction was priceless. You shrugged and went completely silent. While you were glancing over your shoulder to check that Reid was still sleeping, Emily shared quite the look with JJ.

Garcia was maybe the last to notice things. She had her suspicions as well (it passes the time, and Morgan made a few comments about it, too), but when she saw the two of you laughing, that was it. Spencer was sitting in his desk chair and you were sitting on his desk. You were arguing about something Garcia couldn’t hear, but the smiles on your faces told her the argument was all flirting.

And she’d be right to think that, too. The argument that day was that Spencer overworks himself, so you promptly sat on top of his paperwork so that he couldn’t get to it. He refused to touch it because it was too close to your ass and voiced this issue, and you told him it sounded like a personal problem. And that you wanted him to get up and walk around, maybe eat something, too.

You’re a bit of a hopeless romantic. That part of you was telling you that Spencer’s flirting was genuine. That there were feelings buried behind it, but you were never sure.

Spencer was officially the last to notice.

“How am I looking?” You asked seemingly out of nowhere.

Spencer raised his eyebrows, turning to look at you, your voice having broken him out of his thoughts. “Uh, good?”

You tilt your head. “No, statistically. I asked what are the chances of me making it to dinner on time?”

“Dinner?” Morgan asked, sauntering over with his blinding smile. “Got a hot date tonight?”

“You wish,” you scoffed, shoving his shoulder lightly.

But you didn’t elaborate further, which caused Spencer to go quiet. Realizing you weren’t getting any statistics out of him this time, you gathered your things in your arms and headed out.

Once you made it through the door, Morgan nearly fell to the floor. “Spencer. Pretty boy. What are you doing, man?”

Spencer dumbly looked down at the paperwork on his desk.

Before he could say anything, Morgan said, “No, man, not the paperwork. Y/N. What are you doing?”

“What do you mean what am I doing?”

Morgan laughed loudly. “Oh, pretty boy. You have no idea?”

Spencer scooted back from his desk, eyebrows furrowed in genuine confusion. “No idea about what?”

“Reid,” Morgan emphasizes every word. “She likes you.”

The sentence stunned Spencer so much he nearly fell out of his chair. “What?”

“Come on, man,” Morgan groaned. “An IQ of 187 and it didn’t help you see she’s got feelings for you?”

Spencer stood to his feet, grabbing his jacket. You liked him. You like him, and you’re going to dinner with someone else.

“There you go,” Morgan cheered as Spencer practically bolted from the room. “Go get her, tiger!”

“Shut up!” Spencer called after Morgan.

Pushing through the doors, Spencer halted, seeing you standing by the elevator. You’re staring down at your phone, and you don’t exactly look happy.

Spencer approaches you slowly, hand gripping the strap of his bag. “You okay?”

You look up quickly like he’s startled you, and truthfully, he has. “Oh. Um, no. My date-- Well, they canceled. Said something came up.”

Spencer can see you’re hurt by this, but he doesn’t care. “Have dinner with me,” he says, eyes expectant.

“With you?” You ask.

“Yeah,” he shrugs, a smile coming through when he adds, “please.”

“Okay,” you can’t help but smile, too.

Spencer grins now, stepping over to press the down arrow on the elevator. You wait in silence, stepping on when the doors open, and Spencer presses the button for the ground floor.

All of your hurt is gone from your face now, and it causes Spencer to start thinking. He stares ahead, and then he hears you giggle.

When he looks over at you, he asks. “You didn’t have a dinner date, did you?”

“Nope,” you chuckle. “Got ya.”

“Yeah,” Spencer laughs. “You got me.”

“So…” You pause, heart racing. “Statistically speaking, how likely are you to kiss me right now?”

Spencer doesn’t even care that the elevator is a few seconds from reaching the ground floor. All he cares about right now is you.

And because of that, he says, “Very likely,” before pulling you in. Your fingers tangle in his hair while his cup your jaw, moving you closer, deepening the kiss, trying to make up for all of his stupidity. As he holds you now, feels your lips, he wonders how he never knew.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fanfic #fluff

[whereplotbunniesgotodie]

Perfume and Iron

Pairing: GeraltxJaskier

Warning: mentions of blood and near death

Not a happy ending but not sad either, so I'd say this is an ambiguous melancholy ending.

Summary: When Jaskier sees Geralt in danger, even a year after they parted, he throws himself in to save him. When he find out he wasn't killed like he fully expected, he and Geralt talk but sometimes things don't end the way we all want them to, do they?

He knew better. Of course he knew better! Numerous decades will beat understanding into you whether you want it to or not, really. Of course knowing better doesn't mean following through with that knowledge. Knowing better doesn't mean you'll sit back and let your best friend die just because he has an overwhelming death wish and you haven't seen him in over a year.

Surprisingly, as far as Jaskier was concerned, it hadn't hurt like he'd expected it too. Granted, it did feel like a hot knife was being perpetually stabbed into his stomach and then twisted, but that wasn't the all consuming agony he, quite frankly, expected of a monster's poisoned claw slicing across his abdomen. 

Geralt was looking at him with eyes wide in shock,or at least he assumed that's the look the Witcher wore, his pitch black eyes hampering his ability to read the expression. The creature lay slain at his feet, blood joining Geralt's in a somber pool. His hand sat limp at his side, his sword dragging in the dirt. His other hand clutched at a bleeding gash taking up his entire side, a vain attempt to slow it. 

Huh, wasn't that funny? Geralt never, ever looked shocked. Maybe that had changed in the year since they'd seen each other, since that horrible day on the mountain. Maybe Geralt was willing to admit he had emotions? 

Jaskier frowned when Geralt's form began to swim as his gaze went hazy. He tried to step towards the other, to clear his vision, but felt his legs give out beneath him and he gasped as suddenly he found himself on the ground. 

"Jaskier!" 

Funny, that didn't sound like Geralt, too distraught to be the Witcher. 

He tried to lift his head, to see what had suddenly taken Geralt's form but found even that was too much. Wouldn't that just be poetic? Jaskier, the White wolf's bard, died protecting a shapeshifter. He'd have laughed if he felt he could.

Strangely, he realized it no longer felt like he was being repeatedly stabbed, in fact, it didn't feel like anything. He almost swore he was floating,flying even, but that was silly, he couldn't fly!

"Jaskier! Look at me you damn idiot!"  oh… Geralt but not Geralt again. This time the tone bordered somewhere between fear and hysteria and the idea that Geralt would feel either of those about Jaskier himself was just ridiculous. 

Jaskier found himself gently rolled onto his back, or at least that's what he had to assume. The hazy brown that had filled his vision was now a hazy blue. There was a shadow blocking out some of the blue and he wanted to reach up and touch it. Maybe that would show him what had taken on the form of his old friend, he did have a ring on for just such a reveal. Bought after they parted as Geralt's warnings about creatures still echoed in his head.

"Jaskier, you have to focus on me." 

Hands cupped his cheeks, pulling his attention to the shadowed figure. Well, not so shadowed anymore, just blurry; like looking through water.

"Where'd Geralt go? What are you?"

"Where did…? Jaskier it's me. I'm right here?"

Jaskier frowned, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to focus them. Geralt not Geralt sounded so confused, more proof he wasn't Geralt. 

"No. No, see, I saw you… I saw you and thought Geralt was going to be hit by the monster again. You… Geralt… you wouldn't have been alright after another hit!"

"And you stupidly got in the way!"

"But Geralt wouldn't be upset by that! And you… you sound like you're upset. Geralt… Well, see, Geralt said his best blessing would be… would be…" that was odd, he knew what he wanted to say but the words just wouldn't slip past his tongue. In fact it felt like his mouth was filling with something… Water? He had to force himself to speak through the full feeling in his mouth.  "Would be if I was off his hands…"

Finally! That's What he wanted to say!  "I couldn't let him die! Of course… I thought you were him."

"I am hi- Jaskier it is me." 

"You can't be because… Geralt hates me!" Jaskier said. Goddess, why didn't not Geralt understand? 

"I don't… hate.." Geralt not Geralt stumbled over his words in a bizzare show of emotion. "I don't hate you Jaskier."

Jaskier let out a laugh, wet, strained and humorless. He didn't think he could laugh anymore so that was good. He could feel the… Whatever it was in his mouth, running down his chin, and he wanted so badly to reach and wipe it away, but didn't have the strength. 

"Of course you don't. But he does." 

Not Geralt didn't respond, too busy turning his attention to Jaskier's abdomen. Not Geralt moved and suddenly Jaskiers entire upper body was a lot cooler than it had been before… Oh, not Geralt had ripped his doublet and chemise off. Well damn, he'd really like this lavender one, it complimented his skin tone.

"Hey…" he said, a weak attempt at berating Not Geralt.

"Shut up Jaskier!"

Oh… well that sounded like Geralt. Maybe it was…? Jaskier tried to shake the thought from his head. He knew this wasn't his old friend but as long as they kept the form maybe he could pretend? 

The pressure on his stomach disappeared for a moment and Jaskier frowned. No.. No! He didn't want to be alone when he died! Where did not Geralt go?

Something cool was pressed to his lips and a thick, vaguely flowery tasting liquid invaded his mouth, overpowering the wet, full feeling. He swallowed instinctively and couldn't help but make a face at the flavor of perfume and iron. The cool vial was quickly pulled away and Jaskier tried to squint and see what not Geralt was doing. 

A sudden burning pain enveloped him, stemming from the slash across his abdomen, and he couldn't help but scream. It was as if the creature had slashed through him again, with claws recently dipped in flames. He could feel his back arch as if to get away from the pain but not Geralt pressed his hands to the slash and pushed Jaskier back to lay flat. 

Jaskier managed to reach up and scratch at not Geralt's arm. He wanted it to stop! What was happening? The pain was increasing and not Geralt was holding him down and… And he was hot, far too hot.

"It's a potion! It's safe for you but you have to stop thrashing!" Not Geralt snarled at him. 

"Hurts!" Jaskier managed as the pain intensified. "Stop!" He had to get away, to get the pain to stop!

"Jaskier, enough!" Not Geralt snapped and used more pressure to press Jaskier once again to the ground. There was pain in his voice, or maybe Jaskier imagined the strained tremor he heard. 

 It was getting dark again and Jaskier felt the pain begin to fade into the background, his ears filling with a rushing buzz that drowned out everything around him. Once again he couldn't focus. He let himself fall limp and closed his eyes, he couldn't see anyway.

When he opened his eyes, which was surprising in it's own right, it was to the dim light of a fire a few feet away. Right after his eyes opened, he heard rustling to his right and suddenly he could make out  a shadowed shape above him. 

"Jaskier…"

Oh… Not Geralt was still here, still sounding just this side of wrong, just a little too emotional. Jaskier closed his eyes tightly, hands clenching at his side. 

"Don't you dare pass out on me again." 

That… sounded much more like Geralt usually did. That sounded angry and exasperated and… oh so familiar. "Worked too damn hard to keep you alive."

Jaskier sighed and kept his eyes closed. This time the voice was a bit calmer, closer to worried than angry.

"Jaskier? Come on, don't pass out again…" 

There was a hand running through his hair, brushing the sweat slicked strands back and out of his face. 

“Jaskier?” 

Jaskier opened his eyes again, looking straight into worried amber. 

"There you are." Not Geralt said as he sat back and just out of Jaskier's line of sight. Before he could question it, not Geralt gently helped him sit up, and leaned the bard against his chest to anchor him. 

"Come on, sit up for me."

Jaskier frowned and struggled weakly. "Alright. You had your fun pretending to be Geralt bu-" he started, turning his upper body as best he could to look at the other.

"Pretending?" Not Geralt cut him off. "Jaskier. I'm not…" he lowered his eyes and must have caught the glint of Jaskier's ring because without another word he took the bard's wrist in his hand and lifted it to his cheek. The ring pressed into his skin and there was no burning, no anything. "See?" 

"Geralt…" Jaskier breathed quietly.

The witcher himself nodded, despite the fact it wasn't a question in Jaskier's tone. He curled himself around the other and Jaskier had the distinct sense that the witcher was unaware of doing so.

"Geralt… I hate to be the one to say this especially right now, but… why are you here?"

Geralt tensed and leaned away so quickly, a rush of breeze from the movement sent a shiver down Jaskier's back. 

"What do you mean?" Geralt asked. "You were going to die an-"

Jaskier cut him off. "I was, yes. If you do remember about the last time we parted… Well, honestly Geralt it seemed like… I mean," he looked away, "Isn't that what you asked for?" He couldn't help the hitch in his voice or breath when he spoke. "Back then, you said…"

"I know what I said!" Geralt hissed, pained and quiet. "I know what I said and how horrible it was!" Geralt looked away, expression surprisingly open.

Jaskier glanced back, brows pinched in question. 

 "I met up with Yenn about three months after we parted. She heard what I had said to you and hit me so hard I was sure she intended to kill me." Geralt explained quietly. "She might have been trying to actually…" he added as an afterthought. "Said I was the stupidest man she'd ever seen, and that was saying something. Said I'd realize what I lost when it was gone and she'd not feel any sympathy for me."

Jaskier was quiet, lowering his gaze to stare unseeing at the fire in front of them. "I was sure you didn't want to see me again." He finally whispered. "And even so I was prepared to die for you…"

Geralt was quiet as well for a few moments, long enough that Jaskier had the unusual thought that the witcher had gone mute, but the other eventually spoke

"You were prep-…Why? I was terrible to you."

"I've always been reckless. You know that." 

Geralt frowned and Jaskier glanced away again. 

"I've never known you to have a death wish." 

"You haven't known me for a while." 

"Jaskier…"

The bard flinched slightly at the tone, quietly resigned and sad. "I know…" he replied. 

"I missed you…" Geralt let his sudden declaration hang in the air, Jaskier could feel him tense when the words left his mouth. 

"What…?"

"After Yenn tried to beat sense into me, I realized she was right. I pushed you away, lost you, and I regretted it. I wanted to find you but I didn't think you'd want to see me again."

Jaskier was quiet, listening to the other with a kind of detached melancholy. How long had he waited for the other to say these things? How long had he longed for Geralt to see him, want him, miss him? He'd willingly risked his life for the other not twenty four hours before and yet… Why wasn't he ecstatic? Why wasn't he happier?

When he didn't reply Geralt let out a long breath. "Is it too late to try again?"

Jaskier lowered his eyes, the blue unfocused and glassy as he stared unseeing at the ground. 

"I... don't know." 

#angst #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher #my writing

[witcherslittledove]

Hello! Can I get some Jaskier/Ciri? Jaskier is her step dad, Geralt is away, and Ciri surprises Jaskier with lingerie?

Thank you <3 -🌼

Little Princess (Pt. 1 of 2)

Jaskier/Ciri/Geralt

Rated: E

Summary: When Geralt is away on a business trip, Ciri decides to seduce her step-dad.

CW: dead dove: do not eat, pseudo-incest, underage, vaginal sex, oral sex, daddy kink

Written for @jaskiertheflowertwink 😘 my partner in crime (Also on AO3)

Business trips, Geralt seemed to have a never ending supply of business trips, and Jaskier was stuck supervising Ciri again; in the middle of a fucking heatwave. His step-daughter had begged for a pool party whilst Geralt was away. Jaskier wasn’t sure why he agreed, but now he was trapped in a very uncomfortable situation. Ciri was wearing a bikini that was barely decent, and well, she looked good.

And Jaskier really wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

She was his daughter, sort of, technically. He’d married Geralt when Ciri was seven. His husband had adopted her when she was four in a desperate attempt to save his first marriage to Yennefer, but the point was that the girl dancing around in very little clothing was his daughter. His underaged daughter.

Fuck.

This was crazy. He shouldn’t be aroused, but the water was rolling down her chest, droplets falling between her small breasts that were hardly covered by the turquoise and gold material. Ciri was laughing, ducking under the spray, her long hair flying about behind her. She looked truly stunning…

“Fucking cock!” Jaskier hissed under his breath, running a hand through his hair and willing his dick to listen and stopping getting hard. Ciri didn’t seem to realise the effect she was having on him. She smiled like the fucking sun when he caught her eyes, her tongue flicking out to lick her lips as she fucking winked at him.

“Right!” he called out, “I’m getting a drink, does anyone want anything?”

Ciri raised her hand. “I could use a drink, I’m so thirsty daddy.”

Jaskier’s brain malfunctioned. Ciri hadn’t called him ‘daddy’ in years. He was her papa, and Geralt was her father. He swallowed, nodded and ran into the house. Jaskier groaned as he reached the kitchen, chugging a glass of water as he ran his hand through his hair. “Beer, wine… fucking vodka…” he spat out as he reached for the cupboard where they kept the good Polish vodka that Geralt liked to keep for special occasions. Jaskier downed two shots before slamming the shot glass on the counter, grimacing as the burn hit the back of his throat. “Jesus Christ, I’m so fucked.”

“Papa?” Ciri called from the doorway, rubbing a towel through her hair. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were mischievously sparkling.

“I’m- I- I don’t like that you’re growing up,” he lied. “You’re a young woman now, sweetheart, and- and your friends, the way they looked at you.”

Ciri put her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow in an expression that was so very Geralt, and Jaskier was weak.

He chuckled nervously and tugged at his hair. “I’m your dad, it’s just hard- difficult. It’s difficult to see you growing up.”

Ciri scoffed. “I thought you were supposed to be the fun one.”

Jaskier gaped, glaring at his step-daughter. “You! You take that back.”

“Make me,” Ciri challenged with a smirk, suddenly a lot closer than he’d realised. If she’d been older and very much not his daughter, he might have thought she was trying to seduce him, but… but…

Shit.

