#that's why he now AGGRESSIVELY smells of jaskier

[ultralightpoe]

Spellbound - Geralt

Spellbound - Geralt

Authors Note: I’m back because I quit my job and have a better schedule at the new job 

Warnings: semi smut 

Word Count: 4012

Description: geralt fights his feelings until you get trapped in a spell 

brothel worker! reader x geralt 

Enjoy!

Geralt was going to tear whoever did this to you to pieces. He would gouge their eyes out and make them eat them. 

That was just one of the thoughts that rang through his mind as he cradled you in his arms, your nose bleeding onto his now naked torso, the shirt you had torn off of him a mere moment ago nearly in the fire. 

This was not supposed to be how this happened, this wasn’t supposed to happen at all. He had made himself stay away for this exact reason, everything he loved was destroyed. 

The witcher had always been against you joining the group. 

You had been a brothel worker when you came upon Jaskier six months ago, walking the streets with achy legs from a long shift, smelling of the salt water you had bathed in when you saw a group of men holding him up and beating on him. 

A yell had crossed your lips and without thinking you picked up a log near your feet, launching at the men and swinging anywhere you could to scare them off, hitting a couple of them harshly before they finally scampered away leaving you standing in the mud with a log and the poor fool laying bloody and beaten on the ground. 

You had brought him to your tiny rooms at the brothel, helped him clean up and soon enough he was asking you to join them. You hesitated for a moment, watching him use one of your rags to dot at the cuts along his face before shrugging. 

Anything is better than the life of a brothel worker, right?

Wrong. 

Brothels didn’t have the annoying attitude of Geralt the fucking Witcher. Okay well some did since Jaskier admitted to Geralt being a frequent guest of them, but you had never seen him and you wished you never met him either. 

He spent every waking moment snapping at you, or blatantly ignoring you when you were trying to ask questions. It was either you didn’t exist or everything you did was wrong, and you could never figure out why the way he treated you bothered you so fucking much. 

Men had done far worse to you in that brothel, but Geralt giving you the cold shoulder nearly brought you to tears? What?

Then again none of the men that came to the brothel were like Geralt at all. None of them had those melting golden eyes or the firm touch of a protector, none of them could turn a sword in their hands the way he does or make anyone feel at ease in his presence. 

Well……anyone but you. 

Maybe he knew you had feelings for him, maybe he hated your guts. Many reasons why he never wanted to talk to you filled your head and none of them were good. 

You spent your days obsessing over a man that barely glanced back at you, your horse in the back of the group with Jaskier always a force between you both. 

Geralt takes a moment to tie the corset of your dress so you weren’t exposed before pulling you into his arms and laying you on his bed, moving to grab a cloth from the basin in the corner of the inn room. 

When he returns to your side he takes a chance to slide the hair from your face, swiping the damp cloth along the blood trail your nose left in soft strokes as he watches you sleep. He would make sure you were breathing and comfortable before he went out and broke some limbs. 

It had been six months of that behavior, and it was truly beginning to wear you down. 

The days were spent either passive aggressively ignoring him back for scoffing at any mistake of yours he pointed out. Today was a passive aggressive silent game. 

He had woken you up by snapping in your face and the months of travel and anger were beginning to catch up so you had slapped his hand out of your face, watching a small amount of shock fill his face before his eyes narrowed in anger. 

“You overslept….again.” In the beginning you would have a snarky retort, something mocking his breath or face, but now you merely rolled your eyes and turned your back to him as you packed up your bedroll. He doesn’t seem to understand your silent game since he tries to piss you off once more. “We are going to be behind if you keep sleeping like this.”

It would be so easy to turn around and tell him to shove off, but then he would know he had that effect so you simply picked you belongings up, fixed your boots and walked to the horses where Jaskier sat atop his own. 

The bard gives you a knowing look as you mount your own horse after fixing everything onto it, legs swinging with a natural ease and a slight warmth on your thigh. When you look down you see Geralt's hand placed on it, and you realize he had helped you up. “Are you angry with me? Or have you lost your voice?”

“Just matching the treatment given to me.” You snark, a feeling of pride in your chest when you see him all but snarl. You kick the horse into gear after that, this time taking the lead as his hand slips from your thigh and he rushes to Roach. 

By the time he catches up he makes Roach walk alongside your horse, his face furious. “The treatment I gave you?”

You hum out, moving to speed up your horse but Geralt is too quick, within moments he has the reins of your horse in his hand, pulling on them until you are close enough for your thighs to touch. 

“Answer me.”

You hum again, your heartbeat rising and you wonder if he can hear it when his eyes cast down to your chest before looking back at you. 

“Humming is not an answer.”

You hum once more, moving to snatch the reins but his hand reaches out to grab your jaw. “I need to hear your voice.”

You slap his hand away once more and snatch the reins, giving him a glare before moving forward. 

“I don’t understand.” He grunted to Jaskier later that day, fixing his travel pack on roach as the bard leans against the same post the horses were tied to. You had gone to the market to grab some necessities and when Geralt demanded to go with you he had been met with another empty hum and Jaskier had told him to back down. 

“She’ll avoid attention if she isn’t traveling with a witcher, not to mention she knows how to bargain for cheaper prices when she isn’t flanked by your glare.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He growls, watching the bard smirk.

“The market workers like the attention she can give them-”

“We agreed she didn’t have to do any of that stuff if she traveled with us.”

“She does this willingly, and even so it’s not the same as in the brothel. She doesn’t have to offer up her-” A heavy growl slips from Geralt and Jaskier chooses not to finish his sentence, instead rolling his eyes and moving to his own horse. “I think you would be better off if you just told her you love her.”

“I do not-”

“Oh hush. I see you watch her sleep every morn, then I see you yell at her for waking up late because you forgot to wake her up.” He laughs. “And I see you hover whenever she mounts and dismounts Lugo. Not to mention the way you give her the bigger rations of whatever we eat and-”

“Fuck off.” 

Jaskier takes the win and turns away from the witcher, fiddling with the lute while Geralt tries to make himself look busy. 

After a moment of silence the witcher stands quickly. “Why won’t she speak to me?”

A laugh escapes the bard once more. “Because you ignore her any chance you get?”

“I do not.” 

“Well I know that. But she doesn’t, because you never even bother talking to her. You’d rather silently pine like a lost-” He trails off when he sees you emerge from the hills, sacks of produce in your arms with a small smile on your face. “Fresh hells.”

“The men were ready to lose their money today boys!”

“Did they bother you?” Geralt growls and you give him a glare back before shoving the sack of apples into his chest. 

Once he is sure you are breathing properly he covers you with the blanket, before moving to grab his sword, careful not to wake you up. 

You spend the rest of the day simply ignoring them both, too busy being proud of the way you scammed the merchants and all you had to do was lift your skirt to your knee. 

Geralt kept Roach near your own horse, and Jaskier took the back for once, all of you traveling in silence until Jaskier begins to whine. 

“It has been forever since we slept indoors.”

Silence follows for a moment before Geralt turns to glare at him. “And Y/n just saved us so much coin we can each get a room in the next town.”

“This is true! I did!” You laugh, turning to look at Jaskiers mopey face. 

“Fuck.” Geralt grunts, turning back to the road so he doesn’t have to look at either of you again. 

Jaskier is still sitting in the hall with his lute, strumming softly in the drunken daze as the crowd they had gathered earlier has finally died down. 

“Bard.” Geralt grunts, trying to get his attention. But Jaskier doesn’t move, simply keeps his eyes closed as he plays a chord. So Geralt kicks his chin. 

The bard before him jumps up with a shout before his eyes land on the white haired witcher before him. 

“I got us all rooms and I found you in a hallway.” 

“I was merely resting for a moment.” He sighs, reaching down to grab the ale mug filled with coins he earned from his performance. “It’s hard to be a -”

The silver amulet is shoved in his face before he can finish the sentence, eyes widening as Geralt grunts. “Who gave this to Y/n?”

“The charming blonde who had been dancing with her all night while you sat in the back and glared.”

“Where did he disappear to?”

“You mean after you snatched her?”

By the time the three of you made it to the next town your ass was worn from the saddle and you were a bit wobbly when you got down, Geralt standing behind you and you scoffed as you looked at him. “Waiting for me to fall so you can lecture me?”

He opens his mouth to respond and you find yourself excited that he is actually about to answer back before he huffs and glares before disappearing. And once more you are left feeling like nothing. 

You watch as he disappears into the tavern before turning to Jaskier. “I asked around at the market…”

“About?”

“About work.”

“Ah!” He smiles, moving to lean on you. “And what did you find for our dear witcher to do?”

“Not for him actually.” Your throat tightens as you struggle to find the words. Jaskier doesn’t seem to catch on to your solemn mood. 

“Oh? A performance for me? I’m sure I can prepare a lullaby or two-”

“For me.” You interrupt, pulling yourself away from him and crossing your arms uncomfortably as he stares at you. 

“For…..you?” You nod at his question, trying to gain some power here. “What do you-”

“Madame Horchels brothel is in this town, she is famous within word and if I met with her then I am sure I would be set up with a room and a hot meal a day-”

“Why in fucks sake would you ever want to go back to that?”

Tears were welling in your eyes as he stared at you and you struggled to find words. “I am just……tired of feeling useless and pathetic……”

“So you would go back to whoring?”

“You don’t have to act so disgusted!” You snap, shame filling you at his reaction. “I never saw you complaining about my past when I was flirting with guards or-”

“I am sorry, I never meant to judge. I just think…..” He sighs out and rubs his face aggressively before moving to pull you into a hug. “It’s been a cold couple days. How about we go in and get a drink, a good night's rest in actual beds before we make decisions? Yeah?”

A hooded figure passes you both to get into the tavern and you simply shrug. “I think my mind is made up Jask.”

“I think it would be a mistake and we would miss you terribly……..okay I would miss you terribly.”

“Why would you miss her?” Geralt snaps out from a couple steps away, eyes squinted in an angry manner. He had originally come to snap at you both to watch your surroundings but had caught the tail end of the conversation instead. 

“Y/n here was just rushing a decision. But we aren’t gonna talk about that, right now a round of ale on me.”

“You spent all your coin two towns ago on new strings for your lute.” Geralt reminds, eyes never leaving your figure. 

“Then I shall make more coin!” He cheers, pulling you into the tavern and snatching the room keys from Geralt. 

Things escalated from there, and any time Geralt asked about their conversation they changed the subject and he was beginning to lose his mind. Were you okay? Why would Jaskier miss you? Why was he so worried about this? He watched you drink all night, ignoring him, and he watched as many of the men in the tavern asked you for a dance. He knew none of the men were a threat, and you knew how to handle them, even if it got out of control he could have his sword to their throat with a mere minute. So he didn’t really pay attention to your dance partners. 

 But one in particular caught his attention, the hooded figure that had walked too close to you both earlier had emerged from his corner and asked for a dance, and something in Geralt screamed for him to go and get you away. But he didn’t, instead he sat back and drank, allowing you room to have fun. 

The blonde stranger whirled you around and spun you and bought you drink after drink. Your eyes glazed over and your smile was wide enough to split your face, a jealous feeling crept into Geralts chest and the urge to punch the stranger grew and grew as Jaskier played song after song. 

“Can I get you another drink?” 

“Hmm?” Geralts attention snaps from your figure to the tavern wench beside him, giving him a small smile. 

“Another ale?”

“I think I am fine. Thank you-” She doesn’t wait, walking away since she didn’t get more coin and when Geralt sneaks his attention back to you he can’t help but slam his empty mug down. 

The stranger had you turn around with you lifting your hair as he placed an amulet on your neck, kissing your shoulder and before Geralt could stop himself he lunged to grab you. 

One moment you are giggling about the gorgeous, the next you are thrown over Geralts shoulder as he shoves the gorgeous fae away from you, hauling you up the stairs of the inn with no care. 

“Put me down!” You shout, slamming your hand into his back as he walks through the first hall then up the next flight of stairs. 

“You’ve had too much to drink.” 

“And you care why?”

“Because that man would take advantage.’ He growls. 

“Well he gave me a necklace, that’s how the business works.” You giggle, reaching up to touch the necklace but the world whirls once more as Geralt places your feet on the ground and pushes you into the wall. His hand stopped your head from hitting the wood but the rest of you was pressed between him and the wall. 

“Don’t do that.” 

“Do what?” You ask breathlessly, watching his face with adoration. Had he always been so…..

“Joke about that. You need something then I will get it for you.” 

“What if I want the prettiest jewels in the kingdom?”

“Then I kill more beasts.” He was dead serious and the hazy feeling was taking over so before you know it you find yourself leaning in to whisper “What is I want an orgasm?”

A red tint crosses his neck but his face remains serious as he leans his head against yours to whisper. “Then you ask me.”

And for a moment you can’t breathe, you find yourself aching, every part of you wanting to touch him suddenly. But before you can he whispers once more. “But not tonight. My first time with you will be sober.” 

Then the wood behind you disappears and you realize he had pressed you against the door to your room. Landing in a ball on the floor he sends a small smile before slamming the door and the heat that had filled you dims for a moment. 

But just for a moment. 

You pull yourself up from the floor, moving to the bed before the aching returns and your body heats up twice as bad. Everything begins going hazy as a sweat covers you and then you lose it. 

“I need to go.” Geralt snaps, shoving Jaksier to the direction of the stairs. “You go watch her. Don’t let her make any more mistakes.”

“Where are you- Geralt? What happened?! Hello?!” Jaskier calls after the witcher, watching him storm through the tavern before slamming the doors on his way out. With a deep sigh the bard grabs his jacket and mug of coins before making his way to find the rooms. 

It had been an hour since he left you in your room and Geralt could not relax himself. Jaskier had just stopped singing and Geralt was still pacing the inn room, back and forth back and forth. 

The aching hard on he had refused to go away, the image of your dazed eyes all he could think about, and the way you whispered to him had him so close to snapping all together. But he didn’t, and you were safe in your room with him just two doors down. But the floorboards creaking by his door caught his attention, and he reached for the sword as the doorknob jiggled. 

Stepping towards it slowly as it creaks open only to reveal you, standing in the hall in nothing but your dress slip and a flushed face. “Geralt-” You moan out and his knees nearly buckle when you rush in and slam the door. 

The sword falls from his hands so he can catch you when you come hurdling to him, pulling him in for a harsh kiss. Your lips melt into his and you moan in victory when he kisses back, pressing yourself against him as your hands fly into his hair. 

His own hands find purchase on you hips, and before he can tell himself not to he moves them to start a grinding motion the both of your would like. It stays like this for a moment until you bite his lip on a particularly aggressive moan, pulling back to catch a breath as you press your hips into his harder than before. 

For a second he admires you, the way your face scrunches up in pleasure and the moans that he is pulling from your lips, letting out a heavy ‘FUCK’ when you circle your hips. 

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease.” You gasp out, hands dragging from his hair to his chest before you start tearing the clasps on his shirt, scratching it a bit in your struggle to get it off. “Ineedyou, it hurtssobad-” 

This makes him hesitate, pulling back a little just as you fling his shirt, your hands flying to undo the slip and he finally catches your eyes. Only they weren’t the eyes he had fallen in love with, instead they were a deep red. 

“Y/n?” He asks, heartbeat racing as he snatches your wrists in one hand, the other coming to grab you chin. “Look at me.”

“Geralt, please. It hurts.” You whine and the gem in the amulet glows the same red as your eyes. 

Dread fills him as he reaches down to tear it off you, the silver cutting you a bit before he chucks it across the room. 

He couldn’t breathe properly as he watched you come down from the spell, anger filling him. You hadn’t meant any of this, this had been a spell. 

He was a fucking fool. 

“Geralt?” You breathe out, taking in the room before looking at his shirtless torso and the small scratches you had made to get the shirt off. “What-”

And just like that you were gone. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your nose started bleeding as you passed out, he barely caught you before you hit the floor. “Fuck.”

You awake mid day- the sun blaring in through the blinds and you do your best to cover your eyes.  “Oh make it stop-”

“There are no covers for the window.” Jaskier sighs from where he is laying on the floor. “I tried stealing the blanket from you and you hissed at me.”

“Serves you right….” You mumble, taking in the room as you realize that last night hadn’t been a dream after all and a deep embarrassment fills you. 

“H-have…..have you seen Geralt?” You ask, leaning over the bed to look at him.

“He left around sunrise in a pissy mood.”

“Did he… did he say anything?” You felt like an utter fool, and you were doing your best not to be sick. 

“Said to watch you so you didn’t make any more mistakes.”  Jaskier shrugs before yawning. 

“He said that? He said mistake?” Your voice cracks as you wrap the blanket tighter around yourself. 

“He did. I assumed he caught you with the blonde gu- Y/n? What’s the matter?”

“I…… I have to go.” You rush out, jumping over him to leave the room. 

- - - - -

Geralt finds Jaskier waiting at the horses when he rides up, tired and cranky, and he gets even crankier when he sees that your horse is empty of all your travel bags. 

“Is she not awake? Do we need to get a healer?” He rushes out, launching from roach to get to the tavern only for Jaskier to hold the lute in front of him. 

“She woke up several hours ago, it’s nearly dusk.” 

“Then where is she?”

“Gone.”

“Gone?” His heart is racing too fast and he’s hoping that Jaskier starts laughing soon and this is all a joke. 

“I told her you said to make sure she didn’t make any more mistakes and she got really sad and started crying as she packed up.” He explains. “She went to this brothel and they wouldn’t let me in but they let her in and she came out to say bye soon after that.”

“She went to a brothel?!” He snaps, grabbing the collar of Jaskiers dress coat. 

“Don’t blame me! This is your doing!”

“How. So.”

“You were the one that made her feel worthless! Never looking at her and always in her business about her mistakes-”

“Her mistakes get her hurt, or worse, killed!”

“Then tell her that! Rather than yell at her all the time with no explanation-”

“Where is the brothel?”

“It’s no use.”

“Where. Is. The. Brot-”

“She made a deal! The madame owns her!”

“Not on my fucking watch.” Geralt snaps, mounting the roach in one fluent move before nodding to Jaskier. “Hurry.”

He had to get you. 

Part Two

#geralt x reader #geralt smut #geralt imagine #geralt angst #witcher #witcher smut #geralt of rivia #witcher angst #witcher imagine #witcher fanfiction #the witcher imagine #the witcher angst #the witcher smut #the witcher c reader #witcher geralt #henry cavill #Geralt Geralt Geralt #witcher season 3 #rory the frenchie

[dapandapod]

Domesticity

Hi there! Last one for today, I promies! Because this is the final one of my fluff prompts, this one from card 4, for @thepassifloradiscord team bingo! The prompt this time was Domesticity, which I hope I managed.... Please enjoy some soft boys!