“Oh just get your own water,” Jaskier snapped. “And you should be getting back to your friends.”

Ciri sighed. “Right.”

____

The rest of the day had gone smoothly, whilst Ciri was still flirtatious she kept that attention aimed at both Cerys and Dara. Jaskier couldn’t help but grin at that. She was truly his daughter. To be safe, Jaskier had gotten changed into a pair of Geralt’s swimming trunks, baggier than his own. He really really didn’t want the parents of the other kids calling him a pervert if he still had a semi by the time they arrived. Ciri seemed to be disappointed but Jaskier wasn’t sure if that was just his imagination. He just missed Geralt, that was all.

He just needed a good night of being railed. That would fix whatever this was.

He fucking hoped so anyway.

Geralt had just been so busy recently and Jaskier was notoriously horny. He had a brilliant stash of sex toys for when Geralt was away or wasn’t in the mood, but nothing was quite the same as having his husand’s hands on him. But the way Ciri had been watching him. God, he felt like he was on fire. He hadn’t felt that kind of arousal for such a long time, the thrill of something new, something forbidden. It had taken every ounce of his self control not to drag the young girl up to her bedroom and fuck her into the mattress, like she was practically begging him to do. In hindsight, he was grateful that there had been the other kids there. He clearly needed a chaperone. He couldn’t be trusted.

But now they were alone.

And Ciri was still acting like a minx. She still hadn’t gotten changed out of her swimwear, happy to just lounge in the living room in her bikini, testing Jaskier’s willpower to the max, but he was stronger than that. He could resist the allure of his own step-daughter. He could. He would.

He had to.

But cock it. He needed a wank first.

“I need to do some work upstairs, turn the lights off when you go to bed,” Jaskier mumbled. It was a lame excuse but Ciri was too young to think anything of it, wasn’t she?

“Hmm,” she agreed, not taking her eyes off the television, one hand rubbing absentmindedly at her bikini top, one finger slipping under the skimpy fabric.

Jaskier took a shaky breath and made his escape up the stairs. He barely made it through the door before he was unzipping his swimming trunks, running one hand up his torso under the Hawaiian shirt that he’d put on for dinner. As he fingers brushed his nipple, he let out a soft groan. He hopped out of the swim shorts and laid back on the bed, closing his eyes as his thumb ran over the tip of his cock. “Oh fuck,” he moaned, pulling his hand from under his shirt so he could muffle his words. Ciri was fifteen, not stupid. She would guess what he was up to if she heard him.

He quickly pulled the lube bottle from Geralt’s bedside table, slicking up his hand before returning it to his cock. If he closed his eyes then he could almost imagine the wet heat of a woman… an adult woman, who just happened to be ashen-blonde with emerald green eyes. Small breasts filled a dainty bikini and water dripped down pale skin, glistening in the sunlight as he sunk his cock into her cunt, wet and tight around him. Her moans were a familiar cry, the sounds of his baby girl…

“Fuck,” he hissed, his head rolling back onto the pillow. Every stroke of his hand on his cock was blissful, and he was soon lost in the feeling. Too busy chasing his own pleasure to hear the footsteps outside his door before it was too late.

The door opened.

“Holy fucking shit cock!” he yelled, pulling his hand off his cock and scrambling to cover himself…

Until he saw her.

Ciri, his own step-daughter, timid and shy in the doorway but dressed liked fucking sin. Her pale skin was contrasted beautifully by a dark emerald silky lingerie set, black lace trim over the silk. The green brought out her eyes which were lined with dark smudges, and her lips were stained blood red. She’d obviously tried to replicate Yennefer’s make-up looks but with much less skill, but that didn’t matter to Jaskier. He was completely captivated. The contrast between young and innocent, and the grown up woman she was trying to be was entrancing, utterly hypnotising. She looked like something from the movies, but her awkwardness gave away her innocence.

He should fight it. He knew that, but the arousal and lust had clouded his mind with wanton desire and he was helpless to resist now. As long as Geralt never found out, he could have this, just once. It was a pitiful justification but it was all he had.

Maybe Ciri didn’t trust the boys at her school, she was getting to the age where she wanted to experiment but she just needed someone to show her the ropes, help her learn the wonders of carnal delights. Those boys would care for nothing other than their own tiny little cocks.

No.

That wouldn’t do at all.

Ciri was his little princess, she deserved the best, and Jaskier could give that to her. She wanted it, so it couldn’t be that wrong. It wasn’t as if Jaskier had groomed her into it.

Fuck…

He really needed to stop overthinking this, otherwise one time would turn into more and Geralt would inevitably find out. He couldn’t lose his husband. He- he-

“Daddy,” Ciri stumbled over the word, her cheeks flushed.

And Jaskier lost his battle.

Ciri bit her lip, obviously going for coy and seductive but Jaskier couldn’t see past his baby girl, so desperate for his attention that she’d dressed up all pretty, just for him. Fuck, that thought made him feel heady. He couldn’t send her away now, it just wouldn’t be fair to either of them. So, before he could change his mind he tossed the pillow aside, revealing his already leaking cock, slicked up with lube and precum. He’d be lying if he said the thrill of a forbidden relationship wasn’t drawing him in, making his whole body burn with a passion he didn’t know he had, but he wasn’t entirely surprised. His sex life with Geralt wasn’t entirely vanilla, they enjoyed playing and acting out scenarios that weren’t always appropriate, but that had always been fictional.

This was real, and forbidden and oh so tantalizing.

Jaskier patted the bed next to him, moving to make space for his step-daughter, inviting her in, "Come here, sweetheart. Did you get all dressed up for Daddy?" he said with a smirk, echoing Ciri’s own words. If she wanted him to be her daddy then he would play along.

Ciri grinned and all the tension eased from her shoulders. The excitement in her eyes reminded Jaskier so much of the first time they’d taken her to see Roach as a child, the spark of youthfulness, and yet from the clear swell of her breasts, Jaskier could see she was growing up to be a gorgeous young lady, from princess to queen. She pouted as she sat next to him, every move still so unsure but they could work on that. “Nothing else was working,” she admitted, worrying on her bottom lip. “I was so sure… the pool party…”

Jaskier chuckled, relief flooding through him. He’d been convinced he was seeing things, but it had all been deliberate. Ciri had been trying to seduce him, and fucking hell, it had worked. He brushed a finger through her messy blonde hair, sweeping from out of her eyes. His little princess just gazed at him with wide green eyes, her lips in a perfect pout. Jaskier decided to take pity on her, she was so nervous, and really he'd be a terrible parent if he didn't help her out. So, he pulled her onto his lap, his fingers brushing against the lace of her bra.Ciri hummed, letting out the softest sigh as his thumb ran across her nipple.

"I'm sorry, princess, I didn't realise, but I see now. You've been such a good girl for your daddy haven't you?" he murmured, pressing a kiss to her neck.

And she nodded, still pouting, her lips looking ever so kissable. Jaskier wondered how he never noticed this before. She was practically begging for him, already so pliable under his touch, soft and wanton. His innocent princess had become a temptress when he hadn’t been looking. When his fingers brushed along her lips, she shivered, and he couldn't help but press a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

"You know your father can never know? No one can ever know," he whispered in her ear, his fingers trailing along her spine, running under the clasp of her bra.

Ciri breathed a soft “Yes,” her hips rocking against his hard cock, making them both gasp. "Yes, Daddy. It'll be our secret, I promise."

Jaskier groaned, capturing her lips in a rough kiss. He couldn’t resist it anymore. His little girl's cunt was dripping onto his cock and he'd always been helpless in the presence of beautiful people, Ciri was no exception. His little girl kissed back, sloppily, inexperienced. He whispered softly in her ear, guiding her with every kiss, every touch; teaching her.

But then a thought struck him, like a seed starting to bloom. Most young girls don’t start calling their step-father Daddy, not like this, and Jaskier had always been Ciri’s Papa. Was this something she’d discovered online… and did it only apply to him? She clearly wasn’t concerned that he’d raised her, and Jaskier wasn’t the only father figure in her life. He had to wonder... if she wanted him, called him daddy....

Was it just him?

Geralt was an incredibly attractive man and technically neither of them were her blood father.

"Ciri, princess?" he murmured as he ran his nose under her jaw, kissing at her neck, barely able to resist leaving dark bruises on her pale skin. She whined, running her fingers along his chest as she continued to rock against him. "How long have you wanted me?" He brushed his lips down her neck, along her collarbone, until he reached the soft silk of her bra. Ciri just let out a high pitched moan, just as he mouthed her breast through the lace.

"I- I," she stammered. "My first wet dream...."

The heat that rushed through Jaskier at her words was almost too much. The thought of Ciri waking up, wet to her core, her fingers pushing against her clit. Would she have known what was going on? Did she realise? "Go on, sweetheart,” he breathed, his voice hoarse, betraying his own arousal.

"I could hear you and dad... and I couldn't help it, I was dreaming I didn't know."

Jaskier groaned, that was even better than he’d been expecting. Shit, he wouldn’t be able to have sex with his husband again without thinking of Ciri touching herself in the next room. "Fuck, Ciri..."

"You and Dad... you- you took turns at fucking me, kept telling me I was such a good girl and, fuck," she whined, her eyes fluttering shut. Her underwear had slipped and Jaskier could see just a glimpse of her wet folds as she rubbed against him. She was so fucking wet for him, and for Geralt too apparently.

He couldn’t take it anymore, his cock ached and she was practically begging for him to fuck her. How could he say no?

"Oh sweet princess," he cooed as he reached behind her with one hand, expertly unclasping her bra. She gasped as the lacy fabric fell loose on her small body. "That's it, show daddy what a big girl you are now?"

And Ciri shuffled out of her bra, not meeting his gaze, bashful and innocent and brilliant. "They aren't as big as Mama's," she mumbled, shyly.

Jaskier cupped a breast in his hand, wanting to reassure his sweet little girl. He kissed the other breast, finally able to without the flimsy barrier of her bra. His tongue flicking out over the bud, making her whimper. "Ciri, sweetheart, you're so beautiful."

There was no going back now. This was his fall from grace, but Christ, he just wanted his little girl to feel good, and she was so responsive to his touch. It was addictive, but he wanted more. So he gently rolled them over, pushing her back onto the mattress and long ashen blonde hair fanned out on the pillows, a mess around her perfect face. Jaskier met her lips in a soft kiss, wanting to keep this moment forever, the day his daughter let him take her to bed. It would be a treasured memory but something that could never happen again.

Luckily they had all night, Geralt wasn’t due back until the morning, and so Jaskier was going to savour this. He placed one last kiss on Ciri’s lips before kissing down her body, and because he didn’t have to be so careful, he nipped and kissed at her skin, leaving a trail of bruises down her body. No one would see the hickeys there but he wanted to give his daughter something to remember him by.

Ciri whimpered and writhed underneath him, soft moans escaping her lips and he could only guess at how she must have been feeling. The first time with another person was always more intense, especially if it was done well, the sensitivity, the tingling under the skin, the burning heat, and he got to share this with her. His baby girl just trusted him so much, and he was going to reward her lavishly.

When he finally pressed a wet kiss to her cunt through the lacy fabric of her underwear, she bucked up, thrusting against his face. "Daddy, please," she whined, already sounding so desperate, so wrecked, and he felt his cock twitch in response.

He helped her to lift her hips, before sliding her underwear down her legs, and then he finally had her, wet and eager and ready for him; the thought that had been plaguing him all day.

Any self control that he might have had left was lost. He wanted to devour her, ruin her for any other man. No one else would be good enough for his princess. The first taste was like paradise, the forbidden fruit that he hadn't even known he'd wanted and Ciri cried out so helplessly as he kissed and licked at her clit, slowly easing a finger inside her.

"Jask, Daddy... fuck," she gasped and he knew that it wouldn’t take long for her to cum like this.

He moaned, delving his tongue into her wet folds, licking into her, eating her out, he hadn’t been with anyone other than Geralt for so fucking long. God, he'd almost forgotten how much he enjoyed doing this, and his partners were always so fucking responsive. This was easily the fastest way to make someone cum, men, women, anyone. Jaskier had a talented mouth, and he fucking knew it. He briefly wondered how many times he could make Ciri cum with just his tongue, but this was her first time. He should ease her into it. If he scared her off now, then he may never get to do this again.

No.

He wouldn’t get to do this again.

This was it.

So he pulled away, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh. "Such a good girl, darling," he whispered against her skin. "Is that how you like to play with yourself? Touch your clit and pretend it's my tongue, or maybe- maybe you finger yourself, wishing it was your father's cock?"

"Yes," Ciri whined, struggling to keep her pretty green eyes open. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was sticking to her face. She looked utterly debauched. "All of it, please, please!"

"Shhh...." he whispered, stroking a finger along her thigh, gently pressing her legs further apart. "You'll get everything you want, princess. You trust Daddy, don't you sweetheart?"

Ciri nodded, whimpering pitifully, and that was all the confirmation Jaskier needed. He grabbed a condom from the drawer, delighting as his daughter watched him eagerly with wide eyes as he rolled it onto his poor neglected cock. He captured her lips into another kiss as he lined his cock up, wanting to distract her, keep her nice and relaxed and pliant under him.

They moaned in unison as he pushed into her. Her cunt was hot and wet around him and it took all his self control not to cum. She was just so fucking tight, and the sounds, god, the sounds she was making. It was completely obscene, and this was his step-daughter. He knew he should be disgusted but he couldn’t think. No, Jaskier was too focussed on the tight heat of her cunt around him.

He eased inside her as slowly as he could, sliding into her, letting her get used to his size. HIs cock was a lot larger than her dainty little fingers and he knew it was never easy to get the right angle, but Ciri ran out of patience. She was a fast learner and she knew exactly wanted. His daughter reached up to pull him into a kiss, gripping onto his shirt as she thrust up to meet up, pushing his cock fully inside her, making them both moan into the kiss.

And then the door swung open for the second time that evening. They both froze, caught like deer in the headlights. Jaskier felt like his entire world was about to crumble around him. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t do this, not Geralt, anyone but Geralt.

But sure enough, Geralt was standing there, his expression infuriatingly impossible to read, and Jaskier was suddenly reminded why he never played poker against his husband.

“Fuck.”

___

Next

#dead dove do not eat #the witcher #cirilla fiona elen riannon #jaskier #geralt of rivia #ciri/jaskier/geralt #ciri/jaskier #ciri/geralt

[jaskierswolf]

The Christmas Elf (pt.3/5)

Read the rest on AO3 and tumblr - Geraskier fic featuring Christmas Elf!Jaskier.

____________________

“Where on the holy star have you been, Jaskier?” Poinsettia snapped, her face was redder than the trimmings on her hat. “And with the Christmas Spirit, no less! What were you thinking?!” She squeaked indignantly.

Poinsettia was unusually tiny for an elf. She came up to Jaskier’s shoulder, even with her hat and her bell. Her hair was bubblegum pink and she had eyes like a chocolate reindeer, but Jaskier was well acquainted with her short fuse. She was a lot of anger bundled up in bells and sugarplums. Jaskier had still been a young elf when Poinsettia was appointed head elf by Santa. She’d been lighter back then. Spirit was still used freely back then and the elves had been the joyous singing delights that the humans thought they were. More recently the North Pole had been rather dour, and Poinsettia was the perfect example of that.

Jaskier rolled his eyes and pulled the snow globe out from behind his back.

“Just saving the North Pole Realm, you know, business as usual. Wow, thanks Jaskier.” He mimicked her squeaky voice, seriously how had she ever become head elf? “Oh, no. No problem at all. Just doing my duty, boss!” He bowed dramatically and presented her with the globe. “My lady.” He winked and licked his lips.

She gasped and snatched the globe from his hand. He smirked and stood up to watch her as she gazed into the snowy landscape trapped inside the globe. He tilted his head and brushed his fringe from his eyes and he saw a shimmer of Spirit glow under her fingers.

“But how?” She whispered as if speaking loudly would drain the Spirit from the globe. She gripped the globe in one hand and with the other she created a small flurry of snow flakes that danced between her fingers.

Jaskier shrugged. “A happy accident and a little bit of love.”

Poinsettia scoffed. “Love? Jaskier, we’re Christmas elves. We don’t fall in love.”

Jaskier put his hands on his hips and snorted indignantly. “Oh yeah, and who told you that?”

“Well everyone knows that.” Poinsettia insisted.

“I don’t.” Jaskier grumbled and tossed his fringe. “In fact I know the opposite to be true, dear sister. We can and do fall in love.”

“I have to tell Santa.” She muttered to herself, holding the globe to her chest, and scurrying off towards Santa’s Grotto.  

“Oh hey now, hang on!” Jaskier yelled and ran after her. Filavandrel’s lute slipped off his arm as he ran and he stumbled as he tried to stop the precious instrument from clattering to the ground. “Oh no you don’t!”

He cradled his beloved instrument in his arms and then looked up. Poinsettia was gone.

He frowned and stuck his tongue out, picturing Santa’s Grotto in his mind. When he was certain he had it, he let the Spirit loose and he was lost in a flurry of snow. When it cleared Santa was peering down at him.

He was not the jolly old man that kids thought he was, not at that moment.

“Jaskier!”

“Hello Santa, old friend.” He mumbled and gave him a wave. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“You just frost hopped.” Santa pointed out. “Care to explain?”

“I, well, it was an accident.” He spluttered. “I may have, sort of, stolen the snow globe.”

Santa nodded as if he’d expected this answer. “You travelled to the realm known only as the Continent.”

Jaskier gaped at the old man, nay the legend, before him. “How?”

“The snow globe is ancient magic, Jaskier. It is linked to me no matter what form I take.” Santa said gravely. “From the old gods, to St. Nicholas to Santa Claus. I know where the snow globe is throughout time and space.”

Jaskier let out a stream of syllables that should have been words.

“You have done well, little buttercup, but there is sadness in your heart?” Santa’s voice was all warmth and cinnamon sugar.

Jaskier couldn’t believe it. He wasn’t actually angry!

“I, umm, well, yeah.” He admitted. “I’m afraid I think I left part of my heart behind, sir.”

“Then what are you still doing here, elf?” Santa laughed his famous hearty ‘Ho ho ho’ and shoved Jaskier fondly.

Jaskier stumbled a little and squeak. “Wait what?”

“You returned the snow globe full of Spirit. Now off with you! Take a reindeer and go!” Santa chortled.

Jaskier was still staring. “A reindeer?” He repeated.

“Your heart is waiting. Come back in Winter. I have no doubt you’ll have plenty of new winter tales to share with humanity.” Santa pushed him gently from the Grotto. “I trust you have enough Spirit stored to enchant a reindeer, but be a good fellow and leave Rudolph. I won’t admit to playing favourites but he’s my favourite.”

“Yes Santa.” Jaskier mumbled.

“Oh and Jaskier!” Santa called before he could leave. “Take this.”

Jaskier watched in awe as a large snowflake formed in Santa’s hand. With the other hand, the old man gently tapped the top point of the snow flake and it burst into a flurry of snow. When the snow flurry cleared there was a second snow globe. It was barely a quarter of the size of the original but it was definitely a snow globe.

Jaskier whistled a low drawn out note and carefully took the tiny globe in the palm of his hand. “How did you do that?” He asked.

Santa just winked and tapped his nose. “Away with you, young elf.”

Jaskier grinned and turned on his heels. He conserved his Spirit and ran off towards the stables, waving to Poinsettia as they crossed paths. She was still gripping onto the original snow globe for dear life as she ran to the Grotto and seemed quite surprised to see him running in the other direction.

“I’ll see you in December!” He called. “I have to go!”

He didn’t wait for a response.

By the time he reached the stables he was panting heavily, and his lungs and legs were burning. “Oh fuck.” He grumbled and leant against the nearest stall. Rudolph’s red nose butted him in the head. “Oi!”

Rudolph’s nose didn’t glow like it once had but maybe this year with the return of Spirit, it would shine again.

The reindeer snorted and Jaskier scratched him behind the ears. “I’m not allowed to take you, dearest Rudolph, but I’ll be back in time to pack the sleigh. I promise!”

In the end he chose one of the younger reindeers, one that hadn’t yet been donned with golden bells and one of the special reindeer names.

“I suppose you need a name.” He said fondly as he stroked the reindeers feet, the Spirit pouring from his fingers over the hooves.

The young reindeer huffed.

“I shall name you… Greg!” He announced with glee. “A far better name than Roach. Who calls their horse Roach?”

Greg whacked him over the head with his small antlers.

“No?” Jaskier pouted. “Oh fine. How about Pegasus? You will be flying after all.”

Pegasus seemed to quite like that and nuzzled against Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Ok then.” Jaskier sang. “Are you ready, sweetheart?”

Pegasus snorted again and Jaskier hopped on his back.

“Ho ho ho!” Jaskier laughed in his lower register, trying to impersonate Santa. “Merry Christmas!!”

Pegasus shook his antlers but kicked off the ground and they were off. Jaskier wasn’t sure how Santa or the reindeer knew the way between realms, Jaskier normally got distracted by the stars whizzing past his head when he was on the sleigh, but Pegasus seemed to understand exactly where Jaskier wanted to go and soon enough the now familiar stars of the Continent faded into view.

He grinned and stroked the reindeers neck. “Good boy, Pegasus. We’re home.”

________

Geralt had barely made it out of town before there was a surge of magic and blinding lights. He drew his sword without thinking and pointed it at the twinkling lights on the path in front of him. The only thing that stopped him from attacking was the strange jingle of bells.

Jaskier’s bells.

But it couldn’t be Jaskier. The elf had only just left him to go back home. The empty feeling in his chest was proof of that, a dull ache that wouldn’t go way no matter how many healing potions he took.

He scoffed. How had the bastard managed to get under his skin so easily? It had only been a few months, but he was so unlike anyone Geralt had ever met. So open with his love and affection that Geralt had let his guards down before he’d even noticed.

The lights in the sky grew brighter and Geralt snarled, holding his sword steady towards the crackle of magic.

To his great surprise a reindeer came barrelling into him. He dropped his sword and leapt to the side of the path, rolling to break his fall.

“Fuck!” He cursed and he scrambled back to his feet, only to be knocked down again by a jingly bundle of green and red.

“Geralt!!” Jaskier cried happily.

He scowled but wrapped his arms around Jaskier almost instinctively as he lay on the hard ground.

“You’re back.” He hummed not quite believing that Jaskier was there in his arms.

The way the elf had been talking, Geralt had assumed Jaskier would have been away for months, at least until after winter. Apparently winter was a crazy season for the Christmas elves, but here he was, back on the Continent.

“I’m back!” Jaskier agreed and pulled back from the hug just enough to stare down at Geralt with light shining in his eyes.

Geralt furrowed his brow. “Thought it would be longer.”

Jaskier pouted. “And I thought you’d be pleased to see me.”

Geralt scoffed. He was about to pull the elf down into a kiss when they were interrupted by a long set of antlers forcing their way between them.

“Oi!” Jaskier grumbled and pushed the reindeer’s snout away. “Pegasus no!”

The reindeer stamped its hoof and Geralt heard Roach’s answering huff.

“You have a reindeer?” He asked incredulously.

“I’m a Christmas elf, Geralt! How many times do we have to go through that? What else what I have, a motorbike?”

Geralt frowned.

“Oh never mind, you won’t understand.” Jaskier answered Geralt’s unasked question with a jingling wave of his hand and then helped pull them both to their feet.

“I am glad you’re back.” Geralt admitted and smiled faintly at the way Jaskier seemed to light up with his whole body. “Just wasn’t expecting it so soon. I almost ran you through with my sword.”

“Nonsense!” Jaskier rolled his eyes and swatted Geralt’s arm. “You wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Hmm.” Geralt agreed, not on purpose at any rate.

“And Santa was proud of the work I’d done here. He sent me back to keep up the good work. Ooh look!” Jaskier pulled a miniature snow globe from his pocket. “I even have my own personal snow globe now.”

Geralt peered at the tiny globe. The scene in this snow globe was different. The original globe had had a small village of tiny snow covered cottages and even smaller figurines of people running in the streets. If Geralt didn’t know better, he would have said that this one was a miniature Kaer Morhen, but that was impossible. Jaskier had never seen Kaer Morhen. Geralt was certain he hadn’t even mentioned his home or the other witchers.

“What’s that?” He asked as he poke the glass.

Jaskier shrugged. “Some old castle. Something Santa picked out I guess.”

Geralt frowned. “Hmm.”

“So where to, witcher?” Jaskier grinned as he hopped astride his reindeer. “What adventures do we have in store? What ballads will I be writing next?”

Geralt grunted and mounted Roach. He didn’t answer Jaskier’s question. Truth be told he didn’t know where they would be heading next. He would follow the path until he found a town with a noticeboard or Destiny intervened.

“Come on, Roach.” He kicked his horse into a trot, knowing Jaskier would follow.

What he wasn’t expecting was for Jaskier to fly, literally fly, past him in a blur of sparkling glittery light, laughing melodically?

“I’ll race you!” He trilled from a couple of feet above Geralt’s head.

Geralt had no hope in winning against a magical reindeer but it was a race. He loved races. Roach loved races. He groaned and spurred his mare on. “You’re on.” He growled and they both sped off towards the horizon where the sun was just beginning to rise. 

#the witcher #geraskier #the christmas elf #I'm sorry I don't have energy to tag today #wolfie's witcher writing #winter prompts #christmas prompt

[lenalawlipop]

December 31: Quiet

So... this is the final one! I'm posting three in a row today because I really just wanted to finish them xDD I hope you guys enjoy it! This happens in the same AU as that one other prompt I did with dog!Roach, but much further along.

Prompt list here ❄️

Read on AO3

Roach scratched at the front door as soon as she heard Jaskier’s keys jingling and heard him chuckle. The key turned, and he entered the flat. He ruffled her ears, and she whined, calling him to the bedroom. He followed.

“Geralt? Is Ciri still…?”

“Not asleep,” Geralt confirmed, with an amused huff. “I think Roach is more tired than us.”

“I think so too,” Jaskier laughed. “Let me take this all off and wash my hands.”

“Sure.”

Noooo nonono!

Roach whined again, and Jaskier laughed, stepping around her to reach the entrance again, hang his coat and leave his mask behind as well. He blew her a kiss, but ignored her pleas for a little longer still, washing his hands thoroughly.

“We can’t bring germs into the house, Roachie,” he explained to her for the umpteenth time. “Ciri is still very young and could catch something. We don’t want that, do we?”

He did, however, hurry towards the bedroom once he was finished, shedding his shirt in the way. Geralt looked at him, smiled.

“Take the jeans off too, no outside clothes in the bedroom,” he muttered, a tired instruction like the many others they had implemented since Ciri had come home.

Roach jumped onto the bed, whining when Jaskier put her back on the floor. He took her space instead. He’d put on a soft pair of trousers, and he was quick to scoop his daughter up, cuddle her closer. She laughed, tickled with the hair on his chest. Geralt sighed, rubbing his eyes.

“She’s been crying a lot today; I think she’s teething… But you know how much Roach hates it. She’s a bit desperate for affection.”

“And probably also for some exercise,” Jaskier added, softly. He leaned to the side to press a kiss on Geralt’s lips. “You should get some air as well before it’s too dark outside. I’ll put her to bed, alright? Take Roach on a walk?”

“Hmm, I should…”

“You’ve been cooped up all day lately, what with helping out with Pavetta and Duny’s funeral,” Jaskier added, even softer if possible. “Walk off some of the stress. I’ll fix dinner tonight.”

“Don’t worry… leftovers.”

“Right. Then I’ll have those ready to eat if you let me know when you’re on your way back.”

“Ciri might not go to sleep for a while.”

“I’ll sing to her. It’s been working so far, right?”

“Hmm.”

“We’ll make it work, Geralt.”

Roach put her paws on the bed again, but this time she wasn’t shoved off. Jaskier was busy looking at Geralt, who seemed to have burrowed his face into Jaskier’s neck. Roach whined, and they both looked at her. Geralt’s eyes were a little watery, but he didn’t smell of tears yet. He pet her ears.

“I think your other child is worried about you,” Jaskier joked. Geralt cracked a smile.

“She’s a good pup… She keeps an eye on Ciri all the time, don’t you Roachie?” he asked her. It lacked his usual warmth, but he sounded so tired lately that Roach didn’t mind. She nosed at his hand. “Let’s take you for a walk, then.”

Walk!

Jaskier’s voice was clear as she and Geralt left the room. He sang to the baby a lot, and it took Roach a few minutes to remember she was going after Geralt. He smiled at her when she joined him in the entrance.

“He has a sweet voice, doesn’t he?” he mused, his cheeks reddening slightly. “I suppose that’s how we got together, so…”

Roach remembered. Those days were quieter, but Geralt had started to hum along with songs when he’d found Jaskier’s music. Roach had come to him a few years before, and she’d never heard him sing before. He had a nice voice too, she thought, even though Geralt had always seemed rather sheepish about it. He had been serious, and taciturn, when Roach had first met him. He would take her on walks, and he would pet her and groom her, but it had taken him a while to start talking to her. They had gotten to know each other since then…

Geralt only talked to her like this when they were alone, though. It made her feel special, like he was telling her a secret, even though sometimes it was most certainly not secrets what he talked about. Like right now.

“I didn’t expect Jaskier to stick around,” he admitted. Roach had already heard him say this many times, so she continued walking ahead, listening with half an ear. “I wasn’t sure he’d say yes, either.”

Yet another familiar sentiment.

“Gods, Roach, you just don’t care, do you,” he laughed. “I’m getting married, you dork, and you don’t care.”

She barked at him. Of course she cared! But she was not nearly as surprised as Geralt seemed to be by this turn of events. Humans tended to give their mates shiny jewelry for their fingers, so frankly, it was grossly overdue that Geralt gave something to Jaskier.

"I think you'll get used to Ciri soon, too," he continued. "I got used to Jaskier's babbling eventually, didn't I? Well, now's your turn to suffer. Ciri isn't nearly as loud, at least not yet, so I don't know what you're complaining about."

The walk went on in silence for a few minutes after that.

Roach wasn’t really bothered by the small child. She was a little noisy, a little smelly, and slept very little. But she knew pups were like that too. She was rather more concerned about Geralt, if she was being honest.

Ever since he got this child, he'd been so quiet… almost like he was in the beginning. And it worried Roach, because Geralt had come such a long way… but now he was back to that, speaking very little, taking her on walks less, crying when he thought she and Jaskier were asleep. Roach didn't really know what had happened, but she'd gathered from Jaskier that someone had passed recently.

It worried her even more.

She wasn't getting any younger, and though she still had a good few years in her, she wasn't sure who was going to take care of her human when she…

"I'm getting married," Geralt repeated all of a sudden, startling her. "Fuck, I'm getting married. To Jaskier. I'm going to be Jaskier's husband."

He’d slowed down at some point, his usual strides much smaller than Roach was used to, and she returned to his side to nose at his hands with a whine. His fingers were trembling, but there was the hint of a smile in his face. He rubbed her ears.

“Do you even know what that means? I guess not, huh…”

Did it mean something? Mates were mates, weren’t they?

“In the good and the bad, in sickness and in health, from now until death do us part…” Geralt mused, and now Roach was starting to get really worried. “That’s what it means,” he explained. “Marriage. It’s… a promise. We already adopted Ciri, you and I. Now we’re getting Jaskier. Our little family grows, Roach. We have a family now. A family that should be Duny’s. He fought for his wife, they fought for their daughter, and now…”

For a moment they stood there, the winter wind cutting through their clothes and fur. Roach would have sat down, but the ground was covered in snow… A nearby voice was what finally got them out of their bubble. A lady with a poodle, asking if they were alright. Geralt looked up, and Roach was able to scent the tears in his eyes. He stared at the lady for a second, putting on a small smile for her. He hummed, somewhat affirmatively, and the lady went away, but Roach knew better. She got closer still, pressing against his legs like she used to do when she was a pup. He leaned down to pet her.

“Let’s keep walking or we’ll freeze our butts off… Jaskier would be so worried, too,” Geralt said, and he managed a huff of amusement at the end. “You know, one of these days, he’ll take your crown for number one worrier about me in this household, Your Majesty Roach The Mighty.”

Geralt hadn’t called her that in ages! She barked, wagging her tail, and he chuckled as they started walking again.

He’d given her an idea anyway. Jaskier! They were mated now, and married, whatever that meant. And they had a child! Jaskier would protect her human with her, and humans lived so much more than dogs… Geralt would be taken care of!

Roach waited patiently as Geralt wiped the snow and water off of her paws as they stepped into the apartment again, but she jumped at her first chance to go find Jaskier. He was still humming, more quietly now, in the living room. The baby wasn’t with him, but the noise machine that showed them whenever Ciri moved was by his side. He gasped when Roach put her paws on his lap, jumping on his seat. He took his earphones off, turning around. The computer had the funny pictures that meant he was composing.

“You said you’d tell me when you were on your way back,” Jaskier complained in a whisper. Geralt snorted.

“Forgot. Sorry. I’ll take care of dinner instead.”

“I’ll set the table in a minute, let me save this.”

“Easy.”

Routines, Roach supposed, weren’t as bad when they were already set. She’d need more time to get used to the Ciri routines, but this? This was simple enough. Dinner wasn’t usually quiet, but Jaskier seemed to sense there was something in Geralt’s mind and didn’t pry. He sneaked Roach some of his dinner though, to keep her quiet as well. She obliged. Geralt only noticed halfway through the meal, and frowned.

“Jas?”

“Geralt?”

“You’re quiet.”

“I’ve been speaking all day,” he pointed out mildly, amused. “I thought you liked it when I’m quiet.”

“I do,” Geralt rolled his eyes. “I just like it more when I make you quiet. Like this, it’s just strange.”

This made Jaskier laugh, and he extended a hand to lace their fingers together above the table.

“You’ve taken their deaths so…”

“Hm?”

“You’re so quiet, too, all the time,” he sighed. “It’s hard to say if you need help sometimes. I know you struggle with asking, but something like a death, so close, too… You’re carrying a lot on your shoulders, love.”

Oh, yes, this was good! Talking! Geralt always needed some prompting to talk. Well done, Jaskier! Roach wagged her tail in delight and made her escape out of the kitchen before Geralt could answer, using their distraction.

She’d been right about Jaskier, it seemed.

Her family would be in good hands.

#Lena writes #the witcher #geraskier #Roach #winter prompts #Witcher Winter Prompts 2020

[ric0cheted]

distraction tactics (fic)

In which Geralt needs to sleep, Jaskier has no chill, and Yennefer is perfectly happy to take one for the team. 

(aka time for messy, shoddily-written witcher porn(ish)! all hedonism, zero redeeming qualities. all sorts of permutations of geraskefer. they’re all fucking in my world, lads.)

Upon returning to the manor house, Geralt managed exactly three things: getting undressed, bathing, and crawling into bed.