On Ao3 here

Say what you want about the friendship between the witcher and his bard. They have had their ups and downs (interestingly enough their downs have been on ups, think mountains) but so has everyone. 

So what if Jaskier’s best friend replacement was a few mice. So what if Geralt only can process one emotion at the time. They are working on it.

Point is, they have spent a lot of time together, on the road and in small spaces. 

They know how to be around each other. They have habits and patterns and annoying quirks that they probably should talk about for the sake of peace have chosen to deal with in passive aggressive silence.

Nobody’s perfect.

Even worse now, as they are camping out in a small cabin in the woods for the sake of a contract, and for a really huge fucking downpour that just doesn’t let up. The cabin is made of two rooms, the main room with a smaller cooking corner and a bedroom. Of course there is only one bed, and before they came to terms with that this weather is going to keep them inside for a while, they took turns on the floor. 

It wasn’t too bad to begin with, meaning, it wasn’t too bad when Geralt had the floor and Jaskier slept on the bed, but as soon as that changed, Jaskier thought better of it.

“Maybe we should share.” He had proposed, and that was that. It only took them three hours to figure out how to share without making it awkward. 

Meaning, it took them three hours to get used to the thought of being incredibly awkward and either deal with the other’s stinky feet in their face, or their butts touching. 

Or spooning.

They are on day four on their camping out, and their first shared night in bed. Jaskier wakes up warm and comfortable, way better than the stupid floor. His eyes remain closed, and he feels snug and warm, warmer than he has been in a while. It’s nice.

Doesn’t smell that nice though, he thinks, as he dives deeper under the covers, and realizes his nose is touching something. Someone. 

Someone who stinks of sweat and horse and onion, who’s bare skin is touching his nose, judging by the texture also a certain amount of chest hair.

Fuck.

That also explains the weight thrown over his side, and why his right arm is asleep. Geralt and Jaskier have snuggled together during the night, and Jaskier now is awake to deal with the consequences. Remember that One-Emotion-At-The-Time thing? Yeah.

It seems like the witcher isn’t awake yet though, judging by how Jaskier is still allowed close. It is warm and comfortable, and very hard to do extract himself like he probably should. 

The rain is still beating against the roof, and even if the blanket is a little scratchy it is still very nice and warm. His eyelids are heavy, and he only allows himself another minute or two or possibly three until he finally sighs and wriggles free.

No matter how he longs to stay, it will be easier for them both. Maybe one day, he muses, might he be allowed to stay. One day.

Carefully he stands up from the bed, tucking the blanket closer around Geralt, who immediately grabs one of the pillows to hold. It is terribly cute, and Jaskier hides his smile behind his hand as he stands up and starts looking for his socks. 

They can't have gotten far.

It is still early, the light slightly gray still through the small windows along the cabins far wall. The rooms are still neat and tidy, the years of being on the road together making them put their things in order for the next day, despite Jaskier's best effort. 

Had Jaskier been on his lonesome, it would absolutely have been more than a sock lost in corners, piles on chairs, stacks on the floor. You know. Poet style.

Problem with the cabin being neat, however, is that now Jaskier doesn't have anything to do. He obviously can't go outside, or well, he can, but he won't, let Geralt take care of his horse, wherever she is, but Jaskier won't go outside. He got nothing to clean, it is still just a little too dark to sketch or write, and if he picks up his lute, Geralt will wake up.

It might be too early for creation, yes, but is it too early for food? Never.

There is not much in the cabin, barely plates for two and a fork each, and their own rations are thinning out, but there is enough for it to give him something to chew on. The fire has burned low, but it doesn't take much to get it going again and putting a little pot of water on top of it. 

There is this new herbal blend that Jaskier has meant to try that he found in Novigrad but didn't have the time to enjoy yet.

He hums under his breath as he puts the herbs in the now boiling water, a little melody he has been working on that just can’t seem to leave him. It smells heavenly, and when he turns to find cups or .. bowls or anything to drink it from, he startles when he finds Geralt leaning in the doorway, looking at him.

His arms are crossed over his bare chest, hair untied and unruly, side of his head leaning against the wall. Geralt is smiling at him. Softly.

It leaves Jaskier a little tongue tied for a moment. Geralt doesn't just... look at him like that. At Roach, absolutely, and even Ciri sometimes, when she has done something exceptionally cute. But him?

"Ah... Good morning?" Jaskier says, suddenly realizing he is only wearing one sock and Geralt's stolen tunic.

"Morning." Geralt agrees, not moving nor changing his expression.

"Hope I didn't wake you up." Jaskier asks self-consciously, not sure if he wants Geralt to know how they ended up cuddling or not.

"It's alright." Geralt says, not in the least confirming or denying the knowledge of gentle embraces. Well then. "You look very at home." he remarks.

"I'm making tea. It is our temporary home. It is only logical." Jaskier reasons, feeling his face heat up. As if it is something to be embarrassed about, but look, the way Geralt is looking at him right now is doing things to his heart, ok?

"I don't see the logic with just one sock, though." Geralt says, straightening and joining Jaskier in the little cooking corner, picking up the cups that Jaskier failed to find.

"Me neither, but tell that to my other sock. It seems to have become sentient and ran off to a better life." Jaskier sniffs, adding forks and a spoon the the little breakfast ensamble on the table, and hands Geralt the small towel they use when the pot is hot.

As soon as the tea is poured they settle down to eat. The table is so small their knees bump together, but it doesn't matter much. Or shouldn't, but Jaskier is feeling many, many things right now, so there is that.

He takes his escape in rambling about how the rain is restricting him, how Geralt actually go out in the rain with a soap, now that he thinks about it, because he needs a bath, where Roach could possibly be right now, the wonders of a warm drink, and finally the loss of his sock.

Geralt just smiles at him in that fond way, it seems like that is the one emotion he can process right now, and it keeps Jaskier's ramble going.

When they finish eating, Geralt does indeed go out to find Roach to check on her, and Jaskier is left to his own devices again. It is finally enough light now to pick up the book he has been reading, and he throws himself back into bed to read.

The witcher comes back some time later, Jaskier doesn't look up, but he can hear Geralt undress again and put his clothes in front of the fire to dry. He doesn't look up when he hears the steps approaching, but he gasps loudly when Geralt joins him in the bed, using his back as a pillow.

"Your hair is ice cold!!" Jaskier complains, but does nothing to dislodge him.

"Hmm." is Geralt's only reply, his eyes closed and therefore immune to Jaskier's glaring. The bard turns a page with a huff and starts reading it aloud. It is a thing they do, and he knows Geralt already read this book anyway.

They almost get through a chapter before Jaskier's eyelids get heavy. Next he knows, he has turned on his side and Geralt has somehow made his way up in front of him and they are holding each other again.

It is endearing, how Geralt's arms are around him again. How safe Jaskier feels listening to those ridiculous snores of his, the snuffle-whistle combination that Geralt denies to his dying breath.

Maybe the rain isn't so bad after all. Maybe they could do this again sometime, Jaskier thinks, noting that Geralt seems indeed to have brought the soap out into the rain, and that he only smells warm now. Safe. Home.

Geralt shifts in his sleep, and then dry lips press against Jaskier's forehead. Jaskier closes his eyes, holding every emotion that is trying to leap out so tight. He sucks in a quiet breath and holds it, everything focused on those lips pressed against him.

Then Geralt's hand moves, flattening against his back, pulling him closer.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" Geralt murmurs.

Say what you want about the friendship between the witcher and his bard. They are not perfect. They have their ups and downs. 

But in a cabin, while hiding from the pouring rain, they are working on it. One sleepy hug at the time.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #fluff #domesticity #dont tell anyone but i am just copypasting that word around #i will never be able to spell that #the witcher #hopeful ending #they love each other tho #it is just slow going #dapanda writes #rain #cuddling #bed sharing #sharing clothes #just friends all around #oh and some tea

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

shelter me from winter’s bite

Everyone’s doing a hypothermia fic so I figured I may as well contribute. It’s one of my favorite tropes.

title taken from Brian Czyzyk’s poem “Hoarfrost” (he’s my favorite young queer poet and you should check him out).

tw: hypothermia, angst with a happy ending, whump with a happy ending

---

“Do you always have to be so damnably loud?” Geralt growls, glaring at Jaskier from across the small room. 

“My apologies for existing,” the bard snaps back. He’d only been rearranging his pack, looking for something reasonably clean to sleep in while his clothes were laundered by the innkeeper’s lovely wife. “I’ll try to do so more quietly from now on, good sir.”

Geralt huffs out a breath in passive-aggressive annoyance and Jaskier bristles. 

“Oh well, then. C’mon witcher, I know you want to say it!”

“Say what?” Geralt asks. His voice is low and threatening. He’s ready to play the game and by god he’s going to win this time.  

“It’s practically your motto at this point,” the bard hisses through his teeth, angry and bitter and tired. Geralt sees victory. Sees some peace and quiet on the horizon. “Say it!”

Geralt does as he’s told, like any good witcher would: “Fuck off, bard.”

“There it is!” Jaskier laughs joylessly, throwing up his hands. He pulls on his doublet and boots and heads for the door. “If you want me gone so badly, Geralt, then I will go. I’ll get out of your lovely white hair and leave you to mope in peace.”

“Fucking finally,” the witcher snarls, turning away. He doesn’t see the genuine hurt in Jaskier’s blue eyes as the bard quietly closes the door rather than slamming it. He doesn’t hear the quiet sob that rips its way out of Jaskier’s throat as he stands very still, shocked and suddenly exhausted all the way to his bones. He doesn’t smell the salt of his bard’s tears as he slips silently down the hallway and out into the late autumn night. He doesn’t notice the snow starting to pile up on the windowsill ahead of season.

He’s too busy being a self-flagellating moron to notice any of that.

---

Geralt is woken in the middle of the night by a commotion downstairs. He can hear several loud, panicked heartbeats and one very quiet, very slow heartbeat beneath all of those; it’s achingly familiar but the half-asleep witcher can’t quite call its source to mind. Geralt listens as the innkeeper barks out a series of sharp orders: “Meredith, you get to the kitchen and make some strong black tea! Florence, fetch a pail of warm water and two or three towels from the laundry. Josiah you lazy lout, get into the attic and fetch some blankets! The poor lad has gone blue all over!”

The witcher peers into the hallway and catches the skinny stable hand, Josiah, racing for the attic staircase. “What’s going on?”

“A farmer from the next town over was on his way over to help a friend’s sow give calf and he found-” the lad pauses to suck in a great gulp of air and launches off again “-and he found that friend of yours lying in a snowbank, muttering nonsense and shivering like a leaf. The poor fool didn’t have a cloak on him or anything, just a doublet and walking boots! He’s near-dead!”

Geralt curses and makes for the stairs, taking them two at a time until he reaches the main floor. There are voices coming from the kitchen and he follows them as if in a dream, his feet moving without aid of his conscious mind. “Jaskier? Is it the bard, Jaskier?”

“Are you the great brute what kicked him out?” the innkeeper’s wife asks, crossing her arms over her ample chest and narrowing her eyes. Geralt falters. 

“No, he- he left on his own, in a huff.”

“Wonder who could have started the huff,” the woman rolls her eyes. This isn’t about his status as a witcher, Geralt knows; this eye roll was made by a woman who knows a lovers’ quarrel when she sees one. Except that this stupid little spat might have cost Jaskier his life.

“Where is he? May I see him, goodwife?”

The woman points to a table in the corner, which has been cleared of cooking implements and cushioned with a heavy bearskin. Jaskier lies atop the brown fur, his skin frighteningly pale, his lips and fingers tinted a slight blue. Geralt rushes to his side and takes one of the bard’s stiff hands in his own. He brushes a stray lock of brown hair from Jaskier’s forehead and nearly recoils in shock from the temperature of his skin. Even colder than his hands, which are already dangerously frigid. If Jaskier cannot play his lute-

Geralt doesn’t even allow himself to finish the thought. Instead he works on rubbing small, careful circles onto the back of the bard’s hands with his thumbs, warming the skin in tiny increments: “Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.”

The bard remains unmoving, heartbeat fluttering weakly, lungs barely drawing breath; Geralt fights back an overwhelming sense of panic, trying to recall whatever training he’d received at Kaer Morhen concerning freezing humans. 

“Do you mind if I take him upstairs and tend to him myself?” the witcher asks.

“Can you take care of him?” the innkeeper’s wife replies. 

Geralt bows his head, shame licking like flames up and down his bent spine, and nods. “Yes, Ma’am. I have dry clothes for him in our room and I was trained extensively for emergency situations such as this, all witchers are.”

“Alright,” she narrows her eyes. “But he’d best be alive come morning.”

“I’ll happily turn myself over to the village elders to be dealt with accordingly should the bard come to any harm,” he vows. Her eyes widen minutely and he can read the surprise in her body language, but she remains relatively calm. 

“Any further harm, rather. Alright, then. I’ll have my husband and the girls bring those supplies up to your room for him. We’ll be glad to go back to sleep.”

“Thank you for your kindness,” Geralt bows formally. She blushes despite her irritation with him and waves him away. 

“Take your bard and go, witcher, before I change my mind and spend all night caring for him myself out of motherly pity. Go.”

Geralt hefts Jaskier into his arms, heavy bearskin blanket and all, and hurries up the stairs to his room. He will not let Jaskier come to any further harm. Not by his hand. Not by his word. Never again. 

---

Back in their room, Geralt quickly undresses the shivering human, peeling away what few damp layers there are with growing disappointment. Jaskier hadn’t been prepared for a walk in the snow at all! Although, to be fair, it hadn’t seemed that cold earlier in the evening and the snow had been sudden and heavy. 

He wipes Jaskier down with a warm cloth and slips one of his own clean shirts over the bard’s head. He tries not to let his gaze linger on the way Jaskier’s shoulders don’t quite fill out the dark material. Or on the way his dark, wiry chest hair peeks out through the open laces at his throat. The witcher quickly shuffles him into clean smallclothes and wraps him in a thick wool blanket. 

They sit curled before the fire and Geralt holds Jaskier against his chest. He hums with his voice like gravel, grating out one note after the other in some attempt to soothe the bard’s aching body. Jaskier shivers and shakes violently in the witcher’s strong embrace, his eyes clenched shut with the cramps that wrack his frame as his muscles return to their normal temperature. Geralt feels like he’s holding a porcelain doll and keeps his grip deliberately loose, tight enough to comfort but not restrain.

“G-Geralt,” he groans. “Hold me, please.”

The witcher squeezes his arms more confidently around the bard’s middle, burying his face in Jaskier’s soft hair and breathing deeply. The warmth that usually emanates from his busy human body is gone and his chamomile-honey scent is buried beneath a layer of damp cold; it feels wrong. Terribly wrong. Geralt murmurs against his temple, begging the younger man’s forgiveness: “I’m so sorry, Jaskier. Gods, I’m so sorry. Will you ever be able to forgive me? I’m a fool, you know. I’m a fool witcher who never says anything important until it’s too late. I’m so incredibly sorry, my love.”

“This is a very good dream,” the bard sighs, smiling despite the pain. His eyes open, bleary and addled. “Like I was having in the woods, but better.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow and Jaskier seems to understand the unspoken question, even in his current sorry state.

“The real Geralt would never be so gentle with me, dear heart. You must be a dream, sent to me on my deathbed to ease my passage into the afterlife. There’s no other explanation for your sudden displays of tenderness.”

“It’s... It’s really me,” Geralt affirms. He runs his hand up and down the length of Jaskier’s spine, “I’m here, Jaskier. Can you ever forgive me for being so stupid?”

“I forgive you for being stupid ever other day, dear witcher. It is of no consequence to me.”

“It almost was,” Geralt frowns. “I nearly- I almost-” 

Jaskier’s arm raises weakly and his too-chilly hand presses to Geralt’s cheek. “I shouldn’t have stormed off like an idiot. I shouldn’t have kept picking the fight. We both fucked up, alright? What matters is our second chance. We got to have one, Geralt.”

“Hmm.”

“Am I wearing your shirt?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why?”

“Yours were all being laundered and this one was clean and it had been in my pack near the fire so it was already warm and-”

“Did you take care of me all night?”

“Hmm.” Geralt sighs after his hum and glances away for a moment. “What did you mean about... about the dream in the woods?”

“Oh. Well, when I was very cold and things were hazy and slow, I dreamed that you were there with me. Everything got very fuzzy and warm for a little bit, and when it was warm you were holding me like this and giving me little kisses. It was... nice. Even though I knew I was dying because you were being so soft, so considerate; saying things to me you’d never say out loud in real life.”

“I love you, Jaskier. I will try my best not to lose my temper needlessly,” the witcher swears. “You don’t deserve it.”

“Can we still cuddle like this?” Jaskier asks, leaning his weigth against Geralt’s firm chest. “It’s so nice to be held.”

“Of course. Anything you want. I’m not going to waste my second chance by treating you poorly. Not for another second, my beloved bard.”

“B-beloved?”

“Hmm.”

“Oh, well then I’m definitely still dreaming.”

Geralt lifts Jaskier into his arms and carries him over to the bed, which is piled high with their extra blankets. He tucks Jaskier into the nest against the wall and lays along the outside of the mattress. He presses his lips to the bard’s, reveling in Jaskier’s returning warmth, and smiles. “I’ll prove it’s not a dream. Every day.”

“Sounds nice,” Jaskier yawns, snuggling into the witcher’s arms and settling down to sleep. 

“It will be.”

#geraskier #hypothermia #getting together #bouncey's endless getting together fics #geraskier fic #geraskier fluff #whump with a happy ending #fluff with a happy ending #geralt #jaskier #jaskier whump #jaskier gets hypothermia #caring geralt #soft geralt #winter fics #geraskier winter fics

[thebadboyfanclub]

Protect The Queen Pt 2 (Geralt x Reader)

So I saw you guys really liked the first part so I decided to make a part two of this so I decided to make a part two, if you want a part three let me know. Enjoy!

PART 1

-

Geralt was free to leave after that night, he just chose to stay, linger around town and secretly wait for her to call him. He felt foolish, a mutant running around town and hoping a queen will invite him, she probably regretted her words after she walked away from him. One more night, he gave her one more night and the next day he was going to disappear, he was running out of coins and Jaskier was getting more and more annoying.

“Is he still in town?”