He wouldn't call the residence at which Yennefer had--temporarily--allowed himself and Jaskier to stay home, exactly. But it certainly beat out the ratty, shit-smelling inns that the nearest town boasted. 

Especially since Geralt's most recent hunt had lasted two days longer than it should've, the monsters had numbered threefold more than they should've, and the coin he'd been paid hadn't reflected either of those developments. Thank the gods he'd managed to, for once, convince Jaskier to stay back. 

All told, Geralt was looking forward to nothing more than sinking into the mattress and letting sleep take hold.

Which meant, of course, that barely three minutes of blessed silence passed before Geralt heard someone kneel beside the bed. He cracked an eye open, right in time to see Jaskier swoop in for a kiss. Geralt rolled his eyes and indulged it, winding his hand in Jaskier’s hair and moaning despite himself when Jaskier's tongue curled around his.

Jaskier pulled away, grinning. "Bring us back anything good?" Jaskier was feeling particularly agreeable, then, if he was referring to himself and Yennefer together like that. "Absolutely fine if the answer happens to simply be your lovely Witcher self. Because we missed you quite a bit." Without further ado, Jaskier slipped under the covers and plastered himself to Geralt, the distinct aroma of arousal wafting from him. 

Geralt had a tendency of forgetting how solid Jaskier was under his clothing, tailored as they were to lend a deceptive waifishness to his frame. Geralt was still taller, still broader, but Jaskier could drape himself across Geralt and cover a good stretch of his body. Much like he currently was. Geralt usually appreciated it, but this time his muscles ached in protest.

Geralt snorted. "Jaskier, I'm fucking tired. I don't even know if I could."

"I'll be good for you," Jaskier promised, kissing Geralt's throat. "Or be good to you. Whichever you'd like." His voice broke into a purr towards the end of his sentence.

"Jaskier," Geralt groaned. He wrapped his fingers around Jaskier's waist, the slimmest part of him, regretfully. He was a hair's breadth away from dislodging the bard himself when Jaskier yelped and jerked out of his grasp, nearly tumbling off the bed.

"You're insufferable," Yennefer told the bard from where she stood in the doorway. Jaskier sat up and rubbed the side of his head, which Geralt could only assume she'd magically slapped. "Now, come with me. I require assistance, and it seems as though yours will have to do.”

Jaskier sighed, deeply put-upon. "You never need my help, so I'm going to assume that you've finally decided to murder me." Jaskier gazed at Geralt with woeful eyes. "Geralt. Geralt. I expect at least a full year of mourning out of you. Also, I'd like my lute donated to a museum, possibly one devoted to the paraphernalia and personal effects of the continent's greatest artists."

Geralt didn't even stay awake long enough to roll his eyes, much less wryly ask why Jaskier would go with her if he was so convinced of his imminent demise.

***

Geralt awoke an hour later. He would've desperately liked more, but it seemed as though sleep would elude him for the moment.

It was all Yennefer and Jaskier’s fault, Geralt thought, grouchily, dragging himself out of bed to bitch at them. He hadn't seen where they'd vanished to earlier, but he didn’t need to guess at their whereabouts, given the overwhelming scent of lust and sex drifting from the library. He'd smelled it in his fucking sleep. It had woken him up. 

In retrospect, Geralt really, truly wished there was something that could've prepared him for what he was walking into.

Dressed in a soft, lace-trimmed robe that ended at her thighs, Yennefer lounged in an armchair, using one hand to page through a thick tome and the other to feed blackberries to Jaskier, handsome and unclothed at her feet. Jaskier was reclining against the chair, one knee pulled to his chest, tilting his head back to take the fruit from her with shocking obedience. His mouth closed around it and Geralt could see his tongue licking at her fingers. Jaskier's soft lips were berry-dark, but his chin and cheeks glistened with something else. His cock was hard, leaking, and untouched.

Geralt choked on his own saliva. Jaskier's eyes, half-closed with bliss, flew open. Their gazes met. Geralt blushed, and then, to his utter bewilderment, Jaskier blushed, scrambling to arrange his limbs in some semblance of modesty and opening his mouth to blurt something out. 

"Geralt." Yennefer said, calmly, twisting her fingers in Jaskier's hair to cut him off. "How was your rest?" Her hold was tight and kept Jaskier from looking away from Geralt. Geralt had no such excuse for failing to tear his own gaze away.

"Fine," Geralt wheezed. It was a terrible lie, but the blood that should've been making its way to his head was traveling decidedly southwards. 

"Good," Yennefer hummed, as though nothing were out of the ordinary. She relaxed her grip and petted Jaskier's hair instead. "Now, it took quite a while to get him like this, and I'd hate to see all of that time and effort undone. Do you intend to stay?" 

Jaskier tilted his head into her touch. There was a still touch of embarrassment about him, burning hotly in his eyes and cheeks, but a dizzy lust was starting to bleed into it. He relaxed his legs, just slightly, letting Geralt catch a glimpse of his cock. It was still very, very hard.

Geralt's mouth watered, his own cock making a valiant effort. But he'd been telling Jaskier the truth, about the degree to which he felt as though he was about to unravel at the seams and fall apart.

Besides, there were things that Geralt hadn't quite worked out about Yennefer and Jaskier, together, certain intricacies to their relationship that Geralt didn't feel equipped to navigate when exhaustion was making him feel the weight of each individual bone in his body. This seemed like one of those occasions.

"I'm going back to sleep." Geralt forced out, voice strangled. "Don't fuck each other to death before I wake up." Taking the coward's route, he turned and fled, Yennefer's peal of laughter following him out.

Geralt made it back to the bedroom and immediately started rifling through the chest of drawers. After a moment of searching, he found a vial of the sleep potion Yennefer had once specially brewed for him. He paused in consideration. It did work, but it was difficult to make, expensive, and usually only granted him a few extra hours, given how quickly his Witcher metabolism burned through it.

Distantly, he could just barely make out Yennefer's purred oh, good boy, followed by Jaskier's low moan. Without hesitation, Geralt downed the entire bottle and welcomed the sweet embrace of sleep. 

***

Geralt slept for three or four more hours before the potion wore off. It took the edge off, at least, bringing him firmly into tired from his previous death walking.

He was stretching, trying to ease the tightness in his muscles, when Jaskier slipped into the bedroom, freshly-bathed and smelling of Yennefer's various soaps and oils. He met Geralt's eyes and blushed. 

"Ah! So. About that." Jaskier rubbed the back of his head and flashed Geralt a charming, sheepish grin. The bruised look to his mouth spoke more of thorough use than of berries. "I--"

Rolling his eyes, Geralt looped his arm around Jaskier’s waist and pulled him down into the sheets, savoring his surprised yelp. After all, his cock was now very, very capable of participating. 

***

Geralt left Jaskier passed out and drooling on the bed to seek Yennefer out. It took a little longer without the ludicrous trail of arousal to follow, but he eventually found her in the alchemical workshop.

She'd traded the shimmering cream of her robe for one of her traditional black dresses. Jaskier probably could've waxed poetic about the finer points of this particular garment compared to the others. Geralt couldn't tell the difference between them like that; he just knew that she looked beautiful in all of them.

Geralt made his way to her and nuzzled at the hollow of her throat before tugging her in for a kiss. Yennefer wound her hands through his hair and deepened it, tilting his head for a better angle.

After a moment, Geralt pulled away. He'd come here to see her, but he figured he might as well ask. "So, about that." 

"Oh, that," Yennefer replied. There was a vaguely smug twist to her lips. "I've found that he occasionally benefits from a firm hand and something to keep him...occupied. For everyone's good, really." 

"For everyone's good," Geralt repeated, dryly, as though her comment didn't have his cock perking up.

"Yes, for everyone's good. It isn't my fault that you both woke up and turned us down." Her lavender eyes glinted. "Consider joining us next time. It'll likely be impossible to keep him behaved with you around, but there's fun to be had, regardless." 

"Next time," Geralt growled, sliding his hands down her body. He couldn't stop picturing it. "How about you wait until I'm awake."

"No promises," Yennefer purred, allowing Geralt to lift her up onto the nearest unoccupied table. "But maybe. If you're lucky."

#yennskier #geraskier #geraskefer #yenneralt #fic #my fic #smut #not that literally any of my work is cleaned up #but this is too sloppy even for my ao3 lmao

[dhwty-writes]

Chapter 10 - The Contrast of Compassion and Contempt

This was a surprisingly easy chapter to write, given that I had absolutely no idea what was supposed to happen until I wrote it. Here's to hoping it won't mess up the timeline. 

Thanks as always to @persony-pepper for betaing!

Summary: Geralt is back at Lettenhove Hall and Jaskier is coping. Or at least trying to, as both Geralt and Ciri do their best to shatter the fragile balance on a razor blade that defines their relationship. 

Read on AO3

Prologue | previous | next

The alderman of Saltwall was a fool and a bloody coward, too. Jaskier was very pleased to discover that - so pleased, in fact that he greeted Geralt with a smile on his face when the witcher trudged into his study.

"'To The Right Honourable The Viscount Lettenhove, Julian Alfred Pankratz'," he recited as he leaned against his desk, crossing his ankles, "'I offer to you my sincerest apologies for the recent misunderstanding. It is my deepest regret to relay to you that the honoured Master Geralt of Rivia' — do you hear that, Geralt, I quite like the sound of it — 'indicated in no way that he was affiliated with you' — oh, fun, that's some fodder for the rumour mill." He cleared his throat and read on: "'I assure you, it was not my intention to slight you or yours. In hopes of amending this misstep, I send to you and your witcher this recompensation consisting of three hundred crowns.' Melitele's tits, Geralt, what on earth was the agreed sum?" Jaskier tossed him the coin purse.

"Hundred and fifty," he replied and weighed the purse in his hand. "I assume you want half of it?"

He dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Keep it. This is much better, listen to this: 'I trust that no bad blood remains between us, as you are one of my most esteemed neighbours.' That's the best he could come up with? Ridiculous. But wait, here comes the best part: 'Also, I extend the humble invitation to you and your household to come and dine with my wife and me in Saltwall.'" He lowered the parchment and grinned widely. "What do you think, Geralt? Should we accept? I'd love to see his face when I show up with the sixty-odd members of my household."

Geralt huffed what could almost be a laugh. "Fuck, J- my lord. What did you write in your first letter to get that kind of response?"

"Oh, that was easy," he said almost bored. "I politely informed him that you were there on my orders, and that I am greatly displeased with the lack of financial compensation for your hard work. I also reminded him that his liege and I had studied in Oxenfurt together, and that I am soon due to visit my old friend, who would surely be interested in his activities. Oh, and I might have implied that I slept with his unmarried sister."

Now he was certain that Geralt was laughing. "Poor man. He had no idea what he'd gotten himself into."

"What can I say? I am a master of my craft." He bowed with a flourish.

When he straightened his back again, Geralt was rolling his eyes fondly. "You're incorrigible."

"Maybe so," he allowed the teasing. "It gets me what I want, though." 

"Hmm," Geralt made and crossed his arms. "And what's that?"

An icy hand gripped his heart. 'I told you,' his mind screamed. 'I asked you to come with me. And you walked away.' But that had been a lifetime ago. "Well, that depends." Jaskier forced his expression to go blank. "Primarily, though, none of your business."

"Right. I'm sorry, my lord." He could tell Geralt was mocking him.

Still, he answered: "You are forgiven, my witcher."

They were silent for a bit, Jaskier unwilling to budge first. To his everlasting joy, Geralt caved. He talked a lot since their reunion - comparably at least. Jaskier enjoyed this development immensely. "Are you going to accept the invitation?"

"I'm thinking about it. It would be rather satisfying to have that bastard bowing and scraping to you, wouldn't it? That would teach him."

"Hmm," Geralt made. "Or he'd be twice the arse to the next witcher to get back at you."

Jaskier frowned deeply. "No, you're completely right. That would be awful, we won't do that." His fingers danced to a rapid rhythm on the desk while thoughts chased each other through his mind. Then, thankfully, one of them slowed down enough for him to grasp it. "Oh, that's better still!" He wheeled around, pulling parchment and a quill from his desk, and started penning the response.

He'd written one and a half pages already when he was startled from the daze he was in: "What are you writing?" Geralt asked and peered over his shoulder. Jaskier very nearly dropped his quill. The witcher was close enough that he could feel his breath against the back of his neck and the heat radiating from his body. A shiver ran down his spine, and Jaskier wasn't quite sure if it was pleasant or not. Geralt reached out and moved the page he was writing on, to better examine the one beneath it. He didn't retract his arm just yet, though, but put his hand next to Jaskier's hip, leaning on the desk, and thus greatly restricting his movement.

Once he would have rejoiced for any chance to get this close to the witcher when he wasn't gravely injured or dying. Now, it made his skin crawl. Jaskier scarcely dared to move, but turned his head to see Geralt frown. "What?" Jaskier asked, amused.

"Is it some kind of joke? I don't get it."

He snorted a laugh. "Yes, witcher, it is. You should ask your daughter about it, she'd understand it." The frown on his face deepened beyond what seemed humanly possible and Jaskier quickly kept on talking: "It's an insult, you see? 'As pleased as I am to get invited to the famed court of Saltwall, it would greatly trouble me to infringe upon your winter stores. Though, I do have plans to visit my brother-in-law in Goldfurt this winter and should be overcome with joy to meet you there to renew our fleeting acquaintance.' It's-" He waved his hand impatiently. "It's a reminder that visiting Saltwall is beneath me and that I have better options. It's also a remark on the fact that he wanted to scam you claiming he didn't have enough. And a whole lot of other things. Would take some time to pick all of that apart."

"Hmm. Not looking forward to seeing him in Goldfurt, though."

"What makes you think you'll be in Goldfurt?" he teased him and snickered when his face fell. "Don't worry, witcher, it's another taunt. The Baron of Goldfurt would never invite someone as insignificant as the alderman of Saltwall. No danger of us running into him there."

A smile tugged at his lip. "Clever."

"Compliments will get you nowhere," he scolded, a bit more harshly than strictly needed, perhaps. He waved his hand dismissively. "Go now. I have unfinished business to attend to."

Geralt sighed and leaned in a hairbreadth closer before pushing off the desk. "As my lord commands."

Only when the door closed behind him, Jaskier could breathe freely again. His knees gave out beneath him and he dropped onto his chair like a puppet whose strings have been cut. He ran a shaky hand over his face, trying desperately to sort his thoughts again. This was not good. First the worry, now the nervousness… This was not good at all.

It wasn't exactly as if being close to Geralt was unpleasant, quite the contrary. It was just that it was unbidden. Unwanted. Undeserved.

He had left all of those feelings behind him on that mountain. With his return to Lettenhove, he had rid himself of all his silly fancies in order to become the pretty, tame little songbird his parents had craved all along.

After everything they'd been through, it felt wrong. It was so awfully familiar when it shouldn't be. It probably would be easy to just act as if nothing had happened. To fall back into that familiar pattern of teasing each other, maybe even something more and yet-

Jaskier couldn’t pretend the mountain hadn’t happened. He couldn’t pretend he hadn’t returned to the place he had vowed to shun of the rest of his life, and that he couldn’t leave again. He couldn’t pretend he hadn’t spent ten long months nursing a broken heart over someone who had never been his in the first place, that he hadn’t heard a word from Geralt for one and a half years - that had never happened before, not in sixteen years.  He couldn't just forget that he had offered up his soul up on that mountain and that there still hadn't been so much as a talk about it, much less an apology. And he certainly couldn’t pretend that it was all fine.

Silence would be easy. Silence would be what they'd always done. They'd never talked about the djinn, never talked about Cintra, about any of the times when Geralt had broken his heart without even knowing. His conversation with Ciri came to his mind. That wasn't making up. That was suffering in silence. And he was done with that.

He stood and straightened his doublet. 'No,' he decided. Until they actually talked, there would be no repeat performance of whatever had just happened.

It was later that day when Jaskier almost fell to his death down the stairs of his tower as a giggling quartet of children raced past him. "Stop right there!" The Viscount shouted, and three of the four followed his command immediately. "What is it I have to see here?" He caught Ciri by the scruff of her neck. "What do you think you're doing, cousin?"

She giggled and writhed in his grasp. "Jaskier!" The three serving girls stared at her as if she'd grown a second head and one of them even mouthed 'Don't!' in warning. "We're just playing, let go of me already!"

He eyed the others warily, who quickly averted their gaze. They were certainly not company fit for the heiress to the Cintran throne. "Beggin' your pardon, m'lord," one of them. They made her happy, though.

"That's not what I mean," he said not unkindly. "I am talking to you, young lady, and about your foot."

"My foot is fine," she insisted. She pulled up her skirts and wriggled it around to prove it. "See?"

"Hmm," he said. "Did you talk to Wera about it?"

"I did!" she insisted. "She said it would be fine if I didn't jump and run around too much."

"And you think sprinting up my staircase is within the determined parameters?"

She looked up at him with large eyes. "Please, Jaskier," she begged. "Please let me play a bit longer. Only today."

'Oh,' he realised as a cruel fist clenched around his heart. 'She's lonely.' And how could he deny her when he had suffered the same strangling solitude of these cold grey halls for so long? "It's alright," he said and gently stroked her hair. "Run along now, we'll talk later."

Later turned out to be two days later after he had weathered another disagreement with Geralt — gods, as soon as the door closed behind the witcher he couldn't even remember what it had been about anymore. In that moment, he had understood the urge to batter something with a sword very well. He didn't follow through with it, though. He would most likely only make a fool of himself.

Instead he buried himself in his work. It had just been an excuse for the alderman at first, but the letter he had written had gotten him thinking. He probably should reconnect with his old friends from Oxenfurt — most were bards, just like he had been, but some held their own lands now. 'The jolly days of our youth are past,' he thought bitterly, 'we have to settle down if we don't want to die as we lived: strolling minstrels in an unmarked grave.'

So, he had begun writing them again, inquiring about fiancées he'd seduced and brother's he'd bedded, racking his brain for any kind of information about them besides their relatives he'd spent lovely nights with. He couldn't come up with a lot. He only hoped there would be some kind of payoff for all the trouble.

When he was just trying to remember the name of a particularly handsome set of twins he’d met at a  ball once, Ciri walked in without even knocking. "Hello, Jaskier," she greeted him and hopped onto one of the side tables.

"Hello, Ciri," he answered, continuing to write his letter. He was almost done when he noticed that his study was silent safe for the scratching of his quill — the usual chatter that began as soon as Ciri walked through a door suspiciously missing. He put the quill down and tilted his head. "Are you quite alright, darling girl?"

She shrugged and stared down onto her dangling feet. 'Oh-oh,' he thought, 'that's not good.'

"What's the matter, Ciri, talk to me," he beckoned. When she still did not answer he continued: "Are you unhappy?"

"That's not it," she said quietly.

"Then what is?"

"I think Geralt is sad," she admitted finally.

"Oh?" Jaskier stood and moved to sit on the edge of his desk. "Why do you think so?"

"I think he is sad that he can't train me like he did before anymore. He kept talking about how it all reminded him of Kaer Morhen. He doesn't do that anymore. He's also very grumpy." Before he could say anything, she held up a hand to shut him up — a gesture she seemed to have picked up from him — and continued: "Even grumpier than usual."

"Even grumpier?" he asked incredulously. "Dear girl, you have to be mistaken. That cannot be possible."

"It is!" she whined. More quietly she added: "Make it stop."

Whatever clever remark he had prepared died on his lips. She sounded so earnestly, so heartbroken, so- "Alright," he heard himself say. "I'll make it right again."

"Great!" she answered. Grinning widely, she pecked him on the cheek before running off again. He stared after her for a long time, wondering what on earth had possessed him to make such a promise he couldn't hope to keep.

It was almost time for dinner when he finally came up with a plan and made his way to the guardroom. "Evening," he greeted the gathered men cheerily. There were about five of them, gathered around a table where Geralt and Borys were engaged in a round of Gwent. They didn't even look up, eyes on the cards and the pile of gold between them. "Is Marin here?"

"In his room, m'lord," one of the others, whose name Jaskier couldn't recall, answered.

He nodded his thanks and made his way up the short flight of stairs to the Captain of the Guard's room. Without knocking he opened the door. Marin was sat on a stool, bent over a tarnished mirror, and shaving with a rather blunt razor. 'Should I increase the salary, maybe?' Jaskier wondered, but that was a thought for another time. He cleared his throat quietly.

Marin nicked himself and cursed loudly before turning to see who it was. "My lord!" He leapt to his feet and knocked the stool over in the process. "I didn't-"

"Relax, Marin," he said tiredly, "and sit down again, for Melitele's sake, She knows you deserve the rest."

"Right," he said warily and righted the chair, still hesitant to sit while Jaskier was standing. Instead of waiting out the internal debate of his Captain, he simply sat down on the shaky desk in the corner. Finally, Marin did as he had told him. "Why exactly are you here, my lord?"

"I wanted to thank you," he answered honestly. "For your advice, when-" his voice broke without his permission.

A kind smile spread on Marin's face. "You're welcome, my lord."

Jaskier wet his lips with his tongue. "I've also come to request another piece of advice."

"I'll be glad to oblige."

"How do you train your guards?" he asked bluntly.

"I- I beg your pardon? I-" Marin stuttered, clearly taken aback.

Jaskier tried not to sigh in annoyance. "No, you haven't misheard. How do you train your guards?"

"Well, there's drills. For longbows and crossbows, swords, too. Halberds, sometimes. I teach some of the lads how to ride, the most promising ones. And I have them trek through the forest with heavy bags. That’s about it."

"Hm," he said and frowned deeply. 'That's not exactly what I'm looking for here.' He took a moment before continuing: "And, theoretically, if you wanted to train their reflexes as well as their agility, how would you go about that?"

Marin raised his eyebrows. "Theoretically?" he parroted.

"Theoretically," Jaskier confirmed.

Slowly, he said: "Theoretically, as in... similar to balancing on railings or barrels?"

"Theoretically, yes."

"In that case, theoretically, I guess I'd build a structure I could put my trust in. Not too high above the ground, I'll wager. Beams and monkey bars, even a quintain or two, maybe. It would train her reflexes to respond to unexpected blows — theoretically, of course. And I'd definitely pad the floor with something soft. Bales of straw or something.."

"Hm." Now that was something he could work with. Well, not Jaskier himself necessarily, he'd definitely need help for that. "And, theoretically, could you draw the plans for that?"

Marin seemed to consider the idea for a moment. "Theoretically, I could."

"Good man."

"I'll have them by you within the week, my lord."

Jaskier flashed him a bright smile and opened the door. "I'm looking forward to it," he said with a wink, "theoretically."

He went back down to the guardroom and was greeted by wolf whistles by some of the older guards who he had known in his youth. 'When did the boys I grew up and trained with become the older guards?' he wondered absentmindedly. Geralt was still playing Gwent, although with another opponent.

"And what business did you have with the Captain, Master Julian?" Borys asked with a lewd grin.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he replied and made a show of blowing him a kiss.

The wolf whistles grew loud again and Borys laughed. "I believe I would, m'lord. Care to show me?"

His smile froze on his face. "Maybe later."

The guard sitting next to Borys jabbed him in the ribs sharply. "That's a no," he stage-whispered and the guards laughed.

Jaskier was still thinking of a smooth reply when Geralt suddenly threw down his cards and exclaimed: "Fuck!"

His opponent laughed heartily, quickly scooped up the coins between them, and hid them from Jaskier's view. Not that he cared. He still clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "Gambling away your earnings already, witcher?"

"Not anymore," he grumbled and stowed his cards away. "I'm done for today." He stood and walked over to Jaskier who regarded him with a raised eyebrow.

"Waiting for something?"

"You're blocking the door. My lord."

"Right." Jaskier reached behind himself and turned the knob. "Enjoy your evening," he called to the guards before opening the door and waving Geralt through.

As soon as the door shut behind them, the voices started up again but Jaskier couldn't tell what they were saying. Geralt, though, turned beet-red and hunched his shoulders, apparently trying to get away as fast as possible.

"What are they talking about?" Jaskier asked with amusement.

"Nothing important," Geralt muttered and held the door to the courtyard open for Jaskier. They had almost crossed it when he spoke up again: "You aren't sleeping with any of them."

"Why the sudden interest in my sex life? You only ever cared about whose pants I kept out of not whose pants I got into."

"Hmm," Geralt made and eyed him up. "I thought I knew you, my lord."

He couldn't keep from flinching. 'You did,' he wanted to tell him. 'You were the only person I didn't put on a show for. And see where that got me.' But he wasn't quite ready to lead that conversation, yet. "Well, I changed."

"I'm aware," the witcher answered. 'Why does he sound so sad?' "I'm trying to get to know you again."

He bit his tongue, almost hard enough to draw blood again. But they had reached the East Wing now and he didn't want either of his sisters to witness whatever needed to be said between them. He sighed. "No, I'm not," he answered the earlier question. “Sleeping with them, that is.”

"Will you tell me why?" Geralt opened the door for him.

"Maybe later," Jaskier answered honestly. "This is no conversation for dinner." With that he shouldered the doors to the dining room open.

"Julian!" Ciri said excitedly, who had quickly learned not to call him Jaskier in front of his sisters. She smiled brightly, and after that it was easy to get into character, grinning widely and chattering away. The princess was a very useful prop when it came to him wearing that particular mask.

"Hello, cousin," he greeted her and went to press a kiss to her forehead. "How was your training today?"

"Boring." She wrinkled her nose. "I'm not allowed to run or do cartwheels at all. Only footwork. Geralt says I'll injure my ankle again elsewise."

"And he's very right about that," he told her and took his place at the head of the table as Geralt sat down at his right. He waved his hand to signal for the servants to bring the food and continued: "Just imagine if you twisted it again, or, Melitele forbid, broke it. You wouldn't be able to leave your room for weeks on end!"

The horror on her face made him chuckle and dig into his food, too, beckoning his sisters to talk about their days. Afterwards they moved their conversation to the Fireplace Room, where Janina and Józefa took up their needlework.

"So, witcher," Józia asked after settling into a steady rhythm, "you returned from your hunt in the woods."

"I did," he agreed as he sat down in the armchair across from Jaskier.

"Tell us about it, will you?" It wasn't a question.

Geralt's glance flickered to Jaskier, as if asking for permission. He raised an eyebrow and his lips curled into the tiniest of smiles. After a moment of consideration, he raised his goblet of mulled wine to Geralt, beckoning him to carry on.

Janina snorted rudely and stood. "Forgive me, my lord," she said tersely, "but I do not think I have to listen to that. May I retire for the night?"

He swirled the wine in his cup, contemplating it. For a moment he considered telling her no — she had lost the bet, after all. Then again, he wasn't cruel. Janina had her reasons for her resentment against witchers just like he had his for his reverence. It was a topic best left untouched within Lettenhove's walls. He waved his hand dismissively and she hastily fled the scene.

"What-" Ciri began but Józefa shook her head.

"Not now, child," she said quietly. Facing Geralt she asked: "Well?"

Jaskier could basically feel him grinding his teeth and was more than a little surprised when the witcher broke into the probably most detailed story about his adventures Jaskier had ever heard from his mouth. He even included details like the frankly hilarious name of the pig, Sam the Ham, he had shared a bedstead with.

When he was done, Jaskier was still feeling eerie as he always did after hearing a particularly compelling story and stood from his armchair. "Walk with me?" he asked Geralt.

The witcher looked up at him funnily. "Sure, my lord."

The night was crisp — freezing almost, and Jaskier gladly accepted the warm cloak a servant brought him hurriedly before they could climb the battlements. "My, my," he said quietly, "it seems like I'm not the only one who changed. Where's the taciturn witcher I fe-" He bit his tongue. "-I travelled with?"

"Hm," Geralt said and Jaskier was almost about to make another comment when the witcher already continued talking: "I don't know, my lord, but I was travelling with a bard named Jaskier. He might know the answer."

"You-" Jaskier gasped indignantly, fumbling for words. Geralt just raised his eyebrows. A challenge. An invitation. Jaskier was tempted to accept. But when wasn't Geralt a temptation for him? "Fine," he said curtly. "I'll ask him."

"Do tell me when you do," he leaned against the merlon as Jaskier sat down between two of them. "I'd like to have a few words with him myself."

He looked up and tilted his head, stubbornly ignoring the fluttering feeling in his gut and the song lyrics in his mind when he saw him bathed in silvery moonlight. 'I once loved a man as white as snow / His skin was deathly pale / His hair a silvery moonlit veil / His eyes two golden suns / After decades of scorn I was once again shunned / But I loved him even so.' He sighed and tore his eyes away. "All in due time, witcher," he whispered, "All in due time..."

"Hm," he answered and took to staring into the night as well.

It was a strange but still familiar silence that settled between them. Once upon a time it would have been filled with chatter and songs and jabs. But still, as the white puffs of their breath mingled in the cold, Jaskier relaxed for the first time in weeks. Because that was Geralt, the White Wolf, standing beside him and he was still Jaskier the Bard somewhere deep down inside, and that still counted for something.

"It wouldn't be fair to them," Jaskier broke the silence at last.

"What wouldn't be?"

"Sleeping with them. They are sworn to be at best, my subjects and property at worst. They can't refuse. It wouldn't be right. That's not the kind of lord I want to be."

"I thought you didn't want to be any kind of lord, my lord," Geralt answered and began inspecting him instead. It made Jaskier's skin crawl with unease. 'I'm weak, my love, and I am wanting,' another line came to his mind. 'Please,' he begged weakly, resisting the urge to recoil beneath the merciless glare, 'I cannot be found wanting again.'

"I don't," he said bitterly, "Alas, I already am. Might as well do my best."

"Hmm."

"My father was that kind of lord," he said without really knowing why, "my grandfather was, too. I suspect half the garrison consists of my siblings and cousins."

"He wasn't a good lord, then?"

"No,” he said quietly, “and he wasn't a good person either."

"Hmm." Finally, Geralt looked away. "At least his son turned out well enough. Don't know about you being a lord, but I know that you're not a bad person."

Jaskier blinked in surprise. "Thank you, Geralt," he said and resisted the urge to take his hand.

To his surprise it was Geralt who grasped for his fingers instead. "Hmm," he made, warming them between his palms. Jaskier ignored how his heart skipped a beat. "Get inside, my lord, and get to bed. Before you freeze to death."

"Right," he breathes, his words blowing out in the night air like the clouds of his breath. "Goodnight, witcher."

"Goodnight, my lord. Sleep well."

#My writing #OWBABH #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier fanfiction #geralt/jaskier #of witchers bards and broken hearts #cirilla of cintra

[kittsfics]

Heartfelt Whispers

Sequel to Simple Touches but can be read as a standalone.

There's the faint strains of familiar singing coming from the inn as they turn into the stable yard where the two of them are planning to stop for the night. Something in Geralt loosens at the sound, but what he doesn't expect is for Ciri to gasp and twist to tug on his sleeve.

"It's Jaskier! He played at some of Grandma's feasts! He's very good, he even danced with me a few times. Can we go in and listen for a bit?" Geralt hadn't realised the bard had gone back to Cintra after that first disastrous ball, it was something he'd never mentioned.

"Alright." They shouldn't and they both knew it, but the thought of heading straight to a room and eating there, as they'd done previously, sent a pang through his chest with Jaskier so close. Geralt owed him an apology anyway.

"Remember, introduce yourself as Fiona, even if he recognises you. He'll catch on." He catches the edge of her cloak as she turns away and carefully tucks her pale hair out of sight in her hood before nodding and waving her off, turning back to settle Roach.

Jaskier's still in full swing when he gets inside, and is so focused on his performance that Geralt can push through the crowd enough to see his pack by his feet without being seen. He turns to the bar and asks for a room with two beds then settles at a table slightly round the corner and out of sight of the bard.

He closes his eyes and focuses on Ciri, sounding like she's bouncing on the balls of her feet as Jaskier starts the familiar tune of Toss a Coin to your Witcher. Something loosens in Geralt at that, proof that Jaskier hadn't put him out of his mind and cut him out of his life completely. He finishes with a flourish and there's the soft tinkle of coins being tossed, presumably in his direction, then Ciri moves towards the front of the crowd.

"Well hello there Little One."

"Hi." Ciri sound much shyer than he's ever heard her over the last few weeks. "I liked your music. Oh! I'm Fiona."

"Hey Fiona, you here with anyone?"

"My dad." Geralt's breath catches at how easily she says that, and he nearly misses Jaskier's whispered reply.

"So he found you then?"

She hums an affirmative. "Do you want to join us for food?"

"I uhh, don't know if I'm welcome."

The hesitancy in his voice spurs Geralt to stick his head round the corner, "Jaskier get over here."

"Of course." He sees his eyes dart towards the door but then Ciri's grabbing both his pack and his free hand to tug him across the inn.

He drops onto the bench opposite Geralt, the line of his shoulders tense. His hair's a little longer, clothes still fancy but maybe a bit more worn and the elven lute is still over his shoulder, now on a new strap decorated with yellow flowers. One of the barmaids come over after a moment, delivering food for all three of them with a smile and a wink at Jaskier.

"Geralt, I…" He trails off rubbing a hand over his face before offering a small forced smile and turning to his plate. Ciri catches Geralt’s eye and frowns between the two of them, but thankfully stays silent.

After a moment of just watching he sighs and sticks a leg out, hooking an ankle round the bard's, startling him into looking up. "I apologise," Jakier freezes, spoon halfway to his mouth, "for what I said last time I saw you. I … wasn't fair to you, and I didn't… I don't…"

"I know." His eyes are surprisingly soft when Geralt finally meets his eyes, and his smile's far more genuinely now. "But I appreciate the apology."

Geralt had expected anger honestly, rather than what seems to be some kind of fond acceptance; guilt catches in his throat and he quickly picks up his mug to hide whatever expression he’s making. Jaskier raises an eyebrow but returns to his food, seemingly more relaxed. Ciri carries most of the following conversation, asking where he's been performing since she'd last seen him, but he doesn't move his feet away from the witcher’s.

---

"I didn't realise you'd met Ciri."

"You didn't seem to be interested in her." He's still more subdued then Geralt's never seen him, pacing awkwardly in the limited room and fidgeting with his lute. He keeps moving to strum it but then looking over at Ciri asleep on the other bed, hands stilling.

Geralt sighs, "Come here."

"What?"

"Come here Jaskier." Geralt hates the hesitance the bard approaches him with, and the slight flinch when he reaches out a hand to take the lute and prop it against the wall. "Why aren't you angrier at me?"

At that he abruptly drops onto the bed next to Geralt, a puppet with its strings cut, and he barely catches Jaskier's next words. "I was. For a long time."

Geralt slowly reaches out to wrap an arm round his waist, light enough to shake off if he wanted to. "What changed?"

"I got tired." He instead leans in, resting his head on his Geralt's shoulder. "And I missed you. If you'd run into me a few months ago, I don't know…" he trails off with a shrug. "You weren't having a great day and I was there, sticking my nose in as always."