“Yes, staying at the inn. My queen you know I would never question you-”

“But you are and it’s not a good look for you. I want you to send someone to go get him in the morning, as early as possible”

“Yes my queen, as you wish”

-

“You know I was hoping she would come and see you, such a great love story for my ballad”

“If you wrote a song about her she would have your head on a platter the next day”

Geralt growled at the barb. The sun had barely rise but Jaskier was wide awake and full of energy, it was bad enough that Geralt had felt his ego get wounded, he had to deal with Jaskier reminding him that he walked away from this town empty handed and covered in shame for letting himself to believe he had a shot with someone of her status.

“Sir Geralt! Wait”

He heard a female voice call for him as he was about to get on his horse. It wasn’t her, the voice had a hint of anxiety in it’s tone, she would have never let her tone of voice waver. It was a young girl, probably in her teens, she was dressed in clean and what seemed expensive dress. As she stood next to the men she gave a light bow. Jaskier and Geralt were not used to this kind of respect, if anything they were happy if a day passed and they hadn’t heard any insults.

“Sir Geralt, our queen is asking for you”

“ohhhhhhh what a powerful twist, I knew she was planning something”

“Shut it Jaskier”

“Her highness said to bring you to her as fast as possible, she doesn’t appreciate waiting”

The girl tried to regain her breath, she was probably terrified of letting down the queen. Hell she probably had to go back and tell (y/n) she didn’t find her if she came a minute later and it wouldn't look good to go back without getting what her queen needed. Geralt hesitated for a moment, trying to process the idea and also asking himself why she waited until the last day to call for him, to be fair it sounds like something she would do.

“Jaskier wait here, take care of Roach”

“Of course, go get her Geralt”

It only took one look from Geralt for Jaskier to shut up and look away. Geralt followed the girl silently, although he internally hoped the girl would pick up her pace, a sudden eagerness to see her consumed him. He became aware that he was kind of underdressed to be entering a palace, he wasn't even wearing his armor, he was just in regular commoner clothes, for the first time he cared for his appearance while meeting someone royal. She wasn’t just royalty, she was (y/n), she was radiant, she exuded this untouchable aura and her stable tone of voice made others focus on her.

As they entered the palace he got to take a look at the decoration. A smirk was brought in his lips as he looked around, she had definitely changed a lot of things, there was no portrait of the late king, only hers and other females, it had so many different and bright colors mixed together and complimenting each other, the curtains were of light pastel color on the contrary of the heavy dark curtains the other palaces he had been in had. The girl walked up to a woman more older than her, yet still youth was a way to describe her, she was dressed in a gold dress, long light brown hair framing her face and a tall figure.

“Miss Chiara, I found him”

“Very well Mina, run along now, you are dismissed”

“Right away Miss Chiara”

Geralt looked at the woman, she seemed to have the same sense of authority and seriousness (y/n) had, however she did not have the little splash of warmth (y/n) possesses, this woman was just as cold as ice. Geralt took notice how the young girl became nervous around her, she was probably a woman of status, someone that worked directly with the queen, you could tell by her proud posture and sharp tone that she took her position seriously.

“Sir Geralt, welcome to the Queens palace”

“Thank you”

“Follow me please”

It was weird that Geralt had not seen any other male in here yet. (Y/n) had probably kicked out any of the late kings favorite people, she spoke very highly about the female gender, it was only a matter of time her staff was dominated by them, there was not trace a king ever existed, everywhere you looked it was something that had her sense of choice, even the scent that carried around the palace, this light vanilla with a hint of fruit, no heavy musk smell the kings adored, it was her palace now.

The woman stopped right in front of two big wooden doors before she turned to Geralt, a harsh look on her face and also a slight side of a dissapointed manner, she was probably worried about her queens choice of visitor.

“The queen is a very private person, that barb of yours isn’t, whatever words you exchange with her stay in this room”

“I understand”

It didn’t surprise him that the woman asked for some type of privacy around her queen, he was annoyed that people worried that Jaskier would open his mouth, which was a possible scenario however that meant Geralt would let him know anything about (y/n). No, he was not willing to share anything that had to do with her. The woman knocked a few times before pushing the doors open enough for the two to walk in.

“My queen, Sir Geralt is here... like you asked”

“Excellent, thank you very much Chiara. Could you leave us alone please?”

“At once my queen”

The woman gave one last look at Geralt before she left, shutting the doors behind him. He gulped as he took a look at (y/n), her hair were loose, like a waterfall running down, her skin was covered by a silk pastel robe, tied around her waist as it accentuate her figure, the only glimpse of skin were her feet and arms.

“You asked for me”

“Indeed, I was astonished when I discovered you where still here”

She walked over from her bed to the center of the room, she seemed at ease, comfortable with the situation. Yet her sensual energy oozed out more than last time, it almost took over him and forced him to ran to her and kiss her.

“I like the inn, comfortable beds”

“I’m so glad to hear that, I want our travelers to feel like home here”

She started to proceed towards him, her eyes and intense look on her face strained him from moving, freezing like the prey looking at it’s predator. He felt her eyes on him, fixated on his face as she took him in, she could tell that he was quite nervous, it excited her that her presence alone brought such a man unease.

“I told you, I don’t like feeling lonely”

Her voice was low, promiscuous. As her hand to his chin, her delicate fingers felt like a feather was touching him, everything about this woman was made to make him feel weak in the knees.  Her perfume was like a drug to him, slowly sipping into him and becoming something so familiar yet he craved to be around it.

“Will you help me Geralt?”

“gladly”

Before he could taste those lips of hers, she moved away and turned her back to him. (Y/n) wanted to jump on to him as soon as he walked in, nonetheless she wanted to play a tad bit of a game. She reached for the knot on her robe and let it loose, her hips swaying from side to side as the robe moved past her shoulders and on to the floor, she was aching for him, she had spent days imagining him sharing her bed, a man like that was definitely more than capable to please her bodys needs. She wanted the first time that he took her to be like that one dream she had the first night after meeting him, that left her to wake up covered in sweat and panting for air.

She stood in front of the window and turned to look at him while leaning on a desk that had scattered papers on it. It didn’t take a genius to realize what she was insinuating, Geralt’s eyes went wide as it dawned of him, you could see the entire garden and the street from the open window, no curtain stood between that view.

“Someone could see us”

“And? I am their queen, it’s my reputation on the line, it can either happen my way or you are free to leave. What will it be Geralt?”

It only took a second for him to make up his mind, his feet guided him to her one in front of the other at a slow pace. When he had finally come close enough for her torso to touch his, he felt her hands touch his arm, caressing his flesh 

“You know the only man I’ve ever shared a bed with was my late husband. I hated it, it was only for him to get the heir he craved, it left me to wonder what it feels like to be lusted after, wanted, to feel... pleasure. Are you the answer to those questions?”

Her voice was now barely a whisper, as her eyes locked on his. She didn’t know how she held it together, the simple touch of his hands on her waist was enough to drive her wild, she needed to feel him, to let him show her what being intimate was supposed to feel like. Geralt chose to not answer verbally, he just leaned in and finally felt her lips to hers at a passionate kiss. In a blink of an eye the caress became more aggressive and you could hear the tear of his shirt as she ripped it apart to reveal his torso. It only took one simple tuck of a strap for her dress to drop and show her naked body. 

He took a good look of her, she was truly amazing, that goddess like beauty that men dreamt about. His hands went to her breasts and massaged them, feeling them was enough for him to become impatient. A small moan left her lips as he started leaving kisses along her neck, she sat up on the desk and wrapped her legs around his waist.

“You’ll be the death of me”

“It will be- it will be worth it”

she breathed out, her mind was gone and she was just glad she got the words out in the right order. His hot skin against her naked body felt heaven like, she thanked herself for making the right decision and choosing him. Her touch was needy, as felt his pants drop and he grabbed her by the neck, forcing her to look at me

“The queen of the land, naked before me”

“Can you please her?”

After that a moan was heard, as they became one. Both of them moaning loudly as (y/n) laid back on the desk, giving him a good view of her figure, she was breathtaking, as she moved her hips and moaned his name again and again. He couldn’t help and lean down, feeling the need to touch her, kiss her, her arms reaching at his back, leaving scratches as he guided her to road of immense pleasure.

“My queen, submission becomes you”

He whispered in her ear before biting her earlobe. She was better than any of the fantasies he had of her, she was as hot as volcano, exploding and destroying anything on it’s path. Her back arched as she hugged him tightly, for the first time she was truly enjoying the act of sex, she cursed herself for not killing her incompetent husband earlier, her new life was filled with pleasure, pleasure only Geralt could bring her. Her legs started to shake while she felt like a fire was spreading on her body, the moans becoming louder and louder by the second. 

“Geralt, that’s it”

“Come on (y/n), let it go”

She felt like her body and mind exploded with glee, the passion he brought out of her in a mix of his skill with women was now pushing her over the edge, as she unraveled and came undone underneath him, biting his shoulder to refrain herself from yelling.

The enjoyment he felt seeing her like this was indescribable. This amazing and confident queen was now shaking and latching on to him, the power (y/n) held over him drove him to insanity. As he felt the orgasm reach him and take over he kissed her as he slowed down and relaxed in her arms. No woman had made him feel such intense satisfaction, her allowing him to take her was truly an out of body experience.

“You.... are an amazing woman”

“You’re not so bad yourself”

both of them were out of breath, sweat dripping over their body and the light of day made her skin shine, like diamonds were decorating her torso. He laced one hand underneath her and lifted her off the table, her head went on to his shoulder as she started kissing his neck. He laid her on the bed and went on top of her, finally kissing her lips.

“I see you’ve gotten comfortable being inside of me”

“It’s very cozy”

Her chest erupted as she laughed at his comment. It was more of a “not wanting this to be over” situation, she didn’t mind though, she didn’t want him to leave either, the idea of having him here all day was delightful. She let her fingers roam on his back, going up and down as he relaxed, the weight of him was a lot but comfortable, she liked feeling his body against hers.

“When will you have to leave?”

“Tomorrow”

“I’m sure the barb will be very happy to spend the night in the palace. Your horse can be safe in the stable”

“Want me all for yourself?”

“As I said, you are free to leave.... tomorrow”

He pulled away from her and laid on his side, as she went under the covers but made sure to let her breast exposed and covered his lower body. It was his turn to reach for her, caressing her face as she beamed with satisfaction.

“And I will, until I can come back”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“A declare of my addiction towards you”

“Really? Then let’s see how intoxicated I can get you in a day”

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

[headaches-and-coffee]

Does it bother Jaskier? Not really.

Does he think it's amazing and weird in equal measures? Definitely.

Would he love to ask the questions floating around in his head? He would, but he's afraid Geralt will stop if he does. He doesn't want him to stop, not now that he's finally comfortable.

"The thing", as Jaskier refers privately in his mind, is Geralt deciding that the most comfortable place to lay down when he's doing things that require him to stay mostly still, like reading a bestiary, is on top of Jaskier.

Not that Jaskier is complaining, but why?

He'll be laying down on his belly, writing things down on his journal and Geralt will simply plop down with his head on top of his spine, shoulders nestled along the curve of his waist. It's rather comfortable. Geralt is more comfortable with touch than he expected at first, it's nice.

It's taken some time for Jaskier to notice it, though. At first it's mostly things that wouldn't even register to most people but once he starts paying attention he realizes Geralt does not touch other people as freely, going as far as dodging possible accidental touches. Jaskier knows it's because it's mostly ingrained  both on the common folk and on Geralt that mutants are dangerous and shouldn't be around plain humans for too long.

So he starts consciously retributing touches. He sits with his side plastered to Geralt when they're having dinner, if it's too warm he trades it for occasionally bumping their knees together. They bump shoulders and hips, he pokes Geralt around until Geralt's quirks flourish.

Geralt isn't touch starved, per se, it's just that he's touch oriented almost as much as scent oriented and enjoys having someone around that is comfortable with touching him. So he hugs Jaskier after they've been separated for some time, walks with their arms laced together through the stretches of road where it's not advisable to pass astride Roach, lets Jaskier fuss with his hair. Until one day, when they're camping on a particularly soft patch of sweet smelling grass, he sits near Jaskier and almost immediately pushes him to the ground.

What follows is two fully grown people play wrestling through the tall grasses. Jaskier is surprisingly great at sweeping Geralt, who goes about it far gentler than he would if he were back at Kaer Morhen with Lambert and Eskel. They stop when Jaskier rolls away and stops on his back, panting and grinning at the sky. Geralt lays near him with their shoulders pressed together, smiling.

So Jaskier finally asks:

"Is the aggressive cuddling a you thing or a witcher thing? Not that I'm complaining," he climbs atop Geralt's chest, tucking his head under his chin and letting him take his weight.

"Hmm," Geralt says, "I think it's both."

It sparks Jaskier's curiosity even more, he itches to meet Geralt's brothers, yet feels like it would be indecorous to invite himself over for winter.

"Maybe you could come with me to Kaer Morhen this winter, see for yourself," Geralt says, almost like he's read Jaskier's mind.

And Jaskier is giddy with happiness and warmth. Being able to share these aspects of Geralt that neither simple humans nor sorceresses nor even vampires seem to be able to grasp make him love Geralt even more.

#the witcher #geraskier #gerlion #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #play wrestling #aggressive cuddling #feel free to expand on my headcanons #myfic

[knifewieldingenby]

a heart’s a heavy burden, part one

Incubus Jaskier, fic warning: very minor discussions about sex but no smut (I’m saving that for chapter two if you’d like to skip it. Mentions of energy starvation.

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

Jaskier had been at Kaer Morhen for two months when things started to get strange. He woke up dizzy and nauseous, stumbling around the room to get clothes over his cold body. He felt hungry all the time but even the thought of food was making him sick. And his head, his damn head, felt like it was full of bees.

At first he thought it was just a cold. After all, it was certainly chilly enough in the keep to catch one easily. He wandered the halls wrapped in thick furs, sat by the fire with Lambert plastered to his side most evenings, stealing each other’s body heat. The other wolves teased them relentlessly, even Geralt, though he could see a hint of concern in the White Wolf’s eyes every now and again. But he’d had colds, and none of them felt as consuming as this. Nor did it feel like the flu; despite the dizziness and full head he was still able to move around the keep, could still eat when his stomach finally threw a fit. This was something...else.

He knew something was seriously wrong when he started getting angry for no reason. Every sound, every light, every laugh that rang out in the keep pissed him off. When Lambert tried to tease him about his hair (of all things) one morning he issued a swift “fuck off” that bit so hard it left Lambert in silence. The worst part was that Jaskier didn’t even feel bad about it. It didn’t make him feel any better, either. He felt like a powder keg, on the edge of exploding any second about the smallest of things. It wasn’t like him at all.

“I don’t feel so good,” Jaskier finally got up the courage to say one morning as he hobbled down to join the wolves hours after they’d woken up. The truth was, he didn’t want to bother them with his human problems. He didn’t want Geralt to regret bringing him here. 

“I noticed,” Geralt said. It was Eskel that approached him and gently touched Jaskier’s forehead with the back of his hand. He hummed and cocked his head a little.

“You have a low grade fever, that’s for sure. Maybe you should still be in bed.”

Jaskier nodded. Bed sounded good. He had forced himself to get up this morning - though he suspected it wasn’t actually morning anymore - but if he’d had his way he would have stayed in bed all day. His head felt heavy all of a sudden and he swayed in place. He felt an arm on him a moment later and he was aware he was moving, practically being dragged up to his room.

“I’ll bring you food later,” came Geralt’s voice. His vision faded in and out but he forced himself to keep his eyes on the man, who was now visibly worried. Before he knew it they were in his room and Geralt was positioning him in bed. “How do you feel?”

“Hungry.”

Geralt smiled slightly. “I’m sure. I can get you some food now-”

“No.” It came out somewhere between a whine and a growl, and Jaskier had the good sense to look embarrassed. Geralt nodded slowly, eyes full of confusion. 

“Okay, when you wake up then.” He looked down and grabbed Jaskier’s hand. “Take these off, it can’t be comfortable.” And then he was slipping Jaskier’s rings off his finger one at a time. He got to the last one on his left hand, iridescent pink and blue, a remnant of his childhood, and clamped his finger down hard.

“I never take that one off,” he said coldly. Thankfully Geralt didn’t push him on it; he squeezed his hand and placed it back on the bed. 

“Okay. Sleep well. I’ll be back later.”

Jaskier closed his eyes and felt the heavy weight of sleep consume him. Before he succumbed, he thought back to his ring. His mother gifted it to him when he was eight, maybe nine - he no longer knew how long he’d had it, but he never once took it off. It grew with him as his mother promised, by merit of the magic whirling inside it. ‘It’ll keep you safe from those who wish to hurt you,’ she’d said. She never clarified beyond that and after a while he stopped asking. The few times he thought about taking it off he felt the strong pull of magic and thought he’d better not.

Now he grabbed the ring and pulled. It slipped off with surprisingly little resistance. He placed it on the night stand with his other rings, turned onto his side, and let sleep take him. 

---

When he finally woke again it was night and Geralt was sitting on the edge of the bed with a bowl in his hands. Jaskier felt like he was using all the strength in him just to sit up, his eyes taking a minute to focus. The room was dim, a small fire lit in the fireplace. He zeroed in on Geralt and squinted.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” It’s not his fault the question came out aggressive and demanding; he’d tried for gentle and his brain told him to fuck right off with that. 

“Eat,” he ordered. Jaskier’s stomach turned. He hadn’t eaten anything since last night, and even then he’d only had a small scoop of stew. Food sounded like a bad idea, and yet he felt famished. Still, he took the bowl and, under Geralt’s watchful eyes, ate a few spoonfuls. He held the bowl out to Geralt when he felt his stomach couldn’t take anymore and Geralt took it without a fight, placing it back on the table.

“You took your ring off,” he noted.

“Yeah, I figured I’d worn it since I was a kid and it was time to free my finger, so to speak.”

“Hmm.” He stood up quickly and headed for the door. “I need to speak with Eskel and Lambert for a moment. Try to get some more food in you if you can.”

Jaskier waited patiently for Geralt to return, confused but too tired to worry about it. When he heard multiple footsteps down the hall he sighed. He really wasn’t in the mood to talk to people right now.

“Holy shit, you really weren’t kidding.” Jaskier looked up to where Lambert was entering the room, followed closely by Eskel and Geralt. Geralt growled a warning at him and he laughed. “Sorry, but I definitely thought you were making shit up.”

“Stop talking,” Eskel said. He came closer to Jaskier and sat at the end of the bed. “This is...certainly new.”

Jaskier was only getting more confused by the minute. Him eating soup was new? Being in bed? Being sick? Of fucking course it was new, he hadn’t been sick his whole time here. 

“What’s new?” He snapped. Lambert chuckled again.

“Guess we know why he’s been in such a shit mood.”

“Lambert, I swear on my sword I will snap you in half.” Geralt grabbed a hand mirror and brought it to Jaskier. “Don’t...ah, just don’t freak out okay?”

Jaskier snatched the mirror from Geralt and oh, that was new. That was very new. He touched his forehead where Eskel had touched him just this afternoon. Instead of a nearly flat surface he was met with two horns that curled up and around his head, close to his hairline, and flicked up at the ends. 

Fucking horns.

“What. The fuck.”

“Oh no, he’s freaking out,” Eskel said under his breath. Geralt groaned and shook his head.

“Why did I bother to bring you two up here? You’re making it worse.”

“Geralt.”

Jaskier’s voice shook. Fear bubbled up and over; he was sure the wolves could smell it in the air. He looked at them through brand new eyes. He was...he was a monster, for fuck’s sake, something these men hunted for a living. What were they going to do with him? None of them had their swords, but he knew even in the keep they all kept small daggers on them just in case something happened. And now that something was Jaskier. A monster.

“It’s okay.” Geralt sat next to him, ignoring the way he flinched from the proximity, the way it made Geralt’s heart ache. “I know it’s new, and scary, but you’re okay. You’re safe.”

“But I- I’m a monster, Geralt. How did this happen to me?”

Geralt glanced over at the night table and picked up the iridescent ring. It looked so small in his big hands, looked so small now that it wasn’t on Jaskier’s finger anymore.

“Tell me about this ring.”

“My mother gave it to me. Said it would protect me from people who might hurt me. She made me promise never to take it off, and I haven’t until now.”

“It’s a glamour, isn’t it?” Lambert asked. Geralt nodded.

“Yes, it’s a glamour. Your mother clearly knew your horns would come in eventually and wanted to keep you safe from humans.”

“But what am I if not human?”

“Lemme smell him,” Eskel piped up. Jaskier’s eyes widened. “I have the best sense of smell and you know it.”

To Jaskier’s surprise Geralt moved from his place on the bed and was replaced by Eskel, who smiled sheepishly at him.

“Is this okay with you,” he asked. 

Jaskier nodded, a bit shaky and uncertain, but sure that he wanted to know the truth. He’d spent over forty years in the dark. No more. Eskel leaned over, pressing his face into Jaskier’s neck, and breathed in deeply. Jaskier’s eyes closed and he had to bite back the moan that threatened to break free. Hunger roared it’s head and he felt light-headed in a good way this time. He was ashamed when he felt lust creeping up on him. Eskel was certainly beautiful, but he wasn’t the one Jaskier had been pining over all these years.

Eskel and Lambert chuckled in unison and Jaskier blushed, certain they smelled his lust. If they could smell it so could Geralt, and he didn’t want to know what the White Wolf thought about that.

“It’s okay,” Eskel said as he pulled away. “It’s perfectly normal.”

Geralt chimed in. “Is he a-”

“Without a doubt.”

“Will you two stop speaking in code and tell me what the hell I am?!” Eskel and Lambert nodded to Geralt, inviting him to take the reins. He switched spots with Eskel and, to Jaskier’s great surprise, took his hand.

“You’re an Incubus. Half, most likely. I’m guessing your biological father was full Incubus.”

“Huh. That would explain why my father fucking hates me I guess.”

Geralt frowned at that, his eyes flashing with something close to anger. He shook his head and continued.”I’m not surprised this is just hitting you now. Your ring kept your physical traits glamoured and prevented our medallions from sensing you, and you’ve been...very sexual since you were a teenager, I assume. You’ve never gone this long without having sex, have you?” Jaskier shook his head. “Do you feel a hunger that food won’t satisfy?” A nod this time. “That’s because you’ve been starving for energy, an energy you can only get through sexual acts.”

“Okay, I guess I’m with you.” He wasn’t really with him; part of him wanted to laugh in Geralt’s face, tell him, tell them all, that they’d lost their minds, and go back to sleep. Surely when he woke up the horns would be gone and everything would be back to normal. “What do I do about it?”

Silence. Eskel shuffled awkwardly, Lambert grinned, and Geralt glanced down. Jaskier’s eyes must have been deceiving him, because the man looked shy. 

“You need to have sex,” he said simply.

#geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #witcher fanfiction #my writing #inhuman jaskier

[ffangirlingsince2001]

The Witcher and The Princess: Sparks

Geralt x Reader

Geralt of Rivia is not a babysitter, he is not a bodyguard, and he has no interest in transporting princesses across the continent. Until gold is offered and for the next 90 days he’s saddled with a chirpy, bubbly, princess, who is betrothed to the prince of Narok and has a desire to see everything before she’s trapped behind another set of walls.

Warnings: angst, a taste of smut, drinking

Geralt watched as she limped down the stairs, the first smile he had seen in days worn so comfortably it was a shame it had taken him so long to see it. She sat across from him without ordering breakfast.

“Sore?” he asked, and she shook her head, lying with ease.

“Where’s Jaskier? I want to thank him for his hospitality.”

“He left this morning, a party to attend I believe.”

“I think we should leave today too,” she announced, “There’s another town a few miles down the road. It’s on the coast and I have a good friend from back home who lives there.” She looked so hopeful that he found it difficult to even consider saying no.

“Okay,” he answered, and she practically leapt across the table to throw her arms around him. With soft lips, she planted a kiss on his cheek, dousing him in appreciation. She flew up the stairs, the limp almost nonexistent when she didn’t even give her feet time to touch the floor.

When she returned to his side, she wore a dress of pink cotton and the corset that made him imagine her in ways that even the innocence of pink cotton could not dissuade. She was glowing as she led the way out, beginning the walk towards the town limits with a skip in her step.

“Would you like to ride with me?” he asked before he knew what he was saying, and quickly tried to cover up the attempt for closeness with logic, “Because we left your horse behind.”

“As long as Roach doesn’t mind, she had a rough day yesterday too.” As Y/N brushed her hand down Roach’s muzzle, Geralt felt his insides grow warm, unable to bury his affection when someone showed his horse as much care as he did.

“She’ll be okay, and the faster we make it there, the faster she can rest.” That earned him another grin before she reached out a hand. It was a struggle to get his own hand to move, his mind trying to process the consequences of pulling her onto his horse.

Situating her behind him would press all the softest parts of her against him. Her hands would wrap around his torso, tightening with every jostle until he would be able to focus on nothing but the feeling of her body encompassing his.

Though he was sure placing her in front would be so much worse. She would reside directly beneath him. Her hair would brush against his nose, filling his senses with the intoxicating smell of roses and sugar. Every time he looked down her hemline would pose no longer protect him from the sight of soft flesh. He would have his arms wrapped around her, and when she inevitably relaxed against him it would be no different than cradling her within his bed chambers. And worst of all, she would in between his legs, jostling against him with every movement. And when he found himself unable to control certain animalistic tendencies there would be no hiding it.

She was to sit behind him, for both of their sakes.

He was right of course, about the challenges of her sitting behind him. Her arms wrapped around him and she leaned in close, still bouncing with the excitement of seeing her friend. He could feel every inch of her, but what he didn’t account for was the feeling of being between her legs. Sitting there, feeling them tighten against his hips took his mind to place that he did not dare to venture. He struggled to force the thoughts out of his mind, it was the incessant imagination that made him lash out at her. The frustration that he was unable to act on the vulgar images his mind conjured had caused all their problems previously and he was determined not to let it happen again. It was not her fault everything she did made his stomach do flips. It was not her fault that every time she spoke he could focus on nothing but her lips and the way they would feel wrapped around him. And it was definitely not her fault that he wanted to drag her from his horse and fuck her against the nearest tree until she was raw and limping for the rest of their journey. So, he did his best not to think of the princess riding behind him at all.

The town was not far, and just as she said the ocean crashed against the edge of the town in a way only poets could dream of. The moment they entered the town, she slid from his horse and he let out a mental sigh of relief. He watched as she ran down the street, slipping through merchants going about their daily business. She turned a corner and disappeared from sight, tugging him out of his catatonic state. Urging Roach forward he followed her and was greeted by the sight of her flinging herself into the arms of a young silversmith. She thew her arms around his neck and pulled him tight, laughing with glee as he did the same. He drew closer and he could hear their happy reunion.

“Y/N, how are you here?”

“I’m travelling to Narok, and I begged my escort to stop here. I couldn’t stand the way we parted being the last time we saw each other.”

“Why Narok?”

“Marriage,” she replied darkly, and then shook her head, “But that is the last thing I want to discuss. Come, meet my Witcher.” At the sound of his title, the silversmith’s eyes darted to him and the widened.

“Your escort is a Witcher? Why not your guards? Is he truly capable of protecting you?”

“Of course, he is!” she defended, slapping a playful hand against his chest. “I appreciate your concern, Adam, but he has gotten me this far without incident. I will not have you question his abilities, especially in my presence,” she defended, catching Geralt’s eye as she did so.

“Of course, I just want you to be safe.”

“I know, and that is why I wish to keep you around during our stay in your city. I wish to see everything before we are forced to continue our journey.”

“I would love nothing more than to be your guide,” Adam responded, and she jumped with glee before turning to Geralt with wide and pleading eyes. The plea was clear. ‘Let me experience the world without a shadow’ it screamed, and he nodded, warning her that for her safety it was best if she was back by dusk. She nodded and took Adam’s outstretched arm, allowing him to lead her away from the Witcher.

True to her word she returned as the sun was setting. She smelled of salt and fire when she did so, and explained that there had been a bonfire on the beach when he asked about the lingering smell of smoke. He gave her a brief once over, checking for any wounds as he tried to appear as apathetic as possible. When he was satisfied that she was safe he gave a silent nod. She grinned and kissed him on the cheek once more before allowing Adam to drag her to the center of the pub where people were dancing to the tune of a mandolin.

He had succeeded in appearing apathetic, but he was anything but. Worry had etched itself across his forehead every moment she was gone and as she reappeared, he had wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms. And now, as she danced with Adam anger was bubbling within him, waiting for the chance to pull the young silversmith limb from limb. His hands were all over her as they danced. They lingered at her hips and bunched the fabric of her skirt. As she twirled around Geralt knew the look Adam was sending her way. Longing for once was and a lusting for what rested in his hands now. She was laughing all while he did so, catching his hand and allowing him to spin her across the makeshift dance floor. Her fingers brushed away stray pieces of hair, lingering on his cheek and tracing his neck with remembrance of the past. The clear past between the two grew only more obvious when a slow tune came on and they held one another close with aching familiarity.

Geralt downed more liquor than he had in months as he watched them, until he could take no more and left to their room, hoping that sleep would ease the aggression coursing through his veins and the tightness in his pants. He laid in the dark, unable to sleep for half an hour when the door creaked open. A ray of light struck his face and he watched Y/N slip inside as quietly as she could. She was still panting from the dancing, chest heaving in the golden light of her candle.

“Geralt?” she whispered, and he grunted in response, “Are you alright?” He grunted again. She was always asking if he was okay, as if she had nothing to do with the agony he was forced to endure day in and day out. “Are you ill? I can call for a healer.”

“I’m fine.” She set the candle down and approached him, kneeling beside the bed.

“Are you sure?”

“How do you know Adam?” he asked, swiftly throwing the attention from himself.

“He used to work in the palace.”

“And what was your relation?” Geralt was sitting up now, looking down at the sight of her resting on her knees between his legs. He fought to rid the idea from his mind, but it seemed to have dug its claws in.

“I don’t quite understand what you mean,” she whispered, and he growled, pulling her to her feet and pushing her against the wall. She didn’t struggle as he had expected her to but looked at him with apt fascination.

“I mean how did you interact. How often did you sneak from your bed to meet him in the dark of night? How often did the innocent princess wed to another allow temptation to guide her? And what exactly did temptation bring?” he growled, and she froze, revealing that he was correct in his assumption.

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispered and he smirked, trapping her between his body and the wall as ale began to make decisions for him.

“Well, I know he didn’t truly ravish you based on the way his eyes were imagining it tonight, so I ask again. What did you allow the lowly silversmith do to you?” She struggled at his insult of the silversmith, but he held her far too tightly. “Did you let him kiss you?” he asked, leaning in until their lips were mere centimeters apart. When she did not answer he tutted softly. “Come on Princess, I need an answer.” She nodded, eyes wide and lips parted. “Where?” Silence again, but this time he took a different route in pulling the answers from her. He pressed his lips to hers with rough admiration and pulled away. She gasped at the removal of contact and he pressed his lips against her throat, sucking gently at the soft skin. “Did he kiss you here?” she nodded, and he moved to her shoulder, kissing her again. “Here?” She nodded once more, and he moved his lips to where the slopes of her breast began. “What about here?” She shook her head and he pulled away, surveying her as a predator does their pray. “What else did you let him do?”

“Nothing,” she replied, and he shook his in disappointment.

“No need to lie, Princess. Nothing bad will come from a little honestly, especially when you are so very wound up. So, tell me, what did he do to you?” She remained silent and gasped when he pulled her onto his lap, bunching her skirt at her hips and running his hands along her thighs. She was so soft beneath him, her hips rocking forward ever so slightly even as he did nothing but touch the outside of her thighs. He slipped a hand beneath her dress and cupped her center. She let out a soft moan, hands finding his hair as she rocked forward with more need. She was velvety in his hand, her core so wet it seemed it was melting at his very touch. Her breathing turned into needy whimpers, struggling to feel more friction between her core and his hand, but he was not done interrogating her.  “If you don’t want to tell me what he did, tell me instead why he was sent away.”

“Someone caught us,” she moaned, still caught in the high of his pleasure, and he froze, hands clenching against her flesh. She yelped and tried to pull her away, her core pulsing against him in protest, but he did not relent.

“And what were you doing when they caught you?” All of the sudden a smirk appeared on her face, any fear she had before dissipating in an instant, and she grabbed onto his shoulders pulling herself forward. She pressed against him and leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“We were in an empty hall. And he had me pressed to wall, my legs wrapped around his waist,” she said and he growled, hoisting her into the position she had described. Her legs tightened around him and she pressed kisses against his neck. “And I was moaning so loud it was a wonder someone hadn’t caught us sooner. If they hadn’t caught us, I would have let him take me in that very hall.” Geralt growled and pressed his lips to hers. He was hard against her, straining against his pants as she rubbed against him. “But they sent him away and I was forced to endure hours of lecture, about the sanctity of remaining pure for one’s husband,” she whispered, grinding against him as she pressed kisses against his chest, but at the moment she mentioned ‘husband’ Geralt froze. What the hell was he doing? She was to be wed and he had her wrapped around him like a common minx.

He was supposed to keep her safe, but defiling her would do anything but, so with great effort he pulled away, unwrapping her from his body. And pulling away.

“What just happened?” she asked through pants of frustration.

“Your husband,” he growled, and she had the audacity to look bewildered. “I will not take you away from your husband. I apologize and assure you it will not happen again.” She looked like she wanted to scream, or worse cry, but she only nodded and stepped away from him, smoothing down her dress.

“Yes, my husband. I hope this will not make things uncomfortable.”

“It will not,” he assured her, and she nodded with an unexplained sadness and retired to her bed, allowing Geralt to do the same, and revel in the frustration he had created for himself.

Tags

@mallorydoesstuff @facelessfiction @aphadriel-fanfic @raspberrydreamclouds @thegreattodd @saint-hardy @ravenclawsstolemybunies @queenofmankind @britty443 @lonewolf471 @utterlyhopeful @persephonehemingway​

#the witcher x reader #the witcher #the witcher fluff #the witcher smut #the witcher angst #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia fluff #geralt of rivia angst #geralt of rivia fanfic #geralt of rivia fanfiction #the witcher fanfic #the witcher fanfiction

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

Picture this: the "rivalry" between jaskier and valdo has been going for years and jaskier still hasn't realized he's being wooed. And of course the subject has come up in conversations with geralt, how valdo is always challenging him when obvs jaskier is better. So one day geralt finally meets valdo, sees them interact. Now he might not be the most knowledgeable person when it comes to emotions, but HE HAS TO take jaskier aside and tell him about the painfully obvious crush this guy has on him.

YESSS.

Geralt hears, just, so much about Valdo. He’s aware that there’s history between the two bards (after all, he knows enough to tell Yen who Valdo is), but after that whole incident he and Jaskier sit down and Geralt - displaying an unusual interest in Jaskier’s private life - asks him what happened and why Jaskier wished him dead. 

Jaskier repeats the same line he always does - that Valdo calls him a “talentless wastrel who panders to the taste of the masses”. Geralt needs more than that, though. Details.

So he gets the whole story. The bitter rivalry. Valdo is a pompous, stuck-up arsehole who’s been rubbing his talent in Jaskier’s face since day one. He’s always thought his art was better than Jaskier’s, that his poetry was superior, that his music is more beautiful. Geralt’s been travelling with Jaskier long enough by now to know that he doesn’t take kindly to a challenge, and that he can be argumentative and quick to anger, and can easily imagine the strained rivalry between them.

So they head on - they travel - the incident with the Djinn not forgotten but neither of them keen to mention it.

And then, maybe a year later - maybe less - they’re dragged along to a banquet for some quest and as they step through the heavy oak doors Geralt can smell it radiating off of Jaskier in waves. Anger, hatred. Bitter and - yes - salty. There’s the tartness of adrenaline too, and when Geralt turns to look at him he’s wearing the expression that Geralt knows all-too-well by now. It’s an expression which means, simply: you’re fucked, mate.

He peers across the hall to the object of Jaskier’s sudden rage. Another bard. Dressed in expensive, fashionable clothes with tightly curled hair and a precisely shaved moustache and - 

Oh shit.

Geralt is equal parts horrified and delighted. On one hand, he loves watching Jaskier kick off. On the other, he has a contract to fulfil, and he has no desire to annoy the Baron who hired him.

And suddenly Jaskier is gone, striding across the hall, and Geralt finds himself trailing behind him with the vague idea that if it does kick off, he can at least distract Jaskier so he doesn’t just murder Valdo in the middle of a banquet.

But the closer they get, the more he realises - the smell of anger and rage is only coming from Jaskier. Geralt won’t pretend to be an expert in the vast and incomprehensible range of typical human emotions but smells he knows, and Valdo...

Oh, shit.

Jaskier’s mouth is open and an aggressive finger is raised and all he manages to get out is “Well if it isn-” before Geralt is grabbing him by the back of his doublet and pulling him back across the hall. As they pass a table he grabs an overflowing cup of wine and presses it into Jaskier’s hand.

“We need to talk,” he says, shoving Jaskier out onto a balcony, “Now.”