"Shouldn't have taken it out on you though."

"No, you shouldn't. But what's done is done. You're here now, apologies and all." Jaskier reaches out to catch his fingers, turning Geralt's hand over to trace a finger up a new scar on the inside of his arm.

"Fiend, a few weeks back. Big brute, also caught my shoulder." He trips over the next words more than he should considering how long they've known each other. "I've missed you too."

"Geralt?" The surprise that colours his voice makes him feel somehow worse, and he moves automatically to tuck Jaskier against his chest.

"I'm sorry." He buries his face in dark hair.

"I haven't seen you in over a year, and now multiple apologies in one day. Who knew acquiring a child would be so good for you."

Geralt just hums in agreement, enjoying the closeness. It's rare someone allows him this without any kind of expectation or ulterior motive, only really Jaskier and more recently Ciri. He presses a kiss to his hair then tightens his arms and leans backwards until the two of them are lying on the bed on their sides, with Jaskier still curled against his chest. The last bit of tension leaves the bard’s frame and he relaxes into Geralt's arms.

"Where are the two of you headed after this?"

"Kaer Morhen for the winter, introduce Ciri to Vesemir and show her some of the basics. She’ll need some tutoring in magic if she has any of her mother's abilities, but that's going to have to wait for spring."

Jaskier nods, pulling away enough to tug his doublet off and toss it towards his pack before setting back in just his shirt, he's lost some weight since they’d last seen each other. Geralt tugs gently on the hem of his shirt and when the bard makes no move to stop him he slides a hand underneath to trace the scar just above his hip. "I'm glad you're safe, with all the fighting."

"I was heading to Cintra when I heard the news, so I joined those villager’s caravan aiming to stay ahead of the invasion." He shudders faintly, pressing his face into Geralt's chest.

"Come with us." The offer is out before he thinks it through; born half of a desire not to be parted from the bard and half a vague panic about a teenager being only raised by witchers. "You can collect stories off all off us, write some new ballads. The village isn't too far away for when you get sick of us, and Ciri would appreciate someone familiar."

Jaskier pulls away, leaning up on one elbow with a sigh. He searches Geralt's face for a moment and the witcher wonders what he sees there; but whatever it is he reaches over to rest a hand on Geralt's cheek, brushing a thumb over the corner of his mouth. Geralt’s heartbeat speeds up as Jaskier leans down to press their foreheads together.

"I'll consider it, and talk to Ciri tomorrow." They're close enough for Geralt to feel his breath on his lips, and the sudden pang of disappointment as Jaskier pulls away takes him by surprise. "Have you had any sleep recently, real sleep not meditation?"

It takes an embarrassingly long time for Geralt to marshal his thoughts enough to answer. "Enough."

"Your enough or normal people's enough?"

"I'm not a normal person."

"No then." He resettles against Geralt's chest with a yawn, "Sleep, we both wake easily enough that Ciri'll be fine if something happens, not that it’s likely here."

He's right, and the warmth of Jaskier's body and his steady heartbeat as he falls asleep a few moments later are comforting, so it doesn't take Geralt long to follow.

Sequel: x

Toss a coin to your writer

#also on ao3 with the same name #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #my fics #stolen moments verse

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

The Witcher Boys have been taken hostage, so Reader Platonically ~Girl Power~s it up with Yen to go kick some bad guy butt and show off for the guys as a rescue team? 😜

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Platonic!Yennefer x Reader Word Count: 1,832 Rating: T Taglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak​ @whatevermonkey​ @mynamesoundslikesherlock​ @kemmastan​ @magic-multicolored-miracle​ @writingstudent​ @mlleecrivaine​ @coffee-and-stories​ @amirahiddleston​ @ultracolorfulnerdcollection​ @astouract​ @your-not-invisible-to-me​ @mycat-is-mylove a/n: Thank you for clarifying platonic because you all know if I get a whiff of a chance to romance that mage I am all over it. But I also love friendship! I hope this is a good girl power night out for you. xo

As luck would have it, you and Yennefer were both together when the message came. You’d been playing Gwent as you did once a month, trying to find a common interest to continue growing the bond you’d developed while training to become mages. It had fallen mostly into small talk which made both of you a little sad but you were an advisor so you couldn’t speak of work and she had her own secrets that you understood she must keep. You were just sharing a thoroughly boring anecdote about a sourdough recipe you tried to make recently when a falcon came bearing a message, alighting on Yennefer’s hand which rose for it to perch on seemingly of its own accord.

“Duty calls?” you asked. Yennefer’s brow furrowed and her violet eyes scanned the brief contents quickly before sighing heavily and looking back up at you.

“Yes. For both of us. It seems we have mutual friends who have gotten themselves in a spot of trouble.”

“Oh gods what have Geralt and Jaskier done now?” you asked. She smiled fondly at the exasperation in your voice, an emotion she knew very well.

“Fancy a trip to Kaer Morhen?” she asked.

“Kaer Morhen? I wouldn’t even know how to get there. Oh, but you would, of course… Why? What have they gotten into there that Geralt can’t get them out of?” you asked incredulously.

“It seems it has been taken by members of the Brotherhood,” she said. Your eyes darkened slightly. It was no secret that your relationship about the Brotherhood was… complicated at best.

“That’s not theirs to touch,” you said, anger clear in your voice.

“I know. But they’ve touched it. And now we have to get them out,” Yennefer said, “If you’re game.”

“Of course I’m game. I’m much better at rescuing people than I am at Gwent,” you replied, already rising.

“I hope so otherwise they’re doomed,” Yennefer said dryly, a smirk playing about her lips. You stuck your tongue out at her and she laughed, the pair of you slightly giddy as you sought out to do something that may not only be worthwhile and fun but also be excellent bonding time.

-----

Yennefer was able to portal the both of you to the outer reaches of Kaer Morhen and you were awestruck by the structure, imagining how it may have looked in its prime.

“They haven’t warded the grounds which is good,” she whispered to you.

“Alright, what’s our play?” you asked, crouching down by her as you both peered over a bush.

“I have an idea but I need you to trust me,” she said.

“Of course,” you replied instantly. She smiled and you smiled back until you felt a tether wrap around your wrists. “Um. Yennefer?”

“Trust me,” she emphasized.

-----

Geralt and Jaskier sat at the table, arms bound behind their backs. Geralt wondered if the message would get to Yennefer in time and if so, whether she would come. Things had been frosty the last time they spoke but he’d hoped she may still come through. Jaskier was angry and Geralt had to keep shooting him warning looks every time one of the wizards who held them hostage came to check on them which became more and more infrequent. Their arrogance would be their downfall, Geralt would see to that. Just as he’d had that thought the front door opened and both men and the two wizards there startled at the sound. Yennefer walked through the doors, pushed wide open through magic. A bit behind her she pulled you with her.

“Y/N?” Jaskier asked. Yennefer’s violet eyes were cold and steely as the wizards approached her.

“Yennefer of Vengerberg, what brings you here?” they asked.

“The witcher sent word for help and as everyone knows, Y/N is an anti-Brotherhood rebel with ties to the bard. It made sense that she would try and come help them. You’ve been sloppy and you are lucky that I was there to clean up your mess because it got out of hand,” she bit out the words and you saw a startled, abashed look come over their faces.

“You have ties to this witcher as well,” one of the men said, “How do we know you aren’t here to help them?”

She gave him a silent, haughty stare, allowing the minutes to tick by without a single word. Her silence was oppressive and biting and you felt a chill run through you, bewildered that this man was able to withstand the full force of her look though he finally backed down.

“Tell me what your plan is now,” she demanded, thrusting you roughly into a seat across from Jaskier who looked at you with eyes full of confusion and concern. You wanted to signal to him that all would be well but there was no way to do it without letting the plan away so you just glanced over to Geralt, hoping he understood what was happening. His face remained impassive but you saw how he watched Yennefer, not a glimmer of suspicion in his eyes.

“I don’t think that’s any of your-”

“No you don’t think, do you? That’s why I’m here,” she snapped. Her fist slapped on the table and her other hand made an unseen gesture. You felt your tether snap but you kept your hands still, not betraying that you were free.

“Come talk with us over here at least away from the hostages,” one of the wizards said, trying to make his voice sound firm though you could hear the pleading. She sighed heavily and turned to sweep her gaze coldly over the three of you, cocking her eyebrow at you in a way that could have read as smug but you understood as playful. She was having fun and you wanted nothing more than to smile back but instead you scowled.

“Fuck you,” you bit out. You saw her bite her cheek to keep back from laughing and she rose magnanimously and followed the wizards out of the room. As soon as she was out you cast a silencing spell around the perimeter.

“Stay quiet,” you hissed as you moved around to Geralt, untying him swiftly. “I’ve silenced the area but we need to still be cautious.”

“Oh thank the gods, Y/N, I was worried for a moment that you’d truly been captured,” Jaskier whispered to you as you broke him free. Geralt immediately bolted out of the room before you could call for him to come back and right on cue you heard the wizards’ voices grow closer. There was likely a more elegant, magical solution to this problem but you were trying to think on your feet and you pulled Jaskier down with you, rolling under the table just before the wizards walked into the room.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, don’t tell me you didn’t put a paralysis charm on them,” Yennefer snapped, her voice low and dangerous. You made a note to tell her that if being a mage didn’t work out she could give Jaskier a run for his money as a performer. You gestured to the bard to be silent and slowly made your way towards the end of the table, closer to the wizard who stood by it, looking around dumbfoundedly as they began to try and come up with excuses. You knew that it would ultimately be up to you to incapacitate them. If the Brotherhood was directly attacked by Yennefer she could be in danger but you, on the other hand, were a free agent. You were still cross with Geralt for running out but Yennefer, sensing where you were, ordered them to sit at the table.

“Now you are going to tell me exactly what about this ruin was so worthwhile that you’re willing to stake your careers and lives and certainly your professional reputations by angering and then losing a fucking witcher,” she ordered. Before they could speak you closed your eyes, pointing at each wizard, and focused. You didn’t usually try to incapacitate two targets at a time but what better time to try than in the middle of a dangerous hostage crisis involving all of your closest friends?

“Your aim is true and your will is strong,” Jaskier whispered into your ear like an incantation and you felt your resolve strengthen, though you would remind him later that “be quiet” meant “don’t talk – not even to give a pep talk.” Your connected with the weave and focused, clearing your mind of everything but the spell you cast, and you did not stop until you heard two bodies slump over onto the wooden table. Mere seconds later you heard Geralt run into the room. You rolled your eyes and when Jaskier pulled you to your feet you and Yennefer both gave the witcher pointed looks. He had the good sense to look slightly abashed as he re-sheathed the sword he had apparently gone to retrieve.

“Are they…?” Jaskier asked, pointing to the men’s limp bodies.

“No,” Yennefer answered for you, “Just a very well cast, powerful sleeping spell.”

You beamed at her praise and Jaskier nodded in understanding.

“Right,” he said, “Well, lovely to see you all, but I think I’m rather done visiting.”

“You’re welcome,” you said sarcastically.

“Ah of course, Y/N, thank you for being so swift and brilliant in your rescue. I am truly honored to know such a loyal and capable friend,” he said, raising your hand to his lips for a kiss. He looked over at Yennefer and she gave him a look that suggested if he even thought about touching her hand she’d decapitate him.

“You’re an excellent turncoat, Yennefer,” he said dryly. She smiled at him sarcastically but you saw a glimmer of mutual respect in the bickering pair’s eyes.

“Thank you,” Geralt said, eyes focused on Yennefer though he gave you a nod as well.

“Are you all good here or do we need to get them fully out of your hair?” you asked.

“Oh I think I have it from here,” Geralt said with a low growl.

“Do not kill them,” Yennefer ordered.

“Very well,” he muttered begrudgingly.

“Alright, well in that case, Yennefer and I have an evening to get back to. Jaskier, want to catch a portal with us? We can drop you somewhere,” you offered.

“Ah… no thank you. I will help Geralt and we will continue on our hunt together,” he said.

“Have fun!” you called, turning to face Yennefer and giving her a nod, signaling her to summon the portal.

“You too!” he called after you as you and Yennefer took hands and walked through. The rest of your night was spent over wine, laughing over the idiocy of men who thought every problem required as word and power hungry spellcasters who suffered from their own arrogance. Most of all it was spent rekindling your friendship with plans to continue on similar adventures in the future.  

#Anonymous #Platonic!Yennefer x Reader #Yennefer imagines #reader request #drabble

[when-they-write-stuff]

The thing is, Geralt hasn’t ever… done this before.

Of course, he’s seen it. He saw it a few weeks ago when he told a young mother that her little boy had been among the bodies in the Bruxa’s lair. He’d seen it when Jaskier sang one of his sadder love songs and one of the tavern drunks started reminiscing about his late wife. Geralt had seen it when he pulled a little girl from a house of burning flames and held her back as the screams inside faded to nothing.

Geralt had seen it done before. But he’d never done it himself.

It was strangely human.

Jaskier must have noticed there was something off because the fucking bard wouldn’t leave him alone. Geralt didn’t want to talk— he usually didn’t— but he really didn’t want to talk today. He wanted to drink a few mugs of beer, fuck the softest woman in the inn, and then go to sleep.

But Jaskier wouldn’t leave him alone. And maybe Geralt didn’t want those things after all.

The bard always knew when something was wrong with him.

“Geralt, you’ve been acting strange all day,” Jaskier said, following him up to their room. “And don’t even try to tell me everything’s okay. I know it’s not and I don’t appreciate you lying to me.”

“I’m fine,” Geralt muttered, shoving through the door. “Leave me alone.”

“I’m not leaving you alone like this,” Jaskier said. “Something is wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong,” Geralt said, throwing his bag and swords on the closest bed. “Fuck off, bard. I’m tired.”

“Well, maybe I am too.”

“Go sing some songs or fuck some women.”

“Well, I never,” Jaskier said, sounding offended. “Is that really all you think I do, witcher? Sing songs and fuck women? What about the men? And the time it takes to write songs in between singing them?”

“I don’t care,” Geralt grunted. “Go somewhere else and do it.”

Jaskier made another couple of offended noises. They were mainly squawks and gasps, and Geralt had heard them all before. Not recently, if he thought about it, but that’s because he’d started to… tolerate the bard. Or something. But Jaskier was making them again now. “You are being rude!”

“Is that a surprise.”

Jaskier didn’t answer. Geralt finished unbuckling his armor and chucked it to the floor, glaring over at the bard. To his surprise, Jaskier was watching him strangely.

“What.”

“Something’s wrong.”

“Yes, bard, you’ve said that already.”

“No,” Jaskier said, moving forward. “Something is wrong, Geralt. With you. Have you been hit with a spell? Has someone cursed you? Oh my goddess, are you dying?”

“I’m not dying,” Geralt growled. “I just want to be alone.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said softly. His eyes were too gentle— too kind.  “You don’t mean that.”

And suddenly, it was the mountaintop all over again. It was Jaskier's broken expression and the pain in his eyes as he shook his head, Geralt’s words of ‘if life could give me one blessing’ washing over him. It was ‘that’s not fair’ and Geralt couldn’t take it. Because he did mean it. Or at least, he wanted to.

“Jaskier, leave me the fuck alone!”

The bard visibly flinched back. Geralt wondered if he’d been thinking the same thing— about those words on the mountaintop. Something Geralt had never really apologized for but he thought about far too often. Jaskier stared for a moment longer before nodding, a pained smile twisting at his lips. “Should I leave the tavern, Geralt? Or just the room?”

Geralt growled and turned away. When Jaskier didn’t move, he threw a dark glance over his shoulder. “The room, bard.”

“Very well, then,” Jaskier said, picking up his lute. “I shall be nearby. Singing… or fucking, I suppose. Since you know me so well.”

Geralt looked away. He heard the sound of the door open and close.

And then he was left alone in the silence. It wouldn’t be the first time and Geralt supposed he should enjoy this. It’s what he demanded after all. The silence and the surrounding emptiness of the room, so heavy, it could crush him under its weight.

Geralt moved over to one of the beds and sunk down on the edge. He didn’t feel… good about it. Just empty.

“Fuck,” Geralt said, burying his face in his hands.

- -

Continued on ao3 or keep reading below!

- -

Jaskier knew something was wrong. He wasn’t an idiot.

Because yes, Geralt was often monosyllabic and hard to read, but Jaskier had gotten a handle on him over the years. Geralt’s eyebrows were very expressive when he wanted them to be and his grunts were a language of their own. Jaskier knew something was wrong.

But Geralt wouldn’t let him help.

Jaskier went downstairs determined to play for a bit— sing away his frustrations, perhaps— but his emotions ended up messing with his head and he was booed off stage after only two songs. Which might be fair, he supposed. Drunks didn’t want to hear sorrowful laments or requiems when they were trying to drink themselves to happiness. 

Jaskier thought about going back upstairs. But he didn’t think Geralt wanted to see him.

Jaskier didn’t understand why. Three days ago, his witcher had been fine. He’d slain a Kikimore and with the coin earned, they’d eaten well that night. Two days ago, he’d been a little grumpier than usual, but Jaskier had chalked that up to not enough sleep. Yesterday, Geralt had been quiet— but he was always quiet— and a little growly. Jaskier thought it was a monthly witcher thing. Perhaps they got their grunts and growls in a greater number on certain days.

But today was… different. 