#valdo x jaskier #jaskier x valdo #valdo marx #COME AT ME WITH VALDO ASKS GUYS #I'm love him #pandasaurio-espacial

[onthepageoftears]

Hold Them Closer ~ Ch.15 [Jaskier x assassin!reader] || Witcher

A/N: THIS IS IT EVERYONE. The end of the second series!! I can't believe it's already here :O 

I've been writing this series for so long that it feels like a part of me is being taken away, but I know this isn't the end end. I can already see myself thinking of more adventures, whether it be through another complete series or small one-shots.

That being said, thank you to anyone and everyone who interacted with this series! I love you all so much and I really appreciate the support you've given to me in the past months (oh my god, MONTHS!!!).

Anyway, that's enough from me. I hope you enjoyed this as much as I did :,) feel free to send me an ask/message to talk to me about what I'm working on, or to cry over this series with me ❤️Much love!

Summary: Epilogue.

Warnings: sparring, mentions of death/blood/killing, fluff!!, happy ending :)

Words: 2,886

Please Don’t Plagiarize My Work!

The leaves had just started falling once more. It seemed like the world was covered with an auburn tint; wind picked up every now and again, lifting some fallen leaves with it. You breathed in, imagining the smell of a fresh pumpkin pie. One with the perfect amount of crust, topped with roasted pumpkin seeds. It made you smile, thinking of your mother’s bakery, and you made a mental note to ask her to make you one next time you visited.

But now was not really the time to be thinking about such delicacies.

“Are you even watching?” Theo grunted, her brow covered with sweat. Despite her using a majority of her energy to glare at you, she still managed to block Jaskier’s attack. He slid his sword from her own, letting it fall to the ground.

“Of course I am,” you lied, holding back a laugh at Jaskier’s groan.

“How much longer?” He gasped for breath, dragging his sword on the ground beside him.

You pursed your lips, a mischievous look in your eye. “You know I hate that question.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes before glaring pointedly at you. “And you know I hate being beaten by a little girl.”

Theo scoffed, “I’m not—“

“Yeah, yeah.” Jaskier waved a hand in the air, leaning on this sword. “And I’m not a devilishly handsome bard.”

You snorted at Theo’s expression: she scrunched her nose — more like her entire face — before kicking at the sword Jaskier leaned on. As he nearly toppled over, you scoffed a laugh. “Alright, Mr. Bard. I’ll take over.”

Theo’s eyes widened as you picked up your own sword. “Really?”

“Yeah.” You winked at Jaskier as he passed, not missing the sigh of relief that left his lips. As you stood in front of Theo, you cracked your neck dramatically, “Why? Are you afraid?”

She smirked, readying her stance. “Not at all.”

You raised a brow, gripping your sword with both hands. “We’ll see about that.”

Theo had gotten much better in the last couple of weeks — not that she was bad to start; she had the basics, along with the little things she picked up from her real experiences. She was easy to teach, you soon learned — much easier than Jaskier. More recently, she was becoming close to an actual challenge to spar with, though you wouldn’t tell her that for quite some time. She had an even bigger ego than Jaskier, and feeding it would only make her sloppier with her swings.

It hadn’t taken much convincing for your mother to allow Theo to train with you. That didn’t mean it didn’t take any at all — at first, your mother was hesitant. She knew you were trained by Rauf, after all. But Jaskier told her how good you were at teaching, that even with him you held back a lot. It was then that she explained she was more worried about Theo putting herself in danger after the training. When you told her Theo was a fighter at heart, that training or no training she would find herself in countless dangerous scenarios…well, your mother agreed that it was better for her to thrust herself into danger with actual training rather than just the basics.

Getting Jaskier to spar with the girl so you could watch her form and techniques…that was a feat that took a lot of convincing, over several weeks. But of course, you won him over.

“I see why you like staying on this side of the yard,” Jaskier remarked, falling dramatically on his back with a grunt.

The property that your mother helped you and Jaskier find was much larger than you’d expected, especially for the cost. Your mother said she got a deal on it because she ‘had a way with words’ (whatever that meant), but still — there was a long dirt path leading up to the cottage, along with a yard surrounded by forest. The yard was perfect for sparring, as the three of you would come to realize; besides that, there weren’t any other properties nearby, not for a couple of miles. It was a short ride to your mother’s village, but other than that, it was pretty secluded.

And perfect.

Despite Jaskier’s loud sighs of relief, you and Theo barely acknowledged him, eyes trained on each other, daring the other to make the first move.

As you suspected, Theo swung her sword first. She was still a bit impatient when sparring, and though having the drive to fight was good, it could also get her in trouble.

You blocked her attack with your sword, pushing back on it so she was forced to move back. You began circling each other again, challenging each other to make the next move.

Once again, Theo swung. This time, she spun herself around for more impact, probably hoping to push you off your feet. But just as you taught her, you kept your stance strong, easily blocking her attack with your sword.

She huffed, sending you a look that could only make you smirk. She was getting impatient already. By the glare she sent you, it would only be a matter of time before she messed up her attacks.

Of course, you were right. After she swung at you a couple more times, taking a step further for each swing, she missed the trap you were setting. As her brow furrowed in frustrated concentration, setting up swing after swing just for it to be blocked, you decided enough was enough.

With one swift movement, you stepped out of the way of her sword, hearing a loud thunk as it landed in the tree behind you. You stood back with a smirk, watching as she tried to pull the sword from the tree — as she grunted in frustration, you thought back to one of your earlier training sessions with Jaskier, only then, he got his sword stuck in the tree on purpose.

Theo let out a final grunt as she finally got her sword unstuck from the tree, only to fall on the ground from pulling so hard.

Theo landed on her back with an ‘oof’, her eyes wide with disbelief as you walked over to her. “Patience is a virtue, Theo. Sooner or later you’ve gotta learn that.” You plunged your sword in the ground beside yourself before leaning over with an outstretched hand. Despite Theo’s initial reaction — of course, rolling her eyes — she took your hand, not bothering to dust off her pants as she stood up.

The sound of Jaskier’s claps made both of you roll your eyes and turn in unison, crossing your arms at the bard who was still sitting in the grass.

“Bravo, bravo! I’m so honored to have witnessed the fight of the century.”

“I’ll show you the fight of the century,” Theo growled, throwing up an aggressive middle finger. Before she could do anything else, though, the sound of hooves on the dirt path not far from the three of you drew everyone’s attention.

As soon as she knew it was the witcher, Theo turned to you with a hopeful look. “Lunch break?”

You pursed your lips with a nod, and that was seemingly enough for her to go running off to greet Geralt as he dismounted Roach.

Your lips lifted into a smirk as you made your way over to Jaskier. He was still slumped in the grass, now leaning on his hands behind him and looking at the sky. As soon as he noticed you, he smiled, grabbing the hand you reached out towards him and using it to pull himself up. Instead of letting you go, he lifted your hand so it hung around the back of his neck, and used his other hand to pull you closer by your waist.

“Hello there, love.”

You rolled your eyes as he leaned in to kiss your neck, soft and sweet. You felt a slight shiver as he buried his head in the crook of your neck, feeling the smile on his lips against your skin.

You snorted despite the fluttery feeling echoing in your chest, “You smell awful.”

“So romantic,” he mumbled into your shoulder, taking a moment before pulling away. He wiggled his eyebrows and placed another soft kiss on your lips — you sighed into the kiss, using one of your hands to pull him closer by the back of his neck. You felt your whole body relax, as it usually did around him, before pulling away.

Jaskier kept his hands wrapped around your waist as you looked over to where Geralt and Theo were talking; well, it was mostly just Theo talking. Ever since she had spent more time around the three of you, she seemed to get more comfortable. She was still sarcastic, a little rude, and sometimes, in Jaskier’s words, unbearable — but now, every time Geralt visited, she couldn’t help but talk his ear off.

You still weren’t sure if Geralt minded or not. If he did, he wasn’t showing as much — yet.

As you watched Theo pet Roach’s muzzle, using her other hand to gesture as she spoke, your mind flipped back to your mother. It felt like so long ago that you were reunited with her, and at the same time, it felt like yesterday. Really, things had changed so quickly for you — and still, it was like you had been waiting for this life for an eternity.

You blinked, finally turning back to Jaskier. He was swaying slightly in his spot; you hadn’t even noticed he started humming under his breath as he looked at the sky above, his hands still on your waist.

“I don’t think I ever said thank you.” Your voice made him raise his eyebrows, his attention being put back on you. You licked your lips when he tilted his head in confusion. “For…for coming with me to find my mother. And for bearing with me on the journey. I…don’t think I would be sane without you.”

Jaskier snorted, quirking a brow. “I would argue that you would be completely sane without me.” You rolled your eyes, but the sincerity in his gaze made your smirk fall. “And…I would come with you to the edge of the continent and back. No hesitation.”

You couldn’t help your brows from forming into a frown. His words always seemed to surprise you, especially when they were so sincere. If you would have told your past self that someone like him would be with someone like you…you probably would have slit your own throat, to be blunt. But looking at him now, with his pink-lipped smile and loving eyes — you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You didn’t wait any longer before grabbing his face in both hands and kissing him again, only separating when you physically couldn’t breathe any longer. Jaskier blinked at you in surprise, his lips quickly lifting into a smirk.

“Would you be up to sparring together later? Perhaps…in the bedroom?”

You let yourself smile at the man in front of you, shoving him playfully as your skin heat up. “Shut up, bard.”

Jaskier tilted his head, lifting his arms out beside him. “That’s not a no!”

You paused, taking your bottom lip between your teeth. “No, it isn’t.”

Leaving Jaskier with a goofy grin on his face, you jogged to catch up with Theo and Geralt before the witcher’s ears started bleeding.

By the time you caught up with them, it looked as though the light was slowly draining from Geralt’s eyes. Once he saw you, though, he straightened in his spot. He bowed his head in greeting, eyes flitting from Theo and back to you. You shook your head, almost not believing that he thought he could get away with greeting you with a nod. Walking right up to him, you wrapped your arms around his large armor in a hug.

You stepped back, noticing that Theo had finally stopped talking. It only took you a second to notice the griffin’s head attached to Roach’s back.

“I see you’ve been busy.”

Geralt nodded without having to see what you were talking about. “I was on my way to get the reward. Thought I’d stop by.”

You quirked a brow. “Just to say hello?”

“Not exactly.”

“You have a job?” Theo interrupted, her eyes eager with curiosity.

Geralt kept his eyes on you. “Actually, yes.” You tilted your head, urging for him to continue. “I got a job in the last town over. I thought you might be interested.”

“I am.” Theo stepped away from Roach, jutting her chin up. You rolled your eyes, knowing she only did that when she wanted to seem older than she actually was.

Without responding, Geralt tilted his head at you, ever so slightly. It was a question, and you didn’t miss it. You raised your brows at him, as if in a silent discussion.

You almost wished he hadn’t brought it up, especially in front of Theo. But as you thought about it, about Theo’s training and her eagerness to join you on different jobs — well, you thought that maybe it wasn’t such a horrible idea. Maybe having Theo come with you on a job — to see what it was really like in this lifestyle — it could be like…an apprenticeship.

Theo noticed the silent discussion you and Geralt seemed to be having. She swiveled her head back and forth between the two of you, trying to decipher whatever it was that was going through your minds. After another moment of contemplation, you took a sharp breath in through your nose.

Letting out a final sigh, you nodded. “Why not.”

Theo blinked at you, processing the meaning of your words. “You mean…?” You fought back a smirk and nodded, watching as her mouth gaped at you. “Are you serious?”

As you were about to respond, Jaskier placed an arm around your waist, nodding to Geralt as Theo stared you down. You leaned into him slightly, smiling at the girl in front of you.

“Sure. If your mom says it’s okay.”

Theo’s gape turned into a frown — if she could have physically deflated her whole body, she would have. Shoulders sagged and pout in place, she crossed her arms over her chest. “She’s your mom too.”

You laughed, not expecting that response. “I’ll put in a good word."

Theo mumbled to herself, turning back to Roach with a glare. While she was busy cursing you under her breath, Jaskier nodded at Geralt once more.

“Geralt. How have you been?”

Geralt’s eyes looked between the two of you, a small smile on his lips. “Not nearly as good as you, it seems.” He turned to Roach, reaching for something in the satchel. You and Jaskier shared a look as he searched, only turning back when he cleared his throat.

In his hands was a large bottle of fine ale.

Jaskier lifted his arms with a big laugh, his smile wide with delight. “Oh, how I’ve missed you, you absolute beast of a man.”

You thought Jaskier might run up to Geralt and give him as big of a hug as you did, but instead, he turned to you and placed a sloppy kiss on your cheek.

You could practically hear Theo roll her eyes. “Get a room, you two.”

Jaskier smirked, winking at you before putting his arm across your shoulders. “Oh, we have one alright.”

You laughed again as Theo let out a fake gag. She kept her nose scrunched as Geralt and Jaskier began walking up to the house, only lowering it once they were out of earshot.

Your eyes watched her in amusement as the two of you followed them to the cottage. Before you could stop yourself, you turned to her with a smirk. “You want to know how we met?”

Theo rolled her eyes, not bothering to look at you. “I don’t know. Do I?”

You nodded, your eyes now trained on the back of Jaskier’s head. As the memories flooded you, you felt a mixture of guilt, amusement, and disbelief. Part of you couldn’t believe that the story was true, especially knowing where you were now. It felt like that was a whole other person who walked into the Novigrad inn with only blood on their mind.

Theo was looking at you now, curiosity getting the best of her. You smiled, a laugh escaping your lips as you spoke. “I tried to kill him.”

Theo’s scoff was powerful. “Very funny.” She watched you, waiting for you to tell her the truth. When you didn’t confirm that you were kidding, she nearly stopped in her tracks. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“Dead.” You smiled wide, reveling in the look of disbelief on her face. With a shrug, you pursed your lips. “But that’s a story for another time.”

“Now. I think that's a story for now.”

“What is?” Jaskier was turned around now, holding the front door to the cottage open for the two of you.

You smirked as you passed him, leaning in with a wink. “The story of how we met.”

Jaskier’s eyes sparkled, “Oh, have I got a song for that—“

“No!” Theo yelled, and despite Jaskier's sour expression, you couldn’t help but let out a hearty laugh.

———————————————————————————————————

the end :,)

#the witcher #the witcher imagine #jaskier imagine #jaskier #jaskier x reader #dandelion imagine #geralt of rivia #jaskier self insert #self insert #reader imagine #imagine #kyd #htc #hold them closer series #my writing #fic #the witcher fic #jaskier fic #dandelion fic #henry cavill #joey batey #writing

[geraskierficrecs]

For the prompt: No one is always in their best spirits and everyone has low, tough days, and sometimes with the highest highs come the lowest lows. This includes Jaskier. Why not Geralt dealing with one of the bard’s rare low days? Maybe for the first time or later on, after he knows what works best to ease Jaskier’s melancholy.

Thanks for the prompt!  Enjoy!

_______________________________________________________

It’s been twenty four hours since Jaskier last played.

Normally, such a spree of silence would have been a treat to the Witcher.  Now, he hesitates beside Roach and watches the bard as they make camp.

The man is silent, fingers unmoving.  The usual song and dance that seems to emanate from every movement is as funeral march.  His face is somber, thoughts turned inward in a way that settled oddly on the expressive features.  

Geralt frowns at his saddle.  The fact that he even notices such things is a symbol of just how much traveling with Jaskier has changed him down to his marrow.  He finds himself worrying about things that used to be nothing more than trivial.  Is their fire large enough to chase away the night chill?  Is there a river or creek close enough to let the bard bathe away the road dust?

Is Jaskier happy here in the woods with only the Witcher and monsters to keep him company?

All his mind can seem to focus on now is the silence.

Something is wrong, a quiet voice whispers within Geralt.  Maybe he’s sick.

Maybe he finally realized that he doesn’t want to be with me.

The thought alone feels like a bolt of agony.  If Jaskier wanted to leave, Geralt would never stop him.  He would also never recover the piece of his heart the bard took with him.  It was a strange thing to suddenly be faced with just how important Jaskier had become over the years of traveling together.  The prospect of traveling alone now feels like the worst sort of torment.

He licks his lips, anxiety an unfamiliar pit in his stomach, and faces the bard.

“Jaskier,” he says softly, “are you alright?”

The bard looks startled by the question.  He blinks, then frowns.  “Of course, Witcher.  I’m not hurt.”

Geralt makes a frustrated sound close to a growl and watches Jaskier return to his task of setting out the bedrolls.  He wishes speech came as easily to him as it did the human.  He scrabbles at the words that would chase away the shadows lingering at the edges of the blue sky that is Jaskier’s eyes and feels them disappear like smoke.  

Roach stamps her foot in a passive aggressive reminder that she still needs to be brushed down and he scowls.  Resolve fills him as he begins to pull the heavy saddle and blanket off her back.

Words may not come easy, but deeds...deeds he can do.

__________________________________

The next morning, he wakes himself just as dawn is cresting over the distant hills.  He creeps away from camp and returns with a brace of hares that are simmering merrily over the fire by the time Jaskier opens his eyes.

The bard smiles quizzically at where Geralt is sitting anxiously casually beside the unexpectedly nice breakfast. “Well, isn’t this a nice surprise,” he says after a beat.

Geralt grunts, but his eyes are fixed on the soft smile that fades after their meal is finished and it’s time to head out.

Again, he waits for the usual musical notes and rhymes that color each mile they travel and is disappointed by only a few comments about the weather.

He clenches his jaw and stares into the distant curve of the road.  He will just have to try harder to convince Jaskier that this life of travel can still bring him joy and inspiration.

_________________________________

The next morning there is a freshly skinned wolf pelt drying across Roach’s haunches that would make a lovely coat.

Jaskier looks at it for a moment in confusion.  “I’m sure Yennefer will enjoy it.”

“It’s for you,” Geralt blurts, feeling a hot flush creep up his neck.

The human blinks, shock evident.  He rakes his fingers through his hair and seems to search for words.  “I--uh, thank you, Geralt.  That was kind of you.”

Geralt hums and turns away before he has to come up with a response to the question in the bard’s eyes.

_________________________________

The next day he deposits a small bouquet of flowers, dotted with the bright yellows of dandelions and buttercups, on Jaskier’s bedroll while the man is still deep asleep.  

He starts to move back toward his bedroll, already concocting some sort of excuse for the gift, when a hand reaches out of the pile of blankets and closes around his ankle.

Geralt turns his head and finds bright blue eyes frowning up at him.

“Why are you doing this?” Jaskier whispers.

Words fail him.  He stares at him, trying to find the right words, and sees the moment when Jaskier’s temper flares to the surface.

“It’s not fair to tease me like this.  I know I’ve always been a joke to you, Geralt, but this is becoming cruel.”

Geralt frowns, shocked by the accusation.  “I--I’m not teasing you.”

“Well, what other explanation do you have for all this--this?” Jaskier asks with a gesture to the flowers that have fallen to the ground beside his blankets and the pelt hanging near the fire.

He flushes, fighting the frustration and embarrassment that feels like it’s choking him.  “You were sad!” he practically shouts, “I was trying to make you happy again before you--you--”

Jaskier’s hand tightens around his ankle and he looks down at it, frowning.  Mentally he prepares himself for the rejection and farewell that he knows is coming.

“Before I what?”

Geralt’s voice is as flat as he imagines Valdo Marx’s voice must be.  “Before you left.”

Now it’s Jaskier’s turn to frown.  He sits up, head even with Geralt’s waist and gestures for the Witcher to sit next to him.  He does so despite the way his skin seems to itch with the need to move.  “Why would I leave?”

“You...you’re unhappy here,” Geralt says quietly, a sinner confessing the worst of their guilt, “You’ve always enjoyed the city life.  It’s obvious that you would want to return to it once the excitement wore off of traveling.”

There was a long pause while Geralt stared down at the scars marring his palms in a permanent testament to the dangers of this life.  He nearly jumps when he feels another hand settle on his knee.

“I’m not leaving you, Geralt.”

The Witcher shivers under the weight of those words and gathers the strength to look up at Jaskier.  “I can’t make you happy,” he says miserably.

“You did all this to make me happy?” Jaskier asks, a small smile twitching at his lips.

Geralt nods, unsure.

Then he’s falling back under the weight of his bard, sleep warm and burrowing against Geralt like a drowning man to shore.  Geralt’s breath leaves him in a relieved rush and he wraps his hands around the smaller human, settling him more firmly against him and filling his lungs with the comforting scent.  Cedar.  Wood oil.  Meadow grass.  

Jaskier.

The bard makes a soft sound of relief and happiness that Geralt can smell tinging his scent with notes of orange and sunlight.  He tightens his hold and shifts until his breath is warm on Geralt’s neck.

“Just hold me, my love.  That’s all I need.”

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

In the Palm of Your Hand (pt 1)

Based on This Prompt from the lovely @major-trouble

no trigger warnings necessary (1.4k words)

---

In the aftermath of the Great Shrinking Spell Incident, Geralt is endlessly glad that Jaskier was there to keep him safe. 

In the moment when both sorceresses scream a loud spell and launch their magic into the air with no consideration for the Witcher standing between them, however, Geralt wishes that Jaskier were standing in nearly any other room on the Continent. As the two opposing walls of chaos close around him and slam together, Geralt watches the world go wrong and wavy and odd around him. Everything inside him feels like it’s being compressed beneath two fully-grown wyverns. He’s being crushed. He’s being compacted. He’s being squished in on himself.

In the pain and confusion of two fully formed spells taking hold, Geralt’s body blesses him with sweet unconsciousness.

---

When he wakes up things feel...wrong. 

His body is pillowed against something soft and warm and he’s covered from shoulder-to-toe with a huge, heavy blanket. When he sits up, his head spins and he groans, clutching at it with both hands and blocking out the light with the heels of his palms. “Jaskier?”

“Geralt!” 

The thing he’s laying on shifts and suddenly Jaskier’s scent is overwhelming. He drops back against the pillow (because that has to be what he’s resting on top of) and cries out in real, legitimate fear. His best friend and traveling companion is towering over him, looking nervous. “Fuck! Jaskier, what the fuck!?” 

“Don’t panic,” the bard soothes. His own lip is being bitten to shit between his front teeth and he holds up his hands as if surrendering. “I think it was those two crazy witches. After they did, uhm, this to you, they told me how to break both spells. It shouldn’t be too hard; we’ll just have to find our way to Yen sooner rather than later. We’ll get you back to your dangerous Witchering in no time.”

“Why do we need to see Yennefer?” Geralt asked, raising an eyebrow. Jaskier hated Yen. The two of them couldn’t be in a room together for more than five minutes before they started tearing each other apart either physically, verbally, or both at once. Then Geralt remembered that he was sitting down on the pillow as if it were a great bed. “Oh...right. She can probably undo it with some kind of counter-spell or something.”

“Not exactly,” Jaskier shrugs. “But close enough. The spells got kind of...twisted together, apparently. You’re stuck being pixie-sized until your true love can get her lilac and gooseberry lips on you.”

“Oh.”

“Mhm. I’m just glad your clothes shrunk with you. I’ve already started sewing up another suitable change for however long you’re in your current form. These need to be cleaned soon, anyway. I hope to be finished with your sleep-shirt by nightfall,” Jaskier rambles nervously. “But clothes aren’t that important now, are they? You see, my plan is to deliver you safely into Yennefer’s loving arms at that magically hidden manor house of hers and head to Oxenfurt for the remainder of the season. I figured that you two might want to have some nice alone time before winter arrives and chases you off to Kaer Morhen.”

“Sounds like a good plan.”

The Witcher is thankful that his small size hasn’t seemed to change the pitch of his voice. If he had become a squeaky, pixie-like creature in all regards he would have died of shame long before getting to…

Well why had Jaskier assumed that Yennefer’s kiss would break the spell?

“Why do you think Yen can break the spell?”

“It’s True Love’s Kiss, Geralt. Try to keep up,” Jaskier’s voice is high and teasing but there’s an undercurrent of resigned sadness that the Witcher doesn’t understand. He breathes in deeply again, trying to find a clue, and notices that his companion’s usually bright and sunny scent has changed. Rather than the bard’s signature whirling notes of rose and lavender, the bard is surrounded by a cloud of bitter, acrid disappointment. Jaskier suddenly squares his shoulders and shoots Geralt a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes at all. The bitterness hasn’t disappeared from the air, either. “Surely nobody else will be able to break the spell, dear Witcher. You’ve been chasing after our good Lady Yennefere for nearly a decade, now, at least.”

“Hmm.”

“Eloquent as ever, Thumbelina.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Geralt huffs. He crosses his arms over his chest in an attempt to look menacing but he surmises that he must look rather adorable like this because Jaskier doesn’t look properly chastised at all. In fact, he looks about two seconds away from picking the minuscule Witcher up and nuzzling him like a kitten. Jaskier had referred to his behavior around small animals and children once as cute aggression. 

“I just can’t help but pet these puppies so ferociously, Geralt, they’re just too sweet and little!”

“Have you never heard the tale of Thumbelina and her handsome Prince? Or in this case, sorceress?”

Geralt crosses his legs underneath him and pats the pillow invitingly. Jaskier lays down and turns to face the Witcher, who’s reclining back against the bedding once again. The bard tells his tiny friend the story of Thumbelina and the Prince who gives her wings, adding in some extra cute bits that he knows Geralt will sigh about later when he’s alone.

By the time he’s finished telling his Witcher a bedtime story, Geralt is dozing lightly. Jaskier pulls a few of the nicest scraps of velvet leftover from re-trimming Sexy’s case a few weeks ago and layers them atop his tiny Witcher. He runs the tip of his finger up and down his companion’s tiny, delicate spine with the utmost care and focus. 

As Geralt slips into a relaxed and heavy sleep he thinks: I’m not sure Yen will be able to break the curse after all, Jaskier; but how do I tell you how I feel without losing you completely? 

---

Jaskier appears back in the room the next morning at dawn, having already gone and gathered up a large silver punch bowl and some other odds-and-ends. Mostly sewing supplies, it looks like. He pours a pitcherful of steaming hot water into the silver dish and gives his companion a sincere apology, “Sorry, Geralt, but this was the closest I could find to a fairy-sized bathtub. Here’s a sliver of my almond soap. I hope it doesn't smell too strongly. Uhm...yeah. I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Geralt looks between Jaskier and the ‘tub’ he’s been offered. “I won’t be able to get out by myself.”

“Huh?”

“I can climb up just fine but don’t think I’ll be able to get out of this thing without some assistance,” the Witcher clarifies. Jaskier blushes furiously Geralt cannot fathom why. They’ve seen each other (and other people, he imagines) in their bare skin plenty of times. Usually the bard went about his usual business but now he looked like a deer caught in the light of a hunter’s disorienting lantern. 

“Do you need my help?”

“...Yes. If you don’t mind, of course. I’m afraid I might slip and fall headfirst off the table. Otherwise, if you don’t mind dampening a cloth, I’ll just wipe myself down in my smalls and consider it done with.”

“Oh no,” Jaskier insists. “I didn’t make up the world’s weirdest lie about moonlight druid rituals to borrow this ornate punch bowl bathtub for you, my little Witcher.”

“Fine. But turn away while I undress.”

Jaskier does, but wonders why. Geralt has never asked him to look away before. Has he offended the Witcher somehow? He hears a quiet, contented sigh and turns back to see that Geralt has managed to clamber his way into the punch bowl just fine. “Would you like me to wash your hair?”

“You’re likely to squish me.”

“You’re probably right,” Jaskier sighs. He moves across the room and lays back down on the bed, curled in around himself with his back to Geralt. “Call when you’re ready to be lifted out. Don’t want you slipping and dying doing something silly.”

“Hmm. Thank you again, Jaskier.

“Of course, dear heart. Anything for you.”

---

When Geralt has been dried and dressed in the new, somewhat clumsy nightshirt Jaskier sewed for him, the bard lays him back down on the pillow. 

“Goodnight, little Witcher.”

“Hey!”

Jaskier smirks and covers Geralt up with his many layers of soft velvet. 

“Goodnight, Geralt.”

“Goodnight, Jaskier.”

And if Geralt feels truly and unarguably safe for the first time in years, tucked in tightly and wrapped with scraps of material that smell so sweetly of his bard, then that’s nobody’s business but his. 

#geraskier fic #geraskier ficlet #geraskier cuteness #soft #cursed geralt #magic spells #magical accidents #shrunken geralt #tiny geralt #geralt gets shrunk oops #honey i shrunk the witcher #geraskier #true love's kiss #romance #caring jaskier #protective jaskier #look a bath scene #bouncey's endless au collection

[queenxxxsupreme]

Ah I see you’re taking requests 👀 imagine being doused with a lust potion and the only way to save her is for Geralt to have her all night long. Smutty but angsty cuz Geralt feels guilty for having to do it when she’s out of her mind? Especially because he has been pining for her secretly maybe?

A/N: I changed a few minor things up and made it super angst because I can’t help myself. Also tbh I’m new to smut and I don’t know how this is so please give me feedback :) I really hope this is angsty enough

Warnings: smut duh, lust curse, praise kink if you squint, hair pulling, cunnilingus, tell me if I forgot anything because my memory is shit

***

You could hear Geralt and Jaskier just outside of the door to your room. You sat on the edge of the bed, your elbows on your knees and your hands over your face, rocking steadily back and forth. 

The burning in your lower abdomen was driving you insane. Your entirety tingled, begging for attention. You could feel the wetness pooling in your panties, threatening to soak through at any second. You needed to be touched, you needed to be fucked.

Hearing Geralt’s deep voice shout at Jaskier made you moan softly. Your brows drew together as you pushed your thighs together even more in a fruitless attempt to control yourself. Just hearing the witcher made your cunt flood with lust and desire. When the hell would this torture end?

It had been four hours since you three ran into a witch in town who had been putting curses on civilians. The curses varied from hideous deformities to more extreme, more lethal things. One of the poor souls to have crossed the witch died from spontaneous combustion. Another died of gorging herself on food.

You had been lucky enough to be cursed with some sort of lust spell. Geralt could sense it, he could smell it. The spell infected your blood, making you smell sweet and delicious. But it took you a while to feel the effects of the curse. You were fine at first, just a little unsteady on your feet. You and the two men you traveled with returned to the inn you were staying at just in time for the curse hit you like a brick wall.

Out of no where, your throat became dry and your fingers and thighs trembled with anticipation. For what, you weren’t sure. Your mind was too clouded, swarming with a white hot desire.

Right now, Geralt and Jaskier were out in the hallway trying to figure out what to do with you. They couldn’t just leave you in your room alone. The curse would kill you. If not tonight, then eventually. The witch always made sure of it.

Geralt wasn’t too keen on going into your room to babysit you. He wasn’t exactly sure what he’d be walking into, but he didn’t want to risk anything. He didn’t want to ruin the strong friendship between you two.

Jaskier knew it wouldn’t be a good idea for him to be the one in charge of making sure you didn’t die or do something stupid. You were an attractive woman and his self control wasn’t the best. He was a lover, a people pleaser. The second you’d start whining or begging him to do anything, he’d cave in and potentially kill you or himself–or both–all because of the damned curse.

You stood to your feet and paced across the room. Your hand cupped your sensitive breast through the thin silk material of your nightgown. You needed to feel something. You were desperate. You’d do anything to get release. You growled in frustration and put your hand by your side. Fuck witches. Fuck magic. Fuck all of them.

The door opened and Geralt stepped in. His scent hit your nose almost instantly and vertigo claimed your balance. You braced yourself against the wooden dresser, your head turning to look at the witcher.

“How do you feel?”

Like I’m on fucking fire and you’re the water. Put me the fuck out, you bastard.

“Fine.” You gritted through clenched teeth, tearing your hungry gaze away from him. Your thoughts weren’t yours, but in a sense they were. You had felt something for the witcher since you met him. He’d saved your life and ever since, you’d hopelessly fallen for him.

You closed your eyes tightly. You rubbed your thighs together again. This time you tried to get some sort of pressure on your throbbing sex. You needed release or you feared your body would explode.

“Leave.” Instead of the word coming out strong and stern, it was a soft plea.

“I can’t do that, Y/N.” He shook his head.

“I-I don’t want you to see me like this.” You brought your hand up to cover your mouth as you nearly moaned at the sound of his voice.

If his voice could do that to you, just imagine what his massive cock could–

“Please, Ger-Geralt.”

“I am here for you, Y/N, to ensure that you don’t hurt yourself.”

You shook your head. Your entirety trembled, vibrating as you struggled to control yourself. Your body wanted to move, to dash across the room and throw yourself on the monstrous man with the intoxicating scent, a delicious mixture of man and earth. But you had just enough control to stay where you were.

“Did you find that fucking witch?” Your voice shook just as bad as your body.

“Yes. In order…. In order to break the curse, you’ll need to bed someone.” He muttered out, clearly a little embarrassed.

Hot tears burned your vision. They were tears of need, a need so violent that you weren’t sure what to do.

“I’m not going to fuck some bastard just because the curse is making me feel like this.”

You were pretty sure you just lied through your teeth. Should the intensity of the curse get any strong, you knew you’d go downstairs to the tavern and find someone to release you from the curse.

“You-You can’t stay.” You whispered, stiffly shaking your head. “If-If you stay…. I can’t promise that I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

Geralt furrowed his brows together and locked his jaw. If you didn’t bed with someone, you were going to die. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think of you as more than a friend. You were extraordinary. Your were tough and aggressive when needed. You’d easily scare any man who dared to approach you with ill-intentions. However when you looked at him, your gaze softened and twinkled.

But he also admired your physique, the way your nightgown hugged your curves, how your hardened nipples stuck out through the thin silk of your gown. He loved the way your ass moved when you walked away from him. You shook your hips a little more than necessary when he was watching you.

“Fuck, Geralt.” The whine left your lips without your permission. You were going mad. You pushed yourself away from the dress and crossed the room. He stayed in his spot, amber eyes watching you carefully. You only stopped when you stood toe to toe with the witcher. Your hands came up to his chest but just before you could feel him up, his large hands wrapped around your wrists. You moaned at the feeling of skin to skin contact. The desperation you felt would’ve made you sick had you not been under the curse.

Your pained eyes met his and your brows furrowed together.

“Please, Geralt. Please.” You were breathless just from being this close to him. “If-If you-If you don’t, I will die.”

A growl rested in the back of his throat at the thought of you dying. But he restrained himself from doing what you asked of him. It didn’t feel right to bed you, not while you were under this spell. Surely you didn’t feel anything towards except the primal need to fuck.

“I can’t do that to you, Y/N.”

“Yes you can!” You leaned into his chest, your eyes closing tightly as you tried to breathe correctly. “You-You do it with wenches all the damn time! Why am I any different?”

“Because you are my friend and you aren’t in control of yourself right now. It would be taking advantage of you.” Geralt was almost proud of himself for how much self-control he managed to have. The room was thick with arousal, your arousal and desire.

“You aren’t taking advantage of me if I want this! I-I’ve wanted this for ages, Geralt. I’ve wanted you to fuck me like dirty little whore.”

His breath hitched. You ducked your head down so that you could reach his hand that was latched to your wrist. You nipped at his fingers and moaned at the taste.

“You aren’t in the right state of mind, Y/N.”

“The hell I am!” You jerked against his iron grip but you would’ve had better luck pushing a brick wall than getting him to release you. “Ask Jaskier! The damned bard knows exactly how I feel about you. He knows that I long to be the one you take to bed, the one you hold while you sleep.”

His silence did nothing to help your situation. You let out a pained cry as a surge of what felt like electricity courses through you. Your knees buckled and you would have fallen had Geralt not grabbed you. He steadied you on your feet, his hands releasing your wrists.

“You want this?”

“Yes! Fuck, yes, Geralt.” You placed your hand on the front of his trousers where his semi hard cock was. He inhaled sharply at your sudden actions. “I need you to fuck me hard, witcher.”

Geralt tore your hand away from him and in the same instant he pushed you back on to the bed. You giggled triumphantly. You rubbed your thighs together and bit you bottom lip, watching as he practically tore his tunic shirt off.

He climbed on to the bed to hover over you. One of his hands propped himself up next to your head while the other held your face so he could kiss you deeply, sensually. You almost cried at the delicious feeling of his lips on yours. It was euphoric, heavenly. Your hand came up to tangle in his white hair, tugging softly to urge him to do more.

“I’m sorry it has to be this way.” He pulled away just enough to whisper those words against your lips.

“Don’t be sorry. You’re saving my life.” Your lips left his to leave kisses along his scratchy jaw. The burn between your legs had subsided when he first kissed you, but now it was slowly returning.

He took his hand away from your face so he could use the pad of his index finger to trail a line from your lips down your neck and finally to your breasts. The nightgown you wore had a low cut neck so he was able to push the neckline down and underneath the curve of your breasts. The cold air hitting your nipples made your back arch off the bed. Your hand found his bicep, squeezing him tightly.

“Please, Geralt.”

“Patience, dove.” He breathed into your ear and then began to kiss down the side of your neck. He found your pulse just beneath your jaw and teasingly nipped at the sensitive skin. You jolted, lips parting with a moan.