Geralt had woken up quiet and distant, and he’d barely acknowledged Roach when she’d spent the entire day shoving her face into his neck and stamping her hooves nervously. They’d traveled all day and Jaskier had tried to play some music to cheer things up, but Geralt glared whenever Jaskier strummed a chord. And when they’d entered town, Geralt had let the stablehand take Roach. The stablehand. Geralt never let anyone touch his horse but himself and sometimes Jaskier. On a good day.

Something was wrong and it frustrated Jaskier because he didn’t know what. And he didn’t know how to find out what.

He was tempted to drink away his sorrows but by his second mug of beer, Jaskier just wasn’t feeling it. He ordered another plate of food and grabbed his lute when it arrived, taking the plate and starting toward the stairs. Geralt might be grumpy, but he had to eat. And they were sharing a room. The witcher couldn’t hide forever.

Jaskier didn’t know what he expected to walk into. But a fragile-looking Geralt sitting huddled in the corner with his face in his hands was not it.

“... Geralt?” Jaskier said, setting the plate on a side table. He noticed a half-drunk bottle of whiskey sitting on the floor next to the witcher— Jaskier didn’t even know when he’d gotten his hands on that. Carefully, he took a step forward. “Geralt, are you sure you’re not dying?”

Geralt looked up and Jaskier was shocked to see red rimming around his eyes. Jaskier had seen the witcher in a dozen states before; murderous when fighting. Amused when Jaskier managed to get through his shell of grunts and grumps. Even a little sad when they’d delivered Ciri to Yennifer and the witch had promised to teach her how to control her gifts. But he’d never seen the witcher like this.

 He’d never seen Geralt… crying.

Jaskier didn’t know what to do. He stood shock-still for a moment.

“What, bard,” Geralt said, voice a little raspy. His eyes were glazed over and Jaskier was surprised he wasn’t yelling. That’s the reaction he would have expected. But instead, Geralt just looked defeated. Like he hadn’t expected to be caught, but he was too tired to care.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said softly. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Fuck off.”

But Jaskier was determined not to leave this time. He crossed the room and sank down in front of Geralt, studying his face. Geralt looked… broken. His lips were pulled back in an irritated growl but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. His hair was frayed like he’d been running his hands through it and the circles around his eyes were both black and red at the same time.

Geralt looked at him silently. Jaskier sat down and swallowed nervously.

“Geralt, did something happen?”

Geralt only grunted and reached for the bottle. Jaskier caught his hand before he could grab it, though, and pulled it away; he was surprised when Geralt didn’t fight. The witcher’s hands trembled minutely underneath his touch. “Fuck off, bard.”

“Geralt, I know I’m missing something,” Jaskier said. “But I can’t help if you won’t tell me.”

“I don’t need help,” Geralt said. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Geralt, you’re…” crying. Jaskier didn’t know how to put that into words. But like Geralt knew what he was trying to say, he flinched. Jaskier’s heart twisted.

“I want to be alone.”

“I’m not leaving you alone,” Jaskier said. “So you might as well talk.”

“Bard—”

“Geralt, talk to me.”

Geralt glared at him. For a moment, Jaskier thought he was going to start yelling or get up and leave, but then the witcher looked away. Jaskier realized he was still holding his hand and started to let go when Geralt caught his sleeve. Trembling fingers curled into the blue material. 

Jaskier barely dared breathe.

“I don’t… know why,” Geralt said. “It hasn’t happened before.”

“What hasn’t happened before?”

Geralt glared at the floor. A tear slid down his cheek and Jaskier’s throat tightened. He moved a little closer. Carefully, as if he was trying not to startle a scared animal.

“Crying, Geralt?”

“I’m not crying,” Geralt snarled. “I don’t. Witchers don’t.”

Jaskier stared at him for a moment. Then he reached out and brushed the tear away, drawing back with a wetness on his thumb. Geralt glowered. 

“I’m not,” the witcher repeated. “It doesn’t happen.”

“Geralt, it does happen. To everyone.”

“Not to me!”

Jaskier drew back. There was a sudden wildness in Geralt’s expression and his eyes flashed. They were vibrant gold in the fading light and his teeth were bared in a snarl. Jaskier swallowed. “Then what’s causing it?”

“What.”

“What happened?” Jaskier said. “I’ve been at your side for the past four days, Geralt, have I missed something? Was there more to the Kikimore fight that you didn’t tell me about? Did—”

Geralt looked away. Jaskier wet his lips.

“Geralt, I’m your friend. Won’t you talk to me?”

“It… hurts.”

Jaskier searched him up and down, but there were no external signs of injury. Sure, Jaskier knew the Kikimore had gotten him across the back during their fight, but that wound had healed by now. Geralt’s lips twisted and visibly hunched into himself.

“It hurts.”

Jaskier looked at his witcher and, with a feeling like a pit in his stomach, he realized what hurt. Why now, why today, why he’d never seen it before, he didn’t know. But Jaskier thought he knew what hurt. 

“Oh, goddess,” Jaskier said quietly. “Geralt, why didn’t you tell me before? I would never— I would never leave you alone.”

Geralt didn’t look at him. Jaskier leaned forward and placed a gentle hand against his chest, splayed over where he could feel the steady beat of a human heart. No matter what the stories might say.

“My dear witcher,” Jaskier said. “Where does it hurt?”

Where did it hurt? Now wasn’t that the question? Geralt closed his eyes and melted into the touch and, realizing he might not get an answer, Jaskier moved to his side and leaned up against the witcher’s shoulder, turning to look at him. Geralt sighed and leaned closer, the faintest tremble in his breaths. 

Where did it hurt. Where did it not?

- - 

The thing is, Geralt hasn’t ever… done this before. None of it.

Of course, he’s seen it done in the past. He saw it the first time he killed a man; not a monster. One who left a woman beaten and bloodied, face stained with tears. He saw it when a father begged him for help killing a beast that had dragged his daughter away, something animalistic in his pleas. He saw in Jaskier’s eyes when Geralt had sent him away on the mountain top, the words ‘that’s not fair’ echoing over and over again in his mind.

Geralt had seen it done before, but he’d never done it himself. Not until now.

It was strangely human.

They sat in silence as Jaskier traced gentle fingers over the back of Geralt’s hand, arms wrapped around his shoulders. Geralt didn’t make any noise as he felt wetness escape his eyes and trickle down his cheeks. He didn’t make a sound as he stared at the floor, wondering how he’d ever become so human. 

Geralt thought it might be because of Jaskier. It was the little things at first; carrying an actual conversation, offering a smile whenever Jaskier was particularly witty. It was harder to pretend that things didn’t matter when Jaskier could see right through him and it was easier to play the part of human when Jaskier was around. So much so, Geralt sometimes wondered if he was playing a part anymore at all.

Jaskier was singing softly and his other hand traced through Geralt’s hair. Geralt felt like a child being comforted. He imagined this is what that would feel like, at least. He doesn’t remember enough of his old life to remember if he was ever comforted.

It was this day years ago that his first life ended and his other one began, Geralt knew. He didn’t know how he was so certain, but he felt it like a tug in his chest that sent him back so many years ago. It’d been coming for days now; the feeling like he was being pulled closer and closer to the edge of something he didn’t understand. Then he’d woken up this morning and known it was here. It— this— everything— was here. Geralt couldn’t fight his mind like he could fight monsters.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt murmured, the words slipping out. Jaskier’s ministrations paused for a moment and the bard clicked his tongue.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Geralt.”

That was a lie; they both knew it. But before Geralt could say another word, Jaskier’s grip tightened, and the words died in his throat. He had a lot to apologize for, but maybe tonight wasn’t the right time for it.

“I don’t want to be alone,” Geralt said instead. Jaskier’s touches trembled minutely.

“Never, dear witcher.”

“It hurts.”

“I know,” Jaskier whispered. “But I’m here.”

Because see, Geralt hasn’t ever… done this before. But he didn’t try to fight it now. And the surrender was less painful than he’d expected as he fell apart in Jaskier’s arms and the bard sang softly to put him back together. It was quietly loving.

It was strangely human.

- -

Support your overcaffinated (underpaid) student writer? Seriously, I’d adore you guys so much). https://ko-fi.com/rh27writer

#drabbles #when-she-writes-stuff #the witcher #idiots in love #hyperfixation? #more likely than you'd think #geraskier

[designatedloveinterest]

Do u have a masterpost tor the body swap thing it seems really cool and I wanna read it in order thank you 💚💚💚 (I’ve only come across what I think are the two most recent parts but I love it so far)

just for you, here’s all fucking 1759 words that I have now (that is not a whinge at you but I am too terrified to start posting chapters on Ao3 in case the muse leaves me)

Yennefer woke up because something was tickling her nose. She slept in the foetal position as she always did, undisguised by a sympathetic body to wrap around, shutting out the cold uncaring world. Having spent her formative years in a stable, she felt no urgent reason to engage with the tickling. Probably just a lonely harvestman, lost on its way to its web - but by the gods, she would certainly need to get up and piss soon.

~

Jaskier woke up because something was sticking into his ribcage. It was soft and pillowy, but definitely squished uncomfortably against him. He rolled over and found a different something squishing into a different part of his ribcage. His bladder was also starting to complain urgently. The cries that ensued from both parties on waking could be heard across Vengerburg. ~ Familiarity breeds contempt, and hatred is all too frequently a projection of the features in oneself that one despises the most. Therefore, it should come as no surprise that the unlucky recipients of new bodies as mentioned above performed almost identical rituals, in order: 1) poking at their new face, Yennefer scrubbing at her newfound stubble - and crow’s feet - in utter dismay,  Jaskier marveling at his resemblance to a baby’s bottom, and; 2) immediately returning to bed to experiment with their unfamiliar genitalia.

“You boring, boring little man. You talk a big game of entendres and seduction, but you don’t own so much as an egg,” muttered Yennefer, rifling through Jaskier’s things and hoping he owned the room, or at least was paid up. Across town in Yennefer’s apartment, Jaskier was opening jars and bottles and sniffing them, wondering if any of them were safe for personal use.

~ ARGENTUM IBISCUS DI CERIKAN “Sorted!” gloated Jaskier, spotting his very favourite beauty cream in its distinct rifled coffret. Lightly scented with a silky feel, Argentum Ibiscus di Cerikan was safe for delicate body parts, such as, ahem, eyes. Out of sheer habit he dabbed a tiny amount in the corner of each eye then, clutching the bottle, positioned himself in front of Yen’s full length mirror, legs splayed for a perfect combination of watcher and watched.

~

Yen grinned smugly at finding a near-finished bottle of her best-selling beauty potion nestled in Jaskier’s smallclothes like a dirty secret. Whilst the merchants proclaimed its rejuvenation properties, the unspoken benefit was the unique but painless tingling sensation it offered - a benefit the bard was clearly familiar with. She was quite sure he would forgive her for smearing it over three or four of her fingers and applying it deeply.

~

Jaskier collapsed to the ground, gurgling incoherently. “Ba” was all he could manage. “Ba. Ba.” He stared at a loop of silk edging the extremely fine carpet he lay on, hands clutched between his legs, heart pounding like a thunderstorm. How did women not just fucking die from this? Very suddenly, Jaskier understood why women who failed to finish before he did beat and kicked him so savagely.

~

Poor Yen had had to make do with a lousy candle, nowhere near enough width for the beastly pounding she knew the bard could easily withstand. She was also disappointed to find that luxurious living and what felt like a hereditary spinal condition prevented her from being able to get her mouth quite down to her surprisingly generous cock. Still, discovering that the bard had extraordinarily sensitive nipples gave her plenty to work with.

~

He supposed he should leave. No doubt Yennefer would be VERY angry when she woke up in his less than salubrious inn room, and assuming this situation wasn’t entirely her doing, she would be roaring back towards her own home ready to eviscerate him and his newfound appreciation for the clitoris. Not that he hadn’t appreciated it before, but now he REALLY appreciated it. At least six times, just this morning. But her sheets were so fine, and her bed so soft, and the smell of not only lilacs and gooseberries but also roses, freesias, jasmine, frying eggs, donuts, and even horseshit coming in through the high window was wrapping him in a sensuous haze, and he decided that just a few more minutes of sleep would be fi…..

~

Yen, however, was very keen to find out which whoreson had stuck her in this ridiculous furbag’s body, even if it was a rather fun body to play with, and so after a relatively muted three orgasms and an efficient nap she attempted to get dressed. Yen was no stranger to suffering for beauty, and even respected the bard’s commitment, but… what the hell was going on with these shoes? These PANTS?? Eventually she managed to cobble together an outfit from the least ridiculous items in Jaskier’s wardrobe - which for a travelling bard was entirely too large - and arrange her new bits in a less uncomfortable manner. Her first port of call would, indeed, be her own home… 

~

All right, perhaps that was more than a few minutes of sleep. Jaskier grinned smugly to hear the elegant and proud Yennefer’s stomach gurgling like a summer brook. Well, the only decent thing to do would be to feed her! Jaskier felt very, very sure that Yennefer would be so grateful when she found out he’d maintained her refined diet. He fell out of bed and treated himself to a leisurely hour or so of trying on clothes, occasionally yelling at his stomach to shut up and make way for beauty, and settled on a simple all-black ensemble that he felt really emphasised both tits and arse. Patting himself on the bottom for his good taste, he headed out for breakfast. Lunch. Lekfast. Whatever.

~

"What're YEE staring at, cont?" Yennefer, who had barely registered the thug's existence, continued as she normally would - eyes straight ahead, nose not at all in the air but somehow looking as if it was. “Hey! Don’t fuckin’ ignore me you puffed-up prick! A’ll ‘ave ye!” Puffed-up pri—? Oh, of course. Yen had somehow managed to get comfortable in this weird huge bear of a body, and none of her womanly wiles would get her out of this – appeal to his mates, cutting but witty remark, setting on fire as a last resort. She made a cautious gesture in the hope of generating some energy, and of course just looked camp. She hoped this body was any good in a fight.

~

Normally, Jaskier had to muster all the charm he had abundantly at hand to persuade Dragan Smilovic to open The Iron Mountain before noon. Instead, he was slightly miffed to discover a beaming Dragan throwing the doors open to welcome "Lady Yennefer! A honour to my house. The usual?" Curiosity overriding his irritation, he smiled as smugly as he imagined Yen to be and murmured "Of course, Dragan." He swished into the pub and slid into a booth, making sure to really stick his arse out as he did so.

~

This body was not that great in a fight, to be honest, but thankfully, neither was Mr. Sensitivity and after some unpleasant blows to the face Yennefer channelled her first-year Aretuza energy, grabbed her assailant's ears and headbutted him right in the nose. His face exploded with blood and snot and his mates roared, advancing on her for revenge. Yennefer took the win and, using her long muscular legs, ran like all Jaskier's fiancee's were after her.

~

"What... is this, Dragan?" Jaskier had no idea how his face looked, but he felt like it probably resembled this sad assembly of rabbit food masquerading as a meal. The dwarf rattled off a word salad that involved far too little "pork" or "venison" and far too much "emulsion" and "jus" and for fuck's sake "julienne". "Are you trying to kill me? I'll waste away from this." Dragan flinched slightly. "The last time I brought you the house special you threatened to set me on fire." Of course she did. Still, of all the things Dragan could suspect of the sorceress, being occupied by her best frenemy's mind was unlikely to be the first, so Jaskier declined to simply reverse the threat. "Dragan," he reassured the dwarf, "I've given it some thought and I believe that I should be liberated from the tyranny of the 21 inch waist. A hardworking mage requires adequate carbohydrates to maintain one's powers, and as a result, I will require a tankard of the finest Rivian Kriek and one each of your freshest pies. No cats, Dragan, I'll notice." Dragan bowed slightly. "Very good, ma'am," and headed for the kitchen.

~

Yennefer was pleasantly surprised by how well the furbag's lungs were taking all this running. For a man who clearly appreciated carbohydrates in all forms, Jaskier was much fitter than she'd have expected. Even so, she very slightly wished his inn was located somewhat less downhill from her apartment. The thugs had, fortunately, been either too cowardly to follow her into the more upmarket part of town, or perhaps had been intercepted by guards while she sprinted through the textile markets. A few merchants had tried to wave her (realistically, him) down and she huffed "not... today... thanks" and kept sprinting. If she made it home fast enough, he might not have stolen everything not nailed down.

~

Jaskier was disgusted, absolutely disgusted with the lack of endurance this body had for fine carbohydrates. Offered the finest sauerkraut, sausages, pies and pierogies, beautiful homebaked dwarven bread smeared with the finest goat's cheese, not to mention the ales, beers and stouts he KNEW Yennefer loved - why, he was practically buying her a gift! even if it was with her own money - it managed to digest half of a pie and a herring in batter and collapsed like a schoolboy in the third round of Gwent. He unlaced the ribbons at his tiny waist and lay down in the booth. "Why am I dying, Dragan? I haven't eaten in 24 hours. I should be ready to tip an entire banquet table down my waiting gullet. I want a refund." Dragan prickled. "Ma'am, I provided specifically your every request. I - " Jaskier waved dismissively. "I'm joking, Dragan, keep your pants on. Oh gods - " clutching at his spasming stomach - "I want a refund on this miserable, useless body. Except for the boobs. They're quite good. Ooooof." The dwarf clutched his notepad. "Errr... coffee?"

#yennefer #jaskier #body swap fic #I think I'm starting to form an actual plot #which is good because I hate pantsing

[jaskierswolf]

The Witcher, The Bard and Their Guardian Angel Pt.4/4

(Other parts on my AO3/Pinned Masterlist)

Luckily for everyone who was in attendance at the wedding of Mihangel’s sister, the mage had taken pity on Geralt after one song. He’d allowed Jaskier to take over, and the bard had all but yanked his lute from the witcher’s arms. Those who were there that night would never forget the sight of the famous White Wolf fumbling over the simple melody that his bard had taught him.