The fire between your thighs grew but the rest of your body was content with his attention on your breasts. His teeth bit at your sensitive skin. The material to your nightgown was being pulled up to reveal your drenched panties.

“Geralt, fuck.” Your fingers fisted the linens. “Fuck, I-I can’t wait.”

“I just need to make sure you’re ready for me, dove.” He took ahold of the waistband of your panties and easily ripped the thin material. You gasped at the tingling sensation it left behind.

His mouth continued its gentle assault on your tit, teeth dragging across your nipple. His hand between your legs tentatively dipped into your soaking core. You cried out as he stuck his thick index into you. Your hips bucked for more, begging him to do more. He sat back on his knees next to you. His hand withdrew from your heat. He grabbed your legs behind the bend of your knees and turned you on the bed so that he was between your parted legs. One of his hands pinned your hips to the mattress while his opposite went back to your cunt. The rough pad of his fingertips against your clit made you jump, but he kept you in place.

“Fuck, dove. You’re soaked.” He breathes out. Liquid amber eyes gazed at your core with hunger.

“All for you, Geralt.” You whined pitifully.

“Good girl.” He smirked devilishly. He worked his index in and out of you, enjoying the way you’d mewl or whine because it wasn’t enough. He added another finger. His opposite hand came down so that his thumb could rub your clit. His massive hand still held your hips down as he rubbed lazy circles into the most sensitive part of you. Your knees bent just slightly and your legs spread wide, urging him to take her.

Your head fell to the side, your fingers tightening even more around the linens. The heat in your stomach was intense, growing the more he worked you with his thick rough fingers. Your orgasm was coming and Geralt could see that. His fingers suddenly left your cunt and you whimpered at the loss. Your heart hammered in your chest as you tried to get yourself to relax. You could feel your heart against your rib cage, begging to be freed.

Geralt hooked his hands beneath your knees and pushed them closer to your chest, revealing your entirety to him. Had you not been so clouded by desire and need, you’d be a little embarrassed at how carnal his gaze was as he admires your pretty, slick folds.

His eyes flickered up to meet yours as he lowered himself to be level with your cunt. He hummed deep from within his chest, almost like he was purring with content. He licked a hot stripe up your slit. His eyes shut as your taste envelopes him.

One of your hands left the linens to tangle in his hair. Just as he sucked sharply on your swollen clit, you tugged at his white hair. He moaned deeply, the vibrations from the moan could be felt on your heat as he continued his delicious assault on your cunt. He kept you in place on the bed, refraining you from bucking up against him no matter how hard you tried.

One of his hands left its position on the back of your knee so that he could slide two fingers into your soaking cunt. You whined, your fingers curling tighter around his hair. He moved quick, his thick digits filling the emptiness inside while his lips and tongue worked on your clit.

You were blindsided by you orgasm, your toes curling and your back arching off the bed. Your eyes closed tightly and you bit your bottom lip. As wave after wave of pleasure coursed through you, his actions became softer, working you through your climax. Your body trembled, muscles convulsing as you moaned his name.

He pulled away and smirked just a little, watching your chest rise and fall with every heavy breath. Your eyes slowly opened and you met his gaze.

“Good girl.”

The praise sent a new wave of tingling sensations through your body. The burning in your abdomen returned, causing you to whine softly. He worked to undo his trousers and push them down just enough to free his massive cock. You moaned, your mouth watering at the sight. You sat up, using one hand to hold yourself that way while your opposite reached out to take his thick length. You didn’t even get a chance to touch his beautifully hard member before Geralt’s fingers wrapped around yours, tugging your hand away from him.

“Not now.”

“But I want to, Geralt.” You pleaded. You desperately wanted to taste him, to feel his heavy length on your tongue.

“Next time.” He murmured gently, bringing his hand up to cup your face. His thumb brushed across your flushed cheek, admiring the pink tinge that came from your orgasm.

You turned your head to take his thumb between your teeth, sucking and moaning softly. He grunted at the action and didn’t dare to move his hand. His opposite hand came up to wrap around his girth. He pumped himself a couple times, then tapped the swollen head of his cock against your opening. You jolted each time, your oversensitive cunt leaking even more for him.

He pulled his thumb from your mouth, brushing the wet pad over your lips. You me lips fell open in a whiny moan as he pushed the head of his length into your cunt. The burning in your abdomen was briefly replaced with a stinging pain that came with being stretched open by his huge cock. Your brows furrowed together and tears pricked your vision. Your eyes closed. Geralt put one hand on your thigh, holding your leg to his hip. His other hand held the side of your neck. He dipped his head down to put his lips beside your ear, whispering softly in encouragement. He moved gently in and out of you, working more of his length into you little by little.

“You’re such a good girl for me, dove. Taking me in your tight cunt.”

“Fuck.” You cursed through gritted teeth as his pelvis met yours. He was sheathed fully inside of you, your walls fluttering and pulsating around him. He breathed heavily through his nose, pressing his lips to your damp forehead. Your hand came up to hold his bicep, fingers curling into the muscular flesh. The pain was subsiding but your legs were tingling from the stillness. “Move.”

He pulled out all the way and carefully pushed back in. This happened a few more times before you laid back on the bed and brought your hand down to your cunt. Before you got a chance to rub your needy clit, he knocked your hand out of the way. His thumb brushed tight circles against you.

“Harder.” You begged, your hand still holding his opposite bicep. “Please.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice was shaky. It was taking every ounce of self control he had not to fuck you like he desired.

“Please, Geralt!” You cried out, bucking your hips against him. He grunted, his hand leaving your cunt to hold your hips own. “Fuck me like the whore I am. Please.”

“You’ll tell me if I hurt you?”

“Fuck! Yes! Yes, I will!”

Geralt was conflicted. He didn’t want to hurt you, especially with your mind being hazy from the curse. But you wanted this, and admittedly he did too.

He took your hands and pulled you into his lap, his cock still buried deep inside you. His thick arms wrapped around you, encasing you in his sweaty, protective hold. You took the chance to kiss his jaw, moaning at the tingling of his scruff against your sensitive lips.

He began to thrust up into you, his fingers digging into your thigh and your hip. The dirty squelching sound of his cock pushing back into your soaked cunt filled the room. You bit his bottom lip, urging him to kiss you.

His tongue slipped into your mouth and you gladly took it, enjoying the taste of him. His grip on your skin was sure to leave bruises as he held you where he wanted you, thrusting in and out at a rapid pace.

Suddenly, you were falling backwards on to the bad, a little yelp of surprise escaped your lips followed by a breathy moan as his thick cock slipped from your folds. He hooked one arm underneath your knee and moved so that he was laying over you. He held you open, exposing you to him as he lined himself up to your dripping cunt.

In one swift push, he sheathed himself inside of you. He swallowed your moans as he latched his lips to yours. You’re almost there, on the verge of coming undone beneath the witcher. Your nails claw at his skin, leaving red, angry raised lines.

“Come on, dove. Be a good girl for me. Cum for me.” He panted out against your lips. Your head falls back, bearing your neck to him as you moan and allow the orgasm to wash over you. Your body trembled and twitched in his arms. His teeth bit at your pulse as he worked you through the orgasm, chasing his own in the process.

You chanted his name like a quiet prayer, holding him cas close as possible. With one final thrust, he spilled his load deep inside you. You whined at the feeling of his hot cum in your tight cunt. You squeezed and milked everything he had to offer, savoring the feeling.

He buried his face in your neck, his breath hot and tingly on your skin. Your finger loosen on his back and your body slowly untenses. His softening cock slipped from you, causing a little whine to escape your lips. You could feel the mixture of your juices and his cum dripping from your used cunt.

He rolled off of you and on to his side. His eyes stuck to you, watching the way you tried to even your breathing.

“How do you feel?” His voice was quiet and husky.

“Better.” A lazy, dazed smile crossed your lips. You turned your head to look at him. The cloudiness was gone. You could think straight. “Thank you.”

He gave you a half hearted smile, one that made your stomach twist. It wasn’t real.

“I’m sorry.” You apologized quietly, looking back to the ceiling.

“You did nothing wrong.” He gently shook his head.

“I-I practically made you do that.” Your voice broke down to a feeble whisper. You turned your head away from him. Your chest tightened with an unfamiliar pain. You feared you were going to lose him because of this. “I’m-I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t make me do a damn thing.”

When you didn’t look at him, he put his hand on your cheek and made you look at him.

“My only regret is that you regret this.”

You shook your head, brows furrowing together. Your gaze met his amber eyes.

“I-I don’t regret this. I mean-I don’t regret doing it with you. I just wish it was under different circumstances.“ You turned over on your side to face him. You brought your hand up to cradle his stubbled jaw. You admired the dark and graying stubble, the way it softly burned your skin. “I’ve fancied you for as long as I’ve known you.”

He grumbled deep within his chest, a sound of disagreement.

“You think I’m lying to you?” You quirked a brow up. When he said nothing, you leaned over to softly kiss his lips. This one was different than the previous ones you shared with the witcher. This was gentle and lazy. You were no longer chasing an orgasm. You were just there. “I was honest earlier when I said you could ask Jaskier of my feelings towards you.” You placed your head on his chest. “I just wish our first time had been more romantic.”

His hand came to rest on your lower back, his thumb tracing circles into your warm skin.

“Romance is overrated.” He assured you, leaning down to kiss the top of your head.

Taglist: @riviawitch3r​ @rosyghosty​ @itsallyouhavegotinsideyourhead​ @lalalalemonade11​ @tshuuls​ @jennylovelyheart​ @queen-sands​

p.s. if I didn’t tag you and you want to be added to the NSFW Witcher taglist I’ve got, let me know. On the same note if you don’t want to be added to the NSFW Witcher taglist let me know. When some of you said you wanted to be added to a taglist you either said both or said taglists so I just want to make sure that I’ve everyone where they are suppose to be :)

#queenxxxsupreme #request

[sociallyawkward--fics]

If you'd be willing to do 29 geraskier that'd be super cool

Yeah yeah! Sure thing! Thanks for the prompt!

(also if anyone still wants to send in prompt from this, you can find the list HERE!)

29. Jealous Kiss

(I am not a jealous or aggressive person so if this sucks that’s why lol)

Word Count: 709 words

[ao3 link]

———————————–

It wasn’t unusual for Jaskier to take a bedmate or two whenever they found themselves in the luxury of sleeping in an inn. In fact, it was more unusual for him not to take a few lovers in every town they came across. Geralt didn’t know why it was rubbing him wrong, all of a sudden, to see Jaskier flirt his way through the tavern.

Well, no, that was a lie.

As much as Geralt liked to claim he didn’t feel, even he was starting to realize what bullshit that was. And he’d started to realize some feelings he’d been repressing for years, specifically related to Jaskier. And suddenly, the reason Geralt had always felt a disdain for Jaskier’s string of lovers made complete sense.

But with that realization also came the feelings getting harder to ignore. Maybe even worse.

Which was why he kept unintentionally glaring daggers at anyone who looked at Jaskier with even a hint of heat in their gaze. Okay, maybe it was a little intentional, but he’d never admit it if asked. But the woman currently practically sitting in Jaskier’s lap really needed to stop that and she just wasn’t getting the memo.

And then, instead of her head turning toward Geralt, Jaskier’s did.

Geralt froze, glare slipping off into something closer to his usual neutral (yet, somehow still always angry) expression.

Jaskier raised an eyebrow, maintaining eye contact with Geralt as he leaned in to whisper and nibble on the woman’s ear. Geralt couldn’t help how expression darkened with displeasure. There was a strange gleam of victory dancing in Jaskier’s eyes.

Geralt growled and stood from the table, dropping a few coins to pay for his drinks. He was not going to remain and allow Jaskier to humiliate and toy with him. They would meet up again tomorrow after Jaskier was done fucking whoever he wanted.

Geralt had barely managed to unlock the door to the room they’d rented that night before Jaskier appeared behind him and slithered past his figure inside.

“So,” Jaskier said. “Anything you’d like to tell me?”

Geralt just stared at him and walked into the room himself. “Don’t you have a few disappointed fans waiting for you?”

Jaskier raised that damn eyebrow again and kicked the door shut, practically pinning Geralt against it with his gaze. “Well, I was only guessing that someone was a little jealous, but now I believe I’m rather certain.”

“I’m not jealous,” Geralt growled.

Jaskier tilted his head. “Those glares you were sending all my admirers beg to differ.”

Geralt didn’t respond.

“Well?” Jaskier said, spreading his arms. “Are you going to do anything about it?”

Jaskier stepped closer and his gaze flickered down to Geralt’s lips, before raising back to his eyes as he raised both his eyebrows. That was a good enough invitation for Geralt.

He grabbed Jaskier’s arm and spun them around to push him up against the door. Their teeth clashed as Geralt slammed their lips together, practically devouring Jaskier. Jaskier simply hummed and wrapped his arms around Geralt’s shoulders.

Geralt inhaled deeply and was suffocated by the scent of perfume surrounding Jaskier. He smelled like that woman instead of like himself and Geralt, and that just wouldn’t do.

He attached his lips to Jaskier’s neck and sucked and bit and nibbled, listening to Jaskier gasp and keen and giggle as he growled.

“You know,” Jaskier said breathlessly. “If you had just said something, instead of seething behind my back, we could’ve been here much sooner.”

Geralt lifted his head to meet Jaskier’s eyes. Jaskier’s hand came up to tangle in his hair and he smiled.

“I am, first and foremost, yours. I always have been, and I always will be.”

Geralt leaned in for a second kiss, far more tender and sweet than the first. Jaskier melted against the door and into Geralt’s arms, and Geralt pulled back and brushed their noses together.

“And I, yours,” he whispered, so quietly he wasn’t sure Jaskier would be able to hear him, even as close as they were.

But Jaskier just smiled and quipped, “You better be, after that display.” And then he leaned in and kissed Geralt again.

And Geralt didn’t stop kissing him for a very long time.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #the witcher fanfic #geraskier fanfic #geralt x jaskier #geralt/jaskier #my writing

[thewitcherssongbird]

Heartbeat

Chapter 1

Geralt doesn’t understand what it means when Jaskier’s pulse changes or why his breath catches, he doesn’t understand why he either avoids Geralt or doesn’t leave him alone. Geralt is confused about many things but mainly why he even cares. Jaskier knows Geralt isn’t an idiot and he hasn’t been very careful but he just can’t help himself. He has a poet’s soul and what he feels he sings. It won’t be long now until Geralt figures it out, maybe he already has. Mutual pining, obliviousness and stupidity. Idiots in love amiright? 

*****

At times it’s useful to have superhuman senses, but at other times, and Geralt begins to believe most of the time, it’s so a real fucking curse. He can smell fear, lust, aggression, he can hear things ordinary humans can’t, a butterfly’s wingbeat, a creek bubbling a mile away, a predator sneaking through the bushes and he can see in the dark.

He can sense many things, but the thing he cannot smell or hear or see is what the hell Jaskier thinking about at night when he sits quietly, staring into the flames of the campfire with a melancholy expression on his face, as if he isn’t quite there. He doesn’t understand why Jaskier insists on washing Geralt and make sure he takes care of himself and he cannot for the life of him figure out why Jaskier’s moods seem to change as often as his outfit and as quick as the chords on his lute. He doesn’t know Jaskier’s heart speeds up at random or why he sometimes avoids Geralt when all he does at other times is cling to him like they’re glued together. He just cannot read the man and

it

is

vexing.

Jaskier lies by Geralt’s feet, head supported by rock Geralt is pretending to meditate on.  He strums quietly at his lute, humming and scribbling in his songbook every so often. Geralt doesn’t know when he stopped trying to meditate but now he’s listening to Jaskier’s fingers tugging at the strings of the instrument and slowly weaving a sweet melody out of thin air. Geralt listens to his hums, coaxing music out of nothing. When he concentrates he can focus on the beating of the bard’s heart over the pouring rain outside the cave, subconsciously in rhythm with his half formed song.

“How about- Oh no I’m sure there’s one like that already. Maybe…The Daydreamer? What do you think Geralt?”

Almost, Geralt almost breaks his façade to reply with a hum of approval but catches himself just in time.

And then the bard’s breath hitches for a second before going back to normal as if the universe were amusing itself at his expense. “Oh, right. Right.” His heartbeat falters a little and Geralt almost opens his eyes to see why but it evens out. Gods he should just ask but then Jaskier would know. That he listens, wonders. Cares.

“Witcher meditation,” he grumbles under his breath and Geralt is lucky Jaskier has turned his attention back to his music because he can’t quite bite back the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He wonders if Jaskier always talks to himself when he actually meditates.

For a while he indulges in his guilty pleasure but he decides it’s a pathetic thing and gets up to tend to the dying fire. “Oh Geralt you’re! I need your opinion on something how does ‘Love only in daydreams’ sound for a title.”

“Hmm.” Geralt nods.

“Right,” Jaskier grins, “Love only in daydreams it is.” He scribbles the title on the top of the page. “Thanks, Geralt.”

Jaskier’s heart speeds up a little and Geralt wants to rip it out of his companion’s chest and demand why it’s doing what it’s doing. He frowns at the image and instead wonders when his opinion started influencing Jaskier’s music. He tucks it away to mull over when he doesn’t have better things to do.

Geralt only really slips into meditation when the bard is deep in sleep.

When the day dawns the rain has let up and the smell of the rain-fresh forest fills the cave. They set out towards the road early, Jaskier chirping at Geralt who ignores him like the rest of the birds chattering in the trees. For the umpteenth time Geralt wonders why he lets him.

“Why did we have to camp so far from the road?” he moans for the second time in as many minutes.

“It’s two and a half miles.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” he grumbles.

They only mount their horses when they reach the roads, the bounce in Roach’s trot is testament to a good night’s rest. Geralt gives her pat on the neck. An affectionate gesture and reward for putting up with the bard and his equally affectionate chestnut gelding who are both always in her space.

“You give your horse more affection than your best friend,” Jaskier comments, amused.

“And who says you’re my best friend?” Geralt counters.

“Do you have any other friends who follow you around, keeping you good company and writing songs about you which improve your public image and earn you more contracts and income than you’ve ever had before? No, no I don’t think you do.” “Maybe Roach is my best friend.” It sounds pathetic even to Geralt’s ears even though he knows that for a long time, it was true.

Jaskier raises a skeptical brow, “If horses count then you have been alone too long.”

Geralt remembers the time before Jaskier had thrust himself upon the witcher, a time of blissful peace and quiet only filled with his regular one sided conversations with Roach. He doesn’t miss it as much as he used to.

“What, do you want a pat too?” Geralt asks, steering Roach closer to the gelding to give Jaskier a similar pat to the shoulder. “Feel better?”

“Actually, I do. Thank you, Geralt,” the bard says and Roach snorts at the same time Geralt does.

The next town is only half a day away, Geralt enjoys the absence of meaningless chatter which the bard has decided to fill with only a hum of his latest song. ‘Love only in daydreams’, Geralt remembers. The tune is bitter-sweet, he’s curious, curious to hear the words he’s heard being scribbled into his songbook but Jaskier hasn’t sung any. He finds himself wondering why, lately he’s been wondering a lot where Jaskier is concerned. It’s odd but Jaskier is a walking oddity so Geralt chalks it up to his infectious nature and leaves it at that before he admits something he doesn’t want to admit.

They reach the town a few hours before sunset. Jaskier books an inn while Geralt tends to the horses and soon they’re in the tavern, making use of their usual strategy. Geralt sits down at the bar, orders a pint and lets Jaskier entertain the crowd with songs of their adventures. It’s a wordless routine into which they have settled in the past few years while traipsing about here and there looking for contracts and crowds to entertain and spending their income on whatever their hearts desire.

Jaskier sings for the crowd, the timeless crowd pleaser ‘Toss a coin to your witcher’ loosens everyone’s pockets and gets them all singing along. By the time Jaskier sits down and orders a pint for himself he’s sung all his hits about the White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia and his pockets are heavy with coin. Now they sit, waiting for anyone brave enough to approach with a contract.

It’s not long until Geralt has acquired 4 contracts, a drowner nest, a kikimora, a graveir and a ghoul plaguing the towns and farms nearby. He’s guaranteed to leave with a heavy coin purse. They have no schedule and no plans and the feeling of not knowing how long they were staying in the town and not having to worry about anything at all is a glorious feeling indeed.

***

The sun has long set and Geralt suspects it’s morning when they walk to the inn they booked down the street, Geralt is supporting a drunk bard, very amused at his own inability to walk straight.

“Geralt…” he giggles, “I haven’t been this drunk since… since years.” He throws out his arms, smacking Geralt in the face. The only reason Geralt doesn’t catch the arm before it hits him square in the face is because his hands are otherwise occupied supporting the Jaskier. And the only reason he doesn’t bite him, he tells himself, is because he’d have to explain the mark in the morning.

“Sorry,” Jaskier slurs, “didn’t want to ruin your gorgeous features.” Geralt is unsure whether his tone was mocking or serious. Jaskier slings a friendly arm over Geralt’s shoulder which makes it somewhat easier to support him. Geralt grabs both his wrists when he tries to pat Geralt on the head. This is how they walk the rest of the way down the street, Jaskier practically hanging on Geralt who has one hand holding the arm slung over his shoulder in place and the other around the minstrel’s waist. A few cats hiss at either Geralt or the noise and he’s sure there are plenty of people rolling over and covering their ears in their beds.

“Geralt you’re so handsome,” he sighs. Geralt is thankful for Jaskier’s drunkenness because he falters, unsure of what to say.

“So I’m told.” Geralt settles on and doesn’t know why he even bothers when Jaskier will likely not remember it in the morning.

“Really- really wasted on you when you only sleep with women. And in brothels too. Mean, you could have anyone without payment, really.” His voice rises and falls in the way reserved for the drunk and the dramatic. Jaskier was both. “Women get everything,” he grumbles.

“Not just women,” Geralt corrects him and now he’s supporting nearly all of Jaskier’s weight. He supposes it’s a bit cowardly of him to have this conversation while Jaskier is sloshed but there’s no-one to judge him but Geralt himself.

“Really?” Jaskier exclaims loudly. “Well I haven’t had a man in forever. You,” he settles for patting Geralt’s chest with his dangling hand in accusation when he finds that he can’t jab a finger at him, “You’ve been scaring them all away, brooding like that. Women tend to be braver than men when it comes to you, apparantly. Don’t know why. Very odd. Come to think of it, I haven’t slept with anyone in far too long.”

Something possessive relaxes in Geralt’s chest. “You’ve slept with men?” He asks, surprised.

“Well of course, no reason to be fussy with who you fool around with now is there? Pleasure is pleasure. And why rule out half the population when some of them look like, you know, like you.”

“Why indeed?” Geralt says for no one’s amusement but his own. Something stirs in his gut.

“Geralt,” sighs Jaskier, “this walk is awfully long, are we there soon?”

“Mhmm,” Geralt assures him. He hasn’t talked this much in months, it’s oddly pleasant.

“This is fun, I should get drunk more often,” Jaskier giggles. “Maybe you’ll carry me like a damsel in distress. That would be nice wouldn’t it? Nice being the object of the stone cold Witcher’s affections. Yes, yes.”

Geralt wonders how he can still joke when he’s this drunk.

As soon as they reach the stairs in the inn, Jaskier stumbles and falls heavily onto the staircase. Instead of getting up he lies groaning miserably on the stairs. Geralt winces to himself, he hopes he won’t have to explain any injuries in the morning. For a moment Geralt thinks about fetching a blanket and leaving him there but his newfound conscience, which is very annoying he might add, kicks him in his mental shin. And besides he’s never hear the end of it and he’s have to suffer the kicked puppy expression on Jaskier’s face which Geralt would never admit he found cute.

Geralt heaves him up again and with much childish protest, starts to climb the stairs. “Oh god, Geralt.” Jaskier braces a hand on the wall, clutching his stomach. “Going to be sick.”

“No no no no no,” Geralt says quickly, “Sit down, just sit.” Geralt has been in this town before and he knows it’s a gold mine. If Jaskier throw up now, they’d kick them out of the only inn in the whole town and that was unacceptable.

Jaskier sits, groaning. Geralt stands, fumbling and for lack of anything else to do sits beside him, awkwardly patting his back in what he hopes is a soothing manner. They’re sitting halfway up the staircase in the early hours of the morning, Geralt has lived for a long time but never has he been in this situation before.

Jaskier rests his forehead on his knees, moaning dramatically every once in a while. He goes quiet after a while, but he’s not quite unconscious. Finally, he turns his head, cheek rested in his knees, arms still hugging his legs.

“Am I your friend?” He asks, drunken cornflower blue eyes wide in childlike curiosity. If Geralt hadn’t known him, he’d have thought he looked almost innocent.

“You are,” Geralt admits for the first time. Jaskier lets out a “hm” that clearly means he’s surprised and that makes Geralt feel a little guilty for letting him believe he wasn’t for such a long time. Little does he know Geralt has long ago accepted that Jaskier had become a friend. He had only denied it because he didn’t want any ties. A stupid reason, Geralt realizes. Fate had always enjoyed proving him wrong.

Satisfied, Jaskier closes his eyes. “Come on,” Geralt says, “you can’t sleep on the stairs what are we paying for?”

Jaskier moans in protest. “Gods, why do you get to be pretty and muscly and gorgeous and not get drunk and embarrass yourself ever?” he ventures on to a different topic. Geralt doesn’t know whether the words are running together from drink or exhaustion or both. “S’really not fair, everyone should embarrass themselves. Stupid Witcher.”

“I don’t need to; you embarrass me plenty.”

Jaskier grumbles at that and then sighs rather melodramatically. “Geralt I think I’m in love,” he says dreamily and that thing in Geralt’s chest constricts again.  

“I’ll, uh, fetch you some water.” He gets up and as an afterthought he adds, “don’t throw up.” It doesn’t take long for him to find their room and locate the water skin, after all, Geralt is only slightly drunk. When he returns from the room, water skin in hand, he finds the bard has passed out slumped against the wall. Geralt sighs. “At least you didn’t throw up,” he mutters to himself.

He heaves the limp body into his arms, it feels like holding water.  Jaskier is feather light in his arms, small, limp body always threatening to slip out of Geralt’s grip like water escaping through his fingers, he’s sure there’s another deeper metaphor hidden in there somewhere but he doesn’t go looking.

He lays Jaskier down gently in the bed, stripping him down to his underthings like he usually sleeps when they have the luxury of a bed. Friend indeed. Geralt wonders when he came to care so much about his companion to be doing such things for him.

For a moment he allows himself to gaze at the sleeping features, so calm and peaceful. Geralt thinks how rare it is to see his features free of all emotion, when usually, being a very expressive person, Jaskier always has a smile or a frown or something in between on his face. He tucks away the image. Geralt has never appreciated the soft beauty in Jaskier.

He sleeps with a troubled mind.

*****

That’s it for today:)) Hope all of you enjoyed that very much and axiously await Chapter 2 coming soon! Please leave likes and comments because I live and breathe for attention. Kidding, but do please!

#geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #gerskier #the witcher #the witcher netflix #witcher netflix #geralt z rivii #geraskier fluff #geraskier angst #idiots in love #heartbeat

[witchofmorena]

@jaskiersvalley​, darling you helped me with the idea for this so thank you💚 and tagging @she-who-ate-pizza-with-cap​ we know why😃

Geralt and Jaskier stopped for a night in a clearing. The forest around them was dense. Jaskier started to pick and make a heart for fire, singing softly, while Geralt went hunting. When Geralt returned, he had a couple of rabbits already prepared for roasting with skins he wanted to use to make blankets or something (Jaskier didn’t care much) and bard had heart almost ready, he left lighting it to the witcher. Less then 15 minutes later meat was roasting over fire. Suddenly a man stumbled into the clearing, he had two swords like Geralt and was even dressed in similarly to Geralt. The white haired man got up, looked over the stranger and hugged him, leaving Jaskier completely stunned!

“Lambert, you son of a bitch!“ Geralt said loudly with a happy smile on his face, making his bard look at him disbelief.”I heard you were nearby, just didn’t know how close you truly were!“

“White-haired fucker!“ man with same yellow eyes as Geralt, now identified as Lambert, greeted Geralt with an insult and a smile of his own. Musician gave up on trying to understand what was going on and turned back to dinner, ensuring it didn’t burn. He felt eyes on his back.”Where are your manners, old wolf?“ Younger witcher teased White Wolf,”won’t you introduce me to your friend?“

“Right, lets go to the fire“ Jaskier could hear footsteps coming closer, stopping beside him and a thump on either side of him. On his left was Geralt and on his right Lambert.”Jaskier, meet Lambert. He is a fellow wolf witcher“ Geralt  noticed the way Lambert’s sparkled.”Lambert, this is my....friend...Jaskier“ Lambert noticed how Geralt paused on ‘friend’ for a moment and wanted to pick on him for it, but changed his mind, deciding instead to insult Jaskier and see the reaction.

“Jaskier? As in the one who was dumb enough to try to befriend you?“ Geralt sighed deeply. He wasn’t in the mood to argue with Lambert.

“I believe insulting the man who could easily ruin your reputation to be dumb“, Jaskier said, smiling pleasantly,”but then again what would I know? I’m just a bard“ Lambert liked this human, he didn’t smell of fear and was ready to throw his insults back. He changed the tactic and starting to flirt. He smiled at the bard, and Jaskier knew he passed some kind of test.

“So is what Geralt says true? That you two are” Lambert glanced at fellow wolf, and smiled charmingly at musician,”just friends?”He said last two words in a disbelieving voice.”I hope Geralt wouldn’t mind sharing...” cue a wicked smile full of promise, his pupil rounding and dilating.

“I’m not a toy to be shared or owned“, Jaskier answered with a flirty smile of his own and adding a wink. Oh yes, Lambert definitely liked this one.

Lambert and Jaskier kept flirting and insulting each other over dinner, becoming more aroused and the scent was making Geralt’s nose twitch. Eventually he told them to go and fuck it out but not too far away, the scent was starting to make him uncomfortable. Jaskier was looking at him with concerned, Lambert was quick to reassure Jaskier that Geralt didn’t mind it at all and that “knowing him he’ll want to cuddle when we come back”. They left Geralt to take care of left-overs and sleeping bags.

Geralt hummed to himself, a habit he picked up from Jaskier, as he moved around camp. He didn’t care the two of them went to “have some actual fun” as Lambert’d put it, he was happy that they liked each other and were attracted to each other, it meant two he cares about coulv. White wolf preferred cuddling over any other form of affection, while Lambert and Jaskier were similar. They needed sex, Jaskier enjoyed it while Lambert loved having sex, especially with people he knew he could trust. The sleeping bags were, indeed, all placed close to each other.

---------

Several weeks later, Jaskier was traveling alone. He was on a road to a bigger settlement when he was attacked by bandits. They thought he’d be an easy target and have coin for them to take, if nothing else they’d happily take his lute. They didn’t expect a witcher to jump into bards defense. The witcher quickly chased them away. Jaskier noticed the man was older, seemingly in late forties or early fifties, and that his medallion was a wolf. Bard figured this must be a wolf witcher and from Geralt’s school.

“Hello, kind witcher!“ Jaskier started dramatically, forgetting to introduce himself, unsurprising considering his barely contained excitement.”I was wondering if you perhaps know Geralt and Lambert of Wolf school?“

The witcher was amused by young man in front of him “Of course I know those two little rascals for I’m the one who’s trained them in sword fighting!” the man was trying to be as dramatic as bard he just met.“I’m Vesemir, and you must be one of my pups flower? The bard named after a flower, I mean?”

The new nickname brought a bright smile on Jaskier’s face. He confirmed that “yes I am in fact Jaskier” asked older man if he’d mind some music? And a song in his honor was most certainly in order, he was after all his wolves teacher. The old wolf gave his new flowery pup an indulgent smile. Jaskier traveled with papa wolf who adopted him (Vesemir kept calling him pup or flower and eventually Jask asked about it....Vesemir admitted to viewing bard the same way he views his witcher pups). When they got to town where they were supposed to split up, flower made several songs in wolfs honour (Ves adored the songs his pup created for him) and bard received a dagger “for protection”. Jaskier knew enough about handling a dagger to be able to protect himself somewhat.

---------

In early autumn Jaskier met up with Geralt again. Geralt invited Jaskier to join him and others in Kaer Morhen. Jaskier was overjoyed, he’d get to see Lammy again! And he’d hopefully meet some other withcers. Geralt and Jaskier made their way to Kaer Morhen much earlier then Geralt usually did and arrived after Vesemir (who was delighted his pups were almost all home) and another witcher, this one was also a wolf and he had scars deforming left side of his face, pulling his upper lip and revealing his teeth. Jaskier didn’t stare, nor was he bothered by scars. He found the witcher, who was taller then Geralt and with boarder shoulders and chest, to be endearing with his shy attitude. Bard was sad when he noticed how he kept trying to hide his scars, Jaskier unable to contain, his excitement and love for this new witcher, pulled the scarred wolf into a hug. Eskel was confused why this pretty songbird wasn’t afraid and "oh this is nice". From day 1 Jaskier called him “Eskie” and always had a smile for big and seemingly scary man.

A week and a half later, Lambert finally arrived, with two new witchers. These two weren’t wolves, one was from Griffin School and the other was a Cat. Jaskier noticed how cat witcher looked over everyone with interest on his face, while griffin looked at Jaskier with open curiosity. When they were introduced, griffin’s, who was known as Coën, seemed excited to speak with him about Oxenfurth and music lessons and a shy “could you show me how to play lute?”. Honorary pup was so happy to see a witcher who wished to learn about his music and could discuss it. Coën reminded him of his lovely White Wolf, but nightingale (as Geralt called him) couldn’t figure out what. Cat, or Aiden as he was introduced, was a lot more like Lammy then Geralt or papa wolf. He was a lot more flirty then insulting (or, as Geralt and Eskel called it, flirting aggressively), and flower was happy to have all attention on him.

After a few days it took to newcomers to settle in, they started training. Aiden invited bard to join, saying he wished to see how he handled his dagger. He was unimpressed, disappointed really. He turned towards Geralt and asked dead serious "Really, Wolf, you travel with such precious human and you don't teach them how to fight???"  Coën joined training the bird how to fight, he adored the bard didn’t wish for him to get injured.

Every couple of days Jaskier and Lambert would disappear and come back smelling like each other. Sometimes Aiden would join them, and Geralt knew Eskel wanted to as well, but...well, he was too insecure and didn’t know Jaskier well (which made things hard for Eskel even more....he preferred to have an emotional connection with his lovers). So the rest of witchers ensured that Eskie and bird spend some time togther, without anyone. Geralt and Coën were fixing a part of the keep, trying to make it functional, Vesemir, like he most often did when he didn’t train with others, was in his lab, making a potion or something, while Lambert dragged Aiden somewhere, presumably to fuck.

Eskel was in the kitchen making bread and singing to himself, when Jaskier entered. “Oh thank Melitele! I thought everyone has gone off doing something dangerous!” the wolf was confused, they had enough meat for the next three days, after all Lambert had a successful hut yesterday, there was no monster bothering them, and Geralt and Coën were working on the keep...Maybe others were sparring? “You can sing” bard said softly, completely in awe of witcher’s deep rough singing voice. “Can we sing together? And can I help you somehow?”

“I thought everyone can sing? If you could pass me some flour that’d be great“ Eskel was even more confused, none of the others ever offered to help him bake, but he wasn’t one to look gift horse in mouth. “And sure, we can sing together tonight, after dinner....I know most popular songs” And from there they kept talking, mostly Jaskier and Eskel was more then happy to let him talk.

That afternoon Geralt and Coën found the two still in kitchen, talking laughing, dancing and making dinner. Geralt felt warmth in his chest, his darling got along with all of witchers and it seemed like Eskel had opened a bit to Jask. Dinner was ready quickly, and all men tucked in. Everything was fine until Aiden took a bit of bread from a plate next to Jaskier. It was spicy....very spicy just like how flower liked it so....cat soon ran around, bumping into things and crying. Vesemir, being the first to realize what happened, brought some milk and forced younger witcher to drink it. Aiden after his pain subsided a bit, rejected to eat anything. Musician apologized over and over again, feeling guilty for convincing Eskie to make some spicy bread for him and then forgetting to warn others. Cat (or Kitty how Jaskier called him.....he was the only one allowed) mentioned forgiving if Jaskier played his lute and sang for them to which bard readily and happily agreed to. All seven of them moved closer to fireplace, Vesemir sitting in his armchair and petting his youngest pup, who was leaning against his leg and strumming his lute, the rest were laying on furs they brought from their rooms in front of fire. After a couple of hours bard became tired and Coën moved him to the furs so he could cuddle with others. Slowly one by one they fell asleep. Vesemir tucked them in (tho if asked he’d never admit he did or that he had a smile) before going to sleep himself.

#my stuff #ace!geralt #ace!coen #demi!eskel #dad!vesemir #lambert #aiden #jaskier x witchers #geraskier #the witcher