The feat became immortalised in ballads and poems and plays, none of which were written by the bard in question. Jaskier had hoped the entire affair would be forgotten but Little Eye, the mischievous she-devil had had other ideas.

After the wedding Geralt and Jaskier fled quickly to Cintra but Calanthe had not been pleased to see the witcher and his bard turn up at her gates. They’d been sent packing as soon as they’d arrived. However, Jaskier was a stubborn creature and had eventually weaselled his way back into the Queen’s good graces. He’d been introduced to the little lion cub of Cintra, Princess Cirilla, and had visited quite frequently until Nilfgaard’s invasion.

He’d kept Geralt informed of the girl’s progress as she grew into a feisty young teenager, and in turn Ciri had grown quite fond of her favourite bard who told her stories of the White Wolf and her Destiny.

After the fight to save the baby dragon on the mountain, Jaskier had begged Geralt go to Cintra with him to save Ciri. For once in their lives, Yennefer and Jaskier had agreed on this. Yennefer was still desperate for a child, and Geralt’s foolish ill-worded wish had bound the sorceress to them, and in turn Ciri.

Jaskier had since mused that maybe Destiny had intended them all to find each other. It was Jaskier that led Geralt to both Ciri and Yennefer. The girl that had lost her family and the women so desperate for a child of her own, bound together through Geralt.

Maybe Jaskier was just a romantic at heart and was charmed by the idea of his witcher finally having the family he so deserved.

They’d snuck the princess away from the banquet right under Nilfgaard’s noses and fled to Kaer Morhen. The news of Cintra’s fall had reached them whilst they were on the road, Ciri had not taken it well at all.

That had been a shock.

It seemed the young princess had inherited her mother’s gifts. Jaskier had been thrown back against a tree from the sheer force of the girl’s screams. He’d instantly blacked out and had come to with Ciri sobbing over him whilst Geralt tried to placate her.

He’d been too injured to walk or ride without help for a week. Geralt had practically carried him half way to Kaer Morhen, it had hurt like a bitch but he had enjoyed the time spent in his lover’s arms, and there was a small chance that he’d milked his injury for all that it was worth.

Now they were enjoying the safety of Geralt’s home, protected by the mountains and a small army of witchers, Geralt family.

He was curled up in Geralt’s lap, it was after all, his favourite seat in the keep. Not even the lavish arm chair in the library was as comfortable as his favourite witcher’s lap. Although the other witchers did give him a run for his money. Eskel was particularly cuddly, much to Geralt’s displeasure. It had taken Lambert longer to warm up to the idea of hugs and cuddles but eventually curiosity and jealous had gotten the better of the redhead and he welcomed Jaskier’s touch as much as the others.

They were all sat together in front of the large fire place, relaxing after a hard day’s work around the keep, and drinking. The witchers had White Gull, a spirit that Jaskier had tried once but vowed never to touch again. It contained hallucinogens that had been too much for his non-witcher brain. He’d stuck to ale after that. Ciri had water but grumbled that if she were allowed then she’d have no problem with White Gull.  

“How old did you say he was?” Vesemir murmured from across the room.

Jaskier’s eyes snapped up, he hadn’t realised the old witcher had been watching them. He’d been too busy enjoying the warmth of the fireplace and his lover’s embrace.

Geralt frowned and looked down at Jaskier.

He rolled his eyes. “I’m forty-two, Geralt.”

“No you’re not?” Geralt grunted.

Jaskier stuck his tongue between his lips and counted back in his head to be sure. He was born in twenty-two, it was now sixty-four….

That meant he was forty-two.

“No, yeah. I really am.” He insisted, pouting up and his witcher. “Why do you ask, Vesemir?”

The older witcher chuckled. “Have you looked in the mirror recently, bard?”

Lambert snorted. “He probably never stops.”

“The folly of a bard.” Eskel agreed.

Ciri rolled her eyes at the two witchers. “You’re just jealous.” She snapped.

The other two witchers grumbled and Jaskier laughed. “They are gorgeous, there’s nothing to be jealous of, young witcher girl.”

Ciri preened at the name, almost all traces of the princess she’d been before had melted away in the halls of Kaer Morhen. She’d been allowed to break-free from the mould of noble society and she’d thrived. Jaskier suspected the young girl shared his disdain for the world they’d been born into. He’d broken away at around the same age Ciri had.

He winked at her and then turned his attention back to Vesemir. “Why do you ask?”

“You’ve been travelling with Geralt for years now, I thought you’d look older. You don’t look a day over twenty-five.” Vesemir mused.

Jaskier grinned. “Oh ho ho!” He laughed. “That would prove my mother wrong! After all these years. I wonder if she’s still alive. Nah, probably not. I doubt she’d admit the truth anyway.”

Geralt huffed. “I don’t understand.”

Jaskier patted his cheek and snuggled back against the witcher’s chest. “Dear heart, don’t you remember what you said when we first met?”

Geralt growled and Jaskier felt the sound reverberate in the witcher’s chest. “Was this when I was half dead on the path? Or later when I was half dead in the tavern?”

Jaskier snorted. “Ok, you’ve made your point, my dear witcher, but my point!” He announced with a flourish, almost hitting Geralt in the face. “Is that you called me an elf!”

“I was delirious.” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier sighed. “There were rumours about my mother’s fidelity when she was pregnant with me, father forbade anyone from talking about it, but I’ve always wondered if my real father was an elf.” He explained to Vesemir who listened studiously. “It felt right to me and as I grew older more and more people commented that I didn’t look too dissimilar to the elves, then when Filavandrel gave me his lute… I couldn’t help but wonder if he knew.”

“But you’re human!” Geralt scoffed.

Jaskier shrugged and wrapped a lock of silver hair around his finger. “We’ll never know for sure.”

Geralt hummed and the conversation faded back to an easy silence. Lambert and Ciri’s bickering about swords and pirouettes were the only voices in the room. Jaskier hummed under his breath, a new ballad about the haunted halls of the old witcher schools that he hadn’t quite finalised yet. Geralt had one hand threaded through Jaskier’s hair and the rhythmic ministrations were making him tired. He knew that it relaxed his witcher too but he wasn’t ready to go to sleep yet.

He wanted to enjoy the company of Geralt’s family a little longer. He grumbled and nuzzled into Geralt’s chest before sliding down to the floor in front of their chair, sitting at Geralt’s feet. Geralt chuckled but let Jaskier go.

“Play for us, little lark!” Lambert grinned as white gull sloshed from his tankard.

Jaskier grinned mischievously up at Geralt and then whined pathetically. “Oh but I couldn’t possibly. My back is still sore. The lute is heavier than it looks, dear Lambert.”

Ciri met his gaze with her large emerald eyes, he could see she was panicking about causing him injury so gave her a wink. She smirked as she realised what he was up to.

“You know, I heard rumours, ballads about Geralt playing the lute at a wedding.” She feigned innocence as Geralt swore harshly.

The other witchers laughed. They’d all heard the ballads on their journeys but Jaskier hadn’t visited Kaer Morhen before and it wasn’t as if they kept a spare lute around the place.

“I’ve heard the stories too, cub.” Eskel grinned. “Come on, Geralt. Play us a song.”

“Fuck off.” Geralt growled.

Jaskier rolled his eyes. His poor White Wolf. Luckily for everyone involved, Jaskier had his witcher wrapped around his little finger.

Jaskier rested his chin on Geralt’s lap and gazed up at him through his eyelashes. He knew Geralt loved his eyes, it had been one of the first things the witcher had told him, when he was delirious from magic and potions.

“Please Geralt. For me?” He whispered softly and bit his lip for added effect.

Geralt stared back down at him, his eyes flickering to Jaskier’s lips, before growling. “Fine. Give me the damned lute.”

Jaskier took Geralt’s hands and brought them to his lips. He pressed a kiss to the witcher’s palms. “Thank you, darling.”

The other witchers whistled and Ciri groaned, calling them gross.

Jaskier didn’t care. He had his family. He had Geralt, the man he’d almost watched die right before his eyes. He’d mourned him before he could even get to know him and by some miracle they’d been given a second chance by Mihangel. Destiny had intervened and woven a tale more beautiful and more brilliant than anything he could ever write.

The bard and his witcher.

The witcher and his bard.

And their guardian angel.

Taglist: @alwenarin @slythnerd @davidtennan-t @flippinfricks @innocentcinnamonpun @dearest-queerest-nux @awitchersbard @genkitaco @justalittletomfoolery

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #kaer morhen #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #cirilla fiona elen riannon #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #the witcher the bard and their guardian angel #wolfie's witcher writing #elf jaskier

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

I loved the punk!au Jaskier and Sam fic! I’ve just thought of another idea. How about when Sam is a few years older and she gets her first crush on someone in another band and Daddy!Jaskier gets overprotective, which the reader finds very funny.

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Punk!Daddy!Jaskier x Punk!Preteen!SamWord Count: 1,683Rating: GTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock @magic-multicolored-miraclea/n: I’m so glad you guys are enjoying Sam! I made her 12 in this one and have expanded the Punk!AU to include a new character. Hope you guys enjoy!

“Hey gang, it’s Sam and Ciri back at you with another episode of As The World Burns, a weekly catchup on life, love and friendship during the End Times!”

Jaskier chuckled into his coffee as his daughter’s voice came belting out from the cracked studio door.

“Sam, you’ve got some exciting news today, why don’t you tell the people about it?” Ciri replied, sounding like an old timey announcer for a game show. Jaskier chuckled again and you shushed him.

“You’re going to mess up their take,” you chastised him.

“They’re a whole room away and I’m pretty sure it’s live streaming,” he whispered back.

“Well Ciri, it’s true. It’s finally happened. I’ve finally found the love of my life.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened and he stared into yours. Now you had to bite back your laughter as you watched your husband go pale at the news your daughter had already shared with you weeks before.

“Oooh,” Ciri replied, “Tell me more, tell me more!”

“His name is Nic Marigold. He’s in my class and we met one summer’s day in the lunchroom. We both reached for a gogurt and our hands touched…”

Ciri gasped and the two girls giggled while Jaskier paced the kitchen.

“Now, Sam, your name actually means marigold so would that make you…”

“Marigold Marigold!” the two recited in unison, their tiny minds blowing in sync while Jaskier glared at you as though this was your fault.

“It’s destiny!” you heard your daughter declare.

“It’s bollocks,” Jaskier grumbled.

“Hey,” you warned him, eyeing the room they were recording in.

“I don’t like the sound of this,” Jaskier insisted, his voice hushed but deeply distressed, “Who is this Nic kid? Why have we never heard of him before?”

“I’ve heard of him before,” you said, preening a little as you took another sip, pretending not to notice the look of utter betrayal on Jaskier’s face. Sam had always been more of a daddy’s girl but there were things she trusted you with, things she insisted a dad could never understand, and while you knew you could tell her that her father was always there for her and would listen to what she had to say, you enjoyed having these little parts of Sam to yourself.

“Why does that last name sound familiar,” Jaskier muttered under his breath, “What kind of a name is Marigold anyway?”

“Jaskier you literally named yourself after a buttercup,” you said.

“That’s different,” he argued.

“You named our daughter Marigold. In Polish. We aren’t even Polish.”

“You agreed to that name but funny how all of a sudden I named her that!”

The door swung open and Jaskier jumped back guiltily, trying to look calm and relaxed as Sam and Ciri poured out of the room laughing together.

“Hi Daddy!” she cried, running up to give him a big hug, followed by Ciri who did the same. Ciri had been Geralt and Yennefer’s first foster child and though the adoption paperwork was still being worked out, she’d been fully adopted into the family’s hearts for quite some time. Sam beamed up at Jaskier, a wide smile that showed off the neon orange braces she’d worn proudly for about a year now.

“How was the show?” he asked, giving the two girls a quick hug before they headed to their real target, the fridge.

“It was good!” Sam answered, pulling out a plastic picture of lemonade while Ciri searched your freezer for pizza rolls.

“Any interesting news today? Any hot takes?” Jaskier asked, causing you to choke on your coffee as Sam gave him a side eye.

“Nobody calls stuff a hot take anymore, dad,” she corrected him.

“Alright what’s the hot goss?” he asked, doubling down on his archaic slang and making his daughter and niece laugh more.

“Sam has a – ”

“New plan to cut down on greenhouse emissions,” Sam said, cutting off her cousin and shooting her a warning glare.

“Oh?”

“Ya! Edible coffee mugs,” she said.

“Made out of what?” you asked, clutching your porcelain mug a little more tightly. It was one Sam had decorated for her at band camp one year and it was one of your prized possessions along with every other thing Sam or Ciri had ever created.

“Not sure yet,” Sam admitted, “Maybe seaweed?”

“Who eats seaweed?” Ciri asked, wrinkling her nose in disgust as she popped some pizza rolls in the oven.

“Aunt Yennefer! She took me out for sushi once! Seaweed is actually really good,” Sam explained.

“What else is going on?” Jaskier asked. Sam put on a show of thinking hard about his question, turning her eyes one way then another, staring at the ceiling as though the answer would appear before shrugging her shoulders.

“That’s pretty much it,” she said and began to walk away. She paused and you knew what was coming, familiar with this classic walk away then pause for dramatic effect move she’d been pulling since she was five.

“Oh, and I have a boyfriend,” she said with a little shrug. Jaskier sputtered and you bit your lip to keep from laughing.

“Oh! You have a boyfriend! Care to tell us a bit more about that?” Jaskier asked, propping his hands on his hips. Sam turned around, a look of fake surprise on her face as though it was genuinely unexpected that he’d want to know more.

“Oh, well, he’s a guy, His name is Nic and he’s in my class,” she said.

“Do we know this Nic?” Jaskier asked, knowing full well that they didn’t.

“He just transferred recently,” she explained.

“Who are his parents?”

“His mom’s name is Triss, I dunno who is dad is. I didn’t ask for his family tree,” Sam said the last part mumbling a little under her breath.

“Well I’d like to meet him,” Jaskier said, plastering a smile on his face, “You should have him over.”

“Uh I mean maybe?”

“No I insist,” Jaskier said, “His mom can come too! In fact maybe the next time I pick you up from school you can point him out to me!”

“Uhh,” Sam looked to you for help and you stood up and walked over to your nearly unraveling husband.

“Hey babe, Sam’s 13th birthday is coming up soon, I’m sure we’ll meet him then,” you said, wrapping an arm around his waist soothingly.

“Yeah exactly! Ok well we’ve got homework thanks love you bye!” Sam didn’t look back again before running upstairs and as soon as Ciri pulled the pizza rolls from the microwave she ran after her, her long blond hair disappearing around the corner before you could remind her to get napkins. You felt Jaskier’s body still tense and he worried his lip between his teeth.

“Hey,” you said, turning him to face you, “Talk to me.”

“I just… I just didn’t her to start having crushes so soon,” he said.

“Hon she’s had crushes since she could recognize that other people existed. She’s your daughter after all,” you teased. He gave you an affronted look and you kissed him.

“Jaskier, Sam is a smart, strong girl. We’ve raised her well and she’s going to want to explore a bit. We’ve talked about some stuff and she knows if she has any more questions she can come to me,” you said.

“Why can’t she come to me?” he asked, pouting a little.

“Well probably because you were one moment away from interrogating our child for another child’s home address and it’s just a bit much for a couple that hasn’t even had its first kiss,” you said. Jaskier perked up a bit at this.

“They haven’t kissed?”

You shook your head no.

“She would tell me if they had, right?” he asked.

“She tells you everything. Just in her own time,” you reassured him. You planted another soft kiss on his lips and moved away to put the mug in the sink. He pulled you back in and kissed you in earnest and you sighed, your body responding to his touch the same now as it had the first time.

“You’re a really good mom,” he said, his sky blue eyes gazing into yours adoringly.

“You’re a really good dad,” you praised back.

“Oh gross.”

You turned to find Sam standing in the entrance holding a now empty cup, grimacing at the two of you entwined in each other’s arms.

“What’s the matter, Mitka?” Jaskier teased, “Aren’t you happy that your parents are still in love?”

“Oh yeah it’s great,” she said sarcastically, reaching into the fridge to refill her glass. Jaskier let you go and walked towards his daughter. She’d grown so much, looking more and more like him every day though some of you crept in the older she got, mostly in the facial expressions she made. The same crystal blue eyes that he’d looked into when he held her in his arms the first time looked up into his now.

“What’s up?” she asked, pulling Jaskier back to reality.

“Just… I’m really proud of the work you put into the show,” he said. She beamed and gave him a wide grin, so wide you worried she may accidentally break the bands on her braces.

“Thanks daddy,” she said, pulling him for a hug that he returned so tightly you knew it took her breath away a bit but she didn’t relent, squeezing him back just as hard as though it were a competition.

“Alright,” he said, pulling back and patting one of the buns she’d twisted her chestnut hair into, a trademark style since she was little. “Go have fun and tell Ciri to tell her dad that I said-”

“Oh no, she’s not getting in the middle of that again,” Sam said, shaking her head and moving back to the stairs, glass firmly in hand. Jaskier shook his head as he watched her walk off.

“That’s your kid alright,” you said.

“Yeah,” he mused aloud, blinking back tears as he heard the familiar strains of Aevryn and Valdo’s demo playing from her bedroom, “Yeah she really is.”

#Anonymous #Punk!Jaskier x Punk!Sam #Punk!AU #Vicious Mockery AU #Punk!Jaskier #Punk!Sam #Sam Pankratz